Cowritten with: Tom R
JANUARY 2012 | MARK:
I did everything I could not to whimper out loud, as the large cock thrusted back and forth into my hole. Keeping quiet was not an easy thing to go, considering how fucking big this guy's cock was! Maybe I'll even ask for this dude's name or number this time. I didn't usually bother with stuff like that, but he was working my hole so good that I wouldn't mind a repeat.
He was a big guy, taller than me and muscular. Aggressive and intense, just like I liked my tops. The moment we'd locked eyes, we both knew his cock was going to be in my ass within a minute or two. He'd cocked his head toward the open stall from where he stood at the urinal, stroking his erect cock. And I'd complied eagerly, starting to unbuckle my belt before I was even inside. After he'd followed me in, he'd turned me around and pulled down my slacks with so much force, I think they'd have ripped if I hadn't already undone the front. I was rock hard even before I'd heard him spit in his hand to lube me up.
The smell of the public restroom filled my nostrils, my sense of smell even stronger with my eyes closed. I wanted to shout "FUCK, YEAH!" as loudly as possible, but there were people using the other stalls and urinals. Clueless guys who didn't know that this was where businessmen like me came for some lunchtime release. Idiots who had the audacity to use this bathroom as a bathroom, instead of its intended purpose: a cruising ground for a quick fuck.
The sensations ran through my body like electricity. The throbbing of my cock, the surges of pleasure-pain as my hole was stretched to its limits, the tension in my arms and shoulders as I braced myself against the back wall of the stall. I closed my eyes and lost myself in the sensation of having a huge dick inside of me, when I was startled by the aggravating sound of my phone ringing.
"Shit!" I swore out loud. I thought I'd had it set to vibrate. I didn't want to draw any attention and prompt someone to look under the dividers and realize there were two men in this stall.
I reached for my phone in the inside pocket of my jacket. The stranger continued to fuck me, holding onto my silk tie like it were a leash. I saw my son's name on the screen and, fumbling, I answered the call instead of declining. Fuck!
"Logan, I can't talk right now," I said as quickly as possible, still feeling the thrusts back and forth inside my ass.
"Dad, real quick! Are you doing anything after work?"
"No. I'll talk to you then!" I barked, eager to get off the phone as soon as fucking possible.
"Great. I'll text you an address near the office. Meet me there when you get off."
I hung up the phone, and in a matter of seconds the burly stranger and I both got off. Jerking my cock, I shot my load inside the toilet just as the random man dumped his seed inside my guts. Before I'd had the chance to catch my breath and turn around, he'd already zipped up and left the cubicle. I didn't get his name. Oh well, maybe next time.
I shut down my computer and stood up at my desk, stretching and working out a kink in my shoulder. It was the end of another long day, nearing the end of another long week. There was a stack of mail on my desk that I hadn't gone through yet, and I absent-mindedly opened the envelopes one by one, eager to be on my way. There was nothing particularly important. A few invitations to events, most of which I'd try to avoid attending. And bills, of course. One was a credit card bill with a staggering amount charged during the last month. The holidays were always a money vacuum. Keeping my wife Susan happy always came at a steep price. Add three kids and five grandkids on top of that and it added up fast.
Looking at myself in the small wall mirror near my office door as I put on my coat, I told myself that I didn't look too bad for someone's grandfather. Even after a hard day's work, I still had some smoldering handsomeness going on. Shit, I was only 49 after all; there was still plenty of spunk left in me. Ha! "Literally," I thought to myself with a laugh. I could still feel that stud's load inside my ass.
By the time I got to the address my son had texted me, I was still wondering what Logan was up to. The place was a "Health Center" according to the sign. Why were we meeting here? I paced around and read a few emails as I waited. There were two guys standing on the other side of the entrance, talking to one another and sipping from sporty drink containers. They were dressed in athletic clothing that clung to their frames, showing off every muscle as well as their bulges. If the weather was warmer I felt sure they'd be wearing even less.
The skin-tight blue leggings that one of them was wearing clung so obscenely to his body that he'd probably get arrested anywhere else but New York City. Even with the cold air, he had the zipper of his jacket more than halfway down, making it obvious he only wore a flimsy tank top underneath, offering a glimpse of a sculpted pec and a pierced nipple.
The other man, dressed in a purple track suit, noticed me staring and flashed me a smile and a wink. I quickly averted my eyes back to my phone, pretending I wasn't looking. They were cute, and very clearly both gay. But did they have to be so fucking obvious about it?! Keep it toned down, for fuck's sake!
I was about to text my son, when a cab pulled up to the curb with him in the back seat. Logan emerged and came up for a hug.
"What's all this about?" I asked, happy to see him but impatient to find out what I was doing with my Thursday evening.
"Well, Dad, you just got yourself a new workout buddy," my son replied with a wry smile on his face and a large bag over his shoulder. "I hired us a personal trainer."
As the cab neared the gym, I felt a little guilty for luring Dad here without telling him more. My father was a no-nonsense kinda man, so I knew he might be a little pissed about being "ambushed." But, honestly, I had a strong feeling he never would have shown up if I'd told him what was happening. A few weeks ago, we'd both talked about going to the gym more in the new year. But of course, we said that every year, along with every other person on earth. At 26, I felt like I was still in decent shape, but I'd noticed it was becoming harder to maintain. Old age creeping up already? I wasn't afraid of that necessarily. My father had kept his looks and I'm sure lots of women would call him a fox. It was just that every month his belly seemed a little bigger, and things didn't need to keep heading that way.
I worked for Dad's company, but in a different office than him. I liked to get exercise (at least when the weather was nice) by walking the ten blocks between our buildings whenever we had meetings over there. Last week on my way back, I'd passed this gym which was offering a "2 for 1" special on personal training packages for the new year. "2012: New Year, New You. Both of You!" said the sign on the window. I thought that this might be the way my father and I would actually stick to our resolution this time, having more accountability if we did it together, so I impulsively signed us both up.
Dad didn't seem as put off as I thought he might when I explained it all, but his reaction was hard to gauge.
"Are we starting this today?" he asked, looking down at himself and then back at me. "I can't really work out in a suit." Knowing he might try to sneak out of this on a technicality, I patted the gym bag I had slung over my shoulder.
"I've got you covered," I replied obligingly. "I brought some sweats for you. They're a little big for me but I'm sure they'll be fine for you." He responded with a sarcastic glare and then gestured at the door.
"Youth before beauty," he said with a cheesy grin, and we headed inside.
The receptionist was a friendly younger guy in a polo shirt, who had biceps so big I expected the short sleeves to rip every time he moved his arms. He was taking his time getting us checked in and he'd mentioned that he'd need to see which trainers were available right now. Dad was looking at a display with photos of the various trainers and information about each one of them. I could see a few pictures of female trainers and I wondered if my father would go for any of them. Just like my old man, I had a wife and three kids at home, but I figured a little "extra motivation" in the form of a fit younger woman training us might help us get in shape.
I heard Dad give a surprised laugh and then he turned to the receptionist.
"Is Owen Morris here today?" he asked. The name sounded vaguely familiar but I wasn't sure why. The man at the desk looked at his screen and nodded.
"He is. Did you want to see him personally? He's got the next hour free for walk-ins," the receptionist informed my father. "I'll have him come up." He picked up the phone and turned away from us to speak in a lower tone.
"Who's Owen Morris?" I asked my dad, still unable to place him.
"He's... an old friend," Dad replied, looking both amused and wistful. "Actually, the son of an old friend. You remember Kevin, right? Owen's his boy. You guys met a few times as kids, remember? He's the same age as you."
Kevin was one of my dad's best buds; the two of them went way back. I remembered Owen a little bit from when we were kids. I glanced over at the photo on the wall, and that helped me recall his face (even though 10-year-old Owen didn't have a neck tattoo the last time I saw him).
"Mark! No way!" a voice said behind me, and I turned to see the present-day Owen approaching. He'd definitely changed since I'd last seen him. The man walking up to us was, by any definition, a stud. His tight tank top showed off his broad shoulders, bulging arm muscles and impressive pecs, as well as the striking tattoos covering all of one arm and most of the other. The bottom of the tank barely met up with the waistband of his equally tight shorts, and I caught a glimpse of a chiseled lower abdomen as he stretched out his arms, coming in for a hug with my father.
Dad accepted the hug warmly and I noticed he closed his eyes for a moment as they embraced one another.
"It's great to see you, man! It's been years," Owen said, beaming. I was surprised at their familiarity. While I might have hugged Owen's father out of politeness, I couldn't imagine talking to him like an old friend.
"Too many years," my father said, sounding equally pleased to see the younger man. Dad looked over at me next.
"This is—" he started.
"Logan!" Owen interjected, and stuck out his hand. "I remember. Nice to see you again." I shook his hand and responded that it was great to see him as well, but I felt a little embarrassed, since I certainly wouldn't have remembered his name if we'd run into one another under other circumstances.
"Well, I guess this is a sign we picked the right place," I said to my dad, trying to break through the awkwardness that only I was feeling.
"Absolutely you did," Owen said, smiling at us both. His charisma was apparent right away, and I could immediately see how he was right for his job. If his body wasn't enough to motivate someone to get in shape, his charm would do the rest.
"Come on," he continued. "I'll show you the locker room so you can change, and then we'll get started."
We went into the locker room and I left Dad to change, needing to use the restroom before we got started. As I walked back, I noticed my dad staring at a couple of guys who'd just come back from the showers. Like almost everyone else we'd seen so far, the two men were in great shape. Both had visible six packs, and one had an ass that looked like it belonged on a Greek statue. I hoped Dad wasn't too intimidated by the clientele at this gym. For me at least, it was a motivator. I hoped Owen could help us both be our best selves, physically.
The training session started off pretty well, with Owen explaining his approach and how he'd work with both of us on core strength at the beginning, and then move into focusing on toning and muscle building. As we got going, I listened to my dad and Owen catch up on various things. Owen asked how my mother and sisters were doing. Dad asked Owen if he'd found the right guy to settle down with yet. I'd suspected Owen was gay just by the way he carried himself, and clearly he'd been out since at least the time my father had last seen him. He didn't have a boyfriend, he told us, and was fine with being single for now.
As Owen was showing us some stretches after the workout, I noticed more tattoos higher up on one of his legs and visible at his waist. I wondered how much of his body was inked, and figured that mystery probably enticed some of the men who no doubt pursued him. As he stretched further, the waistband of his shorts slipped lower down and I saw that he was wearing a jockstrap. I laughed to myself a little. What was it with gay guys and jockstraps?
I'd never felt comfortable in jocks myself, despite spending several weeks every summer at sports camps growing up, while dad was off on his annual getaways with his buddies. The elastic in the back never seemed to sit in the right place on me. But I knew my gay friends loved them. I'd gone to a bachelor party last year for one of my coworkers who was tying the knot with his now-husband, and the stripper hired for the party had done most of his routine in a bright red jockstrap. As one of the few straight guys attending, everyone had gotten a kick out of it when the stripper gave me a lap dance, and I'd playfully stuffed a few dollar bills into the pouch, and slipped a few more under one of the ass straps when he'd turned around. I guess jocks made sense for strippers at least — more places for people to put tips!
"Logan, you paying attention?" I heard Owen say, snapping me out of my recollection. He and Dad had shifted into a new position, stretching one leg as high up as they could. I quickly moved to imitate them. I had tight hamstrings, and doing this with my back glued to the floor wasn't easy.
"Here, let me help," Owen offered and came on top of me. He put one hand on my ankle and another one on my thigh, and pressed down until I felt a really good stretch in my leg, especially my glutes and hamstring.
"There, that's better, right?" he smiled and said, almost with a wink, now that we were face-to-face. And as he pushed down, our faces only got closer together. Some of his sweat dripped down on my T-shirt. For a second, I felt weird having another man's hand on my thigh, so close to my ass. But very quickly, the awkwardness faded and I felt... comfortable. Owen's smile worked like a charm, complemented by those captivatingly blue eyes of his. As he leaned further into me, his shirt rode higher up, revealing more of his midriff and jock waistband; as his hand slid further down my thigh and closer to my glutes. And just then, due to the intense bodily contact... I started to pop a boner. I prayed my new personal trainer wouldn't notice; this was highly inappropriate! If he noticed anything, Owen didn't react. He just smiled and a few seconds later let my leg relax, grazing my balls for a brief second while retracting his arms.
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