Workout

by Tym Greene   

Sometimes it’s good to let your mind wander while you’re going through your reps at the gym…but sometimes things can get a bit out of hand…or perhaps “out of hoof” would be more appropriate…

This must be, he thought as he leapt up from the exercise machine emblazoned “Seated Row,” how a draft horse feels in his prime. That last set, the one he always failed on, the one that made his muscles and bones ache…that set he powered through, and then another. “Like a Clydesdale,” he muttered, feeling the corner of his lip curl up in a confident smile.

Sure, his abs ached and his arms were sore, but the endorphin-thick blood that coursed through his body only made him smile more as he piled on further pounds to the next machine on his chart. As he pumped the handles out, he imagined hot summer sun on glossy brown hide, the jingle and creak of tack as he pulled a beer barrel laden cart through an idyllic countryside

Suddenly, a clang shattered his concentration: had one of the barrels broken free? His eyes flew open, and shook his head, snorting at the dollop of sweat that had just rolled down his face. Gone was the buzz of insects and the scent of growing grass. In its place was bad rap music and the smell of sweat, old and new. He glared at the elderly man next to him, the one who had put too much weight on his first rep and had dropped the whole stack when his arms gave way. Nostrils flared, he turned back to his own machine, and started pumping anew.

Later, he stepped into the gym’s showers, shying away from the blast of water, the dial cranked as it was to the highest temperature to combat the winter chill pervading the building. Participating in a tradition that had existed for all of a few days now, he quickly lathered on his new combination shampoo and body wash. The blue label only hinted at the breathtaking coldness of the syrupy fluid within, laced as it was with pure peppermint oil. His body tingled with the mix of hot and cold; it made his skin seem to tighten up, he could feel the smooth curl of water pouring off his shoulders and back.

He reached down, lathering his balls and between his buttocks. The soap’s tingle masked other sensations, like the apparent looseness of his hole, and the hefty way his testicles dangled against his hands. He moaned, though, feeling the utter relaxation of body and mind, not noticing that his shaft had begun to drop. Too engulfed in pleasure and the post-workout strain, he didn’t notice as the bottle of Mane ‘n Tail slipped from numbing hands, dropping onto to the tiles with a hollow thunk that made his ears twitch but otherwise went unheeded.

There was simply too much heat, too much power in his soapy, sweaty muscles, too many hormones pumping through his pumped-up system; his eyes were screwed shut against the water and suds and his nostrils flared at the smell of masculinity that was overpowering even the cold mildewy scent of the gym showers. He was getting off on his own pheromone-laced aroma, but found it hard to grip his shaft, his fingers seemed stuck together and clumsily heavy, so instead he began flexing his abs, slamming his stiffening cock up against his belly.

Soon the pleasure was too much, and he dropped to all fours, his rump in the air, his strong back drenched by the shower as he continued belly-slapping. Shifting position he heard a series of clops on the tiles, but ignored the sound: for some reason, they felt right, as did the thing trailing against the back of his thighs, twitching like a wet mop.

With a grunting snort he felt his whole body tense up. The smell of him was overpowering now, and utterly masculine. His nostrils as wide open as his eyes were closed shut, he drank in the misty musky air, his tongue lolling from his slack jaw as his hip-thrusts quickened, the thwock of cock on belly reaching a fever pitch, and then stopped as his whole body tensed.

A wet sound, like three separate tubs of honeyed yogurt being thrown at the wall, echoed through the shower.

As he stood panting, still on all fours, the water continued its work, washing away the mess he’d made, binding molecule-by-molecule to scent-laden hydrocarbons and dragging them down to the puddled tiles. Eventually, the spray ran cold, but still he stood, letting it work on sore muscles and retreating shaft.

The sound of a pair of rubber boots walking into the shower made him lift his head, eyes still closed, ears swiveling to pinpoint the source. A deep voice spoke, at first unfamiliar and confusing, and then a hand stroked along his wet back, smoothing out the hair along his spine. Unseen, the other hand reached out and shut off the water.

“Okay, Goliath,” said the voice, “I think you’ve had enough. Let’s get you out in the sun and dried off.”

He couldn’t fight the desire to follow that voice, the gentle guiding hand on his neck, as though he’d been trained to it. His eyes fluttered open and he saw that the (more-or-less) pristine white tiles of the gym shower were now stone cobbles strewn with hay and mud, the half-high wood walls revealing a large stable, built for large horses. But he was still on all fours, still naked, and still following this man in rubber boots and dingy overalls.

And then they were outside, and he felt the summer sun on his flanks, drying his hide and fetlocks, warming his snout and ears. A deep breath revealed the smell of clover and hay and several other horses, which he could see cropping the grass in a nearby pasture. Not needing the stableman’s guidance, he trotted over to his brethren.

The other Clydesdales welcomed him like a long-lost friend, nuzzling his head and pressing their thick barrel sides against his. Then they all dropped their attention to the grass below their hooves. The last thought he had that tied him to what had gone before, was that no wheatgrass smoothie had ever tasted so sweet, but even as he thought it, the word “smoothie” seemed to lose its meaning, becoming just another series of sounds the humans made. There were much more important things for him to focus on, like the scent of his herdmates, finding the spots with the freshest grass to nibble, and maybe a good shade tree to doze under.

Tomorrow they’d be hauling beer barrels for the city’s annual parade, but for today they could all rest easy.

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