Tom is the guy you masturbate to. He's the image you get in your head when you grab your little pricks and beg for a minute of sexual bliss. Standing six feet tall at 29 with dark features and a smile filled with more mischief than friendliness he was hot. He had the type of brown eyes people would look at question if they were truly "only" brown; they sparkled, swooned, scored all at once. The gym was a lifestyle Tom stuck to and he definitely didn't indulge on high calorie snacks. He loved looking at the definition of his legs and shoulders in the mirror. How his calf curved perfectly from the back of his knee to the heel of his foot. The perfect amount of hair on each leg spreading like a glorious forest up his tree trunk thighs. The leg hair was long enough that it stood out and shouted manliness to any onlookers but not so long that it was unruly. The hair on his chest had an hourglass shape. It started large and wide around his collarbone before spiraling down between his worked pecs to a tended happy trail. The very best features (in Tom's own mind) were his hands and feet. His hands were wide and stocky. When he shook your hand, you felt it. His knuckles had a slight notice of hair and the veins ran down from his forearm across the back of his palm. His fingers were thick enough to make texting in a smaller phone quite hard. He kept his nails neatly manicured should the opportunity to insert his fingers in warm places arise. Men would get caught staring at Tom's feet almost daily. He wore simple Nike slides when he was out and about sometimes. He'd catch men drooling and he didn't understand what they were so obsessed with but he liked the way that made him feel. The idea of lesser men pining for the dirtiest parts of Tom's body would get him curiously turned on. Maybe it was the size of them, 11.5, or the look of his neat nails and veins running across the tops. It could have been the hair that spread from his ankle to the small knuckles of his toes or the tan line he had from the slides he wore but whatever it was, men usually wanted it.
He liked to show off in the sense that he didn't mind being naked at any moment. Tom's body was hot, his package solid and the cuts in his muscles precise. There was apathy with his feelings towards clothing because he had truly never felt self-conscious about his body before. He is masculinity. He is the ideal and his image is the image lowly men see when they imagine themselves a new person.
Paul is a 48-year-old accountant. For the most part he's fine. He has a wife and he's a fine husband. There are two kids and he's a fine dad. He and his wife have date nights on Saturday's and he's lost most of the hair on his head so things can't get any worse in terms of his looks. A desk job makes it hard for him to keep the weight off but speaking honestly, he doesn't do much else to work on his appearance. He stands at about 5'7" with a pretty shiny baldhead and glasses. LASIK surgery might help with the glasses but the doctors say his eyes are still getting worse so it's a no go. There are squiggly wrinkles around his forehead and eyes and his teeth aren't exactly white anymore. Overall, Paul is just generally typical and unspectacular. He takes on the shape of a squat bowling pin: round all over with no sharp, or cut edges. Paul knows he isn't anything to look at and that's why his New Years resolution was to join a gym. Maybe he could lose a few pounds, and hopefully a few years. Maybe he could somehow grow some of that long lost hair back. Maybe he could appear to be only a tenth of the man Tom is.
Paul arrived to the gym in his BMW, which appeared more as an ironic joke or prop for a clown with him behind the wheel. The gym, Guns n Buns, was one of those hybrid lifting, routine gyms and boot camp types. The gym staff would make dull eyed, toothy smiles at people like Paul and promise them weight loss and dream bodies. Paul was there for his introductory meeting with one of the trainers, Matt. Matt was 24 and full of testosterone. He was another prime example of what Paul wished he could be. The typical topics were covered: class schedule, lifting rules, dieting importance, and that's when it happened. Out of the corner of his eye Paul saw an almost god like man performing a squat clean on the free weight mat. This specimen of man was veiny, thick and you could almost taste him in the air. Paul was experiencing the first sight of the man that would change his life. Tom saw the pudgy man staring at him and made a half disgusted face to try and force Paul's gaze away. Paul immediately flashed red and looked down.
"Excuse me?" asked Matt. "Are you still with me over there?" Matt inquired while waving his hand over Paul's blank face to snap him back to reality.
"Uhm, yes, I'm sorry, I was ...uhhhhh... wondering what time of the day would be best for me to workout," Paul quickly replied.
"No worries, man. We make sure the gym is never so overcrowded that you can't get a workout in."
Paul quickly glanced at Tom one more time only to regret it. Tom was standing with his hairy, baseball bat thick forearms crossed and his brow furrowed beaming at Paul. Tom knew what he was dealing with and he saw the BMW Paul stepped out of. Paul had no idea what kind of man he was but he knew he wasn't on the same level as Tom; they were on different playing fields, in different universes. Tom would show Paul just how right he was.
I welcome comments from readers who are interested in a dom-sub, fin-dom role I am exploring in this story.
Email: masterorsir71@gmail.com
Sir Scott