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Believe me, as a closeted horny gay kid in Texas, I fantasized about it constantly but the opportunity passed me by—until now. Earlier this summer, I was on my way home from the gym—in full mask and gloves, and before Los Angeles gyms shut down for a second round of closures—when I saw a face I recognized on Grindr.
I made the move from New York City to L. Then it dawned on me. This guy was a personal trainer at my old gym in Queens whom I side-eyed routinely. He would always bring his girlfriend to the gym. One day I remember complimenting her perfect lunges, which he credited to himself before wrapping his arm around her hips and rubbing her forearm with his giant fingers.
Turns out, he made the move to the West Coast just before the pandemic went into full swing. His only experience of L. But it was the latter part that got his attention most. I imagined him reaching his arms around to pull down his man bun, which as I remember was never ratty but always slicked, as his apple-like biceps peeked from inside his shirt and his shoulder-length locks fell just behind his ears.
Ugh, he was a sight. You want to meet? Straight to the point, spoken like a true New Yorker. I had to reprimand myself. My body was nearly convulsing thinking about it. COVID is a tricky bitch. We met at Runyon Canyon 20 minutes later, almost an hour before sunset.
At the top of the trail there is a slight curve leading to a lookout point. There was no one in sight. Then I saw him turn the corner, slightly out of breath. My knees almost buckled. First of all, his man bun was no more— probably a good thing.
First gay hookup story teeth were more perfect than I remembered, and it took all my energy not to stare at the silver spandex peeking First gay hookup story of his red gym shorts. The hairs on his legs were just fuzzy enough for me to wonder what the rest of the package looked like. We moved to the bench, which looks out on a beautiful view of Hollywood. I was surprised at how eager he was for this being his first time. With my consent, he grabbed my hand and pulled it down to his shorts, which were slightly damp but odorless and clean.
He reached over to my lap too, with my consent, and like a pro began to touch all the right places. I could feel him growing between my fingers. I was anxious but also completely free. He pulled his shorts down, unabashed and unafraid, and started touching himself. As a former church kid, I kept waiting for God to intervene but was very happy she turned a blind eye. I continued to look behind us to make sure no one was watching. He ultimately finished on the dirt beneath the bench, just as the sun was starting to turn red-orange. He pulled out a bottle of hand sanitizer and poured a generous amount into my hands before we parted ways.
He continued hiking downward as I walked up toward my car near Mulholland Drive. All Rights Reserved. Subscribe To Out Magazine. Search form Search. Scroll To Top. I smiled. In my opinion, all New Yorkers look better in California.
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