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Empathy & Ecstacy

 

Part 1

 

The countdown beeper sounded. 5… 4… 3… 2… 1… 

 

“Congratulations, you have finished your workout” chimed the lifeless voice from the laptop screen. 

 

I laid out flat on my exercise mat, panting and perspiring rivers of sweat. 

 

Damn you, Jordan Yeo, and all you fitness gurus and influences. With your perfect hair and radiant smile, and making it look so effortless to get swole and ripped. 

 

I really should know better. Compared to these meathead 20-somethings, I am twice their age and their body fat percentage.  What was I trying to achieve? I can only count my genetic blessings that I managed to keep trim and flat belly-ed over the years with jogging, swimming and cycling. With my salt-and-pepper hair and goatee, this daddy still manages to turn a few heads when I’m out and about, from members of all sexes, whether I’m clothed or in my swim trunks. They would say “I look good”,  and add “for your age” for good measure.

 

Bitches. 

 

I work out to maintain my sanity. CB has been especially tough for me  - the company folded because of the epidemic, and the job search is anything but fruitful. The only silver lining is that, from years of rat-racing, I have squirrelled away enough saving to tide through this stormy period. With my sparsely decorated 3-room HDB flat fully paid (again, from years of selling my soul to the corporate world), I treat this difficult period as a prelude to my impending retirement. To pass time, I signed up with Laramove to do delivery, earning enough just to pay for petrol and a few culinary indulgences whenever I feel like it. 

 

The night sky was lit momentarily by lightning, followed closely by a clap of thunder, announcing the arrival of the torrential monsoon rain. The howling wind provided sweet relief from the humidity, as I started to peel off my sticky tank top, closed my eyes, and slowed my breathing. 

 

I didn’t realise how long I was out when the door bell rang. I turned my head to the left and saw, with my bleary eyes, the LED display on the set top box blinking 10:17pm. 

 

The door bell rang again, this time round more urgently. “Ah, my supper’s here” I thought. I completely forgot about the order I made earlier this evening, because I know I will be famished after my workout. 

 

“Coming!” I turned to my side, and supported myself upright to a standing position. I swung my tank top over my shoulder, walked towards to the door, and pressed the button next to the key-holder. An image of a man showed up on the surveillance screen. He had a clear plastic poncho over him, with a Pandagrub uniform underneath. His face was blocked by his cycling helmet and a disposable surgical mask. He was clearly drenched from the downpour outside, as he futilely wrung excess water from his outfit, while waiting for me to answer the door. 

 

Poor guy, I thought. I have heaps of empathy for the likes of them, because I am them too, other than the fact that my car shielded me from the elements. I almost felt apologetic for making the food order at such hours of the night, in such horrendous weather conditions, to have this guy pick up and deliver the order. 

 

I opened the door. He looked up, our eyes met, and I instantly knew who he was. 

 

It was him. 

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Part 2

 

You see modern day fantasies play out in your daily life. It happens in-between your favourite shows, and they are called commercials. The impossibly gorgeous model acts as your everyday layman, tending to your every need, from plumber to car mechanic to supermarket cashier. If you suspend your disbelief for just that little while, life could almost be what you see in these commercials. 

 

This was the thought that was going through my head as I laid my eyes on him, at the Ayam Penyat stall near my house. I had to look around to make sure that I was not in the way of any camera crew filming a commercial with “hunky Pandagrub guy picking up a delivery”. 

 

By guess-timation, he could not be more than 25 years old, standing at a strapping 180 to 183cm. This was before the dreadful days of the epidemic, so I could clearly see his facial features. His raven black hair was abundant, slicked back into a pompadour, slightly flattened by the cycling helmet that he had placed on the table to his right. 

 

There was a natural sheen on his tanned skin, the one that you get on you when you have had a good workout. The cycling to the stall gave him a healthy glow that accentuated the smooth curves of his exposed arms and the hidden deck of pecs beneath his fitted uniform. A pair of black shorts, with tights stitched in, complimented his powerful quads and calves. His physique was that of a sanded-down darkwood statue - silently sturdy, yet playfully teasing in the sinewy muscles within the mahogany exterior 

 

He was in a sunny mood, smilingly engaging with the stall makcik in a light banter, teasing her to give him another packet “on the house”. He broke into a hearty laugh, one that showed off his pearly whites and a set of deep dimples on his strong angular face. His concentration shifted back to his mobile phone when it dinged an alert. The laugher subsided to a cheeky half smile, the kind that you get when you are let in on an insider joke that is not exactly rip-roaring funny, but still deserves a chuckle or two. 

 

In the split second that it took for me to shift my attention to an object past him, when he caught me looking at (ogling?) him, I registered a pair of soft brown eyes nestled under a set of neatly groomed brows. They spoke in many ways - of merriment earlier when, he laughed; of excess youth exuberance; and of a sense of hidden, unspoken vulnerability. 

 

By the time I turned my gaze back to him, when I was sure he was not looking my way, he was already clicking the safety buckle on his cycling helmet, and mounting his Shimano bike, his ride with electric orange and blue chevron stickers on the side. 

 

I thought that was the last I would see of him. Until tonight. 

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  • 2 weeks later...

Part 3

 

In spite of his mask, I was able to recognise him, those soft brown eyes. The man standing before me couldn’t be more different from how I last saw him, though he was in the same cycling helmet, Pandagrub tee and black shorts with tights. He was completely drenched, his poncho too thin against the thunderstorm that was raging on. I just noticed too that his right shin and knee was muddied and bloodied, and it was obvious he had a bad fall. He was leaning his weight onto the left side of his body, his brows furrowed, as he handed me my supper in a soaked plastic bag.

 

“So sorry sir, I dropped your food when I slipped and fell from my bike just now” He said, apologetically. “Nothing fell out, but it’s a little wet from the rain” His eyes softened as he spoke through his mask. 

 

“Don’t worry about that, what happened to you?!” I asked while retrieving my supper from him. Our fingers touched for a second, and his were cold. 

 

“The rain was so heavy, I slipped and lost my balance. And then a car sped through a puddle and splashed me all over…” he spread his arm out to show me the obvious. 

 

“Your right knee and shin look bad, come in, I’ll dress your wound” I said. 

 

“No need, sir, no need to trouble… I can just cycle back, it won’t ..” 

 

I cut him short “Where do you think you are going in this storm?” I gestured towards the scene happening outside my window - the sky was a dull red, and was lit bright by a sudden strike of lightning. 

 

He paused, and I could hear the gears in his head turning. He was hesitant. 

 

“Look, I do delivery too”, I loaded my Laramove app on my phone and showed it to him. “I feel you, man. A little kindness and appreciation goes a long way. Think of it as me making up to you, for your bad luck in getting my order in this shitty weather” 

 

His shoulders drooped a little, a sign that his guard was going down.

 

“Take off your poncho and leave it by that hook on the left” I gestured to him “Take off your wet shoes and socks and leave them by the shoe rack, bottom right. You’ve locked your Shimano bike already, right?”

 

He was taking off his poncho, his shoes, when he stopped “How did you know I have a Shimano bike” he look at me, puzzled. 

 

I diverted my attention, cleared my throat and the changed the subject “Come in when you are done, and close the door behind you. I’m going to get some towels”. 

 

I went into my room as he stepped into my house gingerly, making sure that he didn’t create a wet mess everywhere. When I came back into the living room, the door was closed, and he was just standing there, helmet in his hand with a small puddle of water pooling by his feet. I could see him shivering a little, and that’s when I remembered my windows were wide open. I threw a beach towel over a chair. “Sit here”, I told him as I walked towards the windows to close them. 

 

He sat on the chair, and left his helmet on the floor next to him. He leaned back and let out a sigh. I went into the store room to retrieve my first aid kit and a stool, and sat down in front of him. 

 

I handed him a towel while putting on surgical gloves “Dry yourself with this while I dress your wound. Stretch out your right leg”. He leaned back a little more, and extended his leg in front of me. He took off his mask, and I could see him grimace a little when I dab his wounds with dry gauze. He dried the sweat and rain off his face, and drew the towel from the front to the back of his hair in one motion. His wet tee-shirt was clinging on tightly to him, like second skin.

 

“You can take off your top if it makes you more comfortable” 

 

He looked at me, uncertainty in his eyes. “You don’t want to catch a cold in that, do you? Bad times to fall sick now, you know”. 

 

He paused, thinking, and finally relented. I was twisting open a tube of antiseptic cream when he took off his Pandagrub teeshirt. He proceeded to dry off his muscular pecs, heaving with his steady breath and I noticed his nipples were erect from the cold. My gaze followed his hands to his abs, undulating, sculpted, and little shiny from the remaining light perspiration. He then dried his massive arms, with prominent veins running through them and slightly pumped, probably from an earlier workout. When he turned his attention back to me, I had to bring myself back to the task on hand, applying cream to the wounds on his knee and shin.

 

He drew in a sharp breath “Yeah, it stings a little” I chuckled, a little amused that this hunk of a god could still be as mortal as we are. I felt his cold skin with my gloved fingers, and a little charge ran through my body. 

 

I took off my surgical gloves as I looked at him. He brought his right leg up and inspected the wound. Satisfied, he set his leg back to the floor, sat up in his chair, and locked eyes with me. 

 

“Thank you, sir” he said

 

“Call me Jonas. You’re welcome, Hazman”, I said, with a little smile.

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  • 2 weeks later...

Part 4

 

The awkward silence between Hazman and me were occasionally interrupted by the clapping of distant thunder. He was still holding on to his damp tee shirt, a crumpled ball in his hands. He was looking around my apartment, trying to avoid eye contact, when he noticed my supper sitting on the kitchen table. 

 

“You should go have your food, it’s getting cold”, he said. 


“It’s fine, I’m not hungry yet. I’ll heat it up later.”

 

More awkward silence as the wind howled outside the window. 

 

“Let me get you something to drink. What would you like?” I offered 

 

“Water is fine, thanks” he replied, with a smile. 

 

I went to the kitchen, poured a glass of water and handed it to him “So, how did you know I have a Shimano bike?” he had a curious expression on his face as he took a sip from the glass

 

I cleared my throat, and sat down on the stool in front of him “Well, I’ve seen you before, at the Nasi Ayam Penyat stall downstairs. It is a nice looking bike.” For a nice looking guy, I almost said. “I hope it wasn’t damaged from the fall that you had just now?”

 

“No, it wasn’t” he replied “thanks for asking”. 

 

I tried to change the subject “You look like you work out a lot”. 

 

“No lah, I’m just ok” he asked, as his thick pecs and biceps twitched, from a split-second sub-conscious flex. I took note of this male-peacock-like behaviour “ I work out thrice a week, after school, and play soccer with the boys during the weekend”

 

“You’re more than ok, you’re swole, bro. I would love to have your mass” I gestured casually to his exposed physique, curbing my urge to feel his muscle.

 

“Thanks, you’re not too bad yourself” he returned my compliment, saying “I like how lean and ripped you are”

 

I nodded towards the foam mat and a set of dumbbells on the floor “Yah, it’s getting harder to keep the physique, now that we cannot go to the gym because of this stupid CB period” I said, while standing up from my seat and stretching my body upwards, and tugging my gym shorts just a tad lower down my hips. This is my subtle seduction move, laying out the goods for him. 

 

I wondered if he noticed the semi-hard cock growing in my gym shorts.

 

His gaze moved from my exercise equipment to my lengthened torso. He really meant what he said, as I could tell from his expression someone who is liking what he sees. It was almost both of us were after the same thing. 

 

Our moment was interrupted by a sudden phone ring. Hazman reached into his pocket and took out his phone “Sorry, may I …?”, he looked at the kitchen, and I nodded. He got up from his seat and walked away, his muscular v-shaped back slowly hunched and spoke softly into the phone in Malay. 

 

“Everything ok?” I asked as he walked back to the living room.

 

“Yah, just my mum worried about me. I told her I’m seeking shelter somewhere before heading home” he said, a shy smile spread on his face. 

 

“Mummy’s boy” I teased, as I inched closer and punched him gently on his sculpted round shoulder. As nonchalant as I was trying to be, my cock instinctively got harder when I saw how his muscles rippled and sinewed in response to my ‘attack’. 

 

His smile grew wider as he pocketed his phone. Good, he is warming up to me. 

 

Hazman looked at my set of dumb bells on the floor “These are the ones that are adjustable, right?” he asked, “May I try them?”

 

“Sure, be my guest. The rack is by the window over there. You just pick these up, place them back into the rack, and adjust the levers at the side to get the weight that you want”.

 

As he squat down to pick up the weights, his shorts rode up to show the powerful quads that were straining his tights. He made light work of the pair of 15 kg weights, and came back to the mat with two 25kg dumb bells by his sides. He proceeded to execute a set of curls in front of me. He was fully concentrating on the movement, breathing steadily, his biceps ballooning into perfect spherical mounds, and his triceps carved out with every negative motion. It didn’t take long for his forearms to grow prominent veiny tracks that led up all the way to his upper arm and the sides of his pecs. 

 

As I admired the musculature of the young man standing before me, I could feel my semi-hard cock growing into a rigid rod in my gym shorts. My cock head pressed persistently against the lining, the slow chaffing pleasurable against the soft inner lining. 

 

I silently counted 25 reps before he finally let the dumb bells hang by his side, his breathing quickened from the impromptu set. He looked upwards, let out a loud breathe, and looked at me “Oof… that felt good”, he said, and gave me a toothy smile. 

 

“It sure did” I replied. 

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  • 1 month later...

Part 5

 

There was no way I am going to let go of this opportunity.

 

“How about I challenge you to a workout right now? When you finish it, I will reward you with a rub down” 

 

He glanced over his shoulder while returning the weights to the rack. Without missing a beat, he lifted a pair of 35 kg dumb bells out from the rack “Sure, I’m already warmed up anyway” He said, and gave me a wry and cocky smile.  

 

Good. Time to put my plan into motion. 

 

I switched on my TV, and started one of Jordan Yeo’s workout on Youtube. It isn’t really a particularly punishing workout, one that lasted a little over 20 mins, and focused on the pecs, delts shoulders, biceps and triceps. I didn’t need to prompt Hazman, his attention was already on Jordan’s on-screen instructions. A look of competitive concentration was on Hazman’s face, as the pair of dumbbells hung by his sides, his sinewy forearm bulging with effort. 

 

“3…. 2…. 1… go!” Physically, Hazman was Jordan’s equal, so he had no problem following Jordan’s pace, rep by rep. The compound exercises really worked his muscles, the expansion and contraction sending ripples beneath his mocha skin. I was really enjoying the view, a statue of strength in front of me coming to life. His deep valleyed pecs peaked and fell, his broad back soared with each lift, while his arms were like powerful pistons pumping away. 

 

As he completed his first set, Hazman set the dumbbells to the side of the yoga mat, and walked around the living room akimbo, catching his breath. He briefly looked at me and gave me a wide open-mouth smile, while a thin layer of perspiration started to form on him, creating a natural sheen that accentuated his musculature under the living room’s lighting. The room also started to fill with the musky scent of his manliness, and this heady mix of sight and smell only made me hornier for him. 

 

“Two more sets, champ!” I handed him a towel. He took it and swiftly wiped himself down before the counter for the next set to begin started to chime. I took the towel back from him as he picked up his dumbbells again for the workout. 

 

When the second set is done, he bent over to lower the dumbbells onto the floor, and placed his hands on his knees. While trying to slow his breath, he looked up and gave me a thumbs-up, signalling to me that he is ok. His entire body is now drenched, just as he was when he showed up at my door. Under the light, I could almost see his pumped muscles pulsating under his skin. I’m not sure if he can finish the final set. 

 

And he did - Hazman was straining and grunting through the final reps as the countdown beeper sounded for the last few seconds of the last set. He walked over to the rack to replace the dumbbells, paced around the living room to catch his breath, and finally walked over to face me, look at me straight in the eye, and said:

 

“I’m ready to be rubbed down”. 

 

“Alright then” I gestured to the yoga mat “sit down. I’ll start with neck and shoulder”

 

He sat down, cross legged, and I got behind him. I wiped him down with another towel, rubbed my hands to warm them up and slowly placed them at the base of his neck. His trapezius were still tight from the workout, but slowly yielded to my kneading. I moved my hands sideways to his deltoids, and started working on them from back to front, and this was especially difficult as he was really built, and my hands could barely cusp the rounded mould. 

 

Hazman closed his eyes, and let out a deep sigh “ooo.. yes… that’s nice” as I pressed and kneaded his front deltoids. As I moved my hands inwards, towards his pecs, I tried to make this movement feel more therapy, less a hug from behind. My fingers could barely touch each other as my palms moved over his mountainous muscles, meeting at the deep valley. As I moved inwards and upwards his pecs, I could feel his breathing deepening, and whenever my fingers grazed his pointed nipples, his body twitched slightly and a very quiet moan that escaped from his slightly open mouth.  

 

“Bro, are you hard?” he asked suddenly, without opening his eyes. I most certainly was - I was kneeling behind him, my raging boner pressing his lower back. I continued my sensual movements, body to body, and noticed that his shorts had tented at the groin area too. 

 

“I don’t think I am the only one” I answered, softly, matter-of-factly. 

 

“I am not gay, bro” 

 

“Well, neither am I” I moved to face him, keeping my hands on his shoulders, and met his eyes as he opened them. 

 

"I just like cock"

 

I slowly moved my hands down south, over his undulating abs, and reached for the waistband of his shorts, all the while looking at his brown eyes, now burning with horny desire. His is an expression of approval, while he adjusted himself for me to pull his shorts away to reveal his thick, long and cut manmeat. It must have been at least 7” long, and it is so hard that the head is almost purplish, and throbbing gently, having a life of its own. 

 

Hazman let out a gasp of ecstasy as I devoured his cock in one fell swoop, hungrily working it to the back of my throat. The musky scent of drying sweat, rain and mildly acrid piss drove me crazy, and I lapped at his dick head, his dick hole and the length of his cock with my warm and snaking tongue.He leaned back slightly to accommodate my aggressive cock thirst. Spreading his leg apart, he extended his left hand behind him for support, while his right hand is on the back of my head, guiding it up and down his pleasure pole. 

 

“Yeah, that’s it, suck that cock… lick my balls…take it all in… “

 

I reached for my own cock, releasing it from my own shorts and furious pumped it with my right hand. The testosterone from the workout earlier, Hazman’s god-like body framing my mental image, the cool from the pouring rain, and the heady scent of a desirous being. All of these made me even hornier, as I stroked my cock even harder, faster. My right hand reached for his nips, and played with them, brushing, twisting and pinching. He reciprocated by moaning even louder, his breath quickening and his dick expanding even greater with my mouth working a tight suction over it. 

 

“Oh fuck, I think I’m going to cum” Hazman grabbed my upper arm, and he entire body started to stiffen in anticipation. I stopped sucking, and wrapped my hand around his cock, slicked with my saliva. I stroked it furiously, my forearms bulging from the speed. My other hand was still on my cock, bringing me closer to the edge together with him.

 

“Aaahh,… argh… aooooo…fuck… ” was all the sound that came out of him as he cum, violently, his body jerked backwards with the intensity of his orgasm. He came hard and with such volume, his abs and pecs were lined with his milky white man juice. His expression of pure release and relief tipped me over, as I stood up and jerked off my cock to a ceremonious end, spewing my warm cum all over his muscular torso. My knees almost buckled while I held onto his shoulders, and I caught my breath while admiring the sight of a hunk drenched in cum before me. 

 

Hazman himself had his eyes closed while enjoying the finish, and took quite a while to open them. We met each others eyes, and there was nothing but silence before he finally said:

 

“You motherfucker.”

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