lessons-at-the-health-club

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Subject: Lessons at the Health Club An involuntary moan escaped my lips as the warm water washed over my back. The sound echoed briefly off the tiled shower stall walls and down the short corridor of six such cubicles. I closed my eyes and tilted my head back, letting the water wash the chlorine from my face and neck, before pressing both hands against the wall and leaning forward again. The wet heat felt good on my back and shoulder muscles, all of which were already straining from the evening’s workout. Stroke correction always made me ache. At 18 I’d been a lifeguard for two years, watching over outdoor pools in the summer and indoor laps through the fall and winter. The work was steady enough, but with university just a couple months away and the prospect of moving to a new town and out of my parents’ house, I needed to make sure I could keep myself fed and the school fees paid. And so I found myself showering off after another class on swimming lessons. I figured picking up an extra certification would help my application for the lifeguard team at uni, and the health club attached to the local hotel offered 10-week courses fairly regularly. The first day had been a bit rough. I’m always nervous in new situations; while working in a more authoritative job had definitely helped to build my confidence, a part of me was still that awkward, kind of chubby, loaner on the playground. My hand had shook as I reached for the door to the meeting room that first time as I pictured a sea of eyes turning to judge me as I stepped in. But instead of a sea of eyes, I saw just two. Hank had the kind of eyes anyone would get lost in. Despite years of swimming lessons, I still drowned in those ocean-blue orbs every time I saw them. A mix of relief and a new tingle of nerves flitted through me as I met his glance among the ten or so folks gathered for the course, and I melted as he gave me that goofy smile and a big full arm wave. Fuck, I thought. If Hank was going to be in this course things were going to be a whole lot harder. That’s why tonight, five weeks into the course, I’d been a bit relieved Hank hadn’t been in class – out with a cold or something. I sighed in the shower and chuckled to myself at the irony that the guy with the most swim experience, a senior on the local Y’s competitive swim team, had missed stroke correction of all lessons. Thinking of Hank led me to a new idea, and I poked my head out into the shower corridor. I was stunned by it’s stillness. I was used to the Y’s bustling open shower area with guys of all ages popping in and out of the streams, rinsing off in suits more than really showering before darting for towels and the locker room – a flurry of activity after every swim lesson or pool change. But here, at the end of the health club’s operating hours, the showers were still and silent, but for the white noise of my own running shower. Taking lessons at the health club felt very… grown up… compared to what I was used to. The Y had been where I’d learned to swim and subsequently worked, and while there were a few adult clients who used the general men’s change room, it always seemed like the domain of youth. Here though, the health club was a space for adults and in the few weeks I’d gotten changed before and after class, it was clear that the change room was a space for men. The stillness here brought me back to the only time I’d found the Y showers quiet. Hank and I had been in the same lifeguarding course, two years back, at the Y. Being a swim team member, he’d grown up with the regular practice of showering at the open nozzles. I’d admired his confidence – and his body, like clay worked by the hands of daily swim practice and physical labour on his parents’ farm – but as a painfully shy gay teen living in rural Ontario, I never had the confidence to linger. Each class I’d made a point of showering quickly and changing even faster, darting from the change room before Hank and his deep blue eyes could see just how flustered he made me. But on one occasion, when we found ourselves alone in the locker room and showers, I made up my mind to stay. I was so nervous I practically forgot how to shower, opting instead to just awkwardly mirror whatever Hank did. He began facing the shower, so I faced out, watching him carefully from across the room. As he began to rotate to wash his back, I turned as well to face the wall, hoping he didn’t see me stealing glances over my shoulder as I waited for him to turn around. When I eventually heard him working his suit off, I did the same, trembling as much from nerves as from the cold water that had started to flow from the showerhead. But I persevered, rinsing my suit as he did, letting the water wash over and relax me, and carefully – oh so carefully – stealing a single peek at his exposed cheeks. My confidence had wavered then and I, perhaps too quickly, left the showers, snapping up my towel and burying myself in a well of lockers to hide my embarrassment while I changed. Then I practically bolted from the changeroom. Now, here in the manliness of the health club showers, the thought of being naked under the water again was titillating. With uncharacteristic confidence, I pulled the drawstring of my trunks loose and half-shimmied, half-pulled them off, scooping them up to rinse and wring them out. I leaned back and checked once again to make sure I was alone, then hung the swimsuit on the hook outside my shower stall. A thrill ran through me as I pumped some of the complimentary shampoo into my hand, then began to massage it through my hair. Yes, a space for men, I mused. Men of such shapes and sizes as my eyes had never seen in the Y. Sure, there were a few middle aged and younger men who used the gym or swam laps, but in a town known for the newlywed or nearly dead, it seemed like it was mostly the latter – or children for the former – who used the changerooms. Despite being just weeks away from university, I always still felt like a kid there, shyly scampering from shower to locker and changing in a wrapped towel. But here, showering naked in the emptiness and quiet of the health club, I felt like a man. I soaped my shoulders and neck first, then arms and pits, involuntarily comparing myself bursa escort both to Hank and the men I’d seen around the locker room. I soaped and scrubbed my pecs which never seemed to tighten, the suds rolling down a stomach which never seemed to flatten, and along and off the tip of penis which – Had begun to harden. I was instantly aware of my heartbeat, strong and thumping in my chest. I glanced over my shoulder again ensuring I was alone. Then I pumped more of the complimentary soap into my hand. I turned half away from the water, just enough to keep it from washing the soap away, but not enough to change the sound of the water against my body, just in case someone happened to come by. My right hand met my quickly engorging penis and closed around it tightly, the soap squelching around the shaft and between my fingers. I sighed softly at first, then louder as my hand slid up towards the head then back against my pubes, back and forth until my shaft was stiff before me. I paused to listen again, even daring to turn the water down so I could hear better. Although the showers were divided into six cubicles, none of them had curtains, and as I stood there gently stroking my dick, the sounds and suds rising with each pass, I was keenly aware of how exposed I felt. My heart thundered in my chest – what if I’m seen? What if I’m recognized? What if this ruins me? In a small town everyone knows someone who knows someone, and the risk of being caught suddenly felt very real. But with each worrying question, my dick throbbed. It was bouncing to the rhythm of my heartbeat, eagerly… desperately… and my hand hadn’t stopped stroking. My breathing was short and shallow as the pleasure pulsed through me. Each stroke was ecstasy, but it was a battle keeping my dick slick with the running water. Lost in a haze of lust and pleasure, I pumped out another handful of soap and stepped fully out of the stall, into the tiled shower corridor. I was lost in my dick now. The pleasure of pumping my fist up and down my shaft had pushed me to a state free of concern. I revelled in the exposure – empty as the locker room was – and revelled in my cock. It wasn’t a penis any more; some mere anatomical necessity that all boys had. I had a cock now, a man’s cock. I was full and rigid, thicker than I’d ever been, and with a fat purple head that pulsed with each urgent beat of my heart. And what lessons it had to teach me! Each stroke brought new discoveries. I learned the pleasure of a tight grip as I passed the ridge of my cut cock, and delighted in alternating stroke speed as I slid along the shaft. My left hand ventured away from steadying my shaking body, wracked as it was by pleasure, and combed its way through my pubes. Then down it went further still, to let my fingertips dance teasingly along my tight balls. I moaned and bit lightly on my lip to stifle back louder noises, but I never stopped stroking. I was a student of cock now, and I wanted to absorb all the bliss it had to teach me. The chill of the tile wall did little to stall my lust as I leaned against it for support. My knees were weakening with each pump, my breath quick and shallow, my balls churning as I felt the most incredible orgasm begin to build. The swollen mushroom head of my cock seemed to call to me, egging me on as the slit widened in preparation for a massive, manly load. And then I saw a foot at the end of the shower corridor. I nearly slipped in my panic to push myself off the wall and scramble the two steps back into the safety of my stall. I cranked the handle to cold and tried to control my breathing, which was now shallow and shaky. My heart continued to beat strong and fast, but it wasn’t urgent any more, it was chiding. How could I have been so stupid? I thought, my head hung low, my dick quaking with each heartbeat as it deflated, disappointed, back down into my pubes. Slightly shivering in the cold water, I turned to the problem of leaving the showers. As usual, I had left my towel to hang on a hook at the entrance to the corridor, and there was no way I would be able to pull my trunks back on over my wet skin. Maybe, I considered. I can just stay here until the stranger leaves? Standing under the cold stream, I figured I deserved that. The pleasurable teachings of my cock were gone, replaced with the withering guilt of what I’d done: Stupid, stupid, stupid, my heart seemed to say as it beat loudly in my ears. What if he saw me? What if he recognized me? What if this ruins me? I was lost in my thoughts, panicked and shivering now, resigned to simply hang my head in shame and walk out to face any consequences, when the loud sound of the plastic shampoo pump brought me back to the moment. Next door, as I suddenly realized the stranger had taken the cubical right next to mine, the man was pumping away, eager to wring the last drops of soap from the dispenser. I briefly panicked again: if he was this close now, how could he not have seen me? What if he saw my face and were to report me? Would I be able to finish my courses? What will other people think of me – the gay guy who jerks off in public showers? And then a curious new thought crept into my head… What does he look like? Who is he? Maybe, I thought, regaining some measure of calm. Maybe if I don’t know him he won’t be able to tell people it was me? All the while I’d continued to hang my head in shame, keeping my eyes cast down as if not being able to see out into the rest of the world would keep the world from seeing me. But it was then that I caught a slight reflection in the wet floor tiles, a bit of movement that I realized could only be from the stall next door. I moved slightly right and left to see if I could shift my angle enough to see more, but it was impossible. The surface wasn’t a mirror, and what shapes I could see certainly wouldn’t reveal his identity. As luck would have it, I didn’t need to wonder long, as at that moment the man next door revealed himself, stepping back and around the wall between us. “Uh, sorry,” he said. My eyes practically bulged out of my skull as I stared at his foot, unexpectedly stepping into view. Black hairs dotted his toes and foot, before joining a thicker jungle that grew along his bursa escort bayan legs. My eyes swept up quickly, though not lazily, taking in his thicker thighs and naturally-grown bush. Though my head and eyes continued upward, my mind seemed frozen on his manhood – for indeed those were the genitals of a man. A set of loose balls coated in wet and clingy hairs behind a nicely hung penis. He was cut, like me, but what my friends would call a `shower’ – a thicker penis of about four inches, which hung in stark contrast to the shorter stub of my own `grower’ nestled within my pubes. My brain whizzed past the rest, processing visual data on fast-forward as it caught up to my eyes. A middle aged man’s stomach, bulged with an aging metabolism as much as by lack of exercise, a chest coated in salt-and-pepper hairs, broad shoulders and two-day stubble on a face that had maybe once been sharp, but had softened too with age. His eyes were brown and his eyebrows were arched expectantly. That’s when I realized he had asked a question. “Pardon?” I asked, reaching behind me to both turn the water warmer and reduce the pressure. “Sorry, I didn’t hear you.” He smirked and raised a large hand to sweep his wet hair back out of his face. “Lost in your own world,” he smiled broadly now. “I get that. My mind wanders too in the shower. I asked if your soap dispenser was working.” He stepped closer and reached past me towards the pump, the action bringing us nearly chest to chest. “Oh, umm, yes,” I stammered, my eyes darting from him, to his reaching hand, to his chest, to his eyes and back again. “Must have been lost, right, soap-” “There it goes! Mine was empty,” soap pumped into his hand which he immediately pressed to his chest and began rubbing into the coat of fur there. I gulped as I watched him trace big soapy circles around his dark pink nipples. “I guess they didn’t f-fill it,” I couldn’t raise my eyes to meet him. I felt as though I was in a trance now, watching this man soap himself mere inches from me was hypnotic. I felt my heart beat again, the urgency was returning. I cleared my throat and glanced down catching a glimpse of his dick again before looking off towards the wall. “Oh, sorry mate,” it was then I realized I’d interrupted him and I was vaguely aware he’d been talking about sports or something else mundane. “I’m here on business, don’t have much opportunity to chat with folks – and I can be a little social.” He chuckled as I looked up at him again. “Sorry for intruding, it’s just nice to chat with someone after being on the road alone.” “Right,” I said, offering him a pleasant half smile. “Well, thanks for the soap.” I nodded as he moved to slide back into his cubicle. “Oh, would you mind a minute?” He came back and turned his shoulder to me. “I’ve got a spot on my back I can’t reach, could you soap it for me? Being this hairy, the sweat tends to collect there and after the car and the gym I’d like to make sure I’m extra clean, you know?” “Umm, ya, sure.” I pumped more soap into my hand as he turned around, but inadvertently washed it away as I passed by the shower flow. “Here, let’s switch,” the man turned and we shuffled around each other, squeezing closer as we maneuvered in the stall. He flashed me a grin as I felt the tips of our penises briefly touch and said “thanks for the warm welcome.” We both chuckled at that and I felt as though a weight had been lifted from my shoulders. I pumped more soap into my hand as the stranger – Chuck, he introduced himself – braced his hands up against the back wall of the stall and widened his stance. I began with his shoulders and then worked my way down his back, half-scrubbing, half-kneading as I soaped the thickening back hair. Chuck moand a little and reached down to adjust the water temperature, before briefly reaching a little lower to adjust himself. “Am I getting the spot?” I asked, working my way to the middle of his back. He nodded in response. “That’s it, right there,” Chuck sighed. “Right… there. Good boy.” The words skipped through my mind and sent a tingle down my spine. Good boy. I must have quivered a little as I soaped and rubbed his back because Chuck threw a knowing glance over his shoulder before hanging his head down again to let the water run over him. “Everything okay back there, boy?” Another shudder. My heart pumped in my chest and ears: Boy, boy, good boy. And my cock began to stir again. “Y-yes, sorry. I’ve just never umm…” “Seen so much hair?” “Yes, sir,” the words slipped from my lips and made Chuck guffaw that reverberated off the shower walls. “Well that’s because it’s a hairy man back, boy,” he slowly lifted himself and stood upright. “You’ve never seen a man’s back?” Something passed between us as his eyes met mine, and although he stood a few inches shorter than my own six-foot-four frame, Chuck seemed to loom large against the white tile walls. The moment was gone as soon as it had come however, and Chuck flashed another smirk. “Come on, let’s switch again. It’s only fair I get your back after you did mine.” I was far beyond the edges of my own map of experience now, a map which had ended abruptly when I slipped my swim trunks off in what felt like the distant past. Adrift in unfamiliar territory, I nodded and began shimmying past Chuck again, surrendering control to this unexpected guide. He smiled and mimed tipping a hat to me as we again brushed penises. This time though, it was as if he leaned into it, as our shafts rubbed past each other in the exchange. Following Chuck’s example, I assumed the position: my feet spread to either edge of the cubicle and my hands braced up against the wall. I relaxed into the warmth of the water on my back, sighing and closing my eyes. Chuck let out a little laugh as he pumped the soap into his hand. It was only when I glanced back at Chuck over my nearly flat back, that I realized what was so funny: in my relaxation, I had slid down a bit and was now nearly fully bent over. “Oh it’s fine,” Chuck said. His hands landed firmly in the middle of my back as I tried to stand up a bit straighter. “You’re too tall anyways, boy.” That word again sent a tremor through my body and I sighed as his thumbs began to work along escort bursa either side of my spine. “You feel tight. Did you work out tonight?” “Swimming,” I said before biting back a moan as his thumb dug deep into a knot below my shoulder blade. “I’m taking a course so I can teach swimming lessons.” “Ah, that’d do it,” I pictured him nodding in that knowing, fatherly way, adding the pieces together. “Your shoulders must be tight, too. Here,” he stepped in closer and reached forward, gripping my shoulders in his strong hands. I gasped as I felt his pubes, matted and wet, brush repeatedly against my ass cheeks as his fingers and thumbs reached forward and found purchase on my traps. “There it is,” Chuck cooed, gently massaging the stiffness from my shoulders. “Just relax now… good boy.” I could have melted into the shower drain at that moment. As Chuck loosened my muscles with his hands, his words seemed to be loosening my mind. I was being guided down unexplored halls within myself, and the revelations were invigorating. The urgent thumping in my chest returned. Blood rushed through my body, insistently stiffening my dick again. I sighed as Chuck continued to massage my shoulders and back, removing one hand to pump out more soap, then switching to get more. My dick hardened rapidly now and the drum of my heart in my ears echoed the words Relax, good boy, relax. By the time Chuck had placed both hands on my back again, my cock was stiff as before, throbbing with each heartbeat and desperate for the release it had been denied before. Chuck expertly worked his hands up and down my sides and back, his touch kneading and teasing my virgin skin. No one had ever touched me this way – I didn’t even know I could be touched this way. But Chuck showed me. His instruction was firm and purposeful, and I was a more than willing pupil. When his hands returned to my shoulders, his grip was firmer, less therapeutic, and when he pressed himself against me I knew why. Beneath the gentle roughness of his pubes I felt the firmness of his erection – no, his cock. A thick and meaty man cock that seemed to throb in time with my own. I gasped again as he pulled his hips back and then slowly edged and rubbed the engorged head and shaft against my ass cheeks, made slick by a handful of soap. He thrust deeper, more urgently with each pass up and down along my crack, until finally he parted my ass cheeks and nestled his cock against my exposed hole. While I had dreamed and jerked off to the thought of such a moment, never did I imagine it coming true. I wasn’t the typical image of a lifeguard, with chiseled muscles and sun-kissed skin; I was doughy, and what muscles I had were hidden beneath thick thighs and a soft cheeks. But Chuck had wormed his way past it all, openly humping against my virgin hole now as he hissed, “Am I getting the spot, boy?” “Yes, sir,” I panted, my body alive and quivering. My hole puckered and parted a little more with each thrust of his flared cock head. A need I’d never known was growing within me, as though something wanted out and wanted something in. “Louder,” he said, firmly. “Yes, sir,” I said louder, fighting the inhibitions that had been built from years of living closeted in a small town. “Louder,” he said again, this time wrapping a hand around my chest to pinch and twist my nipple. My head swam with new pleasure; my mouth gaped open as I moaned. “Yes, sir.” My hole mimicked my mouth, moaning soundlessly as Chuck pinched and twisted both nipples now. His man cock continued to rub and slide against my ass, soap gradually mixing with a stream of pre-cum, slicking my crack and hole. “Louder.” Chuck snarled in my ear. “Fuck my pussy, sir!” The words rang out from somewhere deep and hidden within me, a place I didn’t know existed – couldn’t have known existed – until Chuck drove his cock deep into it. My mind and body both were malleable in his hands, and he took this moment to drive his cock deep into my gasping anus. He roared and groaned like a beast, ramming his cock deep into my pussy. Wet sloppy sounds echoed through the shower corridor as Chuck fucked my ass hard. My own cock throbbed along with each thrust and my heart sang with desire. As my pulse quickened the words sparkled in my ears: Good boy, good pussy boy, such a good pussy boy. “You like that man cock, boy?” Chuck growled as he drilled into me. “You like having your pussy filled with a man’s cock like a good boy?” “Yes, sir!” I snarled back, lost in a primal lust I had never felt, and now never wanted to be without. “Fuck my pussy good, sir.” As I begged, Chuck grunted, snarled, and roared – driving his cock home one last time. His hands, one locked on my shoulder, the other planted on my hip, gripped me hard as I felt him orgasm within me. As his cock exploded, I felt the power of each shot, his man cock emptying into my guts. Each throb of his orgasm rubbed against my prostate and now free of Chuck’s pounding, I dropped on hand to my own thrumming cock. I recalled all the lessons it had taught me, rubbing fast and slow and tight along the thickened shaft and swollen purple head, but my cock needed little encouragement. With a series of grunts that paled in comparison to Chuck’s, I came, my load splattering audibly on the tiled shower walls. A low growl rumbled in Chuck’s throat as he continued to gently hump me, and he wrapped his arms around me to steady me as I stood up. My head was dizzy with lust and the fading orgasm, so much so that I barely felt Chuck’s dick slip from my hole. “Easy now,” he cooed, holding me close as the water poured over both of us. “Easy now, boy. You did good.” He turned me towards him and moved the wet hair first from my face, then from his own. Never had a stranger seemed so handsome in my eyes. He cleaned me gently, then himself, taking almost patronly care with me before using his own towel to dry my hair and face. “Thank you,” I muttered some moments later, while I was lacing up my shoes back at the lockers. It was the first I’d managed to speak since cumming. Chuck paused and looked down the bench at me from where he was piling his workout clothes into a gym bag. “You’re welcome…boy,” we both smiled at that. As I stood to leave Chuck placed a hand on my shoulder and asked, “When’s your next lesson?” —————————————— Thank you for reading! If you are interested in sharing thoughts or feedback, please feel free to email me at ail

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