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I remember this story!  Good to see it again!


Thank you for resurrecting it!



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OMG YES! So excited for this to continue once again! Thank you!

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"You want me to stay with you?” he said.

I stared back at him, my stomach twisting and tightening. The corners of his full, pouting lips, lips to make Tom Hardy envious, slowly pulled down into a frown. In the warm, midday sunlight streaming through the window, I could trace every contour of his face. The faintest trace of stubble darkened his thick, square jaw. Five o’clock shadow on a marble sculpture. 


“I mean, just until you can, you know, find a place,” I said quickly. “Just so you’re not, you know, spending all your money on a hotel room. I’ve got an office that I’ve been meaning to turn renovate, but I never got around to it, so—”


Shut up. You’re blathering. I could hear myself, but I couldn’t stop.


He rolled his thick, muscled jaw and suddenly the frowned melted away.


“I don’t want to put you out or or anything…” he said slowly.


I was dumbfounded. Truly and wholly dumbfounded. Nonetheless, I opened my mouth to speak, but before I could utter a sound, the waitress suddenly materialized beside us again.


“Two medium steaks,” she said, her eyes glued on Charlie. “You sure can eat a lot, mister.”


“One of those is his actually,” he said affably, nodding toward me.


“Oh, of course. Silly me. I just saw those big arms of yours and assumed all this protein was for you,” she said, in what was an obviously rehearsed, though poorly delivered, pick up line. She never glanced my way.


His smiled dropped away. “Right. Thanks.”


She lingered for a moment longer, but when Charlie dove into his steak, she sighed and turned on her heel to march away, tossing an angry glare at me over her shoulder. Normally, I would have felt triumphant in that moment, but I was still wordlessly in awe of my own luck.


“So, this spare room…?” he prompted me between mouthfuls. I could see the muscles in his jaw twitch and roll as he chewed and absentmindedly brushed my own cheek. Did I even possess those muscles? If I did, they were so underdeveloped that they were practically nonexistent. The veins in the back of his hands and forearms swelled as he deftly handled his fork and knife, begging to be traced beneath my fingers.


“Oh, right,” I said, pulling myself back to the conversation. “You. Me. Living together—beside one another, I mean. In the same house, but...different rooms. Right.”


“I wouldn’t be imposing? You’re sure? I mean, your boyfriend wouldn’t mind…?”


I frowned. “I’m not…uh, seeing anyone right now, no.”


He looked as if he wanted to say something more, but stopped and returned to his steak. I suddenly realized that I had yet to touch mine, so I mimicked him, carefully training my eyes on my plate as I cut the slab of meat into bite-sized pieces. Below the table, my erection had subsided, a combination of the sheer surprise and disbelief I was experiencing and the anxiety now coursing through my veins. This bubble’s about to pop, I thought. Any second now, so don’t you dare start buying into this dream you’re having. You’ll wake up any second now.


But there was no bubble, so it did not pop. We ate in relative silence, occasionally tossing in a meant-to-be-humorous story about some circumstance we had recently encountered, but the humor was lost on the both of us. I didn’t know what he was feeling and I was sure I didn’t want to. I certainly didn’t want him to know what I was feeling. A half hour later the waitress returned, noticeably less genial, and dropped our check onto the table. Charlie quickly snatched it up.


“Let me,” he said.


“My treat.” I reached for the check, but he swiftly pulled it out of reach.


“I invited you,” he said. “It’s on me.”


“Save your money. You need it.”


He cocked an eyebrow. “For what?”


“You don’t think I’m not going to charge rent, do you?”


He tossed back his head and laughed a deep, booming laugh that I could feel in my own chest. I felt my cock began to stiffen again. Shit, we’re going to have to work something out. You can’t have me yo-yoing back and forth this much. My blood pressure can’t handle it.


*   *   *



We agreed that he would move in the following Wednesday. I explained that despite the fact that I did have a spare room, it was full of junk and needed cleaning out. Though he offered to help, I refused and spent the next three days slaving away after I got home from work to make sure that the room was in shape for his arrival. Truthfully, however, I worked more on the rest of the house. I wanted to rid it of as many ostensibly “gay” things as I possibly could before he moved in. The memory of that spring night oh so long ago danced at the back of my mind. Granted, Charlie had seemed ostensibly more accepting of my sexuality than he had when I had seen him last, but I knew that everyone had their limits. So I packed up nearly half of my DVD collection, books, and music and stowed them in the attic.


On Wednesday afternoon, as I settled into the teacher’s lounge for my tuna sandwich lunch, a heavy hand fell on my shoulder. The rough callouses that covered it were perceptible even through my shirt and the fingers that gripped my shoulder dug into it unnecessarily hard. Dark black hair covered the huge knuckles. I frowned.


“Mind if I join you?” he said, dropping into a seat before I could answer.


There are certain obvious disadvantages to moving back to your hometown after graduating college. In addition to the fact that you never get to truly experience what the rest of the world has to offer, you may have the displeasure of having to end up working with someone you have despised since high school. For me, that person was Rick Hockstetter.


“I was actually hoping for a little alone time today,” I said flatly.


“Contemplating that big move-in later today?” he asked.


My head instantly swung toward him.


“How do you know about that?” I demanded.


Rick was the obligatory combination of gym teacher/football coach/asshole. A part of me had always thought that he must have taken pride in the image because he tried so ridiculously hard to maintain it, what with his perpetual basketball shorts and the whistle dangling around his thick, bullish neck. But another part of me thought it was sad. Then I remembered that I was an English teacher who wore glasses and fantasized about someday becoming a famously published author and realized that I was as much a cliché as he was. I tried to interact with him as little as I possibly could, but work and the fact that we lived a small town made it frustratingly impossible sometimes.


“This is a small town,” he said, as if reading my mind. “People talk too much.”


“Evidently,” I said coldly. “Can I help you with anything else?”


He chuckled and scratched his hairy, unshaven cheeks with one of his ape-like hands.


“As a matter of fact there is,” he said. “I was just wondering who this Prince Charming is?”


He was a high school football star gone to seed and, as such, had a barrel chest that would have been impressive were it not undermined by the large, beer gut that jutted out beneath it. Every inch of him was covered in hair—this I had learned after an unfortunate run in at the local gym’s locker-room—and seemingly growing hairier by the day. He was the only man I had ever met who could shave one day and have a full lumberjack’s beard three days later. He had actually been pretty attractive when we were high school and (gag me with a spoon for saying this) I had even had a slight crush on him back then. Experience and time had sobered me up though, and I could never feel anything but repulsion for him since. Before I could answer, he laughed raucously, stood, and slapped me on the back.


“Have fun with your new boy toy,” he said, loudly enough for the rest of the room to hear, and then he rose from the chair and lumbered out of the room, belching underneath his breath.


I spent the rest of the day wondering just how Rick had known Charlie was moving in. Sure it was a small town, but it wasn't like I had advertised Charlie’s arrival with a neon sign. There was no stopping the rumor mill once it was in motion though; soon, everyone would know. Which I honestly didn’t mind for my own sake as much as I did for Charlie’s. If he heard that people thought we were together, I feared that would run him off before we’d even had the chance to…To what? Fuck each other’s brains out? He’s straight, remember?


After school, I raced home and did one last check of my house. Charlie was due to arrive at approximately 4:30, seeing as he was due out of his hotel room at 3:45. I walked through the door at 3:05 exactly. Everything seemed in order when I scanned the house, but I knew myself well enough to know that I had forgotten something. Before I could check a third time, the doorbell suddenly rang. I froze in place.


I opened the door and my stomach turned over at the sight of him.


He wasn’t wearing a polo shirt this time, but khaki chinos and a powder blue dress shirt. The top three buttons of said shirt had been left undone, revealing an all-too-noticeable line of cleavage in his thick chest. The sweeping curve of his upper pecs were as deeply tanned as the rest of him. I quickly tore my gaze from his chest and met his eyes.


“I’m early, I know,” he said, smiling apologetically. “You look...unprepared.”


For you? Always. “No, I just got off work. School. Same difference. Do you need me to help you carry stuff in?”


Like he needed my help; he looked as if strenuous physical labor was part of his profession. The moment I had opened the door, however, I had caught strong waft of his cologne, a pungent musty smell that somehow reminded me of leather and wood, and I decided that I hadn’t quite had my fill of it yet. I followed him out to his car, catching furtive glances of his wide back and even wider shoulders. He’s taller than he used to be. Or maybe I’m just shorter. He’s thicker, that’s for sure. So why not taller too?


He had surprisingly few possessions and we managed to get all of it into the house in just a few trips. We deposited the few boxes, bags, and suitcases into the room across the hall from my bedroom. When he had finished, I dropped onto the couch, embarrassingly tired. He remained standing, powerful hands planted on his waist.


“Do you want a beer?” I offered.


“No thanks. I don’t drink. Empty calories,” he said. “Water?”


When I returned from the kitchen, beer and water in hand, I found that he had taken a seat on the couch himself, his hands folded placidly in his lap. His handsome, impeccably clean-cut look was at odds with my drab, secondhand furniture and décor. It looked like I was entertaining a celebrity whose car had broken down outside of my house and needed to use my phone.


“You’re very healthy,” I said conversationally, handing him the glass of water. “I just mean, I noticed that you eat well. And you said you don’t drink. You work out a lot?”


Dumbest question ever. Obviously he works out. Look at that body.


“Whenever I can fit it in,” he said. I couldn’t decide if that meant he didn’t get to work out as much as he would like or whenever he had the free time, but didn’t ask. “What about you? Do you work out?”


Second dumbest question ever. Look at my body.


“I used to, but…but not in a while. My gym membership expired and I never, uh, renewed it.”


Something behind his green eyes flitted to life and I mentally checked myself to make sure that I hadn’t said anything remiss or given a wrong impression.


“Hey, I’ve got an idea,” he said suddenly. “It’s kind of crazy, but hear me out.”


He grinned excitedly, that fucking brilliant smile flourishing on his face, and I shifted in my chair to hide the erection I could feel growing in my pants. He unbuttoned the cuffs of his shirt and rolled back his sleeves, revealing those thick forearms that strained the fabric. Again, I noticed the veins snaking around those thick, meaty slabs. His arms were lightly covered in hair. I hadn’t noticed before, given that the hair was blond, but sunlight was streaming through the window and illuminating them golden. I wanted to take a tape measure to every inch of him just to see how extraordinarily thick those pythons were.


“How about I become your personal trainer? I’ll be living here anyway, so it’ll be easy to keep you accountable and that way I’ll be like your live-in personal trainer,” he explained. “You won’t have to pay or anything. In fact, I’ll be paying you, since I’ll be paying rent. I used to do some training when I lived in Florida for a little bit. What do you think?”


He moved his hands animatedly as he spoke. I had forgotten how much of a kid he seemed to me whenever he got truly excited by an idea—which was ironic, given that I felt like a gawking teenager whenever I was in his presence. A sort of light erupted behind his eyes, as if he had stumbled across the world’s greatest prospect, and seemed to radiate out from every pore of his body. His skin even seemed to glow a little bit, but they may just have been his golden tan.


“Can I sleep on it?” I asked, my mind on the rapidly stiffening rod in my pants. I need to jerk off; take this edge off.


“Oh come on, man,” he said, and reached out to slap my leg. My knee threatened to buckle beneath the effortlessly strong gesture. He is taller. He has to be if he can reach all the way across from there and touch me. But if he touches me again, I might just blow. “It’ll be great. Like old times when we used to hit up the gym. Are you telling me that there isn’t some part of your body you don’t want to improve? Because I don’t believe that for a second. Every guy wants a little more or a little less somewhere.”


The “old times” to which he was referring were perhaps great in his mind, but not so great in my own. On the rare occasion that I had accompanied him to the gym, I had spent the hour or so gently passing the time on a stationary bike while he sprinted himself to death on the treadmill. I hardly ever broke a sweat and he always came away drenched. Soccer and cardio had done wonders for his body back then, but he had evidently traded them in for some time pumping iron as well. The treadmill had given way to dumbbells; you’d have to be a dumbbell yourself not to realize that.


Think about it though. If you like what you see now, just imagine what that body will look like when it’s wearing Under Armour. And if you lose a few pounds in the process, you’re better for it in the end. It’s a win-win situation.


“Okay,” I said automatically.


“Sweet!” he exclaimed, pumping a fist in the air. My cock suddenly rocketed to its full length at the sight of his arm straining his sleeve and I smiled weakly to hide my grimace. “Man, this is going to be awesome. Just like college, but better. I know a shitload more than I did back then. You’re going to love it.”


I suspected that he had been waiting to say the latter part of that statement since we had met, a sort of humble brag that I could not exactly blame him for; I know I would have bragged some if I had a body like that. I also realized that a part of him that I had only caught glimpses of when I had known him before had grown more virile in my absence. He had always been athletic, but almost never a jock. Almost. Occasionally, whenever he had gotten in a particularly good workout or won a game, the jock in him would make an appearance, but he usually quelled it fairly quickly. I wondered how much potent it had gotten since I had seen him last.


“So, we’ll start tomorrow!” he said, smacking his palms together.


“I—what?” I stammered. “I don’t know about that. I…have school and then essays to grade and…”


“Come on, man,” he said. “Don’t you want abs like these?”


In one swift movement he leaned back, untucked his shirt, and pulled up to reveal the most beautiful six-pack I had ever seen. Each slab of tightly packed muscle was a miniature brick trapped beneath his skin. And unlike other six-packs I had seen, these were perfectly symmetrical. Each palm-sized slab of muscle was perfectly aligned to the one beside it. And to top them off, a dark trail of hair coursed through the deep cut between them, drawing my gaze down, down, down toward his crotch…


My own crotch was uncomfortably full and tight. I shifted in my seat. I licked my lips, finding them suddenly dry as sandpaper.


“Impressive,” I said, in what I hoped was a flippant tone. As if I saw such marvels every day.


“You could have abs like these, man,” he said. He dropped his shirt, his beautiful washboard stomach vanishing. “With me as your trainer, it’s a guarantee. But we need to start ASAP.”


I nodded distantly. In that moment, I would agreed to anything he said, I was so mesmerized. 

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Were anyone else in the room, they might have been impressed by the sheer luxury of it. The lights, though dim, accented the black silk sheets and pillowcases of the king-sized bed. On the mahogany nightstand, a sweating bottle of champagne rested in an ice-filled pail. A warm, near-cinnamon smell emanated from an out-of-sight candle. Pieces of strange, yet beautiful modern art perched in various places around the room. Amidst this all, spread-eagle on the bed, lay Charlie.


He wore a look of sensual mastery, his green eyes trained on the woman standing at the foot of the bed, the corner of his mouth curled knowingly. Ever so slowly, his large, yet nimble fingers undid the buttons on his shirt with a dexterity that proved it was a practiced act. The crisp material fell open, revealing the white V-neck undershirt he wore beneath, the one that clung to him like a second skin, emphasizing his broad chest and washboard stomach.


“Like what you see?” he asked, sweeping a hand over his abs.


The woman stared at him hungrily, as if he were a piece of meat to be consumed. “I do,” she woman said. Satisfied with her response, Charlie moved his hands to his belt. “But I’m not a client.”


Charlie froze, one hand on his belt buckle, the other on his left nipple, mid-coax. He cocked an eyebrow and let both of his hands fall to his sides.


He heaved a sigh. “Tony.”


The woman smiled acidly. “Brett said you’d be eager to please.” Charlie sat up right, jerking his shirt closed again, and began buttoning it. His nipples, already hard, poked against the material. “Leave it,” she said. “You’ll be taking it off in a second anyway. There are a few things we need to discuss first. Necessary details. It won’t take long. How much has Brett told you?”


Charlie sighed heavily.


“The general framework,” he said, letting his shirt fall open once more. He sank into a relaxed pose. Though it wasn’t meant to be erotic, merely comfortable, his finely muscled body made the pose inescapably sensual. “You loaned him your best earner a few years ago and now he’s repaying you in kind. Should I continue undressing?”


“Just a second,” Tony said.


“You know, you really ought to spell your name with an I. It’ll cause less confusion.”


“Androgyny’s the new black, ” she said, turning her back on him. She wore black, snakeskin heels that sliced into the carpet as she turned and walked to the armchair on which she’d abandoned her purse. She began rifling through the designer bag, withdrew something, and turned back to him.


“There’s more to the story than Brett’s told you, but I’m in no position to give you all of the details either. Suffice to say, he hasn’t sold you out. On the contrary. He’s the one doing me a favor, actually. Or will be, if you agree. And you will.”


She crossed to the bed and stood, feet planted, in front of him like a sentinel. He couldn’t deny that she was one of the most imposing women he had ever seen, with her designer pantsuit and unsmiling expression. She had only the slightest hint of wrinkles at the corners of her eyes and mouth, but her skin was notably taut in other places, a telltale sign of Botox, he thought. He scanned her as best as he could without outright scrutinizing her from top to bottom and suddenly noticed a small vial in one of her hands, no larger than her pinky.


He nodded at the vial. “Because of that,” he concluded.


“Because of this, yes,” she said, and held it up to the light. It was full of what looked like water, though he noticed it was slightly thicker and more viscous, like corn syrup. “You have no idea what this is, so I won’t bother taunting you with the question. This is called NPH-01. And it’s about to make the both of us a lot of money.”


He frowned. “So what is it? Liquid Viagra or something?”


“Nothing as instantaneous as that, no. Think of it as a long-term investment.”


She uncapped the small vial and waved it underneath her nose, her eyelashes fluttering sensually. She extended it toward him and he gently leaned forward to sniff it himself. It didn’t smell particularly sweet, more acrid than anything actually, but it did make his head swim.


“The deal Brett and I made was this. If you agree to come over to me, you’ll work for me just like you did for him. Same hours, ten percent increase in pay. All you’ll have to do is take one vial of this once a week and report back to me any…developments. And it’s as simple as that. Do we have a deal?”


He glanced at the vial again. It glistened lethally in her hand. He nodded.


“Terrific,” she said, and recapped the vial. She tossed it to him and he slipped it into his pocket. “Now that that’s out of the way, we can move on to the examination.”


“Examination?” he echoed.


“Physical examination, yes. You’re working for me now and I always get to know every inch of my earners before I send them out. So let’s see that birthday suit.”


The grin returned to the corner of his mouth. This was what he had come for. He lay back, spreading his legs wide once more, and gingerly began removing his shirt once more. The white undershirt clung to him like a second skin, leaving little to the imagination when it came to the finely carved muscles beneath. One his hands drifted to his belt buckle, undid it, and slipped into his pants. Within thirty seconds, the shirt was cast aside, and his pants were unzipped and unbuttoned, sliding down his shapely, muscular legs. He worked leisurely, leaving as much to the imagination as he could while he could. Once the curtain had been raised on the show, reality set it. As impressive as the show would be, reality could never hold a candle to the fantasies people built up in their heads.


Tony remained standing before him, one hand to her chin, eyebrow furrowed. She watched him like a fashion designer might a model, but instead of displaying his clothes, he continued peeling them off. An image of a vulture roosting on a dead branch flashed through his mind. She was dressed in a too-tight black dress, the string of white pearls around her neck hanging hideously between her breasts like a chain that might drag someone to the depths.


Charlie paused briefly—this wasn’t work, as Tony had pointed out, but the dramatic pause only came natural to him when he was undressing, if he was being paid or not—before pulling off the undershirt.


Her eyebrows rose.


His chest demanded attention first. His two broad, firm pecs practically leapt into view, commanding any and all eyes present. They looked as delicately and diligently carved as a Roman breastplate and just as durable. A smattering of dark, trimmed chest hair spread evenly over the thick slabs of muscle, the hair darkening and thickening as it disappeared into his deep cleavage. And although it wasn’t remotely cold in the room, his nipples stood proudly erect. He ran his hand over his pecs, coyly brushing one of his nipples in mock absentmindedness and coaxing it on further. And as his hand made its descent, so did the attention it drew, guiding all eyes to the rippling six-pack that waited below.


His abs, similarly sturdy-looking, were more deeply cut than his chest. Their deep, excessively pronounced shape and size was made even more apparent by the dark trail of hair that wound its way between them, a trail of hair that fanned outward as it neared his waistline…


Her mouth moved into what he supposed was meant to be a smirk. “Pants.”


Grinning wryly, he shimmied his pants off his ankles, hooked them with a toe and sent them sailing across the room to the bed, where they landed beside his shirt. So what if they got wrinkled? He was working now, damn it, and he would be damned if he was about to interrupt his performance. His thick, rolling thighs were lined with deep cuts of muscle. Without even waiting for Tony to prod him, he cupped his prominent package and gently squeezed it. It began to swell with the attention.


“Eight inches,” he reported smugly.


“I’ve been in the business easily over half of your life. They all say that. The truth lies in the tape,” she said, and opened her other hand. A length of tape unfurled and she tossed it to him.


“You don’t want the honors?” he asked. He was nearly hard already, easily at seven inches, and all the clients that he had fucked with that prodigious dick had been more than pleased with it. Who was this bitch to pretend she didn’t want some too?


“Oh, I’ve had my share, believe me.” She nodded at his crotch. “Continue.”


Her expression did not change as she crossed her arms and watched his cock get lured into full rigidity and length. It was only once she expected his cock to finish thickening and it did not that she raised an eyebrow. Already as thick as the average man’s, it was giving every indication of being anything but average. Fatter and fatter it grew, the veins plumping as well, until it finally could swell no more. Dramatically, Charlie unraveled the measuring tape and placed one end in the midst of his finely trimmed pubic hair, firmly against his pubic bone. He stretched the other end toward the fat, mushroom head eight inches away. Evidently impressed, Tony waved him on. Charlie grinned wider and proceeded to wrap the tape around the broad, rock-hard middle of his cock.


“Six inches thick,” he said. “You need a measurement on these too?”


He cupped his balls. They, too, were proportionally larger than average balls, like grade-A eggs, but somehow less impressive beneath the stout cock they hung beneath.

She raised a hand. “No need. Can you work any magic with that thing or are you a one-trick pony?”


“Pony? Yes. One trick?” He hungrily grabbed his cock. “I don’t think so.”


“I think I’ve seen enough for tonight actually, thank you,” she said hurriedly, and collected her purse. She made for the door. “You start tomorrow. I’ll text you with the usual details. I’ll finalize the rest with Brett.”


“But…” he started to say. He gestured to his throbbing cock. The head was angrily red, demanding to service or be serviced. It would not be denied its due.


“Oh, right. That. The room’s paid for, so have at it,” she said. She gave him one last glance over, a quick scan from head to toe. “Oh, and one more thing,” she said as she opened the door wide. A middle-aged couple passing by turned toward the open door absentmindedly—and suddenly stood aghast at the sight of such an exceptional naked figure gazing back at them. Looks of mixed repulsion and admiration spread on their faces. “Welcome to my agency.”


She left the door open behind her.


The couple hurried down the hall, whispering feverishly beneath their breath. Charlie hurriedly swept off the bed and strode to the door, his rigid cock pointing at the ceiling and slapping his abs as he slammed the door shut.


He hated her. He hated her as much as he envied her. Hated the way she wielded her power over him, over a body as powerful as his. He raised an arm and flexed, grinding his teeth. His bicep pulled into a thick ball of muscle, the peak rising to a solid eighteen inches. He grinned darkly. He had more powered she in one arm that she did in her whole body, he was sure, yet she was the one who ordered him around. How fair was that?


He crossed back to the bed, sat down, and jerked his fat cock in a business-like fashion. Not only had she lorded over him like a slave master, she’d gotten him all hot and bothered and then left him there to finish it off. Bitch. He grunted as he neared a climax, clenching his jaw, and his grin grew darker. She didn’t know what she was missing out on. Half of this down her throat or up her snatch and she’d be singing a different tune.


When he was done, he showered and took the elevator to the first floor. Now that his erection had been satisfied, his anger had subsided. As he crossed the lobby, he caught sight of the middle-aged couple near the coffee machine and waved a hand in their direction affably. The wife raised a hand in return, but quickly pulled it back to her side as her husband glared. In the parking lot, he unlocked the trunk of his car and withdrew the duffle bag inside.


He headed back upstairs, changed into the cargo shorts and Indianapolis Colts tee-shirt the duffle bag had to offer, pulled on a baseball cap, and slipped into a pair of gym shoes. It felt much nicer, he thought, but somehow odd. He wondered only momentarily if it was the same feeling secret agents felt when they had to juggle between disguises. He decided that it probably wasn't so and began folding the dress clothes. He had just begun to pick up his pants when he remembered the vial tucked away in one of the pockets.


“The hell do you do?” he wondered aloud as he extracted the vial. He uncapped it and sniffed it again.


Without a second’s consideration, he tossed back the contents like a shot.


Twenty minutes later, across town, he pushed a shopping cart through the front door of Walmart. As bland an activity as shopping was, he privately enjoyed it more than he cared to admit. And because it was a secret pleasure, he appreciated it more. It was not the act of shopping itself that excited him, so much as it was the fact that he was the only human being in earshot that knew from where he had just been, what he had just done. To them, he appeared as nothing more than an exceptionally in-shape suburbanite. A father of four, maybe. A man who spent his days in the office, his evenings in the gym, and his weekends on the golf course. Who could guess he was a high dollar escort? Sure, his arms filled his sleeves generously. Yes, his shorts fit his ass like a glove. Neither, however, were an indication of the countless number of men and women had massaged, sucked, tickled, fucked, licked, and caressed over the past decade.


Or the countless many more that would follow.


At the checkout line, the cashier, a chubby young man who didn’t look a day over twenty-five, stopped in the middle of scanning the carton of eggs Charlie had dropped onto the conveyor belt and glanced at the rest of the contents of the grocery cart.


“You a bodybuilder or something?” he said, impressed.


Charlie looked down at the items: two cartons of liquid egg whites, four containers of baby spinach, a jumbo-sized package of frozen chicken breasts, two grapefruits, and a dozen other equally healthy and organic food stuffs stared back. He flashed that grin he knew to be overwhelmingly charming and said,


“Not me, no,” he chuckled. “This is for a friend.”

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Ohh interesting, hes an scort and he has a new job now, he will sample the thing the woman gave him but he doesnt know what it ddoes. I like how this goes-

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I was moving down a hallway, at the end of which a door stood slightly ajar. Somewhere beyond it, something beckoned me. As my feet ushered me forward, the sudden realization that I was not alone crept into my mind. Someone—or something—was behind me. And in that horrible way that dreams deprive you of control of your own body, I could not turn to see who or what it was. I could only sense its size. It was immense, filling the hall from floor to ceiling, wall to wall. A monster. It nudged me closer to the door—


The world suddenly became dazzlingly bright.


“Rise and shine!”


Squinting, I reached blindly for my glasses on the nightstand and rammed them onto my face. As my eyes adjusted to the light, I saw him standing in the doorway, practically angelic as he grinned down at me. His dirty blonde hair was perfectly gelled and coiffed, his green eyes sparkling, that impeccable tan of his practically glowing. And of course that body. As he turned and walked out of my room, I caught a glimpse of his incredible ass, high and tight, cupped in his basketball shorts; the thick cords of muscle in his shoulders and back rolled beneath the t-shirt that fit him like a second skin.


“Breakfast’s on the table!” he announced, disappearing down the hall.


I hooked my phone from the nightstand, saw it was only 4:30 in the morning, and sank beneath the dark refuge of my blanket. What have I gotten myself into?


Eventually, however, the smell of coffee and other equally delectable aromas pulled me from my bedroom. Yawning, I stumbled out of my room and across the hall to the bathroom. After I emptied my bladder, I took a glance in the mirror and frowned. My tired-eyed, bushy-haired reflection stared back. I looked like the Pillsbury Doughboy with hat hair. I grimaced at the pasty pudgy flab that was my waistline and pitied the fact that my skin-tone was closer to alabaster than anything else.


That all changes today, I thought determinedly. I yawned. Assuming I can stay awake.


Stepping in the kitchen thirty seconds later, I couldn’t help but softly gasp at the sight that greeted me.


I could not remember the last time that my kitchen had played host to such a meal, let alone such a brawny chef. A veritable breakfast buffet had been laid out on my kitchen table: eggs, scrambled and hard-boiled, bowls of oatmeal, an assortment of berries, grapefruit halves, and glasses of milk. At the stove, Charlie stood, spatula in hand, and motioned for me to take a seat over his shoulder. I took a mental snapshot of his globular ass again and settled into my chair.


“Help yourself,” he said without turning. “I’m just finishing up these turkey sausages.”


“I’m not sure who the guest here is,” I said hesitantly. “Me or Betty Crocker.”


He chuckled. “You always had that.”


“Had what?”


“You were always witty,” he said, and clicked off the stove. He turned and ambled to the table, a spitting skillet of sausages in hand. “You could always make me laugh.”


“Uh…thanks. And you always, uh—”


“You can get back to me on that later,” he said, and winked.


Butterflies swarmed my stomach and the familiar stirrings in my sweatpants sent me squirming in my seat. What a way to start the day, I thought as I reached for two links of sausage and a handful of berries. I picked at them halfheartedly as I desperately sipped my coffee, hungry for caffeine than more anything. Across from me, Charlie had piled his plate high with nearly half the food on the table. He shoveled forkfuls of scrambled eggs into his mouth and followed it with a heaping spoonful of oatmeal before he could even swallow.


“You’ll need to eat more than that, Andy,” he said in between bites of sausage. “Carb load.” I stared at him blankly. He swallowed the mouthful of egg, coffee, sausage, and oatmeal in one mighty motion, the mass sinking down his incredibly thick neck. “You need to fill up your body’s stores of carbohydrates so that you’ll have energy for the workout,” he explained. “Otherwise you’ll crash.”


“I thought that’s what fat stores were for,” I said.


He shook his head. “Nah-uh. Not you, my friend. Your goal’s not to lose weight, but gain muscle. It’ll pay off in the end. Muscle burns fat. Trust me.” He reached for one of the hardboiled eggs and popped it, whole, into his mouth, chewed, and swallowed. “So eat up.”


Hesitantly, I reached for the second bowl of oatmeal he pushed my way. As I ate, I marveled at how much Charlie continued to put away. For every halfhearted bite of oatmeal I choked down, he wolfed down three. When he finished, he followed it with his grapefruit half and a cup of black coffee. He ate like a starving man, despite his clearly well nourished body. I was certain that given the sheer amount of food he’d packed away that his washboard stomach would be noticeably less flat, but when he rose from the table, his stomach was as trim as before. Well, not entirely flat. His snug, fitted t-shirt showed off perfectly the lumps of muscle that were his abs. Where does he put it all?


As I finished the last of my oatmeal, I sank into my seat, uncomfortably full.


“I don’t think I’ve eaten that much of anything since Thanksgiving ’99.”


He chuckled warmly.  “So here’s the plan. Today we’re going to hit legs hard. Probably throw in some ab work. I’m going to put you a split circuit later, but right now I just want you to get the basics down. Squats and lunges mostly. We’ll build you a solid foundation in no time, Andy.”


“Sounds tiring,” I said. “Hey, when did you buy all of this food? And how much do I owe you?”


 He paused. “Uh, last night. After you went to bed. Thought I’d surprise you.”


“You went grocery shopping in the middle of the night?”


“Yeah, why not? I always do my shopping after dark. It’s, uh, less crowded that way.”


Something akin to curiosity started to spark in my mind, but then a wave of overwhelming fullness swept over me again and pushed it away. Why not go shopping after dark? Besides, he probably wasn’t adjusted to West Coast time yet anyway, having just flown from Indiana the day before. I decided to chock it up to jet lag and an off-kilter body clock. Ten minutes later and we were in driving through the darkened streets of West Cape, heading for a part of town that I rarely visited. The gym I (infrequently) used was squarely on the opposite end of town. As we passed a Walmart, I turned to Charlie in the driver’s seat. He was excitedly strumming his fingers on the steering wheel and smiling enthusiastically.


“Where are we going?” I asked.


“Platinum Fitness Warehouse,” he said.


I frowned. “Never heard of it.”


Ten minutes after that and we were standing in the free weights section of West Cape’s one and only Platinum Fitness Warehouse, an aptly named gym, considering it had formerly been the storage facility for a company that had gone bust when the economy had decided to nose dive. As such, the high ceilinged building was decked out with metal rafters and sprawling floors filled with machinery that, to me, looked closer to medieval torture devices. Fortunately, there were very few other people in the gym when we entered, four others to be exact, and two of them were visibly more out of shape than I was. That’s real reassuring. Your standard to beat is two guys who look like they live in their mothers’ basements and subsist on a diet of Cheetos and Red Bull?


I quickly found out that, though I was skinner, I was evidently just as out of shape as they were. After a round of lunges and some torment known as “planking”, Charlie had prepped me for what he had, in so many words, promised would either start me on a track to a full-body transformation or land me in the emergency room. Well, that second part he hadn’t quite said, but as I stood there panting before him, forehead gleaming with sweat, it seemed a very real possibility to me.


“So, like I said, I’m putting you on what is known as a split routine circuit,” he said explained.


“Greek,” I panted. “Complete Greek coming out of your mouth right now.”


“In other words, you’ll be working two body-parts each day for five days a week.”


“Where the hell did you learn this? Nazi Germany?” I said. “I will not survive that.”


He frowned. “You’ll do it, Andy. I know you can.”


This was followed by the announcement that the obliteration of my quadriceps, hamstrings, and calves had only just begun. He led me to the nearby rack of weights and plucked a pair of incredibly heavy looking dumbbells from their place. He motioned for me to take a pair I felt comfortable with (which turned out to be less than half of the weight he had selected) and ambled to a more open space where there was room for both of us: the teacher and the student.


As I took my place beside him, I glanced up and saw our reflections in the mirror ahead.


In the floor-to-ceiling mirror behind the dumbbell rack, I witnessed the two of us for the last time as we were then: ourselves, unchanged. Relatively normal, even if one of us was in peak physical condition. Charlie, with his wide shoulders and V-tapered torso, and me, with my rawboned arms and sunless skin. Side by side, we looked like some comical version of a before and after shot. We didn’t look like we belonged together, let alone were friends, and I would have even ventured to say that it was downright emasculating.


Little did I know then how much would soon change, both to and between us.


“Lunges,” he announced, and began demonstrating.


He dropped effortlessly into a position that looked like it would have just about tore my leg in half and rose back into a standing posture. He began explaining the movement in detail, but I could hardly concentrate on a single word that passed his lips. Between staring, fascinated, at the thick chords of muscle straining his legs with every movement and the barely containable urge to reach out and touch his rapidly swelling thighs, I missed more than half of what he explained. His legs thickened even as I watched, the hairs slicking wetly against his tanned skin with sweat, every fiber straining and flexing with each extension of his leg. He gritted his teeth as he finished the last of the lunges and the first beads of sweat formed at the top of his forehead.


“One complete motion, beginning to end, is called a rep,” he explained. Do not get hard now, I told myself as I watched that high, firm ass of his again. He subconsciously adjusted his sweat-soaked shorts, plucking them free from the canyon that were his ass cheeks before he repeated the exercise again. “So many reps together, say eight or ten, is called a set. Make sense?”


Please do not get hard right now, please, please, please…


“Got it,” I said weakly.


“Okay, so you do four sets of eight to ten and I’ll be over here,” he said. “Squatting.”


I nodded wordlessly and set to work, struggling to get started because I could not quite take my eyes off of him. Despite my wandering eyes and wobbling legs, I managed to complete the first set. I glanced at Charlie as I took a quick, thirty-second break. He was already on his second set of reps. He had completed his first set without visible strain, though I caught him gritting his teeth uncomfortably. His face was growing redder by the second and collecting more sweat, but he hardly looked like he was exerting himself at all. In fact, I watched in surprise as he suddenly racked the weight, grabbed two more plates, and loaded them onto the bar.


“Weight was off,” he mumbled to himself, and began again.


Down he dropped, and I imagined that tight bubble ass of his sliding down my cock like that, slowly and purposefully. Biting my lip harder, I willed my cock to behave itself, but it simply swelled more noticeably in my shorts. Feet away, Charlie bit his own lip as he dropped into another squat. Sweat was dripping down his temples now, but it might as well not have been there at all. The fierce determination in his eyes was frighteningly potent and focused.


Grr—yeah!” he grunted as he completed yet another repetition. I flinched in surprise. If I had been paying attention I would have known precisely what number he was on, but in my exhausted and horny state, I could only guess that he was nearing his tenth repetition. He grunted again, a deep bear’s growl of a sound that I had never known him to produce, and exhaled, “Grrr just…a few more.” And a few more he did, each accompanied by a grunt more virile than the last, until he finally rose to his full height for the last time and dropped the bar on the rack, shouting, “Hell yeah!”


Meanwhile, I stared astonished at his impossibly thicker and plumper legs and ass that filled his shorts. His thighs looked larger than ever, one alone almost as big around as both of mine together. His calves jumped and flexed and even as I watched, he clenched his ass together, swallowing his shorts in those powerful globes of muscles.


“That…was…awesome,” he panted, his eyes trained on his own reflection. “A new record for me, can you believe that? I’ve never squatted that much before in my life!”


“Definitely impressive,” I said breathlessly.


“Woo!” he said, clapping his hands together. “I don’t know what got into me!”


Indeed, a new vitality seemed to have flooded his veins. When he turned back to me, his green eyes sparked with an electricity the likes of which I had never seen. He kept flexing and relaxing his hands as if itching to punch something. Suddenly, he hiked up one leg of his shorts and flexed his thigh. The dense cords of muscle of his quad tensed and quivered, deep cuts flourishing across it. I’m gonna blow a load right here, I thought. “Look at that!” he said, and slapped his thigh. “Now that’s a pump. Rock hard. And we’ve just started!”


Rock hard indeed, I thought, squirming. In fact, I should probably go take care—


He glanced at me. “You done yet, bud?”


To say that I was distracted and impeded by my fat, throbbing cock would be an understatement, yet I somehow managed to bust out another three sets of lunges, though at an admittedly embarrassing weight compared to that which I had just seen so cleanly tossed around. All the while, Charlie stood close by, ready to steady or catch me should I falter or fall. He even reached out his hands and let them hover near my waist as I struggled to complete my final rep. When I did, much to my own surprise, I stumbled backward and he steadied me with one hand on the small of my back.


“Feels great, doesn’t it?” he said. His warm, rumbling voice filled my ear and I could practically feel it rumbling in his chest. Any bit of stamina left in me drained away and I collapsed onto the nearest bench.


“I’m just gonna…take a little break,” I announced.


“Okay, but don’t take too long. You’ve got calf raises next,” he said. “I’m going to really hit it hard now though. I was going easy before, but now that you’ve got the general idea, I’m really going to go for it. You can watch if you want. See how a real man does it.”


How a real man does it? I could hardly be insulted though; I was too impressed by the spectacle that followed. Charlie proceeded to bust out another set of squats. Halfway through his second set, the growling jock in him surfaced again. Squat: “Grr…yeah, baby…grreeahh…come on…” Squat: “Grrah…yeah.” Squat: “Aw hell yeah grrr…” Squat.


A conflicting sense of attraction and tentativeness stirred in my chest as I watched him, the man I had pined for throughout college and, to some extent, unknowingly ever since. He was much improved in many ways—in fucking fantastic ways, obviously—but I couldn’t help but wonder what else in him had changed, what else had perhaps grown in my absence. Clearly that side of him I had rarely seen.


And I wasn’t so sure I didn’t like it. 

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Charlie woke me promptly at 4:00am the next morning. The moment I lifted my head from my pillow and attempted to stir, I was alerted to the fact that I was sore in parts of my body that I never even knew existed. I stumbled into the kitchen groaning. The same spread Charlie had prepared twenty-four hours before greeted me once again. He wore the same outfit, an impossibly tight t-shirt and ass-hugging basketball shorts, that he had worn the day before. Were it not that he seemed to eat even more this time around, I would have sworn I was pulling a Groundhog Day. Oh, and if it weren’t for that my legs were killing me. The ache radiating in my demolished quads, calves, and hamstrings assured me that I had indeed truly worked out for the first time in my life the day before. I gritted my teeth as I sank gingerly into my chair, my ass cheeks were so tender. Breakfast was also accompanied by quasi-scientific explanation of the importance of nutrition from my new trainer/roommate.


“Like, these pancakes aren’t just regular pancakes. They’re protein packed,” he said, as he shoved a forkful of the syrup-soaked flapjacks into his face. Meanwhile, I spooned my oatmeal reluctantly past my lips. If anything, I felt as if I was still somewhat full from the day before. Afterward, Charlie drove us back to Platinum Fitness Warehouse, once again excitedly drumming his fingers on the steering wheel. This time, he announced, we would be hitting chest and shoulders.


And thus proceeded the first week. Each day we worked on a different body part and each day I stared amazed as Charlie not only vastly surpassed me in his athleticism and strength, but surprised himself as well. More than a few times a day he remarked that he couldn’t believe the strides in strength and endurance he was making. These remarks were usually accompanied by baritone grunts and growls, adamant shouts, and not-so surreptitious flexes in the full body mirrors at the gym.


“Must be something in the air,” I said to him one day.


“Air? Psh. Right,” he mumbled back. He was once again in the free weights section while I plowed away on an elliptical. Today was cardio for me, but once again he was furiously busting out concentration curls. As if those biceps aren’t big enough already—wait, what’re you saying? You’d love it if his arms were bigger. Stop complaining. It nevertheless struck me as odd that I had yet to see him perform any type of cardio, not even so much as a jog. How’s he keep his body fat so low? I guess when you look like that you can skip a day or two on the treadmill though. Or seven.


After working out, Charlie and I drove back to my house to shower and get ready for the day. Because I had to report to work before him, I usually showered first. On this day, as the water warmed, I peeled off my sweat-drenched clothes and tossed them in the hamper. When I turned back to the mirror, I gave my body a quick glance. Although I had only been working out for a week, each and every workout had been rigorous, and the results were beginning to show. Nothing outlandish, but noticeable. My pecs were beginning to look more defined and while my abs weren’t visible, there seemed to be a little less flab around my waist. Still, I thought, you’re nowhere close to Charlie. Which wasn’t exactly fair, seeing as Charlie had a good ten years worth of workouts under his belt. Just imagine what you could have looked like if you hadn’t spent so much time with your nose buried in a book. Fishing the bathroom scale from the back of the towel closet, I stepped on and hesitantly watched the needle climb. 174 lbs.


I heaved a huge breath and met my gaze determinedly in the mirror.


“That’s all about to change.”


My determination to transform my body was not the only thing growing within me. The affections that I harbored for the man who had decided to make me his personal project grew with each passing day. I stole furtive glances at Charlie whenever I thought I could get away with it: in the mornings over breakfast, whenever he turned his back to me at the stove or refrigerator, or in the evenings, as we sat in the living room watching television. The latter had become a frequent pastime of ours and though I was by no means a fan of ESPN, I gladly agreed to watch it to satisfy Charlie’s desire to stay glued to the channel. If it meant his eyes were on the screen while mine were on him, then I had no problem with it at all. He often propped one foot up on the coffee table, so that the leg of his shorts slid down his thick thighs, giving me quite a show out of the corner of my eye.


But there were eyes on me as well, I soon discovered.


“Have you lost some weight Mr. D?” Luke Freeman, a senior on the varsity basketball team, asked me one day as he turned in his test. “You look like you’ve been working out.”


I glanced up at him, surprised. Luke was decidedly not one of my favorite students. He rarely ever turned anything in and when he did it was severely late. When I confronted him about his assignments, he usually dropped his head and scuffed his foot distractedly on the ground, shamed like a puppy. It was a sight to see. He was scarecrow thin and, at 6’5”, he towered over me like a man on stilts. 


“Uh, somewhat, yeah. Just a little,” I said, unsure how to answer. No-one had ever paid me the compliment before, let alone a student. “T-Thanks. Thank you for asking.”


And an A+ for Mr. Freeman, I thought cheerfully as he sauntered back to his seat. Needless to say, as I strolled into the teacher’s room come lunchtime, I walked with a little more spring in my step and practically floated to my usual table in the corner. Even my typically bland bowl of brown rice and baked chicken that Charlie had prepared for me didn’t seem as unappetizing as usual.


“Tell a girl how to join you up there on cloud nine or come back down to Earth.”


I hadn’t even noticed as Lynn Richter, a junior biochemistry teacher and my usual lunch companion, approached. She settled into a seat across from me without invitation and began unpacking her salad and fruit, all the while cocking that curious eyebrow of hers. Her white blouse was, per usual, filled with her bountiful breasts, and even for a gay man, it was hard not to take a good long stare. “Spill.”


“I was just paid a compliment earlier. That’s all.”


“For an English teacher, you sure are lax on details.”


I grinned. “Do you know Luke Freeman? Plays forward guard on the varsity team?” I started to say, before suddenly biting my lip. Now that I was actually about to verbalize it, it seemed odd to be so proud of the compliments of a seventeen year old high school student. Almost creepy. “He, uh…just said he can tell that my workouts have been paying off.”


“Please. Don’t be so bashful,” she said, waving her fork flippantly. “At least your students actually tell you that you look good instead of drooling over you while you’re trying to teach them what an alkylate is. I mean it’s flattering in a way, to know that they’re probably making me a deposit in their spank banks, but it really impacts my professionalism sometimes. Besides, for a D-average student, he’s right. You do look good. What’ve you been doing?”


“You…you noticed too?” I stammered, choking on a piece of chicken.


“What girl wouldn’t notice when her favorite piece of unavailable ass improves?”


Someone could just have easily lit my ears on fire, they felt so warm, but I nonetheless began to recount to her the routine the Charlie had put me on, the one that despite my initial misgivings, I had stuck to and which was now evidently paying off.


“It’s brutal at times, but Charlie’s always going on about—”


She raised her fork. “I’m going to stop you right there. You’ve mentioned this Charlie guy like four times in the past five minutes. Is he, like, your personal trainer or something?”

I hadn’t even realized that I had dropped his name and quickly bit my lip.


“He’s, uh, a private trainer, yeah. Anyway, he’s always telling me—”


“But he’s also your roommate?” she interrupted again.


I mentally kicked myself. How much have you blabbed, you idiot? Have you no filter? I started to open my mouth to spit out a convenient lie, but decided against. Of the few people who wouldn’t pass along sensitive information, I knew Lynn to be one of them, despite her playful attitudes. Heaving a sigh, I told her the Readers Digest version of how Charlie had so unexpectedly reentered my life…making sure to leave out the more lurid details.


“Two questions,” she said, when I had finally finished. “Is he straight and is he available?”


I couldn’t help but laugh.

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