Change His Mind Part 1
There's a reason I've never been to a gym before. I'm going to make a fool of myself is the primary reason, followed closely by the fear that I'll embarrass myself while ogling all of the huge guys lifting, sweating, and generally being the kind of male that gets my attention faster than a fire alarm in the ear. Swimming I can handle, the majority of people who go are either trim and uninteresting, or elderly. But any place where they have weights readily available, or the pool and gym share a changing room? Those are the places I steadfastly avoid to leave myself an unknown, just another fox among many trying to keep to himself.
I'm nothing to look at either, which definitely helps my case. 5'5, and barely scrapping the bottom of 110 pounds. Thin without being gangly, I get passed over rather quickly for others, whether that be somebody taller or somebody wider. Even people with a slight paunch are more visually interesting than myself, generally aided by the strange clothing decisions so many people make. Gaudy, colourful, bright - none of that's for me. I'll stick to monochromatic button down shirts and black pants, baggy enough to sag unless I pull them up or remember to wear a belt. I try to avoid any colours that might come off as too flashy, nothing red or yellow especially. Those two always seem to attract the most attention. I keep my brown hair just long enough that I can nervously run my hands through it, short enough still that it doesn't get inside my ears and inadvertently tickle me. Plain and average, that's what I go for, and it seems to work.
There's one thing I will admit though - I love my eyes. Deep brown, wide and bright, they always seem to have this sense of excitement about them, taking in every detail of the world around me and reflecting it with a brighter shine. That's why I try and avoid giving people direct eye contact. I don't want them to see something they might remember, or might like. It helps that trying to make eye contact gives me the willies: I've got about as much confidence in myself as a jelly doughnut has filling.
It's for those reasons that I'm wondering why I'm heading to a gym right now, a bundle of clothing held in my arms. I try to recall who convinced me to start going, but can blame it on no single person. It was a culmination of events starting from my first year in University, reaching this point three years later. 22, and going to the gym for the first time, with the intent of lifting weights. If I could fault one person for it, it would be that Mormon cat with whom I exchanged banter. Somehow he'd cajoled me into taking the first step towards becoming the sort of man I'd always envied - muscular to the point where it made movement difficult. But the cat alone cannot be blamed, if I am to be fair. There is also that bear I'd had a small crush on, and who had convinced me to attend University in the first place. He knows things about me I don't think I've told anybody else, and thus constantly urged me to pursue my goals and dreams. Three years of mulling it all over, and now I am here, taking the first steps on a new journey.
As I stand outside the gym, breathing in slowly, getting myself psyched, I can't help myself from muttering a well natured curse under my breath. Why am I listening to those two? It's such a terrible idea. My legs betray me even as I try and convince them to return along the path I came, turn away from this monument to masculinity. It's really quite a plain building, I admit, though the sign hanging above the double door entrance proclaims this structure to be a sanctuary for those seeking physical fitness, the gym to end all gyms. They probably all make that promise, the cynic in me states. I'm not inclined to disagree with him.
The doors swing open to my hesitant touch, startling me with the ease at which they move from such light contact. Only when I notice the button marked with a handicap symbol do I realize these are automatic doors. So much for trying to keep from making a fool of myself. If the staff at the counter noticed, they make no mention of it when I approach them, my feet dragging along the floor, the t-shirt and shorts in my arms jostling with my shaking body.
"How can I help you today?" the panda asks, her perky breasts jiggling as she turns around with a smile. The other attendant, a muscle-bound orca, heads for the back, disappearing through a door that most likely leads to the staff room. They must only hire the most attractive people for this job, just to keep people like me from wanting to sign up.
Discomfort written on my face, I attempt to explain to the panda that I'm seeking a membership to the gym. "I mean. If you've got space. And if it's not too much of a problem. If you're not busy." Of course she's not busy, it's her job. The mental barration continues as my mouth strings together a series of apologizes completely unconnected to what I'm thinking. "I've got a bit of money, I hope it's not too much." Right on cue, the nervous laughter bubbles from my lips, my black stripped tail dipping in between my legs.
"Our rates are very affordable" she explains, ignoring my plight, and in doing so garnering my thanks. As she explains the costs for admissions, the perks of paying some extra fees, and the benefits of signing on for a full year as opposed to a month, my eyes trail away. The orca returns, carrying in his folded arms stacks upon stacks of paper, which he unceremoniously drops on the counter beside the panda. She turns to him in the middle of her spiel and sticks her tongue out at him, making him laugh. The rumbling of his voice has me flattening my ears while my legs grip at the brush tail caught between them. I'm never going to come back here after today if all the males are this impressive.
When I tell her that I'm willing to buy a membership for the full year, she immediately asks if I'll be paying with debit or credit card. I fish out my wallet, hands shaking so badly that I drop it and the contents spill out all over the floor. "I'm so sorry!" I say, diving to the floor to quickly clean up the mess that I've caused. She waits patiently until I find my credit card and hand it to her, only then picking up the last few cards, including a bus pass and driver's license. By the time I've made sure that I have all my information and it's all properly organized again, she's giving me back my card and handing over a flashy membership card. It's completely blank, much to my confusion. I'm tempted to ask why, but decide against it. Obviously they know better than i do how this works, so there's no reason to second guess the decisions that they make. I thank her one more time before heading towards the nearest door.
"The change rooms are the other way," she says, a bit of a giggle under her voice. Flustered, I turn around and head to wear she indicated, scurrying over as fast as I can before anybody leaves the gym and notices the pathetic little fox trying to fit in with the wolves.
The locker room, mercifully, is empty. I can tell that people are using the gym, since a good chunk of lockers are sealed shut, locks in an assortment of shapes and colours hanging from the clasps. The locker flushed against the back of the change room and farthest away from the showers remains open, so I nab that one. With as great haste as possibly, I strip off my shirt, momentarily revealing my soft white belly fur and the black stripe on my back. Just as quickly it's covered up by a plain grey sleeveless t-shirt that does nothing to flatter the flat shape of my body. I've less an issue with taking off my pants, as I'm still covered, just without anything impressive to display. Unlike those models that always seem to fill out the underwear on the packages; my bulge is negligible, forgettable even. Just another thing that separates me from the men I so adore.
My first steps into the weight room itself overload my senses. There are so many noises, sights, and smells that I can't decide where I should turn first or where I should even begin. My instincts kick in, eyes settling on the people grunting as they lift weights nearly twice my own mass, shirts stained with sweat clinging to bulging pectorals that awe me with their size even as they make me feel smaller. One guy, a leopard in a leotard, curls seventy pound dumbbells, the veins on his biceps becoming deeply pronounced even through his thick fur. I turn away before I let my body get the best of me, but the strong smell of the place, the intermingling musk of so many males, keeps me from forgetting the presence of all those hunks behind me, teasing me with their unintentional acts of bravado.
Watching the people on the treadmills certainly helps staunch my sexual thirst. The majority of those running are either overweight and therefore unattractive to me, or female. But I did not come to do cardio, and so the number of open machines does not interest me. Even still, I know that I can justify to myself paying for the gym membership by using the carido machines and never lifting weights, but then I would not be fulfilling my goal here. As I ready myself to head towards the free weights, I'm stopped by the sight of a large purple clad butt bouncing.
It's a grey furred wolf who owns that large posterior, the tail shaking from side to side along with the rhythmic bouncing of that butt. I'm stunned and entranced by the movement of that bottom, attached to an otherwise athletic and slim body. It would be unfair to kill it fat, considering the excellent condition of its owner, but it certainly has the shape and jiggle physics of somebody with a large gut. I stop and stare, studying the way that ass gyrates while the wolf runs, and I decide that it's definitely got some muscle in there. It's like the wolf only puts weight on in at rump, which can be the only explanation for the size of it. Either that, or the wolf is female, which would explain the large hips and the ponytail done up with a pink scrunchie. My interest wavers and I prepare myself to head to the weights when the wolf shuts off the machine and rests against it, eyes facing towards the benches and burly men behind me.
While the canine wipes the sweat off his brown with his t-shirt, I'm stunned to realize that the wolf is indeed male. It doesn't seem right for men to have such a girlish figure, but he's packing something in his shorts that women just don't have. As he slides off the treadmill, I finally take notice of some of his other features: his fur isn't completely grey; it has white molting on the side of his face, not quite split evenly, but enough that I would almost call it half and half. The white fur also covers his left arm. His eyes are of different colours, one blue and the other brown. As he walks towards me, my heart stops beating: surely he caught me staring at him, and yet I can feel only the smallest amount of shame for my blatant admiration. He's by no means the kind of male I normally lust over, but something about that ass, those soft feminine features on a guy, calls to me, the whole thing aided by the smile on his face before he opens his mouth to speak.
"Hey there, cutie!" he says, tail still wagging like a puppy. My face goes red, or as red as it can with all that fur covering my cheeks. I normally hate being called cute, it's something I heard growing up from all the adults with whom my parents are friends. Coming from him though, this fat-bottomed wolf, it just feels like the nicest thing anybody has said to me. "I haven't seen you before here, are you new?" I nod, stuttering to come up with some words to explain myself. "Well it's nice to meet you then! My name's Ziude!" The boisterous wolf extends a hand to me, which I take in my own and shake, hoping that my palms aren't getting sweaty with my nerves.
"Zev," I say, and that's about all I can manage for a moment before I realize I should offer a bit more information. "Ya, it's my first time." More useful information, brain.
"Well what can I do for you then?" The wolf towers over me, making me guess that he's probably just about 6 feet in height, possibly an inch more. When I look at him straight on, I'm barely level with his chest. Diminutive does not even begin to describe how I feel.
"Um, it's just, you see." Mouth, now would be a good time to wait until I form the sentence before you start jabbering. "I want to lift some weights. I figured I would just, you know... see what everybody else is doing and try and copy them?" That's not how people learn how to work out, and I know it. But considering how half-assed my whole excursion to the gym started out, I'm not surprised with myself to realize I took no time in figuring out how to lift.
Ziude puts a hand on my shoulder, the contact causing my knees to go weak. "Awww, sweetie, I don't think it works quite like that. You should definitely have a schedule of what you plan to lift, and know how to do it."
If somebody else said that to me I would think it patronizing. When the wolf says it, I hear no irony, no gentle ribbing. He's sincere in my eyes, only making me want him more. "What should I do then?" I ask, looking for guidance from the wolf who I hope wants me as much I want him.
The wolf's eyes light up as I hear him giggle. "My boyfriend could help you then!" Boyfriend? He already has one? Well that's disheartening. "He's such a big guy, and he knows so much about weights! Look, he's over there right now!" The wolf points over my shoulder. When I look to see who he means, I can't help but gasp at the sight of the black panther. Somehow, despite what I assume must be gym regulations; the panther is wearing nothing but black shorts, just a shade darker than his own fur. His bare chest exposed to the air, I can see all the contours of his eight pack, the way his chest shadows over the top most set of abdominal muscles, those deliciously thick nipples pointing towards the ground. I wipe my mouth when I notice the first trickles of saliva dribbling down my chin. "You can stare, but no touching! He's mine!" Clearly Ziude had noticed me. Shame floods my cheeks, my head turning towards my feet that kick idly at the ground.
It takes a moment for me to realize the full extent of what I'm seeing. Ziude not only had a boyfriend, but that boyfriend looks to be three times my weight. Even if I had the courage to try and win over Ziude, I doubt I'd live past an hour where that hulk of panther to find out about my interests. I could settle for friendship, or hope that something opens up, but I doubt that's going to happen. Why would somebody like Ziude ever want me over a beast for a boyfriend?
A pair of hands shoves me forward, knocking me out of my self-loathing stupor. "Go on, ask him! Look, he's already looking right over here." Ziude's enthusiastic wave catches the attention of the panther, who acknowledges this action by making his pecs bounce, one at a time in a display of complete muscle control. What a cocky ass, I think to myself. I wish I could be like that too. "Go say hi to Brutus, he's such a sweety." The fact that I am about to go spend time working with the boyfriend of the guy I currently lust for does not escape my sense of situational irony.
Brutus, despite possessing a body type that I can spend hours gazing at and forget that normal males don't look like that, scares the hell out of me with his leer. Those narrow, deep blue eyes just seem to know exactly what I'm thinking, and he does not approve even slightly. Ziude goes to get a drink of water, leaving me alone to deal with the beast of a panther. With Ziude's back turned to us, Brutus grabs my shirt collar and pulls me right up close to his face. "Let's get one thing straight here. The wolf is mine, got it?" His voice comes out as a snarl, deep and penetrating to the core. I'd be shivering with delight if I wasn't quaking with fear because of the situation. Maybe I shouldn't have agreed to this, and maybe it's not too late to back out of it. "Don't think for a second I'm going to train your wimp ass." Something tells me he's not the friendliest of people.
"Oh good, you're already friends," Ziude's chipper voice states behind me. "Look how close you two are, I'm glad you're being so helpful, hun."
"I'm not training him, Ziude." The panther states, folding his arms across his chest, muscles pressing against each other so firmly I'm amazed he can move.
"I'm okay with that," I whisper, not looking at either of them until a sniffle comes from Ziude. His eyes water, giving him the expression of a pup that has just been smacked with a newspaper. I can come up with no comparison of pity, for I've seen nothing quite as heart wrenching. Perhaps the feline has some heart in him, for he relents as well, agreeing to train me and teach me the ropes.
"You're the best ever!" Ziude exclaims. Without the least bit of hesitation, the wolf reaches forward and grabs Brutus' package, making the lumbering mound of muscle huff with pleasure. Now that my attention is drawn to it, I take note of just how large that bulge in the panther's shorts actually is. I'd be lucky if I could get both of my hands to grasp it, let alone one. It looks more like the panther stuffs his shorts with oranges in the morning, as if he could give his cock a healthy breakfast to match the kind that must go down Brutus' throat. There's no denying my own excitement as I watch the couple start to have a public, if brief, make out session. Discretely, I readjust my own package so that my erection isn't painfully obvious once the workout begins. There's no reason to start things off on the wrong foot, though somehow I think with Brutus starting off is the first mistake.
When their attention returns to me, the lone gawker in the gym, Brutus grunts. "Grab a pair of 25 pound free weights, and lie down on the bench. You're going to start by learning how to properly do a dumbbell press." Only 25 pounds, I think. How sad, he must believe I'm truly incapable. Not willing to test my luck however, I obey his command to the letter, grabbing the weights, and then lying on the bench, the dumbbells clutched in my hands resting atop my chest. I've no idea what to do now, and must wait until he gives me the proper directions.
Post workout, a grueling hour of lifting, I find myself grimly accepting that Brutus knew precisely what he was talking about and pegged my strength exactly. I had struggled with everything he told me to do, bench press, bicep curls, tricep extensions. There was barely a minute of rest between sets before he had me working on something again, always ten repetitions, always two sets per exercise. When he got me to do squats, his hands were on my back, keeping it straight, holding me up when I nearly collapsed beneath the weight of the bar plus the ten pound plates, one on each side. How did people manage to do these sorts of exercises without collapsing form exhaustion? I had been ready to quit when he told me to start doing crunches. And when I'd shown any sign of stopping or resting, the black panther had snarled insults into my face, calling me weak, small, flimsy. Anger had kept me going, until he told me after the second set of crunches that we were done for the day, that I should go home and make sure I was eating enough. Now the anger is gone, and I'm simply exhausted. I don't bother to change my clothing out of my soaked gym shirt and shorts. I just want to go home and take care of the painful erection that springs up now that my body is not busy pumping blood to the various parts that were occupied with lifting weights. The crisp September air barely registers against the internal warmth of my pumping blood.
I waste no time in stripping off my clothing when I get home, letting my average length of meat flop out and stiffen back up, aching for the release it has sought for over two hours now. I am not one to deny my base needs, and so take it in my hand even before I am upstairs and in my room. There are some very large conveniences to having a house to oneself, primarily that one can go naked at any time and have nobody complain. Right now, I take full advantage of that privilege, stroking my erection, stopping and leaning against the wall to pleasure myself, thinking of those mounds of muscles attached to the brutish panther. His attitude, his smell, his size - I want it all for myself, I envy him for it just as I fear it. It turns me on beyond anything, so in contrast with my own behaviour.
Inside my room, lying on my bed, the strokes become more vigorous, faster and harder, along with the sound of euphoric sighs and the creaking mattress as I hump my hand. The longer my session continues, the less I think about the hunk, the pinnacle of manhood that I see in men like Brutus. My focus shifts, thinking of Ziude's bulbous ass, how it wobbled when he ran, the way his chipper attitude just seems to spread through others, even an asshole like Brutus. My hand grips tighter on my dry cock, imaging that it is not my hand wrapped around my member, but instead the tightness of the wolf's ass, that I am sinking into him, plugging him with my malehood. I can almost imagine his moans and whines as he begs me for more.
With a low, quiet moan, I hit my orgasm, cum bubbling out of my tip, spilling down the sides, coating my fingers. Not one of my more impressive climaxes, but not terribly surprising considering how quickly I managed to reach it. I check the clock on the night stand, and sure enough, I've been home for only fifteen minutes and I've already masturbated. I get the feeling that this will become a regular occurrence as long as I'm getting training sessions with Brutus. The rank smell of my semen fills the air, and for a minute I allow myself to just lie there and enjoy the scent. Then I hop out of bed and head to the shower - no reason to eat supper while smelling like sex.
Waking the next morning leads me to an interesting discovery - movement hurts. Every muscle in my body feels ready to fall off, separate itself from the central hub of my aching torso. I can't move my legs, sitting up makes my stomach ache, and my arms refuse to bend past the sixty degree angle. As I lie staring at the ceiling, groaning with agony, the blanket tents slightly from my morning wood. I cannot bring myself to reach down and grab it, nor do I have any desire to do that action. Rather, I lie there, starting at the ceiling, and eagerly await the next day I am well enough to return to the gym.