Gym Crush

You haven't been in the gym for a while now. Did you change gyms? On holiday? Hurt?

I still roll in at 5:30am every day, hoping to see you stroll through the doors--shirt gripping your arms, draped over your body, shorts cut mid-thigh and loose. Sometimes I catch glimpses of your boxer briefs.

It's cooling down in the mornings now, so I've swapped my usual yoga shorts for full-length leggings. Today they're electric blue, the outline of my nude lace underwear just visible beneath. I've thrown on a loose black tee and my trusty Chucks.

A quick warm-up and I'm over at the squat rack. Headphones on. "Americana" by The Offspring blasts and for a moment, I forget where I am. I slink under the loaded bar, shimmying into position, hair in a messy bun that leaves my neck bare.

I unrack, step back, squat, pause, and drive up. A solid rep. I rerack--and then do a stupid little dance to celebrate, forgetting I'm in public.

Shit.

I glance up to see if anyone caught it--and there you are. Today of all fucking days. Leg press. Diagonally behind me. Perfect view.

Our eyes meet. You smile--warm, surprised, happy to see me. I blush and look away, fumbling with my phone to switch the track to something more upbeat. I want to impress you. I load more weight onto the bar, step under, and make damn sure my ass sticks out just a bit more. Hopefully, these leggings are as sheer as I think they are.

As I rerack, I sneak a glance in the mirror. Your eyes are locked on me. Pretty sure you've got a semi. I step back and sit on the box behind me, bopping to the beat.

A hand on my shoulder. I turn, sliding one headphone off--and it's you.

"Holding back from more dance moves?" you tease. "That was a solid lift--mind if I give you some feedback?"

"Sure," I say, tugging off my headphones completely.

You walk over and pull a couple of plates off. "Bar's too high on your neck--drop it a little. I can spot you." I nod and slide under again, doing that same little shimmy, watching you in the mirror.

"Like this?"

Suddenly, you're close. Hands on mine, body nearly flush with mine.

"A little lower," you murmur, guiding the bar down. "That's it. Now squat and hold."

I obey, ass pushed out. I hear you whisper under your breath--"Fuck." I wonder if you know I caught that.

"Now drive it up," you say, voice firm.

That tone. My face flushes as I push through the lift.

"Good girl... fuck--I mean, good job." You laugh, flustered. I grin.

"I'm Hannah," I say, wiping my hand on my shirt before offering it.

"Everyone calls me Jimbo, but it's James," you reply, shaking my hand. Your calluses drag across my palm.

We chat for a while. You've been traveling for work, using a different gym. Makes sense--your thighs have definitely gotten thicker.

I move to the bar for my last set, and you follow, still spotting me. I load up more weight, squat--and lose grip. The bar clatters.

"Fuck," I shout, knowing half the gym heard.

You lift it with ease, rerack it. "You've been at it a while--probably fatigued. Time to call it a day." We part ways, but end up walking the same direction... toward the showers.

There's only one free individual bathroom. I stroll into it and glance back.

"Showering together saves water... or so they say," I joke, instantly cringing.

Your brows rise. You don't stay leaning against the wall anymore.

My eyes widen. Holy fuck, this is actually happening.

You stride over. You're taller than I remembered. I back up slightly as you follow me in, hand reaching back to lock the door.

My heart is pounding.

You tug your shorts down--black boxer briefs, exactly like the ones I've seen peeking out before. Now they're hugging your cock, which is already thickening.

I draw in a quick breath. My eyes meet yours. I drop my towel, plant my knees on it.

"Let me thank you for your help this morning, James," I say, but I'm not waiting for permission.

I mouth you through the fabric, feeling your cock swell under my tongue. I trail down, sucking your balls into my mouth, while one hand strokes you through your briefs.

You reach down and pull the tie from my hair--curls falling free, then gripped in your hand.

With the other, you slide your boxers down. Your cock springs out. Thick. Cut. Perfect.

I look up, starving for you. Then I drop my mouth over you, no teasing now, pushing down as far as I can. My fingers wrap around the base, right at the point where I want you to stop.

"Fuck my face," I whisper.

Your hand tightens in my hair. Your hips move--slow at first, then faster. I look up. You're trailing a hand over your nipple, mouth parted, head tilted back. You're into this. It turns me on even more.

My panties are soaked. I moan, the sound vibrating through your cock. You press a finger to your lips--telling me to be quiet. Good luck with that.

I grip your thick thigh, using it to pull you in. You taste amazing--salty, masculine. My other hand slides down, into my leggings, fingers finding my dripping pussy. My clit is pulsing, desperate.

You buck harder. My spit and your precum are dripping down my chin, soaking my tee. Your thrusts get deeper, brushing the back of my throat. I try to take more, throat clenching slightly.

"Holy fuck," you moan, body shuddering. And then you come--hot, thick ropes flooding my mouth and throat.

I hold you there for a beat, then slowly pull off, sucking every last drop.

I rise to my feet, wiping the corner of my mouth. Then strip and step into the shower to rinse off.

Your move.