The Actor Who Gave Gym Classes at the Academy

Barcelona had a smell unlike any other city. It wasn’t just the murmur of traffic or the dust that seemed to hang in the September air. It was a mix of warm sea, nervous haste, and that unsettling certainty that anything could happen to you if you learned to move at exactly the right moment.

I came out of the subway with my backpack slung over one shoulder and my folder pressed against my chest. I walked slowly, without hurrying, making sure my steps sounded steady. I had waited too long for that opportunity to arrive doubting myself.

I had always been aware of my body. Not out of vanity, but instinct. I knew when a gaze lingered on me longer than it should. I knew when someone turned to look as I passed. I knew what I provoked without needing to ask, and I also knew that that lure could open doors in the acting career I had been chasing for years. I also knew who I was. Being gay had never confused me. I accepted it early and lived it calmly. My closest friends had known for years. But that new world I was entering was something else. Every gesture could become a rumor, every rumor could cost me a role, and I was not willing to let anything get in my way.

I crossed the threshold of the academy with the clear feeling that this place was territory to be conquered.

The building had something ancient and elegant at the same time. Long hallways, wooden floors worn down by decades of footsteps, framed photographs of actors who had passed through before. Familiar faces that now stared from the walls as if keeping watch over the newcomer.

The gym was at the back. That was my first class. Stage movement, the schedule said.

When I pushed open the door, the heat built up inside hit me at once. Dense air, the smell of floor wax, that sticky humidity that lingers after hours of bodies at work.

I went in with the rest of the group, looking at everything without seeming to look. And then I saw him. At first it was just a back. Broad, sculpted, with a T-shirt stretching over shoulders that seemed drawn with a compass. Arms that looked cut from a classical statue. He was talking to someone, leaning forward, resting his weight on one leg. There was something in the way he moved that caught your attention without making a sound. When he turned, recognition hit me like a sharp blow.

Rodrigo Vallejo. No confusion. No one who merely looked like him. It was him. The actor who filled magazines and series. And apparently, he was also going to be my stage movement teacher.

A low murmur rose around me, a couple of stifled nudges, but no one dared say anything out loud. He made no gesture either. He didn’t seem interested in surprising us.

—We’re going to start —he said.

His voice had a special weight. Deep, clear, direct. One of those voices that forces you to listen even if you were thinking about something else.

We started with the warm-up. Light jogging, long stretches that slowly opened the body. I kept up easily. I could feel sweat appearing quickly on my skin, sticking the T-shirt to my torso, tracing the line of my chest through the fabric. The mirror covered one wall. I saw myself reflected as I jogged in place: tense shoulders, firm stomach, deep breathing. I liked what I saw. But my attention wasn’t really on me. It was on him.

On the way he walked among us, assessing every movement with silent concentration. On how he would stop in front of a student and correct their posture with short, firm gestures.

When he reached me, I knew it before I saw him. I felt his presence behind me. A close shadow, a new temperature.

—Stop for a moment —his voice sounded right at the nape of my neck.

I stood still. I felt his hands on my back. Firm, warm, with a certainty that left no room for doubt. His fingers settled between my shoulder blades, pressing until he forced me to correct my posture.

—You’re carrying tension here —he murmured.

His voice was too close.

I inhaled deeply, following his instruction. My chest opened, my shoulders dropped. I felt the palm of his hand slide just a few centimeters lower, tracing the line of my spine with steady pressure.

—Relax —he added.

His breath brushed the top of my neck. The contact lasted a second longer than necessary. One long second. When he removed his hands, his warmth remained floating over my skin and the hair on my body stood up all at once. A small erection was beginning to take shape beneath my shorts.

The training went on, but something had changed inside me. Every time he approached another student, my attention drifted toward him without my meaning it to. Not only because of what he did, but how he did it. The precision. The calm. The way his body seemed to know exactly where it had to be at every moment.

Sweat began running down my back more intensely. The T-shirt stuck to my torso like a second skin.

When the others finished and started gathering their towels, I was still stretching in silence. I needed a few more minutes to bring my pulse down.

—You.

I lifted my head. He was looking straight at me from the other end of the gym.

—Stay a moment.

The door closed behind the last classmate, leaving the room in a thick silence.

Rodrigo came closer with the same calm as before.

—You’ve got good control —he said.

He stood behind me. I felt his nearness before I felt his hands.

This time the contact was slower. More deliberate. His palms settled on my shoulders and slowly descended over the upper part of my back, pressing firmly as they searched for the points of tension. The heat from his hands seeped through the damp fabric. It went through me completely.

—Breathe deeply.

I obeyed.

Air entered my lungs slowly, mixing with the heat in the room. His fingers continued their path, drawing a measured line toward the center of my back.

The silence grew heavy. Hard to ignore. I felt his chest almost touching my back, just a few centimeters away. His breathing brushed the base of my neck. I turned my head just enough. Our gazes met in the mirror. No words. None were needed. The air was charged, hot, dense, as if the gym itself were breathing with us.

He was the one who moved first. Not abruptly. With the same confidence as before. He leaned in slightly, just enough to close the distance. When his lips touched mine, the contact was firm, wet, full of restrained urgency. The kiss was direct. His mouth pressed mine with determination, and when his tongue sought mine I felt a rush of heat run through my whole body, from my chest to my stomach. I answered without thinking. Without measuring. My hands rose by instinct to his neck, gripping him hard while the kiss became deeper, slower, hotter. The taste of sweat, hot air, his breath mingling with mine, all of it became intense, almost overwhelming.

I began stroking his beard, trimmed but thick. I looked into his eyes and he gave me a half smile. I pulled off his athletic shirt and watched the body hair trail down from his chest to his navel in a neat line, as if someone had drawn it there on purpose.

I caressed him with genuine delight until I reached the elastic of the leggings covering his thighs. I no longer knew what I was going to find, given the prodigy of a man in front of me. I slid the leggings and underwear down at once.

Suddenly I came up against his hard cock. It emerged through the hair, a dark piece veined and thick enough to beg for hands. I stroked it, weighed it in my hand, played with the heavy balls that accompanied it, and went back to his face to kiss him. He wrapped his arms around me and lifted me onto his lap until I was at exactly the right height for our tongues to keep finding each other.

—You’re delicious —he told me.

—And you’re a god come down from Olympus —I replied.

—I’m going to lay you on the floor. I want to strip you naked.

He laid me on the floor without pulling his tongue out of my mouth. Then he moved down my neck, and we returned to a slow game of tongues searching for each other and trapping each other. There was a moment when his tongue yielded to mine and I started licking and sucking it. After that he kept taking off my T-shirt and shorts, leaving me in nothing but a white brief.

Seeing him over me aroused me beyond measure. I trapped him between my legs so all my skin could enjoy that virile, colossal body, and I buried my face in his beard so he would lick me, so he would shelter me. What lips, what tongue, what wetness. I paused for a moment to taste him while the heat of his body wrapped around me. I could feel his cock, big and hard, pressing between us.

—Let me kiss you and lick you all over. Let me enjoy you.

—Do whatever you want with me.

We switched positions and I climbed on top of him. I stroked his chest, smelled his armpits, bit his nipples, and went down to his navel. I pushed my tongue into the hollow and kept going down until I found his hard, wet cock again. I licked it, kissed it, went down to his balls to inhale his scent, and kept caressing his thighs and firm calves.

Rodrigo asked me to get on all fours. He wanted to enjoy my ass, and he did. I turned around, offering the display he expected. Round, white, not a single hair.

He lunged like a dog to smell me. He spread my cheeks to look at the pink opening and, unable to restrain himself, started licking it, wringing moans from me that echoed through the empty gym.

He licked my little hole with obvious pleasure, opened my glutes to make way for his tongue, and drove the tip straight into the center.

—Godddd —I cried out.

He turned me over, wrapped himself around me, kissed me on the mouth, and then went down to my cock, where there wasn’t a trace of hair, and licked it calmly.

He laid me on my back. He spread my legs and slid one, two, and even three fingers, slick with his saliva, inside me. Then he spat on his cock and rested it against the center of my hairless ass. He aimed for the center and went in. Little by little. Slowly, he pushed all the way in. I already had experience taking cocks, though the beginning always stings a little.

The colossus was inside me. His body in front of mine. I could see his face, how he savored every thrust, and he began to fuck me slowly.

The pain eased and the pleasure rose. How he enjoyed it, how his expression changed. It was pleasure in its purest state.

Suddenly Rodrigo tensed. His arms, shoulders, pectorals, and neck were columns of flesh, veins standing out like cords. And he started to come. Each spasm of his orgasm tightened all his muscles, and while I masturbated I began to come too. Rodrigo fell onto me and started kissing me more calmly, then began licking my own cum, which had shot out over my defined, hairless abdomen.

—You know no one can find out about this, right? —he asked sharply.

—I don’t want to ruin my acting career before it even starts, so no, I’m not going to say anything —I clarified.

—Especially the director. He can’t find out —he said with concern.

—And who’s the director? —I asked, curious.

—That’s none of your concern. I just want this to stay between you and me and for you to be clear that it’s not going to happen again. I never fuck the same person twice. Get dressed and go. We’ll see each other in class tomorrow —he said seriously, while gathering his clothes.

We started getting dressed and recovering the same distance there had been at the beginning of class.

Rodrigo stayed in the gym. I headed for the showers with the feeling of a job well done and a fuck no one was ever going to take away from me. If anything, they’d envy it.