“How much weight?” Reagan asked, as he stood quite awkwardly by the stack of plates on the squat rack.
“Let’s go for two forty-fives.” Jake said, moving the weight effortlessly from the rack and onto the bar. His chest was so big that when they tensed, his shirt got caught between his pecs. Oh, how Reagan wished to be as ripped as Jake was. Which is why he’d asked him to be his workout buddy one day after their Stats class. Reagan absolutely hated math, and would usually fall asleep, even though he sat in the front row. That is, until he was awoken from one of his cock-filled daydreams by a tap on the shoulder. Reagan turned around to see a bulge held in by gray sweatpants directly behind him. He had forgotten that they were sitting in a lecture hall with theater-like seats and that whoever owned this disarming bulge was sitting two feet above him. His mouth fell agape as he looked up realizing his mistake and was met with a pair of soft blue eyes and an innocent smile. Reagan’s already semi hard dick throbbed to it’s full seven inches. Reagan quickly turned around, his ears blazing from the blood that had rushed to his face out of embarrassment, from falling asleep in class or getting hard he couldn’t say. After avoiding the front row from then on, Reagan realized the boy he’d day dreamed about every day since, was Jake Campbell, a junior. So after weeks of mustering the courage Reagan asked Jake about his workout regimen, when to his simultaneous delight and horror, Jake offered to train him. So now Reagan went to the old gym on campus every Wednesday to train with him.