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m/m The Wall (chapter 27, added 9/14)

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You are an incredibly mean tease.

What a short chapter. Re-discovering his body and realising he somehow is changing, 

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The Wall, Chapter 19  “Carnal Knowledge”   After the kiss, we never made back to the Gala. Pup’s hotel was closer, but my suite was larger; so we opted for a ride back to the DeWitt. By the

My apologies for being a bit late with this posting. I had to cut pages from this chapter, and it may still be too long. Let me know if you think it needs more reworking. I'll post it for now and may

Here's the revised version. There are enough substantial changes that I think you'll enjoy it, even if you read the previous rendition. I've removed some of the unnecessary portions to help cut to the

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The Wall, Chapter 7 “Pup”

The first time I jacked off, I was a teen in a treehouse with a Superman comic book opened to an ad for a weighted wrist bands called “Muscle Builder Power” with a picture of Arnold Schwarzenegger’s flexed bicep filling the page. That image was so erotic to me. The mighty peak rose more than half-way to his fist and was slathered in oil and gleaming with power. I had noticed men’s muscles all my young life, but never before had I seen such a peak on such vulgar display. It was grotesque, and it was beautiful. Muscle. Power. I jacked with my left hand while flexing my right, imagining that the picture before me was actually my own arm. As I flexed harder, and I started to cum, my own smaller biceps reached a hard cramp in sync with my load. Climax while flexing. The connection was made. To me, a flexed biceps was the equivalent to a hard erection. To me, flexing and cumming were one and the same.

I have jacked off to that image or similar ones thousands of times, as well as to movies and stills of men with massive shoulders, wide backs, thick pecs, defined abs, round asses and tree trunk legs. Biceps and pectorals are favorites of mine, but I am attracted all parts of a man.

Once I recognized my fetish, I began to notice muscle everywhere. Increasingly, bodybuilders were becoming more visible in mainstream media and culture. Working out and building a muscular physique was no longer fringe. 

I became incredibly adept at spotting big men and sizing them up. I must have been constantly scanning. They were all over, and I became a virtuoso at determining if a man had muscle or not. I could spot a man in a crowd 30 paces away, wrapped up in a parka, and I could immediately sense the muscle under the clothes.

Unfortunately, these men remained fantasies to me. I felt that my fetish for muscle was unusual and extreme, and I was too embarrassed to discuss it  with anyone else. I could never muster the nerve to approach or be seen with big muscle men because I might spring an erection, and my secret would then be discovered. Even when I took up working out at the gym, it took me a long time to even enter the free weight room. When I finally did, I still shied away from the biggest guys. Even though they often caught me stealing side glances or watching their reflections through a series of mirrors, I could never do more than nod a hello.

In college I had a few encounters with boys who were a more than just fit, not massively built but well put-together and sometimes a little bit cocky. While making out or making love with them, I might feel up their pumped arms. Some of them would proudly flex, and I would cum every time. Mostly, however, these encounters were just with big boys, still struggling to become the real men I craved. I longed for a man slightly older than I, who was fully developed -- confident in themselves, big, warm and strong. 

I first spotted Max at a recruiting fair on campus the fall of my junior year. The fair was really for seniors, but juniors often attended to begin forming ideas about what they might want to do after school. Max was so handsome, and I could tell he was built, a mixture of Clark Kent and Don Draper rolled into one. His frame was tall and impressive. He looked manly and strong. My muscle radar sounded the alarm. Even a suit, I knew what was underneath.

He stood at a table under a sign that said Financial Systems, a Wall Street firm that was known for its early adoption of computer systems and analytics to optimize trading profits. Other kids were gathered around, and he seemed so relaxed and at ease. I wanted to walk over and meet him, but unfortunately my psyche was back in the gym, and I was too intimidated to approach, instead skirting the periphery and stealing side glances.  He was just so handsome and big, and I was afraid that I would say something stupid or do something to betray my attraction. 

After the job fair, I thought about Max a lot. For a year I dedicated myself to the gym and my studies, buffing up my body and my resume so that I would be ready to approach him at the job fair the next year. He was great motivation. I worked hard all year, and I was determined to meet and impress him.

The day of the job fair finally arrived in September of my senior year. I was well dressed and rehearsed, and I walked up to his table. My memory had not betrayed me. Max looked magnificent. His jacket was off, and his collar was open. Whisps of dark hair tickled the hollow at the base of his wide neck, and thick dark stubble covered his jaw and his chin. Dark hair peaked out from under his sleeve cuffs, covering the backs of his hands in an intricate swirling patterns. Those hands were amazing. I noticed no ring. 

He smiled warm and broadly and shook my right hand, offering a pamphlet with his left and making eye contact that lingered. The hand I was shaking was warm, meaty and big. I glanced at that hand and the swirling black hair and the sleeve, following it up to the biceps and deltoids it contained, set into motion with the act of our greeting. 

His grip was manly and firm. I felt it down to my cock. His smile was warm and infectious, and I found myself grinning back at him dreamily.

“Hi there. I’m Max Rayburn, Financial Systems, and you are…”

“Tom Baker, senior business major” I replied. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, sir.”

I started to speak. I had practiced what I would say for a year for god’s sake, but what came out of my mouth sounded like gibberish instead of my well-rehearsed script. Fuck! And then,… silence. I couldn’t think of the next thing to say. Cupid’s arrow must have injured my brain on the way to my heart, and I just stared at him dumbly, unable to speak. This first impression was not going so well.

Max started to chuckle. “You know, first interviews are always like this.”


“No. Not really. This one is starting out stranger than most, but you seem very earnest, and it’s probably just nerves. You can relax. I know I look intimidating at first, but I'm really a pussy cat. I won’t bite. I promise”

Then he added, “Um… just one thing. Would you mind returning my hand? I’d like to add your name and contact into to the roster.”

Oh my god. I was still holding his hand. I had waited for this moment for so long, with such anticipation, and he was so handsome and strong, and the pleasure of shaking his hand was so profound… that I had forgotten to let go of it. 

“Oh shit! Sorry, sir.” Then, when I thought things couldn’t get any worse, I jerked my hand away, in the process knocking over a pitcher of water onto the list of the names of the other seniors who had stopped by to meet him. 

“Well, that’s one way to get rid of the competition,” he said.

Then we both started to laugh, just lightly at first but then for some reason with increasing volume and decreasing inhibition. Eventually, we were laughing so hard that tears rolled down my cheeks, and Max was practically doubled over. Then he picked up the other water pitcher and emptied is contents on the list, too. “Competition eliminated!” 

More uproarious laughter ensued. People were staring. The scene must have seemed bizarre to other observers, but we continued to laugh, two overgrown children having fun at the park. The die was set. Somehow that odd first encounter had broken the ice and laid ground for a friendship that would blossom for decades.

 Fast forward five years…

My mind was a jumble. Max and I had been good friends and colleagues for a long time now, but we had never been sexual with one another. Sure, I had a mad crush on Max, and his muscular body turned me on to no end, but we had set safe boundaries early, never daring to damage our friendship by tearing down walls.

 Somehow, however, in the past 24 hours, our sexual relationship blossomed completely in no time at all. Somehow, in the past 24 hours, Max’s body, which had always been close to ideal, had pushed over the limit, now erupting with muscles that rippled and flexed with every movement and breath.. 

In the early morning light, I opened the door. Max stood flexing in front of the mirror, his arm in the same biceps pose I had cum to my very first time. He looked bigger than Arnold. The arm was tremendous, at least 21 inches or more, and the shoulder that attached it to his gigantic torso was enormous as well. When did he get so big?  

His giant back was so wide and his shoulders so broad that I they were unrecognizable as Max's. The sweep of his latissimus down to his slim waist was long and graceful but still powerful and thick. My hand found his glutes which flexed into granite. Then he relax, and I grabbed hold and massaged the firm globes of his butt. Spreading them slightly, my rising member rose up, coming to rest, the shaft deep in his crack and the head rising above. My precum pooled at the base of his spine I grasped his hips firmly and forcefully thrusted.

“Flex,” I said softly. His glutes solidified to stone again and again, massaging my member and sending waves of pleasure through my whole body. I reached around, my hands massaging his pecs. My finger found his nipples and twisted them gently. I lifted each pec and then let each one drop. They were heavy and dense. I measured their thickness, massaging the meat with my hands. “Flex,” I commanded, and they rose hard and high on his chest.

He turned around to kiss me hard on the mouth. Sucking and devouring, our tongues wrestling desperately with passion and lust. He dropped to his knees and took my hard dick into his mouth, sucking and pleasuring me while I massaged his high traps and round shoulders. When I reached down and grabbed is right forearm and began pulling it up, he sensed my desire. He flexed, placing the shaft of my cock in the crook of his arm, bending to a perfect right angle and flexing the wrist. He balled up his biceps again and again, erotically masturbating me with his giant arm. Ungh! Fuuuck!

In the back of my mind, I was back in the treehouse, a young adolescent with a comic book in hand, beating off wildly to the peak of the arm. Only now it was better. The arm was even more magnificent, warm and wide and strong, rising and falling as it masturbated my dick. It was part of a man whose entire physique was just as impressive, whose big shoulders and neck I massaged in my hands.

I was reaching my climax, the second one of the morning. My balls pulled up, and I whispered, “Harder.” Max dove on my hard dick, taking it all in his mouth. He then raised both arms into a double biceps pose and flexed as hard as he could. I put my hands his biceps, and with additional effort the peaks rose even higher, filling my hands and spreading my fingers as I came down his throat. 

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Up to "in college" you were writing a variation of my autobiography! Thanks! 😁😁😁

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9 minutes ago, arpeejay said:

Up to "in college" you were writing a variation of my autobiography! Thanks! 😁😁😁

I think we’ll all find something familiar here. 

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Part 3 - What an AWESOME workout session!  Amazing!  
Terrific writing, Maxum!

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4 hours ago, Maxum said:

I think we’ll all find something familiar here. 

I agree!  I just read up through Chapter 7, "Pup" - I have to agree with RPJ - you've totally captured and accurately expressed the whole muscle love/lust/fear/desire situation for many of us.  Even your description of being afraid in the weight room for fear you'd "do something stupid" -  yes, totally!

I am amazed you are a first time contributor here.  Your writing is very skillful and evocative!  Thank you for sharing with us. 

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Thanks again everyone for your words of encouragement. I think it's time to get the boys out of The Locker if they can escape without having more sex. Expect a few new characters and some twists and turns. I've accessed the profiles of members who have responded to this thread, and you may recognize some of your ideal stats and fetishes showing up in the story. Bygones to those of you who's kink I can't work into this story. I don't want to dilute it too much or get further off track, and we'll eventually have to come to an ending. In the meantime, I hope you're enjoying.


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What about that wall that is being built back home?  How is that wall progressing so rapidly --- How many men/ WHO is building that wall?  

What about the initial visitors Eric and Lars?  Will we see them again ?


The plot thickens!  And so does our alpha hero, Max Rayburn! 

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The Wall, Chapter 8 “Rain”

Angelo, Pup and I said our goodbyes after giving The Locker a cursory cleaning. The firm’s housekeeping staff would still be able to smell the sex we had there, but our cum was wiped from the mirrors and walls, and the apartment was otherwise intact. Angelo headed off  to his family’s restaurant to take delivery of stock for the day, and Pup dressed for the office while I prepared for a quick trip home to shower up and prepare for the day.

On the way to my car, dressed from my workout the previous evening, I ran into Daphne who grinned at me slyly and scanned me from bottom to top. “Lookin’ good, boss. Those suits you wear at the office sure hide a lot. You better be careful. If you observed dress code on casual Fridays, it might start a riot.”

“Thanks, Daph. It’s just a good pump.” Then jokingly I added, “Remind me to nominate you for the head of HR.” 

She chuckled. “I could turn that place around.”

“Hey, I’m headed out to the island for a quick shower and change and to see what’s going on with my garden project. What’s my afternoon like? I’m guessing that with this storm, my schedule must be a mess.”

“Your 2 pm canceled, and I cleared the rest of your day. Drive home safely, and have fun in your garden. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

As I got in my car, my phone buzzed in my hand. The security app was letting me know there was activity at home. I went to the live view, but all I could see was a pelting gray downpour and the vague outline a lone worker bent over the stone pile. He was clad in a rain poncho, obviously big but mostly obscured. I assumed he was picking out stones to fill a wheel barrow to take to the wall. When he stood up, however, he held two large stones, one in each hand, which he effortlessly carried to the wall and set them in place, wedging them firmly and securely.

The stones were placed gently and then pounded by hand. In step with the pounding, I felt a beat deep in my chest. Pounding and pounding, he placed rock after rock, working expertly and quickly.  Energy built deep inside me. I felt like a freight train being stoked for its task. My muscles were twitching, and my cock was full mast.

What was this sensation? The wall seemed to beckon. I felt a strong urge to get home. I need to see it and put my hands on the stone. 

It was still raining lightly in Manhattan as I left, but about the time I merged onto the Long Island expressway, the rain and wind suddenly intensified to near gale force. It was a good thing the airports had gone on divert. The storm was ferocious.

Traffic slowed to a crawl and eventually stopped completely near Elmhurst. Flashing lights and sirens indicated a problem ahead. Somehow I sensed it and felt a strong urge to get out of my car and run to the sight. A truck had turned over, not completely on its side,  and a car was wedged underneath. Strong winds rocked the trailer. I could hear the sounds of metal screaming. The car’s roof was holding, but it wouldn’t last long. 

The car door was partially buckled and jammed shut by the weight of the truck. A woman in the car was struggling frantically to shove the door open, but it would not budge. The car’s roof was beginning to collapse as the wind rocked the truck. In a moment of panic, I rushed to the car door. I pulled with all my might, and I felt it give just a bit. I redoubled my efforts. It was just me and the door. I pulled with my thighs and my back and my glutes and my arms. I could feel the muscles tearing and rebuilding the harder I tried. I was growing again. I felt the door give.

A few minutes later I was standing in the rain not 10 feet from the sedan that had been crushed by the truck. I didn’t remember exactly what happened. A woman was sobbing hysterically, hugging my waist, my arm over her shoulder, my body bent over to protect her from the wind and the rain. 

A firefighter ran over and took the woman away, wrapping a blanket around her shoulders and escorting her to a waiting ambulance. The fire captain then came over to me.  “How did you do that? Six of us pulling couldn't open that door, and the jaws of life had buckled and failed when put to the task. You saved her life!”

I looked at the ground, and I looked at my hands. I just stood there in silence. I didn’t’ answer. I couldn’t answer. I didn’t know. I just walked to my car and started the engine. The traffic was moving again, and I wanted to go home.

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