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About My Dad . . .


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I don’t know any other way to describe this, so I’ll just go ahead and write it.

I’ve known for a while that my dad is ripped.  He’s been working out more the past year and it’s really started to show.  The odd thing is though, I can’t help how insecure I’ve felt lately.  I’m in college right, I should be the biggest and sexiest man I can be.  Between my father and I, I should be the one with the bigger muscles, and yet after my dad gets home from work he’ll come into the kitchen and the first thing he does is unbutton his shirt.  Despite getting more muscular, he tends to wear shirts that hide just how large he’s gotten.  He’s a doctor though, so I suppose he’d wear a lab coat over it anyway.  Regardless of what shirt he wears, that doesn’t change the end result of what I see.

He’ll pop each bottom slowly working his way down.  His vascular hand going one button at a time as his shirt begins to loosen.  Finally, he’ll pull back the two sides of the unfited shirt that give him a deceptively average appearance.  As my father pulls the shirt back and off of his body, I can feel my insecurity beginning to build.  

Before I know it, my father is shirtless, his baggy shirt on the floor next to his now bare feet.  Only his jeans and his belt conceal the rest of his intoxicatingly masculine body.  In front of me is a brilliant, handsome man with an 8 pack and pecs strong enough that veins run from the bottom of his thick neck right down into the cleavage that leads to his brick like abs.  His arms bulge with power, his veins protruding out of his biceps with testosterone, even though he hasn’t even flexed them.  How can such large and intimidating muscles be hidden under his shirt all day?  

At 52 my dad still looked like he was in his late 30s.  He has developed a youthful, and powerful body.  Stronger and more beautiful than mine.  My dad is a doctor with abs.  Intelligent and beautiful.  How could I not feel intimidated sitting in front of this bare-chested man?  He had only dropped his shirt and yet I could already feel myself succumbing to his masculine presence.  He smiles over at me as he brings his vascular, and hardened hands down to his belt to unfasten it.

 “How was your day?” He asked with a smile as his right arm flexes, his bicep contracting, and his right pec jumping emphasizing just how thick his chest has become.  His pecs and biceps continue to shift and tense as he undoes his belt.  Only his torso was showing and already I had been taken aback at the atheltic beauty of his muscled torso.  Soon, his pants would be off.  In his boxers, his full powerful body would be on display.  A reminder that, even half-naked, my dad still undeniably wore the pants.  The thick bulge that his briefs struggled to contain would only reinforce that.  My dads muscles weren’t the only thing that made me feel insecure as a man.  

A large thud resonates throughout the kitchen as my dads black leather belt hits the floor, only partially cushioned by his pink checkered shirt.  His thumbs rise to his belt line before disappearing down into his pants, around the waist and of his boxers, and into a place I could only imagine.  His vascular hands tense and his thighs bend as he slips his jeans down to his ankles.

“Are you okay?”  He asks squinting at me, but still with smile, as he straightens his posture and pulls each of his hairy, smooth, manly feet from the legs of his jeans.  Now only wearing his briefs, my 52 year old father is in front of me with his Adonis like body that men my age could only dream of having.  There, in front of me, with his manhood fully displayed, my father stood with an 8-pack and quads so developed and strong he had striations.  His calves seemed to erupt with veins even though he wasn’t flexing them.

He didn’t need to flex though, even though I would shamefully wait for moments to catch him flexing, his body was beyond words.  Curious as to why I didn’t answer his questions, his large and imposing body moves a few steps toward me.  With each step I watch his beautiful feet raise up, revealing a soft and smooth underside along his toes.  Contrasted with when his feet come down. Smothering the floor with the weight of his powerful body, his toes digging into the floor.  His hips shift slightly, a movement that emphasizes the tightness of his black athletic briefs against his large, thick quads.  A movement that also draws attention to the bands of veins that run from his abs down into his briefs.  Veins no man his age has.  Veins no man my age has.

 “Seriously are you alright, your face is all red.”  He stops only a few feet from the chair that separated the kitchen and the family room.  How could I possibly answer his question?  That’s when an odd thought struck through me that had never occurred to me.  A dangerous thought, but one that made entire body tremble with anticipation.  Anticipation of a release of emotion I had bottled up ever since the first time I had seen my dad strip off his shirt to reveal his newly muscled body.  It had been two years since he had become a bodybuilder.  Two years of concealing my growing confusion, paralleled by his growing body.  What if it was finally time to be honest?

Only a few feet away from where I was sitting he slouched on one hip awaiting my answer to his question.  He brought his arms up and crossed them over.  His fingers rested along the large mound of vascular and dry muscle that was his bicep.  My dad’s forearms looked like bands of striated muscle pulsating with thick power as his myriad of veins flexed and swelled along his impressive arms.  His arms being crossed like this made his chest and abs seem fuller, and more defined.  My father was waiting for an answer and his stature told me he was willing to wait.  The temptation of confessing every feeling I has felt from the first time my eyes looked over his thick and stone like lats became too much.  My body began to tremble and I could feel my heart rate hasten, so quickly in fact, my heart nearly palpitated.  

“Actually dad um...” my face flushed and I gulped out of nervousness despite my throat feeling rigidly dry.  I looked down at the floor feeling such embarrassment and nervousness.  In spite of my initial reluctance, my eagerness took over.

“So I’ve been keeping something kind of, um, well . . .” My mouth struggled to get around the words but my dad remained patiently in place, his perfect masculine body stiff and unmoving like a Greek statue.  “Embarrassing from you.” I finally managed to choke out.

“What’s bothering you?”  He asked cocking one of his eyebrows and tilting his head.  His handsome face took on a look of concern, but his scruff, groomed hair, and crystal brown eyes distracted me from his concern.  With his arms crossed, he completed his posture by shifting his right foot up, placing the ball of his right foot against his left ankle.  His right calf swelled, with more veins emerging from it as he half flexed.  I had never seen a man in-person with so many veins on his calves and quads.  Even just standing, concerned even, his power and authority seemed to radiate off of his god-like body.

“Well....” my heart suddenly palpitated as I prepared to confess my embarrassment and shame to my dad.  Was I actually going to do this?  Was it too weird?!  It was definitely awkward, but I couldn’t resist my mouth from opening.  At first it just hung open, my eyes diverted, as I prepared myself.  My father’s stance never moved as he allowed me time to tell him what had been bothering me.

“Okay,” I somehow began, almost unconsciously.  “So for a while now, I just . . .” My palms became sweaty, my face flushed, and my heart seemed to burn as I began.  “You’ve been coming home, and when I see . . .” I audibly gulped from the pent-up nerves I was barely able to control.  So much Adrenalin was running through me, my hands began to tremble.  Here I go.  

“When I see you . . . with no shirt.  I get, I don’t know . . .” My words cut out and I couldn’t being myself to finish my sentence.  My embarrassment was too great, I had finally, mostly confessed to my father that his body made me confused.  But I hadn’t fully or clearly said it.  My father’s eyebrows raised even higher as he looked at me in confusion.

“Does me being shirtless bother you?”  He asked bare chested with his large forearms glaring against his striated pecs and cut abs.  

“No!”  A sharp heat of regret, joy, and nerves split through my entire torso at the sound of my objection.  “It doesn’t bother me, it just...I feel...confused.”  I confessed.

“I mean . . .” He uncrossed his arms and began to gesture, giving glimpses of his full hairy arm pits and the vascular underside of his forearms.  His pits were full and dark, contrasted with his light but rough and striated skin that outlined his cut biceps.  “My being shirtless, is it, my...body, or...” he rotated his hands around trying to think through my admission.

“It’s...your muscles.”  I had never before felt such a rush of euphoria and pain as my heart began to slam against my chest, slightly cutting my breath, but all while a warm and excited feeling came over my body at finally saying it.  “Your muscles.” I repeated with another rush.  The sane part of my mind couldn’t believe how bold I was being, but I had bottled this up for too long.  I needed to tell him.

Despite my momentary reassurance thanks the rush of coming clean, an awkward silence fell between us for a long two seconds, as my dad’s mouth opened and his eyes darted away for a moment before bringing his light brown eyes back to mine.

“My muscles confuse you?”  He asked suppressing a small laugh mid sentence.  “I don’t...what do you mean?” He said grinning, almost oddly enjoying my awkwardness.  He let his arms rest at his side as he slouched on his right leg.  It was time to be honest, and to explain that my dad’s breathtakingly beautiful body had made me feel a mix of emotions ever since the first time I had seen him shirtless since bulking up.  I rose my head, trying to suppress my embarrassment and took a quick look at his masculine abs and pecs, outlined by his strong arms, before speaking,

“Dad.”  I laughed nervously.  “You’re 52.  You’re a doctor.  And you.”  My legs began to tremble with anticipation at the thought of finally complimenting my fathers ripped body.  “You’re...”. I held my hand up and gestures up and down his physique raiding my eyes to it.  “Freakin’ jacked.”  I should have let him speak from here, but it felt so oddly liberating to finally say it.

“You are a 52 year old man with an 8 pack and veins coming out of your biceps.”  I couldn’t believe I had finally done it.  After all this time of watching my father grow, catching a glimpse of him flexing when he thought I wasn’t looking, or marveling each time he would peel his clothes away to reveal his imposing body - I had finally fully complimented him.  Somewhere, though I don’t know, deep within me I found the restraint to stop myself from going on and telling him all of my thoughts.  I had just admitted he was “jacked” and that it “confused me.”  Not the smoothest approach by any means.

My father stood in front of me for a moment, slightly scrunching his face as he looked at the floor, while keeping his head up, and lips slightly parted as though to say something he couldn’t articulate.  

“So my muscles confuse you?” He asked again, but this time almost as more of a statement.  He finally brought his eyes back to mine.  “How?”  He pauses and I wanted to answer but suddenly I found myself with a blank train of thought.  Was I really ready to talk about this?  The eagerness that had propelled me into being honest, was suddenly turning into hesitation and regret.

“I mean, just, what do you mean?”  He gestured his wrist slightly causing his right pec to tense.  His composure seemed to transition from perplexed to intrigued.  He wanted an answer.  

“I just mean that...” My throat suddenly contracted and I swallowed harder and louder than I’m proud to admit.  My nerves were visibly getting the better of me.  Sensing this, not that it was hard to miss, my dad walked over towards me.  I had gulped and looked down at the floor and before I knew it my dad’s strong and firm feet were in my peripheral leading up to his vascular calves.  I looked up and before I could fully process anything, my half-naked father had sat on the armrest of the chair cattycorner to me.  His firm and swollen glutes supported him as he spread his thick and cut quads for balance.  He crossed his arms and looked at me.  My dad was now displaying just how thick, vascular, and cut his monstrous legs really were.  Veins snuck out from his silk briefs.  I’m his bare feet, spread legs, and crossed arms, my father had an intimidatingly manly presence.  The bulge protruding from his briefs only magnified this feeling.  My father felt powerful, and I felt small in his presence.

“You can be honest, however you feel.”  He said calmly and reassuringly.  I sat for a moment trying to avoid looking at him.  After a moment, really feeling no more composed than I had, I blinked hard and somehow began speaking.

“Okay.  I guess I just.”  My heart continued to pound in my chest, so hard it made the air seem thinner as I breathed, but a sudden lucidity came to me as I continued.

 “I’m 19.  And I’m in college.  I am supposed to be athletic, young . . . Hot.  Whatever.  And I’m alright but I’m not a big lifter.  Then I look at you.”  I paused for a second and finally looked up at my father, meeting his beautifully piercing eyes.  “You’re way more of a man than I am.  You’re a doctor, so your smart, I mean really smart.  And on top of your intellect,” my eyes jetted to the sharp cleavage between his pecs.  “Dad you’ve got a killer body, I mean your body is, strong and athletic . . . not to mention . . .  I guess,” I could tell my lucid moment was passing.  “I just get a bit insecure.  I’m 19 and look like I do.  You’re 53 and you have the largest quads and pecs I’ve ever seen.”  I laughed nervously afraid my final compliment might have been too much.

Given my emotional outpour and visible discomfort I expected my dad to pause, reflect, and then answer.  Instead, jarringly so, he immediately responded.

“How long have you felt this way?”  Caught off guard by his casual question I breathed in.

“I don’t know a date or anything, but I mean come on, you know you’ve been fit for a while.”  This time my dad took a second to think.  

“So does it bother you when I walk around like this?”

“No.”  I answered a bit too quickly.  “It doesn’t bother me per se, I just, I start to feel a bit . . . insecure.”

“So my muscles make you insecure?”  He said with the slightest hint of irritation.

“Yeah, but . . . I don’t know it’s complicated.  You’re really fit, and I guess it just...”

“Okay.”  He said in a definitive, but still calm, voice.  “I think this is a lot for you.  You don’t have to keep trying to justify your feelings.”  Somehow his acknowledgment of my embarrassment was soothing.  

“How about I try to walk through it?”  He proposed raising his eyebrows.

“Sure!”  I agreed short of breath and thankful for the reprise.  He paused for a moment and thought over his words before speaking.

“I’m not an average 50 something guy right?”  

 “Obviously.”  I said exaggerating my face.

“And at 19 you’re starting to come into your own and you want to feel like the man of the house.  But then, your dad walks in, takes off his shirt, and he’s got abs.”  He said as he opened his arms, showing the vascularity and striations of inner arms, and pointed at his now flexed 8 pack.  Fully flexed, his abs formed a considerable gap in his stomach.  A gap that separated his large block like abdominal in two columns.  Taken aback by his honesty, I was at a loss for words.

“Yeah, you’ve got way more than that.” I said almost without noticing my boldness.  His muscles were mesmerizing.  For as intense as they made my body feel an off calm had begun to come over me.  Quite suddenly.  He leaned back slightly and his face lengthened with heightened eyebrows and a quizzical frown.  

“Really?”  We both sat in silence for a minute as his eyes rolled down to the sides.  He was thinking of how to respond, and I didn’t rush him.

“Let me ask you this.”  He put his strong right hand onto his knee, moving his right leg over causing his quads to separate and flex.  His tanned, ripped, masculine legs supported his body against his rough palm.  My calm continued, but with my heart rate I began to feel warm in my clothes.  My father’s pauses coincided with a growing heat that was beginning to almost make me sweat.

“Do you feel intimidated by my muscles?”  I began to sweat as I could feel crisp blades of heat run through every inch of me.  Something I had desperately wanted to admit but was too nervous to, and now my dad had just taken the words out of my mouth.  I was a reddened, sweaty, trembling mess in front of this still composed man.  

“I guess um . . .” my throat was too dry and my nerves were too shaken to finish the sentence.

“My biceps, my pecs, my veins.  You feel intimidated when you see me with no shirt and no pants right?”

 “Yeah, honestly.  You’ve gotten bigger.  Your arms almost don’t fit in most of your shirts.”  I said half laughing.

“But that’s the thing right?”  I looked at him confused, almost in pain from so much unreleased tension and emotion.

“What do you mean?”  He brought his arm off his knee and stood up.  My powerful father was now standing in front of me, his bulging briefs at eye level, looking so powerful and authoritative.  

“Okay, so you see my big biceps,” he began to slowly inch towards me gesturing as he approached one step at a time.  “And you feel insecure.”  He was now close to me, half naked, letting his large muscles tower over me.  I could smell his musty cologne, mixed with the sweat of his hot body.  My father always did sweat in his clothes.  The smell of his cologne and sweat, and feet fresh from his socks created a pungent, but erotic, scent.  

“How about when I flex?”  He asked as though posing a normal question.  

“When you flex?”  I somehow stammered.

“Come on I’ve seen you look at my body.  Whenever I flex you always try to sneak a peak.”  He laughed as though talking about a silly harmless joke.  My father was being so direct, and yet his composure was still calm and light.

“Dad I don’t,”

“You know you can look right?”  

“No I . . .” my nerves had reached the end of their capacity.  I couldn’t think straight despite seeming oddly calm on the surface.  I could feel sweat going down my back, so unsure of how to act.

“If you want to look at my muscles go for it.” He said waiving a hand.  “You want to look at my cut back or my pumped chest when my shirt comes off go for it.”  

“Okay.”  I said trying to suppress a shameful smile.  He had just given me permission to do something I had tried to conceal for two years.  Two, long, embarrassing years.

 “Do you like it when I take my shirt off?”  Suddenly his time shifted from casual to oddly inquisitive.  He folded his arms over.   At this point my body had already flushed so many times, a new, and oddly pleasant, numbed blaze ran through me.  I blinked unsure of what to say.

“I don’t . . . mind it I guess.”  

“Alright.” He responded quickly and matter of factly.  “So look.”  He said giving a very simple solution to an otherwise very strange situation.  And that was honestly part of my problem.  I didn’t just want to see my dad take of his shirt and show off.  I wanted to feel him.  I wanted to feel just how hard and powerful he was.  But I couldn’t say that.  Could I?  I mean a few days ago I thought at best I could only ever admire his rock like hamstrings, with the beautiful striations that cut along his statuesque legs, or imagine his imposing pecs being only inches away from me.  Now.  He was so close.  His intoxicatingly masculine muscles and body were within reach.  

“And that doesn’t bottler you?”  I said still thinking in my head of what to say next.  Whether to end this confusing encounter or to stoke his pride more.  

“No, seriously, you’re good.”  He said cracking a smile.  A moment of silence fell between us and I assumed he was about to walk away back into the kitchen.

“There’s more though.”  He declared softly, half guessing half stating fact.  

“Yeah, just one other thing though.”  I spoke back trying to think of how best to make this insane request.  Never did I dream I would be on the cusp of asking my father something I had thought about for so long.  But my mind was made up.  I couldn’t suppress the urge any longer.  

“Can I . . .” I flicked my wrist and bobbed my head for a second.  “Feel. . . Your biceps.”  His cool composure broke slightly as his eyebrows raised up.  

“You want to feel my biceps?”  

“Sorry I know it sounds like the weirdest thing you’ve probably ever heard, and it’s not that, I just, I don’t know, I’m just curious I guess.  You’re so large an athletic for a guy in his 50s I’m just curious how. . .” A contraction in my throat from a lack of air caused me to stop my nervous babbling.  I couldn’t undo my request, but in a way I was happy.  At least I had finally gotten it out and in the open after so long I’d shamefully admiring my father’s physique.

“My muscles really mess with you don’t they?” He laughed to himself for a second.  Then he seemed to almost look off into a nonexistent distance just above my shoulder, as though realizing something for the first time.  “You know I guess, I’m sorry.”  He scrunched his thin eyebrows together as a look of confusion came over him.  A shift in tone seemed to happen.  

“You’re sorry?”  I asked surprised he was expressing sorrow and not confusion or even agitation towards me.  I had just asked to feel his vascular, thick arms, and he apologies to me?  “For what?”  He shifted his weight onto one hip and his smooth, vein covered quads flexed abs relaxed as he moved.  As he did I couldn’t help but notice the firm, large, bulge in his boxers that did not move.  The fabric’s outline of a thick mass was still held in place despite its size.

 “Yeah.”  He looked back at me with almost pitty.  “I’ve been bulking up lately and I never thought about it, but, seeing your dad walk around in his boxers with all of this muscles and shreds. . . I guess that could make you feel a bit insecure or even . . .”  He paused not sure if he should continue.  “Emasculated?” He offered hesitantly.  In just a few short words my father had succeeded in essentially spelling out my bottled-up feelings towards him for months.  Half-naked and standing over me, my father knew his Adonis like physique was intimidating.  It radiates such manly power and authority.  How could I not feel like less of a man looking up at him?

The room fell oddly silent as we sat unsure of what to say.  I hadn’t noticed just how quiet the room was.  I was too engrossed in the moment to notice much of anything else honestly.  I wanted to tell him everything.  But I knew I had already said too much.  I lowered my head for a minute purposefully driving my eyes to the right and away from his sweaty feet.  The firm, vein covered, feet that lead up to his strong, muscled, and pumped body.  

 “It’s okay.”  He said with a small laugh on the first word.  “You know this whole time you could have just been honest with me.”   My eyes quickly came back to his, but with hesitancy and a face of confusion, but also hidden excitement.  Seeing my reaction he smiled a little.

“How about this.  You want to see me flex?”  He offered very casually holding his arms out presenting his body.  My eyes widened slowly and the dulled heat in my body regained a sense of sharp thrill.  

“Fl..” by instinct it seemed like my lips caught themselves.  “Flex?”

“I mean I’m guessing if you’ve been checking me out when I take my shirt off, and you don’t mind me walking around in just boxers, you probably wouldn’t mind if I flexed my muscles for you, right?”  He asked, bouncing his large pecs.  They contracted, rose, and fell so quickly and unexpectedly I felt my grip tighten in surprise and joy.  I had seen my friends shirtless, and a fair number of guys at the gym.  But none of them had pecs like this.  My dad’s were rounded, full, and even had veins running along their bulged, yet smooth surface.  Unlike my 20 something friends, my dad’s pecs were massive enough that his nipples pointed downward.  It was incredible watching such a large chest move so easily.

His thick chest bounced twice more, this time in unison, before finally letting the thick masses fall.  Without saying anything he then rose up his arms and smirked as he brought them to a 90 degree angle.  Not yet flexed, my dad’s arms were already so large and defined.  But I knew he wasn’t done.  Quickly, and with an unexpectedly masculine exhale, my father shot his arms into place.  His already intimidatingly vascular forearms seemed to flare with power and striations, and his beautiful, virile, pumped biceps flexed into a hard ball of mature, testosterone fueled steel.  The sheer size of his biceps alone were enough to make me feel small.  His cut physique and veins only served to amplify their imposing size.  His manly pits, that lead to his surprisingly defined delts, were dark and full.  I didn’t even move, I just remained in the chair savoring every moment.  I had dreamed of a fraction of this, and now my dad was willingly flexing in front of me.

 “That’s incredible” I uttered in awe.  Maintaining his smirk and turned his head away from his bicep and to me.

“18 inches as of a few weeks ago actually.”  Unable to conceal the rush of adrenalin I shifted slightly and my body seemed to shutter.  I could feel my body contracting with excitement as my lips pursed trying to take in what he had just said.  My 53-year-old dad had just told me his biceps were bigger than most men I know who are in their 20s.  Better still: he knew how large they were because he had measured them.  He was cocky enough to measure his muscles and take pride in their size.  I never knew he measured them.  

Seeing my reaction his smirk seemed to change into an almost frat-boy like smile.  His eyes narrowed and his mouth opened into a closed smile. 

“Bigger than you were expecting?”  

“Dad that’s,” my heart ponded in my chest and my breathe caught me for a second.  As I took in more air I tried to speak, “guys at my gym at school aren’t even that big.  They’re in their 20s.” I said still looking at his large, flexed mounds.

“Oh yeah?  How about this?”  He dropped his arms for a moment and spun around on the balls of his feet with an almost fluid elegance.  He propped his body with his right leg, keeping the left one straight, and then brought his arms up and shot them down.  My father’s back seemed to harden faster than I could process.  Suddenly my dad’s back became firm, ripped, and even more muscular as his uncountable back muscles came into view.  His arms showed new striations and lines and emphasized how peaked his biceps had become.  His back wasn’t just trained or athletic.  He had built a back of a competitive bodybuilder.  Large, defined, and strong.  All I could do was sit in awe at what I was seeing.  I didn’t have time to take it all in actually, I could have looked for much longer, as he spun back around bringing his arms down.  My mouth was open, and my eyes were wide.  He didn’t even need to guess my reaction to his display of power.

 “Do the guys in your gym have backs like that?”  He asked with a flat self-aware honesty.  I let out a nervous laugh as I rubbed under my eyes trying to relieve some of the pressure, but never taking my eyes away from him.  How could I?

“I’ll take that as a no.”

“Hell no.” I said nearly correcting him.  “Not even close.”

“And not to freak you out or anything, but,” he jumped slightly balancing his weight into his right leg, turning his body to the side with his right half facing me.  He brought his long fingers to the top of his boxers just under his back and pulled them down.  He stretched the fabric below his right glute and flexed it.  It quickly contracted and formed striations I want even sure I knew could form.  In front of me, just in front of me, my dads shredded and powerful glutes we’re bare and exposed.  Held down by his vice grip, the fabric nearly exposed the large bulge in the front.  More veins were exposed leading into his boxers.  

“Guys probably don’t have an ass like that.”  He looked over at me for a second.  “Here.”  He turned so that his back was facing me once again, and brought his hands to the back of his boxers and pulled them down with just his index finger on both sides.  His ass was large enough he could rest the fabric below their large size.  Then, unlike last time, he forced his hands down by his sides causing his back to erupt.  But now, my eyes were focused on the two large mounds I had never seen.  My dad’s strong, muscular, bare ass contracted into two mounds with sharp striations.  His smooth, voluptuous ass was now hard and muscular.  I was absolutely mesmerized.  I had never seen such a beautiful physique in my entire life.  As I took in the lines and muscles that traced his back he unflexed and slowly turned back towards me. 

“Well?”  he asked looking back at me with the slightest hint of a smile, as he raised his eyebrows as though asking a very normal and casual question.  I could barely string my thoughts together let alone words to confirm his question.  I was speechless and felt one of the oddest, but most satisfying, feelings of inferiority I had ever felt around another man.  My dad had just flexed his ass, completely unafraid of showing off his body.  He was so confident.  So cocky.  And given the finesse he posed with, he had practiced.  He was so much more of a man than I was, and somehow knowing that, or rather seeing it, was exhilarating. 

“You’ve got them all beat.”  I said blinking as I struggled to articulate my words around my body quivering and pulsing with adrenalin.  My lips were tingling and my vision continued to show small shaded spots as my pulse slammed throughout my entire body.  His muscles were literally overwhelming me.

“Most men wish they could have an ass like that right?”  He said placing his hands on his hips and smirking, with his eyes towards the floor.  “Do you wish you had a body like this?”  He asked not moving his imposing, powerful, vascular body but simply moving his eyes back up to meet mine.

“Ugh,” I laughed nervously for a second.  “Of course, but . . . I don’t, I’m not . . .”

“It’s okay you can say it, you don’t need to feel embarrassed.”

“Um . . .” I audibly chocked on my words.  I looked down and then back up at him, with his vascular arms still propped against his lean and cut hips.  Only his boxers covered his body.

“Alright let me try then.  You’re a young guy in college, and right now your dad is standing in front of you with these . . .”  He brushed his left hand across his tight stomach.  “Killer abs, a nice, fucking great chest, and 18 inch biceps.”  He bent his right leg at the knee and then flexed.  “And not to mention these thick legs.  And you can’t help but feel a bit, insecure.  You should be the one lifting and getting big, and instead.”  He slowly drew his arms and up and flexed them into a front double bicep, causing his large biceps to ball up, veins and all.  “Your dad is standing in front of you in his boxers with this strong, muscular body.  Stronger than yours.”  He lowered his intimidating arms.

“I’d even go to say maybe seeing your dad flex his muscles in just his boxers is a bit . . . emasculating right?”  He folded his arms over as he had done before to show off just how thick and full his torso was.  “Because not only is he stronger and more ripped . . . but you can tell that he is ugh . . .”  he moved his right arm down and using his large palm he grabbed the thick bulge in his pants.  He shook it slightly, making the large mass seem even larger and fuller as it filled his wide hands.  “Still the man of this house.”  At his words I couldn’t resist looking down at where his palm had just grasped.  Along the tight and stretched fabric of his briefs, there was no question.  My father was larger than I was.  His boxers seemed to almost struggle to contain just how thick he was. 

“You are so masculine.”  I confessed allowing myself to succumb to the adrenalin and heat consuming my entire body. 

 “The interesting thing is though, I don’t know that you mind feeling so intimidated.” 


 “I’ve noticed you looking at me before.  I’ll be in the kitchen, shirtless, or without pants, and you check out my body whenever I stretch or move.  Or the times you’ve eyed my pecs and abs when you think I’m not looking.  I think you like seeing how ripped I am.”

“How could I not, you’re . . .” I hesitated.  “. . . incredible.”  I finally confessed.  “You’re so strong and confident.  It’s, really . . . it makes me feel small, but I guess, I don’t mind.” 

“It must be tough for you now that I think about it.  Watching me take these clothes off every day, and then seeing your dad just walk around with such a hot body.  And let’s be clear, these muscles aren’t just for show.”  He paused for a moment and bent his head down slightly.  “You look at your dad’s big pecs, thick back, ripped arms, and you know I could overpower you.  At 53 I could pin you with just one hand.”

“Do it.”  I breathed intensely at his declaration.  “I want to feel how strong you are.”

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That was excellent.  HOT!  Please, please continue this.   Really enjoyed the the dawning on the Dad of how he affects his son with his huge body. 

The son admitting to the Dad that he felt emasculated only made the dad feel bigger, stronger and more masculine which I loved.  It's like the Dad's eyes were opened even further just how superior his body is to not only his son, but to basically ALL men.  And the dad embraced it.  

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Wow @NickSR that was an amazing story! I loved the way you depict the power relationship between both of them and how each one embraces it somehow.

I'm eager to read the next chapter!

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