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Todd got out of bed, clad in just his briefs. He felt more energetic and stronger than he had in years. He pulled on a pair of running shorts, and they felt much tighter over his legs than he remembered. He couldn’t even get his shoulders into his favorite t-shirt, so he just tossed it aside and pulled on some running shoes. He was only vaguely aware of the new power and size of his body. The previous few days were both fuzzy and crystal clear at the same time. He clearly remembered his encounter with Evan, but all previous memories of his life seemed to have faded. He started to methodically lumber about his room, packing up some items. Books he was intending to read, an old guitar he used to play, the suits he used to wear for work, even his family photos and a box of mementos from college. These talismans from his past now made no sense to Todd, not since his hypnotic conversation with Evan. He gathered them all in a box and carried them out to the street. Except for thoughts of Evan, and a hunger for his cum, Todd’s mind was a total blank. He dumped his possessions on the curb, and looked down the street. Loitering on the corner was Miguel, a local thug who had mugged Todd a few months earlier. Miguel stood 6’2” and about 240lbs of solid muscle. He was wearing a thin tank top that not only showed off his intimidating muscle, but also the tattoos he received in prison. He was clearly trying to send a message: This is my turf. Remembering how roughed up he was after the mugging, Todd felt a rage rising inside himself. He inhaled, steeled his core and started to run down the street. He moved remarkably fast, but by the time he got to Miguel, his rage was erupting. He ran up behind the thug, and without even calling out his name, punched him hard in the back of his skull. The impact was so hard, the thug was knocked about eight feet in the air before landing face down on the pavement. After catching his breath, he rolled over and looked up Todd. “Get up, bitch.” Todd said in a low but terrifying tone. Miguel could see he was seething with rage, so he stood up quickly. “What the fuck was that for?” he asked, not recognizing the man he mugged a few months ago. But Todd was beyond conversation. He backhanded the thug hard, then spun around and caught him before he fell again. Todd now had him from behind in a headlock. He wrapped his immense bicep around the thug’s neck and slowly started to tighten his grip. “Don’t you remember me, bitch?” Todd said derisively. “I’m the faggot you roughed up a few months ago.” Miguel was gasping for air as he pulled on Todd’s forearm trying to loosen his grip, but Todd just kept tightening it like a cobra. Todd inhaled deep, and then pushed out his chest, lifting the thug off the ground, and even more power. Miguel was close to passing out, but Todd didn’t relent. Miguel was starting to black out. Todd’s bicep was cutting off all his oxygen, and the blood was rushing away from his head. To his dick. Todd looked down and saw the thug’s dick stiffening up. He laughed hard and said, “So I guess you enjoy a bit of rough play, huh faggot?” At that moment, Evan pulled up in the SUV. He calmly got out of the truck and surveyed the situation. He looked deep into Todd’s eyes and could see the rage in him. “Enjoying that new power, Todd?” asked Evan, oblivious to the gasping thug. “Let me end this, Evan,” said Todd, nodding to Miguel. Evan didn’t have to say a word, he looked at Todd. And just like that, Todd dropped the thug on the ground, then squatted down next to him, and whispered into his hear. “You see that guy?” he said, pointing to Evan. “I’m his bitch. And now, you’re mine. And this is my neighborhood. Don’t make me angry ever again bitch, because you wouldn’t like me when I’m angry.” Todd stood up and caught his reflection in the SUV. At that moment, he finally became fully self-aware: thanks to Evan’s cum, Todd now stood 6’6” tall. He lingered on his image as he heard Evan say: “315lbs of pure muscle Todd.” Evan walked towards Todd, and placed his hand on Todd’s shoulder. Todd’s massive chest was slowly rising, and Evan knew that he had only temporarily tamped down his rage. Practically frothing at the mouth, and his massive new body covered in a sheen of sweat, Todd looked up at Evan. “That’s a lot of power my cum just pumped into your muscle fiber, Todd. I didn’t want to trigger the transformation until I knew you could handle it.” “Yes Evan, I can.” “You’re my savage beast now Todd, I hope you realize what that means.” “Anything for you Evan,” he said breathlessly. He nodded at Miguel, who was still on the ground. “Let me show you. I’ll end him.” “No, Evan, but now I know your devotion to me is unquestioned.” He poked a finger into Todd’s thick chest. “You are my creation, and my savage beast, understood?” “Yes, Evan,” said Todd. Then looking down at Miguel, he growled, “You’re mine now.” And Miguel immediately blew a massive load of cum in his sweat pants. He watched in awe as a shirtless Todd got into the driver’s seat of the SUV. “Now let’s get back to the shop, we have a lot of work to do,” said Evan.

.

Six As I followed Stuart Fox out of the pump room and into a small room occupied by a few small tables and chairs, a large sofa, and a plasma TV screen on the wall, it became apparent that he had no intention of leaving this particular nervous work experience guy to his own devices. Hoping that Stuart would opt for one of the tables, my stomach twinged when he headed towards the sofa instead. I slumped down as Stuart casually sat down next to me, and my non-date suddenly felt a lot more intimate than I had anticipated. I suddenly became extremely self conscious of my hands. In particular, just what the hell I was supposed to do with them. Any anxiety was clearly only on my half though, as Stuart Fox looked just as relaxed sitting next to a near stranger in a small room as he had done instructing an obscenely conditioned bodybuilder in shiny, golden coloured posing trunks on what muscle exploding pose to hit next. Stuart was predictably the one to break the short silence between us, throwing questions at me about my university course and how I was finding living in the States. It wasn’t an uncomfortable engagement, but there seemed to be a slight awkwardness between us which hadn’t been there in the pump room when we were exchanging knowing looks and discussing which muscle freak had the craziest feathered quads in the room. I wasn’t sure if it was my neuroticism coming through, but I couldn’t shake the thought that the awkwardness was mostly due to me and my nerves. I was almost relieved when Stuart Fox suddenly jumped up and asked if he could get me a drink, or anything else, before leaving the room. Alone with my thoughts, I gave myself a prep talk to try and relax and not blow the one chance I’d been given to have a conversation with a highly suspected, like minded muscle obsessed lover of insanely huge, gloriously shredded bodybuilders. A few minutes later, Stuart re-emerged holding two coffee cups. I wasn’t sure if my prep talk had helped, or whether it was the distraction of the coffee, but immediately there seemed to be a significant shift in the atmosphere, and things didn’t feel quite so awkward between us. I was also relieved at the fact that I no longer had the dilemma of what to do with my hands. Stuart picked up the conversation by returning to the topic of my studies. “So, how many other work experience placements do you get to go on as part of your course?” “Erm…two last year, and then another one next semester.” Stuart nodded. “I’m guessing the two from last year were a little more conventional than this place?” I knowingly smiled and nodded in agreement, before posing a question of my own. “Do you have a lot of students doing work experience placements here?” “A few, yeah. The last show I did I looked after one guy. I’m not sure he erm…” he paused and then let out a short chuckle before continuing, “knew what to make of the whole thing. He clearly knew nothing about bodybuilding. A bit like your friend.” Stuart then obviously remembered the prior conversation we’d had in the pump room where I’d informed him that Billy was categorically not my friend. “Classmate, sorry,” he said, correcting himself with a cheeky smile. “He didn't frown as much though,” he added. “I think Bryan likes to hook the work experience guys up with me cause he knows I’ll chat to them,” Stuart continued, giving the first mention to the future Mrs Charlie Steatham. “I'm not sure what qualifies Baz Wade though,” he added with a confused look. “Maybe that’s just Bryan’s way of amusing himself! Put the angry ones with attitude who are pissed they didn’t get a better work placement with Baz, and put the nice ones with me.” I saw him cautiously look at me from the corner of his eye, as I hid my bashful smile into my coffee cup which I was conveniently taking a swig out of, and tried to hide the fact that I was probably blushing a little at the small but rather sweet compliment Stuart Fox had just thrown me. “So, have you helped film many bodybuilding shows?” I asked. It seemed like a good place to start in getting to know more about him. “This one’s my fourth,” Stuart replied. “I was so nervous on my first gig!” The statement took me by complete surprise and I instinctively shot him a sceptical wide eyed look. “What?” he exclaimed in response, with a short laugh. “Nothing!” I replied. “It’s just…you don't seem like the nervous type.” He threw me one of his handsome grins. “Well I’m kinda used to it all now, but my first time in a pump room, surrounded by bodybuilders I was a wreck! I kept worrying that people would be looking at me, and they’d…” he paused slightly, then continued, “know why I was there.” If I’d have taken a sip of my coffee at that particular moment, I’m almost sure I would have spat it straight back out. I knew exactly what Stuart Fox was implying with this statement; he was, as I’d highly suspected, as much of a lover of huge, freaky muscle as I was. What I wasn’t prepared for though, and what I never would have predicted, was Stuart Fox's next confession. “Plus, I didn’t know how the hell to work a camera.” I instinctively smiled and nodded before realising what he’d actually said. Noticing the confused expression which had emerged on my face, Stuart mischievously smirked and began to explain. “Well…I’d never actually used one before.” At this point he rather amusingly looked at the door to double check no one was within earshot and, with a devilish look on his face, he continued. “You see, I don’t really have any interest in being a camera man. I mean, I know how to use them now from working on the crew, but that’s where it ends. I never pick up a camera outside of working at a bodybuilding show.” My head was spinning at the revelation that the camera man who’d spent the afternoon mentoring me wasn’t actually a camera man, and further more, had no interest in being one. It was already glaringly obvious why he was spending his Saturday afternoon backstage at a bodybuilding show, but his next statement, and the slightly bashful expression and endearingly cheeky smirk which immediately followed was about to confirm what that reason was. “I'm kind of here for other reasons.” If Stuart Fox’s hint wasn't enough to make me blush, his next statement certainly was. “Which I’m guessing is the same reason you know what an abs and thighs is. And how you know who Justin Hughes is!” If someone had told me the day before that my work experience placement filming backstage at a bodybuilding show would result in one of the guys on the camera crew revealing his suspicions that I was a secret muscle lover harbouring an insatiable lust for the abnormally sized and freakishly ripped muscle monsters that would made up our filming subjects, I probably would have experienced something close to a panic attack and made the very easy decision to not have turned up at the auditorium that morning, happily accepting a poor grade in Professor Walsh’s class as a result and leaving Billy Horvath to embark on this crazy adventure on his own. However, sitting next to charming, handsome Stuart Fox suggesting in his slightly teasing but undoubtedly endearing way that it was abundantly clear that, much like him, I was backstage at a bodybuilding competition because the mere thought of seeing the gorgeously shredded abs and ridiculously huge biceps of a competition conditioned muscle freak in person made my mouth water and boxer shorts tighten like a vice, I found myself incapable of suppressing the elated smile that was emerging on my slightly flustered face. The smile which was enough confirmation that Stuart Fox needed that his suspicions were, indeed, well-founded. Sure, I had spoken to other muscle lovers online, but sitting and discussing this unique and crazy fetish with another person who harboured the same thoughts and feelings as me was like a revelation. I was finally sharing my much kept secret with someone, and it felt like I’d, at last, found the keys to a locked door I’d been trying desperately trying to open for as long as I could remember.

This is a story I wrote years ago for my "Muscle Addicts Inc" blog. I've been going over it and making a few tweaks here and there and thought I'd share it here as I work on it. It's far from perfect but some of you guys might like it, or parts of it anyway! CHARLIE’S SECRET One My name is Charlie Steatham and I have a secret. It’s not a secret because it’s something I’m ashamed of. On the contrary, it’s something I love having. A part of me I wouldn’t ever want to change. It’s just not the kind of thing that would really be appropriate to tell a person in most given situations, or the kind of thing the majority of people would really understand even if I did. Let me tell you how I came to discover I even had this secret to keep. It was one Saturday afternoon back in England. I was home alone and innocently flicking through a magazine my parents bought weekly, which specialised in, of all things, radio and television listings. I wasn’t really reading it, just half heartedly turning the pages, stopping every now and then to linger on the odd thing which caught my attention, unbeknownst to me that I was about to stumble on to something which would have the strangest, and most incredible effect on me. An effect like nothing had ever had on me before. Something which would lead me to a world I never even knew existed. I remember feeling my eyes physically widening when I first saw the picture, and how it felt like my heart actually stopped beating for just a millisecond of time. Staring at it, I couldn’t quite get my head around what I was seeing, and why it seemed to have me so completely transfixed. Staring up at me from the page, was the most grotesquely muscular man I had ever seen. Every single one of his body parts was enormous. From the neck up he just looked like an ordinary man, he was handsome for sure, with nothing particularly special about his features, except for the fact his skin was a dark bronzed colour with an oily shine, but from the neck down, his whole body was a mass of gigantically huge, almost cartoon-like balloons of hard, smooth, muscle, bulging so much they looked as if they were about to burst. Every muscle was deeply separated, and most had a number of thick, wiry veins running across them. I had seen muscular guys before. Movie stars and athletes with six packs and tight, hard toned bodies, but the man in this image was something else entirely. He didn’t even look like a human being. He looked like a new superior species of the human race. A sick experiment gone wrong. Some kind of otherworldly creature, computer generated for a superhero film. As this monstrously massive muscle freak of nature, completely naked except for a small, shiny, green pouch covering his genitals, his hands resting on the top of his enormously thick legs, biting down on his lower lip and his face contorted into an almost arrogant but hugely proud expression, like he was having a whale of a time simply just possessing that freakishly huge, anatomy chart like body, stared up at me from the pages of this incredibly ordinary magazine in the living room of my parents incredibly ordinary house, I was completely and utterly hypnotised. My heart was pounding, my mind was racing, and for some reason, my penis was rock hard, twitching and pushing against the material of my boxers and jeans which were now struggling to contain it. This thing which had unexpectedly intruded on me from another world seemed to have this incredible hold and power over me, and I had now idea why. It didn’t feel wrong, but I knew that whatever this effect it was having on me was, it definitely wasn’t of the ordinary. After staring at the image for what seemed like hours, I forced myself out of my muscle obsessed trance, and tried to focus my mind on something else, but I couldn’t. My mind had been invaded, and my thoughts completely taken over by the image of that freakishly huge mountain of enormous muscle. I needed to see it again. I took the magazine into my bedroom and lay on my side on the bed, my upper body perched up by my elbow, the magazine next to me, flat on the bed. I flicked through the pages to try and find the image, and when I did, it was like I was seeing it for the first time all over again. I had no idea what was happening to me, all I knew was that in front of me was something so amazing and special. I had never desired anything more than this specimen of extreme muscle mass. This huge, hulking mountain of thick, superhuman muscle with his air of incredible power, extreme arrogance and hyper masculinity was the most beautiful and sexually provocative thing I had ever laid eyes on. I reached for my throbbing hard on, bulging and straining through my jeans, gently squeezed and started tugging. Soon enough I was popping open the buttons of my jeans and my white cotton boxer encased hard on was sticking out. I tugged and wanked, all the time staring at the muscle freak before me. Staring at the huge mounds of croquet ball shaped muscles which popped from his arms and fought for space with his perfectly smooth and insatiably thick chest, which looked like it was made of marble, but had tiny, wiry veins spread across the upper half. Staring at how his deeply carved shoulders ballooned like two watermelons trapped under bronzed tinted skin, which tightly stretched across the enormous, smooth muscle and looked unhealthily thin. Staring at his six beautifully shaped stomach muscles which looked like they had been carved with a knife. Staring at the incredible mass of lines and ripples etched into his tremendously large, hard looking leg muscles, and while staring at this presumably once ordinary sized man who’d built and moulded his entire body to extreme proportions and made himself look like a member of an entirely new, superior species, who looked up at me from my bed with an expression of complete and utter self satisfaction, and his air of incredible power and arrogance, my entire body seemingly shook, the most pleasurable sensation I’d ever had consumed my entire body, I let out a loud groan of ecstasy and my boxers filled up with a wet creamy liquid. Staring at a picture of, who I later found out was one of the top professional American bodybuilders of the time, hitting a most muscular pose on stage at a bodybuilding competition in probably the best condition of his career, I’d masturbated and made myself cum for the first time in my life. From that moment on, I’ve been completely obsessed with huge, freaky muscle. Nothing turns me on more than the image of competition ready, monstrously muscular, indecently shredded bodybuilders who live and breathe for being huge, who love nothing more than to climb into small, brightly coloured posing trunks, made of the shiniest material imaginable, and to stand in front of a camera, or an audience, and flex, tense and squeeze their cartoonishly big, deliciously carved, deeply separated balloons of thick, hardcore muscle mass, looking both impossibly beautiful and inhumanly grotesque in equal measures, loving every single moment of showing off their phenomenally built, superhero-worthy, circus sideshow freak-like bodies. As one can imagine, it’s a fantasy that stubbornly stays at that; a fantasy. How many ripped and peeled competitive bodybuilders sporting biceps bigger than the size of the average man’s head do you see walking round your local supermarket? None. And how many jacked and shredded muscle freaks one week away from competing at their fourth bodybuilding show of the year do you see on a Friday night at the local pub? Absolutely zero. Of course, there have been some very rare, and exceptionally brilliant moments where I’ve encountered fairly big guys sporting some pretty decently sized muscle, one or two of whom could have easily stepped onto a bodybuilding stage at some point, at various places, and of course, those moments will probably be forever etched into my memory, but for the most part, genuinely huge muscle guys, and certainly bodybuilders like the one in the magazine I found all those years ago, and the ones I have spent countless hours watching and viewing ever since, still remain an extremely elusive and rare breed. The world of extreme bodybuilding is an exceptionally small one, to which I have no ties or belonging to. Except for finding the courage to attend a bodybuilding show which I’ve yet to do, it’s a world I didn’t think there was much chance I would ever step into. That was, until today. Or to be more precise, two Tuesday’s ago, when Professor Walsh (officially my favourite lecturer from the university in California I’m temporarily studying at for a term) presented myself and my fellow students from my Video and Audio Production Techniques class with a list of the options for the first, one day work experience placement of the semester. This is a day where every student on the course has the opportunity to participate in the filming of various types of film, television and video productions. Every student has to select three options, and the Professor tries her best to assign the student to one of their choices. This is not always possible though because, as you can imagine, some of the options are more popular than others and there are only so many students allowed on each placement. Some of the students, usually the louder, more extroverted ones, were intent on getting the big gigs like production on the set of a film, and popular television talk shows. Personally, I was happy with anything that would give me some experience. Copies of the list were passed around to raised voices and excited chatter. I scanned the list to see, sure enough, a well known television talk show, work on an independent film, the set of a fairly well known cop show from cable who were filming in the area, work for a local news television station, and some more fairly obscure productions. Although nothing was particularly standing out as something I had a real desire to do, it all sounded pretty exciting. And then, as my eyes steered down to the bottom of the page, they suddenly widened, my heart leaped into my throat, and I almost couldn’t believe what I saw written on the last line, as the very last option; Filming Backstage at a Local Bodybuilding Competition. My head was spinning. Was this really happening? Was the universe finally providing me with an entry into this world I never thought I would enter? I kept checking the list, looking at the words again, just to make sure I wasn’t hallucinating, and sure enough, there it was. My opportunity to be at, and take part in the filming of an actual bodybuilding competition. I suddenly pictured myself backstage at a bodybuilding competition, in a space packed full of massive, bronzed painted muscle men wearing nothing but tiny sized, thinly strapped posing trunks, each pair shinier and brighter than the next. Every single superhuman muscle brute of a man intensely pumping up his shockingly huge muscles, grunting and huffing with every lift as their huge slabs of man meat strain and bulge through their completely hairless, drum tight skin, and me, standing next to a cameraman, closely filming every single pump of a massive, competition conditioned All American muscle freak, mere inches away from his blown up balloons of bulging, rippling muscle. The fact that I was looking at the opportunity to be in the presence of the kind of muscle bulls I’d been wanking off over for years and to see their enormous, freaky muscle up close in person was mind blowing. However, it terrified me just as much as it excited me. The two days which followed were spent agonising over what to do with this opportunity I’d been unexpectedly faced with. My mind was completely split in half. It felt like two voices had invaded my head, one voice saying, “You have to do this. This is a rare, once in a lifetime opportunity and you will never get this again. It will absolutely amazing, it will blow your mind and you’ll get to see real life, genuine muscle freaks pumping, flexing and posing close up. Deep down you know you want to do this, and if you don’t, you will always regret it.” Meanwhile, the other voice was shouting, “Don’t be stupid, you can’t do this. You will make a fool of yourself. You will feel uncomfortable and nervous. People will look at you and think you are strange. And how will you explain your reason for wanting to do this to your classmates, and Professor Walsh?” One minute, a certain voice would sound clearer than the other, and I would make what I thought was my final decision. But then, out of nowhere, the other voice would suddenly shout up again, and I’d start to doubt my decision again. Even on the day of handing in our choices, sitting in Professor Walsh’s class, with five minutes to spare before the lesson came to a close, I still hadn’t made my final decision. I also knew that if I selected the bodybuilding competition, there was a very good chance I would get the placement. I couldn’t say for definite, but I knew it was fairly unlikely that any of my other classmates would select it as an option. There were a couple of guys in my class with a little bit of muscle on them who clearly went to the gym, but I would have been highly surprised if any of them had a genuine interest in bodybuilding. It was, without a doubt, one of those obscure placements to make up the numbers which nobody wanted to end up on. Well, almost nobody. Professor Walsh was wrapping up the lesson. “OK, class, you might have noticed this red box at the front of my desk.” This was it. My time was up. “By now I presume you’ve all made your three choices for next weekend’s work experience placement,” Professor Walsh continued. “If you’d like to place your completed sheets into the box as you leave. Please keep in mind, you are not guaranteed a place on any of your choices. We will do our best to assign you to one of your choices, but due to limited spaces on each placement, in some cases this will not be possible.” My classmates had started to shift and while everyone was getting out their sheets and gathering their bags in order to leave, I was staring at my sheet with my pen anxiously hovering over it. Two of my choices had been ticked, which just left one. The words “Bodybuilding Competition” leered up at me, testing my every nerve and ounce of bravery. My pen was wavering from the tick box next to it, to the box next to the option of “Production on a Music Video.” The voices in my head both clearer and more frantic than ever, one in battle with the other. Bodybuilding Competition Charlie, you HAVE to do this! Music Video Don’t be stupid. You will make a fool of yourself. Bodybuilding Competition Just imagine it! Real life, genuine muscle freaks pumping, flexing and posing close up! Music Video You will feel uncomfortable and nervous. People will look at you, and think you are strange! Bodybuilding Competition Deep down you know you want to do this, and if you don’t, you know you will ALWAYS regret it! And with one quick motion, I ticked the box next to my third and final option, and my fate was sealed. My heart was pounding as I approached the box on Professor Walsh’s desk, and my hands were shaking slightly as I dropped the sheet in. The second after, I glanced up to see Professor Walsh looking at me behind her desk. A friendly smile was trying to mask an expression of curiosity and slight confusion. She had clearly noticed my anxiety and I felt a sharp, brief pinch that I might have been rumbled. The incident quickly faded from memory, and as I left the classroom and walked along the corridor, the strongest emotion of elation, sheer pride and an overwhelming feeling that I had just done something amazing came over me. I had just taken one step closer to that crazy, amazing world of huge, freaky muscle I never thought I would ever be able to enter.

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Hi Just an idea i have been mulling over. Not done much writing before so comments and suggestions welcomed. MUSCLEMAN and the GOLDEN GATE BRIDGE Lifting bridges was not new for Muscleman. As he looked out over the huge expectant crowd he flexed his muscles under his uniform. Once again the engineers had built a framework of metal and all he had to do was deadlift the bar then curl the entire Golden Gate Bridge. As always, Muscleman was supremely confidence had could do it, after all he had recently done the Brooklyn bridge without any issues. The problem is no one told Muscleman the weight difference and Muscleman had failed to ask. Whereas the Brooklyn weighed just under 15,000 tons, the Golden Gate weighed 60 times that, coming in at 887,000 tons Muscleman strutted out onto the specially built stage. Cameras focussed on him as he turned and smiled and flexed. Although clad in his unmistakable uniform of just gold posers, there was no doubt that the 6'3 320lb was all muscle – pumped, ripped, tanned and shredded. The ultimate definition of muscle perfection. Muscleman never missed the opportunity to be a showman. When he defeated Thor in the world famous epic armwreslte contest he toured the world for a week doing mock armwresle contests with anybody who wanted a photo opportunity. When he defeated hulk in the superhero powerlifting competition he had a full article written in Powerlifting weekly. The Hulk power lifting contest had been a calculated risk for Muscleman. Whilst the man of steel was confident the could win the bench press, he knew had little chance of defeating the Hulk in the squat (have you seen the size of those quads Muscleman kept on saying to himself) so it would all come down to the deadlift. And that is exactly how it turned out. Muscleman won 2 out of the 3 events, those quads of Hulk are simply insanely huge and powerful, and could squat a weight too great even for Muscleman to match; but the man of muscle had won the overall event and that was all that matters. when he defeated Hercules in the full Nelson challenge he went on tour with the WWE for a week to wrestle. No - Muscleman never missed a photo op. And today he was going to save the iconic Golden Gate Bridge by curling it up so engineers could insert new supports to stabilize it after the recent earthquake. Once again, the entire world would see Muscleman as the ultimate superhero; the ultimate saviour. Muscleman looked out at the huge crowd. NBC were sponsoring the event and they had their news anchor as live compare. Muscleman could hear the words in the background but wasn't really listening. He heard the words he was waiting for "ladies and gentlemen I give you MUSCLEMAN, THE STRONGEST BEING EVER TO HAVE WALKED THE PLANET". He walked to the bar, which looked like a simply oversized standard barbell, but this was connected to the entire Golden Gate Bridge. He took several deep breaths, bent down grabbed the bar and started to lift. That is when he realized he was in trouble. He expected it to be heavy but not this heavy. He always knew that his arrogance would one day be his downfall, but he never expected it today. He slowly lifted the Bridge a few inches off the ground, getting the bar to his knees but his entire body was shaking and straining like never before. Muscleman, for the first time ever was grunting and straining and roaring with the effort. Muscleman was sweating. The more he struggled the more he roared and sweated. He couldn't understand what was wrong until-from the back of his mind he replayed the half listened to words from the NBC host. The Brooklyn bridge had weighed just short of 17 000 tons and the Golden Gate just shy of 887,000 tons. If only he had done some research Muscleman lamented, then the world would not be witnessing the failure of Muscleman. He gave one final almighty roar and managed to complete the deadlift phase, but even he accepted that curling the weight was a total impossibility for anyone, Muscleman included. He dropped the bar and the entire ground shook as the weight of the bridge went down, Muscleman stood humbled and humiliated. The only solace Muscleman felt was that new knew for certain that no other superhero could have done better. This was far heavier than the powerlifting competition he had recently won, and his nearest challenger, the Hulk had lost that event. Although Muscleman may have felt humiliated, the huge crowd cheered like never before. Although he was always the favourite of all the superheroes, the fact that he attempted something in public which he failed at gave him a human aspect which many thought he was missing. The fact he gave the lift everything he had plus more improved his standing. The challenge provided two things for Muscleman. Firstly the feeing of being humbled by what others saw in him and the second was a driven desire to do better. It was then that Muscleman saw Kyle in the audience. Kyle wasn't supposed to be out of the compound let alone walking the streets of America without supervision. What most people don't realize is that the United Nations, along with a select number of major governments, scientific companies engineering conglomerates sponsors the Center for Human Enhanced Super Strength (CHESS).

Oh Man this keeps getting better and better Evan changed Todd completely and now like Evans Said he is a beast

Alex here. Been a bit absent for a while, am once again ready to mingle. Train at Astral in the Bronx most of the time, also have an NYSC membership. Also lifting for several years... results tend to come in spurts, but I keep at it regardless.

Hey guys! Been lifting for several years here. Currently bulking. Would be great to find other guys in NYC into lifting to workout with (I use NYSC) and who also want to chat muscle growth.

I couldn’t help noticing that Stuart still looked a little flustered. His completely unexpected but rather adorable minor embarrassment at Mr Gorgeous Abs drawing everyone’s attention to Justin's fantastically shredded glutes clearly hadn’t affected his confidence too much though, as he leaned towards me and offered up one of his hottest confessions of the day. “I love it when guys really crank up the attitude when they pose.” I couldn’t suppress the grin emerging on my face, and before I had chance to go into panic mode over what to say, or completely lose my nerve and remain silent, I nodded in agreement and blurted out the first thing that entered my conscience. “It’s pretty fucking awesome!” It wasn’t much, but it still felt like something of a breakthrough, and judging by the gleeful smile on Stuart Fox’s face, it had clearly been a worthy enough response. “So,” Stuart continued, “I think we can tick off the most inhumanly shredded guy in the room.” I grinned and slowly nodded in agreement, wide eyed as if to say, “HELL FUCKING YEAH WE CAN!” “Hmmm. Anything else?” Stuart asked. It seemed like he was trying to coax me into talking more openly about muscle, as if trying to unleash my inner beef obsessed muscle addict. Oooh er…let me think! The most ridiculously CUTE guy in the room? The guy with the most slurp-tastic, shiny blue posing trunks? The guy with the most freakishly striated, line plastered, “Is this real life? Yes I think it might just be,” shredded fucking GLUTES?! “Erm…was it, the guy with the craziest feathered quads?” OHGODOHGODOHGOD. I just said feathered! I just said QUADS! Stuart excitably nodded and grinned, ignoring the fact that the violent blushing had returned to my cheeks. “Oh yeah!” he agreed. “Without a doubt! His buddie’s a pretty close second though!” With me opening up and relaxing more with Stuart, the way he spoke had suddenly taken on a more mischievous and excitable tone. Whatever was going on between Stuart Fox and I, one thing was for sure; he was clearly having fun with his brilliant, self invented pump room game, and enjoying the fact that he’d manage to find someone to play it with. “I think we need to invent a new category for him,” Stuart continued. I looked at him blankly, eager to know what his next words would be. “The most outrageously cocky poser in the room!” FUUUCCKKK!! YEEESSSSS!! If I had given any pre thought as to what my next statement would be, I’m almost entirely convinced I wouldn’t have said it. “I think he deserves the most incredibly shredded abs title too!” THEY’RE ON FIRE! MY CHEEKS ARE LITERALLY ON FIRE! Responding with a huge, elated smile on his face, Stuart said, “You’re good at this,” before giving out a few, gleeful chuckles of laughter. Meanwhile, trying to cope with the emotions that came with the aftermath of saying the words “shredded” and “abs” to another living human, my head felt like it was just about ready to explode. “There is one guy I’m itching to hunt down though,” Stuart confessed. The most like minded muscle addict/work experience guy you want to grab and snog the fucking face off of before dragging back home and living in mutual muscle obsessed bliss? “The most all out monstrous muscle freak in the room!” Hmmm. That’ll work for me too. FUCK YEAH!! As I smiled in response, I was suddenly reminded of a potential candidate for that particular title who I’d already spotted twice that day. Last seen sitting down, fully clothed and clutching a pair of the shiniest bright red posing trunks, I became immediately curious at to where Blaine Holton was hiding in the pump room, and whether he had ditched his black tracksuit and climbed into those very posing trunks yet. My thoughts were suddenly interrupted by a loud bellow coming from another part of the pump room. It also seemed to have attracted the attention of a number of people around Stuart and I, who were now eagerly glancing around. Another loud yell erupted, followed by some jeers of encouragement which were almost just as loud. Excited voices and laughter followed in response from the people around us, and Stuart looked at me wide eyed with a look of curiosity and excitement on his face as if to say, “What the fuck was THAT?” As I nervously glanced around, Stuart nudged me and directed my attention to a spot in the pump room I’d already made myself acquainted with, where the same extremely masculine, rather frightening looking but still unquestionably sexy bodybuilder in a backwards cap I’d spotted earlier, but was now stripped to his black posing trunks to reveal impressively huge and brutally thick muscle mass was stood with a small group of equally thuggish looking men I was more than familiar with gathered around him. As this insanely huge baby gorilla in black posers slammed down as hard as he possibly could into an incredible side tricep pose, his thick, dinner plate pecs looking absolutely mind blowing, and his thick square abs bursting through his ever so slightly protruding, turtle shell stomach, he let out an absurdly loud and aggressive, “ARRRGGHHH!” to which his friends and spectators responded with cheers of encouragement. THE NOISISET POSER IN THE ROOM Baz Wade’s mate!! Stuart’s expression of part fear and part excitement that something pretty awesome was happening matched exactly what I was feeling. “I think your friend’s nightmare just got a whole lot worse,” he exclaimed. Momentarily confused by Stuart Fox’s comment, I then suddenly noticed who was standing on the other side of the camera, mere inches away from this ridiculously huge beast of a bodybuilder as he flexed his outrageously huge muscle mass while releasing the loudest shouts and groans in the cockiest and most arrogant manner. GUY FILMING THE NOISIEST POSER IN THE ROOM BILLY HOR-FUCKING-VATH!! It might have been partly down to the fact that I couldn’t see Billy’s facial expressions, but my earlier feelings of sympathy seemed to have diminished. Instead, I couldn’t help feeling amused at the fact that the most annoying and obnoxious individual I’d ever had the displeasure of knowing, and who earlier that day had expressed his utter disdain and disgust for obscenely huge, ripped to shreds, attitude packed bodybuilders was now just inches away from and filming such a bodybuilder. A bodybuilder who also happened to be the noisiest and undoubtedly one of the most intimidating men in the room, while displaying what had to be the most aggressive style of posing I’d witnessed that day. My attention was taken away from Billy with the very welcome return of a familiar figure in a tight blue t-shirt approaching Stuart and I. “Everything going OK, guys?” Even after being in the company of an impossibly cute, tight bodied, lightweight bodybuilder in the hottest pair of golden coloured posing trunks imaginable, a brilliantly nicknamed, barely human muscle bull with monstrously huge biceps, a shockingly shredded All American muscle boy with breathtaking abs and cheese grater glutes and an amazingly conditioned, slightly geeky but insanely hot muscle freak with the most gorgeous stomach popping abdominals in shiny yellow posers, whose playful posing had been accompanied with some of the cockiest attitude imaginable, Bryan Macleod was still as incredibly sexy as before. His re-appearance confirmed that my attraction for the man I’d maybe one day see in miniature form on the top of a wedding cake standing next to a similar miniature of me in a matching “LIVE FOR THE PUMP” t-shirt hadn’t wavered one bit. Bryan’s next words then bought on a whole new set of emotions. “You’ve been filming for a while now. Why don’t you guys go for a fifteen minute break.” My stomach suddenly tightened in an all too familiar knot for the umpteenth time since seeing the words Filming Backstage at a Local Bodybuilding Competition written down in front of me on a list of potential work placements in Professor Walsh’s class. Stuart Fox didn’t seem like the kind of guy who would abandon a nervous work experience guy, so unless he had something important to do, or somewhere to go, I knew there was a very good chance I’d be spending said break with my filming mentor. Not only was this my ideal opportunity to make a good impression on a mutual muscle obsessed guy, who, despite only knowing for a short period of time, I was growing rather fond of, but it was potentially my chance to discuss some of the muscle crazed feelings I’d been keeping secret for so long. It wasn’t something I would have predicted in the lead up to the day of the bodybuilding show, but I suddenly felt like I was battling the nerves of someone about to embark on a first date with someone they liked. As Stuart said, “Come on, let’s bail,” and signalled for me to follow him away from the pump room, the knots in my stomach tightened and I braced myself for my non-date with Stuart Fox.

Host: Hello ladies and man-beasts! Welcome back to our second night of "Gainers." Freddi Fit here. *Freddi flashes a cocky grin, raises his shirt and crunches his abs* All night you all have been voting to give 4 of our eight potential beafcakes a special muscle boost to start the competition. Well tonight, you are in for a special treat, because we will reveal the results, inject our four men, and watch their growth begin! Now what exactly will this special serum that you all have been voting on do? Just to give you a little tease... *Freddie grabs a serum from his pocket and injects himself with it. Seconds later, he grips the front of his shirt and tears it clean off. As he begins aggressively gritting his teeth and growling while doing a crab pose, Freddie grows nearly 10lbs in muscle mass* Tonight serum is packed full of muscle growth hormones that are bound give each of our four lucky recipients a 10lbs boost. Not only that, but each vial has enough testosterone in it to send our men into arrogant rampages of muscle dominance. So, why don't we find out who will be growing tonight! I'm going to cross over to the growth chamber and reveal the first recipient. The Camera switches to inside the house, in which the eight men anxiously wait to find out who grows. Freddi appears on a television screen and begins speaking, "Hello there boys! So as you all know, all night our audience has been voting which four of you they'd like to see get a little boost at the beginning of this competition. Well the votes are in, and I can now reveal that the first person to receive a boost is..... Zac! "Oh fuck ya!" Zac proclaims, launching out of his chair and moving towards the injection tube. "Time to grow these babies" He bounces his pecs and flairs his lats. Host: Congratulations Zac and enjoy yourself! Zac steps into the chamber and the door closes behind him. He quickly strips down into nothing except a tight pair of under armor boxer briefs. Suddenly a robotic arm comes out of the wall and pushes a needle into Zac's upper back. He moans as the serum quickly courses through his blood. Suddenly Zac's muscle begin to expand, forcing Zac into cannibalistic grunts. As the process ends, the chamber door opens, Zac one foot on the carpeted ground in front of him. His calves covered in rippling veins look nearly 2 inches bigger. After take a few more steps out of the chamber, he freezes, adjusting his obviously larger bulge. Zac chuckles to himself before flaring his godlike lats for the other men in the room to gaze upon. "Fucking look at these wings men. I bet you all wish you could be as hunky as I am. Yo, Tony get your tiny ass over here." Tony shakes his head. "No, fuck you man." A sadistic grin appears on Zac's face. "You dare talk to a muscle alpha like that?" He bolts over to Tony and grabs the back of his head. In one swift motion, Zac has Tony kissing his flexed bicep. "Fucking worship me bitch." Freddi interrupts the display of dominance, "Alright, now now boys. Settle down. It's time to give the next guy his serum." Freddi peels open the second envelope. "Our next voted winner is..... Stu!" Without saying a word, Stu quietly moves to the chamber. As the injection and growth begin, Stu lavishes in the feeling of grow. He steps out of the chamber and approaches the group. Unlike Zac, Stu remained fully clothed; however, he peels off his very tight black t-shirt. Standing in front of the 7 other men, Stu crunches has abs saying "MMM do I feel like a man right now. And I thought I was already pretty big. Its gonna feel great trying to squeeze this slabs of steel into my uniform." Zac interrupts. "That's if you keep it, that is." Stu brushes Zac off and returns to his seat. Freddi returns. "Alright so our next recipient will be..... Max!" Max grins. "Looks like the audience wants to see a teacher grow!" Just like the other men, Max enters the chamber and takes in the amazing feelings that come with the growth. Afterwards, he stands in front of the group wear a now much tighter button down shirt and a pair of dress pants. The seams of the pants are beginning to rip do the immense size of his quads. "Now listen up boys." Max begins teaching to the group. "You see these?" He says while flexing his quads. This causes the seems to burst and split down the side. "Well these are quadriceps. And by the end of this competition they will be bigger than your heads. Know that!" He says the last line through gritted teeth in a cocky tone. As he sits, Freddi returns to announce the final winner. "Okay, so here it is. Our final recipient.... is our wrestling boy Cam!" Cam shoots up out of his seat, still wearing his tight wrestling singlet. "Bring it on! I'm ready to burst our of this singlet." He steps into the chamber, receives the injection, and lusts over the feeling of growth. As the process ends, he comes storming out the chamber running his mouth "So which one of you pipsqueaks wants to feel just how strong I've become! Go on, I'll wrestle any of you!" Zac gets chest to chest with Cam, whose singlet is now hanging by his waist due to its shoulder straps tearing. "Oh this should be fun..." Cam growls. The two engage in a brief wrestling match. In a matter of seconds, Cam has Zac in a headlock. He shoves Zac's face into his armpit. "Fucking worship these stinky pits, actor boy." Zac pushes Cam off, and shamefully returns to the couch. "Alright who's next? Who wants to be humiliated like Zacy Boy?" The men banter a bit before Freddi returns. "Alright gentlemen, or should I say 4 boys and 4 alphas? So now I'm going to give you your nicknames for the remainder of the competition. Cam, you will be known as Cocky Cam. Max, you will be Maximus. Chad, you will be Cheeky Chad. Stu, you are simply Sexy Stu Dominique, you will be Dominator. Ken, you will be know as Daddy Ken. Zac, you are Zac Attack and Tony, you Titanic Tony. Anyways, fellas. I'll talk to you next week where you will face your first round of matchups." Freddi Returns to hosting for the audience. "Well that concludes it for tonight. Out men have just begun on their growth journey. This week, you will be presented with 4 different matchups between the men. We ask that you vote one man to win each matchup. Whoever receives the most votes in each pairing will steal some muscle mass from their opponent. Here are your matchups: Cocky Cam vs. Daddy Ken Maximus vs. Sexy Stu Cheeky Chad vs. Titanic Tony Dominator vs. Zac Attack Alright. This is Freddi Fit, signing off! Goodnight growth fans! *Freddie Fit solutes the camera and transitions into an archer pose as the credits roll.*

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Antoine loved the way the cool breeze felt on his almost naked body as he flew through the air. That was the main reason his chosen superhero costume was simple posing trunks and a mask. Well, that and the fact that he liked to show off his huge muscular body any chance he got. Why in the hell would you have a freakishly big body if you didn’t want to show it off? Any muscleman that told you differently was lying. Also, if you had a freakishly strong body, as well, then you should be showing that off all the time, as well. Why have superpowers if you couldn’t show people what you could do? This was his constant argument with his friend and main support, Marty. As he flew he reached down to squeeze his engorged nipples – which had been stimulated by the cold air – just to give himself a thrill. This, in turn, caused him to have to reach down and adjust his hardening tool inside his posers. Antoine was looking forward to a little Ecuadorian fun. The Ambassador and his family were being held hostage in a forty-room house in the middle of a hundred acre compound. And the place was being guarded by over a hundred guerillas . . . with guns, rocket launchers, and tanks. It was almost too good to be true. Antoine was exciting himself so much with these thoughts he debated flying on his back for a while and busting out a major wad – just dreaming about what he was going to do. He decided against it, since last time he had shot a super load while flying he had accidently taken out a military satellite. It had taken Marty days to cover that story up. Release would just have to wait – until later when he was having fun. Suddenly, Antoine – using his super strong vision – could see the Ambassador’s compound thousands of miles below. He quickly confirmed the maps that Marty had shown him before – noting where everything and everyone was located. Immediately, Antoine could see it would be a simple job. He could have the Ambassador and his family out of the room in the cellar in less than ten minutes. This, however, is not what Mr. Alpha wanted. He wanted to play. He wanted to show off. He wanted to mess with some bad guys. He wanted people to freak out at his strength. He wanted to destroy big things. Antoine knew, however, that he could not jeopardize the safety of the Ambassador or his family simply so he could have fun. That’s when a plan germinated in Antoine’s mind and it made him smile. He flew on a little further and started his descent. Ambassador Charles Dreyfuss, his wife, and two children were locked in a vault-like room in the bottom of the house. They had been there for about twenty-four hours. Thick metal surrounded them completely and the door was locked from outside – giant safe like girders guided by computers sealing them in. Dreyfuss knew there was no way they could be saved. Even if the Government sent their best men, they could not make it to this room before the guerillas entered and killed them all. He did not, however, tell his family any of this. At first, when the floor shook, the Ambassador thought it must have been some kind of explosion outside and he immediately feared the worst. He quickly gathered his family and moved them to a corner of the room – everyone holding on to each other. The floor shook again and then suddenly a fist came up through the metal from below at the center of the room. It took a few seconds to register it was a fist, but then the limb went back down and two hands came up through the hole grabbing either side. With a high-pitched squeal the huge paws easily pushed the opening out to the size of a big pot and then they kept pushing until the hole was big enough for a person – well, actually bigger than what would be needed for a normal person. The hands then grabbed the sides and the massive shoulders, insane traps, and bulging biceps of Mr. Alpha popped up. “Ambassador Dreyfuss and family, I presume. If not, I’ll be in a lot of trouble.” “Mr. Alpha!” “Aw, your little boy recognizes me. I’ll do autographs later. I’m here to help you escape, sir. Oh, but I have one request before I do. It’s just a small favor.” “What? You’ve got to be kidding. I’ll do whatever you want, Mr. Alpha, just please get my family and me out of here.” “Of course, sir. It’s just that . . . well, um, I’d like you to not tell anyone you’re safe for another three hours or so. It’s just that I’d like to have some fun . . . I mean, teach our friends out there a lesson or two. I’m sure a strapping man like you, who clearly works out a lot, would not want to deprive another guy of some good exercise.” The look on the Ambassador’s face made it clear he understood and it crossed Antoine’s mind to ask the Ambassador if he’d like to stay and watch Antoine have some fun – from a safe place, of course. There was just something about how Charles Dreyfuss smiled when he agreed to keep his safety a secret for a little while that made Mr. Alpha pretty sure the guy definitely liked a good workout – or watching another guy have a good workout. Antoine pushed himself all the way into the room and Mrs. Dreyfuss let out a little moan as soon as she saw Mr. Alpha in all of his almost naked beauty. Antoine stopped briefly to let the woman, the children, and the Ambassador take in all of his chiseled beefiness. He then walked over to the door – which definitely looked like something you might find on a giant bank vault. “I’ll just make it a little harder for them to get in here when I finally start having fun. That will give me another hour or so to mess with the villains.” Antoine was very happy the doors and walls were so thick. It had already helped to keep his entrance undetected and he knew the four guys stationed outside the vault would not hear any of his continued playing. The first thing Antoine did was to use one hand to bend the three ends of the tree-sized bars that slid across the door against their supporting brace. There was no way the computerized signal would get those things to budge. He then used his hands to flatten where the door met the supporting wall. He basically smashed it together so you couldn’t see a seam. If the mechanics did somehow work there was still no way they could get the door to open. Antoine knew the guerillas would have to use explosives to get through and knowing he’d simply used a little of his strength to block them out was such a turn on. When he turned back to the Ambassador and his family he found faces in shock by what he had done. No one was moving – or breathing. Antoine just smiled at them and flexed his huge arms. “And that kids, is why you should eat your vegetables. They make you strong.” Mrs. Dreyfuss actually pulled herself together so she could mouth the words ‘thank you’ over her children’s heads. Clearly, getting the boys to eat spinach, broccoli, and asparagus had been a problem. Antoine had a feeling they’d be begging for vegetables in the future. Antoine held on to Mrs. Dreyfuss’ arms and lowered her into the hole, assuring her he could carry the two boys and make them safe. Everyone knew this was an understatement and the two boys actually cheered, as if they were about get on some carnival ride. Ambassador Dreyfuss, then held out his arms – an unexpected thing – and allowed Antoine to lower him into the hole. As Antoine started to let go of the Ambassador’s hands, Charles held on for a little longer – as if he wanted to feel the power for just a few more seconds. To the sheer pleasure of the children, Mr. Alpha scooped them up in his arms and then jumped below. In less than twenty minutes the entire family was out of a tunnel in a car that had been obtained by Antoine just a few minutes before the escape. Basically, Antoine had stopped by a car lot and using super speed took the keys to an SUV without anyone noticing. He then had flown the car to the spot where he had started his very wide and long tunnel. “Remember, Ambassador, please give me at least three hours before you tell anyone you are safe.” “Of course, Mr. Alpha. Thank you for saving us. I hope we meet again.” “I’m sure we will, sir. Take care. As you probably know, there’s a nice resort about ten miles down the road that might be a good place to rest before calling your bosses. You also might get to see some footage of me in action.” “I hope so. The leader’s name is Rubio. I wouldn’t mind it, Mr. Alpha, if he felt a little pain.” “I promise to give Rubio some special attention, Ambassador.” And with that, the Ambassador’s family drove away. Antoine was glad they were gone, not just because he was now going to get to have some fun, but also because he could now finally let his happiness be shown below the beltline. Even Antoine, knew it would not have been good for Mr. Alpha to have a raging hard-on as he carried the Ambassador’s kids out of the tunnel. He also knew the posers he had chosen for this job did absolutely nothing to hide his hugeness even when he was flaccid. He was pretty sure he had caught both Mrs. Dreyfuss and the Ambassador checking out his package a few times, but that still gave no reason for him pop a major boner in front of the family. Now, however, he had nothing to hide and only pleasure to be had. These guerillas had no idea what was about to happen. Antoine used his powerful legs to jump closer to the compound. Using his super vision he re-checked where all the men were – including the four guys still vigilantly guarding a now empty vault. This made Antoine smile. On the south side of the compound – the opposite side of the driveway – there was a small cadre of about fifteen men on the lookout. This area was far enough away from the main house for Antoine to have some fun before being found out, which is when he’d still have more time because it would take the guerillas a while to break into their own prison room. Again, Antoine smiled. He contemplated taking the mask off – taking care of these guys while letting them see his complete face – but then he heard Marty’s whining voice and decided against it. One more super glance showed that one of the soldiers was now on sentry duty off by himself. This is where Antoine would begin. He leapt in the air, moving fast enough and low enough that nothing – not even radar - would detect him. Antoine landed right beside the guy – light enough to not alert anyone else, but hard enough for the guerilla to know that something humongous had dropped very near him. The man somehow knew it was alive, too, which only heightened his alarm. It seemed like an elephant had suddenly materialized next to him. Before he could even turn the guard felt the heavy machine gun being pulled from his hands. He turned and gasped as soon as he saw the large muscled masked man smiling back at him. The guard didn’t scream or run – he was too mesmerized. Everywhere he looked he saw muscles – huge, bulging, and hard. This scantily clad man blocked his entire view. The guard’s mouth dropped open wide – mainly because he finally realized how the giant beside him was dressed. “What, you’ve never seen a guy in posers before? Too much or too little? Not my color? I think they bring out my humongous thighs, though, don’t you?” Antoine thrust his leg forward and tensed – sending thousands of striations snaking up and down his thick, wide thigh. The guard gulped so loud Antoine thought it might alert the other men to their little conversation. At the same time Antoine had grabbed the end of the barrel on the machine gun and had started folding the thing down on itself – the same way someone might play with a gum wrapper. The metal squealed in protest but gave Antoine’s hands absolutely no resistance. To the amazement of the guard, Antoine kept folding even when he got down to the main body of the large gun. It was like he was just folding a handkerchief. And still, the guard did not run, scream, or even faint – he simply kept staring as Antoine demolished the entire thing. When he had folded it into something that resembled a coin purse, Antoine tossed it over his shoulder and let a big grin flash across his face. The loud thud as the gun landed reminded the guerilla that the thing still had the same mass, as before – it was now just smaller. “They don’t make those things like they used to. Or maybe I’m just stronger. No, that’s not it. I was lifting our SUV when I was two – freaked my dad out to no end, but only because he was in it. I’d hold the car up in the air when he didn’t notice and then he’d open the door and fall to the ground when he stepped out. When he spanked me I didn’t feel a thing, though, but it sure did hurt his hand. When I was ten he let me talk him into using me as his punching bag. He’d pound away at me and I’d just smile at him. He’d finally sink to his knees – worn out from sending punches to my unflinching stomach. Whoa, buddy. That’s a pretty impressive tent you’re making at your crotch. I’m flattered and all, but you’re not my type. A big strong guy like me needs something special, you know. So, you into guys? “No, I like girl . . . but strength, it turn me on.” “Well, dude, you’re with the right man, then. There ain’t no one stronger than me. I’ll save you for last, bro, so you can witness everything I’m going to do. How does that sound? Well I guess that big wet spot at the tip of your tent is all the answer I need. Let’s get going. Whoops, that would be a no, I hear incoming.” Antoine quickly stepped in front of the smaller man – completely blocking him with his big body. A second later a screeching missile blasted into the huge man’s waiting relaxed chest. A few things went through Antoine’s mind as the pathetic rocket exploded against his unyielding super-powerful pecs. First, these men didn’t care about their co-worker – if the guard Antoine protected died getting rid of the enemy that was just the way it had to be. Secondly, what exactly had made them think they needed to use a missile? They hadn’t just tried to shoot Antoine – which would have seemed the normal thing to do. Was it his size that had scared them? Or was it that they disapproved of so much skin? Or was it his obvious bulging muscles. And then lastly, he thought about how shocked they were going to be when the smoke cleared. Antoine looked over his shoulder at the guard – who was now even more shocked and turned on than before. Antoine let out a huge burb and banged his chest. “Indigestion. It happens every time I take a missile to the chest. Nothing brings on heartburn like a rocket. I love the way it feels, though. It’s like I absorb all the power or something. Hop on little man, I want to go take care of a rocket launcher, so the won’t try to hurt you again. Let’s get this party started.” By this point the smoke was clearing and Antoine knew some guys nearby were shitting in their pants because they saw that he was still standing. He looked at the truck and saw that two men were busy loading another missile into the launcher. Antoine jumped over the four hundred yards or so within a blink of an eye. He held on to the little man’s hands, knowing the speed would make his legs fly straight out. The tiny dude would have gone sailing off, otherwise. As soon as Antoine landed he shook the small man off of his back, reared his huge arm back past his shoulder, and then sent his fist flying through the front grill of the big truck in front of him. When fist met engine the thing was immediately dislodged and propelled through the cab of the truck. As it rocketed through the back the engine took the rocket launcher, the substantial base supporting the launcher, and the two men with it. Antoine and his new little friend watched as the entire machine skidded across the ground – the two men holding on for dear life. It slammed into a shed a good distance away and it was very clear the launcher would not be used again. It was also pretty clear that the two men would be out of commission for a few weeks, as well. Suddenly, gunfire filled the air and Antoine felt something like gnats hitting him. He turned toward the sound to find two guards unloading their machine guns into him. “Oh come on guys! You’ve got to be kidding me. You just saw that the rocket they sent soaring did nothing but leave an ash mark on my chest and, yet, you think your little guns are going to hurt me. I have more lead in my daily diet than you can unleash on me, fellas. Okay, I’ll just stand here and wait for you to run out of bullets.” The original guard, Antoine’s new buddy, was standing behind the demolished truck, trying desperately to not get hit. Antoine looked over – even as he continued to be sprayed by bullets and raised his arms in a ‘what’s up with this’ kind of pose. The smiling guard shook his head in response, as if to say ‘my friends are not too smart, are they.” Antoine turned back to his attackers when he noticed their guns had stopped. He saw that they were beginning to re-load. Clearly, having the big man still standing – after so many rounds – didn’t for a second make them think more bullets wouldn’t work. Antoine walked over to them as thy fumbled with their guns. It was taking them – well-trained guerillas – longer to re-load because they were still shocked by the near naked man that had lived through a missile and massive gunfire. Antoine looked down at them as they tried to finish their task. “Clearly this switch needs to be turned before you can load again, fellas.” A big finger pointed to a safety latch on one of the machine guns. Both of the soldiers stopped what they were doing and looked up. The smiling face of the muscled giant looked down on them. Antoine held out his hands and said nothing. The two men gave him the guns without hesitation. Mr. Alpha brought the guns together and started squeezing and turning them at the same time – like they were large twisty-ties. As he basically demolished them into something that didn’t come close to resembling guns he spoke to the men. “I don’t know if you two can speak English, but I have to tell you I’m really hoping you both make a run for it. I’d like to let you get far away and then freak you out by suddenly appearing in front of you. You know, like I popped out of nowhere. In the past that feat has actually made a few guys piss themselves.” By now, Antoine had the two guns so intertwined they basically looked like one manhandled metal pipe. He cupped both ends with his palms and started compressing inward. The sound that the crushed, used-to-be guns made was almost deafening. When Antoine finally brought his hands together he squeezed hard, interlocking his fingers, and then let a flat piece of metal – no thicker than a smart phone - fall to the ground. Antoine heard a loud moan behind him – his friend, the guard, had clearly been so turned on that he was now taking the opportunity to bust out a big wad during the show. Antoine was flattered. The two new guards, however, stopped all movement and just stared at what had been big guns – now flattened beyond recognition on the ground. Then, as if some secret alarm went off inside them – they both simultaneously turned and ran for their lives. Antoine watched them tear off with a smile. “It’s like I’ve died and gone to heaven. Do criminals all go to the same school that teaches them to believe they can get away from superheroes. At the same school they must definitely teach villains to hit the superhero in the head with a lead pipe even if he did just stopped a speeding train with one fist. Or if the first punch to his chin didn’t make the guy budge and probably even broke some of your fingers, then definitely keep hitting him. One of those punches is bound to work! I gotta hand it to them for their persistence, though – no matter how stupid it is. I hope you have your pants zipped up by now, my friend.” Antoine turned toward the guard who had been hiding and masturbating behind the mutilated truck. The guy had a big ‘thank you very much’ look on his face that included a smile that made it clear he had wanked out a major load as he watched Antoine destroy the two machine guns. The guerilla walked a little shakily towards the big man. Mr. Alpha was very pleased he could help the fellow get a little pleasure. But he also knew the show wasn’t over and the dude would probably crank out many more loads before they were done. Antoine lifted the guy under one of his monstrous arms. “Come on, buddy, let’s go mess with your friends. Let me show you what it feels like to be super strong.”

As Justin bought his arms up and cranked down into a crab most muscular, the bashfulness that had made up his smile in his earlier poses had now completely vanished, and was replaced by the endearingly cheeky and extremely cute grin of a guy clearly enjoying showing off his hard, tight, phenomenally muscular body for an audience. As he hit the pose, everything tightened and locked into place. His rock hard, croquet ball biceps erupted through his onion peel thin skin, the striations in his impressively sized delts deepened, and two modest sized traps emerged on his neck from nowhere and bulged up to his earlobes. I suddenly wanted to know exactly what was going through my filming mentor Stuart Fox’s head as he witnessed this amazingly conditioned American muscle boy flexing and squeezing his otherworldly slabs of muscle through his camera lens. What happened next was something that no one, not even Stuart, with all of his assumed pump room experience, could have predicted. Out of nowhere, an excitable and brilliantly peeled bodybuilder in a pair of indecently shiny, bright yellow posing trunks, with a shaved head and slightly geeky but rather handsome looks at least ten years Justin’s senior, had rushed into view. Unexpectedly intruding on the filming of Justin Hughes’ posing, he stopped until he was standing right next to his fellow flexed competitor. With his right hand resting on one of his crazily feathered quads, and the left hand curled into a fist, he was blasting out his own incredible most muscular for the camera. In contrast to Justin, the guy who had just unapologetically interrupted his posing and roped him into a two man posedown, whether he liked it or not, was displaying the cockiest attitude on any bodybuilder I’d seen so far that day, making the whole scene even more surprising and humorous. As he cranked into his pose, the bodybuilder let out a short sharp, “TTTTSSSSSS!” sound, followed by a grizzly, “AHHHHH!” His nose was wrinkled and a massive, toothy, shit-eating grin was plastered on his face, which was now scrunched and contorted in the most outrageous and animated manner. At the unexpected arrival of this shamelessly cocky bodybuilder, excitable laughter erupted from the camera man standing to the right of Stuart, and a few other spectators around us. Stuart Fox looked up from his camera and was glaring at me wide eyed, with an amused grin as if to ask, “WHAT THE FUCK JUST HAPPENED?!” and I uncontrollably grinned in return. Judging by the increase of his gorgeous smile, even Justin Hughes himself seemed to also approve of his new posing buddie. When the lads had stopped flexing, they both broke into short laughter and indulged in a short and adorable fist bump. “Keep going! Hit some more poses,” were the instructions that came from Stuart Fox’s fellow camera crew member. Although it was exactly what I wanted to hear, I couldn’t help feeling that it was exactly what these two incredibly conditioned muscle lads would have done regardless. An eager and wide eyed Justin Hughes looked at his new posing buddie, seemingly to converse with what pose to hit, but he wasn’t giving Justin the opportunity for any negotiations. He was already lifting both of his arms around the back of his head, and with another outrageous, “TSSSSSSSS!” he was sitting down on his midsection for what was undoubtedly the hottest abs and thighs pose I’d witnessed that day. As I stared at the image of our new unexpected filming subject’s midsection, I was almost tempted to bring both fists to my eyes and rub them in sheer disbelief. Protruding from his stomach were six of the most breathtakingly symmetrical, amazingly shaped and phenomenally cut abdominal muscles. Where Justin’s abs were narrow and small, his new posing partner’s abs were big, thick and blocky, like six cobblestones trapped underneath and begging for release from his tan tinted, oil soaked skin. THE GUY WITH THE MOST INCREDIBLY SHREDDED ABS JUSTIN HUGHES THIS FUCKING GUY RIGHT HERE! As the guy I had no choice but to nickname Mr Gorgeous Abs cranked down hard into his pose, showing off his beautiful stomach muscles which earned him his newly crowned moniker, his eyes jammed tight shut and an almost manic grin etched on his shamelessly scrunched face, Justin Hughes followed suit, and squeezed down into his own amazing abs and thighs pose. Although not displaying even half of the cockiness his new posing buddie was, or anywhere near what I’d been accustomed to seeing him display in pictures and shots of him online, the bashfulness Justin had displayed at the start of our filming had now completely vanished. Clearly having an absolute blast posing next to a fellow insanely shredded muscle freak, Justin looked physically incapable of faltering the proud but slightly mischievous smile which had emerged on his face. Following an unbearably hot and unbelievably cocky, “HOOOOO!” sound to accompany the final seconds of his abs and thighs pose, Mr Gorgeous Abs quickly transitioned into his next pose. Turned to his side, he brought up his left arm with a loud, “HHHHHSSSS!” followed by a loud, manic, “HA!” which caused a few ripples of laughter from some of his spectators, as his biceps erupted through his inhumanly thin skin. With that same manic, shit-eating grin and scrunched facial expression, Mr Gorgeous Abs was proudly sitting in a spectacular side chest. With far less noise and a lot less attitude, the adorable Justin Hughes was, again, following suit and hitting his own side chest pose. The image of Justin’s rock hard, perfectly round bicep muscle proudly popping through his drum tight, tan plastered skin was mind blowing. And with Justin turned on his side, I was, again, able to see some of the freaky lines and crazy striations emerging in his alien-like ass. My attention was quickly bought back to Mr Gorgeous Abs, who, still locked in his side chest pose, was now twisting his upper body from left to right, ensuring all of his spectators were able to witness his incredible flexed muscle in it’s full glory. As he did so, his nose wrinkled and his face scrunched further, and he let out more ridiculously hot hisses and cocky, “AHHHH!” sounds. Watching this slightly geeky looking guy completely steal the limelight away from an astonishingly conditioned and absurdly cute young muscle guy, who was no doubt well on the path to achieving pro bodybuilder status, it suddenly occurred to me exactly which of these two vastly different bodybuilders I was more turned on by. Although handsome in his own way, Mr Gorgeous Abs posed absolutely no threat to the impossibly cute Justin Hughes in the looks department. And, while still impressively peeled and just beating Justin in the most shredded abs department, there was no doubt Justin’s physique was winning in the overall conditioning stakes too. And yet, against all odds, this completely unknown, slightly quirky looking guy in shiny yellow posers, with his phenomenal physique, glorious nickname earning abs and, of course, his unbelievably cocky attitude, was the competitor I found myself not only drawn to, but so turned on by that, I was sure, if I was watching this very scene on video in the comfort of my own bedroom, my boxers shorts would already be lying on the floor in a sticky crumpled ball. Still very much in the driving seat of this awesome two man posedown, Mr Gorgeous Abs was turning his back to his audience, enticing Justin Hughes, who, without hesitation, followed his direction in hitting some rear poses. Once again, I was faced with the otherworldly image of Justin’s insanely striated ass cheeks blowing out of his indecently shiny, metallic blue posing trunks. Mr Gorgeous Abs’ next move was even more outrageous than the fact that he’d gate crashed Justin Hughes’ posing in the first place. Throwing back his elbows and turning to Justin to make sure he was following his lead, he then placed both fists on his waist in preparation for a back lat spread. Justin followed, but before Mr Gorgeous Abs completed the pose, he suddenly paused. His head was tilted and he was looking down in the direction of Justin’s freaky glutes. With Justin too busy readying his pose to notice, Mr Gorgeous Abs suddenly swivelled round to the cameras and his audience and, with a comical, “What the fuck?!” facial expression, he bent down and edged his face closer to Justin’s obscenely shredded ass. He then animatedly shook his head and, with an amusing and cheeky look, as if to say, “I’m not even gonna bother competing with THAT!” he made a quick motion to his right as if he were running away in defeat. Laughing along with the audience around him, he then returned to the side of Justin, who’d only caught half of Mr Gorgeous Abs’ cheeky stint, to finish his rear lat spread. As everyone around me laughed and excitedly chatted about what had happened, I stood there, shocked and amused at the hilarity and outrageous cheekiness of Mr Gorgeous Abs’ playful actions. I desperately wanted to share the moment with Stuart Fox, but, much like when Justin had first given us a glimpse of his phenomenal glutes, his face was still buried in his camera, and he was refusing to look up. As I intently looked at him, I noticed a small, almost shy smile was masked on his face. Even more surprising, I noticed his cheeks had turned slightly red. There was no doubt about it. Stuart Fox was blushing. The man who had seemed so confident up until that moment, and who wasn’t at all shy about muttering words like, “shredded abs,” “feathered quads,“ and “muscle tits,” was now embarrassed at the act of a bodybuilder drawing everyone’s attention to the freakishly ripped, line plastered glutes of a fellow competitor. This could only lead me to the conclusion that the man for whom my affections had suddenly grown even more for undoubtedly had a massive weakness for ridiculously developed buttocks and gloriously striated glutes. Justin Hughes and Mr Gorgeous Abs spun around to face their audience once more. Both of them were grinning wildly at the hilarious stint that had just unfolded, and possibly having more fun in a pump room than any two bodybuilders ever had, as they geared themselves up for their final pose. With the usual guidance of Mr Gorgeous Abs, both of the muscle freaks cranked down in unison into explosive, energetic most musculars. Mr Gorgeous Abs bellowed out another cocky, “AHHHHH!” and, in a completely brilliant and unexpected moment, Justin displayed just a very small percentage of the attitude I knew he adopted on stage. As his traps erupted and his marble hard biceps exploded through his skin, for a split second, Justin’s tongue cheekily popped out of his mouth. As they relaxed and stood upright to what was the conclusion of some of the hottest posing of the day so far, Mr Gorgeous Abs reached out his hand for Justin’s. As they shook hands and grinned wildly at one another, he then placed his other hand on Justin’s shoulder and gave it an affectionate squeeze. An announcement filled the room for the middleweight competitors to start queuing up to go on stage, and both bodybuilders hastily headed away, leaving Stuart Fox and I to contemplate whether there was even the slightest possibility we’d witness a more entertaining display of playful, attitude packed posing that day.

Coach Peters

Five Watching Justin Hughes pumping up his impressively sized, rock hard biceps, I couldn’t help wondering whether I was, in actual fact, looking at the cutest thing to ever climb into a pair of outrageously shiny, bright blue posing trunks. From images and videos I’d seen of him on the Internet, I had always found Justin to be absurdly good looking, but in the flesh he was something else entirely. Justin Hughes was quite possibly the most beautiful boy I’d ever laid eyes on. Impossibly cute, boyish and possessing a clean cut, handsome quality that made him undeniably American, Justin looked like he’d grown up on a diet of corn. Boyish, nicely proportioned features sat on his utterly adorable face. With his big, brown puppy dog eyes and cute shaped nose, the only physical attribute on Justin that wasn’t near damn perfect, and which, at a guess, he could potentially have any ounce of insecurity about, were his rather large, sticky out ears. An attribute I just so happened to find extremely attractive. In my eyes, Justin Hughes’ one imperfection made him perfect. Intently pumping up his biceps with a passive, almost bored expression, seemingly disconnected from the other indecently shredded muscle monsters around him, not to mention the gathering of keen cameramen, one could be forgiven for thinking that Justin Hughes may not be the most expressive of bodybuilders. Certainly with his boy next door looks, it wouldn’t be completely absurd to assume that he was far too nice of a guy to display the kind of cocky attitude that many bodybuilders adopted when they hit the stage. I’d seen pictures, and even some video clips of Justin in competition, though, and knew exactly what kind of style he adopted when he was on stage, cranking out his poses and showing off his inhumanly muscular physique. When Justin’s face wasn’t plastered with a smug but extremely gorgeous grin, it was twisted and contorted into all manner of cheeky expressions. Scrunching up his face like a boy possessed, arrogantly opening his mouth wide while hitting his poses, and even cheekily sticking his tongue out, were all things likely to feature in any routine, comparisons round or posedown featuring this insanely cute muscle boy. Whether Stuart and I were about to witness any glimpse of that endearingly cheeky and over the top cocky attitude in the pump room, or whether he only saved it for the stage was still unknown at that point. As Justin placed his dumbbells on the floor, and stood up weight free, Stuart Fox gently nudged me. It took me a few seconds to realise his widened eyes were signalling me to hold the camera up and start shooting. Transfixed by the epitome of adorableness in bright blue posing trunks which stood before me, I’d completely forgotten the sole purpose of why I was standing in the middle of a pump room, backstage at a bodybuilding show. I started to lift the camera up, but then, surprising even myself, paused and pushed it into Stuart Fox’s direction for the offering instead. Looking at me in surprise at my presumed generosity, Stuart Fox took his CX100 camera back from my possession then shot me a handsome and bashful smirk. I’d like to say my reasons for giving up the opportunity to film one of the hottest and most well known young bodybuilders, not just in the States, but probably the entire world, were completely selfless. But they weren’t. Sure, I had wanted to repay Stuart Fox for his kindness and generosity for letting me take the reigns of the last two, unfathomably hot bodybuilders that had been captured on his CX100, but I was also enjoying watching Justin Hughes lens free. With the pressures of filming lifted, and with absolutely no other obligations or responsibilities, I could simply just stand and watch this outrageously hot bodybuilder in, what was undoubtedly, the best condition of his life. “Can we get some poses for the camera?” The question didn’t come from Stuart, but from the other, original cameraman shooting Justin to our right; an inoffensive looking, regular built guy with a beard in his thirties, who wasn’t rousing any suspicions that he might be secretly harbouring the same horn crazed feelings for this beyond gorgeous muscle boy that I was. Justin Hughes didn’t wait long before obeying. Before I knew what was happening, he was tensing his thick, corded quads, which were suddenly erupting in lines, grooves and striations to reveal some of the most incredibly shredded and crazily detailed legs I’d ever seen on a bodybuilder. The sheer freakishness of the sight of which almost caused me to physically gasp. With his fists on his waist, Justin then brought his gloriously chiselled upper body up and was fully flexed into an amazing front lat spread. A far cry from the shamelessly cocky attitude I’d seen him displaying in video clips and Internet images of him on stage, a slightly bashful and adorable smirk emerged on Justin’s ridiculously gorgeous face as he showed his intimate audience what a jacked up mini beast of a phenomenally conditioned bodybuilder he was. Before my mind had time to slip into a fantasy, whereby my face was mere inches away from his inhuman looking quad meat, Justin was transitioning into another pose. Bringing his left leg forward slightly, he then positioned it with his heel off the ground, revealing new lines and insane detail in his thigh. At the same time, Justin brought his impressively sized biceps into a front double bicep pose. As his guns peaked underneath his deliciously bronze tinted, his smile became slightly less bashful and more self assured than before. Barely able to keep my eyes away from Justin’s breathtakingly detailed and freakishly ripped quads for more than a second, an image suddenly flashed into my mind. I pictured a huge white board, with the words STUART FOX’S BONKERS BUT BRILLIANT PUMP ROOM GAME written in big, bold marker pen at the top. Underneath that heading were all the names of the fulfilled categories so far, with the name of the awarded bodybuilder written just underneath each one. THE GUY WITH THE BEST POSING TRUNKS Mr Golden Posers THE GUY WITH THE MOST FREAKISHLY HUGE BICEPS Chris “Freaky Peaks” Jackson THE GUY WITH THE CRAZIEST FEATHERED QUADS Justin Hughes THE MOST INHUMANLY SHREDDED GUY IN THE ROOM Justin Hughes THE MOST ADORABLY CUTE GUY IN THE ROOM Justin Hughes THE GUY I MOST WANT TO TAKE HOME TO GRANNY STEATHAM JUSTIN HUGHES Justin wasn’t wasting any time with transitioning from one pose to the next. Swinging his arms back down and relaxing from his fantastic front double bicep pose, in a split second, he had spun around, and with his fists on his waist again, he was opening up his back for a lat spread. Faced with the rear view of Justin’s physique for the first time, I almost physically gasped at the sight of one particular muscle group, and the image of the huge white board flashed into my mind once again, this time with a new, additional category. THE GUY WITH THE MOST FREAKISHLY STRIATED GLUTES JUSTIN FUCKING HUGHES!! Not only were Justin’s buttocks ridiculously thick and impressively developed, but each one was decorated with the deepest, most prominent lines. I thought I had already witnessed the freakiest sight I would that day when Chris “Freaky Peaks” Jackson blew up his insanely huge biceps, but the two orbs of amazingly conditioned, line plastered glute meat blowing out of Justin Hughes’ metallic blue posing trunks proved me completely wrong. Staring at the surreal image of Justin’s shredded ass, a question suddenly arose in my mind; what did my filming buddie, Stuart Fox, think of the otherworldly glutes shrivelling up before our eyes as Justin Hughes cranked down into a brutal back double bicep pose? I nervously shot a side glance at Stuart, in hope that he would, perhaps, look up and shoot me a similar, knowing look or cheeky smirk to the ones he’d giving me all day, but his face was firmly buried into the lens of his CX100 camera. My guess was, either from his experience of filming at similar bodybuilding shows, the image of a pair of impossibly thick and absurdly striated buttocks was something Stuart had become well accustomed to seeing (the lucky bugger), either gorgeously ripped glutes didn’t particularly do much for him (a notion I found highly unlikely), or he did, in fact, have a huge weakness for glutes, and was so completely engrossed in the image of Justin’s ass that he literally couldn’t tear his eyes away from it (a much more believable notion). As Justin continued to crank out his back double bicep pose, I managed to tear my eyes away from his freaky buttocks long enough to marvel at the rest of his amazing physique. Brutally thick delts, impressively developed lats, dry as a bone hamstrings covered in skin so thin it looked barely worth having, and, sitting just above the waist band of those ridiculously shiny blue posers, the craziest looking, most freakishly detailed Christmas tree shaped lower back. More than anything else in that moment, I wanted to walk up to the rear of a willing Justin Hughes and place one flat hand on that crazy, dry as crackers Christmas tree. And if my cock hadn’t managed to explode the second my skin made contact with his, I’d move my hand south and trace the freak show worthy lines of those incredible butt cheeks with my fingers, while spontaneously and shamelessly exclaiming, “FUCK YEAH GLUTES!” And before I had chance to contemplate how and where I’d dispose of my spunk soaked undies if such an event were to occur, Justin Hughes was spinning around with his arms thrown behind his head and cranking down into an abs and thighs pose, while releasing the cutest exhaling sound. After bearing witness to his magnificently striated ass, I didn’t think Justin Hughes was capable of taking my breathe away and single handily blowing my mind for another time. I was wrong. As Justin hit the peak of his pose, his midsection exploded with detail, and a thousand lumps and bumps erupted through his competition tan tinted skin. Six of the most beautifully shaped bumps of deeply carved abdominal muscle proudly burst through his wafer thin skin covered stomach. Each one more gorgeous, prominent and separated than the last. Either side of those sat insanely carved serratus and gloriously chiselled obliques, all of which made Justin look like a living, breathing anatomy chart. THE GUY WITH THE MOST INCREDIBLY SHREDDED ABS Yep. You guessed it. JUSTIN HUGHES! The imaginary time pausing superpower I’d fantasised about earlier that day came into my mind once again. This time, I’d quickly run out of the venue and return, having been to the nearest convenience store to purchase a big block of cheese. I’d walk up to Justin Hughes, paused in his magnificent abs and thighs pose, and run the block of cheddar over his deliciously carved midsection and gorgeous bumpy abdominals before adding another entry to my imaginary white board. THE GUY WITH THE MIDSECTION MOST LIKELY TO DOUBLE UP AS A FUCKING CHEESEGRATER WHO THE FUCK ELSE BUT JUSTIN FUCKING HUGHES?!

Watching this incredible mountain of monstrous mass posing his shiny green trunk covered arse off for a trio of admiring spectators as he gawped at the reflection of his own barely human body parts as they erupted and bulged before his very eyes, I suddenly wondered what must have been going through his head. Was he as equally amazed and astounded at the sight of his own physique in it’s outrageously freaky, competition ready condition as his three current spectators were? Maybe there was a part of him that was even a little freaked out, or scared at what he’d done to his own body? And then I wondered whether there was even the slightest chance that Chris “Freaky Peaks” Jackson was aroused and turned on by his own huge, flexing mounds of perfectly pumped, paper thin skin covered muscle mass at even a tenth of the degree that at least two of his current admirers were? I’d always loved the idea of a competitive bodybuilder being a secret muscle lover, just as obsessed and aroused at the sight of gorgeous shredded abs, thick twitchy pecs and crazily striated glutes as I was. A man whose obsession with ripped bodybuilders had once been satisfied by muscle magazines and Internet images, but had found himself craving something more. A man who’d joined a local gym and had been shocked at how much muscle he’d suddenly started packing on to his frame as a result. A man who’d left behind that gym and nervously signed up to a hardcore one, run and attended by former and current competitive bodybuilders, fearing he might be laughed out of the front door but finding the staff and members surprisingly friendly and respectful of his desire to build muscle. A man who’d found himself a personal trainer at said gym who’d helped him take his muscle building to the next level and was now a competitive bodybuilder tipping the scales at 240 pounds and was so unfathomably turned on by his own freakishly muscular and enormous sized physique that he spent most evenings flexing his slabs of gorgeously chiselled muscle in the mirror with awe, amazement and unbelievable arousal, and which never failed to result in him needing to blast a load at the reflection of his own pumped muscle mass. A man whose ridiculous sized biceps had earned him the bonkers but brilliant nickname of “Freaky Peaks” and found himself backstage at one of the biggest amateur bodybuilding competitions in the country, standing in front of an admiring audience of three, cranking out most muscular after most muscular like his life depended on it while gawping at his own muscle exploding in the mirror, so unspeakably turned on that he feared he would cum in his bright green, nicely packed posing trunks with the next flex. I suddenly imagined Freaky Peaks coming off stage at the day’s bodybuilding competition and rushing back to his hotel room. By some miracle, he’d managed to get through an entire day of being surrounded by monstrous, shredded, attitude filled bodybuilders flexing and posing in stupidly hot posers without creaming in his own indecently shiny trunks, but now he needed to worship some serious muscle and finally blow his pent-up load. The fact that said muscle just happened to be attached to his own body was a minor issue for this sexually charged, muscle crazed mountain of a muscle beast. Exhausted from hours of flexing on stage, and drenched in tan, oil and sweat, most bodybuilders would have jumped in the shower and spent the rest of the evening collapsed on their hotel beds, but not Freaky Peaks. He was only in shredded competition condition for a short period of time and he intended to fully make the most of it. Locking his hotel room door and positioning himself in front of the full length mirror on the wall, Chris Jackson braced himself for the ultimate muscle flexing session. Cranking out pose after pose in his tiny green trunks, Chris slowly became consumed by the freakish, otherworldly sights staring back at him from the mirror. Amazed at the striations peeking through his abnormally sized butt cheeks, entranced by the thinness of the sweat drenched skin covering his inhumanly shredded midsection, in awe of the sheer size of his incredible quads which were snaked in the nastiest veins, and aroused beyond comprehension at the thickness of the two balloon-like muscles sitting on his chest, Chris "Freaky Peaks" Jackson flexed and posed until he was completely lost in the image of his own monstrous mass of muscle. No body part of Chris’, however, provoked stronger feelings and emotions than his infamous, superhuman sized guns. His biceps had always been his strongest body part, developing so much easier and quicker than his others. He’d always loved that pumped feeling in his upper arms which came after a set of barbell curls, even in his early, humble days as a regular gym goer in his first gym. And now he was the proud owner of some of the biggest and freakiest guns on the planet. He’d seen his peaks a million times before, but never failed to be impressed by the sheer size and outrageous freakiness of seeing the enormous granite hard muscle erupting through his skin. On this particular day, in peak contest condition, his biceps looked more monstrous and freaky than they ever had. Staring at the reflection of his own barely human guns, Chris’ imagination suddenly ran away from him, as he envisioned a mile long queue of men stretched out before him, all waiting to wrap their hands around those famous peaks. Men of all shapes and sizes, the majority of them gay and obsessed with huge, ripped muscle just like he was, but some of them straight men who, for whatever reason, just wanted to know what it felt like to touch the monstrously sized, vein decorated biceps of a genuine flat out muscle freak. He was certain the two young camera men who’d been filming him earlier that day in the pump room would be somewhere in that line. Neither had been particularly effeminate, but his gaydar had kicked in big time when the two of them had approached him, one more nervously than the other. They’d seemed particularly close, and had exchanged more than one knowing glance, and sheepish smirk. No doubt they were probably both now at home, masturbating themselves stupid over the image of the flexed, veiny guns of Chris “Freaky Peaks” Jackson. If he could hunt them both down and invite them into his hotel room to worship his freaky peaks until they jizzed in their boxer shorts, he was certain he'd make two muscle obsessed lads extremely happy. Freaky Peaks didn’t just stop at flexing and marvelling at the image of his own incredible mass in the mirror, he also loved the feel of the freaky muscle beneath his fingertips, and his gigantic sized biceps were his favourite thing to touch. The feeling of running his hand over his rock hard ball of humungous sized bicep muscle, squeezing and feeling it bulging underneath his fingers was indescribable. He often wondered if any other bodybuilders indulged in these kinds of acts, and how many of them became so immensely aroused at, not only the image of their own excessively developed muscle in the mirror, but the sensation of feeling said muscle bulge and flex under their fingers as he did. Either way, Freaky Peaks’ private muscle flexing sessions always concluded in one way, and today was no exception. In between cranking out his poses, flexing his supremely sized mass, and running his hands over his own, flexed muscle, a sweat drenched, and incredibly aroused Chris reached for his throbbing, rock hard cock, which had been let free from the shiny green material of his posing trunks. He pounded away, grunting and groaning with pleasure as he pumped on his hard on. At the same time, his left hand was firmly planted on one of his deliriously pumped pecs. His fingers digging into the insatiably thick mound of muscle which made up one half of his huge chest. His hand then wandered further, running over the deeply chiselled abs blocks popping through the drum tight skin stretched over his stomach, before veering south and running over the indecently thick mass of muscle making up his quads, tensing them and feeling the deep lines erupt underneath his fingertips. With his right hand still pumping away on his hard, throbbing, cock, Chris curled his left hand into a tight fist and, as he watched his gigantic sized, alien like bicep muscle explode through his barely there skin, he reached the point of no return and screamed with intense orgasmic pleasure as his dick exploded, and thick ropes of hot, white cum splattered on to the mirror before him. “Yeah, that crab pose is your best most muscular, Chris!” The ever vocal guy to my left suddenly pulled me out from my Freaky Peaks fantasy and back into reality, as I realised the man who I’d just been imagining blasting a massive load while flexing, feeling, and staring at the reflection of his own monstrous muscle in the most outrageous act of self muscle worship my imagination would allow, had finally stopped posing and was now relaxed. A little out of breath, he was now conversing with his tanning buddie and right hand man, still completely dismissive of the camera pointed a few feet away from him, and the two men on the other side of it. “Definitely the guy with the most freakishly huge biceps in the room!” Stuart Fox was leaning over and quietly offering up his opinion as Chris Jackson lost himself in conversation with his friend, who was still wearing the tan covered gloves he’d used to help prepare his monster of a muscle mate for his stage appearance. I smiled in response, but before I was given the chance to reply, Stuart had a further development in his brilliant and bonkers game to announce. “And I think I’ve just spotted the most inhumanly shredded guy!” My eyes widened and I felt an immediate rush of excitement. “My five o’clock. Young-ish guy in the blue trunks,” Stuart informed me. I eagerly glanced around until I spotted the bodybuilder Stuart Fox was drawing my attention to; a ridiculously good looking and boyishly cute bodybuilder in a pair of inexplicably shiny, bright blue posing trunks intently lifting a pair of dumbbells. His modestly sized, perfectly bronzed frame was packed with muscle so beautifully carved and sculpted I almost physically gasped. Although it was the first time I'd witnessed this astonishingly hot bodybuilder in the flesh, just like Chris “Freaky Peaks” Jackson, I was already very well acquainted with him. His name was Justin Hughes, a well known, early twenty-something bodybuilder. “I know him but I can’t remember his name,” Stuart said in frustration. I had the sudden urge to remind Stuart what this misplaced information was, and potentially impress him with my knowledge of bodybuilders, but I didn’t quite have the nerve. “I think we might struggle to get near him though,” Stuart added. It was at that point I noticed that two cameramen were, indeed, closed in on Justin Hughes’ inhumanly shredded physique, leaving little room for anyone else. As I felt a crushing wave of disappointment, I suddenly found myself wondering if things were improving for my classmate Billy Horvath, last seen running errands for his intimidating mentor Baz Wade. I glanced over to the spot where Baz had previously camped his camera. Sure enough, he was still there, standing around with his camera relaxed in his hand, talking to someone I couldn’t quite see as his gang of equally thuggish looking mates gathered around him. There was no sign of Billy in the group, but glancing my eyes around the area where Baz had camped out, I suddenly spotted him slumped in a plastic chair with his arms folded. Through all of my negative feelings towards this incredibly obnoxious and annoying young man, I suddenly felt a strong pang of sympathy towards Billy. Gone was the over confident and self assured guy I’d come to loathe, and in place was someone who not only looked completely lost, but also excruciatingly uncomfortable. His face was filled with anxiety and his eyes were fearfully glancing around at the huge bronzed muscle freaks filling up the large room as they pumped, preened and posed around him. Despite my general distaste towards Billy, I suddenly had the overwhelming desire to try and rescue him from what was clearly, in his view, a really quite terrible and extremely uncomfortable situation. Veering my eyes once more towards Baz Wade’s group, I noticed that there’d been some sort of minor reshuffling of people and I suddenly found myself with a clear view of exactly who he was talking to. While most of Baz’s friends ranged from stocky to muscular in build, up until that moment, I’d had little suspicion that any of them were actual bodybuilders, or involved in the day’s competition in anything but a behind the scenes capacity. That had now completely changed with the reveal of the man standing in front of, and immersed in conversation with Billy Horvath’s filming mentor. His complexion was bronzed with tan, and although completely covered up by a bright red tracksuit, there was no doubt the man in question was sporting one seriously swollen physique. His frame was wide and his upper body looked impressively thick, leaving little question as to whether he’d be flexing on stage in his, no doubt shiny and outrageously sized posing trunks, before the day was out. The bodybuilder didn’t look too out of place in Baz's group of friends, provoking first impressions that, unfairly or not, he was probably just as obnoxious as the people he associated himself with. Despite this, and the fact that he wasn’t exactly the best looking guy I’d clocked that day, there was no denying that I found him pretty damn fucking hot. My attention was suddenly pulled away by a short gasp from Stuart Fox. “Charlie, I think we might be in luck!” he excitably said. Momentarily confused, I looked over to the same spot Stuart was eyeballing and suddenly realised what he meant. One of the two cameramen previously crowding the shockingly shredded and absurdly cute Justin Hughes had moved, leaving a clear space before his breathtakingly conditioned physique for someone new to occupy. A wide eyed and eager Stuart Fox quickly gathered up his camera case, and signalled for me to follow. Chris “Freaky Peaks” Jackson was still engrossed in conversation with his tanning buddie and posing commentator, and not showing signs of doing any sort of pumping up, or further posing any time soon, leaving me with little reason as to why I should do otherwise. Stuart had remained fairly calm and relaxed during the filming of Mr Golden Posers and Chris Jackson, but now, at the prospect of filming Justin Hughes, he’d suddenly turned into an excitable puppy. Whether it was the prospect of getting close to a bodybuilder as well known as Justin, or whether, like me, he had a certain thing for this impossibly cute and crazily conditioned bodybuilder, I wasn’t quite sure, but whatever the reason, I found his new found eagerness both adorable and incredibly endearing. Once again, my stomach tightened with nerves on the approach to a new bodybuilder. At this point I came to realise that this was probably the reaction I would experience every time I performed this particular act that day, regardless of how many times I did so. I then wondered whether Stuart Fox, with all his presumed experience, felt any pangs of nerves himself. As we approached our new filming target, Stuart tutted in frustration. “I wish I could remember what this guy’s name is.” Say it! Just fucking say it! “Is it…Justin Hughes?” WHAT THE FUCK DID YOU JUST DO?! Stuart Fox turned around to look at me, but far from the surprised expression I was expecting in response to me knowing the name of a competitive bodybuilder, his mouth was curled into a mischievous looking smirk. “Oh yeah!” he said teasingly. “That's it!” The playful tone of his voice and his devilish expression told me one thing; Stuart Fox hadn't forgotten Justin Hughes’ name at all. My cheeks reddened and my heart started thumping at the realisation of what had just happened. Stuart Fox had tricked me into all but confessing that I was a secret lover of huge, shredded muscle freaks. My embarrassment turned to excitement as I considered the reasons for Stuart Fox’s trick. I was left with very little doubt as to whether he was a like minded muscle lover at that point. The prospect of which, alone, excited me, but his stunt clearly suggested that, while I’d been curious and interested in Stuart’s intentions for spending the day surrounded by a bunch of monstrously sized muscle bulls in tiny sized posing trunks, he had been wondering the exact same thing about me. With my revelation that I had knowledge of, and an apparent invested interest in the competition conditioned muscle freaks which surrounded us, and the reveal that Stuart Fox had obviously tricked me into uncovering this knowledge, the unspoken affection between my filming mentor and I suddenly seemed to have multiplied. Any exploration of this would have to be placed on hold as I suddenly found myself closing in our new filming subject, and before I knew it, I was standing just a short distance from probably one of the most well known, definitely one of the cutest, and without a single ounce of doubt, one of the most shockingly shredded, early twenty-something bodybuilders in America.

Four A dozen potential answers to Stuart Fox's question went through my head. Unfortunately most of those answers involved words I was terrified to say out loud. How was I supposed to casually utter things like “most inhumanly shredded guy,” “guy with the biggest muscle tits,” and, “craziest feathered quads,” in the same manner that Stuart Fox had? After a painful pause, my fear got the better of me and I took the option which involved the least alien words. Still cautiously, I replied, “Erm...biggest biceps?” I wasn't sure if it was because I’d said the word “biceps” or the fact that he’d clearly noticed my obvious embarrassment of using said word, but Stuart's face beamed with an amused smile. “Good choice!” he exclaimed. Picking up the camera case, he nodded towards his CX100 camera, still in my hands. “You OK to carry on filming for a while?” Surprisingly I agreed with little fear. I’d already survived being mere feet away from the tight, hard, shredded slabs of muscle owned by the insanely hot Mr Golden Posers. The fears and anxieties I’d bought to the theatre that morning seemed to be shrinking by the minute, and I knew a huge part of that was down my new mentor Stuart. “Follow me!” he ordered, with a cheeky raise of his eyebrows. I began to trail behind him as we set out to find our target. “Bicep size apart,” he added, “if you see a guy you like the look of just shout!” There was that phrase again. “A guy you like the look of.” A phrase which could have any number of meanings and connotations. More than before though, I was almost certain I knew exactly what the actual meaning was. “Oh and it's most freakishly huge biceps,” Stuart cheekily added, before turning his head to the back of my face, but not before a got a glimpse of one of his mischievous smirks. As I continued to follow my filming mentor, a question suddenly entered my head. Did Stuart Fox have this much fun with all of the work experience guys he looked after, or was I a special case? It wasn’t something I was likely to ask before the day was over, but a voice in the back of my head told me that this was probably a particularly enjoyable day for Mr Fox. Trailing behind Stuart, I was once again walking through a sea of superhuman sized muscle freaks in brightly coloured posing trunks. Each one as unquestionably hot as the next. When I suddenly spotted a bodybuilder I instantly recognised, a rush of excitement shot through me, not just at witnessing this particular muscle freak in the flesh, but because I knew there was a very strong possibility I’d found the guy with the most freakishly huge biceps in the room. His name was Chris “Freaky Peaks” Jackson, an early to mid thirties bodybuilder who’d earned his nickname because of his enormous sized and jaw droppingly freaky biceps, which peaked to insane heights when flexed. I’d first become acquainted with Chris when I’d stumbled across a video of him on the Internet. The sight of his terrifyingly huge biceps and the rest of his gigantic sized slabs of otherworldly muscle mass bulging and flexing on my PC screen had sent me into a muscle crazed frenzy. This video had kick-started a phase where I became slightly obsessed with this unfathomably hot American muscle bull, seeking out any other footage of him I could find of him on the net, and being the sole cause of every load blown throughout the course of an entire week. And there he was in the pump room, standing yards away from Stuart Fox and I in a pair of inexplicably sexy, emerald green coloured posing trunks, looking more unbelievably monstrous in the flesh than I could have ever imagined. Every inch of his obscenely built frame exploded with thick balloons of insatiably pumped muscle, which were being painted with glistening golden tan by the gloved hands of a rather muscular and handsome looking guy in a black polo shirt, who was perhaps unknowingly performing a task a guy like me, and more than likely Stuart Fox, could only dream of being involved in. The whole event was also taking place without a single camera pointed in Freaky Peak’s direction. The only thing left to do was to bring my mentor’s attention to this incredible bodybuilder and his impossibly huge biceps. HOLY FUCK! Stuart, mate! Guy the most freakishly huge biceps at two o’-bleedin’-clock! Let’s get our muscle loving arses over there and get fucking filming NOW! Oh and, by the way, I know I only just met you about half an hour ago but I think you’re bloody awesome and could quite possibly be the fellow muscle lover I’ve always longed to meet! “Stuart…erm…there’s a guy over there who looks pretty good.” Pretty good?! Pretty fucking good?! I wanna kill myself! Stuart started looking around the pump room before saying, “Gimme a clue dude!” The fuck off huge muscle monster over there in the stupidly hot, shiny green posing trunks getting his big, slabby tits tanned up by that lucky bleedin’ bugger and who, by the way, I just so happened to have blasted a massive fucking load over on more than one occasion. FUCK YEAH! “Erm…guy getting oiled up. Green posers?” was all I could muster in reply, my cheeks reddening like crazy as I uttered the word “posers”. Stuart suddenly spotted Freaky Peaks. “Ooooh, good call. I know this guy. His nickname’s Freaky Peaks!” I BLOODY KNOW!! As Stuart smiled proudly, I got the feeling he was getting some kind of kick out of educating me on the nicknames of competitive bodybuilders, unaware of the fact there wasn’t a huge amount he could tell me that I didn‘t know already. “No doubt he’s the guy with the most freakishly huge biceps in the room. Well played, Mr Steatham!” Never failing to be charmed by a compliment from a handsome guy, I sheepishly smiled in response to Stuart, who was now guiding me in the direction of Chris “Freaky Peaks” Jackson. As I trailed behind Stuart, I felt my first slight twinge of nerves since we’d first approached Mr Golden Posers, but they were drowned out by an overwhelming sense of excitement as to what was ahead for me and my filming buddie. I suddenly thought back to the incredibly cute, pint sized, lightweight bodybuilder whose shiny slabs of perfectly pumped muscle I’d been mere inches away from, and who I’d amazingly given posing instructions to not fifteen minutes before, and wondered how this particular experience with a muscle freak, who had at least forty extra pounds of muscle would compare. And then, on the approach to the superhuman sized muscle bull in question, out of nowhere I suddenly felt an unexpected sense of disloyalty towards Mr Golden Posers. The feeling quickly faded when I found myself at a stand still, just mere feet away the monstrous mass of bulging, competition conditioned muscle of Chris “Freaky Peaks” Jackson; at the very least, a heavyweight bodybuilder who’d moulded and sculpted his physique, and transformed himself into a genuine flat out muscle freak who lived for being huge, and whose alien-like mounds of incredible muscle had the power to make grown men, like myself, ejaculate at the mere fucking thought of. Unlike Mr Golden Posers, Chris didn’t give the slightest acknowledgement to Stuart and I, who had just invaded his space without any prior warning or permission. I had to remind myself that given Chris Jackson had been competing for years and was clearly accustomed to having multiple cameras pointed at him, this was presumably perfectly normal behaviour, and that Mr Golden Posers, with his friendly and welcoming nods and smiles, probably hadn’t yet learnt the rules of normal bodybuilder and cameraman etiquette. As I held up Stuart Fox’s CX100 camera and stared down the lens at my new filming subject, all thoughts of Mr Golden Posers quickly evaporated. Standing slightly shorter than myself, at about 5’11, and no doubt tipping well above 230 pounds, Chris “Freaky Peaks” Jackson was nothing short of an absolute beast. Impossibly huge boulder delts which bulged to a cartoonish degree, a pair of arrestingly thick pecs which looked like balloons ready to burst through the smooth, oil soaked skin barely able to contain them, thick solid quads which were decorated with a splattering of grotesque veins unapologetically zig zagging over his enormous sized mounds of leg muscle and gloriously chiselled, brick shaped abdominals proudly popping through the barely there skin covering his midsection all fought for my attention. But it was the body part which had earned Mr Jackson his outrageous nickname which was the clear winner. Even in their current un-flexed, relaxed state, as his lucky mate continued to rub oil and tan into his alien-like physique, Chris’ famous biceps looked monstrous to an insane degree. Rock hard mounds of inhuman sized muscle bulging through the wafer thin skin covering them, with thick, terrifying veins running down each one, begging to be blown up and flexed, and which, hands down, made up the freakiest sight I’d witnessed so far that day. Far from being the most conventionally handsome bodybuilder in the pump room, Chris was still a good looking guy, with a certain “American dumb jock” charm to his looks, made up of strong, masculine features. In all the videos and pictures I’d seen him in, Chris had had short, mousey blonde hair. Whether it was a voluntary hair style change or otherwise, he was now completely bald. As well as suiting him to the point where I couldn’t imagine him looking any other way, his newly hairless head also happened to make him look more unbelievably sexy than ever. Much like my previous film subject, Chris exuded the most incredible self confidence. However, there were no signs of the warm, cheeky charm that Mr Golden Posers had so effortlessly radiated. Instead, Chris Jackson gave off an extremely intense vibe, intently ogling his own monstrous muscle in the mirrors before him, as his rather cute buddie oiled him up. He gave the impression that he was, in this particular moment in time at least, taking himself, and his superhuman sized muscles extremely seriously. As Chris’ mate knelt down to rub tan into his abnormally muscular legs, I panned the camera down to catch the action. Briefly catching Chris’ brilliantly shiny, modestly filled out, emerald green coloured trunks, I then focused the camera on his incredible, vein splattered wheels. As his tanning buddie started oiling up his lower leg, I suddenly noticed a gathering of freakish bordering on grotesque veins plastering his impressively sized calves. Standing up straight again, Chris’ tanning buddie suddenly took a step back and aligned himself with Stuart and I. There’d clearly be no need for either of us to instruct, or tempt this particular bodybuilder into posing. Chris “Freaky Peaks” Jackson, a magnificently built, barely human muscle bull of a bodybuilder whose impossibly huge biceps had once caused me to embark on a sexually charged muscle crazed phase over their owner, losing load after load to the image of his body, was now standing mere feet before me, intensely staring at his own incredible physique in the mirror. Completely unfazed by the audience of his tanning acquaintance and two unsuspecting cameramen, Chris he placed his fists on his waist, and readied himself for what was undoubtedly a front lat spread pose. Incredible wide lats appeared from seemingly nowhere, his gorgeous thick muscle tits jumped up and back down as if taking on a life of their own, and without prior warning, Chris animatedly puffed out his cheeks and made an amazingly hot and loud exhaling noise as he blasted into the pose, all the while intently admiring his muscle with intensity. What came next was a completely unexpected, but unquestionably hot moment. As Chris hit the peak of his pose, a short, sharp, appreciative, “Yeah!” came from the man on my left, who’d been lucky enough to touch, feel and tan up those incredible balloons of shockingly pumped muscle. I had long been a fan of videos of bodybuilders posing where you could clearly hear the camera man, or friends of the muscle freak in question, responding and reacting to their muscle bull mates with words of encouragement and admiration. I didn’t have to wonder whether Mr Jackson’s tanning buddie would be offering up any more commentary and words of encouragement for too long. As Chris threw his left monstrous sized arm round the back of his head, and curled his right hand into a fist and clenched, a loud voice in a masterful tone suddenly bellowed in my left ear. “Crank it hard!” FUUUUUUUUCKK!! Obeying his buddie, Chris puffed out his cheeks once more and released a loud huffing sound like, “PFFFHHOOOO!” as he cranked into a one arm behind the head abs and thighs pose. The lines separating the six gorgeously carved ab bricks bursting through his midsection deepened as the muscles crunched and popped through his stomach, stretching his drum tight skin to the absolute maximum. Chris’ mate clearly wasn’t planning to quite his commentary any time soon, as he complimented Chris in what was undoubtedly his cheekiest and most outrageously hot comment yet. “Those abs are looking sick, Chris!” FUCKING! FUCKING! FUCKING FUCK FUUUUUUUCKK!! Hearing this cute, nicely muscular guy admiring and commenting on Chris’ muscles in, what was presumably, a completely heterosexual manner was possibly even hotter than hearing Stuart Fox shout out poses for a gorgeous, hard bodied, lightweight muscle lad in golden coloured posing trunks. Without even thinking, the unspeakably awesome, “sick abs,” comment from this increasingly hot man to my left caused me to take my eye off the camera and shoot a glance at my mentor and filming buddie. I wasn’t sure if I needed to share my surprise with someone, or whether I wanted to see what Stuart Fox’s own reaction would be, but, with his eyes wide open, and an overexcited smirk on his face, Stuart’s knowing expression was almost identical to the one I was shooting back at him. It was a look which said, “I know exactly what you’re thinking because I’m thinking the exact same fucking thing! I can not bloody believe what that cheeky bugger just said, but it was completely fucking brilliant and, oh yeah, off the charts fucking HOT!” As I returned to the image of the superhuman muscle bull crunching his massive, shredded abs through my borrowed camera lens, I couldn’t wipe the smile off my face from what had just happened with Stuart Fox. A two second moment of shared expressions which further confirmed that I’d finally managed to find someone who had the same thoughts and feelings about muscle as I did. Now relaxed from his abs and thighs pose, Chris “Freaky Peaks” Jackson was seemingly gearing up for a second pose. My heart practically jumped through my throat as Chris bought his famously freaky guns up and I realised I was about to witness in the flesh exactly what had earned Chris his brilliant nickname. Ballooning either side of his head, to phenomenal heights, were two of the most jaw droppingly huge and undeniably freaky peaked biceps, stretching his inhumanly thin, tan painted, skin. The thickest and scariest looking hosepipe veins proudly erupted and haphazardly spread across the rock hard, super-sized muscles. I was almost sure that if, by some miracle, Chris were to suddenly lunge towards me, with one of his guns still in it’s incredible, peaked glory, and said, “Go on then, mate, get your hand around THAT!” and, obeying Chris, purely because it would be rude not to, I wrapped my fingers around the gigantic ball of vein covered bicep muscle, my unapologetically hard dick would involuntarily start spasming, and with neither hand anywhere near my crotch, wet cum would start pumping out of the head and soaking both my underwear and the inside of my poor jeans. Consumed by amazement at the alien like vision before me, I’d completely forgotten the two men either side of me, equally marvelling at this magnificent display of freaky muscle, until the familiar voice of Chris’ friend spoke up. “There you go! That’s the money shot right there.” What I definitely hadn’t expected was for the man standing to my right to also offer up his commentary. I’d already discovered that Stuart Fox was confident enough to compliment bodybuilders when he’d unexpectedly offered up the appreciate word, “Nice!” to a flexing Mr Golden Posers. However, there was a world of difference between the warm, friendly, lightweight bodybuilder who’d welcomed us with open arms and the gigantic sized, heavyweight, incredibly intense muscle bull standing before us. Stuart Fox clearly didn’t see this as any kind of obstacle. With Chris still showing his audience his phenomenally peaked biceps, Stuart offered up his critique in one simple, but utterly brilliant word; “Huge!” My eyes practically bulged out as much as Chris Jackson’s balloons of muscle did. As my mind frantically scrambled for any one thought, I glared at Stuart in complete amazement. As Stuart endearingly and proudly smirked at me, as if to say, “Weren’t expecting THAT one were you mate?” three questions arose in my mind which I was begging to know the answer to. How the hell did Stuart Fox have the confidence to compliment and comment on the size of a genuinely huge, competition conditioned bodybuilder’s biceps, how did one man manage to be so incomprehensibly bloody awesome, and how the hell was he managing to become more attractive to me with every passing second? Before I had time to ponder the answers, my focus was, once again, turned towards the terrifying mountain of enormous, carved out muscle in shiny green posers before me. Having relaxed from flexing his freak show worthy biceps, Chris was now placing one hand on the top of his quads, and bringing the other into a fist. Once again, he intensely puffs his cheeks out in preparation for another pose. “Blow it out!” bellowed the man to my left. Obeying his mate’s orders, Chris “Freaky Peaks” Jackson exhaled loudly and cranked down into a most muscular pose. I lost count of just how many most musculars Chris then blasted out, but once he got started he didn’t seem to want to stop. Pose after pose, cranking down hard, each time doing something slightly different with his hands. Some were hit with one hand on his quad, some with both and some while pushing one of his thick, veiny, oil drenched quads out, twisting and turning it to show off the astonishingly freaky muscle. Each pose was accompanied with Chris blowing his cheeks out. Huffing and puffing while intensely staring at his own creation of extreme muscle in the mirror. Then the crab most musculars started. His traps seemed to explod from nowhere every time he leant forward and his humungous bicep muscles bulged to insane degrees, as if threatening to rip through the dangerously thin, bronze tinted skin keeping them imprisoned.

What Stuart then said to Mr Golden Posers was even more incredible and unexpected. “Do you wanna hit some poses for the camera?” OH MY FUCKING FUCK!! Mr Golden Posers gave a casual nod of acceptance, like he’d just been asked the most normal thing in the world, which I quickly realised in this situation, probably was. Not quite believing what was unfolding before my eyes for about the forty-fifth time that day, I braced myself to witness a devastatingly cute, rock hard, competition conditioned bodybuilder cranking out random poses and flexing his freshly pumped muscles right into the lens of the camera I was eagerly staring down. I had no idea something even more amazing and surreal was about to happen. Just when I thought Stuart couldn’t possibly have said anything more unexpectedly bonkers and inexplicably awesome, he proved me wrong. “Ok, why don’t you hit…” HOLY SWEET FUCKING JESUS!! He’s not. He can’t be… “…a front lat spread?” FUCK FUCK FUUUUUUUCKKK!! Yep, this is happening. This is actually fucking happening. Stuart Fox was calling out the poses. Before my head had a chance to explode over the pump room floor, Mr Golden Posers was wrapping his thumbs and fingers under each of the thin straps of his remarkably hot trunks and, while pursing his lips in concentration, he yanked both straps up, and straightened himself up into a front lat spread. His pumped little lats spread out like wings under his completely hairless armpits as he stared directly down the camera I was holding. For a second time since I’d started filming, it felt like this hot little muscle freak was posing and flexing his beautifully carved out muscles just for me. I suddenly had the urge to get down on both knees and look up to see this magnificent mountain of hard, tight, thinly skinned muscle looking down on me. Seeing that pointy bulge in the crotch of those brilliantly coloured posing trunks sticking out, drawing my mouth towards the golden covered bulge and - “Let’s see a front double bicep!” FUCKING FUCK YEAH!! As the tiny straps of his trunks snapped back down into place, Mr Golden Posers relaxed from his front lat spread with a small exhaling sound, then, pursing his lips once again in an arrogant and unspeakably hot manner, he bought both of his arms up either side of his head and cranked them back down into a front double bicep. Before my mind had chance to slip into another fantasy, Stuart’s hand was suddenly on my back and he was giving me instructions. “Charlie, get closer!” A jolt of panic shot through me, and before I knew what was happening, Stuart Fox was giving me a gentle push towards the flexing, hard bodied, pocket rocket of unutterably hot muscle before me until I was literally standing about two feet away from his body. My camera closed in on those impressively pumped, rock hard-to-the-touch, croquet ball shaped biceps erupting as he flexed harder and harder. He was holding the pose for what seemed like ages, his lips pursing even more, as he turned his head from side to side to get a look at his own incredible flexed guns. Being stood so close to this ripped up muscle dude, I could not only feel the heat coming from his hard body, I could also smell the scent exuding from it. An extremely hot and masculine mix of aftershave, something sweet and cosmetic-like which I presumed to be the smell of his competition tan, and his natural body scent. He didn’t seem to want to let up from the front double bicep pose. Flexing and flexing, showing off his huge, hard, impossibly pumped guns. As I looked at his sexy little face contorting with sheer effort, I suddenly noticed tiny beads of sweat forming on his forehead and cheeks. He was squeezing out every last inch of this bicep pose, and as my attention returned to those mounds of magnificently flexed, granite hard muscle, I suddenly wanted nothing more than to reach out and squeeze them. He was clearly proud of his abnormally big biceps, and was loving every single second of showing them off to Stuart and I. What was the betting that he’d love to have some hands on them? Feeling, squeezing and fondling the fuck out of every single inch of his massive, freaky peaks? I couldn’t attend to both at the same time though, so I’d probably have to have a bit of assistance. My mind then spiralled to the image of me with my mouth wrapped around his right granite hard bicep, kissing and making out with the muscle as it bulged underneath that cling wrap skin. Then looking over and seeing Stuart Fox doing the exact thing with his left bicep. Two muscle mad mates worshipping the fuck out of a pint sized, tight as fuck, ripped up muscle cutie. Locking eyes with each other and lingering for a moment, both thinking the exact same thing. “Are we in heaven, mate?? I think we might just fucking be. And yep, I think I might just splat my fucking pants at any given seco - oh - oh - OOOOOOHFFFFFUUUUUCCKKK - oooops, too late.” When Mr Golden Posers finally stopped squeezing and relaxed from the pose, there was a pause as he looked at Stuart Fox with his hands on his hips. Slightly out of breath, it seemed he was waiting for his next instruction. Instead of doing that, however, Stuart took his unexpected behaviour to a whole new level. He turned to me and posed a question. “Do you know the poses?” I instantly panicked, and my first instinct was to deny that I did. I suddenly noticed that Mr Golden Posers was looking at me, waiting for my response. “Erm…” FUCK! Say it. Just say it! And then, surprising even myself, I suddenly and nervously blurted out my next words. “Abs and thighs?” I looked at Stuart who was smirking at me like crazy, and another wave of panic went through me. How on earth would a guy like me know anything about the official names of bodybuilding poses? Had I been rumbled? Or more accurately, had I, in fact, just given my own game away? And then I realised, by the smile on Stuart Fox’s face, that it may not have been an entirely bad thing if I had. As I coyly smiled back at Stuart, Mr Golden Posers interrupted the moment by throwing one arm behind the back of his head. With his right hand resting on his hip, and adopting the same adorably cute and crazily hot nose wrinkling and bottom lip biting that he’d done before, he crunched down into a one armed abs and thighs with an amazingly hot, “Hhmmppfff!” sound. The lines separating his beautifully shaped baby abs deepened, as they popped out from his torso, almost as much as the golden coloured bulge in his posers did. He then made a switch and threw the other arm behind his head for another crunch, all the time pulling that endearingly cheeky expression and staring into the camera. I couldn’t help wondering if he preferred this style of abs and thighs, with one hand resting around his hip area, because it increased the chance of drawing the attention of the lucky spectator to his awesome, shiny, bulge packed trunks. There was a slightly awkward pause when Mr Golden Posers relaxed from what had undoubtedly been his hottest pose yet and was now just standing and shooting glances at Stuart and I. I looked at Stuart, who was looking at me in return, and it took me a moment to realise they were waiting for me to call out yet another pose. A ripped up muscle guy backstage at an actual bodybuilding competition was waiting for instructions from me on what to do next. When I signed up to study for a semester in California, I never would have imagined this is how I’d be spending one of my Saturday afternoons. I was tempted to go with a back lat spread pose. I hadn’t seen Mr Golden Posers from the back yet, and I wanted to know whether there were lines in his shiny trunk covered ass, but an urge to watch him hit another pose suddenly took over. “Erm…most muscular?” I said. A mischievous, but sexy grin emerged on Mr Golden Posers’ face as if to say, “Awwww hell yeah! Get ready for this one fuckers,” as he once again clasped his right fist with his left hand, and then gave a short, sharp crank down into the pose, accompanied by adeep and inexplicably hot grunt. In reaction to this, my throbbing boner suddenly and uncontrollably spasmed and I felt something wet in my boxers. For a spilt second I feared I may have actually cum before realising it was no doubt just pre-cum oozing and dripping out into the crotch of my underwear. Mr Golden Posers stayed in the pose for a few seconds, squeezing hard as if his life depended on it. Striations erupted on his squeezed chest, the thick veins popped through the wafer thin skin of his bulging biceps and the lines separating his gorgeous little abs became more prominent than they were three seconds before. A pumped up, beef packed little muscle stud was cranking his barely human mass right down the lens of a camera I was operating and staring into. When he stopped squeezing, he was beaming at Stuart and I, displaying his sexy, mischievous and incredibly endearing smile in its full glory for the first time. As if on cue, someone loudly announced for the lightweight competitors to start queuing up to go on stage. I expected a brief gesture towards Stuart Fox and I from Mr Golden Posers before he waddled away to show off what a rock hard, brilliantly carved out muscle freak of nature he was and crank out the very poses he’d just performed on stage for an adoring audience packed theatre. What I didn’t expect was for him to reach out and shake Stuart’s hand, then reach for mine, giving us both friendly nods of thanks and approval. Stuart wished him good luck, while I was unable to mutter up another single word as this devastatingly sexy bodybuilder revealed what an incredibly friendly and down to earth guy he was. As I started to reconsider my marital future to Bryan Macleod and pondered the chances of becoming Mrs Golden Posers instead, he was strutting away from us, and I finally got a chance to see what he looked like from behind. His deliciously pumped up little lats winged out from his gorgeous back, while, as predicted, those incredible posers looked just as shiny and unspeakably hot from the back, as they perfectly hugged a modestly sized, lovely shaped ass which, sure enough, came with a few freaky lines and striations peeking through the skin. As I watched him walk him walk away, I felt a slight pang of regret that I gave up the chance to see the beautiful detail in those glutes up close. Left alone again with Stuart Fox, he took me by surprise when he offered up a compliment. “You did well.” I wasn’t entirely sure whether he was referring to my camera skills, or my ability to get ridiculously close to a pair of massively pumped, gloriously flexed biceps without blowing a massive wad in my jeans, but I offered up a shy smile of gratitude anyway. “I have one tip though,” he continued. “Don’t be afraid to get the camera closer. It might feel like your invading their space but they’re used to it. They know what they’ve signed up for here.” Hmmm. A day spent with secret muscle loving work experience attendees shoving cameras in their faces wishing they were touching, squeezing and licking every inch of their absurdly pumped, superhuman sized mounds of man meat?! “You’re not close enough until you can see the beads of sweat on the muscle.” OH MY FUCKING GOD!! Actually…make that…SLURP FUCKING SLURP!! Before I had the chance to ask Stuart whether I could whip out my phone and record every single unknowingly (or were they - the cheeky bugger!) and inexplicably hot word he was saying, he was drawing my attention to a corner of the pump room. “Looks like Baz is putting your classmate’s skills to good use.” I turned to the spot where Stuart was looking to witness Billy Horvath handing out assorted refreshments and drink bottles to Baz Wade and a small group of men who were presumably his mates, and who all pretty much gave out the same obnoxious, and slightly threatening vibe that he did. Baz was talking to Billy, and as he turned and walked off with the most disgruntled scowl I’d ever seen Billy sporting, it was clear Baz had marched him off somewhere to perform another errand. “Yeah, that’s pretty much how Baz treats all the work experience guys if he can get away with it,” Stuart explained. It was official. Billy Horvath was Baz’s bitch for the day. I couldn’t help but smile and failed to suppress a guilty chuckle, before realising, that that could have been me. As if reading my mind, Stuart gave me a mischievous grin. “Lucky you got me huh?” “So, Charlie Steatham, what do you feel like shooting next?” Stuart’s question caught me a little off guard, and I had no idea how to respond. Luckily he was about to offer up some suggestions. “OK, so we could go in search for some of the super heavyweights guys. Or…” he paused, gave me a slightly quizzical look, clearly doubting his next words, shook his head with a slightly sheepish grin and said, “nah, forget it.” “What?” I replied. I was eager to know what Stuart was going to say. He was still looking at me like he was trying to figure out whether he could trust me or not. “Come on,” I gently ordered. Stuart took the plunge. “OK, well you might think this is totally stupid, and I’ve never actually told anyone this before, so no laughing, and you might think I’m a complete nerd when I admit to this, but, I sometimes play a little game with myself.” My ears pricked up and I was instantly curious. “So, we have all these bodybuilders in this room to film,” Stuart continued. “All in excellent, competition condition. However…” he momentarily paused and raised one eyebrow as my mind heart began to race with what was about to follow. “Some guys will have things about them, that are better than some of the other guys. So, I sort of challenge myself to film the guys who have the best of a certain attribute.” He looked at me with a quizzical look as if asking if I were following his drift. I nodded, so he continued. “For example, I might set out to find the most inhumanly shredded guy in the room.” WHAT THE - DID HE JUST SAY? - I CAN’T EVEN - OH FUUUUUUUCCCCKKK!! I couldn’t believe what I’d just heard. Did Stuart Fox just casually utter the words “inhumanly shredded” like it was the most casual thing you can possibly say? Along with my eyes practically bulging out of their sockets, I couldn’t hide the grin of sheer pleasure at hearing someone describing muscle in the hottest way possible. I suddenly flashbacked to Bryan MacWoofityWoof casually rolling words like, “Jacked up muscle bulls,” off his tongue to a disgusted Billy Horvath and I. What was it with these camera men coming out with the kind of unutterably hot muscle descriptions I’d only ever said in my head, or read on the Internet? Stuart continued. “And then I might set out to find the most all out monstrous muscle freak in the room.” HOLY SWEET FUCKING JESUS! “And then the guy with the biggest muscle tits.” TITS?! FUCKING TITS?! He could have said pecs, but no. He went one fucking better and used the word TITS! “The guy with the most incredibly shredded abs.” FUCK FUCK FUCKITY FUCK FUUUUUCK!! I felt like I’d slipped into some kind of muscle related twilight zone. Here was a handsome, charming guy, not only detailing to me the most awesome, imaginative and bonkers self-invented game involving a room full of brutally huge, beautifully ripped muscle bulls in tiny, shiny posers using the craziest and hottest vocabulary, but also inviting me to play it with him. “Erm…let’s see,” Stuart was talking to himself and thinking. “What else is there”? The guy with the most freakishly striated ass. Say the guy with the most freakishly striated ass!! “The guy with the craziest feathered quads.” OHGODOHGODOHGOD. I seriously can’t take much more of this. “The guy with the most freakishly huge biceps.” If I splat my fucking pants right here and now Stuart Fox it’s all your fucking fault! “Erm…this one’s a little quirkier.” Most impossibly cute guy in the room? The beast with the biggest posing trunk bulge (BOIIIING)? The carved out muscle freak you wanna splat your pants over the most?! His tone took on a slightly cautious tone. “The guy with the best posing trunks?” STUART FOX YOU’RE FUCKING KILLING ME!! And then, without thinking, I said, “I think we’ve filmed him already.” As soon as the words left my mouth I instantly panicked, and felt my cheeks starting to burn. Stuart quickly responded with an agreeable, “YEAH!” in a tone which sounded more like a, “DAMN FUCKING STRAIGHT WE HAVE!” And then it was Stuart’s turn to blush, as we both coyly smiled at each other and one thought went through my head: Definitely a beef crazed muscle lover who pumps massive loads into his boxer shorts over inhumanely shredded posing trunk sporting muscle bulls on a regular bases! “So, now you know how the game works,” Stuart continued, “are you in or out?” I wanted to ask Stuart if this was a trick question, and tell him I couldn’t remember the last time I’d been propositioned with an idea so brilliant, so bonkers, and so perfectly catered to my taste it was untrue. Instead I just cheekily grinned at him, which he took as a yes. Even though I’d not long met him, I was already feeling incredibly comfortable with Stuart. In fact, I couldn’t quite believe how well we were hitting it off. As a result of being generally quite shy, I usually found it hard to relax around people I didn’t know. Most of the time when I’d meet new people, it almost felt like a wall of anxiety would build up around me, suppressing all of my good qualities and preventing anyone from warming to me at a rate that was relatively normal. On very rare occasions, however, I would meet someone who, for whatever reason, made me feel instantly relaxed, and seemed to break down that wall of anxiety with relative ease. Maybe they were a special type of person, or maybe they just came armed with a very big sledgehammer. Either way, Stuart Fox was, without question, one of them. “So, Charlie Steatham, the next question is, which guy do we go looking for first?”

Taken a back by Stuart’s questions, I started to go into slight panic mode, but was rescued by the return of Bryan Macleod, striding towards us in his tight fitted, bright blue t-shirt, just as masculine, just as beefy, and just as God damn sexy as before. “Everything going OK, guys?” Bryan asked. I nervously muttered something in response which he didn’t seem to register, as Stuart took the lead in telling his senior that he’d taken me up to speed with his camera and we were about to start filming. Bryan then instructed us to shoot a guy who had no camera on him. Pointing to an area just a few yards away, my stomach twinged with nerves at the words, “lightweight guy in the golden posers.” Excitement followed, but quickly transformed into slight disappointment. All of the enormous, superhuman muscle beasts around us, and we were being ushered in the direction of a lightweight competitor. Bryan MacWoofityWoof wrapped up his conversation with my new mentor Stuart Fox, who may or may not be a beef crazed muscle lover who pumps massive loads into his boxer shorts over inhumanly shredded, posing trunk sporting muscle bulls on a regular bases. He then turned to me, a warm, genuine smile worn on his extremely masculine but at the same time oddly pretty face, and with it, a warm strong hand unexpectedly squeezed my shoulder. It was like an electric shock sent signals to every corner of my body. I felt an instant chemistry as my future husband made unexpected, friendly body contact with me for the first time. In my rather surprised state, I looked at Bryan and tried to nervously offer up a hint of a smile back, while all the time wondering what it would feel like to have his tongue wedged down my throat. I was bought back to earth by a camera case being handed to me by Stuart, and my stomach anxiously tightened as I realised what was happening. We were about to head towards the lightweight bodybuilder in the golden posers as instructed by Bryan Macleod, aka The Sexiest Woofster In Woofsville. A bodybuilder who we’d, presumably, be able to get up close and personal to, capture every nook and cranny of his competition conditioned physique and be responsible for filming the kind of footage which, without comprehensible rhyme or reason, reduced certain grown men to quivering heaps of muscle crazed messes, unable to sit through even two minutes of it without splattering their tummies with endless ropes of hot, creamy spunk. As I gingerly trailed Stuart Fox, I eagerly glanced around the area to where we were heading to try and get my first glimpse of our filming target. In the sea of obscenely muscular, completely hairless muscle bulls, I suddenly spotted the most outrageously shiny, and, without any question, the hottest pair of golden coloured posing trunks I could imagine, and I knew straight away that I’d found him. My nerves made a comeback as Stuart and I closed in on our target, but they were overshadowed by the sheer surrealism of the situation at just how close I was standing to a real life competitve bodybuilder, who remained completely unfazed by the two strangers who’d just invaded his personal space, as he watched himself in the large mirrors on the wall he was facing and pumped up his arms with a barbell. As I looked around to see most of the other surrounding muscle bulls with cameramen mere inches away from their insatiably pumped bodies, I realised that in this setting, at least, this was completely normal. I must have looked like a small rabbit caught in the headlights at that moment. Stuart was looking at me with a knowing expression on his face, the left corner of his mouth slightly curled in a smile. It wasn’t the suspicious, judgemental look I had feared receiving from someone who could sense my anxiety of being in this setting, but more of a look which said, “I totally know what’s going on your head right now, mate!” It was also a look that also sparked a further affection for him on my part. With his eyebrows raised, Stuart was suddenly holding the camera away from his torso and towards me. It took me a moment to realise that he was offering it to me. I panicked slightly, and my first instinct was to oblige, but a stronger impulse suddenly took hold of me, and before I had time to reconsider my actions, I was taking the camera off Stuart. Mr Golden Posers suddenly acknowledged our existence for the first time, by giving us both a friendly nod of approval, accompanied by a brief but friendly smile. Before I knew what was happening, I was holding up Stuart Fox’s CX100 camera and staring down the lens at a competition conditioned bodybuilder pumping up just a few feet away from me, in, what arguably had to be, the shiniest and hottest pair of posing trunks in the room. It was only in that moment, when the nerves had eased and my focus was completely on my film subject, that I noticed the guy wearing said posing trunks was equally as hot. No taller than 5’6, despite being a bodybuilder, Mr Golden Posers had a relatively small frame. He looked like the kind of bodybuilder who wouldn’t look particularly huge in an office suit, but would surprise and shock everyone by lifting up his shirt and revealing rock hard, shredded abs. On that small frame, however, were smooth, shiny slabs of muscle which looked like they were made out of marble, all shrink wrapped in the thinnest, most gorgeous looking skin. His entire body looked rock hard to the touch with rips, cuts, and shreds in all the right places. Perfectly pumped biceps, completely smooth pec pillows, which twitched with every pump of the barbell, brilliantly separated abdominals which made up his ultra tight midsection, impressively sized delts with wiry veins gathering underneath, and a pair of solid quads, with some impressively freaky separations, all made up a frighteningly muscular physique both beautiful and freaky in equal measure. Despite probably being in his early thirties, he had an incredibly boyish charm, along with a cheeky, mischievous look about him. Like he was more than capable of getting himself into trouble but charming his way out of any sticky situation. He also happened to be insanely cute. Gorgeous, twinkly eyes and an adorable button nose all contributed to his small, handsome and perfectly proportioned facial features. He oozed self confidence, and clearly knew that with his sexy looks and hard, tight, freakishly muscular body, he was about three times hotter than the average man. I could also tell by the way he carried himself and by the way he ogled himself in the mirror that he just loved being a ripped bodybuilder, pumping up his muscles in his shiny golden posers with a camera shoved in his face. I would bet good money on him being the kind of guy who’d spend an entire day flexing in the mirror if he could. As I watched this deliriously sexy, pint sized muscle dude pumping up his extremely tight, beautifully developed muscles, pursing his lips in concentration with every rep of his barbell curls, exuding an incredible power and the sexiest self confidence through the lens of the camera, everything around me seemed to slip away. My nerves, my surroundings, Stuart Fox, and the other jacked up muscle bulls mere metres away from me. All I could see was this man who’d morphed his body into a work of art, and was now preening and pumping up every inch of it ready to show it off in all it’s otherworldly glory to anyone lucky enough to bear witness. Just like when I’d been watching the muscle video with Billy Horvath and Bryan Macleod, I couldn’t help but smile at the sheer surrealism of the situation. All of the videos I’d watched of monstrous muscle, pumping up and flexing, hardly being able to believe the incredible, freaky and beautiful images I was watching, and the incomprehensible and overwhelming effect it had on me, and now, here I was. Not watching from the comfort of my bedroom, but actually standing in a pump room, backstage at a bodybuilding show, mere feet away from muscle of the same incredible quality and being the very person filming every amazing moment on camera. And just like when I was sat in that room with Bryan and Billy, my relentless rock hard erection was furiously throbbing against the material of the boxer shorts containing it. My focus turned away from the kind of beautiful, rock hard mounds and bumps of thinly skinned encased muscle I never imagined I’d be in such close proximity to, and towards the unspeakably hot, golden coloured material wrapped around the waist of my filming subject and barely containing the pointed bulge in his crotch. My mind just couldn’t fathom how shiny his trunks were. There was only one explanation; they simply weren’t regular posing trunks. The person responsible for tailoring these fantastic coloured posers had clearly used some kind of special, ultra shiny material, not normally used for producing trunks with. I suddenly wondered what the opinion of the man sporting the posers himself was. Had he just purchased them from a random website, and once they’d been delivered, looked at them, shrugged, and thought nothing of them, or had he gone to a bodybuilding and fitness store, took one look at these golden coloured trunks sticking out a mile amongst the other dull, matte, non shiny trunks, and knew he had to have them right away? Maybe he even had a bit of a thing for posing trunks, but didn’t really ever mention it to anyone else because he wasn’t sure how common it was? Maybe he set out to buy the brightest, shiniest, tiniest posing trunks he could find? Maybe he had a massive collection of posers at home, all different colours, but mostly bright and made from super shiny material, and these bad boys were amongst his favourite? Maybe he even wore his trunks at practically every given opportunity, in the most normal settings and surroundings? Brightly coloured, thinly strapped, miniscule posers hiding underneath his jeans, or work pants, because it reminded him of the fact that he was a competitive bodybuilding muscle freak, hiding slabs of hard, ripped beef underneath his clothing. Maybe he liked the way the bright, shiny material felt against his completely shaven balls and cock, and maybe every time he slipped into a pair of his gloriously shiny posing trunks, without having the slightest idea why, he found himself getting a hard on? Noticing how thin the inexplicably shiny, gold coloured material barely containing his pointy bulge was, my mind then suddenly slipped into a crazy fantasy scenario. I imagined him finishing up his set and setting the barbell down, before looking at me, nodding for my attention and saying, “Hey dude! Wanna see something freaky?” He’d then grab my right hand and draw it towards his shiny posers, hovering over the material between one of the straps and his crotch and ordering me to take action by saying, “Pinch that dude!” Obeying him, I’d pinch the shiny posing trunk material with my thumb and index finger to discover that it was, as expected, paper thin. He’d then navigate my hand towards his unfathomably tight midsection and barking another order at me. “Now pinch this!” My thumb and index finger this time pinching the skin covering his beautifully peeled ab bricks, as Mr Golden Posers exclaims, “Same fucking thickness, dude!” in a manner so excitable, it’s as if he’s only just made the discovery himself, and now he’s telling, and showing everyone who’ll listen. I’d gasp in response, not just at how shockingly thin the skin covering his granite hard, beautifully carved out stomach muscle is, but, as this amazingly hot muscle lad so accurately pointed out, how the thinness of the skin is exactly the same as that of his phenomenally hot, paper thin posing trunks. My attention then suddenly turned to his endearing and attitude filled facial expressions. So far he’d been pursing his lips in concentration with every rep of his barbell curls, but then, out of nowhere, he suddenly animatedly scrunched his face up, wrinkling his nose like a bunny rabbit, then, showing the top layer of his perfectly straight, beautifully white teeth, he bit down on his bottom lip. He stayed like that for the last few reps; his nose wrinkling every time he bought the barbell up to chest level and his amazing biceps bulging and exploding with each pump, begging to be flexed, squeezed, and fondled, ideally in that order. Then, with a small, and extremely hot, “Ooooof,” exhaling sound, Mr Golden Posers finished the last rep of his set and put the barbell down on the floor with a loud clatter. Straightening himself up, he then did something which, if I had been in the comfort of my own bedroom on video, I’d probably cry out an, “OH FUCK!” and try with all my might not to unleash a litre of cum right there and then in my boxers. He gently placed both hands on the top of his quads and tensed his freshly pumped, rock hard body in a most muscular pose. His crazy delts popped out from his frame, his pillows of pillows of pec muscle tightened, the lines separating his baby abs deepened, and the pouch in his indecently shiny posers pointed straight ahead. Still in his pose, he squinted his eyes, and, once again, bit down hard on his bottom lip, before snapping his mouth open like he was letting rip a soundless roar, displaying the kind of outrageously cocky and animalistic attitude which drove me crazy, while all the time gawping at his own tight, rock hard muscle bod in the mirror. Mr Golden Posers then turned his attention away from his own reflection and stared right into the lens of the camera I was looking down. He clasped his right fist with his left hand, bit down hard on his bottom lip once more, wrinkled up his cute button nose again, and then squeezed down into another quick most muscular. His veins erupted and his muscles bulged as he cranked out the pose, and for a very brief moment, it felt like he was flexing solely for me. He relaxed from the pose with a loud, exhaling, “Boooof!” and, from my left, Stuart Fox let out a sudden and unexpected word of approval; “Nice!” One simple word, which suddenly sounded like the hottest and most brilliant word anyone had ever uttered. I looked at Stuart Fox, my eyes wide in surprise. This unassuming guy who may or may not go home tonight and blast a massive creamy load into the crotch of his undies at the thought of all the ripped, flexing muscle bulls he’d been surrounded by all day, was confident enough to openly praise bodybuilders on their outrageous displays of muscle posing. Mr Golden Posers endearingly and slightly sheepishly smirked out of the left corner of his mouth, and nodded to Stuart in thanks. Not surprisingly, I was smiling at Stuart too, which he returned with a cheeky, unabashed smirk, which said something like, “Yeah, I know, matie. That was pretty fucking awesome if I do say myself and you really were NOT expecting it were you?! Welcome to the world of crazy pumped up muscle, Charlie, where it’s perfectly OK for non-bodybuilding cameramen to give little nods and words of praise to ripped, flexing muscle dudes in brightly coloured posing trunks.”

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The Police Brute - Episode V

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Three The walk to the pump room felt like the longest sixty seconds of my life. I was still enjoying the rush of, not only unashamedly confessing to another person at least part of my true feelings towards bodybuilders without being completely inappropriate or giving any mention of sticky, cum soaked boxer shorts, but also rendering Billy Horvath speechless. I couldn’t help thinking that if Professor Walsh and my classmates knew this, I’d be welcomed back to college like some kind of hero. The adrenaline caused by my confession was also deterring the slight reoccurring nerves and anxiety which had been practically unbearable not half an hour ago. That was before I had entered an auditorium to be greeted by the image of a flexing, competition conditioned bodybuilder unapologetically plastered on a huge poster, met a camera man and potential like minded muscle lover, who was not only incredibly sexy and unquestionably gay, but also comfortable enough to walk around in t-shirts with outrageously awesome muscle related slogans written on the back and to stand in front of two strangers confidently rolling words like, “monstrous, jacked up muscle bulls” off his tongue, spotted a real life bodybuilder I’d more than once masturbated over in the form of the obscenely sexy Blaine Holton, who, despite being covered up a tracksuit, looked more monstrous than I could ever have dreamt, sat in a small room with two complete strangers and watched the kind of footage of shredded, hardcore muscle freaks I only ever watched in my own company and usually resulting in me filling up my underwear with half a litre of spunk, and then went part way to divulging my real feelings and confessing to another person for the first time how amazing I thought said muscle freaks actually are. And now I was on my way to a room full of those very muscle freaks to witness the superhuman specimens who turned me on more than anything else on this planet not just in real life, but up close and personal. Billy was walking slightly behind me. I didn’t need to be facing him to know that he was wearing a permanent scowl, wishing he were anywhere but here. In front of me was the extremely sexy rear view of Bryan Macleod, those ridiculously awesome words spread across his modestly broad back and the un-flexed upper arm muscle of his meaty tricep peeking underneath his t-shirt sleeve. I suddenly wanted to know what this devastatingly sexy man’s opinion of me was. I’d been sure that that cheeky smile Bryan had flashed at me during the screening of the muscle video was a knowing smile. A smile which had said, “The game’s up, kid. I know you’re a secret muscle lover who’s currently battling an epic sized hard on in those jeans of yours as you sit here watching these uber-human muscle beasts flex and squeeze their God-like muscle mass.” I then I wondered whether I reminded Bryan of himself at my age. Bookish, shy and awkward, blasting loads to pictures and videos of bodybuilders on an almost daily bases, years before he signed up for a gym membership and eventually found himself on a camera crew responsible for filming one of those very kinds of videos, enabling him to meet and be in the presence of the very freaks who turned him on more than anything else in the world. My thoughts then turned to whether, in turn, when I looked at Bryan I was seeing a considerably hairier, admittedly more masculine, and undoubtedly sexier future version of myself. Was this going to be me in fifteen years time, confidently strolling around bodybuilding competitions in cheeky, muscle related sloganed t-shirts, filming footage of some of the biggest, nastiest and most hardcore muscle bulls on the planet in their most shredded, otherworldly conditions? By then, of course, Bryan Macleod-Steatham (nee Macleod) and I would be enjoying our seventh year of marital bliss. It would have been a small, but beautiful ceremony, attended by close family, friends, and a small number of guys from the camera crew. The latter of which would have been particularly amused at the figurines on top of the wedding cake. Two miniature versions of Bryan and I in our matching “LIVE FOR THE PUMP” work t-shirts. A small camera on a tripod, and on the other side of it, a miniature bodybuilder in nothing but a pair of red posing trunks, his muscle bulging as he cranked a most muscular into the miniature camera. Granny Steatham not quite knowing what she was looking at it, but smiling and nodding in admiration and approval anyway. My increasingly elaborate fantasy was suddenly interrupted by the future groom to be himself, who was addressing both Billy and I. “Ok, guys, when we get inside I’m gonna introduce you both to separate camera men. I will be around if you need me for anything, but they’ll be looking after you for most of the day.” My stomach suddenly flipped and a voice in my head cried out, “NO,” in protest. Obvious attractions and ever so slightly far fetched fantasies aside, I felt safe with Bryan. He was warm and friendly, and if my very strong suspicions were right, he not only understood why on earth a guy who didn’t look like he’d spent any considerable amount of time clutching a dumbbell would have any interest or business being at a bodybuilding contest, but was coming from almost the exact same place. Now I was being dumped into the hands of a complete stranger. Not only that, I was going to be losing Billy Horvath too, who, while generally irritating and antagonising me to the point that no other human being had ever done before, had become an unlikely and surprisingly comforting companion in this bizarre but so far brilliant adventure. My thoughts were still in panic mode when I suddenly realised the three of us were heading directly towards two large double doors, and I became fully aware that the walk to the pump room was over. “OK, guys, if you’d like to follow me through.” The doors were swung open, my heart suddenly fluttered and before I had time to process another single thought, I was inside a pump room, backstage at one of the biggest bodybuilding competitions in the country. The first thing which struck me was just how busy the large space making up the pump room was. My pre-conceived imagining of the room hadn’t been massively detailed, but it definitely hadn’t included quite as many people as it actually did. There were a handful of women from what I could see, but most of the occupants were men. Lots of them were fully clothed, and seemed to range in body size, making it hard for me to decipher exactly what they were doing backstage at a bodybuilding show on a Saturday afternoon. Were they part of the film crew? Here to support their buddies who were competing in the show, or actual bodybuilders themselves, hiding tanned, shredded, muscle packed physiques under their clothing? Amongst them, however, were guys for whom there was absolutely no doubt as to what they were doing in a bodybuilding pump room. I had watched numerous video clips featuring superhuman sized muscle freaks backstage at bodybuilding shows, pumping up their phenomenally huge, beautifully carved out physiques, and flexing their barely human, thinly skinned, shredded to perfection mass. Not fifteen minutes before I had been sat watching one of those very clips. And now, I was actually standing in a pump room, witnessing those very kind of superhuman muscle freaks first hand. I was practically walking through a sea of humungous, bronze painted muscle Gods in indecently shiny, brightly coloured posing trunks. Everywhere I looked I saw super-sized slabs, mounds, and bumps of muscle hanging, twitching and wobbling off the frames of these extraordinary men who’d taken their bodies to the absolute extreme. I was surrounded by the kind of hardcore muscle monsters I, along with many others, had been filling up my underwear to since I’d first learnt how to masturbate. It was the most incredibly surreal and uniquely strange sight I’d ever played witness to in real life. It also happened to be the most erotic and sexually charged. It felt like my very first muscle experience of accidentally stumbling across the bodybuilder in the TV listings guide all those years again, only every feeling was multiplied by about a thousand. I’d been edging closer to the world of extreme muscle for weeks, and now I was standing right in the centre of it. I wanted desperately again to adopt that superpower which enabled one to freeze frame time, and just stand there, marvelling at the freaky and amazing sights of hardcore muscle around me. Any nerves had once again evaporated and instead, I was in a complete head spin of the place I’d somehow found myself in. It was only when I realised Bryan was introducing Billy Horvath and I to people who weren’t monstrously sized, tan drenched bodybuilders in ridiculously tiny posing trunks, that I even remembered regular sized people existed. “Guys, I’d like you to meet Stuart, and Baz, two of our camera crew members who’ll be showing you the ropes today.” Standing before Billy and I were two young men who didn’t look like they could be any different from each other in appearance. Stuart Fox was a slim built, fairly handsome, mousey blonde haired guy in a check shirt, who looked about two or three years my senior. Much like Billy and I, Stuart didn’t look like he had any business being anywhere near a bodybuilding competition. And yet, with his seemingly down to earth demeanour, he seemed completely relaxed and confident in his surroundings. Baz Wade on the other hand looked the type of person who wouldn’t hesitate to pick a fight with someone’s eighty six year old grandma if she so much as glanced at him in a slightly negative fashion. Standing at about 6’3, he towered above all of us in height. Not only that, the guy had some serious build to his frame. It would be completely deceitful to describe him as muscular, but a little unfair to describe him as overweight either. Incredibly stocky was probably the only accurate description to give this rather intimidating and thuggish looking guy with a neck tattoo. Baz was probably the type of guy who knew a lot about bodybuilding, hung around and surrounded himself with muscle dudes, meat heads and genuine bodybuilders. He probably had a yearning desire to be a hardcore muscle freak himself, and had no doubt made attempts at becoming one at various points, but so far just remained the stocky, out of shape guy on the other side of the camera. In stark contrast to Stuart Fox’s relaxed, down to earth presence and approachable manner, Baz Wade was looking at Billy and I, although his eye frame seemed to be set more on Billy than me, obnoxiously chewing his gum with a look of sheer contempt and judgement. There was only one person I’d met who’d adopted a look which came even close to matching Baz’s expression of disapproval, and that person was standing next to me, looking right back at Baz with his own unique look of disdain. As he sneered at Baz Wade, there was absolutely no trace of the panic and fear I had seen in Billy Horvath’s face when we’d been watching Bryan’s video, or when we’d first entered the pump room to be greeted by the image of a dozen monstrously muscular beasts as they pumped up their outrageously huge muscle mass. Billy clearly wasn’t threatened or scared of Baz. It obviously had to take something so flat out freaky and unique, such as the sight of attitude filled, vein splattered muscle men flexing and squeezing their superhuman sized muscle mass into a camera lens, to induce any kind of fear in Mr Horvath. I found myself momentarily amused at the sight of these two polar opposite men sneering at each other in equal judgement and distaste, when I then realised, there was a fifty-fifty chance I’d be spending the rest of the day with one of them. I looked at Baz and wondered just how many small animals he’d crushed with his bare hands and eaten for breakfast that morning. Suddenly the prospect of sharing a work experience placement with Billy Horvath seemed almost appealing. Bryan MacWoofityWoof, aka, the future Mrs Charlie Steatham, continued to address the four of us to announce my fate. “OK, Charlie, I’m gonna put you with…” NOT BAZ! PLEASE GOD! NOT BAZ! “…Stuart.” FUCK YES!! “And Billy, you’ll be under Baz’s supervision.” As a Blaine Holton bicep sized wave of relief went through me, I looked at the guy who’d now be by my side for the majority of rest of the afternoon. A guy who appeared so easy going he looked as if he should be lying on the floor horizontal. Stuart was looking at Billy and Baz, both of whose sneering had only deepened since Bryan’s announcement, and clearly trying to mask a cheeky smirk of amusement. Since he’d only known Billy for approximately thirty seconds, this was clearly at his expense for having to spend the afternoon with Baz. I couldn’t help but wonder; was Baz the camera crew’s very own Billy Horvath? “Right then, I’ll leave you guys to it,” Bryan announced. “I’ll keep checking in with both of you throughout the afternoon but any problems just come and find me. Have fun, guys.” And with the temporary exit of the insanely sexy, furry forearmed, possible future version of myself, and probable future Mrs Charlie Steatham, Baz Wade uttered his first words in an abrupt, unfriendly tone. His look of contempt for Billy never wavering for a single moment. “My station’s this way.” He nodded in the direction of a corner of the pump room, and Billy had no choice but to follow the inexplicably large, and frightening looking young man, leaving me to get acquainted with my new supervisor. “I don’t envy your friend,” were the words Stuart Fox used to break the brief awkward tension between two complete strangers who suddenly found themselves having to converse with each other. “I wouldn’t exactly call Billy a friend,” was my reply, which prompted a short knowing huff of amusement from Stuart. “He doesn’t exactly seem like the happiest of guys,” Stuart mused. “I actually think this might be his worst nightmare. NOT a happy chappie.” Stuart Fox beamed and cheekily imitated my last word, which suddenly brought the difference of our nationalities to the forefront. “Chappie! I like that!” In that moment, I couldn’t help noticing how Stuart’s playful smile made him look just that little bit more handsome than he had before. He wasn’t so good looking that you’d break your neck gawping at him in the street, but he was handsome all the same. The awkwardness between us had not only eased at a surprisingly quick rate, but we were now indulging in friendly banter. I wanted to keep it going but my brain was struggling to think of a worthy comeback. “I do that quite a lot,” was all I could muster. Stuart looked at me blankly. Fuck! I’m killing it! “Say things. Words. That people don’t get.” Like now for instance?! You are not making ANY sense! “Since I’ve been here. In America, I mean.” And that sentence was HOW hard to string together?! Stuart Fox’s responsive and friendly smile seemed to relax me and help my find my misplaced social ability again. A brief probing of what had bought me to America and how long I’d been here followed, and then it was seemingly down to business. “So, Charlie Steatham, have you ever used a CX100?” Stuart asked as he slapped the head of his camera to which the question referred to. “No, but I’ve used the CX1?” Stuart playfully scowled. “Your school needs to update their equipment! OK the CX100 is similar to an CX1 so you shouldn‘t have any problems, but there are a few subtle differences.” I probably should have paid a lot more attention to what Stuart said over the next few minutes, but as he started to explain the intricate differences between film camera models, I suddenly became aware of exactly where I was again, and exactly what was surrounding me. Only half listening to what Stuart was saying, my eyes starting to wander around the noisy, crowded pump room. A few yards away from me, an extremely butch looking, mid to late thirties bald guy in shiny black trunks which looked they’d been cut from a bin bag was doing a set of bicep curls in front a camera. Veins spread across his delts and ran down his biceps, which erupted in size to an incredible degree with each pump. The thick cushions of hairless pec meat resting on his chest twitched and jumped with every lift of each barbell. Not far away, a youngish looking blonde dude, with hot jock looks, was mulling around and breathing heavily while messing with the straps of his matte blue posers. His big, blocky abs popped out of his slight tortoise shell stomach, pulsating as he breathed in and out. Meanwhile, hanging over his stomach, were two patio-slab like muscle tits, bronzed and oiled to a ridiculous degree. An incredibly handsome muscle daddy with a goatee I instantly recognised but couldn’t quite name was standing around in a black vest so comically tight it looked painted on. His tits strained through the material, and his outrageously huge, tan painted shoulders and tattoo decorated arms bulged out. On the bottom half, he was wearing nothing save for a pair of bulging, shiny emerald green posers. He caught the attention of a camera man, and unprompted, proceeded to cheekily twist and tense his thick tanned quads, revealing crazy cuts and separation with each twist and turn with a look of pure arrogance and smugness on his supremely hot face. The lucky camera capturing every moment of the crazy display of muscle before it. And then, for the second time that day, I spotted a bodybuilder I was very well acquainted with. Sitting in a chair, still fully clothed in his black tracksuit and looking as wide as a brick shit house was the devastatingly sexy Blaine Holton. I then suddenly clocked what Blaine was clutching in his hands and resting in his lap. A pair of the shiniest bright red trunks I’d ever seen. The hard on I’d inevitably found myself with on entering the pump room and witnessing competition conditioned bodybuilders in tiny sized posers first hand had eased with the introductions of Stuart and Baz. But now, glancing around at these incredible hardcore muscle men, I was fully erect once more and throbbing underneath the jeans that were attempting to tame my raging, muscle fuelled boner. I just about came back to earth to catch the last of what Stuart Fox was telling me about his camera. “So,” he addressed me with the start of a question, “happy chappie?” I smiled at the cheekiness of his question, which in turn, was met with a playful grin from the man who’d posed it. “I do have one question,” I replied. “Shoot!” “Do we just stay in one place and film whatever’s going on around us,” I asked looking at the non-action in front of Stuart’s camera, “or do we move around?” “I do a bit of both. Some guys, like Baz, prefer to just stay put, or stick to one area of the room, but I like to move around. I pretty much just shoot whatever guys I like the look of.” My ears suddenly pricked up at this last statement. “Guys I like the look of.” In what sense what this slightly charming, undoubtedly handsome guy with a cheeky sense of humour and sharp bantering skills talking here? Guys he thought were in great contest shape, combining impressive size with excellent symmetry and definition who looked fantastic on camera, or guys whose shredded, freaky as fuck bodies he wanted to lick every single inch of until he blasted a big creamy load in his undies? And a question which only marginally entered my subconscious before was now suddenly begging for an answer. Was Stuart Fox a gay, muscle obsessed lover of bodybuilders like me?! What then followed from Stuart’s lips only deepened my curiosity. “I wonder how your friend’s worst nightmare is going,” he pondered, nodding in the direction of Billy Horvath. Looking more uncomfortable than I’d ever seen him, Billy was standing clutching a tripod as Baz Wade filmed a young, cute, tracksuit clad bodybuilder in deliciously ripped condition lifting a barbell. I smiled at Stuart, and before I had chance to respond, he posed me a question. “So, Charlie, how about you? Is this your worst nightmare?” Stuarts’s look was a mixture of curiosity and weariness which prompted two words to shout out in my head; HE KNOWS!

Whatever must have been going through Billy’s head was clearly a far cry from what was happening in my own conscience. I had always been curious as to whether I would be turned on by muscle if I were to ever attend a bodybuilding show. I’d be watching competition conditioned bodybuilders in tiny posing trunks flexing and squeezing their alien-like muscle mass, so the odds of me getting hard would be expectedly high, and yet, I’d be in a theatre surrounded by people, and I’d never been entirely sure whether that would prevent me from getting turned on. Following my experience of watching muscle sitting next to Billy Horvath though, I’m pretty sure I now know how that particular scenario would play out. The second that first muscle monster filled up the TV screen with his incredible slabs of carved out mass, I had started to swell, and within seconds I was sporting a fully erect hard on, which hadn’t stopped straining through my jeans since. I was clearly wired to be turned on by monstrously sized muscle men, as discovered that one afternoon when I came across the image of the pro bodybuilder squeezing out a massive most muscular in the family TV listings magazine, and any surrounding influences or people were clearly unlikely to affect that. Just as some excessively bronzed, absurdly handsome muscle stud bought his terrifyingly thick pecs up into a side chest pose, while biting down on his bottom lip with an expression which lay somewhere between adorably cheeky and downright bleeding cocky, Bryan Macleod twisted his head round, and, completely ignoring Billy, made a bee-line straight for me. He shot me a three second look, before turning his attention back to the TV. The initial three words which went through my head at that moment were, “What. The. Fuck?!” I told myself it could have been completely innocent, but even though it had only been brief, it had been a really inquisitive look, like he was intrigued to know what my reaction was to the onslaught of jacked up, carved to the bone muscle bulls I was being forced to watch. I was also baffled as to why his eyes went straight to me, and completely ignored Billy. Did he suspect I was a beef obsessed muscle addict just like him? I relaxed slightly when he turned again, this time to check on Billy, and yet when he did so, a slight twinge of disappointment filled my stomach. I suppose I quite liked the fact that, for whatever reason, whether innocent or less so, Bryan was more interested in my reaction than Billy’s. And then, as if sensing my disappointment, or reading my mind, he shot another look at me, only this time, in another, “What the fuck?” moment, the corner of his mouth curled into a sexy, cheeky smile. I had absolutely no idea what it meant, or why he did it, but my adrenaline levels at that moment shot through the roof. It was a similar feeling to being in a club, and after having spotted a really cute guy you like, and glancing over, trying to be subtle, but really wanting him to notice you, he finally locks eyes with you, and gives you a smile which says he thinks you’re pretty cute too. I didn’t for one minute think that Bryan’s smile meant that he was attracted to me, certainly not if he was, in fact, turned on by bodybuilders in the same way that I was. But it meant, on some level, and for whatever reason, incredibly sexy, twinkly eyed, nicely muscled Bryan Macleod was interested in what I thought. With the incident fresh in my mind, I suddenly turned my attention away from the barely human muscle freaks on the TV screen and towards Bryan Macleod, sitting at the front of the round table. The awesome slogan of “LIVE FOR THE PUMP” scrawled across the blue t-shirt covering his modestly broad back. His elbow and big, furry forearm resting on the table, his upper arm looking impressively thick and pumped. Facing away from me, but slightly turned to the side, I could just see part of his handsome face, but was mostly presented with his extremely masculine and undeniably sexy bald head. Looking at Bryan, I suddenly felt a pang of desire. I started wondering what was hiding underneath that cheeky t-shirt, and what his biceps looked like flexed. I then started to wonder what was going on, both in Bryan’s mind, and his trousers, as he watch muscle monster after muscle monster, flex, squeeze and pump up their amazing mounds of gigantic man meat. And then I imagined Billy Horvath fucking the fuck off, probably to run to the nearest bathroom to be violently sick with disgust and horror at the freaks he’d been endured to watch, leaving Bryan and I alone, and me feeling a surge of bravery, which encouraged me to exit my chair, and walk over to the front of the room where Bryan was sitting. With Bryan looking up and presenting me with a sexy, inviting smile, I’d sit down on his lap, and wrap my arm around his thick back and broad shoulders, as he wrapped his left arm around the back of my waist. There’d be an incredible, and instant chemistry the moment we touched, and he’d gaze at me with those lovely, pretty eyes, make a soft, sensual, “Mmmmm,” sound, and then he’d passionately lock his lips with mine, in what would be the most incredible and sensual kiss. Warm and strong, but soft at the time. The sexual chemistry between the two of us becoming more intense. The kind of kiss, that if prolonged enough, would probably result in one, if not both, of us ejaculating in our pants. As our lips passionately locked together, one of my hands would sensually explore the back of Bryan’s masculine bald head, which would feel both hard and yet strangely soft to the touch. And as we stopped kissing, and he looked at me with the sexiest glaze of satisfaction, I’d cheekily bring my left arm up to his thick pumped upper arm. The moment my hand made contact with his skin, he’d outrageously bring his arm up and flex his bicep, as an adorable, part cocky, part sheepish grin emerged on his face. I’d gasp in amazement at how the muscle exploded before my eyes. Rock hard, and impressively big. Bryan suddenly transforming into a mini version of the massive, rippling muscle monsters playing on the screen behind us, only hotter, because he was here, and real, and flexing just for me. I’d wrap my fingers around Bryan’s mound of rock hard, paper thin encased bicep muscle, sinking into a kind of orgasmic trance as I encountered my first real touch of big, flexed muscle. And with my hand still firmly clamped on Bryan’s bicep, he’d bring his arm down, in order for his large masculine hand to slide to my rock hard cock, straining and bulging through my jeans. And then, as quickly as I had started fantasising about Bryan Macleod, an image appeared on the video playing on the TV screen which pulled me out of it. The most out of this world freaky muscle monster blasting a crab most muscular in slow motion and right into the cameras lens. The most absurdly hot muscle beast with huge, thick balloons of oil and tan drenched muscle mass flexing as hard as he humanly could while fully displaying his clenched teeth, in the most shamelessly cocky grin he could possibly display. The most flat out sexy muscle bull who just so happened to be Blaine Holton. The same Blaine Holton who I’d spotted that morning in the foyer, looking like a tank on two legs underneath his strained black tracksuit. The same Blaine Holton who, at that very moment in time, was probably in the pump room, pumping up his mammoth sized mounds of superhuman mass with a camera mere inches away from him capturing every single moment. A camera which I could quite possibly be standing on the other side of in the next ten or so minutes. The clip of Blaine was the last moment of what had undoubtedly been some of the hottest muscle footage I’d ever sat through. Bryan stood up to turn off the TV and addressed Billy and I once again. “So, guys, hopefully that’s given you an idea of what we’re about, and the kind of videos you’ll be helping to film today. I know some of these guy’s physiques might be a little shocking and extreme, but please don’t feel intimated. If you have to speak to the bodybuilders, they’re usually very friendly guys. They’re just here to pose and show off their huge, ripped bodies, and we’re just here to shoot them doing it.” As my heart fluttered at Bryan saying the words, “huge, ripped bodies,” and I stared at his thick chest bulging underneath his blue t-shirt, and his big, solid looking biceps straining under the sleeves, my eyes suddenly veered south and I almost fell off my chair at what I saw. Any suspicions, and hopes, I had had that Bryan was as crazy about muscle as I was, were pretty much confirmed by the thick bulge straining in the crotch of his jeans. There was no question about it. Bryan MacWoofityWoof was sporting a massive boner. Either it was purely coincidental, or Bryan had become rock hard watching the same enormous muscle bulls flexing their amazingly pumped beef that had caused my boxer briefs to seemingly shrink to half their original size. “OK, guys, I just need to make a brief phone call to my colleague, then we’ll go down to the pump room and get you started.” My stomach leaped, but the adrenaline and excitement were now far outweighing any nerves and apprehension that were left inside me. Bryan exited the room leaving me alone, once more, with Billy Horvath, who didn’t waste any time in voicing what was going on in his head. “Oh my God! What. The. Fuck?!” I groaned internally, and felt immediately infuriated. I looked at Billy, sighing and rolling my eyes, probably in a less subtle manner than I should have. I didn’t like to make a habit of being rude to people, but Billy was the sort of guy who would test the patience of even the most tolerant of people, and I’d already had to endure a fairly large dose of his obnoxiousness earlier that morning. “Seriously, dude. What the hell were they thinking sending us here?” TWAT! “This is seriously messed up. I mean, those guys, they’re revolting.” TWATTY TWATTERING TWAT! “They don’t even look human!” Hmmm. Can’t really argue with you there. FUCK YEAH! “I am seriously gonna make a complaint to the college. I don’t know what on earth they’re playing at sending us to a place like this. Those guys. All that muscle! It’s just gross!” And then I finally cracked, and surprised, even myself, with my response, partly at how calm and relaxed I said it. “Actually, I think they look pretty fucking amazing!” Billy was gob smacked. His mouth was actually hung open for about two seconds, before he closed it, and just looked completely shocked and dumb founded. I waited for his response, but nothing came. For the first time since I’d had the displeasure of meeting Billy, someone had finally managed to render him speechless, and that someone had been me. It was also the first time I’d ever gone any way to giving a clue as to what my opinion of bodybuilders was. As a feeling of pride and satisfaction overwhelmed me, I couldn’t help smiling. I wasn’t sure if Billy saw this or not, but I didn’t care either way. The silence was broken with the return of Bryan MacWoofityWoof, who I’d now also given the second nickname of Bryan aka The Future Mrs Charlie Steatham, who walked back into the room clutching his phone, and said, “OK, guys, I think we’re all set here. Let’s get you both down to that pump room and get you shooting some muscle.”

I am sorry, @1996bodybuilder. I had to call a friend, who is an esotericist, after answering you in that cocksure way, especially since this is Holy Week, and The Astral is more crowded than usual of all sorts of entities. And I mean all sorts. "What made you think, that it is all fictitious?", his voice told me through the mobile phone. "It sounds like that ritual, though more simple than most, is structured in a way, that parallels several historically attested occult rituals intended to be perfectly serious. That not everyone believe, what renaissance grimoires tells the readers, is one thing, but the original authors of these books did believe what they wrote. On your other question, I have no idea if the evoked entity is supposed to be angelic, demonic, enochian, demi-divine, elemental or a denizen of the Otherworld. A few centuries ago, magicians and pellars used pentagrams for several purposes. Pellars used to call the pentagram 'Saint Mary's shield', but in chivalric romances it was emblazoned on the shield of Sir Gawain. In some rituals the pentagram signified the astrological influence of Mars -- which sounds related to the purpose of the ritual you describe. In others, it protected against demonic forces. In others, it facilitated communications with angels, and in yet others, the fairy folk (or in Scandinavia: elves) were supposed to temporarily manifest inside the pentagram. I can't help you with that one. The pentagram is too generic a symbol, to let us know exactly which sort of incorporal force you are supposed to contact by it, in this instance. Any more questions? Oh, and just an advice, Hialmar: Don't do anything stupid." Me? Doing anything stupid? As fascinating the area of esotericism is from a purely and dispassionately historical point of view, I would never go more far, than to meditate regularly and observe a few widespread old annual folk-customs. I better spend my leisure time at the gym, than experimenting with any arcane rituals. The night after the phone call, I had strange dreams. I was floating in a pleasantly warm darkness, but a terrifying unseen presence was hiding out there. And I heard a voice, saying: "You are researching me, bookish one. I have watched you work out. I know, that you want my gift. Taste this." Then it felt like my body changed and grew, hardened and became more muscular. I have dreamed wet dreams before, but that one was more delicious than usual. When I woke up Tuesday morning, I felt disorientated and absent minded. I worked as usual, but I spent lunch break thinking about the dream. I returned home, and told myself, that the idea would be silly, but I anyhow took a look in my cupboards: Salt - check. Chalk - check. Candlesticks - check. Candles - not old fashioned wax candles, but the original instructions didn't sound like you ought to stick to 16th century technology, and I had modern candles in my storage Matchsticks - check An opened jar of BCAA - check My skepticism held me back, and I didn't do anything Tuesday evening. The thoughts returned, when I arrived home yesterday evening: It couldn't harm to test it. Probably nothing would happen, and I could have a laugh about it with friends. The time arrived: I put the sign on my door. If neighbours asked afterwards, I would dismiss it as an Easter decoration. I arranged the pentagram, the BCAA jar and the circle. The instructions were vague about how to dress, and the closest I have to ritual garb are renfair clothes. Those who practice Wicca would supposedly went naked, but I have never felt attracted to that particular religion. Taking the aim of the ritual into consideration, I decided to wear my camo trousers, my DMs and a black training vest. Since nothing supernatural would probably occur, I could anyway use it as an opportunity for a self-help psychodrama, auto-suggestion or something. Or so I thought. Grandfather's clock struck twelve. My neighbours must have retired an hour earlier, and the road outdoors wasn't busy any longer. Snow fell. Again. I had spent an hour to relax and test some positive auto-suggestion, like: "My workout results get better and better. I feel Alpha. I'm big now." At the strike of twelve, however, the mood in the room began to feel eerie. I stared at the semi-circle and the pentagram in front of me. The outlines of the geometrical shapes began to oscillate and vibrate in the flickering candle light. The circumference of the circle was large enough, to allow me to lie down in the circle, but I had chosen to sit in an imperfect diamond-position. Imperfect, because, have you ever tried to sit in a diamond-position wearing boots? The eerie mood and the oscillating geometrical outlines caused the hair on my forearms and the stubble on the back of my head to brisle, but I smiled, and told myself, that the human retina behave in that way after staring a long time on sparse light. The atmosphere became more tense. I swallowed and felt silly, but I said: "Come in. I am ready." Nothing tangible happened, but the mood was still strange and weird. Perhaps it felt even more eerie than before. I didn't know, how long time had lapsed. The clock struck one. I was preparing to terminate the ritual, and put things back to their places, but before I could leave the circle, I heard a noise outside the door. Thousand contradicting thoughts crossed my mind, but I repeated the words: "Come in. I am ready." The flames flickered. The indoors temperature changed abruptly, and the room felt strangely cold, since there is nothing wrong with my insulation or central heating. The eerie mood felt thicker now, almost tangible. I could hear, and yet not hear with my physical ears, a very distinct voice, distinct from the sound of my own thoughts: "You summoned me. Why?" It was the same voice, as the one I had heard in my dream two nights earlier. Deep. Pleasant, but awe-inspiring. The flames flickered. "Welcome, Sir. As many men before me, I want to become more Alpha, bodily and mentally. Sir." If this was the content of a vivid imagination, my imagination must be vivid, indeed. I couldn't believe it, but I couldn't deny it. I stared at the pentagram, and my neck felt stiff, so I wouldn't have been able to turn around and look, even if I had wanted to. Which I decidedly didn't want. The outline of the pentagram and the circle oscillated, and looked brighter now. Almost blinding. I closed my eyes. "I can see, that you have used your offering to me yourself." My brain chattered, and told me, that I had gone insane. My stomach fluttered, and told me, that the Presence would kill me. But a strange heat in my chest told me, that I had to demonstrate the starting-point, from which the Presence had to work. "Yes, Sir. I have heard, that some Powers prefer unused offerings, and that other Powers prefer destroyed offerings, but I was told, that you prefer offerings formerly used by those who aspire to Alpha-ness." The heat in my chest intensified and spread. However nervous I felt in my stomach and my shoulders, the heat in my chest manifested a sort of resolve, self-confidence and self-control in this unprecedented situation. "I also believe, Sir, that you invited me to this, a few nights ago." The Presence let me hear a deep chuckle. It filled me with awe again. But it also let the heat in my chest to spread. Spread to my shoulders and traps. Spread to my cock. The Presence was stoking an immaterial fire inside me. I had to put my hands on the floor. I fell to a position standing on all four. My clavicles felt painful. The immaterial fire reached my brain now, and the explosion in my brain took some of the brunt of the pain away, but I couldn't ignore the pain: Excruciating pain tormented me. I could feel cold sweat-beads materialise on my brow, and a bleak, pain-induced nausea welled up inside me. I must have passed out, but I didn't know for how long. When I woke up, my clavicles still felt painful, and my pelvis felt strange, but the immaterial fire still caused fermentation and a blizzard in my mind, and the pleasure of that caused my physical discomfort to fade. "Wow. Sir. If you are still here. Thank you. So good. I will, I will become a good bro in your honour, Sir." "I am still here." The deep voice affirmed. "I will soon let you familiarise yourself with whom you actually are, or will become. By the powers of Earth and Fire: Let the circle surrounding you contain the raw power of pure masculinity." The circle. Fuck. Surrounding me. Felt. Wow. Uhnnnn. Felt so ... surrounding me felt like a bottomless well filled with ... not water ... but that immaterial fire. Fire of earthiness. Fire of assertiveness. Fire of confidence. Fire of lust. Fire of wrath. Fire of courage. Fire of protectivess. Fuck, yes! Protect weaker friends and relatives ... My mind. Changing. My body. Mirroring the changes in my mind. So ... "Thank you, Sir. Uhnnnn. You may leave when you must, with my greetings and gratitude. Your gift ... SIR! FUCK! YES! SO GOOD!" Spreading. The fire of assertiveness. The fire of physical presence. The fire of EMBODIMENT. I rose. I took care, not to glance behind my shoulder. Bigger shoulder now. I shuddered. It felt strange. I felt unbalanced. Balanced differently. My rib cage and clavicles pushing my chest forward and my shoulders backwards. My pelvis more narrow, causing a thinner waist. I had to change my stance, since my quads and hamstrings pushed my legs apart. The feeling of that caused my boner to become even harder. Steel-hard inside my camo-trousers. My training vest tried to contain my broadening back and my deepening chest, but even though the fabric was elastic, it couldn't take anymore. I could feel it and hear it rip apart because of my expanding and hardening brawn. That sensation, that sound and the knowledge of what caused that sensation and sound caused me to cum. The rest of the night was an ecstatic rapture of brawn, mass and cockiness. The Master had disappeared, and I quickly extinguished the flames and removed the geometrical shapes. The 15 kilogramme dumbbells I had at home were irritatingly light-weight, so I admired myself in the full-length mirror instead. I only needed to watch two double biceps and two most musculars to cum again, without touching myself. I dreamed about The Master that night. I was still unable to see him, but I could feel the scent of woodland and leather. This morning I called my best friend. He promised to buy me large training bottoms and large trainers, but he sounded puzzled over of what use they could be. He is more than a friend, actually. Friend with benefits. Tonight I shall show him how big these benefits have become. I'm sure he will like it. I also did another phonecall -- to that expert on esotericism: "Hello. It's me. I've done something stupid."

Two Bryan Macleod led Billy and I into what looked like a small meeting room, mostly taken up a large round table and a dozen chairs. A large flat screen TV was the only other notable furnishing in the room. “Take a seat, guys,” Bryan instructed. As I shuffled into my seat, I glanced over at Billy, who still had that same disgruntled expression on his face. Bryan remained standing at the front of the room, and began to address us. “OK, guys, first I’d just like to say a big welcome to the film crew. You already know me as Bryan. I’m also part of the crew you’ll be working with today. We’ve been accepting students from your university for a few years now on placements, and it’s always great to have extra hands to help out. Hopefully you will learn a lot from our camera guys. I understand bodybuilding might not be of much interest to either of you, but we find most students who work with us on our placements end up enjoying soaking up the atmosphere of being at a bodybuilding competition.” I looked over at Billy to see him rolling his eyes in a disapproving manner, before veering my eyes back to Bryan. Big, sexy Bryan with his furry forearms and meaty gym trained chest bulging underneath his brilliantly sloganed t-shirt. Lovely, friendly Bryan, who is clearly gay and quite possibly just as crazily turned on by huge, freaky muscle as I was. Hot, woofy Bryan who was about to unleash a torrent of words which would have me squirming in my seat and cause my face to turn a shade of red akin to a lobster with a sunburn. “Let me tell you a bit about what we do here. We specialise in filming bodybuilding and fitness videos for the Internet. Everything and anything muscle related we film. Training and workout videos, weightlifting contests, and, of course, bodybuilding shows. In addition to filming the actual competitions, we also often shoot some behind the scenes pump room footage. This is what you guys will be helping us out with today. You’ll be helping to film the bodybuilders pump and pose…” Oh fuck! Pump and pose! Two simple words. One epic boner! “…before they head out to the stage. We like to get really close up to the muscle when the bodybuilders are pumping up…” Pant pant pant! “…so our viewers can really see how huge and ripped the bodybuilders are.” FUUUUUUUUCKK!!! Are you TRYING to make me spunk my pants on the spot Bryan?! “We like to give the bodybuilders a little bit of encouragement to hit some poses for the camera, but most of the guys don’t actually need it. They’ll be voluntarily posing themselves. These guys love the camera, they love to flex, and they LOVE to show off how shredded they are.” Estimated time before I splat my pants: 5 seconds!! “Let me warn you both. Some of these guys are not just big. They’re monstrous.” Make that 3 seconds. WOOF FUCKING WOOF!! “You’ll be filming some of the most jacked up, flat out freaky amateur muscle bulls, not just in the State, but in the country.” Oh fuck! Mind = blown! Jacked up?! Awesome! Flat out freaky?! Incredible! Muscle bulls. BULLS?! Bryan Macleod, I want your furry forearmed babies. Now! I had read these kinds of descriptions of bodybuilders on the Internet before, but I didn’t think I’d ever hear anyone say them out loud in person. I couldn’t quite get my head around what was happening. Hearing a person, not just any person, but one as sexy as Bryan, unashamedly talking about muscle, and describing bodybuilders in such an unapologetic and unspeakably hot way was like a revelation. The other thing I loved about Bryan’s descriptions was the fact that when he uttered the words “monstrous” and “flat out freaky” his mouth curled into a small, self satisfied grin; like he was getting some kind of kick out of saying these crazy, alien words to two guys who didn’t look like they had any business or interest in any conversation involving bodybuilders. I tentatively looked over at Billy Horvath, sitting in the chair next to me. The look Billy was giving Bryan was part disdain, part horror, and part utter confusion. As I wondered what the hell might have been going through Billy’s over opinionated mind in that moment, I couldn’t help feel somewhat amused at his expense, which, at least, helped to ease my slight embarrassment just a little. However, when I looked up to see Bryan MacWoofityWoof reaching for the remote control for the television at the front of the room, along with another twinge of panic, I had a strong suspicion my embarrassment was about to return by the bucket load. Bryan addressed Billy and I again. “OK, guys…” Do NOT play one of your videos. “…I thought I’d give you an idea…” Oh God no! PLEASE God no! “…of the kind of thing you’ll be helping to film today.” FUCKING FUCK NO! I can NOT sit here in a room of people, not just people, Billy Hor-fucking-vath people, and watch the kind of indecently pumped muscle freaks that I regularly blow massive creamy loads to! “So, I’m going to play you a video featuring some clips from the last bodybuilding show we helped to film.” If there was ever a moment where I could suddenly develop a superpower of my choice it would have been then. I’d chose the ability to pause time, grab my jacket and get the hell out of that room, leaving Billy to watch Bryan’s video of freakishly shredded muscle bulls pumping and posing their shiny trunks off, and sparing me from my inevitable mortifying embarrassment. I’d take a sneaky detour to the pump room, find that incredibly handsome mass of gorgeously pumped, phenomenally monstrous muscle Blaine Holton, who I’d spotted in the foyer not half an hour before, walk right up to his superhuman sized, beef packed frame, cheekily unzip the jacket of his black tracksuit to reveal a mass of bumpy, bulgy, deliciously thick muscle underneath, tentatively place both hands on those dense balloons of beef hanging from his chest, give them both a firm squeeze, then quickly head to the theatre exit, having no doubt ejaculated in my trousers before my hands even made contact with Blaine’s incredible, otherworldly body, and running as far away from the venue as I could. As Bryan played with the TV remote control and lined up the kind of footage I’d usually only watch alone, in the comfort of my bedroom, and would usually result in my boxer briefs lying in a sticky, crumpled ball in the corner of my bedroom, all the nerves and feelings of anxiety I had experienced in the lead up to the day returned with a vengeance, only this time they’d bought along a few friends, in the form of sheer embarrassment, and plain old fear. I was right back where I was in Professor Walsh’s classroom, nervously putting my seemingly innocent piece of paper with my choices for my work experience placement in the red box on her desk, praying that no one noticed, and thus, suspected why I had been reduced to a bag of nerves. Only this was much, much worse. I felt like the secret I had kept for years was about to be exposed. Worse, it was about to be plastered on a TV screen which I was being forced to watch in the company of others, and there was no escape. All it would take was one glance from Billy or Bryan and I would be rumbled. They would take one look at my nervous, uncomfortable, embarrassed face and, somehow, instantly know that I had a fetish for huge, ripped muscle. My thoughts were interrupted by the inoffensive rock music which made up the soundtrack of the video. This was it. The only escape would be if the video were to miraculously refuse to play, for the TV to suddenly blow a fuse, or for the building’s fire alarm to sound, causing for a quick evacuation. Luckily, Bryan sat down to watch the video with his back to me and Billy, who I refused to look at. I was frozen stiff. If I didn’t look at Billy and if Bryan stayed transfixed on the TV with his back to me, I might just get away with them noticing what a nervous mess I’d turned into. But what about when the video had finished, and Bryan was facing me again? And if watching a video of monstrously huge muscle freaks in the company of others reduced me to a nervous wreck, how was I going to cope when I was standing in an actual pump room, surrounded by real life monstrously huge muscle freaks pumping up their ridiculous sized muscles and flexing mere feet away from me? As my mind suddenly went into sheer panic mode, the image of the most shockingly sized bodybuilder flashed on the screen. The clip was in slow motion, as the freak in question strutted towards the camera, his body a mass of beautifully bronzed, mammoth sized, carved to perfection muscle, bulging, rippling and fighting for space on his torso. With both hands placed on his enormous sized, vein splattered quads, he cranked down into a most muscular, every muscle tightening and locking into place, his eyes tightly shut, and his mouth widened into an outrageously cocky expression, as if he were roaring like an animal. Seeing this image while in the company of others was the single most surreal moment of my life up until that point. I’d watched endless similar clips of bodybuilders before, but for some reason, in this environment, sitting in a room with two other people, it felt like I was watching muscle for the very first time. The sheer shock and surrealism of the situation completely rid me of the panic and nerves which had consumed me not three seconds before. As quickly as the muscle monster who had just completely shook me of all my senses had appeared, he was gone, and replaced by the image of another bodybuilder. This one even bigger and freakier, showing off his otherworldly body by blasting a massive front double bicep with the cheekiest, proudest smile etched across his handsome, All American, clean cut face. One phenomenally huge, alien-like muscle monster after another flashed on the TV screen. As I watched in complete awe and amazement, I suddenly found my mouth curling into a smile, which, no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t seem to stop. Not only was I amused at the surrealism of the situation I had found myself in, but I was beginning to get a real buzz from sitting in a room, watching these massive muscle monsters flex and pose, with two people who, to my knowledge, had no idea of the effect these kind of images had on me. My feelings of fear and anxiety had gone, and been replaced by those of excitement and sheer adrenaline. The video switched from clips of bodybuilders on stage, to clips of bodybuilders in a pump room. Close up shots of thick, twitchy pecs, gloriously pumped biceps and deeply carved, six pack abdominals flashed on the screen. Muscle bulls pumped up, beef monsters hit poses into the camera, oil was seen being slapped onto hard, thick muscle, and outrageously shiny, brightly coloured posing trunks lit up the TV screen. As a clip of an impossibly cute, Latino guy with hard, shredded muscle encased in gorgeous, silky skin crunching down into an abs and thighs pose, his cheeks puffed out to the max, before transforming his face into a smug grimace of self satisfaction and effort as he cranked down hard on his tight, peeled midsection, and wriggled his upper body from side to side, I glanced over at Billy Horvath for the first time since the video had started. Since meeting Billy outside the auditorium that morning, his facial expressions had ranged from judgement and disdain, to disgust and disapproval. Now for the first time ever, Billy looked genuinely scared. Gone was the self important, over opinionated, pretentious twat I’d come to loathe in the short few months I’d been in Professor Walsh’s class, and in place, was a lost boy, who looked completely out of his depth, painfully uncomfortable, and more than anything, just plain terrified. This was presumably the first time Billy had ever seen anything like the freaky, hardcore muscle beasts he was being forced to watch. I may not have particularly liked Billy, but that didn’t stop me from feeling sorry for him.

Amazingly, during the days which followed before my next class, where I would find out the outcome of my placement, my mind felt fairly relaxed. Every now and then I would experience a moment of sheer panic that I had made a huge mistake. To make myself feel better, I reasoned that even if I got the placement and I decided at the very last moment if I couldn’t go through with it, I could always just fake an illness. It wasn’t until I was sat back in Professor Walsh’s classroom that the butterflies started to kick in. I was anxiously waiting for some kind of eye contact from the Professor, wondering whether she would glance at me again and her expression would give away her thoughts on why this slim guy, who clearly had no obvious interest in bodybuilding, would chose it as one of his placement options. So far, there was nothing, but the nerves were growing by the second in anticipation of what was to come. It was only until about ten minutes before the end of the lesson that I was put out of my misery. As copies of the list were handed around to raised, excited voices, my nerves were unbearable. It literally felt like someone was squeezing the insides of my stomach. I desperately tried not to look at Professor Walsh in case we made eye contact. Whatever suspicions had already formed in her head would certainly be further fuelled by the fact I had suddenly turned into a quivering mess. As the pile of lists made it’s way down my row of desks towards me, I suddenly realised how badly I actually wanted to see my name against the bodybuilding placement. A muscle video I had watched the previous night suddenly flashed in my head, and as I thought about the insanely handsome, competition conditioned muscle monster pumping up his enormous, paper thin skin encased biceps backstage at a bodybuilding show in his indecently shiny blue posing trunks I had shot a load to, the list was in my hands, my eyes were shooting down the page, and there it was. Filming Backstage at a Local Bodybuilding Competition CHARLIE STEATHAM YES!! My heart leaped into my throat, and the nerves were suddenly replaced by sheer elation. But then, as I looked again, I noticed I wasn’t the only person on the placement. Filming Backstage at a Local Bodybuilding Competition CHARLIE STEATHAM BILLY HORVATH OH GOD!! BILLY HOR-FUCKING-VATH OH PLEASE GOD NO!! I had been so fraught with whether to put the placement as one of my choices in the first place, and what the Professor would think if I did, that I hadn’t given a second thought to the person I would actually be sharing the placement with, and even if I had, I would have never anticipated it would be the most annoying, obnoxious and unlikeable person in the class. In my few short months at the university, I don’t think I had ever seen Billy Horvath crack anything even closely resembling a smile. He was a pretentious, joyless, friendless individual with an opinion on everything, which was often opposed to that of everyone else in the class, including Professor Walsh. He was just about the last person I would ever want to share any kind of experience with, least of all this one. I glanced over at Billy, who was staring at the list. His face was red, his teeth were clenched, and he looked like he was about thirty seconds away from committing some violent act of crime. Billy was not a happy man at the best of times, but I knew the face of an incredibly pissed off person when I saw it. I usually didn’t waste too much time in getting my things together and leaving the classroom after my lectures had finished, and this one was no different. That was until I saw a flustered and determined looking Billy charging towards the Professor’s desk. I purposely held myself back, pretending to read the lecture notes I had just spent the last hour making, glancing up discreetly to see what was going on between Billy and the Professor. I wasn’t close enough to hear the conversation, but Billy was aggravated and clearly not happy, while the Professor looked diplomatic but stern, firmly shaking her head, which only seemed to aggravate Billy more. It didn’t take a genius to figure out what the conversation entailed. Billy was clearly trying to argue his way out of being on his chosen placement, and Walsh was firmly telling him that he was staying on it, whether he liked it or not. As much fun as it was to see Billy getting some sort of comeuppance for generally being the obnoxious person he was, this was one occasion where I would have liked to have seen fate on his side. When an enraged Billy had left, and the Professor was left subtly shaking her head at her desk, I quickly gathered my things to make an exit. Have you ever known something was about to happen before it actually does? Almost like for a split second you develop this psychic ability, and somehow you just know what’s about to occur, and then a second later, it does? That’s exactly what happened to me when Professor Walsh called my name just before I reached the door to exit the classroom, and even though I knew it was going to happen, I was still taken a back when it did. “Charlie!” Fuck! “Can I talk to you for a minute?” Fuck fuck shitting buggering fuck!! A jolt of fear shot through me. Not long before, I had been desperately trying to avoid eye contact with her and now she wanted to speak to me, and I had absolutely no idea what it was she had to say. As I tentatively edged towards the Professor’s desk, she was looking at me with a look of genuine concern. “Charlie, I just wanted to make sure you are OK with your placement?” You mean you want to know why the hell I want to spend an entire day surrounded by a bunch of disgustingly muscular, grotesquely huge muscle FREAKS of nature caked in oil and tan and wearing nothing but brightly coloured posing pouches? Of course, this could have been my opportunity to offer some kind of explanation as to why someone like me would have the slightest bit of interest in being involved in the filming of a bodybuilding competition., even if that explanation were ultimately to be a lie. But I just couldn’t think that fast. “Erm…yeah. I mean it’s an opportunity to gain some hands on experience isn’t it?” I reasoned. And a years supply of material for the fucking WANK BANK in my head!! Grrrrr-RUFF!! “I know it wasn’t your first choice but competition was really tough this year. A lot of students weren’t placed on any of their choices,” she explained. Your bother’s a bodybuilder. Tell her your brother’s a bodybuilder. THAT’S why you chose the placement. You have some small, vague interest and knowledge of bodybuilding because your brother is a bodybuilder. “Well to be honest, I didn’t think my chances of getting a place on the other two were that great, so I thought I’d pick one of the more interesting placements from the obscure options that I didn’t think would that be popular.” I didn’t make a habit of lying but in some instances, like this one, it was necessary. She smiled, and I could see in her face that she was genuine and sincere, and any possible suspicions I thought she may have had were all just paranoid thoughts in my head. “I knew you’d have a mature attitude about the experience, Charlie, and I know you’re the type of person who will gain something out of whatever type of filming you’re placed on,” she continued. I decided in that moment that I actually really liked Professor Walsh. I suddenly had an image of randomly running into her at an obscure book launch in New York in five years time, where she’d confess to me how she’d always thought I was the student who had the potential to achieve the most out of my class. “And you know we’ve had students on this placement before and we’ve generally had really good feedback. Some of the smaller camera crews let you get a lot more involved in the filming than the bigger ones. I think you might be pleasantly surprised, Charlie.” Pleasantly surprised at how many times I manage NOT to instantly ejaculate in my pants?! I was genuinely excited to hear this, and nodded along, but my mind had also, once again, drifted to the online video I’d watched the night before of the bodybuilder backstage at a competition pumping and posing for the camera. More than once whilst watching it, I’d imagined that I was on the other side of that camera, mere inches away from him. It was probably best that the Professor was wrapping up our conversation at this point, as something just a little south of my belt buckle was beginning to swell. I started to leave when she called me back. “Oh, and, Charlie, try not to let anyone…” she paused for a moment, as if trying to find appropriate word to use, “affect your experience.” Her eyes widened, and it was as close as her expression could get to rolling her eyes or acting inappropriately for a Professor. She was clearly talking about my new filming buddie, Mr Horvath. In that moment, and for the first time, I suddenly developed a curiosity as to what Billy would make of the pumped up muscle monsters we’d be filming a week on Saturday. I couldn’t help smiling at the thought of small, weedy, over opinionated Billy surrounded by a bunch of humongous, egotistical bodybuilders, pumping, posing and flexing their superhuman sized muscle. As I left the Professor’s classroom and headed back to my dorm room, a huge smile erupted on my face. The whole situation suddenly felt incredibly surreal and exciting, and for that moment at least, all of the nerves, doubts and fears had all but disappeared. If only they had stayed that way the morning of the work placement. The morning of the actual bodybuilding competition that was about to take the place in the arts theatre I was staring at head on, wondering what on earth I had been thinking to ever believe I could actually go through with the experience. The nerves hadn’t just reappeared that moment either. They’d been slowly creeping back for the days leading up to the placement, getting stronger and more unsettling. With the big day finally here, I felt like my stomach had literally been invaded by a group of miniature people who were tying every single one of my intestines into the tightest of knots. I was an absolute wreck, and before I had time to run in the opposite direction to hide under my duvet, never to face Professor Walsh or set foot in her classroom again, the unwelcome, short, slight figure of Billy Horvath was obnoxiously striding towards me, looking as characteristically gloomy as ever. Billy Horvath always seemed like he was about ten seconds away from saying something that would annoy, offend, or insult you. “So, you’re the other sucker who got this joke of a placement?” Annoyed? Check! “Professor Walsh must think as highly of you as she does of me!” Offended? Check! “Maybe if you actually made some contribution to the class every now and then her opinion might change!” Insulted? Check check fucking CHECK!! Billy clearly liked the sound of his own voice outside of Professor Walsh’s lectures as much as he did during them. “So, Charlie Steatham, can you please tell me what the hell we’re supposed to learn from being at a place like this?” he asked. Oooh…erm…I dunno Billy. How about learning how NOT to be an absolute fucking TWAT?! “Ummm, well we are gonna be operating cameras on a legitimate film crew,” I reasoned. Billy scoffed. “Do you know I didn’t tell anyone where I was going today? I’m that embarrassed,” he exclaimed. “I could be on an actual movie set, or at a television studio right now. Even a music video for a shitty boy band would be better than this. I mean, bodybuilding? Ugh! It’s fucking gross. A bunch of disgusting, brain-dead, meatheads.” Twat twat wanking buggering TWAT!! “And I see your as full of opinions as ever, Steatham?” I wasn’t a confrontational person, but Billy was pushing me to the edge. “Look, Billy, I really don’t care where we are or what we’re filming,” I explained. “I just want to get in there and see what I can gain from the whole thing. You know, make the most of this opportunity? Did anyone force you to come today?” “Oh, he has a voice! Some more of that in class and you might actually end up on a real studio set instead of standing outside here next time.” Billy was beginning to really aggravate me. “I have a voice. I just don’t feel the need to use it at every given opportunity. You see, I also have this thing called social awareness. Knowing when people don’t want to hear my voice. Knowing when people actually want me to shut up.” Billy’s eyes were wider than I’d ever seen them. He’d got the message, so he responded in typically obnoxious, annoying fashion. He sarcastically sucked his lips into his mouth while animatedly nodding, and imitating the action of a zip going over his lips with his fingers. I sighed, and shook my head. I waited for him to say something, but he wasn’t budging. Neither was that idiotic, wide eyed, lips sucked in, “not saying a word” expression. I stared at the theatre head on, and a very slight twitch of nerves fluttered in my stomach, which amazingly, felt pretty good, because it was about fifty times less intense than what I had felt before Billy’s arrival. For all his incredible annoyances, Billy had calmed my nerves. As he followed me towards the theatre, I realised how comforting it was to have someone with me in this incredibly nerve wrecking experience. Even if that person was someone like Billy Horvath. The whole experience suddenly became very real the moment I was stood in the theatre foyer and facing a huge poster with the words BODYBUILDING CHAMPIONSHIPS boldly written on it, and a large picture of the head and upper torso of a massive, ripped, competition conditioned muscle freak. His ridiculously huge, insanely shredded torso was exploding into a crab most muscular pose. Every flat out freaky inch of him was painted in bronzed tan. His body a mass of bumps, ripples and veins. His phenomenally sized arms were flexed to the max, and his traps were bulging up to his earlobes. As he squeezed every incredible, otherworldly muscle, his eyes were jammed tight shut, and his mouth was forced as wide open as humanly possible in the most unashamedly arrogant and testosterone fuelled facial expression. Although it was the kind of image I’d become so accustomed to seeing, ever since I innocently browsed through that magazine in my parents living room all those years ago, it was also the type of thing I’d only ever seen in the privacy of my own bedroom. But here it was in a public setting. This large, bold, unapologetic image of a monstrous sized, shredded to the heavens, outrageously cocky muscle bull in all his absurdly conditioned, arrogantly superior glory. Staring at me as if to say, “Yes, Charlie, this crazy world of extreme muscle you’ve been fantasising over all these years really does exist, and you’ve just stepped smack bang into the middle of it.” I nervously looked over at Billy, who was staring at the poster with his mouth hanging slightly open and his face curled into an expression of confusion, disgust, and pure fear. Before I had time to guess what was going through his head, I suddenly had my first glimpse of some genuine, real life muscle. My heat fluttered and my eyes widened at the image of a bodybuilder who I instantly recognised as Blaine Holton, standing with his arms folded, talking to a regular, non bodybuilding guy. Although he was covered up by a black tracksuit, he looked absolutely monstrous, with a torso which looked about twice the width of the man he was talking to. Blaine Holton was stupidly handsome and masculine looking, with the craziest square lantern jaw, and a massive, gorgeous smile he loved to flash at the camera. He was outrageously cocky too. In the few online videos I’d seen of him, he’d cheekily scrunched up his gorgeous face, and arrogantly snapped his mouth wide open as if shouting a loud, cocky, “YEAH!” while flexing and squeezing his muscle, which just so happened to be astonishingly thick and dense. Like massive, fleshy balloons of beef bulging off his carcass, all shrink wrapped in the tightest and most attractive silky smooth skin. Not only was I very well acquainted with this mountain of incredible muscle, I’d lost countless amounts of cum watching him flex, squeeze, pump and pose. And now, here he was, standing just yards away from me, looking even more incredibly handsome than in any picture I’d seen, or any video I’d watched. His competition ready muscle bursting underneath his clothing, ready to pump and pose for a camera I could quite possibly be on the other side of in the none too distant future. My thoughts were broken as an overly cheerful, slim man in a checked shirt, clutching a clipboard, approached me and Billy. “Are you guys looking for directions?” He’d clearly been trained on how to be pleasant and cheerful, even if someone like Billy, who was glaring at him with a look of disdain, was so unnecessarily rude to him. “We’re here to do some work,” I replied, before pausing. It was absurd given where we were, but I was a little embarrassed to say the words out loud, but I had no choice, so I continued. “Filming backstage at the bodybuilding show?” I felt myself blushing slightly at saying the word “bodybuilding” out loud. It was a fairly controversial word at the best of times, but for me, it also had so much hidden meaning to it. “Ahhh, I’ll just find someone to assist you guys.” As Mr Cheerful disappeared, Billy broke his record five minutes of silence. “I can not believe I am here,” he said slowly through gritted teeth. “Let’s just make the most of it shall we, Billy?” I sighed. I was determined not to let him get the better of me. It wasn’t long before Mr Cheerful was bouncing back towards us with another man in tow. “OK, gentlemen, this is Bryan Macleod. He’s part of the film crew and you’ll be reporting to him today.” Bryan Macleod was in his late thirties, possibly early forties. Although no one could have mistaken him for being one of the competitors in the day’s bodybuilding show, he’d clearly spent a fair few hours at the gym. He was broad, with a full and thick looking chest which bulged underneath his bright blue t-shirt, which also nicely showed off his pumped, modestly sized biceps, and exposed his solid looking, slightly furry forearms. He was bald, but in a sexy way, and although he was very masculine and butch looking, his big, slightly twinkly eyes and the rather gorgeous, warm smile he wore as he introduced himself, gave him a slight pretty boy quality. A very slight femininity in his voice and his general mannerisms couldn’t hide the fact that to the eager eye, he was, in fact, gay. As his warm strong hand gripped and shook mine, I instantly felt an attraction. Bryan gave Billy the same warm, friendly introduction he had given me, and Billy gave him the same rude, unfriendly response he had given everyone that day. “OK, guys, if you’d like to follow me I’ll give you a quick overview of what you’ll be doing today. Then I’ll introduce you to some of the camera crew and get you started.” As Bryan turned, the printed words of “LIVE FOR THE PUMP” were revealed on the back of his t-shirt. I couldn’t help but smile. I’d known Bryan for approximately four minutes and not only did I have a huge amount of respect for him, I also suddenly had a yearning desire to be like him. A confident, well muscled gay guy who not only worked on a camera crew filming huge, shredded muscle freaks at a bodybuilding competition, but was also confident enough to walk around in public wearing t-shirt’s with cheeky muscle related phrases. I suddenly wondered whether there was any chance that he was as completely crazy about, and insanely turned on by muscle as I was? As I followed the built, butch, sexy figure of Bryan Macleod (who in my head I’d now nicknamed Bryan MacWoofityWoof) across the foyer of the theatre, through some double doors and along some corridors, with a sulky Billy Horvath (who in my head I’d now nicknamed Billy Hor-FuckOffAndDisappearUpYourOwnArse-vath) in tow, not knowing what the next few hours were about to entail, the nerves had all but disappeared, and all I could feel now was an overwhelming mixture of excitement and elation.

Oh, why thank you I want to use Melvin more, but the story is drawing to an end and I think I might just run into a dozen parts of filler if I follow all the threads I want. Chris hasn’t used any yet, he can see that it has a mind of its own and is worried that he’s not gonna way what he wants.