The Gym Guy Who Stripped in Front of Me

Camila had spent months watching him 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 at a time. A “are you using this?” in front of a machine, a “how do you do this?” pointing at some piece of equipment. And yet Camila had already memorized the way he bit his lip when lifting 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 was struggling to keep up. Camila took advantage of the fact that he was resting between sets to approach him with an excuse she had been preparing for weeks.

—Hi, do you have a second?

—Sure. What’s up?

—A couple of months ago I started selling sportswear. For men and women. I’ve always seen you wearing nice stuff and I thought you might be interested.

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

—What kind of things do you have? —he asked.

—Hoodies, jackets, cotton and lycra T-shirts, shorts, leggings. Also jockstraps and boxers, if you’re interested.

He smiled crookedly.

—I am interested, 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 have 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,” she felt her face burn, and not because of the heat.

***

Camila’s building was on a noisy avenue, but her studio apartment faced the rear 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 get you some juice, you must be dehydrated.

Matías settled onto the living room sofa. His legs were spread, his forearms resting on his thighs. Camila watched him a couple of seconds longer than necessary before heading into the kitchen.

When she came back with the glass, he had already taken off his gym hoodie and was in a T-shirt. Sweat marked the shape of his chest.

—This is what sells best —Camila said, opening two large bags on the coffee table—. These T-shirts are lycra. Cheaper than cotton, 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, you’ll be able to see how it fits properly.

Matías grabbed two T-shirts and two pairs of 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 help him. That was why she sold clothes: so the customer would leave convinced. And she went in.

***

She found him already without his T-shirt, sizing himself up in the mirror. He had a broad back, a defined abdomen 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 made for him, hugging his pecs without squeezing.

—Amazing. Take that one, don’t even think about it.

—Perfect. I’m going with the shorts now.

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

He stood in front of her in tight white boxers, of a brand Camila recognized at once. The fabric outlined the bulge shamelessly, tracing the shape of his cock against his left thigh and the heavy sack of his balls, tight underneath. It took Camila a long two seconds to stop staring. Matías didn’t even flinch. He pulled on the black shorts, turned halfway in front of the mirror, bent forward to see how they fell over his thighs.

—And these?

—They look great on you —she answered, in a thread of voice she hoped sounded neutral.

***

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

When he decided to keep a pair of expensive black shorts, Camila worked up the nerve.

—If you’re interested, I also have underwear. I saw you wear that brand. I have boxers and briefs.

—Really? Pass me the boxers.

She stood up, opened the lower drawer of the wardrobe, and took out two boxes. When she turned around, Matías already had his hands on the elastic of the boxers he was wearing.

—Do you want me to go out?

The question came out automatically, but the smile that accompanied it wasn’t meant to make the answer yes.

—I don’t mind, if you don’t.

—I don’t —Camila answered, and sat back down on the edge of the bed. This time she didn’t cross her legs. This time they opened on their own, and she felt her cunt pulsing hot and wet against the seam of her panties.

***

Matías pulled down his boxers without drama, without looking at her, without hesitation. He let them fall to the floor and kicked them gently aside with his heel. And there he 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 tight boxers, hung thick against his heavy balls, full, with smooth skin and almost no hair betraying a recent wax. The head peeked out, shiny beneath the foreskin, thick, with a tiny drop of fluid showing at the tip. Camila clenched her thighs, felt her panties soak through in a single rush, and had to bite her lip to keep from moaning with pure desire. The cock was exactly as she had imagined it on every night of fantasy: long, thick, with veins climbing up the shaft.

—Pass me the white ones.

She handed him the white ones. Their fingers brushed for a second and neither of them said anything about it. He put on the boxers, stood in front of the mirror, made a slight gesture with his mouth.

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

—I’ll get one.

Camila took longer than necessary to come back. In the hallway she leaned against the wall, slipped her hand under her leggings and touched her swollen clit with two fingers, just a quick friction to relieve the pressure. She was dripping. Her fingers came away sticky, and she had to wipe them on a dish towel before grabbing another box. When she went back into the room, Matías had already stripped again and was waiting for her standing in the middle of the bedroom, completely exposed, his cock swaying slightly with the rhythm of his breathing.

—I’ll explain it so it doesn’t make you uncomfortable —he said, without the slightest trace of discomfort—. I always have to adjust my balls so they don’t get pressed. Otherwise I can’t train properly. In muay thai I even wear a jockstrap, because one stray kick and that’s it.

He took his cock in his right hand, lifted it a little, and with his left he repositioned his balls with the naturalness of someone doing it twenty times a day. His cock shifted thickly between his fingers, and Camila watched it grow a little more, as if the handling were waking it up.

—Yeah, of course. Makes sense.

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

—I totally understand.

She handed him the new boxers. 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 rocking for a moment before settling, Matías’s hand adjusting his cock with a bodily frankness that left her speechless.

—Now that’s better.

—They fit you perfectly —said Camila, and her voice came out rougher than she had planned.

***

She wanted to end it there, but he asked to try on a brief as well. He stripped again. This time he did look at her for a second before pulling down his boxers, and Camila was certain that he knew. He had known from the beginning. Maybe from the gym. Maybe before that. His cock, this time, wasn’t as soft: it had thickened, hung heavier, straighter, pointing slightly forward.

—It shows —he said softly, without taking his eyes off her.

—Shows what? —Camila asked, though she knew perfectly well.

—That it turns you on.

Camila didn’t answer. She stood up, crossed the meter that separated them, and knelt on the rug in front of him without saying a word. She placed both hands on his thighs, slid slowly up to his hips, and felt Matías’s cock harden in front of her face, swelling completely in a matter of seconds until it was hard, thick, pressed against his stomach.

She took his cock in her right hand. It was hot, heavy, and throbbed against her palm like its own pulse. She pulled the foreskin back with her thumb and exposed the swollen head, red, shining. She leaned in and ran her tongue from the base of his balls to the tip in one slow lick, tasting the salty sweat of the gym and the raw taste of his skin. Matías let out a short gasp.

—Fuck.

Camila took the head into her mouth. She sucked it slowly at first, pressing it between her lips, circling the crown with her tongue, feeling her mouth fill with that drop of pre-cum that tasted somewhere between salty and sweet. Then she started to go down. She swallowed cock as far as she could, until she felt the head touch the back of her throat, and stayed there for a few seconds, breathing through her nose, letting him feel all the heat of her mouth.

—Like that, like that —Matías put a hand on the back of her neck, not pushing, just guiding her—. Suck it all.

Camila started sucking in rhythm. She went up and down, took it out to lick his balls, took them into her mouth one by one, sucked them carefully, and went back to his cock, each time wetter, shinier with saliva. With her free hand she freed her leggings and slipped her fingers into her cunt. She was soaking. She touched her clit with the pad of her finger, never stopping sucking his cock, and felt the first spasms of an approaching orgasm.

—Come on, stand up —he said, tugging lightly at her hair.

Camila stood. Matías grabbed her by the waist, ripped off her T-shirt in one pull, unclasped her bra, and freed her tits. He bent down, licked one nipple, then the other, nibbling them with his teeth just enough to make her moan. Then he shoved her back onto the bed, yanked down her leggings and panties in one pull, and spread her legs wide open.

He knelt at the foot of the bed and buried his face in her cunt. He ate her pussy hungrily, sucking her lips, slipping his whole tongue inside, going up to her clit and sucking it until she had to cover her mouth with both hands so she wouldn’t scream. He slid two fingers into her and curled them upward, searching for the exact spot, all while still sucking her clit. Camila came a few seconds later, arching all over, clamping his head between her thighs, soaking his face.

—Fuck me —she begged when she could breathe again—. Right now, fuck me.

Matías stood up, grabbed his cock at the base, and dragged it over the lips of her pussy, rubbing the head against her swollen clit. Camila lifted her hips, searching for it. He pushed in with one thrust, sinking himself all the way to the balls, and both of them moaned at once.

—You’re so tight.

—Move, come on, fuck me hard.

Matías started moving. At first slowly, pulling almost all the way out and easing back in, letting her feel every centimeter. Then faster, harder, with his pubic bone hitting her clit on every thrust. The bed creaked. Camila clung to the sheets, to his back, to whatever she could grab. She dug her nails into his ass and pushed him deeper, asking for more.

—Turn over —Matías told her.

Camila turned over and got on all fours on the bed, ass raised and face pressed into the pillow. He positioned himself behind her, grabbed her hips, and drove his cock into her again in one hard stroke. From that angle it went deeper, and Camila felt the head pounding the back of her cunt. Matías fucked her mercilessly, driving her ass against his pubis, giving her short slaps on the ass that left her skin red.

—Lick your finger and put it in your ass —he ordered.

Camila obeyed. She coated her middle finger in saliva and slowly slipped it into her ass, all the way in. The sensation of being filled in both places set off another orgasm, longer than the first, and she felt her cunt clenching around Matías’s cock in waves.

—I’m going to cum —he panted.

—Not inside.

Matías pulled out, made her turn around again, and Camila knelt on the floor, mouth open, looking up at him from below. He grabbed his cock and gave himself two quick strokes right in front of her face. He came in spurts: the first thick rope splattered her cheek and ran down to her chin, the second went into her open mouth, the rest fell onto her breasts and neck. Camila didn’t close her eyes. She licked her lips, ran her fingers over her face, and took the semen into her mouth, swallowing it all while still looking at him.

Matías let himself fall onto the edge of the bed, still hard, still dripping. Camila brought her mouth to his and licked the last drops from his head, sucking him slowly, cleaning him completely. He ran his fingers through her hair, breathing hard.

—Holy fuck, Cami.

—Mm-hm.

They stayed like that for a while, in silence, her kneeling between his legs, him with his hands braced behind him on the bed. Then Camila stood up, took a towel from the wardrobe, and wiped the sweat from his chest before cleaning herself off. Their skin smelled of sex and the gym.

***

Matías got dressed in the clothes he had arrived to the gym in. Camila wrapped the T-shirt, the two pairs of shorts, the two boxers, and the brief in a paper bag. She totaled everything out loud, gave him a discount she hadn’t planned on, took his details so she could let him know when the new shipment came in.

—Thanks, Cami. I’ll swing by next week, see if I need anything else.

—Whenever you want.

—Next week, then?

—Next week.

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

The images hit her all at once. The curve of his back. The movement of his cock when he bent. 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 had mattered a lot. And then, everything else: the mouth full, the cunt stretched, the semen running down her face.

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