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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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What Stuart then said to Mr Golden Posers was even more incredible and unexpected.

“Do you wanna hit some poses for the camera?”


Mr Golden Posers gave a casual nod of acceptance, like he’d just been asked the most normal thing in the world, which I quickly realised in this situation, probably was.

Not quite believing what was unfolding before my eyes for about the forty-fifth time that day, I braced myself to witness a devastatingly cute, rock hard, competition conditioned bodybuilder cranking out random poses and flexing his freshly pumped muscles right into the lens of the camera I was eagerly staring down. I had no idea something even more amazing and surreal was about to happen. Just when I thought Stuart couldn’t possibly have said anything more unexpectedly bonkers and inexplicably awesome, he proved me wrong.

“Ok, why don’t you hit…”

HOLY SWEET FUCKING JESUS!! He’s not. He can’t be…

“…a front lat spread?”

FUCK FUCK FUUUUUUUCKKK!! Yep, this is happening. This is actually fucking happening.

Stuart Fox was calling out the poses. Before my head had a chance to explode over the pump room floor, Mr Golden Posers was wrapping his thumbs and fingers under each of the thin straps of his remarkably hot trunks and, while pursing his lips in concentration, he yanked both straps up, and straightened himself up into a front lat spread. His pumped little lats spread out like wings under his completely hairless armpits as he stared directly down the camera I was holding. For a second time since I’d started filming, it felt like this hot little muscle freak was posing and flexing his beautifully carved out muscles just for me.

I suddenly had the urge to get down on both knees and look up to see this magnificent mountain of hard, tight, thinly skinned muscle looking down on me. Seeing that pointy bulge in the crotch of those brilliantly coloured posing trunks sticking out, drawing my mouth towards the golden covered bulge and -

“Let’s see a front double bicep!”


As the tiny straps of his trunks snapped back down into place, Mr Golden Posers relaxed from his front lat spread with a small exhaling sound, then, pursing his lips once again in an arrogant and unspeakably hot manner, he bought both of his arms up either side of his head and cranked them back down into a front double bicep.

Before my mind had chance to slip into another fantasy, Stuart’s hand was suddenly on my back and he was giving me instructions. “Charlie, get closer!” A jolt of panic shot through me, and before I knew what was happening, Stuart Fox was giving me a gentle push towards the flexing, hard bodied, pocket rocket of unutterably hot muscle before me until I was literally standing about two feet away from his body.

My camera closed in on those impressively pumped, rock hard-to-the-touch, croquet ball shaped biceps erupting as he flexed harder and harder. He was holding the pose for what seemed like ages, his lips pursing even more, as he turned his head from side to side to get a look at his own incredible flexed guns.

Being stood so close to this ripped up muscle dude, I could not only feel the heat coming from his hard body, I could also smell the scent exuding from it. An extremely hot and masculine mix of aftershave, something sweet and cosmetic-like which I presumed to be the smell of his competition tan, and his natural body scent.

He didn’t seem to want to let up from the front double bicep pose. Flexing and flexing, showing off his huge, hard, impossibly pumped guns. As I looked at his sexy little face contorting with sheer effort, I suddenly noticed tiny beads of sweat forming on his forehead and cheeks. He was squeezing out every last inch of this bicep pose, and as my attention returned to those mounds of magnificently flexed, granite hard muscle, I suddenly wanted nothing more than to reach out and squeeze them.

He was clearly proud of his abnormally big biceps, and was loving every single second of showing them off to Stuart and I. What was the betting that he’d love to have some hands on them? Feeling, squeezing and fondling the fuck out of every single inch of his massive, freaky peaks? I couldn’t attend to both at the same time though, so I’d probably have to have a bit of assistance. My mind then spiralled to the image of me with my mouth wrapped around his right granite hard bicep, kissing and making out with the muscle as it bulged underneath that cling wrap skin. Then looking over and seeing Stuart Fox doing the exact thing with his left bicep. Two muscle mad mates worshipping the fuck out of a pint sized, tight as fuck, ripped up muscle cutie. Locking eyes with each other and lingering for a moment, both thinking the exact same thing. “Are we in heaven, mate?? I think we might just fucking be. And yep, I think I might just splat my fucking pants at any given seco - oh - oh -  OOOOOOHFFFFFUUUUUCCKKK - oooops, too late.”

When Mr Golden Posers finally stopped squeezing and relaxed from the pose, there was a pause as he looked at Stuart Fox with his hands on his hips. Slightly out of breath, it seemed he was waiting for his next instruction. Instead of doing that, however, Stuart took his unexpected behaviour to a whole new level. He turned to me and posed a question.

“Do you know the poses?”

I instantly panicked, and my first instinct was to deny that I did. I suddenly noticed that Mr Golden Posers was looking at me, waiting for my response.


FUCK! Say it. Just say it!

And then, surprising even myself, I suddenly and nervously blurted out my next words.

“Abs and thighs?”

I looked at Stuart who was smirking at me like crazy, and another wave of panic went through me. How on earth would a guy like me know anything about the official names of bodybuilding poses? Had I been rumbled? Or more accurately, had I, in fact, just given my own game away? And then I realised, by the smile on Stuart Fox’s face, that it may not have been an entirely bad thing if I had.

As I coyly smiled back at Stuart, Mr Golden Posers interrupted the moment by throwing one arm behind the back of his head. With his right hand resting on his hip, and adopting the same adorably cute and crazily hot nose wrinkling and bottom lip biting that he’d done before, he crunched down into a one armed abs and thighs with an amazingly hot, “Hhmmppfff!” sound.

The lines separating his beautifully shaped baby abs deepened, as they popped out from his torso, almost as much as the golden coloured bulge in his posers did. He then made a switch and threw the other arm behind his head for another crunch, all the time pulling that endearingly cheeky expression and staring into the camera. I couldn’t help wondering if he preferred this style of abs and thighs, with one hand resting around his hip area, because it increased the chance of drawing the attention of the lucky spectator to his awesome, shiny, bulge packed trunks.

There was a slightly awkward pause when Mr Golden Posers relaxed from what had undoubtedly been his hottest pose yet and was now just standing and shooting glances at Stuart and I. I looked at Stuart, who was looking at me in return, and it took me a moment to realise they were waiting for me to call out yet another pose. A ripped up muscle guy backstage at an actual bodybuilding competition was waiting for instructions from me on what to do next. When I signed up to study for a semester in California, I never would have imagined this is how I’d be spending one of my Saturday afternoons.

I was tempted to go with a back lat spread pose. I hadn’t seen Mr Golden Posers from the back yet, and I wanted to know whether there were lines in his shiny trunk covered ass, but an urge to watch him hit another pose suddenly took over.

“Erm…most muscular?” I said.

A mischievous, but sexy grin emerged on Mr Golden Posers’ face as if to say, “Awwww hell yeah! Get ready for this one fuckers,” as he once again clasped his right fist with his left hand, and then gave a short, sharp crank down into the pose, accompanied by adeep and inexplicably hot grunt.

In reaction to this, my throbbing boner suddenly and uncontrollably spasmed and I felt something wet in my boxers. For a spilt second I feared I may have actually cum before realising it was no doubt just pre-cum oozing and dripping out into the crotch of my underwear.

Mr Golden Posers stayed in the pose for a few seconds, squeezing hard as if his life depended on it. Striations erupted on his squeezed chest, the thick veins popped through the wafer thin skin of his bulging biceps and the lines separating his gorgeous little abs became more prominent than they were three seconds before. A pumped up, beef packed little muscle stud was cranking his barely human mass right down the lens of a camera I was operating and staring into.

When he stopped squeezing, he was beaming at Stuart and I, displaying his sexy, mischievous and incredibly endearing smile in its full glory for the first time.

As if on cue, someone loudly announced for the lightweight competitors to start queuing up to go on stage. I expected a brief gesture towards Stuart Fox and I from Mr Golden Posers before he waddled away to show off what a rock hard, brilliantly carved out muscle freak of nature he was and crank out the very poses he’d just performed on stage for an adoring audience packed theatre. What I didn’t expect was for him to reach out and shake Stuart’s hand, then reach for mine, giving us both friendly nods of thanks and approval.

Stuart wished him good luck, while I was unable to mutter up another single word as this devastatingly sexy bodybuilder revealed what an incredibly friendly and down to earth guy he was. As I started to reconsider my marital future to Bryan Macleod and pondered the chances of becoming Mrs Golden Posers instead, he was strutting away from us, and I finally got a chance to see what he looked like from behind.

His deliciously pumped up little lats winged out from his gorgeous back, while, as predicted, those incredible posers looked just as shiny and unspeakably hot from the back, as they perfectly hugged a modestly sized, lovely shaped ass which, sure enough, came with a few freaky lines and striations peeking through the skin. As I watched him walk him walk away, I felt a slight pang of regret that I gave up the chance to see the beautiful detail in those glutes up close.

Left alone again with Stuart Fox, he took me by surprise when he offered up a compliment. “You did well.”

I wasn’t entirely sure whether he was referring to my camera skills, or my ability to get ridiculously close to a pair of massively pumped, gloriously flexed biceps without blowing a massive wad in my jeans, but I offered up a shy smile of gratitude anyway.

“I have one tip though,” he continued. “Don’t be afraid to get the camera closer. It might feel like your invading their space but they’re used to it. They know what they’ve signed up for here.”

Hmmm. A day spent with secret muscle loving work experience attendees shoving cameras in their faces wishing they were touching, squeezing and licking every inch of their absurdly pumped, superhuman sized mounds of man meat?!

“You’re not close enough until you can see the beads of sweat on the muscle.”


Before I had the chance to ask Stuart whether I could whip out my phone and record every single unknowingly (or were they - the cheeky bugger!) and inexplicably hot word he was saying, he was drawing my attention to a corner of the pump room.

“Looks like Baz is putting your classmate’s skills to good use.”

I turned to the spot where Stuart was looking to witness Billy Horvath handing out assorted refreshments and drink bottles to Baz Wade and a small group of men who were presumably his mates, and who all pretty much gave out the same obnoxious, and slightly threatening vibe that he did. Baz was talking to Billy, and as he turned and walked off with the most disgruntled scowl I’d ever seen Billy sporting, it was clear Baz had marched him off somewhere to perform another errand.

“Yeah, that’s pretty much how Baz treats all the work experience guys if he can get away with it,” Stuart explained.

It was official. Billy Horvath was Baz’s bitch for the day. I couldn’t help but smile and failed to suppress a guilty chuckle, before realising, that that could have been me. As if reading my mind, Stuart gave me a mischievous grin. “Lucky you got me huh?”

“So, Charlie Steatham, what do you feel like shooting next?”

Stuart’s question caught me a little off guard, and I had no idea how to respond. Luckily he was about to offer up some suggestions.

“OK, so we could go in search for some of the super heavyweights guys. Or…” he paused, gave me a slightly quizzical look, clearly doubting his next words, shook his head with a slightly sheepish grin and said, “nah, forget it.”

“What?” I replied. I was eager to know what Stuart was going to say. He was still looking at me like he was trying to figure out whether he could trust me or not.

“Come on,” I gently ordered.

Stuart took the plunge. “OK, well you might think this is totally stupid, and I’ve never actually told anyone this before, so no laughing, and you might think I’m a complete nerd when I admit to this, but, I sometimes play a little game with myself.”

My ears pricked up and I was instantly curious.

“So, we have all these bodybuilders in this room to film,” Stuart continued. “All in excellent, competition condition. However…”  he momentarily paused and raised one eyebrow as my mind heart began to race with what was about to follow. “Some guys will have things about them, that are better than some of the other guys. So, I sort of challenge myself to film the guys who have the best of a certain attribute.”

He looked at me with a quizzical look as if asking if I were following his drift. I nodded, so he continued.

“For example, I might set out to find the most inhumanly shredded guy in the room.”


I couldn’t believe what I’d just heard. Did Stuart Fox just casually utter the words “inhumanly shredded” like it was the most casual thing you can possibly say? Along with my eyes practically bulging out of their sockets, I couldn’t hide the grin of sheer pleasure at hearing someone describing muscle in the hottest way possible. I suddenly flashbacked to Bryan MacWoofityWoof casually rolling words like, “Jacked up muscle bulls,” off his tongue to a disgusted Billy Horvath and I. What was it with these camera men coming out with the kind of unutterably hot muscle descriptions I’d only ever said in my head, or read on the Internet?

Stuart continued. “And then I might set out to find the most all out monstrous muscle freak in the room.”


 “And then the guy with the biggest muscle tits.”

TITS?! FUCKING TITS?! He could have said pecs, but no. He went one fucking better and used the word TITS!

“The guy with the most incredibly shredded abs.”


I felt like I’d slipped into some kind of muscle related twilight zone. Here was a handsome, charming guy, not only detailing to me the most awesome, imaginative and bonkers self-invented game involving a room full of brutally huge, beautifully ripped muscle bulls in tiny, shiny posers using the craziest and hottest vocabulary, but also inviting me to play it with him.

“Erm…let’s see,” Stuart was talking to himself and thinking. “What else is there”?

The guy with the most freakishly striated ass. Say the guy with the most freakishly striated ass!!

“The guy with the craziest feathered quads.”

OHGODOHGODOHGOD. I seriously can’t take much more of this.

“The guy with the most freakishly huge biceps.”

If I splat my fucking pants right here and now Stuart Fox it’s all your fucking fault!

“Erm…this one’s a little quirkier.”

Most impossibly cute guy in the room? The beast with the biggest posing trunk bulge (BOIIIING)? The carved out muscle freak you wanna splat your pants over the most?!

His tone took on a slightly cautious tone. “The guy with the best posing trunks?”


And then, without thinking, I said, “I think we’ve filmed him already.”

As soon as the words left my mouth I instantly panicked, and felt my cheeks starting to burn. Stuart quickly responded with an agreeable, “YEAH!” in a tone which sounded more like a, “DAMN FUCKING STRAIGHT WE HAVE!”

And then it was Stuart’s turn to blush, as we both coyly smiled at each other and one thought went through my head: Definitely a beef crazed muscle lover who pumps massive loads into his boxer shorts over inhumanely shredded posing trunk sporting muscle bulls on a regular bases!

“So, now you know how the game works,” Stuart continued, “are you in or out?”

I wanted to ask Stuart if this was a trick question, and tell him I couldn’t remember the last time I’d been propositioned with an idea so brilliant, so bonkers, and so perfectly catered to my taste it was untrue. Instead I just cheekily grinned at him, which he took as a yes.

Even though I’d not long met him, I was already feeling incredibly comfortable with Stuart. In fact, I couldn’t quite believe how well we were hitting it off. As a result of being generally quite shy, I usually found it hard to relax around people I didn’t know. Most of the time when I’d meet new people, it almost felt like a wall of anxiety would build up around me, suppressing all of my good qualities and preventing anyone from warming to me at a rate that was relatively normal.

On very rare occasions, however, I would meet someone who, for whatever reason, made me feel instantly relaxed, and seemed to break down that wall of anxiety with relative ease. Maybe they were a special type of person, or maybe they just came armed with a very big sledgehammer. Either way, Stuart Fox was, without question, one of them.

“So, Charlie Steatham, the next question is, which guy do we go looking for first?”

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A dozen potential answers to Stuart Fox's question went through my head. Unfortunately most of those answers involved words I was terrified to say out loud. How was I supposed to casually utter things like “most inhumanly shredded guy,” “guy with the biggest muscle tits,” and, “craziest feathered quads,” in the same manner that Stuart Fox had?

After a painful pause, my fear got the better of me and I took the option which involved the least alien words. Still cautiously, I replied, “Erm...biggest biceps?”

I wasn't sure if it was because I’d said the word “biceps” or the fact that he’d clearly noticed my obvious embarrassment of using said word, but Stuart's face beamed with an amused smile.

“Good choice!” he exclaimed.

Picking up the camera case, he nodded towards his CX100 camera, still in my hands. “You OK to carry on filming for a while?”

Surprisingly I agreed with little fear. I’d already survived being mere feet away from the tight, hard, shredded slabs of muscle owned by the insanely hot Mr Golden Posers. The fears and anxieties I’d bought to the theatre that morning seemed to be shrinking by the minute, and I knew a huge part of that was down my new mentor Stuart.

“Follow me!” he ordered, with a cheeky raise of his eyebrows.

I began to trail behind him as we set out to find our target. “Bicep size apart,” he added, “if you see a guy you like the look of just shout!”

There was that phrase again. “A guy you like the look of.” A phrase which could have any number of meanings and connotations. More than before though, I was almost certain I knew exactly what the actual meaning was.

“Oh and it's most freakishly huge biceps,” Stuart cheekily added, before turning his head to the back of my face, but not before a got a glimpse of one of his mischievous smirks.

As I continued to follow my filming mentor, a question suddenly entered my head. Did Stuart Fox have this much fun with all of the work experience guys he looked after, or was I a special case? It wasn’t something I was likely to ask before the day was over, but a voice in the back of my head told me that this was probably a particularly enjoyable day for Mr Fox.

Trailing behind Stuart, I was once again walking through a sea of superhuman sized muscle freaks in brightly coloured posing trunks. Each one as unquestionably hot as the next.

When I suddenly spotted a bodybuilder I instantly recognised, a rush of excitement shot through me, not just at witnessing this particular muscle freak in the flesh, but because I knew there was a very strong possibility I’d found the guy with the most freakishly huge biceps in the room.

His name was Chris “Freaky Peaks” Jackson, an early to mid thirties bodybuilder who’d earned his nickname because of his enormous sized and jaw droppingly freaky biceps, which peaked to insane heights when flexed.

I’d first become acquainted with Chris when I’d stumbled across a video of him on the Internet. The sight of his terrifyingly huge biceps and the rest of his gigantic sized slabs of otherworldly muscle mass bulging and flexing on my PC screen had sent me into a muscle crazed frenzy.

This video had kick-started a phase where I became slightly obsessed with this unfathomably hot American muscle bull, seeking out any other footage of him I could find of him on the net, and being the sole cause of every load blown throughout the course of an entire week.

And there he was in the pump room, standing yards away from Stuart Fox and I in a pair of inexplicably sexy, emerald green coloured posing trunks, looking more unbelievably monstrous in the flesh than I could have ever imagined.

Every inch of his obscenely built frame exploded with thick balloons of insatiably pumped muscle, which were being painted with glistening golden tan by the gloved hands of a rather muscular and handsome looking guy in a black polo shirt, who was perhaps unknowingly performing a task a guy like me, and more than likely Stuart Fox, could only dream of being involved in.

The whole event was also taking place without a single camera pointed in Freaky Peak’s direction. The only thing left to do was to bring my mentor’s attention to this incredible bodybuilder and his impossibly huge biceps.

HOLY FUCK! Stuart, mate! Guy the most freakishly huge biceps at two o’-bleedin’-clock! Let’s get our muscle loving arses over there and get fucking filming NOW! Oh and, by the way, I know I only just met you about half an hour ago but I think you’re bloody awesome and could quite possibly be the fellow muscle lover I’ve always longed to meet!

“Stuart…erm…there’s a guy over there who looks pretty good.”

Pretty good?! Pretty fucking good?! I wanna kill myself!

Stuart started looking around the pump room before saying, “Gimme a clue dude!”

The fuck off huge muscle monster over there in the stupidly hot, shiny green posing trunks getting his big, slabby tits tanned up by that lucky bleedin’ bugger and who, by the way, I just so happened to have blasted a massive fucking load over on more than one occasion. FUCK YEAH!

“Erm…guy getting oiled up. Green posers?” was all I could muster in reply, my cheeks reddening like crazy as I uttered the word “posers”.

Stuart suddenly spotted Freaky Peaks. “Ooooh, good call. I know this guy. His nickname’s Freaky Peaks!”


As Stuart smiled proudly, I got the feeling he was getting some kind of kick out of educating me on the nicknames of competitive bodybuilders, unaware of the fact there wasn’t a huge amount he could tell me that I didn‘t know already.

“No doubt he’s the guy with the most freakishly huge biceps in the room. Well played, Mr Steatham!”

Never failing to be charmed by a compliment from a handsome guy, I sheepishly smiled in response to Stuart, who was now guiding me in the direction of Chris “Freaky Peaks” Jackson.

As I trailed behind Stuart, I felt my first slight twinge of nerves since we’d first approached Mr Golden Posers, but they were drowned out by an overwhelming sense of excitement as to what was ahead for me and my filming buddie. I suddenly thought back to the incredibly cute, pint sized, lightweight bodybuilder whose shiny slabs of perfectly pumped muscle I’d been mere inches away from, and who I’d amazingly given posing instructions to not fifteen minutes before, and wondered how this particular experience with a muscle freak, who had at least forty extra pounds of muscle would compare. And then, on the approach to the superhuman sized muscle bull in question, out of nowhere I suddenly felt an unexpected sense of disloyalty towards Mr Golden Posers.

The feeling quickly faded when I found myself at a stand still, just mere feet away the monstrous mass of bulging, competition conditioned muscle of Chris “Freaky Peaks” Jackson; at the very least, a heavyweight bodybuilder who’d moulded and sculpted his physique, and transformed himself into a genuine flat out muscle freak who lived for being huge, and whose alien-like mounds of incredible muscle had the power to make grown men, like myself, ejaculate at the mere fucking thought of.

Unlike Mr Golden Posers, Chris didn’t give the slightest acknowledgement to Stuart and I, who had just invaded his space without any prior warning or permission. I had to remind myself that given Chris Jackson had been competing for years and was clearly accustomed to having multiple cameras pointed at him, this was presumably perfectly normal behaviour, and that Mr Golden Posers, with his friendly and welcoming nods and smiles, probably hadn’t yet learnt the rules of normal bodybuilder and cameraman etiquette.

As I held up Stuart Fox’s CX100 camera and stared down the lens at my new filming subject, all thoughts of Mr Golden Posers quickly evaporated. Standing slightly shorter than myself, at about 5’11, and no doubt tipping well above 230 pounds, Chris “Freaky Peaks” Jackson was nothing short of an absolute beast.

Impossibly huge boulder delts which bulged to a cartoonish degree, a pair of arrestingly thick pecs which looked like balloons ready to burst through the smooth, oil soaked skin barely able to contain them, thick solid quads which were decorated with a splattering of grotesque veins unapologetically zig zagging over his enormous sized mounds of leg muscle and gloriously chiselled, brick shaped abdominals proudly popping through the barely there skin covering his midsection all fought for my attention. But it was the body part which had earned Mr Jackson his outrageous nickname which was the clear winner.

Even in their current un-flexed, relaxed state, as his lucky mate continued to rub oil and tan into his alien-like physique, Chris’ famous biceps looked monstrous to an insane degree. Rock hard mounds of inhuman sized muscle bulging through the wafer thin skin covering them, with thick, terrifying veins running down each one, begging to be blown up and flexed, and which, hands down, made up the freakiest sight I’d witnessed so far that day.

Far from being the most conventionally handsome bodybuilder in the pump room, Chris was still a good looking guy, with a certain “American dumb jock” charm to his looks, made up of strong, masculine features. In all the videos and pictures I’d seen him in, Chris had had short, mousey blonde hair. Whether it was a voluntary hair style change or otherwise, he was now completely bald. As well as suiting him to the point where I couldn’t imagine him looking any other way, his newly hairless head also happened to make him look more unbelievably sexy than ever.

Much like my previous film subject, Chris exuded the most incredible self confidence. However, there were no signs of the warm, cheeky charm that Mr Golden Posers had so effortlessly radiated. Instead, Chris Jackson gave off an extremely intense vibe, intently ogling his own monstrous muscle in the mirrors before him, as his rather cute buddie oiled him up. He gave the impression that he was, in this particular moment in time at least, taking himself, and his superhuman sized muscles extremely seriously.

As Chris’ mate knelt down to rub tan into his abnormally muscular legs, I panned the camera down to catch the action. Briefly catching Chris’ brilliantly shiny, modestly filled out, emerald green coloured trunks, I then focused the camera on his incredible, vein splattered wheels. As his tanning buddie started oiling up his lower leg, I suddenly noticed a gathering of freakish bordering on grotesque veins plastering his impressively sized calves.

Standing up straight again, Chris’ tanning buddie suddenly took a step back and aligned himself with Stuart and I. There’d clearly be no need for either of us to instruct, or tempt this particular bodybuilder into posing.

Chris “Freaky Peaks” Jackson, a magnificently built, barely human muscle bull of a bodybuilder whose impossibly huge biceps had once caused me to embark on a sexually charged muscle crazed phase over their owner, losing load after load to the image of his body, was now standing mere feet before me, intensely staring at his own incredible physique in the mirror. Completely unfazed by the audience of his tanning acquaintance and two unsuspecting cameramen, Chris he placed his fists on his waist, and readied himself for what was undoubtedly a front lat spread pose.

Incredible wide lats appeared from seemingly nowhere, his gorgeous thick muscle tits jumped up and back down as if taking on a life of their own, and without prior warning, Chris animatedly puffed out his cheeks and made an amazingly hot and loud exhaling noise as he blasted into the pose, all the while intently admiring his muscle with intensity. What came next was a completely unexpected, but unquestionably hot moment. As Chris hit the peak of his pose, a short, sharp, appreciative, “Yeah!” came from the man on my left, who’d been lucky enough to touch, feel and tan up those incredible balloons of shockingly pumped muscle.

I had long been a fan of videos of bodybuilders posing where you could clearly hear the camera man, or friends of the muscle freak in question, responding and reacting to their muscle bull mates with words of encouragement and admiration.

I didn’t have to wonder whether Mr Jackson’s tanning buddie would be offering up any more commentary and words of encouragement for too long. As Chris threw his left monstrous sized arm round the back of his head, and curled his right hand into a fist and clenched, a loud voice in a masterful tone suddenly bellowed in my left ear.

“Crank it hard!”


Obeying his buddie, Chris puffed out his cheeks once more and released a loud huffing sound like, “PFFFHHOOOO!” as he cranked into a one arm behind the head abs and thighs pose. The lines separating the six gorgeously carved ab bricks bursting through his midsection deepened as the muscles crunched and popped through his stomach, stretching his drum tight skin to the absolute maximum. Chris’ mate clearly wasn’t planning to quite his commentary any time soon, as he complimented Chris in what was undoubtedly his cheekiest and most outrageously hot comment yet.

“Those abs are looking sick, Chris!”


Hearing this cute, nicely muscular guy admiring and commenting on Chris’ muscles in, what was presumably, a completely heterosexual manner was possibly even hotter than hearing Stuart Fox shout out poses for a gorgeous, hard bodied, lightweight muscle lad in golden coloured posing trunks.

Without even thinking, the unspeakably awesome, “sick abs,” comment from this increasingly hot man to my left caused me to take my eye off the camera and shoot a glance at my mentor and filming buddie.

I wasn’t sure if I needed to share my surprise with someone, or whether I wanted to see what Stuart Fox’s own reaction would be, but, with his eyes wide open, and an overexcited smirk on his face, Stuart’s knowing expression was almost identical to the one I was shooting back at him.

It was a look which said, “I know exactly what you’re thinking because I’m thinking the exact same fucking thing! I can not bloody believe what that cheeky bugger just said, but it was completely fucking brilliant and, oh yeah, off the charts fucking HOT!”

As I returned to the image of the superhuman muscle bull crunching his massive, shredded abs through my borrowed camera lens, I couldn’t wipe the smile off my face from what had just happened with Stuart Fox. A two second moment of shared expressions which further confirmed that I’d finally managed to find someone who had the same thoughts and feelings about muscle as I did.

Now relaxed from his abs and thighs pose, Chris “Freaky Peaks” Jackson was seemingly gearing up for a second pose. My heart practically jumped through my throat as Chris bought his famously freaky guns up and I realised I was about to witness in the flesh exactly what had earned Chris his brilliant nickname.

Ballooning either side of his head, to phenomenal heights, were two of the most jaw droppingly huge and undeniably freaky peaked biceps, stretching his inhumanly thin, tan painted, skin. The thickest and scariest looking hosepipe veins proudly erupted and haphazardly spread across the rock hard, super-sized muscles.

I was almost sure that if, by some miracle, Chris were to suddenly lunge towards me, with one of his guns still in it’s incredible, peaked glory, and said, “Go on then, mate, get your hand around THAT!” and, obeying Chris, purely because it would be rude not to, I wrapped my fingers around the gigantic ball of vein covered bicep muscle, my unapologetically hard dick would involuntarily start spasming, and with neither hand anywhere near my crotch, wet cum would start pumping out of the head and soaking both my underwear and the inside of my poor jeans.

Consumed by amazement at the alien like vision before me, I’d completely forgotten the two men either side of me, equally marvelling at this magnificent display of freaky muscle, until the familiar voice of Chris’ friend spoke up. “There you go! That’s the money shot right there.”

What I definitely hadn’t expected was for the man standing to my right to also offer up his commentary.

I’d already discovered that Stuart Fox was confident enough to compliment bodybuilders when he’d unexpectedly offered up the appreciate word, “Nice!” to a flexing Mr Golden Posers. However, there was a world of difference between the warm, friendly, lightweight bodybuilder who’d welcomed us with open arms and the gigantic sized, heavyweight, incredibly intense muscle bull standing before us. Stuart Fox clearly didn’t see this as any kind of obstacle. With Chris still showing his audience his phenomenally peaked biceps, Stuart offered up his critique in one simple, but utterly brilliant word; “Huge!”

My eyes practically bulged out as much as Chris Jackson’s balloons of muscle did. As my mind frantically scrambled for any one thought, I glared at Stuart in complete amazement. As Stuart endearingly and proudly smirked at me, as if to say, “Weren’t expecting THAT one were you mate?” three questions arose in my mind which I was begging to know the answer to. How the hell did Stuart Fox have the confidence to compliment and comment on the size of a genuinely huge, competition conditioned bodybuilder’s biceps, how did one man manage to be so incomprehensibly bloody awesome, and how the hell was he managing to become more attractive to me with every passing second?

Before I had time to ponder the answers, my focus was, once again, turned towards the terrifying mountain of enormous, carved out muscle in shiny green posers before me. Having relaxed from flexing his freak show worthy biceps, Chris was now placing one hand on the top of his quads, and bringing the other into a fist. Once again, he intensely puffs his cheeks out in preparation for another pose.

“Blow it out!” bellowed the man to my left.

Obeying his mate’s orders, Chris “Freaky Peaks” Jackson exhaled loudly and cranked down into a most muscular pose. I lost count of just how many most musculars Chris then blasted out, but once he got started he didn’t seem to want to stop. Pose after pose, cranking down hard, each time doing something slightly different with his hands. Some were hit with one hand on his quad, some with both and some while pushing one of his thick, veiny, oil drenched quads out, twisting and turning it to show off the astonishingly freaky muscle.

Each pose was accompanied with Chris blowing his cheeks out. Huffing and puffing while intensely staring at his own creation of extreme muscle in the mirror. Then the crab most musculars started. His traps seemed to explod from nowhere every time he leant forward and his humungous bicep muscles bulged to insane degrees, as if threatening to rip through the dangerously thin, bronze tinted skin keeping them imprisoned.

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Watching this incredible mountain of monstrous mass posing his shiny green trunk covered arse off for a trio of admiring spectators as he gawped at the reflection of his own barely human body parts as they erupted and bulged before his very eyes, I suddenly wondered what must have been going through his head.

Was he as equally amazed and astounded at the sight of his own physique in it’s outrageously freaky, competition ready condition as his three current spectators were? Maybe there was a part of him that was even a little freaked out, or scared at what he’d done to his own body? And then I wondered whether there was even the slightest chance that Chris “Freaky Peaks” Jackson was aroused and turned on by his own huge, flexing mounds of perfectly pumped, paper thin skin covered muscle mass at even a tenth of the degree that at least two of his current admirers were?

I’d always loved the idea of a competitive bodybuilder being a secret muscle lover, just as obsessed and aroused at the sight of gorgeous shredded abs, thick twitchy pecs and crazily striated glutes as I was. A man whose obsession with ripped bodybuilders had once been satisfied by muscle magazines and Internet images, but had found himself craving something more.

A man who’d joined a local gym and had been shocked at how much muscle he’d suddenly started packing on to his frame as a result. A man who’d left behind that gym and nervously signed up to a hardcore one, run and attended by former and current competitive bodybuilders, fearing he might be laughed out of the front door but finding the staff and members surprisingly friendly and respectful of his desire to build muscle. A man who’d found himself a personal trainer at said gym who’d helped him take his muscle building to the next level and was now a competitive bodybuilder tipping the scales at 240 pounds and was so unfathomably turned on by his own freakishly muscular and enormous sized physique that he spent most evenings flexing his slabs of gorgeously chiselled muscle in the mirror with awe, amazement and unbelievable arousal, and which never failed to result in him needing to blast a load at the reflection of his own pumped muscle mass. A man whose ridiculous sized biceps had earned him the bonkers but brilliant nickname of “Freaky Peaks” and found himself backstage at one of the biggest amateur bodybuilding competitions in the country, standing in front of an admiring audience of three, cranking out most muscular after most muscular like his life depended on it while gawping at his own muscle exploding in the mirror, so unspeakably turned on that he feared he would cum in his bright green, nicely packed posing trunks with the next flex.

I suddenly imagined Freaky Peaks coming off stage at the day’s bodybuilding competition and rushing back to his hotel room. By some miracle, he’d managed to get through an entire day of being surrounded by monstrous, shredded, attitude filled bodybuilders flexing and posing in stupidly hot posers without creaming in his own indecently shiny trunks, but now he needed to worship some serious muscle and finally blow his pent-up load. The fact that said muscle just happened to be attached to his own body was a minor issue for this sexually charged, muscle crazed mountain of a muscle beast.

Exhausted from hours of flexing on stage, and drenched in tan, oil and sweat, most bodybuilders would have jumped in the shower and spent the rest of the evening collapsed on their hotel beds, but not Freaky Peaks. He was only in shredded competition condition for a short period of time and he intended to fully make the most of it. Locking his hotel room door and positioning himself in front of the full length mirror on the wall, Chris Jackson braced himself for the ultimate muscle flexing session.

Cranking out pose after pose in his tiny green trunks, Chris slowly became consumed by the freakish, otherworldly sights staring back at him from the mirror. Amazed at the striations peeking through his abnormally sized butt cheeks, entranced by the thinness of the sweat drenched skin covering his inhumanly shredded midsection, in awe of the sheer size of his incredible quads which were snaked in the nastiest veins, and aroused beyond comprehension at the thickness of the two balloon-like muscles sitting on his chest, Chris "Freaky Peaks" Jackson flexed and posed until he was completely lost in the image of his own monstrous mass of muscle.

No body part of Chris’, however, provoked stronger feelings and emotions than his infamous, superhuman sized guns. His biceps had always been his strongest body part, developing so much easier and quicker than his others. He’d always loved that pumped feeling in his upper arms which came after a set of barbell curls, even in his early, humble days as a regular gym goer in his first gym. And now he was the proud owner of some of the biggest and freakiest guns on the planet. He’d seen his peaks a million times before, but never failed to be impressed by the sheer size and outrageous freakiness of seeing the enormous granite hard muscle erupting through his skin. On this particular day, in peak contest condition, his biceps looked more monstrous and freaky than they ever had.

Staring at the reflection of his own barely human guns, Chris’ imagination suddenly ran away from him, as he envisioned a mile long queue of men stretched out before him, all waiting to wrap their hands around those famous peaks. Men of all shapes and sizes, the majority of them gay and obsessed with huge, ripped muscle just like he was, but some of them straight men who, for whatever reason, just wanted to know what it felt like to touch the monstrously sized, vein decorated biceps of a genuine flat out muscle freak.

He was certain the two young camera men who’d been filming him earlier that day in the pump room would be somewhere in that line. Neither had been particularly effeminate, but his gaydar had kicked in big time when the two of them had approached him, one more nervously than the other. They’d seemed particularly close, and had exchanged more than one knowing glance, and sheepish smirk. No doubt they were probably both now at home, masturbating themselves stupid over the image of the flexed, veiny guns of Chris “Freaky Peaks” Jackson. If he could hunt them both down and invite them into his hotel room to worship his freaky peaks until they jizzed in their boxer shorts, he was certain he'd make two muscle obsessed lads extremely happy.

Freaky Peaks didn’t just stop at flexing and marvelling at the image of his own incredible mass in the mirror, he also loved the feel of the freaky muscle beneath his fingertips, and his gigantic sized biceps were his favourite thing to touch. The feeling of running his hand over his rock hard ball of humungous sized bicep muscle, squeezing and feeling it bulging underneath his fingers was indescribable.

He often wondered if any other bodybuilders indulged in these kinds of acts, and how many of them became so immensely aroused at, not only the image of their own excessively developed muscle in the mirror, but the sensation of feeling said muscle bulge and flex under their fingers as he did.

Either way, Freaky Peaks’ private muscle flexing sessions always concluded in one way, and today was no exception. In between cranking out his poses, flexing his supremely sized mass, and running his hands over his own, flexed muscle, a sweat drenched, and incredibly aroused Chris reached for his throbbing, rock hard cock, which had been let free from the shiny green material of his posing trunks. He pounded away, grunting and groaning with pleasure as he pumped on his hard on. At the same time, his left hand was firmly planted on one of his deliriously pumped pecs. His fingers digging into the insatiably thick mound of muscle which made up one half of his huge chest. His hand then wandered further, running over the deeply chiselled abs blocks popping through the drum tight skin stretched over his stomach, before veering south and running over the indecently thick mass of muscle making up his quads, tensing them and feeling the deep lines erupt underneath his fingertips. With his right hand still pumping away on his hard, throbbing, cock, Chris curled his left hand into a tight fist and, as he watched his gigantic sized, alien like bicep muscle explode through his barely there skin, he reached the point of no return and screamed with intense orgasmic pleasure as his dick exploded, and thick ropes of hot, white cum splattered on to the mirror before him.

“Yeah, that crab pose is your best most muscular, Chris!”

The ever vocal guy to my left suddenly pulled me out from my Freaky Peaks fantasy and back into reality, as I realised the man who I’d just been imagining blasting a massive load while flexing, feeling, and staring at the reflection of his own monstrous muscle in the most outrageous act of self muscle worship my imagination would allow, had finally stopped posing and was now relaxed. A little out of breath, he was now conversing with his tanning buddie and right hand man, still completely dismissive of the camera pointed a few feet away from him, and the two men on the other side of it.

“Definitely the guy with the most freakishly huge biceps in the room!”

Stuart Fox was leaning over and quietly offering up his opinion as Chris Jackson lost himself in conversation with his friend, who was still wearing the tan covered gloves he’d used to help prepare his monster of a muscle mate for his stage appearance.

I smiled in response, but before I was given the chance to reply, Stuart had a further development in his brilliant and bonkers game to announce.

“And I think I’ve just spotted the most inhumanly shredded guy!”

My eyes widened and I felt an immediate rush of excitement.

“My five o’clock. Young-ish guy in the blue trunks,” Stuart informed me.

I eagerly glanced around until I spotted the bodybuilder Stuart Fox was drawing my attention to; a ridiculously good looking and boyishly cute bodybuilder in a pair of inexplicably shiny, bright blue posing trunks intently lifting a pair of dumbbells. His modestly sized, perfectly bronzed frame was packed with muscle so beautifully carved and sculpted I almost physically gasped. Although it was the first time I'd witnessed this astonishingly hot bodybuilder in the flesh, just like Chris “Freaky Peaks” Jackson, I was already very well acquainted with him.

His name was Justin Hughes, a well known, early twenty-something bodybuilder.

“I know him but I can’t remember his name,” Stuart said in frustration.

I had the sudden urge to remind Stuart what this misplaced information was, and potentially impress him with my knowledge of bodybuilders, but I didn’t quite have the nerve.

“I think we might struggle to get near him though,” Stuart added.

It was at that point I noticed that two cameramen were, indeed, closed in on Justin Hughes’ inhumanly shredded physique, leaving little room for anyone else. As I felt a crushing wave of disappointment, I suddenly found myself wondering if things were improving for my classmate Billy Horvath, last seen running errands for his intimidating mentor Baz Wade.

I glanced over to the spot where Baz had previously camped his camera. Sure enough, he was still there, standing around with his camera relaxed in his hand, talking to someone I couldn’t quite see as his gang of equally thuggish looking mates gathered around him.

There was no sign of Billy in the group, but glancing my eyes around the area where Baz had camped out, I suddenly spotted him slumped in a plastic chair with his arms folded. Through all of my negative feelings towards this incredibly obnoxious and annoying young man, I suddenly felt a strong pang of sympathy towards Billy. Gone was the over confident and self assured guy I’d come to loathe, and in place was someone who not only looked completely lost, but also excruciatingly uncomfortable.

His face was filled with anxiety and his eyes were fearfully glancing around at the huge bronzed muscle freaks filling up the large room as they pumped, preened and posed around him. Despite my general distaste towards Billy, I suddenly had the overwhelming desire to try and rescue him from what was clearly, in his view, a really quite terrible and extremely uncomfortable situation.

Veering my eyes once more towards Baz Wade’s group, I noticed that there’d been some sort of minor reshuffling of people and I suddenly found myself with a clear view of exactly who he was talking to.

While most of Baz’s friends ranged from stocky to muscular in build, up until that moment, I’d had little suspicion that any of them were actual bodybuilders, or involved in the day’s competition in anything but a behind the scenes capacity. That had now completely changed with the reveal of the man standing in front of, and immersed in conversation with Billy Horvath’s filming mentor.

His complexion was bronzed with tan, and although completely covered up by a bright red tracksuit, there was no doubt the man in question was sporting one seriously swollen physique. His frame was wide and his upper body looked impressively thick, leaving little question as to whether he’d be flexing on stage in his, no doubt shiny and outrageously sized posing trunks, before the day was out.

The bodybuilder didn’t look too out of place in Baz's group of friends, provoking first impressions that, unfairly or not, he was probably just as obnoxious as the people he associated himself with. Despite this, and the fact that he wasn’t exactly the best looking guy I’d clocked that day, there was no denying that I found him pretty damn fucking hot.

My attention was suddenly pulled away by a short gasp from Stuart Fox.

“Charlie, I think we might be in luck!” he excitably said.

Momentarily confused, I looked over to the same spot Stuart was eyeballing and suddenly realised what he meant. One of the two cameramen previously crowding the shockingly shredded and absurdly cute Justin Hughes had moved, leaving a clear space before his breathtakingly conditioned physique for someone new to occupy.

A wide eyed and eager Stuart Fox quickly gathered up his camera case, and signalled for me to follow. Chris “Freaky Peaks” Jackson was still engrossed in conversation with his tanning buddie and posing commentator, and not showing signs of doing any sort of pumping up, or further posing any time soon, leaving me with little reason as to why I should do otherwise.

Stuart had remained fairly calm and relaxed during the filming of Mr Golden Posers and Chris Jackson, but now, at the prospect of filming Justin Hughes, he’d suddenly turned into an excitable puppy. Whether it was the prospect of getting close to a bodybuilder as well known as Justin, or whether, like me, he had a certain thing for this impossibly cute and crazily conditioned bodybuilder, I wasn’t quite sure, but whatever the reason, I found his new found eagerness both adorable and incredibly endearing.

Once again, my stomach tightened with nerves on the approach to a new bodybuilder. At this point I came to realise that this was probably the reaction I would experience every time I performed this particular act that day, regardless of how many times I did so. I then wondered whether Stuart Fox, with all his presumed experience, felt any pangs of nerves himself.

As we approached our new filming target, Stuart tutted in frustration. “I wish I could remember what this guy’s name is.”

Say it! Just fucking say it!

“Is it…Justin Hughes?”


Stuart Fox turned around to look at me, but far from the surprised expression I was expecting in response to me knowing the name of a competitive bodybuilder, his mouth was curled into a mischievous looking smirk.

“Oh yeah!” he said teasingly. “That's it!”

The playful tone of his voice and his devilish expression told me one thing; Stuart Fox hadn't forgotten Justin Hughes’ name at all. My cheeks reddened and my heart started thumping at the realisation of what had just happened. Stuart Fox had tricked me into all but confessing that I was a secret lover of huge, shredded muscle freaks.

My embarrassment turned to excitement as I considered the reasons for Stuart Fox’s trick. I was left with very little doubt as to whether he was a like minded muscle lover at that point. The prospect of which, alone, excited me, but his stunt clearly suggested that, while I’d been curious and interested in Stuart’s intentions for spending the day surrounded by a bunch of monstrously sized muscle bulls in tiny sized posing trunks, he had been wondering the exact same thing about me.

With my revelation that I had knowledge of, and an apparent invested interest in the competition conditioned muscle freaks which surrounded us, and the reveal that Stuart Fox had obviously tricked me into uncovering this knowledge, the unspoken affection between my filming mentor and I suddenly seemed to have multiplied.

Any exploration of this would have to be placed on hold as I suddenly found myself closing in our new filming subject, and before I knew it, I was standing just a short distance from probably one of the most well known, definitely one of the cutest, and without a single ounce of doubt, one of the most shockingly shredded, early twenty-something bodybuilders in America.

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Watching Justin Hughes pumping up his impressively sized, rock hard biceps, I couldn’t help wondering whether I was, in actual fact, looking at the cutest thing to ever climb into a pair of outrageously shiny, bright blue posing trunks. From images and videos I’d seen of him on the Internet, I had always found Justin to be absurdly good looking, but in the flesh he was something else entirely.

Justin Hughes was quite possibly the most beautiful boy I’d ever laid eyes on. Impossibly cute, boyish and possessing a clean cut, handsome quality that made him undeniably American, Justin looked like he’d grown up on a diet of corn.

Boyish, nicely proportioned features sat on his utterly adorable face. With his big, brown puppy dog eyes and cute shaped nose, the only physical attribute on Justin that wasn’t near damn perfect, and which, at a guess, he could potentially have any ounce of insecurity about, were his rather large, sticky out ears. An attribute I just so happened to find extremely attractive. In my eyes, Justin Hughes’ one imperfection made him perfect.

Intently pumping up his biceps with a passive, almost bored expression, seemingly disconnected from the other indecently shredded muscle monsters around him, not to mention the gathering of keen cameramen, one could be forgiven for thinking that Justin Hughes may not be the most expressive of bodybuilders.

Certainly with his boy next door looks, it wouldn’t be completely absurd to assume that he was far too nice of a guy to display the kind of cocky attitude that many bodybuilders adopted when they hit the stage. I’d seen pictures, and even some video clips of Justin in competition, though, and knew exactly what kind of style he adopted when he was on stage, cranking out his poses and showing off his inhumanly muscular physique.

When Justin’s face wasn’t plastered with a smug but extremely gorgeous grin, it was twisted and contorted into all manner of cheeky expressions. Scrunching up his face like a boy possessed, arrogantly opening his mouth wide while hitting his poses, and even cheekily sticking his tongue out, were all things likely to feature in any routine, comparisons round or posedown featuring this insanely cute muscle boy.

Whether Stuart and I were about to witness any glimpse of that endearingly cheeky and over the top cocky attitude in the pump room, or whether he only saved it for the stage was still unknown at that point.

As Justin placed his dumbbells on the floor, and stood up weight free, Stuart Fox gently nudged me. It took me a few seconds to realise his widened eyes were signalling me to hold the camera up and start shooting.

Transfixed by the epitome of adorableness in bright blue posing trunks which stood before me, I’d completely forgotten the sole purpose of why I was standing in the middle of a pump room, backstage at a bodybuilding show.

I started to lift the camera up, but then, surprising even myself, paused and pushed it into Stuart Fox’s direction for the offering instead. Looking at me in surprise at my presumed generosity, Stuart Fox took his CX100 camera back from my possession then shot me a handsome and bashful smirk.

I’d like to say my reasons for giving up the opportunity to film one of the hottest and most well known young bodybuilders, not just in the States, but probably the entire world, were completely selfless. But they weren’t. Sure, I had wanted to repay Stuart Fox for his kindness and generosity for letting me take the reigns of the last two, unfathomably hot bodybuilders that had been captured on his CX100, but I was also enjoying watching Justin Hughes lens free.

With the pressures of filming lifted, and with absolutely no other obligations or responsibilities, I could simply just stand and watch this outrageously hot bodybuilder in, what was undoubtedly, the best condition of his life.

“Can we get some poses for the camera?”

The question didn’t come from Stuart, but from the other, original cameraman shooting Justin to our right; an inoffensive looking, regular built guy with a beard in his thirties, who wasn’t rousing any suspicions that he might be secretly harbouring the same horn crazed feelings for this beyond gorgeous muscle boy that I was.

Justin Hughes didn’t wait long before obeying. Before I knew what was happening, he was tensing his thick, corded quads, which were suddenly erupting in lines, grooves and striations to reveal some of the most incredibly shredded and crazily detailed legs I’d ever seen on a bodybuilder. The sheer freakishness of the sight of which almost caused me to physically gasp.

With his fists on his waist, Justin then brought his gloriously chiselled upper body up and was fully flexed into an amazing front lat spread. A far cry from the shamelessly cocky attitude I’d seen him displaying in video clips and Internet images of him on stage, a slightly bashful and adorable smirk emerged on Justin’s ridiculously gorgeous face as he showed his intimate audience what a jacked up mini beast of a phenomenally conditioned bodybuilder he was.

Before my mind had time to slip into a fantasy, whereby my face was mere inches away from his inhuman looking quad meat, Justin was transitioning into another pose. Bringing his left leg forward slightly, he then positioned it with his heel off the ground, revealing new lines and insane detail in his thigh.

At the same time, Justin brought his impressively sized biceps into a front double bicep pose. As his guns peaked underneath his deliciously bronze tinted, his smile became slightly less bashful and more self assured than before.

Barely able to keep my eyes away from Justin’s breathtakingly detailed and freakishly ripped quads for more than a second, an image suddenly flashed into my mind. I pictured a huge white board, with the words STUART FOX’S BONKERS BUT BRILLIANT PUMP ROOM GAME written in big, bold marker pen at the top. Underneath that heading were all the names of the fulfilled categories so far, with the name of the awarded bodybuilder written just underneath each one.


Mr Golden Posers


Chris “Freaky Peaks” Jackson


Justin Hughes


Justin Hughes


Justin Hughes



Justin wasn’t wasting any time with transitioning from one pose to the next. Swinging his arms back down and relaxing from his fantastic front double bicep pose, in a split second, he had spun around, and with his fists on his waist again, he was opening up his back for a lat spread.

Faced with the rear view of Justin’s physique for the first time, I almost physically gasped at the sight of one particular muscle group, and the image of the huge white board flashed into my mind once again, this time with a new, additional category.



Not only were Justin’s buttocks ridiculously thick and impressively developed, but each one was decorated with the deepest, most prominent lines. I thought I had already witnessed the freakiest sight I would that day when Chris “Freaky Peaks” Jackson blew up his insanely huge biceps, but the two orbs of amazingly conditioned, line plastered glute meat blowing out of Justin Hughes’ metallic blue posing trunks proved me completely wrong.

Staring at the surreal image of Justin’s shredded ass, a question suddenly arose in my mind; what did my filming buddie, Stuart Fox, think of the otherworldly glutes shrivelling up before our eyes as Justin Hughes cranked down into a brutal back double bicep pose?

I nervously shot a side glance at Stuart, in hope that he would, perhaps, look up and shoot me a similar, knowing look or cheeky smirk to the ones he’d giving me all day, but his face was firmly buried into the lens of his CX100 camera.

My guess was, either from his experience of filming at similar bodybuilding shows, the image of a pair of impossibly thick and absurdly striated buttocks was something Stuart had become well accustomed to seeing (the lucky bugger), either gorgeously ripped glutes didn’t particularly do much for him (a notion I found highly unlikely), or he did, in fact, have a huge weakness for glutes, and was so completely engrossed in the image of Justin’s ass that he literally couldn’t tear his eyes away from it (a much more believable notion).

As Justin continued to crank out his back double bicep pose, I managed to tear my eyes away from his freaky buttocks long enough to marvel at the rest of his amazing physique. Brutally thick delts, impressively developed lats, dry as a bone hamstrings covered in skin so thin it looked barely worth having, and, sitting just above the waist band of those ridiculously shiny blue posers, the craziest looking, most freakishly detailed Christmas tree shaped lower back.

More than anything else in that moment, I wanted to walk up to the rear of a willing Justin Hughes and place one flat hand on that crazy, dry as crackers Christmas tree. And if my cock hadn’t managed to explode the second my skin made contact with his, I’d move my hand south and trace the freak show worthy lines of those incredible butt cheeks with my fingers, while spontaneously and shamelessly exclaiming, “FUCK YEAH GLUTES!”

And before I had chance to contemplate how and where I’d dispose of my spunk soaked undies if such an event were to occur, Justin Hughes was spinning around with his arms thrown behind his head and cranking down into an abs and thighs pose, while releasing the cutest exhaling sound.

After bearing witness to his magnificently striated ass, I didn’t think Justin Hughes was capable of taking my breathe away and single handily blowing my mind for another time. I was wrong.

As Justin hit the peak of his pose, his midsection exploded with detail, and a thousand lumps and bumps erupted through his competition tan tinted skin. Six of the most beautifully shaped bumps of deeply carved abdominal muscle proudly burst through his wafer thin skin covered stomach. Each one more gorgeous, prominent and separated than the last. Either side of those sat insanely carved serratus and gloriously chiselled obliques, all of which made Justin look like a living, breathing anatomy chart.


Yep. You guessed it. JUSTIN HUGHES!

The imaginary time pausing superpower I’d fantasised about earlier that day came into my mind once again. This time, I’d quickly run out of the venue and return, having been to the nearest convenience store to purchase a big block of cheese. I’d walk up to Justin Hughes, paused in his magnificent abs and thighs pose, and run the block of cheddar over his deliciously carved midsection and gorgeous bumpy abdominals before adding another entry to my imaginary white board.



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As Justin bought his arms up and cranked down into a crab most muscular, the bashfulness that had made up his smile in his earlier poses had now completely vanished, and was replaced by the endearingly cheeky and extremely cute grin of a guy clearly enjoying showing off his hard, tight, phenomenally muscular body for an audience.

As he hit the pose, everything tightened and locked into place. His rock hard, croquet ball biceps erupted through his onion peel thin skin, the striations in his impressively sized delts deepened, and two modest sized traps emerged on his neck from nowhere and bulged up to his earlobes.

I suddenly wanted to know exactly what was going through my filming mentor Stuart Fox’s head as he witnessed this amazingly conditioned American muscle boy flexing and squeezing his otherworldly slabs of muscle through his camera lens.

What happened next was something that no one, not even Stuart, with all of his assumed pump room experience, could have predicted. Out of nowhere, an excitable and brilliantly peeled bodybuilder in a pair of indecently shiny, bright yellow posing trunks, with a shaved head and slightly geeky but rather handsome looks at least ten years Justin’s senior, had rushed into view.

Unexpectedly intruding on the filming of Justin Hughes’ posing, he stopped until he was standing right next to his fellow flexed competitor. With his right hand resting on one of his crazily feathered quads, and the left hand curled into a fist, he was blasting out his own incredible most muscular for the camera.

In contrast to Justin, the guy who had just unapologetically interrupted his posing and roped him into a two man posedown, whether he liked it or not, was displaying the cockiest attitude on any bodybuilder I’d seen so far that day, making the whole scene even more surprising and humorous.

As he cranked into his pose, the bodybuilder let out a short sharp, “TTTTSSSSSS!” sound, followed by a grizzly, “AHHHHH!” His nose was wrinkled and a massive, toothy, shit-eating grin was plastered on his face, which was now scrunched and contorted in the most outrageous and animated manner.

At the unexpected arrival of this shamelessly cocky bodybuilder, excitable laughter erupted from the camera man standing to the right of Stuart, and a few other spectators around us.

Stuart Fox looked up from his camera and was glaring at me wide eyed, with an amused grin as if to ask, “WHAT THE FUCK JUST HAPPENED?!” and I uncontrollably grinned in return. Judging by the increase of his gorgeous smile, even Justin Hughes himself seemed to also approve of his new posing buddie.

When the lads had stopped flexing, they both broke into short laughter and indulged in a short and adorable fist bump.

“Keep going! Hit some more poses,” were the instructions that came from Stuart Fox’s fellow camera crew member.

Although it was exactly what I wanted to hear, I couldn’t help feeling that it was exactly what these two incredibly conditioned muscle lads would have done regardless.

An eager and wide eyed Justin Hughes looked at his new posing buddie, seemingly to converse with what pose to hit, but he wasn’t giving Justin the opportunity for any negotiations. He was already lifting both of his arms around the back of his head, and with another outrageous, “TSSSSSSSS!” he was sitting down on his midsection for what was undoubtedly the hottest abs and thighs pose I’d witnessed that day.

As I stared at the image of our new unexpected filming subject’s midsection, I was almost tempted to bring both fists to my eyes and rub them in sheer disbelief.  Protruding from his stomach were six of the most breathtakingly symmetrical, amazingly shaped and phenomenally cut abdominal muscles.

Where Justin’s abs were narrow and small, his new posing partner’s abs were big, thick and blocky, like six cobblestones trapped underneath and begging for release from his tan tinted, oil soaked skin.




As the guy I had no choice but to nickname Mr Gorgeous Abs cranked down hard into his pose, showing off his beautiful stomach muscles which earned him his newly crowned moniker, his eyes jammed tight shut and an almost manic grin etched on his shamelessly scrunched face, Justin Hughes followed suit, and squeezed down into his own amazing abs and thighs pose.

Although not displaying even half of the cockiness his new posing buddie was, or anywhere near what I’d been accustomed to seeing him display in pictures and shots of him online, the bashfulness Justin had displayed at the start of our filming had now completely vanished. Clearly having an absolute blast posing next to a fellow insanely shredded muscle freak, Justin looked physically incapable of faltering the proud but slightly mischievous smile which had emerged on his face.

Following an unbearably hot and unbelievably cocky, “HOOOOO!” sound to accompany the final seconds of his abs and thighs pose, Mr Gorgeous Abs quickly transitioned into his next pose.

Turned to his side, he brought up his left arm with a loud, “HHHHHSSSS!” followed by a loud, manic, “HA!” which caused a few ripples of laughter from some of his spectators, as his biceps erupted through his inhumanly thin skin. With that same manic, shit-eating grin and scrunched facial expression, Mr Gorgeous Abs was proudly sitting in a spectacular side chest.

With far less noise and a lot less attitude, the adorable Justin Hughes was, again, following suit and hitting his own side chest pose. The image of Justin’s rock hard, perfectly round bicep muscle proudly popping through his drum tight, tan plastered skin was mind blowing. And with Justin turned on his side, I was, again, able to see some of the freaky lines and crazy striations emerging in his alien-like ass.

My attention was quickly bought back to Mr Gorgeous Abs, who, still locked in his side chest pose, was now twisting his upper body from left to right, ensuring all of his spectators were able to witness his incredible flexed muscle in it’s full glory. As he did so, his nose wrinkled and his face scrunched further, and he let out more ridiculously hot hisses and cocky, “AHHHH!” sounds.

Watching this slightly geeky looking guy completely steal the limelight away from an astonishingly conditioned and absurdly cute young muscle guy, who was no doubt well on the path to achieving pro bodybuilder status, it suddenly occurred to me exactly which of these two vastly different bodybuilders I was more turned on by.

Although handsome in his own way, Mr Gorgeous Abs posed absolutely no threat to the impossibly cute Justin Hughes in the looks department. And, while still impressively peeled and just beating Justin in the most shredded abs department, there was no doubt Justin’s physique was winning in the overall conditioning stakes too.

And yet, against all odds, this completely unknown, slightly quirky looking guy in shiny yellow posers, with his phenomenal physique, glorious nickname earning abs and, of course, his unbelievably cocky attitude, was the competitor I found myself not only drawn to, but so turned on by that, I was sure, if I was watching this very scene on video in the comfort of my own bedroom, my boxers shorts would already be lying on the floor in a sticky crumpled ball.

Still very much in the driving seat of this awesome two man posedown, Mr Gorgeous Abs was turning his back to his audience, enticing Justin Hughes, who, without hesitation, followed his direction in hitting some rear poses. Once again, I was faced with the otherworldly image of Justin’s insanely striated ass cheeks blowing out of his indecently shiny, metallic blue posing trunks.

Mr Gorgeous Abs’ next move was even more outrageous than the fact that he’d gate crashed Justin Hughes’ posing in the first place. Throwing back his elbows and turning to Justin to make sure he was following his lead, he then placed both fists on his waist in preparation for a back lat spread.

Justin followed, but before Mr Gorgeous Abs completed the pose, he suddenly paused. His head was tilted and he was looking down in the direction of Justin’s freaky glutes. With Justin too busy readying his pose to notice, Mr Gorgeous Abs suddenly swivelled round to the cameras and his audience and, with a comical, “What the fuck?!” facial expression, he bent down and edged his face closer to Justin’s obscenely shredded ass.

He then animatedly shook his head and, with an amusing and cheeky look, as if to say, “I’m not even gonna bother competing with THAT!” he made a quick motion to his right as if he were running away in defeat. Laughing along with the audience around him, he then returned to the side of Justin, who’d only caught half of Mr Gorgeous Abs’ cheeky stint, to finish his rear lat spread.

As everyone around me laughed and excitedly chatted about what had happened, I stood there, shocked and amused at the hilarity and outrageous cheekiness of Mr Gorgeous Abs’ playful actions. I desperately wanted to share the moment with Stuart Fox, but, much like when Justin had first given us a glimpse of his phenomenal glutes, his face was still buried in his camera, and he was refusing to look up.

As I intently looked at him, I noticed a small, almost shy smile was masked on his face. Even more surprising, I noticed his cheeks had turned slightly red. There was no doubt about it. Stuart Fox was blushing. The man who had seemed so confident up until that moment, and who wasn’t at all shy about muttering words like, “shredded abs,” “feathered quads,“ and “muscle tits,” was now embarrassed at the act of a bodybuilder drawing everyone’s attention to the freakishly ripped, line plastered glutes of a fellow competitor.

This could only lead me to the conclusion that the man for whom my affections had suddenly grown even more for undoubtedly had a massive weakness for ridiculously developed buttocks and gloriously striated glutes.

Justin Hughes and Mr Gorgeous Abs spun around to face their audience once more. Both of them were grinning wildly at the hilarious stint that had just unfolded, and possibly having more fun in a pump room than any two bodybuilders ever had, as they geared themselves up for their final pose.

With the usual guidance of Mr Gorgeous Abs, both of the muscle freaks cranked down in unison into explosive, energetic most musculars. Mr Gorgeous Abs bellowed out another cocky, “AHHHHH!” and, in a completely brilliant and unexpected moment, Justin displayed just a very small percentage of the attitude I knew he adopted on stage. As his traps erupted and his marble hard biceps exploded through his skin, for a split second, Justin’s tongue cheekily popped out of his mouth.  

As they relaxed and stood upright to what was the conclusion of some of the hottest posing of the day so far, Mr Gorgeous Abs reached out his hand for Justin’s. As they shook hands and grinned wildly at one another, he then placed his other hand on Justin’s shoulder and gave it an affectionate squeeze.

An announcement filled the room for the middleweight competitors to start queuing up to go on stage, and both bodybuilders hastily headed away, leaving Stuart Fox and I to contemplate whether there was even the slightest possibility we’d witness a more entertaining display of playful, attitude packed posing that day.

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