Exploration Date – Part 12 (Patreon)

Everyone in this story is 18+

A couple weeks into college and the dorm already smelled like old socks and unwashed gym clothes. My alarm hadn’t gone off yet when the door rattled like someone was trying to kick it in. I jolted upright, sheets tangled around my legs, heart slamming against my ribs.

“Open up, Sleeping Beauty!”

Phoenix’s voice boomed through the wood. I groaned, scrubbed a hand over my face, and stumbled over to the door in nothing but boxers. The knob was cold under my palm.

He stood there filling the frame as he always did, two plastic shaker bottles in one hand, gym bag slung over his shoulder like it weighed nothing. Black tank stretched tight across his chest, shorts riding low on his hips. Same easy grin, same cologne cutting through the hallway stink.

“Yo. You can’t lie here jerking off all day. Gym time. Here—” He shoved one of the shakers at me. “I put less carbs in yours, Miss Piggy.”

I looked down at my stomach on reflex. The abs were actually there now—four visible when I flexed, the lines sharp from months of Phoenix’s macros and endless reps. Not shredded like his, but real. I’d earned them. The nickname stung a little, but I grinned anyway.

I took the shake. “Ok, thanks I guess.”

He laughed, clapping my bare shoulder hard enough to make me rock forward. “That’s the spirit. Get dressed. We’re meeting the boys.”

Fifteen minutes later we were crossing the quad, frost crunching under our sneakers. The campus gym was already alive—clanks and grunts echoing off the concrete walls. Phoenix led the way like he owned the place, nodding at half the guys on the floor. Everyone knew him. Heads turned, quick fist bumps, “Yo, Phoenix,” thrown out like currency. But no one lingered. No one slapped his back the way he slapped mine.

Two guys were already at the squat rack when we got there. Big dudes—like Phoenix, necks thick, tattoos crawling up their arms. One had a buzzcut and a tank so small it looked painted on; the other wore a backwards cap and kept flexing his traps like he was posing for an invisible camera.

“Boys,” Phoenix said, dropping his bag with a thud. “This is Arlo. My project.”

Buzzcut grinned, teeth too white under the fluorescents. “The little bro? Heard you’re getting swole.”

Phoenix laughed—short, sharp, already shaking his head. “Defo not my real brother tho. If I had a brother he’d be huge, not like this lil’ twig.” He reached over and ruffled my hair hard enough to make my head jerk forward, then clapped my shoulder like we were in on the joke. “Right, A?”

I laughed it off, heat crawling up my neck but the grin sticking. “Yeah. Twig for now.”

Cap guy snorted, arms crossed over his chest. “Not that bad for a freshman. Few more months, you might actually fill out a shirt.”

Phoenix just smirked and jerked his chin toward the rower. “Warm-up, A. Five minutes. Move.”

I headed over, the shake still sloshing in my gut. Behind me the three of them started loading plates, metal clanging like they were arming for war.

Buzzcut racked a barbell that looked heavier than me. “So last night—blonde from the welcome party? Tightest pussy I’ve had since high school. Squeezed me so hard I almost popped early.”

Cap guy barked a laugh. “Amateur. Mine was a redhead. Screamed like she was dying. Had to cover her mouth so the RA wouldn’t come knocking.”

Phoenix chuckled low. “You’re both full of shit. Redhead was probably faking it to get you off faster.”

They roared, slapping plates louder. I kept my eyes on the rowing screen, legs pumping, a smirk tugging at my mouth despite myself. The stories were out there, sure, but the confidence in their voices—the way they owned the room—made something in my chest buzz.

Phoenix appeared at my side. “Time’s up. Rack. We’re squatting.”

I wiped my face on my shirt and followed. The bar was already loaded—plates stacked high. Phoenix stepped behind me, hands on my hips, adjusting my stance like I was a mannequin.

“Feet wider. Chest up. Don’t be lazy, Miss Piggy. Ass back.”

I dropped into the hole, thighs burning on the first rep. He spotted me close, breath hot on my neck. “Drive through the heels. Come on. Up.”

I pushed, bar wobbling a little. The two bros watched, arms crossed, smirking.

Buzzcut whistled. “Kid’s got form. Not bad for a freshman.”

Cap guy snorted. “Wait till he hits failure. That’s when the real whining starts.”

Phoenix laughed with them. “Nah, he’s tougher than he looks. Right, A?”

I racked the bar, chest heaving, grinning through the burn. “Yeah. Sure.”

We moved to bench next. Phoenix loaded it heavy—more than I’d ever tried solo. He stood over me, straddling the bench, crotch inches from my face as I lay back.

“Grip it. Wide. Now press.”

I pushed. The bar came down slow, touched my chest, then up. Second rep—shakier. Third—he leaned in, hands ghosting under the bar.

“Don’t lock out. Control it. Slow on the way down. Feel the burn.”

Sweat dripped into my eyes. My arms shook on the fourth. He counted loud. “Five. Come on, don’t pussy out now.”

I locked it out, racked with a clang. My chest burned like fire.

“Good boy,” he said, patting my pec like I was a dog. The bros laughed again. I laughed too, the praise hitting warm despite the patronizing edge.

We rotated to bent-over rows next. Phoenix loaded the bar with plates that clanged like gunshots. He stepped behind me, close enough that I felt the heat rolling off his chest.

“Chest out. Hinge at the hips. Pull with your back, not your arms.” His voice was calm but sharp. “Go.”

I bent forward, gripped the bar, and yanked. The first rep felt clean. The second, my lower back rounded a little.

“Arch it,” he snapped. “Again.”

I pulled harder. My lats burned. On the fifth rep my grip slipped half an inch.

“Drink.” He shoved the water bottle into my hand without asking. Cold plastic against sweaty palm. I took two gulps, water dribbling down my chin.

“Keep going. Don’t cheat the top.”

I rowed again. My breathing turned ragged. On the eighth rep my form broke—shoulders crept up toward my ears.

Phoenix clicked his tongue. “Miss Piggy’s getting sloppy. Chest up. Pull.”

Buzzcut snorted from the bench nearby. Cap guy grinned wide, teeth flashing.

“Freshman’s already gassing,” Cap said, loud enough for half the rack to hear. “Thought you said he was tough, Phoenix.”

I racked the bar with a metallic clang, chest heaving, face hot. Phoenix just smirked. “He’s fine. Princess needs a little motivation, that’s all.”

I wiped sweat from my forehead with the back of my wrist, chuckling under my breath. The ribbing was rough, but it felt like being let into the circle.

Overhead press followed. Phoenix adjusted the rack height, then stood beside me while I unracked the empty bar first.

“Strict. No leg drive. Shoulders only.”

I pressed. First rep smooth. Second, my elbows flared.

“Lock them in,” he said, stepping in front of me now, hands hovering near my wrists. “Again.”

Third rep—my shoulders screamed. The bar wobbled left.

“Fight it,” he said. “Come on, little bro, you got a new PR waiting.”

I locked out the rep, racked it hard, adrenaline spiking. The “little bro” landed like a badge.

Deadlifts were last. Phoenix loaded the bar to a weight I’d never touched before.

“Conventional. Flat back. Hips back. Pull the slack out first.”

I stepped up, gripped, took a breath. The bar came off the floor—slow, grinding. Mid-shin my lower back started to round.

“Arch,” Phoenix barked, dropping to a crouch in front of me, eye level with my face. “Breathe out on the way up. Don’t be lazy.”

I pulled. The bar locked out. My hamstrings felt like they might tear.

“Good,” he said, standing again. “Again.”

Second pull—slower. My grip opened a fraction.

“Hook it,” he snapped. “Don’t let it slip. You want the bar to rip your hands open or what?”

I reset. Third pull. My vision tunneled. When I locked out, Phoenix slapped my back—hard.

“There it is. That’s my boy.”

Buzzcut whistled. “Newbie just pulled three plates. Not bad for a twig.”

Cap guy smirked, arms crossed. “Wait till he hits failure. Bet he cries.”

I racked the bar, hands shaking, lungs burning, bent forward sucking air with a stupid grin plastered on my face. The burn felt earned.

Phoenix crouched beside me, voice quieter. “You good?”

I nodded, breathless. “Yeah. Felt good.”

He stood, offered the water bottle. “Drink. Then protein. You’re eating clean today—no skipping.”

I took it, fingers buzzing. Across the gym, the two bros walked away, still laughing, still ranking girls like stats on a leaderboard. Phoenix watched them a second, then turned back to me.

“Shower’s this way. Move.”

I followed, legs heavy, chest puffed a little.

These guys were intense. Rough around the edges. But this—this was what college was supposed to feel like. Pushing limits. Belonging with the ones who didn’t hold back.

The nicknames stung a bit, yeah. But they also meant I was in the group. Part of something bigger.

I could take it.