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    • Musclelover18765
      Oh my god this is amazing, cannot wait for the next part 
    • TQuintA
      Chapter 20             A few days later—closer to a week—when I came home from work, Gabriel was in a tizzy.             “What’s wrong?” I asked.             “I fucked up bad,” Gabriel answered, pacing.             “Fucked up how?”             “Douglas is going to kill me.”             “Douglas?  What?”  I put my hands on Gabriel’s upper arms to stop him from pacing.  “Sit down and give me the whole picture.”             Gabriel sat at the dining room table, and I joined him.  “Douglas is a trainer at my gym.  I see him there a lot.  Today, after my session with Hank, a guy came up to me in the locker room.  He said his name was Teddy.  Teddy told me that I should know that last night my husband was at a bar hitting on him pretty hard, saying he was in an open relationship, and that I should reel my man in.”             “Teddy saw the three of us go out dancing,” I said, filling in a gap.             “Yes, he did.”             “That’s easy enough to clear up,” I reassured him.  “Just tell him that you are in an open marriage.  You are monogamous, but Douglas is allowed to have other partners.”             “That might’ve worked if I thought of it,” Gabriel said, tapping his fingers against the table nervously.  “But, at the gym, I’m married to Bridget, so I just vehemently denied being married to Douglas and said that Bridget is my wife.”             “Great,” I said cheerfully.  “That should clear it up too.  You didn’t want gay men hitting on you at the club, so you pretended to be married to your wife’s brother.”             “Oh, you keep interrupting,” Gabriel said nervously, his taps graduating to light slaps.  “I suggested that Douglas just said he was married to me, accidentally implying he’s hopelessly in love with me.”             I paused to make sure Gabriel was done, and then said, “Okay, that’s bad, but it’s not that bad.  Just apologize to Douglas and clear anything up you have to the next time you’re at the gym.”             “He’s going to get fired,” Gabriel moaned, hiding his eyes.             “I’m guessing there’s more to this story, then.”             Gabriel took in a sharp intake of breath to finish the story, when the door to our apartment burst open.             "What the fuck did you say?" Douglas screamed as he charged into our apartment.             “I’m sorry,” Gabriel said, standing up, his hands raised in a submissive posture.  “It came out so wrong.  I didn’t mean to say anything.  You can hit me if you want.”             “I’d break my hand, and you’d feel nothing,” Douglas said.  “What did you tell Teddy?”             “That you once tried to seduce me, that you’re always at my apartment, and that you tried to sleep with me even though I’m married to Bridget.”             “Then you did call me a stalker,” Douglas fumed.  “It’s all anyone was talking about at the gym today.”             Gabriel was pleading a little.  “The only flat-out lie I told was that I’m married to Bridget, and she’s the one who came up with that lie.  Ask her yourself.  Everything else I told Teddy was true, but it came out wrong because I was caught off-guard and nervous.”              Douglas was having none of it.  “The second you said that, half the people at the gym began talking about all the people, including clients, that I’ve fucked.  I was a slut before I started fucking dudes.  I didn’t realize how many people I’d slept with until they all started talking to each other.”             “That does sound bad,” I said meekly.             “It’s against the employee code of conduct to fuck a client,” Douglas fumed.  “It’s grounds for termination.”             “I’m so, so sorry.”  Gabriel, in desperation, added, “You can hit me with a bat if you don’t want to punch me.  I deserve it.”  He ran into the kitchen and came back with a frying pan.  “Or this,” he said, handing it to Douglas.             Douglas lifted the frying pan, poised to strike, and Gabriel recoiled, closing his eyes and bracing for impact.             I closed my eyes too, afraid of what was coming next.  Then, I heard two sounds that made no sense: the sound of a frying pan being placed gently on a table, and the sound of Douglas laughing.             When I opened my eyes, I saw Douglas using his phone to snap pictures of Gabriel recoiling.  “That is your payback,” Douglas said.  Gabriel relaxed his posture a little bit and opened his eyes.  Douglas showed him the photos of him cowering.  “You fuck with me again, I hit you for real.”  He pat Gabriel on the shoulder.  “We’re square now, big guy.”             “What the hell?” I asked.             “I got fired for fucking my clients,” Douglas said, “but I am the one who fucked my clients.  That’s not Gabriel’s fault.  However, getting fired weirdly did me a favor.  When the boss threatened to axe me, all of my clients rushed to my defense.  The handful I slept with insisted it was mutual and consensual.  But the boss held his ground, so I announced I was going freelance.  I already have a dozen clients.”             “Are you a gigolo now?” Gabriel asked.             “Get your mind out of the gutter, ace-boy.  Freelance personal trainer.  I get to set my own hours, pick my own clients, and make more money.  All the people who stepped forward to defend me were ones who’d made significant progress, and they credited it to me.  I’ve been freelance for only a few hours, and I’m already in high demand.”             “They don’t care that you’re a stalker?” I asked.             “Most of them didn’t believe it in the first place.  The people still foaming at the mouth, I just talked them down.  Once I explained that I had respectfully walked away when Gabriel told me he didn’t want to have sex with me, that calmed most all of them down.  Then I explained that I was in an open relationship with his best friend and that Bridget was my sister, and that answered everyone else’s questions.  Even Teddy’s.  Then I explained that I’d been Gabriel’s personal trainer once upon a time, and that got me two new clients.  People I haven’t even slept with.”             “If no one thinks you’re stalking Gabriel,” I started, “then why did they still fire you?”             “Because I fucked my clients, Auggie.”  Douglas laughed a little.  “That is an immutable fact.”             “And you pretended to be angry…” I started, leadingly.             Douglas finished the sentence, “To fuck with Gabriel.  He got me fired.  It happened to work out in my favor, but it really shouldn’t have.”             Gabriel sat down, physically relieved.             “And since we’re square again,” Douglas said, “I want a favor.”             “Anything.  It’s yours.”  Gabriel was overly quick to agree.             Douglas sat in the chair opposite Gabriel and leaned in.  “I want to see your most recent video.”             “House Rule #5!” Gabriel and I said at the exact same time.             “It’s on the fridge,” I added.  “I don’t watch those anymore.”             “But, as I learned last week,” Douglas said, swiveling to look at me, “you still get them.  I was under the mistaken impression that Johnny stopped sending those after our last phone call where I proved you had a boyfriend.”             “Yeah, I get them, but I delete them,” I assured him.             “The last one he watched was on my insistence before we had the House Rules,” Gabriel clarified.             “I know that Auggie wouldn’t watch them.”  He paused, then meekly added, “On some level.”  Then, in his normal tone of voice, he continued, “But they must be tempting, or there wouldn’t be a House Rule about it.  And so I can’t stop thinking about them.  It’s like a bee buzzing in my head.  I’ve just got to see one for myself.”             “You really want to see one? Gabriel asked.             “Yes, but only with your permission.  Auggie’d never forgive me if I didn’t have your permission.”             Gabriel sighed deeply.  “Fine.  You’ve already seen me naked.  A second time won’t hurt.”             “What?” I asked, shocked.             Gabriel continued, “On the condition that you watch it with Auggie.  That way, if either one of you gets turned on, the other one is right there to handle it.”             “You’ve got to be kidding me,” I said.  “Gabriel, I don’t want to watch the video.”  I was just starting to make some real progress getting over Gabriel.  Why would he insist on this?             “Your boyfriend wants to, I owe him one, and you’ve proven to me you can watch one and keep yourself under control.  He hasn’t.”  He turned to Douglas.  “This is a one-time deal because I got you fired.  House Rule #5 goes back into full effect the second that video’s over.”             “Understood,” Douglas assented.             “Shake on it,” Gabriel insisted, putting out his hand.             They shook, and I found myself being led into my bedroom by Douglas.  It was only five minutes after I got home from work.  I hadn’t even taken off my shoes yet, and I’d already been on a roller coaster ending with my boyfriend and me going to watch a naked video of my best friend sent to me by my oldest brother.             I started the video, and the interview portion began.  Unlike every other one of these videos I’d seen, Gabriel looked relaxed and calm in this one.  He was in a button-down shirt, only the first three buttons were undone to allow his ample pecs room to breathe.  Swirls of dense chest hair pooled out of his shirt, and his shoulders were so broad that they threatened to pull his shirt open wider.  His arms were crossed casually in front of him, his bulging biceps on the verge of shredding his sleeves, and pushed firmly into his pecs, the muscles vying for the same space.  Especially compared to the anemic, underfed interviewer, Gabriel looked gigantic, overfilling his clothes and his seat.  There was a smile on his face, bringing a touch of softness and beauty to his otherwise ruggedly masculine face.  His beard shined under the fluorescent lights.  He was breathtaking.             The interviewer must have noticed it too because, instead of his stock questions, he asked, “Why are you in such a good mood today?”             “Everything’s going great.  Work’s not a stress anymore, money’s not a stress anymore, and my libido’s not a stress anymore.”             “Are you no longer masturbating excessively, then?”             “Fuck am I masturbating excessively.  I’m up to four times a day.  Sometimes a fifth to help me sleep.”  He handed them three paper bags.  “Here’s my sample from this morning.  It wouldn’t all fit in two cups.”  When the interviewer reached over to grab it, Gabriel tightened his grip, saying, “You promise me my output will go down once I’m off the pills.”             The interviewer said, “Everyone else’s has.  You won’t likely go down to your levels before the study, but it should drop considerably.”             “Good,” Gabriel said, releasing the paper bags.             The interviewer accepted the bags, then asked, “Any other changes?”             Leaning back into his relaxed, crossed-arm posture, Gabriel said, “I found this product online—a chemical epilator trans women swear by.  I’m going to see if that’ll help with the shaving.  I probably won’t use it on my chest, though, because the chest hair helps with the excessive masturbating.  I’ve also noticed my nipples are larger.  Kind of bulgy?  Puffy?  They’re very sensitive.  They help with the masturbation too.”             “And your testicles.  Any increased hair growth there?”             “Probably,” Gabriel said with a shrug.  The shrug caused his round, bulging shoulders to pull at his shirt, flashing even more chest hair tantalizingly.  “I’ve stopped checking.”              “Any other changes?” the interviewer asked.             “I’m eating more than before, but not because I’m hungry.  I’ve been stuffed full for the last two weeks on my trainer’s orders.”             “Any more problems with your increased pheromones?”             “I’ve caught people sniffing my belongings at the gym, towels and the like.  Mostly women.  Guys in the locker room kind of freeze when I lift my arms up or take a shower.  Some still give me that ‘I want to eat you’ look.”             “Are your testicles still vibrating?”             “Only on the nights I need the fifth go-around.”             They asked if he was taking the pills as directed, and he nodded.  They asked if he’d made any significant changes to his lifestyle.               He shook his head no, but added “You have it on record that I’m training for a bodybuilding show with a professional trainer now, right?”             The interviewer nodded, and then the video then cut abruptly to the soundless white-walled room.              Gabriel was absurdly huge.  Photoshopped muscle morph huge.  His chest, the part of his body that always struck me first in these videos, hung over his torso like a cliff.  They were round, swollen, pert and full, yet covered in striation and rippling with power, clearly massive with muscular brawn.  The jungle of chest hair foresting them made them seem even bigger, even more delectable.  His nipples were indeed more prominent, but his pecs were getting so big that his nipples had migrated further south.  His shoulders were devastatingly broad.  He looked too wide across for human anatomy—his shoulders were more like architectural features, decorative rounded domes of muscle atop either side of his chest.  Adding to this absurd illusion, his neck was a balustrade of thick brawn, so wide and so present his neck was its own distinct mass of power.  His biceps and lats broadened him even further.  His lats were no longer just pushing his arms aside; they were holding them vaguely aloft.  I saw Gabriel’s arms routinely, so I know just how hard, heavy, and huge they are, but on the screen, unencumbered by the camouflage of clothes and fresh form a workout, his arms looked monstrous.  Large, distended, hyper-present veins snaked down his bicep, scaling the mountain, a clean split between the muscles somehow visible even relaxed and unflexed.  Those veins continued down his bulging forearms, thicker than a normal man’s bicep.  His whole arm was closer in scale to a leg than an arm—a bodybuilder’s leg at that.  Augmenting his arms’ dizzying brawn, the triceps swooped out the other way, further than his biceps did, corded with muscle, crinkled like a croissant.  His upper half was made seemingly more massive by his insignificant, wasp waist.  His waist was so drawn in that I would have no idea how his upper half stayed upright if it weren’t for those abs.  His abs had hardened and blossomed into an angry washboard.  The skin adhered to each muscle, revealing a tight network of veins, and his Adonis belt and each individual ab muscle emerged like mountains among valleys.  Those abs were so impressive, they looked bulletproof.              Gabriel in the video turned around, and his gigantic, immaculate ass eclipsed our vision.  It was impressively round, yet ridged with muscle fibers and self-evidently mighty enough to demolish all who opposed it.  If his lats seemed broad from the front, they looked like wings from the back, strong enough to soar him into the stratosphere.  His entire back bulged with meat and brawn and beef, a terrain of muscular awe.  And if his waist looked impossibly tiny from the front, it looked nearly non-existent from the back, as if his back muscles were free floating over his ass muscles, the two tethered together by the slenderest kite string.              As he turned back around, I saw his legs.  No, that word was insufficient.  I’d seen legs of all shapes and sizes, and I knew Gabriel’s had to be big because they stretched any pair of pants he dared wear to their breaking point, but these two columns of steely power were too thick and dense and vital to be called mere mortal legs.  His quads were obviously and noticeably thicker than his waist, especially when he taunted the camera operator by flexing them, ballooning them out into mesmerizing steely girders, fed by thick veins, and ribboned and cabled with muscle fibers.  His calves similarly beggared belief.  They were large, and diamond-hard, flaring out below his knees as impressively as his thighs did above.              Then, front and center were his cock and balls.  A thick, impressive bush surrounded his genitals, his balls now beyond hairy as they hang low and impressively in each sack.  He had bull balls now—there was no other way to say it.  And his cock was huge, even soft.  His cock looked thicker and longer soft than most men’s do hard.  I could only fathom what he looked like fully erect, dripping pre.  But I shook that thought away.             At the end of the video, the chyron read: Subject 3-18 Weight: 141.1 kg Body Fat: 9.4% Flaccid State: 15.9 cm Erect State: 26.9 cm             Douglas elbowed me and asked, “What is that in American numbers?”             “311 pounds, 6 and a quarter inches flaccid, 10.6 inches erect.”             “Holy fuck!” Gabriel said, an odd note of concern in his voice.  I’d expected him to be turned on, to dive on me and start making mad, passionate love.  Instead, he started biting his thumbnail.             “You okay?” I asked.             “Fine,” he said, but he obviously wasn’t fine.  “I’m just shocked by this video.  I see him all the time, but he wears clothes that disguise it, I guess.  Or he just seems so much bigger on screen.”             “The camera adds ten pounds,” I joked.             “To his cock?” Douglas said, the sentence rising up at the end, becoming slightly shrill.  “Seeing it written out in numbers like that.  311?  You sure?"             I pulled up Google and showed him the math.             “That’s 70 pounds more than me.”  He pointed to the screen accusatorily.  “I’m fucking big, I’m taller than him, and he outweighs me by 70 pounds.”  Douglas focused on Gabriel’s cock on the computer screen.  “He’s bigger than me everywhere.”  He bit his thumbnail harder.  “Fuck.”             “Why did you really want to see this video?” I asked, quietly and calmly, no judgment.  I closed my laptop.  “You seem to have gotten no joy out of it.”             “I wanted to put it out of my head.  I don’t like the idea that you’re secretly beating off to videos of your best friend.”  He shook his head vigorously.  “I don’t like it.”             “Let’s say I am,” I said, still calmly and quietly.  I put my had on his shoulder and reassured, “I’m not.”  I squeezed him lovingly.  “But let’s say I am.  So what?  You masturbate.  You watch porn.”             “But I don’t live with a hung, muscular porn star.”             “Do you think I’m fucking Gabriel?” I asked, deeply confused.             “Of course not.”  Douglas’s tone was pained and conflicted.  “I mean, not really.  Gabriel’s practically a eunuch.  If eunuchs could somehow be hung.  But admit it, you’d be weird about it too if I lived with a buff, generously endowed straight guy who worked as a stripper or a lesbian cam girl with big tits who liked to walk around naked.”             “Even if you lived with a gorgeous rent boy, no I wouldn’t.  We’re in an open relationship.”  I knew what was bothering Douglas, but I don’t think Douglas did.  After a second, I added, “If we were monogamous, maybe then I’d feel weird.  Jealous even.”             A look of clarity went over Douglas’s face.  A peace came over him.  Then, he nodded emphatically, so emphatically that his shoulders moved with it.  “Okay.  I’m convinced.  Polyamory isn’t for me.  I haven’t enjoyed the last few fucks I’ve had with people who aren’t you.  I felt guilty after having sex with Michael.  That’s why I washed my hands, Auggie.  I felt dirty.  And the thought of you even kissing another guy shreds my guts.  And you just named that feeling.  Jealousy.  I’m jealous of Gabriel.  Which makes no fucking sense because anything sexual between the two of you is a non-starter.”  He looked me squarely in the eyes.  “Let’s be monogamous.”             “Do you mean that?”             “Yes.  I’ll commit to you completely.  No other men or women in my romantic life.  Can you commit to me?  No other men in your romantic life?”             “Sure.  I wasn’t seeing anyone else anyways.”             “It’s settled.  Monogamous boyfriends.”             From behind my door, I heard Gabriel shout, “Yes!”             “You were eavesdropping?” I asked.             He opened the door.  “Only until I heard how this turned out.  I expected it would end with you two rutting like animals, but I had some doubts and fears.  This is a far better outcome.”             “Close the door, Gabriel,” Douglas said.             “Why?”             “Auggie and I have some rutting to do.”
    • TQuintA
      Chapter 19             Thus began the new phase in Gabriel’s life.  Between work, Douglas, and the changes in Gabriel’s schedule, my life returned pretty much to normal.  Gabriel’s, though, was entirely different.             For one, since he was no longer holding down a 9-5 job, he could use that time to work out, meaning Gabriel was often home waiting for me when I got there.  For another, since he was home alone more often, he scheduled his masturbation around my schedule so I didn’t hear his cries of ecstasy anymore.  For yet another, he took on a determination I’d never seen before.             “This is my one chance, Auggie.  My one chance to get as big as possible and live my dream as a bodybuilder.  Once I’m off these pills, who knows how much of the muscle I’ll be able to maintain?  There’s a local bodybuilding contest in six weeks—it’s major enough to get my pro card.  Then, there’s an Olympia qualifier in Pittsburgh in13.  Then, there’s Olympia a month after that.  I’m cutting the deadlines razor thin, but especially since Johnny is helping me grease the wheels, I’ve got my target in sight.”             “You want to win Olympia?” I asked, agog.             “First timers never win,” he said dismissively.  “I want to qualify out of nowhere, show up on stage huge, and scare the hell out of the vets.”  Then, after a pause, he added, “But if I want to do that, I have to train to win.  And I’m going to do it on Johnny’s dime.”             Johnny came through with the money.  Johnny came through in a big way.  He even insisted on hiring Gabriel a coach to help him train.             “If he wins Olympia,” Johnny said, “it’ll only help my company once we crack what’s causing Gabriel’s freakish growth.  Hell, if he places we’ll sell millions.”             The first few days they worked together, I rarely saw Gabriel’s coach, but I did see him a handful of times at the apartment.  He was a gruff former bodybuilder in his 50s.  He’d gotten a little soft around the middle, and he was nowhere big as he was at his peak (I Googled him), but he was still plenty impressive.  His name was Hank, and he did not like me.             “I don’t understand what you two even do together!” I heard Hank say.  It was maybe the second or third day he was coaching Gabriel.  They were in the living room; I was in my bedroom.  They were unaware I could hear them.             “Watch movies.  Play poker.  Hang out.  Talk.  Have dinner.  Things like that.”             “I don’t understand.”             “You don’t understand friendship?”  Gabriel sounded especially confused.             “I’d understand if you were fuckin’ the kid,” Hank said, a little louder.  “It’d weird me out a little, but I’d get it.  A lot of the guys I coach have a pretty little thing on the side.  A pretty little thing with tits, but I understand that men have needs.  If you were fuckin’ the kid, I’d tell him to bend over and service you whenever you demanded like the twerp he is.  It’d be his way of contributing.  But he’s just a normal kid.”             “He’s my best friend and roommate,” Gabriel responded, defending me.  “And he’s the same age as me.”             “I’d maybe understand if he was a fellow bodybuilder.  Motivation, competitive edge, liftin’ buddy.  I’d get that.  But a skinny gay vegetarian, when you ain’t none of those things?  Tell him to hit the bricks.  He’s getting in your way.”             “I can always hire a different coach,” Gabriel said.             “Okay,” Hank said, acquiescing.  “The kid stays.”             When I told Gabriel that I’d overheard the conversation between him and Hank, he patted me on the cheek.  “Don’t worry, buddy.  His bark is much worse than his bite.  Besides, he’s completely changed the way I work out.  Apparently, I’ve been overtraining.  He’s got me working out less time, but reaping more benefits.  I wish I had him months ago.”             As much as I bristled at Hank, I could see the positive changes he made in Gabriel.  Gabriel went from laser-focused to heat-seeking missile.  I’d gotten used to him waking up to an alarm clock religiously; now he was going to bed when an alarm went off, even if we were in the middle of a movie.  And if I thought he’d been eating an inhuman amount before, I was in for a world of surprise from the sheer amount of food he would put away.  Hunger was no longer his motivation to eat.             “Hank says I have to hit my macros,” Gabriel explained through a mouthful of peanut butter.             I nodded as though that sentence bore meaning.             And the results were undeniable.  In just two short weeks, Gabriel ballooned from an already gargantuan to floor-shaking.  He was a beastly behemoth of a man.  His arms and chest were so thick and swollen, they threatened every shirt he dared put on.  Even though he was now wearing a lot more Lycra and stretch fabrics for the give, he looked fit to burst from everything he wore.  And his legs.  His legs!  They were so thick that they fought each other for space when he was just standing there.  And when he walked, they rolled around each other, forcing him to swagger with every step he took, flexing and quaking with each motion.  And with his legs taking up so much space, his bulge was pushed front and center—and undeniable focal point of enlarged male anatomy beyond what us mere mortals possessed.             Two weeks after Hank was hired, Gabriel tackled me at the front door, picked me up, and spun me around.  His muscles were as hard as steel, and I could feel his ever-increasing chest hair prickle through his shirt.             “Call Douglas.  We’re going out.”  He was grinning and over-eager.             “Where are we going?” I asked, as he held me aloft.             “I don’t care.  Someplace fun where we can dance.  Your favorite club.”             “If we go to my favorite club, the guys will swarm around you.”             “Whatever,” Gabriel said with carefree glee.  “I just need to dance.”             “My favorite club doesn’t open until 8.  Isn’t that your bedtime?”             “Hank gave me a one-night pass to stay up ‘til midnight.”  He bounced me up and down in his arms.  “C’mon!  Get excited!”             “Why are we so excited?”             “I broke 300!  I am more than 300 pounds of man, Auggie!”             “I’ll call Douglas,” I said.  Then I tapped his shoulder.  “As soon as you put me down.”             “Right,” Gabriel said, lowering me.  “You weigh nothing, bud.  You should start eating more.”             “My weight is just fine,” I said and pulled out my phone.  “You’re just a Herculean super-bodybuilder.”             “Fair,” Gabriel said, flexing his arm.  The sinews and veins danced as the bulge swelled and contracted.             Gabriel and I met up with Douglas in the parking structure down the street from the club.  Douglas and I were dressed in our normal date clothes—tight button downs and tighter jeans (Douglas left his top few buttons unbuttoned).  Gabriel was dressed scandalously in black spandex—shirt and pants—that conformed to every bump and swell of his body.  I could see all his abs through the shirt.  The three of us arrived at the front door as soon as it opened, and there was already a line outside.              “Just a warning,” I said.  “The only people who get here this early are the regulars, the super desperate, and the over-18-under-21 crowd.  In other words, the three demographics most likely to be drawn to you like magnets.”             Gabriel inhaled deeply, swelling his chest.  He then sucked in his waist, put his hands on his hips, and flared his lats, striking a pose reminiscent of Superman.             “They can’t make me do anything I don’t want,” he chuckled, practically guffawing.             When he saw that display, the bouncer didn’t even make us wait in line.             Dancing was a blast, especially ricocheting back and forth between my big boyfriend and my even bigger best friend.  I was in muscle heaven.  Every move Gabriel made caused his muscles to twitch and flex; his bulk and bulges bounding and grooving to the music was hypnotic.  Douglas was also going hot and heavy—sticking his tongue down my throat on the dance floor.  It was the first time I’d even done anything so overtly sexual in front of Gabriel, but he didn’t seem to care.  Or even notice.             When we first started dancing, I did spy a few men gently approach Gabriel, but they flew away as quickly as they landed.  Whatever his trick, it was working, so I wasn’t going to question it.             After a half hour of dancing, I was hot and parched.  “Let’s get drinks!” I said.             “It’s on me,” Douglas said, whipping out his credit card.  He said the following more as a question rather than a statement, “Light beer for me, vodka soda for Auggie, and for Gabriel…”             “I don’t…” Gabriel started, but Douglas interrupted.             “I was going to offer you a bottle of water, big fella.”             Gabriel nodded appreciatively.             Seconds later, Douglas came back and shared a wicked idea.             “There’s a sign at the bar that says men over 10 inches drink free.”  He pointed at Gabriel’s obscenely packed crotch.  “What say you, Gabriel?  Do you qualify for free drinks yet?”             Gabriel looked like a deer caught in headlights.             “That sign is always there.  It’s a joke,” I said reassuringly.  “Just pay for the drinks, Douglas.”             “Roger,” Douglas said, making an about face.             “How would they check?” Gabriel asked, loud enough for Douglas to hear.             Douglas stopped dead in his tracks, then turned around.  “Pardon?”             “How would they check?” Gabriel repeated.  “They’re not just going to take my word for it.  How would they check?”             “You’re over 10 inches?”             “At my last measuring, 301 pounds, 10.1 inches,” Gabriel said.             For a moment, the two of us just stared in awe.  Then, Douglas spoke up.  “Don’t fucking say those things if I can’t fuck you,” Douglas practically whimpered, staring at Gabriel’s immensity.             “I ask again,” Gabriel re-directed, “how would they check?  If they expect me to whip it out at the bar or want to post a picture of it somewhere public, we’re paying for drinks.  But if, for instance, they took me into a back room or a bathroom stall, I say we go for it.  Call their bluff.”             “What?” I asked incredulously.             “I fucking hate this thing,” Gabriel said.  “It’s always in my way, it’s always hot and sweaty, and it’s unnecessarily heavy.  If it can get us free drinks, it's about time it started pulling its not unsubstantial weight.”             “You’d really show a stranger your cock?” I asked.             “I do it all the time at Johnny’s research center,” Gabriel said.  Then, a thought hit him.  “Ooh!  Pull out your phone.  Johnny sends you those pervy videos.  Would they accept that as evidence?”             “He still sends those?” Douglas asked.             “I don’t watch them,” I responded to Douglas.  To Mason, I said, “If there’s a time stamp on the video, they might.”             “They’d want to see it in the flesh,” Douglas said, extra emphasis on the word “flesh.”  “You don’t put up a sign like that if you don’t want to see it in person.”             “You two stay here,” Gabriel said.             He walked over to the bar, got the bartender’s attention, and whispered into his ear.  The bartender looked dubious, but beckoned Gabriel into the storage room by curling one finger repeatedly.  About two minutes later, Gabriel came out of the storage room, adjusting the bulge in his pants—he was obviously and thickly erect.  The bartender followed him, a tape measure in his hand and a smile on his face.             Gabriel came back over to us with our drinks.  “Drinks are on me the rest of the night,” he said, crowing a little bit.  He pointed to his crotch.  “Or rather, on him.”             “It’s a real policy?” I asked, taking my vodka soda.             “I’d’ve been back faster, but they made me get erect,” Gabriel said.  “Can most guys get erections on demand?  I’ve never had to coerce one before.”             “Most guys cannot just get an erection on demand,” Douglas commented, “but they can give themselves a running start by picturing something sexy.”             “Right.  Right,” Gabriel said.  “That makes sense.”   He downed half his bottle of water in one swig and then adjusted himself again.  “I hope this thing goes down on its own.”             After another hour of dancing—Douglas and I both nicely buzzed from Gabriel’s largesse—Douglas came back from the bathroom, stood behind me, put both of his hands on my shoulders, and spoke directly into my ear.             “There is this muscular hunk who saw us dancing.  He wants me and him to spit roast you.  Sounds hot.  What do you think?”             I turned to face Douglas and said, “I think we’re here to celebrate Gabriel who’s been getting us free drinks all night.  I’m not abandoning my friend for a threesome.”             “Just look at the guy before you say no,” Douglas said, pointing out the man who’d made the proposition.  He was dark-haired, muscular, and had disproportionately large pecs.  As soon as I saw him, the suggestion made perfect sense.             “His name is Michael,” I said.  “And he probably wanted a threesome with you and Gabriel.”             “What do you say?” Douglas asked, undaunted.             “I’ve already had him.  He’s a disappointing top, so if you fuck him, make him bottom.”             “Thanks for the heads up,” Douglas said, kissing me on the neck and heading back to the men’s room.             “Where’s he going?” Gabriel asked me, a note of concern in his voice.             “To fuck Michael in the bathroom,” I answered plainly.             “Right now?  Right here?” Gabriel asked, wringing his hands unconsciously.             I looked over my shoulder and saw Douglas and Michael go into the bathroom together.             “Right now,” I confirmed.  “He’ll be back in about 15 minutes.  20 max.”             “That won’t be so bad,” Gabriel said.             I was confused by Gabriel’s worry, but decided it was concern on my behalf and dismissed it.             True to my word, 20 minutes later, Douglas was back dancing with Gabriel and me.             “What took you so long?” I asked.             “I had to wash my hands,” he answered.             “No further questions,” I responded with a giggle.             At 11:30, I tapped on Gabriel’s shoulder.  “If we don’t go now, you won’t get home in time for bed.”             “Already?” Gabriel asked, genuinely disappointed.             “March, mister!” I pointed to the exit.             “Where’s he going?” Douglas asked.             “Cinderella’s coach is about to turn back into a pumpkin,” I said.  “Come on, let’s go.  If Michael didn’t completely empty your tank, we can fuck around a little when we get back.”             “If we’re not going to keep dancing, I think I’ll head home,” Douglas said.  “I’ll walk back to your car with you, though.”  We walked in pleasant silence until we got to my car, and the Douglas suggested, “We can go trawling for fun after I get out of work tomorrow.”             I stood on my tiptoes and pulled his head down so I could kiss him on the cheek.             “Don’t drive drunk, and keep your hands clean,” I said and joined Gabriel in his car.             When I got in the front seat, Gabriel looked at me confused.  “No Douglas?”             “He’s homeward bound,” I said.  I closed the door.  “Did you have fun?”             “So much,” Gabriel said.             “Anybody hit on you?”             “Dozens,” Gabriel said.  “Especially the bartender.”             “How’d you keep them off you?”             Gabriel showed me his left hand.  “Didn’t you notice?  I’ve been wearing it since we got here.”  At some point, he’d put on a wedding band.              “When did you even get that?”             “A few weeks ago,” he said, taking the ring off and putting it in his pocket.  “When I had to start using a gym outside our building, a lot of strangers began hitting on me, and a lot of them blatantly offering sex.  Bridget suggested I get a fake wedding ring.  She has one too.”             “And that works?”             “Almost always.  It also gives me cover for when I get one of those random erections at the gym.  I figured a similar solution would work at a gay club.”             I couldn’t help but smile.  “You chased away guys at the club by telling them I’m your husband.  I’m kind of flattered,” I admitted.             Gabriel shook his head.  “I told them Douglas was my husband.”             “Not me?”  I was a little hurt.             “I love you, Auggie,” he said, tousling my hair, “but I’ve seen tea cozies more intimidating than you.”             I thought about that.  “No, no, I see where my error was.  Douglas makes more sense.”  I nodded.  “Is that why you got nervous when Douglas went off to fuck Michael?”             “Indeed, it is.”             “Wait,” I said as an idea came to me.  “Is this why Hank hates me?  ‘Cause he thinks I’m screwing your husband?”             “Why would he think that?” Gabriel asked, laughing.  “He thinks I’m married to Bridget.”             “What?”             “Like I said, it was Bridget’s idea.  She was sick of people at the gym hitting on her too, so we pretend to be married there.  It’s mostly women who hit on me at the gym.  Since Hank’s kind of always at the gym with me, he also thinks Bridget is my wife.  I never specifically told him that lie, but everyone at the gym thinks Bridget and I are married.  I only pretended Douglas was my husband tonight because a married straight man at a gay bar—that wouldn’t exactly drive anyone away.  A married man dancing with his husband… that would.”             I puzzled it out in my head.  “Let me see if I understand this.  From Hank’s point of view, you and Bridget are married, and I’m dating Bridget’s brother, but it’s you and me who live together while both Douglas and Bridget each live alone in their own apartments.”             Gabriel mentally checked my math.  “Yes.”             “Then, he really doesn’t hate me.  He’s genuinely confused by our living arrangements.”             “I guess,” Gabriel said.              “I feel a little better,” I said, exhaling.  “Home?”             “Home,” Gabriel said, pointing through the windshield.
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