New Guy in Town

They're always looking at my ass. Those big bodybuilders at the gym where I work out. It's flattering of course, but a little unnerving too. Like those two guys today, standing behind me over by the bench press weights -- I could see them in the mirror. They were talking and cracking jokes, and I'm sure they were eying my body from behind. That big hairy Italian even gave a whistle, and the two of them chuckled, he and the black guy with the huge biceps. Do they want me? Do they want to use my smooth, compact body as a sex toy? The thought excites me. But I don't want to go there. Not now. Not with them.

After my shower, in the locker room, I look at myself, naked, in the mirror. There's good reason why they want me. My hairless, stocky body is a tight little ball of muscle that any hulking furball might well enjoy playing with. I turn to look at the muscular globes of my buttocks, my smooth thighs thick below them, my broad back rippling above. I turn the other way and crook my arm to bulge my bicep, then the other way to ripple the tricep on the back, while my baby-smooth pecs pump up and down. I'm hot! My thick 7" cock starts to rise in excitement as I pose for myself.

The door from the gym slams open and I hear the big dudes coming in from the weight room. I turn and busy myself in my open locker, not wanting anybody to notice my self admiration.

"Let's hit the showers," says the Italian.

"Nah, I'm gonna shower at home. I think maybe my honey's waitin' for me, so...."

"I get it. You're hopin' for a nice piece of ass as a reward for a good workout!"

"Got that right," leered Biceps. "Hey, maybe you'll get one too!" He nodded toward me and they chuckled.

"Later, Vito!" Biceps threw the farewell over his huge shoulder as he punched the exit door open.

Vito headed for the shower, emitting a low whistle under his breath as he passed behind my naked body. In the showers, he picked a spot where we could see each other, and as he lathered up his hirsute bulk, he kept glancing at me. It felt good, but made me nervous too, and I tried not to catch his eye. I pulled up my tighty-whiteys to hide my growing erection, but I couldn't help but see that he was fully erect, and staring straight at me. Caressing his soapy, furry muscles, sloshing soap around his jutting rod and bulging bag of balls. There was no mistaking his desire now. I still didn't meet his eyes, and fumbled with my things as I finished dressing and stuffed everything into my duffel bag.

As I passed the gym office on my way out, Coach said 'Hi' and got up from his desk. Coach was the gym manager, a big blond lummox with a winning grin and the look of a corn-fed bull right off the farm. He came to his office door as I passed it.

"You doin' OK, kid?" he asked. He was wearing a sleeveless net top, and blond hair poked through the mesh over his chest, along with his nips.

"Sure, no prob, Coach."

"Looks like you're makin' some good progress," he smiled, pinching my upper arm in a friendly gesture.

"Thanks for noticing, Coach."

"Listen, Billy... just wanna mention that you might should be careful around some of these guys. Have any of them been givin' you any trouble?"

"No. No problems," I stammered, distracted by his hairy blond pec almost at eye level.

"You know that guy Vito, he's had kind of a rough past. Got in some trouble a while back. Was in court for sexual assault. Looks like he raped some kid over in Little Italy. Almost did time, but his uncle got the charges dropped."

My jaw dropped, barely missing his nipple, which looked stiffer than before.

"So if anybody gives you any trouble, you let me know, OK?"

"Sure thing, Coach."

"You wanna relax for a while back in the back office here? Have a power cocktail, put your feet up?" His sky blue eyes looked straight at me, engulfing me, as his farmboy smile broadened. I felt dizzy.

"I... well... Sir... really nice of y... I mean, yes... but... not today. Thanks."

He sensed my confusion, and moved immediately to put me at ease. He seemed to be instinctively aware of the extreme power his smile and handsome face had over people, and was eager to soften the impact.

"Hey, no pressure, Billy. So you'll take a rain check on that? Sure. Any time, kid. Door's open... to you anyhow." He squeezed my tricep and winked. I left.

I know I will give my body to one of these men someday. I've always wanted that, and it will happen. But I've never done anything. Well, not since that one time in high school. That was in a locker room too. The football star. And I was boys' cheerleading captain. We were alone in the gym after both our squads had practiced.

"Hey Billy, wanna wrestle?"

"Wrestle? You mean you and me? Have a wrestling match? Like right here?"

"Sure. Back on the mats in the wrestlers' training room. Wanna?"

"Why not?" I smiled, flabbergasted but pleased.

Back by the mats, I was surprised when he quickly slipped off his gym trunks, and started to pull his t-shirt over his head.

"Hey, what are you...?"

"What's wrong," he queried. "Don't you wanna wrestle naked? C'mon, try it. More fun that way," he said, without any trace of irony in his voice. I assented, not really understanding why, and pulled off my cheerleader togs.

A few minutes into the match I understood why. I understood that he wanted to take my ass. He kept moving his body into rear-entry positions when he pinned me, and I saw that his cock was fully erect. Was I being raped? Well, not really. I could choose to pull out of his holds at any moment. I could simply stand up and call off the informal match, if I wanted to. I was in a position either to let him into my virgin ass, or to refuse him. I let him in.

Our eyes never met. When he had spent himself inside me, he got up without a word and headed for the showers. I lay there for a while, listening to him showering a few rooms away, thinking. I got up only after I heard him leave the locker room.

After that I could never look right into his eyes when we'd meet in the school hallways. But when we'd work out with the girls' cheerleading squad, I felt a special bond with their captain, who was his girlfriend. I knew she and I had shared an experience.

That experience leaves a glowing memory in my mind. Pleasant, but confusing. I know I want to have that experience again. Not with him, of course. It has to be... who?

* * * * * * * *

The municipal swimming pool where I work was deserted at the moment. Later on there would be a few moms with toddlers coming in to the kiddie pool, and some lap swimmers would come in to use the Olympic lanes after work. But no one had arrived yet, so after setting the chlorine levels and performing some other basic maintenance, I had a few moments to myself. Feeling puckishly mischievous, I slipped off my speedo and dove into the cool water naked. I loved the feel of he water rippling around my nudity, caressing my muscles, my genitals floating free in the waves in front of my crotch. I swam several laps and got lost in my thoughts.

Horace the old janitor came through the bleachers with his hand broom, and I assumed a treading-water position so he wouldn't see my smooth buttocks bobbing out of the water behind me. It was too late.

"You better get some clothes on, boy!" he called, before heading off toward the front office to sweep. "Kids! Sheesh!"

I bounded out of the pool at the other end and swiftly drew my swimsuit up over my rounded popo, and tucked away the floppy parts into the front. And not a minute too soon, as Mrs. O'Brien came through the turnstile with her kids just a few minutes later. I signed them in and got the floaties out of the back closet for the kids.

As they were waddling off toward the kiddie pool, I heard a commotion back by the entrance. Investigating, I found a bearded man in a trench coat and horn-rimmed glasses trying to enter through the exit turnstile.

"Excuse me, sir, that's the way out," I explained. "But you should suit up first, in the locker room. Then I'll check you in to the pool. Do you have a membership card."

"Excusing of me, so sorry," he apologized awkwardly. "I am card not. What you are say?"

"The locker room," I say extra loud, as though it will help him understand my English better if I turn up the volume. "Change into your bathing suit in the locker room. Then come in through the other turnstile."

As though he does not hear me, he vaults his big frame over the turnstile in an agile hop that belies his apparent awkwardness, and heads toward the pool.

"You can't go over there in your street clothes, sir!" I run after him.

"Such pool fine!" he says with satisfaction, standing on the edge, taking off his trench coat and placing it over his arm. "Amerika!" he smiles with satisfaction, and his cheery smile, peeking out of the ball of fur that is his whole head, brightens the entire room. He stood several inches taller than me, but it was hard to make out anything about his build under his rumpled and ill-fitting shirt and pants.

"Sir," I try again to explain, "you change into your suit in the locker room, and then come in here."

"I sorry, sir," he says, as though noticing me for the first time, "What you are say?"

As he walks toward me, he trips on the cleaning net, and his bulky body falls against mine, sending us both plunging into the pool. Suddenly we are in a slo-mo underwater dance. His big frame goes spread-eagled, and I instinctively clutch him from underneath. A momentary embrace is our reflex as we recover ourselves and swim to the edge. His glasses are at the bottom of the pool and I can now see a pair of coal-black, Slavic eyes, intense but friendly, enveloping me.

"I so sorry," he laughs, and his infectious laughter invades me—we burst into gales of laughter together. "I Sandro," he continues. "Sandro of Makedonia."

"Hello Sandro. I'm Billy. Billy of Springfield. Nice to meet you. Very nice."

* * * * * *

Diving to the bottom to retrieve Sandro's glasses, I feel his gaze on my backside, but not aggressively. On the contrary, his gaze is ingenuous and kindly. When I splash back up to the surface, his smile blossoms, it fills the room til it is bursting with radiance!

* * * * * *

Assigning Horace to cover for me at the desk, I take Sandro back to the locker room to get his wet clothes off him. As the layers of cloth come off his frame, I stand gaping, transfixed by the magnificence unfolding before me. The baggy clothes, it turns out, are his brother-in-law's, as the airline lost his baggage on his way over from the old country a few days ago, and he is staying with his sister and her husband for the time being.

Underneath the borrowed clothes is a solid build, stocky without being short, immensely broad-chested, and it is covered with the same curly black hair that frames his friendly eyes, snub nose, and smiling lips. He looks like one of those garden topiaries -- hedges, shaped in the form of people, animals, or objects -- beginning to bloom, every inch covered evenly with a lusty growth of vegetation.

Sandro senses my admiration and does not seem to mind. In fact, he seems to feel mutual admiration for my smooth musculature, and as he looks at me, he is standing there naked, his substantial manhood is lustily peeking out of his bushy crotch and making its way toward pointing at me. Tentatively, but with boldness, he touches my smooth chest and runs his fingers down my flat belly.

"Your body like sportman statue of old Atheney," he marvels. "A wondrous smooth. I never see so smooth, so beauty."

I respond by running my fingers through the fur on his chest, and in a few seconds our lips meet in a deep, sloppy kiss. He envelops me in his furry arms and presses my smooth muscles to his hairy ones, and I respond by opening my arms to him. Our tongues are already having sex. Time stops.

Then starts again, abruptly. Horace's voice, moving toward the locker room. "Are ya decent?"

Sandro and I separate in a flash. "You'll have to cover for me at the desk, Horace. For the rest of the afternoon. I'm taking Mr. Sandro to get some dry clothes." I dress quickly and stuff Sandro's wet clothes into my duffel, and his hairy muscles into an orange Springfield-Recreation-Department worker's suit.

"Where we go, Billy?"

"My place, Sandro. C'mon."

* * * * * * *

When our naked bodies descend, after what seems like an age, onto my bed, time stops again. Or rather, it goes into delicious, languid slo-mo. Sliding into Sandro's arms is like slipping into a pool of room-temperature water. I luxuriate in the warmth his body transmits to mine. My limbs relax in his strong embrace, but our lips are anything but relaxed as they eagerly kiss, our tongues intertwine, slurp at each other, trade places in my mouth and then his. I am home.

Sandro eagerly kisses every part of my face, and then moves down to my neck. The ball of fur that is his entire head tickles deliciously, and I emit a throaty, sexy laugh, embracing his hairy noggin with my smooth, muscular arms. He moves down my chest, moving more slowly now, just as eager, but languid, softly flicking his tongue all over my baby-smooth skin, which seems to delight him as much as his fur delights me. His eyes meet mine as his tongue finds my nipple, and I roll my head back, hands clasped behind my head, and give myself to his lips. Down, down he goes -- it tickles again when his tongue lovingly invades my belly button. My body contracts as I laugh, a move which puts my legs over his shoulders. Placing his paws on the backs of my thighs, he goes down on my cock, swallowing all seven inches at once, making my body contract again, my legs embrace his fuzzy head. Down to my balls he licks, and takes them into his mouth, his eyes meeting mine once again. I run my fingers through the curly locks cradled in my crotch, enjoying the fuzzy feeling. Our eyes are having sex now.

"You will finishing?"

"Hunh?"

"Will come sperma?"

"No way, big guy! Not yet!" I rise to my knees and enfold my beary guy in my arms. "It's your turn, now... or rather, my turn!" I push him onto his back, barely breaking our kiss, and begin my own lips' progress in the exploration, the pleasuring, of every inch of his bearish form. Nibbling his beard and furry pecs, pushing aside the hair to find his nipple and pleasure it, catching it between one lip and a tooth to administer a gentle bite, an action which sends him into writhing, moaning delight.

"Bozhe -- Bozhe -- Bozhe" he whimpers, whatever that means.

I move on down his writhing body, and am stunned at what I find. I haven't seen many hard-ons in my life, but I can't imagine any man having a penis this large. It is a couple of inches longer than my own sturdy manhood, and just as thick -- a healthy fistfull. Or mouthfull, but I am apprehensive. I can't imagine swallowing that whole thing.

Also, it looks different from what I expect. Instead of the cockhead I am used to seeing, looking like a Nazi helmet from an old war movie, the skin of the sides extends all the way to the tip, bulging a bit just before it, and ending in a crinkly little opening that looks like it leads inside. So this is an uncircumcised cock!

Like a diner about to try an exotic delicacy, I touch the mysterious tip with my tongue -- my bear's body arches and he moans. I run my tongue around it, and he arches again, wrapping his hairy thighs around my body. Whimpering with pleasure, he reaches down and takes it by the base -- the bulge near the tip starts to peek out, a cockhead peeking at me with its single eye, winking. Now I understand what to do: I take the shaft in my own fist and pull the skin down, letting the glans crawl further out, and now I let my tongue do the rest. I swirl my wet tongue around the cockhead and slip it under the fold of skin. Sandro writhes and moans, holding me tight with this thighs. I want to take the whole thing into my mouth, but am afraid to, so I lick up and down the shaft, and occupy myself with nibbling the hair on his balls, then swallowing his balls, swirling my tongue around them inside my mouth. He is bucking and lurching by now, I can hardly stay on him, so lustily he bucks. I must have his manhood in my mouth, as much of it as I can get in anyhow, so back up the tower I climb with my tongue, and encircle the glans once again with my lips. Down on it, a few inches -- his haunches squirm in a circling motion, as though spiraling into me with a hand drill. A few more inches, I feel the tip of his cock near the back of my throat. I wet my lips and renew their embrace of his thick shaft. A little further, just a few inches more to go. Moaning, he arches back and tightens the grasp of his thighs around my head, placing his paws gently on the back of my head, running his fingers through my yellow curls, nudging his meat gently but inexorably further into my throat. I almost gag, but something in my throat suddenly releases, and bingo -- he's all the way in. My lips are kissing his bushy crotch with his entire hard penis holstered between them. His cockhead is kissing my larynx from inside. I start to move rhythmically on it, and his haunches buck up into my mouth in sync, his strong hands helping with gentle pushing on the back of my head. His cock seems to swell even bigger as his balls pull up tight under it, my lower lip feels the tube distending on the underside of his rod, feels something flowing through it, and a half-second later, his juices explode into the the back of my throat straight from his cockhead.

My own youthful, virginal (until now) cock needs no touching: it erupts, no hands, with my own juices, spurting into the hair on the backs of his thighs, and onto the part of his crotch under the testicles. Sandro shouts something I don't understand as his arms and legs clutch my head and upper body, and as his cock spurts into my hungry mouth again, and again, and again, and again....

I am home.

Our kiss is delicious with our conmingled sperm -- I've licked mine off his legs, mixing it with what's left of his in my mouth, and we kiss long and sloppy. After what seems like several weeks, but was probably about a half-hour, Sandro sits bolt upright.

"My clothes I can dry? Yes?"

"Don't worry, you can put on something of mine."

"But sister my... She say I must to apartment find...."

"Sandro... I think you just found one...."

"?"

"You're home, Sandro."

Did the lights go up right then, or did Sandro just smile?

"I home."

* * * * * * ** * *

A week later, back at the gym:

Vito snarled. "So you ducked out on me, kid. You didn't give Vito what he wanted the other day. Whatsa matter, kid, think you can turn me down?"

"What you are saying for my friend?" Sandro stepped between Billy and Vito. "Not good, Mr. Showing-Off." Sandro towered over the scene, his elbows crooked so that his fuzzy upper arms looked like they had swallowed melons. Cracking his hairy knuckles. Vito looked into his black, Slavic eyes and quailed. Silently he turned and padded off toward the showers without a word.

"Y'know it's too bad he didn't do time after all," offered Biceps. "A year or two as some thug's bitch would have taught him a good lesson." Biceps cracked his own knuckles, Coach grunted and scratched his nuts, we all watched Vito's waggling buttocks recede toward the showers. It's beginning to look like the guys are gonna teach Vito a lesson as a group activity. What a gang!

Sandro caught my eye, and we exchanged smiles.