Sophomore Year 9
This is the ninth of a multipart story about my year boarding with a single dad and his two sons, a time of highly charged eroticism that led me to discover a lot about myself. The story takes its time unfolding; the joy is (hopefully) in the journey.
In this chapter, Hank begins some weight training under Buck's tutelage, only to make a very surprising discovery that challenges some of his deepest insecurities.
This is such a short chapter that I was going to submit it together with the much longer Chapter 10. But Chapter 10 is taking its sweet time in revealing all its secret charms to me so I will submit them separately, in the unlikely case an impatient reader out there grows desperate.
Please send your thoughts and reactions, as well as your own memories in an email, I attempt to respond to all. Many thanks to those who have sent words of encouragement.
This story—and many, many hours of reading pleasure—is due to the powerful inspiration of such great Nifty stories as "Jockboy Adventures," "Bodybuilder Pussy," and "Locker Room Boys." I owe their authors an enormous debt.
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Sophomore Year 9
After completing the lunges, I followed Buck back across the room, away from the relatively bright lights of the ceiling lamps. I was relieved when I saw him hang the wood paddle back on its hook. He next had me put the dumbbells away on the rack and then recline on the closest weight bench, adjusted flat and facing away from the lockers, towards the shadows of near wall. He next instructed me on the proper form of the chest press and which muscles it would work and then, lifting a barbell from a rack, he carried it towards me until he was straddling my hips.
"OK. Let's see ten presses!" He barked, again counting them off. So far, the weights were fairly light and the reps fairly few, so I was cranking them out easily. "Lookin' good there, Sailor." Buck nodded as I finished.
He next told me to stand to the side while he adjusted the bench up to a recline. As I stood there waiting, I heard the faint trickling sound of running water somewhere not far off. Before I could give it much thought, Buck gestured for me to get back on the bench and, once I was settled, again took the barbell from the rack and carried it to me. He then stepped back and said, "OK, let's see the sailor give me ten curls," and again started barking out the reps.
The same weight I had just pressed with relative ease felt heavier to curl. I prepared myself for the challenge. I focused on my breathing and the wall in front of me, only slightly distracted by that trickle of water and its possible location. As my eyes adjusted to the darkness, I could now see that the entire bottom half of the wall facing me was not some textured solid surface as I'd thought, but rather metal hurricane fencing. It gave an unexpected industrial feel to the space.
Adding to my surprise, through the fencing and emerging from even deeper shadow, the specter of another entire room, one-half floor lower, materialized, like in some spooky movie. I reckoned that it must be directly under the living and dining rooms above.
As my vision adapted even more, I could make out along the far wall of this lower room a line of shower heads. They aimed into an open space partitioned by nothing more than a low wall in front of them. I was even more astounded when I realized that to the left of the showers sat two toilets side by side, also completely open with no partition. My first thought was `Aha! So that's where that water noise if coming from!' My second thought a moment later was the shock of the total lack of privacy. It reminded me of vintage photos I'd seen of army barracks in the old days.
"You OK there, Sailor?" Buck asked as I stalled for a moment in my reps. I was just mentally assuring myself that I would avoid using these facilities like the plague, and hopefully not need to be around when others did. Instead of enjoying seclusion, you'd basically be on display during your most private moments. This tapped into some of my greatest fears and insecurities. Suddenly, it hit me like a Greyhound bus that THESE were the other options Buck had said I'd have available if the upstairs bathroom—that doorless, already-too-exposed bathroom--was "busy." I was so flustered by this knowledge that I almost dropped the weights.
"OK, Sailor, we gotcha, we gotcha," Buck blurted as he quickly straddled me, lifting the barbell from my hands and leaning over me to place it on an empty rack behind my head. With his legs spread wide, his crotch presses into my chest, and I could actually feel the texture of his jock pouch through the flimsy shorts and the gentle cushioned press of his genitals within.
He slipped a bit and his hairy stomach squashed into my face. As I gasped at the multiple sensations, a drop of his sweat landed in my mouth, tasting somehow both salty and a little sweet. He gently cursed as he struggled to get the weights back into place. After what seemed a very long minute, he straightened and shuffled back a few steps, still straddling me, but over my hips.
Looking down at me he smiled. "Sorry, pal. Guess that was too much weight. I tend to start too heavy, but, damn, Sailor, you got some guns hiding in those arms!" He grabbed my biceps, squeezed them admiringly, and gave them a friendly slap. In the dim light, I'm sure it was difficult to tell my dismay from momentary fatigue. "Tell ya what, let's go back to the dumbbells." He handed them to me and said, "Lean forward a sec." He adjusted the bench to get it upright, like a chair. "Now let's just try a few seated curls. Nice and slow."
I took a deep breath, trying to block out the thought of the open shower room staring me in the face and began lifting. My composure was slowly returning was I focused on completing the reps. Sitting upright, I was higher and closer to the fenced wall at the edge of the gym floor, where it dropped to the shower room. From my new vantage, however, I could now see that hanging on the wall right below me, across from the showers, was an old-fashioned metal trough urinal. I had not seen one outside of a photograph since summer camp years ago. It seemed of a piece with the vintage barracks vibe of the space. But a second later it hit me that if a guy were to use it now, he'd basically be pissing right in front of me, right towards me, in plain view. The image was so startling that I again almost dropped the weights.
"Whoa, Sailor! You OK? Need some water?" Buck sounded genuinely concerned as he took the weights from my hands.
Remember, I was an extremely shy kid with what these days they call a body image complex. This kind of freewheeling nudity and exposure was exactly what I had been avoiding ever since puberty. My head was reeling. I wanted to answer Buck, but a flood of images and emotions was coursing through me. All I managed to stutter was, "The...the...water...!"