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As I slowly opened my eyes I also began to wake up. Yes, there's a double entendre there...well let me explain. He was sitting on the edge of the bed looking down at me. To say this beast of a man was huge was belittling any word that would be akin to describing his immense presence. Colossal is another word that is an injustice to him. He was the size of a God. Yep, like the ones in mythology, or the latest superhero movie. He was literally bigger than any man I had ever seen anywhere, let alone have known...and I'm all about huge muscular men. He was the size of the largest of grizzly bears and almost as furry as one. Even though he was, sort of, hunched over and sitting, I would fathom that he was at least 7...no...maybe closer to 8 feet tall. He upper body, which is what I could instantly see because his sleeveless flannel shirt was completely open , exposed a series of enormous hills and valleys of muscle that were swollen, comic book style, that seemingly took over half of the room. The weight of his chest made his nipples point toward the floor...and his nipples, Jesus; they were literally the size of a baby bottle nipple, but dark and covered with hair. My mouth began to water as I studied and began to imagine sucking on them. As I said, his plaid shirt was open, but I imagine it was for comfort more than showing off his body to me, since I would imagine that most clothes would barely fit this God. Even his pants were "mostly" loose, but I'll get into that in a moment. His arms and torso were covered in tats under his thick coat of fur and they lifted and shifted like images making love every time he moved or even breathed. I looked at his face, only for brief moments in between my raping stares of his body, to see one of the thickest, darkest beards where my tongue would get lost in its forest of density after sucking and kissing his plump thick lips and large mouth. His eyes were dark and intense as they seemingly bore a hole through me, deep into my soul. I could see that his forehead and the rest of his exposed skin had beads of moisture over him as he seemed to gleam with perspiration. As I watched one of the beads begin to trail down his neck, then to his chest and down the pec valley toward his navel, another sense...the sense of smell reminded me of the pure sexual nature of this beast. The musky smell of him was incredibly overpowering, but not offensive. He smelled like a man in every way, but not a dirty unclean man...more like a man who had just finished a huge workout and his testosterone was in overdrive. But this was not a normal man; I had to remind myself that I was not in the presence of someone normal. He was more, so much more. In fact, to retrace my thoughts a bit, as I woke up I had taken a large inhale of him even before my eyes were open and his pheromones hit me like wall which caused me to moan in an orgasmic bliss that took over my body and caused my cock to lightly shoot precum onto my belly. As of now having the realization that I was naked, spread eagle with my legs and arms tied to the bed posts. My cock was already rock hard and pulsating from the normal amount of inhaling his scent while I was unconscious. I also realized that I must have been precuming a lot since I could feel the wetness of small puddles that my pubic hair was soaking in. The fact that I loved bondage was only heightening my thrill and euphoria. My hole puckered on and off as well, begging to be violated, which like my cock was entirely uncontrollable. There was no denying that I was already under his spell with only two of my five senses being taken over. I longed to hear him speak, taste his body and feel him inside me. As I looked down further on him, he had on a green belt that was holding up blue nylon workout pants. While they were very loose around his mid-section his thighs and calves pushed the nylon fabric to a taunt unwrinkled smoothness, even showing the definition of them through the fabric. I exhaled out a hmmpf as I realized that his nylon pants looked more like spandex on him. My asshole puckered again. As I looked closer at the fabric, I noticed that the threads were beginning to tear, but not so much in a burst out of the clothes sort of way, more like they had been stretched to their limits so much that the nylon was beginning to unravel and rip. I'm sure if he would have wanted to, he could have just flexed and exploded out of them, but as with his shirt, i believe he wore these, not to impress, but to actually live in. By the looks of it, the shirt and pants might have been what he wore most all the time. As I said, I just can't imagine where a God like this would find normal clothes to wear. He was much larger than a 5XL or even an 8XL...Hell; I bet his actual size was more of a 15XL. But ALL of that wasn’t even the most amazingly and scary thing about him. Coming down his left leg, from his crotch, like a fully fed python, was a tubular mound that was at least as round as a 2 liter bottle and close to 2 feet long, possibly 20 inches. There was no mistaking that it was his cock, as it’s thick bulbous head could be seen through the fabric, but an even more amazing thing was that the nylon pants at the end had a wet spot that continued to become moistened by a flow coming from his cock head. The threads here were the most worn and I could literally see skin beneath. Following up the Drain pipe I marveled in the size of his balls that filled his crotch area, like a small animal in a bag that moved and pushed its way to get out. I imagined that the production of sperm was enough to fill a gallon jug every time he came. I took another large breath in as I gasped at the size of his cock and the thought of the amount of sperm and it hit me, like a train. My asshole clinched hard, my stomach tightened up and I screamed out in ecstasy as I convulsed in the strongest and longest orgasm of my life. A large glob of cum hit his left pec, dripping down onto his nipple and then down onto his massive thigh. The 2nd shot arched up and over my head, while the 3rd, 4th and 5th shot covered my face, “covered” being the optimal word. The last remaining ropes landed on my legs and torso. As I came, I knew that I had never had such an intense and copious amount of cum in my life and I continued to cum a strong flowing river, as my orgasm took almost a full minute before it was over. After I calmed down, even though my cock was still as rigid as a board, he began to speak and the sound of his low booming, but non-threatening voice satisfied my third sense, and possibly forth sense, as I could feel the vibrations of the words resonate inside my body. Every consonant, hit me like an inward motion of a fuck thrust penetrating me and filling me with warmth and I realized this was yet another way that he could literally make me cum if he were to speak louder. After the last orgasm, I was in need of a rest. He told me his name was Jake and, thankfully, he softly continued as he told me that he had found me floating in the river behind his house. It seemed I had crashed my car into the ravine and had been thrown from it. I tried to remember what had happened, but with 3 or 4 senses being controlled, my mind was not in much use to remember anything other then what was in front of me. Jake said he pulled me out of the river and had stripped me of my clothing so he could look at me to see if I had anything broken. When he realized that, physically I was okay; he picked me up and took me inside his house. Since he had already taken off my wet clothes, he noticed that my cock began to harden and he knew what was about to happen, so he put me in his bed. As soon as I was in bed he said that I began to flay about with my arms and legs as I began my "state of bliss" as he called it, so he tied me down, so I wouldn’t injure myself. That’s when my cock began to shoot precum and he couldn’t help but stare at me. He said he was sorry that he was getting excited watching me and that his body pours a very heavy amount of pheromones into the air, when he gets horny, which he slightly moaned and said was almost constantly. That moan, caused electrical currents racing through me and my cock began to fountain again. This time, luckily, it wasn't as huge of an orgasm as before, but nonetheless, it was the second most powerful one I had ever experienced. When I finally calmed down, he turned to look away from me and then, he looked down, as if he were almost sad and said that he knows he is an outcast and that no one would ever be able to love him. Jake said that they only use him and he hates them for it. I asked him if he could tell me more about it. He told me that he has lived alone for the past several years and that his only outlet is when they come to take him to the base to use him. I asked him why and he hesitated, but then began to tell me that about 5 years ago, he used to work at the biochemical plant over the mountain ridge and there was an accident one day. He told me he was one of their chemists and they were working on a new formula using the sun and some airborne chemicals from space and animal, most Bull, Bison and Bear hormones, to help grow plants to provide added nutrients for the world hunger population. They were crossing it with a new type of laser that breaks down the space and "3B" particles when there was a leak in the containment unit holding the particles, sunlight and hormones. He was asked to suit up and go in and fix the leak before the continued. He said that when he went into the containment unit there was an explosion and he was exposed to the combined elements, which must have changed his chemical makeup and caused him to grow to be like he was now. From the moment he awoke after the explosion, he could feel his body changing, but he wasn't sure what was going on as he was still very foggy and his vision was clouded. He got up and walked over to the exit of the containment unit but that his colleges wouldn't open the door to let him out. He said the look on their faces were of awe and fear. That's when he realized he was naked and huge. He said that almost instantly, his sight improved and he could feel the power inside him rise. Jake said that every sense, emotion and physical trait that a person could have, accelerated and gained 100 fold inside him. He became smarter as his mind and thoughts expanded. The first sense that he realized was at a pinnacle was his vision. It was so good, that he could see through things as he realized he was able to see his follow colleges though the steel wall separating them and he could see them looking at the monitor as they watched him. Jake knew his brain was at about 85% enlightenment, unlike that of only 10% of what a normal human would use, as he actually felt what his three friends were feeling. Alex was in shock, but also in bewilderment. He was envious of Jake and his new body, but he was also fearful. Johnathan was frightened as well, but he was sad and upset about what was happening to Jake. He was immediately thinking of ways to reverse what had happened. Then there was Stu, who was Jake's best friend. Stu was feeling awe and fear as the other two were, but Stu also had a huge desire for Jake. He could feel Stu getting aroused and he literally felt his own cock harden as Stu's did. Even though Stu had a wife and 2 kids, he couldn't help his attraction as he reached full erection and came in his lab pants. Jake looked up at the camera and smiled. He knew that he had caused this and he wanted the other two to feel the same. That's when he felt the power of inhuman strength course through him and knowing that he was strong, probably stronger than anyone on Earth, that he grabbed the door, pulled it off like a piece of scotch tape and flung it aside. He walked out into the same room as his colleges and noticed that even though Alex and Jonathan had begun to run away, they had to cross in front of Jake and his scent hit them. Immediately the two men fell onto the ground, writhing in orgasmic bliss as they both exploded their seed. Jake as well as his colleges had never been homosexual before, but at least for his colleges, there was no escaping Jake's pheromones and sexual dominance over them. Jake himself, hadn't turned gay, but was now Omnisexual or better yet for a lack of word, Alphasexual as there would be no one in the world that if he was attracted to, was completely under his spell and willing to be his sexually. He literally could make someone cum on command either using his mind, body, or scent. After Alex and Jonathan came, both men passed out. Because Stu was so infatuated with Jake, he walked up to the new Alpha and asked how he could please him. Jake decided to use Stu as his first lover. Over the course of the next 3 hours, Jake gave Stu numerous orgasms and was in complete control over the man. That's when he decided to change Stu as well. He now, instinctively, knew that his cum would change Stu to become more like himself, but he knew that if he were to fuck the man, that he would kill him. That's when he began, 'the process" as he called it. He would regulate the amount of cum that Stu would ingest orally causing Stu's own chemical make up to change and grow, making it possible for Jake to enter Stu and fill him with a full load to change Stu completely. After Stu's last oral intake, he was ready to receive Jake's cock. Just as they were about to begin, Jake felt a small pain in the back close to his kidneys. Then as the room began to go dark, he saw a group of military men with Hannibal rifles, which are enough to stop a rhino and he knew that they had used them on him, to tranquilize him. As his powers were still novice, the tranqs seem to do their job. When Jake awoke, he was undergoing a series of tests and over the course of several months; he was the military's guinea pig. They probed him and took samples of his blood and cum. Most of the time, they used machines to get the samples, as Jake's body and existence caused any human in the room to become his plaything. Sure he couldn't fuck them, but it was fun for Jake, when a new soldier had to go in the same room as him and they'd lose all their ability to resist him. He would make them cum over and over, until someone could pull them out of the room. When they had realized that he would cooperate, they released him from his "prison' and began testing "the process". Within a week, the military had been using his cum to grow men at their compound. In less than a month the had an army of over 1000 of Jake's "minions". The one thing that they couldn't do was control them. That was completely up to Jake. He is still larger and he was their master. When he would stay at the compound for a week at a time, he would constantly be "upgrading" his men...upgrading was the word the military used for fucking them and filling them with his growth cum. This also benefited Jake, to which his sexual appetite was always in overdrive and if it wasn't satisfied almost every day, Jake would become easily agitated and his anger would cause issues...broken equipment, broken jeeps, broken building but most importantly, broken humans. You see, when Jake wasn't physically and sexually satisfied, he was an unstoppable fucking machine, fucking and killing those that have not gone through "the process". That's when Jake realized he wanted or needed a partner, a lover, someone to care about. He hadn't seen Stu since the fateful day he changed and as far as he knew, Stu had left the area. Jake wanted someone that actually was in love with him and that he could return that love. That is why he was sitting on the edge of the bed, when I awoke, looking at me like I was his. I would be the one that would be with him and love him and he loves me. It was just that way. Plainly, he just knows things and he knows that when he saw me, that I was going to be his partner. It's just as simple as that...or so he thought. I looked up at him and I was angry. Angry to what had happened to him, but angrier that suddenly, I felt as though I was his project. I was the one that was going to make HIS life better. What about my life? Did he even care about what I wanted? Were my desires and wants in life going to even matter? Sure, I was completely smitten over him, but Hell, I had a mind too. I wasn't just going to be his love slave, his concubine. I wasn't just going to be his Cum Reliever!! FUCK THAT!! And then I began to do my best to get out of the restraints that he had me bound with. At first nothing happened and Jake just looked at me and smiled. I figured he knew that he had me, but it only made me angrier. I began to tug and pull on them and began to hear wood beginning to splinter. I surprised myself when I was able to tear off one of the bed posts with my left leg. Then the right one broke. A new feeling began to take me over; A feeling of strength. I felt a power in me rise and I felt my body expanding. Snap, the left arm tight broke off. I could feel my muscles growing and I looked at myself as my body began to transform. My cock was expanding as well, in length and girth. What once was a proud 8 incher was now already 11 inches long and about 8 inches thick. I felt my testosterone level go through the roof and SNAP, the right arm broke free. This one snapped like I had just broken a spider web, there was no effort involved. Then, Jake put his hand on my chest and held me there as I grew. At this point, even with all the strength that I was gaining and the growing size I was having, I couldn't move out from under him. Then he leaned down to me and kissed me. Electricity ran through my entire body, charging me up even more, causing me to grow even more and faster. Immediately I began to uncontrollably cum again as I had never felt so close and in sync with someone in my life. It was his bare skin against my skin and that's when I knew, I loved him. He took his hand off of me and as soon as I was free, I climbed onto him, feeling his immense cock below my ass and we embraced. My newly rock hard ass was quickly drenched in his precum as he began to shoot it out and I moaned again as I reached a third climax, covering our torsos between us. I told him, that I wished that he could fuck me, and he smiled. He said that he would, but first he asked if I would put my mouth over his cock to take in his cum. He said that he had given me my first amount when I was unconscious and he needed to complete the process so we would be able to make love after I did that. I climbed off of him so that he could take off his pants and his shirt as well. As he did, I kissed and licked his massive muscular arms and I sucked on his nipples, continuing to take in his musky scent causing me to almost lose consciousness this time as I shot another load. At this point, my growth had ebbed, but not my desire, which only increased. I began to cum without stopping. It wasn't spurt after spurt, but more of a consistent oozing pouring out of my cock hole. Still, internally, I was completely in a constant state of orgasm. Jake sensed this and he picked me up off of him so he could get his pants off and he laid me on my back, with my face under his crotch. Before removing his pants, he chuckled and said “poor defensiveness boy, as soon as you take my 2nd load of cum, you’ll be able hold your orgasms until you want to release them.” He added, “I’m going to change you and make you grow, not with just the muscle and size that you have already, but your mind will expand and your body will be do things no other human on Earth will do...not even the men at the base. I have held this back for the one who will be my partner. I know you think you will be my slave, but I do not want that. I want you as my equal. I want us to be the only God's on Earth. Even though you are now much stronger and bigger and you could take me inside you, I want you to have the complete enlightenment that I have. Yes, like the men at the base, you will become mine...a part of me will be you and all of you will be me. But, you will be different than them...you will be more...more of everything. More like me...more than just a human....more than a human...you will be a god and anyone who comes in contact with you will desire you. But you will be my mate...your life as you know it is no longer. We are omnipotent. I will control you and in turn you can control me...all of you!!! Do you wish this?” I nodded yes as I asked him, how this is even possible. That it felt like a dream or some wild fantasy of mine coming true and he laughed as he pulled down his pants showing me his massive cock as it sprung out showering me with his juice and the second it hit me, I again, orgasmed uncontrollably. By this time, I was just about dried out and only small darts of cum escaped my cock. Still the feeling was just as incredible. A steady flow of clear liquid came from the huge mushroom head, dripping down onto my lips. Then he asked if I was still dreaming. I told him....no...I pleaded for him to let me complete the change. He told me to open my mouth as wide as I could and I did. I tilted my head back and up and put my mouth over the slit in his cock head as he lowered it into my mouth. The slit was so large that my lips barely covered it with my open mouth. Then he told me to brace myself, by hold onto his ass or legs and to not let go. I did and soon I could feel heat rising up his cock shaft... ...Chapter 2 begins below

Overdue, but here ya go! Will probably have to edit out some typos as I revisit this but hopefully you can enjoy! Chapter 1: https://muscle-growth.org/topic/14262-the-librarian/ Chapter 2: https://muscle-growth.org/topic/14459-the-librarian-chapter-2/ Chapter 3: https://muscle-growth.org/topic/14606-the-librarian-chapter-3/ ++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++ Chapter 4 Tom had never felt so horny in his entire life than in the immediate hours learning that he now weighed 246 lbs. He thought back to growing up, being a 150 lb beanpole for so many years, and here he was nearly 100 lbs bigger of pure, dense, manly muscle. That afternoon in the locker room felt like an awakening. For the first time in his life Tom actually felt BIG. Any bystander would've said he'd been looking big for a couple of weeks now, but it wasn't enough for a true muscle obssesor like Tom. No, even now, Tom knew that he wanted more. So much more. But, he was finally reaching a size where he could truly enjoy himself. After dumping a copious load back in his home shower, Tom felt refreshed and ready to go. He slipped on some gym shorts and a sleeveless black shirt. He glanced in the mirror and smirked at the handsome stud who smirked back. Before today, Tom would never be caught dead going out into public in a sleeveless shirt. But the man in the mirror, the man with the big arms hanging at his sides, looked like a man whom it would be a shame to cover up those mighty arms. His short black hair accentuated a light tan, obtained in the past three weeks during various shirtless yardwork sessions. Tom couldn't help but slowly bring up his arms and flex. Holy shit. He really was starting to look BIG. Still not huge, not in his mind anyway, but these were the cannons of a serious weightlifter, someone who could step on stage at an amateur bodybuilding show and place well. He looked like a total alpha stud. As a joke he whipped on some aviator sunglasses and a backwards ballcap. Looking in the mirror he snapped a quick pic and sent it to a couple of his old college buddies. Tom had to know. He reached into the drawer near his bed and fished out the tape measure. He wrapped the tape around his left arm and FLEXED with all his might. The tape tightened and he examined the number. Almost 19.5 inches. Immediately Tom's cock went to full erection in his gym shorts, even though he just had a furious shower jerking session. And he couldn't wait to grow them even more. Tom's phone buzzed, his buddies had seen the photo and had responded with various platitudes: “Damn, Tom, you got HUGE!” “Geez are you eating roids for breakfast, lunch and dinner? You're arms are bigger than my legs!” “Holy shit, man. I'm going to make you train me if you can get me looking like that!” All the attention made his ego swell right along with his pumped up body. Tom then began to sift through his closet, noting that most of his clothes would no longer do. He tried on a few t-shirts and loved the feel of the fabric clinging to his skin. Some of the shirts were now far too small, but that didn't stop Tom from trying them on, as it gave him a frame of reference to just how large we has getting. Tom slipped on a size large white t-shirt that was extremely tight. He faced his mirror. With snarl, Tom slightly bent forward, brought his two fists together in front of his waist, flexing his biceps and triceps. Simultaneously, he flared his lats and squeezed his pectorals as hard as he could, mimicking a crab pose to the best of his knowlegdge. Then it happened. The doomed shirt split right up the back along this erectors. The sleeves blew out at the arms. Tom could barely hear the fabric tearing as he roared loudly, looking proud and cocky in the mirror. Tom relaxed the pose and chuckled to himself. He looked like the 1970's TV Hulk after the transformation, shreds of a t-shirt hanging from his frame. Thus, Tom decided it was time to do some shopping for a wardrobe upgrade. Hewas able to find a t-shirt that just fashionably tight and some gym shorts and headed out. At the mall he was elated to find out he was now in XL and XXL size range, depending on the brand. A nice late-20's woman at the department store directed Tom to some brands he had never heard of. “I think you will like these shirts,” she said, eyeballing Tom, obviously interested. No doubt she would be disappointed to learn that Tom played for the other team. But, the attention she was giving only stroked his ego more. “...this brand designs most of their clothes for younger men in an athletic cut. I can see that you spend a lot of time in the gym. These clothes will fit you well and accentuate your development, which is very impressive I must say,” she smiled and suppressed a giggle. Tom cocked his eyebrow and smiled handsomely to the lovely woman. “Well, thank you Miss. It can be a hassle to find clothes with my proportions.” “Oh it's nothing! It's nice to be able to help someone of your impressive...uh...stature, rather than the really obese gentlemen that come in.” “Well, ma'am, as you can see I'm certainly not obese.” Fully flirting back, Tom then lifted his shirt to reveal his cobbled abs to the stunned saleswoman. “Oh my! Um...wow, sir,” she said fanning herself. “Pardon me for asking, but how old are you?” “Forty-nine.” “OH MY GAWD!” The woman shouted, looking stunned. “Wow, I was going to guess 38 at the latest. You are so handsome and built you make the men my age look like weaklings. Um, say, I hope this isn't too forward, but let me give you my phone number...” The young woman winked and recited her number. Playing along, Tom typed it into his phone. “Please, if you need help finding any more fitted clothes give me a call...or for anything else.” It was turning out to be a tremendous day. Tom walked out to his car with two shopping bags full of new clothes that would now fit his enhanced body. He even bought a few garments another size up as he KNEW he was going to grow into them. Nothing was going to stop him from further growth. On the drive back home, Tom drove by a small building with “TATTOO” written vertically down the side. On a whim he pulled over and walked inside. Tom has always liked tattoos but had never had the confidence to get one. Part of it was that he used to feel too small and another part was that he used to be intimidated by the gruff looking exteriors of the parlors. But now, none of that was an issue. Tom walked in and a friendly, overweight bearded man in his 30s, face adorned with several piercing and arms covers in ink, smiled and welcomed him in. “Hello there, man. What can I do for you today?” The parlor was empty, so no wait. It seemed everything was going well today. “I want to get a tattoo on my shoulder. I was thinking a panther. Not like a full panther, but maybe some artistic version of a panthers face prowling though the jungle or something.” “Cool, bro. I think something like that would look great on you. I've done ink for several muscle dudes like yourself. I know what you're type likes, give me a few minutes to come up with a sketch.” And like the Grinch's heart, Tom once again felt his confidence grow by another size. And it only fed into his awareness of his body. How he could feel himself taking up more space. How all his clothes were tight. How he was BIG. Fifteen minutes later the artist came out with a blue sketch of a fierce looking panther's face, partially obscured by what looked like jungle branches and vines. It was an image of a powerful predator ready to leap out of the shadows for the take down one of its victim. It was perfect. “I love it, dude! Let's do it.” The artist ushered Tom to the back area. Tom rolled up with sleeve and the artist swabbed and cleaned the skin. “If you are worried about pain, bro, don't. You've got a big meaty shoulder, the more muscle you have less the needle will hurt. And you've got a BIG delt. Damn, man, you are one of the bigger guys that I've inked.” The artist imprinted the stencil and went to work. The two bantered, the artist asking several questions about his gym. It turns out the artist had inked a few of the lifters from Tom's gym. Ninety minutes later the tattoo was done. Tom paid the artist, leaving a hefty tip. He then headed home to enjoy the rest of the best day of his life. If only he knew it was going to get better. ++++++++++++++++++ Finally Monday arrive and Tom was back at work. Even with his new wardrobe, it couldn't be missed how big Tom was getting. So much so that Susan cornered him in his office. “Boss, I have to ask, are you on steroids?” Tom couldn't help but chuckle at the response, which only irritated Susan even more. “I'm serious. I don't want to you doing something stupid to harm yourself!” “Susan, first let me correct you in that steroids can absolutely be used safely and effectively to put on muscle. But, if you must know, no, I'm not on steroids. I'm just maximizing my beginner gains. And it feels awesome.” “Beginner gains?” Susan asked skeptically. Tom went on to explain the idea behind beginner gains and then going into an in depth description of how he was putting on so much mass. Susan raised her hands to interrupt him after a five minutes spiel on the benefits of behind carb loading. “Alright alright! Yeesh. I'm sorry I asked. You really are becoming a meathead. But you swear you aren't doing anything dangerous?” “Susan, I promise to my knowledge I'm not doing anything unhealthy. Trainer Ron has helped me jump-start my fitness, I think my body is just making up for lost time.” Reluctantly, she accepted his explanation. “Well, Ok. But if I find out you are doing something bad I will kick your ass so hard, even if you are 300 lbs!” As she walked out of his office, the thought of being 300 lbs crept into Tom's head, sending more blood to his crotch and stretching his cock down along his growing thigh. +++++++ A couple of days later Tom's world would get turned upside down. It was mid-afternoon and the front desk worker was on her 15 minute break so he was momentarily filling in. As luck would have it, in walked a man that nearly turned Tom into a quivering mess. In walked a dark skinned man with a tight, youthful, yet masculine face with deep set, inquisitive brown eyes. On top of his head he had medium length dark brown hair styled upward and forward and trimmed down to a buzz on the sides. His handsome face was framed by a close cropped beard covering what was the definition of a square cut jaw. His prominent cheek bones indicated a low body fat. When Tom was finally able to break his gaze from the stunning stranger's face, he only became more aroused as he examined the rest of the man. He had on a sleeveless shirt with large duffel bag slung over his shoulders. The strap of the bag was nestled in the gap between the pyramidal trap and his cantaloupe-sized shoulder muscle. Each exposed arm could provide any biology class a lesson in muscular anatomy. Cords of veins ran down each arm, encircling sinewy biceps and triceps that bulged off his arms even when unflexed. Tom could only imagine how much the muscles jumped if the man flexed. The veins spread out across his large forearms like parasitic vines on a tree trunk. On his torso, the strap of the duffle bag had rested in the ravine created by the twin molehills that were his pecs. The strap pulled his shirt fabric into the crevice furthe accentuating the size of his pecs even though the shirt fabric was fairly loose. Due to the size of the man, Tom guessed the shirt had to be an XXL at least for it to be as loose as it was. Even then, it couldn't hide the musculature that was underneath. The shirt was loose enough that sadly, the mans abs were hidden, but judging by the mans face and his vascularity elsewhere it would have been foolish to think that his abs were anything but sensational. Further down he had on some Jed North gym shorts. The bottom of the man's quads were exposed and like the rest of him, large and defined. The gym shorts were sufficiently filled by his large legs and of course, what looked to be a healthy bulge. Even from the front Tom could see his calves bulging out on each side of his tanned shins. The man was wearing athletic socks and sneakers, rounding off what was obviously gym attire. Entering the lobby, the man scrunched his face in a bit of confusion, noticed Tom, smiled and walked toward the reception desk. Tom silently prepared his brain to speak as the hottest man he ever seen approached him. He was glad he was sitting at a computer desk, his crotch safely hidden underneath. “Hey there!” The mains voice was deep as he cheerily greeted Tom, offsetting his intimidating presence. “When did this place become a library? Last time I was in town this was a hardcore weight room.” Tom gulped and summoned the courage to speak, “Oh yeah. Just about few months ago. I found out after we opened that this used to be a gym.” “Oh, that's too bad. I got some of the best workouts of my life in here. The guy who ran this place was awesome. He gave us all free protein shakes after our workouts. I swear every time I lifted here I made a month's worth of progress in just the couple of days I was in town.” “Um...so what brings you to town.” “I'm a sales rep for a water treatment equipment company. I make my rounds down here every few months. By the way, I'm Jack.” “I see. I'm Tom.” The handsome man leaned in and shook Tom's hand. Tom could feel the power in his grip, the thickness of his hands. “Well, I'm sorry to disappoint you man, when I first saw you I didn't think you were coming here on purpose,” Tom chuckled. “Jack cocked one eyebrow, and retorted, “Oh, and why wouldn't you think a guy like me would be in a library?” Tom stammered, embarrassed at his inadvertent put down. Jack chuckled teasingly and relaxed, letting Tom off the hook. “Hey buddy, I'm just joking. I can see that you clearly lift too. I'm sure like me you get your fair share of 'meathead' stereotyping. But I'll have you know I'm a member of my hometown library. I just got done reading the first book of this Wheel of Time series, “The Eye of the World” by Robert Jordan. I really liked it, ever hear of it?” A new wave of astonishment flooded Tom's brain. First Jack had noticed his own gym progress and second, Tom had read every book in the Wheel of Time series. He could barely contain his excitement as he responded, “Yeah! I have. It's one of my favorite series. I think you'll really like the rest of the books.” Jack grinned seductively, cripes the man was muscle sex on a stick. “Good to know, man. Say, since this place is no longer a gym, know of any good places? I prefer a real gym, not one of those fitness club places.” “Um, yeah Jack. I go to a place called the Flex Plex. Here I can give you directions. I'll be there in about two hours for my workout. “Thanks, buddy. I haven't taken my preworkout yet, maybe I'll have another meal and we can lift together!” “Uh...um..are, are you sure? I think you might be a bit out of my league...” Tom glanced at the man's arms again. Running numbers in his head, this guy had to weigh AT LEAST as much as Tom, and being a few inches shorter and much more shredded, the man obviously had a lot more muscle than Tom, even as big as Tom had gotten. Jack smirked again, “Nonsense, buddy! I can see you got a great set of pecs and there's no denying those big arms stretching your sleeves. I'm sure you'll give me just as motivation as I am giving you right now.” Jack winked. Tom's mind raced. Was this uber-stud hitting on him? “Uh, well, sure Jack. I'll be there around 6:00pm. If you are there we can lift together. What are you working tonight?” Jack smiled and looked down at his arms before looking back at Tom, boring holes in his eyes. Jack suddenly and quickly raised his left arm and FLEXED the cannonball muscle right in front of Tom. “Working arms and delts, you?” Tom's mouth hung open as he eyed the pro-sized arm in front of him. The enormous mound of muscle had a clear split in the peak, something only the best of best and those with top notch genetics could achieve. The arm had to be over 20 inches, perhaps 21 or even more. Tom slowly gazed up the arm and into Jack's smiling face. Weakly, Tom replied, “Uh...yeah. Me too, man.” Jack chuckled and dropped his arm. “Somehow, Tom. I figured you would be be. I'll see you later tonight.” With that, Jack turned and sauntered out of the library, giving Tom a great view of his bulbous muscle butt. +++++++++++++++++++++ The rest of the afternoon Tom felt like his impressive dick was going to tear through his pants. This guy Jack had stepped right out of his fantasies and into HIS library. It seemed like the universe was completely on his side. After Jack left, Susan came over. “Oh my god, boss, who was that delicious hunk of meat? That had to be the sexiest man I have ever seen.” Susan leaned in close and whispered, “And I'm sure you felt the same way, too, huh.” Tom chuckled and replied, “His name was Jack, apparently he used to come to the gym that used to be here.” Disappointed , Susan sighed, “Figures. A pure meathead.” “Actually, he said he's an avid reader. He just finished the first book in long series that I have read a couple of times.” Susan jokingly fanned herself. “You're kidding, right? That Grade-A slab of beef reads too? I hope you got his number for me!” This time Tom leaned into Susan, grinning, “Actually, I think he plays for my team. And I think we are going to work out tonight together.” At this Susan dramatically sighed and threw her head back. “Ughhhh you are kidding me! I knew it was too good to be true. First YOU and now this Jack fellow. You know, boss, intelligent fitness hunks are really messing with my mind. I swear, ALL the best ones are on your side. Well, I wish you luck. Try your best not to jump his bones.” Susan giggled as she walked away. Once his shift at he library was over, gathered up his gym gear. He put a few scoops of the special protein powder into the small container in his duffel bag to use for his post workout shake, slung the bag over his shoulder and headed to the gym. At the gym he got changed, put his stuff in his locker and headed into the workout area to warm up, glancing around constantly for any sign of Jack, hoping among hope that Jack wasn't playing him. Sitting on the floor, he reached toward his toes to stretch his long hamstrings and lower back when suddenly he felt two hands pressing on his upper back, pushing him forward. “Here let me help you get a good stretch, buddy!” A deep voice rumbled from behind him, a voice he couldn't possibly forget from the afternoon. “Ahhhh, thanks Jack. That really helps!” “No problem, buddy. Here, now you do me.” Tom relaxed the stretch, stood up and turned around and froze. Jack was standing there in a small maroon tank top, plastered to his rippling, caramel colored body. The outline of his heavy square pecs clearly visible, his nipples barely visible moreso because they were mostly pointing downward due the heavy development of his chest. A deep canyon formed above the neckline of the tank where his upper pecs surged upward. A large gap of air formed underneath the straps of the tank where the fabric was suspended between his huge traps and those mountainous pecs. The arms were as he remembered, huge and veiny, the sinews easily visible under the thin skin. He was in the same Jed North shorts, shoes and socks from earlier that afternoon, revealing just enough of his legs to prove that this uber stud never skipped leg day. After giving him a slow look over, Jack looked up into the smirking face of Jack. He had been caught, but Jack only winked. “Glad to see a friendly face here, Tom. Ok help me stretch.” Tom took a deep breath as Jack turned and sat down on the floor. Jack's W-I-D-E back fanned out tremendously like a manta ray, leaving only the thin y-strap of his tank to hug his spine. Jack put his hands on the warm, firm upper back muscles and pushed as Jack had done to him. “MMMM that feels good stud, thank you.” Tom froze. There is was, officially out there. Jack wouldn't use the word 'stud' unless he were into me, Tom thought. Tom decided to return the favor, his confidence growing as this superman continually stoked his fire. “Thanks, Big Guy! I can't wait to get a workout with a huge, buff hunk like yourself,” Tom replied. Jack stood, turned and smiled up into Tom's handsome face. “Right on, handsome. Let's get HUGE!” And with that the two engaged in an epic chest, triceps and biceps workout. With Jack leading, Tom was able to push himself even further than even what Ron had been able to coax out of him. The entire time Jack and Tom spotted each other, hands on muscles, helping each other to gut out extra reps. When Tom would think back this workout from the future he would instantly get hard thinking about the erotic undertones. Feeling Jack's enormous pecs and his arms as he benched and curled. But in the moment, is was all about the work. Having perfect form. The reps. The contraction. Tom was thankful he was working so hard as he no fear of boning up in front of Jack or the rest of the gym, even though he was getting to feel up the man of his dreams. Finally the workout ended. Tom was nearly speechless as he saw a fully pumped up Jack. Jack smiled at his workout buddy. “Damn Tom, you are a beast. I've not found very many lifting buddies who were able to keep up and match my intensity. You've got what it takes, man. I mean, I can see that all over pump you got, wow man! I can't believe you've only been lifting for a few months. You could be a monster!” Tom was eating up the praise, “Thanks, Jack. If I could ever look half as good as you I would be happy. You are so massive and still ripped to shreds! Your veins are insane man! Your arm looks like a roadmap. You've even got big wormlike veins on the top of your huge pecs, wow.” “Thanks, dude. Ok let's head into the locker and have our post workout shakes. In the locker room with their clothes drenched in sweat they each made a shake to load up on post-workout nutrients. Tom scooped himself two scoops powder and chugged it down, the excess drink running down the sides of the cup onto his strong chin. For Tom, it was starting to click just how special that protein powder was. With all his progress and seeing and the now even heavier weights he was lifting with Jack, that just had to be it. It seemed to be some super supplement...and Tom knew he still had 3/4 of the stuff left. Jack sucked down the last sipo of his drink, set the cup down and stripped off his tank, exposing his perfect bodybuilder torso to Tom. “Oh yeah, Tom, drink that down and come pose with me.” Tom sucked down the drink in four large gulps and responded, “Actually, I know of a private posing room we can use. Follow me. Stud.” Jack smirked and followed Tom to the posing room. Once the door was locked, Jack practically tackled Tom. He wrapped his rippling arms around Tom, crushing their big chests into each other. “Fuck, Tom, you are the hottest guy I have seen in a long time. Handsome and strong. And smart! And you kept up with me during the workout, fuck man you drive me crazy! I can't believe how PUMPED you look right now. You look like you are 10 lbs heavier since we started the workout!” Tom grinned to himself as his swore he could feel secret supplement working even faster from taking two scoops. He swore he could feel each of his muscles swelling, bloating, growing harder, more defined. Jack leaned up an planted a ferocious kiss right on Tom's lips. Tom moaned and kissed back at the slightly shorter muscle stud. His own hands feeling and squeezing at Jack humongous delts and biceps, which Jack noted. “Oh yeah stud, want me to flex these babies?” “Fuck yeah, Jack. Please show me them.” “Boom! Twenty one inches when pumped, which they are pumped as fuck right now! Might be TWENTY TWO after our intense workout.” He flexed even harder and demanded, “Lick them, Tom!” Tom first grabbed the mass of arm muscle, unable to place any sort of dent into it. Then, as instructed, he brought his mouth forward and kissed all over the throbbing ball of sinew. He mouthed back to Jack. “Jack, you are the hottest guy I have ever seen. I can't believe you find me hot, I just about lost control when you walked into the library.” Jack moaned back as Tom kissed his exposed pecs, licking into the valley between the plates of armor. “Tom, I couldn't hardly believe that YOU were a librarian. I thought some jock stud was joking around when I saw you behind that desk. But then you told me all about the books you read. And I realized you had both brains and brawn, that makes me drool, Tom. Jeezes I'd swear your pecs are pumped even BIGGER since we got into the locker room...And you know what else makes me drool?” Jack pushed back and held Tom at arms length and grinned. “Tom, jacked up librarians with BIG DICKS make me drool. And as we've been attacking each other I felt something VERY large poking into my side.” Jack, keeping his smirking gaze on Tom, slowly dropped to his knees. Tom continued to squeeze Jack's boulder-like delts as Jack descended. Jack then slowly pulled down Tom's waistband until the large throbbing shaft sprung downward from it's own weight like a lowering drawbridge. “Oh fuck yeah, Tom. That is ONE. BIG. COCK.” Jack maneuvered his face under the huge shaft and nuzzled his chin against Tom's balls. “Look Tom, your cock is almost as long as my entire face, you big hung library STUD!” Tom stood entracned as he looked upon his own monster dick laying on Jack's face. It looked more engorged than he had ever seen it, perhaps a ½ inch longer too! Jack then licked up and down the underside of the shaft as Tom's breathing intensified. Jack looked up as Tom stripped off his tight shirt above. “Fuck yeah Tom, you look so fucking huge. A big tall muscle stud who is only growing BIGGER! I swear from this view it looks like your muscles are pulsing bigger and bigger. So fucking hot. Two ripped dudes pushing each other to grow. Muscles growing. Shedding fat. You are going to get so huge, Tom. The biggest, baddest, buffest librarian in history.” From on his knees Jack leaned back and bounced his massive pecs so Tom could see. Jack then grabbed Tom's massive cock and rubbed his cockhead on his engorged pecs, nearly sending Tom over the edge. Jack continued to tease. “You really do look bigger too Tom. That huge pump you got looks like it set in. From down here I can see your arms look bigger. You abs look deeper, your chest is bulging out more. And...maybe it's just me, but it feels like you cock is growing too!” At that, Jack moved his face to Tom's cock again and swallowed the entire thing in one motion. Simultaneously, Jack reached out and fondled Tom's egg-sized testicles. No one had ever been able to deepthroat Tom, but this musclestud was doing so like a professional. Tom resisted as long as he could, but the muscleman's warm wet mouth, titanic body and the knowledge that he was getting bigger was too much. With a roar Tom emptied his huge nuts into Jack's gullet. To his surprise, Jack swallowed every drop. Once Tom finished, Jack slowly slid off the huge shaft, inch after inch of wet slippery cock slowly exited his mouth. With a sated look, Jack looked up at Tom, brought his own arms up into a hyper-intense double biceps flex, and proceeded to blow a mighty load from his own impressive dick all over Tom's legs and feet. ++++++++++++++++++

Intro:

Thanks a lot!! I really appreciate it. I am already almost finished with part 2 and have ideas for 3 more chapters for a total of 5 chapters. I hope you continue to like the story and let me know what you think? I am also on tumblr as M.assive M.uscle M.en. The url is http://massivemusclebears.tumblr.com/

…And Sometimes, I Watch My Dad Go to Work… by vertical Well, he had to make money somehow... <<PART 2: ...And Sometimes, I Find Out My Dad's a Growing Freak... PART4: ...And Sometimes, I Get What I Want>> --------------------------------------------------------------------------------- I stood up groggily, bracing myself against the hallway’s wall opposite to the powder room. Flicking on the light to the washroom, I stared in horror at my reflection. My image was distorted by the smattering of freshly sprayed dad-cream from my father’s earlier explosion of size, muscle and semen. My hands roamed down to lift my shirt up and tug at the modest bump in my stomach, my abs still visible, but lightly rounded out. After greedily guzzling down my father’s tasty, thick, creamy load from the first sock, I admired the sheer destruction my dad’s latest orgasm had wrought on the distended, frayed and destroyed sock. Though, I didn’t mull on that thought long, I wrung the sock, extracting what I could while imagining what it’d be like to have my dad’s huge, arm-thick cock in my mouth, what it’d feel like to feel the power in his body with each strong heartbeat echoing in the pencil-thick veins running down his glorious length. But that didn’t stop me from wanting more. He had turned into such a beast, the hamper was a testament for that. And the way I picked up sock after sock was a testament of my hunger, my clandestine thirst to submit to the most powerful man on the planet. The older socks didn’t have the same hit as the fresh loads I had scarfed down just before. It almost felt… empty to eat them up. They just didn’t have that same punch of meaty flavour nor that unctuous texture. But without an alternative… Or… or did I? I looked at myself in the mirror. I scratched at my chin, trying to pinch myself out of my thoughts. I found myself tapping my foot impatiently, my yearning for my next hit of my dad’s cum almost too much to bear. I was going to do it… I dropped my shirt back down and turned the light off, intent on making my way up to my father, pull down his overburdened underwear, stroke that perfect piece of meat and suck him off, watch the satisfied look on his face, pleasing my daddy… I didn’t make it all the way to the stairs when I saw the door to the basement ajar. My father had said he had set up an office down there. An office for what? What could a 400 pound, no, he was likely pushing the mid 500 to 600 pounds now, musclebeast do with an office? He’d installed refrigerators for his whole working career, he didn’t have a pencil-pushing hair on his body. Though, these days, he sure did seem to have a excess of hair in general. And those pencil-thick veins on his cock… Shit, Corey, stop thinking that way. Curiosity won out. Who knew when I’d get another opportunity? I slowly crept my way down the stairs to the basement, flicking on the lights. Sodium yellow pours out from below and my heart skips a beat, the sense of foreboding almost overwhelming me. But I pressed on. I descended down the stairs as my mind descended into madness, my sanity leaving me as I delved into what felt like secrets better left unseen. I was prepared for the worst, but as my feet hit the landing, I was underwhelmed by the mundanity of what I saw. Unlike the rest of the house, the basement was kept orderly, almost too spick and span. My dad was never a stickler for order, but everything down here almost seemed manicured. Sitting in the middle of the room was a workout bench. It was practically new, the black leather seemingly in good condition. I turned to wall closest the stairs and just like Dad had said, there was a home office complete with a webcam, mic, a nice speaker system. Whatever Dad was doing down here, it was clearly working if he could afford all those supplements on top of this nice rig. If only he kept up the rest of the house, I quipped to myself. However, the longer I looked, the more things just seemed off. At first, the only thing out of placed seemed to be what looked like a hard water stain near a drain in the floor. However, as I made my way to middle of the room, my hand rested on the bench, the Olympic bar sitting on its rest. It seemed larger than what I had seen in the campus gym, but I supposed that was to be expected for a huge beast. I noticed a contraption of sorts nearby. It looked almost like a horse used in gymnastics. I couldn’t imagine my dad vaulting over this thing, there simply wasn’t enough room. Though, that didn’t stop me from imagining his muscles writhing underneath his skin, his strong 4-pack twisting as he stabilized his landing. He’d lift his ham-like arms, his shoulders mashing their way into his traps as his biceps brushed against his ears. He’d roar in approval as he stuck his gargantuan landing, the concrete cracking underneath his weight as he slams into the ground with all the force of a Howitzer shell. And speaking of Howitzers, his would be chubbing up... There it is again, Corey, you’re fantasizing about him again, I reprimanded myself. But how could I not? I sat myself down on the bench, feeling completely insignificant on it. The damn thing practically swallowed me. But I knew... I knew my dad’s humongously wide back would swallow this thing up, his expansive lats would hang at least a foot on either end when he lies down. I noticed that at the far end of the bench, the leather looked a little worn out. I brought my hand down to feel over the area. “What the,” I whispered. There was some sort of indentation. I lifted the leather up and looked at the metal support. It was crushed in. I checked the other side and the same thing. It dawned on me that this is where my dad’s huge, elephant limb-like thighs would rest. The hulking beast was so thickly packed with muscle his thighs crushed the bench, they took up so much space. I sported wood just thinking about it. I looked at the computer, watching the lights on the desktop tower flicker. It was on. Curious, I make my way to the oversized desk, my cock tenting my pants, leading the way. I sat down at the chair, the armrests spread so far apart, they were over twice my body width from each other. I shook the mouse, the hard disk humming as the rig was shaken to life. The screen awakens, flashing black before the pixels pour light into the room. My dad was looking at a blog. Not just any. His own. He was looking at the beginning. Perhaps he did it often? Perhaps he looked at what he was and compared it to what he had become. We were related after all, and if I was him, I’d flex my huge bicep and look at how much bigger it’d gotten. I find myself reaching down to my own burdened package and stroking myself through my jeans. I’d blast load after load, feeling my huge muscles as I looked over my own growing body. I lifted my head up and came, blobs of cum running down my inner thigh and I shudder as it cools down. I came just thinking about the contents of the blog, I hadn’t even taken a look at the first post. I settled down, my breath stabilizing as I calmed down. I wiped the sweat from my brow and adjusted my crotch, tucking my slowly softening cock into the pouch of my underwear. I looked up at the screen and centre it on the first video. It was of my father. Or at least, what used to be my father. He was short and pudgy, just like I remembered. His face was illuminated by what looked like a computer’s light, the shot was grainy and the sound was poor. From the looks of it, he was shooting in the basement with the lights off. He let out a pathetic moan, his fat, obese body jiggling with each stroke. He only needed to use two fingers for the tiny prick, the small rod practically swallowed by his fupa and gut. As he brought up an arm to flex, I almost laughed out loud. The thought of someone so out of shape trying to tease his audience with a flex was almost preposterous. That is, if it not for what he said. “Doc gave me this weird shot. Oh... dang, it’s making me horny. Making me sweat all the time. Huff huff... Nnnghuh!” He began to nut all over his fat belly, watery globules of semen coating the wispy hairs of his gut. “Unngh, I’m making more than normal.” It was slightly arousing, but the caption below got me rock hard. I want MORE, was all it said. You and me both, Dad. The next video was dated a month later, and the transformation already apparent. Thick layers of fat still obscured his muscles, but his arms were definitely fuller, his thighs almost looked obscene, filled to the brim with muscle and fat. His moobs were flatter, and his gut while still prominent, looked like it had shape, rather than being a spilled-over mess. His shoulders looked broader, like his body was built to carry around the excess weight he had. But the greatest difference was with his cock. My dad still looked like a doughy 50-something, his chubby cheeks rosy as he pleasured himself. But his hands, not just one, both, were wrapped around his length. “What was it you said, sizequeen168? ‘Nice baby dick?’ Well...” He moved both his hands away from his bobbing length. The huge piece of meat bowed slightly in the middle from the sheer weight. From the look of it, it had to be about 8 or 9 inches, easily double to triple the length it had been just the month before. “You boys have no idea what it’s like,” my father cooed, bringing up a hand to cup his moob. “I’m growing all over, my muscles are getting so strong.” He raised his arms and flexed, this time he was anything but pathetic. The biceps and triceps were obscured by is adipose, but there was an obvious crease between the two muscle groups, his definition had improved drastically. “Unf, my wife can barely take it any more,” he grunted, thrusting his hips forward. His hands encircled around his now massive prick, the fingers and thumb no longer able to touch each other due to the new girth. “Ohh, I’m gonna... here it goes boys!” he roared. He pointed his manhood up, mashing his sensitive tip into his warm belly-flesh. He moaned lewdly as his lime-sized balls pulled up. Instead of thin, watery jets of seed spewing out, enormous, whitish gushers of cum blasted out over his belly and and the bottom of his flabby chest. Ribbons of thick seed just kept spilling out, cobwebs of it oozing all over his upper body as he continued to shoot load after load for a good 15 seconds. He squeezed his cock harder around the base, a warbling moan escaping his mouth as he blasted through a second wind, lazy streams of cum oozing out of his tortured shaft. “Can you boys... huff... imagine all that going into my wife?” he chuckled. He gave the camera a sly look, a look that he knew he held power over his viewer. A look that he knew he was just beginning. Yet again, the next video was dated a month after the last, this time as a Christmas special post. My eyes bugged out at the man that was on camera. He looked like a powerlifter, big, broad shoulder framing his thickening body. Rolls of fat still nestled on his back, but the skin was stretched taut along his abdomen, glimmers of abdominal muscles reveal themselves whenever he twisted his torso. A singular vein ran down each of his biceps, each muscle already larger than the football players I slept with. He smirked at the camera, smirked at me. His face was more carved, a faint hint of a double chin the only remnant of the portly butterball that was my father. His facial hair was coming in, the emerging beast already visible. He was definitely enjoying himself this time. His hand moved up to touch the underside of his fatty pectoral shelf, the big beast shuddering as his hand brushed against the hairs around his nipple, his fingers tracing along the periphery of the sensitive knob. He takes it in between his thumb and his index finger. I never heard a man wail in pleasure like that. And I never saw a cock spring to life like his did. It was obscene, 14” no, 15” maybe 16” of cock shot up and slapped into his midsection, pre oozing out of the fat, apple-sized tip and splashing down his length and pomegranate sized balls. Jesus, he was a monster. “You boys never thought I’d get this big, did you?” He pushed his arms down, his pectorals flaring out and brushing up against the bottom of his chin. “My wife’s scared of me, says I’m getting too big. What do you boys think? Is Daddy too big?” he growled. He raised his arms up, letting his cock bob up and down in time with his heartbeat. He flexed his guns, squeezing them and filling them with blood his skin began to redden. They had to be over 21” in diameter. They had to be some the biggest arms filled with beef in existence. He grunted as he dropped his hands down to wrap around his cock, his massive mitts spread apart by the tumescent flesh. His voice was so deep now, so powerful. His pecs jiggle with each stroke his heavy brow scrunched down as he strokes harder and harder. When he sprays, its like watching a geyser go off. His cum blasts out of the tip of his cock, so much volume, it hits the top of the low ceiling of the basement. “Oh shit... ungh, noooo,” he moaned. “What’s happening...” His voice cracked, getting deeper. “...to me?” he whimpered. I already knew. He was hitting a growth spurt. Daddy’s first growth spurt, the caption read just below the video. It started in his face. His jaw grew more masculine, his facial features sharpening. His neck begins to bloat as he grows, veins criss-crossing against the cords of muscle. The air around him practically steams, his nostrils flaring as he snorts like a bull. His shoulder and traps billow out, growing wider, filling the frame of the cam show he was giving. His pecs fill the space between his arms, and then they fill it more, arms and pecmeat contesting each other as he blew up, his build growing beyond what any human could possibly achieve. How much did he weigh now? 300 pounds? At least. His cock, still blasting cum, inches up his belly as he grows. It goes on for a minute at least, my father blowing and growing in tandem. I was already edging myself. My cock almost in pain from the amount of rubbing and attention I’ve been giving it today. I scroll down, some still picture of my dad flexing his hot, horny body. Some of them were of him nursing his enormous musclegut. AMA questions with equally hot answers. ‘How many calories do you eat a day?’ As much as I can get. ‘How big is that thing getting?’ This week? 20” Dated in mid-February. After that, the final post. “Heya folks,” my colossal dad grunted into the mic. He was clothed, but barely. His man-tiddies poked out from each end of his a-shirt, his bulge pushed out of his workout shorts obscenely. His arms were dusted with a heavy coating of hair as was his jawline. “Sorry for being so quiet on here lately. Lemme tell you, it’s been such a trip for this big daddy,” he chuckled, bringing a 24” arm up for a huge flex. He licked at the peak, pleased with how much meat he had packed on. “I just wanna say, I’m so grateful for all you little boys watching this big daddy explode with mass.” He brings both arms down and squeezes them against his pecs. His whole body seemed to explode with size as he pumped blood into his muscles. The shirt groaned in protest as he stretched the fabric to its limit and then some, it frayed along the edges, unable to contain my dad’s most muscular most-muscular. He relaxed his pose and continued, “I just wanted to tell you guys that I’ll be taking this whole muscle show thing a little more seriously. 3000 followers are a lot and I’ve been thinking of doing some live shows to make some cash.” He looks into the camera with earnest eyes, honest to a fault the man was, they were almost puppy-like. Hell, if he was making me melt, then his followers were probably puddles by now. “I haven’t told anyone, but I lost my job. I was getting too big. And you know me guys, can’t keep my hands off myself. Hehe. My boss somehow found out I was getting blowjobs from some the clients and he fired me on the spot. My wife left me the day after that,” he said solemnly. “But, there’s a silver lining in everything right, boys?” he chuckled nervously. “So, if you want to support this big guy and help him grow even more massive, the links are below. I’ll be doing daily cam shows from now on.” And sure enough, I clicked the link to his streaming website. It was all paid content, but luckily he was logged in. He really did do daily streams. If I thought he was getting big before, now he was exploding in size. With all his energy now put into growing massive, his arms went from 24” to 30” within a month, more than an inch a week. I just kept scrolling through the saved streams. I was practically giddy just looking through all the preview shots and the title captions for each stream. Daddy flexes his 30” guns. The 10 second preview while hovering over the image shows off my dad’s ultra-thick powerlifter’s physique by late February, the hairy freak going beast-mode as he blasts through reps so fast the image is blurry in the preview. Daddy crushes a watermelon between his thighs. I hovered the cursor over the preview picture and find myself leaking pre as I watch two colossal thighs wrap around a large melon. It was rather low-res, but my dad’s hefty bulge was leaking pre all over the top of the watermelon, giving it an unnatural shine. And to my surprise, there were even lewder ones. Daddy crushes a dildo in his ass. Heh, I knew it. Daddy cums as he curls 350 pounds. Nailed it again, I knew that weight was for his bicep curls. I felt like an ace detective, an incredibly horny ace detective. Daddy bends his son’s car over his daddy dick. Excuse me? I clicked on that stream. Mid-March. Dad was already humongous, easily over 360 pounds of freaked out beef. The streamed started out with Dad rubbing up his sweaty musculature. He’d been lifting and judging from the way his veins angrily tore a path through his skin, he’d been working hard. “’Lo, boys,” he grunted, his voice as deep and booming as it was this afternoon. He raised an arm, a slick stream of sweat pouring out the deep crevasses in his arm, his biceps and triceps providing ample crags to pool his liquid determination into. “Bigger than ever,” he snarled, his lips curled into an arrogant smile. He swayed his hips back and forth, his epic cock gently thwacking against his inner thighs as his grapefruit-sized balls rolled about, roiling with his potent seed. “Oh yeah, way bigger,” he cooed. “You boys wanna see how big and strong Daddy’s become?” he grunted, his bravado oozing out of every pore, just as much as the testosterone. He grabbed at a hunk of metal. But from the colour, I knew it was a door to my car with the windows taken out. My father’s hand prints were clearly visible along the edges where he had torn the thing from the body. “You guys know I can bend rebar pretty easily these days,” he cooed. “But trust me, I’ve gotten so much stronger.” The big beast began to stroke himself, his epic length filling with blood. His belly jiggles as he whacks off, his groans low and powerful. He began to rub the top of his length against the scrap metal, the smooth metal touching his slick flesh. “Holy shit,” I barked, standing up from my seat as my pride stood at attention in my crotch. I bet my dad’s audience at the time had the same reaction. My dad was smirking at the camera. The fabric and plastic began to crack along the middle. My dad’s hands were shaking as he pushed down, his hulking chest heaving with pure mass and power. And yet, my dad’s cock didn’t budge, it pushed up with as much, if not more force than his arms did down. He wasn’t even finished before I was blowing a load into my jeans once again, my body taken over by my lust for my own father. “I’m... ungh... INVINCIBLE!” he roared as he bent the whole door almost in half over his cock. The plastic splintered and crumbled off the scraps, leaving just the metal shell, warped beyond recognition. My father threw the metal to the side and threw his arms down. With a primal scream, he flexed his whole body, the shot going dark as he filled the field of view to the brim. Squeezing harder, the veins danced underneath his paper-thin skin as he gorged his muscles with blood. And then he came. Huge torrents of semen splatter out of his megalith of a cock, 24” of bullcock going wild. He moved between poses, his cock’s deluge unending. He seemed to get off on his body, every flex renewing his self-desire, reinvigorating his orgasm, his desires near endless. A minute, a whole minute later and he was still going, his giant shaft was still oozing semen all over the place. Finally, after a good 3 or so minutes, he was reduced to little more than dribble, the beast giving a few cursory flexes before he ended the video. I didn’t think it could get much hotter than that, but then I scrolled down to today’s video, or perhaps, yesterday’s – I’d been here, beating off to my dad’s amateur porno vids that it was almost 1 in the morning. It was titled Daddy milks his bullcock. There he stood in all his magnificence. Easily 6’6” and 400 pounds of brawn, his gut now more muscle than fat, the bloated abdominals barely concealed by the thinning layer of fat. Six months since he started, and he was almost ripped enough to have abs. He didn’t have to say a word. I was boning up again, and I knew he knew he was a god. Everyone who saw him would be having my reaction. His massive half-erection, a monumental phallic paragon, stretched further than it was hard in the last video. He just stared silently at the camera, a permanent, arrogant scowl in his face. He raised an arm, his favourite motion, consistently bigger, consistently stronger. He felt it up with his fingers from both sets of hands, the bicep so pumped with blood he could touch the enormous peak situated on his arm. That was enough for Daddy to go raging hard, his 28” monstrosity curved slightly upwards in the middle. The veins throbbed with the ichor flowing through them. He grunted lowly, the only other sound on the audio was the stream of pre-seed dribbling onto the concrete floor, almost sounding like someone was taking a leak. He then turned to the Olympic horse. Only now I realized that’s not what it was. I turned my head, away from the screen, leaving my digital fantasy of my father long enough to recognize the analog horror. The bar had a hole in it at one end. That wasn’t a horse, it was an oversized artificial vagina meant for collecting bull semen – a fucking fleshlight for monstrously sized animals. I suppose it was fitting, my father had definitely become one. He shuddered, bellowing as he entered the device, standing on his thickly muscled haunches, the quads and hamstrings separated, the sheen of his ass-sweat matting down the furry hair on his muscle-engorged glutes and thighs. Inch after agonizing inch, he forced his way into his ‘sow,’ his face screwed in fits of pleasure. His calves erupted with diamond-like patterns with each upward thrust, the pattern mirrored in abdominals hidden just out of view as my dad rested his giant musclegut on top of the contraption. His giant arms, each larger than my waist, shot down to brace himself as he leaned over his ‘toy.’ Like a bull, he puffed out his epic chest, sweat beading in the valleys of his pecs and coalescing onto his nipples, soft droplets of sweat dripping down on the leather. And like a bull, he moaned lewdly, his voice inhuman, it was desperate and savage. He began to piston into the thing with abandon. Plink plink plink. There it was, the rhythmic metallic sound I heard when I had come home. The bolt holding the device to the ground had become loose from my dad’s ministrations, his hips generating more force than a jet engine. In his desperation, he changed angles, lowering himself down, his massive bowling ball sized nuts dangling between his thighs. He let loose a low bellow, almost sounding like a bull, a long, low, sonorous crone. With one final thrust, he mounted the device to his hilt. He gritted his teeth as his thrusting became erratic, his mind losing control as the beast took over. After half a minute of thrusting, the end he was fucking began to ooze his cum out in torrents, the contraption filled to capacity. And yet, still he went on, fucking with wanton abandon. His eyes rolled back, his tongue lolled out, his muscles spasmed as his higher functions shut down, lost to the mind-addling effect of the most powerful post-orgasmic afterglow setting in. He slowly began to thrust again, slow and steady. Plink... plink... plink... he was enjoying himself, riding the orgasmic high for as long as he could. “Hello? Mom? Dad?” a muffled voice called from upstairs. Oh shit, that was me. My dad snapped out of his stupor and a look of panic set in. He pulled out of the machine, revealing his engorged 28” godhood, slimy cum coating its surface. He wiped himself off and kicked cum into the drain on the floor. My eyes wandered there, realizing that wasn’t hard water, but encrusted cum. “Shit,” the beast hissed to himself. A low thud rings out through the basement as the semen repository to the device gave out, falling to the ground and splashing more cum everywhere. He grumbled lowly as he fits it back on and pushed as much of the cum as he could into the grating on the floor. He wiped down his equipment and sighed looking one last time at the camera before shutting off the stream. I was rock hard as I stepped away from the computer console. I held myself against the wall as I made my way up the stairs to the ground floor. Without thinking, I made my way up the second flight. What was I doing? I felt like I was on auto-pilot. I should turn to the washroom, get freshened up before bed. No. I should just get some shut eye, go to my room and take my mind off everything. No. I had a craving... an urge... and I needed to satisfy it. I grabbed onto the knob leading into the master bedroom. --------------------------------------------------------------------------------- <<PART 2: ...And Sometimes, I Find Out My Dad's a Growing Freak... PART4: ...And Sometimes, I Get What I Want>> Oh no, what ever could he want to do...

After a long while out in the wilderness,heres my contribution in hopes that the SUPERFLU will be revived by others as well. It's a bit rusty but hope it's ok? ============================= Bradford,Yorkshire,UK Night still persisted over the city,when Ollie Chambers drove his battered old Ford Transit connect van into the darker reaches of the Gallagher Leisure Park car park. He worked as a security guard,hired by local businesses to patrol the area for any criminal activities,though cared little for the job.Yes,it paid well,and kept him from the draw of the pub, or off-licence (liquer) store, and the demon drink he was fighting gradually to win. Given his hulking brutish physique,gained from his more dedicated years of addiction to the gym,(he was 43) his size alone would deter most petty criminals,but regardless,he did not want to waste his time chasing up young lads creeping their cars into the dark depths of the car park for a quick shared joint,or a quick fuck with a girl they'd picked up. But it had been near two hours since the group of Asian lads had pulled in their car into the car park,and Ollie had yet to see it puill out. So,curiousity drew him to investigate. As he pulled up to a dim lit corner of the car park,he could see the car,or rather what was left of it,in front. 'Dumb fucks had likely stole it,gone for a joyride and then apparently went all nuts with it',literally looking like they had got at it with sledgehammers and a hydraulic cutter,ie the jaws of life used by firefighters. Ollie hauled his heavy 220lb bulk from the van,grunting his dissatisfaction at having to waste his time phoning the police about a stolen car and explaining why he did not act earlier. But,even if those dickheads were still here,they would hardly put up a fight against big Ollie. He stood at just shy of 6ft,built like a thick heavyweight bodybuilder,his off season muscles straining even beneath his grey hooded sweatshirt.Thick,meaty arms touching 22 inches..broad bulbous pecs pushing the front of the sweat noticeably out..tree trunk thighs straining at his black jeans. If you were familiar with bodybuilding as Ollie was,one would say he looked like Canadian bodybuilder Iain Valliere,having that similar brutish lout look about him..broad brows,a nose that looked as if it had been broken,(in Ollies case,twice),a strong hard jawline,which he often took to having stubble or a trimmed thick beard. And his left arm had a full tattoo sleeve of brair thorns reaching and wrapped around a celtic cross on his shoulder... So,a brute if ever there was one,but one which was hard to temper,and actually soft hearted.He did not have to use much strength to subdue anyone who physically threatened him,unless they were just as big as him.! == Ollie cast his torch light across the wrecked out car. He could see that the roof had been torn off and was cast several feet away from it, as was the front passenger side door.Every window was smashed,glass littering the ground around it, and there was a few deep dents in the bodywork. And the suspension looked a little fucked,sitting lower on the back left side with a wheel digging into the arch. 'Dumb fucks'. Didn't they have better things to let off steam than to steal and wreck cars.?. Ollie approached the car,catching a faint whiff of weed about it. The pricks were stoned out too!. He peered into the dashboard and could still see the keys in the ignition. So,they'd managed to nick they keys as well,he assumed.? As he leaned his thick bulk to rummage into the glovebox,he placed his hand full down into some wet sticky patch of gloop over the drivers seat,and immediately stood up to wipe it onto his sweatshirt in disgust. But,as he did so,something in his brain made him decide to smell the substance on his fingers. 'Nah.couldn't be fucking cum..?', Same viscuous whitish grey coinsistency. But when others would usually suddenly wiping it off in abject revulsion,a subtle shock ran through OIlie like a cold chill,and he absent mindedly poked out his tongue and tasted the gloop on his fingers. As soon as it hit his tastebuds,a crippling shock of adrenaline ran through Ollie,and he stumbled his heavy bulk against the car. He felt like he was about to have his own orgasm,and his short,unimpressive cock plumped up to its little 5 inch erection. Typical,did all bodybuilder have small cocks.?. "Aw fuck,man" he yelled out into the still night to no-one. Another rush flowed through him like he was getting a pump from lifting weights,and heat built up within him to the point that he literally tore off his sweatshirt,baring the sleeveless stringer tank beneath it. The 'cum' on his hand began to absorb through the pores of his skin into his bloodstream and the reactions flowing in him were almost instantaneous.Ollie felt like he in the throes of lust,fighting desperatetly hard not to pull out his cock and wank off there and then,but the rushes of increasing adrenaline and burgeoning testosterone felt so fucking good. He need more. And stumbled to the car,dipping two fingers into the puddle of cum and licking then clean. Again,the reaction was intense and instant. He threw his head back in a deep roar that echoed across the wasteground like someone had angered the hulk. He just had to throw his arms up into a double biceps flex as if he was posing in the gym mirror after a work out,revelling in the feel of a pump. Those fat hogs plumped up into rounded balls of power. Those biceps were still 'cold' but fuck,did they look massive.! Ollie was caught up in animalistic lust and desires to flex and to show off,even though there was no-one about.He pulled his biceps into an even harder flex,hardest than he had ever performed,grunting and huffing,and sweating in determination. He caught sight of his thick round guns,and his cock throbbed even harder,seemingly thicker than its 5 inches. "FUCK YEAH,LOOK AT THESE CUNTS!". Ollie grunted. They seemed even bigger than usual.Ollie could actually see,feel,those boulders growing beneath his skin,somehow remaining in their cold state and not the rigid pump of contest ready flexing. It only made them look fucking massive. And they were growing,thick muscles literally breathing as if they were alive under his pale skin,vascular veins rippling with pumping blood.. "Fuck yeah baby. I'm fuckin' swole..". Ollies lust seemed to blind out any rationality of why he was suddenly growing massive ...all over.. He threw up his thickening arms behind his head in a front abs/lats pose,as much as he could,given those biceps surging,bloating beyond their 22 inches into freaky hogs,pressing against his thickening traps and pillowing against his head. His pecs,already meaty fuckin' tits at the best of times, had joined in the growth,rising rapidly into swollen tits that rose up against his chin,with his biceps,hung with heavy laden triceps,framing his head in muscle. Ollie sometimes shaved his chest to keep those meaty to keep the muscle definition and cut look,but now it seemed like his dark curly hair was growing back in thick wiry coats across those massive bloated tits,bigger than a fucking slutty pornstars,but pumped and hard. His bulky torso shook as he grew massive. The sleeve straps snapped and fell away,unveiling his bulk in all it's beastly glory. Amazingly,the rigid pump before a contest was only vaguely setting in,and therefore his off season bulk remained,and coupled with the growth,he looked freakishly oversized. Ollie tensed his abs,feeling them rise up into 8 solid hard breeze blocks,forming into a bloated hairy roid gut,that was impossibly off set by monstrous lats that thickened and flared out from rigid obliques like a cobra's hood. When he would eventually bring his arms down to hang at his side,such thick were those meaty lats,snd massive and wide was his back,that he would walk with a sweeping gait,with arms held out. Ollie shook his thighs as if getting ready to flex them for a stage contest,and his meaty quads responded by swelling out,rapidly filling his jeans which ripped at the seams to unleash those tree trunks. All the while,Ollie grunted and groaned in waves of lust and adrenaline. His glutes flexed and filled out the seat of his jeans into a swollen meaty bubble butt,ripping open the back and baring those firm hairy cheeks,anyone with a freaky fetish for rimming,would get so excited about burying their face in between and risk suffocation! Ollies cock...? That little nub that had seemed to plump up ever thicker ever so gradually,suddenly joined in the growth dramatically. It grew out into a pulsing,twitching monster,its girth thickening with every pulse as fat as a 2 litre bottle,veins rippling along its rigid,increasing length which stretched out further like a jousters pole towards,and beyond,a foot,rising up into a hard battering ram of 16 inches that Ollie could,if he chose,to fuck his own meaty pec tits with,and tease its flaring glaring cockhead and coin slot piss slit with a tongue that had also increased in almost demonic pointed length,if it weren't for the fact Ollie had now gotten off with licking and pecking his own mighty biceps.! Just a surge of those growing plumping balls that hung lower and heavy between his massive thighs,and they would release their torrents of flu infected cum,all over Ollies glistening huirsuite muscle mass. In that dark car park,the super flu had found it latest 'victim',..or host.. Oliver Chambers, a hulking beast of lust that stood now at near 7 feet of solid 400lb+ muscle and monster cock. His mind now only on his own lust and his desire to spread that flu to epidemic proportions.. ============================================= I'm sure you guys can cum up with other variations of this hot theme.!!

Great story! I got all wet. Now. Alex needs to get bigger. Make them both college muscle boys, in love.

Sup? I just signed up to this forum, and I am just excited to delve deep into what you guys have to offer. I've been a huge muscle fan for practically my entire life, so just being on here is amazing! Wish I found this place sooner. I've been cooking up this story for a good while now, and have been scared to release it due to me not having that much, well, trust in it. After all, this is my first time writing about something like this. But I decided to take the leap and see where it will take me. All in all, this is my first story post. I really do hope that you can find some enjoyment in what I have written. And, if you don't, please do not hesitate to tell me why. I want to get better so I could entertain you guys! A special thank you to Vinsfield(an0n12)for being such an awesome guy. Without him, I probably would have never been inspired to make these series of chapters. This is for you, dude! Update: Sorry for the absence. Hey, guys. I know that I have been gone for an insanely long amount of time, and I just want to apologize. I know that most of you guys have been hoping for another part to this, so, again, sorry for such a long absence. School has been terrible. Matter of fact, it was only because I had July 4th off that I was able to continue working on Derrick and Me, since my workload was pretty much nonexistent on that day. Nonetheless, I went back and re-wrote everything for the story. And when I mean everything, I mean everything. The story (up to chapters 0 - 2) will hold a few aspects that you guys saw and liked in this post, but there are a few things that have been re-purposed and a few new things that have been added to give the story a bit more depth. Long story short, the version I have been working on is an entirely new take on Derrick and Me. I decided to re-work the story because I believed a few aspects of it made it rather lacking. Actually, a few of you guys even pointed out some of the things the story did wrong, which I must thank you all for. Nonetheless, I have re-wrote chapters 0 to chapter 2, and I will continue to update them until I am comfortable with how they look. That brings me to the next part of this update. I wanted to delete this post, due to it now being obsolete with the coming of the newer version. However, I knew that many of you guys enjoyed some parts of this version. So, I decided to simply archive this post – marking it as old – while uploading the newer version of Derrick and Me on a separate post. With that said, this post will not receive any more updates. No edits, no updates, no new parts – nothing. I’m going to dedicate my time to the one I re-wrote. But I just want to say thank you for the support that all of you gave me when I first posted this. Without you, I wouldn’t have been able to detect what was wrong with this story. So just thank you! Anyway, here is the link to the newer version of Derrick and Me: Chapter 0: When I first met him, we were both just beginning high school. I was around 15 years of age, and he had just turned 14. Given, I saw him around school a couple of times, just being a typical kid. But, there was something about him that made me interested in him. I wanted to say something to him, but it was hard for me to do so. I was a shy kid, who was afraid of embarrassing himself. I never talked to a lot of people due to that issue. It was due to this shyness that I couldn’t make a lot of friends back then and was the reason why I struggled with just introducing myself to him. But one day, everything changed. On that day, a teacher asked me about what I wanted to be when I grew up, and I told her that I wanted to be a bodybuilder. He was interested in bodybuilding just like how I was, and so he came to me after classes ended and asked me if I wanted to hang out with him and talk about the Olympia. And from that day forward, we became close friends. Every day we talked about everything under the sun about bodybuilding– how to meal prep, what kinds of work outs we could do, and the bodybuilders making the headlines in the fitness magazines. As time went on, we both got our parents to buy us a gym membership, and we started working out every week. We pushed each other to the limit for about a year, and, by the time that we both reached the 10th grade, we were the biggest kids in the school! Our relationship grew as we continued to work out with each other. We quickly turned our friendship into something brotherly. We became closer as we became bigger and stronger. It was surprising to me at the start, since I never thought I could achieve something like this. However, I loved every second of it. We became so close that, after we pushed ourselves in the gym, we would chill and eat at my house. Sometimes, when the workout that we did was strenuous enough, Derrick would just crash at my house for the night. When this happened, since we didn’t have an extra bed for Derrick, we would both just sleep together on the same mattress. Sometimes, when Derrick wouldn’t have anything to sleep in, he would just strip to his jockstrap and sleep next to me, and neither of us would mind. I kept telling myself that this is what friends usually did, and that it was nothing bigger. But, deep down, I knew that such was a lie. I started developing feelings for Derrick, but I hid them out of fear. I don’t even remember what I was even afraid of, but I just couldn’t bring myself to confessing. But, deep down, I knew I loved him. And, to be honest, I believed that he was in love with me too. We were “brothers” for a good while. But then, one day, he just disappeared off the face of the earth. I tried calling him, but then his phone was de-activated. I went to his house to ask his father about what happened, but, when I approached the man, he just dismissed me. To say that I was worried out of my mind would be an understatement. I searched everywhere for him. I called everyone, asking where Derrick was. I never found out what happened to him, and the reality that I would never see him again hit me, and it hit me hard. Going to the gym was never the same without Derrick. I contemplated just quitting the gym all together. However, I couldn’t just let myself lose everything I worked towards. I knew Derrick would have wanted me to continue pushing myself while he was gone, so, despite me losing my friend, I pushed myself ten times harder than before. By the time that I was in my senior year, I was practically half as big as those IFBB bodybuilders. But, as I grew bigger and stronger, I still felt something missing. I always looked back to what me and Derrick had - how we grew with each other and how the bond between us grew. I reflected on how all of that was just randomly cut short. By that time, I wanted to say so many things to him. But I knew that it was too late. And so, despite me fulfilling my dream of becoming big, I still felt empty inside. It has been 10 years since Derrick disappeared…. Chapter 1: Walking Alone It was nine o’clock pm. The streets where devoid of any life. The only thing that accompanied me was sounds of the wind blowing past me, my boots hitting the ground, and the rustling of my gym bag. My work at the care repair shop ended just an hour earlier, to my satisfaction. After an entire day of dealing with my horrible boss and insufferable customers, I was ready to go to the gym to sweat out my day. Going home to crash just could not cut it, I had to go to my second home - The Lifting Dead. To be walking on such barren streets did make me feel increasingly lonely, but the lack of people around made walking to the gym so much easier. After all, the last thing that I would need is to come from a crappy day of working only to be harassed by people who think they can take me on. Plus, walking alone does help me clear my head and think about my routine before I enter. In a few moments, I found myself at the entrance of the gym. I scanned the entire frame, took a long sigh, and attempted to force myself through. However, like always, I initially struggle with fitting through. “Yeah, this is the only thing I hate about this” I grumbled to myself as I tried to fit my large mass through the tiny door frame. With a bit of time and elbow grease, I was able to get through the door frame. However, by that time, the trainers from the front desk and a few gym rats were glancing at my direction, obviously butting their nose into my issue with the doors of this establishment. I brushed their glances off my shoulder and walked up to the counter to get my ID scanned. As I walked up to the desk to get my ID scanned, I noticed someone else trying to get through the gym door. I kind of laughed to myself, but I didn’t focus much on him. By the time I had my ID scanned and was heading towards the locker room, the man was already out of his predicament and was chatting up the guys at the front desk. I didn’t necessarily care about what they were talking about though, as I was just psyching myself up for my hour-long workout. *45 minutes later* My chest became stretched and tightened, while my veins popped out of my skin as I raised the barbell over me. The pain rushed throughout my upper body, and I could feel the endorphins spread itself through my veins. “Five…six…seven…” I whispered to myself in between breaths as I relentlessly working out my chest. The pleasure that I was experiencing was directly connected to the strain that went through my chest. As lifting the barbell became more strenuous, the pleasure that I experienced became more intense. I felt every fiber, vein, and muscle in the part of the body I worked out exert all its energy into a single forward motion, while actively fighting against the weight that was placed on you. I felt like the strongest man alive with every push you make. “twelve…thirteen…fourteen…” I pushed through my lips as I tried to make each rep count. As I lifted the weights over my chest, I could have felt my chest stretch and grow by a few inches. Imagining the gains that I would gain from each repetition filled me with the energy needed to push through. Just having that feeling course through your body while knowing that, after all this, you would become stronger than ever….it was magical. “Eighteen…nineteen…” I said as I struggled to get out that one last rep. With all my might, I squinted my eyes, exerted all the energy out of my upper body into this one last push, and lifted the weight over my body once more. The intensity of the workout reached its climax, and so the pleasure became immense. I felt all the endorphins course through my veins with this last rep. Everything about it was spectacular. “Twenty…fuck” I said as I placed the barbell back into its rack, while feeling all the energy, pleasure, and strength drain out of my body. I felt weak once again, which only made me desire to keep working at it. I lifted my body up from the bench press, the energy that I stored dripping from all over my body, with my wife beater sticking to my body like a leech. I took off my shirt, exposing my glistening, hairy chest. My chest hung out into the open, it’s veins bleeding out of my skin and the whole formation throbbing endlessly. I look down and pop my pecs, smiling to myself about how great that workout was. I looked around the gym room, butting my nose into other people’s workouts to see if they were pushing themselves just like how I was. 99% of the people there were just doing weak or incorrect reps or were just dicking around on their phone. I laughed to myself, knowing that no one in this gym could rival me, my mass, or my dedication to the sport. “Yeah! Just one more” said a man with an extremely deep voice. I took a quick glance behind my back, only to see that guy I saw earlier helping this woman finish up her leg workout. “One more, Beth! You can do it!” the man said as he supported the woman, who was trying to finish her last squat. She was able to push through, and, after she was done, she dropped her weights and started to breath heavily. She then started to laugh hysterically. “Wow, Derrick” The woman said as she tried to catch her breath. “You’re really pushing me”! My ears perked up when I overheard the lady mention the man’s name. Derrick? My Derrick? And for him to have just randomly appeared out of the blue and in my gym. It just seemed too weird for me to just accept like that. I turned around to get a better eye on the trainer. He was a very tall man – possibly 6’0 – with a large build. His arms and legs were toned, and he was able to fill out his tank top nicely. He looked young, but he happened to be bald. He had colored tattoos of roses and dragons painted all over his arms, but they were a bit hard to see, because his dark skin made it so. He was a far cry from the Derrick that I knew. Given, it has been ample time for someone to go through puberty and to just change overall. I kept looking at the man, as he shook the woman’s hand and walked away. As she walked away, he seemed to have picked up on the fact that I was watching him. So, he made his way towards my direction, and placed himself right in front of me, with a very light smile growing on his face. I was shocked that he decided to come over here, but I straightened myself out and decided to be the first person to say something. “Uh, sup? Didn’t mean to but my head into your business” I said nervously, as I felt myself get slowly lost in his hazel eyes. “Okay” said the man, his smile slowly fading away. The atmosphere slowly became more uncomfortable as this continued. I grumbled, trying to figure out what to say next. My mind was trying to process the possibility that the person standing in front of me could be him. Before I could pull a word or two out of thin air, I heard him chuckle for a quick second. “Dude, are you fucking serious right now? You, seriously, don’t remember me” the man said, as he looked deeper in my eyes. I found myself speechless as he stood there with a serious face. It was only a few moments later when I found myself crumbling onto my bench as he softly pinched the side of my neck. “Aw, shit, what the fuck!?” I screamed as I caught myself. “High school, 10th grade.” The man said, chuckling even louder as he reached his hand down to help me. “You were talking shit about how were getting bigger than me. Got me pissed off, so I pinched you on your pressure point to get you to shut up. You ended falling to the floor crying, and I ended up getting detention for 3 days because they thought I was starting something” the man said. At that moment, I knew what he was talking about. And, at that moment, I knew who I was talking to. “You jackass. What the fuck are you doing?!” I said jokingly, and I grabbed Derrick and gave him a hard hug. “Hey, you know what I am! Weird and random” Derrick said, as he patted my back hard. “Like always, dude” I said, happy that I was able to reunite with my friend once again. “Dude, how long are you going to be here for”? “I was actually going to talk to my bosses, then I was gonna change out into my street clothes and leave” Derrick said. “Ah, cool! Well, I was going to finish up my routine. Guess I’ll catch you in the locker room, dude” I said, as I bumped fists with him. “Sure thing! Catch you later, dude” Derrick said we both parted ways to take care of our business. As I went to the free-weights area of my gym, I stopped pre-maturely to think. “Wait…” I said as I stopped for a moment. “Derrick works here”!? Chapter 2 (part 1): Reunion The time was 10:30 pm when I finished up the last of my chest workouts. As I sat down on the cold metal bench, I could feel my pecs pulsate subtly. I was drenched in an unimaginable amount of sweat, to the point where my tank top became heavy and transparent. It stuck tightly to my rough skin, so, to cool myself off and to make myself more comfortable, I chose to take it all off. As I pried the drenched tank off my body, I felt a great sense of relief with my skin being set free. I rolled up and threw my tank top onto the bench, while standing up to examine myself. I was able to truly admire every muscle on my form. My whole upper body was exposed, glistening in my sweat. The definitions of my six pack abs showed profusely with the addition of the liquid. Every part of it popped from my body, giving me a nice, defined bubble gut. I was able to truly admire my throbbing chest, counting each long vein that bled from my skin. They were like huge jugs that could swallow anything that dared challenge them. I popped my pecs a bit, snickering to myself about how heavy and large they have become. I then checked out the logs that I call arms, slightly flexing them to make every muscle and vein pop. With my other hand, I traced my fingers over each crevasse bulge. I was lost in the formation of my own body. “Stop feeling yourself” Derrick said, as he stood at the corridor of the locker room, smirking to himself. I quickly rose my eyes from my body, caught off guard by Derrick. I just chuckled to myself as I stopped flexing and plopped myself onto the bench behind me. “Hey, I should be able to appreciate what I have” I said as I gathered my tank and threw it into my gym bag. “Well, I guess you deserve to see the spoils of your work. You sure as hell got big ever since I last saw you” Derrick said as walked to where I was. He sat down right next to me and punched my biceps to see how thick it was. I flexed it a bit more as he did so. “You ain’t anything different, Derrick. I mean, dude, you’re look like the fucking Hulk” I said as I took my free hand to feel Derricks biceps. They were a bit more defined than mine but were just a tiny bit smaller. Derrick stopped punching me as so to flex both of his arms, and so took both into my hand. “Like what you see, dude” Derrick questioned me, as he flexed harder for me. As I slowly worshiped Derricks biceps, I admired the attention that his other muscle group had. I stared down to his legs, taking in how his thighs popped out. The individual muscle groups of his leg were rounded, bulging out. And, with the fact that he barely had any fat, you could see every bit of detail. They looked just as firm as his arms, which showed his discipline in making sure that everything was well-developed. Yet again, I found myself lost in muscle. But, this time, it was Derrick’s. “I’m up here” Derrick said, as he lifted my chin so that I could be looking straight at him. He stared straight into my soul with his hazel eyes once again, keeping me occupied as he took off his tank, exposing his gut and his hairy chest. He then did one full motion, flexing every part of his body. All his muscles and veins popped out at that one moment, causing Derrick to look larger than me. “All of this muscle…every last bit of it…” Derrick said as he ran through some poses to make every bit of muscle be seen by me. “…is better than yours! So, don’t feel yourself too good” Derrick said as he led himself into an abdominal pose. A huge smile spread across his face as he rubbed his physique in mine. I broke out of the trance he put me in and stared down the man who was showing off in front of me. Taking it as a challenge, I took off my shorts to show off the progress I made with my legs. “Bullshit. Bull…. shit. You see what I have here, man?!” I said as I turned around to show off my hamstrings and calves. I flexed both, exposing more of the muscle fibers and veins to protrude even more. “You can only wish to get this far with your legs. I’ll give you this, you got far. But not as far as me” I said, as I flexed by back leg muscles harder. Derrick laughed to himself and bent down to fell my leg muscles. He rubbed and squeezed every side of it, punching my calves repeatedly to admire how hard they were. “Haha, nice. Love the definition you put in them” Derrick said as he slowly got up from worshipping my legs. “You truly did grow a lot, man. It’s actually insane” I said as I folded up my shorts and threw them in my bag. “Guess you’re about to take a shower now, aren’t you” Derrick said. “Yep. After an hours’ worth of nonstop working out, I need myself a nice bath to cool off” I said, nonchalantly. I grabbed my toiletries from my bad, and, with my just my jockstrap on my body, I made my way towards the showers. “Guess I’ll do the same. I smell a bit musky from working out, so I could do with one” Derrick said as he dropped his short shorts onto the floor, exposing him in a small G-string. “You think I want to see that” I said, as I turned my head away from Derrick as he changed out of his work out clothes. “Hey, you’re the one that decided to drop to nothing but a skimpy jock first” Derrick said as he opened a locker near him and took out some toiletries. “Oh, wow, you have a locker here too? How long have you been working here?” I said, surprised at how Derrick owned a locker near his. “Oh, well, only for about a day really. I called in a few days earlier though, so that they could set me up with a locker and my own counter” Derrick said. After he was done gathering his belongings, he walked over to where I was standing, and we both began walking to the showers. As we walked there, I spotted Derrick take a few glances at my lower areas. I knew that he wanted it, but I wasn’t going to just hand it to him like that. He needed to work for it.

Amazing

Hmmmm hot! Right down my alley...

It had been chest day, at the new little gym I’d recently discovered in the downtown district. It was tiny for a cooperate gym, and even at 6PM on a Wednesday, the rush hour crowd was more than manageable. It was a more casual crowd - yoga moms and office guys, sparsely occupying the space, and that made it much easier to move around freely, and more importantly, really dive into my workout. For quite some time now, building my mind-muscle connection has been a main focus of mine, something I constantly try to improve on. Making sure my form is on point, preventing any injury and simultaneously trying to exert maximum power, tension, and control over the muscle group I’m working. Flexing before the set, throughout, and during rest, always keeping a bit of tension. Always flexed, and at the peak, flexed as hard as possible. Like a bright red string you have to try to hold on to, a direct link between your brain and the target muscle in a gray space - or at least that’s how I started seeing it recently. It’s a strange process that’s constantly evolving, constantly adjusting and correcting with one goal in mind - push that fucking weight so fucking good you fucking GROW. Breath by breath that’s how my working went, constantly focused on the most efficient way to make my muscles really fucking pop. Today was one of those occasions where I came in wearing a hoodie, with a tank top underneath. I do this because I love keeping the hoodie on until right before my last three sets because I fucking love the moment when I take it off and see myself in the mirror, finally checking out my pump. It’s the best feeling. I work harder wearing that hoodie, knowing the harder I work the better the prize at the end. I hadn’t been looking at myself much lately though, not for a few weeks. A wrist injury limited me to leg workouts only for about a month, early in my first bulk with my new bodybuilding coach. I was feeling flabby and disappointed, like all I’d accomplished was ruining what I had built in those nine months I had spent cutting, trying to tighten up my body as much as possible, slowly making it hard and hungry to grow with as much rock hard mass as possible. Like I’d wasted the new stuff my coach had put me on. SARMS - it was my first time, and I trust my Coach, so I was looking forward to some serious results. It was my second week doing upper body in the gym, and fucking loved what I saw when I took off my hoodie before doing some lateral raises (it’s a fucking hot move to pump up with). I looked beastly. Atleast that was the first thing I noticed. There was an obvious bulge to my traps - sloping, thick, leading into round, broad delts hugging two pumped up, beautifully curved, thick slabs of muscle, and I took it all in hungrily as I watched myself work towards my goal, finally seeing the goal becoming a reality, seeing a new shape. Admittedly, I had been feeling thicker already - more angular I kept thinking, whatever that meant. Definitely shapelier. Stronger. It felt hot, and it was fucking hot to see it. The other day, I’d noticed I was increasingly hornier, and realized it was because of my legs. The time I focused on them had paid off, and they felt thicker than everything else, so different every time my hand brushed any part of my thigh - it felt like muscle. Big muscle. Bodybuilder muscle. I was growing. Even my calves were starting to get some nice size and shape - I’d been pushing them hard in an effort to bring them up in my pursuit of being hugely muscled all over. I finished coach’s workout and decided to find a couple more exercises - wanted a couple really good pump sets before the Grand Prize, the moment immediately after when I would head to the bathroom and fucking FLEX and check out that fucking pump. And fuck, it did not disappoint, I could not believe what I saw. I was alone in a tiny bathroom (urinal, stall, two sinks), with the mirror right across from the door, shamelessly grunting as I pushed to flex harder, recording myself in the mirror as I tried to capture the pump. Normally I’d be a little anxious about someone coming in and ‘catching’ me at my most frenzied state of muscle mania, but fuck it. It looked good. I was growing. That meant it was only going to look better. I was starving at this point. My busy schedule had me behind a meal, and I was spent after that lift and flex session. My body was hungry. My muscles were hungry. I need to feed and grow. That was all I could think about in the unexpected 8PM traffic, my mind completely focused on making sure I grow. So I get home and put into act the meal I planned in traffic. I liked to play with my diet, making substitutions to my Coach’s meal plan, adhering to the macros in the plan. I was juggling a few different things, moving about with purpose, focused on making the two meals I had decided to combine into one. I’d carefully put it together, checking out the nutrition info for everything, putting together the substitution. ¾ cup of Special K Cinnamon Brown Sugar Crunch and ¾ cup of Fairlife 2% milk (200 CAL, 26C, 4F,16G). I downed the cereal and poured the left over milk into my blender with 1.5 scoops of Whey Isolate, a bit of stevia, some ice, and 100 grams of strawberries (+197CAL, 9C, 1F, 38P = 397CAL, 36C, 5F, 54P). It got cold at that point so I switched into a t-shirt, noticing it felt different. I definitely filled it out more, and I could feel the fabric stretched across a landscape I knew was mostly growing bodybuilder muscle. My cock throbbed. For my last meal - 96/4 lean beef, rice pasta, green beans and decided to just take a minute to breathe during this meal, to consciously put down my phone and take a moment to just be with myself while I ate, letting my body relax and absorb the nutrients it needed to fuel the growth I’d commanded during that workout. Sitting there, enjoying that feeling and reflecting on everything I’d done in the last few hours, feeling the shape of my body, my awareness of every bulge intensified by the stretch of the fabric, I realized something. I was a bodybuilder. I couldn’t believe it. Looking back at my day, I realized how much I fucking live and breathe it, how right it feels, how much I look forward to pushing higher and higher to keep pushing my physique to bigger and bigger growth. And that felt fucking good. I had completely redefined myself. I’d changed my identity, I was focused, and growth was coming, because I was a fucking bodybuilder. I was a diet obsessed, driven, dedicated, hungry bodybuilder. Man, I couldn’t fucking wait to finish my meal, pump up with some flexes, and fucking cum thinking about my growing, muscle god BODYBUILDER body.

I use these two... https://www.bevfrancis.com/npcnortheast/2018-schedule/ http://www.naturalbodybuildingevents.com/events/category/new-york/

Is there a good website listing bodybuilding/powerlifting shows in the NYC area??? Thanks

I suddenly had the urge to know exactly what was going through the mind of, not just my new oiling partner, but the man whose gorgeously peeled and newly glistening obliques my fingers were currently dancing with. From the intense look of awe and admiration on Stuart Fox’s slightly flustered face as he rubbed oiled into the incredibly carved out, alien-like mounds of muscle sticking out of Tommy’s stomach, he was clearly harbouring similar feelings to this indescribably amazing and highly arousing act as I was. As Tommy gently twisted to the left to bring out more of the muscles in the right side of his midsection for Stuart to oil, I cautiously glanced at him in an attempt to find the slightest clue as to whether he was enjoying the act as much as Stuart and I were. With his immensely thick arms bulging either side of his head and still locked into his abs and thighs pose, Tommy was glancing down as Stuart oiled up his barely human midsection. While no where near as animated or outrageously cocky as he was when he was crunching down on his abs in his posing routine, there was still a hint of a gentle but slightly cocky and undoubtedly smug grimace in Tommy’s face. More than anything though, he looked like he was having an absolute blast crunching down and having his huge, shredded mass being oiled and touched up by two perfectly regular sized non-muscle freaks. As he suddenly clocked me looking at him, Tommy stared me in the eyes. Still grimacing slightly, he pursed his lips and softly exhaled, before gently biting down on one side of his lip, as the other side curled into the most devastatingly sexy and teasing smile, like, “Fuuuuuck, Charlie, you have no idea how bloody good this feels. To be this huge and shredded, just gently flexing out for two muscle mad buddies, who are clearly in some kind of seventh fucking heaven being able to get their greedy mitts on my tight as fuck, cheddar grating midsection.” I couldn’t help but return this with a coy, flustered smile, which, completely amazingly, only seemed to enhance his sexy, teasing grin to an even bigger degree. There was absolutely no doubt in my mind at that point that Tommy Foster not only knew the effect he was having on Stuart and I, but was clearly loving every moment of it. It was a mixture of this knowledge, the fact that the atmosphere had undoubtedly become a lot more sexual, probably from the moment Stuart and I had laid our hands on his ass striations, and the mischievous, sexy and arguably flirtatious smile I’d received from Tommy, which led me back to the question that had been in the back of mind since he’d unexpectedly implied that Stuart and I were spending the day surrounded by magnificently built muscle bulls in tiny, shiny posing trunks because we just so happened to cream our jeans over them on a regular bases; was Tommy Foster a gay bodybuilder who’d orchestrated this whole set up, and dragged two suspected gay muscle lovers back to his hotel room so they could touch, feel and worship every indecently sized lump, every perfectly carved out bump and every impossibly pumped bulge on his amazing physique? It was with Tommy’s next move, and his accompanying words, that I was finally provided with a much needed answer. Throwing his arms back down and relaxing from his pose, with the most mischievous smirk on his face, Tommy took the bottle of oil from Stuart’s hand, and placed it on the desk behind him. Conflicted from feeling disappointed that the job was done, but also feeling an incredible sense of intrigue as to what was going to happen next, Tommy walked back up to Stuart and I. Still grinning wildly, he playfully shook his head and made a statement I never thought I’d hear coming from anyone fully tanned and oiled and wearing a pair of impressively filled out posing trunks. “You guys are way too cute!” HOLY! JESUS! FUCKING! FUUUUUCKK!! He’s gay. He’s an actual gay competitive bodybuilder. I’ve just had my hands on every single inch of the phenomenally conditioned, otherworldly body of an actual fucking gay competitive bodybuilder. Failing to suppress the sheer surprise and elated feeling that I’d just been described as “cute” from a man who had the power to make me want to furiously jerk off just from merely looking at him, my mouth curled into a similar, dizzy, excitable grin to the one Stuart Fox was also suddenly wearing. Tommy Foster beamed in response, before reaching out his hand, wrapping his beautifully bronzed palm around my fingers, drawing it to his midsection, and placing it flat on the centre of his beautiful set of gorgeously chiselled abdominals, with not a single spot of newly sprayed oil to rub in sight. As I tried to comprehend the fact that a genuine gay competitive bodybuilder, fresh from being awarded as the second best amateur middleweight bodybuilder in America wanted my hands on his crazily developed bumps of tummy muscle, Tommy Foster, once again, threw his arms around the back of his head. Much more akin to the attitude and aggression I’d witnessed during his routine, he then scrunched up and contorted his uniquely handsome face, now mere inches away from mine, into an insane grimace and crunched down hard with one of his loud, “EURGH!” sounding grunts. As I felt the thick abdominal muscles explode and tighten underneath my fingers, my throbbing cock manically jerked and suddenly felt more intense, sensitive, and closer to blowing the most tremendous sized load than it ever had. Someone else in that position might have taken better advantage of the situation by running their hands over his ab blocks, tracing the deep, prominent separations with their fingers, moving their hand up to his pecs, or down to his thick, braided, gloriously shredded quads, but I was completely paralysed. Tommy Foster may have been the one to initiate contact by placing my hand on his stomach, but this was still new, undiscovered territory for me, and I had no idea what the rules were. So much so, that when a grimacing Tommy stopped flexing and threw his arms back down either side of his, I instinctively took my hand away. One again he was looking at me with a devilish smirk. “How did those abs work out for you, Charlie?” Unable to even conceive a constructed reply to his question, I just blushed and sheepishly smiled instead. In response, Tommy unexpectedly reached out his hand and gave me a brief, soft but affectionate squeeze on the side of my arm, all the while flashing that devastatingly sexy grin, which made me feel as if I was just about ready to melt into the carpet. Looking at Stuart Fox, then back to me, with a comical, quizzical expression, he then made the most outrageously cheeky statement. “I think Stuart looks like a bicep kind of guy!” Stuart’s mouth curled into his most excited smile yet, as Tommy Foster took his right hand and placed it on his own upper arm so Stuart’s fingers were wrapped around his un-flexed bicep. Tommy then clenched his fist and brought his forearm up in line with his chest, while pursing his lips in a brilliantly cocky manner and releasing the hottest grunt, as I stood and watched the most enormous ball of deliciously bronzed, rock hard bicep muscle erupt and explode under Stuart Fox’s fingertips. Stuart released a hushed, “Fuck!” in response and his eyes looked like they were close to bulging out of their sockets. Tommy growled in response as he flexed his gigantic bicep muscle hard. Stuart locked eyes with Tommy, the most adorable expression of sheer awe, amazement and disbelief at what he was experiencing. Tommy then released a hushed but obscenely cocky, “Yeah!” causing Stuart to grin uncontrollably. Watching the reaction of someone who harboured the same thoughts and feelings towards muscle that I did, and who I also happened to have grown increasingly fond of, as he experienced what it felt like to touch the flexed, incredible sized bicep of a genuine bodybuilder was amazing. So much so that I didn’t even contemplate, in that moment, that it might be my turn next until Mr Gorgeous Abs/Tommy Foster announced his next intended move to Stuart. “Let me blow the other one up for Charlie.” OH. MY. FUCKING. SHITTING. BUGGERING. GOD!! Twisting slightly to face me with a devilish look on his face, Tommy outstretched his left arm to the side of his torso. Stuart, whose hand had now slipped from Tommy, was mischievously grinning at me and his eyes were wide as if to say, “Mate, get fucking ready for this because you have noooo idea how bloody good it’s gonna feel!” Even though I’d already felt practically every muscle group of Tommy’s, his flexed bicep was still uncharted territory and I was fully aware how terrified I must have looked as Tommy, once again, took my hand and placed it flat on his outstretched upper arm, which was still as inexplicably huge and incredible to the touch in it’s un-flexed state as it had been when I was rubbing oil into it. I gripped my fingers around the magnificently sized muscle in preparation. In one, quick movement, Tommy Foster bought his clenched fist and forearm up while releasing a loud, “TTTSSS!” His gigantic sized muscle exploded into my hand and my fingers gripped further as I squeezed and felt the phenomenally huge, granite hard, marble-to-the-touch bicep of a competition conditioned bodybuilder. I was unable to suppress a half-groan, half-panting sound in response, causing Tommy Foster to release a grizzly and extremely hot grunt. I looked up at his face to find his nose scrunched up and an indecently cocky smirk emerging through gritted teeth, which soon curled into a full-on, elated grin in response to my awe-stricken and completely amazed expression. He then, unexpectedly, bought his lower arm back down so his bicep was, once again, stretched out and un-flexed, and in another quick, sharp movement, bought it back up for another bicep flex. As Tommy released a slightly manic, “HRYEEAH!” the marble-like ball of bicep muscle erupted and bulged once more in the palm of my hand. As if suddenly remembering he had not one, but two indescribably lucky muscle worshippers to attend to, Tommy suddenly twisted his head to Stuart. With my hand still wrapped around his flexed bicep, he exclaimed, “Let’s get a front double bicep.” He cocked his head towards his other bicep, signalling for Stuart to wrap his hand around it. As he obliged, Tommy pursed his lips into the most amazingly arrogant expression, bought both of his arms up into a double bicep flex and at the peak of the pose, growled an excitable and outrageously cocky, “YEEEAH!” My eyes suddenly met with Stuart’s, and we affectionately grinned at each other in unison at the incredible act we were involved in. I couldn’t help but think of the moment in the pump room that morning when I’d fantasised about Stuart and I with our hands wrapped around the glorious bicep peaks of our first filming subject, the insanely cute, tight bodied, lightweight competitor Mr Golden Posers, and how amazing and utterly surreal it was to suddenly be involved in that very act with an even bigger and undoubtedly hotter bodybuilder. As he stopped flexing and relaxed from his pose, my hand instinctively slipped from Tommy’s bicep, but I couldn’t help notice that Stuart’s was firmly and bravely still gripped to Tommy’s other upper arm. “I bet you guys didn’t expect to be doing this today?” Tommy cheekily said, before announcing his move. “Let’s give you guys a side chest.” Twisting to his side, he gripped his left wrist, bought his chest up and sat down into an amazing side chest while releasing the most brilliant and dirty sounding, “HOOOOO!” The upper arm Stuart hadn’t let go of since Tommy’s front double bicep pose was flexed again to maximum effect. As the obscenely huge bicep muscle Stuart was gripping with one hand bulged through Tommy’s cling wrap skin, he confidently gripped Tommy’s tricep with his other hand and explored the incredible mounds of rock hard, impossibly sized muscle which made up his right upper arm. Looking at me and nodding downwards to the thick, squeezed slabs of pec meat ballooning off his chest, in a hushed and incredibly sexy tone, Tommy Foster exclaimed, “Feel that shit, Charlie!” Accepting his invitation, I tentatively placed my hand over the bunched up mound of flexed muscle which made up Tommy’s right pectoral. As my skin made contact with the fleshy balloon-like mass, he unexpectedly flexed and the thick chest muscle bulged and danced underneath my fingers. I could feel Tommy’s eye burning into me, and as I cautiously glanced up, he gave me a similar sexy and incredibly endearing wink to the one he had when he’d squeezed a most muscular in my face during his routine posing. As I watched Tommy looking down in admiration at his own magnificent mass of flexed upper body muscle, which was being squeezed, touched and explored by the hands of two unbelievably lucky muscle lovers, with a look of sheer pleasure on his face, one thing became abundantly clear to me. It wasn’t just me and Stuart who were undergoing the most amazing and highly arousing experience. Tommy Foster was clearly also loving being a ripped up freak, tanned and oiled in his tiny posers, flexing and having his barely human slabs of unhealthily shredded muscle felt, admired and worshipped by two newly found, muscle obsessed fans. As if reading my mind, Tommy confirmed this very thing when he relaxed from his side chest pose and made a bold and unashamedly honest confession. “God I love being a bodybuilder!” And we bloody love you being a bodybuilder too, Tommy!

There were so many factors as to what made oiling up Tommy Foster’s glutes even more erotically charged than when my hands were running over his thick, shredded quads. The actual sensation of feeling Tommy’s ass striations under my fingers, the fact that the act of having my hands on the glutes of, not just a bodybuilder, but any man, felt a lot more intimate, the fact that my fingers kept making contact with what little of his shiny posing trunks were left covering up his unfathomably thick buttocks, and the fact that I was experiencing the whole thing knelt down next to a guy I was not only attracted to, but also felt an incredible chemistry with. A guy who was, no doubt, just as turned on by running his hands over a pair of gorgeously conditioned glutes as I was. Tommy’s obscenely sexy and dirty sounding, “Yeah, baby!” was also hanging in the air. As my tingling and extremely sensitive hard on pulsated and throbbed in my jeans, I couldn’t help but, once again, wonder exactly what Tommy Foster’s motives were for inviting two guys who he’d confessed to suspecting were gay and turned on by muscle to rub oil into his freaky, shredded ass. With every single inch, line and striation of Tommy’s phenomenal and glistening glutes fully oiled, I took Stuart Fox’s lead in standing up in preparation to give Mr Foster’s back the same treatment. With my face not far away from the rear of his head, my torso from his broad, perfectly bronzed back, and the throbbing bulge in the crotch of my jeans from the indecently thick ass I’d just been running my fingers over, I suddenly felt a new kind of intimacy with the amazing middleweight muscle freak before me. After Stuart gave his lower back a few sprays, without a huge amount of pre-thought, I, perhaps rather adventurously, opted for the upper part of Tommy’s back, which seemed to slightly surprise him, as he briefly turned his head to the side of his body I was oiling up in response. Not to be outdone, Tommy Foster had his own surprise in store for me. As I rubbed the oil over the right side of his impossibly broad upper back, Tommy suddenly and quickly manoeuvred into a back lat spread pose, and before I knew what was happening, he was letting out an outrageously cocky, “Oooooh,” his back was opening up, and his impressively thick right lat was exploding and bulging underneath my fingers. With the sensation of feeling Tommy’s hard, flexed muscle came the realisation that it would take very, very little to make my throbbing dick explode with an absolute tsunami of cum. One little tug on my hard on through my jeans, or even just one little accidental brush of my crotch against Tommy’s phenomenally conditioned, barely covered glutes and it would undoubtedly all be over. With his magnificent back fully oiled, Tommy spun around to face Stuart and I. The moment he did, my face suddenly flushed and I felt a new, crippling and intense sense of shyness, which would undoubtedly had been even more intense had I not long before been running my fingers over his gloriously striated ass. Whether the biggest contributor to this was the fact that he could suddenly see my face, and the un-nerving possibility of him being able to read my expressions, the fact that his slabs of perfectly smooth pec meat and thick, blocky, beautiful nickname earning abs were now inches away from my body, or whether it was the prospect of getting my hands on his insanely muscular, and crazily conditioned torso, I wasn’t entirely sure, but my pulse was suddenly racing and I seemed physically incapable of looking Tommy Foster in the eye. I’d never been more attracted to anyone than I was to Tommy in that moment. Here was a man who had transcended a normal level of hotness to become the kind of bona fide muscle freak guys like me can only dream of seeing in the flesh. His potent, masculine, and extremely arousing scent was present once again and stronger than ever, and his gorgeous, rock hard, thinly skinned torso seemed to be radiating an incredible heat. As Stuart Fox sprayed oil onto the right, thick, slab-like pec hanging off his chest, I suddenly wondered what I wanted most in that moment; for a hole to appear beneath me on the floor of Tommy Foster's hotel room floor and swallow me clean into the ground, or for Tommy to suddenly wrap his magnificently muscular arm around my waist, push me into his hard, Adonis-like body and bring his lips to mine for an amazing, soft, passionate kiss. After taking the bottle of Tommy’s oil from Stuart and pumping a couple of sprays onto the obscenely pumped chest meat before me, the task I’d performed so easily on Tommy’s rear body parts suddenly seemed a lot more daunting and nerve wracking, because now I was being watched by the very man who happened to be turning me on more than any other person on the planet ever had before. As Tommy’s phenomenally muscular chest glistened and wetted with the newly sprayed oil, I could feel his eyes burning into me, inviting, even daring me to make eye contact. As I sheepishly glanced up, his mouth curled into a devastatingly sexy, unwittingly mischievous and knowing grin, which told me one thing; there was absolutely no hiding my emotions from Tommy Foster. He knew exactly the kind of effect he, and his glorious slabs of freakishly shredded, tightly wrapped muscle were having on me. No muscle addict would be able to accurately predict what it feels like to rub their hands over the perfectly pumped up pecs of a competition ready bodybuilder. It was hard to believe that Tommy Foster’s chest was actually attached to a human. Or that, given the right amount of training, diet and supplements, I, or anyone other man, could develop pecs like the ones I was touching. It was like someone had invented a new kind of flesh and marble hybrid, implanted it into Tommy’s chest and wrapped it in the thinnest, silkiest, most beautifully bronzed skin ever found on a human being. With mine and Stuart's faces closer to Tommy's than before, the act of oiling up his pecs was undoubtedly the most intimate moment we'd shared in his hotel room yet, but it also seemed to bring something I hadn't really anticipated. There was absolutely no denying that the atmosphere suddenly seemed a lot more sexual and suggestive than it had done before, which only eased slightly when my hands were free from his chest, Stuart was covering his right shoulder with oil, and Tommy paid us the most charming and unexpected compliment which sent my imagination spiralling into overdrive. “You guys are good at this. Maybe I should take you both with me to my next competition.” And with that single comment, my career ambition as a camera man suddenly evaporated to make room for a new one; a career as a joint personal assistant to ridiculously hot, middleweight muscle beast Tommy Foster. Duties would include, but not be limited to; shopping for and picking out the hottest, shiniest, most colourful posing trunks for his competitions, managing his social media channels and ensuring every picture either I, or his other personal assistant (Stuart Fox) take is accompanied with a cheeky, engaging comment such as, “Lines in my ass people! I have lines in my fucking ass!” or, “Who needs a cheese grater when you abs like THESE?” filming various videos for the Internet, ranging from training videos, hotel room, gym and locker room posing, along with quirkier videos of him flexing, posing and showing off in public spaces (supermarkets/a park etc.) and catching every shocked, surprised, awe-stricken, and occasionally terrified reaction from every unsuspecting member of the public lucky enough to be a witness, applying tan and oil to every inhumanly shredded body part for his competitions, for which full attendance will be required, shouting out various words of encouragement during his posing routine and comparison rounds such as, “Crank it hard, Tommy,” “Squeeeeeze those glutes,” and, “Come on ya monster,” (naturally Stuart will be better at performing this part of the job than me) and getting on all fours on his hotel room bed after every bodybuilding show and taking it in turns with Stuart Fox to get my tight arse pumped and filled up with the copious amount of cum he’ll have built up from spending all day flexing and strutting around in his posers, showing off his hyper-masculine, outrageously pumped, God-like muscles with a bunch of other huge, shredded muscle freaks. Tommy’s comment seemed to relax the atmosphere slightly, and as I worked my hand into the incredible space which made up Tommy’s absurdly sized, newly oiled left shoulder, it was not nerves, but sheer excitement I felt at the prospect of what was next, and what caused a small smirk to form on my face; I was about to get my hands on the upper arms of an insanely pumped bodybuilder. With his arms lifted up in line with his shoulders, outstretched and straight in preparation, I sprayed and worked my hands over the shockingly muscular upper arms of Tommy Foster. Even un-flexed, his arms felt impossibly huge. He twisted them to ensure I could oil up the inner part of his upper arms and I worked my hands around the un-tensed bicep muscle. I wanted so badly for him to unexpectedly bring his fist and forearm up and erupt into a full flex, and to feel his incredible bicep muscle underneath my fingers in all it’s full glory, but frustratingly, Tommy wouldn’t oblige. With my hands dancing between the unfathomably sized bicep and tricep muscles in their un-flexed state, I was completely entranced by the sheer thinness of the skin covering the muscle. The only things lurking under the shiny, bronzed skin of his tree trunk sized arms were superhuman, granite hard muscle mass and thin, wiry, freak-show worthy veins. With every inch of his arms oiled and, sadly, not even the slightest flex performed, Tommy’s body was, once again, free of our hands. With the bottle of oil in my hand, tentatively awaiting it's next shake and spray, I realised there was only one part of his body left to do; that phenomenally conditioned midsection, home to Tommy’s six beautifully shaped, brilliantly thick, gorgeous nickname earning abs. Leaving the right three blocks for my filming mentor, newly crowned oiling buddie, and future joint personal assistant to Tommy Foster, I sprayed oil onto my half of one of the most beautiful sets of cobblestone shaped abdominals I’d seen on any bodybuilder, in reality, or on any PC screen or magazine page. As I gave the part of his midsection next to his abs the same treatment, which seemed to unveil, and bring out more of his shredded serratus and blistering obliques, Tommy surprised me by gently throwing his arms around the back of his head. With Stuart in the process of oiling up his side of Tommy’s midsection, I nervously placed my hand on mine. The second my fingers made contact with the bumps protruding from Tommy’s tummy, they momentarily stretched upwards. With an unexpected, “TSSSSSSS,” from their freak of an owner, they then travelled back down, protruded from his stomach further and exploded under my fingertips until I was touching the big, blocky, fully crunched abdominals of a bodybuilder who’d gently crunched down into a cheeky abs and thighs pose. I’m not sure what sensation was the freakiest; the thick, juicy bumps of cling wrap skinned abdominal muscle against my skin, or the feeling of the deep, prominent lines, crazily separating each ab block, which were repeatedly meeting with my fingertips. It completely blew my mind how one man had managed to carve out his stomach to such a freakish degree, until there was nothing left but lumps and bumps of hard, thick muscle and skin so tight and thin you had to wonder whether it was even worth having. As my fingers moved to the right of his abs, Tommy, still with his arms behind his head in an abs and thighs stance, responded by twisting his head and upper body to the left. As he crunched down once more, with a short sharp hissing sound, yet more lumps of muscle that made up his incredible serratus and obliques erupted before my eyes and under my fingers, putting me in mind of a poster of an anatomy chart that used to hang on one of my Science classrooms at school, which I was always strangely drawn to, but never really quite knew why.

Eight It felt like the whole world had gone into slow motion as I tried to comprehend what was happening. A genuine bodybuilder in insane, competition condition was inviting me to oil him up. There had to be a catch. I looked down and noticed that the oil was in a spray-bottle. No actual bodily contact had to be necessary. I would press down on the head of the bottle and the oil would spray onto Tommy’s perfectly pumped, alien-like physique, but surely he would be the one to do the rubbing? Surely I wouldn’t actually get to place my hands on his phenomenally huge mounds and crazily developed slabs of thinly skinned muscle? Even though I was convinced that this was the case, the mere mention or thought of any kind of oiling up of a bodybuilder had not only caused a serious lack of space in my underwear, but it felt like I was suddenly sporting my biggest, hardest and most intense erection of the day. Without really considering an alternative option, I cautiously took the bottle of oil from Tommy’s hand. I then shot a quick, nervous glance at Stuart Fox, who, at this point, seemed to be trying his best to act as if what was unfolding was a perfectly normal occurrence. Tommy also looked completely nonchalant as he posed his next question. “Have you ever oiled up a bodybuilder before, Charlie?” Oh yes, Tommy mate. Every bloody weekend an incredibly conditioned, freakishly muscular bodybuilder in brightly coloured, minuscule posing trunks pops round to my house, plonks himself in the middle of my bedroom and just stands there with his arms outstretched for a head to toe oil up. What the bleeding buggering hell do YOU think?! Still in a state of shock at what was happening, I shook my head and gave him a mumbled, “No,” and he casually proceeded to give me instructions. “You need to give the bottle a good shake before you spray it on. Just a few sprays on to the chosen body part, and then just really rub it in.” “Rub it in”! Did he just say “rub it fucking in”?! Chances of me fainting dead on Tommy Foster’s hotel room floor? VERY BLOODY LIKELY! “It’s probably best to start with my quads…” His quads! He wants me to place my hands on his ridiculously developed, gorgeously shredded quads! My actual hands. On his actual fucking quads! Fainting on Tommy Foster’s hotel room floor expected in 3, 2... “…and then work your way up.” Helloooo Tommy Foster’s hotel room floor. Do you mind if I just stay here for a while? “Don’t be afraid to be generous. It washes off easily.” Tommy then turned to my filming mentor. “You can get in here too, Stuart. There’s enough of me to go round.” His mouth then curled into an amused grin at his own outrageously cheeky comment and I couldn’t help but smile in amusement myself, all the time wondering how the hell I was still standing upright and conscious. Tommy Foster/Mr Gorgeous Abs had stopped talking, and the atmosphere suddenly seemed to have become slightly awkward. As he and Stuart Fox glanced at me, I suddenly realised that they were waiting for me to make my move. They were waiting for me to bend down, spray oil onto the insanely thick, deliciously carved quads of a genuine competition conditioned muscle freak, and rub it in using my hands (my actual hands). There was nothing else to do than to oblige. Crouching down, with one knee on the carpet, and my face mere inches away from his absurdly sized wheels, as instructed, I gave Tommy’s bottle of oil a few good shakes. As I sprayed twice on to his left quad, three questions arose in my head; #1. How can one man’s legs be so monstrously thick and muscular? #2. Why am I so turned on by the scent of the shiny yellow fabric of his posing trunks, now mere inches away from my face, along with the thick bulge that’s still struggling to be contained by it? #3. How the bleeding buggering FUCK is this actually happening to me?! Conscious of the fact that Stuart was standing over me, I reached my hand up and gave him the bottle. Even though he looked more nervous than I’d seen him doing so before, the left corner of his mouth curled slightly into a coy, and excited smile as he took the bottle of oil from me and proceeded to kneel down next to me at Tommy Foster’s legs. As Stuart sprayed the oil onto Tommy’s right quad, I stared at the glistening mound of impossibly muscular, thinly skin wrapped leg meat. Time, once again, seemed to slow down as I prepared to do something I never imagined I would get the possibility to do and place my hands on the freakishly developed muscle of an actual living, breathing bodybuilder. What I certainly wasn’t prepared for was said bodybuilder to suddenly and unexpectedly tense and flex that freakishly developed muscle the second my hand made contact. If I had to describe the sensation of running my hands over the incredible mounds of rock hard, inhumanly thick, gorgeously soft skin wrapped muscle which made up Tommy Foster’s quads and feeling the deep lines and freakish separations under my fingertips, I would probably say it was the closest I’ve ever felt to experiencing an orgasm without actually having one. It was like I had transcended a normal level of arousal. My whole body felt like it was undergoing some hyper-sensual, otherworldly experience that the majority of people would never know existed, let alone have the chance to experience. The door to the world of extreme muscle I had opened when I’d stumbled across the image of the huge, shredded, flexing bodybuilder in my parents TV listings guide all those years ago was long behind me and I was now smack bang in the middle of it, down on one knee with the shiny posing trunk clad bulge of a muscle bull mere inches from my head, rubbing oil into his phenomenal sized, alien-like quads, feeling every ridge, line and separation under my fingers and wondering if I’d ever have an experience so powerful, intoxicating and mind blowingly erotic again. I wondered whether Stuart Fox was feeling anything even close to what I was as he gave Tommy Foster’s right quad the same treatment, and whether it was actually the first time he’d managed to feel the freaky muscle of a bodybuilder, either on one of his previous three shows or otherwise. That particular question hadn’t even occurred to me before that moment, but I’d suddenly become extremely curious to know the answer to it. The wave of disappointment I felt as the task of oiling up Tommy Foster’s incredible, barely human quads had completed, and Tommy spun around to present Stuart and I with the rear of his physique, quickly evaporated when he reached his hands around to the back of his posing trunks and outrageously tucked the bright yellow material into the crack of his ass and I was suddenly staring at a pair of gorgeously tanned and gloriously thick glutes. I looked over at my tanning buddie who looked completely awestruck and ever so slightly terrified, presumably at being in such close proximity of an ass so astonishingly big and, thanks to the owner, suddenly barely covered. As Stuart’s mouth curled slightly into a devilish grin, I wondered whether that fear was, in fact, for another reason. Was he suddenly, like me, wondering whether Tommy Foster had tucked his trunks into the crack of his mammoth sized bottom because he was expecting us to oil it up? Surely that was above and beyond the duties of any friend, training partner or nervous, muscle crazed work experience guy lucky enough to be asked to perform the task of oiling up a bodybuilder? Or was it? The glutes were a muscle group that would surely have to get oiled up just like any other. Was I about to get my hands on an actual pair of insanely developed and obscenely thick glutes? Predictability, rubbing oil into Tommy’s tight, taught hamstrings was considerably less arousing than doing so with his quads. So much so, that I completely underestimated just how incredible his freakish and enormous sized calves would feel. I’d never been massively into calf muscles, until that very moment I was knelt down on the floor at the feet of a bodybuilder running my hands over the granite hard, ridiculously huge mound of muscle exploding off the back of his lower leg. I’d almost forgotten that Tommy was an actual, living person, and not just a mass of freakish muscle put on the earth purely for the pleasure of Stuart and I until he spoke, and addressed us with a rather unexpected question. “So how long have you guys known each other?” Even without facing Tommy, the prospect of talking to him still all but terrified me, and it was left to my filming mentor to reply. “Erm…we only just met this morning,” Stuart replied. “Oh, wow!” Tommy replied, with genuine surprise in the tone of his voice. “You seem like you’ve known each other for a while.” I sheepishly looked at Stuart who was returning a slightly embarrassed but undoubtedly affectionate smirk similar to the one I was completely failing to repress. It was an expression which told me one thing; Stuart Fox was clearly feeling the same connection between us that I had been, pretty much since he started sharing his fantastic and inventive pump room game with me that morning. Whatever was happening between Stuart and I one thing for was certain; it felt incredible special. Furthermore, I couldn’t deny how particularly brilliant it was to have a like minded muscle lover, clearly just as crazily turned on by muscle that I was, by my side and sharing my experience of oiling up a competition conditioned bodybuilder. In that moment I decided that I wouldn’t go home that day without attempting two things; firstly, finding out whether Stuart Fox was currently embarking on his first experience of oiling up a bodybuilder, and secondly, getting his phone number. I’d just about rubbed every last bit of oil into Tommy’s calves when Stuart Fox handed me back the bottle of oil. With his hamstrings also well and truly oiled, I looked up to see the copious amount of Tommy’s bum meat staring down at me in the most magnificent image and wondered what the hell my next move was going to be. I could only guess that Stuart Fox, helplessly and nervously staring back at me in that moment, was pondering the same question in his head that I was. The question which had been on my mind since Tommy Foster had unexpectedly wedged the back of those obscenely shiny posers into the crack of his ass and was now in desperate need of an answer; did Tommy Foster want us to place our grubby, muscle loving hands on his outrageously muscular, crazily developed, posing trunk devouring ass? “Hey, guys,” Tommy unexpectedly said. “Don’t forget the glutes.” He wants us to place our grubby, muscle loving hands on his outrageously muscular, crazily developed, posing trunk devouring ass!! “I worked hard for those bad boys!” Two words. Cheeky bugger! Two more words. FUCK YES!! Wondering whether I’d experience a more surreal moment for the rest of my living days, I shook Tommy Foster’s bottle of oil and pumped two sprays onto his indecently thick and meaty right buttock. It wasn’t until the second spray that Tommy suddenly tensed said buttock, and, right before my eyes, his amazing ass shrivelled up, a dozen of the freakiest lines and striations erupted and I was staring directly at the most beautiful pair of real life, genuine, gorgeously shredded glutes. It was a moment made even more brilliant when Stuart Fox unexpectedly and accidentally muttered a hushed, “Fuck!” in response, followed by a look of sheer panic and a sudden case of violent blushing to his cheeks. It wasn’t just the actual words that made up Tommy Foster’s response to Stuart Fox's verbal slip which suddenly made the whole scene feel even more highly erotic, but the incredibly arrogant, undeniably masculine and rather dirty sounding tone in which he delivered them; “Yeah, baby!”

Taking the camera from me, the warm, friendly demeanour of Mr Gorgeous Abs I’d experienced prior to his posing had suddenly returned; a sharp contrast to the flexing, face scrunching, noisy animal I’d witnessed not minutes before. “I wasn’t sure if that was gonna work, but I think that went pretty well?” He was addressing both Stuart and I, once again, engaging us in conversation. “That was awesome! Completely different to the average posing video you see on the net,” Stuart enthusiastically replied. I couldn’t help but be in awe of my filming mentor’s confidence in his ability to talk to a competitive bodybuilder stripped to nothing but his packed yellow posers and crisp white socks, while I stood awkwardly in silence, seemingly incapable of mustering up a single word. “That’s what I was going for,” Mr Gorgeous replied, with a mischievous grin. “I may have only come second place, but I reckon I’ve got Justin Hughes beat in the posing department,” he playfully added. Excusing himself, Tommy retreated to the en suite bathroom of his hotel room, leaving Stuart and I alone for the first time since we’d left the pump room. The second the bathroom door was closed, we were looking at each other wide eyed with stupid, excitable smirks in response to the inexplicably awesome event that had just occurred in that very room. “I think that might have been the greatest few minutes of my life,” Stuart amusingly said. As I grinned and nodded in agreement, Stuart added, “Not to mention the hottest!” Not only was this a statement that caused me to slightly blush, but the second after Stuart had said it, the most adorably coy expression emerged on his face. His statement seemed to hang in the air, and as we stayed looking and smiling at each other in a slightly bashful manner, a certain tension seemed to arise in the atmosphere, and a moment seemed to be happening between me and Stuart Fox. A moment shared by two people who undeniably felt a mutual affection for each other. I couldn’t help thinking that if we had been in a film, it would also be the moment just before Stuart Fox and I would finally satisfy our audience, and share a kiss. Whatever feelings Stuart Fox might have had towards me, one thing was clear on my behalf; I was well and truly smitten with the undeniably handsome and increasingly charming man who’d been given the job as my filming mentor, taken me under his wing, coaxed me into instructing bodybuilders on what poses to hit, invited me to play the most fantastic and creative muscle related game of finding bodybuilders with the best of certain attributes in the pump room, surprised me with his confession that he wasn’t actually a camera man and all but admitted to me that he was a beef crazed muscle addict like me, who was turned on by nothing more than huge, shredded muscle freaks, and stood by my side as one very such muscle freak flexed just feet away from us in his hotel room in the most genuinely brilliant and ridiculously hot display of muscle posing imaginable. Unfortunately, that meant that another thing had become abundantly clear. At some point I would have to break the news to Bryan Macleod that he was no longer the future Mrs Charlie Steatham. Sorry Bryan mate, but they’ll be no big wedding cake with miniature figurine versions of us in matching “LIVE FOR THE PUMP” t-shirts perched on the top after all. I know it must be tough for you to hear, but I just can’t deny my feelings any longer. He might not have furry forearms, his chest might not bulge through his t-shirt, and he’s probably not what one would describe as “woof worthy”, but my heart has well and truly been won over. Plus, Charlie Steatham-Fox? You can’t deny that has a rather nice ring to it. “I have to be honest, I was starting to doubt his title as the most outrageously cocky poser in the room after watching Blaine Holton earlier,” Stuart Fox said in a slightly hushed voice, pulling me out of my imaginary difficult conversation with Bryan Macleod and back into the reality of Mr Gorgeous Abs’ hotel room. I frowned and shook my head. “We definitely gave it to the right man!” I replied. Stuart mischievously beamed and nodded his head in response. “Hands down the cockiest posing I’ve ever seen!” he replied, before teasingly adding, “You shit yourself when he walked towards you.” As I offered up a coy smile, the sound of a toilet flushing interrupted our conversation. Any chance to retort was diminished as Tommy emerged from the bathroom, looking just as beautifully shredded, crazily pumped and freakishly muscular as he had before. As I turned to watch him strolling towards us wearing nothing but his shiny yellow posers, crisp white socks and a warm, friendly grin, my eyes immediately veered to the six shockingly beautiful blocks of abdominal muscle protruding from his thinly skinned stomach. I couldn’t help but think how utterly surreal and dream-like it felt to be standing in the same, small room as someone with such incredible and freaky stomach muscles. “Thanks again for doing this, guys. I really appreciate it.” At this point Tommy was, once again, standing in front of Stuart and I, relaxed with his hands resting on his hips, unintentionally inviting my eyes towards the modestly big bulge stuffed into his brightly coloured trunks. I suddenly had the overwhelming urge to bend down, grab the sides of his magnificently developed quads, bring my mouth to his posing trunk encased bulge and suck on it through the shiny yellow material until his cock exploded and he shot a massive load of much pent up spunk. If he wanted to crank out a most muscular, or hit an abs and thighs pose or two as I was bent down working on his posing trunk covered cock, then I’d be more than OK with that. “I hope I won’t get you guys into trouble by dragging you away like this,” Tommy continued. I turned to Stuart Fox who was shaking his head in a reassuring manner so convincing that even I almost started to believe that there was little chance of our field trip away from the bodybuilding show getting us into hot water. The hint of finality in Mr Gorgeous Abs as he spoke, and the fact that we had finished what we’d been asked to do gave me no doubt that we would be soon be heading back to the pump room to discover whether or not that was actually the case. What I definitely couldn’t have predicted at that particular moment was Tommy’s next statement. “If Bryan gives you any trouble, just blame the whole thing on me.” The cheeky and undeniably sexy grin that accompanied his words wasn’t enough to deter the surprise in hearing Tommy say Bryan Macleod’s name. Given Bryan’s place on the camera crew, I reasoned that it wasn’t unusual for him to be acquainted with a competitive bodybuilder. But there was a small part of me, maybe the hopeful, opportunistic part that couldn't help but wonder whether there was something more to be read in how Mr Gorgeous Abs knew the name of a man who was so obviously gay. I couldn’t help but notice a flicker of something in Stuart Fox’s expression, and the tone of his voice as he posed his next question, which suggested he was perhaps thinking a similar thing. “Oh, you know Bryan?” “We’ve hung out a couple of times.” It wasn’t just the slightly cautious but undoubtedly suggestive tone in Tommy Foster’s voice which accompanied his reply, but the look he gave both Stuart and I as he delivered it. Maybe I was reading the whole thing wrong, and maybe it was just my typically over active imagination spiralling out of control, but it felt like there was a hidden connotation to what Tommy was saying, and loud alarm bells were suddenly ringing in my head. Could it be? Was there any small, remote chance that the amazing mountain of ripped to ribbons muscle standing before me, with biceps the size of croquet balls and abs which would give any washing machine or cheese grater a damn good run for their money, was gay? “So how long have you guys worked with him?” “This is my fourth show,” Stuart replied. “And it’s Charlie’s first. He’s on a work experience placement for his university course,” he added, once again speaking on behalf of his painfully shy filming partner. Mr Gorgeous Abs looked at me with a surprised and amused expression. “A bodybuilding show is a pretty unusual place to go on a work experience placement.” I gave a sheepish smile in response, before, finally, offering up my first words to the ridiculously hot middleweight muscle freak standing before me. “The classmate who came on the placement with me wasn’t too impressed!” Tommy’s smile grew wider in response. In addition to the content of said response, I wondered whether this was also because he’d managed to finally engage me in conversation. “Not a fan of bodybuilding, huh?” Unlike YOU Charlie Steatham, who is clearly a massive muscle loving bender who hasn’t stopped drooling over my slabs of perfectly pumped, tan drenched beef since the moment we met, and clearly wanted nothing more than to cream in your panties when I stomped up to you to and squeezed a big, nasty most muscular in your terrified little face. “It’s definitely not for everyone. My mom keeps any pictures of me in competition well away from my grandma. Her heart’s not in great condition and the sight of me shredded and flexing out a most muscular in tiny posers would probably finish her off for good! I’m guessing you guys have a bit more of an…” he paused before continuing in the same cautious but suggestive manner he’d adopted when informing us he’d hung out with Bryan Macelod, “invested interest?” OH GOD. OH JESUS. Did he actually just say those words?! As I stood almost paralysed at what Tommy Foster was saying, the alarm bells were in full, loud activation. “Invested interest” could surely only translate into one thing; you’re *both* massive muscle loving benders who haven’t stopped drooling over my slabs of perfectly pumped, tan drenched beef since the moment we met, and I’m perfectly capable of making you both cum with a single flex of my bicep. I nervously looked at Stuart Fox, who looked as unsure and weary at the situation that was unfolding I was. “I’m sure a few of the camera men back there probably do,” Tommy continued with a knowing, slightly mischievous but friendly tone. Stuart and I nervously laughed in response, as the tone of his statement seemed to provide us with a little reassurance that what Tommy Foster was, to my sheer amazement, implying, no matter how risky and controversial, was meant in good faith, and clearly a way of connecting with us on our level. Why exactly he felt the need to do that was still a little unclear at that point, and was perhaps the main cause for why my imagination was suddenly leaping into overdrive. This wasn’t helped by Mr Gorgeous Abs’ next question. "So listen, I could probably go in for some more posing, if you guys are up for it?” There was no way to quieten the noise in my head at that moment. A bodybuilder in gloriously shredded, competition condition had invited me and my filming mentor to his hotel room to film a video of him posing for the Internet. That had been done. He then seemed to imply that he knew we were beef crazed muscle lovers who would love nothing more than to wrap their fingers around his impossibly pumped biceps, which was swiftly followed by an invitation to watch him perform more posing. More posing for a legitimate bodybuilding video from a legitimate bodybuilder for the Internet, or more posing from a possibly gay, or maybe just extremely open minded, bodybuilder who wanted to flex for two gay muscle lovers in his hotel room because he wanted nothing more than for them to wrap their fingers around his impossibly pumped biceps? I nervously looked at Stuart Fox, who, still looking perplexed, was nodding his head. “I think we’ve got enough time for that, ” he replied with a hint of nerves in his voice I hadn’t previously heard. They both looked at me for reassurance and I nodded and nervously smiled, all the while wondering whether my pounding heart was actually going to burst out of my chest at some point very shortly. “Excellent!” Mr Gorgeous Abs replied, with the most excitable and surprisingly elated grin on his face. Tommy turned and headed back to his bag, which was sitting on the desk in his room, and my heart felt like it sank a little when I realised that he was clearly reaching for his camera. We were about to film another video. A legitimate bodybuilding video from a legitimate bodybuilder who obviously wasn’t gay and had absolutely zero interest in having his impossibly pumped biceps felt by two gay muscle lovers. It was only when he turned back around to face us and I saw what was grasped in his right hand that I realised he hadn’t been reaching for his camera after all. “I could do with an oil up.” Back standing just a foot away from us, I almost physically gasped as Mr Gorgeous Abs held out his arm and, pointing the bottle of bodybuilding contest oil he’d just retrieved from his bag in my direction, uttered the most unlikely words imaginable. “Do you guys wanna help me out?” TIMES MY HEAD ALMOST EXPLODED BECAUSE SOMETHING COMPLETELY AND UTTERLY AMAZING HAPPENED DURING MY WORK EXPERIENCE PLACEMENT #10. The moment I realised Tommy Foster/Mr Gorgeous Abs was inviting me to oil him up. HOLY! JESUS! FUCKING! CHRIST!

As the heavy, military like drums of the dark and moody sounding electronic track of his posing music started, Tommy assumed his place just a few feet away from me and Stuart. In an unexpected move, he then turned around and positioned himself so that the camera and his audience were faced with the amazing view of his rear. Deliciously thick lats stuck out either side of Tommy’s modestly broad back. These would have been the most impressive feature on the rear side of his physique, if it weren’t for the muscles which happened to be peeking out underneath his obscenely shiny, bright yellow posing trunks. A question suddenly arose in my head; had Tommy's glutes been this magnificently developed and absurdly conditioned before? I had clearly been too busy paying attention to his posing buddie Justin’s ridiculously thick and freakishly striated glutes in the pump room to notice that Tommy’s ass was also decorated with some beautiful and freaky striations. These may not have been as deep or prominent as Justin’s, but close up, and in the intimate setting of Tommy’s hotel room, they just so happened to make up one of the freakiest and hottest images I’d ever bared witness to in real life. Fully expecting him to hit one of the two main rear bodybuilding poses, in another completely unexpected and brilliantly cheeky move, Tommy slowly bent his head and upper body down until his straight arms were almost touching the floor. His incredible ass cheeks naturally parted as he bent down, giving Stuart and I a brief, but outrageous view of his yellow posing trunk covered ass crack. Remembering how Stuart had seemed to be embarrassed at Tommy’s playful and hilarious stunt at pretending to run away from Justin, in defeat of trying to compete with his phenomenal buttocks, before pointing at his gloriously thick and detailed ass, I cautiously glanced up at him. Sure enough, my filming mentor looked slightly and uncharacteristically flustered, and as his eyes locked with mine, the right side of his mouth curled into a sheepish and adorable smirk. As Tommy bought his upper body back up to a straight position, he suddenly paused and shamelessly tucked both sides of his shiny, yellow trunks into his ass crack to ensure that as much of his glorious glutes were displayed as possible. As the beat kicked in on his posing music, suddenly bringing it to life, Tommy reacted appropriately by opening up both of his impressively sized wings and blasting hard into an immense back lat spread pose. He released a loud and cocky sounding, “HOOOOO!” reminiscent of the insanely hot noises he’d made with every pose he’d hit in the pump room. Staring at the breathtaking rear image of the huge, flexing muscle bull before me, I couldn’t help but be amused by the fact that he was still wearing his crisp white socks, which contrasted brilliantly with his deliciously dark, competition tanned skin. I had no idea why, but as well as finding Tommy’s chosen outfit of white socks and bright yellow posers comical, I also happened to find it extremely sexy. It also seemed to be fitting with Tommy’s slightly quirky, unconventionally handsome looks, and, from what I’d seen so far, his completely unashamed, rather adventurous and outrageously cocky style of posing. It wasn’t until Tommy spun around to face me and Stuart that we were able to witness just how outrageously cocky that posing would be. He’d been incredibly animated in the pump room, but nothing could have prepared me for the level of cockiness Tommy was about to adopt. It was clear the second I caught sight of his face, scrunched and contorted in the most animated fashion, his eyes jammed shut, and his mouth unapologetically open in an, “Awww yeah!” expression, that Tommy was about to crank up the attitude much more than we’d witnessed before. With his arms flung around the back of his head, Tommy, at this point fully facing his audience and the camera I was holding, crunched down hard into an abs and pose, while releasing a loud, “TTTSSSSS!” hissing sound through gritted teeth. As he cranked down a second time, with a loud, completely indecent and rather dirty sounding “EURGH!” grunt, his eyes still tightly closed, and his face scrunched in the most inexplicably arrogant manner, my eyes immediately veered to those impossibly peeled and beautifully shaped ab blocks protruding from his tummy, barely covered in the tightest, thinnest, deliciously tanned skin conceivable. The other thing I couldn’t helping noticing was how unfathomably shiny his posers were. Maybe it was the lighting of the hotel room, but I couldn’t remember his trunks being quite as shiny in the pump room. Or as packed. Sticking out below the waistband of those ridiculously hot trunks was the meatiest, thickest and most gorgeous looking bulge, which looked like it was having an extremely hard time being contained by the absurdly shiny material of his posers. Keeping his right arm round the back of his head, Mr Gorgeous Abs then bought his left arm down in a clenched fist and, twisting slightly to the side, crunched down on his abs again, this time his mouth opening in an arrogant roar-like expression, as he simultaneously released an obscenely hot, manic sounding grunt. In another crazy move, he then frantically ran his left hand, positioned just a few inches away from his insanely carved serratus and gloriously chiselled obliques, up and down as if strumming an imaginary guitar, in order to show his audience how amazing the freakishly peeled lumps and bumps which made up his alien-like midsection were. I felt certain of one thing; if ever there was a shortage of cheese graters in Denver, Tommy Foster would make an absolute killing hiring out said midsection. Tommy’s next few poses were hit with the same amount of cockiness, playful attitude and excitable energy. A front double bicep was slammed down hard while he bit down on his bottom lip an released a completely crazy, “Hmpppfff,” an incredible side tricep was hit with a hushed, hissed, “Yeah,” a front lat spread was blasted with an indecently arrogant, lip pursed expression while Tommy released a dirty sounding, “Oooooh!” and a magnificent, muscle exploding side chest was hit with a grizzly, growl-like, “Ahhhhhh!” in what was, undoubtedly, one of the hottest and cockiest posing routines I’d ever witnessed. I was certain that if I were watching the online version of the video I was currently filming in the comfort of my bedroom, I would have creamed myself at Tommy’s second abs and thighs pose with the outrageous “EURGH!” I couldn’t help wondering exactly what moment, or pose, would have had the same effect on Stuart Fox. Given his confession in the pump room that he loved guys who cranked up the attitude when posing, it was hard to imagine that it would come much longer after mine. I also couldn’t help thinking about all the muscle addicts out there, who would be creaming themselves stupid to the uploaded, online version of the very video I happened to be filming. The fact that I was the one behind the camera, and filming and witnessing the very thing which would cause some seriously sticky boxer shorts in person was a complete head fuck. This led me to wonder what it must feel like for Tommy Foster/Mr Gorgeous Abs. Knowing that all he had to do was throw his arms behind his head, make one quick, hard movement accompanied by a cheeky facial expression and a small grunt to make dozens of intelligent, professional men want to cream their pants on the spot? At that point in Tommy's routine, there was no doubt that, of all the poses he had hit, given the sheer attitude that had accompanied it, the abs and thighs was his favourite. I would have also bet good money on it being his favourite of all the bodybuilding poses, if it wasn't for the fact that the conclusion of his routine, which was about to follow, was made up entirely of one particular pose he hadn’t, at that point, included. As he clasped his right fist with his left hand, Tommy’s expression suddenly became more intense and serious than it had done previously. Jamming his eyes shut once more and animatedly opening his mouth wide like some kind of wild animal, in what was undoubtedly, his most unashamedly arrogant expression yet, he cranked down into the first of a volley of incredible most musculars, releasing a loud, animalistic “ARGGGH!” as he did so. My hard on hadn’t wavered for one second since he’d started his posing routine, and as Mr Gorgeous Abs suddenly transferred his hands to rest on the top of his shockingly conditioned quads and cranked down into his second most muscular, while animatedly puffing out his cheeks and releasing an inexplicably hot exhaling noise, his beautifully shaped and phenomenally sliced stomach muscles on full, amazing display, I immediately felt the wet sensation of what was, without question, the biggest amount of pre cum released into the crotch of my boxers that day. Relaxing from the pose, he then performed what was possibly his craziest move yet. As if notifying his audience that he couldn’t hear their appreciation, he rather adorably put his left hand to his ear, in an attempt to encourage them to cheer louder. It was a move I’d seen many bodybuilders perform in videos of posing routines, and looked relatively normal in the setting of a bodybuilding competition, but in the setting of a hotel room, with only an audience of two, it provided another completely bonkers and humorous move from a man who was clearly not afraid to stray away from convention and have some fun with his posing. It was a moment made even more memorable by the reaction of Stuart Fox, who, in a similar, yet even bolder move to when he’d offered up his critiques to the flexing Mr Golden Posers and Chris “Freaky Peaks” Jackson in the pump room, appropriately responded with a short, cheeky, and completely brilliant, “Whooop!” Tommy’s expression erupted in a large, adorable and gorgeous grin in response, as he then, equally as crazily, lifted his right arm up and pointed at Stuart, as if he were working a stage, and entertaining one side of a packed theatre at a competition. He then walked up to Stuart, stopping barely a foot away from him, placed his right hand on the side of his right quad, bought his left hand down into a fist and, shamelessly sticking out his tongue and releasing a half-pant, half-growl, cranked down hard into an incredible most muscular. It felt like it was being squeezed purely for my amazingly lucky filming partner, who couldn’t keep the slightly sheepish but excited grin from his flustered face, as the indecently sized, gorgeously tanned, cling wrap skin covered slabs of muscle of an attitude packed bodybuilder in tiny yellow posers exploded and tightened just a foot away from him. TIMES MY HEAD ALMOST EXPLODED BECAUSE SOMETHING COMPLETELY AND UTTERLY AMAZING HAPPENED DURING MY WORK EXPERIENCE PLACEMENT #9. The moment Tommy Foster/Mr Gorgeous Abs walked up to Stuart Fox to crank out an outrageous most muscular in his face! Watching Stuart Fox enjoying his own, intimate and personal most muscular, I couldn’t help but feel a slight twinge of jealousy, even though I was fully aware that I probably wouldn’t be able to hold my nerves in place if I were treated to a similar act. Fully anticipating Mr Gorgeous Abs to then return to his original spot to conclude his routine, those exact nerves were suddenly put to the test when he spun around to face my direction. With a cheeky and excitable grin on his face, he lifted up his right hand and pointed at me in the same manner he had done with Stuart, causing my entire body to go into sheer panic mode, and my imaginary whiteboard to once again flash into my mind, only this time with something different written down. TIMES I ALMOST SHIT MY PANTS DURING MY WORK EXPERIENCE PLACEMENT #1. The moment I realised Tommy Foster/Mr Gorgeous Abs was going to walk up to me to crank out an outrageous most muscular in my face!! I must have looked absolutely terrified as the shiny posing trunk clad muscle freak I’d been filming at a relatively safe distance up until that point, took a few steps directly towards me and both of my hands, still holding Tommy’s camera, noticeably started shaking. I wanted the ground to swallow me whole, to be anywhere but there in that moment, but at the same time, there was a part of me that wanted it to happen. A part of me that knew this was undoubtedly one of those incredible, once in a lifetime moments that would forever be scratched on to my memory. The sheer sensation of having Mr Gorgeous Abs standing just a foot away from me in nothing but his posers and socks alone was mind blowing. Standing as close up as he was, I could see just how astonishingly big and developed the slabs, mounds, lumps and bumps sitting on his beautiful physique were. Still wearing a mischievous smile, I also couldn’t stop from thinking just how unbelievably sexy and handsome, unconventionally or not, he really was. And then there was his incredible scent. A powerful and intoxicating mix of sweat, tanning product, and pure masculinity, which was more pungent than I’d experienced when he’d sidled up to me in the pump room, and now included a faint but strangely hot smell of newly bought clothing material, which I assumed could only be the completely unfamiliar scent of a pair of fresh-out-of-the-packet posing trunks. With one hand resting on his quad, and the other bought down into a fist, Tommy, once again, cranked down into a most muscular. Only, unlike the three most musculars he’d previously hit, including the one he’d not long cranked out in Stuart Fox’s face, my own personal most muscular was hit a lot gentler, and with, surprisingly, a lot less attitude. With only a hushed, “Yeah!” to accompany the pose, this was clearly, and rather adorably, an attempt to go easy on me because of my obvious and evident nerves as a result of the situation. As he relaxed from the pose, Mr Gorgeous Abs then did the most unexpected thing. Staring into the camera, with a mischievous and gorgeous grin, he gave a short, cheeky wink, which, amazingly, felt like it was purely directed at me, rather than any potential audience who might be watching the final version of the video I was filming. As Tommy walked back to his original position, I nervously glanced over at Stuart Fox, who was looking back at me with an amused but undeniably affectionate grin in response to the event that had just occurred, before I turned my attention back to my filming subject. Gearing himself up for his big finale, Tommy’s facial expressions and attitude had changed considerably. A far cry from the all smiling, cheeky muscle guy who’d just thrown me an adorable and incredibly sexy wink, Tommy’s face was now scrunched and contorted into an intense and insanely arrogant expression, which rightly suggested that his final poses would be hit some serious aggression and attitude. Bringing both of his arms up, and with his mouth unashamedly open wider than ever before, he cranked down into a brutal crab most muscular, while releasing a loud, animal-like growl, in the first of a volley of three magnificent, attitude packed most muscular. Each one was hit harder than the previous and the final accompanied by his loudest and grizzliest, “ARGGHHH!” groan yet. With, what was undoubtedly, the greatest, cockiest, not to mention hottest few minutes of posing I’d ever seen that day or on any computer screen in all the years I’d been blowing loads to muscle freaks, finished, Tommy rested his hand on his hips. Catching his breath, he let out a, “Whoooo!” before releasing a short and adorable laugh. Then, as if suddenly remembering his prospective audience, he stood up straight, turned in my direction to face the camera, and began to address said audience. “So there we have it, folks. I hope you enjoyed watching this last video as much as I did making it. Thanks again for all your support during this contest prep. The next time you’ll see me this shredded…” In similar fashion to his video introduction, Tommy then paused briefly, threw his right arm behind his head, and bought his left fist down into a quick, hard and insane side crunch pose while releasing a typically animalistic and cocky, “EURGH!” before continuing. “…will be at this very contest next year, where I’ll be hoping to bring my best package, and finally earn my pro card. Until then, keep checking my website, my video channel and all my social media sites for updates.”

Seven It would be almost impossible to crown one particular incident of my work experience placement as being the most surreal, but walking next to an absurdly sized and ridiculously hot muscle freak, who’d just placed runner up in the middleweight category of a bodybuilding show, in public and en route to his hotel room had to be a strong contender for first place. With Mr Gorgeous Abs on my right, and Stuart Fox to my left, I’d somehow found myself in the middle of this unlikely trio. I had already played witness to Mr Gorgeous Abs stripped to nothing but his brilliantly shiny, bright yellow posing trunks, flexing and showing off his insanely shredded, freakishly muscular physique in the cockiest and most animated fashion during his two man posedown with Justin Hughes. And yet, walking next to him in public, his skin still deliciously dark from the competition tan but his physique fully covered up by his black tracksuit, he seemed almost as unfathomably hot as he had done crunching down on his beautifully shaped and phenomenally shredded nickname earning abs in the pump room. This was probably part due to the fact that in the ordinary street setting, and without a dozen other abnormally sized muscle bulls to compete for attention with, Mr Gorgeous Abs suddenly seemed twice the size he had been backstage at the show. I also couldn’t help feeling amused at the fact that he was still clutching his second place bodybuilding trophy as he walked along the street. I had no idea what I would have done if, on that journey to the hotel room, one or more of my college friends happened to be strolling along the same street in the opposite direction. Stuart Fox wasn’t likely to cause any raised eyebrows, but I’m not sure how I’d explain why I was in the company of the excessively tanned, wide as a brick shithouse guy in the black tracksuit clutching the miniature trophy of a carved out muscle man to my right. Further more, I had already sensed a few lingering stares from the small number of people the three of us had passed on the journey to Mr Gorgeous Abs’ hotel room. Through the nerves, apprehension and excitement at, not only being in the presence of Mr Gorgeous Abs, but also the prospect of filming him in such an intimate setting, I couldn’t deny I was extremely turned on by the excessively built, bronzed coloured muscle bull I had found myself in the company of. It wasn’t until I entered his hotel room, however, that this seemed to kick into full force. Within seconds of him closing the door, I was once again sporting a full, raging hard on. Watching Mr Gorgeous Abs place his trophy on the desk in his hotel room, while Stuart and I awkwardly stood at the end of his bed, shooting each other nervous looks and not really knowing what to do with ourselves, I suddenly pictured a similar whiteboard to the one I’d imagined displaying the results of Stuart Fox’s pump room game. Only this board had a different title and accompanying text. TIMES MY HEAD ALMOST EXPLODED BECAUSE SOMETHING COMPLETELY AND UTTERLY AMAZING HAPPENED DURING MY WORK EXPERIENCE PLACEMENT #1. When Stuart Fox started instructing our first filming subject Mr Golden Posers on what poses to hit. #2. When Stuart Fox turned, and asked me, to instruct Mr Golden Posers on what poses to hit! #3. When Chris “Freaky Peaks” Jackson’s tanning buddie brilliantly exclaimed, “Those abs are looking sick Chris!” #4. The moment Mr Gorgeous Abs unexpectedly intruded on our filming of Justin Hughes. #5. Watching Mr Gorgeous Abs’ outrageous reaction to Justin Hughes’ gloriously thick, ridiculously developed and freakishly striated glutes during their two man posedown, and the comical and bonkers moment he pretended to run away to avoid competing with them. #6. When Mr Gorgeous Abs unexpectedly invited me and Stuart Fox to his hotel room. #7. Standing with Stuart Fox in the middle of Mr Gorgeous Abs’ fucking hotel room! I was still feeling a crippling shyness and had barely spoken on the journey to the hotel, only really responding to Stuart Fox as he informed Mr Gorgeous Abs that I was from England and only in California studying temporarily. This was followed by the discovery that our new filming subject was based in Denver, and due to fly back home the following morning, as the three of us indulged in polite, friendly small talk. It wasn’t until we were in the hotel room that Mr Gorgeous Abs properly introduced himself, and allowed me to talk to him directly for the first time. “Thanks for doing this, guys. I won’t keep you away from the show for long. I’m Tommy, by the way. I didn’t get your names.” In typically confident fashion, Stuart informed the newly named Tommy, which somehow seemed to suit him perfectly, of his name, before Tommy reached out his huge, bronzed hand for Stuart to shake. My stomach twisted in anticipation that it was undoubtedly my turn next. I suddenly felt more nervous than I had done since I’d made my way to my first filming subject, Mr Golden Posers, in the pump room. As Tommy/Mr Gorgeous Abs turned to face me, my mind went blank and I was rendered completely speechless. Presumably sensing my nerves, Stuart Fox rescued me and spoke for me. “And this is Charlie.” In the warmest, friendliest tone you could imagine a 220 lbs, shredded to buggery, competitive bodybuilding muscle freak adopting, Mr Gorgeous Abs addressed me. “Hi, Charlie!” OHGODOHGODOHGOD!! “Nice to meet you.” HUMMANA HUMMANA HUMMANA!! Before I had time to go into complete panic mode, Tommy’s hand was firmly gripping mine. His hand was warm and strong, and his bronzed tinted skin felt surprisingly soft. The chemistry I felt was explosive, and I was completely baffled at the fact that one man had the capability to turn me on to such a degree just by a simple hand shake. I was certain in that moment that all it would take from this incredibly hot male specimen to cause my dick to explode in my pants was a firm, prolonged hug. I offered up a nervous smile as the most awkward and muffled sounding, “Hiya,” tumbled from my mouth. In response, the left corner of Mr Gorgeous Abs’ mouth curled slightly into a cheeky and mysterious smirk. I couldn’t help wondering whether he was getting a kick out of the fact that he made me so nervous. As he turned his back to us, I glanced at Stuart Fox, who, clearly amused at my sudden increased nervousness, was affectionately smirking at me. As Tommy retrieved a digital camera from his holdall, he explained to us how he’d been filming and uploading posing videos in the lead up to the day’s competition to show his progress. Unfortunately his training partner, who had been shooting the videos, hadn’t been able to attend the show, which was why he needed our assistance. As Tommy/Mr Gorgeous Abs explained this, I couldn’t refrain from thinking how it would be relatively easy for him to just position the camera so it was facing him and actually film the video himself, rather than going through the effort of dragging two camera men back to his hotel room. The logical answer, of course, was that he was simply just inexperienced, or maybe even completely hopeless when it came to operating cameras or using technology. The optimistic side of me, however, was wondering whether Mr Gorgeous Abs actually just wanted an audience. Mr Gorgeous reached his camera out in the direction of me and Stuart.“ So, which one of you guys wants to shoot?” I looked at Stuart Fox, who was giving me a wide eyed expression and signalling towards the camera for my offering. Whether this was a return gesture from when I similarly gave him the camera to shoot the insanely cute Justin Hughes earlier in the pump room, or whether, similar to my actual motives on that occasion, he simply wanted to sit back and enjoy watching a competition conditioned bodybuilder pose and flex in front of him camera free I wasn’t sure. Regardless, I gave him a bashful smile of gratitude and took the camera from Mr Gorgeous Abs. After proceeding to show me the button to press to start filming, Tommy/Mr Gorgeous Abs took a few steps back. “Alright, let’s get these off!” he muttered to himself, as he proceeded to unzip his tracksuit jacket. Fully expecting to see the material of a t-shirt hiding underneath, I almost gasped when, instead, I was faced with the sight of his exceptionally muscular, beautifully carved and bronze tinted torso. Not only was it the most unsuspecting and breathtaking image, but I also couldn’t deny how much I loved the fact that Mr Gorgeous Abs had been walking around in public with no shirt or vest underneath his jacket, and neither Stuart nor I had had any idea. I had been impressed with Mr Gorgeous Abs’ physique in the pump room, but somehow his body was even more phenomenal in the setting of his perfectly ordinary hotel room. He pulled his pants down to reveal his bright yellow, shiny posing clad bulge and incredible quads, which, while not being quite as insanely shredded and freakishly conditioned as his former pump room posedown buddie Justin Hughes’, were undoubtedly a very close second. He looked down as his own inhuman looking legs as he tensed them to reveal insane detail. In completely arrogant fashion, he muttered a quiet but cocky, “Yeah!” underneath his breath, in admiration of his own freaky wheels. Fully expecting him to remove his white socks next, instead, Mr Gorgeous Abs positioned himself a few feet away from Stuart and I. After instructing me to start filming, he looked into the digital camera to address his viewers. “What’s up, guys? Tommy Foster here giving you a post competition update. I managed second place in the middleweights. Very happy with my placing and the package I bought today. First place went to my boy, Justin Hughes. Crazily conditioned physique, twenty one years old and now a pro bodybuilder! I put on one hell of a show on that stage today guys. You know me, I always like to have a little fun with my posing and…” At this point Mr Gorgeous Abs momentarily paused his speech, unexpectedly clasped his left wrist with his right hand and hit a small most muscular pose while scrunching up his face in an incredibly hot and brilliantly animated fashion and letting out a short, sharp “AHHHHH!” similar to the ones I’d already heard when he was cranking out his poses in the pump room. It was the most outrageously cheeky move which, for some reason, caused my cheeks to instantly flush. “…show a bit of attitude when I flex. So for this last video in the series, instead of just hitting some poses, what I’m gonna do for you guys is show you my posing routine.” TIMES MY HEAD ALMOST EXPLODED BECAUSE SOMETHING COMPLETELY AND UTTERLY AMAZING HAPPENED DURING MY WORK EXPERIENCE PLACEMENT #8. Mr Gorgeous Abs announcing he was going to perform a posing routine, in his hotel room!! HOLY! FUCKING! FUUUUUUCK!! “I’ve got the music right here on my phone. Obviously I won’t be able to move around as much as I do on stage, so it will be a slightly static version, but it will give you guys an idea of how I really ripped up that stage today. Thanks to all my viewers out there for sticking with me through these progress videos. For one last time, let’s get some poses for you guys.” As Tommy started fiddling with his phone to turn on his posing music, a wide eyed Stuart glanced at me, looking as surprised and excited at Tommy’s revelation, and the prospect of what we were about to witness, as I was. I’d seen videos of some incredibly cocky posing routines in my time. Given the attitude I’d already seen Tommy displaying in the pump room during his posedown with Justin Hughes, which had earned him the title of the most outrageously cocky poser in the room, I knew I was about to witness another one. Only this time it would be in person, in an intimate setting, and for the benefit of a camera I happened to be holding.

I glanced over at a wide eyed Stuart Fox. Feeling a crippling shyness take over, I was barely able to take a second glance at the bodybuilder who earlier that day had cranked, flexed and shown off his phenomenal slabs of muscle while grunting, huffing, hissing and displaying some of the most energetic and cockiest posing possible. It was down to Stuart, who I’d already established was not one for suffering from any such shyness, to respond. “Think he’s a contender for the super heavyweight title?” Stuart confidently asked. “Oh, for sure!” Mr Gorgeous Abs replied. “My money’s on him taking the whole show.” At that point, Blaine Holton spun around and hit a back lat spread, revealing his monstrously huge and breathtakingly wide back. In response, Mr Gorgeous Abs let out a gob smacked “WOW!” While a starry eyed Mr Gorgeous Abs stood in awe and amazement of the monstrous sized back and thick flexed lats of a super heavy weight muscle freak, I was stood in my own awe-struck muscle trance, unable to comprehend how close I was standing to the enormous sized physique of a competitive bodybuilder, who was actually trying to engage me into conversation. His magnificently developed body seemed to be radiating heat, and I could smell a similar, manly scent of sweat and, what I presumed to be, his competition tan to the one I did when I was inches away from our first filming subject Mr Golden Posers. I’d never met a man with the power to turn me on to such a ridiculous degree just from standing shoulder to shoulder with me. “Congratulations, by the way!” I looked over at Stuart Fox who was signalling towards a bronze statue of a muscle man gripped in Mr Gorgeous Abs’ ridiculously bronzed right hand. “Thanks man!” he warmly responded with genuine appreciation. “Second place in the middleweight category. I lost out to Justin Hughes.” As he spoke, he was not only making eye contact with Stuart Fox, but also kept darting his eyes to mine, thoughtfully including me into the conversation, even though I was yet to offer up a single word. Being in the presence of Mr Gorgeous Abs for the second time that day, I couldn’t help thinking how I’d seriously underestimated how attractive he actually was. He was still a little geeky looking, with his thin facial features and his slightly small head, made even smaller by his incredibly sexy, shaved all over hair, which didn’t look like it belonged to his frighteningly muscular body, but there was an undeniably handsome, even slightly cute, quality to his face. Stripped of his deliciously bronzed competition tan, and minus the pounds of crazily conditioned, impressively sized muscle mass he’d packed on to his frame, he probably wouldn’t look out of place sitting behind a teacher’s desk in a classroom. And yet, he’d transformed himself into an absolute bone fide muscle stud, capable of shrinking the boxer shorts of full grown men just from being in the same room as them. “The kid’s a freak! No one can match his conditioning.” Mr Gorgeous Abs was continuing to discuss Justin Hughes, the impossibly cute, early twenty something bodybuilder he’d outrageously lured into a posedown earlier, and has since, apparently, come runner up to in the middle weight category of the show. “I gave him a run for his money in the comparisons round though,” Mr Gorgeous Abs added, with a devilish, slightly cocky smirk. “You gave him a pretty good run with your posing earlier on too!” Stuart exclaimed, which seemed to cause the bodybuilder’s grin to expand and become cockier. As he hadn’t paid us that much attention during his posedown with Justin Hughes, I had my doubts as to whether Mr Gorgeous Abs had remembered Stuart Fox and I from the encounter, but he evidently did. “Just a little something different for the camera!” he cheekily said, darting his eyes to Stuart Fox’s CX100. The announcement for the super heavyweight competitors to start lining up for their time on stage was made, drawing a close to Blaine Holton’s display of unbelievably arrogant, attitude packed posing, as he headed out of the pump room with the other super heavyweight muscle monsters. My heart sank as I anticipated this would bring an end to our completely unexpected but utterly brilliant encounter with the surprisingly friendly Mr Gorgeous Abs, who was without a doubt near the top of my list of bodybuilders I’d been unfathomably turned on by that day. What I certainly wasn’t expecting was Mr Gorgeous Abs’ next question. “I take it you guys are pretty tied up with filming here?” I shot a confused look at Stuart Fox, who seemed as equally baffled and lost for a response as I was. “I was looking to get some post competition posing vids filmed for the Internet,” he continued. “Make the most of this tan and my conditioning while it lasts. I can understand if you guys are tied up here, but…if you’re up for it?” My mind started to race. I wasn’t exactly sure what this second placed middle weight bodybuilder, owner of the most gorgeously shredded abs and possibly the most outrageously cocky poser in the room (a two man posedown with Blaine Holton would have to be performed for absolute clarity) was proposing. A bodybuilder in a pump room was asking two camera men to film him posing. It wasn’t the strangest request I’d ever heard, but filming a private video for the Internet in his hotel room, which had no sort of involvement with the show we were filming, was a completely different matter. I had no idea how any such suggestion was going to work. I looked at Stuart Fox, whose expression was part excitement and part confusion. I followed Stuart’s eyes as he glanced over at the spot where Blaine Holton and Bryan Macleod had previously been. Still with his back to us, Bryan was conversing with another camera man while walking away from the area he’d just occupied. He seemed to be following the super heavyweight monsters out of the pump room. With a very slight and uncharacteristic hint of nerves in his voice, Stuart spoke. “I think we can get away for half an hour.” Erm…what? We can? Get away?! WHAT THE FUCK IS GOING ON?! “Awesome! Oh, I’m guessing that’s not your own camera?” Mr Gorgeous Abs asked, signalling to the CX100 in Stuart Fox’s hand. A camera which was clearly not owned by Stuart, and absolutely, one hundred per cent categorically not intended for any kind of post competition posing videos for the Internet, filmed by two camera men who were very more than likely to get into a shit load of trouble for participating in any such activity. Stuart Fox had the expression of someone who’d been caught out doing something he shouldn’t have and was desperately trying to think of a way to worm himself out of trouble. “That’s OK!” Mr Gorgeous Abs casually said. “I have a digital camera back at my hotel room.” OH. MY. FUCKING. GOD! “We can use that instead.” Did he just say hotel room? His FUCKING hotel room? This can NOT be happening. “Let me just grab my stuff and we can head out.” Carrying his second placed middle weight class trophy with him, Mr Gorgeous Abs waddled off, leaving me with a wide eyed, nervous but excited looking Stuart Fox. “Did that just really happen?” he asked, clearly in as much disbelief as I was. The prospect of going to the hotel room of a crazily conditioned, insanely sexy muscle freak, fresh off a bodybuilding stage, to film a private video with an awesome like minded muscle lover was nothing short a fantasy come true. But my excitement seemed to be at war with a growing apprehension. I didn’t want to mess up what had been an amazing work experience placement by doing something irresponsible, jeopardise my grade for my university class, get into Bryan Macleod’s bad books, potentially ruin my chances of working at a future show, and additionally get Stuart Fox into any kind of trouble. “Are we not gonna get in trouble for leaving?” I asked Stuart. “What if we get caught?” And at that question, Stuart Fox’s face dropped, just for a second, and I saw a flicker of something in his expression I hadn’t seen before. Whether it was disappointment or judgment at my lack of courage, or maybe my lack of sense of adventure, I wasn’t sure, but I didn’t want to see that look on Stuart Fox’s face again. “I want to do it!” I reassured him. “I just…don’t want to get you into trouble.” His face warmed again, and his mouth curled into a slightly bashful smile I felt I’d been redeemed. “Bryan always goes out into the theatre to film the super heavies and the last part of the show. It’s a little risky, I admit, but…I think we’ll be OK,” Stuart explained. “Besides, if he, or anyone else notices we’ve gone, or we get caught coming back, we can just think of an excuse. We’ll say you felt ill and needed some fresh air. One thing you need to know about Bryan is; he’s so easy going he’s practically horizontal!” Stuart could clearly sense that I was still apprehensive, so he lowered his voice, and, in an excited and rather amusingly hushed manner, said, “Dude! A bodybuilder wants us to film him posing in his hotel room. This kind of shit never happens!” Spelt out to me this way, I suddenly felt like the biggest idiot for not being more excited at the opportunity we were being presented with. As my fears of being caught diminished, I suddenly felt an incredible rush of excitement at the prospect of the adventure I was about to embark on. My excitable smile was all Stuart needed to know that I was very much on board with what was happening. “I can’t believe he just came up and stared speaking to us!” Stuart said. “Plus, he’s kinda hot. Very fucking hot actually!” I grinned and nodded in complete agreement. “He’s kinda goofy looking!” I added. “But I like that. It’s like his head and his body don’t match!” Stuart grinned wildly in response, and then said something which made my heart flutter and my cheeks burn. “I really like talking to you about muscle.” Before I had the chance to offer up any sort of reply, Mr Gorgeous Abs was on the approach, confidently striding up to us with his trophy still in his hand, and a holdall thrown over one of his stupidly broad shoulders. “You guys about ready?” I took one last nervous glance around the pump room to ensure that Bryan Macleod hadn’t snuck back in. Wondering whether the last few days hadn’t been one long and extremely vivid dream and I was actually still sitting in Professor Walsh’s class hovering my pen over the words “Filming Backstage at a Local Bodybuilding Competition” I then followed by companions and made my way to the hotel room of a genuine, competition conditioned bodybuilder.

I wasn’t sure if it was the thrill of, not only finally meeting a like minded muscle lover in person, but having the confidence to talk relatively openly about my interest, or whether it was because I’d already successfully survived the experience with my nerves in tact, but I re-entered the pump room with a newly found confidence. I couldn’t help but picture an impressed Bryan Macleod and a still intimidated and uncomfortable Billy Horvath observing this from different corners of the pump room. With the majority of the competitors and weight classes having already been called out on stage, there were noticeably fewer bodybuilders in the pump room still lifting weights and doing any sort of actual pumping up. Most of the action seemed to be taking place in one particular corner of the room, where a gathering of quite frankly monstrous bodybuilders were ensuring every one of their gigantic sized muscles was pumped to the absolute maximum degree before they waddled out on stage to flex, squeeze and show them off to brilliant and freaky effect to a theatre of presumably adoring spectators. It also happened to be the same part of the pump room where I’d previously spotted Blaine Holton sitting with a pair of super shiny, bright red posing trunks clutched in his hands. Stuart had clearly already noticed the spot too. “Let’s head over there,” he instructed. “Let’s try and avoid Bryan so he can’t divert us!” he added in a slightly mischievous tone, like a naughty school boy trying to avoid one of his teachers from catching him doing something he shouldn’t be. As we approached our targeted area, it became abundantly clear that we were, indeed, in the presence of some of the biggest and heaviest competitors in the contest. The space seemed noticeably busier than any other area we’d been in, with a slightly worrying amount of camera men catching the action on film. The whole area also seemed to have a slightly different atmosphere than the other parts of the pump room I’d experienced. More serious and testosterone fuelled, ever so slightly more intimidating but unquestionably, at least to me, a lot more sexual. Every single monstrously sized bodybuilder seemed to be radiating an incredible air of testosterone and power, like they knew they were the biggest guys in the room and their bodies would undoubtedly have the greatest effect on anyone lucky enough to bare witness to them. As I scouted the area, an outrageously huge black guy whose entire body was bulging with superhuman sized, balloon-like muscle mass, which looked as if it were about to burst through his paper thin skin at any given second, was performing some barbell curls. Not too far away from him, an absurdly handsome and masculine looking bald guy with thick, hosepipe veins spread across his enormous biceps, was hitting a set of shoulder shrugs while a rather gorgeous Latin-American guy, who was also a hot contender for the guy with the biggest muscle tits, was stood chatting to guy in a t-shirt as his ridiculously thick, patio slab pecs hung off his torso and an arrogant looking but undoubtedly hot muscle daddy in a pair of shiny turquoise trunks was blasting some poses with fierce intensity for one lucky member of the camera crew. All of them were immensely hot bodybuilders who I’d more than happily be close up to and staring at down a camera lens. And yet, I couldn’t deny my slight disappointment that Blaine Holton was currently nowhere to be seen. Just as I started to wonder whether I should completely give up on the notion of adding him to my list of insanely hot filming subjects, Stuart Fox nudged me and excitedly whispered, “I’ve spotted Blaine Holton!” Directing my view to a space a few yards away from the busy corner of super freaks we’d found ourselves occupying, I suddenly noticed the same pair of inexpiably shiny, modestly packed, bright red posing trunks I’d already spotted earlier that day being in Blaine Holton’s hands. Only now, they were attached to the absolute mountain of enormously huge and astonishing thick muscle mass that made up Blaine’s physique. He was now finally shed of his black tracksuit and looked more monstrous than I ever could have anticipated as he intensely pumped up with a large barbell. Unfortunately, as previously predicted by Stuart, this particular muscle freak was going to be hard to get near. Blaine seemed to be surrounded by a circle of camera men. Distracted by the view of this phenomenally conditioned monster, pumping up bronze painted muscle mass with a fairly arrogant, slightly intimidating but undoubtedly sexy expression of concentration, I had failed to notice that, even though his back was turned towards me, I was already well acquainted with one of those camera men. With his sexy and woof-worthy bald head, and his utterly brilliant “LIVE FOR THE PUMP” sloganed t-shirt stretched across his modestly broad back, I instantly recognised the inexplicably sexy man who was overseeing my work placement. The one time object of Stuart Fox’s affections and possible future Mrs Charlie Steatham (dependant on what the future now held for me and Mr Fox), Bryan Macleod. I glanced at a wide eyed Stuart Fox, who threw me an excited cheeky smirk in response to the fact that we’d managed to find the man we’d been discussing not ten minutes before. A man who was a very likely candidate for the all out monstrous muscle freak in the room. Stuart shook his head. “There’s no way we’re getting close to that,” he defiantly said. “Those camera men aren’t going anywhere.” I felt instantly deflated, but it quickly vanished with Stuart’s next statement. “It doesn’t stop us from watching though!” he exclaimed with an excitable and mischievous grin. Stuart motioned for us to make a move towards Blaine. I nervously followed his lead, before coming to a stop about ten feet away from the muscle bull in question and his circle of admiring camera men. I had an unnerving sense that we were doing something slightly wrong, before I glanced around and noticed that a number of other assorted non-bodybuilders and potential camera crew members were also standing around, not doing a whole lot of anything else but being spectators to this incredible bodybuilder. Even though I’d already spotted Blaine Holton twice that day, nothing could have prepared me for what it would be like to witness this particular competitor stripped to nothing but his indecently shiny posing trunks. I was struggling to comprehend the sheer size of the monstrous mountain of muscle before my eyes. Cartoonishly huge shoulders which looked like they were made from granite, enormous sized biceps which couldn’t be any more pumped if they tried, and big, wonky shaped abs which positively burst through his stomach, all helped to make up Blaine Holton’s phenomenally thick and incredibly powerful physique. There was one particular muscle group of Blaine’s, however, which slightly overpowered the others and begged for my attention the most. Once again, I pictured the imaginary white board with all of the categories of Stuart Fox’s pump room game and winning competitors names underneath, with the last two categories now fulfilled. THE MOST ALL OUT MONSTROUS MUSCLE FREAK IN THE ROOM Blaine Holton THE GUY WITH THE BIGGEST MUSCLE TITS (NO, NOT PECS, BUT TITS! FUCKING TITS!) BLAINE HOLTON The sheer thickness in Blaine’s perfectly round pecs was mind blowing. There didn’t seem to be enough space on his chest for them to fit. Every time Blaine lifted the barbell, both mounds of gloriously thick chest meat twitched and jumped with the movement. I was sure that even when he wasn’t lifting, his enormous and endlessly meaty pecs would bounce and dance with the slightest of movements. The other noticeable aspect of Blaine’s superhuman sized physique was his gorgeous, soft skin. It looked like a layer of millimetre thin silk that had been delicately painted bronze, and was now in fear of ripping every time the owner flexed and tensed one of the rock hard, gigantic sized mounds of muscle sitting underneath it. Even from the neck up, Blaine looked like some kind of genetically modified, superior breed of man. Even though I’d seen Blaine a number of times from images and videos on the Internet, I was still completely blown away by just how astonishingly handsome he was in the flesh. With that ridiculously big, square lantern jaw and the rest of his strong, masculine features, there was little argument that Blaine was one of the most beautiful men I’d ever bared witness to in the flesh. I also couldn’t help thinking that if, by some miracle, Blaine dropped his barbell, walked past Bryan Macleod and the other lucky camera men who’d beat Stuart Fox and I to the post and straight towards me while staring directly in my eyes and, ignoring every other person in the pump room, wrapped his unfathomably huge arms around my waist and back and planted one single kiss on my lips, it would be enough to cause my cock to suddenly start spasming before blasted out a relentless supply of thick, wet cream into the crotch of my boxers. Finishing his set and placing his barbell on the floor, it suddenly became clear that, much like Chris “Freaky Peaks” Jackson, Blaine was one of those bodybuilders who Bryan Macleod had warned Billy Horvath and I about during his presentation that morning. The kind of bodybuilder who didn’t need any kind of encouragement or instructions to start posing. He was going to flex his freshly pumped up mounds of inhumanly sized muscle mass, whether his audience of cameramen liked it or not. Placing his left hand over his right clenched fist, Blaine Holton puffed out his cheeks with a short, sharp exhaling sound, before brilliantly transforming his expression into a similar, shit-eating grin I’d seen him displaying in the video played by Bryan MacWoofityWoof earlier that morning. As he admired his freakish creation of mass muscle in the large mirrors behind us, he flexed and squeezed into a jaw dropping most muscular pose. Striations erupted from the deep groove separating his insatiably thick pecs, which were now bulging from his chest to an astounding degree, his delts looked like melons surgically implanted under his silk-like skin and each of his granite hard biceps, which were now pumped to obscene proportions, looked as if they were trying to pick fights with his balloon-esque pec meat. Not only blown away by the sheer size and freakiness of Blaine’s mass, I couldn’t quite get over just how shamelessly cocky he was. The attitude, power and testosterone radiating from this devastatingly huge muscle beast was like nothing I’d ever witnessed. This was clearly a man who was extremely aware of the kind of power his impossibly sized muscle bought him. There was no doubt that Blaine knew there were certain guys who would give up almost anything just to touch, squeeze and worship his body. Even when relaxed, and turning to the side to transition into his next pose, Blaine’s face was contorted into an obscenely arrogant grimace. As he eased into a muscle exploding side chest, he snapped open his mouth as if mouthing the word, “YEAH!” in the cockiest fashion, before settling on one of the big, eat shit grins I was becoming very well acquainted with. After treating his audience to a quick side tricep pose, accompanied by another power packed, attitude filled grimace, Blaine re-positioned himself to face the mirrors, and his three cameramen head on once more. I watched in complete and utter disbelief as the most all out monstrous muscle freak in the room bent forward and opened his mouth as wide as humanly possible in the most over the top cocky and downright animalistic fashion and cranked down into a brutal, muscle exploding crab most muscular. As Blaine Holton geared up for another pose, Stuart Fox leant towards me. “This is FUCKING amazing,” he quietly exclaimed in a cheeky and excitable manner. Presumably because of a result of my coffee break with Stuart, where we’d all but confessed to each other that we were like minded muscle lovers, the shyness I’d felt during our previous pump room interactions had vanished and I found myself feeling a lot less inhibited in sharing my opinions of our freakishly muscular filming subjects. “Hmmm. Shame about the subdued posing,” I replied in jest. Stuart laughed and offered up his own bout of humorous sarcasm. “Yeah, I just love a guy whose all humble and modest.” I gleefully grinned at Stuart’s comment before he offered up another one of his amazingly hot confessions. “And I won’t be forgetting about those massive fucking muscle tits in a hurry.” No matter how many times Stuart unashamedly and casually muttered his rather cute, completely awesome and undoubtedly hot alternative to the word “pecs” it never lost it’s effect on me. As Stuart Fox and I gazed at each other, both unable to wipes the grins off our faces, I felt the familiar warm and exciting sensation that I’d, not only finally met a like minded lover of inhumanly conditioned muscle freaks, but someone who, despite not knowing for long, I was finding myself increasingly smitten with. Completely lost in my utterly brilliant shared moment of cheeky banter and longing grins with Stuart Fox, I’d failed to notice that someone had unexpectedly saddled up next to me, and was now standing on my right, joining me and Stuart in our spectatorship of Blaine without invitation, until he spoke. “This dude’s a freaking monster!” Startled at his arrival, I quickly glanced to my right. My heart fluttered, I momentarily felt like my breath had stopped and that my eyes were going to pop straight out of my skull. Now clothed in a black tracksuit and standing with his ridiculous sized shoulders just inches away from mine and observing Blaine’s display of power packed, attitude filled posing was the guy with the most incredibly shredded abs in the pump room, winner of the title of the most outrageously cocky poser, which was now in serious threat of being stolen by Blaine Holton, and the bodybuilder who’d cheekily intruded on Justin Hughes’ posing and been one half of the hottest two man posedown I was ever likely to witness both in real life or on my computer in the comfort of my bedroom. The man I had earlier that day nicknamed Mr Gorgeous Abs.

Another question suddenly arose in my head which I was curious to know the answer to. “So, do you think there are more camera men out there who are…” I paused before slightly sheepishly continuing the next part of my question, “like us?” Stuart grinned. “I’m pretty sure there’s a couple!” he replied. “I kind of want to talk to them about it but it’s hard. It’s not the easiest thing to bring up in conversation.” I suddenly had the image of Stuart Fox striding up to a fellow camera man in the pump room, reaching out his hand and matter of factly saying, “Hi, I’m Stuart Fox. I’m so fucking turned on right now by all these monstrously huge muscle freaks flexing and posing in their teenie tiny, super shiny posing trunks that I actually think I might blast a load the next time one of them cranks a massive, trap erupting most muscular. You?” “Oh, and there’s Bryan of course.” My eyes widened slightly and I tried to suppress my sudden piqued interest at the mention of my future husband Bryan Macleod. “Well, I don’t actually know it for a fact,” Stuart continued. “I mean, I’ve never spoken to him about it, but I’m pretty sure he’s into it the same way that we are.” And with that last statement, Stuart Fox and I suddenly exchanged the same sheepish and affectionate smirk. The kind of adorable smile only shared by two people who blatantly rather like each other. Then came Stuart Fox’s next amusing and rather brilliant confession. “I actually used to have a bit of a thing for Bryan!” I tried my hardest not to blush, but I was unable to suppress my amusement at Stuart’s revelation. I suddenly felt another burst of bravery, and without thinking, blurted out my response. “He’s very woof worthy!” Before I had time to panic over whether it was the single most idiotic thing I could have possibly said in that moment, Stuart responded with a laugh. “Woof worthy!” he repeated. “I like that!” "So…” Stuart began, swerving the conversation with a mischievous and rather proud grin on his face, “we’ve found the most inhumanly shredded guy in the room; Justin Hughes. The guy with the craziest feathered quads; Justin Hughes! The guy with the most freakishly huge biceps; Chris “Freaky Peaks” Jackson. What else?” “The abs guy. Justin’s friend!” I chipped in, both surprising and impressing myself at how considerably less embarrassed I was at saying the word abs. “YES!” Stuart Fox excitedly agreed. “He gets the most outrageously cocky poser title too.” An image of Justin Hughes’ crazily developed, line plastered glutes suddenly flashed in my head. My confidence had grown enough that I could more easily mutter out words like abs and quads, but the idea of saying the word glutes out loud, a word not even Stuart Fox had dared to say as yet, still terrified me. So I took an easier option and reminded Stuart of another fulfilled category in the brilliant, self invented pump room game he’d invited me to play. “The first guy we filmed definitely gets the best posing trunks.” “Hell yeah!” agreed Stuart, clearly reminiscing about the impossibly cute, lightweight guy in the golden posers who’d made up our very first filming subject. I’d lost count of how many times my boxer shorts had shrunken that day, but sitting next to an undoubtedly handsome guy openly discussing the best attributes of bodybuilders and muttering words like quads, abs and posing trunks, I found myself with my arms crossed conveniently over my crotch, trying to hife the fact that my dick had, once again, doubled in size and was persistently throbbing against the denim material of my jeans. I suddenly pictured myself in my bedroom, sitting in front of my computer screen. Only instead of sitting on my chair, I found myself comfortably perched on Stuart Fox’s lap. His hard on digging into my arse cheeks, his arms wrapped tightly around my waist and his head nuzzled into the back of my neck as I navigated the computer mouse and searched for the best, hottest and most pant cream worthy videos of Justin Hughes and Chris “Freaky Peaks” Jackson the Internet has to offer. “So we still have the guy with the biggest muscle tits to find!” Stuart exclaimed. TITS AGAIN!! NOT PECS…BUT FUCKING TITS!! “And the most all out monstrous muscle freak in the room.” Once again, I got an image of a bodybuilder I’d witnessed on two occasions that day, and who I was suddenly itching to encounter again. “I actually think I might know a candidate for that one,” I cautiously said. Stuart looked at me inquisitively. “Do you know Blaine Holton?” “God yes!” Stuart replied, with a surprising amount of enthusiasm. “He might be a tricky one to get near though. We kinda got lucky with Justin.” Stuart Fox looked at his watch. “I think we better head back in a bit.” I couldn’t help but notice a slight sense of disappointment in Stuart’s voice, presumably that our non-date was about to come to an end. “So, listen, how long do you left in the States?” My heart skipped a beat at Stuart’s question. Was he about to ask me for my phone number? Maybe ask if I wanted to hang out with him sometime? Possibly ask if I wanted to go back to his and spend all night blowing loads over videos of insanely conditioned, wafer thin skin covered muscle freaks flexing and posing in brightly coloured posers? “There’s a show next month. I can’t go unfortunately. I have this family thing, but I could talk to Bryan if you wanted? Try and get you a spot on the crew?” Stuart’s gesture completely threw me. “Erm…yeah. That would be cool,” I nervously muttered. I knew that it wasn’t the most enthusiastic reaction, but it was the best I could do as my mind struggled to decide with how I was supposed to feel about Stuart’s offer. On one hand, I was being presented with the opportunity to embark, not just on another work experience placement, but an actual spot on a camera crew where I’d be able to, once again, witness the kind of bodybuilders who turned me on more than anything else on the planet, pumping up, flexing and posing in their crazy competition conditions, which was somewhat unbelievable and completely amazing. But, on the other hand, the prospect of embarking on such an experience without the comfort of Stuart Fox by my side was a less than appealing notion. I also couldn’t deny the disappointment I was experiencing over the fact that Stuart hadn’t actually expressed an interest in keeping in touch with me as I suspected he might do. “It’s a shame I can’t go, but I think you’ll be fine,” Stuart said, clearly sensing my uncertainty. “You clearly know what you’re doing with the cameras.” With Stuart Fox’s thoughtful reassurance, I tried to imagine myself in a pump room without him beside me. It was a notion which wracked with me nerves, but none more so than I’d felt with the prospect of embarking on the work experience placement I was currently on. This lead me to, once more, look at the opportunity from the other point of view. In a month’s time I could be working with Bryan MacWoofityWoof again with my very own camera inches away from an obscenely huge, paper thin skin covered magnificently peaked bicep even bigger than Chris Jackson’s. Or a pair of astonishingly shredded, shiny trunk covered line plastered glutes even freakier than those belonging to Justin Hughes. Maybe I’d even be given my very own “LIVE FOR THE PUMP” t-shirt to wear. The very t-shirt which would later be featured in edible icing form on the figurine perched on top of mine and Bryan Macleod’s wedding cake. “Hmmm. I think we’d better head back,” Stuart instructed. We stood up and disposed of our now empty coffee cups. As we headed out of the small room, Stuart turned his head to me with a playful grin on his face. “Let’s go and find the most all out monstrous muscle freak in the room!”

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.

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.

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.

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?”

NAKED Part Ten Sam said, “No.” “No?” I asked. “No,” he repeated. “You do not want to go to Freddy’s Toad.” “But it’s supposed to be a lot of fun.” “Whatever the opposite of ‘a lot of fun’ is,” he said, “Freddy’s Toad is that.” “Cyclotron?” I asked, referring to the leather bar I had also planned on visiting. “Sure,” he said, “if you want to get beaten up by a bunch of long-haired tattooed homophobes stuck somewhere in the 50’s who think a glance is a come-on.” Glancing over, I looked at Lance's magnificent body, packed with muscle and seven feet high, and I had a hard time imagining that dude getting beaten up by anyone, let alone a group of refugees from the 60's with a leather fetish. My beautiful boyfriend's voice interrupted my thoughts. “Why are you two talking when we could be fucking?” Lance could always focus us on what was really important. Sam, when he wasn’t sitting behind his lonely motel counter reading or writing or, one supposes, fantasizing about being back in our room with us having naked sports time with me and my huge, handsome boyfriend, was having naked sports time with me and my huge, handsome boyfriend. He fit in well - after I took the time to explain that, yes, sometimes Lance grows bigger and more muscular and more beautiful and, yes, when that happens sometimes when I pull my dick out of my boyfriend’s perfectly fuckable ass I discover that it’s grown bigger, too, and yes, it’s not your imagination I can cum something like gallons of cream from my fat balls and then turn around and do it again. He asked the same question that I always asked, and Lance gave him the same explanation he always gave me: “I’m not doing anything, you are.” Sam tried to explain my effect on him when I tried explaining my effect on Lance. "I can feel you coming," he said. "Well of course you can feel me cumming! I'm usually cumming in your ass." He clicked his tongue and said, "No...I mean...when you're near me I can feel you. Like...like you're made of sex or something. You know that feeling you get when you see someone who really cranks your 'nads? Some amazing-looking dude and your cock tingles and your balls buzz and you feel this, like, heat come over you all at once." I nodded, because of course I did. "You have that effect, but I don't even need to see you. It's like you're broadcasting sex on some powerful, silent wavelength and I knew when you're around because...I can feel you." He looked down at my giant length of thick cock and licked his lips. "And fuck you feel good." So far, these…unusual but incredibly agreeable effects did not seem to involve Sam’s body in any observable fashion, unless the fact that his ass seemed able to accommodate my length and girth with equal facility to my boyfriend’s, but he attributed that to, as he put it, “lots of practice.” My head would then fill with images of him practicing with a dildo the size of Montana (mine was currently only Massachusetts-sized or something slightly more practical, if one considered the size of Montana) and I would feel my cock growing eager and hungry to be shoved back inside his very cooperative fuck chute. We were at a pause in our daily labors and Lance had now left us alone and was attempting to use the shower (“attempting” is an apt phrase, because he was so large now that he barely fit himself inside the stall, and we could hear booms and bangs on the walls as he maneuvered his bulk around to clean every part of his massive musculature) while we discussed leaving these four walls and the broken beds behind for a few hours. “Where would you suggest, then?” “Motherfucker.” I sat up and tried looking offended. “I beg your pardon?” He just laughed and rolled his eyes. “It’s an underground club. Moves around a lot, because of its…unsavory nature.” “I’d never have guessed that from the name,” I offered. He rolled his eyes again. We were both naked. My dick, which had lately enjoyed so much attention offered by my two companions, was (as usual) firm and tingling. I always seemed to be on the edge of exploding, and I enjoyed the feeling immensely. My cock was now like some finely-tuned instrument designed to fuck and cum, delivering these hard, constant throbs of orgasmic sex to my entire body when I wasn't shoving it inside someone else’s butt, and according to both Lance and Sam nothing and nobody else felt as good to them as me when I was fucking them. “It’s like having heaven plugged directly into my head,” Sam put it, rather poetically. Lance was a bit more direct, and said that my cock delivering its load in his ass was “the greatest fucking feeling in the whole fucking world.” Did I worry what would happen with this constantly-throbbing mega-meat when we got back to college and I had to try dealing with ownership of the biggest and most easily aroused prick in the world? Sort of. But I chose not to worry about that and just enjoy what it could do, which was offer me endless and mind-blowing orgasms and apparently drive the object of its attention bat-shit crazy with sexual pleasure. I mean, what’s wrong with that? I could feel myself throb and swell with eager anticipation as Sam explained the details of this club he intended to show us. “Anything goes,” he said. “Anything?” My eyebrow rose in doubt. There’s a lot of anything in anything goes. “Anything. Everything! You can do whatever you want to, with whomever you want to, assuming of course that you and he both want to.” My dick throbbed hard. “Anything.” He nodded vigorously. “I’ve done some absolutely filthy things there. With some absolutely gorgeous men. It’s like if you took all your most pornographic fantasies and rolled them all up into a big fat veiny super-cock and then coated the cock in lube and stuck it in your butt.” “I thought you were a writer.” His eyes flickered at my crotch. “I take inspiration where I find it.” I looked down at my fat, butt-hungry prick and saw his point. As my boyfriend continued to swell, so did I - just in that one area. It was huge, it was fat, and it was incredibly sensitive. Frankly if someone attractive just breathed on me now I would probably start pumping cream at his face. “So what you’re saying is that we’d fit in perfectly.” “What I’m saying is that if you and Lance walked into Motherfucker, I think the entire planet would probably feel the group orgasm.” Motherfucker was, for its current incarnation, housed in an abandoned warehouse set somewhat outside the beach town’s environs. This meant that Lance got to be his own naked parade for several blocks (I suggested maybe we take the truck but Lance insisted he wanted to “get some sun”) while the head of my prick dangled near my knee and poked out of my shorts, its entire length getting constantly rubbed by the material. I was leaking pre like a snail trail along the sidewalk, and Sam swore he could “smell my fuck scent” like perfume on the wind. Lance was…well, to say that Lance was huge would be the ultimate understatement. We had been more less constantly in a state of sexual congress over the past several days, he and I and Sam, and though I had not managed to shove a giant dose of growth cream inside him, I think he was just constantly growing bigger and stronger on an hourly basis. Just in more subtle ways. Or maybe it was just that I was more used to seeing his body in a horizontal position and now that he was vertical again, and I was walking next to him, his overall bulk and height and muscular development was overwhelming to me. I could…feel him as he walked, as if he was a kind of planet made of muscle with his own gravitational pull, only his gravity was made of sexual attraction and masculine power, and its pull was absolute. Naked, as usual, he moved with an athletic grace that belied his size and immensity. Even after showering, I swear I could smell his masculine muskiness with the same strength that Sam said he could smell mine. It was like a fog of pure male fuck, a scent that made my heart race and my fat cock throb along its entire length. I wanted to stick my nose into his hairy butt crack and lap it all up like some sexual honey. Muscle stuck out from his frame in giant balls and cables and wedges. His definition was insane, as was his aesthetic beauty. Each muscle, even though he had not been training them to harmonious size and balance at a gym, was perfect. Watching him move, I could see each muscle swell and stretch and flex beneath his skin. I could practically see the individual muscle fibers that collecting into fat cables that bulged and twisted with even his slightest movement. Who knows how strong he had become? When he had broken world record lifts in the college gym, he was probably a hundred pounds lighter than he was now. I couldn’t even begin to estimate his strength. His enormous chest looked capable of bench pressing a fucking train, and his arms were thick enough to bend steel beams a foot thick. The sidewalk practically cracked with each stride of his monumental body, and the cock that swung between his two mind-blowing thighs was as gorgeous and perfect and huge as the rest of him. No wonder I had a near-constant hard-on when I was around him! The dude was living, breathing, throbbing, fuck-scented, naked sex on two enormously powerful legs. Lance, as usual, treated everything that was happening to him as if it were the most natural thing in the world. He walked in naked glory down the sidewalk, even occasionally waving at the gawkers who simply could not believe what they were seeing. He’d raise an arm swollen with fat balls and cables of raw muscle and smile that dick-hardening smile of his and greet some dude as if this sort of thing happens every day. Because, sure, when don’t you see a seven-foot-high, three-foot-wide naked dude coated with a beautiful forest of dark fur and swollen with muscle walking along the sidewalk with his massive length of cock wagging like a pendulum? Lance was now head-and-shoulders taller than me, and I was slightly taller than Sam. Sam looked the most normal of us, because he was. Lance was a naked muscle-bound bear-god, I had a cock that could choke, well, anybody with its plum-sized head dangling below the leg of my shorts, and Sam just looked like Sam, all lanky limbs and tight butt and toothy smile. The sun was setting when we reached the location. It was quiet and looked deserted, and Sam said, “We’re early. Things don’t really get cranking until midnight.” “Well,” said Lance, with a dangerous gleam in his sea-green eyes, “let’s get this party started.” We walked up to what we assumed was the entrance and Sam knocked on the door. It opened slightly and Sam asked, “What’s up, Motherfucker?” “We ain’t ready yet,” the shadows replied. Sam stepped back to allow the sight of Lance’s naked perfection to grace the guard’s eyeline. “You sure about that?” he asked. “Hi!” said Lance, moving his hand down to his fat shank of sex, grabbing himself by his thick shaft and pointing his huge cock head towards the door. “Wanna fuck?” That line always seems to work for him. Weird, huh? Needless to say, Motherfucker opened early that Thursday evening. Stepping inside, every eye turned towards us as we made our way inside the cavernous space. It may have been because there was sunlight from outside spilling into the darkness, or it may have been because Lance’s bulk acted like an eclipse and made that sudden brightness turn just as suddenly dark. Whatever the reason (and I have to suspect that at least some of the reason was that a seven-foot-tall naked bodybuilder with a 10-inch shank of wrist-thick sex meat had entered) we were quite suddenly the center of attention. Luckily, that’s exactly where Lance was most comfortable being. My eyes were still adjusting to the darkness when I heard Lance’s deep, powerful baritone say, “Hi,” brightly. Looking over, his dick was already inflating, throbbing and swelling and rising, and I could feel that weird and distinctly sexual heat pouring off his huge butt-naked body. It was making my own monster start to roar, and I was getting harder and bigger so quickly that I was starting to feel the pain of being caged up inside my shorts. I was struggling to get myself free, unzipping and trying to pull my foot-long and growing prick into the open when he asked, “Who wants to fuck?” Apparently, the answer was ‘everybody.’ Lance is a huge dude, but he was nearly bowled over by the sudden onslaught of young dudes literally running at him. I was being grabbed and sucked and kissed and poked and manhandled and I started pumping jizz all over the fucking place like an uncapped hose. I don't even remember disrobing but I got naked pretty fast. I kind of lost track of the other two for a while, to be honest. When you’re the focus of that much intent lust and you find your dick being so fervently and constantly cared for, with dozens of mouths and butts and hands all over the thing as you’re practically cumming constantly, I dare you to be able to focus on what’s happening to someone else, let alone form a cogent question like “who is fucking my boyfriend right now?” I knew Lance could handle himself, of course, and frankly I can’t think of a single thing someone else could do to him that he wouldn’t find the sexual angle in. The dude was a fucking brick house with a steel rod for a cock and muscles powerful enough to literally shove a ton of iron off his chest, along a libido so strong that he can literally have sex for hours at a time - if not for days - and still be ready for more, so it kind of boggles my mind to try to think of something some other dude or dudes could do to him or with him that he didn’t want to have happen. When he asks you if you wanna fuck, you better believe he’s ready to do just that. Me, I could handle myself, too, but I gotta admit that when my dick starts fountaining its unending load, my brain kind of goes south and all I’m feeling or thinking about is how great it all feels. You can fucking rake your teeth up every inch of my cock and it’s just gonna make me cum even harder. And there were dudes kissing my mouth and twisting my nips and licking my ass and sucking the exploding plum of my prick and all I could do was try to keep breathing as I was taken along for another deeply orgasmic ride. I guess that my...whatever power that Sam mentioned, my sex-throbs or whatever, probably contributed to this sudden sexual explosion that engulfed the three of us. I couldn't say for sure, because I guess I was the one making it happen. Sam, I hoped, was somewhere in that mix. The dude had a talented ass that could take whatever Lance and I had thrown at him, and lord knows the dude liked to lap at a butt like a starving man facing his first meal in months. As night fell, the place started filling up with new dudes and I became something like a feast for them, as the old guard fell by the wayside and new lips and asses and hands took over. How many dudes did I fill with cum? How many asses did I fuck? How many mouths did I kiss and how many dicks did I suck? I can’t even estimate. Dozens, for sure. Somewhere in there, I could feel…that feeling. The one that told me, with increasing clarity of purpose, that I was building up one hell of a bodybuilding blast for Lance’s magic muscles and all I needed to do was plug myself in and watch him grow. It felt as if all this sex, all this fucking and sucking, all this kissing and cumming, were only opening up the throttle on my engine instead of using up all the gas. As if my body now hungered for sex, devoured the sensation of my unending orgasms like fuel for the fire that I would eventually unleash inside Lance’s perfect ass and watch and feel his body swelling with power and sex. Something had changed, or maybe I was just finally aware of what was happening with me and my magic balls and my monster dick. Fucking Lance was always amazing, but I rarely managed to push him into bigger territory all on my own. I had to have this, the energy of sex, or the unbroken sensation of horniness, or something. After that morning in the gym with me stoking the fires as I watched his strength on display. After that night in the bar being serviced by an endless supply of randy old dudes wanting nothing more than to get off, or to get me off. And now this evening, too. Was there a connection I had missed? A reason for what was happening? I realized I was not growing more tired and spent as the night of a thousand orgies progressed - I was getting more powerful. I was…absorbing all this masculine sexual energy, pulling it inside me like a sponge and building up a reserve of powerful muscle juice. Even as my dick was unleashing torrents of hot cream, my balls were storing up whatever it was that I needed to help Lance get bigger, and with every minute of time spent with this parade of sexual energy focused on my body, I was charging my batteries for a huge discharge of the fuel that fed Lance’s continuing development. Finally, after hours of endless sex, I knew I could hold back no longer. I knew that I was going to explode if I tried to soak any more masculine power inside me, where it grew hot and hard and thick and pushed into my balls, turning into a thick hot cream filled with masculine energy, the ultimate gift of power for my huge, perfect lover. I was so charged up it hurt, like a throbbing pain and an overwhelming fire and a feeling of weight and tugging at my cock and balls. “Gotta….” Mouth on my cock, sucking my load. Cock in my ass, pumping me with cum. Lips on my mouth, tongue pushing inside, balls on fire, prick exploding. “Gotta fucking….” Hands grabbing me, pulling me, embracing me. Lips at my ear, whiskers on my cheek. Soft deep voice in my head. “Are you ready, baby?” “Gotta cum….” “Are you ready to give it all to me?” “Gotta…” “Are you ready to watch me grow?” I opened my eyes. Lance kissed me with utter passion, pressing his mighty body against mine, every muscle coated in sweat, the smell of sex surrounding us. “Are you ready, baby?” “Gotta fucking cum…” “Fuck me, baby.” “Gotta fucking….” “Fuck me hard. Harder than you ever fucked me before.” “Gotta….” “Make me grow.” I could feel his heat, his need, his power. He slapped his great, huge frame onto his back and opened his legs wide, showing me that familiar pink pucker that was so happy to welcome me inside. He held his ankles in his paws and spread himself open to me, his musk like a wave of heat that swept over me, washing my skin in his sexual power. His tight hole was wet with spit and cum and lube, amply prepared for the fat length of cock I was going to feed it. His legs were lined with thick wedges of muscle and his cock, a hot shank of thick sex, reached up his body and drooled warm honey into the deep crevasse between his massive pectoral globes. My balls ached with their load. I’d been coming constantly for hours, probably, but saving up this just for him. My magic muscle-making cum, super-powered and swollen with strength. “Gotta fucking cum,” I whispered. I pushed the head of my monster at his hole. He groaned and opened for my hugeness, using the massive control he had over every super-powered muscle packed onto his giant frame. A kiss of wet heat like his hungry mouth and tongue encased my rock-hard prick and I shoved myself inside. I exploded. White hot lava was erupting up my cock and flooding him with power. I started slowly fucking his ass, feeling him grip me like a vice and start to suck every drop I had for him from my balls. I leaned over him and pushed my lips against his and we kissed. We were coated in sweat and slippery, his heavy forest of dark fur glistening like silk. His long, talented tongue shoved inside my mouth and his hands were on my head, holding my mouth against his and I started cumming harder, still, my shout of absolute bliss stifled by our kiss. I could feel him swelling, feel his chest inflate and press against me, feel his cock stretching longer, growing thicker, feel the sexual heat from his naked body envelope and caress me. I came even harder. A flood of hot cum squeezed from my over-burdened balls, every drop screaming with muscle and sex and beauty, flooding his guts and making him grow. “Make me grow.” Yes. This is all I wanted, now. Make him grow. I looked at his face, looked into his eyes, watching him growing more handsome, more beautiful, more perfect as I shoved my hot load inside him and made him grow. His mouth was open and he was gasping in air. His green gaze was lost in some mutual orgasmic perfection and he sank into that sensation of muscular development, his strength swelling in time with his body. He was in total bliss, accepting my gift and growing more powerful with every heartbeat. He was swelling with muscle under me, his ass tightening around my steel-clad cock as I grew longer inside him, thicker and harder like a perfect cannon shooting my cum inside his swelling muscles. I could feel that sensation of perfect eruption as I delivered my copious load and my whole thick prick was throbbing with intense sexual power. His eyes opened and he smiled at me. “I can feel it,” he said. “Give it all to me. I want it all.” I leaned back, looking down at him, watching his body swelling with power, and pushed myself in to the hilt. I exploded, gasping and shouting, lost to pure bliss and orgasmic ecstasy, crying out with rapture as I gave Lance all that I had to give him and watched his muscles swell bigger. And bigger. And bigger. I was lost in some kind of perfect sexual haze, it was like heroin and it was shooting directly into my brain. I came and came, like I’d never come again, shooting a thick, hot, potent stream inside Lance as he swelled and stretched and grew. I looked at him and he looked at me. What did I even look like, my monster shoved all the way inside him as I exploded cum like a hydrant? I felt that I was unaware of anything but him and me, this connection, and me shoving an endless stream of cum inside him as my balls blazed and my cock swelled. I was lost inside that endless orgasmic perfection and saw his mouth open and smiling as his pectoral masses rose and split and his eight-pack deepened and his arms swelled up like balloons. Stars began to sparkle in my darkening vision. A tingling sensation was creeping up my arms from my fingers, a sort of numbness like warmth creeping over my skin. Everything. Take everything. Take it all. I felt a hand on the back of my neck, being pulled forward, the warmth of his body growing deeper, the smell of his sexy musk enveloping my senses, lips against mine, arms surrounding me, his hard body pressed against mine as it swelled bigger and bigger. “Thank you,” he said. Blackness.

Probably night the right forum for this topic but we don't seem to have a General section specifically for Stories. For me there are some fave authors out there who never spent much time on the old Forum for one reason or another. One of mine is Josef Howard, who does really awesome muscle growth description. Some of Josef's stuff wound up on the Forum, some in the Evolution Archive, but the most reliable source is his own (infrequently updated) website: http://www.agrowingconcern.com/ If you haven't done so already, you really need to check it out. They're classics of the genre. CMiller, if you see this one, perhaps you could pin it so that we could add to the content as we become aware of other sites? -- RPJ Likewise, O'Melissokomos has done yeoman's work collecting and archiving stories from many of the old Forum's authors (including, I think, all of mine, Jaypat's, BBMSN's, etc.) (But not Josef Howard, unfortunately!) If you haven't done so already, check out his archive: http://www.pridesites.com/omelissokomos/stories.html -- RPJ

Oh, yes! There's also: http://www.reddit.com/r/MaleMuscleGrowth/ But I really haven't checked it out at this point... -- RPJ

Here's another: http://musclepla.net/

Whoops here ya go http://metabods.com http://ncmc.webfactional.com/ncmc/