The gym was almost silent by the time I wandered into the posing room. The thud of barbells out on the floor had faded, most of the treadmills sat dark, and the whole place smelled faintly of chalk, rubber mats, and stale sweat. In here, though, under the white strip lights and surrounded by floor-to-ceiling mirrors, it felt like another world. Just you, your body, and the truth of what it looked like.
I’d spent enough years in this room to be comfortable with that truth. At thirty, my body was carved from years of lifting... thick chest, shoulders that stretched every T-shirt I owned, thighs that could crush the steel bench if I pressed hard enough. And the trunks. Always the trunks. Barely a scrap of fabric, riding up high, showing everything. That was the point: no hiding.
Tonight, I wasn’t alone.
Jamie was there, already in front of the mirrors. New guy. Twenty-three. I’d noticed him in the free-weight section the past couple weeks... wiry frame filling out quick, the kind of hunger in his training that reminded me of myself at his age. But tonight was different. He was standing there in tiny black posing trunks, adjusting his waistband, staring at his reflection like he wasn’t sure if he belonged here.
He saw me in the mirror before he turned, his eyes going wide for a second. “Oh..hey. I didn’t think anyone else was still around.”
I smirked, crossing the room. “Posing room’s never empty for long. You practicing for something?”
He shifted, rolling his shoulders like he was trying to shake nerves out of them. “First comp’s in a few months. Figured I should… I don’t know, get used to the trunks, the lights, the mirrors. Feels different than training.”
“Yeah,” I said, stepping close enough that my reflection filled up beside his. “The gym’s one thing. Up here, every angle shows. No way to fake it.”
Jamie’s gaze darted to my body before he could stop himself ... chest, arms, down to where my trunks barely contained me. He looked away quick, pretending to fix his stance. I caught it though. I always catch it.
“Show me your front double biceps,” I said.
He hesitated, then lifted his arms. His lats flared, but the pose was stiff. I stepped behind him, close enough to feel the heat coming off his skin. My hands hovered, then settled on his elbows, adjusting the angle.
“Relax your traps. Pull from here.” I squeezed gently at the base of his neck. He obeyed, lowering slightly, and his whole frame looked better instantly.
“See the difference?”
Jamie nodded, breathing out hard. In the mirror, our eyes met. He didn’t step away.
We worked through a few more poses together... side chest, most muscular, lat spread. Each time, I guided him, hands skimming over his arms, his back, his waist. Every touch lingered a little longer. Every correction brought me closer, until my chest nearly brushed his shoulders when I leaned in to murmur directions.
He was sweating now, not from the posing, but from me. His skin glistened under the lights, and I caught him biting his lip when my palm slid across his abs to “correct his core tension.”
“You’re tense,” I told him, voice low. “But not in the right places. You gotta learn to hold it without locking up.” My hand stayed on his stomach, just above the waistband of his trunks. I didn’t push lower, not yet.
Jamie looked at me in the mirror again. This time, he didn’t look away.
“You okay with me adjusting?” I asked, quiet enough it was just for him.
His Adam’s apple bobbed. “Yeah,” he said. His voice cracked, then steadied. “I want to learn.”
That was all I needed.
I slid my hand down, pressing lightly on his hip, angling him toward the mirror. “Better. Hold it there. See how it changes the line of your leg?”
He swallowed, eyes flicking from his reflection back to me. “Yeah… I see it.”
I let my breath graze his ear. “Good. You’ve got potential. Don’t waste it.”
When I finally stepped back, his chest rose and fell fast, and he was half-hard in those black trunks, pretending not to notice. I didn’t call it out. Not yet. The posing room was already thick with heat, and this was just the beginning.
────୨ৎ────
Jamie shifted into another stance, hands on hips, trying for a side chest but twisting too far. His face was serious, like he was desperate to get it right, but all I saw was the way the lights cut over his thighs.
“Not bad,” I said, circling him slowly. “But you’re over-rotating. You want the chest to pop, not look like you’re wringing yourself out.”
He adjusted, fumbling a little. That’s when I noticed. Fuck. His quads were flexed, sweeping lines carving across his thighs, and higher up...yeah. His ass. Round, high, firm, like it was carved for the stage.
I let out a low breath before I could stop myself. “I don’t know about your poses,” I murmured, eyes dragging down his body, “but your quads… and your glutes… holy fuck.”
In the mirror, I caught him grinning, just for a second, before he bit it back and tried to play serious again.
“You think so?” he asked.
“Think so?” I stepped closer, meeting his eyes in the glass. “Mate, chicks would kill for that shape. You’ve got a dumptruck on you.”
He laughed under his breath, a little red creeping into his cheeks. But he didn’t back away. He straightened his stance, trying again, clearly hoping I’d notice more.
“Can you… show me?” he asked. “Like, where I should place my feet?”
I hesitated just long enough to make sure. “You okay with me holding?”
He nodded quick. “Yeah. Please.”
That was all I needed.
I moved in behind him again, close enough to smell the clean-sweat mix rising off his skin. My hands found his waist, firm grip, guiding him an inch wider, tilting his hips. Then I crouched, palms brushing down the tops of his thighs, adjusting the line of his stance until his glutes popped perfectly under the lights.
“Right there,” I said, still crouched, staring at the mirror. “Hold that tension. See how it makes your ass look?”
He looked. His eyes flicked to me in the mirror... me, crouched behind him, my hand still on his hip, my chest practically pressed to his back. I stood, slow, stepping beside him, shoulder to shoulder now so we were both framed in the glass.
“Check it,” I said, flexing my own legs into the pose. “You’re young, so you’ve got that tightness. Mine’s thicker, but yours? Different kind of shape. You’ll kill with it on stage.”
Jamie tried again, imitating my stance. His eyes were focused at first… until they weren’t.
I saw it. His gaze dropped. In the mirror, plain as day, he was staring at the bulge in my posing trunks.
He tried to cover by glancing away, but his lips twitched like he’d just caught himself smiling. “Uh… looks like your trunks aren’t doing a great job of hiding.....that.”
I chuckled, shaking my head, but damn if my cock didn’t twitch against the fabric at his comment. “Yeah,” I muttered, looking at him hard in the glass. “That happens sometimes in here.”
Jamie’s grin widened, his nerves turning into something else.
I exhaled slow, dragging my palm over my face, half-laughing at myself. “Sorry, man. It’s just—your ass…” I glanced down, then right at him in the mirror again. “No homo, but… fuck.”
The room went quiet. Just the hum of the lights, the sound of our breathing.
Jamie’s eyes stayed locked on mine in the mirror. He didn’t flinch. Didn’t back down. Just waited, like he wanted to see what I’d do next.
And that’s when I realized how hard I actually was in those tiny trunks.
If you enjoyed this story, consider supporting the author on Patreon.
