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Always Lifting

londonboy

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“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?”

 

“Both.”

 

“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.”   

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