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There's this one gym I like to go to just north of the bar district - really great atmosphere, an excellent layout and set of equipment, sleek locker rooms, and a bunch of nice, fit guys. I didn't always go there, though. For a long time I took advantage of the fact that the gym on campus was free to students and alum. Not as well-stocked of a gym, both in terms of equipment and in terms of potential lays, but it was free and I was still young enough then to cruise the bar district whenever my libido struck. It was definitely weird being an alum using the gym, though, especially since while I was still a student I thought the alum crowd was a collection of schmucks, or just plain awkward (particularly the really old geezers who were barely working out alongside us undergrads).

What finally made me give up the school gym was.... not pleasant. I was twenty-four, three years out of college at that point. I stared seeing this Machoke guy, I think Kale Metzger or something like that, early August or so. I remembered that he was on the university's football team - pretty good player but a jock in the worst sense of the word, a big dumb asshole - and after I switched gyms I found out why he had still been hanging around. He had hoped to get selected in the NFL draft but wasn't picked, (not a huge surprised considering our school wasn't really that good,) went to an open tryout or two and managed to get on a team but crashed out a month or two into the season, then finally got on an AFL team and lasted the season but was let go immediately after the regular season ended and couldn't find play time anywhere else after that.

Anyway, after a month or two I started noticing a couple of the 'mons in the gym acting kinda wary around the musclehead. A few days after I took this junior, a Marowak, home with me I saw Kale just leering over the ground-type. The next day I nabbed this shy freshman Flaaffy (and had a really good time with him as he had been a virgin), and the day after that this Machoke brute was very clearly harrassing the poor kid - I could hear him liberally using the F-word, and I don't mean 'fuck'. That got me pissed. I went over and gave the guy a piece of my mind, though we didn't get into a fistfight or anything. At least, not right at that moment...

While I was showering off afterwards, I felt a fist slam into my back, accompanied by a jolt of electricity that left me flat on the floor, paralyzed... The fucker knew ThunderPunch. I won't go into what he did, but what he said beforehand was not kind either. Essentially along the lines that even if I thought I was "the man" and good at getting guys under me, simply being a queer made me a bitch. Which he then decided to prove.

It hurt like hell. And was humiliating, made worse as he just left me there for people passing through the showers to see. I think I would have preferred just letting the paralysis wear off on its own, but after I heard two or so people pass through some twink got me a Cheri Berry. I didn't bother really drying off before shuffling back to my apartment.

I'll give myself credit for never sinking to being a whining, crying mess, I just got really sulk-y and reclusive. Although I holed up in my apartment for a day or two, I told myself it'd be best to just get back to my regular routine. So I went back to work, even took a guy or two home over the next few weeks, but it just felt 'off' - as I said, I was sulky the whole time - and it took even longer for me to finally hit the gym again.

Of course, he was there. Why wouldn't he be there? I saw him sneer at me once or twice and cut my workout short, skipping the showers there deciding to shower at home. I realized that I had become scared of him. I started beating myself up over it as I showered, starting to really feel like a wimp. My problem, though, is that in general when people start beating me up over something, I tend to get angry. So I went from feeling like shit to getting really riled up - at myself. Which got me in this vicsious cycle until a wayward thought brought Kale back into the 'conversation', and suddenly everything clicked. All of that anger flowed to the Machoke, until it coalesced into something more. See, I get hot-headed angry every once in a while; it comes with being a fire-type. But this was different; instead of being this firey rage, it quickly calmed down into this smooth, dark hate. I wanted to end him. And I knew just how.

I went to the gym the first day I was ready. He knew ThunderPunch? Well now I knew Thunder Fang. He saw me fairly soon and sneered at me again; I sneered right back. So began a long gym session game of 'chicken', each of us apparently waiting for the other to hit the lockers first. I knew I was winning when I noticed him checking his phone for the time often. He finally sighed after one check of the time, then caught my eyes and made a very rude gesture. I just blew him a kiss, which made him smirk. I waited about a minute, then followed him into the locker rooms. He was already showering off when I found him. Perfect.

I got the Machoke's right shoulder with my first Thunder Fang, and was not gentle - I tasted blood. He flinched, but started trying to get me off, so I hadn't paralyzed him on the first bite. We scuffled, and my next bite got a chunk out of his left bicep. I think I swallowed in inadvertantly, but my main focus was on him as he slumped against the shower wall, his muscles giving out as the paralysis set in. He slid down into a seated position. He started mouthing off at me, so I kicked him in the face, and I think I broke his jaw. Either way, I shut him up. I then crouched in front of him, letting him know I wasn't about to rape him back because his ass didn't deserve my dick, then telling him I was a Hunter (he probably had no clue what I meant by that) before latching my jaws around his throat. No tearing, no slashing, just a bite and squeeze on his windpipe. A few minutes later he was still, and I began feeding to remove the evidence that wouldn't simply wash down the shower drains.

I guess I should consider myself lucky that no-one walked through the locker room until just my meal's feet and lower legs remained sticking out of my mouth. In the back of my Hunter mind, I knew this could be the end of living as a free 'mon, but the guy recognized what was left of Kale and actually thanked me, having been one of the fighting-type's victims back in his own freshman year. He helped me stuff some of my clothes with extra clothes so my entire body looked like it was fatty and not just my gut, then walked with me out of campus and too my apartment to further reduce any suspicion I might have raised.

I'd like to say I was back to normal after that, but I wasn't. I didn't have good male company very often over the following two or three months, nor did I Hunt at all during that time. Revenge was just a band-aid, time eventually was the cure.