An Alpha Heel Wrestling Story (1)

Every gym has one…That Guy. The dude who sits on your favorite piece of equipment—monopolizing it—and just watches the rest of the gym.  He often has a frown on his face—giving off an impatient “l’m superior” attitude.  Sometimes, he just smirks, letting other gym members know he’s the Alpha Male on the floor.

In Jeremy’s gym, that guy was about 5’10”.  He was built like a tank, but it was hard to tell how much he weighed or if he had a ripped physique because he always wore a long-sleeved sweat shirt and sweatpants.  They were sometimes red.  Other days they were black or white.  He wore matching shoes.

That guy in Jeremy’s gym had wavy jet black hair and a matching black goatee.  His eyes were black as coal.  He wore a permanent sneer. His Roman nose was large, long and straight.  His skin (judging by his face) was olive-skinned, maybe of Italian, Greek or possibly Bulgarian descent.  Jeremy couldn’t rule out a Middle Eastern background either.

Before his run-in with this guy two weeks ago, Jeremy had no idea if he was hairy or smooth.  If he had to guess, he’d say the dude was about 45, but he might be a bit older.

Somedays, he trained with a young man in his early 20s.  Jeremy didn’t know if the kid was the guy’s son or just a member of his pack.  He was a nice piece of eye candy.  He had longish black hair and brown eyes.  He always wore a tight black tank top and black shorts, which gave a better idea of his physique.  

The young man also had olive-skin and nice, well-proportioned muscles.  His body looked to be smooth except for dark black pit hair that he kept manicured.  He wasn’t taller than 5’7” or weighed more than 170 pounds.  His muscled body suggested he might have been a gymnast or wrestler in college.  

Jeremy could not help but notice the outline of the young man’s cock head and thick shaft.  His cock swayed when he moved about the gym floor.  Jeremy found himself wondering if the kid went commando underneath his gym shorts. 

The young man was submissive around his leader—that guy—obeying his orders during the course of a workout.  Jeremy had heard the guy bark out the young man’s name.  It was Ari.

The dude himself rarely lifted weights.  Usually, he just sat on the equipment—observing the action and telling his minion what to do.  Jeremy thought the guy must work out because of his powerful built.  But he seemed more intent on exhibiting an overbearing, dominant personality while in the gym. Jeremy’s trainer Jim told him the guy’s name was Alexei.

Until recently, Jim and Jeremy did their best to ignore Alexei’s smirks and sneers.  They simply went about their business.  Still, they were both frustrated to find the guy sitting on the pec deck or another popular machine, preventing them from using it during Jeremy’s session.  Alexei knew they were pissed but didn’t seem to care.  It seemed to be his way of saying you’re nothing but my bitches. 

Jim and Jeremy were the pretty muscle boys of the gym. Both hunks identified as straight. Some of the men were jealous.  Several women would approach them to flirt—hoping to get lucky.  

The trainer was a handsome, brown-haired, hazel-eyed stud in his early 30s.  Exuding raw masculinity, Jim was about 6’3” and 225 pounds.  Jeremy had seen him without his tank top and could testify his body was hot as fuck.  Although straight, Jeremy could appreciate a sculpted physique. 

Jim’s carved pecs were about 48” with a light dusting of brown hair, and his broad muscled back tapered down to a 32” waist.  He had defined biceps in the 18” range.  At least that was Jeremy’s guess as to his stats. Jim had cropped brown pit hair, and brown hair coated his eight pack.  In the showers once, Jeremy had gotten a glance at his trainer’s 8” cut cock.

At 28, Jeremy was happy with his body—having trained hard with Jim for several years.  He was 6’2” and weighed 200 pounds.  He had longish sandy brown hair with blue gray eyes.  His chest was 46” with a 33” waist.  He had 16” biceps.  Jeremy was hairless except for trimmed light brown pit hair and pubes.  He was also proud of his 7.5” cock, which was thick and cut.  His balls were extra large and smooth.

One afternoon two weeks ago—a “chest day”—Jim and Jeremy approached a chest press machine that was Jim’s favorite in the gym.  Seconds before they arrived, however, Alexei appeared out of nowhere and sat down on the machine.  He didn’t adjust the weight or begin a set of presses.  True to form, he just sat there surveying the gym and, in the distance, Ari who was on an ab machine.  Alexei was dressed in black sweats, which made him look nastier than usual. 

Jim was pissed but asked politely, “Hey bud, do you mind if we work in with you?”

Alexei didn’t turn Jim’s way.  He just stared over at Ari.

“I said, bud, do you mind if we work in with you?

Again, Alexei didn’t turn his head or acknowledge Jim.  But he spoke in a low tone, “Find another machine, ass wipe.”

“Jesus, what’s wrong with you?” Jeremy blurted out.

Alexei turned his face for the first time and stared at Jeremy.  He sneered and said, “You got a thing for Ari, don’t you bitch?  I’ve seen you watch him.

“I…I…don’t know what you mean,” Jeremy stammered.

“Shut up, bitch.  You know I’m right.  I bet you’d like him to fuck your ass.”

“Now hold the fuck on,” Jim said, protesting “We’re straight, dude.”  He continued, “I ask you nicely to share the machine.  The machine you’re not even using, and you insult both of us.  Just who the hell are you.

Alexei stood and immediately got in Jim’s face.  Because he was shorter than the trainer, he had to look upward.  But his powerful frame was menacing nonetheless.  “You don’t get it, do you?  I’m your fucking Alpha.  And you two are just my bitches.  I’ll sit anywhere I fucking please.  Got it, bitch?

Alexei placed his large hands on Jim’s shoulders and pushed him hard backwards.  The surprised trainer stumbled and fell against Jeremy’s chest,  Both men crashed to the floor only to look up at Alexei who was smirking.

Ari had seen the commotion and walked over to Alexei. “Hey,” he said, “What’s going on?  These bitches bothering you?”

“Nothing,” Alexei replied, “These two toy boys need to look for another machine.”

“Oh,” Ari said, “The hip machines are free—perfect for these ladies.” He batted his eyes.

Jim struggled back to his feet.  Jeremy bounded up behind him. 

“Tell you what,” Alexei said with a sneer, “You want to settle this, once and for all?  Meet Ari and me at the wrestling gym tonight.  The one over on 7^th Street.  After 10:00 p.m.”

“For what?” Jim asked incredulously.  

“We’ll have a no-holds barred match.  Tag team.  Winning team takes ‘stakes.’”

With that pronouncement, Alexei grabbed the bulge of his sweat pants.  The outline of an abnormally large shaft suddenly appeared on his pouch.

Jeremy arched an eyebrow, but tried not to look intimidated.  He happened to be a huge fan of underground wrestling matches.  He had heard about ‘stakes’ though had not seen it. He was a little curious. 

Unbeknownst to Jeremy, Jim had wrestled in college.  He grinned confidently. “You’re on, jerk” he said. “And when we win, you’ll agree to share the weight machines in this gym going forward.  Got it?”

Alexei smirked, “Sure, bitch.  But we ain’t losing to you. Now get the fuck out of my face!”

(To be continued.)