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I hope to continue the fun I had on Tumblr here.  I also might start posting my stories (unfinished and finished) here (as well as on the forum).  I hope people enjoy!

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Cum Loaded




I swallowed quickly, gagging slightly a couple of times.  Damn, this dude had a lot of juice and that got me real excited.  I wiped my mouth with the hem of my yellow shirt as I stood up and looked at the guy, still leaning against the brick wall, trying to get his breath back.  He was smiling, so I knew he’d be fine.  He was pretty handsome for an alleyway lunchbreak quickie.  I could already feel his sweet nectar bubbling down in my stomach – churning into fuel that would soon be sent throughout my body.  I moaned a little and flexed my left arm, staring at the decent sized biceps.  Suddenly small glistening bumps – almost like blisters covered the tensed muscle.  It burned a little, but it also made my cock rock-hard.


“What the hell,” the handsome guy in the suit said and I turned to see him staring at my arm.


“I’m growing.  You didn’t believe me, did you, dude?  You were so fucking full of cum, it’s going to be really noticeable.”


We both turned our gaze back to the still blistering biceps.  The bumps started to multiply more quickly and then they started bunching together, becoming something solid and adding more hard meat to my muscle.  It already looked like I had added about half an inch to my bulge.  I hadn’t expected that much growth, but I was thankful for it.  The difference in my arm was definitely quite noticeable.  The wide eyes and open mouth of my quickie confirmed that it had been amazing.  I flexed the arm even harder, to show off the much bigger peak and low ballooning triceps.  Man, I loved growing.


“How the hell does that happen?”


“Don’t know, bud.  There just something about another mans’ cum that makes me grow.  Well, a specific kind of fella.  It’s all based on the amount the guy’s able to produce, too.  Like I said, you’re a big-time gusher, so I knew this was going to be good.  I had trouble keeping up.”


My arm still wasn’t finished getting bigger.  I could feel the muscle multiplying beneath the skin and that made me so dog-gone excited.  I lost awareness of my onlooker for a while, I was so into my own growth.  The thing looked so much bigger – harder – more muscled.  Even the peak was highlighted so it looked like hardness the size of a softball beneath the skin.  The triceps was huge and separated, as well.  Fuck, it felt so bloated with power.  My new, thicker forearm was rocking it, too. 


“That thing looks so powerful,” the quickie said, with lust in his voice.


“It is, dude.  Let me show you.  It looks like I’ve made you ready for round two, anyway.  Another swallow won’t make me grow, but it will taste just as good.”


The dude’s cock was stiff again, poking out from his undone suit pants.  I grabbed him at his hips and lifted him up against the wall – so his crotch was at mouth level.  I held him there as my lips caught his throbbing piece of meat and I took the entire thing in my warm mouth in one big gulp.  He cried out and braced his hands against my shoulders as his feet scrunched downward from the pleasure.  He jerked his ass from the wall, forcing his cock to go deeper into my throat, which only made him moan even louder.  He then started rocking his crotch back and forth, fucking my throat like a madman.  I was sucking hard and squeezing the muscles in the back of my mouth in a way that was going to bring him back to orgasm-mode quickly.  I could still feel my biceps pulsating with new growth and power.  Holding him off the ground only enhanced the pleasure for both of us.  I was so disappointed to learn that a second round of swallowing a man’s load would not make me grow again.  It made it impossible to be in a monogamous relationship – especially because I wanted to keep growing.  I didn’t see how it was possible, but the dude shot an even more substantial load the second time.  I guess seeing my biceps grow was just too much of a turn-on for him.  When I placed him back down on the ground, I could tell he was worn out, but very, very happy.  He looked up at me.


“I love to be lifted.  Hey, you grew taller, too!  We were eye to eye before you sucked me off.”


“Damn, you’re right, dude.  I hadn’t noticed that before.  All of this is still so new.  It’s only right that if I’m bigger I should be taller, too.”


“I’ve got to get back to work,” he said, looking at me, hopefully – he wanted to meet up again.


“And I’ve got to get to the gym.”


“Gym?  Aren’t you worn out?” he asked, shocked I was going to work out.


“Naw, dude, the growth empowers me.  I’ve got to go lift some heavy weight just to calm down, now.  My body will be pumping with adrenaline for hours.  And you dumped a bucket load of cum down my throat, so I have a feeling I’m going to be like the Engergizer Bunny for the entire two hours of lifting.  Listen, I can see it in your eyes – you’d like to see me again.  That’s cool, man, but you know – because of my particular gift for changing cum into muscle – I’m not a one-man kind of guy.  You’re nice, hot, and clearly into the growth as much as me, but I gotta keep finding older fit men to suck off so I’ll get monstrous.  For some reason, this change only happens if the guy is over forty, nicely built, and masculine.  You’d be amazed how hard it is to find that kind of guy.”


“Maybe I could help.  I have a lot of friends just like me – older, fit, and full of masculine juice.  I’m having a dinner party on Saturday.  You could have a cum buffet and leave the party a hell of a lot bigger than you came.  Just a thought.”

“Damn, dude,” I replied, “that would be awesome.  Especially, if the guests are like you.”


“Most of them are even bigger than me.”



Becoming a Muscle Daddy


It was when I knew I’d be turning forty in exactly eighteen months that the decision was made.  I did not want to be that pudgy, cocktail-sipping, older man standing on the side of the dance floor at clubs ogling the young boys and being ignored by everyone because they felt sorry for the poor pathetic old man.  I decided I wanted to be a Grade A muscle daddy by the time I turned that magical age that people crazily called the ‘new thirty.’  Don’t get me wrong, my thirties had been spectacular, but I wanted to own my forties.  I wanted to act my age.  I had a nice home, I had a great career, I had two dogs who were adorable babe magnets – so why shouldn’t I be a babe magnet, too.   I looked in the mirror one morning – overweight, big bags under my eyes from staying at the bar too late in hopes someone would choose me, no facial hair to speak of, and glasses that yelled ‘nerd’ from twenty feet away.  I knew there had to be changes. 


First, I started working on the body.  I decided to start with the hardest.  I was as tight with my money as I was with my ass, so I forced myself – with much inner turmoil – to hire a personal trainer.  Scott was a straight, trophy-winning young bodybuilder who took a liking to me immediately.  I’m sure the amount of money I was offering had nothing to do with his friendliness – and even if it did, I did not care.  I wanted to get in shape.  I told him to make me a muscle daddy the first time we met.  I said it needed it to happen by my fortieth birthday.  The dude brought a calendar to our next session – one that lasted for twenty-four months, so he could mark the day of my total transformation.  Fire Island, eighteen months to the day, is the place where I would reveal my new fabulousness.  He had done his homework.  He said there was a special ‘Come Meet Your New Daddy’ party on the island that particular weekend, which included the Muscle Daddy Fire Island Contest.  I lost control and laughed hard at the preposterous idea, but his serious face and calm demeanor made it clear he was meant it.  He even said he’d be there to watch me win.  He asked me how much I wanted this and I told him I was willing to do anything.  He then told me he would work me so hard I would hate him, but that one day I’d be thanking him.  I told him I was ready.  I was so naïve. 


It’s one thing to have a coach and it’s another thing to have someone dominate you as if you were his toy.  Scott took his job as if it were a matter of life and death.  He insisted on a key to my apartment, so if I texted to say I needed to skip a session he could come in and drag my ass out of bed.  He got the numbers of all my friends, so he could check up on my eating habits, alcohol consumption, drug use, and even my sexual adventures (claiming that morning sex would make me weaker for workouts).  I was definitely paying Scott a boatload of money, but I think the job actually consumed him – he acted like he wanted me to reach my goals even more than I did.  I was a good and faithful servant.  Those first three weeks I would drag my ass to the gym every morning at 5:30am even when I was so sore I had to slide down the steps instead of painful walking.  I cried the second day when Scott took my Venti coffee cup and told me from that day forward I had to get myself moving without the help of caffeine.  I didn’t do anything the first four weeks but workout in the early morning, go to work, and then go home to collapse on my bed – a pile of total pain and utter exhaustion.  Five weeks into the training I was allowed to weigh myself.  I was shattered when the scale said I had lost one pound.  Scott laughed at my despondent face and told me to flex my arm as I looked into the mirror.  I did as he said – just as I always did. 


He pointed to a little tiny bump in my still slightly pudgy arm and told me I wasn’t losing weight because I was changing it into muscle.  That little bump . . . miniscule when I think back on it now – was life changing.  You would have thought I had turned into the phenomenal Mike Mentzer overnight from the way I reacted.  That ant hill of a bump inspired me more than anything I had ever experienced in my life.  I suddenly felt less pain, ate correctly without bitching, walked taller and more confident at work, and attacked my workouts like a maniac.  Scott told me he had never seen a man as crazy for muscle as I was.  Three months in the bump had gotten bigger – many bumps all over my body, actually – and Scott talked me into something else that would inspire me.  He said I needed a tattoo.  I told him I was not getting one – mainly because I was so scared of the needle.  He brought out a drawing of a lion that was both spectacular and erotic at the same time.  He told me I was getting this on m left pec and he had set up the appointment for that day after I got off work.  I started to argue, but then he just put his big hand on my shoulder and started to squeeze hard.  I went down on one knee because of the pain.  He told me there would come a day in the near future when I would not yield to his grip.  I would be able to stand there and smile at him no matter how hard he squeezed.  He then told me the tattoo would help.  I sat in a chair for hours, enduring pain that I could not even imagine before that afternoon, but when the awesome artist allowed me to look in the mirror at his amazing work it was like someone had injected a few vials of testosterone into my body.  The guy told me to flex and when I did I almost creamed in my pants.  It was like the lion tilted his head back in a giant roar.


Scott was impressed as hell by the tattoo – and by the fact that I had done it.  He actually won a bet with one of the other trainers who had said I would chicken out at the last minute and not do it.  Scott was kind and I got to avoid doing chest for five days – he said it was to let the lion heal.  I was thankful, for the first day we actually worked out my chest, the lion ached very much.  Midway through the eighteen months I had to buy new clothes – bigger shirts and pants with slimmer waists.  Scott praised my work and told me I was going to be even hotter than I had ever imagined.  One morning he asked if work cared if I grew facial hair.  I told him I was the boss and he told me to not shave until he said I could.  I started to argue but then he put a hand on my shoulder and I shut up quickly.  I was not ready for a knee bending shoulder squeeze again.  I actually threw out every razor in my place – just to make sure I didn’t give in to the need to get rid of scruff.  I had also gotten so used to eating right and drinking protein shakes that I sometimes turned down invitations to dinner parties or eating out at restaurants just so I could keep the transformation on track.  Scott asked me to meet him at a coffee shop halfway through the tenth month.  He said we needed to talk about something serious.  I worried that I had done something wrong or that he was going to drop me as a client.  Nothing could have prepared me for what the meeting was really about. 


He told me my progress was so incredible that I was going to surpass his vision of what he originally thought I was capable of in about a month.  He also told me that guys were going to start commenting on my build and even coming on to me, but that I needed to resist the urge to think I had reached the finish line.  He told me he thought I could achieve muscle daddy fame beyond my wildest dreams if I stayed the course and worked hard.  I told him he was crazy, but then the cute-as-hell barista came around the counter to personally hand me my drink and show me that he had written his number on the side of the cup.  He said he would move heaven and hell to have one night with a daddy like me.  I was flabbergasted beyond belief and thankful Scott was there to help me through the situation.  As soon as I was done with the coffee, he crumpled up the cup – making sure the barista saw, so the dude would think Scott and I were an item – and then threw it in the trash.  I wanted badly to retrieve the number, since the barista was adorable, but my commitment to Scott and his plan for me was much more important.  I changed coffee shops just so I wouldn’t be tempted.


Fifteen weeks into the transformation, Scott took me to his salon.  I was totally confused as to what was happening.  I had not shaved – just as he had asked – and I looked like a rugged older Paul Bunyan.  He sat me down in front of a blonde girl who had been blessed beyond reason in the breasts department.  I got the distinct feeling that Scott’s face had been buried in those tits many, many times.  She kept looking at the guy the same way a submissive in the gay community looks at his dominator.  I had a feeling Scott serviced her in a way that went way beyond just good sex.  Scott told her to make me into a sexy muscle daddy.  The big chested woman got all excited and started to work.  She told me the bushy beard had to go.  It was great if I wanted to be a bear, but a muscle daddy would definitely have a goatee.  She shaved away and when I saw how chiseled my face had become I almost cried.  She then said a short haircut with some spikiness would be just what the boys wanted.  She was not wrong.  I was even turned on a little by my new look when she was done.  But the fun was not over.  Scott said he had two gifts for me.  I opened the wrapped boxes he gave me and one had a giant watch in it.  Scott said a big man always needs a big watch.  I then opened the second one and it was a pair of cool Rayban sunglasses.  When I put them on I felt like a changed man.  I looked in the mirror and just smiled. 


For the next three weeks, Scott made me cut back on the calories so I’d get super ripped.  He wasn’t letting me lose any muscle and I was actually getting stronger every day, but he said I’d look super-hot if everything was massively defined and symmetrical.  One day, close to the end of my transformation, a neighbor asked if I would help him move a marble-topped table from one room to another in his house.  I went over to help and while he was fussing around in another room I just walked up, grabbed the table at the edges, and lifted it easily.  I just knew I’d be able to do it.  When I walked into the designated room you would have thought the guy had seen a ghost.  He told me it had taken two guys struggling hard to move the table into his place.  I just told him it was pretty light and not a problem for me.  I had on a work shirt so my body was basically hidden, although he said the thing did nothing to hide my new developments.  He also asked to feel my arms and had swooned a little when he touched them.  This had made me very happy and I doubled down on my last few days of prep for the show.  Scott came to my house a few nights to work on some poses for me.  He explained that the Muscle Daddy Fire Island Contest had a part where all the contestants stood on stage and showed off their wares for the audience.  He thought it would be good for me to flex for the fellas.  I thought it a good idea, too.  I had refrained from looking in any mirror for many weeks.  I wanted the show to be the moment that my new body was revealed to me, as well.  Scott said he’d bring his professional camera to get some good shots. 


That night he also asked if I had noticed any changes to my attitude during the transformation.  I laughed and told him I had.  In the past, I had always over tipped waiters in order to get them to like me – a really stupid thing, but it was just something I did.  Now, I wore tight shirts and it got me a hell of a lot more attention than the extra tip ever did.  It seemed that many fellas were looking for a daddy.  Co-workers not only noticed a difference in my body, but noticed a new confidence that made me do things like shake hands too tightly, grab friends by the neck and squeeze hard enough to make a big guy wince, and they said I invaded personal space a lot more – as if I wanted to get my muscles as close to other people as I could.  And then there was the flexing – but not in front of a mirror, not yet.  I told Scott that I just loved raising my arms and flexing my biceps as much as I could – they just popped up so completely bigger now that it was a major turn-on.  Scott said he had a theory and he reached up and grabbed my shoulder – as he had all those months ago.  He squeezed slowly and with as much power as he could muster.  I certainly felt it, but I didn’t wince or buckle at all.  I merely stood there, smiling and flexing my big traps muscle under his hand.  Scott said it was just as he thought – the transformation was complete.  I reached up and squeezed his shoulder.  He responded with an ‘ouch’ and jerked his body away.  He said I was definitely ready for the contest.  He gave me a white tank-top and said to save it for the day. 


The night before the contest Scott and I were having some wine in the house we rented for the long weekend.  It was right on the water and near all the activity.  I cooked us a fabulous meal and said no to going out.  I wanted my body to be revealed at the contest and at the parties to follow.  Before we went to bed, Scott asked if he could ask me a personal question, but then he told me to forget it, it was nothing.  I found that a little puzzling, but I could tell he didn’t want me to press the issue. 


The contest was around 2pm the next day.  We got there a little early, registered, and then had a couple of drinks.  When I gathered backstage with the other fifteen contestants I became pretty nervous – there were some definite daddy-hunks competing.  No one spoke to me, which I found a little disconcerting.  I tried to make conversation, but guys would smile and then kind of slink off.  Scott came back to wish me luck and when I told him I was being shunned he laughed and said it was because they knew I was going to win.  He said all of these hot dudes were now just trying to figure out who could get second or third.  They didn’t want to mess with the alpha muscle daddy.  I was floored, but the knowledge definitely released a heavy dose of cockiness into my body.  When I was introduced the crowd went wild.  I was not prepared for that kind of reaction and it got me going even more.  I strutted on stage, flirting with the audience and flexing like I had done this all of my life.  Each pose caused the crowd to erupt in cheers.  They started chanting for me to take my clothes off, so, of course, I peeled off my tank and flexed so my lion would roar to the crowd.  I wasn’t surprised when my name was called out as someone who’d be moving to the final round.  During the part where the five finalists were on stage I kept my body tense, just so I would stand out.  I had my sunglasses on and my big watch on my wrist.  When the guns went up, the cheers came flooding up on stage.  I could feel the guys around me already acting defeated.  I wasn’t going to bully them, but I did love finally reaching true muscle daddy status.  When my name was announced as winner, I shook the hand of the runner- up and then stepped forward to give the crowd one more shot of my muscled goodness.  Scott got that shot and it’s still one of my favorite photos.  I was in heaven.


To say my dance card was full that evening at the parties was an understatement.   I had never had my muscles groped so much, received so many phone numbers, or had my crotch and ass grabbed as much.  I lost track of Scott at some point, but when I returned home around two in the morning he was still up, waiting for me on the sofa.  When I came in – a little buzzed – I grabbed him in a big hug and told him thank you for making my dream come true.  He said it was his pleasure and then he said something I didn’t quite understand.  I was a little drunk, yes, but not so gone as to misinterpret him.  I stood back from him and asked what he had said.  He told me he wanted to suck me off.  My mouth dropped open wide and I fumbled for words. I said I thought he was straight.  He told me he had always had feelings for guys, but no one had ever triggered them as much as I had.  He said my transformation had bowled him over and it caught him off guard how attracted he was to me.  The next thing I knew he had his hands all over my hard arms as we kissed like two teenagers in love for the first time.  We took turns lifting each other in bear hugs, never taking our mouths away from each other.  I couldn’t believe our hard cocks were banging into each other as we bumped and grinded like we were on the dance floor.  Suddenly, Scott was on his knees, I had my hand squeezing his hefty traps hard, and his surprisingly expert mouth was around my cock, which had been freed from the tight blue-jean cutoffs I had worn all day.  Then, the big man suddenly started pulling his face back and calling me muscle daddy in between sucks.  It was ‘oh yeah, muscle daddy has a big fucking cock,’ and ‘fuck my mouth hard, muscle daddy.’  The dude had clearly been into me for a while, but I hadn’t noticed.  He had helped me transform into not only what I wanted, but what he had wanted, as well.  This knowledge empowered me beyond my wildest dreams.  I fully became a muscle daddy at that moment.  I grabbed his hair and face fucked him hard. 


When I came, I shot my load all over his smiling, happy face – drenching his cheeks, mouth, and chin.  I then pulled off my white tank and used it to clean his face.  I pulled him to his feet, hugged him hard, and rubbed my crotch against his like a pro.  The dude screamed like a banshee when he exploded – he hadn’t even removed his clothes.  I was able to make him shoot just by squeezing his body with the arms he had helped to create, crotch pounding him hard, and talking to him as his muscle daddy.  I told him he was my boy, now, and that I was his boss.  I told him how good he was and I even talked about his beautiful body in a way that made it very clear I had noticed it for a long time.  Two orgasms later – for each of us – the sun was coming up and we had moved to the bed.  I told him all of this had been unexpected and he said it was the same for him.  He explained that the night I had resisted his shoulder squeeze and then given him a strong one back had sealed the deal.  He had been smitten before that, but said that particular night he went home and beat off three times thinking about me and my body.  I pulled his body close to mine and said he had been looking for a daddy.  He corrected me by saying he had been looking for Muscle Daddy Fire Island.   




The first time we met was at a bar.  I was looking particularly hot that night – having taken extra time to choose my clothes, style my hair, and get a pre-club beer buzz going.  I walked into the place feeling confident, happy, and definitely horny.  Soon, I was cemented in a group of four potential suitors – all of them friends and all of them content to try and win me as their prize.  I wasn’t even paying attention to anything else happening in the place, because trying to decide which hottie in the group would be in my bed that night was too much fun.  I wasn’t having to pay for any drinks and the flirting was getting pretty intense.  That’s when this tall, well-built guy with a shaved head stepped into the middle of our group, bent down to kiss me on the lips and then looked every other guy in the eyes before speaking.


“He’s taken, fellas.”


And like ants speedily scattering away after a spritz of insecticide, the group dispersed to other parts of the bar – clearly giving up the competition since there was a new player.  A large new player that obviously went ‘all in’ from the get go and had the kind of poker hand that was going to win the entire pot.  I looked up at his scruffy smiling face – he hadn’t moved back when the group disappeared.  He remained close to me – his barreled chest poking out at me like muscle in 3D. 


“That took some balls,” I said, smiling.


“I’ve got big ones,” he replied, handing me a beer – even though I had been drinking a vodka tonic.


“They’re not the only thing big on you,” I replied – making him raise one eyebrow and break into a lopsided sexy grin.


“I figure it’s best to go in strong – you know shock and awe, or something like that.”


“I doubt you could do anything other than going in strong . . . from the looks of you.”


“I like gyms.”


“They clearly like you, too.”


“Working out is a confidence builder.”


“I would then say you’re probably cocky as hell – from the looks of you.”


“I can hold my own.”


“I’d rather you held mine.”


It was time for both of us to sip some beer.  I took advantage of the moment to stare at his thick neck – muscled in a way that said everything below it was thick, hard, and bulging, too.  It was unbelievable how a neck could give away so much information.  The scruffy jawline screamed masculinity the same way powerlifters grunt loudly when lifting tremendous weight.  There was nothing pretty-boy-ish about this man – he was handsome because of his size, his confident attitude, and because his brutish face matched the rest of him so perfectly.  His arms, alone, gave off a powerful vibe of ‘I usually get what I want.’


“I’m getting a neck cramp from having to tilt back to see all of the mountain,” I said and he took a couple of small steps back.




“Much.  I can take in the whole thing, now.”


“I like it when you say you can take the whole thing,” he said, sounding cute and nasty at the same time.


“What’s the mountain’s name.”




“How perfectly appropriate.  Clearly, you decided your body needed to match its moniker.” 


“Something like that.  What’s the mountain climber’s name?”




“Cute name for a cute guy.”


“Something like that.”


“I’m sorry that I scared away your boyfriends,” he said, taking another sip of his beer.


“No, you’re not,” I replied.


“No, I’m not.  You’re right.”


“Besides,” I added, “you’re so big it’s like I’m still talking four guys, anyway.”


“Is my size intimidating?” Brawn asked.


“No, your size is stimulating,” I answered.  “Big things don’t scare me.  They turn me on.”


“My motto is there’s no reason to be big unless it turns someone on.  I lift to impress.”


“I’m impressed.”


“What do you do, mountain climbing Quinn?”


“You mean besides big men?  I’m an architect.  And what does the mountain do?”


“You mean besides small guys?  I’m a fireman.”


“Holy crap – you’re like trying to wrap up every man’s fantasies all in one package, aren’t you?  I bet you have a dog.”


“Two golden retrievers – Paris and Zane.”


“Named for Bob Paris and Frank Zane, I’m sure.”


“No one I’ve met has ever figured that out before.”


“Maybe you’ve never met a guy so into symmetry before.  The male physique is something I like to admire.  I design big buildings – so, it’s only natural, I guess, that I’d like guys that design big bodies.


“Could I have another kiss,” Brawn asked.


“I’d rather you not ask – just take one when you want to.”


The mountain moved closer – making me tilt my head back.  His muscled neck brought his face to me.  His scruff rubbed against my cheek and chin as he pressed his lips powerfully into mine.  I brought a hand up to his hard pectoral and pushed lightly against what felt like stone.  My forefinger found his nipple – easily – and made it turn hard in response to my pinching.  He pulled his head back and retreated a little.  My hand dropped back to my side. 


“When did you get so big?”


“I was bullied in junior high because I took ballet, so I decided to start working out while I continued dance lessons.  I got big quickly – my dancer’s body just kind of turned into . . . well, something bigger.”


“I’d say.  I’m pretty sure you don’t get bullied now.”


“No, I don’t, but I still get teased a lot because my love for ballet has never gone away.  Season tickets and some of the best seats in the theatre.  You should come with me sometime.”


“Is that an invitation.”


“No, it’s an order,” Brawn answered.


“Man, I love it when you’re butch.”


“Do you like to be dominated.”


“It depends.  I like to wrestle – to make a guy work for my affections.  Being subdued can be very empowering.  A bully doesn’t turn me on, though.  Cockiness can be very sexy, but meanness is definitely a turn-off.”


“As I said earlier – muscles are definitely a confidence booster.  They help me to bust through doors as a fireman and, in the same way, they help me go for things I like . . . things that interest me.”


“And they help chase off the competition without even doing anything.”


“I blame tight t-shirts for that,” Brawn said, flexing his arms ever so slightly, just to make my gaze shift to there.  “Guys like you make being big worth it.  If I know someone cute is watching me I usually have a much better workout.  I work extra hard just to impress him.  I owe most of my size to the lustful looks of numerous men.”


“I’d certainly like to continue that trend and help you get even bigger.  The thought of you growing turns me on.”


“Something’s growing bigger with everything you say,” Brawn replied – that nasty sweet boy coming out again. 


“Ah, the mountain likes to hear me talk about his body.”


“What can I say?  I’m vain.  I got big to please others, but I like to hear about how much all of this pleases someone.  Is that weird?”


“Not to me.  I consider all of this a lovely exciting cycle.  You turn me on and then I turn you on and it keeps on going until there’s a big finish – only to start all over again after a brief rest.  It’s like a lovely banter between two handsome dudes.”


“I do like to banter.  And you banter like a pro, Quinn.”


“Bantering is not the only thing I am good at, Mr. Mountain.”


It was time for more sips of beer.  We were like two giant waves bashing against the shore and then retreating back out into the ocean to gain even more power for the next time.  Brawn tightened his right biceps and looked down at it, knowing my gaze would follow.  We both stared as he turned his wrist and tightened his fist to make the arm muscle bulge and almost sparkle.  A vein covered the large intoxicating split peak and I found myself licking my lips.  Brawn dropped his arm and returned his gaze to me.  I continued to look at his arm – even un-flexed.


“When I lift I get so turned on.  It’s always been that way.  I pump my arms hard and big doing some curls and another part of my body responds in the same way.”


“Pumping harder and bigger.”


“Yeah.  I just love how the weights make my muscles work so much.  I love feeling my body strain so that I know it’s growing.  I love the idea of wearing it down to build it up.  Muscle building can be a difficult thing – it’s not just about going around and lifting heavy things.”


“Although that helps.”


“Of course, but you – being an architect – should realize that most of your success comes from good planning, thinking ahead, and making sure you keep dedicated.  And then I’m like an architect going to the worksite quite often to check on the progress.  I like to make sure I do a thorough evaluation of my growth as often as I can.  Measuring is often part of that check-in, as well.”


“I’m awfully good at measuring.”


“That’s what I was hoping,” Brawn said, with a bigger smile than before.


“Tell me what else you like about the gym, my big mountain.”


“Finding myself suddenly drenched in sweat and red-faced from an intense set of repetitions calls for a quick glance in the mirror.  The way my body glistens to highlight all of the big tight mounds and deep valley-like indentions makes me slide into some pose before I even realize what I’m doing.  I just need to see myself flexing.  I need to catch someone glancing at me as I flex.  The pungent musk of my big, worn-out body only makes me more excited and I start to think about servicing myself or finding a service provider as quickly as possible so I don’t lose any of my tremendous pump or horniness.  Then, I realize I’m only halfway through my workout and that only turns me on more.  I keep looking at myself in the mirror trying to imagine – in detail – how another dude sees me.  Thinking about what would turn him on.  Pretending I’m seeing myself for the first time and noticing what turns me on.”


“What does turn you on?”


“The ridges that pop up all around my mid-section when I flex my biceps.  The way my abs look so strong.  How my lats flare out in support of my big arms and shoulders.  My biceps peaking with a hardness that can stop people in their tracks.  The way my forearms blast out with thick veins.  You know, stuff like that.”


“If you’re trying to get me hard, you’ve succeeded.”


“I thought it only fair, since I’m already there, myself.  What turns you on, Quinn – specifically?”


“Big strong nipples poking out in a way that makes a t-shirt look fragile.  Shirtsleeves that are clearly worn out from trying to stay tight around arms that keep growing.  Bull necks that have more muscle than my entire body.  A guy watching himself flex.  Rubbing my fully clothed crotch against some guy’s strong bumpy abs until I bust a big one.  Shaved heads that make a guy’s ears stick out a little.  Fists big enough you’d know they’d cause a big hole wherever they punched.  Licking deep muscled pits after a bodybuilder has been working out for hours.  Saving my ass for so long that a big man finally begs for it like he was asking for water after being in the desert for days.  Edging a mountain for so long that his balls are blue and aching so much he can’t walk right.  Kissing plump muscled lips surrounded by stubble hard enough to be considered sand paper.  Finding a huge guy that knows what he likes and isn’t afraid to show it.  I guess nothing too specific, huh?”


Clearly, I had made Brawn even more excited than he had been before, which was my intention.  He leaned in to kiss me again – this time not wasting time to ask.  He then pulled back and slowly brought his right arm up into a flex – making the split biceps bulge thick and powerful.  He looked at his own arm, again, knowing I’d be watching him admiring his big gun.  He knew just how to wreck my world.


“Yeah, so fucking huge,” Brawn growled as he twisted his forearm and made the biceps dance.


“Aw, dude, you’re wrecking me, here,” I moaned and, thankfully, the mountain dropped his arm.  “You can’t just up and do that any time you want.”


“Sure, I can.  It pleases the masses.”


“You could give a guy a heart attack!  By the way, those sleeves are about to give up.”


“I spend a lot of money on t-shirts.  They don’t seem to last that long.”


“Relentless growth can cause that.”


“It can cause a lot of things,” Brawn said.  “Wearing out men is another one of my specialties.  But, unlike a destroyed shirt, a guy can bounce back.”


“Your t-shirt does nothing to hide the fact that you have pits as deep as giant caves.  I’d like to be lost in those things for a few days.”


“With a little head crushing every now and then?”


“Now, you’re just being mean.  Teasing a guy when he in such a fragile state.”


“Quinn,” he said, suddenly turning serious, “please to god tell me you’re someone who’d sleep with a guy on the first date.”


“Oh, this is a date?”


“Hey, I’m the gladiator who just slew all of the competitors vying for the emperor’s affection to the joyous praise of the crowd.  That has to count as a date, doesn’t it?”


“Hold on, I’m too busy envisioning your body in a gladiator costume.”


“Ooooo, into role-playing, are we?”


“Yes, if it always includes you and your roles require you to wear as little clothing as possible.”


“Like a gladiator,” Brawn said.


“Like a gladiator.”


“Or Tarzan.”


“Oh, yes please.”


“Or the Hulk.”


“Oh my, yes.  Ripped clothes are the best.”


“Or a bodybuilder who’s just won first place in a contest and is still in his posers.”


“Mmmmm hmmmm!”


“Or a go-go dancer you’ve booked for a private dance.”


“It just keeps on getting better.”


“You still haven’t answered my question, Quinn.”


“Mr. Mountain, here’s the deal.  I don’t get hung up on labels.  I’m not a slut if I sleep with someone the same night I meet them.  I’m also not a prude or tease if I choose to wait.  I go with the moment.  I listen closely to what my head, heart, gut, and my crotch are telling me.  If all of them are in sync – I’ve learned they never lie.  I trust myself.  I also trust you.  If I want to let those big strong arms of yours guide me into this evening I’m pretty sure they’re going to do what’s best for both of us.  I’m pretty sure those monstrous shoulders of yours can handle any burden or labor that might come our way, as well, so I’m not too worried about what’s to come.  Let’s just let everything happen naturally.”


“The word labor reminds me of another role play I forgot.  Hercules.”


“Oh, my favorite.”


This time, to add more to his intentionally unrequested kiss, Brawn bent forward, wrapped his arm around my mid-section, and lifted me off the floor.  He then brought his lips to mine and brushed against them teasingly a few times, before attacking my mouth with his luscious, warm tongue.  Feet dangling in the air, sucking face hard, and my right hand exploring his massive pec and humongous arm – what more could a man ask for.  The huge Brawn, meanwhile, was kissing me in the same way his neck bulged – manly, aggressively, and powerfully.  I swear his lips, alone, would make you know you’re dealing with a guy that was monstrously muscled.  He kissed the same way a bulldozer would plow through a building and it was such a turn on.  Meanwhile, my fingers and palm confirmed that his biceps were bigger than my head.  Even if one of the things wasn’t flexed.  Men, in general turned me on and I rarely thought about bodybuilder-types differently than super smart men or hilariously funny men, but this guy . . . this mountain . . . did something to me that was almost magical or other-worldly.  Confidence oozed out of him as if it had been a cologne that he had bathed in.  His masculine aroma was enough to make me get a major stiffy.  As his tongue ravaged my mouth he growled softly, like a giant bear attacking honeycomb.  I was still off the ground, squeezed tightly by his one huge arm.  He finally pulled his head back and looked into my eyes.


“Damn, you’re so adorable.”


“Right back at you, Mr. Mountain, though you’re adorably huge, too.”


“I’m planning on making you wish I was a smaller and weaker man, later on.  That’s how much I’m intending to wear you out.”


“Or maybe I’ll be wishing you were bigger and stronger because I’ll wear you out, Brawn.”


“Damn, mister, I need to let you go around the bar and flirt with some more competitors that I can then slay.  I’m feeling particularly powerful right now.”


“Powerfully horny, right?”


“Well, yes, that too.”


“How often do you work out?”


“Three hundred and sixty-three days a year.  I take Christmas and my birthday off.”


“You feel like granite.”


“Part of me is harder than granite, right now.”


“My toes are going numb, Mr. Mountain.”


“Oh damn, my bad.  I forgot I had you in the air.  I wondered why I didn’t have to look down.”


He lessened the squeeze and let my body slide down his until my feet were on the ground.  It was an intentional move – to let me feel more of his body, especially the fully-loaded cannon at his crotch.  My face showed my approval and my pleasant surprise.


“Big men have their big toys,” Brawn said, smiling.


“I do like playing with big things,” I replied.  “Speaking of big things, how about taking off that puny threadbare shirt of yours and letting all those huge muscles come out to play.”


His face lit up like a Christmas tree.  It was like I had taken the leash off a big dog to let him run free at the ocean.  I’d never seen a man so eager to show off – specifically for me.  He pulled the bottom of his tight t-shit free from his jeans and then slowly peeled it upward over his humongous V-shaped torso.  It was like the curtain going up on the most lavish set design ever to hit a theatre.  It was like beholding the Northern Lights for the first time.  It was like Dorothy finally making it to Emerald City.  I gasped loudly when the shirt was completely off and his upper body popped out all over with the kind of muscles reserved for a very few percent of humans on this earth.  I realized the entire bar was staring, but he was only looking at me.  Watching my reaction.  I whistled loudly and smiled.


“That, my friend, is a mighty fine enormous body.”


“I’m so glad it pleases you,” Brawn said, taking advantage of the fact the bartender was staring and holding up two fingers to order another round. 


“Bet you five dollars these beers will be on the house,” I quickly said.


“Why’s that?” Brawn asked.


“Because you took your shirt off . . . because of all of that,” I said, motioning to his magnificent body.


“You’re on,” Brawn said, holding out his hand to shake.    


As anticipated, as soon as my skin touched his, a jolt of pleasure shot through my entire body.  It was partly because I was taking in one of the hottest looking mass of muscles I had ever beheld, but it was also because there was something phenomenal happening between us.  His nipples popped out quickly, signifying that his body felt the same kind of shock as mine had.  I saw little bumps ripple across his broad chest, which was also turning slightly red.  It was like we both had some kind of lustful fever hit our bodies as soon as our hands met.  I didn’t let go of his hand and, turning it slightly I brought it up to my face and kissed its back.  I saw his legs wobble a little.  He wasn’t the only gladiator who could slay the competitor.  I let go, but his hand did not drop.  The big mountain just stood there for a few seconds, trying to refrain from giving into urges that were strong enough to shake this powerful beast.  At that moment, the bartender held up two beers and Brawn forced his legs to work and went to get the drinks – reaching his big arms over the heads of the crowd before him.  I saw the guy behind the bar tell Brawn there was no charge and then he added that the big man taking off his shirt instantly increased the need for liquid refreshment in the entire establishment.  Even if my eyes had been closed I could have told you the giant mass had returned beside me – you just couldn’t not register something so big and so hot.  He handed me my beer and took in my victorious grin.


“I don’t feel too much like a winner,” I said, “I’m sure it happens a lot.  Especially if you’re shirtless.”


“A big boy never flexes and tells,” Brawn responded, clearly loving how I kept stealing glances at his now uncovered torso.


“I bet you never wear a shirt when you are at home, do you?”


“No since I was in high school – and that’s only because my parents made me.”


“God, your nipples are gorgeous.”


“And quite tasty, I’m told,” Brawn replied, reaching up to pinch one.  “They’re also pretty sensitive.  Just thought I’d let you know that . . . you know, for future reference.”


“Anything else I should know is super sensitive – you know, for future reference.”


“Well, I’ve been known to squeeze a guy too hard if he’s sucking on my earlobes.  My neck responds to kisses by sending messages to another part of my body telling it to explode.  And the insides of my thighs can become like a car compacter if provoked by a tongue.”


“Superman has his numerous kryptonite’s.”


“No, my kryptonite is my ass.  That’s why that specific part of me is only saved for special people.”


“I have memorized all of these for, you know, future reference.”


“And you, Mr. Quinn.  What should I be memorizing for you?”


“Well, I’m extremely versatile – loving to give and receive, equally.  Kisses at the small of my back will basically make me do whatever you ask.  I’m a big sucker for stubble, so feel free to ‘five o’clock shadow’ rub my entire body.  And, oddly enough, I like my balls to be manhandled.”


“I did not see that one coming.”


“I get that.  Most guys don’t.  And said guys are always amazed at how much power they can use on said balls.”


“Well, a lot of power is one thing I’ve got,” Brawn said, grinning like a proud schoolboy.


“Among many other humongous things, I might add.”


“Mind if I flex?”


“Who, here, would be able to stop you even if we wanted to,” I answered.


The mountain was showing off.  He was ready to seal the deal.  It wasn’t time to leave, but he wanted to make sure I knew what I was getting – completely.  He wanted to show me some of his best assets to help me make wise life decisions.  He also wanted to make the entire bar disappointed by the fact that he had chosen me over them.  He was also marking his territory – warning people to stay clear of me.  I was his.  I could tell he was very proud of his body – not in a cocky ‘take that, you wimps’ kind of way, though.  It was more about pride in his dedication, his accomplishments, and his sculpting.  Parts of him bulged that I didn’t even know could.  I swear I didn’t realize arms could be developed to the size and definition of what he now flexed in front of me.  Even without looking around I knew that almost all motion in the bar ceased for a moment.  All of us were gazing upon perfection.  It was like someone had had taken huge chunks of marble, embedded some thick veins on top of it, and then chipped and smoothed it into perfect, muscled, powerful-looking mounds.  His neck turned even thicker as he flexed his arms – sending me into a lustful frenzy.  His lats flared wide and beautiful, as if he were some kind of half-nude angel.  And so many sets of dense ridges sprung up around his stomach I immediately compared it to an intersection of numerous cobblestoned streets. 


“Perfection,” I said, trying to take in as much of his body as I possibly could before he stopped the flex.


“I’m glad you like it,” Brawn said, without lessening his tensed muscles at all. 


“At ease, Mr. Mountain, before you cause the patrons of this place to erupt into a spontaneous orgy – although, that might be fun.”


“It wouldn’t be fun if it meant I had to share you,” Brawn said, finally lowering his arms and giving my completely wrecked body some much-needed rest.


“Aw, you must be the nicest muscleman ever.  Why the flex, Mr. Brawn.”


“You know why,” he replied, grabbing his beer, which he had placed on a nearby table.


“Probably, but I think I’d like to hear you say it, anyway.”


“I know you like me, Quinn.  You’ve made that clear – stealing glances, sexy kisses, lovely groping, and wonderful compliments – but I just wanted to make sure you understood that I really like you, too.  I wanted to show you what I bring to the table in these sexual negotiations.  I didn’t show all of my cards, what good poker player does that, but I did want to show you two of the best things I have to offer.”


“And biggest things, I might add.”


“And biggest . . . thank you for noticing.”


“Your arms block out most of the room when you flex, how could I not notice?”


He stepped in towards me and leaned down to kiss me, again.  This one was soft, slow, deliberately sexy, and more passionate than anything I had ever experienced before.  He brushed his gorgeous nose against mine a few times, and rested his forehead against my brow.  He was staring deeply into my eyes as if he were trying to hypnotize me, even though I was already his. 


“You make having big muscles worth it,” Brawn said softly, without separating his forehead from mine. 


“Well, they are pretty incredible, Mr. Mountain.  It’s kind of like having a not angry, not green, very intelligent Hulk kissing you.  Who wouldn’t love that?”


“Hulk horny!” the man grunted, all beastlike.


“Oh dear, does being turned on make my Hulk grow?”


“Hulk penis grows!” he said, causing us both to laugh and he pulled his head away from mine so we both could take a long ‘calm us down’ sip of beer.  “You know, of course, that not coming home with me is now not an option, unless you want to see me go crazy and destroy things.”


“Oooo, are you trying to get me to say no?  Seeing you destroy things might be fun.”


“Seriously, do I get to have you in my bed tonight?” Brawn asked, with a definite pleading look on his face.


“Wild horses, an army of men, and monster trucks couldn’t keep me away.”


“I’d take them all on and win, anyway.”


“Tis true, Mister Mountain.  Truer words have never been spoken.”


“Damn, you have made coming out tonight the wisest decision of my entire life.  I can’t imagine what life would have been like if I had missed this opportunity,” Brawn said as he gazed into my eyes. 


“I feel the same way.  And can I just add that you have the sexiest neck I have ever seen.  I cannot keep my eyes off of it.”


He flexed the thing and it thickened into something resembling a tree trunk.  His gold chain looked so flimsy and weak in comparison.  I imagined his neck snapping the thing easily.  I reached up and felt how solid and indestructible this part of his body felt.  He smiled at me.  I went up on my toes to kiss him – even as I continued to caress his hard-as-rock neck.


“Promise me you won’t put your shirt back on.  Riding the subway back to your place is going to be so much fun.”


“Look at you, wanting to show your Mr. Mountain off to everyone.  You know I’ll be more than happy to make that promise and keep it.  Hell, I’ll take off my jeans and head home with you in just my underwear if you want me to.”


“Oh no, let’s not get crazy.  We don’t need you turning on the world even more than you already do.”


“I only care about turning you on,” Brawn replied. 


“That, you do, Mr. Mountain, that you surely do.  Shall we go?”


“Shall I carry you?”


“No, I’m fine.  We’ll save pleasures like that for when we get to your place.”




“You’ll be training with Pops.  He’s one of our best.  We call him that because he’s probably the oldest guy working here, but mainly we do it because he’s the biggest,” said my new boss as he took me through the massive workshop. 


I liked the sound of that – the biggest. Of course, he could have been talking about the guy’s waist size – which wouldn’t have bothered me – but something in the way my boss spoke reverently and respectfully told me Pops must be really tall.  Man, how I loved giant guys.  We walked around one of the rows of many machines and I quickly noticed my mistake.  I was instantly reminded of the sides of beef that hung from hooks in my uncle’s butcher shop back in my hometown.  It sometimes took two guys to carry just one of those big things.  Pops had sides of beef hanging down from his neck – highlighted beautifully by the fact that he sported a sleeveless green shirt.  I could have been standing at the other end of the huge expansive workspace and could have easily picked out the guy.  He was definitely the biggest man around.  His muscles had a light sheen to them as he worked the big machine and I immediately thanked the gods for making this a warm day.  When my boss called out his nickname and the guy turned to me I almost melted into a puddle of helpless mush.  The man’s butch, half-smile lit up the room the same way a spotlight can illuminate an actor on stage.  His raised eyebrow immediately told me he figured out I was his new trainee.  I could feel him sizing me up in the seconds it took for us to reach him.  He showed no sign of approval or disdain – a slight upturn of one side of his mouth was all I got.  My new boss introduced me and when Pops took my hand it felt like I had slammed my fingers in a truck door.  I forced myself to not scream in pain and tried unsuccessfully to squeeze back equally as hard.  He clearly felt nothing.  Again, I detected Pops making decisions about me based solely on my handshake.


“Well, I’ll leave you in the capable hands of Pops.  Come by my office at the end of the day.”


“Thank you, sir,” I said, nodding, and Pops laughed at my choice of words – I immediately got the feeling that Pops was the only one in this place that usually received such respect.


“Know anything about these machines, kid?” Pops asked and I was immediately offended by his choice of words – but also slightly turned on because of the way he said it and the fact that he sounded like a southern, muscled, super-masculine Barry White.


“A little,” I replied – telling my first lie, since I instantly wanted Pops to spend a lot of time with me – so I didn’t tell him I probably had run similar machines all of my working life.     


Sex dripped off of this guy in amounts that equaled dew drops on every leaf of a giant willow tree in the wee hours of the morning.  He rolled his eyes telling me he was bummed he’d have to spend a lot of time getting me up to speed.  I figured I’d act like I was catching on fast, so he’d think I was a really smart student.  He reached up to scratch his left pec and I’m pretty sure he caught me glancing down at the big rock-hard thing while he did it.  There was a flicker of a smile and then he immediately started telling me about the machine in front of us.  It was one I knew well, but I acted like I was listening intently and when he stopped and asked me to go through and reenact what he had just shown me, I did it without missing a beat and even showed off by doing the shortcuts he had barely mentioned.  I could tell he was impressed.  I also detected – in his eyes - a little spark of something beginning in the back of his brain.  Maybe I was acting too smart – I decided to back off a little.  This time, I was sure he caught me looking at his beefy arms.  The rest of the morning was taken up with four different machines – all ones I was familiar with. 


“Time for grub,” Pops said and I was surprised to look at my watch and see the morning had flown by. 


The big man then just walked off – and I could tell he expected me to follow him.  I just instinctively knew he assumed I was like his shadow today.  I hurried to catch up with him.  He grabbed one of those large black lunch pails, which look like a mailbox, from a huge fridge in the large break room.  I grabbed my tuna fish sandwich in a brown bag, bought a soda and turned to see where he had chosen to sit.  He seemed to know everybody – smiling, saying hello, and slapping guys on the back – but he had chosen a table over in the corner all by himself.  He pushed out a chair beside him as I walked up.  The silence that followed was kind of nerve-wracking.  I could tell he was watching me closely as he unloaded large quantities of food from his packed box.  The big man clearly had a big appetite.


“Why do I feel like I’m being hustled,” he said, finally, staring at me.


“I’m sorry?” I replied.


“You know these machines.  That’s quite obvious,” he answered – still staring at me.


“I . . . um . . . wanted to impress you.”


“Well, tick that one off your list, kid.  You did.  But don’t ever lie to me, again.  Understand.”


“Yes sir.”


And instantly, I could see he was finished with the slight reprimand.  Suddenly, his demeanor changed and I could tell he had forgiven me.  His beefy body didn’t seem as knotted up as before and he even smiled at me.  I felt like a puppy that had just been given a treat after getting in trouble by its master.  I seriously sensed my body celebrating the fact that I had somehow pleased this big man. 


“You into brewskies, kid?”


“Yes sir, I drink beer.”


“A few of the guys meet up at a place called ‘Joe’s’ after work – to hammer back a few, shoot the breeze, and not think about machines for a few hours.  It’s always open invitation and a good way to get on the guys’ good side.  Trust me, you want these fellas to have your back – both in here and outside the workplace.  Buying one round will get you a place at the adult table, kid.”


“That sounds cool,” I said, trying desperately to come across as manly, in-the-know, hip, and part of the team all at the same time.


“Yeah,” he said, smiling at my words, “it’s cool, kid.  Cool.  You youngsters.”


I had no idea if he was making fun of me or complimenting me.  I had a feeling you were never quite sure of anything around Pops.  He didn’t reveal much – either in his speech or his actions.  I could tell he was a private person and he watched everything happening around him as if he worked for the CIA and needed to recall details at the drop of a hat.  That afternoon went smoothly, except for the bandana incident.  It had gotten a lot warmer in the big shop and both of us were sweating over this particularly difficult job.  Pops kept wiping his face, neck, and huge arms with this blue bandana he carried in his back pocket.  I just wiped the sweat off with the back of my shirt sleeve.  At one point, late in the day, Pops said he was going to hit the john and he dropped his bandana on the keyboard console of the machine doing the job we had punched in.  I swear it looked like he left the bandana on purpose, looking at me to make sure I noticed what he was doing before he left.  I figured I was just wishing, but as soon as he walked away I became obsessed with the thing and kept stealing glances around to see if anyone was nearby.  The piece of material was soaked with his sweat and I longed to smell and taste it.  I felt like I was addicted to chocolate and someone had left an opened Snickers package in front of me.  God, how I wanted to pick up that bandana.  Finally, after making sure the machine was still doing its job, and glancing around one more time, I picked up the bandana and first put it to my upper lip, so I could inhale the aroma of big Pops.  It was just as I expected – a heavy masculine musk that made me think of a dense forest of tall trees, huge lumberjacks, and man-on-man action that ended with eruptions coupled with uncontrollable screams of passion.  When my tongue darted out and got its first ever taste of Pops’ all-natural, thick, salty, he-man juice, you could have pushed me over with a feather.  I’d never, in my entire life, tasted something that seemed so full of testosterone – so completely male.  My crotch responded with a Pops-induced salute that was so hard I feared I’d pass out from the pressure.  That’s when the corner of my eye noticed something massive and green in the distance.  I quickly wiped my now totally crimson face with the bandana to cover up my lustful action, but it was quite clear by the look in Pops’ eyes when he arrived he had seen me trying to soak up all his manliness.  I held out the bandana to him with a forced look of thanks.


“Keep it, kid.  I’ve got others.  Consider it a ‘welcome to your new job’ present.”


“Um . . . thanks,” I said, turning a darker shade of red and quickly stuffing the think into my back pocket and then turning to look at the work of the machine in front of us – feeling the man continue to stare at me, smiling.


A few hours later I was sitting drinking a cold one at this hole-in-the-wall bar called ‘Joe’s.’  I instantly liked the place because it was full of more manly men than a gay sauna on a holiday weekend.  I quickly did the statistical math and figured out I was probably the only gay man at the place – not that I came across as anything other than one of the men from the big shop down the road.  It was quite clear to the other patrons that I was the new kid on the block – having ordered the second round of beers for the seven guys from our team gathered that afternoon and instantly being asked to join in games of darts, pool, and arm wrestling matches as the number of empty beer bottles increased a lot.  I’m a decent-sized guy, so I held my own when it came to the arm-wrestling, impressing my co-workers in a way that made it clear I had been accepted.  I noticed Pops only participated in darts and pool.  I thought this odd, so my slightly buzzed mouth spoke without thinking.


“Why doesn’t Pops arm wrestle?” I said a little too loudly and this made the big man look at me, a grin creeping across his face.


“Just look at his fucking arms and you’ll figure that out, kid,” said a more-than-slightly inebriated co-worker standing in our small circle.  “He beats all our asses all the time.  We’ve given up trying.  He even takes two of us on at the same time and still wins.  The monster curls the back of his jeep when we beg him to show off, so there’s no way any of us will ever be able to beat those big guns.”


I caught Pops watching my face, closely.  My eyes uncontrollably got wider when I heard about him lifting the back of his jeep.  My crotch also twitched uncontrollably, but I was behind a bar chair, so it was hidden.  He was watching my reaction and patiently waiting for me to make some kind of move after the information sank in.  I got the feeling that my next step would clinch some kind of deal with the man one way or the other.  I let the numerous beers I’d inhaled guide me.  I smiled at the group standing around.    


 “I’ll take a shot at beating him,” I said with the kind of bravado usually saved for a superhero in comic books.


You would have thought I was a mere mortal challenging the power of Zeus by the loud response of the guys around us.  An approving smile crept across the face of the big man and it was followed by the kind of pec roll usually saved for gay muscle worship videos I constantly watched online.  There was suddenly so much cockiness in Pops’ gaze I was thrust back to the feeling when I tasted him in the damp bandana.  In a move that required the help of a guy standing next to him, the elder muscleman pulled his shirt off of his big body.  My mouth dropped open without shame as I beheld his mammoth, lightly fur-covered, thickly-nippled chest for the first time.  Two guys had been forcibly removed from their chairs and a table had been cleared by the crowd as soon as the shirt had been removed.  I registered comments like ‘don’t break the kid’s arm’ and ‘fifty bucks he doesn’t last ten seconds’ being thrown out around me, but I only watched as the bare chested gorgeous mountain swung his leg over the back of a chair to sit down and then placed his right elbow on the table.  He tightened his fist making the already big arm balloon to the kind of size that filled my orgasm-inducing fantasies.  I knew there was no way I was going to win this battle – but I wasn’t arm-wrestling him for a victory and, somehow, I realized he fully knew this.  My substantial sized manly arm was going to look like a twig next to his, but that didn’t matter.  I was proving something – and I didn’t even know what it was – by taking on the elder god. 


“I’m not one to show mercy, kid,” Pops said as I sat down.


“I’m not one to give up easily, old man” I said, trying to equal his confidence, which made the sparkle in his eye flash even more. 


I then did something unplanned and so out of character for me I would probably analyze the decision for the rest of my life and still not understand it.  I took the big man’s bandana out of my back pocket, brought it up to my face, pressed it against my mouth and nose, and then inhaled deeply.  The move clearly caught my huge opponent off guard, his fist unclenched, his biceps deflated a little, and the cocky smile disappeared.  I saw a glimpse of vulnerability and shock.  Pops wasn’t used to someone being this bold – this open.  I pushed the envelope even further.


“Just getting an extra shot of strength, sir.  I got this from a big strong mountain of a man who radiates cockiness without even trying.”


It was like when boxers are being photographed before a battle and they try to psyche out their opponent with a stare down, a surprise kiss, or even a creepy smile.  My words and actions made Pops briefly lose his foundation – shook his core a little, just as I had hoped.  That was also when I grabbed his big beefy hand and the guy leading the match, steadied our arms, and counted off for us to begin.  It took a while for Pops to gain control of himself, as I knew it would - as had been my intention when I took out the bandana.  On the word go I pushed my arm with all of my might – getting a head start on the still-startled Pops.  I was no match for the big arm before me, but I took advantage of him being distracted.  Instantly, his arm was pushed back and looked like it might hit the table.  This caused the crowd around us to erupt in shocked cheers.  The unimagined was about to happen.  I felt powerful and hot as hell.  The cheering from the crowd spurred me on, but it also brought Pops out of his temporary fog.  The back of his hand stopped so close to the wooden top you wouldn’t have been able to fit a magazine between the two.  For the first time ever, in my entire life, I got a glimpse of what real power felt like.  My arm – decently sized for a man of my age and stature was halted in a way that could make wild beasts cower in fear.   The green, golden-flecked eyes of Pops had instantly gained all of their confidence back and more.  He had stopped my journey to a surprise victory with a fraction of his total strength and that fact instantly registered to my unmoving arm.  His fingers gripped so hard that I had a feeling some of my bones would be rearranged.  Pops surprised me – and everyone else – with an uncharacteristic deep growl as he started to methodically and devilishly raise his hand and mine slowly with what I could tell was little effort.


“I specialize in putting young bucks in their place,” Pops said, whispering in a way that made it quite clear I was giving his hand no resistance. 


“That’s been obvious all day, Pops.  I just needed to gain some respect by challenging you and shocking people with an almost victory.”


Pops definitely didn’t like the idea that I even thought for a second I could have potentially defeated him.  He was not a man who took to being challenged and, as a matter of fact, I guessed it almost never happened.  Some kind of primal, I’m the stronger animal instinct suddenly overwhelmed the man and he quickly brought our hands through the arc to slam the back of mine into the table.  A little bit of pain shot through my arm, but it was clear the big man’s fingers had taken – and not even registered – most of the blow.  It was quite obvious that Pops needed a decisive and powerful victory.  He had not liked the fact that his hand had dropped so low to the table.  He held my wrist down – like a wrestler waiting for the count.  He was the winner, but I had scored some points with the crowd . . . and, hopefully, with the big man, as well.  There was a tight squeeze of my fingers before Pops released my hand.


“You owe me a beer,” he said, swinging his leg over the back of his chair as he stood up, like he was dismounting a horse. 


I watched as he turned and was engulfed by a crowd that slapped him on the back and congratulated him.  The last thing I saw before he was completely blocked from view was a tightly flexed bulging triceps and I could tell it was a gift offered specifically to me.  I was also congratulated by onlookers and swept to my feet by a crowd that took me to the bar.  Two, three, or maybe four more rounds were bought for me in the next hour or so.  I couldn’t remember the exact number, since I was still high-as-a-kite from the euphoria of arm-wrestling Pops and feeling that brief squeeze of my hand at the end.  I glanced around and couldn’t see the big man anywhere, feeling disappointed that he had left without saying goodbye or allowing me to give him the obligatory victor’s beer.  I turned back toward the bar, a little sad.  Suddenly, the now memorized massive gun of the older man was beside me as he rested his forearm on the wood in front of us.  He was close enough for me to feel the heat of his body, but not close enough to be touching.


“I’ll take that mug now, kid.  The table in the corner at the back,” came his deep, sexy voice and then he was gone. 


He smiled at me when I walked up with two mugs and a pitcher.  I intended on making this moment last as long as I could.  I was pretty sure he understood that and maybe even wanted the same thing.  I had luckily started my new job on a Friday, so there was nowhere I needed to be any time soon and I hoped the same was true for the big man.  He took the pitcher from my hands and wrapped his hand around the thing – where I had been using the handle – and poured two mugs, making it clear that I did the buying, but he was in charge.  He watched me, silently, as I took a sip from the frosted glass.  To my disappointment, he had put his shirt back on.  It still showed off his big arms, however.  I just missed the massive salt-and-peppered furry chest.


“You don’t play fair,” he said, taking a sip of his own beer and never letting his gaze drop from mine.


“Look at those enormous arms of yours and then look at mine and tell me who doesn’t play fair,” I boldly said, not even blinking.


“You challenged me, remember.”


“And damn nearly beat you.”


“Is that what you think?” he asked, smiling.


“It’s what I’m going to tell myself.”


“You probably still think the tooth fairy, Santa Claus, and the Easter rabbit are real, too, don’t you?  Because those are more likely than someone beating me.”


I knew the truth in his statement.  I had felt it when the motion of my hand had been stopped so abruptly and easily.  It suddenly dawned on me that he had probably allowed me to get his hand so far down on purpose – to orchestrate me being cheered on and befriended by co-workers and other patrons.  Suddenly, there seemed to be less air in my self-congratulatory balloon.  He picked up on the change within me and understood my disappointment and my gratitude at the same time.  He needed to offer some kind of runner’s up prize.


“The bandana really did catch me by surprise . . . both times,” he said and I swallowed hard.  “The first time was a . . . um . . . pleasant and unexpected surprise.”


We stared at each other – neither of us even breathing – for a good half a minute.  He had caught me earlier than afternoon sniffing and licking his bandana.  I was definitely excited beyond belief, but I was also very cautious.  I knew nothing about this man, really, and my expert ‘gaydar’ didn’t even register a speck of closeted homosexuality in him.  There might not be any hidden agenda in anything he was saying – even though I desperately wanted there to be.  I got the feeling Pops was just a really nice guy and I’m sure he’d met tons of fellas over the years that found him stunning.  He was simply trying to welcome the new kid – the guy who desperately wanted to make a first good impression.  I relaxed into the moment even more and took another deep sip of my beer.  He picked up the pitcher – again by just wrapping his hand around it in a macho sort of way – and topped off my drink. 


“I’ve never slept with a man.”


“Excuse me?” I said, choking on my beer.


“I’ve never been in bed with a man.”


I didn’t comprehend what he was saying, at first, and then I worried that I had just imagined it – wished it was something he would say.  I looked up and saw that there was a world of emotion in his beautiful manly eyes.  There was fear – as if he was worried he had misread me, somehow.  Had he misinterpreted my long stares and bandana tasting?  There was doubt – as if he was questioning a lot of his own feelings and thoughts.  And there was something akin to hope – as if he anticipated the next few minutes to change his life forever.  My mind finally accepted, as fact, the words he had said and I was glad that sometimes our mouths work faster than our brains.  I responded without even processing what I was going to say.


“Have you ever wanted to sleep with a man?” I asked, staring into his beautiful green eyes.


“Not until today . . . not until you,” he quickly replied.


Cousin Enzo's Arms.jpg


“Cut it out Enzo,” I said trying to push by him.


“Come on, Antonio.  You’re the only gay guy I know.  Just answer my question,” he said as his body made it quite clear I would be unable to pass.


“This is not funny, Enzo.”


“Listen, do you think gay guys would be attracted to my big guns?  I mean, I know the ladies are – trust me, I know the ladies are.  These big things have gotten me laid more times that I can count.  But I’m trying to put myself out there as a caring, open-minded metrosexual and someone told me that meant I had to be nice to the faggots . . . oh damn, that’s not a nice word . . . I meant to say the gay guys.  I’m sorry, Antonio.”


I was floored.  Not because of what he was saying, but because he actually apologized and changed the term every man in the extended DiMarco family to describe people like me ever since before I was even born.  It made me stop and actually look my cousin right in his pleading eyes.  He smiled, showing me that his apology had been sincere.  The big ape was actually trying.  That floored me.


“Geez, thanks Enzo.  I’m not sure I’ve ever heard a DiMarco boy correct himself.  For the record, though, faggot doesn’t bother me.  I view it like a term of endearment.”


“A term of what?” Enzo asked and, immediately, we were back to the Neanderthal stage.  “I was told that this shirt would be hot if I wore it to gay clubs…”


“Wait.  What?  Did you just say that you are going to go to a gay club?  Why?”


“For the chicks, Antonio, for the chicks.  Hot women love gay bars.  I figure I’d finally go with some co-workers who’ve been asking me to join them for a while.”




“You know . . . to meet new people.  Open up my horizontals.”






“To open up your horizons.  Horizons . . . never mind, Enzo.  What’s the real reason you want to go?”


“Fuck, are all gay guys mind readers?  You always know when I’m not telling the whole story.  It’s like when we were in junior high together and I told you I was joining the drama club to learn to talk better and you asked me what girl I liked.  I bet you even knew it was Iris Loftus, but you were too shocked I liked an Irish girl to say her name.”


“Who’s the girl this time, Enzo?”


“See, that’s what I’m talking about.  I hadn’t even mentioned a girl and you already knew it.  No wonder you graduated Harvard with those things called honors.”


“Who’s the girl, Enzo?”


“Why does there always have to be a girl, Antonio?”


“Because it’s you, Enzo.”


“Okay, okay.  It’s Carla Luigi.”


“The singer from down at the club?”




“Enzo, your taste is improving.  It’s like you’ve gone from zero to ninety in mere seconds.  I’m impressed.  Careful now, she’s an out and proud liberal.”


“I know, Antonio!  That’s why I’ve got to change.  I can’t be calling guys fag . . . um, names, anymore.  I need to know about dressing right, where to get my hair cut, and about wine that doesn’t come in a box.  You’re my only connection to class, Tony.  Help me, please.  We’re going to some place called ‘Beefeaters’ tonight and I gotta seem cool – and I ain’t ever worried about being cool before.  So, help a poor guy out, cousin.  Will the gays like my big arms?  I got this shirt specially for tonight.”


I looked at my cousin and felt the same stirring at my crotch whenever I gazed at Enzo.  He was one good looking guy.  Granted, his hair could be improved, his wardrobe lacked a little class, and the guy really needed to go back and finish high school – but none of that mattered when you gazed upon his dark brooding eyes, his thigh-quivering stubble, and what he always used to call his ‘gigantic bazookas.’  The man had the kind of arms that made you suddenly feel puny and weak whenever he was around.  They didn’t just scream power – they yelled it from the highest mountain nearby.  He had the kind of body that most men worked all of their life for and never achieved.  The crazy thing was Enzo wasn’t a gym rat or powerlifting fiend – he just responded well to the workout he got at his construction job in addition to frequent use of the set of free weights he’d had since he had been in eighth grade.  It was like some muscle fairy godfather had blessed him with a body that grew just from lifting the milk carton.  I came home each Christmas specifically to get a lift-you-off-the-floor hug from those monstrous arms – both when I arrived and when I was leaving.  Enzo used to protect me in school.  No one dared bully Antonio DiMarco or they’d have to answer to the ‘gigantic bazookas.’  A visit from those arms usually meant you’d be dangling by some pipe the back of your pants was attached to after being lifted off the ground or, worse, literally being stuffed into a locker.  The first part of my senior year was hell because Enzo, only a junior, decided to drop out of school.  My protector was no longer there.  After he heard I was having some problems, Enzo dropped by the school to say hi and remind the bullies I was off limits.  The silent threat worked. 


“Enzo, there’s not a breathing homosexual on this planet that wouldn’t find those arms stellar.”


“Cool.  Stellar is good, right?”


“Very good.  Now listen, I have a few other pointers that I think will help you a lot tonight, if you care to hear.”


The man seemed like I had just handed him the keys to paradise.  He broke into a huge smile, grabbed two beers from the fridge, and ushered me into the dining room so we could sit and talk without being interrupted.  I could tell he was all ears.  I was impressed he didn’t take out some paper and a pen – he always made lists of things he wanted to do, but then promptly lost the list.  He was actually going to listen and remember what I said.  This was, indeed, a new Enzo.  He looked at me like an eager puppy ready to please.


“First of all, gay clubs are a lot different than those places you call a bar.  And most of the gay men you are hoping to impress – along with your girl, Carla – are not like the guys, and even, forgive me, the girls you know.  With your regular group of friends, it’s fine for you to act like a bull in a china shop.”


“A bull where?”


“Um, it’s fine for you to come on strong – really strong.  I’ve been out with you and you’ve flexed your arms more in one night than all the guys in the Mr. Olympia contest put together.  It’s like you’re some power-hungry mafia guy that busts into a place wielding heavy artillery.”


“Very cool analogy, Antonio.”


“When did you start using words like analogy.”


“Since Carla started talking to me.”


“Remind me to thank Carla.  Anyway, in a gay bar like ‘Beefeaters’ you want to be really subtle . . . um…”


“I know what subtle means, dude.”


“Of course,” I said and I could feel my face turn red – causing the big man to cup my cheek with his big hand to show me all was okay.  “So, you want to be subtle.  Let those monstrous arms…”


“You’ve always been into my guns, haven’t you, Antonio?”


We stared at each other for a few seconds in total silence.  This was all new territory for me.   There wasn’t a DiMarco family member that had ever discussed anything personal with me, except my mom and that was always limited to ‘have you met a nice doctor’ or ‘Mrs. So and So needs some decorating advice.’  This was someone actually calling me out on what I was into.  I knew, however, that the new Enzo was ready for honest answers. 


“Yes.  I think they are stunning.  And so will everyone at the bar tonight if you just let them do their thing naturally.  There’s no need to announce them loudly like a foghorn on a cloudy night.  Their size will let them speak for themselves, when you are taking a sip of beer, waving to a friend, or scratching the back of your head – which, by the way, I would suggest doing quite regularly.”


“That’s kind of funny, since that’s what I do when I don’t understand something and I have a feeling I’ll be doing that a lot tonight.”


This kind of self-awareness in a DiMarco man was unheard of.  I suddenly felt a surge of love for this big dude that had never existed before.  Evolution had never really been a thing I thought about, but I had a feeling Enzo’s growth as a human was going to make me read some books about it.  He could tell I was impressed by something he said and this made him sit up taller – which made him look even more huge.


“You want people stealing glances at your arms all night long.  Trust me, if you don’t make a big deal about them from the get go, they’re going to be what everyone in the group is talking about when you go to the bathroom.  Now, forgive me – I know you’re a changed man, but I feel I need to also say – no loud burping, no sliding your fingers down the front of your pants while resting, no spread eagle adjusting of your family jewels, and do not – this is huge – be the first to take your shirt off on the dance floor.  Let other people convince you to take it off.  I’m pretty sure some of your co-workers will be tugging on that tight thing and pulling out your shirttail pretty early on.  Let the anticipation build.  Let there be lots of other guys that have their shirts off before you unveil that body of yours.  I have a feeling lots of shirts will immediately be put back on when yours comes off and that’s what you want.”


“Why didn’t you tell me all these things I’ve done for years weren’t cool.”


“Enzo!  They were cool for your group of friends.  Do not be ashamed of who you are.  Remember, you hugged me and said those exact words to me when I came out to you.  It was one of the most moving moments of my life.  You’re simply doing something most DiMarco’s don’t do – you’re going out to experience a different culture.  And when you’re in a different culture you need to strive and learn their customs, their preferred way of living.  Now, have you thought about what you’re going to do if some guy hits on you?”


“I thought I’d tell him I was flattered, but that he wasn’t my type.”


“Who told you to say that?”


“No one, I came up with it myself.”


“Our little boy is growing up,” I said, grabbing both of his cheeks and squeezing.  “The old Enzo would have lifted the guy and shook him like a rag doll or back-handed him across the room.  I’m impressed with your new plan of attack.  And, trust me, it will impress Carla, as well.  I think you’re going to have a successful night.”


“I know I am,” Enzo replied.  “With you as my wing-man how can I fail.”


“What?  Oh no, buddy boy, I’m not Beefeaters’ material.  That place likes their boys chiseled and gorgeous.  I’d feel so out of place.”


“Why do you say that, Antonio, you’re very handsome.”


His sincere words moved me.  I looked for any sign of the normal DiMarco sarcasm in his statement, but it didn’t exist.  He again cupped my face and brought his close to mine.


“Everyone says you’re the best looking DiMarco.”


“Thank you, but I’m still not going.”


“Yes, you are, cousin.  You owe me, Antonio DiMarco.”


“Owe you?  For what?”


“Junior high and high school protection!”


And with that, he leaned in closer and kissed me hard on the lips.  The kiss lasted a lot longer than was acceptable between two Italian guys.  I knew he was giving me a gift.  I knew he realized I had dreamed of kissing him for years.  His hand, at the same time, reached over and grabbed my crotch.  His hand quickly found my hard meat and he squeezed.  He pulled his head away and shook it in dismay.


“The most handsome Dimarco and with the biggest sausage in the family.  Life is just not fair.”


Enzo got up from the table and walked away – sure of the fact that I would be heading to ‘Beefeaters’ later on.  I knew the crotch grab meant nothing.  Ever since childhood the DiMarco boys had compared their endowments like you might show off a new car.  I didn’t partake of the custom until around age twenty when five of us were down by the river drinking one night and my cousins drunkenly held me down and pulled down my pants so I’d finally be part of the crazy club.  The shocked faces and total silence when my piece had been unveiled, plus the way they quickly let me go and returned to their beers, made me realize my assumption that all DiMarco men were huge below the belt was not true.  From that moment on I had been treated with a lot more respect than ever before at family gatherings. 


“Yeah, well you’ve got the biggest arms,” I yelled at him as he passed through to the other rooms.


“That’s for damn sure.  We’re leaving at ten!” he shouted back.   


(To be continued…)     




Meeting the Professor.jpg

I could see his hulking topless form from across campus.  His body seemed to reflect the sun, like the wet rocky face of a rain-soaked mountain.  It was like light sought out and emphasized every muscled bulge and tensed ripple.  For an entire semester, I had obsessed over what his body might look like under his clothes and now I was going to find out.  He saw me walking up and he smiled – more sunlight was deflected towards me.  He was sitting on the back of my car, obviously waiting for me.  It was clear he knew I couldn’t avoid him if he surprised me this way.  I walked hesitantly toward him, forcing myself to not look at his body. 


“Hiya, Professor.”


“Good afternoon, Oliver.  Um . . . you’re on my car.”


“I this your car?  Wow, who would have guessed?”


“Is there something I can do for you?  Something that you want?”


His smile turned a little mischievous.  It was a subtle change, but his eyes signaled the change, as well.  My heart started to race and its beat pounded in my ears.  A little sprinkling of sweat appeared at the back of my neck.  I felt at that moment – with profound certainty – that the handsome young man gazing back at me knew me better than anyone else in the entire world.  I felt the urge to turn and walk away quickly, but the warmth from the sun he emitted enveloped me like a heavy blanket on a cold night.  I was trapped, but I knew I didn’t really mind. 


“Come on, Professor, we both knew this is where I’d be on this particular day, at this particular time, dressed in this particular way.”


“We did?  I usually have all appointments with students carefully marked in my calendar, Oliver.  I don’t recall setting up this particular meeting.”


“I’m twenty-three, the semester officially ended about an hour ago, I’ve already met all the requirements for graduation, and this so-called appointment has been booked since the first day I walked into your class.”


“I don’t understand.”


“A biceps-hugging light blue t-shirt and butt-hugging jeans with holes at the knees.  Don’t say you don’t remember, Professor.”


My god, what guy with blood pumping through his veins and air in his lungs could possibly forget the sight Oliver described?  It was etched in my psyche for eternity.  It had been the fodder for enough dark night, self-satisfying seed spilling I couldn’t have erased it from my mind if my life had depended on it.  He had walked into the large crowded lecture hall of almost one-hundred and fifty students and it had been like a spotlight hit him at the doorway, followed him to his seat, and highlighted him for the entire class . . . well, actually, the entire semester.  Today, the sun was his spotlight.  I cleared my throat – in hopes that it might help me to dismiss a growing excitement in a specific region in my body. 


“I was actually a little bummed that I couldn’t go shirtless in your class, Professor.  I know that would have pleased you a lot.” 


“Oliver, I’m not so sure we should be having this conversation…”


“Professor Michaels, every time we had a meeting in your office your hands shook, beads of sweat formed on your forehead, and the most eloquent teacher at the university fumbled for words for the entire session.  Trust me, I’ve learned to read the signs from guys I turn on.  I also think about you every time I lift some heavy weight in the gym and during other not-to-be-mentioned activities, as well.  You pretty much dominate my mind every waking hour.  You can’t honestly tell me that you thought the attraction was only one way, now can you?”


He was completely right – I had noticed his lingering around after class, his volunteering to be on any class committee that had to meet with me, and the way his clothes had become tighter every time he showed up for class.  I’d even noticed he wrote my name a few times in the margin of a book he borrowed – obviously forgetting it was there when he returned it.  The adorable, juvenile, love-sick action had confirmed my suspicions and fueled masturbatory sessions for many weeks.  The book of Rilke’s poetry with his handwriting still had a place of honor on my bedside table. 


“Oliver, I don’t know…”


“Professor, don’t.  Please don’t disregard me as if this were some kind of childlike crush.  I’ve added twenty pounds of muscle mass this semester, simply because working out helped me to survive the torment of not being able to talk to you – honestly and openly.  It’s been hell and heaven at the same time for me.  I’m thinking it’s been the same for you.  Please, let’s not waste time pretending there’s nothing going on here – between us.  As sure as I am that the sun will rise tomorrow, I’m even more certain that this kind of connection doesn’t come around that often.  Technically, I’m no longer a student at the university.  As we both know, walking across that stage in a few days is just pomp and circumstance.  It’s all for show.  Treat me like an adult, please.  Don’t patronize me.”


You would have thought a huge boulder had just been lifted from my shoulders – that’s the kind of relief I felt.  Briefly, I imagined the beefy stud in front of me holding that big boulder above his head, my very own Hercules rescuing me, but then I quickly dismissed those thoughts.  It was a force of habit.  The freedom his words caused, however, was undeniable.  My body was suddenly no longer tense and the dizziness in my head disappeared instantly.  I signaled for him to move over and slid up on the back of my car beside him.  I put my satchel across my lap, not wanting my body’s reaction to his huge muscles and his loving words to reveal my inner thoughts even more at that particular moment.  I paused to give us both a moment to calm down. 


“Twenty pounds, huh?”


“Of pure muscle.”




“Not nearly as impressive as the ninety-nine I worked my ass off to get in your class.”


“You did work very hard.  Do you know how hard it was for me to not give you a perfect score on your final paper?”


“Even though I felt bummed, Professor, I was actually impressed that you didn’t give it to me.  I tend to get things I don’t deserve, sometimes.  I guess people like to reward the work I’ve done with my body.  I know you’re into all of this, but you didn’t let that sway you on my grade.  That’s showed a lot of integrity.”


“What makes you think I’m into your body?”


“Look under your bag for the answer, Professor.”


I turned to look at his beaming face.  ‘Touché,’ I thought and smiled back.  We held each other’s eyes for a few seconds.  His dark skin, perfect teeth, broad nose and humongous traps made me stop breathing.  It felt similar to the first time I had ever seen the ocean or the moment I noticed gay undercurrents in the poetry of Walt Whitman for the first time.  You realized a seismic shift was happening even in the simplicity of the moment.  I let my smaller clothed shoulder brush up against his beefy arm.  Even though it was not a skin-to-skin touch, it sent off lightning-like jolts in both of our bodies.  The young man actually sucked in air and I could tell his abs tensed inward hard.  My toes cramped badly from being instantly scrunched in my shoes.  We didn’t stop looking at each other.  It was simultaneously the most comfortable and awkward moment of my life.  I was lost and didn’t know how to move forward.  I did what I always did in those situations.  I turned to poetry.


“when I fall,

i don’t just fall in love.

clumsily, i stumble

down and then I land”


To my utter surprise, Oliver recognized the poem by Cnè and continued.


“awkwardly and graceless,

stuttering utterly at the foot

of a handsome man”


Silence surrounded us as we drank in the intoxicating vastness of the moment.  He was simply gorgeous.  In that miniscule moment in the scheme of the world, I felt the weakest and most powerful I had ever felt in my life.  I was shocked that two opposing feelings could exist so vividly at the same moment.  I knew the muscled man before me felt the same way.  I wondered if it was bizarre for such a strong body to suddenly feel defenseless and small.  I had a feeling Oliver was experiencing the ‘weak at the knees’ syndrome for the first time.  Or maybe not.  I experienced it every time he was around. 


“I came one time when you read poetry in class.”


You could have knocked me over with a feather.  At first, I thought he was joking, but the look on his face assured me he was not.  My face revealed my shock.


“It was the most embarrassing thing that has ever happened to me.  It was also the most exquisite orgasm I’d ever had.  You’d be amazed to know the strength it takes to not jerk about wildly or scream in ecstasy while you ejaculate profusely in such a public place.  Luckily, it was at the end of class and I was able to dart out the door before the aroma of semen permeated the lecture hall.  I couldn’t go to any of my afternoon classes that day.  I was too spent.”


“I’ll have to read that particular poem to you in a more private setting one day.”


You would have thought he had just won the Mr. Olympia contest from the look on his face.  He had rightly noticed the promise of an intimate rendezvous in the future.  He tensed his chest and arms in joyous celebration and my eyes were drawn to the flex like a moth to a flame.  It was his gift to me in response to my revelation.  I had a feeling my satchel rose a few inches – my response to his tightened body was instant and uncontrollable.  He let his hand drop between our legs and stroked my thigh lovingly with a big strong forefinger.


“I’m much more than just muscle, Professor.”


“I know that, Oliver.  It would be easy for me to ignore you if you were just a pretty body.  Don’t get me wrong, your muscles are what made me notice you.  I’m a sucker for big bulges.  But it was your mind, your talent, and your sensitivity – laid out in your poems, papers, and other work that made me fall in love with you.”


There it was.  The miraculously most honest thing I had ever said in my entire existence and it came out so easily.  No poem came close to matching the emotion in that moment.  My words were like the big bang that had created the universe.  Oliver’s massive chest heaved upward as he let out a slight gasp.  His eyes instantly filled with tears, as did mine, and it seemed like we were in a race to see who had the first drop to slide down a cheek.  It actually happened at the same exact moment – surely that was some kind of sign.    


“This kind of joy usually makes me want to flex.  I like to pose when I’m happy.”


“Then I’ll need to make sure you are happy a lot.  I know we’re out in a public area and all, but surely a quick biceps flex would be acceptable.”


“Would that please you, Professor?”


“You have no idea how much, Oliver.”


The young man lifted his right arm slowly, never taking his eyes away from me.  He clearly wanted to soak up my reaction.  My gaze, however, was only on the massive biceps that was being tensed into a hard, bulging, mighty mass.  It was my time to gasp.  I worried that the underside of my satchel might end up getting very sticky.  What I beheld wasn’t just an arm – it was a mountain of thick, solid, blood-pumping, vein-covered muscle that made the gorgeous Oliver like a god, in my opinion.  I’d seen those big things straining the sleeves of so many shirts I could have sketched them perfectly upon request.  But seeing his right gun flexed powerfully just for me was thrilling beyond what I ever could have imagined.  I knew my eyes had popped open wider and my chin had fallen downward – making my mouth into a gaping hole.   How could a man carve such beauty simply by lifting heavy weight?  I found it hard to even fathom the hours upon hours Oliver had spent in the gym molding that perfect mound of manly brawn.  Here was a work of art that would never become old or unimpressive to my eyes.  I was simply overwhelmed at the thought of Oliver possessing hard muscles and power beyond that of normal men.  He was a Greek god to me and I was so ready to worship.


“I dream about you touching my arms all the time, Professor.”


“Funny . . . I dream about the same thing.  I think it’s time you start calling me, Phillip, don’t you?”


The bulging biceps ballooned bigger and harder in response.  I had clearly granted a secret wish that had existed for a while.  I was pleased my given name could bring him so much pleasure.  Oliver lowered his arm.  It was as if he knew, like I did, that continued posing could lead us into territory not appropriate for a parking lot in the middle of campus.  I immediately missed the engorged hard biceps, but was happy that my gaze could return to his handsome, smiling face.  He continued to stroke the side of my thigh with his finger. 


“My roommate has thankfully never figured out why I sometimes say your name loudly in my sleep.”


“Maybe he thinks you have a thing for Phil Smith, that junior who is captain of the swim team.  He is hot, after all.”


“What?  No way.  He’s too young for me and wouldn’t know a good poem if it slapped him across the face.  You think he’s hot, huh?  Should I be jealous of his tight swimmer’s build?”


“We both know you were aware of the answer to your question before you even asked it.  My dreams are never filled with a swimmer’s body.”


“What are they filled with, Phillip?”


The satisfaction he received from saying my name for the first time was so obvious that the joy was infectious.  I smiled at the sound of it rolling out of his beautiful mouth.  He said it again, just to make me smile more.  Oh, how I longed to kiss those perfect lips and feel his strong tongue invade my mouth. 


“Mostly by what you just flexed, Oliver.”


“That little thing?”


“Yes, your little arm that dwarfs mine by about five times.  Those arms that make your shirtsleeves look like they are constantly struggling.  Those mountains that often keep me up late at night.”


“No pun intended.”


“Hah, yes, no pun intended.”


“It took me a while to figure out you were into muscle.”


“I’m ‘into’ a lot of things, Oliver.  A man’s physical form just happens to be one of them.  Especially if the form is very well developed, as yours is.  I’m afraid there is part of your dear old Professor that is very shallow and somewhat improper.”


“I’ve always hoped so.  I’ve wanted you to do improper things to me for a very long time.”


“Oliver, I’m almost twice your age and less than half your size.  You should be looking to meet some hot guy that spends his time in the gym and not the library like I do.”


He gave me a serious look, then closed his eyes, and began to speak beautifully. 


“They are so moving in
their sadness, gentleness and longing –

all the sad old men who once

were all the sad young men.


How can you not be moved

by their loneliness and desolation –

their faint dreams and hopes

of love, a new love, a friendship?


…When I was younger and better-looking

I always offered myself to old men.

I had young men too, sometimes, but

with the old I felt a special love…”


A young huge bodybuilder slipping so easily into a James Kirkup poem had to be one of the sexiest things I had ever experienced.  The idea of listening to him speak this way for the rest of my life seemed like the gift of some miraculous cure for a terminal disease.  It was as if I were truly, just now, feeling the sun for the first time – and, again, that star’s warmth reached me because it radiated from the celestial being that sat beside me.  I suddenly thought ‘to hell with what anybody thinks’ and leaned in to kiss the muscled angel whose eyes immediately welled with tears, again, when he realized what I was going to do.  I never doubted that a kiss from those delicious lips would be more pleasing than childhood cotton candy, Nutella on toast, or, even, heaven itself.  The softness of those tools of love juxtaposed with the incredible huge hardness of his body made me feel like I was the first person to ever combine the taste of bleu cheese and honey or mint and chocolate.  This beautiful behemoth let me come to him – let me lead the entire kiss.  It was as if he forfeited all of his natural alpha-ness just to please me . . . or maybe it pleased him more than I could know.  No tongues parted teeth in that first kiss – clearly both of us just wanted to brush lightly against that holy chasm filled with lust, which we knew we would finally dive into at a later time.  For now, a simple peck would seal an engagement that had been planned by the universe that first day of the semester.  I pulled my head back and smiled as he kept silent with his eyes closed for a while, as if he were memorizing all the feelings of the moment for a lifetime of looking back on that first time.  He finally spoke after about a minute.


“I know this is highly inappropriate, Phillip, and it will totally ruin the moment, but I will always want to be completely honest with you.  I have never longed to throw my legs over a man’s shoulders and be plowed hard as much as I do right now.  It’s like if we don’t have sex soon I am going to self-combust and take out half the planet with me.”


“That sounds a little painful.”


“You have no idea how long and hard I have ached for you.”


“I beg to differ.  I understand and have felt similar pain.”


“Ha, fair enough.  I guess you do understand.  Um . . . what happens now?”


“I haven’t the faintest idea, Oliver.  I vote the biggest guy has to decide.”


“And I vote the oldest guy has to decide.”


“I’ll make you a deal.  We’ll ask the first person that happens to come by and we’ll do whatever they say.”


The doubtful look on Oliver’s face made it clear that he was worried someone might find our relationship totally inappropriate and tell us to go our separate ways.  Like me, he would not be able to bear that answer.  My somewhat slightly evil smile made him clue into what I already knew.  He glanced around and saw Professor Harry Gilmer – one of my oldest friends at the school – walking toward the parking lot.  With some trepidation, but also with total trust in me, Oliver answered.




“Hey Harry.  Do you have a minute?”


Harry Gilmer was loved by everyone on campus.  He was a seventy-five-year-old gay man, who pulled no punches and never apologized for being completely himself.  He had noticed us long before he was within hearing distance.  By the sly look on his weathered face he had surmised what was going on even before we had called out to him.  Luckily, his car was just two spots over so we weren’t inconveniencing him too much.  I was touched deeply when Oliver slid off the back of the car to greet the elder professor.


“My dear Phillip and if it isn’t one of our finest soon-to-be graduates, Oliver Gold.”


“Hello, Professor Gilmer.”


“You’re looking particularly bronzed and protuberant this afternoon, Oliver.  Could it be that our young man, here, is all aglow because he is experiencing, as the Greeks would say, multiple kinds of wondrous love at the same time – perhaps Philia, Agape, Ludus, and Eros all wrapped up together?  What do you think, Phillip?”


“Um . . . you forgot Pragma, Professor Gilmer.”


“Oh goodness me, Oliver.  Pragma – longstanding love.  Well then, this is very serious, indeed.  No wonder you look as if you had swallowed the sun.”


Dear old Harry noticed the way our planet’s source of energy seemed to be favoring Oliver, today.  Harry also noticed the look in my eyes and realized a world of information all at once.  It was as if he were looking into my soul.  He smiled at me and gave me a ‘you dirty little rascal’ wink.  I turned bright red. 


“How might I help you two gentlemen on this fine amorous afternoon?”


“Well, to be perfectly honest, Harry, it seems that for an entire semester a formidable bond has been developing between Oliver and myself.  Our true feelings have been only recently revealed and now that we are fully aware of this information . . . this desire, we are at a loss as to how to move forward.  We made a pact with each other that we would ask the next person that walked by and, to our great fortune, that turned out to be you.  So, we’d like for you to impart your wisdom upon us and know of our intended promise to do whatever you suggest.”


The desperate look on Oliver’s face was priceless.  It was almost as if he thought his pleading eyes could somehow sway the elder professor’s decision.  The absolute joy and enthusiasm in Harry’s face made me smile.  I had only made the deal with the gorgeous muscled stud because I had seen Harry coming.  Legally, there was absolutely nothing wrong with Oliver and I getting together.  Even the young man’s logic about him being technically out of school was spot on and would prevent me from getting in trouble even with the most conservative members of the administration.  Our eventual entanglement was guaranteed – that had been apparent to me for a while, but how to move on from sitting and chatting on the back of a car truly did baffle me.  It seemed like rushing off to some bed would be demeaning to this beautiful romance.  I knew it had been building for an entire semester, so it wasn’t exactly new, but I did want to move cautiously to the next step.  I wanted to honor the incredible connection that had already been established.  I wasn’t ready to move immediately into sticky sheets or any disappointments the golden, broad-shouldered, young man may experience after our first sexual encounter.  Basically, I was nervous that, for him, reality might not live up to his dream.  Prolonging that sad fact somehow guaranteed a few more hours of my blissful joy.  At the same time, I longed to get my hands all over Oliver’s bulging body. 


“Well, you give me a very important task, gentlemen.  This duty cannot be taken lightly, not when such pure hearts are at stake.  I feel like St. Peter at the gates, able to bless you with an eternity of happiness or send you into a darkness beyond measure.  I think some more information is needed before a judgement can be handed down.”


I sensed Oliver’s humongous body suddenly relax and realized, without even turning to him, he had figured out what was going on.  He was, of course, a very smart young man.  In mere seconds he realized I was truly not sure of how to proceed and that our present time with Professor Gilmer was purely artificial – except that the elder teacher would certainly give us some good advice on how to move forward.  The young man probably figured out that Harry Gilmer had been in this exact predicament many times over the years.  His words of wisdom, while guaranteed to give the blessing Oliver so desired, would also be beneficial in many other ways.


“Tell me, Phillip, in a few words what is it exactly that you would bring to this happy union.”


I chose to turn and look at Oliver.  His face had a relaxed smile, again, and there was a knowing look in his eyes.     


“Total and utter devotion.”


“Well that sounds promising, albeit perhaps a bit smothering.  And you, young and strapping Oliver, what would you offer this blessed accord?”


Oliver remained looking at Harry – but had a huge playful grin.


“Isn’t that obvious, Professor Gilmer.”


“Possibly, my dear boy, but please illuminate us.”


“Powerful stability.”


As he spoke these words, the young man threw his arms up into what could only be described as one of the most jaw-dropping double biceps poses that either Harry or I had ever seen.  Poor Harry stumbled a few steps backward because he had not been prepared for such a sight.  Oliver’s arms were amazing – huge veiny mounds that screamed of manliness and strength.  I suddenly felt small and frail, but it wasn’t a bad feeling since I had such a virile stud who wanted me.  Both Harry and I stared for what seemed like an eternity at the giant arms in front of us.  Oliver clearly loved the fact that he could make us both speechless.  He finally dropped his arms, having no need to continue proving his point.  It took us a few more seconds to gain control of our bodies and our tongues.


“Well said, mighty Oliver.  You make your point most emphatically and no man, in his right mind, would attempt any kind of rebuttal.  Some things are just too powerful to contradict.  Gentlemen, I am now ready to impart my totally unbiased and heartfelt opinion on the matter you have placed before me.  I also want you to know that I was in no way swayed by the thought of what kind of damage Oliver’s huge armaments could impose.  The size of what I believe young people today call his ‘guns’ did nothing to influence my forthcoming judgement.  Those gigantic instruments of power, which could…”


“Okay, Harry, we get your point.  What’s your advice?”


“Assuming Oliver has some kind of tent-sized top he could put on over his vast torso, I would advise an afternoon of martinis or whatever libation one gives to young beefcake these days and then an early supper.  I always find that a good buzz and a full stomach usually do more to help one find answers to life-altering situations like yours more than anything else.  I suggest very dry vodka martinis with either a twist of lemon or delicious cocktail onions.  Those have always helped me make the best decisions.  And now, gentlemen, I must depart.  Oliver’s little display has reminded me of some video tapes I hid away some years ago.  I must go retrieve those and make sure they are still as wonderful as I remember.  But before I go, as payment for the wisdom I have so unselfishly bestowed, might I be so bold as to request one little fondle of that gargantuan mound of muscle Oliver calls an arm?”


“It would be my pleasure, Professor Gilmer.  Grope away.”


“Oliver, my boy, a gentleman never gropes.  Heavens.  I will simply massage that elephantine arm of yours for a few seconds and then be on my way.”


From the proud look on Oliver’s face you would have thought he was bringing food to an impoverished village in some remote developing country instead of allowing an old queen to simply cop a feel of his huge muscled arm.  The big young man took a step toward Professor Gilmer as he raised his massive biceps into the air again.  Harry’s hand looked tiny when it pressed up against the side of Oliver’s flexed arm.  Immediately, the older man started rubbing his fingers and palm all around the undentable bulging mound of muscle.  None of us said a word.  The only sound was Harry’s appreciative heavy breathing.  Oliver looked over at me and smiled – conveying how happy he would be when it was me feeling his body.  Harry dropped his hand and looked Oliver in the eyes.


“Thank you, my boy.”


“Thank you, sir.”


“Phillip, let’s have tea tomorrow.  I expect you’ll have a lot to tell me.”


Harry had started moving toward his car as he nodded his head at me, but then he stopped and looked at Oliver again – drinking in his huge upper unclothed torso.


“On second thought, dear boy, let’s make that tea sometime next week.  I think you’re going to be busy for a few days.  Ciao, gentlemen.”


And just like that the adored Professor Gilmer got in his car, started the thing, gave a little wave, and drove away.  I imagined Harry drinking his martini that afternoon completely nude, watching ancient porno videos, and happily remembering how Oliver’s hard biceps had felt like stone.  Suddenly, the big young man of my dreams was standing right in front of me.  I noticed we were basically the same height but his size made it seem like he was a giant. 


“A buzz and some food with you does sound nice, Phillip.  We can think of it as an appetizer.”


“Or we could skip to the main course.”


“Neither of us really want to do that.  We want to continue this foreplay on as long as we can.  Giving into our base desires so quickly kind of makes the unrequited love thing of the last semester seem pointless.  I’d like to save you for dessert.”


“On one condition, Oliver.”


“What’s that, Professor?”


“You don’t put on your shirt until we get to the restaurant.”


“Done.  I have a request, too.”


“As it should be.  What is it?”


“Let’s honor Professor Gilmer.  Take me to a place where the two of you would normally eat and introduce me to vodka martinis.”


“Um, those are really strong drinks, Oliver.”


“I think this big bod will be able to handle it, Professor.”


Striations popped out all over his chest as he tensed his pecs.  I looked from one to the other and then on to his tensed enormous arms.  Truer words had never been spoken. 


(This picture has been hot on the forum recently.  I just wanted to honor it in some way.)



The fanny pack should have made me keep on walking.  The gold chain should have made me not take a second look.  The zip-up shirt with its hand warming pockets on the sides should have made me turn around and run.  Then, there was the almost unibrow that was a sure sign of someone that was not aware.  There were so many reasons to not notice the guy.  It’s like he was writing a manual for all the things a gay man should not do.  The dinner party was full of good-looking men – classy men - who would be what all my friends would call a ‘perfect catch.’  So, why did my gaze – as well as my thoughts – keep returning to the Neanderthal-like man that kept staring at me for all of the pre-dinner drinks part of the party.  And now the dude was walking over to me.  I had been talking to two beautiful specimens who both decided to get another drink at the same time, leaving me alone and open season for anyone.  I panicked as I saw the guy most people at the party were shunning set his sights on me.  It was too late, however.  I couldn’t have gotten away without making it rude.


“Solomon,” he said, holding out an ape-like hand.


“I’m sorry?” I responded.


“Solomon,” he said, again.


I stared at him, baffled.


“It’s my name,” he answered, laughing.  


“Oh yes, I see,” I replied.  Pause. 


“And your name?” he asked.


“Oh goodness.  Sorry.  I’m Paul,” I said, extremely embarrassed.  A longer pause.


“This is nice,” Solomon said. 


“What is?” I asked, glancing around to see if there was anyone who could save me from this awkward conversation.


“This,” he said, waving his beer bottle (at a dinner party!) at the crowd and room around us. 


“Oh yes.  It is.  They always throw nice parties,” I answered and then took a long sip of my vodka soda in order to freshen my buzz and maybe prevent him from saying anything else.


“I’m a powerlifter,” Solomon added, dashing my hopes for silence.


“I’m sorry,” I said, again, after swallowing the alcohol.


“I’m a powerlifter,” he repeated.


“I don’t understand,” I responded.


“It’s what I do.  I compete as a powerlifter,” he explained.


“What does that mean . . . exactly?” I questioned, knowing instantly that the nerd factor was about to shoot off the charts.  Oh, how I longed to be saved from this misery. 


“It means I go to competitions and lift heavy things.  Trying to lift more than anyone else,” he said, smiling.


“You mean like those big round stones and cars without wheels.  Things like that?” I asked, remembering briefly stopping on some sports station to see such a thing when I was channel surfing late one night. 


“Yep.  Stuff like that,” he said.


“Oh.  It . . . um . . . looks . . . heavy,” I stumbled, looking for something to say – which made him laugh.


“It is,” he replied.  “What do you do, Paul?”


“I’m a professor at a university,” I answered, slightly proud of some imagined status this job gave me.


“Is that heavy work, too?” Solomon asked, but I missed the joke.


“What?  No.  I teach,” I answered.


“It was a joke, Paul,” he said.  “I guess not a very good one, though.”


“Oh yes, I see.  Sorry,” I responded quickly, feeling like a fool.  “How do you know Stewart and Barry?”


This was the couple hosting the party.  I was hoping to find a way out of this conversation and thought bringing up their names might miraculously make one of them appear to steal me away or something like that.  Solomon either didn’t notice my discomfort or ignored it.  He took another sip of his beer.  I still couldn’t believe he was drinking from a bottle and a catered affair.


“They call me sometimes for in-house visits,” Solomon said, with a smile that seemed naughty and innocent at the same time.


“What does that mean?” I asked – completely missing the subtlety of his answer.


“Well, they sometimes invite me over to do shows,” he answered.


“What kind of shows?” I continued, now fully focused on our conversation.  This seemed like some kind of juicy gossip. 


“Well, Barry likes feats of strength and Stewart likes to wrestle,” Solomon replied – as if this kind of information was normal or nothing more than something you’d describe like a Tupperware party.


“You mean you’re a hustler?” I whispered, amazed at my own brashness.  “I didn’t realize they were into three-ways.”


“No, no you misunderstand,” Solomon said, laughing a little.  “It’s not that at all.  There’s no sex involved . . . well, there probably is after I leave.  Stewart and Barry have a strength fetish and I’m really strong.  I come over and help them live out some of their fantasies.”


“You mean like role playing?” I whispered even softer, making what we were talking about seem very wrong and pornographic.


“Not usually, but I guess it could,” Solomon said, and it looked like he made a mental note to check on that idea with the two men at a later date.  “Let’s do this a different way.  When you fantasize sexually, Paul, what do you think about.”


“That seems like a personal question,” I snapped back.


“Only if you’re hung up on stuff like that.  I think we all fantasize – especially men.  It’s how we rein in our urges and control our libido.  I’m personally into middle-aged guys with dad bods and receding hairlines.  Can’t tell you why – it’s just what turns me on.  So, what about you, Paul?”


“I don’t know . . . I guess I’ve always been into macho men with mustaches that look like they’re from the seventies.  When I was young I had a thing for the swimmer Mark Spitz,” I answered truthfully, without even thinking about it. 


“Well there you go.  Barry and Stewart are into strength.  I lift heavy things to excite Barry and Stewart and I get down on the floor, oil up, and wrestle like the Greeks – only we’re not nude.  How do you know them?” Solomon continued as if all of this was just a normal conversation.


“Um . . . I went to college with them.  Somehow, that seems like a really boring answer,” I said.  “They met when they were freshmen.”


“That’s cool,” Solomon said and took another swig of his beer.  Another long pause, but this time it was because I was thinking. 


“Have you won many strength competitions?” I asked, amazed that I was now falling into a comfortable conversation with this man.


“Almost all I have entered,” Solomon said and took a slight step closer to me.  Another pause. 


“Um . . . what kind of strength feats does . . . um . . . Barry like?” I asked, suddenly noticing the room was getting warmer.


“Lots.  But he likes it most when I lift him over my head – like he’s my barbell,” Solomon answered, staring into my eyes.  “Stewart loves it when I pin him to the ground and don’t let him move.”


Some seismic shift happened within me.  It was humongous and simple at the same time. I spoke, but it barely registered that it was me trying to say the words. 


“I . . . uh . . . I think…” I couldn’t finish my thought so I just took another long gulp of my drink.


Solomon didn’t take his eyes from mine.  The man’s size was just now becoming a reality for me.  He had the kind of chest that made me think of couch cushions or gigantic pillows – only his massive things were clearly not soft.  His gut protruded out with a solidity that was intoxicating – like a thick concrete wall.  His torso seemed so much denser than regular human beings.  His arms were like veiny bowling balls.  It was like I was seeing Solomon for the first time.  His body was a magnificent work of muscled art.  The man couldn’t have been better built even if Michelangelo had carved him from a perfect piece of marble. 


“You were going to say something, Paul” Solomon said softly.


“I . . . think . . .” I stammered, but that was all I could get out.


I stared at his handsome face.  A strong wide nose that somehow made him look even more muscular.  Dark brown eyes covered with furry eyebrows and thick lashes.  And a beard that made me think of Samson, Hercules, or even a younger Zeus.  God, his shoulders were so wide and thick and his neck was like a stone column.  His eyes beamed with something akin to sunshine or pure joy.  He somehow made me completely comfortable even though I was having so many crazy feelings for the first time. 


“I think . . . um . . . that I would . . . uh . . . like to be . . . you know . . . lifted . . . by you,” I said and sounded like a junior high kid on his first date.  I had lost control of my own body – it simply knew what it desired and was asking for it. 


The pause that followed was excruciating.  I panicked that I had crossed some line or said something wrong.  Come to find out, the big guy was just letting the intensity of the moment build. 


“I’d definitely like to lift you, Paul.  I’d like to show you what I’m capable of,” Solomon said and it seemed like he was a snake charmer and I was the cobra.  “You wouldn’t be any struggle for me at all.”


“Oh . . . my . . . oh fuck,” was the gibberish that came out of my mouth in response – fully realizing he could easily lift my heavy frame.


Solomon moved closer to me and it felt like a mountain was advancing.  I found myself staring at his arms and thinking about how they would easily lift my forty-seven-year-old, normal, slightly overweight body high above his head.  The feelings that thought caused to shoot through my body were new and unexplored territory – I was a little dizzy with excitement.  That’s when I suddenly remembered him saying he was turned on by middle aged guys with dad bods and receding hairlines.  He had been describing me.  My eyes widened.  He quickly figured out what had shot into my head.


“I think you’re really hot,” Solomon said, smiling in a way that made my knees almost buckle.  “And I have to say that I hope lifting you will lead to us having sex.”


It took me a while to focus.  My body and mind needed time to calm down from what he had said.


“I . . . uh . . . never knew I had this . . . um . . . fetish before,” I said sheepishly.


“You had never met me before,” Solomon replied, smiling a devilish grin.


He was still the guy with the multiple zippered fanny pack.  He was still the guy what could be viewed as having one eyebrow snaking across his forehead.  He was still the guy wearing a gold chain as if he were part of the Italian mafia.  And he was still the guy with the pocketed, zippered super tight 70’s disco shirt.  But none of that mattered.  He was huge, strong, and gorgeous.  And he was also going to lift me – a thought that gave me a bigger thrill than I ever would have expected or even known before I met him.  Barry and Stewart had a photographer walking around the party taking random shots of everyone – mementos we could take home.  The guy came up to the two of us right at that moment.


“Hey, you two love-birds, how about a picture?” the man asked.


“Oh, we’re not a…” Solomon began, but I interrupted him.


“We’d love one,” I said loudly as I slid my hand into Solomon’s.  My move caught the big guy off guard – something that made me smile even more.  He gazed at me with eyes that were suddenly a little watery.  He tightened his big hand around mine.  We both looked at the photographer, smiled, and he snapped the picture.  That was five years ago and that exact photo still sits on my desk at work.  Students often ask who’s the hot guy in the picture with me and I proudly tell them he’s my husband.  A few of the jocks from my classes have even recognized him as a world-class powerlifter.  They have commented on how strong he is and how he can lift amazing amounts of weight.  I always confirm what they say is true and then secretly think about what he likes to lift the most.




Listen, I know I’m being a little forward and maybe coming on too strong, but I caught you watching me as I worked out and . . . well, it kind of turns me on.  I’m really an exhibitionist at heart.  I crave attention.  I guess you could say that’s why I work out.  I want to get these muscles bulging so people will notice me . . . blatantly stare at me.  I can see the desire in your eyes, man.  Even now, you keep stealing glances down at my arms.  I got ‘em nice and pumped for you, didn’t I?  No need to answer, man, your open mouth is all the reply I need.  Arms maketh the man, as they say . . . right?  Look at you squirming.  I’m making you nervous, aren’t I?  What’s the matter, cat got your tongue?  No biggie, dude, your body is speaking volumes.  Each time I tense my arms, like this, your body quivers a little – like you got a chill or something.  It’s really cute.  And those nylon basketball shorts ain’t hiding a thing, man.  You’re sporting a mighty fine slab of sausage, too – that’s clear to see.  Something must be rocking your world.  Muscles do it for you, man?  Cause showing off all my bulging mass for a guy gets me stiffer than a Redwood.  Wow, cue the heavy breathing.  I could give you a show right here, right now if you’d like, man.  It would be no problem.  I don’t care if anybody walks in.  Hell, they can enjoy the performance, too.  The more the merrier is always my motto.  I bet you like the way hard muscle feels, don’t you man?  I bet you’re a groper.  Cupping softball-sized biceps, kneading stone-like pecs, or strumming a solid six-pack.  I’m thinking all of that makes you as weak as a wet noodle.  Dude, you might as well just take a good long stare at my arms – quit with the furtive glances.  I’m telling you I don’t mind.  Yeah, that’s it, take a long gulping drink of my bulging guns.  And now we have some major tent action in your shorts.  The body never lies, bud.  That rod of yours has just ratted you out as a verified Grade A muscle-pig.  Just as I suspected.  Nothing wrong with that dude, so quit your blushing.  I pack on muscle to make guys like you happy.  Sure, there’s a messy financial side of what’s taking place between us right now, but let’s not rush into anything just yet.  I’m enjoying our little one-sided chat.  Almost as much as I’m enjoying you turning into a blob of drooling blubber.  Oh dayum, I just realized I must be your first time.  Am I right, man?  Another red face confirms it.  You mean it’s possible that a guy as cute as you has never been approached before.  Oh fuck, make my day and tell me you’re also a muscle worshipping virgin.  Bingo!  I’ve hit the jackpot.  You look to be about twenty-six or seven.  There must be so much pent-up sexual frustration in that body of yours you’ll be like Mount Vesuvius when you finally erupt.  My hard chest is just dying to be the city of Pompeii and be covered by your hot man-lava.  Oh bummer, gray shorts don’t hide leakage very well, do they?  Sorry about that, man.  Listen, I had a killer workout today and the endorphins that are kicking around in my body have me higher than a kite.  That, in turn, makes me feel very generous.  Very generous, indeed.  How about I give you an introductory worshipping session for free?  Consider it an early Christmas, birthday, or Hanukah gift.  No, don’t go feeling guilty or non-deserving.  Just take it in the spirit it is given.  Trust me, I’m going to make sure I have some fun, as well.  So, I take that bouncing crotch of yours as a positive response.  I only have one request, dude.  You fix me dinner when we’re done.  You look like someone who’d be a good cook and I haven’t had a homemade meal in a while.  Most guys into muscle just want to take me to fancy restaurants so they can show off their trophy.  I don’t mind, but it would be kind of nice to drink my beer from a bottle, go shirtless at the dinner table, and stroke your hardness with my bare foot as we eat.  Wait ‘til you see these puppies flexed, dude.  You’re going to think you’ve died and gone to muscle heaven.  I know I’ve kind of insinuated myself into your plans for the evening, but I’m thinking you don’t mind.  I’m thinking I’m about to unleash a major muscle-loving whore that’s been buried inside of you for a long time.  Let’s go do some groping, stud. 




You just don’t get it, do you?” he said, turning to me as we sat in the warm car. 


To be completely honest, I was having trouble focusing on what he was saying – not because I didn’t think the conversation was important, I knew it was – but because I couldn’t stop myself from staring at his freakish forearms.  They were bigger than my thighs and covered in rope-thick veins that popped out in that way that screamed power and dominance.  The sleeves of his shirt looked like they were in agony – wishing someone would put them out of their stretched-to-the-max misery and slice them open with a pair of scissors.  I was thinking it would be better if he just ripped them open by flexing his Popeye-freakish-sized lower arms while we both stared.  The sound of the folded cuffs tearing up the seams would probably make me spew quicker than a gushing soda bottle that had been thoroughly shaken before opening on a hot summer’s day.  He had his serious face on and was trying to get me to understand that what he was saying was profound and much more important than me getting off on his muscles.  We had been arguing . . . no, not arguing, we never argued.  We had been debating . . . no, that wasn’t it, either.  He had been trying to convince me of something.  Yes, that was it.  He was trying to get me to see things from his perspective and make a change to our relationship.  I tore my eyes away from his forearms, his massive biceps, the magnificent pec visible through his unbuttoned shirt, and even away from the manly stubble gorgeously defying his razor from that morning and already proving he was full of testosterone by shooting out along his diamond-cut jawline.  He could tell I was back with him – alert and undistracted.


“I get it, big guy.  I just don’t understand it,” I replied – forcing myself to not look back down at the bulging forearm.     


“It’s just that I don’t want us to fit into any mold . . . or represent any stereotypes,” he said, rolling his chest underneath his pink shirt without even realizing he was doing it.  “The world says big guys have to be this or act like that and I’m just tired of all that bullshit.  There’s this guy inside of me screaming to be unleashed and I’m ready to let him out.  You’ve helped me to reach this point.  It’s only because of you that I’m even willing to talk about this . . . to even consider it.  Being with you has empowered me to embrace who I really am.”


“Yeah, but that also means there’s a lot of responsibility on me, too.  Maybe I won’t be able to handle this new role,” I replied, stealing a glance at his flexed biceps as he ran a hand across his short hair.  “Sweet Jesus, you’re bulging today.”


“I made sure everything was tight for you,” he replied, smiling like a proud schoolboy who’d done his homework.  “That’s what I want to do for the rest of my life, every day – please you.”


“Licking those veins right now would please me a lot,” I quickly shot back.


“Not until we settle this . . . once and for all.  I mean it.  I’m not threatening to break up or anything, but it would really mean a lot to me if you gave it a go.  Tried it my way for a while just to see,” he said, imploringly.   


“Okay, okay,” I responded, holding my palms toward him to show that I was ready to try and getting a little hard because of the broad smile that shot across his beautiful, manly face.  “You’re going to have to help me, though.  Let’s start talking specifics . . . how is this new way of being lived out?”


“Oh shit!  Do you mean it, honey?” he shouted, excitedly.  “Really?”


“Yes . . . yes,” I answered.  “Come on, give me some things I should start doing.”


“Hot damn, this is wonderful,” he exclaimed and I gave him a serious look.  “Okay . . . first of all, you’re always the one in charge.”


“What do you mean?” I asked.


“It’s like you’re always the one holding the leash and I’m always going to be the one being led . . . you know, the one with the dog collar on.  I basically become your boy-toy, my only desire every second of the day is to please you.  You say jump and I ask how high?  You say lift and I say how much.  You say flex and I keep going until you tell me I can stop.  I open doors for you.  I fetch things for you.  I simply let you become my boss,” he said, rambling on so quickly I was having trouble keeping up.  “God, I’ve always wanted to submit to someone . . . you know, have them rule me in every way possible.  Can we start now?  Order me to flex something for you.  Come on, that would thrill me more than I could ever explain.”


Suddenly, the idea of having a muscle slave did not seem irrational or obscene, like it had before.  The thought that I could order him to flex for me – whenever I wanted him to - made me stiffen a little more below the waist.  Maybe I could get used to this new lifestyle he was proposing.  Perhaps it wouldn’t be as uneven as I assumed it would be.  Clearly, he was getting very excited about playing the submissive role.  It had never dawned on me that he would be getting something out of this kind of relationship.  It seemed so degrading, but here he was like a kid in the candy store – totally stoked to do my bidding.  His eager beaming face made something inside of me turn on like a light switch.  This enormous muscled man truly wanted to be bossed around – told what to do – ordered by a master.  Even though it completely did not compute to me that this would ever remotely be possible with a guy like him, I accepted it on the spot and decided I was, indeed, the right man for the job.  He trusted me.  He knew I could and would take care of him in return for his devotion.  In mere seconds I started to become the alpha in our relationship and I knew neither of us would question it ever again. 


“Forearms. Bulging.  Now,” I ordered in a firm voice. 


His face returned to something akin to seriousness, but it was more like obedience mixed with pure joy.  The guy grabbed the front of his seat with his left hand and the armrest between us with his right hand.  This was just to give his arms an extra pump as he tensed and gripped tightly at the same time.  His fucking forearms ballooned to the size of my midsection and popped out a roadmap of veins.  Normally, I would have gasped at the sight and actually thrust my hand down to my cock, but this time I remained in charge and never lost sight of my new role. 


“Bigger.  Harder,” I commanded and this made the big guy gasp with excitement. 


“Oh, dude, you sound so hot…” he began to gush, but I was having none of that.


“I said flex harder, boy!” I said in a gruff, displeased manner.


You would have thought I had banged a cast-iron frying pan against his forehead from the speed of his reaction.  He quickly snapped back into the obedient puppy he longed to be – duly chastised and immediately ready to make me happy.  I could tell he doubled his efforts, not only from the intense grunts he gave from tensing his arms so much – but also by the way his forearm muscles now bulged bigger and harder.  Their size was freakish and now dwarfed every part of my body.  My own forearms looked like toothpicks in comparison.  The big man stared at me . . . with a clear longing for approval, a reward of some kind, even just a smile.  I looked at him sternly.


“You don’t call me dude anymore, boy, understand?  From now I’m only ‘sir’ when you address me.  Do I make myself clear,” I said, making sure I emphasized every word.


“Yes sir,” he replied, dropping his eyes in embarrassment at the mistake, but not lessening the flex of his forearms at all.


I reached out and ran my hand along the massive bulge nearest me – marveling at the veiny speed-bumps that streaked everywhere across the intensely hard muscle.  It was like touching the side of a rocky cliff.  I let out an affirming moan – just to give the guy a little support.  He responded by tensing even harder, causing even more veins to pop.  It was clear that his shirtsleeves were on the verge of giving up the battle of trying to cover the monstrosities within.  How I longed to see tears begin in that material and hear the sound of ripping as muscled beef burst through.  My fingers followed one of the largest veins and I could feel the blood pumping strongly through his body.  There was so much power there – so much raw masculine brawn.  His arm was shaking a little from the strain of flexing so hard.


“You can relax, boy,” I said – not removing my hand and marveling at how incredibly hard his arm stayed even after he exhaled loudly and stopped tensing.  “Forearms of steel, kid.  That makes your master proud.  Big fuckers, aren’t they?”


“Yes sir,” he replied obediently, accepting his new role as naturally as he breathed. 

I could sense the big guy silently pleading for another task to perform.  He was in hog heaven now that I had switched into the role of the alpha.  I basically had a monstrous muscled puppy begging me to play fetch or bark out orders to sit, shake, or roll over.  He continued to look down, not daring to look me in the eye – that’s not what a subservient was supposed to do.  I could tell that his heart was beating super-fast from the excitement of an upcoming directive from me.  I could quickly see how this was going to become super addictive for me – having a chiseled monstrosity of a man at my beck and call day and night.  Was there anything better?  I could not think of a single thing.  I was tempted to keep him waiting, but deeper desires took over me.       


“Feed me your huge man-tit, now,” I commanded in a low, well-paced, domineering voice. 


He wasted no time.  He grabbed his shirt in the front, sliding his fingers inside.  He pulled hard and instantly buttons popped off and sailed across the inside of the car, hitting against the windshield.  A hard, perfectly-molded-by-heavy-weights pec revealed itself.  My mouth instantly watered – I was like Pavlov’s dog responding to what it longed for.  Muscle that’s been compacted over the years from being broken down by insane, agonizing lifting and then rebuilt into something dense, solid, and swollen cannot adequately be described – it must be experienced.  I briefly imagined all the mornings my pup had barely been able to move because of the intense pain from the prior day’s work out and marveled at his impeccable sculpted humongous mound of beef he now brought toward my face.  He was the ultimate artist, having cast his body into something spectacular.  I was happy to be his patron, his sponsor, his mentor.  There are no words that can express what it feels like to have your face gloriously flattened by tough, warm, blood-pumping flesh and instantly feel a muscleman’s heartbeat pounding into you like a pornographic massage.  My mouth had been open with anticipation and I instantly started to suck on the lightly salted seemingly indestructible surface.  The big man moved his pec slightly so his oversized nipple surrounded by its large darkened areola could plop into my mouth.  I latched on to the thing with the suction force of a crazy man-turbine.  I had a feeling people a few miles away heard the moan that erupted from his throat because of my expert oral work.  His big left arm shot out toward the dashboard and he grabbed it hard to steady himself.  I pulled my head back briefly.


“Yeah, that’ it, boy, let me hear how much you love my mouth,” I said and then latched back onto his chest with double the effort.


This caused the big guy’s expansive back to arch from the pleasure.  The entire car shook violently from his sudden jerking motion, but my mouth stayed suctioned onto his big pec.  I sounded like a pig at his trough as I sucked on his marble-like meat – feeling like I’d won some kind of jackpot endless buffet.  My face was smashed against a wall of muscle and I couldn’t have been happier.  I had learned early on in our relationship that scraping my teeth along his jutting plug could make his body tense and shudder at the same time.  It was quite impressive to feel all of his fucking huge body turn to stone.  I not only teased his nipple with my molars, but I also bit down on the nub – causing the kind of intense build-up that was usually saved for newly active volcanoes.  I knew my oral skills could easily make the muscle god spurt – that’s how sensitive his pecs were, but I was not ready for him to erupt.  I had a new boy-toy and I found that I truly liked it.  The role of the small, dominating alpha fit me like a glove and I was ready to test my boy’s devotion.  He was my new Hercules and I was ready to give him twelve labors every day for the rest of our lives – even more if he proved worthy.  It’s amazing how many magnificent ideas can pop into your head when your face is plastered against stunning immense pectoral muscle and your hands are busy groping veiny, concrete-like forearms.  My muscle boy pined terribly for a master and I was going to grant him his wish.  It seemed like I was going to get the better part of our new deal, but – then again – I had never seen this huge man assume a mindset so quickly.  It was like when he got lost in some ‘other world’ while he was lifting – his body took over and automatically did what it needed to so it would get bigger and harder.  Watching his face become subservient and feeling how his body reacted when I gave him an order or called him ‘boy’ told me this was much more than just role-playing for him.  He clearly needed to be my muscle plaything in the same way he needed to lift – it was just an innate titanic desire that I was allowing to finally be released.  He was coming out of the ‘himbo’ closet and becoming a mountain of muscle that simply lived and breathed to please his master.  That knowledge instantly made me the cockiest guy on the planet – not to mention the luckiest.  I had a massive footrest any time I needed it.  I could ask to be carried whenever I was tired.  I could gaze at his muscular radiance any time I wanted.  And I could have his hard-bulging body pressed against mine twenty-four-seven if I so desired.  I was king of the world.  I, again, pulled my face away from the delicious mass of solidity I was presently sampling.


“Time for us to rest, boy.  The windows are all steamed up and it’s a hot-as-hell summer day out there.  We’ve simply made it much more blistering in here – even with the air-conditioning on full blast,” I said and the big mountain of muscle immediately sat back – face down and clearly pleased with my chest gnawing.  “I guess you can sense that I’m liking my new role, can’t you, pup?”


“Yes,’ he answered – his breathing quickened a little as soon as he heard one of my new names for him. 


“Yes what, boy?” I hammered.


“Yes sir.  Sorry sir,” he quickly responded – both embarrassed that he forgot and pleased that I had not. 


“No need to be sorry, big guy.  You’re still learning.  You’re still growing – so to speak.  Don’t worry, I’ll whip you into shape.  I’ll have you acting like a Grade A boy-toy before you know it.  But you’ve got to be sure this is what you want.  I’m feeling things I never imagined existed inside of me.  You’ve opened Pandora’s box and I need to hear that this is all good before we travel down this path.  I get the feeling that once I’ve started I won’t be able to quit being your alpha – the idea of having all of your massiveness at my beck and call boils my juices in a way I never imagined.  I need you to look me in the eye and convince me that this monumental shift in our relationship is what you want,” I spoke firmly, honestly, and pleadingly at the same time.


“It’s what I’ve wanted ever since I got big in college, sir,” he said, raising his eyes to mine and gazing with a look that was intense and sincere.  “I can’t explain it.  I know it must seem illogical to some people, but who can explain what makes a person tick.  Why are you so into muscle, sir?”


“Well, it’s complicated,” I started.


“Exactly, sir,” he quickly interjected.  “My need to be led . . . dominated . . . obedient is complicated, too.  I’m sure the desire existed before I got huge muscles, but the bigger I became this inner need within me became stronger.  I daydream about not having to think all the time anymore.  I know I’m smart and all, but I want to just lift, get more swole, and live to please you.  To be released from having to worry about bills, making lists, coming up with chit-chat at dinner parties, and all things inane would make me the happiest guy in the world.  I’ve never met anyone I trusted more than you.  It was clear from our first date that you had my best interests at heart, as well as yours.  I know you’d be a steady and good compass for me.  I’m not looking to be babied or lazy, sir.  I’ll still do all the heavy lifting and intimidate others with my size – but now I’d do it all only when you told me to.  I could stop worrying about trivial stuff and focus only on things that truly matter to me.  I want someone else to tell me what to wear, when to speak, how to act.  It would be the most freeing moment of my life to become your boy, sir.  And if it’s not being over-confident, master, I believe I could please you a lot.”


To have a mountain of muscle call you master does something to a man.  It doesn’t matter who you are.  Even my tiniest toe swelled with sudden awareness of pure pride – of an unending yearning to control something so clearly powerful as the man before me.  I was fully mindful of my inherent prerequisite that this be something my big friend desired beyond a shadow of a doubt – but, at the same time, I realized I had come to want it just as much as he obviously did.  My cock hardened when I saw tears slowly slide down the chiseled cheeks of the muscled heap in the seat across from me.  I suddenly felt like some big fairy godfather that could easily grant this Cinderfella his most heartfelt wish.  At the same time, I would get a handsome slab of muscle that would – upon my request – bring me coffee in bed, offer up his ass in public toilets, or lift me as his human barbell, all with equal measure.  I would release him from worldly worries – he would empower me with mind-blowing alpha-ness.  I sensed deeply how good I would be at being his master – firm, confident, patient, and sternly kind.  He would want for nothing and never have to worry about necessities.  I would never have to lift anything heavy again or need to look at porn on the computer another day in my life.  I’d have my own Hulk to boss around lovingly.  Intense bear hugs before we went to bed would be a nightly request.  Morning muscle worship would even come before coffee.  Sitting on his waist and playing with his nipples while he bench-pressed heavy weight could be my evening appetizer. 


“I can be demanding, boy,” I said softly.


“I hope so, sir,” he replied – and it was obvious he sensed we were about to seal the deal so his body radiated excitement while tears continued to fall. 


“You’ll never have to worry about a thing,” I added.


“Except if I am pleasing you enough, sir,” he answered.


And my heart opened to pure bliss. 



There’s a generous pop to my noticeable boner when the guy finally senses that I’m staring at him. It’s something like an elephant just climbed into a Prius and sat beside you.  Something big and covered in muscles can’t go unnoticed for very long. The dude quickly looks around to make sure there’s no one near him that might be attracting my focus.  A wink from me makes him freeze and actually quiver with excitement.  He’s shocked to find out that the mountain of bulges is flirting with him.  That’s when a pec bounce can cause a mouth to drop open wide and an already racing heart to skip a beat.  I smile to make his knees go weak.  A chiseled face with a two-day growth is like a neon sign pointing towards the scrumptious hard mounds of flesh popping out everywhere below.  The delicious fur upholstering all of my hardness is clearly visible through my form-hugging white t-shirt.  I realize I’m too hot for him to believe all of this is real – but it’s my smile that causes all of his doubt to disappear.  I reach up to scratch one of my voluminous pecs – knowing the bent arm takes his kettle to the boiling point quicker than even an open fire could.  


Here’s where I get to make an important decision – realizing it will set the tone for the rest of the night. I can saunter over to him – thick-as-hell thighs causing me to waddle more than walk.  This will almost make him piss himself, the mountain coming to him. Or I can stand there and wait – giving him time to calm the raging storm I’ve caused in his body and allowing him to prepare whatever adorable introductory remarks he has for his dream muscle daddy. I choose to wait – forcing him to cross that wasteland of disappointed souls who have realized I’ve already made my pick for the night.  I come up off the stool I’m leaning on to let my full height and size cast an imposing shadow on him, blocking out all of the light from above.  His Adams apple bounces strongly from the gulp caused by my towering presence.  It’s like a kid standing before a New York skyscraper for the first time.  


I hold out my hand, intentionally letting its hugeness force him to break out in a sweat as he contemplates its power and the fact that it’s a precursor to something equally as large lurking down below in my pants.  He’s confused – should he reach out to shake my big mitt or should he turn around and run, avoiding any displeasure foreshadowed by such an obvious difference in size.  I’m reminded of my immensity and power when I grip his small, defenseless hand, quickly calculating enough pressure to thrill, but not crush.  The jolt my light squeeze causes in his body is so perceptible I’m momentarily fearful he may pass out.  It makes me instantly wonder if I unintentionally clasped too hard.  I continue holding on, just so he can use my big hand for support.  At any moment I might need to help him stay upright.  


I watch as my voice literally rattles his insides when I tell him my name.  He’s expected it to be deep and manly, but the actual sound is much more impressive than even what he imagined.  I’m still holding on to his small hand and he doesn’t even realize he’s been squeezing with all his might, hoping to try and emphasize his own manliness this close to my huge testosterone oozing body.  I clamped down a little harder on his fingers just to make his eyes bulge out a little and his voice to go up an octave or two as he tells me his name. It’s surprising that his first words aren’t the expected ‘fuck, you’re so big’ or ‘wow, you have a lot of muscles.’ He actually asks where I’m from and what I do for a living.  Intelligent questions from a guy working hard to not wince from my grip and forcing his gaze to stay glued to my eyes and not travel down to my mountainous chest or bulging arms.  I’m starting to realize I chose well out of the sea of muscle whores ogling me at the bar. I let go of his hand, noticing the relief in his face, and let my big paw travel up his arm to land with a heavy plop on his demure shoulder.  He tilts a little to that side.  My thumb and fingers easily straddle his deltoid muscle and we both realize at the same time his small hand wouldn’t come close to doing the same thing to my immense shoulder.


I get another joyful zing to my crotch as I recognize a fellow comparison junkie in my newfound friend. His mind has uncontrollably moved to thoughts of tiny biceps flexed next to gigantic ones and even grown-man thighs being dwarfed by relaxed, get-a-bigger-tape-measure guns.  I smile broader when he finally cannot take it any longer and has to steal a glance at my upper torso.  I let him take a long gander, knowing the front of his pants just got a lot tighter.  I grasp harder with my hand, instantly making his gaze return to mine.  He’s afraid I might continue squeezing harder and doesn’t fully understand why his brain hopes so.  I pull my arm in a little, just to temporarily marvel at how easily I can make his body do as I please.  I contemplate palming his head and seeing if I could lift him off the floor, but I realize that would definitely scare him off or cause him to have a messy accident. 


Suddenly, I become aware he’s asking me what I call the ‘gym-bo’ questions.  Where do I work out?  How much can I bench?  What exercises do I do to get certain muscles so big?  I debate for a second whether or not to tell him about the cute muscle bear gay couple I plowed in the sauna at my gym a few hours earlier, but decide it’s better if he thinks he’s my first fuck of the day.  It’s always important to make a guy feel special.  I pull his body even closer, loving how my one hand easily drags him a few inches.  I can tell his questions are intended to be a subliminal message for me to ask him if he’d like to feel my muscles, but I decide to wait and finally make him say the request out loud and clear.  I also don’t want to rush the evening.  I want to have more fun with my puppet-man before I fulfill his long hidden fantasy for a domineering muscle daddy that toys with him into the wee hours in the morning. 


He’s now chattering away uncontrollably.  His lust for ‘all things muscle’ has gotten the best of him and he can’t stop himself. I do what I know will shut him up the quickest.  I tense my big arm at my side, bending it slightly to make the biceps bulge with intimidation.  He stops mid-sentence, with his lips apart and then his tongue darts out like a panting dog.  He somehow controls his body enough to whisper the words ‘can I feel it’ and I tighten my grip on his shoulder a little, pull him even closer to me, and say ‘have at it, kid.’  You would have thought I was the general of some awe-inspiring mega army giving the signal for attack by the way he pounced on my arm.  His trembling fingers seemed to get some kind of electrical shock as soon as they touched my hard skin.  He let out a childlike yelp of glee and started running his hands around my big gun as if he were trying to memorize every vein, indention, and bulge for future masturbatory moments.  I told him to ‘slow down, tiger’ since the big thing wasn’t going anywhere any time soon and when it did go it would probably be carrying him out of the place. You would have thought I had just told him he had won a billion dollar lottery – the way he responded to the idea of me carrying him.  So the little man had a lift and carry fetish, as well.  That was good to know, since there were few things that thrilled me more than tossing some guy around the bedroom.  I was so turned on by that thought I actually squeezed his shoulder a little too tight and he screamed slightly, but never stopped his intense caressing of my arm.  


I had to apologize to the guy and explain that lifting him later on would be the best foreplay I could think of.  This seemed to please the little fella to no end.  He pulled his body forward and brought his lips down to my biceps, pressing into my skin hard enough to bend his nose downward.  He stayed that way for a good minute, as if he had frozen to my gun.  Finally, he pulled back and stopped his lustful massage of my arm.  I let the tensed thing relax.  He then looked up at me and, laughing, asked if I was a top or a bottom.  I smiled and said ‘what do you think?’  He said he thought all of my muscle could probably plow a mountain and I told him that was a nice compliment.  With my free hand I grabbed his and guided it to my crotch, pressing his palm and fingers into the muscle I worked out the most.  


There it was, that look of shock I had come to love so much.  He thought my man-tits were huge.  He thought my arms were enormous.  He thought my legs were swollen beyond measure.  He was, however, not prepared to know that the size of my love muscle matched the rest of me.  I kept my hand on his, so he couldn’t jerk his away in fear.  When his fingers finally started groping with exploratory excitement I pulled away.  His squeezing stopped momentarily when I mentioned I wasn’t fully hard – the idea that my substantial tool could get bigger and harder almost terrified him, if he hadn’t been so turned on.  When a guy openly fondles your enormous cock in the middle of a bar is when you know he’s completely yours.  This dude had brought his other hand over to my crotch so he could do some double fisted groping.  My response to his kind work was making him a little worried because he was actually beginning to realize just how massive my plowing machine would grow.  I told him I hoped he was ready for a sore jaw and ass tomorrow and he said the pleasure would be all his.  I guaranteed him that not all of it would be his.  


I sealed the deal and finalized the catch by pulling him into my hard body, forcing him to turn his head upward to look me in the eyes.  I brought my face down to his and gave him a kiss.  When we stopped he was smiling and I asked him what he was thinking about.  He told me he was imagining what I would look like in the morning with no shirt on.  I suggested I carry him out of the place so he could go see.  



“Look at you boning up just because I took off my shirt.  You are a daddy whore aren’t you, kid.”


“I’m not really a kid, I’m twenty-nine years old, sir.”


“You’re a kid if I call you one, kid.  Don’t forget I can toss you across this room if I want to.  That makes me the grown up and you the kid.”


“Yes sir.”


“Drop your drawers, kid.”


“Excuse me?”


“Lose the trousers.  I want to see that hard cock of yours poking out the material of your briefs.”


I undid my belt and let my pants fall to the ground.  


“That’s a circus tent right there, kid.  It’s a pretty thick pole, too.  This old man’s rod is twice as thick, though, and a hell of a lot longer.  Stroke yourself through your underwear.”




“I said stroke yourself, son.  Take a gander at this hard muscle daddy body of mine and stroke yourself.  Remember, you’re here for my enjoyment.”


I reached around my hardness and pulled back and forth – taking the cotton briefs with the motion my hand.  


“That’s a good little daddy whore, kid.  Look at my fucking arm, son.  Makes your juices boil, doesn’t it?”


“Yes sir, it does.”


He flexed his right arm on the back of the chair and looked at his own bulging gun.  I swear his own body turned him on as much as it did me – maybe even more.  We gazed in silence as he squeezed his fist a few times to make the biceps dance a little. It was mesmerizing.  


“Fucking big daddy guns. So huge.  This body was made for pleasing, son.  Turn around.  I want to see your ass.


I did as I was told. He let out a loud whistle as soon as I turned around.  


“Oh hell yeah, that’s a nice little package for me to open up later on.  I bet you’re as tight as shit, aren’t you, squirt.”


“I hope so, sir.”


“Hope so?  Man, grow some balls.  A good bottom always knows if he’s tight or not.  Be proud of that ass of yours.  It’s damn hot.  It was made to make big men like me happy.  So, is that ass of yours tight as shit, boy?”


“Yes sir, it’s very tight.”


“Yeah, it looks tight. That’s a mighty fine bubble butt. Back up so I can get a handful of that, son.”


Again, I did as I was told. His big hand roughly grabbed some of my ass meat and he squeezed hard enough to make me have tears in my eyes, but it felt good, too.  He kneaded my ass and emitted approving grunts for a few minutes.  I looked back and he had his other hand down his undone shorts, clearly stroking himself in appreciation of my ass.


“Fucking hell, I’m going to pound that sweet thing so hard later on.  First, we’re going to continue our little conversation and play some more, but later on I’m going to have you screaming with pleasure, squirt.  I can guarantee you that.  Does that sound good, boy?”


“Yes sir, very good.”


“Sit in my lap so I can grind my hard dick against that ass of yours.”


I plopped down hard, knowing it would give him a thrill.  He instantly started rocking his pole into my ass.


“I’m so fucking horny we might just have to skip to the plowing a lot sooner than I anticipated, there, squirt.  My big muscle daddy body has so much testosterone kicking around in it, I can’t seem to wait longer than two to three hours before needing to yank on my meat or plow the nearest ass or mouth.  Play with my tits, boy.  They deserve some attention.”


I turned my body to face him, making sure I pressed down hard against his cock as I twisted my butt around. I knelt in the chair, my knees on either side of his waist.  He continued to dry hump my ass from below.  I grabbed hold of his jutting nipples and squeezed with all my might, which caused him to only mutter ‘fuck yeah’ under his breath.  My full strength only brought pleasure to his pecs, my tight squeezing didn’t hurt him in any way.


“Yeah, my muscle daddy tits love your abuse, son.   You’re using all of your strength, aren’t you?  Aged beef can be so tough, kid.  Let’s see what that mouth of yours can do.”


One of his huge hands grabbed the back of my head and pulled my face into his stone like muscled pec. I immediately started sucking.  I could feel the incredible power he had in just one arm as he held my face plastered to his chest.   


“Yeah, that’s a good little muscle pig.  Feast on that chest, boy.  Make that cock under your ass pulse with excitement.  That’s some mighty fine slurping.”


A finger had made its way beyond the waistband of my underwear and was now teasing my tight hole mercilessly.  This big man had large thick fingers and he knew how to use them to make my ass pucker with anticipation.  Meanwhile, my nose was starting to ache from being smashed into his hard muscle.  


“How ‘bout you clean this daddy’s pits, boy.  I was lifting earlier today and they’re pretty rank.  They could both use a good tongue scrubbing.”


The big older man lifted his left arm into a monstrous biceps flex and I immediately moved my face into the furry cavern under his bulging gun.  What he called rank smelled like heaven to me and it tasted like man honey. I lapped salty masculine sweat up with my tongue in the same way a dog drinks water after a long run.  


“Damn, kid, you’re one of the best daddy whores I’ve ever met.  You’ve got a Hoover for a mouth, don’t you?  We’ll have to put that to good use in a little while.  I’ll give you something big enough to suck on it will bring tears to your eyes, not to mention a little stretching to your throat. You’re gonna soon have that manly pit cleaner than it’s ever been before.”


His finger suddenly popped into my chute and that made me lurch forward, slamming my face harder into the muscle-surrounded pit.  I was basically now a finger puppet he was controlling completely.  I never stopped my lapping, though.  I was too focused on trying to suck down some of his cocky daddy-ness into my body.  I had a feeling I’d be walking a little more erect and confident in about an hour because I was soaking up so much of his senior muscle testosterone.  I also go the feeling he could easily send an entire junior high school through puberty by just walking into the place.  My ass cheeks squeezed tightly as his finger seemed to be widening my hole for something much bigger later on.  


“Yeah, that surely is a fucking tight hole, you sweet thing.  You’re gonna think I’m trying to stick a silo up your ass when I finally plow you.  Good thing this big body has a lot of power, cause I think entering that hole of yours is going to be harder than trying to get into Fort Knox.  Don’t you worry your pretty little head, son, cause this big man can thrust with the power of a bull.  You’re going to still feel me inside of you for weeks to come, boy. I’m a daddy that knows how to please.”        


I was now beyond excited. The manly aroma, the finger invasion of my ass, the flexed biceps near my face, and the sex talk by this muscle master was getting to be too much to handle.  I was scared I was going to either self-combust or pass out from being turned on so much.  The big man could tell he was becoming hotter than I could handle.  He pulled his finger out of my hole with a loud pop, lowered his flexed gun, and moved my face back to one of his jutting nipples.


“Suck on that for a while, boy.  We need to calm you down a little.  That engine of yours isn’t used to running on muscle daddy overdrive for so long.  God, you’re a cute little fucker, though. Gonna squeeze that pretty head of yours with my big gun, boy. I just gotta do it.  Yeah, feel that daddy power, son.  Feels like I could crush that skull of yours if I wanted to, doesn’t it?”


I didn’t answer him – for two reasons, really.  One, he was kind of just talking to himself, getting off on his own muscles.  And, two, I was gone – in some kind of la-la land sucking on his big chest and feeling his huge gun and forearm squeezing the shit out of my head.  I was lost in his daddy power and he knew it.  


“That mouth of yours is so fucking hot, boy.  My nip feels like some turbo jet engine is trying to suck it off of me.  I think it’s time you met my friend, Giant Pete. You’re gonna like him.  I think you’ll soon see that the name fits.  I also think you’ll be able to make Giant Pete very, very happy.”


The elder muscleman easily lifted my body away from his.  My mouth sounded like a suction cup being removed from glass as he roughly pulled me away.  He stood me in front of him.  God, he had the sexiest buzz cut and two of the hottest ears I’d ever seen in my entire life.  And he had a fucking hard body that just could not stop glowing because of his huge muscles.  


“Pull off my shorts, boy . . . slowly, real slow.  Let’s introduce you to Giant Pete.”


I was on my knees immediately, tugging his shorts and underwear down at the same time.  The guy’s gaze was glued to my face.  He was waiting to get a ringside view of my reaction. I had learned early on that when it came to pleasing muscle daddies, I had actually been endowed with super powers – so to speak.  I could swallow cock like you would not believe.  Those super powers, however, did not prepare me for the King Dong that was unveiled as I pulled down the big man’s pants.  Giant Pete was not only incredibly long; he was – indeed – twice as thick as my own manly tool.  I could feel my throat gag a little just from the sight of the monstrosity.  It looked like something I could swing to hit a baseball. And Giant Pete looked as hard and muscular as the rest of the big man.  My face hid none of my surprise and none of my fear.  He sat back down on the chair.  


“Didn’t see that monstrous thing coming, did you, kid?  This muscle daddy has quite a few surprises, doesn’t he?  No other surprise comes close to being as huge as Giant Pete, though. It’s my secret weapon, my massive plowing machine.  Careful, there, you might start drooling – now that the initial shock has worn off. That tool right there has brought more men to their knees than a church filled to the brim on Christmas.  And no one’s ever said no to worshipping the thing, either.  Show me what that mouth of yours can really do, boy.”


Seeing the muscle daddy completely nude – all massive with his hard bulges – and taking in that huge gorgeous cock got my motor running more than anything else had up to that point. I was instantly fully charged for the task at hand.  I surprised the hell out of the older stud by gulping his hard redwood-like tool into my mouth with one deep swallow.  This had clearly never happened before and he was nowhere near ready for the jolt of pleasure my action would give.  He grabbed the arms of the chair and his butt shot forward off of the seat, forcing his cock even deeper into my throat.  He let out a loud deep moan, which made him sound the pornographic foghorn of an ocean liner.  I instantly regained my abilities to please a muscle daddy in mysterious ways.  


“Fucking hell, kid, where did that come from.  You’re a Grade A cocksucker, aren’t you?  Hell, that almost put me over the edge.  You’ve got some talent with that . . . whoa, kid . . . slow down, now.  I’m losing control.  You’re going to make me explode.  Wait . . . boy . . . daddy’s losing . . . no, no, NOOO . . . unhhhhhhhh!!!!”


This is what I had really wanted from the start, to show him what I was capable of.  I was younger and smaller, but that didn’t mean I didn’t have some skills.  He shot the kind of daddy load into my mouth that I had come to love so much – hot, thick, and tons of it.  Damn, he was a virile man.  His crotch was thrusting like a well-lubed piston and my mouth was receiving him like a kid getting the Christmas gift he’s always dreamed of.  I swallowed fast and hard, accepting every drop he offered and making him cum even more than he ever thought he could.  My big old daddy man was yelling like some kind of animal that’s been wounded.  I guess in a way he had, not wanting the orgasm to come and all.  I knew he’d be defenseless against my mouth.  I had taken on rougher and tougher men, but no one had ever been the size of his Giant Pete.  As I sucked that giant monster dry I knew I was sealing the deal on a long-term relationship.  I could tell the muscle daddy squirting forever down my throat was getting a new perspective of the little man he thought he’d picked up for just one night. I knew I’d be able to ask for diamonds or pearls once this man quit shooting.  


“Fuck . . . fuck . . . fuck . . . I’m still coming!  How can you . . . unh . . . unh . . . do that . . . unh, kid?”


I continued to squeeze his long pole with my throat and it continued to offer me its sweet prize. Finally, the big daddy’s ass fell back down on the chair, but my mouth traveled with Giant Pete and kept on sucking. The elder muscleman let go of his death grip on the arms of the chair, took a deep breath, and physically pushed my head away from his cock.  There was a loud pop as Giant Pete escaped from my lips.  That gorgeous huge daddy chest was heaving up and down and the man had his eyes closed as he tried desperately to calm his body down, having to take breaths between some words as he spoke.    


“That’s a . . . weapon of . . . mass destruction.  That’s . . . what . . . that . . . mouth is.  Damn, boy . . . I’ve never had that . . . kind of explosion before.   You’re not . . . human.”


I knelt in front of him licking my lips and beaming at his compliments.  His entire tone – his entire way of interacting with me had changed. He rubbed his hands up and down on his face, as if he were trying to make sure all of this was real – that it had truly happened.  He finally looked right at me, his body was sort of under control by this point, and smiled.  That’s when I decided to wreck him again.


“My ass is more talented than my mouth.”


“Fucking hell that makes me the happiest man on the planet.  If I had an engagement ring on me right now I’d be down on one knee. Wait, I think I have a cock ring in the drawer of my beside table.  I can slap that thing on you as my pledge of devotion.  Come here, you sweet bundle of goodness, you.  I need to kiss that golden mouth.  No one has ever made Giant Pete so happy or ejaculate so hard.”


The big man easily lifted my body onto his.  He sat me on his lap, but this time it was welcoming and soothing.  His hands massaging my body as he brought his hot mouth against mine.  The kiss was full of passion, not dominance.  My oral skills had obviously won over a new fan.  His tongue explored my mouth lovingly, while his hands continued to caress me.  When we came up for air he spoke completely different than he had earlier.  


“Need anything, baby doll? Need me to do anything?”  


“Just hold me with those big daddy muscles.”


“Oh baby, I’ll hold you real tight.  I’ll squeeze you, too.  I’ll do whatever you want me to, cute man.”


In my mind I thought about how the tide had changed.  I had this big man wrapped around my little finger.  It made me smile.  Now, who was the daddy whore?



“Did you just order for me?”


“I did.  The menu’s in French, so I thought it would just be easier.”


“Did you forget about these?”


He was pointing to his veiny big biceps that bulged huge in his tight shirt.  I stopped for a second to admire his gorgeous, hard, muscular arms. 


“How could I ever forget something that squeezes me until I almost pass out?”


“These big powerful things don’t need you ordering for me.  Just because I’m younger than you doesn’t mean I need to be taken care of. Our waiter may be French, but he speaks the language of huge arms.  Trust me – he stared long enough to count all the veins.”


“I doubt it.  New ones appear every day.”


“These are not the arms of a child is all I’m saying.  I’m pretty sure anyone with good eyesight could easily tell who’s the top in this relationship.  These arms make me the man.”


“And what does that make me?”


“My pet.”


“Well, Mr. Man, this conversation is pretty childish.  I ordered for you to be nice, not to make you feel inferior.”


“Inferior?  Again, I’ll point to my big arm.  I don’t think there’s ever going to be a time when I feel inferior.  When I’m holding your body against the wall with one hand and you can’t break free I’m pretty sure I’m not the one who’s inferior.”


“God, that turns me on. Me squirming like hell and you just holding me there with no effort at all.”


“It’s the arms, dude.”


“I am not a dude.  I wish you wouldn’t say that.  It makes you sound so jock-ish.”


“I am a jock, dude. Just look at the arms.”


“I look at them all the time.”


“Yeah, you do.  What did you order for me, anyway.”


“Well, if you’re the man, why don’t you ask the waiter yourself?”


A big smile crept across his face.  He raised his right arm like a school kid asking a question.  The biceps bulged nicely beside his head.  At the same time he raised his left arm into a biceps flex – making the muscle bunch up hard and huge.  He didn’t take his eyes from mine.  Instantly, there were two waiters there, racing to help him.  He chose the guy who had taken our order, to the more than obvious disappointment of the other waiter.  He lowered his raised hand, but kept the other arm flexed as he spoke.  He turned and smiled at the guy.  


“May I help you, sir?”


“Notice the arm gets a ‘sir.’  I’m so sorry to bother you, but could you tell me what this dude ordered for me. He can’t remember.”


“Of course, sir.  For you, he ordered two egg, cheese, and ham croissants and a low fat cappuccino.  Is there anything else I can do for you, sir?”


“No, thank you. You’ve been most kind.  Would you like to feel it?”


“Yes sir.  May I please, sir?”


The waiter was so excited the last part of this came out in French.  It didn’t matter, however, the muscled younger man knew the answer was an enthusiastic yes.  The waiter nervously reached out his small manicured hand and placed it on the huge arm flexed in front of him.  The guy let out a few French expletives as he rubbed his fingers slowly across the hard, giant thing.  He then let out a quick yelp, jerked his hand back, and took off for the back of the café. The flexed arm was lowered as the two men watched the waiter hurry away.


“I hope he makes it to the urinal in time.”


“It sounded like he didn’t. 


“They say Marilyn Monroe used to be able to go down the street and not get noticed if she wanted to. But if she wanted attention, she could take off her sunglasses, let down her hair, and swing her ass in a certain way to make people recognize her immediately.  My arms are something like that.  People certainly notice them all the time, but if I flex them – that’s when I get undivided attention.  Arms always get the most votes for favorite big muscle.  I think they show off a bodybuilder’s power and hard gains before anything else.  One flex is all it takes.  As I said, the arms make the man.”


“They were certainly what I noticed first.”


“Mainly because I was flexing one of the huge things in your face.”  


“There was that.  I had also noticed you earlier on the dance floor.”


“I noticed you, as well, drinking your dignified glass of champagne in a hot sweaty late night dance club.  I figured you were in search of some huge, strong, big-as-fuck arms to take care of you.”


“Watch the language, we’re not at home.”


“Sorry.  I forget.  Anyway, I thought I’d let my arm be my pick up line, so I just walked up and flexed a big gun in your face and said hello.  You actually dribbled a little champagne down your chin.”


“Proving just how dignified I truly am.  And you, my big muscled young friend impressed me to no end when I asked what your bulging arm would like to drink and you said a Bud Light.”


“Hey, not fair.  I was only twenty-one and had not been introduced to other kinds of beer . . . well, I did know about Corona, but I didn’t like it.”


“A knowledge of beer is not needed when you have enormous arms of steel.  I believe that’s the point you’ve been trying to make ever since I thought I was being kind by ordering your favorite breakfast in French . . . at a French café . . . in Paris.”


“Well, when you put it that way, it was kind of nice, wasn’t it?  I just don’t want you to think I need babying.”


“My huge young man, every night you pick me up in your arms and easily carry me to bed like a toddler, why on earth would you feel that way.  It should be me giving you grief about babying.”


“I do like curling you as we walk up the stairs.”


The younger man pointed to his big muscles again and mouthed ‘the arms make the man.’  The older gentleman took a sip of the coffee that had been delivered and crossed his legs to conceal the growth at his crotch.  His young muscle boy knew exactly how to taunt him. The morning light coming through the nearby window made his tanned hard skin glisten and highlighted all the massive bulges in a very inviting way.  One of the big arms reached down for what seemed like a small coffee cup in this particular hand but was actually a wide, tall cappuccino cup.  This was a drink that the older man had introduced to his big friend.  The man felt some pride in that fact.  


“You’ve got that superior look on your face again.”


“I do not.”


“Do I need to point at my arm?”


“No.  Please don’t.  I’m trying to calm down.”


“That’s impossible when these big guys are around.”


The two massive arms went up into a double biceps pose – bulging into the air like the Alps.  A waiter, standing nearby, actually gasped out loud and many patrons of the café turned to look at the flexed arms. Marilyn Monroe had needed to be noticed. The guy’s arms were truly magnificent. They showed off years of dedication in the gym and the kind of power usually reserved for giant bulldozers or killer whales.  


“What have I told you about flexing in public?”


“Your mouth always says not to do it, but your crotch is always saying something else.  Besides, the size of my arms should say I make the rules.”


“And not the size of my bank account?”


“Point well taken.”


The bulging biceps came down and the younger man took another sip of his cappuccino.  The café sort of went back to business as normal. All motion had previously frozen for a few seconds.  The monstrous man did not look defeated in any way; he just knew the importance of financial stability.  


“Why are you suddenly so obsessed about being ‘the man’ in our relationship?”


  “I just want to make sure I’m carrying my weight in this romance.”


“My dear boy, with arms like those you could carry all the weight in this and every other relationship in here.”


“See, I recognize that what you just said was a compliment, but then there’s the fact that you called me your ‘dear boy.’  That feels condescending.”


“It’s a term of endearment! And why on earth would I say something condescending to a man that can hold me in the air with one arm.”


“Yeah, see what you did there.  When you talk about the strength of my arm you call me a man.  That’s my point.”


The older man stopped and thought about this for a moment.  His lover had a point.  It was when the big muscular arm was holding him in the air that he felt the most submissive – totally defenseless.  Being dominated by the young stud could turn him on faster than anything.  It had been that way since that first night meeting at the nightclub.  The older man always asked to be manhandled as foreplay.  


“As you have already said, point well taken.  I do, however, want to make some things very, very clear.  I call you boy because I love you and not to be derogatory in any way. I call you man because I view you as an equal in some ways and far superior when it comes to muscles and strength. I call you honey, babe, giant, freak, and monster because you usually deserve whichever one I happen to choose. And I call you ‘sir’ when I’m feeling submissive.”


“That’s usually my favorite one.”


“Mine, too.  But let’s not forget that you have many different names you call me depending on the mood you’re in.”


“Like what?”


“If you want something monetarily, you call me ‘pops.’  If you want to cuddle, you call me ‘sweetie.’  When you want to dominate me, you call me your ‘little pet.’  And when you want hard, nasty, sweaty sex, you call me your ‘muscle pig.’  So, you see, all of your names are not so flattering, either.”


“You always seem to like them at the time.”


“I could say the same about you.”


The breakfast had been delivered and consumed.  The second cup of coffee and second cappuccino had disappeared, as well.  The big guy was rubbing his right biceps teasingly with his left hand, flexing the hard gun as his fingers caressed it.  There was a devilish smile across his face. The older man still had his legs crossed, because there was still a passionate fire at his crotch.  


“What would you like to do today, sir?”


“Go back to the room and curl you with these big arms, my little muscle pig.” 



“What’re you trembling for, Coach?” the oversized college freshman asked, chuckling at the older man’s shaking body.  “Is it because I just easily curled with one arm the weight you were using to do squats? Is that what’s got you so nervous? Or is it excitement?”


“How?” the mustached smaller man asked.


“I never skipped my vegetables,” the giant stud said, laughing.  “Naw, truthfully, it’s the cum of older men that seems to make me grow bigger and stronger.  Stumbled upon this interesting phenomenon about a year ago when I met this older dude in the park one day and I sucked him off in his car.  Right there and then, my body started growing.  I had been chaste up to that point – blame it on religion – but I’d always been drawn to older men.  Thankfully, I gave into my desires and now, about a thousand men later, I have this huge muscled body you see in front of you and enough strength to punch an SUV into the next county if I chose to.  The really strange thing is that I don’t grow if it’s a guy under fifty. It must be similar to liking only aged wine, I respond best to the sweet juice of older men.


“No one can be that strong,” the unbelieving Coach whispered.


“You mean this strong?” teased the young enormous muscled student.


He picked up two Olympic plates and slapped them together hard.  Big strong hands then started squeezing the edges of the iron plates together – the way a child might manipulate two pieces modeling clay. There was a light muffled crunching sound as the boy’s super strong fingers flattened iron together – making it become one compressed thing edge.


“You have no idea how hot this feels, Coach,” the smiling behemoth said, taking a step closer to the older man.  “Compacting iron like it’s cookie dough.  Makes my balls ache for release when I do stuff like this.  Makes me want to suck some old muscular man dry and fuel my hulking out even more.  Hairy dudes seem to stoke my growth double, too.  I guess it must be the extra testosterone zipping around the dude’s body making him fur-covered goodness.  I’ve seen your hairy pecs, Coach.  And your super furry arms and legs.  I bet you got a forest around that cock of yours, too, don’t you old man.”


“Jason, I’m not sure this . . .” the older man began, but was interrupted.


“Oh, you know my name, Coach?” Jason asked.  “I guess you’ve noticed me before.   I mean, how could you not, right?  But something tells me you also liked what you saw, Coach.  Yeah, I think you liked all these big muscles a lot.”


The rims of the two plates had been smashed together completely by this point.   The muscle kid had made them into one plate, simply using the strength of only his fingers.  The Coach could not even begin to wrap his head around what kind of power was in the young man’s body.  He watched as the bigger man laid the newly made double plate on a bench and picked up an empty bar from a rack.  The kid placed his fore finger and thumb about a foot down on the bar and squeezed. He pulled at the same time and the shorter end came screeching away as easily as someone might pull apart warm taffy. He then pressed his pinkie into the ripped end of the bar and pressed down in the center; making the two sides stick up like the arms of a football goal.  The guy picked up the now doubled plates and put the thick end of the bar through the holes.  He used the heel of his hand to easily smash the end to flatten it so it couldn’t slide back through the hole - ever again.  Now there were two huge plates permanently secured to this short pole with two nubs at the other end.  


“My nipples are super sensitive, Coach,” the giant said looking over at the older man, but still working on his project.  “I think it’s a side effect of my growth or something.  I have to find ways to soothe the raging beasts.”


The Coach gasped out loud as he watched the guy raise the two thin ends of the ripped bar, move the spaghetti strap of his tank with a thumb, and then squeezed them tightly into the jutting nub of his left pec.  When he dropped his monstrous arms the weight stayed attached to his nipple. The Coach noticed that nothing sagged even slightly – neither nipple nor pectoral muscle – as soon as the full weight dangled from there.  There was a pleased look on the giant’ face – clearly he felt a little pleasure.


 “You should see when I attach jumper cables from these things to the live engine of a sixteen wheeler.  That usually gives me a jolt that I can feel.  Sparks fly everywhere and I kind of feel like Shazam,” the kid said smiling, obviously pleased with his own reference.  


“You just . . . you just . . . demolished iron like it was nothing,” the Coach stammered, pointing at the other guy.  “And you pulled steel apart like it was a wet noodle.”


“Yeah, I did,” the kid laughingly shot back, “And it was easy.”


The weight banged against the kid’s abs as his body shook with laughter.  Two Olympic forty-five pound weights, crushed together, were banging into his torso and he clearly felt nothing.  The Coach went a little dizzy and sat down on a nearby bench with a thud.  He had to brace himself up with his hands, the sight before him was too hard to believe.


“You okay there, Coach?” Jason asked.  “I didn’t mean to freak you out.”


“How the hell could you not, kid!” the Coach said loudly, “You’re lifting with one arm all the weight I find it hard to squat, you’re compressing iron plates together like it’s pizza dough, you’re easily ripping steel apart, and a heavy-as-hell homemade nipple ring is dangling from your chest banging into your abs and you barely notice!”


“Yeah, I guess that would freak some guys out,” replied the muscled monster standing nearby.  “I hope you’re turned on, too, Coach.  It makes sucking you off so much easier.” 


“Wait, wait, wait, kid,” the Coach said.  “You mean to tell me you’ve gotten big like this just from men squirting loads down your throat?”


“Yes sir,” the guy responded, grinning from ear to ear.  “A year ago I was a dweeb barely pushing a hundred and fifty pounds.  Now, I’m a muscle freak pushing around two seventy-five – I’ve just become so fucking dense.”


“Holy hell, this can’t be for real,” the Coach said.


“Here, I’ll show you how real it is, Coach,” Jason said and walked to where the older man was sitting. 


The behemoth kid put one of his giant hands on the Coach’s chest.  He then grabbed the front of the older man’s shorts, making sure he got the underwear too.  With one simple tug, Jason ripped every stitch of clothing below the waist from the Coach’s body.  The coach’s ass came off the bench because of the force of the tug, but Jason’s powerful arm easily kept the guy’s torso in place.  It clearly had taken only a slight amount of the kid’s strength to accomplish the task.  Jason’s excited face looked down at the Coach’s crotch.  A huge hard daddy cock poked up from a heavy forest of dark fur peppered with streaks of gray.  


“Aw fucking hell, Coach,” exclaimed Jason excitedly, “That’s a real man’s cock and all that thick fur tells me you’re just swimming with testosterone.  My gains are going to freak you out!  Hell, they’re probably going to freak me out.”


Hands with the strength of Hercules and the Hulk combined grabbed the Coach firmly at the waist and lifted him into the air without Jason even needing to use his back.  The arms were strong enough to lift the grown man with little effort.  Within three seconds of straightening up, Jason had his mouth around the Coach’s enormous cock and was sucking like there was no tomorrow.  Apparently, if you had the strength of a thousand men in your arms that meant you had the same kind of sucking strength, as well.  A super power vacuum used in giant factories wouldn’t have come close to the intense suction of Jason’s throat.  It took only two mighty swallows to make the Coach offer up the biggest balls tightening cum blast of his life.  There was no way he could have prevented the explosion even if he had wanted to.  Jason, indeed, was sucking him dry.  The older man let out a deep guttural scream that sounded like the mating call of some wild animal.  Jason’s chiseled cheeks caved inward and his throat worked on overdrive in order for him to quickly swallow the copious amount of sweet man-juice being shot out of the man he so easily held up in the air.  Jason started walking around the gym and he looked like a guy slurping down a protein drink with a straw.  The Coach’s back stayed arched for a long time – clearly the stream of cum was continuous.  Jason pulled the smaller man’s body into his face even more tightly, just so he could quickly get more of the man-nectar inside of him.  Even in the midst of the biggest orgasm of his life, the Coach was aware of how easily Jason manipulated a grown man’s body in his big hands.  It made the Coach feel small and insignificant. After about seven minutes of walking around and intense sucking – the face bucking from the Coach’s crotch stopped. His body immediately went limp – spent like it had never been before.  Jason swallowed one last time, clearly intending to make sure there was not one cum drop left in the Coach’s body.  He then pulled the man’s dick from his mouth and let out the loudest burp anyone has ever heard.  It was clear the giant man had sucked down an incredible amount of hot lava-like cum.  The big boy walked over to the bench and dropped the coach onto it – like a discarded rag.  He then wiped his mouth with the back of his arm and hand.  Jason was clearly only focused on one thing now as he continued to walk around the gym tensing his arms, his chest, his legs, and his abs.  


“Aw fuck, Coach, that was more cum-shake at one time than I’ve ever had before,” the kid screamed. “I knew you had that kind of load inside that hot body of yours.  And I can taste your jacked-up testosterone.  It’s like I sucked all the manliness from your body.  This is going to be huge, Coach.  I can feel it.  This is going to be bigger than anything that’s come before.  You’re a fucking hulk-making factory, Coach, that’s what you are.  I’m going to be the size of a . . . AWWWWW FUUUUUUUCCCKKKKKK!”


Jason immediately doubled over.  He turned his face up towards the Coach and it was bright red – veins popping out on his forehead.  His entire body was becoming frozen – like he was petrified or something.  His breathing stopped as he grunted loudly.  Suddenly, there was a break in the obvious strain and he stood back up straight, taking in a huge deep breath. The break was short lived, however, and the mighty force taking over his body hit again.  This time Jason was ready for it.  He was standing facing the Coach who still sat dumbfounded and worn out on the bench.  When the powerful wave hit the big boy this time he threw his body into a most muscular pose that made the Coach revive immediately.  The older man actually jumped back a little from the shock. Jason also let out a growl that sounded like a hundred lions attacking at the same time.  Every muscle in the dude’s big body slammed into super tense mode. The Coach had never seen anything more incredible . . . that is, until Jason’s body started to grow. 


“I’m fucking grrrrowwwwinnggg Coach,” Jason roared through gritted teeth, flexing his entire body the entire time.  “HELLLL YEAHHHHHH!!!”  


The kid watched the Coach’s face go from extreme fear to utter shock to lustful desire as the older man clearly feasted his eyes on what Jason felt was happening to his body. Severely tensed muscles were expanding like balloons being filled with quick drying cement.  It was like layer after layer of hard skin was suddenly appearing on top of each other at every part of Jason’s body.  The kid immediately knew that this time the growth was extremely different.  It was happening quicker and he knew it felt thicker and thicker than ever before. His body would not let him release his most muscular pose.  It was like the growth would last as long as he could hold his body in that extreme tensed state.


“Feast on the powerrrrrrr, Coach!” Jason roared again.  


The Coach saw the kid’s humongous biceps growing first.  What were clearly already over twenty-inch guns started to inflate even more – muscle multiplying like rising dough.  The dude’s nipple suddenly grew so big that it forced the homemade weighted ring to fall off – clamoring loudly to the ground.  The Coach gazed upon the massive chest as it started expanding like multiple hot air balloons being filled at the same time.  The once swollen chest became something bigger – something clearly more colossal.  The powerful dude squeezed his pecs harder, as if willing them to grow even more. Jason’s already bull-sized neck expanded thicker and thicker, but mostly disappeared as his traps and shoulders became monstrous morphed copies of what they had been.


“I want MORRREEE!!!” bellowed Jason in a deep voice that now sounded like a summer thunderstorm.


His quads quickly obliterated the lower seams of his shorts – they solidified into even more intensely muscled mass as the striations deepened and widened into something akin to the Grand Canyon.  Jason looked down in time to see his tennis shoes explode.  His feet simply grew too quickly for the pathetic material to hang on. That’s also when the kid realized the floor was further away.  Coach, meanwhile, had realized he had to tilt his head back further to look Jason in the face.  The boy was getting taller, too.  It was clear that he would surpass seven foot.  The Coach also started to feel smaller than he already had.  The kid was now wider than doorways and thicker than the bodies of small cars.  He looked like four of his old selves put together.  And then it all stopped.  Jason released his most muscular pose with a loud exhale and stood to his new incredible height.  A giant smile was on the giant’s face.  


“Fuucckkkk Yeahhhhhh,” came the newly super bass voice of Jason.  “I’m freaking mammoth.”


The Coach stared at the behemoth in front of him.  Jason had clearly shot up beyond seven foot, judging by the machines dwarfed nearby and the ceiling – especially the lower part in the distance.  The words huge and muscled did not come close to describing the monstrous beast this man had become.  He clearly weighed somewhere in the area of five hundred pounds.  Every single part of him was ballooned out to insane proportions and, yet, he still seemed symmetrical.  His height helped a lot, but also the fact that every muscle possible had grown titanic, so he looked enormously even.  Pecs as wide as sofa cushions and as thick as double mattresses hung from shoulders so wide he could hide an entire truck by standing in front of it.  Traps shot up into the air – muscled masses as big as a normal bodybuilder’s thigh. His arms looked like someone had covered huge kegs of beer in fucking hard vein-covered skin.  The once oversized spaghetti-strapped purple tank was now so tight it was clear that one deep inhale would send it falling to the floor – totally decimated.  The guy’s hands looked like he could easily palm wide barrels.  His thighs popped out so thick all the way around he had to stand with his tree-trunk sized legs far apart.  And barely concealed under the shredded material of his shorts was the outline of a cock that could have easily passed as a large fire extinguisher trying to be concealed.  


“Sweet fuck, Coach,” Jason said, bending his arms and tensing up his flesh-covered kegs.  “You have no idea how incredible this all feels. I’m a fucking muscle freak.  I gotta see if the power matches the body.”


Jason sauntered over to the squatting rack nearby.  His legs were so huge it would take him a while to get used to operating them. Coach had been squatting an impressive weight of four hundred and fifty pounds when Jason had arrived.  Earlier, Jason had curled that bar with one hand. He wrapped his giant right pinkie around the bar – noting its size made the bar look thin – and then he easily lifted the entire thing into the air.  With just his pinkie he raised it over his head, as well.  Coach let out a big moan at the sight.  


“I’ve got more power in my pinkie than you do in those two strong furry legs, Coach,” Jason said as he lifted the bar up and down with one finger.  “Just imagine what the rest of me can do.”


As if to prove his point more, Jason took his other pinkie and wrapped it around the bar a few inches away.  He then turned his fingers inward causing the weighted ends of the bar to move upward toward each other.  When he had bent the bar completely in on itself and the weights met at the top with a clank he dropped the thing on the floor.  It made a loud noise as it landed.  Jason then walked over and stood in front of the Coach.  His body towered over and dwarfed the older man.  The Coach looked like a child beside a huge muscleman. Jason reached down and grabbed both ends of the bench the Coach was sitting on.  He easily lifted the thing and the man into the air.  Immediately, the sound of screeching metal filled the gym as Jason effortlessly started bending the bench into a V-shape with the Coach in the middle.  Soon, Jason had the sides of the bench touching the Coach’s shoulder and trapping him. He grabbed the bottom of the V with one hand, turning it around and holing it up in the air.  Jason then walked over to the mirrored wall behind the barbell racks.  He was holding the Coach in the air with one hand – as if the destroyed bench and the older man were some kind of trophy.


“Aw Coach, you’ve made me the hugest and strongest fucker in the world,” Jason said, smiling, as he lifted the Coach up and down in the air.  “I could hold you up in the air all day.  I knew your sweet juice would do this to me.  I know that cock of yours is spent right now, but I’m about to put on a strength show for you that’ll get that big man tool hard again.  I need you churning out more cum so I can suck you dry soon.  Just imagine me bigger and stronger than I already am, Coach.”


This thought proved too much for the older man.  His eyes rolled back into his head and he passed out.  It was good Jason had him caught between in the bench – his body stayed exactly where it was and the giant muscleman continued to lift him up and down, staring at their reflection the entire time.           


Super Geek


“Yeah, you fellas weren’t expecting the geek to have all this going on inside his shirt, were you? Let’s mug the little college boy since he’s strayed from campus and there’s no one to protect him.  Calling me derogatory names gave you extra pleasure, too, didn’t it?  Well, I think it’s time you three learned a lesson and you’ll soon see why I’m the one that’s going to teach you.  Come and show me what you’ve got jock boys.”


By this point I had folded up my shirt and laid it on my backpack.  I also put my glasses on top – feeling more like Clark Kent transitioning to Superman than ever before.  I knew my hard chiseled body had shocked the guys.  I could see it in their eyes.  But they had no idea the greater shock that was about to be revealed.  My taunting had clearly riled them up and the largest one of the three – having silently volunteered to be the one to destroy me – stepped up and threw his fist full force into my stomach.  The thwack against my abs was loud.  The dude’s yell of pain was even louder.  


“Aw, dude, did you expect me to double over and fall to the ground in pain?  Did you think all these ridges of muscle were just for show?  I bet a few of your fingers are even broken. But the best part was that I didn’t feel a thing.  Yeah, the little geek took your he-man punch like it had been nothing but a feather. Felt like you were punching steel, didn’t it, big man?  Here, let me show you how to make a guy double over.”


My fist flew so quickly that the dude didn’t even have time to blink.  He was a well-built guy and I’m sure he had pretty solid abs, but they were not prepared for a punch from me.  I didn’t even use all of my strength but the guy’s body went a little into the air and he folded over as if a sledgehammer had pounded him.  I heard all the air in his big body get forced out by the punch.  He immediately fell to his knees, clutched his gut with a loud scream, and then fell over. He writhed in pain on the sidewalk. 


“Now that’s what you thought your punch would do, right?  Felt like you were hit by a bullet train, didn’t it, dude.  And here’s what’s really cray-cray – I didn’t use all of my strength.  Nope, didn’t want to do any permanent damage to you, dude, so I just gave you a light tap. Here’s what this fist is really capable of.”


I turned toward the beige concrete wall behind me and sent the same fist flying.  Debris shot out everywhere as my knuckles easily blasted into the wall, creating a hole about as big as a basketball.  The dude on the ground was covered in dust and fragments of demolished concrete.  I looked down at my bulging biceps - appreciative of the power those muscles gave me.  


“Yeah, pretty impressive for a geek boy, isn’t it dudes – plowing through concrete like it’s wet paper. Who’s next?”


Most intelligent people would have skedaddled immediately if some dude had sent his fist through the wall, but not our trio of would-be muggers.  It was like they thought everything I had done up to now was just some kind of freak accident.  It didn’t dawn on them that the geek could just be freaking powerful.  That didn’t compute in any way.  I was still to be taught a lesson.  On the ground in the alley nearby lay the remnants of a wooden pallet.  One of the other big guys grabbed it and ran at me with a loud yell.  He swung it hard, like when wrestlers swung metal chairs at each other, intending to send me flying backwards into the wall.  I had time to puff out my muscled pecs and I could feel my nipples getting hard from the anticipation.  Wood splintered, nails broke, and the pallet disintegrated as it met the immovable object that was my muscled torso.  My attacker was left with two little twigs of what used to be a solid pallet for storing and moving heavy things.  


“Well that did nothing but make me madder, big guy.  And look at that – my muscles are so hard that I don’t even have any splinters of wood sticking to me.”


My smooth muscled chest was unblemished – only a light coating of dust was left from being hit with a dirty pallet.  I reached up and tweaked both of my nipples to give myself a little pleasure. Feeling my pecs obliterating hard wood was a turn on.


“I’m getting a little excited here, fellas.  It’s not that often I get the chance to show off.  My power tends to freak people out so I kind of have to stay in the muscle closet, so to speak.  I’m going to be slightly disappointed when we’re through here since it’s fun to see what my body is capable of.  Now, about that pallet you thought would hurt me.”


I shot my arm out and grabbed the guy in front of me around the neck with the V of my hand.  I knew not to squeeze to hard.  Years of squeezing rocks, bricks, metal, and the like had helped me to figure out exactly how much pressure to use on anything – even a guy’s thick neck.


“Need a lift, fella?”


The guy had his hands up at his neck – desperately trying to pry my fingers away from his skin.  My steel-like grip freaked him out, I could tell – but when I lifted him easily into the air, the dude went into panic mode. He was clearly grasping just how powerful I truly was by this point.  He started pounding away at my arm, but I didn’t feel a thing and he couldn’t even make it move a little.  The guy was also kicking my stomach and upper legs wildly – but the outcome was the same. I’m sure it felt like he was kicking a boulder.  Making another guy’s feet leave the ground – especially with only one hand – is so freaking hot.  I held him in the air as easily as it was to lift a wine glass during a toast.  Again, I took a long look at my bulging biceps and marveled at its power.  I wished I could have a video of me holding this guy in the air.  I wanted to know what it looked like to other people.  The dude was turning a little purple from struggling so much and to taunt him on a little more I flexed my other gun and the guy was temporarily distracted by the softball muscle mound that popped hard.  


“You’re as light as a feather, dude.  And speaking of feathers, let’s teach you how to fly like a little bird.  Lifting you in the air is one thing, bro, but tossing you into that dumpster halfway down this alley is going to be a whole different kind of fun.  This little geek is going to toss a big boy about forty yards away – with just one hand. You look like you work out, big guy, so I bet you realize the freakish power I have in just one arm – tossing you as easy as I would a baseball.  I was always told to put my trash in the bin, so here’s a little tidying up the alley. Enjoy the ride, dude.”


The guy’s eyes shot wide with more panic.  I barely lowered my arm before I sent his body soaring into the air with a powerful flick of my wrist.  I swear he looked like he had been shot out of one of those cannons they used to have at the circus.  He screamed the entire time he made an arc through the air and then landed with a loud thud, spot-on in the open dumpster.  I could tell he was pretty out of it when his head started to come up. The lid coming down and smacking him definitely did the job of putting him out.  I was proud of how good my aim had gotten.


“He flew through the air with the greatest of ease.  Damn, all of this exercise is really turning me on.”


I first checked on my first attacker who was still curled up in the fetal position on the ground.  I then looked up for my third friend and that’s when I heard the engine of a car start up.  I smiled at the fact that the last attacker had gotten some brains and was attempting to escape.  I let out a slight chuckle; however, because the dude foolishly thought he could get away. And the fact that he thought a car would help him made it even funnier.  I was pleased he had chosen to try and escape this way – for it had been a while since my body had taken on machine.  This was going to be fun.  My muscled powerful legs had me in front of the bright red Chevy Camaro so fast the driver hadn’t even gotten the car out of park.  I knew I had messed up the tread on my sneakers taking off so quickly since I could smell burning rubber.  Locking eyes with my third tormentor in the car was fun.  I had appeared out of nowhere – shocking him, but he quickly became a little cocky because he now had his powerful machine to do me in.  I bounced my pecs a little and gave him a big geeky grin.


“Bring it on, stud. Let’s see what this little wimpy machine has got.”


He was clearly a guy that loved his car and me calling it a ‘little wimpy machine’ was like giving him a big old bitch slap.  Those were fighting words and he figured he was going to win because he had a V8 engine with 650 horsepower.  He had no idea that was nothing compared to super geek power.  I placed my hands at the front edge of the hood.  The guy gunned the engine, intending to run me over as he quickly got away.  As soon as his foot was off the clutch wheels squealed loudly but the mighty red machine went nowhere.  My arms immediately became freakishly hard and covered in veins.  And the car didn’t move even a hair.  


“You sure you got your foot on the gas, there, bud?  Your wimpy ride isn’t going anywhere.  Oh, maybe it’s because of these.”


I watched the guy’s eyes become as big as dinner plates when I raised my right arm into a powerful flex. I was this muscled geek holding back his adored Camaro with just one hand.  Granted, that one arm was now bulging insanely and the veins popped as thick as extension cords, but it was still impossible, righ?  I had a few seconds free of distraction to notice that I now had a raging hard-on.  Holding back this muscle machine with one arm was just too wild for words – my engorged crotch was my natural response.  I contemplated using only a forefinger to hold back the car, but that’s when the dude decided to throw the machine into reverse.  I liked how he still thought he could move faster than me.  I quickly grabbed the front bumper and lifted. Picking up a guy with one hand was always thrilling, but lifting the front end of a car was just a much fun. My pecs ballooned out harder and my bulging biceps did the same as I easily raised the front of the machine even with my nipples.  Again, I held the car in place as the guy gunned the motor intending to go the other way. Smoke was now billowing out from the tires as they spun helplessly on the asphalt.  


“It’s just as wimpy in reverse, dude.  Here, man, let me help you be able to park in spots reserved for compact cars.”


I simply started walking. Tires were spinning and the motor was roaring.  And I was holding the front of the car in the air, preventing it from going in either direction, as I maneuvered the back of the red beast against the wall of an abandoned building.  The guy kept throwing the car into drive and reverse, but I simply made the machine do my bidding.  There was a slight bump when the back of his ride smacked against the wall.  I was hoping I had gauged the strength of the wall correctly.  As the motor started whining from not being able to do what it was made to do, I started pushing.  I pressed my chest against the front of the car and spread my hands wider so it looked like I was doing chest presses with the Camaro.  The guy’s foot slipped off the gas pedal as soon as he heard metal being compressed.  At first he didn’t know where the sound was coming from, but then he noticed my pecs making a big human indention at the front and then turned to see the back being compacted against the wall.  In the midst of crunching metal sounds I heard the fabric of my pants split as my quads thickened from the exertion.  It had been a long time since I had burst out of some clothes.  That gave my hard-on a little more juice, which – in turn – made me push harder.  The entire front of the car – bumper, hood, and insides were terribly disfigured where my chest had basically plowed throw metal.  The back end no longer existed.  I had squished the back of the car in on itself and compressed it all the way to the back seat.  The rear window was now shattered ina spider web design.  I gave two more powerful blasts from my legs and sent my body thrusting forward, plowing a huge V shape into the front of the car.  It looked like someone had hit a cement pole going a hundred miles per hour.  


“Gonna make your V8 a V0, dude.”


Suddenly, all noise stopped. I had plowed my body into the engine and smashed it into a non-working mass of useless junk.  The car looked nothing like a Camaro.  It actually didn’t look like a car.  I pulled my pumped body back from the front end and let it drop to the pavement.  The doors were now bent in a way that prevented the guy from opening them.  He was watching me with much fear in his eyes. I glanced down at my ripped pants and got a thrill when I saw my jacked quads bulging nicely.   I waddled over to the side of the car – my legs were still so pumped.  The dude started trying to scramble over to the passenger seat.  I lifted my fist into the air and then brought it down – easily punching a hole through the roof.  I then grabbed the ripped metal on both sides and pulled, making the opening big enough for me to reach in and grab the dude by the front of his shirt. I easily pulled him into the air – his legs still in the car.  I brought his body forward so his face was in front of mine. 


“Nighty night, dude.”


I then head butted him – lightly, but strong enough to probably put him out for a few hours.  I dropped his limp body back into the destroyed car.  I didn’t want the fun to be over.  I wanted to take on some more guys or even stronger machinery.  I saw the end of a metal pipe, about as thick as a baseball bat sticking out of the wall nearby.  I walked over, grabbed it, and then I pulled.  The thick thing was ripped from the wall.  Huge chunks of the cement fell to the ground as I pulled the pipe out.  It ended up being about as long as I was tall.  As I walked back over to get my backpack, shirt, and glasses I casually twisted the thing into the shape of a pretzel.  It seemed like a fun thing to do.  When I looked down at my first attacker he was sound asleep, still holding his gut.  I placed the twisted pipe beside him – a present to remember me by, as if any of them would ever be able to forget.  I then put on my glasses, looked back to see the demolished car with better vision as I put on my shirt, and then slung my backpack over my shoulder.  I started walking away and smiled.    


“That was a lot of fun.”



“Honey, I need to get a mixing bowl down.  Do you have time to help me?”


“No need to yell, I’m right here.”


“Oh, I didn’t see you. What were you doing?”


“Getting in a few lifts.”


“The armoire or the iron table?”




“That’s my man.  So, do you have time to help me get the mixing bowls?”


I was standing in front of the counter near the fridge pointing up to the top shelf of the cupboards above.  I was only 170 centimeters tall, so I either had to go out to the garage to get a stepladder or climb up on the counter.  I didn’t feel like doing either if Cal was nearby.  Cal was my husband of twenty years.  We had met when I was twenty-two and he was forty-seven.  I had come out of a store on a busy street in Santa Monica and found my car to be pinned between two large trucks.  There was no way I could joggle the vehicle back and forth enough to get out of the space and the drivers of both truck were no where to be found.  I must have looked pretty upset because suddenly, this guy in a suit had appeared beside me asking if I needed help.  I told him I did, but I wasn’t sure if he could help me and then I explained the situation.  Before I had time to say anything else, this man walked over and grabbed my BMW by the back bumper and above the wheel.  In three quick grunt-inducing lifts the big guy had the back of my car sticking out towards the road, completely clear of the truck behind me.  My shocked face amused him and he just said, “I like to lift a lot.”  Four hours later, after Dr. Calvin Triggs, optometrist, had convinced me to grab a few beers with him, I was smitten in a big way.  We moved in together two years later and then officially married when it became legal in California.  Jump to later when he was sixty-seven and I was forty-two – I was still head over heels in love and he was still lifting and getting bigger every day.  


“Face the counter.”


“Oooooh, I love it when you talk dirty.”


I turned and faced the cupboards.  Strong hands grabbed the sides of my waist and I was lifted upward until my gaze was even with the big mixing bowls I rarely used.  


“These shelves are really dusty.  When’s the last time I cleaned up here?”


“I lifted you up and down for about an hour to clean them last year.”


“Oh yeah.  I remember that.  It was fun.  I think it might be time to do it again.”


“You should probably sweep under the armoire next time I curl its sides, there’s a lot of dust balls down there, too.”


“Good idea.  Speaking of lifting, Randy, the mechanic, says you probably shouldn’t be lifting the back of my car anymore.  He thinks it’ ruining the shocks.”


“Randy, the mechanic, says that only because I don’t let him watch me lift the car.  He’s jealous of you.”


“I still think you’re wrong, Cal.  I don’t think he’s gay.”


“Well you don’t see the way he stares at my arms when I bring my car in for check ups and he’s always pleading with me to lift something while I’m there.”


“He could just be a strength and muscle junkie.  That’s not the same thing as being gay.”


“You’re all of the above, tiger.”


“Point well taken.  He might be gay.”


“Mind you, I’m not complaining.  I love holding you up I the air, but are you going to get that mixing bowl or can I start doing a few reps with you.”


“I’m getting it, I’m getting it.  Besides, you always complain I’m too light for lifting.”


“Not since we bought that weighted vest you wear when I lift you.  That gives me a hell of a pump.”


“Yeah, but it gets uncomfortable after about forty-five minutes.  I’m ready to come down.”


As he lowered my body, Cal brought my ass to his face and he bit down on my right cheek, holding me in that spot.


“What are you doing?”


“Afternoon snack”


His face was muffled against my butt, but I understood him.  He turned and carried me over to the huge middle island that dominated our kitchen.  He knew I was making his favorite – apple pie – so he wanted to help.  For the next few minutes he carried me around the kitchen, my butt still filling his mouth, and I gathered different items for the task at hand.  Finally he placed me on the floor with all the supplies spread out over the island. He then pressed his body against mine, his raging hard on felt so inviting pressed against my ass.  


“How can a man at sixty-seven be so insatiable?”


“How can a man at forty-two be so adorable?” 


His bulging biceps pressed against my sides as he wrapped his arms around me and started playing with my nipples through my shirt.  He had his chin resting on my shoulder, so his face was close to my ear.


“How about we make that afternoon snack into some afternoon delight, young man.”


“Dr. Triggs, I am making you an apple pie.  Can’t you control that libido of yours for even two hours?  Why don’t you go lift something?  That will keep you calm for a little while.”


“That hard thing pressing into your butt would like to do a little lifting.”


I turned my face and kissed him on the cheek.  I then stuck my tongue in his ear, something I knew he’d find gross and make him pull away.


“Aw, yuck.  Why did you go and ruin the moment!”


“Because I want to please my big man with an apple pie.  That’s why.”


“I do love my pie.”


And with that he left the kitchen.  I knew he’d be in search of something to lift.  I counted to five out loud – anticipating what I’d hear next.  The door to the garage opened on cue and I knew my husband was going out to curl the back of my car a few times.  My BMW weighed a lot more than his Prius, so he got a lot more satisfaction in lifting it. 


Dr. Calvin Triggs had the body of someone in his twenties.  Big massive thick pecs hung off his body in that way that made people beg him to always wear polo shirts – well, it made me always beg him.  His biceps, un-flexed, were three times bigger than mine. He wore the same size pants he wore in high school because the state-wrestling champion had never stopped working out since he won the title all those years ago.  No wonder he had been able to move my car so easily that afternoon in Santa Monica – the man had been lifting heavy weights – in and out of a gym – since he was in junior high.  


I had caught on early in our relationship that Cal had an addiction.  It wasn’t drugs.  It wasn’t porn, although he did love watching videos of smaller guys worshipping the big bodies of larger men.  And it wasn’t alcohol.  It was actually more intense than all of those.  Calvin Triggs loved lifting.  Yes, it was a healthy addiction, but it could also be infuriating.  I found out very early in our relationship that he needed his boyfriends to be okay with suddenly being lifted in the air without any warning.  It could happen anytime, anywhere.  I had been lifted on the dance floor of so many clubs I’d lost count.  Cal always used the excuse of getting me to look for our friends, but I knew it was really just because he wanted to pick me up. The park was his favorite place for curling and overhead presses.  He always said I was much more fun to lift than a barbell.  He bought me a special belt that enabled him to lift me with one arm, as well.  He’d squat down, grab hold of the belt near my crotch, and hoist me up in the air – followed by a few one armed reps to my stunned awe.  He’d also do chest presses with me in bed almost every morning.  I’d complain that I needed coffee first, but he never listened.  One day, I asked him seriously why he never listened to me when I pleaded for him to not lift me at certain times and he responded that the hard-on in my pants always said I enjoyed it as much as he did.  He was right, of course.  


Deep loud grunts from the garage caught my attention.  I hadn’t reached a point in my pie making where I couldn’t afford a short break. Watching Cal lift was still one of my favorite things in the world – almost as much fun as when he was lifting me. I opened the garage door and the back wheels of my car were about 65 centimeters off the ground.  My husband had taken off his blue-checkered dress shirt and every possible muscle in his upper torso was bulging and gleaming in the light because it was covered in sweat.  Thick snake-like veins streaked across his biceps and forearms.  He was gritting his teeth because of the effort, but there was a big smile across Cal’s face.  He knew I’d be out there to have a look.  He always said that one of the main reasons he asked me to marry him was that he knew he’d never find someone who liked being lifted or watching him lift more than I did.  I didn’t know if that was true, but I certainly did enjoy it.  His white hair was a little out of place and it gave him this wild, unkempt look that I liked a lot – especially when he grunted loudly from the strain.  


“Come feel them.”


He spoke in a strained voice.  It was probably his third lift of the car.  That was more than likely his last.  A sixty-seven year old man picking up the back of a BMW three times was more than impressive, but my big man wished he could do it a lot more.  He fantasized about super strength all the time and his fetish fueled his lifting, which – in turn – fueled his growth.  And that made me very happy.  He held the car in a curl at chest level so I could grope his hard-as-hell biceps for a minute or two.  I could tell the strain was getting to him, so I backed away and let him lower the car.  He dropped it when it got about ten centimeters from the floor and the back of the car bounced a little.  I gave him a look, reminding him what Randy, the mechanic, had said about the shocks. His gorgeous chest was heaving up and down and he was breathing as hard as a bull after a stampede.  He walked over to me, grabbed me by waist and lifted me until my face was even with his.  He then plastered his lips against mine.  Cal was always super horny after lifting something really heavy.  It was like the best foreplay ever.  I knew he wanted to throw me over the trunk of my car and have his way with me, but he clearly remembered I was making a pie.


“God, I love picking you up. I’ll always love it.”


“Probably not as much as I do.”


“I wouldn’t be so sure, tiger.”


“I like watching you lift my car.”


“Really, what about the ever-wise Randy, the mechanic, and your shocks.”


“To hell with Randy, the mechanic, and my shocks.  Feeling this pump in your arms and that pump down below is too hot not to let you lift away.”


“It does make me harder than iron.”


“Lifting anything gets you hard, Dr. Triggs.”


“True, but I get especially hard when it’s your car.”


“So that’s what I feel below your waist.”


This made him laugh. He gave me another kiss and then put me back down on the ground.  He grabbed his shirt and we started back inside.  I knew he’d go to take a little cat bath before he re-dressed.  He didn’t like his shirts to smell like sweat.  I didn’t mind one bit, but it bothered him. I followed him into the bathroom and watched him wipe his big body with a wet washcloth – spending some extra time in his gray-haired manly pits.  That was a place my tongue liked to visit quite regularly.  


“I was thinking. Maybe it’s time to add on a gym so you could have a place to do some proper lifting.”


“Aw babe, that’s a nice thought, but you know I don’t want to lift regular weights.  I do that at the club five days a week.  When I’m here I either want it to be you squirming in my arms above my head or something big, like the armoire or the car, so it makes me feel like superman.  Let this old man live out some of his fantasies, please.”


“Wait, wait, wait.  I was thinking we could make it an outdoor gym, with a retractable roof.  But more importantly, I was thinking we could get different things for lifting. Concrete blocks they use for traffic control, barrels full of cement, heavy steel girders and things like that. I was thinking it could be an early birthday present for you.”


I swear the man’s nips popped out hard and thick from the excitement.  I’m surprised they didn’t make a noise.  I had never seen the particular devilish grin that appeared on his face.  I could tell he was imagining himself lifting concrete pylons and kegs filled with iron scraps.  I had done it.  I had thought of something to make my older muscleman happy.  I had thought of a gift you could give the big man who had everything. 


“I was also thinking we could retire my BMW to the gym, too.  It’s time for me to get a new car.  That way, you can lift it anytime you’d like and we don’t have to worry about Randy, the mechanic.  What do you think?”


“I think you have just made me the happiest guy in the world.”


“Well, that’s how you make me feel every day.”


“I need to pick you up, tiger.”


“I thought you would.”   



“Watch out, you’re starting to drool.”


“You just bounced a guy with your pecs and sent him through the wall.”


“Hot as hell, wasn’t it? He’ll be fine, by the way.  I know him.  Strong as an ox.  He’s probably got a few broken bones, but that’s all.  He’s tougher than the concrete.”


“But why?  Why did you do it?”


“You walked in.”


“What does that mean?”


“We both crushed on you right away and he said we should fight for you.  I made it a quick fight.  When I really want something I give it my all.  What’s your name, young ‘un.”


“Um . . . Michael.”


“Call me Gramps.”




“It turns me on.  I love the idea that I’m older than everyone else and bigger.”


“But you are bigger than everyone else . . . put together.”


“Aw, you say the nicest thing, kiddo.  Measured my chest at 140 inches today – that’s about 355 centimeters if you’re not from the States, Michael.”


“Holy hell!  How can it be that huge?  No, I’m from here, but I also know that’s fucking enormous in inches or centimeters.”


“Again with the compliments. What a nice kid you are.  The arms are tapping out at about 100 inches.  I’d flex ‘em for you, but we just met.  A guy should save some thrills for later on, don’t you think?”


“Yes sir.”


“Yes sir, what, Michael.”


“Yes sir, Gramps.”


“Attaboy.  Nothing hotter than thinking you’re the grown up son of some guy I sired a long time ago.  I’m your old man’s old man and I’m a mountain compared to you, the little molehill.  I get to take care of you as if you were a toddler still in diapers – taking care of your every need with my massive body.  Turns you on, too, doesn’t it.”


“You have no idea, Gramps.”


“Well, those tenting gym shorts give me a pretty good picture, little man.”


“Gonna twist one of these bars into a big old teething ring for you, kid.  There you go, easy as twisting paper.”


“You just bent a steel bar into a circle three times – as if it were nothing.”


“Twas nothing, squirt. I can twist an SUV later on if it’ll make you happy.  Whoa, don’t keel over, boy.  Didn’t mean to make you pass out.  Here, let Gramps one hand lift you over to the bench.  My arm is like a big crane easily lifting a little stone.  You weigh less than one of my biceps, dude.  Little men get me harder faster than anything. Look how I can bounce you up and down in one palm.  Well that turned you green.  Sorry, didn’t know you had motion sickness.”


“What are you?”


“Just a big old man with the strength of twenty Hulks put together.  Wanna see me push an entire building over about a hundred yards?  Foundation and all?  It’s pretty hot to see all the people come out and not recognize everything at first. Or we could go down to the beach and you could see me hold back the tide with my breath.  That’s always a cock pleaser, too.”


“I think I need to lay down, Gramps.  You’re wrecking me.”


“That’s my intention, little Mikey.  The elder monster of a man overwhelming the youngster with his tales about feats of strength – that’s what its all about.  We could also go find a group of guys foolish enough to challenge me and watch as I freak them out with what I can do.  It’s especially fun if they have weapons.  And don’t worry.  I’d make sure not one little gorgeous hair on your head was harmed.  That’s what Gramps should do for his boy – protect him and take care of him.  Gotta rip a plate apart for you, kid.  See, I just grab the little thing on either side – what’s this, oh a 25 kilogram plate – and pull.  See how the iron plate rips apart as if it were just cardboard.  Then I crumble up the pieces in each hand – turning the thing into two little round balls.  I’ll let you play with these later on.  You can throw them as hard as you can at my chest.  We’ll need to get you behind something though so they can’t hurt you when they bounce off.   Pouncing my pecs with a sledgehammer can be fun, too, but the handle kind of stings when the big tool is stopped by my unyielding chest.”


“You can’t be real.”


“Oh, come here, baby. Let’s bury your face between Gramps’ chest beef and that will help you see I’m real.  I can’t squeeze too hard or I’ll crush your fragile little bones, but I can make sure you know all of this giganticness is genuine.  If I slide your waist between my pecs I can hold you there like you’re in muscle prison.  Go ahead, try to escape.”


“I . . . unh . . . can’t . . . breathe.”


“Well damn, I was barely squeezing those big puppies.  Sorry about that, Mikey.  Hell, puny men turn me on so much.  Flex that toothpick you call an arm, for me.  Seeing how small that bump is compared to my freaking giant thing makes my balls ache with excitement.  Oh fuck, your arm looks like that of a ninety-year old skeleton, son.  It’s so hot that I’m the old man and I dwarf you in every way.  You’re entire body isn’t as thick as my arm.  Yeah, flex it harder – try to make that tiny thing grow.  My forefinger can make a bigger bulge than that, dude. Your tininess makes you so freaking cute.”


“Have you always been big, Gramps.”


“Hell no, son.  I was a dweeb like you for most of my life, but when I hit fifty years old I decided I needed a change in perspective.  I decided I wanted to be the man that caused the fear instead of living in it.  I started going crazy with the weights, little dude.  And then I started to grow.  Man, it became my drug of choice – getting huge.  I guess this enormous bod shows I became quite addicted. And my strength just kept increasing, too.  I was soon lifting more than most guys half my age.  Now, I’m seventy-one, Mikey, and I’m the most jacked Gramps you’re ever going to meet.  I lift more than all the guys in this place . . . put together.  I make them call me Super Gramps.”


“I would love to see how powerful you really are, Super Gramps!”


“Well hell, son, why didn’t you just say so.  Showing off for a cute little man is my middle name.  I’ll have you squirting so much you’ll beg me to stop doing things. Let’s get the hell out of here and go do some damage.”


“Um, the door is that way, Gramps.”


“You think a man as big and powerful as me wastes his time with doors?  Hell, son, one punch of this supersized fist makes the only door I need. Concrete, steel, iron – it doesn’t matter.  Shield your eyes a little, boy, because of the flying debris, but make sure you can still watch.  Pow! Yeah, that’s a nice sized chunk of the wall gone.  I’ll fit through that nicely.”


“But this is the sixth floor, Gramps!”


“That’s like a skip for this giant man, dude.  It’s time for you to get used to my unlimited powers.  I’ll try to make the landing as soft for you as I can, but stepping from this high up tends to be a little jarring.  Oh fuck, look at that, Mikey.  When I land the asphalt shoots out large cracks like there’s been an earthquake or something.  Let’s put your little body up on one of my shoulders so you can get a good view as we travel home.”


“What about my car?”


“Hey, I forgot about that. I tend to not need a vehicle of any kind now, son.  I can travel a lot faster on foot and, besides, I can’t really fit comfortably in any kind of automobile anymore.  Which little thing is yours?”


“That Jeep over there in the corner.”


“Nice ride, little man. It would be a good choice for me if I did fit in it – cause I could show off all my muscles as we tooled down the freeway.  It would be fun to look back and see all the guys bobbing up and down as they beat off because of the freaking muscled monster they just saw pass by in a Jeep. Hang on, son, I’m going to just tilt this tiny thing sideways so I can get a good grip underneath . . . and there we go.  We’re all ready for traveling.  You on one shoulder and the Jeep in the air lifted easily by one of my major daddy arms. That’ll certainly freak people out as I jog by.  This flimsy piece of metal is so light, dude.  They don’t make ‘em like they used too – or maybe they’re just not used to having a man as big and strong as I am.  A few pumps with my arm, just to show you that the Jeep isn’t even giving my gun enough resistance to count as warming up.  I could toss it a few blocks and then run with super speed to easily catch it, but that would tend to mess up your pretty-boy hair, not to mention flatten some of those gorgeous features because of the force.  We’ll just jog so you can get the benefit of watching other people react to this huge Gramps.”


“I . . . uh . . . I . . . can’t . . .”


“It’s alright, boy. Don’t try to speak.  I know your lust mode is on overload right now. Seeing your little Jeep up in the air is almost too much for you - isn’t it?  You poor thing, you just weren’t prepared to meet a super strong mega-sized daddy today, were you?  That’s okay, boy.  Just sit back and enjoy the ride.  Gramps is going to take care of you like you were my own.  We’ll have you thinking about me every waking hour and dreaming about me as you sleep during the night in no time.  Let this gargantuan old man rock your world like it’s never been rocked before.  I can tell you’ve already started looking at other men as tiny . . . inferior, since you’ve gotten to know me.  And I can feel you starting to view yourself as a youngster – ready to have this big man take care of you.  Hell, that get’s my juices flowing, son.  Let me provide for you.  Let this big Gramps take care of your every need.  Just give into the muscle, dude.”



He started unbuttoning his shirt as he spoke.  I held my breath in anticipation.  I had been dreaming of this moment for a long time.


“Looking back, now, I can pinpoint the moment, son.  I was forty-six, overweight, a major couch potato, and just a shell of a man.  I was at work one day and I overheard two co-workers talking about me.  It was two of the secretaries, who I considered friends.  They talked about how they felt sorry for me because I seemed to live such a drab existence.  They said I was the best number cruncher in the business, but that I wasn’t any fun. And then they said what ended up hurting and helping the most.  They said it was quite clear I didn’t like myself . . . or respect myself.  That conversation gnawed at me constantly for the entire day.  No matter what I did, I couldn’t get those last words out of my head.  That night, after a pint of rocky road ice cream, I went and stood in front of a full-length mirror in my bedroom – totally nude.  And as I stared at myself I realized it was true – I didn’t like what I saw.  And I certainly didn’t like how I felt inside.  It was that moment that something awakened within me – there was some kind of seismic shift that made everything change.”


By this point I could see part of his smooth-as-a-baby’s-behind voluminous pectoral muscles and the nice deep divide between them.  The shirt dangled there like a curtain partially hiding some tremendous theatrical surprise.  I was scared my mouth would soon start drooling.


“The next day was Saturday and I was at a gym two blocks from my house by six that morning.  I had never stepped into a gym in my entire life. There was an early morning trainer already there by that time, so I was assigned to this huge jovial guy named Cesar. One of his first questions to me was what I hoped to accomplish by working out and I had answered with tears in my eyes, ‘I want to like myself.  I want to be a fun person again.’  This answer seemed to blow Cesar out of the water.  I think he had expected something like ‘I want to be healthy’ or ‘I want to get bigger.’  I think the big man recognized a little of his old self in my answer and he immediately took a liking to me.  He told me that he could work on making my ‘outside’ more fun, but that I was going to have to do all the ‘inside’ work on my own.  He said having a rocking hard body helped, but it was never the answer to happiness.  I knew he was right, but I said, ‘I just want to like what I see in the mirror.’  Cesar said to give him two years and we’d get there.”


He held out his arms – indicating he’d need my help getting the dress shirt off of his huge frame.  I pulled on one of the cuffs as he pushed the shirt off his shoulder.  We then did it on the other side, too.  I beheld my boss’ huge chiseled upper body shirtless for the first time.  I felt my head go very light and the room started spinning.  I reached out to steady myself against the back of a nearby chair.  If he had noticed my temporary muscle-induced vertigo, he didn’t acknowledge it at all.  He was a polite man and would not have wanted to embarrass me.


“Cut to six years later and after never ever missing a day of working out since then I have become the fifty-two year old man you see in front of you.  And, for the record, I really like taking off my clothes and looking in the mirror.”


“I can see why,” I replied – still quite dizzy from the splendor that was him.


“I still train with Cesar most mornings, but I can now lift a lot more than him.  He calls me the ‘Alpha’ and takes credit for all of my growth. However, he always says the ‘inside’ changes were because of my own hard work.  So the point I was making is that you’re never going to know if a ‘moment’ will be life changing or not until you’re past it a little.  Take this moment, now, for example.  We both just happened to be working late.  I happened to walk up on you as you were looking at hot men on Grindr in the break room.  That got me thinking about how nice it would feel to have that gorgeous mouth of yours plastered on my pecs, which has led to this exact moment, now – me standing in my office with my shirt off and you looking like a kid in a candy store.  So, be careful, stud, what you do in this moment can have major ramifications in the future – both the near future and the far away future.  I’m just a big muscle daddy standing in front of a young man asking him to worship him, but it could turn into so much more.  Take a moment to decide, if you need to, kid.”  


“My life changing moment came two years ago, sir, when you hired me for this job.  We sat in that conference room down the hall and chatted for two hours during the interview.  I didn’t want it to end, because staring at your body in that tight shirt pleased me so much.  I also couldn’t have stood up from the table or the front of my slacks would have given my lust away.  Deciding to work here was one of the best decisions in my life – even for a youngster like me.  I’ve worked hard in hopes that you’d notice me.  I’ve waited patiently for this moment, right now.”


“It sounds like a decision has already been made.”


The Flash couldn’t have gotten his mouth on the man’s chest faster than I did.  I had dreamed of – and beaten off thinking about – that luscious protruding pec shelf for two years.  I had taken so many secret photos of that bare chest during our company’s beach volleyball outing that I had been able to memorize the veins, the exact placement of the jutting nipples, and the incredible thickness of both massive mounds. I immediately sounded like a shed full of pigs chowing down on some freshly thrown grub.  The force of my sucking, intensified by dreaming of this moment for two years straight, caused my boss to gasp loudly, which turned into an even louder long moan.  Hearing him get excited because of something I was doing to him was like throwing gasoline on an open flame.  The passion of the moment multiplied a hundred fold.  I sucked like a madman – which was surely going to leave big mouth spots all over his enormous chest.  


“Aw hell, young man, you make me want to crush something big!”


Vein-covered gigantic biceps wrapped around my shoulders and back, pulling me even more tightly into his much bigger and much harder body.  I simply continued to suck – wanting to give the man the kind of pleasure that could only lead to an explosion.  The bald headed behemoth continued to let out copious amounts of expletives in between deep guttural moans, which actually sounded more like growls. This only fueled me on more – the idea that something I was doing would give him pleasure made me feel like a superhero.  I took time – even in the midst of my sensation overload – to enjoy the moment. To appreciate the physical payoff of a man’s years in a gym, to soak up the comfort and security of such a strong hug, and to admire the intense joy the man brought to all of my five senses. He was a fifty-two year old muscle god and I was his adoring worshipper.  I was fully aware of the yet to be unleashed power in his arms.  He held me tightly, but I could feel how he only used a fraction of his full strength – so he wouldn’t do any permanent damage. My blood boiled even more as I imagined the amount of weight he was able to push around in a gym.  Suddenly, the monstrous limbs surrounding me squeezed tighter and the man leaned backwards – causing my feet to shoot off the ground as he tightly held my smaller body a foot from the floor.  


“I’ll give you about ten hours to stop that sexy-man sucking, kid.  You’re making me feel invincible – like even more powerful than superman.  This is the kind of pleasure I’ve dreamed of ever since I hired you.  I’ve wanted to smother you in my enormous muscles for forever. You make me want to take on an army!”


I knew this would end up being what he had referenced before – one of my moments.  Hearing the big elder man talk this way was better than anything else in the world – well, anything that didn’t involve him doing things to me.  I had a feeling we were going to have a few more important moments in the coming hours and in the coming years.  I became his man right there in that tight-as-hell hug with my feet dangling in the air.  So many moments in my life had simply been a pre-cursor to this moment.  My hard-ons in appreciation of muscle magazines, my endless internet scrolls through muscle worship videos, my childhood lust for Lou Ferrigno in ‘The Incredible Hulk,’ my numerous one-night stands because a guy’s arm stretched the material of his shirt, and my endless hours daydreaming about this man at my desk – all of it led to right here, right now.  


“Kid, I have a feeling this moment is going to be even more special than the day I started lifting. Holding you in my big arms feels better than I ever imagined.  I’m going to make sure you never have a desire that isn’t met.  I want you to be the happiest lad on earth.”


“I already am, right now, in this moment, sir.”



“Stop it.”




“Because you know it turns me on.”


“That’s why I do it.”


“People are staring.”


“Maybe they’re turned on, too.”


Bigger than a softball suddenly popped into my head as I stared at his flexed biceps – unable to stop myself from ogling the thing.  It bulged big and hard, just like a gun ought to.  The shirtsleeve had been forced to bunch up near his pit and shoulder since it was unable to stretch around the ballooning biceps.  We were sitting in the middle of a diner mid-morning on a Sunday and Pete was in the mood for showing off.


“Let’s arm wrestle.”


“I will not.”


“I’ll let you use two hands.”


“Stop it.”


“You weren’t telling me to stop about an hour ago.”


“That’s because we were in the privacy of our own bedroom where it’s perfectly acceptable for me to worship you.”


“I think muscle worship should be a lot more acceptable in public spaces.”


“Said the man who has no problem flexing anywhere at anytime.”


“Gotta please the masses, dude.”


“More like make them horny.”


“Well that’s pleasing, isn’t it?”


He was making his big arm muscle bounce up and down as he rested it on the table.  Two college age girls at a table nearby were mesmerized by the show.  Mouths open wide and brazenly staring at Pete as he flexed.  There food was getting cold, since they weren’t touching it – they were too busy lusting after my boyfriend’s big arms.  


“You have a fan club.”


“You mean my big arms have a fan club.”


Pete squeezed his fist tighter and tensed the big biceps harder.  The waiter was a few tables over taking an order, but I don’t think he heard anything the couple was saying, because he was too busy stealing glances at my big boyfriend’s muscle show.  Wreaking havoc on everyone at the diner was Pete’s ultimate goal and so far he was doing a great job.


“The waiter is distracted.”


“He must see something he likes.  Maybe he’s into big musclemen.  Like you.”


“Well, your flexing has had its intended effect on me.  I’m hard as hell under the table.”


“It’s good to know that some things will never change – the sun rising, the waves hitting the shore, and you getting excited by muscle.”


“Excited is an understatement.”


“Dare you to lick it – right here, right now.”


“I will not.”


“No one would blame you for doing it.”


“I don’t care.”


“You know you want to.”


“That’s beside the point.” 


“It’s suddenly getting a lot warmer in here.”


“You caused it. Everyone’s getting hot and bothered.”


“I bet I could really crank up the temperature if I kissed my own big flexed gun.”


“Don’t you dare!  I am not messing up another pair of pants in public. It’s really embarrassing to walk around with a big sticky wet stain at my crotch.”


Pete brought his face a little closer to his bulging arm.  He puckered his gorgeous thick lips just to tease me.  I actually heard a man moan a little a few tables over. Clearly, the dude loved Pete’s flexing as much as I did.  My boyfriend relaxed his arm briefly and then flexed it again – this time making it balloon out even bigger than before.  God, he had gorgeous arms . . . and beautiful thick legs, and hard-as-hell abs, and a furry chest that went on for days.  But it was his bulging arms that always got most of my attention.  


“Why do you taunt me so?”


“A big muscleman has gotta do what he’s gotta do, dude.  Flexing just comes with the territory.  It’s like an itch that I just gotta keep on scratching.”


“You’ve gotten bigger.”


“Gotta please my man. Gotta make him feel protected and secure.  I grow just to make you happy.”


“Okay, you really need to stop talking and stop flexing.  I’m not sure I can take much more.”


“No can do, mister. I’m just getting started.  Might take my shirt of in a minute.”


“You will not.”


“Who’s going to stop me? Who’s gonna want to stop me.”


“There are health codes.”


“And it looks like I’m the healthiest dude in here.  Not to mention the biggest.”


No one in the place came close to having arms like Pete’s bulging monsters.  I didn’t even have to look around to know this.  I stared at my handsome boyfriend, trying desperately to avoid looking at his flexed gun.  His scruffy weekend facial growth made him even more beautiful – more manly.  I suddenly remembered him pushing me into the air as he lay in the bed this morning.  I had talked him into skipping the gym so we could have some hot man-on-man sex and when we were done he had insisted on bench-pressing me for a little workout.  Clearly, the smile on my face gave away what I was thinking about.  


“You’re thinking about me cranking out all those reps with your body this morning, aren’t you?”


“Am I that transparent?”


“Only when it comes to my muscles, dude.  Want me to curl you a few times right now?”


“No, I do not.  I want us to have a normal Sunday brunch like normal descent people do.”


“Where’s the fun in that? You shouldn’t date a big muscled guy if you don’t want him showing off all the time.  Go find some normal sized guy for your quiet little brunch.  I think we both know you really dig it when I flex all cocky and huge.  You’re always the one who makes me take my shirt off at the park.”


“That’s different. People go to the park expecting to see some hot shirtless muscle guys.  And there should be a law against big men in parks wearing shirts, anyway.”


“That’s my little muscle junkie!”


“But I’m not sure anyone wants to look at hot flexed muscle while they’re eating their pancakes.”


“You would.”


“I’m different.”


“I’ll say.  My biceps have teeth marks to prove it.  And my chest is covered in big purple hickeys.” 


The memory of kissing and biting his huge arms flooded my brain.  And then I immediately drifted to thoughts of sucking his big pecs into the wee hours of the morning.  I’m sure Pet’s large nipples were seriously raw and sensitive this morning, as well. I had spent at least an hour giving those things a work over with my mouth.  There were remembrances of my tongue, teeth, lips and sucking abilities scattered across his body.  In return, I found it hard to sit for a long time – my butt being pretty sore from his sexual masculine abuse.  Pete’s massive bulging wasn’t reserved to just his arms, pecs, and legs – below his waist was a muscle he liked to work out the most.  He also liked to flex that muscle a lot, too – usually inside of me. I was pretty sure it was flexed right now under the table, watching his own tensed arms usually made him very happy. 


“Hercules is feeling pretty powerful right now.  He’s gonna need to play soon.”


As if to confirm what I was thinking, Pete referenced his cock using the name he had given the big thing one night when it was instantly ready for round three after a span of mere minutes of rest.  The guy’s rod definitely had the stamina of the mythical Greek hero.  And the big muscleman was always hard, it seemed.  I was pretty sure a light breeze could make him stiff – that’s how sensitive the big thing between his legs was.  We had already had two rounds of intense sex that morning and, yet, here was Pete saying he was ready to throw down hard again.


“My god, you’re insatiable. We haven’t even ordered yet. Hopefully, you can contain that monster for about an hour or so.”


“Or we could go into the bathroom to let big Hercules play.  He could lift you a few times for some release.”


“We most certainly will not. The last time you talked me into a quickie in a bathroom we almost got arrested because you roared louder than a wild animal.  The staff at the opera house was not amused.”


“Yeah, but I got us out of trouble by flexing – remember?”


The memory of the clearly gay manager reprimanding us angrily for having hot sex in the bathroom stall and scaring the hell out of a couple of elder opera patrons was now playing in my mind.  I also remembered Pete slowly undoing the studs of his tuxedo shirt and sliding it off of his torso – to the delight of the now happy employee who begged my man to flex.  Pete had merely shown off the goods to get what he wanted, which he did quite often. His flexed guns got us bumped up to business class almost every time we flew, got us quite a few free meals and were always guaranteed to get us free drinks at every place we went.  He exploited his own muscles in the same way a circus ringmaster promotes the main attraction.  He could also spot a muscle lover from a mile away.  He sensed muscle lust the same way some animals sensed fear. He usually wore tight white tank tops under his shirts for when he needed what he called a ‘muscle worship fix.’ He’d peel off his dress shirt in the bar or club and get turned on by all the heads he turned – not to mention the heads that he made turn hard.  I could tell Pete was in need of a ‘fix’ right now for it had been a whole hour since I had been licking and kissing all of his hard muscles.  That was entirely too long for my big man to go without attention.  


“I can smell the desire in here.  Come on babe, let me go shirtless.  Everybody here wants to get a good look at my body.  I can feel it.”


“That may be so, but let’s not cause a scene.  I don’t want to have a crowd around our table begging you to let them feel your muscles.”


“Yes you do.  It sounds so hot, doesn’t it?”


“Calm down, tiger and make sure Hercules calms down before you stand up.  I don’t want to cause any heart attacks by people getting a glimpse of just how huge your Greek hero is.  It took me months not to gasp out loud when I saw you in only your underwear. It always looks like you’ve stuck a steel girder down there.”


“It took you longer to accept big old Herc in your ass, too.”


“Well, what do you expect – that thing’s the size of a bar stool.”


“I’m just big all over. It would be great if I could walk around nude all the time.  That would really please a lot of people.”


“It would, indeed.”


“At least cop a feel, dude. I need some lovin’.”


I reached over and placed my palm on the big hard surface of his flexed biceps.  I heard a few sighs throughout the diner but I couldn’t tell if they were sighs of joy that we were together or sighs of disappointment because we were together.  I started to rub my hand around his big globular arm.  It was what I always did when I was hanging on to one of his guns – while watching a movie, driving down the road, or simply lying in bed before sleep. Hanging onto his muscles calmed me, soothed me, and made me feel secure.  Pete continued to flex – knowing how much it pleased me to feel his hardness.  


“Better than the pancakes, isn’t it?”


“Much better.”


(For good friends who don't give up on me.  Thanks for waiting.  The first three chapters are on the old forum pages.)


“It’s time, big guy.”


“Um, why don’t we wait and I can compete in next year’s show.  Where’s it going to be held next year?”


“Nope, we’re going this year.  I already have tickets and I called Troy.  He’s coming over to cheer you on.  Suck it up, man.  It’s time to face the music and dance.”


“You’ve known about this for a while, haven’t you?  And what if I say no?”


“You won’t.  You want to see him.”

“I’ll see Troy at Christmas.”


“I didn’t mean Troy. Start your workout, Frank.”


Over the next four months I trained like a fool.  My previous workouts of the past five years paled in comparison to what I now put my body through now.  Jose was scared shitless by my intensity and kept saying he should call the promoters of the upcoming competition and have them simply ship the trophy to me now, since I was becoming even more of a massive monster than before.  It wasn’t the hopeful promise of a trophy that fueled me on – it was the prospect of seeing Colin after so many years.  I wanted to be huge for him.  I wanted to dominate every other master on that stage just to show off for the young man that had been my special muse for so many years, without even knowing it.  After finding out our tickets to Paris were coach, I upgraded both Jose and myself to first class.  There was no way I could fit my huge frame in what I called a ‘steerage’ seat and I knew I’d also be uncomfortable in business.  I intended to sleep so I would be rested when I arrived – both for helping me prepare for the show and for what I hoped would be a sweet reunion with a gorgeous man.  I didn’t have aspirations of a future with Colin, I still didn’t think it was a good idea, but I did want him to be in awe of all the work I had accomplished with my body.  I knew I would tell him about how memories and pictures of him had helped me to attain all of my heart’s desires – well, almost all of them.  I hoped to goodness that Colin liked the new and improved me.


Since I basically only went to work and to the gym as I prepared for my upcoming competition in France, the time flew by.  Before I knew it Jose and I were boarding and Air France jet for our overnight journey to the city of love.  I had never been so nervous in my entire life.  I had gotten used to people staring at my big body, but the close quarters of first class and the over zealous attention I received from the flight attendants made me stick out even more than usual.  I counted a total of six gay couples traveling in first class, so that made it even more challenging for me to not feel self-conscious.  Jose was excited about the trip and what he was sure would be my dominance in the competition, so it made him very playful.


“You could probably get blown on the hour every hour if you wanted to during this flight.”


“I’m saving myself – remember?  You told me I shouldn’t have sex so my energy would all flow into my lifting.”


“That was before you turned into a fucking monster.  You can definitely have sex now, it might help prevent you from having to buy a fourth new wardrobe, but I doubt it.  If that shirt gets any tighter we’re going to have to call it skin.”


“Well I’m still saving myself.”


“For Colin?”


“No . . . I mean yes . . . I mean no, we can’t be a couple . . . it’s just not in our cards . . . I still want to wait for . . . oh, forget it!”


“Frank, you’re as nervous as a virgin with a pocketful of condoms going to the prom for the first time. Have a glass of champagne.  I’ll allow a little alcohol if it will help settle your nerves.”


“Nope, I’m keeping this body pure until after the competition.”


“I’ve tasted that body, remember?  And there’s nothing pure about it!”


It was the only time he had ever referred to the night he had blown me.  He immediately returned to the magazine he was reading, but I could see the smile on his face.  It suddenly dawned on me that Jose was actually jealous of Colin.  Not in the sense that he wanted to have a relationship with me, but because he knew that Colin controlled everything I thought and did. I believe Jose worried that I might give up everything I had built over the last five years if Colin asked me to – but I knew that wasn’t even a possibility.  I reached over and tousled Jose’s thick hair.  


“If you were gay we’d be throwing down with some muscle on muscle sex every night, sir.”


“Even if I were gay, you’d still be in love with Colin, Frank.  The entire reason we’re taking this trip is for you to finally show your muse what he has done for you.  It’s time that Colin knew his best friend’s father was now a muscle daddy to the extreme. I think it’s going to make the young man have the hots for you with more intensity than ever.  If you two ever do have sex I don’t think that little man is going to be able to walk down a runway for a very long time since his ass is going to be plowed harder than he ever dreamt was possible.”


“Are you trying to get me hard, Jose?  Cause it’s working.”


“Go to bed muscle head. I hope you dream of Colin all night and it makes that blanket look like a pup tent – that will give the flight attendants something to talk about.”


I stuck my tongue out at my friend and then put my earplugs in.  After putting on a blackout mask I laid down to go to sleep.  I did dream of Colin that night and it was more vivid than it had ever been before.  Thankfully, I did not cum as I slept.  I woke up just before breakfast was served and my anxiety level went through the roof. I was going crazy from worry about seeing Colin at the competition.  I wasn’t thinking about the actual bodybuilding contest at all – which probably ended up being a good thing.


So now I’ve caught you up with my story all the way up to today.  I’m here lifting at one of the best gyms in all of Paris as I prepare for the contest happening tomorrow.  Jose is down at the auditorium making sure everything is in order and I’m here pushing up much more weight than I should a day before a contest, but that’s what thinking of Colin will do to me and since I’ll actually get to talk to him tomorrow night, I seemed to have more power than ever before.  My cock has been in a perpetual hard state ever since we landed in this beautiful city.  Troy flies in tomorrow morning and he has already told me that Colin will be coming with him to the contest.  He also added that Colin was really looking forward to seeing me and he couldn’t believe I was now competing in bodybuilding.  I couldn’t tell if this was a comment of awe or one of displeasure. It had never occurred to me that Colin might not like huge men.  This only amped up my anxiety even more.  I had already spent two hours in the gym and I still didn’t feel any less tense.  


I slept late that next morning and we got to the auditorium about two hours before the show so we could take care of all the pre-contest requirements.  Jose could tell I was extremely nervous as he applied oil to my body. He had made me promise that I wouldn’t take a peek at the audience before the show, even though he knew it was killing me not to see Colin.  My complete focus on meeting the young man after the competition caused me to not even notice the deflated looks on the faces of other competitors getting ready in the same room as me.  I was friendly and acknowledged everyone, but my mind was completely locked on something that was going to happen after the show – which actually made me appear much more cocky and aloof.  Jose knew instantly, after looking around the room, that I was the alpha amongst these large men.  He kept assuring me I had the contest wrapped up with no problem, but I barely heard anything he said.  I just wanted to see Colin.


When I stepped out on stage and the spotlight blinded me, I was confused for a few minutes because there was complete silence.  You could have heard a pin drop for the first fifteen seconds of me waiting for the music to start.  I hit my first pose with the second beat of the music and all hell broke loose.  The crowd went wild.  It was slightly unnerving – the response – and if I hadn’t known my routine like the back of my hand I might have faltered.  At one point it became almost impossible to hear the music over the crowd.  I simply counted the beats out and moved my big body through the flawless routine. When I was done the emcee finally had to ask everyone to calm down so the show could continue.  As soon as the lights moved away from my body I glanced out into the crowd – the third row back and the center seats.  I quickly saw Troy and glanced to his right.  My heart stopped beating for a few seconds as I gazed at an empty seat.  Colin was nowhere to be seen.  I walked off the stage totally dejected, even though I had become the darling of the competition.  Tears welled up in my eyes as I walked toward Jose backstage.  I threw my arms around my training coach and sobbed.


“Troy said the poor guy just couldn’t take seeing you.  Colin explained it would be too hard since he still wanted you so badly.  I’m sorry, Frank.”


This news only made me cry more.  Jose was able to get me calmed down before the pose down for my division, which I won easily, and then for the overall competition, which I also took with no problem. However, it was a bittersweet victory. I told Troy and Jose I didn’t feel like celebrating.  I encouraged them to go out and party it up, but I was going back to the hotel to take a hot bath and sleep.  I was worn out – my emotional state was that of one big raw exposed nerve.  I simply wanted to be alone.  There was a huge attempt to sway my decision, but both men quickly realized I could not be convinced.  


I was still wide-awake at one in the morning.  My heart was still aching from seeing that empty chair beside my son.  I could not believe I was letting Colin have this much power over my emotions – over my entire being.  I decided to go to the hotel’s enormous nicely stocked gym and work out some of my frustration.  I kept the lights out in the large room, so no one would know I was there.  The place didn’t have nearly enough weight for me to do a normal bench, but I loaded the bar with everything that was there.  I easily pumped out fifty reps and decided I needed fifty more . . . or maybe a hundred and fifty more.  That might make me start to feel better.    


I knew he was in the room before he even said a word.  I just knew. When you love someone as much as I loved Colin, you could sense when he was close.  My heart started beating quickly and I could feel my throat tighten as I forced back tears.  It was dark and I could tell he was purposefully hanging out in the shadows. I didn’t know what to say.  I wanted to jump up and run to hug him, but I knew that was not the right move.  I knew that I should let him make the first move.  


“You’ve gotten so huge,” Colin finally said softly from the shadows.


“It’s all because of you,” I replied as I slid the bar back into its stand and sat up.  “You were my inspiration.”


I could only see the outline of him – standing in the distance, surrounded by darkness.  Tears had, indeed, started uncontrollably streaming down my face.  I just sat there, my big chest heaving and my shoulders shaking from my silent sobs. He didn’t move.  He let me work through the moment – patiently staying far away, hidden.  I was finally letting my body do what it had wanted to do for so long – let go of its burden.    


“Why didn’t you come tonight?” I asked when I was finally calm enough to speak.


“I didn’t want to share you with all those people,” Colin answered slowly and deliberately.  “I couldn’t watch them all go wild for the man I love.”


He paused to let those words float out into the room and sit there like a freaking humongous elephant. My heart beat even faster at the thought of him still loving me.  


“I didn’t want to be in the middle of a crowd that wanted you,” he continued.  “I did come, though.  I stood in the back of the place – out of sight – just to get a glance of you. I thought it might be the last time I would ever gaze at you.  I was hoping it would help me get you out of my head . . . and my heart.” 


That thought almost made me start crying again.  My mind was reeling from this incredible desire to never let this beautiful man out of my sight again and a wish that he had not come to the gym to begin with. How could someone wreck me so? How could this boy have so much control over my entire being?  I forced myself to focus . . . to focus on him and not get distracted by all the voices screaming inside my head.  Those voices had won too many times in the past.  Tonight it would only be about Colin . . . nothing else.


“Seeing you, however, didn’t squelch my desire,” Colin said – even softer than he had already been talking. “It fueled it more.  Seeing how you had turned into a muscled dreamboat only stoked the fire tenfold.  It was hard to imagine you being hotter, but there you were – huge, muscled, and dripping with so much sexiness.  I couldn’t walk away without trying one last time.  You see, Mr. Spitz, I’m no longer that young man that kissed you wildly on your sofa all those years ago.  I’ve grown. I’ve learned a lot.  The city of love will do that to a guy.  It’s amazing what five years can do to a guy.”


Colin stepped out of the shadows and into the city lights that streamed through the long row of windows along one wall.  I gasped out loud.


“Holy shit! You’re fucking gorgeous,” I blurted out kind of loud and I could instantly feel my face turning deep red.


“It’s about time you noticed,” Colin said – without an ounce of narcissism, he was just ready for me to compliment him.


“You’ve always been gorgeous, Colin,” I quickly replied – to help make him finally know how much I’d always wanted him.  “It’s just that you’re a man, now.”


“Yes I am, Frank,” he replied and moved closer.


The body was proportioned perfectly – wide shoulders, a V-shape that was stunning, longish hair that curled naturally, and a manly face that had not only matured – it was a hundred times more stunning.  It wasn’t a fake manicured model face – it was an ‘I’ll buy whatever you’re advertising’ masculine jaw, perfect forehead, dimpled chin, full lips, Roman nose, luscious mouth, and eyes that made you want to strip on the spot.  I was instantly hard.


“And you’re a muscled behemoth,” he added, moving even closer until he was looking down on me and our legs were almost touching.  “I’d like to watch you lift, Frank.”


“That’s funny, Colin,” I said softly, staring up at him.  “Every time I’ve lifted for all these years I’ve imagined you beside me – spotting me – getting excited by what I was doing.  You’ve been my muscle muse.”


“Then it’s certainly time to stop imagining,” he said, smiling down at me.  “Show me what you’ve got.”


The day I got married and the first time I held Troy in my arms had always been what I’d list as my favorite days in my life.  I immediately had the feeling I’d be adding this day to that roster.  I leaned back on the bench, never taking my eyes from his. I reached up and grabbed the bar – easily pushing it off its stand.  There was a flicker of amazement in Colin’s eyes.  I could tell he was impressed with how easily I lifted the heavily weighted bar. He was not new to gyms, so he understood it was a lot of weight.  He had no idea, however, that I usually benched a lot more than this.  As I cranked out many reps, his smile grew bigger. He held up a finger, signaling me to pause.  I held the bar in the air – halfway up.


“May I,” he said, motioning to my legs with an open hand.  “It’s been an exhausting day.”


“Of course,” I replied.


Colin straddled my legs and moved dangerously close to my crotch.  He then sat down on my thighs – his butt back near my knees.  He generously avoided my raging hard-on.  He nodded for me to continue.  The only person in the world that would have fully understood the overwhelming importance of this moment would have been Jose. The man had watched me train like a fiend – merely with a picture of Colin taped to the mirror.  Here I was lifting a weighted bar with the actual gorgeous angel sitting on my legs watching me easily push the thing up and down. I was on repetition number seventy -five or seventy-six when he finally spoke. 


“You know, of course, that you’ll have to move to Paris,” he nonchalantly said, staring at my arms. “I’m at the peak of my career and probably have ten more years or more of serious modeling.  After that, we can move wherever you like.”


“You realize, of course, that a bodybuilder boyfriend is expensive,” I replied, realizing immediately my life had shifted completely in mere seconds.  “I’m at the beginning of my career and I have a feeling I’m only going to compete more now that my muse will be so close.  Oh, and Jose comes with the deal, too.”


“Ah yes, the huge trainer,” Colin said.  “I can afford it all, trust me.  May I grope, Mr. Spitz?”


“Please do,” I replied, still cranking out reps with the bar.  


Years of wishing. Years of wanting.  Years of imagining.  None of it came close.  As soon as Colin’s beautiful hands started feeling my legs, sliding up under my shirt to rub my abs, and kneaded my big chest I became completely lost in him. All the turmoil, all the reasons why I shouldn’t be with him, all the worry about what people would think – it disappeared quickly like a premature ejaculation.  I loved this man.  I needed this man.  I craved this man.  And that was all that mattered.  He sensed the change in me – as much as he felt the humongous changes to my body.   


“You were right to make us wait,” he said – as he started to grope my biceps even as they continued to lift the bar.  “I’m older and wiser and you're bigger . . . much bigger.”


“It was all so confusing, Colin,” I said, honestly.  “I was dealing with my homosexuality, my attraction to this guy young enough to be my son, and trying so hard to do what was right.  But now, after all we’ve both been through, this feels right.  I’ve never believed in anything more than I believe in us – right now.  I have loved you for so long.”


His hands stopped groping. I stopped lifting.  Our eyes locked on each other and we both realized this was the exact moment everything had been leading up to.  All the suffering, all the tears, all the pain had happened for this second.  Without even looking I put the bar back in place.  I lifted my torso from the bench, wrapped my arms around the man I loved, and pulled him in for a kiss that would be remembered forever.  The building could have crumpled around us and we would not have noticed.  Colin’s beautiful body felt so right in my arms.  My muscle muse was now my muscle lover.  There was going to be a fucking lot of muscle growing from that moment on.   


“Whose great idea was it to go trekking in Southeast Asia in April?”


“I believe that would be you.  Yep, you.”


“Well, next time I get a great idea, please don’t listen to me.”


It was only the first day of our trip . . . well, it was really the third day but we had decided to not count the two foggy, jet-lagged days we had spent in Phnom Penh.  Those were a blur for both of us and we couldn’t tell you a thing about what we did, what we ate, or even what we drank. There were memories of many glasses of a local beer called Angkor, but alcohol definitely did not help when trying to recover from a nineteen-hour flight.  I looked at my husband of two months as he shifted the backpack on his hot, sweaty body – clearly, he had not enjoyed the additional eight- hour van ride to Ratanakiri, the upper northeast province of Cambodia.  Neither of us had bothered to find out that April was one of the hottest months of the year in this country – a place where it was really never cool to begin with.  


“What’s this guy’s name, again?”




“Sounds like something from The Lion King.”


“Stop it.  I told you – no jokes about local names, customs, or new experiences.  We don’t want to offend anyone and we both said stepping out of our comfort zone would be a good thing.”


“Staying at a Hyatt instead of the Ritz is really about as far out of my comfort zone as I really ever intended to go.”


I looked at the man I loved, as he shielded his eyes from the burning sun.  We were standing on the side of the road, basically in the middle of nowhere, waiting for our hired guide to pick us up.  We had been there for only ten minutes, but it seemed like a lifetime.  Charles Jonathan Wickshaw, the third, was definitely out of his element.  An accountant, by trade, the man was used to tailored suits, air conditioning, and dry martinis adorned with onions (no olives, thank you very much) – instead of dusty, barely paved roads in a remote area of what would be considered by most people a very remote country.  The fifty-six year old, fairly in shape man took out his phone and glanced down.


“Oh great, no signal. Now, how am I going to look at my porn?”


“Stop it, you.  Put the phone away.  You promised.  If only you looked at porn.  I think you get hard from reading work emails a lot quicker than you do from looking at pictures of naked men.”


“That’s because I have you. Why would I need to look at other men?”


His smile melted things a lot faster than the Cambodian sun.  This silver haired, well manicured, Manhattan born, self-made millionaire had somehow plucked me out of the thousands of profiles he received from an online meeting site called ‘Mates’ five years ago and we had been together ever since.  I was a second grade teacher at a struggling private primary school in Brooklyn and he said he had chosen to respond to my profile because I had quoted Victor Hugo when describing myself.  It had gone something like, ‘Diamonds are found in the dark bowels of the earth; truths are found only in the depths of thought.’  I was an avid reader and he somehow saw that in what I wrote.  We had our first date at a local coffee shop and, bam, five years later we were married and planning to hike through the jungles of a hot, humid country on the other side of the planet.   


“And what does Kakada look like?”


“You know, dark hair, dark eyes, kind of short.”


It was clear Charles was not amused at my descriptive words that would match almost every Cambodian. I glanced at my phone and saw that our guide was only about five minutes late.  I didn’t tell my husband that we might be there for a while, having heard that Cambodian time was a little more relaxed than a Wall Street financier might like.  I knew this trip was going to be good for Charles, especially when it came to things he could not control – but the long van ride had definitely taken its toll.


“I don’t want to sound like a whiner, but I’m getting hungry.”


“Kakada said he’d have some snacks for us when he arrived – to tie us over until dinner.”


Suddenly, there was the sound of an approaching vehicle.  I looked down the road and quickly noticed it was a tuk-tuk – one of the motorcycle led rickshaws that were commonplace in Cambodia.  Luckily, Charles had found them quite charming in Phnom Penh, but I wasn’t sure he’d feel the same way out in the hot, dusty rural part of the country.  It was pretty clear this was our guide, because he was grinning from ear to ear as he approached.  I was surprised a little when the vehicle got closer and suddenly the look on the driver’s face turned to shock.  I tried to figure out what the guy was staring at with such a look, but it was too difficult to read.  He quickly regained his smile and came to a stop in front of us.  He was off his bike in seconds.


“Hello, I am Kakada. I hope you are Rick.”


“Hello.  Yes, I am Rick and this is Charles.”


“Hello, Bong Chas.”


When we turned to my husband, I swear I saw a flash of the same shocked look on Kakada’s face as before. The Cambodian put his palms together, in a prayer-like fashion, brought the fingers to his forehead, closed his eyes, and made a slight bow.  There was something much more reverent than the greeting he gave me.  I simply decided it had to do with age – since I was about ten years younger than my spouse – although he definitely didn’t look that much older.  Hesitantly, Charles corrected Kakada’s mistake on his name.


“Um . . . sorry, it’s actually Charles.”


“Yes, Bong Chas.  It is very nice to meet you.  It is a good time for you to return.”


“No, it’s Char – les . . .”


I quickly gave my husband a look that made it clear I thought he should just accept the Cambodian’s pronunciation.  I was pretty sure it was a name that must be hard for locals to get correct.  It did have some difficult sounds.  I could tell he was a little upset, but he took my lead in the situation.


“What does ‘bong’ mean, Kakada?”


“It is what we say when we meet someone older or someone that deserves great respect.”


This definitely brightened Charles’ spirits.  He loved getting respect.  He was the founder of a major accounting firm and respect is something he received on a daily basis – or more like an hourly basis.  Again, I noticed something in the way Kakada referred to Charles that seemed very different – almost odd.  I still just chalked it up to my husband being older, but I wasn’t sure.


“I have food for you.”


“Great.  I am starving.”


Kakada took a round cylinder-like container from his tuk-tuk.  I recognized it from shops in the city and from watching people give offerings to the monks at the temple we visited in Phnom Penh.  It had three different levels – one with rice, one with vegetables, and one with curry.  It looked delicious.  Kakada dished food into two bowls for us and then gave us a fork and spoon.  I had read that in Cambodia you used the fork to push food into the spoon to eat.  I caught Charles’ eye and showed him how to use the utensils.


“Since you are hungry a lot, Bong Chas, I have something good for you.”


Kakada took out a key and unlocked a special compartment under the front seat of his tuk-tuk.  He reached in and brought out a rectangular Tupperware box.  He took off the lid and there were bacon-like strips inside.  I could tell it wasn’t really pork, but I didn’t know what it might be.  Our guide handled the container with much care and he gently took out a strip to hand to Charles.  As soon as my husband took the food, Kakada immediately closed the container and put it back in the compartment.


“I should share with Rick?”


“No, Bong Chas, this is special for you.”


I was too busy chowing down on the rice and curry to even care about the strange looking food. Charles was very brave when it came to trying new things, so he took a huge bite of the strip – taking half of it into his mouth.  He immediately smiled and let out a ‘mmmmm’ as he chewed and swallowed.  He clearly liked what he was eating.


 “This is very good.   What is it, Kakada?”


“In English, it is called beetle root.”


“I’m eating beetles!”


“No, Bong Chas.  It is a special root from a plant that grows high in the mountains of Ratanakiri.  It is very special to the people of Cambodia.  And beetles like it, too.”


Charles finished the strip – clearly he had been planning to eat it all even if it had been made from beetles.  Kakada motioned for us to get into the vehicle with our food.  He then loaded our backpacks onto the seat above the compartment – across from us.  He jumped on the motorcycle, started it, and we were off.  I was busy eating the curry and trying to take in all the beauty of the surrounding countryside.  Even though it was splat in the middle of hot season, this part of Cambodia was cool enough and wet enough to still have green rice fields.  The moment made me want to be close to Charles.  Without even looking, I reached over to grab his leg. I was completely caught off guard when my hand landed on a raging hard-on – easily detected underneath the material of his cargo pants.  I quickly looked down, to confirm his larger-than-normal cock was stone stiff and then I looked up into his slightly embarrassed, but very happy face.  


“I guess it must be the motion of the tuk-tuk!”


“Well hell, I should have gotten you in a tuk-tuk a lot sooner than this.”


“You have no idea how much I want to plow you right now.  I’m in pain I’m so hard.”


“Are you trying to turn me on, Bong Charles?”


“I am if it’s working.”


I glanced forward to see if Kakada understood the conversation we were having.  I glanced into the two rearview mirrors that hung down from either edge at the front of the tuk-tuk’s roof – to give him better views of what was happening on either side.  Traffic in Cambodia had no rules and the zig-zagging of motos (what they called motorcycles), other tuk-tuks, and cars caused there to be chaos all the time. It seemed like Kakada was ignoring us – or, at least, pretending to.  Since there was no other traffic on the road, he didn’t need to look into the mirrors as often he normally would.  I squeezed the hard rod and slid my hand up and down a little – just to tease my husband.  I was actually quite surprised by the hardness I encountered – it was more than I was used to.  


“If you do that too much I’m going to throw you over those backpacks and have my way with you right here, right now.  I’m so close to cumming a strong wind could make me orgasm.”


I removed my hand. Even though he was joking, I could hear some honesty in his words, as well.  I was suddenly very turned on by the situation – trying to prevent our tuk-tuk driver from seeing Charles’ big hard dick or the way I was playing with it.  I did not, however, want to cause my husband to have a sticky accident.  I kept my hands to myself for the rest of the ride to our high-end eco-resort.  Kakada deposited us at a nice looking four-room bungalow near a gorgeous waterfall deep in a forest.  He explained how to walk down to the main part of the resort for our meals, but quickly reminded us that meals could be delivered to our bungalow, as well.  He also encouraged us to swim in the pool at the bottom of the waterfall – saying it was reserved for this bungalow specifically.  This seemed to please Charles to no end.  


“You need or desire anything more, Bong Chas, you call Kakada.”


The tuk-tuk driver bent slightly at the waist with his hands up at his forehead in a prayer position. I got the distinct feeling that Kakada favored Charles in a way that almost seemed something akin to love or desire. I was shocked by such an obvious display of affection – having read that Cambodians were reserved and almost shy. I also got the feeling that the attraction was much more intense than something sexual.  The driver backed away, leaving us on the porch of our bungalow. 


Part 2

Charles grabbed my ass hard as we walked into the bungalow.  It was the type of clutch that made one go up on the tips of his toes.  He pushed me firmly into the middle of the room, tossed our backpacks onto the bed and then reached around me from the back to undo my pants. I swear the man let out a deep growl as he slid down my shorts, but I have a feeling that was just what I wished he would do.  He was, however, breathing deeply and loudly.  After my shorts hit the ground he squeezed my ass cheeks super hard and dug his fingers into my solid butt meat.   When he spoke his voice seemed to fill the entire room.  It was a voice full of huskiness and masculinity – and it was something completely new to me.  I realized at that point that Charles was completely nude – he had somehow gotten rid of his clothes as fast as the Flash.    


“I’m sorry, kid, but I’ve got to fill you with my throbbing hard meat and I’ve really got to do it right now. Feeling this ass of yours is only making it worse.”


“When have I ever said no to you?”  


I felt the tip of his cock start to pry between my ass cheeks – steady and strong.  I was defenseless against his hardness.  It was a feeling that was so familiar, yet – for some reason – this time there was something different, something almost enhanced. I couldn’t place it, but then his fat head pressed into my hole and nothing else mattered.  I breathed air in and out loudly to help move quickly from the pain to the pleasure.  I could only think about what was trying to invade me and how it seemed so much bigger.


“God, you feel like you’ve grown.”


“I was thinking the same thing, but it’s just that I haven’t ever been this hard.  And you’ve never been this tight.  Oh fuck, that feels good.  I gotta go deeper man!”


“Deeper?  Oh my god!”


By this point, I had thought my husband was already fully submerged within me.  I had no idea there was more of him to come.  When it came to sex, I was a Grade A catcher.  Charles’ had always been impressed with my abilities as a bottom – and usually petered out – excuse the pun – a lot earlier than me. Today, it felt different, though. There was so much power behind his plowing – there was so much mass being plowed into me, as well.  I knew I had never been opened so wide or invaded so deeply.  My body could tell me that.  I was amazed – after all these years – that Charles could still surprise me during sex. Where had he been hiding this rod of concrete before?  By this point, the motion of his stiff shaft going back and forth within me had reached a pace that seemed beastlike and the joy it was giving both of us was clear from his animalistic grunts and my pleased moans.  That’s also when my elder lover reached around my body with his left hand and started twisting my nipple like it was a stubborn cap on a bottle. His right hand found its way to my raging hard-on and started pumping vigorously.  He’d thrust into me as he pulled his hand down my cock and then reverse. The motion was driving me crazy with pleasured anticipation.  After he plunged into me fully, he growled into my ear.


“I’m about to fill you with so much man spunk you won’t need to eat any protein for a week, bud.  Oh yeah, squeeze that tight ass of yours. I’m not sure I can handle too much more of this.  You’re hotter than a New York sidewalk in August.  Damn, you feel fine.  Plowing you never felt this good.”


I did not realize I could be turned on more than I already was.  All of this was so new – the sexy roughness in how he handled me to the alpha talk he was delivering in my ear.  Charles was always neat and controlled in everything he did – even when we had sex.  This beast mode that had suddenly come out of nowhere made me so excited I knew I would soon be a goner, no matter how hard I tried to prolong my release.  Something was definitely different about my husband, but I was not going o complain.  He resumed his power plowing and increased the speed of his hand on my cock.  


“I’m gonna make you squirt, bud.  I’m going to make you squirt big time.  We’re going to unload together.  You’ve never felt so good, babe.  I feel like I could plow you all night long.  Oh hell, you’re so tight.”


I suddenly became aware that Charles was now in some other world.  His body was on overdrive – desperate to give us both lots of pleasure. He was more different than I had ever seen before – confident, cocky almost, and definitely taking the lead. The man was even emitting loud grunts of sexual joy and he was usually pretty quiet during intercourse – only moaning slightly upon release.  These sounds were so different than any other time.  My husband was pounding me with quick thrusts of his crotch and then pulling his hard meat partially out very slowly – his words matching the rhythm. I had never felt such overt pleasure.


“Fuck . . . yeahhhhh. Fuck . . . yeahhhhh.  Fuck . . . yeahhhhh.  FUCK!!!”


And with the last obscenity – something he never did – he slammed my ass as if he wanted to go through me.  I felt his ample balls smack against my ass as he pinched my nipple harder than ever and pulled his hand down my shaft tightly.  There was a moment of calm before the storm and then he unleashed a gushing geyser of his thick juice into my ass.  I swear I was temporarily blinded by the pressure of his load as my eyes rolled back into my head.  I had no choice but to squirt out my explosion in response to his generous and athletic invasion of my body.  I was simply offering copious amounts of thanks.  My cum shot across the floor as if it were being ejected from a super soaker. I cried out in pleasure . . . pain . . . bewilderment . . . who knows what – simply because I shot the biggest load of my life.  I continued to buck like some kind of untamed stallion – both because of Charles’ ongoing pounding and the fact that my body was emptying itself of the internal lake that had been building all afternoon.  There was now a thick line of my spunk reaching far across the floor and my ass was leaking some of the huge load that had been deposited there by Charles.  We were both breathing heavily and our bodies were still shaking from our orgasms.  Once he was somewhat steady, Charles walked me over to the bed – his throbbing hard cock still sheathed in my ass.  He pulled out of me, causing me to gasp loudly as his hardness passed the opening of my hole.  He let my body drop onto the bed – completely spent.  I forced myself to roll over so I could look up at him.


“Fuck, I feel great.  Gotta crank out some pull-ups.”


There was an exposed beam reaching from one side of the bedroom to the other about seven feet off the ground.  Suddenly, my husband jumped in the air, grabbed hold of the metal beam, steadied himself, and then started lifting and lowering his body in perfect form.  My mouth dropped open wide.  This was the guy that only biked or swam for exercise. He had an aversion to weights and steered clear of anything remotely close to what he called the actions of a ‘gym rat.’  His cock was still rock hard and it bobbed a little as he muscled his body up and down. He was grunting numbers in that animalistic way as before for each lift.  When he finished and held the twentieth lift for a lot longer, he dropped to the ground and noticed, for the first time, my shocked face.  He was walking around the room shaking out his arms.




“What?  What?  Who are you and what have you done with my husband?”


“What are you talking about?”


“You have never uttered the words ‘gotta crank out some pull-ups’ ever in your life.  You’ve never walked around nude for longer than two minutes – and, mind you, that’s because you had to dry yourself off.  And you most certainly have never pumped my ass as hard as you just did – not to mention making noises and comments I’d normally expect from some hot porn movie.”

“I don’t know, bud, I just feel like a million dollars . . . no, a billion dollars.  It must be this country.”


“And that’s another thing, since when did you start calling me ‘bud?”


“Wow, I didn’t even notice. Gotta do twenty more, bud.”


My mouth gaped open wider as I watched Charles jump up to grab the beam and, again, ‘crank out’ twenty repetitions.  His body now glistened beautifully with a light sheen of sweat and his cock was still fully engorged – rigid as a pole and sticking straight up.  I marveled at how he could perform this particular exercise so easily.  Charles was fit, but he certainly wasn’t muscular.  He didn’t do anything to build up his arms – so it was amazing that he did forty pull-ups without any problem.  When he dropped back down to the ground, he again walked confidently around the room shaking out his arms even harder this time.


“God, that feels so good. My heart rate’s up, my blood’s pumping, and I’m still so freaking horny.  My nuts need to bust another big one out badly.  Can you help a fella out, there, bud?”


He was now standing beside the bed and had reached down to push his cock out straight – so the tip dangled near my face.  I swear the thing did, indeed, look bigger, but, like Charles, I chalked it up to just him being so incredibly hard.  My hubby teased me by pressing the hard tip of his rod against my lips.  I could not figure out what was happening to the man. The timid, refined man I loved was brazenly whacking his hard cock against my face – not in a painful way, but more playfully and confidently.  I rarely got the chance to suck Charles off.  He definitely loved my mouth, but usually he couldn’t stay hard long enough for me to evoke a release.  That clearly would not be the case today.


“Are you taking Viagra?”


“It feels like it, huh? No, bud, this is all natural and I’ve never felt this jacked.  Oh, baby, I gotta feel that throat around my meat.  Come on, open wide for your man.” 


The second my lips parted my mouth was filled with his pulsing, hard-as-hell cock.  I choked a little from the sudden tightness his rod caused. I had always considered myself an expert cocksucker, but I had not been prepared for his aggressive move.  It was something very foreign for the man I loved. I was not complaining, but I immediately had to adjust, open wider, and swallow.  My throat somehow opened to allow his tip to enter and Charles began to press his meat deeper into my mouth and then pulled it back.  There was instant joy for both of us.  I regained my control and began to power suck the man’s cock.  I still could not believe how hard his cock was – mainly because it had never gotten this way when we had sex before and here we were headed toward his second explosion within just twenty minutes.  Charles was usually sound asleep within ten minutes of ejaculating.  He was always so considerate to get me off first, just because he knew he might not have the stamina for it after he came.  The battering ram that was pounding my mouth seemed so out of place.  It also took up so much more space than it ever had before. By this point, I was enjoying the sucking so much I was rock hard again, too. 


“Hot damn, your mouth is almost as wonderful as your ass, bud.  I love it when my big tip slams into the back of your throat.  So fucking hot.  You suck cock better than anyone I’ve ever met.  Damn, I bet you could suck water out of a stone.  I’m . . . gonna . . . cum . .  . ohhhhhh . . . hellllllll.”


How the man gushed a second big load in such a short time was beyond me.  My throat was instantly filled to capacity and I was swallowing with all my might.  Charles continued to pull and thrust his rod into my mouth for the duration of his orgasm – actually causing the gobs of milky semen to be thicker.  I wasn’t able to get it all and it ran all down my chin and neck.  I gave it my best shot, however, and I pleased my man to no end at the same time. When he was finally finished plowing my face and slapping my chin with his balls, he pulled out of my mouth and fell to the bed beside me.  I could tell the man’s breathing had not returned to normal and that he was completely spent.  I lay down beside him and draped an arm over his back.  Within minutes we were both sound asleep.  


“What time do we have to meet Kakada?”


I woke to a gentle shaking from my husband.  I immediately noticed soreness in my mouth and in my ass.  This brought a smile to my face and I then felt the dried cum on my chin and below.  Charles was playing with my nipple – something he knew turned me on.  I rolled over on my side to look at him. Instantly, I knew the old Charles was back.  His face looked reserved and his demeanor was polite and giving.  I found myself both relieved and disappointed.  


“We need to meet him at the restaurant at six.  What time is it now?”


“Five thirty.  Shall we shower?”




“That was a wonderful afternoon, Rick.  Thank you.”


“No, thank you.  I enjoyed it, as well, but I might be walking a little funny tonight.”


I found myself wishing he would call me ‘bud’ or he might crank out a few more pull ups, but the very professional, the very dependable, and the very gracious Charles was back.  I forced myself to see this as a good thing and not dwell on how for about an hour he had been a cocky, commanding version of the man I loved.  We showered together and my husband softly cleaned my body.  I did the same to him.      


Part 3

“I think that laundry place in Phnom Penh shrank my shirt.”




I didn’t hear what he said because a life-size statue in the corner of our big living space was distracting me.  It was of some Cambodian god or king standing at attention with his arm bent at his side and the palm facing out – like he wanted to give you a ‘low five.’  I wondered if it were some kind of greeting or maybe the man was actually offering a blessing to those who entered. I made a mental note to ask Kakada when he arrived.  I turned to look at my husband – dressed smartly in his favorite light blue polo and some nice looking khaki slacks.  


“Look – this shirt is tighter than it was.


“Oh my, I think you’re right.  But it actually looks good.  The tightness fits you.  I think the pants are a little tighter to.  I wonder what the laundry place did to make that happen.”


“I didn’t give them my pants.”


My attention was immediately pulled away from what Charles was saying because a rather large gecko crawled out from behind a large armoire against the wall and scurried up to eat a mosquito resting above.  Good, I thought, one less little pest that might bite me during the night.  


“Do you think about a hundred of those creatures will come out when we turn out the lights at night?”


“You mean and have like a gecko rave or something?”


Charles pushed his arms in the air and acted like he was dancing – I emphasize the word ‘acting’ because the man never danced.  He always said he didn’t like it.  I smiled – both at my husband’s attempt at a smooth move and the idea of a bunch of geckos boogying to disco lights while we slept.  I noticed that the shirt and pants actually did look really hot on Charles tonight.  I decided I would take all of his clothes to that laundry place when we spent a few more days in Phnom Penh.  He clearly looked great in clothes about a half to a full size smaller than what he bought.  I never thought about changing the size of his clothes.  My thoughts were interrupted by Kakada’s voice on the large veranda in front of our bungalow, which also made our imaginary gyrating gecko scurry back behind the armoire.  


“Bong Chas and Rick! Are you ready for dinner?  I come early to give you a gift.”


“I thought we were meeting him at the restaurant.”


I whispered to Charles and he put his hands up in the air – indicating he did not know anything.  I went and opened our front door.  There was Kakada – now dressed in a long sleeve cream-colored dress shirt and some black pants.  He was actually quite a handsome guy when he wasn’t sweaty and covered in dust.  His face was beaming and on a tray he had two delicious looking tropical drinks in tall glasses.  


“Chim-reab-sua, Rick. That is how we say hello.  It is formal.  We use that when we talk to older people or our guests.”


“Well, jim-reup-sooah”


“No, Rick, that wasn’t even close.  Here, try it again, chim-reab-sua.”


The correction had actually come from Charles, now standing behind me.  I turned to him – astounded that he had caught on to what Kakada had said after hearing it just once.  And, indeed, his version had sounded much different than mine and almost exactly like our guide’s.  


“Ah, Bong Chas. Chim-reab-sua.  It is good to see you looking so healthy.”


I chalked up the oddity of Kakada’s words to translation issues and I was still floored by my husband’s flawless Khmer – what the Cambodian language was called.  He had taken some foreign languages in high school and college, but I had never heard him pick up sounds that quickly.  He stepped around me.


“What did you bring us, Kakada?  They look delicious.”


“I have brought you both something very good.  For Rick, a wonderful mango passion fruit smoothie.  And for you, Bong Chas, I have a special beetle root and dragon fruit smoothie.  This was made just for you.  I am sure you will like it very much.”


“I did like that beetle root earlier today.  Let’s have a taste.  Thank you, Kakada.”


“Bong Chas, you can say ‘ahkuhn,’ which is thank you in Khmer.”


“Well, ahkhuhn, Kakada.”


“You are most welcome, Bong Chas.”


“Yes, ohkoon, Kakada.”


Both men laughed at my botched version of ‘thank you,’ but I did not care because the smoothie I was drinking was the most delicious thing I’d ever tasted.  I immediately realized that this was the way fresh mangos and passion fruit should taste – not those things I got in the states that had travelled forever to make it to my expensive organic grocery store.  I sipped the smoothie slowly to allow my taste buds to enjoy its goodness for as long as possible.  Charles, however, sucked his down in one long draw on his straw – even causing loud slurping sounds to get the last few drops.


“Man, that beetle juice is good.”


“Beetle root juice, Charles. It sounds nasty when you call it beetle juice.”


“Well, it’s nasty good.”


“I am glad you like it, Bong Chas.  It is very good for you.  Are you ready for dinner.”


“We are.  I’m starving, how about you, bud?”


That one short word got my attention the same way a screaming smoke detector can make you jump into action.  I had no idea why, but I immediately looked down at my husband’s crotch and was rewarded with the outline of what was clearly a raging hard-on beneath his khakis. The word ‘bud’ seemed to go hand-in-hand with my husband’s newfound horniness.  I moved my gaze upward and I swear the guy was standing straighter than he ever did – and was almost puffing his chest out like some gorilla during mating season.  There was a devious smile on his face as he gazed at me.  Instantly, I new the cocky Charles from our afternoon delight session was back.  My own crotch stirred as Kakada turned to lead us to dinner.  My husband’s hand lightly touched my back to guide me, but immediately slid down to my ass and squeezed tightly – again, causing me to let out a slight yelp and go up on my toes.  If Kakada noticed any of this he did not let on.  He simply led us down a path, lightly singing a song.  


“Let’s sit on the same side, bud.”


Charles was lifting the chair from the other side of the table and moving it around to be beside mine. It was a long table, so there was ample room for both of us – it was just such a surprising move for my husband. He’d never contemplate moving furniture around in a restaurant or, heaven forbid, sit on the same side as me – making it undoubtedly clear that we were a couple.  I certainly was not going to complain, I was just taken aback by his bold move.  Kakada had retreated somewhere – to the kitchen or the bar area and the few people that were at the spacious open-air restaurant were far enough away to allow us to talk freely.  Charles sat down beside me and immediately leaned into my body.


“I’m harder than a steel girder, bud, so I’m going to need some groping from my man.”


His big hand was on top of mine underneath the conveniently covered table.  What was clearly a traditional Khmer table runner was draped over a low hanging red cloth, which prevented anyone from seeing what Charles was doing.  He gripped my hand roughly and then moved it over to the large throbbing tool pressing against his pants.  I let out a slight gasp when I felt how hard he was – it, again, was something so foreign. It caught me off guard.  He crushed my fingers around his big meat and squeezed – as if I were just a puppet responding to his actions.  There was immediately a low guttural moan that escaped Charles – under his breath, so no one other than me would notice.  He started moving my hand up and down his long, hard shaft.


“Damn, bud, I’m even fucking harder than I was this afternoon.”


The cuss words that came out of Charles’ mouth so easily almost shocked me as much as his new name for me.  My husband reserved these kinds of words for the rare occasion that he accidently hit his thumb with a hammer or pushed a button on his laptop that instantly erased all the information he had painstakingly just entered into an online form. I wasn’t offended in any way – actually, it was the opposite - the cussing actually turned me on.  His voice exuded the same cockiness of his actions. It was like there was a total new packaging of the man I loved.  Mild-mannered, shy Charles suddenly changed into domineering, dripping with manliness Charles. 


“Yeah, that feels nice, bud. Real nice.  Just keep stroking that hard thing.”  


“Charles, this new you is really great and all, but it’s also starting to freak me out a little.”


“Why is that, bud?”


Charles spread his legs apart a little more, so my hand would have complete access to his stiff-as-hell meat.  It was such a macho move and so out of place for him.  He spread his left arm across the back of my chair, letting his hand rest on my shoulder.  I continued to press my hand against his hardness and move it up and down. Charles was grunting softly in approval as I did my work.


“You’re the man that almost never allows public displays of affection.  You didn’t even want to kiss in front of people at our wedding.  Now you have me fondling you under the table, your arm is draped across my shoulder, and you’re sitting on the same side of the table as me – something you’ve never done before.”  


“I just can’t help it, bud. I wanted to be close to you.  It’s like I can’t get enough of you.  But, more importantly, I needed you to stroke that wild beast under the table.”


The man had never referred to his own cock as a wild beast or in any other fashion, come to think of it. I was still groping his tool, which had seemed to only get harder . . . and bigger, if that had been possible.  I was caught between an intense lust for the man who had taken over my husband’s body and a need to know that whatever was causing him to be an alpha with a capital A was not harmful in any way.  He clearly picked up on my worrying.  He grabbed the back of my neck and squeezed.


“Listen bud, your old man is fine.  In fact, he’s never been better.  I didn’t hear any complaining when I was banging the shit out of you this afternoon. I’m sure it’s just this incredible country, the fresh air, and the tropical surroundings turning me on.  Sit back and enjoy the ride.  Speaking of rides, I hope you’re ready for the crotch bucking of your life later on tonight.  I feel like I could shove my rod through the headboard if I wanted to. Your tight ass is going to be the only dessert I’m going to need tonight, stud.”


By this point I, myself, was hard as stone and definitely leaking copious amounts of pre-cum.  I made a decision at that moment to throw caution to the wind.  The change in Charles was not hurting anyone – as a matter of fact, quite the opposite – he seemed to love the changes almost as much as I did.  I did, indeed, sit back and let him continue to massage my neck as I massaged his crotch.  I intended to enjoy the ride. 


“I feel like I could eat a horse, bud.”   


“Well, be careful Bong Chas, they actually might have it on the menu.”



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“Geez, Uncle Buck, can’t you cover yourself up.  It’s too early in the morning for all that.”


“What’s the matter, little Will, this chest too much for you?  Are your Uncle Bucky’s big man-tits turning you on?”


I knew not to let my mouth drop open in shock.  He was teasing me, but he had no idea how ‘spot on’ he really was.  I was eating breakfast at the kitchen table and he had gotten himself some coffee and stepped up to the spot across from me. His had his big robe on, but his massive pecs were blasting out through the opening like two huge whales emerging from the ocean.  He also didn’t even realize he was playing with himself through the pocket of his super thin pajama bottoms.  His big paw was groping his man-log as if he were trying to make his morning wood last as long as he could.  


“These big fuckers are on fire today, Willie.  I finally topped a thousand press ups last night.  A new record.  It’s only been six months of nightly exercise focused on my beastlike chest and the benefits are pretty obvious, wouldn’t you say?”


I couldn’t help myself, so I stared directly at his powerful upper body – directly at that jutting muscle shelf spreading his robe apart like a huge stage curtain opening before a play.  His mammoth pecs were glorious.  I’d been living with him for about five months, so I had seen his once sagging elder man-boobs skyrocket into hard pillows of muscled beef.  As he took a sip of coffee he made the right side of his chest roll upward like some kind of muscled shade rising on a window.  He did the same thing on the left side a few seconds later and then he did both of the thick masses at the same time.  The bald headed behemoth was staring at his own pecs – just as I was.


“I was trying to exit an elevator yesterday, but this big jerk wasn’t getting out of the way to let me leave – even after I politely said ‘excuse me’ a couple of times, so I simply nudged him with my big bazookas and sent him flying to the ground on floor number eleven.  As I stepped over him I looked down and said ‘sorry dude, these big things get in the way some of the time.’  You should have seen the look on his face.  I didn’t lean over so I’m sure he couldn’t see up past my chest popping out my black polo in almost an obscene fashion.  Sometimes, I feel like these big puppies have a mind of their own.”


There was another loud slurp of coffee, a tensing of the mega mounds of hard flesh, and the continued stroking of what was clearly the thickest and longest tool I’d ever encountered. I had never seen it fully hard – or unclothed – but his nightclothes left nothing to the imagination.  He sat down across from me and I swear his chest stuck out halfway across the table.  I could have easily reached up and massaged the enormous thing.   


“Gonna need you to sit on my back as I do press-ups tonight, William.  You can bring your iPad so you won’t get bored.  I was pretty sweaty and freaking tight when I got done last night, but a thousand press-ups didn’t wreck me like I thought it might.  Adding some weight will help me to get these giant babies to pop out even more.”


Uncle Buck ran his hand across his hairy pecs and let his thick fingers slide down into the deep furry ravine between the muscled rocks.  I suddenly had the unquenchable desire to bury my face in that same spot and have him squeeze the hell out of my nose as it poked down into that gulley. My cock was tenting my own pajama bottoms under the table and I was super-happy the Formica top prevented my lust from being revealed.


“Only cranked out seven hundred crunches last night, though.  I think I’m just destined to have this tank-like mid-section forever. It’s hard as stone and you can count my chiseled abs beneath the hair, but it’s still thick like a keg.  My trainer says that’s just the way some big guys are built.  He punches my gut constantly to show me just how solid it is, but I don’t think I’ll be getting down to a size thirty waist any time soon.”


The elder monster of a man pounded on his own stomach to let the deep solid sound reiterate what he was saying.  I almost impulsively reached out and punched it, too  – catching myself at the last moment and sticking my hands under the table. I absent-mindedly started stroking my hard cock through my pajamas – a motion that I’m sure was pretty obvious to my huge uncle.  


“Ralphie, my trainer, has also started requesting that I use his body when I’m doing my bench pressing. I think the big dude gets off on my massive chest.  He says he’s never seen a dude balloon out as quickly as I have.  I don’t tell him about all the press-ups I do at home – I want him to think all this growth is just from the gym – so he feels good about his training.  Yesterday, he followed me into the locker room and asked if he could grope my pectoralis major muscle and I quickly told him only if that meant my chest, because I didn’t want to get kicked out for doing anything nasty.”


It was taking all of my strength not to moan out loud.  The way he was rubbing his own massive pecs and his hard abs – on top of him telling me his adventures at the gym with his more-than-average-hot trainer was pushing me close to the orgasmic point of no return.  I had the sudden distinct feeling that Uncle Buck knew exactly what his motions and his talk were doing to me.  It was almost like he was testing a theory or something.  


“Willie, my boy, I can’t see my feet anymore when I stand straight up – my chest pokes out too far. And I’ve got really big feet – if you hadn’t noticed.”


I had noticed.  One day, while he took a nap, I had put my foot and sneaker inside of his loafer that was by the front door.  It hadn’t even been a tight fit.  He wrapped his big hands around gallon jugs, across the tops of big cans, and even mostly covered the softball when we went out in the yard to pitch.  He often reached out to shake my hand when I came in from a weekend away or other random times and recently I had begun to think he did it just to show off how huge he was compared to me.  He also always squeezed until I said ‘uncle’ – one of his favorite ‘older man’ jokes. 


“Yeah, these big things feel like they’ve always got the most awesome pump.  None of my shirts fit anymore.  I have to leave three or four buttons undone, just so I don’t pop them off when I inhale.  There are dudes at work that never look me in the face when they’re talking to me. They’re too mesmerized by the two monstrous blobs of muscle stretching out the material of my shirt.  And, just yesterday, one of these huge mothers ripped through my polo.  I kid you not.  I was sitting at my desk trying to crunch some numbers for a report and it just wasn’t coming out right.  I took a deep breath to release some of the tension and suddenly that blue polo I love so much burst at the seams and my right pec exploded into the air.  It was kind of like 3-D porn.  I instantly got major wood sitting at my desk and looking down at my hard gigantic pec popping out from the torn material of my shirt.  I swear I beat off now more from looking at my own chest than looking at hot pics in magazines.”


We had now entered into a completely surreal conversation.  It felt like an episode of the Twilight Zone.  My huge elder uncle had never talked like this before.  He had certainly teased in the past – referencing how sore he was from a workout or something like that, but this, right now, was borderline sex talk.  It was like Uncle Buck was trying to make me ejaculate.  I had moved beyond a place of embarrassment – or any kind of fear.  My arm was clearly jacking my cock under the table – there was no mistaking that.  I was also breathing heavy and moaning every now and then at something the elder man shared.  I looked him in the eye – my confidence obvious and intoxicating.  


“And Big Buck, are those magazine pics of women or men?”


“Which would make you happy, William?”


“Men, but you knew that, didn’t you?”




“So which makes you happy, Uncle Buck?”


“The same as you, Will.”


“For the record, I beat off now more from thinking about your chest than anything else, too.”


“And I think about your cute twenty-nine year old lips pressed into these heaving monsters constantly.”


I instantly stood up and walked around the table.  At the same time he pushed back his chair and turned it toward the middle of the room. I slid onto his thick-as-hell thighs and was only stopped when my crotch slammed into the tree trunk sticking up under his pajamas.  It was like putting on a warm tight glove or a well-worn jacket – we fit perfectly together. Buck’s magnificent monstrous chest was heaving up and down – clearly, he was overwhelmed from having me this close. The big dude was actually shaking a little.  Aw, Big Buck was nervous.  He didn’t move at all – only his whale-like pecs bobbed up and down.  He was staring at me with so much need it was almost unbearable.  I could see in his eyes he was begging me to only move forward if it was what I wanted. I saw, in his gaze, that I had the most power at that moment – even though his big body was twice the size of mine. He obviously knew the next few moments were going to send his hugeness into a flaming pit of unending desire and he didn’t want to submit himself to me unless I was ‘all in’ as well.  This made me the happiest little munchkin in all the land of Oz.  I looked down at his bulging mega twin muscled zeppelins and then back up to his teary eyes.




I raised my hands and pressed into the tough as stone meat protruding menacingly towards my face.  I ran my open palms along the fur-covered hardness and purred like a kitten.  No matter how hard I pressed, the skin didn’t give at all.  I looked back into his eyes.


“In 3-D pec-orama.”


I moved my hands to each nipple and trapped the jutting hard nubs between my forefingers and thumbs. I squeezed hard and twisted at the same time.  My big uncle clenched his jaw and grunted in joy.  I squeezed harder and I saw veins tighten in his neck.  I stopped my abuse and let my thumbs brush against the plugs as the tips of my fingers rested against what felt like metal of some kind.




The big older man had still not moved a limb.  He was simply watching me act like a small boy on his first trip to an amusement park. Every now and then his tree trunk cock would twitch against mine and it was like someone whacking my rod with the back of his big hand.  It only brought pleasure, though.  The heaving of his chest intensified as I brought my puckered lips toward his magnanimous beefy right pec.  The anticipation was so palpable I was nervous one of us was going to have a heart attack.  It was like a bolt of lightning zapped his body when my lips lightly touched his steel-like skin.  The two pecs ballooned thicker and a hell-of-a-lot bigger as he sucked in enough air to fill the hull of an ocean liner.  My face was brusquely pushed back just by the force of his enlarging mound of muscle.  His hands shot out and he roughly grabbed my thighs – his big hands reaching more than halfway around them.  His cock found the opening of his pajamas and shot straight out like a rocket shooting through some clouds.  I let out a little yelp from the grip of his big hands, but I did not move my lips.  I kept them plastered against his mammoth pec. It took him a good twenty seconds to recover from the blast of orgasmic electricity caused by my kiss.  When he finally un-tensed, he released a large burst of air.




I let my tongue slide out and take a big swipe at his bulging pec muscle.  I tasted sweat, but mostly I tasted man.  And it tasted better than anything I had ever licked before.




“It’s taking every ounce of my strength not to squeeze the hell out of you right now.  I’ve never ever been so turned on.”


“Nor have I, Big Buck.”


“I can’t lie, I built these things in hopes you’d like them, Will.  Whenever I wanted to quit while I was doing press-ups I’d fantasize that you were lying on my back – enjoying the ride.  That helped me to never quit.  I’ve got super pecs mainly because of your inspiration.  The dream that one-day you’d want to feel them kept me going.  I’ve wanted you for so long, William.”


“And I’ve wanted to have my face squeezed between those big slabs of beef ever since you started that deep crevice, Buck.”


“There’s no time like the present, sweet little man.”


It was hard for me to imagine anything comparing to what I felt next.  The first time a bear tasted honey.  The first time a man topped Mount Everest.  The first time the first man orgasmed.  The first Christmas being celebrated.  Nothing I could think of even seemed to come close.  Having Uncle Buck’s big paw pulling my face in between his bulging muscle mattresses was in a league all its own.  Wild horses, stampeding bulls, charging rhinos, or an army of tanks could not have prevented the ejaculation that celebrated my face being compressed between two hard walls of sweaty muscled elder man-meat.  I imploded mentally and exploded sexually.  It took me a few seconds to realize the same thing was happening to the monstrous man underneath me.  We didn’t just spew, we gushed like broken fire hydrants.  I didn’t think it was possible, but Buck’s body turned even more steel-like as he shot volumes of stinging hot forceful cum against my body and his.  The man emitted a sound that could only be compared to the rumble of a huge building being destroyed by dynamite.  I was quickly covered in so much muscleman hot spunk it felt like I was wearing a thick winter coat.  


“God, I haven’t cum since you got here.  I wanted to wait for this moment.”


The idea of this elder behemoth not having any kind of sexual release for six months because of me actually made my worn out cock spurt a few more gobs of nectar into my pajama bottoms.  I was caked in Buck juice and I could tell it was going to feel like I had on a suit of armor when it dried.  My face was still trapped between the bulging mountains that were his pecs.  My cheeks ached and it felt like someone was trying to rearrange the bone structure of my head.  I actually had to wait for Buck to release me.  I pulled away and looked down at my sopping bare upper torso.  I was in a cocoon of cum.  Buck wrapped his arms around my body and pulled me into him – so the jism would be like glue that kept us together.  I could still feel his heart pounding through his giant chest – the man still hadn’t calmed down.  He caressed my back as he held me.


“I promise to make you so happy, Will.  And I promise to keep on growing.”


Sweeter words had never been spoken.



“Dude!  Let me have my first cup of coffee, okay?  Didn’t you get enough last night?”


“Hell no, I’ll never get enough.”


“You kept me up until four, man.”


“What can I say?  I think you’re amazing.  No one can do what you do.”


“Well, let me have a cup of java or two and then we can pick up where we left off.”


I looked around the room – crowbars, cast iron skillets, a massive old radiator, and many other items littered the floor, mutilated last night by the super strength of the gorgeous man now drinking coffee in his black skivvies in the kitchen of my house. His name was Clark – of course – and we had met at the bar last night.  He had been sitting in a corner of the place all by himself and I was amazed all the horny wolves hanging out at the place weren’t attacking a man so handsome.  My opening line had been just that – asking him why a cute buff dude like him was alone. He had quickly answered that he scared people.  I asked him in what way – fearing he was some kind of psycho and I immediately regretted talking to him.  He responded that he was super strong and it made people nervous.  I misunderstood him and thought he meant he came on too strong – telling him confidence can be a very sexy trait.  He quickly corrected me by saying it was much more than confidence – he had the strength of a hundred men.  The confused look on my face made him loop his pinkie through my belt in the front at my crotch and he then easily lifted my entire two hundred pound well-built frame off of the ground.  As my feet dangled in the air a foot above the floor I had instantly fallen in love.  There was one thing that I loved more than a handsome face or gorgeous body – and that was a guy with power.  A hundred pinkie lifts later and after about as many kisses in the bar we found ourselves back at my place and I was bringing him anything I could find to destroy with his bare hands.  I quickly caught on that Clark got off on doing feats of strength even more than I loved watching them.


“You fucking love your strength, don’t you, man?”


“Yeah, I do.  I mean, I don’t want you to think I’m super conceited or anything, it’s just that I have all this strength raging through me and it helps if I have an outlet – some way to release a little power.  And if a guy happens to get off while watching, well that’s even better.”


“Have you always been super strong?”


“Yeah, it kind of freaked my parents out when I ripped my crib apart before I was even two years old. They were worried I’d hurt one of my siblings so they put me up for adoption.  I’ve basically been an outcast all of my life.  I can’t play sports because I might hurt someone – or worse. At the orphanage I was called a freak and basically ignored.  I used to hide my strength, but a few years ago I embraced who I was and just started living my life the way I wanted to.  It was really freeing.”


Without even realizing it, Clark had picked up one of the demolished big cast iron pots and was squeezing it into an even smaller unrecognizable blob.  He did it the same way someone might nonchalantly dent in the sides of an empty plastic water bottle – crushing iron with one hand and not thinking about it.  He sipped his coffee and his sleepy eyes stared off into space as he remembered his coming out as a superman.  I watched, awe struck, as black iron – solid enough to withstand being put in a roaring fire or pounded by a hammer – yielded to his fingers the way mud pies were manipulated by children.  Last night, he had squeezed the big radiator into something that now looked like a metal brick – compressing it first between his muscled legs, then hugging it like a stuffed animal, and finally shaping it into a small box with just his hands.  At the same time he talked about the beauty he created as a landscape architect and the juxtaposition of the destruction and creation was mind blowing.  


“I don’t think that skillet will be frying any more eggs.”


“Oh man, I’m really sorry. I didn’t even realize I was crushing it.”


“Are you kidding?  It was already a dead soldier from your glorious one-handed abuse last night.  There’s no need to apologize.  I think I made it perfectly clear I’m a strength junkie to the extreme.”


We both looked around the room at the tools, kitchen items, bricks, and small appliances that were now pieces of junk – easily destroyed by Clark as I ran around last night trying to find anything that would prove unbreakable or unbendable to his super power. Usually, there were clothes strewn across the room the morning after – but with this man it was different.  I had kept him up until the crack of dawn insisting he show off his strength any way he could.  I, myself, had been lifted, twirled, and tossed like some kind of small rag with such ease I had come to realize Clark probably had no limitations.  The crazy part of the night was that we hadn’t had sex.  We had been too busy stoking our perpetual hard-ons by him doing feats of strength.  It had been six hours of the most intense edging of my entire life.  


“I don’t even remember squeezing the hell out of that toaster oven.”


“That was around three-thirty.  I was running out of tools and decided to move to something bigger.  It was also after our third hefty glass of Bush Mills. I think that thing screamed the loudest as you destroyed it.  Kind of looks like a manila folder now.”


“I’m still feeling pretty pumped.  All of this was a good workout for me.  Wanna feel my gun?”


“Do you even need to ask?”


I moved to the spot on the sofa beside Clark after refilling his coffee mug.  He tensed his arm and the beautiful biceps bulged even huger. I ran my hand all over it as we both gazed at his magnificent muscle.  It was amazing what that arm could do.  Yes, it was big, tanned, and muscled – but no one could have guessed it had the power to easily make a bowling ball explode into thousands of pieces from just a simple squeeze.  I’d probably be finding bits of that thing for months when cleaning.  I’d also not be bowling with my own ball ever again.  


“Man, everything’s a little blurry after a certain point – why didn’t we have sex?”


“Two reasons, really. We were way to busy having fun finding things for you to destroy and then, after watching you poke your finger through steel, cast iron, and cinder blocks, you told me your dick was one of the strongest parts of you.  I didn’t want you plowing me while you were drunk – there was no telling what damage you could have done.”


“Naw, dude, don’t be afraid of that.  I can control all this power.  I can make you feel real good.  It’s just that you were so damn encouraging last night – I had to show off my power!”


“And these arms of yours were so damn obliging, too!”


Clark grabbed the blob of iron off the coffee table and started squeezing it again – as I continued to feel his hard biceps.  He would turn the crushed skillet in his hand and tighten his grip again, manipulating the iron the way a child might squeeze clay.  The mound of muscle under my hands got harder and bigger from the workout. He was grunting a little as he squeezed tighter and tighter.  


“Fucking hell, that’s nothing for you, is it – to crush the crap out of iron.”


“Easy as you wadding up a piece of paper, man.”


“I think you find this easier.”


“What turns you on the most about my power, dude?”


“Aw hell, dude, all of it. I can’t pinpoint it down to one thing. It’s the fact that you don’t even have to think twice about doing stuff that’s not supposed to be possible.  You folded up a big cast iron skillet like it was an envelope.  You squeezed the hell out of the metal head of a sledgehammer as if it were just a Styrofoam cup.  I like the way metal screams as you twist it or tear it apart.  And I like how you tossed me around last night as if I were just a simple t-shirt.  But most of all I’m really into how your power makes you naturally confident – like there’s nothing you can’t do.”


“Give this superman a kiss.”


I continued to caress his arm as I leaned in and kissed his fur-surrounded mouth.  It was our most intimate kiss since we had been together. Even though our lust for his strength would always be the thing that turned us on the most, I could tell our attraction was growing in many other ways.  He dropped the destroyed blob of iron on the sofa and slid his hand under my ass.  To rest in a big palm is nice, but to be lifted by said palm is even better.  Clark simply raised his hand and my obviously light body went up in the air, too.  I’m a pretty big man and I had never been lifted before by anyone, but here was this guy doing it with just one hand.  I went upward until his arm was extended completely.  I was like a tray of appetizers resting on a waiter’s palm.  I could feel the strength of his arm when he gently bounced me up and down as if I were merely a balloon.  


“How’s the view up there.”


“Wide shoulders and thick arms – it’s perfect.”


“Let’s see if it’s the same from the other side.”


And with that comment Clark flicked his hand upward and sent my body into the air.  I made an arc over his head and he had his other palm waiting to catch my ass as I came down.  It took no effort at all for him to toss me from hand to hand and I was a fully-grown man. I still had trouble taking in Clark’s full power.  I landed with a thud, but his arm didn’t give at all.  He then lowered me down to the sofa on his other side. 


“Did you enjoy the ride?”


“Yes.  Clearly the coffee has kicked in.”


“It has.  It’s also made me quite horny.”


“Is that so?  Funny, it’s had the same effect on me.” 


“We should do something about that.”


“I was thinking the same thing.” 


And I was on top of him before another breath was taken.            



“God, I’m so horny in the morning,” Sam said, flexing his gorgeous arms.


“You’re horny all the time,” I replied, looking up from my iPad, where I was reading the morning news. 


“What can I say?  I’m fifty-seven.  I’m in my prime,” he responded, flexing his arms even harder and grunting at the same time.


“You’ll be in your prime until you’re in the grave,” I said, smiling and gazing at his furry big body.


“Who knew married life would suit me so well, “ he said, moving closer to me – his biceps still reaching up to the ceiling and his manly log starting to harden in his briefs.  “I get sex any time I want it, I grope my little man any time I want to, walking around in my skivvies all day is acceptable, not having to hide my hard-ons, and squeezing the hell out of that pretty body of yours whenever I feel like it.  Damn, I feel like a king.”


“Well, your highness, make sure you put that carton of milk back in the fridge so it doesn’t spoil,” I said, turning back down to my iPad to tease him mercilessly – he knew I could never really resist his body.  


“Make me, weakling,” he said, teasing me back and nudging my side with his hardening cock – even as he still flexed his mammoth arms.  


This kind of talk always meant my husband of two months was feeling very frisky.  Even if I could have made my body not want him completely, it would have been futile since he was clearly in the mood for sex.  A bunch of wild rhinos couldn’t prevent him from getting what he wanted when he was horny.  Whoever thought men needed sex less, as they got older, had obviously never met my man.  Sam’s libido seemed to have increased fifty-fold since we had tied the knot. He had also gained about five pounds of pure muscle.  He said I was his muse for growing and his outlet for a sudden greater need for sex. At his annual physical two weeks ago his doctor of twenty years said Sam had the body and spirit of a man in his twenties.  This had made the big older man pound me as if he had been the Hulk that evening.  He had five orgasms that night – like he was trying to prove the doctor right or something.  I had felt like I should have sent the doc a thank you card or gift. The big thick lead pipe in his underwear shoved against me for a second time.


“Punch me, weak man,” Sam said, gruffly.”


I stood up and pulled back my arm.  When my fist hit his abs there was a loud smack that echoed throughout the house. His cock twitched noticeably beneath the cotton material and immediately the thing lengthened some more.  The man let out an appreciative moan and tightened his raised fists to make his biceps balloon up even more.


“Hmmm, felt it, pal, but it was like someone hit me with a pillow,” he purred at me.  “Your big old hubby is built like a tank.  Like a big, powerful, horny tank.”


“I used all my strength, honey,” I replied, knowing the news would please him.


“Oh fuck yeah, my little hubby throwing mousey punches and his big man not feeling a thing,” Sam said, pressing his entire body into mine – my knuckles still stinging a little against his abs.  “Chow down on a nip, please.”


The ‘please’ was unnecessary.  It was just a quick, simple way for him to make me know he loved and respected me. He knew I liked it more when he ordered me around – when he dominated me.  Why else would I have chosen a larger, older, more powerful muscle daddy as a husband?  I didn’t need someone to please me.  I needed someone to protect me and boss me around.  I wanted a mentor . . . a teacher . .  . a disciplinarian – in short, I wanted a man.  Sam was the foreman of a huge construction company.  He told big men what to do all day long and he loved it.  He treated me like his toy at home and, in return, I kept an efficient house – paying the bills, keeping everything in order, and taking care of his every need. If that made me the weaker partner, then so be it.  I knew, in the deepest part of my soul, that this big man would do anything for me and that freed me up to be his little babe.  I moved my mouth over to his protruding nipple and clamped my teeth down on it hard. He let out a loud moan that seemed to shake the foundation of our big house.  He never stopped flexing, though.


“Oh holy hell!  That feels fucking great,” he said, grinding his crotch into me even harder and pinning me up against the kitchen island. “Gnaw on that nub, boy.  Make your daddy leak some pre!  Damn, I feel so powerful – like I could lift a house with just my cock.”


The first time Sam had seen my twenty-something-years collection of comic books he had instantly realized I had a superhero fetish.  That had been our fourth or fifth night together and I had invited him over for a dinner of my special Bolognese.  The food and the fine wine had blown him away – but it had been my fascination with comics that had thrilled him the most.  Later, when we were making out on the sofa he had started whispering things to turn me on – like ‘does the kid want a muscleman to take care of him’ and ‘how ‘bout you let this big older man be your superhero, boy.’ I had been so turned on I shot a load before we had even taken off one stich of clothing.  This had pleased him so much.  Now, any chance he could, he’d talk about himself as if he had superpowers just to turn me on even more.  It worked like a dream.


“You make me want to bend girders into the shape of hearts, kid,” Sam continued, all with the intention of thrilling me.  “My big paws gripping that big long stick of steel and bending it like it was nothing – just to please my little man.  I love you so much.”


“I love you more,” I said, temporarily pulling my mouth away from his furry nipple.


He immediately brought his arms down.  He grabbed me at my waist with both of his big paws.  He easily lifted me in the air – until my face was even with his.  He had a serious look on his face – but I instantly knew he was kidding.  Man, his big bushy moustache turned me on. 


“That’s not possible, boy,” he said, roughly, staring into my eyes.


“Sure it is, there’s a hell of a lot more of you to love,” I quickly replied.


This make him burst out with laughter.  I shook in his arms.  He pulled me into his body and wrapped his arms around my upper torso and began to squeeze – even as he continued to vibrate from my joke.   I brought my lips to his neck and let his furry cheek scrape against the side of my face.  He was compressing me so much I was finding it a little hard to breathe, but it felt so damn good.  I was surrounded by hard muscle.  My crotch bobbed against his and I could feel his bulging hard on pulsing bigger and bigger. 


“Fuck, I want to squeeze you so tight you meld into me,” Sam said with so much love in his voice it was almost overwhelming.  “Then I could have you close to me all the time.”


“If you hug me any tighter it’s going to happen,” I said in a whisper because I couldn’t suck in any air at all – and I started to get light headed.


“Sorry, babe,” the big man said lessening his hold, “It’s just that you turn me on so much that I can’t control myself.”


He moved a few inches and set my ass down on the island counter.  He then pulled my legs up and I wrapped them around his thin hard waist. He pushed into me, so his hard cock pressed firmly into mine.  He raised his arms back into a double biceps flex and then inhaled deeply.


“I smell like I’m all man, don’t I, honey?” he asked, teasingly.  “Yeah, that’s the aroma of a big old he-man when he secretes out testosterone and muscle-musk for his boy.  My sweat is like the nectar of the gods, man.  It’ll make you want nothing else to drink for the rest of your days.” 


I breathed in deeply and was enveloped in the intoxicating smell of a mixture of his sweat, his morning spooge, and that constant manly scent that lingered around him every second of every day.  If I had been blindfolded I could have easily chosen him out of a group of smelly men.  I had one of his dry unwashed tank-tops in my briefcase and pulled it out many times a day to get a good whiff of him – which caused me to get stiff every time, too.  


“My balls must be turning a dark blue, bud,” he said, shoving his cock against mine even harder. “If I don’t get some release pretty soon I’m going to have to plunge my dick through this marble countertop.  I gotta fucking hard-on so strong it needs to do some damage.  That’s what you cause in me, dude.  I said ‘I do’ so I could have a raging boner every hour of every day for the rest of my life.”


We had exchanged our wedding vows with him holding me in the air at his side with one arm.  We had written our own vows and his had simply been, ‘I will fucking love you so hard for the rest of my life that you will never have a need or desire unfulfilled.’  I had gotten hard right there on the spot – those being the sweetest words I had ever heard.  In the middle of our reception he had thrown me over his shoulder, walked up to the band, grabbed the microphone out of the hand of the lead singer mid-song, and announced that he was taking me to our hotel room so he could have his way with me – all night long.  The hundred or so guys from his construction team in the midst of our five hundred guests had cheered so loudly you would have thought a jet was landing on the reception hall.  My feet never touched the ground again until the next afternoon when we got to the airport for our honeymoon flight to Tahiti.  If there had been a decent way for him to have his cock inside of me for the entire airplane ride he would have done it.  As it was, he groped me so much that every other passenger in first class got pretty steamed up and the flight attendants each had to beat off a few times in the bathroom.  This had been the first indication that I was married to the kind of powerful man who would never run out of cum or strength.  I had come to learn that my first instincts had been right.  Sam never got tired and he never passed up the opportunity to plow me hard.    


“Who’s your big man?” he asked.


“You are,” I responded and he immediately leaned in to kiss me hard – his moustache brushing against my face and making me leak a little pre-cum.


“Sex,” he grunted against me, as if he was some kind of prehistoric man.


“Let’s put the milk away first, big guy,” I responded, giving him a parental look.


He slid his big mitts under my ass and carried me over to where the milk was on the counter by the stove. I grabbed the jug and then he walked us over to the fridge.  I opened the door and put the milk on the top shelf, letting the door close by itself as we walked away.  Luckily, for me, today he was choosing the bedroom and not the kitchen island for our mid-morning fuck.  Once inside the master bedroom, he tossed me on the bed and smiled down at me.


“Let’s consummate this marriage for the millionth time,” he said, pulling down his briefs.    



He reached over and ran his forefinger around the slit of my hard cock, teasing me mercilessly as we sat there in silence.  Sticky pre-cum followed the huge finger, like a trail of honey.  His grin revealed so much – confidence, empathy, and kindness – all at the same time.  I reached over and ran my hand down his hard six-pack and he tensed his abs to please my hand even more.  He gripped my stiff rod with his calloused palm and squeezed tightly.  That grin was still as adorable as it had been last night when we met at the bar.  He bounced his pecs for me, knowing my gaze would hone in on the things as they moved up and down.  His hand started sliding up and down my shaft – expertly - turning me on even more. Damn, he was sexy.  The grin got a little bigger, as if he could read my mind. His grip got a little tighter and I got a little more excited.  


“How could someone hurt a guy as cute as you,” he asked – with the kind of manly voice that would be perfect for animated porn.  


His hand continued to slowly stroke my cock – a master musician playing his instrument perfectly. Pre-cum flowed freely to keep my stiffness lubricated.  He flexed his other arm – knowing it was my favorite body part on a guy.  He had done the same thing at the bar last night when I had revealed my big gun fetish.  A hard softball-sized mound popped up perfectly and split into two distinct heads.  He just kept grinning at me, loving how my gaze danced around his entire body – hard abs, bouncing pecs, flexed arm, and that toe-curling grin.  


“My offer still stands. I can beat up that ex of yours, if you say the word.  I could have him begging you for forgiveness in mere seconds.  He sounds like a dweeb and I usually don’t have a problem taking on six guys at one time,” he said, slowly and deliberately.  


My cock dribbled a little pre-cum, a side effect from me visualizing him roughing up Henry, my ex. He clearly loved my reaction, because it caused his nipples to pop out hard and his own resting cock suddenly awoke and poked upward toward the ceiling.  And still he stroked.  And still he grinned.  The stubble on his chin and cheeks was so inviting.  The inside of my thighs were a little chaffed from his expert beard scrubbing last night and this morning.  I didn’t know fur could feel so good – or be such a turn on.


“Straddle me,” he said, rubbing his hand across his lower, tight, tiny waist.  


I did as he asked and loved how his stomach felt so hard under my ass and I also adored his hard cock pressing against my lower back.  He pulled down on my cock, which was still sticking straight up – and forced me to lean forward.  He pressed my shaft in the deep valley at the middle of his chest and then squeezed his pecs. He kept his opened hand across the top – trapping me in.  I knew what to do.  I slowly started pushing my cock forward and then pulling it back – the sweat in the muscled chasm acting as a lovely sliding juice.  


“Yeah, let my hard pecs stroke that meat, boy,” he said, still grinning as he looked into my eyes. “There are not many things better than fucking a tight hard chest.  Let all these muscles heal your broken heart, man.”


This dude was exactly what the doctor had ordered.  Henry, my boyfriend of ten years, had surprised me one recent Friday afternoon by introducing me to his new younger lover when I got home from work and asking me to be out of the condo by the end of the day, Sunday.  I had been too shocked to argue.  I also knew it was his place.  I had just not seen the end coming.  I had decided – after crying in my hotel room for many nights – to finally venture out to a bar last night.  I had chosen the kind of place I knew Henry would never go to – a ‘rougher’ kind of gay bar, where the men tended to be on the prowl for something specific and weren’t there just to meet friends for a happy hour drink.  I had come in hopes of finding someone for a night of anonymous hot sex.  I had not anticipated Mr. Grin.


“Come on baby, shoot for daddy,” he said, as he grabbed my ass and started assisting my thrusting motion with the power of his arm.  “Let my pecs get you off.  Let all the hurt go and just focus on the pleasure.”


God, was he some kind of hypnotist or something.  I couldn’t take my gaze away from his – and that grin was just so damn intoxicating. Every atom of my body was completely focused on the pleasure he was giving me.  I had never known my cock to be so hard.  I was breathing as heavy as a charging bull and this seemed to make the guy happier than anything.  When the pressure got to be too much and in that split second of nothingness before you shoot – he let his thick forefinger pluck my asshole just to intensify my ejaculation even more.  I shot a big gob of my white cum up against the bottom of his chin, and then a round of intense volleys streamed out across his neck and covered the upper part of his pecs – as if they were snow-covered mountains.  And he never stopped grinning.  I didn’t come down from my orgasmic high for a couple of minutes – my entire body stayed tensed, my ass gripped his finger like some kind of powerful clamp, and my eyes stayed plastered to his.  Slowly, I let my body ease back into the real world – I wanted to hang on to his control over me as long as I could.  I wanted to be under his spell.


“Feel better, babe?” he asked, and all I could do was nod and smile.  “I’m glad.  Mind if I fill your insides with some protein-filled daddy juice?”


The ‘want’ in my eyes and the gigantic smile that crept across my face was all the answer he needed. He moved his hands from my cock and his pecs to my ass – his other forefinger still caressing my prostate. He lifted me slightly with one hand and I felt the tip of his rock-hard cock press against my ass crack, alongside his finger.  He pressed his crotch upward and slowly his dick slid into my hole crammed tightly beside that thick digit already inside me.  When I felt his balls slap up against my ass cheeks, he withdrew his finger quickly – with a champagne cork-like pop and a rush of pleasure that instantly made me shoot hard again.  Damn, he was a master at butt play – as well as everything else.  He started a gentle ocean wave motion with his hips – causing his hardness to plow the insides of my shaft.  I was moaning in seconds.  This made his grin grow bigger – his gaze still completely focused on me.


“Gonna make you forget about everything else, babe – and only think about me and the pleasure you feel,” he said with so much sex appeal I instantly knew my balls started churning fresh new cum.  “Let this big man fill you with his lovin’.


Fill me was an understatement.  His cock caused the kind of invasion Napoleon would have loved.  My body was defenseless to the slow steady plowing of his bulldozer cock.  I just sat back and enjoyed the ride – watching his muscles tense harder as his orgasm built, watching slight beads of sweat appearing on his furrowed brow and his furry upper lip, and feeling his cock swell into something akin to a keg within me.  This was heaven.  This was pleasure beyond pleasure.  This was everything Henry had not been.  Who in the hell was Henry, anyway?  At this moment all I knew of the world was centered on the grinning muscleman beneath me. He made me feel like a king and his cock was my throne.  


“Gusher’s coming,” he said through his gritted teeth grin.


Hot he-man spunk filled my insides, coating me with testosterone, manliness, and the kind of beast-like smell that made horses get hard from just one waft.  His orgasm was so hard he pounded into my ass with a force that seemed unnatural.  Luckily, his strong hands and arms kept me in place – otherwise, it felt like I might have shot through the ceiling.  Of course a man the size of him – even after numerous rounds of sex the night before and that morning – would dump a full load into my smaller body.  It felt like I wouldn’t need to eat for days – that’s how filled I was.  His muscles now glistened and bulged incredibly – his ejaculation seemed to equal a two-hour workout.  It still felt like a stool had been slammed up my as – and it was glorious.  His breathing normalized, his jaw became unclenched, and his body turned less stone-like.  And the grin just kept on grinning.  


“I could get used to that ass of yours,” he said, peering deeply into my soul.  “Would you want a big muscleman cuddling you for a few weeks as you recover from your break up . . . or maybe even longer than a few weeks.”


What break up, I wanted to ask.  My hands were massaging his brick-hard abs and his jutting pec shelf – without me even realizing it.  I was just trying to feel as much of him as I could.  Reality had seemed to disappear – the idea of this hunk asking if he could cuddle me was way beyond awesome.  On some level, though, I knew he seriously meant it.  I could feel the connection – and not just because his big hard cock was still anchoring me down to his body.  I could sense that he wanted me.  He wanted me as much as I wanted him.


“I want to be much more than rebound sex,” he continued.  “I’ve been looking for someone like you for a long time.  I’m really sorry that you got dumped, but if it hadn’t happened you wouldn’t be sitting on top of me right now.  I gotta lot of room in this place.  It needs someone else to make it a home.  I promise I won’t need to plow you eight times every night – well, that is, after a few more weeks.   Let me be the balm that soothes what ails you, man.  I promise I can make you happy.  What do you say?”


My answer came in the form of fingers twisting nipples, lips coming down to kiss the fur covered face in front of me, and my ass somehow clamped even tighter than it had been before.


This made his grin turn bigger and sexier.      



“You can’t blame me, doc. You made me this way,” the behemoth said as he twisted the crowbar into something resembling a pretzel.  “I just can’t get enough.”


It was true.  I had created the monstrous super-powered mass of muscle standing in front of me.  It’s not like Jeremy hadn’t wanted to be huge and strong, though.  I had merely granted him his wish.  I had not anticipated, however, how the growth and the increased power would make him crave feats of strength and sex like some kind of madman.  I certainly wasn’t complaining.  Having a six foot four enormous man going shirtless, flexing, showing off his strength, and begging to make you orgasm all the time was quite a nice way to live – even if it could be exhausting.  


“Um, and what am I going to do now if I ever need a crowbar?” I asked as he finalized the destruction of the tool by folding it over on itself so many times it was now just a blob of metal.


“Here’s your crowbar, mister,” he said, holding up his little pinkie.  “There’s more power in that little finger than there ever would have been in this weak thing.”


He squeezed the blob hard so the metal seeped out between his fingers like clay – leaving finger indentions, thick and deep.  Veins popped out all over his forearm and that long dense one snaked beautifully across his tensed huge biceps.  He made destroying a crowbar look like child’s play.  I looked at the humongous body that the serum had made.  Lats flared out like wings, traps ballooned up mountains, pecs shot out like some kind of muscled 3-D morph, and biceps – not even flexed – looked like skin covered bowling balls.  The two-day growth of fur on his face looked thicker than if I had been trying to grow a beard for months.  And the intense stare shooting across the counter told me he was already in need of sex again.  It was only ten in the morning and he’d already had his way with me in the bed and shower.  He reached up and squeezed one of his already hard nipples.  He gritted his teeth as he squeezed his fingers hard enough to crush bricks – bringing only pleasure to his nub.  


“Want me to hold you in the air this time,” he asked – knowing full well I understood it was time for him to get off.  


“You know me so well,” I responded.


The guy masturbated multiple times during the day – usually by shoving his rod through concrete, metal, or hard wood – but that never satisfied him the way my body could.  He called me his ‘sex toy’ and that’s kind of what I was.  I enjoyed every minute of it, though.  He was never a bully and if I ever said no, which was never, he would have certainly respected my wishes, but plowing me every which way he could brought him the kind of satisfaction that reminded me of lions roaring after the kill or huge gorillas pounding their chest when they won a fight.  I didn’t just please him; I gave him reason for his huge body and incredible strength.  After the first injection of the serum he had freaked me out a little by growling like some kind of untamed beast, growing about fifty pounds of muscle in about ten minutes, and ripping a chunk of bricks off of our fireplace and crushing them as easily as Styrofoam.  I had anticipated only a slight growth and an even slighter increase in his power.  I had obviously severely miscalculated the results. When he had finally calmed down I had asked him how he felt and all he kept saying was ‘fucking incredible.’


“Up you go, slugger,” he said and I felt the ever familiar joyous rush as my feet left the floor.  


Jeremy was now so naturally masculine it seemed that every pore on his body radiated dominance in the same way that other guys did something as simple as sweating.  He never had to raise his voice or tense his muscles to come across as powerful – a musk of manhood hung around him constantly, making me get a little stiff wood simply because he entered the room.  To be hoisted into the air at any time he desired had simply become a common occurrence.  I was still in awe of his power, but it didn’t surprise me or seem out of the ordinary.  Jeremy had become a superman – the experiment had succeeded beyond our wildest imagination. 


“Ready, honey?” he asked and I simply nodded my head, knowing full well what was coming next.  


Luckily, I had never been penetrated by something metal or wooden, but I had a funny feeling that Jeremy’s hard cock was ten times stronger than anything of the sort.  I don’t think a steel girder could have felt more powerful than the tool invading my hole at that moment.  His powerful hands easily held my body in place as the tip of his raging hard-on poked me like a torpedo blasting through the hull of a ship.  The combination of being held aloft, running my hands across his hairless hard body, and his more than expert plowing usually made me lose my load on his third or fourth thrust.  He was just too much to handle.  My legs would wrap around his waist like I was some kind of human belt and often he could let go with his hands and just have his mighty cock hold me in place as he bucked his crotch back and forth.  To watch the man orgasm was probably akin to seeing the birth of a star. The serum had made him a giant cum factory – his balls seeming to churn out juice the way a major power plant produced electricity.  Striations, veins, bulges, and the like burst out all over his body to the point you thought he might explode.  And then came the animalistic scream so intoxicatingly primal it usually made me cum again, instantly.  His legs sometimes trembled slightly from the exertion.  And there I was still sitting on his hard spear like a human popsicle. His cum sped into my body, spread through my bloodstream, and instantly gave me the same kind of high you’d get from a good workout or three espressos.  


“Fucking hell, you turn me on,” he said – similar expressions of appreciation always followed his explosions.  


He was now moving around the room – my body still penetrated by his powerful third leg.  There was usually a trip to the shower where he’d grab my body and spin it in every direction under the water to get me squeaky clean.  He knew he should always let me soap up his big body – groping his muscles being a huge thrill for both of us.  He then toweled me dry and sometimes even dressed me, himself, as if I were his doll or something.  A trip back to the kitchen with me in his arms for food was always next.  And then he needed to do something powerful. Ejaculations made him need to show off his strength.  It was one of my favorite parts of having sex.  Unfortunately, we were running out of tools for him to destroy – the crowbar having been one of the remaining items for him to bend and crush.  


“If I promise not to hurt it, can I lift the car?” he asked.  “I gotta do something to release this power surge your ass created in me.”   


It wasn’t really a question. He knew I expected his need for feats of strength post sex.  It had been one of the surprise side effects of the serum.  He also knew I’d come close to spurting out another load watching him do whatever it was he chose to do to show off.  Seeing him lift the SUV would probably send me over the top.  He stood there, staring at me – the dark wall behind him making his pumped up body stand out even more than it already did. I went over and kissed his pec – my way of saying it was fine for him to press the car in the air.  My little experiment had been a big success – a very big, masculine, powerful success.  Jeremy swooped me back into his arms and we headed outside.  

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