Part of me - the sensible, rational, moral part - wanted desperately to resist. To stop. Not to do something so wrong and so stupid. But my sensible, rational, moral part wasn't in charge tonight. My dick had taken over, and it was determined to have its way.
I'd always viewed my bisexuality as a curse, rather than a blessing: the fact that I could have, and enjoy, sexual relationships with women, yet they were never enough. Fact was, I wanted to have a marriage, and father children, and enjoy an outwardly respectable life, but inside I always craved men, and I always wanted to fuck muscled, tight male arse more than anything. In my experience, men fucking each other is the hardest, hottest, most exciting and intense way to have sex. Neither my wife, nor any of the girlfriends who came before her, could slake my lust in quite the way that screwing another man could. So, I was always on the lookout, either for guys to perv at and use in wank fantasies, or for something more risky - everything from sneaking glances at nice muscled arms and legs on blokes when they were out and about in short clothing in the Summer, to spotting chiselled physiques at the gym, to watching guys strip in the locker room and check out their naked bodies in the showers. Most of all, I liked to check out guys at the gym, because I knew that some really were looking for cock as well, and a couple of men had proven amenable to being cruised, resulting in opportunities for tension-relieving casual encounters. I'd also slept with a number of guys when away on business trips, when the opportunity to visit gyms, saunas and nightlife venues afforded good chances to bring a man back to my room for the night. I always felt terrible for cheating afterwards, but it didn't stop me: when you've got that itch, and it's so bad that it needs scratching, you just have to do it.
There were some seriously studly males down my gym, and sometimes it was pretty hard to stop myself from getting boned up looking at them, or thinking about them! I wasn't always successful, and sometimes wood had to be hidden in an emergency with a skillfully held towel, or by facing the wall in the shower until the engorgement subsided: the shower stalls had no doors, presumably a means to discourage wanking as the changing rooms were swapped around every few months when male maintenance workers needed access to the ladies, so I had been in there and seen that they had doors. But there were big partitions between each of the showers that meant no-one could see in from the side, a lifesaver when I was helpless to stop my dick from growing fully erect. All the same, I'm pretty sure that I'd been caught a couple of times with wood at varying angles to the floor. I'd occasionally seen it on other men myself. It happens to guys. But it happening to me was still intensely embarrassing. And I didn't want to end up getting a bad reputation as some kind of queer flasher.
Of course, keeping my cock calm had become especially difficult since Todd, the new fitness instructor, had started work at the gym. His shifts seemed all too frequently to end around the same time of the evening as my regular workouts, and we soon found ourselves down in the locker room, stripping off and hitting the showers together. We quickly became, if not friends, then at least friendly acquaintances, starting off just acknowledging each other with a nod but soon beginning to strike up conversations, after we put on the same replica rugby shirts as each other when getting dressed again after shower time. Turned out we were both keen supporters of the local Premiership side, and soon we were talking around the same time most weekday nights about sports, music and other stuff.
And there was something else. I saw, pretty early on, out of the corner of my eye, that he was checking me out. Difficult to say what, if any, particular parts he was attracted to all of the time, but I'm certain that at least some of the attention went on my arse and crotch - especially when naked, or clad just in one of my favourite red or grey Bike jocks, which I worse as underwear beneath my jeans as well as for working out in. Have a thing for jockstraps. Simply love the look and the feel - and especially useful if, like me, you've a generous endowment.
And nor was it just the attempts at catching a sly eyeful of me in the locker room that convinced me that he wanted something more than a nice chat about line outs or the performance of the new scrum half last Saturday. He was also a jock wearer - not a common thing - and I reckon he worked out (correctly) that I loved to check out a fit lad in a jockstrap. All too often he'd strip down just to his own tight, plain white support, before suddenly finding the necessity to bend right over and rummage around for something in a bag placed oh-so-conveniently on the floor, giving me a magnificent view of his muscled arse, the hot, hairy young crack framed by two slender tapes drawn exquisitely taught across the buttocks. The whole scene screamed "Fuck me," impossible in such a public place of course yet also the subject of so many wank fantasies when I got home - that, or some of the hardest orgasms I'd ever had with my wife, taking her pussy yet screwing my eyes shut at the end, and doing my best to imagine that I was about to shoot inside Todd's hard, young, sportsman's arse. It was very good, but as any man who's fucked another man hard knows, pussy is never quite as good as arse.
Tood and I quickly found more ways to signal our interest in one another. I would stand around after taking off my jock, drinking water for a couple of minutes and giving him a good chance to check out my body - athletic, hairy, and still in very good nick for a guy just the high side of 35 - and especially the start attraction, my thick six inches of manhood, hanging loosely between my thighs. Or, at least, that was the case so long as I didn't get too excited, whereupon an emergency towel had to be manoeuvred into position! We would go off to shower together, and whichever man was first in line soon learned to pick a stall with an empty one immediately opposite, if at all possible. With there being no doors, this left us free to admire each other whilst pretending just to be interested in a bit of friendly banter.
And so it was, the night when it happened. It had been quieter than usual in the gym that Wednesday evening - perhaps something to do with the shit weather outside, and the big Champions League match on telly at half-seven, but when we went to take a shower the room was empty. I went and got into one of the stalls at the end; Todd said that he'd left something behind in his locker, and disappeared for a moment to get it. I turned on the hot water and started to wash off the sweat from a hard weight training session, hot water coarsing all over my well-built, 6ft 4 frame, soaking my body and especially the thick hair of my chest, midriff and groin completely. Todd had been giving me a good view of his jockstrapped arse again in the locker room, and my cock had grown half-hard, jutting out obscenely towards the wall. I thought I'd be stood there hiding it for a couple of minutes before I had the chance to turn around and cop another eyeful of Todd.
