Done with another session in which I am convinced my trainer is trying to kill me, I limp back towards the locker room and am stopped by another of the trainers whom I’ve never met but have seen around. Like most of the trainers here at Gold’s gym, he is young and in great shape.
“Hey man, I’m Levi,” he says. “Jon told me you’re a massage therapist.”
Jon is my totally hot—and totally straight—trainer. I nod. “That’s right.”
“Any chance you can work out a knot, bro? I tweaked my back this morning and I can’t work it out.”
I want to laugh when he calls me “bro”, but, considering I am easily twenty years his senior, I’m lucky he didn’t call me “Sir”. “I specialize in deep tissue work,” I explain with a smile, trying my best not to overtly check him out. Levi is around my height of 6’, has cropped light brown hair and bright blue eyes. He has smooth, pale skin and looks pretty ripped from what little I can see past his gym pants and black polo shirt. He’s skinnier than the guys who usually catch my attention, but he’s a handsome guy.
“Is your massage studio nearby?”
I explain that I work out of my home and that my table is actually set up in the living room, as I have clients scheduled later this afternoon.
“I know you just worked out and all,” he continues, “but is there any way you can fit me in for a short session? I don’t have another client for two hours.”
I nod while my mind wanders. He asks if I can cut him a deal on a thirty minute session and I wisely refrain from telling him I’d do it for free just to see him with his shirt off. We agree to a price and, after I quickly rinse off and change into my street clothes, Levi is following me the three blocks back to my place. He follows me in, compliments my place, and calls me “dude” three times. He looks a little uncomfortable and I’m assuming my trainer informed him I am gay, as I am totally open about it with him. I ask him where he is hurting as I’m putting clean sheets on my massage table.
He reaches back behind his neck with his right arm, showing off his tight bicep and defined lat. “It’s behind my left scapula, like … where my Teres Major meets my Trapezius.”
“I wish all my clients knew anatomy as well as you.” This makes him smile.
“Do I have to take off my clothes?”
I tell him to get as undressed as he is comfortable with, and show him the draping sheet he can get under. He pulls of his shirt to reveal ripped abs and a small, tight chest. He has a fair amount of chest hair but it is cropped pretty short. He hesitates for a moment before pulling off his shoes, socks and gym pants so that he is standing in front of me in nothing but blue Target-brand briefs. His fury legs are small but equally ripped. He climbs on the table and lies on his stomach on top of the sheets, positioning his head on the face cradle.
I quickly wash my hands and retrieve the massage lotion. I ask him the standard questions about his history of injuries or sensitivities while warming him up with long, broad strokes down and across his back. His back is perfectly smooth and his skin is lightly freckled near his shoulders. He has a tiny waste and a tight little bubble-butt, and I begin to lose focus until I find the knot: It is really bad and I can’t help but feel for the kid. I pull his left hand behind his back in order to lift his scapula and begin working. I start off gently but as I increase pressure, his ass flexes and I can imagine he is gritting his teeth.
“Tell me if I’m going too deep,” I explain. “The goal is to make you feel better rather than breaking you in half.”
He tells me it hurts in a good way and I spend the entire 30-minute session working on his back and neck. I’m able to work the knot out but warn him he really needs to stretch it out for the next few days.
He stands; looking completely exhausted as he cranes his neck from side to side. “Fuck, dude: Your hands are insane.” He’s standing in front of me, looking more at my neck than my face as though he is afraid to make eye contact.
“You gave my hands a serious workout,” I say with a laugh. “You’re probably going to be a little sore tomorrow.”
He isn’t making a move to get dressed. Fuck, this is the part that always gets me in trouble. I reach up and begin rubbing his left shoulder, and he moans when my fingers find the spot. He’s not pulling away from me, so I rub a little harder, thinking I would happily stand here and rub him all day if he’d let me. He steps closer, then actually leans his forehead against my shoulder and places his hands on my hips for support. He begins melting in my arms and I have no fucking clue if he is hitting on me or just enjoying the attention. My cock, on the other hand, knows exactly what it wants and it begins to throb so hard I’m afraid Levi can feel it.
I’m about to pull away when his hands begin massaging my hips in a way that—understated as it may be—can not be mistaken as the touch of a straight guy. I feel creepy, and there’s still too much of a chance that I am misreading him, so I say the first stupid thing that comes to mind: “Careful, kiddo; you’re starting to turn me on.”
He doesn’t say a word as his hands move slowly to my crotch. I’m afraid I will fuck this up if I say something or stop massaging him, so I continue rubbing his neck as he begins stroking my dick through my shorts. He begins lightly chewing on my chest through my shirt and then lowers himself to his knees without a sound and pulls my shorts down around my ankles. He looks up at me, making eye contact for the first time, questioningly as though anyone in their right mind would tell him to stop. I rub my hands over his stubbled hair and he seems to take this as a sign, because he pulls my cock out of my underwear and wraps his lips around the head while still looking up at me.
This is totally insane; my life is totally insane. Here is this beautiful boy, young enough to be my son, eagerly worshiping my cock as though it was the most normal thing to do on a Thursday morning. His smooth lips are driving me crazy.
I want to bend down and kiss him. I want to pick him up, throw him in my bed, and fuck the hell out of his tight little ass. But, instead, I continue rubbing his head and look—in complete wonderment—into his blue eyes as he brings me closer and closer to the edge. There’s absolutely no doubt that he wants me to come, but I’m doing my best to prolong it. I can tell he is stroking his cock but I can’t see it from this angle and I’m sure the fuck not about to change positions.
“Baby,” I mumble, and hate myself for saying it. “You’re gonna make me nut if you keep that up.”
Closer and closer he brings me, until I am gasping and rising up on my tiptoes. Fuuuuck,” I groan. “I’m really close.”
He finally pulls away and drops down so that he is sitting on his feet and leaning back, exposing his small hard cock which curves up towards his belly. “Shoot on my chest,” he begs. “Shoot all over me.”
I grab his forehead with my right hand and push him back another six inches so that the back of his head is against the wall. I spit in my left hand and finish what he started; cranking my bone until my nuts pull tight and I begin to tremble. He is looking up at me with this amazingly eager face and I do my best to keep my eyes open as if looking away may break this spell. “Fuck,” I growl. “Fuck. Fuck!” I blow a huge load, pumping jizz all over his neck and chest.
“Yeah, dude,” he shouts, nodding in encouragement. “Fucking cover me with your huge load.” With that, his curved dick explodes and shoots his nut all over his stomach as he convulses. He continues stroking his cock, moaning and gasping like he’s in pain. He pulls his legs out from under him and lies flat on his back, glassy-eyed and smiling as he catches his breath. I shake the last of my cum on his chest, marking him.
Seriously, this boy is a sexy little fucker, especially all shiny with sweat and cum like this. I want to drop down and kiss him, but even I have enough awareness to refrain. Instead, I remain standing over him, silently nodding my approval.
“I’m sorry,” he says, surprising me.
I can’t help but laugh. “Sorry for what?”
He shrugs, as though that explains everything. Our combined loads are pooling in the groves of his ripped abs and beginning to drip down his sides. I toss him a towel and watch him slowly wipe himself clean. He finally sits up, takes a big sniff of the towel, and shrugs again. He accepts my offer of a shower and stays in there for a good fifteen minutes as I strip off the sheets and wipe some jizz off my wooden floor.
He finally steps back into my living room with a towel wrapped around his waist, suddenly modest. “I know this sounds stupid,” he begins, “but would you mind not telling Jon about this?”
“Of course,” I agree.
I can’t help but watch as he dresses. “I don’t have a problem with it, but the other trainers assume I am straight and it just seems easier that way. Plus … I’m assuming I can get fired for messing around with a client.”
“Well, I suppose I should get back to the gym.”
I walk him to the door and assume that is the end of it when he surprises me running his hand up my arm. “That was really hot. Can I come back again?”
Enzo AKA SoCalTuffGuy