Gym Buddies to Mates

Gym Buddy to Mate

Josh's workout with Britt becomes much more

This story is entirely fictional. All places and persons (who are all over 18) are fictional. © 2024, Brunosden. All rights reserved.

[The narration is in the first person. The protagonist is Josh Stevens. This is a single chapter story.]

I had just finished my Friday workout at MY Fitness Center. It had been upper body day, and I had pumped more than ever before. My guns and delts particularly were swollen and already sore, but the good kind of sore. I had paused before the mirror in the locker room for more than a passing glance. I was a beast!

I was standing in the gang shower, my arms stretched above my shoulders and holding on to the chest-height shower nozzle as the red hot water poured over my sore muscles. It was a little low for my tall frame, so I had bend forward with my hard muscular ass pushed back over my vee-spread legs—to get me low enough for the water to pummel my upper body. I was feeling really rad. The pain was fading. I looked and felt like a macho stud, with one of the best bods at the gym, if I do say so myself, although the position was a little suggestive. But, it was late and no one was around.

My work colleague and regular workout partner had been in the gym with me, urging me on to greater things than I thought possible. I always pushed harder when he was around. We were competitive, but there was also an element of pleasing a bro. He was a good looking guy—Britt Edson, about my size, but more muscular. He had been a gymnast, regionally ranked, and had the beautiful defined, but not bulky, muscles of a champion. He had posed for a few calendars and was an "influencer" for the gym we used. He had talked me into joining "his" gym a few months ago. So I was behind him in development, but not by much. But, there was no question that he was my de facto trainer and coach.

A little background: Neither of us is married, and although we both date reasonably often, we had found recently that we were as much into each other as we were to our dates. That had been a shock to both of us. He had crashed at my place, a small city apartment, after one double date since he lived in the burbs and was alcoholically-impaired after the date.

He had started on the sofa, but during the night found it very uncomfortable and had wandered drunkenly into my room and fallen asleep in my large bed. We were accustomed to nudity in the lockers at the gym. So neither of us bothered much with night clothes. We were naked, but I didn't even rouse when he lay on the bed beside me. In the morning we awoke in an embrace with rock-hard morning wood (there's a mixed metaphor if I ever used one) poking into each other's gut, and you can guess the rest. Both of us were surprised (we had awakened before in the arms of a girl and not remembered immediately who she was, so it wasn't entirely a new experience—but with a guy?), but not upset. Why not? It was just an automatic release between two barely-awake guys.

We stroked each other—a first time for both of us. The orgasm, at least mine, was one of the best ever. I presume it might have been the same for him since it wasn't long before he was frequently spending the weekend at my place, whether we had dates in the city or not. And he just moved into my bed without really asking after that first night. Mutual rub-offs turned to blow jobs and ultimately into anal penetration—all at my suggestion and under my direction. He may have been the gym trainer, but at work and in bed, I was the natural leader. Neither of us had much prostate experience. When his fingers and then his dick poked mine, I levitated from the bed. It was an eye opener—and a definite friend-maker.

The discovery of the pleasure shocks from a stimulated prostate is perhaps the single most important event in the life of a young man! (It ranks right after the first masturbatory emission and the first tight hole into which his cock is inserted.) It turned out we were both vers and probably bi, but definitely into each other—at least temporarily. But, Britt was still deferring to me. It was an incredible turn-on to be regularly taking this magnificent piece of man-flesh. My cock learned to love his tight, warm chute!

Our dating days and alpha personalities had naturally drawn each of us to assume we'd top. But our prostate experiences convinced us that bottoming was really not so bad. We both considered ourselves tops, but both loved ass play. So I occasionally let him do me.

From that point on, our relationship at work had also changed. We are both in marketing—really a fancy word for sales. And actually we are at the bottom of the sales food chain. We are used car salesmen, and most of our inventory consists of mommy and daddy cars—vans, SUVs and larger sedans. So the clientele is rarely interesting, and even the older women were rarely attracted to or flirting with a well-dressed hunk salesman. They know what they want and what they want to pay. The salesman is more of a hindrance that an asset. Unfortunately, young ladies and even attractive young men are typically drawn to smaller, sexier wheels of which our lot has few. The job is pretty numbing. So Britt and I created a game: whoever sells the most cars each week would be the top that weekend. Sales took on a whole new competitive dimension. It turned out I was better at sales, and so I usually topped.

I'm 23, a recent graduate of State in sports management (for which there were no job openings when I looked although my CV remains spread around the obvious Midwest sports franchises). While there, I ran track (mostly short sprints and steeplechase) and lifted a bit to be able to fill in at the shot and javelin when a first team member was absent for some reason. I had also waited and bartended to pay the bills. I had left home upon graduation—there were way too many kids in the family, and they needed the space. That meant that I was independent and accustomed to being in control of my life. The apartment is small, but downtown—and mine, well mine for so long as I paid the monthly rent.

I'm 6 foot even, with dark shaggy hair (cut professionally every other week—so the casual shag is not so casual at all) and deep brown, almost black eyes under bushy dark eyebrows. Surprisingly with such a head of hair, my body is nearly hairless except of course my bush (which is DIY trimmed, primarily to attract blows from female dates) and my underarms. I've got a few discrete tats. My favorite is a Baroque abstract c-shaped arrow (that looks a lot like a pointy-topped dick with curly embellishments) just below my abs (thus under board shorts) pointing to the real treasure—in the unlikely event someone needs direction. Another is on my left ass cheek—a heart-encircled "Welcome Home" sign. Frontally, I was a top and hetero. From the rear, I was into ass play with my dates. It hadn't occurred to me that it was also a bottom invitation, at least until Britt that is.

I'm carrying about 7 and a half, loosely hooded and dark, with prominent veining, under trimmed pubes and over two egg-sized balls. I'm a shower so it's rarely smaller than 5. None of my dates has every complained about my size, my ability to hold-off or my technique in pleasing her. And the squats have produced a porn quality muscled butt. I always wear Bonobos or other well-fitting pants and jeans to advertise. No Daddy diapers for me. But getting my dates to play with my ass is always a challenge. The girls in our Midwest city are much more conservative than their alluring date dresses would seem to suggest. With most, it's straight missionary and completely wrapped. Not exactly boring, but I'd sure like some adventure.

Britt is my age, a little taller, deeply tanned, with manscaped facial hair, similarly endowed—maybe a little longer, but thinner, cut and without any tats. He's got clear skin and thick lips which give him a boyish baby-face look. In fact, even with the facial hair, he gets carded all the time even when I slide through. I just look older. So I have sort of naturally fallen into the senior role in our relationship.

He came up behind me in the shower and began to massage my arms and shoulders, using body wash for lubrication. It felt wonderful. Almost as good as his muscular chest pressed into my back, his thick thighs supporting mine from behind and his rigid cock nestled in my crack. So he was going to play Daddy. That was okay with me. His whole body was soon molded to mine as his hands continued to stroke my arms, pecs and delts, ostensibly easing the early lactose pains from the exercise.

I tried at first to just relax into him. But, that turned out to be impossible. He reached up and gripped my hands on the high wall-mounted nozzle. Then he whispered, "These stay here, Josh. I'm gonna take you right now." The words surprised me and sent chills down my spine. Where had that come from? He had never before been the aggressor, and certainly not at the semi-public showers of the gym. But, fuck he felt so good on me. Within a few seconds, I was rigidly erect—and my hood had rolled down and bunched at the base of the head, and his dick was sliding between my legs poking into my balls. He had won that week's sales contest—the first after five weeks of competition. So I was his bottom for the weekend. And he was starting early.

Britt quickly noted my inviting stance, and that was his signal. He backed off a few inches, lubed with shower gel, reached around and grabbed my abs, positioned and penetrated, fast, hard and deep. I groaned loudly—which was amplified and echoed on the hard tile walls of the shower. I gasped in pain which almost immediately turned to the intense pleasure of fullness and pressure on my love nut. I had almost collapsed under his invasion, but he had held tight, and my hands had also gripped the nozzle tightly. I was his. He knew it, and I knew it. He had set a pattern of rough taking. Maybe, I'd get him next time.

He began the familiar bump and thrust. I glanced over and, even in the foggy mirror, saw the muscles of his ass tighten to produce the thrust. It was like a perfect gymnast maneuver—he was mounting and posturing, racking up judge points with each push. His shaft found my prostate with each upward thrust. I pushed my ass back into his gut, and the next thrust hit bottom, his balls slapping with a very wet squish against my own. He held that position for a few seconds as his fingers moved to my erect nipples and began to squeeze. He slowly began the in-out movement again. That was it. My cock lengthened to its max and began to spasm and recoil, shooting long ropes of creamy cum on the shower wall. The automatic compression of my anal muscles when I jacked pushed him over. He was blasting inside as his hands moved to my shaft and milked the last few drops from me. The weekend was off to an unusual but great start. I'd give him a 9.5 for that performance.

We finished by soaping each other. Then we dried and dressed in pickup gear. We were headed for a new upscale hetero bar a few blocks away, hoping to get lucky that night. We were confident. After all we were in marketing and could sell the proverbial icebox to the proverbial Eskimo. What young lady could resist our charms?

We ordered a few and leaned back against the bar rail to survey the scene, our legs manspread which put our dicks front and center. We knew we looked good. We owned the fuckin' place. We were pumped and glowing with the hot shower and the recent sex. A little advertising never hurt the chances of a sale. It was a large but narrow place with a long bar down one side and small stand up tables along the other exposed-brick wall. A few potted plants hanging over the bar betrayed the "fern bar" nature of the place: ferns mean hetero; dance floor means gay—at least in our urban environment where large dance clubs (mostly gender neutral, but a few decidedly gay) had been forced into the more spacious buildings of the city's perimeter.

Although it wasn't too crowded, there were almost as many young ladies as there were male hunters. That was unusual, but it spoke well for the bar's future success. The odds were going to be pretty good. We spotted two attractive "office types"—with short skirt suits, but with blouses under the jackets unbuttoned way, way down, showing a decent amount of cleavage. Each wore a charm on a gold chain, suspended precariously between full breasts that were threatening to pop out of their lacey push-ups. The charms were the familiar circular symbols (with arrow and cross) intertwined—not subtle at all. I think a number of us were waiting anxiously for the "wardrobe malfunction." One was blonde; one was a brunette—just our types. So Britt and I casually made our way to them. After a few words of welcome and introduction, we ordered drinks for all of us. The evening had started just as we expected and definitely was promising.

Both had gone to State. We had been classmates at the enormous school. One was working as an executive assistant to a sports franchise owner (i.e. secretary-go-fer); the other had just landed a paralegal job in one of the big firms. We continued to talk for another half hour or so and with another round. The blonde's hand kept caressing my forearm. I guessed that we were headed for an interesting evening.

Then everything went to hell. Two guys dressed mostly in leather walked into the bar and bee-lined directly to our young ladies. They were much larger than we were and looked a lot more dangerous. They embraced the girls and held them in a way (with lips locked, breasts squashed into chests and hands on asses) that it was obvious that they were an item. Almost immediately, "our girls'" attention turned to the new guys. We had been "openers" and had not even realized it. We were definitely rusty and about a hundred bucks poorer.

We tried again without success. By then it was nearly eleven and the ladies had paired off or left. Britt looked at me, "I guess you're my date tonight." I nodded and we headed out, walking the few blocks to my apartment. This was the fifth weekend in a row where we had ended together, having struck out in a bar or been denied home base on a date.

We stripped, quickly cleaned and were in my king within a few minutes. I assumed "the position"—shoulder on the mattress, pillows under my gut, ass held high by an arched back. Britt approached the bed and pushed me over onto my back. "We're trying something new tonight. I'm taking you missionary. Pull up those legs, vee them and show me that hole." I quickly complied with his unusually forceful commands, although we had never faced each other before when fucking. I guess maybe it was just too personal when eyes met. We were after all just casual fuck buddies.

Britt moved in below me and rolled me up, placing the pillow under my back. Then he bent down deep and licked my crack starting at my lower back and continuing on all the way to the taint. When he reached the taint, he continued up the back of my dick and swallowed the head. It felt out of this world. I guess there's a first time for everything. The tongue next zeroed in on the rim. He circled it a few times. Then I felt the tongue enter. Wow! I nearly came right then and there. But, I was really tight and the tongue couldn't go far. So his fingers came next, liberally coated with a new peppermint-flavored lube. He opened me expertly. And it tingled with the mint oil. Then he pulled my cheeks apart, and it was the tongue again. Curled, it darted in and out. I couldn't see, but I could feel the intense pleasure and my imagination did the rest. Fuck, that felt good. No girl had ever done that to me. I was moving again up the mountain of pleasure.

He kept it up for a few minutes, until I announced that I was about to cum. He pulled out, knelt back on his haunches as his fingers strangled my dick into submission. He pulled a fake stern look, "We're cummin' together, boy. You cum when I say so." Britt positioned and, just as he always did, pushed past the ring and jammed to his hilt. It shocked me so much that I yelped and released my legs which fell onto his shoulders. When he realized the new position and that he had me in a surrender position, he leaned in and jackknifed me. Then he stiffened his legs to provide leverage and started to pound. We've all heard of Pound Town. This was everything I could have imagined; he was definitely a part of the town's road crew with a powerful jack-hammer. And I was by then holding him in place with hands on his cheeks, fingers buried in his crack, urging him harder, faster and deeper. I was lovin' the punishment.

His face reddened; his nose flared, his eyes widened in pleasure. No more baby-faced boy. He was definitely a man on a mission. His next move was so sudden, I couldn't react. His head plunged down and our lips met. His tongue emerged and started to duel. Fuck. Another first! We had never kissed before. He had taken my mouth as he had taken my ass. The deep penetration coupled with the crush of his abs on my shaft and the intensity of his total possession of my body pushed me over. I started to spew onto his chest, and, of course, my spasms began the milking that would drain him of his seed. I felt the hot shots of jism deep inside. They were huge and powerful.

"Fuck, Britt. That was incredible. No one has ever done that to me before. I never would have guessed. I'm pretty sure I'm pregnant. It's my time of month."

A few minutes later, he dropped off, both of us exhausted by the effort. I looked over at him, "Britt, you've been watching gay porn, haven't you? I didn't expect any of this. But, let me say this. I'm ready for any more research and experimentation that you might like to try. That was absolutely awesome." My head rolled on the pillow, and my lips took his as my arms went around his torso to pull him hard into me. "You can top, but I'm big-spooning tonight."

"Not on your life, bro. I own your bod for the weekend. I decide how I'm gonna use it." He pushed me over, planted his dick between my thighs and grabbed my dick while pulling me into his gut. Somehow I was sure our relationship had reached a new plateau that night. Previously it had been "compensatory" mutual stimulation and orgasm. And I had run the show. This was different. He was definitely in charge, taking everything he wanted—and I was giving it all gladly. I loved the physical part of it, but I immediately began to stew over the personal aspects. I still refused to consider myself gay, and certainly not a submissive bottom. And I didn't want to think about the long term issues. Mutual playing around with a fuck buddy was one thing—so long as there were ladies around as well to validate my self-image and sex. But anything more than that was going to require a whole new mindset. I wasn't ready for that. Somebody should have warned us that we were playing with fire—actually not fire, red hot dicks. So I punted. Sort of. I just stopped thinking about it. The sex was just too good. I just loved the feel of a red hot, rock hard dick inside me.

The rest of the weekend followed the same pattern. We ran in the park the next morning—after he fucked me again when we awakened. When I woke, I realized that he was still spooning me—we hadn't reversed during the night. His dick was hard and poised. He slid my leg forward and held me in place with his thigh and a firm grip on my dick. Then he tapped a few times and slid right in. Fuck, some of his jism was still inside me. He pumped deep and hard, hitting the prostate perfectly from this position. He pushed my torso forward and spread out on top—again in total control. Once again he began the deep hard pounding that he used the previous night. It didn't last long. He was firing within a minute or two, while I was soaking the sheets with my cum. To emphasize his control, he stayed on top while his cock remained hard and plugged his cream inside. "You said last night that you're already preg, bitch. So a little more semen isn't going to make any difference. But, don't worry, I'll take care of ya'." He laughed, but it wasn't a happy laugh; it was the laugh of one of those cartoon villains tying a damsel to the tracks.