Across the Threshold

The not toppling over part got harder, though. The older guys sniffing around the edges of the younger guys didn’t stop trying to relate to me, and then Jake was showing direct interest too.

It started with him suggesting that he could give me extra help on the machines in greater demand after hours if I wanted to stay over—which I said I couldn’t. Then he tried the “come over sometime and watch the game on television” routine, which I politely turned away as well.

He moved on to getting more direct than that. A night when the crowd was sparse and I was working over in the corner, bench-pressing weights, he came over to spot me. While I had pretty much my limit of weights over my head with one of his hand hovered under the bar in case I faltered, he put the other hand on my basket and copped a good feel.

“Jake! Whatcha doin? Stop that.” I was in shock even though I’d thought about this very action for weeks.

“Relax, Stud. I know you want this.”

“Shit no, Jake. What makes you think that? Stoppit.” He hadn’t stopped it; his hand was still on my basket. And I was still on my back on the bench. I did set the barbell down into the stand, but I just kept my hands wrapped around it. Jake lowered his spotting hand to palm my belly and his other hand went down to the hem of my shorts and was dipping under that.