Turned Pt. 01

Matt Hansen slipped onto a cedar bench and closed his eyes with a happy sigh. He had to admit, the older he got, the more he liked a little time in the sauna. Just the hard wood against his ass was a comfort.

Having just turned 41, he had plenty to keep him busy: marriage, kids, work, the mortgage. Even the dog was more work than play on some days. He deserved a little time to strip down and sweat it out.

Sweat started to bead on his bare shoulders and trickle down his chest, which was still square thanks to some careful weight training. For the most part, Matt liked his body: a respectable 6 feet, 2 inches, trim and athletic, with no gray in his dirty blond hair. Even better, his wife was happy with his body.

Brittany and he had met at college, back when Matt was still rounding the bases on scholarship and she was a freshman virgin. After five dates, she was a virgin no more, and Matt had rounded her bases ever since.

He loved her curves, and especially her breasts, even after three children, and she still loved to cuddle up against his lightly hairy chest and rub his biceps. In fact, he hoped to be doing a little cuddling and rubbing later tonight.

He smiled to himself as he thought of it. Now that the three boys were getting older, some of Brittany's old energy had returned. Last February they took a cruise, just the two of them, and Britanny had almost worn him out--almost.

Matt chuckled softly at the memory. Was it embarrassing to realize on that cruise, as Brittany started to moan and cry out in a way she never had, that he was making her experience a full-blown orgasm for the first time, after 18 years of marriage?

Yes, but only a little bit.

More to the point, it made him proud that Brittany had enjoyed making love to him all those years without experiencing a full orgasm, and it made him even prouder that he was now taking her to the brink every time--well, almost every time. A majority of the time. At least, more than he ever had.

His smile widened. Oh, yeah. He was gonna take her again tonight, for sure, and this time, he would--

A blast of cool air from the sauna's door popped the seal of Matt's mind, and his eyes snapped open. Through the sauna's haze, he saw a sleek, muscular figure step inside, shorter than him and dark. It was Damian, one of the black trainers at the gym.

"Hey," Matt said, sitting up in his terry cloth towel.

"Hey, man." Damian sauntered deeper into the sauna, and as he did, Matt realized the younger man--no older than 23 or 24--wasn't wearing his towel around his waist but over his shoulder. "What's up?"

"Nothing. Just letting the old muscles rest." Matt's chuckled lightly. His tracked the trainer's nude physique with the passing interest of all men in the sheltered privacy of a locker room. He had to admit, the guy was a specimen.

Dark skin spread over Damian's muscle like chocolate sauce, sheening with reflections from the sauna's mellow light. Thick, black calves flared above flute-like ankles, tightening at the knee before pouring back into solid hips and a bubble ass--didn't every black guy have a bubble ass? Matt mused. Seemed like they did.

Damian's torso mimicked the flare of his calves, tight at the waist and then spanning into broad shoulders that swiveled as he walked--and why did young guys get all those tattoos these days, Matt wondered?

Each of Damian's arm was sleeved with honeycombs, hexagons, mandalas, and sprays of feathers, the design curling over his shoulders and across each of his smooth, square pecs. They looked good on such a muscular physique, but Matt wondered what they meant.

He watched a gold chain with a cross bounce in the cleft between Damian's pecs as he walked, mirroring the bounce of his luxurious mop of dreadlocks. A fuzzy stubble crawled along his chin and upper lip, and one gold ring glinted from each of his ears. Such a typical young black dude, the suburban man thought, and so at ease with--oh!

Matt's mind snagged on what he saw next.

Fuck.

As Damian turned to sit down, tossing his towel on the bench, Matt couldn't help but stare.

The dick.

The massive dick.

SUCH a massive dick.

Fuck!

Matt lowered his brow, as if to hide the line of his gaze. The dick wasn't just long. It wasn't just thick. "Dick" barely described it. The trainer's penis was a legitimate hog. A bull hog, if there were such a thing.

Could a dick have its own personality?

This one did.

Completely soft, it lay as long as a stick of butter and even thicker, perfectly tubular, with a dark pink glans the size of a fat strawberry. The whole thing rested on Damian's balls like a sleeping cat slouched between two bean bags, the pubic fur above it visible but buzzed tight and tidy.

Fuck!

Matt shifted his weight and wiped his face. How big did that thing get when it got hard? He couldn't help but wonder, and he was glad he'd kept a towel around his waist. He'd never felt ashamed of his own cock, ever--and he had seen a lot of cock in the locker rooms over the years--but this one!

Wow.

He didn't begin to compare.

"So, what do you think?"

Damian's voice pushed past the second ring of Matt's reverie, making the white husband and father all too aware that he had been openly staring.

"Oh!" Matt straightened up and sniffed hard, wiggling away his thoughts with his nose. "I was, uh--I was just--I dunno, I just--"

"I'm talking about the Brewers." A gentle but amused smile spread across Damian's lips. "Quite the championship, yeah?"

"Oh." Matt huffed a laugh and tried not to blush. "Yeah, right? Well, it was in the cards. Their turn. Ashby's a beast."

"Yeah, man, you got that right." Damian made no attempt to cover himself. His legs laid wide apart, almost sprawling--did they have any other choice, pressed apart by such girth? "Younger team, too. Makes a difference. They top-dogged every team this year."

"Yeah. Yeah, they really did."

A moment of silence passed. Matt ventured a glance at Damian and found him looking right back at him, the same gentle, almost shy smile creasing his full lips.

Matt looked away quickly. He couldn't just get up and leave right now, could he? It would look--wouldn't it look odd? Like he didn't want to be around Damian. Like he was embarrassed--it would almost be an admission of something. It might even look racist.

Matt dithered and did everything but look back at the slouching penis and its two pet balls. There was no reason he couldn't just leave. Why not? He did want to get home, to play with the kids and get them to bed and--and, well, make love to his wife.

Recalling his original plan for the evening acted like a floodgate in Matt's imagination. A rush of erotic images filled his inward horizon, and suddenly, he pictured Damian and Brittany making love, the black man taking her doggy, smacking her ass.

A black man, this black man, fucking his wife.

Matt imagined the ebony cock hard, even bigger, the glans proud and smirking, so black, dark against Brittany's pale skin, teasing her snatch, spreading her labial entrance, wet with her dew, smearing her with black-baby pre--he imagined her face--

"Well, I should probably get going." Matt stood up quickly, trying to ignore the sudden swell he felt in his groin. "We'll see how the Brewers do next--"

"Ain't ya gonna let me see yours?"

Matt stood stock still, his mouth slightly ajar. Had he heard correctly?

"Beg your pardon?"

Damian leaned his elbows on his knees and flashed a toothy grin up at Matt. His balls rolled forward and hung off the bench.

Matt blinked several times.

"Since you liked looking at mine so much, ain't ya gonna let me see yours?" Damian said.

"I, uh--" Matt swallowed and huffed a laugh. He pulled a nonchalant face and shrugged. "Bud, I, uh--I'm not sure what you mean, but I assure you, I was not--oh!"

Matt froze again. With one flick of his wrist, Damian had sent Matt's towel to the floor, pooling around his feet.

The white man stood there, stark naked, before the grinning, ebony trainer, his own penis and balls now fully and obviously on display.

"What the fuck, man?" Matt grabbed his family jewels with one hand and started to bend over to reach for his towel with the other. "This is fucking--"

"Yo, stop." Damian grabbed Matt's hand that covered his gonads. Matt was surprised to find the grip gentle, if insistent and strong. "Just chill. Let me see."

Their eyes met, Matt still half-bent and covering himself. The tone in Damian's voice surprised him. The guy almost seemed--it was almost friendly. Curious. Boyishly playful.

Matt breathed a nervous chuckle. "What? What is this?"

"This is two homies being cool with their dicks, man." Damian didn't let go of Matt's hand, but neither did he force it away from its mount. His grin remained. "C'mon. Bros like comparing dick, right?"

Did bros like comparing dick? Matt's brow knit together in thought. He had never, ever compared dick with a bro, a bud, or a teammate. Not even his own brothers. But something in Damian's look, and in his tone of voice--it was almost flattering, to be this man's bro.

His homie.

A glint flitted across Damian's eyes and he carefully drew Matt's hand free. Matt's cock and balls now hung between them, open for inspection. He laughed nervously and suddenly felt foolish, bent over, his naked ass stuck in the air. He stood up. His cock and balls jiggled snugly in place, like Jell-o.

"Hm." Damian pulled his lips down in playful mimicry of a man making estimations. "Not bad, man. Not bad at all. What's that get to? Six inches?"

Matt blushed. "You, y-you mean, uh--you mean hard?" This was new territory. No one had ever asked. No one. Ever.

"Yeah." Damian waited, patiently.

Matt cleared his throat and told himself it's not a lie if you're just rounding up. "Six inches."

Damian nodded. "Or close, anyway," he said.

Matt grimaced.

Both men continued to gaze at the white package set between them, Matt occasionally searching Damian's face. He felt goosebumps on his ass, and around his nipples, as if he were suddenly cold in the little cube of heat and steam. He pulled one arm across his chest and gripped the other arm. Damian cock his head thoughtfully.

"Your balls are cute," he said. "I mean that in a good way, man. Not saying they're small or nothing. They're just cute. The whole thing is cute, like a little, fat chickadee nestled in her nest."

And with that pronouncement, Damian's big grin returned, and he playfully, unexpectedly, boing-boinged the tip of Matt's dick with his finger.

"Ding-dong," he said pleasantly.

Matt gasped, surprised.

Damian chuckled and with an inspired look poked the same finger lower, teasing the underside of Matt's balls lightly.

"Coochie, coochie, coo," he quipped.

Matt not only gasped this time, he jumped, one foot kicking slightly in the air.

Damian barked a delighted laugh.

Matt stared, speechless.

His balls!

His cock!

No one--just Brittany--but otherwise, no one, ever--

Damian sat back against the cedar wall. That big grin. His legs wide again. His cock and balls rolling back like a Persian king on a cushioned throne. Massive.

"You're cute, man," he said.

Matt didn't know what to say. The man had just touched his penis. He had ding-donged his penis and coochie-coochie-cooed his balls. After inspecting him like--like what? Like a horse?

Matt blushed.

He was no horse. He was a fucking chickadee in a nest.

But "ding-dong"?

Coochie-coo?

Cute?

He rolled his eyes. "This is dumb, man."

As soon as he said them, the words sounded too critical. Too--too much like something he shouldn't say to a black man. He started talking faster.

"Not dumb, just--just I don't--I've never--look, dude, you touched my--I mean, it's just, uh--it's just, not--it's just--obviously, yours is really big," he finally blurted.

Yours is really big?

Matt's mind raced.

Why the FUCK did he say that?

Damian's big grin broadened even more, smiling up at Matt for a good long moment.

"Thanks, man," he said with warm confidence. "I like yours, too." He rubbed a sweaty big toe against Mark's bare ankle.

Matt grabbed his towel and pushed out of the sauna before his mind registered the movements. What the fuck was that? What WAS that?

He stepped quickly towards the showers, his mind racing. The young trainer should never have--why did he even think he could--and why hadn't Matt stopped it--why had he stood there--?

His mind hadn't settled by the time the warm water of the shower washed over him, and as it did so, he felt a rustle to his left.

Damian, still grinning, was now standing at the shower head next to him.

"Sorry, man," he said quietly, his voice still warm and resonant. "Didn't mean to freak you out."

Matt eyes instinctively followed the shower water as it streamed in silvery rivulets over Damian's physique, coursing along his muscle until it spilled over his dick and poured off his balls. That dick. Those balls.

"It's just you were looking at mine like you're looking at it now." Damian's voice was inescapably amused. "So I figured you were like me, liked to compare and show off a little."

He lathered up his dick and balls as he spoke, grinning. Matt frowned and looked away, feeling utterly stupid and absurd.

"Whatever, man," he muttered. He turned off his shower with a hard yank and grabbed his towel. "Just bug off."

He turned and stalked towards the shower doors.

"See ya around?" Damian called after him.

Matt didn't answer, but as he turned the corner he looked back quickly. Damian was no longer looking at him, but now lathered his chest and armpits, humming softly to himself.

Thank goodness. They could go back to not even knowing each other, Matt thought.

He paused. His gaze dropped lower.

Fuck! That dick!

He turned and hurried to his locker, not quite registering the heat creeping up his neck.

He also didn't see Damian toss a grin in his direction.