Not One Word

Life wasn't going well.

Six months ago, the man I thought I'd be spending the rest of my life with told me we'd make better friends. He was funny, he was fun, he was light hearted, glib, generous, silly, and he told me I was his best friend. It was another man. Artistic, punk, snooty. I couldn't understand it. We spent so many nights laughing together until we cried, sharing stories of our friends and absurd strangers we'd interacted with that day. We'd argue about the best (and worst!) bands, shows, books, people, anything. He would hook me with a glance across the room, that playful smile behind his five o clock shadow and blue eyes that would make me drop everything because I knew soon his arms would be around me, pulling my chest to his, and not long after our underwear would be on the floor.

I had listened to songs about heartbreak my entire life with a gentle humor- in the prior months however the melodramatic, sappy melodies that I'd skip past or enjoy with an ironic detachment were producing feelings in me I didn't even know I had. Nobody tells you how hard heartbreak is. They try, but in reality there aren't words powerful enough. The crushing weight of self loathing as you wonder what you could have done differently. Waves of grief that ebb and flow and could disappear entirely for days at a time only to emerge as a tsunami of tears while you order lunch. The complete breakdown of your self image because, despite popular belief, sometimes being yourself just isn't enough. If nothing else, though, the breakup had inspired change in me.

When you're dealing with a level of hurt that intense, you'll do anything to make it stop. I invited my friends out more. I did therapy. I finally started those guitar lessons- I also hit the gym. Hard. I had always wanted to- I'd have fleeting month to month affairs with working out, but life happens to the best of us and I'd wind up dropping a workout here, a week there, until I came to a complete stop and had to start over. Not this time. This time I knew after every workout how much better I was looking and becoming. I've always been lean, just over six feet, and this renewed focus was putting meat on my body that I never thought I'd see. Lately I'd been noticing biceps bigger than I could fit into my old shirts and pecs that displayed proudly in the new shirts I bought to replace them, even if there was starting to be a bit of stomach to match. My butt started filling out my jeans and was looking pretty perky, if I do say so myself. Even hats seemed to fit better, exposing a few locks of medium brown hair in the back that made me feel sporty. But most of all, every time I looked in the mirror I knew that I was one step closer to being the man he regretted leaving behind. I knew thinking like that wasn't great for me, but this body is also something I've always wanted for myself, and I found myself in a gray area of healthy motivations that I came to live with, for better or worse.

What I couldn't live with, was just how much I'd see him. It was not a clean break up, and he did not move far. With emotional turbulence this intense, the briefest contact could have me spiraling for days. And he seemed to be everywhere. In the bakery at the grocery store. At the pick up counter in the café. At the local comedy show I was trying to get out of my own head with. The breaking point was when I saw him arm in arm with his new boyfriend while walking past the dog park, less than two blocks from my home. What used to be our home. The look of pity burned into my mind. That was two weeks ago. I couldn't take it any longer. The sleepless nights were already long enough. I moved.

While in the same city, I found a nice townhouse on the opposite end. I could still keep in touch with my friends, it's actually closer to work, and the new bathtub is somehow big enough for a tall guy like me. The day of the move was, as always, exhausting. Hours of organizing and lifting and cardboard. My buddies were grateful for the pizza and beer, but next time I'm getting a mover. Surrounded in stacks of boxes, tired, and a bit tipsy, I finished wrapping the fitted sheet around my mattress, stripped down, and collapsed onto it. A new start. A new life- away from him.

Amateur mistake. I began to drift off to sleep, memories of him flitting in and out of my mind. Thoughts of us cooking together. Meeting his parents. I turned over, trying to think about something else. The crease that would appear on his lower back whenever he took his shirt off. Grabbing me by the hand and leading me off the hiking trail. Sliding that same hand down the front of his shorts. Looking up in surprise as he hits me with that smile- that fucking smile. I tossed in my bed. I could feel myself getting hard. I hated myself for it. The feeling of his already half hard dick in my hand. The growth as he reached around me and grabbed my butt, making him thicker with every squeeze. The breeze on my neck when I crouched down and took him into my mouth. His moans. Deep. Purposeful. His hands on the back of my neck, the salty taste of sweat and cum on my tongue, his hands reaching down and pulling me up beneath my armpits, bringing our faces closer together. The heat of his face against mine. His lips-

I sat up with a start. My heart pounded. A tremendous ache had begun in the pit of my stomach. I hadn't eaten anything bad, even though it wasn't the greatest pizza. I knew this feeling. Grief. Regret. Pain. Longing. All at once. I had to do something else, I couldn't sleep now. Glancing at my phone, I saw it was already past 2 in the morning. Great. New neighborhood, my entire life in boxes, and I needed a distraction in the middle of the night. I glanced at the window, and I could see a small orange light strobing against the blinds. I stood up, trying to ignore the deflating erection swinging between my legs, and peeked out- a neon sign down the street was blinking, in that way neon signs do when they're on death's door. "24 Hours." Of course!

It was half the reason I picked this place. Half a block away and across the street was a small strip mall, containing a convenience store, a restaurant, some professional offices upstairs, and a small, 24 hour gym. I pulled on the black tank top and blue exercise shorts I'd worn that day and headed out the door. I didn't really have much of a plan, maybe I would just knock out a few sets of bench, check out the locker room. It was as good an excuse as any to leave. I pulled up the email app on my phone as I felt the chill of the night air hit me. I had emailed the gym and set up my account last week- they took my payment and gave me an access code that same day. Efficient, by gym standards.

The walk was cold, and the door to the gym was brightly lit and welcoming. I felt my nipples harden and goosebumps form on my arms as I folded my arms across my chest and hurried along. I really should have found a sweatshirt. Warm air washed over me as I pulled the entrance open, and I came to a small keypad against the wall. It beeped happily and unlocked a second inner door when I punched in the 6 digit code from the email. Inside, there was a round welcome desk littered with office supplies and a guest sign in sheet, but nobody was there. Probably too late at night. Shrugging, I welcomed myself in and surveyed the landscape of the gym floor. Behind the front desk there was a circular staircase, presumably leading up to the locker rooms. To the right of the staircase was the entrance to the gym proper, a large open rectangle. Toward the entrance there were squat racks and benches with barbells stacked vertically in lines and piles of weights to use with them, and in the middle an open floor space for free weights dotted with benches, surrounded on the border by dumb bell racks and gym mats.

I was pleased- it didn't feel like a chain gym, coated in white plastics and glaring fluorescent lighting. This felt more.. Lived in. More rugged. The walls behind the mirrors were painted dark colors and the ceilings were exposed, open wood and iron that looked almost cabin-like under the warm glow of the hanging lights. I had always enjoyed a clean aesthetic with dark woods and black metals and this place reminded me of what I kept trying to work to have my home become. I walked into the middle of the weight area, and took in the room around me. There weren't any windows- replaced instead by large mirrors, great for checking your form, which also had the effect of making the room seem twice its actual size. Kettlebells, medicine balls and other equipment were stashed on a shelving unit in the corner. Continuing onward, there were a few lines of elliptical machines and treadmills, facing televisions mounted on the back wall, silently blaring cable television. In the far corner I spotted a second staircase, presumably connected to the first by a walkway on the second floor.

Pleased with my choice of living arrangement, I decided to jump on a treadmill and warm up a bit. The machine quietly whirred and I smelled rubber against plastic as I began a gentle jog. After a few minutes of thoughtlessly staring at the late night infomercial on the television in front of me, thoughts of my ex came back to me. One summer we had tried to work out together, but he was more interested in long haul cardio. I remembered his ass bouncing up and down as he jogged in place, and what it would make me do to it afterwards. Angry with myself, my breath getting heavier, I punched up the speed and the treadmill picked up to a whine. I stayed at a medium pace, ignoring the quiet pop music playing from the room's speakers. My footsteps and the sound of rotating rubber were the only sign of human life. Suddenly I heard a second set of footsteps, startling me. Somebody was coming down the staircase to my right. I stumbled a little, but regained my pace as the figure appeared in the doorway.

He was thick. More than thick. Whoa. I thought my arms were getting big, but he had biceps so large I'm not sure I could wrap both of my hands around one and keep my fingertips touching. I looked back to the screen in front of me, awed. The man on the screen continued to try to sell a device that cut eggs. I glanced back at him. Shorter than me, a few years older, and probably just under six feet. His shoulders wide and broad, trap muscles lifting the collar of his navy blue cotton shirt just below his jawline. The amount of definition on his forearms further accented the sheer size of the muscle they complemented. His pecs looked like two full handfuls each, pressing up and creating hills on his chest you could climb. I could see his nipples jabbing into his shirt near the bottom ridge of each and a clear line down his front between them. My dick, swinging with every stride, began to weigh down a little. I had always been a chest man, and the sight of such a beastly specimen combined with the knowledge that we were alone involuntarily triggered a spark of excitement, my basest instincts wanting sex, now. I knew nothing would come of it, obviously, that was crazy. But, damn.

My eyes dropped downward to his thighs, powerful and wide. I didn't think I could even wrap an arm around one. Covered halfway up by tight black shorts- (is there clothing that wouldn't be tight on this man?) I could see a hefty lump between his legs. The dark fabric masked its true size, and I strained to see. He had a thick brown beard- long enough that you could tell it had taken a month to grow but it was trimmed carefully to an imposing yet comfortable length that grew past his ears, studded with small white headphones, meeting with his sideburns and fading seamlessly into his dark brown hair which was trimmed flat across his head. He was gruff. He had a strong, quiet face with an impressive forehead ridge lined with bushy eyebrows, his face rounded out by his thick nose. His eyes, deep brown and narrowed, were- looking straight at me.

I only just noticed. He had stopped in place, also surprised, and was looking me in the eye. Fuck. He just caught me fully staring. I held my ground. Pretending I hadn't, I looked back at the tv screen, and a moment later glanced back as if I had just noticed him for the first time. I met his eyes, and nodded, acknowledging him. He had the kind of face that makes you think of a mechanic or logger. Hardened, take no bullshit, and confident. He curtly nodded back, and continued past me to the weights, but didn't take his eyes off of mine. Two... Three.. Four... Five seconds our eyes remained locked before the angle was too much and he turned his head. Panting a sigh of relief, I chanced a glance at him from behind as he went- his glutes were just as impressive as his chest. They protruded from his hips powerfully, bouncing in turn with every step like they had a statement to make. You could comfortably place a book on his ass and it would rest against his lower back. I continued to run, shell shocked. Was he sizing me up or warning me?

A few minutes later, I felt the treadmill grind to a halt beneath me and heard the clanging of a barbell hitting the squat rack across the room. I looked over and saw him hoisting two metal 45 pound plates off of the pile of weights- one arm each. Effortlessly, he raised each and slapped them onto each end of his barbell. Another jolt of excitement. He was the man I wanted to become. Summoning my courage, I moved over to the weight area and picked up my own barbell, placing it on the bench press. I felt him watching me as I did so, and when I glanced over he was looking in my direction dispassionately, before looking away and getting back to his workout. Whatever. I'll just ignore him like every other guy at the gym and we'll both forget it ever happened tomorrow.

I loaded some warmup weights on my barbell and laid down on the bench beneath it- grabbing the bar, I tensed my body and lowered the bar to my chest and pressed up, focusing on feeling the muscles in my pecs doing the work. I loved the feeling of the bench, the immediate pump and the gratification of working hard. I repeated it for nine more reps, and re-racked the bar, sitting up. Glancing at the squat rack before me, he was mid set, and his butt was only more impressive mid squat. Watching from behind in one of the wall mirrors I could see the bulge between his legs at the bottom of every squat between the ham-like curves of his powerful cheeks and wondered what a guy like that was hiding there. A friend of mine once told me powerlifters are always small. If it's not the steroids it's the compensation, he said. But I wasn't sure, and didn't care. Imagining his shorts were gone, cock and balls hanging low and free, I turned around. My heart skipped and I could feel my dick getting heavy again.

I tried to shake the thought out of my head. Fantasies are nice, but I came here to work. I racked another 15 pounds to either side of my barbell and returned to my workout. He loaded two more 45s onto his bar. The reps felt like they were coming a little easier today. Thinking of him lifting heavy made me want to do it too and seemed to fill me with more energy. I slapped on another 30 pounds. He slapped on another 90. I thought about wanting to taste the sweat forming on his neck. Another 20 for me. Another 50 for him. He began to grunt with his later reps. His voice was deep and masculine, its gruffness matching his appearance. I wanted him to straddle me on the bench, press those massive cheeks against my hips and grip my pecs while I- THUNK.

I let out a grunt as the bar hit my chest. My voice was an ordinary deepness for a guy, but it sounded lower as I strained against the bar. I couldn't lift it. I had pushed too far while I was in my fantasy. Struggling, I tried to take a brief rest with the weight on my chest. Pushing as hard as I could, I squeezed my chest, my arms, my ass, everything. The bar moved a couple inches off of my sternum before my arms began to shake and it came back down on me. I tried again. Thunk. One more time. Didn't even move. Panicking, I prepared to roll the weight off of me to one side when a large hand appeared above me and gripped the middle of the bar between my hands. I groaned and pushed as the bar raised off of me back onto the rack. Out of breath, I nodded in thanks and grunted. With a raised eyebrow he nodded back, before turning around and returning to the squat rack. Yikes. Embarrassment number two. Even still, I couldn't help but marvel at the hand that was just in front of my face. Each finger was wide, every knuckle adorned with a small tuft of dark hair. This was the hand of a man's man.

I took off the final 10 pound weights I'd added and walked them back to the weight racks. As I reached to put them back, I felt a hand on my lower back. Large and gentle, I felt his body brush past me, chest first, as he moved past, one pec and then the other against my shoulders. He moved for the 25 pound weights to my right, and I couldn't help but feel like his hand lingered as it dragged across my back and settled just above my butt before he stepped away. Fuck. For the third time I felt myself get a little hard, and I began to consider making a move of my own.

Feeling ridiculous, I replaced the 10 pound weights I'd removed for lighter 5s. I had one set left and really didn't want that to happen again. After resting for a couple minutes, trying to ignore the macho grunts of the man in front of me, I moved to sit back down on the bench and laid down one last time. Pausing, I steeled myself, arched my back, squeezed my shoulders together, and planted my feet to the floor, readying myself for the final push. A warm palm slapped against my knee. I jerked my head up and he motioned to the bar, nodding his head to the side. Ah! He'd offered to spot me. I nodded and he moved behind the bar, just past my head. I once again set myself in position, except this time he was standing above me, his crotch directly above my face. From this angle I could see the way his shorts bunched around his package, framing his dick as it sat on a throne that could be described more generously as a bean bag chair with their sheer girth.

He was not small. His soft package bulged from his body what seemed like three inches. Swallowing deeply I gripped the bar. I caught the scent of sweat coming from his shorts. I heard him breathing in a slow, powerful rhythm. I could feel the heat of his legs on my shoulders. This was beyond a jolt of excitement, my package now openly pumping itself full with every passing second. I lifted the bar. I tensed my chest. He looked down at me, reassuring and intimidating all at once. Something in my chest lit up. Something beyond the burn of the weight on my pecs. One rep. Two reps. My dick was easily halfway there. Three. He repositioned himself even closer to me. I could now see directly under his balls, his firm thighs brushing against my head. I kept working but couldn't calm myself. My body knew what it wanted. Every rep my heart, chest, and cock pumped. Helping me lift the bar again on the final rep, he commended me with two pats on my left shoulder. And then I watched as eyes moved down my body, straight to my fully erect dick, on full display in my commando gym shorts. SHIT! I forgot underwear! Proudly struggling upward, uncut, about 6 inches, average width, foreskin riding half way up the head, my cock was completely visible, wrapped tightly by the fabric. He froze in place, hand still on my shoulder, and I was a deer in headlights. This is bad. This is membership revoked bad.

I shot up, avoiding his gaze and turning away from him. Readjusting my dick so it laid pinned upright in the waistband I began removing my weights. Fully hard, fully exposed, I wanted to get the hell out of there. I heard him walk away- good, maybe he'll just pretend it didn't happen- and kept my eyes on my weights as I heard a small noise in the distance. Why did I have to load on so many? I could be gone already. I walked back to the bench to take the last of the weights off and I felt a heavy hand land on my shoulder. Fuck. I spun around, ready to defend myself or make an excuse. He looked me dead in the eyes, with a serious expression and a furrowed brow. He took a step back. Reaching up, he removed his wireless earpieces and placed them in his pocket without breaking eye contact. Cemented in place, adrenaline rushing, I prepared for the worst. He dropped his gaze down my body, and back up to my eyes, as he raised his right arm to his waist and palmed the bulk of his cock and balls in his shorts, beginning to slowly massage them.