Page 1 of Sebastian

CHAPTER ONE

SEBASTIAN

Mars Fitness smells the same as every other gym I’ve ever been in. I’m not sure why I was expecting something different. A gym is a gym after all, right? But I’ve heard so many good things about this place that I thought maybe it would smell like a garden or a spa or something. Nope. Sweaty men still smell like sweaty men, even if they’re gay.

Mars is just one of a few gyms I’m visiting and to be honest, it’s pricey enough that it’s not really in the running. I really only use my gym membership when the weather is crap outside and when I get the odd compulsion to lift some weights. Otherwise, I’ve got my daily Yoga with Adriene routine and my three-mile runs every other day, and they’re more than enough to keep me camera-ready.

“Hi there, Sebastian, is it?” The big buff guy smiling at me is wearing a Mars Fitness t-shirt that looks like it’s been painted onto his muscles. I can practically count the number of abs on his stomach and it takes me a minute to drag my eyes back up to his face.

“I’m Beau,” he says with a southern accent that makes me think of Gone with the Wind. “I’m one of the owners here at Mars Fitness. Let me show you around.”

I follow Beau past the front desk and into a large space packed with exercise machines. They aren’t brand spanking new, but they look well-maintained.

“So, Sebastian, are you currently a member of a gym?” Beau asks.

“I just canceled it, actually,” I explain. “The place is falling apart, a lot of the staff have left, and I didn’t feel like I was getting my money’s worth.”

Beau nods like he’s heard the story before. “I completely understand. We pride ourselves on providing quality equipment. Anything that breaks down usually gets fixed within a day or two and everything gets sanitized overnight.”

He points to the wet wipe dispensers mounted all over the place, then takes me to the free weights area. Next to it is a small alcove with two massage tables. One of them is free but the other has a guy lying on his back. A staff member in a Mars t-shirt has the guy’s leg raised and is pushing it toward his chest in a stretch.

Something about that staff member makes me look twice. He looks familiar for some reason, but I don’t know anyone who works at a gym. I definitely don’t know anyone who works at Mars.

The personal trainer puts the guy’s leg down and walks around the table for the other leg. As he rounds the foot of the table, I catch a glimpse of his face and gasp. My heart stutters to a stop, then launches back to life in double time.

I know that guy. I know that face, those shoulders, those thighs. I had his picture taped to my bedroom wall—and a not-safe-for-parents version hidden in my underwear drawer. I used to jack off to him almost every night. He’s the reason why I do what I do now.

“All our personal trainers are certified and they re-up their qualifications every year. We always end a training session with a personalized cooldown and stretch.”

That’s nice, Beau, but how much is just the personalized cooldown and stretch? Or better yet, how much for Chris Preacher to warm me up and then cool me down? Because if that’s available, then sign me up!

When did he become a personal trainer? I don’t know why I’m surprised. He retired from doing porn a bunch of years ago and kind of vanished off the face of the earth. I’ve tried looking him up every once in a while, but I’ve never been able to find any news about what he’s doing now. I guess even retired porn stars still have to work.

Chris Preacher was the golden boy about ten years ago. He dominated the gay porn industry and was so popular that even straight porn people and non-porn people recognized his name. There were entire online message forums dedicated to obsessing over him—I might have moderated one or two back in the day. And then, all of a sudden, he disappeared. There was a short press release about retiring for personal reasons and then poof, he was gone.

Only to resurface at Mars fucking Fitness.

Beau leads me to the locker room, going on about cleaning schedules and how the lockers work. I’m not listening to him anymore. My mind is still back in that alcove with Chris Preacher, but now I’m second-guessing myself. Was it really him? It couldn’t be. My mind has to be playing tricks on me, making me see what I want to see.

“Here are the showers, and the sauna and steam room are on the other side.” Beau stops by a counter equipped with blow-dryers and hair products. There’s a giant fishbowl sitting in the corner filled with condoms and a second slightly smaller one filled with single-portion tubes of lube.

“We’re all about safe sex here, so the condoms and lube are always free. Here, take one.” He hands me a foil packet with the Mars logo emblazoned on it.

Right then, a moan echoes off the tile walls of the shower room. Most of the stalls are empty, but there’s one with the curtain drawn closed and two sets of feet visible in the gap underneath. Just before I turn away, one of those sets kneels down and an enthusiastic “fuck” rings out.

Beau gives me an almost embarrassed look. “As long as all parties are consenting adults, we’re not here to police.”

I guess that’s what they mean by a gay-friendly gym. I can only imagine what happens in the sauna and steam room.

Beau leaves me at the entrance of the locker room with instructions to look around on my own and then find him at the front desk if I have any questions. And I do. Just one, in fact. Is that really Chris Preacher?

I pull out my phone and quickly look up the most recent picture of him I can find. He’s clean-shaven in the photo and his hair is longer. The guy in the alcove has a short sexy beard and a closely-cropped cut. But the lips are the same and the line of his neck is the same. The shoulders are about the same width, even if they look a little softer than they used to.

It’s him. It’s totally him. I’m positive.

I’m about to go back to the alcove to get another look, but the minute I push away from the wall I run into a solid mass of muscle.

“Oof.” I would have stumbled backward but strong fingers latch around my arms to keep me upright. I look up and my lungs forget how to function.

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