salty and gooey, and slid right down my throat, like a warm, liquid oyster.
We both kept our mouths on each other’s cocks until we were sure we had swallowed every last little drop of juice. Then I slid off of him and laid down at his side, draping an arm and a leg over him as he threw an arm under my shoulders and placed my head on his chest. Our cheeks were ruddy, and both of us were still sweating from our recent exertions. We kissed gently and sleepily, silently thanking each other for what we’d just done.
When we stopped, I brushed his hair out of his bright, brown eyes so I could look at him. He gave me another peck on the lips and then looked up at the stars, hugging me tightly as he sighed. We stayed there for a while, enjoying our moment lying naked in each other’s arms and listening to the ripples in the lake.
He finally broke the silence and turned to face me. “I think this means we’re gay,” he said.
I paused for a moment, then said, “I think so, too.”
Then he stretched his perfectly sculpted body around me and looked into my eyes. He grinned and said, “Well, at least we have the rest of the summer to find out for sure.”
He rolled over on top of me and started kissing me. I could feel both of us getting hard again—we were teenage boys, after all—and grabbed him even tighter as our bodies started to rub against one another in heated gratification. It was going to be a good summer.
The Jungle Gym
We were usually the only two guys at the gym late at night, except for the old man who sat behind the counter reading a newspaper and dozing off. San Juan had been really hot that summer, and the gym wasn’t very well ventilated. I wasn’t used to the tropical heat in Puerto Rico, so I would be exhausted at the end of the day, but couldn’t fall asleep until I had made it to the gym for a workout. You could smell the layers of manly sweat from previous workouts that had seeped into all the equipment—a mix of testosterone and salt. The long hours I was putting in at my summer job made it hard to get to the gym before 9 P.M. or so, but I was in no hurry, especially once I started running into him.
All I knew about the other guy at the gym was that he was gorgeous and that I sometimes caught him looking at me mischievously when I came in. He was just my height, and slim, with a hard surfer’s body—his arms were knotted with muscles formed by paddling through the surf, and his legs were powerful from keeping his balance on the waves. His clear, brown skin was dark as a cup of coffee with a dollop of cream in it. He had straight black hair that fell in wavy locks over his forehead and down to the middle of his neck. As he would work up a sweat, he would have to keep flipping it back over his head to keep it out of his eyes. And what eyes they were. So dark they were almost black, and flashing with pent-up heat and tension, they darted around the gym, often resting on my own body as I ran on the treadmill, especially when he thought I wasn’t looking.
But I was looking, and I could feel it when he was watching me, so I would straighten up and run faster. It had been a beautiful summer, so I was tan and fit with sun-kissed blond hair from days off spent at the beach. When I knew he was stealing a glance in my direction, I would sometimes strip off my sweaty shirt and continue running so that he could see all my muscles working, and could watch the little streams of sweat running down my few chest hairs, over my stomach, past my belly button, and down my shorts. His teeth were gleaming white, like a fierce beast’s that any moment might turn to devour me. He never said hello to me, either, but sometimes he acknowledged me with a raised eyebrow as I walked past, as if inviting me for an evening of fun. There was something so sexy and dangerous about him, but I couldn’t work up the courage to say hello, so I just ran on the treadmill—and ran and ran and ran, until I was too tired to be horny. Then I’d go home and take a long, cold shower before trying to sleep in those steamy, tropical nights—lying awake, dreaming that I was working up a sweat with my new, silent gym buddy.
After a few weeks, I noticed that he was getting to the gym before me, almost as if he was waiting for me. This went on for another week or so. I’d walk in with my tank top and shorts and hop on the treadmill while he lifted some free weights in the opposite corner. He would position himself so that I had a clear view of him as he worked one muscle group after another, flexing his arms, then his torso, then his legs as he pumped and pumped and pumped iron. It made me run faster, and when I was done, I would stay to lift a couple weights, too, repeating some of the same exercises he had done so that he could see I could keep up with him if I wanted to.
Sometimes he would take off without a word, walking out into the dark, misty night before I could see which direction he headed. Sometimes I would leave first, hoping he would follow me down the block to my apartment building, but dreading to look back and see that he was not there.
He seemed to be friends with the night attendant at the gym, and it was because of this that I learned his name was Javier. Javier would joke around with the attendant, trading crass jokes in Spanish and smiling an impish little smile. I overheard one of his jokes and chuckled a little as I ran. Hearing me, Javier turned with a surprised look on his face.
“Hablas espanol?” he asked me.
I was caught, so I told the truth. “Si, un poquito.”
Javier looked at me another moment before turning back to his conversation. I kept catching him glancing back at me, though, with what I thought was a newfound appreciation.
One night after a particularly long day at the office, I strode into the gym to find Javier working out as usual. He was flexing his compact and perfectly formed biceps as he curled some weights. He had been concentrating when I arrived, but as soon as he saw me, a conspiratorial little grin curled on his lip and he put his weight down. I was about to say hello to the attendant, but I noticed that the old man was dozing off, so I just walked to the treadmill and turned it on.
Javier hadn’t started another set, so I looked up to see what he was doing. He had walked over to the attendant’s desk, had woken the man up, and was talking to him. I heard Javier tell the old man to go home and that he would close up the gym himself since the man was clearly so tired. After a little initial argument, the man acquiesced and gave Javier a key and reminded him to turn off all the lights. Javier said he would, and the man left.
As soon as he did, Javier turned to me. I had been pretending not to listen, but he knew I had been, and he said to me, “Alone at last,” in Spanish. I chuckled but went on running, smiling at him as he walked back toward his weights. He did some bench presses, and I was admiring the view as he hefted a bar loaded with weights, building up his rounded chest muscles. After a set, he sighed, and took off his shirt, saying, “Hace calor, no?”
“Yes, it’s quite hot,” I replied, grinning.
“You are American?” he asked.
“Yes, from California,” I replied.
“Ah, that is why you have a funny accent.”
I laughed a little, but kept running.
“It is okay,” he said, “I like Americans.”
“I’m so glad,” I said, smiling.
I hungrily looked at his glistening torso. He had a perfectly formed six-pack that I imagined my cum running down as I jacked off on his chest. That mocha-brown chest with a few fine black hairs around each tiny, dark brown nipple.
He did another set, and I sped up the treadmill, knowing that if I didn’t concentrate on running, I’d get a huge hard-on the minute I looked at him.
When I looked up again, I found him standing right in front of me, just in his gym shorts. He said, “I would like to use this machine, please.”
“Okay, I’ve done enough for tonight anyway. I’ll get off.”
“No,” he said, “can you show me how to use it?”
“Sure,” I said as I hopped off, “get on.”
He brushed past me, his stomach and chest gliding along my back, then stepped onto the machine.
Pointing