Fuck! Why did I agree to meet his ass here in the first place, I thought. I shook my head and cracked my knuckles as I stood at the bottom of the dozen or so cracked cement stairs leading up to the gym entrance. For some reason I couldn't move. I just stood there looking up at the glass doors. I felt stupid.
Five long years had passed since I'd seen or heard from my old trainer, Deon. I hadn't thought about him or the gym all that time until he called the night before. He said he wanted to see me about something important. I had no idea what he wanted. I should have followed my first instinct and simply said no. We had parted ways so long ago. There would have been no love lost.
But I wasn't thinking with my mind last night. I knew exactly why I agreed to meet with Deon. Despite everything, I wanted to see him, to smell his scent and to feel his skin firmly pressed against mine just one more time.
My gut twisted and my dick thickened uncomfortably against my thigh. Flashbacks of my dick driving in and out of his tight, wet hole invaded my mind. Just thinking about the last time I spread Deon's round, perky cheeks and fucked him until everyone on the hotel floor knew my name had my heart racing. I missed him. I missed pounding his ass. But anxiety over seeing Deon wasn't keeping from climbing those stairs.
I kicked the bottom stair. My nerves were getting the best of me. The years away from the gym and the boxing ring is what gave me pause. I missed the training, the gloves, the camaraderie and the fans. I longed to be a part of that world again.
Something in the pit of my stomach pulled at me, urging me to turn around and continue to leave the world of boxing and all the dreams lost after my accident in the past, right where they belonged.
Five years ago boxing was everything. It defined who I was. I ate, drank and slept the ring. And Deon had helped me hone my skills and become one of the best boxers in the state of New York.
Like so many who had stepped foot in the gym, I dreamed of being amongst the great boxers who won titles and belts. I wanted my name written in history books and etched in the memories of trainers schooling young boxers.
For hours, day after agonizing day, I would train my hardest in hopes of being a super middleweight champion. Some days I longed to get in the gym. Other days I hated walking in that building. Those were the times when my friendship with my trainer, Deon, was so important. The attention and affection he showed me gave me the strength to stay focused.
Deon made me feel special. He made me a better man and a better boxer. He taught me how to throw a solid jab, how to dance around the ring and how to work the ropes. And he taught me what it meant to love a man. He was my first.
I missed boxing. I missed Deon. But I wasn't sure which one I missed more.
Slowly, I walked up to the door, step by step. I gripped the door handle and smiled. I remembered the words Deon said to me when I stepped to the gym doors for the first time: You cross this threshold and you can never look back.
"Come on man, you going in or what?"
I turned around and faced a pair of teenagers toting gym bags and boxing gloves over their shoulders. An eerie feeling of nostalgia crept in me. I felt a silly grin form on my lips. The two of them were a little older than I was when I stepped inside a boxing ring for the very first time.
The tall, dark-skinned boy looked at me, annoyed. I yanked the door open and stepped aside so they could go in the gym. Then I just stood there, numb. The door was open. All I had to do was walk in. With all the strength I could muster, I took a deep breath and walked through the door.
The familiar humid thickness in the air from a gym full of ambitious boxers training and conditioning pressed against my skin. Sounds of jump ropes smacking the ground, gloves connecting with punching bags and flesh and trainers yelling at the top of their lungs, pushing their boxers to the limit filled the air. It was intoxicating.
I fought the urge to slip on a pair of gloves and go an hour on the speed bags. My blood burned. My adrenaline pumped furiously. I wanted to step back in the ring so badly. For the first time in years I realized just how much I missed being in the ring, going one on one with another man.
I pushed the feelings of nostalgia to the back of my mind and focused on finding Deon. No use in lingering on what can never be. I scanned the room. About two dozen boxers of varying ages and weight classes working out throughout the gym. There were only a handful of trainers. Deon was nowhere to be seen.
My old trainer's absence and tardiness to our meeting didn't surprise me. For the ten years that Deon had trained me I could not remember one time where he wasn't late for something. The only time Deon was on time was when he had to be at a match. Oddly enough, he was always early for those.
I invited him to my birthdays, dinners with my family, my high school graduation and a long list of other events in my life that were important but he was always late. The only redeeming quality in light of his persistent tardiness was the fact that he always showed up, even if it was after the event was over. And I always waited for him, even if I had wait hours afterwards. He knew I would always wait for him. And I knew he would always come.
For my twenty-first birthday, all the guys at the gym had rented me a hotel room and hired a bunch of strippers. Instead of enjoying a lap dance or a private show, I spent most of my time looking and waiting for Deon to show up. By three in the morning everyone had left, even the strippers. It wasn't until five o'clock that I heard a knock at the door. It was Deon.
For some reason I was never mad or angry at Deon for being late. If anything, I was always a little disappointed that he wasn't around. But whenever he did show up I was ecstatic. When he smiled at me I felt special. It was that same feeling of being special when everyone congratulates you for winning a title. But it was something special only he and I shared.
When I let Deon in the room the first thing I noticed was that he was empty handed. It wasn't that I wanted a gift but a simple card would have been nice. I thought he forgot it was my birthday.
Before I could get upset, Deon walked up to me and held me in a way he never had before and told me he had a special gift for me. He led me to the bedroom and took me. It was the most amazing and sensual experience I had ever had.
But that was years ago. Deon and I were different men now and there was no point in lingering in the past. I walked through the gym and studied some of the boxer's form and technique. I wasn't impressed.
The boys sparring in the ring looked horrible. Their stance was all wrong and it looked like one didn't even know what punch to throw. A trainer was yelling for him to throw a cross but the kid was throwing a jab.
Once the boy took a seat in the corner he started arguing with the man that I thought was a trainer. It was actually his dad. That explained why the kid was poorly trained. Just about every other boxer in the gym looked just as bad or worse.
There was some raw talent but it would take months to get just a handful of them ready to compete in a tournament. They needed work. And with that realization, I knew exactly why Deon had called me out of the blue after five years.
I jumped at the heavy hand that came down on my shoulder. "Whoa, calm down, Beast."
I turned towards the familiar deep, baritone voice. It was Deon. He stood there looking at me with a huge grin on his face. We clasped hands and embraced each other in a brother-man hug.
His arm wrapped tightly around me. I felt like that inexperienced twenty-one year-old under his touch. I took in a deep breath. He smelled the same. Reluctantly, I let him go and took in the sight of him.
Deon was just as handsome and confident looking as the last time I remembered seeing him. His skin was still taut over his ripped muscles. For thirty-seven the man looked damned good. He could probably hop back in the ring as a light heavyweight if he wanted to. He'd obviously been taking care of his body.
"No one's called me Beast since I was in the ring." I said, smiling at the man that was my first love, my first everything.
"I gave you that nickname." Deon said, raising his right eyebrow. "And I don't recall it having anything to do with your performance in the ring."
My dick jumped at the memory of the first time Deon called me Beast. It was the first time he let me inside of him. I looked at him, starry eyed.
"Well, they say that a boxer's performance and skill in the ring reflects his skill in the bedroom."
"Yea? Well then you're one hell of a boxer, Roman."
"Was," I corrected.
Deon shook his head, reached out and gripped my shoulder. "No. Once a boxer, always a boxer. That will never change. It's in your blood."
Deon draped his arms over my shoulders and pulled me in tight. I thought I would faint. I hadn't felt Deon's heavy hands on my body in years. He was the first and only man that I let get that close to me, that I let stir so many emotions in me.
When we reached his office, Deon motioned for me to sit down. I watch his firm, perky ass intently as he walked around to his desk. If I didn't know any better I would have sworn his ass had gotten bigger, plumper. Maybe it was just the form fitting khakis. Either way, my dick liked the view.
"I'm pretty sure you have an idea on why I asked you come down," Deon said, a wry grin on his face.
I sat back in the chair and crossed my arms over my chests. This wasn't a personal call. He wanted to talk shop and I was more than willing to oblige. But there was no way I was helping at the gym.
"Your gym is some shit," I said matter-of-factly. "You're short on trainers and you have parents working with the kids and fucking up their technique. You need help."
Deon nodded his head, laced his thick fingers in front of him and leaned forward on his desk. Sunlight from the small window in the office made the grays in his salt-pepper hair shimmer. He looked beautiful.
"Good. So when can you start?"
I chuckled at how presumptuous he was. "You know I don't box anymore. I can't. Hell, I won't."
"I'm not asking you to box, Roman, I'm asking you to train and help run the gym. You saw those kids out there. They need held, your help. I need you."
I shook my head. "I'm sorry, I just can't."
"Why not?"
