Date: Sun, 8 May 2016 16:20:10 +0000 (UTC)
From: a4f101@yahoo.com
Subject: Getting Him Back In Shape

Here's a story taken from my Tumblr, at a4f101.tumblr.com/storytime. You
can find this one, and the pic that inspired it, here:
http://a4f101.tumblr.com/post/116240037714/

This story is purely a work of adult erotic fantasy, copyright me 2016. I
own it and all legal rights to it. If you're under the age of majority in
your jursdiction, please come back when you're of legal age.

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*****

He wanted to get back in shape, combat some of the middle-age spread that
had begun to set in, but honestly I think he just wanted to get out of the
house. He didn't say as much, but I knew they were having problems, years
of marital familiarity starting to breed contempt, especially with their
kids grown and out of the home. Whatever, the getting-back-in-shape part of
the deal was sure working. He'd dropped about ten or fifteen pounds, lost
that sort of loose jiggliness that you start to get when you're getting fat
- not just putting on a few extra pounds, but actually getting fat.

I'd double-majored, Business and Exercise Science, and a year later I was
trying to get a personal training business going while I worked at the
local gym. He was my first real client, and I poured all my best efforts
into working with him, helping him rebuild the strength and power he'd had
back in the day. I was as pleased with the results as he was. And I sure
didn't mind hanging out with him after a good session, maybe a beer or two
if he'd been good. It was good to reconnect with him, have him treat me
like a man, not just his son. To develop a nice manly, adult friendship
with my Dad. It was a good excuse for him to come hang at my little
apartment after a session, drink a beer, shoot the shit, gradually open up
to me a little more about what was going on with him and Mom. A good excuse
for him not to go home to her before he absolutely had to.

"Man, I tell ya, I feel damn good, Sport," he grinned as I popped the cap
off a couple cold ones, handed one to him. "I'm not aching as much anymore,
my breathing's easier, I'm sleeping like a baby again."

"That's how you know it's working, Dad," I grinned as we clinked our
bottles together. "And you're looking good too, you can really see the
difference. I guess you're like me, one of those guys who gets his muscle
back real quick."

"Kid, you never lost yours," he snorted. "You've always been a big, strong
dude. Always looked good."

"Yeah?" I smiled. He nodded. I saw his hand lazily rubbing his belly - I
doubted he'd get a set of washboard abs ever again, but his stomach looked
tighter, firmer, like the rest of him. Solid. He did look good, and I found
myself watching him more and more not just with a trainer's assessing gaze,
or a son's pride, but that of a man who sees a good-looking, attractive
man. Who likes what he sees.

That was my big, dirty secret, one I worked hard to push down and away, the
closer we got. But it was there. Growing, even. Last month, I'd been
sprawled out in my bed, alone, working on a nice slow bone-stroke, when the
image of him working on his squats popped into my head, and wouldn't go
away. The memory of his big, strong glutes straining at his shorts. The
flex and bulge of his big, thick thighs, his calves, the sweat on his
rugged, determined face. Whatever I'd been idly fantasizing about got
pushed aside, replaced with that image, and I busted the biggest, thickest,
hottest load I'd shot in recent memory, all up my sweaty stomach and
pecs. Eventually wiped it off, panting, frowning, wondering where the fuck
that had come from.

That's how I knew our work together was paying off, because I'd never
thought about him like that growing up. I mean, once or twice when I was
15, maybe, looking at some of his old pics from his college playing days,
but not apart from that. Not until he'd gotten back in shape, his face
regaining its true shape, his waist shrinking, his muscles reemerging. And
now, well, I was thinking about him a lot. I could rationalize it away as a
harmless fantasy, the frustrations of a horny single dude living in a kind
of small-town closet, but it was there. It wasn't affecting our
relationship, at least, and as long as that stayed true, I could deal.

One beer turned into three, somehow, and we were both pretty loose, nicely
buzzed, talking about all manner of things. And then, he caught me out.

"Tell me, kid," he said with a loose grin but a deep look. "How come you
got all this free time to spend with your old man? You could have your pick
of the girls in this town, and I see the way the women at the gym look at
you. So what's up? You get religion or something?"

I blushed, looked down at my half-empty bottle, tried to fumble out an
evasion, an excuse, but instead found myself blurting out the truth.

"I'm gay, Dad," I muttered. "I'm sorry."

He looked at me seriously for a long moment, then slowly smiled. Reached
over, squeezed my shoulder warmly.

"What's there to be sorry about, buddy?" he said. "Nothing to apologize
for. You are what you are, right?"

I stared at him, amazed at how cool he was about it. Then smiled with
him. He clapped my shoulder, and wandered into my little kitchen to score
the last two beers left in the fridge. Popped the caps as I drained the
last of mine, handed me a fresh one, and toasted.

"Here's to you, son. May you get all the man-ass you deserve, and more."

I bust out laughing, the tension relieved, and we both sprawled out while I
opened up to him. The conversation flowed freely, and I felt lighter and
lighter as I unburdened myself. Got rid of my shame with him. The two of us
talking like men, about love, about relationships, about our hopes and
expectations.

"OK, well then, now I can ask your expert opinion," he said, all beer-loose
and grinning as he stood up. "Man to man, tell me - you think I still got
it, son?"

He stood there a few feet in front of me, flexed his arms, making the big
muscles bulge. I gaped at him. He continued to show off, I guess, looking
at me for my approval, my so-called expert opinion on his
attractiveness. All of a sudden, my mouth felt all dry, sour from the beer.

"I mean, I don't know what your type is, kiddo," he said, "but objectively
speaking, do I look good?"

I nodded slowly, covering my gaping mouth with a sip of beer as he turned
around, squeezing his ass tight, making the big muscles bulge through his
workout shorts.

"I don't think your mother even notices me any more, son," he said kind of
quietly. "Guess that's what half a lifetime of being married does."

"She's crazy, Dad," I said. "You look good. Damn good. Better than
ever. Any woman would be lucky to have you. Any man, too."

"Yeah, son?" he said as our eyes met. I nodded. Electricity in the
air. Weird and powerful and kind of wrong, but also kind of... right. Then
he hooked his thumbs inside the waist of his shorts, tugged on them,
shucked them down his thick, powerful, hairy thighs. I gulped. I wouldn't
have pegged him as a Calvins guy, but he wore them well. Filled them very
well. He pulled his shirt up, showing off the natural, furry thickness of
his stomach, the outline of his core strong. His cock and balls made a
defined outline in his CKs. My own cock was starting to make a defined
outline of its own in my shorts, too.

"Fuck yeah, Dad," I said huskily. We locked eyes again, that electricity
building, and then he slowly tugged his shirt the rest of the way
off. Stood there, thick and powerful, manly as hell, for my appraisal. His
cock was growing inside his underwear, and I don't know why I did it, but I
shifted my ass on the sofa, leaned back a little as I looked at him, and
let him see my own big bulge, growing inside my workout shorts. He looked
down at it, then back up to meet my eyes. Silent, with a slow nod, a smile
growing as I stood up and set my beer down.

He smelled richly of sweat, his tongue and lips tasted like beer as they
worked against mine, as he helped me out of my clothes in the bedroom, big
strong paws slipping over my younger, smoother, tighter muscles. Exploring
my body as I explored his, our cocks throbbing hard and hot inside our
underwear as we worked our way onto the rumpled sheets of my bed. his big,
warm weight against me as he loomed over me, held my face in his hands,
gave me an intense, lusty yet loving smile, and leaned in to kiss me some
more. I felt the weight and throb of his cock against the muscle of my
thigh, the hard cock that had shot the cum that created me 22 years ago. My
head was spinning as his tongue explored the wet depths of my mouth, warm
and agile and experienced. He was a hell of a kisser, and I tried to give
back as good as I was getting, as I clutched at the big, rolling muscles of
his ass, those powerful globes I'd found myself admiring intently for the
last month, in person and in my fantasies.

I moaned with pleasure and surprise as his big hand found the epic bulge in
my briefs, slowly massaging it, making me begin to leak in earnest.

"The fuck, Dad?" I panted. "This is crazy, shit..."

"Shhh," he said, grinning, as he leaned in to lick and nuzzle along the
sweaty flesh of my neck and shoulder. "I'm out of practice with all
this. With guys. Been awhile. You could help me get back in shape with
that, too."

I stared at him, then found myself laughing, then kissing him, taking the
lead as I flexed my own big muscles and flipped his big, sexy ass over onto
his back. Crawled over him with a determined look on my face, a trainer's
resolve in my head and heart, sliding my thick fingers through the damp fur
on his strong abdomen, down into the growing thickness of it spilling over
the waistband of his trunks, Dipping inside, feeling the humid warmth of
him inside the stretched cotton as I tugged at them. Feeling his hard cock
throb against my fingertips as I stripped him bare. The cock that had
brought me into existence. Fuck. The thought of it, the feel of it, made me
shiver inside.

"Mom may not want this any more," I said huskily, "but I fuckin' do. Others
will too. But I get first chance at the new you. So let's see what you got,
Dad, and we'll see what we can do to make you even better."

He grabbed hold of the back of my head and pulled me in close, his cock
throbbing hard and wet against mine through the damp stretch of my
briefs. Our eyes locked as we grinned, then he tasted my lips, slow and
sensuous, making me shiver against him. He was fucking good already, I
could tell. His big hands slipped down in back of my briefs to cup,
squeeze, stroke my glutes, and the way he moaned as I flexed them for him,
I knew he wouldn't need much training at all. But it sure was gonna be fun
to do the work with him anyway.