drakestories: “You must be Tom,” the silver-haired man said, as he gripped my hand in a firm grasp.
drakestories: “You must be Tom,” the silver-haired man said, as he gripped my hand in a firm grasp. “Jeff Ellis,” he introduced himself. He didn’t need to. Ellis had distinguished himself with an amazing NFL career and now that he’d retired, he’s started a cottage business selling custom sports supplements. My coach at State had recommended I visit Jeff, and now coming face-to-face with this legend in the flesh, I wasn’t disappointed. I may be 20 years old and a top-notch Big 10 football player, but I have a secret thing for older guys. Guys like Ellis. His silver chest hair was poking out the collar of his gray T-shirt, and up close the bulk that had just filled out with age looked even more magnificent. “Nice to meet you, sir,” I said, a little nervous at the waves of attraction that were fluttering inside me. “Don’t worry, Tom, Coach Emerson is a good friend and one of my best clients. I always take good care of his boys.” He looked at me with a strange intensity and I was starting to wonder if there was a double entendre to his statement. I shot back. “I’m glad to be in your hands sir.” Jim sized me up and down and put on his left hand and started running it up and down my lats, then over my pecs. “Nice. Nice definition, real dense muscle fiber, I can tell you’ve not been taking any shortcuts.” “No sir.” I’d avoided steroids or anything that smacked of them and was proud of hell of the muscle I’d packed on through sweat and tears. Problem was, I was boning up under his touch. Big time. I could tell he knew, too, but didn’t say anything or even react overtly to my evident lust. Other than his next words. “Look. I don’t normally do pleasure before business. But why do we go up to my hotel room before hitting the gym today. Huh?” It was a statement, a command, more than a question. “Yes, sir, Mr. Ellis.” -- source link
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