Done with another session in which I am convinced my trainer is trying to kill me, I limp back towards the locker room and am stopped by another of the trainers whom I’ve never met but have seen around. Like most of the trainers here at Gold’s gym, he is young and in great shape.
“Hey man, I’m Levi,” he says. “Jon told me you’re a massage therapist.”
Jon is my totally hot—and totally straight—trainer. I nod. “That’s right.”
“Any chance you can work out a knot, bro? I tweaked my back this morning and I can’t work it out.”
I want to laugh when he calls me “bro”, but, considering I am easily twenty years his senior, I’m lucky he didn’t call me “Sir”. “I specialize in deep tissue work,” I explain with a smile, trying my best not to overtly check him out. Levi is around my height of 6’, has cropped light brown hair and bright blue eyes. He has smooth, pale skin and looks pretty ripped from what little I can see past his gym pants and black polo shirt. He’s skinnier than the guys who usually catch my attention, but he’s a handsome guy. Continue reading →
I make it to the Embassy Suites right on time and navigate my way through the large atrium of a lobby. I locate the second phone to the right of the elevators and, as promised, find the key card hidden underneath it. Key in hand, I head up to his room and open the door onto a large, dark hotel room illuminated only by the city lights coming in through the partially drawn curtains. I remain by the door for a minute to allow my eyes to adjust. Slowly, I focus on my prize: The dude I met on Adam4Adam lying naked on his back, head hanging over the foot of the bed, blindfolded with what looks like a black undershirt.
I step towards him, scanning the room for anyone lurking in the shadowy corners. I’m a little nervous, which is always hot, and my cock is doing it’s best to push its way out of my pants. I drop to my knees so that my face is more level with his and inspect the merchandise. He has dark brown hair – long enough to grab yet short enough for the business exec visiting from Atlanta he claims to be. He is clean shaven and looks fairly pale in this light. He gasps when I trace my index finger across his Adam’s apple and down his smooth, muscular neck. He tips his head further back as though he wants me to kiss him.
Not yet, pretty-boy.
I rub my hand down his chest, which causes him to moan and writhe a little. He is thin, yet defined, and he either shaves his body or is amazingly smooth for a thirty-something-year-old. His cock is rock hard and curving up against his belly-button: It’s probably around seven inches but looks huge against his small frame. His online profile claims he is 5’10” but I’m guessing he’s a little shorter, though it’s hard to tell at this angle. I stand up and take another look around the room, finding the lube, condoms and bottles of water on the nightstand just as he promised.