It was a slow night at Iron Works Gym. Outside the rain pounded the parking lot and washed away the remnants of what had been another routine day. Another routine day in a long, line of routine days.
There were only a few guys working out that night and we were all scattered into our own workout zones. The clanking of plates drowned out the music the gym played but no one seemed to care. Most of the guys in the gym that night were listening to their own tunes on their Ipods and in 'the zone.'
I was lucky enough to have my choice of machines and able to go at my own pace without waiting in line. My workout was going quickly and I was ahead of the usual mental schedule I kept for myself. Yet another reason I worked out after the 5PM crowd had come and gone.
I preferred to work out without having to deal with the crowds and all the bullshit that came with everyone standing around just wanting to show off and possibly hook up. I wasn't into the whole meat market scene and Iron Works might as well have been some bar along the wharf between the hours of 5pm and 7pm. All that was missing was a dance floor and Happy Hour appetizer specials.
I realized that a lot of people used the gym as a place to hook up, but I just wanted to work out. At least that's what I told people, and myself, but truth be told, I hadn't really met anyone who interested me enough to interrupt my workout or who couldn't stop looking in the mirror long enough to carry a conversation.
Most of the women I did happen to see during my workout times were either too old, too fat or looked like Russian weightlifters. I wasn't into guys so that didn't leave many other options. Hooking up wasn't on my agenda. Concentrating on my workout was and so I came in during the later hours, worked out, showered and then headed for home.
I was single, in my late 30's and worked a job I really didn't like. I had never been athletic but after having joined the gym and losing some weight and toning up I found that I enjoyed the experience. I liked the surge of endorphins and the way sweating hard cleared the cobwebs from my head.
I had been focusing on my upper body the night I met Titus Dawson.
Titus was an attractive black man who spent a lot of time at Iron Works. Aside from a rigorous workout schedule, he filled in occasionally and taught aerobic classes. His most popular class, from what I had seen, was his ABS AND GLUTES CRUSH, an hour long class devoted to toning, well, obviously your stomach and your ass.
Titus was a big man but not in a cartoonish way. He was in excellent shape. His body looked to be carved from black marble. There wasn't an inch of fat on his body. He was also a handsome guy and reminded me of an actor I had seen on a soap opera.
Before you get any ideas, I broke my leg last year and spent two weeks in the hospital. My roommate was addicted to soaps. The luxuries of being in a semi-private room I guess.
During my time at Iron Works, I noticed that Titus was not only very popular with the ladies but with the guys as well. I figured it was a case of the ladies all wanted to fuck him and all the guys wanted to be him.
Another thing I noticed was that Titus usually blew the ladies off. He did it in a way that made him look even cooler than before he had been hit on. He would flash that million dollar smile and laugh that Denzel Washington laugh and they would giggle and blush and then walk away.
No harm. No foul.
I told myself that it was nice to see that there was someone else in the gym who wasn't into the meat market scene and just wanted to work out.
On the night when Fate brought Titus and I together, I had been working on my chest and shoulders. By the time I got to bench presses, my triceps were on fire. I played around with the idea of just giving up and hitting the showers, but decided that was a move only a loser would make.
I would push myself and do the four sets of 12 and be grateful in the morning. I drank some water, cleared my mind and laid down on the padded bench. I knocked out the first 12 reps, ever mindful of my form, when I heard a baritone voice from across the room, above the clinking and clanking of weight plates.
"You know. You can put at least 25 more pounds on each side. You got it in you."
It was Titus. He had been doing deep squats on the rack in the corner of the room. As I tilted my head forehead, I saw him walking towards me.
Titus was about 6'4" and solid. He was dripping with sweat and his t-shirt clung to his ripped body like a second skin. His nylon workout shorts rode a little too high and his thick muscular legs were on full display. As was the anaconda which lay sleeping between his legs. It was no use trying not to see his cock. Titus was loaded for bear and then some. His little shorts, soaked with sweat, clung to the outline of his shaft and I couldn't help but stare.
Titus caught me staring at his package and said, "Concentration is key if we're gonna put that extra weight on, Young Skywalker."
There was that smile.
I quickly averted my eyes as he walked around behind my head and leaned on the bar.
"You okay if I put that extra 50 pounds on? I'm here to spot you."
He smiled and his eyes told me to trust him.
"Sure, man. Thanks. If you're spotting, let's go for it. I mean...if you think I can handle it."
"Good man," he said in that deep, sexy voice, "and as far as what you can handle, that is up to you my man. Mind over matter. If you tell yourself you can, you'd be amazed at what you can accomplish."
"Yes Obi-Wan. I believe."
Titus slipped the weights onto the bar and planted his feet firmly, stepping so that he was directly above me. I couldn't help but notice that I could see up the legs of his little workout shorts. I found myself staring at his cock, his huge black cock, sitting heavy in his nylon bikini briefs. The briefs were made of a mesh material, and I could see ever vein on his thick cock, which from my angle, looked like a rolled up fire hose. Even soft, Titus' cock was bigger than mine. I was fascinated by it's girth and wondered, daydreaming and losing that all important concentration.
That's when I heard his voice again.
"Concentration, Young SkyWalker," he was doing a pretty good Yoda impression, "is the key. Do or do not. There is no try."
I laughed and awoke from my dream and focused and was able to press the weight, the heaviest weight I had ever pressed before, for ten solid reps.
I caught my breath and Titus helped me stand. He gave me a high-five and slapped me on the back. I felt a rush of pride and thanked him for his help. He told me he didn't touch the bar once, not even to steady it. It had been all me.
I was done. That last push had taken it out of me and it was time for a shower. Titus told me to wait up. He was finished as well. He just had to grab his gear and he would meet me in the locker room. He suggested we go for a cold beer afterwards, to celebrate my monster lift. I told him that sounded like a good idea.
What the heck! Sometimes it was good to break a routine.
Had I been thinking clearer, I would have probably told myself that I had just been hit on but the thought never entered my mind. After all, Titus was a guy. A big, handsome black guy. How could someone like him want to pick me up?
Ridiculous.
As it turned out we were the last two left in the gym. The only other person was the manager who was all the way on the other side of the building, in his office, a floor below us.
We walked into the locker room and discovered our lockers were in the same row, on opposite sides, but in the same row. I turned away from him as I undressed, throwing my sweaty clothes into the laundry bag I carried with me. When I turned back around, Titus was completely naked. He was standing with one foot on the bench that ran the length of the row of lockers. He was turned slightly so that his muscular ass, toned and glistening with sweat, was facing me. I could see the mushroom head of cock through his legs.
What's the old joke about a baby's arm holding an apple?
Once again Titus' voice woke me from my trance.
"You taking a steam before you hit the shower?"
"Hadn't planned on it," I answered, clearing my throat a little.
"You should. The best thing after a hard work out." Then he did the oddest thing. He took his cock in his hand and gave it a tug. Smiling at me, he added, "Well. Second best thing."
Was Titus suggesting I suck his cock? Or let him fuck me? Was Titus gay? Did he think he I was?
Then the pieces started falling coming together. Was that the reason he was always turning down the ladies here who hit on him?
My mind raced, but regardless of whether I was gay or not or whether or not I had or had not ever thought about sucking another's man's cock, I wrapped my towel around my waist and followed him like a puppy into the sauna.
Titus sat across from me on the cedar benches. He legs were spread and his monster cock drooped down, slightly turning upwards in a now semi-erect state. I marveled at it. It was as if someone had commissioned a sculptor to carve a cock out of obsidian. It was perfect. Long and hard, with thick veins wrapping along the shaft like grapevines. His balls were the size of lemons and shaved smooth. As a matter of fact, I had never noticed before, but Titus' body was completely devoid of hair. Even his armpits were shaved smooth. I figured he must have competed in body building competitions.
