Haven't shared anything lately but here's something new, just one chapter. All the usual caveats apply, especially contributing some dough to Nifty Stories. I had discovered spinning as an aerobics exercise when I lived in France for a few years teaching at an American program for a U.S. university. It was before spinning became the cultish exercise it is today. It was a small studio on the Left Bank near the Sorbonne. One of the things about it was the men's locker room was tiny. After the class, men from the class packed in there. It really should have accommodated about only 6 people, but, at times, there were twice that. We squeezed together struggling to put on our clothes over our bodies which were sweating buckets.
It was impossible to avoid touching each other but there needn't have been touch for it to have been electric hot. The French men all seemed to know each other and I realized that locker rooms all over the world must be the same. The men rattled off in fast French which I had a hard time fully understanding, though my French was pretty good. They bragged. They cursed. They slapped each other's backs and swatted each other's butts with sweaty towels. The dark, brown haired, softly muscular, French men with round, fleshy are what got me.
I couldn't help but get a boner. Men looked at each other down there and often focused with admiration. I was the unusual one with a cut dick. More than once, men would look at me up and down and ask, "Vous etes Americaine?"
"Oui. Comment savez-vous?" How do you know? I paused and then looked down, "Ah, Oui. Je comprends." I understand. I was not the only one with a hard-on and a few times, when the group paired down, a few of them went into the corner and stroked with each other, rarely cumming, but perhaps auditioning for a later meeting. I was invited into the circle a few times, and I found it incredibly hot. I may not have met anyone that way, but it was grist for jerking off later that day. Even to this day, I can get off thinking about the spinning locker room experiences. Don't feel sorry for me that I never hooked up with any of the French guys in the spinning studio. Life wasn't so bad for me, older French men rarely liked to hook-up with Americans, but I got my share of young students in the program in which I taught both French and American.
One time one of my students was in my spinning class, but we pretended not to see each other and kept our heads down in the locker room. I am sure he saw, as I saw, that we both had hardons. And his dick, about 8 inches, cut like mine, seemed to be leaking with pre cum. He was in my last class at school, French and Italian art history, on Fridays, and that Vendredi we walked out of the building together, and I invited him for coffee, which was followed by a weekend of amazing sex.
Fast forward a number of years later. I was older and had more paunch to my core than core and tried different exercise programs that would hold my interest. I had seen a Soul-Cycle open near the university where I worked in the administration and decided to try that.
In addition to prompting a flush of memories of the Paris locker rooms, this exercise strategy caught on with me. I would joke to friends that I would only take the classes taught by men because the women were so much more fierce. This was true, and I was out as a gay man. People looked at my sorrowfully, thinking, I just went to the men's classes because the male teachers were so fucking hot. This was true, too, and the faux pity did not upset me.
As I mentioned, my theory is that part of the Soul Cycle business plan was to foster a cult vibe. People followed the teachers as if they were rock stars, and I imagine some of the teachers were followed. Their web site glamorized them, male and female with pictures that took full advantage of their incredible bodies. We learned about their new, fave music and their life philosophies. Their bike is on a stage. They played the music super loud so that some people needed to wearing ear pads.
I started going spinning about three times a week and, sometimes, I would develop hard-ons based on the quick look at fellow spinners and the teachers. The locker rooms at Soul Cycle, at least the ones I went to, were very small, like the one in Paris, though way more modern. They had showers, but most of the men did not use them and left the studio dripping in sweat. I showered. I thought the idea of putting on street clothes with over 45 minutes worth of sweat was a little disgusting. Naked, hot sweat is sexy. Sweat on top of clothing is not at all sexy at all.
For awhile, I made the class of one of the teachers my habit. The teachers was a beautiful blonde, tall, but also clever and smart and funny. He ultimately left in August to attend vet school in another city. I was sad to see him go.
One Saturday afternoon I went to a class at a different studio. The teacher would theme his classes to 2 or 3 different performers--mashups and they were performers who I liked and that always made me spin with more enthusiasm. The first time the mash-up was Justin Timberlake and Kanye West. I loved it.
I also loved the teacher. His name was Joey. He was adorable, not handsome, but cute, very cute. He looked to have some Latino blood in him and he got the Latino DNA which gave him a a beautiful bubble butt. Plus, I am sure the spinning contributed to his wonderful ass. His jet black hair was long and shiny. It was drenched after a class, and he wore it with a hairband around it do it didn't slap against his face. After the third class with Joey, he picked me out along with a few other regulars to goad, tease and slap. He would dismount his bike and come next to me, directing me to ride faster and stronger, yelling like a Marine drill sergeant. He would act the same to several others in the class, men and women. I didn't know if Joey was gay because he was so flirty with some of the women, too.
But then one lazier Sunday afternoon, we were the last two in the men's locker room. I was in the shower when he came in. He knew it was me and called out for me, telling me I had done well that day. I thanked him. Imagine, a middle aged man with a significant job at a top university feeling intense pride when complimented by the 22-year-old spinning coach.
When I walked past by the shower he was in, i snuck a look at the little space between the door and the wall. I know that's creepy. It was a quick look but I could see he was shaving his crack. I even heard him quietly say, "Ow." My maternal instincts made me want to break and nurse his asshole with the slight cut. Of course, I didn't. He came out and didn't look the worse for the wear. I also noticed that his towel was tented, and he saw me see him. He smiled and looked down at me. I had my pants on and but still my own hard-on was pretty obvious.
I didn't know what to say, even just to make conversation, I was startled and confused. "Heh, dude," he said. "You really are doing well."
"Thanks."
"But you need to slide your ass back as far as possible towards the end of the seat. That's where the exercise works on your abs, on your center."
"I know. I forget. I should have a sign in front of me on the bike."
He laughed at the not so amusing line. "How long have you been spinning"
Trying desperately to keep the pace of dressing slow, I responded, while I had the chance to see his stomach, no six pack but flat and looking very hard. He had a sweet innie belly button.
"I just started up again about a year. I really like it, but I went spinning a bunch of years ago when I worked for a school in Paris. It was a really little studio near the University and near where I lived, but kind of far away from the school."
"Wow, a spinning class full of sweating Paris guys," he said, teasingly.
"Yes, it was pretty hot in a lot of ways. And the locker room was small like this one, but it was dark and not so nice as this one. It was earthy and smelled always of man sweat. And the guys were all Parisien guys. Most of the students were women, just like here."
"Cool."
"Maybe you should move to Paris and teach spinning there."
"Maybe you could show me around when I move there."
Oh, man, I thought, he really is seriously coming on to me. I got very nervous, sprayed some more deodorant under my arms, collected my things, and dashed out. He was still naked from the waist up. "Gotta go, Joey. Next week, eh?"
"Yeah, sure." He might have sounded a little disappointed or maybe I was just making that up.
The next week I went to the class even though there was a severe storm, the last of the summer before the beginning of autumn. The class was just about half full. When he saw me, he put his hand on my shoulder. "I will be looking at your ass today," he said "To make sure you are keeping it to the back of the bike."
"OK, tell me if I'm messing up."
"I will." And he did, singling me out for his goading. I think I purposely resisted the proper form so he'd have an excuse to tease me." And then during the last song, he came over and whispered, "You need a special tutoring session." I was speechless.
In the locker room I was alone when he loped in. "Come back in, I'll show you."
I meekly followed. He used a remote to click on some music, loud hip-hop. "Watch." He mounted a bike and started to pedal in a high speed. The next song came on and he said, "Get behind me and see what I do."
I obeyed and he lifted his ass towards the back of the seat. He slowed down a little and he slowly pulled down the back of his Lycra bike pants. He pushed his rear even further back. He yelled, "Eat me." I was astonished and my mouth went towards his hole. "Lick me," he ordered. He reached around and pressed my head into the cave of his bubble butt. I moved forward and licked the sweat up and down his crack. I could his hole quiver and I turned my tongue into a dart, pressing in and out. Her was moaning. I reached around him and felt his cock. It was rock hard and measured around 8 inches, maybe nine. He pulled down his workout pants further allowing me to stroke his cock as I at fucked his hole with my tongue. He reached around and pushed my head away. Quickly he dismounted and told me to get on the bike. I did and started to ride. "Faster," he ordered. He put his hands around my hips and pulled me back on the seat. "You have to keep your ass over the seat to do anything to impact your core." But he had other things in mind. He left his hands there for a few seconds and then slipped my shorts down revealing my ass. "This will teach you," he said in a mock threatening tone.
His tongue was as hard as a cock as it darted in and out of my asshole. I was moaning loudly. The music was very loud but my moaning and yelling was still audible in the air. He pulled back and I didn't know what was happening. Then, he came behind me and pulled something sweaty around my head. It was his head band. I only saw dark. The music volume decreased and then I could feel his cock moving up and down my crack. His fingers entered me and he started to stroke me. Then, he pressed his cock into my hole, slowly pushing it in until all 8 inches was inside and then out. Inside. Out. Inside. Out. Slowly, then faster in tune with the rhythm of the hip-hop music he was playing.
Several minutes later he pulsed in and out even harder and then yelled for a good 25 seconds. I could feel 6 shots of his cum entering my hole. I was worn out, but he moved slowly around me, pushed me down on the seat and pulled out my cock. He sucked me hard and grabbed my balls. I felt him coming closer to my side as he pulled his mouth away from my cock. His teeth bit into my left nipple really hard, causing me to yell, and he started to stroke me. It didn't take long for me to cum. He pulled his wet headband off of me, and I could finally see. I could feel his cock rubbing against my back, somewhat hard again, already. He pushed it in halfway, bit my neck and jerked my cock. Able to see, I was getting dizzy and I wish I was in the dark again.
I tried to take control of my cock, but he slapped my hand away. I needed to cum so badly. Fully hard again, he pushed all the way into my ass and I could feel the momentum in my balls. I came harder and stronger than I had in awhile. He lifted me off my bike and placed me on the floor in a lying down position. Then, he curled up behind me, his cock still hard. He turned me on my back and mounted me towards my chest. He wildly stroked his cock and came again, screaming, "Fuck, fuck, fuck." Three splat was of his cum shot onto my face. I made a finger into a makeshift knife so I could swallow his cum. The mix of cum and the salty sweat was wonderful.
We stayed like that for a few moments and there was a little life back in my cock. "Want to fuck me," he asked.
"Yes, and no. And no. I can't."
"Let's take a shower."
If ever there was a more effective incentive to workout.