Deep
breath in, and out. I leave my eyes open for now, allowing my garden to
go out of focus. It's peaceful, except for the occasional clank of weights
inside of the gym next door. All of the windows must be open; it’s such a
beautiful day.
Deep breath in, and out. Now close your eyes. Everything goes dark as I continue to breathe deeply.
My mind is clearing quickly today -- that’s how I know it is Friday.
Every Friday I can relax a little more because my prey is at the gym, sans girlfriend. It wouldn’t hurt her to spend a little less time working out. Live a little! Let me play! I have been watching my straight crush work out through my kitchen window for a month now, and today will be my first attempt at fucking him. If there is one thing I have learned in my astral adventures, it’s this—
No man is really straight. You just have to find the right body.
Suddenly
I feel myself lifting off of the ground, floating. Leaving my body is always
such a strange sensation, almost as if I am slowly filling with helium. I fight
the urge to tie myself down to prevent floating away.
As
I rise higher, the darkness around me swirls into a collage of dull colors. I
start to make out the moving blobs of passing cars, and as I float through the picket
fence, people jogging on treadmills through the gym windows. I take one
last glance at my body, safe and sound in the lotus position.
To
be honest, I am nothing to look at. A mild-mannered accountant by day, and by
night. My hair is long gone, my body sags, and I have never been considered
extraordinary in any way... until now.
After a desperate attempt to deal with the stressors caused by high-powered fucks with too much money, I took a month-long meditation retreat. This is where I discovered my gift.
WEEK 1
I
drift through the window, then allow my feet to touch down on the rubber gym
floor. If you ever try floating let me advise you, too much will make you
nauseous. Your body will end up vomiting all over the place, and you will wake
up face-first in a ghastly mess.
I stroll through the treadmills into the free-weight section. Bingo! There is
Brian, my target, like clockwork. Every Wednesday, arms. Without the little
lady holding him back, he gets to cut loose.
As
he pumps through a set of curls, I watch him shamelessly, mouth agape. Since no
one can see me in this form, I get to take liberties. There’s an invigorating
freedom to voyeurism without risk. It’s a fucking turn-on, but it’s not enough.
With each rep, the firm, sinewy cap on his shoulders boast a crazy indentation where it hugs the bicep. I lean in close to examine it. Smell it. Close enough to make his hair start to prickle and stand on end. He pauses for a moment. He feels my presence. He licks his lips, frowns at his reflection, and gets back to the task at hand. That’s right, Brian. Keep it tight for Poppa.
The loudspeaker crackles to life, “It’s two o’clock, and you know what that means! Cardio Blast with Enrique in Studio B.”
A few of the ladies gather their things and jog out of the free-weight area. I don’t know how passionate they are about cardio, but I do know they are all hoping to get finger-blasted by Enrique. I don’t blame them. I’ve had his fingers inside of me twice, and I highly recommend it.
Brian racks his barbells, then grabs a barbell. He's transitioning to his last exercise for the day, skull-crushers, so I need to get moving.
Despite my “need for speed”, I tarry a bit on the way to the locker room, ogling the local talent. It’s far too crowded to take control of anyone out here, but you can’t blame a guy for a wandering eye. It’s natural!
As I enter the locker room, my spirit soars. My favorite part of meditation is the hunt. Or maybe the capture. Okay, fine. It's all really fucking amazing.
I pass through the aisles of lockers, scoping out something that Brian might like. As I have never noticed his eyes trail after a guy, I will just have to guess. If I’m wrong… well, there is always next week.
I spot a blonde, alone, with a top-knot and dense calves. Brian's girlfriend has long blonde hair… maybe this could be a good fit?
"Yo bro!” a man calls as he rounds the corner, giving the blonde a high five. I sigh and check the clock. On to the safe bet— the showers.
I step through a glass divider into the first case. A man of about 65. And judging by his aroma, he is very fond of spinach. Onto the next stall...
Two bearded men quietly jack each other off under a hot stream of water, moaning breathily as they play. Maybe they are a couple?
Nope. Nevermind. One with a necklace is wearing a wedding ring; the other is not. I am tempted to participate, as the cheater seems to have an incredibly sensitive dick, but I need to keep my eye on the ball.
I pass through the grimy tiled wall, accidentally stepping into the next man. His arm shoots through my chest as he reaches for soap. I should correct my phrasing – I have to figure out how to step directly into someone. To enter them, I need to focus on an orifice of some sort.
I
step to the opposite corner of the stall to get a good look. He’s late 30’s,
possibly early 40’s, sporting a delicious blanket of fur and a sexy shaved
head. His face seems to say, “Don’t fuck with me” As I examine him closer, I notice
a dragon tattooed on his left deltoid.
Jesus- fucking-Christ, he is definitely some kid’s hot dad. And that kid will definitely be gay. Absolute heterosexuality
would be impossible if you shared a house with this man.
I hope you like him, Brian. If not, I’m going to take this one for me.
I quickly scan each of his
holes. Eeny meeny minney,
ear. As much as I would like
to draw this out, we don’t have time for games.
I glide forward slowly as I
extend a finger toward his ear. This is the best way to test my new flesh
vessel. It makes contact with the perimeter, and I push through the eardrum
with a slight pop, stopping
when I make contact with his brain.
He drops his rag and stands
upright, eyes suddenly blank. Using my thoughts to command him, he awkwardly
turns off of the faucet. Wow, that was easy! So he’s not a fighter… this is a
good thing.
I feel a sharp pull and allow
myself to get sucked inside. His head falls forward, then snaps back as I take
full control. A powerful euphoria rushes through this body as I take over and—
WHOA!
Something is wrong. I feel… full. I stumble backward in his massive frame. His
butt presses up against the tile. I gasp in his gravelly tenor as I get another
euphoric rush caused by… wait a
second… pressure on his prostate.
I clumsily reach around to
his asshole and feel the blunt end of a giant butt plug. Well, you little
devil. His hole feels a bit loose and is starting to get irritated. He must
have worked out with it in. Perhaps I chose the wrong crush!
A smirk dances across his face
as I leave it be. I wrap his towel around my waist, then collect his locker key
and shampoo. I slide open the door and step out of the shower feeling like a
new man.
As
I strut through the locker room, lustful eyes darting in my direction, I catch
myself in in the mirror. Since I have an audience, I clasp my arms behind my
head and let my biceps swell. Damn, this is one hot motherfucker.
I
catch a tight little twink with chestnut hair, the perfect length for pulling,
staring through my towel. Let me save you the
trouble, handsome. I slide
the towel off of my thick waist and wrap it around my hulking shoulders with a
wink in his direction. He looks away bashfully.
Reluctantly
I wrap the towel back around my waist and move on. I check the keychain to his
rented locker, #154, then follow the numbered signs. As I round the corner into
my aisle, I spot Brian, loading protein into his shaker bottle. Whaddya know!
Locker #160.
I
throw my shoulders back and walk toward him like I own the place. My shoulder
strategically clips his as I pass. “Sorry man!” I say with a rumble, throwing a
hand up apologetically. As he glances back, part of my towel falls to the floor
revealing a respectable chubby.
“No
worries, Nate,” Brian says, his eyes reflexively flitting downward, then back
up again.
WAIT.
Did he just call this guy by his name? I was not prepared for this. I quickly fix my
towel and spin around to Nate’s locker, hoping to avoid conversation. I fumble
with his key, then release the lock.
Brian
begins to gag on his shake. Fuuuck…
I wish he was gagging on this thick cock right about now. The image of Brian’s
knees pressed against the hard tile plays in my mind for a moment.
Great.
Now my chubby has graduated to a super-chub. I sniff a pair of Nate's dirty
black gym shorts before slipping them on.
Brian
gags again. “Fuck, Nate.”
I
turn around, feigning casual. “Yeah, bud?”
"I
tried that vegan protein you suggested, and I can't keep it down. You had
mentioned that another one you liked that was dairy-free. Do you remember the
brand?"
I
thought for a moment, then realized – I don’t know shit about protein. As Brian
looked at me with questioning eyes, I nervously twisted a patch of my chest
hair. He needs a response.
Or maybe not! Perhaps now is a good time to step up to the plate,
and swing…
I
place my large hand on his shoulder and give him a seductive smile, or at least
what felt like a seductive smile. I lowered my
voice and cupped my dick in my shorts with my other hand.
“I’ve
got a great source of protein right here. Wanna give it a try?”
Brian’s
face suddenly fell flat, and I swear to God, the WORLD has never been more silent
than in that moment. It lasted for an eternity.
He
broke into a hysterical laugh and managed to sputter “You crazy fucker!” as he
slapped me on the knee. I let out a hearty guffaw, playing along. He thought it
was a joke! Nate is still in the game.
And
then I realized it. I laughed a little too hard, and Nate's ass was little too loose. The
butt-plug slides out of my ass and lands on the floor with a wet plop. The
laughter stops, and Brian's face is stricken with pure horror. He runs out of the locker room like it was an Olympic decathlon.
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