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Charlie's Secret


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This is a story I wrote years ago for my "Muscle Addicts Inc" blog. I've been going over it and making a few tweaks here and there and thought I'd share it here as I work on it. It's far from perfect

Amazingly, during the days which followed before my next class, where I would find out the outcome of my placement, my mind felt fairly relaxed. Every now and then I would experience a moment of sheer

I suddenly had the urge to know exactly what was going through the mind of, not just my new oiling partner, but the man whose gorgeously peeled and newly glistening obliques my fingers were currently

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13 hours ago, Loversneak said:

Ho Man !! This is awsome ! I'm completly geting the thrill of your character ! Loved it !


2 hours ago, crushme99 said:

This is EXCEPTIONAL.  Not only are you a fine, fine writer but . . . you "get it."

Thanks so much for the lovely feedback guys....it means a lot! :D

I'd be interested to hear what people think of the story as a whole when it's all posted. It's hard to judge your own work but I think the best parts are still to come. Equally there's some parts I'm not too sure about so any/all feedback is appreciated! ^_^

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Whatever must have been going through Billy’s head was clearly a far cry from what was happening in my own conscience. I had always been curious as to whether I would be turned on by muscle if I were to ever attend a bodybuilding show. I’d be watching competition conditioned bodybuilders in tiny posing trunks flexing and squeezing their alien-like muscle mass, so the odds of me getting hard would be expectedly high, and yet, I’d be in a theatre surrounded by people, and I’d never been entirely sure whether that would prevent me from getting turned on. Following my experience of watching muscle sitting next to Billy Horvath though, I’m pretty sure I now know how that particular scenario would play out.

The second that first muscle monster filled up the TV screen with his incredible slabs of carved out mass, I had started to swell, and within seconds I was sporting a fully erect hard on, which hadn’t stopped straining through my jeans since. I was clearly wired to be turned on by monstrously sized muscle men, as discovered that one afternoon when I came across the image of the pro bodybuilder squeezing out a massive most muscular in the family TV listings magazine, and any surrounding influences or people were clearly unlikely to affect that.

Just as some excessively bronzed, absurdly handsome muscle stud bought his terrifyingly thick pecs up into a side chest pose, while biting down on his bottom lip with an expression which lay somewhere between adorably cheeky and downright bleeding cocky, Bryan Macleod twisted his head round, and, completely ignoring Billy, made a bee-line straight for me. He shot me a three second look, before turning his attention back to the TV. The initial three words which went through my head at that moment were, “What. The. Fuck?!”

I told myself it could have been completely innocent, but even though it had only been brief, it had been a really inquisitive look, like he was intrigued to know what my reaction was to the onslaught of jacked up, carved to the bone muscle bulls I was being forced to watch. I was also baffled as to why his eyes went straight to me, and completely ignored Billy. Did he suspect I was a beef obsessed muscle addict just like him?

I relaxed slightly when he turned again, this time to check on Billy, and yet when he did so, a slight twinge of disappointment filled my stomach. I suppose I quite liked the fact that, for whatever reason, whether innocent or less so, Bryan was more interested in my reaction than Billy’s. And then, as if sensing my disappointment, or reading my mind, he shot another look at me, only this time, in another, “What the fuck?” moment, the corner of his mouth curled into a sexy, cheeky smile.

I had absolutely no idea what it meant, or why he did it, but my adrenaline levels at that moment shot through the roof. It was a similar feeling to being in a club, and after having spotted a really cute guy you like, and glancing over, trying to be subtle, but really wanting him to notice you, he finally locks eyes with you, and gives you a smile which says he thinks you’re pretty cute too.

I didn’t for one minute think that Bryan’s smile meant that he was attracted to me, certainly not if he was, in fact, turned on by bodybuilders in the same way that I was. But it meant, on some level, and for whatever reason, incredibly sexy, twinkly eyed, nicely muscled Bryan Macleod was interested in what I thought.

With the incident fresh in my mind, I suddenly turned my attention away from the barely human muscle freaks on the TV screen and towards Bryan Macleod, sitting at the front of the round table. The awesome slogan of “LIVE FOR THE PUMP” scrawled across the blue t-shirt covering his modestly broad back. His elbow and big, furry forearm resting on the table, his upper arm looking impressively thick and pumped. Facing away from me, but slightly turned to the side, I could just see part of his handsome face, but was mostly presented with his extremely masculine and undeniably sexy bald head.
Looking at Bryan, I suddenly felt a pang of desire. I started wondering what was hiding underneath that cheeky t-shirt, and what his biceps looked like flexed. I then started to wonder what was going on, both in Bryan’s mind, and his trousers, as he watch muscle monster after muscle monster, flex, squeeze and pump up their amazing mounds of gigantic man meat.

And then I imagined Billy Horvath fucking the fuck off, probably to run to the nearest bathroom to be violently sick with disgust and horror at the freaks he’d been endured to watch, leaving Bryan and I alone, and me feeling a surge of bravery, which encouraged me to exit my chair, and walk over to the front of the room where Bryan was sitting.

With Bryan looking up and presenting me with a sexy, inviting smile, I’d sit down on his lap, and wrap my arm around his thick back and broad shoulders, as he wrapped his left arm around the back of my waist. There’d be an incredible, and instant chemistry the moment we touched, and he’d gaze at me with those lovely, pretty eyes, make a soft, sensual, “Mmmmm,” sound, and then he’d passionately lock his lips with mine, in what would be the most incredible and sensual kiss. Warm and strong, but soft at the time. The sexual chemistry between the two of us becoming more intense. The kind of kiss, that if prolonged enough, would probably result in one, if not both, of us ejaculating in our pants.

As our lips passionately locked together, one of my hands would sensually explore the back of Bryan’s masculine bald head, which would feel both hard and yet strangely soft to the touch. And as we stopped kissing, and he looked at me with the sexiest glaze of satisfaction, I’d cheekily bring my left arm up to his thick pumped upper arm.

The moment my hand made contact with his skin, he’d outrageously bring his arm up and flex his bicep, as an adorable, part cocky, part sheepish grin emerged on his face. I’d gasp in amazement at how the muscle exploded before my eyes. Rock hard, and impressively big. Bryan suddenly transforming into a mini version of the massive, rippling muscle monsters playing on the screen behind us, only hotter, because he was here, and real, and flexing just for me.

I’d wrap my fingers around Bryan’s mound of rock hard, paper thin encased bicep muscle, sinking into a kind of orgasmic trance as I encountered my first real touch of big, flexed muscle. And with my hand still firmly clamped on Bryan’s bicep, he’d bring his arm down, in order for his large masculine hand to slide to my rock hard cock, straining and bulging through my jeans.

And then, as quickly as I had started fantasising about Bryan Macleod, an image appeared on the video playing on the TV screen which pulled me out of it. The most out of this world freaky muscle monster blasting a crab most muscular in slow motion and right into the cameras lens. The most absurdly hot muscle beast with huge, thick balloons of oil and tan drenched muscle mass flexing as hard as he humanly could while fully displaying his clenched teeth, in the most shamelessly cocky grin he could possibly display. The most flat out sexy muscle bull who just so happened to be Blaine Holton. The same Blaine Holton who I’d spotted that morning in the foyer, looking like a tank on two legs underneath his strained black tracksuit. The same Blaine Holton who, at that very moment in time, was probably in the pump room, pumping up his mammoth sized mounds of superhuman mass with a camera mere inches away from him capturing every single moment. A camera which I could quite possibly be standing on the other side of in the next ten or so minutes.

The clip of Blaine was the last moment of what had undoubtedly been some of the hottest muscle footage I’d ever sat through. Bryan stood up to turn off the TV and addressed Billy and I once again.

“So, guys, hopefully that’s given you an idea of what we’re about, and the kind of videos you’ll be helping to film today. I know some of these guy’s physiques might be a little shocking and extreme, but please don’t feel intimated. If you have to speak to the bodybuilders, they’re usually very friendly guys. They’re just here to pose and show off their huge, ripped bodies, and we’re just here to shoot them doing it.”

As my heart fluttered at Bryan saying the words, “huge, ripped bodies,” and I stared at his thick chest bulging underneath his blue t-shirt, and his big, solid looking biceps straining under the sleeves, my eyes suddenly veered south and I almost fell off my chair at what I saw. Any suspicions, and hopes, I had had that Bryan was as crazy about muscle as I was, were pretty much confirmed by the thick bulge straining in the crotch of his jeans. There was no question about it. Bryan MacWoofityWoof was sporting a massive boner. Either it was purely coincidental, or Bryan had become rock hard watching the same enormous muscle bulls flexing their amazingly pumped beef that had caused my boxer briefs to seemingly shrink to half their original size.

“OK, guys, I just need to make a brief phone call to my colleague, then we’ll go down to the pump room and get you started.” My stomach leaped, but the adrenaline and excitement were now far outweighing any nerves and apprehension that were left inside me. Bryan exited the room leaving me alone, once more, with Billy Horvath, who didn’t waste any time in voicing what was going on in his head.

“Oh my God! What. The. Fuck?!”

I groaned internally, and felt immediately infuriated. I looked at Billy, sighing and rolling my eyes, probably in a less subtle manner than I should have. I didn’t like to make a habit of being rude to people, but Billy was the sort of guy who would test the patience of even the most tolerant of people, and I’d already had to endure a fairly large dose of his obnoxiousness earlier that morning.

“Seriously, dude. What the hell were they thinking sending us here?”


“This is seriously messed up. I mean, those guys, they’re revolting.”


“They don’t even look human!”

Hmmm. Can’t really argue with you there. FUCK YEAH!

“I am seriously gonna make a complaint to the college. I don’t know what on earth they’re playing at sending us to a place like this. Those guys. All that muscle! It’s just gross!”

And then I finally cracked, and surprised, even myself, with my response, partly at how calm and relaxed I said it. “Actually, I think they look pretty fucking amazing!”

Billy was gob smacked. His mouth was actually hung open for about two seconds, before he closed it, and just looked completely shocked and dumb founded. I waited for his response, but nothing came. For the first time since I’d had the displeasure of meeting Billy, someone had finally managed to render him speechless, and that someone had been me. It was also the first time I’d ever gone any way to giving a clue as to what my opinion of bodybuilders was. As a feeling of pride and satisfaction overwhelmed me, I couldn’t help smiling. I wasn’t sure if Billy saw this or not, but I didn’t care either way.

The silence was broken with the return of Bryan MacWoofityWoof, who I’d now also given the second nickname of Bryan aka The Future Mrs Charlie Steatham, who walked back into the room clutching his phone, and said, “OK, guys, I think we’re all set here. Let’s get you both down to that pump room and get you shooting some muscle.”

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1 hour ago, Loversneak said:

Ho boy ! Super fun and super hot ! I looooove the way you discribe the big muscular guys ! 

Thank you mate!! Next bit coming up...

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The walk to the pump room felt like the longest sixty seconds of my life. I was still enjoying the rush of, not only unashamedly confessing to another person at least part of my true feelings towards bodybuilders without being completely inappropriate or giving any mention of sticky, cum soaked boxer shorts, but also rendering Billy Horvath speechless. I couldn’t help thinking that if Professor Walsh and my classmates knew this, I’d be welcomed back to college like some kind of hero.

The adrenaline caused by my confession was also deterring the slight reoccurring nerves and anxiety which had been practically unbearable not half an hour ago. That was before I had entered an auditorium to be greeted by the image of a flexing, competition conditioned bodybuilder unapologetically plastered on a huge poster, met a camera man and potential like minded muscle lover, who was not only incredibly sexy and unquestionably gay, but also comfortable enough to walk around in t-shirts with outrageously awesome muscle related slogans written on the back and to stand in front of two strangers confidently rolling words like, “monstrous, jacked up muscle bulls” off his tongue, spotted a real life bodybuilder I’d more than once masturbated over in the form of the obscenely sexy Blaine Holton, who, despite being covered up a tracksuit, looked more monstrous than I could ever have dreamt, sat in a small room with two complete strangers and watched the kind of footage of shredded, hardcore muscle freaks I only ever watched in my own company and usually resulting in me filling up my underwear with half a litre of spunk, and then went part way to divulging my real feelings and confessing to another person for the first time how amazing I thought said muscle freaks actually are. And now I was on my way to a room full of those very muscle freaks to witness the superhuman specimens who turned me on more than anything else on this planet not just in real life, but up close and personal.

Billy was walking slightly behind me. I didn’t need to be facing him to know that he was wearing a permanent scowl, wishing he were anywhere but here. In front of me was the extremely sexy rear view of Bryan Macleod, those ridiculously awesome words spread across his modestly broad back and the un-flexed upper arm muscle of his meaty tricep peeking underneath his t-shirt sleeve.

I suddenly wanted to know what this devastatingly sexy man’s opinion of me was. I’d been sure that that cheeky smile Bryan had flashed at me during the screening of the muscle video was a knowing smile. A smile which had said, “The game’s up, kid. I know you’re a secret muscle lover who’s currently battling an epic sized hard on in those jeans of yours as you sit here watching these uber-human muscle beasts flex and squeeze their God-like muscle mass.”

I then I wondered whether I reminded Bryan of himself at my age. Bookish, shy and awkward, blasting loads to pictures and videos of bodybuilders on an almost daily bases, years before he signed up for a gym membership and eventually found himself on a camera crew responsible for filming one of those very kinds of videos, enabling him to meet and be in the presence of the very freaks who turned him on more than anything else in the world.

My thoughts then turned to whether, in turn, when I looked at Bryan I was seeing a considerably hairier, admittedly more masculine, and undoubtedly sexier future version of myself. Was this going to be me in fifteen years time, confidently strolling around bodybuilding competitions in cheeky, muscle related sloganed t-shirts, filming footage of some of the biggest, nastiest and most hardcore muscle bulls on the planet in their most shredded, otherworldly conditions?

By then, of course, Bryan Macleod-Steatham (nee Macleod) and I would be enjoying our seventh year of marital bliss. It would have been a small, but beautiful ceremony, attended by close family, friends, and a small number of guys from the camera crew. The latter of which would have been particularly amused at the figurines on top of the wedding cake. Two miniature versions of Bryan and I in our matching “LIVE FOR THE PUMP” work t-shirts. A small camera on a tripod, and on the other side of it, a miniature bodybuilder in nothing but a pair of red posing trunks, his muscle bulging as he cranked a most muscular into the miniature camera. Granny Steatham not quite knowing what she was looking at it, but smiling and nodding in admiration and approval anyway.

My increasingly elaborate fantasy was suddenly interrupted by the future groom to be himself, who was addressing both Billy and I.

“Ok, guys, when we get inside I’m gonna introduce you both to separate camera men. I will be around if you need me for anything, but they’ll be looking after you for most of the day.”

My stomach suddenly flipped and a voice in my head cried out, “NO,” in protest. Obvious attractions and ever so slightly far fetched fantasies aside, I felt safe with Bryan. He was warm and friendly, and if my very strong suspicions were right, he not only understood why on earth a guy who didn’t look like he’d spent any considerable amount of time clutching a dumbbell would have any interest or business being at a bodybuilding contest, but was coming from almost the exact same place. Now I was being dumped into the hands of a complete stranger. Not only that, I was going to be losing Billy Horvath too, who, while generally irritating and antagonising me to the point that no other human being had ever done before, had become an unlikely and surprisingly comforting companion in this bizarre but so far brilliant adventure.

My thoughts were still in panic mode when I suddenly realised the three of us were heading directly towards two large double doors, and I became fully aware that the walk to the pump room was over.

“OK, guys, if you’d like to follow me through.”

The doors were swung open, my heart suddenly fluttered and before I had time to process another single thought, I was inside a pump room, backstage at one of the biggest bodybuilding competitions in the country.

The first thing which struck me was just how busy the large space making up the pump room was. My pre-conceived imagining of the room hadn’t been massively detailed, but it definitely hadn’t included quite as many people as it actually did.

There were a handful of women from what I could see, but most of the occupants were men. Lots of them were fully clothed, and seemed to range in body size, making it hard for me to decipher exactly what they were doing backstage at a bodybuilding show on a Saturday afternoon. Were they part of the film crew? Here to support their buddies who were competing in the show, or actual bodybuilders themselves, hiding tanned, shredded, muscle packed physiques under their clothing? Amongst them, however, were guys for whom there was absolutely no doubt as to what they were doing in a bodybuilding pump room.

I had watched numerous video clips featuring superhuman sized muscle freaks backstage at bodybuilding shows, pumping up their phenomenally huge, beautifully carved out physiques, and flexing their barely human, thinly skinned, shredded to perfection mass. Not fifteen minutes before I had been sat watching one of those very clips. And now, I was actually standing in a pump room, witnessing those very kind of superhuman muscle freaks first hand.

I was practically walking through a sea of humungous, bronze painted muscle Gods in indecently shiny, brightly coloured posing trunks. Everywhere I looked I saw super-sized slabs, mounds, and bumps of muscle hanging, twitching and wobbling off the frames of these extraordinary men who’d taken their bodies to the absolute extreme.

I was surrounded by the kind of hardcore muscle monsters I, along with many others, had been filling up my underwear to since I’d first learnt how to masturbate. It was the most incredibly surreal and uniquely strange sight I’d ever played witness to in real life. It also happened to be the most erotic and sexually charged. It felt like my very first muscle experience of accidentally stumbling across the bodybuilder in the TV listings guide all those years again, only every feeling was multiplied by about a thousand.

I’d been edging closer to the world of extreme muscle for weeks, and now I was standing right in the centre of it. I wanted desperately again to adopt that superpower which enabled one to freeze frame time, and just stand there, marvelling at the freaky and amazing sights of hardcore muscle around me.

Any nerves had once again evaporated and instead, I was in a complete head spin of the place I’d somehow found myself in. It was only when I realised Bryan was introducing Billy Horvath and I to people who weren’t monstrously sized, tan drenched bodybuilders in ridiculously tiny posing trunks, that I even remembered regular sized people existed.

“Guys, I’d like you to meet Stuart, and Baz, two of our camera crew members who’ll be showing you the ropes today.”

Standing before Billy and I were two young men who didn’t look like they could be any different from each other in appearance. Stuart Fox was a slim built, fairly handsome, mousey blonde haired guy in a check shirt, who looked about two or three years my senior. Much like Billy and I, Stuart didn’t look like he had any business being anywhere near a bodybuilding competition. And yet, with his seemingly down to earth demeanour, he seemed completely relaxed and confident in his surroundings.

Baz Wade on the other hand looked the type of person who wouldn’t hesitate to pick a fight with someone’s eighty six year old grandma if she so much as glanced at him in a slightly negative fashion. Standing at about 6’3, he towered above all of us in height. Not only that, the guy had some serious build to his frame. It would be completely deceitful to describe him as muscular, but a little unfair to describe him as overweight either. Incredibly stocky was probably the only accurate description to give this rather intimidating and thuggish looking guy with a neck tattoo.

Baz was probably the type of guy who knew a lot about bodybuilding, hung around and surrounded himself with muscle dudes, meat heads and genuine bodybuilders. He probably had a yearning desire to be a hardcore muscle freak himself, and had no doubt made attempts at becoming one at various points, but so far just remained the stocky, out of shape guy on the other side of the camera.

In stark contrast to Stuart Fox’s relaxed, down to earth presence and approachable manner, Baz Wade was looking at Billy and I, although his eye frame seemed to be set more on Billy than me, obnoxiously chewing his gum with a look of sheer contempt and judgement. There was only one person I’d met who’d adopted a look which came even close to matching Baz’s expression of disapproval, and that person was standing next to me, looking right back at Baz with his own unique look of disdain.

As he sneered at Baz Wade, there was absolutely no trace of the panic and fear I had seen in Billy Horvath’s face when we’d been watching Bryan’s video, or when we’d first entered the pump room to be greeted by the image of a dozen monstrously muscular beasts as they pumped up their outrageously huge muscle mass.

Billy clearly wasn’t threatened or scared of Baz. It obviously had to take something so flat out freaky and unique, such as the sight of attitude filled, vein splattered muscle men flexing and squeezing their superhuman sized muscle mass into a camera lens, to induce any kind of fear in Mr Horvath.

I found myself momentarily amused at the sight of these two polar opposite men sneering at each other in equal judgement and distaste, when I then realised, there was a fifty-fifty chance I’d be spending the rest of the day with one of them. I looked at Baz and wondered just how many small animals he’d crushed with his bare hands and eaten for breakfast that morning. Suddenly the prospect of sharing a work experience placement with Billy Horvath seemed almost appealing.

Bryan MacWoofityWoof, aka, the future Mrs Charlie Steatham, continued to address the four of us to announce my fate. “OK, Charlie, I’m gonna put you with…”




“And Billy, you’ll be under Baz’s supervision.”

As a Blaine Holton bicep sized wave of relief went through me, I looked at the guy who’d now be by my side for the majority of rest of the afternoon. A guy who appeared so easy going he looked as if he should be lying on the floor horizontal. Stuart was looking at Billy and Baz, both of whose sneering had only deepened since Bryan’s announcement, and clearly trying to mask a cheeky smirk of amusement. Since he’d only known Billy for approximately thirty seconds, this was clearly at his expense for having to spend the afternoon with Baz. I couldn’t help but wonder; was Baz the camera crew’s very own Billy Horvath?

“Right then, I’ll leave you guys to it,” Bryan announced. “I’ll keep checking in with both of you throughout the afternoon but any problems just come and find me. Have fun, guys.”

And with the temporary exit of the insanely sexy, furry forearmed, possible future version of myself, and probable future Mrs Charlie Steatham, Baz Wade uttered his first words in an abrupt, unfriendly tone. His look of contempt for Billy never wavering for a single moment. “My station’s this way.” He nodded in the direction of a corner of the pump room, and Billy had no choice but to follow the inexplicably large, and frightening looking young man, leaving me to get acquainted with my new supervisor.

“I don’t envy your friend,” were the words Stuart Fox used to break the brief awkward tension between two complete strangers who suddenly found themselves having to converse with each other.

“I wouldn’t exactly call Billy a friend,” was my reply, which prompted a short knowing huff of amusement from Stuart.

“He doesn’t exactly seem like the happiest of guys,” Stuart mused.

“I actually think this might be his worst nightmare. NOT a happy chappie.”

Stuart Fox beamed and cheekily imitated my last word, which suddenly brought the difference of our nationalities to the forefront. “Chappie! I like that!” In that moment, I couldn’t help noticing how Stuart’s playful smile made him look just that little bit more handsome than he had before. He wasn’t so good looking that you’d break your neck gawping at him in the street, but he was handsome all the same.

The awkwardness between us had not only eased at a surprisingly quick rate, but we were now indulging in friendly banter. I wanted to keep it going but my brain was struggling to think of a worthy comeback.

“I do that quite a lot,” was all I could muster. Stuart looked at me blankly.

Fuck! I’m killing it!

“Say things. Words. That people don’t get.”

Like now for instance?! You are not making ANY sense!

“Since I’ve been here. In America, I mean.”

And that sentence was HOW hard to string together?!

Stuart Fox’s responsive and friendly smile seemed to relax me and help my find my misplaced social ability again. A brief probing of what had bought me to America and how long I’d been here followed, and then it was seemingly down to business.

“So, Charlie Steatham, have you ever used a CX100?” Stuart asked as he slapped the head of his camera to which the question referred to.

“No, but I’ve used the CX1?”

Stuart playfully scowled. “Your school needs to update their equipment! OK the CX100 is similar to an CX1 so you shouldn‘t have any problems, but there are a few subtle differences.”

I probably should have paid a lot more attention to what Stuart said over the next few minutes, but as he started to explain the intricate differences between film camera models, I suddenly became aware of exactly where I was again, and exactly what was surrounding me.

Only half listening to what Stuart was saying, my eyes starting to wander around the noisy, crowded pump room. A few yards away from me, an extremely butch looking, mid to late thirties bald guy in shiny black trunks which looked they’d been cut from a  bin bag was doing a set of bicep curls in front a camera. Veins spread across his delts and ran down his biceps, which erupted in size to an incredible degree with each pump. The thick cushions of hairless pec meat resting on his chest twitched and jumped with every lift of each barbell.

Not far away, a youngish looking blonde dude, with hot jock looks, was mulling around and breathing heavily while messing with the straps of his matte blue posers. His big, blocky abs popped out of his slight tortoise shell stomach, pulsating as he breathed in and out. Meanwhile, hanging over his stomach, were two patio-slab like muscle tits, bronzed and oiled to a ridiculous degree.

An incredibly handsome muscle daddy with a goatee I instantly recognised but couldn’t quite name was standing around in a black vest so comically tight it looked painted on. His tits strained through the material, and his outrageously huge, tan painted shoulders and tattoo decorated arms bulged out. On the bottom half, he was wearing nothing save for a pair of bulging, shiny emerald green posers.

He caught the attention of a camera man, and unprompted, proceeded to cheekily twist and tense his thick tanned quads, revealing crazy cuts and separation with each twist and turn with a look of pure arrogance and smugness on his supremely hot face. The lucky camera capturing every moment of the crazy display of muscle before it.

And then, for the second time that day, I spotted a bodybuilder I was very well acquainted with. Sitting in a chair, still fully clothed in his black tracksuit and looking as wide as a brick shit house was the devastatingly sexy Blaine Holton. I then suddenly clocked what Blaine was clutching in his hands and resting in his lap. A pair of the shiniest bright red trunks I’d ever seen.

The hard on I’d inevitably found myself with on entering the pump room and witnessing competition conditioned bodybuilders in tiny sized posers first hand had eased with the introductions of Stuart and Baz. But now, glancing around at these incredible hardcore muscle men, I was fully erect once more and throbbing underneath the jeans that were attempting to tame my raging, muscle fuelled boner.

I just about came back to earth to catch the last of what Stuart Fox was telling me about his camera. “So,” he addressed me with the start of a question, “happy chappie?” I smiled at the cheekiness of his question, which in turn, was met with a playful grin from the man who’d posed it.

“I do have one question,” I replied.


“Do we just stay in one place and film whatever’s going on around us,” I asked looking at the non-action in front of Stuart’s camera, “or do we move around?”

“I do a bit of both. Some guys, like Baz, prefer to just stay put, or stick to one area of the room, but I like to move around. I pretty much just shoot whatever guys I like the look of.”

My ears suddenly pricked up at this last statement. “Guys I like the look of.” In what sense what this slightly charming, undoubtedly handsome guy with a cheeky sense of humour and sharp bantering skills talking here? Guys he thought were in great contest shape, combining impressive size with excellent symmetry and definition who looked fantastic on camera, or guys whose shredded, freaky as fuck bodies he wanted to lick every single inch of until he blasted a big creamy load in his undies? And a question which only marginally entered my subconscious before was now suddenly begging for an answer. Was Stuart Fox a gay, muscle obsessed lover of bodybuilders like me?!

What then followed from Stuart’s lips only deepened my curiosity. “I wonder how your friend’s worst nightmare is going,” he pondered, nodding in the direction of Billy Horvath. Looking more uncomfortable than I’d ever seen him, Billy was standing clutching a tripod as Baz Wade filmed a young, cute, tracksuit clad bodybuilder in deliciously ripped condition lifting a barbell. I smiled at Stuart, and before I had chance to respond, he posed me a question. “So, Charlie, how about you? Is this your worst nightmare?”

Stuarts’s look was a mixture of curiosity and weariness which prompted two words to shout out in my head; HE KNOWS!

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ah man totally awesome.  love to hear and see more of both Bryan and Blaine - perhaps a private session with Charlie.  love to see how strong Blaine is too - the ultimate muscle god  big ripped shredded red posers and freaky strong.

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10 minutes ago, musclepaul said:

ah man totally awesome.  love to hear and see more of both Bryan and Blaine - perhaps a private session with Charlie.  love to see how strong Blaine is too - the ultimate muscle god  big ripped shredded red posers and freaky strong.

There's more of Blaine later on! As well as a few other bodybuilders of various size/age range he gets to encounter.

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Taken a back by Stuart’s questions, I started to go into slight panic mode, but was rescued by the return of Bryan Macleod, striding towards us in his tight fitted, bright blue t-shirt, just as masculine, just as beefy, and just as God damn sexy as before.

“Everything going OK, guys?” Bryan asked.

I nervously muttered something in response which he didn’t seem to register, as Stuart took the lead in telling his senior that he’d taken me up to speed with his camera and we were about to start filming. Bryan then instructed us to shoot a guy who had no camera on him. Pointing to an area just a few yards away, my stomach twinged with nerves at the words, “lightweight guy in the golden posers.” Excitement followed, but quickly transformed into slight disappointment. All of the enormous, superhuman muscle beasts around us, and we were being ushered in the direction of a lightweight competitor.

Bryan MacWoofityWoof wrapped up his conversation with my new mentor Stuart Fox, who may or may not be a beef crazed muscle lover who pumps massive loads into his boxer shorts over inhumanly shredded, posing trunk sporting muscle bulls on a regular bases. He then turned to me, a warm, genuine smile worn on his extremely masculine but at the same time oddly pretty face, and with it, a warm strong hand unexpectedly squeezed my shoulder.

It was like an electric shock sent signals to every corner of my body. I felt an instant chemistry as my future husband made unexpected, friendly body contact with me for the first time. In my rather surprised state, I looked at Bryan and tried to nervously offer up a hint of a smile back, while all the time wondering what it would feel like to have his tongue wedged down my throat.

I was bought back to earth by a camera case being handed to me by Stuart, and my stomach anxiously tightened as I realised what was happening. We were about to head towards the lightweight bodybuilder in the golden posers as instructed by Bryan Macleod, aka The Sexiest Woofster In Woofsville. A bodybuilder who we’d, presumably, be able to get up close and personal to, capture every nook and cranny of his competition conditioned physique and be responsible for filming the kind of footage which, without comprehensible rhyme or reason, reduced certain grown men to quivering heaps of muscle crazed messes, unable to sit through even two minutes of it without splattering their tummies with endless ropes of hot, creamy spunk.

As I gingerly trailed Stuart Fox, I eagerly glanced around the area to where we were heading to try and get my first glimpse of our filming target. In the sea of obscenely muscular, completely hairless muscle bulls, I suddenly spotted the most outrageously shiny, and, without any question, the hottest pair of golden coloured posing trunks I could imagine, and I knew straight away that I’d found him.

My nerves made a comeback as Stuart and I closed in on our target, but they were overshadowed by the sheer surrealism of the situation at just how close I was standing to a real life competitve bodybuilder, who remained completely unfazed by the two strangers who’d just invaded his personal space, as he watched himself in the large mirrors on the wall he was facing and pumped up his arms with a barbell. As I looked around to see most of the other surrounding muscle bulls with cameramen mere inches away from their insatiably pumped bodies, I realised that in this setting, at least, this was completely normal.

I must have looked like a small rabbit caught in the headlights at that moment. Stuart was looking at me with a knowing expression on his face, the left corner of his mouth slightly curled in a smile. It wasn’t the suspicious, judgemental look I had feared receiving from someone who could sense my anxiety of being in this setting, but more of a look which said, “I totally know what’s going on your head right now, mate!” It was also a look that also sparked a further affection for him on my part.

With his eyebrows raised, Stuart was suddenly holding the camera away from his torso and towards me. It took me a moment to realise that he was offering it to me. I panicked slightly, and my first instinct was to oblige, but a stronger impulse suddenly took hold of me, and before I had time to reconsider my actions, I was taking the camera off Stuart.

Mr Golden Posers suddenly acknowledged our existence for the first time, by giving us both a friendly nod of approval, accompanied by a brief but friendly smile. Before I knew what was happening, I was holding up Stuart Fox’s CX100 camera and staring down the lens at a competition conditioned bodybuilder pumping up just a few feet away from me, in, what arguably had to be, the shiniest and hottest pair of posing trunks in the room. It was only in that moment, when the nerves had eased and my focus was completely on my film subject, that I noticed the guy wearing said posing trunks was equally as hot.

No taller than 5’6, despite being a bodybuilder, Mr Golden Posers had a relatively small frame. He looked like the kind of bodybuilder who wouldn’t look particularly huge in an office suit, but would surprise and shock everyone by lifting up his shirt and revealing rock hard, shredded abs. On that small frame, however, were smooth, shiny slabs of muscle which looked like they were made out of marble, all shrink wrapped in the thinnest, most gorgeous looking skin.

His entire body looked rock hard to the touch with rips, cuts, and shreds in all the right places. Perfectly pumped biceps, completely smooth pec pillows, which twitched with every pump of the barbell, brilliantly separated abdominals which made up his ultra tight midsection, impressively sized delts with wiry veins gathering underneath, and a pair of solid quads, with some impressively freaky separations, all made up a frighteningly muscular physique both beautiful and freaky in equal measure.

Despite probably being in his early thirties, he had an incredibly boyish charm, along with a cheeky, mischievous look about him. Like he was more than capable of getting himself into trouble but charming his way out of any sticky situation.

He also happened to be insanely cute. Gorgeous, twinkly eyes and an adorable button nose all contributed to his small, handsome and perfectly proportioned facial features. He oozed self confidence, and clearly knew that with his sexy looks and hard, tight, freakishly muscular body, he was about three times hotter than the average man. I could also tell by the way he carried himself and by the way he ogled himself in the mirror that he just loved being a ripped bodybuilder, pumping up his muscles in his shiny golden posers with a camera shoved in his face. I would bet good money on him being the kind of guy who’d spend an entire day flexing in the mirror if he could.

As I watched this deliriously sexy, pint sized muscle dude pumping up his extremely tight, beautifully developed muscles, pursing his lips in concentration with every rep of his barbell curls, exuding an incredible power and the sexiest self confidence through the lens of the camera, everything around me seemed to slip away.

My nerves, my surroundings, Stuart Fox, and the other jacked up muscle bulls mere metres away from me. All I could see was this man who’d morphed his body into a work of art, and was now preening and pumping up every inch of it ready to show it off in all it’s otherworldly glory to anyone lucky enough to bear witness.

Just like when I’d been watching the muscle video with Billy Horvath and Bryan Macleod, I couldn’t help but smile at the sheer surrealism of the situation. All of the videos I’d watched of monstrous muscle, pumping up and flexing, hardly being able to believe the incredible, freaky and beautiful images I was watching, and the incomprehensible and overwhelming effect it had on me, and now, here I was. Not watching from the comfort of my bedroom, but actually standing in a pump room, backstage at a bodybuilding show, mere feet away from muscle of the same incredible quality and being the very person filming every amazing moment on camera. And just like when I was sat in that room with Bryan and Billy, my relentless rock hard erection was furiously throbbing against the material of the boxer shorts containing it.

My focus turned away from the kind of beautiful, rock hard mounds and bumps of thinly skinned encased muscle I never imagined I’d be in such close proximity to, and towards the unspeakably hot, golden coloured material wrapped around the waist of my filming subject and barely containing the pointed bulge in his crotch.

My mind just couldn’t fathom how shiny his trunks were. There was only one explanation; they simply weren’t regular posing trunks. The person responsible for tailoring these fantastic coloured posers had clearly used some kind of special, ultra shiny material, not normally used for producing trunks with. I suddenly wondered what the opinion of the man sporting the posers himself was. Had he just purchased them from a random website, and once they’d been delivered, looked at them, shrugged, and thought nothing of them, or had he gone to a bodybuilding and fitness store, took one look at these golden coloured trunks sticking out a mile amongst the other dull, matte, non shiny trunks, and knew he had to have them right away?

Maybe he even had a bit of a thing for posing trunks, but didn’t really ever mention it to anyone else because he wasn’t sure how common it was? Maybe he set out to buy the brightest, shiniest, tiniest posing trunks he could find? Maybe he had a massive collection of posers at home, all different colours, but mostly bright and made from super shiny material, and these bad boys were amongst his favourite? Maybe he even wore his trunks at practically every given opportunity, in the most normal settings and surroundings? Brightly coloured, thinly strapped, miniscule posers hiding underneath his jeans, or work pants, because it reminded him of the fact that he was a competitive bodybuilding muscle freak, hiding slabs of hard, ripped beef underneath his clothing. Maybe he liked the way the bright, shiny material felt against his completely shaven balls and cock, and maybe every time he slipped into a pair of his gloriously shiny posing trunks, without having the slightest idea why, he found himself getting a hard on?

Noticing how thin the inexplicably shiny, gold coloured material barely containing his pointy bulge was, my mind then suddenly slipped into a crazy fantasy scenario. I imagined him finishing up his set and setting the barbell down, before looking at me, nodding for my attention and saying, “Hey dude! Wanna see something freaky?” He’d then grab my right hand and draw it towards his shiny posers, hovering over the material between one of the straps and his crotch and ordering me to take action by saying, “Pinch that dude!”

Obeying him, I’d pinch the shiny posing trunk material with my thumb and index finger to discover that it was, as expected, paper thin. He’d then navigate my hand towards his unfathomably tight midsection and barking another order at me. “Now pinch this!”

My thumb and index finger this time pinching the skin covering his beautifully peeled ab bricks, as Mr Golden Posers exclaims, “Same fucking thickness, dude!” in a manner so excitable, it’s as if he’s only just made the discovery himself, and now he’s telling, and showing everyone who’ll listen. I’d gasp in response, not just at how shockingly thin the skin covering his granite hard, beautifully carved out stomach muscle is, but, as this amazingly hot muscle lad so accurately pointed out, how the thinness of the skin is exactly the same as that of his phenomenally hot, paper thin posing trunks.

My attention then suddenly turned to his endearing and attitude filled facial expressions. So far he’d been pursing his lips in concentration with every rep of his barbell curls, but then, out of nowhere, he suddenly animatedly scrunched his face up, wrinkling his nose like a bunny rabbit, then, showing the top layer of his perfectly straight, beautifully white teeth, he bit down on his bottom lip. He stayed like that for the last few reps; his nose wrinkling every time he bought the barbell up to chest level and his amazing biceps bulging and exploding with each pump, begging to be flexed, squeezed, and fondled, ideally in that order. Then, with a small, and extremely hot, “Ooooof,” exhaling sound, Mr Golden Posers finished the last rep of his set and put the barbell down on the floor with a loud clatter.

Straightening himself up, he then did something which, if I had been in the comfort of my own bedroom on video, I’d probably cry out an, “OH FUCK!” and try with all my might not to unleash a litre of cum right there and then in my boxers. He gently placed both hands on the top of his quads and tensed his freshly pumped, rock hard body in a most muscular pose. His crazy delts popped out from his frame, his pillows of pillows of pec muscle tightened, the lines separating his baby abs deepened, and the pouch in his indecently shiny posers pointed straight ahead.

Still in his pose, he squinted his eyes, and, once again, bit down hard on his bottom lip, before snapping his mouth open like he was letting rip a soundless roar, displaying the kind of outrageously cocky and animalistic attitude which drove me crazy, while all the time gawping at his own tight, rock hard muscle bod in the mirror.

Mr Golden Posers then turned his attention away from his own reflection and stared right into the lens of the camera I was looking down. He clasped his right fist with his left hand, bit down hard on his bottom lip once more, wrinkled up his cute button nose again, and then squeezed down into another quick most muscular. His veins erupted and his muscles bulged as he cranked out the pose, and for a very brief moment, it felt like he was flexing solely for me. He relaxed from the pose with a loud, exhaling, “Boooof!” and, from my left, Stuart Fox let out a sudden and unexpected word of approval; “Nice!”

One simple word, which suddenly sounded like the hottest and most brilliant word anyone had ever uttered. I looked at Stuart Fox, my eyes wide in surprise. This unassuming guy who may or may not go home tonight and blast a massive creamy load into the crotch of his undies at the thought of all the ripped, flexing muscle bulls he’d been surrounded by all day, was confident enough to openly praise bodybuilders on their outrageous displays of muscle posing.

Mr Golden Posers endearingly and slightly sheepishly smirked out of the left corner of his mouth, and nodded to Stuart in thanks. Not surprisingly, I was smiling at Stuart too, which he returned with a cheeky, unabashed smirk, which said something like, “Yeah, I know, matie. That was pretty fucking awesome if I do say myself and you really were NOT expecting it were you?! Welcome to the world of crazy pumped up muscle, Charlie, where it’s perfectly OK for non-bodybuilding cameramen to give little nods and words of praise to ripped, flexing muscle dudes in brightly coloured posing trunks.”

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