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  1. Authors Notes: This thread is a replacement for the merged threads that became partially disabled that this story was previously posted in. That thread will be closed upon all the chapters of the story being reposted into this new thread. But, there is quite a bit of discussion in that thread about the story - good feedback, questions answered and such.. So, to find and read that discussion, please follow the following link. Closed To Protect and Serve Thread I wish to emphasize in the beginning - as some feedback over the time of this story has asked or accused concerning this topic - that no political or current events allegory or commentary is being made in this story. It is a story about love between two people and the monumental circumstances that their love must endure. If there is any allegory or commentary or something thought provoking I wish to encourage in this story it is two questions: What makes someone, anyone, human? Is it simply a matter of genes or is it something more? Is the muscle growth scenarios we all love here REALLY something we would choose to do in the real world? Is the fantasy really what the reality would be like? My thanks to everyone who has supported me with encouragement, suggestions and criticism, questions, speculation, tips, etc. Especially @dredlifter who suggested the original idea when I was looking for a new story idea and who has given me suggestions and proofreading help along the way, and @SeaMusc who graciously allowed me to borrow some of his ideas and the universe he has set his stories in for this one. Please give a read to both of their sets of stories. You won't be disappointed. I have included links to various videos, more information, music etc that can enhance the experience and give some explanation to what I am presenting in the chapters. Feel free to use them. I have also included at the end of most chapters a graphic showing the relative size difference between John and Gabriel at that point in the story. I make references to and include characters based on the real world of bodybuilding. Although these persons are real, they are referenced only to enhance the realism of the story. Any actions described as being made by these real world persons is purely fictional. None of these individuals endorse this work. To Protect and Serve - Chapter 1 -The First Morning “Take me to the magic of the moment / On a glory night / When the children of tomorrow dream away in the wind of change/” ~ Scorpion, Wind of Change 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 pounds, 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 sally port 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 at 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, re-inflated 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.
  2. My first real fiction story that I've ever written, I was inspired by a pic I came across recently (I've attached it in this chapter). While there is muscle growth in the story, it is not the main focus. Hope you enjoy it! Chapter 1 – the mysterious stranger I was feeling good, in the middle of a road trip around my state. Travel options were limited thanks to a pandemic sweeping the world. I hadn’t planned anything specific for this trip, which was a new experience for me - I was usually meticulous and planned for everything I did, right down to the informal plans over a usual day. I found not making plans for this holiday really exciting and freeing, a good remedy to months of working from home and not being able to socialise or go anywhere. As a 38-year-old man who was only discovering his social life in the last few years, meeting guys and having sexual experiences, not being able to build on my life in my new home was a downer. I’d moved from another state 9 months ago, and barely got to explore when the state went into lockdown. While I was no adonis, I kept myself active with biking, walking and other exercise, and was told I looked attractive and younger than my age. I had an average build, kinda hairy, and what would best be described as a “dadbod”. I had been self-conscious about my body and people seeing me naked for many years, but getting used to the idea that I’m attractive enough, fairly fit and looked after myself, despite having a below average penis size. I found in recent years I became more comfortable being social and putting myself out there to meet guys and looking for anything from a one-off sexual experience to a relationship. On this day I had been on a short hike up a beautiful mountain, and gone mountain biking in an area I’d never been before, which was always fun and challenging, since I never know what to expect when I ride in new places. I was on my way to my destination for the night, a small country town about 3 hours drive from where I was bike riding. My plan was to research caravan parks and choose one to set up my tent and sleep. I wasn’t much for camping, but thought it would be good to switch between hotels and camping each night. My GPS was directing me through all these quiet back roads through bushland, and I was happy to blindly follow the directions, enjoying seeing different areas of the countryside. About 2 hours from my destination, I spotted this young guy just walking along the road, shirtless and barefoot. It was lightly raining, and it didn’t seem like this guy had planned to be there, certainly not dressed in so few clothes and in the middle of nowhere. I slowed down and pulled over just past where the guy was walking, since it felt right to check if he was OK. As he walked up to the passenger side of my car I noticed how toned his body was in the side rear-view mirror, even though I couldn’t really make out his face properly. I lowered the window as he approached, and as he looked through the window I got a full sense of how attractive this guy was. He looked about 22 years old, shortish black hair, tanned skin (I suspected he was Latino) and a baby face. I tried not to stare at his beautiful torso – it was lean and muscular, not overly beefy, with a small amount of hair all over, and a visible treasure trail leading from his belly button down to his shorts. His abs were a taut and solid six-pack, and his whole body looked like solid muscle, with veins protruding and snaking throughout his skin. The fact that he was also dripping wet left me speechless for a few seconds while I took in his form. I asked: “Are you OK?” - it seemed like the best way to approach in the situation we were in. “I’m not sure, I don’t know where I am or how I got here” he replied. My hunch about him being Latino seemed to be confirmed by what sounded like a Spanish accent, which I found sexy as hell. “What was the last thing you remember?” I asked. “Hmmm…I remember getting up this morning, not really clear what happened since then” he replied. The whole situation seemed really weird, and I wasn’t really sure how I should react. I also wasn’t sure whether I could trust what this guy is telling me. On the other hand, I couldn’t think of a reason why someone would lie about being in the middle of nowhere without shoes or a shirt though, despite it being summer and really hot outside. While I was not in the habit of giving rides to strangers, I couldn’t leave him out there, and the fact that he was ridiculously hot was somewhat encouraging as well! “Can I give you a ride somewhere, maybe a hospital to get you checked out?” I asked. He spent a few seconds thinking, and then replied: “I would appreciate a ride, I’m not really a fan of hospitals though”. “Where can I take you then?” was my next response. “Do you think I could hang with you until I work out what to do next?” he said. I took a while before I responded - I’m generally pretty cautious in unusual situations, and while I wanted to help this guy out, the whole thing was uncomfortable and sketchy in my mind. I was mulling over all the possible scenarios of what could happen if I take him with me, and the possible other options I could offer. I needed to get a little more information if I was going to offer an alternative. “Where do you live?” I asked. He took a few seconds again before he responded, which made me increasingly suspicious. “I’m actually from Colombia, but staying in Australia for a few months and travelling. I’ve been staying with various people along the way” he said. Now my red flags were lighting up, it was starting to sound like a setup, him just trying to get someone to use so he can get to the next place on his travels. The lack of clothing and baggage didn’t seem to fit that line of thinking though, and he seemed genuinely confused by his situation. Since I was doing an unplanned trip by myself, the idea of having company might be good, and as long as I’m careful with my valuables there didn’t seem to be too much risk involved. The shorts he was wearing seemed pretty small when I saw them, so if he had a weapon there weren’t many places he could hide it! I decided to give him the benefit of the doubt but make my expectations clear. I told him that he could stay in a hotel with me that night (in separate beds of course) and I would help him with what he needed to continue on his journey (within reason), but after that he was on his own. He agreed and I got out of the car to get a beach towel out of my baggage so he could dry off. As I gave him the towel, I asked him what his name was, he replied it was Jorge (pronounced hor-hay), which I thought was a really sexy name. I wasn’t sure how I was going to deal being around this hot guy who was probably straight and certainly not interested in someone twice his age. I was pretty adept at making friends and relating to younger people though – my nephews are in their early twenties and like hanging with me, and I had several close friends who are Jorge’s age as well. I figured if I can be helpful and friendly it’s a great chance to get to know someone new, even for just one night. On the trip he asked me a lot of questions about myself, including some quite personal questions about my dating life, which was a little confronting. He made me feel comfortable enough to discuss it with him though, not sure why! As part of the discussion I told him I was gay, but had never really been in a relationship, and was starting my adult social life later than most people. I’m always worried about telling people that, since it makes me seem like some kind of outcast or loser. Jorge seemed genuinely interested in learning all about me though, although he seemed really guarded about his own life when I asked. I did manage to confirm he was gay though, using the old “do you have a girlfriend back home?” question. He seemed quite relieved to tell me about his sexuality, and he mentioned that he’d never been in a relationship himself. While that didn’t mean anything was going to happen between us, it at least made me feel more comfortable in my attraction for him, and gave us more to talk about. I asked Jorge to use my phone to look up some hotels in our destination, but he needed a lot of help, it seemed he’d never booked a hotel before! In the end I decided we’d make the final booking once we get to our destination, and I could go through the details myself. Once we’d gotten to the destination, I found a hotel that had a room with a queen and single bed which would be perfect for us, and close enough to the centre of town so we could go for a wander and get food and stuff. While Jorge seemed comfortable (and sexy) in just shorts, I thought he should be more dressed if we were going to eat out somewhere. I lent him a t-shirt and some flip flops, both of which seemed unfamiliar to him - I figured it was just a result of his upbringing. It seemed like he found wearing clothes and footwear…inconvenient? I thought it would be nice to find some food familiar to him, so we went to a Mexican restaurant in town. We enjoyed some great food and conversation, with me mostly answering his questions and him telling me very little about himself. His questions became increasingly sexual, I got the impression he hadn’t had much sexual experience and was curious as to how it worked. After dinner we walked around a nice lake and then to our hotel room. We chatted for a while sitting on our beds, then we both had showers and got ready for sleep. I took the queen bed and Jorge was in the single. Just before I turned off the light Jorge asked me: “After everything that’s happened to me today I would feel safer if I could share the bed with you, is that OK?” Apart from getting a sudden boner I was wondering whether it would be a good idea. Considering how naïve Jorge was about a lot of things, I thought it might be good for him to have a nice experience with a guy who wasn’t just going to take advantage of him. I said it was OK so Jorge climbed into my bed. He was naked, and I was just wearing boxer shorts, which was my usual habit for sleeping. Initially we just lay on opposite sides of the bed, and all these thoughts were going on in my mind, thinking how much my plans for the day had changed since coming across Jorge on that road. He was so handsome and friendly, and so strangely naïve about certain things, I was wondering how he’d been able to travel successfully all this time. After a while, maybe 20 minutes, Jorge shuffled over to my side of the bed, and put his arm around me, resting his hand on my chest in a spooning position, with me facing away from him. I instantly got hard, I was not accustomed to this level of affection. He whispered: “You feel so good to hold, I hope this is OK with you”. I put my hand over his and said: “it’s OK”. Feeling his solid muscles against my body felt amazing, and I could tell he was hard too. Feeling his solid chest pushing into me with each breath was so calming I fell asleep fairly quickly.
  3. Sometimes, it pays to be an only child. It was Christmas morning and I was twelve years old. I crept down to the living room before my parents were even remotely ready to wake up. I knew the deal about Santa and my parents knew I was fully informed, but we all were hanging onto the image of a jolly old St. Nick bringing me presents. None of us wanted my childhood to end. There, spread out on the carpet in the living room, were all my gifts from the man in the red suit. Right away, I could see that I had gotten everything I asked for. I saw the electric keyboard, the set of weights, and the stethoscope next to a few books on medicine and the body. Never in my wildest dreams did I think my next action could lay the foundation for what was to come for the rest of my life – but we seldom know that, do we? ******* Les Les dropped the dumbbell on the padded flooring with a light thud. He then looked in the mirror in front of him Damn, he looked huge, today. Les glanced around the gym – to make sure he was the biggest guy around. He smiled at his own reflected face when he confirmed that he was. He remembered some words uttered in total amazement by his trick from last night. The guy’s mouth had dropped open as Les flexed and all the dude could say was ‘watermelon biceps.’ Les had liked that description. For the life of him, Les couldn’t remember the guy’s name . . . and he had only left his hotel room less than two hours ago. Mark? Marcus? Aurelius? It could have even been Fred for all Les knew. The guy had merely been a means to an end. A very enjoyable, explosive end, at that. Les had been pleased with the generous pickings at the club, last night. He hadn’t even taken his phone out once to see if Grindr was offering better options. His conquest had been handsome and muscular – not nearly as big as Les – but big enough to make the evening pleasurable. And then to find out the dude had never bottomed, well that was like having a cherry on top . . . pun intended. It was clear Mr. Hot-for-a-Night had intended on being the dominant alpha last night, but that thought had come to a crashing end as soon as Les had removed his sweatshirt . . . which is also when the nickname ‘watermelon biceps’ had been born, as well. Les had loved watching the cockiness seep out of the guy like a helium balloon with a hole in it as he took in the huge hard body that had been somewhat disguised by the sweatshirt. What’s his name definitely knew he had hit the jackpot when Les had chosen him – he just hadn’t realized it was more like winning a nation-wide super lottery. Les could also still feel the incredible pleasure he had received while widening the man’s tight, untapped hole. The dude was going to find sitting to be a little painful, today – that was guaranteed. Damn, now Les was hard-as-hell, again – just from thinking of that virgin ass. This was good, though – since being excited would make him push his workout even harder than usual. As he picked up the dumbbell from the floor, a memory of lifting a much smaller one on Christmas morning at age twelve flashed through his mind. Man, had he grown since then. ********** Lester The fasten seatbelt sign illuminated, but Lester didn’t hear the accompanying announcement because he had on his state-of-the art, noise-cancelling headphones and was listening to the chanting Tibetan monks he had recorded in a cavernous mountain monastery over the last two weeks. The overly attentive flight attendant, with the bubble butt you could have rested a tray on, placed a hand softly on his shoulder and asked if Lester wanted anything else before the plane started to descend. The way the handsome guy emphasized the word ‘anything’ made Lester quite sure he could have easily entered the so called ‘mile high club’ if he had wanted to. Thoughts of Alessandro waiting in their upper east side condo made it quite easy for Lester to ignore the obvious advances from the attendant. Lester briefly wondered if the guy recognized him or if he was one of those guys that found Lester’s bad boy musician looks particularly appealing. Again, the anticipated reunion with Alessandro – his boyfriend of two and a half years – forced all other potential desires out of Lester’s mind. He stored his headphones back in his bag overhead and glanced around, finding most of first-class empty. It had been an easy flight and a successful trip – but he was happy to know he’d be able to sleep in his own bed that night in the arms of his hot, Italian, model boyfriend. Well, his soon to be hot, Italian, model fiancé. Lester instinctively checked his pocket to make sure the slight bulge from the black diamond ring in a velvet covered box was still there. He knew the cost of the ring was outrageous, but he also knew it would make Sandro gasp when he proposed. That would make it worth it. The quick secret trip to Bangkok from Tibet to have it designed and made had also been a little much, but Lester had enjoyed every minute of it because he knew how happy it would make his boyfriend. Thoughts returned to the chanting monks and the fact that Lester was overjoyed by the music he had already made for his latest gig. Scoring the soundtrack to what would surely be a gigantic Steven Spielberg masterpiece was so different from the numerous Disney animations and Marvel superhero movies he’d done over the last ten years. It was all good – especially because all of them paid so well – but doing something that might be seen by someone like . . . let’s say Stephen Fry instead of only children, teens, and Comic Con fans would be a welcome change. It might even lead to the so far elusive Oscar he had never won, even though he had been nominated four times. He still couldn’t believe a slightly tipsy evening of uploading songs he’d written for potential Disney-like films and played on the keyboard he had received for Christmas at twelve years old had gone so unbelievably viral that executives from the actual company had called this twenty-one, freshly graduated composer in for a job. The rest, as they say, was a bliss-filled memory. And that happiness had been capped off when he had met Alessandro at a friend's birthday party in Milan twenty-eight months before. Sudden thoughts of Sandro’s perfectly chiseled abs made Lester’s balls tighten, which brought a smile to his face. All of the work for this new movie had put a little stress on their relationship, but soon that would all be behind them. Lester knew marriage was the answer. He closed his eyes and concentrated on Sandro’s cobblestoned stomach. ********** Tag Lester ‘Tag’ Taggert had been asleep for only three minutes when the door to his office was opened and the light turned on. An apologetic nurse – with huge arms that threatened to tear the seams of his scrubs sleeves – told him the senator’s vitals were not looking good. Dr. Tag, as he was known throughout the hospital and beyond, quickly rose and followed Nurse Broad Shoulders to the extremely private room of one of the nation’s most senior . . . and respected . . . senators. Tag had expected this interruption or, more accurately, he had known it was a possibility. Slowing the drip and increasing oxygen immediately solved the problem. Hunky nurse stood nearby - amazed at how calmly and expertly the problem had been resolved. Dr. Tag thanked him for waking him – something most doctors would never do – and then explained a few things he wanted the nurse to do for the remainder of his shift to make sure all things went well for the senator. Tag was very impressed with the insightful questions asked by the nurse who could probably bench him a hundred times with no problem. Tag knew he was tired – that’s when he allowed his desires to take hold of him. He explained that he wanted to be awakened every two hours so he could check on his important patient. As the nurse replied that he would, Tag wanted to suggest he do it by laying on top of him and kissing his neck, but the required online harassment training that all hospital employees had been asked to take would have viewed that as risky behavior. At least, Tag was pretty sure it would. As he lay back down on the sofa in his office he let his mind wander back to the veiny biceps bursting out of the nurse’s sleeves. He allowed a quick right nipple pinch and then immediately forced his mind to focus on follow-up treatment for the senator tomorrow. The senator’s operation had been a huge secret and only about five employees of the hospital knew he was even there. No one was to ever discuss the operation, but the fact that Tag was one of the best heart specialists in the country left little to the imagination. Thoughts returning to biceps bigger than softballs made it clear that Tag was not going to sleep anytime soon – even though the operation had worn him out. He turned on a nearby lamp and looked over at the bookcase against the opposite wall. His eyes landed on the first anatomy book he ever owned – a gift from Santa when he was twelve – and he smiled. That thing had been like a trusted friend for many years – through college, medical school, all of his years of interning, and so much more. He also knew it had a note written by the love of his life – Ethan – on page forty-seven. That page had been chosen specifically because Ethan had said that by the time both of them turned forty-seven a list of things he wrote down would have come true. The list was written in the open space on the side of the page and at the bottom. It was the day the two interns had found out that they had been born on the same day, the same year, and within forty-five minutes of each other (if you ignored that one had been on the east coast and one had been on the west coast). It had also been the first time they had slept together – two cots pushed together in the closet-like room where interns could rest while on duty for their six-month emergency room rotation. The list included things like the fact that they would be married (not even a possibility at the time), they would have two kids, two dogs, a turtle, and live in a ‘please fix me up’ brownstone in New York. It also said, ‘Ethan will love Tag forever.’ Who knew that a drugged up schizophrenic mugger would randomly make forever suddenly end two years later by taking Ethan’s life in an alley they both took as a shortcut to the hospital? To this day, Tag had never walked down that street, again. Tag mouthed the words ‘Good night, Ethan’ and then closed his eyes – hoping sleep would finally come.
  4. muscledrain

    Dane's Ghost (Part 29 added 03/13/19)

    This story kind of took me by surprise. It has a life of its own. It's completely different from anything I've written before. It is romance-based and also a college story of first love. It is absolutely separate from anything else I've written here so if you like my previous stories thematically, just know this story has nothing in common with the rest of my work. I have almost the entire thing already written. I'm just editing now. I'm working on the last two chapters. Part 1 Northern California Not San Francisco, winter 1998 My name is Pete and this is my story about how I started to live a new life because my old one was really painful, and sometimes you have so much pain in your life, you need to walk away from it and just forget all of it ever existed. I was a freshman in college and walking through the chill night air, my breath turning to fog, when I heard Dane sobbing. He sat there in a T-shirt, on a damn cold night, sobbing and shivering. It was the strangest sight. Here was a behemoth of a man, a muscular giant of a man, the man I idolized, and he was unable to stop crying. I wanted to immediately walk over and give him my jacket, but I knew that was stupid because my jacket would never fit him. I didn’t know what to do at first. I wanted to go over and hold him, but I’m unable to do that with people. Especially big people. Big guy people that look like Dane, with their enormous melon-arms and ash blond crew cuts. His rugged, masculine, awe-inspiring face that could be in a commercial, a perfect face that I could see in a suit behind a Senator’s desk someday, or a sales company executive position, or the football uniform that he wore on the field. And he was alone. And he shouldn’t be alone. I stood there, between two dorm buildings. He was sitting on the steps to his dorm. I walked over to him, and I didn’t really plan on it. What I wanted to do was keep walking because I tend to hide from people. I run away from them. I’ve done it all my life out of necessity in order to stay alive. But I was sick of the old me. I was sick of feeling like the old me. “Dane?” He looked up at me. He wasn’t startled. He had noticed me walking across the dew-covered green. The fog was so thick you could see it obscuring the dorms at the far ends of the long rectangular quad. “Hey.” I kept my voice low. “You shouldn’t be out here with a T-shirt on. You wanna go inside? Or, if not, I can go run and get you a blanket because dude, you are gonna freeze to death.” “It’s okay.” He sniffed. “Leave me alone.” I hesitated. “I’m not supposed to do that.” That just came to me. Things happen like that with me. “Huh?” “Remember all that stuff I told you?” “Oh,” he said emptily. Something was very wrong here. “They’re telling me to bring you inside. So. Yeah.” I felt awkward but I knew he was going to get sick if he stayed outside too much longer. “I don’t want you to get sick. And you will.” “Okay.” He said quietly. He got up, as if he was unsure where he was and walked into his dorm room and I was right behind him, for some reason. I immediately asked him if he had any tea. He didn’t answer me so I opened a few cupboards and found some and got a pot of water boiling. Dane was sitting on the couch, his hands clasped, tears silently falling down his face, drying as he stared at nothing. His roommate Pat was there. Pat was a short Jewish guy, with a curly black mat of hair. Thin as a reed. Confident, though. Really confident. And mature. He was a good guy. Pat walked out cautiously from his room to check out what was happening. It was late, so he whispered even though there was no one else in their apartment because the walls between your dorm room and the next were always going to be thin. “Hey.” Pat crossed his arms and leaned against the wall, staring at me. “Was he outside like this?” “Yeah,” I whispered back. I walked past him to gently open Dane’s door. I turned on the light and found a big warm brown jacket with fleece lining, something that dwarfed me, and brought it out. He opened his arms mechanically and shrugged it on and then he leaned over sideways and said, after a while, “My father died.” And then I didn’t know what to say. Dane was the biggest, strongest man I’d ever met. He was on the football team. He was everything I wasn’t: big, strong, powerful, brave, sexy, self-assured, calm. I was shy, lonely, self-isolating, sheltered, an emotional trainwreck, only recently out, and I was more attracted to him than anyone I’d ever known. It should have been me crying in the middle of the night freezing my ass off. It threw me. This couldn’t be happening. But it was, and it was happening to this man who I avoided rather than lust after him, because I was gay but incredibly realistic about my prospects with him. And I didn’t want to do that to myself, lust after someone I couldn’t have. It hurt too much to love, to love too much, to love someone who didn’t think about you that way. But I should back up at this point, because it’s kind of important to tell you about how we met. Part 2 Beginning of fall semester, 1998 I met a lot of people when I got to uni. I wasn’t used to people. I was the only one who had brought literally everything I owned, because before that I was in foster care. What I owned filled one suitcase. I had been with a couple who were tolerant at first until they began to suspect I might be gay. The high voice, the lack of coordination and ability to play sports, the enthusiasm I showed over bodybuilding magazines that I hid under my mattress that the wife found. I tried to tell them I just was really excited about the idea of getting bigger in a gym. That didn’t work because they confronted me. They wouldn't let me leave unless I told them the truth. I hate it when people do that. Ask me to tell the truth. It’s so wrong. Then they sent me back. So that was that. I had tried to train myself not to feel anything. The thing that sucked was I liked them. I was afraid they wouldn’t like me and my worst fear had come true. That happened to me a lot. All my worst fears had already come true. But here’s the thing. When all your worst fears come true, there’s nothing left to be afraid of. Not even death. I never felt sorry for myself over any of it. And I’d been through such hell. But for whatever reason, I was alive, and I couldn’t mess up a single class or I wouldn’t graduate from college. So that occupied like 90% of my thoughts most of the time because I ran off of stress. It kept me alive. And that was the thing I was hoping would normalize me somehow, going to college. I remember thinking how I wanted to be a normal person. “So, Pete, tell me about yourself.” This was the thing my Residential Advisor Michael had said to me as he wanted to interview me for a newsletter that he was putting together. He was also new to the school and he had asked me to help him out. He was putting together a newsletter for the dorms. He was friendly and intelligent and for whatever reason he was interested in me. I had no idea why. He had come over to my shared dorm on a Friday night but there was no room in my bedroom because it was very cramped and two of my roommates were having fun in the living room talking loudly. He asked my third roommate Jay if we could use his room for the interview. Each bedroom was made for two people but his was much bigger than the one for me and Jeff. This is important because Jay was just ignoring us and working on something or other on his computer. Or looking at porn, maybe. I didn’t know but he was nice to me, so I supported him in his efforts to look at boobs and tried to join in and act like him and all my other roommates when they checked out hot women on TV. But I was flummoxed. What could I say about myself? “I don’t know what to say. Um. Hmm. I like to read a lot. I like to read science fiction and fantasy. A lot. Big epics. I’m reading Dan Simmons books right now. He’s really good.” “Why don’t you tell me about your family? Who’s in your family?” “I don’t have any family. They’re all dead.” Boy, can I kill the vibe. It never failed. My reality was a downer. I didn’t always realize that, though. I said it in a chipper way, like I was in a job interview and just trying to pretend I was really happy to be there. I had retrained my brain, you see. Act like them. Act like them and they will think you’re one of them. His face had changed so quickly. He looked at me, this handsome, middle-aged religion major with glasses and a squarish chin. Thinning, prematurely gray blond hair cut neat and short. Not like my mess of a bird’s nest of brown hair that just went in all directions. I had a tendency back then to compare myself to everyone unfavorably, in case you hadn’t guessed. “When did they die?” Cue look of concern. No need for concern. I’m fine. “Well, my father committed suicide because he was a war veteran when I was a baby and my mother died of cancer when I was 13. My grandmother, I lived with her for a while until she got dementia. She just died but I hadn’t seen her in years. She didn’t know who I was anymore. So it’s okay. So I went to live in foster care but they kick you out when you’re 18. So I emancipated myself. I’m actually 17 but I graduated high school at 16 so I could come here. So, I’m on my own!” I finished with a shrug and a smile. He adjusted his glasses and seemed lost in thought for a brief second before coming back to me. “Pete. Um. Wow. That’s really powerful.” At this point, Jay left the room silently and closed the door behind him. “Huh?” “I think, maybe, it’s a bad idea to do an article about you. I think…what I’d like to do instead is just talk to you. I think you need it.” “Oh. Sorry.” “No! Don’t be sorry. Look, you’re…incredible.” “No one thinks that. No one ever thinks that.” “Well, I think that, and I’m someone. And, I’d really appreciate it if you could tell me more.” No one had ever really been interested in me before. It was a new feeling. “I don’t know what to say. I just want to be normal. And uh. I’m the only one here who doesn’t have parents. So that’s not normal. Everyone else does have them. They all have families. It’s weird. It makes me feel…like I’m not one of them. Like they can’t relate to me and I can’t relate to them. So I just...” “Have you thought about getting counseling?” “You mean like, how to get a job?” “Nnnnno. I mean, as in psychological.” Oh God. He thinks there’s something wrong with me, I thought. I immediately felt his shock resonating through me. I felt disgust for myself. I felt his pity for me and I hated it. “Oh. I didn’t know I needed that. I just thought that if I came here I could be like everyone else.” Easy peasy. Problem solved. No trauma here, folks. I’m just fine and dandy. One day, I would be one of those happy people bouncing up and down on the beach on MTV’s Spring Break. I would meet Carson Daly and tell him I thought he was really hot. I would watch hot college guys throw water balloons at each other on stage. I would live the dream. “I think it takes a really special person to admit those things and to have survived through those things.” I was trying to look away from Michael so I couldn’t see his face. I avoided eye contact kind of a lot back then. “I’m not special. I don’t think that’s true.” Maybe in an X-Files sense. I was special but not in ways I could tell anyone about, ever. “Maybe you’re more special than you think.” You have no idea. That’s why I don’t want to be special. I don’t want to be different. You have to understand, this was 1998. Intersectional wasn’t a thing I’d ever heard of and all I wanted was to be a straight white male instead of a gay white male because it was the best possible thing I could be. So I was pretending to be one and it was going swimmingly so far. I didn’t have any problems so long as I kept my mouth shut and made everyone believe me. I was going to be normal. “I don’t know,” I said. “So, do you mind if I ask you, what was your childhood like?” Michael asked me. My mind reeled. I said the first thing that came to my mind. “It was pretty bad. I grew up homeless. I just wanted to die a lot. I was hungry a lot. I was hungry living with my stepfather, too.” Why was I telling him all this?? “You had a stepfather.” Oh goddamnit. “Yeah. But, I didn’t live with him for too much longer after my mother died. He liked to push me into things. Walls. The floor. His fist. He liked to break things. Break me. He uh. I didn’t like living with him. So I told someone. Then I went to live with my grandmother. But…she didn’t understand how old I was. And she kept thinking I was five or she would confuse me with my mother and she would just start screaming at me to give her the drugs and I would just cry and tell her I didn’t do drugs. And then she stopped eating. She told me she was going to starve herself to death so I called the cops and they came and took her away and she was just, screaming. I visited her in the home one time. She started screaming at me that I was a…she used bad words. It was bad. She kept getting me confused with other people. She didn’t like me anymore. So, I couldn’t go back. I lived with this nice couple for a while and I really wanted them to like me but in the back of my mind I knew it probably wouldn’t last. So it hurt less, I think, when they said I wasn’t good enough to live there. I mean, they didn’t say that. They said, “we think you’ll be a lot happier living somewhere else.”” “Why did they say that?” He was genuinely horrified now. I hadn’t even told him the really bad stuff. “They found some magazines. I bought.” “Porn?” “No! I would never! They had clothes on. But, they just didn’t like them. I wasn’t good enough. For them. But it’s fine.” “Pete, are you gay?” He whispered. Oh God. I started crying at that point. I felt so stupid. I put my hands over my head. Stupid, stupid, stupid! “You can’t say anything! I finally tricked everyone this time! I can be normal!” We stood up at the same time. He came over to me slowly, and hugged me, carefully. “You are. You are normal.” “I just want to be what everyone wants me to be,” I mumbled. “I’ve been so careful. And then you saw it. I should have lied. I shouldn’t have told you that. I fucked up. Fuck.” He sighed. “Okay. Would you like to take a walk? Get some coffee?” I nodded. “I think that would be a good idea." I nodded again. "Go to the bathroom and wash up. I’ll wait for you outside in the hallway.” So I did and we went over to a local café. We sat there in the student lounge café. It was pleasant. We talked a little bit. Our talk had a bit more levity to it. I’m clever when I want to be. He told me so. He wasn’t coming onto me or anything. I wondered if he was gay. He seemed like he might be but I’d never made a gay friend before. But I liked him. I liked Michael. He was nice to me. And we talked. And that’s when I saw Dane. Dane would change my life forever, by the way. Dane was huge. Bigger than life. His muscles were so big I thought I would have a heart attack. I was already so stupidly emotional that night and now here I was, lusting and drooling automatically after an enormous jock that dwarfed me and my pathetic 5’8” 145 frame. I remember Michael introduced us. I remember going into this autopilot mode. I looked up at him and he said something in his deep voice and I just wanted him to hold me but that would have been entirely inappropriate and I would have been a terrible person if I’d just reached out and grabbed those big…huge…unbelievable muscles of his. I only came up to his chest. There was just so much more of him. He had to be one of the tallest guys on campus easily. I thought he was 6'4". It would turn out he was actually 6’6” and still growing. “Hi!” I kept saying over and over again. My mind broke and I couldn’t think straight. I think I said hi like four times before Michael realized I was short circuiting and Dane was looking at me weird so Michael excused us because we were having a chat. That was my first time meeting Dane. It was the night I finally told someone I was gay. Michael was nice to me and told me where I could go to get counseling. And I did so the following Monday. I signed up dutifully. Because if I wasn’t normal I was going to get someone to make me normal. To coax me into normality. Or maybe I could just teach myself to be normal through some kind of self help book. “Your Guide to Being Normal and Not a Muscle Fetishist Lusting After Giant Jocks” On second thought, fuck that book that I just made up in my head. Part 3 I stood in front of my roommates: Jeff, Jay, and Mike S. Jeff was usually not there because he was usually off having sex with someone. Jodi and Ames where also there. Jodi was who Jeff was usually fucking and Ames lived down the hall. It was short for Amy but everyone just called her Ames. Amy kind of looked like Renee Zellwegger before she got plastic surgery, only she had this larger than life voice and laugh, like a stand up comedian. Jodi looked sort of like Monica from Friends only her black hair was shorter than Courtney Cox’s. But both of them were pretty. Jeff had long hair back then. Like, really long, running halfway down his back, and he wore a short beard. Jeff was a big hippy for the most part. Very easy going. Mike S. had big buck teeth and unkept hair. He couldn't dress for shit and was actually trying to be a stand-up comedian. Jay was the silent type. The cool, compact, guitar-playing lothario of the group. He was the best looking out of the three of them. Mike S. was not really attractive to me. He didn’t take very good care of himself and was already getting fat. But Jay had this classic look to him. Very neatly groomed, hair clipped nice and short, a smooth rich voice. On the small side, though. He was 5’7” and on the thin side but he was deeply in love with a girl that he wrong songs for, and then he would write songs when she dumped him, and then he would find a new girl to write songs for, and then he would write songs when she dumped him. It kind of went on like that all year. These were the only people in my life. I didn’t have anyone else to come out to. They were watching TV and for some reason I’d gotten up. I’d been going to counseling for a few weeks and learned that the goal wasn’t for my counselor to “fix” me like I was an old pipe. I thought it would be easy, but it turns out I actually had to do all of the work and dig deep and not pretend I was someone else because apparently that would not make me happy. “I um. I have…I have something to tell you guys. And um. Um. It’s kind of important.” Jodi grabbed the remote and muted the TV. I think she knew as soon as I was there what I was going to say. “I’m…kind of…not straight.” I’ve just been pretending to be. Sorry about that! “So, you’re gay?” “Well that is the option that’s left, so yes. Is that…um…is that…okay…with you?” “Pete, I’m bisexual,” Amy told me, matter-of-factly. “Oh,” I said, rather in shock. “I did not know that.” “Wait, WHAT?” Mike S. said. “Are you sure?” “Yeah. I’m gay. It um. It just sort of happened. You know.” “Pete,” said Jeff the hippy. “We love you. You know that, right?” “You guys owe me ten bucks each.” Jay said, coolly. “Jay! Shut UP.” Jodi told him. “I’m just kidding. I didn’t know. But we thought you might be.” “Really?” “But you know, fish gotta swim, birds gotta fly. You know what I’m sayin’?” “I think so,” I said. I kept picturing gay birds and fish fucking each other or trying to. Fish don’t really fuck. I pictured gay fish throwing their sperm at each other during mating season, swimming between the sea-grass. I pictured Don Knotts exclaiming “I don’t want to have sex with a Ladyfish!” in his obnoxious fish voice from The Incredible Mr. Limpet. I’m just letting you know, dear reader, I used to watch a lot of old movies and I didn’t have any humans to raise me so TV had to take over for that. “Do you think that birds can be gay or..” “Probably,” Jay said. “Anyway, it’s cool.” Amy got up and hugged me. I’d never really hung out with her much but she was really very sweet. “It’s fine. We love you.” “I didn’t know that. I thought…” “Does your family know?” Jodi asked. “I don’t really have a family. I was in foster care. The couple I was with sent me back, though. They didn’t order a gay and I think they got Asian takeout after me.” “Well you should have gotten higher SAT scores!” Mike S. the comedian said. “Yeah, I know.” “Don’t you have a grandmother?” Jodi asked. “I did, but she died. She kind of lost her mind. I told her once when I came to visit but she sort of yelled at me that I was a communist faggot and the Soviets had gotten to me.” Mike S. started belly laughing. “Oh my God, that is SO terrible, but you HAVE to let me use that in my routine.” “Yeah, why not?” “So I’m just curious. When we were watching MTV, and you were checking out hot girls with us, you were not actually attracted to them.” Jay said. “No, not at all.” “Are you attracted to the guys?” “Yes, very much.” “Okay, then. Well, that takes care of that.” Jay grabbed his guitar. “I have to go meet Charlene. If you want to bring a guy over, it’s cool.” “Thanks. Thank you. Thanks.” “No prob,” Jay said, and went to find a girl to sing to. “Pete? Do you want to watch TV with us?” Jeff asked. “Yeah. That’d be cool.” Jodi and Amy smiled. They had a new gay friend. “We are gonna have so much fun checking out guys together,” Jodi said. She put her hand on my knee. “Maybe eventually? It’s a little bit soon for that.” “So who do you think is hot?” Amy asked. “NOT ME, PLEASE.” Mike S. said. “Definitely not you.” I affirmed. “Hey! That’s probably for the best.” He giggled. “Yeah, no you’re like family. That would be gross.” “I also think it would be gross to have sex with you. Good. We’re on the same page here.” “Yeah, I would rather my tongue fall out than actually kiss you.” I told him. “I would literally rather be kicked in the head by a gay figure skater spinning around on an ice rink than have sex with you.” He countered. “I would literally rather stick my hands up an elephant’s asshole and clean out its shit out with a giant enema and then clean out the shit bits with a giant Q-tip than have sex with YOU.” I shot back. At this point, everyone was laughing and there was no more tension. Everyone except Jay, who was out fucking some girl named Charlene. I had never had sex before, but I had heard good things about it.
  5. angelrose

    super natural The Floating Palace

    Chapter 1 Hidden among the clouds is a castle. Only those with desires can see and enter this wonderful place. Here in this magical place, your wildest sexual fantasies come alive. Muscular men, built like gods, await you in their rooms. Men with handsome faces and cocks begging for attention. There's a special man waiting there just for you! Yes, you! He wants to know you. He wants you to feel the hard work he's put into his body, pumping iron just for your excitement. He invites you to stay with him for as long as you like. You might ask me, "Angel, this sounds amazing! How do I get there?" I smile. The key is in everybody. The door is in your dreams. The way in is easy and enjoyable. Have a light dinner and hydrate just enough before going to bed. You wouldn't want your body to interrupt you enjoying yourself. If you wish, take a long and relaxing shower. Wash away the day's activities. Delight your sense of smell by enjoying the rich lather of your soap as you clean your beautiful body. Give your reflection a smile! You both know what's going to happen tonight. Clear your mind and as you lay comfortably in your bed, allow yourself to focus on only one thing: Pleasure Castle. In bed, let yourself be one with your pillows and sheets. Do you feel your energy flowing, as it passes the boundaries of your body? Let your body lighten. Feel the coolness of the air as you float up... up... up... Listen to the quiet night. All is asleep. Open your mind's eye to the view above your home. The night is filled with beautiful stars, twinkling and gleaming. The sky is clear, but for one spot high above shrouded in fluffy white clouds. Spread your arms to your sides and fly there, soaring through the sky. The closer you get, the cooler it feels. The air is refreshing and every breath fills your heart with warmth and anticipation. As you arrive at the bundle of clouds, they part for you allowing you the first glimpses of a door. From the door, the clouds reveal the bricks in your favourite colours. The full castle comes alive and you notice that you aren't alone! Amongst the castle and the clouds, there are men making love right before your eyes. Two are on one of the roofs making out, one man on top of another pinning his lover between his built forearms and thighs. There's a trio pleasuring their middle-man at both ends. There are also groups of men cuddled up, talking, laughing, and enjoying the view. They absentmindedly feel and touch each other as their conversations flow from one topic to another. A ball flies by your head and a man flies towards you. He checks you out and gives you a wink before he retrieves his toy and resumes play with his teammates. The sight is so beautiful and wonderful to behold, but you remember your mission. You spot a stationary man by the door. You lock eyes with him and he smiles, waving you to approach. As you come closer you notice his attire. He's dressed in a stylish black and white tux, hair slicked back and eyes welcoming. The tux does little for the imagination, showing exactly how big and muscular his frame is. "Welcome," he says with his deep and smooth voice. "Who would you like to see?" You might answer that this is your first time. His knowing smile reaches his eyes. "I'm Derek and I'll be guiding you this evening. As this is your first time, please allow me to explain. Here you can be with any man or men you wish. We match you with just the right guy who is also looking to fulfil his own fantasies. You can think of it as matchmaking 2.0." You might ask how this is possible. "We made this beautiful haven for any and all men. You let us know exactly what you want to experience. With the help of our staff, we find the right men who are looking to try something new or veterans who know exactly what you mean," Derek replies with a wink. You might ask if there's a catch. "No catch and no money necessary. This is a free service for those with desires to be explored and enjoyed over and over again!" He beams at you. At this point something deep within you ignites. Are you ready? You tell Derek your wildest fantasy. He listens and nods as you describe your perfect man. He is built with biceps loaded and washboard abs. He loves wearing white tank tops visibly showing the view of his gorgeous pecs. You tell him how sweet and romantic he is, but he can get a little cocky when he starts to flex. Derek's eyes light up. He knows exactly who you're looking for and he happens to be in this very night! Derek asks you if there's a setting you and your man want to be in. Before you could think, you say the beach. You might ask if he can do that. He smiles again answering, "Of course we can!" He opens the door and finally you enter! You follow Derek in, his muscular back greeting you. The view inside erupts in lights and colours you've never seen before. The entrance is big and wide and you wonder how this all fits inside. Interesting sculptures of men in various degrees of disrobing decorate the room. The art is accompanied with lounging chairs for one's viewing pleasure. There are tables and entrances to different bars and restaurants that you might visit some other night. You rub your eyes, checking your vision. The environment holds as true as the sun goes up. You hear dance music coming from the second floor and men walking in and out, sometimes in pairs holding each other from shoulder to shoulder. "We're going this way," Derek says as he brings your focus back to him and your destination. Through the side of the room you walk together, having casual conversation and Derek laughs at all your jokes. You wonder if next time you can ask to spend more quality time with Derek instead. "Here we are," he says as he stops right by an unassuming door. "Go ahead and open the door and wait for your date inside." You thank him for his welcoming hospitality as you open the door to the smell of the beach entering your senses. He gives you a smile as he makes his way back and the door softly shuts behind you. The sight you behold is breath-taking. The inside of the castle has a full-sized beach! You look back at the door and realize there are no walls between and above it. On the other side of the magical door is just more beach. The waves are quiet and rolling. There's no one else here but you... until... The door you came in from swings open again and a familiar stranger's eyes meet yours. Derek is beside him and waves. Your mystery man enters, smiling as he looks at your profile, top to bottom, side to side. Derek helps you both by closing the door and allowing privacy.
  6. dredlifter

    m/m My Valentine's Day Fantasy Man

    So as you can guess from the title, I was really hoping I could get this posted last week. But alas, life got in the way. Hopefully you're still up for a little romance story in the spirit of V-Day. ++++++++++++++++++++++++ There’s nothing worse than having to work late on a Friday. And I don’t care if it’s an hour or just ten minutes, once that clock strikes 5:00pm I need to be gone. Most of the time I am able to bug out 30-60 minutes early on Fridays, but alas, today I had a proposal that needed to be completed by 5:00pm. All of my office mates had already left, lucky bastards. Today was Valentine’s Day and flowers and candies littered the desktops and they had all left to prepare for their own evening dates. Finally at 4:33pm my last quotation arrived and I was able to finish my proposal and make sure it showed up in my outbox. With a huff I packed up my computer laptop and departed the office at 5:04pm. Still late. Ugh! On the drive home I couldn’t wait to get to the gym, my daily escape from office life. It’s what I jokingly call ‘Miller time’. Because my name is Miller and I love the gym. I love exercising my body, the rush of endorphins, how I’m able to release those stresses that build up over the day slogged in front of my computer screen. Not to mention, the added bonus of the potential to view some eye candy. The gym has been part of my near daily routine now for about 10 years. After college as I started to soften I made a commitment to keep myself in shape and I was proud to say that I had accomplished that goal. Now, you may be thinking that I’m some big sexy bulging bodybuilder stud with how dedicated I am to my gym. Well, I’d say I’m sexy at least. But the truth is that I was cursed, or blessed some would say, to be a true hardgainer with a jackrabbit metabolism. Now that’s not to say I’m a skinny either. With a decade of dedication I’ve built my 5’9 frame up to a solid 165 lbs. My wiry muscles are all evident when I take off my shirt, especially my abs. With my low bodyfat I have a pleasing vascularity and defined creases between the muscle groups. I’m not ashamed to admit that I’ve been called a stud before, and even a couple of young 120-lbs twinks had referred to me as a “muscle guy” in the past. My tight body combined with my good looks meant I’d never got any complaints. The only real thing I’ve had to learn to overcome was my shy and reserved personality. Thankfully as I’ve aged that has improved in tandem with the strides made in the gym. While I had a tight, ripped body, I’d accepted the fact that I’d never be a huge bodybuilder. And that was ok with me. Truth be told, in my fantasies I enjoy the idea of being a smaller guy to a big pumped stud. It’s a scenario that has played out in my mind countless times when I’m in the middle of my 45-minute cardio sessions. I do cardio five times a week. I do lift weights, mostly full body-type routines, another three times to ensure the muscle I do have stays prominent, but for the most part I could be classified as a cardio bunny. As I mentioned above, I’ve always been a bit of a dreamer and I’ve found those cardio sessions go by much quicker when I’m playing out a little fantasy in my mind. Sometimes I had even jotted them down on paper afterwards and submitted them to my favorite muscle fetish websites. Not gonna lie, I’ve received some excellent feedback on some of my tales. As soon as my legs start trudging along that belt my mind runs wild with sexy bodybuilder-centric fantasies. So there I was rushing to get home and get into the gym, get a good sweat on and relieve some stress before the weekend. Twenty-five minutes later I was in my gym and walking along on my regular treadmill, tucked away in a semi-private corner of the gym. From here I could see most of the gym while still remaining semi-concealed. Perfect for stud-gazing. I looked around and nobody else was there. Friday evenings were already notoriously dead. Most of the younger gym bros and babes were eager to get out and party, showing off their toned bods to attract similarly built mates. But even then, today was more dead than usual. Then I remembered again that it’s also Valentine’s Day. That would likely do it, I think. The remaining Friday stragglers are all probably are getting ready for a big Valentine’s day date, prepping and a primping for a night of romance. How cheesy. Ok, Ok. I’m not heartless. Truth be told that sounds amazing. In my 20’s I definitely thought the concept was pure cheese but now at 31 I could definitely see the appeal of a special night with a special someone. Especially if that someone had a square jaw and some huge biceps. After the five-minute warmup timer had ticked away its last few seconds I sped up the treadmill to my jogging speed. What should today’s scenario be?, I think to myself. Perhaps a reunion story. Something with two long separated friends and one is now Olympia-esque. Maybe a sexy librarian discovering secret muscle growth powder in a hidden closet? How about a macro-muscle story involving a giant jacked football coach? Maybe a humiliation story with one guy outgrowing and dominating his best friend. Naw, only weirdos are into that sort of thing. Plus, it’s Valentine’s day, so today’s scenario should lend itself to some romance. As I ran through the possibilities I, heard a soft clang of the gym door being opened and shut. Unable to avoid the slight distraction I look over to see what other unlucky schlub is going to be working out alone with me this Valentine’s. Immediately my spirits perk up as I recognize the man walking to the weight area across from me. He is, in simplest terms, the hottest man I’ve ever seen. He’s a regular at this gym and has been for a few years now. In fact…wait a minute. Oh damn! It’s been three years exactly since I first saw him. Three years ago on Valentine’s Day. I remember that vividly because just a week before my then-asshole boyfriend broke up with me. Yeah, right before Valentine’s Day. He’d been cheating on me with a supposedly straight hunk from the next city over. I was so distraught I decided to go the gym that day to try for forget that I was single and broken-hearted that Cupid’s day. Alas, that day quickly turned brighter as me and the other lonely gym-goers were treated to our first look at a new member. That day three years ago he had strutted in with a large duffel bag slung around his beefy shoulders. He was wearing a sleeveless gray shirt. Instantly it became clear to anyone that he was the new top stud of this gym. I remember praying to God that he wasn’t just visiting, that he had in fact enrolled. It seemed God was smiling down on me that day. From my typical perch atop the treadmill I stole glances to the weight area to watch him workout. At first he warmed up as I studies his features. At the time he looked to be a thirty-something with a ruggedly handsome face that would’ve made me feel extremely self-conscious if it weren't for the fact that it was also so welcoming. While his face exuded masculinity with his strong jaw, deep set eyes and wide brow, it also had a certain softness to it. He didn’t have the razor sharp looks of a male model, but frankly, the deep cut cheekbones never did much for me. I much preferred the handsome, approachable, next door, jock look…and hello Mr. Former-High-School-Quarterback. Or perhaps he’d been a linebacker with as naturally thick as his frame was, noticeable even under the blanket of muscles that coated him. To top it off he was rocking a short, clean cut beard that covered his cheeks, chin and wrapped around his mouth. No thick straggly wild beard on him, though he oozed enough testosterone he could easily grow one if he wanted. But no, it looked professionally groomed. On top of his head his hair was similarly trimmed. Short but not buzzed with just enough length to allow for slight upward styling toward the front. On that day his beard was mostly dark brown…but in the years since his beard and the sides of his head had started to just subtly become sprinkled with flecks of grey, which only emphasized his experienced sexual aura. As if he weren’t hot enough when he first walked in three years ago. As he warmed up that fateful historic day one of the gym’s trainers, Brienne, stopped by to welcome him to our facility. I had gotten to know Brienne fairly well during my years attending the gym so I made sure to have a chat with her after my workout to discuss this new slab of steak. As they spoke I saw him smile to here and holy mother… The corners of his cheeks spread outward as his sparkling straight teeth exposed themselves. A perfect smile. It just did not seem fair for the rest of manhood that such a perfect specimen could exist. And I haven’t even started talking about his body! What a body. It was a body that matched his face. While Brienne was a short woman, he towered over her indicating to me that he was well over 6 ft tall. I would later learn 6 ft 3 to be exact. Examining his exposed arms, which were rippling, vascular and tanned, along with the way his pecs pressed against his shirt and how his legs hugged his sweatpants, it was clear he was exceptionally developed. With my years of experience of ogling musclemen online I had pegged him at about 250-260 lbs comparing him to some other tall bodybuilders I stalked...er, "followed" on social media. His vascularity lead me to surmise that he was around or just under 10% bodyfat, meaning that he was impressively muscular. No doubt legitimate amateur bodybuilder big. That day he was doing a full body routine. A bit odd for a lifter of his caliber but I had guessed that he was simply taking the day to familiarize him with his new gyms’ weights and machines. Nonetheless, he attacked every exercise with fervor and worked up quite a sweat, soaking his gray shirt and giving his meaty arms a nice sheen. I was sad to depart the the treadmill once my session was complete since he had only worked about half of his muscle groups, but I forced myself to leave. I did not want to give away my muscle-stalker tendencies just yet. On the way out I stopped by the front desk for a quick chat with Brienne. As she saw me approach she mouthed the words “OH MY GOD” indicating her shared awe of the sexy stud. “Ok, Brienne, who is THAT guy?” “Oh you know, Miller. Can’t share that, gym privacy policy!” “You bitch. Spill the beans.” Brienne giggled before looking around. “His name is Hank Walker. Just moved here from Montana.” “Uhhh, of course it’s a hyper masculine name like that. And of course he's a huge sexy mountain man.” “He’s 34 years old and yes, he’s joining our gym.” “Perfect! Just three years older than me…” “Whatever, Miller, that daddy is gonna be mine!” “Ugh. You’re probably right. Guys like him are guaranteed to be straight.” And thus, that day three years ago started my stalker-ish obsession with Hank. We both tended to workout right after work, before the gym became busy with the younger crowd a bit later in the evening. And now that Hank was a regular member I was sure to avoid adjusting my schedule as much as possible. I wanted every opportunity I could to watch him workout from the safety of my treadmill. Of course, a couple of times a week I was afforded the opportunity to get nearer to him when I did my weights routine. It would take all my strength of will not to stare at him as he would lift on the bench next to me. Watching him workout was pure porn for me. I’m purely a muscle lover. When I watch porn, my favorite parts tend to be the foreplay where the guys flex and feel each other. I’ve never understood why so many porn studios hire these big muscular guys and then spend 90% of the video doing closeups of the penetration. Such a waste. Watching Hank’s muscles bunch and flex was hypnotizing, not just to me but to the other gym goers. Those first few weeks he was stopped often by other lifters complimenting him, asking for advice and just generally wanting to be next to this magnetic man. To his credit, he never once lost patience with them and was happy to engage with his new gym family. And if his new admirers lingered too long he would politely excuse himself back to his own workout. Not only was he tall, huge, handsome, he was extremely friendly and good-natured as well… Seriously, fuck this guy, right?!? He’s probably hung like a horse too. And judging by that full bulge, that seemed likely as well. I’ll never forget when he came up to talk to me one hump day afternoon. I was doing my fast paced walk on the treadmill to get warmed up. At this point he had been working out at my gym for a few months and we had exchanged a few silent nods in passing. The gym was especially deserted this Wednesday night and it was just us two and couple of older women using the machines. As I fidgeted with the controls I heard a deep sultry voice that would rival Sam Elliot and James Earl Jones. “Wow, dead in here isn’t it, treadmill guy.” His voice sent shivers down my spine as I turned my head to see his inviting face. I’d been eyeballing him for some time by now from the side but this was the first time I had looked him straight on. Of course, I noted how even though I was elevated six inches up on the treadmill this perfect man was tall enough that I was looking him right in the eyes. And those beautiful hazel yes. And his perfect symmetrical face. Somehow I found my resolve to address him. “”Treadmill guy?’” “Well yeah, I swear I see you on this treadmill every day.” “Well I supposed I’ll call you ‘dumbbell guy’ since you use them every day.” Instantly my throat tightened up, afraid that I had offended this titan. Thankfully he chuckled and his pecs rippled under his shirt. “Fair enough. I’m Hank. Thought I might as well say hi since I see you here all the time. Great dedication you got.” “Well that’s very nice of you to say since…um…you are obviously very dedicated too.” He grinned as I took the opportunity to scan him. “You are one big dude, Hank.” “Big is the goal! I guess you could say I dabble in bodybuilding.” With that he squared his shoulders with a half-flex. And yet with just that minor tensing he seemed to expand another six inches wider. “I’d say you more than dabble. You’re the biggest guy at this gym for sure.” He thanked me before one of those awkward, new acquaintance silences occurred. “Well it’s nice to meet you, Hank. I’m Miller,” I replied, hoping I had successfully hidden the fact that I knew his name months ago. “Treadmiller,” he spoke. “I’m sorry?” “So you’re Treadmiller. Ya know, Treadmill guy. Treadmiller.” “How very clever.” He smiled and laughed again. “Well that will help me remember your name. Don’t be a stranger, Treadmiller!” And with that he turned and sauntered to the free weights, letting me take in his expansive back and hugely bubbled ass. How could a guy so tall have and ass and legs that big? It’s not fair. From then on we would smile and wave to each other. I was more than happy to make any sort of connection to Hank. I was fully smitten. There wasn’t much more exciting to me than getting to watch Hank workout. One of my favorite things about him was that he was a true bodybuilder. I mean, anybody could see that he was a bodybuilder, sure. But he was constantly building his body. What I mean is, he was always GROWING. He wasn’t a body-maintainer. He was always building himself bigger and bigger. And sexier. Seeing him several times a week, at first it was hard to notice. Like any small changes to your own body that can occur, when you are familiarized with something it can be difficult to see progress. But over time it became apparent with little clues here and there. For example, when he did leg days he liked to wear this old light-orange Sunkist t-shirt that still had the sleeves. I could see why he wore it. He looked good in anything but the way that light fabric hugged his pecs, and delts, the way the sleeves perfectly hugged his biceps and triceps, was enough to make me gasp. It was one of those massive shirts that draped on his physique yet still evidenced the bulges underneath. Over some weeks I had thought I had seen that shirt get tighter and tighter…and then one day he came in and the sleeves were torn off. And he proceeded to do an arm workout. I had surmised that he had grown too big for it to be ‘comfortably’ loose so it had graduated into his repertoire of sleeveless upper body workout shirts. Not to mention the fact that he was lifting heavier and heavier weights. When he first started at our gym I remember watching in awe as he benched 355 lbs for a solid set of 10. It was when that had increased to 405 for 12 that I really gave his body a good look. Ok I always did that, but I started paying more attention. And sure enough, his pecs bulged outward and seemed to be crashing into his delts and biceps more and more when he was standing there relaxed. His traps were thickening and rising slightly higher and higher, creeping up his neck which was also expanding. His legs and ass, already enormous, had made some truly tremendous gains. Not to mention the fact the day Brienne had told me Hank had convinced the gym owner to purchase a set of 150, 175 and 200 lb dumbells! So he was constantly growing. Bigger and stronger. Hotter and sexier with each passing year. I noticed that he never had an offseason either. There were a few big guys at my gym, some who had even competed. It was something to watch all my former gym muses, the former biggest and studliest guys gather around and watch and gawk at Hank while he did his workouts. Ray whatshisname? Tyler whocares? They were like little boys next to Hank. My former muses often seemed to have cycles where they would bloat up to bulk and then cut down. Sometimes they would put on a ton of weight all at once, with a lot of fat baked in as well. But Hank…it’s like he was always one or two months out from a competition. He just slowly but steadily grew bigger and more muscular while never losing his striations, definition and vascularity. Knowing that he was always growing fueled my masturbatory sessions many times. Ok, in truth it was probably 75% of the time. Maybe 90%. Shut up, the guy was fucking HOT. And so back to the present day… As I ramped up my treadmill Hank made his way into the weight room. Glancing at me he give me a one hand salute and I returned the gesture. He must be in a bit of a hurry today, often he stops by to say a quick hi. I wonder with it being Valentine’s Day if he has a hot date tonight. Tonight is going to generate and excellent fantasy situation for me, I can already tell and my brain starts to run wild with the possibilities. One nice thing about Hank is that watching him is the perfect beginning for any fantasy. After he warms up he makes his way the dumbbells and an individual flat bench. Today is going to be a treat for me, I can tell. I had long ago memorized his workouts and I quickly recognized from his stretches and warmup sets that today was going to be a chest and biceps day. After some ‘light’ warmup sets with the 80 lb to 100 lb dumbbells he stood up and stripped off his baggy t-shirt. Oh yes. A treat indeed. Hank was wearing a blank stringer-T that draped off his glorious tanned muscles, the tiny straps having no chance of covering any of his expansive torso. His traps and pecs were so large the straps left a deep gap under them like a rope bridge spanning a deep crevice. As I mentioned earlier, Hank was always growing and today he was in full on bodybuilder mode. Big, pumped and defined already and he was just starting. Even his shorts, which were by no means intended to be skin tight, hugged his massive legs and ass due to his hugeness. I watched with lust as he worked his way up to the 120s, 150s, 175s… then the biggest dumbbells in the gym…the 200 lb monsters. And his titanic body handled the weight masterfully. Each rep was performed with form and precision. Each time he pushed the weights up slowly yet forcefully, his pectoral pillows bunched upwards creating a deep ravine in between. Even though each rep was perfect, Hank would let out these deep sexy grunts of effort and his skin would flush and moisten with sweat. After his last rep he set the dumbbells down and even through the treadmill I could feel the THUD as 400 lbs were suddenly set on the ground. Mind you, he didn’t drop the weights, but setting down two 200 lb weights, it’s impossible not to cause a slight tremor. I swooned as I realized he could bench TWO of me easily, one in each hand. After racking the massive cylinders he quickly moved on to barbell bench press. Most gym bros start with this but in his current routine the intent was to go lighter and do more reps to force more blood into those pecs. Of course, if you’d never seen Hank bench, you would assume this was his first lift of the day. Why? Because he slapped plate after plate after plate on each side of the bar. Even after a few set of heavy dumbbell presses Hank proceeded to work up to a 405 lb bench press of 3 sets of 15. Just incredible power. My dick thickened as I listened the four plates on each side of the bar rattle and clang against each other. It was a white noise that signaled size and power were being built. By now Hank's shoulders and triceps were also pumped up due to their secondary support. After the last set he stood up, looked in the mirror and brought his elbows together to flex his pecs. Though he had a body to be one, Hank was not one of those gym bros who full on poses in the mirror. At least not in the middle of the weight room. Nonetheless as a sculptor of sinew he new how to examine himself and make sure his muscular clay was being molded as he saw fit. He moved on to incline dumbbell flies which afforded me another dick plumping view of his pecs mounding upward. I of course made a mental note how he was using the 80 lb dumbbells for flies, where most men couldn’t even simply flat bench that amount, including myself. He was power. He was masculinity. He was pure sex. He finished up his chest pump with with some elevated pushups to give himself a deep finishing burn. You would think a man of his size would struggle having to push that much bodyweight, but he proceeded to pump out 3 sets of 43, 37, and 34 reps respectively, but who’s counting? Me. I counted and watched every rep of my dream man’s workout. By now his pecs were jutting, swollen and red with pump. The tiny stringer left his perfect, perky nips exposed, though they weren’t always easy to see since his pecs were so large that his nips pointed downward. And so, after just 27 minutes he was done with his chest pump workout and what a pump it gave him. Now it was time for biceps. What self respecting muscle lover doesn’t enjoy a good biceps workout? Or better yet, watching an 37 year old uber stud complete a biceps workout. Hank started out with some hammer curls, the mass builders. Again he worked his way up the dumbbell rack pumping the big weights simultaneously with both arms. I took note how Hank rarely spent time down near the smaller weights. It was like anything under 40 lbs had little use for him. He finished his fourth set by eeking out 11 reps with the 90 lbs dumbbells. By now the effort was clear on his face. His chiseled face scrunched up and he squinted his eyes as he grueled his way through each rep. And if you thought he might have an ugly heavy-effort face you obviously have not been reading this story. Even his effort face was sexy as hell. The sets had their intended affect as his arms seemed to have added an inch or two just from the initial pump. Being such a tall and built guy, his arms easily had to have been over 20 inches when he started, he was probably now flirting with 22s or even 23s. Next he grabbed and easy-bar and loaded it up with 155 lbs and began to curl the taxed metal bar over and over. Now that he had worked out his overall arm thickness, the easy bar targetted those massive peaks. Peaks that I wanted to run my tongue over. And don’t get me started on that cephalic vein. What had started as a licorice-sized vein had engorged to something more akin to an air compressor hose. Arm muscles that enormous required a large diameter tube to transport the blood and nutrients to fuel his growth. While he was already vascular, by this point in the workout his body had become a network of veins threatening to break away from his engorged body. He shook out his arms and I watched mesmerized as the unflexed meat of his triceps swayed and wobbled. I swear even from across the gym I could feel the air being displaced by the movements of such a muscular titan. He finished up with preacher curls, this time lightening up the weight and ‘only’ using the 55 lb dumbbells. To really blast those peaks upward toward the sky. Even from my vantage point I could make out he split between the two muscle heads that give the biceps their name. After the third set Hank returned the weights to the rack and once again shook out his arms before flexing them to tightness at his side. His workout was one of the most erotic things I had ever seen. Sure, I’d spied him lifting before, but as he was continuously growing, this was the biggest and most pumped I’d ever seen him. Shit, even his legs looked pumped even thought this was all upper body. But when you pour as much effort into every rep, every set, as he does, it’s clear that an overall residual pump had been created. Hank then grabbed an elastic band and proceeded to some quick stretches to make sure all his mobility was intact. I sighed as my boner pressed against my hip, sad that he would be departing soon. Hank's workouts were always focused and expeditious, but today’s was even a step faster. Perhaps for this lovers holiday he had some lucky girl waiting for him tonight and he was in a hurry to get to her. Bitch. In my developing fantasy this hyper masculine man would be heading my direction as soon as his workout was finished and smother me with his muscles... By now my typical 45 minutes of cardio were up and I had slowed down the treadmill to a warm down walk. I prepared myself for Hank's departure but spotted him walking my way. My heart started beating faster as he neared. He usually left right after his weight session so I rarely got to see him at his biggest. All pumped. Sweaty. Massive. As he approached he looked me right in eye and gave me a warm smile. What could he possibly want with me? This tall, sexy bodybuilder could have anybody- “Are you getting lost in that pretty little head of yours again, babe?” He interrupted me with a smirk. The sexiest, most lust-filled smirk you can imagine. “Well don’t take too much more time in that head of yours, we’ve got that reservation tonight at the Red Orchid.” He chuckled and rested his big arms on the bars of the treadmill. Being this close I was bathed in his workout scent. A powerful aroma of testosterone, sweat, musk and a hint of deodorant. “I- I was just watching you workout.” His grin widened. Fuck he was smoldering when he smiled. “So you WERE having a gym fantasy, watching little ole me lift?” “I can assure you there is NOTHING little about you.” He glanced at his pumped pecs and arms, then back to my yearning face. His smirk returned an he proceeded to bounce his pecs before raising his left arm and flexing a titanic biceps in front of me. For me. I said nothing but I’m sure at least 3 oz of drool fell out of my mouth. “You’re right, Miller. Everything on me seems to be BIGGER than ever. It must be the affect my adorable husband has on me. He makes me want to grow and grow for him.” I caught my breath and was finally able to speak. “And nothing excites your husband than watching his big sexy bodybuilder man grow bigger.” This time is was Hank's turn to close his eyes and maintain control. “You are so sexy, Miller, I can’t even tell you how much I love you and your tight power packed body. Even though I dwarf you there is nothing sexier to me. And I know you love my size and power. In fact, I got a quick surprise for you babe. Guess what.” Though nothing could ever top the surprise when he proposed to me 16 months ago, any surprises Hank had given me in the past ultimately led to very exciting things, so I was eager to know what he was up to... “What?” “I did it.” “You did it? You did what?” I looked at him as he smirked at me. He stepped back and proceeded to perform a side chest pose. Then a most muscular, his face scrunching as he let out a alpha growl. He his all his poses with graceful fluidity. His flexed muscles exploded even bigger. His posing always took my breath away and I drooled some more as I took in his size. Size. A lot of size. Suddenly it dawned on me. “WAIT…you did…IT??” “Fuck yeah, babe. I finally crossed the barrier. Weighed in at 303 lbs this morning naked.” “UNNNNNNNNN” I was unable to contain my moan and I felt my rock hard dick leak. It was a goal that my husband, with obvious support from me, had had since we started dating two years ago. Way back when Hank was just a “small’ 257 lb bodybuilder. “Oh Hank. You are so damn sexy. And so BIG. You’ve got me raging for you, my big man. We might have to skip that dinner so I can ravage you right now!” I walked up to my hulking husband and wrapped my lithe arms around his titanic torso, pushing my cheeks against his pumped pectorals. From his six inch height advantage he leaned me back, leaned down and smothered my face with his mouth, his beard sexily scratching at my shaved cheeks. Even his tongue was pure power as he used its size to dominate my smaller warm mouth. My arms felt all around his pumped muscles, squeezing and groping the various rock hard masses on his body, being moistened by the sheen of sweat that coated him. I broke myself free of his hovering mouth, reached under his arms and pushed his triceps upward. With a smile he caught on and brought both arms up into a Mr. Olympia worthy double-biceps pose. I smashed my face into his right arm, licking the warm pulsating mass. I was soon sliding my mouth up and under his arm until I buried my face in his armpit and inhaled. My big man moaned deep and heavy from above. “Shit babe, if we don’t stop we are going to give the gym’s cameras a porno show.” “It would be worth it! You're just too hot, Hank.” I reached down and grabbed his bulge through his shorts. Like the rest of him it was over-sized, of course. Seriously, fuck this guy, right? Yes. And I had gotten to. Often. It’s ok to be jealous. I loved how I could make his enormous body shudder as I grabbed his thick, perfectly cylindrical cock. Like the rest of him it was big, almost nine inches long. And let me assure you, those inches were not those elongated "gay inches" either. He wasn’t actually 7 inches. His unit was legitimately a huge monster cock at just under nine pure inches. Hank grabbed my shoulders and pushed me back, holding me at arm’s length. I could see the fight in his eyes, he wanted this to continue as much as me, but alas, we had a reservation at the most expensive restaurant in town. “I promise you, Miller. You will get to explore every inch of this massive 300 pound body after dinner…that is, right after I hold you down and lick every square inch of yours.” My body shuddered as I pictured my future. I regained my composure and calmed my heartbeat. “You’re right. We can do it. We can control ourselves for the two hours, right? RIGHT?!” We both laughed. It would be a tough mission for both of us. “Plus the idea of seeing your massiveness in that suit of yours is too much to pass up.” “Attaboy. And you know, that suit was tailored for me when I was just 275 lbs…so it’s gonna be extra tight now.” I rolled my eyes back again and moaned. “And for being such a good sport, I’ll even wear my posing trunks under the suit for when you undress me after dinner.” "The blue shiny ones? Those are my favorite." "You got it, babe." Thank god the gym this Valentine’s Day was deserted. I’m sure two dudes throwing massive wood in the middle of the gym floor went against gym policy. “I can’t wait, Hank. I love you.” “I love you too, Miller. Happy Valentine’s Day, babe.”
  7. MuscleAndBulge

    hyper muscle Changing Fortunes

    A trip to the fortune teller gives Mark the answer to his relationship problems, although not in the way he expected. I hope you all enjoy! ~~~~~ “Come inside Mark” I entered the small room, its walls covered with posters showing astrological signs, tarot cards, and other assorted mystical adornments. A friend of mine had suggested this particular woman, vouching for her and enthusiastically repeating that she was the real deal and could probably help me with whatever problem I was having. I took a seat across from her at a small table covered with an intricately patterned fabric. I half expected there to be a crystal ball in the middle for her to wave her hands over and peer into as she read my fortune. Normally I wouldn’t seek out the help of a fortune-teller, but my friend had been so insistent that I visited her if for no other reason than to get him to stop pressuring me. Besides, I could only stand to benefit. Even if I lost fifty bucks in the process. Although a small sign in the front window said “satisfaction guaranteed!” “Tell me, what can Madame Garmand help you with?” She asked as she adjusted a shawl draped over her shoulders that was also a very ornate and intricate fabric. “Well, I’ve been having some problems in my relationship with my boyfriend. I want to know if things will get better with him or if I should move on.” “You want to leave him?” “No… not really. We get along well, and we share a lot of interests. Things have just gotten… stale. Like there’s no spark anymore.” “And you want me to tell you if this spark will come back.” “I suppose so. All I know is that if things stay the same, I’m not sure I want to stay with him.” “I see. Would you happen to have something that he gave you? Something that was a romantic gift.” I wasn’t expecting this. I pulled my backpack onto my lap and started searching for something. Near the bottom of the bag was a warm hat Erik had given me last autumn when my ears were cold after not dressing warm enough. It was our fourth or fifth date and we had been going out for about a month and Erik offered it to keep me warm. The next day I tried to give it back, but Erik had insisted that it looked better on me. I handed this hat across the table and the fortune teller took it. She examined the plain hat and asked, “this is your romantic gift?” with only a hint of skepticism. I explained the story and she nodded slowly, satisfied that the item would suffice. She laid it in the center of the table and said, “give me your left hand.” I reached out and she grasped it. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. We sat there in silence for what felt like five minutes. Her eyes were moving under her eyelids as though reading something written on the other side. She opened her eyes and looked at me as her lips formed a crooked smile. “I have the solution to your problems.” “You do? That was… fast.” “It will cost you extra, but I guarantee it will work. Or I’ll refund you all the money you spent here today.” I was little surprised. I didn’t think there would be an upsell at a fortune teller. But considering her guarantee, I figured I had come this far so I may as well see it through. At least that way I gave it an honest try. “Alright, fine.” I pulled the cash from my wallet and handed it over to the fortune teller. She plucked it from my fingers with a bit of a flourish. “You won’t regret it dear.” Then she winked and walked out of the room. I heard some rummaging, and a few things crashed in the other room. She probably lived in the small boutique shop. She spoke loudly from the other room, “My services sometimes go beyond your usual tarot card reading or tea leaves. You’re lucky you came to me, you’re one of the lucky ones that will benefit from my… unique skills in fashion.” I wasn’t sure what she meant, I just hoped my money wasn’t wasted on a fortune teller that was out of her mind. She came back into the room with a small cardboard box. “Take this home with you and wait until you’re alone to put it on. Wear it as you go about your day and that spark between you and Erik will be back before you know it. If there are any problems, or you aren’t completely happy, you can find me here.” I was intrigued and started opening the box, but Madame Garmand stopped me “Wait until you’re home to open it! Now go, I have another client waiting.” And she shooed me out the door. Slightly confused, I got on the next bus and headed for home. ***** Once back at the apartment, I gave in to my curiosity. I pulled the small box out of his backpack and opened it. Some tissue paper was wrapped around whatever was inside. I had guessed it was something to wear, but what would fit inside such a small box? Pulling back the paper, what was inside was a jockstrap. It was a navy blue, very similar in color to the hat I had shown the fortune teller. I held it in my hands, a little shocked at what I had spent the extra money on. What had the fortune teller seen that made her think this would be the salvation of my relationship with Erik? I set aside the doubts in my head and followed the instructions. I undressed and put on the new garment. Stepping in front of the mirror to get a better look, I found there were two buckles, one on each hip. The pouch was a stretchy material that held my junk in place. Turning around in front of the mirror, I found a handwritten product tag hanging from the waistband. For those seeking more. Moisture wicking fabric. Buckles for easy undressing. Washing may cause shrinking. Interesting product information. Not like I could read the selling points before buying it. It was early in the afternoon, and I figured I should go to the gym before Erik got back from his 9 to 5 office job. With the summer nearly here, I didn’t bother changing at the nearby gym, instead just walking over in workout clothes. I did my usual exercise routine. I had made some small gains in the few months since I started working out. I listened to music and zoned out while I moved from one machine to the next. I was working up a sweat today, probably because of the warmer weather. As I continued working out, I found that I was pushing more weight than previous weeks, adding more and more weight as I went. I must be getting stronger than I thought! Maybe I wasn’t pushing myself hard enough before. I was now on the leg press machine when I started to notice something was off. I was pushing two more plates than I was last week! And I wasn’t struggling nearly as much! The last exercise on my list is preacher curls. I loaded up my usual weight, but it took hardly any effort! I added more weight, probably more than I should be attempting. I stepped into the machine and started pulling. It was a struggle, but I was able to do ten full reps of this weight that should not be possible for me to handle. While I was resting between sets, I made eye contact with a sweaty, muscular hunk. I gave him a node and he nodded back at me. I tried another set with this weight, and I somehow managed to get 15 reps! That was the last set of my workout, so I whipped the sweat off the machine and made my way to the doors. It wasn’t until I was walking past a wall of mirrors that I realized the sweaty hunk I had seen earlier was just my reflection! I had grown bigger muscles while I was working out! I was in shock as I inspected the changes in the mirror. I must have gained 30 lbs.! I turned and started flexing, aghast that it was my own reflection that showed such a physique. My mind was reeling. I made my way home. When my shirt and shorts felt tighter during my workout, I assumed my sweat was causing the fabric to stick to my skin. But as I walked home, I could feel the shorts tightening around my bigger thighs. The sleeves on my t-shirt were bunching around my upper arms. Was I still growing? Some drivers were turning their heads as they drove by. I picked up the pace so I wouldn’t cause an accident. By the time I got home, my clothes were skin-tight. You could see my substantially bigger muscles through the fabric. I peeled them off and looked in the mirror, where I had stood just a couple hours prior with far less muscle packed on my frame. I now looked like I had been a gym rat for years, almost ready to compete in a junior bodybuilding tournament. I had definitely grown since I left the gym. But after spending fifteen minutes looking over the changes in the mirror, I could say for sure that the growth has stopped. This must have something to do with the underwear Madame Garmand had sold me. I was thrilled with the changes and the hardon I sported under the stretchy material agreed. But I wondered how much bigger I would get. How much bigger I wanted to get… That’s when I heard the keys turn the lock at the front door. Erik was home, and it was time to show him how I had changed. “Hey, I’m home. How was your day?” Erik said as he set his things on the table by the door. “How do you think my day went?” I asked as I stepped out of the bathroom in just the new jockstrap. “I… you… what? How did this…” He could only stammer, his brain trying to process how his boyfriend’s head was now on the body of this Adonis. “So, you like it?” I said with my best sexy voice and grin. “Yeah I do! How did this happen?” “I talked to a friend who pointed me in the direction of someone who could help us get out of this rut our relationship has been in. I didn’t know it would be… this” I said as I flexed my biceps. “You’re sexy as hell now, that’s what happened! You’re like my fantasy guy come to life! You were always good-looking, but this is a whole other level!” I saw how much Erik liked this enhanced version of my body and I went with it. “Well come over and feel this whole other level.” That was the only prompt Erik needed. He was all over my new body. Feeling his way over every new inch of cobblestone that covered my torso. I flexed my arms and he would gasp, feeling the peak of my bicep and swooning. It wasn’t long before we were making out on the bed, with his body on top of mine. It felt like he was trying to feel every inch of me with as much of his body as possible. Things got steamier as time went on. With all the groping and flexing, I was starting to heat up and get sweaty. Erik pulled away from our make out session and looked at me with a puzzled look on his face. “flex you arms again.” “You want to see your big man’s muscles again” I said in my sexy voice and threw my arms up in a double bicep pose. Erik looked a little shocked “you’re getting bigger!” I jumped up and stood in the mirror next to the closet. He was right, I was now just as big as some of the biggest guys I had ever seen at the gym. “Tell me exactly what happened today” I retold the events of the day in detail. “So, this jockstrap is making your muscles grow?” “It must be, given all the things the fortune teller said. You did go wild when you saw my bigger size.” “And you do look sexy as hell in nothing but this jockstrap” Erik was now standing next to me, looking me over in the reflection with a sultry smile. His hand was rubbing my abs, which now formed deep lines showing an eight pack most seasoned gym-goers would die for. I looked down into Erik’s eyes, “do you want me to take this off and we can really get it on?” “Hell no! I want you bigger!” I was a little surprised at this, but the more I experienced these growth spurts, the more I liked them. “How big do you want me to get?” I said in my bedroom voice. I walked over and sat on the bed, sinking into the mattress more due to my increased weight. “I want to see how big you can get. But first I want to test something. I think I know how this growth thing works.” He walked out of the room and returned a minute later with a measuring tape. He wrapped it around my arm “20 inches! That already pretty huge!” “Alright. What do you need me to do now?” “Do some jumping jacks or run in place. I want you to get sweaty again.” I did what Erik told me. I started doing jumping jacks while he admired my rippling muscles as they flexed and moved through the motion. After a few minutes of this, sweat was beading on my skin, and after another few minutes Erik told me to stop. He wrapped the tape around my arm again “21 inches! I knew it!” Then he was looking at the tape more closely “you’re still growing! You’re up another quarter inch from just a minute ago. Take the jockstrap off!” I once again did as I was told and slid it down my legs with some difficulty getting over my blown-up butt and thighs. Another measurement revealed the growth had halted. “That must be it then. You grow when you’re wearing this and sweating.” “Eureka! What do we do with this new-found discovery?” I asked while bouncing my pecs and waggling my eyebrows. “Put this back on, then let’s get you sweaty again!” This new, commanding side of Erik was surprising, but I liked it. I slipped the undergarment back on and as soon as I was done Erik pushed me to try to get me on the bed. It didn’t work, as I now outweighed him by at least a hundred pounds, but I played along and fell backwards for him. He straddled my midriff and his hands wandered all over my body. We were making out again while Erik rubbed his hard cock over my abs, bumping his ass into my erection that was trapped inside the pouch of the magic jockstrap. With the making out and rubbing, combined with Erik laying on top of me, it didn’t take long for me heat up and start sweating again. Slowly my muscles crept up in size. I couldn’t see but I could feel larger muscles fighting for space on my frame. It took Erik longer and longer rub the entire surface of my swollen pecs. Erik stopped kissing me and pushed himself up to look at my face. “Let me fuck you. My fantasy has always been to fuck a huge muscle stud.” “Anything you want, big guy” This was my pet name for Erik in the bedroom. I was taller than him at an even 6 feet tall, where he was 5’8”. But the nickname was due to his dick that was a surprising 9 inches long. I wasn’t a size queen but judging by today’s event’s it seemed as though Erik was definitely some sort of size queen. Erik jumped off of me to get the lube. While he did that I looked into the mirror from my position on the bed, and I was now definitely the size of a heavyweight champion, just as big as the Mr. Olympia competitors. I used my finger to guide a drop of sweat down the deep channel between my pecs, down further between the trenches of my abs, and onto the waistband of the underwear. Looking into the mirror, there was a subtle but noticeable surge of growth. Now I would definitely win the title of Mr. Olympia if I wanted to. Erik had retrieved what he was looking for and I raised my legs so he could get to his goal. With me on my back and everything lubed up, Erik started to push big dick into my waiting hole. I shivered as the inches filled me. I was enjoying every moment of it. The growth only added to the experience, the feeling was intoxicating. I was surprised to find that I was turned on by the strength and size of my newly enhanced muscles. Erik was now balls deep inside me and started to slowly move in and out. As he did so I would flex different parts of my body. This drove us both wild. My chest was sticking out on top of my chest and each time I looked at Erik I could see less of him, with more of my field of vision being taken up by my growing pectorals. Erik leaned forward and started licking my nipples. This sent a shockwave of pleasure down my spine. They were never this sensitive before. My pecs being bigger than the size of my head must have changed that. I instinctively moved my head side to side, but my trap muscles had grown so big that it was limiting how far I could move. I closed my eyes to let the feelings wash over me. I could feel the growth surge a little bit. I opened my eyes and looked down as far as I could. Erik was using his hands to guide the sweat on my skin down to the waistband to accelerate the growth. These waves of growth came with waves of pleasure. I couldn’t hold back my orgasm any longer. “I’m… gonnaa… cummmm” I breathed out. A moment later, a dark spot was blossoming on the fabric of the pouch as my stiff 6-inch cock jerked and twitched under its fabric confines. Then a new wave of pleasure hit me like nothing before. My twitching rod started to lengthen and grow. Both our eyes widened in shock. Erik completely stopped moving. Another spurt of cum erupted from my dick, this one larger than the last, and again my cock grew longer and thicker, my balls swelling to the size of chicken eggs. I was lost in these new feelings of growth. Another, larger spurt of cum grew the dark spot on the underwear, and again my dick grew larger. It was now bigger than Erik’s once larger phallus and it wasn’t slowing down. It continued to creep up in size, “it has to be over 11 inches!” Erik yelled excitedly. He pulled out and grabbed the tape measure, lining it up with my dick. “12 inches!” He was so excited by this turn of events. “You’re now a member of the footlong dong club!” My dick let out one last huge eruption. I moaned as the pleasure of my dick swelling wracked my body. The underwear expanded to cover the growing member. My dick swelled and swelled. “Holy fuck. It’s now 18 inches long” Erik said in a raspy voice. He started rubbing his hard dick against my growing python. He finally lost control let loose his own torrent of jizz on the underside of my dick. Then the growth, and the pleasure, went into overdrive. My cumshots were getting bigger as my balls swelled bigger than grapefruits. My cock grew faster than ever, inching up between my massive pillowy pecs. It steadily marched on as I watched it grow past my face. I finally stopped cumming, but it wasn’t until the tip was a few inches above my head that the growth seemed to stop. But it hadn’t. My massive cock was losing its hardness, but the size stayed the same. It was still growing as fast as it was softening. As it softened, the stretch of the underwear pulled the shaft back down over my testicles that were now the size of beach balls. While our focus was on the huge cock that had sprung out of my groin, I was reminded that my muscles had still absorbed sweat during that time. The reminder came in the form of my decreased mobility. I tried to stand up, but my muscles were taking up so much space on my frame that it made movement difficult. My huge shoulders were now so wide that they were touching both sides of the king-sized bed. With some help from Erik, I was able to stand on my own two feet. But between my two feet, and resting solidly on the ground, was my cock wrapped in that navy blue jockstrap. The growth had finally come to a stop. The underwear managed to envelope my gargantuan dick and somehow held everything in place. “This… You… are incredible” Erik was looking over my now-enormous body. I could see a fire in his eyes and I knew this was the spark that had been missing. “Help me get out of this thing?” This shook Erik out of his trance. I now knew why the design of the underwear had included the buckles. I was hardly able to reach them as my muscles fought for space, but I managed to unclip the waistband. Erik helped me remove the musky cum-soaked fabric and allow my dick to sprawl out in front of me. With his measuring tape, Erik determined that my dick was now as long as I was tall. And my back was ever wider than either of the two measurements. “How am I going to get out of here? And what am I going to wear?” “Well, we know this fits you” he said as he twirled the somehow-not-destroyed underwear around his finger. “The rest we’ll figure out tomorrow. For now, let me sleep cuddled on top of my god of a boyfriend. I laid down on the bed and Erik nestled in on top of me. My dick crested over my huge balls that were bigger than I had been this morning and the tip laid on the floor. While I listened to Erik snore happily, I thought about my new changed body and how much I loved it. And how much bigger I might want to get.
  8. Jed couldn't believe it. Dexter was eating again. Jed's locker was just down the hall from Dexter's. He watched as Dexter, his face buried in his locker, cracked open a canned protein shake and with the ferocity of someone who hasn't eaten in days, glugged it down in three giant gulps. Dexter then grabbed a handful of snack bars, slammed his locker shut, and loped past Jed towards the study hall they both had next period. Dexter was wearing baggy jeans and an oversized sweatshirt. Jed watched Dexter as he passed. Something wasn't right. Jed was used to looking down on Dexter as were most of the other students at school. But now, Jed realized that he could not see the top of Dexter's head as he shuffled passed eyes fixed on the floor. Something was wrong. Something was very wrong. He couldn't get to his locker fast enough. He was starving! That morning he had eaten even more than usual -- a three egg omelet, two breakfast sausages, and a bowl of grits. Thankfully his mother still enjoyed cooking for him. He was full when he finished, but that lasted barely an hour. By 9, his stomach felt empty. By 9:30, he was hungry. By 9:45, he was counting the seconds till the period was over and he could rush to his locker where he knew he had snacks waiting. Dexter felt Jed eyeing him. He hated that he had so many classes with Jed. Many people picked on Dexter, but Jed was the worst. Of course, that hadn't happened recently. Things were changing. The bell rang and Dexter leapt from his seat and tore across the room and down the hall to reach his locker as quickly as possible. He had finished his protein shake before he realized he even had his locker open. It felt so good to drink it. His body calmed a bit. He took a breath and grabbed three of the healthy snack bars that his mom started buying for him. He knew the protein shake wasn't going to be near enough. Three snack bars would hopefully do it. Lunch was an hour and a half away. He raced past Jed without looking up at him. Even from his periphery, Dexter noticed that Jed was seeming less and less tall. Soon, Dexter thought, I'll be the taller one. Maybe very soon. Dexter was asleep in class again. Jed didn't know how he got away with it. Dexter was sitting in his usual front corner desk when Jed entered the room. Before Jed could settle in a seat, Dexter opened a book like he was going to study, then quickly unwrapped three snack bars. A disinterested Mr. Bowman sat behind his desk facing the class. He never cared what the students did as long as they kept quiet. Each student took a seat, the room quieted, and Dexter methodically and silently ate three snack bars, one after the other, appearing to savor each bite. He then put his head down on his desk and seemed to fall asleep instantly. Again, Jed thought something wasn't right. Dexter's sweatshirt was baggy and oversized, but Jed could not convince himself that Dexter wasn't almost filling it out. In his position leaning forward, the sweatshirt appeared to be stretched somewhat tightly across Dexter's shoulders and upper back. As he slept, Dexter's chest expanded and contracted with each slow breath. With each expansion, Jed swore he could see Dexter's lat muscles coming further into focus under the sweatshirt. Were his eyes playing tricks on him? Dexter's back couldn't be that wide, his back muscles couldn't be that pronounced, and there is no way those could possibly be Dexter’s shoulders and upper arms filling out the sweatshirt. He must be wearing a thick shirt underneath. Maybe it was even a second sweatshirt. That had to be it. Dexter shifted slightly, his arms changing position, the creases in what to Jed increasingly seemed like a stretched sweatshirt changing to accommodate the shifting mysterious bulk beneath. Jed looked away. He must be going crazy. Dexter made sure his book was opened and his snack bars unwrapped before the normal classroom noises died down. He liked sitting in the front corner of the classroom -- close enough to the teacher that no one would mess with him, far enough from the teacher not to draw his attention. The snack bars were so inviting. He was still very hungry. He wanted to wolf them down but knew that would be a bad idea. So, he ate them as slowly as he could manage. Each bite was delicious. He knew each mouthful he swallowed would go towards his growing body. It felt so good. He wasn't wearing anything under the sweatshirt. Each time he brought a bar to his mouth to take a bite, he could feel the tightness of his sweatshirt as it stretched ever so slightly over his shoulder and arms. He resisted the temptation to flex. His biceps and triceps bulged now even without flexing. Could he see the peak of his bicep through the sweatshirt even now? Was the sweatshirt that tight on him? It couldn't be. He took another bite. Then another. Then another until he was finished. He got tired right away as he often did after eating these days. The weight of the snack bars and protein shake felt good in his stomach. His body was happy. Maybe he would grow. He realized he should bury that thought. The thought of growing excited him. Sometimes he got hard just thinking about it. His jeans were very baggy, but now he was starting to worry they were not baggy enough. He looked down at the folds of the jeans over his lap. The bulge of his penis was obvious to him. It was so big now. People couldn't tell, though, right? He wasn't sure he wanted anybody to notice. Except maybe Cindy. People would just see bunched baggy jeans. Maybe he should try to stay awake. If he fell asleep, he might get an erection. He was so tired, though. Before he could register just how tired, he was asleep. Forty minutes went by slowly for Jed. People kept trying to pass him notes mostly to ask about his girlfriend Cindy. Jed refused to write back. Cindy was fine and yes, she was still his girlfriend and people needed to stop asking him about it or he was going to get mad. All the while, his mind kept coming back to Dexter who was dead to the world asleep. Jed's friends finally gave up on him. Left alone, Jed was drawn once again to Dexter's sleeping form. With each passing moment, Jed became more and more convinced that Dexter did seem to be the wrong size. He was too big. Something was definitely wrong. Jed scanned Dexter from head to toe taking in everything that looked wrong -- thick arms, rounded shoulders, a wide back, and... was that a giant bulge in Dexter's crotch? Jed tried to look away -- this was disgusting -- but he couldn't. It could be a trick of his jeans, which were every bit as baggy as his sweatshirt, but was it? Jed watched with fascination and horror as the bulge at Dexter's crotch started to grow. It grew, pushing outward, a dome bigger than Jed's eyes wanted him to believe. There was a pause, then abruptly the bulge changed and began snaking its way down Dexter's right leg. One inch, then another, then another until a bulge as thick as a can of energy drink and twice as long snaked more than halfway to Dexter's knee! It was enormous! Dexter's breathing became deeper and faster. What was clearly a giant erection pulsed against Dexter's increasingly tight jeans. Moment after moment, breath after breath, the bulge in Dexter's pants seemed to swell towards its full size. Could Jed see the head of Dexter's cock inflating under his jeans? It looked the size of a baseball! Suddenly, Dexter shot awake. He sat up, looked down at his lap, and immediately flushed. Jed forced his eyes to the front of the room. He tried to forget what he just saw. Finally, the bell rang, and Jed left the room with the class. Dexter was having a dream about Cindy. Fuck it was good. She was so damn hot. Her tits huge and so soft. He was about to kiss them. Cindy moaned, her pink nipples swelling towards his waiting mouth... Derek bolted awake. Fuck, he’d fallen asleep. He was immediately aware of the giant erection straining against his jeans. Fuck, it was huge! People would see! He repositioned his legs and shifted his sweatshirt, so it covered as much of his leg as possible. Fuck, stop thinking of Cindy. Think of something else. Anything else. Did anyone notice? Dexter scanned the room. Nobody seemed to have noticed, but Dexter thought Jed seemed to be making a point of looking straight ahead at the empty whiteboard. Mercifully, the bell rang. Dexter stayed seated as the rest of the class left the room. He felt his cock deflate slightly. "Ok there Dexter?" Mr. Bowman asked with an inquisitive look? "Yes, I'm fine Mr. Bowman", Dexter responded gathering his things. He stood to leave. When he reached his full height, he realized things looked different. The angles were off. Things looked lower. Was he taller? He had had a few tall mornings recently, waking up realizing he had grown overnight. It couldn't have happened while he was napping during class, could it? Mr. Bowman raised an eyebrow. Dexter hurried out of the classroom. Jed couldn't believe what he'd seen. Or what he'd thought he'd seen. What was happening? Trying to appear calm to anybody who was watching, he walked towards his locker. Cindy was supposed to meet him there. He rounded the corner of the hall where his locker was. No Cindy. Jed just kept walking. People were watching him. He just kept walking. He arrived early to his next class -- physical education. He walked straight to his locker and started to change. One more period to go till lunch. He would probably see Cindy there, unless she was making a point to avoid him, which she might be. He thought back to two weeks ago when things really started to go bad with them. Jed was messing with Dexter as he had done countless times before. He had twisted Dexter's arm behind his back and was slowly raising it higher as Dexter squealed in pain. A small crowd had gathered to watch the entertainment. Jed's friends were goading him on. Then Cindy was there. "Why do you always have to pick on him?!" Cindy shrieked at him. "Why shouldn't I?!" Jed shot back. But what he was thinking was, "Because I saw you looking at him! Again!" What was worse is there was something wrong with Dexter. He was putting up much more of a fight than he ever had before. He screamed at Jed in his squeaky voice, "Let me go!" and tried furiously to break Jed's grip. Jed's left hand was clutching Dexter's upper left arm, Jed's right hand forced Dexter's right arm up his back, well past the point of pain. Suddenly, Dexter grunted, really more of a squeak, and tried to escape, forcing his right arm downward and lurching forward to break Jed's grip on his left arm. Even through his oversized sweatshirt, Jed felt Dexter's left arm swell with hard muscle as his biceps and triceps flexed violently. His right arm forced Jed’s down an inch or two before Jed, throwing all his strength into it, managed to stop Dexter's escape attempt... just barely. Dexter struggled for a few more seconds before giving up. Jed had won again, but just barely. Jed was shocked at Dexter's seemingly brand new strength and the way his arm had swelled when he tried to escape. Jed looked back at Cindy to find her glaring at him. Her arms were crossed under very ample breasts. Her eyes were points of anger aimed directly at Jed. Jed let Dexter go and he shuffled off, eyes down, tears streaming down his face. Cindy broke her gaze with Jed to watch Dexter as he left. Things had been bad with Cindy ever since. Everything in the hallway looked just the slightest bit shorter to Dexter. The lockers, the classroom doors, and even the other students. Could this really be happening? He did have not time to dwell on it. The friction of his jeans against his cock as he hurried down the hall caused his erection to return in full force and then some. His swollen cock had escaped his underwear, he knew. As he walked, his cock head pushed closer and closer to his knee. It strained against his increasingly tight jeans, his quadricep muscles flexing against his swollen erection. The thought of his cock growing caused it to swell that much more. He had to find someplace private and deal with this situation. He had to get to gym class though. There was no way he could walk into the changing room like this. Frantically, he ducked into a bathroom and into an empty stall quickly closing the door behind him. There were two other guys in the bathroom. A bead of sweat ran down Dexter's forehead as he waited desperately for them to leave. The instant they were out the door, Dexter unzipped his jeans and pulled them down. His dick was straining against his over-matched underwear. His cock head and at least two inches of shaft had escaped the bottom edge of his underwear. Dexter marveled at it for half a heartbeat before ripping his underwear down. His cock surged and sprang upward thickening and lengthening by inches. Fuck, it must be ten inches long! Dexter put both his hands on his cock and instantly it exploded in an intense orgasm. Spurt after spurt of cum erupted from his dick and splattered against the door of the stall. Dexter became lost in the orgasm as he ejaculated over and over. He finally came to his senses almost a minute later. The door was slathered with cum, which was dripping and pooling on the floor. How was he going to clean all that up? His dick was still half hard. Wondering how he would stuff it back in his pants, he reached down to pull them up, and saw his legs. His quads looked muscular! And big! It was only a couple of days ago doing leg presses that he noticed how crazy strong they had become. The silence surrounding him reminded Dexter that he was late to class. With some effort, he stuffed himself into his pants, used fistfuls of paper towels to clean his cum off the stall door and floor, and rushed off to gym class. Jed was the first person dressed and ready for class. Today's class was about proper bench press technique. It was a valuable exercise, but if done wrong could lead to shoulder problems. The teacher, Mr. Greer, asked Jed to demonstrate proper technique and then spot other students as they demonstrated theirs. Jed demonstrated first with just the bar to show perfect technique. To show how things can go wrong, Mr. Greer asked Jed to do additional sets progressively adding more and more weight. Jed started with 25 lbs. on either side, which was still easy for him. He then put 45-pound weights on either side for a total of 135 lbs., not his max, but definitely something he could feel. Jed did a full set of 10 as Mr. Greer pointed out how Jed was still maintaining proper form despite the fact that he was working harder to move the weights. "Are you up to push yourself further?" Mr. Greer asked Jed. "Of course, Mr. Greer. Let's go to 185." Pleaser, Mr. Greer added a 25 lb. plate to either side of the bar. Jed took a deep breath and pushed the bar upward. He proceeded to execute 7 repetitions, the last two of which were a little shaky. Mr. Greer pointed out how Jed's form started to loosen as he reached the end of the set. "Let's go up a little more, Jed. Just for a couple of reps to show the class why it's smart to be aware of your limits. I'll spot you. You'll be safe." Mr. Greer put 10 lbs on either side of the bar bringing the total weight to 195 lbs. Jed wasn't very worried. He had maxed at this level before. He took another deep breath and pushed the bar upwards. Be lowered the bar to his chest and could feel his form loosening. His back was arching slightly, his elbows shaking a little as he slowly thrust the weight up to complete his first rep. He lowered the bar again and struggled through a second rep. Mr. Greer started to say, "That's enough, Jed", but Jed lowered the bar for a third rep. As it touched his chest, he knew he made a mistake. He struggled with all his might, but the bar raised only a few inches before Mr. Greer grabbed the bar and re-racked it. "That is a great demonstration, class, of why you do not want to push yourself too far." Mr. Greer looked across the room to the door. "Ah. Dexter. So kind of you to join us. Perhaps you should be next to show the class your technique on the bench." Jed looked over and saw Dexter in the doorway of the gym. He was wearing an oversized tee shirt and shorts. Jed thought his forearms looked oddly thick. So did his calves. Mr. Greer turned to Jed. "Jed", Mr. Greer said, "why don't you spot Dexter while I observe." Jed responded, "Yes, sure, I'll spot." Dammit. Dexter had arrived at just the wrong time. He was hoping to avoid attention at today's class. Instead, he was about to go second behind Jed in a class demonstration. To Dexter's dismay, Mr. Greer asked Jed to spot. Jed agreed quickly, but Dexter thought his voice sounded shaky somehow. Dexter actually loved lifting weights. His muscles had grown so much over the past couple of months, it was insane. On top of which, bench was one of his favorites. His pecs always pumped incredibly from a good chest workout. They actually felt pumped right now as did his entire body from the strenuous activities of the bathroom just a few minutes ago. Dexter tried to ignore the fact that Jed would be his spotter and took his place on the bench. They started with just the bar. God, it was so light. Dexter complete 10 repetitions like it was nothing. When he started a couple months ago, even just the bar was pushing it for him. Things were so different now. "Ok, that was obviously too easy for Dex. Slow down son! And keep your form tight. Let's throw on some 25's." Jed put 25 lbs. on either side of the bar bringing the weight to 95 lbs. Dexter knew it would be easy. He completed 10 steady reps with barely any effort. He could feel his pecs and arms beginning to swell. "Looking good, son." Mr. Greer said. "Let's go up to 45's." Dexter was surprised. Mr. Greer had never jumped him up so quickly. Jed replaced the 25's with 45's and took his place behind the bench. Dexter wrapped his hands around the bar. A couple weeks ago, this was his max weight. He pushed upward lifting the bar off the rack rather easily. He steadied the weight and then lowered it to his chest. It felt light! He pressed it up with relative ease. God, he'd gotten strong. He completed nine more repetitions without struggling at all. "Wow, son, these weights have worked wonders on you, haven't they? Think you're ready to jump right to 185?" Dexter started to say, "I don't know..." but was interrupted by Mr. Greer. "Sure, you are. You'll be fine." Wordlessly, Jed added 25 lb. weights to either side of the bar. 185 lbs. was a lot for Dexter. In fact, it was his max lift from last week. He had managed only three shaky repetitions. But he felt good. His pecs felt full and pumped. He grabbed the bar and without hesitation lifted it off the rack. It didn't feel as heavy as last week. He lowered it to his chest and fearing it might get stuck there immediately tried to push it back up. It moved! Fast! Before he knew it, his arms were fully extended. Fuck, that was a lot easier than last week! He lowered the bar and did another easy repetition. Then a third and a fourth and a fifth. He slowed down on the sixth and perhaps a little more on the 7th. He was suddenly conscious that the entire class was watching him. He'd forgotten this was a class demo. He still felt he could do more reps, but before he could move, Jed racked the weight, keeping Dexter from attempting an 8th rep. He immediately felt blood surge to his chest. The pump felt amazing. "Very good son! What progress! Let's keep going. Another 10 on each side, Jed." There was a beat where Jed froze, but then he started mechanically loading the additional weight. "I don't know if..." Dexter began. "You can, son" Mr. Greer interrupted. Jed finished and took his place behind the bench. Dexter gripped the bar, took a deep breath, and pushed against the bar. It lifted off the rack. It did feel heavy. He took another breath and lowered it to his pumped swollen chest. He let it rest there just a moment and then pushed with all his might. He felt his pecs, shoulders, and triceps bulge with the effort. The bar went up! He completed a rep. It felt good. He lowers the bar for a second rep. His muscles surged upward for another successful rep, faster than the first, which he completed with a grunt. It escaped his lips before he realized it. Fuck, I can do another, he thought. He lowered the bar for a third rep. His chest felt hot. He could feel he was starting to sweat. He pushed the bar up and with another somewhat louder grunt completed the rep even faster than the second. That was three! He paused with the bar raised, panting. Sweat was beading on his forehead, but he still felt strong. He was about to lower the bar for a fourth repetition when he felt it pulled away from him. Jed had grabbed the bar and re-racked it. "Well, class, that was some textbook form even up to the end. I suspect we could push Dexter further, but we'll let him off the hook for today. Very well done, Dexter. Very well done indeed." Still on the bench, Dexter looked up at Mr. Greer who was beaming. Dexter lifted himself off the bench and slowly stood up. His eyes reached the angle they were used to seeing the world when Dexter was fully standing and then continued to rise, just a little bit. Everything seemed lower, smaller, including Mr. Greer. Dexter was looking down into his eyes. Weren't he and Mr. Greer the same height? "Thank you, Mr. Gr--” Dexter’s voice cracked. He could feel his face flush with embarrassment. He could also feel his chest, shoulders and arms filling with blood, his muscles swelling. His gym shirt was feeling tighter with each passing moment. "Thank you very much, Mr. Greer." Dexter finished. Did his voice sound deeper? "Alright, son, go ahead and finish your workout" Mr. Greer said, placing his hand on Dexter's shoulder. Dexter thought Mr. Greer's hand looked small on his shoulder, which was pumping with blood and clearly muscular under his tee shirt. "I will", Dexter responded in what to his ears sounded like an obviously deeper version of his voice. "Let's thank Jed for being a good sport about spotting." Mr. Greer offered. He and the rest of the class clapped politely. Dexter turned to look at Jed. Dexter found that he was looking Jed level in the eye. Something must be wrong -- the floor must not be level. Jed is way taller than him. Dexter raised his hands to join the clapping and felt the tightness of his tee shirt around his arms. Jed's eyes were everywhere but on Dexter, though Dexter thought he seemed nervous somehow. "Ok, let's find our next victim..." Mr. Greer continued the lesson. Dexter pulled up the lower half of his tee shirt to wipe the sweat from his forehead, and then melted into the crowd making his way to the chest press machine to continue his workout. He definitely needed to continue working out. His pecs felt incredible. Dexter looked down at himself and observed how his pecs protruded from his chest like a shelf. He flexed and watched them ripple and bulge under his shirt. Jed watched Dexter take his place on the bench. From this perspective, Jed could not help but notice the bulges of Dexter's body even under his oversized clothing. The way his shorts draped over his legs; it was clear his quads were huge with separated musculature. Not to mention the bulge of his cock. There was a softball sized dome that caused his shorts to stretch and pucker. Jed quickly moved his eyes elsewhere, but things got no better. Dexter's pecs, shoulders, and arms looked big, way bigger than Jed would ever have thought possible. Jed tried to keep his face blank as he watched Dexter do ten reps with the bar like it was nothing. The 25's on each side barely changed things. The domes of Dexter's pecs bulged with each far-too-easy-looking repetition. When Mr. Greer suggested moving to 45's, Jed started to dread what was about to happen. Dexter completed 10 perfect reps at 135 lbs., his muscles swelling just a bit more with each contraction. Jed notices that, while Dexter was working, he had a look of absolute pleasure on his face, snapping back to reality only after the bar was re-racked. Jed was trying to think of a way to stop this, to get Dexter off the bench, when Mr. Greer suggested Dexter move up to 185 lbs. Recognizing that he missed his chance, Jed added a 25 to each side of the bar. Jed remembered seeing Dexter struggle to do a single rep with this weight last week. He was completely shocked to see Dexter push the weight off the rack like it was his normal work weight. Dexter did his first rep so easily that it appeared to surprise Dexter himself as much as it did Jed. Dexter proceeded to pump out six more reps, each perfect, his pecs swelling more and more, muscled rippling under his shirt, veins starting to become visible under the reddening skin of his forearms and neck. His seventh rep was as perfect as his first, if a bit slower. Then Dexter paused for some reason. Jed seized the opportunity to rack the weight. Jed knew he struggled more with that weight than Dexter just did -- in front of the entire class. Jed wanted this to end but didn't know how to end it. When Mr. Greer suggested to go to 195 lbs., it felt like a nightmare coming true. He could think of nothing to do, so he added the weight. Dexter grabbed the bar, pushed it off the rack, and proceed to do a solid repetition with it -- a weight that Jed knew Dexter couldn't even lift at all last week. The grunt Dexter released at the completion of his second rep caused Jed to feel something... it made him nervous. The louder grunt during the third successful rep almost caused Jed to jump. Dexter's eyes were half rolled back in pleasure. When Dexter paused for just a moment to catch his breath, Jed did the only thing he could do, grab the bar and re-rack the weight. Jed knew just as much as Mr. Greer did that Dexter could have kept going. Then Dexter stood up, and up, and up, until Jed thought he almost had to look up to meet Dexter's eyes, not that he wanted to do that. When Dexter started talking, his voice sounded more husky than squeaky, and then it cracked, and when Dexter started talking again, Jed swore Dexter's voice sounded deeper. An anxiety started growing in Jed's mind. Things got worse when Mr. Greer thanked Jed for spotting and Dexter turned towards him. Jed made a point to stretch to his full height as Dexter turned. Jed found his eyes were at best level with Dexter's. The globes of Dexter's pecs and shoulders were stretching his gym shirt. Jed may have said something in response to Mr. Greer's thanks or he may not have. When Dexter pulled up his shirt to wipe his face, he revealed a deep 8-pack of abs. The move also highlighted the way his low-hanging short were draped over the giant bulges of his quad muscles and crotch. Jed tried to unfocus his eyes, to look away, but he could not help but follow Dexter as he tried to disappear into the class. Jed was watching as Dexter flexed his pecs causing them to swell obscenely, rippling and filling his oversized shirt. Dexter felt amazing. He realized his gym shirt, which was absolutely huge on him just a couple of weeks ago, was now almost too tight. He could not stop flexing his pecs feeling them fill and stretch the shirt. He jumped on the pec deck machine and alternated sets on the machine with sets of push-ups. He quickly worked his way up to his max weight from last week and then blew past it by forty pounds. The unweighted push-ups were almost too easy, but they did serve to pump his chest to a level he never thought possible. He then moved to the cables and felt his pecs swell even further. He looked down and saw deep ridges where his upper pecs bulged from his rib cage. With each fly maneuver, his pecs and lats pulsed outward pulling his shirt tight. Dexter then moved to the dip station. He ripped through two sets of unweighted reps like they were nothing. He grabbed his weight belt and hooked 10 lbs. to it. Another set of dips. He added another 10. Another set of dips. He was starting to feel it. He added a third 10 bringing the total to 30 lbs. He proceeded to do three sets with thirty pounds of additional weight. He still felt strong, so he did a final set with a single 45 lb. plate. Fuck it felt good. Dexter realized he was lost in the feeling of it. Was he grunting? He finally looked up and saw that the class was beginning to file out of the gym. Mr. Greer waved to him, "C'mon Dex. That's all for today. You don't want to bust out of your clothes, now do you?" he asked with a smile. Dexter laughed somewhat uncomfortably and shouted back, "No Mr. Greer. Of course not." The deep voice that emanated from Dexter sounded in his ears like someone else's. The way a few class members looked back at him made him think that maybe it really was deeper. Dexter lowered his eyes and trailed the rest of the class out of the gym. He was struck again by the shelf of his pecs. He briefly flexed his upper body as he walked, pecs, lats, shoulders, biceps, and triceps. Was that a rip he just heard from his shirt? The rest of the class was a waking nightmare for Jed. Though he tried not to look, he found his eyes continually coming back to Dexter who proceeded to move more weight than Jed had ever seen him move -- in some cases more weight than Jed could probably move. Dexter's muscles bulged while he was exercised, but they bulged even more in between sets as he flexed them brazenly. Dexter was also suddenly not shy about grunting, which he did especially when he was clearly pushing past a previous max weight. What is more, his grunts did not sound right. They were too deep. The squeak in Dexter's voice was gone. Each grunt sounded deeper than the last to Jed. When he grunted during his last set of dips, with 45 lbs. of additional weight, it was so deep that Jed's brain would not accept that it came from Dexter. The rest of the class seemed to notice as well, especially when Dexter responded to Mr. Greer in a baritone that left little doubt that something had changed. Jed was somewhat relieved when Dexter lowered his eyes to follow the class from the gym. But, looking back, he caught glimpses of Dexter flexing his muscles as he walked. At the peak of the flex, Jed swore he heard fabric tearing. Jed hurried to the locker room. He wanted to get out of there as quickly as possible. He had spent the entire class spotting other student. He hadn't broken a sweat and did not need to rinse off, Jed decided. He quickly changed into his regular clothes, hoping nobody would notice that he was rushing. Dexter walked in as Jed was about to leave. Jed watched transfixed as Dexter, his eyes still on the floor, stopped in front of his locker, his back to the rest of the class, and flexed again. He expanded his entire upper body -- lats, shoulders, pecs, triceps, and biceps. Jed watched Dexter's lats expand outwards like wings, his shoulders bulged bigger than softballs. Despite the background noise of a full class of students in a changing room, Jed was sure this time he heard Dexter's shirt rip, the sound of which was echoing in Jed's mind as he exited the changing room. Dexter proceeded directly to his locker in the changing room. His body still felt amazing from the workout. He did not look up to see if anyone was paying attention to him. He thought nobody was. He stopped in front of his locker and engaged on one more flex. He could feel every muscle, especially his pecs and triceps, but thought it was his lats that caused his shirt to rip even before he was fully flexed. The ripping sound broke his trance. He aborted the flex before it caused visible damage to his shirt, if it hadn't already. Dexter thought it was a good thing he jerked off just before gym class. Otherwise, he would be getting hard. Dexter had sweat quite a bit during his workout and knew he needed a shower. He grabbed his change of clothes and a towel and entered an empty shower stall. He did not like changing in front of people, so he brought everything into the stall with him, despite the fact that it usually resulted in his putting on his clothes while he was still wet. Removing his shirt in the stall, which was much more confining than Dexter remembered, proved problematic. The sweat soaked short got stuck on his lats and shoulders as he tried to pull it over his head. It was a struggle, and he was sure he heard a rip before he got it off. He looked down at his body, which to him was bulging with muscle. He removed his shorts, turned on the hot water, and began running his hands over his body. Everything felt huge. There was muscle everywhere, especially his pecs, which looked like they were ready to leap from his chest. Fuck, he was going to get hard. He felt his cock swell and stiffen. In moments, it was fully extended pointed straight up. He looked down at his deeply carved abs, comparatively narrow waist, and his extremally large cock and lost control of himself. One hand on his cock, the other steadying against the wall of the stall, he started stroking himself. He could not help it. He hoped he was being quiet. In seconds he exploded like he had in the bathroom, spurt after spurt of his cum splashing against the tiled wall. So much cum that it ran in rivulets down the wall, gathering speed with the shower water, and finally running down the drain. Dexter finally came to his senses enough to finish showering. He took his time to flex each muscle and feel it bulge in his hands. Then came a knock against the stall. "Is that you, Dexter?" It was Mr. Greer. "Better hurry up. The bell is about to ring." "Ok, will do" Dexter responded in a baritone voice that he could still not accept was his own. He turned off the water, dried himself quickly, and then set to dressing in the clothes he had walked in here wearing. It proved much more difficult than he had anticipated. The previously oversized sweatshirt barely fit over his bulging shoulders, pecs, and arms. His pants were even worse. His cock did not want to fully deflate, on top of which he was having a tough time pulling the pant legs over his quads. The fact that his skin was not fully dry only made things worse. The bell rang just as he finally finished dressing. He burst from the stall to find Mr. Greer waiting for him. Dexter found he was looking down at Mr. Greer's eyes. They both seemed taken aback. "Alright, Dex, better make your way to lunch. You don't want to be caught in the halls." "I'll head straight there, Mr. Greer", Dexter responded in his deepening voice. "You really seem to have an aptitude for lifting, Dex" Mr. Greer said, subtly scanning Dexter from head to toe. "You may want to consider a career in the fitness industry." Dexter looked down at himself, conscious of the way his previously baggy sweatshirt was now stretched over his upper body. "Thanks, Mr. Greer. Maybe I will." Dexter suddenly realized he was starving. He practically ran to the lunchroom. Jed thought he felt people's eyes following him as he walked the halls. He reached his locker. No Cindy. He threw his gym clothes inside and headed towards the cafeteria, bracing himself for what he might find there. Sure enough, Cindy was there. She was already seated at a table with food surrounded by her friends. The sight of her stopped Jed in his tracks. She and he locked eyes for half a heartbeat, then she looked away. Her friends noticed Jed and proceeded to huddle around Cindy like they were protecting her from an attacker. Jed was blocking an entrance to the cafeteria and people started pushing around him. He thought he heard Dexter's name floating amongst the chatter in the hallway behind him. "...you seen Dexter today?... huge!... ripped his shirt..." Jed spotted a couple of his friends in line for food. They ended up at their usual table. His friends were peppering him with questions, not just about Cindy, but also Dexter. They heard about gym class. Jed wouldn't say anything. Cindy, only at the far end of the next table over wouldn't even look in his direction. Finally, she did look towards him, but not at him. She was looking past him to the entrance to the cafeteria. Dexter was entering the room, eyes on the floor, almost jogging towards the line for food. The line was short by the time Dexter got there. He kept grabbing food, plate after plate of it, piled precariously high on his tray. It looked like at least three helpings of everything. He threw some money at the cashier then hurried off to his corner table with a handful of other misfits. They might have said a few words to him, but Dexter tore into his food shoveling mouthful after mouthful into his mouth. Jed wasn't sure why, but it was making him anxious watching Dexter wolf down all that food. Bite after bite after bite. Jed looked down at his own barely eaten plate of food and suddenly realized he had no appetite. His anxiety grew into something closer to abstract fear as he watched Dexter spend the next half hour shoveling plate after plate of food into his mouth, his jaw muscles working efficiently and furiously. People started filing out. Lunch was almost over. The entire senior class had to meet in the assembly room for a presentation about graduation. Jed's friends got up to leave and he followed them. As he was exiting the cafeteria, he looked back to see Dexter finishing his lunch by chugging an entire bottle of water in one unbroken gulp. Food! Every step towards the cafeteria caused Dexter's hunger to increase. It reached an overwhelming crescendo just as he reached the front of the cafeteria line. Everything looked so good, and he was so hungry. He piled so much food on his tray, he wasn't sure how much was there. He just hoped it would be enough. The cashier charged him for three full meals, a price Dexter gladly paid. He raced to his corner table where he and the other unpopular kids ate together. They might not be all friends, but they were at least friendly to each other. Not that any of that mattered to Dexter in the current moment. All he wanted to do was eat this food, which he did as soon as he took his seat. For the next half hour, all he could think about was shoveling the food down his throat. He had never been so hungry! He was used to his workouts increasing his appetite, but this was more than he had ever experienced. His body wanted every bite, every morsel of food that he had taken - three Salisbury steaks, a mountain of mashed potato, and piles of steamed vegetables. All of it was overcooked, but he didn't care. His body craved it. When he was finally finished, he up-ended his bottle of water and drank it all down. Dexter realized the rest of the kids at his table were staring at him. The expressions on their faces were somewhat inscrutable. The girls were looking at him in a way that confused Dexter. "What? I was hun..." His voice cracked again. "I was hungry", he finished in what might have been an even deeper version of his voice. "Obviously" one of the guys said. "Well, you've got muscles to feed" one of the girls started, "or so we've... heard." Her eyes were glued to Dexter's chest. "What?" Dexter said, suddenly feeling drowsy. "I've gotta go. We've got an assembly." "Did his voice always sound like that?" he thought he heard a girl ask as Dexter rose from the table, leaving his tray and stack of plates behind, and made his way towards the assembly room. The halls were a blur. Suddenly, all he wanted to do was sleep. Also, his sweatshirt was too tight. It was catching under his armpits and at his chest and he could feel it squeezing his upper arms. He flexed his biceps watching as the peak stretched the sweatshirt to its limit. He finally made it to the assembly room, which was more than half full by the time he got there. There were empty seats up front. He took one near the corner where it was darkest, propped his head on his hand, and melted into sleep. Jed spotted Cindy seated near the middle of the assembly room, flanked by her friends on either side. The seats behind her were empty. Jed pushed his way through the crowd of students and took the seat directly behind her. A few of Jed's friends filtered in his row after him. From this angle, Jed had a perfect view of Cindy's amazing tits jutting almost arrogantly from her chest. She was wearing a tiny top that hugged her fit body in all the right ways. Several inches of well-toned abs were exposed above her tight jeans. She had no right to ignore him. Jed leaned forward and started to say, "You can't ignore me, you..." but before could get it out, Cindy leapt from her seat and stepping over her friends moved almost to the end of her row as far as she could quickly get from Jed. Jed was considering stepping over his friends to get to her when he saw Dexter walk down the far aisle. He passed by Cindy and took a seat near the front, not far from her. Jed watched as Dexter sat and quickly passed out. Jed also noticed two other things. One, he noticed that Dexter's shoulders were a lot wider than his seat back. Two, he noticed that Cindy was also watching Dexter. In fact, she was staring. She was erect in her seat, back arched, stretching to get a better view. Her chest was heaving slightly, her breasts silhouetted in prominent display. Jed was vaguely aware that the assembly presentations had begun. As they droned, the minutes dragged on and on and on. Cindy barely looked away from Dexter. When she did, it appeared as if she was forcing her eyes forward like she was fighting with herself to look away. Each time she did, within moments she was back staring at Dexter. She never once looked back at Jed. Who the fuck did she think she was? She could not treat him this way. Dexter slept through the entire assembly. He shifted every few minutes, the stadium style seating not designed for comfortable sleep. With each repositioning, Jed thought Dexter looked less comfortable, not more, like his body was struggling to fit inside a space too small for it. Dexter stretched in his sleep reaching his arms upward. Jed noticed that there was exposed wrist between the end of Dexter's sweatshirt sleeves and his hands. The assembly proceeded tortuously, Jed's gaze alternating between Dexter and Cindy. Finally, the assembly was over, and the bell rang. Dexter did not stir. Cindy did, the bell seeming to wake her from a reverie. She finally did look back at Jed. Anxiety spread over her previously serene expression. She jumped from her seat and made swiftly for the doors at the back of the assembly room. This time, Jed did step over his friends to follow her. Shoving his way through the crowd, he caught her in the hall outside. Furious, he grabbed her arm and spun her around. She was panting, her breasts rising and falling with each respiration. Her trim abs, tones arms, and shapely athletic legs were evident even through her jeans. Jed's voice caught in his throat for a moment, but he mastered himself and practically yelled, "What the fuck, Cindy? You can't treat me like this. Who the fuck do you think you are??" She did not say a word but glared at him. Suddenly, her eyes widened. She looked past and over Jed, her expression changing from one of anger to one of amazement. Jed felt something behind him. Without looking, he felt he knew what -- who -- it was. Dexter woke slowly from what was a pleasant dreamless slumber. His body felt relaxed. He stood to stretch, bumping his knees on the seat on front of him. Like earlier today, his visual perspective went up and up, past where it was yesterday, still up, past where it was this morning, still up, past even where it was when he fell asleep! He reached for a full stretch and was conscious of his sweatshirt riding up his mid-section, his hands stretching past the ends of the sleeves. He felt cool air around his ankles and looking down noted that his pants did not reach his shoes. His jeans, formerly baggy, were stretched over his calves and even more so over his thighs. Neither his jeans nor sweatshirt were tight at his waist, but when he lowered his arms, he felt the sweatshirt bunch around his chest leaving most of his med-section exposed. He pulled the sweatshirt down and found it would not reach his waist. In fact, it could barely contain his upper body, the globes of his shoulders, twin domes of his pecs, and thick full lats all strained against the nearly over-matched fabric of the sweatshirt. Dexter flexed slightly watched his pecs dance, the sweatshirt clinging to them in a way not wholly different from how Cindy's top clung to her breasts. Dexter was suddenly aware that his cock felt constricted. He looked down and beheld a truly massive bulge at his crotch on obscene display despite his jeans. Dexter looked around and noticed the last of the class leaving the assembly room. They all looked smaller. Everything looked smaller. He followed them outside to find a crowd of students huddled around something. He continued to stride forward and was surprised that the people in his path, when they noticed him, looked at him, looked up at him, and moved quickly out of his way. Dexter found himself walking up behind Jed who seemed to be in an altercation with a furious looking Cindy. As Dexter approached, Cindy locked eyes with him, her expression changing instantly from one of fury to one of eagerness. As he got closer, Dexter realized he was taller than Jed now. Dexter closed the gap coming within inches of Jed, able to look completely over Jed's head to Cindy and the gawking crowd beyond. Jed turned around and found himself staring at what had become his worst nightmare -- Dexter. His eyes were level with Dexter's mouth. Jed's chin was practically resting on a shelf of pec muscle that was so big and perfectly formed as to be almost inhuman. It rose and fell with each of Dexter's slow calm breaths. When Dexter spoke, Jed knew his life was changed forever. "Leaver Cindy alone, Jed." Dexter said in a deep confident voice, which reverberated in Jed's own chest nearly knocking the wind out of him. Dexter was huge! Neither his sweatshirt nor his jeans could hide the protruding muscles beneath. His sleeves, stretched over his muscled arms, did not reach his hands. The gap between Dexter's sweatshirt and jeans revealed inches of muscled abs. Dexter's jeans struggled to contain the immense bulges of Dexter's quads and the obscene bulge at his crotch. Jed, struggling with a growing abject terror, thought that with each breath, Dexter grew a bit more. Soon, his clothes would split revealing a horrifically muscled body. Jed became frantic. His fight instinct kicked in. He panted a foot behind himself, then thrust off it to tackle Dexter to the floor. The collision may have hurt Jed more than it hurt Dexter! Dexter's mid-section was hard as a rock! Whether Dexter was surprised by the attack or simply did not care, Dexter went down with Jed on top of him in a classic school-boy pin, straddling Dexter with his hands on Dexter's wrists to trap his arms. "Fuck you, Dexter! You stay away from us!" There was a brief moment of silence. "Fuck me?" Dexter responded. A smile crept over his face. "Fuck me?" Dexter slowly bent his arms in a double bicep flex. Jed tried to stop him, but found he was easily overpowered. Dexter barely seemed to notice Jed's strained effort. Dexter's upper arms expanded, his bicep peaks pushing against the fabric of his sweatshirt. Halfway through the flex, his sweatshirt began to rip over his emerging biceps. "Fuck me? No Jed." Dexter completed his flex, the entirety of his biceps ripping into view. They were massive and defined with peaks that jutted so high they met with Dexter's mid-forearms at full flex. The sleeves of Dexter's sweatshirt were in tatters. "Fuck you!" Dexter exclaimed as he flipped Jed over as easily as an older brother might toy with a younger sibling, reversing the school-boy pin leaving Dexter on top and Jed on the bottom. "Fuck you, Jed!" Then Dexter's expression changed, a pleasure seeming to wash over it, his eyes rolling back, his eyelids fluttering. Holy Fuck, Dexter was so much stronger than Jed! Jed couldn't do anything to stop him! Jed's pathetic attempt to stop Dexter's bicep flex was barely even noticed! Then, he flipped Jed over like it was nothing! Dexter looked down at Jed cowering beneath him, Dexter's hugely muscled arms flexing and swelling as they held Jed easily and firmly in place. Dexter knew his weight was more than enough to keep Jed's waist pinned to the floor. Dexter could feel the violent bulge of his massive cock pressing into Jed's comparatively soft and yielding stomach. Dexter was so fucking strong! It felt so fucking good! Dexter's cock started to expand, his bulge pressing deeply into Jed's stomach, which yielded before it. Dexter was getting hard, and he didn't even care. His cock bulged more deeply into Jed's stomach. Dexter's cock grew and lengthened, stretching his underwear to its limit. Dexter heard a ripping sound and felt his cock thrust through his underwear and snake down his leg, inexorably making room for itself between Dexter's massive quadricep and Jed's waist. It grew and grew and grew. Dexter was lost in the pleasure of it. He did not even notice the look of abject horror that spread across Jed's face or Jed's frantic attempts to escape. Without realizing it, Dexter began thrusting himself against Jed sending waves of pleasure throughout Dexter's own body. Jed felt something pressing into his stomach and looked down to see Dexter's massive bulge, pressed against him, growing obscenely. Vainly struggling to escape, Jed watched in horror as Dexter's bulge grew and grew. Jed heard the ripping sound of Dexter's underwear and felt Dexter's massive penis expand against his waist. Then, Dexter started thrusting against him! "Get off me! Get off me!!" Jed screamed, flailing violently in a desperate attempt to escape, whose only effect was causing Dexter's pec and arm muscles to flex and bulge as they easily hold Jed in place. Dexter kept thrusting. Jed was about to scream again when Cindy suddenly appeared alongside Dexter. Dexter was snapped to consciousness by a gentle touch on his shoulder and the scent of perfume reaching his nose. Dexter's head whipped to his side to see Cindy crouching beside him, one hand on his shoulder. Her breasts were heaving. A tiny bead of sweat rolled down her neck, then gathering speed, plunged between her more than ample breasts. "Dexter", she said breathlessly. Dexter's eyes were drawn to her nipples, which were suddenly very visible beneath her thin clothing, "Leave him. Let's get out of here. C'mon. Let's go!" Dexter looked down at Jed, who looked absolutely terrified. His eyes were darting from Dexter to Cindy and back. Dexter had Jed by the wrists. Dexter squeezed. His forearms, biceps, and triceps bulged incredibly, his corded forearm muscles, peaked biceps, and striated triceps standing out in bold relief. Jed squealed in pain. Cindy pulled on Dexter's shoulder, and he let her drag him to his feet. She took his hand and led Dexter swiftly down the hall and out the main entrance of the school. Nobody tried to stop them. She ran straight for her car motioning for Dexter to get in the passenger seat. It was a tight fit. Dexter's head nearly brushed up against the roof. Cindy started the car and sped away. She drove out to the main road and followed it for just a minute to the parking lot of a local church, which was unused at this time of day. She pulled around back where there was some relative privacy, shut off the car, and turned to face Dexter. She was panting slightly, her unbelievable breasts, barely contained by her top which seemed painted on, filled Dexter's vision. "Dexter", she said, "You stood up to Jed to protect me." "Of course, I did", Dexter responded in his new baritone, "I would do anything for you." She leapt at him, and they proceeded to devour each other in an overwhelming fit of passion. Dexter had never kissed like this before. Their hands and lips and tongues were all over each other. A metallic creak drew their attention to Dexter's cock, which had just surged, destroying the zipper of his jeans. "Holy fuck" Cindy exclaimed and then ripped Dexter's jeans open in one motion. She extricated Dexter's hardening cock from his tattered underwear and held it as it grew, lengthening and thickening and lengthening inch by inch until it stood straight up, erect, nearly a foot long and still growing. "Oh my god", she breathed as she leaned forward and plunged Dexter's massive erection into her mouth. The moment her lips touched his cock, Dexter experienced a feeling he never had before. Cindy moaned scandalously as she slurped furiously at his dick. It barely fit inside her mouth, but she forced her head downward until Dexter's cock was thrust down her throat. Dexter would have cum instantly had he not done so twice already since he arrived at school. Cindy's head bobbed up and down, Dexter's cock continuing to swell. At the top of each motion, Cindy's head was a fraction higher until Dexter's cock had, reaching its full height and girth, lengthened by inches and become so thick it was impossibly tight inside Cindy's hungry moaning mouth. Cinder broke from Dexter and set to desperately ripping her clothes off. In the blink of an eye, she was out of her top. Her breasts finally set free appeared to float in midair. Her nipples were as erect as Dexter's penis and were every bit as impressive. She then quickly but with some difficulty peeled off her jeans, which caught on her shapely athletic thighs. Her panties came off as well, exposing her trimmed pussy, the inviting smell of which immediately wafted to Dexter's nose. In one graceful movement, she straddled Dexter. With each hand, she grabbed a handful of Dexter's tattered sweatshirt and ripped it fully apart exposing Dexter's insanely muscled torso. She then thrust her boob in Dexter's face. Instinctively, Dexter took her erect nipple in his mouth and sucked. Cindy released a full-throated moan of pleasure as her nipple expanded to full prominence wrapped in the warmth of Dexter's lips. She positioned her now dripping pussy against the head of Dexter's tremendous cock. She paused for just a moment, then thrust herself downward, and Dexter was inside of her. Cindy's second full-throated moan was joined by an equally full-throated, but much deeper one, from Dexter. Dexter's grips on Jed's wrists were like vices. Then he squeezed sending lancing pain through Jed's arms. The cry of pain escaped Jed's lips involuntarily. He thought his bones may have snapped. Then Dexter was gone, being led down the hallway by Cindy. Half the crowd was watching them go, while the other half looked down at Jed with a mixture of pity and horror. The only thing Jed knew was that he needed to get out of there. Now knowing where else to go, he leapt up and raced after Dexter and Cindy. He burst from the main entrance just as Cindy was closing the door of her car behind her. He could see Dexter's massive bulk in the passenger seat. Like he was caught in a nightmare, Jed ran to his car, jumped inside, and raced after Cindy and Dexter to the church parking lot. They did not notice him pull up nearby. He saw everything. He saw Cindy and Dexter kissing passionately. He saw Cindy rip off Dexter's clothing and her own. He saw her bury her head in Dexter's lap, her head momentarily disappearing, then bobbing into view, up and down, higher each time, until at the low point of her motion it almost looked from Jed's vantage point like she was kissing the rim of the car door, then bobbing upward revealing inch after inch of Dexter's massive cock visible over the door's rim. Jed's jaw dropped as Cindy, in one graceful maneuver, positioned herself over Dexter's erect penis and then thrust herself downward, taking all of it inside herself. The next five minutes were filled with the most furious sex Jed had ever beheld. They fucked like wild animals to the soundtrack of Cindy's melodious moans and Dexter's terrifying deep ones. The two of them completely filled the passenger seat of Cindy's car, which was bouncing up and down with the dangerous fury of a streetcar that has careened off-road at full speed. Cindy and Dexter were bracing themselves with their hands against the car door and ceiling. Amidst their moans and grunts and the squealing of the car's shocks and brakes, Jed thought he heard the creaking of metal. He thought he saw the roof of the car and the passenger door buckle outward where Cindy and Dexter were bracing themselves. After the most interminable five minutes of Jed's life, Cindy and Dexter came together, the pair of them roaring in unison for almost another minute. Finally, it was over. Cindy collapsed on Dexter's massive, muscled form, their panting subsiding into the deep slow breathing reserved for those who have just experienced ultimate physical bliss. Jed, overwhelmed, broke into tears, turned his car around, and sped away, sobbing...
  9. So this is the first installment of my story. One, because it's long and two...because the second part isn't done yet. Once again I have failed to write a short story, so I will follow up with the conclusion by this weekend. ++++++++++++++++++++ I audibly groaned as the window popped up on my computer screen, covering up the email that I was in the middle of composing. It was a 15-minute reminder that we were having yet another subvendor come in to hawk their wares. I had already skipped the last two of these so I knew I was due to attend. I work as an project engineer at a large engineering firm that specializes in power plant design and construction. Exciting stuff, I know. As you can guess, a complete power plant is a massively complex system that is made up of various equipment systems. Without going into tons of detail and making you jab an icepick into your frontal lobe, this means we have to buy a vast array of sub-equipment that are all integral to the design. Thus, throughout the year, the overly eager sellers of these wares love to come in and give presentations on why their equipment is so much better than the 15 other vendors selling the same stuff. So I picked up my notepad and trudged to the conference which was half full by the time I walked in. Of course, the chairs at the far end of the table were already taken, forcing me more toward the front and closer to the presenters. I glanced at the two men at the front of the room and chuckled, enjoying the regular dance of outside workers struggling trying to connect their computer to our monitor. What would they need today? HDMI cable? USB 2.0? Airtame? As the two men huddled over their laptop I couldn't help but realize maybe this meeting in particular wouldn't be so bad. I recognized the older gentleman as Bob Boonder, a portly man in his 60s with dark grey hair. We had purchased equipment from him often and he had stopped in to our office a few times over the years. He was a good guy who we could always count on, but right now I was more interested in his colleague. He looked to be in his 30s, though he may have been earlier in the decade while I'm solidly in the back half. He was a very handsome man with a wide and pronounced masculine jaw covered in a short, yet neatly trimmed black beard. A hint of cheekbones emphasized his handsomeness without making him look too pretty. He had deep set, dark and piecing eyes. The sides of his head were clipped short while the dark hair on top was about an inch long and styled slightly up and forward. As he glanced around the room he smiled and of course, two rows of perfectly straight, bright white teeth announced themselves to cap of the perfection of his head. His face reminded me of the lumbersexual men I had often ogled online, those who exude a rugged and outdoorsy, yet still very clean cut handsomeness. Needless to say, I found him hot. Where the heck had Bob found this guy? Suddenly the meeting was looking far more exciting, especially as I continued review of this new man. Both Bob and man were dressed in dark slacks and light colored oxford shirts, with a suit jacket on top. A nice touch, I thought. Some subvendors have come in and given presentations in dirty jeans and a polo shirt. While I have nothing against a nice polo and myself wear them often, it doesn't go unnoticed when our potential suppliers come in having put in the extra effort to wear good clothing. The two men did not wear ties and their oxfords were unbuttoned at the collars. As a company that specializes in industrial equipment, there was no problem with this. I can't remember the last time me or one of my coworkers wore a tie to work. Bob had dressed himself and his new employee perfectly to fit the culture of our workplace, his familiarity with us serving them well. It also became clear that the new man wasn't just a looker. As a regular gym goer myself, it wasn't lost on me just how broad those shoulders of his were in that navy suit jacket. And the undone collar gave me a nice preview of some big traps framing a very thick neck. I wasn't sure the man would've been able to button the collar even if they had a tie. While I pride myself on my fitness with wiry build and some decent abs, this guy had a build that exuded power. The only question that now racked my brain was just how that power was backed up. Was he once of those stocky, thicker guys with natural strength? Did he have more a powerlifter build under those clothes, with evident muscles but a bit of a gut? Perhaps a hobbyist gym bro, the guy who lifts five times a week and somewhat watches his diet yet still enjoys the pleasures of beer and burger a couple of times a week. There was a chance he could be a full on bodybuilder under there, a body packed by dense, ripped muscle but those guys are extremely rare, especially those with office jobs. I knew Bob was about my height, 5'10 or so, and his coworker stood just taller than him, putting my guess right at 6 ft or just under. All told, my years of ogling muscly men led me to guess the man to be about 230 lbs. More than enough that I could picture his strong arms carrying my 180 lb body around with ease. As I eyeballed him I couldn't make out any gut pushing against his shirt, so I surmised he was somewhere in the buff linebacker/regular gym guy range. And that was more than enough to get my blood racing as Bob and the well-put together man started their presentation. Bob began by speaking first. "Good afternoon everyone. Thank you for allowing us to come and present to you the latest we have to offer. As many of you know I'm now just a year or so away from retirement, so I've brought along my protégé here, if you will. I'd like to introduce Kirk Ahlstrom. The idea is that Kirk will take over my position once I'm out the door and enjoying margaritas on the beach." Ahhh. Kirk it is. A great name for such a big strapping hunk. "So Kirk here is actually going to give the presentation. Kirk take it away." "Thank you Bob." Of course his voice had rich, bassy timber to it. Not so deep to be James Earl Jones, but deep enough and with just enough rasp to feel it in your chest. "Bob has been a great mentor and I look forward to working with each and everyone one of you in the future." I look forward to working with YOU, Kirk. Kirk made his way around the table making eye contact with everyone around the table. When his eyes met mine it was like sparks flew. For me anyways. I swear he hesitated just a moment after looking at me but that may have been an apparition of my own lust. Kirk's presentation, like the rest of him, was very impressive. Bob had clearly taught him well. He easily and quickly answered any questions my fellow engineers lobbed his way. He was calm and poised, engaging and thoughtful. Let me tell you, it would be a huge challenge to make variable frequency drives an engaging topic, yet all the engineering and project managers in the room were locked in. The man had magnetism and charisma seeping out of his miniscule pores. Bob had certainly found himself a ringer to sell their equipment. And of course, I couldn't help but enjoy the view of his suit jacket tightening every time he gestured to something on screen. And that ass. In those slacks. And the way his thighs filled his pant legs. Yeah, this man was definitely a lifter of some sort. Holy moly did he have a big and tight ass. An ass that could only be built with heavy squats and deadlifts. When he turned to the side I swear I could've rested a cup of water his glute shelf. Forty-five minutes later Kirk flipped to a slide that simply read "Questions?" indicating he reached the end of his spiel. After a few more queries Bob stood up and once again thanked us for our time. Before leaving, Bob stopped me and started talking to me as the room began to empty out. He also stopped Janice, the project manager who was seated next to me. Coincidentally, Janice and I had teamed up on the last project in which we made a large purchase of Bob's equipment, so he offered to take us out to dinner that evening with him and Kirk. Normally, I had about six excuses ready to go to avoid just such an obligation. "Of course, Bob. I'd love too!" But I buried those excuses for the chance to spend some more time with Bob's beefy colleague. "Why sure, Bob, I would be happy to as well." Fuck off Janice. Don't you have kids to go home and take care of? Ok, that was mean, but I didn't want to share my time. "Great, how about 6:30pm at the Hotel del Plaza downtown?" Janice and I agreed and Bob and Kirk shook our hands. Oh yeah, I definitely felt those callouses on Kirk's hand. Not to mention the pure size of them. The guy had some thick hands! Farmer's hands, as my grandma would say. I escorted Bob and Kirk to the front door and returned to my desk, eager for the meal that night. - I quickly spotted the duo after walking into the large open atrium of the hotel. Even if I weren't specifically looking for them I would've noticed Kirk quickly anyways. Both were standing at the bar. Bob was drinking a beer while Kirk had a big glass of water with a lemon. Both greeted me and Janice walked in not five minutes later and together we headed for the nice restaurant connected to the hotel. We were seated around a large circular table, Kirk selected the chair to my right. Before sitting he removed his suit jacket and I was greeted to the sight of VERY large arms filling his long sleeve button down. Not to mention a full view of his wide chest pushing out the top of this shirt, creating an awning of mass over his trim waist. With the suit jacket off I was clear he also sported some heavy-weight pressing shoulders. I mentally compared the size of his arms to my own legs. Every new reveal of Kirk proved he was just as big, or bigger as I had hoped. The four of us chatted and talked business and when that slowed the topics turned to each other and other random topics. I learned that Kirk was single which made my blood boil with lustful hope. Kirk was just as warm and engaging as he was during his presentation, perhaps even more so now that he could focus that magnetic energy just to me and Janice. More than once I caught a lustful glaze in Janice's eyes when he addressed her. I wondered if she saw the same thing in mine when Kirk spoke to me. We ordered our food and it wasn't lost on me that Kirk ordered a 14oz steak along with a side of mashed potatoes and asparagus. To Bob's surprise, he also ordered a wheat beer from the restaurant's craft brew selection. "Someone is letting loose," Bob teased as he smacked Kirk's big round shoulder. "Even going with a beer tonight, Kirk?" "Always nice to try out the local flare when traveling for work," Kirk replied cheerfully. "Well you certainly ordered your share of the 'local flare'," I joked. "That's quite the steak you ordered." Bob added, "This guy eats like a horse. More than any guy I've ever seen." Kirk blushed and put his head down, attempting to divert Bob's teasing. He then fished out a small container from his pocket and popped two small white pills into his mouth. He caught me looking at this container and smiled. "Antacids. Like Bob said, it's a big steak." Bob added, "A big steak for a big man. Now Janice, I was hoping you could give me an update on the Thacker project we gave you some bids for last month..." I was slightly annoyed that Bob had changed the subject. I was much more interested in hearing how Kirk was a 'big man'. Fifteen minutes later I didn't hear about it. I saw it. Kirk practically devoured his steak. He finished before Janice, Bob or I had finished our own much smaller meals. It was endearing and sexy to watch him bite into the meat and watch his eyes roll back from the taste. "Wow, when they said this was the best steakhouse in town they weren't kidding. This is delicious. And perfectly cooked. Just the right amount of pink in the middle." I know I was eating slower than usual. I had to mentally force myself to not watch his biceps and delts flex under his shirt as he cut up his steak. I was able to make out a nice peak under the sleeve. Kirk didn't just have thick cylindrical arms, there was absolutely some good definition there too. From all the slicing and cutting it almost seemed like his arms and shoulders were getting a nice pump, stretching the fabric even tighter. Bob chuckled, "Ever since I told him about this place he's been looking forward to it all week." "And you weren't kidding about how great the steak is here, Bob." Kirk smiled to Janice and then directly to me. "I think I'm going to be making several trips to your office if I can eat here every time I come." YES PLEASE! Kirk sat back sighed with a satisfied and sated look on his face. I noticed a light sheen on his face. Kirk dabbed his napkin against his forehead. He noticed me looking and grinned. "Meat sweats." "Good thing you took those antacids," I replied as he chuckled. When the waiter came to take Kirk's plate he asked if we wanted a refill on our beers. Bob and I happily ordered another while Kirk now asked for another water. Janice requested a refill of her iced tea. At the end of the meal Bob happily took the check and paid. Janice was the first to gather her things and head out, saying she had to get back to her husband and kids. Good. We wished her good night leaving me and the vendors. "Well thank you for the meal Bob. Hopefully you don't have any work to do tonight in your room." "Well, unfortunately I do. Part of working on the road I guess. Just need to catch up on a few emails. Hopefully you don't though." "Actually I had already taken tomorrow off," I replied. "So I might head up the bar and have a couple more drinks before heading home." I turned to look at Kirk, my heart beating in my chest. "And you, Kirk?" "Actually I'm all caught up on my emails. So if you don't mind maybe I'll join you at the bar." YES PLEASE. "Absolutely. Have a great night, Bob." I practically shoved Bob away, jumping at the chance for some time alone with Kirk. Kirk grabbed his suit jacked and motioned to put it on. "If you don't mind, I'm just going to run up to my room real quick. Ugh!" Kirk groaned as he struggled to put the jacket on. It looked like he was have trouble slipping his arms into the sleeves. "Guess all that meat and potatoes bloated me a little. I'm just gonna drop this off and use the restroom and meet you back at the bar in 5 minutes, sound good?" "Sure thing, Kirk!" I watch Kirk saunter out of the restaurant, the seat of his pants drum tight over those glorious ass muscles. Having given up on slipping on the jacket, he carried it with a bent arm, an arm that was clearly stretching the sleeves tight. I couldn't wait until that arm and the man it was attached to returned. SCROLL DOWN FOR THE EXCITING FINISH
  10. This is my first story. It's going to have bite sized chapters and very regular updates (most likely daily). This is a m/m superhero romance. The first two chapters are mostly set up, but after that every chapter has plenty of sexy muscle and feats of strength, so please stick with it! Chapter 1 It began as all the best love stories do: with terrorism. The 24th of March 2013 is much like any other day. Hugo Chavez recently died, triggering what would go on to become an economic crisis in Venezuela, the UN security council has just slammed North Korea with harsh new sanctions, Justin Timberlake is topping the charts with ‘Mirrors’, protestors are waving signs outside Parliament, protesting about something, pigeons are shitting, rain is pouring, and I'm on my way to work. The newly opened Shard is difficult to miss. It towers over London’s skyline, jutting into the clouds like the lair of a comic book villain. I make my way inside, flashing my ID as I go. ‘Jake Langley’, it says in large capital letters, along with an employee number and my date of birth. I only show it as a courtesy - the security guards have all memorised my face by now. I sometimes wonder what they think of me. Am I ‘that cute, fresh faced little pastry chef with the dimples’ or do they just see me as a child straight out of college, coasting by on boyish looks, with no clue what he’s doing? I’d like to think it was the former. I’d like to. But I don’t. I wish I was the kind of guy who had the guts to ask. The kind who knows he's good enough, who knows he's not going to be rejected or shut down. But even if I wasn't gay, I will never be that kind of guy. It's not in my nature. I'm not assertive or domineering. I smile, wave, and make pastry. That's my nature. I slip by in this hyper masculine world by being too small for anyone to see as a threat. And for the most part, it works. The kitchens still shine like the day they were installed, which wasn't that long ago. Most kitchens are crowded, starkly lit places where you can barely move an inch without bumping into someone or knocking something over, but not this one. Natural light pours through the floor-to-ceiling windows, treating us to a view of London that millions of people would kill for. But I'm not here for the views. Okay, maybe a little bit. But mostly, I'm here to do my job. I find my little corner and start preparing for the day’s guests. It's a Sunday, so we're expecting a lot of traffic. There isn’t an overpaid banker in London who doesn’t salivate over the idea of lunch at the Shard. Russian oligarchs, Saudi oil barons, British royalty, Colombian drug lords - we serve them all. I don’t care who they are or what they do. It's none of my business. It sounds like a simple, boring job - making pastry. You’d be surprised at how much there is to it. There’s a reason they have pastry chefs – this is a difficult thing to get right. It's always come easily to me. I find something calming about rolling out a sheet of puff, spreading on the butter, folding it over, and rolling it out again. There's a rhythm to it. My movements soon become mechanical and I can feel myself floating away into a distant world where I'm someone interesting, somewhere interesting, doing something interesting. The kitchen hums around me as the first orders come in. Pans clink, hobs fizzle, water gurgles as it boils. I can barely hear the orders being barked over it all. But I'm not really paying attention. Boom. I can feel a wave of pressure pass through my feet, up to my head, and down again. Everything is shaking; the walls, the floor, the windows. Pots rattle above my head on their hooks. I turn to see the kitchen staff frozen, eyeing one another with pointed glares. I don't think I've ever seen this room so quiet. “What was that?” I hear one of them whisper, his voice carrying clear across the room. No one answers. Was it an earthquake? It couldn’t be. Earthquakes aren’t instantaneous, they're gradual. Then it comes again, much louder. BOOM. I don’t know if it's the ringing in my ears or the shaking beneath my feat, but I'm suddenly hunched over a table, flour covering my hands, gasping for breath. I don't know how long I spend there, trying to comprehend what's going on. It must be a minute or two, at least. My daze is broken as an alarm whirrs into life, high pitched and screaming. Red lights flash. All at once, the shock turns to chaos. BOOM. BOOM. BOOM. They're coming faster now, from all over the building. I can feel them in my bones. While others run for the doors, I huddled under my table. What the hell is going on? My eyes drift to the windows, where black smoke is billowing up past our floor, carrying dust and paper. Fuck. I watched 9/11 unfold on live TV and I was here when they locked down London during the 7/7 attacks. It's impossible to ignore the reality of what's going on. This is a terrorist attack. I can see dark shapes floating past outside, just beyond the smoke. Choppers. News choppers. When I had dreamed of appearing on TV, I was thinking more along the lines of Deal or No Deal, not this. Anything but this. I'm now alone in the kitchen. I don't know when that happened. I presume everyone else has fled. My gaze flickers to the open door as I try to decide what to do. Maybe if I run now, I could get out before the building collapses. Or maybe the lower floors are experiencing the worst of it, and I'm best waiting up here while the blaze is brought under control. Is there anything here I could turn into a parachute? No, I scold myself. That’s pointless and stupid. I’d never break through those windows anyway. Turning on my phone, I check the BBC. The first result is a live video of the Shard, burning in a dozen places. The news anchors are speaking but I can’t hear a word of it. I watch the screen in horror as the fire begins to creep outward from the explosion sites. One of them is pretty close to this kitchen. Placing my hands on the ground, I feel warmth. There’s a rumbling sensation. Something is crackling not far from our door. As fast as I can, I slam it shut, backing away with a hiss as the handle burns my skin, leaving it red and blotchy. Now there’s smoke trickling in through the vents and the air is getting hazy. Pulling a wet cloth over my mouth, I run around the kitchen and turn on all the taps and block all the drains. They overflow one by one, spilling out onto the floor until there’s a pool of water an inch deep. This won’t save me, but it might slow the spread. It’s getting seriously hot in here. I clutch my burned hands around the wet cloth, which eases the pain, but nothing can stop the coughing fits. There’s soot clogging my lungs and in my eyes, causing them to water uncontrollably. The air is so thick now that I can barely see from one end of the room to the other. My only sign that the door has buckled is the red tongues of flame licking at the ceiling. At the same time, I’m hit by a wave of heat so overwhelming that my only option is to curl up on the floor and cover my face as I feel the skin of my back start to blister. Then something astonishing happens. Something so unusual that I wonder if I’m hallucinating. There's a silhouette visible through the smoke. A man. He's enormous, and seems completely unphased by the fire caressing every inch of his body. His eyes find me on the floor, and a look of relief flits across his face. I blink, and he’s suddenly leaning over me. How did he move so fast? I open my mouth to ask, but only a ragged cough comes out. Two huge arms gently scoop me up. I press my face into his chest to escape the heat. Somehow even in the middle of a burning skyscraper, his touch makes me feel safe. Protected. Isn’t that strange? I hear the sound of shattering glass, feel a rush of cold air on my neck. The arms wrap more tightly around me. The lurching in my stomach tells me we’re moving, and I try to look around, but one hand on the back of my head keeps me locked to his chest. As the adrenaline fades, my body starts to scream in pain. I’ve never felt such agony. It’s only a matter of time before blackness is creeping into my vision, clouding my mind. And then I’m gone.
  11. Hey there. Here's a story. It's about muscles and stuff. The nature of desire. The ache of it. But also muscles. I hope it pleases. THE CHAMPION It had been a triumph. He was blowing up Instagram. He was THE cover of every muscle mag that still printed. People would buy copies to commemorate it. The reddit thread already had thousands of comments. ADAM NOVAK: BIGGEST MR. O IN HISTORY He’d only started lifting four years ago, in his early twenties. He only competed for the first time as an amateur two years ago. Got his pro-card last year. Qualified for the O this year. Nine months later, a rookie winner. No one expected it. Lots of people expected him to finish second or third no matter how obvious his dominance, just to make him “work for it” and “earn it” in a year or two. But it became obvious at the show itself: if they’d crowned anyone else, there would have been rioting. He was unlike anyone who had ever stepped on a bodybuilding stage. He was so enormous, it was alarming. Frightening. And he was so young and got there so quickly. The comments online were fast and furious. Things like: “Is there any limit to how big this kid can get?” “What the hell are they feeding him?” “Did a muscle growth experiment escape its lab?” But also things like: “it’s too much.” “Disgusting.” “What happened to old school aesthetics?” “He’s gonna be dead of a heart attack in 18 months.” He put his phone down, caught a glimpse of his reflection in the mirror across the restaurant where his crew had taken him to celebrate. Fuck, he didn’t look human. Handsome face - he was only 26 - straight nose, big expressive eyes, firm generous lips, Hollywood jawline, thick dark hair kept short, but not too short - just enough to show its curl on his brow. But the rest of him. Fuck. He bulged. He burgeoned. He looked fit to explode, like his skin was barely holding back the giant round forms of his muscles. He took up twice the space of a normal human. Three times the space. He couldn’t move right, he was so huge. His buddy had to help him eat. He knew the stats. Everyone knew the stats. 5’8”. 358 lbs at registration - probably closer to 370 now that he’d been carbed up. 2% bodyfat. 30” arms. 46” thighs. 80” chest. Ramy, Roelly, Hadi, Brandon, Iain, Hunter, all of them were dwarfed by him. His shirt, the only thing he could fit into that came anywhere close to formal wear, was splitting at the seams - literally, it had already torn in two places, small tears, for now. It was custom made. He hadn’t paid for it, the company that made it had volunteered, as long as he did a social media promo. But they made it weeks ago, not expecting him to grow into the show. He had definitely grown into the show. “Where did this kid come from?” Just a little town in southern Ontario, nowhere special. * THREE YEARS EARLIER Adam had to lift pretty late at night because of his job and his classes. He was almost done with the degree. He hoped it’d land him a better job, one that would allow him to lift at a more sensible time. But for now, he showed up at the gym around 11 pm and generally left a little after midnight. It was one of those gyms where members all had a fob to open the door, and there wasn’t always staff on site. This night, the few guys who were there already left not too long after Adam arrived. He had the whole 20,000 square feet to himself. He felt dwarfed by it. He’d been lifting for nine months now, had some newbie gains to show for it, but he still felt out of place. He just looked kind of fit, at best. A little muscle on him but nothing special. He launched into his next set, machine rows, and he really got into the rhythm of it. Slow cadence - he knew not to use momentum, he knew to emphasize time under tension. Pull, squeeze, return, stretch, repeat. His baby lats burned but he kept at it. These are the reps that count, he told himself. This is where the growth is. When he finished, he looked up and saw a bodybuilder sitting on a bench, watching him. Adam was confused - he was certain he’d been alone for twenty minutes or more. He hadn’t heard anyone come in. Had this guy been in the lockers all this time? And he was blatantly staring. Adam took out his phone and toyed with it, hoping the bodybuilder wouldn’t start anything. He didn’t want trouble. He just wanted to finish his workout. If Adam had noticed the time on his phone, or looked up at the clock on the wall, he would have seen that it struck midnight during the set of rows he’d just finished. Adam heard a voice and felt a presence looming. “Hey kid.” His mouth went dry and he looked up. The bodybuilder was huge. Like, pro huge. Some pros went to this gym but Adam rarely saw them because he always came in so late. Adam’s dick began stiffening automatically at the display of bulging pecs, thick veiny arms, quads exploding out of the bottom of tiny shorts hiked high, calves like two footballs clutched by veins like tree roots. He couldn’t help it. The guy was handsome, too. Mediterranean, maybe? Persian? Black hair, dark eyes that were swift and intelligent, perfect tan skin, and the muscles. My god, the muscles. He smelled like testosterone, this close up. “I said hey.” Adam closed his gaping mouth. “Oh uh…. Hey there.” “You wanna get big, huh?” “Um… well…. Yeah.” “Thought so. I could smell it on you from across the room. You’re pretty scrawny but the size of your desire, whoo boy, I’ve rarely seen a desire so huge, not even in the pros.” What was this guy talking about? Adam was worried, this bodybuilder didn’t seem to be in his right mind. He knew a lot of these guys did other drugs, was he hopped up on something? He did have a vaguely coked-up air about him. Adam better be careful not to agitate him. “Oh uh, well, thank you. I’m trying my best.” “I see that. That was a nice set you just did. Good intention. I’ve got a feeling you’re going to get everything you want, and more.” “.... haha, well, I hope you’re right. I definitely want to get huge.” Adam gave his best fake laugh. “You better start your next set. You’re on 90 second rests and it’s been more than 100.” “How…?” “I said start your next set.” His voice was quiet, commanding. Adam gulped, turned his attention to the machine, gripped the handles firmly, and started rowing. Like before he fell into a kind of rhythm, but this time it was deeper. He kept pulling and pulling and pulling. His lats felt like they would burst. But he was merciless. His form remained smooth, controlled. His tempo, slow. He was crying, it hurt so bad. Literal tears mixing with the sweat running down his face. He kept rowing. It burned so bad, worse than anything he’d ever felt. When Adam finally stopped, he released the handles with a sob and let his arms fall to his sides. There was no way to hold them that didn’t make his throbbing lats feel worse. He groaned in helpless agony and looked around for the mysterious bodybuilder who had been talking to him. There was no one else in the gym. Even though he’d been in his own world during that set, that agonizing endless set…. Adam would have noticed the muscle man leaving, right? * A YEAR LATER “Adam, you should totally compete!” “Oh, I don’t know...” Adam shrugged his shoulders, not wanting to acknowledge that he had been considering that very thing himself lately. “I’m serious, man, you’d fit right in on an amateur stage, classic, maybe even cross over and do open as well.” Adam had poured himself into the gym after graduation. He found a job but his focus really wasn’t there - he was competent, but his managers always said he could be doing more, and as the months went by and his muscles continued to expand, they grew uncomfortable with his physical presence. He was handsome, muscular, confident, but there was something off about him, something they couldn’t put into words. The gym was his life. His passion. It was almost like the first nine months he’d spent lifting were a kind of false start - what he thought of as newbie gains were quickly dwarfed by his second year of progress. His friends were right - not only would he not look out of place on an amateur stage, he’d stand a good chance of winning the whole thing. So that’s what he did. The experience of contest prep was hyped up to be a gruelling gauntlet to him, but somehow he never found it that way. He got leaner, his skin thinned, his muscles popped, but he never felt hungry, he never felt exhausted. At first he was concerned because the scale wasn’t going down the way it should - but the mirror told a different tale. “I guess you’re growing into your show. Lucky fucker.” The classic weight limit for someone 5’8” was 182 lbs. The plan for him to do both classic and open was scrapped as his weight never dipped below 185, and indeed crept into the 190s by the time show day arrived. He registered as a light heavyweight. He wore turquoise posers. He blew everyone away. He won his class. He won the overall. He qualified for nationals. His friends were beyond hyped at the after-party. “You’ve gotta do it, man! Do nationals! You’re built for this!” He believed it. He’d never felt happier in his life. That night, back at the hotel, after everyone had left, he stepped into another shower to try and get more of the fake tan off. He knew he’d be shedding it for days to come even after doing his best to scrub it away. He enjoyed the way the water cascaded down his rock hard musculature. His glutes like twin boulders. His pecs like two shields of stone. The veins on his biceps and forearms like veins in marble. His cock throbbed, and he indulged himself; it only took a half dozen strokes before he blew a load all over the hotel shower wall, the hot water turning his cum all stringy. He turned off the shower, enjoying the warm humid air. Slowly he toweled off and stepped back into the room, naked, his skin raw and scrubbed fresh. He stopped in his tracks. Someone was in the room. It was the bodybuilder from the gym. That bodybuilder. “Adam,” he said, smiling. He was sitting in the armchair by the window, just as massive as the first time Adam saw him. Stringer tanktop covering less than a quarter of his tanned, bulging, super heavyweight torso. Dark nips angling downward from the sheer size of his pecs. His lips quirked into a smile. “You’re looking well.” “What the fuck are you doing in my room,” Adam said, the timid pipsqueak from a year ago nowhere to be seen. “Settle down. Relax. And you’re welcome, by the way.” “I’ll settle down when I’m good and ready. Who the fuck are you and what the fuck are you doing here?” “You’ll figure out who I am in time. And I’m here to congratulate you. And deliver the remainder of your prize.” Adam’s eyes flickered to the gimmicky sword he’d been awarded for winning the overall. Amateur shows don’t have cash prizes. What could this guy mean? “What are you, a rep for a supplement company or something?” The bodybuilder’s lips quirked as he held in a genuine laugh. “That’s a new one. No, as I said, you’ll figure out my identity in time. Don’t you remember our first meeting?” “I… I do,” Adam said reluctantly. “Well, I simply asked if you wanted to get huge, and you said you did. Your need blazed like a bonfire on a dark night, you know. Obvious. It practically begged for me to intervene on your behalf. But I do need permission, you know. So I asked. You wanna get huge? And you said you do. So….” the man gestured elegantly, muscles shifting and flexing as he did. “Here we are.” “I don’t understand.” “You will.” And with that, Adam woke up. His head hurt. His mouth was dry. His slow sleeping pulse suddenly doubled as he remembered - the weird bodybuilder! In his room! Talking some kind of crazy talk! Adam leapt to his feet and almost fell to the ground. His body wasn’t like it had been the day before. He was… larger. A lot larger. The same height, 5’8”. The same bones. But his muscles had inflated. At least 25 lbs. He saw himself in the mirror above the TV, his handsome face freaked out, terrified, his chest and ab-quilted stomach heaving with heavy breaths. What the fuck. * SIX MONTHS LATER His work was definitely going to find some excuse to fire him in the weeks ahead, he could tell. When he walked - or, waddled - into a meeting room, their faces screwed up like he had a stink about him. He was outgrowing his work clothes and he didn’t want to invest in new ones if they were just going to fire him anyway. But he had to get money from somewhere. OnlyFans was a surprising help for his finances. He didn’t even have to have sex - just posing, flexing, or even doing normal things like shaving, or preparing food with no shirt on. Sometimes he got his dick out but a lot of the times he didn’t even do that. And people in the thousands paid to watch him, this young guy, just turning 24, handsome enough to be a movie star, with his jaw dropping muscles. The day he was finally let go, for reasons he could probably challenge successfully except he didn’t want to, he celebrated with an OnlyFans post. “Watch me flex out of my work clothes.” All his office attire, going back to when he had been a 150 lbs nobody. One by one he squeezed his muscular body into them and then flexed hard, forcing seams to split, tearing fabric apart. It was like ripping apart his old identity. The old Adam. Adam wasn’t much for social media but he couldn’t keep his physique under wraps any longer. Instagram was a must. He hated it, but the sponsorships he’d picked up since his big win required him to make posts, and the larger his following the more likely they’d be to renew contracts. He had no paycheque anymore so he did his best to lean into it. As Nationals drew near the buzz around him was unmistakable. Instagram is full of bodybuilders who seem like they’re going to blow the competition away on show day, only to finish in the middle of the pack - but everyone was convinced that, this time, for Adam, it would be different. He was the heavy favourite among the online crowd. He’d registered at 194 lbs at his first show. What no one knew was the very next day, after the visitation from the weird bodybuilder in his hotel room, he’d weighed in at 221 lbs. The growth kept coming during the three months of bulking he’d planned before beginning his cut for the Nationals. 250 lbs is a lot on someone who’s only 5’8”, but that’s where he landed before the cut. That’s when he got fired from his job. They just couldn’t handle someone that massive, such a meathead in a professional environment. No one who’s of sound mind would ever do something like that to their bodies. Obvious steroid abuse. Ticking time bomb of roid rage. No one felt comfortable in the office with him. Fuck them anyway. He was making good money from sponsorships and OnlyFans, and he’d be getting his pro card soon. His cut for his second-ever contest began, and just like the first one, the scale was stubborn. It dipped down as low as 243, but it stayed there for a while, and then began creeping up. He was vicious about his diet and cardio. He didn’t cheat at all. But he was growing into his show again. With two weeks to go, he was back at 250 lbs, but so much leaner and sharper than he’d been just a couple months previous. The internet was losing their mind. This wasn’t just a kid who deserved a pro card. Adam was rapidly growing an Olympia-contender physique, right before everyone’s eyes, and doing it at an accelerated pace that beggared belief. He flew out for the show a week early, set up shop in an Airbnb, did his final workouts and a photoshoot at a local gym, went home and ate his prepared meals, updated his instagram and his OnlyFans, played video games, and then slept. Day after day. He waddled into registration exactly 59 lbs heavier than he’d been for his first show. 253 lbs. The guy recording the weights couldn’t restrain himself. “Damn, son.” He looked Adam up and down. “That is a HELL of a lot of mass to be carrying on a 5’8” frame.” “Thanks man,” Adam said nonchalantly, trying not to become overly emotional. He kept a tight rein on things until after the show was over. He knew he was a favourite to win. He knew that pro card was his. But he had to pretend he didn’t know, until it had actually happened. Super Heavyweight. Called to the centre of the lineup within seconds of getting on stage. Stayed there the whole time. Nailed every pose. Adam’s physique was shocking. The official photographer’s camera was going off like a machine gun. He knew this was something special, that pictures of Adam from this show would be well known twenty-five years from now. These pictures he was taking, as this freak of musculature moved gracefully from pose to pose to pose, would be joining the echelons of legendary physique pictorial. Cutler’s quad stomp. Arnold on the beach. And Adam winning his pro card, absolutely mopping the floor with the competition. The after party was glorious. Everyone wanted to suck his dick, metaphorically and, eventually, literally. He should have been exhausted but he felt elated. He felt high, like he was on a drug. He kept pumping his cock into warm willing holes in the hotel room, a frenzy of muscle and lust and dominance. He was the fucking champ. He was the newest IFBB pro. He was only 25 years old. He was hot shit, and he had his whole future ahead of him. He didn’t remember falling asleep. When he woke up it was still dark outside. The room was gloomy, dim. He felt hungover. His balls ached. How many times had he cum last night? Five? Six? More? He groaned and rolled over, intending to lumber into the bathroom for some water - he could drink all he liked now, after all. He froze mid-roll. There was someone else in bed with him. A big lumpy shape, half-seen in the darkness. Denting the mattress. Not a surprise - hadn’t he hosted a victory orgy? But the room was dark, no one else was here, and although there’d been plenty of muscular men attached to his dick last night, this one was bigger than any of them. About the same size as me, Adam thought. The other man blinked awake and smiled prettily. His massive pecs mounded up under his chin as he propped himself up on one arm and leaned toward Adam. “Good morning, beautiful,” he said, showing perfect white teeth that almost glowed in the gloom. “Wh-... what the fuck,” Adam stammered. “Don’t be so shocked. You really ought to learn to expect me by now.” He reached a hand out and stroked Adam’s muscular arm, then his face. Adam didn’t draw away, for some reason. He felt hypnotized by the mysterious bodybuilder. He was paralyzed yet untroubled by this fact. “You’ve done so well. Look at the size of you. You’re really huge now, aren’t you?” “Yeah I’m… I’m pretty huge...” Adam felt himself speak, but it was like someone else was speaking. “I’m contractually obligated to give you an off-ramp here, but fair warning. It’s your last chance to back out.” “Huh?” The bodybuilder smirked. “It’s like their brains shrivel up, I swear.” He resumed stroking Adam’s handsome face, toying with his short curly hair. “I’ll make it simple for you, big guy. You can stabilize around this size. You’ll spend your off-season in the 270s, you’ll compete in the 250’s, you’ll probably have quite the career. I can’t promise what kind of success, because I won’t be involved any longer. In fact, tonight will be the last time you see me. Pity, that. If you take this option, I mean.” Adam whimpered. His cock was throbbing, achingly hard, like a steel beam in the sun, like he hadn’t cum for a month. “The other option is, you stay on this ride and we see just how huge ‘huge’ really is.” Adam felt his mouth open and close. “Guh….” The bodybuilder stroked his face again. “Such a pretty man, really, even without the muscles. So what do you say, kid. Do you want to get even huger?” “Fuck, yes, please, anything, I want to be a monster, I want to be the biggest bodybuilder ever, I never want to stop growing, I wanna grow til I split my skin” Adam felt the words come tumbling out, like a dam inside him had burst. The bodybuilder chuckled, his pecs flexing and dancing. “That’s what I hoped I’d hear. You know that bonfire of desire I said you had inside you? It’s burning brighter than ever, it’s never dimmed. It rages, I can sense it across the eons. I’ll see you next time, handsome.” Then he leaned in and kissed Adam. It was the most powerful kiss Adam had ever experienced. He felt his soul melting. Untouched, his cock began to twitch and dance and spurt cum like a broken sprinkler. Adam moaned loudly, reached out to pull the sexy bodybuilder in closer, and his hands passed through thin air. The man was gone. Adam slumped back onto the mattress, stared at the ceiling for a second. Then, realizing just how disgusting and stinky his mouth must have been during that kiss, that best-ever kiss with that god of a man, rolled over and went to the bathroom for a glass of water and to clean himself up. * Adam shouldn’t have been shocked when he woke up in his hotel room the morning after his show. It had happened once already. And yet… he somehow hadn’t expected it. He was bigger. A lot bigger. Like 40 lbs bigger. 253 lbs is a lot on a 5’8” frame, like the man at check-in said. 290-something, in contest shape? Practically unheard of. That’s beyond Roelly Winklaar size. That’s beyond Big Ramy size. That’s already in a category of its own. He threw himself into the off-season with a vengeance. The mass came, like his body knew no limit. Every set, his freakish muscles filled with so much lactic acid, his eyes would tear up, he would be gasping and moaning, unable to ease the pain. And then his timer would beep and he’d launch into another set, ignoring the throbbing pain, pumping himself ever huger. He grew. And grew. And grew. A member of the 300 lbs club now, rapidly filling out. His shoulders mound up alongside his head, bigger than his skull. His pecs hit his chin when he looks down at them. His walk now an extreme waddle. Every eye staring at him when he goes out in public. Blocking a sidewalk, blocking an aisle at the grocery store. People watch him, mouths agape. Children ask questions. Mommy, what’s wrong with that man? His first pro show, an Olympia qualifier. The discourse went from “how well will he do” to “is he a contender to win it” to “how well is he going to do at the Olympia after he wins this?” He tried to ignore the headlines in the bodybuilding press. ADAM NOVAK PREPARES FOR HIS FIRST PRO SHOW, PROMPTING THE QUESTION: HOW BIG IS TOO BIG A NEW ERA OF MASS MONSTERS OR A ONE-OFF FREAK? ADAM NOVAK He started his prep at 312 lbs. Just like before, the scale was stubborn. It dipped down slowly, stalled, and then began climbing again as the show neared. Adam’s training sessions were almost like trances, now. He’d emerge from the altered space occasionally, and see the pumped, fit to burst muscle freak, face anguished from the lactic acid burn, tortured body slick with sweat and tears, XXXXXL tank top about to explode, veins the size of pencils, lungs heaving for oxygen. He was so massive he could barely get enough air in to fuel himself. He was always winded. His feet hurt from carrying this much weight. His gut hurt from eating so much food, every single day. Even his contest prep diet was enough for a family. He got leaner, and leaner, and leaner. Scarily lean. It was the most shredded he’d ever been. He weighed in at 317 lbs the day before the show. “Jesus,” the guy taking the measurements muttered. “Holy fuck.” Adam’s body seemed impossible, there was no way a human being could carry this much meat. The few people who knew him before, when he was just a normal dude, who were still in touch with him all sent him texts and DMs, worried about his health. It’s too much, Adam. Your body can’t take this for long. Forums and reddit threads were full of predictions of his doom. He must be on grams a week. Getting this huge this fast - kids today are too impatient. He’s going to pay the price for it. The show was a coronation. He was the heaviest guy there. He was the leanest guy there. His proportions were perfect, if of a magnitude unheard of. When he hit a most muscular, the audience actually gasped. The Olympia qualification was his. The celebration was subdued, though. Not an orgy like last time. He didn’t even want to go to a restaurant. He was tired of how people in public gawped at him. He just wanted to chill in the hotel room, smoke a joint, order some pizza, watch some stupid videos on youtube. So, that’s what he and his crew did. The champ gets what he wants. As he said goodbye to the last of his crew, he knew what to expect. He had been expecting this all along. The memory of the kiss in the hotel bed last time stayed with him. It was seared into his soul, a tender spot he couldn’t stop poking at. It was the best kiss he’d ever had. It had been far more than a kiss. “You can come out now, if you’re here,” Adam said to the empty room. “You’re learning,” the bodybuilder said as he stepped out of the dark bathroom. “I’m not that stupid. This kind of thing doesn’t happen in real life, that’s all. You can’t expect people to catch on that fast.” “Can’t I? You lot used to be so much more reasonable before your faith in science overtook the evidence of your senses,” the bodybuilder smirked. “Although I will admit, your science has wrought many wondrous things.” He flexed, then, admiring himself. He’s smaller than me, Adam realized. A lot smaller. “Everyone is smaller than you now, Adam,” the bodybuilder said, answering Adam’s thoughts. “A very small number of them are close, but you’re top of the heap. You’re it. The biggest bodybuilder in the world, in human history. How’s it feel?” “It’s exhausting.” The bodybuilder was silent, and Adam felt compelled to continue. “I can’t even tie my own shoes. I have to turn sideways to get through some doors. Everyone stares at me. I’m always out of breath and my feet hurt. Nothing fits. When I’m not lifting I’m eating, and when I’m not eating I’m sleeping. I have to wear a machine when I sleep so I don’t suffocate on my own meat.” The bodybuilder stared at him, still silent. Was that the tiniest shimmer of pity in his dark, expressive eyes? Finally the bodybuilder spoke. “I told you last time, it was your last chance to back out. There is no escape, now.” Adam was quiet. “I know.” The bodybuilder narrowed his eyes. “That bonfire of need in you….” “Yes?” “It’s still there, Adam. It hasn’t dimmed, at all.” Adam hung his head, his chin in the cleft between his pecs, his arms unable to rest at his sides because his lats were in the way. His legs forced apart by the sheer volume of his quads. “.... yeah.” “You want to get even bigger, don’t you, Adam?” Adam felt his breath shaking and catching. He was trembling. His body couldn’t take this. It was too much. It was way too much. He wouldn’t last another year if he kept growing. This has to end. It has to end now. It… “.... yeah.” Adam heard the sound of a wretched sob from somewhere in the room, the sound of a broken soul. The bodybuilder stepped closer. He reached an elegant finger under Adam’s chin, having to work it into the canyon between his pecs to do so. He lifted Adam’s face. “Son of the earth, the need in you is…. exquisite. It is beautiful. You have the purest need of any mortal I’ve seen, and I have been here for…. For far longer than you can know, my treasure.” Adam felt a tear trickling down his face as the fallen angel’s true form flickered through his disguise. The beauty he glimpsed was painful to behold. “I should not do this. I am here to punish the sin of greed. I don’t know what they’ll do to me. This might be my unmaking. But you, Adam… your greed is no sin. It is purified, somehow. The purest essence of want. Son of the earth, I’ll give you what you want, but it won’t hurt you any more. It won’t sap your life any more. Your skin won’t rip and tear. Your organs won’t fail. Your heart won’t break. You’ll keep growing, son of the earth, and I’ll protect you, damn the cost.” A second tear trickled down Adam’s face as his eyes were locked with the demon’s. The world was shrinking, it was only their two bodies, not even the room around them. The point of contact where they touched was all of reality. Adam’s monstrously overgrown form, obscene and impractical mass, and the demon’s human guise, the pure essence of virile muscular masculinity. The demon leaned in and kissed Adam again. It was like in the hotel bed. The ancient sign of a sealed covenant. The terms of their arrangement had been altered; a new contract was signed. Then, smiling, the demon took Adam by the hand and led him to the hotel room bed. His hands slowly running over the human’s unheard of musculature. The angry red stretch marks where his skin had begun to fail. The crevices where two muscles had run out of room and were now vying for territory. Adam’s ass, the biggest most muscular pair of glutes on planet earth, slowly being prised apart by the demon’s thick foot-long cock, radiating heat, slick, lubricating as it went. He was as good as his word - Adam would not come to harm as long as he was under the demon’s power. Adam felt drugged. He felt cosmic. His whole body was a sexual organ and the demon was touching every inch of it. Their hot breath in unison, mortal and immortal. The demon was inside him, deep inside him, pulsing, filling him with radiant seed, more and more of it. They couldn’t keep their mouths off each other, tongues darting, lips grasping. They wanted to devour each other and keep each other whole. When Adam woke up the next morning, he was alone. He felt elevated; he felt empty. He was 340 lbs. * NINE MONTHS LATER The entire Olympia weekend was a media spectacle. Adam was the biggest name in bodybuilding, not just literally but metaphorically. He’d just been a normal young man three years ago, when a demon had visited his gym at midnight and offered him a deal. Not that Adam understood that it was a deal, back then. But now, after having gained more than 200 pounds of raw beef with no end in sight, he knew it very well. Everyone wanted to know Adam Novak’s training secrets. Everyone wanted to know who his coach was. Everyone wanted to know what next gen roids he had to be taking. They tried to make the press conference about more than him. Soft-ball questions lobbed at the other competitors. They tried to make it seem like a true contest, like anyone else had a shot. Even though Adam clearly dwarfed everyone at the table, hunched over his microphone like a literal mountain of meat, the largest official Olympia track suit looking comically tight, painted on. Several months ago he was already the biggest bodybuilder in history. And he had grown since then, grown a lot. He registered at 358 lbs, still at 5’8”. The video clips of it happening had gone viral. He needed help to get dressed and undressed. He got so pumped backstage that he needed someone to feed him the endless amounts of carbs that his huge body required in the hours before the show - he could no longer touch his own face, or even reach his mouth with a fork. He posed to Sympathy for the Devil that night, the crowd losing its mind. They knew they were witnessing history. Adam felt kind of cheesy. The song choice seemed too on the nose. Adam hoped he was watching. Adam hoped he liked the tip of the hat. Adam wanted to see him grin at the little joke. Adam longed to see him again. What had he said? He might get in trouble? “This could be my undoing?” Something like that. He was supposed to punish Adam, but he had decided not to. He had decided to give Adam everything he wanted and to protect him from the negative downsides. Would he be waiting for Adam at the hotel tonight? Would they make love again, like they had last time? Adam couldn’t stop thinking about it. He realized, in the van back to the hotel, his gargantuan freakshow body taking up the entire back row, that he was in love. He was in love with a demon, his very soul was magnetized to him, and he didn’t know if he’d ever see him again. His heart was pounding as he waddled down the hotel corridor, so overgrown he almost brushed the walls with his beachball delts. It wasn’t the heart attack that internet trolls kept saying would claim him any day, as he grew and grew and grew beyond all reason. His heart was pounding because he didn’t know what was waiting for him. If he didn’t show up…. Adam opened the door. The room was dark. He hit the lightswitch and heard his own tight voice, aching with hope. Aching with need. A simple word, wanting an answer. “Hello?”
  12. 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.
  13. 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."
  14. I need to preface this story somewhat. I think it will be a bit of a departure from what is typical here. This is the first story I ever wrote for broad public consumption in 2006. The story is semi-autobiographical, a dramatization of the events that surrounded my own coming out. Because of the subject matter and how close it hit to the pain that has lasted in real life over 20 years, I was never able to finish it. After some recent events that a few close people on this forum will know - I decided come back to this story for the first time in almost 15 years. I think with those events will allow me to finish this story at last. This story, as with all of mine, is a slow burn. What happens will happen over a period of chapters. But I wanted to put this here for one reason really - when I originally published this, it was extremely well received. One person I know here even remembered reading it when I posted it 15 years ago. But, the one thing from this story that I will always treasure was an email from a teenager in Missouri who wrote how this story gave him the courage to come out of the closet to his father. If this interpretation of my own coming out story can do some good for others like that, then what I experienced all those years ago is worth it. *** Trigger Warning: I should also give a trigger warning that this story touches on a lot of topics that are very real including - LGBT people and conservative Christianity and family, depression, post traumatic stress, teen suicide, teen homelessness, violence, and more. I write all of my stories as much as possible to real life, and since this one is VERY close to real life and very personal, this is no exception. Where ever possible, I will tone down some of the obvious realities of these situations, but if you have come into contact with any of those in your life, fair warning. All persons depicted in the story are over the age of 18. I also write chapters in stories to various pieces of music that have a meaning to the chapters in question. So, at the appropriate point, I have linked to youtube vids of those songs. Dedication: "Being the One is just like being in love. No one can tell you you're in love, you just know it -- through and through, balls to bones." -- The Oracle I'd never watched the movie The Matrix until recently. Hard sci-fi's never really been my thing. But, the movie was recommended by a friend. He said there were a few scenes that reminded him of me, but he didn't say which ones. I'd just know, he said. I did. What is it like to LOVE? Not a pre-teen puppy love, an unvoiced crush, or a hollow lust, but LOVE. A LOVE that is all encompassing -- that agonizes and wounds and exalts and heals. A LOVE that connects you to another soul . . . and through them to the universe. A LOVE that raises you to immortality. A LOVE that let's you, if but for a moment, "slip the surly bonds of earth, to touch the face of God." Can you really describe it or can it only be experienced to be known? Can any words illustrate it save you will know it when you feel it, balls to bones? I've been blessed to find that LOVE in my life. Although events have caused us to be separated by thousands of miles, the connection, soul-to-soul, is as strong as ever. So many people believe that they can be happy without LOVE -- I used to be one of them. But, as I discovered, hell is not a pit of sin; hell is being alone. So, this story is dedicated to the man who first completed me, the man you will meet in these pages. To the man who taught me what it is to know LOVE. I could never have known who I am and what life truly is without him. To the real Rian, I give all my LOVE - - through and through, balls to bones. Gnothi Seauton. --JBS, June 2006 Chapter 1 - A Light in the Darkness "Sometimes I hate that chaos surrounds me / When all the answers that I seek go around me / Am I drowning? / Am I fading away? …” (Song on the Radio - https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mNkDPWVOf0s ) Dylen didn't listen to the radio that much anymore. Music had become more of a habit rather than anything he actually enjoyed. But, there was something in these lyrics that caught his mood. His fingers moved from the radio back to the steering wheel. Yeah, he was drowning. His whole life was nothing but a study in chaos, and the answers … if there were any, they surely slid around him, just out of reach. He pressed the gas pedal, accelerating his small, well-worn car further down the road. As was typical for him on the drive home, Dylen's mental automatic pilot engaged, causing the music from the radio to drift away with the rest of his surroundings. The dark, straight Colorado road that led to his home had claimed victims in the past, hypnotizing them as its endlessly flat ribbon never veered an inch to the right or the left. Dylen often mused that he was trapped into a destiny he wasn't sure he wanted. His life was unalterable - inescapable -- just like this road. But, tonight his mind was so far away that nothing, not even the endless road, registered to his senses. Dylen's mind returned to its torrid conversation, depressed and lonely. The voice -- the fears and feelings that had become almost a second personality in the last year -- guided his thoughts, whispering to him. "It's just two weeks before high school graduation and what do I have to show for my life? What do I have that is really worth all this pain? Nothing," he decided, "Nothing at all. I'm at best a worthless coward.” "Worthless? Yeah, just look at this piece of shit car. I had to pay for it on my own. It barely even qualifies as a car. I've got the pedal on the floor and can only manage 70. I worked so hard to get what!? This piece of trash! But, the damnable piece of trash matches me. It's just another symbol of my worthless life." he thought. "Coward?" he continued. His eyes shifted to the rear-view mirror, catching a glimpse of a smooth, brown leather case in the back seat. Seeing that case silenced even the mental conversation. The instant and eternal moments that plagued Dylen flashed before his mind's eye. He felt a churn in his stomach. Desires that he'd been taught to believe were sinful and wrong, wrong to feel and wrong to be, were inside of him again. They were always there. He'd tried so hard to shake them, to ignore them, to bury them in "right" feelings. But, they were a part of him tha, try as he might, he could not escape. He could admit them to no one; he could barely admit them to himself. A brave man is one that conquers himself on the battlefield of life, he'd once read. "So, what does that make me? Definitely a coward," Dylen spat out loud. Those desires were his greatest secret, the path that he foresaw leading to the downfall. No one understood him. No one could understand. His parents could not grasp his dreams, even if he could relate them vocally. Not to mention they'd call him deranged for even entertaining them. And so, Dylen's mind groped for any humiliating, degrading word his formidable intellect knew, and he invariably found examples from his past to prove that those words described him. As he lurched from one horrific thought to the next and proved his uselessness to himself, anger and desperation festered, gnawing at what was left of his soul. Of course, no one else on earth knew about this self-mutilation of soul save Dylen Mason. In fact, to every other human who knew him, Dylen appeared to have everything any 18 year old could want. Physically, most of the girls in his graduating class considered him to be the best unspoken for guy in the school. "Cute" was the word they always seemed to return to. His thick mane of light ginger hair was just beginning to sun bleach, as it did every summer. His tan was now deep and rich despite his normally light toned complexion. The daily chores required of him around the Mason's small family farm rendered him quite strong, beyond what his thin 5'10", 140 pound body would betray. His facial features were wholly masculine, but there was something soft and inviting about his youthful smile. But, everyone who knew him agreed his brown eyes were his best feature. Those eyes were dark, seductive, but also seemed to shine with inner light, a fire sometimes fiercely blazing while at others softly glowing. Behind those beautiful eyes shone Dylen's brilliant mind. As long as anyone could remember, Dylen was years ahead of his peers. He was reading simple sentences at 2, teen novels at 6, and college course level work by 10. His parents never considered allowing Dylen to skip grades, so he was often bored. He made up for it by reading and learning anything he could get his hands on. He mastered playing the drums, including jazz set, classical snare, and tympani. He'd even taken all-state honors on several occasions. Now that he was almost grown, the colleges sent him offers en masse. A stack of over 70 unsolicited recruitment letters from some of the most prestigious universities in the United States sat in piles in his room. Harvard, Yale, Johns Hopkins, Duke, Vanderbilt, among many others, personally invited his application. In fact, just yesterday, two letters arrived in the mail. The first was another congratulatory letter at being named as his class's valedictorian. The second was the next in a series of communications with the University of Colorado - the school he'd cheered for and wanted to attend since childhood -- where he had secured a full Merit academic scholarship. Dylen did have one obvious weakness, something that was common to children with his intellectual strength. He was hard to get to know socially. Everyone in school liked Dylen, but it was as if there were a buffer between him and his peers. Most of his school friends chalked that up to his Mormon upbringing, but, even so, at his core, he was an intensely private person. Dylen preferred the company of one or two close friends to any environment with large numbers of people. He had an almost impenetrable lack of external emotion, which hid seething passions underneath. He did have a few friends who pierced the barrier and who found him to be the best, most loyal friend they had ever known. But, even his parents admitted that, in some ways, they barely knew their own son. Despite the emotional seclusion, Dylen had always been a strength and support to those close to him as they endured the pains of adolescence. Dylen always seemed happy until the beginning of his senior year. But, something happened that particular August that no one understood. Seemingly overnight, Dylen withdrew completely. He stopped visiting his friends, instead choosing to spend virtually all his free time alone in his room. His once immaculately groomed appearance disappeared and was replaced by a sloppy, uncared for exterior. Even the girls who once marveled, however secretly, at his looks, could rarely see any part of it now. The cuteness, the fire, and Dylen himself, had been swallowed up by something. At first, everyone thought it was a phase that would play out, but it didn't. Dylen's friends didn't understand why he never seemed to be happy anymore. Those close enough to read his complex emotions could tell he was overcome with sadness and sometimes even anger. The problem was that they did not know what it was over, much less if they could do anything about it. Months passed and things only got worse. As winter closed in, a cold as formidable as any arctic blast gripped Dylen. Nagging fears about their son became the topic of hushed conversations between his parents. Paul and Kathi Mason even went so far as to ask their bishop to interview their son, but the bishop was locked out by the formidable emotional wall the same as everyone else. As spring dawned and graduation approached, Dylen's days seemed to be filled with syrupy sweet, but genuine compliments. Dylen had won every award and honor that it was possible for him to win. Perhaps, with the pressure of winning finally off, Dylen may return to something akin to normal his friends and family continued to vainly hope. Dylen was outwardly grateful for all the concern; however, he immediately dismissed it in the privacy of his own mind. The specter of that brown case and his desires were always there, overshadowing every action he made. Their love was all misplaced anyway, Dylen decided. If they knew what he really was, they'd be condemning him, not congratulating him. So, through every obsessed-over twist of fate, through every eternal moment, his once strong spirit wilted a little more. *** The autopilot registered something amiss. But, Dylen was so lost in his wandering melancholy that the dog in the road didn't come to conscious thought until it was just a few yards away. Time slowed and his senses accelerated as adrenaline rushed through him. His foot hit the brakes, and the wheel lurched in his hands. His breath restricted as the seat belt snapped taut around him. Tires began to scream in protest. Dylen was strangely calm as he found he was losing control. Although he was going to miss the dog, he realized he was not going to stay on the road. The animal passed safely to his right, but it stayed in clear view through the front windshield. The car was spinning. Dylen heard the sound of scraping dirt and grinding metal under his car as he left the road. It had been years since Rian had enjoyed as satisfying a week as this one was turning out to be. As he pulled off the freeway to drive to his parents home, he marveled at how good being successfully free of pressure could feel. Final exams week were much more difficult than he'd anticipated, and he'd pulled two all-nighters to get through chemistry and calculus. He had been rather worried about the calc exam because there were a lot of complicated formulas he had to get right. But, when he walked out of class for the last time that semester, he knew he'd done well. He relished the thought of the nights of freedom to come -- because he knew they would not last. Good medical schools were getting more and more difficult to get into. He needed good grades in classes that would be much more challenging than freshman intro courses. College was going to get a lot harder very quickly. But, this week had one more satisfying moment -- perhaps even more satisfying than finishing the year had been. Rian finally moved out of the CU dorms. He'd scouted out his small, but very nice loft apartment weeks ago. Since then, he'd been moving things in, spending his small amounts of free time putting his new home together. It had taken all of the Thursday after the calculus final to get the last of the moving done; but, late last night, for the first time, he'd slept in a home of his own. Rian May was the guy everyone envied in high school. Co-captain of the football team, contender for state in wrestling, smart in every subject. Rian looked older than his just over 20 years, but that seemed to work to his advantage. Every girl that ever crossed his path was tongue-tied when taking in his short styled blond hair, bottomless blue eyes, and ruggedly chiseled features. In fact, most people thought Rian was a model, despite the fact he'd never done a photo shoot and never intended to stand in front of a camera. In addition to his classic features, Rian maintained a classic physique model’s body. But, unlike most of his athlete friends, Rian's gym experiences had always been a means to an end. Sometimes, the gym was for simple stress relief as he shed his cares on unrelenting iron. At other times, the gym helped him prepare for this sport or that; but truthfully, there was always another drive at the heart of his workouts. When Rian was 13, he'd watched a Discovery Channel program on orthopedic surgeons. He had been mesmerized. He knew exactly what he wanted to do with his life from that day on. Since he expected he would need to know a lot about the body and body structure to be a surgeon, what better place was there to learn about them than the gym, his young teen mind reasoned. The tight, but thin thirteen year old poured himself into his workouts and never looked back. What developed was a 5'11", 195 pound and growing body that would be the envy of any man. But, the dedication and drive to maintain himself at his best, was a reflection of his deeper drive to achieve in every part of his life. Rian also had the good fortune to be born into a family with means. Rian's grandfather was an exceptional businessman, a state legislator, and a farmer. Rian's mom, his youngest daughter, was a remarkably beautiful woman, having been a finalist for Miss Colorado in her youth. Rian's father was a bull of a man. The definition of corn-fed football beef, he'd played line at Colorado State. The young couple seemed the perfect match. Unlike the dreams of many of his player friends, Rian's father always had Colorado soil in his blood. All he ever wanted to do was return home and run the family farm. But, Rian's mother inherited her father's business instincts. The result was that the May’s had no worries for money, even when times for the other farmers were difficult. They lived a comfortable life in one of the finest homes to be found in Colorado farm country. When Rian, the May's only child, turned 18, he gained access to a trust set up for him by his grandfather. Rian only knew of the trust's existence, and he always assumed it was enough to pay for his college. He was astonished when he learned that, under his mother's watchful management, the trust had grown in his two decades of life from 25,000 to just under 3 million dollars. At 18, he was a millionaire. For most teenagers, this windfall on top of a life of relative privilege would have been the ticket to extravagance and indulgent self-destruction, but not Rian. To be sure, he enjoyed the good things life had to offer, but he was always managed what he had carefully. He never flaunted his money to others. He knew he had been blessed, and that blessing required responsibility. His goals in life were everything to him, and the gym taught him the discipline and work ethic to achieve them. That fateful Friday started as so many normal days did for Rian. He got up at his usual 6 am and started a shirtless morning run in the crisp but warm late spring air. It ended an hour later at the Ward Athletic Center. A number of Rian's friends who were now CU athletes -- along with a generous contribution from his mom to the athletic scholarship fund -- persuaded the athletic department to allow Rian to use the superior student athlete workout facility. In the end, the investment paid off more than the coaching staff expected. Over his years in the gym, Rian had turned himself into something of a conditioning expert. He had discovered and tested virtually every exercise technique, diet strategy, and legal supplementation to help him learn about the body and to develop his physique. In truth, Rian's knowledge rivaled the strength and conditioning coaches on staff. The fact that he was the same age as the younger student athletes led them to be much more comfortable in posing questions and getting advice from Rian. Since the advice came from a peer, it was usually followed more closely than if it came from "an old man." The gains made by several freshman athletes were a testament to Rian's ability to train others as much as they were to the athletes' work in the gym. As soon as Rian arrived, he changed into his usual workout gear and threw himself into his routine. With the pressures of exams and the move finally off, he enjoyed an amazing leg workout. He'd been on a plateau for a month, not really making the strength gains he'd set for himself. But, today he felt so good; he believed he'd finally broken through it. He made careful mental notes of how he did on each group of sets, and ended the workout with a careful examination of his body in the mirror. Rian viewed himself with an almost clinical detachment, objectively noting any differences from the last time he'd thoroughly examined the muscle groups. As he reviewed his progress, he decided how to approach the differences he found, good or bad, in his next workout cycle. A number of the guys in the gym also stopped to watch Rian and his nearly 200 pounds of muscle go through the ritual. There were more than a few cheers and shouts of praise like "Fucking Awesome Rian." Rian graciously accepted the complements, but remained absolutely objective in his observations. His decision after he completed his last hamstring pose was not bad . . . not bad at all. He'd gained a couple of mental stress pounds that lent a slight haze to his usual deep six pack, but he could take care of that quickly enough. In fact, the summer promised to be a great one for him -- in the gym and elsewhere. Time began to accelerate as the car slowed dramatically, finally coming to a complete stop. For a moment the soft hiss and click of a hot engine prematurely stopped still registered in the air. Then there was silence. Dylen remained frozen for a few seconds, his stunned brain still trying to sort out what happened. Almost in shock, his body began to function automatically to remove him from the danger. A hand with a life of its own clicked the seatbelt and opened the car door. Legs removed him from the driver's seat. His steps were labored, nearly stumbling, as the legs moved him away from the machine. Slowly, as his feet made contact with the road, Dylen's conscious mind returned. He saw his car, turned 180 degrees. The rear wheels were at odd angles suspended a few inches off the ground and partially descend into a dry irrigation ditch. The exterior of the car didn't appear to be damaged, outside of some cosmetic scrapes. But, a portion of the undercarriage was deeply wedged onto a rise between the road and the canal, which was enhanced by several yards of scraped earth. The car was floundered, like a squat teeter-totter. Even if he could start it again, there was no way he could extricate the car by himself. Perhaps it was the weight of this final, very real brush with death that caused it, but something inside of Dylen's self-tortured soul broke. It was as if his whole world finally collapsed. On top of everything else . . . EVERYTHING ELSE . . . there was this. He was still miles from home, he'd forgotten his cell phone that morning, and there were nothing but black, empty fields in sight. At no other time in his life had he ever felt so alone. Dylen's legs lost their strength, and he sank to the still warm asphalt. His emotionless exterior melted and tears of furious sadness began to flow. "Oh FUCK!!!" he wailed as a riptide of previously unspent emotion burst forth. He shook with despair, kneeling in the road of what he saw as his shattered life. "Why did this have to happen to me?" he cried. But, the accident was no longer in his mind. This was something much more. "It always overtakes me. Why should I fight it anymore?" he thought. "Maybe it would have been better for everyone if I hadn't walked out of that car alive. . ." Rian opened his apartment door after the return jog home to find his answering machine blinking. The message was from his parents, inviting him to come home for the weekend to celebrate the end of a successful freshman year. It was this invitation that led Rian to drive down the sparsely traveled country road that evening. Rian loved classic cars, so by chance, when he located a '62 Corvette Convertible, he couldn't resist the urge to splurge. It was a beautiful night, so he put the top down. The convertible sped loudly down the road as he got the chance to let some of the power of the car emerge. He had a CD of Stone Temple Pilots, his favorite band, in a portable RF CD player -- he refused to deface the car with modern car audio -- when he noticed another vehicle in the distance. (Song on the radio - https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YxS4lqppZ6Y) It was far away, but it definitely looked like an accident of some kind. The lights from the other vehicle were pointed toward him, but at a strangely elevated angle. As he closed in on the car, Rian couldn't quite make out what was going on, but there was some movement that interrupted the oncoming headlights. Someone has just walked from the center of the road toward the shoulder. *** A sound reached Dylen's ears. He had no idea how long he'd been there in the road -- a few minutes or a few hours -- but something was coming. Even from a distance it sounded powerful. A muscle car engine. "Maybe there is someone or something looking out for me," Dylen thought. Then, he caught sight of the lights. The car was approaching him. He quickly, but shakily, stood up, and moved to the side of the road. He tried to compose himself. There was still a part of him that did not want to add further embarrassment into his situation, but he was sure his tear streaked appearance would be embarrassing enough. The car came to a stop a few yards behind him, and a door opened. "Hey, you need some help?" The voice was a resonant, deep baritone, and it sounded familiar. Dylen squinted into the headlights, but he couldn't make out who it was. Then the shadow of a figure, wide and imposing, emerged from the glare. "Dylen? Jesus Christ, is that you?" Rian May asked as he emerged into the light.
  15. londonboy

    m/m Might I Suggest

    I had merely suggested that they might like to see my house – knowing full well it would impress them. I had been chatting with the two big guys at the gym and invited them home for lunch. I could immediately sense that the invitation made them both very uncomfortable, so I had simply focused on the larger of the two guys and thought about how he might really like to see my place. I thought about how the home gym and plush movie room would of specific interest. He had immediately accepted the offer on behalf of the two of them – much to the consternation of his friend. We were now standing in the large living space that opened out to the pool at my home – the beach, in sight, beyond. I loved the fact that the two guys were so confident that they acted like they were whispering, but spoke loud enough for me to hear – it’s just something cocky guys like to do. It’s as if they are marking their territory or something. It was meant to intimidate me if I had any ulterior motives. “I’m not feeling comfortable with this, man. Don’t you remember how this guy was staring at us while we were working out? It’s like he was imagining us naked. I say we split.” “Are you kidding dude? Look at this place. This guy is fucking rich. I say we milk this for everything we can. Besides, he’s so tiny either one of us could squash him like a grape with little effort. We got nothing to be scared of. Let’s just sit back and enjoy the ride. It’s nice to be pampered.” “Might I suggest we sit over here to have our drinks,” I said, calmly, pointing to a sofa and chairs near the pool. I had placed their two beers on a table in front of the large couch – making it pretty clear that they might want to sit near each other. I took my place in a chair directly across from them. The larger guy, Hank was his name, moved over to the sofa. When he sat down he picked up the glass I had placed beside his bottle of beer and stared at it with a confused face as he took a big swallow. “What’s this for? You gonna serve water, too?” “Might I suggest you pour your beer in it?” “What for?” asked Hank, the larger of the two large men, as he took another quick sip. “Cause it’s civilized, dude! Just do it,” answered Toby as he sat next to his workout partner and poured his beer obediently into the glass. He sat exactly where I hoped he would. Hank gave him a ‘what the fuck’ look and then followed suit. “Might I suggest you two make yourselves more comfortable.” “I don’t know, mister. I’m pretty fucking comfortable. I worked my ass off in the gym and have a mega-pump, I’m sipping nice beer from a glass, and I’m sitting in what I’m sure is a ten-million-dollar home. Can it get much more comfortable?” “Might I suggest you take off your shirt, Hank?” “Hell yeah! I mean, if you don’t mind, sir. Come on Tob, let’s go shirtless.” “Dude, this is all a little weird. Besides, I don’t want to see your man-boobs.” “I know, bro, but I just gotta uncover these puppies. It’s like if I don’t let them breathe I’m gonna die. It feels like my shirt is as heavy as a suit of armor or something. And it’s so fucking hot.” In an instant, Hank had his shirt off and if he had man-boobs, as Toby called them – then I’d say I must be a man-boob fanatic. His chest was miraculous. Heavy, heavy thick looking pecs that tensed and bounced as he moved. My mouth watered. The young man was enormous, like a young Lou Ferrigno. I could sense he was the more adventurous of the two – more gregarious and ready to embrace life. I did like Toby’s reserve, though. I had a feeling he was much more mature than his friend but loved hanging out with Hank so much, that he just accepted his friend as he was. They had told me they had known each other a really long time. Both were waiters at a fancy restaurant near the beach, while Hank had just started pursuing bodybuilding and Toby worked hard to build a modeling career. Toby’s looks matched Hank’s hugeness. The smaller big man had a fitness model physique and a face that had certainly caused many-a-wet-dreams over the years. I appreciated beauty as much as I did muscles. “Toby . . . I’m sure you’d be able to catch a few rays while we’re out here drinking and dining. I’m thinking you’d love to darken that already gorgeous tan of yours. Am I right?” “Yes sir. That’s good thinking. I could sure use a little more sun,” Toby replied as he put his beer down, grabbed the bottom of his t-shirt, and lifted it to reveal one of the most chiseled physiques I had ever seen. The two men were like the perfect pair – salt and pepper, Jack and Coke, oysters and champagne, or Ben and Matt. I loved huge pumped muscle – represented by Hank, but I also loved that low body-fat look of a sculpted surfer – represented by Toby. I had chosen perfectly. I pushed a button on the table beside me and soon an elder gentleman stepped out onto the patio. “Gentlemen, might I introduce my friend and butler, Alfred. Alfred, this is Toby and Hank,” I said, pointing to the appropriate guy when I spoke his name. “Gentlemen,” Alfred responded with a raised right eyebrow. “What’s up Al?” Hank said and I saw my butler cringe a little. “It’s nice to meet you, sir,” said Toby, and this made Alfred smile. “What would you like for lunch, guys?” I asked. “You mean, like we would say anything and this Alfred, here, is going to go and make whatever we ask for?” Hank said with total glee in his voice. “No, no, no – not Alfred,” I replied, as the older gentleman turned to me with a shocked look. “He will merely go and order it with the chef. Might I suggest a salmon and shrimp Caesar salad, with toasted garlic bread and then a big cheese and fruit platter for dessert. I also think a nice sauvignon blanc will go nicely with that.” “Is that a vegetable?” Hank asked. “It’s a wine, dude,” Toby quickly said, “That sounds really nice, mister.” “Thank you, Alfred. If you would let the chef know. Oh, how do you like our new friends?” “I haven’t seen bodies as nice as that since . . . um . . . yesterday, sir,” Alfred said, rolling his eyes and heading towards the kitchen. “Do you have a lot of servants, dude?” Hank asked, taking another sip of his beer. “Man, they’re not servants . . . they’re staff. Jeez!” exclaimed Toby. “Well excuse me, do you have a lot of staff, mister?” “A few, yes. By the way, you fellows may call me, Saxon,” I answered. “No more of this ‘mister,’ stuff.” “Is that your name? Wow, it sounds like SAX-ON-the-beach!” Hank said, laughing and getting a ‘shut up’ look from his friend. “Fellas, do the two of you ever wear posers?” I asked, stepping to an outdoor fridge behind a bar to get them two more beers. “You mean those skimpy little bathing suits? Naw, I’m not in competition shape, yet, so I haven’t had to buy one. I’m not sure I’m going to like them. As for Mr. Three-Legged-Toby, here, he can’t wear them because of his larger-than-life endowment. I swear the eight inches I’ve got on him in height all went to his crotch. He’s a monster.” Hank said, boasting openly for his friend. “Dude, some things don’t need to be shared,” Toby said. “It’s not like you can hide it, Tob-ster. Trust me, Saxon, it’s the first thing girls notice when we go out to bars. I’m standing there – six feet, ten inches of solid muscle, but the dames are all looking at his crotch. Most of them are scared to shit of the thing, but there are a few that usually take on the challenge.” “Over-sharing, Hank. I’m serious. Saxon does not want to hear about my dick, okay?” Toby said, clearly embarrassed by the conversation, but he also seemed a little proud of his giant tool, which had definitely not gone unnoticed by me – how could it? “Well, getting back to posers, I just happen to have some new ones in that table at the end of the sofa, Hank. Yes, just in there. Might I suggest that you two get even more comfortable and put some on. There are all sizes, Toby, so your more-than-ample endowment will not have to worry. It would please me very much and brighten the day even more than it already is.” “Wow, these things are really kind of hot,” Hank said as he opened the drawer and pulled out a bunch of still-tagged posers – all different colors and sizes. Toby looked on with horror and nervousness. I knew he’d need a little more convincing. Hank, on the other hand, had already started laying a few across his crotch to imagine what they might look like. “Surely, someone with a body like yours, Toby, and that of your friend’s, should not be covered with unnecessary layers of material. All the work you have done to make yourself buff, it’s only right and kind to let others behold the fruits of your labor.” “Well, when you put it like that, Saxon, it does sound selfish not to share,” Toby said in agreement – his words actually shocking himself. “It would be damn selfish,” Hank added – clearly ready to change. “You got an outdoor changing room Sax, buddy?” “Might I suggest that you both just change right here,” I said, slowly and clearly. “We’re all grown men and there won’t be anything revealed we’ve never seen before. That is, unless you’re embarrassed by your god given bodies and shy about your private parts.” “Fuck it, I did circle jerks with teammates in the locker room during college, so changing here is a piece of cake. I’ve got nothing to hide,” Hank said standing up and pulling down his sweats and briefs at the same time – in one quick, glorious move. Indeed, the huge specimen of manhood definitely had nothing to hide. His thighs looked as big as chairs and the muscles tensed beautifully as he moved. He also had nothing to be ashamed about in the meat department – sometimes a really big man does, indeed, have a nice sized penis, too. There was no ‘trying to make up for shortcomings below the belt’ causing Hank’s lust for bodybuilding. A nicely proportioned, thick, slightly curved dick hung invitingly between his legs as he pulled up some gold, shiny posers he had chosen. It was only when Toby slowly stood up and pulled down his shorts and underwear that Hank’s endowments became obsolete. Most wine bottles were not as thick as this young man’s cock and it hung down almost to knee level. He could have easily been taken for an elephant. The way that it flopped around told me it wasn’t even slightly hard at this insane size, which made me immediately want to suggest something to stimulate it, but I nixed that idea for later on. I swear the obnoxiously large cock only looked right . . . symmetrical . . . because Toby had this sculpted-by-the-gods body with appropriate bulges everywhere. He was of decent height – probably six feet – and his beautiful muscles made you accept the tree he was now stuffing into triple extra-large black posers. I’m sure his goal was that the color would help hide his more-than-a-horse cock, but it was also clear that was hopeless. I swear the thing could actually wrap around his waist. “Now, I think that makes all of us feel a lot better, don’t you,” I said to ease any lingering stress and it seemed to work. “Yeah, I’m feeling really good. Nice beer, snug posers, pumped body, the sun beating down on me, and a fucking mansion surrounding me,” Hank said, his face truly registering how happy he was. “Yes sir, this is nice,” replied the more reserved Toby, adjusting his monumental package. “How big is your chest, Hank?” I asked and the normally outspoken young man turned a little red and looked down at his huge pecs. “I’ve swelled these puppies up to fifty-seven inches in the last month. Gonna hit sixty by the end of the year. I can feel it,” Hank said, tensing the pecs together and then bouncing them. “Probably my best body part. I just got to get the rest of my muscles on par with my pecs and I’ll be ready to compete.” “It looks like you are well on your way, young man,” I replied, admiring his enormous size. “I bet you like to play with your big chest, don’t you?” “Yeah . . . yeah, I do. Like right now. I love to manhandle the big things – trying hard to compress the hard muscle,” he answered – his eyes not leaving his own chest and his hands groping the big mounds with not an ounce of self-consciousness. “Dude, what are you doing?” asked Toby, who was staring at his friend in disbelief. “Can’t help it man, I just sometimes got to feel all this thick muscle. I love how all this hard beef swells when I tense it. And watch – I can make them bounce together or one at a time,” Hank answered, and then he made his pecs do exactly as he had said. “Wouldn’t you like to feel one of his massive pecs, Toby? I bet Hank would love to share the privilege of groping – after all, there are two of them,” I suggested softly – imagining exactly what it would look like. “Oh, hell yeah, T-man. I’d love to have you clamping a strong hand down on my big pec. Bring it in, mister T and show me what you can do.” Hank said, looking into the eyes of his friend. “Those big things are really hot,” Toby said, unbelieving the words came out so easily, and his right hand went up to grip Hank’s massive pec with spread fingers. “Oh shit, dude, they’re so much harder than I thought they’d be.” “Wait til I tense them, dude,” Hank replied and then he flexed his chest with all his might – forcing Toby’s fingers to have to lessen their grip and making both men let little moans escape their mouths. “Fuck, feel free to squeeze harder, dude, my meat can take it. Yeah, hard to hold on to all that tensed beef, isn’t it, dude?” “It’s not hard to hold on to that big-ass nipple, punk,” Toby said as his fingers pinched Hank’s nub hard. “Yeowwww!!!! Oh, fuck that feels good, man,” Hank yelled. “Do it again!” “Look at you, loving the abuse,” Toby said. “You have no idea, Tobster – no idea,” Hank replied, as he let his head fall back and he closed his eyes. The bigger man had started tugging on his other nip in rhythm with his friend’s yanks on the first one. Soft growl-like sounds came from somewhere deep inside Hank. He was enjoying the abuse of his nips, completely. I refused to touch myself as I watched the show. I simply took a sip of the drink I had made myself and gazed at all the muscled beauty before me. The men had forgotten I was there. Toby was looking at his friend’s big pec – mesmerized by how much power he could use on the other guy’s nipple. I wanted to see just how powerful my talents for persuasion could take me. “That plump man-knob looks like it could use a mouth sucking on it, don’t you think, Toby? That would certainly make you feel nice, now wouldn’t it, Hank?” I said as calmly as I could. “Oh, fuck yeah.” “I would like to taste it, bud,” Toby said, politely and with begging in his eyes. That was all the permission the big bodybuilder needed. He grabbed the back of Toby’s head with his big hand and forcibly directed the guy’s face to his waiting pec with its jutting nipple. I could hear how hard Toby’s face hit by the smack it made. The smaller man didn’t seem to mind, at all. He simply began sucking on the nub sticking out from the swollen meat protruding from Hank’s big torso. From the immediate sounds of grunts and groans coming from both men, it was very hard to determine who was enjoying themselves more. Toby’s lips and mouth suctioned so hard that his cheeks caved in and gave him the look of a starved model. Hank writhed uncontrollably from the pleasure suck he was receiving – taking his friend’s head into the air as his back left the sofa. “Damn, Toby that mouth of yours is so fucking hot!” Hank said, without even thinking about it. “Toby does have a beautiful, sweet mouth, doesn’t he, Hank?” I said softly. “Wouldn’t you like to know what those lips, that tongue and his warm mouth taste like?” I was pushing the envelope and I knew it. I didn’t care. The big boy on big boy action happening in front of me was almost too much for me to handle. Huge muscled beef being licked, kissed, and sucked by this beautiful chiseled young man was much more than I had ever dreamed possible when I set out to the gym today. I wanted to see where all of this could lead. I wanted to satisfy all the urges these hot men were creating in my own body. I focused on Hank because he seemed to respond to the promptings the most. I was also beginning to pick up distant stirrings from Toby – something that made the show even better. “Just think how nice it would to be kissing that mouth, Hank,” I said – picturing it in my mind. “Might I suggest you try.” “Come here, babe,” Hank said with heaving breaths and then he locked his fingers in Toby’s thick hair and pulled the smaller man’s head toward his face. I could tell Toby paused briefly, allowing the lustful haze to lift for a few seconds and question what was happening. Hank didn’t want the other guy to wait for very long. The big man wanted to taste Toby’s mouth – that’s all he was focused on, now. He didn’t even miss the wonderful sucking of his huge pec. He smeared his mouth against the now waiting mouth of his friend – roughly, forcibly, making it clear that it was a big man’s kiss. Hank’s tongue attacked. His lips pressed in. He inhaled. And he moaned. There had never been foreplay made in any porn movie better than this. Hank dominated the smaller muscle man and kissed like he was trying to extract Toby’s soul through his mouth. Toby’s fingers had re-found the big nubs on Hank’s chest and were going to town on them, again. Hank’s big hands were all over Toby’s body – one pulling the other guy’s head in even harder into the kiss and the other caressing the chiseled back of the gorgeous man – getting dangerously low with each caress. “Lunch is served,” Alfred announced, near the doorway to inside. Those three words broke the mood and whatever influence I had been enjoying over the boys, but I didn’t mind. I knew we’d be able to return to where we had left off after lunch. Even with the mood ruined, the two young men continued to kiss for a few seconds more. I watched closely to see what would happen as my suggestion wore off. Toby was the first to stop, looking at his friend with wide eyes as Hank continued to press into his face with a kiss. Toby pulled back quickly, realizing that his fingers were tugging on Hank’s nipples – so he jerked them away, too. “What the fuck, Hank?” Toby said, scooting away on the sofa. “I don’t know, Toby,” Hank said, looking a little confused, but satisfied, too. “It was just a little snogging. Don’t know why we did it, but I don’t really care either. You’re a great kisser, dude. A really great kisser.” “That’s not the point, man.” Toby continued. “Hey, I won’t tell anyone if you don’t tell anyone,” Hank said, winking at his friend and then turning to me. “Sorry about that Sax-on-the-beach – I was just really horny and needed to see why all the girls say Toby is a great kisser.” “Oh, don’t worry about me, fellas,” I said, “I was enjoying myself, too. But come, lunch is served. Might I suggest we move to the table over there beneath the umbrellas and have some food and drink?” “I am hungry,” Toby said, standing – his perfectly, symmetrical muscles glistening a little from the sweat caused by his and Hank’s make out session. “I could eat a fucking horse,” Hank said, and he stood - his full six feet ten inches in all its glory, dressed only in golden posers. I had forgotten just how huge the big man was. Because he was constantly around his muscly friend, Toby, his full height and bulk was not always apparent. But as he and I walked side-by-side to the table I felt like some kind of small wind-up doll moving in his shadow. My oversized patio furniture looked small when he was in it. I marveled at the idea that a man so large could navigate through the regular world so easily. I’m sure he found doorways too low, spaces to confining, and many things infinitely too small. That idea thrilled me and I was drawn to sit across from him so I could behold his enormity throughout the meal. Toby sat at one end of the table, obviously still unsure about what had caused Hank’s intense session of sucking face. But more importantly, it was clear he was concerned even more by his own involvement . . . and enjoyment . . . in the action. “Have you always been tall, Hank?” I asked as we began our meal and sipped our wine. “Yeah, I topped six-two in eighth grade and weighed about two-sixty. I dwarfed most of the teachers. It was kind of cool,” the big man answered. “He’s the main reason our high school football team won the state championship four years in a row,” Toby added – clearly proud of his good friend. “And how long have you two known each other?” I asked. “Since the beginning of fourth grade . . . that’s when I moved to our hometown,” Hank answered. “It must be nice – having a best friend for so long,” I said, smiling. “Yeah, it is,” Toby answered, smiling, too. “This guy knows me better than anyone,” Hank said, laughing. “He could get me into a lot of trouble if he ever told some of my secrets.” “And vice versa, dude,” Toby responded. “Might I suggest both of you share something that your friend doesn’t know,” I said with an ease that I hoped would help them feel even more comfortable in sharing. “I sometimes beat off watching myself pose on video or in the mirror,” Hank quickly confessed. “I sometimes beat off watching videos of you posing, too,” Toby quickly said, as well. Both men wouldn’t look at each other. There was something sexually electrifying in the air and no one wanted to disturb it. I, myself, could imagine jerking off a heavy one while watching the big man flex. His foundation was magnificent. I could see the pro competitor he would be in a few more years. A smile crept across Hank’s face as he processed what his friend had said. I realized, then, that it had never even crossed his mind that Toby might find his body hot. He turned to look at the smaller guy. “This can make you squirt, dude?” Hank asked as he flexed his right arm, making the biceps swell huge. “Yeah,” Toby responded softly and stared at the tensed biceps, “If I’m in the right mood.” “That’s fucking hot, bro,” Hank said in return – smiling even more. “It looks like we’re all through with our lunch,” I said and then added, “Might I suggest that we return to the sofa and have a little routine from Hank. I think we’d all love to see him pose.” “Yeah, I’d fucking love that. These posers make me look hot,” Hank said, bringing his arm down and immediately moving to the other area with a full glass of wine. He was tugging the waist band of his posers out, teasingly. “Something on the inside of me is really excited about posing for the two of you.” “I’m glad, Hank,” I said as Toby and I sat down on the sofa with our wine. “Might the outside freely show the same kind of excitement? No one would mind if that happened. We’re all big boys, here. You being the biggest . . . well, in relation to your body, that is. If you got turned on by all of this, we’d all understand.” My suggestion made it so and Hank’s substantial meat in the gold posers thickened and elongated as soon as the sentence was finished. It was like watching cartoon growth. The joy on Hank’s face matched the happiness below. I wondered if shooting hard so quickly made him a little light-headed. My mouth watered as the covered cock continued to grow – even when I thought it was fully hard. It seemed that Hank was a grower. I had a feeling that Toby was a grower and a shower – since the mammoth tool was already showing through the black posers – completely flaccid. I looked forward to suggesting he might be ‘more excited.’ “Fuck, Hank! You want to turn down that monster in your posers, dude,” Toby said as he couldn’t help but notice his friend’s throbbing hard-on. “Can’t help it man. It must be the wine. It must be the sun. Or maybe it’s because I’m about to do this for your two,” Hank said, with no apology, as he brought both of his arms up into a perfect double biceps pose. “Grrrrrrrr, look at all that beautiful hard meat, fellas.” I almost asked if he meant up above or down below, but seeing his monstrous arms ballooning into the air made my mouth drop open. The same response came from Toby, too. This thrilled Hank to no end. He flexed harder – veins popping out on his forehead and his cheeks turning red. It looked like his arms then swelled a few more inches thicker. The man’s muscles were breathtaking. I so wanted to play with my hardening cock, but willed my hand not to move to my crotch. I did not, however, want to put the same restrictions on my friend, Toby – my sofa mate. He was mesmerized by Hank’s massive arms, so I took advantage of the situation. “We’re all friends here, Toby,” I said. “Feel free to do whatever comes natural as you watch your big best friend, Hank, show off for you. He’s such a colossal beast, don’t you think? Let your body respond as it wants to.” “Yes, sir,” came the soft response as Toby continued to stare at the big biceps in front of us. “Might I suggest that you grab the opportunity to fully enjoy the show. We might let your own colossal beast give us a show, too,” I said, looking at the man’s black posers. Color drained from Toby’s face as his posers began to be stretched. I knew that all the blood in his body was pumping hard to a certain part of him- that had suddenly started to grow. I wondered in shocked awe at how the man could walk with the giant thing that had hung between his legs, but now I was in utter dismay as his enormous cock thickened. The head popped out from the waistband of his black posers and it looked as big as my fist. And, yet, the thing kept growing. It snaked up Toby’s muscled thigh like a boa constrictor inching up the trunk of a tree. Suddenly, I was aware of how thin and fragile my wrist looked compared to his dick. Even when I thought it had reached its maximum size, the thing kept getting bigger and thicker. Surely the kid would fall over forward if he stood up – the weight of that monster cock completely throwing off his balance. By now, the gigantic rod stuck straight up – the tip nestled in the gaping crevice at the bottom of Toby’s perfectly formed pecs. “Fucking hell, Toby, that thing is bigger than a telephone pole!” Hank exclaimed as he released his tensed fists, but kept his arms up beside his head. “I’ve never seen it hard! You make my cock look like a toothpick!” This was far from the truth, but I could see why Hank would feel inadequate. Toby’s mammoth pole looked inhuman – like it should be attached to a guy ten times the size of the guy who presently sported it. It’s when Toby’s quite muscular hand wrapped around . . . well, tried to wrap around . . . the thing that it’s true size was highlighted. Toby’s hand – the hand of a well-built man – looked tiny holding on to the telephone pole. When he started pumping the big thing, his hand looked even smaller. Hank watched Toby’s hand go up and down on the king dong. The big man was mesmerized in a way he hadn’t expected. The stroking of the huge cock made Hank want to do something equally as impressive, so he flexed his guns again. Toby’s gaze was glued to the monstrous mounds tensed in front of him. I could not decide where I wanted my focus to be – the enormous pecs and arms or the equally gigantic cock. It was a glorious problem to have. “That’s the fucking hottest thing I’ve ever seen, Toby – you sitting there pumping that big thing.” “Then you haven’t looked in a mirror recently, Hank, because those arms of yours are the hottest things I’ve ever seen.” “Might I suggest you come closer, Hank,” I said lightly – making it as if I wasn’t even there, only a voice in the wind. “Maybe you two would like to touch each other.” Hank’s legs moved without him bringing his arms down or taking his eyes away from Toby’s. Hank used his big leg to push the coffee table in front of Toby and I to the side. Luckily, our wine glasses were elsewhere. Toby spread his legs farther apart, but kept his hand moving up and down on his hard-as-hell cock. Hank knelt right in front of his friend – between his legs, his big body barely fitting. He was flexing so hard his fists were shaking a little and his knuckles were white. He leaned forward and Toby placed his free hand on top of Hank’s huge, tensed right biceps. I saw both men jerk a little from a sexual jolt when their skin met. Hank’s giant pecs rolled upward and Toby’s giant cock visually throbbed. “Might I suggest you tell me what Hank’s arm feels like, Toby,” I said, in almost a whisper. “Like I’m massaging concrete that’s had the sun’s heat pounding on it all afternoon.” “Wouldn’t you like to feel that huge cock between your big pecs, Hank? Might I suggest you make your friend feel good by squeezing his hardness between your hardness.” “Aw hell, that would be the best. How about it, Toby - you want to fuck my massive chest.” The slit of Toby’s dickhead opened up and a big gob of thick white semen seeped out and that was the only answer needed. Hank kept the biceps flexed that still had Toby’s hand rubbing all over it. At the same time, he took his other hand and reached down to pull his mammoth left pec away from the other – only to realize he’d have to pull further as Toby’s free hand steered his mighty cock between the mounds of beef. The big man released his hold and pec meat instantly engulfed Toby’s big rod. Hank’s pecs were the only things that could actually make Toby’s cock look regular. Instantly, Hank tensed his chest and Toby let out a long moan. Then, the smaller man started to buck his hips up and down, humping his cock in the tight crevice of the humongous pecs before him. And he still kept his hand on Hank’s flexed biceps. “Fuck my meaty pecs, man. Yeah, that feels so good.” “Shit, Hank, how can you squeeze your chest so hard? I’m not going to last long, bud, if you don’t lessen your pec grip just a little.” I felt I had died and gone to muscle worship heaven. Had there ever been a couple made for each other more than these two? Seeing that huge cock surrounded by hard bulging muscle was the thing that finally made me rub my own crotch. There was no way that I could see these two muscled behemoths pleasing each other in this way and not get turned on. I also pictured Alfred, my chef, my gardener, my chauffeur, my security guard, and my pool boy all gathered around the television where the security camera feed was delivered – with their own dicks in their hands - all getting off to the sight before them. I knew the security room was going to smell like a bathhouse for days. “Hank . . . uh . . . . man . . . ungh . . . you gotta . . . quit . . . oh shit . . . squeezing so…” I looked up and saw that Hank was now looking into the eyes of his best friend. I saw a determined look in his gaze and knew he wanted one thing and one thing only. He wanted Toby’s big cock to explode. Watching the thick big head of that cock poking out from between massive pecs as Toby forced his crotch forward and then pulled it back was almost too much for all of us. It was clear, however that Hank’s chest was in control of the entire situation. “Come on buddy, let that big thing blow. Cover my massive pecs with your hot spunk,” Hank growled as he spoke. “Wanna milk you dry, man.” “Quit . . . squee-zing . . . ungh . . . ungh . . . stop . . . Hank, please . . . I can’t . . . hold . . . it . . . in . . . please…” It was like watching a movie you’ve seen a hundred times and knew the ending by heart. It was clear that Toby’ hard cock was being smashed by even harder mounds of muscle. His cockhead was now a deep purple. It was clear the poor kid would not be able to hold out any longer. I felt like I should get an umbrella – for the ejaculation was going to be momentous. We all knew what was coming – so to speak. “I’m . . . sorry . . . Hank . . . I’m going to . . . so sorry, man . . . ungh . . . ungh . . . unggggghhhhhhh!” To say that Hank’s chin, neck, and chest got sprayed would be an understatement. It was more like he got hosed down. Toby’s giant cock could obviously store up more juice and propel it more forcibly than that of a normal man. Hot cum shot up into the air and rained down – splattering loudly against Hank’s chest. And still the big man’s tits squeezed. And still the large cock exploded. It was like a gif on constant repeat – a never ending fountain of Toby’s milk. I was worn out just watching the boy have an orgasm. There was no telling how spent he felt at the end of his eruption. “Fuck, that was incredible, Toby. It’s like you could keep every sperm bank in the world fully supplied forever. I’ve never seen someone spew like that,” Toby said, pulling his chest back and watching the enormous dick flop out from between his pecs. The towering cock was still hard and stayed poking up into the air. All three of us stared at it - waving back and forth a little like a flagpole in the wind. I looked down and saw that Hank’s posers were sopping wet – he had clearly joined in with Toby’s explosion. The big man obviously could not hold out watching his best friend release a supersized load. I admired the mammoth wall of muscle that was the young man’s body. It was even more spectacular covered in the drying cum of the beautiful guy across from him. “I’ve wanted you for so long,” said Toby, his gaze staring into Hank’s eyes. “Yeah? That’s kind of funny, Tobster, because I’ve sat in my room many-a-night yanking myself to a big finale and wishing it had been your hand, mouth, or ass making me explode,” Hank said in response. It suddenly hit me that I had not suggested either statement. I hadn’t even subconsciously thought the words that were being shared. I was a little taken aback by what was happening in front of me. Hank leaned back towards Toby and slid his big hands under the other man’s ass. Toby wrapped his legs around his big friend. Hank stood up, taking the smaller muscleman into the air with him. “How about we take a little dip - to do a little clean up?” Hank asked as he turned and walked down the stairs into the cool water of the pool. I watched in astonishment as the two big men kept moving until they stood with water at chest level. Still supported by Hank’s arms, Toby splashed water onto the big pecs, neck, and massive arms of his friend – washing off all the dried spunk. The two men never took their eyes away from each other. Once they both sparkled in the sunlight because of water droplets, Toby brought his face to Hank’s and they began to kiss passionately. I no longer existed to either of them. I no longer had to suggest anything. I simply watched. It was then that it occurred to me . . . I might suggest that they grow…
  16. RayWild16

    m/m Cory & The Machine #NSFW

    WARNING: This story contains scenes of a violent nature. Some readers may find these scenes offensive. Please do not read on if you feel like this applies to you. PART ONE “Errrrrrch…” “Twenty-two and a half.” “Aw, c’mon, man!” “Well, pump it, man! C’mon. Squeeze.” “Ah, shit.” “Yeah, man. Twenty-two and three-quarters.” “Arrrrrch!” “Just a little more. One more pump, Cory.” “Ah, God, man. I’m startin’ to cramp.” “Little more. Yeah! Twenty-three!” Cory dropped his arm to his side, but the swollen biceps seemed determined to maintain its size, now that it had been abused for the sake of attaining the magic number. Twenty-three inches. He shook his upper arm and pressed on the release point just below the deltoid until he could bend his arm freely. “Man, Cory. That was beautiful, all pumped up like that. Big block’a biceps sittin’ there. How’s it feel?” I could tell what he wanted to say. I knew what he was feeling. Like it was going to cum. Like the muscle was going to just up and spurt right there on his arm. But Cory wasn’t that way. He kept it all to himself. So I almost mouthed his reply, the same reply he always gave. “Feels alright.” “Yeah. Alright.” I could tell he would need a little time to put things right in his head again, after such an effort. So I left him to brood, or whatever it was he did when he wouldn’t talk to me, and went over to the pec deck. I think he was a little jealous. I had hit the magic mark about a month ago and hadn’t even had to cramp up to get it. But, man, you should see this guy compared to what he looked like just twelve months ago. He’d walked into the gym wearing long sweat pants and a jersey-hooded top. In the middle of summer, yet. I don’t know what he thought he was hiding or why he thought he had to hide it. What showed, though, would have been enough to catch my attention even if his clothes hadn’t. His face was beautiful. Hard, chiseled features just sharp enough to make you hope the body was the same without being severe. Though the clothes were baggy, you could tell they hung on a solid frame. The front of the sweat pants were molded around what seemed to be a rather lengthy protrusion which hung a considerable way down his right pant leg. I thought I just might have found a match for my own ten inches. Everyone else in the place was hunkered down on a piece of gear, too wrapped up with their efforts to worry about what walked through the door. I was working the desk that morning, so it was up to me to see what this walking sauna wanted. “Hi. Can I help you?” “Ah, just looking, actually.” “Lots to look at. I’m Michael.” I extended my hand but was met with a look which asked why. I’m not the type to get annoyed easily, so I figured I’d just wait and let him make the next move. “Anything you might be interested in here?” He ran his gaze up and down my six foot three inch frame and his eyes told me all I needed to know. He wasn’t cruising me. He wanted to have a body like mine. They all did. Everyone who walked into the place started out wanting to have my body. For their own, I mean. Most of them who stuck around ended up getting what they wanted, though it took a while for them to accept the body they were born with. But this guy was different. I tried to see through the layer of fleece to what he had beneath. Hard to tell. But one thing was for sure, except for a little difference in hair color (mine is brown, his blonde) and eyes (my blue to his…God, what was that? Green with little flecks of gold in them…easy, Michael) we were definitely cut from the same mold. If there was anyone who had ever walked through that door who could have my body with the proper amount of work, it was him. And I mean ‘have’ both ways. “How much does it cost to join?” I reached behind the front desk and pulled out a membership agreement which had all the prices on it. As I turned back to hand it to him I saw his eyes zip back up to eye level. I wondered how far down he’d gotten before getting caught. “Here. This will tell you all the membership options. You can have a seat and look it over now, or…” His eyes were locked firmly on mine. “I have severe perceptual dyslexia.” I guess the blank look on my face must have told him… “I can’t read.” No fear. No embarrassment. No remorse. He just couldn’t read, that’s all. “Have a seat. I’ll go over everything with you. You want me to read this to you, or just answer questions.” “Go ahead and read it.” I did. It took about fifteen minutes, with all the ‘thou shalt’s’ and ‘thou shalt not’s.’ At the end, I asked if he had any questions or if he wanted me to go over anything again. “No, thanks. I can remember it all.” I didn’t know what that meant. I mean, if he had an eidetic memory and all, why couldn’t he just read? That dyslexia shit must be a real bitch. “Why don’t you look the place over a bit. You’re welcome to use any of the gear. And most of the folks here are happy to answer questions.” “Okay.” And with that, he headed out onto the floor. He spent the next hour, and I mean a full hour, watching each station be worked by a person. He had a few questions, but seemed to sense the need to let the members get on with their work. But it wasn’t hard to see that each encounter was a pleasant experience for each person he interacted with. It must have been the gold flecks. I sat back down at the desk to do paperwork, glancing up occasionally to see how he was doing. I finally decided he was going to behave himself and got lost in my duties. At one point I looked up to find him standing before me at the desk. I had no idea how long he had been there. His eyes locked onto mine and wouldn’t let go. “So?” He looked like he had already made up his mind. “I’ll start with a six-month membership without the classes option. I’ll provide my own lock and I’ve got insurance already.” “Well, that doesn’t leave me much to ask except how you want to…” “American Express.” Now what’s a guy who can’t read doing with an AMEX card? I was quickly learning that this “can’t read” thing was more of a big deal for me than it was for him. He took it out of his wallet. Platinum? What the hell’s going on here? I ran it through the verifier and entered an amount double of what his membership would cost; standard practice to cover incidentals and such. He caught my look of amazement when it came back with an approval code. He signed the credit slip with a scrawl that looked only slightly less decipherable than most people’s signatures. We filled in the forms together, him supplying answers, me the pen work. I thought he would clam up when it got to the personal data, but he fed it to me like it was my business to know and his to tell. “What’s your first name?” “Cory.” I wondered if his folks had known he would grow up beautiful enough to carry that name proudly. I knew it had to be either Cory or Stefan. “Middle initial.” “S.” I didn’t ask. We finished the form — I have to admit I was disappointed that the address he gave was a post office box — and then I took him back to the locker room, assigned him a locker and showed him where the towels and such were. Each time I indicated a location of something his eyes would flick to the spot for an instant and then back to me. His eyes hardly ever left mine. But instead of feeling threatened or uncomfortable, I felt like he was really interested in what I had to offer him. I straddled one of the benches that ran between the lockers and indicated he should do the same. He didn’t hesitate for an instant but joined me, facing me; his knees just inches from mine. “Look, Cory. I don’t know if this is any of my business, but in a way, I guess it is. I gotta ask. You ever had any experience with this stuff? Y’know. Working out?” “I had a friend who did it. I used to watch him. He had some equipment in his basement that he and his wife would use.” “But you’ve never done this, yourself?” “I tried some of his stuff once in a while.” “I don’t know if you noticed, but most of the folks out there, especially the ones who are really serious, have someone to work with.” “Like my friend and his wife.” “Yeah, though I don’t know too many boy/girl teams.” “They did it just for fun. Said it made the sex better.” I barely was able to keep my eyebrows from hitting the ceiling. I was dying to know what his part in all this was. With surprisingly little effort several scenarios came to mind. “Yeah. It does that, alright. Are you thinking of getting your friend to join the club, as well? Be your workout partner?” “He’s dead. They died in a car crash a few months ago. His mom said I could have the gear if I wanted it, but I didn’t know what to do with it.” This was getting weirder by the minute. Cory narrowed his gaze just a bit. He asked me, “Do you have a workout partner?” My old partner — partner in workouts, partner in business, partner in just about everything else in my life — my old partner had decided life on the coast was too much, or too little, or too — something — for him. Six months ago he‘d split, leaving an envelope with a terse note of apology and the papers to his half of the business signed over to me and notarized. He had even taken care of having his mail forwarded, so I didn’t even have the pleasure of NOT forwarding anything to him that might have appeared in my mailbox — not that I would ever have stooped to such a petty act of revenge, but he didn’t even leave me the opportunity to decide that. So it was as if I’d written: ASK ME IF I HAVE A WORKOUT PARTNER… AND WHILE YOU’RE AT IT, ASK ABOUT MY SEX LIFE, TOO in bold letters across my forehead with a red indelible marker. No, I had no workout partner. And then, Cory said the magic words; words I had been beaming into his mind, willing him to say. “It seems to me that if I were to work with you, it would be easy, us being so similar in build, and all.” Damn! Did that actually work? I wondered just how similar ‘similar’ was. I had on a pair of cut-off sweats that reached down to just above my knees and a tank top, so he had little trouble seeing what I had. He, on the other hand, was still wrapped up like Nanook of the North. I figured I had to take a chance. “Kinda hard to tell, with all that clothing you have on.” Cory immediately stood up and unzipped the jersey top, allowing the front to fall open. There seemed to be a brief moment of decision, then he pulled the two sides apart and shrugged it off his shoulders. It fell to the floor. So did my jaw. Chiseled. Like from a block of translucent marble. I mean, we’re talking individual fibers of muscle glowing underneath nicely tanned, flawless, blemish-less, hair-free skin. And did I mention the veins? Big fat ones over each biceps. Thick over his hairless forearms. Millions of them all over his hairless pecs. And did I mention his pecs? Hard. Flat. Very solid. His nipples were long and thick. And very erect. Not a lot of bulk on his frame, but not a lot else, either. I guessed maybe three or four percent body fat. Not starving or anorexic. Just hard. Like my cock. And did I mention my cock? My cock began to stir and I wondered if I should even pretend to be worried about him seeing me get hard. His eyes were still locked on mine, searching for something. I waited to see if he would flash a look at my crotch, but they stayed even, steady. I tried to be as polite, but curiosity got the better of me. I intended to just let them drift down, as though I was professionally appraising his body for future reference, but by the time I got to the flat, rippled surface of his abdominals, I had given up all pretense. And, sure enough, as my gaze ran down to his waist, I could not help catch a glimpse of what was steadily, very dramatically, becoming an insistent bulge in his pant-leg. And did I mention thick? I mean, like mine thick. Cory’s cock grew harder, thicker, quicker than I had ever seen a cock grow hard and thick. I thought he might pass out from the loss of blood elsewhere. I mean, I’ve gotten a little light-headed when my tool started draining off too much blood too quickly. Like now. It was a good thing I was sitting down. Or at least it was until I started really getting hard. Then it became really uncomfortable really fast. When I finally pulled my eyes away from the swelling that decorated Cory’s leg, I found myself still locked in his gaze. No irascible smile. No mischievous grin. No sly raising of the eyebrows, asking wordless questions, raising unthinkable hopes. Just that same, steady scrutiny. I didn’t even know if he was waiting for anything. What was I supposed to do? Strip, as well? “Nice.” Cory’s head cocked to the side a bit. “What?” The question startled me. Didn’t he know what he looked like? Didn’t he know what affect he was having on me? “Your body. Nice. Good foundation there. You set your mind to it and I could have you big as me in a year.” I was hoping to get him to extend his membership. “One year?” “Yeah. I think so. You gotta be ready to work, though.” “I work. That’s not a problem. When do we start?” How about tonight? My place? “How about tomorrow morning? I’ve got a guy that comes in and covers the desk in the morning so I can get my own routine in.” “That’s fine. What time?” “Eight o’clock?” “Fine.” My eyes dropped intentionally to his erection which was pressing with great persistence against the fabric of his sweats. This guy was hung. Thick, long, and…and…leaking. Man, I couldn’t believe the size of the wet spot which was spreading out just a couple of inches above his right knee. And he seemed to be completely unconcerned about it. Not the least bit uncomfortable, either physically or emotionally. Did he walk around with a ten inch hard-on and a gallon of pre-cum dripping down his leg all the time so that it didn’t even matter? “You seem to have developed quite a leak there.” “Yeah. Happens all the time.” “You ever, uh, take care of it?” “Sometimes. Sometimes I just leave it alone and it goes away after a while.” The guy gets a ten inch iron rod down his pant-leg and doesn’t even want to do anything about it? Man. I mean, I’d heard of self-abuse, but this was ridiculous. And here I was, my own cock so hard and throbbing it was beginning to peek out from the bottom of my shorts. I could feel my rather considerable balls begin to churn and I thought I was going to cum in sympathy for what this guy must be experiencing. Finally, I couldn’t stand it any more. “You want me to take care of that for you?” “Sure. If you want. Can you make it hurt?” That did it. The floodgates opened and three feet of bench before me was suddenly slathered with a thick coating of my hot, unexpected cum. Look, ma. No hands! And Cory was just as suddenly down on his belly on the bench, licking up every last drop of that sudden deluge. I mean, I’d seen lines of coke disappear slower than that. And he didn’t stop there. His lips grasped the head of my still protruding cock and licked and cleaned it, allowing me the opportunity to admire the knotted, rigid muscles of his back at close range. When he had completely drained my cock of its contents and licked the exposed portion of it clean, he stood back up and made a motion so swift my eyes could hardly follow it. One second he was clothed from the waist down. The next he was completely naked. Hard thighs. Hard calves. Hard abdominals and obliques. Hard, firm ass. And hard, hard, hard, hard cock. I mean a mean-kinda hard. It didn’t look like I would need to do much to make it hurt. It was already doing a pretty good job on its own. And the reason I knew that was that I was staring right at a duplicate copy of my own prodigious tool. He’s cut were I’m cut. He’s veined were I’m veined. His balls hang down where my balls hang down. And he is thick — and I mean thick — where I’m thick. I knew exactly what this cock wanted. I knew just where to chew, just where to suck, just where to lick and tease, and just how much it wanted to be squeezed. And squeeze I did. I grabbed it with both hands and wrapped my fingers around as far as they would reach. And then I squeezed. I squeezed and pulled it down, forcing it to bend until it was pressed against his bloated ball sac. And then I grabbed that sac and its contents and began to squeeze them as well. I pulled and squeezed and looked up to see what he was feeling. Cory’s eyes were clamped shut, his face screwed up in silent suffering. But there was a look of such joy beneath that exquisite agony I knew he was getting exactly what he needed. And his body was becoming more tense by the minute. Corded muscles, sharp and defined, began to press against each square inch of his skin. His arms raised and reached out, each hand grabbing a lock on a locker and pulling against them. He was not huge, not like me, but he was so cut-up, so hard that I couldn’t help but feel a twinge of jealousy. Yeah, kid. You want to look like me. Well that goes the same for me. I want to feel the pain you’re feeling; the agony, the pressure, the extreme, pulverizing, ecstatic bliss. I want my mind blown like yours is. I want to not think twice about getting a hard-on and letting my huge balls leak all over whatever I’m wearing. I want to walk up to the nearest guy and tell him to hurt me, knowing — somehow really knowing — the guy will know exactly what it is I need. I bit hard on his shaft. I clamped down with my hands, my huge forearms bulging with veins and muscles. Then I took his balls in my mouth and began to chew on them, as well. I didn’t want to kill the guy. I wasn’t out for blood. But I knew exactly how far to go with this. Cory’s cock grew darker. As mine would. It began to throb. As mine would. It began to leak again. As mine would. As mine was. And then it began to spurt. As mine surely would have, had I not just come a few minutes before, myself. And through it all, he didn’t make a sound. Not a grunt, not a cry, not a whimper, not a plea. And when I had drunk down every last bit of what was one of the biggest loads of jiz I had ever been attacked by, he grabbed my hair, pulled it back, and looked into my eyes. “Feels alright.” So, here it was, almost exactly a year later, and we were both sporting twenty-three inch guns. I’d never seen anyone attack a routine like this guy did. I told him how important it was to let the muscle rest and heal, that it was as important a part of the routine as anything else. But for the first couple of months, it appeared he didn’t believe me. It was like he was racing toward some goal, or like he didn’t believe the goal was even possible, or maybe worth it, without a whole lot of pain and suffering. I mean, I understood about the pain and suffering. What bodybuilder didn’t? But this guy was into it big time. And it just got to the point around the gym that everyone stopped thinking twice about this guy running around with a huge erection and wet spot decorating his right thigh. And you could measure the intensity of his workout by the size of both. It was easy for me, at first. Hell, I had six years of work to my advantage. But he closed the gap quick and soon I was playing catch-up to his thighs. Then when I evened that score, his arms would jump ahead. Then his chest. Then his lats. Then his delts. After 12 months, I still haven’t gotten that one back. This guy’s delts are huge. I don’t want to give the impression I have any regrets about this at all. After six years, I thought I’d reached my peak, physically. Twenty-one and a half inch biceps and a fifty-four inch chest seemed pretty good to me. It was easy for me to maintain my body and not have to do a lot of ridiculous dieting and all the other insane things guys aiming for competition had to do. But then along came hurricane Cory and suddenly I’m anabolic Annie again like I’m going for my first state championship. And it felt good. I mean really good. I was getting to the point where I didn’t even mind the fact that I matched Cory’s incessant hard-on, inch for inch, hour for hour. Because there was always Cory to help me tame the beast. As the size of our physiques grew, so did our appetite for stimulation. I found myself withstanding pain he inflicted on me far beyond what I thought the human body could endure. I would marvel at both our tolerances as we pulled and pressed and stretched and punished each other’s body in our work and play. My balls were so tough that I never had to wear a jock anymore. Whereas before, just walking caused them to swing painfully against my thigh if I wasn’t wearing one, now I could take a direct hit and revel in the cramping pain it brought on. The same was true for the rest of my body. Our lovemaking consisted of a lot of wrestling and exertion, pulling and stretching against each other’s increasing strength. And the harder we fought, the harder we came. And came and came and came. We tried to see who could force his way up the other one’s ass with his thick, juicy cock, but losing was winning, so the effort was for the fun of it, instead. He wouldn’t move in with me. He would come over after I got off work and we would screw and suck each other until the wee hours of the morning then do it all over again the next day. But he would never spend the whole night. I told him I felt a need to be with him after we made love but he said that wasn’t something he was into. So, no matter how deeply we kissed, no matter how hot and hard we fucked, no matter how tightly we held each other as our cocks shot their magnificent loads into each others bodies, he was always quick with the good-bye. At one point I tried to make an issue of it, hoping he would at least talk to me about it, explain his need to get away. But all I got was another indecipherable response. “When the year is up. Wait.” And though it’s been frustrating, it seems he’s going to be good to his word. Over the past few weeks, as the year comes to a close, he has been dropping little hints about something he has in store for us. I know enough now that I won’t even bother to get any more information out of him. His most expressive moment is still at the culmination of the most mind-bending, cock-exploding, ball-busting, muscle-swelling sex free-for-all when his amazing gold-flecked eyes lock onto mine and he says, “Feels alright.” All I can do is wait. It’s just a few more days. End Part One
  17. equus

    m/m The unlikely friendship

    So OK, here goes my first ever attempt at a story. I decided to post it in parts to motivate myself to actually write it instead of thinking of writing it one day. This is going to be a romance story, but at the right time sex will come into play. I'm not sure how you guys will find the dynamic between the characters, it might be perceived as somewhat weird and depending on how things go along the way I might actually include some heavy/dark elements in there. I still want to give it a try. ************************************************************ PART 1 My last 3 internet dates were absolute nightmares. All the guys seemed OK in the pictures and when I talked to them, but when met in person, they turned out to be completely dreadful people I didn't want to meet ever again. So I thought that I really needed to try something different. I needed to change something in the way I chose the guys to date. There was one thing that had worked well for me once in the past and I thought I could try it once again - that was dating a guy without seeing his photo. Kind of a blind date. You'd say - that's crazy. But really, it doesn't have to be. People often hide their appearance not because they're unattractive, but because they don't want to be seen for this or other reason. Sometimes it's because they're closeted, for example at work. Sometimes for other reasons. And in my experience, giving those faceless dating profiles a chance could lead to some really nice dates. So I thought - let's give it a chance once again. It took me just a few minutes to find a profile that somehow made me curious about it. Username: "wanderer". Interesting. His profile stated that what he's looking for is a buddy for having walks around the city with and maybe going to the gym once in a while. Written shortly, but neatly. No mention of sex or his sexual preferences - what a nice change. No stats were provided, only the age, 29, a few years younger than me. I was into longer walks myself and so I thought - let's try. I chatted him up asking saying that I like walks too. He replied, we exchanged a few messages, he didn't seem very talkative, rather straight to the point. At the same time I didn't feel like he was trying to get rid of me. He said that he wanted to go for a walk around in the park in the eastern part of the city, near the river. He suggested to first meet for coffee to get to know each other and that he won't be offended if I say no after meeting him and that he as well might decide to give it a pass if for any reason he doesn't feel that things click the right way between us. That seemed like an honest offer. I agreed. We exchanged numbers and were supposed to meet at 9 the next day. I went to sleep happy that I had a plan for Saturday morning. I didn't expect much, but it was still nice. -- It's Saturday, 8:55. I'm waiting at a junction at the periphery of a nice neighborhood, next to the the café where we were supposed to meet. I text the guy: "I'm here." He texts back: "I'm there in 3 mins." Cool. So I'm waiting and observing - who might that be. There aren't many people around at this hour, but still a enough to give me a chance for guessing. There's a tall guy in glasses coming from the other side of the street. But he just passes me. Oh, another candidate, I hope it's not him though, very much not my type. Oh my... what's that beautiful creature coming from afar? A bearded guy, roughly 6' tall, tight black t-shirt, muscley-beary build, dark-eyed. Haha, a man can always dream... Hmmm, he's still going in my direction. No, that can't be. He saw me. He's a strong 8 in the scale of 1 to 10, no, it's a 9, I'm a 5 on my good days with my 5'7'' and a very average, non-athletic appearance. No, let's not get our hopes up. Fuck, he's coming in my direction and looking me. FUCK. He's actually raising his hand for a handshake. WHAT THE FUCK? - Hi, I'm Greg. - says Greg. I'm at a loss for words. What has just happened? ************************************************************
  18. londonboy

    m/m The Pick-Up Game

    (My apologies to everyone looking for muscle growth . . . I'm just really into romance this holiday season) There are a couple of basketball courts in a small park across from St. Monica Church in Santa Monica, California. The place is usually a sure thing if you’re looking to be part of a pick-up basketball game on any given evening of the week. I live a few blocks away and I’ve dabbled in hoops all of my life. I can hold my own with any of the players that come there for some fun. I also like it because the small beach community of Southern California almost always guarantees some hot eye-candy on the teams or in the crowd doing other stuff in the park. I’m never opposed to checking out the merchandise even if I’m not planning on purchasing anything. I’m a fit, thirty-two-year-old, bearded, tall jock. I know I turn heads, but I also know I’m not super-model material. I’m just an average bloke, who likes basketball, outdoors, and checking out hot asses. I’m not into labels, so I don’t use them – for myself or other people. I tend to not overshare in situations, but I’m also not some tightly wound psychopath, either. That sounded a lot like a label, didn’t it? Bottom line – I’m just a normal guy, whatever normal means, right? Some people freak out when I tell them I’m gay. Not sure why, they just do. I don’t go around blaring the fact with a megaphone, but this important information has become very useful when I’ve helped one of my elderly neighbors with a task and they want to set me up with their ‘gorgeous’ single daughter or niece. I usually unveil my preference with a simple, ‘I’m sorry, I like boys,” which usually confuses the hell out of said neighbor who’s trying to fix me up. I’m also not very good with the gaydar or the entire business of flirting. A friend once told me I’d be too clueless to know if a guy ran me over with a truck to get a date – and she was probably right. I just tend to miss the subtle signs – a glance, a smile, someone grabbing my crotch. Okay, it’s not that bad . . . but I am pretty clueless when it comes to someone coming on to me. This evening of basketball was ripe with eye candy. It seemed like our court had become the United Nations of hot men . . . and women, by the way . . . who were out for a great game. I was holding my own as lead scorer for my team when Selena, a cute girl who’d become a friend, pulled me aside during a water break. “Don’t look now, dude, but the daddy stud at the playground is cruising you.” “What?” I asked, breaking the cardinal rule and immediately looking in the direction she referred to. “Okay, Mr. Obvious, deduction of points for the party foul,” Selena said, laughing at me. “Which one . . . I see a lot of daddy studs,” I replied, not even catching on to the fact that I shouldn’t look. “The biggest one,” she replied. “You mean the bodybuilder with legs as big as silos?” “Silos?” Selena said with a weird look on her face, “Oh yeah, I always forget you were a farm boy. Who else would call legs silos? Yeah, he’s been checking you out the entire game.” “You’re hallucinating. Did you have some of those special brownies you make before you came to play?” I teased. “No! But they do sound good right now. Every time you get the ball, he turns to watch the game. If he were a cartoon character his tongue would be hanging out to the ground. He is staring at you right now.” Again, I looked and, sure enough, the dark-haired man who was the size of a truck was looking in my direction. When our eyes met, he smiled and tilted his head back quickly, in a way that made my toes curl and my heart beat faster. I immediately glanced down at the ground. God, I was so bad at flirting. Instantly, I assumed I had been mistaken about the guy’s actions and I looked back up. He was still looking and still smiling. I turned to see that Selena was watching Mr. Beefcake, too. It must be her he’s looking at, I assumed. “I think he might be on your team, Selena,” I said. “I think he’s flirting with you.” “You have the worst gaydar on the planet,” Selena shot back. “That man is Liberace with muscles!” That’s when we were called back to the game. Selena walked away and I glanced back at the behemoth at the playground. His gaze was still on me. It didn’t follow Selena. Again, the guy smiled and nodded his head – as if he were confirming that it was me, he was looking at. I blushed – returned a half smile, while awkwardly jerking my head to acknowledge his presence. This made his smile grow. I turned back to the game. When someone points out the elephant in the room – or the guy as big as an elephant – you can no longer ignore it . . . or stop thinking about it . . . or stop stealing glances at it. To say my game went downhill after the break would be an understatement. It was like someone had replaced the previous talented player with a non-athletic stick figure who tripped over his own feet. My team ended up losing by many points and it was definitely because I had lost my groove. I had become too obsessed with how I might look to Mr. Muscles and got distracted every time I looked over to see him smiling at me. “I think from now on I’ll wait until the end of the game before I mention anyone flirting with you,” Selena said as we said goodbye. “I think that would be best,” I replied and gave her a hug. “Message me later to tell me what he feels like. He’s so my type. I love muscles,” she said as she walked away. I glanced back to the swing set and noticed the big man was no longer there. He was no longer pushing his kid lightly on the swing. I did a sweep of the playground and didn’t see him – and the guy was so big that you would not have missed him. I couldn’t believe I had not had the chance to talk to him. I kicked myself for not speaking to him sooner. I sat on a bench and started tossing my things into my bag – bummed about missed opportunities. “I’m sorry I made you lose the game,” came a deep voice from behind me. I turned around quickly to see the handsome bodybuilder standing on the other side of a fence that divided the entrance to the playground and the courts. It was probably to keep kids from getting in the way of the game and, more likely, to keep players away from the playground. I stood up, staring open-mouthed. The guy was so much bigger than I thought, now that he was a little closer. “Um . . . no, you didn’t. I just . . . kind of . . . lost my concentration,” I quickly replied. “Because of me,” he added. “Yes . . . because of you,” I conceded, smiling. “I’ll take that as a compliment,” he said, smiling too. “You should. I don’t like to lose,” I answered back. “You seldom lose,” he said, awkwardly. “How do you know that?” I asked. “I’ve watched you play a lot . . . I hope that doesn’t sound creepy.” “Um . . . no, it’s actually kind of flattering,” I said. “Funny, tonight’s the first time I ever noticed you . . . sorry . . . I mean, you’re kind of hard to miss.” “And I’ll take that as a compliment,” the big man chuckled. “I usually hang out back there at the picnic tables with the parents. Tonight, I decided to be hopeful and take a chance on catching your eye.” “Oh my god, I forgot about your boy! Where is he?” I quickly asked, looking around. “He’s my nephew and my sister just came to pick him up. That’s why I had to disappear for a few minutes. I hoped you wouldn’t leave before I got back.” “Your nephew . . . I just assumed he was your . . . oh my, I hadn’t even considered there might be a mom or another dad. Wow, that’s crazy. I mean, there still could be someone else . . . I don’t want to assume that there isn’t. I mean you could be married or in a relationship,” I had suddenly started stammering. “I’m not . . . married . . . or in a relationship,” he said, quickly and with more urgency than he probably intended. “Um . . . are you?” “No! No, I’m not,” I shot back, with just as much awkwardness and urgency. “We sound like teenagers. I’m T.J. Henderson. It’s short for Thomas John.” “I’m Awan. In my country it means…” “This moment . . . or this time,” I interrupted. “How could you possibly know that?” Awan asked. “I lived in Pakistan for two years,” I replied, quite pleased with myself. “I didn’t think it was possible for you to get any hotter,” the large man said, clearly not caring how it sounded. “Why were you in Pakistan?” “Can’t tell you,” I answered. “Or if I did, I’d have to kill you afterwards.” His face shot full of confusion and, possibly, a little fear. I immediately thought about how culturally insensitive I was. This kind of joke might not be funny in his country. I worried that I had already ruined the good thing we had going on. I panicked and quickly tried to fix it. “Sorry, I’m kidding,” I said. “I came up with a new type of irrigation system for desert regions a few years back and I spent time in your country teaching people how to use it. I loved Pakistan. I’ll go back someday. I still have friends, there.” “I knew you were kidding, by the way. I just wanted to make you sweat a little. You’re even hotter when you’re sweating.” I didn’t know what to say. This enormous, dark-skinned, bearded muscleman was calling me hot. I knew, instinctively, that my underwear and shorts were not strong enough to hide my erection, but I didn’t look down or adjust myself – not wanting to draw attention to the fact that Awan caused me to get hard. I smiled, clearly a little embarrassed, and he just waited in silence – forcing me to speak. “What do you do?” I asked. “I’m a professional bodybuilder,” Awan answered. “Clearly a professional,” I said, and he knew it was a compliment. “I’ve never known a bodybuilder.” “Now you do. I’ve never known a basketball player.” “Well, I’m clearly not a professional,” I said, smiling. “You could have fooled me. You look pretty talented,” Awan said. “I’m okay . . . that is, until you smiled at me,” I replied and we both laughed. “Do you play?” “When you get as big as me you kind of have to give up contact sports or sports that could have contact in them. I tend to knock people to the ground when I bump into them,” the big man said. “I can see why. Hey, Awan, it’s starting to feel like you’re visiting me in prison. Do you mind if we either got on the same side of the fence or, even better, went somewhere to get a bite to eat? I’m hungry. That is, if you have time.” “I’d like that a lot and I have all the time in the world,” Awan said. “I’m glad your friend, Selena, was so nice.” “What? What about Selena,” I asked. “Didn’t she tell you? After your game last week, I asked her if you were gay . . . I’m sorry if it offends you, but it’s really hard to tell with you. Anyway, she confirmed what I hoped was true and suggested I stop by again this evening,” Awan answered. “Why that little . . . No, she didn’t tell me. She just said I should check out the guy flirting with me,” I replied. “Wait until I see her.” “Oh wait,” Awan said, laughing, “don’t get me in trouble. I just didn’t want to offend you if you were straight.” “I think even straight men would be flattered if you flirted with them, Awan,” I said, causing him to turn slightly red. We had already started walking towards the end of the fence and the gate where he could leave the playground area. I was caught off guard by just how enormous he was when we were finally standing a few feet apart. We were practically the same height – he maybe had half an inch on me – but his bulk was like three of me put together, and I was a decent sized guy. My face must have shown my shock. “Yeah, sorry about that, T.J., my size can be a little surprising,” Awan said, turning even a darker shade of red. “Man, I just didn’t realize how big you really were until I was standing so close. Jesus, do you live in the gym?” I said, clearly teasing and trying to make him feel less awkward. “My friends say I do . . . especially when I’m getting ready for a competition,” he answered. “You must have one coming up,” I said. “No, it was last week. I competed in Las Vegas,” he answered. “Let me guess . . . you won,” I said, sure of his victory. “Um . . . yeah, I did. How did you know?” he asked. “Just by looking at you Awan. Just by looking at you,” I said, smiling and shaking my head at his monstrous body. “The good thing is – since the competition is over – I can eat whatever I want, and I love pasta! And pizza!” he added as we started walking in the direction of Luigi’s. “Man, you’re really big,” I said, after stealing glances at him as we walked to the restaurant. “I can’t imagine the kind of dedication you have to have to get to be your size.” “I’m sure you practiced lay-ups with the same kind of dedication,” Awan said, clearly wanting to move the conversation away from his body. “Maybe so, but my lay-ups don’t come close to matching your size, Awan,” I said, not catching on to what he wanted. “I bet people in Pakistan went crazy when they saw you!” “Yeah, guys my size are pretty rare, there. It’s not like California, where there are bodybuilders everywhere,” Awan replied, chuckling at my persistence. “I can tell you want the conversation to move elsewhere but let me just say this – even in California guys your size are few and far between, Awan. Trust me. And how in the hell do you deal with all the staring? We haven’t walked more than five steps without having someone stop to gawk,” I said. “I haven’t really noticed, T.J.,” he replied, looking around, “I guess I was too focused on you.” It was my turn to go red in the face. I did smile, however – genuinely touched by the compliment. We were about a half a block from the restaurant when a group of college girls stopped us to see if they could have a picture with Awan. I, of course, was asked to take the picture. I was confident in my looks and, usually, enjoyed many a stare from men and women, but this evening it was like I was invisible. One good thing about the moment was that it gave me a great chance to really look at Awan’s body. It was overwhelmingly incredible. I was into athletic guys and was proud of my own physicality, but never had I given huge bodybuilders more than an appreciative glance. I’m not sure why, it was just one of those things. However, watching the man being coerced into flexing his arms – barely contained in a dark blue polo – made me wide-eyed because of how truly huge they were. I also cut off the tops of heads in one of the shots because I was too focused on Awan’s massive chest – stretching out the material of his shirt so beautifully. “Are you two on a date?” the blonde who took her phone from me asked Awan. “I don’t know, ask T.J., here. I hope we’re on a date,” Awan answered, looking up at me and smiling. “So, Mr. T.J. – is this a date?” another one of the group asked me. “We all really hope so, because you two look hot together.” “Um . . . yeah . . . yeah, it’s a date,” I stammered back. “Oh geez, I just love it when two gorgeous guys get together!” the blonde screamed, and the entire group chimed in with their agreement. There were a few individual selfies with Awan and the blonde actually took one with me, making me feel a lot better. And then they were off – as fast as they had come upon us and the sidewalk was quiet. Neither of us moved. I was watching the girls walk down the sidewalk, fully aware that Awan was looking at me. I turned to see him smiling. “What?” I asked. “You like me. You really, really like me,” he teasingly said. “Come on, crazy man,” I said, shaking my head and walking to open the door to the restaurant. I also took off my ball cap and tried in vain to smooth down my hair. “I like guys that do those kinds of things,” Awan said, as soon as the hostess had seated us in a large booth – noting that Awan wouldn’t fit comfortably in the small ones. “Do what kind of things?” I asked, glancing up from my menu. “Open doors for people and take their hats off in buildings,” Awan answered – beaming at me. “Manners were drilled into me as a child, what can I say?” I replied. “My mother would absolutely know if I kept my hat on in here and she lives thousands of miles away. I do it mostly to save my hide. And, in all honesty, one of the reasons I held the door for you was I thought it would be fun to see people’s reactions when you walked in. I forgot, however, that your huge body would be blocking my view.” “Why are you so obsessed with my size, Mr. Thomas John Henderson,” Awan inquired. “Hey, you remembered my name,” I replied. “Of course,” he said. “I’m not obsessed. It’s just that I’ve never known anyone as big as you. I mean I’m friends with big guys, but none of them come close to your size. It’s just that . . . well, I’m fascinated to find out how you manage . . . being so big. It seems like some things would be really difficult,” I answered, honestly. “Like what?” Awan asked. “Oh, I don’t know . . . let’s see . . . okay, take my condo for example. I have a very small bathroom off the front foyer . . . you know for guests when there’s a party. I know for a fact that you wouldn’t fit in the room. Your shoulders are too broad,” I answered, quickly avoiding other things that were crossing my mind. “You’ve got other bathrooms, right?” “Sure,” I said. “I’d use one of them,” Awan answered. “But yes, you are right. There are some places I just have to avoid. Airplane bathrooms are the worst – not to mention airplane seats. I also once got stuck in one of those photo booths with a friend. It took me a long time to pry myself out and I think I bent the wall a little. I used to take my nephew to see movies or things like Disney on Ice, but the kids sitting behind us couldn’t see the show . . . come to think of it, neither could the parents.” “Now, you’re just teasing me,” I said. “Maybe a little. I’ve just gotten used to being big, T.J., and it doesn’t bother me. All of our choices in life make us have to give up other things. A bodybuilder’s life is hard, but it has its benefits, too.” “Like what,” I asked. “Like this,” he said, and he raised his eyes to the waiter across the room. In seconds . . . no, in milliseconds the guy was standing next to our table, pen in hand, staring at Awan with a goofy smile that said he was ready to do anything for the big man. “Beer, T.J.?” “Yes. A Stella,” I replied, trying my best not to laugh. “Make that two Stella’s,” Awan said to the eager waiter. “Yes sir,” the guy shot back and hurried off to fulfill the giant’s wishes. “Please know, T.J., that I did that merely to show you something. I do not use my size to get special attention . . . well, sometimes I do, but I don’t do it a lot. I’m not demanding in that way,” Awan quickly explained. “I don’t think I should be entitled to anything because of my size.” “Well, you should be entitled to bigger clothes, don’t you think? Trust me, I wouldn’t be sitting here if I thought you did act entitled, Awan,” I said, reassuring him. “It was pretty impressive, though, getting the waiter so quickly.” “He’s into muscle, so it helps that I work out,” Awan answered. “How the hell do you know that?” I asked. “He keeps having to adjust himself,” Awan replied, but didn’t look up from the menu. I turned to see the waiter doing an awkward move from leg to leg as he reached down to lessen the tension of an obvious boner – a good sized boner, too. I got the distinct feeling the thing had actually snaked out to the top of his underwear and he was trying in vain to get it back it. I chuckled a little and then turned back to Awan, who was a deep shade of red – clearly uncomfortable about having pointed out the waiter’s predicament. I placed my hand on his, noticing immediately that his fingers were twice as thick as mine. I smiled and forced myself to not look down at his huge mitt. The beers were delivered. “Dude, you’re hot,” I said, “Don’t be embarrassed just because some guy sprouts some wood looking at you. Take it as a compliment.” “I do. I really do,” Awan responded, quickly, “I just don’t want you to think I always want that kind of reaction . . . or, worse, expect it.” “Well, if an elephant walks into the room, it’s going to be noticed,” I said, patting his hand and then pulling mine away – the contact was making the temperature in the room shoot up. “Yeah, well, Mr. T.J. – you’re an elephant, too. Most of the moms on the playground and some of the dads are always taking notice of you when you’re playing ball and saying how hot you are,” Awan said with a smile, as if he had won some contest. It was now my turn to blush. Awan noticed. We both stared at each other for a few seconds and then got embarrassed at the same time, so we simultaneously took a big gulp of beer. I glanced at the waiter – anywhere to distract me from Awan’s gorgeous eyes. The poor man was still trying to get his hard-on in a comfortable position. I looked back at the elephant in the room. “How does someone have sex with a bodybuilder the size of you?” I asked, catching Awan off guard with my bluntness and he choked on his beer. “What?” he said between coughs. “Dude, you’re as massive as a house! You could probably flatten a little guy like a steamroller when you climbed on top of him. I know I’ve crossed a line, but it’s been on my mind ever since we sat down, Awan. You’re as wide as the booth!” I exclaimed – making it clear that these thoughts had been building up inside me for a while. Awan paused for a few beats and then smiled, saying, “I’ll answer your question, T.J., but first you need to tell me if you’re asking because the thought of having sex with me had crossed your mind.” It was like I had been caught with my hand in the cookie jar. Of course, the idea of doing the nasty with this humongous beefcake had crossed my mind, but still my mouth opened and closed a few times without emitting a sound. I turned a much deeper shade of red than before and it took me a few seconds to recover any semblance of calmness I might have had earlier. In spite of all this, I decided – immediately – that I would be completely honest with the huge man in front of me “How on earth could I not be thinking about it, Awan. You’re nice, handsome, smart, and clearly a good guy. I seriously think even straight men would have trouble not thinking about having sex with you,” I answered – and finished with a sip of beer. “Funny, I’ve been thinking about having sex with you the entire evening, too,” Awan replied. “So, T.J., I’m sure you’re aware of this already, but there are many different ways for two men to have sex. Sometimes the steamroller can be on the bottom . . . supporting the other guy.” I pride myself for not labeling people . . . not letting stereotypes seep into my brain, but the idea of someone as massive as Awan being a bottom both confused me and aroused me at the same time. For a few seconds I disappeared into my own little world imagining holding his gigantic legs while I . . . I forced myself to stop these thoughts. I didn’t want to ask the waiter for a bunch of new cloth napkins – requesting some of them to be wet. Cleaning up a mess under the table just didn’t seem like first date wholesomeness. I, myself, was very versatile – and enjoyed being both a pitcher and a catcher. Still, the idea of having all of Awan’s colossal weight on top of me seemed like it would be a little uncomfortable. I seriously pondered if sex with an elephant could be enjoyable. Awan clearly saw my confusion and doubt. “Without wanting to sound conceited, T.J.,” he said, “let’s just say these arms and legs are strong enough to support all of my weight when engaged in any kind of bodily fun.” “I hadn’t thought of that,” I replied. “But it makes perfect sense. Sorry, if the question embarrassed you.” “Now, are we all done with questions about my size and references to elephants. Can we talk about something else for a while?” Awan asked imploringly. “For now,” I answered, “but I reserve the right to bring the conversation back to your big body any time I want. It’s your fault since you’re the one who grew himself massive. I’ve just never gotten to ask questions like this before.” “Fair enough,” Awan shot back. “But that means I can ask questions, too. What’s been your longest relationship?” “Whoa, that’s pretty personal, don’t you think?” I said. “And asking me how I have sex isn’t personal?” he responded – immediately putting me in my place. “Okay, you win. I dated a guy named Seth for two years . . . but that was more than four years ago,” I said, thinking about my ex for the first time in a long time. “Why did you break up?” Awan pressed on. “Look at you, getting all personal,” I teased. “Let’s see, he ended our relationship because he said I was too intense. I could become so focused on things that nothing else mattered. I became so absorbed in something that I’d forget other things . . . things, I guess, he thought were important.” “Like what?” Awan asked. “Like to buy coffee or our anniversary,” I quickly answered, and it made Awan smile. “What?” “I get that way when I’m training for a competition. Single-minded – totally focused on the end goal. My friends use the word ‘obsessed’ and they’re probably right,” Awan replied – making our connection deepen a little. “I would think you kind of had to . . . but clearly all that obsessing has paid off,” I said. “Did you ever think you’d find yourself attracted to a bodybuilder?” Awan quietly asked, knowing full well this question took us into new territory. I stared at him . . . not answering right away. I took a sip of my beer as we both waited for what we knew would be a ‘game changer’ reply. We were starting to map out a future – not long-term, but possibly something in the near future. I thought about my answer knowing fully well the weight it carried. I liked this guy. I liked him a lot. But I was stepping out into unchartered territory . . . into an area of my life I had never discussed with anyone. Awan made me brave enough to step out into the darkness. “I used to sneak strength and bodybuilding magazines into my bedroom when I was a teenager. There was something about the dedication of those guys . . . the way they could sculpt their bodies into something amazing that really turned me on,” I said, softly, and then added, “Um, I’ve never told anyone that.” We stared at each other – the connection having grown even more intense. Even the waiter picked up on it and didn’t come near our table. I was shocked that I didn’t turn red. I wasn’t embarrassed by what I had shared. I thought I would have been, but there was something in this gentle giant that had made it easy . . . no, had made it safe to share something so intimate. I smiled, feeling secure that I had answered honestly and that had pleased Awan. “I could pose for you, sometime . . . If you’d like that,” Awan said – so shyly that I almost couldn’t hear him. “I’d like that a lot,” I answered so quickly that it made Awan smile. “I’ve been watching you for months, sir,” Awan added. “Trying to get up the nerve to talk to you.” “You know, there’s a certain amount of disconnect when hearing a man as massive as you confess he was trying to ‘get up the nerve’ to do anything. It’s almost like you’re behaving like Clark Kent to hide your true identity,” I said. “I’m really quite shy,” Awan answered after a couple of beats. “I’m sure I got into bodybuilding partially as a way to become more confident. I thought it might help open myself to conversations I was naturally too scared to engage in.” “How’s that working for you?” I asked, chuckling a little. “Tonight, it seems to be working better than it ever has in my entire life,” Awan shot back – definitely confident. “Why me, Awan?” I asked without thinking, “Why have you been watching me for a few months?” “Because you exude a certain kind of comfortableness I’ve never witnessed before,” Awan said, immediately. “I watch you play basketball with this mixed group of men – different ages, different ethnicities, different sexual orientations – and you’re comfortable with all of them. You’ll pat anyone on the ass after a good play. You’ve got the straightest straight men giving you a hug after games . . . just because they like you so much. Confidence oozes out of you and everyone senses it. The mothers on the playground talk about how they wish you’d give lessons to their husbands on how to be a man. They call you ‘Mr. Polite,’ ‘Mr. Sportsmanship,’ and ‘Mr. Hot Ass.’ Okay, I might have been the person that actually started the third one, but it doesn’t matter. T.J., you’re so smooth that everyone notices it . . . no matter who they are or what their background is. I wish I could tap into your confidence, somehow. It would have saved me a lot of frustration in the past.” It was a little surreal having someone that seemed like the Hulk talking about your confidence and wanting to be more like you. One glance at Awan and you’d just assume he was cocky-as-hell or just blazingly confident because of his enormous body. I was, again, caught off guard by how much we assume things just from the way people look. I could have spent hours arguing against all the titles bestowed upon me at the park or giving Awan examples of how I did not deserve all the positive attributes he claimed I had just from watching me. I chose, however, to focus selfishly on one thing he had said. “You think I have a hot ass?” I asked, toying with him, mercilessly. “The hottest in the park,” Awan answered and then added, “The hottest I’ve ever seen.” “Would you like another…” the waiter began, suddenly reappearing. “Yes!” I said, loudly, interrupting him because I was suddenly so in need of focusing anywhere else than Awan. “And you, sir?” the waiter asked Awan, emphasizing the ‘sir’ in a way that almost sounded sexual. “Yes, I’ll have one, too. And I think we’re ready to order,” Awan replied and we both reopened our menus having totally forgotten what it was we had decided on – distracted by other things. “He’s still got a raging boner,” I whispered, smiling, when the waiter departed – after getting our orders. “He’s also packing some largeness,” Awan whispered back. “You noticed?” I said. “How could you not?” Awan replied and we both giggled like naughty schoolchildren. “Well, there’s largeness and then there’s ‘elephant in the room largeness,’” I said teasingly. “Hey, I thought we were going to move on from talking about my size,” Awan protested. “Who said I was talking about you?” I shot back and then through laughter I added, “I was referring to what’s happening in my pants right now under the table.” “Thomas John Henderson!” Awan said in a mock scolding voice, “You are a naughty boy.” “There’s nothing ‘boy’ about me, Awan. If you know what I mean,” I said, still laughing and taking a sip of my beer. “I would definitely agree with that,” Awan said, with a serious tone that made the sexual tension sparks fly even more. “Definitely.” We both sat in silence for almost a minute or two – only sipping our beers. We were like two fighters who had returned to their corners of the ring for some much-needed rest after an intense bout of punches being thrown and absorbed. Except, this time, the punches were extremely pleasurable and exciting. We only retreated to prevent unwanted wet stains. It felt like millions of tiny unseeable pins were poking me all over my body. I tingled with expectation and desire. I also sensed that Awan felt the same way. I wanted to move the conversation to something light and, hopefully, harmless. “Have you ever gone stiff on stage . . . you know, only wearing posers?” I asked, making Awan choke on some beer again. “Yes,” he said, smiling, “Tons of times.” “Tell the truth . . . was it because of your own posing, your own body?” I asked, leaning forward to emphasize that I really wanted to know. “If I’m being completely honest, here, and I want to be – yes. I’ve definitely sprouted some major wood because of my own body,” Awan answered, and I could tell he was sharing something with me that he’d never said to anyone else – and he didn’t turn red this time. “I find that so fucking hot . . . oh, sorry about the ‘f’ word. I hope that doesn’t offend you,” I quickly said. “Why is it hot?” Awan asked, and I could tell he was now making me confess some inner secrets. “Oh, I don’t know, there’s just something about a guy admiring his own big body the same way other people do . . . and being turned on by it . . . that excites me. It’s like a painter looking at a picture he’s done and thinking it’s good. I like that kind of confidence,” I answered. “Do you get turned on by your own body?” Awan asked, leaning in to put emphasis on his question, too. “Yeah . . . yeah, I do,” I answered – but I did turn a little red. “What specifically has turned you on about it,” Awan pressed, knowing full well it was making me feel uncomfortable and smiling the whole time. “Payback’s hell, isn’t it, T.J.?” “Okay, big guy, two people can play this game. I refuse to be some shy, embarrassed little boy. I happen to like the tightness of my body. I also think I have a hot furry chest and abs. And if you must know . . . and I am not being cocky, I’m just answering your question . . . I do think I have a good ass. Well, better than average ass, at least,” I answered – my confidence waning at the end. “Ever cum thinking about your own body,” Awan asked – shooting beet red as he did. “Now, who’s being the naughty boy!” I said – a little too loudly, causing some people to look our way. “I might have had some celebratory emissions while looking at myself in the mirror.” “Celebratory emissions!” Awan laughed, unable to control himself. “It sounds like you might want to go get your body smog checked.” This made us both laugh hard and then it was immediately time for another brief time-out in our corners, again. As Awan sipped his beer, he didn’t let his gaze drop from mine. I suddenly sensed a new confidence in him. It might have been the beer or the fact that he was feeling more comfortable with me, but I definitely could see the side of him that could command the stage in front of thousands of people and make judges fall all over themselves to score him high. I had the feeling his home was loaded with trophies. It seemed he could summon a winner’s attitude when he needed to – and that, on top of his superior genetics, definitely made him a force of nature. I put on my ‘game face’ an equaled his intensity. I was could be very confident on the court. He instantly noticed the change within me, and I could tell it turned him on. “You aren’t intimidated by me, are you?” Awan asked and it felt like he held his breath with anticipation of my answer. “No. You’re huge . . . that’s for sure, but not intimidating,” I answered. “Do I intimidate you?” “Only before I talked to you,” Awan answered, honestly. “Now, I just want you.” “The feeling is mutual,” I responded – quickly. “What if the sex is horrible?” “Have you ever had bad sex?” Awan asked – and it sounded like he already knew the answer. “No . . . not really,” I said. “Just bad sexual partners.” “Well, that ain’t me,” Awan said – sounding curiously like a southern gentleman. “You make me want to work out . . . to burn off some excess energy.” “We should lift together sometime,” I said . . . and then added, “In the nude.” “Fuuuuuck, that brought me too close to the edge, T.J.,” Awan said, reaching under the table to so something at his crotch and gulping down the rest of his beer. “Let’s call a flirting truce for a while, okay. I’m aching in certain parts of my body more than I do after a four-hour workout session.” “Fair enough,” I answered. “Trust me, I could use the break, too.” “Here you go, fellas,” our waiter said as he put down our plates – both, Awan and me noticing the poor guy was still at full mast. “Can I get you another….” “Yes!” we both answered at the same time and all three of us laughed. “Can I just be unprofessional for a few minutes,” the youngish waiter said, “and tell you both that you are the hottest couple I’ve ever seen in my entire life. I’m not sure who turns me on the most.” And then he was gone – too embarrassed by what he had shared to remain standing there for us to respond. I cannot lie – his inclusion of me in his praise both shocked me and thrilled me. I had assumed, like Awan, that he was the type that was totally into muscle and didn’t even notice me. To be included in the same category as the trophy-winning bodybuilder in front of me was almost unfathomable – and I did not suffer from lack of self-esteem. Awan and I stared at each other, smiling. We felt united in a new way – as if some deity had just blessed our connection. The big man picked up his fork, but before he plunged it into his generous plate of pasta – clearly enhanced by the cook that I noticed kept stepping out to get a glance of the huge bodybuilder – he smiled and spoke. “That guy is so getting a huge tip!” Awan said and then he added, “As huge as I hope I will be getting later on tonight!” And the flirting level jumped right back up to ten, instantly.
  19. WARNING: This story contains scenes of a violent nature. Some readers may find these scenes offensive. Please do not read on if you feel like this applies to you. The air felt nice on Victor’s beautiful face as he flew across through the air, thousands of feet above the city streets. Below him, thousands of tiny humans went about their days, limited in their capabilities by their feeble strength and lack of true power. Today, however, most of them were distracted by the breaking news bulletins on their phones and tablets. Just a few blocks away a bank was under siege by armed gunmen. Don’t worry little insects, thought Victor. Captain Unstoppable is on his way. Victor finally came to a halt above the city’s most illustrious bank; faux golden columns and regal-like architecture. Impressive. Though, not as impressive as the god-like being that floated silently in mid-air, looking down upon the frantic scene that was unfolding before him. Still floating high above the scene, Victor began to scan the whole area with his eyes. His x-ray vision, microscopic vision, and telescopic vision all working in unison to meticulously detail the entire building and its internal layout; all in the space of just a few seconds. Now Victor new everything there was to know about the situation at hand. There were ten armed men inside the bank, and about two dozen hostages. There will soon be just the hostages, thought Victor. His excitement was increasing. The prospect of laying waste to a couple of humans always made his body tingle with anticipation. It…aroused him. Instead of descending down to the police blockade that surrounded the bank, Victor simply flew a full speed towards the building’s uppermost floor. His indestructible body smashed right through the wall of an upstairs corridor. Of course, he felt absolutely no pain or discomfort in doing so. Even his arms, exposed by the short sleeves of his t-shirt, incurred no injuries whatsoever. Instead of walking, Victor chose instead to hover his way down the corridor. Doing so always made him appear godlier. Being 7 ft. helped as well, of course. Thanks to his x-ray vision, Victor could tell that his first two targets were in the opposite side of nearby door. Upon reaching this door, Victor reached forward, but not for the handle. Instead his fingers effortlessly penetrated the upper midsection of the door. For him it was like poking your fingers through tissue paper. He then gripped down on the hole he had made, and simply tore the door off of its hinges. He tossed it aside where it smashed to pieces against the wall. “What the fuck?!” began one of the criminals, turning around upon hearing the sound of the door’s destruction. “Oh shit!” cried his partner, catching sight of Victor. “It’s him. It’s Unstoppable!” Both men raised their rifles and began unloading their ammo on Victor. Despite knowing full well who he was, Victor was nonetheless amused by their efforts to harm him. Victor closed his eyes to fully enjoy the feel of dozens and dozens of bullets impacting him on his thick, meaty, square pecs; his solid and chiselled eight-pack abs; and on his pristine face, complete with its astoundingly angular jawline. For him, the hail of bullets felt more like a pleasant massage. Each one imparting a nice, soothing touch before ricocheting off in some random direction. The sight of his bodybuilder physique being bombard with bullets, complemented by the fact that he was still hovering a few inches off the ground, really hit home the reality that Victor was not human. He was so much more. Eventually the two goons used up their current magazines, and frantically tried to reload. Now it’s time to play, thought Victor, a wicked smile spreading across his face. Victor finally set himself down on the floor, and he walked slowly but purposefully towards the two men. As he drew closer, the size difference between Victor and these endangered idiots only became more and more pronounced. Both men slowly stopped trying to reload their weapons, and instead looked up at Victor and his incredible body. Men often looked upon Victor with a mix of lust, envy, and fear. Victor did have the perfect male body after all. Victor could hear their tiny hearts beating like war drums, and his godly eyes could trace the beads of sweat that were forming on their brows. For a moment, Victor simply stood there, looking down upon the comparatively shorter men, both of whom were also just standing there looking up at Victor. Well…trying to look at him. In reality they were distracted by his pecs, traps, shoulders, and even his neck muscles. “We…we…*gulp*…we have orders to kill the hostages if…if you…if there was” stuttered on of the men, shaking as his admittedly impressive body suddenly seemed so pathetic in the presence of Victor’s. He was the first to die. Victor gently placed one of his large, muscular, and vascular hands on the side of the man’s head. For a moment Victor simply caressed the man’s scalp with his fingers and his cheek with his thumb, marvelling at how much of the humans head his hand fit around. Of course the human fell for it, initially believing that Victor had taken a sexual liking to him. He closed his eyes and breathed more loudly as his whole body was stimulated by the arousing feel of Victors touch (and the god’s scent). Victor then moved his hand gently to the top of the man’s head, still caressing him in a tender manner. The man opened his eyes and looked up at Victor. Victor smiled down at him, more amused by how the man now looked relaxed, incorrectly believing that this powerful being was friendly and loving. Victor closed his fist, and popped the fool’s head like a grape. “What the fuck?!” screamed the other man, backing away as fast as he could. The headless corpse continued standing for a few seconds before keeling over onto the floor. Blood rapidly pooled around its upper half. Victor looked down at his hand, observing the fleshy bits that were still stuck to it. A quick burst of heat vision cleaned that right up, vaporising all human remains yet leaving Victor’s hand completely unscathed. “Oh no, oh no, oh no no no. Oh god please! NO!” screamed the other man, who was now trapped in a corner of the room. Victor’s superhuman sense of smell easily detected the urine that soaked the man’s pants. The man had now fallen to his knees, looking across the room at the god and the dead human that lay on the ground before him. Tears streaked silently down his face. “Please don’t kill me”, he said, in almost hushed tones. Victor approached the man, who had begun cowering and whimpering even louder at the sight of this being approaching him. Filled with a sudden curiosity, Victor lifted the bottom of his t-shirt up, revealing his breathtakingly beautiful eight-pack. Each ab was such a clear and pronounce bump, almost like a line of diamond-hard cobblestones. The groves and cuts between them just as clearly visible. The muscle group as a whole expanded and contracted subtly with each perfectly calm breath Victor took. The crying man quickly fell silent. The sight of Victor’s abs aroused him to the point of temporarily off-setting his terror. While the man was enjoying the best (and last) view he’d ever seen, Victor was effortlessly probing the man’s mind with his telepathy. Just as I suspected, thought Victor, as he was treated to grotesque images of murder, rape, and violent assault. The pathetic bag of meat and brittle bones before him the perpetrator in them all. Victor dropped his shirt, covering up the masterpiece that was his muscled stomach. In doing so, the insect was no longer distracted, and once again fully aware of the situation. He looked up at Victor in time to see the god’s eyes glowing red. A split second later and the man was nothing more than a pile of ash. His scream echoed for a few more seconds. Not bothering with taking it slow any longer, as he was now fully aroused, Victor lifted off from the ground and plough through the walls and floors of the bank. Steel and concrete gave way to him as easily as the air did. Guided by his x-ray vision, Victor soon burst upwards through a ceiling, and found himself floating before another one of the criminals. Before this weakling could say anything, Victor grabbed him by the throat and raised him up into the air, and above his own head. The man’s feet were left dangling a considerable height above the floor. Victor himself was standing, not floating. As the man clawed in vain at Victor’s hand and thick, vascular, powerful forearm (with just a light dusting of hair), Victor himself admired the man. He was actually handsome. Dark eyes and a thick, dark beard made him very rugged. Plus, not a bad physique. A quick scan revealed to Victor the presence of a six-pack and some very nice quads. Shame, thought Victor, as he flicked his wrist. The man’s next snapped instantly, and the corpse was now dangling limply from Victor’s grasp. He dropped in unceremoniously to the floor, and carried on. For the next man, Victor took his little head and smashed it against the most bulbous and immaculately sculpted pecs you have ever scene. Goon number five was punched in the stomach by Victor, and thus reduced to paste. Six and seven were encased in ice, courtesy of Victor’s frosty breath. Although they were now dead, since humans can’t survive in temperatures that cold, Victor still decided to take it one step further. With a click of his fingers, Victor unleashed a sound wave powerful enough to shatter both the frozen bodies, and any glass in the room, to pieces. Number eight was taken into Victor’s strong arms. For a minute, the little man was allowed to feel Victor’s extraordinary biceps, triceps, and shoulders. All three muscle groups felt like cannonballs. Well, Victor’s biceps and shoulders felt like and looked like cannonballs. His triceps felt more like a bag of cement that was as full as it could be. Just as solid, but different in shape. Regardless, this didn’t stop the little human from kissing and licking them all with passion. Once Victor had decided the little human had had enough fun, Victor hugged the man. And then kept hugging him. First the man’s spine snapped. Then his lungs and stomach burst. Then all the blood in his body was being forced out towards the extremities. It leaked out of his mouth and nose, as his empty eyes stared upwards. Tossing victim number eight over his shoulder, Victor silently floated upwards a few inches, and then dove straight into the floor, smashing right down into the bank’s basement. The leader of the bandits, and the last of his henchmen, were standing right in front of the vault. They had been trying unsuccessfully to open the vault. Victor put on a calm and friendly smile, and began walking towards them. At last, he spoke. “Need a hand?” he asked, with a grin. Both of the frail humans were just staring in disbelief as Victor casually strolled up to, and then past them. Much like the door earlier, Victor reaching forward and simply sank his fingers in some random part of the vault’s titanium door. Like a hot knife through butter, Victor’s fingers sank in…deep. Despite it being no effort whatsoever, Victor’s arm still flared as if it was putting strain on him. His bicep exploded with power, and a single, massive, cable-like vain ran across the beautiful dome as it rose up to its fullest height. His forearm looked like a roadmap. And was about four times that size of a normal man’s forearm. And then, as easily as one would open a book, Victor ripped the vault door out and away from its hinges. But instead of throwing it, he simply held it above his head. He turned to face the men, supporting the vault door with just one arm; the same one that had dislodged it. Victor felt no difficulty at all. For him, it was like holding a light umbrella. He looked at the two men, who were both staring at his arm and the vault door in awe. “How could any human think they stand a chance against me”, said the violent superhero. With a flick of a finger he tossed the vault door over towards the two men. They were so enthralled by the display of strength that they forgot to scream. The room shook as the vault door landed, cracking the concrete floor and flattening the two criminals. Using just a finger, Victor pressed it into the side of the vault door like you would press your finger into playdough, and lifted one side of the multi-tonne vault door up to about the height of his waist. He leaned over to peek underneath it, just to confirm that the last two lawbreakers were indeed nothing more than crimson slush. Of course they are, he thought, and chuckled. Flying to where the hostages were being held, Victor used his laser vision to cut a precise opening in the room where they were trapped. The innocent humans (the kind that Victor would never hurt) poured out into the main hall, surrounding him and singing his praises. Both the men and the women alike all reached out their hands in the hope of groping some part of his incredible, muscle-bound body. Victor obliged them for a few minutes, putting on an impromptu posing showing, though he chose to keep his shirt, jeans, and hiking boots on. Once an overly eager bank teller got one last chance to feel one of Victor’s biceps, this supreme being rose up into the air and flew out through one of the holes he had made earlier. Crowds of onlookers, news reporters, and emergency services applauded Victor as he emerged. “Mr Unstoppable, we can’t thank you enough” said Police Chief Martin Stewards. The chief watched as Victor descended down to him, trying not to be distracted at how easy it was for Victor to appear god-like. “My pleasure, as always chief” said Victor, landing gently in front of the chief. Even with an enviable height of 6ft 2, the chief still had to look up at Victor. “I take it all perpetrators are…no longer with us?” asked the chief, one eyebrow raised. He always tolerated Victor’s approach to crime. “I scanned all of their minds to confirm that they were deserving of it. Most of them though aren’t…whole” replied Victor, smiling down at the chief. Victor had always like the man. “And collateral damage?” asked the chief. “Nothing insurance can’t handle” said Victor, delighted that his comment elicited a chuckle from the chief. “Whoa hold on now” said the chief. Victor had started to float upwards but stopped mid-air and looked back down at the chief with curiosity. “Come on, back down here please” said the chief, beckoning Victor with his finger. Victor obliged. Despite having just snuffed out the lives of ten measly humans, Victor did not consider good people and their requests to be beneath him. Victor once again landed before the chief. The chief took a moment to look around him at his fellow police who were now tending to the scene and to the hostages. He then turned his attention back to Victor. “God damn” said the chief to himself, leaving out a low whistle. He raised his arm and poked Victor’s left pec a few times. Victor smile incredulously, rolling his eyes. He had assumed that the chief called him back for something important. The chief poked a few more times, unable to make even the slights of dents in Victor’s chest muscles. “Alright, you’re dismissed” said the chief, taking one last look at Victor’s magnificent chest. “Have a good one chief” said Victor, as he flew straight up a few hundred feet, and the shot forward at incredible speeds. The chief watched his departure, while tucking his erection into the elastic waist of his underwear. “God damn” he whispered again, with another chuckle.
  20. For those of you who have interacted with me, this story is a departure from my usual fare. I had an idea a few years ago and have been tinkering with it on and off for a while. The following will be fairly long, but hopefully a different take on the term "Muscle God" will be refreshing. This story is dedicated to the little guys that love making big guys feel big. Chapter One: Work Plans Travis was just about to turn off his computer when he saw he had a message from his boss, Jeff, to come see him right away. The message was brief and didn’t include anything alarming, but asking to see Travis at the end of the work day was unusual. Travis stood up tall and stretched his thick arms up over his head. He really needed to stretch more while working, he thought to himself; his muscles always got tight while sitting in front of his work computer all day. After loosening his tight back, Travis lumbered down the hall to his boss’s office where Jeff was finishing up a phone call. Jeff waved to Travis for him to come in and wait. Travis complied and entered the large office and sat himself down in one of the chairs in front of his boss’s desk. The chair was small for Travis’s large body, but the employee wasn’t one to complain. Jeff was the type of man that liked the way the chairs looked in his fancy office and never sat in them himself. As uncomfortable as the small chairs were, they at least made Travis feel big. The thought made the big man smile “Yes. Next week.” Jeff spoke charmingly into his phone. “Mmm hmm. uh huh. It is short notice, but we can send someone next week. Uh huh. Uh huh. Very good. Travis Hawley. Yes, that’s him. You know him. Uh huh. Good to hear. Okay. Goodbye.” Travis looked at his boss quizzically at the mention of his name. “Travis!” Jeff smiled at the big man. ‘How’d you like to go to Cleveland next week?” Travis did not possess anything resembling a poker face. Instead the big man frowned silently as his boss continued. “Travis, this will be good for you. You’re doing well here, and meeting clients face-to-face will be a good step for your career here. You do great work, but the clients don’t really know you because they haven’t met you. Here’s your chance.” Jeff looked at the frowning man and did his best to hide his own doubts. Where Travis had no poker face, Jeff could sell anything and convince people on the most improbable lies. Jeff needed Travis to go to Ohio. No one else was available — but looking at the big grump in his office stirred up additional worries. Travis was not his most charismatic team member. “How long?” Travis grumbled with his deep baritone voice. “Just a week.” Jeff spoke smoothly as Travis sighed with resignation. “You’ll fly to Ohio, get a nice hotel and work with the clients for a week. That’s it.” Jeff stood up and walked around closer to Travis and half sat on the edge of his desk. Travis briefly wondered if his boss was trying to intimidate him. Travis was a big guy, and Jeff… wasn’t. Travis realized Jeff wasn’t trying to look bigger, but to look approachable and on Travis’s side. “Working directly with clients is a great opportunity for you Trav.” Jeff settled into a groove. “Good feedback from the clients will reflect well on you and give the higher ups reasons to promote you. No one likes to travel, but it’s part of the job.” “But a whole week?” Travis sounded more angry than he intended, but Jeff was unfazed. Travis looked like a bruiser, but his boss knew the big guy wouldn’t hurt anyone. Nevertheless, Travis’s gruff voice reminded Jeff of a few potential pitfalls. Jeff was a shrewd boss who knew how to get the most out of his staff. The break room was stocked with dozens of different kinds of coffees and tea for his caffeine addicted staff members. He even made sure there were chocolate bars in the break room so those looking for an afternoon shot of sugar could get their fix without any trouble. Jeff wasn’t exactly a pusher, but he was perfectly willing to feed the legal addictions of his staff. The exception was Travis who never drank coffee or tea, and if he ever snacked on a chocolate bar the rest of the office would probably assume the end of the world was imminent. Travis’s addiction was the gym, and Jeff learned a few years ago that as long has he never scheduled Travis for an early morning meeting that cut into gym time, all would be okay. Jeff recalled the last time Travis skipped a morning workout to get to work early instead. Grumpy Travis combined with his less than charming outward appearance terrified the rest of the staff. Unfortunately, they happened to have a new hire that day who retreated to Jeff’s office petrified of the big man. George admitted that Travis hadn’t actually threatened him or yelled at him, but just the look of Travis and his scowl had George a nervous wreck. After the ‘George-Incident,’ Jeff made sure Travis never had early morning appointments so the big guy wouldn’t have to skip his morning workout. From then on, while everyone else got caffeine and sugar as needed, Travis got his early mornings free for lifting. “A little travel will do you good.” Jeff was in full sales mode. “You know what? When Chris gets you your travel details, I want you to look up a local gym by your hotel. I know a shitty hotel gym won’t cut it for you. Buy yourself day passes or a week pass, hell, buy a whole month if you have to, and put it on your expenses.” “Really?” Travis’s expression lightened considerably. “Look Trav. I know you. I know you’re a great guy that wouldn’t hurt anyone. But let’s face it, when you skip your workout, you get… um… intense.” Jeff smiled at Travis to keep the big man placated. “The clients will learn you’re a great guy too, but when you first meet them… it would be better if you were at your most relaxed. Make sure you get your morning workout in.” Jeff stood up and walked back to his desk seat. As Travis got up to leave Jeff’s office, Jeff added, “Oh, and try to smile more.” Travis frowned at Jeff with look that if Jeff didn’t know better said Jeff had less than 10 seconds to live. “Yeah, not like that,” Jeff commented with a smile. The big man forced a smile and left his boss’s office. Travis knew his boss meant well, and the ‘less than handsome’ look of his face wasn’t news to Travis in the least. In fact, the big guy was painfully aware of how his rough features and crooked nose turned people off. And while no one would insult him directly, Travis overheard comments like “From the neck down he’s hot, but…” all the time. He figured the only reason no one said these things to him directly was the 250 pounds of muscle connected to his unsightly face. That night he looked at himself in his bathroom mirror and practiced smiling. He had to admit, he did look better when he smiled. Chapter Two: The Flight Travis dreaded his flight to Cleveland. Not because he was scared of flying or even the annoying Cleveland part, but because he knew he would not be comfortable in the tiny airplane seats. Where his boss, Jeff, was generous in many ways, paying for upgraded seats on flights was not one of them. While Travis was the tallest and biggest in the office, plenty of other guys had complained about not getting business class seats on flights to no avail. There was no way Jeff was going to give Travis an exception when he had been denying others for years. At least he had an aisle seat. Travis looked sharp in his dress shirt, suit and slacks. His business clothing softened his rough features and made him look less like a ruffian and more civilized. He edged his way towards his seat, being careful not to slam his bag into the passengers already seated as he made his way down the airplane aisle. As he reached his seat he saw the middle seat was already occupied by a smaller gentleman reading a book. As Travis loaded his bag into the overhead bin and moved to settle into his seat, the guy in the middle seat looked up at him and grumbled, “You gotta be kidding me.” The bigger man tried to ignore the comment and pretend he didn’t hear it, but his face turned red with embarrassment. Travis’s pale complexion made hiding his feelings practically impossible. The seating for Travis was cramped and uncomfortable, especially with his height and wide build, but he did his best to not jam his knees into the seat in front of him, both for the sake of his knees and the woman seated there. He also leaned forward so his shoulder wouldn’t squish into the small, rude stranger. As much as he was looking forward to getting home at the end of the week, Travis was not looking forward to the return flight where he would have to do this ordeal again. Travis sat as still as he could, hunched forward, and prayed that there would be no delays and the uncomfortable torture would be over soon. A few minutes later another passenger arrived to take the window seat, which Travis had neglected to notice was empty. Travis was about to un-wedge himself out of his seat when the man next to him loudly proclaimed, “Oh Hell No,” and jammed his finger into the call button above their heads. Travis looked at the man next to him with confusion, then turned to look at the other passenger and realized why the man was so irate. Standing in the aisle with a duffel bag over his shoulder was the biggest and thickest man Travis had ever seen in person. The guy looked like he didn’t have an ounce of fat on him but was still bigger than anyone else on the plane by far, including Travis. The tight t-shirt and shorts he was wearing couldn’t hide any bit of the solid muscle the guy was carrying. Not only did he look much thicker than Travis, he looked taller too. The man’s height, wide shoulders and thick muscle outclassed Travis in every way. When not at a gym, it was rare for Travis to encounter a guy bigger and more muscled than his 250 pounds, even in New York. The stranger had it all, causing a twinge of jealousy to ripple through Travis, and when he saw the man’s handsome face, that jealousy blossomed to full blown envy. The man had perfectly styled blond hair and a youthful but masculine handsomeness. He had a face that, unlike Travis’s own rough look, everyone would adore. His strong chin fit perfectly with his hulking frame. Travis was smitten as well as envious of the big guy. As a flight attendant made her way to their row, the man in the middle seat started shouting at her, “You can’t expect me to sit between these two!” She looked at the muscled man standing in the aisle, then looked at Travis hunched over in his seat trying not to take up as much room as his body demanded, “Uh, no, I guess not. Sir, could you come with me, I think we have an empty seat further in the back.” She addressed the smaller man in the middle seat. “Why should I have to move?” he demanded. “You just asked me to move you, Sir. You do not have to change seats if you don’t want to,” she replied with a hint of annoyance. “You should move them,” he sneered at Travis and the other muscle man. “You can ask to be reseated, Sir, but you can’t demand that we reseat other passengers” the flight attendant explained with remarkable patience. “Fine. I’ll move” he conceded. Travis wordlessly got up and exchanged looks with the muscle man still standing in the aisle waiting for the seat situation to resolve. When Travis made eye contact with the muscle man he received a wink and a nod of approval. Travis felt unusually elated and smiled in response, and Travis was not one to smile often. Once the middle seat guy had scampered off, Travis backed up to allow the muscle beast access to his window seat before resettling into his own aisle seat. The situation was much improved. With the middle seat empty, Travis could sit back and let his arm and shoulder spill over into the middle seat space. Looking at the other guy, he saw he was doing the same. There was only about 9 inches between their shoulders. “I’m Matt” the muscle guy introduced himself and awkwardly turned to offer his right hand to shake, then chuckled at the absurdity of their tight quarters. Realizing that Travis would have no room to turn his body to meet right hand to right hand, Matt closed his right hand into a fist bump. “Travis” Travis replied as he reached his left fist across his body to meet Matt’s fist. “Could be worse, we could be flying cross country” Matt joked. Travis smiled again, he was finding it easy to smile today. “Is Cleveland really much better?” “Hey!” Matt replied with mock offense. “Oh sorry.” Travis turned red. “No worries. Cleveland isn’t New York, that’s for sure, but it’s Home.” Matt smiled at Travis, and Travis wondered if he had ever been so attracted to anyone before. “Its my first time to Cleveland. Work trip.” Travis explained. “I’m staying at the Cleveland Grand. Do you know it?” “Sure. I know it.” Matt replied. “Do you know of a good gym in that area? I’d like to get some lifting in this week. You know how skipping lifts can be.” Travis said with an eagerness that he could not manage to contain. “Yeah, I know where you should lift.” Matt pulled out his duffel bag and rummaged through the contents, pulling out a crumpled business card for a gym. “The gym I lift at is in your area.” Travis took the beat up card and cheerfully offered his thanks. “When do you usually workout? I’m going to go early, before my work assignment.” “I work out early hours too.” Matt lied. “Maybe I’ll see you there. 6AM?” Matt suppressed a cringe as he stated the obscenely early hour. “Yeah. Awesome.” Travis was elated. The two muscle-heads chatted the entire flight, talking about lifting and comparing notes. Travis shared a little bit about his history, starting to lift in college and sticking to it. “Six feet one inch and 250 pounds,” Travis found himself proudly proclaiming, even though he knew Matt was considerably bigger. “And you?” he added as he simply needed to know just how big, ‘big’ could be. “290.” Matt replied coolly, trying not to be boastful. “Six foot three.”, he added. “Damn, it’s hard enough packing on size at 6’1”. I can’t imagine how you got so thick at your height.” Travis was talking more freely than usual, and as he finished his sentence he blushed a bit more as he realized that he probably did know how Matt got so big. He didn’t care if Matt used steroids. It wasn’t something Travis did, but he didn’t object to what others did to grow. And to be honest, Travis was considering making the leap himself. Looking at Matt, he could see the appeal of steroids up close. “Yeah, it can be hard.” Matt downplayed what Travis had said. “But I got there, right?” Matt smiled with a bit of unease. Travis felt terrible. He wanted to say he was cool with it, but he also didn’t want to broach the subject explicitly. “So another early bird like me.” Travis changed the subject. “I love lifting first thing in the morning. It seems weird, but it gets me energized for the rest of the day… after the initial exhaustion.” The two continued to talk and settled back into easy going conversation. Travis avoided anything that might imply or lead to a discussion on steroids, and Matt’s outgoing personality came roaring back to the fore. Once they landed and deplaned, Travis said goodbye to his new friend and felt a flutter in his stomach as he thought about seeing him again the next morning. Chapter 3: Monday Morning Chapter 4: Monday Evening Chapter 5: Tuesday Chapter 6: Wednesday Chapter 7: Thursday Morning Chapter 8: Thursday Midday Chapter 9: Thursday Evening Chapter 10: Thursday Night Chapter 11: Friday Morning Chapter 12: Friday Afternoon Chapter 13: Saturday Chapter 14: Sunday Chapter 15: The End
  21. Supercrav

    m/m A friend at last

    I wanted to start a short something, but it's already starting to draft all over the place... So here's some beginning, why not sharing? I almost haven't proofread it, hope it's readable. Don't hesitate to correct me, please, again ************ They didn't know it was love at first. But at the moment their eyes met both got struck by a feeling they never had before. Gunther was on his way back from the gym, and Jack was smuggling cigarettes on the sidewalk. Gunther was already a pro bodybuilder, living in his bubble, the shy 7'2 giant had no friend to speak of and his life was nothing but bodybuilding discipline. The smaller, scrawny Jake made a joke about Gunther as he was passing by. It was late and there was only the two of them on the street at that time. Gunther looked at the guy, the spell caught them, and Gunther laughed a little, as the joke wasn't insulting, and actually fun and smart. Jake, who had never seen a man so colossal, gorgeous, powerful in his life, quickly fired another witty line, as he was determined to try to extend this moment in the presence of the sublime God for as long as possible, maybe even interact with him. Even if it would be lasting a handful of seconds, an encounter of such mind blowing proportion was a chance of a lifetime. The conversation started, the wise and clever Jake skillfully extruding every single concentrate drop of his natural charm, and it worked quite well, as Gunther was amazed at how effortless and comforting it felt to socialize with the little bandit. Meanwhile, Jake started clearing his merchandise out of the ground. When done he put his backpack on, and naturally they started walking as their pleasant exchange went on. Jake was supposed to go in the opposite direction, but doing so hadn't crossed his mind the slightest : not a thing in the world could beat the necessity of drenching his own soul in the violent, intense flood of pure extreme maleness projected all around his body by the superhuman next to him. Not to stare drooling out of his fallen jaw at the miraculous demonstration of nature's infinite greatness walking by his side, Jake mostly looked at the floor on the way. Are that feet ? Oh gosh, that's... insane, I never thought feet could get so big. I could put a skateboard with each of his sneakers. Hell, he's almost bursting through them, I can see the muscles of his feet bulging through the fabric as he walks. Jake realized that he still hadn't seen the hands that went with it. Gunther had his hands stuck in the pocket of his huge parka all the time. He would try to fix this at the next intersection. " Gunther tell me, I'm rather new around here, St Charlotte station is over this way, right?" Bingo, Gunther took out one hand to point at the right street. As he was giving Jake directions, it occurred to him that he wasn't listening a single word, he was aghast, eyes popping out, stunned by the size and bulk of the hand up there. Gunther stopped pointing and exposed his hand flat in front of his new friend's face. " Yes, I know, I'm a freak." And put his hand back in his coat. Jake poked fun at him. " Oh my poor man, you're as tall as it gets, built like a barn, packed with fucking humongous muscles overflowing everywhere, the idol of millions of people, the dream of every woman, and your hands are too big what a shame. - Hehe, oh, OK, forget it." Now he had a smile on his face. Cool. Jake had never felt attracted to a man before. Not sexually attracted mind you, but this went way further than likeness and early friendship. Along with a loud and raspy cloud of solid body odor you could cut through. There could be no one else on earth but Gunther, this grotesque overload of explosive male power to unleash a stench of this amplitude over his surroundings. Jake was floating in a daze from this exquisite, divine perfume. In front of Gunther's house they said goodbye, exchanging their numbers. Once inside, Gunther stared at the note and he felt bad. He didn't want to let Jake go. It would have been kinda weird to invite him in his house. Around 1 AM, as he couldn't sleep, Gunther was staring at his phone. He wasn't sleeping, in fact, because he had been hesitating to call Jake for the last three hours. And now it was far to late to call him anyway, so that was a blunt point. Yet, every fiber of his muscles was dying to call and talk to Jack. Waiting even more would make things even worse... OK he had set his mind now, he feverishly dialed Jack's number, and when he pressed the call button the phone started ringing. With the same number on the screen... It was Jake calling him. They spent the night over the phone. Gunther called jack again just before noon after his training, during three hours, and around 7PM Jake called Gunther, until 11:17, when his battery went dead. They became inseparable. Jake stopped his wheeling and dealing habits as Gunther didn't like it so much, so he found a job in a e-cig shop. The cool thing is he had found a way to modify his shift schedule so Gunther could come have lunch with him every day, and after work, if went to Gunther's gym and waited for him outside. It was a very exclusive gym and Jake couldn't get in. Then they would usually spend the evening at Gunther's home. Jake once told Gunther that if he didn't take his shower at the gym, it would shorten his wait. Gunther really didn't feel like changing his routine, as the routine was all he had in his life before Jake ; but that question was a no brainer, if something could please Jake in any way, Gunther would instantly comply and do whatever it takes to make it happen, so that slight change wasn't a big deal. Not a big deal for Gunther, but that was a smart move from Jake, if a bit slyly : this way, not only he could enjoy the full intensity of his friend's muscle sweat smell he loved so much on the way home, but also, having Gunther showering at home led every night, to the most amazing, exclusive, breathtaking event that could ever exist, the emergence of the greatest and disturbingly monumental celebration of the supreme magnificence that could only be obtained by the male bodybuilder featuring the most revolting abuse of muscular hypertrophy overkill, emphasized by the fantastic pump provided by the unreal workout that ended minutes ago. The giant's powerful and respect commanding bare feet, deeply planted in the soft thickness of the room's carpeting, that was sprinkled, in a large area around them, by water dripping from the soaking wet and glistening body gloriously naked except for the small towel he held around his waist. As Jake's gaze lingered upwards, relishing the divine accumulation of muscular heaps, each more fascinating and delicious that next, the formidable Gunther waited patiently for his deer friend to fully feast his adoring eyes and slobber over all of this overwhelmingly luscious and monstrously abusive muscular profusion. When Jake's stare finally reached the head that was almost at the top of the mountain of muscle, he was rewarded by the perfect, broad smile that was up there for him, on a face that was so manly, so powerful, so handsome that it was also unreal, and the kindest look in the eyes of his beloved Gunther, who then said something in the like of "It really feels great, thank you buddy !" - and then went back in the bathroom putting on fresh clothes. Soon, the evening at Gunther's went from being a regular occurrence to an every day routine, as they became more and more intimate with each other, Gunther bothered less and less to get dressed after his shower, and went directly sitting on the couch next to his little friend, and the towel never stayed tied around his waist for very long, and they spent hours every night watching stuff on TV, but chatting mostly about nothing and everything, sharing, laughing, and opening their hearts. Offering the contact of his naked body to Jake, as he was sitting next to him, felt a bit weird to Gunther the first few times. And it had to be this way, as Gunther's body filled almost all of the couch when he was sitting in it, so there was no way to avoid physical contact even if they had tried to. But Gunther made that move because he was loving his friend Jake so much. Jake had lit up his life, he even wondered how he could have been making through it before meeting him. Gunther had always considered himself uninteresting and bland as a person, unworthy of anyone respect not attention, and clearly that was his motivation when he dedicated his life to hardcore bodybuilding, he wanted some people to notice him, and exist. It never really worked, as he was still withdrawn socially. He thought it would make him a King, popular, and get lots of girls, but it didn't work that way. In fact, the more noticeable he became, the more he felt the need to be discreet and non-existent. Sure, girls have shown interest in him, quite aggressively sometimes even, but he was very uncomfortable with it, and shied away from it. He got to the conclusion that maybe he wasn't interested in girls so much, it seemed. He was uncomfortable with anyone giving him too much attention. So, that intense, profound friendship he had with Jake, something he had never felt before, and the best feeling he ever had, was so unique and miraculous, Gunther was terrified at the idea of loosing this. He knew, and there was no way around it, it was bound to happen, and he was baffled that it hadn't already, some day Jake would realize how uninteresting, shallow, unworthy and utterly stupid Gunther was, and then move on and set sail. Jake was so smart, quick, fun, charming, Gunther had no idea how to keep up with Jake, and didn't what to do. Jake was politely having conversations with him, but Gunther knew that he couldn't contribute much, there was no way anything he would say could be anything but laughably stupid and boring and useless, as Jake enlightened and impressed him every second. Sometimes Gunther thought of something to say that might be of interest, or a relevant question, but didn't dare to let it out, as it would certainly have the opposite effect and expose his stupidity and ignorance even more. Jake could feel that Gunther was uneasy and nervous at these moments, and tried to encourage the man to share his thoughts. Not pressing him by any means, but through a comforting, welcoming attitude. And each time Gunther finally expressed thoughts about the subject at hand, Jake listened attentively, and showed great interest in Gunther's input, praising the wisdom and pertinence of Gunther's observations. Gunther didn't really believe that Jake was mocking him, although he couldn't help considering the eventuality ; or if Jake was probably just being the adorable, delightful, delicious man that he was. Yet Gunther felt inadequate, useless, unable to please Jake. On the other hand, Gunther had noticed some strange behavior Jake had sometimes... He would have his eyes almost popping out of their sockets, a trickle of saliva continuously pouring down his dropped jaw, his hands wildly shaking, awestruck when Gunther was kinda close to him. From there, after hours and hours of intense reflection, Gunther had a stroke of pure genius. The most clever idea he had ever come up with. Gunther, his brain severely aching from processing all the data involved in this incredibly complex, intricate enigma. He decided to take a chance on the mischievous course of action he had in mind. Gunther didn't want to trick nor deceive Jake in any way, he respected and cared about him so much. But as Jake's patience and kind tolerance was about to wear off any second, he had to do something, anything, even if it sounded crazy. Or at least far fetched, as this was Gunther's plan : someway, somehow, he had to find a way to keep strong this improbable, unexpected bond linking him with that man. But how could it be possible, with no brains to speak of, and being as uninteresting as it gets? Suddenly, in the middle of a legs extension set, after days of relentless torture over this question, the solution sparked into Gunther's mind.
  22. Before I start, I wanted to say that I’ve never written a story like this before. Having been inspired by Maxxxmuscle’s comic Harvzilla. It is honestly like the hottest thing I think I have ever seen, and it’s getting better every time he releases a page. So without further ado, here we go! Chapter 1: Coming out It started like it would with any love story. Josh was in love with his life long best friend, but had no clue how to express his affections. It was painfully obvious for all but Parker who was oblivious to his best friend’s feelings. Parker had his own secret though... One which he had never shared with Josh. The two were madly in love with one another! Josh was actually quite a strapping young man. At 6’8 and 245lbs of pure muscle. He was what many teenage boys wished they could be. On top of that, Josh was every bit of a grower. Hidden behind his jeans, and boxer briefs lied a foot long by the likes nobody had ever seen. He often caught people ball gazing, but thought very little of it. Hell, he hardly cared if people drooled over him. Paired with the young Adonis’ killer body, Josh’s well known size was the source of rumor for many at Westwood University. Despite this fact, He had turned down everybody who made the attempt to try and date him. Josh had his eyes on one person, and he was mere minutes away from confessing to that person. Sitting at his Desk, Parker was in the middle of daydreaming again. He had just gotten through a painful Calculus lecture, and was eager to spend time with Josh later that night. The two had planned to see a movie at the local theater. But, what the two didn’t know, was the others plan to confess feelings. While not as physically gifted as Josh. Parker was by no means a slacker. Standing at a smaller but still impressive 6’4 and weighing 215lbs. Parker packed a smaller, but still impressive anaconda of 10 inches. Like Josh, Parker was popular among the girls and the guys, but would reject everyone who bothered to ask. Like Josh, Parker was still a virgin, and it was a surprising fact. Few people expected someone of such an impressive size to still be one. “Hey, I’m on my way my dorm room. Wanna come hang out for a bit before the movie?” Josh texted Parker. Parker looked down at his phone and grinned, he loved hanging out with Josh. It wasn’t even a question of if he wanted to or not. The answer was always yes, and Josh knew it. ”Of course, I’ll be there in a few minutes,” Parker responded. Josh received the text as he unlocked the door to his room but not before an unknown package he failed to notice fell over. Upon inspecting the package he noticed it to be some kind of experimental protein powder. Wondering what it was, he closed the door to his dorm room and opened it up, Finding a red warning written in bold letters, he began to read the side effects of overdose. “Overuse of the experimental Hyperbulk powder can result in several side effects that include but aren’t limited to, Extreme muscle growth, increased height, penis growth, an increased sex drive, and infectious cum” “Infectious cum”? Josh thought to himself. What do they mean by infectious? Before Josh had time to contemplate the message, he was overcome by a sense of hunger. “Well, I already have it. Why not try out some of this stuff while I wait on Parker?” Josh had been opening the bottle and gathering the other ingredients for a shake. The substance didn’t include a scoop and he had never been one to use one. So he decided that half the smaller tin would be an appropriate amount. It was about the same amount he usually used when he made protein shakes anyway. Blending it to perfection, Josh was excited as he poured the shake into a cup for his consumption. He had made protein shakes a daily part of his routine, and sculpted his body over the years to near perfection. (Or so he thought) By the time he finished gulping the shake down, he heard a knock at his door. Parker was thirsty, as he had just ran 4 miles to get to Josh’s dorm. It occurred to him that he hadn’t really eaten anything either. He was always the book nerd compared to his best friend. Indeed, Josh often playfully teased Parker for being a math major while he was at college on a basketball scholarship. Despite the two being different in almost every single way, they had been friends since they were just four years old! Parker didn’t really recall a time without his best bud. “Yo dude! Woah- you’re drenched in sweat and panting,” Josh noticed as he opened the door and greeted Parker. “Yeah, well I hate to keep you waiting. Besides I need the exercise,” Parker replied Josh led Parker to his couch, and went to go make another shake. Using the remaining half of the tin without paying any particular attention to the serving size amounts. Josh blended the shake to perfection, and handed this one to Parker. “Try this stuff out,” Josh said as he handed the drink to Parker Parker didn’t have to be told twice, especially being as thirsty as he was now. He gulped the contents of the shake down, leaving no trace of it in the cup. “Thank you, that hit the spot,” Parker let out a small burp of approval. Josh smiled and giggled a little bit. “No problem man, I actually just got that stuff delivered today. It was a sample of some new protein powder they’re developing,” Josh went on, as he began to felt a strange heat in his gut. “Well thanks man, but I wanted to tell you something.. Before we go out tonight. It’s been weighing on my mind now for months,” Parker began, as he too felt a weird warmth emanating from his gut. Josh sat on the couch next to Parker, and listened to what his friend had to say. Josh always listened to Parker, and cared a lot about what his friend had to say. “Well you see...” Parker began, “I like you a lot.. I have for some time. Everybody always drools over you and your body, and while I admit that’s a bonus. I’ve always liked you for more than that Josh. You’re my best friend, and know me better than anyone else. I’m more comfortable around you than I am anyone else.” Parker had intended to continue, but not before being interrupted by a pair of firm yet soft lips on his own. “I’ve loved you ever since our Freshman year of Highschool. I feared telling you because I didn’t want to lose our friendship. But are you sure I’m really what you want?” Josh blushed, as he exposed his more insecure side. “Of course you are...,” Parker responded The two leaned in to kiss, both battling the others tongue in a display of hot fiery passion unlike anyone had ever seen. Their intense make out session would move to Josh’s bed where the two gradually stripped clothing and continued making out. The two would begin to lose track of time as their bodies continued to rub against each other. However, the warmth in their guts began to spread throughout their bodies. Changes were beginning, that the two had yet to realize. Even Bigger changes were about to happen. Perhaps bigger than the two of them could begin to comprehend. End of chapter 1 Thanks to all those who have taken the time to read my first post. Hopefully you all enjoy this as I continue to develop it. I’ll continue to work on improving my writing as the chapters go on. But please, let me know what you thought!
  23. MizarAlcor69

    giants A Couple of GHI's (Chapter 0)

    This is my first piece of...anything after lurking on this site for a few years. Fair warning, this story is just a piece of work that is entirely self-indulgant, and made by a guy who has no understanding on how to write erotica or stories in general. … Anyways, Enjoy! (Also please give me any criticisms or thoughts you have. If I'm making horny garbage, I want it to be good horny garbage) (Also also, this chapter is pretty much just exposition, sorry.) ----------------------------- People are weird. More specifically, their tastes in partners. Especially me… especially me Ever since I hit puberty, I could count the number of guys that I didn't find attractive on one hand. That one pudgy guy with glasses I shared P.E. with? Sweat looked good on him. That one guy who looked like he could crush me with that build that screamed, "POWER"? Sit on me please. My best friend? Yes, even if it was pretty awkward and painful, especially when I confessed and got slammed into the friend zone… … Ok that's beside the point. This conflict only got worse when they showed up. When giants started to pop out of the woodwork, sometimes literally. You know that guy I was talking about? The one who looked like he could crush me, I was not joking. 10th grade, and the guy looked like a powerlifter. Not to mention his height. People would have to lift their heads more and more to look at him as the years passed. He wasn't the only one growing like this though. People all around started growing, either slowly, in a literal blink-of-an-eye, or having puberty hit them like a truck. At first, action was taken to restrain the giants. Camps and such were made just so the Government would have some time to find out what needs to be done. This didn't last long though, turns out quite a few superhumans didn't like the idea of being restrained, and broke out with ease. This was a sort of wake-up call, and everyone tried to make room for the giants in every aspect of life. Economically, giants thrived in jobs involving hard labor. Turns out they had stamina almost on par with their size. Businesses were being created for the purpose of helping or offering services to giants. The very first restaurant that could technically serve them was opened not even a year later. Politically, action was taken to guarantee an equal playing field. Though, that doesn't automatically mean that giants had a good deal of political power, too much fear... I guess. The one area that was near impossible for giants to succeed in was Socially. Again, the general populace were terrified of giants. The Media didn't help matters much either. Plus, it's hard to keep communication going between two people if one side literally looks down at the other. Luckily, an innovation was made. A group of scientists began to develop a medication designed to cut giants down...in size. It was a series of unnamed medication called GHI's (I just call them Guys). It technically means Giant Hormone Inhibitors, but they had quite a few effects on giants. One of them severely cut down on the rate of growth in giants. Though, this didn't help much for the ones with a more...sudden growth spurt. Not only that, if a user that grew in a sort of "slow burn" didn't take it consistently, their hormones would spike and growth would occur almost instantly. The amount the person grows actually depends on how big they would have grown normally, and how long it was suppressed. Luckily… Another medication had a more revolutionary effect on giants. It would actually alter someone's build to the point where a giant could live life as a regular person. A decrease in muscle mass, height, all of it. I've heard though, that the process is somewhat irritating in the fact that laxatives are needed before the transformation for reasons I don't want to get into...food doesn't shrink after all. The last of the medications was basically Viagra on steroids, but the opposite. Giants can literally become so horny they can get sex-crazed, that medication just served as a way to not actually fuck someone to death. "But, that was in the past, I'm horny now!" You may say. Well my loves, I have a story involving a certain giant, and how we became very, VERY close. ---------------------------- ~Once again, sorry for the lack of any action this "chapter". I don't really have an update schedule either. Thanks for giving this a read anyway. I just want to make some contribution to the community. Edit: Changed name to something more fitting for the plans I have. Edit: Changed last paragraph for the same reason.
  24. londonboy

    m/m A General Increase (Parts 1-6)

    The man wrote the number forty-five on the calendar page sitting on the desk and then circled it three times. He stared at what he had jotted down for a long time. It seemed so far away, but after anticipating that day for so many years, what was another month and a half. Pages were quickly flipped – like a movie scene where you move into the future. The turning stopped on a page that was covered in hand drawn stars and the word ‘retirement’ underlined about seven times. The man’s finger ran across the word lovingly – or hesitantly. And then, just as quickly, the pages were moved back to the present date. General Artemis (Art) David Scala returned to the forms on his desk. Paperwork that required his signature. As he put pen to paper, the desk wobbled, causing the man’s signature to go wildly off the line. An expletive was muttered under his breath and then Art slid back his chair and carefully bent forward to readjust the piece of cardboard that had come loose from under one of the legs. He knew that one false move could make his back go out, which usually caused him to hit his head on the metal piece of furniture he had been battling for seventeen years. Once the cardboard had been wedged in place, the General slowly returned to a sitting position – careful to not twist the wrong way. He glanced at his signature – terribly askew – and contemplated asking his assistant, Private Ron Sanders, to print out another copy of the page, but he realized that this was just his obsessive compulsiveness about things being neat and tidy getting the best of him. He glanced at his clock and saw that it was almost time to go down to the lab. “Ron!” “Yes, General.” “Jesus! You scared me. What were you doing – hanging out by the door?” “Yes sir. I saw what time it was.” Damn, this kid was a great assistant. It almost unnerved the General how Ron could anticipate almost everything that his boss would need – from bringing coffee mere seconds before a request was going to be made to opening the office door right when said coffee had run its course and a bathroom was needed. Coffee did that to the General – well, coffee and his age. A need to pee could come on with little warning, but Ron always seemed to be one step ahead and ready to make the General’s dash always successful. A brawny twenty-one-year-old who’s six-foot frame always made Art feel a little intimidated – even though his uniform had so many stars every soldier on the base snapped to attention in his presence. Ron was definitely the son Art Scala had never had. The General, however, never played favorites and, if asked, Ron probably would have said his boss barely noticed him. That was far from the truth. “I have all those papers, here, for you.” “Yes sir,” the young man said as he stepped to the desk to take the folder. “Any news from the lab?” “I’m afraid so, sir. It seems the tests, today, did not go well. Dr. Brown called the latest round a complete failure and thinks they’ll have to return to the drawing board and start over.” “Damn, damn, damn. I bet that put Martha is a terrible mood. I almost want to skip going down there to talk to her.” Martha Brown was brilliant. Art Scala had personally requested she be hired for this job. She was also as much of a perfectionist as he was. She had been working feverishly for six years to find a way to enhance fossil fuels. To make natural gas – what she called – a hundred times stronger than it already was. She wanted to somehow make it last longer, do more work with less effort, to basically become ‘super’ powered. Another setback in her work would not only be discouraging for her, but it was going to make the Pentagon take a closer look at the continually failed work she was doing. Art knew that in forty-five days he would no longer be here to defend her. Whoever was put in his place would probably side with the powers that be and her project would no longer be funded. “I might as well get this over with. Let’s go to the lab, Ron.” “Yes sir.” Art Scala had turned sixty-eight two weeks ago. He had put off retirement for three years in hopes that Martha Brown would have some success. He knew he couldn’t put it off again. Even at retirement age, the General was what the girls in the front office called ‘a catch.’ He was a broad-shouldered, barrel-chested, bull of a man with graying temples that only made him more handsome. He could still command respect just from entering the room, but he also knew his king-of-the-pack days were almost over. It took him a lot longer to recover from a cold, he ached for days after a hard workout, and getting out of bed without any aches and pains was impossible. It was time for some younger buck to take the lead at this base. They were a secret facility out in the middle of a desert that was out in the middle of nowhere. Hell, Art didn’t think he could find the place if he didn’t come and go in a helicopter with an excellent pilot. The General didn’t know what it would be like to live back among civilians – in a regular city. He knew he was going to find out in a few months, though. He paused briefly at the door to the lab. Ron, knowingly, waited for his boss to be ready. With a heavy sigh, the General opened the door and went in – followed by his assistant. “What’s the good news, Martha?” the General said when he saw the red-headed brilliant chemist coming towards him. She had been alone in the lab. “General, don’t patronize me. We both know you already heard we haven’t had success. You have the most efficient assistant on the planet. I will steal him one day. I’m really sorry, Art. You deserve better news.” “Oh Martha, you never were one to beat around the bush, were you. I’m sorry for you. What seemed to be the problem – and don’t use all that chemist jargon I don’t understand. Tell it to me in layman’s terms.” “My perfect enhancement formula doesn’t want to get it on with the fossil fuels. It’s like the football team captain is trying to seduce a devout lesbian that hates athletes. It’s like…” “I get the point,” the General said, smiling. “What if you threw in some alcohol? That always helps opposites attract.” “Not in this case, I’m afraid. I think alcohol would dull the power of the enhancement formula – it might not know how to ‘get it on,’ so to speak.” “Then you start over, Dr. Brown. Isn’t your motto “Now you know,” when something goes wrong?” “Yes, it is,” Martha said, smiling, “But we both know you have limited time here and I won’t have the big scary General to fight all the bureaucratic bullies anymore. I’m wondering if I might skip out before you do.” “Nonsense! Start again. Tonight, if you have too. I believe in you. Let’s keep fighting until we can’t anymore. I leave in forty-five days – that’s a lot of time. And the military might be very slow to replace me. You might even have six months to a year. Back to work, my dear.” “Um, Dr. Brown,” Ron said, after clearing his voice, causing both the General and the doctor to turn toward him with looks of surprise. It wasn’t like Ron to interject with a comment. “Have you tried the enhancement formula on anything else besides fossil fuels?” “Like what, Ron?” Martha asked. “I don’t know . . . supplements, foods . . . animals.” “Well, we have tried it on all of those things and more, except animals. We have not gotten clearance to test this on living things . . . well, except micro-organisms. So far, we’ve batted zero on everything. We did have some organisms that seemed to become different after we mixed the formula with them, but then they just returned to normal. It was very discouraging.” “I see,” said Ron, “Thank you.” “Martha, let’s chat a little about your next plan of attack,” the General said, glancing back at Ron – confused by his interruption. He moved Martha off to the side to chat with her, privately. Ron walked around the lab. He had learned a long time ago when his boss needed him to be invisible. And right now, that’s exactly what Ron wanted. He stood to the side, looking at all the testing materials while the General and the doctor spoke. Soon, the General turned and started to exit. Ron followed. When they were back in the hallway the General turned to his assistant. Ron was nervous that he was in trouble . . . that he had overstepped the boundaries. Artemis Scala put his arm around the younger man’s shoulder – something he had never done before. “How about you and I go have a drink at the Officer’s Club, First Lieutenant?” “I can’t go there, sir…” he began, but then he fully comprehended what the General was saying. “Any officer, approved for his promotion, but waiting for the paperwork, can accompany another officer into the club. Section blah, blah, blah of the official military rules on Officer’s Clubs. It came through today, son. Congratulations. You deserve it. I promised I would get this promotion for you before I left and, by god, I did. At least something good has happened today.” “I’m speechless, sir.” “That would be a first, Ron,” the General said, laughing and then they headed out. ********* “May I get the drinks, sir? It would please me a lot.” “Of course, Ron. I’ll have a double whiskey. I need something to make the day a little more tolerable.” Ron walked to the bar and ordered the drinks. He was nervous as hell, this being his first time in the Officer’s Club, but there seemed to be something more. He fumbled around the bar for a little longer than he would have liked, but the General had been busy talking to other officers when Ron got back – so he didn’t notice. Ron handed his boss his drink and there were beads of sweat gathering on his brow. The General thought it was adorable – watching his unflappable assistant become rattled just because he was around all the officers for the first time. They brought their glasses together, the General impressed that Ron asked for the same drink. “To your health,” Art said, smiling. “And to yours, sir,” Ron replied and they both took big gulps. ********* Ron loved the General. Wait – years of therapy had taught Ron to be more precise with his thoughts - Ron was in love with the General – deeply and hopelessly in love. The General counted down the days to his retirement with a little sadness, but mostly with excitement. Ron counted the days with nothing but despair – his own desk calendar marking the time left, as well. Whenever Ron contemplated his boss his hands unconsciously went up to his own nipples and he scraped them with his thumbnails and pinched them hard. Fur covered pecs – seen with secret, furtive glances at the gym. A deep, gravelly voice that made Ron’s ass tighten. A wide he-man bubbled butt, which still ignored gravity even at his age. Thick legs that looked as sturdy as trees. A face that perpetually had a five-o’clock shadow. How could any gay man on earth not fall in love with this man. Of course, Ron had never let his feelings for the older man interfere with his work. Ron was the consummate professional when it came to his job. Everyone told him so. But when he was in the privacy of his own bungalow his desire for the General was not hidden. A stolen used jock kept sealed in a Ziploc bag and taken out for late night sniffing. A flannel shirt not washed since it was taken – worn to bed on cold nights so Ron’s bed smelled like the General. Multiple pictures snapped inconspicuously and printed on special photo paper so they’d last longer. Ron’s shrine to his boss. The private acknowledged and accepted how weird his actions were. He was always as honest with himself as possible. He was simply head-over-heels in love with General Artemis Scala. That’s why he had made the decision to help his boss. He knew the General was getting older. He could see how the love of his life had trouble sometimes rising from a low-sitting chair. He noticed the grimaces on his face the day after hard workouts. He could see that the General was tired. Ron didn’t question his decision to do something about it. He never doubted that he was supposed to find a way to make the General feel better. He even decided that being court-martialed for insubordination would be justified – in his mind – if he extended the vitality and the life of the man he would love forever. It was worth getting in trouble, if he could just help the General. That’s why Ron stole an entire vial of Martha Brown’s enhancement chemical while she was talking to the General. That’s why he had poured it into the glass of whiskey he had served the General that very evening. That’s why he now pinched his own nipples unconsciously looking into the bathroom mirror of the Officer’s Club after he had stepped away for a few minutes to calm down. The man of his dreams was going to be enhanced . . . or dead . . . within twenty-four hours. It was now just a waiting game.
  25. CHAPTER ONE 9:00pm – State Penitentiary It’s been a long day. Sentencing, being immediately escorted out of the courthouse, and the long bus ride here – to this dark, cold place. There’s only four of us being processed tonight. There are five rough-looking, biggish guys standing just inside the doors from where I am being registered into the place – it feels like I’m just checking in for a long weekend or something, but we all know that’s not true. Anyway, I’ve been warned about this crew by one of my cohorts, who’s returning for a second unplanned visit. The five thugs sit and wait – watching the newbies arrive – trying to see who might be weak. I walk tall, well, as tall as a small-framed guy who’s only five-seven can. I don’t look them in the eyes. I just follow the guard leading our group of four. When the guard steps into the third cell to help the new guy get situated, I suddenly feel a hand grab the back of my head and my body is shoved against the wall. It happens so fast I could not have seen it coming. A deep, hoarse voice whispers in my ear. Careful, little man, accidents happen. Wouldn’t want that pretty face of yours to be battered by one of these walls, now would we. The hand is gone. I wait a few beats and then push away from the wall, turning to see the five guys that were waiting by the processing room. I cannot tell who it was that grabbed me. They’re all smiling brightly and that’s when I realize the guard has returned. Is there a problem, Wainright? No problem at all. I turn and follow the guard to my cell, mumble a slight hello to my roommate, and then fall onto my bed, ready to put the day behind me. I’ll be here for a long time, so I need to just take it one day at a time, keep my head down, and try to not get beat up . . . or killed. 8:00am – The Shower I’m awake earlier than I want to be. I’ve been told I don’t have to go to breakfast unless I feel like it. I opt for a shower, instead. I walk into the communal bathroom not really watching where I’m going. I bump into a door . . . or what I thought was a door. I’m on my butt, now, and I realize I’ve hit the body of a big guy. I also realize I’m out in the middle of the room – how did I miss him. He has gray hair – cut short – and a four or five-day thick stubble. A massive, hard looking roid gut protrudes under thick heavy meaty giant pecs. It’s suddenly clear he bumped into me, on purpose, and sent me flying to the floor. It felt like a truck had hit me. Everywhere I look I see bulging muscle. He realizes how small he makes me feel. For fuck’s sake, watch where you’re going, runt. I could tell you to do the same, old man. First, there’s a smile – which could either be viewed as happy or evil. I see his giant fist ball up at his side – such thick fingers. I’m prepared for a beating. But, instead, a hand is extended. A hand much bigger than mine, calloused and stronger than shit. I wince from the power of the grip as he pulls me up. I notice it takes nothing for him to get me to my feet. The top of my head is beneath his chin. I have to step back to look him in the eyes. Clearly, you ain’t been warned about me, have you, puss . . . I mean that as in pussy . . . cat. You’re small and weak, like a kitten. I’m not your puss and, no, I’ve not been warned. Let me guess, I’m supposed to avoid you at all costs, right. Something like that, puss. Whatever, old man. I walk away – realizing how far I have to swing out to get around him - but I can feel him watching me as I go. Something doesn’t feel right about the meeting . . . or is it that something feels totally right about it. I can’t decide. I force myself to not turn back and look. My gut tells me that’s the right thing to do. I just keep walking away. My body still stinging with pain from colliding with the big man. He’s as wide and hard as five steel lockers. How could an older guy be in such incredible shape. 10:00am – The Guard A guard walks up to the cell. The door is open, but he doesn’t come in. He just peers in and sees that both my roommate and I are at home – one resting and one reading. The guard clears his throat, loudly, to announce his arrival. Wainright, gather your stuff and come with me. What’s wrong? Am I in trouble? Depends on what you mean by trouble. Naw, you’ve been granted a change of scenery, that’s all. Let’s just say your presence has been requested elsewhere. Bring your stuff, you won’t be coming back here. I don’t understand. Nothing to understand, Wainright, just do as your told. I know better than to argue. I gather up my stuff – funny, how in the slammer you really don’t have much. I walk to the door and turn back to my roommate to say something, but he’s now sound asleep. Clearly, getting moved to a new cell is not an unusual thing. I wonder if he has complained about me, asked for me to be switched to somewhere else. I guess I’d never know. I quickly follow the guard, who had already started walking away. We go up two levels. Even though I’m pretty new, I already know the upper levels are reserved for the hardcore guests of the establishment. I want to say that there must be a mistake, but I can tell by the guard’s shoulders that he does not want to be disturbed or questioned. I follow him down to the end of the highest floor. He then motions to the last cell, but doesn’t go in. Your new home, Wainright. Good luck. His words hit me hard. I walk to the doorway, seeing that these rooms are larger than the one’s below – probably because guys on this floor aren’t likely to ever leave. If you’re here temporarily, then you can seemingly adjust to tighter quarters. I didn’t know for sure if that was why, but it made sense. The long narrow room was dark. Only a little light from the entranceway spilling into the front of the cell. I walked in – giving my eyes time to adjust to the darkness. You sure are a pretty thing, puss. His voice was almost a whisper – even though it was low and gravelly. He sounded like what I imagined a large boa constrictor would sound like if it could talk. I gasped a little, I couldn’t help it. The hairs on the back of my neck stood up. Fear made me wobble a little. I see his hard gut before the rest of him. The older roided monster from earlier stepped out of the darkness and was looking directly at me. Piercing grey eyes, with deep crevices etched in different places on his face. The stubble seems thicker than earlier – even more substantial. Fuck, even the hairs on his face look powerful. Why am I here? I suddenly craved a roommate. You’ll be amazed what greasing the palms of the guards will get you. But I didn’t want to move. Ah, but I wanted you to move, puss. There’s been a mistake. I’ll just go and talk to the guard. I can protect you, puss. You won’t have any more threats of accidents if you’re around me. I stopped in my tracks. There it was. The awful fact that there are no secrets in this place. I felt a wave of fear pass through me, but I couldn’t tell if it was caused by the fact that I could have an ‘accident’ or if it was from the idea of sharing a room with this man. I hesitated long enough for him to have moved directly behind me. I jumped when he spoke – his bulk towering over me. No one messes with me, puss. No one. And anyone that is tied to me is left alone, too. Feel free to go back to your old cell, but know that you’ll be much safer, here. You’ll be much . . . happier, here. I can promise you that. I didn’t like the sound of the word ‘tied.’ What would it mean to be tied to this guy? However, my fear of the guys that had made up my welcome wagon team that first night was greater than the fear of this man, now breathing on my neck. I stepped away and then turned back to him. I put my small collection of personal items down on a chair by the door. Smart thinking, puss. 5:30pm – Dinner The big man had left the room shortly after I decided to stay. I think he was giving me some time alone to adjust to my new surroundings. I thought about leaving – just grabbing my stuff and going back to the guard station. I realized, however, that even if I did I’d be returned to this exact room. The guard wasn’t going to let me do what I wanted. I had nothing to bribe him with. I had no influence. I knew – instinctively – that even the guards did what my new roommate asked. A quick look around the room revealed three things about the man. He was extremely neat – everything in the cell was in its proper place and the beds were tightly made. You could have bounced a quarter on them. He was into mediation – there were about ten paperbacks lining a shelf that were all about that specific subject. And he was an ex-officer in the marines. There was an article from what looked like his hometown paper neatly taped to the wall near what was clearly his bed. There was a picture of him – much younger and smaller – announcing he had been made sergeant major. That explained the beds. I put my stuff neatly away. Something told me I should. I rested, falling asleep. His loud voice jolted me upright. Wake up, puss. Time for grub. I don’t like it when you call me puss. Tough shit, puss. Come on, let’s eat. What is this, asshole? A date? You gonna hold my hand in the cafeteria so everybody knows we’re going steady? Yeah, something like that, puss. Now move it. I could see he was smiling as we walked down the hallway beside each other. I didn’t know what had made him happy, but I didn’t care. I figured it was a lot better to have this guy in a good mood. I realized he probably had over one hundred pounds on me – all of it roided muscle. I knew enough about steroids to be aware of sudden rage and bad moods. I wanted to keep this guy on my side. After all, that’s why I had decided to stay, right? I got the sense he liked the fact that I stood up to him – even though it was just with my words. I’d lose in seconds if we ever moved to hand-to-hand combat. His arms were thicker than my waist. As we entered the cafeteria, we passed an extremely huge black man, who was actually bigger than my roommate. The other man held the door for us . . . I couldn’t believe it . . . and did an upward motion with his chin to the man with me. How’s it hanging, Vader? Low and to the left, Hank. Low and to the left. And you? Below my knees, man. Way below my knees. I forced myself not to look down and my more-than-obvious efforts caused the big man I was with to laugh. He knew I wanted to find out if what Hank said was true. He had already pegged me a long time ago, I’m sure of it. But he hadn’t killed me or beaten the shit out of me, so I guess it was okay. He even got it arranged so I lived with him, so I guess it was even better than okay. I stopped in my tracks as a thought ran through my head. Was he the same as me? This huge giant of a man. I thought there was no way. He clearly wanted to make me suffer even more. He turned and smiled. It does, in fact, hang way below his knees, puss. Come on, I could eat a horse . . . and that’s probably what they’re serving. We sat alone and no one looked our way. Not even the gang of guys that had made my first few hours here so memorable. It seemed, in fact, that they went out of their way to make sure it didn’t even seem like they had glanced in our direction. A couple of other huge guys passed the table and said ‘good evening, Vader’ and ‘what’s the word, Vader.’ One guy simply asked my table mate what number he was at and my roommate calmly said, ‘500.’ The other guy let out a whistle and shook his head. We mostly ate in silence. I kept wanting to start up a conversation, but I didn’t know if that was okay and I certainly didn’t know what to talk about. The guy was three times my size. I felt like some miniature version of a man sitting across from him. His hands could palm a dinner plate. My nervousness must have shown. He spoke without even looking up from his food, which he was shoveling in faster than he could chew. It’s okay to talk, puss. Don’t be scared. I don’t see you putting any effort into the conversation, old man. I may be old, puss, but I could wad you up like a scrap piece of paper if I wanted to. Best to stay on my good side. Do you even have a good side, geezer? Fucking hell, puss, you are one brave son-of-a-bitch. Either you’ve got one honking set of mega man-balls or you’re just plain stupid. I haven’t figured out which it is. I think it’s just because you make me nervous as hell. That’s probably the most honest thing you’ve said since I met you, puss. You’ve really got to stop calling me that. I don’t like it. Sure thing . . . puss. The asshole then grinned at me. His weathered, wrinkled, stubbled face broke into a big smile. He cracked himself up. He tensed his huge arms, making the biceps bulge even bigger. I swallowed hard. There was something about the smile, though, that freed me up, a little. I relaxed – just slightly – but that was enough to allow me to be gregarious. Why does everyone call you Vader? I lifted some guy off the ground with my hand around his neck and an onlooker said it was like Darth Vader in Star Wars. The name stuck, puss. What’s your real name? You’ve cut it out of the article on the wall back in your cell. Vader. No, your real name. It’s Vader, puss. Okay then, I think I’ll call you ‘Darth.’ What did it mean when that guy earlier asked you what number and you answered 500. How many kilos I’m squatting. And before you ask, puss, that’s 1,102 pounds. I was no friend of the gym, but even I knew that was a hell of a lot of weight. I tried to think of things that weighed a thousand pounds. A grand piano, a big horse, or a grizzly. I imagined Darth holding all of those things across his colossal shoulders and dipping down and up. He knew exactly what I was thinking about. It made him smile . . . again. I’m fucking strong, puss. Remember that. 8:00pm – Bedtime Drink Here, drink this. Why? Cause Vader says so. I was glancing at one of his books – after getting his permission, of course – standing down from the shelf near his bed. He was writing in a book at the table. He kept looking up at the clock. When it was eight o’clock exactly, he had taken something from his pocket and turned towards me. I’m not drinking anything you give me, you freak. He stood and walked over to me, pressing his roided gut and heavy pecs against my body, continuing to walk forward, and pushing me up against the wall. It felt like the metal grill of a big truck shoving against me. I was smashed between two equally strong barriers. I wasn’t moving unless he let me go or the wall gave out. I would have laid my money on the wall giving first. I could feel his hot breath on my face as he spoke. I could also feel how fucking hard the old man’s body was. I said drink. He pushed in harder with his body for a few seconds, causing all air coming into my lungs to stop. Then, he backed away, allowing me to finally inhale, and held up a small plastic vial, smiling like a muscled angel or devil. I took it. Some creamish looking liquid was inside. I unscrewed the cap and the stench of the stuff was incredible. I started to argue again, but he reached out and grabbed my shoulder, squeezing hard. My legs suddenly wanted to buckle from the intense pain. His fingers felt like the jaws of a wild bear clamping down on me. I closed my eyes, brought the container to my mouth and swallowed it in one gulp. His hand released my shoulder, but the feeling of his powerful grip remained. Fuck, what is that stuff? It’s disgusting. An energy drink. Energy drink? More like salted sewage. Trust me, you’ll learn to love it. Not likely. Why do I have to drink it? You’ll see. 2:00am – The Pain I awoke at two in the morning with severe stomach cramps. It wasn’t like I needed to wretch or anything, it was just that my gut felt like it was being wrung out like a well-worn dishcloth. I moaned out loud, unable to keep silent because of the pain. I didn’t care if I woke Darth – the aching was too much. And he had caused it. Stuff’s working, puss. That was fast. It’s a good sign. A good sign of what? That I’m dying? What in the fuck did you give me, Darth? I feel like my insides are being twisted into knots. Count backwards from one hundred… What? Just do as I say, puss. Count backwards from one hundred. One hundred. Ninety-nine. Ninety-eight. Ninety-seven… I was sound asleep by the time I reached seventy. I fell into a deep sleep, too. It was the kind of sleep where your dreams are so lifelike that you feel as if you’re awake. I dreamed of Vader and it certainly wasn’t G-rated. He was on top of me, pressing me into the mattress of my bed with his hard-as-concrete distended gut. I could feel his ribbed abs pressing into me. I could feel his strong calloused hands holding my shoulders tightly. I could feel his hard tool pressing up between my thighs and that’s when I shot up straight in bed – fully awake and having the most satisfying wet-dream ever. After my orgasm finally finished I dropped back down on the bed, completely worn out. It had felt so real. But Darth was in his bed snoring away. I didn’t bother cleaning myself up, I simply fell back asleep a few minutes later. 6:00am – The Weights Wake up, puss. Time to go. What time is it? Six. Come on, let’s go. Go where? The gym. You have got to be kidding, old man. I don’t do gyms. That’s for roided freaks, like you. Suddenly, I found myself standing and my head spinning. Two incredibly strong hands had grabbed the front of my shirt and sweats, twisted the material, and easily swung me into the air landing me on my feet with a thud. I was instantly fully awake, fully hard, and my mouth was open wide. I stared at the beaming weathered face of Darth – and then noticed he was wearing only a very skimpy white tank-top and baggy basketball shorts. He looked like an elder Hulk going out to shoot some hoops. He put his face into mine – his morning breath rocking me even more alert and making my dick grow harder. That feel like roids lifting you, puss, or did it feel like hard fucking man-muscle? As of today, you are a gym boy, son. As a matter of fact, you’re my little gym puss. I should probably tell you, now, I’m not a morning person, but it’s quiet in the gym at this hour and we can get a lot accomplished. We can get a lot of growing done. Now, put on your shoes, get your scrawny puss-ass in gear, and do what I say. Or do you want to see these muscles manipulate your body like I’m making a balloon animal for a kid? Um . . . I need to shower first. Fuck, puss, you think your cum-crusted sweats are going to matter after I’ve turned every damn muscle in your body to jelly because I worked your ass into the ground. Hell, I’ll probably have to carry you back to this room. Now, get your shoes on and let’s go. You’ve got some growing to do. I did as he said. I wasn’t sure what excited me more – the idea of him carrying me back to the room in those huge muscled arms or this new interest I felt in my gut and crotch about growing bigger. Ten minutes later we were in the gym. There were maybe two other guys there. I was still so traumatized and excited by my wake-up call that I didn’t notice. I just wanted to do whatever Darth told me to do. Staring at the size difference between us reflected back from the mirrored wall made me realize he could easily have squashed me with one hand. I’d never seen a human mountain, before. I felt myself hardening even more. We stood in front of a long row of dumbbells and the big man turned to me. I want you to concentrate, puss. I’m sorry I had to give you some tough love back there, but it’s for your own good. I promise you. You don’t even realize your own potential, yet. That’s where I come in. Now, just close your eyes and block out every other sound or thought. Just focus on how you’re feel this morning. Tell me what your body is saying to you. I, again, did as he said. At first, I did it out of fear, but as soon as I closed my eyes and steadied my breathing, I started to notice things. Even without fully knowing what Darth was looking for, I knew for certain he just wanted me to be honest. To be ‘in tune’ with my own body. I was amazed by what I felt. I spoke softly, but with much confidence. The big man noted everything I was saying. I feel good, Darth. Real good. My body wants to exercise. It’s a new feeling for me. It’s like I want to go jogging or swimming – for a long time. Hell, I even want to lift some weights. That’s a new thing for me. I can feel an energy running through me that’s never been there before. I feel a power building inside me. Good, puss, now open your eyes. Look at all the dumbbells on this rack. Let your body guide you to the specific weights you want to lift. Don’t go with your head, it will only play tricks on you and tell you you’re not strong enough. Go with what your body says. Pick up some dumbbells. Okay, go. I looked at the rack. My head said to go left, towards the smallish looking things at that end. But, as Darth told me, I listened to my body. I went straight for the dumbbells marked 37 kilos, which I quickly calculated to be about 80 pounds. I panicked at that thought. What the hell was I thinking. I calmed my thoughts. I listened to my body. I picked up the weights. They were heavy, yes, but not as heavy as I had worried they would be. I turned to a smiling Darth, who – of course – had dumbbells that were three times the size of mine in his hands. Look at you, puss, not taking the easy way out. I’m proud of you, boy. The power is strong in you. Making him proud seemed to electrify my body in some way. I knew I’d need to hear him say that to me, again . . . and again. I’d want him to always be proud of me. 6:00pm – Dead to the World Wake up, puss, I brought you some food. I can’t fucking move. You did this to me, Darth. I’m going to die from exhaustion. He pulled my body up and propped me on some pillows. He knew I couldn’t lift my arms or move my legs. I had attacked my workout in the same way a pack of wolves might prey on some smaller animal. I had felt gloriously strong while Darth was putting me through what ended up feeling like running five marathons in a row. I had fallen into my bed around ten in the morning and this was the first time I was moving a limb . . . only I wasn’t moving anything. Darth fed me . . . like I was some kind of baby. I couldn’t have lifted a fork or spoon if my life had depended on it. I somehow found the strength to swallow some soup and a little bit of bread. I felt like I was paralyzed from the neck down. Not one part of my body wanted to respond to messages from my brain . . . because they couldn’t. Just kill me now, Darth. Put the pillow over my face and put me out of my misery. It’ll get easier, puss. I promise. Don’t give up, now. You did so well today. Why does your fucking approval make my heart swell so much? When did I start caring about what old men think? This comment made Darth smile. He wiped my mouth – a move that was so intimate it almost hurt. He then took out the same vial from the night before and shook the liquid inside. He opened the container and that pungent smell wafted over me, again. I scrunched my eyes tightly shut as he brought the vial to my lips and I sucked the contents down quickly. God, that’s disgusting. I hated vegetable soup growing up, but I’d eat a barrel of that instead of your so-called energy drink. I certainly hope it gives me some fucking energy. Just rest, puss. You’ll be ready to go again in the morning. Are you out of your fucking mind, Darth. There is no way I will even move from this bed tomorrow or the next day. You might as well slap an I.V. to my arm, because that’s the only way I’m going to get any nourishment. Just rest, puss. Get some sleep. He pulled my body down and within five minutes I was back to sleep. Again, it was a sound sleep. And again, a dream about Darth invaded my mind. This time he held me in his huge arms, my legs wrapped around his waist. I locked my fingers behind his neck, looked into his eyes, and then leaned in to bring my lips to his. Suddenly, I was wide awake and sitting up. Even in the midst of my orgasm I was able to realize I was no longer in pain. There was a little stiffness in my limbs, but I didn’t ache like I did earlier. As I finished shooting a massive load and fell back down on the bed, I decided I must still be dreaming because there was no way my body could not still be in pain. I was asleep in seconds. 5:30m - It's a Miracle I woke before Darth. I sat up, I got out of bed, I put on my socks and shoes, and I waited. It wasn’t until about ten minutes later that I realized my body didn’t ache. I stood up and moved around – just to make sure. How in the hell had I recovered so quickly? I was stiff and there was still a little soreness in my arms, but I could move. I danced a little bit in the middle of the room, just for fun. I then pinched myself – to make sure I was truly awake. I looked down at the big dried stain at my crotch – remembering my dream from the night before. That’s when he spoke. Morning, puss. Morning, Darth. I’m ready for the gym. Look at you all bright-eyed and bushy-tailed. You’re not hurting today? Not at all. A little stiff. How’s that possible? The energy drink, puss. What is that stuff? It must be a miracle drug. Hey, is it illegal? Define illegal, puss. Is it drugs? No. It’s definitely all natural. Well, it works. Let’s go, old man. Hold your horses, puss. I’ve got to get dressed. Because of how good I was feeling, I was already sporting some proper wood in my sweats, but when the massive Darth rolled his giant body out of bed, wearing nothing but a stained, tight, tattered jockstrap, my crotch began to bounce around joyously. Silver hair from his big balls stuck through holes in the jock, along with some red, wrinkled ball-skin. That, alone, was enough to excite me, but then he turned around and bent over to grab his shoes, offering me a gratuitous shot of his hairy ass. For an older man, he had the biggest, hardest, manliest butt I’d ever seen. My face could have camped out in there for days. He pulled on the same basketball shorts and tank top from yesterday. This thought made me even hornier than I’d already been. I’d have to start making a plan for sniffing the shirt, the shorts, and the jock one day when he wasn’t in the room. I got a strange feeling he would have let me smell any of them if I asked, but stealing the sniffs when he wasn’t around made it even better. We were walking down the hallway and he spoke without looking at me. You’re going to be stronger today, puss. Choose heavier weights. What do you mean stronger? I worked out for one day. Trust me, puss. I’m a good trainer. You might even say I’m a miracle worker. 6:15am – Eighty Kilos I didn’t hesitate when we got to the rack of weights. I didn’t need to close my eyes and concentrate to listen to my body – it was screaming directions even before we got to the gym. I walked up to the right side of the middle and grabbed dumbbells that were 80 kilos. I calculated in my head that meant they were a little over 176 pounds. They felt fucking good in my hands – the right weight for today’s workout. Look at you, puss, jumping in the deep end of the pool. Playing with the big boys. You must be feeling strong, today. I am. I know it’s totally unbelievable, but I just knew I could go with heavier weights this time. I started lifting the heavy things using the exact form that Darth had shown me yesterday. I wanted him to be happy . . . no, proud . . . of my response to his instructions. I also wanted the work to pay off. I had tasted the sweetness of working out the day before and it had spread through me like the warmth of strong alcohol. I was hooked. I wanted to grow. At that point, Hank, the huge guy we’d met in the cafeteria last night, came walking by. Jesus, Vader, if those arms or legs of yours grow any more they’re going to pop like a strongman blowing up old time water bottles. Can’t you leave a little muscle for the rest of us, man? Who’s your boy? His name’s Wainright. He’s going to be intense. I can tell. Catch you later, Vader. Hey, that kind of rhymes. I like it. Keep at it, Wainright. This man is a god when it comes to working out . . . do what he says and you’ll go far. He made me what I am. I couldn’t believe Hank had spoken to me. I continued to lift as he talked. The man was a hulking figure – all bulges and an angry face. But he had smiled at me . . . and acknowledged me. I was, however, not pleased with one aspect of the conversation. When the big man was out of earshot, I put down my weights to rest, and turned to Darth. I’m nobody’s boy. No? And what if I say you are? I’d tell you to fuck off, old man. Again, the smile. And again, the feeling of not being sure if it was a psychotic smile or a friendly one. That split second of wonder – would Darth crush me into dust for bones or would he pat my head like you did a crazy wild animal that’s been detained and you’re trying to calm it down. One of his big hands grabbed the front of my shit, twisted a little, and then pushed me up against the wall. The pressure was intense. If I’m so old, puss, brush my arm away. Oh look, you can’t. This old man is holding you in place with just one arm. You’re going to have to re-think your entire strategy of putting me down, puss. It doesn’t look like the ‘oh you’re old and frail’ line is working that well for you. This old man can out muscle you any day of the week. And here’s the crazy thing, puss. I think you like it that way. Fuck you, old muscleman. 12:30pm - Lunch I was still fuming about how easily Darth had held me in place with just one arm. The dude was freakishly strong – especially for a guy that was . . . what . . . late fifties? It was hard to tell because he was so massive. When we had worked chests today I had been blown away by the size, definition, and hardness of his pectoral muscles. It was like his tank top was screaming for mercy during the entire workout – from trying to contain those big mounds of muscled beef. I was definitely exhausted from our time in the gym, but it was nothing like the day before. Sure, there was some soreness, but it felt good – like a constant reminder of the hard work I had given Darth. He had been very complimentary – even as I fumed about being so easily manhandled by him. In the midst of the stiffness and the soreness, however, there was this incredible new energy in my body - post workout. I’m not sure if this is what you called an endorphin rush, but it was definitely something. I felt jacked . . . confident . . . strong. I was still giving Darth the silent treatment as we walked to lunch. You almost got a cocky waddle, today, puss. Feeling good? I’m not talking to you, asshole. Really, puss? Does that finally mean I’ll have some peace and quiet? I ignored him. As we walked into the cafeteria my eye sought out the five goons that had scared me so much that first night. I had no idea why, I just wanted to stare them down. And that’s exactly what I did as we walked across the floor to get in line for food. I fucking kept my gaze on the table where the five guys sat – even after I fell in behind the last man waiting. Calm down, puss. Two days of lifting doesn’t warrant cockiness. We’ll get you to a point where you can intimidate, but – right now – I think you need to remember your true size. You need to control the power growing in you. I just feel . . . I don’t know . . . jacked, in some way. That fucking energy drink gels with your body in a special way, puss. I’ve not seen this kind of reaction in a long time. Hank responded well, but not on the same level as you. I’m excited to see where this takes us. Eat up, puss. You’ll need to replenish nutrients that the workouts take from your body. I’m thinking two doses of the energy drink, tonight, Darth. What do you say? Fucking hell, it’s not time for that yet, puss. It would give you heart failure. Don’t worry, that day will come soon enough. I told you you’d be begging for it soon enough, didn’t I, puss? Fuck you, old man. CHAPTER TWO 10:00am – New Clothes Your shirt is ripping, puss. What? Look at the sleeves. The first thing I noticed when I looked down was that my arms actually filled out the entire sleeve of my shirt. When was the last time that had happened? Never! Before, you could have put two fingers or three between my triceps and the sleeve of my shirt if I flexed my arm. But now, six days into my training with Darth, my arm filled the sleeve. That’s when I noticed what he was talking about. The cuffs of my t-shirt had started to tear . . . upward, as if my arms were no longer containable. I flexed my arm and watched the tears open a little more. Fucking hell, I’ve got arms. Let’s not get carried away, puss. These are arms. He flexed his humongous arms and the sleeves of his shirt slid up toward his shoulders, not even attempting to try and surround his tensed biceps. I gazed at his beautiful big guns and appreciated their size – to the point where I got turned on – but I was more interested in looking at my own. I was flabbergasted that my arms now filled out my sleeves. It almost turned me on as much as looking at Darth’s arms. Almost. Puss likes what he sees, doesn’t he? Yes. Want to get huge like me, puss? More than anything. Then we might need to start upping the dosage of your energy drink. And we definitely need to get you new clothes. 8:00pm – The Power of Two Doses I must have looked like a puppy begging for its food. Darth reached into his sweats and pulled out two containers. I almost danced around in glee. I was like a kid waiting for the sugar high. He kept his hand wrapped around the two vials and looked at me. I could tell he was going to wait until I calmed down. I sat in the other chair across the table. It’s going to be powerful taking two, puss. Your dreams are going to be more intense and, tomorrow, you’re going to think you’re a lot stronger than you really are. You might want to punch the wall or take on some bigger guy, but you’re going to have to control your urges. You hear me, puss. This stuff is potent. You’re going to have to keep everything in check. Understand? I understand. If you can’t control it, puss, take it out on me – don’t try to fight other guys. I don’t want you getting hurt. Fucking stuff will make you think you’re the Hulk. Here you go, puss. I sucked down the contents of the two containers so fast that I didn’t even notice the strong aroma this time. I also suddenly realized I was licking the insides of the tubes and Darth was staring at me. What he had originally said had come true – I craved the stuff, and not only because I knew what it did to me. I now loved the taste. You’re filling out, puss. I feel tighter, Darth . . . heavier. I can see some definition in my arms, my legs, my chest, and my stomach. I’m no longer skinny, flabby meat on bones. Everything feels like it’s hardening and getting thicker. You’re laying the foundation, puss. Soon, the growth is really going to start. The lifting is going to get easier. Just wait, you’re going to feel like a million dollars. I knew what Darth was talking about, because I could already feel changes within me to match those on the outside. I walked with even more confidence than I had just a few days ago. I carried my arms sticking out at my side, as if muscle supported them. Muscle I didn’t have, yet. And talk about erections. Two or three times a day, I had to wank off a juicy load to relieve a build-up of sexual pleasure. I was becoming a little cum factory spurting off samples left and right. And I was lifting heavier weights every day. Two hours later, Darth said it was time for lights out. He told me to try and get some shut eye. He reminded me it was going to be different tonight and I was going to have to work hard to stay in control. I only half-listened to him. I was ready to see what two vials of the energy drink did to me. 12:30am – The Dream We’re on the beach, somewhere. We’re both totally nude and we’re holding hands. He’s holding mine with a grip that shows me how powerful he is, but doesn’t crush my hand. Darth’s huge hard body is lathered in oil and sweat – his roided stone-like gut glistening in the sunlight. I want to rub my hands all over it and then knead his meaty, giant, rounded pecs, too. The big man’s muscle waddle is more pronounced since we are walking in sand. He sinks deeper than I do as we move along. He’s flexing his free arm – down at his side, up in front of him, out beside his head, too. He knows I’m watching the big biceps going up and down. He stops and brings the rock-hard bulge to my face. Puss wants to have big arms like me, doesn’t he? Go ahead, feel the power. See what it’s going to feel like. Don’t be shy, little puss. Your man, Vader, is going to make your wish come true. I touch the muscle and even though my subconscious knows this is a dream – mainly because of the fact that we’re on a beach – the hardness of his leathered skin, the thickness of blood-pumping veins, and the insane size of his gun all seems real. This dream is so much more intense than the others. I see that Darth’s cock is hard and I know mine is, as well, without even needing to look down. I’m hard because of his gun in my face. I’m hard because of his glorious gut pressing into me. I’m hard because he’s holding my hand. But I’m mostly hard because I can feel myself growing. My face must reveal what’s happening, because Darth smiles. That’s it, puss, give into the growth. Let your body do what it’s begging to do. Let it get bigger. Feel your muscles becoming denser . . . heavier . . . stronger. Yeah, my little puss is growing. That’s a good thing. That’s a real good thing. My body is pulsing slowly, like waves hitting the shore in a constant empowering rhythm. With each pulse, I seem to thicken . . . ever so slightly. But I can still feel it, no matter how small it is. I watch my foot in the sand, pushing out to make a bigger print. I feel my shoulders breaking wider in the sunlight. I feel my small hand stretching larger as it holds on to Darth’s calloused giant mitt. I now look the older, taller, broader man in the face because I am growing – our eyes are even. Fuck me, Darth. Fuck me deep as I grow. His face is suddenly on fire with excitement. I feel his grip on my hand tighten in thanks and anticipation. I can sense his manly, thick-as-my-forearm, veiny cock hardening even more. I feel him let go of my hand and grab my shoulders, turning me around right there in the sand. I hear him spitting into his palm. I sense him squatting a little. And then I feel the spear-like tip of his hefty cock press against my ass. And then I feel him push forward until . . . I am sitting up in bed letting out a loud sound that is between a scream and a moan. I await the excruciating pain I expect to feel in my ass, but it does not come. I untighten that part of my body and I feel a mixture of relief and disappointment. That’s when I also hear his voice – softly from his bed. There’s the intense dream and here comes the power. Three . . . Two . . . One. Fuuuuuuuuuuuucckkkkkkkkk! Fuck! Fuck! FUCK! I jump to my feet while still on top of my bed. I’m like some ninja going from a sitting position to standing with little effort at all. My fists are clenched as I hold them down at my side. My entire body is tensed. I feel a sudden long surge of something akin to orgasm, electrical shock, and a drug-infused rush – all at the same time. It’s hard to put a word to what I feel, exactly, but suddenly it hits me . . . I feel powerful. I want to punch through concrete, I want to rip apart steel bars, I want to take on a raging bull . . . I want to make another man submit to me. It’s the most incredible feeling I have ever experienced. I feel like the entire fucking universe has suddenly come to reside in my body. I jump down on the floor and I sense, on some level, that Darth has stood up from his bed. I can see his hulking figure in the half darkness, but I genuinely feel bigger than him – more powerful than him. I know he is speaking, but his words don’t really register. You need to fight it, puss. Don’t let it win. Remember, I told you you’d feel this way. Come on, unclench your fists, puss. You don’t want to start something with me. You’ve still got a lot of growing to do before you can take me on. Relax, puss . . . come on, relax. I swing as soon as he steps near me. My fist connects with his gorgeous, protruding, hard stomach with a loud smack. His abs suck in slightly, but he absorbs my punch, easily. I swing my other fist and connect with his gut in the same way. This time, he’s ready for it and my fist hits something much harder than the first time. He still grunts a little at the impact, but I can tell I’ve done no damage. Quickly, his thick, powerful arms are around my torso and he’s hugging me, tightly. My feet come off the ground as his body stiffens. I can’t move my arms to save my life. He’s crushing me with so much fucking power. You gotta calm down, puss. You’re going to get hurt. Fight the power, puss. Don’t let it rule you. Come on, that’s it. Calm the fuck down, puss. That’s when I completely give into something controlling me . . . inside. I don’t listen to any warning signs in my head. I ignore the gut feeling telling me not to do it. And I completely let the moment rule my actions. As Darth holds my body smashed against his with those powerful arms, my face is directly across from his – mere inches apart. I bring my face forward and press my warm, wet mouth against his. I immediately thrust my tongue into his unsuspecting mouth and I can see his eyes widen as I explore his tongue, the roof of his mouth, and his throat. Suddenly, his hands drop me and my mouth jerks away from his as my feet fall to the floor. A big hand instantly slams into my chest and shoves me up against the wall. I feel pain in my back as I am pinned hard against cement. Suddenly, I am fully awake, fully aware of the situation, and completely out of the spell of the power that had consumed my body. I look at the furious face of Darth. What the fuck was that, puss! 2:00am – Forgiveness No one kisses, Vader, puss . . . unless I say they can. Do you understand? I said, do you understand, puss! Yes. I spoke weakly, mainly because his giant palm pushed against me with so much power I could barely breathe. Darth’s face was red and big veins had popped out across his forehead. He was breathing hard. I felt a surge of more pressure against my chest and then his hand was removed. I slid to the floor, still feeling his palm and fingers imbedded against my body. I was still fucking fully erect, too. My cock was still reeling in the after effects of the double dose of energy drink from less than seven hours ago. My fingers ached and I knew it was from punching the solid-as-hell stomach of Darth. He had now moved back to his bed and was sitting down, leaning back against the wall and looking at me. Jesus, puss, what came over you? Punching me is one thing . . . and I expected that, but what the hell was up with the kiss. In the slammer, puss, that kind of thing can get you silenced for good. You can’t do that to me without any warning. You understand. You gotta learn to keep your feelings in check . . . no matter how strong the power from the energy drink makes you feel. You are going to have to learn how to keep all of that in check . . .don’t let the power rule you, puss. You gotta rule it. Yes. Get back in bed, puss. Go to sleep. In a few hours, you gotta lift a shitload of weight. The power is going to make you strong and we’re going to turn all that energy into muscle, okay. Okay. I’m sorry, Darth. It’s alright, puss. You just caught me off guard. We all get overwhelmed by our feelings, sometimes. We just can’t let that mess all of this up . . . or confuse us. I just don’t want to interrupt the work we’re doing with . . . With what, Darth? Nothing. Just go back to sleep, puss. It’s forgotten. I climbed back into bed, wondering why his words kind of stung. I knew I wasn’t going to forget the taste of his mouth any time soon. I started to nod off, but before sleep came, I could have sworn Darth got up and changed his jock. 7:00am – Benching Five Guys Not a word was mentioned about the ‘incident’ the next morning. Darth let me sleep in an extra hour, mainly to let the energy drink continue to do its thing, I believe. When we got to the gym he told me we would be starting with chest that day. I moved toward one of the machines and he stopped me. He nodded towards the bench – letting me know I had moved up a few notches. He loaded the bar with so much weight that I figured he was going first. Today, you lift weight that equals that of five grown men, puss. Don’t even think about questioning me. You wanted a double dose and now you need to put in the work. It’s time to grow, puss. And I don’t mean a half pound or pound of muscle. I mean the growth of two or three bigger sizes of clothes. I mean the kind of growth, puss, where all you’ll want to do all day is flex your body. I mean the kind of growth where guys will avoid looking you in the eye. I mean the kind of growth where you’ll want to be shirtless . . . all the fucking time. You ready, puss? Yes. Lift the fucking bar, puss. I slid onto the bench and gripped the bar above me. I had calculated it held five hundred pounds, even though the weights said 230 kilos. I had learned to switch to metric even quicker than before. I could feel my mind wanting to drift in the direction of doubt, but I forced those thoughts out of my head. I trusted the power of the energy drink. I trusted what was happening to my body. I trusted Darth. Give me ten clean ones, puss. Let’s make those pecs explode. I pushed up and my chest bunched together, thicker than I remembered. I was surprised by how easily the bar had moved. I lowered slowly, smoothly and was rewarded with the ripping of a hole in the middle of my t-shirt as my chest expanded – much more than I could have anticipated. I cranked out nine more, smoothly and somewhat easily. The rip in my shirt got bigger to match the swelling of my pecs. My crotch had shot hard as soon as I had pressed the bar in the air. I didn’t need anyone to tell me I had gotten a lot stronger – I could feel it. After my third set of reps, I looked at the pleased face of Darth. Let’s go heavier, puss. It seems that the energy drink likes you in a special way. I think I’m going to have to re-calculate your changes. How’s that feel, puss. Like I’m fucking Superman. Whoa, down tiger. Remember, puss, you need to control the power . . . don’t let it control you. I looked a little nervous as he added a hundred more pounds. He noticed my face and gave me a disapproving glance back. Without him saying a word, I knew he was telling me I had this. It was going to be a piece of cake. I, again, pushed doubt away. I was ready to make this man proud. I was ready to need a new shirt. The weight went up and down with no struggle, whatsoever. I cranked out perfect reps and Darth grabbed my pecs and squeezed hard when I stood up in front of him. I winced a little from the pain – both from the lifting and from the power in his hands. I didn’t back away, though. I pushed into his grip, tensing my pecs in his hands. Yeah, fucking hell, puss – those things are getting hard and growing like gangbusters. You’ll probably be able to bounce those puppies in a day or two. What’s it feel like, puss? Like I’m wearing a plate of armor across them, Darth. Like I could repel bullets. Let’s not get carried away, puss. That’s the energy drink talking. Remember, you control the power. Got it, puss? Yes. 2:00pm – The Jock I’m thicker than before we worked out. I can feel it. But, as if to prove it, I found out I couldn’t fit into any of my shirts from before. I ripped off the sweat soaked, torn one upon arriving back at our cell, but when I tried on another one, it was too tight and didn’t come close to covering all of my stomach. This had made Darth laugh. He told me to flex my arms and I nearly squirted on the spot when both sleeves ripped in unison. My arms had simply gotten too big. I went over to the mirror and almost let out a whistle when I saw just how formed my body had become. Slightly hefty pecs, defined abs, subtle bulge in my arms, and nicely rounded shoulders. I wasn’t bodybuilder material, but I was beginning to look like an intermediate gymnast. I found myself getting hard as I looked at myself. Here, puss, wear this. Darth has tossed me one of his tank tops. I knew it would hang loose on me, but I also knew it would let me show off my body. At lunch, I strolled proudly beside Darth, knowing guys were looking at me and feeling jealous of my changes. I was starting to feel confident in my companionship to the man they called Vader. Some of that feeling was because of my changes, but most of it was because of the power released in me from the energy drink. I struggled hard to not let the power rule me – just as Darth had said. We had gotten back to the room around 1:30pm. A few minutes later, Darth stood up and put on his shoes. I’m heading to the library, puss. I’ll see you later. I watched him leave the cell and then my head turned towards the sink area. My eyes focused on something that had this almost supernatural pull on me. Darth’s stained, threadbare jock. I could still feel the big man’s strong hand against my chest as he pushed me against the wall in the early hours of the morning. I remembered what his bulging arms felt like as they held me in a tight bear hug. I could instantly recall what his mouth tasted like as I kissed him and explored with my tongue. I wanted to smell him, taste him again and the jock would give me the closest thing there was next to him. I stepped to the door and saw that no one was in the hallway. I knew I should put it out of my mind, but I couldn’t. No matter how hard I tried. I walked over and held my hand out – inches from the hanging material. It was beautiful – stretched pouch, torn in places, soiled, and so fucking manly. My hand lingered there for a couple of minutes. Quickly, I forced my fingers to grab it, lift it from its place on the towel holder, and brought it to my face. By the time I had fully inhaled my cock was throbbing – fully hard. Darth’s smell was instantly familiar and new at the same time. Aw, fuck me, yes. The aroma was overwhelming. I imagined my nose shoved up between his balls and his thigh, inhaling his masculine musk and breathing in powerful testosterone. I let my tongue swipe up the inside of the pouch, my mind opened to so many new tastes and sensory overload. I tasted salty goodness . . . sweaty balls . . . bushy fur . . . and the man’s thick seed. It was like coming home – such a familiar place to be. I could have easily cum, but I heard footsteps coming down the hall. There was a moment of panic, but then I tossed the jock toward the rack and it, luckily, latched onto the end, where it had been before I instantly started washing my hands in the sink as Darth entered the cell with a couple of books in his hands. What’s up, puss? What do you mean? Your face is all red, like it’s flustered or something. I just did a bunch of push-ups. I was feeling strong and I knew it would be a way to contain the power raging inside me. I cranked out about fifty. Good thinking, puss. It gives a good glow to your body. You should do more of those. As I dried my hands, my gaze fell upon his jock, briefly. Darth was too busy taking off his tank to notice. I instantly remembered the smell and the taste. That was enough to get me through the night. I also knew there would be other opportunities to experience it. I could wait. I was in no rush. 6:00pm – Everyone Notices Fucking hell, what’s your kid been eating, Vader? He’s blowing up. You know exactly what Wainright’s been taking, Hank. There was a time when you slurped it down, too. Like a kid licking a handful of sugar. Hell yeah, the energy drink. I see the stuff is as potent as ever. The kid is gonna be bigger than you, soon. That shit will make you do some crazy stuff, kid . . . if you don’t listen to the old man. Just some advice from past experience. See you fellas later. I wanted to tell Hank I wasn’t Darth’s kid, but I was too fascinated by the fact that this monstrous, gorgeous, muscled black man had taken the energy drink, too. I also couldn’t help but get fixated on the idea that I was going to get bigger than the humongous older man sitting across from me. Was that really possible? I looked at my newly defined arms, still small, but tight with promising muscle. My arms would be bigger than the mountains of biceps that bulged out at Darth’s sides? I couldn’t help it – that thought made the power of the energy drink swell inside of me. I started to feel more confident . . . cocky, even. My posture changed – my back straightened and I square my shoulders. Darth noticed and smiled. Calm down, puss. You’ve got a while before you’ll take me in a wrestling match. Keep control of the power. You rule it, remember, puss. Did Hank share a cell with you, too? I’m not sure where the question came from and I’m not quite sure I liked the unrecognized feeling that was building in the pit of my stomach . . . something that seemed a lot like jealousy. I glanced over at the massively broad-shouldered, uber-masculine Hank. My first thought when I took him in was wondering if he had ever tasted Darth’s jock before. The idea of the big man having that thing plastered to his face, inhaling deeply and darting his tongue out for licks turned me on. I had to adjust myself under the table. That’s also when I noticed the quick, stolen glances coming my way from fellas all around the cafeteria. I was being noticed . . . I was being checked out . . . I was being sized up. Fellas were respecting the changes that were happening to my body. Darth looked at me with an intense inquisitive face. It seemed he could read every thought going on in my head. Yeah, we did, puss. Why did he move out? The place got too small for two massive guys. We kept bumping into each other just trying to move around. It’s one of the downsides from having so many muscles. Will you make me move when I get big? You’ll want your own place, puss. It’s just one of the laws of the jungle. You’ll get tired of me and want to break out on your own. The lion cub will finally be its own beast. You’ll give into the power and forget about me, puss. Even huge men are basically just weak. Fuck you, old man. I didn’t really understand my angered reaction. I also couldn’t prevent my face from turning red. I could feel the heat rising up my neck and into my cheeks and forehead. Water stung my eyes a little. What the fuck was going on. I stood up, deposited my tray to the conveyer belt in the corner of the room, and left without Darth. I needed space. I needed to figure out what the hell was going on with me. I was like some school kid going through puberty – all hormones and emotions and . . . and . . . a stupid fucking crush. 8:00pm – More Dreams Another double dose, tonight, puss. It will still be intense, but not as much as a few nights ago. Your body is getting stronger, so the stuff won’t wreak havoc like it has before. We’ll see some new growth in the morning, though. Darth put two containers on the table. It took all of my strength not to run over and grab them like some kind of addict. I wanted him to know I could control the power. I also wanted him to know I was still miffed about our conversation at dinner. I had been giving him the silent treatment – the king of passive-aggressiveness. I downed the liquid – now, completely loving the way it tasted . . . craving it, as a matter of fact. I turned away so he wouldn’t see me running my tongue along the inside of the vials, getting every last drop of the energy drink. I decided to go to bed early, since Darth was reading. I wanted to get to the dreams . . . and new size tomorrow morning as fast as I could. He wasn’t letting my silence rule his actions, though. Good night, puss. I didn’t answer. I was asleep within minutes, having learned that counting backwards from one hundred worked every time. The dreams seemed to come much quicker. I was standing in front of Darth, who was – as usual – totally nude and flexing his huge biceps. He was staring at his own big arms as I stood in front of him, less than a foot away. I stared at his arms, too. The mounds of muscle on his arms move as he tightens his fists and moves his wrists back and forth. The ‘biceps dance’ is what I’ve always called it and it has always turned me on. Fucking hell, look at those humongous things, puss. Ever seen arms look so powerful? You’ve felt the strength of these monsters, haven’t you, puss? You loved it, too. These fucking guns have held you against the wall with no problem, at all. Look how high those peaks are, puss. So big, full, and hard. And check out those thick veins – they look pretty powerful, too, huh? Yeah, Vader likes to flex his mammoth guns for you, puss. Gonna get you so worked up you can’t think straight. Kiss ‘em, puss. Give us a sweet pucker and put those lips on my arm. I look into his eyes and I see that he’s wanting this as much as I do. He has this pleading look – as if me getting off by touching his body will please him a lot, too. Then I realize, as if everything is illuminated by a flash of lightning, he wants me, as well. Darth craves me in the same way I crave him. I move a little closer – near enough for him to feel the heat from my body, but not close enough that we’re touching. I want to tease him. I want to play with his senses. I want to drive him wild. I bring my face near his flexed biceps, letting my lips hover what seems like a hair’s breadth away from the hard skin. The man sucks in a big gulp of air, loudly and his usually thick protruding abs vacuum in like he’s some kind of starved model. His biceps rise a little as his entire body tenses. His peaks are monstrous, his triceps like the hulls of ocean liners. His thick manly forearms steal some of my attention, briefly. For fuck’s sake, please kiss them, puss. I need to feel your lips. You gotta learn to control the power, Darth. Don’t let it control you. This sends the man over the top – throwing his own words back at him. He doesn’t, however, control it. He grabs the back of my head with his right hand and pushes my face into his hard, flexed biceps. We both let out a slow, amorous moan, which sends shivers down my spine. The scent of him – that aroma that I now know so well – fills my nostrils and that makes the memory of his taste flood my sleeping mind. I lick his hard, sweaty skin – salt, testosterone, manly musk fills my mouth. This is what the man tastes like. He presses my head into his arm even more. My nose is flattened, my lips pushed hard against his skin. Fuck, the smell of this man drives me wild. He is now moving my head across the wide expanse of his arm and my lips hit the speed bump that is the vein that jags across it. He pulls harder and my face rubs across the bump and he shoves me into his furry, sweaty pit. It’s like the guy hasn’t showered after a long workout – that’s how intense the attack on my senses is. Sweat, muscle, damp hair, and so much man musk. I run my lip across the deepest, furriest, tightest part of his armpit and that proves to be the end of me. My body is suddenly jerking hard and I come out of my dream, quickly, realizing that I am shooting thick ropes of cum up across my abs and chest. My cock has hardened and the head has popped out of my sweats. I’m moaning loudly as I convulse uncontrollably. The orgasm seems to last forever. Finally, the release ends and I simply gasp for air as my heart pounds hard. There’s no way Darth could have slept through that, and sure enough, he speaks. Must have been some fucking dream, puss. 6:00am – Size Matters Two days later, Darth and I still have not spoken about our dinner conversation where he basically told me I’d get tired of him. I got the feeling he had no idea what he was talking about. I don’t think he fully understood the ‘bond’ I felt with him. Obviously, he had helped others get big – definitely, the huge Hank, but I got the feeling there were others. Once they had changed they had moved on. I couldn’t imagine doing that. We had fallen back into a politeness that was clearly put on, and it was due to the fact that we were both focused on my sudden burst of growth. You’re a fucking machine, puss. Don’t ever let anyone tell you size doesn’t matter, old man – cause it definitely does. I let the bar fall back into its resting place and sat up. I was now benching 362 kilos, never in a million years would I have thought I would be able to move 800 pounds. But then I looked down at my improved body and it made sense. I wasn’t Darth’s size, but I was big. When I raised my arms in the air now, my chest didn’t disappear into one smooth strip of skin – beefy pecs still hung down, swollen, round, and pronounced. I’d never had pecs before and had definitely never thought I’d have thick, meaty ones. I could make them bounce and bunch up together, showing off the kind of control that comes from bodybuilders, strongmen, and muscle heads. I liked watching part of my fingers disappear as I slid them in the deep crevice between my beefy, hard mounds. The sight was amazing, but even the weight of them turned me on. I could feel my chest muscles, heavy from their size and protruding hardness from my torso. I couldn’t lie, I secretly wished I could suck on my own voluminous pecs. I wanted to latch my mouth on to the things and leave teeth marks as I ravaged them. I wanted to tease my own nipples mercilessly. I was dying to have some guy reach up to try and shove me back by pressing into my chest and him suddenly realizing he couldn’t move me. I was just so fucking turned on by my own body. I’ve never seen a guy get so hard from his own body, puss. You just don’t remember what it feels like, Darth. You’ve been big for so long you can’t remember how good it is to suddenly realize you have muscles . . . that you’re getting big. I fucking bench what equals to the weight of a big motorcycle. Wouldn’t it be hot to be pressing one of those up and down instead of this bar – making your muscles grow while showing off with some huge Harley. Someone’s feeling cocky, aren’t they, puss? Why wouldn’t I, Darth? Look at me! I’m not as huge as you, but I’m getting there. I fucking have biceps. I can raise my arms and flex and my guns push out peaks worthy of some lightweight bodybuilders. I’ve put on fifty pounds of muscle and I’m not stopping. I can even tell big Hank is starting to get nervous that I will surpass him one day. I’ve got legs that look like tree trunks, Darth. I wanna lift all day and just keep growing. It’s like that’s all I want to live for. Remember, puss, you need to control the power. Don’t let it control you. You see, Darth, that’s the thing. Why? Why can’t I let the power consume me? Why can’t I let it control me? I want more of it. I need more of it. I’ve been thinking that I do want the power to rule me . . . just so I can have more. Careful, puss. That kind of talk can get you cut off from the energy drink. That comment got my attention and snapped me back to reality. I had been running my hands all over my newly, hardened muscles and imagining what it was going to feel like when I was even bigger . . . even heavier . . . even stronger. I looked into the eyes of my mentor. His gaze talked me down from the ledge. I moved away from my thirst for the power the energy drink had created in me. I came back to being the man in control. I’m sure some fire left my eyes and my face turned softer – for Darth relaxed. He knew he was now talking to the old me. That’s it, puss. If you want to keep getting bigger, you gotta not give into that kind of desire. It leads to bad things – dark things. You’ve got to be stronger than the power. His last comment resonated deeply with me. I needed to be stronger than the power. I understood what Darth meant – completely. I also knew I could do it. It would be difficult, yes, but I knew I had it in me to withstand the temptation of all that came with succumbing to the power. It was like saying no to the shot of alcohol that you knew would push you over the brink into drunkenness. It was the same on passing up the opportunity to take that pill that would make reality slip away and bring about a fake, forced, temporary peacefulness. Getting bigger mattered to me. And not just because I knew it would make Darth proud – even though that was a huge part of it. I wasn’t going to get big just for the sake of the power – that would always be tied to my growth – no, I was going to grow huge so I could finally live out the incredible dreams I was having. I wanted those to be my reality. Size mattered because it would hopefully get me Darth. 8:00am – The Punch After our workout, I had gone to take a shower. Darth said he would take one later and I let my mind tell me he was delaying it on purpose – to allow his post-workout stench permeate our cell, because he knew I loved it. When his body got close to my face as he spotted me while I was on the bench I would slowly inhale, so as to not make it obvious. It was a deep intake through my nose, so the aroma of his sweaty crotch would fuel my next set . . . and it always did. The smell of him made me grow bigger. I would hurry back from my shower just so I could be hit with the wall of his dense musk when I entered the room. Look who it is, Vader’s boy. I had not thought of the troublesome five for a long while. I had been too focused on my growth. I had already removed my shirt when they entered into the ante room of the communal showers. This is where you could leave your towel and clothes. There were benches, tables, and a few lockers that no one used. I turned to face the gang of men that had intimidated . . . no, scared me that first night. I immediately noticed I was now bigger than all of them – especially Dominic, who was their leader and the one who had spoken. I flexed my body a little and I saw doubt in Dominic’s eyes. I looked around to the other men and saw the same flickering feeling in their gaze, as well. The power surged in me, but I pushed it back down. I tackled it head-on and suppressed it until it didn’t even register. Darth had taught me well. As much as I loved the power and actually craved it, I knew – instinctively – that this was definitely not the time to allow it to go unchecked. I stood there and said nothing . . . I simply smiled. This stopped the group from their advancement. I knew my added weight and size had impacted my confidence. How could it not? I had noticed for all of my life how beefy, muscled men walked differently, stood differently, and made people react differently. I now stood with my legs further apart, partially because of the added muscle, but mostly because that’s how it felt most natural - grounded, prepared, and powerful. My shoulders were now much wider than Dominic’s and my arms made his look weak. He swallowed, probably noticing for the first time how much I had truly grown. I watched him decide he couldn’t look weak in front of his gang. I see you’ve been hitting the juice, Wainright. Pity it’s all fake muscles on Vader’s boy. I still said nothing – knowing my silence would drive the guy insane. I instantly realized I wanted him to do something. I had control over the power within me, but I didn’t want him to hold back. I could stay calm and rule myself, but that didn’t mean Dominic had to. I could enjoy the power within without even using it. It could just be a reaction to something stupid this guy did . . . that would be good enough. That would make me happy. Very happy. I stepped forward. A bold, aggressive, dominant action – and, yet, my body was relaxed. The smile was still across my face. The four behind Dominic scooted back a little as I took another step. Dominic turned to see his men retreating, but he didn’t move. He needed to stay strong, although I noticed tiny beads of sweat forming on his forehead. I remained in control of the power inside me. I didn’t cave into the desire to pick the runt up and hoist him over my head. I benched the weight of Harleys – Dominic would be nothing for me to grab and raise in the air. But I didn’t give into that desire. I just tensed my body a little and kept on smiling. I was making the other four nervous, but Dominic needed to show everyone who was boss. He didn’t control the power within him . . . he let it control him. I’m thinking you need to be taught a lesson, punk. I was so calm it actually surprised me as much as it did the group of men before me. I had watched Darth chat with men before – noticing how the other guys kept their distance, as if they wanted to stay out of a striking zone. I watched the furtive glances as they talked to Darth – trying to make sure nothing they said bothered the man. Darth demanded respect and even awe without ever raising a hand. I’m sure he’d be the victor of any fight he felt the necessity to be part of, but violence was not what made men scared of him, it was his silent presence. I had inherited some of that same strength, just from watching him – just from being around him so much. I knew the punch was coming before Dominic even cocked his fist back. It was just something I was attuned to, because I had stayed calm and not let the power rule me. I knew I would feel it, but I also knew I wouldn’t budge and it would do no damage. Dominic had moved his gaze to where he was sending his knuckles. The loud smack of his fist hitting my abs echoed in the room and then all sound stopped. Dominic stared at my unflinching stomach as his balled-up hand rested against it. I knew his fingers, wrist, and arm stung - after that initial shock of realizing he hadn’t hurt me, at all. His gaze moved up from his fist back to my smiling face. My balls ached from shooting hard quickly after easily repelling his punch. He stared at me, along with his little entourage. Is this where I’m supposed to say ‘ouch’, Dominic? His friends seem to catch on a lot faster than their leader. They reached out and grabbed their friend, who was still staring up at me. They pulled him away and quickly left the room, sensing that it was not smart to continue this specific round of intimidation. It wasn’t about the fact that the five of them couldn’t have taken me on – it was more about how I had remained calm, how I had even advanced at them with a smile, and how I had taken Dominic’s punch so easily. If they had continued to fight, they knew two or three of them would be hurt badly before winning the battle. It didn’t seem worth it. No one wanted it to be their face that was busted up or their arm that was broken. As soon as they had left the room, I looked down at my stomach and saw the red mark on my hard abs where Dominic’s fist had landed. That punch had been felt, but it had seemed like nothing more than a friendly pat on the tummy. I had fucking taken a full-on powerful thrust of someone’s fist into my gut and I hadn’t even taken a little step back. My voice rang out to an empty room. Fucking hell yeah. I didn’t need to be sharing my thoughts with anyone else. I spoke merely because I was so shocked by what had just happened. The shock equaled the thrill it had given to my balls and to my hardened rod. I pulled down my shorts and underwear, loving how my cock slapped against the lower part of my tight abs as it was freed. I had chosen right. The orgasmic pleasure that came from staying calm, controlling myself, and allowing Dominic to do all the unpleasant work had definitely been much more powerful than if I had been the one to initiate the battle. I stepped into the hot spray of the shower and immediately soaped up my cock. There was no way I couldn’t relive the vision of Dominic’s hand hitting my unflinching stomach and not get off. I was so jacked from the experience I was spraying the shower wall with my hot juice after just three short yanks. CHAPTER THREE 9:30am – Enlightened What’s gotten into you, puss? You look different . . . you’re walking different. You look bigger. That must have been one hell of a shower. Let’s just say I’ve been enlightened, old man. I now understand some of your wise words on a much deeper level. I’m pretty sure I’ll even be growing a lot faster after today, too. I inhaled deeply, no longer caring if Darth saw me. I did it again, letting the fucking balls-tightening masculine smell of the sweaty man enter my body like a fast acting drug. The aroma made me ‘higher’ than any narcotics ever could. His mouth-watering stench was as strong as his body and it thrilled me to no end. It made me want to whip out my dick and beat-off right there, but I didn’t. I controlled my urges. I didn’t let the power rule me. I did, however, inhale many more times – letting my entire being become sufficiently infused with this man. If Darth noticed what I was doing, he didn’t let on. He simply continued to write some things in a book he kept locked in his desk drawer. I figured it was a journal of some kind. I did, however, notice he kept glancing at me as I changed . . . in the room . . . in front of him . . . for the first time. I stripped naked, allowing him to see me in my birthday suit from the front and back. I made an important decision at that moment. I decided it was time to assume a new comfortableness in our relationship. My half hard cock, now calmed slightly from the thrill of Darth’s smell, bobbed up and down as I strutted over to Darth’s clothes and I picked up one of his jocks, pulling it on as if it were mine. It took a little bit of effort to fold up my hard-ish rod into the pouch, but I succeeded. I then put on some shorts, but opted to stay shirtless – something else that was new – as I laid down on the bed, put my arms behind my bed, and stared straight at the man. What gives, puss? Dominic and his henchmen visited me before my shower. They were trying to intimidate me and even scare me. I held my ground . . . but I remained calm. My desire to fight did not win . . . did not control me. Even when Dom threw a painless punch into my abs. Doing nothing in return – only smiling – felt a hundred times more powerful than if I had put my fist through his entire body. Controlling the power – absorbing the punch – choosing not to be a bully turned me on in a way I had never known existed before. I had to bust out two complete separate loads in my hot shower to just come down from the thrill. I get it now, Darth. You don’t need to worry about me, anymore. Just knowing I have all this power inside of me and I’ll soon have the size, too . . . well, that’s enough. Just knowing. It’s there if I need it . . . but we both know it’ll rarely be needed. There’s really only one important day . . . in the very near future, I believe, when I’ll need to let my power go, old man. And we both know what day that will be. The day you become as powerful as me, puss. That’s exactly when it will be, Darth. Exactly when it will be. My little puss is growing up. In more ways than one, Darth . . . in more ways than one. And hear this, old man, and hear it good. I won’t be leaving when I’m done. 8:00pm – No More Dreams I had lounged around all day without a shirt. I caught Darth watching me a few times and realized it was because I was pinching my nipples or massaging my pecs or feeling my own flexed arm. I just stared at him when I caught his eye, until he would finally look away. That’s when I figured out we were at the very beginning of a dramatic change in the power dynamics of our friendship. It wouldn’t be happening in the next few minutes or even in the next few hours, but I suddenly understood that I was becoming more and more confident and that would only lead to me taking my rightful place in the world. We would be equals. I looked across the room at him and marveled at how his giant biceps bunched into humongous knots when he bent his arm. The man reeked of power – both literally and figuratively. I was in awe of him. I was in awe of his huge body. I was in awe of his confidence. But today, I had begun to see that my own arms were getting huge, I was beginning to give off an air of power, and I felt a confidence that calmed me . . . made me more of exactly who I was than anything else could. I was content with myself. I was comfortable with my own body. There was only one thing more I wanted. Earlier, at dinner, Darth had surprised me with a request. Let’s take a walk by Dominic’s table, puss, so you can say hi to the fellas. I don’t think I’ll say a word until you’re done. There was a dramatic stirring in my balls. Darth was conveying so much in this comment. I was still wearing his jock and my cock hardened within it. I was also wearing one of his tank-tops, but it didn’t swallow me anymore. It still wasn’t skin tight, like when Darth wore it, but I filled it out a lot more than I did just a few days ago. I willed my cock to calm down. We walked up to the table of Dominic and his posse and I leaned down on the table, making sure my bulging arms were even with everyone’s faces. How you fellas doing? Just dropping by to make sure your hand is okay, Dominic. I hope there were no broken bones. My boy, Vader, thought it might be good to check and make sure all of you understood the outcome of our meeting today at the showers. Everybody on the same page as me, fellas? Yes . . . sir. My arms had gotten bigger since the morning, so I flexed them a little as my palms rested on the table. All five men stared as the bulging mass and I could tell my guns made them nervous. That was a new feeling for me . . . one that turned me on with deep satisfaction. I didn’t need to do anything, just show them what my arms were packing. The sight was enough to intimidate. I wanted to flex them up beside my head, show these fellas exactly how big they were, but that would be letting the power rule me and it was unnecessary. Dominic was sitting closest to me and I suddenly realized he was inhaling deeply, taking in my manly aroma. My dick shot fully hard and, thankfully, Darth’s jock and my black basketball shorts hid it well. Someone was actually trying to get deep whiffs of my musky, manly, muscle odor. Could there have been a better compliment. I stood up, suddenly realizing that Dominic and I were kind of like kindred spirits. I didn’t fear him or his entourage anymore. I saw a future where we’d all actually chat with each other . . . now that they understood I would not be bullied. Darth, moved up beside me, placing a hand on Dominic’s shoulder. From the slight wince and tense face, I knew the big man was squeezing pretty hard. Wainright, here, tells me you gave him a gift this morning, Dominic. He said it was a little weak and he didn’t feel a thing. But it was the thought that counts, right? It was also a valuable gift because of what we all learned. Now, I know you know that Wainright is my friend and any gift he receives is a gift for me, as well. You understand that, Dominic? Yes, Vader. That’s good, really good. I would hate to have to return any gift, knowing that mine wouldn’t possibly be weak and unfeeling. What you benching these days, Dominic? Three hundred twenty. Kilos? No, pounds. Ah, about 145 kilos, then. That’s good. Real good, Dominic. Keep up the good work. Wainright, this week, will bench over a thousand pounds. Yeah, I thought that number would impress you and your mates – especially when compared to yours. It seems to have impressed you a lot. I guess you can see he’s gotten quite powerful. Remember, he’s benching more than three times as much as you are. So, you see, you made a mistake earlier when you said Wainright was my boy . . . because he’s his own man, Dominic. He no longer needs Vader, here, to protect him. No, I think he can do that pretty well, all by himself. So, let us all be forewarned that Wainright can surely return gifts as powerfully as I can. And I’d say you fellas were all lucky that he took the gift you offered this morning and didn’t get angry . . . didn’t get the urge to repay you right then and there. So, just to sum up everything thing we’ve been sharing, Wainright and I are going to flex an arm for you. It’s just going to be a bunch of guys talking about working out and the two biggest ones showing off a little. There won’t be any need for the guards to get involved if we’re all just joking and having a good time. But take a look at the size of Wainright’s gun, Dominic. It’s getting close to passing mine in size . . . and probably in power. Just food for thought, gentlemen. Food for thought for the future. Let’s flex, Wainright. And so, we did. We both leaned over and brought our arms up at the same time. My body was in front of Darth, so I kept my arm a little lower than his. I was absolutely shocked when I flexed my gun and it blew up to a size closer to Darth’s than I thought it would. The big man was right – I had grown. We didn’t hold the flex for very long, just long enough for Dominic and his goons to get a bird’s eye view of how huge we were . . . and, in turn, how powerful we definitely were. I saw Dominic swallow hard, and it made my cock twitch within my shorts. We dropped our arms and Darth and I moved away. I was jacked to the max, inside. The entire conversation and demonstration had been so calm and, yet, so amazingly powerful. I was slowly understanding Darth’s words about controlling myself even more fully than before. We were now back in the room and it was eight o’clock on the nose. I stood up and walked over to Darth, holding out my hand, but not saying anything. You won’t have dreams tonight, puss. Why not? Your body has caught up with your dreams, puss. You won’t need to fantasize about things as much as you used to. Your brain knows what you’ve become. Don’t get me wrong, you’ll still dream – they just won’t be as intense as they were. The energy drink’s work is almost complete. I think the liquid won’t do much for you in the future, except help you maintain your size and power – I just don’t know. You’ll be needing to move on in the coming days, puss. I’ll talk to the guards. Why is that, Darth? Maybe I don’t want to move on. Everybody always does. It’s just what happens, puss. It’s the way of the power. You no longer need me. The way of the power? We control the power, remember Darth? Not the other way around. He stared at me, shook his head – as if in disbelief or maybe even awe – and then handed me the two containers. I inhaled the liquid, feeling nourished and satiated, immediately. I stripped down to my jock, well Darth’s jock, and lay on my bed. I felt the energy drink starting to fill my body with warmth . . . with the power. I could feel my body growing, too. It’s like I could sense cells multiplying and muscles becoming denser. I rubbed my half-hard cock through the material of the jock. I didn’t care that Darth was right there . . . as a matter of fact, that’s why I did it. I knew he was trying to ignore me, but I also knew he was stealing glances. My hands explored my entire newly huge body. I caressed my tight, rigged abs, marveling at how hard they were. I, again, felt my own biceps, ran my hands along my thick, striated thighs, and kneaded my meaty pecs. I couldn’t get enough of my own body. I didn’t even care about how hard I got as I did it. I was turned on by my own size, my own power. It became harder and harder for Darth to ignore me. He finally flipped out his light, crawled into bed, and tried to go to sleep. It was pretty dark in the cell, but I could have sworn his sheet was definitely tented down at his crotch. That night, I only dreamed about myself and my new size. That was it. 6:00am – Fucking Huge As Darth and I walked down the hallway towards the gym I realized we could no longer walk side by side. There was not enough room between the two walls. I had grown a lot last night. Even as I slept, my subconscious was aware of the growth. That’s why I dreamed about myself, I guess. I knew I was getting bigger. I could feel how I waddled now – I was like a mirror image of Darth, only younger and . . . just possibly . . . bigger. My muscled thighs rubbed together hard, unless I kind of spread my legs and looked like I had something stuck up my ass. It was how Darth moved, too. I had always thought it was hot as hell – like it was a burden to move all that mass. I realized now, the power makes you walk that way. You’re in no hurry . . . you don’t need to worry about running into anyone, because everybody moves out of your way . . . and you’re not even that aware of inanimate objects, because you know you’d do more damage than you’d receive if you bump into anything. Standing just inside the gym, surveying all the weights and machines, Darth reached up and tweaked my nipple through the very tight, almost see-through tank top. It caught me off guard, because it was so out of character for him – making contact with my body. It actually hurt a little, but that just seemed to turn me on even more. Today, I can say it, puss. You’re fucking huge. I looked from him to the mirror-lined wall opposite us. My mouth dropped open wide from the view that greeted me. I was as wide as Darth. I looked as heavy as Darth . . . maybe, even heavier. I looked as muscled as Darth . . . and I was now equal to him in height. We looked like bulging bookends. Ten minutes later, I benched 1,250 pounds – 567 kilos. It was fifty pounds more than Darth’s record holding bench. The pride I saw in his eyes, the smile that greeted me when I sat up, made me want to jump up, throw my arms around him, and kiss him so fucking hard – but I didn’t. I just accepted the punch on my shoulder and the tousled swipe of my hair that he gave me as congratulations. The power had been incredibly strong today – almost unbearable. I felt huge. I felt super heavy – like I could withstand a charging bull. And I felt cocky as shit. I wanted to take someone on. I wanted to toss someone around and show them how light they felt in my hands. I wanted to pound someone’s ass so hard that they had the most powerful orgasm of their life. But I contained all of this within me. I didn’t let these desires control me. I put every bit of my strength into our workout. Darth could see that I was lifting harder than usual. I was pretty sure he knew what was going on inside of me. When he was done, I told him I was staying for a few more minutes to do some cardio. When Darth was gone, though, I continued to lift heavy weights – hoping to calm myself down. That’s when Hank walked into the gym and I realized – since it was just him and me – it was my chance to get some information. Shit, Wainright, you’re a fucking mountain. Flex your gun beside mine. Aw hell, son, you’ve done gone and passed me up. When in the hell did that happen? Not sure. I guess you weren’t looking. Hank, can I ask you about something? Shoot, kid. But I know what it’s about before you even ask. How do you know? You’ve gotten bigger than him. Vader’s telling you it’s time move on. He’s telling you that’s how it’s always been. But . . . how do you know . . . is this what happened to you? He kicked you out? No . . . I was the one to leave . . . after he helped me get big. I . . . um . . . don’t feel good about it, but I can tell you it was the right thing for me to do. I don’t think it’s the right thing for you to do, though. But why, Hank . . . why? I can’t be the one to tell you that, Wainright. You’re going to have to hear it from Vader. But he won’t tell me anything . . . Hank . . . he won’t say anything. I hadn’t even realized I was crying. I was now this huge man – muscles, power, and everything – but there I was with big crocodile tears streaming down my face and I was sobbing . . . actually sobbing very hard. Hank put one of his big arms around my shoulders and even in the midst of crying I could see he was impressed with how big I had become and how hard I felt. I sobbed for a few minutes more and then I was finally able to breathe normally and look at the big man beside me. Then you’re going to have to find another way to find out what he’s feeling . . . what he won’t tell you. Hank winked at me. I was so confused. Wasn’t that exactly what I was doing? I was asking one of Darth’s friends about him. If that wasn’t the way to find out about what was going on in the older man’s head I couldn’t, for the life of me, think of another way. I was so freaking lost. But this didn’t matter to Hank. It was like he knew I’d catch on later or something. He withdrew his arm and started to move towards the dumbbells racked up along the wall. Go on, Wainright. You’ve obviously lifted more than your share of weights today, looking at that huge body of yours. Go back to your cell. I’m certain something will come to you. You’re a bright lad . . . a fucking huge bright lad. 8:30am – The Diary I got back to the room and Darth was gone. He was probably at breakfast. I immediately stripped down to my jock. Having my new large muscles freed from clothing now seemed like the way I should always be. I ran my hands over my chest, arms, and abs – as a way of calming my mind, which was still racing a hundred miles per hour as I tried to figure out what Hank was hinting at back in the gym. I was going to have to find another way to know what Darth was feeling. How in the fuck was I going to do that? I went to the mirror and flexed my arms a couple of times – just to see, again, how huge I had become. I let the power surge within me – just slightly – to give myself an edge. I wanted to boost my power to think. I glanced around the room and my gaze landed on Darth’s desk. It was a sudden and almost miraculous revelation. The book in the drawer. There was the answer Hank had meant. I wasted no time, worried Darth would be returning any minute. I walked over to the drawer’s handle and tugged. I knew it would be locked. I reached under the drawer, grabbed the thick board that was the front and pulled with a lot of my strength. The lock broke apart and the front end of the drawer came ripping off in my hand, easily. I would have stopped to marvel at how my hand had destroyed strong wood without even a slight sign of resistance, but I was too set on my goal. I reached in and pulled the book out. I opened it to a random page and immediately saw that it was, indeed, a journal. I read part of the open page. Wainright talked in his sleep last night. The energy drink must be giving him powerful dreams. He kept saying ‘fuck me, old man’ over and over. It was almost too much to take – my desire to do what he wished was driving me insane. I control the power, though. He’s definitely not ready. I must not get hopeful. He will leave, too. They always do. I flipped through pages, trying to find more of the most recent entries. I re-lived the last week or so through his eyes. He commented on my growth, my changed attitude towards the liquid, my newfound awareness on dealing with the power, and how much I was lifting. The last two pages caused tears to form in my eyes and I had to brush them away to continue reading. Everything I needed to know was right here. The kid is definitely different than the others. He’s bold. He took one of my jocks and now wears only it when we’re in the cell. He is huge. I’ve never known anyone to take to the energy drink like he has. He says he won’t leave, but they all said that. I want him to be different. I want his words to be true. This is one time I can’t lead, though. I need him to take me. I need him to make this our destiny. I’ve never wanted a man as much as I want him. It was the last sentence . . . the final one in the book . . . that made my heart overflow. Everything was crystal clear now. I truly was different than Hank and all the others that had been grown by Darth. They hadn’t loved him. Their need to be big had not been tied to this older man, they had merely wanted to grow. I desired to be huge, but only because I wanted to be huge with Darth. I wanted to be huge for Darth. But Darth wanted and needed things, too. I had forgotten that . . . or was just not alert enough to pick up on it. This giant muscleman with the hot-as-hell protruding hard gut and the massive arms and the confidence of a hundred men needed someone to take charge. He needed someone who would help him let go of being the leader. He needed to be dominated and taken. He was tired of growing men who walked away. He did, indeed, want me to stay . . . but it had to be my decision. It had to be me making it happen. When he spoke, I wasn’t surprised or even embarrassed by the fact he had caught me with his book. What the fuck are you doing, puss. Finding another way to understand what you are feeling. What you won’t tell me. You shouldn’t read other people’s journals, puss. There’s a reason it was locked up. Locked up? That’s funny, Darth. You’ve known I could rip this desk apart for a couple of days, now. I’m almost sure you wanted me to read it. And I’m glad I did. I’m sorry it took me so long, but I think it needed to wait until now. I’ll admit it was wrong and I promise I’ll never do it again, but the information I gained was too important to miss. 9:00pm – Dominating Darth I’ll take the book back, now, puss. Come and get it, old man. There’s a new boss in this room and it’s not you. I’m finally letting the power lead me to what I want. I faced him with the book in my hand. For the first time ever, I saw a sliver of doubt run through Darth’s eyes. It was there only momentarily and then the fire that was normally there returned. I also saw a slight smile – was it a hopeful smile? I thought it was. We both knew words would not be enough to settle this thing between us. I was a little nervous about what was to come, but I forced that feeling out of my head. I let my heart take the lead. I controlled the power by focusing it . . . by making it do my will, while still letting its full force surge through me. I suddenly realized that controlling the power didn’t automatically mean suppressing it. I had a feeling I’d be learning more truths about my power for a long time to come, but – for now – I was happy to focus my energy on one thing and one thing only. You’ll regret this, puss. Maybe . . . maybe not, old man. Darth’s speed surprised me, but it wasn’t like I wanted to avoid his attack. I wanted him to make the first move – it showed he wasn’t in complete control. That was a good sign for me. I let him close the distance between us and wrap his arms around me in a bear hug – instantly squeezing with incredible force. I inhaled deeply before he cut off all my air and then I started pushing my arms out. At first, nothing happened – which made Darth smile a slightly evil grin – but then I pushed harder, my face going red from the strain. The older man’s arms started to shake a little as my big guns started to pry them apart. I’m sure my face had the same evil grin as his. I was overpowering my mentor – a fact that I had time to notice was making us both hard. I could feel his cock pressing into mine and both were growing quite stiff. That was all the encouragement I needed. I pushed with even more force and Darth’s arms definitely started to weaken. I could tell the man was experiencing something new . . . he was losing. It made him kind of go crazy with shock. He let the control of his power slip even more. As my arms started to completely break Darth’s grip around me, he reared his head back and slammed his forehead into my face. The force of the blow sent us both stumbling backwards – separated with a few feet between us. There was great pain at my chin and bottom lip and I felt a warmth oozing down. I let my tongue slide across the pain and I instantly tasted blood. The sight of the dark red liquid made Darth falter slightly, again. I simply smiled as my lip started to swell. That all you got, old man? I’m liking the foreplay. Come and get me. As his face immediately flushed with rage, I surmised quickly how all of this was just for show. I already knew the outcome of this battle. I understood the reason for the fight and I accepted my part, happily, but I also knew that Darth was aware of all of this, too. When he quickly lowered his shoulder, and took the few steps to ram into my stomach, I let it happen. I tightened my abs, knowing it would make the pain to his body be a little stronger – but I let him power my frame into the wall behind me. The breath was knocked out of me, but he was stunned by the impact, too. I took advantage of his temporary dazed stance. I grabbed his shoulders, pulled his torso up, and pushed him down on his bed. I slammed my body on top of him, pinning his arms with my hands and immediately starting to grind my crotch hard against his. We felt like two giant boulders ramming into each other. He lost more control because of the sudden rush of blood that zoomed to his crotch. I could feel the material of my jock ripping from the force of my crotch rubbing. I could also feel Darth’s cock shooting harder and harder. I knew he couldn’t hold out for very long. I had a feeling it had been eons since someone had pleased the man. I took advantage of that and jerked my body against his like a wild beast, but I still focused my power. I didn’t lose control. I had learned from the master. You’re gonna see fucking stars when you cum, Darth. Fuck you, puss! Maybe I’ll let you later on, old man. Maybe. If you’re a good boy. But, right now, I think I’ll make you bust a major nut. Darth was breathing so hard by this point I knew he was already a goner. I had known I was a good dry-humper for most of my adult life, but this time it was more important than ever. It was all about the motion of the hips and I’m naturally a good dancer – so I tended to always satisfy with my frottage. I could sense that Darth’s balls were tightening up, causing incredible discomfort. He struggled hard to throw me off his body, but his near release was zapping a lot of his power and, let’s just be honest, I had grown bigger and stronger than the man. He had grown me bigger and stronger. That fact was not lost on me. I doubled down on my powerful thrusting against his crotch. I heard him take a deep inhale and then go briefly silent as his body tensed up, completely. Then, he let out a cry that probably reverberated throughout the entire prison. I swear, it was like the guy hadn’t orgasmed in ages. Every muscle on his body exploded into hardness as his cock dumped its massive load in his sweats. I was so turned on that I came close to exploding, too. God, his face was gorgeous when he was shooting. Soon, his body was merely shaking a little and I could tell he was totally wrecked. I took advantage of his depleted state. I let go of his arm with my right hand and I slid it down into the front of his pants. Before he fully understood what I was doing, I had run my fingers through his still warm juice, scooped up some, whipped my hand back out, and stuck my fingers into my mouth – licking and swallowing quickly. I had been waiting to taste this part of Darth for a long time. Our eyes locked immediately. I was off the bed in a flash - standing there with my hand half-way in my mouth and I swallowed hard a second time. I pulled the fingers out, wide-eyed with amazement. Fucking hell, the energy drink is your spooge! You asshole! I could have been sucking your big cock this entire time to make me grow! Darth looked confused by my words. It looked like he might have thought I was insulting him. He really had no idea how much I wanted him. I suddenly realized he must have really been hurt in the past. He thought I was just like Hank and the other men who simply used him as a means to an end. I instantly understood that the time I kissed him – early on in him helping me to grow – he thought I was messing with him. He viewed it as me mocking him. I began to wonder if the guy had ever been in a serious relationship in his entire life. Darth jumped off the bed quickly, even though his legs were still a little wobbly from his intense orgasm. He swung one of his big arms in my direction, clearly intending his fist to connect with my face, but I ducked back, quickly. The force of his swing turned his body around and I took advantage of this fact and threw my body against his – slamming him into the wall. I pinned him against the stone, using my powerful body to prevent him from moving. I brought my face near his and spoke lowly into his ear. What’s a sexy, beautiful older man like you doing in a dive-place like, this, sweetheart? Waiting for someone to come along and make you feel really good? How about I make you feel small, Darth. Fuck you, puss. No, like I said before, I don’t think you will, Darth – not just yet, but that’s exactly what I’m going to do to you in a few minutes, cutie. Now that I’m bigger and stronger, I think I’ll just take that ass of yours. Especially, since I’ve now confirmed what I already thought was true, after reading your journal. You like me. You really, really like me. That realization, alone, is enough to get my newly enlarged pecker nice and fucking hard for you, Darth. How about I fill that nice, firm roid gut of yours with my hot cum. Would you like that, little man? Cause I know I’m going to certainly like it. I’m going to like it a lot. Darth threw his elbow back into my side, with a lot of force. Of course, I felt it, but I didn’t move or even shift a little from my stance behind him. I had just gotten too big – even for the huge man I was now dominating. It was such a wild sensation to know that I was the one controlling the power – but I also now had more strength than him. His other elbow slammed into me, too. It fueled me even more and I felt this elbow’s blow less. Oh baby, I love it when you play rough. Do you notice what’s happening, old man? The more you fight me the more I grow and the stronger I become. Wrestling you is even more productive than all that weight I’ve been slamming around in the gym. Your big muscles straining against mine are giving me the best workout ever. I’m pretty sure sucking down some fresh juice of yours helped, too. Oh baby, you’re going to love it when I return the favor and give you some of my hot spunk. You should have thought about all this before you made me so huge and powerful, Darth. You should have known I’d come for your ass. I pressed my body against his - even harder. My muscles were exploding with energy and I could feel myself growing. It was slight, but I could feel it. I had a feeling Darth sensed it, too. I ground my hard cock into his sweats, feeling his stone-like ass underneath. I pressed one of my big palms in the middle of his back and pushed, at the same time I thrust my crotch forward. The man was pinned – unable to do anything other than joyfully accept the pleasure I was giving and receiving. I’m sure his own cock was rigid and feeling uncomfortable - caught between the wall and his own hard body, but I figured that was giving him an extra thrill, as well. It was beyond a turn-on to know I had grown stronger . . . bigger than my mentor. It was time we finally had a little talk. I was ready to claim my man. So, you need to understand something, Darth. I’m in love with you. Yep, big old me has little puppy-dog eyes just for you. I love you so much it hurts . . . and this kind of love usually ends with an explosion in my pants. I love your mean-assed, ugly, manly face. I love your hard, round roided-out gut. I love your fucking hard prison-built muscles. And I know I’m going to love this tight ass of yours, too. So, you should just get over yourself and accept the fact that I’m here for good, old man. I’ll be claiming you as my own. And there’s not a thing you can do about it. I reached around and grabbed the rock-hard swollen mass that was his stomach. It was like he was pregnant with thick cords of muscle. I couldn’t wait until it was full of my spunk. I pulled back on his abs as I pressed my crotch against his ass. He had started pushing his strong lower body against me – in response to my teasing. It was time. We both knew it. I looked down at how my huge body now out-sized him. It was just big enough to dominate. My arms puffed with enough muscle to make his look weaker, something I never thought would be possible. I reached down and pushed his sweats away from that he-man ass of his. Damn, it was beautiful – hairy and nicely bubbled. I spit in my hand and reached down to slicken my hard rod. Darth was moaning like a cat in heat. I pressed the tip of my rod between his cheeks, pushing in slowly. His hole tensed closed. This made me very happy. Yeah, that’s it, Darth . . . resist me. Every ramming thrust you block just makes my dick grow thicker and stronger. What a workout you’re giving me, old man. I’ll soon have a cock too strong for you to keep out – it’ll be harder, bigger, and more powerful than that ass of yours. Your boy is going to fill you with so much fucking juice, man, you’re going to sound like the ocean when you walk. Yeah, old man, tighten that hole of yours even more. Make me grow. Make me your fucking big boy. 10:00pm – Entering the Fortress We both knew that with the next thrust, I was getting in. My cock was going to stretch Darth’s hole like it had never been stretched before. And it was going to continue to grow as I plowed him. It suddenly hit me – this was probably a first for the old man. My gut just realized, somehow, that he had never been fucked before. To know that I’d be popping Darth’s cherry turned me on at some base, animalistic level. I was becoming the alpha and claiming my man. I was surpassing my coach, my mentor, my muscle daddy. He had filled me with his juice for a long time – causing me to morph into a muscle monster – and it was time for me to fill him with mine. I suddenly hoped my cum was going to make him grow, in the same way his made me. This thought made me shiver with delight. I imagined us fucking each other and growing so huge that we would finally just shove the wall down between our cell and the next one so we could have more room. What was someone going to do to stop us? Two super strong humongous lovers – that’s what we’d be. Get ready for heaven, old man. That fortress of solitude is about to be invaded. My dominating big body shoved forward. The head of my cock blasted past the rim of his hole, causing Darth to wail like some kind of wounded animal. I knew he could take it, though. I didn’t need to be gentle. I knew the muscled monster I was fucking and I knew he’d want it rough. I shoved into him, loving how my cock grew because of how tight the man was. I had to use a lot more force than I anticipated – Darth’s chute muscles were powerful. I pushed into him until my pubes were tickling his hairy balls. I pulled back, letting the tip of my cock scrape his sweet entrance and then I rammed it back inside of him – feeling my entire body grow from the exertion. The man was still moaning uncontrollably, but I wasn’t waiting for anything. I started slamming my crotch forward and jerking it back – clearly pleasing the older man as his moans turned from tortured pain into something joyous and obviously pleasurable. Then he started begging. Fuck me harder, puss! Oh god, that’s incredible. Harder . . . please. Pound me harder. His words turned me into a madman. I bucked my crotch into him with much more force. I was scared we’d go through the concrete wall any second. His body slammed into it with a ferocity that would have left other men bloody and busted, but not Darth. He wanted it hard. He wanted it rough. He wanted to feel me stretching his insides with every ramming thrust. I knew he had never felt this alive, this turned on, or dominated in this way. It was all new to him and he loved it. I never knew a man’s grunts and groans could turn me on so much. His face, turned sideways as he was pressed against the wall was a deep red and veins were popping out all over his forehead. I had never wanted to be so far up inside another man as I did this one. We were both now covered in sweat and the temperature in the room was way beyond sauna level. I knew I had maybe three more thrusts in me before I exploded. I turned into a crazy man. I wrapped my arms around the gut of Darth, lifted him into the air, and pulled his body from the wall. I was standing in the middle of the room slamming my newly engorged cock into his ass as he cried out in utter glee. His body bucked up into the air from the force of my ass pummeling, but I held onto him with my powerful grip. On the second crotch thrust I sent a tsunami into his ass, causing him to send the same kind of eruption all over the wall in front of us. As I filled his hole with my juice, his splatted loudly against the concrete. Both orgasms seemed to last forever. I couldn’t believe the amount of cum I was shooting into the man – just as I couldn’t believe the amount of Darth’s spooge that was being wasted on the wall. I contemplated licking it all off, but instead I walked over to his bed on shaky legs and fell onto it. My big body covered him. We laid there for a few minutes, both of us spurting out a little more juice and breathing so hard we sounded like an entire football team that had just run a marathon. Fuck, you’re heavy, Wainright. It’s your fucking fault, dude. You made me this huge. The fact that he used my name was not missed. It actually made my cock twitch inside of him. I had a feeling I was going to miss him calling me ‘puss,’ but I knew it had to be this way from now on. I had grown bigger and stronger than him. But, more importantly, I had taken him as my man. He knew it. My now thicker cock stretching out his ass and my warm spunk sloshing around inside of him confirmed it. I was still hugging him tightly, my hands massaging his tight protruding rock-hard abs. I had, however, rolled us sideways so he was no longer having trouble breathing because of my weight. The two of us barely fit on the bed, he was hanging very close to the edge. We were going to have to put our two beds together. I’ve never been plowed before, son. I figured. How was it? Fucking awesome. Many repeat performances will be required. Oh really? I thought you were kicking me out, old man. Do you want to go, Wainright? I think you can feel exactly where I want to be, Darth. I think where I am is actually going to make your waddle a little more pronounced tomorrow, big man. I fit nicely, right here. You feel good inside me. You’ll have to return the favor soon, Darth. Gladly. You think I’ll still grow? I don’t know. No one’s ever stayed with me long enough to see. I want you to turn me into a fucking muscle monster, Darth. Don’t worry, old man, I’ll control the power.
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