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Mr. Strong



At age fifteen I could curl the front end of our family station wagon.  I was a pimply-faced skinny kid but I could grab hold of the front bumper and easily raise the car up to my chest – or higher.  It was like I was lifting a pencil or something smaller and I usually did it with only one hand.  My dad was impressed beyond belief.  He’d invite neighbors over to have me show off my strength – something I was glad to do because making him proud was slowly becoming a lifelong goal.  The old wagon would squeal from discomfort as I pumped out reps for the audience.  Some of my dad’s best friends freaked out a little at my strength and then ignored him after that, but he didn’t care.  He said he was proud because his son was a hundred times stronger than their sons. As a matter of fact, he said, his son was a lot stronger than all his friends put together.  At age eighteen I was able to crumple my dad’s steel toolbox into a small blob – no bigger than a baseball – while it was still filled to the brim with tools.  The feeling of the thing being easily manipulated into nothingness by my powerful hands thrilled me tremendously.  Watching me do it thrilled my dad.  He didn’t care about the tools, saying he didn’t need them anymore since he had me.  He said there was no tool made that could do all the things I was capable of.  For my twenty-first birthday my dad allowed me to compress the old station wagon into a small cube – by pushing it against the side of our garage.  My dad actually wept as he watched me destroy the car.  He also noticed the hard-on in my pants as I easily crumpled the thing into a small pile of junk with only my strong arms and legs.  He never mentioned it, but I think he thought it only right that I should get off on my own strength.  This year, four days after my twenty-fifth birthday my dad shot me - yep, shot me.  I was lifting shirtless in the backyard – some humongous cement blocks my dad had gotten a buddy to make for me - and he stepped in front of me, pointed a gun, said, “I’ve got a theory,” and shot.  His theory ended up being right – even though he scared the hell out of me – the bullet flattened against my chest and then fell to the ground.  I barely even felt it.  My dad simply shook his head from side to side and then went back inside.


I picked up the demolished scrap of metal and flattened it even more between my finger and thumb – into something as thin as tissue.  My body had just deflected a bullet – at very close range.  My cock wasn’t just raging into one of the hardest boners of my lifetime at that moment – it was also leaking big gobs of pre-cum.  I was just so freaking turned on by my own strength. My chest had stopped a flying bullet as the thing flattened against my skin.  I tensed my normal looking pecs and let my mind fully realize just how powerful I was – contemplating all the other things my body could probably stop. I wanted to have a speeding car slam into me.  I wanted to stand there calmly as a charging rhino plowed into me.  I knew it would be fun to let a wrecking ball be deformed as it smashed against my body.  These thoughts excited me to unbelievable new heights.  I was close to orgasm, but I willed my body to stop.  I was trying to learn how to control myself completely.      


I simply could do things no one else could.  It was plain and simple.  There seemed to be no limit to my strength.  I once moved the city’s water tower about twenty yards just to see if I could – and to mess with people’s minds.  It was a breeze.  I just ripped it out of the ground by pulling on one leg and then walked it over to its new spot.  I loved reading in the newspaper all the theories of what had happened over the next few weeks – aliens, army helicopters, massive cranes, and more. No one ever even dreamed it was some average looking young adult that had basically one-armed the massive thing from it’s cement mooring and then slammed it into the ground somewhere new. The papers did say that it was a hell of a lot more stable in its new space.  That made me feel even better about what I had done.  When my dad read about the event he glanced at me at the breakfast table, smiled, and said, “Just don’t get caught.  We need to keep this kind of strength a secret.  It’s one thing to lift the back of a car, but this ripping up huge structures is something many people wouldn’t understand.” I instinctively knew he was right. I also figured I shouldn’t tell my dad that I had spurted a full load of cum into my underwear as I ripped the water tower from the ground.  It was a pleasant surprise, but I got a little freaked out by the uncontrollable reaction my body had to my incredible strength.  I quickly figured it was just going to take some time to get used to all the things I could do.  I had a feeling I’d be spurting a lot more in the future.


Another time, I snuck down to the place where they parked all the city busses and stacked three of the things on top of each other – just for fun.  It was a blast grabbing the back end of one of the big vehicles and swinging the thing into the air above my head – front end sticking straight up. I knew I shouldn’t let anyone catch me doing it, but I so longed to show off for people.  Balancing a bus in the palm of your hand is fun and all, but having somebody watching you do it would be a lot more fulfilling.  And what if the person watching loved it as much as I did – that would be killer, too.  I got in a little trouble for stacking the busses, though.  Again, the paper revealed my playtime by running a string of pictures with the headline, “Crane Silently Manhandles Busses Overnight.” No one knew how close to being spot-on they were when they used the word ‘manhandle.’  My dad said I was pushing my luck with that stunt – especially since the lot had numerous guards on duty.  I was grounded for three days.  The idea of being punished was kind of crazy.  Both my dad and I knew he couldn’t do anything to really stop me, but we also both knew that pleasing him was the most important thing in the world to me – so I actually stayed in the house during those three days.  I, of course, found things to do to while away the hours – like demolishing cinder blocks and compressing radiators with my bare hands – but I did stay in the house.  


I did a few things without anyone ever noticing, too.  One such act was spending a few hours down at the rock quarry and pounding out about twenty feet worth of huge chunks of stone with my fists – something that would have taken the machines a few days to accomplish.  I also took one of the big boulders, tossed it in the air, and let it come crashing down on top of my head – loving how it shattered upon contact into a bunch of small pieces.  I decided that was so much fun that I did it with all the biggest rocks.  I then hand crushed a bunch of the smaller pieces just to really freak out the workers the next day.  They were going to be completely baffled at how they had all suddenly forgotten how far along they were in the quarry.  They were also going to be baffled as to what made such perfect gravel.  It was awesome being super strong – feeling solid rock being easily crushed within my hand or squeezing a radiator as if it were a Styrofoam cup.  I wasn’t some mountainous muscle guy performing all these amazing stunts – I was just some normal looking twenty-something year old rocking a major boner as he did stuff no one else on earth probably even dreamed of. The other secret feat was to help out a friend’s father.  He owned an apple orchard and I heard his crew up and quit on him one day – something about finding a better job elsewhere.  I knew my friend’s family depended on the money from the orchard to pay the bills.  It was time for the apples to be picked – but there was no way the family of three could get it done before all the apples rotted.  I went over one night and simply walked up and down the rows of trees and shook them.  Every darn apple fell from the tree that night.  I heard a few days later that the family had been able to save their entire crop because of what I had done.  That made me very happy.  All of these thoughts were racing through my head as I finished my afternoon workout – which was really useless since I couldn’t actually get any stronger.  I just did it to show off and get a rise out of certain parts of my body.          


After we had cleaned the dishes from dinner that night my dad invited me to sit down at the table – for a little discussion, he said.  I could tell my dad had something important to say, so I didn’t complain. Usually, I’d go down to the basement and find something thick to twist until it was unrecognizable – like a wrench or a big piece of rebar.  My dad got us both a beer – holding them out for me to flic the tops off with my thumbnail. We’d gotten rid of the bottle opener a long time ago.  I took a quick chug of my drink.  


“Watching you do that will never get old,” my pop said proudly.  “You can do a hell of a lot more powerful things than that, but sometimes it’s the every day stuff that impresses me the most.”


“Like when I lift a piece of furniture so you can vacuum under it?” I asked – knowing the answer already.


“Yeah, like that,” he replied and then he took a sip of his beer. 


“Or when I lift the SUV so you can clean it’s under belly?” I asked, teasing him even more.


“Yeah, like that, too,” he said, smiling because he knew I was playing with him.  


“Or when I stop bullets?” I asked, knowing full well I was treading on some thin ice.  I wasn’t sure if he was ready to talk about that.


After a brief pause my dad said, “You know that no one else can do the things you do, right son?”


“Are you kidding, dad? All the guys at school can take a bullet in the chest,” I said, laughing.  


The look he gave me made it clear that this was not a time for joking.  I shifted in my chair a little and took another sip of my beer. I suddenly realized that I would not be able to share a few laughs with my dad and then get back downstairs to all that waited for me to come and manipulate it into nothing.  I was going to be here with my dad for a while. Again, I realized he had something very important to say.


 “What do you want to do with your life, son?” he asked.


“I don’t know.  I’m still wondering if photography is my thing. I still really like it,” I replied, trying to figure out where all of this was headed.


“Did you ever feel like you were destined for something else - something big?” he inquired, softly.


“You mean like moving from here or something like that?  Naw, dad, I like it here with you,” I answered.


“Why do you think you were given such super strength?” he continued.


“I don’t know.  I guess it just happened.  I got the luck of the draw or something.  Or maybe it’s so I can freak people out,” I said – falling back into a little humor, which made my dad smile.


“You mean like the time you tossed Jimmy Stinson thirty feet into a pile of hay?” my dad asked.


“Yeah!” I said and we both laughed. 


“Son, what if you could do powerful things and didn’t have to worry about people seeing – well, some people, that is,” my dad said, and his look told me he was very serious.


“You know I’ve always wanted to show people my strength, dad, but you said I shouldn’t,” I replied, eager to see where this conversation was going.


“But what if you used your strength to help people . . . to help the city . . . without anyone knowing it was you,” he said – and there was great purpose in his voice.


“I don’t understand, Pop,” I replied, confused.


“What if we put you in a costume.  You know, like a superhero and you went around doing things to help people . . . or, better yet, stopped people who were doing bad things,” he added, knowing exactly what to say to get me more excited.


Suddenly, it was like Pandora’s box had been opened in my brain.  I immediately thought about all the things I could do if I was disguised. The idea of being a superhero had actually never entered my mind.  I found that shocking.  The idea of taking on criminals instantly pleased me.  Watching their surprised expressions at all I could do – that would be amazing.  I began to imagine all the things that I had never been able to do in front of other people and, now, my dad was giving me a way to do it.   


“Another thing son,” my dad said, interrupting my thoughts.  “I’m sorry your mom’s not here to see the man you’ve become.  She’d be real proud of you.  No child should have to lose a parent to cancer – especially when they’re just five years old.  I’m sorry I never remarried.”


“You were all I ever needed, dad,” I replied.  “I wish mom was here, too, but don’t think for a second that you haven’t helped make me who I am today.”  


“That makes me happy to hear it, son,” my dad said.  “How about we get some things done as we continue to talk.  I haven’t cleaned under the fridge for about a year.  You think you could give me a hand with that.”


“That’s all it will take, pop, one hand,” I said, making him smile.


I bent down and slid my right hand under the double-sided fridge.  I clamped down with a grip that would hold it in place, but wouldn’t demolish stainless steel.  I looked up to make sure my dad was watching, cause I knew he always liked to.  I could see the pride radiate off of his face when I did something other men couldn’t.  I weighed one hundred and forty-five pounds and was five feet six inches tall.  I figured most big guys would call me a dweeb and I would actually love it.  For at that moment this dweeb raised his hand in the air and the huge fridge went upward with it.  Not rocking back and forth or wobbly as if I was straining at all, the thing went airborne as steady as if I were lifting cardboard.  I stayed squatting so I could lift the thing fully over my head – our ceiling wasn’t that high.  While my dad rain a vacuum cleaner and a mop in the space underneath, I did straight-arm lifts with the big thing just to show off.  My mind still hadn’t gotten use to comprehending the things I could do.  It knew the fridge was supposed to be heavy and I’m sure it sent messages to that affect to my arm – but my skinny limb wasn’t listening.  It lifted the big appliance with ease.  My cock was throbbing.  I decided that where my thumb rested was a place on the fridge that would never be seen, so I pressed in harder.  I didn’t just leave a thumbprint - I left a thumb indentation with barely any effort at all.  Shoving in steel was a breeze and that only turned me on more.


“Um, I’m done, son. You can put it down, now,” my dad finally said after he had moved away and I continued to lift the thing up and down.


“Sorry about that, Pops. I was having too much fun,” I said, placing the thing back on the floor.


“I knew you were, son. How many dents from fingers would I find if I was able to look down there?” he asked, teasingly.


“Only one from my thumb, sir,” I replied, turning red because he knew me so well.  “It’s just so easy to do.”


“Well it’s fine unless you break the thing,” he answered back.  “We’ll need to do the oven differently.  You can’t lift it because it’s attached to the wall for gas, but how about you hold me upside down so I can get the long tube of this vacuum underneath?  It’ll wreck my knees if I bend down to do it.”


My Pops had no idea what this particular action would do to me.  I had a big old fetish for showing off my strength using men’s bodies.  My dad was brawny.  Most people would have even called him handsome.  I wasn’t turned on by him, though.  I liked men that were big – bodybuilder size or larger.  It was fun thinking about them freaking out when I was able to lift more than them.  Much more than them.  But it was even more exciting when I daydreamed about lifting the bodybuilder, himself.  The thought of making a huge man feel weak by shocking him with my strength always made more excited than anything else.  I knew the second I grabbed my bid dad and held him upside down I would get the kind of boner that, in the past, had easily ripped through my underwear and jeans. I took a few deep breaths to calm myself down and then grabbed my waiting dad by the waist and turned his body upside down in my hand without any problem.  My cock twitched hard within seconds.  I continued to breathe deeply as I held my dad near the front of the stove. Somehow, I was able to prevent myself from ruining my pants.  My dad eventually turned off the vacuum.


“You can put me right now, son, I’m getting a little dizzy,” he said.


I turned him right side up and placed him back down on the ground.  I instinctively knew I could not have handled much more of holding him in the air so easily.  It was impossible for him to not notice my raging hard on threatening to burst through the material at my crotch.  I turned a darker shade of red and through my hands down in front of my hard on.


“No need to be embarrassed, son,” my dad said, surprising me.  “I guess if I were able to manhandle a grown man that easily I’d get a little turned on, too.  Or maybe a lot turned on.  It just means we’re going to have to make sure your superhero costume is super strong down there.  We can have you being charged for indecent exposure every time you take care of the bad guys with your bare hands.  Let’s stack all the kitchen furniture on the table and you can hold it up while I mop the floor.  You don’t mind holding it while everything dries, do you?”


“No sir,” I said, thankful that we could move on to something other than my hardened cock.


I placed a loaded bookcase, some chairs, and a credenza on top of the big, sturdy kitchen table and then lifted the thing like it was simply a pizza box.  I held everything in the air with one hand – making sure not too lift it too high and hit the ceiling.  My dad stood there staring at me for a while – simply amazed at the sight of his son holding so much stuff easily with one hand.  He pulled out his phone and took a picture – another one added to an album he had labeled ‘every day super feats.’  While he mopped he continued our earlier conversation.


“So I’m thinking you’ll love it when you’re finally able to do things like crush revolvers into blobs of metal, easily hold getaway cars in the air, or take on a gang of men and not need to hold back, huh?” he asked, not realizing what his words did to me.


“I’ve wanted that for so long, pops,” I replied, placing my free hand over my crotch again – thankful that my dad was busy mopping and not looking at me. “Don’t you think I need to train first, dad?”


“Train?” he said, stopping and looking at me.  “Your chest stopped a bullet.  I’ve seen you jump completely over tall oak trees without really trying.  You ruined the engines of two bulldozers when we chained them to your arms and they both lost at tug of war at the same time.  And don’t think I don’t know it was you that ripped the door off the giant safe down at First Federal when you were sixteen. The paper reported something like finger marks in the thick steel – and everyone was shocked nothing was stolen. I should have grounded you, but I knew you were just testing your strength.  How can I punish someone for just playing?  Besides, I was proud as hell that something that indestructible was so easy for you.”


“It really was, pops. I didn’t even break a sweat,” I said, proudly.  


“So what in the hell do you have to train for, son?” he asked.  “Now that I know bullets can’t hurt you, I’m not worried.  It’s not like you’re going to feel some guy’s punches or not be able to stop a speeding car.  Which is something I’d actually like to see you do.”


“You get off on my strength, don’t you, dad?” I asked without even thinking about what I was saying.


“Not in the same way that you do, son,” he said, suddenly serious.  “We’re so similar in ways, but not when it comes to things we love.  I’m proud of what you can do – the way a dad might feel when his son catches his first fish or wins his first fifty-yard dash. I just get to set my sights a lot higher because you’re so super strong.  Some dad’s get to see their son score a touchdown.  I get to see my son throw a riding lawn mower demolished by his own hands so far into the air that it incinerates as it attempts to leave the atmosphere.  And let’s be clear about something very important.  I loved your mom very much.  That was right for me.  I don’t give a damn about who you love, son.  I mean it.  You can love anyone you want to.  I just want you to be happy and find the same kind of relationship I had.  I’m proud of you just as you are.  Do you understand me?”


Tears welled up in my eyes. We had never spoken about this before. I’m sure he had seen my stash of bodybuilding magazines or even seen porn on my computer.  I knew he knew I was gay.  But we never spoke about it.  It was the only thing I had ever even contemplated as a way I had let him down. He leaned the mop against the fridge and walked over to give me a manly hug.  I was still holding all the kitchen furniture overhead and the tall man had to duck to reach me – but it was the best and most important hug he’d ever given. Tears continued to run down my face as I nodded profusely affirming I understood while he stared at me.


“So, that bullshit’s out of the way, huh?” he said as he turned away and I could tell h was choked up, too.  “I will add this, though, son.  You are going to need one of those giant strongmen you fancy as a partner.  I guarantee one of them is going to be the only person on earth that can handle you being so strong and indestructible. I think most men are going to be jealous as hell at your abilities, so it’s going to take someone who’s strong – you know in the normal kind of way – and someone who’s really happy with their own size to embrace you completely.  And when you find the right guy, and you’ll know it when you have, I figure it will be fine for you to share with him honestly what you can do. Be prepared for him to not be able to handle it and maybe leaving you – but you’ll have, at least, been honest. I seriously think that won’t happen, though.  I think you’ll find someone that loves you just as you are . . . like me.  The floor’s been dry for a while, son.  You can put everything away now.  And for god’s sake quit hiding your magazines. You think your old man can’t handle you liking musclemen?  I mean, your own strength turns you on more than anything and that doesn’t bother me.”


I had placed everything back by this point and had returned to sitting at the table.  My dad had emptied the mop bucket and retrieved two more beers before joining me.  He placed his big hand on mine and smiled at me.  I was so confused by the man emotions racing through my head, but, above all, I was very happy.  I was also relieved.  There were no more secrets . . . well, about my sexuality, that is.  There were a lot more secrets about super strength stuff I had secretly done over the years, but I didn’t think this was the time to confess those.  Besides, I really was surprised – foolishly – that he knew I had been the one to rip the door off the safe.  He brought his beer up before me and I brought mine up to his to say cheers.  


“So, no more hiding hard-ons, or jeans where the crotch has been ripped off, or re-plastering and painting your ceiling to cover up the holes you’ve made, okay?” he asked and he immediately could tell all this honesty was wrecking me.  


“Yes sir,” I replied. 


“So, how about ‘Mr. Strong’?” he asked.


“Excuse me?” I said.


“How about ‘Mr. Strong’ as your superhero name?” he clarified.  “It’s what you are.  You’re fucking strong . . . in every way.”


I let the name roll around in my head for a few seconds and realized I loved it.  I hadn’t really thought about all the things that would come with this plan my dad had set out for me.  I guess a hero name would be important – especially if things started appearing in the paper or on television.


“I like it,” I replied. “I think it also gives me permission to show off a little, too.  To prove to people that it’s the right name.


“Exactly,” he agreed. “And now we just need to think of the right costume for you.”


“Well, I’m not wearing a leotard,” I said.  “I don’t have the body for it.”


“I agree, son, but we do need something that will keep your identity a secret, but be something you don’t mind wearing, either,” he replied.


“I don’t want a cape, either,” I said.  


“Well, tell me some heroes you like and maybe that will give me an idea,” my dad suggested.


“Well, I’ve always liked the strength of Hulk,” I answered.


“Green is definitely out and you need to cover your body,” my dad responded.


“Well, there’s Ironman, but I don’t feel like wearing a big awkward suit.  I do really like Jason Statham in The Transporter . . .” I continued, but then was interrupted.


“That’s it!  A suit.  Something classy like that would make it even more surprising when you do amazing feats of strength.  And it doesn’t matter if you're small, everyone looks good in a suit,” he said.


“Hey, wait a minute,” I complained.


“No time to lose, I need to get started.  Make sure you do your homework,” dad said as he got up from the table.


“Dad, I’m twenty-five years old!” I exclaimed.


“Oh yeah,” he said, coming out of his excited on track focus.  “Happy Birthday, son.  You’ll find some presents in the living room.  I’m going to go out to my workroom for a while.”


And then he was off.

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Really really fucking hot. Can’t wait to see where it goes- can you please continue?

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As always you nailed it!!! I cannot wait to see him go after the bad guys. So many options and opportunities to put that strength to use and of course show off!! Looking forward to the next episode. 

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