AUTHOR'S NOTE: This one is for my fellow author "13," who requested a tale from the other POV. Best wishes, Ken
This is my story. A year ago I was a happy man. I had a good job at high-tech firm whose name you'd recognize, with possibilities for advancement. I had a house in a nice neighborhood. I had an SUV that I'd splurged a bit to buy, but that I was making steady progress paying on. Most of all, I had a beautiful girl whom I loved. I was even toying with the idea of popping the question.
I still have everything except the girl. But my life will never be the same.
It all started because I wanted to lose weight. I'd been working very hard and been under a lot of pressure to produce. Not only did I not have enough time to exercise, but my way of dealing with the stress was to eat.
Patti, my girlfriend, was too nice to say anything. I noticed, though, when we went out to eat, how she'd order a dinner salad and a diet soda while I had an appetizer, entree, and dessert, washed down with beer and coffee. She'd always finish first and watch me chomp away.
I looked at her, with her honey-blond hair, brown eyes, flawless complexion, and curves all in the right places. Then I took a good look at me. Unless I got things under control fast I was going to become a fat slob. Already all my clothes, especially my pants, felt too tight. I also realized I was avoiding looking at myself in the full-length mirror in my bedroom when I got dressed after a shower.
It's ironic, but Patti was my main motivation to get into shape. I wanted to look good for her. So I bit the bullet and changed my eating habits. I gave up the Egg McMuffins and hash browns in favor of instant oatmeal and fresh fruit. I drank Slim-Fast for lunch and started eating sensible dinners, as the commercials love to say.
Well, darned if it didn't work. I started to drop some pounds. Then it really sank in. Thin and flabby was no better than fat and flabby. I was going to have to work out as well as diet. Okay. I had a bench and a set of free weights that I hadn't used since I was in college, dusty but intact.
I bought a copy of Men's Health magazine, after studying the bare-chested cover model. The guy looked great and I wanted to look just like him. So I set to work, lifting, crunching, grunting and groaning, three times a week. At first I almost quit, I was so sore the next day. Little by little, I began to see results. My belly stopped hanging out over my belt and became flat and firm. I doubled the frequency of my ab workouts and to my delight, after a couple of months I began to notice ridges on my stomach. That got me really fired up. I'd never had a six-pack even when I was younger. I took out several subscriptions to exercise magazines, started popping creatine pills, bought more equipment.
I got a real glow on one day when Patti snuggled up to me while we were walking down the street and said, "I love walking with you. I see other women look at you and me. I know they're wishing they could be me." I kissed her and put my arm tight around her tiny waist.
There was just one thing. It was great that other women were checking me out and that Patti was too secure to be jealous. I was kind of thrown, though, when I noticed that other men occasionally seemed to be doing the same thing. It hadn't occurred to me that I might attract the attention of gays and I didn't appreciate it. When I mentioned this to Patti she told me not to be so uptight. "Face it, you're a handsome guy, Sean darling," she said. I decided I could live with a few unwanted stares.
I spent hours reading the magazines, studying the pictures of the bodybuilders, trying to figure out how I could look more like them. They were so cut, so defined, and they filled every inch of the skimpy workout gear they wore. Little by little I realized I could wear that stuff too and not look ridiculous. One day I bought an International Male catalog. At home I turned the pages, looking at the models in the underwear and swimwear sections. They looked so hot wearing just the bare minimum. I thought about how it would feel to have only a thong or a posing strap on. Suddenly I realized that I was breathing fast, my heart was thudding, and my cock was halfway hard. A normal guy isn't supposed to think things like that. I shut the magazine and was about to pitch it in the trash, but something stopped me. I didn't look at it any more that evening, though. I put it at the bottom of one of my desk drawers and went to work out.
Despite my new muscles, I still was having trouble keeping the pounds off, and decided that I had to add regular aerobic workouts to my routine. There was a high school in my neighborhood that had a new running track and I started using it early in the morning before I went to work. Keeping this up turned out to be really hard. I hated getting up in the morning, especially with stiff legs from the last run. I struggled through a week or so and was about to quit. Saturday of that week dawned cool and foggy. I'd already decided to take Sunday off to give myself a break.
Usually this early I was alone on the track, but today there was another man already running when I arrived. He was wearing a white T-shirt and those shorts with the Texas flag pattern on the butt that look stupid on most guys. Not on this guy, though. Truth was, he could have worn a burlap sack and still turned heads. Even from a distance I could tell he had the kind of body that could have been featured in the exercise mags. From the back his torso rose in a textbook V-shape from his small waist, his butt just slightly wider beneath, supported by strong legs. His calves bulged out as he ran. He had his fists lightly clenched at the ends of two massive arms.
I stared as he came back around toward me. His features were chiseled, his hair dark and wavy. His chest strained at the confines of his T-shirt. I tried not to look too obviously, but I couldn't miss the healthy bulge in the front of his snugly fitting Texas-flag workout shorts.
To my surprise, the stranger raised one arm in a friendly wave and smiled, showing a set of white teeth that positively glowed in the gray light. "Morning," he called as he passed in front of me. I realized he was running much faster than I had thought at first. He made it look easy.
I raised a hand in response and ducked my head, my cheeks burning. Why did I suddenly feel like I was at my first dance or something? I quickly got on the track and began my run, forgetting that I hadn't stretched or warmed up. My muscles reminded me pretty fast. I slowed my pace and resigned myself to being lapped by the other guy on the track. This wasn't a race, but my male ego was still bruised.
Sure enough, the handsome man blew by me repeatedly as I doggedly did my laps. Maybe the fifth or sixth time he came up behind me, though, I heard his footfalls slow down, and then he was in step beside me.
"Mind if I join you for a bit?" he asked, smiling. After all that running he didn't even sound particularly winded.
I shrugged, much as I could shrug while jogging. "Sure, if you like. I'm not exactly going at your pace, am I?"
"I'm almost done. This is my cooldown."
"Aw heck, you sure know how to make a guy feel small." He was using me as his post-workout pacer.
He laughed, and clapped me on the shoulder. "Don't mean to do that, buddy. Cheer up. You just got started, right? Trust me, you'll get better."
I looked at him. Maybe it was just oxygen debt but his presence was making me feel lightheaded. "Well, thanks for the vote of confidence." I stuck out my hand at him. "The name's Sean. Sean Mathews."
His grip was firm. "Barry McDaniel. You live around here, Sean?"
We did several more laps, keeping a pace at which we could exchange a word now and then. Barry lived only about a mile from my house. He worked for a communications firm in town. Soon I had done my couple of miles. We gradually slowed down until we were standing, panting, at the side of the track.
"That was one long cooldown. Thanks for keeping me company. You didn't have to do that."
"My pleasure absolutely," he said. "Much more fun to run with someone."
"Well," I said, "I'm not exactly on your level."
"You will be. Want to do it again?"
This took me by surprise. "Why would you want to? I'm a beginner compared to you."
Barry shook his head, smiling. "Doesn't matter. We can run separately and join up at the end, just like today. In a few weeks you'll be as fast as me anyway."
"Well, okay, if you're sure I won't cramp your style."
"You won't."
At the parking lot near the track Barry stopped in front of his car and shook my hand. "I usually don't come here this early on the weekend, but I'm sure glad I did today." He smiled. His eyes were bright blue, very different from Patti's warm brown ones. Suddenly I felt shy again.
