MEN, MUSCLE, and MAYHEM

by Milton Stern

  He decided to change his underwear, since the pair he was wearing was stained with precum, not an uncommon occurrence for Michael. He never wore a jock strap, preferring the security of tight, form-fitting briefs. He slipped on his sweat pants and tank top and laced up his black Converse hi-tops. He was looking forward to walking to the building behind the motel and having a real workout. It had warmed up a bit, so Michael figured he would not need a jacket for the short walk to the gym. He also didn’t bother to take a lock or gym bag, reasoning he would shower in the motel room before going to the diner for supper.

  Michael stepped out of his room and made his way around back. The gym was just fifty or so feet from the motel and looked to be an old converted warehouse. Painted on the door was “S-T’s Gym.” Michael opened the door, and to his surprise, there were quite a few men working out. There was no foyer, only a small office to the left of the door, and two paces in, Michael found himself in the middle of a large weight room. The place was mainly lit by fluorescent light bulbs, the walls were all mirrored, and any surface that was not covered by mirrors was painted a charcoal gray.

  Michael first noticed the lack of music; the only sound that could be heard was the clanking of weights and the grunting of men as they struggled against the iron. He also took in a deep breath, savoring the smell of chalk, sweat and testosterone.

  As he looked around, he also noticed that most of the men were working out shirtless. No rules about decorum here. This was a real gym. His cock leaked again.

  The door to the office opened, and the cook stepped out and put a hand on Michael’s shoulder.

  “Just like I told you, nothing fancy, but it’s mine,” the cook said.

  Michael turned to look at him and saw that he had also changed his clothes, wearing a pair of gray sweat pants and no shirt. Even past fifty, the man was powerfully built. His shoulders were like cannonballs, and his pecs were two giant plates of muscle. Michael was jealous of the old guy’s enormous traps.

  “Hey, this is perfect,” Michael said.

  “Have a good workout,” the cook said as he slapped Michael’s large, round, muscular ass. It wasn’t a playful slap; it was the slap of an athlete, masculine in its intent.

  Michael felt his muscles pumping with blood just from standing in this gym, but he came to work out, and he was going to have a workout reminiscent of the first gym he ever joined. It was similar to this one, and he could have sworn the same shirtless muscle gods were also working out there a long time ago.

  The gym was hot and humid inside with the only ventilation coming from the narrow rectangular windows located between the mirrors and the ceiling. Michael decided to forego stretching and work out like a man.

  No need to warm up, he thought. If I pull a muscle, I’ll just grunt and bear it.

  His only worry was that he would come during his first set. Michael was glad he was wearing tight briefs and baggy sweat pants for his dick was already getting hard.

  He walked over to the bench where a couple of obvious steroid users were working out together, and before he could ask, they offered to let him work in with them.

  Wow, Michael thought. No attitude. Just work in with us.

  This place was heaven. The guys were not only big, muscular, hot and half naked, but also they were gentlemen. But of course, they were all gentlemen; they were all between forty and sixty – that perfect generation between attitude and troll.

  Michael worked out harder than he had in years, working in a set with this pair of partners and that pair of partners. He benched, he pulled, he curled, he rowed, he squatted, and he lifted. A couple of the guys kidded him about how he did a set of push-ups after each exercise, but when Michael decided to remove his loose tank top before a set of dumbbell flyes, the men took notice, and a couple of them also dropped and did twenty. His hairy chest was so pumped and his big round nipples so hard that Michael could not even see his large feet when he looked down.

  As it turned out, most of the guys were old friends of the cook’s and retired wrestlers, too, many of them from the days of local circuits before the extreme professional wrestling of today. Although in the ring he was the Southern Terror, the cook was popular in the arena locker rooms, and when he retired to Erlach and opened the diner, the motel, and the gym, many of his former colleagues soon followed, taking up farming or just retiring and enjoying the simple life.

  The weight room started to thin out after an hour, but Michael was enjoying the place so much that he decided to keep working out. Before long, the only two guys left in the weight room were Michael and the cook.

  “Don’t you have to go back to the diner,” Michael asked him.

  “We don’t get busy until about seven, so my two waitresses handle the kitchen and the floor until then,” the cook said. “The gym closes at six-thirty, so if you want to get in a shower, you will need to now.”

  “Oh, I was hoping to work out some more,” Michael said.

  The cook furrowed his brow and pounded Michael’s pumped chest with his fist and said, “If you do another set, you are going to bust an artery. Hit the showers, we open at eleven tomorrow. You can come in then and work out for seven hours if you want.”

  “That’s OK, I was going to shower in my room, thanks,” Michael said.

  The cook grabbed Michael’s shoulder and said, “You will be better off showering here. The showers in the motel will barely hold you, and besides the pressure sucks. It’s a dump, but it’s my dump, and I wouldn’t lie to you.”

  Michael told the cook he didn’t bring a lock or a change of clothes, but the cook would have none of it. He told Michael that these guys could be trusted and just to go commando when he walked back to his room. Michael worried that if he showered with these guys, going commando in his loose sweats would cause him a great deal of embarrassment.

  The cook kept his hand on his shoulder and guided him back to the locker room. Michael had no choice.

  The locker room was steamier than the weight room, and Michael could hear four or five guys in the shower laughing and talking. He located an empty locker and started to untie his hi-tops. The cook stood next to him and did the same. Michael tried thinking of dead kittens and fat women with hairy vaginas in an effort to keep from getting hard, but it only semi-worked. He hoped that straight guys did not look at another guy’s dick, and when he stripped off his sweats and briefs, he took a deep breath. The cook was naked at this point and grabbed two towels, throwing one to Michael.

  He looked at Michael’s large endowment, including his huge, hairy balls and smiled.

  “Damn kid, was your father a buffalo?” the cook said. “Is there anything small on you?”

  Michael blushed and wrapped the towel around his waist catching a glimpse of the cook’s ample manhood in the process. He was happy the man was circumcised as he was not a fan of foreskin. Michael figured if he was going to look, he might as well enjoy the view.

  He walked toward the shower, following the cook. The shower room was as old fashioned as the weight room – just a big, open, tiled room with ten shower heads. Five of the big guys, including two of the men who let Michael work in with them on the bench were showering and talking. To Michael’s surprise, one of them was soaping up the other’s back, and the one getting lathered was sporting a raging hard on.

  Michael averted his eyes and turned on the shower next to the cook. Showering was the only thing Michael enjoyed more than push-ups, and he stood with his hands on the tiles and let the water cascade from his head down his back. He enjoyed the feeling for quite a while. Lost in the warmth of the spray, Michael closed his eyes and turned around to let the water hit directly on his back. He then reached behind himself and spread his butt cheeks to let the warmth hit every crevice. As he turned his head and opened his eyes to locate a bar of soap, he didn’t see one in the dish under his shower head, so he looked across the room. The two guys who were enjoying each other’s company were now soaping up with the other three guys. Hands we
re everywhere. Michael’s dick started getting hard, but at this point, he didn’t care.

  The cook grabbed Michael’s arm and placed a bar of soap in his hand.

  “Is this what you’re looking for?” he asked Michael.

  Michael thanked him and started lathering up his hair and then his face. He rinsed the soap from his head, and then he started with his shoulders and worked the lather slowly down his big, pumped, hairy, muscular body. He enjoyed every inch of himself. He slowly soaped his raging nine-by-seven-inch boner and lathered his hairy, buffalo balls. The guys were watching him and from the looks of their own boners were enjoying the show. That didn’t stop Michael.

  He bent over to soap up his legs, and when he did, he felt a hand on his back. The cook, with his own bar of soap, proceeded to lather up Michael’s back, and when Michael stood up, the cook put one hand on Michael’s shoulder, and with the other, he lathered Michael’s large, round, muscular ass. He was gentle in his touch. The cook squatted down and lathered Michael’s legs, slowly with up and down strokes. Michael resumed lathering his chest, stomach, arms, shoulders, and neck. Then, the cook rose and lathered Michael’s ass and back again. With his other hand, the cook reached around and put his meaty paw on Michael’s aching cock. The huge, mushroom head was swollen, and his balls were ready for release.

  Michael continued to lather his chest, shoulders, biceps, triceps, and forearms, and he reached around to lather his own huge lats.

  The cook firmly but slowly stroked Michael’s hard soapy cock, and after just a few seconds, Michael shuttered and blew a load into the center of the shower room. The sight of Michael coming sent the other five muscle-heads over the edge, and each of them spunked the shower room floor, too. The cook’s own large dick creamed Michael’s hip, and he continued to stroke Michael’s cock until he was sure those big balls were empty.

  With everyone’s needs fulfilled, the men in the shower finished rinsing themselves off and left the shower room without saying a word, the cook and Michael included.

  Michael pulled on his sweats and slipped into his hi-tops, carrying his briefs, tank top and socks back to his room.

  He then changed into a fresh pair of white briefs, jeans and an orange T-shirt and walked over to the diner. Michael took a seat at the counter, and the cook came out in the same outfit he was wearing when Michael first met him. Nothing was said of what just took place in the shower.

  Michael understood that it was just men, big muscular men, bonding after a good, healthy workout.

  The cook smiled at Michael and recommended the fried chicken, mashed potatoes, green beans and cornbread. Michael didn’t argue. He trusted the cook’s judgment, and with the first bite, he knew the cook was right.

  While he was enjoying a cup of coffee and fresh apple pie, the cook came over to Michael and leaned on the counter in front of him.

  “So, what’s your business in town,” the cook asked.

  “I am here to meet with the Mayor about some government business,” Michael said.

  “At ten tomorrow morning?” the cook asked.

  Michael looked at him and asked, “Are you the Mayor, too?”

  “And your last name must be Greenberg,” the cook said.

  They both laughed.

  “Good,” the cook said, “Tomorrow, after our meeting, you can come back over to the gym, and I will put you through a real work out.”

  And Michael asked, “How many push-ups can you do?”

  Two years later, Michael bought the house across the street, and he always showered at the gym after his workouts.

  THE GUY DOWN THE HALL

  I really dreaded moving out to a complex in the burbs, but after my upstairs neighbor shot her husband and missed sending a bullet through her floor and into my apartment, my friends convinced me it was time.

  So, here I was in one of those secure buildings with 500 neighbors. That is 500 people who walk by you without smiling, who look at you strangely when you say hello, and who turn up their noses when they see your dog, even though it is a pet-friendly building. I always lived in bad neighborhoods, where people say hello because if you don’t know your neighbors, you won’t know whether someone is a gang member, mugger or a rapist. It is not that I was too poor to move; I was just too comfortable, paying a low rent and making excuses.

  After a few weeks, I made up my mind that no one was going to say hello and that was just how it is with this “station of society” as Hyacinth Bucket would say on Keeping Up Appearances. I came back from walking my dog, who was in her twilight years, when the fire alarm went off. I never lived in a building with an alarm, so I scooped up my dog (she had gone deaf and partially blind by then, so in order to evacuate, it was better that I carry her), and we made our way to the stairs. I had moved to the top floor for obvious reasons (bullets tend to go down rather than up). Outside it was raining, and all I was wearing at the time was an undershirt and shorts. After fifteen minutes, we were given the all clear and made our way upstairs. The whole way, no one said a word. They didn’t even comment about my dog and why I was carrying her.

  Once on our floor, I put Lucille down, and we walked back to my apartment. As we reached my door, my neighbor from around the corner came around and said, “Hey, I see we had another false alarm.”

  I was surprised for two reasons. One, he said something to me, and two, he was wearing a sleeveless shirt and boxers. What a sight. He was a little over six feet, maybe a drop over two hundred pounds, with dark hair and eyes and the most fit build I had ever seen, or could see from what was exposed. He was also half my age at around twenty-five.

  I had picked up Lucille at that point to keep her from running into him, being partially blind and all, and that made my bicep bulge. I should let you know that I am over six feet myself and close to two-hundred-sixty pounds and a professional trainer and competitive bodybuilder. Approaching fifty, when not in competition, I carry an extra inch or two around the waist, and that is all I will admit.

  “False alarm?”

  “Yeah, the burger joint downstairs tends to set off alarms all the time. My name’s Matt, by the way.”

  “Nice to meet you,” I said as I extended my right hand and shook his. I also put Lucille back down on the floor. “This is Lucille; she’s pretty old, deaf and partially blind; that’s why I picked her up, so she wouldn’t bang into you.” And then I shut up, realizing I was giving more information than was necessary and probably because this was the first conversation I had with anyone since I moved in.

  “And, your name?” he asked.

  “Oh, yeah. I’m Martin.”

  At that point he started staring at my arms, and my shirt was still wet from the rain, so his eyes glanced over my pecs as well. “Hey, my fiancé and I are throwing a little party tomorrow night around seven. Come on over. We’re in five-eighteen.”

  “Sounds good,” I answered and watched as he turned and went back to his apartment. I also hoped he never wore more than a T-shirt and boxers in the future.

  As it turned out, I answered too quickly, since I already had plans the next night with a couple of friends to have dinner. So, the next afternoon, I bought a bottle of wine and knocked on five-eighteen.

  Matt answered the door, dressed similarly to the night before.

  “Hey, Martin, what’s up?”

  I handed him the wine and said, “I answered too quickly. I have plans tonight, and I didn’t want to blow you guys off and just not show up. Here, this is a thank you for the invitation.”

  “You didn’t have to do that,” he said in protest.

  “I insist. My mother raised me right,” I answered. “Can I ask you a question?”

  “Sure.”

  “Do you own pants?” I asked with a grin.

  He laughed, and I heard a woman’s voice in the background, “I’m so glad you said that.” She appeared from another room, and was she gorgeous and a little thing about half his size. “I’m Gina. Thank you for the wine. I’m sorry yo
u can’t make it. He promised to wear pants tonight.”

  We laughed, and I said my goodbyes.

  It was a few weeks before I saw him again. I go to the gym very early and am usually out the door around a quarter to five in the morning. I ran into him one morning as he was headed to his gym, and we exchanged pleasantries, and this became an occasional occurrence. Although beautiful to behold, I made up my mind after meeting his fiancé that he was off limits, and I was never into “flipping” guys anyway. I am too old to go around blowing straight guys, besides I never saw the thrill in that. I never said it out loud, but anyone can figure out I am a big fag from the rainbow Mezuzah on my door frame to the rainbow Star of David tattoo on my shoulder to the parade of flaming queens, who are my friends, who would drop by for dinner. Besides a fifty-year-old personal trainer/competitive bodybuilder is a dead giveaway.

  One morning as I headed out my door to the gym, I saw a shirtless body walk by and noticed it was Matt. He was wearing very short, gray running shorts that were not unlike the ones President Clinton would wear early in his administration. I yelled at his back, “It is freezing outside. I just came back from walking Lucille.”

  He stopped and turned around, and I saw his bare torso for the first time. He didn’t shave and had the perfect amount of dark hair and that theory about him having the most fit body I ever saw was confirmed. I immediately thought that if this guy has a big dick there is no God.

  “They say it’s seventy outside.” He smiled that beautiful smile as I said this.

  I walked up to him and got a better look and thanked myself for putting on a tight jock that morning. (I said I was not into flipping straight guys, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t turn me on.)

  We walked over to the elevator and stepped in.

  He hit the L and asked if I had an early client.

  “No, just working out this morning,” I answered.

  “Cool, we should work out together sometime,” he said.

  And then, my odd sense of humor took over when I asked, “Can I pull one of your nipples?”