I've released a new book, called 'Cruising the Locker Room Locked'. Like the name suggests, it's a story about cruising and chastity, set in a gym. Here's the first chapter.
Nobody knows the secret I’ve got hiding under my clothes.
My look is wholesome, neat and tidy. Understated, and pretty unremarkable. I have this innocent face and this clean-cut look about me. If you saw me you’d think, here’s a guy that follows the rules. Someone who does what he’s told. The kind of softly spoken gay that all the middle-aged ladies in the office find polite and non-threatening.
But underneath my pants I’m hiding a secret that’s on my mind constantly. It’s this ever-present thrill, lurking underneath everything I do all day long. My secret kink hidden under my everyday life. Thinking about it would be enough to get me hard. If I could even get hard. But not being able to get hard is the whole point.
I love knowing that underneath my clothes I’m not the man they think I am. Hell, some people would think I’m barely a man at all. Because can you really call yourself a man if your dick’s locked away in a cage where you can’t even use it?
Not that I’m upset about that. I chose this, I do it to myself. I mean, I wish I didn’t have to do it to myself, and that I had someone who’d force me to lock it away no matter whether I wanted to or not. But I haven’t met Mister Right yet, or anyone else who’s expressed an interest in being my keyholder. So I do the next best thing: I lock my own dick up, my secret act of service to the as-yet unmet man — or men — who I’m hoping will undress me and find it under there, and realise that they can take the key to that cage and own it if they want to.
It’s kind of crazy just how much I think about my caged dick. It’s funny: the whole point is that you can’t be stimulated when you’re caged. But actually it feels like I’m constantly stimulated, like my dick is being held firmly but gently every single moment. It’s this strange feeling of being completely untouched but constantly touched at the same time. I barely go five minutes at a time without remembering it’s there.
Sometimes I think about how all these other guys — nine-hundred and ninety-nine out of every thousand I come across, I bet — are just going about their lives with their cock and balls cradled in fabric, with room to shift, adjust, react to stimulus the way they were designed to.
Not me though. No soft fabric against the skin of my cock. Only rigid plastic. My cock entombed.
Most people would think it’s embarrassing. Some would probably think I was disgusting. Others wouldn’t judge but would be totally incapable of understanding the appeal of locking away the most fun part of your anatomy where you can’t use it.
Some guys would get it though. The guys like me who understand what it’s like to experience the frustrating rush of being denied your main source of pleasure and forced to find other sources. And the guys who’d understand what to do with someone like me, the ones that would call me a good boy and use me for their pleasure.
Those are the guys I’m always hoping to encounter.
They’re the guys I’m hoping will spot the telltale signs. That’s probably wishful thinking, because I hide it pretty well - it’s not like I can just wander the streets with a cock cage imprint on show to the world. But occasionally men look, mainly just the men who clock me as gay instantly and who size me up to try work out whether I’m a potential fuck. And if they know what to look for, and I’m moving just the right way in trousers or shorts that are just tight enough, they might see that telltale shape through the fabric, too irregular and angular to just be cock and balls. The sign that there’s some hardware in there. And a guy who knows enough to recognise that shape will be exactly the kind of guy I’m after.
So far I haven’t had that much luck though. Chastity is still a pretty rare fetish, even if it seems to have taken off a bit in the last couple of years. And I’ve always been a little shy when it comes to meeting people.
I’ve only just started this, too; it’s only been three weeks at this point. It’s not like I’ve had long to meet anyone yet. That is, I’ve only been wearing the cage for three weeks. I’ve been thinking about it for a lot longer, I don’t even know how long. I can’t even remember when I first heard about it or what it was that first caught my interest. All I remember is that for what seems like the longest time, I’ve fantasised about having my dick locked away.
You know how you have a version of yourself in your mind? The main character in your imagination, the person you visualise yourself as, who’s usually a bit better looking than real life. In my case, for the longest time whenever I’ve pictured myself naked, being fucked, there’s just a cock cage where my dick should be. It’s like my mind had fully accepted the fact that I’m meant to be caged before I’d even tried a cage on in real life.
I got my first cage about a month and a half ago now, but the ring was a little bit too big. Just big enough to give my balls room to slip back through, but just small enough to make it hurt like hell when they did. So a few times it just fell off with an uncomfortable squeeze as my balls passed through the gap. And a couple of times I was caught doubled over, running for the key on my bedside table, balls in such agony it felt like they were being ripped out. It was unpleasant. Really unpleasant.
But three weeks ago the smaller ring I ordered arrived, and this one fits better. So since then it’s been fine.
No, better than fine. When I’m wearing my cage it feels correct.
At first I only managed to wear it for a couple of hours at a time before I got so horny I lost all my willpower and took it off to knock out a load. I know that’s the complete opposite of the point of having a cage. Don’t judge me though, having my dick locked just got me so turned on I couldn’t cope. If you haven’t tried it you won’t understand, having it locked away is so incredibly arousing it’s almost unbearable.
I’ve gotten better at it since then though. I’ve developed some willpower. After my first few trial runs I wore it for a full day around the house when I was working from home. Then I wore it out of the house a couple of times. Then to bed, which was the real test — a full eight hours of involuntary night-time erections thwarted — but I came through it fine, and hornier than ever. After that I tried a whole work day.
I’m about to take probably the biggest step yet though: the first time wearing it to the gym.
And not just my first day locked at the gym, it’s also my first visit to the gym, full stop. At least in the last three years or so. I used to have a membership at a different one across town but I barely ever used it. I could never motivate myself to go, and when I did I could never motivate myself to stay. These days I go running occasionally around the neighbourhood and through the parks near my house, but in general I do very little exercise and I’m severely out of shape now. I’m still slim, but I’m a runt. There’s not a hint of muscle anywhere on my body.
I’m hoping chastity might help with that. I know I can’t pin all my hopes on a cock cage magically making me enjoy exercising, that would be ridiculous. But I’m hoping the frustration of being locked and horny will help focus me into pushing myself harder. Through being obsessed with following gay chastity accounts on social media I’ve seen countless guys online turn into caged himbos, shredded from working out locked. So I’m hopeful there’s some small chance chastity will bestow some of that magic on me too.
I tell myself it’s about getting fit, but if I’m totally honest, it’s more about getting laid.
Hooking up in a gym locker room has been a fantasy of mine for about as far back as I can remember. It’s something about the masculinity of the place. The sweat, the testosterone. The big, beefy guys peeling off layers of sweat-soaked gear to reveal muscle and hair. The guys soaping up their ripe pits in the showers.
I’ve heard this particular gym has a reputation for being kind of cruisy, which is what finally tipped the scales in favour of signing up for membership. My friend Toby told me about it; he’d had a couple of friends who’d had both separately told him about stuff happening in the sauna here. Toby had found it salacious and had never really understood why people would do that kind of thing, which isn’t surprising because he’s full vanilla. But even though I’d feigned shock and mild disapproval when he’d told me, his stories had convinced me on the spot that I was going to check it out for myself.
It might be all urban legend. And even if it’s not, gym bros probably like to hook up with other gym bros who are just as toned and muscled and perfect as them, not weedy little nerds like me. I have to remind myself that probably nothing will ever happen. But even if nothing ever happens, just being around all those guys, all that testosterone, in a place where men are being men… fuck, I can feel my dick pulse in my cage just thinking about it. Which means I’m fully aware of the sensation of the cage around my dick as I walk in the door of the gym.
I pick up my new access card at reception. The guy at the desk offers to show me around because it’s my first time, and he’s hot so I take him up on the offer even though I think I can probably find my own way just fine. His name’s Kevin; he introduces himself with one of those straight guy handshakes that has three different stages to it, which is surprising because I would have sworn he was gay based on the impression I formed in the first few seconds of looking at him. He’s wearing a uniform singlet that fits kind of tight on his body. He’s not super built but he’s got smooth, golden-bronze shoulders and arms that have every muscle perfectly defined. He’s wearing shorts that are mid-thigh, not too tight but fitted enough to show the shape of his ass. This guy must get hit on like a hundred times a day in a place like this. As I follow him around I speculate about whether I might end up looking anything like him if I stick around long enough and do enough actual exercise.
Kevin shows me the machines, the free weights, the stretching area. He takes me to the locker room last. As soon as we step in there the atmosphere of the place hits my dopamine receptors like a drug. The air is laden with moisture from the showers, and the room smells of cleaning products, a kind of bleachy smell that takes me back to the familiar smell of the bathhouse I used to go to before I moved to this city.
On my left is a dead-end aisle of lockers with wooden benches running down the centre and a couple of sinks and mirrors at the end closest to me. There are a couple of guys getting changed. The room has a slightly run-down vibe to it, with a couple of cracked tiles here and there, and the style of the tapwear on the sink indicating the place hasn’t been renovated in at least a couple of decades. I like that though, it kind of adds to the grimy fantasy I was hoping for.
“You need your own padlock for your locker,” Kevin tells me. “You got one already?”
“Yep,” I tell him, nodding. “All sorted.” One padlock for my locker, and one for my cock.
“Cool. Showers over there.” He points right, and I see a short aisle of cubicle doors.
There’s a second aisle of lockers further in on the left, parallel to and exactly the same as the first one, except this one has toilets opposite it instead of showers. At the end of the room there’s a passage leading left and one leading right. Kevin gestures to the right-hand passage. “That’s the sauna,” he says. “And then if you go left here,” he gestures to the left, “is the pool.”
“There’s a pool?” I ask. I hadn’t realised that. It’s a bonus, because I’ve always liked swimming but I haven’t done it in ages.
“Sure is,” Kevin says. “The rules are up on the wall there; main thing to know is that if you’ve been working out you need to shower before you get in the pool. Anything else you want to know?”
If I was better at flirting maybe I’d come up with a question that’s smart and cute, and subtly but tastefully got across the message that what I really want to know is what his dick tastes like. But I don’t want to be a creep to a guy in his workplace. And besides, flirting’s never been a strong suit of mine.
I shrug. “No, I think I should be all good from here, thanks.” But I give him a small, nervous smile that might convey the fact that I think he’s hot but am too scared to do anything about it.
If it does, he shows no sign of it. “Cool. Any questions just let me know.”
He leaves me to it, and for a moment I’m just standing there surveying the scene and taking in the atmosphere. I notice that of the two aisles of lockers, the first aisle is much more visible from the door, which I’m guessing means any cruising most likely happens in the second aisle. Right now there’s no one in there though. I find an empty locker and set my bag down in front of it. I’m already wearing the clothes I intend to work out in, so I pull off my sweater, grab my headphones, lock my bag in the locker, and I’m ready to go get started.
I go find a spare spot on the mats and do some stretches. I’m not entirely sure what I’m doing, so I just do every stretch I know of. Stretching is a little uncomfortable, and for a while I’m wondering if trying to do this locked was actually such a good idea. Some of the moves — like when I bend over, or when I put my legs back together after spreading them — crush my tender balls in an uncomfortable way. The cage shifts and tugs a bit as I move around too. I’m too exposed out here on the mats to reach into my underwear and adjust it, so I just have to deal with the discomfort.
Once I’m done stretching I head over to the water fountain to fill my drink, and take the opportunity to surreptitiously adjust my cage while I’m facing away from everyone.
After that I get on a treadmill. I may not be used to working out but I’m used to running, so after a minute or so of getting re-accustomed to the feeling of treadmill instead of footpath under me I’m set and I’m in my flow. Running in a cage is fine. No, better than fine. With every step I take on the treadmill I can feel my caged dick and balls swing back and forth, feeling the weight of the cage bouncing which is a constant reminder of being locked.
I run for twenty minutes. I don’t want to stop, I’m loving the feeling of doing it caged so much. But I’m out of breath and I need a break.
I hit the weights next. This is the bit where I really don’t have a fucking clue what I’m doing. I go through the motions for a bit: some dumbbell curls, presses, the ones where you lift the weights from your side and put your arms out like a bird spreading its wings. I get on a few of the machines, but I’m quickly discouraged by how weak my arms are. I make sure I put in a decent effort on the leg press machine though, because even if I’m never going to become more muscular I want to at least make sure my ass looks good.
It’s about forty minutes into the workout when my motivation gives out. I tell myself I’ve done okay. And besides, that the real reason I’m here is more about the turn-on of a caged workout than to actually get proper exercise in. So I reassure myself I’ve made an acceptable effort and I head back to the changing room.
There are a couple of people in my section when I get in there, in various stages of dressing or undressing. Two of the guys are across from me, and one is on my side about five lockers down from mine. The room is silent; everyone’s on their own and doing their own thing. I unlock my locker, put my towel down on the bench beside me, and brace myself. Am I going to do it? Can I really take off my clothes, strip down to just my cage in the presence of these other guys?
My heart had already picked up its pace from the moment I decided to call it quits on the workout and head in here, anticipating this moment. By now it is absolutely pounding in my chest. I think of all the things that could go wrong: if someone sees they might think I’m some kind of messed up pervert. I mean, I am, but usually in the privacy of my own home. It occurs to me that they might call security if they think I’m trying to expose my kink to people right there in the locker room. Okay, that is probably a stretch. But still, they might think it’s disgusting. They might make fun of my emasculation.
Now that one’s just wishful thinking. It even makes my dick throb in my cage just a little bit.
I weigh it up, the fear versus the thrill. I’m going to do it. I pull my shirt off first, then my shorts. I’m facing towards the locker, away from the other people, which means that no one is going to be able to see the outline of the cage in my underwear. I know that as soon as I strip my underwear off though, the guy who’s just a few lockers away could easily catch sight of the cage if he happens to glance in my direction.
I remind myself that no one’s trying to catch a look at my dick in the changing rooms. That’s not what normal people do. I’ve got nothing to worry about.
Deep breath. I pull my boxer briefs off in a quick motion. For a second my caged cock is out, visible to anyone who might have a line of sight and might bother to look. I look at it, the black frame against the purple-pink of my cockhead and the red of my tortured balls. Then I quickly wrap a towel around myself, and it’s all hidden again.
I look around carefully, trying to judge if anyone has had any kind of reaction. But no one is looking in my direction and no one seems to be acting out of the ordinary.
I had nothing to worry about. I’m almost disappointed about it.
I walk into the shower area and get my first proper look at it. There’s three stalls on the left and three on the right, facing each other, each with their own lockable door. From the changing area I’d been able to see the closest of the stalls so I’d just assumed the whole area was like that. So I’m surprised to find that past the third stall the space opens out into a large open shower area with three walls of shower-heads spaced about a metre and a half away from each other, all pointing into the communal space. “Fuck.” The awestruck exclamation comes out unprompted in a whisper as I think about what it would be like to see this whole area full of men, washing the sweat off their bodies in full view of each other. For a second or two I think about stripping off my towel in the communal space and showering right there. The thought that someone could come in and catch me in nothing but my cage makes my cock tingle with excitement.
I know that’s not going to happen though. The idea of being caught is a thrill, but it’s way too risky and nowhere near something I’m ready for in reality. I barely handled the second of nakedness a minute ago when I was getting changed.
So I step into one of the cubicles and shut the door behind me. Once the water’s warm enough — not too hot, just lukewarm because I’m still overheated from the workout I’ve just had — I strip off my towel and step under the jets. Fuck, the water feels good on my body. I suddenly realise how worn out I am just from that pretty mild workout, and I lean my arms against the wall to steady myself while I let the water run through my hair.
When I’m done showering and return to the locker area I find I’m the only one there. By the time I cross the floor to my locker, unlock it, pull my bag out and find my clothes I’m still the only one in the room.
I feel my heart rate pick up a bit.
Slowly, carefully, my heart thumping in my chest, I peel the towel off me and let it drop to the floor. I’m standing there fully naked except for the cage on my cock, feeling the thrill of being exposed in a public place.
I look over at the mirror. I think about all those guys I see online posting selfies of them naked and locked in gym locker rooms, and I think about all the times I’ve gotten excited thinking about doing the same thing myself. It’s a risk, a real risk: the mirror is right by the door so if anyone comes in there’d be no hiding the cage. I know I don’t want that to happen, even if the thought of it turns me on even more than I already was.
But fuck it, I’m going for it.
I pull my phone out of my bag and open the camera. I take tentative steps towards the mirror, my front — and my caged cock — now totally visible in the mirror from the doorway. When I get close enough I pause to examine the sight in front of me. I may not be in great shape, but I think I look okay. Lean, verging on skinny, a dusting of hair on my chest. But what really turns me on about the reflection in front of me is seeing myself, my full body, naked and caged in the unforgiving light of the locker room. Pale skin punctuated by the black latticework of the cage’s construction.
I point my phone at the mirror and snap a few shots, shifting my weight this way and that to get a few slightly different poses.
I’m so focused on it that when I hear the footsteps it takes me a second or two to react. Fuck. I fumble my phone and almost drop it, and by the time I’ve got it securely in my grasp again I just have time to look over at the doorway and see the shadow and the first movement of the figure entering the room. I spin around and run back to my locker, and behind me I hear whoever it was walk past.
I’m facing away from the door now. I turn my head and look behind me, and see a guy walk past. I don’t know how much he saw, and I’m doing forensic geometry in my head trying to figure out how all the angles work and whether there’s any possibility he could have seen my cage. I watch him, while trying to pretend I’m not watching him, to see if he’s going to react in any way. He seems to ignore me, but just before he disappears he glances in my direction, only for a fraction of a second. It might just be because he’s clocked me looking at him. Or maybe not. And maybe I’m imagining it, but I think there’s some kind of recognition in his eyes. Not that he’s recognised who I am, like he knows me from somewhere. But as though that he’s recognised what I am.
I’m such a fucking idiot. I think I was fast enough, just, to prevent him from seeing the cage. But I can’t be sure. And whether he did or not, he definitely saw me get completely spooked and give away the fact that I was doing something shameful in here on my own.
I pull my underwear on fast, and then I sit down on the bench in front of my locker until my heart rate starts to go back to normal. I feel like I’ve made a fool of myself, maybe even gotten myself into trouble. Trying to take a photo had been a stupid thing to do. It’s kind of funny how you can think with your dick just as much — or maybe even more — when it can’t even get hard.
I throw my clothes on as fast as I can, desperate to get the fuck out of the gym without running into that guy again. I don’t quite manage to though; as I’m fumbling to put on my shoes the guy walks past, this time with just a towel around his waist, headed for the showers. Out of the corner of my eye I think I catch him glance over at me, but I can’t be sure because I’m avoiding any possibility of making eye contact. I wonder what the guy must think of me.
I finish putting on my shoes, grab my stuff and bolt.
For the rest of the evening I keep thinking about that moment. I feel absolutely mortified about what I let happen. Still, the more I think about it the more I want to think about it, and by the time I go to bed that night I’m reliving the moment in my head again, hoping that the guy did actually see the cage after all.
It’s almost enough to make me want to cum. But instead I’m a good boy and I leave the cage on.
If you enjoyed this sample you can buy the full book from Bunkmate Books or from most ebook retailers.
