by J. D. Walker
For the Love of Muscles
By J.D. Walker
Published by JMS Books LLC
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Copyright 2018 J.D. Walker
ISBN 9781634867658
Cover Design: Written Ink Designs | written-ink.com
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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are solely the product of the author’s imagination and/or are used fictitiously, though reference may be made to actual historical events or existing locations. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Published in the United States of America.
* * * *
For the Love of Muscles
By J.D. Walker
I’m in lust with a muscleman, and I can’t help myself.
Three times a week, I go to the gym across the street from where I work. It’s usually around noon, and while the place is busy, I’m still able to get on the treadmill or elliptical machine without too much trouble. These machines are perfectly placed for viewing my beefy eye candy. Or, to be more apt, the living, breathing, torture apparatus that had shown up two months ago.
I had heard people call this guy “dude” or “bro” but had never gotten a proper first name. He definitely left an impression on my retinas, however, with or without his workout routine. His sheer size was startling, but for all that he was big and tall and broad, he was well-proportioned and had muscles upon muscles that I just wanted to purr against into perpetuity.
I wasn’t brave enough to ask him out, what with the fact that the man could easily bench press my weight, from what I’d seen him lift. Therefore, if he would be offended by my question, a punch to the face would likely send me through the glass. But there were also the admirers who flocked around him. He seemed mildly amused by the attention, mostly, but sometimes irritated because he was really into his workout, and not there to showboat.
Damn, the green-eyed man was buff and hot. Hell, I was six-foot-three, and this guy towered over me. I knew this because he had passed me on the way to the showers a few times. And that sweaty scent, the shoulder-length black hair that stuck to his skin…all of it made me glad I wore a cup for the easy rise he got out of me. Once, when I had caught a whiff of him and moaned softly—I hoped—I had even tripped, my eyes closing and not looking where I was going, only to fall flat on my face near the lockers. My finest hour.
So yeah, I had a muscleman kink. I can remember sporting wood as a teenager whenever I watched the wrestling team in high school, or later, in college. The well-built jocks, with their bulging veins and defined abs and thighs made me drool and had my cock harder than a nail. It hadn’t taken much, really, and it was embarrassing. My book bag had always been front and center, for the sake of modesty and my sanity.
But you know? A lot of those guys were jerks, and I had dated enough of that type to be wary of first or even second impressions, no matter how much I really wanted to find someone. Thus, I admired my muscular dude, and rubbed one out at night, but anything else would have to remain the stuff of dreams because I was too old for that shit, no matter what my body—and heart—wanted.
* * * *
“Was ‘muscleman’ at the gym, again?” Sam Norman, the assistant manager for my department, asked as he handed me a heavy stack of documents to review. It was one-thirty on a Monday afternoon.
“Didn’t I just go through a bunch of stuff before lunch?” I groused as I set aside the files for the moment and glared.
Sam smiled cheekily. “Yes, you did, boss. But you know there’s always more.” He sat on the edge of my desk. “And you didn’t answer my question.” He was pushy and stubborn, which made him good at his job, but annoying when he turned his focus on me. He also knew everything about my obsession because he was a good friend and we also spent a lot of late nights working together in the office.
I scratched my nose with my left middle finger. “Yes, he was there.”
He smirked. “And you did nothing, as usual.”
“Your point?” I grabbed a file from the top of the stack and opened it in an attempt to appear unaffected.
“My point is, you need to not let your bad experiences stop you from going after what you want. Look at me and Melanie.” Melanie was his life-partner and they were truly disgusting together, along with their four disgusting kids. “I never thought I’d have a chance in hell, ten years ago, but I had to try. I had to. I didn’t want to think about what would’ve happened otherwise. You need to suck it up and ask your guy out.”
“You drag out that story every single time, and I have yet to listen. You know that, right?”
Sam rolled his eyes and stood. “Just…if the opportunity turns up, take it, alright? I have never seen you so gone on a guy, and there have been several. You need someone in your life to balance you out. All this ‘work, work’ stuff isn’t healthy.”
I raised an eyebrow. “Like you should talk. You work as hard as I do.” Sometimes harder.
“Yeah, but then I go home and get lots of sex from the woman I adore who tells me when I’m being a shit—frequently—and my world is back on its axis.” He grinned. “You should try it.”
I blinked. “You want me to sleep with Melanie?”
Sam swatted me upside the head. “Fucker.” He walked out of my office and closed the door behind him, since he knew I preferred quiet when trying to concentrate. He really should be a department manager in his own right, and I’d told him that. Repeatedly. He said he was fine where he was.
Maybe Sam was right, but I was forty-one, and probably way past any possibility of love, or the semblance of it, with the kind of man who really did it for me. I’d done the “relationship thing” with different types of guys, but in the end, the connection I craved hadn’t been there. It seemed as though what I desired—what I needed more than breathing—didn’t really want me back, for the long haul. And a guy can only take so much of a beating before calling it quits.
* * * *
Two days later, I had missed my workout at noon because of an overly long client meeting, so I took a break at eight that night and went to the gym to make up for it.
After changing, I chose an elliptical machine and pumped my legs as I watched CNN while music thumped through the gym’s speakers. I was getting into my rhythm when my eye candy showed up by the weights, wearing shorts and sneakers…and nothing else. Mother of God. Thankfully, no one was nearby to hear me gasp and groan. And fuck, I hadn’t worn a cup because I hadn’t expected him to be around this time of night.
I did my best to gather my composure, thinking of dead bodies or decaying rodents since it was only the two of us right then and I didn’t want to embarrass myself any more than necessary. Not wanting to seem like a perv, since the guy was right in my line of sight, though his back was turned, I kept my eyes glued to the monitor above me until I could feel a crick in my neck.
After an hour, my legs screamed at me in protest, and my clothing was soaked
. I stopped the machine and stepped to the ground on wobbly legs, feeling a little light-headed.
“You okay, there, man?” a husky voice said.
I gulped as I realized he was talking to me. When had he walked over here? And…so close…and that sweat just running down his chest…oh, man.
I kept one hand on the machine and used the other to place the towel against my navel, so it hung low enough, I hoped, as my nether regions stirred yet again. “Ah…yeah. Sure, I’m okay. Uh, thanks for…yeah.” Somebody shut me up.
He smiled and shrugged. “I guess we’re the only ones here, huh?” I tried to smile back, but the confused look on his face a moment later showed I had failed.
Try to articulate, moron. “Um, yeah, I guess we are. I don’t usually come here this late. I typically work out at lunchtime.” Okay, that was a little better.
“Yeah, I’ve seen you here before.”
“You noticed me?” I blurted like an overeager teenager. Age didn’t always mean maturity, apparently. God, bury me now.
“Well, yeah. You tripped that one time, and I would’ve helped but you were so embarrassed, I decided not to bother you.”
Crap. “Oh. I, well, thanks? For wanting to help…” I swallowed and tried to look as if I wasn’t hot and bothered as I desperately drank water from the squeeze bottle I picked up from the floor.
“You sure you’re okay?” he asked. “Your face is red, though I suppose it could be from that workout. You seemed really intense.” He’d been watching me?
“I’m fine, really.” I just need to die of shame in a corner somewhere. Alone. I kept the towel in place as I asked, “You done for the night, then?”
“Yeah. I have a weightlifting competition coming up, so I’m pretty focused right now. Name’s Carter Daniels.”
“Jaxson Hartfield,” I replied, and we shook hands before walking to the locker rooms, my towel still in place. “When is the competition?”
“In two weeks.” Carter went to his locker, in the middle of the row. Mine was at the end. Small mercies.
“Well, I wish you luck, then, if I don’t see you.” I took out my bag and found the shower stuff, tucking the towel in my waistband since I was now harder than a pike.
“You know, you’re different,” Carter said.
I looked at him in surprise. “What do you mean?”
“I mean, I can tell you have a thing for me, but you don’t do—” Oh no.
I cut him off because, damn. “Wait, what?” He knew? Motherfucker.
His eyes widened. “No! Well, yeah, I mean, I know you’re sporting wood, but it’s okay, and I—”
“Ah, fuck.” I decided right then and there to shower at home. To hell with going back to work. I threw everything into my bag and left the room as quickly as possible.
“Jaxson, wait!” Carter called, but mortification was a bitch.
* * * *
“Jax, if you snap at me one more time, I’ll quit,” Sam said, his glare a laser beam, which his kids—and the department staff—knew meant “cut the shit.” I had seen it work on numerous occasions.
“So, take one of those goddamn promotions you’re offered like twice a month and you’ll be out of my hair,” I growled, not ready to stop being a jerk.
Exasperated, Sam said, “Boss, you’re scaring the minions. I think one of the interns is about to have a nervous breakdown. You either need to find another gym to frequent, or get over yourself because you, without exercise, are a pill.”
I closed my eyes and breathed. He was right, but I couldn’t go back there. “He knows, Sam. Carter knows I’m a fucking pervert, and I can’t…I just can’t.”
“Well, you need to figure something out, because this cannot continue. You’re forty-one, not twelve.” He set a pile of folders on my desk and left, not slamming the door behind him, which made me feel worse. I was a bad boss and friend.
I sent Sam an email with as many “I’m sorry” gifs as I could find in ten minutes, then focused on work for another hour before I finally gave up.
Goddamnit all to hell.
It had been three weeks since that conversation with Carter. Maybe I was acting like an irrational pre-teen. I could be an adult and act as if nothing had happened, right? For the sake of the well-being of my employees, and assistant manager, I could suck it up, go back to the gym and forget about the muscle god who still invaded my dreams and left me with soiled sheets. He probably wouldn’t be there at this time of day. And the competition had already passed, so maybe he wouldn’t turn up anymore. Anything to make myself feel better.
That decided, I sent another email to Sam that I would be at the gym for a while, grabbed the spare exercise clothes and sneakers I kept in the bottom drawer of my behemoth desk, and headed out of the office. I noticed that a few of the staff ducked their heads when I passed, and the interns were nowhere to be seen. Yup, Sam was right. I needed to chill out.
* * * *
As it was three-thirty in the afternoon and the clientele was meager before the after-work rush, I had free use of the machines. I chose the treadmill and ran for forty-five minutes. Carter was nowhere in sight, which helped—and didn’t. Still, I felt much better when my run was over. I even did some pull-ups, then stretched as I cooled down before hitting the showers.
When I was once more dressed in business attire, I headed out the front door and down the street to the traffic light and crossed when I got the signal. Since it was five o’clock when I was back at my desk, the office was mostly empty. Sam’s door was closed, but I heard him yelling at someone on the phone. I winced in sympathy with whoever was on the other end. Sam could be ruthless, but he got results.
With my head clearer than it had been in days, and thoughts of Carter kept to a minimum, I plowed through my “to-do” list. Around eight-thirty, I finished and could call it a night.
The next day would be a company “field trip-slash-family fun day,” which another department had organized—mine had done the previous event—so it would be good for everyone to let off some steam at the beach. Even me.
I got home and crawled into bed an hour later, my laptop on as I did a last-minute check of emails before setting it aside and closing my eyes, at last. I’d be lying if I said I had a dream-less sleep and no messy sheets as a result, but I could live with the water bills.
* * * *
It always amused me to see the staff letting it all hang out. And I meant that literally, in some cases. Who was I to judge, though?
The day was sunny and warm, but not stifling. I had been in the water a few times, but my graying brown hair was dry now and my board shorts no longer stuck to my skin. Sam, Melanie, and the kids had hung out with me for a while before the brats decided they wanted to be loud and obnoxious in the water, yet again. I spoke with some of my staff, soothed any ruffled feathers, and made nice with my bosses.
Throughout the afternoon, there were volleyball games and Frisbee tournaments, and it looked as though everyone was having a marvelous time. Which meant it was time for everything to turn to shit, and the man I had avoided like aloe vera Popsicles would show up. At my beach. As a lifeguard.
What the hell? The beach was full of people, and lifeguard chairs dotted the length of it. Naturally, I had to walk by the one where Carter sat in his uniform, just perfect and yummy and…fuck.
Our eyes met briefly, and the second his widened in recognition beneath his “Lifeguard” baseball cap, I looked away and sped behind his chair, hoping his job would keep him too busy to try to find me in the crowd.
That seemed to be the case for a while, and I made sure to stay as far away from that section of sand as possible. But then, one of Sam’s kids wanted to get a Popsicle, which meant all the kids wanted one. And the vendor’s cart lay in the vicinity of Carter’s chair, where he still sat.
When Sam wheedled out of me why “Uncle Jax” didn’t want to go get a Popsicle, he and Melanie overrode my objections and dragged me to the cart anyway, the kids pushing from
behind. My humiliation knew no bounds. I glanced back to see if Carter was watching, and sure enough, his eyes met mine briefly before refocusing on the water.
“That wasn’t so hard, was it?” Sam, the pain in the butt, asked with a snigger before taking a bite of his white chocolate peppermint pop.
“Right. Remind me to fire you later.” He kicked my shin, Melanie snickered, and we all watched the kids devour their treats before begging for more water time. Must be the sugar.
“Don’t they ever get tired?” I asked as I watched Sam follow them to the shoreline.
“Nope.” Melanie winked and inclined her head at something behind me before taking off after her family. I turned and saw Carter, heading in my direction, a determined look on his face.
Uh-oh.
Too late to get away, I guess. Or at least, with any grace.
I stood there, hands behind my back, and watched his long muscular stride as he approached me.
He wore a well-fitted white polo and red shorts with what looked like water shoes that matched the color scheme, all of which perfectly molded to his frame, the walkie-talkie at his waist notwithstanding. But I was too distracted by memories of my behavior the last time for even my cock to rise. Yet. And that was saying something.
When he finally stood before me, he crossed his arms on his chest and stared me down from his impressive height. I tried not to fidget.
Since he didn’t say anything after thirty-five seconds—and I’d counted each one—I realized he was waiting for me to talk.
I cleared my throat. “Carter.”
“Jaxson,” he replied. Damn it.
“Umm, didn’t know you were a lifeguard,” I said, hoping that would start a less-uncomfortable conversation.
“I didn’t tell you,” he replied, his voice having almost no inflection. Nice.
“Right.” No beating around the bush. “How was your weightlifting contest?”
Carter stared at me hard, then shook his head, and sighed. “It was fine. I came in second, thanks for asking. Is that all you have to say to me, really?”
