Date: Fri, 5 Nov 1999 15:35:11 EST
From: Frodo46888@aol.com
Subject: Greg

Greg
by Frodo46888@aol.com

I was twenty-two years old, and still so deep in my closet that I knew I'd
never come out.  I'd gotten some thrills from Internet porn, but seeing a
live, naked male form had always eluded me.  I was intrigued by some of the
locker room stories I had read on the Web, since I had managed to avoid most
of my high school phys. ed. program and had never showered with others.
Alone at my computer every night, I began to think about the gym that was
just a block away from my tiny apartment.  In a fit of unaccustomed daring, I
went in and paid my three months' membership fee, and then purchased shorts
and new, white t-shirts to wear there.

The following Monday night I packed my little bag and, with great anxiety,
walked into the brick-and-glass facility.  It was dinnertime for most people
and the locker room was almost empty.  I heard voices in the shower room,
which was hidden from me beyond the banks of lockers.  Nervously, I slowly
unbuttoned my shirt.  Just as I sat to untie my shoes a figure appeared at
the far end of the row of lockers, wrapped in a towel.  He was perhaps twenty
feet away, and since there was no one else to notice, I retrieved my glasses
to get a better look.

He was an awesome sight.  The man must have been six foot six, with a
massive, furry chest, powerful shoulders and arms, and shoulder-length black
hair.  He turned away as he dropped his towel, but I gaped at his muscled
back and nicely rounded butt.  I must have been staring for a minute or more
when suddenly there was a booming voice immediately behind me.

"You fuckin' faggot!  We don't want your kind around here!" the paunchy,
balding, towel-clad man roared at me.  Right behind him was another man with
a fat, hairless body, who added, "Get out of here, you fuckin' queer!"

In a blind panic, I grabbed my things and fled.  I didn't think to put on my
shirt until I was safely outside the building, and then I ran up a path into
a quiet park and found a bench near a lighted fountain.  I sat and sobbed
uncontrollably.

Such had been the pattern of my existence.  Every time I thought I could
snatch a tiny bit of joy from life, I screwed it up.  I began to realize that
I was destined to be alone forever, unloved, and without the pleasures that
everyone else enjoyed.  Tears of self-pity dripped onto my shirt.

A hand clapped onto my shoulder and I spun around in terror.  It took a
moment before I realized that the huge, threatening figure was the
long-haired Adonis from the locker room!  I was frozen in fear until he spoke.

"Don't give those guys any heed," he said softly.  "I'm kind of flattered
that you wanted to look.  Anyone sitting here?"

He gestured toward the empty side of the bench.  He sat beside me, and I felt
a thrill as I sensed his warmth and his bulk.  More than a minute passed
before he spoke.

"There's a restaurant just down the street.  Let's go get some coffee," he
continued.  When he got up I followed suit, and silently we walked to the
brightly-lighted avenue and into a place with plastic-upholstered booths and
formica tables.  We ordered our coffee, and my Adonis extended his big hand.

"Greg Walker," he said.  I stammered my own name as his hand enveloped my own
slender one.  He explained that he was a graduate student at the local
college, and that he used the gym in preference to his own equipment simply
for the companionship.  Hesitantly, I told him that I worked in an office
nearby and that this was the first time I had gone to the gym.

"What those guys did to you was inexcusable," he said.  "I don't mind if
you're gay, and looking doesn't hurt anyone."

"Why should you care about me?" I responded.

Greg thought for a moment.  Then he went on.  "When I was an undergraduate,
there was this kid in the dorm whose name was Pete.  Our floor was full of
jocks and they all called him Petunia because we all decided he was gay.  The
poor guy took a lot of verbal abuse.  I didn't participate, but I also didn't
do anything about it.  He didn't affect my life, so I ignored him.  And one
night he jumped from the tenth floor."

In the silence that followed, I suddenly identified with Pete, and tears came
to my eyes.

Greg put his large paw on my trembling hand.  "I'm not going to sit back and
let this kind of thing happen again."

We sat and sipped our coffee as I admired Greg's incredible body.  His face
was far from handsome, but his gray eyes seemed to probe my soul.

"I'm renting a house just a few blocks from here.  Why don't you come on over
tomorrow night and do your workout with me?  I'd appreciate the company."

He wrote the address on a card and handed it to me.  I tucked it into my
wallet and promised to see him at 7:00 the following evening.  As I strolled
home in the autumn darkness, I felt strangely elated, as if perhaps someone
cared about me.

At the appointed time, I walked up the driveway of the little ranch filled
with apprehension.  I rapped at the front door, and when it opened, Greg
greeted me warmly along with a large mixed-breed dog.  "That's Rufus," he
said.  "He's why I spent the money for a house instead of a room or
apartment."

Dressed in t-shirt and snug shorts, he gave me a quick tour of the house.
Small kitchen, cozy living room, bedroom dominated by a king-sized bed and
another small room for his computer and desk.  Incongruously, the bathroom
was large with a Jacuzzi.  In the cellar was an area with a popular exercise
machine, weights and mats.

Shyly, I pulled off my jeans and shirt to reveal shorts and t-shirt beneath.
Greg spent time to show me the capabilities of the machine and demonstrated
each use.  I had to fight an erection as I watched his muscles work, and I
clumsily followed his instruction.  I thrilled each time he came in contact
with me.  After nearly two hours I was exhausted, and we sat in the dimly-lit
kitchen with coffee, discussing trivia.  Suddenly I decided that I loved this
man.

"I want you to come here at least three times a week.  Would Monday,
Wednesday and Friday work for you?" Greg asked.

"Sure!" I replied enthusiastically.  I had no other life.  Anytime would work
for me.  I would sacrifice anything to be with him.

"And let me say this up front," he continued.  "'I'm completely straight, but
I don't mind if you look, stare or ogle.  It's kinda nice to have a fan
club."  He smiled broadly and I felt the warmth.  "Just don't touch unless
you're invited," he concluded.

As I walked home, I was happier than I could ever remember.

October flew by.  I was at Greg's house every Monday, Wednesday and Friday
without fail.  I studied his every curve and bulge.  I speculated at the
mysteries of his mounded crotch.  I grew hard at his every touch.

On the first Friday of November, I told Greg that I would not be there on the
following Monday.  It was my birthday, and I felt obliged to drive home to
spend the day with my widowed mother and my spinster sister.  After our
workout, Greg seated me in the livingroom while he left for a moment.  When
he returned he was clad only in white briefs, and he stated, "Everyone should
get something from a friend on their birthday."

He sat beside me on the sofa and I marveled at his muscled, hairy chest and
the powerful forearm that rested on my thigh.  I was instantly erect, and I
labored to hide it.  "I thought I should be appropriately dressed - or
undressed - to give you your birthday hug," he said.  He put his great arm
around my shoulders and I thought I would explode.

"The 'don't touch' rule is suspended tonight," he told me.  "Touch all you
want."

With great apprehension, I gently stroked Greg's thick wrist and hairy
forearm, then slid my hand up the bulging bicep and across the mounded
shoulder.  My palm swept down the bristled pectorals and across his turgid
nipples.  Then I caressed his flat abdomen, but as I reached the waistband of
his briefs he grasped my hand and said, "You're already making me horny as
hell, so you'd better stay clear of the good stuff."  It seemed to me that
the bulge in his briefs had expanded.

I now had such an insistent erection that it couldn't be hidden, and on my
thin frame Greg could not help but notice.  "If you want to go jack off in
the bathroom, you're welcome to do so," he offered.

I realized that I was getting close to the brink, so rather than embarrass
myself by cumming right there, I took his suggestion and ejaculated into the
toilet within a minute.  When I came out of the bathroom, Greg was dressed in
jeans and a shirt.  As I headed for the back door, he embraced me with his
massive arms, crushing me against his chest, and murmured, "Happy birthday,
my friend."  I floated on air all the way home.

Early in December, Greg mentioned, "No Christmas presents, agreed?"  I
nodded, but a week later I saw the exact shirt that he had said he couldn't
find anywhere, so I bought it.  I wrapped it in the smallest box that would
contain it, and on the Friday before Christmas I pulled it out of my gym bag
when we had completed our workout.  Greg looked at me, put his huge hands on
my bony shoulders and said, "You're incurable.  You know that.  Wait here.  I
have something for you."

He disappeared into his bedroom and a moment later appeared wrapped only in a
small towel.  He did a little dance, and I was impressed with his grace.
Then he dropped the towel and threw out his arms, fully naked.

The "treasure trail" that I had so admired led to a dark, dense bush at his
crotch.  A large, thick, uncircumcised cock hung down, backed by enormous,
hairy balls.  I was entranced.  I had never actually seen a man's genitals
before, and I was speechless.

Greg pranced around me, then grasped me in those muscled arms and said,
"Merry Christmas, my very special friend."  At that moment, I felt truly
loved for the first time in my life.

The rest of the winter fled, and I never missed my thrice-weekly visit to
Greg's house.  I was happier and more efficient at work, and my lifelong
depression had been banished.  Someone cared about me, and the world was a
wonderful place.

Early in April, Greg sat with me at his kitchen table and reminded me, "You
know, I'm going back to Oregon the first week in June."

My heart sank, and I believed that I could not survive such a loss.  I loved
Greg.  He knew that.

"Friday night I'm taking you somewhere.  Wear those Levis that are too tight
and that red shirt with the buttons undone."

I was mystified at his request, but Greg appeared at my door in equally-sexy
attire, and he gave further advice for me to show off my newly-muscled torso.
 Then we climbed into his Explorer and drove for nearly an hour to the
parking lot of a neon-decorated club.

The lighting inside was dim, but it was apparent that the clientele was all
male.  It was a gay club, rather sedate and dignified, and a novel experience
for me.  Greg was an instant hit, and men continually strolled past our
table.  He smiled at all comers, and when music resumed from the small combo,
he accepted an offer to dance, instructing me to investigate the several men
alone at tables.

None of those I talked with interested me, and ultimately we left with a
feeling of mild frustration.  But the following Friday was different.  While
Greg charmed everyone and was pawed by many, I met Jeff.  He was a slender,
blonde man about my age, and when I sat beside him I felt a connection.  As
we conversed I realized that we had things in common, and when Greg sat with
us he insisted that I give Jeff my phone number.

From then until the beginning of June, Jeff and I got together several times.
I liked him a lot, and though we were never physically intimate, I felt that
we would maintain a relationship.

On the first Friday in June, Greg met me at his kitchen door and said, "You
know that this is our last night together."  I was all too well aware of
this, but I had tried to dismiss the thought.

"No workout tonight," he announced.  "We need to just talk."

And talk we did.  I rambled on about my feelings for him and for Jeff.  I
told him about my fears about sex and my total lack of experience.  Greg held
me in his great arms and assured me that I would do just fine if I followed
my instincts.  And then I told him that I needed to "do it" with him, just
once.

Greg thought for a long time, then he said. "Let's go into the bedroom."

"You know I'm straight", he reminded me as he pulled off his jeans and shirt.
"Don't expect a whole lot of response.  Guys just don't turn me on."

Greg stretched out on his bed, his great chest enticing me, his white briefs
bulging.  "Nothing up the ass or in the mouth, but play all you want," he
advised.

I lay beside him, examining every inch of his gorgeous body.  Every bone,
every muscle, every square inch of skin received my close inspection.  I
touched, I caressed, I held.  I inhaled the clean maleness of his armpit and
examined the details of his powerful hand.  When I brushed over his mounded
crotch, it swelled in response, and my own member, already hard, began to
ache for release.  As I slid under the waistband of his briefs, my excitement
increased and the tension in my groin became almost unbearable.  Without
further warning, I began to spurt into my own underwear.

Momentarily spent, I flopped back on the bed, Greg clasping my hand in
understanding.  But soon I was again caressing his bulging briefs, feeling
the response as his organ swelled.  When I dared to pull them down, his
hardening cock sprang straight up.  My own began to harden as well.

I examined Greg's penis with great interest.  It was thick and smooth and
uniform all the way to the swollen head that pushed out from the foreskin.
As I manipulated it this way and that, it became so rigid that it might have
had a core of solid bone.  I massaged it, squeezed it, pulled and pushed it,
and generally just played with it as Greg lay there with his eyes closed.
The head expanded and purpled, and sticky liquid seeped out steadily until my
hand and the shaft were slippery.

Then Greg opened his eyes and told me to grab a Kleenex from the box on the
bedside table.  He groaned as his cock twitched in my hand, then he gasped as
gob after gob of white shot out, soaking the tissue.  At last he sighed, and
a bit more fluid seeped out.  Finally Greg relaxed, and moments later I felt
his cock slowly soften in my hand.

My excitement continued to tent out my own sticky briefs, and Greg announced,
"I guess I owe you the same favor."  He reached over and freed my throbbing
penis from its cotton prison.  His large hand completely enveloped it, and in
less than a minute I was spurting again.

We lay there together, our shoulders touching.  I could not remember ever
feeling so satisfied.  Then Greg sat up and said, "I think we're ready for a
shower."

I followed him to the large bathroom.  The shower stall would easily
accommodate two people, and Greg turned on the water and adjusted the
temperature.  Then we both stepped in.  We soaped ourselves and rinsed, then
began to soap each other.  For the third time in less than an hour, I was
becoming hard again!

We held each other in a slippery embrace for a long time.  After we at last
got out and toweled each other, we then returned to the rumpled bed.  Greg
opened a drawer and handed me a packaged condom.  "Better put this on if
we're going to cuddle," he said.  And after a moment's thought, he took
another for himself.

We lay together, at first just holding hands, then I rolled toward him and we
grasped each other firmly.  My cock was pressed between us while his slowly
expanded into my groin.  Our hips began a slow motion, gradually increasing
to powerful thrusts.  I achieved my release first, Greg still thrusting until
he groaned and relaxed.  We continued to hold each other for a long time.

It was sometime in the middle of the night when we each got up and shed the
condom, cleaned ourselves, and returned to the bed.  I awoke with sunlight
streaming through the spaces between the blinds.  Greg was not there, and I
smelled bacon.

It was probably an ordinary breakfast, but it was the best I had ever had in
my life.  We talked little as we ate, but we gazed at each other often.  When
the dishes were done, Greg told me he was mostly packed and would be leaving
in mid-afternoon.  Tears welled up and streamed down my hot cheeks.  I threw
my arms around him and sobbed.

"This is no final goodbye," Greg said.  "We'll see each other again.  As soon
as you get home, call Jeff."

I promised that I would.  Then I gave Greg one last hug, and he murmured in
my ear, "Never doubt that I love you."

I never did.