u/Brilliant-Teach6460

I made a previous post on here that seemed to go a bit viral, so probably best to read that post first before reading this one if you want to have any context.

https://www.reddit.com/r/gaysexconfessions/s/fyNxPEhhln

Background if you're new: 33 year old bi personal trainer. I write here about self development, gym, radical honesty, healthy masculinity, sexuality, and masturbation with other well intentioned men. Not a therapist. Just my own little essays for anyone willing to listen.

Standard disclosure, same as always, and it is related I swear. I've got muscles and a body that makes men act up and act awkward, especially my ass, and I have spent years being completely fine with that and honestly getting off on it. I have an admiration kink and I've never once hidden it. I've written a lot of posts here about how wanting is free, how masturbation isn't a moral failure, how men shouldn't hate themselves for any of it. I believe every word still.

But I've been re-reading my own stuff and having some conversations, and I've hit something I don't know how to think about, so I'm going to lay it out blunty:

I jack off to being jacked off to. That's the plainest way to say it. Not to a guy, not to a scenario, not to the idea of fucking anybody. I lie in bed at night and get off to the sheer number of men who got off to me that day. The volume of it. I'll wonder how many, and that's the thing that does it. I wear jockstraps and briefs and crew socks in the locker room and hold long conversations in them, and I tell myself it's just comfort but I know there's a rush in it. At my personal gym (not the one I work at), there’s a very private stall area that’s shaped like an L for lots of privacy. I’ve definitely left my curtain open while washing myself while the guy or guys across from me beat off watching me. I don’t jerk off with him or anything, but I get a rise out of winking at them when I leave after the “show” and saying “go get em champs”. I run muscle cam stuff for groups of men who are there to get off to me and I like it. And in my past post I talked about how I handled a client who stole my underwear, and how I set a boundary while not shaming him. And now he’s still my client, and when he gets too distracted, I’ll tell him casually that “”hey, I can tell youre distracted. If you need a bathroom break its fine. I’ll wait here””. Essentially saying its okay if he needs to jack off alone in private so that he can come back to training with more focus, without being overt. My physical therapist is a gay man who is fully hard when he works on me, and I tell him it’s okay. We have an agreement that so long as its all professional and no boundaries crossed, I don’t mind if hes totally boned up working on me in his uniform. I have gone to nude beaches and just flexed in a cruisy area while I let guys beat off to me. I have guys in my Dms asking to buy my used clothes. I have the horniest shit ever in my Dms… and I revel in it. I’ve done everything for attention minus actually making an onlyf account.

I've spent years filing every single one of those under "healthy, actually." Look how at peace I am. Look how I've metabolized being desired instead of being weird about it. And I want to be really careful here, because I don't think that framing is a lie. That's the whole trap. It's true. Being wanted isn't shameful. None of those men did anything wrong. My getting off isn't a moral event. All of that holds. I love providing my muscle cam shows for the tight knit group of men I have, for free, and telling them its healthy to want to masturbate and be a man. It’s fun, it’s healthy, why not.

But at this point I realize it’s become an addiction of my own. The need to be desired. To be jerked to. And I guise it under “”hey thats healthy masculinity””. That said, age comes for everyone, including me, and I don’t want to be an old man who still has this “”addiction”” and no longer gets the same attention I did in my current prime.

What’s your take on it? Am I overthinking? Should I just enjoy the privilege I have in having the body that I do? Are there stronger boundaries I should be enforcing for myself and for clients? To what extent do I need to be real with myself and take my own advice?

I’m a personal trainer in town, also a bodybuilder. Bi. I’ve been a bartender before but not of this variety. I’ve been told a lot that it would be some easy extra cash for me. I definitely have an “admiration kink” so it would be fun to lean into this further. Feel free to look at my posts if that explains my vibe further.

Any advice? What kind of bartenders make you give bigger tips? Obviously I’ll do the actual job itself well. Or is it just be friendly, smile, make conversation, do the job well, that’s it?

Hmu

Hmu

Hmu

Background: 33 year old bi personal trainer. I like to write here about self development, gym, radical honesty, healthy masculinity, sexuality, and masturbation with other well intentioned men. Not a therapist. Just write my own little essays on the topics for anyone willing to listen. Dad was a pro Italian bodybuilder, mom's Brazilian, so I grew up inside that world and came out with Italian muscles, a Brazilian ass, and a permanent fascination with why men are so weird about wanting things.

Standard disclosure, and this time it's the whole engine of the story. My ass and pecs are enormous, particularly my ass. Genuinely, comically so. In street clothes it's a lot. In gym clothes it is, and I'm quoting a friend here, obscene. There's no version of leggings or shorts that makes it discreet, and I stopped trying around age twenty. Men look. Men get off to me constantly, and I've spent enough years around it to have a completely settled position on that, which is that it's fine, it's good, I like it, and I'd think something was wrong if it stopped. I've had underwear disappear from my bag more than once over the years. All of that is just the weather I've lived in for years. I lived in the bodybuilder world and knew I had an admiration kink, so free muscle worship through hookups kind of allowed me to explore that side of myself, and its made me think about these topics a lot. Being online and partially anonymous on here allows me to just be blunt about all this in ways that in person I’d be concerned sounded conceited.

So here's what happened.

I had a client, two years with me. Call him R. In his 20s, extremely polite and just one of those social/masculine good ‘ol guys from the south, and one of the most consistent guys I've ever trained. The ex frat bro type. Never missed. Never complained. The kind of client you actually look forward to because he does the work and genuinely is social to talk to when training.

And for basically the entire two years, he could not stop staring at my ass. I want to be clear that I never once thought he was a creep about it. It was the opposite. You could watch him actively fight it. He'd catch himself and snap his eyes up. He'd position himself to face away during rest periods. He was polite to the point of being visibly effortful about it, and I'd clocked that within the first two months and never said a word, because a guy losing a silent battle with his own eyeballs is not a problem, it’s just a thing that happens to men around bodies they are attracted to.

Other thing I'd noticed and never mentioned: he took a long time in the showers. Longer than a shower takes (20 minutes). Every single session. And look, I'm not an idiot and neither are you. I knew exactly what was happening in there. And here's my honest position on that, which I've stated in this space a hundred times and will state a hundred more: I did not care. At all. Not even a flicker. A man handling himself privately, in a locked stall, on his own time, is not doing a single thing to me. That's between him and the tile. If a guy needs twenty minutes and a locked door to reset his nervous system after two hours of staring at something he can't have, that is the most understandable thing in the world and honestly it's the healthy option. He wasn't touching anyone. He wasn't saying anything. He was going somewhere private and taking care of it like an adult. That's not a symptom of anything wrong. That's a man managing himself correctly.

Then in March, my underwear went missing out of my bag in my office.

And I have a camera in my office, because it's my office and there's equipment and cash in there.

It was R. Clear as day. He came in, he looked around, he took a pair out of my bag and put it in his, and he left. Took him maybe 5 seconds. I sat with that footage for four days before I did anything, and I want to walk through what was going on in my head, because I think it's the useful part.

Because here's the thing. Two years. I knew this guy. He is not a predator. He's a good man who did something genuinely, indefensibly out of line. Both of those are true and neither one cancels the other, and the entire challenge in front of me was refusing to collapse it into one or the other. Everything in the culture pushes you to pick. Either he's a creep and you burn him down, or he's a nice guy so you let it go and pretend you never saw it. Both of those are the coward's move.

The other thing I knew, and this mattered enormously, is that this man was terrified of being outed. Not a guess. Two years of reading someone tells you things. Everything about how he moved through that gym was the behavior of a guy for whom being perceived as gay would be a catastrophe, because he was such a macho guy, and immediately tried to hide his attraction whenever possible. Whatever his actual situation is, and I still don't know and it's not my business, it was something fairly clear to me at least.

So when I finally sat him down, in my office, door closed, I opened with the only sentence I'd actually planned.

I said: "I know about the underwear. Nobody else is ever going to know. And you're not in trouble."

I led with the containment and the absolution because I knew that if I opened with the accusation, his terror would take over and I'd be talking to a man in survival mode who couldn't hear a word. And I needed him to hear the next part.

He broke. Not tears, but he went grey and put his head in his hands and started apologizing in this awful flat voice. He said he knew it was wrong, he'd known it was wrong while he was doing it, he didn't know why he did it, he'd throw them away, he'd quit, he'd pay me, he'd do anything as long as I didn't tell anyone. He said the word "please" maybe six times. And underneath all of it, the thing he was actually terrified of was not that he'd stolen something. It was that he'd been seen wanting a man.

So I said the other thing I'd planned.

I said: look bud, looking at my ass is fine. I've known for two years and I've never once minded. Getting off in the shower is fine, guys do it here, I've known that too, that's yours and I don't have an opinion on it. Going home and thinking about me is fine and I hope you have a great time. Really. But none of that is what this conversation is about, and I need you to actually hear that, because I think you've just decided this whole thing is proof that you're disgusting and will be found out, and it isn't.

What isn't fine is going into my bag. That's not desire, that's my property and my space, and you knew that, which is why you did it in 5 seconds when nobody was around. That's the part I need to address, and it's a small part, and it's the only part.

Now, here's a detail I went back and forth on including, and I'm including it because this space is supposed to be honest. I never asked for them back.

Not once. Didn't bring it up, didn't ask him to return them, didn't ask him to throw them out even though he offered. And that was deliberate, because let's be adults about what we're actually discussing here. A man does not take a pair of his trainer's briefs out of a gym bag with a plan to frame them. I knew what they were for the second I saw the footage. He knew that I knew. And asking for them back would have meant forcing both of us to say out loud, in detail, what he'd been doing with them, which would have accomplished nothing except humiliating a man who was already at the absolute floor. I’m not going to shame the guy for using my briefs as his regular cum rag.

Worse than that, it would have made the wrong thing the subject. The theft was the problem. What he did with them afterward, alone, in his own home, was not my business and was never going to be my business. Demanding them back would have collapsed those two things into one and taught him that the getting off was the crime. It wasn't. The bag was the crime. I wanted to be surgical about that.

And I'll be fully honest, because half measures on honesty are worthless. Even as time has gone by, I would bet real money he still has them and still uses them. That is my genuine assumption. And I feel completely fine about it. I don't think about it much, and when I do think about it, I mostly just think, well, good. Some guy somewhere is having a better week because of a pair of briefs he shouldn't have taken. The taking was wrong and I addressed the taking. The rest of it costs me nothing, harms nobody, and if I'm the reason a lonely, frightened, deeply repressed southern man with a muscle and ass fetish gets ten honest minutes to himself where he isn't at war with his own body, then that is a genuinely decent use of a pair of underwear I was going to replace anyway.

That's not me being cool or above it. It's just what I actually think. Men get off to me. That has been the fixed condition of my entire adult life. I understand that that might be a clear factor as for how somehow all my gym clients end up being bi or gay men. I have a body that produces this reaction in people whether I want it to or not, and I decided a long time ago that I was going to be at peace with what men do about that in private rather than spend my life offended by it.

And that distinction is the whole reason I wanted to write this post. Because here's what I've landed on, and it's genuinely new to me. I've spent years in this space arguing that shame is the enemy, that men need permission, that the answer is always more acceptance. And I still believe that. But this taught me something I'd been sloppy about, which is that shame and boundaries are not the same tool and I'd been half treating them like they were.

Shaming a man tells him what he is. A boundary tells him what he did. Those feel similar in the moment and they do completely opposite things. Shame gives him nothing to fix, so he goes underground with it, and underground is exactly where the stealing came from in the first place. A boundary gives him a specific line and a way to stay in the room.

And here's the thing that actually cracked it open for me. R. didn't steal because he was too horny. He stole because he had absolutely no legitimate channel for any of it. He couldn't say "hey man, I find you attractive," because saying that out loud would have meant becoming, in his own head, a gay man, which was the one outcome he'd organized his entire life around avoiding. So two years of real, human, completely ordinary desire built up behind a wall with no door in it, and it came out sideways, at nine in the morning, in a 5 second grab he'll be humiliated about for the rest of his life.

Shame didn't stop him from doing something wrong. Shame is why he did something wrong. That's the part I hadn't fully understood. We tell men that wanting is shameful and then act surprised when the wanting comes out through the walls instead of the door.

So here's what I actually did, practically, because I think the how matters more than the philosophy.

I kept him as a client. Deliberately. Cutting him loose would have felt clean and righteous and would have taught him that getting caught wanting a man means losing everything, which is the exact belief that produced the theft. I wasn't going to hand him that. Obviously I told him he couldn’t steal again.

Then I did the thing that I think mattered most. I told him he was allowed to still be here. That I wasn't going to be weird with him, I wasn't going to treat him like a problem, and that in a month this would just be a thing that happened once. I told him if he needed to jack off to me before our sessions, then to go ahead and take his time, I would wait. And then I made that true by actually being normal with him the very next session. Because a boundary without warmth is just punishment on a delay.

That was years ago. He was so embarrassed he didn’t come back to train with me for another two months, but then he eventually came back. He still trains with me to this day. He still takes too long in the showers and I still do not care even slightly, and I hope he never stops.

So, as always, the part I will keep saying until I'm dead. Masturbation is not the problem and it never has been. It is not a moral event. It is not a failure of discipline. It is not evidence about who you are. Go home, or don't go home, think about whatever gets you there, an ass, pecs, a guy at your gym, a stranger, your trainer, me if that's what does it, sincerely and with my whole chest. That is physiology and imagination doing their jobs and it makes you exactly zero percent less of a man. Do it honestly, responsibly, CONSENSUALLY, and then get up and go about your day without convening a tribunal. Beat your fucking dick like a man, bro, but do it with respect and pride for yourself and others.

But here's the addition, and it's the one thing I'd want any guy reading this to take.

Wanting somebody is free. Acting on somebody without their say is not. The line has never been between horny and not horny, it's between what happens in your head and what happens to another person's stuff, body, or space. Nobody ever taught most of us that, because we got handed a much dumber line instead, the one that says the wanting itself is the crime. And when you believe the wanting is the crime, you've got no reason to learn where the actual line is, because you already think you're over it just for being turned on.

If you read this far, thanks. Just some things that I wish I had more people to talk openly with cuz I don’t think men can talk about these things openly as they should. I’d love to know your thoughts.

Background if you're new: 33 year old bi personal trainer. I like to write here about self development, gym, radical honesty, healthy masculinity, sexuality, and masturbation with other well intentioned men. Not a therapist. Just write my own little essays on the topics for anyone willing to listen. Dad was a pro Italian bodybuilder, mom's Brazilian, so I grew up inside that world and came out with Italian muscles, a Brazilian ass, and a permanent fascination with why men are so weird about wanting things.

Standard disclosure, and this time it's the whole engine of the story. My ass and pecs are enormous, particularly my ass. Genuinely, comically so. In street clothes it's a lot. In gym clothes it is, and I'm quoting a friend here, obscene. There's no version of leggings or shorts that makes it discreet, and I stopped trying around age twenty. Men look. Men get off to me constantly, and I've spent enough years around it to have a completely settled position on that, which is that it's fine, it's good, I like it, and I'd think something was wrong if it stopped. I've had underwear disappear from my bag more than once over the years. All of that is just the weather I've lived in for years. I lived in the bodybuilder world and knew I had an admiration kink, so free muscle worship through hookups kind of allowed me to explore that side of myself, and its made me think about these topics a lot. Being online and partially anonymous on here allows me to just be blunt about all this in ways that in person I’d be concerned sounded conceited.

So here's what happened.

I had a client, two years with me. Call him R. In his 20s, extremely polite and just one of those social/masculine good ‘ol guys from the south, and one of the most consistent guys I've ever trained. The ex frat bro type. Never missed. Never complained. The kind of client you actually look forward to because he does the work and genuinely is social to talk to when training.

And for basically the entire two years, he could not stop staring at my ass. I want to be clear that I never once thought he was a creep about it. It was the opposite. You could watch him actively fight it. He'd catch himself and snap his eyes up. He'd position himself to face away during rest periods. He was polite to the point of being visibly effortful about it, and I'd clocked that within the first two months and never said a word, because a guy losing a silent battle with his own eyeballs is not a problem, it’s just a thing that happens to men around bodies they are attracted to.

Other thing I'd noticed and never mentioned: he took a long time in the showers. Longer than a shower takes (20 minutes). Every single session. And look, I'm not an idiot and neither are you. I knew exactly what was happening in there. And here's my honest position on that, which I've stated in this space a hundred times and will state a hundred more: I did not care. At all. Not even a flicker. A man handling himself privately, in a locked stall, on his own time, is not doing a single thing to me. That's between him and the tile. If a guy needs twenty minutes and a locked door to reset his nervous system after two hours of staring at something he can't have, that is the most understandable thing in the world and honestly it's the healthy option. He wasn't touching anyone. He wasn't saying anything. He was going somewhere private and taking care of it like an adult. That's not a symptom of anything wrong. That's a man managing himself correctly.

Then in March, my underwear went missing out of my bag in my office.

And I have a camera in my office, because it's my office and there's equipment and cash in there.

It was R. Clear as day. He came in, he looked around, he took a pair out of my bag and put it in his, and he left. Took him maybe 5 seconds. I sat with that footage for four days before I did anything, and I want to walk through what was going on in my head, because I think it's the useful part.

Because here's the thing. Two years. I knew this guy. He is not a predator. He's a good man who did something genuinely, indefensibly out of line. Both of those are true and neither one cancels the other, and the entire challenge in front of me was refusing to collapse it into one or the other. Everything in the culture pushes you to pick. Either he's a creep and you burn him down, or he's a nice guy so you let it go and pretend you never saw it. Both of those are the coward's move.

The other thing I knew, and this mattered enormously, is that this man was terrified of being outed. Not a guess. Two years of reading someone tells you things. Everything about how he moved through that gym was the behavior of a guy for whom being perceived as gay would be a catastrophe, because he was such a macho guy, and immediately tried to hide his attraction whenever possible. Whatever his actual situation is, and I still don't know and it's not my business, it was something fairly clear to me at least.

So when I finally sat him down, in my office, door closed, I opened with the only sentence I'd actually planned.

I said: "I know about the underwear. Nobody else is ever going to know. And you're not in trouble."

I led with the containment and the absolution because I knew that if I opened with the accusation, his terror would take over and I'd be talking to a man in survival mode who couldn't hear a word. And I needed him to hear the next part.

He broke. Not tears, but he went grey and put his head in his hands and started apologizing in this awful flat voice. He said he knew it was wrong, he'd known it was wrong while he was doing it, he didn't know why he did it, he'd throw them away, he'd quit, he'd pay me, he'd do anything as long as I didn't tell anyone. He said the word "please" maybe six times. And underneath all of it, the thing he was actually terrified of was not that he'd stolen something. It was that he'd been seen wanting a man.

So I said the other thing I'd planned.

I said: look bud, looking at my ass is fine. I've known for two years and I've never once minded. Getting off in the shower is fine, guys do it here, I've known that too, that's yours and I don't have an opinion on it. Going home and thinking about me is fine and I hope you have a great time. Really. But none of that is what this conversation is about, and I need you to actually hear that, because I think you've just decided this whole thing is proof that you're disgusting and will be found out, and it isn't.

What isn't fine is going into my bag. That's not desire, that's my property and my space, and you knew that, which is why you did it in 5 seconds when nobody was around. That's the part I need to address, and it's a small part, and it's the only part.

Now, here's a detail I went back and forth on including, and I'm including it because this space is supposed to be honest. I never asked for them back.

Not once. Didn't bring it up, didn't ask him to return them, didn't ask him to throw them out even though he offered. And that was deliberate, because let's be adults about what we're actually discussing here. A man does not take a pair of his trainer's briefs out of a gym bag with a plan to frame them. I knew what they were for the second I saw the footage. He knew that I knew. And asking for them back would have meant forcing both of us to say out loud, in detail, what he'd been doing with them, which would have accomplished nothing except humiliating a man who was already at the absolute floor. I’m not going to shame the guy for using my briefs as his regular cum rag.

Worse than that, it would have made the wrong thing the subject. The theft was the problem. What he did with them afterward, alone, in his own home, was not my business and was never going to be my business. Demanding them back would have collapsed those two things into one and taught him that the getting off was the crime. It wasn't. The bag was the crime. I wanted to be surgical about that.

And I'll be fully honest, because half measures on honesty are worthless. Even as time has gone by, I would bet real money he still has them and still uses them. That is my genuine assumption. And I feel completely fine about it. I don't think about it much, and when I do think about it, I mostly just think, well, good. Some guy somewhere is having a better week because of a pair of briefs he shouldn't have taken. The taking was wrong and I addressed the taking. The rest of it costs me nothing, harms nobody, and if I'm the reason a lonely, frightened, deeply repressed southern man with a muscle and ass fetish gets ten honest minutes to himself where he isn't at war with his own body, then that is a genuinely decent use of a pair of underwear I was going to replace anyway.

That's not me being cool or above it. It's just what I actually think. Men get off to me. That has been the fixed condition of my entire adult life. I understand that that might be a clear factor as for how somehow all my gym clients end up being bi or gay men. I have a body that produces this reaction in people whether I want it to or not, and I decided a long time ago that I was going to be at peace with what men do about that in private rather than spend my life offended by it.

And that distinction is the whole reason I wanted to write this post. Because here's what I've landed on, and it's genuinely new to me. I've spent years in this space arguing that shame is the enemy, that men need permission, that the answer is always more acceptance. And I still believe that. But this taught me something I'd been sloppy about, which is that shame and boundaries are not the same tool and I'd been half treating them like they were.

Shaming a man tells him what he is. A boundary tells him what he did. Those feel similar in the moment and they do completely opposite things. Shame gives him nothing to fix, so he goes underground with it, and underground is exactly where the stealing came from in the first place. A boundary gives him a specific line and a way to stay in the room.

And here's the thing that actually cracked it open for me. R. didn't steal because he was too horny. He stole because he had absolutely no legitimate channel for any of it. He couldn't say "hey man, I find you attractive," because saying that out loud would have meant becoming, in his own head, a gay man, which was the one outcome he'd organized his entire life around avoiding. So two years of real, human, completely ordinary desire built up behind a wall with no door in it, and it came out sideways, at nine in the morning, in a 5 second grab he'll be humiliated about for the rest of his life.

Shame didn't stop him from doing something wrong. Shame is why he did something wrong. That's the part I hadn't fully understood. We tell men that wanting is shameful and then act surprised when the wanting comes out through the walls instead of the door.

So here's what I actually did, practically, because I think the how matters more than the philosophy.

I kept him as a client. Deliberately. Cutting him loose would have felt clean and righteous and would have taught him that getting caught wanting a man means losing everything, which is the exact belief that produced the theft. I wasn't going to hand him that. Obviously I told him he couldn’t steal again.

Then I did the thing that I think mattered most. I told him he was allowed to still be here. That I wasn't going to be weird with him, I wasn't going to treat him like a problem, and that in a month this would just be a thing that happened once. I told him if he needed to jack off to me before our sessions, then to go ahead and take his time, I would wait. And then I made that true by actually being normal with him the very next session. Because a boundary without warmth is just punishment on a delay.

That was years ago. He was so embarrassed he didn’t come back to train with me for another two months, but then he eventually came back. He still trains with me to this day. He still takes too long in the showers and I still do not care even slightly, and I hope he never stops.

So, as always, the part I will keep saying until I'm dead. Masturbation is not the problem and it never has been. It is not a moral event. It is not a failure of discipline. It is not evidence about who you are. Go home, or don't go home, think about whatever gets you there, an ass, pecs, a guy at your gym, a stranger, your trainer, me if that's what does it, sincerely and with my whole chest. That is physiology and imagination doing their jobs and it makes you exactly zero percent less of a man. Do it honestly, responsibly, CONSENSUALLY, and then get up and go about your day without convening a tribunal. Beat your fucking dick like a man, bro, but do it with respect and pride for yourself and others.

But here's the addition, and it's the one thing I'd want any guy reading this to take.

Wanting somebody is free. Acting on somebody without their say is not. The line has never been between horny and not horny, it's between what happens in your head and what happens to another person's stuff, body, or space. Nobody ever taught most of us that, because we got handed a much dumber line instead, the one that says the wanting itself is the crime. And when you believe the wanting is the crime, you've got no reason to learn where the actual line is, because you already think you're over it just for being turned on.

If you read this far, thanks. Just some things that I wish I had more people to talk openly with cuz I don’t think men can talk about these things openly as they should. I’d love to know your thoughts.

Hmu

Hmu

Reposting cuz this post was deleted by accident.. So some background on me: I’m a 32 year old, bisexual, personal trainer who generally likes to use Reddit to explore topics like self development, gym, sports, radical honesty, healthy masculinity, sexuality, and masturbation, with other well-intentioned men. I’m not a life coach or therapist, just a guy who finds these topics really interesting.

I’m into things like yoga and meditation, but the gym and training has always been the focal point of my life. I’ve been a trainer for 8 years, and been working out since i was 13. My dad was a professional italian bodybuilder, so I grew up literally all around that world. My mom is brazilian and their entire side of the family just has fucking dump trucks and also seemed to have good muscle building genetics. So I just look like an italian dude with a brazilian ass. Combine that with being a personal trainer now who wrestled all the time growing up, i think it just made for some weird proportions that i used to feelembarrassed about. But, as i got older, I started sexualizing muscles and found it pretty hot to dive into further. I realized that growing up around the competitive bodybuilding world, in the most hyper-masculine sports like wrestling too, that I was constantly internally wrestling with issues of masculinity, sexuality, and internal shame/lust in such homoerotic spaces. I found myself constantly surrounded by these men I admired, and lusted after, and who I also wanted to become like.

In short… this morphed into a kink for admiration and muscle worship, but at the same time, providing a safe space for good men to just be horny men without shame. I’ve realized over time that my body, muscles, pecs, and especially my ass, are insanely heavily sexualized by men in my life, and it always comes out in awkward ways. I’ve been sexualized enough that I’ve had underwear of mine stolen several times in my life.

Okay, so my story I wanted to share:

So… in my late 20s I lived near a nudist beach in California. I found myself going there on sunday mornings. I wanted a safe space to dip my toe into my admiration and exhibitionism kink. There was a quiet cove I’d go to regularly. I’d strip down, stretch, move slowly, take my time applying sunscreen. No theatrics or anything. Just fully naked and applying sunscreen for ages on my muscles, pecs, and ass.

Men started showing up and watching from a distance and jacking off. Then more. And suddenly every sunday there would be a little crowd of men who would know id be there on sunday just flexing and applyin sunsreen. I’m not gonna lie, it was a fucking power trip.

Sometimes I’d have a man come up and offer to apply sunscreen on my muscles and ass, and I’d let him. It would be amazing to see he was hard as steel, dick facing towards the sky and dripping with precum. Then when he was done, I would give his dick two quick tugs, almost like a goodbye handshake, and thank him. Then Id continue applying lotion to myself alone. I knew it was a tease just leaving with two tugs without him getting off, but I think I got off on the power I had over these men.

But I also r ealized a few other things. All types of men watched, but a a lot of these men that were most interesting to me psychologyically were the clearly closeted guys who I think came there secretly because they were hyper masculine presenting – maybe ex frat types or even gym bro types. They seemed to have desire mixed with a lot of shame and awkwardness. Which I think is a volatile combo.

What I find interesting is that men (especially these masculine closeted types) are not taught how to metabolize desire. Especially desire toward other men. Especially when it feels biological. Especially when it feels powerful. So instead, they they think arousal equals identity. They think masturbation equals moral failure. They think being turned on equals loss of control.

And instead of meeting that feeling with curiosity, most men met it with shame.vSome would avoid eye contact. Some would stare too long. Some would try to overcompensate with bravado. But underneath it was the same thing: embarrassment that they were aroused. So many of these closeted guys would be beating their meat watching me, and then once they came, seemed to be hit by the shame of their post nut clarity and rush away in a hurry.

This reminded me so much of myself growing up in such hyper masculine spaces with bodybuilding. But Ive learned masturbation isn’t the problem. The problem is secrecy fused with self-hatred.If a man goes home and takes care of himself thinking about a body or muscles or giant ass that triggered something in him, then that’s human. That’s physiology. That’s imagination. What destroys men is believing that act makes them weak, broken, or fraudulent. And of course, we need to make sure that the sexuality is expressed in healthy, responsible, and consensual ways.

I think these men need permission to feel it without collapsing. That you can admire another man’s body. You can fantasize. You can masturbate. None of that makes you less masculine. Beat your fucking dick like a man, bud!

But if you can’t look at your own arousal without disgust? That’s where the work is. Not gonna lie, its kinda hot to be that safe masculine container. I think its weird because yes, I do get off on the admiration, but also, its cool to provide that space.

Not sure where I was going with this post, but wanted to write all this down somewhere. I’m curious if what I’m doing sounds healthy or if I’m just using therapeutic language to make myself feel better about this narcissistic side of myself.

Hmu

Hmu

Hmu

Reposting cuz I accidentally deleted this before. So some background on me: I’m a 32 year old, bisexual, personal trainer who generally likes to use Reddit to explore topics like self development, gym, sports, radical honesty, healthy masculinity, sexuality, and masturbation, with other well-intentioned men. I’m not a life coach or therapist, just a guy who finds these topics really interesting.

I’m into things like yoga and meditation, but the gym and training has always been the focal point of my life. I’ve been a trainer for 8 years, and been working out since i was 13. My dad was a professional italian bodybuilder, so I grew up literally all around that world. My mom is brazilian and their entire side of the family just has fucking dump trucks and also seemed to have good muscle building genetics. So I just look like an italian dude with a brazilian ass. Combine that with being a personal trainer now who wrestled all the time growing up, i think it just made for some weird proportions that i used to feel embarrassed about. But, as i got older, I started sexualizing muscles and found it pretty hot to dive into further. I realized that growing up around the competitive bodybuilding world, in the most hyper-masculine sports like wrestling too, that I was constantly internally wrestling with issues of masculinity, sexuality, and internal shame/lust in such homoerotic spaces. I found myself constantly surrounded by these men I admired, and lusted after, and who I also wanted to become like.

In short… this morphed into a kink for admiration and muscle worship, but at the same time, providing a safe space for good men to just be horny men without shame. I’ve realized over time that my body, muscles, pecs, and especially my ass, are insanely heavily sexualized by men in my life, and it always comes out in awkward ways. I’ve been sexualized enough that I’ve had underwear of mine stolen several times in my life.

Okay, so my story I wanted to share:

So… in my late 20s I lived near a nudist beach in California. I found myself going there on sunday mornings. I wanted a safe space to dip my toe into my admiration and exhibitionism kink. There was a quiet cove I’d go to regularly. I’d strip down, stretch, move slowly, take my time applying sunscreen. No theatrics or anything. Just fully naked and applying sunscreen for ages on my muscles, pecs, and ass.

Men started showing up and watching from a distance and jacking off. Then more. And suddenly every sunday there would be a little crowd of men who would know id be there on sunday just flexing and applyin sunsreen. I’m not gonna lie, it was a fucking power trip.

Sometimes I’d have a man come up and offer to apply sunscreen on my muscles and ass, and I’d let him. It would be amazing to see he was hard as steel, dick facing towards the sky and dripping with precum. Then when he was done, I would give his dick two quick tugs, almost like a goodbye handshake, and thank him. Then Id continue applying lotion to myself alone. I knew it was a tease just leaving with two tugs without him getting off, but I think I got off on the power I had over these men.

But I also r ealized a few other things. All types of men watched, but a a lot of these men that were most interesting to me psychologyically were the clearly closeted guys who I think came there secretly because they were hyper masculine presenting – maybe ex frat types or even gym bro types. They seemed to have desire mixed with a lot of shame and awkwardness. Which I think is a volatile combo.

What I find interesting is that men (especially these masculine closeted types) are not taught how to metabolize desire. Especially desire toward other men. Especially when it feels biological. Especially when it feels powerful. So instead, they they think arousal equals identity. They think masturbation equals moral failure. They think being turned on equals loss of control.

And instead of meeting that feeling with curiosity, most men met it with shame.vSome would avoid eye contact. Some would stare too long. Some would try to overcompensate with bravado. But underneath it was the same thing: embarrassment that they were aroused. So many of these closeted guys would be beating their meat watching me, and then once they came, seemed to be hit by the shame of their post nut clarity and rush away in a hurry.

This reminded me so much of myself growing up in such hyper masculine spaces with bodybuilding. But Ive learned masturbation isn’t the problem. The problem is secrecy fused with self-hatred.If a man goes home and takes care of himself thinking about a body or muscles or giant ass that triggered something in him, then that’s human. That’s physiology. That’s imagination. What destroys men is believing that act makes them weak, broken, or fraudulent. And of course, we need to make sure that the sexuality is expressed in healthy, responsible, and consensual ways.

I think these men need permission to feel it without collapsing. That you can admire another man’s body. You can fantasize. You can masturbate. None of that makes you less masculine. Beat your fucking dick like a man, bud!

But if you can’t look at your own arousal without disgust? That’s where the work is. Not gonna lie, its kinda hot to be that safe masculine container. I think its weird because yes, I do get off on the admiration, but also, its cool to provide that space.

Not sure where I was going with this post, but wanted to write all this down somewhere. I’m curious if what I’m doing sounds healthy or if I’m just using therapeutic language to make myself feel better about this narcissistic side of myself.

Hmu

Hey all - sensitive issue here with a friend I am close to, and not sure how to confront it.

We’ve been close friends for about 5 years. Definitely a guy I hang out with on the regular in my friend group. We basically go to the same gym (I’m a personal trainer there) and that’s how we originally met. I’m a bi dude and I would say the vast majority of my clients are gay men, so I know how flirtatious gay men can be when they are around a guy with muscles, so I take no offense at the playful flirt here and there. Gym bro culture is also full of straight guys making gay attraction jokes anyways - at least where I’m at.

My friend is one of those guys who will playfully make a joke at how he thinks I’m attractive, or give me a “good job” spank. Nothing crazy and I’m totally okay with it. I acknowledge he has some attraction to me but didn’t expect it was to the extent he has recently told me.

For some background I have been a bodybuilder, been a shirtless bartender, and even done cam shows. So I know I live in and partake and even encourage “sexually charged” environments where this attention is normal. And yes, I put myself in those situations because I do enjoy the attention. But at the same time, I usually separate that “horny life” with the cam shows and the muscle worship from my close friendships.

After five years, my close friend got way too drunk and basically told me he jacks off to me constantly. That he thinks about my body nonstop and can’t help himself. Obviously the next day he sobered up and sent a super long apology text about how embarrassed he was and how he shouldn’t have said it.

I’m a really chill guy about all these things. I enjoy talking openly about healthy masculinity and sexuality and masturbation. They’re natural things. And I’m used to guys being in my DMs and being “sexually obsessed” just due to the whole bodybuilder situation. There’s a whole underworld about it all. But that was usually guys that weren’t one of my closest friends or who I’m in more sexually charged environments with already. I guess I wonder if I’m putting myself in these situations because I do cam shows and am in the bodybuilding/training world and am admittedly very open about sexuality with guys in my life. So I’m wondering if I’m signaling unconsciously to this close friend that it’s okay for him to say this stuff to me too, because he sees how chill I am with the other guys who say sexual things to me and I don’t mind.

I’m not looking for some “just hook up with him” responses. He’s not my type and I see him practically as a brother at this point.

How much of this is my own fault, and how is the best way to keep this friendship without it turning awkward?

Hmu

Hmu

Reposting cuz I accidentally deleted this before. So some background on me: I’m a 32 year old, bisexual, personal trainer who generally likes to use this space to explore topics like self development, gym, sports, radical honesty, healthy masculinity, sexuality, and masturbation, with other well-intentioned men. I’m not a life coach or therapist, just a guy who finds these topics really interesting.

I’m into things like yoga and meditation, but the gym and training has always been the focal point of my life. I’ve been a trainer for 8 years, and been working out since i was 13. My dad was a professional italian bodybuilder, so I grew up literally all around that world. My mom is brazilian and their entire side of the family just has fucking dump trucks and also seemed to have good muscle building genetics. So I just look like an italian dude with a brazilian ass. Combine that with being a personal trainer now who wrestled all the time growing up, i think it just made for some weird proportions that i used to feel embarrassed about. But, as i got older, I started sexualizing muscles and found it pretty hot to dive into further. I realized that growing up around the competitive bodybuilding world, in the most hyper-masculine sports like wrestling too, that I was constantly internally wrestling with issues of masculinity, sexuality, and internal shame/lust in such homoerotic spaces. I found myself constantly surrounded by these men I admired, and lusted after, and who I also wanted to become like.

In short… this morphed into a kink for admiration and muscle worship, but at the same time, providing a safe space for good men to just be horny men without shame. I’ve realized over time that my body, muscles, pecs, and especially my ass, are insanely heavily sexualized by men in my life, and it always comes out in awkward ways. I’ve been sexualized enough that I’ve had underwear of mine stolen several times in my life.

Okay, so my story I wanted to share:

So… in my late 20s I lived near a nudist beach in California. I found myself going there on sunday mornings. I wanted a safe space to dip my toe into my admiration and exhibitionism kink. There was a quiet cove I’d go to regularly. I’d strip down, stretch, move slowly, take my time applying sunscreen. No theatrics or anything. Just fully naked and applying sunscreen for ages on my muscles, pecs, and ass.

Men started showing up and watching from a distance and jacking off. Then more. And suddenly every sunday there would be a little crowd of men who would know id be there on sunday just flexing and applyin sunsreen. I’m not gonna lie, it was a fucking power trip.

Sometimes I’d have a man come up and offer to apply sunscreen on my muscles and ass, and I’d let him. It would be amazing to see he was hard as steel, dick facing towards the sky and dripping with precum. Then when he was done, I would give his dick two quick tugs, almost like a goodbye handshake, and thank him. Then Id continue applying lotion to myself alone. I knew it was a tease just leaving with two tugs without him getting off, but I think I got off on the power I had over these men.

But I also r ealized a few other things. All types of men watched, but a a lot of these men that were most interesting to me psychologyically were the clearly closeted guys who I think came there secretly because they were hyper masculine presenting – maybe ex frat types or even gym bro types. They seemed to have desire mixed with a lot of shame and awkwardness. Which I think is a volatile combo.

What I find interesting is that men (especially these masculine closeted types) are not taught how to metabolize desire. Especially desire toward other men. Especially when it feels biological. Especially when it feels powerful. So instead, they they think arousal equals identity. They think masturbation equals moral failure. They think being turned on equals loss of control.

And instead of meeting that feeling with curiosity, most men met it with shame.vSome would avoid eye contact. Some would stare too long. Some would try to overcompensate with bravado. But underneath it was the same thing: embarrassment that they were aroused. So many of these closeted guys would be beating their meat watching me, and then once they came, seemed to be hit by the shame of their post nut clarity and rush away in a hurry.

This reminded me so much of myself growing up in such hyper masculine spaces with bodybuilding. But Ive learned masturbation isn’t the problem. The problem is secrecy fused with self-hatred.If a man goes home and takes care of himself thinking about a body or muscles or giant ass that triggered something in him, then that’s human. That’s physiology. That’s imagination. What destroys men is believing that act makes them weak, broken, or fraudulent. And of course, we need to make sure that the sexuality is expressed in healthy, responsible, and consensual ways.

I think these men need permission to feel it without collapsing. That you can admire another man’s body. You can fantasize. You can masturbate. None of that makes you less masculine. Beat your fucking dick like a man, bud!

But if you can’t look at your own arousal without disgust? That’s where the work is. Not gonna lie, its kinda hot to be that safe masculine container. I think its weird because yes, I do get off on the admiration, but also, its cool to provide that space.

Not sure where I was going with this post, but wanted to write all this down somewhere.

Hmu