My First Time with Two Men at the Gym

I’m 37 today, but this story happened when I was 23. I tell it as a youthful anecdote, the kind you go years without telling anyone and that, even so, never quite leaves your head.

Back then I was slim, fair-skinned, and hairless on my body. I had played soccer all through childhood and adolescence, and that had left me with toned legs and glutes that more than one person, man or woman, looked at in the street without even trying to hide it. My waist was narrow, my back long. I wasn’t the kind of guy who lifted the most weight at the gym, but I had that build that catches attention without trying.

Sunday afternoons were my favorite time to work out. I used to get there around seven, when most people had already left and only the regulars were still around. It was a neighborhood gym, nothing fancy, with somewhat old machines and an air conditioner that was always broken in the summer. At that hour there was silence, low music, and the satisfaction of being able to train without waiting your turn.

Among the regulars at that time were Rodrigo and his nephew Damián. I had known them by sight for months, and over time we had exchanged a few words, a few jokes, that kind of shallow complicity that exists between people who share a space but not a real bond.

Rodrigo was about 45. He was brown-skinned, bald, broad-backed, with thick arms like tree trunks. A sturdy man’s body, the kind built by decades of iron, with an abdomen that showed the years had gone by too, but still radiated a physical energy that was hard to ignore. He sweated easily and spoke loudly. He had that unpretentious confidence of a man who knows what he wants and doesn’t need to announce it.

Damián was his visual opposite. Twenty-five or twenty-six years old, 6'3", with a body built with a dedication that bordered on obsession. Completely shaved legs, broad shoulders, narrow waist. Everything about him seemed calculated: the weights, the technique, even the clothes, those short, light shorts that left little to the imagination. He was charming in that way some guys are when they know they’re hot and don’t need to try to be likable.

That Sunday the three of us ended up together in the leg machines area.

—Come on, train with us —Rodrigo said casually, as if he had already decided for me—. We’re doing lower body. It’ll be good for you.

I agreed without thinking too much. It was what usually happened among the regulars.

***

The dynamic changed subtly, almost imperceptibly at first.

We started on the leg extension machine. While Damián completed his sets with almost monastic concentration, Rodrigo and I stood waiting and talked about training. The two of them had been on an anabolic cycle for weeks, and Rodrigo never missed a chance to tease his nephew with that shameless familiarity men have when they know each other too well.

—Ever since you started the cycle, you’re useless —Rodrigo would say with a grin—. You get tired too soon. Bet you take care of yourself at home before coming here.

Damián didn’t look at him. He kept counting his reps in silence, jaw clenched.

—On the contrary —he replied when he finished the set—. Since I started the cycle I do nothing. No girlfriend, nothing. All my energy goes to the iron.

—Same as me since the divorce. —Rodrigo glanced at me with a look that wanted to be complicit—. Best thing for performing like gladiators, right?

I smiled without committing myself. It was true that I had also gone months without sex, since ending a long relationship, but I wasn’t going to say that there.

When it was my turn, Rodrigo stood in front of me. He placed his hands on my quadriceps with calm authority, the way veteran trainers do when they assume the role without asking permission.

—Squeeze hard at the top. Don’t go down until I tell you —he instructed me.

The pressure of his hands was firm at first. Technical, functional. But at some point, without my being able to pinpoint exactly when, something changed in the way he touched me. His palms slid a couple of centimeters higher than necessary, lingering a second too long before pulling away. It wasn’t aggressive. It was almost imperceptible, like a question asked without words.

You’re imagining things, I told myself.

But I wasn’t imagining it.

—Well worked —Rodrigo commented when I finished, looking at me with a smile that was different from the earlier ones—. They feel nice and hard. Like mine, haha.

Damián burst out laughing from the machine. I felt heat rising up my neck and tried to blame it on the physical effort.

***

The next exercise was squats. That was when things stopped being ambiguous.

Damián went first. Rodrigo loaded him with more weight than I would have handled, and his nephew went down with impeccable technique, slow and controlled, with those glutes tight under the lightweight shorts. It was hard not to look. Not because I found him attractive in any way I would have admitted then, but because it was a physical spectacle in its most direct form.

Rodrigo went next. Even more weight. He went down slowly, with a muffled grunt on every rep and the muscles in his legs working under the skin. Between sets he wiped sweat from his forehead and looked around without hurrying, like someone used to being watched who didn’t mind it.

—Your turn —he told me.

We adjusted the weight and I got under the bar.

—Deep —Damián said from behind—. If you don’t go all the way down, it doesn’t count.

—I’ll stand behind you to hold you if you fail —Rodrigo added.

And he got behind me.

The first descent was normal. The second too. On the third I felt something stop me for an instant, almost a mental misstep in the middle of the exercise: the unmistakable contact of his body against mine. It was not an accidental brush. It was too clear, too sustained, to be anything else. He was turned on and not trying to hide it.

I kept going down.

This isn’t happening, I thought. This can’t be happening.

But it was happening. And my body knew it before my mind did, with that brutality with which the body always gets there first. I had gone months without sex, and that contact lit me up in a way I didn’t want to admit. I focused on my breathing, on technique, on counting reps. I pretended I noticed nothing.

For the second set, Damián offered to switch and stand behind me instead. He was different: thinner, but just as explicit. I felt him on every descent, that constant rubbing that had nothing accidental about it. When I lowered myself, his hands rested on my hips with deliberate firmness, and his hot breath reached the back of my neck with a regularity that no longer left room for doubt. On a couple of reps he held me from behind with his pelvis pressed to my ass, and the contact was so clear I bit my tongue not to groan. My ass bumped against his on every rise, every descent, and the friction started making my cock throb inside my shorts.

I said nothing. I kept going through the sets.

***

We trained for almost two more hours. The atmosphere gradually changed, like when the temperature rises one degree at a time and you don’t notice until you’re already sweating. The jokes became more direct. The looks lasted longer. Damián made comments about my body that in another context might have passed for gym compliments, but here had a second reading the two of them expected me to catch.

And I did. I couldn’t not.

My body had chosen a side a long time ago. Thanks to some tight boxers I had picked without thinking that morning, I was able to keep up appearances on the outside. But inside I was a chaos of heat and confusion I didn’t know how to sort out. I liked women; I had always liked women. But what I was feeling at that moment wasn’t a debate: it was a physical certainty humming through my whole body.

At nine the manager started turning off the lights in the back. The last customers left. The three of us were left.

***

In the locker room, while I unlocked my padlock, Rodrigo stood beside me without hurrying.

—Good workout —he said.

—Yeah —I answered, not looking at him.

—There’s still the final part.

I looked up. He had that same smile as before, the one that wasn’t just a smile.

Damián appeared in the hallway at the back, near the private bathrooms where there was never anyone at that hour. He gave me a barely perceptible nod.

I had my keys in my hand and my gym bag over my shoulder. I could have left. It would have been the easiest thing, the smartest thing, what any earlier version of myself would have done without hesitation.

I didn’t leave.

The hallway smelled of disinfectant and that mixture of heat and built-up sweat that, after hours of training, has something almost animal about it. Damián gently pushed me against the wall with a hand on my chest, just enough to make clear who decided the movements there.

—You knew it would end like this —Rodrigo said. It wasn’t a question.

I didn’t answer. There was no need.

The two of them pulled down their shorts with the calm of men in no hurry, men who trust the other person won’t move. What I saw took my breath away. They were completely different in size and shape, but they shared that unapologetic explicitness of men who push their bodies to the limit every day. The smell was impossible to separate: heat, sweat, and arousal mixed in a closed space. Their cocks were hard, heavy, wet, and mine reacted immediately, already pressing against the fabric as if it, too, wanted out.

Something in me decided before I did.

I knelt down. No one asked me to. It was a decision of the body before the mind, or maybe the first honest decision I’d made all night.

I started with Rodrigo. He held the back of my neck with one hand, not squeezing, just setting the rhythm, with the same calm authority he’d used before to guide my quadriceps at the machine. Damián waited off to the side with that expression halfway between hungry and amused he’d worn all night.

—I knew you were one of ours —Rodrigo murmured.

I belong to no one, I thought. But right now that doesn’t matter either.

I opened my mouth slowly and started sucking his cock hard, first the tip, wet and salty, then the whole thick length that filled my hand when I tried to hold it. Rodrigo took a deep breath, his abdomen tightening, and told me not to slack off. I alternated tongue and suction, swallowing the saliva that dripped from the corner of my mouth, licking his head insistently while one hand stroked his balls. When he pushed more, I took his cock as far as I could, feeling it brush my palate and open my throat in a delicious, brutal effort.

I moved on to Damián. He was more impatient, more direct, with fewer layers of courtesy. He held me more firmly and looked down with narrowed eyes. His cock was longer, thinner, and I took it into my mouth without giving myself time to get comfortable, because he didn’t seem willing to wait either. He grabbed my hair and set the rhythm of my head, driving his cock deep into my mouth, pulling it out just enough to ram back in. With my free hand, I traced their thighs, those legs that had been the spectacle of the whole night, hard and tense and heavy with accumulated fatigue. The smell was intense, unavoidable, and at that moment it seemed to me the most natural thing in the world.

Rodrigo lifted my face with two fingers under my jaw and made me look. Damián was already off to one side, closer now, with his cock throbbing and his breathing ragged. They let me suck one while the other rubbed himself against my open mouth, pushing the head between my lips, dragging the tip over my tongue before thrusting back in. The scene got dirty very fast: saliva, sweat, skin, broken breaths, the wet sound of sucking and the rub of their thighs against my shoulders. I was already completely soaked between the legs, my cock hard, trapped but throbbing, and every time one of them pulled back a little to make room for the other I felt like they were using my body as a release tool.

Damián made me stand up. He turned me around against the wall and pulled my boxers down just enough to expose my ass. The first touch of his fingers between my cheeks made me tremble. Rodrigo came up behind me and kissed the back of my neck while Damián spat at my asshole, direct, no beating around the bush. I felt the instant chill of the saliva and then the finger pressing in, opening me slowly, pushing inside with a patience that contrasted with the brutality of everything else. My body tensed, but pleasure was faster than fear. My cock dripped against my thigh and I could barely breathe.

—Relax —Rodrigo whispered in my ear—. You’re going to like it.

He was right.

When Damián slid in two fingers and then three, moving them inside me with insolent precision, I bent a little forward and let out a groan I couldn’t hold back. Rodrigo stood in front of me, grabbed my face, and gave me dirty kisses, tongue to tongue, while I felt my ass getting wider, readier. Damián squeezed my hip with his other hand and fucked me with his fingers until my body started asking for more without shame. Then he pulled his hand out and held my pelvis up.

—Now —he said.

Rodrigo went in first. He placed the tip at my hole, pushed slowly, then decisively, opening me with a pressure that tore a deep moan from me. I clung to the wall with my nails and felt his cock sliding inside, hot, thick, until it settled completely within me. It wasn’t just size; it was weight, presence. Damián held my waist so I wouldn’t slide away, and Rodrigo started giving me short, hard thrusts, right where pleasure became unbearable. Every crash of his hips against my ass made my tail and belly vibrate. The sound of his breathing mixed with my moans, less and less restrained.

When Rodrigo pulled out, Damián took his place without wasting time. He entered faster, hungrier, and opened me again with a different friction, cleaner and more brutal. His movements were deeper, more insistent. He kept me bent over, hands against the wall and ass exposed, while he drove into me again and again until I felt the sharp blow at the base of my pelvis. Rodrigo, in front of me, was jerking off while watching me, his cock already reddened, and I alternated between sucking the tip and letting him keep looking at me as if I were an animal in full use.

It didn’t last much more than ten minutes. Rodrigo finished first, with a short, restrained sound, and Damián shortly after, rougher, louder. Both without ceremony, without pretending that this was anything more than what it was. I felt the heat of Rodrigo’s load in my mouth and the wet slap of Damián’s on my lower back, a thick mix that left me panting, my throat full of saliva and my ass throbbing inside. I came almost immediately after, rubbing myself against the wall while the pressure in my cock rose like a fire and finally exploded into my shorts, soaking my abdomen with short, involuntary spasms.

I stayed kneeling for a moment on that cold floor, while silence returned and with it that strange mix of shame and satisfaction I didn’t know how to process. It wasn’t the shame of having done something wrong. It was something else, harder to name, something that had more to do with astonishment than regret.

Rodrigo gave me a pat on the shoulder as he passed.

—Legs again next week.

And they left.

***

I left the gym ten minutes later, alone. Outside, the air was cool and Sunday was still Sunday, as if nothing had changed in the outside world. But something had changed in me, and I knew it even if I still couldn’t put a name to it.

Rodrigo and Damián and I saw each other several more times over the course of that year. Always on Sundays at closing time, always without asking questions or giving explanations. It was a one-dimensional friendship, built on a secret the three of us kept without ever having agreed to it, with that comfort of people who share something that doesn’t need to be defined in order to work.

It took me a long time to understand that what I felt that night in that hallway wasn’t shame for what I had done. It was astonishment that I had taken so long to do it.