My Toyboy

I work out regularly at the gym to stay in shape, going about four times a week. Over time, I noticed a young man frequently glancing my way while I was there. At first, I brushed it off—he’s young, probably just admiring my figure, which I’ve worked hard to maintain. With my curves and ample chest, I didn’t mind the attention.

He was, in fact, quite good-looking—average build, not ripped, but certainly fit and appealing. Like me, he spent a considerable amount of time in the gym. One day, we ended up talking when we both wanted to use the same piece of equipment. That’s how I learned his name—Oliver.

As we chatted, I found him to be polite and soft-spoken, nothing like the usual cocky types who tend to hit on me at the gym. Over the next month or so, we started to connect more. We’d help each other with workouts and eventually began grabbing a coffee together after our gym sessions.

During those conversations, Oliver opened up about his life. He told me he was single, having broken up with his ex-girlfriend a while ago. According to him, she was impossible to get along with—difficult, unpleasant, and, ironically, unfaithful. While she refused to sleep with him, he later discovered she was sleeping with just about anyone else.

As we grew closer, our conversations took a flirtatious turn—initiated by him, of course, but I found myself enjoying it and responding in kind. The thought of having a young, energetic "playmate" began to intrigue me. My other casual partners are closer to my own age, so the idea of something different—something exciting—was appealing.