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  1. Hi guys. Long time lurker here. I've been working on a story blending together the elements of some of my favorites, including "Jason: The Bigger the Better," "Elongro," "A New Performance Incentive," and "Contract Law" with my own twists. I love guys growing huge, but I don't see enough of them adjusting to their new bodies. Don't expect a ton of sex or continuing growth--the main character grows all at once and then the rest of the story is about him adjusting (although there will be plenty of explicit scenes and some continued growth). It's a slice of life, and there will be a lot of repetitive scenes. There's a bit of an overarching plot that begins after the initial growth adjustment but nothing too complicated. No, I will not be taking suggestions, the story is already written and I'm just making slight edits. Hope you enjoy! KING OF THE COURT PROLOGUE Vikram Singh, the youngest sibling at 25, often finds himself in the towering shadows of his brothers, both literally and figuratively. His eldest brother, Gurinder, stands at a formidable 6 foot 7 inches, with a presence as commanding as his height. At 32, Gurinder's life is a testament to discipline and precision, his career as a software developer marked by a series of calculated moves that have led to a string of successes. His short topknot and beard are not just a style statement but a reflection of his no-nonsense approach to life. He speaks sparingly, but when he does, his words carry the weight of thoughtful analysis. Harminder, the middle brother, is even taller at 6 foot 9 inches. His fashion is as sharp as his wit, with three-piece suits that seem to be crafted just for him. His jet-black hair, always in a perfect coiff, complements his meticulously groomed short beard. As an attorney at counsel at Gully & Sons LLP, Harminder's brilliance is as renowned as his sarcasm. His reputation precedes him, not only within the legal community, where he's been named the #1 Young Lawyer to watch, but also in social circles where his charm makes him a favorite among women. His ambition is palpable, with his eyes firmly set on the prize of partnership. In contrast, Vikram, or Vik as he's affectionately known, carries a different kind of presence. Standing at 5 foot 9 inches, he lacks the imposing stature of his brothers but makes up for it with a charisma that is all his own. His low taper fade haircut and short beard give him a boyish charm that endears him to those he meets. As a first-year associate at Gully & Sons LLP, Vik's journey is just beginning. His honesty and trustworthiness have earned him the respect of his peers, even if he doesn't always feel like the sharpest tool in the shed. Living together in a house Gurinder owned in the city, the brothers' interactions are a mix of playful banter and deep-seated loyalty. The house is one with tall ceilings, tall doors, and wide halls to accommodate the two huge older Singh boys. Gurinder and Harminder, protective to a fault, often treat Vik like the baby of the family, their teasing a sign of affection, albeit sometimes bordering on annoyance. Vik, for his part, navigates their overprotectiveness with a mix of frustration and love, knowing that beneath the surface, there's an unbreakable bond that ties them together. Their home is a microcosm of their world, where each brother's unique traits contribute to a larger, more complex picture. It's a place where Vik's charm, Harminder's intellect, and Gurinder's stoicism come together, creating a balance that, while sometimes precarious, always finds its way back to harmony. CHAPTER ONE: A WHOLE NEW WORLD Exhausted from the relentless demands of his role at Gully & Sons LLP, Vikram had succumbed to the comfort of his silk pajamas, a small act of rebellion against the endless hours. He would keep them in his office and wear them once everyone else had left to relax. He looked stupid in them—like Ebineezer Scrooge in A Christmas Carol. But Vik was a sucker for comfort. The office was silent, a stark contrast to the cacophony of the day. As he settled into his chair, the case files for Accelercola—an energy drink company under fire for its potentially lethal product—loomed over him like a dark cloud. The company came under fire when it was revealed that a certain batch of the drink contained over four times the amount of caffeine it was supposed to have, causing heart attacks in several customers. The senior partner, Rebecca Lawson, had entrusted him with a critical task: to send a batch of the contaminated energy drink for testing. But fatigue clouded Vikram's judgment, and he placed the case of Accelercola perilously close to his personal cache of Diet Coke. Hours ticked by, and the night deepened. Vikram's hand, guided by muscle memory, reached for a can. The hiss of the opening was familiar, but the taste was anything but. A fiery sensation spread through his mouth, an unexpected spiciness that made him gasp. Heat flushed through his body, his heartbeat thundering in his ears. Panic set in just as darkness claimed him, and he collapsed into a cold sweat. When consciousness returned, the world seemed different—smaller. Vikram's silk pajamas were stretched to their limits, barely containing the new, muscular form beneath. He was a giant among men, standing at an astonishing 12 feet. The ceiling, once a distant overhead, now allowed for only a foot of clearance. A primal urge led him to the bathroom, but the journey was fraught with obstacles. The doorway, a portal he had passed through countless times, was now a barrier. His head met the wall with a thud, leaving a dent as a testament to his newfound stature. Cursing under his breath, Vikram maneuvered through the wreckage, his body a mass of rippling muscles and raw power. The bathroom mirror revealed the extent of his transformation. His reflection was that of a Desi Hercules, a bodybuilder with a physique that artists would clamor to sculpt. A smile crept across his face, a mix of disbelief and excitement. "This is gonna be good," he murmured, his voice a deep, resonant timbre that vibrated through the room. Vikram's mind raced with possibilities. His brothers, always the protectors, would now see him in a new light. The cases that had weighed him down seemed trivial in comparison to the strength he now possessed. As he explored his new form, a sense of invincibility washed over him. He was no longer just Vikram Singh, the overwhelmed attorney—he was a force to be reckoned with, and he was more than ready to embrace this extraordinary twist of fate. He managed to pull down his barely together silk pajama bottoms without tearing them to shreds. Vik suddenly because aware of the new size of his phallus. Vik had always been average in every department. But this thing was monstrous. Vik realized he was too tall to piss in the urinal standing up. He fell to his knees and the bathroom shook as he released his firehose piss in the bowl. The sensation of the powerful piss stream traveling down his long and girthy tool was euphoric. The sound of his powerful stream echoed off the bathroom walls, reverberating with a force that matched his newfound physical strength. Vikram couldn't help but marvel at the sheer intensity of the experience. As he stood up, a sense of euphoria surged through him, blending with the rush of adrenaline that came with his colossal transformation. As Vikram emerged from the bathroom, his new towering form was a sight to behold. Jasper, a fellow first-year who had arrived at the office unusually early (on a Saturday to boot), was frozen in place, his eyes wide with astonishment. The sight before him was something out of a comic book—a colleague who had grown into a giant overnight. "Vik... is that really you?" Jasper stammered, his voice barely above a whisper. With a grin, Vikram flexed his muscles, the sheer size of his biceps casting shadows on the walls. "It's me, Jasper. Just a bit... upgraded," Vikram replied, his deep voice filling the room. Jasper's initial shock gave way to curiosity as he circled Vikram, taking in the unbelievable transformation. "How did this even happen?" he asked, his scientific mind already running through the possibilities. Vikram, still reveling in his newfound strength, simply shrugged. "I guess I just needed a little pick-me-up," he joked, bouncing his pecs with a chuckle. Realizing the practicalities of the situation, Jasper quickly agreed to help Vikram find suitable clothing. Vik waited in his office, sitting on the floor and fondling his new muscles for about 2 hours. Jasper returned with an assortment of athletic and dress clothes, which, against all odds, fit Vikram's massive frame—albeit snugly. God knows where he got them, but Vik didn’t care. At least he could leave this office. As Vikram slipped into the black athletic shorts, he gave another flex for Jasper, who couldn't help but laugh. "You're going to need a whole new wardrobe, man," Jasper said, shaking his head in disbelief. The notification on Vikram's computer caught his eye, and he read aloud the message from the senior partner, Rebecca Lawson, granting him a day off on Monday for his hard work. "Looks like I've got some time to adjust to this," Vikram mused. Determined to leave the office before anyone else saw him, Vikram attempted the elevator, only to find that he was far too large to fit. The stairs were his only option, and as he descended the 51 flights, he felt the stairwell shrink around as his shoulders crashed into the walls, leaving many a dent in his wake. CHAPTER TWO: TELL IT TO ME STRAIGHT, DOC The morning air was crisp as Vikram stepped outside, the city still quiet in the early hours. With each stride, his towering form drew curious glances from the few passersby on the street. He made his way to the office of Dr. Julian Brownly, his endocrinologist, and the one person he hoped could make sense of his bewildering transformation. Vik had been seeing him since a potential thyroid scare a couple years ago. Dr. Brownly, a brilliant and handsome 30-year-old physician with a passion for bodybuilding, was taken aback as Vikram ducked through the doorway of his clinic. The doctor stood at a modest 5'9", a stark contrast to Vikram's colossal stature. "Vikram, what on earth..." Dr. Brownly trailed off, his professional curiosity piqued. Without wasting a moment, Dr. Brownly set to work, measuring Vikram's height, taking blood samples, and running a series of tests. The clinic seemed to shrink around them, the equipment dwarfed by Vikram's size. The doctor had to measure Vik laying down as there was no way he could reach his lofty head. “Twelve feet on the dot.” The doctor said, astonished. Vik sat up and flexed his arms— “I like how that sounds. Vikram the 12-foot-tall giant.” As he heard his measurement, Vik’s already immodest bulge thickened into a fat semi. The doctor could not help but stare, but quickly composed himself to return to his work. After a thorough examination, Dr. Brownly delivered his findings with a mixture of concern and astonishment. "The Accelercola—it wasn't the cause of your growth. It was laced with something lethal. But somehow, your body reacted... differently," he explained. Vikram listened intently as Dr. Brownly revealed the existence of a dormant 'giant gene' within him. A rush of hormones, triggered by the contaminated drink, had activated the gene, altering his body to save his life. A sense of pride swelled within Vikram. He stood taller—if that was even possible—and flexed his muscles, a playful smirk on his face. "So, I'm not just a giant in the courtroom now, huh?" he teased. Dr. Brownly couldn't help but smile at Vikram's good humor, despite the gravity of the situation. "You're certainly something special, Vikram. But we need to monitor you closely," he cautioned. Vikram nodded, but his attention was elsewhere. He caught his reflection in the mirror, his new form a marvel to behold. He bounced his pecs, the movement sending ripples across his chest. The feeling was exhilarating, empowering. "Looks like I've got some new assets to work with," Vikram quipped, turning to Dr. Brownly, who was scribbling notes furiously. Dr. Brownly looked up, adjusting his glasses. "Just remember, don’t try to take on too much more heart stress. Your labs are perfect, better than perfect, but who knows what could happen," he said, with a tinge of concern. Vikram laughed, the sound deep and resonant. "Don't worry, Doc. I'll be fine. I think I might be close to invincible now." Vik glanced down at Dr. Brownly’s modest 5’9”. From his new vantage point, he laughed— “is that what I used to look like?” Vik came dangerously close to the doctor, his body heat radiating onto the smaller man. “No wonder Gurinder and Harminder thought I was a midget.” The doctor, a once proud bodybuilder gulped. “Let’s schedule a follow up in a few weeks to make sure you are still good.” With his newfound confidence, Vikram thanked Dr. Brownly and left the clinic, his mind racing with possibilities. The world was a different place for him now, and he was eager to explore it with his giant steps. As Vikram Singh, now a giant among men, exited Dr. Brownly's office, the morning rush was beginning to swell on the streets. His departure was anything but inconspicuous; pedestrians halted mid-stride, their expressions a blend of awe and disbelief. Children pointed, their eyes wide with wonder, while adults fumbled for their phones, eager to capture the extraordinary sight. Vikram, however, was unfazed by the attention. With a confident stride, he made his way to a local cafe, a quaint establishment he had frequented in his former, more average-sized life. CHAPTER THREE: SUPERHERO DAY Ducking to avoid the top frame, Vikram entered the cafe, the bell above the door jingling in his wake. He relished the sensation of his muscles flexing and contracting as he navigated the narrow doorway, the fabric of his black shorts stretched taut over his powerful legs. The cozy interior was a stark contrast to his grandiose physique. Patrons glanced up from their lattes and laptops, their conversations trailing off as they took in the sight of the colossal newcomer. Behind the counter stood Evan, a barista Vik had never seen before. His eyes met Vikram's, and for a moment, there was a silent exchange of mutual respect—Evan for the man who dared to dream beyond his size, and Vikram for the artist who sought to capture the essence of life in song. "Quite the entrance," Evan remarked, his tone light and playful. Vikram chuckled, the sound deep and resonant. "Just trying to fit in," he quipped, flexing his arms casually. The motion was fluid, a testament to his newfound strength and control. Evan couldn't help but be impressed. "Well, you certainly stand out," he said, reaching for the largest jug he could find. "And I suppose you'll be needing coffee to match." The two engaged in conversation, their topics ranging from the mundane to the profound. Vikram shared his aspirations and challenges, while Evan spoke of melodies and harmonies that danced in his head, waiting to be set free. As Evan prepared a giant jug of coffee, the rich aroma filling the cafe, Vikram found himself grateful for the normalcy of the interaction. It was a reminder that despite his dramatic change, the simple pleasures of life—like a good chat over coffee—remained unchanged. Evan slid the jug across the counter, a smile playing on his lips. "Here you go, a brew fit for a giant." Vikram accepted the jug with a nod of thanks, his large hands enveloping the container. "You know, Evan, maybe this size isn't such a bad thing after all," he mused, the steam from the coffee warming his face. Evan laughed, the sound mingling with the soft notes of jazz playing in the background. "Just don't outgrow us all, Vik." With a final wave, Vikram left the cafe, his spirits lifted by the encounter. The city was waking up, and with each step, he felt more at ease in his towering frame, ready to face whatever the day might bring. --- Vikram, with his newfound stature, strode through the city streets, the giant coffee jug in his hand now seeming no larger than a regular cup. His destination was the law library, a repository of legal wisdom where he hoped to unearth a long-forgotten case citation for work. The morning sun cast long shadows on the pavement, mirroring the elongated silhouette of his imposing figure. As he approached the library, a shrill screech pierced the air. Vikram's sharp eyes caught sight of a school bus, its frantic driver wrestling with the steering wheel as the vehicle barreled down the street, brakes evidently failed. Without a moment's hesitation, Vikram set his jug down and sprinted towards the impending disaster. The ground trembled beneath his colossal strides. Onlookers gasped, their fears for the children on the bus momentarily eclipsed by the spectacle of this giant man in motion. Vikram reached the bus just as it neared a busy intersection. With a roar of effort, he planted his feet firmly on the asphalt and extended his arms, his hands grasping the rear of the bus. Metal groaned under the force of his grip, and with a herculean heave, Vikram slowed the bus's momentum. Sparks flew as his shoes slid across the ground, his muscles bulging with the strain. Inch by inch, he brought the runaway vehicle to a halt, just shy of the crosswalk. As the dust settled, Vikram stood tall, towering over the bus. The children inside, wide-eyed and breathless, peered out the windows at their savior. The driver, overwhelmed with relief, mouthed a silent 'thank you' as emergency services arrived on the scene. Vikram surveyed the crowd that had gathered, their expressions a mix of awe and gratitude. He had become more than just a lawyer or a giant; he was a hero in the truest sense. With a nod to the first responders, he retrieved his coffee jug and continued on his way to the library, his heart pounding not from exertion, but from the realization of his own strength and the difference he could make. --- The library doors, once imposing, now felt like gateways to a new chapter in his life. As he ducked inside, Vikram knew that no matter how tall he stood, it was his actions that truly made him larger than life. Vikram's arrival at the library was a moment of relief; the high ceilings allowed him to stand tall, unencumbered by the fear of bumping his head. The scent of old books and the quiet whispers of knowledge-seeking patrons filled the air. It was here, amidst the rows of legal tomes, that he met Marcus. Marcus, the law librarian, was a 28-year-old with a physique that spoke of hours dedicated to bodybuilding. Yet, even his well-defined muscles seemed modest in comparison to Vikram's towering form. Marcus couldn't hide his fascination, his eyes tracing the contours of Vikram's massive frame, which dwarfed his own 6-foot stature. "Never thought I'd meet a real-life Goliath in the stacks," Marcus joked, breaking the ice. Vikram laughed, the sound echoing off the library walls. "And I never thought I'd need to duck under doorways," he replied, gesturing to his height. As they conversed about obscure case laws and landmark rulings, a camaraderie formed between them. Their shared passion for the law bridged the gap that Vikram's size might have created. It wasn't long before Marcus enlisted Vikram's help with a problem: the library's ladder was broken, and a stack of books awaited reshelving on the highest shelves. With ease, Vikram lifted the volumes, organizing them with a care that belied his size. Marcus directed him to the right sections, impressed by Vikram's ability to handle the delicate task. After the work was done, Marcus scribbled his phone number on a piece of paper and handed it to Vikram. "How about we hit the gym together? I could use a workout buddy, especially one who doesn't need a spotter for the heavy weights," he said with a grin. Vikram accepted the offer with a nod. "I'm in. It's not every day you find a friend who's not intimidated by a little extra height," he responded, tucking the number into his pocket. As Vikram left the library, he felt a sense of belonging. His size might have changed, but his ability to connect with others hadn't. With a new friend and potential gym partner, Vikram's world seemed a little less daunting. --- Vikram's stomach grumbled with the ferocity of a thunderstorm, echoing off the skyscrapers as he lumbered down the street. Hunger pangs struck with such intensity that he half-expected to see a 'Feed Me' sign hanging from his neck. Spotting an 'All You Can Eat' buffet, his face lit up like the neon sign above the entrance. As he ducked into the restaurant, a collective gasp rose from the patrons. The maître d' froze, clipboard in hand, eyes tracing the arc of Vikram's stooped entry. "Table for one?" he ventured, the question sounding more like a hope against hope. Vikram nodded, his eyes already scanning the smorgasbord of culinary delights. The maître d' led him to a table, but it was clear that no mere piece of furniture could accommodate Vikram's colossal frame. With a sheepish grin, Vikram opted to stand, his plate resting on the table like a toy saucer. Plate after plate, Vikram sampled everything—the roast beef, the sushi, the exotic cheeses, and an impressive mountain of shrimp. The other diners watched in awe, their own forks paused mid-air as Vikram devoured dish after dish. The chefs in the back began to sweat, their culinary creations disappearing faster than they could say 'buffet.' Finally, with the contented sigh of a man who had eaten his fill, Vikram leaned back—careful not to topple over the dessert cart—and let out a belch that rumbled through the restaurant like a bass note in a symphony. Patrons chuckled, and even the staff couldn't suppress their smiles. The restaurant owners, a charming couple who had never seen their buffet so thoroughly appreciated, approached Vikram with a mix of trepidation and fascination. "Sir, we must say, we've never had a customer quite like you," the wife said, her eyes wide with wonder. Vikram winked, flexing an arm as thick as a tree trunk. "Well, I do have quite the appetite. Hope I didn't cause too much trouble," he teased, the corner of his mouth twitching with a playful smirk. The husband laughed, shaking his head. "Trouble? No, no. You've set a new record! Tell you what, come back anytime, and we'll make sure to reinforce the tables." As Vikram thanked them and squeezed back out the door, the couple exchanged glances. "Maybe we should start a new promotion," the husband mused. Vikram strolled away, his hunger sated and his spirits high. The city had never seemed so small, nor the buffet so endless. CHAPTER FOUR: SHOWDOWN AT THE SINGH HOUSE Vikram's journey home was a study in contrasts. The familiar streets seemed narrower, the doorways smaller, and his own house appeared as if it had shrunk. He had to twist and turn to squeeze through the front door, feeling a bit like Alice after she drank the potion in Wonderland. Inside, the world was different from this new vantage point. The ceilings felt lower, the furniture doll-sized. Vikram marveled at the transformation, a grin spreading across his face as he realized the power and size he now possessed. He stretched out an arm, his hand almost spanning the width of the hallway. The sensation was intoxicating. Gurinder walked in first, his eyes glued to his phone, not noticing the colossal figure of his younger brother. It wasn't until he bumped into Vikram's leg, which he mistook for a new, oddly placed column, that he looked up. "Vik...?" Gurinder's phone clattered to the floor, his voice a mix of shock and awe. "What in the world happened to you?" Harminder, entering behind him, stopped dead in his tracks. "You're... huge!" he exclaimed, his eyes traveling the length of Vikram's towering form. Vikram beamed, his chest swelling with pride. "Yeah, it's a long story. Let's just say I had a bit of a growth spurt." Gurinder circled Vikram, his analytical mind kicking in. "This is incredible. You must be over twelve feet tall! How do you feel?" Vikram could sense the shift in dynamics as he towered over his brothers, the air thick with unspoken tension. Gurinder's excitement was palpable, his hands gesturing animatedly as he bombarded Vikram with queries about his newfound stature. Harminder, usually the most confident of the trio, now seemed withdrawn, unable to meet Vikram's gaze directly. “What the hell is that?” Harminder asked, pointing at Vik’s prodigal crotch bulge. “Oh, this?” Vik asked innocently as he gave it a squeeze, a mischievous glint in his eyes. "Seems like my growth spurt affected more than just my height and muscles," he replied with a chuckle. Harminder blushed furiously, averting his eyes as if trying to unsee what he had just witnessed. Gurinder, ever the scientist, leaned in closer, his curiosity piqued. As they settled into the living room, Gurinder couldn't contain his curiosity any longer. "How did this happen? Are you some sort of superhero now?" he blurted out, eyes wide with wonder. Vikram chuckled, running a hand through his hair that seemed to touch the ceiling effortlessly. "I wish it were that simple. Long story short: I feel like one,” he replied, trying to downplay the magnitude of his transformation. Harminder finally spoke up, his voice tinged with a mix of awe and envy. "I can't believe this! How did you get so huge overnight?" Harminder's voice quivered with a hint of jealousy, his eyes flickering between admiration and resentment. “And why do you get to be the giant?" Vikram shrugged, a small earthquake in the gesture. "I guess I just got lucky. Or maybe it's karma for all those times you guys used me as an armrest." Vikram could sense the emotional turmoil within his middle brother and decided to address it head-on. "I know this might seem overwhelming, but it's still me, Harminder. Just a different version. And who knows, maybe this could be a blessing in disguise. We'll figure it out together," Vikram said, his tone gentle yet firm. Gurinder nodded in agreement, offering his support with a reassuring smile. "Yeah, bro. We're here for you no matter what. You're still the same Vikram we've always known, just a bit... enhanced," he added with a chuckle. Harminder's expression softened as he absorbed their words. Slowly, a smile tugged at the corners of his lips. "I… I’m still your big bro, I can run circles around you at work, and I can still pummel you. Well, Mr. Giant, how about I prove that size isn't everything? I challenge you to a wrestling match." Vik’s arched an eyebrow, “At work, sure, no doubt. But the pummeling?” A wry smile formed across Vik’s lips, “You wanna go?” --- The backyard of the Singh household had been transformed into an impromptu wrestling ring, the grassy expanse a stage for the brothers' test of strength. Vik, the youngest and now the largest, stood at the center, his massive form casting a long shadow in the afternoon sun. Gurinder and Harminder, no strangers to physical contests, eyed their younger brother with a mix of anticipation and wariness. They were tall and athletic, but next to Vik, they seemed almost ordinary. As the makeshift bell rang, Vik's deep voice boomed across the yard. "Ready to learn a lesson from your little brother?" he teased, a playful smirk on his face. The wrestling began, and it was immediately clear that Vik's size and strength were in a league of their own. His movements were fluid and precise, each muscle in his body working in perfect harmony. His arms, thick as tree trunks, wrapped around his brothers with ease, lifting them off the ground as if they were children. Gurinder grunted as he tried to find leverage, but Vik's grip was unyielding. "I have to admit, you've become quite the force of nature," he said, struggling to break free. Harminder, caught in a similar hold, couldn't help but let out a laugh despite his predicament. "I think 'force of nature' is an understatement. He's more like a one-man earthquake." Vik chuckled, the sound resonating through the air. Vik's muscles rippled under his skin, their power evident in the way they flexed and bulged with every exertion. His brothers could feel the immense strength coursing through him, their bodies pressed against his like pebbles against a boulder. Harminder and Gurinder grunted and strained against Vik's overwhelming force, their attempts to break free met with little success He released his brothers gently, allowing them to regain their footing. "I can't deny it; I love being this huge, this powerful. It's like I've been reborn as an alpha, and I'm not going to lie—it feels incredible." The brothers circled each other again, their movements a dance of power and agility. Vik's legs, each the size of a small person, propelled him forward with surprising speed. His back, a broad canvas of rippling muscles, flexed with each twist and turn. As the match continued, Vik's dominance was undeniable. He moved with a confidence that came from knowing he was the strongest, the biggest, the alpha. And yet, there was a grace to his actions, a reminder that he was still their brother, still Vik. When Vikram finally pinned Harminder to the ground, it was with a gentleness that belied his gargantuan form. Lying on the grass, Harminder conceded, "Alright, you win, Vik. This new size of yours... it's something else." Vikram helped his brother to his feet, his laughter booming across the yard. "I think I could get used to this.” The tournament ended with laughter and backslaps, the brothers acknowledging Vik's superiority in good spirits.As they caught their breath, Vikram bounced his pecs, the movement sending ripples through his muscles. "Still think size isn't everything?" Vik's thoughts were on the future, on the possibilities that lay ahead for a man of his size and strength. Gurinder chided Vik, “Just don’t become a bully.” Vikram shook his head. "Never. I'm still your little brother, just a little... bigger." After their match with Vik, Gurinder and Harminder stood up, shaking off the defeat with good humor. They locked eyes, the unspoken challenge hanging between them. It was Gurinder who broke the silence, his voice laced with competitive spirit. "Alright, Harminder, you and I haven't had a proper go in a while. Let's see if you've still got it." Harminder smirked, rolling his shoulders in anticipation. "You're on, Gurinder. But don't expect any brotherly mercy from me." The two brothers circled each other on the soft grass, their athletic forms a testament to years of friendly rivalry. They lunged and parried, each seeking an advantage, their movements a dance of strength and agility. As the match progressed, it was clear that both brothers were evenly matched, each countering the other's moves with practiced ease. But it was Gurinder who found the opening, a momentary lapse in Harminder's defense, and with a swift maneuver, he took his brother down to the ground. Harminder grunted as he hit the grass, a mix of surprise and respect flashing in his eyes. "Well played, Gurinder. I guess you've still got the edge," he conceded, offering his hand for Gurinder to help him up. Gurinder pulled Harminder to his feet, a triumphant grin on his face. "It's all in the technique. But you put up a good fight, brother." The brothers shared a laugh, their bond unshaken by the outcome of the match. As they walked back to the house, their conversation turned to plans for the next family tournament, where they would once again test their mettle against each other—and against the giant that was their younger brother, Vik. Vikram's new size and strength were overwhelming, his pecs bouncing in a triumphant dance as Harminder looked on, defeated but impressed. CHAPTER FIVE: BED AND BREAKFAST The night had fallen, and the house was quiet as Vikram, now a giant among men, prepared for bed. He entered his bedroom—a room that once felt spacious, now seemed like a dollhouse around his massive frame. "Alright, Vik, let's see if we can do this without breaking anything," he muttered to himself, a habit he found comforting in the face of his new reality. He raised his arms for a goodnight stretch, misjudging his own strength and size. His fist connected with the ceiling with a thud, leaving a hole where smooth plaster once was. "Oops," he chuckled, "Guess I don't know my own strength yet." Carefully, he maneuvered towards the bed, the furniture creaking a warning. He sat down gingerly, only to hear the wooden frame groan under his weight before it surrendered with a crack, the mattress hitting the floor. "Well, that's not going to work," he said with a resigned laugh, looking at the bed now resembling a nest rather than a place to sleep. Lying down proved to be another challenge; his feet dangled off the edge, scraping against the wall. "I'm going to need a bigger bed," he mused aloud, the absurdity of the situation not lost on him. Despite the discomfort, exhaustion took over, and Vikram drifted off to sleep. His snores were deep and guttural, vibrating through the house, a testament to his new, gargantuan size. The walls trembled with each breath, a lullaby of sorts that echoed his earlier thoughts. Gurinder, from upstairs, heard the sounds. "With great size comes great... snoring" he mused. Morning light streamed through the windows, casting a warm glow on Vikram's face as he stirred from his slumber. For a moment, he lay still, the events of the previous day feeling like fragments of a dream. But as he attempted to stretch, his hand met the resistance of the ceiling—reality came crashing down. The transformation was real; he was a giant. With a groan that sounded more like a growl, Vikram rolled out of bed—or what was left of it—and stumbled towards the kitchen. His movements were awkward, uncoordinated, like a puppeteer learning the strings. "Time for breakfast," he mumbled to himself, his voice a deep rumble. The kitchen, once a place of culinary experiments, now felt like a dollhouse. Vikram ducked under the doorway, his tighty-whiteys hugging his massive frame, leaving little to the imagination. The sight was enough to stop his brothers, Gurinder and Harminder, in their tracks. "Vik, for heaven's sake, put on some clothes!" Gurinder chided, trying to avert his eyes. Harminder just whistled. "You're going to need a custom tailor, brother. At least make sure they’re clean before leaving your room." Vik's looked down as his enormous manhood and testicles bulged, the fabric of his underwear stretched to its limit. A huge spot of precum made his underwear almost see-through at his massive cock head. The scent of musk and sweat emanating from Vikram's groin was strong, an earthy and slightly sweet smell that only added to the intensity of his current state. It was unlike anything Gurinder or Harminder had ever seen, a testament to his new size. Ignoring their comments, Vikram set about making breakfast. He cracked eggs with one hand, each one looking like a quail's egg between his fingers. The frying pan was comically small, but he managed, flipping pancakes that were more like silver dollars on the griddle. He raided the fridge, devouring everything in sight—bacon, bread, leftovers from last night's dinner. The protein powder was next; he tipped the container, and the contents vanished like dust in a vacuum. As he ate, his appetite seemed insatiable, each bite only fueling his hunger further. He finished with a belch that rattled the windows, a satisfied grin on his face. Gurinder, ever the analyst, had been calculating on his phone. "Vik, at this rate, you're going to eat us out of house and home. Literally." Vikram's smile faltered. "I... I didn't think about that. I'll cover the costs, don't worry." Harminder raised an eyebrow. "With what? You're going to need a raise just to pay for breakfast." The reality of his financial situation dawned on Vikram. His associate salary, once a source of pride, now seemed meager. "I'll figure something out," he said, determination setting in. "Maybe I'll start a side hustle. Giant for hire, anyone?" The brothers laughed, the tension easing. They would support Vikram, no matter his size or appetite. But as Vikram looked around at the empty shelves and the demolished pantry, he knew that being a giant in the modern world was going to require more than just a big personality.
  2. I had to overcome my Catholic guilt writing this one. Haha. I always wanted to write something from my culture and took this season as an opportunity. For many of us, whether we believe in it or not, religion is a cultural thing. Anyway, enjoy! Merry Christmas! PART 1 It was the middle of December, and Joshua Figueroa still felt groggy from the overlong flight from Heathrow to NAIA and from the two-hour bus ride to his hometown in Urreta. His father Domingo had failed to meet him in Manila. “The car broke down,” Domingo said. But Joshua knew that the old man would rather tend to his fighting roosters than inconvenience himself for his own flesh and blood. “You’re a big boy,” he called earlier. “I’m sure you can get home before dinner.” Domingo’s words proved true that afternoon when he heard his son’s footsteps coming from the wooden staircase leading to the antesala. There at the doorway of the comedor, with luggage in hand, stood a 5-foot 7-inch and 200-pound muscle bound man. “You grew.” Domingo sipped his hot chocolate which Felicidad had brought him earlier. “Of course. I wasn’t writing all the time.” The truth was, Joshua got depressed living solo as a graduate student at King’s College. Sure, the abundance of knowledge and the prestige he could get nowhere else first attracted the 140-pound man when he had stepped inside the university. But he realized later that he needed variety in his life, away from the dusty halls and dreadful conversations too common in his field. And so he used the scant time he had working out. He only wanted to blow some steam off initially. But the next thing he knew, he was putting more hours in the gym, lifting heavier weights, and gaining more quality muscle. And to prove to himself how serious he was, he hired a personal trainer named Liam who got him access to gear. “You should compete,” Liam said. “Your proportion and symmetry are to die for. If you diet down hard enough, you could place.” “I’ll think about it.” The new Joshua surprised his peers and advisers. They could not fathom how he even found time to build a phenomenal body when papers were demanding to be written. Joshua suspected that they secretly blamed his mediocrity to his lack of sacrificial dedication to the academe. But the call of the iron and the pump had already caught his heart. At least one man other than himself enjoyed his new body. As soon as he landed in Manila, Ethan called for a brief meet up over coffee. “You look like you ate yourself whole. I like it,” Ethan said, sipping his cappuccino. Merlinda, the town chandler, also said something of the like when he arrived in the cemetery to visit his mother’s grave. Such comments boosted his confidence, a little reminder that he had gone beyond that lanky kid who would ruin the game for his teammates. But there he was now, in the Figueroa ancestral house, standing before his father who kept talking about the time he lifted weights in the 70s. Joshua slept the whole afternoon and woke up late into the night. Felicidad had left him a dinner of chicken tinola which she herself cooked after Domingo’s favorite rooster lost. He devoured the lukewarm meal. He went back to bed, but he found it hard to sleep. His body was still getting used to the eight-hour difference. He wondered how he can survive this sleepy town. His friends in high school only consisted of the members of the chess club, and they had all found work abroad. He was basically setting himself up for a lengthy, unproductive holiday. But Manila was too terrible a city to offer a better alternative. Earlier that morning, inside that small comfort room in the café, Ethan was kissing his pecs and caressing his biceps. His fingers were tracing the details of his washboard abs down to his hardening cock. Seconds later, the smaller man was ramming his ass, reminding Joshua who the boss really was. At the end of the day, Ethan had powerful friends who could take Joshua to places. “See you in a few days,” Ethan said after their quick session. “The guys wanted a get-together. Carla suggests we discuss Philippe Léandre’s new work on post-humanism. But it’s Christmas, and who’s in the mood for that?” He kissed Joshua goodbye. The sound of church bells cut his thoughts short. He checked his phone. It was 4:30 in the morning. He slid the capiz shell window open and watched a familiar scene. The baroque Urreta church dominated the plaza mayor. In its yard stood a nativity scene, its manger still left empty. Cars, tricycles, and jeepneys sounded their horns to signal the arrival of the faithful. Paról or star-shaped lanterns lit every tree in the plaza where gathered the town’s families, couples, musicians, and street food vendors. It was the 16th of December, the first of the Misas de Aguinaldo or the nine Masses celebrated each early morning before Christmas Day. None of the Figueroas were religious, save for Joshua’s mother who took the burden of lighting a candle for her unbelieving relatives. Joshua used to attend such Masses with her because she would reward him afterwards with an ice cream bun and a bag of bibingka or baked rice cake. A brass band would play carols in the plaza grandstand. He would play with the street kids before his mother would call him to help her carry the bags from the market. These things made up his childhood memories of the season, different from those of his British peers who talked of Father Christmas and roast chicken and snow. Joshua got up to get dressed. If he could not sleep, he might as well do something else. He opened his grand wardrobe for some decent church clothes. He told his father to have Felicidad wash them before he arrived. But he realized just now that none of them fit him anymore. Nevertheless, he tried on his small PE shirt. Its sleeves just ripped off his arms before he even put the rest of the shirt over his head. He smirked, thinking how big he had become. He opened his luggage and took out some jeans and his favorite Nirvana t-shirt. He then saw himself topless in the wardrobe mirror. He smiled. His body looked magnificent. His eyes feasted on his broad shoulders, his bulging arms and pecs, the supple lines and curves crisscrossing his torso, all visible under the moon and lantern lights. He got hard in seconds. But his brief vanity gave way to the sound of the bells. He changed quickly and walked out of the house. He let the cool air hit his body as he strolled across the plaza. He let the smell of steamed glutinous rice and coconut milk fill his nostrils. The kids were already up, singing Christmas carols and asking strangers for some spare coins. When they saw Joshua, they flexed their arms. He flexed back and let them touch his 19-inch biceps. The town was full of life, and all the misery in the world vanished like vapor. Joshua felt like a kid again. He wished he could feel like one forever. The church was packed. Joshua came in later than most, so he had no choice but to stand up in the aisles during the whole service. He could force himself in the pews, but he knew he would take up too much space that could have been given for a grandma and her little girl. The pipe organs resounded. “Veni, veni, Emmanuel!” chanted the choir up the loft. Incense invaded Joshua’s nostrils and sent his soul to the holy of holies. And there in the wide nave, walked with utmost devotion, the ministers, acolytes, lectors, priests, and finally, the monseñor. One of the priest had a deep set of eyes which made his face a handsome one when in a good mood and a tired one when not. This time, the gauge turned to “Tired.” Joshua thought he looked familiar, and so he rummaged the obscure parts of his memories. He failed. He leaned against the pillar, letting the ceremony and the prayers pass by his consciousness. He had been dozing off from time to time. Finally his body was begging for a good rest. “Go in peace,” said the monseñor. Joshua came round from his deep slumber. The faithful who were moving out quickly while the choir was rushing through the recessional hymn. Joshua rubbed his eyes and yawned. He walked over to the side chapels by the church door where people were lighting candles and saying a few prayers to a myriad of holy images. One that caught his attention was a statue of a Dominican priest holding a ciborium in one hand and a statue of the Virgin in the other. The pedestal bore the name San Jacinto de Polonia, Urreta’s patron saint. “Making a wish, Josh?” He turned around. Before him approached the padre with a familiar face. He was two inches taller than Joshua. He was wearing a plain white t-shirt tucked into black slack pants, both oversized and made him look skeletal. His face screamed exhaustion. “Josh? Figueroa?” “Padre!” “Please, just Gío would be fine. Gío Castañeda? San Alberto Magno High School?” And then it him. Did he use play basketball? Was he that close friend of jock star Harrison Alvarez? “Oh, yes! Gío!” “Wow, man! You’ve gotten really big. How much can you bench?” A middle-aged woman approached the padre. She was carrying an image of the Santo Niño which looked too heavy for her little frame. She pressed her forehead on the padre’s hand and asked him to bless her statue of the Child Jesus. “Of course, Tita Tess. I’ll be in the grotto.” Tita Tess smiled and left. “It’s good to meet you here, Josh,” Gío said. “But I need to go. Duty awaits. See you!” He smiled and walked through the left aisle followed by more women carrying their icons, rosaries, and prayer books. Joshua noticed that the padre had a slight limp. He thought of Gío’s handsome face which triggered in him an unnamable desire. He brushed it aside. He was in a holy place after all. He turned his gaze back to San Jacinto. People said that if you complete all the nine Misas de Aguinaldo, your wish will come true. He never believed an ounce of it, but it sure filled the church to the brim during the holidays. He dropped a five-peso coin on the box that stood beside a jar of candles. He took one candle and lit it at the foot of San Jacinto. He rubbed his fingers on saint’s robes and made a sign of the cross. He then walked home, eager for a good sleep.
  3. Here is a new story from a friend featuring one of my favorite subjects. Big muscle daddies . I'd been talking about a story like this with my friend and they decided to write a story on it. Just to be clear, this is not an incest story. And it follows in a similar genre as my Elongro and Performance Incentive stories. So there may be elements of domination, humiliation, cucking, etc. Again, just to be clear, I did not write this, but was given permission by the author to share it here. Enjoy! +++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++ Chapter 1 - Dr. Tait Holden, MD, Ph.D. sat in his office at 345 Park Avenue Manhattan dictating another report. It had been an exhausting few months. Since he attended the college football championship game in January there had only been a few days that he had been home. Travel all over the nation, living in hotel after hotel after hotel. Dozens upon dozens of days long interviews with clients. Just as many or more consultant meetings and video conferences each week. Having to attend gladhand receptions and dinners with the more hands-on owners when he would much rather have been home. But the end of the yearly ritual was within sight. It was now early May. He was back in his Manhattan loft full time, and, at last, the busiest part of his work year was almost over. That was not to say Tait actually liked New York City. It was just a necessary evil. At least the Spring weather was nice here. He just had too much Nebraska in him to ever feel comfortable in a two bedroom - two bath top floor loft in Chelsea that he bought strictly for its vaulted ceilings or in a suit in the corporate offices. In fact, he often mused about the size of the mansion he could have bought back in Omaha for what he spent on 1200 square feet here. But, as much as he did not like Manhattan, at least he wasn’t always on an airplane living out of a suitcase. He could get some fresh air on the roof of his building after his morning run with a cup of coffee and a quick hot tub boil to relax his quads and calves before work. Cramped, crowded subway commutes were never fun for him, but having his own kitchen each night made sticking to his new workout and gym goals much easier. Those had been KILLER to maintain on the road to be sure. But, he never turned down a challenge. Besides, he thought he had progressed quite nicely on those goals over travel season, all things considered. Just a few more weeks. A few more weeks of reports and these meetings and he would finally be able to close the Chelsea loft for the summer and take some vacation time at his Montana cabin. In the remote wilderness with just himself, the animals, and his private gym, he could really focus on his training undisturbed until fall. Sure there would be some work between the first day of training camp and week one, but that would be the exception, not the rule. Tait was reciting long lines of dry medical jargon into his headset, when an unexpected buzz brought him out of his notes. He pressed pause on the mic control, and the main switchboard operator’s voice sounded. “Doctor Holden. Sean Foley from the PGA is on 7-2788 for you.” Tait smiled to himself as he told the operator to transfer the call to him. Sean was one of the best professional golf coaches on the planet, counting players the likes of Tiger Woods and Justin Rose among his clients. Getting this type of call would be unheard of for most doctors, but for Tait, it was run of the mill. He was, after all, one of the preeminent sports psychiatrists/psychologists in the United States. Tait flipped another switch on his mic to change from the computer dictation program to the phone lines, and a button on his desk phone connected the call. “Sean. It’s been quite a while. How are you man?” “I’m good, Tait. Covid took a toll on business, but what didn’t it take a toll on. How are you?” the man replied. “Trust me, I understand that. As for me - rough part of my season winding down and craving a vacation,” Tait said. “So, what can I do for you? You finally want to cash in that favor I owe you? If so, I know this perfect spot just off the coast of Miami. Private island, warm–” The voice on the phone quipped. “No way. Having you on the hook for a favor is too valuable to give up on just anything.” Then the voice became earnest. “Listen, Tait, this is - rather personal. Well, more personal for you I dare say. I don’t know if it is my business to tell you or if you already know. But you're a friend, and I have to say something. “Something is very wrong, Tait. Have you talked to Kane lately?” Tait’s jovial mood changed instantly. “Not for months, Sean. Between the rush for the draft and - well - you know - Kane being Kane. Thought it best to give him some space and let him call me. What's –” The voice interrupted. “That fits, Tait. But this is different. Fuck, Tait. I'm worried. Let me explain.” *** In Mountain View, California, a twenty-five year old man sat watching the sun rise in a quiet upper middle class neighborhood in which anyone could be happy. Except that the young man wasn’t happy. He hadn’t been happy for months. Not since that day at the gym. Since then, even his fiancé, who at one time made him unconsciously smile just being in her presence, couldn't rouse him from his preoccupied doldrums. It all started after that guy – no, he couldn't face it. It was too – Suddenly, his cellphone rang. The iPhone played a ringtone he had not heard in ages - Ozzy Osborne's “Patient Number 9.” The young man literally groaned as he picked up the phone to see *RESTRICTED NUMBER* as the caller. That ringtone was no accident then… Why now? He thought. Why now? Of all people on earth. With what happened, why him? The universe must hate me…. But the young man knew there was no way to ignore the call or the caller. No way to resist the inevitable. No one ever resisted this caller. Not in all the years he had known him. It was like trying to resist the gravity of a black hole. The only way to avoid it was to go around it and never interact with it. But now, he had to. The young man took a long breath and blew it out. Time to face reality. He clicked on the answer icon. “Hi Dad.” “Hi, Son. How are you?” a deep voice replied from the box. “OK. Just the usual,” the young man lied. “What’s up?” “I'm going to be flying into San Francisco tomorrow night and staying all next week. I would like to speak with you and meet Lacey while I am there. I know it is kind of hard for you to bring the girl home to “meet the parents” so to speak. But while I’m there, I thought it might be a good time. It is way past time I met my future daughter-in-law. “Are you both available for lunch Thursday? Say Hog Island Oyster Company at 12:30? It's a bit of overkill I know, but I want to make a good first impression on my new family. And I really want to see how you are. My treat, of course.” Oh fuck, the young man thought. Not just interacting but flying straight into orbit of the black hole. Then, he calmed a bit. Dad has to meet Lacey sometime though. Maybe it can just be lunch if he is working. I hope so. I can't be exposed to hi- The young man banished the thought he was about to have before he fully had it. It was too creepy to ever contemplate. It was wrong too. But it came again. And again. And again… The young man tried to clear his head. He yelled out so that it could be heard by the deep voiced man. “Lacey, do you have time Thursday afternoon for lunch? Dad is on the phone.” In response, a beautiful young woman came around the hallway from the bedroom into the living room. Her face was beaming at the prospect. Their marriage will become much more real after finally meeting her future father-in-law in person. She immediately agreed. “Lacey said it’s fine Dad, so I guess so.” “Great. I am staying at the Four Seasons for work. So, I will meet you both at the restaurant. Just ask for my reservation. I am really looking forward to it, Son. It has been far too long.” As the phone disconnected, the two men on opposite ends of the country - and from the same but opposite worlds - each breathed a sigh. In New York, Tait hated lying to his son. He could count on one hand how many times he had, and some of those had been misdirections about Christmas presents. He had finished in California weeks ago. But something was wrong, and his son needed him. In California, Kane Holden's stomach tied into a knot. He loved his dad, but his father was more of a force of nature than a man. Tait Holden was… His god of a father was coming. And after the dude at the gym, the universe really did hate him. *** When Kyle and Barbara Holden welcomed their fifth child and last child - their first son after four daughters - into the world in 1978 it was a dream come true. Every man dreams of having a son, and that was especially true of the Nebraska cattle rancher. He was not only from a long line of cattlemen, but also a long line of athletes. He himself had been a full scholarship O-line player at the University of Nebraska. His brother had been on the 1968 Olympic wrestling team. And before he settled onto his own ranch, his father had played for twelve seasons with the Phillies and the Dodgers through the 1950’s. His father’s two World Series rings sat proudly in the office at his ranch to that very day. But, at that moment in Creighton Memorial St. Joseph’s Hospital, no one grasped that the infant they named after his two grandpa’s, Tait Michael Holden, would tower over every accomplishment anyone in their families ever had. From the start, it was obvious that Tait was a special baby. First sign was that he was big for a newborn, being 8 pounds 12 ounces. But that big baby would only become BIGGER. Beyond that, Tait was speaking basic sentences at a year old. Reading basic stories at 3. When most little guys were only interested in Sesame Street or GI Joe cartoons, Tait was voraciously learning anything, showing a curiosity in everything from the classroom to snakes and prairie dogs on the ranch to how the cattle were managed for market. By the age of 12, Tait had raised and sold his first steer after winning first place with him at the State Fair. And then another, and then two, and then four. By the time he had graduated high school, Tait had well over eighty thousand dollars in savings from selling his Fair animals and prize money. Tait would have been an incredible rancher if that had been his destiny - but his academic and farm accomplishments were mirrored by his physicality and sports performance. Like all the Holden men, Tait inherited tremendous physical and athletic potential, and in Nebraska countryside tradition, Kyle started his son playing flag football as soon as he was of age. Tait took to the sport like a duck to water. By the time he was a high school freshman, Tait was already playing varsity as a hulking 6’4” terror of a tight end. At high school graduation, he had won every football award possible for high schoolers in the state of Nebraska and more individual player awards than any athlete in Nebraska state history to that point. Of course, Tait was recruited by practically every single division one athletic program that had even the smallest hope of landing him. The only thing that disappointed Kyle at the end was his son’s final decision of where to commit. Instead of one of the highly visible national programs, Tait chose Stanford. He explained that he wanted to develop his mind as well as his football skills, just in case he were injured and couldn’t play and Stanford could certainly do that. Besides, he reasoned, no matter the team’s record, as long as he played his very best game and learned under legendary Stanford head coach Bill Walsh - the NFL scouts would come to him. And come they did as Tait became a once in a generation position player. When Tait’s body finally stopped growing, he was just a fraction under 6’9” tall, and the strength coaching and nutrition staff transformed him into a 315 pound gridiron titan. And it was by no means a flabby 300 pounds. Tait was obsessive in the gym and with diet, so much so that the layer of fat so many tall footballers had simply wasn't there. Tait’s genetics would have allowed him to become a pro bodybuilder if he was not a football player. His body and strikingly good looks made him into what would one day be called the poster child of “aesthetics.” Tait had a 61 inch chest, 22 inch biceps, with a wasp waist of 32 inches that was the same size as each quad. He looked to literally be carved from rock, more like a giant Frank Zane on the field than a Junior Seau. Of course, any college footballer who was 6’9” and more than 300 pounds was tried out on the line and Tait played magnificently there. But, his true skills were at tight end. His gigantic hands made it next to impossible for a quarterback to miss him when called upon to make a catch. And Tait was extremely good at making up for bad throws so that they still wound up in his mitts. His massive legs could push that body at incredible speed for his size, and compared to defensive secondary players who were 100 pounds lighter than him - trying to tackle him was like trying to stop a freight train. And when Tait was called on to make a block for a running back, those who were unfortunate enough to be targeted felt like they had been plowed over by a Union Pacific locomotive. The nickname stuck - so that when the “Freight Train” made a play, the Stanford student section would start chanting lyrics, singing along to a new song by Metallica that was first sung just a few miles away in San Francisco playing over the stadium speakers - No Leaf Clover - “Then it comes to be that the soothing light / At the end of your tunnel / Is just a freight train coming your way / Here it comes.” Tait’s physical gifts were built right along with his mental skill on the field. Under Walsh and his position coaches, Tait had also become an incredible football mind. He absorbed every lesson Walsh and the coaches taught - from how plays unfold across the whole field, to how his own position operated in various schemes to how plays themselves were drawn, even how the players' workouts augmented play making. Tait employed these skills relentlessly. He might have been a freight train in one play but in the next he could work with the precision of a surgeon’s scalpel. That versatility made him almost impossible for opposing teams to defend against, Tait was one of the few players on the college level Walsh ever trusted to have the quarterback or center make audibles in an instant based on the defense. What generational greats like Peyton Manning was to Tennessee or Charles Woodson was to Michigan, Tait Holden was at Stanford. After four seasons, when Tait finally declared for the NFL draft, he was a Stanford team captain, a 4-time First Team Academic and on the field All-American. It was rumored that Tait was the inspiration for the creation of the Mackey Trophy to recognize the best tight end in college football since he never won a Heisman. Nevertheless, he was an easy top ten first round pick. Tait spent 8 years in the NFL during the 2000s, amassing 2 Superbowl rings, 7 consecutive selections for the pro bowl, and 4 first team all pro rankings. It was argued in NFL circles that if he had continued playing, he would have been tied with Jason Witten and Tony Gonzalez as the greatest tight ends of the modern NFL. He was definitely heading for the Hall of Fame. But, unexpectedly, at the age of 30, Tait retired from professional sports. The official reason Tait gave was that he wanted to make sure he maintained his health from possible injury or concussion disorder. CTE was becoming more and more popular in the discussion of player health and Tait was a massively hard tackler. But the real reason was very different. Social media barely existed at the end of Tait’s career, and at that time the press barely covered player families unless they were famous beforehand. No one ever spoke of the players' children. So, few outside his team and fewer true friend’s knew about Tait’s wife. Her name was Jess Walker. Tait met her at a party when he was a Stanford freshman. Next to Tait, she was tiny at 5’1” and 105 pounds. But she was perfect for her spot on the gymnastics team. And she had gotten involved in a new sport from a gymnastics coach in Santa Cruz that he called “Crossfit.” For the first time in his life, Tait was thunderstruck by a girl. He was awestruck that such a petite girl could be so fit and strong and do the things she could do. But it was every single conversation with Jess that pulled Tait in. He could just lie on a couch and hold her and talk with her for days on end it seemed. They soon began exclusive dating and became quite the item on campus. But, as sometimes happens, in their junior year, Jess retired from team sports as she was pregnant and soon gave birth to a baby boy - Matthew Kane Holden. Although Tait wasn't religious, he had been raised with salt of the earth, mid-western values. So his first inclination was to marry Jess, stop football, and go to work. But, both Jess and her parents would not hear of it. They refused to allow Tait to give up his career and his future, even with a child on the way. Eventually, Tait agreed, but he and his family would provide everything Jess and Kane needed while waiting for him to go to the NFL. The Holden's lived up to every word - with Jess completing an MBA while waiting. Finally, in Tait's second year in the League, he and Jess married in a tiny ceremony in the prairie church in Nebraska where his family had married for generations. Tait deeply loved Jess and his boy. Though his looks and body made him a virtual pin up model with the expected continual offers of sex when he was on the road with the team - and sometimes right in front of Jess - he was absolutely faithful to them. They seemed to be on the road to long term happiness. But then the phone call came - There had been an accident on the freeway. Jess’s petite body stood no chance in the force of the impact, and she had passed from her injuries. Luckily Kane had been with his grandparents so he was unharmed. But Jess was gone. He was widowed at 30 years old. Tait was devastated. He decided at that moment to do everything he could to provide family and stability for his son, and to not risk his body again. Tait retired from football less than a month later. And rather than live on his well-invested football money - he had been paid over 38 million dollars in his career which had already almost doubled through wise investment - or become a coach, Tait decided to use some of his money to go back to his alma mater - Stanford. Tait was easily accepted into Stanford Medical School, graduating as a single dad with an MD and a PhD in what was then a new and upcoming field called Sports Psychology. After four years of residency at The University of Pennsylvania, Tait became a licensed sports psychiatrist. He was specifically approached and accepted a job offer from the NFL corporate offices in New York. He was commissioned to begin a new mental health services division under the contract that had just been negotiated between the Player’s Union and the League. Tait provided psychological services to any team organization, from mental health seminars and how to develop mind-body connection to interviewing potential draft prospects for teams from a psychological perspective. When Tait made that call to Kane, he was 44 years old. He had gone on to become the manager of behavioral health practitioners for the League and an incredibly respected NFL representative. He showed favoritism to no one, not even his old coaches and teams and teammates. And, as a former player, he was in particularly high demand to supplement mental health services and team doctors. Through it all, Tait saw to any need his parents, sisters, and son had that they could not meet for themselves. Tait was the man his father and grandfather taught him to be - a man who takes care of his own, protects his own, and provides for his own. Physical Giant, Retired NFL All-Pro, MD from Stanford – Tait really was an Alpha male force of nature. Given the man he was, as soon as he got a hint that his son may be in trouble, Tait dropped everything and flew to San Francisco. *** Kane and Lacey walked into Hog Island Oyster Company about ten minutes before the reservation time. When they approached the maitre’d desk and asked for the Holden reservation, he looked at them rather judgmentally, said they did not take reservations, and then asked them for identification. Once the asswipe was satisfied, he gave them one last sneer and invited them to follow. They were not prepared for where they were going. Apparently the restaurant did take reservations - for Tait Holden. They were escorted to an entire section of reserved outdoor patio seating. In front of them stretched one of the most panoramic views of the San Francisco bay and the bay bridge that anyone could take in. Before they took their seats, they went to the edge of the pier to take in the sight. Of course, for all except the maitre’d, there was another view most of the males had taken in as much as they could. Kane didn’t have to look around to sense the eyes locked onto them - well her. Lacey. Kane was accustomed to it by now. It was something similar to the reaction his father received from women, a reaction he knew he would see and hear again soon enough. Part of him rather enjoyed the looks of envy directed at him. And part of him felt insanely self-conscious and inadequate, as those same looks that were awed by Lacey judged him to be totally lacking compared to the woman on his arm. Lacey Masters had it all. She was a 27 year old drop-dead beauty. Daughter of a Bank of America executive. She had competed twice for Ms. California, and the only thing that truly held her back from winning the title was her 5’6” stature. Like his parents, Kane met Lacey at Stanford, where she had been a cheerleader. Of course, she was just as stunning back in college as now, which cowed Kane. But, he also felt more than a little intimidated by her intellect. She was no stereotypical empty airhead. Lacey was a brilliant financial mind. Even if she had not been a banker's daughter and born to the work, her skills at winning in the markets singled her out as being an up and comer in the corporate world. She worked for the investment firm Dodge and Cox as an analyst and personal portfolio manager, already bringing in a very solid quarter million dollar salary before bonuses each year. She also had a fantastic personal portfolio that seemed to grow whenever the stock market bell rang. In every way, she was the proverbial catch. Then, there was the man beside her. In a way that no one could actually put a finger on, Kane Holden just didn't seem to match up. It wasn’t that Kane was bad looking, True, Lacey was dressed in a fantastic dress and heels that made her stand a couple inches taller than Kane, who in bare feet stood exactly the same height as Lacey. True, his father had the chiseled, rugged good looks of romance and cowboy western novel cover models. But, Kane was not bad looking at all. His features were softer. Kinder. He was what most girls in high school and college described over and over as “cute” - at those moments when those same girls were alone comparing the guys around them. While Lacey was closer to a 10, Kane was more of a 7 or 8. But he was not ugly by any stretch. It wasn't that Kane was lacking in any sort of lack of physical fitness. Sure, Kane had gained about ten pounds since college, but that didn’t mean that he had a full out dad bod or anything. Sure, while Lacey had her beauty queen looks and religiously worked out with weights and yoga, Kane was not exactly a slouch. He had inherited the Holden family athletic gene and had been a 5 year wrestler at Stanford. And now, he was pursuing his other sporting gift - golf. Kane had taken up golf in high school after wrestling season and discovered he had quite a knack for it. With great coaching, Kane had capitalized on that talent, having managed to secure a spot on the PGA tour two years prior. No one in their right mind would claim that a Stanford wrestler and a professional golfer was not successful. It was just that Kane had inherited his mother’s height and weight rather than his father’s - as Kane wrestled at the 141 pound weight class. And unlike his father’s gargantuan, ripped muscles when he was in college sports, Kane was again softer - even when he was in wrestling shape. Kane had lithe muscles and a hint of abs under his shirt rather than the etched, deep 8-pack of his father. Kane had succeeded in wrestling and golf as a good tactician, with flexibility, speed, and technique as allies - the skills of a gymnast that he had inherited from his mother. He just didn’t have the overwhelming physical power combined with tactics that his father had - or that Lacey had in her own more feminine way. And while just becoming a Stanford wrestler and pro golfer was successful, he was middle of the road in both. He was good… good enough. But, he was never going to win the way his Dad and wife did. Kane’s personality didn’t quite match Lacey, that was true. They seemed to be from the “opposites that attract” spectrum rather than being “birds of a feather.” Kane was reserved and somewhat introverted compared to Lacey’s extroverted nature. With his father being away so much as a pro footballer and later medical school and residency, child Kane became a pure “mama’s boy.” Thus, he was crushed when his mother passed. Tait had been as well, but he had an adult perspective that the ten year old Kane did not. Tait had engaged the best therapy possible for his son, of course. And the giant man had been nothing but loving and gentle with his son, sensing his quiet, reserved nature. As Kane was treated by many others in his life. To a fair share of women, that vulnerable side was seen as an endearing quality, again something they called “cute.” But, to others, especially certain males in the elite circles of academics and athletics and later business, Kane was a tempting target to use and step on. Except none ever wanted to face the wrath of Tait Holden or later the corporate power of the Masters. So they left Kane alone - most of them. Looks, physique, mind, attitude, personality. It wasn’t any of these single characteristics that made Kane not match. It was all of these things taken together. Kane was the embodiment of “one of these things is not like the others.” He shouldn’t have been. But, he was. And something deep inside him knew it. It was a feeling people could sense radiating from him. Preoccupation. Tentativeness. Withdrawal. Inadequacy. Good enough. That was Kane in a nutshell - good enough. Good enough - but not great. In any other life Kane has success people only dreamed of. But compared to the others he loved, he was totally outshined; but, he was good enough. As he and Lacey waited for water to be brought to their table, Kane was being swallowed by “good enough.” Kane was cute, vulnerable, had a scrappy puppy quality, and Lacey had come to love him for that and more. But – Tait Holden. He knew Tait Holden was quantum leaps beyond any man Lacey had ever met. Though Lacey was certainly accustomed to getting attention and getting hit upon and being a very strong, dominant woman - she had never been exposed to the quality and quantity of Alpha male Tait Holden in person brought to the table. Kane had no idea how she would react. He knew Lacey loved him. Or it certainly felt like it. But, he knew how his Dad affected women. He had seen it all his life. He knew Tait was no predator. He was no so called “Chad.” He never set out to seduce women. In fact, Tait had always been loyal and honorable toward his mother and any other woman as far as he knew. Stealing a woman away from another was just anathema to him. Before or after Jess death, he had never been part of the underground or above ground athlete culture for women and parties and sex. Tait considered that to be beneath him or any proper man. He had taught Kane that. And - Kane knew he carried the pain every widowed person did. He had seen it when his father had visited his mother’s grave. He still loved HER, even now. Kane thought maybe that was why he was still single. And yet… Kane knew what was coming, and it always inspired a feeling - dread. Kane felt awful about that. He felt so conflicted that he both loved and dreaded his father. His father was just… his father. No bravado, no pretend machismo, nothing at all unnatural for him. Tait was nothing but the archetypal Real Man, in every positive way. Tait had done nothing on purpose to inspire such dread in Kane. Yet, it was there, rolling in him - the feeling of being good enough under the glare of greatness. Then, there was another feeling the son had about his father - a wrong feeling Kane thought. The feeling had no name that Kane could attach to it. He buried it as much as he could as he was afraid of it. He avoided his father because of it. But that day at the gym a few months ago - that other man made him truly feel it for the first time. Kane didn’t want to relive those moments, but he did in a flash. And the feelings that burst out hit him, making his thoughts spin - worse than they already were. How would Lacey react? What would she do? What would he do? Why did he feel this way? He didn’t know if these feelings around - well THEM who Tait may as well have been the leader of - was a part of him that was alpha like his father that he was uncomfortable expressing for where it could lead. He didn’t know if it was admiration or desire or hero worship or… A longing to be like his father or not like his father. It just had no name. It was like – Kane was brought back to the real world and away from the whirlwind of his thoughts by an audible gasp and rustle that went through the entire restaurant. Again, Kane instinctively knew what it was. Who it was. Again, he didn't have to look up to know what had happened to generate that response. But, just like gravity around a black hole, Kane was drawn in and turned to see. Kane’s first thought was that his father looked bigger than he remembered, if such a thing were possible. Tait towered at least a full head over… Well, everyone there. That was normal for a man who was 6’9” outside of a basketball team locker room, but it wasn't just his height. Kane could have sworn that his father was physically wider and more thickly muscled than even during his playing days. Maybe it was just his clothes, Kane reasoned. Tait was dressed in all black - black polo shirt, black slacks and leather belt, black leather dress boots. The height of simplicity. Thing was the way these clothes looked. Every stitch Tait wore was custom tailored. His clothes fit so precisely as to highlight every muscle to the hilt. His massive pecs were totally outlined, his quad development shown through his trousers, an impossibly deep v-taper from shoulders down to his waist, even some of the thicker veins were visible through the cloth. Yet, none of the clothing was so tight as to look like Tait had deliberately done it. They simultaneously looked painted on but loose and comfortable in the way only superbly custom-made clothing can. It wasn’t a matter of Tait showing his wealth or station in life or even simply vanity however. Fact was - no one made off-the-shelf clothing for someone like Tait. Simply finding pants long enough was often difficult, much less pants that could house his monstrous quads and calves. Finding size 18 shoes anywhere in any style at all was nearly impossible. Tait had needed custom clothes as long as Kane could remember. Kane heard another sharp intake of breath - this time from directly behind him. He turned to see Lacey with her mouth agape in shock. “Kane,” she barely whispered, “is… is that-” “Ya, that's Dad.” Kane replied. “Told you. Dad is a bit… different.” Lacey had seen plenty of well built, muscular, handsome men in her years. Plenty of very tall men when she cheered for Stanford basketball. Plenty of so-called Alpha males on the field and at parties and in the halls of power. But Tait - she was just floored, stunned, speechless. He was the biggest man she had ever seen. The sheer size of him. He looked like he could make up three ordinary sized men. And, if she were honest - his sheer sexiness was astonishing. His height, his classic chiseled looks, his commanding vibe. All those things she knew in scattered pieces in other men - but in Tait all combined and magnified in one. She had not even spoken to him yet, but everything about him screamed that this was a man among men. Lacey felt her crotch tingle involuntarily. An animal desire from within her. She couldn’t help it. And she wasn't alone. Every woman in the restaurant was having the same reaction. They all felt the… whatever it is that women feel in the presence of a proverbial apex alpha male. And the men - they all felt what they had in their own package either flex with the same desire or shrivel as it was obvious they were totally outclassed. As the young couple watched, Tait looked down upon the maitre'd - who came no taller than his upper pecs - and spoke to him. They could not hear what was said, but they could see the person who had been more than a bit snobbish and prickish to them physically wilt. Kane noted that the same man who asked them for their identification didn’t ask Tait for the same as he fumbled over himself. At that moment, Tait saw Kane and Lacey in the distance. He said something to the maitre’d and then just walked past him as if he no longer existed. Tait walked through the lunch time crowd like Morpheus in The Matrix. Totally direct and purposeful, yet strolling through the sea of people as if they didn’t exist. All while the maitre’d looked as if he were physically drained - perhaps like Moses after seeing the Burning Bush. As soon as Tait came through the patio doors into the open air, he looked to Kane and said heartfully, “How are you, Son?” Father and son began to walk toward each other. Lacey stood, frozen, watching. Her shock and nervousness only grew as the great man approached. It did not escape her that Tait seemed to cover the same distance that took Kane ten steps in five. The giant reached out and took his flesh and blood by the hand in a massive enveloping handshake and then pulled him into a hug. Lacey thought she could hear Kane reply, but it was lost somewhere in Tait's lower chest muscles - where Kane's head landed upon the man who had 15 inches of height on him. But - that didn't matter to her… yet. That voice - Tait’s deep, smooth, confident voice. Tait sounded like a combination of the bass of Vin Diesel and the smoothness of Lawrence Fishburne. So strong and confident, yet so soothing. That voice could crush an ego or inspire armies or wrap you in curtains of safety and security, depending on how he used it. She understood in a moment why Tait was so effective as a psychiatrist or as a team leader before that. That voice attached to that man could make you want to tell every secret you had and love doing it. She felt herself become even more aroused hearing him. She started to understand what Kane had meant about gravity. She felt pulled toward him, like a moth to a flame. The perfect voice, the perfect height, the perfect muscle, the perfect attitude - she just couldn't help it. He was so much more than Kane’s description could ever hope to convey. She noticed something else in that moment of embrace. Kane. Though they seemed so different - and they were very different - she could see so much of the son in his father and so much of the father in the son. Kane’s voice was baritone rather than bass, not quite as silky smooth and confident. But she could hear so many similarities. Kane had a quiet strength about his voice, much as the magnified version in Tait. There had been more than a few nights when she had become lost in Kane’s voice. Kane’s face and physical features were so different from Tait's - yet there was no question they were father and son. Kane was what Tait would have been if he were more of the non-descript power behind the throne type. A very different type of masculine power; yet it was there. So different - yet so similar. That similarity to Tait made Lacey desire Kane more too. She watched as Tait released Kane and together they approached the table where she was. Kane - she felt ashamed for her reaction to Tait. She loved Kane. She wanted to spend the rest of her life with Kane. Why was she so pulled into wanting Tait to f– She crushed that thought. “And you must be Lacey. It is cliche but Kane has told me so much about you,” she heard as her vision became blocked by a man mountain. Lacey looked up and UP. She felt like she was a little girl again standing in front of her father as Tait held out a wide hand. She extended her own hand and Tait took it. “Dad, this is my fiancé Lacey Masters. Lacey, please meet my Dad, Tait Holden.” Kane introduced. Tait’s voice seemed to wrap the young woman in velvet smoothness. “An absolute pleasure to finally meet the girl my son was lucky enough to catch… or was it entrap?” Tait cracked a mischievous smile with just the hint of a complement toward her and the good natured rib at his son. Kane's cheeks flashed an inordinate amount of red in embarrassment. Lacey giggled. Fuck that smile is like liquid sex. What is it like to kiss–, she thought. “He didn't trap me.” She replied then added almost as an afterthought. “Well… maybe he did, but it's a trap I enjoyed falling into. The pleasure is mine, Doctor Holden.” Tait turned to his son for a moment. “Kane, you didn’t tell me you had found such a keeper of a girl. Better hold tight.” He flashed a smile again before he turned again to Lacy. “Tait, please. You’re not a client in my office, and I still have enough of the ranch in me to hate formality from my family - or close enough to family. Of course, there is one exception I make to formal custom - one I always liked with a beautiful young woman.” Tait’s voice dropped slightly, becoming almost intimate. “‘Enchanté, Mademoiselle.’” In a practiced motion mastered through thousands of repetitions, Tait raised her arm while simultaneously bowing himself and kissed her hand. Lacey shivered. Her panties very nearly became wet in desire. Tait was so big he could totally close her from the outside world if he embraced her. She could tell from the thick, weight lifter built muscles of his hand that he was strong enough to lift her to the ceiling with one arm with no effort at all. She imagined Tait in the gym putting dumbbells more than her body weight easily over his head. Her eyes wandered up his thick corded forearms that radiating raw, crushing power, and, Jesus Christ, that bulging biceps even partly under the sleeve. What must that feel like to… “That’s my Dad, just a smooth-talking, muscle-bound Cassinova.” Kane quipped. Leave it to Kane to ruin the moment, Lacey thought. She almost snapped at him for his rudeness, but was stopped by a good natured chuckle from Tait. Lacey could not tell if the laugh was a “touché” recognition of his son’s verbal jab - or an Alpha male’s amusement at a lesser being trying to stand up to someone far beyond him. Maybe it was both she thought. “Maybe so, Son. I admit to being a softy sometimes under it all. I suppose Kane learned how to trap good women from me.” Tait pointed his free hand toward Lacey’s seat. “May I?” Lacey smiled even more as she gave her ascent. Tait lowered her hand and held it as he escorted her back to her seat. As he led her, she tried to hide the fact that she was shaking at his touch. She understood intellectually that Tait was just showing proper manners. But her body didn’t want to believe it. And… she failed. Tait felt her response and suppressed a knowing smile. As Lacey thought, he wasn’t purposefully trying to do anything. It was just that he had seen this so often that he couldn't help but feel a bit of amusement. Years ago, Jess’s mother told him that common courtesy from him could be misinterpreted by many women because of the masculinity and power he conveyed. So, Tait was very cognizant of where to draw lines with most women. She was family so he would allow more than with most women. But the lines were still there with a woman so much his junior - no matter how much closer to her age his looks made him. Still, very first impressions of Lacey Masters - he liked this girl. Kane - he noticed her response too. Like his father, he had seen this so many times over the years. It was what he knew would happen and was afraid would grow. He hoped this would end when Lacey became more familiar with his father’s presence. The way his mother or grandma or aunts were around his father. They would just laugh at it when they felt it and give their men a smooch. Still he felt a jab of familiar jealousy - no woman had ever responded to a simple display of manners from him like that, much less his own fiancé . Maybe she had never responded like that to anything he had ever done. No matter how intimate. Even in… Kane’s feelings of inadequacy grew even more. And with it his internal conflict expanded. After Lacey was seated, Tait moved to the side and took the only other available seat at the table… Next to the young woman. Kane mentally kicked himself. He had unconsciously upped the level of temptation. He had chosen to sit opposite of Lacey facing her across the table out of habit - the way they always sat when going out. Tait hadn't thought anything about it. He simply slid into where he thought he should sit - within inches of Lacey. It was innocent. Anyone would sit in the only available chair… but now Kane felt even more uncomfortable. Seeing them like this, side by side - it was oddly striking. They sort of matched, like his mother. They looked so–. Awkward silence again took over, but after a few moments, Tait broke the ice. Again, he directed to Lacey. “I suppose this is when we begin the awkward small talk you do when you're meeting the in-laws? I remember mine. Maybe I should just tell some embarrassing childhood stories on Kane like any parent does when meeting their kids’ sweetheart.” Tait flashed his million dollar smile signaling the humor, which made Kane blush again - hoping against hope his Dad wasn't going to actually do that. Tait and Lacey couldn't help but laugh at the sight. It was indeed the perfect thing to break the ice. But her laugh was almost like a schoolgirl enamored of the hot new guy. Of course, she was nervous meeting Tait but - that laugh. It was more than nerves. Without realizing - in a half flirtatious way, her hand moved to Tait's forearm…This time, she was definitely wet. Thank fuck what she was wearing would never let on to her condition. But she felt it. Her biology betrayed her - and what she felt. Crazy, hard muscle. Veins. What about other veins lower down. And his skin - it was an odd juxtaposition of thick and thin, hard and supple - like a weightlifter. Like a strong man. A bodybuilder. Her fingers lingered as she felt movement - the small and large ripples of individual cords of muscle, each of which had to be bigger than Kane's whole forearm. She kept feeling as she caught the scent of Tait's heady musk, a clean but utterly masculine scent - sandalwood and leather and cigar and pheromones and the primitive primate part of her brain responded. Involuntarily, she drew in a breath. That breath - damnit, had she been caught? Lacey’s cheeks flushed and she dropped her hand, though she didn't want to. She was feeling up to her beau’s father. That was awful, but… I have to be good, she thought. She truly believed she was being totally proper now not feeling Tait’s arm - it never reached her consciousness that her hand had just dropped only to come to rest on Tait’s massive quad. The entire previous exchange felt like minutes, but in reality it was just a second or two. Lacey continued, “I hope it's not too awkward.” Her answer was both a proper answer and a Freudian slip. “I make no promises that I won't mess up. But, I'll try my best,” Tait said to both of them, feigning innocence. Tait knew her hand was on his quad… but drew no attention to it. Kane jumped in. “Speaking of awkward - you're looking… BIG, Dad.” Now it was Tait's turn to flash the slightest of emotion - Pride. There was always something special when your kid noticed that you were reaching your goals. “I thought you'd quit working out as much with the Draft interview schedule keeping you so busy.” “I'm glad you noticed, Son. Been working hard the last while even with the schedule. Some OK results for not enough sleep and depending on the team catering crews to give me healthy food, if not exactly geared for me. But, I do want to get bigger.” “Bigger?!?” both twenty-somethings said incredulously in unison. Tait felt Lacey’s hand begin to squeeze his quad. Then move to squeeze another spot. It was a bit of a thrill to feel that a grown woman’s hand - petite though she was - could not even span the single femoral head of his right quad. Just one of the four main groups - wider than the length of her hand from her fingers to wrist. She was looking for weakness. She would not find it. Lacey - she was indeed feeling his leg, trying to figure out what bigger meant. She decided there was no way. How could there be - he was so big already. So totally hard. He had to be immensely strong. Everywhere she felt - nothing but rock hard muscle. It couldn’t get any bigger. Tait could not help but to feed on their stunned energy, particularly Lacey. He found a strange sort of enjoyment at the prospect of showing off for his family and pushing them into disbelief. He decided to go with the flow. He opened a light version of a jock smirk to their reaction. “ “But you're already so BIG?!?” Lacey finally said. Tait held out his right forearm and biceps and began to tense and relax them in view of the kids. It was not a full out flex at all - more of just moving his fingers and wrist making the muscles twist and dance. As he did so, the cords of thick muscle and veins exploded and the promise of a truly monumental biceps mountain hinted it was alive under the black polo sleeve. “I'm certainly trying. It was my New Year’s resolution, so to speak. Maybe it's just an old man's vanity trying to keep up with all these NFL prospects I work with who are even younger than you two. It’s fun to still be able to out work and out lift them, I have to admit. “I turn 45 in a few months, and it is more than fun to see them - please do not take offense Kane, Lacey - but it is more than fun to see them have the same reaction you two are having right now when I get a good pump. I am going for conditioning too, not just size. You know someone my size can put on a lot of muscle AND fat just by existing and eating enough. But I want to carve up the size I am putting on. Be lean and cut as well as bigger. Actually, I am aiming to be better than I ever was when I did the pin up calendars when I played in the league. One last time and hold onto it as long as time and age will let me.” Lacey’s hand groped even more at hearing that. If you looked closely, her eyes dilated. Her cheeks flushed. Her breathing had become a bit faster. More shallow. “Dr. Hold – Tait,” Lacey corrected. “Almost 45?!? You don't look a day over 30.” Kane groaned inwardly. His anger had been growing the entire exchange. He was going to let it all go as a natural reaction that Lacey couldn’t help. His father’s gravity. That it would go away. But that level of blatant hitting on another man right in front of him was uncalled for. It was as clumsy and in his face as if she were still a teenage girl getting attention from the hot jock. Right down to the giggles. He could see Lacey fucking groping his leg and just dying to touch even more – Kane almost said something when Tait stepped in. He deftly slid his own palm over top of Lacey’s hand and pressed down. He stopped her moving. Still feeling him of course, but she was no longer exploring. “Thanks for the flattery. You're too kind. But let's be honest. The gray hair is coming out a lot more than it used to be. I still recover from a workout very fast compared to someone else my age, but not like I did five years ago. We all lose our battle with time. So, you two should enjoy every moment. I have no regrets except…” Tait stopped for a moment. Kane could see a flash across his face of the love his father had for his mother. Tait would never allow himself to break down in public. But that reaction to a thought of his mother was enough to break Kane's anger. “Except for perhaps one. And, frankly, you remind me a bit of her, Lacey.” Tait took a breath to center himself and then he continued, “I've lived life the best I could. And still try. That's why I'm doing this. To live life the best I can before I can’t. I want the same for you two. No matter what that means and where it takes you both. Be who you are and live life to the fullest.” Lacey stopped her attempts at feeling, leaving her hand resting on his quad, but followed up, curiously. “Living our best lives is one thing, but… a pin up calendar?” Tait laughed deeply. “Ya. One of the bright ideas of the League.” Tait said sarcastically, clearly amused at the thought. “They were trying to get more female fans. So their solution was to have those of us who were particularly good looking or at least had good abs that they could airbrush pose for these pin up calendars. Guys of the Gridiron, or something just as cringeworthy, haha. “Never did a thing to get more women fans of the game as far as I know. We just became a little bit of - well - fantasy material for some women and a few guys I guess.” Tait chucked again. “But I did a few calendars to raise money for charity while I was playing. Like, the ones that raise money for animal shelters - what do they call them now “Bullies and Biceps” or “Hunks and Hounds–” Tait laughed again. “I was there with all these fitness models and bodybuilders. A fish out of water as a pro football player with these little pin up dudes. Anyway, they raised some money for good causes. That I am happy to have done. You might even be able to find some of me when I was Kane's age showing off my assets.” “But ya, I want to get truly massive if I can... in fact, I'm working out at the 49ers facility while I am here to stick to the goal. Do that at every team facility when I have to go to in-person interviews. You're both welcome to come if you like. I'm sure the team wouldn't mind.” Tait smiled. “Really,” Lacey said, clearly excited to see Tait in something a bit more revealing than proper clothing. Now it was Tait’s turn. He knew what she was thinking and slightly rubbed Lacey’s hand on his quad. It was imperceptible to anyone visually. But Lacey felt it. “Of course. As often as you like.” He looked at Kane. “Both of you. I’ve never done a workout with you, Son. That would be amazing if we could. I can even try and set up something permanent if you both want.” Feeling Tait’s touch, seeing what she saw, hearing Tait’s invitation to the gym. Lacey just couldn't resist anymore. It was so cliche - but cliche’s work because they are so often real. “Tait - would it be OK if I… if I… see your-” she stumbled over herself, a ball of hormones and nerves. Kane finally snapped. He had endured so much these last few minutes. And this was the last straw. “Lacey, get hold of yourself. This is embarrassing. You wanna date my Dad or something. You sure as hell are feeling him up. Maybe it is just better if I leave you two to it - fuck…” Kane stood to leave, when both Tait and Lacey said, “ Kane, WAIT–” Both immediately withdrew their hands from each other. And as they did Lacey realized just where her hands were. What she was doing… Fuck. Kane was right. She had been flirting with Tait this whole time. She'd been touching him since he had sat in his chair. She just… couldn't help it. Tait was so different and dominant compared to every man she had ever seen, she just felt compelled. Tait was just too powerful a presence for her instincts. She did it even though she intellectually didn't want to. And she had offended the man she loved. Lacey was about to say something when Tait again intervened, again saving the young people. “I'm sorry son. I shouldn't have allowed the conversation to go that way. And I should have stopped anything that crossed any boundaries that you both have. It is not Lacey’s fault. It is mine. You can remember how many people asked me to flex for them or take pics with them when you were a kid. It bothered your mother until she came to understand that it is nothing more than a compliment and I never would dishonor another person or myself by crossing a boundary. She even came to laugh at it. I'm sorry if I have violated any boundary between you two. Can you forgive me?” Tait’s statement about his mother brought back a flood of memories. Indeed he could remember so many times as a kid when people would ask his father to flex or ask for photos… And they'd try to feel his arm. Doing it for kids was one thing but he also remembered the women. So many women. He also remembered his parents laughing and joking after. He always thought it was his Dad being a player - and not the football kind. But now he remembered conversations. Laughing about some reaction. They never made sense to his child’s brain… Until now. “I… I guess so Dad. I didn't remember until now but she and grandma used to laugh about it. She thought you being a hunk was great fun. I… Just…” “No son. I understand. Your mother was one of the most beautiful women I've ever seen. I was quite protective of her if you remember. Like I said, Lacey reminds me of her a bit. More than I think you can know. So maybe it is a bit of nostalgia too, no offense intended to Lacey. It is a GREAT compliment. But perhaps I became too familiar out of habit.” “I get it Dad. And I'm sorry. Both of you.” Tait then smiled. “OK, now if it is not violating any boundary and in the spirit we just talked about. If you're OK Kane and Lacey I'm happy to satisfy Lacey’s curiosity and flex for her. You haven't seen the truly bigger me either. And then we will laugh about it. I mean I'm not in the habit of flexing in a Michelin star restaurant. A different kind of beef than what is on the surf and turf? We can satisfy Lacey’s curiosity and I doubt she will ever ask anyone again as I doubt she will ever see any bigger…” Tait smiled broadly - a smile that could melt glaciers. Lacey said, “Kane, please. Really, I am just curious. That's all.” “Alright. Alright. Go ahead. I suppose you will always wonder until you see it. And I have to admit I am a little curious myself. You’re bigger than I ever remember you being, Dad.” Kane said in surrender - and it was true that he was curious. He didn't want to admit it and it was for a very different reason… but he wanted to see his dad flex too. “Well then kiddo, I'll give you a dose of the cannons to feel later.” Tait laughed deeply. “In the meantime, Lacey. Tell me what you think.” Tait bent down in his chair a bit to not draw quite as much attention as a full out flex would do. He held his arm down to be within easy reach and then curled his monster forearm and fist around and up. The muscles of the upper arm rose and Rose and ROSE. Tait smiled as the gigantic muscle took full form. Even Kane in disbelief said, “Christ, Dad.” Tait’s arm was the diameter of a volleyball. A tremendously shaped, peaked mountain exploded out, covered with several thick and thin veins across its surface. The thick/thin skin Lacey noted earlier traced out many striations and a well-developed cleft between the heads of the muscle. The well-made polo covering it made a creaking sound, as the stitching of the custom made shirt was stretched to the limit before Tait rolled the sleeve back to afford a full view of the monster ball and the massive hanging horseshoe beneath the dome. Tait pumped it out and in a couple times. “Thanks Son. It is better with a pump, being honest, but it’s still pretty good. Go ahead Lacey. Tell me what you think.” Lacey’s trembling hands - both of them - reached over and tried to wrap around Tait’s arm. She failed hardcore with many inches between the hand on the bottom and the hand on the top. In fact, her top hand could not even cover half of the biceps mountain. “Oh my GOD.” she said. She tried to squeeze it, but she had no ability to move it at all. It felt like a warm bronze statue in the summer. The flesh was unyielding to her at all. Yet - she felt it move, but only at Tait’s whim. Tait smiled more broadly as he saw her reaction. She moved her hands, trying to feel any soft spot, any weakness, any spot at all that felt like flesh and not rock. There was none. “Oh my God, Tait, Kane, it is SO BIG and HARD. I mean you had hard muscles when we were in school but nothing like this. Tait, you must be the strongest person ever in the gym. Jeez.” “Go ahead and hit it a bit if you want. It’s the same.” Lacey obeyed, fawning as her slight pops became harder and harder into slaps and then into punches. For a girl, Lacey was very strong and fit and knew how to throw a punch from her classes at the gym, Yet all she felt was a sting in her own hand as hit after hit did nothing but make Tait smile at her. “Fuck.” She said under her breath. “I don’t think I could make a dent in this with a baseball bat, Kane. It’s like all the muscle on your whole body is in this one arm. Your muscles have never felt like this. Your muscles are nothing like this. I bet if he squeezed you he could crush you. Wow.” She said under her breath. Tait laughed, “I take it you approve.” “It is the most manly muscle I have ever, ever felt. You’re right Tait. I never need to feel another muscle on a guy again. No one else will ever measure up. I can’t wait to see you put these football guys to shame in the 49ers gym. Can we go Kane, please. I really want to see Tait embarrass a few of those fucks I remember from school.” Tait was still flexing for Lacey, Lacey still feeling, and Kane … Kane still in utter awe. Kane would have felt offended that Lacey flatly said that she would never want to feel his body again after feeling his Dad’s but - he couldn’t. He had hugged his Dad earlier. He had felt his Dad’s body. And seeing this… he wondered if Lacey’s comment wasn’t true. He certainly could never build what his Dad had. He wished he could. He wished he could do ANYTHING to come even close to that. But he had no idea how. And Kane felt… something. Something like gravity. A pull toward SOMETHING... Kane never betrayed the gravity he felt toward his father’s muscle display. “I guess Lacey, if you want and if you are sure, Dad. I’ll go.” “Absolutely. I’ll call Roger Goodell and make it happen if I have to. He owes me a favor anyway. And… thanks for indulging and letting me show off just a bit Matty.” Kane groaned and Lacey looked up at Tait, even as he pumped his arm a few more times under her roaming hands. "Who is Matty?" Kane just looked down, his whole body seemingly turning red in embarrassment. Kane sighed. "Me. That’s what mom and dad called me as a kid. I went by Matt everywhere else except my family called me Matty - until I started using my middle name Kane in college. Guys back on the high school wrestling team heard Dad call me Matty, and the name stuck like glue." Tait looked a bit sheepish. "Damn, son. I’m sorry. There I go telling old men stories. It's just one of those old habits. I know how you feel about Matty." Lacey smiled and chuckled. “I, however, just got a little bit of leverage in the war between the sexes.” In a tremendously cheeky bold move, Lacey bent over and planted a small peck kiss on Tait’s still flexed biceps - the only part of him she could reach as big as he was. “Thank you, Tait. I may have to use it sometime… Matty.” Tait laughed hard and Kane turned redder still. It was really one of those classic parent stories they tell on their kids but… there was something in Lacey’s eyes, on her face. Something. And then it was gone. Tait spoke up. “At least if I do it now, Kane, I won’t get in as much trouble. But I will try to keep that as private as possible. Anyway, It will be a pleasure to show off for you both. It has been a while since someone appreciated what I do with the players – and to the players.” Tait laughed as he slowly lowered his arm. Lacey’s hands hung in mid air for a few moments before she lowered them. She loved Matty… rather Kane like her life depended on it, but… She just HAD to feel that arm again - HAD TO - when she could tell Tait what she really thought - alone when Kane would not hear. HAD TO before Tait left again for New York. “What do you mean Tait,” Lacey said shakily. “What do you do to players?” Tait smiled. "You both were athletes at Stanford. Imagine someone like Christian McCaffrey being told he has to be interviewed by an NFL staff psychiatrist for potential draft teams. He is expecting some short fat dork who has never even taken an elementary school flag football snap to walk in. How do those athletes react when they see me come in and the first thing I do is ask them to do is to take me through their daily workout... and the dork doc beats their ass in every lift." Kane said in a not exactly joking manner after the name “Matty” came out, "Dad has always liked to lord his abilities over other players." Tait looked at them both. "No, it's not that at all. Yes, keeping up with them or beating them in the gym is an ego boost to me, and it hits their ego. But it also serves a purpose in my psychological evaluation of them. “As a rookie in the League, no matter who you are or how good a college player you are, being new in the League, in practice and games and the locker room, you face being physically out-performed and bullied a bit by teammates and rival players. We are all paid professionals, but it is testosterone-fueled men and there is a pecking order and can be pissing wars and dick length contests, at least metaphorically. It is part of tradition, and playing with the best players in the world. Some say I am in the running for the greatest tight end of all time, and it happened to me. I remember getting my bell rung once like I was Big Ben in my first game with Charles Woodsen. Once I got accustomed to the League, half the time some corner in the secondary tried to make a tackle on me and they just bounced off. But that first year or two, I still got flattened more than once and reamed by the locker room and the coaches for it. “By me being a doctor and a retiree and still beating their lifts, I get to see in a small way how they will deal with adjustment to the League psychologically. Can they roll with it and adapt to not being Big Man on Campus anymore and be willing to learn or do they fold and wash out? It's important to see how they will react when I trash talk them a bit, since that will show me how they will take that trash talk in the locker room or that coach ripping them a new asshole for missing an assignment. They also tend to open up to me.a lot more after seeing proof that I really did play in the League. That, though I'm a doc now, I still know the NFL on the field and in the locker room - and could maybe still play if I wanted. That confidence and trust in me is important to get to their true feelings and attitudes and how those will gel with the various clubs and team cultures around the League." Lacey was utterly enchanted getting to hear some of Tait’s intellect and mental prowess at work. But even Kane understood, maybe for the first time in his life, that what he so often saw out of his dad wasn't just being a jock. He remembered what it was like to be called Matty by his teammates. How he sometimes felt belittled by it. Like a tiny boy when he would lose some practice matches or get out worked in the gym or starving to come in on weight. It gnawed at him so much so he changed his name. And the locker room at Stanford was even harder… he could nigh imagine what being a rookie in the NFL was like. The millions spent on one person - if they crumbled like he had crumbled at this lunch seeing so many innocent things as an attack. He understood. It made sense. Tait was doing them a favor by out performing them. Kane knew - he would do the same thing himself for the same reason if he had his Dad’s ability and prowess. Kane’s respect for his Dad expanded at that moment - he was more of a proper man than even he understood. The gravity toward his father increased… “What else do you do for the NFL?” Lacey asked… And so it went as the trio had a wonderful lunch. Lacey drove the conversation, pressing for more and more information about Tait. Tait, happily engaging and observing. And through the entire lunch, Lacey’s hand - whenever she could - touching and feeling Tait’s hard muscles when she thought Kane wouldn’t notice. Tait, having been told that it was no longer crossing a boundary, allowing Lacey to explore to a point. And Kane - gaining more and more appreciation and admiration. Kane’s resistance to the force that pulled him toward his dad slowly collapsing. Kane’s ability to resist his father in anything - slowly crumbling. The feeling… disturbing feeling, slowly increasing. The conflict that had slapped him in the face with the force of a steel chain to the mouth - slowly growing. But, finally, as it always does, the lunch came to an end. After Tait took care of the bill, the three of them walked through the door, and then stood outside. Tait first embraced his son. “I will be in town all week, son. I want to see you again, anytime I can. If not before the trip to the gym, then how about after that. I would really like a little father-son time if that is OK.” Tait then made his son look up as he looked down into the softer male face. “Maybe lunch or dinner, just you and me.” Tait’s tone was obvious - a time when Lacey was not there and when Kane would be a lot less defensive. And Kane could talk openly. Kane thought for a minute and nodded yes. He had never truly been able to say no to his Dad for long. He had never seen anyone who had truly been able to say no to Tait Holden. Then Tait turned to Lacey. “And you, young lady. Thank you for the wonderful meal and wonderful conversation. And I can’t wait to get to know you better as well.” “I can’t wait either, Tait.” Lacey said. The giant embraced the beauty queen, and the beauty queen returned the hug. Tait noticed something that no one could ever see given his size. Lacey - sure, she was hugging him. A hug that was a little too tight, a little too close, hands moving a little too much. She was feeling more than just his muscle again. She was leaning into him, like trying to draw strength from him. For what purpose unless it was – Tait felt her small hand slide just down just a bit. Too far down. The hand went over his hard glute cheek. Feeling, exploring. Kane could not see what she was doing given his massive frame. Tait did what he had done all night, only this time half out of reflex and half out of showing off. He flexed his glutes under her hand. The hand found them particularly impenetrable, as she traced lines until she found the entrance to one of his back pants pockets. The hand slid inside. Tait felt something… and then the hand withdrew and slid back up onto his low back. She pulled back, looked up, and gave Tait a strange, knowing glance. She then took Kane’s hand as if nothing had happened. As the three left the restaurant and Tait started for his car, Lacey could not help looking at Tait’s huge size 18 boots. She happened to wonder for a moment if the old saying was true, as she glanced down to Kane’s size 7 shoes… *** Tait got to the passenger door of the 49er’s team car and opened it. It was only then that he reached his hand into his back pants pocket. His fingers discovered a folded piece of paper. He withdrew it and opened it. Written there was a note - when had she had a chance to write this? - Was her hand feeling his leg, trying to get to a front pocket but was unable? Either way, she was good. Very good. “Tait - Please contact me ASAP. I need to see you again urgently. But text only. 123-555-1212. Please do not call. And PLEASE - Don't tell Kane. - Lacey” ***
  4. I had the wonderful opportunity to work on a commission for mystery79, who wanted a wholesome muscle growth comic for their DeviantArt page (linked). I thoroughly enjoyed every moment of creating this piece as fresh ideas flowed continuously. If you're looking to have a captivating story crafted just for you or if you'd like to express your appreciation to the artist, feel free to tip a coffee at $creativecoffeeman. You can easily message me on Discord at czechhunter69#0839. For those who are simply here to enjoy the artwork, sit back, relax, and let the magic unfold! ------------------- Alex the muscle daddy next door As the summer sun beat down on the small town of Willowbrook, Brock wiped the beads of sweat from his brow with the back of his hand. Home on a break from college, he had taken up a job as a grocery bagger at the local market to help save up for the upcoming semester. The monotony of the job was broken when a familiar figure approached his checkout lane. There was something about the man that struck Brock as oddly familiar, but he couldn't quite put his finger on it. The man, probably in his mid-thirties, exuded an air of confidence and strength. His fiery red hair caught the sunlight, framing a face with rugged features and a perfectly groomed fiery red beard. Every inch of his muscular physique was accentuated by a tight-fitting shirt, emblazoned with the word "SECURITY" across his broad back. In this town, Brock had never seen a man this thick, so far from a gym - much less without a sweaty pump to justify that much fluffiness. As Brock diligently loaded his groceries into the back of his SUV, his attention couldn't help but wander to the striking figure waiting just outside the car. Every now and then, Brock would discreetly steal glances, catching the man's appreciative gaze fixed on him, as if he were a mouthwatering delicacy. As they both were enjoying the view. The brief connection of their eyes sent an electric jolt through Brock's body, leaving his cheeks flushed with a rosy hue. It was in that exhilarating moment that Brock finally recognized the man's identity—Alexander Olson, his childhood friend's father and his next-door neighbor. The realization left him momentarily speechless, awestruck by the transformation Alex had undergone. He hadn’t seen the man in years, much less spoke with him. Gone was the lanky figure he remembered; this Alexander exuded a captivating presence, one that left Brock feeling a mix of admiration and desire, leaving his mouth dry and thirsty in the heat. As Alexander prepared to drive away, a mischievous glint sparkled in his eyes, reflecting in the rearview mirror, his lips curling into a playful smile. In a moment of tantalizing flirtation, he sent a sly wink Brock's way. Simultaneously, his hand discreetly dropping a crumpled piece of paper. The air crackled with intrigue, and Brock's heart raced with a mixture of exhilaration and nervous anticipation. Reacting swiftly, Brock's trembling hands descended to retrieve the fallen treasure. Carefully unfolding the paper, a crumpled business card, a handwritten message graced the surface, an endearing blend of disheveled scrawl and affectionate intent: "Hey cutie,” In that instant, a rush of emotions coursed through Brock's veins. His world seemed to tilt on its axis as he realized how much he didn’t care about who this man was. Alexander’s voluptuous body and playful gesture had stirred a dormant flame within Brock, igniting the possibility of a connection he never dared to imagine - the married dad next door. A whirlwind of emotions churned within Brock's stomach, leaving him both excited and apprehensive. The man who had been a constant presence throughout his childhood, had just flirted with him - and he liked it. Did Alex know who he was? As a junior in college, Brock was no stranger to the assumptions and labels cast upon him due to his youthful appearance - it’s often why a lot of guys his age didn’t bother with him. His gentle features and slender frame often led others to classify him as a Twink. Yet, holding Alexander's business card in his hand, he couldn't shake the feeling that there might be something more brewing, and certainly couldn’t wait to catch up. Taking a deep breath to steady himself, Brock carefully tucked the business card into his pocket, weighing wether or not it was meant for him or what to do. The man was married! And his neighbor! With the warm breeze whispering through the rows of parked cars and the vibrant sounds of the bustling market filling the air, Brock stepped back inside to finished his shift before texting Alex the same message: “Hey cutie” In all honesty, he wanted to play it cool and go with the safe phrase of “Hey big guy”, but he also wanted Alex to know it was him. Brock and Alex's initial text exchanges flowed effortlessly - and to his surprise he wasn’t just imagining it Alex really did mean to drop his card for Brock. Alex was genuinely interested in Brock.The conversations gradually evolved, transitioning from playful banter to the exchange of revealing pictures. Alex's images showcased his muscular physique and dedication to fitness, while Brock hesitantly shared glimpses of his own vulnerability, encouraged by Alex's genuine interest - only to be accepted as he was. Alex loved a smaller, slimmer man he explained- someone he didn’t have to be in competition with. Someone he could playfully benchpress as they cuddled. Someone who would allow him to be their boss, dominating their world. Their connection grew stronger with each passing day, as they opened up about personal matters. Alex confided in Brock about his ongoing divorce and the challenges he faced as a newly out gay man and father. It became more intimate and clandestine, adding an exhilarating element to their connection. Brock would seize the opportunity to visit Alex when his wife was away, the thrill of secrecy coursing through their veins - even if they weren’t a couple anymore. Their meetings began with casual conversations and catching up, often over drinks. Alex often took the initiative to advance their connection further. Brock, with his experiences and knowledge became a treasure trove of information about being gay, became a guide for Alex, introducing him to new aspects of his sexuality and exploring different roles within their intimate dynamic. One such day, Alex came up behind Brock and with a confident touch, Alex's beefy hands skillfully working their magic on Brock's tired and tense back, eliciting a contented sigh from his lips as he surrendered to Alex’s intense pressure on his muscles. His eyes closed trying to keep from crying out, for fear Alex would stop. The demanding nature of Brock's job at the grocery store, coupled with the stress of affording college in the fall, had left him yearning for this kind of painful relief, and Alex proved to be an expert at easing his tension. "You're so tense," Alex remarked, his words laced with a mix of concern and desire, before applying deeper pressure with his thumbs to relax Brock's knotted muscles. "So tense and hard.” He said in a deeper and huskier voice. Sensing the growing attraction between them, Alex leaned in closer, his waist pressing against Brock’s ass over hanging the back of the stool. The absence of a backrest allowed Brock to keenly feel the firmness of Alex's waist against him, the tantalizing bulge between them leaving little to the imagination - a clear impression of Alex’s 8” beer can. A flicker of anticipation danced in the air as Alex's words hung there, heavy with smooth innuendos. Brock's heart raced, his mind swirling with a mixture of longing and excitement. The suggestion of moving to the guest room held the promise of a more satisfying massage, one that would satisfy not only their physical desires but take Alex’s gay virginity - if there could be such a thing. In that charged moment, the world around them seemed to fade away, leaving only the throbbing pulse of desire and the unspoken invitation to see just how much Alex had learned about being a top. As Alex confidently led the way, Brock couldn't help but admire the mesmerizing sight before him. Each step Alex took revealed legs as robust as those of a seasoned athlete, defying any notions of a sedentary lifestyle. The moment they walked in the room, the waistline of Alex’s shorts loosened, surrendering to gravity as they approached the room, granting Brock an exquisite view of every sinew and contour of his muscular legs, leading up to the tantalizing glimpse of his boxer briefs. The tanned and impeccably toned flesh was a testament to years of dedication and hard work, as if he were poised to step onto a stage for a bodybuilding competition. His perfectly round buttocks beckoned like delectable cupcakes, inviting exploration and indulgence. "I work better without my pants on," Alex's voice resonated with playful anticipation. "Now, let's focus on that massage," he continued, playfully slapping a hand on the firm mattress. Brock began to pull his shirt up, but Alex halted his movements with a gentle touch, physically moving him to the bed to lay down. "If I need your clothes off, I'll take care of it myself," Alex's voice resonated with a touch of command, halting Brock's actions. A surge of anticipation coursed through Brock's body as he witnessed Alex's playful struggle with his shirt, his mighty lats flexing in a display of awe-inspiring power, captivating Brock's gaze. With each tantalizing movement, the magnificence of Alex's chiseled physique unfurled before Brock's enchanted eyes, like a masterpiece coming to life. Brock knew the man was purposely wearing small and tight clothes. His broad and commanding shoulders stood pressed against his traps, perfectly proportioned and barely able to manage the simple task. The flowing lines of his deltoids accentuated the distinct separation between each head, as if meticulously crafted by a skilled artisan. They seamlessly merged into his robust triceps, adorned with bulging veins that whispered of his unwavering commitment to his craft. Brock couldn't help but fixate on Alex's captivating chest—an embodiment of muscularity, adorned with a tantalizing dusting of fiery red hair and a trail of temptation leading below. Each meticulously sculpted pectoral muscle stood proud, emanating a pulsating aura of raw power and masculine allure - even as he fought to get his shirt over his head. The deep crevice between them served as a testament to the sheer strength contained within Alex's upper body. And then there were his rippling abdominals, a sight that left Brock in awe. Like a work of art, each individual muscle exhibited astonishing clarity, inviting exploration and igniting desires he never knew existed. Yet, as the reality of the moment washed over him, Brock's heart raced with a mixture of desire and disbelief. The enchanting sight before him beckoned him closer, awakening an urge to explore, to run his fingers over every carved ridge, and to discover the depths of pleasure that lay within this tantalizing dream made flesh. As the sleeves of his shirt clung tightly to his bulging arms, Alex's playful laughter filled the room, interrupting the mesmerized state that Brock found himself in. Their eyes met, and a mischievous spark danced between them. "Hey, Brock, I know you’re enjoying the view, but could you lend a hand?" Alex's voice dripped with playful charm. He was well aware of Brock's gaze, seemingly seeing through the fabric that concealed his magnificent physique. "Oh, yeah, sorry," Brock stammered, his cheeks flushing slightly as he snapped out of his reverie. He eagerly reached forward, grasping the warm and almost sweaty fabric, feeling the seams strain against the sheer size of Alex's body. Brock couldn't help but notice the subtle flexing of Alex's biceps, pressed against his ears in a playful display as it happened. It was a performance, designed to captivate and entice, and Brock was more than willing to be a willing participant. With one final tug from Brock, the shirt finally surrendered, leaving Alex standing before him, his head crowned with a tousle of messy red hair, a captivating contrast to his chiseled physique. In that surreal moment, as Brock's eyes traced the intricate lines of Alex's sculpted physique, a mischievous smirk played on Alex's lips, as he began to pop his pecs, left and right repeatedly - knowing just how hot it was for Brock. “Yeah? You like the huh?” Alex said. As the shirt fell to the side, discarded and forgotten, Brock found himself pulled into Alex's strong embrace. His head nestled between the pillows of sculpted pecs, the warmth and solidity of Alex's body enveloping him in a cocoon of desire. It was a full-bodied hug. Alex's lips left a trail of tender kisses along Brock's forehead, his breath mingling with whispered words of adoration. Each touch ignited a spark within Brock, fueling the flames of passion that consumed them both. "God, everything about you is so perfect," Alex murmured, his voice filled with a mixture of desire and reverence. “I’ve never done this with a man.” The soft caresses continued their descent, leaving a trail of longing in their wake. Finally, their lips met, a fusion of fire and intensity that transcended words. In that passionate exchange, time seemed to stand still, their hearts beating in sync as their bodies pressed against one another. With a firm yet gentle motion, Alex guided Brock backward, their bodies sinking into the plushness of the bed. Brock's feet dangled over the edge of the bed, his knees bent as he surrendered himself to the gentle exploration of Alex's skilled touch. As Alex's lips and hands ventured across his chest and shoulders, a wave of sensation coursed through Brock's body, setting his nerves ablaze. Every kiss and caress sent ripples of pleasure, accompanied by an awe-inspiring visual display. With each tender motion, Alex's pecs flexed, their impressive definition captivating Brock's gaze. The sinewy muscles seemed to pop and ripple, a testament to the dedication and strength that resided within them. The rhythmic contractions of Alex's arms, guided by his hands, created an intoxicating dance, evoking a primal desire within Brock. And as their bodies pressed against each other, Brock could feel the subtle friction of the bulging briefs against his own waistline, a teasing reminder of the arousal they shared. In that moment, the room seemed to fade away, leaving only the tender affection and care that Alex bestowed upon him. It was a moment of full of genuine emotion. It was more than a mere hookup; it was a shared experience of vulnerability, pleasure, and profound intimacy. As Alex lavished him with affection, Brock couldn't help but feel a profound sense of gratitude and contentment. Brock's feet dangled over the edge of the bed, his knees bent, as Alex's strong hands worked their magic on his tired little body, pinned to the bed and loving every moment of it. "Let's add a little more excitement," Alex suggested, seamlessly steering the conversation into a new direction. With a fluid motion, his hand slipped under Brock's shirt, effortlessly peeling it off, revealing Brock's unremarkable chest. As Alex leaned in, his colossal back obscured Brock's view of the rest of the room, allowing him to only notice the stray red hairs that dared to venture upwards from Alex's pecs and nestle there. Alex's delicate nibbles and suckles on Brock's chest and neck sent shivers of pleasure coursing through him, while the slight abrasions of his facial stubble added a delightful sensation, a pleasant ache that heightened Brock’s experience. Brock found himself at a loss, his inexperience contrasting with Alex's muscular and seasoned presence. It seemed as though Alex was a master, effortlessly pinning Brock's hands above him as he positioned himself on top. Their lips met once again, this time engaging in a passionate dance of tongues, exploring each other. Brock marveled at the way Alex's tongue effortlessly extended further into his mouth, savoring the sensation. One of his favorite moments was when Alex playfully nibbled on his lips after intensely exploring his mouth. “You taste good," Brock playfully retorted between passionate kisses, his desire growing with every passing moment. The weight of Alex pressing down on his waist intensified the delicious friction against his throbbing cock, enhancing the urge within him, as if being driven deeper into the mattress. “That was suppose to be my line," Alex chuckled, his lips briefly parting from Brock's before resuming their intense connection. As their makeout session continued, Alex deftly began unbuttoning Brocks pants, but Brock eagerly attempted to lend a hand, only to have his efforts playfully swatted away. "That's going to be my job," Alex asserted, his tone carrying a hint of intimidation, yet the mischievous smile on his face dispelled any notion of seriousness. In the midst of their escalating passion, Brock could feel the room growing hotter, their bodies intimately intertwined. Alex's fingers expertly undid the remaining buttons of Brock's pants, his touch sending electric currents of pleasure coursing through Brock's veins. Slowly, sensually, Alex slid the pants down Brock's legs, baring him completely. "God, you're perfect," Alex uttered, a statement that no man of his size had ever said to Brock before. "I just want to—" He abruptly halted his words as his hand ventured towards Brock's eager entrance, skillfully tracing delicate patterns to help him relax, while using his other hand to generously apply lube to his own throbbing cock - a different beast that also terrified Brock. The air brimmed with anticipation, their eyes locked in a fiery gaze, each aware of what was to come next. With a surge of desire, Alex positioned himself at the threshold of Brock's longing. In a surprising display of tenderness, Alex embarked on their journey with meticulous slowness, savoring every moment of their intimate connection. Despite his imposing physique and impressive size, he moved with a gentle precision, his touch exuding both care and affection. His hands roamed Brock's body, worshipping every curve and contour, as if tracing a map of his devoted adoration. Brock's excitement only grew, his moans fueling Alex's fervor. Lost in the moment, their lips locked again and again, Alex began to thrust more intently now, their bodies melding together, Brocks feet locked behind the wall of muscle. "That's it, make daddy proud," Alex grunted, his words punctuated by the rhythm of their shared desire. Brock's body responded, the gentle stimulation of his P-spot sending blissful shivers cascading through his nerves until, without warning, he released in a wave of intense pleasure, his climax transcending any preconceived notion of a definitive jolt as he coated Alex’s treasure trial in thick globs of cum. As Brock's release marked the peak of his pleasure, Alex, sensing the culmination drawing near, intensified his rhythm. Their bodies moved in perfect harmony, a crescendo of passion reaching its apex as the bed slammed against the wall harder with each thrust. With unrestrained abandon, Alex's voice filled the air, his moans echoing through the room, as his own climax overcame him. Brock could feel the pulsating warmth of Alex's release inside him, even after Alex withdrew. Part of him wanted Alex to collapse on top of him right there, suffocating him. Suddenly, they both heard the front door opening and his wife tossing her keys and purse onto the kitchen bar. In a state of panic, Alex hurriedly attempted to get dressed, his voice filled with urgency. "Oh, fuck, she's home. You can't be here, you really can't be here." The sudden arrival of Alex's wife sent shockwaves through the room, erasing any remnants of relaxation or time to clean up as she announced she was home. Brock's heart raced as he realized the gravity of the situation, scrambling to his feet but stumbling clumsily and falling with an audible thud onto the carpet. He lay there, his head resting amidst the scattered pieces of clothing, feeling a mix of embarrassment and anxiety. Desperately, he reached for his underwear and hastily put it on, searching for his shorts and shirt in a frenzy. In that tense moment, Alex's wife entered the room, her gaze immediately registering the scene before her. Anger and hurt flashed across her face as she confronted her husband, her voice trembling with betrayal. "What were you two doing? How could you do this to me? He's barely older than our son, Alex!" Her words were filled with pain and disbelief, as if speaking to an unseen presence, disregarding Brock's presence in the room. The weight of her accusation bore down on Brock, his face turning pale with embarrassment and shame. However, her expression suddenly shifted, and she burst into laughter, a bitter and mocking tone in her voice. "You could at least let me know when you bring him over. But Brock, it's nice to finally meet you." Her words were laced with sarcasm, a mix of disbelief and resignation. The situation had taken an unexpected turn, leaving Brock caught between feelings of humiliation and a surreal sense of relief, unsure of how to respond in the midst of this emotional whirlwind. "Why did you panic if she knows about us?" Brock asked, feeling a sense of relief as he closed the door. "It was mostly for fun, she said she’d do it if she caught us" Alex replied, his voice filled with amusement. "And you're a good guy. Besides, she still plays a role in my life. I hope you'll allow her to be a part of it as the divorce goes through." Though Brock felt a twinge of awkwardness, he decided not to dwell on it. As long as things remained friendly and amicable, he didn't care. "You two finish up, I'll get some snacks in the oven," she shouted from down the hall. Brock couldn't help but notice that none of this scene seemed to faze her. The way she smiled at both of them made Brock think she was actually proud of her husband. "How is she so comfortable with this?" Brock asked, genuinely curious. "We loved and supported each other for 20 years, and that support isn't going to stop just because we're not sexually compatible due to my own self-deception," Alex replied, his voice carrying a tone of maturity and introspection. "It took a lot of work to get her to this point where she's comfortable with it, and because of my failure to be honest with myself, it cost her a lot. So she's still a part of my life, and if you're willing, you could be a part of it too during that time. This is a house where love wins.” Brock could see the sadness lingering in Alex's eyes as he struggled to get his clothes on. It was evident that he was reflecting on his relationship with his wife, still carrying a sense of loss and regret. But Brock had a different idea. He stepped closer to Alex, pressing himself up against him, swatting the mans hands away from buttoning up his own shorts. "No, you're not getting dressed. We're getting in the shower," Brock asserted, a sly smile playing on his lips. He reached out, pulling Alex’s shirt back off. “We’re not done yet.” "We aren't?" Alex replied, a hint of playful challenge in his voice. "And what are you going to do about it?" he added, his gaze fixed on Alex's tensed arms, mesmerized by the bulging muscles, particularly the defined horseshoe bend of the tricep. Brock leaned in, capturing Alex's lips in a passionate kiss, pressing his body against the impressive chest that seemed to tower over him. His hand traced a path up and down the sinewy contours of Alex's arm, savoring the sensation of each muscle beneath his touch. "Goddamn, your muscles are enormous." Brock murmured between kisses, his desire and admiration evident in his words. As Alex guided them into the shower, the warm water cascaded down their bodies, creating a sensual curtain that heightened the intimacy of the moment. Brock eagerly took the soap in his hands, lathering it up to create a rich foam. With tender care, he started at Alex's broad shoulders, his fingers gliding over the firm muscles. The soap glided effortlessly across Alex's sculpted chest, leaving behind a trail of bubbles that highlighted every beautiful contour and ridge, tangling themselves in his hair as each strand danced. Brock's hands moved in slow, deliberate circles, relishing the sensation of the slick soap on Alex's skin, specifically working to get his cum out of Alex’s hair. He traced the defined lines of his abs, his touch light and teasing, before moving lower to explore each powerful thigh and calf. The water, accentuating his size and strength. Brock's fingertips followed the path of the falling droplets, reveling in the way they meandered over the ridges and valleys of Alex's physique. He couldn't help but marvel at the way the water clung to his well-defined biceps, the droplets forming a glistening sheen that highlighted their impressive size. With each stroke and touch, Brock reveled in the sheer power and beauty of Alex's body. He reveled in the way the soap slid between his fingers, the way the water traced every curve and crevice. The intimacy of the moment was palpable, the connection between them deepening with every gentle touch and little remark as Brock worshiped the mans muscles. In that shower, Brock delighted in the sensuality of the experience, determined to satisfy Alex again. As Brock knelt before Alex, his hands continued their gentle exploration of the muscular body, caressing the firm flesh with reverence. With a deliberate and eager motion, Brock's mouth found its destination, enveloping Alex's throbbing cock barely able to breathe. His tongue, slick with desire, danced along every inch of Alex’s cock, tracing the intricate veins and contours that brought Alex immense pleasure. The rhythm of his movements matched the rhythm of the water cascading down, a symphony of sensuality in the steam-filled shower. The taste of Alex’s pre, a heady combination that fueled Brock's hunger for more, as the cock began to stiffen. Soon Alex's hand found its place behind Brock's head, as he looked up at his man. Sensing the growing hunger in Alex's eyes, Brock skillfully slid his finger into Alex's tight opening, expertly targeting his prostate. The combination of Brock's tantalizing suction and the euphoric stimulation sent waves of pleasure coursing through Alex's body, leaving him unable to contain his moans. Driven by his insatiable desire, Alex’s thrusts grew more fervent, his hips thrusting in tandem with Brock's oral ministrations. Brock couldn’t help but enjoy the feeling of the mans ass clamping around his fingers with each push. The intensity built, their connection deepening with every desperate thrust. Brock continued to expertly suck and pleasure Alex, skillfully navigating the delicate balance of pleasure and control. And then, as the pinnacle of their desire approached, a surge of warmth flooded Brock's throat. He reveled in the taste and the shared intimacy, his senses overwhelmed by the intensity of the moment. As they both caught their breath, Alex leaned against the shower wall, his body still quivering with aftershocks. A contented smile played on his lips as he gazed at Brock, a mix of satisfaction and admiration in his eyes. "You really know what you're doing," Alex chuckled, his voice laced with post-coital bliss. “Holy shit, men really do this stuff better." The sensitivity of his body lingered, as he shuddered against the wall. “I knew you had a second round in you.” Brock said wiping his lips of Alex’s remnants. In the steam-filled shower, a sense of fulfillment hung in the air, mingling with the remnants of their passionate encounter. Both men stood in the aftermath of their shared release, their bodies intimately intertwined in the blissful aftermath. Alex laughed. “Now, let’s see what your wife has made,” Brock said, shocked he could even say such a thing. —————————————————————————————————————————— In the weeks that followed, Alex orchestrated a series of unforgettable dates, each one meticulously planned to make Brock feel like royalty. From candlelit dinners at upscale restaurants to romantic walks along moonlit beaches, every moment was a testament to Alex’s infatuation. He reveled in the knowledge that his bulging muscles had the power to arouse and captivate Brock, his slender frame drawn to the sheer physicality of Alex's body. Brock, enthralled by the sight of every flexing muscle and the way Alex's shirts clung to his sculpted physique, found himself mesmerized by the sheer strength and beauty of his partner and they numerous ways he could support them both. As their relationship deepened, they ventured into new territories. Wrestling and working out together became a thrilling exploration of trust and vulnerability. In the heat of their workouts, Brock willingly placed himself in precarious situations, his body straining under the weight of Alex's strength with relief at Alex’s discretion. Bringing him to the point of collapse only for Alex to save him last moment. Under his watchful eye, Brock willingly surrendered himself to the tantalizing play of power dynamics late at Alex’s gym. He reveled in the intoxicating blend of vulnerability and domination, cherishing each moment when Alex took control with a touch that was both careful and loving. The sheer force of Alex's presence made Brock feel simultaneously small and cherished, the perfect balance that fueled their passionate connection. On the wrestling mat, their bodies entangled in a dance of strength and skill, Alex allowed Brock to practice the moves they had been working on. With each takedown and counter, Brock's confidence grew, the fruits of their dedicated workouts and wrestling sessions evident in his improved technique. As Alex tapped out, acknowledging Brock's victory for the night, a sense of pride and joy swelled within him. He admired Brock's progress, marveling at how far they had come together. Laughing as he pulled himself out of the staged and rehearsed full nelson, Alex couldn't help but tease Brock playfully, as if he wasn't the one pinned beneath him. "You're getting much better at that," he chuckled, a glimmer of admiration in his eyes, despite the lighthearted banter. With their wrestling match concluded, the intensity of their physical excitement began to subside, giving way to a pleasant fatigue that washed over them. “I swear you’ve been getting stronger.” Brock heaved as they made their way to the gym showers, the sound of running water serving as a soothing backdrop to their intimate conversation. “Since we’ve started working out, I’ve had a reason to push myself harder knowing there’s a man just waiting for this…” He said flexing a bicep, rotating his first in and out to really accentuate the muscle. As they stood under the warm cascade of water, cleansing their bodies from the exertion of their rigorous workout, Brock's mind turned to the approaching end of summer. The realization that his time with Alex was limited brought a tinge of sadness to his heart. Looking into Alex's eyes, he couldn't help but voice his concerns. "You know, summer's almost over," Brock spoke softly, his voice laced with a hint of melancholy. "I don't want to go back to college at this point.” The gravity of the words hung in the air, the implications of such a decision echoing between them. Brock hoped for a solution that would allow him to stay close to Alex, to continue nurturing the connection they had forged during these precious summer months. Alex, understanding the weight of Brock's decisions, reached out to gently caress his cheek. His expression softened, a mixture of understanding and affection reflected in his eyes. “Brock, I would do anything to make you happy and wouldn’t stop until you were,” Alex responded, his voice tender yet resolute. "If staying here, maybe pursuing online courses or working blue collar stuff, will bring you joy, then I fully support your decision. Your happiness and my growth for you, is what matter to me.” As he stepped on the scale, relishing the 5 pounds he was up, only for Brock to claim it was water weight and smash his proud moment. The sincerity in Alex's words filled Brock's heart with warmth, dispelling any lingering doubts. In that moment, he realized that their bond extended beyond the physical, encompassing a deep emotional connection that transcended any physical distance or academic pursuits, leading to someone willing to support him or physically hold him up. What harm would it be to simply continue falling in love with Alex? As they finished showering and dressed, preparing to leave the gym, a sense of gratitude and contentment settled within them as the held hands leaving. The drive home was filled with quiet reflection, punctuated by occasional glances exchanged between them, their love and devotion silently spoken through their eyes. With each passing day, their connection had deepened. The summer may be drawing to a close, but the love they had cultivated would continue to thrive, nurturing their souls and paving the way for a future filled with shared experiences and unwavering support. —————————————————————————————————————————— As they approached their respective homes one evening, hand in hand, they entered their separate front doors with a final smile before disappearing behind the frame, each stepping into the presence of their own families. For Brock, however, an unexpected encounter awaited him as his father stood there, a mix of curiosity and concern etched upon his face. "What's been going on with you and Alex?" his father questioned, his tone filled with a blend of confusion and worry. "You spend all your time with him and have been taking fewer hours at work. You boss just texted me and said you’ve been coming in less.” Brock felt the weight of his father's gaze, knowing that his dad was aware of his sexuality but still grappling with the complexities understanding the gay community - so in-depth conversations weren’t exactly his strong suit. "Dad, we're just hanging out," Brock replied, choosing to evade the subject, his voice tinged with a hint of unease. “Having a good time.” "You spend more time with him than with your own family," his father continued, his concern evident. "We only get to see you for a short while during the summer. How are you even able to afford taking so much time off from work?” Brock's father knew his son's workplace intimately, as Brock's manager was a close friend of his own. The web of connections seemed to tighten, adding another annoying layer of complexity to the situation. “Alex, like next door Alex, and I have been getting to know each other, ” Brock's words hung in the air, heavy with a mix of vulnerability and truth. His father stood there, momentarily speechless, struggling to process the revelation. "You're in a relationship with him?" his father finally managed to utter, his confusion palpable. "He's my age... no, he's just a few years older than me. What the fuck…" "Dad, this is precisely why I didn't tell you," Brock replied, a hint of frustration creeping into his voice. "I don't care if you're dating a man," his father's tone softened, his love for his son evident. "But this... this is dangerous.” "He's actually an amazing person, Dad," Brock insisted, seeking to bridge the gap between them. "And his wife, she supports us.” "Yeah, you're dating a married man," his father mused, still trying to grasp the situation. "Wait, she supports this?" With a mix of confusion and curiosity, he motioned for Brock to follow him into the living room, where they could continue their conversation as they normally would. “Call him, and have him come over here, I want to speak with him,” Brocks father said. “I don’t want some 45 year old man, taking advantage of my 23 year old son.” Brock hesitated for a moment, sensing his father's protectiveness and the need to address his concerns. He reached for his phone and dialed Alex's number, feeling a mix of apprehension and hope. After a few rings, Alex's voice greeted him through the speaker. "Hey, babe, what's up?" Alex's voice was warm and comforting, soothing Brock's nerves. "Hey, Alex," Brock replied, his voice laced with a hint of tension. "My dad wants to talk to you. He has some concerns and... well, he wants to understand.” There was a brief pause on the other end of the line before Alex responded, his voice filled with understanding and support. "I'm more than willing to talk to your dad. Let him know I'm coming over.” Brock relayed the message to his father, who nodded in acknowledgment. A mix of anticipation and skepticism filled the room as they waited for Alex's arrival. A few minutes later, a knock resonated through the front door, and despite Brock's eagerness to greet Alex, his father took the lead, his voice faltering with a mix of surprise and uncertainty. "Alex... I, uh... come in," he managed to say, his words trailing off as he opened the door. Brock, seated in the living room, listened intently, aware that his father was witnessing Alex's impressive physical transformation for the first time. The sight of Alex's muscular physique, honed through countless hours of dedicated training, was undoubtedly intimidating to his father. Alex stepped into the house, his presence commanding yet gentle, as he followed Brock's father into the living room. They took their respective seats, an atmosphere charged with curiosity and unspoken questions. Brock's father cleared his throat, his eyes fixed on Alex's powerful form. "I... I must admit, I didn't expect... this," he began, struggling to find the right words. "You've certainly changed, Alex.” Alex nodded, acknowledging the unspoken observation. "Yes, I've been working hard on my physique and overall fitness. It's become an important part of my life.” Brock's father studied Alex, his initial surprise slowly transforming into a mixture of respect and curiosity. "I can see the dedication and discipline it takes to achieve such a physique. It's impressive, to say the least.” Brock, sensing the shift in his father's perspective, felt a wave of relief wash over him. As Alex made his way into the living room, Brock immediately grasped the significance of his presence. Dressed in a loosely fitting tank top that accentuated his chiseled physique, his impressive, hairy pecs seemed to engage in their own silent dialogue with the room. Taking a seat beside Brock, Alex casually draped a weighty arm around Brock's shoulders, conveying both a sense of ownership and protection. And then, in a bold move, he leaned in and planted a kiss on Brock's lips, right before his father's eyes, as if to assert, without words, "Your son belongs to me.” Brock's father stood there, utterly speechless, his eyes locked on the scene unfolding before him. He witnessed the unspoken declaration of love, woven into that intimate moment between his son and this larger-than-life man. The sheer audacity and intensity of their connection reverberated throughout the room, leaving his father at a loss for words. Andrew, still grappling with mixed emotions, gathered his thoughts and approached the two of them seated on the couch. He took a deep breath, his gaze shifting between Brock and Alex, before finally finding the courage to address his concerns. "Brock, I need to understand... I mean, this... age difference and where you are in your life," Andrew began, his voice tinged with a mixture of worry and caution. "You're still figuring things out, and I just want to make sure you're going to be safe, protected.” Brock's heart ached with a blend of apprehension and a desire for his father's understanding. As he folded under the anxiety ladened conversation while Alex navigated it He knew that their relationship faced hurdles of acceptance, especially given the unconventional nature of his connection with Alex. But before Brock could respond, Alex interjected, his voice calm yet resolute. "Andrew, I understand your concerns. The age difference, his education, his entire life in front of him... these are valid points. But I want you to know that I will always stand by him the same way I would love and stand by my wife well after our divorce. I will support him in every decision he makes the same way you saw me supporting my wife when we first moved.” Alex asserted, his eyes brimming as he looked directly at Brock. "No matter what happens, you have my word as a man and your friend.” The words hit Andrew square in the chest, hearing the definitive promise his son would be taken care of. Andrew looked at Alex, searching for any hint of doubt or insincerity - even living next door Alex was the ideal neighbor. They never had an issue and often helped each other out. The only thing Andrew found instead was an unwavering commitment emanating from this imposing yet gentle man. It was clear that Alex's devotion to Brock went beyond mere infatuation; being man enough to come over for this conversation. As the weight of Alex's words settled upon Andrew, the small amount of betrayal he felt from his friend seemed to be buried under his promise. Andrew didn’t like the idea, but he would tolerate it As Alex pick his heavy body off the couch he excused himself, reaching out to Brock, his voice filled with a reassuring yet firm tone. “Come on, let’s go” he said, his eyes locked with Brock's. He could see the stress and unease that had settled upon his boyfriend, and he was determined to alleviate it and he knew just the thing. Brock hesitated, his mind grappling with the weight of the conversation with his father. With a small nod, he intertwined his fingers with Alex's rough hand, and together they walked out, side by side, finding the path that led to Alex's house. Each step seemed to calm their racing thoughts, easing the tension that lingered within. As they reached the porch, a surge of affection washed over Alex, prompting him to sweep Brock off his feet and carry him through across the threshold. Guiding Brock into the bedroom, Alex's grip on his hand tightened, drawing him into a tight embrace. He reassured Brock, his voice brimming with conviction. "Brock, I want you to know that as long as we're together, I will take care of you," he affirmed, his words carrying the weight of unwavering commitment. A playful grin crossed Alex's face as he added, "But right now, daddy need a protein shake, so he can continue getting bigger" his hunger evident as his hand caressed Brock's crotch. With each kiss, Alex carefully removed Brock's clothing, piece by piece, revealing the vulnerability and intimacy they shared. They crawled into bed, their bodies intertwining in an embrace that mirrored the strength of their promise. As their eyes met, Brock's heart swelled with a mixture of love and gratitude. It was in that intimate moment that Alex descended, his lips wrapping around Brock's shaft, as Alex blew Brock for the first time.
  5. Hi, everyone! So I'm starting this experimental series to see if a more traditional narrative would work here, and I would really appreciate all feedback and critique to help me improve. This is mostly going to involve more plot and character than growing, although there will still be a lot of growing done. It just won't be the main focus (for now). Writing is something I don't normally get to do on a regular basis, but it's something I want to make a living out of, so all advice is incredibly welcome. I am more than willing to alter the way the narrative develops and is written depending on how people prefer their pacing and writing. Thanks and enjoy! Hard at Work [Part 1 - 2 - 3 - 4 - 5a -5b - 6 - 7 - 8a - 8b - 8c - 9 - 10 - 11a - 11b - 12a - 12b - 13a - 13b - 13c - 13d] PART 1 Working at my job wasn’t exactly the most exciting thing in the world, but it paid the bills. On an average day, I would sit at my desk, wondering how a bachelor’s degree in Chemistry got me a job in human resources. It’s not like I had particularly good chemistry with other people either. During my time at the company so far, I’ve only been able to get close to two people. One of them was a co-worker of mine named Marcus. He often pulled pranks on me and made childish jokes at my expense whenever we took a break for coffee. Normally, him being a 23-year-old man, anyone would expect some sort of maturity or sense of responsibility. Marcus was nothing of the sort. He played around far too much and just did whatever the hell he wanted to. Every attempt our boss had at scolding him fell on deaf ears. With any other employee, our boss’ words would stop us dead in our tracks. Boss had that charismatic, authoritative aura about him. Unlike Marcus, our boss, Mr. Wesley Smith, or just Wes, took everything seriously. He had a reputation to uphold. Sure, he had his fair share of dad jokes every now and then, but people in the workplace were already so used to Marcus’ absurd antics that nobody ever really noticed. The three of us were often referred to around the office as the “threesome of power.” In one way or another, we all held some sort of power around the office. Wes had his obvious influence and status. Marcus had his absurdity and over-all charisma. Compared to them, I didn’t have as much. All anyone ever told me was that I was the glue that held together our little threesome. In my opinion, it’s just an excuse to call us a threesome since we’re always together. I wasn’t a big fan of the name, honestly. Especially since I was the only gay one. The main reason people chose to describe us as a “threesome” specifically is that Marcus and Wes were probably the most attractive and sought-after guys at the workplace. Marcus was 5’11” and pretty damn attractive. He had wavy, blonde hair that looked like it was streaked with chocolate, and his eyebrows were incredibly thick and a deep chestnut. Of the three of us, he also had the best body. He had been a model in his university years, so he developed a toned, muscled body with a deep V-shaped torso and disproportionate pecs and shoulders. On the other hand, Wes wasn’t bad looking, but all his time spent in bars showed. He was a good-looking man for his age, 31, having South-East Asian genes, and he had a strong square face that accentuated his stocky figure, being only 5’6”. He did go to the gym after work, but he developed a gut after all the vodka. People often say his most attractive feature is his cat eyes. His eyebrows also tilted inwards, so he always had this fierceness about him. It didn’t seem like he was meant to be built in any way besides a small tank either. While Marcus and Wes were the stars of our threesome, I was labeled the “DUFF.” I was only 24, but the new terms the kids kept coming up with always got lost on me. I was the least attractive among us, I must admit. 5’7” isn’t exactly a height anyone would be flaunting off. It’s not that I looked like Quasimodo though. I was just… average—nothing spectacular about me. On one particularly rainy day, Marcus approached me at my desk, wearing his favorite sky blue button-down. He leaned over the divider with a coffee in his hand and sipped it so loudly it echoed. “What are we gonna do about the rain? Do you wanna just move bar night to Wes’ condo again?” he asked. “Yeah, but have you asked him? We might still be banned since you wrecked his condo the last time.” Marcus flubbed his lips, nearly spilling his coffee on my desk. “Don’t worry about it! Wes’ll understand. Besides, this time we got someone to clean our shit.” “I’m not cleaning your mess this time, Marcus.” “Not you, stupid. I meant the new intern. Wes said he was coming in today.” I looked at him, puzzled. “What new intern? No one told me about any new interns.” “That’s because you never join the meetings.” “What? The last meeting we had was two months ago, and literally all we talked about was how you put red food coloring in the water tanks to make it look like we were drinking blood.” Marcus laughed. “Well, now we just have meetings at the bar. I managed to convince him to move our meetings to the conference room with the dancers.” He chuckled. I sighed. “Fine, whatever. What’s his name? The intern, I mean.” “Ah, wait.” Eric brought out his phone. “I’ll ask Wes.” We waited for the phone to pick up. As soon as we heard Wes’ voice, Marcus didn’t hesitate to yell. “Yo, Wes!” I could hear an audible sigh come from the phone. “What’s up, Marcus? I’m kinda busy right now.” “I just told Dory about the new intern, but I forgot his name. What was it again?” “Froy Adamson. 20 years old from Harbridge University. He just texted and said he was coming up. Could you two let him in and show him around? Thanks.” “Sure thing, sir.” Marcus bounced his head to the side and looked at me as if he were planning something. He always did his squinted eyes, raised eyebrows, and pouted mouth. It was a staple of his. He wasn’t fooling anyone doing a face like that. I wonder if he ever noticed. He put the phone back in his pocket. “Well, Dory, looks like you’ve got some more work to do.” I knew it. “Seriously? Didn’t he tell us to handle him? To-ge-ther?” Marcus shrugged. “Well, I’ve got some work to do, and I’m reeaally tired.” He yawned. “You can handle the kid by yourself, right?” I said yes, and he was off, walking back to his desk. I don’t know why I let him do this to me. He’s lucky he was hot. Before I could prepare myself for the new intern, there was a knock coming from the glass door. I got up and headed over. Only people without access cards couldn’t get in and had to knock, which meant it had to be the intern. If I heard correctly, his name was supposed to be Froy, and a student at Harbridge… damn, someone was loaded. I got to the glass door and saw him standing outside. He was wearing a black button-down with his sleeves rolled up and skintight black jeans. They must have been pretty big too since he looked like he had to be at least 6’1”. His jet black hair was short and cropped with little spikes sticking up. He had a cute face too. He had the most precious baby button nose and pronounced dimples, making him look younger than he actually was. I wouldn’t be surprised if girls crushed on him everywhere. He had a decently lean body, but he definitely had bodybuilder potential by the way his broad shoulders stuck outwards, much like Marcus’. However, it didn’t seem like he was the braggart type. If anything, he was a bookworm. He looked like he lived and breathed in a library. All he was missing was a pair of glasses, but instead, he had the most perfect eyelashes. The poor thing seemed soaked by the rain. I opened the door for him and let him come inside, causing him to shiver in his shirt from the cold, freezer-like office temperature. He smiled at me and giggled nervously. “Sorry, sir,” he said with a nervous smile. “I forgot to bring an umbrella. I didn’t think it would rain today.” My heart hadn’t fluttered in so long by a guy’s voice. The last time I felt this elevated was when I was still in college and chatting up the star football athlete before he got caught doping and got expelled. I missed having crushes like this. Thankfully, Froy seemed to be legal. A co-worker of mine already got fired once for having “intimate relations” with an underage intern. I wasn’t going to be next. “It’s fine. Are you Froy?” I asked. He nodded. “Yes, sir. I was supposed to start last week, but my mother had an emergency at the hospital, so I couldn’t leave.” “It’s fine, don’t worry. Family first,” I said. “Did you bring an extra shirt? You might get sick if you wear that wet shirt here all day.” “No, sir. I don’t have anything to change into. Sorry.” I grabbed his forearm. “It’s fine. Here, I’ll let you borrow one of my backup shirts.” “Sir, are you sure?” “Yeah, it’s fine.” I brought him to my desk where I grabbed him a seat. My co-workers who passed by would smile at him, enticed by his cute face and meek demeanor. He’d greet them back with a small wave and shy smile. Some people even came up and asked me if he was my new boyfriend. How many times did I have to tell everyone that I’ve never had a boyfriend before? They were just making the boy uncomfortable. I brought out a plain white shirt from my emergency kit and handed it over to him. He looked it over and thinking about it now, it was probably too small for him. Such was a con of being six inches shorter than someone. He held it up to the light, trying to estimate its size. “I don’t think it’s gonna fit,” I said. “Could I try it on, sir? Just to be sure?” “Sure, go ahead. Just don’t tear it.” I leaned back into my seat as I watched him begin unbuttoning his button-down. At the back of my mind, I knew this was leaning towards sexual harassment—and on the first day of his internship to boot—but I couldn’t help myself. The kid wasn’t reacting negatively either, so I guessed he was okay with it. A lawsuit was the last thing I needed. He started from the top-down, exposing his lean muscle underneath. He had a decently-sized chest for his leanness, and I never noticed how perky his nipples were underneath the black fabric either. There was no body hair on him too, just like Wes. “Nice abs,” I said. He blushed. “Ah, thank you, sir.” “You go to the gym or something? You play sports?” “No, sir. I used to be part of the gymnastics team, but I quit so I could focus on my studies.” Froy raised up his arms and tried squeezing into my shirt. He stuck his head through the tight hole and did his best to stretch out my shirt to fit in as much as possible. He looked ridiculous. It was like a man trying to wear a child’s dress. “You’ve still got a nice frame. If you went to the gym, I bet you could build it up easily,” I said. He looked ridiculous in my shirt. The sleeves didn’t even reach past his shoulders, so the fabric dug into his armpits. The shirt only reached the first set of abs, exposing his core and defined pelvis. It looked like a crop top. How he even got into something so tight is still a mystery to me. “Sir, I’m not sure I can wear this.” “Obviously.” I punched his abs. “Come on, let’s go ask someone else. I’m too short to be lending you my clothes.” “You’re not too short, sir.” “Yeah, you’re just too tall.” I told him to take off the shirt. He looked like he was in too much pain to be wearing something so ridiculous before we found a better replacement. As he raised it over his head and pulled his arms through the sleeves, he accidentally tore it down the side from the left sleeve down to the hem. He froze in panic. “Sir, I’m so sorry, sir, I didn’t mean to break your shirt. It was an accident, sir, I swear.” “Don’t worry about it,” I said. “It’s just a shirt.” His lean torso was now exposed to the cold of the office again, but at least he wasn’t squeezed so tightly in my shirt. I didn’t want to kill him before Marcus did. I couldn’t afford that kind of blood on my hands at my age. No way my salary was going to cover it. I led the tall kid over to Marcus’ desk at the other end of the office. Marcus looked visibly disturbed, watching in silence as I approached with a tall, shirtless kid following closely behind me. I didn’t know what he was going to say or do. His eyes just kept darting back and forth between us, seemingly asking me, “What the fuck is going on?” “Hey, Marcus, this is the intern, and he—” “Why is he shirtless?” Marcus interrupted. I looked back at Froy, looking lost as always. “He got wet in the rain, and I told him I’d get him a new shirt. I tried giving him mine, but, uh…” Marcus raised an eyebrow. “But what? Dory, I need to tell you as a friend that you are very small. Did you try lending him your shirt? Was it too small? Did you come all the way here, to my cubicle, while I’m working, to ask for a shirt from me?” “Yes.” “Alright, here you go.” Marcus dug into his drawer and tossed Froy a clean, black shirt. Froy looked confused but put on the shirt. It fit him perfectly. Thankfully, Marcus’ tailored shirts to fit his broad shoulders and chest fit Froy just right. It was a bit short at the hem though. His pelvis would peek whenever he moved, but he was well-covered. The sleeves also accentuated what muscle he had on his arms, as expected from Marcus. “I have to say though, he’s got a nice body,” Marcus said. “The ‘overtime work’ he’ll be doing later is gonna be a nice work-out.” “Marcus, he’s not a maid.” “And I’m not Frida Kahlo.” “You aren’t.” “Shut up,” Marcus said. “Hey, kid, you’ll be coming with us after work, right?” Froy’s eyes grew wide. “Uh…” “Marcus, it’s only his first day. He doesn’t even know our names yet!” “It’ll be fiiiine. My name’s Marcus Fringe, and there’s your Sir Dorian Yale. You can just call us Marcus and Dory. Our boss is Sir Wesley Smith: short, stocky Asian dude. You can call him Wes. If you ever wanna come work for us, you could be a part of our little circle of friends here. We got cookies.” “Oh, I like cookies,” Froy whispered. “Stop fucking with my intern, Marcus.” “You’re not my mom.” Wes’ office was right in front of Marcus’ cubicle. Any time Marcus made too much noise or whenever Wes would leave for the washroom and caught Marcus doing something stupid, Wes would be the first to scold him. He often threatened to lower his pay, but Marcus didn’t care. They were too close to actually do anything like that. As we were talking, the door to Wes’ office opened. He walked out, wearing a skintight banana yellow collared shirt that showed off his muscles and small gut. Every shirt in his wardrobe seemed to be skintight. I remember him telling us once that he was raised to only wear the tightest clothing because it makes you look bigger. He was only 5’6”, so I could understand why. “Why are you making so much noise, Marcus?” he asked, standing in the doorway. “Oh.” I waved at him. “Hi, sir. This is Froy, the intern. I was just asking Marcus for an extra shirt since he got wet in the rain.” “Well, take care of him then. Show him around the floor or something, I dunno,” Wes said. “Oh, and Dory…” “Yes, sir?” “Take him out with ya later, aight? We’re gonna have a little fun.” Oh god. “Yes, sir.” Wes was returning to his office when Froy spoke up. “Oh, sir!” he said. “How do I get through the door? I don’t have an access card.” “Hm? You don’t need an access card. You just grab the handle, twist it, then pull. That’s how you open a door.” “Wes, never speak again,” Marcus said. “What about this?” Wes whispered. “Or this ♪?” he sang. “I’m done,” I said. “And I’m just getting started!” He fired double finger guns at me with the silliest grin, laughing at himself immediately afterwards. We all separated and went back to our work for the day. I finished up the rest of my work as fast as I could so that I’d have more time to tour Froy around the building. It was just a hunch, but I thought he’d appreciate the convenience store. The store has an unlimited sundae cone deal where you could get as much ice cream as you wanted as long as it’s in one continuous swirl and it doesn’t fall over. When we got there, I saw his eyes light up like a child at the carnival. He wasted no time and immediately ordered a sundae cone. I didn’t even have to tell him. It seemed like he was used to doing this sort of thing already. By the time the ice cream was five inches tall, I was getting worried. It looked like it would fall at any moment. “Froy, are you sure you wanna keep going?” “Yes, sir! I’ve done this before. My mom calls me a master at this.” By the time it reached 8 inches tall, he stopped the machine. He stood still at first, watching it intently. It looked like he was trying to connect his soul to the sundae, becoming one with its spirit or something. When he finally got it to stabilize, he smiled. “See, sir?” he said. Then he raised it up and dunked it in his mouth, all the way down to the cone. My eyes grew wide. Froy just took in 8 inches of freezing cold sundae in his mouth like it was nothing. “What the fuck? Did you just eat the entire thing in one bite?” He nodded, still swallowing the ice cream. When he finished, he accidentally exhaled into my face, filling my nose with his cold, breath-infused chocolate smell. He apologized and offered to wipe it off my nose. I had to tell him to stop since he still had the cone to finish. “How the fuck did you do that?” “My brothers taught me when I was younger how to exercise my gag reflex so I could take in more things. I could fit a whole foot-long in my mouth too!” he said. “It just got kinda messy… so we had to stop.” His face sunk. The cute smile he wore faded away after it seemed like he remembered something. “What happened?” “They, uh, taught me to give them blowjobs when I was 12. I thought it was normal for a few years, then they got arrested for selling drugs when I was 15. My mother told me they were horrible to me and told me what they were doing to me was wrong. So now I’m trying to find a job to pay for my mother’s hospital bills since I’m her only family left. She already used up all her savings on my tuition.” I felt horrible for him and found myself hugging him. He was stiff and caught in surprise at first, but he softened up and wrapped his arms around me too. I didn’t know he lived like this. I couldn’t take advantage of someone like him. It wouldn’t be right. “I’m so sorry.” He gave his ice cream a quick lick. “Don’t worry, sir, it’s fine. I’m over it now. I still miss them though.” “Who? Your brothers? They molested you as a kid. You shouldn’t be missing them. They deserve to rot in prison.” “We used to play games every day outside our house. They even bought me a goldfish once for my 14th birthday since it was all they could afford with their own money. I named him Pudge.” We headed back to my desk upstairs after finishing his ice cream and filing for his access card. The issue with his brothers was something we didn’t want to bring up too much in case he got triggered. More than half the office had already gone home for the day. Marcus, Wes, and I planned to leave for Wes’ condo at 8pm with Froy together. After I finished up, I asked Froy if he was okay with it. It was only his first day as an intern. I wouldn’t be surprised if he declined. Who knows what we might have been planning to do to him outside office hours? “It’s okay with me, sir.” “Are you sure? I haven’t even told you what we were doing.” “Oh, uh,” he said before chuckling nervously. “We’re going to your sir Wes’s condo to drink. Wes and Marcus just want you to be their sober caretaker, so you don’t have to go if you don’t want to.” Froy waved his hands. “Oh, no, sir, it’s okay with me. I’m used to being the sober one with my friends.” “Oh, okay. And don’t worry about something bad happening to you. None of us have ever done anything crazy before. Besides, Marcus is straight, and Wes is bi, but he has a family. I’m the only gay one here.” His eyebrows shot up. “You’re gay, sir?” “Yeah, why?” He looked away. “Nothing, sir.” That led me to wonder. Was he also gay? I guessed I could always figure that out some other time. After we packed up, we headed down to the basement carpark where Marcus and Wes were waiting for us at Wes’ truck. There were paper cups everywhere. It seemed like they’d been waiting there for a few years by the way they were lounging around and drinking coffee endlessly. When we got there, Marcus walked up to me and grabbed me by the shoulders. “What the fuck took you so long?” he asked. His pointed gaze shot into my skull. “You told me not to fuck with your intern, but is it really me you should be worrying about?” “We were just finishing up some shit. It took longer than expected. Sorry ‘bout it.” “Just get in the fucking truck already!” Wes yelled. “The vodka isn’t gonna drink itself!” I sat in the passenger seat, with Marcus and Froy in the back. It was the system we developed together when we first started hanging out at bars a few months ago. Marcus hated seatbelts and feeling claustrophobic, and I preferred the safety of the seatbelt. The three of us normally went out to the bar down the street on foot, but tonight, we decided to head to Wes’ condo instead to avoid the rain. The only thing different was that we had Froy with us. “Hey, kid, what was your name again?” Marcus asked. “Uh, sir, Froy Adamson, sir.” “Froy?” Marcus began to chuckle. He was visibly struggling to hold in his laughter. “Like fro-yo?” Froy was silent. “...Yes, sir. Frozen yogurt.” Marcus released his contained laughter, nearly keeling over his seat. Froy became worried and began to panic. Wes and I had to reassure him that making fun of people’s names was just something Marcus did on a daily basis to everyone around the office. Marcus was only a year younger than me, but he had the heart of a child that he never grew out of. We loved that about him. Marcus placed a hand on Froy’s shoulder. “I like this kid,” he said. Froy blushed. “I’m sure you do,” Wes said. “Everyone loves yogurt.” “Don’t predate on my intern, Marcus!” “I don’t wanna hear that from you, Dory!” Marcus said. “Hey, kid. I’ve been planning on going back to the gym again. If you ever wanna come with, just tell me, okay? You look like you’d be a great workout partner.” “Hey, what about me? Why do you ask the intern before your boss who you KNOW goes to the gym?” Wes asked. “How tall are you again, Wes?” Marcus asked. “Right now, about as high as your chances at a promotion, Marcus.” Marcus threw his arms around Wes’ seat. “Hey, come on! It was just a joke! It’s just too hard to be gym buddies with someone so short. Plus you’ve got that tiny gut.” “I can’t help it! Vodka might as well be my blood of Christ.” “So you’re a cannibal?” “What do you think happened to my first boyfriend?” The conversation continued for the next half hour on the road. Froy and I remained silent for the most part while Marcus and Wes bantered, with us being brought in every so often as jokes. Marcus couldn’t let go of “fro-yo.” The rain blocked the streets and kept us in traffic longer than we would have wanted. Wes began getting calls from his wife, asking about where he was since his kids were getting impatient after being locked up for so long. When we got to the forest separating Wes’ condo complex from the city district, Marcus brought out these small white pills he hid inside a tic-tac box. The resemblance was uncanny. Froy and I watched him, unaware of what the pills would do. No one was around to help if Marcus did something stupid. “Hey, Wes. You want a tic-tac?” Marcus asked. Froy and I watched in silence, fully aware of what Marcus was trying to do. “If you’re trying to bribe me for a pay raise again, it’s gonna take more than a tic-tac this time.” “No, seriously, come on. It’s just a candy. Completely free. No strings attached.” Wes held out a hand, and Marcus placed one on his palm. “This better not be another one of your fucking pranks, Marcus. The last one is still giving my kids diarrhea.” Wes threw the small white pill in his mouth without any hesitation. Suddenly, his stomach grumbled loudly. “God damn it, Marcus.” Marcus laughed and slammed his hand repeatedly against the back of Wes’ seat. Froy shifted closer to the door in fear. “What did you give him, Marcus?” I asked. “Dying in a car crash with you was not on my list of things to-do today.” “Mine too,” Froy mumbled. “Relax! It’s harmless. I already tried it on my dog, and nothing happened to her.” “I’m not a dog, Marcus! I’m your boss!” “And I’m not a scientist!” “That doesn’t make things any better, Marcus—Oh, my god... what the fuck is going on...” Wes looked uncomfortable, shifting around like there was a cactus on his seat. I looked down and saw that he was growing a tent in his pants. At first, I thought it was just viagra, but then a wet spot began to form. Wes’ face was red as a tomato and was completely speechless. I could smell the familiar smell that filled my room after school as a kid. Wes came. He came right in front of all of us. He didn’t even have to touch himself or do anything for it either. I looked back at Marcus and Froy, and Marcus’ face was frozen in a face of pure glee. He had the expression of a child witnessing Santa for the first time and couldn’t be happier. Froy on the other hand was completely mortified. The poor thing didn’t know how to react. Wes was barely able to keep his focus on the road because of the way he was feeling. He just came in his pants. I couldn’t even begin to imagine what that pill did to him. Wes stopped the truck at a nearby tree and turned off the truck, running out and checking the damages at a tree out of sight. The three of us followed suit. Marcus didn’t even look the least bit guilty about what he just did. Froy stood by me, waiting and watching for what happened next. “What the fuck did you give me?” Wes asked. Marcus waved his hands in the air. “Nothing! I swear it was just a bunch of random shit I found in my kitchen. I didn’t think it would do anything.” “Well, it did! Now my favorite pants are ruined.” Wes stepped back into the moonlight where we saw a massive wet spot all over his crotch. If we didn’t know it was cum, we might’ve mistaken it for piss just by its sheer quantity. I didn’t think it was possible to cum so much. Judging by the defined outline running down his left thigh as well, it seemed he was hiding more than just one secret. The short man had to compensate somewhere. “God damn it, Marcus.” “Come on, I’m sorry. I swear I didn’t mean it. I was gonna try it on myself, but I wanted to see if it—” “If it killed me?” “Well, no, but—” “I can’t believe I already wet myself… I haven’t even had a fucking bottle yet. You owe me for this.” Marcus shot me a look of relieved anguish, knowing he wasn’t going lose his job or his friendship. He walked up to Wes and helped him clean up by the tree. While Wes and Marcus were off cleaning up, Froy and I wandered a bit off to the forest to take in the beautiful nighttime scenery overlooking the city. The city lights shined brightly over the trees. They gave off an iridescent spotlight-lit night sky that shadowed the tree leaves and branches, blocking out the stars but lighting up the darkness. “This is a great view,” I said. “Yes, sir,” Froy replied. As we were enjoying our quiet time alone together, Froy noticed what looked like a shooting star in the empty sky. Wes and Marcus came over and joined us in staring at the falling light. A thought occurred to me, however, that this was not how falling stars normally worked. It looked as though it were literally falling out of the sky. I’m pretty sure falling stars aren’t supposed to look like they’re coming straight at us. “Hey, that’s no fucking shooting star, you idiots! That’s a meteor!” Wes said. “Hide behind something!” We could barely react when we saw that it was already a building’s height away from us. Froy and I hid behind a nearby tree. Marcus sprinted across to the truck with Wes. The burning rock rang a piercing loud screech in our ears before crash landing into the clearing between us and the truck. Flaming debris flew everywhere, covering the area in a black soot. Smoke filled the air for a good few minutes until we were able to breathe and see things again. All four of us emerged from our hiding spots and eyed the strange rock. Froy, Wes, and I approached it hesitantly, watching it from a distance in case it had any surprises waiting to pop out and do some serious harm. It could have had some new viruses or small flesh-eating aliens hiding inside. I highly doubted our job’s insurance program covered space AIDS. Meanwhile, while three of us were being careful, Marcus decided to make a headstart and gingerly walked up to it. He stuck out his hands and felt the intense heat emanating from the meteor. “What are you doing, Marcus?! Get back here where it’s safe,” Wes said. Marcus looked back and smiled. “Relaaax, it’s not gonna do anythingI” When the rest of us got to surround the meteor, it seemed to have cooled off. All four of us examined it closely, checking for any dangerous movements or glowing substances sticking out. For the next few minutes, it just seemed like it was a regular, boring old rock—from space. It didn’t grow a face and sing show tunes like I expected. I’d be lying if I said wasn’t disappointed. “It just seems like a rock,” Froy said. “Obviously,” Marcus said. “But what’s inside?” “If it's anything like your head, not much,” Wes said. “Then there’s nothing to worry about, right?” Marcus stepped into the crater and slammed his hands onto the meteor. He began pressing down on it with his body weight, trying to pressure it to crack open and reveal whatever monstrosity was inside of it. Froy and I backed away while Wes stepped forward and tried prying Marcus off of it. “Marcus, what are you doing?! Stop!” “I just wanna see what’s inside! It might have space diamonds, Wes!” Marcus let out a yell as he used all his strength and cracked open the meteor. From the crack, a neon green liquid splurged out, spilling onto Marcus’ shirt. He panicked, wondering what the hell the scentless, luminescent goo was, when suddenly the crack opened up further. It erupted, blasting a mortified Marcus with the strange gunk. He was covered head to toe, front to back, unable to even open his mouth or eyes in pure horror. The meteor now looked unstable. It was rumbling, and cracks began spreading from where Marcus first breached its outer shell. More and more of the green liquid spurted out. It didn’t seem long before it would explode. Marcus grumbled for help, running towards Wes. “Hey, stop! Don’t get that shit on me! I just got my pants dry!” Wes yelled. Before Marcus could even get to him, the meteor exploded. Nuclear green slime flew everywhere. Marcus got blasted back onto the ground by the sheer amount he was covered in. He didn’t look like he could move very well at all anymore. Wes was yelling out Marcus’ name when the goo flew into his mouth and covered his entire front from head to toe. I could hear him yelling as he swallowed it. “Sir!” As the meteor exploded towards us, Froy ran up to me. He used his body as a shield to block me from the slime, with his back spread out against the meteor. I looked up at him and saw fear in his eyes. Neither of us could move from where we were as we were frozen in absolute shock about what just happened. The meteor settled down, and there was green slime absolutely everywhere. It coated the trees, the grass, the soil, everything. Marcus was absolutely drenched in it, struggling to even stand up. Wes ran to a tree and began vomiting, trying to expel whatever he swallowed and trying to get himself clean again. Froy’s entire backside and his arms were completely covered. He shook his body as much as he could to try and get it off of him. “What the fuck just happened?” I asked. “That fucking—pfthuh—piece of shit meteor just fucking exploded!” Wes yelled, spitting out the remnants. “Are we going to fucking die?!” Marcus yelled, on his knees, crying in anguish at the sky, looking like a grotesque smile monster. “I don’t wanna fucking die, god!” “This is all your fault!” Wes said. “I’m fucking aware of that, Wes! I wasn’t expecting the meteor to be a fucking water balloon filled with green shit!” “Okay, everyone, just relax!” I said. “We just need to get clean and report this to the police so they can clean it up or something.” Marcus and Wes turned and glared at me, clean and dry from head to toe. “We can’t tell anyone about this! If the authorities find out we fucked with some meteor and got caught with some disease, then we might be forced to spend time in a lab until we die,” Wes said. Marcus pointed at me. “And why the fuck are you dry? Did you tell your little boytoy intern to be your shield?!” “No, he ran up to me himself. I didn’t tell him to do anything, Marcus.” “Fucking shit, man…” I stood watch by the truck while Froy, Wes, and Marcus cleaned themselves up by the river. It was nearly midnight when they got back looking absolutely exhausted after trying to get every drop of slime off their bodies for the past few hours. They dumped all their clothes in Wes’ gym bag and got into his truck in nothing but wet underwear. ‘Uncomfortable’ could not even begin to explain the atmosphere. I couldn’t even be bothered to appreciate all the hot, semi-naked bodies surrounding me when I was still reeling over what the hell just happened. I’d already seen all of them shirtless before at least once, but I had yet to see Froy’s business. Did he prefer boxers or briefs? Was he a shower or a grower? It didn’t seem that important. All I knew was that Wes was thick and hung like a motherfucker. “This has to be our secret, got it?” Wes said. “No one else can know about this.” We all agreed. None of us were in the mood to get dissected or experimented on for the rest of our lives. As Wes drove away, heading to his condo, I took one last look back at the scene. The meteor looked like a cracked egg that got blown up in a microwave. However, what seemed strange to me was how there seemed to be a lot less slime than before. What used to be a complete sheet of glowing green slime over everything was now mostly back to normal with some freckles here and there. It must have either dissipated in the atmosphere or got absorbed into the ground. Either way, it didn’t seem like that was just going to end there. I could feel in my gut that this wasn’t the last time this meteor was going to be a part of our lives. If the slime did get absorbed in the ground and trees, then what would happen with humans? There was no way they didn’t at least absorb some of it. There was just no way. Regardless, this was going to be our secret from now on. It seemed our little threesome just became a foursome.
  6. RoseConspiracy

    The Silver Fox

    "Sometimes you just need to be taken care of by a sexy, older muscle man." *Why, yes. I am, in fact, quite capable of writing a story with plausible growth, a silver fox and slow, steamy sex I hope you enjoy!* "Don't do that, baby girl," he growled. "Don't give him the satisfaction of you looking over there. You're better than that. You're better than him." I didn't even have to look up or turn around to know who was talking. I knew that voice. I knew exactly who it belonged to. It had haunted my dreams for the better part of a year. "Go away, Jim. Nobody wants you here." I groaned. I could feel the warmth of his muscled body pressing against my back. It reminded me of the first time we made out. His chest pinning me to my own car as his mouth and tongue ravaged me. "Are you sure?" He chuckled, moving in even closer. I had forgotten the sexy silver fox had no personal space. "Yes," I hissed. "I told you last weekend that ship sailed last year. It's not my fault you fucked up. I delivered Michelle to you on a silver platter." I shivered as I felt his hand brush the hair away from my neck. "I didn't fuck up," he whispered harshly against my ear. "After tasting your delicious pussy all last year, I told you I wasn't interested in her anymore." I smirked. "I know that look," he chuckled. "I don't even have to see your face.." "Just admit it, I'm the sex goddess of your dreams." The fact that he called me little, did not go unnoticed. "I don't know," he said as he nuzzled my ear. "Do you still taste like gingerbread and cupcakes?" He always had a way of doing that. Of being too close. His head was right beside mine, and I couldn't help but remember how his teeth were always so straight and white. They looked good against his tan skin and his perfectly trimmed salt and pepper beard. And let's not forget, those adorable old man crinkles by his kind, chocolate colored eyes– have mercy. I was still disappointed that he'd let his last girlfriend talk him into trimming his shoulder length hair though. I could feel his hand slowly gliding across my lower back, something he always did to show the entire bar you were his. Only this time it felt different. Of course his touch was rougher with that freakish strength of a man who had worked hard and played harder his whole life. But this time the fingers seemed longer– thicker. "Promise me one thing," he hummed against my skin. "Promise me that when he gets bored with her– and he will get bored– promise me you won't take that manchild back." Jim growled once again, sending shivers down my spine. I could still remember every curve of every muscle in his hard, sexy body. We had fucked so many times last year between March and June, I could have perfectly sculpted his body out of clay. Right down to every vein and fiber. With my eyes closed. I could feel the blush creeping up my cheeks so I turned my head away and pretended to focus on the band. "Let's get out of here," he suggested. "Anywhere. Even your stupid dive bar, Silver Bullet." "You hate Eminem and metalcore," I chuckled. "And mosh pits. And people my age." He laughed at that. "You're right, it's probably past my bedtime." When I didn't say anything he pressed. "C’mon, let me buy you a drink." "No. Every time I let you do that, I wind up going home with you," I said honestly. "You say it like it's a bad thing." I didn't even have to look to know he had let his big arms settle across his even bigger chest "Besides, if you think I'm going to let you drive home now–" he paused, gesturing wildly to the numerous empty glasses in front of me, "-you're wrong." He dug into my purse, whistled and tossed my keys to the bartender with a nod so fast, I barely had time to register what had happened. "Hey!" I shrieked, but Jim cut me off. He gripped me so tightly by the waist and turned me to face him. And I mean really face him. "You're my responsibility now." I gasped as my eyes raked over him. The way the gray shirt clung to his chest and shoulders– and those sleeves! They looked like they would burst open around his arms at any minute. Was he– bigger? He gave me a cheeky grin as he tossed his head back and shook the hair out of his eyes. I swear he pulled a lat spread as he let his curled fists rest on his trim waist. "Like what you see, baby girl?" My mouth opened and closed a few times. Maybe I really was too drunk to drive home. That, or my horny, muscle drunk mind was playing tricks on me. No one could pack on that much size in a week. I needed a distraction. This wasn't me. I didn't stare or lose my cool. I was sex personified, goddamnit. And I certainly. Didn't. Simp. I hopped up out of my chair with glee as Chronic Flannel started playing Smells Like Teen Spirit. I smiled as I looked down at Jim. He may have gotten a little broader, but he was still just as short as ever. That was all the clarity I needed. All was right in the world and I wasn't too drunk after all. I'd wrestle the bartender for my keys later. "Are you coming?" I smirked as I pulled Jim towards the dance floor. His little five foot seven self groaned, growled and snarled the entire way, but he went. "You're still the only one who can get him out on the dance floor," Robbie laughed as he approached us before pulling me in for a quick hug. "What's up hun, it's been a while." Robbie was one of Jim's 'old man friends', as I liked to call him. They both worked at the same auto body shop and could pretty much be found together every Friday and Saturday night. "Was she even born when this song came out?" Robbie teased as he elbowed Jim. I gave them both a dazzling smile as I sang along and jumped with the crowd. It was towards the end of the song when I felt a very hard tap on my shoulder. "Seriously? You just can't get enough of that old man dick, can you!" I stumbled backwards, but Jim was right there. With one arm he had pulled me against his body for safety. "Daddy," I whimpered. And fuck, did his hold ever tighten around me. "You need to go home, son. You're drunk." I found myself fixated on the vein bulging out of his neck. His voice left no room for argument and his entire body thrummed with power. My drunk ex looked down at the both of us. But I saw how his eyes followed the thick vein sprawling over the massive muscle in Jim's outstretched arm. Much to my surprise, he turned and tucked tail back to his new slut. I watched them argue for a bit before they headed for the door. "Do you think he'll come back?" I asked softly. "Dunno," Jim replied. "But we aren't sticking around to find out." I started to protest, but the words were caught in my throat. I gave a little squeal as I was unceremoniously lifted and tossed over one very broad shoulder. "Wait. What the fuck? No!" Jim stopped barreling through the crowd but didn't set me down. "You really want me to leave you here?" He growled. "No. Well… wait! I mean–" But Jim had started moving again, and it was all I could do but cringe. Especially as mutual friends spotted us heading out the door. "I knew it was only a matter of time before they got back together," Ashley elbowed her husband who then gave me a grin and a thumbs up. "We're not together!" I called back to them. But that just didn't suffice. Jim swung back around, "She's a stubborn little thing, isn't she?" "And in denial!" Robbie, who had moved to where Jason and Ashley were sitting, added. I found myself staring at asphalt, listening to his boots heavily stomp across the parking lot. He swung open the passenger side door and then uprighted me inside. Not a word was spoken as he buckled me in. It was a three minute drive to his house and ten seconds in he was grabbing for my hand. I surprised myself when I didn't pull away but instead inner laced my slim fingers with his thicker, calloused ones. "I can take you home," he offered. "If you don't want to go back to my place." I smirked and rolled my eyes. "And say no to a chance at seeing your cute little ass in a silk robe? I don't think so." He lifted my hand and brought it up to his lips. "I was hoping you'd say that." We rode the rest of the way in silence and soon enough we turned down the familiar road. My heart started racing a mile a minute. It was slightly intimidating afterall. I was confident for the most part, but he was so much older and experienced. Seasoned, as he preferred. "Nervous?" He chuckled. He had cut the engine to his truck and backed into the garage. I watched the door close before forcing a smile. "Nope." "Liar." "Whatever!" I hollered after him as he got out and slammed the driver's side door. "Why would I be?" I continued as I followed him into his kitchen before leaving my shoes at the door. "It should be you that's nervous. I mean, you've never actually even made me cum," I taunted. "That's true," he said as he spun around to face me. "But that's only because you're a stubborn little brat." "Am not! I just know what I like." "Oh? And did nine incher ever make you cum?" "Ugh, seriously?" My eyes visibly rolled so far back in my head, I thought they'd get stuck. 'Nine incher' was the bodybuilder I had been dating last year, until Jim made his move. "Not him again. You clearly stole me and won, so what does it matter?" "Just tell me," Jim insisted. "Fine. But just so we're clear, green is not your color. And he only made me cum once, and not with his dick." Jim looked confused. "I came on his arm." "His arm?" "Yeah," I blushed. "Listen, I really don't wanna talk about this. But Jim had no intentions of letting this die. "How big were his arms?" "I dunno. Twenty-one, maybe twenty two inches?" "Yeah," he whistled. "Nine incher was a pretty big boy. How big do you think I am?" I bit my lip as he lifted his arm and flexed. I could feel myself blushing. Harder. "I don't– I don't know," I stuttered. They looked so much harder and fuller than last year. "Tell me about the porn you watch, Rose. Tell me about your deepest, darkest desires." "I– I–" my mind was growing hazy as the room seemed to be getting smaller. The air seemed thicker, warmer. And then suddenly it clicked. "What did you just call me?" "Rose," Jim smiled. "My dirty, little Rose" "How did you–" "It wasn't that hard to figure out. The way your eyes always gravitate towards the biggest man in the room." "That's not true–" "Isn't it though? How big do I have to get for your eyes to finally land on me?" "Is that why you've started taking steroids?" I asked. "So you've noticed." Jim lowered both arms behind his back, clasping them so the bloated muscle in his triceps would pop. "How could I not? No one packs on this much muscle in six days." He chuckled. "I haven't taken anything since I played for the St. Louis Cardinals back in the 90s. This is something else entirely." "Daddy–" Jim groaned and I rushed forward. "Oh fuck, what's wrong. You're not having a heart attack are you?" "What? Jesus, fuck no! Just say it again!" I took a step back. Confused. "Say what?" "Daddy. Fuck! Call me Daddy." I smirked as I moved back in front of him. My hands brushed across his chest. "Is that all it takes, Daddy?" Jim let out a groan as his entire body shuddered. Sure, I'd written about this kind of stuff before, but seeing it actually happen? My eyes widened as my chin started to lift– watching Jim as he straightened to his new, full height. "That's the look I've been waiting for. Am I big enough now?" He thought he had the upper hand here, but the mistake he made was giving me the power and control over his growth. I think he realized that– too little, too late. A wicked gleam flashed across my face. "Not even close–" I paused. My grin went lopsided as the evil streak started to show. "Daddy." I almost mouthed the word, in a sultry, seductive whisper. I said it again. And again. And again. "Rose," he growled. There was so much muscle packing on to his body. "You have to fucking stop." His much thicker and stronger fingers wrapped around my upper arm. His forearms bordered on freakish, the rest of him monstrous. He was doubled over, chest heaving– abs bloating into rock hard slabs. The floor creaked as his legs readjusted a thousand times. The denim looked comical as his quads and calves fought for space. In a matter of seconds he had swelled into a super heavyweight bodybuilder. I had planned to keep going until he hulked out of his clothes, and by the look of them, they were barely hanging on by a thread. "Just one more," I begged. His hand moved to cover my mouth but I was just too damn fast. "Daddy." His body and the growth spurt did not disappoint. The gray polo shirt that was struggling to contain those arms and that chest suddenly ripped where the fabric formed a V. Two juicy, meaty pecs flopped out followed by the flexing of his big, powerful and massive guns. His jeans and boxers followed suit in an explosive matter of their own. Denim and cotton laid at his feet. "Fuck, baby girl. What did you do to me?" His voice, so much deeper now, caused me to shiver. I greedily drank in his arm as he lifted his hand to my throat. Fingers bruising the soft skin, he forced me out of the kitchen and into his bedroom. With one hand he grabbed me and tossed me on the bed. He stood at the edge for a moment, looking down at the hard swollen muscles. Experimenting. Flexing. Exploring. But he realized it would feel so much better with my mouth and hands. Jim laid down and rolled me on top of himself, holding me tightly with those bigger hands and stronger arms. I felt his hands slide down my back to my ass before grabbing and rolling my hips into his erection. He was in total control as he started to kiss my neck and remove my clothes. In the past, he had always been gentle, but not tonight. Daddy fisted my shirt with both hands and ripped that fabric open. I was about to curse when he silenced me with his warm mouth on my breasts. He was so much bigger now, able to manhandle me with the greatest of ease. In seconds he had my nipples hard and solid. I decided it was time to return the favor. I gripped those huge, rock-hard boulder shoulders and lifted my head to kiss his chest. He lingered for a moment, enjoying the feel of my fingers dancing across his skin, but then he moved on. Kissing my tummy as his hands started to play with the waistband of my leather skirt. He stopped suddenly, brown eyes turning up towards me. "You're not wearing any–" he choked on the word and I couldn't help but smirk. "Panty lines," I shrugged. "Goddamn," he growled, then slid the skirt past my ankles before tossing it somewhere in the room. "Oh god," I writhed. I had forgotten what an expert he was at eating me out. Tongue sliding around my clitoris while his hand fingered my hole. He looked up at me as I grew wetter and wetter. "You taste so fucking good!" He growled so deeply it rattled my clit. Gradually climbing back on top of me, Jim pressed his cock into me as he crawled. "Oh fuck, you're so big." "And you, baby girl, are so tight." With his upper body on top of me, he penetrated me slowly– passionately. I think he was relishing in the difference of our size. His arms wrapped around me, easily crushing me to his massive chest. I couldn't help but moan as he started to pound harder, faster, deeper. I kissed him as he pulled his cock all the way out before burying it deep within. My pussy pulsated– tightened. Jim flexed as I gritted my teeth, his lats flaring so wide he was the only thing I saw. He clenched his ass and I prepared myself for the pleasure. "Cum for me. Now!" He roared. I did just as he said, both of us moaning loudly in sync. With one final thrust, he fucked me so deep his balls slapped against my ass. Jim fell to his side, taking me with him. His cock still resting inside. He wasn't done yet, I realized, as his large hand squeezed my chest. His other moved back to my pussy– Ring finger relentlessly circling my clit. Almost immediately my body started to shake. "Daddy," I whimpered. I grabbed hold of his wrist, much like I had done in the past. But this time he was too big– too strong for me to push away. His wrist expanded in my grip as he growled deeper and loudly in my ear. I squirted all over his hand and the bed, then watched as he brought the wetness up to his mouth to taste. His eyes rolled back and without warning he started thrusting his hips again. His lips and tongue traced the sweat that dripped down my neck. As his chest pressed against my back, his arms wrapped around my waist. "Daddy," I whispered again. I felt him cum deep inside me a second time as his body exploded with more growth, more size and more power. His cock stretched my cunt to its limits, but if felt so damn good as it brushed deeper inside. He hesitated for a moment, before asking me to crawl on top. He knew he was even bigger now. Grunting and growling while he looked down and bounced his pecs. But he also knew only I could grant him the worship he wanted. I sat down, slowly easing his fat cock inside me. A wicked grin, once again flashing across my face. "Make no mistake, you're my plaything now. I might be the little one here, but I will force you to grow. You're going to get so big and strong for me, you'll beg me to stop. But I can't. And I won't. Don't worry though, I know just how to treat my toys–" Jim looked terrified, realization that he'd fucked up written all across his face. He started to sit up. His hand locked around my wrist. Leaning forward he held his breath. "Daddy."
  7. Something new for all you gorgeous people to read! This one's shaping up to be pretty schmoopy, fyi. It was spawned by a couple of really different songs getting thrown together while doing Cardio. I'm linking them and a visual aid for anyone who likes to see the inspiration side of things before they start reading. Also, another thank you is owed to Dredlifter for helping me iron out some numbers. First Song - Falling Slowly https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gQvwXbvs5GY Second Song - Confident https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cwLRQn61oUY And the T-Shirt https://www.teeturtle.com/products/gym-unicorn?variant=1540111073289 Enjoy. FORTUNE FAVOURS... Cas watched TJ warily in the gym mirror. The asshole behemoth had been eyeing him and Karen since they arrived. He had his usual band of cronies working out with him but today there was a new face added to the mix. TJ kept leaning down, way down to speak in his ear like he was giving some sort of direction. New Guy finally looked over and made eye contact in the mirror. Cas shivered and immediately dropped his gaze to the floor – the guy was fucking perfect! He snuck a look back up in the mirror to see New Guy nodding slowly to TJ before he started to swagger across the gym. “Incoming, Karen....” She pushed her blue-black hair out of her eyes and glanced over her shoulder before pushing out a final rep on the leg press. “Well fuck. How did he even figure out what time we'd be here?” Normally TJ followed a pretty strict schedule. With a little unofficial help from the staff, Cas and Karen had been able to schedule their own workouts for times when he wouldn't be there at all. Today TJ had thrown them for a loop – they came in well after he would have normally departed but he was still here with his counsel of sycophants scurrying about his massive frame. Cas watched the twink's approach. Well, that probably wasn't fair – New Guy was pretty damn built, more like a twunk, maybe. Ash blonde hair was playfully mussed at the front, a tuft of it standing straight up. Grey eyes stared out below fuller brows that arched up to prevent him from having a permanent cro-magnan scowl. He was a little scruffy but Cas could still see the square definition of his jawline before it tapered to the chin. He had a slightly upturned nose that lent his symmetrical face the slightest hint of a feline quality. He was achingly handsome and Cas felt a tingle of desire twinge through his body. It was like TJ had gone out of his way to find someone who would be as attractive to Cas's tastes as possible. New Guy was almost to them. "Fuck, he's seriously built...." Definitely thicker than a twunk. It was his height that made him seem smaller than he was. Cas estimated himself to have about a six-inch advantage. Karen was on her feet now, also appraising his approach. “Shit, Cas. This one's very easy on the eyes. And damn he fills out that racer tank in the best way. If he hasn't absorbed too much of TJ's douchebagliness, maybe he can be saved? How much do you want to bet that he mentions your shirt?” Karen looked over at Cas and grinned mischievously. The sight was decidedly unnerving. There was something about a woman who looked like she could bench press Buick smiling wickedly that could rattle anyone. “But you told me you love this shirt?” Cas started defensively. “That shirt is fucking amazing. Doesn't mean he isn't going to mention it. Five bucks?” “It's a lousy bet and we both know it. How 'bout we just give you the win and I'll bring you cookies next time I make some?” "Done. Let me know if you need me?" And with that, she moved off to more leg work nearby, earphones off and listening. “I'm sure I'll be fi-” “Hey.” Damn, Cas had turned to keep talking to Karen and lost track of how close New Guy was. Of course his voice would be misleadingly deep for his size. It was a low, rich tenor, just a smidgen above a bass. Cas felt his balls draw up tight in response to the vibration. His bottom lip hinged open and he stared slack-jawed at the person before him. Karen was not wrong – his chest and back completely stretched out his tank top. Well developed delts and traps topped off the look with the barest tease of his serrati disappearing into the shirt down each side. The dense spread of blond hair across his pecs was trimmed but not shaved. Same thing under the arms, but, as Cas's gaze involuntarily lowered, not the legs. Interesting.... “Uh, Hello?” New guy tried his greeting again, this time paired with a confident smirk in response to Cas's less-than-subtle ogling. “Sorry, sorry – Hi?” Cas couldn't stop himself from blushing scarlet. “I just came over here to say that I, um, really like your shirt...?” Karen snorted in the background. “That sounded like a question. You sure that's why you're over here?” Cas gave a pointed stare at TJ across the gym. New Guy turned his head to follow the look. TJ just stood there, watching patiently with a malicious stare – his blue eyes chips of ice from across the room. Cas shivered at the hate in the look. New Guy noticed the shiver as he turned back. “Just... just ignore him.” “It's... complicated.” “I'm sure it is. Any more complicated than why you decided to wear a shirt that has a buff, dead-lifting unicorn with a rainbow, mohawk mane to a gym in a small, conservative city?” New Guy took another step closer so they were barely 6 inches apart. “There is nothing wrong with my shirt. It's a dead-lifting unicorn, where the hell else am I supposed to wear it?” Cas hissed out through his teeth and tiptoed closer trying to intimidate New Guy. New Guy didn't rise to the bait. He just widened his stance, rolled his broad shoulders back distractingly and kept eye-contact with Cas. “I didn't say there was. It's ballsy. I like it.” “Oh... um...” Cas deflated immediately and shuffled backward. This was...unexpected. “Hey, you don't have to- Fuck this posturing bullshit. I'm Blake.” New guy held out his hand at what he hoped was a non-offensive distance. Cas reached out and shook it, grateful for the offer. “Cas.” For a shorter guy, Blake's hand dwarfed his in thickness. Sure, Cas's hand was a bit longer, but the strength in the breadth of Blake's palm could easily crush his if he wanted. Blake eyed the guy shaking his hand quickly. He had looked so confident laughing and joking with that woman from across the gym. He was taller than he looked – lean and athletic upper torso tapering to a lean waist. Blake could see the obvious curve of his ass through the pants but couldn't tell much else about his legs. High cheekbones highlighted his oval-shaped face capped with playfully tousled toffee-brown hair. His eyes were a vibrant green set evenly beneath what had to be shaped brows. A narrow, refined nose split the face evenly with full lips below that would be perfect for giving... a lot. Blake turned away to surreptitiously adjust himself a bit as he halted his thoughts before he got fully hard in his workout shorts. “Just Cas? Or is it short for something else?” “You sure ask a lot of questions, Blake?” “How else am I supposed to get to know you?” Why was this guy so defensive? “What did TJ send you over here to do?” “Well...um....” Blake knew this was a bad idea. Why did he agree to this? Cas saw the look of confusion flit across Blake's face. “Caspian. Cas is short for Caspian.” The revelation emboldened Blake. “He wanted me to challenge you to some sort of lift competition? I just kinda smiled and nodded and hoped I'd be able to work out what he really wanted once I got over here and started talking to you. He gave me this free workout drink to do it. I'm supposed to get the other part to after I, um, blow you away and win. He's kind of a creepy asshole, actually. He kept going on about how he was finally going to be the one to teach you something? I figured I didn't have a lot to lose – I don't really know anyone at this gym yet. It's a great ice-breaker, in here anyway, showing off a bit without being an ass and maybe find a work out partner. Besides, it's not like you'd be able to lift as heavy as I can, right?” Blake finished with what he hoped was a cocky yet endearing grin. “I'm sorry, what was that last part?” Cas had a plan forming in his mind. “TJ kinda led me to believe you'd be, well, smaller than me.” Cas quirked an eyebrow at that. “And even though you're not exactly small, there's no way you could ever lift as much as these guns!” Blake brought his arms up and flexed, hard balls of muscle popping up and filling the space above his arms. They were impressive on his frame – probably 15 inches cold. “Did he say what you were supposed to win?” “Something about you wearing the little blue devil and proving it to me and to him at the gym. Does that make any sense to you?” “He told you to ask for that?! Are you sure?” “Pretty sure. He made me repeat it before I got this drink.” Blake started to lift it up to his mouth to take a swig but Cas reached out and touched his elbow lightly, leaning in to whisper. “Don't drink it, Blake. Keep raising it to your mouth and pretend to drink but whatever you do, don't actually put it in you. And don't let TJ know that you aren't slugging it back. TJ has a number of...questionable hobbies. One of them is amateur...biochemistry, you might say.” Cas stepped back and looked around for Karen. They were probably going to need help for what he had in mind. "I'm sorry? Are you saying that this is some kind of...experiment for him?" Blake stared at the unnaturally scarlet liquid in his shaker cup. “Do you really know TJ outside of the gym, Blake?” “Uh, no. And I only joined like a week-and-a-half ago. I was using the gym on the college campus before I started my practical placement. What's the deal with you two? You looked really on edge earlier when you first looked over at him and now you're acting weird again....” “I just need to find my friend, the woman I was with before. I'll be right back, okay?” “Uh yeah? I'll just wait here?” “Perfect.” Cas practically bolted toward the cardio machines. After legs, Karen usually cooled down on a treadmill. He found her on her favourite one and led her back to Blake, her eyes bright with anticipation. “Hey Kid, hear you're going to challenge Caspian to some lifts?” Karen smirked as she drawled out Cas's full name. “Um, that's right, Ma'am?” Karen raised an eyebrow at getting Ma'am-ed. “Er, Miss? Do you... prefer Ms. maybe?” Karen burst out laughing as Blake floundered. “What's the matter, Kid? Haven't you ever seen a woman who lifts?” “Er, nooo...” Blake raised his shaker cup and almost forgot to only pretend to take a drink. “It's Karen, Kid. And don't really drink that shit – it's toxic as hell if it's from TJ.” She took a swig of water. "So here's the deal, Karen," Cas started. "TJ asked Blake here to challenge me, defeat me handily, and as his prize, I was to wear the little blue devil to the gym in order to prove it to Blake and TJ." Karen choked on her water. “He wants that?! Oh Kid, what the hell did you do to piss TJ off?” “My. Name. Isn't. Kid.... It's Blake. And what the hell is this blue devil thing? Why is it so important?” Cas leaned in conspiratorially and brought up a picture on his phone. Blake sputtered and his ears flushed bright pink. “He wants me to make you wear an ass plug?! Wait, does that thing actually fit in your ass?” Several people looked over at the trio strangely. “Say it a bit louder, Blake,” Caspian whispered. “I think there's a deaf woman in the tanning room who didn't hear you.” He stepped back and looked over Karen and Blake before continuing. “So, if you win, that's what you're going to get from me. I can guarantee TJ will bring his posse in on it and you probably won't be getting out of here without having your own forced blue devil experience.” “TJ is so sick. Sick and wrong. Why can't I just go over there and call him out? You know the management has just been looking for a reason....” Karen was livid. “Guys, I just met you. This is a little...heavy. Is he really going to get away with this?” Blake was looking green. “Hell no. You're not going to win.” “What!?” “You're not going to win....” “How the fuck are you going to do that!? I mean, you're in great shape and all, but I'm pretty sure the advantage is mine.” Blake puffed up. He wanted to help Cas out but he didn't want to be shown up in public by someone so...slim.... “Kid – shit, sorry - Blake, you don't know what you're in for.” Karen caught on to where Cas was going with his plan after hearing Blake's self-aggrandizing. “Did TJ tell you what he wanted you to beat me at?” Cas grinned widely down at Blake. “He...no, he didn't....” “That just convinces me he wanted to get back at you for something. Here's the wager, if you win, TJ ravages our asses against our will. If I win, you have to attend a HIIT class with me tomorrow morning and let me take you to brunch. Deal?” “I'm sorry, are you saying that if I win we throw ourselves at TJ's mercy but if you win, I'm the one who gets free food?” “And you have to attend the class.” “Pffft, it's a fitness class. I'll be fine.” “Do we have a deal?” “Fine, whatever. We have a deal.” “Karen. You get to be our neutral witness. Not even TJ will argue with you.” “Oh Blake, you're in for a ride today.... You doing what I think you're doing, Cas?” “Yup. Blake, you're challenging me to standing calf raises. Working set of 8.” “What?!” “You look like you don't skip leg day so it shouldn't be a complete blow out for you.” “Calf raises?” Blake was still stupefied as Cas led him over to the machine. “C'mon Blake. You should warm up.” Cas started to adjust the pads for Blake's height and then stopped himself. That was going to involve way more physical contact than someone like Blake would probably want from him. “You should, um adjust the machine for yourself....” “Are we seriously doing standing calf-raises?! Who the fuck tests themselves with calf-raises?” A couple of machines over, one of TJ's lackeys overheard the comment and started snickering. Blake blushed deeply, a tight coil of anger gathered in the pit of his stomach. “Fuck them, let's do this. I hope you know what you're doing, Caspian.” He lowered the shoulder pads and popped the pin down to 250 lbs and blew through 8 quick reps. "Nice, Blake! Did you even feel that? And starting at 250 will help make sure TJ gets the drawn-out show he thought he wanted. Just let me get the pads up." Cas slid into the machine and smoothly cranked out a warm-up set. Blake watched him lower the pin to 300. That wasn't too much below what Blake used as a working set. "All ready for you. Pin should be set too." Blake stepped in and started to push up, but something felt off. The shoulder pads weren't sitting where they should. They were too high. He shot Cas a glare, who stood there making the least convincing innocent face in the history of pranks. “Nice, Caspian. 'Cause that hasn't been done to me since high school. How tall are you anyway – you've got to be at least 6 feet if you need to raise it that much more than my 5 feet, 6.5 inches." Blake lowered the pads a bit more. Cas looked from him to Karen, who looked back at Blake and slowly shook her head. “Blake, who told you that you're – aw Fuck - it was TJ wasn't it?” Cas was fuming – this was a new low. “Uh, yeah. Said his drink could make me at least an inch taller in a week, just like it bumped him up to 6 feet, 5 inches....” “I'm not 6 feet tall. I might squeak by at 5 feet, 11 inches. Karen's 5 feet, 4 inches and you don't have almost three inches on her....” Blake looked over at Karen. His eyes were above hers by about an inch, but if she was only 5' 4”.... He tried to stop the tears of anger from welling up in his eyes. Simultaneously, both Cas and Karen reached out to touch his shoulders but he shrugged them off and stepped into the machine. “I'm going to fucking kill him. He is such an asshole!” Karen started to march off but Cas grabbed her shoulder. “Just wait. He'll get his without you having to go murder anyone. Blake, you good?” "Yup. Apparently, I'm still... 5 feet fucking 5 inches and...just fucking... fine...." He started slowly lifting himself up and down. “Hey, tell me about your favourite breakfast food? Pancakes? No – it has to be waffles. You totally look like you're into waffles.” Cas approached the machine taking care not to make physical contact with Blake. Blake finished his set without answering and just stared at the machine. “I bet someone as built as you are - like a stacked tank - can pack away tonnes of food, right?” When in doubt, appeal to the straight man's sense of masculinity. It managed to get a small smile out of Blake, but was he straight? “You have no idea, Cas. I'm going to cost you so much money with breakfast tomorrow. I'm going to eat so much – you're going to help me get even more massive.” Blake's small smile widened as he described the vast quantities of food he would consume. “You're up.” “You okay if I up the ante to speed this along? I think it may have been a bad idea to try and give TJ a show.” “Absolutely. He deserves nothing from us. I'm a little lost about why you decided to go along with this whole thing that he set up anyway. You clearly don't like him and I've put together that he probably doesn't like you so much either. Which is weird, because every time I met up with him, he was always talking about you.” “It's complicated.” “Yeah, you said that earlier....” Blake trailed off mid-sentence, obviously trying to cue Cas to jump in at any time. "Have you ever had someone do things to you over and over and over that you couldn't stop because they were just too strong, too big, too powerful, too whatever for you to deal with? And eventually, you resign yourself to just go along with certain things to avoid making it worse on yourself? To avoid the struggle, because the struggle always ends up with you losing and making things worse for yourself?” “I can't say that I've ever really experienced it....” Blake started to look distinctly uncomfortable with where Cas might be going. “But you can follow the train of thought?” “A bit, I guess. Kinda sounds a little... rough, actually.” “Yeah...you could say that....I-” Cas stopped himself and sighed. This wasn't the time or place; he could not have this conversation here. “...Cas...?” Karen's hand reached out and made the faintest contact with his elbow. Blake watched them look at each other silently. Without exchanging a single word, he saw the tension bleed out of Caspian with that single, gossamer touch from his friend. Hearing Cas speak, seeing him fight to get the words out.... Blake wasn't stupid. He knew where the train of thought led. It woke something inside him, not quite a righteous anger, but a desire to make things different, to show Cas that he was stronger than he gave himself credit for. “Let's just say it's like that, okay? I don't want to give TJ any reason to do anything and so I'm going along with this little charade of his. Besides, if I hadn't, you and I might not have really met, right?” Cas tried to lighten the mood. This was way too serious. “Well if you put it that way, I am pretty amazing....” Blake couldn't resist bringing his arms up behind his head and flexing them while he flared out his shoulders and upper back. The look of raw, naked awe and desire Cas gave him fuelled whatever was awakening within him. He wanted so much more of that look. He wanted so much more than five paltry minutes of feigned intimacy with this person. Caspian discerned a change in Blake's expression, a glint of something he couldn't identify. Shaking off his own emotions he broke the gaze and looked back at the machine. "Brilliant then. Let's finish this." Cas lowered the pin to 350 and adjusted the pads, taking special care to actually mark what height Blake needed. He cranked out the set without breaking a sweat. Blake gaped at how easy Cas did the warm-up set. “You're still warming up at 350?” It was Cas's turn to blush a bit as he lowered the pads. “....yeah.... Um, maybe you should just go for your max...?” Blake gulped and stepped into the machine. He liked leg day... mostly. He didn't skip it at least. How could this ...twig, well relative to him anyway, outperform him on any lift? He dropped the pin to 400 and took a deep breath. It was one plate more than he had worked with last week – he could do this! He made it to three before he started to struggle. Four and five burned but were workable. Six... six was rough. Seven...he felt the weight move up the slightest bit before he had to lower it. “Nice job, Ki-Blake. I'll give you your seven.” Karen clapped him on the back. She was being generous and he knew it. “Fuck. TJ's starting to make his way over. I'll try to make this quick, but it might get ugly, Blake.” Cas raised the pads and did four quick lifts and then stopped and lowered the pin to 500 even. Blake's jaw fell open as he watched Cas work through his complete set. At least this time it looked like he had to work for it a little. “Can he actually max the machine?” Blake's gaze didn't leave Cas's curvaceous ass methodically rising up and down in steady, controlled motion. “Probably.” Karen crossed her arms and widened her stance in preparation for TJ's arrival with his henchmen. “He's stopping at 500 so I can save some face, isn't he?” “Yuuup. Cas is usually a pretty good kid.” “Finally, he gets Kidded.” Karen snorted. “Kid, everyone's 'kid' to me. Except TJ and his crew – they're just assholes.” “Is he... How...old-” Blake leaned in close to ask but Karen saved him from having to say it. “25. But you didn't hear it from me.” She spoke low enough for only Blake to hear before calling out as Cas finished his set, “And that's a set of 8 at 500 for Caspian. You want to try it, Blake?” “Hell no. I, uh, have to survive a HIIT class tomorrow now and find something clean to wear for breakfast....” Cas stepped out of the machine just as TJ finished his lumbering approach. Blake watched Cas's body tense. He raised himself up onto the balls of his feet as if he were expecting to run or kick. He clenched his hands tight but not into fists. Blake could see Cas's fingernails digging into his palms. Was he seriously going to make himself bleed? Could he be that angry? And then Cas shot a quick glance over his shoulder to make sure Blake and Karen were with him. His eyes were wide with fear, pupils dilated in preparation of a flight response. Despite his anxiety, he still managed to turn back to the object of his terror and stand his ground as TJ sneered down at him. Blake cursed under his breath and started toward Caspian. Karen quickly grabbed his wrist to stop him from rushing in before Cas had a chance to stand up for himself. “Queer.” The voice sounded reedy, petulant. A sharp contrast to the hulking exterior. Dark hair and a solid brow line scowled over emotionless blue eyes. A grim slash of a mouth barely opened when he talked. He could someday, possibly even be handsome if he bothered taking care of himself or took the time to smile occasionally. “TJ.” Cas returned icily. “Anything I can help you with?” “Just coming over to see how your little competition went. Calf-raises huh? Can't say I'm really surprised that someone as pitiful as you would pick something like that, Cassie.” He rested a hand on the machine and leaned down into Cas, trying his best to force him into giving ground. Blake was having none of it. He broke from Karen and deftly interposed himself between Cas and TJ's looming form. Sure, Cas was tall enough that TJ still had a clear shot at his face, but if he tried it, he'd have to leave his abdomen open to whatever Blake wanted to dish out. Blake shoved his shaker cup up at TJ's chest. Hard. The unexpected movement caught TJ off guard and he stumbled back a step. Blake felt Cas slowly let out the breath he had been holding. “It went pretty well, all things considered, big fella.” Blake kept his voice steady, neutral. “I did get my ass handed to me though, so there won't be any blue devil in your immediate future. I guess you'll have to have one of your 'friends' help you out with that instead.” TJ's eyes narrowed. "Oh, and I won't need that drink you offered me after all. Looks like I didn't have the stomach for the first bit. How about you keep my shaker cup, eh? It's the least I could do for all the assistance you gave me showing me around this week and helping me figure out who to avoid.” “Careful, shortstack. Pretty sure you're making a mistake right now.” “Nah. No mistake. But thanks. So Much. For coming over. To say goodbye.” Blake laid it on thick at the end. A moment of tense silence settled between them before TJ finally spoke. “That's... cool.... We were just about to head out anyway. Take care, ladies.” His inflection ensured not a single person felt anything was 'cool.' TJ pushed against Blake as he made his way past the trio and toward the door. The couple of hangers-on scampered after him looking more like animated caricatures than actual people. Just as he reached the corner Cas called out. “Blake was telling me about your problem with accurately measuring your height, TJ. If you ever need someone to help you buy shoes with even thicker soles than those ones so you can actually hit 6'4,” give me a call. I'd love to help you deal with your insecurity.” TJ stopped for a moment but didn't turn around. His two underlings failed to notice and collided with his broad back. Muttering apologies to TJ, they all awkwardly started toward the exit again. "Well, you two little shits were in fine form. Did you feed each other fistfuls of sass pills while you were flirting earlier?" Karen barely managed to keep a straight face. Blake shook himself out while Cas tried to control his breathing. "Thanks, guys. And Blake, you didn't have to do that, stepping in front of me. It was a stupidly brave, kind gesture and really appreciated but you could have gotten yourself killed or worse what if he had actu-" “Hey.” Blake raised a hand up to Cas's shoulder to snap him out of his rant. “If I didn't want to be there, I wouldn't have put myself there. I'll do it any time and every time....” He looked as if he was going to say something else but instead suddenly blurted,” I, um, have to get out of here. Now. To go do some laundry so I have something that doesn't make me look like a hobo for tomorrow. What time's the class?” "7:30 am. Lasts about 45 minutes. Don't wear loose boxers. See you then?" “Without a doubt.” Blake gave them one final bi flex before making his way toward the men's locker room with an overhead wave. Karen and Cas watched him leave in silence. “You manage to figure out if he likes you yet?” Karen crossed her arms again. “I had, like, five minutes. Five. What do think I said, Nice shoes, wanna fuck?” “From you? Yeah.” “Oh my god. I hate you so much right now.” “Nah you don't. He know you're teaching the class tomorrow?” “Not a chance.” “Smooth. Sure that'll be fun. Maybe I'll show up to see his face.” “No you won't – you won't even be out of bed until after 9:00 am.” “Nooope.” Karen grinned and then looked at Cas expectantly. “Well?” "Well, what?" All Cas could think about was how the hell he was going to patch together a workout when all he could think about was Blake's smile and his biceps and the perfect pattern of shorn hair on his mammoth chest.... “Aren't you going to follow him?” “Like, right now?” “Yes, now! Go.” With a playful shove from Karen, Cas tried to keep from tripping over his own feet as he hurried toward the locker room.
  8. Thanks to Dredlifter for the idea suggestion of this little thing - or maybe it will wind up being a big thing. I haven’t written a story like this in a long time - at least 4 years. I hope you will bear with me for a slow burn introduction here and getting my “verbal” chops back into shape. But the fun stuff will start coming next chapter. I am open to any and all feedback as I want to re-hone my writing abilities. Critiques are welcome -------- To Protect and Serve - Chapter 1 - The First Morning Prelude: Just imagine - You’re standing at attention with your peers in your best Class-A Uniform. All around you in the auditorium your friends, family, and fellow officers who can come are here to see the solemn occasion. A freshly earned, freshly shined badge has just been pinned on your chest by the Sheriff. You raise your right hand and take the oath. The oath is a bit different from jurisdiction to jurisdiction, but we boil its meaning down to one phrase - “To Protect and Serve.” So many have taken the oath. Some who took it did little things that made a big difference, while some risked their lives and paid the ultimate price. And some … well … some are special. This is the story of one of those special ones - no, he is even more than that. Though it was not his intention nor mine, he went beyond special. How do I know? He saved me. He has given me a life I could never have dreamed possible that first early morning. And what happened to him? Well, a transformation that is better in the telling. To those who take the oath as seriously as he did; To those who give it a new and bigger meaning as he did; to those who change more than they can imagine by repeating those words as he did, this story is dedicated. This is the story of what could happen if you could protect and serve many thousands of people, and just one man, me, in ways beyond your wildest imagination. ~ Gabriel York ----- A deceptively small man hung his duty shirt onto a dry cleaners hanger and placed it in his locker. As he stood bare chested in the cool air, he appeared to be hiding his body, but he had nothing to be ashamed of - having a lithe but very tight build under that shirt. Nicely shaped, mounded pecs accompanied hard small orange sized biceps. A tight 6-pack graced his lower abdomen to an impossibly small looking waist. He was way better than most men of his age, no “dad bod” here to be sure. But, the man always felt self-conscious in the locker room despite the room being empty. He wasn’t one of THEM, something that had haunted him since high school. He lifted one booted foot and then the other onto a wooden bench before him. Loosening the laces and pulling the side zipper, he removed each boot. He held them in his hands like precious artifacts for just a moment, remembering the first time he put these on. Soon it would be his last, he mused. His time could go on as long as he wanted. But -- he questioned why. What had he done to stay on? What good had he really done? REALLY made a difference? It took but a few more minutes for him to put on his civilian duty clothes (a departmental polo, slacks,and loafers), secure his badge to his belt, and close his locker. Most locker rooms were replete with all sorts of combination locks, but not here. A few men and most of the women officers used them, but it wasn’t exactly necessary. You couldn’t be in a much safer place after all. Deputy Sergeant John Declann closed his locker for the millionth time and went to collect his personal sidearm from the gun locker clerk. He had no sooner than entered the hallway from the locker room, he heard a truly tremendous booming upper bass voice: “WHOA, ONE SIDE DECLANN.” Declann immediately pulled back into the doorway and looked up … and up, to see 5 men in a tight formation with shields and cell-entry equipment. Each one of them was every bit of 6 foot 4 inches plus - although tactical boots always made you look taller than you were. They were more like 6 foot 2 without them - but still, they all out-weighed John by at least 60 pounds of muscle. At his 5 foot 7 inches in height and in normal shoes, he felt positively TINY seeing them pass by. That was sort of the point of those uniforms - to try and intimidate anyone who saw what was coming - and it always did, at least it did Declann. They were in helmets and wore thick padded vests, under which were black t-shirt with black BDUs and those boots below. While those clothes were technically “loose,” they did little to hide every oversized muscle in their massive bodies. Gigantic arms stretched forth from sleeves that seemed to be straining to the breaking point. 2 pairs of arms were thick, powerlifter looking, and 3 more were supremely cut muscle. The CERT - Cell Extraction and Response Team - blew past him looking like they were heading to Mary-pod - the maximum security section. No doubt it was to remove an offender from a cell for morning counts who did not want to be removed. There was no question, he WOULD be removed, no matter what it took. The injury inflicted was entirely the offender’s choice. And, that amount of muscle and its overwhelming power could do plenty of that. Declann had tried out for both the CERT and SWAT teams years ago. But at his 165 lb, it was deemed he just did not have the physical size necessary. “You have all the skills needed and more Deputy Declann,” he had been told. “You should be proud of that. But some other officers just beat you out in the scores. And we need you on the streets. That is where you belong.” Funny, he thought in a moment of jealousy. It was always those guys who were of larger than life proportions that got the spots, even if their skills were not as good as his. After the group had passed, Declann walked down the hall toward the sallyport and stopped. He always did it at times like this, halting at the Officer’s Gym. He looked inside. It was rather quiet, normal at 0545 and shift change. Still, he could see some of the remnants of workouts by the big guys on the force. 45 pound plates left on the sides of incline bench press rack. What looked like 5 plates on a side on the bar on the squat rack. Dozens on the leg press sled. It was a bit of a mess, in truth, but most well used gyms were. Now, Declann was no physical slouch. He always kept in shape and his skills honed as the primary martial arts instructor for the Sheriff’s Office. He could have done well in that room, even though he was pushing 40 years old. Could have grown. But, he sighed and went on. There was just a part of him that never wanted to face big men in the gym. The injustice of being mocked for his smaller size and unfamiliarity with the equipment the one time he went in blazed in him still all these years later. He guessed the big men thought it was good natured fun, but it hurt Declann deeply. So, he kept to his body weight fitness room and small dojo set up in the garage at home. That made him feel less conspicuous. When it came to them, John always saw himself as a small man in boots that were a size too big. And yet - to so many others, he wasn’t that at all. He was everything that made police work an honorable profession. --- John Declann had wanted to be a police officer for as long as he could remember. Since his youngest days, he had been fascinated by police dramas on TV, how they always seemed to catch the bad guy no matter the odds. How they always saved people in distress. In his mind, there was no better calling. No better way to spend his life. He had the mind to be anything he wanted. He excelled in most subjects in school and was a top flight musician. But, those pursuits were not where he heart lay. He was a cop at heart by his teenage years, and he did everything he could to prepare himself. He took JROTC through high school, where he picked up his interest in martial arts and started Aikido lessons. Though he wasn’t the best team sports, he blasted through the competition at his dojo. He became quite fit from the military style calisthenics workouts he adopted during ROTC summer camps. And, that fitness matched perfectly with his blooming skills with his hands and feet on the mats. Before high school was over, his featured had matured into those of a very fit, handsome young man with striking brown eyes. And he had his first degree black belt, the first degree of many. It took a nearly a year after graduating high school to get his first small town commission to the force. He spent his first 18 months in the jails, and then took and passed his Colorado POST exams. He had been a road officer ever since. Now, he was a Sergeant in the Boulder County Sheriff’s Office - an area not unknown for large scale crimes as it held the University of Colorado. “The Berkeley of the East” though had its full measure of minor offenses. But the area wasn’t exactly the worst gang spots in Denver either. He had for served with true distinction for nearly two decades since - being decorated for bravery multiple times for saving civilians lives under fire. He had saved those intent on suicide. He had even delivered a baby once in a convenience store, and the story made the local news. He had had plenty of hands-on run ins with offenders, but he gave way more than he got, never having much more than a bruise or a black eye on occasion. He just never saw what the community and his immediate superiors did - a good man, serving the people Boulder and the kids of the University the best way he knew how. --- John went out to his car - an unmarked Dodge - cranked it, and began the slow crawl toward the Turnpike then Wheat Ridge. One of the things he learned in his own initial officer training long ago was to never live in the county you worked in. It could always lead to problems with local offenders. So, it was up and over the Flatirons toward home. Even though traffic volume was already increasing as it spread toward Denver in the morning rush, his mind wandered as if on empty roads. He made the necessary turns though the city and came proximate to the University entrances, but was running his schedule through his mind. He was due for a weigh in at the doc’s today. And they usually took his measurements too. Height, waistline, all that stu -- John’s senses caught something in the barely lit dawn. Someone moving way too fast to be normally jogging to the right of his car. Moving toward campus. John slowed his vehicle and his brain went into observation mode. It captured the scene in moments with his practiced eyes and mind. A young man -- looking to be just outside of college age but could still belong to the University. Short, black hair. Trimmed beard. White button down shirt and navy slacks. Looked like there was some money invested in those clothes, certainly not cheap. Behind him, perhaps eight or so paces, was running - and running faster than the first - a white young man, shaved head, jeans and ratty t-shirt, tatted with jailhouse tattoos that stood out even under the fading street lamps. And, then John caught sight of a gun in the rear waistband of the second’s jeans. Semi-auto by the outline. Instinct took over. John turned his car in an instant, hit the flasher toggle for his lights, and wound with wildly fast, yet practiced precision toward the danger. Less than 20 seconds later, John pulled his car to a stop where his instincts said he could cut this off. “Boulder County Sheriff's Office -- ON THE GROUND NOW” John yelled as he leapt from his car and drew his weapon virtually simultaneously. The running suspect didn’t listen, just as John had expected. He instead broke his pursuit of the well-dressed man and taken off toward a side alleyway. But, John was good at his work. The offender was fast, but John - was FASTER. He holstered his weapon as he calculated his movements nearly autonomously. He had chosen his intercept point well. John calculated the takedown, knowing an almost undisputable, universal law - 95 percent of offenders have no idea of how to fight, and the remaining 5% seldom need to fight. And this one looked like the former. It took a few seconds, but just a few, for the whole pursuit to be over. Exactly two PPCT strikes and a normal compliance take down and the suspect wa on his back, with John twisting his arms and putting the handcuffs on. He never even had to hurt more than the punk’s pride. Once secured, John kept his knee in place just under the lower shoulder blades, cuffed arms resting on his quad, knowing a bodyweight advantage and leverage would be critical with this man who slightly outweighed him. “What’s your name?” John demanded as he patted down the suspect and quickly removed a 9mm weapon and several baggies of what looked like methamphetamine. “Fuck you” was the response. John smiled a bit and gave a half chuckle under his breath. He loved this a bit too much when it happened, and some mischievous streak in him just drove him to do it. “OK, Mister Fuk Yu. I am placing you under arrest for possession of an illegal firearm and possession of controlled substances. You have the right to remain silent …” John mirandized the “Mr. Fuck,” pulled him up to his feet, and maneuvered him the few yards to his car. He put the offender in the back seat and locked the door of his unmarked. The guy was going nowhere. Now, to more important matters. John made his way toward the young man being pursued - who had by now stopped and was almost collapsed on the sidewalk. Declann withdrew his cell, called 911, and requested uniformed officers to his location. He was upon the man on the sidewalk just as he hung up. John immediately knelt down to do a quick assessment of his condition. There were no obvious signs of trauma at the first once over. He then took a more careful look at the victim’s features. While he certainly wasn’t of student age, he was still under 30, John guessed. And, he was a very nice looking under 30 to boot. Blue eyes setting off dark, intense features. Old enough to just have the barest hint of a wrinkle at the eye but nothing else. John noted a rather slim body - the size of his own would have been were it not for his training in Aikido and Krav Maga. John felt a twinge of attraction.Yes, John was bisexual, but no one cared among his superiors anymore. Besides, he had always kept that part of himself separate when on duty. “You OK Sir? I can’t see any obvious injuries. Do you need an ambulance?”John asked as he came and sat down at the man’s level. “Thank you . . . . officer, thank . . . you.” The man panted in reply with a pronounced British accent. “I was . . . just going toward my . . . lab . . . after my tea . . . when this fellow . . . started chasing me screaming at . . me. ” The young man was now gathering his breath, becoming easier to understand. John was a bit surprised to hear that English accent coming from him. Not unheard of, but still unusual in Boulder. “Did he assault you in any way?” The Englishman finally looked up to see John’s slightly older but obviously concerned and kind face. He visibly relaxed as he looked into John’s light brown eyes. “No, he never caught me but he was close. I am not exactly in running shorts and shoes here. But thanks to you, I’ll be OK. I do not know what would have happened if you had not arrived when you did.” “With what I found, I suspect he wanted to mug you. You are rather well dressed for campus, if I may observe. And, forgive me, if he heard you accent, you may have looked like an quick target as a tourist. When the uniform officers get here, you will need to give a statement to them, or you can give it to me if you prefer. We need to make sure this scumbag gets what he deserves.” “Of course. Anything I can do to assist, although I would be much happier speaking to you.” the man said giving just a hint of a smile. It was then that the uniformed officers in their black and white vehicles showed up. John excused himself for a moment, let the uniforms know what was going on, and allowed them to take the offender back to the jail for booking. John then returned to the man still sitting on the sidewalk. Pulling out a notebook he kept on him for times like this, John got all the pertinent information as he had done thousands of times before. Name, description of what happened, when, and why, if he knew. Any details the young man, who he had come to know as Gabriel York, may have remembered before, during, and after. As he took the statement, John became even more convinced this was an attempted mugging, perhaps for more drug money, maybe even more if that weapon came into play. Knowing he had all he needed, John said, “Finally, is there a way we can contact you if we have further questions. The staff from the District Attorney's office will be sure to want to speak with you about testimony if it comes to that. Although with the evidence we have, this one will probably plea. This is not his first time in jail.” Gabriel reached into his pocket for a very expensive-looking leather wallet and removed a business card. “This is my lab contact information. I am easiest to reach either here on campus or with my secretary. My other lab is ...a… well ... it is easier to reach me here. Again I can’t thank you enough, Sergeant.” “Believe me, Dr. York, it was my pleasure. I am just glad you are safe and sound.” John said. “Are you OK to go on your own or would you like me to escort you to your lab? I would be happy to do so.” “Thank you sir, but I think I’ll be fine. My lab is just over the hill in the Biological Sciences building.” Gabriel replied. “OK” John said, handing Gabriel a card of his own with his name, rank, and contact information on it. “This is my card. If you need anything or remember anything else, please do not hesitate to call me anytime, day or night.” ‘Of course. Sergeant Declann.” The Englishman arose with a friendly hand from John. Almost as an afterthought as he was leaving, York turned around. “Oh, Sergeant Declann, by the way. I do ….ah… certain work down at the Federal Center in Denver. I will have to report this incident to my superiors there and to the British consulate. In case there is testimony or something as you said. They may wish to speak with you. Just to make sure. You understand?” John nodded. Ah, he works with the feds as an international scholar of some kind, and the red tape must be dealt with. “Of course. No problem at all. I’m proximate to the Federal Center half the time anyway.” York nodded an ascent and turned again to walk away. John stood a moment watching - and admiring - Dr. York move until he was sure he was alright AND that he was moving toward the Biology building. He turned around and began to make his way back to his car. As he did, he looked down at the card: Gabriel York, MD. PhD., FACS Research Director/Professor of Medicine Advanced Bio-neurological Applications Project University of Colorado School of Medicine Hmmm, John thought. He looked a damned sight young to be in such a prestigious job, a full professor under 30 and with two doctorates at least. And a fellow of the ACS -- so why talk to the Consulate? John’s “detective sensor” started to sound off in his mind. This advanced applications thing wasn’t a program he was familiar with, but there were so many new research projects on campus these days. But, as soon as the “alert” came, he let it go. Probably a government grant given what he said about the Federal Center. John was reviewing the incident in his mind for his own after action report as he pulled onto the highway. Suddenly, there was a loud roar of a horn and air brakes. John never even saw the tractor trailer that plowed into his car, crumpling it in an instant like so much tissue paper and driving it 30 yards down the highway. *** Two Hours Later *** Trauma room one at the University of Colorado Hospital was abuzz with activity. At least a dozen doctors, nurses, and specialist technologists in yellow plastic smocks and shields hovered over a trauma bed doing a myriad of tasks to the man laying there. “What do we have?” the lead trauma surgeon said as he came into the room and took up control of the life-saving operation. On of the smocked figures raised up and stepped back, raising his shield. “John Declann, caucasian male, age 39. Boulder County Sheriff’s Deputy. MVA - car versus tractor/trailer. Passenger was in a seatbelt with airbags deployed but required extraction by fire-rescue. Initial assessment shows superficial cranial abrasions, with most likely a simple concussion. No evidence of other cranial, brain, or upper spinal injuries. Seat belt bruising pattern is highly indicative of internal organ disruption, but nothing so far on physical examination and plain films of the abdomen. Lacerated and collapsed left lung, reinflated with chest tube. Pneumothorax proximate to same lung injury also responding. Initial x-rays show compromised T-12 vertebral body and possible pelvic fracture. No apparent lower limb trauma beyond cuts and bruises from extrication from the vehicle. CT scans are coming up now for the spinal and pelvic injury areas. This was a driver’s side T-bone crash. I think that this guy’s level of fitness is why we’re talking about saving his life and not pronouncing him. ” the lead resident efficiently rattled off. The lead surgeon took a look at the patient, and agreed with the resident’s assessment. John was alive because of his trained, flexible, body and more than a little random chance. But what kind of life was it going to be? The doctor walked over to the computer terminal screens and pulled up the CT scans. The pelvis showed a simple left side Ilium fracture. Non-displaced. Something the orthopods could deal with easy enough. He then flipped to the scan of John’s spine -- and frowned. “Fuck,” he said under his breath as he looked. He sat down on a stool and zoomed, in, out, rotated, and closely examined the different views provided by the technology. The burst fracture was unmistakable and at precisely the worst spot for leg function. As he walked back to John, the doctor barked orders to the residents and nurses, while he removed an ink pen from his pocket. He ran the pen up first one foot and then the other. Goddamnit, he thought. The veteran doc’s heart sunk even more. “Get neurosurg here stat. Tell them severe impact, burst fracture at T-12, CT visualization and reflex response indicative of cord injury.” The room went silent for a moment before carrying on. It was always hard to treat an officer. Much less for this. The supervising physician turned and again just looked at the radiology. The soft tissue injuries were no walk in the park, but were easily fixable, recoverable in just a few weeks, the pelvis in a couple of months, except …. that. There was no hope for that, in his experience. This man would be paralyzed. Five minutes later the head of neurosurgery looked at the same CT scans, and came to the same conclusion. No hope. They could do an exploratory, check and see if by some miracle there was just pressure on the cord from a fragment, but not likely. Better to just do a vertebral stabilization with the orthopods, but his chances to recover function … Declann had been stabilized and was ready for transfer to have his lung laceration repaired. As he was about to be moved, another man in a white coat burst into the trauma room. One look from him toward John, and his eyes moistened. “I...I...can’t believe it.” the black haired man wept at the side of the bed. “I had to be sure.” The man almost looked skyward, “Why him?” Gabriel tenderly wiped a finger down John’s cheek. “Gabriel?” the head of neuro looked up. “What are you doing here? Do you know this man?” “This man, he saved my life this morning, not even four hours ago. Kept me from getting mugged by this man with a gun. Everyone heard the crash and when I saw that the wreckage was his car. Is he going to be OK?” Gabriel was out of breath and had obviously lost clinical detachment between the events of this morning and the shock of seeing the officer who had been so kind and patient with him lying there. He would have been removed if treatment were still going on, but it was basically complete save moving him to OR. The two attendings just nodded toward the computer screens with the radiology still on it. Gabriel walked from John’s head side, looked, and was overcome with remorse and guilt. Had he just been at his normal time, 15 minutes later, none of this would have happened. But, he just HAD to check on a minor experiment. And now, this man lay here because of him. Gabriel zoomed in to the machine’s maximum sensitivity. He looked again and again. Through a choking voice, Gabriel looked around and almost whispered. “Jack, can you send me these scans please? To my secondary lab.” The lead neurosurgeon looked horrified, searching for a reason not to. “Gabriel. You can’t be serious. You know I can’t do that. It violates protocol, federal law--” Gabriel cut him off, almost angrily “Jack you know I can take care of that with one call to Washington.” “What are you going to do?” Jack asked, never having seen such anger in the young, brilliant surgeon and scientist. “IF I can, if there is anything I can do, I am going to try and help this man.’ “You can’t have a man as a lab r--. I can’t sanc---” Jack stumbled. Gabriel stood to his full height, taking on an almost military bearing. “You know I can and will go over your head if I have to. I will have him removed if I must.” Gabriel took a breath and seemed to calm a bit. “Jack I am not promising that I can or will do anything, I do not know if there is anything to do. But I have to try. I owe it to him. He is here because of me. I have to try or I’ll never forgive myself.” Jack knew Gabriel could follow through on his threats in an instant. He had seen some small manifestations of Gabriel’s connections to political power before, and he knew that interference in hospital functions was the very least of what he could do. As much as Jack detested it, with this kind of anger Gabriel could bring down the mountain on top of his whole hospital. But, as it was, there was nothing anyone could do for Officer Declann, not even York. Jack just silently waved his fingers in a gesture of defeat, nodded an ascent, and transferred access to Gabriel as primary attending physician. “Thank you Jack. I owe you about 10 times over for this.” “I WILL HOLD YOU TO THAT,” the older surgeon replied, his voice suddenly sharpened. “And I insist on one thing. Before you present him any of those things you do that I do not have a clue about, you will at least get his consent.” Gabriel looked like he had been shot himself and his voice shook, “I would NEVER do anything to harm him.” York turned on a heel and left the room, walking out of the ER doors, and toward his car in the parking lot. As soon as he was in the vehicle with the door closed, he pulled from his pocket an encrypted cell phone with just one number it could access, locked to his fingerprint. A male voice answered in military precision, “Yes, Doctor York?” “Codeword Ariana. I want the full computer network prepped for simulator study based on some CT scans that will be coming from CU Trauma ER shortly. Run the program with emergent parameters and stand by to report when I get there. Not a proof of concept level scan, Don, but full cellular level calculations. I am leaving the hospital now. We have 24 hours at the most to complete simulations. And...ah.. Don. This is important to me, personally.” “Yes SIR,” the sharp voice on the other end said. Gabriel could not quite understand what he was feeling, this pull toward this man. He didn’t know the man existed six hours ago. Sure, there was guilt and anger and sadness. But, he just could not remove from his mind those eyes he saw this morning. Those haunted, caring brown eyes. Something about him. This John Declann. He did not know what. But he saw it in his eyes. He deserved more than this, and Gabriel would find out why. He would make it happen, he willed it to happen as he drove toward the freeway. This good man would walk again.
  9. Updated 10/25 parts 1 - 12 Megadrol Chapter 1: Megadrol My name is Matt, and at the time that I am beginning this story I was 22 and just about 6’2”. It might have been a little strange back then to immediately describe my height before all else, but that’ll be clear later. At the time I had just gotten my LPN and well…kind of flunked out of the program to get my RN. I had been going a community college in Tyson, Michigan, just outside Detroit. I had just moved to town from my hometown of Marshall, just west of Tyson by an hour’s drive. It was an old money town, where your last name really meant something. I was not necessarily part of this “old money” crowd, but I wasn’t poor…and I wasn’t popular growing up. I didn’t really have any friends, so I was delighted to move to Tyson and start over. And as it turns out, I came across a good deal on a house in the countryside outside Tyson. My house, for how small it was, had some perks. Tyson had everything I needed and I was only a half hour away from Detroit (okay an hour due to traffic). I had a whole two acres of land surrounded by woods which is why I really bought it, a nice open space to do whatever I liked. I am not sure what were my ultimate plans— maybe sell after renovation and turn a profit? I can’t be sure, and obviously it does not matter now. At the time, living on my own I kind of struggled for cash. I did not go hungry, but the mortgage and the day-to-day expenses ate up my checks quickly. Although I did like to spoil myself too, and maybe if I budgeted better I wouldn’t have gone looking for a roommate. But let’s be honest, I was also a bit lonely. I had some hobbies, I loved to stay active and didn’t have any kids. Not that it was likely to happen anyway, with me being gay and all. But I was certainly bored. My love life though, was kind of lackluster. I’ll be the first to admit, I kind of had high standards and a couple of issues. One: I was fairly tall, and I liked guys taller than me. And Two: I prefer to be dominated, and it’s just not the same when someone is smaller than me. Every so often between long work weeks at the clinic I worked, or long pensive bike rides, I’d find myself downloading apps like grindr or tinder or whatever. And a lot of the time I’d end up thoroughly disappointed. I knew a few gay guys in the area, and a few had become friends of mine. But a lot of them, barring a minority were pretty bleh for my tastes. I love handsome jocks, what can I say? And there was a shortage. There were a few buddies that I had that lived in and around the area. Michigan, being the automotive state is terribly spaced out. So it is not uncommon to measure distance between friends and places in minutes it takes to drive there. So that brings me to Ben. At this time (and it blows my mind to remember this) he was little shorter than I was. About 6’, and he had a stockier build, when we had first met. Ben and I met in college, he actually lived in Tyson his whole life. We were actually both going to nursing school and unfortunately Ben walked away even before I did. It had been a few months since we had seen each other. Despite his premature end to school, he found success in his own way. He too found an amazing deal on a house; it was actually way better than mine. It had an awesome full basement, three bedrooms and a big yard. I had come to wonder, in the months after moving into my house what he had been up to? I seriously considered hitting him up. He didn’t live far from me; I’d drive to him. And then came a sign that could not be ignored, he showed up on grindr one day. I struck up a conversation. “Hey!” I said, “How have you been?” And sent my picture. He typed back right away, “Oh man, Matt how are you! I’ve been super good actually!” I replied, “Good! I just moved to Tyson and got my own house, just like you!” Ben wrote, “Awesome dude! I’m glad to hear that for you, I’ll have to come see it some time.” I smiled at my phone; I was sitting in my living room, leaning over the app with a twinkle in my eye. “What have you been up to since we last spoke?” I asked. “Working on my house, but really working on me, and my body.” He returned. My eyebrows raised, “Oh yeah?” I wrote, “Show me.” He sent me pictures of his recently redone carpet and painted walls. Which while nice, weren’t really what I was asking for. “I think you know what I meant when I said show me lmao” I replied. I was gobsmacked by what he sent me, they were standard grindr pictures: a headless torso. But that torso was not like the one I remember, this one was cut! I had to ask, “Did you just send me some random guy’s pics haha?” “No.” He wrote, and then sent a candid with his face. Ben had put on some serious mass! And he had lost quite a bit of fat, he was getting leaner, buff even! I was a little jealous! “Holy shit dude, you look great!” I typed, “You have been working out a lot!” “Thanks man, I got a home gym.” He replied, “We should workout together!” I immediately stood up with excitement, “Definitely! When?” “I’m free all week,” Ben said, “Come over whenever.” “Tomorrow afternoon?” I asked. He sent a winking face as a reply. I was stoked! I had to study the photos of Ben, he had taken this photo in his basement right next to his gym, his chest had gotten super defined, it had always been kind of big, one of his best features, but now his pecs, they were a lot tighter and bigger. His abs were a respectable four-pack and his legs, thick and strong from his countless miles of running, looked aided by squats and deadlifts. His ass was always thick and strong, but now in his tight workout shorts it looked amazing. And as I stroked my dick, I asked myself something, “How did he do that?” I would soon find out, and my life would change forever. The World would too.
  10. TonnyGiant

    Big Date

    It was a pleasant night despite the heat at this time of year in the southern hemisphere. The city center was busy, with nightclubs, restaurants and many other places where you could relax a little. Crossing the main avenue, Manny Gorgan, a 20-year-old who is still at university, entered a restaurant to wait for one of his friends. He thought he could start a deeper relationship, something that went beyond friendship, with this classmate of his. Manny was gay, he never hid his condition and fetishes since he was very young, already 16 years old. He always liked big, huge men, what we might call real giants. Manny was small compared to other men, was 5'6" tall, weighed 90lbs, had green eyes, black hair and tanned skin, liked going to the beach, but only when college studies gave him a break... anyway, Manny sat and waited. The waiter approached with a bottle of water. The slight young man with the beautiful features, he waited, always looking at his watch and there were still several minutes before his date appeared. He lifted his head to look around and saw the image of his great friend pointing at the restaurant's door. A large man, dimensions considered abnormal for many humans. He had hair so dark and curly it spilled past the back of his neck, his skin was fair, and he had intensely piercing brown eyes. His toothy grin appeared as he approached where Manny was sitting, and standing up, he lifted his head to get a look through the mega bulged pecs. The man in turn tilted his head slightly to look at the little boy. “Hello little friend. Am I late?” said the big man frowning. "O-o-oh, no...you're on time," Manny said, impressed by his friend's deep tone. Tonny Reymans was known in college as Big Tonny, his muscles were always jumpy, and there was no comparison to someone his age in his 20s, even top athletes, professional bodybuilders couldn't compare to him. He was the tallest of all on the teams, the strongest in the gym. He was a mysterious young man who didn't tell much about his family, but was very nice to his peers and especially Manny. Measures of it were considered superhuman. He was 7’5” tall, was 18 feet and his sneakers were ordered by a company that sponsored the university football team, and most amazingly, he weighed no less than 550lbs of massive, radically defined, pure muscle. Once, the medical board and several university scientists tried to study Tonny's body and found him to be in nothing but impeccable health. Several toxicology tests, blood tests, and even his enzymes and glands were studied, and nothing abnormal was found. Overcome by fatigue, the scientists, after a lot of brainstorming trying to find something in the muscle and bone composition of Tonny, left him alone, got used to his full size and no longer bothered him. Big Tonny had more than 48 inches of biceps, an 85-inch pectoral, and thighs so big that three cheerleader girls sat on each of them, slack. He always helped the little ones with everything, especially protecting them from other bigger guys, only the biggest one on the entire campus was him, without a doubt. "Have you ordered dinner, or are you just going to stay on the sparkling water?" Big Tonny smiled at Manny. “What do you wish…it's like…I don't know…” the little guy stuttered again and scratched his head. Tonny gently, yes he had control of his strength, took Manny's right hand and stroked his tiny fingers. "Manny, first of all I wanted to thank you for accepting the invitation to go spend the holidays with me at my house and meet my family" "Me me..." “Hahaha” Tonny's laugh echoed throughout the restaurant and made everyone's eyes turn to him. “You're funny, Manny. I think I made the right choice” he winked and the little guy blushed. "So what do you want to eat, Tonny?" “Hmm” he took the menu and looked “They don't have hamburgers or fries. Why did you choose this place?” Tonny dropped the menu onto the table and crossed his mighty arms that looked more like tree trunks, puffed out his chest, and glared at Manny. His shirt, which was extremely baggy, was already too tight, but he still managed to wear it without any major problems. "I like this place, Tonny...they have a shrimp risotto that's delicious..." "Shrimp cooking other shrimp" the giant let out another deep laugh and stood up "Come on..." held out his hand to the little boy "I'll take you to a place where there's real food, and where I can be shirtless" he jumped the pectorals. Manny took his giant friend's hand and was escorted from the luxurious restaurant. Hand in hand, the two friends crossed the main avenue and walked to the last corner of the bars. A cafeteria was working at full speed, many people were in and out. They entered and soon several waiters, yes the cafeteria was made only of waiters, no waitress, they came to meet Tonny, who imposingly took off his shirt and his shirt and flexed each one of his mega pecs. Each nipple was bigger than Manny's palm. “Big Tonny! Will you want the usual?” said one of the plump, bear-haired waiters, hugging Tonny. "Rick my friend, bring your usual and with plenty of sauce..." he looked down at Manny "What's it gonna be honey?" The waiter named Rick also leaned over to Manny and smiled showing his yellow teeth behind his thick red mustache. “Yeah…I think…” the little boy was interrupted by the noise of glass being broken and a thick voice uttering a curse. "Must be Hugo, this Italian always breaks something" Rick said wiping his hands on his greasy apron "Guys feel free, I'll check out what the hell went down this time" He turned towards the kitchen, where the screams and screams of the great men were heard. "What place is this?" Manny commented, smiling sheepishly, looking around. The clientele was mostly made up of men, all large in various dimensions. Muscled and bald, muscular bald and tattooed, fat hairy and tattooed and tattooless too, muscular and furry and hairless. Little Manny felt like one of the snacks that was served in that place, he noticed all the eyes on him, but none of the big guys dared to approach, because Manny was next to the biggest man inside that bar. "So, little one, what are you going to ask?" said Tonny stroking Manny's narrow back. "The same as you..." He was interrupted by deep laughter. “Impossible, little one. You couldn't stand to eat the same amount as me…watch,” Tonny said pointing to her order that three waiters were bringing. A platter of 35 hamburgers, 6 pounds of fries, a whole apple pie, and 5 gallons of orange juice, this was Tonny's dinner. The incredible big guy was cheered by every other big guy in the diner as he started wolfing down his food. He looked like a crusher. He belched in such an impressive way that the windows in the place shook, and with each belch, he was applauded and everyone shouted his name. He smiled and then looked at his little friend saying: “Like I said, little guy, you couldn't stand to eat all this. But Rick can bring you something so you don't get hungry.” He smiled and went back to devouring his mountain of sandwiches. The waiter with a large abdominal circumference, approached again and asked, leaning: "What do you want, little boy?" he smiled and his red mustache rose. "A hot cheese..." ******************************************************************* Tonny's movements were strong, intense and endlessly brutal. He had his twelve-inch-long cock, thick and veined, buried in his little friend's ass who begged for more, and more force in his thrusts. After they left the cafeteria that night, Manny went to Tonny's apartment, and the two of them couldn't resist their feelings for each other. Big Tonny was an alpha male, a born dominator, and his immensity of body, as well as his immense masculinity, made any powerful man kneel before him. And there was Manny, completely dominated by a giant, muscular morphed who didn't have proportions consistent with any human being. He was wrapped in his friend's muscular arms as he was thrust mercilessly. His ass, beautiful and tight, was the most desired and appreciated dessert by the giant after he ate 35 hamburgers. Tonny's hair was wet with sweat from the back and forth movements he was making inside his friend. He felt his cock separate his little boy's insides, so he gripped Manny's frail body and rose from the bed. Standing, Tonny impaled his friend, gripping his waist with both hands and beginning to lift and lower the poor boy's thin body onto its big shaft. The giant was ecstatic, immersed in the lust of having a thin, fragile and delicate body impaled on his enormous cock. His vision blurred with excitement, the big Tonny pulled the little guy closer and kissed the back of his sweaty neck as he thrust harder into his ass. “I can't stop, little guy…” he gasped “But I have to or I will kill you with a growing cock inside you” continued to penetrate harder and even his coconut-sized balls slapped Manny's ass. “P-please…d-don't stop…” His eyes were rolled up and the pain gave way to the pleasure of being impaled by a muscular giant. At his friend's wish, Tonny didn't stop, he thrust his big cock harder inside that tight ass. The movements accelerate, after much holding his cum, the giant dropped a torrent of hot and viscous cum inside his fragile friend, it was 10 strong jets. The smell of sex was so thick inside the room it could have been cut with a knife. Their deafening roars rattled the windows and the walls of the room shook. Panting, the giant grabbed his friend, still impaled, and lay down on the bed. Caressing that tiny, softened body, he kissed the back of her sweaty neck and said: "I made the right choice...I'm sure" The little boy, did not argue about that declaration of the giant, who had once again said that he was right to choose him, he could not speak. He felt his insides crushed, his belly swelled from being filled with so much hot cum. His body tired, still impaled, he fell into a deep sleep. The giant felt his new lover fall asleep, but he couldn't get his cock out of him, it was still too hard and could hurt him even more. That little being in his domain was an antithesis, fragile in stature in body structure, but at the same time strong in receiving much pleasure. In fact, Big Tonny had been right in choosing his newest lover, and he would take him to his family, his father and brothers would be proud of him. ****************************************************************** Dawn after being impaled by a big man over 7'5" tall, and with morpehd muscle, wasn't what Manny had expected, he didn't think he could wake up after enduring the full extent of pulsing masculinity in Tonny's veins. inside her little ass. He felt his life would end there, after getting so many jets of hot cum. He groped on the bed beside him, and found nothing but a huge puddle of cum coming out of his ass. He looked over and saw that he was almost swimming in that nectar of the giant god he had madly fucked.Legs limp, weakened, he rose from the bed and cum still trickled between his spindly legs. He walked out of the bedroom, down the hall to the kitchen and living room, and saw nothing. He found it all very strange. He went back to the bedroom and opened his giant lover's wardrobe and found nothing. Was it a dream? A delusion? A hallucination? He thought Manny as he considered the situation he was in. He sat back down on the cum puddled bed, shrugged his shoulders and saddened, he began to think he was going crazy. Where would your giant lover be? He looked at the nectar on the bed, and on his legs, took some with his fingers and brought it to his nose, where he inhaled deeply that strong, virile-smelling semen. “Why did he leave and leave me here…” Tears welled up, but his sadness could wait. The sound of a cell phone notification snapped him back to reality. He held the device in trembling hands and read the message. “In the back of the first wardrobe drawer, there's your ticket and some cash for the taxi. I want you to leave this apartment, stop by your house and pick up only what is necessary. Meet me at the pier in 1 hour. Do not be late. Your Big Tonny" Taking a deep breath, controlling the mingling emotions, Manny got up and went into the bathroom to clean up. He put on his clothes, took the ship's ticket from the place indicated by his lover, and headed towards his apartment. Everything was very strange, mysterious, and even so, he was not intimidated. Her stubbornness to get to know more of her giant lover was greater than her fear of stepping into a leaky boat, literally. Arriving at the pier, he saw the crowd boarding. Some people were saying their goodbyes to the beach town, others were arriving for a vacation, but Manny still didn't know where he was going, or which boat to take. He walked further through the crowd and approached the ticket counter. He showed his ticket and was immediately taken by one of the dock workers to a luxury boat, a cruise. Everything on the ship was very tasteful and exquisite. Manny felt out of place, as he wasn't dressed up to these doughy people. He looked down at his jeans and white T-shirt, and shrugged in embarrassment. One of the receptionists, who had been notified of his departure, approached and informed him that the main cabin of the cruise was waiting for him. Manny thought it was a joke, the receptionist's mistake. "I think I'm in the wrong place..." "Manny Gorgan, isn't that your name?" he said looking at the note. "Yes but..." "Well then, the main cabin is reserved for you" The receptionist guided little Manny through the exquisite corridors of the ship. In awe of the artwork hanging on the walls, the lush chandeliers, he reached the main cabin door. When he opened it he was impressed, thinking he couldn't be impressed anymore, he was wrong. Wearing only a pair of blue nylon shorts, which were tight around his legs that looked like tree trunks, and with his erection nearly sticking out, the giant appeared. His muscular sovereignty was undeniable and breathtaking. He walked deliberately, majestically, until he came to a stop in front of Manny and leaned forward so that he could get a better look at his slight lover. “I'm glad you didn't run away. Now I know more than ever…you're the one.” The big man bent down and scooped Manny into his arms, carrying him to the stately cabin bed. “Let's relax, little friend. Our trip will be long” cradled Manny in her powerful arms and there they enjoyed the trip to the island.
  11. J'ai un peu des problèmes avec mon copain. Je l'aime plus que tout au monde, hein, ce n'est pas la question. Mais des fois ça peut être difficile avec lui, parce que, et bien il n'est pas très intelligent. Et ce n'est pas une critique, le fait est qu'intellectuellement il est très limité. Pour moi ça fait partie de ses qualités, je suis amoureux fou de mon copain, donc je ne suis pas objectif, avec les yeux de l'amour je ne lui trouve aucun défaut. Son intelligence est différente, mais réelle. Le jour où je l'ai rencontré, dès que je lui ai parlé j'ai senti cette connexion très forte entre nous, et j'ai adoré discuter avec lui. A vrai dire, il ne disait que des mots très simples, et ce n'était pas très cohérent, mais je le comprenais, et j'étais fasciné par tout ce qu'il disait. Je buvais ses paroles, comme on dit. Et il avait l'air content de trouver quelqu'un qui le comprenait, et je l'écoutais avec passion. Il m faisait rire, quelquefois je voyais qu'il avait dit quelque chose pour être drôle, alors je me mettais à rire à gorge déployée, et il reprenait son récit fascinant. Je ne comprenais pas bien ses mots, mais j'adorais parler avec lui, et j'étais tellement content d'avoir la chance d'échanger avec lui, et qu'il apprécie ma compagnie. Je vivais un rêve, j'étais sur un nuage. C'était véritablement formidable d'échanger avec lui, et ses quatre ving douze centimètres de biceps. il s'était rapidement retrouvé isolé dans cette soirée, parce que les gens ne comprenaient pas son génie, du coup j'ai eu la chance de pouvoir me retrouver avec lui et sans cesse il disait des mots, ce qui était absolument fascinant avec mon visage face à ses énormes pecs. Je suis instantanément tombé amoureux de ce mastodonte d'un mètre quatre-vingt dix-huit et deux cent soixante-dix neuf kilos de muscle, et mes efforts pour qu'il m'apprécie ont payé, car nous sommes devenus inséparables. Clairement, ce n'est pas toujours aisé d'être auprès de lui, car il peut avoir ses humeurs, et il ne saisit pas bien le monde qui l'entoure. Il m'a fallu développer des trésors de patience pour pouvoir le gérer au mieux, et ce n'est pas toujours évident avec un colosse qui peut exploser un crâne en claquant des doigts (il chausse su 54, il a des gros doigts) mais mon amour a fini par payer et il s'est vraiment attaché à moi et il me respecte. Évidemment je suis la risée de mon groupe d'amis, l'un d'entre eux l'avait ramené à la soirée où nous nous étions rencontrés dans le seul but de se moquer de lui et le ridiculiser, et ils ont eu tôt fait de voir que j'étais fou amoureux de lui, très vite ils ont estimé que mon attraction envers lui n'était due qu'au fait que ce soit un gigantesque bodybuilder aux muscles surpuissants. Cela fait quatre ans que nous sommes ensemble à présent, et je ne parle plus trop à ce groupe d'amis. Notre liaison est très forte, et c'est pour moi le plus important, je me pas mal suis isolé de ma famille aussi qui ne le tolère pas. Et la société est bizarre, dès que l'on débarque à un endroit, que j'arrive quelque part avec ce monstre de muscles, les gens réagissent bizarrement. Bon, je reconnais que c'est un véritable phénomène, sur le plan physique et musculaire, et j'aime bien l'effet qu'il fait n'importe où où je vais avec lui, et j'adore ça. Donc voilà, c'est l'homme de ma vie, j'aime faire des efforts de chaque instant pour essayer de maintenir son humeur, j'aime être là pour l'écouter ânonner des sylabbes pendant des heures, j'aime financer ses stéroïdes, et tout en général parce que c'est impossible pour lui d'avoir un travail, j'aime tout en lui, je l'aime mon colossal tas de muscles même si on ne fait pas l'amour. Le problème que j'ai dernièrement c'est qu'il est un peu trop protecteur avec moi. Il tient beaucoup à moi, et de plus en plus, et rien ne pourrait me rendre plus heureux, mais ça devient un peu problématique des fois. Il pense que tout est une menace.Il veut être toujours près de moi et me protéger de tout. Un jour, on traversait au feu, et une voiture a freiné un peu tard et débordé quelques centimètres sur le passage piéton. Il a eu peur pour moi, donc il s'est jeté devant la voiture et a frappé du poing sur le capot, il a traversé le moteur et cloué la voiture dans le bitume. Il a peur pour moi quand je suis au travail. Dès qu'il n'est pas à la salle, il vient à mon taf et s'assoit à l'entrée de mon cubicle et lance des regards agressifs à tout le monde. Mais je l'aime plus que tout. L'autre soir on était posés devant la télé, puis il a regardé, et il a dit une vraie phrase, "Tu aimes mes biceps"? C'était émouvant. On s'est regardés avec les yeux plein d'amour et il a levé son bras près de moi, puis il l'a plié pour faire jaillir son biceps en bandaison. Je me suis mis à lécher tout ce que je pouvais de son biceps. " Donne main. Touche gros biceps. Gros gros gros biceps. Oui mouiller biceps.Gros biceps pour toi. Gros muscles. Je t'aime. Moi vouloir plus gros muscles pour plaisir toi. - Oui j'aime tes gros biceps mon amour. J'aime tes énormes gros biceps. - Toi aimer gros biceps - Oui mon amour. - Moi gros biceps pour toi. - Tu es le plus beau mon amour - Touche gros biceps! S'il te plaît, - Mais ils sont trop gros tes biceps mon amour - Gros biceps content - J'adore caresser tes énormes biceps mon cœur - Biceps des fois, gros et mal - Oui, ça doit être compliqué - Mais lever haltères, lever haltères. - Vraiment ? - Oui, oui, gros biceps - Haha tu es merveilleux - Haltères biceps, gentil - C'est vrai? - Gros gros biceps. - C'est génial. Je suis tellement heureux de t'avoir comme ami. - Toi ami le plus. - Oh bravo, bravo. Bravo mon ami - Toi amour moi. - Mais tu as raison. Tu es tellement intelligent, tu as tout compris - Moi intelligent - Tu es parfait. J'ai tellement de chance de t'avoir rencontré. Je t'aime si fort." Il avait relâché la tension de son bras, mais il se mit à rebander son biceps de plus belle. " Toi aime gros biceps ? - Haha tu es le meilleur mon copain, tu es génial. - Toucher gros biceps. - Ce gros biceps, là ? Cet énorme biceps ? - Oui, maintenant. Maintenant. - Tout ce que tu voudras mon pote, tu sais bien que je suis à tes woof... - Oui toucher biceps, toucher biceps... - Bordel de merde, j'ai pourtant l'habitude de toucher ton corps à longueur de journée mais tes gros biceps bandés je ne m'y ferai jamais... - Gros biceps, gros biceps - C'est si dur, si énorme... regarde comme ma main est minuscule sur le sommet de ce biceps - Je t'aime. - Moi aussi je t'aime mon amour, on est pas pédés mais toi et moi c'est merveilleux..." Oui parenthèse, nous ne sommes pas un couple homosexuel. On s'aime très très fort, on habite ensemble, depuis bientôt quatre ans, mais non, pas de ça entre nous. Eric a un peu de mal avec la notion d'homosexualité, de pédalitude plus exactement, c'est pas bien il faut pas. Il peut se fâcher tout rouge si on nous traite de pédés, mais ça n'arrive quasiment jamais. Pourquoi ? on s'en fout un peu mais si vous y tenez : on n'a pas l'attitude, ni lui ni moi, et aussi, il paraît impossible qu'un avion de chasse de compétition comme Eric puisse sortir avec un pauvre gars comme moi. Voilà. C'est dit. "Moi gros muscles, toi gros tête. - Ne te diminue pas mon copain, toute ta vie on a voulu te faire croire que tues un imbécile mais moi je vois en toi, tu es mon soleil, tu m'apprends tellement de choses, chaque moment avec toi me rend plus intelligent et lus sage c'est à toi que je le dois c'est pour ça que je veux toujours être auprès de toi. - Ah ? - Chaque seconde loin de toi est une seconde de perdue.Chaque seconde près de toi me rend meilleur. - Hervé, moi toujours avec toi. Toujours avec toi. - C'est vrai, Eric ? Tu vas rester avec moi tout le temps ? - Oui, Hervé, toi et moi, toujours, tout le temps. Viens. - Oh Eric prends-moi dans tes bras s'il te plaît. Mon grand Eric (oui Eric est bien grand, 1m98 de beau gosse, des porte-avions à la place des pieds, des gants de baseball en guise de mains blindées de cals par le travail de la fonte) mon grand Eric me prend dans ses bras, et me serre très fort contre son torse, et il me dit qu'il m'aime, et une milliseconde comme celle-ci vaut bien une année de conversations approximatives.et de moments d'ennui. Oui, je me suis éloigné de mon entourage et même de ma famille parce qu'ils ne comprenaient pas mon attrait pour Eric, ou alors peut-être qu'ils le comprenaient trop bien au contraire, à l'évidence j'étais sous le charme de ce golgoth au visage ciselé à la perfection et aux yeux d'un bleu intense, lumineux, profond et vide. Mais j'avais réussi à gagner son amour, un amour sincère et entier, comme celui des chiens et des enfants en bas-âge, et c'était pour moi le trésor le plus précieux au monde. - Hervé moi pas amis, pas famille, toi Hervé ami. - Eric je suis heureux et fier d'être ton ami. Eric je t'aime plus que tout au monde. - Hervé, je aime, plus que monde." Et c'est à ce moment là qu'il m'a soulevé, je l'ai vu avoir un moment d’hésitation quand mes yeux étaient à la hauteur des siens, puis il a jeté sa bouche contre la mienne avant de l'envahir avec sa langue pendant plusieurs minutes. Quand il a cessé, il a plongé mes yeux dans les siens à nouveau, et il était en larmes. " Désolé, désolé, désolé... - Désolé de quoi Eric ? Moi je te dis merci Eric. Merci pour ton courage, merci pour ta confiance, merci pour l'amour que tu as pour moi. Alors que je suis un petit rien. - Désolé... Désolé... - Comme ça on sera quittes." Et j'ai plaqué ma main derrière ses trapèzes, et cette fois c'est moi qui ai amené ma bouche contre la sienne pour les faire communier. Au bout d'un temps presque aussi long il me laissa plonger dans se yeux à nouveau, mais cette fois ils étaient souriants. Intérieurement, je n'ai pas pu m'empêcher de penser qu'il était tout de même malheureux que des yeux aussi magnifiques couleur bleu infini soient si... qu'il y manque une petite lueur à l'intérieur. Et à l'évidence, le fait qu'ils soient si grands, profonds et fascinants, rendait son absence d’autant plus remarquable. Une lueur non moins belle vibrait dans ses yeux toutefois, celle de l'amour, celle de l'amour de ce superbe Dieu pour moi. Combien de centaines, de milliers de personnes, avaient été subjuguées par la splendeur de cet homme mais ont été déboutées par sa simplicité ? Ces gens ne peuvent donc pas voir la beauté intérieure ? Ne lui ont pas laissé une chance ? Il est vrai qu'il n'est pas d'un abord facile, rien que moi je l'encourageais à prendre un peu la parole en société, en visite à ma famille, au resto avec des amis, mais chaque fois qu'il ouvrait la bouche, les gloussements et pouffements de rire allaient grandissant. C'est terrible de pénaliser des gens pour leur manque d'intelligence. De ne pas avoir de respect pour leur handicap et ne pas cherche à voir au delà. A l'évidence, je venais de découvrir le seul véritable talent qu'il pouvait démontrer en ouvrant la bouche, et quel talent. C'est la première fois que l'on s'embrassait, pour de vrai, on était très émus, et moi j'étais bouleversé.J'en avais roulé des pelles dans ma vie, certainement plus que lui, mais jamais je n'avais ressenti autant de plaisir. Et de passion. Je n'avais jamais fait ça avec quelqu'un de son gabarit, non plus, une telle caverne buccale, et surtout sa puissante et énorme langue. Nous restâmes un long moment à nous sourire, puis Eric me reposa à terre. Mais un peu plus loin devant lui. Parce que, je parlais de ses proportions, et bien évidemment, mon géant possède également un pénis d'une taille conséquente. J'avais déjà pu l'apercevoir, à quelques reprises, mais de toutes façons, il n'y a pas de pantalon, ni de short, sans parler de maillot de bain, qui puisse ne serait-ce que tenter de dissimuler la taille de la bête, donc, oui, voilà, le très grand monsieur avec plein de testostérone il a une grosse bite. J'avais déjà, aussi, de temps en temps, été témoin de la montée en puissance de l'engin. Quand on se fait un petit câlin dans le canapé devant la télé, quand il me laisse jouer avec ses muscles, quand je lui applique ses crèmes, des fois quand la couverture de son lit est relevée le matin, ce genre de choses. C'était rapidement impressionnant. Enfin c'était déjà impressionnant au départ, mais manifestement, la prise d'ampleur de la chose laissait supposer un potentiel assez remarquable. Donc une fois sur le sol je fus confronté au spectacle de son chibre en pleine lutte, fermement décidé à faire exploser le short de mon homme, et c'est à ce moment que je pris pleinement conscience des dimensions que sa verge pouvait atteindre en érection, elle ne devait pas être bien loin de son expansion optimale, bien que le short en jean l'empêchait de s'ériger pleinement et la maintenait à une distance raisonnable de son bassin. Putain quel homme. J'avais l'impression de voir une veine battre à travers la toile. Je n'étais pas sûr qu'il ait réellement conscience de ce qui était en train de se produire en deçà de la prodigieuse opulence de son poitrail. " Ca va ?" je lui dis. " J'ai mal au zizi." Ce qui répond à mes deux questions. " Pense à une femme, ça ira mieux. - Femme ? - N'importe laquelle." Et, effectivement, ça allait mieux quelque temps après. Eric avait l'air soucieux. " Eric, tu penses quoi. - ... - Dis-moi Eric. - Toi, moi, pédales. - Non. -... homosessuels. - Arrête, quel besoin de dire ça. Je t'aime plus que tout au monde, tu m'aimes plus que tout au monde, on partage tout, il n'y a pas de mal à se faire du bien. -... - Et ça ne regarde que nous. Personne n'a besoin de savoir." Dix minutes après, on était sur la route de la plage, il semblait avoir tout oublié.Il faisait éclater son sourire au soleil impatient de se mettre torse nu, en slip, de sentir les rayons du soleil sur son corps majestueux, et les regards de la foule alentour. Moi, j'étais surtout impatient de pouvoir enduire son corps d'huile, en me délectant à mon tour de ces regards derrière mes lunettes de soleil, cherchant ceux qui enragent d'envie le plus, se bavent dessus, se désagrègent en voyant la chance incroyable qui est la mienne. Deux fois un gars, et une fois une meuf sont venus demander s'il y avait moyen de prendre le relais et finir d'étaler l'huile. Eric réagit assez agressivement dans ces cas là.Il est un peu parano avec ce qui vient de l'extérieur et il ne fait pas dans la dentelle pour envoyer chier les gens. Par rapport à ce que je disais tout à l'heure, clairement sur la plage on avait tout d'un couple gay. Le badigeonner, batifoler dans l'eau avec lui, le sécher, ce n'était pas rare même qu'il me tienne par la main ou qu'il ait un bras sur mes épaules alors que nous repartions. Bizarrement, personne ne nous a jamais fait de réflexion homophobe à la plage. Ma théorie est que, il peut y en avoir des grandes gueules dans les stations essence et les files de caisse au supermarché, mais bizarrement, personne n'avait envie de venir nous insulter quand Eric quasiment nu exhibe sa surpuissante musculature dans toute sa gloire, personne n'ose approcher le colosse bardé de gigantesques muscles hypertrophiés à l’extrême qui débordent de partout. Une fois un trou du cul a voulu nous emmerder, je ne sais plus pourquoi, ils avait reçu de l'eau je crois. Oui c'est ça, le gars faisait un pique nique à côté avec sa femme et ses gosses, il regardait Eric de travers depuis qu'on était arrivés - si le gars voulait se prendre pour un alpha, c'est clair qu'avec deux cent kilos de testostérone à côté c'était pas gagné - et quand Eric est revenu de sa baignade il s'est ébroué, il avait ses cheveux blonds mi-long à cette époque, donc le gars se plaignait d'avoir été mouillé. Eric s'est avancé vers lui. Il s'est penché pour ramasser une pastèque qu'ils avaient posé pour leur pique-nique, d'une seule main, parce que comme je disais Eric il a des putain de paluches, et il a refermé sa main, et la pastèque a explosé en mille morceaux, il est allé s'allonger sur notre serviette, et le gars a remballé ses affaires et sa marmaille et ils se sont barrés. Il était arrivé un autre truc aussi, ça je ne l'ai jamais raconté à Eric, c'était en partant, sur le parking, un type bien sapé m'a accosté discrètement, et m'a demandé combien mon bodybuilder coûtait à la location, ce qu'il faisait ou pas, etc. Le bonheur de lui dire "Non, non, c'est mon copain. On est en couple tous les deux." Cette tête qu'il a fait. Il était sur le cul. Il n'y croyait pas. Et Eric à la voiture m'a appelé. "Hervé! J'ai faim!" et j'ai laisse l'autre sur deux ronds de flan an allant retrouver mon homme. On est rentré, on s'est posé, je lui ai fait à manger, je l'ai servi, il était content, il est passé à la cave soulever de la fonte une petite heure, je l'ai aidé à faire ses injections du soir, et on s'est posé dans le canapé mater une connerie. Eric était tout contre moi, comme d'habitude, mais je le trouvais un peu plus câlin qu'à l'accoutumée. Et plus la soirée avançait, plus il l'était. Je nous ai servi un petit fond d'armagnac, puis deux, puis trois. Eric ne boit jamais normalement, mais là il s'est laissé faire. Forcément, il était très vite bourré. Et il a commencé à me faire des petits bisous dans le cou. Je n'ai pas poussé au vice, mais je l'ai laissé faire, et quand il a commencé à piquer du nez, j'ai coupé la télé pour qu'on aille se coucher. Il était bien sonné le Eric. Et au moment de se coucher, il me " Hervé. - Oui Eric. - Je t'aime. - Moi aussi je t'aime Eric, je t'aime de tout mon cœur. - Oui, très très fort. - Tu as passé une bonne journée mon Eric? - Oui Hervé, merci Hervé. - Merci à toi Eric, j'ai passé une journée formidable, parce que c'était une journée avec toi mon amour. - Hervé, viens s'il te plaît. - Mais je suis là. - Hervé, debout, viens s'il te plaît." Je me lève, et j'admire la débauche de muscle étalée sur ce lit, ses grands pieds qui dépassent, et je vois dans son regard, briller une teinte de bleu inhabituelle. "Viens Hervé. - Quoi Eric, tu veux que je vienne dans ton lit ? - S'il te plaît Hervé. - Mais je ne sais pas s'il y a assez de place pour nous deux. - Viens, dessus." Je mis un genou sur son matelas, essayai de m'allonger sur le bord, et il me prit dans ses bras pour me serrer contre lui. C'était bon. C'était chaud. C'était tendre. J'adore son odeur. Il me serre plus fort. Je sens son cœur battre. Je me sens bête de l'avoir fait boire. " Mon Eric que j'aime, on va dormir maintenant? - Non. - Et pourquoi ? - J'ai mal au zizi."
  12. For your reading pleasure. Thanks for being an awesome space. “You can do this. You can do this. You can do this.” The thought runs through my head like a mantra as I climb the stairs. I find myself at the door to his loft before I realize I'm there. I clench my fingers into a fist in a final effort to steel myself and raise my hand to knock. The door rattles noisily as it slides open. His eyes widen in surprise at my hand in front of his face, still poised to rap on the door. “Whoa – that was quick. People don't usually make it up the four flights that fast.” I look at him and shrug, doing my best to act non-chalant. “What's wrong, out of breath?” He grins toothily at me and gestures to come in. “Not yet.” Well yes, but not from the stairs. Fucked if I was going to let on how he has me panting and terrified at the same time. Of course, he had answered the door in nothing but shorts. We were the same height at 5' 10”, probably even the same foot size, but everything else was different. He was clearly the bulkier one. His profile listed him at 175 but he looked a little bigger in person. He was carrying a little extra bulk from the winter but that did nothing to hide the thickly muscled core underneath. The dark hair dusted across his chest trailed down his abdomen thickening above those shorts that did everything to accentuate the reason we were here today. The fabric outlined the meaty shape of his dick so clearly, he had to be going commando. “This isn't going to be much fun if I'm the only one who's getting naked.” He slides the door shut behind me, audibly sliding the pin in to lock it. “I've got the heat cranked so we don't have to worry about any extra...shrinkage. Bathroom's to your left if you're shy to start.” I ditch my shoes and head left, closing the bathroom door most of the way behind me. I manage socks and pants first, only getting tangled in my own clothes once. I turn to face the mirror and start unbuttoning my shirt, getting halfway down before my hands start to tremble. Cursing inwardly I stare at my hands, willing them to stop while I slow my breathing to help focus. My head snaps up at the sound of wood creaking behind me. There he was, right arm raised and bent to brace himself in the doorway leading to his bedroom. I didn't even notice the other door in my distraction. He looks me over slowly, feet to head, finally making eye contact in the mirror and before approaching from behind. “Hey.” He turns me toward him and rests his forehead against mine. “Here..” He slowly grips my hands to steady them. Together, we finish undoing the buttons. He pulls the shirt off my arms, hanging it off a door handle. It was unexpectedly intimate and incredibly kind. “Do you forget how to undress yourself often?” His smile colour the words softer than they would have been. “Well, no, I just-” Fuck. The heat rising in my cheeks means I'm blushing, something I don't do often. I hate blushing. “I may be a little nervous. You?” “Terrified.” “But you're not even-” “Home turf advantage” I groan. So corny. “And we both know I'm going to win.” “Oh, yeah?” I step back from him then, raising my gaze defiantly. “You remember the rules, right?” He steps back and crosses his arms. I swear he's flexing to make sure I notice the taught balls of muscle that swell. “Oh I remember, all right. Looks like someone's been hitting the stair-master to draw out the inevitable as much as possible.” I preen at the comment. Once we decided to get together and compare in-person instead of online, I had upped my cardio and tightened my diet. I had meant to drop the weight for a while and this real life meeting gave me the extra inspiration to finally do it. I was a lean 152 pounds now, down from the 160 my profile listed. A simple run over my lower body with clippers meant things everything was trim and neat. My upper body was bare until a triangular stripe of dark blonde flaring down below the navel. I also have the sense to wear briefs that flatter my average endowment in the front and really show off the work I put into my ass. “ I just wanted to accentuate the difference as much as possible, you know?” I'm smiling now, finally finding the vibe that prompted us to agree to this in the first place. “It. Worked.” At that he drops his shorts and steps out from them, fondling his sack gently after he does. About four and a half inches flaccid, his ample cock is forced forward to drape over his thick, heavy sack. The balls are a quite a bit tighter against him than I'm used to seeing them on cam; maybe he was telling the truth about being nervous. I raise an eyebrow at him and hook my thumbs in the band of my briefs. Slowly drawing them down, I watch his eyes widen as the material cleared my soft cock. His lips part slightly and his breath hitches as I finish sliding them over my feet and stand up for him to appraise. I barely clear three inches soft. It looks bigger because I took the time to trim, but a quick glance down at himself re-affirms that, while I'm almost textbook average, he, quite clearly, is more. Hips forward, he takes an involuntary step toward me, ready to compare the two together. Blood is already starting to redirect itself toward his thickening member. I clear my throat and he steps back again, imploring me with his eyes. “The Rules, remember?” “But we could just-” he starts to protest. “Trust me?” He sighs and nods before turning around to lead me through his bedroom and back into the open space of the loft. The furniture is all moved to the sides and a large mat covers the empty floor. He has the shades drawn down so the neighbours won't be getting a free show. Every light is on, lending the space a garish arena-like feel. I make special note of the island counter that separates kitchen area from the rest of the space – it could be of special use later, depending on exactly how this night plays out. “Wow. Do I even want to know why you happen to have a wrestling mat this size? Where would you even keep this?” That gets a chuckle but he stops just past the bedroom door and gestures with his chin to the other side of the room. I pad past him to turn to face him, legs bent and ready to spring. “That's quite the bed you just led me by. Pretty big, even for you, isn't it.” I smirk to drive the barb home. “Custom-order.” His voice is a little rougher now. We're both almost ready for the chase. “Guess you need something custom to hold the gigantic fucking weight of your sack. I mean, really, are you even strong enough to lift that thing up when you have to take a piss? I think you might have to start doing some extra curls to handle it.” We're quickly heading full dark, no stars now; just our symbiotic kinks centred on his glorious endowment. He quickly rises to the bait. Literally. His cock rapidly approaches full mast, the skin stretching tight around the tip. It's so damn pretty. He glares and crouches down a bit to lunge at me. He gets a bit of a glazed look, clearly plotting what he's going to do if he fully wins. To win though, he has to catch and pin me first. His lip curl into a sneer and he bonafide growls at me,”I. Am going. To own. You.” “You bet your sweet fucking ass you are.” The words come out as a taunt, even though I'm already saluting his victory. It's on then. The temperature in the space rises noticeably as the chase begins. He isn't slow, but he doesn't stand a chance with all the cardio I've put in. Leg day is my favourite and, while I might not squat several hundred pounds, I have put in more than enough hours to add quite a bit of extra bounce to my step. I only have to outpace him for ten minutes for me to be the one to choose how I get to worship him tonight. I tease him through every sprint, every jump, every panting breath. He tries to banter back about my inadequacy but, really, we're here to 'talk' about him and we both know it. “Careful you don't throw out a hip with that thing!” “Awww, is your big thick dick slowing you down? Too much resistance keeping you from getting enough speed to catch me?” “Shut. Up. Pissant.” “Muffin.” Like that's going to happen. The rules specify he wants to know how big he is and for me to mock him about it. I'm not about to forfeit any time soon. The whole experience is like a football drill crossed with an intense zumba class all from somewhere in special-hell. We're both covered in a sheen of sweat and breathing hard from the constant exertion. He went flaccid right after the start – all the movement quickly solving any erection distraction problems that may have occurred. The flopping up, down, and side-to-side of his endowment could be comical if it wasn't so mesmerizing. We're closing on six minutes now – maybe I'm better at this than I thought? “Does any body else hear a helicopter? I swear I hear a helicopter....” Past eight minutes and approaching nine. The idea that I might call the shots is a little shocking. I had every expectation that I would lose. “What kind of host are you, leaving your mammoth cock out on the floor like that? Shouldn't that be draped on a couch before I trip on it or something?” And then 'or something' happens – kind of. I technically trip. There's a sensation of my foot connecting with something warm, soft, and heavy but when I look, there is nothing there. I tumble face-first to the mat, confused, and flip myself over onto my back. He's already there, looming over me with a face-splitting grin. He drops into full straddle and his splayed hand pushes hard on my chest, pinning me to the mat firmly. “Gotcha.” I squirm uselessly. “You have any other tricks to try or are you ready to call it?” I relax and then try a sudden lunge forward but he already anticipated that. He slams me back to the mat, this time pinning my shoulders down and keeping my legs from bracing against the floor for any leverage. I feel somewhat like a pretzel and seriously turned on. “You win.” He leaps to his feet instantly but with a hand extended to help me up as well. I gladly accept and the heady sensation of someone pulling me to my feet causes me to stumble against him. He catches me easily, holding my arms at my sides while keeping me flush against him. The heat of him is sublime, the aromas from our mutual exertion sending a lightning rod to my groin. We're the same height so it's awkward... for me. The weight of his larger equipment forces my struggling cock straight down. I try to wiggle out of his grip but he holds me still, mouth curled up in a slight smile. “Anything wrong?” “I can't, uh” “You can't what?” “I can't get it around....” “Oh? Does something have you pinned?” He's totally gloating. It makes me harder than I thought possible. “Hnnnhnn” “Maybe you need to do some curls.” “Dick curls? That's not a thing.” I was getting pretty desperate. “Bet you it is. What do you want to bet?” He sounds very confident, like he has a dick-curling-guideline page bookmarked on his laptop or something. “Or maybe we should make sure you stay the bigger man?” “I have no doubt about that. You ready for this?” “Fuck. Please?” I'm practically begging and he hears it. It's not like he's fully soft against me and he's starting to fill even more of the limited room down there. He finally lets me take the smallest step back, freeing my hard-on to spring up at it's full size, just brushing his skin. It's a pretty average five-and-a-half inches long and the same around. We both stare down as he expands freely between us now, his bigger rod gobbling up the new space. His bobbing cock knocks mine aside and under itself as he thickens and lengthens more, taking over the gap to accommodate its superiority. I can feel his slick tip straining against my skin - the sensation is sublime as his foreskin drags itself even wider around the head. “You might, mmmm, want to move back a bit. I'm not. Done. Yet.” He finally lets go of my arms and poses with them behind his head. His cock stretches inexorably toward me as it continues to increase in size. He has to be getting close to his full seven-and-a-half inches. He's wider than me as well and my smaller cock is totally eclipsed; I can only see it if I glance from the side. The moist tip makes contact with my pubic bone again and I can't help letting out a moan. I rock ever so slightly against it, sure that he's done but I'm wrong. It pulses back and widens just a bit more. I am absurdly close to cumming. “You were right about the Chase. I don't think I have ever been this hard. Your smart mouth might even make me harder than seven-and-a-half. What do think about that?” “Fuck. Me.” He smirks at that. Not like my response was unexpected. “If you're lucky. Guess I closed the gap...again. Fuck, just look at me.” And I do, of course. There is no denying my absolute worship as I take in the flexed frame of his arms, his heaving chest, the spectacular trail down his abs, and, finally, the monolithic main event pushing against me between his meaty quads. It's physically digging into my pelvis now, ever harder and precious like diamond. He flexes his hips just slightly against me and the unbelievable happens. I stumble back and fall on my ass. The view is godlike, looking up at him like this and I moan again. His eyes go glassy and wide with unbridled lust – he just knocked a person to the ground with the size and strength of his fucking manhood. His first volley catches us both by surprise. It launches over my head almost entirely, a little of the trailing end catches me on the cheek. My mouth reflexively opens wide in shock and anticipation. He grips his cock for the second volley – he has excellent aim and now I've presented him with with an obvious target. It splashes against my lips and into my open mouth. That's more than enough for me to release my own shot up at him. I spray against his legs a few times as he lets loose at me with the rest of what he's got. The third makes contact against my chin spilling upward into my mouth again. Number four and five paint my chest and torso. He pushes out a sixth load and soaks my balls and cock. Seven is finally a dribble but even that makes its way onto my left ankle and heel. “Wow.” He finally manages to pant out. “Yeah. Wow, alright.” I have to lick my lips and wipe my face clear before I'm able to reply. I slowly get to my feet and cup my softening dick in my hands. The smell of him is everywhere - I have never been so thoroughly and utterly marked. “Um, you need to get over here.” There's an edge of fear in his voice. “Hey, I'm right here.” I finish clearing what I can from my face as I come closer. “Good, 'cause you, uh, you need to see this....” He's still holding his hard cock firmly in one hand and it isn't softening. The head of it is pulsing, the skin drawn taught and engorged with blood. The pulsing isn't just that though. His dick swells more, inching it's way ever closer to me with each second. It broadens in his hand, forcing the fingers apart. He starts making a low keening sound in the back of his throat and his eyes begin to flutter like he's cumming again. I brace him by the shoulders as his cock spools out inhumanly between us – when is it going to stop? His body gives a final tremble and his eyes widen as he glances down. He now has more than twice the cock I do – it might be obscene if I wasn't so hard from it. He touches the tips of our cocks together and the size disparity is comically overwhelming. His face breaks out into the largest smile. “I don't know what you did, but thanks? Like the upgrade? Wanna touch it?” I barely get a finger on the fat, meaty shaft before I'm cumming again against his tip. It's more of a dribble this close to my last one but he takes the obvious appreciation in stride and pulls me for a hug. “I'll take that as a yes.” The hug is a little strange with his gigantic erection pressed up between us. It's only a momentary reprieve. We start to feel his dick pushing upward between us and rush to take a step apart. “Umm, you're not quite done yet?” And that's when I notice it. It isn't his cock getting bigger, it's him. His eyes have already risen so I'm looking just below them, then his nose comes into my line of sight, then my gaze falls to his mouth as he continues to grow, and then, at last the top of his chin fills my field of vision. I have to tilt my head back to see his eyes now. “Fuck. Yesssss.” He closes his eyes in bliss as his body starts to gain mass next. The winter bulk melts inward so his already significant muscle mass stands out sharper relief beneath a thinner layer of flesh. His traps rise up a bit and the delts round out significantly to cap his frame. His already ample chest broadens further and the serratus start to pop into view down the sides. The biceps swell into higher, broader peaks in balance to the horseshoe expansion of the triceps. His lats flare out deliciously down to the taper of his waist while his abdomen sculpts itself into a gorgeous six pack. His quads are even more corded now and the calves have a diamond pattern below the skin. The growth ebbs to a halt leaving him a comic-book super-porn version of the already attractive man he was. I reach out in wonder to turn him around but he tackles me to the floor without warning. He straddles me again, this time with his knees pinning down my shoulders. His new-and-improved mammoth tool finally softening directly in front of my face. “Kiss it.” Fuck did I want to. I close my eyes for what feels less than a second. Would that even be safe right now? What if he grew more, while on top of me? Would he just crush me into the floor? My panic must have been unmistakable because I hear his voice prompting me back to reality again, just like with the shirt before this began. “Hey, get out of your head. Open your eyes aaaaand, there you go. Not that tough, right? I don't think it'll bite. And really, you kissing my big dick is totally the kind of thing we've role-played online 500 times. Now there's just, more of it. So, here.” He leans down a bit to make it as easy as possible in my pinned state and my lips meet that gorgeous, swollen glans. The skin in scorching and salty. I tease the tip of it with my tongue milking out some remaining semen. He takes a sharp breath in and I feel his cock stretch into my mouth. He pulls back quickly and leans back on his haunches. “Easy there, I don't think we're ready for what might happen if you do that yet. You remember what I said earlier?” Huh?” I'm entranced by his heavy, pendulous endowment swaying with each movement. “Eyes up here.” He grips my jaw and moves my head so I look him in the face. “Who owns you?” “What?” This wasn't exactly my brightest moment. “I said, Who. Owns. You?” He's growling again. “You do. You won.” It was a theme we often used. My final submission to his superiority – thank fuck he wasn't an asshole. It seemed even more fitting now that he was, well, this new version of himself. “That's right, you're mine.” With that he leans back on his heels, grips my by the chest and stands up with me in his hands. “Hmm, that was easier than I thought.” “Easier than you....?” I limp over to the island to steady myself. “Did you even look at yourself to see what you look like?” “Not...really? It's not like there's a mirror in here or anything.” He's right of course, but shouldn't he have been able to see some of it? “Bathroom. Now.” I start toward the door without waiting to see if he follows. “Mmhmm?” “Stop weighing your junk from hand to hand like a slinky and come look at yourself.” “Yeah, but it's soooo heavy.” He shoots me the dopiest grin. “So's the rest of you.” “Is that a fat joke?” “Just get in here, you dork.” “Fine.” I hear his heavier footfalls approaching the door. He steps into the room and really looks at all of himself in the mirror. “Is that all me?” “Uh-huh.” “Holy fuck! Really?” “Well it sure as shit isn't me, so, yeah.” “That sass though. You sure that's such a great idea right now?” He flexes an arm into a curl in my direction, pitifully failing at a scowl. “Seriously? Get on your scale. We have to see this. Do you have a tape measure anywhere? Bedroom maybe?” He hustles to get on it, I have his full attention now with the numbers. “Right there, top drawer.” Of course he kept in his bathroom. I fish it out while he steps gingerly onto the scale. “I can't. Fuck. I'm...I'm 260 pounds....” “Mmmm. Sweet daddy fuckballs!” “Did you just say sweet daddy fuckballs?” “Shut. It. Stand straight against the wall.” He complies, silently for once. He's taller than I thought – this could be a bit of a challenge. “Need a stool?” He teases. “You'd like that, wouldn't you?” I look around the room for something to make a mark with. “...Maybe.... I mean, I'm already this big so what's a bit more?” Bullseye! Tweezers would do to scratch the paint the tiniest bit. “Okay step out from the wall.” He hovers over me as I stretch the tape from the floor to my mark. I suck in an audible gasp. “Well, what is it?” I turn to look at him, shock and awe apparent. “Six feet, four inches.” His giant dick is coming to life now. “Holy fuck! That's like six inches more I was!” Up and out his member comes. Fuck that thing gets huge. “And 260 lbs.” Full on cock surge from him now. “That's like half a foot taller than you. And 110 pounds heavier.” He eyes me up and down, calculating something while he gently strokes himself harder. I am positive it will be something devious. I also don't fail to notice the switch from inches to feet to describe how much bigger he is than me. “I'm measuring that next, aren't I.” “Mmmhmm” He smirks and keeps stroking. I hold my breath as I do it. I don't think I would be able to stop fondling it if I were breathing normally. It was hot, thick, heavy, the skin blissfully silky to touch. Pulling the tape against it causes a final surge to its magnificent size. The flesh is unyielding as I wrap the tape around his giant fucking hard-on. It takes conscious effort to let out the breath I forget I was holding. I look up at him in full, mindless reverence. “You're 11 inches long and 7.8 inches around. I can't...I can't even....” He leans forward and grips my ass with his larger hand. Lifting me up onto my tip-toes so he doesn't have to lean down as much, he places his lips next to my ear to whisper. “I don't know what happened tonight but, you know what?” His voice is lower, throaty, indescribably sexy. I quiver at the sensation of the sound and breath against my ear. “Um, yes...no...I don't know?” Fuck. Words were not going well again. He was holding me so tight to himself that I felt the corners of his mouth raise into a smile. “I. Want. More.” I was so fucked. Was beyond so fucked because I knew what was coming next. “You want to help me get more, right?”
  13. spacevlad

    Away Game: Chapter 1

    Hey everybody! I got inspired and finally wrote this idea that I've been playing with in my head for years and years. Many of us have had those crushes in our youths that we just couldn't touch but always wanted to if only we could get in the right situation. For me, I had major crushes on some guys on the football team when I was in college, and I look back and wish I could have just touched them, if not more. This story is an attempt to explore that idea. Adam is a scrawny freshman kicker for a small college in Minnesota. The smallest guy on the team, he doesn't fit in real well and feels pretty awkward around the other, bigger players. On a road trip to an away game, Adam gets paired to room with Wyatt, the biggest offensive lineman on the team, a hulking senior. In chapter one, they get to know each other and Adam tries to control his desire in the tight space of their hotel bed. Adam lurched in his seat as the rickety old school bus trundled down a bumpy road somewhere in rural Minnesota. He was squeezed in next to the window beside one of the wide receivers as the bus sped north towards their away game. It wasn’t until tomorrow, but because it started at noon the team had decided to spend the night at a cheap hotel on Friday to make sure everyone was fresh. Adam was a scrawny freshmen, the backup kicker for a small liberal arts school that happened to have a pretty decent football program. They weren’t D1 or anything, but the team was still filled with athletes, guys who had done well in high school and were good enough to play in college. Most of the other guys on the team were big, 220lb+ and built, lean, fast, muscular, but Adam wasn’t really any of those things. Sure he could aim the ball with uncanny consistency, which had earned him a partial scholarship and all-state honorable mention last year, but Adam was not really athletic. Just 150lb and 5’7”, he was easily the smallest guy on the team and didn’t really feel like he fit in. The bus was hot and musty, and the weather was unseasonably warm and humid for September in Minnesota. The bus was filled to the brim with oversized college jock bros who were loudly talking, playing music, and carrying on. Adam tried to ignore it and pressed his headphones on a little tighter. Finally the bus pulled in to the parking lot of the crappy little hotel they would staying at for the night. It was already sunset outside, and everyone was eager to get off the bus but before they could, coach stood up and yelled for everyone’s attention. He explained that there were only 30 rooms to go around, so people were randomly assigned a roommate for the two nights they were staying. Adam gulped. He didn’t know most of the guys on the team and he still felt pretty insecure about being around so many other big guys he didn’t know. It didn’t help that he had a crush on one player in particular… “Adam!” Coach bellowed and Adam perked up in his seat. “You’re with Wyatt!” People chuckled and hollered at this, and Adam blushed. He turned to look and saw Wyatt looking back at him, grinning. Wyatt was the biggest guy on the team by far; pairing him and Adam together must have been some sort of sick cosmic joke. Adam sunk down in his chair as the rest of the team filed off the bus. Adam slumped his heavy bag down on the floor of the room as he filed in. He was carrying not only his normal luggage but also all his football gear. Admittedly his gear was lighter and smaller than most, but it was still a heavy load. He looked around the room and cringed. It was small and dingy, like it hadn’t been updated since the 80s, with an old TV and cramped bathroom. And… “One bed!?” Adam groaned to himself. There wasn’t much room on the floor to sleep either. Would he have to… share!? Suddenly a shadow engulfed Adam as the light from the doorway was blocked. He turned and Wyatt was filling up the entire doorway. Wyatt was a senior offensive lineman and easily the biggest guy on the entire team. He was 6’1” and at least 360lbs, or so Adam had heard, with a bulky mix of lumpy, thick muscle and a generous distribution of fat. He was wearing a sweat-stained tanktop and blue mesh basketball shorts; his pasty, huge arms were slick with sweat as he lugged his considerably bigger bags in his hands. The weight from his bags made his enormous round delts twitch with muscle; his biceps exploded with muscle as he hefted the bags in front of him and entered the room. “Hey, you Adam?” Wyatt rumbled in a deep but soft voice as he threw his bags next to Adam’s. “Man, you ARE a little guy!” Wyatt laughed. Adam blushed, embarrassed. Wyatt extended a hand. “I’m Wyatt,” he said. “I-I know,” Adam stammered awkwardly as he extended his hand. Wyatt’s engulfed Adam’s completely, and Adam felt the thick, calloused hand squeeze his own until he winced. “Guess we’re roomies, huh?” Wyatt said as he bumped past Adam, his enormous round gut and shelf-like pecs brushing past Adam’s arm. A wave of musky BO sweat followed Wyatt as he passed. “You’re a freshman, right?” he said as he went into the bathroom. Adam marveled as the size of Wyatt’s enormous round ass, wide and powerful, and the spread of his huge back. He watched as Wyatt awkwardly squeezed into the little bathroom, his back wider than the door, his giant shoulders brushing against the frame roughly. “Y-yeah, the backup kicker. You’re a senior, right?” Adam said timidly. A loud stream of piss poured into the toilet as Wyatt dropped trow with the door open and relieved himself. “Yup. I saw you practicing the other day, you’re pretty good!” Wyatt said. Adam was taken aback. The big senior had noticed him? “Uh, thanks man, just something I’ve always been good at,” Adam said as Wyatt flushed the toilet. Adam sat the bed. Wyatt waddled back into the room, his big thighs rubbing together as he walked. He stepped up to Adam and towered over him. “Well it’s good to have you on the team, hopefully I can help set you up for some points tomorrow,” Wyatt said with a genuine smile. He had narrow, green eyes, black hair, and a sharp high and tight haircut. A wispy mustache and chin hair was all the facial hair he could grow, and Adam guessed that Wyatt was probably smooth and hairless under his tight tanktop. Wyatt’s exposed arms were huge, easily over 20” around and solid with hard muscle. His chest stuck out like a shelf, heavy pecs heaving up and down as he breathed, stretching the straps of his tank top until they were taut between his traps and chest. Adam gulped a little and felt his cock chub up as the handsome guy three times his size complimented him. “Th-thanks big guy. Uh, I’ve seen you around too, kinda hard to miss the biggest guy on the team,” Adam said. He couldn’t help but comment on Wyatt’s size. “Heh, yeah that’s me, always trying to get as big as possible. This isn’t nearly big enough to me, I’d love to start pushing 400lb by the end of the year if I can,” Wyatt said, looking off into the distance and flexing a bit. His forearms and upper arms bulged with mass and his traps rose to engulf his neck. “B-bigger!?” Adam blurted. “You’re already like three times my size!” “Heh, well, we’ll see,” Wyatt said and he sat down on the bed too, his soft belly jiggling slightly as he did. It creaked ominously and leaned towards Wyatt’s side. “I don’t want to intimidate any teammates now,” he said and nudged Adam roughly, pushing him off the bed. Wyatt boomed a jovial laugh and extended a hand to help Adam up. “Oops, sorry little guy! Guess I underestimated just how light you are!” Adam was shocked as just how easily Wyatt’s mass had displaced him. “Well with power like that you might intimidate people more than you think!” Adam said with a smile. He noticed just how thick and bulky Wyatt’s legs were from down on the floor, and gulped as the size of Wyatt’s huge feet before he stood up again. “I try to save it for the field,” Wyatt said. “I actually try to be extra nice and approachable outside of football…people tend to be kind of scared of me because of my size,” Wyatt explained. “I can see that, I’ll admit I was kind of nervous when they said we were gonna room together,” Adam admitted. “Oh really? Don’t be, man, it’s all good. Seniors gotta take care of their freshmen, right? We’re all on the same team,” Wyatt as he rose to his full height. He patted Adam on the shoulder roughly. “Besides, I’m a lineman, it’s my job to protect you,” Wyatt said with a smile. “Heh, yeah that’s true!” Adam chuckled nervously. “H-have you always been big?” “Oh yeah, growing up I was always the biggest kid in class, way taller and heavier than everyone. I grew up on a farm, so kind of got that cornfed diet and functional strength from doing chores. I was kind of a fat kid growing up but then I discovered weights and football in high school and here I am,” Wyatt said as he shifted his bulk from side to side. “It’s fun being the biggest!” Adam nodded and then looked over to their single queen-sized bed. “So, uh, I guess I’m taking the floor and you can have the bed?” Adam said nervously. “Naw, the bed is plenty big enough for both of us, I don’t want you on the floor the night before a game!” Wyatt rumbled and moved over to where his bag was sitting. “I mean, obviously I’m gonna take up more room than you, but you can squeeze on there, you’re a small guy,” Wyatt said as he looked Adam up and down with an expression that Adam couldn’t quite figure out. “You’ll be right up next to me.” Adam noticed Wyatt’s enormous bulge in his tight basketball shorts shifting around. “O-ok if you insist, big guy,” Adam said. “Mmm big guy, I always like when people call me that!” Wyatt laughed. He lifted his shoulder pads up out of his bag and set them down on the bed, causing the bed to bounce a little. “Jesus, those are so big!” Adam blurted. “Heh, yeah they had to custom order those for me. Already getting a little tight compared to earlier this season though, the bulk I’m on right now is working great! Put on 10lbs in the last three weeks!” Wyatt said excitedly as he unpacked the rest of his gear. “The school cafeteria is always good for me,” he said patting his gut. “Gotta have them gainz, right?” “Heh, yeah, right, gainz!” Adam chuckled nervously as the big lineman took up more space with his gear. “Let’s go get some food before it gets any later,” Wyatt said as his huge belly rumbled. “I’m starving!” -- Adam and Wyatt had spent more of the evening watching ESPN on the crappy hotel TV and getting to know each other. They talked about they each got into football, what Wyatt’s gym routine was like, foods they liked, and so on. The AC in the room was on full blast but it was still pretty warm, so both guys were in bed without shirts on. Eventually they turned the TV and stared at their phones for a while as it got later. Adam laid next to Wyatt in bed, tense and nervous. Wyatt’s wide frame spread to take up most of the bed, and Adam was clinging to an edge. It didn’t help that Wyatt’s heavy weight made the mattress sink down; Adam had to make sure he didn’t roll towards the middle of the bed and against Wyatt. Adam had to focus to contain the rising pressure in his pajama pants as he tried not to look too much at the bulky behemoth laying next to him. Wyatt was shirtless and hadn’t showered, so his smell permeated the room. He also radiated heat, a massive meaty furnace just inches from Adam. “Alright bud, I’m gonna sleep now. See you tomorrow,” Wyatt said as he turned off his phone and set it on his night stand. He shifted around in bed until his back was turned to Adam. He looked like a huge wall or mountain next to him, taking up 3/4ths of the bed. “O-ok Wyatt, goodnight,” Adam said nervously. Adam tried to lay as still as he could until he heard Wyatt starting to snore and breath evenly. Adam couldn’t sleep. He was raging hard; he couldn’t believe the guy he had such a massive crush on was right next to him, shirtless, sleeping, snoring. Adam could feel the heat and smell the musk radiating off of him, inviting Adam in. Adam couldn’t help but reach out and touch Wyatt’s big back. He was hot to the touch, his thick body soft but solid at the same time. He touched Wyatt’s traps, feeling their hardness and thickness, and then moved his hand up and over Wyatt’s massive boulder shoulder. Adam risked giving it a little squeeze and shuttered as he felt the hardness of the bulky muscle. He moved his arm across Wyatt’s upper arm, feeling the bulk of his huge thick triceps and running his fingers over the curve of Wyatt’s round bicep. Adam groaned softly and arched his back, his cock throbbing. He leaned closer to Wyatt’s sleeping form and breathed in his warm, heavy, musky scent. He couldn’t believe this fantasy was coming true. Suddenly Wyatt shifted, turning around to sleep on his other side, and Adam quickly retracted his hand and went still again. Wyatt settled with his face towards Adam, his chubby round cheeks looking soft as he snored and breathed on Adam. Wyatt’s breath was minty and fresh, and his lips were pouty and soft, with just a bit of a mustache and goatee framing them. His pecs were pressed together as he layed on his side, showing the enormous bulk of chest. He snored louder as he drifted off to deeper sleep, a deep rumbling growl that made his huge chest rise and fall, and Adam knew he wasn’t going to get much sleep that night. He thought about reaching out to touch the lineman’s meaty chest, moving his hand just over it, but couldn’t muster the courage to do it. He didn’t want to wake him and make things awkward. Instead Adam pulled a pillow around his head to try to block out the snoring and tried to go to sleep. -- The next day the game went just fine. Adam didn’t actually play, as he was just the backup, but he had fun watching Wyatt flatten the opposition and move people around easily with his huge bulk and tremendous strength. He had never noticed the way Wyatt really controlled the offense, because he had been so focused on the ball before. The only problem was that it was brutally hot, the hottest day this late in the year Adam could ever remember, and everyone was a sweaty soaking mess by the time they were done. After the game, the team had a post-game meeting, dinner, and then all went out to a movie, and Wyatt mostly stuck with his linemen buddies and Adam kept to himself. Adam sometimes caught Wyatt looking over at him and he would nod or look away awkwardly. Did Wyatt know that Adam touched him last night? What if he had told everyone else on the team? Adam was anxious and self-conscious the entire day. Finally, Adam headed back to his hotel room. It was dark by the time all planned activities were done. Wyatt had gone over to a friend’s hotel room after the movie, so Adam was alone. They weren’t leaving until the following morning, so he just had to wait around. He decided to go to bed early, but was awoken at 11:30pm by Wyatt bursting into the room. “Adam! You should have gone along with me tonight, bud,” Wyatt slurred as he stumbled into the room and slammed the door louder than he probably meant to. “Derrick somehow got a couple cases of beer and we were all playing Cards Against Humanity,” he rumbled as he sat on the bed and slipped off his huge shoes. “I-I didn’t know I was invited,” Adam said quietly, and Wyatt turned and stood up. “Of course you are, little guy! You’re my friend now, so you’re always invited,” Wyatt said as he looked down at Adam, who was shirtless and laying in bed. “Hey why is it so hot in here?” Wyatt said as he started trying to strip his shirt off. “The AC broke,” Adam explained as he watched Wyatt wrestling with his Underarmour compression shirt. “It’s, uh, gonna be kind of a warm one I think,” Adam said but his attention was fixed on the giant lineman exposing his enormous sweaty torso. Wyatt finally slipped the shirt off and stood shirtless and sweaty in the middle of the room. He then proceeded to awkwardly step out of his grey athletic shorts, leaving only skin-tight white compression shorts that left little to the imagination. “Ahh, that’s better!” the big lineman boomed as he approached the bed. “W-what are you wearing?” Adam said, shocked that his crush was about to get into bed wearing nothing but compression shorts. “The only thing that fits me,” Wyatt said. “My boys need plenty of room, as does my ass and thighs, so the stretchy stuff is what I wear. Now scoot over, short stuff, make way for the big guy!” he said before crashing down onto the bed. The mattress squealed dramatically, and Wyatt partially squashed Adam. “Whoa, jeez, Wyatt, aren’t you gonna shower first?” Adam said as he wrinkled his nose as the sweat-soaked behemoth pressed against him, smearing sweat all over his arm. “You’re gross!” “I never shower after games, it’s bad luck and I kind of like the football pad smell,” Wyatt grumbled as he pressed against Adam harder. “Deal with it, little guy!” Wyatt’s beer breath wafted over Adam as he pressed against him. “Jeez, how much did you have to drink?” Adam asked as Wyatt’s sweaty frame soaked the sheets. “Enough for even someone my size to feel it!” Wyatt said and then burped loudly. “Jesus… that’s gonna be tougher if you get bigger like you said you want,” Adam said nervously as he scooted over to the edge of the bed again. “Mmmm yeah but it’s worth it. Bigger… I wish I was so big I took up the entire bed,” Wyatt said sleepily. “Yeah, well, it would take you even more to get drunk then… Wyatt?” Adam asked as he shook the big man’s shoulder. Wyatt was out like a light. Adam didn’t move, realizing that his crush was pumped up, sweaty, drunk, and laying just inches from him. He couldn’t decide if he had the best or worst luck in the world, and let his eyes explore the giant football stud. Adam’s cock swelled to life as he watched Wyatt breath, watched his muscles twitch whenever he shifted in weight or twitched in his sleep, and he couldn’t help but want more. He reached out again, hesitating at first and just hovering his hand over Wyatt’s pale skin. This was wrong! But he couldn’t help it… his lust was too strong. This time Adam reached for Wyatt’s heavy smooth pecs and front shoulders. He scooted closer, close enough to feel Wyatt’s breath, and pressed his lean legs against Wyatt’s thick tree trunks. Adam sighed and ran a finger over Wyatt’s meaty nipple, then ran his hand down across Wyatt’s huge, perfect belly. He rubbed it in circles and jiggled the chub at the bottom. Wyatt’s BO scent filled his senses and Adam’s cock throbbed harder. “What are you doing?” Wyatt rumbled softly. Adam retracted his hands and then froze, holding his breath. “Were you touching me?” Wyatt asked.
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