Anon in the locker room shower

“I saw your Buddy Bate pin on your gym bag.”

The deep but low volume of the voice as I was stepping into the shower stall at the gym both startled and excited me.  As I turned he gently nudged me to continue into the shower and glanced furtively behind him.

I pivoted and stepped back after clearing the pre-heated spray to the corner of the stall to get a look at him.  Not bad at all!  Mid-to-late thirties, around my height of six feet, excellent shape, modern swimmer’s build (to say lean but highly muscled with massive guns and super-pecs.  A trimmed dusting of ginger body hair was thicker on his arms and thickly-muscled legs; it complemented a short-cropped curly ginger head.  Large hands and feet reinforced the urban legend of correlation with endowment; his turgid cut dick was thick and long over large low-hanging hairy balls.

He was not hesitant to touch his pecs to mine; despite the large stalls at our club he crowded me.  Neither was he hesitant to take my hardening member in his big warm hand.

“You don’t mind a hand so you?” he leaned forward and whispered.

His body heat radiated into me and enhanced my flush of excitement.  To show him I did not mind I moved my hand the short distance and took him in hand.  I accompanied the act with a broad grin.  His response was a growl of satisfaction through his own grin and a second grip on my jewels.

“Member here?” he asked in that deep seductive voice.

He was not familiar to me at all; Considering there are 900 members from among just slightly more residents that was statistically likely; though a hottie like him wouldn’t have escaped my notice had I seen him.

“Yes,” I breathed; it was equal parts answer and affirmation for his very skilled ball-work.

I struggled to maintain focus; skilled might have been an understatement.  He expertly tested my tolerance and increased the pressure he applied and types of motion in response to my body’s obvious enjoyment.  His work on my Rod and knob was equally expert; had me at mid-summer and knew how to keep me there with occasional amps up but nothing to hurry me nor to allow me to race to the finish.

“I’m a guest.  The member I played tennis with and had lunch with got a call and had to leave.”

Thank Christ! I thought and made the assumption that this wouldn’t have happened had he been accompanied into the showers my his tennis mate.

I was getting too carried away and submissive to his controlling hands.  To switch the dynamic I reached around and took hold of his very muscular butt-cheek; the fuzz enhanced the pleasure.  He growled again and his eye-to-eye changed to intense.  My rubbing of that marble globe also enabled my fingertips to find the denser fur in his cleft and ultimately his pucker.  Another growl; more intense and accompanied by enough of a push back to make it an offer.

Technically if either I or my husband Kent is going to fuck someone else we have to follow two rules:  Safety; and give each other the opportunity to participate or let the other know in advance.  Blow-jobs required no such sharing or notice unless we chose; but fucking was enough more significant as to warrant the additional step.  But there was also an “out.”  If the situation was sufficiently spontaneous and precluded such notice and/or offer of participation then it was free … provided it didn’t become a habit and all the details were offered to the non-participant.

“Yeah?” I asked, confirming.  “Clean?”

He enthusiastically told me in as close to a whisper as the shower spray would allow and with a tight grip on my now raging hard-on, “Oh yes.  I want it if you’ll go that far.”

I pushed my middle digit into him and felt his tightness and heat.  His response was a long moan this time.

“And are you clean?”

“I’d tell you to suck your finger and see if I meet your standard but dude it’s a shitter if you get my drift.”

Okay … ewwww!  I wasn’t going there.  We all accept the risks of spontaneous sex in a venue where it was unlikely he deep-cleaned in readiness.  Though he might be that big a slut that he was prepared.

“I meant disease free, dumbass!” I snapped and shoved two fingers in him DEEP as a show of dominance.

He grunted loud but ground on my fingers when they were planted.  His grunt morphed to a moan as he worked himself on my fingers.  When I crooked my fingers and grazed his p-button his body tensed and shivered.

Gasping, he replied.  “Ohhhhhh, dude yeah.  I haven’t been with anyone but my wife in a very long time.”  He rubbed his close-cropped beard against my cheek and moved his lips to my ear as he ground into my fingers rubbing his nub and spamming and gasping.  “I was tested in April and it had been over six months then.  You?”

After I got past the inequity between over a year without getting fucked and his obvious craving for it based on his own ass-work on my fingers I answered.”

“Gay, active, and tested constantly.  All clean!”

“Fuuuucckkk!” he growled.

He turned suddenly and dislodged my grip on his fat hard dick in the process; his grip in my sac was released but his grip on my pipe was tightened.  He extended his muscular arm out and planted his hand on the shower wall and pulled me into him so my flared head was at his pucker.

“Do it daddy!”  THERE it was; the d-word!  “Fuck me daddy.  Shove it in and make it hurt!”

Well if he insisted. I shoved forward and clamped my hand over his mouth as I did.  Good thing as his shout was loud.  I didn’t give him any slack and jammed myself to my pubes inside him.  And further I began pumping his excruciatingly tight hole right away without any time for his clenched rings to adjust.

His screams continued but were muffled by my hand.  I had a tight grip on his face and used it to lever my thrusts for maximum impact.  My cock felt like any minute his tight chute might rip the skin right off it; but whatever the pain I was feeling his was dramatically worse.

His pushes back into my pumps into him belied the muffled screams; he was fucking onto me hard and with urgency.  I briefly looked down to the shower floor to be sure there was no blood; that’s how tight he was and painful it felt.  There wasn’t.  Would I have stopped if there was?  He asked for it and clearly continued to want it.

He had been taking it with both of his hands against the shower wall and he took his left down (the one with the fat gold wedding ring I hadn’t noticed before) and reached under him.  I thought he meant to jack himself and spent a moment’s thought on whether I would allow him to satisfy himself.  But that wasn’t what he meant to do; I knew that when he grabbed my swinging balls and began pulling them.

The pain of his tightness had been enough to offset the pleasure of his tightness and keep me from unloading.  But his tugs on my balls and rubbing and rolling them had me amping up.

“Where do you want me to shoot bitch?  You want that pussy of yours full of my swimmers?” I hissed into his ear.

“Nmngggggggyyyyyaaaaa!” he groaned and nodded his head with such thrust that even my strong grip on his mouth didn’t keep him from knocking his forehead against the shower’s tiled wall.  That had to hurt!

But not as much as his hard jerk on my nits and clench on my balls.

“Fuck!” I shouted too loud.

“Okay in there?” I heard an unidentified male voice call.

I was too into the rut to stop and panted, “No problem here.  Thanks!” and kept right on railing my shower mate.

Or at least for a minute or two until I felt the unmistakeable trigger go off in my balls.  I was on the ramp and about to blast off.

“You ready for it?  Because it’s commmmmminnngggg!” I warned as quietly as I could.

His enthusiastic grunts and more careful nodding and back-pushes into my pumps confirmed he was ready.  His increased grip and pulls on my balls sealed it.

“Awwwwwwwee FUCK!”  I exclaimed and began to feel the blast erupting through me.  And just like that so was he; rigid and then spasming and I knew he was spilling his wad all over the shower wall.  I pumped and pumped and shot and shot and so did he until we were finally healed together against the wall.  Both of our bodies were twitching; we both were panting.

I removed my hand from his mouth too soon.  When I pulled out of him he yelped before he caught himself.

“Sure you’re okay in there bro?” the unidentified voice asked.  “Sounded like it was a good one for ya, but … “

My fuck-buddy shower mate was obviously more of a slut than I knew.  He piped-up.  “We’re fine dude!”

“Uhhhh okay men.  Uh carry on!” came the unnerved reply.

I saw my bitch was about to reply and I pushed my hand into his mouth again.  Quietly I said, “How ‘bout you get down here and check that cleanliness factor and make yourself useful?”

He looked alarmed; my look changed to stern and determined.  He complied.  When he turned and got on his knees I could see the splatter on the wall where he’d blown; impressive!

After a very tentative start he was sucking my cock fully.  He wasn’t a great cock-sucker but he was eager and committed.  My middle-aged dick was responding as if my husband Kent hadn’t railed me this morning like I’d railed this guy.  I felt myself involuntarily puffing out my chest in pride.

He was going at it more like an objective to get another load than to clean me like a good bitch; not sure I wanted to take the time or make the effort.  Then he surprised me by backing off and getting up.  He looked me in the face and smacked his lips.  “I didn’t like the taste of me mixed with your cum at first; but it didn’t take me long to learn to like it!”  He grinned and looked down at my sagging hard-on and then gave it a smack with his hand.  “Damn fine bro!”

So we were back at bro from daddy.  Okay.

“Uh thanks?”

“I gotta jet, bro.  Thanks man for the … for this,” he finished and gave my dick a squeeze and grinned and laughed.

I turned to the shower spray and stepped in; and just like that he was gone.

When I’d showered I stepped out wondering if I’d run into either my bottom buddy or the guy who’d heard us; I wouldn’t know the latter unless he made himself known.  But I toweled off and made my way back to the lockers having only seen and exchanged words with a few fellow members.  I opened my locker to dress and saw a business car that had been pressed in.
George Blake, Program Manager

He worked for one of the larger companies in town. On the back he’d written

Personal cell - use it when you want me.

I dropped the card on the bench and left it there when I walked out.  Maybe another guy would see it and make use of George.  Maybe I should have saved it for Kent or for Kent and me, I thought as I walked out.

I compromised — went back downstairs to the locker room, took a photo of the front and back of the card with my phone and then again left it on the bench.  I couldn’t wait to tell Kent all about it.