Sex stories

Call me Santiago, everyone does.
What I want to tell you about happened a week or so ago at Leo’s Iron Man Gym, where I work out daily.
It was an evening like any other at the gym. I’d just finished my workout. It was a Wednesday, which meant I had done a grueling two-hour workout with free weights and an hour on a stationary bike, to really burn calories and sweat my ass off, no weight machines on Wednesdays, no Sir, no way, no how, on Wednesday’s I totally punish myself at the gym with free weights, really push myself past my limits…
…because that’s what hairy as all fuck muscle heads like me do.

“Hey you guys, dudes!!!” Officer Randy Hodo was calling out loudly, cackling to his two housemates, after slamming the door open with one big, booted foot. “You won’t believe who I’ve got here from today’s police PT games!!”
Over the muscular and with muscles to spare Officer Hodo’s shoulder, minus his tall black well-shined uniform boots and with his wrists cuffed and dangling in front of him, over Officer Hodo’s ripped back, Rookie Police Officer, Abernathy squabbled miserably, “Fucking guy you are, Officer Hodo, put me down, put me the fuck down, now!! My head is spinning from this sack of laundry position you’ve got me in on your burly shoulder!!”

As I was walking down the short foyer in the apartment, where my room and my roommate’s room were, I saw that Miles’ door was open and the light was on in his room as well.
Being a high-end executive for the finance firm he works for I figured he was up late and doing some overseas business dealings on his laptop, seeing as a lot of his clients live in different time zones.
But when I’d reached the doorway to his room and looked in, I could not believe what I saw.
Miles was fast restp on his bed, spread out like a Thanksgiving turkey, wearing only a pair of white briefs, with all his musculature on display.
Besides being a high-end executive with a finance firm, Miles is also an avid gym rat, a health nut. The man works out nearly every day of the week at the gym.
For whatever the reason, I stood frozen at Miles’ open door, taking in the sight of him…

Like any other apartment after a few years mine needed a fresh paintjob.
Rather than do it myself I decided to hire my train buddy, Pete, or, to be more precise, “Pete the Painter”, as he calls himself.
We had met on the train a while back when we were both on our way to work, me in a navy blue suit and tie and Pete, who had just moved into the neighborhood a few blocks from me in his jeans, work boots, and a tee shirt that on the front read, “Pete the Painter”, along with his contact information printed under his name.

Seated at the front-most bar at the infamously famous sleazy bar/club, “The Local”, Rubber boy Harrison gulped down the last of his third soda, turned to his Rubber Master, Gervais, and said, “I have to hit the head, Sir. Those sodas are going through me like mad at this point.