“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.