So that he can better understand how I got here, my therapist directed me to write it down as though I was in a group session. So here it is:
Hi, my name is Charles. I went from a decent person to a slut and now a whore. It began when I met a fellow named Carl at the Y.
I suppose I could just admit I met a gay guy at the Y and that ought to be enough for everyone to fill in the gaps. But each person's journey is unique to them, and so, as I have been directed, here is mine.
I have belonged to Y's since I was 6. Learned to swim, to compete and then to lifeguard which ultimately led to swimming in college and later on to Master's swimming and triathlons. Depending on where we lived, I swam either at the Y or an aquatic center. Y's are more popular up north, not so much in the south. And in the 50's and 60's kids thought of them as a fun place. But once in the real world, the Y had a different meaning.
Still, as health clubs came and went, the Y was always there. Over time, they became co-ed and catered to retirees through the health plans.
Seven years ago we moved back east to be closer to family. My job had transitioned into a remote status and gave me the flexibility to travel or hospital sit as circumstances required. But then when the need for us to be on call faded away, Charlotte passed. After a brief period of mental wandering, I threw myself back into training. The knees did not much like running, but swimming and cycling were no problem. There was always a lane at the pool and spin classes every morning.
Then the Covid hit. Fortunately my state re-opened fairly quickly and surprisingly, the Y opened as soon as possible.
The morning work-out group consisted pretty much of the same folks---retirees mostly with a few in the 50s. And the locker room was the same as all others---griping about aches and pains, the chlorine level and water temperature, the sadistic nature of the 20-something that did the Tu-Th spin class, and the always cheerful demeanor of the lady on the front desk. Oh yeah---and politics.
90% of the folks were conservatives and so the 10% on the other side had to pick and choose their comments to produce the least amount of rejoinder.
One aspect of my job required negotiation and compromise so I would try to keep things balanced---not always easy given the last two years.
And so about nine months ago, Carl made a point to walk out with me one morning and express his appreciation. At my car, he then shook my hand, put his other hand on my shoulder and held me by eye for 5-7 seconds, nodded and smiled and then without a word went to his car.
I remember thinking he had a firm grip and deep slate blue eyes.
Over the next couple of weeks I noticed that when I finished the spin class at either 6:30 or 6:45, he would finish the treadmill and we would be in the room with only one or to others and sometimes alone, the majority of the guys being swimmers. Again we would walk out together, and it so happened his car was almost always next to mine. A hand-shake, a shoulder grip or guy-hug and eye contact ended the each session. Then, during the walks sometimes our shoulders would rub or he might put his hand on my back.
I thought nothing of it; the parking lot was not well lit.
Then one morning the pool was closed to repair the heater, and it was cold and wet. There were three people in the spin class and the weight/aerobic room were almost empty. I waved at Carl as I usually did. On the way back to the locker room, he was coming out as I went by so we walked side by side, only this time he put his hand on the back of neck. I did not flinch. He left it there until we reached our lockers.
I undressed, grabbed my towel and turned around. His locker was diagonal to mine and he was already standing there, towel on his shoulder.
We had never been alone and naked and that close to each other. As I looked him, he stared right back and began stroking his cock. I froze. My gaze drifted from his eyes down to his cock. He took a couple of steps closer. I could not look away but part of my brains switched my ears to high alert for any creak of a door. As he took one more step, I felt myself starting to respond.
"That's right; I thought you might like what you see here."
Still frozen and staring, I gulped, "Stop, please---someone is going to walk in----we can't risk this----please stop!"
"It's possible, but not likely. We're in the dead zone between the swimmers and the seven o'clock folks. You're the only guy in the spin class, so we should be safe for five minutes which is long enough---which I almost am as you can see," he chuckled.
I had been watching him grow the entire time. He wasn't huge, but large enough.
And I was stirring as well.
"I'm not gay," I protested.
"Didn't say you were," he admitted. "But clearly you like what you see. Go ahead, enjoy the thrill, stroke yourself for me."
As we all know from habit and custom, there is a point in the process where that one stroke takes over and you go on over the edge. I shuddered, took a couple of slow ones and then held the tip.
"Good. You're obedient. That's very good."
"Obedient?" I stammered.
"Yeah," he said. "And submissive too." Pausing a moment, he held eye contact. "Let's go to the showers; we're out of time here."
The showers were built for privacy. Six stalls, three on each side with an inner and outer curtain. He put his hand on my neck and directed me to one at the end. Turning me towards him he gave me a deep French kiss as the other hand pulled me up against his hardness. In a couple of seconds, I responded to the kiss.
"Start the shower; get under and then turn and watch me---do as I do," he commanded.
He took some soap from the dispenser and went to the back wall of the stall. He motioned for me to do the same. He then began to stroke himself, and again motioned for me to follow. He came quickly, and I followed in short order, having to bend over and grab my knees to keep from falling. By then I could hear the sounds of others; I pulled the curtain closed.
Back in the locker area, I dressed as quickly as I could with minimal chatter. I was almost to my car when I felt his hand on my shoulder. I turned; he grinned.
Walking with me up to the door, he stood so I could not open it. "What's the rush," he asked.
