Man to Man

I throw a towel over a shoulder and head toward the shower stalls off a hallway behind the men's locker room. My footfalls are light, but still there's a faint echo off the clean tiled walls as I walk, my feet sticking lightly to the tacky tiled floor.

Turning right, I stride in front of the series of stalls that line the back wall of the building. The shower area is secluded. My cock bounces against my thigh with each step.

All the stalls are vacant as I pass them by, looking into each porcelain cube.

Finally stopping at the eighth stall, then glancing back the way I'd just walked, I know I'll have plenty of privacy here, in case I want to do a little more with the soap than just scrub my body.

I consider my favorite move in the shower -- the soap and stroke -- as I hang my towel on the hook by the curtain and turn on the flow.

The water quickly warms and I slip into the 6-by-6 cubicle. Could I get away with it? I do the soap-and-stroke more often than I fuck my wife. I have plenty of practice. Sure, I can get away with it.

I had worked late and went straight to the gym from the office, looking forward to pumping away my aggravation. Aggravation from the job and aggravation from being able to only look, and not touch, the women I work with. Most are married, but don't hesitate to tease.

Tonight I worked much later than usual. There were only a few people in the large, well-equipped gym by the time I finished my workout.

At 44, I have to work harder than ever to stay in shape, to keep the flab away, to maintain some definition and tone. If I had worked this hard on my physique when I was 24, I'd have been on the bodybuilding tour.

The hard work pays off when you find people, especially women, sneaking quick looks at your body when they think you're not paying attention.

Sometimes you don't have to have sex with someone. Just knowing that they'd want to do it is good enough. That is, knowing they would give themselves -- if they could. On the gym floor, however, most of us pose in some fashion. No one ever looks too closely. At least not obviously.

Well, tonight it was back and shoulders. A few sets with free weights. A few sets with pulleys. Then 30 minutes on the elliptical, stepping up the resistance every few minutes until my pores open and the sweat runs off me.

For months I had noticed one guy, maybe 25, but probably younger, who always seemed to make it a point to say hello to me when we were there at the same time working out on the main gym floor. He had done it tonight. I usually respond with a greeting, but I'm not too friendly.

It hasn't been the greeting, which is common, but the look that comes with it. It may be that it is a similar look that I give a woman to let her know I'm available to service her. In other words, the shoe's on the other foot.

He has black hair, sideburns, with sort of an unshaven rough look. The guy's a bit shorter than my 6-1, but seems to work hard and has a chiseled upper body that is not heavily muscled, but well-defined.

My first thought was that he probably has his way with more than a few women.

But now, I'm pretty sure it's not women that he wants. The thought, unexpectedly, makes my cock surge.

The water rolls over my body, washing away the shampoo in my hair. I wonder if my wife has kept some dinner warm for me. It's at least 9. The soap clears away the stench in my armpits.

My eyes are closed and I turn away from the curtain.

That young stud is very attractive. I find myself wondering about the feel of his flesh, the hardness of his cock and the taste of his mouth.

My soapy right hand slides across my stomach and clasps my semi-erect organ, automatically beginning a pumping action. I feel the hot flesh pulse and engorge. Increasing the pace, I decide that I can cum within a minute and shoot my load into the drain on the floor. I've jerked off this way so many times. How easy it will be.

As I aim my pole toward the drain and pump feverishly, my mind races with visions of homosexual lovemaking with the young stud who shows me attention.

Maybe he's well-hung and I could only get half his cock in my mouth?

I feel the orgasm begin to build as I continue to fantasize about wild gay sex mixed with my longstanding gym fantasy: Men and women using the same locker rooms and the same showers. Considering all the possibilities always is fruitful for masturbation.

I hear the plastic shower curtain being pulled aside, then feel a wave of cool air and sense a presence in the porcelain stall. There are hands on my sides. I turn my head slightly to the left, startled. My erection shrinks quickly.

It's the young stud.

"Don't look," he says, then kisses my left shoulder.

I want to grab his face and push it back against the stall's wall, but I don't. My next impulse is to speak up and put an immediate stop to his affections, but again, I don't. Then I think that I should step out into the hallway and end this tawdry rendezvous, throwing the curtain back and acting indignant with the young man.

"How dare you," I would say.

Again, I don't.

His tongue runs up the side of my neck and into my ear. His breath is hot, heavy.

He is anxious, trying to seduce this older man. I wonder how long he has planned this move? I usually shower when I'm done working out. It's not usually this late. Has he waited long for this opportunity?

I again feel my cock suddenly engorge, coming to a full erection within perhaps 20 seconds because of the powerful actions of his tongue, his fingertips running across my body and the thrill of his illicit advances. He senses the arousal and brings his hand around my right side to grasp my shaft.

He pumps my stalk. Over and over. His rod hardens against my ass, the head pushing against my crack. He quickly soaps his hand and pumps more.

I throw my head back and enjoy the young man's efforts, knowing he has aroused a latent desire in me. I revel in it. He presses his muscular chest against my back and strokes my stiff cock -- faster and faster. It could only work with a soapy hand.

My mouth is open and I moan.

Seconds later, I blow my wad.

I had several hard-ons today, watching the women I work with, wondering about fucking them, especially the married ones. The pent-up frustration comes out with the first blast of cum.

The juice fires against the porcelain wall and splatters to the floor to be caught up in the whirlpool.

My young stud bends his body around my right side, keeping a hand on my left hip for balance.

His lips close around the head of my spurting stump. His mouth catches the next blast of semen, then another, and another. He's getting a good taste. His mouth bloats and his throat swallows shot after shot before his mouth releases the cock head and he finishes me with a soapy jerk-off.

I moan, lost in the moment, barely able to stand, watching fascinated as his stroking drains the last drop and he shakes the semen off.

After the spasms subside, I feel his erect cock sticking into the crack of my ass, then there is a pressure as he pushes on my shoulders.

"Let me?" my young stud asks.

For a moment I wonder about sexually transmitted diseases, but that thought gets swallowed up in the lust of the moment. I don't care now. I bend forward and lay my hands flat against the tile wall, spreading my legs for him.

He turns the water off, soaps his cock and pushes it against my back door, using one hand to spread my ass cheeks.

I arch my back toward his cock and he slides it up and in.

I grunt with the pain, but take it all. The spongy head is forcing open an ass that hasn't been penetrated in a couple decades. That is, since some wild college days.

"Nice equipment," I say, remembering and old expression. "Real nice."

I feel his strong hands on my hips as he thrusts.

We begin the fuck dance, undulating with each push.

I fall in with his rhythm.

Thrust -- push back.

Thrust -- push back.

Over and over.

Time seems to slow as he fucks me, pounding away at my older asshole. After a while my canal stretches to accommodate his hardness and I begin to enjoy his rough treatment, lustily urging him to bang away -- harder and harder -- at my back door.

His breathing quickens and he grunts, moans and begins to empty his cream into my asshole. I feel each shot of jizz as it blasts into me, hitting the top of the tunnel. The young man urgently pumps as his semen discharges explosively into me. Some of it leaks out at the point of our union and runs back down his cock.

As his throes subside, he leans forward and lays his head on my back.

He pumps lightly into me until his softening cock pops out of my hot, dripping hole. As the young man's cock withdraws, his leavings drain out and splash onto the tiled floor.

Both of us are breathing heavily. I don't look as the shower curtain opens and he leaves. I turn the water on and soap my ass, washing away the vestiges of the young stud's man-seed.

As I finish the shower, I realize I won't be telling my wife the whole story of why I'm getting home so late tonight. I also wonder if my young stud will be working out tomorrow night. I'll have to find an excuse to stay later at work so I can get to the gym later.

Returning to the locker room, there is no one around. Music from overhead is interrupted by an announcement: "The gym will be closing in 30 minutes."

Putting my work clothes back on, I look like a respectable middle-aged businessman as I leave the gym.

Impressions are funny things.

"Goodnight, Mr. St. John," the teenage attendant says as I pass the front desk.

I smile, feeling the last bit of semen leak out of my ass.

Yes, it has been a good night.