What Happened in the Gym Showers

My name is Sebastián and I was twenty years old when this happened. I’m thin, I’m five foot six, and my friends have always told me I have a boyish face. It doesn’t bother me too much, although there are times when I feel that comment sums up something broader: that I never quite fit the image one expects to have of oneself at that age.

That summer I finished my first year of university and my father, who has several businesses, decided I wasn’t going to stay home doing nothing for three months. He put me to work at one of his gyms, at the front desk and closing up. My shift was from two in the afternoon to ten at night, when I was supposed to leave everything clean, tidy, and locked up. It was routine and quiet. I didn’t mind it.

Up to that point I hadn’t had sex with anyone. Kisses, some groping with girls from the neighborhood, but nothing that went any further. With men, not even that: twice someone had come on to me and both times I’d backed off without drama, without thinking much about it. I watched porn of all kinds, straight and gay, without it prompting much reflection. It was something I did alone, in my room, with my cock hard in my hand, cumming on my stomach without overthinking it.

The gym closed late, and almost always by quarter past nine there was nobody left. Almost always.

There was one member who always showed up around eight thirty and stayed until the end. His name was Rodrigo. The first time I saw him I was struck by his size: he had to be six foot one and had the body of someone who had spent his whole life lifting weights. He wasn’t young; according to his file, he was forty-three. But he was one of those men whose age only shows in their face and in a certain calm with which they move through the world, as if they no longer had anything to prove.

While I stacked the weight plates and checked the equipment, I watched him work out in silence. He lifted weights I couldn’t even have taken off the rack. He always greeted me when he arrived and when he left, with a brief, polite nod. Nothing more.

But sometimes, when I looked up from what I was doing, I had the impression that he was looking at me. Not in a rude or pushy way, but steadily. As if he were waiting for something. I decided it was my imagination and didn’t think more of it.

***

On the Tuesday of the third week it was unusually hot for the season. The fan at the back of the weights area wasn’t working properly and the place was an oven. Rodrigo trained until nine forty, by which point I had already put everything away. All I had left was to turn off the lights in the main room and take a quick shower before leaving.

The locker rooms were large but there were no partitions between the showers. Three open stalls side by side, with a long bench in the center. There was nobody else, so I went in without worrying.

I turned on the cold water and stepped under it. The relief was immediate. My eyes were closed when I heard the locker-room door and someone’s footsteps on the cement floor.

Rodrigo. He came in without looking directly at me, hung his towel on the hook, and took the shower in front of me. The one directly in front, out of the three available. It seemed strange to me, but I said nothing. He turned on his water and let out a strong breath, as if emptying himself of the heat he’d built up.

—I trained hard today —he said—. I needed this week.

—Yeah, with this heat... —I answered, and kept soaping myself without looking at him.

But I did look. I couldn’t help it.

He was exactly what he looked like clothed, only multiplied. Big, solid, with veins standing out on his forearms and a back that took up space. And between his legs he had a cock of a size I had never seen before, neither in real life nor in any video. It hung heavy, thick, the foreskin pulled back just enough to show the head, and the simple motion of the water made it sway slightly against the inside of his thigh. His balls, two heavy, well-hung globes, moved with it. My mouth went dry.

I turned to face the wall.

Too late. I was already hard as a rock, standing up against my stomach, and there was no way to hide it if I turned around. I stayed still, staring at the gray tiles and hoping he hadn’t noticed anything, while my pulse hammered in my temples and in my cock with the same insistence.

—You’ve got a nice round ass —Rodrigo said from his shower—. Like that, with your skinny body, it really stands out. Almost like a girl’s. Makes you want to bite it.

I didn’t answer. I thought that if I said nothing, the moment would dissolve on its own. Water ran over my shoulders and I stared at the tiles and counted the grout lines between them.

It didn’t dissolve.

After a moment I heard his footsteps on the wet floor coming closer. Then a hand on my right shoulder, firm but not squeezing. The other went straight down my back, followed the curve of my waist, and squeezed one whole ass cheek with his open palm, weighing it.

I spun around sharply. Rodrigo was standing less than a yard from me, still under the stream running in his shower, looking at me without hurry. His cock was no longer hanging limp: it was half-hard, thicker, pointing heavily forward.

—Did I make you uncomfortable? —he asked.

—No —I lied.

—Good. —He paused and dropped his gaze to my crotch—. Because I don’t think I made you that uncomfortable. Your dick got hard just from looking at me.

I looked down without meaning to and then immediately back up. He noticed.

—First time anyone’s ever told you something like that, right? First time your cock’s gotten hard with a guy in front of you.

I nodded without speaking.

—It’s okay —he said—. You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do. But if you do want to, you’re going to suck me until you can’t take it anymore. And I’m going to fuck you.

And that, for some reason I couldn’t have explained, was what calmed me down.

***

It was him who turned off my shower. He did it slowly, reaching his arm over me without touching me yet. Then he took me by the shoulders with both hands and guided me to the center bench. All slowly. All with a certainty that left me no time to think too much.

He bent me over the bench with my palms flat on the wet wood, ass pushed back, legs slightly apart. I felt his mouth at the lower part of my back, then lower. He bit one cheek with his teeth, not hard but enough to make me jerk, then the other. Then he spread my ass cheeks apart with both thumbs, without the slightest shame, and ran his whole tongue between them from bottom to top, long, flat, wet, tearing a gasp from me that I couldn’t control.

—What a sweet little ass you’ve got —he murmured against my skin—. Pink. Never fucked. You can tell.

Then his tongue went down again and planted itself right on the hole.

The first direct contact tore a moan from me that I couldn’t control. The tip of his tongue circled, pushed, went hard and pressed against my closed asshole, then softened and licked it in circles, soaking me with saliva. I hadn’t imagined that could feel like that. I spread my legs almost without realizing it and he took it as the invitation it was and kept going. He pushed his tongue inside, thrust it, pulled it out, spit on the hole and pushed it back in. He had my ass cheeks pried wide apart with both hands, burying his face there as if eating ass were the only thing that mattered in the world, and I had white knuckles gripping the edge of the bench, forehead on my forearms, my hard cock dripping between my legs, unable to think of anything else.

I felt a finger. Thick, slick with spit, pressing against the muscle while the tongue kept working around it. It went in to the second knuckle and pulled another, sharper groan from me.

—Nice and tight —he said in a rough voice—. You’re going to scream when I shove the whole thing in.

When he stopped, it took me effort to breathe normally again.

He turned me around. I sat on the bench with my legs open and he stood in front of me, at face level. I looked at him. He was huge, fully erect now, with his cock pointing straight at my mouth. It had to be over eight inches long, thick, with veins running along it and a fat, dark purple head peeking out from the pulled-back foreskin, already dripping a heavy bead of pre-cum. My reaction was instinctive: I reached out with my hand.

The skin was soft over something very firm, hot, heavy. I wrapped my fingers around as much as I could and started moving, pulling the foreskin back, exposing the head completely, then sliding it up again. I ran my thumb over the tip and spread the thick bead over the whole head, watching it shine. He let out a low, deep sound that mixed with the drip of water on the tiles.

—Open your mouth —he said—. Stick out your tongue.

I opened it. Stuck out my tongue.

He rested the head of his cock just above it, heavy, and slid it a few inches, wetting my lips with his pre-cum. Then he pushed.

It went in slowly. The head barely fit and he knew it; he didn’t try to force more than I could take. He filled my mouth with just the head and I already felt like I couldn’t take any more. He started with a gentle movement, almost rhythmic, letting me get used to the weight, the size, the salty taste and clean skin. One hand rested against the side of my head, not pushing, just there, guiding.

—Like that —he said—. Good. Suck. Use your tongue too.

I ran my tongue underneath the head, following the line of the thick vein, and he answered with a growl. The motion grew steadier, deeper. Each time he pushed in a little more, another inch, testing how much I could take. On two occasions he made me arch my neck and I had to pull back coughing, saliva hanging from my chin, and he waited patiently, stroked my cheek with his hand, and we started again. I could feel the pulse of blood under the skin, the heat, the pressure against my tongue, the taste of pre-cum growing more abundant. I surprised myself by helping, adjusting the angle, moving my head up and down on my own, trying to take in more than I could, both hands gripping his shaft and my tongue working his frenulum.

With one hand I went down to the bulge and grabbed my own cock. It only took four strokes.

I came first. Without him even touching me, just from what he was doing. I shot in streams over my hand, over my thigh, over the wet floor, while I kept his cock in my mouth. I wasn’t expecting it at all. Rodrigo looked at it, saw the mess of semen dripping between my fingers, and nodded slightly, as if that confirmed something he already knew.

—Fuck —he said softly—. You came sucking me off. You’re a little bitch.

Then he placed me on all fours on the bench.

—Wait —I said—. It’s too big. I’ve never done it.

He stopped.

—Nobody’s ever fucked you in the ass? —he asked, without mockery, just checking.

—Never.

—All right. —He went to his locker and came back with a small bottle—. Then slowly. But I’m still going to put it all in you.

He put a good amount of lube on his fingers and smeared my hole thoroughly, cold at first. He slid in one whole finger, all the way, and moved it in circles to open me up. Then two, moving them like scissors, stretching me. The third made me clench my teeth and he noticed and eased up, waited, pushed again. He took his time. There was no urgency in his hands. He was opening me up, literally, and doing it like someone carefully preparing something. The pleasure it generated, mixed with that strange pressure, was enough to make me close my eyes and focus on breathing, on relaxing what my body wanted to contract by instinct. I felt my own cock harden again against the bench wood.

Then I heard the sound of lube again and knew it was him, soaking his cock.

—Ready? —he asked, pressing the head of his glans against my hole.

—I don’t know.

—That’s enough.

He pushed. The pressure I felt at first was just pressure, strange and too big. The fat head forced the muscle open, and for a second I thought it would never go in. Then something sharper came, a strong, definite burn, and suddenly the head passed through and I let out a sound that wasn’t quite a scream but almost, high and muffled against my forearms.

—Stay still —Rodrigo said, holding my hips with both hands—. The hardest part’s in. The head. Now breathe.

I didn’t move. Neither did he. We waited together with just the head inside, while the burn eased off. Then he pushed farther, slowly, a few inches, and stopped. Another few inches, and stopped. I could feel him working his way inside, millimeter by millimeter, that enormous cock filling a space that had never been filled before. When he finally shoved in the last stretch and I felt his balls pressing against mine, I knew he had all of it inside. All of it.

—There it is —he said—. All of it. You took my whole dick, little bitch.

The pain settled into something else, a full presence that didn’t disappear but didn’t get worse either. Then he started moving, pulling out just a little and sinking back in slowly, and every movement was a wave of sensation I didn’t know how to classify: it hurt and didn’t hurt, filled and emptied, was too much and at the same time I didn’t want it to stop. With each thrust something inside me was scraped by the crown of the head and tore a gasp from me.

—Is this okay? —he asked softly.

—Yes —I said, and it was true—. Fuck me.

—That’s what I wanted to hear.

He started to find a rhythm. He drove his hips all the way in and pulled almost completely out, leaving his cock glistening with lube before driving it in again. His hands held my hips with a firmness that didn’t let me move too much, which was exactly what I needed. My cock was hard again, pressed against the bench, and with every thrust of his I rubbed it without meaning to against the wood. The sound of his balls slapping my ass, the splash of lube, the drip still falling from the shower he had left running, his breathing growing heavier and less controlled with each passing minute.

—What a tight ass you’ve got, you son of a bitch —he muttered against my neck—. You’re milking my cock.

He sped up. Now he was really fucking me, with his hips slamming into my ass, and I was past the point of trying to stay quiet. I moaned with every thrust, mouth open against my forearms, and he had me by the hair with one hand and by the hip with the other, splitting me in two with every stroke.

I was surprised to feel myself cumming again, without anyone touching me, just from the internal friction, just from his cock hammering that spot inside me over and over. A second time, almost without having recovered from the first. I came weaker, but it escaped me in short spurts over the bench, and my whole body clenched around the cock inside me. Rodrigo felt it, felt how I tightened around him, and that brought him to the edge; his hips moved faster for a few seconds, with short brutal thrusts, and then he went completely still, buried to the hilt, pressing inward, and I could feel the pulse of his orgasm with a precision that felt strange and very real at the same time. His cock throbbed inside me, and with each pulse I felt the hot rush unloading deep inside. It was long. There were many spurts. He stayed there, pressing my hips against his, until he was fully emptied.

***

He stayed motionless for a moment, his cock still inside, buried. Then he withdrew slowly and I felt the mixture of semen and lube dripping down the inner side of my thigh. He went back to his shower and turned on the water. I stayed on the bench not knowing whether I wanted or could get up, ass open and throbbing, feeling his come continue to leak out of me.

When he got out of the water, he dried himself with his towel and started getting dressed with the same calm he did everything with. When he finished, he looked at me.

—Are you okay?

—Yes —I said.

—Does it hurt a lot?

—A little.

—It fades. —He picked up his bag—. It always fades.

He left. Before going out of the locker room he turned back for a moment:

—Whenever you want, you know where to find me.

I heard the door close. I got up carefully, showered again with the water ice-cold, cleaned the cum still dripping between my legs, turned off all the lights, and walked out into the heat of the night.

That was three weeks ago. Rodrigo still comes to the gym at the same time. He greets me as always, politely, briefly. Sometimes, when nobody is nearby, he smiles at me in a way that has nothing to do with saying hello.

I still don’t really know what I am or how to name what I feel when I see him come in. But I do know that next Wednesday I won’t be leaving before he finishes working out, either.