Table of Contents
The Proposition
Cassidy and Hughes
Three’s Company
Spit Roast
SWOLE: TRIPLE DROP SETS
Published and written by: Golden Czermak
Edition: 1
WARNING: This is a short story written for mature readers. It is pure escapism, containing adult themes, coarse language, erotic sexual situations, male-male sex, and nudity.
This is a work of fiction. All characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are products of the author’s imagination and/or used fictitiously. All Rights Reserved.
In accordance with the United States Copyright Act of 1976, the scanning, uploading, or sharing of any part of this work without the permission of the copyright holder is unlawful theft of the author’s intellectual property.
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
Ah the triple drop set, bane of my existence and whose painful after effects are known to me thanks to my friend, RJ Ritchie. Hopefully, you still want to lift with me after reading these stories. Much love my friend, always.
The Proposition
LIKE JONNY, CAMERON DID EVERY day that particular week in March – which masqueraded as spring break to some, but for him was a wholly different experience – he awoke early. It was Thursday morning, his eyes greeting the sunlight that slipped in through narrow gaps in the dark draperies. As he moved around on the guest room’s rigid mattress, Jonny’s body ached. The stiff springs found all the wrong places and cruelly poked at him. The sensation was familiar, conjuring horrible memories of his Aunt Betty’s emaciated pincers, tipped with fuchsia nail polish, poking and nipping at his soft cheeks. Thankfully, Jonny’s mind was reeling and after rubbing his cheeks to feel for scars, he quickly swept the bad memories away.
Other things soon filled the space that was left behind; they were not as thin as bed springs or bony fingers, but just as hard. Those things managed to find all the right places on, and even deep inside him, ever since he’d arrived at Trent Cassidy’s house the past weekend.
Trent, he thought. The name made all his current aches seem more bearable; pleasurable even.
But there was something else about Trent – distant and dreamlike though a steamy haze – that loitered in Jonny’s mind. He thought (and it was damn near laughable that Jonny could have thought such a thing) that just hours ago, beneath a deluge of hot water and slick, soapy suds, he had somehow managed to assume the role of a poker himself, stoking the inner fires of that extremely hot alpha male.
No way did that happen, Jonny thought to himself. You dreamed up every bit of that shit, thinking you can even hold a candle to someone like Trent. You don’t even come close to being as sexy or dominating as someone like him. You never have been and certainly never will…
Jonny’s mouth was quick to spring open, ready to launch a verbal assault against the mean – if not mostly right – part of himself, but then he realized that he didn’t have to. As if the action of opening his mouth were enough, the steam that seemed to cloud his memory cleared. He hadn’t dreamed it up; it was true. Every sight, every smell, every feel he could recall. All of it.
Admittedly, a part of Jonny had fantasized about spreading Trent’s cheeks apart with his cock, burrowing himself balls-deep into that tight hole. It started the night Jonny was first lured into Trent’s gym, laying those intimidated eyes on that man’s amazing ass in the locker rooms. As fate would have it, the persistent daydream that would creep in during quiet moments became a slippery reality last night. Casanova Cassidy himself had let a nerd fuck him and surely that upset the cosmic balance somewhere in the universe.
Oh, come on Jonny, that’s a bit of an exaggeration, isn’t it? the voice in his head rebuked.
“Ugh,” was all Jonny could manage as a response. He scrambled to bury his face in a pillow.
Trent had shifted the balance, the dynamic between the two men changing. If he had been the only player in the game, that change would have been for the better. But life for Jonny was never that simple. There were other pieces on the board that were in motion: classes, work, money (or lack thereof), and the largest of those other pieces was a man named Jared Hughes.
Ah, Jared… Jonny thought reverently, and the flavor of whiskey suddenly tickled the back of his throat.
Jonny had been developing feelings for his close friend as well. The funny thing was he happened to live under the same roof as Trent. Those emotional ties had intensified a hundredfold since Monday nonetheless, fleeting impulses acted upon without much thought in ravenous ways.
What an absolute cluster fuck this is! Jonny’s frustration returned. You really should just stick to playing World of Warcraft. At least there you wouldn’t keep finding yourself in the middle of so much shit.
In his mind’s eye, he could see Trent standing to one side flexing his big muscles like a gym rat does instinctively upon seeing his reflection in a bathroom mirror. Jared was positioned on the other side, giving Jonny his undivided attention, while grabbing at the front of his overstuffed jeans. What a position to be in: stuck between two hunky men that were lusting after him. Men, he felt, that were well above his league.
Jonny knew that the time for making a final decision was fast approaching. His heart beat anxiously and it felt like a heavy boulder had been placed in the center of his chest. To move forward, he would have to roll it off in one direction, the rock ending his relationship with the unlucky loser that found himself in its path of destruction. The one who wasn’t flattened by the weight of this choice would be his, or so he hoped. Forever would be nice, but only time could tell.
All of this hinged on Johnny’s ability to make the choice without crushing himself in the process.
Trent… or Jared.
Jared… or Trent.
Trent… or Jared.
Jared… or Trent.
Jonny didn’t want to decide; he’d lose out on half of what made this week great.
You’re such a selfish asshole… his nagging inner voice began again, but then Trent’s words from the night before cut through the negative thoughts like a hot knife through butter.
“I have a proposition for you, but only if you’re game…”
“Okay, you have my attention,” Jonny recalled himself saying. “What is it that you’re proposing?”
Jonny then remembered Trent’s eyebrow arching quite high before…
… he backed up to make sure the last streaks of Jonny’s cum were rinsed off his back.
“Like I said: I love seeing you happy, Jonny-boy and you have opened me up to new things, you little fucker.”
“Big fucker,” Jonny said, but he paused when Trent’s dick started to grow again as if to say, ‘oh really now?’
Trent’s lips curled up slightly into a smirk. He dipped his head beneath the water and it splashed cheerfully around his hair, streams of it rolling down his body. Eventually they caressed his long shaft, coating it with a silky luster. It was nearly full again.
“Like I was saying,” Trent said while squatting to pick up the bar of soap which had fallen to the tile floor. As he smoothed the dented corner with his thumb, his dick seemed to wave. “I know what makes you happy and I might not like all of those the things, but the fact you are happy in the end makes it worthwhile.”
Does he realize how torn I am? Jonny thought as Trent stood. His dick certainly looked capable of tearing things up.
The big man soaped up his palms before grabbing hold of his shaft with them. Then, he squeezed tightly. Suds oozed out between his fingers and he started to stroke himself, casually speaking the entire time.
“So, I propose that both you and J-rod join me tonight here in Swole.”
Trent appeared unfazed. His dick grew even harder.
“W-what d-did you say?” Jonny stuttered.
“You suddenly go deaf?”
Trent’s self-fondling continued.
“N-no… b-but Jesus, Trent. What on Earth makes you think Jared would be remotely interested in doing something like that? You know as well as I do: he won’t come and will probably tell me to fuck off without so much as a second thought.”
Jonny grew confident, sure that he was right. You didn’t have to look very hard to see that Jared had zero interest being near Trent, never mind wanting to do anything sexual.
“If J-rod does,” Trent said, “then you’re stuck with me, which isn’t that bad a situation to be in. But trust me. He will come. You leave on Saturday morning, right?”
The question made Jonny feel more anxious. There were just two days left.
“Yeah,” he replied suspiciously. “I’m on the six o’clock bus to Marshall.”
“Back home to classes, work, and normal life,” Trent said. “Waiting for you with open arms.”
It was Jonny’s turn to cock his eyebrow, though he still felt on edge.
“Yeah, but what does that have to do with any –”
“I still owe you two more workouts to complete the week.”
Jonny nodded presently. They still hadn’t worked out arms or shoulders. He knew that he didn’t have to come back to Swole if he didn’t want to, but there was a part of him that felt compelled to do so. It was a weird feeling, like Jonny had lost his own sense of control, and Trent’s unrelenting double fist-pounding right there in front of him was likely the cause. Precum began to collect at the tip of Jonny’s dick’s head, a physical manifestation of the fact he couldn’t say no.
“Well, I’m making a sacrifice inviting him here,” Trent said, his dick frothy. “Hell, I’ll even let my Jonny-boy decide what gets to happen. It’s only fair that ol’ J-rod stuff his pride where the sun doesn’t shine and make some sacrifices of his own to keep his precious Jonny happy. Am I right?”
Jonny bobbed his head like a puppet and a fat drop of precum fell to the wet floor, getting lost in its wet, blue-gray polish.
“Be sure to tell him about my offer later this morning.”
Jonny was still nodding, words too disjointed to come out in sentences.
“It’ll be shoulders tonight,” Trent said, glancing from one of his to the other. A glob of liquid pooled at the tip of his dick, then spilled over in a thick stream. “It’s normally a fast workout day, which will leave us with plenty of extra time. We could make the most of it, if he’s game.”
“I don’t know if he is or not,” Jonny replied, his voice soft and innocent, unlike the man in front of him.
“All you have to do is ask. Can you do that for me?”
Jonny gulped. He didn’t want to, but knew he had to. There shouldn’t be any harm in asking the question at least. He nodded.
Trent released his cock, throbbing and swollen, and extended the index fingers of both hands. He pointed them down toward it while saying, “Good boy. Now with that out of the way, Jonny-boy, it’s time to let my man here have his fun. Turn around. Now.”
Jonny could see himself turning around and back in the guest room, his asshole contracted like a hand recoiling from a hot stove. Trent plus Dial soap stung like a motherfucker.
Next time, use Dove, Jonny thought. He let out a little chuckle just as there was a knock on the door.
“Hey Jonny.” It was Jared. “I got your text message from earlier saying we needed to talk. Is everything okay?”
Jonny answered with some vague reply as he got up from the futon. Everything was okay right then and there, but he had no idea if it would be after he delivered Trent’s message.
“TRENT HAS TO BE ON drugs!” Jared exclaimed, spinning away from Jonny at breakneck speed. His hands shot out, latching onto the balcony rail. They were soon wringing it.
“So that’s a no?” Jonny asked sheepishly, the morning air cold on his skin.
“You’re fucking right it’s a no! There’s no way I’m ever stepping into that place, Jonny, never mind letting Trent’s egotistical ass try to dominate me. I would seriously punch that goddamn smug face of his if he tried.”
The look on Jared’s face was angry, made worse by his heavy breathing, creased forehead, and rough tufts of morning hair. He resembled a werewolf about to transform.
Heat started to build behind Jonny’s ears, shielding him against the increasing wind. The sensation began prickling like acid down his shoulders. It was miserable, and he was sure Jared was on the verge of telling him to get out of the house.
“Go back to your fucking miserable life in Marshall!” he imagined Jared saying. “I don’t ever want to see you again!”
The breeze felt cool again, Jonny hoping Trent would come barging in through the French doors like some twisted knight in shining armor (or, more likely, a jock strap) to save him. At the same time, he was glad the musclebound lout was nowhere around. Jared was sour and could have spit venom.
“I’m sorry I asked,” Jonny said.
Jared looked unchanged.
Then, unexpectedly, a question leaped out of Jonny’s mouth like a fish slipping from a fisherman’s hands.
“If you and Trent hate each other so much, why the hell do you live in this house?” Jonny bit into his index finger, expecting a torrent of hateful words to be catapulted his way.
It was a valid question, though. The two roommates were always arguing and giving each other shit. Jonny supposed Jared would be much happier away from all of this, since finishing college and bettering himself appeared to be high priorities. Yet, he stayed.
Jared let out a prolonged sigh, glancing over in Jonny’s direction. It was like he was staring into him. His blue eyes were no longer sharp and crystalline, but soft like the spring sky remain for the rest of the week.
“The reason I stay here is because the house is mine.”
Jonny sank into his chair, saying, “I thought that Trent owned this place?”
Jared shrugged casually and what looked like a nod jiggled his head.
“Trent and I have a history,” Jared continued in a melancholy voice. “We are… were… partners you see.”
“Business partners, right?” Jonny asked, knowing better but needing to hear it for himself.
Jared laughed, sniffled, then licked his lips. Taking his arms off the rail, he crossed them over his broad chest and let out another sigh.
“Yeah, the relationship business.”
Cassidy and Hughes
JONNY SUPPOSED SOMEWHERE IN THE back of his mind that he knew about Trent and Jared. He must have just glossed over the finer details, not that they were any of his business.
Jared unfurled his arms; there were tiny speckles over his forearms like goose flesh.
“Come on,” he said, marching toward him then opening the doors. “It’s a little brisk this morning. Let me cook up some breakfast for you.”
“I’m not all that hungry,” Jonny replied, eyes skirting the floor of the balcony. They stopped every now and then, taking great interest in the odd branch or dead leaf.
“I’m sure what I have to tell you is far more interesting than dead tree parts.”
Jonny looked up from his seat and before long was standing.
Jared smiled and stepped inside the house where it was much warmer.
“I’ll be glad when summer gets here and the mornings aren’t so brisk,” he said, passing beneath the arch that led into the kitchen. Pointing over toward the bar he told Jonny to take a seat.
“I’d rather keep my hands busy and help,” said Jonny.
“Suit yourself,” Jared said, walking over to the cabinet where the pots and pans were kept. Opening one of the doors, he pulled out a large copper s
killet, supposedly non-stick, but most of the time if you didn’t use ample amounts of cooking spray, you’d be left with a burnt mess.
“Snag me one, too?” Jonny asked. “Can be a plain one.”
Jared did so with a smile, handing off a large black frying pan. As he did, their fingers brushed against each other and Jonny’s cheeks flushed pink when he set the pan down.
“You’re so innocent,” Jared said, setting his own skillet on the stovetop. Spraying the copper skillet, he told Jonny, “The eggs are on the top shelf, bacon should be in the drawer unless Trent already got a hold of it.”
“I’m innocent most of the time,” Jonny said, plucking the eggs and (thankfully) the bacon from their respective places in the refrigerator. Turning, he closed the door with a gentle backwards kick and took the items over to Jared. Both pans were getting hot.
As the two of them cooked breakfast, the room filled with delicious smells that transported them back to the earlier years of their lives. A time where Mom would be cooking, Dad would be reading the morning newspaper (or in Jared’s case the latest copy of Architecture Weekly), and they – as kids – would be playing. Now that they were older, both longed for that innocent time again, where others had the worries and they had the freedom to not care about anything other than which crayon would be best to color the drawing of a puppy.
Yet life could only move in one direction, and backward was not it.
“Okay,” Jared said over the sizzle of bubbling bacon. “About Trent and I…”
Jonny listened as Jared told him about their history.
It began a couple of years ago, when Trent – then with a much shorter beard and slightly smaller frame – met Jared at Swole’s grand opening. Before the rebuild and rebranding, the facility was called The Den, owned by a Charles Wilkerson who was nothing more than a hack job in it for cold, hard cash. The place was known more as a dump than a gym, with its cracked padding, rusted plates where rubber ones weren’t used, and cobbled cables. The far nicer services were on the eastern and southern edges of town, the ritzier parts where cold, hard cash did talking as well, just with better results than Wilkerson had done. Those in the north and west, especially students at Logan University with a ‘fitness center’ far worse than any hotel’s, had to travel quite a way to maintain any semblance of a healthy lifestyle, paying premium membership prices for the privilege.
Swole: Triple Drop Sets Page 1