Organization: Emory University, Atlanta, GA
I saw him eyeing me from across the gym, looking in the mirrow as I walked from the locker room over to the leg press machine.
"Nice," I thought, admiring the his height, a little more than mine I guessed, and leanness. He was doing triceps pushdowns. "Yes, very nice." They weren't as large as mine, not surprisingly, but they were lean and well-defined.
I had just finished doing shoulders and lats and I looked wide*. At 5'10 1/2 and 190 lbs., there is still a lot of work I need to do but that day I was well aware that there were few people in the gym my height who were as wide as I was. He noticed.
"And he's Asian, too," I thought. "Yummy! Don't see too many here in Midtown Atlanta."
I started piling the plates on the leg press machine, six 45 lb. weights on each end. Total: 540 lbs. In the mirror, I saw his eyes widen, so his grip on the triceps bar slip slightly. He was impressed, I could tell.
I cranked out ten solid reps, sweating and grunting by the time they were done. I looked up and saw that he had moved to the leg curl machine--directly behind my station.
"Not exactly a logical transition," I thought, "unless there is a different motivating factor at play..."
I smiled as I walked past on my way to the water fountain, then stopped to say "hi" on the way back.
"My productivity just ain't what it ought to be on Monday morning," I offered by way of introduction.
He gave me a startled glance. "Jesus, I'd hate to see you on Friday," he said, nodding toward the leg press machine. "That much weight would get my attention on a Monday morning."
I laughed.
"Well, yes," I agreed. "It is a bit much. I neglected my legs for years and now I'm really into it. Working legs really turns me on these days."
He gurgled slightly, not quite sure whether to respond...
I finished the leg presses and he finished his leg curls.
"Want to do some trap work?" I asked.
He looked at me skeptically.
"Well, I doubt I could handle the same poundages you use," he began, tentatively.
"No, that's where you're wrong. I don't go really heavy like I do on legs and, besides, I've already done shoulders. I'm going to do curls and upright rows."
We did three sets of each, he doing about 20 lbs. less than I on each exercise.
"See what I mean?" I asked after the first set. I could tell he was pleased.
When we finished we headed toward the locker room, I shrugging my massive shoulders.
"Dammit all," I said, "these traps are sore as hell. I guess I really bombed them."
He grinned. "Then you've picked the perfect workout partner," he said. "I am very good at massage."
"Great!" I replied. "Then maybe you can massage them before we hit the showers?"
We stood in front of the mirror. I crossed my arms across my waist and removed the t-shirt in one fluid motion. I heard his slight intake of breath.
Slowly, firmly he massaged my traps. I leaned my head back so that my neck became even more bull-like, my well-defined traps nearly mountainous.
"Shit, man, these are hard as rocks," he said.
I murmured. "You're doing fine. It feels wonderful."
He was standing so close that when his member began to engorge I could feel it through his sweatpants and my shorts. As he continued to work it grew harder and harder, having a similar effect on my own brawny organ.
Finally, I turned to face him. He dropped his hands to his hips. I dropped my shorts on the floor, then reached my calloused hands (can't find lifting gloves I like) to his face, which I pulled down to mine, giving his soft, moist mouth my best thermonuclear kiss...
-- Richard P. Jasper, Head Acquisitions Department Emory University General Libraries librpj@emoryu1.cc.emory.edu (or) LIBRPJ@emuvm1.BITNET