The Locker Room Lothario

The clank of the many metal lockers being slammed shut brought my attention to him where he was standing on the opposite side of the locker room from me. As the quieting rush of running water filters in from the many showers being used in the adjacent room as that noise echoes through the crowded room.

He is alone in front of his open locker, without any shoes on his large feet when I catch my first glimpse of him. I had not seen him when he entered this male-only sanctuary from the gym floor. He is pulling his sweat-soaked worn and frayed red tee with its cut-off sleeves over his tussled head of blonde locks when I am aware that my mouth is agape at his exquisite splendor. Once it is off. You can see the damp chest curls as they sweep over his well-defined and well-earned muscly pectorals. They seem to wander ever lower into a magnificent trail that tops his stretched elastic waistband of the equally battered blue workout shorts. The blonde hairs seem to disappear into these ragged shorts into parts unexplored. Self-consciously he rakes five of his fingers through his perspiration-soaked luminescent yellow curls that blanket these hard-won muscles. He shivers at his own touch. It is apparent he is enjoying the sensation of his fingers caressing through this furry growth.

I have a similar reaction rocket through me as I am watching him. Then. He grabs both sides of these blue shorts and yanks them to the floor and rights himself in an instance once he has cast off the sweat-drenched material.

He is now standing in a gray pair of snug designer briefs. Only. Around the elastic band bearing the name of designer Calvin Klein perspiration makes an irregular wet pattern on the dyed cotton. This sight of this alluring man draped in his own natural juices sends another bolt of sexual attraction surging through me and directly to my loins. I feel my own cock pulse as I continue with my obvious leering.

His cock makes a prominent bulge in these stretched briefs. The curve of his contained member seems to be fighting its forced cotton prison as it wants to break free of its forced stronghold. The more he shifts about his masculine package appears to swell to even greater proportions under each of his jerky and erratic movements. He stretches and bends prolonging my agony at what is locked inside his sweaty pair of gray Calvin’s. His hands find the time to touch this mound of contained flesh as he goes about his undressing. Poking and prodding his cock to even greater life within its confines.

He grabs each side of them, like he had done with the blue shorts and lowers them from his waist and straight to the floor of the locker room. It is as if time is moving in slow motion as the briefs were cast to the floor.

I feel an outbreak of sweat overtake my forehead and brow as the briefs are taken to the carpeted floor as he steps from them. He is standing naked now as the day he came into this beautiful world without a care as I continue with my gaze of him.

He stands. And does more bodily stretches and nonchalantly frees his cock with his nimble fingers from the tangled web of his sweat-soaked pubes. He is somewhat hard but does not seem bothered by this near erection that can be readily seen by all who may be looking in his direction. I noticed its growing prominence when he stood upright after dropping his sweaty briefs. I wish I had them in my hand now so I could take them to my nose and take a whiff of his lingering masculinity.

A random metallic clank of a locker being closed brings this startling moment to an abrupt end.

He turns then and our eyes meet, his are deepest color of blue, like sparkling diamonds in Gulf waters as we stay locked on each other. He smiles a wide grin at me but does not seem bothered by the intrusion of my objectifying of him. He grabs the underside of his balls and cups them in a fierce grip while he looks at me while he continues smiling at me. The hairy bulkiness of his balls makes my own cock throb harder in my shorts.

I have been caught. But I do not budge. Or hide what I am doing as he continues to return my gaze.

He smiles at me again. I see devilment and mischief behind those eyes as he walks ever closer towards me.

His cock is swaying in relative hardness between his massively muscled legs like a timepiece used in hypnosis. His legs are as hairy as the other parts of his rippled anatomy. Each step as he nears me his cock appears to be hardening to a firmer ripeness as the gap between us narrows.

He is near me. Closer. Closer. Our eyes still solidly locked on the other. My cock pulses.

He brushes near me, leans in, and starkly whispers where only we can hear what can be said.

“It will feel much better in you when I can fuck the living hell out of your puckered hole.” He tells me in that split second of this one-sided conversation. His hand now tightly wrapped around his cock and squeezing it with all his might while he whispers in my ear. And then he walks to the shower room with the air of confidence of a proud man. His magnificence leading the way before him in its fleshy splendor. Minus any towel or shampoo. Just him. Only him.

The locker room has been a hive of activity around the two of us during this whole display.

I feel my cock explode like a volcano in my shorts without even having laid a finger on my erection. The aroma of my sexual explosion wafts up to my nose. I can feel my cream finding its way down the side of my leg as I stand there transfixed by the stranger with his rippling muscles. His hair. And the cock that melted me in place as he walked towards me.

It is then I realize if I want to see more of him I best hurry, undress, and skedaddle to the showers where he is so I can take another gander at that magnificent man, now bathing under the hot spray and soapy from top to bottom, and who just propositioned me in the gym locker room. But such is a man wants to be the locker room lothario.

A little side note. One of my first sexual fantasies put down on paper had to do with a locker room scenario back when I was in my high school in southern Georgia. Back in those days, the middle 1980s, I was a sheepishly shy and naive, tall, and lanky dark-haired kid to afraid to change clothes in the P.E. class for fear of getting a raging hard-on that would get me noticed by the older high school teenage boys. But I did change clothes. And I did get an occasional hard-on which I did manage to hide. But I saw other guys just as scared as I was. And I made it through. As they did. And later I became an avid nudist not afraid to show off everything as I got older and bolder and matured in my self-image. And the sex has been great too, I may say.