Have You Seen These Posing Trunks?

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This is a new story I've been working on which I'll be posting here and on my Muscle Addicts Inc blog. It's written in diary format and sees a muscle addict called Oscar encounter a local bodybuilder. As you can probably guess from the title, there's a pretty heavy focus on posing trunks!




Monday July 10th

Dear Muscle Diary,

Here are five things about muscle that drive me completely and utterly bonkers.

#1. Biceps

Big, granite hard, croquet ball shaped guns. Huge, freaky, vein encrusted peaks. Insanely pumped, thinly skinned, beyond human biceps. Guns that erupt to heart stopping proportions when blown up in an incredible front double bicep pose. Cannons that explode either side of (and look just as fucking big as!) the head of the muscle beast who owns them when rocking out a cheeky abs and thighs. Biceps that tense into a ball of rock hard, marble-like muscle mass and explode off the upper arm of a bodybuilder when he’s blasting out a massive side chest. FUCK YES!

#2. Pecs

Mammoth sized, patio slab tits. Absurdly developed, vein plastered chest pillows. Deliciously thick mounds of incredibly dense chest muscle. Pecs that hang off the torso of a jacked up muscle bull, begging to be squeezed, tensed and flexed. Chests that jump up like a cobra trying to attack the owner’s chin when he hits a front lat spread. Tits that bounce up and down like two puppies in a sack when the two hundred plus pounds muscle God they’re attached to decides to treat his adoring audience to a spot of pec bouncing. BOING!

#3. Attitude/Cocky Posing

For me, diary, the way a bodybuilder poses, and the attitude he adopts when he’s flexing, both on and off stage, has a huge part to play in how hot I find him. Nothing gets me going more than seeing a competition conditioned muscle freak stomping and strutting around a stage while displaying the most outrageously cocky, testosterone fuelled, power packed ‘tude! Ripped up muscle lads who really give it hell on stage, pulling all manner of shamelessly cocky facial expressions. Juiced up muscle pups who scrunch up their faces to absolute buggery and cheekily stick their tongues out as they squeeze their tan drenched mass. Roided up beef monsters who grunt, groan and yell as they crank out their poses with only mission on their minds; to make every audience member cream in their pants. FUCK YEAH LADS!

#4. Glutes

Obscenely developed, indecently muscular rumps. Enormous sized, gravity defying bottoms. Freakishly striated, line plastered glutes. Alien-like, shredded to buggery booties that explode with lines, details and striations when tensed and flexed on stage. Wafer thin skin encased arses so insanely conditioned you could grab a block of cheddar and use them as a fucking cheese grater. Gigantic orbs of ass meat that greedily gobble up the back of the tiny, shiny posing trunks of the owner. YOINK!


It’s not just the image of competition conditioned bodybuilders that drives me nuts. It’s also the outrageous clothing garments known as posing trunks they’re required on wear on stage. Yes diary ... I FUCKING LOVE POSING TRUNKS!! Brightly coloured, teenie weenie trunks so unbelievably shiny you need sunglasses to look directly at them. Micro sized posers whose stupidly thin straps get pulled up and yanked during a cheeky lat spread (YOINK)! Shiny as shit trunks which get plastered in greasy, golden tan and fucking drenched with the sweat of the muscle bull wearing them during competitions (SLURP)! Bright pink, glute hugging trunks. Glittery gold, bulge stretching trunks. TRUNKS, TRUNKS, TRUNKS!


Oscar Grimes (self confessed, horn crazed muscle addict)

Wednesday July 12th

Dear Muscle Diary,

Oh. My. Fucking. GOD!! You will not bloody believe what has happened. Or what I'm now in possession of, and staring at, right at this very moment. FUCK!!

OK, let me start at the beginning. So, tonight was washing night at my local launderette (whoop whoop). Wednesday's are not usually very busy but, for some reason, tonight all of the machines were being used (bugger). I was about to leave when I noticed that one had finished its cycle but, annoyingly, no one seemed to be taking their newly washed clothes out of the machine.

I sat on the bench and started to read a book, in hope that the washing would be collected, or that another machine would be freed up shortly.

Ten or so minutes into waiting (double fucking bugger) and I was seriously considering giving up and trying again for tomorrow night when, who should walk into the laundrette, but the man who owned the finished washing sitting in the machine. But not just any man. Oh no, diary. A fucking BODYBUILDER!!

My jaw almost dropped to the floor when he walked in. Because of where I was sitting, I could only see him from the back initially. He was about six foot tall and built like a brick fucking shit house. A huge barn door back stretched out a black hoodie with the words "DEANO'S GYM" written on the back. Deano’s is a local hardcore bodybuilding gym. If a bodybuilder were to hail from Brighton, he'd almost be guaranteed to have trained there.

Two gigantic orbs of ass meat were stretching his black shorts, making up one of the biggest and most perfectly round arses I have ever seen on a man. And on the lower part of his legs sat two ridiculously huge and developed calves.

Every single person in the laundrette looked up at the sight of this monstrous bodybuilder waddling through the shop.

When he was done throwing his washing into a bag, and finally freeing up the machine, he turned to head for the door, and that's when I managed to get a view of him from the front. Ho. Lee. Fucking. Shit!

Well, my eyes went straight to the top of his enormous chest. Peeking out of the top of his gym hoodie zipper, I could just see the top of two plates of thick muscle, separated by a deep groove in between. Other than his shins and his thick bull neck, it was, sadly, the only glimpse of flesh I got to see.

But something else more than made up for the that. Now able to see the muscle monster’s face, I could see that he was exceptionally fucking sexy in the looks department. Undeniably British and extremely masculine, but with a hint of boyish charm, I guessed he was no older than his early thirties. His hair was styled into a trendy quiff, but shaved really short at the sides. His complexion, while not quite competition bronzed, was more tanned than the average British man. Even for July.

He strolled out of the door with his focus straight ahead, completely ignoring the gawps and stares of every average sized person in the launderette.

The way he walked, the way he looked, everything about him just exuded this incredible confidence, that sat just below that fine line which crossed into arrogance.

The whole scene was incredibly surreal, not to mention insanely horny. This ginormous sized, juiced up, muscle bull casually strolling through the run down launderette I frequented on an almost weekly bases. FUCK!!

So, you're probably now thinking that that's the end of the story? The reason for my overexcitement at the beginning of this diary entry? An awesome and horny muscle sighting involving a huge, gorgeous bodybuilder?! WRONG!!

So, with the washing machine previously used by the muscle beast now freed up, I dumped my clothes in there without really paying much attention to what I was doing; my mind still pre-occupied with thoughts of the absurdly sexy, big bummed gorilla I'd just unexpectedly encountered.

An hour later, and still on a high from the muscle sighting, I was throwing my now washed clothes into one of the launderette 's tumble dryers when I suddenly noticed something tangled up in my washing which made my heart jump into my fucking throat!

In amongst my wet towels and work shirts, I could see something foreign, blue, bright and shiny, and I knew, in an instant, exactly what it was.

You know that scene in Willy Wonka & The Chocolate Factory, where Charlie Bucket opens the bar of chocolate and gets a glimpse of the shiny golden ticket? Well now I know exactly how Charlie felt.

I reached my hand into the dryer, and tentatively pulled on the blue, shiny fabric, just enough to confirm that, mixed up with my washing, was a pair of genuine bodybuilder’s posing trunks! FUCK!!

I shut the dryer door, put the spin on and sat back down in the bench; grinning like crazy and barely able to contain my excitement.

The gorgeous Deano’s Gym attending muscle bull had accidentally left a pair of his posing trunks in the machine, and I had clearly not noticed them when I'd popped my washing in after him.

Of course, the right thing to do in this situation would have been to hand the stray garments in. And normally I would have. But this was no normal situation. And these were no ordinary garments. These were fucking posers! Actual posers from an actual fucking bodybuilder. The thing that turned me on, only second to the type of roided freaks and monsters who wore them on stage.

My dick had started to stir and grow the second I clapped eyes on the blue material, and had grown further the moment my fingers had made contact with the fabric. Fuck! I'd actually touched a pair of shiny posers!! FUCK!! I was actually now potentially in possession of a pair for of shiny posers! Triple fucking FUCK! Unless the bodybuilder came back to retrieve them before the dryer stopped, of course.

And then I had an image of the muscle bull storming back into the launderette, checking the machine, frantically looking around and approaching the old dear who worked there looking for his missing posing. But such an event did not occur and, before I knew it, my dryer had stopped and my washing was done.

There was no way I was going to hand the trunks in, not least of all because I couldn't think of anything more embarrassing than handing a pair of bright blue posers to the lovely, but slightly batty, old woman working there.

I could have left them in the dryer I guess. That would have been the second most moralistic thing to do. But I didn't. Because I knew that if I did, I would always regret it. So I did what any sane muscle addict with a rampant love for tiny, glute hugging posing trunks would have done. I scooped my washing from the dryer into my bag, making sure that no item had been left behind.

Whilst heading to the door, a man sitting on the bench gave me a curious look, a little like I was a crazy person, because I couldn't wipe the smirk off my face or hide the elation I was feeling knowing that in my bag was a pair of the thinly stripped, super shiny posing trunks of a gorgeous, roid munching competitive bodybuilder. JESUS. FUCKING. CHRIST.

The whole walk home I was absolutely buzzing. I kept thinking about what was in my bag at that precise moment, intertwined with my boxer shorts and t-shirts. I couldn't fucking wait to get home and examine the posers further.

The moment that came and I was stood in my bedroom with my washing bag placed on the bed, my heart was pounding like crazy. It was madness! How could an item of clothing stir such intense feelings in me?

I rummaged through the bag and, once again, my dick began to swell and my excitement grew when my fingers and eyes were met with the shiny blue posing trunk material.

Retrieving the freshly washed trunks from the bag I held them up in front of me and just revelled in the horniness and amazingness of what I was holding in my hands.

They looked even shinier than they had from the tumble dryer. It sounds crazy - I had seen so many pictures of videos of bodybuilders wearing posing trunks, but never, ever did I imagine that they'd be so shiny in real life. Or that the fabric would feel so good in my fingertips.

I ran my hands over the thick, shiny pouch, my fingertips up and down the thin, wiry straps, flipped them around and felt the blue material which made up the back.

I suddenly had an image of the muscle bull I'd so brilliantly seen earlier that day waddling towards me in the launderette, hitting a monstrous crab most muscular, tanned up to shit and wearing these very posers and my fully erect cock juddered furiously in my boxers.

I don't know why I did what I did next. I bought the trunk pouch to my nose and, bringing the material to my face, I took a big sniff of the shiny fabric. Predictably, I was hit with the smell of fabric conditioner. But there was something else hidden there too - the incredibly horny scent of the material itself, which no doubt would have been stronger, sexier and more intense when the muscle bull had bought them brand new.

I wanted more than anything to take my jeans and boxers off. To work the trunks up my regular sized, non muscular legs and nestle my throbbing cock into the shiny blue pouch.

But something stopped me. The knowledge that they weren't really mine. Somehow, it just didn't feel right. Instead, I just I lay the trunks on my bed and marvelled at the beauty and all out fucking sexiness of them. A pair of bodybuilders posing trunks. Brighter, shinier and hornier than I could ever have imagined.


Oscar Grimes (sort of proprietor of tiny, shiny posing trunks - FUCK!)


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love the way the story is told. those diary notes can be taken as stand alones

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Great setup. Can't wait to read more.

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3 hours ago, supercravate said:

Great setup. Can't wait to read more.


5 hours ago, Ro20316 said:

love the way the story is told. those diary notes can be taken as stand alones

Glad you guys are enjoying it so far! Lots more to come! ;)

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Very creative....and HAWT!!

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Thursday July 13th

Dear Muscle Diary,

What a day! I don't think I've ever survived a work day before being so pre-occupied, or feeling so damn fucking tired.

And the reason for both of those things? The bright blue posing trunks I'm now so brilliantly and crazily in possession of.

I literally have not stopped thinking about them, diary. It's like I've been possessed. Those teenie weenie, super shiny garments have taken over my whole mind.

And it wasn't just today either. It was last night too. It sounds completely and utterly bonkers, but I didn't fall asleep until two a.m. My mind just would not shut off. Just knowing what was sitting in my drawers mere metres away from my bed. Those beautifully shiny, brilliantly coloured posers.

I finally managed to get to sleep, only to wake up an hour later, hard as fuck and with the trunks still occupying my mind.

There was only one thing for it. I got out of bed, opened my drawer and held the posing trunks in my hands.

I took them back to bed with me. I didn't really know what my intention was, but I needed to blow badly and I wanted the trunks to be there.

I thought, again, about putting them on. It felt a little less wrong than it did before. But it still didn't feel completely right. Not now. Not like this.

My cock was throbbing furiously and I started to tug on it through my boxers underneath the duvet.

With the posers in my free hand, once again, I bought the material to my face and placed the trunks flat over it. Shiny, shiny fabric over my mouth, nose, forehead and covering my eyes. I rubbed the posers in my face with my hand while wanking off. The smell of the trunks filling my nostrils, the shiny, slippery fabric consuming my face, as I breathed in the posing trunk material.

I kept imagining where they'd been. In a pump room. On a bodybuilding stage. In the audience of a show during a crazy posedown as their beefed up, tan plastered roid monster of an owner flexed and posed in them.

As I continued to wank and breathe in the posers, I thought about that very roid monster who I’d seen earlier that evening. The "DEANO’S GYM" hoodie. That ridiculous back. His enormous, perfectly round arse. Those huge calves on display. That pec cleavage. The bull neck. His gorgeous, tanned face. That super hot hairdo. And the way he strutted through that launderette. A genuine muscle bull amongst mere mortals.

And then I imagined him wearing the trunks. Pulling the straps up as he hit a lat spread pose on stage to wild applause from the audience. Turning around and outrageously tucking the back of the posers into the crack separating those two gigantic orbs of ass meat.

I grew closer to cumming and groaned into the poser fabric as I imagined these very trunks buried deep in his arse crack. The pouch filled out and stretched by his dick. His bronzed competition tan rubbing off on to the trunks as his bulge rubs against his inner quads. Trunks getting mucked with tan. Sweat dripping down his abs and reaching the shiny fabric. Pre-cum dripping into the crotch as he squeezes a monster most muscular on stage.

And then I imagined him rushing home after the show. Still drenched in tan. Still wearing his posers. His bright, shiny, teenie tiny posers, now drenched in the tan, oil, and sweat of its muscle monster owner; full of adrenaline and testosterone and horny as hell from flexing and showing off what a fuck off huge muscle freak he is to a room full of ordinary, non bodybuilders, all of whom were dying to touch and worship his muscle, making him feel like the God that he is.

And then I imagined him flexing in the mirror. Cranking out pose after pose. Grunting, groaning, huffing and puffing with every squeeze and flex. His hard throbbing cock stretching out his mucky pup posing trunks to an outrageous degree, ready to explode at any given moment.

And as I imagined the muscle bull squeezing out a trap exploding crab most muscular while growling like an animal and filling up his posing trunks with spunk, I pushed those very posers into my face and unleashed a muffled groan as thick wads of cum exploded from my cock and filled up my boxer shorts in what was probably one of the most intense and pleasurable orgasms I’ve ever had. FUUUUUUCKKKK!!


Oscar Grimes (self confessed, horn crazed lover of the tiny, shiny posing trunks I now sort of own!)

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Yeah. hes obsseced with hose shiny trunks.

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Saturday July 15th

Dear Muscle Diary,

Well, diary, it's been three days since I found the shiny, bright blue posing trunks of a genuine bodybuilder hidden amongst my washing in my local launderette. And I've barely been able to think about anything since!

I've now creamed off with the posers placed over my face three times (blush!) and I officially feel like a right kinky little bugger.

None were quite as amazing as the first time though and I've been thinking more and more that it might be time to take things to the next level, i.e. trying the posing trunks on!

It didn't feel right at first, but the more days that pass the more that feeling is fading, and the more they're starting to feel like they're my trunks (even though they're really not)!

Now it's just a case of choosing the right moment. I want to save it for a time when I'm really fucking horny. I’ve always fantasised about owning a pair of posing trunks, and trying them on for the first time and I basically just want it to be the best experience that it can possibly be.


Oscar Grimes (potential soon-to-be wearer of tiny, shiny posing trunks!)

Sunday July 16th

Dear Muscle Diary,

Oh God. Oh fuck. Oh shit. I did it, diary! I tried on the trunks. FUUUUUCKKK!! But that's not all, diary. There's more to tell you! So much fucking more. And it involves the original owner of said trunks!

So I went out last night for a few drinks with my mate, Ste. It was one of those nights where I didn't really wanna go but I just sort of forced myself because I felt like I needed a night out.

Well, as soon as I was in the pub, I knew I shouldn't have bothered. The atmosphere was dead and the alcohol didn't seem to be helping much. We went to another place which was a little bit better, but as the night went on, I just kept thinking about how much I wanted to be at home with my posing trunks, watching and wanking off to some obscenely shredded muscle bull on YouTube!

Anyway, things finally picked up after a few shots and the place livened up. Ste was drooling over guys that would never be interested in him (sorry Ste!) while I suddenly found myself snogging this young cutie patootie with a hipster beard and leather cap. Whenever I go out with Ste, he hardly ever pulls and I always do, which always surprises me because Ste is so outgoing and confident, and will literally chat to anyone, and despite being a wee bit chunky he's really handsome. Maybe it's because I still have a bit of a baby face and, despite the fact that I’m thirty-two, still occasionally get asked for ID when I try to buy vodka from my local Tesco Express. Or maybe it's the modestly sized arms I've built up since my mid-twenties. Don't get me wrong, diary, I'm not going to be entering any bodybuilding competitions any time soon, but my arms do look quite good in a t-shirt. Ste's grabbed and copped a feel of them on a couple of nights out, which I always secretly get a kick out of. My workmates even christened me with a blush worthy and rather ego boosting nickname a few years ago; Mr Biceps!

So the leather capped cutie patootie (he didn't tell me his name) asked me if I wanted to go back to his place. I thought about it for a moment. He was a sexy little bugger and the kissing was pretty horny, but then I thought about the morning after. Waking up in a stranger’s bed feeling and looking like a bag of warmed up shit and just wanting to close my eyes and melt into the mattress and disappear, before magically landing in my own bed. Alone, and safe from any potential awkwardness and the possibility of morning sex which they always want to have. And then I thought, again, about watching some obscenely huge muscle monster flexing and squeezing in a pair of brightly coloured posing trunks on my PC screen. And then I thought about the posing trunks sitting in my drawer back home. The insanely hot, indescribably horny posing trunks of a real life, genuine bodybuilder, both of which I hadn't been able to stop thinking about since my adventure at the launderette on Wednesday night. So I said my goodbyes to Mr Cutie Leather Cap, grabbed Ste and headed for home.

Ste was feeling a bit down on himself on the walk. Apparently, not only has he not had sex for the last six months, but he hasn't had a snog either. I don't really know how that's possible, but apparently not only does he never pull when he goes out, but hardly anyone messages him on Grindr either. The last guy he met from there opened the door, looked him up and down, screwed his face up and told him he wasn't his type.

We were almost at the Pavillion when Ste asked me a question. “Oscar, if you didn't know me and you saw me in a club, would you pull me?” The honest answer is, diary, I would have pulled Ste seven years ago when we first met. He's never been my type, but he's handsome, and funny, and it's so fucking endearing how excited he gets about things like Doctor Who and Batman. But now, I can't even contemplate kissing Ste. It's Ste, for fucks sake! But I sensed that he needed some type of validation and because he was feeling so down on himself, I gave it to him. “Yes Ste! If I didn't know you, I would pull you!”

He grinned like mad and I felt a slight warmth. “You still could you know,” Ste said with one eyebrow cheekily raised. “Pull me!”

Taken aback, I laughed and playfully told Ste to fuck off. It was when we were approaching Ste’s turning and we were stood still facing each other that he offered up his next proposition.

“OK, if you won't snog me, at least let me feel one of your biceps!”

I laughed again and Ste just cheekily grinned. I decided to play along, so I took his left hand and firmly placed it on my right, unflexed bicep.

Ste made a jokey, “Mmmm,” sound and I rolled my eyes and giggled. And then? Well, I’m not really sure what made me do it, diary, but without even thinking, I bought my forearm up so it was sat horizontal against my stomach and clenched my right fist so that my bicep flexed and bulged underneath Ste's fingers. He suddenly stopped grinning, his eyes bulged, and his face transformed into a shocked expression. “FUCK!” he cried out.

Something happened to me in that moment. Seeing Ste's shocked and amazed reaction to my muscle, having someone feeling my flexed bicep, I suddenly felt incredibly horny, and starting to swell in my boxers.

It was nothing to do with Ste himself. I think it was just seeing someone’s amazed reaction to what my flexed muscle felt like. Ste's not even into muscle. Well, not the kind of grotesque, shredded freaks I cream off to on a regular bases. So, diary, imagine his reaction if he were into muscle? And imagine if, instead of my modestly sized bicep, I had a twenty inch, paper thin skin covered, bronzed painted, freakishly huge ball of bicep muscle bulging off my upper arm?

“That feels HUGE!” Ste said, still squeezing my flexed gun, and doing nothing to diffuse neither my ego or power trip.

I sheepishly grinned at him. “Hardly!” came my honest reply. When he finally released his grip, we laughed, hugged and said goodbye. “See you later … Mr Biceps!” Ste playfully called out as he walked down his street, giggling in his typically extroverted manner.

That unexpected but brilliant little moment with Ste got me even more in the mood to get home and watch some seriously freaky muscle.

I wondered, in that moment, what Ste would think of the huge, roided muscle bulls I regularly blasted loads to. I did once tell him that I liked really huge guys, but I still think he'd be surprised if he saw just the kind of superhuman sized monsters that made my boxers sticky. And I have absolutely NO idea what Ste would think if he knew that for my last three wanks I’d had a pair of posing trunks sitting on my face! In fairness, he'd probably just laugh and call me a kinky little fucker.

When I arrived at home, I poured myself another cheeky drink, and fired up my muscle ridden PC. I was in the mood for something new, so I went to straight to my subscriptions in YouTube.

There had been a huge amateur bodybuilding show somewhere in Europe last weekend. One of my favourite channels had been slowly uploading videos from the competition all week and there'd been a ton posted in the last few hours.

You wouldn't find any of the big named pro bodybuilders, or any American muscle monsters competing in this sort of show. It was mostly shredded to death East Europeans, with a couple of good old fashioned British muscle bulls thrown in for good measure.

After watching videos of an arrogant as fuck, Austrian bull wearing outrageous golden posers and some nasty, gritty, British muscle daddy who really should no better than to be stomping around bodybuilding stages at his age, I came to a video of a twenty something British lad called Andy. Sporting a physique packed with some seriously gorgeous beef, carved and shredded in the most shocking condition, Andy hit his poses with more energy than the bodybuilders in the first two videos put together.

When Andy spun around to hit a rear pose, revealing the most obscenely sized arse spilling either side of his tiny purple posers, I suddenly had a flashback to the enormous sized and perfectly round arse belonging to the sexy as hell muscle bull from the laundrette last Wednesday. The owner of the shiny blue posing trunks I had now paused the video to fetch from my drawer.

For some reason, the trunks looked even hornier and shinier than ever. As I held them in my hands, I knew the time I had been waiting for had come. This was it. Horny as fuck from watching a bunch of jacked up muscle freaks flexing and ripping up a bodybuilding stage, and slightly less inhibited with the alcohol running through my system from my night out with Ste, I knew this was the perfect time to try on the posers of the gorgeous, local bodybuilder I'd found sitting amongst my washing four nights before.

My heart was thumping as I took my jeans and boxers off. Even just feeling the poser material brushing against my legs as I put them on felt insanely horny. And then I nestled my hard throbbing dick in the shiny blue pouch. With the lining of the trunks against the head of my cock, I put my right hand to my trunk covered hard on and squeezed. Fuuuuuuuckkk! It was some kind of miracle, diary, that it didn't explode with a huge load of spunk right there and then.

I had always feared that if I ever did purchase, or manage to try on some posing trunks, I would look a little silly in them. But as I admired my reflection in the mirror and saw myself wearing the insanely hot posers of an actual bodybuilder, I realised I didn’t look silly in the slightest.

It didn't matter that I didn't have huge slabs of shredded beef hanging off my bones. Or that my skin wasn’t painted with bronzed competition tan. The posing trunks just looked hot as fucking fuck, even against my pale, none freakishly muscular legs.

With my hard on stretching out the pouch of the shiny posers, and the back of the trunks hugging my regular sized arse, I went back to my laptop to continue watching the video I’d found of Andy, the gorgeous, shredded British muscle pup, flexing on stage.

Within seconds of pressing play, Andy has spun around, shuffled to the front of the stage and was cranking out most muscular after most muscular, each one accompanied with his mouth wide open in the most brilliantly arrogant fashion.

As I stroked my hard cock through the soft posing trunk material, rock hard, horny as fuck and fearful that I was about to cum at any given moment, I looked at Andy and realised that it wasn't just his oversized bottom that reminded me of the bodybuilder from the launderette. It was also his face. He had the same masculine but boyish quality. A little rough around the edges. Very laddish. Undeniably British. And oh-so-bloody-gorgeous!

And then I had a thought. What if, somewhere on the Internet, there was a video of the bodybuilder from the launderette, flexing on stage in the very trunks I was wearing? I doubted he'd be at the level of the bodybuilders from the show I was watching videos from, but there could easily be a video of a Mr South East contest somewhere. He had posing trunks that he felt were in need of a wash, so he most likely would have competed recently, or was due to compete soon. Unless there was something else he did in his posing trunks which required them to be asked afterwards? A thought which made my dick furiously jolt under the shiny poser material.

I tried my luck and did a quick search but no such videos materialised. At least not ones from the last five years.

In sheer desperation, I put “Brighton bodybuilder” into Google and one of the top five results bought up the website for the infamous Deano’s Gym. From there, I reached the gym’s Facebook page, and that's where I struck gold!

I was immediately drawn to the very latest post at the top of the page which read; “Good luck to Liam Watson, who is competing at the Tiger Bodybuilding Classic in London next weekend.” And then I looked at the picture of the huge, shredded muscle bull in the picture, hitting a front lat spread in a pair of very familiar looking shiny blue posing trunks and my heart lurched into my throat.

Looking at the gorgeous face of the flexing muscle beast, lips pursed in arrogant fashion, I was suddenly transporting back to Wednesday night, watching that very face walking through the laundrette with a holdall full of washing in his hand, not knowing that he'd accidentally left a certain garment of clothing in the machine.

The very garment of clothing he was wearing in the picture I was looking at, and the very garment I was wearing at that precise moment!

And then I read the rest of the text which accompanied the picture. “Check out more of Liam on his Instagram page here” which was followed by a link, which I excitedly clicked and HOLY SHIT, I was now on the Instagram page of the bodybuilder whose trunks I'd been wanking off with the past three days! A mini digital glimpse into the world of Liam Watson, the huge, gorgeous Brightonian bodybuilder who was competing in a show next weekend.

My eyes went straight to the very first post. A close up picture of an outrageously huge, flexed bicep, with a freaky, thick vein running right down the middle. FUCK!

And that's when I noticed something in the bio of the profile. Liam had written his name, but there was something sandwiched in between his first name and surname. Liam had a nickname. A nickname which became even more appropriate as I scoured the many pictures on his page and landed on one of him blowing up his seriously enormous biceps while flexing a front double.

I wasn't just wearing Liam Watson's shiny blue posers. I was wearing Liam “The Guns” Watson's shiny blue posers!

As I scanned the pictures on Liam's profile, I was reminded of my “five things about muscle which drive me completely and utterly bonkers” list from earlier in the week.

Beyond human biceps? Check! Mammoth sized tits? Check! Outrageously cocky posing? Fucking check! An enormous sized bottom? Big fat CHECK! Brightly coloured, shiny as shit posing trunks? To which I took my eyes off the screen and looked in my lap. THE BIGGEST FUCKING CHECK!

In addition to the close up bicep shot, I quickly adopted a number of favourite pictures from Liam’s Instagram. Amongst them, a rear shot of Liam completely naked with his gigantic sized ass on full display (FUCK!) with the cheeky caption, “Sorry if my naked bum offends anyone. I just really wanted an excuse to use the peach emoji!” and a contest photo of him from a few years earlier, tanned to shit, with a little less size but shredded to buggery, cranking out a crab most muscular with his eyes closed, face scrunched and teeth gritted in the cheekiest (and horniest) fashion (fuck yeah Liam)!

But my absolute favourite picture was the second most recent one posted on his profile. A shot taken that very morning, of Liam standing in a room with a huge black and white poster of the classic documentary film “Pumping Iron” hanging behind him on the wall.

Wearing nothing but a pair of beautiful, bright red posers, just as shiny as the ones I was wearing, packed and filled out by his indecently big bulge, Liam was hitting a front double bicep pose. His insane biceps peaking to an obscene degree. Huge, round, and perfect. The right one with that freakish, thick vein running right down the middle. God I love that vein.

His face contorted into the most outrageous expression. Manic, crazy, and cocky as fuck. His mouth wide open in an almost animalistic fashion. A huge, freaky, gorgeous muscle bull flexing his enormous, nickname earning guns, displaying extreme masculinity, unapologetic attitude and pure power in the horniest way conceivable.

That was it. I couldn't hold it in any longer. I furiously tugged on my throbbing hard on through the fabric of Liam's posers and, staring at his gigantic biceps and sexy, ‘tude packed face, the head of my dick exploded and a huge load of cum blew into the lining of the posing trunks.

I looked down and saw the spunk seeping through the shiny material. What an image. What a feeling! The orgasm was even more intense than the one I had Wednesday night with the trunks placed over my face. Intense, immeasurable pleasure consuming my whole body. I felt like I'd been transported to the ceiling and someone needed to come and scrape me off. And God did I scream. Uninhibited shouts of orgasmic pleasure. God knows what the neighbours thought. Fuck ‘em! If they'd been shooting loads into their undies over monstrous bodybuilders in tiny sized posing trunks since their teenage years and had amazingly managed to be in possession of a pair of such very trunks and were blasting a massive load into them for the first very time, they'd be screaming the place down too.

Basking in a post orgasmic high, I looked at Liam flexing on my laptop and I suddenly felt a twinge of something. Not so much guilt, more a slight feeling of wrongness. What would this man think if he knew I'd just shot a load in one of his pairs of posing trunks? I pushed the thought to the back of my mind. There was no point dwelling on it. After all, Liam will never ever know. His posing trunks are long gone. Never to be seen again. And now they're mine. To wear and cream in. Over and over again.


Oscar Grimes (wearer and new, proud owner of tiny, shiny posing trunks!)

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The story keeps moving and every chapter it's amazing on their own

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