There used to be a guy at my gym who could only be described as ‘pretty’. My buddy and I didn’t know his name so just called him Pretty Boy. I saw him in the supermarket one day and I wondered if he recognised me, and what might have happened if he did. This gay cruising story is that fantasy.
Where have I seen this guy before? It’s gonna bug me all day. This isn’t my usual supermarket, so it’s not like I’ve seen him here as a regular. He’s damn hot too, so I should know where I’ve seen him. But he looks different somehow. This isn’t how I usually see him.
I don’t think he’s noticed me, or he would’ve noticed me staring at the way his t-shirt is bulging over his biceps. Which means he also hasn’t recognised me. Not that I’m that memorable. Slightly overweight, mid-30s, balding. My beard hasn’t even grown to the kind of length that would catch anyone’s attention yet.
But who is this guy? I decide to tail him a little. Not in a full creepy, stalker way. Just in an ‘I need to work this out’ way. As I turn into the aisle he’s just walked down I see that he’s bending over to pick up something from a low shelf. The denim of his jeans is stretched his firm ass and the material hugs the rest of his legs right down to his toned calves. As he comes back up with a big barrel of protein powder it hits me. The gym!
He’s ‘pretty boy’ or at least that’s the nickname I’ve given him. Because, well, if you’d seen him at the gym you’d know he’s the prettiest one there. I’ll describe his facial features, but you’ve got to think ‘pretty’ over everything I say. Deep brown eyes, set the perfect distance apart, beneath eyebrows that just sit there, perfectly. If they aren’t paid for his mother must be damn jealous. Cheekbones that sit at just the right height, either side of a cute nose that’s just the slightly more masculine, grown-up version of a ‘button nose’. The lips, well, you can imagine what I’ve thought about those lips. Two shades darker than his perfectly tanned skin and perfectly symmetrical, which I didn’t realise was a thing but there you go.
Beneath the face is a perfectly sculpted body that is barely hidden. He’s always sleeveless, in those muscle shirts where the arm holes basically go down to the waist. I’ve spent way too much time angling my head to get a glimpse of abs through those holes, with regular enough success to keep me trying. More often than not he’s wearing those skin-tight leggings that gym guys wouldn’t call leggings. That’s why the tautness of the jean fabric over his calves jogged my memory. I know all about the tone of those legs. The usual benefit of those leggings, at least from a perv perspective, is the difficulty in hiding dick outlines. Unfortunately, Pretty Boy’s muscle shirts are of the longer variety and so that is the one piece of the puzzle I am yet to discern.
Before I realise it we’re at the end of the aisle and I haven’t picked up a thing. I can’t turn back. That would likely draw his attention and then he might realise that I’ve just followed him up the aisle. I stop and reach for something on the shelf. The shelf I’ve stopped in front of is full of herbal tea. So I guess tonight I’m a Chamomile fan? I grab a box from the shelf and turn back to the aisle. He’s gone, around the corner I presume. Now I’ve got to choose whether to follow him, now just for visual reasons, or actually do my shopping. My phone buzzes and it’s a text from my husband, asking for a couple of extra things and asking when I’ll be home. I guess that decides it, shopping it is.
I quickly dart up the aisles, starting with the one I skipped in my pervy trance and on my travels I spot Pretty Boy occasionally. Each time I take just an extra second to enjoy the look of such an attractive man. He almost seems out of place in your standard suburban supermarket aisle. He sometimes seems out of place amongst the gymgoers too. The rest of us ordinary folks.
OK, shopping’s done. At the checkout, I spot Pretty Boy again, a couple of checkouts over. I swear I didn’t plan it. But I make the most of it.
“Cash or card?” The checkout chick seems impatient. Maybe she’s had a long day. Actually, I realise she’s asked that question twice already and I was too caught up in my own world to notice.
I make the payment and wheel my trolley towards the exit. Before I get there though I realise I need to take a piss. Which I hate doing with a fully trolley but my bladder is like a walnut so when I gotta go I gotta go. I head down the hallway to the toilets and, as I turn the corner I see Pretty Boy wheeling his trolley into the entrance marked “men’s”.
Well this looks fucking sus doesn’t it? If he’d noticed me in the supermarket, and notices me now I look like a proper creep. If he’s noticed me on the countless times I’ve checked him out at the gym I’ve got no hope. But I’m committed now and wheel the trolley in after him.
There’s a little alcove so thankfully I’m not wheeling my week’s worth of food too near to the toilets. I park my trolley next to his and walk past him, he’s checking something on his phone so I get first choice of the urinals. There are only two and I stand at the right one, furthest from the door, as is the protocol. There are no dividers either so I pray to anyone that will listen that he’s not one of those guys who’ll take the cubicle instead.
As I start my stream he comes and stands up next to me. My heart rate increases, knowing an opportunity is about to present itself. Lucky I’ve already started to piss or nerves might’ve halted any chance at that.
He unzips his fly and pulls his dick out. I try my best to glance, subtly of course, and my first quick peek confirms that it’s not small. I look down at my own, because it’s easier to dart your eyes to the left and see his from that position. Yes, I’ve done this before.
Oh shit. It’s big. It’s thick. It’s uncut. It perfectly matches the tone of his all-over tan. He slides the skin back a little and starts his stream. I snap my eyes back onto my dick, making sure I don’t linger and make it obvious.
“Hey,” his voice echoes off the walls.
“Don’t I know you from somewhere?” he asks.
At least it’s not ‘stop looking at my dick fag’. I quickly compose myself, look up at him and reply.
“Yeah. We go to the same gym.”
“Oh yeah, that’s it. I was thinking about the whole time we were shopping,” he chuckles a little.
“Me too.” I smile.
“You’re making good progress man.”
His eyes dart down and he barely hides his glance at my dick.
“Yeah man. Looking good.” He says deliberately.
I take the chance to glance at his dick which is still out despite the fact that we’re both finished what we came in here for.
“Well, my girlfriend is desperate for the chocolate I bought her.” He puts his dick away and zips up. “But I guess I’ll see you at the gym.”
I look up again and he smiles at me. My cock twitches.
“Maybe I’ll even see you in the locker room?” He winks, turns and walked out, leaving me with a now-semi-erect dick in my hand. I pull my phone out and sent a pic home to hubby.
Be home soon. Be ready.
He won’t know I’m not thinking of him.
Thanks for reading this gay cruising story.
If you liked this one check out In The Gym Shower.
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