What Happened in the Locker Room with the New Trainer

That Christmas I had to stay in the city. I couldn’t go back down to the village with my family because I was dragging three failed courses from my degree, and December was the only month when I could sit down to study without distractions. That morning I felt a huge reluctance to get out of bed, but then I thought about what my monthly gym membership cost, and that was enough to get me up. In the end, I was more grateful for that decision than I could ever have imagined.

Even though I went at my usual time, I found the place almost deserted. When it was time for my last chest exercise, only the trainer, a woman on the treadmills, and I were left. It felt strange working out with so few people, especially in a place that by midafternoon was so packed you couldn’t even get hold of a dumbbell.

The trainer was called Darío; I read it on his tank top. He wasn’t the guy who usually worked that shift. He had dark skin, several tattoos climbing up his forearm, and a very neat haircut and beard, almost military. I figured he was about twenty years older than me, but he carried those years in a way that only made him more imposing.

He looked bored. He wandered around the room, put back plates nobody had moved, glanced at the wall clock. On one of those rounds he came up to me and, between sets, we started talking. He told me he usually covered the morning shift, but almost all the staff were on holiday and he’d been told to do double shifts. We chatted about nonsense: some news from that day, how empty everything was, my degree, why I was still in the city over the holidays.

It must have been around eight when I got ready for the last exercise, the bench press. I lay down, grabbed the bar, and started under his watchful gaze. I did two reps and he stopped me.

—You don’t need to lower it that much —he said.

I tried again, or thought I had, because he corrected me again right away.

—No, no, you’ve done it wrong again. Wait, I’ll show you.

He bent his knees and, slowly, placed both hands on my chest.

—Now lower it.

I did, nervous, uncomfortable with the warmth of his touch. The bar almost brushed the ring he wore on his right hand, but I pushed back up without trouble.

—That’s it, like that, man.

I finished the set and, when I got off the bench, he tapped my pectoral with the back of his hand.

—Soon you’ll have this hard as a rock, you’ll see.

—Like yours? —I asked, pretending innocence.

—Ha, yeah, though it’ll take you quite a bit more. —He yanked his shirt off and flexed his muscles—. You don’t get this overnight. Go on, touch it, touch it.

I glanced around discreetly. The woman on the treadmills was gone. We were completely alone, and I had to bite the inside of my cheek so the smile wouldn’t show.

I obeyed. I took one hand out of my pocket and ran it over that worked body, the hot skin under my fingers, the relief of every muscle.

—With both hands, man, with both.

He took my wrist and brought my other hand to his chest. By then I already had a very obvious bulge in my tracksuit pants, impossible to hide, but he never took his eyes off my face. He knows exactly what he’s doing, I thought. In that instant he seemed so attractive to me that I completely forgot I was standing in front of a married man who was twice my age. I forgot it so completely that I leaned in and kissed him.

He took it well. More than well. He stayed still for a second, surprised, and then kissed me back with a calm that gave me goose bumps. We stayed like that, savoring each other’s mouths beside the machines, until he pulled back a couple of centimeters.

—Let’s go to the locker room.

***

I followed him down the corridor with my heart racing. As soon as we crossed the door he threw the latch, and he came back to my mouth, this time with no pause at all. His lips weren’t his only way of taking over me: while he kissed me, his hands slowly slid down my back until they closed over my ass and squeezed hard.

He pushed me until I was sitting on one of the wooden benches. There he pulled my shirt off over my head and yanked my pants down, leaving me only in my briefs.

—Suck my tits —he said in my ear, with a low voice that brooked no argument.

I didn’t answer. I stood up, pressed my face against that huge chest, and worked my way all over it with my mouth. I bit his nipples and, each time I did, he gave me a sharp smack on the ass that tore a moan from me and got me even harder. I moved down to his abdomen, where I took less time because the skin was less defined and because the urge was pushing me toward what that tracksuit bottom was hiding.

Darío sat on the bench with his legs spread. I lowered the waistband of his pants without hurrying, deliberately slowly, knowing that the wait was going to drive him crazy. Underneath, the white brief already outlined an erection pulling against the fabric and threatening to spring free on its own. I brought my nose close and breathed in his smell: a mix of sweat, gym, and man that made my head spin completely.

I could have stayed like that for a good while, wallowing in it, but he wasn’t that patient. He put a hand on the back of my neck and guided my head toward his crotch. With my face a few inches away, I caught the elastic of the briefs with my teeth and slid it down until I freed him. Out sprang a long, slender, shaved cock crisscrossed with veins, which struck me as just as imposing as the rest of him.

I started with the head, running my tongue over it before taking it in my mouth. It wasn’t the first time I’d sucked someone off, but it was the first with a man that much older, and that lit me up in a new way. Darío didn’t bother pretending to be tough: from the very first moment he started moaning, and the volume went up the deeper I took him into my mouth.

Kneeling in front of him, I found myself looking at an image I’ve never been able to forget. All his muscles were tense, the veins standing out, that gym-brute body showing itself in all its splendor under the cold fluorescent light. I swallowed him as far as I could and started pulling back and pushing in without stopping, enjoying the brush of my tongue against every vein, my fingers dug into his thighs.

I’d always had a weakness for a guy’s legs, and his, thick and hard, were exactly what I liked. I stroked his calves while I kept going with my mouth, and I felt how each caress tightened him a little more.

—Like that, not much longer… —he said between gasps, gritting his teeth.

Instead of slowing down, I went faster. That made Darío start talking dirtier to me, telling me in my ear that I “was his,” that my mouth “had never tasted anything like that.” I worked his cock with my lips at a speed I didn’t know I had, with a skill I didn’t even know I possessed.

He let out the first thread of thick liquid, which I took down my throat without breaking rhythm. Then I set about what I’d been thinking for a while. I took his cock out of my mouth and moved down with licks to his balls. I massaged them with my tongue, first one and then the other, slowly, knowing that was his weak spot. He kept blurting out things—that I was a pig, that not even his wife sucked him off like that—and every word pushed me to keep going.

With that soundtrack, he came. It was several spurts that hit my face and his own torso, thick and hot. He stayed collapsed against the locker room wall, exhausted, breathing deeply. I went on collecting everything with licks, cleaning his chest and face with my tongue, swallowing it slowly while he looked at me without saying a word.

When I finished, he pulled me up to his height and we kissed again, calmer now, almost tenderly. While he did, he slipped a hand into my briefs and started jerking me off, unhurriedly, like someone who knows he has the whole night ahead of him and that at the gym, that Christmas, nobody was going to interrupt him.