The Trainer
By R.W. Clinger
“Alex Lee? Alex, is that you?” I felt someone tug on my right elbow outside Pages, the bookstore on Penn Avenue. The somebody spun me around. He looked familiar and handsome with a military cut, bright blue eyes, and blond scruff on his cheeks and chin. His six-three frame resembled a Greek god’s: muscular in all the right places, V-shaped chest, pointed n*****s in a too-tight T-shirt, tube of long c**k under Nike running shorts, no underwear. The one and only Squire Land.
“Hey.” I didn’t know what else to say. We hadn’t made eye contact in two years. Hollywood kept me busy.
He athletically bounced on the balls of his feet, excited to see me. The pearly white grin on his face proved his enthusiasm. “What are you doing in Pittsburgh?”
“Working. I’m here for
