Father-in-Law Becomes My Gym Buddy

It had been my father-in-law’s destiny to live a life surrounded by women who loved him.  The only son of a coal miner from a sleepy village in the North of England, who died when he was five, he grew up with his two sisters and mother, supported by his aunts and cousins.  He recognised the love and support, so he didn’t mind when clothes made for him were presented to him as “new” but clearly lined with fabric he recognised from what his older sisters had been wearing in the last few years.

The family were so proud when he became the first generation to attend University in the nearest big city.  His University experience was life-changing for him.  He met my wife’s mother in his last year and grew the confidence to embark on a successful career in international shipping and freight.  The family genes meant that he had two daughters, Claire and Sue, who followed in his footsteps, meeting their husbands at the local University.

After dating for three years, Claire and I married in the summer.  The two families were celebrating the union, but I couldn’t help feel disappointed the relationship I had with my new father-in-law was distant.  Whenever we visited the family home, he’d disappear up to his office in the attic after his cursory greeting.  He referred to me formally as Mr Houghton whilst the rest of the family used my first name, Thomas.  Though I thought it odd, I returned the favour and greeted him as Mr Barnett, reserving his first name, Paul, for when he was absent.

In the Northern market town, we shared there are two gyms.  The gym I’ve been using for the last decade is in an industrial unit on the edge of town.  Owned by David, a retired rugby player from the town’s team, it’s the type of gym you go to work.  It suits me perfectly, with its over 16s only policy but priced well I go five times a week, before work and at the weekends.  The simple open plan changing rooms serve a function. All of the guys are open and content about their nudity amongst each other.  The setup suits me.  I’ve always found the changing rooms of the gym to be a hyper-masculine environment. As the other guys there do, I proudly shower nude with them and hold a conversation with other regulars.  At the end of the summer season of the year Imarried, David announced he was closing for a refit over the winter.  He was concerned the gym had grown a reputation for being intimidating and was losing out to the competitor, the large family health club operated by the local authority.  David had convinced the bank, and they invested so that the gym could be refurbished and relaunched.  The new ethos would be about getting fitter through intensive training, which would put off families and older people who wanted more gentle exercise.

For his regular clients, David arranged that we could use the health club.  We all knew it wasn’t ideal, but it was just for a few months, and we appreciated he had an alternative in mind.  I kept an open mind and saw it as an opportunity to improve my strength as a swimmer.  I’ve always kept a stocky build, playing rugby at school and University.  At 6 feet tall, I come in at 220 pounds with broad shoulders and a firm chest on which I let my chest hair look after itself.

On my first day at the health club, I was surprised.  I’d expected modern facilities, juice bars and digital weights machines, but the place hadn’t been touched in at least thirty years.  Some equipment looked new, but it was clear the building’s fabric hadn’t changed since it opened in the 1950s.  Entering the male changing room, I was relieved to find it was all open plan with a tiled wall separating the showers from the dry area.  The atmosphere was different, though. The guys were using towels to protect their modesty, and it was deathly silent. 

I found a locker and followed my routine, stripping off my socks, jeans and black briefs. I let the bottom half of my body feel the cool air and exposed my masculinity to the men in the room.  I don’t know if anyone took any notice. They were all so obsessed with their own modesty.  I unbuttoned my shirt and took my time arranging and hanging my clothing in the locker before selecting my swim trunks and pulling them up to my waist.

As I strolled through the shower area to the pool, I was relieved to see that some of the guys showering had removed their clothing and were nude, still not conversing.  There was a good range of bodies and ages.  I noted that most of the boys around my age had either removed or heavily trimmed their pubic hair—a stark difference between myself and the men at my usual gym.

I swam a few lengths and noticed a familiar face out of the corner of my eyes.  I struggled to place it and carried on for another kilometre before it dawned on me that my father-in-law had joined me in the pool.  I knew he had a health club membership but had never known where it was.

Stopping for a break to catch my breath, I realised he had seen me.  He swam over and greeted me, with his usual abruptness ‘Mr Houghton, I am surprised to see you here. Don’t you go to that gym on the edge of town?’.  I replied, explaining the circumstance of my using ‘his’ gym but maintaining the formality and calling him Mr Barnett.  ‘Very well, I didn’t think we could ignore each other the whole time we were here, so I had to say hello.  Good to see you, Thomas.’ His reply shocked me. It was strange hearing him use my first name.  Still, just as odd us referring to each other by our formal titles whilst we were standing next to each other, practically nude in the pool.  As he swam away, I thought about his build. Like me, he was broad, a darker skin tone from years of travelling abroad with heavy body hair running from his beard to underneath the waterline.  I felt conflicted as my body betrayed me by allowing my cock to swell slightly in my swimming trunks.

The rest of my swim focused my mind, and when I was ready to leave, I scanned the pool for Paul.  Not finding him, I assumed he’d already gone or was using the sauna.  I hoped he wasn’t in the changing rooms and I could avoid an awkward encounter.

Walking into the shower area, I dried off my face with a towel; hanging it up I selected a showerhead, away from the other two men who were almost finished using the facilities.  I usually wouldn’t consider where I shower, but this changing room was different.  They would likely not appreciate a 27-year-old ex-rugby player showering next to them.  ‘Ah, Thomas, there you are I thought you’d left already’  My heart sank as my father-in-law walked into the showers, but I was surprised to see him wearing speedos.  I’d assumed, like the other swimmers, he’d wear modest shorts.  He noticed this was also my swimwear of choice ‘speedo’s as well, eh Tom?  You are going up in my estimations,’ he commented as he stood under a showerhead and switched on the water.  The other two men using the showers looked uncomfortable that conversation had sparked and quickly finished, leaving me to the awkward proposition of sharing an open shower with my father-in-law.  Sensing my tension, Paul tried to diffuse it by moving to the empty shower head next to me and continuing the conversation but answering his question in the process, ‘you’re not a natural swimmer, are you?  Not got the body for it.  Me neither, us northern men are made of sturdier stuff.’  I nodded in agreement, taking some shower gel from the dispenser, making a lather by rubbing it through my chest hair.  He copied, working the shower gel across his well-built chest and shoulders. ‘You know Tom, we never really took the opportunity to get to know each other that well, but from what I’ve seen today, I’m glad you’re in the family.’  That was a ringing endorsement from Paul, I thought, acknowledging it with a cautious ‘thanks’.  Paul got a couple of pumps from the shower gel dispenser and rubbed his hands together, ‘the chlorine dries my skin out, I use plenty of shower gel; let’s get some on your back to get it rinsed off’. He punctuated the statement by slapping my right shoulder with his hand and started rubbing it into my back.  His left hand joined, and he worked it across both my shoulders and moved down towards my lower back.  As though speaking to himself, he commented, ‘definitely works hard at the other gym.’  His right hand reached the top of my speedo as he expertly worked the shower gel into my skin and across my hips.  ‘Tom, Tom, are you there?’ he snapped I was woken from my daze, not believing what had just happened. ‘Tom, you need to get the chlorine off my back’, ordered Paul.  My father-in-law was a few inches taller than me, with his chest hair extending over his shoulder blades.

Reaching up I lathered the soap across his back and worked it down and across methodically.  As I worked, I was in disbelief as Paul clipped his thumbs under the waistband of his speedo and bent to lower them to the tiled shower floor.  I finished my assigned task and followed suit, slipping my trunks off and leaving them next to Paul’s on the wet, soapy tiles.  Paul was lathering the shower gel across his thighs with his back to me, lifting them to soap his calves.  I admired how his muscles clenched as he cleaned himself before realising I was stood next to my 50-year-old father-in-law naked.  As though in slow motion, he turned to face me and revealed his whole masculine presence.  I stood in awe as I admired his heavy frame, from his thick neck, his denselyhaired pectorals, smooth stomach and then his cock.  Thick and framed by a full bush of pubic hair, water ran down its length and off his foreskin to the drain.

I knew he was examining my body, too, judging what had married his daughter.  The moment was as though we’d never met before, now in our nakedness, we had stripped away all of societies pressure, and it was just a father-in-law and his son-in-law bonding and sharing a moment only they could have.  I realised Paul’s cock was relaxed under the warm water, and it hung,below his balls, at least five inches in length.  In my head, I calculated he had mine beaten by at least three inches, and I knew that he’d spotted the size difference too.  We reached the same conclusion, at the same time, as though our cocks needed to meet each other so that we could genuinely bond.  My cock swelled with blood, rising quickly before relaxing.  Looking Paul inthe eye, I knew he’d seen, and his cock responded, getting thicker and slightly longer, it returned the greeting.  Paul coughed, ending the moment we’d shared. Those few seconds felt like an eternity as we cast aside our differences and acknowledged each other as men.

Paul bucked the convention of the changing rooms. Switching the showerhead off, he strolled naked across to his locker, from where he retrieved his towel.  I followed suit, also nude, noticing that a few of the men changing had seen our nakedness, and I felt proud to be following Paul across the room.  I towelled and started to dress, keeping the men in the room exposed tomy penis for as long as possible by donning my shirt first.  Paul copied, his cock gently swinging as he faced the room whilst he adjusted the collar and cuffs on his shirt.  We both selected our underwear and, as our shared taste in swimming trunks, realised we both preferred briefs.  As we pulled them up to secure our masculinities, Paul commented, ‘briefs too eh?  Leaving the statement in the air I replied that they were what I found most comfortable.  He added to the comment by saying, ‘and look good too’.

Dressed, we packed our bags and closed our lockers, walking to the exit in silence.  Paul followed me to my car; arriving at the door, he ended our encounter, ‘Tom, I think we’veboth learned a lot about each other today.  I think we’ll make good gym buddies if you want to be, over the winter months.  Let me know when you’re next coming for a swim.’  I promised him I’d get Claireto let him know. ‘I’ll get my secretary to send you my private number’, he offered. He scanned his eyes down my body as he said, ‘no need to involve the wives in men’s business, is there, eh?’  I agreed, ‘thanks, Paul, I look forward to it’.  With that, he took a deep breath ‘Son, in public, it’s Mr Barnett’ before turning and walking to his car.