Chapter 6
CHAPTER SIX
PERCY
Thank god for the fall chill in the air, cooling the sweat on my skin immediately as I step out of Crossing Swords with my heart pounding and my cock aching.
It’s not very often I feel glad that my dick is so small and doesn’t get hard in the same way as a cis guy’s dick would, but it’s definitely a benefit when it comes to hiding an embarrassing erection.
Sure, I could feel the hard length of Butch’s cock against my back while we were dancing, but that was just friction, it wasn’t personal.
His dick would have been hard no matter who he was grinding on.
But good god was it doing it for me. My nipples are tingling, and I have to ball up my fists to keep my hands from shaking.
I can’t get a crush on a guy like Butch. I’ll only end up humiliating myself.
I don’t regret the choice I made to get a metoidioplasty and a scrotoplasty instead of a phalloplasty.
I didn’t want to risk losing sensation, and I didn’t want to rely on a pump to get an erection.
I just can’t figure out how to get past the fear of being judged or seen as not man enough because my dick is about the size of a thumb.
I need a low-key nerdy boyfriend. Someone just as awkward and gangly as I am, someone I wouldn’t be terrified of getting naked in front of. Maybe even a trans boyfriend so he’ll understand the struggle and I won’t worry about him judging my petite package.
I huff out a laugh, leaning against the side of the building for a second to catch my breath and absently watching other people come and go from the club.
As if Butch would ever entertain wanting to date me anyway.
I’m sure he prefers other hyper-masc dudes with muscles for days and dicks the size of my forearm.
He’s just being nice. He’s a friendly guy, and maybe he’s kind of adopted me as his project, but he doesn’t like me.
As long as I can remember that, I won’t embarrass myself.
Now that I’ve talked myself down and my cock has settled from the outlandish fantasies of Butch grabbing my jaw with his big, calloused hand and turning my face to claim my lips in a rough kiss, I pull my phone out of my pocket to text Juno and let them know I’m stopping for a slice of pizza and then heading home.
I noticed them chatting up a pretty blond near the bar on my way out, so I’m sure they won’t miss me at all.
It’s a Friday night, and it’s still early by party standards, so the street is busy, crowded with guys of all ages, most of them dressed in flashy or barely there clothes, some of them stumbling drunkenly, all enjoying the long stretch of bars on this block.
I make brief eye contact with a couple of different guys, getting some smiles and winks in response.
I’m cute, I know that. I guess it’s just the fear that guys will be disappointed with my dick that’s still holding me back from really putting myself out there.
Every time I think about a full-on hookup and I imagine the possible reaction to someone seeing it, my stomach knots and I feel like I’m going to have a heart attack.
I just need to get over it and put myself out there, but I don’t know how.
The pizza place on the corner is fairly quiet when I step inside. In another couple of hours, it’ll be crawling with drunk gays craving a slice of greasy, cheesy goodness after the bars close, but for now, there’s only a short line.
I get in line and pull my phone back out to scroll while I wait for my turn.
I guess my phone picked up on the fact that I joined a gym, because an advertisement for a half-marathon in the spring comes across my timeline and I let out an audible laugh.
Yeah, right. Seven months wouldn’t be enough time for me to go from nearly dying from jogging three-quarters of a mile to managing to pull off thirteen point one miles and living to tell the tale.
Seven years probably wouldn’t be enough time.
I linger for just a second, chuckling at the thought, then scroll past. The line shuffles forward and I hear the whoosh of the door opening and closing behind me.
“This doesn’t look like home, Rocky.”
Butch’s voice startles me enough that my phone jumps out of my hand and clatters to the floor at my feet.
“Fuck me, since when does stalking fall under the job description of a personal trainer?” I bend down to pick up my phone, trying not to wince at the way my muscles protest. I stand up and turn around to find Butch right there, massive pecs and all.
“Or are you here to lecture me about macros and tell me that a slice of pizza will undermine my fitness goals?”
He lets out a booming laugh, his chest quaking with the sound. “Hell no, I’m here to stuff my face with pizza. Sometimes the protein bars just don’t cut it.”
He pats his belly and grins. I catch the motion of the door swinging open again in my peripheral vision and I look past him to see the rest of his gymbo crew filing in, plus one more guy I don’t think I’ve been introduced to yet, wearing a pair of gym shorts, a pink crop top, and a backwards baseball cap.
“Cool. Well, I’m just getting a slice to take home.” I glance over my shoulder and hurry forward towards the counter when I see that it’s my turn.
“You must be the newbie Butch can’t stop talking about.” Another large man shoulders past Butch and claps me on the shoulder hard enough to make me stumble.
“Rocky,” Silas tells him the nickname that apparently I’m not going to be able to shake while Butch lets out a loud sound that’s somewhere between a laugh and clearing his throat.
I consider correcting him and saying that my name is actually Percy, but it feels kind of cool having a gym nickname. Butch throws his arm around my shoulders and leans past me to put his free hand on the counter.
“I haven’t talked about him that much,” he defends with an almost nervous chuckle.
“This is Callan, by the way,” Butch introduces him and then looks past me to the guy behind the counter.
“Hey, can we get two large pizzas, one cheese and one veggie?” He orders and then looks down at me.
“Is that good, or were you planning to get something else?”
I shake my head. “I was getting cheese, but really, I’m just getting a slice to go—”
“Nah, sit and eat with us,” Fender insists. “This is Slater, by the way, AJ’s boyfriend.” He points to the guy in the baseball cap.
“Boyfriend,” Slater echoes, grabbing AJ’s hand and grinning from ear to ear. “Why is that word still so hot to me?”
AJ squirms a little but then kisses Slater on the cheek, smiles back, and whispers something in his ear.
“They’re baby bis,” Fender explains.
I chuckle and nod. “Welcome to the rainbow mafia.”
All the guys pull out their wallets and toss cash onto the counter, and I scramble to do the same. I guess I’m eating with them? I swear, since the second I accidentally walked into Sweat yesterday, my life has just gotten weirder and weirder.
BUTCH
We all crowd into a booth, with Callan and Silas taking up one side.
Fender slides into the other and I follow him, bunching up close enough to leave space for Percy.
I pat the open seat, and he eyes it for a second before sitting down.
AJ and Slater grab chairs from an empty table nearby and drag them over so they can sit on the end.
“So, how was your first training session with Butch?” Silas asks.
Percy blushes and nervously rubs his hands on his jeans.
“Oh, great. I ran, like, six miles without breaking a sweat and then lifted a car over my head.”
The guys all chuckle, and Callan puts his elbows on the table, leaning in with a small smile that I know means he’s about to spill a secret.
“I was pretty athletic when I was a kid, but in college and for a few years after, I really let myself go. Partied too hard, couldn’t be bothered with any cardio that didn’t end in an orgasm, you know how it is.
But I woke up one morning and decided I was tired of feeling like shit all the time, that I needed to cut back on the booze and get my ass back in shape.
My first time back in the gym, I pushed myself so hard I ended up fainting on the treadmill, and when I woke up with some big, ugly mug in my face, I puked all over the guy. ”
Silas snorts a laugh and pats Callan’s shoulder.
“I should have just left you there on the floor to wake up on your own.”
Percy’s eyes go wide, and a smile stretches across his face. “Seriously? How did you have the guts to show your face there again? I would have had to change my name and move to a different city.”
Callan shrugs. “I guess I felt like I had something to prove to myself after that. I couldn’t let that be the last image anyone had of me.
Took me a year to get back in shape and another year before I had the balls to apply for a personal trainer job at Sweat, but the humiliation was worth it in the end. ”
Fender grabs a slice of pizza and leans around me so he can see Percy.
“You should have seen me ten years ago. I looked like a sickly Victorian child, and I got winded going up the stairs to my second-floor apartment. I was in the wrong neighborhood one night looking entirely too gay and a couple of guys started hassling me. I swear I saw my life flash before my eyes. I thought I was about to be a hate crime statistic.”
Percy’s eyes get even bigger, and he leans in, inadvertently pressing his body a little harder against mine. I pull my arm out from between us and fling it up along the back of the booth to give him a little more space.
“What happened?” he asks, barely above a whisper, like he’s afraid to know the answer.
“Luckily nothing. They called me some names and scared the hell out of me, and then they just took off. But I hated how helpless I felt at that moment, so I figured I either needed to buy a gun or learn how to throw a punch.” He flashes a toothy grin and then takes a bite of his slice.
“I ended up doing both. But boy, was it a fucking journey to go from string bean to killing machine.”
Fender flexes his bicep and Percy looks impressed. I lean forward to grab a slice of pizza for myself, and if I end up staying there, blocking Percy’s view of Fender’s preening, that’s just a coincidence.
“Wow.” Percy shakes his head and bites into his own pizza. “I know it’s stupid, but I guess I’ve always looked at guys like all of you and felt like you’re just born that way or something. Like you must have come out of the womb powerlifting and flexing.”
Everyone laughs again.
“Definitely not,” I assure him.
“Cool. I guess that makes me feel a little bit better about how scrawny and out of shape I am.”
“Stick with me, Rocky, and I’ll have you showing off your own set of biceps and washboard abs in no time.” I wink at him, and he blushes all over again. Damn, that’s cute.
“Why do I feel like I’ve stumbled into a gymbo version of She’s All That? You didn’t make a bet with these guys that you could turn a nerd into a stud, did you?” He chuckles, but it’s a little nervous, like he’s worried that might actually be what’s going on here.
“That movie was straight fucked up,” Slater mumbles with his mouth full.
AJ nods. “Like we weren’t supposed to think Laney was hot even as a nerd? Come on.”
“Exactly. She could get it in those paint-stained overalls,” Slater agrees, high-fiving his boyfriend. Then he turns his attention back to Percy. “But if you want some help with your fitness goals, Butch is your guy. He’s gentle but firm—exactly what you want in a trainer.” Slater winks.
Percy wheezes a little and shifts in his seat. “Gentle but firm is good,” he mumbles. “I guess I just need some fitness goals now.”
“That can be our first task at your next session.” I bump his knee with mine under the table to reassure him that I’ve got his back. That’s what personal trainers are for, after all.
“Cool,” Percy says softly.
He definitely holds his own, putting away a few slices of pizza just like the rest of us and falling easily into a conversation about the end of the baseball season and the current shows everyone has been watching.
I have plenty of clients who are cool and chill who I could totally see being friends with outside of the gym, but there’s something really nice about seeing Percy fit in with the guys.
With only a few pieces of crust left on the trays and the pizza shop starting to get more crowded, we all file out.
Standing on the sidewalk, it feels kind of wrong not to offer to walk Percy back to his place, or at least to the bus stop, which, okay, is less than a block away.
But still. I shove my hands into my pockets and roll the words around in my head, trying to work out the best way to offer.
He looks past me, and his expression changes to surprised embarrassment. “Juno, hey.”
I recognize Percy’s kind of androgynous, punk rock roommate from his social media.
“Heeeeeey,” they greet, looking back and forth between me and Percy with a shit-eating grin. “I thought you’d be home in bed by now.” They cock their head and give him a wide-eyed look like they’re trying to say something without saying it.
Percy squirms and then waves towards me.
“Juno, this is my personal trainer, Butch. Butch, Juno.”
Juno swings their attention to me, looking me up and down shamelessly.
“I can see why you joined the gym.”
“Oh my god, Juno, please shut up,” Percy groans.
I laugh and cross my arms, subtly flexing my biceps.
“No, Juno, please go on.”
Juno’s mouth opens, but Percy slaps a hand over it before they can say any more.
“Oh, would you look at the time. We’d better hurry if we want to catch the last bus.” With his hand still over Juno’s mouth, Percy starts to drag them away. “See you later, Butch,” he shouts over his shoulder.
More laughter shakes through me, and I stand rooted to the spot, watching until they disappear into the crowds of people leaving the bars as they start to close.
“You coming, man?” Fender nudges me and I nod.
His next training session can’t come soon enough.