m/m Something Exceptional: Short Story

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Hey there. I posted this years ago, but I think it's been deleted. Thought you might enjoy it. Back then, some people wanted me to write more about these characters - let me know if so!


‘Done your homework already, baby?’

Issy’s eyes didn’t move from the television screen. ‘Give up smoking already, Dad?’ was her dry response.

‘Hey, don’t compare two random things,’ Arnold groaned, settling onto the sofa next to her. ‘Giving up the fags is a once in a life-time event, not a routine duty that will help you pass exams. Once it’s done, it’s done.’

‘But not done yet,’ his daughter said, with a little smile, still focused on the TV. ‘Unless my nose deceives me.’

Arnold delved guiltily in his pocket for minty gum. ‘Do I disappoint you, my child?’ he said, bowing his head like a defrocked cardinal.

‘Not in any serious manner. As a physical specimen, you’re pretty laughable, but as a parent you’re just about as good as can be expected.’

‘Wow, faint praise indeed.’

‘Dad,’ said Issy, ‘I am trying to watch this documentary on eco-tourism. And I don’t want to embarrass you. I do love you, after all.’

‘Well in that case, I’ll settle for being as good as your expectations,’ he said, smiling in spite of himself. ‘I’m off out in a bit. Won’t be long.’

‘Huh?’ She looked at him for the first time. ‘Where?’

‘I bought something from a guy on a local forum. Just need to drive over and pick it up.’

‘He can’t post it?’

‘Nah,’ he laughed, getting up. ‘Not this he can’t. I’ll be half an hour.’

She muted the TV. ‘Not a drum kit, Dad. Mum always said there were no if’s, but’s or maybe’s about a drum kit.’

‘Ah,’ he said, ‘but in case you hadn’t noticed, she’s not around nowadays to keep me under her thumb.’

‘And you want to make absolutely positive she never comes back.’

Arnold rolled his eyes and ran his fingers through his messy black hair. Why did people always ride over him like this? It wasn’t a big secret, but he didn’t want to talk about it. Why couldn’t people respect that kind of thing? ‘It’s not a drum kit, okay? But I could have one if I wanted, I just don’t right now. Actually, I might still get one. Just because your Mum is going out with some great new guy doesn’t make her right about everything.’

‘Fine,’ she said, ‘so what is it?’

‘I’ll show you later if you’re interested. Watch your BBC4 thing.’

‘Why are you being so secretive? Do you think I’ll disapprove?’

He closed his eyes in defeat. ‘It’s weights, okay?’

She laughed – stopped herself, probably because it sounded rude of her – then burst out with it again. ‘Weights? As in a set of weights.’


‘For exercise.’

‘Lots of people use them,’ he said, folding his arms.

‘Lots of people can,’ she said. ‘Some people have trouble lifting their suitcase off the baggage carousel at Gatwick.’

He sighed irritably. ‘That was a one-off.’

‘Maybe a two-off or three-off. You struggle with carrying shopping to the car. Come on, Dad, you’re the bookish type, not the – manly type.’

‘Well, maybe I’m tired of that being who I am,’ he said, unfolding and refolding his arms, feeling so aware of how skinny they were.

‘And you want to be, what Daniel Craig?’

‘What’s wrong with Daniel Craig? You didn’t live through the Pearce Brosnan era. You know nothing.’

‘You’re not Daniel Craig,’ she smiled. ‘Believe me. You’re Ben Whishaw’s older brother.’

‘That’s not who I am,’ he said. ‘And it’s not how I want to look and feel. Weaky, skinny, gay, seriously unattractive…’

‘So it is about getting Mum back.’

‘No,’ he said, serious now. ‘I don’t. It’s not. Maybe it’s about getting someone, yes. It’s been too long. Women don’t go for – well, like you said. Ben Whishaw’s older brother. They don’t want a weedy librarian type in a Smiths t-shirt. It turns out.’

Issy sensed his seriousness. ‘Personality-wise, Dad, you’re okay for most people. And you’re handsome, according to my friends. Stop worrying.’

‘I’m sure I’m okay,’ he said, getting up and going to door. ‘But I want to be more.’ He didn’t mean to slam it behind him, so he opened it politely suggested her homework be underway by the time he came back.

Outside it was raining. Arnold had to jog to the car and by the time he made it he was soaked and dejected. He would have lit up a fag if it wasn’t for the weather. Anyway, he shouldn’t be smoking now if he was getting fit. Smoking had kept down his weight for years and he wanted to put on mass now, not keep it off.

He sat at the steering-wheel, feeling damp and weak, put the key in the ignition and turned on the lights, just to watch the raindrops falling through them and melting away, inconsequentially. His daughter, whose honesty he appreciated, had only confirmed what his own inner voice had been saying for the past week. You’re a weed. A library-type. Weak. You’re never going to be anything else. Don’t try. What do you see in those guys anyway? They’re all poofs and bullies. You’re the guy they laugh at and push around. That’s how the world gets divided up. Fit guys and guys like you, and it doesn’t do to imagine becoming something other than that.

So it’s impossible to change? he asked himself.

You got it, Arnold.

So what about my so-called wife?

Arnold’s inner voice went quiet at that. If she could find a new lease of life, change who she was, so could her pathetic ex-husband. Maybe he could even become a little less pathetic.

He drove off into the rain.

The satnav took him to the street in Battersea. Not unlike his own street, a line of ordinary terraced houses with red slate roofs all dark and glossy in the rain. Who would live in a house like this? Arnold tried not to imagine the man who was coming to the door, but it was almost impossible to put a lid on his imagination. All week he’d been thinking about him. Big, tall, athletic, strong, masculine, smelling all musky and bitter. A bully type, no doubt. Someone who’d laugh in Arnold’s face as soon as he saw him. Superman in lycra, or Sylvester Stallone stripped to the waist. What if the guy’s wife was there to see the handover? That would be truly humiliating.

He forced himself to imagine a guy exactly like him, exactly his build, who had bought the weights for the same reason as Arnold and never got around to using them, just the way Arnold’s inner voice told him he’d never be able to do it. Someone smoking a fag and eating a pizza and whose wife had left him six months before.

Dripping wet as he was, it made him chuckle and warmed his heart a little bit. He walked up the path, brushing past a big bush of wet privet and getting even damper. He thought once again about having a fag. Then he stabbed a thumb angrily onto the doorbell.

When the door opened, he let out a huge sigh of relief which he had to disguise with a wheezy smoker’s cough. It was exactly as he had envisioned and couldn’t be more perfect: like looking in the mirror, or nearly. Right down to the baggy band t-shirt. Goodness, he thought to himself, is that how weedy I look? And yet, not so bad, not so unmanly. Just a down-to-earth guy who wasn’t a muscle-head. Did that mean using the weights wouldn’t actually get him anywhere? Did that mean he was stuck looking and feeling like this forever?

‘Alright, mate?’ he said, with a smile.

‘How do you do…?’ The guy was looking at him blankly. That should have been a clue, he realised later.

‘Seb? It’s Arnold. I’m here about the, uh, you know…’

‘Ah,’ said the man at the door. ‘You want my son.’

‘I do?’

‘Yeah, Sebastian’s the fitness nut,’ said Seb’s Dad, turning and bellowing his son’s name up the stairs with so little warning that Arnold’s heart began to race. Or was it fear? ‘Couple of years ago for his sixteenth, I bought him a set. He was already doing swimming, football and that, but he wanted to build a bit of strength. Impress the ladies, know what I mean?’ He flashed Arnold a knowing smile, turned away and yelled again. ‘Sebastian! It’s your friend about the weights set! Are you coming down?’

‘I don’t have to – I mean, I can come back,’ Arnold cringed, looking back out at the rain with a kind of longing. There was something about Seb that he didn’t want to see.

‘You can’t go out in that,’ said Seb’s Dad. ‘It’s the first on the left at the top of the stairs. He’ll have his headphones in no doubt.’

‘Cheers,’ said Arnold, stepping inside and closing the door behind him, and swallowing nervously. He stared up the stairs, clenching fists as if to gird up his courage.

‘They’re a good set,’ said Seb’s Dad. ‘You’re getting a great deal. Seb’s got a lot out of them. You’ll see for yourself. Looks amazing. The ladies certainly sat up and took notice, from what I’ve seen passing through this house. Gorgeous, some of them. Reminds me of my lost youth, know what I mean?’

‘No – I mean, I don’t know,’ said Arnold. ‘I mean, I was never all that popular with the girls. Just the one steady girlfriend for twenty-odd years.’

‘That’s nice,’ said the Dad, walking back to the living room. ‘Still with her, too?’

‘Yeah,’ Arnold, in spite of himself, and then, ‘No, not since, uh…’

‘Sorry,’ said the Dad, ‘it’s just this great documentary on eco-tourism, I’m missing it. Like I said, he’s first on the left at the top of the stairs.’

‘Right. Okay. Yeah.’

Come on Arnold, what are you afraid of? That he’s going to beat you up? Or just laugh at you? What is it about seeing this guy that has you feeling all weak-kneed? Just go upstairs, give him the money and get out of here. You could even tell him you don’t want the weights set. I mean, maybe you don’t. Maybe that’s not a side of yourself you want to explore?

Top of the stairs, first on the left, he went to knock on the door and then something inside him said, Don’t be such a fucking pussy, Arnold, and he grabbed the door handle and turned it and stuck his head inside. Just get on with, get it over and done with and – oh fuck, he’s having a wank.

The teenager – who was eighteen, but looked on the way to twenty-one by the size of him – was stretched out on the bed in what looked like a school uniform three sizes too small for him. He didn’t see Arnold immediately because he was scrolling through something on his phone. His heavily muscled right arm was moving industriously up and down: he was obviously close to cumming.

Arnold ducked back into the hall and stood there, breathing quick. Had he been spotted? He decided the only thing to do was knock at the bedroom door as if nothing had happened, which was strange, because as soon as he’d done it he was thinking that the only thing to do was run down the stairs and out of the house and get back in his car and drive away.

‘Hey.’ The voice was surprisingly casual. ‘Come in.’

When Arnold went in the second time, Seb looked just like any other eighteen- year old with gelled blonde hair, serious expression, phone in hand. Trousers zipped up, he lay on his side, still scrolling. Arnold could almost believe he had imagined the scene before, or perhaps misread it. The pumping fist, the thick pink cock, the faint breathless grunt from the corner of the boy’s handsome mouth.

Could he have imagined it and if so where did the thought come from?

He decided to distract himself, cleared his throat and said, as gruffly as possible. ‘Seb? Arnold.’

‘What? Oh, the guy from the forum,’ he said, smiling the broadest smile. His voice was low, cultured, resonant: almost a feline purr. Bizarre in an eighteen year-old. ‘Come to take away my prized possessions, brah?’ He pocketed his phone and got off the bed in a single movement to shake Arnold’s hand. Arnold found himself looking at the muscle in Seb’s proffered arm and only afterwards did he think where the hand had been. Surreptitiously he took a small sniff. There was a familiar whiff – the smell of his own hands too often these days at bedtime. Seb was on his knees now, swinging out a set of weights from under the bed. There had been no suggestion so far that Arnold was just not the right guy for such tools, no laughter, nothing. They had passed across an invisible division that Arnold had thought would lead to catastrophe of one kind or another.

He knelt to look at the stuff with Seb.

‘There’s instructions in here, paper ones,’ said the lad, ‘but nothing very useful. You mainly want to focus on how to fix these bad boys’ – he indicated the huge grey discs of various weights – ‘to these fuckers.’ The fuckers were long or short metal bars. ‘Everything beyond that, you need to read a book or two.’

‘Yeah. There’s, err, these Youtube videos…’

‘Well…’ Seb let out a sigh, a surprisingly adult sound from an eighteen year-old. ‘You can use those. Of course you can. Especially the really sick ones. I mean, the most professional ones, you know.’

‘You sound like there’s a problem somewhere.’

‘No, it’s just you need to get right into the science of these things,’ replied the young man, looking at him intently. ‘Diet, rest, macros…’

‘Sounds…’ Arnold didn’t want to say anything negative. ‘Sounds like you know what you’re talking about.’

‘I learnt the hard way,’ Seb replied. ‘Spent ages just messing about, eating randomly, resting whenever I liked.’

‘But you look…’ Arnold hesitated again. ‘I mean,’ he said, ‘you look, uh…’

Seb laughed shyly, looking down at his bulk. ‘Thanks, man,’ he said. ‘Takes a lot of commitment if you want to build something, you know – exceptional.’

‘It paid off, mate.’

Still kneeling, Seb flexed first one and then both biceps. It looked bizarrely like it took concentration. His face was screwed up, almost like he had looked when Arnold walked in the first time. He grabbed his left bicep with his right hand. Then he grabbed Arnold’s hand and put it on the hard muscle: he flexed it and Arnold could feel how it strained at the shirt fabric. There was even the sharp ‘click’ of a thread in the shirt’s shoulder busting.

‘Do you want that?’ asked Seb.

Arnold froze. ‘Want what?’

‘To build something big. Shredded. Like I say: exceptional.’

Arnold wasn’t sure what to say. He ran his finger and thumb over the peak of the bicep: Seb looked unconcerned, like this was only what he had expected. Arnold tried to encircle the entire arm which his hand, which was naturally impossible: he tried it again at the fore-arm and it still felt ridiculous. ‘Like you, you mean,’ he said.

Seb laughed, dropping his hands to rest on the cardboard packaging of the weights kit. ‘I’m not big, man.’

Arnold grinned. ‘I beg to differ.’

‘Not properly big,’ said Seb. ‘Not yet. Bigger than you, obviously. Bigger than my Dad, yeah. Bigger than any of the guys at school, even the gym freaks. Check. Bigger than some guys – some of them – at the gym, yeah. Bigger than all the guys at the gym? No way.’

‘Isn’t that enough? That’d be enough for me,’ said Arnold. ‘Stupid, skinny, pathetic me.’

‘Hey,’ said Seb, ‘Don’t say that. There’s nothing pathetic about being weak.’

‘Isn’t that a contradiction in terms?’

‘Not really,’ said Seb, with a laugh. ‘Look, you’ve got looks, man. And brains, I’m sure, from the way you talk. Getting big isn’t about being better than others. It’s about being the best. The best you can be.’

‘I’ve got a long way to go.’

‘You say that like it’s a bad thing,’ said the teenager. ‘You’re going to get strong. Shredded. Why be something you don’t want to be? I mean, fuck being soft. Fuck being small. Fuck being normal.’ He said the words so steadily, so aggressively, that Arnold couldn’t but assume it was some sort of mantra. Something Seb said as he cranked out his reps, or posed in front of his mirror. Bam, bam, bam…

‘What do your friends think?’ asked Arnold.

Seb didn’t answer the question. ‘Want to see more?’ he asked instead.

It felt rude to refuse.

Seb pulled up his shirt to show off his hard abs. ‘Like that?’

‘Of course. I’d love to have something that.’

‘Only a four-pack so far,’ said Seb, dismissively. He stood up so that he was towering over Arnold, the older man’s head level with the groin that he had so recently seen in the flesh. He balled up his fists, leant forward slightly, flexed again. Again the shirt fabric bulged and even gave out the noise of quiet ripping. ‘How are the triceps?’


‘I could get them up a few more inches, definitely. And there’s the body fat.’

‘What body fat?’

‘I just get hooked on bulking. I’ve been cutting lately, but obviously I’m not what I should be.’

‘You look amazing now.’ Arnold found that he was more relaxed than he had been in ages. It felt so good to be talking about the male body without someone laughing. To talk in an aspirational way, too. All this before him could be his. ‘Show off your – what are they called, your back muscles.’

‘Your lats. My lats, rather.’ He put his hands behind his head and the muscle flared like two great wings of flesh. ‘How’s that?’

‘Your shirt’s getting pretty torn,’ Arnold said. ‘Why don’t you just take it off for a minute?’

‘I’d love that,’ said Seb, unknotting his tie and throwing it on the floor. ‘I heard the doorbell ring and thought it might be you, so I just put on the first thing I could find in my wardrobe – but as you can see, it doesn’t really fit me anymore.’ His hands fumbled with the buttons. ‘Sorry – bit shy, I think.’

‘Don’t be,’ said Arnold, sitting on the bed.

‘Why don’t you help me out,’ said the teenager. ‘Take that t-shirt off so we can compare.’

‘Oh, I don’t know –’

‘Who even are Belle and Sebastian anyway? A singing duo?’

‘I’m still a bit shy about, you know, showing off my –’

‘Just take it off,’ said Seb, firmly. ‘Fuck, I’ve already ripped this at the shoulder and I’ve pulled a fucking button off now…’

‘Don’t worry,’ said Arnold, undressing. ‘Looks like the kind of shirt you won’t be wearing at University.’

Seb smiled. ‘Good point,’ he said, and just ripped the shirt off his body. It was already torn, and one good yank saw it reduced to a white rag. His body underneath it was flushed, smelling slightly of perspiration and Lynx deodorant. ‘Oh, that feels so much better. This is what you want, brah?’

‘Oh yeah,’ said Arnold, looking down at his scrawny hairy chest. ‘I’d love that.’

‘You could have it,’ said Seb. ‘A bit of research, a bit of hard work. Ah, let me show you my bi’s again, properly. Stand in front of me and do yours.’

‘Is that really necessary?’

‘Do it,’ said Seb, in the same voice of authority.

‘Alright…’ Arnold got up and did as he was told. ‘Fuck, I feel so small.’

‘That’s why I look big to you,’ said the hulking teenager before him, the picture of strength. ‘I must look like a giant.’ Exceptional, is the word he had used before. Arnold could almost imagine the words tattooed across the lad’s belly.

‘You do,’ he said. ‘A real life giant.’

‘But really I’m fucking small, man,’ said Seb, grabbing Arnold’s forearm in his big fist. ‘Can’t you see how much bigger I could get?’

Arnold looked at the hot hand on his arm. ‘Not trying to compensate for something, are you?’

Seb released Arnold in something like surprise. ‘You want to compare those too?’

‘No,’ said Arnold instantly, almost nervously.

Seb smiled a wicked smile. ‘Afraid you’re going to lose out?’

‘No,’ said Arnold, ‘it just feels a bit…’

He left the unspoken word hanging in the air. The pair of them looked at one another awkwardly, conscious now of their closeness, their half-nakedness, their excitement.

‘Your Dad won’t come in, will he?’ said Arnold.

‘He always knocks,’ said Seb.

‘Even so,’ said Arnold. 'Let's leave that sort of thing to the gays, right?'

Seb laughed. 'Dude, I wasn't being serious.'

Arnold forced a laugh too. 'I knew that.'

He sat down on the bed again. The duvet was warm from where Seb had been sitting, just ten minutes ago, happily wanking away. Arnold found himself thinking longingly back to that glimpse, trying to get a proper image of it clear in his head. He noticed that his own cock was hard in his jeans. Fuck, he thought, this is nuts. Where’s that t-shirt? ‘I’ll, uh, make you a mix-CD of Belle and Sebastian,’ he said, getting dressed again.

‘Sure,’ said Seb. ‘You could bring it round sometime and I’ll check your progression.’

‘That would be great,’ said Arnold. ‘Actually, if you want to come round to ours and show me how to – I don’t know, exercise and stuff…’

‘That would be cool,’ said Seb.

‘And update me on your progression,’ said Arnold. ‘I want to know how much bigger you can get.’

‘Right.’ Seb picked up a white t-shirt of his own off the floor, and pulled it on over his huge physique. ‘Need a hand carrying these out to your car?’

Of course Arnold did. In fact, Seb ended up carrying the thing himself single-handed – well, with both big arms scooping it up – which of course meant that he had to jog up the street to the corner and Arnold’s car, when the rain was coming down even harder than it had all day. You couldn’t even see individual drops. It was a shower, a waterfall. It made the real world distort like a dream. The houses of the street looked remote.

Seb shoved the weights on the floor in the back of the car, and sat inside looking past Arnold at the weather. ‘Give me a second to get my breath,’ he said.

Arnold slipped in next to him and closed the door. They were both sitting on the backseat, like Seb’s Dad was going to come out in a minute and drive them somewhere. Arnold was conscious of the wet shirt sticking to his own slender body, his narrow back, skinny arms.

He was more than conscious of the wet white-t-shirt fabric adhering similarly to his new friend. It made him look even more extraordinarily defined than in the house, even bigger, stronger, sexier. His nipples stood out like little studs in the semi-transparent material. Without thinking, Arnold reached out and brushed his thumb over one. It was hard under his touch. It made Seb’s eyes turn up in their sockets.

‘Fuck,’ he said, in that low bass purr of his. ‘Again.’

The thumb brushed back the other way. Water droplets oozed between his touch and the solid, resistant pectorals beneath.

‘Oh, that feels good, man. Try your mouth now.’

‘Through the –’

‘Don’t ask questions, yeah?’ said Seb. ‘We don’t have time. Don’t want Dad checking up on us.’

Arnold had to experiment. First he dragged his lower lip over the hard point, the bubbling wetness and the ridge of the chest muscle. Soft, then hard, back and forth, then sucking, but it was hard to get purchase. It was different to sucking his ex-wife’s tit. He went in quickly with the teeth. They slid on the fabric too, but it seemed to work right. Seb let out a noisy breath.

‘Keep doing that, man.’

Arnold felt stupid just tonguing the left nipple, so reached to touch the other, but Seb grabbed his hand and put it down by his side. Shit, he was fucking this up! What was he even doing? But oh, the nipple was so erect under his mouth, the left pectoral growing so warm, and Arnold was so into this. He detached, took a deep breath and began to suck and nibble the right one now, hoping that was okay.

‘That’s good,’ said Seb steadily. His pecs actually jumped with excitement under Arnold’s mouth. Arnold thought how much more flesh there was with Seb for him to stimulate and arouse.

Unthinkingly, he reached up with both hands to feel the size of Seb’s arms again. He froze, remembering the command from earlier, but this time there was no reaction. Seb must like this. He squeezed the upper arms, the shoulders, then the forearms, the huge wrists.

There was a sigh and a ‘Fuck,’ from the back of Seb’s throat. Then he was pushing Arnold away again. Was something wrong? He was scooting back on the car-seat, filling the narrow space. His head went back against the left-hand door handle. His eyes were on Arnold, and he looked almost angry.

‘Sorry,’ Arnold said, ‘I don’t know what I –’

‘Shh,’ said Seb, unbuttoning and then unzipping his trousers, shucking them down to his knees revealing huge, muscular haunches, then following it up with his jockey shorts, crisp, white and nicely ironed. His cock sprang free, hard, solid and pink. Rain pounded hard on the car roof. It should have been cold in the car, but their combined body heat made it bearable. Still, the older man was trembling.

He turned his eyes away from the hard cock to Arnold’s angry eyes. He was about to say he hadn’t done this before, to say about the thirty-odd years with his loving wife, when he remembered Seb’s terse words before. There wasn’t time to talk.

The taste reminded him vaguely of his wife, but the solidity of the flesh, the rigidity, the heft of it, were unlike anything he had tasted before. It was amazing to think that he was in charge of this young giant’s pleasure, like being the inspiration for a number one chart hit that was sweeping the nation. He felt every sweep of his tongue over the hard, shiny head echoed through stirrings in the bulk of Seb. He gobbled up the whole length of it and heard the low sigh move from the depths of that solid abdomen, through the hard mass of the chest, up the throat of that wide neck, out of that handsome mouth. A grunt like the one he had heard for a second before, when he interrupted the lad while he was lying on his bed.

Was that intentional? Had he prepared the old school uniform? Had he rehearsed the scene upstairs? Had Arnold been seduced? At his age?

‘Oh god,’ said Seb. ‘I feel bigger than ever.’

Arnold felt the huge, hard thighs while his face was bobbing up and down on Seb’s cock. Every time Seb felt truly aroused, he would tense fleetingly, and the flesh would become like steel under Arnold’s fingers. He searched further, feeling the arse: more solid than an arse had any right to be, but almost as he touched it, it hardened to granite.

Arnold experimented again. His fingers were still wet from the rain: he slid them into the younger man’s hot crack. Yes: granite, and a throaty snarl. It should have been impossible for Arnold to know what to do, but Seb’s body told him everything he needed to know.

He let the cock pop out of his mouth and rest on his chin. ‘Exceptional,’ he breathed, quoting Seb back to him.

Seb almost smiled. ‘You,’ he said, wanking his own dick now.


‘Brah,’ said Seb, ‘come up here and let me suck your cock.’

It was awkward in the small space of the car. Arnold had to put one foot down on top of the weights. (Mine now, he thought. I’m going to follow you, mate.) He unzipped his jeans and let his long dick stick out before thrusting it into Seb’s face. Thank god, he thought, the windows are fully misted up. I know where I am with this, he thought, and could almost imagine it was his ex-wife going down on him.

Except that in between mouthfuls Seb growled, ‘Tell me how much bigger I am than you.’ Which made Arnold feel like his dick was pulsing harder than it had been since he was a teenager himself.

‘You’re like a Greek statue,’ he said, ‘only inflated. You look so strong.’


‘You could pin me down with one hand.’

‘Oh! More, man.’

‘Your triceps are huge. Your abdominal muscles look sculpted.’

‘Tell me,’ said the teenager, spluttering on the older man’s hard dick, ‘More.’

‘You’re about four times the size of me,’ said Arnold. ‘And I love it. Next to you I’m so soft.’ The words slurred around as the pleasure of the blowjob travelled through his heart.

‘Yes,’ said Seb. ‘Fuck soft.’

Arnold froze. ‘You want me to fuck you?’ Can I do that? he wondered. Probably, said his inner voice. You’ve got history.

There was a pause. ‘Can you do that?’ said Seb. ‘It’s not what I meant, but yeah, I do.’

‘Don’t you want to fuck me instead?’ said Arnold. ‘I mean, you’re the big guy.’

‘And you’re the straight guy. Besides which, it’s my arse. Trust me, brah,’ drawled Seb, ‘you don’t get confused about this shit.’

It meant more shifting around in the back seat, but finally they arranged it so that Arnold was sat in the middle, and Seb lowered himself deliciously onto his erection. His thighs worked like pistons, and just as effortlessly. All the power melted from his face. He was helpless on Arnold’s hard dick. He began wanking himself again, his pecs bouncing in the wet t-shirt almost directly in Arnold’s eye-line.

‘Tell me,’ he said breathlessly. ‘Tell me more.’

‘I’m so small,’ Arnold said, looking down at his fat chest to the bush of his pubes, where Seb was bobbing up and down on his hard, rather longer (but he wouldn’t mention that now) prick.

‘Go back to the start,’ said Seb.

Arnold raked his fingers over the lad’s chest. ‘I’m so soft,’ he said, which was patently untrue in a significant way.

‘Fuck soft,’ moaned Seb.

‘I’m so small,’

‘Fuck small,’ groaned Seb from deep in his belly, wanking his dick harder than ever.

Arnold stared up at the handsome young face, contorted with pleasure. ‘I’m so normal,’ he gasped.

‘Fuck normal,’ said Seb. ‘Fuck – fuck – fuck…’

‘Don’t get it on my car seats!’ gasped Arnold, losing control himself.

For a few minutes they were both moaning with pleasure, chuckling, drawing breath. Then they were coughing and spluttering and gasping and trying to stand up. Arnold banged his head on the ceiling, as did Seb. There was a strange atmosphere between them now. Pleasure flooding through Arnold, the heat of his body and the cold rain-wet clothes. Cum running in splashes down his thighs.

‘Exceptional,’ he said, doing up his fly. Then his foot went in something sticky. ‘Oh, typical,’ he groaned. ‘Seb, you’ve only cum all over the fucking weights.’

‘Wouldn’t be the first time,’ the teenager smiled. ‘And as for the bars you thread the weights onto – well, there’s a reason they’re called fuckers, brah. All perfectly clean now, I assure you.’

He was poised in the doorway. Outside, the rain was just beginning to ease off.

‘I haven’t even paid you for them,’ said Arnold.

‘Oh,’ said Seb, ‘you’ve done fine.’

‘You’ll need cash if you’re off to University in the autumn.’

‘I’ll survive. But –’


Seb opened the door and stepped outside. ‘I’ll be in touch about coming over for some tuition. With the weights, I mean. Plenty of exercises still to try.’

‘I’ll make you that CD,’ grinned Arnold.

But his new young friend had already closed the door and was off up the street, getting smaller and smaller as he vanished into the distance, but still pretty much the biggest thing in view.

Fuck soft. Fuck small. Fuck normal, thought Arnold, lighting up a cigarette.


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Delightful! Thanks!

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38 minutes ago, arpeejay said:

Delightful! Thanks!

Good to know you liked it! It was based on a Youtube video by a young bodybuilder who is no longer online, sadly.

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I’d definitely like to see Seb become something truly exceptional...

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Ljackson wow how really completely masterful. Even more impressive than Sebastian’s triceps (with room for more inches), the whole piece is “impressive” (with the meaning you’ve clearly put on it in the story).  It’s the literary equivalent of Sebastian’s perfect body - nothing short of a beautiful, intentional creation.  

Still, Sebastian looks at his swollen perfection and unneedingly hungers for more. At least this reader here feels the same of what you’ve written.  It’s not a short story, it’s an opening chapter of a meaningful work.

Thanks for creating and sharing this.

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You gonna do a sequel

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That was pretty awesome 

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I would definitely like to see more chapters to this. It's an awesome story. Thank you for sharing 💪🏻💪🏻💪🏻

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