Chapter 1: Back In Boca
Mornings have always been my favorite time of day. The air feels cleaner before the world wakes up, and the light hits the ocean in that soft, forgiving way that makes everything look calmer than it really is. These days, I still get up before sunrise, lace my shoes, and run along the same stretch of coast I used to when I lived in Boca. I tell myself it’s for fitness, for routine, but I know it’s nostalgia. Certain routes still hold ghosts.
Back then, my life was simple, or so I liked to believe. I was 25, newly transferred from a quiet Midwestern town to the chaos and color of South Florida. My days were built around training and work. I’d cycle before dawn, shower, head to the office, and then spend my lunch hour swimming laps at the gym pool. I was driven, disciplined, and deeply closeted in that self-sufficient, quiet way men can be when they’re too afraid to look at themselves too closely.
I told people I didn’t have time for relationships because of racing, because of work. But really, I didn’t have time for the truth. My body was always in motion, but my heart was standing still. I’d tell myself I was satisfied, but when the lights went off at night, I knew exactly what I wanted. The problem was, it was always the same kind of man.
My type was predictable: confident, athletic, straight. The kind of guy who smelled like fresh sweat and aftershave, who laughed loudly, slapped you on the back, and had no idea the way his smile could hollow you out. There was always some version of him in my orbit, and I’d always fall the same way. Quietly, helplessly, hopelessly. Most of them never knew. Some might’ve suspected. A few probably liked the attention. But it always ended in silence, with me running a little harder the next morning, pretending I wasn’t chasing ghosts.
Then came Austin.
I still remember the first time I saw him. It was in one of those bland corporate conference rooms with fluorescent lights that made everyone look washed out. Everyone except him. He was sitting across from me, confident in that unpolished, easy way that made you like him instantly. Early twenties, tan, sharp jaw, bright smile. He carried himself like a guy who had never once been unsure of who he was. The kind of confidence you can’t fake.
He was being interviewed for a position on my team. I was part of the panel, though it was mostly a formality. I remember his handshake..firm, warm, the kind that lingers just a second too long. His shirt fit perfectly, tucked neatly into his slacks, a small glimpse of that V taper disappearing under his belt. I caught myself watching the way his chest moved when he laughed at something I said. It was harmless, I told myself. Just admiration. But even then, a small part of me knew better.
He had that mix of intelligence and swagger that made everyone in the room take notice. The way he spoke, the way he smiled, the way he looked right at you when he answered a question. It wasn’t arrogance; it was assurance. He was someone who knew exactly where he stood in the world, and it was hard not to be drawn to that. I’d been around enough guys like him to recognize the type. But this one was different.
I remember walking out of that room thinking, Jesus, this guy is trouble. The kind of trouble that sneaks up on you. The kind that looks like friendship, feels like competition, and tastes like something you’re not supposed to want.
When we hired him, it didn’t surprise me. He fit in instantly. Everyone liked him, especially the women. He had that charming frat-boy energy, always ready with a joke, a smirk, or a story about some ridiculous thing he did in college. He made people feel at ease, including me. That was the dangerous part. He treated me like one of the guys, like we’d known each other for years. Lunches, workouts, inside jokes. Somewhere along the way, admiration turned into something heavier.
At first, it was just small things. The way he’d slap my shoulder when he passed my desk, the way his arm brushed mine when we walked side by side to the gym, the way he’d stretch before lifting, shirt riding just high enough to show that faint trail of hair leading downward. Those little glimpses stayed with me longer than they should have.
It’s funny how quickly boundaries blur when you start telling yourself there’s nothing wrong. I was older, I was supposed to know better. But I couldn’t help noticing how often he’d look my way during workouts, how he’d make a point to strip down to his underwear before heading to the showers. At first, I thought I was imagining it, the product of a restless mind. But sometimes I caught that flicker of a grin, that knowing spark in his eyes. The kind that says, Yeah, I see you.
Austin was straight. Everyone knew that. He talked about women constantly, his girlfriend, his exes, his weekend hookups. He wasn’t shy about his conquests. But there were moments when something didn’t add up. The way he’d joke about guys checking him out, the way he’d talk about girls who “liked playing with his ass,” as if testing reactions.
I told myself I could handle it. That I could keep it friendly, keep it safe. But that line started to fade the more time we spent together. I started to crave the parts of him he didn’t even realize he was showing me.
Looking back, I think that’s what drew me to him most; the way he lived without hesitation. He said what he thought, did what he wanted, and didn’t care what anyone thought. I admired that. Maybe I envied it.
There’s a point in every story where you can feel the ground shifting beneath you, even if you don’t want to admit it. For me, that moment was that first day in the conference room. I didn’t know it then, but everything that came after…the workouts, the friendship, the night that changed everything…started right there with a handshake and a smile that hit harder than it should have.
It started with a job interview, and it ended up being a lot more than I ever expected.
_
The first few weeks after Austin joined the team felt like a quiet adjustment to a new rhythm. I’d been used to working alone, keeping my head down, moving through the day like clockwork. But Austin had this way of filling a room… not loudly or intrusively, just naturally. He made things feel lighter without even trying.
He’d started in a mid-level project role, shadowing me through meetings, client calls, and the day-to-day grind. From day one, he was confident but not cocky, curious but never needy. The kind of employee who didn’t just do what he was told but actually wanted to understand how things worked. It impressed me and unnerved me a little. Because watching him work, I’d find myself focusing on things I shouldn’t. The flex of his forearms when he typed, the way he’d push his sleeves up just below the elbow, the easy grin he’d throw over his shoulder when he caught me looking his way.
One afternoon, we grabbed lunch together at a café a few blocks from the office. It wasn’t planned… just one of those casual, “Hey, you eaten yet?” moments. He talked most of the time, telling stories about his college football days, moving from Texas to Florida, the culture shock of palm trees and humidity. He was funny, charismatic, totally at ease. And somewhere between his story about his old coach and a bad roommate, I realized I hadn’t looked at my phone once.
He noticed that too.
“You’re quieter than most colleagues I’ve had,” he said, leaning back in his chair with that lazy grin.
“Maybe I’m just listening,” I said.
He smiled. “You’re either listening or judging. Haven’t decided which yet.”
“Bit of both.”
He laughed… a deep, easy laugh that made his eyes crinkle.
That laugh stayed with me longer than it should have.
It didn’t take long before lunch breaks turned into gym sessions. I’d mentioned I trained most days, and he’d jumped on the idea. “Perfect,” he’d said. “You can show me the ropes. Been meaning to get serious again.”
So, a few evenings a week, we’d meet at the gym near the office. The first few sessions were all light talk…sets, reps, work gossip, weekend plans. But over time, something about the space between us started to shift. The easy camaraderie from the office took on a different charge under fluorescent lights and sweat.
He was strong, naturally athletic. Watching him bench, his body moved like he knew exactly what it could do. The sound of his breathing, the slight tremor in his arms as he pushed through that last rep… all of it made me feel something I tried not to name.
He’d catch me watching sometimes. “You checking my form, coach?” he’d tease.
“Yeah,” I said, pretending to focus. “Just don’t want you dropping the bar on your chest.”
He smirked. “I’m stronger than I look.”
“I noticed.”
That grin again… brief, knowing, like he’d heard something in my tone that even I didn’t mean to reveal.
After workouts, we’d hit the showers. At first, it was nothing… a routine. But routines have a way of becoming rituals, and rituals can become dangerous.
The men’s locker room always had that damp, metallic smell… disinfectant, sweat, hot water. We’d talk while undressing, tossing shirts into lockers, swapping jokes about work or training. He was comfortable in his skin, the kind of guy who could strip down without thinking twice. I tried to keep my eyes level, my expression neutral. But it wasn’t easy.
One night, he complained about the water pressure. “This thing’s freezing,” he said from behind the curtain. I laughed, half-listening, until I heard the ring of the curtain hooks and then he pulled it back halfway.
“Geoff,” he said, stepping slightly out of the steam. “What’s up with the water.”
For a second, my brain just stopped. I pulled back my curtain and there he was, the bathroom still thick with leftover steam from earlier, moisture clinging to the air even as the water ran cool. The light caught his skin in that unreal way…water sliding down his chest, tracing every line of muscle, running over his stomach and lower, down that sharp V that looked carved into him. His cock hung heavy and soft between his legs, a beautiful cut piece, maybe four inches soft, wet and glistening as the water streamed off it.
“Yeah, man… it’s fucking cold,” I managed, voice rough, like my throat had forgotten how to work.
He didn’t even look over. Just kept rinsing shampoo from his hair, water running down his face, humming like nothing was out of place. He didn’t even notice me staring at his cock, at the way it shifted between his legs when he moved, at the slow drag of his hand down his abs. But I swear, there was a faint smirk in the reflection of the glass, like he knew exactly what he was doing, and exactly what it was doing to me.
That night, I barely slept. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw him again… water running down his body, cock half-hard under the showers. I must’ve jerked off three times, imagining the weight of his dick in my hand, the taste of his tip, the way he’d moan if I took his beautiful cock in my mouth, and bury my tongue in his hole. I pictured myself on my knees, tongue tracing that perfect V, hungry, desperate, worshipping him like I’d been waiting my whole life to.
By the time the sun came up, I was still wide awake, sheets tangled around my legs, horny as fuck from the kind of need that didn’t fade even after I’d come multiple times thinking about Austin. I told myself it was just a moment, just curiosity. But deep down, I already knew I was in trouble.
If you enjoyed this story, consider supporting the author on Patreon.
