Intro and Chapter 1
This is a story about two high performing athletes who meet at CrossFit, begin an erotic testosterone-charged mating dance, and end up in a passionate relationship with each of the characters alternately dominant and submissive. I find sexual literature is more compelling and erotic when you know the characters and understand their motivations. For that reason, Chapter 1 and the first part of Chapter 2 set the stage and plays out the sexual tension that builds between the two characters and fuels their sex. I urge you to read it from the beginning.
Chapter 1
I moved to Minneapolis the summer of '17. Being a big CrossFitter, I quickly zeroed in on the closest CrossFit location to my home. I'd moved around a lot and had decent luck picking CrossFits based on location so I figured this one wouldn't be any different. I met the owner and he seemed like a cool, dedicated guy so I signed up without checking it out any further. Being in my mid-50s, I have always been a bit of an outlier at CrossFit; most everyone there is somewhere between 20-40. I can definitely pull my weight in any workout (and I think my body shows that), but I'm not a kid anymore. And this box (that's what CrossFIt calls their gyms) wasn't terribly diverse. In fact it was nearly exclusively heavy lifting beefy guys who had worked out together forever. While they were polite enough, I never really fit in.
I was considering changing boxes when I drove past a new CrossFit box even closer to my home. I checked it out online, reached out to the owner, and signed up for a trial class. I didn't want to make the same mistake twice. I showed up at a Monday 6AM class early to get the paperwork done and watched the regulars pull in. It was a wonderfully diverse group of people....young, old, great shape, not-so-great shape, black, white, Asian. And everyone seemed incredibly friendly and welcoming. It didn't hurt that the coach that morning was a taut 20-something stud with long, flowing black hair, and skin-tight compression tights. He had an incredible package and wasn't a bit shy about showing it off. We were starting class when one more guy walked in with his puppy, what looked to me like a vizsla. He apparently brought his puppy to class every day because everyone knew Zoe, is dog. As he was walking in, people were greeting him warmly and yelling out his name, which sounded like Pook. I later learned his name was Steve Pookman, but he went by Pook.
Pook was incredibly charismatic, as the coach even stopped his intro and allowed Pook to make his entrance. All eyes were on him and he happily reciprocated everyone's warm greetings. It's hard to describe his magnetism, and I can't say to this day how much is his warm personality and how much is his drop-dead good looks. Late 20s, 30 at most, about 6'2", bald with a chiseled athletic body that looked like he'd been squatting since he was 5. I think what impressed me most was how unimpressed he was with himself. He clearly was the star of the class but he carried himself like he was anonymous.
After he made his rounds with his teammates, including some warm hugs with whom I presume were his closer friends there, the coach introduced hm to me. Pook, I'd like you to meet Peter who's giving us a tryout today. He looked me up and down, but not in a way like he was assessing me, but rather looking at me approvingly. If he had been closer to my age, I might've thought it was something more than a greeting. But he was young enough to be my son, so I didn't give it a thought. After scanning me, he confidently walked up, gave me the same warm hug he had given the others and welcomed me to CrossFit 612. Damn he was good looking, and when he reached out to hug me, my cock actually twitched in my workout shorts. I was afraid I was going to spring a giant one right there in front of my new teammates.
The class progressed as would be expected. As an older CrossFit teammate, I just want to perform at a level which people think, Ok...he's still got it. And I did. The teammates were all supportive, and Pook seemed to make a special effort to ensure I felt welcome.
The week progressed and I was now one of the anointed that received Pook's hugs at the beginning of class. His embraces were warm, genuine, and appreciated by all. Those that didn't get it didn't feel left out as they tended not to be regulars. I got a hug my second day I was and knew I had arrived. And I secretly loved that moment of pseudo-intimacy with him. His body was rock hard and when he went in for a hug, he didn't fool around. You felt all of him...top to bottom.
It was a hot, sweltering summer in Minneapolis and despite its reputation for bone-chilling cold, it can be ungodly hot and humid in the summertime. And this was one of those summers. I've always preferred to work out in tank tops, or even shirtless, particularly in the summer. For whatever reason, CrossFit guys tend to work out with regular t-shirts. But it was heating up, so out came my tanks. Not one to brag, but I look pretty damn good in them. My chest swells and my biceps bulge. If I could wear a tank top to a black-tie dinner party I would. I got to CrossFit that day wearing one and Pook arrived just as the class was starting, spotted me and shouted loudly across the box: "Man, look at those pipes on Will". I was equal parts embarrassed, flattered, and turned on. I couldn't believe that Pook, this fucking hot 20-something: A) noticed me, and B) commented so publicly. His remark was particularly pointed in that Pook was openly gay and wasn't shy about commenting on good looking guys in the public domain, but he'd never made a remark like that about anyone actually in class. In front of God, the coach and everyone, he walked right up to me and gave me (what I swear) was an extra-long hug. He stepped back, looked me up and down and commented on how he wished he had a set of guns like me. I looked at him equally admiringly secretly wishing my body looked exactly like his. Lean, chiseled, athletic. I caught myself staring but tried to make light of the whole thing. With everyone watching, I joked about just having good genes but was turned on beyond belief that a stud like Pook would call out my striking arms and shoulders and so demonstrably display his approval.
That same day class was particularly well attended so we needed to pair up for squats. When coach ordered us to find a partner, Pook immediately pointed to me and indicated we would pair up. No discussion. We were doing several sets of five squats that day and my top weight for that number is only around 185# and I knew Pook's was closer to 285#. Typically, you partner with people who lift about the same weight so you don't have to load and unload plates from the barbell. I joked how much heavier he was lifting but he insisted he would help coach me to increase my load to his. I didn't quite understand his insistence to partner with me, but he'd been so warm and affable since I joined that who was a to squabble with him?
That day was the beginning of us being paired up for heavy lifting. Whenever coach called for us to find a partner, Pook picked me as his partner. We paired off routinely after that and each time it would get a little more physical between us. We'd pat each other on the back, shoulders, and even ass occasionally to convey "job well done". I don't have a word for the feelings that I was developing for Pook during these sessions. It was one part innocent guy stuff, one part bromance, and one part filthy lust. I forced myself to repress the latter feelings because it seemed impossible that anything between us could develop. I was a middle-aged, semi-closeted, high level executive (albeit in great shape and pretty damn attractive) but he was a white hot, rock hard 20-something athlete. I tried to ignore the fact how attractive I found him. I don't need to be screwing around with a kid, I kept thinking. But Pook was no kid. He had the maturity and experience of someone older and infinitely more seasoned.
One day, out of the blue, while critiquing my squat, he quietly told me he noticed the elastic band across my backside under my shorts and asked me if I was wearing a jock strap. Before I could answer he tells me that he hasn't worn a jock to work out since his college football days and how much he misses wearing them when working out, but that he didn't think they'd be comfortable for CrossFit. My response to his inquiry is some lame excuse about "keeping my boys in place". But that's nowhere near the truth. Ever since I started these testosterone-fueled workouts with Pook, I'm turned on as hell. Wearing a jock during class makes me feel incredibly sexy and hyper-charges my workouts. And the jock he saw on my backside wasn't some lame middle school Bike jock , it was a black, well-used Nasty Pig jock.... one of many in my collection.
Now I'm really trying to figure out where he's coming from. Is he sending me a signal? Guys at CrossFit don't talk about whether they're wearing a jock or not. And it gets even hotter right after that exchange. On my next squat, I can see his eyes studying my crotch as he's "critiquing my form". I catch him while he's spying me and he gives me a brief, but knowing look right in the eye.
When it was his turn to squat, he aggressively asked me for feedback on his form. Was he squatting low enough? Were his legs far enough apart. I had to watch closely to be able to answer all his specific questions. But I was more than happy to comply. To get to intentionally watch this Adonis squat was like dying and going to heaven. He had taken off his shirt by now which revealed his hairless pecs, shoulders, arms and taut 6-pack. He looked like a fucking fitness model. As I watched him squat from behind, his shorts gripped his ass so tightly I almost fainted. His glutes were two rock hard melons. And when I was "'assessing" his form from the front, his package almost burst out of his workout shorts. I couldn't help but to stare at his crotch and now it was his turn to catch me in the act. He got a knowing smile on his face when he did. I looked away immediately but secretly was happy I got caught.
End of Chapter 1
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