Gym Rat

I spot a hot older butch at the gym, and when she hits the showers, I can’t help but follow.

Warnings: age gap (early 50s to late 20s), marijuana reference but no consumption, public sex, shower sex, almost getting caught, oral sex, fingering, Sir kink, language like kid, boy, slut


I hate the gym. Always have. Full of dudebros getting swole and women in the locker room giving me confused looks (at best) and dirty looks (at worst).

But my ex took her free-weights with her, and a gym membership is cheaper than a new set of weights. Plus, I have to find some way to meet this testosterone-driven need to work out every day. I’ve been microdosing for six months and I’m happy with the results: I’ve been gaining muscle and hair, and the bottom growth hasn’t been bad either. My favorite part, by far, is the way my voice is getting deeper. 

It’s late on a Tuesday night and the gym is close to empty. The fluorescent lights are harsh and cold, and the air conditioner hums over the sound of gym bros grunting by the weight machines. Two women in yoga pants speed walk on the treadmills, where the TV news is announcing severe weather predictions. It smells like sweat and cleaning products. I’m doing bicep curls and checking my form in the wide mirror when I spot her.

She’s an older butch dyke with a fresh fade in her salt-and-pepper hair. She’s wearing a black cutoff and red basketball shorts, her body thick and strong, and she’s walking over to the leg press. I almost drop my 25 pound weights when I see her. 

I compose myself and finish my curl, enjoying the hot burn of my muscles straining against the weight. I complete my set and rerack, taking a long swig of water. I steal a glance at the leg press and spot the butch with an impressive weight. Done with my biceps, I decide to wander over to the rowing machine that is coincidentally located near the leg press.

I rack my weights—75 pounds—and pull my elbows back, keeping a tight form and steady breathing as I row. I can spy the silver fox in the mirror from my vantage point, and I steal subtle glances every few reps. At least, I hope they’re subtle. 

I’m breathing hard and my heart is thudding in my chest, and it’s mostly from rowing but not entirely. Older butches get me hot, okay?

I take a breather and the silver fox finishes her leg presses, checking her watch and putting a finger up to her neck. I try not to stare, try to pull my gaze away. I finally do, but watch her out of the corner of my eye as she walks over to the bench press. Now’s my chance.

I hop up and take a deep breath, marching over to the bench press as she gets settled.

“Can I offer you a spot?” I ask, trying not to sound too eager.

She glances up at me, a small smile dawning on her handsome face. Her eyes are brown.

“Sure, kid. Thanks.”

‘Kid’ hits me in all the right places. I should probably feel demeaned by it, but she can call me anything she wants and I’ll still feel this way: skin tingling, heart pounding, stomach tight. 

I swallow and smile back. 

She racks 200 pounds and my eyes widen a little, impressed. I bench 120 on a good day. Then again, she’s visibly bigger than me, which I try not to spend too much time thinking about. Or, fantasizing about…

She lays back on the bench and I position myself as her spot, ready to grab the weight if she needs it. She doesn’t, of course. She’s slow, grunting and exhaling under the strain, but she holds steady and does a dozen reps before smoothly reracking. Her sounds light a fire inside me that I try to tamper down.

“Thanks, kid.” There it is again. “Want me to return the favor?” You can return so many favors for me. 

“Um, yeah. Thanks.” 

Cheeks burning, I remove 50 pounds from each side of the barbell self-consciously. I add 10 pounds to each side so I’m benching 120, my max. I pray I make it to a dozen reps too. Here’s hoping.

I lie back on the bench with my legs wide, focusing on my reps and not getting distracted by inappropriate thoughts, no Sir, certainly not thinking about calling her Sir while I lie back and she spreads my legs, nope.

I take the cold metal bar in my hands and lift the weight above my head, trying so hard not to look at her. I’m solid through the first six reps, beginning to tremble a little on the seventh and eighth. I push myself through the ninth, and barely complete the tenth. I shakily rerack, and she helps me. 

I exhale loudly, letting my arms flop down and relax. They’re burning in that delicious, painful, addictive way. My blood races with adrenaline and I want so badly to ask for her name, her number, anything—when she says:

“Well, I’m gonna hit the showers. Nice to meet you, kid.”

I barely have time to stammer, “Nice to meet you, too,” before she’s turned on her heel and walking away. 


My heart pounds so hard I can see throbbing at the edges of my vision. I take a long drink of ice water from my water bottle and shift on my feet, debating what to do. I should probably spray the bench down with cleaner, but fuck it.

I follow her down the stairs, maybe a minute behind her. This particular gym is huge, and there are rows and rows of lockers and a large, communal shower in the back with some private shower stalls too. 

I walk down the rows of lockers to reach mine, looking for my towel. 

There’s no mistaking the silver fox when I walk past her section of lockers. She’s shirtless and in a sports bra. My heart hammers but I keep my pace, walking past her to my locker in the back. I plug in my combination in the lock: 4-2-0. What can I say? I’m a simple guy.

I snatch my towel from my duffel bag and start stripping for my shower, hoping she opts for the communal shower and not the private stalls. 

I’ve pulled my t-shirt over my head when my locker door closes behind me, and the hot butch herself is standing in front of me, hand on my locker, leaning into me.

“Following me, kid?” she asks, looking me up and down with a threatening, predatory gaze. I suddenly feel very naked in my Nike sports bra and Under Armour shorts.

“N-no,” I stammer, blood rushing in my ears so loud it’s hard to think. “I was just—just taking a shower.” I can feel my cheeks burning red again, like they did when I could only bench half as much as her. 

“Sure you were, kid.”

Her gaze has turned lustful, but no less predatory. She licks her lips while she gazes at my body, bringing her other hand to rest against the lockers, pinning me there between her arms. 

“I saw you checking me out upstairs. Don’t lie. You weren’t done working out. You were just eager to follow an old butch to the showers. Isn’t that right?”

I could be swallowed by a dark hole in the middle of the floor right now and be at peace with my death. I’m so embarrassed. 

“I-I’m sorry. I’m really sorry. I can go—”

She tsks and shakes her head.

“Now, now. I didn’t say that… We can still take a shower together, butch to butch. If you can be… quiet?”

Oh God.

I swallow a whimper, and nod slowly. Finally, I find my words and speak.

“Y-yes. I can.”

I don’t know which has me more on cloud nine: that she just offered to take a shower with me, or the fact that she clocked me as butch. 


She leans back, tossing my towel in my face and sauntering away.

I scramble to get undressed, walking to the showers in my bare feet with my towel wrapped around my chest. 

She’s in the communal shower, naked, standing under a stream of water and shampooing her hair.

I stop and stare. Her body is lithe and strong, wrinkled and sagging in some places, and sexy as hell. She closes her eyes, letting the water wash over her hair as she rinses out the suds. When she finally opens her eyes, I’m still gawking. 

“Well?” she says. “What are you staring at? I have to wash up first, don’t I?” 

She reaches for a pump of the combination shampoo-and-body-wash and begins to rub it over her belly and chest, reaching for her armpits, her forearms. I realize I’m staring again, and I pull myself out of it and drop my towel on the floor. I walk over to the showerhead next to her, turning it on warm and letting the water rinse over my sweaty, sticky body. My eyes flutter closed from the pleasure of the warm water.

She’s done washing herself by the time I open my eyes. I reach for the body wash and she puts her hand on mine.

“I got it,” she murmurs. She takes a pump in her hands, rubbing them together, and reaches for my shoulders, rubbing the lather down my back. She reaches down farther and grabs my ass firmly. 

“You have a perfect body, kid,” she says in my ear. I want to whimper.

“My name is—”

“Don’t tell me your name,” she interrupts quickly. “It’s hotter that way.”

Warmth floods through my body, pooling in my core. She’s right. It is hotter that way.

“Fuck,” I mutter to myself. I consider, then ask: “What should I call you?” 

“What do you want to call me?” 


A low chuckle. Then she growls. “I like that.”

She squeezes my ass again, sliding her hands up my sides and bringing them to my chest, ostensibly to clean my tits but really to play with them and draw small moans from my mouth.

“You like being called good boy, or good girl?” she asks me, her soapy hands trailing down my stomach to my hips. 

“Boy,” I answer, barely able to breathe.

“That’s a good butch,” she says with a smile, and somehow ‘good butch’ is better than either option. 

She takes another handful of body wash and rubs up and down my legs, paying special attention to my thighs and ass. Lastly, she guides my head under the stream of water and washes my hair for me, an act so intimate I’ve never actually done it with anyone else. I feel tense and try to relax into her touch. 

She massages circles into my tight neck, making an “Oh” fall from my lips. 

“Yeah?” she says. She digs in harder, pulling more sounds from my mouth.

“That’s—not fair…” I struggle to say.

“I thought you said you could be quiet,” she teases, rubbing my neck and shoulders.

“Yeah, but—” I pant. “I didn’t think you’d do that.” 

She reaches a knot in my shoulder and begins to loosen it with her strong hands. 

“God, fuck, Sir, that feels—so good—” I manage to say between moans.

“Can’t wait to hear you say that later,” she whispers in my ear. I shiver. “Your noises are already so sexy.”

Her back rub relaxes me into a puddle of goo. I would do anything she asks right now. Her hands trace up my back to my neck again, this time, wrapping around it gently and holding me firmly in place.

“So… naughty boy… who follows butches into locker rooms to get fucked in the showers… Whatever will we do with you?” 

I whimper. The water runs over my body but the wettest part of me is now between my legs. 

“Please, Sir.”

“Oh, ‘please’? Good manners. Please what, boy?”

“Please touch me, Sir.”

I’m breathing hard, my hands pressed against the white tile wall in front of me to hold me stable. 

“I’m already touching you, boy…” she says wickedly, squeezing my neck just the slightest bit tighter. 

“Please fuck my pussy, Sir!” I burst out, desperate for it. 

“Ohh,” she groans. “Boy. You filthy slut. Begging for your pussy to get fucked in this public shower by some butch you just met?” 

I whine and try to nod. “Y-yeah. Yes, Sir. I am. Please. Fuck. I am.” 

She growls in my ear. “Beg for it more.” 

“Y-yes, Sir. Please, Sir. Please fuck my slutty butch pussy.” 

That’s the ticket. Say it again.”

I do. I repeat it, over and over.

One of her hands releases from my neck and trails down my back, down my ass, between my thighs to that part of me that aches for her so badly. She slides her middle finger along my wet slit, and I let loose a slutty moan that would most definitely get us caught if there was anyone else in this locker room. Shit. 

“What happened to being quiet, boy? Too slutty for it?” 

My cunt clenches on emptiness.

“I just—um…”

She laughs, and the feeling of being laughed at makes me hotter, somehow. 

“Don’t worry, boy. I’ll fuck your slutty butch pussy for you.”

And she makes good on her promise, slipping her middle finger into my tight, clenching cunt, groaning in my ear about what a filthy slut I am for being so wet for her. 

“Yes, Sir,” I whisper, trying to contain my moans. “So wet for you.” 

I bend over farther, giving her better access to fuck me. The water runs over us both, soft and warm. She fucks me slowly and teasingly, and I grow restless. 

“Please, Sir—” I break off in a choked noise.

“Aww, please what?” she asks sweetly. 

“Please, more, more, please, more…” I trail off, unable to say anything else. 

She lets go of my neck at this, bringing her spare hand to my clit and fingering me harder and faster. The growing sensations of pleasure are addictive, and soon I’m bucking on her hands and losing my grip on the tile wall as I tremble.

I reach for the rail to support myself, gripping hard. 

“Pl-please, Sir…” I beg. 

“Please what?” she asks, light teasing in her voice.

“Please—you’re gonna make me cum if you keep doing that,” I whine. 

“Aww, what’s a matter? Do you want to cum? Or are you a good boy?”

“I’m—uh—I’m…” I’m lost for words. I’m a good boy, but I want to cum. “I’m a good boy?”

She pulls her hands away from me, slipping her messy fingers in my mouth and making me suck. I moan at the taste of myself.

Good boy.”

I look up at her with wide eyes as she fucks my mouth, delirious from being denied. When she pulls away, I murmur, “Thank you, Sir.” 

“God,” she groans. “You’re such a fucking slut. I love it.”

“Thank you, S—” 

I’m interrupted by the clunking sound of the heavy metal door to the locker room opening. Chatter between two feminine voices floats over to us. We’re not alone.

I open my mouth to whisper something, but she shuts me up with a kiss first. She tugs on my short hair and I hold in my moan.

Sir pulls me into one of the private shower stalls, shutting off the shower on her way. She whispers in my ear, “I’m going to eat your slutty butch pussy until you cum on my face, and you’re going to be quiet. Got it?”

I whimper quietly and nod. 

The sound of two locker doors opening echoes in the large locker room. Sir gets on her knees in front of me, burying her face in my bush and licking my dripping cunt. I pull my hand over my mouth, whimpering into it as quietly as I possibly can. 

She’s a monster, licking and sucking my hard clit with greedy enthusiasm, her hands firmly on my ass, holding me still as I grip the rail behind me. 

I eye the gap between the shower stall door and the floor, and silently hope to myself that our locker room guests don’t check underneath it. The possibility of getting caught sends a delicious thrill through my whole body, landing in my stiff clit. A moan climbs up inside me, and I swallow it down.

She moves her right hand from her grip on my ass and slips a finger inside me, focusing on my pleasure, on making me cum.

I grind against her face, finding a rhythm that matches her licks on my clit with a flat, steady tongue. I’m falling apart, into a million pieces. This is every fantasy I’ve ever had. I’m trembling, my legs are shaking, and I’m holding my breath to avoid making a sound. 

It’s coming. I’m so close. It’s arriving like a fire licking up my skin, covering every inch of me until I explode into a thousand sparks. I cum hard, containing my scream with great effort. She drinks me up, licking every inch of my pussy until I’m done cumming. I twitch when her soft tongue grazes over my sensitive, throbbing clit. 

She pulls away, a satisfied and somewhat dopey grin on her face. She stands up and presses her body against mine, shoving me against the wall of the shower stall. Her wet mouth meets mine in a sloppy kiss, and I taste myself: salty, sweet, tangy. 

She tangles her fingers in my wet hair, tugging. A small whimper escapes my throat, muffled by her wet kiss. She brings a hand to my throat, and God, do I want to let out a long, low moan right now. But I can’t, so I bite her lip in return and enjoy the way she smiles into the kiss.

The creaking sound of the heavy locker room door echoes again, the chatter disappearing, and we pull apart.

“Alone?” she whispers.

I raise my hands in a shrug. We open the shower stall door and walk around the locker room, seeing nobody. 

She pulls me back to her locker, pinning me against it with a hand on my collarbone, dipping her head to lick my nipples. 

“F-fuck,” I whisper. 

She pauses to lick her finger and strokes my aching clit with it. Before I know it, she’s two fingers and three knuckles deep inside me, mouth on my nipple.

“Y-yeah… Yes, Sir,” I say, feeling drunk on pleasure. 

She switches nipples and brings her thumb to my clit. 

I always cum easier on the second round. 

“S-Sir, Sir, Sir, Sirrrr…” I pant as my second orgasm hits me like a high speed train. I flutter and clench around Sir’s fingers, her wet mouth still on my chest. I play with her salt-and-pepper hair as I come down from my high, and then she lets go of my nipple and moves to kiss me, hard and fast. She pulls her fingers from my cunt and licks them clean in front of my face, groaning as she does so and lighting my body on fire again. 

“You’re… You’re so hot. You’re a demon,” I say in a daze. 

She chuckles and her wicked grin is so handsome that I have to catch my breath over it. 

“You’re not so bad yourself, kid,” she says. ‘Kid’ still makes me tingle in ways that I don’t fully understand. Something about an older butch acknowledging my younger masculinity.

“Can I see you again?” I ask, a little eagerly. “Or… get your number?” I add shyly.

She looks at me, tilting her head, considering. My heart thuds in my chest.

“How about same time next week? Actually, come at closing. I know the manager. He owes me a favor.”

I’ve never been so eager for a workout. 

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