Date: Tue, 2 Jan 2018 22:49:08 -0500
From: Xavier Stewart Belle <excessbelle@gmail.com>
Subject: What If, Chapter 1

I wrote this one at the request of a tall southern guy who wonders, ten
years after a close encounter in college, what life would be like if he
could play outside his marriage. This story is fiction inspired by the
fantasies of a real man. This is Part 1 of 2.

As always, please donate to Nifty if you're able.


It started when he caught me staring while he did squats.

I'd gotten home from a work trip late that afternoon and the last thing I'd
wanted to do was lift, but my wife had insisted. She was going, and she
knew I'd regret it the next day if I didn't. So we drove down to the
college where she worked and made our way across campus to the gym.

We'd only been there for about twenty minutes when I spotted him. I was
resting between sets when his lean body caught my eye in the mirror
wall. He wore black compression pants with red trim that ran up the inside
of his legs and converged on his crotch, turning his bulge into a bright
red beacon. I watched him off and on between sets as he moved around the
room. When he ended up right in front of me facing the mirror wall, I
stopped between chest flyes to admire him. I couldn't see his face while he
was standing, but I did have a perfect view of his tight, round ass as he
started lowering into squats, so I stopped and watched his thighs strain
and his glutes tighten. I imagined what it would be like to be under him,
to watch those two globes of muscle descend on me and slide down over my
dick. Would he be tight? Would he lean both hands on my chest while he rode
me? How would those muscular thighs feel against my sides as he rolled back
and forth on my lap?

I watched him through each of his sets, counting his reps in my head, until
he sank down into his last squat and held it. I was still staring at his
ass, wondering what it felt like to have that fabric stretching and sliding
over bare skin--was he wearing underwear? Could he feel it sliding over his
asshole?--when I realized he wasn't moving. Without thinking, I looked over
his shoulder to check his expression in the mirror, ready to take the bar
from his shoulder if he looked like he was struggling. A little jolt shot
through my chest when our eyes met and I realized he'd been watching
me--watching me as I watched him. He held my gaze for a moment, winked,
then slowly, slowly, pushed back up out of his squat.

As soon as his rising shoulder broke our eye contact in the mirror I stood
and walked away. I didn't know whether my half-hard dick was visible
against the mesh of my basketball shorts, but I figured it was better to
show a little bulge to a mostly empty gym than to be sitting there when he
turned around.

A combination of guilt and embarrassment drove me to the other side of the
room where my wife was jogging alone in the middle of a long bank of
treadmills. When I stepped onto the machine next to hers she glanced at my
reflection in the big window in front of us. She frowned slightly, but
didn't take her earbuds out to ask why I'd abandoned my routine. Relieved,
I leaned into a light jog. I'd just take a few minutes, I figured, clear my
head, then get back to lifting.

I was usually better about keeping my eyes to myself. I didn't want to be
the creepy husband who used his wife's campus gym membership to ogle the
college students. But this guy was different. He didn't look like one of
the undergrad athletes. He looked a little older, in his late twenties or
early thirties, closer to my age, and somehow that had made him a safer
place to rest my eyes. He looked more like a peer, a buddy, someone I could
have a beer with. I could see us talking about all the girls we couldn't
have because we were married--or, after a few more drinks, all the boys.

As I ran, the early winter light faded from the sky and the window in front
of me grew more opaque and reflective. I used it to scan the room behind
me, trying to see where the object of my lust had gone. I hoped he was at
the end of his workout already in the locker room, but I spotted him almost
immediately. He was looking right at me, walking in my direction.

My heart thundered as he stepped onto the treadmill next to me. I stared
straight ahead, stonefaced, and listened to the machine's tiny beeps as he
selected a speed. He started slow, just walking, and in my peripheral
vision I saw him turn to look at me. Not just a glance, but a long,
considering look.

I checked my wife's reflection and was relieved to see her lost in her
music, staring straight ahead. But I knew that couldn't last. She'd notice
eventually that this stacked guy in tights was staring at me. Not knowing
what else to do, I steeled myself and looked over at him.

He met my eye, smiled slightly, and cocked an eyebrow. He was beautiful. He
had dark stubble covering his chiseled features and shocking blue eyes.
Exhilarated by the attention, the obvious interest, I gave him a tight
lipped smile and faced forward again--but not before lust and curiosity
dragged my eyes down his body to his ass, which was standing out below his
t-shirt like a shelf.

I heard him laugh quietly. Mortified, I looked to his reflection in the
window and watched his smile widen into a grin.

"Ok," he said quietly, his deep voice just loud enough to carry over the
sound of the machines. "You can play hard to get."

I watched him step backward off his treadmill, more disappointed than
relieved to see him go. But he didn't turn to leave. He stood at the end of
his treadmill, crossed his arms over his stomach, and peeled his shirt off.

An involuntary grunt of appreciation filled my throat as he stepped back
onto his machine. He had dense shoulders, a flat stomach ridged with
muscle, and a light dusting of hair all over his tanned chest. I tried not
to stare too long at his reflection in the window, but his smile let me
know I'd failed. Another of his winks made my dick twitch.

He increased the speed on his machine until he matched my pace exactly,
stride for stride. Sensing a challenge, I sped up. He followed. When I
slowed down, so did he. He chased me up and down for about ten minutes, and
a smile began to creep onto my face each time he caught up and the sound of
his foot strikes disappeared into mine. It was a strangely intimate kind of
public flirting, and it felt good to be pursued, even with my wife running
just a few feet away. Or maybe because she was.

I wished, not for the first time, that I could take a man home. I'd had
just one brief encounter with a guy during college and I hadn't had the
nerve to take full advantage of the opportunity. I'd gotten cold feet
halfway through a locker room blow job and never had another opportunity
like it. After I got married I thought my wife and I might one day work our
way toward finding a third, and for years I'd fantasized about the ways
three bodies could fit together, onto each other, into each other. I
imagined how my wife might make room for him in our bed, how we could share
the experiences I'd always dreamed about.

But she wouldn't. I knew that. She'd sometimes put a finger I'm my ass
during a blow job, but that was as adventurous as she got.

I looked over at the man running next to me, his skin tight leggings
revealing more of his body than they concealed. In that movement I knew, as
well as I'd ever known anything in my life, that if I could have either of
them right then and there, if I could choose to explore one of them with my
lips, my hands, my tongue, it wouldn't be my wife.

A strange sense of calm settled over me as I rolled that understanding
around in my head. It felt good, liberating, and I decided to act before my
conviction faded.

I looked over at the reflection of my wife in the window and pointed at the
left side of my face. When she noticed, she pulled the music from her right
ear.

"My trip really took it out of me," I said. "I'm wiped. I think I'll just
hit the sauna."

She just nodded, put her ear bud back in, and disappeared into her music
again.

I waited a few seconds before I turned slightly toward my half naked
admirer.

"Don't follow right away," I said.

He raised an eyebrow and looked at my wife's reflection. When I didn't say
anything else, he shrugged.

I made it to the locker room without running and without looking over my
shoulder to see if he was following. The locker room was empty, quiet, and
as I stood in front of my locker listening for footsteps, an anxious part
of me wondered if I was about to ruin my marriage.

The rest of me vibrated with excitement and my dick tented my shorts.

I sat down on the bench, stood up, sat down again. I wondered whether he
was coming and I wondered whether I'd have the courage to do all the things
I wanted to do.

My one and only experience with a guy had been in a locker room that looked
almost exactly the same. During college I'd supervised the lifeguards at
the pool and on a bathroom break I'd gone into the locker room because
those toilets were closer. I'd played sports all my life, seen plenty of
naked guys and never been interested before, but something about that
encounter had been different. I'd seen movement in the corner of my eye and
turned to look at the only guy who'd been in there changing. He'd looked
right back. He was completely naked and something about the way he was
standing there, all muscle and smooth naked skin, watching me like he knew
immediately what we were going to do, cranked something inside me to
life. I didn't stop then, and I didn't stop on my way back from the
bathrooms when I saw him sitting on the bench waiting for me, long, massive
dick in his hand. But I did stop in the hallway leading back to the pool. I
could feel him back there, the heat of his hard body and his long dick,
inviting me to explore something I'd never known I'd wanted. So I went back
and I sat down next to him. While he kept stroking he asked if I liked what
I saw. I told him I did. He put his hands on my steel hard erection and
told me I could do whatever I wanted.

I would have laughed if someone had asked me that morning if I thought I'd
suck a dick that day, but as soon as I heard the invitation, I leaned down
and pulled that head into my mouth.

I didn't know what I was doing and he was huge, but I did my best and I
loved it. I loved the sounds he made and the way he put his hand on the
back of my head. I wanted to know what it was like to have a guy finish in
my mouth, but I was too nervous, too exposed, to help him get there. A
co-worker or anyone else could have come in at anytime. I stood up, wiped
my mouth, and told him to meet me at the front entrance when my shift was
over. He had, but when I saw him the adrenaline of it first encounter had
worn off and I was too nervous. I walked right past him, got in my car, and
spent the next ten years wondering what I'd missed out on.

This time would be different.

I jumped when I heard footsteps approaching and I sat up a little
straighter when he appeared at the end of the bench. He was carrying his
shirt and I could see the slight sheen of sweat glistening on his stomach
beneath his dark hair.

"Hey," he said.

"Hi."

I didn't know what else to say, so I let my eyes drift down the to the
bright red bulge of his compression pants.

He smiled and leaned casually on one hip. "You like what you see?"

I nodded and my stomach did a little flop as I remembered how that half
finished blow job had started ten years earlier.

He was still smiling when he spoke again.

"Does your friend know you're cruising when you work out together?"

"Wife," I said.

I hadn't meant to say it, didn't need to say it, but after years of
marriage it came out automatically. I suppressed a cringe and waited for
his reaction.

He cocked an eyebrow. "Really."

"She doesn't know," I said. "About anything. About me." I hadn't meant to
say that either, but there it was, hanging between us. I swallowed a
sigh. Things weren't going the way I'd hoped and it'd only been about
thirty seconds.

"Hm," he said.

He took a step closer. I'd been looking him in the eye, but as that bulge
approached, as that flat, hairy stomach got closer, I couldn't look at
anything else.

"And how often do you do this?"

This? What was this, I wondered. What was he going to let me do? What was
he about to do to me?

I shook my head.

"Never," I said. Then I licked my lips. "Just once. In college."

When the bulge stopped about two feet from my face, I looked up. I couldn't
quite read the expression on his face.

"Seriously?"

I shrugged, looked at the half hard dick showing through his lycra, then
back up into his eyes. He smiled a broad, beautiful, toothy smile.

"Well shit," he said, almost to himself.

Before I could say anything else he positioned himself between my face and
the locker in front out me. Leaning his back against the metal, he rolled
his hips forward until the bright red fabric that covered his lengthening
dick was less than a foot from my face.

"Take it out," he said.

Slowly, as the silence of the locker room pressed in on us, I reached up
and put a hand on each of his hips. I let his body heat soak through the
slick fabric into my palms before I dug my fingertips into his
waistband. As my heart hammered, I pulled, slowly peeling his compression
pants down to reveal a short thatch of hair and the root of his dick. I
paused, surprised by the thickness of it, and when he spoke I could hear
the smile in his voice.

"Keeping going."

With a tug, I pulled his pants down over his ass and his dick sprang
free. It was long and thick, with a slight upward curve and a round, fat
head. I could feel the heat of his crotch radiating against my face as I
stared at it.

"Touch it," he said. His voice was soft but firm, encouraging.

Licking my lips again, I wrapped a hand around his shaft. Wondering at the
hardness of it, I squeezed gently and slid my hand up toward the head.

"That's it," he said. "Stroke it."

I worked his shaft slowly, methodically, until a I heard him sigh.

"That's good," he said.

A shiny bead of pre-come appeared at the end of his dick. I kept stroking,
watching that little drop grow bigger, until he drifted a few fingers
through my hair.

"Taste it," he said.

I'd wanted to take his shaft into my mouth as soon as I'd seen it, so I
leaned forward and licked his head. The skin was warm and smooth and his
pre-come had a slightly salty tang. I swallowed it before wrapping my lips
around his head and sucking gently.

I heard him sigh above me again.

"That's it," he said. "Suck it. Take as much as you can."

He put a hand on the back of my head, but I was already sliding sliding
forward to the edge of the bench so I could work my lips farther down his
shaft. Keeping one hand wrapped around the base, I reached up with my other
hand and cupped his balls. I squeezed gently as I sucked, trying to keep my
lips tight and my teeth clear. When I found a comfortable rhythm he
responded by rolling his hips forward to meet my mouth.

I could have spent all night there between his legs sucking those little
tastes of salty sweetness from the end of his dick. I loved the smell of
him. The masculine aroma of heat and sweat rising from his dark curls was
intoxicating, and each time he made a little noise deep in his throat my
dick twitched.

As his thrusts became more urgent I began to think that maybe we'd finish
right there against the lockers. The last time I'd had a dick in my mouth I
hadn't had the courage see things through, but as his moans grew louder I
stopped worrying that someone would walk in and started wondering what it
would be like to have him unload in my mouth. Would I be able to swallow it
all? I wanted to. I wanted to know what it was like to feel him exploding
onto my tongue, jet after jet. I wanted to know what it felt like, what it
tasted like, to have a mouth full of come.

I'd only barely had the thought when a burst of laughter and conversation
shattered the silence around us. I froze as I listened to a swinging door
squeak and a group of voices make their way toward us. They might have
caught us like that, him with his pants down around his thighs and me with
a mouth full of dick, but he shoved gently at my forehead, yanked his pants
up over his ass, and sat quickly on the bench next to me. He barely had
time to settle his shirt over his exposed hard on before a group of three
guys rounded the corner and saw us. All three stopped and smiled broadly.

"Coach Hartness!"

The man who'd just had his dick in my mouth smiled back and lifted a hand.

"Hey boys," he said.

I resisted the urge to wipe my mouth while they made small talk. My face
felt shiny with a combination of spit and pre-come, but I was terrified
they'd see see the gesture, my flushed face, my anxious posture, and guess
what we'd just been doing. I sat quietly until the half naked man next to
me waved again at the three sweaty, athletic looking figures.

"I'll see you guys later," he said as he leaned into me with his
shoulder. "I've got some catching up to do with a friend."

When they'd moved on, he rubbed at his face with both hands.

"That was close, yeah?"

I nodded, not sure what to say. I was relieved but as the anxiety drained
from my chest I realized we probably weren't going to get to finish. My
stomach dropped and I suppressed a sigh.

"I'm Dylan, by the way."

He leaned close until our shoulders touched again and held out his hand. I
shook it, introduced myself, and waited. I didn't want to be the one to
break the spell by getting up and walking away if there might be some way
we could salvage the situation.

"Listen," Dylan said, his voice hushed. "I'm supervising a training session
with some of the guys from my team in about fifteen minutes, but I'm not
gonna be able to go anywhere unless I take care of this thing." Dylan
lifted his shirt to reveal his dick, still throbbing and pointing straight
out at the lockers. "Think you can finish what you started?"

I licked my lips and nodded, but couldn't help cocking my head in the
direction of the laughter echoing from the showers.

"I'm close," Dylan said. "It'll be quick. Just let me use your mouth and
we'll be done before anyone else comes by."

I nodded again, shocked into silence by the phrase, "use your mouth," but
eager to see what he meant.

After another quick look around he was on his feet standing close between
my knees. He put a hand on the back of my head and his dick, hot and
slightly sticky, pressed against my cheek just next to my mouth. I leaned
back and reached up to grip his shaft in my fist, but he knocked my hand
away.

"Let me do it," he said, his voice hushed. "Just relax and keep your lips
around my dick."

I gripped the edge of the bench under me with both hands to keep myself
steady while he held my head still and began to piston his thick dick in
and out of my mouth. He started slowly, but when I didn't complain he sped
up. Soon his balls were painting my chin with the saliva he was dragging in
and out of my mouth. I tried to listen for the sound of other people
approaching, but Dylan and his hard, powerful body demanded all my
attention. I abandoned myself to the experience, to this man who wanted to
use me until he came.

When he climaxed, the only warning I had was a strangled grunt before he
leaned over and pressed his stomach against my forehead. He fucked himself
up into my mouth twice more, then twitched his hips helplessly as he
exploded.

The first spurt hit the roof my mouth and I jumped. The second pulsed
against my tongue as I swallowed reflexively. For the third and fourth I
relaxed my mouth and held my breath and by the time he finished my mouth
was full. I leaned forward as he pulled out a few moments later, sucking as
he retreated so his load wouldn't spill out onto my lap. I held it for a
moment, surprised by the warmth and the sheer volume of it, before I
carefully swallowed it all at once. I tried to keep my face expressionless
as I savored the salty, slightly bitter aftertaste.

Still panting, Dylan took and step back pulled his elastic pants up over
his deflating dick. He did a quick semi-squat to adjust himself and sat
down next to me.

"Jesus," he said. He heaved a satisfied sigh. "There's no way you've never
don't this before." He bumped my shoulder with his and I savored the
intimacy of it. "How often you use that line on guys?"

"Never," I said. "That was the first time I've ever...I mean, that was the
first time I've ever helped a guy finish."

Dylan considered me, his eyes shifting back forth between mine. "Really?
You're not fucking with me?"

"No," I said. "I've always wanted to. I just got married before I could
make it happen."

"No shit. That's really your wife out there?"

"Yeah," I said. "She doesn't know. I've thought about bringing a guy home
with us, but she wouldn't go for it. There's all this stuff I wanna try,
you know? Sometimes she'll use her finger," I crooked my finger between us
and wiggled it, "but I don't think she'll ever go for anything else."

I closed my mouth. I was talking too much and I didn't know why.

"All sorts of stuff you wanna try, huh?" Dylan's tone was thoughtful.

I shrugged and reached down to shift my dick up toward the waistband of my
shorts. I wanted to take it out and stroke it, ask him to suck it, but it
seemed like maybe the moment had passed.

Dylan stood up. "Listen, I gotta go, but..." He trailed off while he looked
down at me, chewing his lip. I watched his face settle as he came to a
decision. "Fuck it," he said. "Listen," he said again, "I live right off
campus. You wanna come by tonight? We can try some of that 'other stuff'
you've never done."

"Yeah," I said, my heart leaping. "Yeah, that sounds great. When? I can
come anytime."

"What about your wife?"

He may have been testing me, trying to see if I'd stumble over my story,
poking to see if the details were fabricated, but I didn't care.

"After dinner," I said. "Seven thirty. I'll tell her I'm going out for
drinks."

"All right," he said. "Sounds good." He pointed at my crotch and my obvious
bulge. "Save that for me." He gave me his address, told me where to park,
and left the way we'd come.

It took me about fifteen minutes of thinking unsexy thoughts before I could
take a shower without embarrassing myself. I'd planned to slip into a stall
and crank a load out into the drain, but I liked the idea of standing
around with the other guys in the open section while I ran my hands over my
body. Like those three stacked college guys, none of the men around me knew
what I'd just done and the right of it made me feel more naked, more
exposed, than I ever had. I hustled back to my locker when my dick started
rising again and went out to the lobby to wait for my wife.

It was all I could do to keep my hands off my dick for the next couple of
hours. I decided it would be easier to resist the temptation if I stayed
close to my wife, but then all I could think about was taking her from
behind in the kitchen while we made dinner so I could imagine what'd it'd
be like with a guy. Getting off a few hours before my date--was that what
it was?--would also improve my stamina, I figured, but Dylan had said he
wanted me to save my hard on for him. So I controlled myself, made my
excuses after dinner, and drove across town back to the edge of campus.

I sat in the car for about fifteen minutes, looking up at the second story
apartment where Dylan said he lived, working up the courage to climb out
and ring the bell. There was so much I wanted to do, wanted to try, but I
had no idea what I was getting myself into. Would he show me what to do, or
would he laugh when I stumbled?

I'd just put my hand back on the key in the ignition when a knock on my
window made me jump. Dylan stood in the darkness smiling in at me.

"Hope I didn't keep you waiting long," he said, raising his voice to be
heard through the glass. "Practice went a little long and I couldn't get
away."

I stared at him. As the silence stretched, Dylan's smile faded slightly and
he raised both eyebrows. "Ready?"

Taking a deep breath, I climbed out of my truck.

His apartment was clean and spartan, all hard wood and dark colored
furniture. I stood in front of the closed door while he dropped his gym bag
on the floor and turned to face me. He was still wearing his compression
pants with that bright red bullseye on his crotch. My dick began to swell
as I remembered the taste of him.

"So," he said, hands on his hips. "What do you want to do?"

I shrugged. "Everything."

"Everything might be kind of a lot." Dylan shifted his weight to one
hip. "I do have the rest of the night off, though. How long before you have
to get back?"

"Hours," I said. "Told her, my wife, I didn't know when I'd be back. I'm
out with friends."

"Right. Good. We can take our time." Dylan clapped his hands and looked me
up and down. "This'll be fun. I've never been with a virgin before."

"I'm not a virgin," I said, my voice a little louder than I intended."

"You know what I mean. Where should we start? You get off after the locker
room?"

"No. You said to wait for you."

"Guess I did. Didn't think you actually would." He unzipped his jacket,
tossed it over the back of the couch. "Take your coat off. Get
comfortable. You want a drink?"

"Sure."

I'd only made it to the end of the couch, my jacket still in my hand, when
he appeared again with two beers. I cracked it open and took a sip, trying
to think of something to say. My mind blank, I took another sip and
wondered again if I was making a huge mistake.

"You look tense," Dylan said. "You need to relax." He took a long swallow
from his beer before setting it on the end table next to me. "How about a
blow job and a shower?"

I blinked at him. That wasn't what I wanted. I'd been thinking about his
ass for hours. I wanted to see him bent over in front of me, wanted to see
him coming down on top of me. I wanted to fuck and, maybe, get fucked.

Dylan must have read the hesitation on my face. "Just to start," he
said. "I'll suck you off, you can wash my back, then we'll have a few beers
and do a little exploring." He crooked his finger at me, imitating the
fingering motion I'd made in the locker room. "How's that sound?"

My dick surged to life and a smile split my face. I tried to control it,
didn't want to look too eager, but it wouldn't go away.

"That sounds great." I raised my own finger. "You mean both of us? Like,
one after the other?"

Dylan laughed. "Sure. Why not. Let's get crazy."

Still grinning, I took another swallow from my beer as Dylan sank to his
knees and reached for my fly.

I've had plenty of blow jobs, but none quite like that. It was a profoundly
different experience to look down and see a chiseled, stubbled face bobbing
eagerly, expertly, up and down the length of my shaft. He swallowed me down
to the root and buried his nose in short hair between my legs, working his
tongue back and forth under my shaft until I moaned. He gripped my ass with
both hands so he could drive my dick back into his throat after he'd slid
up to tease the underside of my head with the stubble on his lower
lip. When I reached down to stroke myself while he took a breath, he took
my hand and put it on the back of his head. Everything about the experience
was masculine and slightly aggressive, but intimate. He knew what he liked,
knew what worked on other men, and he was doing everything he could to
bring me to a toe curling orgasm.

After just a couple minutes I could feel my climax building.

"Fuck," I said, "I'm close."

Instead of speeding up like my wife sometimes did, Dylan slowed slightly as
he slid his lips up and down my dick from crown to root. Instead of
cresting and breaking, I felt my climax continue to build, tightening
behind my balls. I gripped Dylan's shoulders with both hands and squeezed
those mounds of muscle as the souls of my feet went numb.

I came before I could warm him. A moaning grunt filled my throat as my dick
pulsed, shooting rapid fire spurts into his mouth. He groaned approvingly
and sucked me gently as I unloaded, gasping, panting, and bent almost
double over his head.

He waited until I finished before he swallowed and I let go of his
shoulders as his mouth worked. He stood and smiled, dragging the back of
his hand across his lips. "How was that?"

"Another first," I said, leaning back until my bare ass made contact with
the arm of the couch.

"And?"

I stared at him, aware that my mouth was still hanging open. "Worth the
wait," I said.

"Good. There's more where that came from." He pulled his shirt off before
bending over to roll and slide his pants down his thick legs. "Now take
your clothes off and come wash my back."

I left my clothes in a heap next to his and followed him up a half flight
of stairs to the bathroom.





Thanks for reading! I hope you're enjoying this peek into another man's
fantasy life. I'm always happy to hear from readers, so shoot me an email
if you enjoyed this installment: excessbelle@gmail.com

If you'd like to read more of my stories, visit my website for links:
https://xsbelle.wordpress.com/erotic-stories/