Gun Show

Men are visually inclined.

If there's any doubt of it at all, just look at the amount of titillating visual stimulus specifically geared towards men - regardless of sexual orientation - from the ubiquitous flesh magazines to the copious strip bars. Let's face it, it really doesn't take much to arouse the senses for a man after all. Just the sight of a deep cleavage scrupulously exposed, even the flash of a perfectly turned ankle can be enough to set the pulse racing.

As the straight men have their countless titty bars, the gay boys have their own equivalent in the ever-present dancing go-go boys who writhe and undulate deliciously in their briefest thongs to the relentless thumpa thumpa beat of the gay discotheque. For the boys who might wail at the unjustly conservative prudishness here that prohibits such seeming licentiousness, they can take hope in the fact that beautifully fit male specimens bumping and grinding for their visual pleasure aren't only available at the go-go bars.

After all why bother paying for a show when you can get it free at the gym?

Really. Gym boys these days seem to find the overly large locker room mirrors adequate reason enough to pose and flex for everyone's benefit. Raucous runway music and flashing strobe lights notwithstanding. These days not only do I get inadvertently shoved onto a coveted front-row seat to the spectacular gun show, I also get invited to do a little groping. Without even paying the prerequisite dollar.

Though I'll admit I would much prefer sliding that crumpled note into their skimpy briefs.

I mean, would you say no to grabbing his pecs? 

Didn't take very long after exiting the showers to find a post college boy starting the afternoon show in front of the mirrors. I wasn't entirely unfamiliar to this particular beefcake of course since I'd often caught myself drooling behind him while he earnestly performed his routines. Delicious Danish I called him. The man ticked all the right boxes for me from the rugged, faintly stubbled jaw to the rounded shelf of his chiseled pecs.

And that spectacularly curved bubble butt at the back of course.

So finding him flexing in front of the mirrors clad only in black boxer briefs, I found myself transfixed to the spot. Instead of squealing in horror to flee into the shadows though, he beckoned me over instead.

Danish : What do you think? 
Paul : About what? 
Danish : My chest? I'm trying to get my pecs bigger. Bulking up. 
Paul : They already look great. Really.
Danish : Maybe rounder. Fuller. Care to feel it? 
Paul : Umm.
Danish : Come on. Just grab it.

It's rare indeed that sculpted collegiates reach out to pull my hand onto their bulging pecs. My head was already playing the beginning thumpa thumpa refrain to some cheesy gay porn soundtrack. It was with much steely resolve that I refrained from inching my itchy fingers lower down to the hem of his shorts.