Part of a series of short stories with the common connection of 'Naked' and placed in various sections on this site.
Some of them are funny, some are sad, some are quirky but all reveal the many facets of human emotion in all its naked rawness.
If you like this one, please read:
Naked Revenge under the Exhibitionist and Voyeur
Naked Grief under Non Erotic
Naked Fear under Non Consent and Reluctance
and watch out for Naked Greed, Naked Ambition and Naked Hate coming soon.
She watched him as he worked out on the machine opposite her, his perfect body straining as he pushed against the weights, working his strong, long, well muscled legs. Her eyes roamed over him as she sat in her own machine, desultory working her biceps, the weight on as low as she could put it, her mind on other things.
Things like getting her hands on that beautiful masculine body in front of her.
Squirming on the small plastic seat her eyes moved up to drink in his handsome face, trying to catch his bright blue eyes which stared out into the exercise machine room of the local gym they were working out in. His concentration seemed total as he lowered and raised the bar, the sweat running down and leaving sexy damp spots on his tight white top. Damp spots that she would like to lick off him, and make him sweat from a different type of effort, with her, in a bed, hard and heavy.
She had noticed him the first time two weeks ago, running on the treadmill, his tight sexy bum encased in his cotton black shorts and her heart had missed a beat while she cycled on the bike machine set back in the corner of the cardiac room. So engrossed in watching him run she had stayed for a further fifteen minutes on the cycle than she normally did, and paid for it the next day with aching muscles in her legs, as well as the aching muscles in the most intimate place on her body each time she remembered the sight of him running, his tight small arse towards her, his long back and strong shoulders moving in a steady flow as he pounded along.
Now she came to work out each day at the same time hoping to see him, praying he would notice her, speak to her. But each day he would come, work out and then disappear.
Until yesterday when she found out that after the workout he would go to the steam room. And today she was ready. She would follow him in there. Surely in the heat, with only a towel artlessly wrapped around her, within the small hot space he would notice her.
Watching as he stopped his steady movement, and as he reached across to pick up the towel to wipe his face and neck her hot eyes took in the curves and dips along his collar bone and shoulders, an area she craved to bite and nibble, and to feel the tight and tender skin between her teeth, to feel the pulse in his throat under her tongue.
Tipping his head back as he took a swig of water from the small plastic bottle she stared at his Adams Apple as it bobbed enticingly with each swallow of water, causing a warm pool of pleasure to settle in the pit of her belly. His neck was moist with perspiration, his skin warm and inviting, and her lust for him rose up a notch.
He climbed off the machine, wiped himself down and took another swig of water before stretching his arms up high above his head, easing the tight muscles there, and then leant towards the left then right so that his spine eased out, all the time keeping his eyes on the vision in front of him, the target of his own desire.
The cropped blond was laying back on a black plastic weight training bench, his rough tough face screwed up with the effort of raising the heavy bar of weights up, his trainer standing at his head shouting encouragement at him, the exertion causing the tendons in his neck and arms to be prominent, and the man watching felt himself harden as he watched the focus of his own silent lust.
Watching as the blond placed the bar of weights on its hook and then sat up, he carried on wiping his neck and shoulders with the towel, the heat of his body not just from the hard effort he had just expended on the weight machine behind him.
How he fancied the blond weight lifter. He was just his type, rough and tough looking, with a hard edge that seemed to emanate from him.
He ached with wanting to be fucked by him, to feel the blond hold him down and ram himself into his arse, to be allowed to suck him off, to be dominated by the man now standing up and shaking those tightly muscled arms as the blood pumped around them, strong arms with tough hands, hands that he knew he wanted to feel on his own skin.
Tattoos adorned the blond mans skin. Random and un-artistic. Hard looking, not unlike their owner.
The mans blood pooled down in his groin as he imagined those arms, the tattooed skin under his hands, his nose buried in the blond mans groin as he sucked him off. He could imagine the taste of the thick creamy cum in his mouth and he shivered in his lust as he watched the object of his desire laugh at his trainer, clap him on his shoulder and then followed his retreating back with his eyes as the man strolled across the room and out the door.
The blond weight lifter with the tattoos walked out the door, glancing across at the woman sitting fiddling with the seat on one of the weight machines as he went. She was slightly overweight and had a good ten years on him, but he fancied her like crazy.
She had a warm and welcoming appeal to her, the type of woman he was attracted to.
The motherly type.
A sensitive man, this woman, her short brown hair, her large soft breasts, her round belly and gentle face made him tongue tied. Last week he had walked across and helped her out as she tried to work out how to set up the machine she was on to fit her short height, the smell of lavender reminding him of his own mother, her quiet shy 'Thank you' rippling through him.
He knew his appearance made him look fierce, but he was a gentle man, hard working and kind, and he yearned to be in a relationship with the lovely woman who seemed to be so wrapped up in her own thoughts that she didn't notice him.
Not when he smiled across at her. Not when he tried to catch her eye.
Maybe she was scared of him. Scared of the stupid tattoos he had done when he was younger and thought it was clever to adorn his body with the vivid patterns. But now he was slightly older and the black, blue and red markings held him back. They scared people, made them think he was something he wasn't.
People judged him on the outside appearance, not what was inside of him.
At the home for mentally challenged young adults that he worked at as a carer he had been held back from becoming a team leader because of how he looked. But he didn't care. He loved to help and look after his charges, making their lives better. Making them reach for more than they were expected to reach. Making their lives easier.
And the woman, the one that right now was working out on the machine, the woman that looked as if she had the worlds worries on her shoulders as she worked out, her face a furrowed countenance, now she was the one he would like to help to make her life easier.
He smiled to himself as he walked down the stairs towards the shower room, remembering the way she had stood, scratching her hair, making it stand up, mussed and tangled, as she tried to remember how to change the height of the seat. How he yearned to run his fingers through her hair, to feel it slide against his calloused skin, to smell it as he buried his nose in it, to smell her shampoo. To drag the lemony scent he caught last week when he had built up the courage to walk across and help her out into his lungs and absorb the essence of the woman.
Stripping off his wet smelly clothes he grabbed his clean towel from his locker and padded over to the shower cubicle, reaching in to turn on the water. Standing under the slightly warm spray he closed his eyes and pictured in his mind laying in bed with her, their bodies joined, her soft welcoming flesh rubbing against his own, and he tingled down his spine as the picture became so real in his head that his cock hardened despite the now cooling water spraying down on him.
Opening the door to the steam room the man stepped in breathing in the heat into his nose, his skin already starting to perspire as the temperature in the room hit his skin. Settling up on the top wooden slatted bench, his white towel wrapped around his hips, he sat and waited, praying the blond weight lifter would as usual come to the steam room after his shower.
Leaning his elbows on his thighs he rubbed his right hand over the now wet skin of his face, feeling his five o'clock shadow rasp against his palm, before running his fingers through his slightly curling hair. He knew he was good looking, knew his body was buff, and that he had a sensual sexiness that usually attracted partners whenever he wanted, and what he wanted was that man. Rapacious in his sexual appetite he had had many partners, many experiences, but lately all he could think of was the blond weight lifter.
Glancing up as the door opened to the steam room he saw a woman walk in, her long black hair settled around her naked shoulders, her towel tied around her chest, her long legs appearing from the edge of the towel that barely covered the top of her thighs. Laying down on her back to his right on the lower shelf, she bent one knee, her towel slipping down further, the start of her naked hip showing, moisture dewing on her exposed expanse of skin.
Smiling to himself the man leaned back against the wooden wall behind him, beads of sweat running down his wide firm chest and flat tummy. The woman's eyes watched between slit lids at the object of her lust, the heat and the sight of him making her body restless in its need. Arching up her back so that her breasts rose up she sighed, trying to catch his attention, but he just sat there, his eyes closed, beads of sweat running down his skin, his long legs splayed apart, the shadow of his manhood just visible from her lower position teasing her.
After a few minutes of silence the door opened and in came the blond weight lifter, his hard muscled body moving with a feline grace as he climbed up onto the higher level to the mans left. Leaning into the corner, facing into the centre of the room he settled, his tattooed body quickly slick with sweat as the hot steam worked its heat upon his body.
The man had watched him enter through slightly open eyes, trying not to be too obvious, and his own skin now soaking wet with the steamy high temperature in the small room. Moving his thighs slightly wider apart, his towel opening to expose himself more he wiped his chest and belly with the palm of his hand in a slow sensuous gesture.
The blond weight lifter didn't notice.
But the woman did.
Time moved slowly in the hot steamy room, each person aware of another, each lost in their own thoughts and individual lust. Each hankering after someone who was not at all interested in them.
After ten minutes the blond got down from his shelf, leaving the room, going to get dressed and then back to his small flat, alone again, dreaming of the lovely woman who never came down to the steam room and wishing he could get the courage up to ask her out.
The man left soon after, aiming to watch the blond as he dressed in the changing room, getting his kick from his illicit viewing as the blond dried off and got dressed, and then going to the toilet and locking himself in a cubicle, wanking off at the memory.
The woman wandered back to the woman's changing room, dressed and then left the gym and crossed the road to the pub opposite to see if she could pick up some man, any man to take back to her place to relieve her itch, a poor replacement for the object of her craving
Is there anything as sad as unrequited lust?