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


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Hey guys, thanks for the encouragement. As a first time contributor, I'm learning a lot about writing as this story unfolds. Reading back over earlier chapters, I see all the errors committed early on, and I'm sure I'll find plenty of faults in the more recent installments when I read over them, too. It's the fact that you're enjoying the ride that keeps the experience of learning so publicly less cringe-worthy. Thanks to everyone who helps provide us this forum, and thank you for continuing this journey with me. Chapter 13 should be forthcoming soon.

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The Wall, Chapter 13 “Josh”

 0630 hours: My car to JFK would be arriving in less than 10 hours. Normally, I wouldn’t even blink at the task of preparing for a departure so far out, but today was different. First, I was about to fly across the Atlantic, surprise Pup with my visit and spring the news on him that I was totally and utterly in love with him, even though we had never really had any conversation close to that before. Second, I was probably more than 100 pounds heavier than the last time I had donned my tuxedo, and I was going to need a perfectly fitted new set of threads by 4 pm if I were going to pull off my plans to woo Pup. I doubted I was anything close to an off-the-rack size anymore; so the task of procuring some new clothes seemed daunting. Come to think of it, I doubted that anything in my entire house would fit except for some socks and maybe my robe.

 Well, I needed to at least try to find some clothes that fit. I went to my closet and pulled my suitcase off the top shelf. Strangely that shelf didn’t seem so high anymore, and then I realized that everything else in the closet seemed lower as well. I must have grown a few inches in addition to packing on pounds of muscle. My trepidation grew. This was probably going to be an even bigger challenge than I expected. 

I removed my first shirt from the hanger and started to dress. When the sleeve hit my shoulder, the seam snagged and ripped. I bent my elbow, and the fabric over my biceps gave way. I hadn’t even flexed, and the shirt sleeve was shredded. I looked in the mirror and chuckled. I looked like a giant wearing a shirt that looked 10 sizes too small. I ripped off the rest of the fabric and studied myself. Holy moly. I was now in a category beyond huge. I must have been 6’5” and well over 300 pounds, and I looked like sex on stick. My neck was as thick as the mast of a ship covered in cables, and my traps where rounded and high. My shoulders, chest and arms were incredibly thick, and my midsection was tight and defined. My thighs were a collection of striated serpents framing a set of lemon sized balls and a cock that measured at least 11 x 8.5, probably more fully hard. The sight of myself in the mirror was causing the giant to awaken and rise. In a relaxed pose, my reflection was enough bring my cock to full mast. I hit a few cursory poses and started to drip. Then I flexed a full double biceps and sprayed the mirror with jizz. The harder I flexed, the larger and more defined my muscles became and the harder I shot. My body was flexing and cumming and growing in a cycle of unending feedback. It was intoxicating, and it was addictive, but thoughts of Pup interrupted the loop and rescued me from the monotony of perpetual self-satisfaction. The cum torrent ended, and I lowered my arms. Yep, getting ready by 4 was going to be a challenge. 

I wiped down the mirror and jumped in the shower. I washed and I washed. There was just so much of me. Luckily, the shower was outfitted with sprayers from the ceiling and 3 walls; so I was able to get cleaned up quickly without getting too side-tracked in another self-worship frenzy.

Dried off and just barely dressed in my bathrobe, I realized I was now a prisoner in my own home. No shoes. No clothes. I was stumped. I needed a friend to come to the rescue, but Pup was away, and ever-dedicated Daphne was probably already at the office.  That left only a handful of options, and only John and Ernie were both geographically near enough and dear enough friends to call on a Wednesday at 7 am.

“Hello, John?”

“Maxie! Good morning, love. It’s early. What’s going on?”

“I know, John. I hope I didn’t wake you. I’m in a bit of a bind…”

“No, no, dear. We've been up for hours. What's up? You sound absolutely panicked, Max. Are you in trouble? You’re not calling from jail, are you?”

“No, no, John. I’m at home. I’m fine, but I need a big favor.”

“Of course! Anything you need, Max. Ernie and I are always here for you. It isn’t the mob, is  it? Do you need money?”

I chuckled, “No, no, John. It isn’t the mob, and you know I don’t need any money. "

"Well, dear, if it isn't jail or the mob, then what pray tell is it?"

“I… umm… I need some new clothes.”

“Ohhhkaaayyy…” I could hear John in the background whispering to Ernie that I was talking gibberish about some fashion emergency and must have taken some drugs or something. “Let me put you on speaker, Maxie. I want Ernie to hear all of this, too.”

My voice started to crack, “I know it sounds strange, but there’s nothing in the house I can wear, and I can’t go out naked, and I’m in love with Pup, and I need to get a tuxedo and go to Amsterdam. I just don’t see how I can get it all done by 4:00, and …”

I could hear John saying something else about drugs in the background, and Ernie cut off my melt down. “Max, Max! Listen to me. Everything is going to be just fine. Do not go outside naked. You stay right where you are! We are on our way over. Just hang up the phone and don’t do anything until we get there.”

 I hung up the phone. John and Ernie sure sounded odd, but I suppose I probably sounded out of my mind. Well, I couldn’t worry about that now. They were on their way over, and they could see for themselves in a few minutes. In the meantime, I stripped the sheets from the bed and wrapped them around the parts of my body my robe couldn’t cover. The modified toga looked like a ridiculous full body diaper, but at least I was decent. 

The front doorbell rang, and I heard Ernie and John let themselves in.

“Ma-ax. We brought you some coffee. Where are you?”

“I’m in the sun room. Come on back.”

I heard Ernie say to John, “What is that smell. It smells like cookies and sex…”

“Don’t inhale. It’s probably what he’s been smoking…”

They appeared at the door. 

“Maxie, we’re here. Now what’s this about? Why the big panic, dear? What have you been up to? Are we a little bit high?”

I motioned for them to stay where they were, across the large sun room from me. “Thank you for coming. As you can see, I’m fine. I haven’t been smoking anything or taking anything, and, well, it’s hard to explain.” 

 I rose from my chair and stepped into the a clear area in the center of the room. “I’ve gone through some changes in the past several days.” I was still wrapped in the ungainly mass of sheets and a robe, but I had their attention. By now, they could see I was larger. Ernie slowly sat down, and John whispered, “Oh my god … he’s bigger.” 

“Look at his feet…” said John.

“…and his neck,” said Ernie.

The sheets fell slightly away slightly, revealing my traps and the tops of my pecs.

“Oh my god, Max, what’s happened?”

John’s crotch visibly twitched, and Ernie’s hand went to his bulge. I swallowed hard, and a ripple of flexes descended my jaw to my collar. 

“I don’t actually know, but I think it has something to do with that wall in my garden. I’ve been having these visions or dreams of the stone mason, and I keep getting stronger and bigger.”

“H-h-h-how big are you now?” asked John.

“Um, I’m not sure, but I’d estimate that I’m about 6’5” or 6’6". My scale tops out at 350 lbs; so I know I’m at least that, and I'm 10 times stronger than I look. You know I wanted to get bigger. So, I'm not complaining, but I can’t fit in any of my clothes anymore. Thus the emergency call this morning. With nothing to wear, I am trapped in my house unless I go out in this ridiculous toga, and I don’t think the people of Nassau County are quite ready for that.”

“Okay, Maxie. It’s alright. John and I are here to take care of you. We’re going to help you out and get you some clothes. 

“You also said some things about a tuxedo and Pup and Amsterdam…?”

“Oh yeh. Well, in the midst of all that’s happened, I think I’ve discovered I’m in love with Pup…”

John said to Ernie half under his breath, “Well, it's about time.”

I continued, “And I need to go to a formal gala event at KPNG in Amsterdam to sweep Pup off his feet and make him fall in love with me, too.”

Ernie replied, “You know, Max, I think you’re making this more complicated than it needs to be. We’ve known you and Pup have been in love with each other since the first time you mentioned his name and the first time you brought him to swim at our pool. You should see the way you two look at each other. We couldn't be happier. We adore Pup. We could never understand why the spark between you didn’t ignite before now. It was as if there was an invisible barrier stopping you both. If you want to sweep Pup off his feet, all you have to do is say ‘Boo.’” 

“Yeh, I think I know that already, but I want it to be special when I tell him, and he must be so devastated by my confession of love that whatever has kept us apart for this long will be overcome,…”

“…and you will live happily forever after. Yeh, yeh, yeh. Blah, blah, blah. Whatever. You’re going to live happily ever after only if you love, honor and cherish him till death do you part. That’s that part that makes it all work. The happily ever after part has nothing to do with the sweeping him off his feet part. It's been clear for ages. You’re both already swept. Maxie, are you sure you’re ready to make the other part of the commitment?”

“Absolutely, with all of my heart. I love Pup, and I'm in love with Pup. I just want to sweep him off his feet, too. He deserves that. Everyone wants that.” I was pleading.

John nodded, and Ernie nodded as well. “Okay, then I guess we’ve got a lot of work to do between now and your flight. Let’s get started.”

John did his research and by 10:00 had found the best big and tall shop on Long Island called Josh’s, about 30 minutes away. The owner was a former competitive bodybuilder, and his online testimonials included pictures of some other big muscle guys. On the phone, Josh promised he could help us assemble a wardrobe, maybe even the tux. We just confused him a bit by not knowing any of my sizes or measurements. John assured him I needed whatever largest size he carried or larger.

He just laughed in reply, “Yeh, buddy. I’ve heard that before. No one’s as big is they think.”

 I heard John say, "We'll see..." and hang up.

John and Ernie loaded me into the back the delivery van from their flower shop, and by 10:30, we pulled up to Josh’s. The sign out front said open, but there was no one in sight. At least there wasn’t a crowd. Ernie went in for reconnaissance and came back in a flash. Josh had agreed to hang out the closed sign until noon if we promised to purchase at least $1,000 of merchandise or anything that looked good that Josh had in my size.

Ernie said, “He’s a big guy, too, Max, but you’ve got him by at least 50 pounds I’d say, at least from what I can tell with you in your frock and all.” He put extra emphasis on the word “frock,” and we all cracked up. For just a brief moment, we were just silly friends cracking up in a van. Leave it to Ernie to kill apprehension with humor. I loved him for that. I finally exhaled for the first time that day and started to feel like everything would to be alright after all.

We made the mad dash from the van and entered the shop. Josh was probably 15 years older than I, and as reported by Ernie, he was a big guy – maybe 6’4”, 280#, all seasoned muscle and definitely one of my preferred flavors. As usual, whenever confronted by a man such as Josh, I felt a surge in my junk. I didn’t get hard, but it felt like I was getting ready to get hard. I’m glad I didn’t have time to really consider his physique, or we might have all born witness to my hair-trigger monster. 

 Ernie and John and I must have looked ridiculous to Josh – two well-dressed florists with interesting eyeglasses and one oaf of a man tripping over his wraparound toga. He turned the sign from open to closed and locked the front door.

Ernie introduce John and me, and Josh looked at me, befuddled.

“Why’re ya all wrapped up, kid? Let’s see what we’re working with here. Off with the covers.”

“I, um, I’m not wearing anything underneath.”

“Don’t worry, kid. I’ve worked the bodybuilding circuit for 30 years. There’s no room for modesty backstage. If you’ve got it, I’ve seen it a million times. Believe me. You’re no more special than anybody else.”

I heard Ernie whisper to John, “We'll see…”

So I stood to full height. A little surprised, Josh look up at me. At his height, I guessed looking up was something that he didn’t do often. Then, I began to untie the sheet. Just the work of my fingers and hands on the knots set the muscles of my forearms in motion and transformed them into masses of cables that were writhing like snakes.

Josh swallowed hard. “You got some definition, kid.”

In another minute, all the knots were untied. I turned to face Josh and let the sheet fall from my body. Now mind you, I was still clad in a somewhat undersized bathrobe, but the evidence was clear. Josh knew he was looking at a body that was truly one in a billion, but he tried not to let on. His voice cracked a bit when he asked, “Um. You ever compete, kid? I think with a good trainer, you might do alright.”

I shook my head no, and I flexed my pecs absentmindedly. The whole robe rippled and rustled, and Josh let out a low whistle. 

“Okay, kid. It’s show time. Off with the rest of it. Let’s see what ya got.

So I untied the terrycloth belt, and the robe front fell open. My cock and my hollowed out abs were still cast into shadow from my thick chest above, but Josh got a look and he quietly said, “Jesus Christ, kid. I ain’t never seen nothin’ like that. How did you…” 

I took a deep breath and the robe opened further. Josh just fell silent. I shrugged my shoulders, and the robe fell to the floor.  

“Holy fucking mother of god, kid. I ain’t never seen anything more beautiful in my whole life. What are you taking?” 

I shrugged, sending another wave of rippling flexes across my physique. “It’s just me.” 

I stood at attention, looking straight ahead, the relaxed post – chest high, shoulders back, lats flared, abs tight, quad/hamstrings/glutes flexed. John and Ernie were behind me, and I heard them both gasp. 

Josh was in front. He just reached out his left hand and placed the open palm on my deltoid. Then he placed his right hand on my left shoulder blade and made a single swipe across the expanse of my back, the way a horse trainer might run his hand down the flank of a thoroughbred. His hand came to a stop at the small of my back, resting atop my right glute. Then he continued the motion over the curve of my rump. I flexed. I felt him finger the striations of my glutes, and then he squatted, and his hand followed the curves of my hamstrings and calves down to the floor. He was inspecting, and I was being inspected. It was very intimate, but there was nothing sexual in his gesture. Still, being the object of such admiration was starting to have its effects on my manhood. I could feel myself plumping even though I was doing everything in my power to keep the lust demons at bay. 

Josh stood up, and I took in a deep breath. The lust spell was broken for now. 

He grasped my left deltoid and gave it a hard squeeze.

“Geez, kid. You’re as big as a house, and you’re solid as a rock. How much did you say you weigh?”

“I didn’t. I don’t really know, sir.”

“Okay, we’re gonna need to weigh you and take some measurements.” Then he nodded behind me to where John and Ernie were sitting, “I think your friends might want to wait in the car if they don’t want to mess up their clothes.” I looked over my shoulder. They were just staring like zombies with big tents in their crotches. “You’re having like an effect on them, and I don’t want to think what might happen when we start flexing and measuring you.”

Ernie san out, “We were already leaving,” grabbing John’s arm, a John who was reluctant to leave, and dragging him out the door. “We’ll be in the car gossiping voraciously until you two are through.”

Josh relocked the door.

“Okay, kid. Let’s get to it. Back against the wall here. Stand tall and straight. Your heels on the floor? Okay got it – 78 inches, that’s… 6’6”.

“Now, get on the scale.” He slid the large counterweight to 250 – no movement, 300 – no movement, 350 – no movement. “This thing only goes up to 400. Above that, we gotta go out to the loading dock.” He then slid the smaller counterweight up the scale, and at 49 pounds, it started to balance. It came to center right at 50 lbs.

Josh said it out loud, “400 pounds even,” and it sunk in for both of us.

“400 pounds is fuckin’ insane, kid, and from the looks of you, I’m guessing your body fat is less than 5-6 percent. Somebody’s gotta be punkin’ me. You come in at 400 pounds, you are built like a god and you are competition ready, but you’ve never competed and you don’t have any clothes. It just doesn’t make sense.”

“I know, but it’s all true,… er, except the punking part. Look, Josh, I don’t know quite what happened, but I’ve been working out for my whole life. I just never got really big until now. My body just suddenly seemed to catch up to all the work I’ve put into it.”

“And that?” he queried, nodding to my crotch…

“… just kept up with the rest,” I replied.

“Well, I wouldn’t have believed your kind of muscular development was even possible a few days ago, but there was a guy in here last week, called himself Mason, every bit your size, only blockier like me. He told me you’d probably be coming in for some things and I should take care of you. He had me order some clothes and shoes that would fit, and he seemed to know more about your size than you know yourself.”

“Mason,… yeh, I know the guy. Never really talked to him, but he’s been doing some work at my house.”

“Yeh. Solid guy. Not much for words. Said he was training you, or something… Said he was… helping you ‘to become.’ Yeh, that was it. He wanted me to give you a message.”

Josh went back in the storage room and pulled out a large box marked “Max.” It was filled to the top with shirts and pants and shoes and underwear and socks, a few shiny posers and jock straps and a satiny black jacket that could actually pass for a tuxedo with the right pants, shirt and bow tie. I was blown away. On top it all sat a small, sealed, white envelope, the same size use by florists for cards sent with flower arrangements. On one side was written only my name “Max.” On the other side, it said, “Open Thursday night, just after the 12th stroke of midnight.”

I put down the card, and I wondered.

Josh added, “He said it was important.”

“Thanks, Josh. Hey, do you think we really need to take my measurements for these clothes? I could just try them on.”

“You know. I’ve been in this business for a long time. There’s really no need to measure. They’re gonna fit fine. You’re gonna look like a million bucks, kid, but…” he paused.

“But?”

“But if you’re up for it, I still wanna take down your stats. I ain’t never seen a body like yours, and I’m guessing I’m not gonna run across one again in this life. It ain’t no queer shit or nothin’, but I love the male body, and when I look at you, it makes me believe in god or sumpt’n. You're like an angel. I'd like to outfit you with some giant wings."He paused and again looked up at me. "There’s a posing room in the back of the store, and I gotta tape measure with you name all over it. Whadaya say, kid?”

“Posers or not?”

“Are you kiddin’ me, kid? Not a thread. You can’t cover any of that up.”

“I don’t know how I’ll react to the measuring and touching. I really like to be touched. There’s no guarantee I won’t bone up and spray jizz on your mirrors.”

“Same here, kid. No guarantee. Same here.”

“John and Ernie?”

“They can wait in the car.”

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arpeejay

STATS!

You're gonna give us STATS!

I don't know how I'm gonna last!

THANK YOU!!

 

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Maxum
29 minutes ago, arpeejay said:

STATS!

You're gonna give us STATS!

I don't know how I'm gonna last!

THANK YOU!!

 

 

29 minutes ago, arpeejay said:

You're gonna give us STATS!

I don't know how I'm gonna last!

Patience, RPJ!  I pulled the 400 lb stat right off your very own profile.  More data is coming... It just gives me such a hardon to keep yanking your chain.

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arpeejay
7 hours ago, Maxum said:

 

Patience, RPJ!  I pulled the 400 lb stat right off your very own profile.  More data is coming... It just gives me such a hardon to keep yanking your chain.

"My chain brings all the boys to the yard!" Or something! 😂😂😂

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Maxum

(Dedicating this one to RPJ.)

The Wall, Chapter 14 "The Measure of a Man"

Thirty minutes later, I emerged from Josh’s, smartly dressed in some khakis, a blue button down shirt and a pair of black size 14 lace-ups. Every piece of clothing was highly tailored to compliment my physique, accentuating the narrowness of my waist, the breadth of my shoulders and roundness of my ass without calling too much attention to my size. Still, I was more than double the weight of an average man, and there was really no hiding it. I was still big, but I was more elegantly packaged.

I hopped in the back of the van, and Ernie cooed with approval.

“Preppy! I love it.”

John said, “I still think he looks better naked. He looks better naked than anyone on earth. I don't see why we have to cover him up.”

“Well, we can’t have him traipsing around Long Island naked, and they certainly wouldn’t allow it at JFK. At least now he won’t incite riots.”

“Or cause every human being to ejaculate at first sight.”

I chuckled, “Don’t worry, John. These are my travel clothes, designed to be subtle. There are plenty of sexy clothes in this box. In fact, there’s a pair of button fly jeans that hug my ass so tight and crawl so far up my ass crack that I tasted denim when I tried them on.”

John’s eyes just glazed over.

“Max! Stop teasing him. You’ll give him a seizure!” Then he asked, “So you and Josh got along?”

I knew what he was asking. I had remained in the store for over an hour after Ernie and John had been banished to wait in the car. Josh was a  good-looking, big, muscly man, and he wasn’t the least shy about handling and admiring my body.

“You still feel committed to Pup?”

“Of course, I do, Ernie. Josh was just interested in my body from a professional perspective. The guy’s totally straight – wife, Kids, even a grand kid. We were just talking shop.”

Truth be told, Josh was totally straight, basically a Kinsey 0, but our trip to the posing room to inspect and to measure had turned into a 45 minute session of tantric edging for both of us. Being measured by another bodybuilder was a longtime fantasy of mine, and having it be a man with Josh’s physique, maturity and expertise was almost too much. Just the act of entering the room full of mirrors and turning on the lights had my cock past half mast. The reflection of my newly enhanced body had me full mast and dripping in seconds.

 Josh followed me in, pulling the door closed behind him. Taking one look at my state, he said, “I know, Kid. You probably have more testosterone in your body than a whole city of men. I’ve injected all kinds of androgens into myself and my friends over the years, and sometimes the hormonal rage wins. You just can’t control it. You got nothin' to be ashamed about here, especially with that piece of equipment you got there. That thing is a beast. It’s fucking beautiful.”

He then stripped down himself, all the way to his socks, and piled his clothes in the corner.

“Like I said, Kid, this ain’t no queer shit on my part, but you’re radiating a scent or something that’s turned all my burners on high. I’m 57 years old, and even I might go off like a rocket when you start flexing. Just taking precautions. 

“Now let’s get down to business. We'll start with your wrist measurement. It’ll give us a starting point so we can compare your actual stats to your body ideal. You ever heard of the golden ratio?”

I shook my head no.

“The golden ration is an ancient idea that physical beauty in all things can be calculated and measured based on a ratio of 1.618:1 relating the different measures of a structure,  a perfect human form, hell - even the shell of a sea creature. You’re going to blow that ratio out of the water.”

He wrapped my left wrist with the tape and recorded the measurement: “9.25. You got some bone structure, Kid.”

Okay, according to the chart, your ideal measurements based on your wrist size are:

Forearms: 17"

Arms: 23"

Shoulder circumference: 78"

Chest circumference: 60"

Waist: 36"

Neck: 23"

Calves 23"

Thighs: 28"  

"Okay kid, let's check your forearms." He wrapped the tape around my unflexed forearm: "Unflexed 18".”

“Okay now flex for me.”

I made a fist and the veins began to engorge. Then I extended my fingers and made a fist again and rolled my wrist, and the muscle bellies came to life, shifting and expanding. I flexed my wrist into a 90 degree angle and the tape stretched to 23”.

“Jesus Christ, Kid!” He cross checked my right arm, and it was exactly the same.

Josh wrote down the numbers and said, “Okay, we’ll save biceps for last. Let’s move onto your waist.”

He put the tape measure around my waist, carefully maneuvering it under the hardon that was plastered against my abs.

“Waist: 32½ ”. “

“Next Shoulders.” He put the tape around my shoulders at their widest point: “Shoulder circumference: 102”.” 

“Chest circumference: 77“ relaxed, 83” expanded and flexed.”

“Thighs: 35½” relaxed, 39” flexed.”

“Calves: 29."

Neck: 29."

“Well, Kid, that just leaves your arms. Moment of truth. A lot has been made about mass, symmetry and muscularity, and god knows you’ve got all of those in spades. However, a man is most often judged by the size of his arms.” He held out the tape. “You ready?”

“You want my elbow bent or straight?’

“Straight. Just let your arm fall relaxed at your side. Lift it up just a bit so I can work the tape measure between your arm and your torso, then let it fall limp.”

I raised my arm  up just a little and felt his hands and the tape measure encircle my biceps. The touch was inviting, and the urge to flex was hard to suppress. Josh kept fiddling with the tape, sawing in back and forth in the crevice between my arm and my chest wall as if he was trying to smooth out a twist or a kink. He measured it 3 or 4 times. The he wrote down a number without saying a word.

“Okay. Let’s check the other side relaxed next.”

I bent my arm just a bit and felt the tape measure tighten. “You don’t want me to flex this side first since the tape’s already in place?”

With the slight bend in my elbow, my arm had started to expand. Josh’s hands still encircled my arm and were absentmindedly massaging and kneading it.

“Uh! No! No, not yet. Oh please god.” The panic in his voice got my attention. “I mean, I need to check both sides first. I don’t trust my relaxed measurement of your right arm; so, I need to compare it to the left.”

I recognized Josh's panic. He had saved measuring my arms for last, and like me, he must have a fetish for big biceps and triceps. In my mind’s eye, I was transported back to the first time I came to a flexed biceps. I was 18 years old and just beginning to develop enough muscle myself to attract a more muscular guy in his 20s. I remembered the buildup of massaging and rubbing his relaxed biceps and triceps while we kissed, and I remembered how much I wanted him to flex his arms for me. "Oh man. Fuck! Your arms are so big. Flex just a little, but don't flex too hard. I don't want to cum yet. You'll totally drive me over the edge."  I also delayed him as long as I could so that the experience would not end too soon, even though I really wanted him to really flex and show off. It was totally schizophrenic, and eventually, he got bored with the game and just flexed. His big biceps popped up like a baseball, I came, and it was over. But I was hooked. Now 24 years later, I could still conjure the image of his flexed arm and bring myself off, even though I’ve experienced many much larger arms and many more erotic muscle worship sessions since.

I let my right arm fall to my side without flexing it, and we repeated the same steps on the left. After measuring, re-measuring and rechecking, Josh again silently recorded a number on the page.

“Well?”

“It’s the same. It’s exactly the same.”

“AND?!”

“24 – relaxed.”

“Hell yeh! Okay, come on, man. Let me flex it.”

“I don’t know if I can hold back, Kid.”

“Seriously, Josh? Look at me! I’ve been boned up like this for nearly an hour with you fondling and measuring me and writing down stats. You said it yourself: I've got more testosterone in my body than a whole city of men. I’m totally on the brink. Don’t you think I’m going to blow all over the place myself when I flex?”

He replied, “I don’t know, Kid. It’s almost better not knowing…”

“That’s bullshit, Josh. We’re doing this, and you're gonna love it, and I'm gonna love it even more.”

I bent my elbow slowly, just a bit at first, and the muscles expanded. The tape and Josh’s hands remained on my arm as it grew. Even unflexed, the muscles were as  firm as most men’s arms are flexed. As I bent my elbow further, Josh’s breathing grew ragged. His fingers and hands separated, and I could feel inches of tape unreeling to encircle my arm.  At 90 degrees and still unflexed, my biceps and triceps looked massive. The tape stretched to 26 inches. I slowly rotated my arm at the shoulder and brought my elbow to the level of my shoulder with my extended fingers pointing to the ceiling. It was time. Slowly, I made a fist, and I started to flex. My biceps rose as my triceps deepened and the tape measure unfurled: 26½,… 27,… 27½ inches. I flexed slightly harder, and the tape jumped past 28”. Josh’s hands and whole body were starting to shake, so I took control of the tape and continued to measure, increasing the force of my flex until the skin stretched shiny across the double-peaked mountain. The tape stretched tight at 291/4". My arm was shaking, and the warm room reeked of male sweat and testosterone. Flexing harder and harder, the shape of my biceps grew more angular and grotesque, and the definition of my forearms, biceps and triceps deepened. The muscles looked harder, but the tape barely budged. Then the ball of my biceps reddened, and the already visible veins grew larger and new veins appeared. The pump was coming. The tape slid to 293/8.

I strengthened my effort, "Arrrrghhh!” 

I straightened my arm and re-flexed it: 29½. 

I relaxed for a minute and shook the flex out.

I flexed it again: 29 5/8 

Relax.

Then, for the last time, with all of my might, I flexed as hard as I could, focusing all of my power and masculinity into that arm. I felt it grow.

I roared again, “Arrrrghhh!” and Josh started to blow. 

The tape sped past 30 inches and came to rest at 303/8".

“Fuck!”

I raised my other arm into the same position and flexed my whole body as hard as I could. I was so strong. It felt so good. Holding the pose, I surveyed the mirrors. Perfect symmetry. Perfection from every angle. I flexed harder. Still building. God, I needed to cum. I was so close, but I just couldn't get there. Then it happened. A hand encircle my shaft and gave it a jerk. I saw stars, and I blew. 

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