Gym

I knew that the moment I crossed his door there’d be no turning back: today I was going to let him do me for real, and I’d spent the whole week imagining it.

Half a million euros for five days in the Caribbean with a stranger. Bruno wasn’t gay, but debts don’t care about labels—and a private jet was waiting.

I’m thirty-four and I never doubted what I was. Until that seed started growing inside me, silent and persistent, and I could no longer ignore it.

I showed up at that party in my swimwear thinking it would be just another day with my boyfriend. I had no idea I’d end up on my knees, showing another man what he was missing.

She told her grandfather she was leaving, but she never even exited the building: Sonia was waiting at the end of the hall with five unwashed old men and a promise that made her tremble.

When she knelt in the shower and looked up at me with that smile, I knew there was no turning back: her fantasy and mine were about to cross a line.

You threw me your still-warm panties and a smile. “Put them on and wait for me,” you said. Two hours later I was still on my knees, counting the minutes until you came back.

When I found one of her shoes forgotten in the changing room, I should have left it there. Instead, I crossed half the city to return it, and everything went wrong.

He opened the door without looking through the peephole and recognized that smile from a thousand screens. His neighbor was her. And she had just asked him for the most innocent of favors.

I left the gym in the same clothes as always, with every eye on me. That night I understood I no longer wanted to hide how much it excited me to be desired.

It started as a joke in the park: “Should I wrap him up so we can take him home?” Months later, a hidden camera would turn that joke into something else.

That Monday the gym was almost empty. I only wanted to shower in peace, but I walked through the wrong door… and he was already inside, watching me without saying a word.

I walk between the lockers with a towel over my shoulder and I feel every gaze. They pretend not to look, but their bodies answer me before their words do.

For years I told myself I was the typical straight guy. I was lying. My hand jobs were for the guys in the locker room, and it took me too long to admit it.

I was naked in bed, aching, and he offered to examine me. I had no idea how far he was willing to go to make it stop hurting.

I wanted her from the very first day, with her perfect body squeezed into those leggings. What I didn’t imagine was what she was hiding underneath, or how far I was willing to go.

When he pulled down his boxer briefs without asking me to leave the room, I knew the afternoon had stopped being about sportswear.

The gym stud who humiliated me in front of half the gym wrote me from a dating app fifty meters from my place. Fifteen minutes later, he was ringing my doorbell.

I recognized him the moment he turned around. He was going to be my gym teacher, and at the first touch of his hands on my back, I knew that day wasn’t ending there.