londonboy

A night out didn't mean a club or partying - it meant going some place where we could watch our big friend tear stuff apart. Breaking into junkyards so he could toss big things around or demolish things was better that the best rave or bar.

Damn, look at how this little guy can't help himself from staring at my chest as we talk. It's so cute. Let's give him a chest bump. Folding up iron plates for him got me so excited. He's making me so horny. Is it hot in here or is it just me? Man, I gotta have this little guy.

Part Seven Ever wonder what it was about a big strong muscleman that turns you on so much, bud? Is it just merely my bulk, my size when I stand close to you that makes you weak in the knees? Big muscles just overwhelm you? Or is it when I act all cocky and make sure you know that my muscles aren’t just for show? Yeah, is it the power, man? Are you addicted to another man showing off his strength? Cause I find it hot as hell showing off for you. You want to be big yourself, man? Do you imagine that little body of yours growing as big and strong as mine? You wanna be able to lift more than me? Beat me at wrestling? Power up a bigger biceps flex? Or do you wanna stay small and have me just continuously smother you with all my hugeness and power? Which is it, man? Both sound good to you, huh? Good answer. Can’t see you passing me in size or brute force, man, but we can make you bigger. We can make it to where you want to go shirtless all the time – just like I do. Yeah, man, you want some protruding mouth-watering massive pecs like I have? Just imagine the weight of those puppies hanging all firm and thick in front of you. They’d make you walk taller man. Yeah, some swole pecs would make you all cocky and stuff, man. You want to get off on your own flexed gun, don’t you, man. You want to raise that thing and put your hand into a tight balled fist and make that biceps bulge higher and higher, to some freakish size that stretches your shirtsleeve until the material digs into your skin and looks like it’s begging to rip apart. Yeah, dude, staring at myself in the mirror – all pumped and colossal – really turns me on. You should try it one day – get so big that you can watch yourself flexing and bust a big thick load all over the mirror just because your own body rocks your world. That’s not self-love, man, that’s self-lust. And it’s fucking incredible. We could get you bigger and then flex in front of the mirror together – getting turned on by our own huge bodies, but also by the way we’d admire each other. Ain’t nothing hotter than two musclemen going from some intense mutual worship to a little flexing competition and then to some bulge on bulge pounding. Yeah, I’m getting all hot and bothered just thinking about you flexing a big arm up next to mine. And banging on each other’s chest like some kind of huge primates enjoying foreplay. So, buddy, want to get enormous, hard, and cocky? Want to come over to the dark side with your big boy, here? Want me to turn you into something that waddles across the gym floor while people drool daydreaming about feeling your big body? Want to be a huge guy that needs release . . . every . . . time . . . you . . . lift? Look at you getting even more horned up and light-headed thinking about us rubbing all our big muscles together. Speaking of banging and pounding things, buddy-boy. You’ve been unconsciously rubbing that ass of yours against my crotch for a while, now. I guess playing with these pecs and biceps makes you just naturally know what a big man like me would want. I know you were down for some virginal muscle worship, but I’m hoping my huge bulges might entice you to offer up something else to my biggest and strongest muscle. You sure you don’t understand what I mean? Something tells me that backside of yours is already begging for me to fill you with my giant love muscle. Damn! You’ve never done that, either? Could have fooled me, you little hornster. You’re teasing my cock like a pro. Oh baby, don’t get all nervous and stop what you’re doing. No need to suddenly turn all shy again. I’m just thinking you might want to feel all of this enormous muscle pushing against you . . . inside you. I know you can feel how excited I’ve become. It’s like you’re rubbing against a log, isn’t it? Yeah, that’s it, buddy, relax back into that satisfying motion again. See how that ass of yours just knows what it wants, without that pretty head of yours having to say a thing and get in the way. Oh nice, you’ve learned quickly how to make my nipples stand up and take notice of your twisting and yanking. That’s it, move your hands to these flexed arms, use these big hard things to help you drag that body of yours up and down my happy rod. That’s it, keep on rocking until I start knocking. Oh, cute little mister, you’re making me want to charge like a rhino. You sure you’ve never done this before? Well, you’re a natural, dude – some things can’t be learned, they’re just instinctual, know what I mean, man? You’ve taken to worshipping like a baby honing in on his mom’s tit. Damn, dude, if you don’t let me start plowing soon, I might have to start busting up some of the nice things in this place of yours. I’m gonna have to get release one way or the other.

“Keegan . . . Keegan! I can’t breathe, man. Hey, Keegan!” I could tell he was falling asleep – the rhythm of his breathing was turning even and deep. I knew I needed to have him roll off of me or I’d be trapped for the entire night. Using a good amount of strength, I pulled my hand up between our bodies and found a big hairy nipple to twist, with as much power as my fingers could muster while smashed between us. This snapped the big guy out of his almost-sleep state, causing him to make a sound that was somewhere between a moan and a whine. “Mmmm-hmmmm, my baby’s ready for round two . . . wait, no, round three.” “As wonderful as that sounds, no – it’s just that you’re starting to fall asleep and I can’t breathe . . . or feel my legs.” “Oh . . . sorry, hon, I’m just too big.” The understatement of the year. The cold, winter’s night air briefly sent a shock to my body as he rolled off of me and exposed me to the elements. I immediately wanted to be smothered by his warmth and weight, again, even if it restricted my breathing and prevented me from being able to get up until he did. “I gotta pee, anyway,” Keegan said, sliding out of the much too small bed and waddling out the door and down the hall. I knew his wide shoulders made the narrow passageway leading to the rest of my tiny apartment look even smaller and very claustrophobic. I had watched him make that walk thousands of times – amazed that he wouldn’t have been able to fully extend his arms out sideways unless he accidently punched through drywall, which was always a fear of mine . . . or was it a fantasy. My small place was suddenly filled with what could only be called the sound of a waterfall. Not the trickling sounds of a small stream – more like the deafening pounding of Niagara Falls. Even the guy urinating sounded butch and powerful. And it seemed to last forever. Just when you thought it was ending – at that moment when most guys would be wagging off a few more drops, there’d come another loud steady stream that somehow told you it was a virile hugely muscled man crammed in the tiny bathroom. After what seemed like the same amount of time for a semi-long movie, I’d hear the floorboards complaining about having to support so much weight and then I’d be surrounded, again, with the kind of body warmth that helped me save on my energy bills because I never had to turn on the heat. This time, only a huge arm would be draped over me, but it would still feel like a giant, heavy, folded quilt on my body. “I really could go again,” came the deep sexy familiar voice, that caused the back of my neck to be caressed by his breath as we spooned. “I’m not you, remember? Not all of us can rebound quicker than all of the NBA put together. I also have the early shift tomorrow.” “You work too much.” “Tell that to my creditors,” I replied, pulling his beefy forearm around me tighter, which caused him to squeeze my body hard. “I had fun tonight. Thanks for coming out with me.” “Yeah, it was fun . . . but I’m not sure your friends like me.” “Not this again. Of course, they like you . . . it’s just that they’re still getting to know you. It’s only been a few months. “It’s just that you guys always talk about stuff I know nothing about.” “Well, we have a long history together, so there’s a lot of shared information.” “Yeah, like that friend all of you talked about – the one I don’t know – her name was Marianne something.” “You mean Marianne Williamson?” “Yeah.” “Um . . . she’s not a friend . . . so to speak. She’s running for president.” “You have a friend running for president?” “No, not a friend. She’s just famous and Kyle is like her personal cheerleader or something.” “See, that’s something I should know . . . to be able to join in the conversation. I think your friends find me boring and stupid.” I tried to turn my body to face him, but the weight of his big arm prevented it. I tapped it twice – our little signal for him to release whatever part of his body was making movement impossible. He raised his arms so I could spin around and then it came back down, holding me closer. I looked into his innocent, but serious face. I slid my hand up between us and tapped on a gorgeous bulging mound beside his neck. “What’s the full name of this muscle right here?” “The trapezius muscle and it’s divided into three areas - the upper, middle, and lower fibers – called the upper, middle, and lower traps.” “And what specific exercise, pray tell, makes these things get so huge?” “Well, there’s a lot of debate about that…” “What’s your favorite, honey, cause it’s obviously working?” I said, smiling. “I like power shrugs and deadlifts.” “None of my friends would know any of that. Your expertise is not Marianne Williamson, it’s muscle.” “You just want me for my body,” he said, sticking out his bottom lip in a forced fake pout. “That’s a huge part of my attraction . . . and by huge, I mean…” “I get the point. Name something else besides my body that you find attractive.” I faked a pained look on my face – as if I couldn’t come up with anything else and the big man squeezed my body hard, making me squeal a little. I suddenly realized that there was some true vulnerability being shown here. My big sweetheart was feeling ‘less than’ and needed some support. I snuggled closer and turned my face up to his. “Tonight, there was a moment when the beer pitchers were almost empty and I could sense everyone looking at their phones, going to the bathroom, or cruising the joint – anything to keep from being the person that noticed we needed more beer. You, however, poured what remained evenly in everyone’s glass without any hesitation and then took the four pitchers to the bar to get refills. You didn’t think twice. You didn’t have this scorecard in your head that was keeping track of who had already done what and who hadn’t. You just saw that more beer was needed and knew how to improve the situation. Your kindness often overwhelms me with a knowledge of how lucky I am to be with you.” I had just answered his question honestly – truly believing he was one of the nicest guys on the planet. But my answer moved him in a way I had not expected. A tear slid from the corner of his eye and dropped to the pillow below. My heart opened even wider for this wonderful man. “Keegan, honey, you are definitely not stupid or boring. Who cares if you know who Marianne Williamson is or not. I love your body, yes, but that is not even close to all the things I love about you. What’s bringing this on?” I double tapped his arm to be released and sat up, crossing my legs to look down at him. I had my hand on his big biceps, stroking him softly. He turned his head to look up at me and another tear slid down the top part of his cheek. “This is usually the beginning of the end. I’ve reached this point in too many relationships to even count – room being made for my toothbrush, being introduced to friends, and even being sent out with the guy’s ATM card and code to get money for him before going to a club. It’s just that nothing’s ever lasted more than a few weeks after this point. The guy’s all end up telling me that the conversations are too limited, I spend too much time at the gym, or – as one guy put it – they don’t want to look like they’re out with a hustler every time we went to dinner. I worry that I don’t know how to make it beyond this point. I worry every day that you’ll get tired of me.” “Hey, Mister Muscles,” I lovingly said the nickname I had given him the first night we met, which, at least, made him briefly smile, “I’m not going anywhere. I’m right here. You never bore me and as for stupidity – remember the first time you took me to a gym. What did I do? Come on, tell me.” “You thought you could bench what I bench.” “And what else?” “You went to pick up the dumbbells I was curling and threw your back out because you couldn’t even lift them a little.” “You had to carry me to the walk-in clinic down the street. If anyone’s making a fool of themselves in this relationship – it’s definitely me. Who’s to say that you won’t get bored with me soon, eh?” “That’ll never happen?” “And why not?” “Cause you give the best head I’ve ever had,” he said, turning slightly red and smiling. “Oh, so you like me only because of my mouth.” “Yes.” I took a pillow and swung it quickly into his face, leaving it there, so all I could see of him was his humongous arm, massive chest, and cobblestone abs. The view still bowled me over – even after all of these months. I heard him saying something under the pillow. I removed it. “And sex with you is better than chocolate cake,” he said, mentioning the only food that would ever tempt him from leaving his strict eating regime. “Now, you’re making ME sound like the hustler.” “You’d be a good one. I remember.” “Thank you . . . I think. What’s brought all of this on, Mister Muscles? Why the sudden fear of this fabulous thing between us not lasting? You’re not one for losing confidence.” “I was in the bathroom tonight, around the corner out of sight at the urinals, and I overheard Kyle and Demetrius talking.” “What did they say?” I asked, knowing already it was going to be something bitchy and unkind. “Kyle wondered how long you were going to continue to slum it with a Neanderthal and then he said he could see in my eyes that I had no idea who Marianne Williamson was.” “Fucking Marianne Williamson! When did she become the barometer for all things concerning relationships. First of all, Mister Muscles, Kyle has wanted me since junior high and doesn’t take quickly to any guy I date. Secondly, you intimidate the hell out of him because of your size and big muscles, and, thirdly, I’m going to kick his ass the next time I see him for saying all of this.” “God, you’re sexy when you defend my honor and talk that way.” “I’m serious, Keegan. He can’t treat you that way and I will tell him.” “Um, no you won’t. I don’t want there to be even more of a strain than there already is between your friends and me. I’ll just have to win them over with my princely charm.” As usual, the big man found a way to help me instantly release anger and tension. I looked down into his eyes and smiled. I lowered my face to give him a long, passionate kiss. I pulled back after a while and we looked at each other – silently. “So, we good. All this is good, now?” I asked, showing him how important it was to me. “Better than good,” he said and then lifted the quilt and sheet to reveal a fully hard ‘Tennessee’ – the nickname I had given his dick because I said it was as long and big as that entire southern state. “Show me again why I like you so much.” My mouth watered a little as ‘Tennessee’ was uncovered even more and two extremely muscled thighs begged to be the support for my small hands as I did what I was truly good at – servicing my big man. ********** “Five hundred dollars.” “Nope.” “Okay. A thousand, but that’s my final offer.” “It’s still no. I have a boyfriend…” “So?” “…and we’re in a monogamous relationship.” “But there’s enough of you to keep four guys happy!” “And I’m only interested in keeping one man happy.” “Then why be a personal trainer? These days, isn’t that just a code word for ‘hustler’?” “Um . . . no, I truly enjoy helping other people get into shape. By the way, are you going to come on to me every time we work out. I might need to start charging you more if I’m going to have to continue fighting off all your advances.” I grabbed the man’s hand, which was suddenly placed on my thigh, and squeezed a little too tightly before pushing it away. He let out a slight yelp and shook out his arm wildly. This was my fifth session with Mr. Groping Hands (names withdrawn to protect the guilty) and he was, again, in rare form. Saying the word ‘boyfriend’ had taken me back to earlier that morning when Chef Marco (okay, chef in training) had literally blown me away – no pun intended – with his unbelievable oral skills. I had never met such a talented mouth. The sensation of what his tongue, throat, lips, and teeth could do was still making my groin area buzz with excitement. Mr. Groping Hands clearly thought my bulging crotch was in response to his non-inspiring advances. This guy was definitely a ‘catch’ – rich, well-built, nicely endowed, and smooth in the way expensive liquor went down, but he wasn’t my Marco. He wasn’t the beautiful man that was able to suck my balls in some miraculous way that could make me not able to prevent myself from exploding in less than a minute. I swear, Marco’s mouth should be listed as one of the . . . what was it . . . five wonders of the world? Six wonders of the world? Neither of those sounded right. “How many wonders of the world are there?” I asked, as I carefully led the man through some sit-ups. “You mean besides you, Keegan.” “Yes, not including me,” I answered, signaling him to take a short rest. “Most scholars say there were seven wonders of the ancient world.” “Seven. I was close,” I said, tapping his stomach to begin again. “How about just letting me blow you in my car, Keegan? I can tell your cock is interested – it keeps bobbing up and down when you touch me.” We were out in the open area of Palisades Park – a hot spot for trainers who didn’t want to see clients in their homes or at the gym. Mr. Groping Hands was a pretty famous director and preferred the anonymity that came with green grass, lots of trees, and a gaze-stealing view of the Pacific Ocean to prevent gawkers. I appreciated his boldness – it was kind of refreshing after all the guys (and gals) that did head games to try and get me into bed. I looked over at his Bentley Flying Spur and then back at his red-from-training-hard face. “What’s the difference between your car and, let’s say, a Honda Civic.” “You’re kidding, right? First of all, kid, it’s the comfort. The Flying Spur is like first class on the world’s biggest airplane while the Civic is like where the dog crates are stored. Secondly, it’s the power and pleasure that comes from sitting behind the wheel of that beauty. And, among many other things, it’s knowing that what you’ve got is a classic – something everybody else wants.” “Well, let’s just say you’re the Civic and my man, Marco, is the Bentley. And you, my friend, are done.” “Ouch, you sure are a buzz kill. What a way to put me in my place.” “You worked hard, today. You know, you really don’t need me. You’ve got a clear understanding of exercise, great form, and a great body. I know it’s not good business, but you are paying for something you don’t really need.” “Are you kidding? You think I’m paying you for your expertise about working out? Buddy, I choose to have you as my trainer so for an hour and a half two days a week I get to look at the kind of perfection that probably inspired Michelangelo. I get to cop a feel or two of the hottest body in the city. I get more fodder from you for private spank time than anything on the great big web could ever offer. I’ll be yanking my chain in my office before you even make it home, Keegan. I hope this Marco fellow knows how lucky he is.” “I’m the lucky one,” I said, winking at the man. “Hey, the two of you wouldn’t be interested in a shared bed, sometime, would you?” “How often do you lend out your Bentley?” “Never.” “I’m the same about my man.” “When the hell did monogamy become so popular again?” he said, collecting his wallet, phone, and other personal items. “Ever since I met Marco.” “I’d like to meet your man, sometime, Keegan. Just for dinner, don’t give me that look. I really mean just a meal and conversation. I’d like to meet the guy that has slayed such a huge and handsome dragon. My offer on helping him get a chef position somewhere still stands.” “Dinner sounds good, I’ll check with Marco and get back to you. Marco always says thank you for the offer of a job, but he wants to make it or break it on his own.” “You two inspire me,” Mr. Groping Hands said as he reached up to latch a hand on my massive pec and squeeze, before walking off. “One more handful to fuel my afternoon release. See you Tuesday, Mr. Universe.” I watched the handsome guy walk to his car. He really was a good catch. He was successful. He was a fully ‘out’ director and producer in Hollywood and that was almost unheard of. His movies had won numerous awards and his sole Oscar was for directing an incredible heart-wrenching independent film about two older gay lovers. He was even liked by other people in the business. All of that, however, didn’t come close to Marco. I pulled out my phone and hit the only ‘favorite’ I had. “Hello, Mister Muscles,” answered the silky voice of my lover. “Bad time?” “Never a bad time for you. I’m just ironing some shirts. How was Mr. Grabby Fingers?” “Mr. Groping Hands was fine. He offered a thousand dollars today and wanted give me a blow job in his Bentley.” “You have such the glamorous life. You know, of course, I have figured out who this man is, even though you are the consummate professional and have never revealed his name.” “I’ll always be able to say I did not tell you. He’d like the three of us to go to dinner sometime. He’d like to behold the stud who has stolen my heart.” “I think he’d be sadly disappointed and baffled as to why you weren’t already fully ensconced in his Malibu mansion.” “Or he’d fall in love with you and steal you away,” I said, only half-joking. “Would his flexed arm surpass the size of yours,” Marco asked, sexily. “Not even close,” I replied. “Then you, my friend, have nothing to worry about.” “Oh, so the first guy you meet that is larger than me is who you’ll dump me for?” “Well, since I’m never going to meet anyone larger than you – and even if that crazy idea could come true – you have nothing to be worried about. Besides, there’s another huge muscle of yours that I’m pretty sure will never be topped by any other mere mortal.” “Speaking of ‘Tennessee,’ he’s definitely screaming for some attention from little Marco.” “Well, since you now have a session with the nameless Mrs. Famous Actress who stars in one of my favorite shows and is married to a world-famous divorce lawyer (no way I could figure that one out), you better calm down before she offers to blow you in whatever fancy car she drives.” “She always rides her bike to sessions. She’s very concerned about the environment.” “Of course, she is. Well, tell ‘Tennessee’ that I will see him in the shower this afternoon before I leave for work. One more thing, Mr. Muscles.” “What’s that, Boo?” “Don’t be mad when you get a call later on.” “What does that mean?” “Just don’t be mad. I’ll see you later. Love you.” And the phone went dead. I stared at it for a few seconds, wondering what Marco meant. I did not have to wait long to find out, however. The phone rang with a number I did not recognize and had not keyed in. “Hello,” I said, cautiously. “Hey, Keegan, it’s Kyle.” My knight in shining armor had not done what I requested. Kyle had been reprimanded and forced to give me a call. I would have to act angry with Marco for a little while this afternoon, but I knew ‘Tennessee’ would be begging for the beautiful man’s mouth - or even more - and would prevent me from sulking for too long. I returned to the upcoming awkward conversation. “Hey Kyle, what’s up?” “Listen, I’ve been thinking that I haven’t started off our relationship on the right foot. I’m pretty protective of Marco and always want what’s best for him. I just wanted to say I’m sorry if I haven’t always been cordial and I was hoping we could, you know, kind of start over and let me make it up to you. If that’s okay . . . with you.” I knew I wasn’t the sharpest knife in the drawer or the brightest bulb on the tree, but I did know a thing or two about men and how to act around them. This was a huge deal for Kyle – to be making this call – and it showed what a good friend he was to Marco. Dating a guy is not a private affair – if you wanted it to last, which I definitely did, you had to accept that you were dating his family and friends, too. You also needed to make sure your boyfriend’s best friend never felt too excluded or shamed. I understood Kyle. I also felt for him, since I had figured out, way before Marco told me, that Kyle had a longtime crush on his best friend. I was an unwanted interruption in their unrequited love affair. I knew how to make things right – or as right as they ever would be, because Kyle would continue to be jealous of me. I would just have to accept that. “Man, Kyle, I don’t know what you’re talking about. You’ve always been cool. I know it’s hard to add a new person to a set group of friends, but you always seemed to go out of your way to include me. There’s no need for you to apologize, but consider it a clean slate if you need to.” I could feel the guy’s smile across the phone waves. He knew I was playing along with the game that he was playing. We both knew each other knew it. We both knew Marco knew we were playing it. But that didn’t take away from the fact that we were doing it. I was giving Kyle the gift of being able to call Marco and tell him everything was good. I empowered Kyle with a secure best friend status and the ability to embrace me just a tad more into the group. He was freeing me to completely be Marco’s boyfriend – holding hands when we were out, talking about intimate stuff around everyone, and even kissing, on occasion. We both were freeing Marco of worry and tension our unnamed battle might have caused. The universe shifted to welcome this new reality. “Okay, then,” Kyle said. “I’m glad. That’s great. I’m really happy you found Marco (we weren’t quite ready to be happy that Marco found me). I’ll see you for drinks tomorrow night, right.” “Yes, you will. And Kyle, thank you,” I replied and it was the most honest thing in the entire conversation – we both knew that, too. “Of course, man. Thank you. See you tomorrow.” “See you.” The phone went quiet and dark. I immediately texted my sole ‘favorite’ saved in the phone as I watched Mrs. Famous Actress biking up the path. The text was short and sweet. “Thanks for defending my honor. ‘Tennessee’ will be expecting extra attention to make up for it.” ************ The text made me long to have ‘Tennessee’ in my mouth right at that moment – or some other orifice of pleasure. My entire being missed the hugeness of Keegan – all of his hugeness – every second he wasn’t touching me. I knew that this feeling was part of the honeymoon period of a relationship, but I also knew it was mostly and specifically to do with how much the big man turned me on. My face only came up to his nipples – a convenient spot for my mouth – and I had a feeling the most accurate ratio would have been three and a half of my bodies equaled his one. I loved muscles – all of my friends knew this – but no one, especially me, would have anticipated the giant mountain of sinew that now shared a bed with me three, four, or – sometimes – seven days a week. We made sure we split our time between both of our places – just to be fair. I was also still amazed he didn’t go crazy in my small place – his enormous frame almost completely filling up any room he was in. His place was bigger, more expensive, and nicer – but Keegan always seemed happy to be at my place, too. He said he just wanted to be wherever I was. “This moment calls for Ms. Ross, the boss,” I said – to no one - as I found the song ‘I Want Muscles’ and blared it in my apartment. I had one more shirt to iron, but dancing around my living room took precedence. I thought about calling Kyle to tell him thank you, but that wasn’t how this worked. He needed to think I was still a little unhappy with how he had been treating my new gorgeous, wonderful, mammoth boyfriend. Kyle had heard in my voice the unspoken ultimatum that if I was forced to choose, I’d go with Keegan. It had been the first time ever I had insinuated this, we both felt that big elephant in the room. It scared each of us – a lot – and for the first time in our lives the conversation on the phone had faltered, even stopped for a few seconds. Kyle had been my best friend ever since he had scared the crap out of a bully on the playground in seventh grade by screaming louder than a police siren to alert teachers of a potential incident. The bully never bothered me again and Kyle and I became lifelong friends. We came out to each other in high school and he confessed his love for me in college. Our friendship was cemented even more when we worked through that, me finally letting him know I was drawn to big men. He first thought I meant I was a chub chaser, but then I had told him I liked muscles. We watched each other botch up a few serious relationships and more than a few one-night stands. Then we became locked into the scene in Los Angeles – he, as a new financial planner at his dad’s firm, and me, as one of only twenty-five people chosen to attend a posh three-year culinary school. He was presently working his way up the corporate ladder and I had graduated top of my class and was working hard as a sous chef at a prestigious restaurant. To help make ends meet I had taken a second job delivering nutritious homemade meals to the great people of Los Angeles who had extra money to burn. “Get that last shirt done,” I said to myself when Ms. Ross had finished singing about men’s bodies. A big mistake – one that cost me the delivery job – had changed my life forever, just a little over eleven months ago. I had been sent to one of those nice downtown high rises with a meal which could have been a late lunch or an early dinner depending on whomever had ordered it. I wasn’t paying attention – what was new – and got off on the wrong floor because someone had pushed the call button for the elevator but went back into their place to probably retrieve a forgotten item. I assumed it was the floor I needed when the doors opened and no one was there. I went down the hall and mistook 4-K for apartment 5-K. Meanwhile – only to find out later – a broken-hearted bodybuilder/personal trainer named Keegan Robinson was going through a fully acceptable slutty stage after a very hard break up and had made an afternoon booty call to help him relieve some sexual tension before he went to the gym to workout. Keegan lived in apartment 4-K. When he opened the door to find this cute guy standing there with earphones on jamming to some tunes, he was pleasantly surprised by how lucky he was to get such a wholesome looking hookup. He had pulled me into the apartment so quickly that I didn’t really have time to say anything. “Hey bud, sorry to be so direct, but I just really need to get off before I go and do this intense two-hour workout. You don’t mind if I pay you full price to just suck me off right here, do you? I’d really appreciate it.” I was still reeling from the fact that this smooth-faced Hercules had answered the door. I had never been this close to someone that size. I had a muscle fetish, for sure, but all of my big body encounters didn’t come close to matching the mountain range of bulges standing there in a tank-top and basketball shorts. My music was blaring, so I hadn’t heard what the giant had said, but when he pulled down his shorts to reveal the longest and thickest and most juicy-looking sausage of my entire life – making it clear he wanted a blowjob – I didn’t miss a beat. I dropped the bag of gourmet food, dropped to my knees, and then dropped that mammoth thing down my throat so quickly you would have thought I was a professional. Every guy I had ever slept with – and it was quite a few – had always said I was the best cocksucker he had ever met. Even if the guy ended up dumping me he always ended with, “I’m going to so miss that mouth of yours.” I have no idea why I was so good. Maybe it was because I just imagined what I would like when I did it. Or maybe it was just because I loved sucking so much. Either way, the stars were aligned that afternoon because my skills and the desire to be really good because of the hulking body I was getting to blow enabled me to give the bodybuilder the kind of pleasure he had never known before. I made him cum so hard he threw his body into a terrifying, but astounding most muscular pose as he spewed – causing me to swallow even harder, which – in turn – made him shoot a quick second round. The big man fell to his knees, his cock pulling from my mouth and his big arms engulfing me. “Fuuuuuuckkkk, what in the hell was that?” he said loudly between heavy breaths and trying to steady his still-swaying huge body. I pulled out my earphones and was about to ask what he said, when there was a knock on the door. The giant rose to his feet, still a little unsteady, and pulled up his shorts as he opened the door. A definite slutty player stood there, kind of fake-smiling – which turned into a real smile when he saw the behemoth that had called. I’m sure the hustler was super thankful it was some huge Adonis instead of a balding middle-aged married man. “Sup, Thor,” the hustler said, “I’m here to rock your world.” The bodybuilder turned to look at me, catching sight of the food bag at the same time. There was a stack of bills on a table by the door. The big man grabbed these and the bag at the same time. He looked at the address on the slip stapled to the carrier. He turned to slutty hustler and handed him the bag and money. “Changed my mind, dude. Something better unexpectedly came along. Here’s your money, though, and do you mind delivering this one floor up to 5-K. Thanks a lot,” said the muscled perfection and then he quickly closed the door. Turning to me he added, “Can you do that again?” Needless to say, Keegan never made it to the gym that evening. The hustler didn’t deliver the food, so I was fired by text when I wouldn’t answer my phone. I had been too busy, however, swallowing four big loads of the bodybuilder’s swimmers within a three-hour period. I had never known a guy that could produce so much semen so quickly. He was some kind of sexual superman. He kept saying each orgasm was more powerful than the last and claimed that I had some kind of oral magical powers. He screamed louder with each ejaculation and I was sure his neighbors thought he was being murdered. After blowing him in the kitchen, living room and bedroom his body was so jacked he said it equaled the two-hour workout he had missed. He ordered Chinese food and we ate it totally nude on his living room floor. After exploding the fourth time, he pulled me onto his humongous body and we kissed for the first time. Basically, my mouth had been filled with his cock for three hours straight and the guy was finally slightly spent, and ready to get to know me. “Fucking tell me your single . . . um, oh fuck, what’s your name?” “I’m Marco,” I said, holding out my hand to him as I rested my chin on his massive chest. “I’m Keegan.” “Nice to meet you, Keegan. You have the hottest body I’ve ever seen.” “And you, my friend, have the hottest mouth I’ve ever known. Please fucking tell me you are single, Marco . . . cause I’m in love.” “If only it were that simple,” I laughed, and pulled away, but his strong hands grabbed the sides of my head and turned my gaze back to his. “It is that simple, Marco.” I could tell he was serious. My instincts told me this was one of the purest moments of my adult life – so far. I knew I could let the cynical side of me take control and ruin the moment, but feeling the man’s hard body beneath mine and his stronger than strong grip on my head made me join him in his joyous world for a little while – even if it was just a fantasy. “I’m very single, Keegan. I’m also into muscle,” I added, internally saying ‘what the hell’ and choosing to be brutally honest. “That’s very cool, because I have a lot of that,” he said, smiling. “I noticed,” I replied. “Want me to pose for you?” “That would be awesome. I’ll repay you by sucking you off, again.” The big man easily tossed me off his body and was standing beside the bed before I even finished my sentence. He then threw his body into the kind of routine that usually made me spew uncontrollably when I watched bodybuilding competitions online. This time, however, I could reach out and touch the real thing as I watched – which seemed to make him happy, too. Soon, Keegan was covered in sweat and insanely pumped. “Keep posing,” I ordered, as I took his big cock in my mouth. When I started to have strong feelings for a guy – authentic feelings – my blowjobs actually increased in their power to turn the guy on. I guess it had to do with the fact that I knew this was something real and not just a quickie. I had already started to fall for this big man. I could feel it. Yes, we didn’t know each other and, yes, our meeting had been a big mistake, but something magical was happening between us. His love of my mouth and my love of his muscles were leading to something much more important – something much deeper. He hit a double biceps power pose and I swallowed his tool hard, causing him to buck back and forth with the strongest blast of the evening. He held the flex through the entire orgasm and then collapsed on me when his cock was completely empty. I laughed a little when the huge man was sound asleep in seconds. I guess even superman had a limit when it came to ejaculations. I somehow freed my body from his and started exploring the apartment as Keegan got some much-needed post-sex sleep. The trip around his apartment told me a lot about him – he wasn’t a reader (there were no books, only bodybuilding magazines), he was clearly out to his family (pictures of him kissing past boyfriends while with parents), he had one sister and one brother, he won lots of bodybuilding contests (a lot of first place trophies and medals), he must have been a pretty well-known personal trainer (pictures of him training lots of famous people), and he was well-liked (lots of cards and notes from people telling him how great he was). I also learned about Greg – some guy that had clearly broken up with him recently (note apologizing and saying goodbye and torn pictures of a trip together in the trash can). When I returned to the bedroom I took advantage of his passed-out state and ran my hands over every part of his hard, muscled body. I figured I might never get the chance again, so I should take the opportunity now. As my hands rubbed his perfect pecs, his hands came up and grabbed my head again. He led my face to his nipple and I used my expert sucking skills there, too. Soon I had him moaning like a wild beast. He pulled my head away, so we could, again, gaze at each other. “Stay the night,” he said. “On one condition, Mr. Muscles,” I said, using the future nickname for the first time. “Name it and it’s yours.” “Fuck me. My ass is getting jealous of all the attention you’ve given my mouth.” He flexed his right arm hard as his response. I climbed on top of him *********** Working out in the park – the sun, the breeze, the sound of the ocean – only seemed to make me hornier than a squadron of frat boys. The park and the thought of Marco’s mouth, ass, face, lips, earlobes, balls, kneecaps, toenails – just all of him, really, just did something to me. We’d been together for more than eleven months and I never stopped thinking about him. I kept expecting to stop craving him so much – eventually – but my desire only seemed to increase. I still couldn’t believe he didn’t hate me for thinking he was my rent boy showing up for a little afternoon delight. He had dropped to his knees so quickly that day and given me the kind of mind-altering orgasm you only heard about in fairy tales or sex stories. My legs, which are insanely big and quite powerful had become like liquid as I fell to the floor – a wiped out mess of a man. When I asked if he could do that again, I had truly expected we’d have another round and then I’d be off to the gym and he’d go try to get his delivery job back. I didn’t anticipate my mind would be altered over and over again every time he blew me that night. I finally had just fallen asleep, even my big body had its limits. I felt a little bad when I woke up, but then I found him caressing my entire body and my tool had become fully erect, again. He then asked me to fuck him and I quickly learned his ass gave his mouth some serious competition. Almost a year later I am still trying to decide which part of him gave me more pleasure. “See you next week,” I called out to the waving Mrs. Famous Actress as she rode away on her bike. I started gathering all the equipment I used for working out into the big bag that Marco could never budge when I left it in the path we had to travel from one room to another in my apartment. He had figured out that I did it on purpose so I could watch him unsuccessfully try and move it and then finally have to call me to do it. I’d pound on my chest and say ‘you weak, me strong’ before moving it with one hand. Sometimes, I then throw him over my shoulder and take him to the bedroom to show him just how strong a certain part of me was. That first night, before I plowed him, it suddenly dawned on me that he had blown me four times, but I had never gotten him off. I was such a self-absorbed asshole, but it was his fault for being so awesome at blowjobs. I quickly apologized for overlooking his sexual needs. He looked confused, then laughed, and explained he had gotten off every time I had cum. My baffled look amused him and he said making a big guy like me explode gave him much pleasure and he rocked out a load in unison with my orgasms. I had just been too wrecked each time to notice. I found this one of the most erotic things I had ever heard, which only fueled the plowing I gave to his ass even more. When I saw that gorgeous man throw his head back, moaning in ecstasy that first time I fucked him you would have thought I had been given the biggest and best gift in the world, for that’s how I felt. I suddenly understood how blowing me thrilled him so much. Making him scream with pleasure made me explode, as well. We were joined by some kind of inexplicable force that I knew – even that first night together – would never be broken. My phone buzzed and I saw a text which read, ‘I need my Tennessee.’ When Marco greeted me at the door totally nude, which happened a lot, I would so quickly shoot hard that I’d actually feel dizzy and like I might pass out. Today, to be greeted that way, and to immediately smell the wonderful aroma of his famous chicken parmigiana was almost too much to handle – even for a big man like me. Before the click of the door shutting echoed through his small apartment, the guy was on his knees, had ‘Tennessee’ fully unclothed, and was making my love for him blossom even more deeply than it already was. I was worn out from a day of clients, but that man’s lips, that man’s warm mouth, that guy’s deep throat could revive me like one of those electric shock thingies they sometimes put on your chest and yell ‘clear.’ He was some kind of magical Hoover made specifically for my penis. His oral skills made me turn into some kind of wild superman. He made me feel powerful, manly, and able to do anything in the world. My entire body would shoot tense and hard, as if I was showing off on stage or in the bedroom for hundreds of admirers. Sucking me off when I came in was equal to a kiss on the lips to Marco and that was more than okay with me. I knew it was pleasing him as much as it was me, so that made it even better. A couple of minutes later, I’d be leaning against the wall, my chest heaving up and down – unable to move for a few minutes – while he retrieved paper towels to clean up the mess he made on the hardwood floor. “God . . . I . . . wish . . . I . . . knew . . . how . . . you . . . do . . . that,” I stammered between breaths. “It’s all because of the magnificent temple I’m kneeling before. It’s all because of ‘Tennessee’,” he said, smiling and finally kissing me hello. “What’s that I smell?” I asked, as my heartrate returned to normal. “Chicken parmigiana.” “But I thought you had to work?” “Susan called yesterday to see if we could change shifts. I thought I’d surprise you.” “You little gorgeous sneak! Does this mean I get to have numerous orgasms tonight?” “It does indeed, Mr. Muscles.” “Hey, wait a minute. I just remembered I’m mad at you. Give me my cum back. I wasn’t going to give into my urges so quickly. I wanted to punish you for calling Kyle.” “It’s fine for you to be mad, but no one makes my big man feel small,” he said and my heart suddenly thumped harder. “Go sit down in the living room, Mr. Angry Pants, and I’ll bring you a glass of wine.” I gave him a mean face and walked down the hall. The fragrance hit me before I even got to the back room. When I stepped around the corner I beheld a sight that instantly brought tears to my eyes and made my shoulder convulse as I started to blubber. Every possible empty spot in the room was covered in red roses. The floor, the sofa, the chairs, the tables – everywhere. There were vases with roses, boxes with roses, and rose petals strewn everywhere. Through the water filling my eyes I saw a card sitting on a small table in the center of the room. In bold letters it said ‘open me’ on the front. I knelt down and tore open the envelope. It was a handmade card in the shape of a heart. I opened it and written inside it said ‘turn around.’ In my overwhelmed, confused state I simply did what the card told me to do. There, kneeling behind me, was a now clothed boyfriend holding open a small box with a beautiful man-sized band inside of it. I convulsed and blubbered more – like a baby. “As I said last night, Mr. Muscles. I’m not going anywhere. There won’t be a point where I say you bore me or that I want something else. I only want you. Forever. And ever. Amen. Keegan Andrew Robinson, will you please do me the great honor of becoming my husband so I can blow you every day for the rest of my life.” I had to fall back and sit on the floor I was sobbing so hard. I was a mighty oak of a man, someone who won bodybuilding contests and powerlifting competitions. I could make women and men cream in their pants with just a smile or a flex. I lifted more weight than ninety-nine percent of the men in my gym. I intimidated the hell out of powerful businessmen and bullies, alike. But at that moment, at that exact specific second, I became a baby – crying with the kind of joy that can burst a heart. I started nodding my head up and down even as the tears fell on the rose petals around me. “Yes. Yes. A lifetime of yesses,” I forced my mouth to say as I welcomed Marco into my open arms and squeezed him with way too much strength. “Whoa, Mr. Muscles, careful, there, don’t break me before you own me!” “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. You’ve just made me the happiest man in the world. I love you, Marco. I love you so much.” “I love you, Keegan. Let’s put this ring on that big finger.” I sat there, with my other hand up to my mouth like some Victorian heroine beholding the love of her life naked for the first time. I watched as the man I loved – the man I would always love – slid a perfect ring on my finger. I held up my hand and started to cry again. Marco, put his palm against my cheek and just smiled at me. “I’m the luckiest guy I know,” he said, softly, and I cried more. “Sorry to ruin the moment, but you have to call your parents. I promised we would right after I – hopefully – got a yes. Your father actually said he’d give me all of his money if you said no – he was that sure of your answer. Maybe we should tell him you said no, just to get the money.” “You talked to my parents about this?” I said, shocked. “I flew up to see them a month ago – remember when you were in Vegas for that photo shoot. Well, I went up there to ask them if I could ask you for your hand in marriage. Your mother cried and your father opened a bottle of champagne that I think probably cost more than I’ve ever made in a year. I had to get their blessing, first. Your sister asked when we would have children – she said she hoped us having kids would get your parents off her back. Your brother started rambling on that it was time for me to start thinking about my portfolio, but then he simply said he’d be honored to have me as a brother-in-law. It actually made me weepy. Not like you, of course, but I still got a little emotional.” “You are such a hopeless romantic,” I said, hugging him tightly again, but not too tightly. “By the way, we also have another reason to celebrate – although it pales in comparison to this.” “What’s that,” I asked. “Well, it’s not definite yet, because you have to weigh in on the decision. But, if you say yes and I say yes, you’re looking at the new head chef at Grigio.” “What? Are you fucking with me right now?” “Nope, it’s true. I could be a real chef by the time we’re husband and husband.” “That is the best news ever . . . well, second to this,” I said pointing at the ring. “Of course, you should say yes. It’s what you’ve always wanted. You’ll be amazing.” “It’ll be a lot of hours as I learn the ropes, though. I just want us to be sure.” “Stop it, we’re sure. We're more than sure. We’ll make it work. We’ll figure out how to sneak in enough blowjobs to keep us both happy. Now, this is definitely the happiest day of my life. I am going to be married to a chef. Chef Marco. Wow, that sounds hot.” “Call your parents and I’ll finish getting dinner ready,” Marco said, turning his head up so we could kiss deeply. “Um . . . ‘Tennessee’ is ready to go again if both of those things can wait.”

Happy, definitely happy!

And constant trouble down south!!!

I'm not Italian, but I have a cousin like Enzo and it's awesome.

You, my friend, make me want to never stop writing. Thank you.

“You’ll be training with Pops. He’s one of our best. We call him that because he’s probably the oldest guy working here, but mainly we do it because he’s the biggest,” said my new boss as he took me through the massive workshop. I liked the sound of that – the biggest. Of course, he could have been talking about the guy’s waist size – which wouldn’t have bothered me – but something in the way my boss spoke reverently and respectfully told me Pops must be really tall. Man, how I loved giant guys. We walked around one of the rows of many machines and I quickly noticed my mistake. I was instantly reminded of the sides of beef that hung from hooks in my uncle’s butcher shop back in my hometown. It sometimes took two guys to carry just one of those big things. Pops had sides of beef hanging down from his neck – highlighted beautifully by the fact that he sported a sleeveless green shirt. I could have been standing at the other end of the huge expansive workspace and could have easily picked out the guy. He was definitely the biggest man around. His muscles had a light sheen to them as he worked the big machine and I immediately thanked the gods for making this a warm day. When my boss called out his nickname and the guy turned to me I almost melted into a puddle of helpless mush. The man’s butch, half-smile lit up the room the same way a spotlight can illuminate an actor on stage. His raised eyebrow immediately told me he figured out I was his new trainee. I could feel him sizing me up in the seconds it took for us to reach him. He showed no sign of approval or disdain – a slight upturn of one side of his mouth was all I got. My new boss introduced me and when Pops took my hand it felt like I had slammed my fingers in a truck door. I forced myself to not scream in pain and tried unsuccessfully to squeeze back equally as hard. He clearly felt nothing. Again, I detected Pops making decisions about me based solely on my handshake. “Well, I’ll leave you in the capable hands of Pops. Come by my office at the end of the day.” “Thank you, sir,” I said, nodding, and Pops laughed at my choice of words – I immediately got the feeling that Pops was the only one in this place that usually received such respect. “Know anything about these machines, kid?” Pops asked and I was immediately offended by his choice of words – but also slightly turned on because of the way he said it and the fact that he sounded like a southern, muscled, super-masculine Barry White. “A little,” I replied – telling my first lie, since I instantly wanted Pops to spend a lot of time with me – so I didn’t tell him I probably had run similar machines all of my working life. Sex dripped off of this guy in amounts that equaled dew drops on every leaf of a giant willow tree in the wee hours of the morning. He rolled his eyes telling me he was bummed he’d have to spend a lot of time getting me up to speed. I figured I’d act like I was catching on fast, so he’d think I was a really smart student. He reached up to scratch his left pec and I’m pretty sure he caught me glancing down at the big rock-hard thing while he did it. There was a flicker of a smile and then he immediately started telling me about the machine in front of us. It was one I knew well, but I acted like I was listening intently and when he stopped and asked me to go through and reenact what he had just shown me, I did it without missing a beat and even showed off by doing the shortcuts he had barely mentioned. I could tell he was impressed. I also detected – in his eyes - a little spark of something beginning in the back of his brain. Maybe I was acting too smart – I decided to back off a little. This time, I was sure he caught me looking at his beefy arms. The rest of the morning was taken up with four different machines – all ones I was familiar with. “Time for grub,” Pops said and I was surprised to look at my watch and see the morning had flown by. The big man then just walked off – and I could tell he expected me to follow him. I just instinctively knew he assumed I was like his shadow today. I hurried to catch up with him. He grabbed one of those large black lunch pails, which look like a mailbox, from a huge fridge in the large break room. I grabbed my tuna fish sandwich in a brown bag, bought a soda and turned to see where he had chosen to sit. He seemed to know everybody – smiling, saying hello, and slapping guys on the back – but he had chosen a table over in the corner all by himself. He pushed out a chair beside him as I walked up. The silence that followed was kind of nerve-wracking. I could tell he was watching me closely as he unloaded large quantities of food from his packed box. The big man clearly had a big appetite. “Why do I feel like I’m being hustled,” he said, finally, staring at me. “I’m sorry?” I replied. “You know these machines. That’s quite obvious,” he answered – still staring at me. “I . . . um . . . wanted to impress you.” “Well, tick that one off your list, kid. You did. But don’t ever lie to me, again. Understand.” “Yes sir.” And instantly, I could see he was finished with the slight reprimand. Suddenly, his demeanor changed and I could tell he had forgiven me. His beefy body didn’t seem as knotted up as before and he even smiled at me. I felt like a puppy that had just been given a treat after getting in trouble by its master. I seriously sensed my body celebrating the fact that I had somehow pleased this big man. “You into brewskies, kid?” “Yes sir, I drink beer.” “A few of the guys meet up at a place called ‘Joe’s’ after work – to hammer back a few, shoot the breeze, and not think about machines for a few hours. It’s always open invitation and a good way to get on the guys’ good side. Trust me, you want these fellas to have your back – both in here and outside the workplace. Buying one round will get you a place at the adult table, kid.” “That sounds cool,” I said, trying desperately to come across as manly, in-the-know, hip, and part of the team all at the same time. “Yeah,” he said, smiling at my words, “it’s cool, kid. Cool. You youngsters.” I had no idea if he was making fun of me or complimenting me. I had a feeling you were never quite sure of anything around Pops. He didn’t reveal much – either in his speech or his actions. I could tell he was a private person and he watched everything happening around him as if he worked for the CIA and needed to recall details at the drop of a hat. That afternoon went smoothly, except for the bandana incident. It had gotten a lot warmer in the big shop and both of us were sweating over this particularly difficult job. Pops kept wiping his face, neck, and huge arms with this blue bandana he carried in his back pocket. I just wiped the sweat off with the back of my shirt sleeve. At one point, late in the day, Pops said he was going to hit the john and he dropped his bandana on the keyboard console of the machine doing the job we had punched in. I swear it looked like he left the bandana on purpose, looking at me to make sure I noticed what he was doing before he left. I figured I was just wishing, but as soon as he walked away I became obsessed with the thing and kept stealing glances around to see if anyone was nearby. The piece of material was soaked with his sweat and I longed to smell and taste it. I felt like I was addicted to chocolate and someone had left an opened Snickers package in front of me. God, how I wanted to pick up that bandana. Finally, after making sure the machine was still doing its job, and glancing around one more time, I picked up the bandana and first put it to my upper lip, so I could inhale the aroma of big Pops. It was just as I expected – a heavy masculine musk that made me think of a dense forest of tall trees, huge lumberjacks, and man-on-man action that ended with eruptions coupled with uncontrollable screams of passion. When my tongue darted out and got its first ever taste of Pops’ all-natural, thick, salty, he-man juice, you could have pushed me over with a feather. I’d never, in my entire life, tasted something that seemed so full of testosterone – so completely male. My crotch responded with a Pops-induced salute that was so hard I feared I’d pass out from the pressure. That’s when the corner of my eye noticed something massive and green in the distance. I quickly wiped my now totally crimson face with the bandana to cover up my lustful action, but it was quite clear by the look in Pops’ eyes when he arrived he had seen me trying to soak up all his manliness. I held out the bandana to him with a forced look of thanks. “Keep it, kid. I’ve got others. Consider it a ‘welcome to your new job’ present.” “Um . . . thanks,” I said, turning a darker shade of red and quickly stuffing the think into my back pocket and then turning to look at the work of the machine in front of us – feeling the man continue to stare at me, smiling. A few hours later I was sitting drinking a cold one at this hole-in-the-wall bar called ‘Joe’s.’ I instantly liked the place because it was full of more manly men than a gay sauna on a holiday weekend. I quickly did the statistical math and figured out I was probably the only gay man at the place – not that I came across as anything other than one of the men from the big shop down the road. It was quite clear to the other patrons that I was the new kid on the block – having ordered the second round of beers for the seven guys from our team gathered that afternoon and instantly being asked to join in games of darts, pool, and arm wrestling matches as the number of empty beer bottles increased a lot. I’m a decent-sized guy, so I held my own when it came to the arm-wrestling, impressing my co-workers in a way that made it clear I had been accepted. I noticed Pops only participated in darts and pool. I thought this odd, so my slightly buzzed mouth spoke without thinking. “Why doesn’t Pops arm wrestle?” I said a little too loudly and this made the big man look at me, a grin creeping across his face. “Just look at his fucking arms and you’ll figure that out, kid,” said a more-than-slightly inebriated co-worker standing in our small circle. “He beats all our asses all the time. We’ve given up trying. He even takes two of us on at the same time and still wins. The monster curls the back of his jeep when we beg him to show off, so there’s no way any of us will ever be able to beat those big guns.” I caught Pops watching my face, closely. My eyes uncontrollably got wider when I heard about him lifting the back of his jeep. My crotch also twitched uncontrollably, but I was behind a bar chair, so it was hidden. He was watching my reaction and patiently waiting for me to make some kind of move after the information sank in. I got the feeling that my next step would clinch some kind of deal with the man one way or the other. I let the numerous beers I’d inhaled guide me. I smiled at the group standing around. “I’ll take a shot at beating him,” I said with the kind of bravado usually saved for a superhero in comic books. You would have thought I was a mere mortal challenging the power of Zeus by the loud response of the guys around us. An approving smile crept across the face of the big man and it was followed by the kind of pec roll usually saved for gay muscle worship videos I constantly watched online. There was suddenly so much cockiness in Pops’ gaze I was thrust back to the feeling when I tasted him in the damp bandana. In a move that required the help of a guy standing next to him, the elder muscleman pulled his shirt off of his big body. My mouth dropped open without shame as I beheld his mammoth, lightly fur-covered, thickly-nippled chest for the first time. Two guys had been forcibly removed from their chairs and a table had been cleared by the crowd as soon as the shirt had been removed. I registered comments like ‘don’t break the kid’s arm’ and ‘fifty bucks he doesn’t last ten seconds’ being thrown out around me, but I only watched as the bare chested gorgeous mountain swung his leg over the back of a chair to sit down and then placed his right elbow on the table. He tightened his fist making the already big arm balloon to the kind of size that filled my orgasm-inducing fantasies. I knew there was no way I was going to win this battle – but I wasn’t arm-wrestling him for a victory and, somehow, I realized he fully knew this. My substantial sized manly arm was going to look like a twig next to his, but that didn’t matter. I was proving something – and I didn’t even know what it was – by taking on the elder god. “I’m not one to show mercy, kid,” Pops said as I sat down. “I’m not one to give up easily, old man” I said, trying to equal his confidence, which made the sparkle in his eye flash even more. I then did something unplanned and so out of character for me I would probably analyze the decision for the rest of my life and still not understand it. I took the big man’s bandana out of my back pocket, brought it up to my face, pressed it against my mouth and nose, and then inhaled deeply. The move clearly caught my huge opponent off guard, his fist unclenched, his biceps deflated a little, and the cocky smile disappeared. I saw a glimpse of vulnerability and shock. Pops wasn’t used to someone being this bold – this open. I pushed the envelope even further. “Just getting an extra shot of strength, sir. I got this from a big strong mountain of a man who radiates cockiness without even trying.” It was like when boxers are being photographed before a battle and they try to psyche out their opponent with a stare down, a surprise kiss, or even a creepy smile. My words and actions made Pops briefly lose his foundation – shook his core a little, just as I had hoped. That was also when I grabbed his big beefy hand and the guy leading the match, steadied our arms, and counted off for us to begin. It took a while for Pops to gain control of himself, as I knew it would - as had been my intention when I took out the bandana. On the word go I pushed my arm with all of my might – getting a head start on the still-startled Pops. I was no match for the big arm before me, but I took advantage of him being distracted. Instantly, his arm was pushed back and looked like it might hit the table. This caused the crowd around us to erupt in shocked cheers. The unimagined was about to happen. I felt powerful and hot as hell. The cheering from the crowd spurred me on, but it also brought Pops out of his temporary fog. The back of his hand stopped so close to the wooden top you wouldn’t have been able to fit a magazine between the two. For the first time ever, in my entire life, I got a glimpse of what real power felt like. My arm – decently sized for a man of my age and stature was halted in a way that could make wild beasts cower in fear. The green, golden-flecked eyes of Pops had instantly gained all of their confidence back and more. He had stopped my journey to a surprise victory with a fraction of his total strength and that fact instantly registered to my unmoving arm. His fingers gripped so hard that I had a feeling some of my bones would be rearranged. Pops surprised me – and everyone else – with an uncharacteristic deep growl as he started to methodically and devilishly raise his hand and mine slowly with what I could tell was little effort. “I specialize in putting young bucks in their place,” Pops said, whispering in a way that made it quite clear I was giving his hand no resistance. “That’s been obvious all day, Pops. I just needed to gain some respect by challenging you and shocking people with an almost victory.” Pops definitely didn’t like the idea that I even thought for a second I could have potentially defeated him. He was not a man who took to being challenged and, as a matter of fact, I guessed it almost never happened. Some kind of primal, I’m the stronger animal instinct suddenly overwhelmed the man and he quickly brought our hands through the arc to slam the back of mine into the table. A little bit of pain shot through my arm, but it was clear the big man’s fingers had taken – and not even registered – most of the blow. It was quite obvious that Pops needed a decisive and powerful victory. He had not liked the fact that his hand had dropped so low to the table. He held my wrist down – like a wrestler waiting for the count. He was the winner, but I had scored some points with the crowd . . . and, hopefully, with the big man, as well. There was a tight squeeze of my fingers before Pops released my hand. “You owe me a beer,” he said, swinging his leg over the back of his chair as he stood up, like he was dismounting a horse. I watched as he turned and was engulfed by a crowd that slapped him on the back and congratulated him. The last thing I saw before he was completely blocked from view was a tightly flexed bulging triceps and I could tell it was a gift offered specifically to me. I was also congratulated by onlookers and swept to my feet by a crowd that took me to the bar. Two, three, or maybe four more rounds were bought for me in the next hour or so. I couldn’t remember the exact number, since I was still high-as-a-kite from the euphoria of arm-wrestling Pops and feeling that brief squeeze of my hand at the end. I glanced around and couldn’t see the big man anywhere, feeling disappointed that he had left without saying goodbye or allowing me to give him the obligatory victor’s beer. I turned back toward the bar, a little sad. Suddenly, the now memorized massive gun of the older man was beside me as he rested his forearm on the wood in front of us. He was close enough for me to feel the heat of his body, but not close enough to be touching. “I’ll take that mug now, kid. The table in the corner at the back,” came his deep, sexy voice and then he was gone. He smiled at me when I walked up with two mugs and a pitcher. I intended on making this moment last as long as I could. I was pretty sure he understood that and maybe even wanted the same thing. I had luckily started my new job on a Friday, so there was nowhere I needed to be any time soon and I hoped the same was true for the big man. He took the pitcher from my hands and wrapped his hand around the thing – where I had been using the handle – and poured two mugs, making it clear that I did the buying, but he was in charge. He watched me, silently, as I took a sip from the frosted glass. To my disappointment, he had put his shirt back on. It still showed off his big arms, however. I just missed the massive salt-and-peppered furry chest. “You don’t play fair,” he said, taking a sip of his own beer and never letting his gaze drop from mine. “Look at those enormous arms of yours and then look at mine and tell me who doesn’t play fair,” I boldly said, not even blinking. “You challenged me, remember.” “And damn nearly beat you.” “Is that what you think?” he asked, smiling. “It’s what I’m going to tell myself.” “You probably still think the tooth fairy, Santa Claus, and the Easter rabbit are real, too, don’t you? Because those are more likely than someone beating me.” I knew the truth in his statement. I had felt it when the motion of my hand had been stopped so abruptly and easily. It suddenly dawned on me that he had probably allowed me to get his hand so far down on purpose – to orchestrate me being cheered on and befriended by co-workers and other patrons. Suddenly, there seemed to be less air in my self-congratulatory balloon. He picked up on the change within me and understood my disappointment and my gratitude at the same time. He needed to offer some kind of runner’s up prize. “The bandana really did catch me by surprise . . . both times,” he said and I swallowed hard. “The first time was a . . . um . . . pleasant and unexpected surprise.” We stared at each other – neither of us even breathing – for a good half a minute. He had caught me earlier than afternoon sniffing and licking his bandana. I was definitely excited beyond belief, but I was also very cautious. I knew nothing about this man, really, and my expert ‘gaydar’ didn’t even register a speck of closeted homosexuality in him. There might not be any hidden agenda in anything he was saying – even though I desperately wanted there to be. I got the feeling Pops was just a really nice guy and I’m sure he’d met tons of fellas over the years that found him stunning. He was simply trying to welcome the new kid – the guy who desperately wanted to make a first good impression. I relaxed into the moment even more and took another deep sip of my beer. He picked up the pitcher – again by just wrapping his hand around it in a macho sort of way – and topped off my drink. “I’ve never slept with a man.” “Excuse me?” I said, choking on my beer. “I’ve never been in bed with a man.” I didn’t comprehend what he was saying, at first, and then I worried that I had just imagined it – wished it was something he would say. I looked up and saw that there was a world of emotion in his beautiful manly eyes. There was fear – as if he was worried he had misread me, somehow. Had he misinterpreted my long stares and bandana tasting? There was doubt – as if he was questioning a lot of his own feelings and thoughts. And there was something akin to hope – as if he anticipated the next few minutes to change his life forever. My mind finally accepted, as fact, the words he had said and I was glad that sometimes our mouths work faster than our brains. I responded without even processing what I was going to say. “Have you ever wanted to sleep with a man?” I asked, staring into his beautiful green eyes. “Not until today . . . not until you,” he quickly replied.

And being a man born and raised in the state just south of you, I can respect all that pride. Southern gentlemen rock, if I do say so myself (no offense to men from any other part of the States intended).

You are always too smart for me. While the cost of the whiskey doesn't equal their status (the fact that you notice details like that makes me so happy) it was more about the Irish-ness for me. Not sure why, I just saw Mr. Dennis loving working-man's whiskey. As, always, thank you for offering tips to help me write better AND for liking a lot of the same things I do.

"Oh, baby cakes, I like it when you try to tell these things 'no.' If I say I'm horny and it's time to leave you know there's just nothing you can do about it. Submit to all my alpha-ness before I throw you over my shoulder like you were just a towel - right here, in front of everybody."

"Crushing every lock in this room with one hand was a lot of fun. What do you want me to do next?"

"I've been trying to impress my old man for all of my life. It wasn't until I lifted an SUV over my head that he told me he was proud of me. It was the happiest day of my life. Now, he just wants me to keep on getting bigger and stronger."

"No worries, dude. The door is unlocked, but you aren't going anywhere until these big things say you can. I'm not asking for a lifetime commitment . . . it's just a date."