Motivation (Patreon)

It's nice to go to the gym a few times a week and feel you are not totally wasting your body. I usually do some orbital until I'm out of breath, then I cool down a bit on random machines. I don't strain myself, but I'm sure it does something. I don't really know any of the other gym members, though I recognize some of them. Today one of them, a huge guy with a beard, was waiting in the locker room as I was about to head home. I've seen him around a few times, lifting weights, but we've never spoken. He had shoes, sweatpants, and a cap on, but topless, and it looked like he was waiting for me.

"Hey buddy!" he greeted me, almost demanding.
"Eh... Hi" I answered with quite some hesitation.
"Wanna feel my pecs?" he asked. I've never considered it and wasn't interested now that I had.
"Thanks, I'm good," I answered. He didn't change his demeanor, as if my answer was expected, and repeated the question, but now it was more of a statement.
"You want to feel my pecs."

And I did want to feel his pecs. I don't know why, but somehow I was curious how they felt. I mean, I know what meat feels like, in general, but I've never touched anyone muscular. I'm not muscular myself, never have been. Without hesitation I stepped up to him and put one hand on his firm right pectoral and squeezed. With a little more finesse I started to trace the outline from the cleavage, under it, and followed the line into his armpit, and continued until my hand rested in the heat of his pit.

What the fuck am I doing?! I jerked back my hand from him. Someone could step into the locker room at any moment. What would they think if they saw me fondle this guy?

"You liked that," he said, and again he was right. It had felt good to touch a really masculine body for the first time in my life. "Here, feel the arm also," he continued. I did and had the same feeling of finally doing something forbidden that I've long longed for. I used both my hands to really check the size of his arms. He didn't flex them, really, but kept the arm bent so I could really feel the shape of it. A strong arm. The arm of a real man. I must have looked like one of the damsels in distress clinging to the hero on an 80's movie poster.

I was filled with shame of what I did, of what I looked like, of what I am. I should have worked harder on my body. Why didn't I? What could possibly have been more important than taking care of my body and dedicating myself to be the best I could? I could feel a tear slowly rolling down my cheek. I was such a failure.

He just stood there, broad shoulders, hot as a furnace, and a monument to what I could have been. I couldn't stand it, and just as I started to turn to run away to God knows where he grabbed my arm and pulled me tight against his warm, hairy, muscled body. He hugged me tight and repeated "There little bro" over and over.

"Here, suck my nipple," he told me. With tear-streaked face I did as he told me, of course, even though I couldn't for the life of me understand how that would solve anything. I should be counting macros, schedule workouts, and sleep times, meal prep, jog, lift, plank, anything. He was carefully stroking me. "I want you to get home and throw away anything in your house that contains sugar. Drink lots of water, but don't eat anything. Go to bed early. Come back here tomorrow morning at six, wearing these clothes. I'll juice you up in no time. Now, forget we ever talked."

"I'm so sorry!" I was mortified as I had walked right into the chest of the big guy. He wasn't wearing a shirt either. "No biggie," he said and continued to pick up a sweatshirt from the bench.