I Confess What Happens to Me in the Gym Lockers

There are things one never says out loud, and yet needs to write down so they stop weighing on you. This is one of them. I’m telling it exactly as it happened, without dressing it up, because the truth of who I am and what I desire doesn’t need makeup.

From a very young age I understood that my body didn’t fit into the boxes everyone else kept insisting on drawing. I grew up with skin that tans on its own, wide hips, a mouth people looked at for far too long before tearing their eyes away. I’m androgynous, and for years that was a wound. Today it’s what I like most about myself.

I learned late to enjoy it. I had to leave behind a lot of people who loved me falsely and discover, on some random night, that other people’s desire is also a mirror. That when someone looks at me with hunger, I see myself whole for the first time.

For a long time I believed I had to choose. That I should erase one part of myself so the other could be acceptable, as if desire could be pruned like a plant. It took me years to understand that my body isn’t a contradiction, but an invitation. That there are men who spend their whole lives looking for exactly what I am without daring to name it: a chick with firm tits, a high ass, and a hard cock between her legs.

I liked women first, when I still didn’t know how to read myself. Then came the men, the ones who aren’t afraid of what they feel, the ones who come close with steady hands and a clear gaze. Those are the ones who look for me now. And I learned to recognize them at a glance, by the way they breathe when I walk into a room, by how the bulge in their pants shows before they even say hello.

That’s why I go to the gym. Not for health, though that’s the excuse I give. I go because that place, at certain hours, is a territory of honest bodies. There, no one pretends for very long. Cocks speak before mouths do.

***

I always arrive around nine at night, when the office crowd has already left and only the serious trainers are still there. The room smells of metal and clean sweat. I like that hour because the light turns warmer and the conversations die down.

I wear leggings that leave little to the imagination — everything shows on me; I don’t have a pussy, but the side outline of my cock reads perfectly through the Lycra — and an old T-shirt that makes it easy to guess I’m not wearing a bra. I walk among the machines with a calm I practiced for months. I know exactly what I provoke. I feel it at the back of my neck, in that tingle that appears when several pairs of eyes follow you at the same time.

There’s a new guy there, has been for two weeks. Tall, broad-shouldered, with a short beard that gives him a serious air. I baptized him Tomás in my head, though I never asked his name. Tomás trains with headphones on and his gaze fixed on the floor, as if concentrating on the weights could save him from something.

That night I chose the machine beside him. There was no need, there were ten free, but I chose it anyway. I started my set slowly, controlling every movement, knowing that each time I bent over he lost the rhythm of his breathing.

—Do you mind if I share? —I asked, pointing to the bench he was half-using.

He took one earbud out. It took him a while to answer, as if the words wouldn’t quite come.

—No, sure. It’s all yours.

It’s all yours. I laughed inwardly at how good that sounded in his mouth.

We took turns in silence for a while. I sat down, he waited standing, arms crossed, pretending to look at his phone. But every time I got up I found him looking at me, and each time it took him a little less time to look away. The distance between us kept shrinking without either of us moving it on purpose.

—You’ve got a good pace —he said at last, just to say something.

—I’ve been practicing for years —I replied, and let the line carry two meanings.

A nervous smile slipped out of him. He lowered his gaze to my hands, to my legs, to the exact place where the fabric was stretched tight over me, and I saw him swallow. Men like Tomás think they can hide it, but the body always speaks before the mouth. His was shouting. And the cock starting to outline itself beneath his shorts was shouting even louder.

***

The gym kept emptying out. When I finished my last set, it was just the two of us and a staff member putting dumbbells away on the other side of the room. I dried my neck with the towel and walked toward the locker room without looking back, because I knew I didn’t need to. The footsteps behind me came three seconds later.

The locker rooms at that hour are mine. I know the echo of the tiles, the hum of the lights, the smell of cheap soap mixing with the steam from the showers. I went in, left the towel on a bench, and turned just as he crossed the door.

—Sorry —Tomás said, stopping dead when he saw me—. I took the wrong…

—You didn’t take the wrong one.

The words hung between us. He looked toward the exit, then toward me, and something in his chest decided to stay. I took a step. He took another. The distance finally gave up.

—I don’t know if I… —he started, and his voice broke halfway through.

—You don’t have to know —I told him, putting a hand on his chest. His heart was pounding like a fist against a door—. You just have to stop thinking.

I kissed him slowly, giving him time to run if he wanted to. He didn’t. His mouth answered with a clumsy hunger, held back for too long, and when his hands found my hips he squeezed them like someone finally allowing himself to touch something he’d been staring at for weeks. I slid one hand between us and rested it on the hard bulge forming under his pants. He moaned into my mouth. I squeezed harder, tracing the shape of his cock through the fabric, feeling it grow with every rub.

—You are… —he murmured against my neck, discovering me, while his hand timidly slid down my stomach until it met what he still didn’t dare name.

—I’m whatever you want me to be tonight —I answered, guiding his fingers until he wrapped his palm around my cock standing hard against the Lycra—. And you’re going to let me decide.

I felt his breath catch. Felt his hand go still for a few seconds, as if memorizing the weight, the thickness, the way I pulsed against his fingers. Then he closed his fist and squeezed me slowly, and this time it was me who moaned.

—Fuck —he whispered—. Fuck, fuck.

—That’s it, exactly that —I told him—. You’re going to get fucked. And you’re going to like it more than you think.

I felt him give in. Felt all that stiffness of a serious man who lifts weights so he won’t have to think dissolve under my fingers. I tore off his sweaty T-shirt, ran my tongue along the line of his collarbone, bit one nipple until he let out a deep gasp that bounced off the tile. I yanked his shorts down. His cock sprang free, hard, thick, already glossy at the tip with liquid, curved upward as if it were searching for me on its own.

—Look at it —I said, wrapping my hand around it—. Look how I’ve got you. And I still haven’t really touched you.

***

I gently pushed him onto the bench and knelt between his legs. He looked at me wide-eyed, halfway between desire and the fear of desiring me, that border so many men don’t dare cross by day and cross running at night.

—Look at me —I asked—. I want you to see who’s sucking your cock.

I took him in my hands first, slowly. I ran my tongue all along him, from base to tip, in a long lick that made his hips tremble. I licked his balls, one and then the other, sucking them carefully, feeling them tense against my tongue. Then I went back up, and this time I did it: I opened my mouth and took him all the way in at once, until the tip hit the back of my throat and forced my eyes shut.

—Oh God —Tomás gasped—. Oh God, damn, oh God.

I sucked his cock slowly, greedily, salivating it well so it looked shiny between my lips every time I pulled it out. I wrapped my fist around the base and pumped in the same rhythm as my mouth, up and down, pressing my tongue against the frenulum, circling the swollen head. Each time I came down, I swallowed, and when I swallowed my throat closed around him and Tomás threw his head back with an animal groan.

—Don’t stop, don’t stop, don’t stop —he kept repeating, and I sped up only to punish him, then slow him a second later, leaving it outside my mouth, throbbing in the air, gleaming with my saliva.

—I’m going to suck you until you beg me —I told him, looking up from below, lips red and chin wet—. And when you beg me, I’m going to leave it halfway. Because tonight you’re working for it.

I took him back in my mouth. This time I slid one hand between his legs and stroked behind his balls, pressing that spot he didn’t know he had, while I kept sucking with my mouth. Tomás writhed on the bench, arched his back, reached with his hands for something to hold onto and only found me, my hair, my nape, the curve of my shoulder. The cold of the tiles against my knees and the heat of his cock against my palate were two truths at the same time, and I lived right at the crossing of both.

—I’m going to come —he said through clenched teeth, and I pulled my mouth away with my hand, leaving it hard and lonely against his belly.

—You’re going to come when I say —I answered, and I saw how that order, instead of frightening him, made him leak again—. Now it’s your turn.

I stood up, pulled my leggings down to my knees, and my cock sprang free too, hard, swollen, pointing at his face. Tomás stayed on the bench staring at it, mouth slightly open, saying nothing. I took his chin between two fingers.

—Open —I told him—. Like I did with you.

He hesitated half a second. Then he opened his mouth and I pushed my cock in slowly, feeling the warm wetness of his clumsy tongue, virgin to this, learning by instinct. I grabbed his head with both hands and set the pace. In, all the way, out, back in, feeling him choke and breathe through his nose, feeling him settle, feeling him start to suck for real, hungry.

—That’s it, pretty boy, just like that —I told him, tugging his hair—. Suck me like you’d suck yourself if you could. Deep.

His hands found my ass, squeezed it, spread it. I felt a curious finger slide between my cheeks, probing, and I let out an approving moan against his skull.

—That’s mine too —I told him—. But later. First something else.

***

I pulled his cock out of my mouth. I made him stand and lean against the cold tiles, with his back to me first. I pressed myself against his back, let him feel my whole body against his, my hard cock marking the crack of his ass, while I bit his neck and pinched his nipples with both hands.

—Keep going? —I asked in his ear, biting his lobe, rubbing against him.

—Don’t stop —he panted—. Don’t you dare stop.

I turned him around. I lifted one leg and hooked it over my hip, then shoved him against the tiles. I spat into my hand, covered my cock well, and with the other I reached for his ass. I slid one finger in first, slowly, feeling the ring tighten and then yield. I pushed in a second. Tomás groaned against my shoulder, biting me so he wouldn’t shout.

—Never —he whispered—, never had anyone…

—I know —I answered—. Hold on to me. I’m going slow.

I set the tip against him and pushed. The head went in tight, forcing, and he let out a long gasp, somewhere between pain and pleasure, that mixture only known the first time. I stayed still for a few seconds, letting him get used to it, kissing his neck while his body learned how to take me. Then I pushed a little more. And a little more. Until I was all the way in and both of us were trembling.

—Fuck, girl —he moaned—. Fuck, how you fill me up.

I started moving. Slow at first, pulling almost all the way out and sinking back in, while with my hand I worked his cock in the same rhythm. Each thrust tore a deeper, more surrendered groan from him. The tiles stuck to his wet back, my hips slammed into his, the whole locker room filled with the sound of flesh against flesh and the wet echo of our breathing.

I picked up the pace. I fucked him harder, deeper, driving my hip into him so each hit knocked the air out of him. I bit one shoulder. I grabbed one tit with my free hand. I put two fingers in his mouth and he sucked them the way he had sucked my cock, obedient, surrendered.

—Tell me what you are —I demanded in his ear, without stopping.

—Yours —he panted—. Yours, fuck, yours.

—Again.

—Yours, Sasha, yours, don’t stop, don’t stop.

I jerked him faster, syncing with my thrusts. I felt him tense up, felt his thighs lock, felt his voice start to shake. I squeezed the base of his cock, cutting off his orgasm a second before it broke.

—Not yet —I told him—. You come when I come. Both of us.

—I can’t hold it, I can’t hold it…

—Yes, you can.

I let go of his cock and picked the pace back up. There was no patience left in either of us. I fucked his ass with everything I had, slamming into him, tearing grunts out of him that escaped his throat without permission. I felt the orgasm climbing from my balls, that hot tingling that no longer stops. I wrapped his cock again and pumped fast, squeezing hard.

—Now —I moaned—. Now, come with me.

Tomás exploded first, with a rough groan, blasting thick ropes of cum against the tiles, against my hand, sliding down his thighs. Two more thrusts and I let go too, emptying myself inside him with a long spasm that bent my back, moaning against the back of his neck, feeling how my hot load filled him inside while he kept clenching around me with every pulse.

We stayed like that for a few seconds, hanging on to each other, breathing hard. I slid out of him slowly. A thread of cum ran down the inside of his thigh, and I caught it with two fingers and brought them to my mouth. He sucked them without hesitation.

***

We let ourselves fall onto the bench, legs weak, bodies shining with sweat and everything else. The locker room echo held onto every sound, the tiles were warm, and Tomás was trembling the way someone trembles when they’ve just discovered a part of themselves they’d been hiding for years.

We sat there for a while in silence, catching our breath, shoulder to shoulder on the bench. He stared at the floor with a new smile, different from the one he’d had when he walked in. Steam from the showers had drifted all the way to us and wrapped around us like a warm blanket.

I ran a hand over the back of his neck, still damp, and felt him shiver at that stupid, almost tender gesture, after everything else. Sometimes what unmans a man most isn’t getting fucked, but the caress that comes after, when there’s nothing left to prove.

—I don’t usually do this —he said, and laughed at his own line, because the two of us knew exactly what it was worth.

—Nobody usually does —I answered—. Until they do.

I dressed slowly. He watched me the way one watches something one knows they’ll never have in the same way again. Before I left, he asked my name at last, after everything.

—Sasha —I told him from the doorway—. Sasha Belmonte. In case you want to dream about me.

***

That’s why I’m writing this. Not to brag, but because for too long I believed that the desire I awaken in men was something to be ashamed of. Today I know it’s a gift. Mine and theirs. My cock, my ass, my mouth, everything I am and everything they don’t dare ask for until I put it right in front of them.

I’m going to keep going to the gym every afternoon. I’m going to keep walking between the lockers with a towel over my shoulder, feeling the looks, choosing who I let discover me. Every body that gives in is a confession the other one never dared make out loud, and I’m the only one who hears them all.

I’m Sasha Belmonte. And who knows, if some random afternoon we happen to cross paths among the weights, maybe you’ll be the one who stops pretending not to look at me. Maybe you’ll be the next one ending up against the tiles, learning to say my name between moans.