worship My Contest Winner: His Care And Oiling - Part I

[msclvrtoo]

“My Contest Winner:  Part 1: His Care and Oiling”

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[if you are under 18 years old or don’t like to read about men with men, go read something else, now]

 

Just Being in the Right Gym

 

I knew joining this gym would be both a joy and torture.  The joy is being surrounded by some of the most muscular and hot bodybuilders in the city.  Some of them pump and flex wearing next to nothing or, some were covered in sweats that still couldn’t hide all their bulk and bulges.  The torture is pure suffering for me.  I have a barely controllable passion for studs into their muscles -- pumping, flexing, posing, and testosterone-driven strutting, for a worshipping audience with their own straining hard-ons.

 

I especially lose it – in more ways than one – when they wear nothing more than a little strap and a pouch that shows off their cock and balls.  This tease, this evasiveness, this coyness of having their massive and cut bodies just barely covered, makes me cum sometimes without even touching myself.  God, they are into their muscle masculinity.  They love it.  They love to see others lust and get hard over their massive and perfected bodies.  I wonder how many of them have a big orgasm into their jocks or whatever while they workout, pump and flex.

 

Of course, I see more of all of this in internet pictures, some movies, and just once and a while, here at the gym where only the top muscle gods even think about practicing their posing in front of other adoring, lusting eyes.  I’ve only been to a couple of bodybuilding shows.  I’ve only been in the general audience…looking and lusting from a far at these built hard and hard built paragons of muscle.  Torture.  I know these guys on stage are getting off on their incredible bodies, the flexing and the pumping.

 

I can also tell there are a hell of lot of guys here at the gym that get off on the other muscle monsters too.  This “checking each other out” and “encouragement by the spotter/buddy” is one hell of excuse to feast your eyes on growing, hard, hot muscle.  All this can be accompanied by some awesome eye candy of cock and ball tightly stuffed arrangements.   A bulging pouch, workout gear, or some other absolutely killer masculine, sexually arousing piece of cloth – it makes no difference – it’s the hidden sexual mystery on beautiful physique..

 

God knows I try very hard to hide my glances, especially at their crotches and bulging or hanging meat in the shower.  Other guys don’t seem to care if they are seen staring.  Or, they aren’t very good at hiding it.  It’s all such a tortuous tease.  And these posers know it, love it, and get off turning each other on with their muscle and the sexual hypnosis of the rest of us.  All of this, and the message is also is “keep your distance”.  That unspoken rule just feeds my lust and passion for them.  In this gym, anyways, the testosterone level is always high and nobody gives a shit about it as long as you don’t do anything to embarrass the other guy.

 

It doesn’t matter that you’re about groaning, pumping, and flexing while you work your massive body into one big hard cock itself.  It doesn’t matter that you ask for a spot and then linger after the workout to ask some guy’s opinion or offer your own – and keep that up while staring at your results or his.  It doesn’t matter that you choose the smallest wife-beater shirt you can squeeze into so your tits hang out.  Or, choose workout shorts that squeeze your balls and cock into a bulge struggling not to get squashed between your huge and cut thighs. 

 

It doesn’t matter that you strip down to next to nothing – in a tiny posing strap and straining pouch --  late at night.  This is to make sure you’ve got a totally turned-on audience watching while you turn yourself into erotic poses of undulating, massive, and cut meat, awesome masculine power, and male sex on two massive legs.  It’s about a total body hard-on for the slow and exquisite torture of other muscle worshippers. These guys know it matters to guys like me – big time.  It’s why I’m here.  And, it’s why they are here too – but they just won’t say it.

 

That’s just the start of my amazing story – a fantasy fulfilled – a fantasy that I thought was just silly and stupid to think would ever happen in real life.

 

My Friend Jim Comes Through

 

Jim, the manager of the gym, for whatever reason, decided to train me a little bit and encourage me from time to time.  Jim is a very big and still well-built guy, even though he’s probably 55 or so – clearly a former bodybuilder himself.  I’m certainly not anything special –pretty much an average middle-aged guy.  My build is solid, but hardly built.  I am a good-looking guy with an easy way with people, however.  I guess that’s what Jim seems to like. 

 

I know that he appreciates I apply every lifting and training technique he suggests.  I’ve been here now for six months and I see some improvement in my musculature and my weight is where it should be.  While Jim may be someone easy to connect with, most of the guys in the gym keep to their own – unless they are with a training buddy or a long-time friend.  Of course, the really sensual and sexy competitive bodybuilders – the guys I lust over – stick to their own kind, period. 

 

One day Jim came up to me and told me to come back to his office for a moment. I got to watch his big ass and back as I followed him in.  Unfortunately, he’s always in loose sweats.  He went right to the point and asked me if I would be interested in being a volunteer at the upcoming NPC nationals here in a month.  I tried not to look too excited but I didn’t succeed.  He grinned and gave me the pass and said “I guess that’s a yes”.  I had the presence of mind to ask him a few questions.  I found out that volunteers could do a number of things, including work in the pump-room.  My mind went on overdrive as I imagined what it might be like with all these near naked guys with gorgeous muscles and a cock and ball display – barely hidden or in “transition” from their street to posing pouches.

 

I stammered a sincere “thank-you” and he said “I thought you might like this”.  I think I saw a glimmer of understanding in his blue eyes.  Shit, I didn’t care at that point.  He gave me the instructions on how to register now as a volunteer.  I didn’t waste anytime.

 

God, if my fantasies had been overwhelming before – they were insignificant to what I started to obsess about for four weeks.  Just more torture.  I wondered who in our gym was going to compete and whether I could keep my cool around their muscles, pumping, thongs, and posing in the pump-room.   I worried about being too friendly and coming on even a little bit, and getting my ass kicked out.  I wondered if I was going to be asked to do the high holy of holies and oil up the hard muscles of one of these musclegods.  Could I control myself if one of them let me do the inside of his thigh?  Oil his arm-pit – or would he do that himself?  Or, oil up his bare glutes, being very slow and careful not to get the oil on his string tucked into his ass crack, or touch the bit of cloth around the graceful muscled curve of his low waist?

 

Just for the hell of it, I went to Repetrope and used my membership to get the pix of last year’s placers in most all the categories.  I get especially turned on with the superheavyweights, heavyweights, and lightheavy weights.  Though sometimes, the lighter guys can have the most amazing posing outfits that accentuate their big cock and balls – bulging out from their relatively smaller yet beautifully sculpted and muscled bodies.  God, if just 50% of these gods were back again and in even better shape, I’d be nuts with muscle, pouch and basket lust. 

 

I worked out like a fiend for these four weeks, too.  I wanted to look as good as I possibly could.  I wanted to make sure I looked as appealing as possible in case I made some connection with a competitor.  Unlikely, yet I decided to hold out hope and not be disappointed if everyone just kept their normal distance.  Besides, I knew most of these guys would have their army of support – be it from girls, buddies, or families.  Strangers like me would probably not be welcomed other than in the most unappealing tasks.  Shit, I didn’t even know how I would get assigned to the pump-room.  I sure as hell didn’t want to be playing guard or something like that – just looking at these gorgeous masculine guys with all their clothes on – bulges and spectacular muscles mostly hidden for a few more minutes.

 

Just Being There and Serving

 

I was asked to be at the civic center auditorium on a Friday morning for assignments.  Some big guys were around, but it was too early for any competitors.  I was early, of course.  And after standing in line for an hour, a woman read me the list of assignments still open.  I couldn’t believe it when she said the pump room.  I kept my calm and told her the pump room “would be fine”.  She said someone else would explain the rules a little later.  I left with my pump room pass, flying on cloud nine.

 

Wow, they installed a gym with all kinds of weight equipment for these guys.  The shower was just done the hall, the one used by teams for sports events.  Even at noon the security was high.  I had to show my pass a hundred times before I walked in the door of the pump room.  No competitors that I could see, yet.  Just a big burly guy that didn’t look very friendly.  He was in charge and asked me a bunch of questions and looked at my pass.  I think he was trying to decide if I bordered on the weird side or not.  If I could make myself look normal, I certainly did then.  I made sure he understood I was in for the duration of the contest.  He seemed to like that.

 

There were all sorts of instructions about what to do, what not to do, and things that would get me thrown out.  I couldn’t believe how blunt he was.  I was shown all the supplies and locations of the changing rooms and showers.  My fantasies were in overdrive once again – in the pump-room, in the showers, in the secured hallway, in the locker room.  It was a dream come true.  Now, all I had to do was just control myself.  No easy task, especially with hard-on that wouldn’t stop -- even now, and no musclemen were even around.  I started to ache down there already.

 

I was in the pump-room just trying to keep myself occupied when the first competitor and his girl friend showed up.  They dropped off his gear and he went to the locker room and changed into his workout gear.  He looked like a lightweight – but wide as hell – and so fucking narrow at the waist.  A few others started to come in to get ready for the pre-judging that afternoon and evening.  Most had their entourage.  A few guys seemed alone.  I wasn’t asked to do much, except hand them a towel or something.  I got concerned about how I was going to stay focused on my job, not on them.  Thank god I wore tight underwear and loose pants. 

 

One guy, a bigger guy than the others, came in wearing a very brief light blue bikini-type suit.  On top was the classic tee-shirt with sleeves cut out and a scissor cut down his the center of his huge chest from the neck line.  God, he looked fabulous.  I couldn’t believe his shoulders were so wide and thick.  His neck looked like a thick cabled throbbing column.  His biceps were already huge and cut without even being pumped.  His legs were massive and, literally, were pushing his package way out – enough so that I could see that he was cut and big, even while soft.  Shit.  I had to look away when he went to the bench press and straddled the bench with his bulging basket staring me in the face 10 feet away.  My hard-on just got harder and I thought about going to the john.  I decided I’d rather stay.

 

From here on the show just got better and better and I had more energy throbbing through me than I had ever imagined.  It took everything I had to stay cool and just do what I was told to do.  Before long the place was taken over by incredibly built musclemen, each with their own posing suit – most very brief – some really did look more like strings and pouches.  I was stunned at how some of these guys looked like they were hard or at least partially hard and kept right on pumping and flexing.  There wasn’t a lot of conversation, just a lot of pumping, flexing, and very close self-examination.  Then the oiling started big time.

 

I was asked to help a couple of guys that seemed to be on their own.  For each one, even through the rubber gloves, I carefully walked the line of applying the dark oil in a smooth and even touch – not too fast and not too slow.  It was a mind-blower to feel their hard muscles – all over their bodies – even when they weren’t yet fully pumped.  There was one guy whose cock and balls were so big, compared to his pouch, that I could barely concentrate.  He looked uncut, however.  I think he might have known his effect on me.  How could he not?  He was clearly displaying all his muscle and sex to get himself (and probably others) psyched up.  He’s no dummy.  He even asked me what I thought and I was very effusive without being gushing.  He gave me a big grin and said thanks for the help, as he strutted off in his big thick glutes to the pull up bar.

 

I was in seventh heaven all afternoon.  I was proving to myself and to these gods of muscle and masculinity, that I learned quickly and did good job oiling, especially when the oil was light colored, as opposed to real dark oil which was a bitch.

 

Then “The One” Arrives

 

It was a little later in the afternoon when I was stealing a glance to the door and this very handsome monster walked in – evidently all by himself.   Shit, I had no idea these guys were really that big in person!  They certainly weren’t in my gym.

 

I watched him pause at the door and the already sizzling masculine energy in the room jumped up big time.  So did my dick.  Some heads turned quickly, others more slowly.  It looked like a few guys tried to pretend he didn’t even come in. 

 

As he slowly and very purposely started taking a few steps, most everyone went back to whatever they were doing.  I was one of them that didn’t.  I felt frozen to the floor.  He was 30 feet from me but it felt like we were breathing on each other’s neck. My heart was beating so fast it felt like I had drums in my head.  I was very afraid that I had given myself away at the wrong time to the wrong guy.  Oh, shit. 

 

He was about 6’2” – as tall as Gunther, as I remember.  I knew he was a super-heavyweight in an instant, but couldn’t even guess his weight.  He had a very confident smirky smile on his face.  And god, what a handsome face.  Dark hair, medium length on top, short on the sides.  Like so many others, he had a skimpy wife-beater tee-shirt on.  But he sure as hell didn’t look like many others.  His sweats were tighter than I’ve seen on most guys.  His legs seemed to stretch the fabric with each step.  It was evident that he had a very good tan.

 

He seemed to be keeping his arms in that relaxed pose guys are supposed to keep on the stage.  His right arm, however, was bulging noticeably from carrying his gear bag.  I get very hot over big forearms and he had them corded and cut without even flexing them.  I couldn’t believe the width in his shoulders.  The thin shoulder straps of the tee-shirt seemed buried in deep grooves of muscle between his thick neck and huge delts.   All this was happening in seconds.

 

After setting his gear bag down on a chair, he started pulling off his shoes.  His body was truly spectacular muscle in motion.  Like I’ve heard said, it looked like he had eels squirming in his back.  His biceps just barely flexed but I could tell he had more hard muscle than most guys. 

 

As he untied the drawstring around his tight sweats, I saw him do a quick glance back in my direction.  I wasn’t sure but my cock jumped again.  The sweatpants didn’t have enough freedom to drop by themselves.  He had to pull them down over his beautiful ass and then bend over to push them down over his huge thighs.  I really thought this was a dream.  Even though he was concentrating on getting the sweats off, I had this strong sense that he had me in his mind’s eye – for my eyes and, frankly, anybody else that wanted to feast their eyes on his mass of monster meat.

 

In seconds, it was clear he was in a very small posing suit.  Yet, for a moment it looked like he had nothing on until he turned a bit towards me.  I saw the most sensuous bulging package of balls and cock I had every seen.  The strap and pouch were a bright green.  I was dying a slow and wonderful death.  It was like there was a wrestling match between his equipment, his exploding quads, and the restraining fabric.  The fabric was losing.  This man was going to win something this weekend and he knew it.  And he knew a lot of us knew it, too.  The competition was well underway and I was right in the middle ready to serve and worship if there was any possibility of either or both.  Is this what he is going to actually wear on stage?  Well, if anyone has the total package for those rights, he certainly does.

 

He then reached down to the bottom of his so-called t-shirt and began pulling himself out of it, one huge arm at a time.  It was like he was posing.  He was slow, graceful, and very intentional.  Guys were watching, again.  It really was like he was doing a muscleman strip-tease without anybody, himself included, calling it that.  He knew exactly what he was doing now, too.  It is truly a feat of work-out discipline and commitment to tons of iron and steel to carry the hard muscle bulk he had – as well as to be cut.

 

My mind flashed on what he must look like in workouts to get to this peak of muscular glory and perfection.  Muscles engorged to the max.  Sweat dripping from his head and all over his huge body.  Hair wet and in his face.  Intense concentration and unhuman exertion lifting the ez-curl bar.  A chest with two bowls of striated muscle and a tit on each side pushing the ripped shirt out even more.  His workout shorts, already two sizes too small, bunched at the top of his thick and cabled thighs.  His jock pouch created a large bulge right between those two monsters.  And the oval-like bulge was pushing out relentlessly, not willing to be held back.

 

The Call of a Lifetime

 

I “came back” just in time to hear him holler “Hey, you!”  I turned my head toward him and he was looking right at me.  I don’t usually feel faint over anything.  But this was different.  A passionate muscle-worshipper like me is like a deer in the headlights at these moments.  Stunned.  Confused.  Scared.  I was all of that, with bolts of orgasmic lightening going through my body.  Reason is gone.  It’s only my turned-on body and cock responding. 

 

I heard my body said “Sir?”.  “Come over here and help me out.  I need a spotter to get pumped up.  Do you know how to oil?  My partner is out sick, he announces.”  “Yes, sir.  I’ve been helping oil all afternoon,”  I say confidently.  “Good.  Now spot me at the bench press,” he instructs.  This nearly naked mountain of muscle – in his bulging pouch – walked past me, slowly.  I found out later that he was “testing his intuition” about me.  I quickly figured out why he didn’t pump-up in his workout gear.  He didn’t need to.  He wanted to win the contest now -- and was extremely proud to flaunt his god-like looks and his hyper-masculine man equipment.  No shyness or even hidden agendas with my new muscleman.

 

He put out his big hand and said “I’m Paul.  Who are you?”  “My name is Scott.  Glad to help you out, ”…. I barely said that with a straight face.  I was not going to take any chances.   “What do you lift?” he asked casually.  I was embarrassed to tell him the puny weights I use, and could hardly get even that out of my mouth.  I was also very distracted by his spectacular pouch in between those unbelievable quads. 

 

There’s no doubt he caught my very fast eye-checks.  After watching his awesome arms and chest grow with each rep, I moved my eyes to his big pouch.  I couldn’t stay there long or I’d miss helping him – not that he really needed help.  “Good enough.  I usually don’t need a spotter, but I don’t want to take any chances today.  I need one hell of a pump-on to do justice to this contest-ready body of mine. What do ya’ think? ” he asked with a sly grin on his face.

 

As he stood-up, standing within two feet of me – on the same side of the bench, he flexed arms, biceps and forearms together.  I said something like, “I don’t see anybody else that can come close to you.  You are the biggest and the most cut guy I’ve ever seen.”  I blushed and he muttered some “yeahs” and kept on examining his pulsing and rotating arms.  I’d never seen forearms explode in such mass, with so many cords and veins.  God, it was sexy.

 

I guess everybody decided I was “his” for the next half hour.  Nobody hollered at me to come help them.  I was in muscle heaven watching Paul build his already perfect body right in front of my eyes.  I kept taking plenty of chances watching his pouch strain as it tried to contain his cock and balls.  Anybody else would have considered this obscene.  It was clear from the glances over our direction, however, that most all guys acted like he was a feast of male muscular perfection.  The eyes of some of them were very hungry.

 

We moved to a couple of other free weights.  I couldn’t see that he needed me to help but he said “Hang in there with me, sport”.  I tried to find ways to encourage him and “guard his muscles” close-in without touching these growing rocks.  If I had touched him most anywhere, it would have felt like touching a huge hard cock.  His whole body seemed like one, especially when he flexed hard.  He sweated and I held the towel and he mopped all over his body, frequently. 

 

I damn near shit a brick when he adjusted his pouch by pulling it up and out.  He did a wiggle to fit his cock and balls more comfortably.  The word “wiggle” doesn’t do justice to his effect on me – or on himself.  He murmured, “It’d be easier to work-out naked but that isn’t allowed, yet”.  I was silent, yet very grateful for this visual feast of hard pumped muscle, glowing sweat, and a straining pouch that made him look like the god that he knew he was.

 

I followed him over to the corner and chair where he had his workout bag.  “Okay, Scott.  I don’t have anyone to oil me up so you’re it.  Think you can handle this?”  I had a couple of jokes I could have made about what he meant by “this”.  I decided to limit myself to a confident, “Sure”.

 

God this guy is so big next to me and I felt so small.  I could feel the warmth of his body heat from his all-over pump.  He was one hell of bodybuilder – massive muscular perfection - -built with mass and cuts that I have never even been close to.  His back really got me going.  Even without a flex, just a pump, those big muscles were carved with gorges stretching from his huge neck, across some incredibly wide shoulders and delts, and down to the top of his butt crack – where the little strap disappeared.

 

“I’m already dark so I use a light oil for sheen, not for color.  That means we don’t need to worry about even color coverage – unlike a lot of these guys around here.  I’ll show you.  Watch closely so you can do this right,” he admonished.  I hardly needed encouragement.

 

He put his massive right leg up on the chair and squeezed some oil into his palm and rubbed them together lightly.  In what was like a slow act of sex to me.  He slowly moved his hands up down his hard, tear-dropped thigh.  After squeezing some more into his palm, he moved down his calf, which was easily the size of a many muscleman’s biceps.

“Got the idea?”  I nodded up and down, scared to death I was being discovered for my muscle-worship passion even more. 

 

“Here, you work on this leg and do it just like I did here,” he instructed.  He switched legs and I was shaking.  “You okay?  Hey, look, I know all my muscle is pretty intimidating.  It’s supposed to be. Nobody wins contests, otherwise.  So, don’t worry about it,”  he said with noticeable understanding.  I was so grateful he said that to me.  I relaxed a little and got focused on standing to side while he had his other leg up on the chair. 

I shit another brick when he moved his glistening big pouch aside to make sure I got up all the way into his inner thigh.  I glanced around and everyone other muscleman was doing something like this – some with help – some alone.  So, I stopped feeling so self-conscious.  He just seemed less self-conscious and less nervous than everyone else.

 

“Alright, we’re doing this a little in reverse here, but you’re doing great.  Let’s get to work on my back side.”  I was in motion but stunned at the hardness my hands were feeling – the softness at the same time.  I tried to move my hands at a speed that would not disclose how deeply affected I was by touching him.  I had to do this and still apply the oil right.  Not an easy task for a novice in-person muscle-worshipper.

 

He lifted his huge arms each time I came around to do the back of his lats and near his shaven pits.  He had almost no stubble, just smooth, cut and hard muscle.  He gave me a back lat spread as I moved down the center of his back.  It felt like he was displaying a extra-wide barn door just for me. 

 

“Now make sure and get the back of these legs”.   Well, I had to do his glutes first and that terrified me and excited me at the same time.  He didn’t flex.  They were already hard and his skin seemed to soak up the oil.  I had to move my hands back over them to make sure they had a clear sheen.  I couldn’t believe I was touching muscleman’s butt, let alone Paul’s.  I kept concentrating and going down his butt, onto the back of each leg.  At one point, he took a step back and started to flex and pump his whole leg.  The muscles and cables just jumped out in an instant and grew in front of my own bulging eyes.  I got bold and decided to rub some more oil onto these hard muscles as he kept is leg flexed.  He didn’t seem to object.

 

When I stooped to get lower, I felt a rush of embarrassment and a deep thrill.  I knew then what it was like to really worship serious muscle.  I was sure he knew.  And, even more, I was sure he liked what I was doing.  That sent a tingle all over my body. 

 

The Oiling of “The One” Continues

 

As I stood up again, he turned around and said, very matter of factly, “Now the front”.  At first, it didn’t make much sense to me why he told me to work his huge chest and veined arms.  But then I understood, once again, that he liked what I was doing and didn’t give a damn about anybody else.  He sure as hell had figured out that I really liked what I was doing for him and to him.

 

“Start with my neck and work down my shoulder and arm first,”  he instructed again. I glanced again at everyone else and saw the same thing going on in different ways on different gods.  I told myself everything was fine.

 

Thank god he turned his head to the side when I started on his neck.  I couldn’t look at his face without saying or doing something very wrong.  It’s like my hands were separate from my body.  It’s like I was two people.  One guy doing the oiling and touching – the other watching going absolutely crazy with lust.  His traps were like small mountains protecting a thick neck of veins, cables, and muscles.

 

I was really awestruck at how hard and big his delts were.  And, yet, his skin was so soft. I stiffened again as my hands ran over veins coming from his biceps.   My disembodied hands moved in parallel down this ham-like, veined side of beef, that he called his bicep and upper arm.  I kept right on massaging the oil while he did a little flex.  The muscles of his tricep and bicep jumped in my hands.  I couldn’t believe the number of big veins and cords and how they covered the extremely hard muscles.  I couldn’t slow down or I’d be in trouble.  Yet, I was really getting into this erotic worship by my very sensitive hands.

 

Then I moved my hands – in parallel – down to his massive and striated right forearm.  This was too much.  The veins stood out even more and I relished feeling the pulsing ridges they created.  I stopped to collect myself and get some more oil.  He was frozen like a statue, waiting, expectantly for me to continue.

.

While I grabbed the oil bottle, I took a peek at his gorgeous pouch.  It had moved.  He was at least a little hard and his cut cockhead was really showing its ridge now.  I was too stunned to keep going, much to my immediate embarrassment.

 

The Truth Will Out

 

His gorgeous face was about two feet from mine when he said, “Hey, Scott, you still okay?  I don’t want to distract you from your oiling here.  I know all about how this is turn-on.  Most every guy here gets turned-on somewhere, somehow.  I just get turned on when someone oils my muscle the way you are.  It’s a great feeling so I get a little hard.  No big deal.  It’s really a compliment to you, my friend.”

 

I made some feeble comment about just wanting to get the oiling right for him.

I thought I’d crawl in a hole when he said “Yeah…right” – with a noticeable edge of sarcasm.  He had an easy smile on his oh-so-handsome face so I assumed I was okay.

I made it through doing the other arm, never getting used to what it feels like to have such big, hard, beautiful muscle in my hands – wrapped in tributaries of throbbing veins. 

 

Then the moment of truth.  His huge hard chest and nips.  I noticed immediately that his nips were hard, too.  They stood out like hard eraser tips.  I know from reading and paying attention that touching a man’s chest is a very, very personal and intimate thing for most guys, especially bodybuilders.  Some really welcome it and others make sure you don’t get even close.

 

“Okay, just get it started here on my upper chest and I’ll finish it.”  I was very grateful.  I ran my oiled hands over his mountains of velvet smooth pecs.  The two muscle masses felt unbelievably huge in my small hands.  Again, I made sure to remember the feeling of his hard hips on the side of my hands but not stop moving.  I left some oil in the crevice for him to spread around. I moved down to his abdominals and he now flexed those.  For a big guy like him, I knew he had really worked to get them into such definition.  There was one big vein that came down on a diagonal into his bare pubic area that I could have fingered forever.

 

I actually made my first comment to him, “These are incredible.  It amazes me that anyone can get like this”.  “Not anyone good buddy.  Just a few of us.  The few that don’t settle for anything less than muscular perfection.  I have been building, pumping and flexing this body for many years now.  This is the payoff,” he said with extreme confidence.

 

He flexed them again.  And my hands moved, actually with more noticeable passion, spreading the oil around these classic grooved cobblestones.  I think I saw him smiling as I oiled him here.

 

We were a team, now.  He had me to himself and I had him to myself.  We were getting ready for night an aroused audience would never forget him – that would go home and get-off fantasizing about him.  I knew they would go wild over the sensuous beauty of his massive hardened body.

 

I can’t remember when, but just before I was done oiling him, he hollered again.  “Hey there’s my favorite little guy – looks like you’re coming along nicely there Paul.  Could be second place here for you tonight,” he barked. 

 

When I turned my head it was like I was seeing his twin, only somewhat shorter, casually walking over to us.

 

Oh my ever lovin’ god….

 

Feedback welcomed.  No flames please.

Copyright [email protected]

 

[btkcb]

Oh my god! who wrote this? this is so great!

[crushme99]

Excellent work.

[Hugepecman]

Awesome buddy! Definitely want more.