growth with effort The Adonis of York: A muscle dream and a muscle reality

[NorthernAdonis]

This is the beginning of a story, that’s taken quite a bit of work.

It’s one of the first I’ve written, so it may have a lot of quirk.

It seems I write pretentiously, so I could look like a burke.

 

What you’re about to read is my tale.

Of a muscle-obsessed man on his trail.

With twists and turns beyond the pale.

 

After all these words, I hope you enjoy.

Or else another’s work you’ll have to deploy.

 

Chapter 1- The Fantasy

 

The towering pillars of stone stood clustered around the brand centre of York. They began as traditional buildings made over the centuries in the old capital, then built to the sky in increasing style, at the cost of great pain and price. At the base of these looming towers, the square of the city, winding rivers of shoppers and socialites snaked through every street and corner. Every man, woman, and child were dressed in the latest fashion of the day with hair pushed and shoved and washed and blown and dried and arranged into a meticulous style. The gentlemen in their pressed suits, the ladies in their vibrant dresses (as featured in every magazine), and the children barely looked like children at all in clothes strikingly like the adults that lead them. However, the thing that most united them was their bodies; stick-arms protruding from thin shoulders sat on legs that looked unable to support anything. Even the gentlemen fit this trend, with even the thinnest of suits hanging from their limbs, and soft facial features below pretty-boy hair styles.

 

Every cobble they walked on was perfectly in place, the gilded statues were polished to a shine and each branch of the trees that decorated the streets had been expertly pruned, as anything less would have been an insult.

 

In one of the highest rooms in one of the most mountainous towers sat one of these people; skinny as a pencil with hair freshly cut that day and what used to be a neatly pressed suit before he'd collapsed onto the wide bed. Richard had no use for a bed this wide, he'd never shared it with a soul, and the art around his walls was miles away from what he liked, but he imagined the fuss if he didn't need to keep up appearances. He was just lying there in the place he often spent time but could never be found, his fantasy.

 

Miles away from this place were the brownfields and greenfields; in these far-away lands were the people of Richard's dreams. He saw them when driving through the greenfields with his parents, he could barely take his eyes off them while his parents chuckled and scoffed. The workers in the fields toiled for hours, and in the summer months the men wore only their boots and shorts to counteract the heat. Their hair was shaggy and unkept, what clothes they had on were torn, and their skin was tanned from days in the elements. But what intrigued Richard was the bodies of the male workers; the countless hours of work left the marks that the people in the upper classes tried so hard to avoid.

 

Their arms bulged out with biceps that rose like the hills of the Yorkshire countryside around them, with veins popping from their forearms as they grasped their mighty farming tools. Their shoulders seemed broad enough to carry the most impressive boulders that decorated this land, and they were the perfect headers to the winding rows of back muscles that shifted and dived as the workers tilled or planted. Their chests ballooned out with imposing pectorals that seemed to challenge the boulders themselves, looking just as large and solid from the car window. Their cores were not targeted by their labour, yet some still had grown perfect columns of muscles, Richard often counted them and couldn't help but smile with glee when he saw sets of six or eight. The trunks of the trees in the distance appeared to be twigs compared to their thighs, with deep valleys between muscles that could be seen on the men brave or warm enough to wear the shortest of shorts. There was a noticeable range of body hair among them, from enough fur to look like one of the animals of the woods, to perfectly smooth chests that accentuated every muscle and masculine contour. Even their faces were enchanting, many with square jaws like bricks that were decorated by stubble, while others had full beards that would have shocked those of high society to their cores. In Richard's mind, they were the most beautiful jewels of the dales, putting the emerald hills, opalite skies, and fields of crops that were spun from gold to shame.

 

Richard's fantasy was to be just like them; he dreamt of putting down his tools and pushing the hair from his eyes while he shielded himself from the sun with a powerful arm so large it cast a shadow over his face. His perfect body would glow as the sunlight hit the sweat he'd made from his honest work. He would then take a cloth from his pocket to dry himself, making sure to reach the gaps between his washboard of core muscles and between his mountainous pectorals. He would breathe a sigh of relief as he was free of the expectations and rules on who he could be that so plagued him when he was at the top of the social ladder.

 

Richard had heard stories of the open nature of the greenfields and brownfields. How sex was not just for making more people, but often an activity of raw sexual attraction between whoever lusted after each other. Muscle and strength were valued here, with the most powerful adonises having first pick of the lot, but almost everyone could find a willing partner if they looked. This information was passed to him through splutters of pure disgust and mockery, but it was heaven to Richard. He dreamt of worshipping the imposing muscles of another man, a body so large it was greater than any he would have himself, running his fingers over every inch and trying but failing to squeeze the muscles that filled his hands. He even pictured receiving this perfect man's throbbing erection as it filled him; it felt so wrong yet so good at the same time.

 

A sudden knock at the door awoke Richard. Then, in an instant, his fantasy had faced once again, but he was happy in the knowledge it would return. As he scrambled to pull his tie back up and buckle his belt, he felt crushing shame at the body that was so desired in his world. As he walked to open the door, the opulence that surrounded him was only a reminder of how far he was from his dream.

However, as he pulled the door open on that perfectly average evening, it was the first step in his journey to make the impossible fantasy a reality.

 

 

 

But, if you wish to know what (or rather who) stood behind this door, you must wait until the next instalment of The Adonis of York, coming in due course.

[Guest]

I can't wait to see where this goes. It's well written and easy to read. Another nice touch is that it forces you to imagine and picture the fantasy but it let's room for you to picture things for yourself. 

A very good start 

[Ozymandias]

An intriguing start. I’m looking forward to what comes next!

[NorthernAdonis]

Chapter 2- The Inspiration

Richard's pencil-arms struggled to open the antique door that helped his mystique, but he was eventually able to heave the wooden slab out of the way to reveal the person gave the pounding knock.

 

There, for the very first time, one of the men of his fantasy stood before him. His clothes could barely contain his arms, and Richard could even make out the biceps and triceps despite them being hidden away under fabric. Richard presumed the door that dwarfed him and his friends was deliberately too wide to project status and grandeur, yet this stranger could barely fit through the doorway as he lumbered into the room. However, this stranger was not dressed in the way of the workers of the greenfields, he was dressed in the largest suit (that still strained to contain him) and his hair had been recently styled.

 

 "Uh, hello, I'm Benjamin." The man said as he extended a large hand that seemed far too marked and worn to be of the upper classes. He was clearly trying to mask his masculine growl of a voice.

 

 "Richard, Richard Hartley. Earl of Knaresborough, second son of the Duke of Harrogate." This was the traditional script Richard gave to strangers as he shook their hands; these pros usually impressed his acquaintances, but Benjamin seemed to be rather taken a back when he heard it.

 

 "Wow, I've never met an earl before."

 

 "It's no big deal, my dad still controls all those duties. He doesn't think I'm responsible enough." This thankfully broke the ice between the two.

 

Benjamin had recently moved in nearby with his family and was visiting the neighbours. He never gave a title or a reason why his family could afford such a place, which made Richard more determined to find out. He wanted to know how such a beautiful specimen had made it to such a high point in the social ladder. Even though sex for pleasure was viewed as uncultured here, this was the closest Richard had come to living his dream; even seconds after meeting the man, Richard was fantasizing about falling asleep in the contours of Benjamin's muscles as the pair of powerful arms protected him.

 

Richard insisted on introducing Benjamin to the city, a thinly veiled attempt to extract more information, but this shy beauty was putty in his hands. It seemed so cruel to do this to such a kind man, but he carried what could have been a first and last opportunity to experience an old fantasy.

 

Soon the two found themselves out on the town, when Richard was merely sprawled out on the bed minutes before. It took no time at all for Benjamin to extract strange looks from the passers-by despite the best attempts of this newcomer to blend into this society. His attempts to hide his exquisite body were in vain; he’d attempted to use a slim fit to hide his wide torso, but this just made mountainous pecs strain against the fabric and the biceps to make an appearance with every move of his arm. Richard was beginning to wonder just how much longer this swanky new suit would contain the glorious mass, as it seemed to be losing the fight.

 

The looks were clearly getting to Benjamin, and his new friend noticed soon enough. Richard wanted to push his head deep into the rock-hard muscle, while telling this novice of his true magnificence. But Richard had to settle with taking Benjamin into a quiet café that was close by, and would likely be empty at this hour.

 

Sure enough, ducking into the café proved to be a master stroke; the only other person being the owner who was still shocked, but more used to seeing greenfield muscle. The two seated themselves at a table in the corner, resuming the talk as if no time had passed.

 

“Spill the beans my friend, what brought you to the beating heart of the upper class?” Richard mined for more information. Benjamin only looked away at first, the contrast between his shy nature and the raised trapezius he buried his face into gave a jolt of excitement to his new friend, but eventually he spoke.

 

“I’m Benjamin Houghton, my dad’s Clive Houghton, he started to run a giant greenfield after he invented something that’s popular up there. He had a higher position than the normal workers, a chemistry position. I can’t tell you much about it, other than it helps the blokes out there, the workers, do their job. Anyway, dad wanted to be rich, mum wanted to be a high-up type, so here I am.” Richard was captivated by every word, the deep, gravelly voice of this barely adult man, and the shy charm of his manner held him onto every word.

 

“I see you’re not like most people around here, I noticed your body the second I saw you.” Benjamin recoiled at this while hiding his blushing face, but Richard was quick to be reassuring. “Don’t be embarrassed, I know trends around here call for someone of more my speed. But truth be told, and keep this between us, I’ve always dreamed of meeting someone like you.” These words were difficult to get out, but Richard knew it was time.

 

“You’re just saying that.”

 

“I’m not. Ever since I first drove past the greenfields years ago, I loved the look of those who worked honest labour, with the bodies to show for it.” Richard had written these words in his head countless times, and they convinced Benjamin to look back at him once more. Richard’s heart raced, but it was now or never. “And, truth be told, I find you really, really attractive.” A stunned silence fell over the table, Benjamin looked as if he’d received the best and worst news of his life at once. Richard played the moment back in his head, terrified he’d misjudged, and this opportunity had slipped through his fingers. However, after a moment that seemed like a millennium, Benjamin’s rough, meaty hand grasped Richard, the long fingers enveloping the pencil forearm, and a hearty pull brought the aristocrat from his seat.

 

The two made their way out the café, then through the square like they’d done minutes before, but this time, thoughts of thrill and nerves did hidden somersaults in their heads.

 

Before the two knew it, they’d burst back into Richard’s house on the soaring floor, with all social pretences gone. Benjamin lead Richard over to the bed and sat him down there, before planting a kiss on his friend’s forehead.

 

“That was just to get you in the mood rich-boy, we won’t be getting into the physical stuff, I’m not into that. But, as this’ll be my last chance for I while, I want to give you a free show.” This new confidence and slight arrogance were such turn-ons, and Richard noticed a rising in his crotch. It was unclear what this farm-boy was planning, but the suspense was not unwelcome either.

 

The hulking slab of a man took off his shoes and pulled off his socks, revealing feet so large it was a wonder how there were formal shoes that could accommodate them. Richard already felt a rush, and all the muscles were still concealed. Benjamin threw off his suit jacket and loosened his tie until it slid down to his exposed feet. As the first button few buttons of the white shirt were undone, Richard gazed upon the slit as thin as wire that separated the two pectorals, and a light dusting of chest hair that burgeoned from buttons. So much more was to come.

 

 

 

But, if you wish to know what lay behind Benjamin’s suit, and what came after, you must wait until the next instalment of The Adonis of York, coming in due course.

[Ozymandias]

Nice part 2!