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Oxford Man


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   **actual people represented in this piece gave their consent**


I won a contest. An international contest. I submitted a long-form story, a novelette if you will, I wrote about my experiences with my wonderful Uncle when I was younger. I can admit now I had a crush on him. He was so burly with a constant five o'clock shadow. He was better off than my father and fashionable and friendly and fun. He always had college-aged roommates. He was strong with big square shoulders. I didn't understand then how much I liked his body and wanted to be like him. He was good at every sport and always let me tag along. Anyway, the story I wrote, though embellished, was about our healthy relationship and how he eventually made it alright for me to come out to my family. I miss him still. He passed several years ago. The story of our mentor/uncle, friend/nephew must have touched a memory with one of the readers.


In fact, I was informed of my winning entry just a week or two ago. I stepped into my office and my colleague said there was a 'serious man' in my office. I asked how he seemed 'serious' and she described a 'serious' man. Huge. Muscular. Can't be contained by his blazer. That's what my friend meant and gave me a wink. They knew I loved a big, well-built man and I was about to meet the best specimen I've yet seen, they said.


I wasn't prepared to walk into that office and see shoulders that dwarfed the chair I could see them over. I wasn't ready for the delicious aroma that hit my nose. I couldn't believe when the man stood and turned. Probably not the tallest big man I've ever met. Seen a few linebackers in my day. But one of the most rugged. I could hardly look at his face for the pec shelf he presented. He stood so perfectly aligned he looked to be military. We shook hands, I asked him to sit and I crossed to my desk and began to remove my jacket as it was very warm from the sun streaming in. I offered for him to remove his if he wished. I tossed mine on my desk and pulled up a chair on the same side of the desk as is my habit to even playing fields and found myself seated before him as he peeled his jacket off. 


Firstly, the buttons on the tight, but not obnoxiously so, shirt parted a bit and I could see he had the perfectly dark brown chest hair to match his head. Secondly, I noticed his taught waist had no give whatsoever and was so trim compared to the shoulders built for a yoke. Those round, bulbous stones that first appeared as he tried to pull the jacket down his arms. So much meat everywhere wasn't making the task easy. Just as I was about to offer help, he got it slid down those ham arms which exposed he was wearing a short-sleeved button up. I am quite averse to them normally, but now I understood why they were made. For him. He was busting sleeves like Arnold in 'Kindergarten Cop.' It was terribly sexy. I told him so.


He stopped folding the jacket and looked me in the eyes. He tossed his atop mine which completely buried it in fabric just emphasizing our size difference. He put arms on both sides of my chair arms leaned down and said a simple, direct and somewhat slow thank you. I couldn't get over that smell; so clean and natural, so appealing and maybe slightly aggressive. It was delicious. I also told him that.


I'm bold. I'm no slouch of a man and became comfortable with flirting with any man years ago. Never hit the homer if you don't swing. I smiled. He slipped back into his chair and rather quickly told me his name, the firm he was representing and the reason for his visit. 


I won a contest. My story was to be printed and I was to meet the head of the publishing house in Bermuda next week. All expenses paid trip. I inquired about a plus one and I was told this man I was to meet is very private and wants to meet the author only. I'm not sure why I didn't question this more. That's untrue. I was so attracted to the powerful man before me that I mostly nodded and accepted. Suddenly we were at my desk signing paperwork with him taking photos of my ID and passport. He would lean very close to show me where to sign on the documents. He brushed my arm more than once and when I finished with the last John Hancock, he took the back of my head with his mitt and rubbed my head like I was a good boy.


I went for it. I informed him no man can touch me that casually unless I get to return the favor. He stood back, I stood up. He pushed me away just slightly, like Bo Dixon did to the little nurse in 'Paging Dr. Finger' and slowly tore his shirt open. I just grinned as he revealed the smorgasbord for me and then I proceeded to feast. We took turns topping one another on my desk. It was one of the best mornings of my life. 


But this isn't why I'm writing. I won a contest, and before I knew it, I was in a first class seat headed to Bermuda to claim my prize, I understood.


I wasn't expecting or even hoping for the beastly mountain of muscle that got on the plane just after I sat. How the hell did I miss him in the airport lounge? One of my favorite past times is watching the sexy walking through airports. Men, women, doesn't matter. I find humans attractive and fascinating and desirable. Ingredient number one is confidence. Add a generous helping of fitness, season with exceptional proportions and bake it with kindness and generosity and I go nuts. I would normally have seen him and ogled him until I got on the plane. He must have been hiding behind a desk. Or two desks, rather.


He was young. I mean the kind of youngness and size combo that seems impossible. As he stood there waiting for another passenger to settle and clear the aisle, we caught eyes. He winked at me quite unabashedly and ran his hand through his glorious golden mane. That biceps bunched and grew, but didn't harden. He was so very tan and looked to be hairless. No roid acne on the back of his arm and that baby blue polo was invented for him to wear. As the blocking party sat, I saw it was tucked into crisp white shorts and discovered legs that matched the upper body. Again, so rare for a boy his age. In an instant, I hoped his seat was beside mine.


Alas, he pulled up to my row, but gestured he was across the aisle at the window. I quickly reached across right in front of him as he was putting his bag up and asked the woman on the aisle if she wouldn't mind trading me seats so I could sit by my friend. He looked down at me, grinned and then told her that it would mean the world to him. She agreed politely and he turned and grabbed me and pulled me in for a hug stating aloud for the gawkers just how long it had been and inquiring how I was. 


Soon we were seated and we were taxiing and he invited me to lean across him and look out the window as he could tell I was trying. He put an arm up so I had room to slide over and lean in. I put one hand on the arm rest and he pushed me off it, lifted the rest and replaced my hand on his thigh. I decided to one up him and put the other hand on his chest. It was so full and round. He flexed it hard. I caressed a little. He bounced it and rippled it. I said I hoped I wasn't bothering him and he quickly upped the ante. He told me nothing I could do would bother him as I was so handsome. I found his nipple and as the plane lifted off and we all tilted back I caused him to push himself much deeper into the chair than gravity was as I cranked that nub nearly as hard as I could. He gasped aloud and that pec went from hard to granite. I kept him there for several breaths.


We looked in each other's eyes. He grabbed my face and kissed me quickly. He wasn't trying to cause a scene but was unafraid of being seen. We instinctually pulled away from each other for a minute and removed our hands from the other and talked for a bit to get to know one another. The steward recognized what was going on and in the second hour of the flight asked if we'd like to come to the galley and meet the pilot. We took him up on it and both of us got to service this monster muscle boy. Believe me when I say his cock matched his body. I would explore the muscles he loved to flex while the attendant worked on the ample cock. Then we'd switch. I got the prize of the flight when I deep throated that virile stud until he cried out, grabbed my head to make sure I looked up while he crunched down a most muscular pose worthy of winning an amateur show. God he tasted good.


But airplane stud isn't the reason I'm writing about this experience. As I've said, I won a contest.


My first night in Bermuda was meant to allow me time to acclimate to the time change (several hours from my home in the western United States) and to let me settle into a room and have a good meal. After a meal and a walk on the beach, I found I couldn't sleep and inquired at the desk if there was a gym nearby. I wanted to burn off some energy. It was explained to me the only gym open at this hour was a hardcore bodybuilding gym and they didn't really do day passes. I decided to try anyway as it was very nearby. Upon arrival, a man at the desk offered the same excuses though I pointed out the place was mostly empty. I suggested I wasn't a novice, really, and gave my best quick single biceps which could get me a drink in many bars. He huffed and seemed ready to dismiss me when a voice boomed from behind the wall of the desk telling, George, apparently, to let the 'kid' in.


I stepped a bit to the side to use the mirror on the back wall to help me determine who had said this. There were two men. One on a bench who laid back down to press a seriously laden bar and a big man spotting him. I don't know which had spoken but George waived me through. I tried to pay and he waved me off again. These men held sway for sure. I wanted to thank them and began to move across the floor.


I noticed several things at once. The man on the bench was very big. From this angle looking essentially at his open legs straight on to the spotter, I could see he had a large gut, was fully clothed in sweat pants and some kind of hoodie. It made his high stomach look funny. I was trying to count the plates on the bar but was distracted by the spotter in his stringer seeming to struggle with helping the lift off. That bar looked too big around. More like an axle of a truck or something. Six. Six plates per side. I found I had stopped moving and was watching that bar slowly lower to the being below it and then raise back up with a puff of air and perhaps a medium-high effort? Six plates math was running in my head because you don't see that outside of deadlifts. Well, I don't for sure nor anyone I've met in person. That's nearly 600 pounds being pressed by that behemoth. Wowsers, I thought. Watching him bench that ten times and then rack without throwing it back made me forget my manners. I was openly staring, waiting to see the man that could do this, neglecting to thank him for the entrance to the space and wickedly hoping his coverings would burst open or fall off.


He sat up quickly with authority and happiness. He nodded at me as he spun around and slapped a high ten with his spotter. The friend of the strongman exclaimed aloud that his ten reps was a new PR and called the stud him Michael. My new dream man Michael turned back around and asked me if I was impressed?


After what must have been a full minute, I had absorbed what I saw enough to attempt a response. I gave a dry-mouthed "hell, yeah," and he bellowed a laugh. He urged me forward with a, "come here, boy and see for yourself" and I started forward. The man had to be sixty-five. He was, undoubtedly, the largest and best built tank of a man to every pass through my imagination, let alone my physical space. He has glorious salt and pepper hair, a full beard and was wearing a tent sized hoodie that zipped up the front. The 'gut' I had seen from my previous angle was no gut. It was his God damned chest. That's why ten reps with six plates was handled with aplomb. He was nearly impossible to drink in. He was so tall, too. He put a paw on my shoulder and directed me toward the bench and asked said if I'd like to use it to just help them unload the weights as they were done.


I was trying to drop my bag and stretch a little myself and act casual and was not really looking at him. I joked about his accomplishment with comments like 'I could never lift that much' and 'that bench will never be satisfied with me on it,' when he spun me too him. He looked in my eyes and asked my name. I told him I was a Michael, too.


He unzipped his hoodie and dropped the fabric rather quickly. His manly odor hit me, his incredible and powerful torso was exposed in a tight black tank that showed pecs galore, nipples headed straight south, the chest hair a model would shave, some bodybuilder's legs for arms and hands so big I knew he could crush anything. I vacillated between hoping to be picked up by the neck and snuffed out by this demi-god and falling to my knees in tears at the overwhelming perfection. He spun me back around to the bench and crossed to the other side and started to take off a plate. He wanted me to do the same. He waited for me. I moved like I was caught in quicksand, stammering about something when I slid the plate and it nearly fell out of my hands as it came off the bar. It was a 100 pound plate! They all were. I started to add up the weight he pressed multiple times and looked at him and started to get light-headed. He simply stood there holding the 100 pounds between his might fists with his gargantuan arms semi-flexed and a grin on his face that showed he knew I finally understood. 


I blacked out.


I awoke in my hotel room alone. I had hoped that perfect man, Michael, would have taken me to his place and made me his forever. I had had such a run of late with great, muscular men. I didn't even tell you about the man I met at the dentist a few weeks before this trip. I mean, he was the dentist. A newbie that was looking to buy the practice from my old dentist. He was so toned and seemed so strong though he wasn't that big. Every cord on his arms moved as he gestured and worked. He had the most ready and winning smile, I mean, he's a dentist. He asked me to dinner and we enjoyed each other so very much afterword. He had picked me up and pushed me against the wall and entered me and fucked me good without setting me down. Several minutes. The sweat was beautiful on him. But again, not what this is about. I promise not to repeat that I won a contest again.


This run of stunning human interactions had even had a voluptuous, curvy woman in the mix. The night after meeting the representative that set this in motion I jumped on Tinder and clicked with a beautiful creature. When we met later in the evening she was exactly what she was online. Short, brunette, big breasted with a sloppy mouth and a tight pussy. I had held her against the wall for our fuck fest and man, it was good. Because of my recent successes, I found myself disappointed I hadn't won over the biggest fish in the sea. As I brushed my teeth and prepared for my meeting, I couldn't help but feel quite disappointed that I had seen the mountaintop and not been able to summit.


Surely, you know what is coming next? A good writer would reveal that Michael and I get together. Maybe even that he is the mystery publisher I was scheduled to meet. Not exactly. Let me wrap this up for you.


I took a taxi to the address I was given. A big gate opened to an estate with a drive up a tropical forest hill. I couldn't see the home but once it came into view it was clear it was cared for, big and beautiful but not ostentatious and actually quite welcoming. As I stepped toward the door it opened and it was Michael! He was in yellow linen shirt that offset his skin, his hair and general yumminess. He shook my hand and welcomed me in. We got drinks and went out by the pool in the back. Not at all what I expected as a literary-award winner.


"Michael," the big man said. "You caught my attention not because of your story about your Uncle, but because of your other writings."

"I don't believe I've ever written anything else outside of school," I replied.

"Think harder. Think lesser known writings."

"My journal? I don't know what you're talking about. It'll be a shame if you have me confused with someone else."

"I do not have you confused. I've been reading what you write - and if I may be frank with you - have been jerking off to your stories whenever you contribute to the forum."

He stunned me. "Muscle-growth.org," I asked?

"Yes. And the iteration before that. It's where you first wrote about your Uncle," he proposed.

"Forgive me, Michael. I'm confused. I didn't know anyone knew who I was there."

"I know because I'm quite well-known on the forum which gives me certain...privileges," he smiled as he spoke. "In fact, we've exchanged messages."

"Really," I mused. Suddenly, my entire life of confident flirting came to a head. This was my Olympics. I had one shot at gold and I was going for my most difficult trick.

"You have me at full mast, sir. Your physical presence has me leaking. Your power and beauty have overcome me." I spoke as I rose, set down my drink and removed every stitch of clothing I had on as I continued.

"You are the superior being here. I doubt there is a single man or woman on the planet that wouldn't open up for you. But it isn't what you want, is it? You've selected me. You found and groomed me." I stepped right in front of him and knelt. I took his drink from his hand and started to open his shirt one button at a time.  

I started to enjoy his immense chest which twitched under my hands. I enjoyed the hair and knew this would be the first time of countless encounters or perhaps my last altogether. I knew he wouldn't harm me, but I wasn't sure I was winning.

"You actually sent the lawyer to test me, didn't you," I accused. 

"And the man child on the plane, Michael," he confessed.

"And the dentist," we said together.

"Undo my zipper, love," he stated simply and honestly. I melted. I stopped and looked at him. I knew him and he knew me. We were to be together from now on. I gently took out his hefty member and started working it to an impressive hardness, bobbed on it a little as we remained silent and we looked at each other. I then climbed up his body and straddled him, pulling him by the shirt collar up to my mouth and we enjoyed the kiss of a lifetime. Tender, slow, deep, luxurious and completely satisfying. If nothing else ever happened between us, that kiss and the taste left in my mouth from my perfect man would be enough. 

"What handle do you use on the forum, Michael," I softly asked as we made love with just our mouths.



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On 6/9/2021 at 1:08 AM, michaeldavid said:

For him. He was busting sleeves like Arnold in 'Kindergarten Cop.' It was terribly sexy. I told him so.

I loved your attention to detail in this story, like the quote above. Plus, there's such a culture here now around muscle growth erotica that meta-commentary makes for such a fun addition to the site. Definitely keep writing interesting stuff like this!

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