I suppose like a lot of guys, the iron bug bit me in high school. I started lifting as a means of getting bigger for football. Many an hour was logged in the weight room in the quest for strength and size. Even while trying to stay focused during all those hours and all that hard work, it was hard not to develop a fine appreciation for the male physique in all the various shapes and forms that were on display in that sweaty, musky chamber on a daily basis.
My grades didn't qualify me for college, but my competitive nature wouldn't let me sit still. So, after dabbling in bodybuilding for a few years, I settled on power lifting and racked up enough trophies to fill two wall cases. Now closing in on thirty years since high school, my joints have forced me to retire from the contest arena, but I still keep active with regular workouts at Jake's Gym, an old school facility located in the rear of a building with the only access by way of an intimidating dead-end alley. The weights, benches and racks have a slightly rusted hue from the perpetual Pittsburgh humidity, and plenty of dents from the years of brutal and constant use.
As for the owner, Jake, I suppose he's a lot like his gym, a little beat up but at his core, all power. At six foot two, with a salt and pepper beard, bald on top, and muscle upon muscle from years of experience in the iron game, he can be an imposing figure. About five years my senior, Jake has become a trusted confidant and mentor. And to me, he's without a doubt the sexiest man alive. Hardly a night goes by that I don't jack myself to sleep fantasizing about him and waking up with stained sheets. When I'm not at work, I try to spend as much of my free time in the gym, watching his every move out of the corner of my eye. If I could live there, I'd gladly take up residence just to be closer to him. Now, before you go thinking that I'm some sort of stalker, let me relate what happened last Friday night.
I had just finished an all-out balls-to-the-wall workout, looking forward to the upcoming weekend. Jake and I were the only ones left, and after locking up, he began to clean and straighten while I headed downstairs to shower up. Jake had converted a bathroom into a makeshift locker room with a fiberglass shower stall, a few chairs and a used bank of lockers that he had bought from an area high school that had recently upgraded its facilities.
The water was nice and warm as it massaged my aching muscles, relieving the soreness from my iron session. I had just rinsed the soap off when I heard Jake's voice yell out. "Rich, I need you! Right now!"
Startled by the tone in his voice, which was different from the way he yelled during workouts, I quickly turned off the water and debated for a second whether I should try to dress before responding to his cry for help. Instead, I wrapped a towel around my waist and ascended the stairs in my bare feet.
The room was all but dark except for the single row of lights that were left on at night for security purposes. At first I didn't see him when I called out. "Jake, where are you? What's wrong?"
"I need some lovin', that's what's wrong."
I turned to see him standing in the recess of the room that was hidden from the window. Almost spotlighted from the ceiling lamp above, Jake stood totally naked except for the leather boots that he worked out in. His thick chest hair thinned out as it descended toward a patch of pubic hair that surrounded a currently soft but thick and long cock that hung slightly to one side.