A Late Night Workout: Part 1 free porn video

As part-time jobs go, working at the front desk of a gym isn’t bad. The place is near campus, I can work around my classes, and the owner, J (short for Jim, which doesn't work for obvious reasons), doesn’t mind if I do my homework.

It’s a cool place, small but modern, and I get a discount on my membership. When fitness companies come in to do promotions I can usually snag gear, power bars, supplements, whatever they’re giving away, and the trainers are happy to give me advice when I use the equipment before or after my shifts. So it’s not an internship at a Fortune 500, but it’s a cool, relaxed gig that helps me pay rent.

My second year there, when I was a sophomore, I learned the place wasn’t always without its drama, though. One of the cell phone selfie guys got caught taking pictures of a couple of the gym rats in the locker room. Apparently, the shutter sound gave him away when one of the guys bent over. There was a fight, a smashed phone, and a couple black eyes, but since J knew everyone involved no charges were filed.

He gave the two muscle mountains six months free and the voyeur got a year ban. Some of the regulars thought it should have been life, but rumor had it the guy grew up with J, so a year it was. I was sorry to see him go. His name was Aaron and he always seemed happy to see me when he came in. Just a nice guy who made a bad decision while his dick was hard. And I missed him in the showers. He had a nice piece and he took his time soaping up.

The trouble didn’t stop when Aaron left, though. J's smooth talking couldn’t keep rumors from spreading that management didn’t care that gay guys could take pictures of you in the showers without legal consequences. Membership took a nosedive. I’d come in some days and you’d think the place was closed. Other days it looked like a women-only place. Desperate, J, the poor guy, instituted a cell phone ban. No phones in the locker rooms. Getting caught meant a month ban, no refunds. That staunched the flow of regulars bleeding out the door, and then a few started coming back. That seemed the best we could hope for.

Then the local paper caught wind of it, wrote a little culture piece with interviews that applauded J's Gym for its "stand against the ubiquity and invasiveness of cell phone use in public places.” Membership began to pick up again, then the place got a reputation with a certain crowd and suddenly we had a new crop of regulars.

Encouraged, J took it a step further: no cell phones anywhere in the gym. You take your phone out and you’ll be asked to either check it at the front desk or leave. People loved it. The place got busy again. Not worried about making payroll anymore, J, surprising us all, even instituted my suggestion: check your phone voluntarily when you arrive and get a free towel.

So that makes me, the front desk guy, phone warden and towel jockey at a gym full of people who love to tell their friends they work out at a no-selfie gym. I check people in, hand out towels, and if you’ve got a nice smile and time to chat up the little people, I’ll let you know when that important call lights up your cracked iPhone. Sometimes, when I don’t have homework, I’ll help out a few of the original regulars, the ones from before the phone ban who have blogs or a “ton” of social media followers. I’ll snap a few pictures for them in an out of the way spot and maybe let them sneak a few of their own.

There are still slow days, though, especially around the holidays. Christmas eve and the night before Thanksgiving are usually dead. The college empties out and the townies start their drinking and eating and almost no one wants to spend time on an elliptical. I usually volunteer for those days. I get some pleasure reading in, J pays me extra, and we usually close early anyway.

The Thanksgiving of my junior year, Eric, the last trainer to leave, did an early walkthrough. He had a party to get to, the place was empty, and it was snowing. Between the two of us, we decided that no one else was coming in.

“Just saw one guy heading into the showers," Eric said, rounding the corner from the back room. "Should be done soon. You ever do the lock up?"

“No,” I said. “I’m just the pretty face at the front. Being master of the keys is why you get paid the big bucks.”

“Yeah, right. Well, I gotta go. Cherie’s texts are all coming through with scream-lock because I said I’d be there an hour ago.”

He walked to the front doors and locked the left side. “All you have to do is lock the other door after you hit the lights.” He over handed the keys to me. “We’ll skip the alarm. I don’t have time to show you how it works and I open on Friday anyway.” He winked at me. “Our little secret.”

I tossed the keys on the counter in front of me. “J would kill me if he found out I left without setting the alarm. What’s in it for me?”

“Seriously? Help me out.”

I shrugged.

Eric puffed out his chest, fired up his best bro voice, and gave me double finger guns. “Free towel next time we train. Got you covered.”

I stared at him.

“God, you’re such a shit.” He took a few steps closer to the desk, lowering his voice even though there was no one nearby to hear him. “Stress relief package next time we close together, alright? Now I gotta go.”

I smiled, tossed him his coat from the peg beside the cell phone rack. “Tell Cherie I said hi.”

“Fuck you,” he said, pulling his coat on as he walked to the door. “You fuck this up or lose those keys and I’ll string you up on the climbing wall.”

“Happy Thanksgiving.”

He waved his middle finger over his shoulder until the door closed behind him.

I sat back in my chair and smiled.

J was a great guy and we all liked him, but he didn’t compensate his full-time trainers as well as he might, and that meant some of the guys needed to find creative ways to supplement their income. Eric was one of the more creative thinkers. A few months earlier I had caught him giving one of his more affluent customers what he called the “Stress Relief Package."

It was, essentially, a post-workout happy ending. He claimed it motivated his clients because the Package bought you some sort of "relief", but just what you got was up to Eric. The options ranged from touching and fondling to a full on fuck, all based on workout performance – and, Eric told me later, he always rewarded hard work.

I walked in on him rewarding one guy in J's office while I was looking for blank membership forms. Eric stood behind the desk, his arms crossed behind his head while he slammed his hips hard against the ass of the guy bent over the desk in front of him. All three of us froze, Eric mid thrust, the guy choking on a moan and hiding his face behind his arms. Then Eric was bending over to cover himself and I backed out the door.

I wouldn’t have ratted him out, probably wouldn't even have told most of my buddies, but Eric didn't take any chances. After I backed out of the room and closed the door, Eric came right out into the hallway after me. He got real close, started kneading my shoulder with one strong, warm hand, and began to explain.

In his rush to catch me, he’d only had time to pull on a pair of mesh shorts and his hard dick still stood at attention between us, tenting the thin fabric and showing me the wide, round shape of its underside. The scent of lube rose off him in waves and drops of perspiration traced lines down his abs, soaking into the wet, matted hair at his navel. He smelled incredible, powerful, and the look in his eyes was earnest, searching, filled with caged panic.

I didn't understand everything he said at first, but then he made his offer.

"I see you're looking," he said. He stood a little straighter. "You like this?"

All I could do was nod. My dick was pressing against my jeans so hard it hurt.

"Alright," he said. "You keep this between us and I'll give you the full package, full treatment." He squeezed my shoulder with one hand and gestured at himself with the other. "Just say the word and you get all this."

I thought about the man standing naked in J’s office, half fucked, hole waiting to be filled again, and realized that could be me. I nodded again.

"OK," I said.

Eric clapped me on the back and smiled, the tension melting out of his shoulders. After a quick glance down the hallway behind me, then another at the closed door behind him, he hooked his thumbs in his waistband and pushed his shorts down to his ankles. We stood there for about five seconds, Eric in his glory, confidence returned, and me starting to feel dizzy.

His dick was long and perfectly straight, and it matched the long, lean hardness of the body beneath the hair that ran in a thin line from his chest and flared out at his navel. He took a half step closer and laid his warm, damp hand on my shoulder again. He reached down to grip the thick pole that had begun to dance slightly to the beat of his heart. He stroked a few times, leaning on me, and I watched the head stretch and bulge.

"That's just a preview," he said, squeezing the base of his shaft so the head flared huge and purple. "I'd say we start now, but I've already got a client and he doesn't like to share."

I just nodded, swallowed a moan as Eric squeezed my shoulder again, and watched as he retreated back into J’s office. After the lock clicked I waited just long enough to hear a muffled moan, then made my way back to my desk. I sat there with an invincible hard-on for the rest of my shift.

My first taste of Eric's stress relief services was great - a quiet, intense fuck after hours on one of the benches by the free weights--but it got more fun once Eric understood I didn't have any intention of ruining him. Now we made a game of it. I’d find some sort of flimsy leverage and threaten to put him in a tough spot.

He’d put up a token resistance, then offer me an extra stress relief session. I’d been fucked on almost every kind of machine in the gym, and as Eric started withholding oral and anal for after my top training sessions, I’d started to see better gains. It had been a good semester.

I wandered around the gym, turning off lights and squeezing the bulge straining at the front of my jeans as I passed the equipment Eric and I had repurposed for our after-hours sessions. When all the lights were out I sat behind the desk and waited for the guy Eric had seen heading into the showers. As I waited I considered what to do about my hard-on. I’d never jerked off alone in the gym before. Maybe after I locked up I’d give it a try.

Maybe I'd start by the free weights and finish in J’s office. I could never go in there without thinking of Eric bending a sweaty, eager man over the desk, and the sight of him standing in front of me in the hallway, hard and smelling like sex as he offered to fuck me, was still my favorite jerk off image. As soon as the last guy in the shower left, I figured I’d revisit it.

Except the guy was taking his sweet ass time. After ten minutes my hard-on had disappeared and I started getting irritated. I checked the phone sitting alone on the rack. I could match some phones to patrons by their protective cases, but I didn’t recognize this one. He must have come in while I was on my last break. He could be anybody.

I waited. Another fives minutes dragged by. Maybe he was appreciating the empty showers on a slow night, enjoying the water. Or maybe he’d fallen asleep in the sauna. That had happened before. Or, since Eric hadn’t told him, maybe he didn’t realize we were closing early and had decided to move through an unnecessarily lengthy bathroom routine entirely inappropriate for a public shower.

I grabbed the phone from the rack and headed toward the locker room. I wanted him out before someone else showed up and I had to stay open all night. Might as well give him his phone while I was in there. Efficient that way.

I could hear the shower running as soon as I walked into the locker room and the door clicked softly behind me. That made things tricky. I couldn’t really hand him his phone while he showered, and it seemed rude, now that I was in there, to rush him out if he hadn’t even finished rinsing off. J would be pissed if he ever found out.

I considered my options while I made my way toward the sound of running water. Why I didn’t just turn around then and wait at the desk I don’t know. Stubbornness, maybe, or just inertia. Whatever the reason, it brought me around a line of lockers and placed me squarely in front of a perfect, wet, round ass shining in fluorescent light. I froze. Just ten feet away naked man stood in the showers with his back to me.

I’d seen plenty of men naked. I showered at the gym after working out and back on campus I got probably more than my fair share of ass, but something about the sudden appearance of that hard, toned man, his face turned up into the spray hissing out of the shower, spiked an exceptional surge of adrenaline through my heart and down to my dick.

I stared for a moment, admiring the curves of his ass, the thickness of his legs. I imagined what it would feel like to put my lips on the soft, wet skin of his shoulder, to taste him through the water.

Then he shifted beneath the spray and I panicked. Terrified he would turn around and find me staring, I sidestepped behind the lockers and froze. I listened for his voice, for the water to stop--some indication he’d seen me and intended to investigate. But the hiss of the shower continued, punctuated by the splashing sheets of water that fell from his body and landed on the tiles. I barely breathed. Slowly, silently, I backed my way down the row of lockers until it felt safe to turn around and move more quickly. I made for the door, grateful not to have been caught ogling.

I only got halfway there before I slowed to a stop. Despite the anxiety of a close call, my dick strained hard against my jeans and I couldn’t get the sight of that body out of my mind. It was an everyman’s body, broad in the shoulders, narrow at the waist, with just a hint of hair hanging above his ass. It was an intoxicating, magnetic exemplar of the male form. I turned back before I quite knew what I was doing.

I put another row of lockers between me and the shower this time, getting close enough to enjoy a clear line of sight while giving myself enough room to get out without drawing attention to myself. I waited, listening to make sure the water was still on, then slowly peeked around the corner.

He still had his back to me, but now he was running his hands over his body, spreading a thin white lather over his shoulders, across his chest, down his stomach. When he bent his head to look down, as his hands reached between his legs and slowed, I reached down between my own legs and slid my hand into my jeans.

I gripped the hard length of my shaft and squeezed. I wondered what he had in his hands, whether he had a thick mat of hair to run his fingers through, whether he was teasing the beginnings of a hard-on. I wished that he would turn around, hoped he wouldn't.

I tweaked the head of my dick, gave it a tug, and shifted my attention to his ass. It was firm, round and smooth except for that thin patch of hair at the small of his back. It flexed and bounced each time he moved, and I wondered again what it would be like to press my lips against his back, to warm that cool wet skin with my mouth, to work my way from his neck, across his shoulders, down to those two mounds of hard muscle.

I squeezed my dick again, tempted to pull it out. Eric’s promise of a fuck the next time we closed had primed me, fired my imagination, and now this sight, just a few dozen feet away, came close to pushing me over the edge. I considered stroking off then and there, tugging and massaging my shaft, fucking my hips forward against my hand as I watched this unsuspecting man soap up in an open shower.

I could climax in short hot bursts, fill my trunks with warm seed, then head back to my desk and wait for him to leave. I’d hand him his phone with fingers still slightly damp while the load in my underwear soaked out onto my jeans, a dark stain on my crotch beneath the desk.

Or I could pull my dick out right there and stroke to a finish while the object of my lust pushed soap up and down his legs and dug a hand into his ass to massage white foam into the trough between those perfect globes of muscle. As the water washed the suds from him I could shoot and then go, leaving little streaks of white dripping down the lockers, puddling on the blue tiles where men changed and stood naked every day. I could relive that intimate moment, that secret climax, every time I walked into this room and stripped to wash away the sweat of a session with Eric.

But instead of jerking off as I watched a man shower across the room, I opted for a more extreme option. My sex-addled brain reasoned this way: if I took a picture of this scene, took a few pictures, I could save them and relive the experience whenever I wanted. I had always wanted a picture of Eric in the act, would have committed a felony for a chance to preserve an image of him standing before me with those little shorts around his ankles, but he wouldn’t allow it.

Too risky, he said. He trusted me, but he had to be careful. It took just one mistake to unravel a life.

He wasn’t wrong, I knew that, but with my dick in my hand, I felt in the most visceral depths of me that if I didn’t seize this opportunity I might regret it forever.

The only problem was that I didn’t have my phone on me. I only had the phone in my hand, and it belonged to the naked man in front of me. But if his phone was unlocked - it was, I discovered with a thrill - I could take a few pictures, text them to myself, then delete both the images and the messages while I waited for him at the front desk. He’d never know.

It was an absurd plan, the height of hormone-soaked stupidity, but I did it. With one hand down the front of my pants, I aimed the phone carefully and waited for the right moment. Drunk on the possibilities, on the heat of that illicit maneuver, I actually found seven moments and I preserved each of them with a tap of my thumb. Too many, I knew, but my thumb was taking orders directly from dick and in less than thirty seconds I had a series of photos I could savor at my leisure. I tabbed open the messaging app, typed in my number and… off they went.

I would have turned then and hurried back to my desk to erase the evidence of my voyeurism, but a hand clamped over my mouth and an arm gripped me around the waist. Too shocked to move, I froze. I let myself be tugged backward away from my chosen view and into a vice-like embrace. I felt a stubbled chin rasp across my neck.

“Fucking pervert.”

Eric.

I relaxed, but only slightly. Unable to remove my hand from my pants, and my right arm still held out in front of me, the damning images were plain to see on the screen in my hand. I was caught. My mind went blank.

“I leave you for twenty minutes and this is the shit you get up to?” His lips moved directly against my ear, his voice barely a whisper. “You could have fucked us both, you know that? I need this fucking job.”

I nodded. I tried to work my jaw, knowing I couldn’t speak without drawing attention to us, but wanting to explain. Eric shook me slightly and pulled my head back.

“Not a word.”

A moment later Eric released his grip on my jaw. I expected him to push me in the direction of the door but his hand descended to the front of my jeans. He deftly undid the button of my jeans.

Confused, I looked down to watch as he unzipped my fly. While my heart beat faster I turned to whisper into his face.

"What are you doing?"

"You like taking risks," he said against the side of my face.

He hooked his thumbs into my waistband and pushed both my jeans and my underwear down to the middle of my thighs with two strong, swift tugs.

My dick sprang out into the space between me and the locker and I could feel the fabric of Eric’s training pants rasping against my bare ass. "So let's take a risk."

I stood very still, both hands now hovering uncertainly in front of me as Eric rested his face briefly against my back. I could hear the soft fabric of his pants rustle, then he was standing again, pulling me back roughly against him with both hands on my hips. I could feel his long shaft burning in a line across my ass, throbbing against my lower back. The sensation melted into the more general heat of his body as he crushed us together, an arm around my chest and a fist around the base of my dick.

“We’re gonna do this hard and fast," he said. His lips moved against the back of my ear. His breath was hot on my skin and his stubble scraped along my neck. “Don’t make a sound. Don’t want him to hear us.”

He didn’t give me time to think before he gripped both of my elbows and pushed my arms forward until I was leaning on the locker before me. With a hand on the back of my neck, he pushed until I bent at the waist. With one leg he nudged the inside of my right foot and I opened my legs as far as the jeans around my thighs would allow.

Looking down I could see my own dick staring back up at me, dripping and bouncing to the elevated beat of my heart.

When I felt the blunt head of Eric’s dick against my hole I opened my mouth, wanting to breathe, to gasp, to moan, but managed only a short little exhalation that preserved the silence of the locker room beneath the steady hissing of the shower. I couldn’t believe he would go in dry, but I didn’t move. I clenched my teeth and shut my eyes.

I knew he wouldn’t hurt me, not on purpose, but he was angry. He pushed a little more and my hole began to stretch. He gripped himself at the base and shook his dick. I opened a little more. Then I felt something hot and wet land on my ass and Eric pulled out. He spat again and used the head of his dick to gather the wetness onto himself. He smeared it against my hole.

And then we were fucking. In one steady, implacable thrust he pushed himself into me. Without waiting for me to adjust, he pulled out and thrust in again. I braced myself against the locker and willed myself to relax. He thrust again and it was easier. By the fifth stroke, my mouth hung open again. I felt every inch of him sliding into me, filling me with his hardness until his hips met my ass.

Eric quickly worked himself into a steady rhythm and my feet began to slip around on the tiles. To maintain his balance Eric gripped me by one hip and bunched a fist in the back of my shirt. He pulled until the fabric stretched tight across my chest and I arched my back further, pushing my ass as close to him as I could get.

I began to wonder, abstractly, as if it were a problem for someone else entirely, if the sound of his hips connecting with my ass might make their way to the ears of the naked man in the shower. But there was nothing I could do about it just then. There wasn't anything I wanted to do about it. All I wanted was to get a hand on my dick. It ached for attention, but Eric’s pounding rhythm kept my hands firmly against the locker, one palm flat against the metal, the other wrapped around my borrowed cell phone.

I hung on that way, clenching my hole periodically so I could feel every inch and ridge of Eric's dick as it pistoned in and out of me, until Eric paused abruptly. He leaned away to my side and I strained to hear whether the shower was running. Had we been discovered? I'd almost lost track of where we were as Eric's long dick plunged in and out of me. When he leaned back toward me his dick slammed home. I gasped as he bent over to whisper in my ear.

“That guy’s hard," he said. "He thinks he’s alone.”

He leaned to the side again, stroking into me almost absently.

When he leaned in again he reached around to pump my dick.

“The dude’s jerking off. Too bad you’re missing it.”

And then he was driving his dick into me again, using long strokes that sent waves of pleasure radiating out from my ass each time the head of his dick pushed against my prostate. For a few long moments, my world contracted and I knew nothing but the sensation of that rod sliding in and out of my spit-lubed hole.

Then the image of that stranger jerking off just a few dozen feet away began to invade my mind. I imagined his dick standing at attention as he stroked in a leisurely way, tempting fate, braving the possibility that someone might discover him. I imagined that he looked in this direction every so often, unaware that the front desk attendant was getting fucked by a trainer just out of sight.

The combination of Eric’s determined fucking and this image of a man jerking off just a few lockers away drove me wild. I had to get a hand on my dick.

Slowly, carefully, I bent my elbows until my forearms rested against the lockers and my chest was almost parallel to the tiled floor. As Eric continued to batter away, as he began to gather even more speed, I leaned my weight on my right arm to free my left hand and reached down between my legs. My knees almost buckled as I began to pump my fist up and down my shaft. I felt my orgasm building deep inside my ass and I shut my eyes against the cresting wave of it.

Before that wave broke, Eric slammed into me, almost pushing my face into the cold metal of the locker. Using both hands on my hips now, he ground into me, his legs tense, his dick buried in me to the root. As he rocked us both back and forth I felt his dick throb and I realized he was finishing, pouring himself out into me. I raced to catch up.

Just as I began to approach my own point of no return, Eric's last buck pulled us both away from the lockers. Caught up in my own pleasure, I barely noticed how recklessly he drove us forward again until my elbow shamed into the locker in front of me.

We both froze as the sound of ringing metal echoed across the locker room. Then Eric was gone, pulling his pants up over his hard-on as he went, leaving me gaping at both ends as I watched him go. I stood up, my hand still between my legs, one elbow against the locker, as the warm trickle of Eric's climax slid down the inside of my left thigh.

When the sound of the shower stopped I went cold all over. I hurried as quickly as I could after Eric, yanking my pants up with one hand while I used the fist still clutching the cell phone to push through the swinging door.

By the time I got to the front desk I’d crammed the phone in a pocket and used both hands to fasten my pants. Eric stood by the front door. He held up the bottle of vodka he had in his left hand.

“Forgot Cherie’s housewarming gift.” He smiled, pushing the door open with his back. “Happy Thanksgiving!”

I sat in the silence after his departure, trying his get my breathing under control and willing the jitters to fade. I looked around. The lights were still off, no one else had come in. I let out a long sigh.

I pulled the phone out of my pocket, desperate to delete the evidence of my voyeurism and have this night be over.

“Hey, long time no see.”

My heart thumped and I looked up from the images on the screen to see a man with a familiar face smiling at me as he approached, the door to the locker room swinging quietly closed behind him. I went cold for the second time that evening and turned the phone screen off. Force of habit put a smile on my face.

“Hey, great to see you! I didn’t know you were back.”

It was Aaron, the original peeping tom himself, the man responsible for J’s cellphone ban. I hadn’t known that his ban had expired. No wonder I didn’t recognize his phone.

“Yeah, last few weeks.” Aaron looked around as he came up to the desk. “You guys closing early?”

“Yeah, it’s pretty dead.”

“Am I the only one here? I thought I heard someone closing a locker in the showers.”

My heart hammered. I tried to keep my voice even.

“Nope, just you.”

“Well, I’ll get out of your hair so you can take off.” He nodded at my hand. “I think that’s my phone.”

If I had been smarter, I wouldn’t have been going through his phone at the desk. If I had been quicker on my feet, I would have told him it was my phone and I’d go grab his from the back. But I didn’t.

Instead, I just said: “Right. Here you go," and I handed it to him.

I gave him the clipboard for his signature, and told him I looked forward to seeing him again soon.

After he walked out the door I sat in the complete silence of an empty gym and tried to process what the fuck had just happened. Then I took the few personal items I kept in the desk, put them in my bag, and left, locking the door behind me.

While I sat in my car in the almost empty lot I considered texting Eric, letting him know I’d just gotten myself fired and that he’d have to meet up with me to get his keys. But I didn’t. I just stared at my phone there in my lap, at the flashing light in the corner that indicated I had unread text messages. From myself. Using another man’s phone.

I put my head back on the headrest and prayed that when everything finally shook out, it wouldn’t impact my education. J, of all people, would want to keep the incident a secret so most people on campus wouldn't even know why I'd been fired. But he’d also want to have me killed. And I didn’t know what Aaron would do.

I jumped when the phone in my hand rang. I didn’t recognize the number so I let it go, heart pounding with each vibration, until the screen went dark. I checked the text I sent myself from Aaron’s phone. Same number. Of course. He’d want to know who had taken the pictures. It rang twice more, then, I realized with a sinking feeling, the third time it went to voicemail. Now he'd know. I was fucked.

I was only a little surprised when the text came through.

"You know l got banned for shit like this."

I didn't respond, just stared at the words until the phone went dark again.

Then: "where are you?"

Those three words made me realize with sickening, visceral fear, just how stupid I was. I peered out into the dark of the parking lot, trying to see if I could see him sitting in a car somewhere nearby. No one close. I tossed my phone into the passenger seat and turned the car on.

With a surge of panic, I saw two lights turn on across the parking lot. Ignoring the seat belt warning bells I put the car in drive and made for the exit. The car across the lot turned in the same direction. I stepped on the gas.

It was close, but he beat me there by about three seconds, blocking the ramp to the exit by parking his car sideways across both lanes. My headlights shone in through his windows and I could see him looking back at me through the glare. I picked my phone up again as he got out of the car.

I thought about calling the police, but what could I tell them without ruining my life? He didn't look angry, just slightly damp in a jacket and wrinkled shirt. Maybe we could settle it between us. Maybe he'd just yell and watch me delete everything. I sat very still as he walked to stand next to my window.

We stared at each other through the glass for a few seconds, then he tapped on it with his knuckles. I lowered the window an inch.

"You looked scared shitless," he said.

I stared at him.

"You scared?"

I shrugged a sort of half nod.

"You did a stupid thing."

I nodded.

"You like to watch people?" He didn't wait for my answer as he reached down to cup the front of his pants.

He began to massage to bulge there. As I watched the muscles in his forearm flex he pulled out his phone.

The screen lit his face. "I think maybe you missed the best part."

He held the screen to the window so I could see the images, those seven pictures of his ass in different frames. "Unless you're an ass guy. You like to fuck?" He waited. "Or you like to get fucked?"

I thought about Eric's dick sliding into me, the way he held me by the hips and hammered into me until he came. I thought about the way he'd dripped back out of me when he pulled out, how that line of seed had soaked into my underwear as I hurried back to the desk, and how much more of it was still inside me, keeping my loose hole wet. I looked at the hand in front of my face, massaging a rapidly increasing bulge, and I shifted in my seat.

Aaron smiled.

“That’s what I thought," he said. "You got keys to this place, right?" Aaron cocked his head toward the dark gym. "Let's go. I’ve always wanted to fuck someone in the showers.”