Popular Post TQuintA Posted June 29, 2021 Author Popular Post Share Posted June 29, 2021 Part 1 – The High School Hero Chapter 11 Watching Jonah and my boyfriend shrink down to smaller than I ever saw them before was bizarre. I was used to my hunky boyfriend being large and in charge, but as his chest deflated, his legs diminished, and his arms melted down to 160 pounds, he almost looked gaunt in comparison. I know there are guys naturally this skinny—hell, that was my unaugmented weight, and I thought of that as me somewhat big. Heck, even at Gregg’s height, there are a bunch of guys at 160, but because he was always so shredded, without the muscle there, he actually looked smaller and less than. Weirdly enough, he looked younger. He looked like a relatively normal18-year-old. The voluminous clothing hanging off him didn’t help. His clothes were made for a man—he looked like he was wearing his older brother’s clothes. Or even his father’s. And when he shucked them, I could see just how slender and small Gregg had become. His arms and legs were far thinner than I was used to, and I could see his ribs. It was bizarre and otherworldly. As Jonah shrank, though, his transformation actually highlighted his cuteness. Without all that football mass in his legs and ass, without all that brawn and burl in his chest and arms, he shrank down into a normally proportioned cutie. His freckles accented his innocence, and his curly hair was almost cherubic. His clothes practically fell off him, and unlike the uncanny size of Gregg, he just looked cuter. He was tasty without all that mass—I could see why Dennis asked what he did. He might want to consider a permanent downsize with or without Dennis. Then it hit me. I felt it first in my legs. I suspect that was because I had decided to wear slim-fit, tight jeans. And in pants with legs that narrow, my expanding quads and calves and ass had nowhere to go. After just a second of growing, my pants already looked unbearably tight, and felt even tighter. Then I felt my abs tighten and thicken. Their grooves etched themselves deeply into my abs, and I could see each individual ab as it pressed into the shirt. When my arms and shoulders started to thicken, I knew this shirt wasn’t long for the world. I could feel the sleeves of my short-sleeved T choking off my arms, unable to roll up because my shoulders were rounding out and cutting off the fabric’s retreat. “You should really take that off while you still can,” Jonah said. “I already thought of that,” Gregg said. “This is some old clothes of Gerry’s that he doesn’t wear much anymore. He’ll be naked soon enough.” Even being that unmuscular couldn’t rob Gregg of his confidence. True enough, as my chest started perching outwards, filling every last gap and space in my shirt, and as my lats spread out, stretching the shirt wider than it should be stretch, a tear formed right down the middle. I flexed my pecs, and they bulged fuller and heavier, more striated with muscular mass. I spread my lats like eagle’s wings, and they kept spreading wider and wider, suddenly tearing down the back of my shirt. My arms, not to be left out of the fun, had so filled the sleeves, that just bending my arm slightly to get more comfortable, my left bicep surged into a mountain tall enough to shred the sleeve. I flexed the right one, and this mountain, having had more time to grow, exploded the sleeve in a loud rend. My top half didn’t stop growing, but the unbearable constriction of my lower half drew my attention back down to it. My waist was small and tight, but it had thickened with abs, so even the waist of the jeans was too tight. My pants looked like an overstuffed couch. And yet, the denim did not give. So, I squatted as low I as I could go. I was only halfway to the floor when my prodigious ass blew out the rear seam, and then expanded outwards, tearing the hole larger as it grew. I flexed each of my quads, and they expanded into massive columns of utter power, and they were growing bigger by the second. At that, the right leg burst open, tearing down the side like a broken zipper. The left followed soon after, splitting apart all at once. And they just kept growing. I looked down, and my pecs jutted so far outwards that they were a part of my view. My shoulders were visible in my peripheral vision, and my traps had swollen, limiting some of my neck’s movement. I was enormous. “I’d say you’ve got about 10 pounds left to grow,” Gregg said. Jonah’s penis stood up and saluted that proclamation. “Ten more pounds?” I’d forgotten what it was like to be so huge. I’d already hulked out of my clothes, and I felt massive and heavy. My arms were hanging out at angles; my chest was getting in the way of my arms somehow. My back was too. My legs were getting in the way of each other. Every inch of my body fought for space as I heaved with heavy mass. And still I grew. The last ten pounds inflated my already muscle-bloated body as large as I’d been in my life. I felt enormous. When my muscles stopped expanding, I tore the last remaining shreds of clothing off my body. I flexed my arm, and as it exploded into a sheer avalanche of pure muscle, Gregg and Jonah came over, holding their tiny arms next to mine. They were such weaklings now. I flexed my chest, and Jonah could barely get their arms all the way around my mass. Then, I just stood there, heaving. I was 250 pounds, nearly 100 pounds more than my emaciated boyfriend. I don’t know if it was a shared psychic connection or a knowing look I gave, but Jonah said, “Do you think Xavier could…?” Before Jonah could finish the question, Gregg was on my phone. “Hey, Xavi. Did Buddy tell you about the shed? Do you think you could give us 25 more pounds? There’s a…” Clearly, Xavier had interrupted Gregg. “How much?” A pause. “More than fair.” He then handed me the phone, whispering, “This is definitely worth 100 bucks.” I put the phone to my ear, and Xavier said, “You can borrow 20 pounds. Be quick. I expect them back in three hours.” “And fifteen more from me,” Gregg said. The 40 pounds hit me like a boulder all at once. With my body already swollen to the largest I’d ever been, I was momentarily worried those last pounds would distort me beyond human dimensions, but then I started growing and was deeply in my own body. My chest thickened even more, my arms expanded, my legs burgeoned, and I was a massive hulk of gorgeous muscle. I felt unstoppably powerful. Adding to the thrill was the fact that I was twice the size of my boyfriend. Gregg threw his arms around my chest. He could just touch his fingertips together if he stretched to his absolute max, but barely. Jonah couldn’t even do that. Jonah couldn’t reach around me—I was too thick. I lifted Jonah with my left hand and Gregg with my right. I started pumping them up and down, lifting one and lowering the other. I built up a rhythm, and for five minutes, neither one of them touched the floor. I could feel their weight, but it was nothing I couldn’t handle. When I put them back down, I could see that Jonah was leaking. “Since this is your first time with a real man,” Gregg cooed, “I think you should get first ride.” I took Jonah’s hand and slid it down my chest, showing him how deep the chasm between it was, letting him feel all the fibers, sinews, and veins forced to the surface by my heaving flesh. Of his own accord, his other hand began stroking my abs, fingering the canals between the muscles, and stroking my Adonis belt greedily. “So, what’s your pleasure?” “Fuck me,” he said, almost involuntarily. “You want me on top, then?” He nodded wordlessly. Gregg prepped him—opened him up, lubed him up good—he even put the condom on my dick. The whole time, I flexed one muscle after another, and Jonah could not take his eyes off me. When he was ready, I laid him down on Gregg’s carpeted floor and balanced myself above him. His dick twitched—a full seven inches. I was at my fully hard six inches, though it did look smaller surrounded by all my mass. As I started to ease into him, I said, “You’re about to be fucked by a man more than 100 pounds more massive than you.” “More than?” he said, his breath ragged. Jonah hadn’t done the math. Gregg got close to Jonah’s ear. “120. He’s a mountain.” Jonah whimpered in pleasure. “Please fuck me now.” “Thanks,” I said, smiling. Gregg egged us on. “Now no other man you’re with will ever measure up. All of your future lovers will pale in comparison.” As Jonah twitched in anticipation, I asked, “Are you ready?” He nodded. I slipped in, and he let out a moan of pleasure. I was balancing myself above Jonah on my arms, using my shoulders and hips to piston in and out. I wasn’t putting any of my weight on him—yet—but Jonah was too busy kissing every inch of my arm he could get his lips on. With all my mass, my forearms were thicker than his biceps. I set to work thrusting in and out, adding more and more of my weight on top of him as I went. Jonah was in heaven. Not to be left out, Gregg sidled up behind me, and slipped himself inside me. We’d been together so many times now that I barely needed any prep work. At least, that’s what we thought until Gregg shouted, “Fuck, Gerry. You’re so tight.” I flexed my ass muscles, squeezing Gregg’s dick, and forcing mine further into Jonah. Both men moaned. “I’m not tight. Just huge.” Gregg began fucking me as I powered into Jonah. Gregg was kissing my immense neck and traps as he thrust, and soon, I could tell that both men were ready to go. I was nowhere near ready, but I decided to finish them both off simultaneously with another well-timed squeeze. Gregg shot hot cum deep inside me, and Jonah shot all over himself. As Jonah was moaning, Gregg got off my back and beckoned me to stand up. “You haven’t had your turn, big man,” he said. With that, he was on his knees, sucking my dick thoroughly and deeply. He looked up at me, and over the twin peaks of my chest. If I leaned forward, I could just barely see his diminutive stature outclassed, outsized, and outmanned by my massiveness. Jonah, newly recovered from his orgasmic bliss, got to his feet and began suckling at my nipple. My pec was the size of his head, but he sucked with fervor, filling my nipple with electric sensation and pleasure with his tongue. He began twisting my other nipple with his fingers, caressing my pec, expertly flicking and teasing my nipple with his fingers. Taking his mouth off my nipple, he said, “I know how to play with tits, and you’ve got the biggest set I’ve ever seen.” He then dove back onto my nipple with the same fervor. Appreciatively, I flexed my pecs to their full swollen mass, giving Jonah a bigger mouthful. With Jonah’s attention to my nipples and Gregg’s dedicated cock sucking, it was less than a minute until I came. Of course, we were 18, and we had a ticking clock over our heads, so I was almost immediately ready to go for round two. This time, I fucked Gregg while standing, his legs wrapped around my waist, his face buried in my pecs as far as they could go. Jonah, newly courageous, rimmed me out. The next round, I fucked Gregg midair while he blew Jonah, whose legs were wrapped around my neck, his ass in my face (so, of course, I returned the favor of a rim job). That third round was some Cirque du Soleil choreography, and as I came, even my massive body was tired from holding all three of us up for so long. For round four, we were all on the floor, in a pile, just feeling my muscles, rubbing each other’s bodies, holding and sucking dicks—it was a disorganized mess of a puddle, but it was hot. After round four, we had less than ten minutes left on the clock, so Gregg showed me a few poses, and then filmed me on my phone while I repeated them. I felt my muscles bulge and flex into shapes and sizes I didn’t know they were capable, but with every flex, my body fought for space against my body. The human frame was not intended to be this massive, but mine was. I felt immense and powerful, heavy and solid and hard. It was intoxicating. But like that, our time was up. I called Xavier—since I knew he’d be more impatient—and he got Buddy on speaker. I returned everyone’s muscles to them, and Jonah and Gregg, now larger than me and re-muscled like they should be, all spooned—this time with Gregg in the middle. 41 4 Quote Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Charwantstolift Posted June 30, 2021 Share Posted June 30, 2021 This is a great concept and i'm excited to see where you take it. Awesome work! 1 Quote Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
citizenies Posted July 1, 2021 Share Posted July 1, 2021 Thanks for the new chapters, really hot as always. Can't wait for the next installment/s 1 Quote Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Popular Post TQuintA Posted July 2, 2021 Author Popular Post Share Posted July 2, 2021 Part1 – The High School Hero Chapter 12 The next morning, we woke up on the floor, exactly where we’d fallen asleep. Jonah and I got up at about the same time, but Gregg slept in. Leaving him to snore happily, Jonah and I got showered and dressed and started making breakfast. “I have to say one thing,” Jonah announced, “then, we’ll drop it forever.” “Okay. Shoot,” I replied. “Gregg’s right. You’re an excellent kisser.” “And you can tease a pair of pecs like nobody’s business. My nipples are sore, but in a good way.” After that, it was silence while we cooked. We were just about to start eating when Gregg joined us, still wearing the clothes he’d fallen asleep in. “So, who’s up for seconds?” he asked, plopping down at the table. “I haven’t even had firsts,” I said, looking at my scrambled eggs. Gregg tousled my hair. “Funny man. You’re a funny, funny man. Dad won’t be back until tomorrow. We can spend all day fucking at different sizes. I’m interested to know what it’s like if we’re all equally strong and have to fight for dominance,” he said eagerly, grabbing a piece of egg off my plate with his index finger and thumb. “No thanks,” Jonah said. “As soon as I finish this up, I’m gonna head home.” “Why?” Gregg asked. “Don’t get me wrong,” Jonah said. “Last night was great. One for the history books. But my favorite part was when I got to spoon with Gerry.” “Gerry’s more than happy to spoon you after. So am I.” “You don’t get it. I didn’t like that there was a third person there. I wanted to just spoon with Gerry. Just him and me.” “You got designs on my boyfriend?” Gregg cocked an eyebrow and reflexively puffed up his chest. He was mostly playing, but there was an edge of sincerity. And maybe the tiniest tinge of insecurity. “No, I just want more than an acrobatic fucking. I want the tender stuff, too.” I knew Jonah was a big sweetie. “Snooze,” Gregg said, his tone insulting. Then he took some eggs off Jonah’s plate with his index and middle finger. “You can have the whole plate,” Jonah said, sliding it over to him. “I’ll see you guys on Monday.” “I was just joking, Jonah,” Gregg said. His voice had just a touch of regret in it. After Jonah left, Gregg said to me, “Did I not make it clear? Did I not make it clear that it was just sex with him?” “No. You made it very clear. He just wants more than sex.” Gregg shrugged. “Well, at least we got to do that once. I’ve got a million ideas for our next adventure.” It was hard to knock Gregg down. “Oh?” was all I asked. “We go somewhere far outside of town, somewhere no one knows us. We get day passes at a gym, and then, while you’re on the pec deck, I call you on your phone over one of those Bluetooth earpieces and lend you like 50 pounds. You then blow up while doing reps, ripping out of your clothes in front of everyone. Then, you drag me to a bathroom stall and have your way with me.” “I don’t want to grow in front of people,” I said. “Okay. We’ll work up to that.” He took another bite of Jonah’s eggs. “There’s a see-saw in the park on Chestnut St. How about we go on the see-saw, giving muscle back and forth, throwing each other up in the air back and forth. Then, you do pull-ups on those dangling rings while I hang from your waist. And then, we blow each other under the slides.” “Nothing in front of people,” I repeated. “It’s the day before Thanksgiving,” Gregg insisted. “It’ll be deserted. Besides, I know you have nothing against having sex outside.” “That was a cruising spot in the dead of night, not a children’s playground in broad daylight.” Gregg suggested five more sexcapades, each as public as the last. As he was about to suggest another, his phone rang. “When did you go out to get your phone?” I asked. Holding up a finger to shush me, he answered the phone, “Felix, my good man. I’m glad you called back. Yeah. As I thought, Jonah’s out. But my boyfriend’s still here. Excellent. See you in an hour.” “Felix?” “A guy I’ve been flirting with the last few weeks.” “What?” “It was never 100% that Jonah would go through with the three-way, so Felix was the next in line. When I saw that you and Jonah had gotten up and ready without me, I peeked into the kitchen and could feel the vibe. I knew that Jonah was finished. So, I snuck out to my car while you were in the shower and got my phone. Felix will be perfect for our next playmate. He’s never met you, and I told him I weigh 175—same weight as him. I lend you 15 pounds before he gets here, that makes all three of us. He comes over, you two get to know each other. I you hit it off, we go on a few dates, and a week from now, we have another three-way.” After a moment, he added. “It might even inspire you to finally take weightlifting seriously and earn those 15 pounds.” Ignoring that last comment, I responded, “From that phone call, it sounds like you were angling for a four-way before Jonah had even committed to our three-way.” “When it hits four guys, it’s called an orgy.” “You know what I mean.” “Are you saying you’re not interested? C’mon.” Gregg smiled at me sexily and rubbed my leg. “Felix is dying to meet you, and he’s just your type.” “You mean he looks like you.” “You know me so well,” Gregg said, sending a text message to Felix. The whole morning, there was a knot tightening in my stomach, and that last remark made the knot snap. “Are you bored with me?” I asked point blank. “What do you mean?” “It feels like you’re not happy with me. You constantly pester me to lift so I get bigger. We haven’t had sex without making a deposit in over a month. You practically dragooned Jonah into a three-way he was not ready for, and as soon as he’s out the door, you’re bringing in a back-up rather than spend the day with me.” “This is sex,” Gregg said. “Sex is supposed to be adventurous and daring and intrepid. If you don’t try new things in your teens, you’ll grow stagnant before you can legally drink. I’m just trying to add some tricks to our repertoire.” “Sex is also supposed to be intimate. Like that night under the stars, or that afternoon this summer when we took each other’s virginities.” “Both times, you were taking a deposit. I see no difference.” “There was a huge difference. And you should be able to see it.” Gregg shrugged. “If you want to just hang out just the two of us and just be boyfriends, that’s cool too.” Gregg texted Felix. “See? No big deal.” But the fissure had already begun. The fissure only grew wider as months passed. Gregg stared spending more time with his fuckbuddies than he did with me. We hung out with each other, sure, but mostly at school. I saw more of Jonah than I saw of Gregg. We still saw each other; we were still dating. Gregg and I would get together for a date or sex about once a week. But, by Valentine’s Day, it felt like I had to schedule time to see my own boyfriend. He also kept pressuring me to share the video of me at 290 pounds with him. I’d had the good fortune to have that filmed on my phone, not his. I didn’t want anyone else to see that—it would raise too many questions. At least half a dozen times, I caught Gregg trying to copy it off my phone, and at least twice every time we hung out, he asked if he could have a copy. And we still had sex, but I’d forgotten what sex felt like at less than 200 pounds. Every time I tried to get us to just have sex as us, and every time, he talked me out of it. And the petitions to find our new third didn’t end at Felix. After Felix, there was Emmett. After Emmett, there was Wallace. After Wallace, there was Casey. When spring break rolled around, Gregg came over to my house to ask if I wanted to go to a theme park with him so I could meet his newest threesome candidate. I pulled Gregg inside my bedroom and closed the door. “We should break up,” I said flatly. “What the fuck?” he said. “Where did this come from?” “We should have broken up at Thanksgiving,” I said. That panicked him. Not because he disagreed, but because he could hear the note of truth. So, he changed tactics. “I’ll stop seeing other guys,” he said. Was that desperation in his voice? I’d never heard Gregg sound like this. “It’ll be just you and me. Okay?” “I’m not asking you to do that.” In a flash, Gregg changed from panicked to angry and confrontational. He circled around me like a wild animal. “You don’t think you are, but you are. Threaten me with a break-up, and then give me the ultimatum. It’s pathetic and weak, Gerry.” His voice struck a cruel chord. He must have heard it too because he immediately panicked again, following it with, “Sorry, I didn’t mean that. I’ll do what it takes to make you happy. Just name it.” “Gregg, I haven’t been happy for a while.” I didn’t know you could see someone’s heart break, but from the look on Gregg’s face, I could tell I’d broken his. “Are you saying you don’t love me anymore?” “I only stayed this long because I do love you.” “If you love me, don’t break up with me.” “We want different things. And that’s okay.” “I said I’ll stop seeing other guys.” “You’d only grow to resent me. My mind’s made up, Gregg. Sorry.” With that, I left him in my bedroom and drove over to Jonah’s where I spent the next three hours crying. 29 1 Quote Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Popular Post TQuintA Posted July 2, 2021 Author Popular Post Share Posted July 2, 2021 Part 1 – The High School Hero Chapter 13 I didn’t do much dating the last three months of my senior year. I was busy with class, work, friends, and getting ready for college in the fall. I’d gotten into Crocker, my top choice school—they even gave me a writing scholarship. I still saw Gregg around. He was hard to miss. Especially since he started working out even harder so he’d be big enough for college ball. He must have put on fifteen pounds those last three months. For my part, I maintained my 160 pounds, but I was less and less enthusiastic about it. I might not have been doing much dating, but Gregg certainly was. He seemed to have a different guy on his arm every other day. Jonah once commented, “I didn’t know there were that many gay guys at our school.” “There aren’t,” I responded. “He imports them.” Jonah and I ended up going to prom together as friends, and sure enough, Gregg won prom king. He looked quite a sight in his tight white dress shirt with his cinched in cummerbund. The jacket to his rented tuxedo had been so tight he had to take it off or risk tearing it. Jonah whispered to me, “You know, if you’d kept dating him, you would’ve been prom queen.” Internally, I reeled—Jonah was right. Thankfully, I dodged that bullet. I may be a queen, but I’m no prom queen. Gregg’s date was some twink he probably met earlier that day. And I won’t lie, it hurt seeing Gregg have a spotlight dance with a redhead fop in a skin-tight tux that revealed just how small he is. But it mellowed into a good hurt. A happy sad. Then, it felt like I blinked and it was graduation. Much to my chagrin, the faculty chose me as class speaker. I tried to back out of it, but they wouldn’t let me. I gave a maudlin speech about the importance of friendship practically cribbed from My Little Pony, and my mom and dad dutifully applauded. It must have been better than I thought it was because everyone told me they liked it. Although, four separate people told me how scummy Gregg was for dumping me. It didn’t matter how many times I’d told people I’d dumped Gregg; the version that stuck was he dumped me. That evening, while I was getting ready for bed, Gregg came to my house. “Can I come in?” he asked. “Sure,” I nodded. Once we were in my bedroom, Gregg physically grew tense. After a few seconds of radioactive silence, I had to say something. “Congrats, Gregg,” I said enthusiastically, nodding politely, trying to ease him. “We graduated!” “Congrats, Mr. Class Speaker,” he replied. “You’re looking big,” I said, not really having anything compelling to talk to him about. “Yeah,” he flexed, smiling. “I’m up to 205, and I’ve got three months to get even bigger.” “Glad to hear it.” Gregg hesitated, took a big breath, and then blurted, “I’m sorry. This might be the last time we see each other, and I have to say I’m sorry.” “For what?” “For being a shit boyfriend at the end.” He clenched his eyes tight and said, “I shouldn’t have treated you like that. You were sweet, and I loved you, and I treated you like a sex doll.” “I wouldn’t put it that way.” Gregg crashed on my bed and invited me to sit next to him. “I would. Most of the guys on the team, most of my friends, lost their virginity at 15 or 16. We’re the hottest guys in the school; it’s not hard to get laid. Part of me felt like, if I’d been straight, I probably would’ve lost my virginity at 14 and been a stud all four years of high school. Then, I fell in love with the first guy I had sex with. I fell hard. I thought I was going to be this macho sex god, and I found myself in cliché puppy love. Part of me felt like I got cheated out of being the promiscuous teenager that all my friends got to be. I resented it. So, I took it out on you.” “We’re very self-aware.” “It took me months to get here. My therapist says I’m scared of love because my parents’ marriage blew up in front of me.” That was surprising. “Therapist?” “You broke my heart so hard that I’ve been in therapy for almost four months.” “I’m sorry?” I didn’t know if an apology was appropriate. He shrugged. “I wasn’t sleeping. I wasn’t eating. It was affecting my training.” That explained the decision to try therapy. Then, he added, with incredible speed, “Was I a good boyfriend? At least at the beginning?” “I stayed way longer than I should have because you were a good boyfriend at first.” “Okay. Thanks.” He exhaled, obviously relieved. “I’m glad I didn’t completely blow it.” Then, he smiled. “I have a gift for you, if you want it.” He rose from the bed. “Sure,” I said, joining him. He smiled. “You can borrow ten pounds.” It had been so long since I’d taken a deposit from anyone that the growing mass on my body felt like the first time. I looked down at my 170-pound frame. Proud pecs that showed through the shirt, decently thick arms, solid core, nice legs. It did look good on me. “What’s this?” “This way, it’s like I’m a piece of you.” “It’s sweet in a twisted way, but you can…” Gregg stopped me from finishing the sentence with a kiss. I kissed him hard and long and deeply. “God, you’re a good kisser,” Gregg said. “But don’t give them back. Please. Just keep borrowing them.” “What if I don’t want them?” “Don’t you?” Gregg pointed to my dick, which had chosen this moment to chub up. “Okay, so I like them. But don’t you need them for training?” “I’ll build ‘em back in no time.” Gregg flexed his left bicep. “I just like thinking that we’re together in some way, even if we’re not actually together.” “Thanks, Gregg.” “Have an awesome summer. You’re going to kick ass in college.” He had no idea how right he was. END OF PART 1 41 3 Quote Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
citizenies Posted July 2, 2021 Share Posted July 2, 2021 Aww that rollercoaster at the end, will be waiting for part 2. Again thanks for making such a masterpiece 5 Quote Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
TQuintA Posted July 7, 2021 Author Share Posted July 7, 2021 Part 2 – The College Con-Artist Chapter 1 A whole summer with Gregg’s ten pounds of muscle on deposit. Before my graduation night present, the longest I’d kept a deposit was a few hours. I’d never done long-term storage before. Long-term storage is an entirely different experience. All of my clothes fit me differently, tighter, especially around the shoulders and chest. I began turning a few heads, especially at work in my uniform. Sadly, most of the heads I turned were women’s. My boss did give me more hours, though. I thought, in a matter of time, I would adjust to the ten pounds—I’d been way bigger than 170 before—but this was entirely different. It wasn’t just sex. I was brushing my teeth with ten extra pounds of muscle, mowing the lawn with ten extra pounds of muscle, making oatmeal with ten extra pounds of muscle. And I was not adjusting. Feeling Gregg’s tightly-coiled muscle in me all the time, my body began to feel slightly off. “Off” is the wrong word. I felt fizzy. It felt like there was carbonation in me, energizing me, electrifying me. It wasn’t unpleasant, but it wasn’t enjoyable. It was distracting. I’d find myself occasionally feeling my muscles, rubbing them, just trying to get them to stop fizzing. I’d wake up in the middle of the night from the fizzing. I’d get distracted from everyday tasks by the fizzing—even things as simple as pouring a glass of water. After two weeks of fizzing, I wanted the muscles gone. Sure, they looked great on me, but I was sick of fizzing. I tried just announcing to the world that Gregg could have his muscles back, but I knew it wouldn’t work. The same intuitive way I knew that I could borrow muscles, I knew Gregg had to hear me to get them back. And the fizzing continued. Whenever I took a moment to relax, I’ start rubbing my muscles. I’d wake up at least three times every night from the fizzing. The sensation was even interrupting me at work to the point I was asking customers to repeat themselves three times. I tried calling Gregg, but he’d gotten a new cell phone number, and his dad assured me that his son was incredibly busy prepping for college football and had no time for the scoundrel who’d broken his heart. And the fizzing continued, drawing my attention to my muscles when I should have been doing things like walking or driving. I tried giving the muscles to Jonah, who was excited to try, but I knew it would be a failure before we even started. And the fizzing continued, growing so intense that it took me three times as long to fall asleep, and I was waking up multiple times a night. With new resolve, I decided to lose the muscles—the hard way, if I had to. I stopped working out; in fact, I became a lazy couch potato. I stopped eating enough to sustain my size; in fact, I practically went on a starvation diet. The results didn’t surprise me—on some level I knew what they’d be before I did my experiment. I lost five pounds in two weeks—but just of fat and water weight. I didn’t lose one molecule of muscle. As I saw myself become more shredded, that part of me that knew the rules of my powers was laughing at my efforts. I couldn’t lose Gregg’s muscles. Of course, I couldn’t. They weren’t mine; they were his. I was just borrowing them. I physically could not lose those muscles. And Gregg’s muscles were clinging to my muscles. The ten pounds I’d put on before senior year were going to stick to my bones because Gregg’s muscles were holding them hostage. I’d starve to death before I lost those 20 pounds. And the fizzing continued. So, I consulted the part of me that somehow just knew the rules. And it shared the solution with me: use the muscles. The muscles Gregg lent me wanted to be used and built up. They wanted me to match their mass with new mass of my own. Jonah and I went back to the gym, and I began lifting big and eating big like I seriously meant it. Spurred on by Gregg’s muscles, I built muscle faster than I should have. We went to the gym six days a week, and worked out at least three hours a day—no matter if I’d just worked a double shift at the deli. I had never worked my muscles so hard or so thoroughly in my life. Over the course of two weeks, I grew bigger, heavier, denser. And all at a lightning-fast pace that shouldn’t have been possible. The more muscle I put on my frame, the quieter the fizzing became. By the time I was tipping the scale at 180 pounds, the fizzing stopped. My chest was thick, my arms were firm and round, my shoulders were stretching broad, my quads were thick, and I had a six-pack. I looked like I’d been lifting weights for years. I’d outgrown all of my clothes. My boss at the deli even called me into her office to give me a larger uniform because she was afraid I was going to bust out of the one I had. She only let it go on so long, she joked, because unhappy housewives were coming in more frequently to ogle the buff young clerk whose arms threatened to explode the sleeves every time he used the slicer. We’d never sold more cold cuts. She was right, though, that I needed bigger clothes. Almost nothing I owned fit me, and that which did stretched and pulled and showed of all of my beef. Thankfully, I have an August birthday, so I got all my friends and relatives to buy me new clothes and wouldn’t have to go to college naked. I thought when the fizzing ended, that would be it, but no. I had to maintain the muscles, too. The ten or so pounds I’d packed on to stop the fizzing—those were just normal muscles. Those I could lose. If I didn’t maintain a muscular frame of at least 180 pounds, the fizzing would return to drive me mad again. Despite the fact that I didn’t want to arrange my life around a gym schedule, thanks to Gregg’s graduation gift, I was going to have to. Guess I was going to get familiar with my college’s gym. As far as consequences go, I wasn’t too upset about this one. I felt seriously big and heavy, and I could stare at my own physique for hours. I was also big enough to turn the heads of the guys at the gym. I never acted on any of the advances, but it was a huge ego-boost to know that if I wanted to become a total sex-fiend, I’d have a large supply of eager partners. By this point, though, summer was essentially over, so I packed, said goodbye to my folks, and headed off to school. Crocker University was a ritzy private school—a tiny school in coastal California. It was one of those places where everyone came from old money—the professors and students alike. I wasn’t drawn to the exclusive, rarified atmosphere; I was drawn to their writing degree. They had the best, most exciting writing program I had ever seen. I’d applied as a longshot, but then I got in, full scholarship. They were impressed by my academic performance, but they were moved by my working class upbringing. Apparently, noblesse oblige was alive and well. I was dorming in Hinde Hall, the hall all scholarship students were required to live in. Most of Hinde Hall was people who could afford the school, but third floor south was where they kept the poverty cases—all 28 of us in a school of 4,000 (seven from each year). One excellent perk of such a fancy school was that everyone got their own room in the dorms, no roommates. Even the poor scholarship kids. Sure, our rooms were smaller than in the other dorms, but we all had our own rooms. By the end of the second day there, I was entirely moved in, knew where all of my classes were, and had secured a part-time job at the cafeteria to pay for books, supplies, and spending money. I quickly learned just how elite (elitist?) the school was. The students’ behavior was something I didn’t really understand. When I’d introduce myself to someone new, they’d laugh when I said “Gerald Vaughn.” Apparently, at Crocker, everyone only goes by their last name. Only made that mistake five times. Then, after learning my last name, the next question everyone asked me was who my people were. I would never give a satisfactory answer. As the first few weeks passed, I fell into a pattern. I worked four days a week, I went to the gym three days a week, and I had classes five days a week. It was a tight schedule, but I could do it. The classes were challenging, but my professors were excellent, and I wanted to learn everything they had to teach. I even tried to be social at first. I did try. I was confident, witty, and buff—it should have been easy to make friends. But my brand new clothes marked me out as different. I thought my button-downs and dress pants were classy, and my jeans and Henleys were comfy-chic. I was wrong. There was some sort of unofficial dress code. All the guys had shoes more expensive than my entire new wardrobe; all the women had purses more expensive than my car. All the guys wore monochromatic polo shirts and tan khakis; all the women wore tight long-sleeve blouses and mid-thigh skirts—and always in pale pastels. The guys were nice to me at first—with my new bulky physique, they initially saw me as a potential bro, even if, by their standards, I was ludicrously dressed. Wardrobe they could fix; I had all the other self-evident qualifications. Then they’d learn I came from a lower-class family. Oh. Then they’d learn I was a scholarship student. Oh. Then they’d learn that I had a part-time job. Oh. I don’t know which they found most offensive, but by the time they learned all three of these details, they treated me like warm garbage. Especially when I was at work. They’d intentionally change their orders as I was working on them, they’d ask me to put on a second pair of gloves because they were worried I was dirty, and they’d say things that technically weren’t insults (like calling me “helpful”—emphasis on the help) that were clearly meant to antagonize. The girls were nicer for a little bit longer. But when I didn’t respond to their flirting and when I couldn’t buy them things, they lost their interest in me too. They weren’t openly hostile like the guys were, but they weren’t friendly either. The girls played more social games: ignoring me when I said hello or asked them something in class, talking about me behind my back while I was still in earshot, and icing me out of group projects in class. This was all in the first month of class. I never even had a chance to come out to them before they rejected me, so I was ostensibly back in the closet. Then again, everyone was. Surely, in a college of 4,000 students, there had to be at least a hundred gay, bi, and otherwise queer people, statistically speaking. But none of them were out. The only openly gay person I met my entire four years at Crocker lived in third floor south of Hinde Hall. Flynn and I actually met at the gym. He saw me doing bench presses alone and just strode up to me, asking if I needed a spot. “Thanks,” I said. “I could really use the help.” Then I looked up at him. He was a broad, hairy fuck. He looked like a solid rectangle of sinewy muscle from head to foot. Blocky head with a wide nose and wide jaw, wide neck, wide shoulders. He was thick too: thick muscular torso, thick muscular legs. Black hair curled off him like tendrils. I couldn’t help but stare at him. Overtly, perhaps with wide eyes and a leering grin. “Well, well, well,” he purred, his face turning into a smirk. He looked me up and down with eyes the color of a chocolate milkshake. “I guess I’m not the only gay rooster on this chicken farm.” I couldn’t help but laugh. “Really? Gay rooster?” “I won’t say ‘cock’ before I know your name.” “Guess I was being obvious,” I admitted. “Just shy of drooling,” he confirmed. “Gerald Vaughn,” I said, standing up and offering my hand. “Flynn,” he responded. “And I went by my last name before I was a student at this country club.” He shook my hand tightly. The workout was one of the most erotic experiences of my young life. Flynn kept showing off—he could lift more than me in whatever he lifted. He would flex his ass as he sauntered to the next exercise. He’d lift the tail of his shirt to wipe the sweat off his face, revealing the faintest of four packs on his solid, solid torso. He was clearly giving me a show. So, I returned the favor, flexing my pumped pecs, eventually taking off my shirt to show off my red, sweaty, swollen beauties and six pack. We finished our workouts together, then went to the juice bar to chat. When he realized I was a scholarship student like him, he asked, “How come I haven’t seen you around third floor south?” “When I’m not at work, I’m at the library studying, the writing lab, or here.” “Let me guess, with soulful brown eyes like that, you’re a poet.” He laid it on thick. “Novelist. I’m hoping to break into YA fiction.” “And you came to Crocker?” He was mocking me. “They have the best writing program in the country. Just because YA is for teenagers doesn’t mean it has to be terribly written.” “I suppose not,” he said, inching closer, our knees touching. “What are your plans for Crocker?” I asked, trying to keep it light. “Getting a business degree. Men with Crocker business degrees run this country.” “Going to be a captain of industry?” “I’m going to be filthy rich.” “What’s your scholarship for?” I asked. He shook his head in faux-disapproval. “Way to deflate a guy’s ego, Vaughn. Reminding me I’m currently poor.” He sighed, then continued. “Wrestling. The only good sports team this school has is wrestling, and they are paying for my degree if I uphold that winning tradition.” What is it with me falling for the jocks? Flynn leaned in so he could whisper in my ear. I could feel his stubble rub up against my cheek. “Let’s skip all this small talk and go fuck.” I was instantly hard and leaking. “Please, let’s,” I said, and then the alarm went off on my phone. “Fuck!” I said, a bit too loudly. “I have a shift starting in half an hour. That’s just enough time to shower, change, and run there.” “Can you blow it off?” he asked, emphasizing the word “blow.” “Not if I want to keep my job,” I answered. “But, oh, are you tempting.” “I respect a working man,” he said. I handed him my phone. “Give me your number. Rain check.” He programmed in his number, handed me back my phone, and said, “Don’t leave me waiting.” 22 1 1 Quote Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
TQuintA Posted July 7, 2021 Author Share Posted July 7, 2021 Part 2 – The College Con-Artist Chapter 2 Flynn and I started texting each other, and quickly learned how conflicting our schedules were. We decided to sync our workout schedules as soon as possible. In the meantime, we texted each other a dozen times a day. We swapped photos (some artsy, some silly, some flirty). And we struck up a genuine conversation. We had the exact same taste in music, we both loved bad reality dating shows, and we both steered clear of social media. And we learned a lot about each other. He learned about my geeky leanings and past as a fanfic author. I learned that he wasn’t just working class; he came from a poor family—Dickensian poor. He asked for my cafeteria schedule, planning to visit me during my hours. I learned that his scholarship came with a weekly stipend so he didn’t need a part-time job. We also learned where we were different. He didn’t get most of my literature jokes, we had diametrically opposed views on spicy food, and he is a master of gifs (a language I hadn’t really mastered yet). Mostly, it was so refreshing just talking to him so we could be gay. We both refused to be cowed by the bigots at Crocker. Spurred on by Flynn, I tried to clue these idiots in to my gayness, and Flynn found relief in flaunting just how gay he was. And he always seemed to one-up me. Instead of just having my name on my cafeteria nametag, I also put a rainbow sticker on it. Instead of just putting his name on his wrestling locker, he labeled it “The Gay Guy.” I went to class in a low-cut pink t-shirt that showed off my pec cleavage, daring everyone to look. Flynn showed up to wrestling practice in a mesh shirt and short shorts. I put up a rainbow flag on the outside of my dorm room door. He put a nude fireman calendar on his. Somehow, the rest of the student body still hadn’t picked up I was gay. I gave up trying to clue them in. After a week of texting, Flynn and I decided it was time to meet up again in person. As luck would have it, we both had Friday evening off. I had a shift at the cafeteria than ended at 7, so I came back to third floor south and tried to sneak in a quick shower before Flynn was to show up at 7:30. I came back to my room from the shower, my body hot, wet, and steaming, a towel wrapped haphazardly around my waist. My six-pack was shown to full relief, and my sparse (but increasing) chest hair looked dark and full because it was wet. When I got to my room, I was surprised to find Flynn sitting on my bed. I could smell his Aramis from the doorway, and he hadn’t shaved since this morning, so he had a sexy five o’clock shadow going. He was dressed in a tight-fitting white Henley—if it was a size or two smaller, it could’ve come right from my closet. His pecs pressed into his shirt so firmly that I could see his chest hair peak through. He was also wearing tight black jeans that hugged his massive quads and a leather jacket that screamed “hot date.” He was edible. Flynn, for his part, was also enjoying his view. “Fuck me,” he said, eyeing me up and down. “That can be arranged,” I responded. “You should only ever wear a towel.” I closed the door behind me, locked it, and said, “I could wear less,” and dropped the towel. Flynn smiled broadly, and leaned back in my bed. “I have been waiting for this all week.” I crawled on top of him, grabbed his face, and began kissing him passionately. My tongue danced in his mouth, and our lips caressed each other sweetly. A few seconds into our kiss, Flynn pushed me away. “Fuck. No. Stop. We’ve got to stop.” I sat up, kneeling over him. I was completely naked; he was fully clothed. “Did I do something wrong?” “No. That was the absolute best kiss I’ve ever had in my life.” I leaned back down to start kissing him again, saying, “Then, what’s the problem?” He extricated himself from underneath me and backed away towards my door. “I really like you. You’re hot, you’re buff, you’re smart, you’re ambitious, you’re courageous, you’re hardworking. And you’re an amazing kisser.” “I really like you too. Why have we stopped?” “You’re boyfriend material.” “Okay. Thanks. That doesn’t…” He interrupted me, and blurted out, rapid-fire, “I don’t want a boyfriend. Not now. I don’t want a boyfriend.” Then, he slowed down, adding, “I thought this was going to be a quick fuck. Maybe a weekend of fucking if you were good. And then I’d ghost you for the next four years.” “All those plans we made—to work out together, for you to visit me at the cafeteria?” “Lies. Lies I said to keep you on the hook so we could fuck. I didn’t mean a single one of them.” I was confused. “Why confess now?” “I’m not going to screw over a guy like you. I actually like you. We should be friends.” The idea came out of his mouth before he knew what he said, and it struck him as the smartest thought he ever had. “Let’s just be friends.” “If you really like me and want to have sex with me, let’s enjoy each other’s company and see where it goes.” Flynn shook his head. “Nope. I have too many plans to have a boyfriend. And I have some serious ex-boyfriend shit. I’d fuck it up, and I’d fuck it up fast. I may have already fucked it up. I’m sick of fucking guys up. I don’t want to lie to you or lead you on any more than I already have. Maybe, someday if we’re both still single, we can try the boyfriend thing—‘cause you’re exactly what I want in a boyfriend—but let’s wait until I can be a good boyfriend. You deserve someone better than me. And until that day happens, and it will likely never happen, let’s just be friends.” “Okay…” I said, not knowing what else to say. “Great.” Flynn looked physically relieved. “So, friend, can I put on some pants, then?” “Sure,” he laughed. “I’ll wait in the hall if you want some privacy to get dressed.” I walked over to my dresser, saying, “You’ve seen everything already.” Then I pulled out my boxers and a pair of jeans and added, “Wait a second. My door was locked. How did you get into my room?” “You just noticed?” “When I first got back from the shower, I was just so happy to see you that I didn’t bother questioning it.” I zipped up and belted my pants, and pulled out a navy blue button down from my closet. “Now that I’m not going to get laid, my brain can focus on other things. And I have no idea how you got into my room.” “Where I grew up, you couldn’t pass second grade if you couldn’t pick a lock.” I stood there with my shirt on but unbuttoned. “You picked my lock.” “Yep,” he said, nodding. “So, you’ve lied to me for a week, absolutely refuse to date me, and broke into my room.” He mentally went over the list of his transgressions. Out loud, he said, “Yes.” “Was there anything else you were lying to me about?” Flynn scanned his thoughts again intently. “Not that I remember, but probably.” “Huh. You’re completely untrustworthy.” Flynn thought about that. Then, simply and sincerely, he said, “Yes.” “Is there any reason I shouldn’t just kick you out?” Flynn smiled and reported, “Three reasons. I’m an excellent wingman. I’m friends with the bouncer at the best gay bar. And,” he reached into his back pocket, “I have two fake IDs.” “Is one for me?” “Yes.” He handed me my fake ID. “This says my name is Bruno Von.” Flynn scratched his head embarrassedly. “I didn’t learn your first name.” “You misspelled my last name.” “A-U-G-H?” he asked. I nodded. “I flipped a coin,” he admitted. “And Bruno? Do I really look like a Bruno to you?” “The name Bruno is fucking sexy, and I thought this was a one-night thing.” “My name’s Gerald,” I said. “Yeah,” Flynn shook his head disapprovingly. “You’re Vaughn, but I’ll spell it right.” He put his hand on my shoulder. “You’re too hot to be Gerald. I’ll get you a new ID. With your real name. For the next time we go out.” “Let’s get through this time before we plan a next time.” I started to button my shirt, and Flynn stopped me. “Foolish boy,” he said, pulling my shirt open. “If you want them to buy your product, advertise it.” While putting on my shoes, I announced to Flynn, “You know, there’s a voice inside my head telling me not to go to a gay bar that I’ve never been to with a man I don’t trust who broke into my room and admits to lying to me.” “A voice called common sense. But you will not regret tonight." 21 1 Quote Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Popular Post TQuintA Posted July 7, 2021 Author Popular Post Share Posted July 7, 2021 Part 2 – The College Con-Artist Chapter 3 The bar Flynn took me to was ten minutes outside of town. True to his word, surprisingly, he really was friends with the bouncer; we got to cut the whole line. “How do you know that guy?” I asked best I could over the intense bass-filled thrum of the bar. There were a throng of men dancing on the floor, and the place was somehow both dark and flashing. “Best you don’t know.” “Did you sell him drugs or something?” Flynn laughed. “No. I scammed his landlord. Bouncer won’t be paying rent for two years.” “How?” Flynn held his index finger up to his lips. “Magicians don’t reveal their tricks.” “It’s still September,” I protested. “The semester started a month ago. When did you do this?” “A month ago?” Flynn did not sound so sure. He escorted me over to the bar. He looked at me and asked, “What’s your poison?” “What do you recommend?” “Bud Light if you’re a top; vodka cranberry if you’re a bottom.” “And if I’m vers?” Flynn turned to the bartender and ordered, “Two vodka sodas.” The bartender asked to see our IDs and made our drinks. Once we were away from the bartender, I asked, “Where did you get these IDs?” “I made them,” he crowed. “That can’t possibly be true.” Flynn rolled his eyes. “Get to know me, Vaughn. I’m fascinating.” The drink was just fine, the music was predictable, and the atmosphere and decorations were unimpressive. “I’ve been to more impressive bingo halls. Why do you call this the best gay club?” “Patience. Patience. It’s almost shift change.” Shift change? Three minutes passed, and then Flynn put his arm around my shoulder and pointed my head towards the entrance. A group of eight gorgeous men, all covered in sweat and glitter, came into the bar. “This is the closest gay bar to the strip club down the street. The strippers—the gay ones—come here to dance after their shifts end.” “Why didn’t we just go to the strip club?” “Why pay to watch them dance, when we can dance with them for free?” He took me by the hand and dragged me to the center of the dance floor. In the middle of the floor, he asked me, “Which one do you want?” “What do you mean?” “I owe you sex. Which stripper do you want?” “What makes you think you can make that happen?” “We’re fuckin’ hot studs, and they’re here to have a good time. Which one do you want?” I looked them over carefully. I wasn’t picking a boyfriend; I was picking a one night stand, so I let myself be as shallow as I could. One of the strippers had already shucked his shirt, and his pecs were firm and proud, shiny from the sweat and glitter. He had the face of a movie star, with shockingly white-blond hair and gleaming teeth I could see across the floor. Best of all, his arms were sturdy and thick, just the way I like them. As if all of that weren’t enough, he clearly had the biggest bulge in his crotch—outclassing all his coworkers. “That one,” I said, pointing. “Excellent choice. Let’s get him.” The man in question worked his way over the bar, and Flynn dragged me after him. As he pulled me there, he turned to me and said, “Whatever I say, just go with it. Okay? Even when I lie.” We were at the bar before I could respond. “Hello, sexy,” Flynn cooed to the stripper. “Care for a drink?” Our quarry looked him up and down, scanning him. “Sure.” “What’ll you have?” “Surprise me.” The whole conversation was half-shouted to be heard over the music. “You like surprises, huh? Then you’ll love my man Vaughn here.” Flynn pulled me up and put his hand on my chest. “Vaughn, did he say?” I nodded, smiling my most coquettishly. “Nice to meet you Vaughn, I’m Alphonse.” “Nice to meet you too, Alphonse.” Alphonse got closer to me and leaned in. “What’s so surprising about you, mystery man?” the stripper asked. “This,” Flynn said, ripping open my shirt, revealing my chest and abs. “I’ve seen muscles before, sweety. Nothing surprising there.” “Oh, so you don’t recognize him?” “Should I?” “Well, his torso at least. They’ve been using it on all the billboards for Calvin Klein.” He couldn’t possibly believe that lie. “I think I’ve seen some of those,” he said, cozying up to me. He was believing the lie? “So, you’re a model?” He believed it! Just go with it? Is that what Flynn had said? “I don’t like to use the word ‘model.’ It’s so limiting.” “Then what would you call yourself?” “A writer. I just pose for photos to pay the bills.” “A writer, you say?” He actually seemed surprised. “Written anything I might’ve read?” Flynn answered before I could. “Depends on how much poetry you read.” “Absolutely none,” he responded, obviously impressed. Then, he flirtatiously added, “Would you ever write a poem about me?” “Sure,” I said. I cleared my throat, got close to Alphonse’s ear, and recited: “He walks in beauty like the night Of cloudless climes and starry skies; And all that’s best of dark and bright Meet in his aspect and his eyes; Thus mellowed to that tender light Which heaven to gaudy day denies.” Alphonse was utterly gob-smacked. “You did not just make that up off the top of your head.” I was going to confess, but Flynn spoke before I could. “If you really want to be impressed, see what he’ll say about you tomorrow morning.” Alphonse dragged me to the dance floor, and I shot Flynn a huge thank you smile. For the next twenty minutes, Alphonse and I danced close and fast, our bodies grinding into each other. He could not keep his hands off my chest and abs, mistaking them for famous body parts. I couldn’t keep my hands off his ass—it was firm and supple, a serious handful. After twenty minutes, Alphonse shouted at me, “Want to get out of here? I live like two minutes away.” “You never got your drink,” I said. “I really didn’t come here to drink. I came here to find some company for the night.” “Let me tell my friend where I’m going, and then we’ll get out of here.” Alphonse pinched my nipple and said, “Don’t change your mind, Shakespeare.” I found Flynn dancing with one of the other strippers. I tapped him on the shoulder. “I’m going to Alphonse’s place. I’ll see you back at third floor south soon.” “Have fun,” he cheered, grinning lasciviously. I found Alphonse where I left him, and we were soon back at his place. At this point in my life, I’d only had sex with two men: Gregg and Jonah. And I’d had sex with Jonah with Gregg, so it really felt like I’d only ever had sex with one person. And Gregg liked it rough and fast. Sex with Alphonse was entirely different. He started by lighting candles and playing some soft music. Then, he asked if I wanted anything to drink before we started—he didn’t just dive right in. Once I got back to his place, everything that night was slow, in the best way possible. He slowly drew his lips up and down my exposed cock, licking slowly. He teased my nipples; he teased my asshole with his fingers. Everything was sultry. Everything was a suggestion awaiting confirmation. His tongue explored every inch of my body, even the underside of my chin and base of my feet. His fingers caressed every curve and line of my hard muscles. It was entrancing. By the time he finished working me over, he had worked up so much excitement in every nerve in my body, I was practically twitching. He then turned over and invited me to enter him. “Slow down, Shakespeare,” he whispered. “This isn’t a race. I plan on enjoying myself.” So, I went slow. I felt every axon and dendrite in my brain electrify and dazzle as he stimulated my stiff cock. Alphonse moaned and cried out in pleasure as I trepidatiously reached around him and grabbed his cock. I was delighted to find eight glorious inches for me to play with. I matched my slow thrusts with sensuous strokes of his cock. I have no idea how long we were enmeshed like that, but it felt like eons passed—kingdoms rose and fell, and still we fucked. When I finally climaxed, Alphonse somehow still had further to go. So, he rolled over and presented himself. I took as much of his cock in my mouth as I could, tasting the sweat and oil from his body—a taste somehow both new and familiar. I began taunting his head with my tongue, encircling its girth with delicacy and dexterity. That sent him over the edge. We collapsed into each other’s arms, and slept the night away. When I woke up the next morning, he was still in bed with me, just looking at me. “Morning, Shakespeare. You have to go?” I looked at a digital clock on his nightstand. “Unfortunately,” I said honestly. “Another poem before you go?” “Sure,” I said, getting up and getting dressed. I recited: “Admire, exult, despise, laugh, weep for here. There is such matter for all feelings: Man! Thou pendulum betwixt a smile and tear.” He smiled and rolled his face into his pillow. As I went to his door, he said from his bed, “I’m telling all my friends about you.” I caught the bus and took it back to campus, and walked to third floor south. When I got to my room, I opened it, and there was Flynn, asleep in my bed on top of my covers. “Wake up,” I said, batting his foot. He jolted awake, and when he saw the daylight, and then me still dressed in the clothes I wore last night, he smiled. Through a yawn, he said, “I bet the stripper is happy.” “I think so.” “I make a great wingman.” “He thinks I’m a model and a poet.” “Did you write that poem?” I shook my head no. “I fudged some Lord Byron. I should not have gotten away with those lies.” Flynn dismissed me with a hand gesture. “All guys lie to each other, Vaughn. He told you his name was Alphonse. Bet his driver’s license says different.” “Well, my driver’s license says my name is Bruno.” I joined Flynn on the bed. “You reek of sex,” he groaned unhappily, pushing me away from him. “This is my bed, Flynn. You could’ve gone to your own room instead of breaking into mine again.” “Had to make sure we’re friends.” “We’re friends. You’re going to corrupt me horribly, but we’re friends.” “I’m going to corrupt you fantastically,” he corrected. 29 2 Quote Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
zazu Posted July 7, 2021 Share Posted July 7, 2021 Looks like Chapters 2 and 3 are the same? But regardless, this series is fantastic already. I'm not just looking forward to seeing him grow, but seeing HOW he grows and how he feels about it. Which is quite exciting. 2 Quote Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
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