Brook's Deja Vu (All Over Again)

Brook's Deja Vu

This story is entirely fictional. All characters engaged in sexual activity are 18 or over. No AI was used in the production. ©2024. All rights reserved. Brunosden

I awakened with the sun in my eyes. Dry mouthed and a little hung over with the beginnings of a headache. With a stiff dick tenting the sheet so hard and high that it was almost painful. Sunday morning. My first thoughts: Great. No work today. The only day my gym was closed. My only day off. I'm going to enjoy the condo pool and chill. Maybe get a little work done on the short story I'm writing for Literotica. I glanced over and saw several empty foil condom wrappers next to the lube on the side table. Then I rolled to my other side. I wasn't alone in bed, but I didn't know who was with me. I must have brought someone home last night--again. Another nameless, pretty, hairless twink. He was still sleeping, body turned away from mine, bubble butt peaking out at me as I lifted the sheet. Cum, mine I assumed, surrounded the abused pink hole, decorating the smooth skin, glistening in the sunshine. Fuck. I hope that was late cum. I didn't usually take my tricks bare. Sometimes, however, I gave them facials or body or ass coats after I pulled out. Again. When will I ever learn? I guess I'll need to get tested.

I got up slowly and shuffled to the bath. I took a leak, difficult as it was with the morning wood. Then I moved to the sink. Looking in the full wall mirror, I silently groaned. I looked like I had been on the wrong side of an accident or a fight. Oily black hair with curls dropping over my eyes. Pasty skin--even paler than my normal "black Irish" porcelain skin. Dark beard showing through. Dark under the eyes. Swollen lips--I guess he's a kisser--or maybe I blew him before I fucked him. I was grateful that my day job as a personal trainer meant that, despite my tendency to engage in weekend debauchery, and although my face looked like a trainwreck, my body was still pumped and prime and hard. Slab pecs. Huge guns. Cut abs. Thick thighs. Small waist. Manscaped. Rigidly erect cock nearly reaching my naval. Pickups at O'Malley's were still easy for me. And I had nearly 24 hours before I was on duty. I needed to get it together.

Then I felt someone behind me. He caressed my ass and his hand lingered on the hard globes as he moved past me to the toilet to relieve himself. I caught his reflection in the mirror. And I suddenly realized why he was here. Thick, curly ginger hair. Sexy pale blue eyes. Pinkish light tan. Thick red lips. Slim. Much shorter than my six foot plus. And hung--probably at least six with just the semi he still sported. It was somewhat incongruous given his body size and shape. Definitely my flavor of choice for a quickie or a toy.

"Good morning, Sunshine." (My all-purpose greeting when I didn't remember the guy's name.)

"You too, Brook. Got any aspirin in that medicine cabinet?"

I handed him the bottle and he gulped about four with water from the sink faucet in his cupped hand.

"Sleep well?"

"How could I? You were still pounding my ass at 4 this morning. I can't believe your stamina. I can almost walk." But, he smiled sarcastically through the complaint. He obviously believed he had scored big time. The place was nice; the bath, luxurious; and, I was definitely a hunk. And I hadn't beat him up.

Then I had a flashback, and it all came to me. I had gone to O'Malley's late--probably close to 11--for a nightcap after a long day at the gym and four hours of business bookkeeping until my eyes glazed over with the blurring numbers--one of the joys of small business ownership! At the bar, I had spotted the twink immediately--my type, small and strawberry blonde with a nice basket behind a threadbare jeans crotch. Tight tee, at least two sizes too small. Not an ounce of fat. He looked to be at least temporarily alone. He was probably old enough--they carded at O'Malley's on Saturdays. I gave him the dom "come hither" look, turned from the bar, and man-stretched out my legs, exhibiting my package and creating a welcoming vee. He stepped in and our crotches touched. I bought him a drink. A few minutes later, we headed for the crowded dance floor. Three long slow dances during which I had explored his ass cheeks and cleft and two drinks later, he was sitting in my lap in one of the booths, giving me a lapdance while we necked and my hand explored under his tee and diddled his tits. He was gasping and hot. He was ripe and ready. He was going to give me anything I wanted.

I was hard, and he could easily tell that I was built. In a soft, sub voice, he whispered, "Take me home, big boy. I need that monster in my ass. And it's still too crowded in here."

I guess we had walked to my nearby apartment. I just didn't remember the details. I was tired after a twelve hour day, but not really drunk. I do remember stripping him, then me. His eyes went huge when he saw my size. I lifted him and pitched him on the bed, and when my head hit the pillow, the world began to turn. I simply didn't remember much more. But, I've done it so many times, I can write the script. Apparently, I had done him, many times based on the spent condoms. Later in the morning he offhandedly remarked that he had never before been with someone who could fuck three times in a row without ever going soft. He was explicit enough with his description of my cock and technique, that I knew he wasn't faking it.

"Let's take this back to bed for a little while. The aspirin will begin to work in a few minutes. Then maybe I'll make us some breakfast before you go." (I was already setting the parameters of our hook--it was going to be over in a few hours.) So we returned to my king and I manhandled him into a spoon, my dick resting between his thighs and my fingers surrounding his hardening dick. We slept again (at least I did--not sure how he could with me trapping his dick in my sturdy fist) for maybe a half hour.

Once more I awakened, hard. But this time, there was a different reason. The twink's lips were firmly sucking on my dick head as his fingers caressed my balls while the heel of his hand put pressure on the taint. I looked down to see his beautiful blonde curls bouncing into my crotch. I stretched and began to arch my dick into his face and mouth. Sunshine was clearly enjoying his work. He choked a bit. Then went back to work and actually deep-throated me as I finger penetrated my hole. He sucked hard, the way I like it. He was definitely a pro. It was certainly in the top ten of blow jobs so far. He sucked, swirled, played with the hood, tongued the slit--and when he felt a pre-orgasmic spasm, he tightened a ring around the base of my shaft, edging me quite nicely with his index finger scraping my prostate. This continued for maybe five or ten minutes until I couldn't take the pressure anymore. I reached down, removed his constraining fingers and blasted my morning cum into his waiting mouth. So much that it dripped from the edges of his lips. He looked incredibly cute with my pearly cum overflowing his smile. And it felt wonderful.

Then, just to be a good host, I pulled him up and quickly jerked off his rock hard dick, moving my cum-filled fist to his mouth. He knew what was expected. He slurped it down like it was his last meal. I knew then he was mine for as long as I wanted him. But, I had work to do. And I never did two consecutive nights.

We rose and went to the shower. He was like a toy beside me, maybe half my size. So I washed him carefully and scrubbed his curls, brushing my soft dick on his globes and abs. By then, I was ready to go again. "I'm going to give you a going away present." I pushed him toward the shower wall, spread his arms and kicked his legs apart. He knew the drill. He pushed out his cute little butt. So I moved behind him, lubed with a little conditioner and rammed with one thrust. He whined, perhaps in a little pain, but pushed back into my gut. He wanted it, hard and fast and maybe with a bit of pain. He had just almost emptied me, so I was primed for a nice long invasion and siege of his hole. I stroked and stroked as his whines turned to gasps of pleasure.

Suddenly, he pushed forward and I pulled out. He turned and climbed up around my waist, his arms around my neck. He positioned my rampant dick at his hole. He wanted a deep cowboy bounce. He really was a cock slut. Using my powerful arms and hands, I lifted him and dropped him repeatedly on my pole. I'm pretty sure that I was poking his second ring. His eyes popped open as though to say, "Yeah, there, where no man has gone before." I know I was crowding and massaging his prostate. His color darkened to a nice blush pink. He was getting closer. I plunged hard and pushed him into my cock. I felt the inner ring give way. I was deep and home. I pushed him to the shower wall. Then I erupted filling him with my hot, creamy cum. He followed instantaneously with a several long shots of stringy cum. He went limp. His face fell to my pec, and he sucked a thank you hickey. Then it was over. We finished rinsing our cum, dried and dressed. Now I knew I had to be tested.

I took him to a late breakfast--at the local branch of Morning Fresh. I had been there many times--with many conquests. The waiters and waitresses all knew me and winked silently at my luck, my latest toy. This caused me to really look at him carefully. He was a beautiful cherubic boy, angelic and innocent. Little did they all know what he really was--a dirty little cock-hungry fuck toy. We each had a huge breakfast. Later we parted--and I still didn't know the twink's name. We hadn't exchanged numbers.

At least I had something to write about that afternoon.

******

I walked home--alone. I wanted to finish the story so I opened my lap top, stretched out on the sofa and started typing. The beginning of the story was set in a gay club. It was crowded with the typical gay crowd. Well-dressed peacocks in clothes that were way to tight. Circled by leather, older guys, and a few overdeveloped hunks. Several muscular studs frequented the place to find femboy and twink hookups for one night stands. I had described the hunks and even a few of the twinks--from personal experience with my clients at the gym and some of the younger guys who frequented O'Malley's. I had bedded many of them. I'm a confirmed top, and I like to play with toys. No commitments. No risks.

One of the hunks was autobiographical--so I had plenty of opportunity to describe myself. Well, maybe I enlarged my chest and added an inch or two to my 8 inch "porn dick." And maybe I exaggerated the number of times I could fuck every night. But, it was mostly me. I was a loner--or at least lonely. All day, six days per week, I worked with people--some really needing to lose weight; some needing to bulk up; many just average folks trying to keep a youthful body-style; but, some who were already on the way to hunk heaven. Unfortunately, most of them were married and presumably straight. We were not a stylish pick-up gym; we didn't even have a juice/alcohol bar--just a water cooler. Only a few ever pinged my gaydar, and one or two definitely were issuing invitations, but I tried not to mix business with pleasure. I had limited myself to Saturday night specials--and maybe an occasional Friday extra, almost always picked up at O'Malley's.

I'm 25, a college graduate with a degree in business. Really though, I had majored in the college's gym. My love of physical fitness had drawn me to purchase a fitness franchise and business out of bankruptcy. It was now almost thriving, and I had three employees and a cleaning crew under contract.

I had come out as a college freshman and I had a long relationship with my college freshman room mate, nearly my twin in physique, but my total opposite in color. He was dark "Mediterranean" and hairy--to my white Irish almost hairless body. We were well-matched and fucked and flipped often. I was assuming we were in love and headed for couple-dom after school. But the affair ended just before graduation when he "discovered" he was bi: a wealthy man's attractive co-ed daughter had proposed marriage as her father offered him a vice presidency in a medium sized manufacturing firm. He was no more bi than I. I was crushed at the time and didn't even date for nearly a year. Since then it's been one-night stands only, with younger guys who look nothing like my former room mate. I wasn't going to be left again. And, as I said, I've become always the top. Bottoming requires vulnerability--that's not me.

The story I was writing proceeded with a hook up on the dance floor. And of course the twink was taken to a hotel room and fucked hard and often. Now at least Sunshine had given me a full and vivid description of the young guy--and the fucking he had received. He was definitely walking funny when the hunk was through with him.

But, then I hit writer's block. What next? Does our hero go twink-hunting again? Does our protagonist realize his loneliness and find true love? With a twink? Or an equal? And what is the catalyst for him to change? I'd have to think about it. A one night hook fuck wasn't enough for a story.

So I set the story aside, got a cold one from the fridge and turned on Sunday night football. Fortunately, the Detroit stadium had been sold out, so the Lions were not blacked out in our neighborhood. Hours later, I awakened on the sofa--and a late night talk show was playing. I had slept through the end of the game. I undressed, washed and headed for bed.

Then, remembering the previous night, had to strip the sheets and remake it. One of my unbroken rules: never sleep on sheets where a conquest had already occurred. Just one of my little quirks. But, I'm not really anal with household cleanliness. Tomorrow was another early day--we opened at 6, and employees were notoriously unreliable on early Monday mornings, so I always did the opening and changed into my workout gear. My first trainee of the day would not be until 1 o'clock, so it was mostly a social easy morning. But three regulars were waiting when I opened the door and flipped on the lights. We greeted, exaggerated the joy of the last weekend and went to work.

Within an hour, we were unusually crowded. I guess the weekend had been a good one for most--and they needed to get in a restorative workout before starting the week. All my regulars. I worked the room, offering advice and encouragement. The weekend began to fade.

Business was really quite good. The demand for personal trainers was growing by the week--and I almost didn't have time to manage any longer. So I had been advertising for a trainer-assistant manager for over three weeks. I had had a few calls, but none had kept the in-person interview appointment. I guess they had not been impressed with my telephone answers to their questions--almost all of which anticipated almost no hours for tons of money.

Around 10:30, when things typically slow down a bit until the lunch rush, a dark young man entered. He was a stranger, so not an existing client, but obviously in nice physical condition. I was, I guess, visibly shocked by him. He was almost Jeff's twin--my erstwhile room mate and lover of years gone by. I did a double-take, gulped and approached. I knew immediately that Jeff would not be "slumming" in downtown Detroit for a health club. It had to be someone else. "May I help you?"

He smiled broadly. I don't think it was pride--although he could easily be proud. I think he was genuinely friendly and into people. "I understand you might be hiring? If so, I'm interested. My name is Tony Bonano."

I think maybe a stared for a few seconds too long, as his eyes dropped, probably in despair because the job had already been filled or an instant rejection because of his mafia good looks. "Sorry. I'm in another world this morning. I'm Brook Riverton. Yeah, I know it's kind of corny, but my mother was a flower child. She couldn't resist the naming. And I am still looking for an assistant. Tell me about yourself."

"I graduated from Wayne State last May. For most of my time there, I assumed that pro-ball was in my future. But, I guess I wasn't good enough, and I lost most of my senior year because of a leg injury. I'm living with my Dad and looking for work. I've got a degree in physical fitness education--the typical jock curriculum. You've got a nice place here. And it's really convenient. My Dad lives only a few blocks away. I think I might like to work here. And somehow, I think you might enjoy having me as an employee." He smiled shyly. "I'm really pretty good."

As he was talking, while I tried to listen, I was examining him closely. He really could have been Jeff's twin or at least his brother. He was about my height. Dark brown wavy hair. Dark, almost black eyes. Thick lashes. Full almost puffy lips. Set in a darkly tanned and chiseled face--giving him a look that was simultaneously fierce and bedroom-bound. Athletic muscles most likely--although the loose sweats he was wearing didn't reveal too much--except for one thing--he was commando and the dick was a long, thick tube, stretching well down his thigh. He knew how to showcase one of his best attributes. He had a great smile and a deep masculine voice. I knew immediately that he'd be great with clients--assuming he knew his training stuff--he had already convinced me. Unfortunately, my gaydar wasn't pinging.

At that minute, Marie, my oldest employee came in. She normally handled the desk. the meet and greet and a few training sessions. Three days a week, she came in late and closed for me. Incidentally, she wasn't "old." About 23, very fit and well put together. The male clients all flirted with her--and she gave it back to them in spades. I acknowledged her. She spied Tony and winked at me. (She conveyed everything with the facial expression: If he wasn't for me, pass him on to her.) In a voice loud enough for her to hear, I asked Tony to come to the office so we could discuss details of his possible employment. Her thumb went up immediately behind his back, as her lips formed a "yes".

Less than an hour later, I had hired a provisional assistant. Six week trial period. Tony agreed to start immediately. So he took his small duffel to the lockers and changed into workout gear. When he reappeared, it was obvious that he was in terrific shape--probably exceeding my own muscle size and fitness in several key areas--like chest, guns and thighs. And he had an incredibly small waist and a hard bubble butt. And even jocked-up, I could tell he was hung, really hung. The ladies (and maybe some of the men) were going to love him. Maybe that's what gyms are all about.

We were going to start by having him "train" me for an hour or so. I wanted to get a feel for what he had to offer.

I asked him to put me through a typical one hour training session--designed for an active athlete and gym regular. He turned out to be really quite good. He knew the routine and the equipment, carefully corrected positions and motions, smiled a lot, offered words of encouragement, pushed me the way a good trainer should, with lots of hands-on touching--something my clients had shown they really liked. By the end of the hour or so, I was definitely sweating, pumped and chubbed--and I showed it. My tee was plastered to my pecs. My shorts were looking pretty small. He stared for just a second or two too long. Then he licked his lips. And my eyes went to his crotch. He was hard too. It was pretty obvious. Interesting.

"I'm typically a yoghurt at my desk lunch kind of guy, but there is a sandwich shop next door that's pretty good. This afternoon, I'd like you to wander around the gym, doing typical stuff like re-racking, wiping down the equipment, spotting, restocking towels, offering position advice if you feel comfortable--and watching me. And keep an eye on the locker room for towel pickups, liquid soap refills etc. I have four personal training sessions this afternoon. Tomorrow, I'd like you to take on a few sessions. Marie has signed up two new customers for tomorrow. They're yours, if you want."