Oh my god, there he was on the treadmill, shirtless, glistening with sweat that trickled down a muscled torso. I thought of how I had a long way to go before I looked like that: drop-dead gorgeous. I was fed up with being overweight, and got the recommendation from my physician that I should drop a minimum of fifty pounds. I finally grew the balls to join a gym. I grew weary of only walking past the window of Gold’s, watching everyone but me change their lives. I didn’t just want to shed the pounds for reasons of health, but also so I would no longer seem invisible to the hotties that pranced around the local gay clubs. Damn, this guy was handsome. I knew I wouldn’t be able to snag a man like him on my best day.
The first day I laid eyes on him I was about to put off my workout for the umpteenth time when I saw him saunter into the gym. He cut me the cutest smile when he walked past me. This guy was the embodiment of hot. If you looked up gorgeous in the dictionary, you would probably find his pretty face. This beauty was all the encouragement I needed to take that chance. I went in, filled out forms, signed my John Hand job, I mean, Hancock, on the dotted line, paid my sixteen-dollar membership and followed that muscle-lust stud into the workout area of the gym. I was hypnotized by his stunning good looks. Where in the hell had this guy been all my life? Luckily, the treadmill next to him was vacant. To see his muscles flexing under sinewy skin was enough to make my dick hard. I had never been on a treadmill, and started to fumble around with the contraption, not having the slightest idea what I was doing, yet it provided the perfect excuse to ask for this bohunk’s assistance. When I asked him for help, he looked annoyed, breathing heavy, dripping with sweat. “Sorry to bother you, but do you know how to operate this?”
He stopped his own machine to step over to assist me. “How fast do you want to go?”
As fast or as slow as you want, baby, I thought. “Do you want to walk or run?” I would have preferred to walk, but I didn’t want the object of my affection to think that I was a lightweight, so I decided to run it out. I told him that a good jog to get the blood flowing and the heart pumping would be good enough. He instructed me on how to use the buttons and what they were used for, informing me that I could use this and that button to quicken or slow down my speed. When I asked him how often he frequented the gym in some sad attempt to break the ice, I felt like the biggest loser. As soon as that cornball of a question slipped out of my mouth, I wanted to reel it back in.
“About six days a week.” He asked me if it was my first time at Gold’s.
“Is it that obvious?”
He smiled all pretty. “I’ve seen you standing outside a few times, looking through the window.”
I was so embarrassed. “You must have thought I was some kind of pervert or something.”
“Not at all. I was like you once: struggling to take that first step. I’m glad that you made it in.”
I switched on the machine and began to jog at a steady pace. It wasn’t long before I started to breathe heavy, but I doubt that it had anything to do with any treadmill. I’m the type who likes to see instant results the moment after I’m done working out, wanting the weight to melt off. “I’m Shane by the way,” I told him.
“Steve.” What a beautiful name for a beautiful man. I wanted to tattoo it on my ass. Owned and operated by Steve. “So do you have a goal weight that you would like to meet?”
“I’m trying to lose about fifty pounds.”
“That sounds like a good, healthy size for your height. I think you would look amazing.” Oh my god, had he just said I would look amazing?
“Thank you, I hope so.”
“As long as you keep working hard and being persistent, you shouldn’t have a problem meeting your goal.” Steve’s words of encouragement were exactly what I needed to hear in order to keep going, considering I felt like I was close to fainting from exhaustion. I adjusted the speed to slow things down.
Steve and I spent a good hour and a half working out and talking, then we hit the showers. I wasn’t sure how comfortable I would be showering with another man, but I had to see this guy in the buff. His dick looked to be about eight inches while his ass was bubbled and firm. I would have given anything to cop a feel, to wrap my lips around his horse-hung dick. I would glance down at it as I soaped up. I was scared shitless he might have caught me staring, but he never did. My dick hardened to the sight of Steve’s well-endowed appendage. I wish I could say that we got up to something, but Steve showered, got out and dried off the ass I wanted to smother my face in, and left. “I guess I will see you around,” he said.
Now that I had taken that plunge, I made working out a six-day-a-week regiment, all so I could run into Hot Steve. I not only met my goal weight, but I lost twenty more pounds and was quickly burning fat and gaining muscle. After about four weeks I started to see a difference. No one would ever call me Fat Albert again. I could finally see my dick without having to bend over, thanks partly to Steve. The losing weight part, I mean. He and I not only became friends, but loyal fuck buddies, so all of the fantasies and rock-hard dreams I had about him had finally come true.
The sixteen gym-sational stories I have assembled here will, taunt, tease and titillate thanks to some of my favorite gay erotica veterans like Bob Vickery, Gregory L. Norris, Rob Rosen, Jay Starre, Logan Zachary, Landon Dixon, Jeff Mann, R. W. Clinger and Michael Bracken, as well as the rising stars of gay erotica: Brent Archer, Fox Lee, Katya Harris, Oleander Plume, Sasha Payne and Jake Rich. I hope you enjoy reading these stories over and over as much as I have.
Shane Allison
Tallahassee, Florida