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Hello everyone, I noticed on my hard drive that I archived 4 stories from adonisobsessed from before the Tumbler purge. Roid rage “What did you just say, twerp?” Tanner’s deep and commanding voice rumbles angrily out of his big chest. “N-n-othing, Tanner.” Carl replies meekly. Tanner’s anger doesn’t subside. He throws off his shirt, revealing his devine body to the nerdy Carl. Tanner balls his fist, ready to throw punches. “You don’t get off that easy, runt. I heard you talking shit. Now man up and admit to it, before I gotta beat it out of you.” Carl’s face is mixed with fear and lust as he takes studs full muscular figure. “I said.” Started Carl quietly. “I said that if you were roid raging this bad I wouldn’t want to see how badly the roids shriveled up your balls and cock.” Tanner let’s out a short cruel laugh. “You think roids did this? That roids created sexy guns. That roids pumped me full with muscle?” Tanner bounces his pecs, loving Carl’s fixated stare. “C'mon Tanner, you were just an undersized football player a month ago, now you are a few sizes larger than the biggest fitness models. No way you didn’t get there without roids.” Tanner smirks, flexing his biceps to their unpumped 21 inches. Carl nearly passes out from all the musculature being flexed in his face. “Oh I definitely took performance boosters all right, just not roids.” “You think that ‘roids’ shriveled up my cock and balls? Well, let’s check.” Tanner peeled back the waistband of his gymshorts. Apparently going commando, Carl had a clear window at Tanner’s endowment. And what an endowment it was, a donkey sized dick with orange sized balls, Tanner’s cock was the opposite of shriveled up. It was odd, because Carl could’ve sworn his roommate had just been averagely hung when he had seen him naked a month or so ago, but people don’t grow dicks as big as Tanner’s overnight. “Nope, think I’m pretty good in the cock and balls department, certainly haven’t had any complaints.” Tanner grabs his crotch for emphasis, his big and still flaccid cock barely fitting inside his oversized mittens. “But-but, the roid rage…” Carl starts. Tanner just interrupts him, letting another chuckle. “Nah man, I’m not raging, that’s just me begining to realise I’m the big man between us. Now that my biceps the size of your head, and I’ve got veins thicker than your dick, I can’t just treat just as an equal, I gotta be the alpha between us now. Tanner gives Carl a patronising pat on the head, and still doesn’t peel his waistband back up. His cock, already bigger flacid than Carl’s when his is erect, grows red and angry as blood starts pumping through it and it slowly grows hard. "Now, I think it’s time you accept your new place between us too….” Tanner is hit by a wave of pleasure and rubs his ripped abs. Damn did those experimental growth hormones the coach gave him make him horny. “…and you come to terms with your new position at my feet.” Tanner barely even got to finish his sentence before Carl’s tongue started worshipping his thick and long cock. --- That’s not an m60 in my pants, I’m just happy to see you. You can’t help but snicker as you pull the trigger on the controller, sniping your friend from half the map away for the third time that evening. You likely wouldn’t have this much fun if your friend didn’t overreact so much to any time he lost. “You camping bitch! Don’t you have anything better to do than ruin my games.” There it was, classic overreacting Danny, it never got old. His insults were just amusing coming from him, his voice nasally betraying his weak body, even over just voice chat. “I bet you’re just upset because I shoved my gargantuan cock down the throat of that girl of yours.” Danny continued. It was just getting sad now. You knew Danny pretty well. You also knew that Danny had gotten plenty rejections once anyone saw his pathetic dick. You had just wanted to comment on that when new memories suddenly flooded your mind, replacing any thoughts of Danny with a tiny dick. No, no, Danny was speaking the truth all right, his cock was massive, gargantuan even. He loved taking it out, showing how thick and veiny it was. Wasn’t gay, just bragging on Danny’s part…. “Last I remembered Danny, girls wouldn’t want to come close to you. They just assume your bulge is padded by a few socks down there. And you’re definitely still way to scrawny to have Melisa be interested in giving you blowjobs.” You smirk, happy with your retort. “What you talking about bitch? Scrawny? I’m 280 pounds of solid beef and you know it.” Your mouth goes dry. Of course, Dan, the guy who had to order custom made chairs to carry his massive muscular weight. Why had you called him scrawny? His thick muscular chest was all you thought about when ‘fucking’ Melisa. You had been upset he had fucked her last night, the bed slamming against the wall as his fine cock had given her ‘the first real fuck of her life.’ But you had mostly just been upset it hadn’t been you who got to ride his massive manhood while worshiping Danny’s pecs How had you even for a moment thought of Danny as anything besides the big, hung, sexy, hulking brute who was the only one who could back up the threats he made in videogames. --- Big Requests My former buddy had a very self satisfactory smirk plastered on his face in the gym changing room. A smirk that seemed present in every fiber of his newly huge and muscular body. “C’mon man.” I begged. “You said you would get me some of those hyper steroid’s your father is working on.” He didn’t even look up once he heard my small and winy voice. “Sorry, bud.” His now deep voice boomed. “Been real busy the last few weeks helping out the cheer leading team.” He grabbed his filled crotch for emphasis, like the first thing that jumped to my mind whenever he mentioned any girl wasn’t how his massive schlong was going to rearrange their inside. “You promised you’d let me join you within godhood within days. It has been months, what’s taking so long?” I moaned “Truth be told…” My buddy grabbed a white tablet out of his bag. “I have gotten my hands on more of those hyper steroids…” He threw the white tablet down his own throat. “Just been using them on myself to grow even bigger.” His smirk grew as he ruffled my hair roughly. “Now, I’ll be sure to get you some as soon of those hyper steroids as I get tired off growing bigger and manlier every day by just taking a single tablet.” “Gotta warn you though, that might take a while. --- The Taller Brother “Ey little bro, I wanna talk to you!” His deep voice boomed across our large yard. I ducked into the nearest bush, hoping he hadn’t seen me yet. God not now. Please let some bimbo distract him for another couple of hours. “You been avoiding me brah? You know that won’t help.” I pushed my face even more into the ground. I prayed the grass was tall enough that he wouldn’t spot me. I held my breath. A few minutes passed, I thought he moved on when suddenly… “Gotcha!” He pulled me off the ground with just one of his muscular arms. He had a sadistic grin on his handsome face. His muscles never broke a sweat while he lifted me out of the dirt. No, not his muscles. My muscles. My handsomeness, My size. My bulge. He stole it from me, it wasn’t his, he hadn’t worked his ass off every day for the last few years. It looked good on him though… I swallowed, my drained body quivering. “Stupid sexy Sarah, made me forget we still had some business to finish up, right lil’ man?” “After all, the modeling ad specified they’re only looking for guys over 6′3. I’m still no inch taller than 5′7 I tried breaking out of his deadlock. His muscles wouldn’t bulge. “You on the other hand, you’re like what, 6′4? You got more than a few inches to spare.” “No! Please, we can work someth…” I was interrupted by a violent noogie. “Don’t be silly, little man” His grin widened. “It’s payback time.” I half heard him mumble some old incantation. I felt the magic pressure all my muscles in my body. It was a feeling I’d getting unpleasantly familiar with. He dropped me to the ground. A ground that already was little farther away than when I got picked up. My pants started looking ridiculous as my bones got shorter and shorter. I stood up again, but he already was taller than me. But he didn’t stop there. I saw him sprawling towards the sky, past 6′3. Past 6,7. When he finally stopped I barely reached his pecs. He must have been nearing 7 foot, and I was two foot smaller. “Please, Micheal, be reasonable, you took too much. You look thinner this way, give me back some of my size.” I would do anything to not have to go through life as a 5 foot twerp. “You know what, you’re right I do look thinner being this tall.” I smiled, glad he finally saw reason. “Luckily you still have plenty of muscle left I can burrow….” --- These stories are from adonisobsessed and not from me! All Credit goes to him!

Hi guys. Here’s my new four-chapter story, with the setting being South Florida. The theme is what will probably become my usual, where a bodybuilder and a twink get sexually and romantically involved with each other. Hope you like it, and I would of course always appreciate any responses that you may have. Thanks, Dennis "CONDO HOOKUP" CHAPTER 1 Timmy was sitting at his desktop computer in his cramped apartment in a typically densely- populated beach city on the Gold Coast of Florida. A lot of his relaxing time at home was spent checking out the many bodybuilder sites. Today, he had one of his favorites open, something called Muscle Growth Forums, where he was about to look through all the gorgeous musclemen for his morning wank. Today he went to the ‘Morphed Guys & Skinny Guys’ thread which was of particular interest to him. He thought it was hot, loving the muscle-size differences between the two pictured handsome men shown. It often also showed the skinny guy touching the ripped bulging muscle of the handsome morphed bodybuilder. And sometimes they were even in an embrace. Gasp! What an ultimate fantasy that would be for Timmy. Yeah, he really looked forward to spending quality time doing just that now. But then he heard BZZZZZZ. “Shit,” Timmy thought. “Probably another solicitor calling me on my phone. I’ll put it on speaker to just hear their message if one was even left by them.” Solicitors rarely left messages, as they knew you were not going to call them back if they did. So, Timmy then went back to his very important activity of jerking his dick. Then the message came on…. “This is the Tahiti Sands calling to schedule your closing as well as the date for your move in. Please call us back at…” Timmy leaped for the phone, surrendering his most pleasurable pursuit to take this very important interruption. The new condominium had finally finished its construction and Timmy was so looking forward to being one of the first residents to move in. He had waited well over a year for its opening as he had purchased it during its preconstruction phase. He was thrilled that he would finally be living in the big glitzy apartment house that had a lot of amenities, including of course a pool and gym. Timmy was born Timothy Meijer in West Michigan, 39 years ago, of Dutch descent on his father’s side and Irish on his mother’s. Growing up blond and very cute, even beautiful some people said, got him lots of pinches of his cheeks from relatives. But at school it was the gay bullying that Timmy had often experienced and endured. By senior year of high school, he had grown to six feet tall, slim and very handsome. He kept the name ‘Timmy,’ preferring it to perhaps a more usual ‘Tim’ for adulthood. He got away from the high school abuse when he went off to a university in Florida, and never looked back. Sure, holidays were sometimes spent briefly in Michigan with family, but his home became where it was warmer in winter and where many areas of South Florida had very sizable gay populations. And it was where he was able to become a very successful model. His tall, slender, blond, very handsome look at South Beach shoots contrasted nicely with the perhaps more prevalent handsome Latino models. * After finally moving in and getting settled into his new apartment, Timmy explored the building, seeing the fancy social room for parties, the barbeque area, card room, game room, tennis and bocce courts, and then the Olympic size pool which was ‘manned’ by a full-time staff. The lifeguard there was a very attractive guy, but, after chatting with him a while, Timmy was not really interested in taking it a step further with potentially dating him. This lifeguard, unlike their usual reputation from some of the gay sex stories he read, really didn’t have the kind of muscle that got his juices flowing. The condo’s gym would be opening later that week, and there was much more muscle potential there, Timmy thought. And hoped. Soon after, on a day when the weather was very stormy and traveling perhaps somewhat dangerous, Timmy thought that it was now the perfect time to check out the gym. He took a quick shower, and then, as he was passing his bedroom’s full-length mirror, he gazed at himself for his usual critical assessment. He looked at his middle-aged slender body that was devoid of very much muscle, though he thought it was nicely toned. He also saw, and knew from professional experience and from casual admirers, that he was considered very handsome. He was hit on by men frequently because of that, but he rarely gave them a tumble. They were never muscle-guys, and Timmy just assumed that that was because they liked other muscle-guys and would not be interested in skinny him. Well, maybe with this very conveniently located gym downstairs he’ll be able to finally put on some muscle. He was determined to do mostly cardio, but with a mix of a little weight training. The latter was to perhaps get a better view of the potential muscle guys lifting nearby. And, if there was any eye candy there, that would keep him motivated to keep coming back. Actually, if he was being totally honest with himself, it was perhaps the only reason to go to the gym in the first place! Timmy scanned the large gym and did a quick perusal to see who else was there. It was a big building, and lots of people had moved in already, which was evidenced by how crowded the gym appeared. He looked around and saw a young heavy-set guy, a skinny older guy, three women who were chatting up a storm about their husbands or boyfriends, a married couple, an overweight guy, and several more skinny guys clustered near the wall. Everyone, it seemed, but his muscular Prince Charming. ‘Oh well, I guess I’ll start with the treadmill after I change,’ Timmy thought. ‘I’ll watch some television there and pass the time that way’. But wait! Timmy’s heart then immediately started leaping as he saw someone very interesting on the far side of the gym. Yes, a major muscle guy who had now made Timmy’s jaw drop. The guy was at the squat rack with an enormous amount of weight on his back. Timmy couldn’t help but stare at his muscles bulging in the pump. So huge and ripped. The bodybuilder then stood up with his back to the muscle-obsessed middle-aged guy, and Timmy was now able to make a study of the Adonis’s remarkably developed muscles on his back, which slimmed to an impossibly small waist in comparison. He saw that his glutes and hams were also extremely muscular as well. Timmy wondered, ‘Oh my god, have I died and gone to muscle-heaven? Is he real? Or is it my imagination going wild because I really wanted to see someone who looked just exactly like this?’ Timmy then squinted a little, and through the mirror that was in front of the bodybuilder, he made out that his muscle-guy was also very ruggedly handsome. Suddenly, the stud turned around and now Timmy was able to gaze at the enormous plates of bulging solid muscle on his chest as well as then definitely the largest biceps he had ever seen anywhere by far. Timmy estimated this guy’s waist and biceps to measure within just a few inches of each other. His delts and traps were also amazing to behold, and every inch of this bodybuilder was so perfectly symmetrically developed. No muscle was neglected. Timmy went a little south on his exploration of the spectacular landscape in his view and he now actually audibly gasped when he focused on the bodybuilder’s obscenely bulging crotch. He wondered if this stud had a hardon, or he was that big when soft. He laughed to himself at this question he had asked that he would obviously never get an answer to. Timmy saw that the muscle-stud also towered over the other guys around him and was twice as thick and wide as anyone else in the entire gym. But there was something about the bodybuilder’s handsome face that looked familiar to Timmy that he couldn’t quite place yet. It took several seconds more and then it clicked with him. “Yes, yes, that’s the new Mr. America! Biff something. Biff. Ummm, Biff Stevens. That’s who he is! Super heavyweight class too! Oh my god, and in my condo’s gym too!”

I'm not familiar with the show, but this was more what I was going for:

Alex as passenger 1A (seen by AI based on my text prompts) More stories illustrated with AI, listed at https://musclegrowth.net/topic/27564-garyds-themed-ai-generated-muscles/?do=findComment&comment=575941

Hi @louisbalfour, thanks for the story which, despite its relative shortness, is one of those I remembered years after the first read. I tried to use IA to show the possible appearance of passenger 1A. I hope you'll like those IA (French for Intelligence Artificielle) generated pics. (saw what I did? 1A => IA) Alex at the airport (sorry for the unzipped jackets, AI did not want to hide too much of 1A…)

FUCK. YES. My type lol (and the stethoscope doesn't look bad on him either )

It's been a while since I've posted here but Version 0.17 is now out and includes the Kobold's secret page where he posts pictures of himself - you can find it by using the Porn button at the Computer a couple of times. Since the last time there's also been a sex scene for the Smug Kangaroo added and a couple of new enemies: the Mysterious Rogue and Komodo Jock. Play here!

Sixth (and last, for now?) scene: No more underdress (but with the restriction of no nudity… )

Third scene: His Royal Highness' sleeves are failing and his shoulders are exposed.

Glad you like it, arpeejay. Next chapter should be coming out in a few days.

A summary…

Fifth scene: The Prince continues to grow.

Fourth scene: The Prince stands up and lets his robe fall.

Longer one, hope you enjoy! Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 5: Summer break arrived, grim as a prison sentence. To be away from Frank for mere hours felt like torture. Especially now that I was a full-blown roid pig, and my sex drive was insatiable. How was I going to survive back home for three months? For his part, Frank was just as upset. He had to stay on campus for football training — same dorm room, no me. “Will you promise me something?” he asked on my last day, as we lay in bed together. I was tracing my fingers through the violent grooves of his eight pack. “Of course, what is it?” I was expecting him to ask me to remain faithful, to not mess around with other guys. Now that I looked like this, I attracted leers anywhere I went, from men and women alike. Everyone wanted me. But that’s not what Frank was talking about. “Don’t stop lifting and growing this summer,” he said. “I want to see you get even bigger. I want you to keep eating, keep cycling. Stay focused on muscle all summer. All day, every day. Come back even bigger than you are now. Come back so big, people will gasp when they see you. So big they won’t even recognize you. James, your body has already responded better than I had hoped. You’re a hunk now, but I can make you a freak. A muscle freak. So huge. We’ll make you so big. 290, maybe even 300 pounds. Oh my god bro... Fuck....Big as a pro bodybuilder. Bigger. The two of us. Waddling around campus. Fucking and fucking nonstop. Two muscle freaks. One tall, one short. Sex every hour. All that muscle. Muscle, sex. Roids. Fucking beasts. Huge. So huge. Muscle, big muscle, so strong, so much muscle, so much musc-- oh fuck! Oh fuck! Oh fuck James! I can’t handle it. Holy shit! UNHHHH!” Frank grabbed behind my neck with one huge hand, and stuck his tongue down my mouth forcefully. At the same moment, his dick sprayed a huge load without warning or even any touch. Rope after rope shot up and landed in Frank’s beard and on his veiny neck. I counted 8 ropes! All while he kissed me passionately -- almost desperately. This happened anytime Frank talked about my muscle growth. Nothing turned him on more, not even his own muscular development. The second he started to envision me growing bigger, he'd burn beet red, wheeze loudly. His eyes would unfocus and look manic. His cock would shoot up as fast as a soldier's salute. As a rule, he'd eventually devolve into muttering "muscle" over and over again, like an incantation, until he came spontaneously. These would always be his biggest loads (which is really saying something). Each time Frank spiraled like this, his fantasies got more extreme. First it was bulking me up to 230 pounds, now it was 300. Of course, I couldn't have been more turned on either. I loved watching him lose control like this. I also started to realize that these fantasies could actually become a reality. I was almost 19, and already 225 pounds. To become a genuine mass monster, even a professional bodybuilder, suddenly felt plausible, especially while Frank was around. Laying beside him, I stroked my bulging pecs, arms, shoulders, quads, glutes... I was still blown away by their size. I soon came a load almost as large as Frank's. His fantasy was now my reality, my goal. -- So I had my marching orders for the summer. I also had (thanks to Frank) a year's worth of tren packed in my suitcase. With a heavy heart, it was time for me to head home. We had one last, incredible fuck session. Then another one. Then another one. Then finally, realizing I was about to miss my flight, I called an Uber and dashed off. Frank's dry cum still coated me underneath my super-tight clothes. The aroma of his pits was on my face in the cab, which gave me a throbbing boner the entire ride to the airport. I was 5'9, 18 y/o, 225 pounds. Tight denim jeans tearing inside the crotch. Light blue college t-shirt so tight you could see every ridge of my abs, both my nipples, my thick upper pecs almost touching my chin. Whenever I glanced at my reflection in a mirror or window, I was astonished at how wide I looked -- and also how obscene. Like a bodybuilder in the first minute of a gay porno, wearing ridiculous, undersized clothes. Stares from every direction as I rushed through the airport to board my plane. The gay flight attendant did a double take when he welcomed me on board. For a second, his mouth was agape. I winked, and he went red. I knew I looked like a fantasy cooked up in a lab. I approached my seat. A small, nerdy kid with glasses my same age -- no doubt on his way home from college as well -- regarded me with terror. I weighed a hundred pounds more than him, even though we were about the same height. As I stretched to stow my bag in the overhead bin, my tight shirt left my slightly hairy, washboard abs exposed. My bulging crotch was one inch from the kid's face. I'm sure he could smell the cum and sweat inside. I sat down beside him, my weight shaking the plane seat. All the color drained from his cheeks. The plane took off. The cabin lights dimmed, and almost everyone fell asleep. This was my first time in a plane seat since my "growth spurt." My shoulders and arms jutted well into the nerd's personal space. My hard tricep rubbed against his sad, noodley arm. I kept thinking how, just six months ago, I was this geek's size. We were probably the exact same age, yet I could do military presses with his body and not even break a sweat. Maybe even with one arm. I thought: Should I apologize for how much space I was taking up? I really was encroaching a full quarter into his seat. My bulging shoulder was digging into his tiny body. (The other one jutted into the aisle, so no one could pass by without brushing it.) My arm wasn't even on the arm rest, that's how wide I was. Then I noticed that the nerd was awkwardly covering up a boner in his lap. "Heh," I laughed under my breath. I turned my bulging neck and looked him in the eyes. I winked. He went as red as a firetruck. Now I was feeling arrogant. Discreetly, without anyone noticing, I grabbed his wrist and laid it on my bicep. I flexed, and the little nerd squeezed as hard as he could. (Not very.) Then I guided his tiny arm up under my shirt. I let him feel my pecs. I bounced them up and down as he groped them pathetically. His grip suddenly weakened. "Uff!" he whimpered. I saw a dark spot growing in his pants. My huge muscles had just made him cum. "Good boy," I whispered, and pushed him away, before anyone noticed. Fun as this mile-high muscle worship was, I was already missing Frank. I scrolled through the hundreds of X-rated pictures and videos of him on my phone, both heartbroken and incredibly aroused. Pics of us together when I was just 180 pounds, and he was 375. Videos of me pounding him doggy style, his back muscles jiggling. I could feel the nerd's prying eyes on my screen. I stumbled upon a recent, shirtless, chest-up picture of Frank, from his 430-pound era. He was smiling, as handsome as a movie star, but his furry pecs and shoulders looked so shockingly pumped that the nerd gasped. "Your...boyfriend?" he asked meekly. "You could say that," I replied. "Oh my God. He's... huge," he whispered, looking at Frank's picture in disbelief. He was spellbound. Now I had a painful erection. I lowered the seat back tray to hide it. But my heart was heavy. Three months apart. It sunk in. What if Frank found someone new? Someone even bigger than me? Vague jealousy burned like flames in my mind. I felt more motivated than ever to grow this summer. I'd come back so huge that Frank would be shocked, so big he could never find someone hotter than me. So big, so fucking big, so much muscle... my mind looped and looped, just like Frank's. Maybe it was the tren. The nerd watched as I took out a two-pound Tupperware container. Ground chicken, brown rice. 120 grams protein. It was a four-hour flight, and I had three of these meals to eat. -- To say my parents were horrified would be an understatement. At the airport, they didn't even recognize me at first. "It's me, it's James," I assured them. Even my voice was deepened by the roids. They hugged me like I was a science-fiction monster, confused and alarmed. You have to remember that the last time they had seen me, just six months prior, I was a lean, 155-pound kid. Now I was 225 pounds. I had told them I was bigger, that I'd been lifting, but not much else. Now, their charming, sensitive, academically inclined son was a roided-out meathead, more muscular than a Chippendale's dancer. Voice deeper, face wider but still jarringly boyish on a thick neck that stretched my shirt collar. Obscene, veiny muscles bulging everywhere -- ass, shoulders, pecs, arms, traps -- beastly, erotic bulges attracting stares from all corners. The next few days were pretty awful. Long fights ensued. Vehement lectures about the dangers of steroids (which I denied using, lol). Insistence that I see a psychiatrist for "bigorexia." But I knew what body dysmorphia was, and I didn't have it. I didn't think I was small. I thought I was huge. And I loved it. And now the only thing I wanted was to get bigger. All my parents’ anxieties and pressure didn’t amount to much when I thought of the sweaty, hairy, 430-pound muscle bottom that was waiting for me back at school. Frank’s special kind of madness had infected me. Logical reason fell by the wayside. All that mattered anymore was muscle and sex. With horror, it dawned on my parents that not only had I transformed utterly...I wasn't finished yet! I hadn't lined up a single thing to do that summer except train and eat and cycle on more and more gear. No internship, no summer job, no friends or social life even. Just gym and consuming shocking amounts of protein, day in, day out. Every now and then, I might come across a hulking gorilla at the gym or on Grindr, and I'd fuck their brains out. But those were my only, occasional distractions. If that was cheating on Frank, then it hardly counted, because Frank had spoiled me for sex. Guys smaller than 230 pounds no longer interested me -- and even when I found a roided-out muscle bottom, he'd never have a cock as massive and beautiful as Frank's was, or a face as handsome, or lips as soft. By my 19th birthday, late in June, I was 235 -- up a full ten pounds from my last weigh-in, and yet leaner and more defined than ever. My parents pretty much cut me off. They'd still pay for college in the fall, they said, but they didn't want to underwrite the money I was spending on food and new clothes and probably steroids that summer. Yet I soon realized that I could make a fortune doing cam shows, just flexing and jerking off for ridiculous rates, and could even raise my prices as I grew bigger and freakier each week. (Being hung didn’t hurt either.) So money became a non-issue. It poured in. In fact, I was making more than my parents did, unbeknownst to them. By early August, I was 250 pounds, a number that shocked even me. By then, my largest shirts fit like crop tops and left my well-defined abs exposed. Finally, my parents put their foot down. Either I see a psychiatrist, or they would stop paying my tuition. Reluctantly, I agreed. Through a stroke of luck, this ultimatum totally backfired on them. Within seconds of meeting my handsome, 30-something psychiatrist ("call me Justin") I realized he was gay. I could tell he was struggling to maintain his composure as he looked me up and down. As soon as the door of his office closed, I literally tore off my shirt. I practically leapt over his desk and shoved his face in between my pecs, forced him to suck on my perfect nipples. I flexed a bicep (21 inches) and pushed it into his face. He moaned and slobbered all over my peak, then huffed my musky pits. I swiped all the stuff off his desk -- it crashed on the floor -- and I roughly laid him out on the surface. I picked him up and started doing military presses with his body, over and over, with perfect form. I could tell from the bulge in his pants how much he was loving my show of strength. Then I laid him down on the chaise lounge (where I was supposed to be in therapy). I sat on his face, and enjoyed the frantic, overwhelmed way he ate out my bubble butt, no doubt the most muscular one he had ever seen. The shrink quickly came in his nice slacks. But I wasn't through with him. I flipped around and shoved my 8-inch cock down his throat. At first he nearly choked, but eventually managed to suck me dry. My load was enormous. All this worship had made me more horned up than I'd been in months. I started to put my tattered, indecent clothes back on. "That's all the time we have for today," I joked as I walked out the door -- knowing he'd never forget how good my ass looked as I left. -- A few days later, I overheard Dr. Justin debriefing my parents on our session on speakerphone. "Mr. and Mrs. Keller, you have nothing to worry about. James shows no signs of body dysmorphia or any other psychiatric disorder. Bodybuilding is a perfectly legitimate sport, and you should be encouraging James for his dedication and hard work. In fact, I'm a little disappointed that you have been so dismissive of James's athletic goals." My mom fell for it, hook, line and sinker. "Oh, God, you're right. How could we have been so unsupportive? I feel terrible." But my dad raged. "Encouraging THIS!? But the boy looks like a FREAK!" “Mr. Keller, I don’t think words like ‘freak’ are helpful here.” "Honey, listen to the doctor. We need to support James." "But what about the steroids?!" "In my medical opinion, I see no signs that James is abusing steroids. After speaking with him, it is my belief that he simply has excellent adherence to his diet and exercise regimen -- as well as a genetic predisposition for muscular hypertrophy." "BUT HE'S GROWING FIVE POUNDS A WEEK! THE KID HAS 21-INCH ARMS!" "Ron! Don't second-guess the doctor. He's the expert here." "Well, all of this being said, I do think James would benefit from continuing therapy. Maybe you could send him back to my office?" -- Although my dad wasn't happy, that was the end of the fighting. My parents yielded to my increasingly extreme lifestyle and size. Emboldened, I dramatically increased my tren and macros, and by the end of the summer, I was teetering at 265 pounds, up a full 40 pounds since June, and 110 pounds since January. I wasn't just training my muscles… As long as I'd known Frank, I'd never been able to bottom for him. His 10.5" dick was too much for me. I couldn’t even get it inside me. So all summer, I was practicing with bigger and bigger toys, getting ready to ride his almost fist-sized cock the day we reunited. Even though Frank was on my mind constantly, we hadn't corresponded much. It was pointless to text or call him. He lived in the moment, whether lifting or eating or fucking or practicing, and barely looked at his phone. The messages I sent would sit unread for days, driving me into a frenzy of insecurity. The few messages I got back were dashed off in pidgin English. ("miss u 2 bro, iam jo 2u rn. still growin??") Sometimes I thought he was barely literate. Plus, there was a tacit understanding between us that we didn't want to reveal too much. We both wanted to be shocked by each other's growth when we finally reunited in person. Imagine what Frank is going to think when he sees me. That was all I thought, day in and day out, as I pounded protein shakes, pushed barbells, and pegged myself in my locked bedroom. One hot August afternoon, as a twelve-inch dildo ripped through my bubble butt, I came the biggest load of the whole summer, picturing the shock on Frank's face when he'd finally see me next week. -- The day came. I was returning to college for sophomore year. Unlike my last flight, this time, I knew I was far too big to fly coach. I just wouldn't fit. So I used some of my cam money to upgrade to First Class. Even in the larger seats, my lats spilled out comically. A tank top, barely a scrap of fabric, left half my pecs and both nipples completely exposed. It was pretty fun to watch the other passengers trudge by, the look of shock on their faces when they saw a 265-pound, 19-year old bodybuilder looking back at them arrogantly. I made sure they all had to brush past my veiny arm, which jutted into the aisle. Especially the nerds around my age, whom I took special pleasure in intimidating. I didn't eat any of the First Class food, though. I brought seven pounds of ground beef and rice in three huge Tupperware containers. Spent most of the flight stuffing my face, trying not to leak too much pre-cum thinking about my growing muscles -- and of the furry, wheezing, waddling mass monster that was waiting for me back on campus. Frank, Frank, Frank, Frank, Frank. After I was done eating my Tupperware meals, I started rubbing my bulging chest, flexing my arms, turned on by my own mass. The other people in First Class glared at me. I’ll admit, my behavior and appearance were pretty shocking. My dick got so painfully hard that I needed to rub one out. I stuffed myself into the airplane bathroom, barely able to close the door. I felt like a sardine. Then I looked in the mirror. I almost came on the spot. I could not believe how massive I had become. I pulled my cock out of my sweatpants and flopped it on the tiny bathroom counter. I looked back at my reflection and immediately orgasmed. I sprayed a load all over the little sink and mirror. I flexed for a few more minutes, totally stunned. I half-heartedly cleaned up the mess, then waddled back to my seat to drink a protein shake. — My flight had been delayed, and I got to our dorm quite late -- almost 2am. Everyone on campus was asleep. I stood outside our door. New year, same little cinder-block dorm room. We had pulled some strings to stay paired together another year. My heart pounded. I was completely hard. Just imagine what Frank will think when he sees me. Even as I reached for the door handle, the enlarged size of my veiny forearm caught my eye. A warm feeling surged through my cock. The room was pitch black. I heard Frank’s typical snoring and closed the door quietly, trying not to wake him. The scent of sweat and muscle and cum was overpowering, like a smack in the face. It conjured the countless fuckfests we'd had in the room over the past year. My dick throbbed with pleasure and anticipation. I even started moaning out loud, that's how horned up I felt. My eyes adjusted to the darkness. I realized the mattress was on the floor for some reason, no bed frame -- and the huge, dark mound on the mattress must be Frank. I set my bag down, then peeled off my clothes silently. Now I was completely naked. My dick was pulsating from Frank's pheromones and my months of waiting. I tiptoed towards the mattress in the center of the room, stepping on jock-straps, cum-stained bodybuilding mags, empty vials of tren... Same loud snores. Frank could sleep through anything. I climbed into bed with him. I got under the covers. I nestled next to him, so I was big spoon. Frank's naked body felt molten hot as I ran my fingers through his fur. Impossible to describe his scent. Even in the darkness, just tactilely, I could tell something was different. This was Frank, but this wasn't Frank's same body. For example, I cupped one of his shoulders with both of my hands, yet even two hands couldn't encompass his delt -- that's how enormous he was. Cuddling him from behind, I couldn't even reach around his lats; he was too wide. My fingers grew more restless as I realized he was far, far larger than the last time I saw him. In disbelief, I groped his sleeping muscles, squeezed his neck, caressed his beard, the stubble on the back of his head... Frank snorted loudly and flipped onto his back, almost crushing me in the process. But he didn't wake up. Frank started to talk in his sleep. "Fuck...Muscle bro...Fuckin' huge...Muscle...Freak...Musc..." he muttered. Then he resumed snoring even louder. Now I could feel his pecs. I delicately kneaded them, toyed with his sensitive nipples. ("Unnh!" Frank cried unconsciously.) Yes, they were much bigger too. Hard to tell how much bigger in the dark. I was in a silent frenzy. I could have cum right then and there. Yet I decided to reach down further. I felt it. Frank's 10.5" cock, as hot and hard as I had dreamed of it. I tasted some of the pre-cum that dribbled out. I had to do it. I had to ride him. I very quietly stood up, stripped the blanket off of his body. I squatted over Frank's cock and guided it into my massive bubble butt. I just used a bit of spit for lube. Even in his dreams, Frank was leaking so much pre that I didn't need much else. All the training I had subjected myself to that summer was leading here. Frank was still asleep as he entered me. I cried out in pain. Then the pain subsided and pleasure rushed over me like nothing I'd ever felt before. I slowly thrust up and down, taking more and more, until he was inside me up the hilt. I was legit crying tears of joy as Frank unwittingly tore through my ass -- feeling like the type of huge muscle bottom I'd always fantasized about. I started thrusting my ass faster and faster as I rode him. Then suddenly a change came over Frank. He didn't wake up, but some kind of animal spirit inside of him did. His super-strong hands clasped my waist, and suddenly he was thrusting harder and harder. Pounding me. "AHHHHH!" I screamed, unable to stay quiet any longer. "FUCK! FUCK! FUCK! FUCK!" I roared with each thrust. The feeling was so intense, I was about to pass out. Then Frank truly woke up. "WHAT THE -- what the FUCK?" he yelled out in confusion as I rode his cock in the darkness. I must have looked like a huge dark shape bouncing up and down on his boner. "AH! AH! AH AH!" I moaned, incapable of even forming words. I was starting to black out, the room was receding, but I couldn't stop riding Frank. It felt too incredible. Then Frank groped for a lamp near the bed. He clicked it on. A blinding light filled the room. I realized why the mattress was on the floor. The wooden bed frame had evidently buckled -- its wreckage was piled in the corner of the dorm room. I looked down at Frank, he looked up at me. We saw each other for the first time in three months. All while 10.5 inches of him were inside me. I'll cut to the chase. Frank was 470 pounds. He had gained 40 pounds of mass that summer. His arms had grown to 26 inches. His furry pecs were so enormous that from my angle, riding him, they actually hid most of his face. His cheeks were fuller and his face was broader from all the gear, yet he was as handsome as ever, even with a stunned look in his eyes. Then you have to imagine Frank's POV, bright light suddenly on, looking up and seeing his roommate, now a 265-pound gorilla, riding his cock for the first time ever, pectorals and hard cock flopping up and down. "J--James?" "FRANK!" (In unison) "OH MY GOD! UNNNNNNNH!!!!" As his load GUSHED into my hole, mine exploded all over his mega-pecs and his beautiful face. The biggest load I'd ever produced. His face was completely coated, like a mask. We both came and came and came and came and came. Our muscles were shuddering and quivering post-orgasm. The harsh light of the bedside lamp made our bodies look all the more freakish and unreal. Two absolute monsters, roid pigs, 19 years old, 735 pounds of muscle between us. Frank's sensitive cock was still deep inside me, gushing warm sperm deeper and deeper. We locked eyes. Underneath a veil of cum, I could tell Frank was smiling devilishly. That was how our sophomore year began.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 4: As soon as I started cycling, lifting and eating with Frank, my body responded better than I could have hoped. The night I first agreed to take steroids, I was 18 years old, 5’9, 155 pounds. I was in good shape from swimming and running, and knew I was pretty handsome, but I looked nothing like the muscle freaks I had jerked off to since adolescence. Being roommates with Frank pushed me to the extreme faster than I could have ever gotten there on my own. Once I committed, Frank viewed me as his special project, somewhere between a mentee and a ward. He saw my mass-building as equally important to his own. To supplement my diet, Frank would bring me endless, unvarying food from the dining hall (where, as a football player, he got unlimited meals). Our mini-fridge was so full of chicken breasts and ground beef that we had to buy another one and stack it right on top. He taught me to look at food as a source of fuel, not pleasure, and once I made this accommodation, it amazed me how much I could pack away each day. My intake accelerated until I was eating 500 grams of protein daily. Frank not-very-gradually ramped me up to a high dose of tren. Not as extreme as his, of course, but enough for my already-healthy libido to shoot through the roof. Luckily, I didn't experience any of the stuff I feared: acne, mood swings, shrinking balls, etc. All the side effects I had were, frankly, very sexy. My voice deepened noticeably; dark hair started to sprout on my chest and forearms; I woke up each morning, nuzzled in Frank's pecs, with an erection so hard it was almost intolerable. Of course, the most valuable part of Frank's tutelage was in the school gym. Two brutal, grueling sessions per day, every day, except Sunday ("rest day" -- more like 120 minutes of cardio). The first time we went to work out together, I was a panicked mess, insecure to even be seen next to Frank in his gym clothes. I remember the first lift we did together. Barbell bench press. "Watch what I'm doing," Frank said, voice deeper than Vin Diesel -- but he didn't need to tell anyone to watch him. Every eye in the gym followed Frank anywhere he went. He added five 45-pound plates on each side, 495 pounds, and knocked out 8 perfect reps. You could actually see the bar bending under the weight. He was even speaking to me as he did reps, calling attention to his form. ("See my grip?" he said through gritted teeth, nipples popping out of his tank top.) Then it was my turn. We spent two minutes removing plates, then I struggled to do a single rep with one 45 on each side. My arms gave out, and Frank spotted me with one hand. At the gym, the insecurities that I'd always nursed came out in full force. All of Frank's over-the-top horniness would disappear when we got in the gym: He became cool, composed, professional. We looked bizarre working out together. I'd watch Frank curl a 260-pound bar as a warmup, his veiny, 24-inch arms so swollen they looked like they might pop. Then he'd turn around and show me how to properly curl two 15-pound dumbbells, gently correcting me if I tried to go heavier than I was able to. The gym made me realize how exceptional Frank really was. I knew he was strong, but didn't know -- until working out with him -- that he was lifting heavier weights than the Mr. Olympias I jerked off to. There was a reason he looked like this. "Hey. You know that guy?" a hulking frat boy asked me one time, after Frank had stepped away. "Yeah, he's my roommate." "Your roommate?" The frat boy was confused and, I could tell, annoyed. He was a senior, one of the most juicy, muscle-bound jocks at our college. Probably 6'0", 260 pounds. Absent Frank, he would have been my sexual obsession, the campus muscle god. Now Frank, a mere freshman, had stolen his thunder, and to make matters worse, Frank was lifting with me every day. "Yes, my roommate." "Well, you realize he's squatting 840 pounds? For reps? He could be in the Olympics." I kept asking myself: How could Frank, this fucking monster, be attracted to a weakling like me? Wasn't he impatient, showing me how to do shoulder presses with 20-pound dumbbells? Yet I soon realized that all of my fears were unfounded. Frank was an incredible trainer. His patience was endless. And his professional demeanor -- which I took as diminished attraction to me, upon seeing how weak I was -- was just how he acted in the gym. Aside from eating, lifting was just about the only time Frank could focus and not let his libido take over. The only time his dick wouldn't get hard at the drop of a hat. Within days, I was growing stronger, and I could see the pride in Frank's eyes when I improved my form or hit a new PR. My grades plummeted. I studied weight training more than my textbooks. I did the bare minimum to not get expelled, less for academic reasons than to remain on campus with Frank as long as possible. -- Five pounds of muscle a week. That's how much Frank said I'd grow. And you know what? That's exactly what happened. One week of grueling lifting and nauseating eating, and I was 160. Up five pounds exactly. And the next week, I was 165, and two weeks later I was 175. I had gained 20 pounds of muscle in one month. I was incredulous. After this initial pop, my progress slowed, of course, but it didn't stop. The next month, I gained 10 pounds. Frank doubled my tren. By April, I was 200 pounds. ("What do you mean you can't come home for spring break?" "Sorry, Dad, I really need to stay here and study.") By June, I was north of 220 pounds. I had put on 65 pounds of muscle in six months. I looked like a different person. My shoulders had made the most shocking improvement. They turned into these hairy, bulging, flat-topped melons, jutting out even from behind, making every t-shirt tight around the sleeves. A perky shelf of pecs had grown in between them, even larger and plumper than my delts, and my nips had sprouted dark hair and pointed straight down under their weight. My back exploded in size. I became double-wide. I looked absolutely absurd, with my still-boyish face atop ultra-roided, superhero-like traps, wearing shirts that became so tight they left my midriff bare. After countless hours of punishing leg workouts, my quads, ass and hamstrings were spectacular to look at. My glutes stuck out like a capital P. I grew the diamond-shaped quads I'd always fetishized. I had to beg my parents to send me money so I could buy all-new clothes, vague on the reason why. (They assumed I was getting fat, "freshman 15," etc.) Not a single thing I owned fit me anymore, but I wasn't big enough for Frank's XXL hand-me-downs either. I didn't look so ridiculous working out with Frank anymore. To say that Frank liked my transformation was an understatement. My juiced-up physique made him even more insatiable, horny for me day and night. If I wasn't eating or lifting, I was having indescribable, balls-to-the-walls sex with Frank, almost hourly -- five times per day at least. Our sexual connection didn't lose its spark. It was like a roaring inferno, consuming everything else in our lives (except for bodybuilding and, for Frank, football), and the tren was like pouring gasoline on top. -- Impressive as my own growth was, during this same period, Frank had entered his most extreme phase of bodybuilding yet. "5-5-5," he called it. "Gonna increase tren, calories and weights 5% each week for five months." As the weeks compounded, his intake of food and steroids -- already remarkable -- became completely unhinged. By the end of his five-month sprint, he was eating 30 chicken breasts per day. One every 30 minutes. He was benching 620 pounds for reps. His tren dosage was as high as he could "safely push it" (his words), according to the Reddit threads where he got most of his information about steroids. He grew even faster than me. Up 10 pounds in January, 12 pounds in February, 16 pounds in March. When Frank hit 390 pounds, our scale broke. Even the one in the football training center couldn't weigh him. We had to order a new scale, specially made in Germany for the morbidly obese. It arrived seven long weeks later, and the anticipation of weighing ourselves was one of my hottest memories from this time. In solidarity, I had held off weighing myself during that stretch, so we could both learn our progress at the same time. We knew it was going to be shocking. The scale finally arrived one week before summer break. In our little room (a disaster, a cum dump, it looked like ten horny bodybuilders had been squatting in it), we got everything ready. We both stripped off all our clothes, not that we ever wore more than jocks or tight white Calvin Klein briefs stretched to tatters by our growing muscles. I went first. "225.1" Both our cocks shot up at the same time. "Oh fuck dude... Holy shit bro...So much fuckin' muscle bro...Oh fuck, oh fuck," Frank said, his eyes going blurry. He started kneading his fingers through my perfect pecs, sniffing my pits. He stuck his powerful tongue down my throat. "Fuck James, oh my god James, you're so fucking hot..." he mumbled with his tongue in my mouth. I pushed him away. "C'mon, Frank -- now it's your turn!" Frank took a gulp and stepped on the scale. The sheer magnificence of his body standing there was too much for me. I was stroking my cock, trying hard not to cum, as the digital scale processed his weight. The screen blinked WAIT, WAIT, WAIT. The seconds felt like minutes. Then finally, STEP OFF. "429.9" We both gasped. Frank's boner started quivering and leaking pre-cum. His face went flush. We both turned and faced the full-length mirror. Suddenly, he saw himself in a new light. He realized the size that he had packed on. "Whoa...Oh my god dude...Oh my god...Oh my god bro..." Frank said, stunned by his own reflection. "UNNHHH!" We both came without touching our cocks. I still remember how our loads shot off at the exact same moment, flew 4 feet across the room, and hit the mirror with a splash. As cum dripped down the looking glass, we stared in awe of the two unstoppable, handsome, horned-up freaks gazing back at us.

Part 3 – The West California Wild Card Chapter 3 I waited three days for Puck to call me, but he didn’t. I would’ve just called him, but I couldn’t. I tried to find his phone number online, but I couldn’t do that either. I’m sure someone proficient in social media or online culture could have, but that’s not me. It was really frustrating. Not sure what to do, I called Shafe to ask him about it. He was coming into town to visit me in a few days, and I figured he’d have some advice. Unhelpfully, Shafe suggested I consult a shaman he knew in the San Fernando valley. I called Jonah in hopes of getting more pragmatic advice—he was similarly unhelpful, basically suggesting I go to every strip club in LA. When day four came, I had a meeting at my publishers to talk about the release of Hollow Maple. After my meeting, I swung by H. K.’s office. The door was open, so I walked in while knocking. “Am I disturbing you?” “Not really,” he said, finished typing a sentence, then looked up at me. “What’s up?” “I met your brother at your birthday party. I was wondering if you would give me his number?” “You want E. C.’s number?” H. K. raised a circumspect eyebrow. “Does he owe you money?” H. K.’s tone was hard to place, and the question marks were exaggerated. “I was hoping to ask him out, actually.” “You want to ask my brother out?” “Yes.” H. K. launched himself out of his chair and sprang to me at the door. He grabbed both of my shoulders and looked me squarely in my eye. “You want to date my brother? Not a hook-up or a fling, but an honest-to-goodness date?” “Yes.” H. K. pulled me into a hug. “Thank God. Yes, I’ll give you his number. And his address if you need it.” He let go of the hug. “Sorry, but E. C. needs a man like you in his life.” “I’m just asking him out on a date. I’m not his personal savior or anything.” “Sorry again. I’m overreacting. It’s just,” H. K.’s tone turned to one of mild disgust, “the last couple of guys my brother has been with have been…” he trailed off, then finished the sentence in his normal tone, “worrying. Everything he’s done for over a year has been…” he paused, clearly looking for a non-judgmental word, and finished the sentence with, “worrying.” “You know I’m going to tell him you said that,” I announced. “As you should. Do you think he’ll say yes? To going out with you?” “I hope so. We hit it off at the party and flirted up a storm. I called him Puck; he called me Muscles.” “You’re Muscles?” H. K. punched me in the shoulder, a dopey grin on his face. “Well, then, yeah. He’s going to say yes. He told me he had met this guy named Muscles. He didn’t tell me it was at my party. I thought you’d be some bruiser from a biker gang. Or something worse. Thank God it’s you.” H. K. held out his hand and gestured that he wanted my phone. When I put it in his hand, he started typing. “This is his number.” Quickly and painlessly, I left his office and went back home. As soon as I got back to my condo, I crashed on my favorite chair and pulled out my phone. Then, I just stared at his number for two minutes. Calling him felt too direct. Texting felt too much like a college move. But, lacking social media, those were my only two options. After a longer chunk of indecision than I was comfortable with, I decided blunt was preferable to amateurish, so I called him. He picked up on the second ring. “Well, well, someone’s forthright.” “Someone else said he’d call me four days ago.” “Yeah, that’s on me. On a lark, I went to Mexico with a co-worker, and I figured it would be best not to call you until I got back.” “You were really going to call me, then?” “Most definitely. I’ve been home all of five hours, or I would’ve called you already.” “Excellent.” “How’d you get my number? Cyber-stalk me?” “I got it from your brother.” “Old school and daring.” Puck sounded impressed. “I bet brother dearest got down on his knees and kissed your feet when you asked for my number.” “No, but he did hug me.” “I was joking.” “I wasn’t. Why was he so eager for me to ask you out?” “I’ll tell you all about it over dinner. You free tonight?” “Yes.” Since I was being forthright, I added, “I have a friend coming in from out of town tomorrow. He’s staying in my guest room. But I’m definitely free tonight.” “Splendid. Let’s say 7? I’ll pick you up at your place.” “That sounds just fine. I’ll text you my address.” “No need. I cyber-stalked you. You’re practically an online ghost, Muscles, but I found your echoes.” I wanted to ask some details about where he planned to take me, but my intuition told me this was another test. I had to agree to anything, or the date would implode before it even happened. Instead, I said a simple goodbye and ended the call. By 6:50, I was showered, groomed, and wearing my favorite date shirt. It was a long sleeve red button down, and it really showed off my arms and my chest. I, of course, left the top few buttons unbuttoned so my chest hair could poke out. I also wore a pair of white linen pants as that worked for dress up fancy and on-the-beach dive. Puck hadn’t told me where he was taking me. He showed up five minutes later, and he was a sight to behold. He wore a deep purple shirt with a floral design in white threading that matched the white buttons. The shirt was diaphanous and mostly see-through. He was a compact and tight man, but with just enough definition to bulge in the right spots. His pants were similarly tight, and they were a bright, neon, toxic green. He also was wearing fashionable sunglasses, and his nails were painted to match his pants. When I opened the door to let him in, he threw himself against the jamb and said, “Your escort has arrived.” “Happy you found the place alright.” Still leaning against the door, he looked me up and down and said, “You look edible, Muscles. Absolutely delectable.” “You look nice too. Want to come in for a drink before we go… wherever it is we’re going?” “Thank you, but no.” He grabbed me by the hand, and began running. I followed after him, barely closing my door behind me. Once we were in the car, Puck asked, “Have you ever been to a Russian restaurant?” “Not to my knowledge, no.” “Neither have I. I just found out about this Russian place twenty minutes from here. Fancy trying it?” “Sure.” “Excellent. I’m sure it’s wonderful.” The food was quite good, but it was the company that made it a night to remember. After a few minutes of talking about the waitstaff, the ambiance, and the food, and after Puck took a seventh picture of his entrée for Instagram, we finally moved on to talking about each other. “Why did your brother hug me when I told him I wanted to ask you out?” Puck swallowed while making a dismissive hand gesture. “He’s one of those overprotective big brothers. The last few guys I introduced him to did not meet brother dearest’s approval. There was the unemployed DJ who was crashing on his sister’s couch. Then there was the twice divorced (from women) surfer who was twice my age. The last man I introduced him to was an overly tattooed guy who had spacers in his ears and described his work as ‘knife puppeteer.’ I never saw his show, so I don’t know what that actually means.” “Eclectic bunch.” “I didn’t date any of them seriously,” Puck continued. “But they were nice enough guys and nothing like the snooty patrons and twink-y dancers I’d dated in the past.” “He’s your big brother. It’s sweet that he’s worried.” “Brother dear thinks my life has gone off the rails and sees you as a sensible choice and evidence that I am coming back to my sanity.” “Has your life gone off the rails?” “Eighteen months ago, I quit my job and became a stripper. That after-school special enough for you?” “What did your job used to be?” He spread his hands out in front of me as though he was presenting the finale of a magic trick. “You hit it on the head at the party. I was a dancer.” “What type?” “I was a member of the L.A. Ballet.” “Why’d you quit?” “Stefano.” “Nasty break-up with an ex?” As Puck spoke, he emphasized important words with hand gestures. His face was also very animated. A passerby could tell he was a dancer. “Even though he’s ten years older than me, Stefano was my best friend in the company. When he turned 35, they kicked him out. Gave him the boot. He’d spent his whole life dedicated to the art. He never made premier dancer, and at 35, they just sacked him like yesterday’s trash. They made it look like he retired, but we all know they fired him.” “That’s awful.” “He was so devastated that he moved back to Florida to live with his mother.” “And so you became a stripper? How are those two things related?” “Stefano always reminded me of a slightly older me. I sacrificed most of my life to dance as well. I spent my teen years at the barre and the first half of my 20s in the rehearsal hall. I went to a performing arts high school. I got a splendid education, but I lived a very sheltered life. I didn’t get to do the things normal people do. I never just spend a weekend hanging out with my friends. I never went to college. I didn’t even have my first boyfriend until I was 22. I wasn’t going to let what happened to Stefano happen to me. So, I left the company to find myself before it’s too late. I’m living life to the fullest. Carpe-ing every diem. Trying things I’ve never done before just to see if I like them. Like dating those strange men. I’d never been with a slacker or an older man or a bad boy. And that trip to Mexico. I’d never been. I’ve lived in L.A. my whole life, and I’d never been to Mexico. So, I went. It’s why I picked this restaurant too.” “That still doesn’t explain the stripping.” Puck took a sip of his drink. “I tried it one night just to try it. It was fun. Dancing, but liberating. Exciting. Nothing so strict as ballet. I make good money to support my carefree ways. Is it a forever plan? Of course not. I’m sure in a few more months I’ll get bored and find a solid, stable job teaching ballet to children. But in the meantime, I’m 26, and I want to have fun while I’m still young enough to enjoy it.” Internally, I laughed. That’s what Flynn had accused me of doing with him. “Sounds exhilarating.” “It can be. Water skiing was a blast. Some things, though, do not live up to the hype. Mexico was a letdown, mostly because I was only there for three days. Not enough time for it to make an impression. Poetry slams? I do not see the appeal. I’m sure the poetry was excellent, but I was mentally checked out the whole time. I found it pretentious and overly artsy, and I danced ballet professionally, so I know pretentious when I see it.” “Gotcha. If I’m going to a poetry slam, don’t invite you.” “That’s right!” He clutched his pearls. “You’re an author. Did I just horribly insult you?” “I don’t write poetry.” “Still. What about you, Muscles? If my brother likes you, it must mean you’re an upstanding citizen.” “Depends on what you mean by ‘upstanding.’ I’m a published author, I went to a prestigious college on full scholarship, I’m committed to fitness, I pay my taxes, and I tip generously. Yeah, by most metrics, I’m upstanding. But I’ve sowed my oats.” “You’ve had sex.” He dismissed me with a flourish of his hand. “Who hasn’t?” Then I told him just how many men I’d slept with, and he seemed impressed. He even applauded, though it may have been sarcastic applause. “You’re a fuckboy? I never would’ve guessed.” “Nope. When I commit, I’m monogamous and committed. But when I’m not committed, I’m a free agent.” “Scandalize me, Muscles.” He leaned in over the table to listen more intently. “Well, if this goes well and we have sex, you won’t be my first stripper. You’d be my eighth. I went through a phase freshman year.” “Impressive, but not altogether scandalizing.” “I had a three-way in high school, and I’m still friends with one of the guys.” “A bit more scandalous.” “I scammed two rich kids out of $100,000 with an ex-boyfriend. It’s why there’s so much money in my bank account and how I afforded my condo before I was published.” He looked delighted. He leaned in further, perched his elbows on the table, bringing his hands together in a bridge that he rested his chin on. “Tell me everything.” I told him an edited version of the story, and he was riveted. “You are scandalous. Even with my newfound joie de vivre, I have never broken a law in my life.” “It technically wasn’t illegal. But, if your brother knew about it, he probably wouldn’t be so excited for us to be together.” Puck was about to ask a follow-up question, but an alarm went off on his phone. “Shoot,” he said. “I forgot I have a shift in 20 minutes. And I was having such fun.” “I could always come with you to work. I’ve never been to a strip club.” “And yet you went through a stripper phase. Odd that. This we must remedy.” As we were getting ready to leave, a lightbulb went off in my head. I turned to him and slyly said, “You forgot nothing. You planned on bringing me to the strip club this whole time.” “Guilty,” he said, rising from his chair. We paid the bill, and Puck dragged me to Grove, the club where he worked. Inside, there were a lot of people sitting at tables—a healthy mix of men and women—and a covey of half-dressed and practically undressed men dancing on a stage and mingling through the floor. I’d no more taken three steps inside when a buff man in a thong stopped me, told me I was cute, and asked me if I wanted a private dance. “He’s with me, Rico.” The buff man backed off, and Puck sat me down in a rather uncomfortable chair right near the stage. “I’m on in five,” he said. “I promise to put a little something in it for you.” He patted my cheek, and then he was gone. While I waited for Puck to grace the stage, I looked around at the men. It was a cornucopia of bulging thongs, shiny and pert pecs, ripped abs, and asses everywhere. While there were dancers and half-naked men pretty much everywhere, the DJ would occasionally introduce a featured dancer on the mainstage. Only the featured dancers got completely nude. Troy was followed by Dominick was followed by Dallas. Each was hot in his own way. And I was surprised by Troy’s thickness and Dallas’s beautifully sculpted abs. But I was here to see Brad. When the DJ announced that the next featured dancer would be Johnny, I figured Puck was working some other part of the stage or floor—maybe doing a private dance. So, I settled in to watch Johnny dance. Johnny came out dressed in workout clothes, like he was some kind of personal trainer. He had close-cropped black hair, a thick black beard, and gorgeous blue eyes. Of course, his face was not the focus of his act; that would be his body. Johnny had some very nice, taut muscles. They weren’t explosive or huge, but they were tough and well worked. He strutted onto the stage like a macho alpha jock who was here to lift weights or start a fight, a persona he kept up the entire routine, no matter how little clothes he was wearing. He did a faux workout routine—pull ups, pushups, and basically anything else calisthenic that causes ab muscles to undulate and flex. After each exercise, he would shed a piece of clothing, much to the audience’s delight. When he got down to just his thong, he bent over to touch his toes and… “Puck?” I asked out loud. Johnny was acting nothing like Puck, and he had completely transformed his face somehow, but I would know that ass anywhere. Maybe he heard me, maybe he didn’t, but as soon as I said that, Johnny did a perfect pirouette. At the end of it, he ripped off his thong, revealing a beautiful and large cock. Even completely naked after doing a pirouette, he kept up that alpha façade. He strutted down to the edge of the stage, right where I was sitting, and thrust his naked cock in my face in time to the music. He was good at his job. I was definitely hard. At the end of his routine—the whole dance had lasted about five minutes—he dove off the stage, practically right into my lap. Then, completely naked, he lifted a leg up and put it on the arm of my chair. His cock dangled inches from my face, taunting me. “Hey, Muscles,” he said in a deep baritone, much deeper than his normal speaking voice, but somehow utterly convincing. “Care for a private dance? I’ll make it worth your while.” “If I got a private dance, I couldn’t stop myself from fucking you right here right now.” I pointed to the bulge in my pants. Puck (as Johnny) sneered, and moved on to another potential customer. I sat in my chair, noticeably erect, not knowing how I was going to get through the rest of Puck’s shift without ravishing him in public. Thankfully, after a minute of me sitting there sweating, a woman came over and tapped me on the shoulder. “You Johnny’s date?” she asked. I nodded, and crossed my legs. “Come with me.” “No offense, but I’m not here to do anything with any woman.” “Trust me.” Hunched over and walking a little funny to hide my erection (my pants were way too tight for this), I followed her. She led me behind a heavy metal door to a nicely but simply decorated room with a lot of folding chairs, a surge protector that had half a dozen phones plugged into it, and a washer/drier. Inside were four or five women, chatting, eating, or on their phones. When the door closed, I could no longer hear the loud music from the club. “This is where the girls hang out while we’re waiting for our husbands and boyfriends. A lot of the guys get too drunk to drive themselves home, so we come and pick them up. The guys use it too when they’re on break and need a few moments without customers.” She pointed to the washer. “It’s actually just the club’s laundry room, but we’ve claimed it as our own. We brought these chairs ourselves.” “You’re not the first gay guy we’ve had back here either,” one of the women said. “You looked like you were suffering out there,” the woman who’d saved me said, pointing to my erection. “I figured you deserved the break too.” The women and I chatted—they told me I should see Zane’s routine because he had an enormous dick; they clued me in about the challenges of dating a stripper, namely the hours and the stigma; they filled me in about the real Johnny, who actually is a macho straight guy. The conversation made this odd night feel a little more normal. They left one by one as their men’s shifts ended. Eventually, I was the only person in the room. When Puck came in—two hours later—he was still made up as Johnny but with a thong on. I tore out of my chair and kissed him deeply while the door slammed shut behind him. When the kiss ended, Puck caught his breath, whistled, and said, “That was fabulous.” He was using his normal voice again. “How’d you get so good at that?’ “I didn’t recognize you at first.” He showed me his unpainted nails. “Acetone.” He pointed to the hair of his head. “Wig.” He took contacts out of his eyes, and they turned back into their usual grey color. “Contacts.” “And the beard? It’s an entirely different shape, and much thicker.” He peeled off two strips that connected his goatee to his sideburns. “Magic.” “I thought you were Brad at work.” “Oh, I am. But I was covering for Johnny tonight.” “That macho act—it was nothing like the real you.” “You can’t dance ballet unless you can act with your body.” “What do you do when you’re Brad?” “Pole dancing.” Puck shrugged as if the answer should’ve been obvious. “I might come and see that. If it’s not too much for me.” “I noticed that. I was going to give you that private dance for free, but I could tell you’d get yourself kicked out, you rulebreaker you.” “Is Johnny’s shift over?” “Yes.” “Mind giving me a private dance back at my place?” He dropped into his Johnny voice again. “Dude, what makes you think I’m gay?” I grabbed his cock through his thong and stroked it until it chubbed up. “This.” He showered and changed lightning fast, and we were back at my condo before my horniness could dim even an ounce. Once inside my bedroom, I tore off my clothes rapidly. “Slowly, slowly,” he cooed. “Strippers don’t rush.” But by then, I was already naked and half erect. “If you wanted to be a stripper, Muscles, you totally could. Your body is spectacular. You’d just have to learn to pace yourself.” I sat on the edge of my bed and smiled. “Condom?” he asked. I slipped one on, a lubricated one, saying, “Just to get ready,” and then added, “I believe you owe me a dance.” “Normally, I’m the only one who’s naked for these dances.” “Who cares normal?” “Who should I dance as? Brad? Johnny?” “You.” Puck raised an eyebrow quizzically. “Nothing normal about this.” He pulled out his phone and began playing a song like the ones they played at the club. Then, with his back to me, he began gyrating slowly, his ass prominently front and center. “You know what I like,” I said as my erection grew ever harder. He ripped his shirt open, his back still to me, but the buttons flying everywhere was a dramatic touch. Then, he turned around slowly, his pecs and abs showing through his open shirt. He began to roll his torso, occasionally dropping down to elongate the roll. Then, he fell to his knees, took off his shirt, and threw it directly at me. It covered my face, so I had deeply inhaled his scent—a musky cologne that smelled warm and inviting, especially mixed in with the soap from the shower and sweat from the hot California day. I could have breathed that in forever, but I was missing the dance, so I peeled it off my face. Once my vision was unobscured, Puck put one hand on each of my knees, then pulled himself up, dragging his torso torturously close to my dick, just grazing the tip of it, causing it to quiver. His pecs also brushed my face, and I caressed them briefly with my cheeks. “Your beard feels majestic,” he said. Then, he put his hand behind my head and pulled my face close to his abs. Once it was there—I couldn’t help but love the sight—he thrust his crotch, and his bulge got so close to my mouth. I practically salivated. He let go and backed up a few steps, showing off the thickness of his thighs. My eyes now drawn to his legs, he lowered his pants slowly, slowly, slowly, just revealing the faintest flash of his underwear, then—bam!—all at once, his pants were on the floor. In a flash of green, they were tossed to a corner, and Puck stood there in nothing but his briefs. He sauntered towards me, swaying his shoulders to accentuate his pecs and abs. He walked right in between my spread legs. Then, just as he almost walked right into me, he turned around, and rubbed his ass into my erect cock. I almost exploded right there, but I grit my teeth and held it in. “You’ve got some control. Nice.” I was thankful for the condom as I was leaking pre like a faucet, but I hadn’t erupted yet. With a fan kick, he got off my lap. He then planted a foot on the bed just outside my thigh. With a leap, both feet were on the bed, one on each side of my thighs. His bulge was directly in front of my face, just his briefs separating me from his cock. “Take them off for me,” he said, thrusting his hips forward. Leaving my hands by my side, I bit the band of his briefs, and pulled it down, caressing his stiffening cock with my beard as I pulled his briefs lower and lower. “Points for creativity,” he said, his voice going up as I tickled his shaft. When I could bend no further down without knocking him off the bed, I grabbed his briefs in my right hand and pulled them all the way down. He kicked them off his feet, and then he lowered himself onto my dick, our torsos pressed together as he slid lower and lower. When I was fully inside him, I put my hand on his erect cock. It had to be over 7 inches. I hoped he would let me ride it someday. But tonight, he clearly wanted me inside him. We ground our bodies together, I stroked his cock with my right hand, and we kissed passionately. It could have been seconds; it could have been hours. Time slurred into a solid mass, and then I was breathing heavily as I shot my load. He shrieked in ecstasy as he shot his. And then, we collapsed on the bed in a pile.