Message from John Carter

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Saturday, August 13, 2011

At the Gym (Part 2)

I arrived at the MMA gym a few minutes early.  The owner, a guy I'd met several times in the past, asked me if I was there to join the kick-boxing class that was going on.  If I was, I was late.  I told him I was meeting a friend to do some grappling.

The gym is in a converted warehouse space.  It is essentially one big room with a huge amount of mat space.  One side was taken up with a bunch of people doing a sort of kick-boxing, aerobic routine (they had dance music playing).  I moved over to a section of the mats away from them, sat down and started doing some stretching.  As time passed, and I stretched and stretched, I began to wander if I was going to be stood up.  I didn't have the guy's phone number.  We had just agreed to meet at seven.  It was now seven fifteen or so.  I made a mental pact with myself to wait until seven thirty and then leave.

As yet another K$ysha song started to play, I was just about to get to my feet and leave, when he walked into the gym.  He was smiling and he waved to me as he approached.  He was dressed a little differently than I'd hoped he would be.  He was wearing a pair of baggy shorts, sandals, and a long-sleeved T shirt.  I guess it was the long-sleeved T that most put me off.  He was showing so little skin that I was just a little put out.  Still, he had good legs - hairy and sort of muscular.  But still.

And of course, I was a little put out because he was late.  I am habitually on-time and have always had a hard time with people who treat deadlines and appointments as approximate times.  Still, he apologized - sort of - and I shrugged it off.  At least I'd get to wrestle him.  I could just use my anger. 

He talked while he stretched - just random things.  I wasn't really listening too carefully to what he was saying.  Rather I was listening to his voice.  He had a nice voice.  Deep and masculine.  Sort of sand-papery but boyish.  I liked his voice.  There was a calmness to it, but strength as well.

Finally, we started to wrestle.  He began on his back, which I had not expected.  I thought he would want to start in a neutral position (both of us on our feet) but instead he lay back and invited me to try and cross his guard. 

I shrugged it off, and went after him, but he used his legs very effectively to keep me at bay.  After a few futile attempts, I remembered an old trick I'd seen once.  I grabbed one of his legs and swung him around, then doubled back and got into his half guard.  From there, we really started wrestling.  He was strong.  Stronger than me, I guess.  But not by too much.  I was able to hold him on the ground and work on an arm for a bit before he bridged me off and worked out of it.  We seemed to roll across each other, chest to chest, chest to back, chest to chest, and pretty soon his T was wet with sweat.  He had a man's smell to him.  Not an unpleasant funk, just the smell of a guy and I liked it.  Liked the way he felt in my arms, the way our legs intertwined, the feel of the back of his head (he had very close-cropped hair).

He laughed a lot when he wrestled.  As though he was enjoying himself.  Sometimes when he strained to break a hold, he'd emit a faint grunt, sort of like a martial artist does to direct their chi.  For a while he had me from behind, and worked to get his arm around my neck.  I could feel his breath on my neck.  And he sort of laughed and told me that it was looking bad for me.  But then I broke free and we were on all fours facing each other.

I'm not sure when the kick-boxing class broke up.  We continued to wrestle, and I think for a bit a couple of people stood around and watched us go at it.  I was completely in the zone wrestling this guy, and all of that was merely the most vague movement beyond my concentration.  I was enjoying myself, too,  Enjoying the way he felt, his hairy legs, the dark sweat patch of his T that clung to his hard body, the way he put his hand on my crotch and lifted me, letting it linger just a second - or was that my imagination?

Finally, we broke and both of us laid back on the mats.  We were breathing hard and sweat was running down my face in rivulets.  I brought my T up to wipe my face and he reached over and patted me on the stomach.  I think he wanted to feel my abs, and I let him, holding the shirt up a moment longer.

"Man, you're a blast to wrestle," I said.

He was sitting up now, looking at me with a big old grin.  "Yeah."  He nodded, and I swear he blushed.  Then he looked down at his bare feet.  "Wanna go again?"

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