Tales From the Gym Read online

  Men with muscles and the men who admire them become entangled in erotic intrigue.

  Not everything is what it seems at a gym called Big Bodz in Los Angeles. The owner, retired professional Avery Jones, leads a double life—gym owner and operator by day, and owner and operator of a muscle porn website by night. Avery has little difficulty persuading up-and-coming young bodybuilder Guy to join his stable of studs who perform on the website—especially after Guy is caught in a compromising situation on videotape. But Guy is attracted to his new training partner, a blond Czech god named Petr. When Avery casts his net wider in his search for new talent, business and pleasure become intertwined.

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  Tales From the Gym

  Copyright © 2014 Roland Graeme

  ISBN: 978-1-77111-848-4

  Cover art by Latrisha Waters

  All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means, now known or hereafter invented, is forbidden without the written permission of the publisher.

  Published by eXtasy Books

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  www.eXtasybooks.com

  Tales From the Gym

  By

  Roland Graeme

  Chapter One

  Czeching Out the Competition

  Guy Tremblay, looking cool and comfortable in some threadbare old clothes and grasping the leather bag containing his gym gear in one brawny fist, pushed open the door of Big Bodz. That was the none-too-subtle name of the gym where he and a number of other pro and semi-pro bodybuilders worked out whenever fitness-minded tired businessmen types weren’t monopolizing the place. Admittedly, the yuppies served their purpose by helping the gym’s owner, Avery Jones, to pay the rent. Jones was a retired bodybuilder, still well remembered and popular among fans of the sport, and his gym struck a nice balance. It was bright, clean, and well-maintained enough to attract a fitness-minded crowd, in general. But it was also a more upscale version of the kind of unpretentious neighborhood grunt-and-sweat iron pit where serious weightlifters liked to work out. The facility had one big advantage. It was air conditioned throughout. Here in Los Angeles, that made a difference.

  Guy greeted, in a polite but distant manner, two or three guys he knew who were hanging around the spacious, well-lit combination vestibule and reception desk. These guys, Guy knew by gut instinct, were straight, and therefore of only passing interest to him. Then his attention was caught by a dark-haired, intense-looking young stud wearing a pair of exceptionally well-packed jeans topped by a black T-shirt with the Big Bodz logo on the chest. The shirt’s fabric strained to contain his powerful torso, and its short sleeves exposed his bulging biceps.

  Guy smiled to himself. This kid worked there at the gym, and Guy knew that he was gay, though discreet. Guy assumed Jeremy had a boyfriend, maybe even more than one, which was the only good reason why Guy hadn’t gotten around to making it with him yet. An amazing oversight on my part, Guy thought as he looked the employee over with new interest. He’d have to see about rectifying it, and soon. A hot sex session, no strings attached, with a willing number like Jeremy might be just what Guy needed.

  The young employee hadn’t noticed Guy’s arrival because he was busy with cut-out letters and tacks, putting up some sort of a display on the bulletin board that dominated one wall of the entrance area. Guy went up to him and put a hand on his shoulder.

  “Hi there, Jeremy. What’s happening?”

  The boy turned around and flashed the bodybuilder an eager grin. “Hi! Not much. The place is pretty dead at the moment. You’ll just about have it all to yourself.” Jeremy was no doubt aware that Guy, like most serious musclemen, preferred to work out without an audience or other distractions. “Tell me. Are you still on the lookout for a new training partner, big man?”

  Guy suppressed a grimace of disgust at the innocent inquiry. His ex-lover, with whom he’d gotten used to training hard at least four or five times a week, had, of course, tended to avoid this particular gym since their breakup. Guy wondered if Jeremy knew that he and Reinaldo had been lovers. Not that he gave a damn if the other guy did. But it was a pain in the ass to have to work out alone after being used to a stimulating and well-matched training buddy. Especially one with whom you also had sex four or five times a week, usually right after the workouts!

  Guy wasn’t in the mood for a trip down memory lane at the moment. He and Reinaldo, who were of French Canadian and Puerto Rican ancestry, respectively, had been considered one of the hotter gay couples in town, and their breakup had generated a predictable amount of gossip. It had also given some men the ambition of succeeding Reinaldo in Guy’s affections, although so far none of these aspirants had been successful. He’d tricked with a couple of them, neither of whom had the kind of staying power to be a serious contender.

  “Yeah, I am,” Guy finally answered, tersely. “Why? You got anybody in mind? Did anybody ask about the ad I put up?” As he glanced toward the bulletin board to see if his notice was still posted, Guy saw the big letters that Jeremy had been tacking in place when he’d interrupted him. “Welcome to California, Petr Adamec,” he read aloud. “Okay, I’ll bite. What’s a Petr Adamec?”

  Jeremy looked shocked. “Haven’t you heard? He’s the current Mr. Florida. Of course, he’s not from Florida, originally. He’s a European, a Czech. He’s just arrived out here on the West Coast and he’s planning to work out right here. It’ll give the place a little extra class.”

  “Hey! I thought I was all the class you needed around here, and then some,” Guy retorted. Unimpressed, he now had a vague recollection of having heard Petr Adamec’s name on the bodybuilding circuit, and of having seen it in print in physique magazines. The fact that the name didn’t conjure up any mental image of a particular body, however, suggested that the guy must be strictly small-time.

  “Everybody says he has terrific potential,” Jeremy went on, as though in contradiction to Guy’s unspoken thoughts. “He was in here the other day. I showed him around and then I watched him work out. He was throwing some serious weight around. He’s got muscles out to here, but he’s really cut up and proportioned.”

  Guy laughed. He couldn’t help teasing Jeremy a little.

  “It sounds as though you’ve got a hard-on for this guy,” he said.

  Jeremy only grinned. “Maybe. Anyway, why not? Wait’ll you get a look at him. You might find yourself springing a boner, too.”

  “He’s that hot, huh?”

  “Very sexy. Like you,” Jeremy was careful to add, which so far as Guy was concerned was the right thing for him to say. “And he really punishes himself with the weights, which also reminds me of you. He seems like a hell of a nice guy, too. And he told me the first thing he wants to do is look for a good training partner. I mentioned you right away. You two are about the same height and weight, and his routine didn’t look all that different from yours. I think you ought to give the man a try—maybe in more ways than one.”

  Guy
smiled, feeling skeptical but curious. “I just might, as long as he hasn’t picked up any bad habits in Florida, such as alligator wrestling. You got any pictures of him around? I must’ve seen some, but all I remember is the name.”

  “Got some right here that he gave me. In fact, you can do me a favor and hold them for me while I stick ‘em up.”

  “Okay, now I’m starting to get pissed off. I never rated a spread on the fucking wall like this,” Guy grumbled. But he good-naturedly took the photos from Jeremy, and he looked through them as, one by one, he handed them back for Jeremy to tack up on the bulletin board. “Damn. He’s not bad, isn’t he?” Guy admitted grudgingly. He had ruled the roost here at Big Bodz long enough that he didn’t like the possibility of a potential rival invading his territory. “I wouldn’t mind getting a good look at this dude in the flesh. When does he usually come in?”

  “Around now.”

  The photos were impressive, even those that had been taken at physique contests. There, Guy knew only too well from personal experience, the stage lighting wasn’t always conducive to good photography. The studio shots were predictably better.

  “In fact,” Jeremy added, as he glanced over Guy’s shoulder, “here he comes now. If anything, I’d say these pictures don’t begin to do him justice.”

  Jeremy was obviously smitten with the reigning Mr. Florida. And, as Guy turned toward the doorway, he understood why.

  Any thoughts about sizing up the imported competition objectively were momentarily forgotten as Guy’s entire body tensed up in a hot wave of desire at his first sight of the man who’d just entered the gym. Christ, what a stud! was all he could think as his eyes drank in Petr Adamec’s face and body. The latter was covered but hardly concealed by the man’s casual clothes, but Guy could see that it was a formidable physique indeed. The photos hadn’t begun to do justice to Petr’s handsome, smiling face. He had the kind of even, natural-looking tan that Guy had thought could only be obtained on Californian beaches, and it only made him seem more golden and radiantly godlike as he spotted Jeremy and strode toward him and Guy.

  “Oh, Jeremy, there you are,” Petr Adamec said in a low voice. Then his gaze caught the display on the bulletin board and his smile doubled in width, flashing white teeth. “For me? That’s nice. I hope you do the same for all the guys who compete?” He spoke English with a lilting foreign accent. He smiled at Guy, in a friendly but almost shy way. “Hello.”

  “Hi.”

  Guy let Jeremy introduce him to the intriguing Mr. Florida.

  “Oh, Mr. Tremblay, of course I know who you are. How do you do?” Petr asked, in carefully formed tones, as he and Guy shook hands. Petr, Guy thought, sounded rather like Audrey Hepburn playing Eliza Doolittle in the Ascot Races scene in My Fair Lady. “My English is perhaps not so very good.”

  “On the contrary, it’s very good indeed.”

  “I studied it in school, but that is not the same as speaking it regularly, with native English speakers. You must correct me when I make a mistake. Please,” Petr urged, smiling a little less shyly than he had before.

  “And please don’t call me Mr. Tremblay. Call me Guy.”

  The ice was quickly broken as they joked about the welcoming display and then began to talk shop, exchanging information about their workout routines and their recent successes and failures in competition. It was the common language of professional bodybuilders, and it immediately put the two men on a level of intimacy that excluded Jeremy, who soon excused himself and went about his business. Guy and Petr, still talking, strolled into the locker room. Petr took a locker near Guy’s, and as both men began to undress, Petr brought up the subject of training partners.

  “I’m looking for one, and Jeremy told me you are, too.”

  Guy laughed. “He’s quite the little matchmaker, isn’t he?”

  Petr didn’t seem to pick up on this ever so delicate hint. “Yes, he is a very nice young man. Do you want to work out with me today and see if we are compatible? I think we are about the same size. If it doesn’t go well, there will be no hard feelings. It’s not easy, finding a training partner who is really right for you.”

  “Yeah, it’s worse than finding a sex partner, sometimes,” Guy agreed, trying to convey a casualness he was far from feeling. He let his eyes drift over the body Petr was so unselfconsciously baring right there in front of him.

  The dude was stunning. There was just no other word for it. Guy felt himself going weak and giddy with hot arousal, as though he’d suddenly succumbed to a fever, when he saw that the big man had a cock that was fully the equal of the rest of him in size and mass and visual impact. Even soft, the thick hose looked at least as large as Guy’s, who never had to rely on his muscles alone to attract other men, or to satisfy them once they’d hooked up. His mouth fairly watered as he tried to imagine how that huge thing of Petr’s would look erect and how it would feel stuffed down his throat or up his ass. He angrily told himself to stop fantasizing and concentrate on the upcoming workout. He’d met other bodybuilders, every bit as gorgeous as Petr, who’d turned out to be real prima donnas, only interested in being admired for their looks. Muscle-heads like that were usually washouts in bed, unless you were into body worship and didn’t expect reciprocation. The proof, Guy reminded himself with a smile, would be in the iron pumping.

  Petr stuffed his impressive genitalia into a jockstrap and pulled on white athletic socks, training shoes, and a pair of tight-fitting red gym shorts with the side seams ripped up each side to permit a freer range of movement. He didn’t bother to put on a shirt, which was fine with Guy, who quickly slipped into his own preferred costume of gray sweatpants and white tank top.

  In the brightly-lit weight room, Petr admired the expensive pieces of heavy equipment distributed around the space and reflected in the mirrors covering the walls.

  “This is why I’ve always wanted to come to the West Coast to train,” he explained. “We’ve got nothing like this back home. Well, perhaps in the big cities, like Prague or Brno. But not in the small town where I grew up.”

  “I know what you mean. I’m a small town boy, myself. We’re going to have to stick together.” Guy smiled and took the risk of resting one hand on the other man’s bare shoulder. Petr didn’t seem to mind. “What do you want to do first?” Fuck me, I hope! his salacious mind couldn’t help answering his own question. He once again told himself to stop fantasizing and get down to work.

  “You decide. I’m curious to see what your routine is like. I do want to work my arms today, though. Really blast them.”

  They separated to warm up, each man in his own way, Guy went through some fast exercises without weights, and Petr tossed a fairly heavy barbell around until he was panting and his naked chest gleamed with sweat. Then the two men began to work out together, taking turns choosing the particular exercises and challenging each other to lift heavier poundages and perform increased repetitions.

  “Spot me, will you, please?” Petr asked.

  “Sure.”

  Petr chalked up his palms and selected a huge weight. Guy was only too glad to hover protectively over that magnificent, half-naked body in case Petr made a slip. He hadn’t gotten sexually excited very often while training with Reinaldo, if only because he knew that they’d inevitably fuck afterward, and that eliminated the suspense. But the very fact that Guy had no idea whether or not Petr might be sexually available was giving him a painful hard-on. It threatened to burst through the pouch of his straining jockstrap. He tried to keep his mind fixed on what they were doing, on gripping and pumping the weights in the most efficient way to force his muscles to contract into even tighter, bulging knots. To spot his new partner and see what he was doing, in the hope of learning from him. To exchange training tips and encouragements with him, as they took turns bombing their various body parts with unrelenting energy. That was what Guy should be thinking about. Not sex!

  But the inevitable grunting and sweating and g
eneral physical exertion that so intense a workout required kept reminding Guy of sex. And specifically, of the rough, animalistic kind of man-to-man sex that he liked best of all. Angrily, he threw himself into the workout, pushing his body to its limits in an attempt to keep up with the seemingly tireless Petr. The blond man worked his muscles like a machine, slamming away methodically on the heaviest poundages on the free-weight bench or on the stacked-weight machines, never missing a stroke or breaking the steady rhythm he’d established. Guy felt himself flagging as he tried to keep up with Petr’s routine, and he was light-headed and dizzy from the strain by the time Petr suggested they take a short break.

  It was a short break indeed. Guy had barely recovered his wind before Petr plunged into what he called “the heavy stuff” after only a few minutes’ respite.

  Imitating Petr’s example, Guy blasted his chest with a set of fierce inclines on the machine designed for that exercise. The two men helped each other perform forced reps until gradually Guy felt that rewarding flush of heat and vibrancy begin to seep through his brutalized muscle tissue. It was a glorious pump, the blood rushing to fill the exhausted fibers and giving Guy a feeling of aliveness and exhilaration that some weightlifters swore was better than coming. Guy, for once, couldn’t disagree as he pumped himself again and again, driving himself beyond his usual limits to prolong the sensation.

  He was doing bench presses now, with Petr spotting him, and to his astonishment he found himself matching the other man’s feat of pressing three hundred and fifty pounds of solid iron for seemingly endless, grueling reps. And this after everything his body had already been put through!

  He gritted his teeth and choked back a grunt of pain, his entire muscular frame knotting up in fierce concentration and effort, his sweat clothes soaked through with the perspiration that was literally pouring out of his skin. Despite the air conditioning, he was sweating like a pig. He heard Petr’s voice, with its deep, soft timbre, urging him on, developing an edge, as the enormous weight rose and fell over his chest, and his biceps and wrists and pecs screamed for relief from the torture.