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  1. countmuscle

    Freshman Roommate (Part 4)

    Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 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.
  2. countmuscle

    Freshman Roommate (Part 3)

    Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 3: After we had fucked another two times, Frank and I rinsed off, then walked to the cafeteria. The other students were beginning to pour in after winter break, and the campus was abuzz with activity. Frank was wearing super-tight grey sweatpants, an even tighter XXL bodybuilder tshirt, and a black baseball cap. It looked like his clothes were about to rip. You could see every detail of his body in perfect definition, from his bubble butt to his nipples down to the head of his massive cock. He waddled into the dining hall. I walked beside him, self-conscious to even be seen with this muscle freak who towered over me. We looked like different species. This was the first time we had ever hung out together outside of our dorm. Sure, I'd bump into him occasionally on campus. He'd always be with some other hulking member of the football team. He would give me a wink, a bro-y nod, or a fist bump. ("Who's that?" I'd hear some hunky, 250-pound teammate asking as I walked away. "My roommate.") Apparently, Frank's rule on being seen with me had changed -- or the rule had never existed. I'm sure I looked strange standing next to him: a good six inches shorter, more than 200 pounds lighter, and unable to take my eyes off his bulging, twitching muscles. I soon realized it didn't matter. Frank drew so much attention, I may as well have been a ghost. The instant people noticed Frank, they went silent. Their minds were clearly blown. A nerdy freshman dropped his tray of food loudly, making a huge mess. We got in line, Frank ravenous and thinking only of his macros — not on the dozens of eyes watching him in disbelief. Without looking, Frank walked forward and bumped into a geeky, 5’7” sophomore boy in front of him. (Frank hadn’t noticed how nervous the boy was to be right in front of a muscle monster three times heavier than himself — though I had, of course.) As they collided, the kid’s head rammed right into Frank’s pecs (his single most oversized muscle group). The poor, closeted nerd stumbled back in a daze, his glasses askew. “Whoops. Sorry bro,” said Frank, looking down nearly a foot -- past his pec shelf -- to the nerd’s face. Frank was unfazed, not realizing he had given the skinny kid a memory he’d probably be jerking off to for years to come. I saw the nerd’s hands shaking as he reached for tongs. I watched Frank pile 12 chicken breasts, 10 hamburger patties, and two pounds of brown rice, and two cups broccoli onto his tray. His enormous hands made the tongs look ridiculous — like doll cutlery. The Mexican lunch ladies stared in disbelief; they barely came up to the middle of Frank's abs. I also noticed a group of jocks staring at Frank. "Holy FUCK, look at the size of him," one said. "You think that's steroids?" another one asked. "C'mon man, of course it is." “Yeah, look at those shoulders man.” "Dude, what the fuck, you can totally see his dick." (Frank, focused on heaping meat onto his tray, caught none of this.) You could see the fear in everyone's eyes as Frank carried his 10-pound meal into the dining room. I was nervous he'd see someone he knew, and I'd have to talk to one of his toxically masculine football jock friends. Fortunately, though, we sat down at a table alone. The bench screeched like it might break. Every table around us went silent. You could sense the other people trying to stare and eavesdrop inconspicuously. When he sat down, Frank's sweatpants couldn't contain his Mr. Universe-sized ass, which was left half-exposed in his white jockstrap. I'm not talking about a little crack. I mean a good 50% of his hairy bubble butt was fully on display. He didn't realize this, of course. I also noticed that his bright white shirt was starting to tear, right down the center of his back, revealing the slightly hairy traps underneath. Frank immediately began to devour his meal. Not like a pig -- more like a robot with a job to do. I had thought he might be stockpiling chicken and beef for later. Nope, I realized, he was going to eat this all in one sitting. Occasionally, he took a break from chewing to drink a swig of water. Otherwise he didn't say anything and barely looked up from his fuel. It struck me how even now, freshly showered and fully clothed, Frank’s musk was intense. "Frank, you might need to buy some bigger clothes," I said. "You think so?" he said, still chewing. "Well your shirt is starting to tear a little." "Ah fuck, I just bought this. Brand new. Biggest size they make." He kept chewing. "The thing is," Frank continued,"I've been bulking for a while. Was thinking of cutting soon. Maybe down to 350.” "I don't think you have much to cut. You have eight-pack abs." "Hmm." Frank pulled up his white shirt over his balloon-like pecs, his hairy nipples pointing straight down. His hairy, olive-skinned, washboard abs were revealed in all their perfection -- engorged as he was with food. You could feel the entire room's rapt attention on him. He counted his abs. "1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6..." (flexing) "7, 8. I guess you're right." Frank resumed eating wordlessly. He didn't realize -- or didn't care -- that his shirt was still rolled up over his pec shelf. Eventually the shirt fell back and covered most of his torso again -- to my relief, because I was self-conscious about the erection throbbing in my pants. After 20 minutes, Frank's plate was clean. Not even a grain of rice remained. "Fuuuck, I'm actually full," he said. He reclined back in the chair, stretched his 24-inch arms over his head in a relaxed way, like he had just finished a Sunday crossword. Then he casually popped a double bicep, just for a second, for me to see. The sharp peaks still astonished me. Then, for the first time since we had sat down, he actually looked me in the eyes. A moment passed. He didn't say anything, but his face was going a little red. I felt self-conscious until I realized that he was looking at ME with longing. Me?! "Um, James," he said, going even redder. "We might have a little problem." His eyes darted down to his own lap. I pretended to look for something under the table, and looked at Frank's crotch, where a throbbing, 10.5-inch erection was already forming a dark circle of pre-cum in his grey sweatpants. The shaft jolted out so far that it was half exposed. It could not have been more conspicuous or obscene. Every eye in the brightly lit dining hall was already on Frank. How were we gonna get him out of here? "Uh oh..." "Fuck," Frank said. "What are we gonna do?" I could tell he was really worried, but his tren-fueled lust was even more powerful. He was wheezing in the characteristic way he always did when he was horned up. He had no way to calm down his cock. "I have an idea." I picked up my tray like I was about to clear it, then deliberately spilt a full glass of soda and ice right onto his lap. The ice-water temporarily shrunk his hard-on into a mere 8-inch semi -- and it also hid the pre-cum stain on his grey sweats. "Oh no, I'm so sorry, dude!" I said. Frank acted upset, but I could see his relief. Although the "accident' drew even more attention on Frank than before, and his porn-star cock was more or less discernible in the wet sweatpants, he was able to escape the dining hall without a full-blown scandal. We got back to our cum-splattered dorm room and Frank more than repaid me for my savoir-faire. We fucked for hours. I came three times: once in his ass, once in his mouth, and once more in the crevasse of his swollen, furry pecs. — Afterwards, we lay in bed together cuddling. I squeezed my Incredible Hulk, nestled my face in his pits. “Mind shooting me up?” Frank asked. I was startled by how deep his voice sounded, but not by the request. I knew the drill. I would inject a dose of steroids into his right glute. At first, I had been shocked by this. Now I was used to the ritual, an expert at injecting gear. I was even a little turned on. “Sure, no problem.” “Hey James?” Frank asked, towering behind me, totally naked. Sticky, dried cum was splattered all over his body. The smell of his musk filled my nostrils. “What?” “Um. Never mind.” “No, what is it?” “You ever thought about doing some?” “Steroids?” “Yeah.” I paused. I really hadn’t. “To be honest, no.” “I was just thinking about how you’d look…If you put on about 70 pounds of muscle…You’re 5’9? I could juice you up to 230, 240 pounds in a year or so… The way you’re built, you’d pack on mass so quickly…Fuck…James…Oh my god bro…” I’d never seen Frank’s dick get hard so fast. Flaccid to hard in three seconds. It flew up perpendicular to his grotesquely swollen quads. His eyes were a little crazy as he looked down at me, fantasizing and scheming. He was wheezing again. “Picture us both all roided out,” he said, stroking his cock. “Posted up in here sophomore year, getting bigger and bigger. Horny all the time. Eating, lifting and fucking nonstop… both of us putting on 5 pounds of muscle every week…Picture how fucking hot you’re gonna look. How hot we’ll both look..holy shit… oh my god dude…” He blew a load all over the carpet. One of the biggest I had ever seen. My mind reeled at the dream he had shared, at how much it had turned him on — and turned ME on. I was just 18, and Frank was such a fucking beast it had never before occurred to me I could be anything like him, not until that moment. Despite my many misgivings about steroids, he had convinced me. I was now under his thrall, obsessed with muscle growth at all costs. That was the night my bodybuilding journey began.
  3. DennisFLL

    Jolias & Mike

    Hi guys. This is the first posting of a story that I am making to the Forum. Years ago I started reading Pasidious’s stories and recognized his very talented writing skills. His “Jolias Finally Lets Go” captured me, loving his creation of the main character, Jolias, with his endearing sense of humor, honesty, muscular-sexiness, and romantic side. I copied it to my word processor and edited it to suit my imagination’s need for total realism as well as to fit what gets my libido really going. If you’re familiar with the original story you will for sure recognize a lot of it here since there were many great scenes where I changed only a little. I have obtained Pasidious’s permission to post it and would appreciate any comments you may have on my revised version. Dennis JOLIAS & MIKE PART 1 FROM MIKE'S POINT OF VIEW: The first time I laid eyes on him, my whole world changed forever. Never had I seen a guy that was so stunningly handsome and insanely hot! He was in my American History class during my first ever semester of college. That first day and my schedule weirdly only had a single class. That one night class. It was strange walking to a classroom building at 5:45pm. I was already on a form of auto-pilot, just letting my legs guide me to my first scheduled college class so I could get it over with. I remember entering the room and the professor was overly enthusiastic about greeting each student as we walked in. He didn't even look like a professor, either. Relatively young guy who wore casual clothes like he was just going on a trip to the supermarket. Which, honestly, helped me stay relaxed about what to expect. I usually expect professors to be stiff and boring and strict. But, the professor greeted me and handed me a syllabus personally, and I did a brief glance at it as I allowed my legs to continue to guide me to a seat in the back of the room. But then I had to stop and realize the amount of us in the class seemed kind of small, and I'd definitely be the very odd one out if I chose a seat in the back while everyone else was several seats in front of me. And the professor would surely ask me to sit closer anyway. So I did a bit of a half-spin and selected a seat closer up. I dropped my satchel on the floor. Gently, of course, and took the seat. Now, being a bit of an introvert, I always try to avoid making any type of eye-contact with others when in a new environment. So, up until this point, I hadn't even actually looked at a single other student in the room. I knew they were there through periphery, and of course I heard them, but I wasn't actually paying any real attention to them. Until now. I had my new syllabus on top of my desk, and I was about to get my still clean notebook out of my satchel to prepare for the class when I happen to catch a glimpse of the guy who had taken the seat right next to mine a few minutes earlier. I sort of did one of those double-take things. Like, I looked at him, then back down at where I needed my hands to go, then my heart thudded in my chest, my relatively small dick enlarged, and my eyes immediately were drawn back to where they'd briefly landed before. He was just... casually sitting in his seat. His notebook was already on his desk, and he was fiddling with the pen in his right hand, letting it flip between his fingers. I know, from Internet experience, that those are the thick gym-trained muscular fingers of a guy that spends a lot of time in the gym. I find them extremely sexy as it indicates the guy lifts huge weights. And a lot of the time. His eyes were looking forward, and it was clear he was just zoned out, waiting for the beginning of the class, and bored that it wasn’t yet. He was wearing a hoodie that was zipped almost all the way up, but you could still see his T-shirt, which was black with a white insignia. His complexion was tanned, obviously spending time in the sun, and I could see he had these cute little freckles on his cheeks. I took a deep breath as I looked him over and saw that this major-hot male specimen, sitting so close to me, was indeed gorgeous! He had a small nose that fit his face perfectly, and his hair was this shaggy, dark brown that somewhat covered his ears. His arms and chest looked massive and his shoulders were extremely broad, slimming to what appeared to be a very small, in comparison, waist. And he had on these amazing light blue jeans that were perfectly clinging to his legs, showing off the size and contours of them. And, of course I looked, and saw there was the outline of what could definitely be the largest dick I’ve ever seen. And on the Internet you see enormous ones on the right porn site and this stud’s looked much bigger. I viewed a thick snake going almost all the way to his knee, and there, at his immense dick’s crown, you could even make out his religion. He was literally breathtaking! So beautiful and enormously sexy. Very, very hot. And it was like... imagine having a TV screen that gets cracked into a thousand little lines all over it, except for one single spot that's still intact and clear. That was my new vision and he was the only thing in that one clear spot. My heart was pounding and I wanted to desperately lick him all over. And then, in a deep muscular voice…."'Sup dude?" Oh fuck, fuck, fuck. My attention had been on him for so long he understandably noticed the skinny weirdo next to him staring at him. Maybe even seeing me salivating over him? I wanted to see him so desperately without him wearing all those clothes. There might be some major muscle underneath them and I just had to see it. I immediately diverted my attention elsewhere, anywhere, and uttered a swift "Umm,” which came out in a high pitch. So I followed it up with a much deeper, “Hey." I heard him chuckle at what I just did, and to distract myself I shuffled through my satchel to finally get my notebook out. He chuckled again at that too! He knew that I was extremely uncomfortable with being caught staring, so he continued to stare at me for a while. Oh my gosh, was he flirting? But that was it. He didn't say anything else. The class began and we went through the usual first day things. But then, of course, it went well beyond that, since this one class was the equivalent of three regular classes. But the entire time, throughout the professor's lecturing and assigning of work, I couldn't help but steal glances at the Adonis-dude next to me. He diligently took notes and would sometimes doodle in his notebook. He definitely had this smoldering quality. A certain type of heat resonating from his sexiness. And I just so badly wanted my hands and lips all over his physique. He was fully clothed, but I just knew/desperately hoped that he was a bodybuilder and I wanted to muscle-worship him and give his tremendous bodybuilder-dick the deepest blow-job he’s ever gotten, which I was sure had to be very many, since he had to get them all the time. When a guy is huge like him and has a fat face he’s going to be a fatty, not muscular. But this guy’s waist, which I can easily see is half the size of his shoulders, means he’s major-muscular. Simple logic for an experienced muscle-addict like me. And his face had no fat, just handsome chiseled features. His presence alone, knowing that this beautiful guy was next to me, was so enrapturing that I hadn't even noticed that I was so painfully hard that I was now even leaking. My small-sized cock was so hard and pressed against the confines of my pants that it had begun to hurt. The throbbing had reached a point that I could no longer ignore it, and it sent jolts up my body that I finally now noticed. I imagined him coming to my dorm, entering my room, slamming the door swiftly behind him and locking it. Strutting very confidently in, smirking at me as I lay in my bed, and with such dominance, in one cool move, pulled his black tee-shirt over his head revealing a remarkably developed sexy bodybuilder physique underneath, with bulging striated pecs, rippling cobbled abs and huge bulging biceps. He then put his damp shirt to my face for me to sniff, but then stuffed it in my mouth as we removed our clothes. He then flexed just a little, dancing his hard pectorals with their sexy striations showing me that his strength was a hundred times mine. He simply smirked at me, knowing how very superior to me he was and that I knew it already. His blazingly hot and simultaneously very handsome face making me quiver. Then I saw his dick! It was immense, as muscular as all his other muscles. He then confidently and dominatingly reached back and lifted my legs up to my shoulders, positioning himself to enter my hole with his enormous dick for his greatest pleasure. It’s like he does this many times a day and it’s just all so automatic. I closed my eyes, his throbbing muscular rod, twelve inches of thick, hard, pure sex, about to plunge into my ass where it should always belong. And as soon as his bodybuilder-dick’s massive crown entered me I start to feel the enormous pain, but can’t scream as his shirt is stuffing my mouth. "Ummm!" I'm startled out of my little daydream. I notice that my crotch feels very wet and my cock is still painfully hard. But then I notice eyes on me, and the professor himself is the one who called out to get my attention. I'd been leaking pre so profusely I felt like I might actually have blown my load. "You okay there, bud?" I was shaken, to say the least, but also embarrassed that I'd allowed myself to become so entrenched in my own daydream that I'd forgotten I was even in a class. And the object of my fantasy was still sitting right beside me, his eyes also upon me, and I could see through my peripheral vision that he had a seemingly very amused look on his face. I wanted to just disappear. Not just die, but to cease from ever existing. "Uhhh..." I managed to get out, frantically searching in my brain for some sort of plausible explanation for my zoning out. But the professor saved me from myself. "I know this is boring, but we're almost done. Try 'n' get some more rest for next class, yeah?" he said, a kind smile on his face but a sternness in his voice. And then he glanced around the entire room and spoke further on the matter, "I know it's an unusual time for a class and for probably all of you the first time you've ever had such a late class. Be prepared and rested!" And then he continued with his lecturing. Still embarrassed, I sat there, focusing on the front of the room and trying to listen to the professor speak. I didn't even want to acknowledge the godly presence next to me, but my again-hard, throbbing, and now very wet dick was a stark reminder. I was now certain that I did orgasm, as that much pre was impossible! I stayed there frozen in humiliation, but knew the muscle-god (hope he is) next to me kept glancing at me a lot. If there was even a small chance that he was gay, an even smaller chance that someone who looked like him would be into skinny me, and there was now an even lesser chance he'd ever be into me after what just happened. I imagined I'd have greater luck being struck by lightning twice in the same day that I won the lottery. But my cock just never calmed down. Being next to him, it just could never.
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