This is my first ever story of this kind. I have more if people like it. Let me know your thoughts. All characters and persons in story are over 18 years of age.
Title: “Morning Reps”
Chapter one: Jock Dazed
When I was 28, I started working out with Blake, a trainer who quickly became a good friend. We’d meet up early—sometimes as early as 4:30 in the morning—before the gym opened to the public. Blake owned the place, so we had the whole gym to ourselves during these sessions. It was like our own private world where we could work out without any interruptions.
Blake was one of those guys who naturally drew attention, not just because of his looks but because of his energy. Standing at 6’1” with a body that seemed to be sculpted from stone, he had that southern charm thing going for him—straight out of Lafayette, Louisiana. Confident, sure, but never arrogant. He was straight—or at least mostly straight—but there were times when his curiosity showed through, especially with the way he’d hang out at gay bars with me and my friends, asking questions that went beyond casual interest.
One of those early mornings stands out in my mind. Blake walked in wearing jeans and an old t-shirt, his gym bag slung over his shoulder. He looked half asleep, like he’d rolled out of bed and into the gym without a second thought. We headed into the locker room to change, and I noticed he was rummaging through his bag more frantically than usual.
I typically came dressed in my workout clothes, only bringing stuff to shower and change afterward. I put my bag in the locker next to his and started getting ready. Blake pulled off his shirt and jeans, revealing the tight jock strap he always wore under his clothes. It was the classic style with a thick waistband and a large, supportive pouch. He slipped on his jock and began searching through his bag again, this time with a look of frustration crossing his face.
“Damn it,” he muttered, then called me over. “Hey, man, I messed up.” I was at the sink filling up my water bottle and washing my hands when he said it, so I walked over to see what was going on.
“What’s up?” I asked, not able to hide my grin as I noticed his predicament.
“I forgot my shorts,” he said, holding up the empty gym bag as if it were a crime scene. “I’ve got everything else—shoes, socks, even the damn jock strap. But no shorts.”
I laughed, unable to help myself. “Well, good thing no one else is here,” I said. “Guess you could always work out like that. It’s not like I’m going to complain.”
Blake let out a chuckle, but I could see the gears turning in his head. “Yeah, I don’t really want to run back home,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck. “You’re my only training appointment today anyway, so it’s not like I’m going to run into anyone else. You mind?”
“As a gay man, I’d love to see you work out in that,” I joked, trying to keep things light. “But seriously, if you’re cool with it, then I don’t see a problem. Can’t promise I won’t get a boner at some point, though.”
He laughed, shaking his head. “You know what would make this less awkward? If you worked out without your shorts too. That way it’s not just me feeling like an idiot in my underwear.”
I laughed again, half-wondering if he’d planned this whole thing. But honestly, I didn’t care. Blake was hot, and if it meant I got to spend two hours alone with him in nothing but a jock strap, I was all in.
“Sure, why not,” I said, stripping off my shorts and then my shirt, revealing my own jock strap. I watched him as I did it, catching the slightest flicker of his gaze as it dropped to my pouch for just a second before he looked away.
I could feel Blake’s eyes on me as I stripped off my shorts and then my shirt, leaving me in just my jock strap. He watched me for a moment, a flicker of something in his eyes, before he smirked and shrugged off his tank top as well. Now we were both standing there, bare except for our jocks and shoes, the air between us thick with unspoken tension.
I’m 5’10”, a bit shorter than Blake, but I’ve always kept myself in pretty good shape. My chest is decent-sized, cut and lean, with a light dusting of hair that just covers my pecs. I keep my abdomen shaved smooth and hairless; the lines of my six-pack are well-defined, each muscle standing out under the gym lights. The V-line, those “cum gutters” that I’m proud of, lead down to a neatly trimmed patch of pubic hair that peeks out above the waistband of my jock. Everything else—arms, legs, abs, ass, taint, balls—is shaved clean, leaving my skin smooth to the touch. My dick, nestled comfortably in the pouch of my jock, is what I’d consider average size: around 5 inches soft, but it pushes forward thanks to my balls, making the bulge a little more pronounced. My balls don’t hang as low as some, but that works in my favor, giving me a nice, tight package that’s noticeable even at a glance.
Blake, on the other hand, is a whole different story. He’s got a solid 220 pounds of muscle packed onto his 6’1” frame, making him look like he walked straight out of a fitness magazine. His shoulders are broad and defined, the kind that scream power, and his arms are bigger than mine, cords of muscle flexing under his skin every time he moves. His chest is impressive, larger than mine with pecs that stand out, topped by nipples that always seem to be just a bit hard, like they’re reacting to the cool air in the locker room. His abs are carved even more sharply, an eight-pack that ripples with every breath, and his V-line is deeper and more pronounced than mine, cutting a path down to a darker, thicker bush that peeks out from the waistband of his jock.
Blake goes through phases with his body hair. Sometimes he shaves it all off, but lately, he’s been letting it grow. Today, there’s a light dusting of hair on his chest and abs, running all the way down to that thicker patch of pubes just above his jock. His legs and arms are covered with a fine layer of hair, not too much but enough to give him that rugged look. I haven’t gotten a good look yet, but I’ve noticed his ass has a bit more hair too, especially around the crack and what looks like a thicker patch around his hole. It’s hard to ignore how it complements his muscular build, giving him a more primal, masculine vibe.
Then there’s his bulge. It’s about the same size as mine, maybe a little bigger, but it’s hard to tell with the jock he’s wearing today. The pouch is looser than usual, so everything hangs a bit lower, the outline of his circumcised dick and each distinct ball clear but not overly tight. You can see the head of his cock through the fabric, defined enough to give you an idea of what he’s packing. The way the pouch cups under his sack makes it look like everything’s just on the verge of spilling out, especially when he moves. It’s like a tease, a hint of what’s beneath, and I can’t help but feel a mix of curiosity and arousal building in the pit of my stomach.
Standing there, stripped down to just our jocks and shoes, it’s impossible not to draw the comparison. Blake is all raw power and rugged masculinity, every inch of him screaming strength and confidence, while I’m more cut and lean, every line defined but not as bulky. It’s like we’re two sides of the same coin, each bringing something different to the table, and the unspoken tension between us hangs heavy in the air, charged and waiting for the next move.
This particular day was cardio and core day, which I usually looked forward to because it came more naturally to me. After we stripped down, we headed over to the stationary bikes to warm up. It was always the same routine—ten minutes or so to get the blood pumping and the heart rate up. But today, with Blake in nothing but his loose jock, it was a lot harder to keep my focus.
As we pedaled, I couldn’t help but notice the way his bulge pressed against the seat, the fabric of the jock stretching and shifting with each movement. It took everything in me not to turn my head and just stare; that would’ve been too obvious, and I didn’t want to make things weird. But damn, it was hard not to let my eyes drift over to his crotch every now and then, catching glimpses of the way the pouch cupped his dick and balls, the outline pressing against the seat with each pedal stroke.
Next up were the circuits, starting with jump rope. Normally, I wasn’t a big fan of jump rope, but today was different. We did it facing the mirrors, which gave me the perfect excuse to watch Blake without being too obvious. Every time he jumped, his junk would flop up and down inside that loose jock, the fabric lifting and falling in a rhythm that was almost hypnotic. I tried to keep my eyes on my own reflection, not wanting to make it awkward or immediately pop a boner in the middle of our first circuit. But it was tough, the way his cock and balls bounced with each jump, the pouch shifting and pulling as it tried to contain all that movement.
Then came the core workouts. We moved through crunches, leg lifts, alternating leg v-ups, and bicycle crunches. Each exercise offered a new angle, a different view of Blake’s body in motion, and with each one, I got to see more of him than ever before.
During crunches, I couldn’t take my eyes off the way his jock strap seemed to have a mind of its own. With each crunch, the straps that ran under his ass cheeks started to ride up, lifting and stretching with the motion. It was like the fabric was being pulled taut, and I could see the point where the straps met the pouch underneath his sack creeping upward, threatening to let his balls slip out. Every time this happened, Blake would pause and reach down to readjust, his fingers brushing against the pouch and the straps, pushing them back into place. It was a constant battle, his hands moving over the very area I was desperate to touch.
With each adjustment, I caught glimpses of his taint, that smooth stretch of skin leading up to what I could almost see—the tight, puckered hole that lay just out of sight. The way he struggled to keep everything contained made my mouth go dry, and I had to force myself to keep moving, to not let my eyes linger too long. But damn, it was hard when every rep was a new opportunity to see him so exposed, so close to spilling out of that tight jock.
Leg lifts were another revelation. Lying back on the mat with his legs raised, his thighs were pressed tightly together, and this forced his dick and balls to push through the fabric of the jock, making them even more prominent. From where I was positioned, I had the perfect view of his ass as it lifted off the ground, the muscles clenching with effort. And then there was his bulge, pressed forward through his legs, the outline of his cock and balls visible through the thin, damp material. It was like the jock was doing everything it could to hold him in, but the pressure was making each curve and shape more defined, more visible. It was an intimate display of his anatomy, each movement making my heart race faster.
The alternating leg v-ups and bicycle crunches were just as enticing. During the bicycle crunches, every twist and turn made the pouch of his jock shift and stretch, showing the outline of his dick more clearly. The fabric pulled tight with each motion, hugging every inch of his cock and balls in a way that made it impossible not to look. It was like a dance, a show of strength and masculinity, every part of him moving in sync with the workout.
We went through these circuits six times, and each round just got better as we both got sweatier. I was trying my hardest not to get fully hard, but the sight of Blake struggling to keep his balls from slipping out, the way his dick pressed against the pouch, the glimpses of his taint and almost his hole—it was enough to make any guy lose control. I could feel my dick thickening in my jock, pushing against the pouch, and I had to adjust myself a few times to avoid a full-blown boner. I was thankful that I wore a black jock strap that day because I could feel the precum mixing with my sweat, dampening the pouch and making it cling even more to my skin.
Blake’s jock was just as wet as mine, but since his was white, it had become slightly transparent. Not too bad, thanks to the thick material, but enough to give a hint of what was underneath. There were a couple of times when I swore I saw him looking right at my junk, his eyes lingering a bit longer than they should have. But then again, he was my trainer. He was supposed to watch me, right?
The part that stands out the most from that day, though, was the end of our workout—running two miles on the treadmill. I usually liked this part of cardio and core day, but today was something else entirely. The treadmills were all lined up in front of the mirrors, and Blake and I always took the ones right next to each other. I’d sneak a glance or two at him during normal workouts, just to watch his pecs bounce and see if I could tell whether he was wearing underwear by how much movement was in the crotch of his shorts.
But today… today was on a whole different level. Watching him run in just that jock was fucking crazy. We were both drenched in sweat by this point, our bodies glistening under the gym lights. I could see beads of sweat rolling down his chiseled chest, tracing the ridges of his abs, and disappearing into the waistband of his jock. It was like watching a waterfall cascading down a mountainside, every drop finding its way down into that damp, stretched fabric. The jock was soaked, clinging to his skin and absorbing the sweat, dark patches spreading across the pouch as it struggled to hold everything in place.
His dick and balls, held by the wet pouch of his jock, bobbed up and down, shifting from side to side with the motion of his run. With every step, I could see how the jock strap fought to keep up with the movement. The sweat made the fabric slightly transparent, outlining the shape of his cock and each distinct ball as they bounced. And then there was the sweat that couldn’t be absorbed. It would gather at the edge of the pouch, dripping down onto the treadmill with each stride, leaving a trail of droplets that only added to the raw, animalistic intensity of the moment.
Blake was focused on the TV screens, probably watching SportsCenter or something, which gave me the perfect chance to stare without him noticing. My eyes followed the path of every droplet of sweat as it made its journey down his body, some slipping between his pecs, others carving a line down his stomach, all of them converging at that one point where the pouch met his skin. It was mesmerizing, the way his body glistened and moved, the way his dick and balls were barely contained—it was almost too much to handle.
I could feel my jock getting tighter, my dick growing just from watching this god-like specimen beside me. Each bounce and sway of his bulge, the way the sweat made everything glisten—it was like my body was responding without my permission. I glanced at my own reflection in the mirror and could tell it was becoming a little noticeable. My bulge was pushing forward, the fabric stretching tighter across my hardening cock.
I had to force myself to look away, turning my focus to the TV screens in front of us. Isn’t that what they say to do, think about baseball or something to avoid getting too excited? Well, that’s exactly what I did. I tried concentrating on SportsCenter, the stats and highlights, anything to distract myself from the sight of Blake’s body in motion. It helped a bit, but it was still tough not to steal glances at him. The temptation was always there, right next to me, and every time I caught a glimpse of his glistening, bouncing body, it took all my willpower not to just stare outright.
I wondered how Blake felt about all this. Did he notice how I was reacting? Did he enjoy this, or was it just another workout for him? Was he doing it on purpose, giving me this show, or was he completely oblivious to the effect he was having on me? I couldn’t tell, and that made it even more tantalizing, this constant guessing game of what was going through his mind. Was it weird for him, or was there a part of him that got off on this just like I did?
After finishing up on the treadmills, we usually stretched a little on cardio and core days, but not nearly as much as on leg day or after a heavy back and arm session. Today, though, I was more than happy to skip it altogether. I wasn’t sure I’d be able to control myself or, more importantly, my dick if we stretched side by side. The thought of getting down on the mats again, with him in that loose, wet jock and me trying to keep my eyes off him—it was too much to handle right now.
We walked back to the locker room together, but Blake stopped by his office first to grab something. I headed on in, eager to get started with my routine and get ready for work. Unfortunately, Blake’s gym had individual shower stalls with large private changing areas in front of the showers. In the old days, it would’ve been one big room with multiple showerheads where everyone showered in the open, and I would’ve preferred that. But today, the privacy was probably for the best.
Title: “Morning Reps”
Chapter one: Jock Dazed
When I was 28, I started working out with Blake, a trainer who quickly became a good friend. We’d meet up early—sometimes as early as 4:30 in the morning—before the gym opened to the public. Blake owned the place, so we had the whole gym to ourselves during these sessions. It was like our own private world where we could work out without any interruptions.
Blake was one of those guys who naturally drew attention, not just because of his looks but because of his energy. Standing at 6’1” with a body that seemed to be sculpted from stone, he had that southern charm thing going for him—straight out of Lafayette, Louisiana. Confident, sure, but never arrogant. He was straight—or at least mostly straight—but there were times when his curiosity showed through, especially with the way he’d hang out at gay bars with me and my friends, asking questions that went beyond casual interest.
One of those early mornings stands out in my mind. Blake walked in wearing jeans and an old t-shirt, his gym bag slung over his shoulder. He looked half asleep, like he’d rolled out of bed and into the gym without a second thought. We headed into the locker room to change, and I noticed he was rummaging through his bag more frantically than usual.
I typically came dressed in my workout clothes, only bringing stuff to shower and change afterward. I put my bag in the locker next to his and started getting ready. Blake pulled off his shirt and jeans, revealing the tight jock strap he always wore under his clothes. It was the classic style with a thick waistband and a large, supportive pouch. He slipped on his jock and began searching through his bag again, this time with a look of frustration crossing his face.
“Damn it,” he muttered, then called me over. “Hey, man, I messed up.” I was at the sink filling up my water bottle and washing my hands when he said it, so I walked over to see what was going on.
“What’s up?” I asked, not able to hide my grin as I noticed his predicament.
“I forgot my shorts,” he said, holding up the empty gym bag as if it were a crime scene. “I’ve got everything else—shoes, socks, even the damn jock strap. But no shorts.”
I laughed, unable to help myself. “Well, good thing no one else is here,” I said. “Guess you could always work out like that. It’s not like I’m going to complain.”
Blake let out a chuckle, but I could see the gears turning in his head. “Yeah, I don’t really want to run back home,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck. “You’re my only training appointment today anyway, so it’s not like I’m going to run into anyone else. You mind?”
“As a gay man, I’d love to see you work out in that,” I joked, trying to keep things light. “But seriously, if you’re cool with it, then I don’t see a problem. Can’t promise I won’t get a boner at some point, though.”
He laughed, shaking his head. “You know what would make this less awkward? If you worked out without your shorts too. That way it’s not just me feeling like an idiot in my underwear.”
I laughed again, half-wondering if he’d planned this whole thing. But honestly, I didn’t care. Blake was hot, and if it meant I got to spend two hours alone with him in nothing but a jock strap, I was all in.
“Sure, why not,” I said, stripping off my shorts and then my shirt, revealing my own jock strap. I watched him as I did it, catching the slightest flicker of his gaze as it dropped to my pouch for just a second before he looked away.
I could feel Blake’s eyes on me as I stripped off my shorts and then my shirt, leaving me in just my jock strap. He watched me for a moment, a flicker of something in his eyes, before he smirked and shrugged off his tank top as well. Now we were both standing there, bare except for our jocks and shoes, the air between us thick with unspoken tension.
I’m 5’10”, a bit shorter than Blake, but I’ve always kept myself in pretty good shape. My chest is decent-sized, cut and lean, with a light dusting of hair that just covers my pecs. I keep my abdomen shaved smooth and hairless; the lines of my six-pack are well-defined, each muscle standing out under the gym lights. The V-line, those “cum gutters” that I’m proud of, lead down to a neatly trimmed patch of pubic hair that peeks out above the waistband of my jock. Everything else—arms, legs, abs, ass, taint, balls—is shaved clean, leaving my skin smooth to the touch. My dick, nestled comfortably in the pouch of my jock, is what I’d consider average size: around 5 inches soft, but it pushes forward thanks to my balls, making the bulge a little more pronounced. My balls don’t hang as low as some, but that works in my favor, giving me a nice, tight package that’s noticeable even at a glance.
Blake, on the other hand, is a whole different story. He’s got a solid 220 pounds of muscle packed onto his 6’1” frame, making him look like he walked straight out of a fitness magazine. His shoulders are broad and defined, the kind that scream power, and his arms are bigger than mine, cords of muscle flexing under his skin every time he moves. His chest is impressive, larger than mine with pecs that stand out, topped by nipples that always seem to be just a bit hard, like they’re reacting to the cool air in the locker room. His abs are carved even more sharply, an eight-pack that ripples with every breath, and his V-line is deeper and more pronounced than mine, cutting a path down to a darker, thicker bush that peeks out from the waistband of his jock.
Blake goes through phases with his body hair. Sometimes he shaves it all off, but lately, he’s been letting it grow. Today, there’s a light dusting of hair on his chest and abs, running all the way down to that thicker patch of pubes just above his jock. His legs and arms are covered with a fine layer of hair, not too much but enough to give him that rugged look. I haven’t gotten a good look yet, but I’ve noticed his ass has a bit more hair too, especially around the crack and what looks like a thicker patch around his hole. It’s hard to ignore how it complements his muscular build, giving him a more primal, masculine vibe.
Then there’s his bulge. It’s about the same size as mine, maybe a little bigger, but it’s hard to tell with the jock he’s wearing today. The pouch is looser than usual, so everything hangs a bit lower, the outline of his circumcised dick and each distinct ball clear but not overly tight. You can see the head of his cock through the fabric, defined enough to give you an idea of what he’s packing. The way the pouch cups under his sack makes it look like everything’s just on the verge of spilling out, especially when he moves. It’s like a tease, a hint of what’s beneath, and I can’t help but feel a mix of curiosity and arousal building in the pit of my stomach.
Standing there, stripped down to just our jocks and shoes, it’s impossible not to draw the comparison. Blake is all raw power and rugged masculinity, every inch of him screaming strength and confidence, while I’m more cut and lean, every line defined but not as bulky. It’s like we’re two sides of the same coin, each bringing something different to the table, and the unspoken tension between us hangs heavy in the air, charged and waiting for the next move.
This particular day was cardio and core day, which I usually looked forward to because it came more naturally to me. After we stripped down, we headed over to the stationary bikes to warm up. It was always the same routine—ten minutes or so to get the blood pumping and the heart rate up. But today, with Blake in nothing but his loose jock, it was a lot harder to keep my focus.
As we pedaled, I couldn’t help but notice the way his bulge pressed against the seat, the fabric of the jock stretching and shifting with each movement. It took everything in me not to turn my head and just stare; that would’ve been too obvious, and I didn’t want to make things weird. But damn, it was hard not to let my eyes drift over to his crotch every now and then, catching glimpses of the way the pouch cupped his dick and balls, the outline pressing against the seat with each pedal stroke.
Next up were the circuits, starting with jump rope. Normally, I wasn’t a big fan of jump rope, but today was different. We did it facing the mirrors, which gave me the perfect excuse to watch Blake without being too obvious. Every time he jumped, his junk would flop up and down inside that loose jock, the fabric lifting and falling in a rhythm that was almost hypnotic. I tried to keep my eyes on my own reflection, not wanting to make it awkward or immediately pop a boner in the middle of our first circuit. But it was tough, the way his cock and balls bounced with each jump, the pouch shifting and pulling as it tried to contain all that movement.
Then came the core workouts. We moved through crunches, leg lifts, alternating leg v-ups, and bicycle crunches. Each exercise offered a new angle, a different view of Blake’s body in motion, and with each one, I got to see more of him than ever before.
During crunches, I couldn’t take my eyes off the way his jock strap seemed to have a mind of its own. With each crunch, the straps that ran under his ass cheeks started to ride up, lifting and stretching with the motion. It was like the fabric was being pulled taut, and I could see the point where the straps met the pouch underneath his sack creeping upward, threatening to let his balls slip out. Every time this happened, Blake would pause and reach down to readjust, his fingers brushing against the pouch and the straps, pushing them back into place. It was a constant battle, his hands moving over the very area I was desperate to touch.
With each adjustment, I caught glimpses of his taint, that smooth stretch of skin leading up to what I could almost see—the tight, puckered hole that lay just out of sight. The way he struggled to keep everything contained made my mouth go dry, and I had to force myself to keep moving, to not let my eyes linger too long. But damn, it was hard when every rep was a new opportunity to see him so exposed, so close to spilling out of that tight jock.
Leg lifts were another revelation. Lying back on the mat with his legs raised, his thighs were pressed tightly together, and this forced his dick and balls to push through the fabric of the jock, making them even more prominent. From where I was positioned, I had the perfect view of his ass as it lifted off the ground, the muscles clenching with effort. And then there was his bulge, pressed forward through his legs, the outline of his cock and balls visible through the thin, damp material. It was like the jock was doing everything it could to hold him in, but the pressure was making each curve and shape more defined, more visible. It was an intimate display of his anatomy, each movement making my heart race faster.
The alternating leg v-ups and bicycle crunches were just as enticing. During the bicycle crunches, every twist and turn made the pouch of his jock shift and stretch, showing the outline of his dick more clearly. The fabric pulled tight with each motion, hugging every inch of his cock and balls in a way that made it impossible not to look. It was like a dance, a show of strength and masculinity, every part of him moving in sync with the workout.
We went through these circuits six times, and each round just got better as we both got sweatier. I was trying my hardest not to get fully hard, but the sight of Blake struggling to keep his balls from slipping out, the way his dick pressed against the pouch, the glimpses of his taint and almost his hole—it was enough to make any guy lose control. I could feel my dick thickening in my jock, pushing against the pouch, and I had to adjust myself a few times to avoid a full-blown boner. I was thankful that I wore a black jock strap that day because I could feel the precum mixing with my sweat, dampening the pouch and making it cling even more to my skin.
Blake’s jock was just as wet as mine, but since his was white, it had become slightly transparent. Not too bad, thanks to the thick material, but enough to give a hint of what was underneath. There were a couple of times when I swore I saw him looking right at my junk, his eyes lingering a bit longer than they should have. But then again, he was my trainer. He was supposed to watch me, right?
The part that stands out the most from that day, though, was the end of our workout—running two miles on the treadmill. I usually liked this part of cardio and core day, but today was something else entirely. The treadmills were all lined up in front of the mirrors, and Blake and I always took the ones right next to each other. I’d sneak a glance or two at him during normal workouts, just to watch his pecs bounce and see if I could tell whether he was wearing underwear by how much movement was in the crotch of his shorts.
But today… today was on a whole different level. Watching him run in just that jock was fucking crazy. We were both drenched in sweat by this point, our bodies glistening under the gym lights. I could see beads of sweat rolling down his chiseled chest, tracing the ridges of his abs, and disappearing into the waistband of his jock. It was like watching a waterfall cascading down a mountainside, every drop finding its way down into that damp, stretched fabric. The jock was soaked, clinging to his skin and absorbing the sweat, dark patches spreading across the pouch as it struggled to hold everything in place.
His dick and balls, held by the wet pouch of his jock, bobbed up and down, shifting from side to side with the motion of his run. With every step, I could see how the jock strap fought to keep up with the movement. The sweat made the fabric slightly transparent, outlining the shape of his cock and each distinct ball as they bounced. And then there was the sweat that couldn’t be absorbed. It would gather at the edge of the pouch, dripping down onto the treadmill with each stride, leaving a trail of droplets that only added to the raw, animalistic intensity of the moment.
Blake was focused on the TV screens, probably watching SportsCenter or something, which gave me the perfect chance to stare without him noticing. My eyes followed the path of every droplet of sweat as it made its journey down his body, some slipping between his pecs, others carving a line down his stomach, all of them converging at that one point where the pouch met his skin. It was mesmerizing, the way his body glistened and moved, the way his dick and balls were barely contained—it was almost too much to handle.
I could feel my jock getting tighter, my dick growing just from watching this god-like specimen beside me. Each bounce and sway of his bulge, the way the sweat made everything glisten—it was like my body was responding without my permission. I glanced at my own reflection in the mirror and could tell it was becoming a little noticeable. My bulge was pushing forward, the fabric stretching tighter across my hardening cock.
I had to force myself to look away, turning my focus to the TV screens in front of us. Isn’t that what they say to do, think about baseball or something to avoid getting too excited? Well, that’s exactly what I did. I tried concentrating on SportsCenter, the stats and highlights, anything to distract myself from the sight of Blake’s body in motion. It helped a bit, but it was still tough not to steal glances at him. The temptation was always there, right next to me, and every time I caught a glimpse of his glistening, bouncing body, it took all my willpower not to just stare outright.
I wondered how Blake felt about all this. Did he notice how I was reacting? Did he enjoy this, or was it just another workout for him? Was he doing it on purpose, giving me this show, or was he completely oblivious to the effect he was having on me? I couldn’t tell, and that made it even more tantalizing, this constant guessing game of what was going through his mind. Was it weird for him, or was there a part of him that got off on this just like I did?
After finishing up on the treadmills, we usually stretched a little on cardio and core days, but not nearly as much as on leg day or after a heavy back and arm session. Today, though, I was more than happy to skip it altogether. I wasn’t sure I’d be able to control myself or, more importantly, my dick if we stretched side by side. The thought of getting down on the mats again, with him in that loose, wet jock and me trying to keep my eyes off him—it was too much to handle right now.
We walked back to the locker room together, but Blake stopped by his office first to grab something. I headed on in, eager to get started with my routine and get ready for work. Unfortunately, Blake’s gym had individual shower stalls with large private changing areas in front of the showers. In the old days, it would’ve been one big room with multiple showerheads where everyone showered in the open, and I would’ve preferred that. But today, the privacy was probably for the best.
