m/m Muscle Worshippers: Chapter 2 of 14

[LJackson]

Part 1 can be found here.

2

Olly

Friday, August 1st

 

Getting it on in the 'Mind, Body and Spirit' section! That's a new one. Somehow still can't process it. Wishing I could laugh about it. Wishing even more that I could tell someone. Came home after work and Mum had made pasta (literally, made her own), and we all sat out in the garden together. Not the sort of story you can tell your Mum and Dad, or even your big brother, even if he does self-describe as 'man of the world'.

Maybe I could tell one of the guys about it. I am seeing them next week supposedly, and it feels like the kind of story guys tell each other, especially when someone asks about your new job and you're, like, literally a junior librarian. Before Uni, when sex just made us laugh, it would have got around school in five minutes. But it's not hilarious. And I'd have to edit out the part I played.

But I do feel like I have to tell the story. I guess that's what a diary is for. I never understood before. I've been filling this out, from a sense of duty, seven months now. Until yesterday I left it out on my bedside table, where Mum could have had a good read through it. Nothing to embarrass her there. Getting tickets to Glastonbury. Doing my Finals at Uni. Getting my hair cut and being told I looked like Daniel Radcliffe with the hair of a One Direction member (thanks Rob). Getting pissed on results day and asking Sophie out.

Well, now there's something to write about that I don't want Mum to hear about, and it's not just that I watched a girl of about twenty-one — Jesus, Sophie's age I suppose — going down on a guy in Dulwich Village Public Library. Fuck, I'm getting hard thinking about it again. I don't know if it's possible. My hand is shaking as I write this. I'm confused, I guess, and I need to understand it. Help me, Obi Wan Ke-Diary, you're my only hope!

First of all, I feel like I haven't said much about the library itself. The weird thing about today is it felt like it was happening in church. The building must be Victorian, and I never even knew it existed before this summer. I've been to the village on Founder's Day, when the whole school troops into the Chapel and goes down on its knees in thanks for a private education. Then there's the little old art gallery Dad never stops going on about, the one that hasn't got anything painted after the 1800s or whatever. Then there are three shops with names like Valerie's and Country Spray that sell lavender bags for £50. And the library.

The council has closed most of its other public libraries, and the ones remaining open are full of internet terminals and graphic novels, but this one (dark wood, dusty books, a few audio books — on cassette!) looks like it's been trapped behind a forcefield since the 1950s. I think Mr Bartholomew might have got trapped inside with it. He's literally got to be gay, but I can't actually imagine a man that tidy having sex. He wears old-fashioned specs and a waistcoat and in my interview he nearly creamed himself when I said I'd just graduated from Cambridge.

Perhaps he's just not seen anybody my age for a while. Well, he saw two more today.

I was serving at the till, trying to extort fifty pence from a nonagenarian for keeping her Jackie Collins out a week overdue (this is as dramatic as my life gets, or so I thought), when Mr B came over to intervene. At first I assumed he was just letting her off the fine, despite the fact she's clearly not dependent on her pension — it would barely have paid for her ugly sunglasses.

Wow, I didn't realise I even thought all this stuff consciously.

'If you wouldn't mind, Olly,' he murmured to me, laying a chilly finger on my shoulder. 'There's an occurrence I'd like you to see to.'

I thought maybe someone had wet themselves. 'Mind, Body and Spirit?' I asked. It's a slightly hidden nook at the rear of the building, enclosed by one bookcase of Biographies and one of Health.

Mr B nodded. 'Something quite out of the ordinary. Just advise them to go elsewhere. I don't want a scene.'

It wasn't a pisser, then. I went away, mind spinning as to what might be going on in those mysterious depths of the library, something Mr B obviously didn't feel himself up to confronting.

It may have been at this point that my heart began to beat faster, whether from the idea of some act of anti-social behaviour in such a genteel place, or just the idea of confronting someone, anyone, I don't really know. I suppose I wasn't expecting to find someone like — that girl — to confront.

She didn't look like Sophie. In my mind's eye, replaying the scene, the whole afternoon, the whole of this evening, I've imagined her looking like Sophie. Another good reason to get this written down. She was older, for one thing. Sophie turned 21 the week before I did. We talked about not feeling grown-up enough for 21 yet, we laughed. This girl had all the maturity of someone who's moved on from that sense of innocence, if it was only a year or two more. Her blonde hair was in the same, sort of glamorous style, she even wore the same shade of lip gloss. But she dressed in a way Sophie wouldn't dare, not even to a party. I could see at a glance exactly how her tits curved.

I could see her little nipples pressed tight against the hot pink fabric, and I could see him — her boyfriend, or whatever — playfully missing them again and again, so she never quite knew when his thumbnail would graze across them.

He looked — and I thought this right away, and I thought it while I watched, and I thought it while we spoke, and I've thought it all evening — like nothing so much as a Beast. His arms were covered with thick dark hair, and he was big, like a rugby player but somehow more so — he had the dangerous size of a jungle creature. His back was towards me as I first approached, and it was broad like the roof of a car. I don't just mean it was wide, but the way it curved, up and over the huge globes of his shoulders, down his shoulder blades, which rose up in his t-shirt like great hills, and down toward his waist; he was like an extra-large mannequin designed to stretch t-shirt material and see when it would break.

In fact, come to think of it, there were tiny holes in the seams of the t-shirt below his arms.

His arms were massive. Some part of my brain kept trying to tell me he was just a fat guy, that if he turned around, he'd have a massive paunch swelling out that t-shirt at the front, but I could see from seeing his forearms and particularly his hands, cupping her breasts, stroking her stomach, holding her jaw while he licked her little throat with his tongue, that they were the hands and arms of a sportsman. There was no softness, there were only hard lines. The bulk he carried was obviously built.

As I stood, pretending to sort the books in the carousel, I watched as he caressed her, pushing her lightly back against the bookcase — he couldn't help it, the power behind his gentlest touch pressed her back against the books, slid her about like a doll. Like an Beast would do with a person, not caring whether they kept their balance or fell.

Then he stole a quick glance over his shoulder (I looked away just in time, I thought) and reached down and felt deliberately up between her thighs, lifting the hem of her dress with his huge hairy paw. I heard her laugh lightly with pleasure, as her legs parted and she had to grab at his jeans waistband to stabilise herself. I looked across instinctively, and between the bookshelf ends, I saw him crouch down beside her, apparently consulting the shelves to her left. The only sign that something wasn't normal — apart from the fact they were each about thirty years younger than anyone I've ever seen in there — was the way she was smoothing down her dress, and the look she gave me when she saw me looking her way. Her hand, I noticed, was on his head, caressing the number two crop that emphasised his huge skull.

I glanced away, glanced back. His massive arm — about three times the size of her thigh — was raised at a right angle, as if for balance, but the hand was up her skirt and I could tell, by the movements of the cloth and the way his tendons flexed, that he was fingering the cloth of her underwear to one side.

I decided somehow, blame my upbringing, that it would be rude to actually tell them they had been caught in the act. They would be embarrassed and I would sound like a prude. I wanted them to know — I think this was the case — that I admired them. At the very least, I was in a state of awe.

It was more than that, of course. My mouth was dry and my dick was literally rock hard in my jeans. I willed it to go away, but at least I knew nobody would see it. I remember at Daniel's party when Ani was wearing that low cut top (oh, that low cut top) and I couldn't help it, I was harder than ever before. I was so embarrassed at the time, but I asked Dan later and he laughed, 'Sounds like a benefit of being a pencil dick,' he said. 'Nobody clocked a thing!'

So now if I 'pop a boner', all I have to do is reach in quickly, switch it to the left, and it's completely invisible. I did this now, by the photocopier.

With that done, I decided to casually announce my presence, making it clear I had seen nothing. They would take fright and run away. I went to the returns trolley and scooped up an armful of books to re-shelve. Mr Bartholomew looked across at me and raised his eyebrows, and I tipped him a wink. At the time, I thought, what a twat he was. What harm could a pair like that do? Nobody had even spotted them except us. It was mid-afternoon and the place was practically deserted.

As I walked back toward Mind, Body and Spirit, though, I clocked a guy looking over the book case at them. He looked to be in his late thirties, tall (had to be) and lean, in tracksuit bottoms and singlet — he reminded me of my tennis coach at St Ollys, but with something dangerous about him too. If the other guy was a Beast, this one was definitely a Wolf. He was slightly flushed as he watched the scene, but also captivated.

The Beast was back on his feet now, and it was the girl who was pretending to look at the books about self-hypnosis and improving your will power. Her eye-line was just in line with the crotch of his jeans. I looked away and began to put books back on the shelf as if I hadn't seen, basically, his erection throbbing away in her face, disguised with one thin layer of denim. I had even seen the outline of his dick — at least, I think I did, but I wonder now if it wasn't my imagination.

I could see her lips slowly parting.

I almost threw the next book onto the shelf. A huge thump. That should do it. I looked back at the pair of them.

Where I imagine his dickhead must have been, the Beast's girlfriend — not Sophie — was slowly sweeping her tongue in circles across the denim. I watched him put a hand on the back of her head and press his groin against her mouth.

I glanced across at the older guy. He was still watching, still red-faced. Now he looked at me. A trickle of sweat went coldly down the small of my back. I was expected, as the librarian, to take charge of this situation. Behind me I heard the Wolf croon softly, 'Oh, yes...'

I put the last of my books on the shelf, jostled the books about, cleared my throat, waited.

I didn't look at them straight away. I had to look at the book browser. His eyes were fixed on the scene continuing over my shoulder. I guessed suddenly that he must have a hard-on himself, and suddenly realised that made three of us, in Dulwich Village Public Library on a hot Friday afternoon. You couldn't get more Wrong, I decided. I had to do something.

I turned to the couple, and was just in time to see the Beast, who despite being about my height and age was towering over the kneeling young woman, the massive ledge of his chest jutting over her head like a bookcase overbalancing, this guy who might almost have been at school with me, lived his life in parallel with me and somehow diverged somewhere, unbuttoning his jeans, revealing black pubes flowing out of pale blue boxers. One, two...

'Excuse me, guys,' I said. I had to say it again, the first time it was inaudible, even in the total silence of the library. 'Excuse me, guys.' It sounded fine the first time, but completely stupid the second time.

For the first time, the pair of them acknowledged me.

The bloke stroked the bristly stubble on his chin. 'Something the matter, chum?'

I literally had no idea what to say.  I smiled nervously. 'Look,' I said, 'It's not that I don't admire your balls...' I knew as soon as I'd said it that I'd messed up.

'You should admire his balls,' the girl said. 'They're fucking fist-size.'

She actually her hands around the solid bulge in his jeans, and I grinned, trying to laugh, thinking: Okay, this has to be a prank, nobody's dick is that size. But a nagging thought at the back of my mind was, 'You've never seen anybody's but yours.'

The Beast's face contorted in a grimace. He buttoned his fly with one hand. 'You were watching us?' he grunted. 'You pervy little fucker.'

'If you don't want people to watch you,' I said, 'maybe you should go elsewhere.'

'So you do admit it,' he said. 'I don't believe this.'

'I knew I'd caught him looking,' said the girlfriend. 'Fancy joining in, did you? You should have asked nicely.' She got to her feet and put an arm around his waist, her hand still on the bulge of his erection.

'Plus, I really don't think you're her type?' he said, mockingly. He was looking me over, and little smiles appeared on their faces. 'No wonder you like my bollocks so much. It doesn't actually appear that yours have dropped yet.'

'Honey, don't,' the girl said at this point, almost affectionately. I've clung to those little words all evening, but I don't know if they make me feel more or less pitiful.

'Look, I'm just doing my job,' I said, after a deep breath.

He sidled up to me. I can still feel the glow of heat that was coming off his immense body. I've never seen anybody so broad. I don't know why guys do it. It was like talking to a woman with plastic surgery, there was something unnatural about the size of him. I couldn't see how such a huge pair of arms, shoulders and pecs could even fit together to make a human being. His chest was rising and falling and I suddenly got a whiff of danger about the situation.

'Your job?' he growled. 'Surely you can't carry books about a place like this. You couldn't pick up a pencil without straining.'

'Please,' I said, 'I didn't mean to offend you.'

'I don't like being spoken to like that by someone your size,' he said. 'That offends me.'

'I'm sorry,' I said. 'I should have put it better.'

'I don't like to think of my beautiful woman being watched by some little limp-dick like you,' he said. 'That offends me.'

I waited to hear what he said next. I didn't know what to do. I looked across the top of the book case at the tall guy, the Wolf. He was looking on, licking his lips, obviously unsure what to say. I thought we'd probably draw a crowd in a minute. I thought perhaps the Beast could get all this out of his system and then recognise it was time to go.

He suddenly swung an arm toward me. I cringed away — it was like someone throwing a hammer at your head — but as it turned out, he was only picking up a book from the shelf behind me. He laughed at my reaction.

'Not such a tough guy now?' he said. 'You've begun to realise you're addressing a superior human being. Yes?' He looked at the book title, then dropped it onto the carpet. His eyes widened meaningfully. 'Oh, I thought you were just over here to do your job?'

I glanced down at the book, which rested between his feet.

'Put it away, then,' he said.

I stooped to pick it up, and the fucking thug actually pulled down a whole shelf-full of books. They tumbled down around my ears.

'Don't know my own strength,' he said with a deep laugh.

I settled back on my heels at looked up at him. 'Please stop,' I said.

'Now you're learning some respect,' he said. 'It's good for you to realise. Stronger blokes are the masters of weaker blokes. Bigger blokes rule little guys like you.'

I don't know how, but I always thought I was pretty fit. I thought of how I played badminton with Xander once a week, maybe a kick about with the lads in the Park. Now I looked down at myself and realised I was literally half the man this Beast was. Less than that — a quarter the man! It had never meant anything, but now I realised what it meant. It meant me on my knees before the sheer mass of him.

'That's a fact, isn't it?' he said, looking down at me. 'Fucking tell me, because I am pretty close to losing my temper.' He effortlessly swept another shelf of books onto the floor as if they were playing cards. They fell with a noise like a drum roll. I suddenly realised what his strength really meant.

'Please don't hurt me,' I whimpered.

'Please don't hurt me,' he parroted.

The girl at his side was looking on hiding a smile. She was flushed, excited. 'Come on,' she said, but I didn't know who she was speaking to. I noticed that her hand was still on his crotch, kneading and massaging away. I thought, Hang on, you can't go on wanking him while he beats me up. But by now I wasn't sure what to think.

'Say,' he ordered me, 'that I am your Master.'

He balled his fists and then flexed his arms in a classic display of his musculature. Towering above me, I couldn't see the books, the library ceiling, even the girl's face. All I could see was skin and t-shirt fabric straining to contain massive muscle. Across his chest the words 'URANUS GYMS' distorted like a brand across a bull's flesh.

'You're the Master of me,' I said.

'Tell me what you are.'

'I'm your, umm, subject.'

'My inferior,' he said. 'Look at me.'

'I'm just weak,' I said. 'You could snap me in two.'

'You bet, Olly. Look how strong I am now.'

'I wish I was like you,' I said, 'but I'd always be – smaller. Especially down there.' The words just blurted out my mouth from some secret place of shame.

'Honey,' said a voice. 'You've made your point. I don't think he'll forget this.'

She gave his cock one more tug through his jeans, and then she was tugging him away by the forearm, like dragging an oil tanker away. His eyes were laughing now. He was showing me the massive bulk of one, then the other bicep. His brow was wet with perspiration.

'I want you to make me your subject now,' she said. 'I can be a better bitch than — that kid.'

I don't know if she meant it but I've been thinking about it all evening. The words were like the closing part of the deal. I bowed my head — and when I looked up, she was gone. Mr Bartholomew was there, looking around him.

'Olly,' he said, frowning. 'I really am at a loss. Do you realise your responsibility to your place of work? To me?'

'I'm sorry, Mr Bartholomew,' I said. 'It wasn't an easy situation.'

A gruff voice cut through the air as I began to sort the books back into order. 'Don't blame the lad, mate. He was in an impossible situation. Powerless. That big man was a beast. What can a boy like him do against that?'

This was the browser, the voyeur, the Wolf. He saved my life. He may have changed it too.

Only a kid. A boy like this. Against a beast. I've never cared much about gyms and stuff. I thought it was about fitness. Health. Now I realise it's about power. It's about being a man and not a boy. I want my muscles to pop when I bend an elbow. I want my shirt to cling to the fat slabs of my chest. I want to be intimidating. A true adult's body. I'm 21 now and it's time to be a man.

I'll show that fucking book browser. I'll smash him up. I'll show the girlfriend too, but not by hurting her. By making her want me. I may have a little dick but I'll pick her up and put her on it so she knows she's been fucked. Let her cum, let Sophie cum too. And the Beast.

He recognised me, and as soon as he did, I knew him too. We were at school together. We were in the chess club, head to head. He was on course to be Head Boy and a Maths Scholar, then he vanished. That makes him my age — but  now? He's a real man, a hard fucker with a body like a steamroller and I'm just crawling at his feet. But starting tomorrow, it's all going to change.

What can a boy do? He can get BIG.

[Ro20316]

Oh man Nice twist. The beast and our main guy know each other.  

Now he has set up himself  a goal and im sure he will reach it.

[panama]

Quote

Great !