I am on an overnight business trip to another city, and I visit a health club I have never been to before. I arrive just a few minutes after the club opens in the early morning and I appear to be the only customer.
I change into my kit and go to the fitness room, where I see I am not quite the only user. At the far end is a man who looks Russian to me, with short-cut very blond hair, prominent cheekbones, a big square jaw, and hard, cold eyes, which he turns momentarily on me as I enter, before dismissing me as irrelevant. He is a huge guy, probably six inches taller than my five feet ten inches, and built like a granite wall, with a barrel chest, massive biceps and thighs, and shoulders as wide as a bus. He is pumping fearsome weights, which clang throughout the room as he powers them up and down, each exhalation an explosion of breath. He looks perhaps ten years younger than my 38. (To complete the picture of me, I am pale and slim but well-toned, with neatly cut dark brown hair and a small moustache, an accountant by trade, and I have been happily married for 13 years.)
I don the earphones of my MP3 player and knock out a few miles on the treadmill and cycle before returning to the changing room to prepare for my working day. As I leave the fitness room I notice the other occupant also left at some point. As I enter the changing room he is sitting on the bench on the other side of the room to mine, head hung and hands clasped, naked, his knees and feet wide apart. His pale body glows pink with the effort he put in on the weights and is covered in a light sheen of sweat. For reasons even I don't understand I find it difficult to drag my eyes away from this mountain of muscle, a large yellow bush springing from his groin above his long, thick cock. He sits upright on the bench and I realise he has noticed me staring. Feeling myself blush deeply, I turn to my own bench, strip off my sweaty gym gear and scuttle in embarrassment to the showers.