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VRGoh

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Everything posted by VRGoh

  1. It's both depressing and infuriating whenever there's another school shooting, because I know the pattern. As some of you may know, ten people were shot in a mass shooting at a high school in Texas recently. Here's an article about it: https://www.cnn.com/us/live-news/santa-fe-texas-shooting The problem is that I've come to notice a pattern when these shootings occur. First, information is released about the shooter. A stupid idea in my opinion, as it gives future shooters ideas as some school shooters were inspired by the 1999 school shootings in Littleton, Colorado. Next, the local pundits weigh in with their thoughts on how to prevent the next shooting. The ideas rarely change. Some cry for gun control, while others cry for more guns in schools. Some have called for arming teachers. Yeah, great idea; bad enough that the results of the standardized tests can determine whether or not they have a job next school year, leaving the whole school stressed out to no end. You're gonna give them a gun too? Sure, what could go wrong? *turns off sarcasm* This will continue until the dust settles and little, if anything, is done. Then, when another shooting happens at a school, it starts up again. Round and round we go. At least now, the students who survived the Parkland shooting are making noise about it and saying, "Enough is enough." Now, it seems some parents are getting involved, so there's some hope. Here's hoping that they don't let us forget and grow complacent.
  2. VRGoh

    An Encounter with Matt

    It was a long time coming, but I was finally able to afford that vacation. After some finagling and more than a few hopes and prayers, I got two weeks off for my trip to Mexico. granted, I'd only be there for a week, but I decided to use the extra seven days as a buffer: three days before to prepare for the trip, and four days afterwards to unpack, do laundry, and prepare for the daily slog. When I woke up that first morning in my hotel room instead of a cramped apartment, I knew my vacation had officially begun. I changed into my blue swim-trunks, a T-shirt, and flip-flops and headed down for breakfast before heading to the beach. However, as soon as I open the door to my hotel, I'm greeted by what I initially thought to be an oddly-formed wall of stone. On second glance, I realize that this isn't a wall of stone, but of muscle. I feel a stirring in my groin as I look in shock as the largest, most muscular human male that I have ever seen. I quietly closed the door to my room so as to not disturb this scene. He had to be close to seven feet tall and at least 400 pounds of muscle or so. His shoulders were cannonballs carved like cantaloupes, set so wide that doors were a challenge. Between his shoulders and his taurine neck, a pair of thick traps swelled to resemble footballs, while a pair of inhumanly huge cannons for arms descended along his sides. The beast's massive back was to me, a platform of ridges and valleys that looked to be carved expertly from stone to resemble a manta ray. His wide back tapered down dramatically to a tight waist, making him look even more freaky. His legs, clad in only a pair of red shorts, were each as much around as his waist, if not more so, and he stood with a bearing that demanded respect, awe, and outright worship. I hadn't seen this beast's entire body, and my inner muscle-lover was already ready to worship him for the god of muscle that he was. "Holy shit, you're huge," I heard myself say, in spite of myself. I clapped my hands over my mouth, but too late. The beast turned around, expansive pecs coming into view. My God, he looked like a Greek god. Every muscle was etched to perfection and massive beyond human reason. His powerful chest and adamantine abs looked able to deflect bullets and bend steel bars with no effort at all. I stood there, likely slack-jawed at this god of strength and muscle, my cock rock-hard at the sight of this divine being. "Heh, thanks, little man," the god intoned, his resonant baritone rumbling through me like an earthquake. He bounced a pec absently, and I nearly moaned out loud. I shook my head to bring myself back to reality. "Oh, uh, um, I-I, uh... Sorry for staring, I..." I said, attempting to stammer out an apology. "It's alright, dude," he said, chuckling as he smiled at me. "I get that a lot." "As big as you are, I'm not surprised," I respond, finally recovering enough of my mental faculties to form a complete sentence. "Name's Matt, though everyone calls me Muscles," he said, holding out a hand. I shake his hand, or rather, I allow my hand to be momentarily swallowed by his massive, calloused paw. "I think I can guess as to why," I respond with snark. "Jason. So, 'everyone calls me Muscles,' what brings you to Mexico?" "Would you believe the ruins?" he asked. "Not really. The tour bus to the ruins left an hour ago, and there isn't another one until tomorrow." "Okay, I'm here to see someone about some roids. More specifically, a special formula that I was gonna pick up." "You're not worried about the side effects? Gynecomastia, bad acne, roid rages..." "Nah. Like I said, this is a special formula. None of those side effects. Plus the results speak for themselves." At this he flexed a bicep, grunting as the mountain of muscle leaped into relief before my eyes. I refrained from licking his bicep and worshiping him right there. "Looks like you like what you see," he said, noticing my reverent staring at his guns. "I've, um, always been impressed by guys who can build their bodies that big," I said in response. "It's been kind of a goal of mine to get that muscular and built." "Sure, Jason," he said with a sideways smile. "You looked more like someone who would worship my muscles rather than build your own." All pretenses dropped, it seems. "Okay, fine," I admitted. "It's all I can do to keep from worshiping your godlike physique right here and now. I mean, you're built like a comic book super-hero and look just as super-strong. Part of me wants to worship your every muscle, and part of me wants to become as huge as you. Is that too weird?" "Not weird at all," he said. "Let's meet in the lobby at about five. I've got a surprise for you that you're gonna love." I emphatically nod, trying not to seem to eager to see what this god of muscle has in store for me. When he headed around the corner to the elevator, I couldn't get back in my room fast enough. Quickly running to the bathroom, I stripped down to my birthday suit and closed my eyes to imagine this god standing before me. The Matt in my imagination was standing before me in all his glory, flexing his inhumanly massive muscles for me, his fervent worshiper. I jerked to this conjured image of my muscle god, envisioning my hands across his powerful pecs, his cannonball shoulders, his godlike arms and abs, and his tree-trunk legs. It was all I could do to keep from shouting his name and proclaiming him to all within earshot as a god made flesh, beautiful and powerful and worthy of my most fervent kratolagniac praises. I bit my lip as I orgasmed, my cum arcing up to splatter across my lean torso, an alabaster tribute to Matt's powerful body.
  3. VRGoh

    An Encounter with Matt

    Good point. Edited for more physical accuracy.
  4. VRGoh

    Write Caption Stories With Me!

    I can always spot the muscle-pigs. Most barely look at me, but the ones I want are the ones whose eyes stay locked on to me for longer than the time it takes to notice how to walk around me. They're the ones who will have an intense conversation with my pecs rather than looking me in the eye, or the ones who try not to look like they've been staring at me behind my back. Ever since I found that genie and wished to be an irresistible muscle hunk, I've been getting looks from just those kinds of people. And I love every minute of it. If they take a picture of me, then I know I can move in. Like this one for instance. A 20-something girl took this one while chilling at the park. She asked for a photo, so I decide to give them both some future masturbation fuel. That's when I pounced. About an hour later, she was in my apartment, screaming my name as I plowed her pussy with my foot-long man-missile. Another one added to the book.
  5. VRGoh

    Write Caption Stories With Me!

    (Disclaimer: I do not own World of Warcraft; no copyright infringement intended) Ever heard that old saying, "never judge a book by its cover?" Well, that basically describes me. When I tell people I'm 35 years old, they're shocked. "You don't look a day over 25," they'd say. "What's your secret to looking so young?" is another thing I'd get. Hitting the gym two hours a day, six days a week, since I was in high school helps a great deal. Not to mention not eating so much crap. Of course, there's another benefit to pumping iron so much: I have a little fuck-toy every night, as I have since college. Men, women, doesn't matter. This 10"-by-7" hole-stretcher of mine has plowed many a mouth, ass, and pussy over the years, and it will continue to please horny men and women for as long as I can get it up. I also surprise people when I log into my World of Warcraft account. Most people assume that, behind the digital image of my level 110 draenei paladin (retribution with holy offspec) is either an obese 40-something in his mother's basement or a skinny kid in a dorm somewhere. They get the shock of a lifetime when I tell them to tune into my stream, only for them to see this huge hunk of man-muscle giving a gratuitous flex of my guns for every new follower and subscriber. Every Tuesday and Wednesday from 7pm-10pm Eastern, I'm raiding with my guild. But I'm plowing someone every single night, making them scream my name, and wanting more of this muscle-beast. Why, just last night, I ran into a guy I knew in high school who used to pick on the gay guys. He told me that he regretted his actions, but only after he begged to have a taste of my Ashbringer.
  6. Basically, I'd do this.
  7. Not sure if this should go here or in the regular general forum, but here goes. I've been looking at pictures of Adam Gerber's pecs, specifically at the tattoo that adorns it. I can only tell that it's in either Russian or a language that uses the Cyrillic alphabet. Any idea what it says? Just curious. I've attached a photo for reference. Thanks.
  8. VRGoh

    Calling all men powerful and alpha

    This is what I get for not taking French in high school. I can translate very little of what Cardiff said, (something about a "bull on the head of a man" I think) but I'm sure it is a hot idea. I can read it, but I sing it better than I speak it.
  9. VRGoh

    NEW Discord Server & Clubs (aka Groups) are back!

    You should be able to download the app to your computer, and use the link from there. I can only assume it's the same for smartphones since I don't have one. On a side note, it's a great app for online games like World of Warcraft, which is why I still find it weird to use it for this website.
  10. VRGoh

    The Island

    Outstanding work. Very well-written.
  11. VRGoh

    NEW Discord Server & Clubs (aka Groups) are back!

    That leads to my next, and last, question. Does this show up on a profile on Discord? I'm only asking so many questions because I know little and less about it and I want certain aspects of my life to remain separate from others. Edit: Never mind. I think I figured out the answer to this question.
  12. VRGoh

    NEW Discord Server & Clubs (aka Groups) are back!

    Possibly stupid question: I have a Discord account, but I use it for gaming. I'm considering using it, but I wanna keep that name reserved for games and use another as a nickname for this site's server. Is that possible, or would I need to make a whole new account on Discord?
  13. This was inspired by news of the passing of bodybuilder Dallas McCarver, though it wasn't the first time I considered this. Besides being a fan of massive muscle men, I also like George R. R. Martin's "A Song of Ice and Fire" series, as well as the HBO series "Game of Thrones" which grew from the books. From them, I think I found a view on life that works for me, based on two phrases in the fictional language of the series called High Valyrian. Valar morghulis: translation, "All men must die" I see this as meaning, "No matter who you are, you are going to die some day. What you do with your life, while you have it, is up to you." In the world of Ice and Fire, this is a common greeting in the Free City of Braavos, as well as a memento mori of sorts. The response to this is: Valar dohaeris: translation, "All men must serve." I see this as meaning, "We are all charged to serve the greater good in our own way." How will you serve. Valar morghulis.
  14. VRGoh

    Headphones/music recommendations

    As far as music goes, it's a matter of personal taste. I'd recommend listening to various songs in various genres to see 1) what you like, and 2) what can get you motivated in the gym. More often than not, it's gonna be something with a fast and/or driving tempo. A good example is "Gott Mit Uns" by Sabaton. Make a playlist of songs you like that fit these criteria and you have your workout playlist. As far as headphones/earbuds, make sure they're not cheap (which is different from inexpensive) and can do the job. Anything further would require an are of expertise I don't have.
  15. VRGoh

    Favorite muscle areas?

    Arms so huge and defined that they resemble something you'd find in the Alps? Shoulders so broad and thick that they're fully functioning shoulder pads for playing professional football? Pecs so thick and massive they could swallow a quarter? Adamantine abs with all the hardness of fine marble? A back so wide you have to turn sideways to fit through a door? Granite glutes shaped like ripe melons? Quads and hamstrings as thick as oak trees and just as strong and unyielding? Calves that look more like bulls and are just as powerful? How can I possibly choose?
  16. VRGoh

    The Muscle-God's Gift

    You sit in the back of the bar, another lonely Friday evening accompanied by none save a bottle of beer that you've been nursing for the past few minutes. This bar is known for its decent drinks and good service, and ends up frequented by many from outside the gay valley in which it's located. The sign outside may name the place as the Ganymede, after Zeus's cup-bearer in Greek mythology, but it has another nickname, one known especially to those who come on Fridays: MGB: the Muscle-God's Bar. All of a sudden, the reason the bar gained its nickname entered the establishment. Bigger than any human male had a right to be and just as shredded, he more than earned his sobriquet. As usual, a white sleeveless muscle-shirt clung to his massive torso like a second skin, while a pair of blue jeans clung to his massive legs and spherical squatter's ass, not due to any custom tailoring, but rather the sheer size of his redwood-like thighs. He comes in every Friday night like clockwork, but never buys a single drink. Despite this, the owner doesn't seem to mind; the mere presence of the Muscle-God (as he is commonly known) is enough to bring paying customers into the bar every Friday evening. He had allegedly considered changing the bar's name to its unofficial nickname, but the name fits in more ways then one. Every time this anonymous stallion enters the Ganymede, another skinny guy swells with muscle, becoming another of what most call his Demigods. Friday nights find the Ganymede packed with skinny twinks of various fitness levels looking to be the one he chooses. Most end up rejected by him and finding solace in a beer or three. Some even hook up with each other, brought together by their mutual desire for muscle. The only thing that brought you to this bar was a recommendation from a coworker. You weren't sure why he wanted you to go today, but the worst you thought would happen was getting a bad beer. You never expected the Muscle-God to approach you, gracing your meager existence with his divine presence. You look up from your drink, eyes as wide as saucers at the sight of this pulchritudinous paragon of perfection towering over you. A warm smile spreads across his beautiful face, and you feel your cock becoming painfully hard. One massive pec bounces absentmindedly, causing you to nearly cream yourself at his magnificent glory. You try desperately to regain your composure, but there is precious little blood flowing to your brain. "Like what you see, little man?" he asks you, his resonant baritone rumbling through your slim body. Dumbstruck, you could only nod. He takes a seat beside you, bringing one heavily-muscled arm around your narrow shoulders. His forearm alone is bigger than both of yours. He effortlessly pulls you toward him, a move you are both powerless and unwilling to resist. Your hand finds its way onto his powerful pecs. Granite only wished to be as hard as his muscles. "Kiss me, and share in my limitless power," he said cryptically. In any other situation, you might have asked him what he meant by sharing in his power, but your mind was too fried by his presence to do anything but obey. He leaned in, aware of your abject submission to his power, and crushed your lips open with his. A tongue as muscular as the rest of him invaded your mouth, wrestling with your own tongue and proving its superiority. This was how it would happen: the Muscle-God would approach a small man and make out with him, transforming him right there in the bar into one of his Demigods. As he made out with you, you noticed your T-shirt and jeans getting tighter and tighter. As your lips danced with his, you saw your forearm swelling with power. That was when you realized that your clothes weren't shrinking; you were growing. You reveled in the change as you made out with the Muscle-God, feeling your biceps and triceps fill your sleeves to capacity before growing further. Your back, once narrow and featureless, suddenly widened with linebacker traps and wing-like lats. Your narrow shoulders inflated like balloons with powerful muscle, widening your silhouette even more, as your burgeoning pecs shove you away from his magnificence. Beneath your ripping shirt, you can feel your once-flat stomach etching itself into a six-pack of rippling muscle. Your glutes lift you higher in the seat, giving you that coveted bubble butt, as your quadriceps, hamstrings, and calves expand beyond the confines of your jeans. A chorus of rips and tears signal the end of your clothes, and the end result of all of the Demigods of the Ganymede. Everyone blessed by the Muscle-God walks out of the bar a stallion, as naked as the day they were born bur gifted with mass, beauty, and virility. That last part was making itself known as your package swelled in your crotch, reducing your boxers to shreds alongside the rest of your clothes. You wanted the kiss to never end as he pleasured you with just a kiss. At last, his lips left yours and he gazed at you for the first time since sitting beside you. "Stand, and behold my gift to you," he intoned. Obedient, you stood, facing the full-length mirror. Where once was a scrawny man whose size caused him to be mistaken for being half of your 30 years, there now stood a heavyweight bodybuilder with the kind of equipment seen only on porn stars. Football-sized traps buttressed a taurine neck, sweeping outwards to a pair of cannonball shoulders. Descending from those shoulders were a pair of arms bigger than your average guy's legs. You flex your biceps, and a pair of massive boulders, chiseled to a peak worthy of the Rockies, erupt from the arms of the beast before you. As you place your hands behind your head and crunch, a cobblestone set of abs becomes more defined on the beast's titanic torso. As both you and the beast in front of you flex a single quad, it dawns on you that what you're seeing is your reflection. The massive monster of mega-masculine muscle, whose own physique is second in awe-inspiring beauty only to the Muscle-God himself, is you. You are now a Demigod of Muscle. The thought of what you are now capable of causes your cock to swell with blood. "There are many who would wish to have you here," he said, his thunderous voice giving life to your lust. "Find one you wish for, and show him the capabilities of my children." "Yes, Master," you respond. You turn to the crowd, their eyes fixated on the newest Demigod, wishing for them to be chosen. This was the other part of the bar's Friday festivities. When the Muscle-God made his Demigod, that special man (though he was more than a man, but not yet a Muscle-God) would take a patron and plow them right in the bar. None could stop you as you fucked a lucky twink, claiming him as your fucktoy, even if they wanted to. You were now part of why they came to the bar that Friday night. One lucky twink was going to be the one thing he wanted to be almost as much as being a Demigod of the Ganymede: a Demigod's fucktoy. Your foot-long fuckpole stood at attention, its slit weeping pre-cum and you strode to a random guy, his eyes drinking in your glorious beauty. He stood, knowing that he was chosen by you, blessed to become your fucktoy and willing to be so whenever you desired him. Bending down slightly to compensate for your increased height, you pulled him to you and claimed his mouth with your own. You felt him moan in your mouth as he quivered in orgasm. "I'm yours, Demigod," he moaned in lust as he stripped. "Take me right here." You smile, glad for the tinted windows as you prepare his hole for your ramrod. Elsewhere in the room, the Muscle-God watches as your partner proclaims your glory and his for all to hear. He makes a mental note to fuck the owner senseless as thanks for his service.
  17. VRGoh

    Muscle Worship University - Multi-Media Story Project

    Great idea for a story. This is definitely the kind of college that I would want to visit if it were real. Does the school have Greek life? I'm curious to know if they have fraternities and, if so, how much like Greek gods their Greeks look.
  18. VRGoh

    Big, New World

    Very intriguing story, as well as a cheeky reference to "Brave New World." Great job!
  19. Amir walked along the beach that sunset, lost in his own thoughts. It was a beach like any other but for the special meaning it held to him and the love of his life, Tomás. It was the two-year anniversary of his passing, and for the 20-year-old college student, the pain of his death was especially bad on this day. Tomás was tragically killed by a group of racists who were not too keen on sharing their small town with someone they thought was an illegal immigrant. The fact that he was Puerto Rican and, thus, a U.S. citizen, did not occur to them as they screamed at him to “go back to Mexico.” His body was found, beaten and bloody, two miles from campus by local police. Amir knew that, had his killers knew Tomás was gay, his murder would have been much worse. Amir knew that Tomás would’ve put up a hell of a fight if pushed to defend himself. The young Latino was always the more athletic of the two of them. At 5’8” tall and weighing only 135 pounds, Amir would not be able to put up a fight with one average-sized person, let alone two. However, Tomás carried 200 pounds of ripped, rippling muscle on a 6’ frame, making him more than a match for them. If only it could make him bullet-proof… Amir tried desperately to keep from losing himself in grief and despair. He was so wrapped up in his sadness that he almost didn’t see the glass bottle sitting in the sand. Curious, he picked it up and inspected it. It looked elaborately decorated, like the kind Tomás’s abuelita had on her dresser for perfumes. Sealing the bottle was a simple cork stopper, just big enough to keep its contents, if any, inside. On the side of the opaque glass bottle was some writing in Arabic. He couldn’t make out the words, as the writing seems to have faded with time. Something told him to open it, but he was unsure of what he would find inside. His curiosity won the day, and Amir uncorked the bottle. Almost immediately, a thick cloud of reddish smoke erupted from the bottle, surrounding him and clouding his vision completely. Sputtering and coughing, he dropped the bottle in the sand and tried to make his way to fresh air. As he cleared the smoke, he turned around and watched in awe as the smoke was replaced by something he could not believe. Out of the smoke emerged a figure who stood at least seven feet tall and was impossibly massive. He looked like a Photoshopped morph of a heavyweight bodybuilder with a red tint, as his skin was a bright scarlet color. His traps reached high towards his ears, while his broad shoulders and back made him look too wide for most doors. A few veins ran down each of his massive biceps, and his hands and forearms would make Popeye jealous. Thick pecs bounced absent-mindedly, protruding from his ribcage and providing just the right amount of shade for his obscenely defined eight-pack abs. What must have been an impressive set of tree-trunk legs were concealed by a pair of linen pants that look like they came out of the closet of a male belly dancer. What hair he had on his head was concealed by a white turban, accented by a red-orange gem. The red-skinned muscle-god stretched and smiled. “Do I have you to thank, little one, for my freedom?” he asked in a resonant baritone voice. Amir was slack-jawed as he drank in the sight of this scarlet behemoth, barely able to put two words together coherently. Dumbly, he nodded. The beast of a man embraced him joyfully, picking him up as one would a five-pound bag of rice. “A thousand blessings upon you, little one,” he said, overjoyed at his savior. “I thought I would never be free of that accursed bottle. As a token of my gratitude, I shall grant your deepest desire.” “Wait a minute, wait a minute,” Amir said, trying to make sense of what just happened. “Who or what are you, and how did you get into that bottle?” “Surely you know of the jinn?” he said incredulously. “I am Qadir ibn Qarim. As for how I became trapped in that bottle, I was trapped inside of it by a powerful, um… What is the word? Ah yes, sorcerer.” “This thing looks like something from an antique shop,” Amir responded. “How long have you been in there?” “Let’s see,” Qadir mused. “The last thing I remember was news from the West about an explorer sailing to the Indies by going west. I believe his name was Columbus or something like that.” “Columbus? Christopher Columbus?” Amir exclaimed. “You mean to tell me you’ve been in that thing for over 600 years?” “Has it been that long? I thought it had been longer.” the jinn responded. “You must understand, my friend, six hundred years seems shorter for me than for you because of my immortality. But anyway, onto your wish.” You thought long and hard about what your greatest desire was. “To be honest,” Amir began, “I want to wish that my lover, Tomás, could be brought back. He… died two years ago today, and it still hurts to be without him.” “I am truly sorry for you, my friend. Unfortunately, I am unable to bring back the dead. Such a thing would defy the laws by which all jinn must abide. But, I sense there is something else that you want. Something related to your lost love.” Now it was Amir’s turn to turn red. “Well,” he began, “I’ve always wanted to be built like him, if not bigger. Tomás was always into lifting weights and getting as big and muscular as possible. He talked about growing to 300 pounds of muscle. It was a fantasy of ours, but I never had the nerve to start working out. Hey, maybe I could wish to have the kind of muscles you have, sort of as a way to remember him.” Qadir ibn Qarim smiled. “As you wish,” he said as he snapped his fingers. Amir immediately felt a warm sensation spreading throughout his body from his chest. This warmth increased in intensity as he began to sweat profusely. A tightness begins manifesting across Amir’s body, centering on his muscles. No, not a tightness. A feeling of… growth, expansion. Looking at his arms, Amir saw that his clothes were not shrinking, but rather he was growing. He watched as his thin arms ballooned with muscle, filling the sleeves of his black T-shirt. His hands explored every inch of his swelling body that he could, reveling in the growth. His pecs began to inflate with brawn beneath his hands as his shoulders and lats spread his arms out wider and wider. His sweatpants soon started to feel more and more like tights as his swelling thighs and calves expanded with power. The sensation of every muscle in his body becoming more massive and stronger was intoxicating, almost like a drug in and of itself. So enthralled was Amir by the feeling of his muscles swelling with power that he almost didn’t notice the loud chorus of rips and tears emanating from all over his body. His shirt, once two or three sizes too big for him, not burst into pieces from being far too small, while his jeans suffered the same fate. The young man groaned as he hulked out of his clothes, his cock rock-hard as he did. His growing soon started to slow, signaling that he was nearing his final size. Amir thought that he had cum when he burst through his clothes. As his growth stopped, he looked down to see that he, in fact, had cum all over himself. “Most impressive, my friend,” Qadir said, as a teacher would say to student who had shown him a project that would earn him an A+. “You should see the new you.” With a snap of his fingers, a full-length mirror appeared in front of him from the same white smoke that brought the jinn from the bottle. There in the mirror was a massive beast of a man. The beast had Amir’s face, though it was more filled out with muscle. The body beneath his head, however, was a caramel-colored clone of Qadir. Amir raised one arm and flexed his biceps. The beast did the same, causing a mountain worthy of the Himalayas to erupt in the space between his shoulder and forearm. Wide-eyed, Amir did the same to the other arm. The beast in front of him copied his movement, creating a twin peak to the first as iron-hard as its brother. With a beat and a blink, he remembers that he’s staring at a mirror. “Woah,” Amir exclaims. “That’s me?” He blinks as the realization sets in. “Oh my God! How-- How did you--? This is unreal! I can’t thank you enough!” Amir embraced the jinn ecstatically, completely elated that his biggest fantasy has come true. “You are quite welcome, my friend,” Qadir responded. Amir pulled away as he heard the hint of loneliness in the jinn’s voice. “What will you do now?” Amir asked. “Visit family or friends or something?” “My family have probably forgotten about me by now, and I never had many friends,” Qadir responded as he caressed Amir’s newly muscular pecs. “But I would like to become closer to you, my muscular young prince.” “I’m not really a prince,” Amir said. “Is that not what your name means?” Qadir asked. Amir nodded, silently admitting that the jinn was right. “So, my large prince,” Qadir said, his eyes shining with lust as he tweaked Amir's sensitive nipples, “let us see what that body can really do.”
  20. To add to this one, I have a question of my own. Can I get away with sweetening the coffee? I can drink it black, but I usually have my morning cuppa with some sugar.
  21. Whenever I get a chance, I make a meal that's a mix of rice, beans, and some kind of meat (sausage as often as not) to keep things simple. This is a common meal in many Caribbean homes (I'm West Indian on my father's side) and can easily be put in Tupperware bowls to reheat as lunch. Would this be optimal for muscle gain, as it has two sources of protein and the rice as carbs, or should I change something? It can be adjusted to include, say, ground turkey or beef that's been seasoned.
  22. VRGoh

    Alternative Super Powers!

    One thing I did was give a muscular main character psychic powers. Telepathy is a good one, especially for sex scenes. I once did that and had the character do what I like to call an "emotional echo-chamber," bouncing his lust and that of his sex partner back and forth with it building each time.
  23. VRGoh

    Muscle-Growth's 1st Annual Storiversary

    Put me down for the 4th. This gives me plenty of time, and a few recent RPs gave me some ideas.
  24. This journey of mine to muscle-godhood will not be easy.  It helps that I can use the inspiration of the people here as a fixed point.  In the meantime, I think I should find an avatar for my profile.

  25. VRGoh

    Trump ruining muscle for me

    There are three words, especially, that shock me about this whole situation: Latinos for Trump. I understand that people are entitled to their own beliefs, but a Latino/a who supports the actions of a man who called Mexicans rapists ("and some, I assume, are good people...") boggles my mind.
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