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RayWild16
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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. 

 

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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

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51 minutes ago, RayWild16 said:

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.

💪💪💪

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PART TWO

We’ve got a few days before Cory’s big secret, so maybe I should tell you a bit about myself.

You know my name, Michael. You have a pretty good idea of what I look like. If not, just imagine your hottest dream with brown hair, blue eyes and a body that bulges in exactly the right places exactly when you want it to. At least, that’s how I see myself. Especially since having started working with Cory.

I love my body. Really. I mean, it’s not like I spend the whole day staring at myself in the mirror or don’t talk to anyone else because I’m too good for them. Fact is, I really dig working with people, interacting with people. Part of the reason, of course, is because of the way I affect them. People can’t help but get turned on by me. Men and women. But another reason I like people is because, well, I like people. For the most part, they’re pretty cool. I’m big enough that most folks won’t screw around with me (unless I want ‘em to) and I figure if I go at someone with respect and an interest in what they’re about, they’ll do the same to me. It usually works out that way.

But I do love my body. It gets me in with folks I wouldn’t have a chance to get in with. It makes it easier to break the ice. And I dig letting people get off on me. You want to give the biceps a squeeze? Sure. Here. You like the roundness of my pec? Go ahead. Touch it. Ripples on the abdomen got you hot? Go ahead. Play that xylophone. You’re interested in that bulge in my crotch? Well step right up for the wildest ride you’ve ever had. Not that a ten inch cock is the answer to being a good sex partner — that has more to do with respect and mutual goals than anything — but it sure doesn’t hurt.

Unless you want it to. And did I mention I love my body? Yeah. I love making it hard. I love making it bulge. I love making it hurt so good from the pump and then just standing there (or lying there if I can’t stand) and feeling the blood fill whatever muscle I’ve just abused. I think it was Schwarzenegger who said the pump was like cumming. Or as good as cumming. In a way, it’s better. It’s like cumming with your entire body. Imagine a six foot three inch erection. The pump. And I’ll just stand there and flex my muscles and watch them swell in the mirror. Gotta have a mirror, ya know. And I get my cock all bunched up in a jock and it starts getting real hard as my body gets real hard and, man, does it ache as it tries to escape. And my pecs. Love my pecs. The nipples get nice and thick and long and hard and they hang down off the bottom of the curve of those massive plates of muscle, just waiting for someone to come along and chew on ‘em and run their tongue along that place where the belly of the pec meets the flat of my abdomen. Deep, full curve of my pecs. And I can take the head of my erect cock and lean forward, my abs crunching and swelling and beginning to cramp, I can take my cock and touch it to my nipple.

Did I mention I love my body?

Yeah. So does Cory.

I think.

💪💪💪

The other day I had some paperwork to do and couldn’t get the time during business hours, what with the distractions of customers and all. Taxes were coming due for the quarter and I needed to lock myself away and just get it done. I told Cory and he said that was fine by him. He’d head out and see me tomorrow. He reluctantly gave me a hug and then playfully kneed me in the balls just to give me something to remember him by. As he went out the door I almost jumped him from behind with the thought of wrestling him to the ground and making him kiss my aching balls. But I had to get this stuff done or my accountant wasn’t going to be very happy.

The place was deserted by the time I got done shuffling piles of papers from one side of my desk — the ‘Yo, do this’ side to the ‘Fuck it, I’m finished,’ side — and then placed all the stacks in little envelopes like my anal-retentive accountant liked. I actually never begrudged the effort a bit as she had kept me out of audits and such for years. Then came the process of closing up.

I locked the front door and turned off all the lights in the gym then walked back to the locker rooms to make sure all the showers were off and the cleaning kid had gotten all the towels and anything else the membership had left lying around. My balls, which were still humming from the memory of Cory’s good-bye bash and hanging free of any form of restraint aside from the leg of my shorts, beat against the thickness of my upper thigh. They were hanging nice and low. And heavy. I could feel the length of my cock against them and on my thigh as well. It wouldn’t take much to make it hard, it was halfway there already. I thought about a night on my own, without Cory to take me and wrestle me and pull and push and pin me to the floor and ram his own thick ten up my ass. I thought about thinking about jerking off. Boring. I thought about thinking about something else, instead.

On the floor beside one of the benches was a pair of heavy-laden dumbbell free weights. One of our Mr. Olympia hopefuls had left it laying there. Not cool. You use it, you put it away just like momma told you to. I leaned over and picked up the two masses of iron.

There is a connection between the body of the bodybuilder and heavy masses of iron. It’s our life. In the course of a normal day we walk around inside these huge, hulking bodies; muscles poised to move great weights against gravity’s will. And we pick up pencils and dollar bills and maybe a tire jack or a bag of groceries. And our muscles leap with anticipation. Finally! An effort. A job. A reason for being so abused and tight and hard and massive. We pick up the pencil or the groceries and the deltoid pops and the biceps swells and the pectoral presses against the shirt, its nipple moving against the rough fabric of the shirt that’s been teasing it all day and…it’s just a pencil. Or a box of cereal.

Then, suddenly, there’s a real gravity challenger. Like two massive hunks of iron some iron-head has left lying around at the gym. And all the muscles tighten and bulge and pull against the call of the planet and there you are, defeating one of the immutable laws of the universe. Yeah, gravity. You may be powerful enough to keep this old planet from flying apart, but you can’t keep these massive muscles, these bulging sinews of strength from opposing you. And winning. That’s right, gravity. You suck!

The two free weights hung in my hands like they needed to be there. My forearms swelled as I grasped the short bars to keep them from falling out of my hands. Suddenly, everything was pressing against everything else. As I stood my cock pressed hard against my suddenly swelling thighs. I rotated my wrists and my biceps pressed against the outer curve of my pecs. I curled the weights up and my nipples rubbed against the peaks of my upper arms. I knew I wasn’t going to get out of this easy. I felt the need for exertion. The thought of being challenged by gravity’s call made my cock swell even more. Even it wanted to prove it was beyond planetary rule.

I set the free weights down on the bench, looked around the room to make sure I hadn’t missed someone hiding out in the corner (paranoia was not my strong suit, but neither was carelessness) and then grabbed the bottom of my tank top and pulled it up over my head. And there’s this mirror right in front of me. And there’s this guy (me) standing there with large, swollen pecs and large, rigid abs and large, bulging delts and thick, flaring lats and an erection pushing out the front of his cut-offs and, sure enough, the beginnings of a wet spot spreading out just about where the head of his massive cock seems to be.

He runs his hands up his sides and strokes his high, round pecs. He grabs his thick, erect nipples and pinches them. The bulge in his shorts jumps and the spot gets larger, darker. He poses. Full frontal biceps shot. Twenty-three inch guns, peaked and hot. He alternately flexes his pecs and they dance on his chest. Deep dark pit where triceps, pec and lats meet. He hasn’t taken a shower yet, so the odor of his pit fills his nostrils. Full, round deltoids cap his shoulders and he runs one hand over the huge curve of the other and then back down to the pec, teasing the nipple, caressing the belly of the huge chest muscle.

I’d always wanted to watch me do me like this. With Cory, my fantasy had become a reality. Our bodies had grown more similar with each passing month until he finally had grown to my size in almost every way. I thought of giving him a call and having him come back to the gym. What would I have him do?

I looked back down at the free weights lying on the bench. They were just a little heavier than I would use, but I figured that might be interesting. Interesting enough that my cock did another leap in my shorts.

“Let me out!”

Alright, already.

Free.

Hard.

Balls hangin’ heavy and swollen.

Dripping.

Wet.

I lie down naked on the bench with the weights held hard against my pecs. Cold iron. Hot, hard nipples; now even harder. My cock points straight at my navel and the juice drools out of it and fills the indent in my abdominal plain to the point of overflowing and the run-off spills down my side onto the vinyl covering of the bench. I mean, I am leaking here. My huge upper back muscles press into the bench, my lower back is inches away. I flex and tighten everything again, just to feel it, and then raise the weights, straight-arm, over my chest. Triceps swell. I then let my pecs relax a bit and my arms begin to spread. Pecs and biceps tighten and I slowly lower my arms until they are stretched out to my sides by the weight they carry. The pecs revel in this extension. I can feel the weight pulling against them, gravity fighting to take back what it believes is rightfully its own. I allow that force of nature to think it’s winning. My arms lower more until my hands hover just inches above the floor. Biceps and pecs are now stretching painfully.

So is my cock.

The thought comes to me — what if there was too much weight? What if I couldn’t get my arms back up again? I tighten my pecs, but at the same time I tighten my back muscles, as well. I fool my pecs into thinking they can’t do this. They pull hard, pull with all their might. They press against the skin, itself already stretched to its greatest extent. But my back muscles, gravity’s temporary ally, convince their counterparts that their efforts are futile. As a sense of panic sets in, given free reign by my imagination, my cock starts to throb uncontrollably. It aches like I haven’t had it ache in a very long time. It likes this. I like this. My pecs, for all the fear I engender in them, are really liking this. At last, a real challenge.

I imagine some unseen assailant, turning some unseen mechanism. I want to cry out, but I won’t give him the satisfaction of knowing what he’s doing to me. He’s dying to know. Go ahead, buddy. Ask. I know you need my fear for your own satisfaction.

“Feels alright?”

For a year I have been hearing those words. For a year I have been hearing that voice say those words, breathless with some just completed mind-blowing exertion. But this was the first time I had ever heard it with a question mark. I raised my head to see Cory standing between my spread legs, himself naked, pumped and oh so very, very hard. His left hand was wrapped around his cock, stroking it, toying with it, very gentle with it, not seeming to reach toward any kind of a climax. But suddenly, without any physical warning, his cock exploded with a half-dozen volleys of hot cum which splattered all over my abs and pecs like he just decided now was a good time to let off a little steam. He kept stroking himself like nothing has happened.

“Cory.”

“Feels alright?” he repeats.

“Yeah, Cory. Feels alright. You’re fucking amazing.”

“Not bad, yourself.”

“Thanks. Whatcha’ doin’ here?”

“Come to help a friend out of a predicament. Seems some evil person has decided to test just how strong those big, thick muscles of his really are.”

That he knew exactly what was going through my mind scared me, like his weirdness sometimes does, and excited me, like it always does. His hot cum was beginning to run off my pecs. I flashed back to reality for a minute and worried about having to clean up the carpet after this was over. In an instant, Cory was over me, his legs straddling my waist and the bench I was on, his tongue licking every drooling drop of his own cum from my pecs. His tongue toyed with my aching nipples. He bit them hard enough that I want to push him away. But I couldn’t. This master fiend had me stretched out with these massive weights attached to my body. (I’m really loving this fantasy, playing it for all it’s worth.) And here’s Cory, both abuser and rescuer in one. His cock laying on my cum-soaked abs, hard against my own aching joint, sloshing around in the puddles of our combined juices. I feel his body’s heat as it touches, or just barely doesn’t touch, my own.

Cory begins sliding his cock up and down over the ridges of my abdomen. I flex them to increase the feeling. He runs his hands out over my biceps and begins to squeeze them, his face hovering just above my own. I want to kiss him, hard. I want to swallow his tongue down my throat and taste what he has just tasted. I want his cum in my mouth. I want his cock in my mouth. I want his body. And he’s pressing down on my arms, increasing the stretch even more. My balls are aching. My cock is beginning to scream as his pelvis lightly sweeps up and down its length while he fucks my abs.

So thick. Me.

So thick. Him.

This is so good I don’t want it to end. But my balls are beginning to cramp. I moan, hoping Cory will get the message and help me along. Instead, he stands up, moves further up my toward my chest, and waves his ten inch cock in my face while his balls sit lightly on the break between my two pecs. He sways from side to side and his scrotum brushes each of my nipples, tiny hairs, teasing the hard nubs of flesh. I raise my head and try to catch the head of his tool between my lips. At first he plays hard to get, but then allows me to capture him. A few drops of cum jet out from the slit in his thick head as he tightens his rectal muscles. He hasn’t taken a shower since our workout this morning. I can still taste the sweat, the effort, a little taste of fear; fear of not getting that last rep up. Fear of not making that goal. Excitement. Hot, hard excitement.

I love licking this cock. I know its every detail, its ever nuance, its every secret spot. I’ve held this cock all my life. And now, here it is. On someone else’s body and I can do to it all the things I’ve ever dreamed of doing to it without worrying about physical limitations. And so now I take it deep in my throat, like I love to do, and suck on it so hard it swells even more. Cory just stands there, his head thrown back, his hips swaying, his scrotum dragging back and forth across my hyper-extended pecs, his body tensing more and more, swelling like his cock, becoming harder like his cock. And he’s flexing those big twenty-three inch biceps, one by one, and running his other hand over the veined-crested peak.

I’m so hot I can’t stand it. I want to cum, but I don’t just want to spew in the air. I’m beginning to moan again, but now it isn’t just dramatics. I’m really getting beyond control. Cory looks down at me and smiles. It’s not too often he does that. But he knows what I’m feeling right now and he knows it’s good. He backs up again, spits in his hand and reaches behind him to grab my rod, spreading his spit around the head. I almost blow it right then and there.

Hold on, Michael. You know what’s coming.

“Do you think you can work those weights, Michael?”

I give a test tug and my pecs and biceps ache, but…

“Yeah. You gonna do me, Cory?”

“Yeah, Michael. I’m gonna do you. You work those weights and I’m gonna do you real good.”

I can’t hold my head up anymore. It falls back to the bench. I feel a heat on the head of my cock. Then I feel a pressure. I feel hot, hard muscle surrounding it and then against it. And then more pressure. And more. And more. I give a thrust against it and suddenly my thick cock is stretching Cory’s asshole open and I’m inside.

“Feels alright?”

“Yeah, Cory. Feels real alright.”

I tighten my pecs, flex my upper arms, and the weights begin to rise. It’s tough. I’ve been stretched out long enough that my muscles have become a bit fatigued. It hurts real good. I finally get the weights together, extended over my chest, and I look through the valley between the mountains of muscle on my chest at the beautiful man standing above me. He feeds my cock into his asshole, sliding down its length until I’m deep inside, then he turns his waist and gives me a side chest shot. His pecs balloon to several times their relaxed size, his arms swell. And his thighs flex as he begins raising himself up the length of my cock.

As he lifts himself up I allow the weights to lower to my side. The sensation in my cock is making it difficult to control my movement. Part of me wants to just say “fuck it” and let the weights fall so I can grab onto this massive man above me and go for a ride. But I’ve expended a lot of energy working up this fantasy and I’m not about to bail out now.

His movement on my cock matches my reps for a while, but I’m getting fatigued and he’s getting hot. Finally, and much to my relief, he breaks rhythm and begins sliding up and down my ten inches with increased speed. I’m still trying to keep up with him, but I’ve only got a few more reps in me. He can sense it, too.

“You ready, Michael?”

“Ready, Cory.”

“Those pecs of yours are looking real good, Michael.”

“They’re for you, Cory. All for you.”

“Yeah. I know. Looks alright.”

And with that, he began plowing himself on my cock like he was some fucking fanatic or something. I’d never had anything move that quickly around my shaft. I had no choice. I had to let go of the weights. They fell to the floor with a clanging thump. My arms retracted, the muscles finally relieved of their burden and aching so good I thought they would cum before my balls did.

And that’s all it took.

Have you ever wished you could cum forever, wishing that rushing sensation would never stop? And have you ever noticed how, when you’re really cumming good, you can’t tell where you are or how long you’ve been there or what gravity has to do with anything? And have you ever been drained so completely that your balls cramp up on you cuz they’ve been so full and now so empty and your prostrate is cramped from pumping that shit out so fast and everything that has to do with you cumming is driven just a little too far for its own good? And have you ever forgotten to breathe?

I remember feeling my quickly deflating cock slip out from between Cory’s full, rock-hard asscheeks. I remember it falling on top of my heavy scrotum (I like that feeling). I remember hands pressing into my aching pecs, squeezing them, molding them, pinching them. And I remember a light, breathless kiss on my lips, just a whisper of a touch.

And a whisper in my ear.

“Feels alright, Michael. Alright.”

I had no idea how much time had passed, having no idea what time I’d started my little fantasy. When I finally was able to deal with reality again, Cory was gone. And that was weird. I mean, weirder than usual. He had never just up and walked out before.

And that wasn’t all that was weird.

I know no one likes to talk about these things, but hell, it’s the nature of the beast. You go plowing a guy up his ass, you’re gonna have to wash yourself off, ya know. But here I am, just coming out of an amazing experience and there’s nothing to wash off. I mean I’m clean, ya know?

I headed for the showers, anyway, along the way picking up two or three towels scattered around which the porter missed or left before they were put there (benefit of the doubt always being a great people skill). Running soapy hands over the aching muscles of my chest and upper arms, still so full, so hard, so huge felt oh so very, very good. My pecs were so hard and round. And the nipples tingled as I soaped and pinched them, remembering Cory’s teeth chewing on them, his scrotum lightly teasing them.

I was going to try to keep my hands off my cock as I thought I should be finished for tonight, but I couldn’t help myself and soon had it just on the edge of becoming hard. It hung low and heavy between my legs and I let it stay that way, enjoying its weight as it swung back and forth against my thick thighs.

When I was done I threw on a change of clothing I kept for just such occasions and turned off the lights in the locker room. The gym, itself, was bathed in the sodium vapor orange of a streetlight outside the door and filled with the odor of huge bodies with highly developed sweat glands. The room deodorizing system I’d just had installed would take care of that without making the place smell like a hospital. Some of that smell was good for the place.

I turned off the computer in my office, locked up that which had to be and grabbed my keys.

The door was still locked.

“Hello.”

No answer.

“Hello?”

Still nothing.

Well, if Cory was playing some game, he was going to have to play it alone. I was going home.

💪💪💪

 

End Part Two

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1624983651_CoryCoverOnly.thumb.png.771142ab81d4b34fa371ab54a1cbbecb.png

PART THREE

I guess by now you can tell this thing with Cory is one mighty strange relationship. I mean not just what he and I are into, but the whole thing of what Cory is about. I mean, it’s not like I even know a whole lot about him. I don’t. I’ve been working out with the guy for 364 days and been getting my ass plowed and returning the favor for 364 nights and I don’t really know much more about him than when he waltzed his fleece-wrapped, hard-chiseled, vein-covered, well-hung body into my gym that hot summer day a year ago.

It’s funny, though. It just doesn’t seem to matter. We’re always so busy when we’re together that it never occurs to me, until after he leaves, that I even want to ask him any questions. Not that I don’t have questions. I do. Like what’s he doing with that platinum AMEX card or how he’s paying the bills or what’s this shit about him not being able to read? That one’s the weirdest one of all. I mean, this guy is smart. Real smart. And, like I guessed way back at the beginning, he’s got a memory like a steel trap. Anything I show him, he’s got the first time. Anything I tell him, he can spit back at me, word for word, six months later like I even can even remember it. But he does.

And the sex! Man. I have never felt so completely fucked in all my life. Don’t think I ever will again. And every now and then I get the worries about whether he’ll be showing up or coming back. And why doesn’t he want to, you know, settle into this relationship thing a little more. I wonder a lot, when he leaves, where he’s going, what he’s doing, who he’s doing. But it doesn’t seem to matter too much when he’s there. It just doesn’t seem to matter when you got them thick, round pecs hanging over you, their hard nipples aching to be chewed on as that ten-inch cock powers in and out of your ass. I can’t reach them with my teeth, so I grab them and twist powerful hard and he doesn’t even scream. Just screws his face up a little more and pounds that meat into my hot hole even harder.

And I do the same. I mean, it’s not that we’re the same, exactly. But when we’re going at it, hot and hard, there doesn’t seem to be any need for talking or even wishing about what I want or he wants. It’s like having sex with the hottest bod on the planet and that bod is you. You know?

So, if it’s so good for me, and I’m guessing it so good for him, cuz he never talks about it, except to say “Feels alright.” If it’s so good, how come I can’t get this stud to move into my life a little more, you know, permanent like.

Now, it’s not like we don’t talk. We do. We talk a lot. But nothing seems to matter aside from what we’re doing at the moment. He’s mighty curious about working out. Wants to know everything I know about what this muscle or that bone is doing. I took a lot of anatomy classes at the local college, figuring that if I was going to make this body jump through hoops, I’d better understand what I was working with. And we talk about nutrition when we’re eating. And speaking of AMEX cards, did I mention he always, and I mean always, pays for every meal we eat together. And I’m not just talking about food at the grocery store, either. In fact, there isn’t a whole lot of that. We do a lot of meals out. There’s a lot of restaurants around here that cater to the needs of the body building public, cuz there’s a lot of public around here building bodies. So we eat out a lot. And that ol’ platinum plastic gets whipped out each time the check comes and he always tips twenty per cent. Always. So we eat and we talk and we fuck and we work out and we just keep getting bigger and bigger and harder and fuller and I sometimes wonder why my ten inch dick hasn’t just fallen off. I mean, it gets pumped more than any other five muscle groups on my body.

The best is when we hang out at the gym after everyone has closed. Almost from the beginning we found out that each of us really likes having sex while we work out. I have some free weights and a bench at home for putting on a ‘going out’ pump, but it’s not very interesting for more heavy encounters. So we stay at the gym most nights and turn off the lights. But I guess you know that all ready.

One of the reasons we like using the stuff at the gym, aside from the smells and the atmosphere of the place, is the danger. And, believe me, there is a real danger to screwing around with a lot of weight like that. I mean, who’s gonna get excited about not being able to control a couple of fifty-pound dumbbells? But get yourself a couple hundred hangin’ over your head while you got someone treating your balls like they’re a punching bag, or your nipples like they’re a pack of chewing gum, or your cock like it’s supposed to be one of those blow up clowns you had when you were a kid and you’d push it down and it would pop back up again, now that’s exciting.

And that doesn’t include just the feeling you get in a muscle that’s pumping real hard on some weight you never thought that muscle could pump, and this guy’s got his lips sucking on it and licking it and got his hands rubbing it and squeezing it and got his ten-inch cock rubbing up against it and slamming into it and drooling all over it with his pre-cum that’s pouring out of it cuz he’s so fucking turned on by the heat and size and strength of that muscle. And he knows about that heat and size and strength because he’s got the same stuff and knows exactly what you’re feeling cuz it’s his body, too. I mean, you know, he’s knows what you’re going through, being so alike and all.

And I can lie there, pumping that weight, and watch Cory, and maybe he’s got a free weight and he’s curling his big biceps while he’s stroking his cock up and down my thigh as it works the leg extension with maybe a hundred more than what I normally use. And he’ll suddenly grab his cock and ram it against some part of my body, just cuz it needs to push against something it’s so hard and hot. Or I’ll extend my legs out and then turn and grab that massive hunk of meat and pull it in my mouth and suck it hard for a couple of seconds and he’ll grab my hair and stroke my ear and twirl the hair at the back of my neck until I can’t hold the weight any more and then I have to concentrate on contracting my legs without hurting myself. And my cock is spewing clear pre cum all over my hard abs and I don’t even want to touch myself cuz it feels so good and I know I’ll cum if I do and I don’t want this to end.

Ever.

And that could be me doing the curling and Cory on the machine. Or the pec deck. Or doing Scott curls or maybe just on a bench with a couple of free weights hanging over him like it was with me the other night.

Still haven’t figured out where he disappeared to.

So it’s weird that I don’t know anything about this guy I’ve spent most of my waking hours with for the past year. And it’s even weirder, I guess, that I don’t seem to care about that. Except when I’m not with him. Which isn’t a whole lot of time. Folks got the idea, pretty early, that he and I were getting something going together. I mean, it’s not like we walked around with ‘Do Not Touch’ signs or anything. Cory is a people person like me and really digs interacting with the folks at the gym. He’s always eager to work with someone who doesn’t have a workout partner for the day or maybe someone comes in to check the place out. Cory’ll show them around and even sign them up if I’m busy. I mean, he knows where the forms and pencils are.

And folks really dig having Cory pay attention to them. Who wouldn’t? They guy is drop-dead gorgeous with a body that, as the year goes on, is hot enough for anybody. And he doesn’t just heat up the boys, either. It’s funny, but most women, until they get to know him, are pretty sure he’s straight. Or, at least, open to variations. Come to think about it, I guess most everyone thinks that about Cory. I guess they just hope that, male or female, they might have a chance with the guy. Like I said. Who wouldn’t? But I’ve never gotten the slightest notion that he’s ever done anyone else. Hell, except for that husband and wife team he told me he used to watch work out, the one’s who bought it in that car crash, I’ve never heard of anyone else he even hung out with, much less porked.

But then, like I said, I don’t know jack about him, anyway. We have the hottest sex any fifteen people should be allowed to have in their life every night and then he walks out the door, only to appear at the gym the next morning for our eight o’clock work out. I know I’ve got no need to screw around anywhere else. If Cory’s as much like me as he appears to be, then I can’t imagine he doesn’t either.

One thing weird…well, you know. One thing weird in a long list of stuff that’s weird about Cory, a very long list, is his body. I mean, it’s perfect. Not a flaw on it. No birthmarks. No vaccination scar on the upper arm. No freckles. No warts or corns or moles or nothing but a belly button. Barely an innie. Perfect.

And here we are in a town full of bodies trying to be perfect and then letting the world see that perfection. Hundreds of bodies wandering around with huge muscles bulging out of barely legal clothes barely covering what society says ought to be covered. And Cory wanders into the gym every day wearing a pair of long pants and a button-up shirt. And the way he wears it, you can’t really tell what he’s packing underneath. Except for the hint of a tube of flesh hanging down his right pant leg. He’s not out to advertise anything. Meanwhile, the rest of the body building world is out there trying to get someone, anyone, to notice them and give them a contract so they don’t have to hold down a day job to pay for the gym and the massive amounts of food and supplements and shit you gotta consume to keep that body running right. He’s got what he needs, plenty of it from what I can tell, and he’s not trying to interest anyone in anything.

Except me.

I’ve never had anyone so focused on me in all my life. And I don’t just mean that shit with his eyes where he never looks away for a second while I’m talking to him or he’s talking to me. I mean focused as in I’m the only thing that matters to him. I got the feeling that if some dumb ass walked into the room with a gun and it was only Cory and me there and this dumb ass said he had to shoot just one of us, Cory would step to the front and pull the trigger himself. It’s not like he doesn’t think much of himself. You can’t do what we do to our bodies every day in that gym and not have some sense of self-esteem. But I trust Cory with my life. And I know he does, too. Some of that weird shit we get into, after hours at the gym and all, I couldn’t do it if I didn’t know that Cory would know exactly how far to take it before letting up. And it never crosses my mind that I would let Cory get hurt, either. Don’t quite know what I’d do, if Cory really got hurt.

Don’t want to think about that.

And did I mention his body? Yeah. I mean, it’s cool standing in front of a mirror and popping poses and shit. But to have that body right there in front of you, 3-D. It’s the best. Because, when you just can’t stand it anymore, when the biceps is just pumped too much and the pec is just too round and hard and the cock is just way, way, way too thick and hard and dripping, you can’t do nothing about it if it’s just a reflection. But with Cory there, I can just walk right on over and grab that biceps or pec or cock and do just what I would want someone to do to me if it were me in that mirror.

So I walk right over to him and I chew a little on that rock of biceps sitting up there on his arm. And I grab his hard, hard pecs and try to press them together, but they’re so hard they don’t even budge. And I slide my own aching ten inches up his thick thigh while he’s got it so flexed it’s gotta hurt a whole lot. Man, these bodies. Smooth. Firm. Hard. And big. And two cocks that never stop dripping. Except to cum. And we cum and then we’re pumping and pushing again like we still need it, cuz we do, and then we cum again and then we pump and push again and I can’t believe it sometimes how many times I get it up and get it on with this amazing fucking body this guy’s got. And he’s always hard or getting hard, except when he isn’t supposed to be like when we’re working out in the morning. But even when he’s walking around the gym in the afternoon, helping folks or something, he’s got this semi that’s just waiting to fall out of his work out clothes.

I’m not quite sure what to make of all this. It seems I got just about everything I could ask for. The gym’s doing great. People seem to want to be around Cory and so they keep coming back and bringing their friends to join. I’m doing great. I’ve got a body even I didn’t think I’d be able to build a year ago. I haven’t been sick or nothing for at least a year. I’m getting laid every day and night by a guy that could only be described as my own best sexual fantasy. And I don’t seem to have much in the world to worry about. Cory’s doing fine. He never seems to have a bad day. Never, ever comes in with an attitude on. Never seems to have anyone who doesn’t like him a whole lot. Shit. They guy doesn’t even need to shave his body. He’s just got no hair except on his head and pubes and balls. He seems to like shaving me. I mean, hell, you don’t think all those huge bodies at those contests are naturally hairless, do you? And it’s a pain in the ass to have to keep that shit going but who the hell wants to try to look at a bunch of bulging muscles through a forest of curly hair? And I want to return the favor, but I can’t even see where his body hair would grow if it did.

I guess it’s just one more weird Cory thing. But I sure do love the feel of that smooth, hard body. And I sure do love the thought that I can reach out and touch it anytime I want to. And I mean anytime. The guy doesn’t seem to have any thoughts about wrong. He’s got no inhibitions about sex or when or how or why. I’m starting to get over mine, as well. I mean, it’s not like I’d walk up to him on the street corner and rip his pants off and drive my cock up his ass right there. But that has more to do with making it right for everyone else than just plain inhibitions. This whole sex thing feels so very good between Cory and me. It wouldn’t feel good if I felt that the rest of the world were uncomfortable about it. So we don’t do it on the street corner cause we don’t want someone putting out hate while we’re putting out…

Putting out…what?

Love?

Not quite sure about that one.

What the hell is that about, anyway? Doesn’t matter what you call it. I just don’t want it screwed up, is all.

So I don’t screw on street corners. Not that the thought of it doesn’t make my cock start to squirm just a bit by thinking about it, right now. I gotta rearrange myself a bit here cuz I’m getting a bit carried away with the thought. ‘Scuse me. There. It would be so cool to be standing there and suddenly just do it right there and have lots of people watching and loving that you were doing it. Man! I’m getting real hard thinking about that. Fucker’s already poking its head out the bottom of my shorts. I flex my quads and I can see the thick shaft pressing up against the material. Now I’ve got a choice to make. Do I just let it go and get off on the pressure? Do I do myself? Or do I go and look for…

Cory! Hi.

💪💪💪

You should see this. We’re both sitting here naked with cocks so hard we could hammer sixteen penny nails with them. Cory wanted to know what I was doing, so I read him what I’ve written so far. I’m looking at him right now and he’s just glowing. He wants me to type that he thinks it’s so cool that what we’ve done is here in this computer, in these words. He recognizes his name on the screen and every time I read it, he points to it. Like now. Cory. Yeah, love. That’s your name. You know what this word is? Michael. That’s me. Cory and Michael. That’s us together. Cory says it should be Michael and Cory cuz I wrote it. Man, my balls are aching. I’m asking him if there’s anything he wants to tell about. He’s thinking for a minute. Shit! He’s nodding yes! I’m going to type what he says as he says it.

💪💪💪

 

End Part Three

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This is a rather fun story! Been enjoying it. But don't know why you would constantly say things like "Be sure to follow me", "Keep coming back for more" or "Tell your friends"

In any way. Writing is decent, the marketing speech feels a little out of place here and makes me somewhat suspicious.

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GymFox90: A very huge catharsis ahead, but I can almost guarantee it's not what you might suspect.

MadMutter:There is nothing to be read into the promotional messages. I'm new to this community and so not sure how to encourage readership. If it seems unnecessary, I will cease and desist. Thanks for the heads-up. And...tell your friends. 😉

R.W.

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[Note: This story was first written in the mid '90s when not as much was known about autism. There is still not enough known; more research is needed. I created the character of Cory with what little I knew about the subject at the time. R.W.]

 

 

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PART FOUR

Hi. This is Cory.

The first thing I want everyone to know — actually the only thing — is that whatever Michael is worried about as far as him and I are concerned, is, well, nothing to worry about. I don’t suppose what happens when I walk out of Michael’s house every night is anyone’s business, but I just didn’t want anyone thinking I was some kind of slut or something. I’m not. Not that I was a virgin when I walked into Michael’s gym last year or anything. But there’s no reason in the world why I would need anyone else. What Michael said about how filled up he is with our sex and love and bodies, well that goes the same for me. And I would grab that gun from the guy and do me first. Michael has been everything to me. He’s given me so much. You have to see my body to understand.

I was in fairly good condition last year when we met. Everything was nice and tight and everyone liked to stare at me when I was on the beach and all which is why I took to wearing all those clothes Michael likes to kid me about. I don’t really like to be stared at like that. Not that I’m ashamed of my body. I’m not. But I don’t like the idea of people thinking just certain things about me when I’m more than just hard, flat abs, round pecs and a rather sizable cock. But I know for a lot of folks it’s difficult to see that and not think anything else. Like I said. It’s important that you realize there’s a lot more here than a sexual apparatus.

(Michael here. I have to use the spell checker for that one. Hold on a sec…2 P’s. And a U. Oh, well. Back to Cory.)

I know you’re probably curious about this not being able to read thing and this money thing and this address thing and stuff. As for the not reading thing, I have something called aphasia, which basically says I was dropped on my head as a kid. At least, that’s what my folks told me. I think they were only half-joking.

(Michael here. Spell checker again. “P H” instead of an “F”. I guess I knew that.)

I’ve also heard another word tossed around lately: autism. I’m not exactly sure what that is. I don’t think a lot of folks are, except that it seems to frighten them. I don’t like what it implies: that I’m somehow slow or retarded. I just can’t work out words that are written down. To be really honest, I’m a lot smarter than a lot of folks think I am, and that confuses them.

As for the other stuff, I’ll tell you that knowing any or all of that won’t really help you know me any better. I don’t think any of that’s important. And maybe that’s the best thing you can know about me. Because what I am, what I do, what I want to be, is all the same. I want to be what I am right now. I do what I do so that I can be what I am. There’s nothing really important after that because if I can’t be proud of what I’m doing right now then I’m not being me; I’m probably being what I think someone else wants me to be. So just leave all those worries about what happens before and after alone and just be happy that what is now is what is now.

Michael wants me to tell a story. I don’t think I’ve ever told one before and I’m not quite sure what to tell. Michael says I should talk about my two friends who died in the car crash last year. I’ll have to think about that one for a second. What do people want to know?

Michael says I could talk about watching them work out. I know he’s curious about how I was involved and all. But it wasn’t anything special. At least I didn’t think so. Greg and Chris were just some friends I had met at the beach. It was about four years ago and I was just starting to think about what I wanted to do with myself. I would see them on the beach, playing with each other, talking with each other, laying with each other, and I noticed that they were the only ones around who really seemed to enjoy being with each other.

Both of them were in real good shape. Not body builders or anything. But they both seemed to take good care of themselves. And they laughed a lot. I figured there had to be a reason for that. And I wanted to find out what it was. So, one day, I just walked up to them while they were talking.

“Hi.”

“Hi, yourself. What can we do for you?”

And he always talked like it was he and Chris.

“I’ve seen you two down here on the beach a lot. I was just wondering. Why are you two always so happy?”

They both laughed and asked me to sit down. Right then, I knew the answer to my question. And they knew I knew. They didn’t even answer. We spent the rest of the day talking. They took me out to lunch and invited me for dinner and did I want to sleep over because they had plenty of room in this big house they lived in up in the hills. And after a couple of months of that, with me staying there or not and eating there or not and watching them be so much in love with each other they asked me if I would come to bed with them.

I didn’t know what they wanted me to do so I said I’d have to think about it. I left that night and didn’t see them again for a week or so. I’m still not sure, even now, what I thought I had to think about. Because a week later I still hadn’t had any new thoughts on the matter. I guess I knew it was okay and I’d just wasted a week trying to think why it wasn’t. So I hung out at the beach until they showed up and we spent the day together there like there was nothing we had to rush off and do. When it was time to go, we just went. And I sat on the end of the bed for a while and just watched as these two friends of mine made love and shared with me what they sensed I was willing to share until I couldn’t stand the thought of not sharing it with them.

They told me that, while I had been gone, they had gotten married. I freaked out a little, but they said that my being there that night was the best wedding present they could ever ask for. So I crawled up between them and they wrapped me up in their arms and just held me like it was the only thing in the world they ever wanted to do.

From then on, working out in their basement gym became a lot more interesting. We were always naked and we were always hard. Greg and Chris showed me how to use the stuff and I would watch them and then, when they were gone, I’d go down and work out. It wasn’t that I didn’t want them to see me, but they were really good and had their own routine worked out. I didn’t want to mess that up because they really loved it.

I also think they liked me watching. I know Chris did. She’d always kid with me and get me going so that I got hard and had to keep grabbing myself because my cock hurt so much it was so stiff. Greg would just come over and grab it or something like that. He said he loved my cock and always wanted to be touching it. Not that Chris didn’t, too. She did. But she liked to leave the touching stuff for the bedroom. Greg was a tease.

After a year or so of that I was looking as hard and firm as the two of them. We’d go to the beach and folks would just stare at the three of us. I know they had all kinds of thoughts about what we were up to, but it didn’t seem to matter to Greg and Chris. It was like they knew there was nothing they had to worry about. I guess I got that from them.

Every once in a while they’d ask me if I wanted someone else to join them. They had plenty of friends who they said had been asking about me. I guess I was starting to attract attention, what with my new, improved body and all.

(Michael here. It’s that ‘all’ that’s pretty impressive.)

I let them invite someone a couple of times. And they were always real nice and sometimes I liked going to bed with them, but I always felt like I’d rather be in bed with Greg and Chris instead. But they kept trying until one time they invited this couple over. Arnie and Sam. That’s Samantha. They were too much! I mean in a good way. These two were serious body builders and had been at it for a long time.

And you think I’m hung! This guy had eleven and a half inches of the most incredible meat I’ve ever seen. And Sam was just drop-dead gorgeous, as Michael would say. It hurt to look at her, she was so beautiful. You just wanted to grab her and press everything you had right into her until you were both the same person. I mean…well anyway…Arnie was really beautiful, too, and had this way of making you feel like the whole universe was making love to you. And it didn’t even hurt.

The three of us stayed together for a while, Arnie, Sam and me. And they introduced me to some of their friends. Ed, Peter, Patty, and a bunch of others. It was great. No one cared who did what with whom. Everything was so free and wonderful and Greg and Chris were there and I was really digging being with all those amazing people. I don’t think I could have asked for a better life. And I don’t mean to say that my life now is so bad, what with Michael and all, but this was like out of some book or something.

And then Greg and Chris were killed in a car crash. I haven’t been able to see any of the other folks since them. I can’t. I needed a new life so I wouldn’t have to live with the pain of missing them.

Three years doesn’t seem like long enough to get to know someone so much that you can’t think of living without them. And three years doesn’t seem to be long enough that everything you have in the world belongs to them. But after three years with them I found out that Greg and Chris had left me everything they had in their will. The house, the car, the gear, the furniture, a big piece of property up in the mountains way up north. Everything. And a trust fund. So now you know how the credit card gets paid for. I had everything sold because it hurt too much to be in the house, just like it hurt too much to see their friends, our friends, without them. I kept the property up north and I hope I can go see it some day because I’ve seen pictures of it and it looks really beautiful.

So now I live like I want to. I do what I want because it makes sense for the moment and nothing else matters except this moment. And right now, the only thing I want to do is stop talking, Michael, and be with you because I really need to be.

💪💪💪

Michael here. I can’t say much more about this now. Cory tells me that, tomorrow being our one year anniversary, and how I’ve kept my promise to him about getting his body to look like mine, he’s got a surprise for me. But I really need to be with Cory right now, too. So I’ll let you know how it goes.

💪💪💪

 

End Part Four

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