Gay Erotic Stories

Boxing Workover! I got an instant hard-on the first time I saw Shawn my first week at the new coed Body Fitness Gym. Of course, there were lots of gorgeous bodies walking, running, lifting, bicycling, and sweating. But the one body beautiful in particular that caught my eye was a hunky personal trainer named Shawn. Ruggedly handsome, he had a day's stubble on his squared jaw. This 30-year-old hunk worked out five days a week to keep his muscular 5'10" body fully pumped. Because Shawn's a Personal Trainer, his schedule at the gym was always full. Men and women both lined up to pay handsomely for his physical expertise. Unfortunately, the only contact I ever had with Shawn was just an occasional nod and smile to say "how you doing". He didn't even know my name. I often timed my arrival in the gym to catch him in the locker room changing from his street clothes into his shorts and tank top. I really wished he'd just leave his shirt off so my eyes could roam that thickly muscled torso that was covered with a forest of dark hair. His golden tan that radiated underneath the hair seemed to accentuate his musculature. His carved washboard abs were real standouts. One of my greatest desires was to give Shawn's thick washboard abs a real working over with my fists. I enjoy gut punching and wondered if Shawn would ever let me work over his gut. I was encouraged when I learned Shawn was an amateur boxer. He mentioned it casually in the locker room one day. Luckily, I was using the locker next to his. When I opened my gym bag in front of him Shawn could see my well-worn Tuf-Wear 10-ounce black leather boxing gloves inside. For the first time, he really noticed me. "Hey, buddy, you want to put the gloves on and do some sparring sometime?" he asked casually. He explained he had fought in the Golden Gloves and was on the boxing team in the Navy. He said he was always looking around for another sparring partner. "Sure," I swallowed hard. "How about now?" I hoped my eagerness didn't show, but I suspect that it did. Shawn checked his watch. "Can't now. I'm meeting a client in ten." "Oh..." My heart sank. Then Shawn's jaw relaxed and a smile brightened his handsome face. "But maybe we could meet at my place about three o'clock and do some sparring in my home gym. I've got a weight room, all the gear, and a ring-the whole setup. We'll workout and box a few rounds. See what you're made of." "That's terrific," I said. "You want to keep it to body punches? I'd hate to bruise that handsome face of yours." "Oh, yeah?" Shawn looked at me square in the eye. "I don't mind getting bruised. I'm on vacation for a week starting this afternoon." I couldn't believe how he opened up to me. I introduced myself as Dave and told him I'd been boxing for a few years, strictly amateur stuff. "You look in pretty good shape, Dave." He winked. "We'll have a great match," he said. Actually I was in the best shape of my life. I was thirty-one years old and at 6' my waist was still thirty-two inches, my biceps were an ample twenty-one inches and my hairy chest was a full forty-eight inches. My abs were lean and mean. The excitement in Shawn's voice was arousing me as he talked about boxing. I hoped my rising hard-on wasn't showing yet through my shorts. Then Shawn jumped into a fighter's stance, his fists raised, ready to box. "I really enjoy a rough give and take match," he said, "preferably with eight-ounce fight gloves." Man, I thought I was going to go ballistic right then, the stirring in my cock and balls making me euphoric. I became light headed and hoped my eyes weren't deceiving me when I suddenly saw that Shawn also had a rising hard-on in his shorts. A very visible one at that. I knew then that I was very blessed, indeed. Shawn pulled out his business card and wrote his address on the backside. While standing next to this warrior stud, I was becoming intoxicated by his manly aroma. I couldn't help but size him up right there! At six foot, I'm a little taller and my weight is right at 195 pounds. Shawn's probably a solid 180 pounds at the most. This guy has maybe seven percent body fat, if that! He gave me his card and we shook hands. Nice crushing hand shake. I tried to imagine that fist dressed in an eight-ounce boxing glove. That afternoon, I met Shawn at his two-story framed house located at the end of a dead-end. The house was at least three bedrooms with a connected garage. In the backyard, there was a separate building the size of a two-car garage but all closed up with no windows. I figured this had to be Shawn's home gym. A moment later I found myself inside a real boxing gym. There were three different heavy bags, speed bags, and a small workout area in front of three full-length wall mirrors. Off to one side was a complete weight bench and rack filled with barbells, dumbbells and weights. The rest of the room was filled by a smaller-than-regulation-size boxing ring. The smell of old musky sweat was prevalent and invigorating. We both changed into our workout gear. I stripped down to my jock, then slipped on a pair of workout shorts. Shawn stripped off his tank top and slipped off his shorts, revealing a well-filled jock. His jock left nothing to the imagination. "You've got a great body," I muttered, unable to take my eyes off his magnificent torso and washboard abs. "I want to give your abs a real pounding." "That's what we're here for, Dave." He winked and smiled. "In fact, I haven't been worked over in a long time. I think you're the right guy for the job. I want you to beat my gut, blacken my eye, bloody my nose. Work me over and... knock me out." We spent the next fifteen minutes warming up with stretches and aerobics, finishing up with some shadow boxing. Shawn's words echoed in my mind. He was punching all the right buttons. I was ecstatic! My heart was pumping furiously and blood was rushing through my whole body. My cock was already so engorged that my hard-on was very uncomfortable. But I was determined to give Shawn a beating he'd never forget. Finally, we wrapped our hands. Then Shawn brought out a pair of eight-ounce fight gloves. "I want you to use these on me," he said. "They're my special pair I save for these occasions." Shawn laced the gloves on my hands. They felt snug and tight, very powerful. He then slipped on his pair of 10-ounce gloves and pulled over the Velcro straps. For a moment we said nothing else but stood there admiring each other's form as we slipped mouthpieces into our mouths. This was my last chance to let my eyes soak up this unmarked, perfectly muscled stud before me. We entered the ring and after a moment, we began our match at the imaginary bell. There was no time limit set. We'd box till he dropped. To Be Continued...