The Gym Guy Who Got Naked in Front of Me

Camila had been watching him for months from the far side of the gym. Matías trained on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays, always at the same time, always with the same routine: weights, jump rope, abs. He had the body of someone who took care of himself with discipline, not vanity. That, precisely, was what she liked most.

They had never spoken for more than two sentences in a row. A “are you using this?” in front of a machine, a “how do you do this?” while pointing at a piece of equipment. And yet Camila had already memorized the way he bit his lip when he lifted weight, the way he adjusted his T-shirt when he finished a set, the exact shape of his shoulders seen from behind.

That February afternoon was sticky hot, and the gym’s air conditioning could not keep up. Camila took advantage of the fact that he was resting between sets to go over with an excuse she had been preparing for weeks.

“Hi, do you have a second?”

“Sure. Tell me.”

“A couple of months ago I started selling sportswear. For men and women. I’ve always seen you in good clothes and thought you might be interested.”

Matías looked at her with that polite attention he gave everyone. Camila tried not to notice how the sweat traced the line of his neck.

“What kind of things do you have?” he asked.

“Sweatshirts, jackets, cotton and lycra T-shirts, shorts, leggings. Also jockstraps and boxer briefs, if you’re interested.”

He smiled faintly.

“I am, yeah. Do you have a catalog or something?”

“I can bring it tomorrow. Or, if you want, you can finish your workout and come by my apartment. I live five blocks away. I’ve got everything in stock and you can see it directly.”

She said it without thinking too much. When she heard him say, “Sure, let’s go,” her face burned, and not from the heat.

***

Camila’s building was on a noisy avenue, but her studio apartment faced the back and was quiet. She had been living alone for a year, ever since her roommate Florencia moved in with her boyfriend. Selling clothes had started as a way to cover the rent she no longer split with anyone.

“Sit down. I’ll bring you some juice; you must be dehydrated.”

Matías settled on the living room sofa. His legs were apart, his forearms resting on his thighs. Camila watched him a second too long before going into the kitchen.

When she came back with the glass, he had already taken off his gym sweatshirt and was in a T-shirt. The sweat outlined his chest.

“Here’s what sells best,” Camila said, opening two large bags on the coffee table. “These T-shirts are lycra. Cheaper than the cotton ones, but really good. These shorts come in three colors.”

“I like black ones with details. Do you have any?”

“This one, look. Black with orange lines. Try it on if you want.”

“Where?”

“In the bedroom. There’s a big mirror, so you can see how it fits.”

Matías grabbed two T-shirts and two shorts and went into the room. Camila stayed standing in the living room, her heart pounding in her ears. Then she told herself, almost out loud, that she was supposed to advise him. That was why she sold clothes: so the customer would leave convinced. And she went in.

***

She found him already shirtless, evaluating himself in the mirror. He had broad shoulders, a stomach marked in soft lines, and a thin scar near his left side that she had never been able to see from the elliptical machine. Camila sat on the edge of the bed, legs crossed, trying not to breathe too hard.

“How does it fit?”

He had put on the black T-shirt. It fit him like it had been painted on, hugging his pecs without squeezing.

“Amazing. Take that one, don’t even hesitate.”

“Great. I’m going with the shorts now.”

Camila expected him to go into the bathroom. To close a door, to ask for a little privacy. But Matías, with the same ease as someone who shares a locker room three times a week, grabbed the waistband of the shorts and pulled them down to his ankles.

He stood in front of her in snug white boxer briefs, from a brand Camila recognized immediately. The fabric outlined his bulge without shame, drawing a shadow that took her two long seconds to stop staring at. Matías didn’t even flinch. He put on the black shorts, turned halfway in front of the mirror, bent forward to see how they fell over his thighs.

“And this one?”

“Looks great on you,” she answered, in a thin voice she hoped sounded neutral.

***

He tried on three more pairs of shorts. Each time he pulled the previous pair off with the same ease, as if Camila didn’t exist or, worse, as if he trusted her so much he wasn’t even thinking about what he was doing. She learned the exact geography of his legs: the defined calves, the quadriceps with that vein that only appears after years of squats, the line of blond hair that ran down from his navel and disappeared under the elastic of his boxer briefs.

When he decided to keep a black pair from an expensive brand, Camila worked up the nerve.

“If you want, I also have underwear. I saw you wear that brand. I have boxer briefs and briefs.”

“Really? Show me the boxer briefs.”

She got up, opened the bottom drawer of the wardrobe, and took out two boxes. When she turned around, Matías already had his hands on the waistband of the boxer briefs he was wearing.

“Do you want me to leave?”

The automatic question came out, but the smile that accompanied it did not pretend the answer was yes.

“I don’t mind, if you don’t.”

“I don’t,” Camila replied, and sat back down on the edge of the bed. This time she didn’t cross her legs. This time they loosened on their own.

***

Matías pulled his boxer briefs down without theatrics, without looking at her, without hesitation. He let them fall to the floor and gently kicked them aside with his heel. And there it was: naked, standing a meter from her, looking at himself in the mirror and not at Camila.

She forced herself not to look away. He had the body of someone she had dreamed about more times than she would admit. His cock, half-erect from the friction of the snug boxer briefs, hung against his heavy balls, full, with smooth, almost hairless skin that betrayed recent grooming. Camila squeezed her thighs together. She felt the heat of the situation moving through her from every direction.

“Pass me the white ones.”

She handed him the white pair. Their fingers brushed for a second and neither of them said anything about it. He put on the boxer briefs, adjusted himself in front of the mirror, made a slight movement with his mouth.

“They’re tight. They squeeze my balls. Do you have a bigger size?”

“I’ll look for one.”

Camila took longer than necessary to come back. She needed two minutes to breathe, to get her thoughts in order, to not do something she couldn’t take back later. When she went back into the room, Matías had already undressed again and was waiting in the middle of the room, completely exposed, with the calm of a model pausing between shots.

“I’ll explain so you’re not uncomfortable,” he said, without the slightest trace of discomfort. “I always have to adjust my balls so they don’t press. Otherwise I can’t train calmly. In muay thai I even wear a jockstrap, because one stray kick and that’s it.”

“Yes, of course. I understand.”

“That’s why I was telling you about the size.”

“I totally get it.”

She handed him the new boxer briefs. This time, while he put them on, Camila allowed herself to look at everything: the curve of his ass as he bent to pull the fabric up, the weight of his balls swaying for a moment before settling, Matías’s hand adjusting everything with a bodily frankness that left her speechless.

“There. Now that’s better.”

“Fits you perfectly,” Camila said, and her voice came out rougher than she had planned.

***

She wanted to end it there, but he asked to try on a pair of briefs as well. He undressed again. This time he looked at her for a second before pulling down his boxer briefs, and Camila was certain he knew. He had known from the start. Maybe from the gym. Maybe before.

She handed him the briefs. While he put them on, Matías turned in front of the mirror and, without being asked, showed her his back. His ass was high, round, firm. The briefs fit him like they had been made to measure.

“Do you like it?”

The question could have referred to the briefs. It could have. Camila swallowed.

“A lot.”

He laughed softly. He leaned forward to look at something in the mirror and his balls hung heavy inside the fabric. Camila saw his whole silhouette from behind and felt something break inside her. But she didn’t move. She didn’t stand up. She didn’t cross the meter of distance that separated her from him. She stayed seated on the edge of the bed, looking, memorizing, filing away every detail for later.

***

Matías dressed in the clothes he had worn to the gym. Camila wrapped the T-shirt, the two pairs of shorts, the two boxer briefs, and the briefs in a paper bag. She added up the total out loud, gave him a discount she had not planned, took down his information to let him know when the new shipment arrived.

“Thanks, Cami. I’ll stop by here next week, see if I need anything else.”

“Anytime.”

“Next week, then?”

“Next week.”

When he closed the apartment door, Camila stood for a long while in the middle of the living room, holding the bag of rejected items. Then she walked into the bedroom, sat on the edge of the bed, exactly where she had been all afternoon, and stared at the empty mirror.

The images came to her all at once. The curve of his back. The movement of his cock when he bent forward. The exact way he had adjusted his balls without looking, as if she weren’t there, as if she were there and it didn’t matter, as if she were there and it mattered very much.

Camila lay back, closed her eyes, and allowed herself, for the first time in a long while, to breathe deeply. Next week was seven days away, and seven days, at that moment, seemed like an eternity.