As part time jobs go, working at the front desk of a gym isn’t bad. The place is near campus, I can work around my classes, and the owner, J (short for Jim, which doesn’t work for obvious reasons), doesn’t mind if I do my homework.
It’s a cool place, small but modern, and I get a discount on membership. When fitness companies come in to do promotions I can usually snag gear, power bars, supplements, whatever they’re giving away, and the trainers are happy to give me advice when I use the equipment before or after my shifts. So it’s not finance, but it’s a cool, relaxed gig that helps me pay rent.
My second year there, when I was a sophomore, I learned the place wasn’t always without it’s drama, though. One of the cell phone selfie guys got caught taking pictures of a couple of the gym rats in the locker room. Apparently the shutter sound gave him away when one of the guys bent over. There was a fight, a smashed phone, and a couple black eyes, but since J knew everyone involved no charges were filed. He gave the two muscle mountains six months free and the voyeur got a year ban. Some of the regulars thought it should have been life, but rumor has it he grew up with Jim, so a year it was. I was sorry to see him go. His name was Aaron and he always seemed happy to see me when he came in. Just a nice guy who made a bad decision while his dick was hard. And I missed him in the showers. He has a nice piece and he took his time soaping up.
The trouble didn’t stop when Aaron left, though. Jim’s smooth talking couldn’t keep rumors from spreading that management didn’t care that gay guys could take pictures of you in the showers without facing charges. Membership took a nosedive. I’d come in some days and you’d think the place was closed. Other days it looked like a women only place. Desperate, J, the poor guy, instituted a cell phone ban. No phones in locker room. Getting caught meant a month ban, no refunds. That staunched the flow of regulars bleeding out the door, and then a few started coming back. That seemed the best we could hope for.
Then the local paper caught wind of it, wrote a little culture piece with interviews, applauded the “J’s Gym” for a “stand against the ubiquity and invasiveness of cell phone use in public places”. Membership began to tick up again, then the place got a reputation with a certain crowd and suddenly we had a new crop of regulars. Encouraged, J took it a step further: no cell phones anywhere in the gym. You take your phone out and you’ll be asked to either check it at the front desk or leave. People loved it. The place got busy again. Not worried about making payroll anymore, Jim, surprising us all, even instituted my suggestion: check your phone voluntarily when you arrive and get a free towel.
So that makes me, the front desk guy, phone warden, and towel jockey at a gym full of people who love to tell their friends they work out at a no-selfie gym. I check people in, hand out towels, and if you’ve got a nice smile and time to chat up the little people in the world, I’ll let you know when that important call lights up your cracked iPhone. Sometimes, when I don’t have homework, I’ll help out a few of the original regulars, the ones from before the phone ban, who have blogs or “a ton” of social media followers. I’ll snap a few pictures for them in an out of the way spot, maybe let them sneak a few of their own.
There are still slow days, though, especially around the holidays. Christmas eve and the night before Thanksgiving are usually dead. The college empties out and the townies start their drinking and eating and almost no one wants to spend time on an elliptical. I usually volunteer for those days. I get some pleasure reading in, J pays me extra, and we usually close early anyway.
The Thanksgiving of my junior year, Eric, the last trainer to leave, did an early walk through. He had a party to get to, the place was empty and it was snowing, so we decided between the two of us that no one else was coming in.
“Just one guy heading into the showers,” Eric said, rounding the corner from the back room, “should be done soon. Can you close?” he asked. “You ever do the lock up?”
“No,” I said. “I’m just the pretty face at the front. That’s you’re job. That’s why you get paid the big bucks.”
“Yeah, right. Well, I gotta go. Cherie’s texts are all coming through with scream-lock because I said I’d be there an hour ago.” He walked to the front doors and locked the left side. “All you have to do is lock the other door after you hit the lights.” He over handed the keys at me. “We’ll skip the alarm. I don’t have time to show you how it works and I open on Friday anyway.” He winked at me. “Our little secret.”
I tossed the keys on the counter in front of me. “Jim would kill me if he found out I left without setting the alarm. What’s in it for me?”
“Seriously? Help me out.”
He puffed out his chest, fired up his bro voice, and gave me double finger guns. “Free towel next time we train. I got you covered.”
I stared at him.
“God, you’re such a shit.” He took a few steps closer to the desk, lowered his voice as if someone might overhear us. “Stress relief package next time we close together, alright? Now I gotta go.”
I smiled, tossed him his coat from the peg beside the cell phone rack. “Tell Cherie I said hi.”
“Fuck you,” he said, pulling his coat on as he walked to the door. “You fuck this up or lose those keys and I’ll string you up on the climbing wall.”
He waved and the door closed behind him.
I sat back in my chair and smiled. J was a great guy and we all liked him, but he didn’t compensate his full time staff trainers as well as he might, and that meant some of the guys needed to find creative ways to supplement their income. Eric was one of the more creative guys. A few months earlier I had caught him giving one of his more affluent customers what he called the “Stress Relief Package”. It was, essentially, a post-workout happy ending. He claimed it motivated his clients to work harder because the Package bought you some sort of “relief”, but just what you got was up to Eric. The options ranged from touching and fondling to an full on fuck, all based on workout performance–and, Eric told me later, he was a trainer who prided himself on rewarding hard work.
After I found him in J’s office with one of his regulars bent over the desk, Eric offered to extend the same benefits to me, free of charge, to keep me quiet. I wouldn’t have ratted him out even if he hadn’t offered, probably wouldn’t even have told most of my buddies because some of them trained with him, but after I backed out of the room and closed the door Eric decided not to rely on my sense of decency to keep his secret. He came right out into the hallway after me, started kneading my shoulder with one strong, warm hand, and made his case. I didn’t hear everything he said because in his rush to catch me he’d only had time to pull on his workout shorts and his hard dick still stood at attention between us, tenting the thin fabric and showing me the wide, round shape of its head. The scent of lube filled my nose and drops of perspiration traced lines down his abs and soaked into the wet, matted hair that began at his navel. He smelled incredible, powerful, and the look in his eyes, earnest, searching, filled with caged panic, along with the knowledge that a man stood naked in J’s office, half fucked, hole waiting to be filled again, combined to make me more receptive to my potential role as blackmailer than I might normally have been.
After I said yes, told Eric I would let him write me a blank check for his body, he clapped me on the back, cupped the side of my face roughly with a hot, damp hand, and smiled. With a quick glance behind me he hooked his thumbs into his waistband and pushed his shorts down to his ankles. We stood there for about five seconds, Eric in his glory, confidence returned, me with a dizzy feeling spreading out from my chest and into my head. Then he kicked the shorts up into his left hand and stroked his iron hard member a few times with his right.
“I’d say we start now,” he said, squeezing the base of his shaft so the head bulged huge and purple at me, “but I’ve got a client and he doesn’t like to share.”
I just nodded, then Eric retreated back into J’s office with a wink. After the lock clicked I waited just long enough to hear a muffled moan, then made my way back to my desk and sat there with an invincible hard on for the rest of my shift.
The first time was great–-a quiet, intense fuck after hours on one of the benches by the free weights–-but it got more fun once Eric understood I had no intention of ruining him. Now we made a game of it. I’d find some sort of flimsy leverage and threaten to put him in a tough spot. He’d put up a token resistance then offer me an extra stress relief session. I’d been fucked on almost every kind of machine in the gym, and, as Eric started withholding oral and anal for after my top training sessions, I’d started to see better gains. It had been a good semester.
I wandered around the gym, turning off lights and squeezing the bulge staining at the front of my jeans. When all the lights were out I sat behind the desk and waited. I’d never jerked off alone in the gym before and I thought maybe I’d give it a try. Maybe start by the free weights and finish in J’s office. I could never go in there without thinking of Eric bending sweaty, eager men over the desk, and the sight of him standing there in the hallway, hard and smelling like sex as he asked me to let him fuck me, was still my favorite jerk off image. As soon as the last guy in the shower left, I figured I’d revisit it.
Except the guy was taking his sweet ass time. After ten minutes my hard on had disappeared and I started getting irritated. I checked the phone sitting alone on the rack. I could match some phones to patrons by their protective cases, but I didn’t recognize this one. He must have come in while I was on my last break. He could be anybody.
I waited. Another fives minutes dragged by. Maybe he was appreciating the empty showers on a slow night, enjoying the water. Or maybe he’d fallen asleep in the sauna. That had happened before. Or, since Eric hadn’t told him, maybe he didn’t realize we were closing early and had decided to move through an unnecessarily lengthy bathroom routine entirely inappropriate for a public shower.
I grabbed the phone from the rack and headed toward the locker room. I wanted him out before someone else showed up and I had to stay open all night. Might as well give him his phone while I was in there. Efficient that way.
I could hear the shower running as soon as I walked into the locker room and the door clicked softly behind me. That made things tricky. I couldn’t really hand him his phone while he showered and it seemed rude, now that I was in there, to rush him out if he hadn’t even finished rinsing off. J would be pissed if he ever found out.
I considered my options while I made my way toward the sound of running water. Why I didn’t just turn around then and wait at the desk I don’t know. Stubbornness, maybe, or just inertia. Whatever the reason, it brought me around a line of lockers and placed me squarely in front of a perfect, round ass shining in florescent light. I froze. Just ten feet away, a wet, naked man stood with his back to me.
I’d seen plenty of men naked. I showered at the gym after working out and I got probably more than my fair share of ass, but something about the sudden appearance of that hard, toned man, his face turned up into the spray hissing out of the shower, spiked a surge of adrenaline into my heart and down into my dick.
I stared for a moment, admiring the curves of his ass, the thickness of his legs. I imagined what it would feel like to put my lips on the soft, wet skin of his shoulder, to taste him through the water.
Then he shifted beneath the spray and I panicked. Terrified he would turn around, I sidestepped behind the lockers and froze. I listened for his voice, for the water to stop–-some indication he’d seen me and intended to investigate. But the hiss of the shower continued, punctuated by splashing as sheets of water falling from his body landed on the tiles. I barely breathed. Slowly, silently, I backed my way down the row of lockers until it felt safe to turn around and move more quickly. I made for the door, grateful not to have been caught ogling.
I only got half way there before I slowed to a stop. Despite the anxiety of a close call, my dick strained hard against my jeans and I couldn’t get the sight of that body out of my mind. It was an everyman’s body, broad in the shoulders, narrow at the waist, with just a hint of hair hanging above his ass. It was an intoxicating, magnetic exemplar of the male body and I wanted more. I had turned back before I quite knew what I was doing.
I put another row of lockers between me and the shower this time, putting me close enough enjoy a clear line of sight while giving myself enough room to get out without drawing attention to myself. I waited, listening to make sure the water was still on, then slowly peeked around the corner.
He still had his back to me, but now he was running his hands over his body, spreading a thin white lather over his shoulders, across his chest, down his stomach. When he bent his head to look down, as his hands reached between his legs and slowed, I reached down between my own legs and slid my hand into my jeans. I gripped the hard length of my shaft and squeezed, wondering what he had in his hands, whether he had a thick mat of hair to run his fingers through, whether he was teasing the beginnings of a hard on. I wished I could watch him turn around, but hoped he wouldn’t.
I tweaked the head of my dick, gave it a tug, and shifted my attention to his ass. It was a great ass. Firm, round, and smooth except for that thin patch of hair at the small of his back, it flexed and bounced each time he moved. I wondered again what it would be like to press my lips against his back, to warm that cool wet skin with my mouth, working my way from his neck, across his shoulders, and down to those two mounds of hard muscle.
I squeezed my dick again, tempted to pull it out. Eric’s promise of a fuck the next time we closed had primed me, fired my imagination, and now this sight, just a few dozen feet away, came close to pushing me over the edge. I considered stroking off then and there, tugging and massaging my shaft, fucking my hips forward against my hand as I watched this unsuspecting man soap up in an open shower. I could climax in short hot bursts, fill my trunks with warm seed, then head back to my desk and wait for him to leave. I’d hand him his phone with my fingers still slightly while the come in my underwear soaked out onto my jeans, spreading a dark stain across my crotch beneath the desk. Or I could pull my dick out right there and stroke to a finish while the object of my lust pushed soap up and down his legs, as he dug a hand into his ass to massage white foam into the trough between those perfect globes of muscle. As the water washed the suds from him I would come and then disappear, leaving little steaks of white dripping down the lockers, puddling on the blue tiles where men changed and stood naked everyday. I could relive that intimate moment, that secret climax, every time I walked into this room and stripped to wash away the sweat of a session with Eric.
But instead of jerking off as I watched a man shower across the room, I opted for a more extreme option. My sex addled brain reasoned this way: if I took a picture of this scene, took a few pictures, I could save them and relive the experience whenever I wanted. I had always wanted a picture of Eric in the act, would have committed a felony for a chance to preserve an image of him standing before me with those little shorts around his ankle and his dick staring up at me, but he wouldn’t allow it. Too risky, he said. He trusted me, but he had to be careful. It just took one mistake to unravel a life.
He wasn’t wrong, I knew that, but with my dick in my hand I felt in the most visceral depths of me that if I didn’t seize this opportunity I might regret it forever.
The only problem was that I didn’t have my phone on me. I only had the phone in my hand, and it belonged to the naked man whose image I wanted so desperately to preserve. But if his phone was unlocked–-it was, I discovered with a thrill-–I could take a few pictures, text them to myself, then delete both the images and the text while I waited for him at the front desk. He’d never know.
It was an absurd plan, the height of hormone soaked stupidity, but I did it. With one had down the front of my pants I aimed the phone carefully and waited for the right moment. Drunk on the possibilities, on the heat of that illicit maneuver, I found seven moments. Too many, I knew, but my thumb was taking orders directly from dick and in less than thirty seconds I had a series of photos I could savor at my leisure. I tabbed open the messaging app, typed in my number and…off they went.
I would have turned then and hurried back to my desk to erase the evidence of my voyeurism, but a hand clamped over my mouth and an arm gripped me around the waist. Too shocked to move, I froze. I let myself be tugged backward away from my chosen view and into a vice-like embrace. I felt a stubbled chin rasp across my neck.
I relaxed, but only slightly. Eric’s left arm had pinned mine, leaving me unable to remove my hand from my pants, and my right arm still hung out before us, the damning images plain to see on the screen in my hand. I was caught. My mind went blank.
“I leave you for twenty minutes and this is the shit you get up to?” His lips moved directly against my ear, his voice barely a whisper. “You could have fucked us both, you know that, right? I need this fucking job.”
I nodded. I tried to work my jaw, knowing I couldn’t speak without drawing attention to us but wanting to explain. Eric shook me slightly and pulled my head back, like he was exposing my next for a killing blow.
“Not a word.”
A moment later Eric released his grip on my jaw. I expected him to push me in the direction of the door but his hand descended to the front of my jeans. He deftly undid the button then used both hands to unzip my fly.
“You wanna to takes chances? Let’s see if I can finish before he does.”
I finally understood as he hooked his thumbs into my waistband and pushed both my jeans and my underwear down to the middle of my thighs with two strong, swift tugs. My dick sprang out into the space between me and the locker and I could feel the fabric of Eric’s training pants rasping against my bare ass. I stood very still, both hands now hovering uncertainly in front of me, as Eric rested his face briefly against my shoulder. I could hear the soft fabric of his pants rustle, then he was standing again, pulling me back roughly against him with both hands on my hips. I could feel his long shaft burning in a line bring across my ass and throbbing against lower back. The sensation melted into the more general heat of his body against mine as he crushed our bodies together, one an arm around my chest and a fist around the base of my dick.
“We’re gonna do this hard and fast.” His lips moved against the back of my ear, his breath hot on my skin. His stubble scrapped along my neck. “Don’t make a sound. Don’t want him to hear us.”
He didn’t give me time to think before he gripped both of my elbows and pushed my arms forward until he had me leaning on the locker before me. Then he took me by the back of my neck and pushed me down until I bent at the waist. With one leg he kicked the inside of my right foot, spreading my legs as far as the jeans around my thighs would let me.
Looking down I could see my own dick staring back up at me, dripping and bouncing to the elevated beat of my heart.
When I felt the blunt head of Eric’s dick against my hole I opened my mouth, wanting to breathe, to gasp, to moan, but managed only a short little exhalation that preserved the silence of the locker room and the steady hissing of the shower. I couldn’t believe he would go in dry, but I didn’t move. I clenched my teeth and shut my eyes. I knew he wouldn’t hurt me, not on purpose, so I waited. He pushed a little more and my hole began to stretch. He gripped himself at the base and shook his dick. I opened a little more. Then I felt something hot and wet land on my ass and Eric pulled out. He spit again and used the head of his dick to gather the wetness onto himself and smear it onto my hole.
And then we were fucking. In one steady, implacable thrust he pushed himself into me. Without waiting for me to adjust he pulled out and thrust in again. I braced myself against the locker and willed myself to relax. He thrust again and it was easier. By the fifth stroke my mouth hung open again. I felt every inch of him sliding into me, filling me with his hardness until his hips met my ass.
Eric quickly worked himself up to a steady rhythm and my feet began to slip around on the tiles. To maintain his balance Eric gripped me by one hip and bunched a fist in the back of my shirt. He pulled until the fabric stretched tight across my chest and I arched my back further, pushing my ass as close to him as I could get. Then he really set to work and I began to wonder, abstractly, as if it were a problem for someone else entirely, if the sound of his hips slamming into my ass would make their way to the ears of the naked man in the shower. But there was nothing I could do about it just then. There wasn’t even anything I wanted to about it. All I wanted was to get a hand on my dick. It ached for attention, but Eric’s pounding rhythm kept my hands firmly against the locker, one palm flat against the metal, the other a fist wrapped around a cell phone.
I hung on that way, clenching my hole periodically so I could feel every inch and ridge of Eric’s dick as it pistoned in and out of my loosening hole, until Eric paused abruptly and leaned away to my side. When he leaned back in his dick slammed home and I gasped as he bent over to whisper in my ear.
“That guy’s hard. He thinks he’s alone.” He leaned to the side again, stroking into me almost absently, then reached around to pump my dick. “The dude’s jerking off. Too bad you’re missing it.” And then he was driving his dick into me again, using long strokes that sent waves of pleasure radiating out from my ass each time the head of his dick pushed against my prostate. For a few long moments my world contracted and I knew nothing but the sensation of that rod sliding in and out of my spit-lubed hole.
But the the image of that stranger jerking off just a few dozen feet away began to invade my mind. I imagined his dick standing at attention as he stroked in a leisurely way, tempting fate, braving the possibility that someone might discover him. I imagined he looked this way every so often, unaware that the front desk attendant was getting fucked by a trainer just two dozen feet away.
The combination of Eric’s determined fucking and this image of a man jerking off just a few lockers drove me wild. I had to get a hand on my dick.
Slowly, carefully, I bent my elbows until my forearms rested against the lockers and my chest was almost parallel to the tiled floor. As Eric continued to batter away, began to gather even more speed, I leaned my weight on my right arm and reached down between my legs. My knees almost buckled as I began to pump my fist up and down my shaft. I felt my orgasm building deep inside my ass and I shut my eyes against the cresting wave of it.
And then Eric slammed into me, almost pushing my face into the cold metal of the locker. Using both hands on my hips now, he ground into me, his legs tense, his dick buried in me to the root. He rocked us both back and forth as I felt him throb inside of me. He was finishing, was pouring himself out into me. As I raced to catch up, his last buck pulled us both away from the lockers then drove us forward again, slamming my elbow into the locker in front of me.
We both froze as the sound of ringing metal echoed across the locker room. Then Eric was gone, pulling his pants up over his hard member as he went, leaving me gaping at both ends as I watched him go. I stood up, my hand still between my legs, one elbow against the locker, as a warm trickle slid down the inside of my left thigh. When the sound of the shower stopped I went cold all over. I hurried as quickly as I could after Eric, yanking my pants up with one hand while I used the fist still clutching the cell phone to push through the swinging door.
By the time I got to the front desk I’d crammed the phone in a pocket and used both hands to fasten my pants. Eric stood by the front door. He held up the bottle of vodka he had in his left hand.
“Forgot Cherie’s gift.” He smiled, pushing the door open with his back. “Happy Thanksgiving!”
I sat in the silence after his departure trying his get my breathing under control, willing the jitters to fade. I looked around. The lights were still off, no one else has come in. I let out a long sigh.
That had been much too close. My private sessions with Eric were making me bolder than I ought to be. His confidence was catching, but it wasn’t me. I pulled the phone out of my pocket, desperate to delete the evidence of my voyeurism and have this night be over.
“Hey, long time no see!”
My heart thumped and I looked up from the images on the screen to see a man with a familiar face smiling at me as he approached, the door to the locker room swinging quietly closed behind him. I went cold all over for the second time that evening and turned the phone screen off. Force of habit put a smile on my face.
“Hey, great to see you! I didn’t know you were back.”
It was Aaron, the original peeping tom himself. I hadn’t known that his ban had expired. No wonder I didn’t recognize his phone.
“Yeah, last few weeks.” Aaron looked around as he came up to the desk. “You guys closing early?”
“Yeah, it’s pretty dead.”
“Am I the only one here? I thought I heard someone closing a locker in the showers.”
My heart hammered in my chest and I tried to keep my voice even.
“Nope, just you.”
“Well, I’ll get out of your hair and you can take off.” He nodded at my hand. “I think that’s my phone.”
If I had been smarter, I wouldn’t have been going through his phone at the desk. If I had been quicker on my feet, I would have told him it was my phone and I’d go grab his from the back. But I wasn’t. Instead I just said: “Right. Here you go.” And I handed it to him. I gave him the clip board for his signature, and I said I looked forward to seeing him again soon.
After he walked out the door I sat in the complete silence of an empty public space and relived what the fuck had just happened. Then I took the few personal items I kept in the desk, put them in my bag, and left. While I sat in my car in the almost empty lot I considered texting Eric, letting him know I’d be fired soon and that he’d have to meet up with me to get his keys. But I didn’t. I just stared at my phone there in my lap, at the flashing light in the corner that indicated I had unread text messages. From myself. Using another man’s phone. I put my head back on the head rest and prayed that when everything finally shook out, it wouldn’t impact my education. J, of all people, would want to keep the incident a secret. He’d also want to have me killed.
I jumped when the phone in my hand rang. I didn’t recognize the number so I let it go, heart pounding with each vibration until the screen went dark. I checked the text I sent myself from Aaron’s phone. The same. Of course. He’d want to know who it was. It rang twice more, then, I realized with a sinking feeling, the third time it went to voice mail. Now he knew. I was fucked.
I was only a little but surprised when the text came through.
“You know l got banned for shit like this.”
I didn’t respond, just stared at the words until the phone went dark again.
Then: “where are you?”
Those three words made me realize with sickening, visceral fear, just how stupid I was. I peered out into the dark of the parking lot, trying to see if I could see him sitting in a car somewhere nearby. No one close. I tossed my phone into the passenger seat and turned the car on. With a surge of panic I saw two lights turn on across the parking lot. Ignoring the bells of the seat belt warning I put the car in drive and made for the exit. The car across the lot turned in the same direction. I stepped on the gas.
It was close, but he beat me there by about three seconds, blocking the ramp to the exit by parking his car sideways across both lanes. My headlights shown in through his windows and I could see him looking calmly back at me through the glare. I picked my phone up again as he got out of the car. I thought about calling the police, but what could I tell them without ruining my life? He didn’t look angry, just slightly damp in a jacket and wrinkled shirt. Maybe we could settle it between us. Maybe he’d just yell and watch me delete everything. I watched him as he walked to stand next to my window.
We stared at each other through the glass for a few seconds, then he tapped on it with his knuckles. I lowered the widow an inch.
“You looked scared shitless,” he said.
I stared at him.
I shrugged a sort of half nod.
“You did a stupid thing.”
“You like to watch people?” He didn’t wait for my answer as he reached down to cup the front of his pants. He began to massage to bulge there. As I watched the muscles in his fingers flex he pulled out his phone. The screen lit his face. “I think maybe you missed the best part.” He held the screen to the window so I could see the images, those seven pictures of his ass in different frames. “Unless you’re an ass guy. You like to fuck?” He waited. “Or you like to get fucked?”
I thought about Eric’s dick sliding into me, the way he held me by the hips and hammered into me until he came. I thought about the way he’d dripped back out of me when he pulled out, how that line of seed had soaked into my underwear as I hurried back to the desk, and how much more of it still remained inside of me, keeping my loose hole wet. I looked at the hand in front of my face, massaging a rapidly increasing bulge, and I shifted in my seat.
“That’s what I thought,” he said. “You got keys to this place, right?” Aaron cocked his toward the dark gym. “Let’s go. I’ve always wanted to fuck someone in a public shower.”