The Secret I Shared with the Gym Man

I always knew there were two versions of me. The one the world saw Monday through Friday — a twenty-seven-year-old guy with a gym-built body, plain clothes, and a face that looked like butter wouldn’t melt in his mouth — and the one that existed in the silence of my room, when I locked the door and became who I really wanted to be.

I’ve lived this way for years. I don’t tell anyone because I can’t, at least not yet. Family is family, and some things have their time. But the secret is there, alive, and every now and then it needs air.

Ever since I was very young, I felt an irresistible attraction to everything feminine: the clothes, the gestures, the way a woman occupies space. I learned to channel it privately, to build that parallel world carefully and patiently, knowing it would always exist on the margins of my visible life. I don’t complain. There’s something intoxicating about carrying a secret like that.

I met him at the gym where I’ve trained for three years. His name is Rodrigo. He’s fifty-five, though he wears it well: broad back, neatly trimmed gray beard, hands like a man who has worked all his life. When I saw him for the first time in the locker room — changing with the calm of someone who has nothing to hide, with a thick cock hanging heavy between his thighs that I couldn’t help glancing at out of the corner of my eye — something stirred inside me in a way I couldn’t fully ignore. I ignored it anyway. You learn how to hide it.

Over the following weeks, we got to know the atmosphere. He always arrived at the same time, trained with the same routine, and from time to time we exchanged a couple of sentences between sets. He told me he was divorced, that he lived alone in an apartment north of the city, that he liked silence and that at his age he no longer had patience for complications. He had that particular calm of men who no longer need to prove anything to anyone.

One Friday night, when we were done with our routine and he was gathering his things, he called me from the far end of the locker room with his usual calm.

“Hey, I’ve got a date tonight,” he said, checking his watch. “With someone special.”

“Your girlfriend?” I asked, as if it didn’t matter.

“No, no girlfriends. It’s more of a one-off thing. —He paused, waited until the other two guys in the locker room had left, and lowered his voice—. The girl is transsexual. Have you ever been with someone like that?”

I held my face steady.

“No,” I said. “But they say it’s worth it.”

Rodrigo smiled on one side of his mouth.

“They’re addictive. Once you’ve had a good blowjob from one of them, with that cock choking you all the way down and no shame about it, you don’t want to go back. Since I split up, I decided to stop putting limits on what I like. At my age I don’t have time to act prissy. If I like fucking a tight ass, I fuck it. —He slung his bag over his shoulder—. Believe me, it’s some of the best.”

He left in a hurry, still smiling. And I stood there with a half-hard cock inside my gym shorts, staring at the door as it closed, with one thought circling in my head: I wanted him for myself.

***

I built the plan slowly, without rushing. I’m discreet by necessity, not by choice, and I knew that if this was going to happen it had to feel natural. Nothing forced, nothing that could go wrong because of impulse.

The opportunity came on a Tuesday, without my looking for it. I had gotten out of work a couple of hours earlier than usual and was about to start the car when his message came in.

“Hey, I’ve got some work documents I don’t really understand. Could you help me out? If you want, I can pick you up and we can go to the gym together, so we don’t both take our cars.”

I replied before thinking too hard.

“Sure, I just got out. I can head straight there. Send me the address.”

He sent me the tower number and the apartment. I told the guard I was there to see him and went up with my heart doing strange things I preferred not to analyze. In my backpack, as always, I had everything I needed. I’m the kind of person who leaves prepared for any scenario.

Rodrigo opened the door in gray sweatpants and a white T-shirt, as comfortable as you only are in your own home. The bulge in his crotch showed clearly without him making any effort to hide it, and I forced myself to keep my eyes on his face. The apartment smelled like coffee and the windows were open. He led me to the dining table, where he already had the documents spread out.

They were lease contracts, nothing complicated. While I went over them, he settled onto the couch and started talking, without my asking, about how the girl from the week before had left him thinking about it all day.

“She had an ass I could’ve sucked all the way through,” he said, without filters, as if he were commenting on traffic. “And a tasty cock too, I’ve got to admit. Those girls know how to use what they’ve got.”

“Monday you couldn’t stop looking at the girls at the gym,” I told him, not taking my eyes off the papers. “And you looked at me more than once when we did legs too.”

“And how could I not?” he replied, shameless. “You wear really tight clothes and with every exercise that ass of yours is marked in a way that’s hard not to notice. You’ve got a ass that disappears under your shorts, and when you squat the fabric opens up like you’re offering it up. I’m serious.”

He stood up from the couch and came to stand beside me. When I looked at him, his expression was serious, with no trace of a joke.

“Will you help me out with something else?” he said straight out, without beating around the bush.

He took some bills from his wallet and put them on the table.

I stayed quiet for a moment.

“Are you serious?”

“If you’re not interested, we forget this right now and keep on as always. No problem whatsoever. But lately I’ve been in a place where it’s easy for me to be direct. I want to fuck you. I want to see what’s under that office clothes and shove my dick into you until you can’t talk. If you like the idea, tell me. If not, I’ll put the money away and nothing happened.”

I looked at him. Then I looked at the bills. Then I looked at him again. His cock was outlined under the sweatpants, hard, long, waiting for an answer.

“Give me a minute,” I said. “I’m going to get something from my car and you’ll be surprised.”

“Don’t you go running off on me.”

“As if,” I replied, already turning away, heading for the door.

I ran downstairs. Grabbed the backpack from the back seat. Came back to the apartment before I had time to change my mind.

***

When I went into his bedroom to change, he put something on the living room TV. I could hear it from the hallway: women moaning and the unmistakable sound of a blowjob done right.

I took my time, because that’s part of the ritual too and haste ruins everything. Lace thigh-high stockings, with a black garter belt. Satin underwear in wine red, with jeweled details on the sides, tight enough to tuck my cock back and leave the front smooth, feminine, a lie. Black pencil skirt falling to mid-calf. Low-cut blouse with a print of small flowers, no bra, letting the nipples show faintly through the fabric. Long, straight brown wig, falling over my shoulders. Platform heels that add a few centimeters in height and completely change the way I occupy space.

The areas that matter have been shaved for a while: the whole legs, the pubis smooth, the ass shaved close so that any finger, any tongue, any cock finds clean skin with no obstacles. The rest is a work in progress, though there’s less and less of it each time.

I looked at myself in the bathroom mirror. The result was exactly what I wanted.

When I stepped into the hallway, the sound of my heels on the parquet floor announced my arrival several seconds in advance. Rodrigo appeared in the living room doorway with an expression I took a moment to decipher. It was astonishment, but the good kind.

“Holy shit,” he said under his breath, and he touched his crotch shamelessly, adjusting the cock that had already gone hard all the way.

“Were you expecting something else?” I asked, already using the voice register I’ve practiced for years.

“I wasn’t expecting this.” He came toward me slowly, looking me over without trying to hide it. “You’re gorgeous. Seriously. I’m going to fuck you until I ruin your makeup.”

“My name is Valeria,” I said. “And I’m here to stay for a while.”

“Rodrigo,” he replied, offering me his hand with a formality that made me smile. “Pleased to meet you, miss.”

“The pleasure’s mine. Now sit down, I’m going to make something to eat.”

***

In his kitchen there was just enough to improvise something decent. While I cooked, the sound of my heels on the floor and the murmur of the television in the background created an atmosphere that felt strangely real, almost domestic, as if we’d been doing this for years without knowing it. Every time I bent down to take something out of the fridge I felt his eyes stuck to my ass, and my skirt rode up just enough to show the edge of the stocking and the bare skin of my thigh. I did it on purpose. I wanted him hard all night.

I poured him a tequila and carried it over to where he was sitting. He said nothing. He just watched me from head to toe with that calm of his that had always seemed so attractive to me. I settled onto his lap without asking permission and felt the cock beneath the sweatpants pressing against my ass through the skirt, thick and hot.

“Drink with me,” he said. “To you, because you’re gorgeous, and to the secret you just shared.”

“And to the man I liked from the first day I saw him,” I added, raising my glass.

We toasted three times. I barely drink, and by the third I already felt the heat climbing up my chest, peeling layers off me. He had put a hand on my thigh and had been slowly moving it upward, under my skirt, until he touched the garter, until he stroked my skin above the stocking. When he reached my underwear and felt the disguised bulge of my cock trapped beneath the satin, he smiled.

“There it is,” he said softly, squeezing me with his open hand. “I was starting to think you’d hidden it too well.”

He suddenly got serious, with that seriousness of his that was never threatening, only direct.

“I’ve been looking for something like this for a while,” he said. “Someone to share this with, discreetly. Something that’s just ours.”

“What kind of something?” I asked.

“A relationship. Discreet, yes, but real. Not just tonight.” He looked me in the eyes. “Do you want to be my girlfriend, Valeria?”

I hadn’t expected it like that, so direct, so soon.

“I have a life outside here,” I said. “I can’t be this all the time.”

“I know. I have mine too. But when we’re here, alone, we can be whatever we want.” He paused. “What do you say?”

I answered by moving closer and kissing him.

***

The kiss started soft and grew hotter without either of us forcing it. I opened his mouth with my tongue and he sucked on it with a hunger he hadn’t shown until that moment. His hands ran over my back, my hips, the edge of the skirt, until they slid underneath and grabbed my ass with both hands, open, complete, lifting me off the floor. Mine found his shoulders, the nape of his neck, the rough texture of his beard against my face, and then moved down to his crotch, where his cock was jumping inside the sweatpants as if asking to get out.

I squeezed it through the fabric and he growled into the kiss.

“Touch me,” he told me in my ear, hoarse. “Touch my cock.”

I slipped my hand inside the sweatpants and into the boxer briefs until my fingers closed around his bare dick. It was thick, hard, with the glans swollen and wet at the tip. I started jerking him off slowly, feeling how the skin shifted under my fist, how he breathed deeper every time I squeezed a little harder.

“What a delicious cock you’ve got,” I murmured against his mouth. “God, I want to suck it.”

“Suck my mouth off,” he answered. “I want to see you taking it down.”

He lifted me from the chair without any visible effort and carried me toward the hallway, kissing my neck, my shoulder, my neckline. He pulled one strap of the blouse down and freed a breast, then sucked it right there in the hallway, his rough tongue against the nipple, biting it just enough. I had both hands around the back of his neck so I wouldn’t fall, moaning softly, rubbing his cock against my thigh.

When we got to the bedroom he laid me down on the bed with unexpected gentleness for someone his size.

He lowered the straps of my blouse. He looked for the skirt zipper with one hand while with the other he held my face. When I was left only in lingerie and heels, he stepped back a moment and looked at me in silence, with an attention that left me not knowing where to put my hands. The bulge under the wine-colored satin showed with no effort to hide it, the tip of my cock peeking above the elastic, wet.

“You’re perfect,” he said. “A perfect little slut.”

Then he bent down and traced my neck, my chest, my stomach with a patience and precision no one had ever given me. He sucked each nipple one at a time, biting them until he had me arching my back, and kept going down until he reached my underwear. He licked my cock through the satin, wetting the fabric with his saliva, then slid it aside with two fingers and pulled my dick out. I was hard, not huge but firm, shining at the tip.

He licked it from base to glans, his tongue flat, no disgust, no theatrics. He took it all the way into his mouth, with his gray beard still scraping my thighs, and started sucking me with a calm, professional rhythm, like someone who knows exactly what he’s doing. I moaned with my mouth open, holding his head, feeling how his tongue wrapped my glans every time he reached the tip.

“You’re so good at that,” I let slip. “Fuck, so good.”

He pulled his cock out of his mouth with a wet sound and ran his tongue over my balls, licking them one by one, and then lower, spreading my legs to get at my hole. I felt his tongue there, hot, wet, opening my shaved ass with an insistence that made me writhe against the bed. No one had ever eaten my ass like that, with that concentration. He pushed his tongue inside me, licked the rim, went back in, and my cock dripped over my stomach without anyone touching it.

“Turn over,” he ordered, and I obeyed without thinking.

I ended up face down, ass in the air, stockings still on, skirt bunched at the waist. He grabbed my cheeks with both hands, pulled them apart, and buried his whole mouth against my hole. I buried my face in the pillow and screamed, not too loud, but I screamed. He ate my ass for entire minutes, with his tongue, with two fingers he slid in slowly, opening me up, preparing me.

“You’ve got the sweetest hole I’ve ever seen,” he said, his voice hoarse. “Tight. Clean. Beautiful.”

“I’m going to give it to you,” I answered, my voice breaking. “All of it.”

I sat at the edge of the bed. I looked him in the eyes. He understood without my saying anything.

I lowered myself slowly until I was on my knees in front of him and loosened his sweatpants with calm hands. What I found underneath was exactly what I’d imagined for weeks: a man without pretensions, without artifice, completely real. I pulled down his underwear and his cock fell in front of me, thick, hard, heavy, hot, the glans already wet and throbbing with excitement. I ran it across my face first, over my cheeks, over my painted lips, feeling its weight, marking my skin with the wetness from the tip.

“Look at me,” I asked him.

He looked at me. And then I opened my mouth and swallowed it whole, all the way down, until the tip hit my throat and I gagged. I pulled it out with a thread of saliva hanging from it, breathed, and took it back in. Again. And again. I held his balls with one hand while with the other I gripped the base, and sucked his cock with the total concentration of someone who has spent too long wanting exactly that.

“That’s it,” he said at some point, his voice thick. “Just like that, don’t stop. Suck it all, slut, that’s it.”

I didn’t stop. I alternated between my mouth and my hand, licked his balls carefully, took them both into my mouth at once and sucked them until he groaned. I ran my tongue underneath him, over the perineum, and back up to the tip. I kissed the glans, took just the head into my mouth, rolled it with my tongue in circles, and then swallowed him whole again. Saliva ran down my chin, onto my tits, staining my blouse. I didn’t care. I wanted to make him come right there, in my mouth, and swallow it.

When I felt he was about to explode — his balls went hard as stones and his cock throbbed against my tongue — he pulled back with a slow, firm gesture, like someone saving the best for later.

“Stay still,” he gasped. “You’re making me cum already. And I still have to fuck your ass.”

***

When we went back to the bed, it was different. Slower at first, then more intense. I settled with the pillows under my back, instinctively, lifting my legs with the stockings still on and the heels dangling from my feet. He stayed on his knees between my thighs, took a condom from the nightstand drawer, and put it on slowly while I watched him with his cock gripped in his fist.

He took his time. He spread my legs with his big hands and leaned over me again. He sucked my cock for a moment longer, just so I could see it going in and out of his mouth with his beard wet with saliva, and then he came up to my tits, to my mouth, letting me taste my own flavor on his tongue. I had opened my ass with my fingers, offering it to him, and he understood.

He spat into his hand. He smeared the condom with saliva. And he pushed.

He went in slowly, paused, advanced a little more. I felt the pressure at the entrance to my ass, that exact moment when the body decides whether to open or close, and my body decided to open. The head of his cock went in with a firm, slow thrust, and I let out a long, sharp moan that didn’t sound like mine.

“Easy,” he murmured. “Slow. I’m going to get it all in you.”

There was no pain, only pressure that gave way until it became something completely different: a deep, continuous heat that kept growing from the inside out.

I felt his cock sink into me little by little, filling me with a firmness that made me arch my back. Centimeter by centimeter. When I had him all the way inside, I stayed still, eyes closed, feeling my ass pulse around his dick. He stayed still for a moment, breathing near my ear, letting my body adjust to him before moving again.

“Fuck me,” I whispered. “Please.”

He started moving. Slowly at first, pulling almost all the way out and shoving back in until he hit bottom, over and over, in a rhythm that kept opening me wider with every thrust. My own cock, trapped between our two bodies, had gone hard again and brushed against his belly every time he came down.

“Look at yourself,” he said at one point, pointing at the full-length mirror beside the closet.

I looked at myself. A girl in stockings and heels, lying back on a man’s white sheets while he made her his with enviable calm. Legs open in the air, ass lifted, a thick cock going in and out of her without mercy. The wig half-messed up, mascara smudged, breasts bouncing with every thrust. The image was exactly what I had imagined so many times in private, except now it was real and there was the weight of someone on top of me, the sway of his hips pushing me into the mattress, the wet noise of our bodies meeting without pause.

“Do you like what you see?” he asked.

“Yes,” I answered, and it was an unqualified truth. “Fuck me harder. Please. Harder.”

And he fucked me harder. He sped up, grabbed both my legs behind the knees and put them over his shoulders, folding me almost in half, driving into me from above with all the weight of his body. The impact of his pelvis against my ass sounded dry and rhythmic, filling the room.

“What an ass you’ve got,” he gasped. “What a tight ass, you fucking bitch. I’m going to wreck you.”

“Wreck me,” I begged. “Whatever you want.”

We changed positions several times. He led without needing many words, with the weight of his body and the direction of his hands. He turned me over, put me on all fours on the bed, ass raised and face against the pillow, and shoved it back in from behind with one thrust that made me scream. He grabbed my hips and fucked me like that, doggy-style, until my knees couldn’t hold me and sweat ran down my back. He slapped my ass, not hard but firm, and each slap made me clench around his cock.

“Tell me you love it,” he ordered. “Tell me.”

“I love it,” I moaned against the pillow. “I love your cock, I love how you fuck me with it, don’t stop, don’t stop.”

At one point he asked me to get on top and look at myself in the mirror while I did it. I did. What I saw from there was the most uninhibited version of myself I had ever seen, with my tits moving under the half-open blouse, my thighs taut, my skirt riding up at the waist, and I loved it without reservation.

I climbed on top of him, positioned his cock between my cheeks and sat down slowly, taking him all the way in. I felt him sink into me to the hilt, filling me completely, and I started moving slowly at first, letting him in and out until I found the exact angle. Then I let myself be carried by the rhythm, bouncing on his cock while he held me by the hips and watched me as if he were devouring every reaction on my face with his eyes. The mirror reflected a scene that turned me on more than I wanted to admit: me open, undone, beautiful, fucking him with all I had, my own cock jumping against my stomach without anyone touching it, slapping against my skin with every bounce.

“Touch yourself,” he said. “Jerk off while you fuck me.”

I grabbed my dick with one hand and started jerking off to the rhythm of the bouncing, feeling how everything built up at once: his cock buried in my ass to the hilt, my hand on mine, his gaze fixed in the mirror. I was about to come and it showed.

“Wait,” he gasped, grabbing my wrist. “With me. I want you to cum with me.”

When he felt I was reaching the limit, he asked me to kneel in front of him. I came off him carefully, got down from the bed, and knelt on the rug, mouth open and tongue out, waiting. He took off the condom carefully, grabbed his cock with his right hand, and started jerking it fast, aiming at my face. I kept jerking myself at the same pace, looking up at him from below.

“Open your mouth,” he ordered. “Wide open, slut.”

I opened it. He stuck out his tongue. And what came next was a generous, real finish, no theatrics: he came on me and I took it without moving away, with the same calm with which he had guided everything else. The first rope hit my cheek hot, the second on my tongue, the third on my tits, the fourth on my already stained lingerie. I felt his thick cum on my face, on my painted lips, running down my neck and into my cleavage, and I held him by the hips while he finished trembling. I came almost at the same time, splattering my own semen onto his thigh, my breathing broken and my hand still clutching his leg.

I licked what had landed near my mouth. Looked up at him, covered in mess, satisfied, with his cum still dripping down my chin. He smiled slowly and ran his thumb over my lower lip, collecting the rest and putting it into my mouth so I’d suck it off him.

After that we lay there in silence. I’d cleaned up a little with a damp towel he brought me from the bathroom, and now we were wrapped around each other on the unmade bed. His hand on my back, my head resting on his chest. The TV was still on in the living room and from here it came only as background noise, shapeless.

“You’re incredible,” he said.

“You’re not exactly slacking either.”

He laughed, deep in the chest.

“Do you have fantasies? Things you want to try someday.”

“Plenty,” I admitted. “And you?”

“Plenty too. We’ve got time to explore them. Someday I’m going to fuck you without a condom, bare, and fill your ass up with cum from the inside. So you go home with my load in you.”

“Whenever you want,” I answered, and I sucked him just a little, without malice, only because I liked the idea.

“And if we start with the easiest one?”

“Tell me what it is.”

“Doing this again. Next week.”

“That’s not a fantasy,” he said. “That’s already a plan.”

***

That night we didn’t go to the gym. The dinner I’d made we finished late, half of it, sitting on his kitchen counter with the plates on our knees as if it were the most normal thing in the world. I had put on one of his shirts, with no underwear, and he kept looking at my legs every time I crossed or uncrossed them. We talked about unimportant things and about things that mattered a lot, moving between both registers with the ease that comes from newly born trust. At some point, before dessert, he fucked me against the kitchen counter, fast, without a condom, without finishing inside, just because neither of us could take it anymore.

When I left, in my regular clothes again, with my ass still marked by his cock and the taste of his cum barely hidden under mouthwash, Rodrigo walked me to the elevator. We were once again the two guys from the gym, discreet, with no visible trace of what had happened in the last few hours.

“Take care,” he said.

“You too.”

The elevator took a moment to arrive. Before the doors closed, he looked at me with that calm, direct way of his and said simply:

“Next week.”

It wasn’t a question.

“Next week,” I confirmed.

And the doors closed.