spanish-gym

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Subject: The Spanish Gym I’ve been trying to lose weight for as long as I can remember. I’m spending my junior year of college in Spain, and I even joined the gym here–during my supposed time away from responsibility–to try to reach my goal. There’s nothing I hate more–well, besides Nazis and fish gills–than exercise. But losing weight is important to me, so I joined the biggest gym in my Spanish town. Little did I know when joining that my gym held the local reputation for having the most fitness-crazed exercise maniacs of the 200,000-person town. Right before I paid the first month’s membership, I asked to take a tour of the facility. The secretary told me to wait a moment and Jorge, the manager, would show me around. So I stand around for a few minutes watching a few girls come out of the weight room, and finally a brown-haired guy comes up and shakes my hand. “I’m Jorge,” he says, in fast-paced Spanish, “nice to meet you. Come. I’ll show you around.” “Gracias,” I say, following him down the hallway. He showed me the upstairs empty rooms where the pilates and abdominal and cycling classes are, then he showed me the weight room and the attached aerobic center. He told me he’d show me where the locker room was next. So I followed him into paradise. Unlike the other gyms I toured before that day, this one had a full locker room, with benches, lockers, toilets and urinals, showers, and even three saunas. But the facilities weren’t what made it paradise. The exercisers were. I’m not going to lie and say that there were a ton of hot, naked twenty to thirty-five-year-olds walking around erect, casting one another knowing glances. I’ll stick to the truth: there were a ton of hot, naked twenty to thirty-five-year-olds, plus just a few of the obligatory hairy old men, walking around, soft Spanish penises swinging between their legs. I made one of my great observations about differences between Spain and the U.S. at that point: Spanish men are hairier and have bigger dicks than their American counterparts. It began to look to me that going to the gym wasn’t going to be solely a pain after all. And then I noticed that Jorge was talking to me. “What do you think?” he asked. “They’re impressive. Er, it’s impressive, rather. The gym,” I said, trying to cover up, wondering both if he had asked me anything else while I was euphorically checking out my new workout buddies’ bodies and whether he’d noticed. He smiled. “Want to join us?” he asked, as he crisscrossed his arms over his stomach, beginning to pull of his shirt. “Si, without a doubt,” I replied. “Everything looks great here.” Just after he tossed his shirt onto the closest bench, Jorge reached out his big, strong, dry hand to shake my own. Now that Jorge’s shirt was off I could see that being the manager of the gym had its benefits. Adonis doesn’t cut it. You’d think he would be one of those huge hulky guys that spend all day at the gym. After all, the gym had plenty of those naked colossuses wandering around. One of them even had a penis, easily 13cm long, and thick, too, to match the rest of his bulk. Jorge, though, wasn’t huge like them. But he was way beyond muscular. I gaped at the virile strength that lay beneath his skin. I could tell that Jorge could easily have the huge biceps and lats and thighs of the other guys at the gym, but instead he’d done years of weight lifting and running and cycling correctly, so he wasn’t bulging but was still incredibly strong and even more toned. And tan. I told him I’d go pay and would start tomorrow. He told me he’d be glad to make a workout plan for me if I wanted. I told him I’d think about it. I didn’t want some Spanish gym master to kill me with exercise. But then again, at least it’d give me an excuse to talk to him again. The next day I returned to the gym and paid my 40^� membership. Jorge was there, and I walked over to greet him. “What do you think of the workout plan idea?” I thought I heard him ask. “I guess I’d like you to make it for me,” I replied. “No, no. Jason (which he pronounced ‘Yayson’), I asked you what you think of the equipment.” I’d only been in Spain for about a month then, and he sure cut me no slack in how fast he talked. “Ay, sorry–” I began, but he interrupted me. “But if you still want that workout plan, I’ll help you make it at 9 tonight.” kızkalesi escort “Sounds great,” I said. I was determined to succeed at losing the weight I wanted to lose and tone up. It was already 7:30, so I figured if I did half an hour on the treadmill then lifted for 45 minutes and spent the rest of the time on the elliptical, I’d be set. I set out to exercise, and had a rather good time of it. I listened to a “Pump-Up Mix” my friend burned for me back when I was in the U.S. as I sweated on the treadmill. Then at 8:55 I heard an announcement on the intercom system, but it was way too fast for me to understand. Those announcements are hard enough in English, let alone Spanish. So I walked up to Jorge and asked him what was announced. “We close in 5 minutes,” he said, “At 9.” “Oh, so can we reschedule a time for you to help me with the workout routine?” I asked. “You can’t stay anymore?” he asked. “I thought the gym was closing. Didn’t you say–” “You can stay here with me after everyone leaves. Since I’m the manager,” he said, with typical Spanish pride, “I lock up at night. So afterward you can return home. Once we’re through.” I returned to the locker room to drop off my towel and discman. The room was unpleasantly steamy from all the last-minute showers before the gym closed at 9. From all the guys in there showering and dressing, it looked like I was the only one staying late. I very, very slowly returned my CD player into my locker, wanting to extend my time in the locker room as long as possible. There was a guy a few lockers down from me who looked to be about thirty. Aside from his slightly thinning hair, he looked to be in great shape. He had a towel wrapped around his waste, but I hardly cared. He had chiseled pecs and abs that were still glistening with water droplets from the shower. His arms were cut and muscular, bigger than those of almost all the other guys in the locker room. I realized I was staring and turned around to toss my towel into my locker. Once I thought it was safe, I glanced toward him again, and he was looking down toward his towel, which he was just removing. I felt my penis stiffen a bit. I knew I had to be careful, because all the guys at this gym were definitely straight. As he removed his towel, I was able to get a glimpse of his moderate-sized dick. He, like almost all other Spaniards, was uncircumcised. I could see ridge of his cock-head through the skin that covered it though. As he finished removing his towel, he looked up, directly into my eyes. He had five o’clock shadow. My favorite. AND HE SAW ME CHECK OUT HIS COCK! I quickly shoved the rest of my workout gear into my locker, locked it, and returned to the main workout room. The guy’s glance didn’t really convey anything to me, but I certainly didn’t want to cause any fights or get any labels, especially on my second day at the gym. But I couldn’t help thinking that it was odd, especially since in Spain guys who are strangers don’t really give one another the time of day, let alone look into each other’s eyes while one is naked. I got a drink of water from the fountain as I waited in the main locker room, trying to remain inconspicuous. I didn’t want anyone to give Jorge trouble about staying late with me. But then again, he was the manager, so I guess it didn’t really matter. I thought again about my “buddy” from the locker room, and just as my dick began to re-stiffen, Jorge walked in. “So, you’re ready for me?” he asked. “Everyone’s gone. Let’s get started.” I wasn’t overly enthused at the prospect of spending even more time at the gym, but the thought of spending time alone with Jorge was appealing, almost as much as was his ripped chest, dusted with hair. He had regular brown eyes, just like practically every other Spanish guy, but at least with Jorge when he looked at me I got the feeling I was the only thing on his mind. That must have been how he came to be manager of the gym. After all, any idiot can lift weights all day. “I saw you exercising and you seem to have the aerobic side understood. You run the right way, ride the bike well, and did all that fine. I’ll just write down how much time you should spend on each aerobic activity,” he said, “unless you have any questions.” “Nope, that’s fine,” I said, secretly disappointed tarsus escort that by eliminating the aerobic half the workout routine, my alone time with Jorge had just been halved. “Let’s focus on the weights,” he said. “Let’s see what you can do.” He guided me over to a pull-down machine. I sat down facing the weights and raised my arms to grasp the bar. I had just begun pulling down when Jorge told me I wasn’t sitting up straight. He was standing right in back of me and he stepped forward and put his hands over mine, tugging them a bit further apart. “Keep your hands this far apart,” he said. “And you need to sit up straighter,” he said. I could feel his hot breath on my ear as he spoke. I thought I was sitting straight enough. “Like this?” I asked him. He grabbed my shoulders on either side of my neck and pulled me back a bit, to sit even more erect as I pulled down the bar. He pulled me back a second time; I loved the chills on my skin and butterflies in my stomach that pulsed through me each time his hands touched me. As he pulled me farther back, I started to doubt that I was really sitting straight up. He kept pulling me–ever so slightly–back and back. Until I felt the back of my head rest against his chest. I felt something pushing against me in the small of my back. The mere hope that it could be his Spaniard dick sent a new set of chills through me. My nipples hardened from the excitement of it, even though I’m sure it had to be his wallet or something poking me. I knew Jorge couldn’t be gay. He didn’t have the pansy look that almost all the gay guys I know have. But I decided to test the waters anyway. “I think I feel my muscles tightening back here,” I said, as I reached my hand around to rub the small of my back. And while with one side of my hand I pretended to rub my lower back muscles (the weight wasn’t really enough to merit any tenseness), I felt the same wallet or penis or whatever against the other side of my hand. Only it couldn’t be a wallet. It was warm. I really started to think it was his dick. “How am I doing?” I asked. “Continue, keep going,” he said. I wondered whether he was referring to my hand’s ministrations or to the weight lifting. Then I got my answer. He overtly leaned forward into me, his erection crushing into my trembling-with-excitement hand. Still not convinced that Jorge could be gay, I didn’t want to wreck the moment by talking. I’d give a straight guy a hand-job any day. I got more daring with my hand, turning it to rub his package rather than my back. He responded again, shifting his weight from one leg to the other, rubbing his cock against my hand and my back. “That’s enough with these weights,” he said, stepping back. It was the moment of truth. I stood up, feeling the hot blood rushing to my cheeks, my stomach muscles tensed. I turned around and looked at him. He was staring right into my eyes. They had a twinge of nervous excitement in them. I glanced down and his cock was at full attention, pitching a giant tent in his black ‘swooshy-pants.’ “Do you want to lift more weights? Or another, ehh, machine, or^�” he said, losing some of his earlier cool. He’d done his fair share to show me he was interested. The ball was now in my court. I walked up to him and put my right arm around his right side, and pulled him in and put my left arm under his and around his back so it rested on his neck. I kissed him between his neck and his jaw, then once on the cheek. A hot breath escaped his lips. I could feel him tremble a bit, then he started to regain his cool. He leaned forward and kissed me on the lips. Electric. I then placed my index finger on his lips, giving him the “shhh” motion, and grabbed the bottom of his shirt. I began to lift it up and he raised his arms, letting me pull it off. It held the warmth of his hot body. His cock was even harder now, really straining against his soft black pants. I pulled his pants a bit up and then down over his huge erection. He stepped out of the pants. He was wearing green and blue cotton boxers that were tented up as well. I lifted them up so that his big cock could pop through the fly hole. He had a gorgeous dick. It was thick and long, at least seven inches, if not 7.5 or 8. The best part, though, was the big, meaty mushroom head anamur escort he had. I grabbed the base of his cock immediately, and raised my hand along its length until the turgid crown was between my thumb and index finger. I jacked it a few times gently, and it quaked once, responding to every touch. It got even harder, and I could se the beginnings of precum accumulating at its tip. I really wanted this to count, so I put his huge cock back into his boxers and pulled them down to, but not before kneeling down, turning my head sideways, and giving it the a soft bite between my lips, no teeth of course. Then, once he had his boxers down, I stepped back for a moment and checked out his naked glory. “Are you sure about this?” he asked. I didn’t answer out loud. I got back on my knees, my face just inches from his great dick. His perfect chest hair diminished as it turned into a happy trail down his stomach, then spread out again below his perfect cock pointers–you know what I’m taking about–just above his thick cock. And his balls weren’t hairy but they were huge. I took them into my hand for a moment, felt their heavy weight as I raised them up a bit toward his cock, that now had even more precum on it, then let them go. Had I known better, I would have gone more slowly. But I was too excited for that. I placed my hand back on his cock, and began to jack him more vigorously. At first I was jacking him up, toward the ceiling, but I slowly started to jack him more toward my face. Just when his cock-head was directly facing my mouth, I put my lips halfway around it. I felt its head, slid my tongue against its underside twice, and felt it surge again with his horny blood. I jacked him off more this way, with his cock-head halfway into my mouth. His breathing quickened. I could tell he was trying to stay quiet, but his quickening pulse and breath was giving him away. I removed his cock from my lips and started to jack him off more seriously, trying to span the length of his great cock with each stroke. I then focused more on the tip of his cock–using both hands–and then returned to jacking him off full force. Two more surges of pleasure pulsed through it. I could feel the blood pulsing through his shaft. Just as I was about to guide his cock back into my mouth, he took the initiative. He leaned forward and put his cock much deeper into my mouth. I almost choked on his Spanish monster. I used one hand to jack the base of his shaft and fondle his balls a bit. My other hand was wrapped around his legs, shifting between feeling his balls and back and legs and the top of his slightly fuzzy butt. I started to go to town going down on him, sucking him for all it was worth. He started gasping quick breaths of air and I could tell he was getting close. I jacked faster and he started pumping harder. His cock gave a few more pulses and I noticed a slightly different taste in my mouth. I think it was the precum. “Dios m�o,” he said, gasping quickly. I started wondering if he was just using me or if he actually could have liked me, so I glanced up to his eyes–not, I hope, in the stupid porn star slut way–and he smiled at me and I could tell from his eyes that I wasn’t just a blowjob to him. He had the look, at least, of having genuine interest in me. So I let go of his cock with my hand, and, I don’t know how, let his huge, thick, pulsing cock go even further down my throat, quickly bobbing my head up and down. He arched back and forward, pumping his dick into my mouth. I thought my tongue was going to have an orgasm, and I was hard as a rock myself. “Me corro, me corro!” he gasped, shuddering. I could feel his cock splash and spurt tons of hot, Spanish cum into my mouth. I swallowed some, but before he was done squirting I pulled his slimy cock out, beating it furiously, aiming his squirts on my cheeks and face. He shuddered again as his last few gobs of thick, white cum shot–not trickled–from his cock onto my face. I kept jacking him, much slower, as his erection diminished. I was so excited I thought I was going to pass out. I was lightheaded, and hardly noticed as he lifted me up toward, him and planted a firm, manly kiss in my mouth, his tongue, I’m sure, tasting the remnants of his cum in my mouth. -.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.- I guess this experience goes to show that my ‘gaydar’ isn’t really that good. Maybe if I came out of the closet I’d learn to detect a little better. If you want to hear more about “Jorge” and me or to talk to me or have any comments, shoot me an E-mail: ail. This is my only story so far, but if you like it, I’ll write more. Let me know.

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