“Not My Type” Ended Up Amazingly Hot: Banging the “Alternative” Girl From My Gym [MF]

So, people say I’m a clean-cut guy. Deep voice, blue eyed, former military, and I literally grew up corn-fed on a farm in the Midwest. I have a body that, on occasion in foreign countries, people have said is a stereotype of an American man. 6’4″, about 200 pounds with broad shoulders, blond hair that I keep close cropped. I don’t think that appearances necessarily mean anything about your personality–hey, ask me about my taste in music or my occasional bedroom adventures with other men–but the women I’ve hooked up with have tended to be, well, what you’d expect. Not that they’re all the same, but lusting after various real-world variations on bubbly cheerleaders, Gwyneth Paltrow, and Sloan from Entourage is admittedly only one axis of women.

That brings me to Olivia. I was 36 and had been divorced for a year or two, she was maybe 10 years younger, and we met at the gym. I’m no Adonis, more of a “guy who definitely likes lifting but also likes hamburgers,” but a daily trip to the gym has been a constant ritual my entire adult life. Now, like anyone with a pulse, I check out the eye candy at the gym here and there, but never gave Olivia much thought in that respect.

It wasn’t that she wasn’t fit. She was, in more ways than one. It was that she was, well, “alternative.” Nose ring. Multiple earrings. Tattoos. Bit of a “don’t F with me” vibe. If you had asked me, I would have said “not my type,” but no one ever asked so I never even thought of her that way.

Still, she was there every day at the same time as me, so I did vaguely know who she was. Eventually, one of the trainers introduced us because he knew that I worked in a field that she was in a graduate program for. So we became gym friends, mostly just making small talk whenever we’d see each other there. I did admire what a good athlete she was, and how she rolled her eyes at most of the dudes there. “Don’t F with me” indeed.

One day, she talked about school and asked me about work. That led to an offer to grab a drink to talk to her about possible career trajectories that coming Friday. I’ve definitely had plenty of occasions in my life where I’ve thought with my dick. I’ve even had occasions where I’ve deliberately parlayed a “friendly” or professional date into something more. None of that was on my mind.

She was so “not my type” (by now you can tell that I’m using the term half ironically) that I didn’t even think about rejecting the possibility. If I had thought about it, I would have assumed that she was into baristas with man buns. But I didn’t think about it. And anyways, there was a platonic *point* to our drinks–career advice.

We met up at one of those places that’s like an upscale sports bar. Sat at a high top and ordered beers and snacks. I asked her about grad school, she asked me about work, and all in all I thought it was a nice, easy conversation where I gave her some useful advice about how to pitch herself in interviews.

Then. *Then*. Thank god for girls who make the first move. I lifted my eyes, and she looked right back and smirked. I think I said, “oh!” like a dumbass as this realization came over me. “This is…fun,” she said, in a much slower, more sultry and less professional voice than we’d been using all evening. I hope I’ve conveyed how much this came out of nowhere to me.

My first reaction was “huh, well, she’s not really my type.” My split second of wondering how to gracefully cut things off was immediately interrupted by my second reaction: “holy shit, am I starting to pop a boner?”

40 minutes later, we were at her apartment. 10 minutes after that, we were in her bedroom. She was unbuttoning my shirt, and once it was off, her hands were all over my traps, my chest, my arms. “Oh, jesus, Clint. I have been wanting to see what was under your gym shirt. You know I’ve been staring at you a long time.” You have!?

Her shirt and bra came off, too. Tattoos on her sternum, ribs, and shoulder. Bellybutton ring. Really something novel for me. Soon I was spooning her with one hand massaging her B-cups, my mouth teasing her neck, and my other hand exploring her thighs and outside of her panties as I tried to decide how soon was too soon to make the inevitable next move.

Finally my fingers pushed her panties to the side and found their target. “Holy shit you’re wet,” I said. “Of course I am, for you,” she whispered. She had been wanting me. How could I have been so oblivious!? I dabbled in a little dirty talk, telling her I had no idea how naughty she was and how horny I was for her. She smiled but didn’t do much dirty talking back. After a minute I maneuvered her to ride my face, panties still on. I went to town while she reached back and finally freed my dick from my boxers.

“Fuck me,” she said after only a minute or two. “Do you have a condom?” I asked. “We don’t need one, it’s okay, I’m on birth control.” That was all I needed to hear. I pushed her back onto the pillows and maneuvered into position. It was all happening so fast that her panties were still on, soaked but pushed to the side, and my boxers were still around my ankles. I pushed her knees to her chest and teased her a little with my throbbing hard cock. I lightly slapped it against her pussy a few times. She chuckled and said, “why do men like you always do that?” I have no idea what that means but I said, “I dunno, because it’s fun?” She looked me dead in the eye and whispered, “just fuck me.”

I licked my hand and stroked it on my tip for a little wetness, then started to push in. I wasn’t expecting a very loud and primal moan, “ooooohhhh, fuuuuck that feels good. Hooooly shit.” After a few slow strokes I started to go to town, constantly encouraged by her. Then, “oh, Clint, push it deep. Hold it there. Just keep it right there.” I held myself deep in her pussy as she writhed below me in a deep-welling orgasm, just moving and clenching herself around my dick. “Oh I’m cumming I’m cumming fuck that feels good!”

I started thrusting again, feeling a little more wetness from her orgasm as she kept moaning. I wish I could say I lasted for hours, but it was only another minute or two when I was ready to burst. I looked down at this tattooed, pierced novelty for me, making her B cups bounce as I thrusted, and said the only thing that was on my mind: “I’m about to cum, I’m about to cum, fuck I wanna cum inside you.” “Cum for me, cum for me Clint,” was the reply as I unloaded a huge orgasm while I let out a wall-shaking deep moan of my own.

In our post-coital haze, I made my stupid comment about how I thought she would have been hooking up with some barista or acoustic guitarist. (Hey, I’m just a dumb jock from a farm.) She took a little offense and got maybe just a little insulted as she told me that, no, not everything is a stereotype, and actually she likes bigger guys with some muscle. A little wordplay and joking brought the situation back to a good place. “Well, I’m just glad you found my muscles adequate.” “Oh, they were adequate.” “Was everything else…adequate?” “Oh you mean this?” She grazed my flaccid dick and continued with a smirk, “I’m not sure yet.”

She ended up blowing me and I went back down on her and spent the night. Morning brought one more fuck, longer and slower than before, unloading again inside her.

Our gym run-ins after that were more flirtatious and sometimes filled with innuendo, but somehow we never hooked up again. She moved away about 4-5 months later and I still see her posts on Instagram, always thinking back to our fun night when I explored what it was like to try out something that’s not your type!

Source: reddit.com/r/gonewildstories/comments/qlb9mx/not_my_type_ended_up_amazingly_hot_banging_the