was focused on their own exercising. I had Craig laying down on his back, bench pressing a barbell.

“No, no, Craig,” I said. “You’re putting too much leg in it. Here, let me show you how to get the power into your shoulders and pecs, which is what you want to be developing here.”

I squatted down on the bench, facing him, and pushed my knees under his thighs, pushing his legs over mine and out. I spread the palms of my hands on his tender inner thighs. “There, try it like that.”

He huffed and puffed for a few minutes, barely getting the barbell up, concentrating hard. But then I started to gently stroke his inner thighs with my fingers and he was suddenly concentrating on something else. He started to tremble all over and he couldn’t get the barbell fully extended.

“No, you’re trying to get the power from your stomach, Craig. It must be from your chest and shoulders. Don’t arch your back. Here, now try it.” I moved one of my hands to his flat little belly and held him down on the board. He was trying his best to raise the barbell, but not having much luck.

“It’s no use, Rod,” he whimpered. “I can’t get it up.”

“It doesn’t look to me like you are having trouble getting it up, Craig,” I said, as my hand slid down to his basket. I admit that I was a little surprised myself. In the shower he had present a pert little prick, like a chaste Greek statue, but now he was filling out nicely in that department.

Craig sat up in panic. “Please, don’t, Rod. I can’t do it.” His body was shaking like a leap and he couldn’t look me in the face. His gaze was glued to my hand cupping his basket.

I took one of his hands in mine and guided it to my own basket. He gasped and tried to pull away but I didn’t let him. “Well, when you can do it, this is what is waiting for you, Craig.”

He jerked his hand away, jumped off the bench, and bustled back to the dressing room. He was back in a moment with his clothes hurriedly stuffed in his gym bag, not even having showered, and escaped out the door.

All the next day, I wondered if I had acted too quickly, but right before closing time, there he was again. He’d never come two days in a row and never this late. He stayed over to the side, well away from me, working out with hand weights until the last of the other patrons had left.

“We’re closing now,” I said as I picked up my duffel bag and walked by him on the way to the door.

“I think I can do it now,” was all he said, in a small, distant voice. He looked so vulnerably twinky even after all those weeks of working out.

I continued on to the door and locked it from the inside, and then I returned and took his hand and led him to the hallway leading to the dressing rooms, where we couldn’t be seen through the storefront window.

I pushed his back against the wall,