The Church Camp Lifeguard
CHAPTER THREE: GETTING TO KNOW YOU
by Sean Reid Scott
Posted: 2023 :: Approx. 9,700 words
AUTHOR’S NOTE: At this point in our little yarn, we enter into part of my fantasy that—if written from the perspective of the adult—would seem to treat the idea of pedophilia as something acceptable. But please remember, this is being told from the perspective of fantasizing me—a little boy. NOT the perspective of the adult. And this IS fantasy. Nothing ever happened between Alex and myself. He never even knew I existed, I’m sure. That said, if you have a problem with this kind of material, please put this down, and go find a rerun of the Brady Bunch to watch (Greg was SO hawt!). Thanks for your understanding and your support.
OH, also: As I am occasionally won't to do when I find writing that is too exquisite to ignore, I’ve taken the liberty of plagiarizing some stuff from other authors—a paragraph or two might be pretty-close to verbatim what the author John has written. Even *I* can’t improve on perfection. But I promise, I didn’t use much.
Y ELEVEN-YEAR-OLD PENIS PRODUCED a bunch of semen that night, while I lay on my stomach in my sleeping bag and pushed on myself, thinking about Alex. It certainly must have been a lot. Fortunately, either my spunk didn’t stink, or no nearby noses were sensitive enough to pick up on it. Either way, I don’t think anyone realized what I’d done. And besides, it was Friday, and we’d be heading home the next morning.
(I’d make sure to throw my sleeping bag in the washing machine as soon as I got home; when Mom asked why I’d washed it, I’d tell her some kid threw up on it the night before. Problem solved.)
As I brushed my teeth and got ready for breakfast that morning, I recalled the stupid way the Camp Director had tried to make a connection between Alex's indescribably gorgeous muscle body and the strength of the Lord. Using Scripture seemed borderline blasphemous to me, considering what Alexander's body did to me. How was Alex’s strength and muscles in any way a good thing if it did nothing but cause me to sin in lust?
In later years, I’d find a verse that Mr. Madison should have used. This one I could have definitely gotten on board with: “Do not spend your strength on women, your vigor on those who ruin kings.” —Proverbs 31:3. Yeah, I had no intention of spending any strength on women; that was for sure. (See? The Bible does support us gays!)
At breakfast, Alex was inundated with cries for attention. The previous day’s strength demonstration had rocked the entire camp. Everyone was dizzy with Alex-lust. And even though he was polite to anyone who approached him, he sat at my table and gave me the impression that I was the kid he really wanted to be with.
While we ate, occasionally a kid would come up to the table and ask him for a flex, and sometimes he’d oblige. But after awhile it started to get old, and he just told ‘em to wait till he was down by the lake; then they could see his muscles all they wanted.
Sigh.
Unfortunately, it was Friday, and we’d all be going home tomorrow. I started to get depressed even before we were ready to leave.
THE NEXT DAY WAS SATURDAY, AND CAMP ENDED. Alex found me before the busses came. He pulled me aside, gave me a big hug (which almost did me in), and told me good-bye. “Hope to see you next year, buddy,” he said, ruffling my hair.
And my life somehow now held value. Funny how that worked.
We all climbed on the bus and returned to church, where all our parents were waiting for us. On the ride home I fell into depression like never before. Alex was gone, and it’d be a full year before I’d see him again—if he actually returned to camp next year.
THE NEXT SUMMER
BY THE TIME I WAS TWELVE YEARS OLD I had come to terms with the fact that I was a full-on pervert. I was hopelessly-ensnared in my sinful, unnatural, deviant desires. My lusts were now fully expressed in my unstoppable habit of masturbating while fantasizing about muscular, good-looking men.
I was a wreck. I knew that my feelings about men were wrong. My evangelical upbringing made that painfully clear.
But despite my obvious depravity (well, likely because of it), I harbored a secret hope that somehow Alex would once again be at camp. I couldn’t stop hoping. My parents had re-upped me for camp, but I probably would have volunteered for it anyway—just to see if Alexander would be there.
He was.
I first saw him that year—I was twelve, the summer before I started seventh grade—on the day I arrived at Camp Canyon on our church bus. It was a hot Sunday afternoon, and I had gone into the big cafeteria/mess hall to check in and get my cabin assignment. Not seeing Alex yet, I was slipping into depression (my aforementioned tendency) over spending a whole week with kids I didn’t know, worrying about bee’s nests, praying that I’d get a top bunk this time… and so much more.
I still hated camp.
But then I saw him. Holy flippin’ shit. He’d put on even more muscle during the ensuing year. He wore a yellow tank top that accented his blond hair and tan. As always, he had on cut-off, tattered jeans. And… well, I nearly had to push my jaw up with my hand. The man was more jacked than ever! He was enormous! And so flippin’ ripped I couldn’t believe what my eyes were seeing! He’d grown even more muscles! And I was sure he had gotten taller too.
The guy was leaner, more vascular, and bigger than before—huge and rippling with erotic muscles. He was 20, I think, but I know now that his development was on par with muscle men ten years older than that. Seriously. Since then, I’ve been able to compare him with other dudes who have many more years of gym time than Alex, and fuck—the comparison is lame. If I didn’t know him personally now—better now—I’d have thought he was on roids. I mean the guy was a mountain! But two things proved that theory wrong:
He didn’t look roided in any way. I mean, there were no side-effects on the guy. No roid gut (Dude, he had no waist, okay?!), no weird nipples… no signs at all: He was perfect. I know him well enough now to attest that he’d never do roids—or drugs of any kind. Trust me, you’ll see.
But getting back to that summer… Alex was a full-grown, enormous, full-fledged hunky bodybuilder. His vein-lined muscles had filled out so much that he blew everyone away. He had blossomed into a freakishly (in a very good way) big bodybuilder—leaner and more even enormous.
In his tank top, his exposed shoulders and arms were gut-wrenching. And his legs were heart-stopping! I learned later that at 17 he had already been about six feet tall. Now, he was a giant! At six-and-a-half feet tall, his muscle physique could have graced the cover of any bodybuilding magazine. (And by that time, I’d discovered my older brother’s stash of muscle magazines under his bed—this is the brother who would come out a decade or so later—so I knew what magazine-worthy bodybuilders looked like. Yeah, my brother and I shared a fixation with muscle.)
Standing in line to get my cabin assignment, I tried to defend my modesty by folding my hands at my crotch. (Admittedly, my tiny twelve-year-old boner was probably not even detectable, but still.)
This week was going to be absolutely wonderful—and horrible. Now that my body had started to more blatantly betray my lusts, I was even more terrified that I’d be found out.
Alex was mobbed, as usual, by throngs of boys and girls who knew him from before—as well as brave newbies who just wanted to get close to the blond, tan, blue-eyed Adonis-Hercules.
But when he saw me, he stopped and grinned. He gave a wave across the room. At me! At me! I wanted to dig a hole in the floor and crawl in. But of course I couldn’t. I had to act normal. Like the regular kid I was supposed to be. I had no illusions that I was normal—and honestly, I had no illusions that anyone else thought I was normal. But until someone found out (heaven forbid), I needed to stay under the radar.
But Alex had other plans. He made his way over to the line I was in, bent down to me, and gave me a bro-hug. “Hey Bryan! Good to see you!” He stepped back, assessing me. “Wow! You’ve really shot up in the past year!”
I had. The little mark on the kitchen doorframe at home showed I’d grown over two inches during the year. And I came up to the bottom side of Alex's thick chest now. But seriously, he’d gotten taller too. Must’ve been a late growth spurt. He certainly hadn’t reached all of his height while he was in high school.
But I had no ability to even think about that. Standing close to Alex now, with all that muscle waving in my face, I was dumbfounded. He was warm. He smelled like cologne and, well… muscle. I so wanted to throw it back on him and say something about how ultra-jacked he was, but I couldn’t find the words. I could feel the heat radiating off his body. His tan skin was like a nuclear power plant. He looked so good… so healthy… so fucking strong. And that face…. Fucking shit shit shit. I was floating on air. A whole week with Alex again!
Fortunately, Alex didn’t stay next to me long. He told me he’d meet up later, and then continued to make the rounds, working the room.
A kid behind me—someone who was obviously new—said to his buddy, “Who the heck was that? Man, I’ve never seen anyone as buff as him.”
“Yeah, that’s Alex. He’s the lifeguard,” his friend said.
“Geez, he’s huge!”
“Tell me about it.”
I got my cabin assignment, and to my extreme pleasure, I got there early enough to pick a top bunk. No more sleepless nights worrying about being squashed to death.
I spent the next few days renewing my Alex-obsession skills… seeking him out at every corner, every bend in the path. Watching him from afar, and from close when I could.
He was as friendly as ever, and I continued to scratch my proverbial head over why he took an interest in me.
IT WAS WEDNESDAY EVENING, AND EVERYONE was around the campfire. We were singing Kumbayah together, as usual. I wasn’t paying any attention to anything but Alex, standing on the other side of the fire. His big bulky body was covered in an oversized sweatshirt, but I didn’t care. I gazed at him through the flames, and I was pretty sure he caught me copping a look—multiple times. But it didn’t feel uncomfortable anymore. We were friends. He’d shown me that the first few days of this week. I was starting to relax into him. We liked to spend time together. And no matter how totally unlikely that felt, it was something that I could see he felt every time our eyes met. We were buddies.
After campfire, he came up to me. “Hey, I was wondering if you wanted to come spend the night in my cabin—the extra bed is there for sick kids, but no one’s using it now. It’s not an uncomfortable mattress if you wanna hang out with me.”
Hang out with him. Hmmm…. How to make up my mind….
But okay… first of all, how would that work? He’d just tell my cabin counselor that I’d be staying with him? Would that not raise any suspicions? How would he pass this off? Me. In his cabin. With him. Alone. Together.
Not that even I suspected anything untoward in that moment.
He must have seen the wheels turning in my mind. “It’s totally okay,” he said. “I already got the camp director’s approval, so it’s not a big deal.”
Oh?
I raised a single eyebrow at him.
He burst out laughing. Dang, I loved that. Me. I could make Alexander laugh! “Dude, I’m serious. It’s all approved. If you want to, you can. Why don’t you go grab your stuff—like your toothbrush and night clothes—and meet me at my cabin when you can. Your counselor already knows it’s approved,” he smiled down at me. His jaw line alone was enough to give the average hunk-lover an orgasm.
I scurried back to my cabin where everyone was busy either snapping towels at each other, putting shaving cream in someone’s shoes (what twelve-year-olds bring shaving cream to camp?), or sprawled on their sleeping bags, shining flashlights on comic books.
Since I didn’t need my sleeping bag, it was easy for me to just grab my toiletries and stuff and make a quick, unobserved break for it.
I snuck into the darkness with just my flashlight leading the way. Leading the way to Alexander the Lifeguard’s cabin.
I NEARLY THREW UP FOUR TIMES on the way down that dark path. (Yeah, just a tad nervous. And yes, dark path is both literal and metaphorical, no?) I had no idea what to expect. What I wanted to happen was Alexander taking off his shirt for me, and flexing everything, even his legs and stuff. Then we’d probably just have lights out and he’d go to sleep in his extra-large cot while I took the sick bed and stained the sheets as quietly as I could.
While I scurried down the pitch-black path, I kept whispering to myself, I can’t believe this. I can’t believe this. I can’t believe this….
“Glad you made it,” Alex said as he invited me in to his warm cabin, out of the scary darkness. “Here,” he took my jacket and backpack, and tossed them on the sick-bed. He turned to me, towering over my trembling body. “So, it’s Wednesday night; just two more full days of camp,” he said. “How are you enjoying it?” He walked over and plopped down on his bigger bed and motioned for me to do the same.
Oh, it’s going quite well. I’ve developed so many fantasies about you that I’ll never run out. “It’s good.” I timidly sat next to him. I can’t believe this. I can’t believe this….
He smiled. “Good. I’m having a great time too actually. It’s fun to get to know the campers, you know?”
“Yeah.”
“I’m gonna miss everyone when I go back to finish my nursing degree.”
I didn’t want to think about that. I didn’t want to even consider going back to school in a month or so… leaving camp… well, not leaving camp, but leaving Alex. I had a knot in my stomach the size of the lake.
His cabin had a Western motif going on: green flannel blankets with a moose print; brownish-red curtains hung in the windows, showing deer, bears and such; and there were cute little sconce-lamps on the walls that had tan lamp shades that featured a repeat of the deer and bear theme. The furniture was made from pine. The floor had a brown and tan oval rug in the middle. There was even a fireplace on one wall that was formed out of beautiful river rock—with a mantle made out of stained and varnished wood from a log cut in half, with the flat side up. A small deer head hung above the mantle.
“I’m glad you get to spend the night,” he said ruffling my hair. “I hope you’re excited, Bryan. It’s gonna be fun.”
“Oh… cool.” Yeah, I was a real conversationalist. I had a hard time thinking of anything to say. But he was making it easy for me to relax.
“So, do you think you’d ever be interested in learning bodybuilding?” he asked. “I mean, I can tell you have a lot of potential. And you do seem kinda interested.”
“I dunno,” I said, retreating again into my insecure self.
“Well, if you ever wanted to, I know you’d be really good at it.”
“Really? Well, maybe I might.” If he was willing to help!
“Yeah? Cool. Like I said, I kinda thought you were. Do you enjoy any sports?”
“No.” And that was the absolute truth. I didn’t even like spectator sports. Unless there were good-looking men involved.
“Yeah, I get that,” he said. “But bodybuilding is different than most sports. It’s all about aesthetics, you know? How you look on stage. And it’s also not just about lifting weights to get big. A huge part of it is about diet. You have to lose the fat in order to show off the muscles.” Then he lifted the bottom of his t-shirt and revealed an eight-pack to end all eight-packs. Big lumps of muscle, separated by deep crevasses between each mound. It was insane. It literally reminded me of the trays of golden, buttery buns they put out at the grade school cafeteria. Heaping mounds of rounded muscles, with canyons running between all of ‘em. My heart beat like a drum. He took his thumb and forefinger and pinched a piece of skin below the lowest abs, near his belly button. He pulled on it. “You gotta have as little fat as possible, like this. That’s how you win contests,” he said.
“Oh.” I was flummoxed. “Wow,” I added. My heart was pounding hard and loud.
“I can show you more if you want,” he said, lowering his shirt.
“Wow, um… cool.”
“I mean, I know a lot of guys like big muscles. And to be honest…” he looked sincere, but also like he was trying to keep down a little smile… “you look at mine a lot.” He pulled his shoulders back and added quickly, “And to tell you the truth, I’m flattered. It’s cool.”
Wow. Obviously I wasn’t able to hide my muscle-obsession as much as I had thought. Or as much as I needed to. Fudge.
Apparently he sensed my nervous response to his revelation. “Really, Bryan, it’s cool. Totally cool. And like I said, a lot of dudes like to look. I get it all the time. Besides, you’re just like me.”
My eyes must have communicated my trepidation.
“Really. So Bryan, just remember you’re not alone in your feelings. I bet you’d be surprised to know how much you and I are alike.”
Ha. Not a chance in hell we’re alike in the way that I’m a total muscle-worshipping sexual deviant. “Oh. Wow.” I looked down at my hands. Was he just setting me up? So I’d reveal my sinful, base, lusting, debauchery? Make me slip up and admit that I was into him? His muscles?
“And it was hard to overcome my nerves about it. That’s one of the reasons I asked you to sleep over tonight. You did seem interested, and I wanted to do anything I could to help you relax.” He put a hand on my lower leg. “I can tell you have a lot of potential if you want to do bodybuilding. Genetics is a big part of it, and you have good genetics.”
I nodded, not really knowing what else to do.
“For one thing, the best bodybuilders—in my opinion—have naturally broad shoulders… and really narrow hips. If you have wide hips—and I’m not talking about being fat, I’m talking about bone structure—if you have wide hip bones, there’s nothing you can do about it. Same with narrow shoulders. Sure you can put muscle on your deltoids, but you’ll never be able to match the “V” shape of a guy with naturally broad shoulders and small waist, you know?”
“Yeah, like you, you mean?”
He smiled politely. “Yeah, I’m really fortunate in that way. My dad and brothers have broad shoulders too. And my hips are pretty small—my waist is 32 inches. See?” He moved closer to me and lifted his shirt again, moving his hand over his tiny midsection. He had such a small waistline! His shoulder-to-waist ratio was just nuts. It made him look incredibly strong and masculine, while also very lean. It was insane.
“Wow, you’re right,” I said it like I’d just then noticed it; I doubt I was convincing. He probably knew I’d noticed everything about him the minute I first saw him.
He let go of his t-shirt and it fell back into its normal position. He moved even closer to me on the bed—right next to me—so our shoulders were touching. Both our backs were against the wall at the side of his bed. He put his big hand on my leg; he squeezed it. The heat of his muscle-factory body was amazing. Right next to me sat a furnace of a muscle man.
He turned his hand over on my leg, palm up, apparently wanting me to take it. I put my small, shaking hand in his enormous paw. He held my hand in his, gently wrapping his fingers around it.
My brain was frying. I groaned or squeaked some kind of non-committal noise. My heart threatened to beat right out my ears. I just knew he was trying to entrap me.
He moved my hand, turning it over and placing it on his veiny, hard, enormous, endless upper leg—his quadriceps. He was wearing shorts that showed most all of his upper legs. He held his hand on top of mine—gently—kind of showing me that I could just leave it there if I wanted.
I was so close to throwing up. And crying.
And climbing him like a tree.
I mean, I was definitely conflicted. My moral compass was pegging all over the place, in every direction. Truth be told, though, my moral compass was the last instrument I was paying attention to. I had another directional instrument—at my crotch—and at the moment it was pointing in a direction quite different than my moral compass.
“Here,” he said all non-threatening, “what do you think of my legs?” He held my hand there, but not forcefully. He paused, then said, “I bet you’ve never felt a muscle as big and hard, bud.” He was nice. He was really nice. And even though I was feeling the biggest muscle ever, I was relaxing. Somehow I was relaxing.
Then he took his hand away; I left my hand on his muscular leg. I couldn’t believe how ginormous it was. My hand was trembling, so I lightly pressed it against his warm, veiny, hard leg to reduce the shaking. I left it there. I barely moved a finger. We both kinda just watched my hand on his leg. For a long time. Finally he said, “Do you like feeling it? Legs are actually some of the biggest muscles on a man. Did you know that?”
“No.”
“Well, they are. If you get into bodybuilding, you’ll want to do a shit-ton of squats and extensions for your quads, and work your hams too. Hams are hamstrings… the big leg muscles behind.” He looked at me and I must have had a frown. “Oh, sorry. I know I’m not supposed to cuss—especially at church camp.”
“It’s okay.” I actually liked it. There was definitely a side to Alexander that did not conform to the conceited, high-falootin’, holier-than-thou righteousness (from God, of course) that was everywhere in our church. Even at that age I had started to form an opinion on that subject.
“You can feel more of it if you want.” And with that, he pulled up his cut-offs a bit, exposing even more of his mountainous muscle legs. Then he straightened his leg out in front of himself. It stuck straight out, parallel with the floor. He flexed it.
Holy SHIT! It was like some kind of earthquake was happening on his leg! I couldn’t believe what I was seeing! It shocked me so much I gasped out loud and pulled my hand away. Muscles bounded, mounded, moved, rippled, grew, undulated and just… erupted all over his leg! I had no idea how enormous and muscular a leg could get! It looked just like those movies of when a mountain erupts and lava flows down the side, making big mounds and rippling hills. He chuckled at my reaction. “You like it?” While he kept making his leg bulge and contort all over the universe, right in front of my eyes, he took my hand again and put it back on his moving, flexing leg. “You can feel it all you want.”
I slowly moved my hand over the acres of muscle while he hardened, relaxed, and then hardened them for me. I realized I was so freakin’ hard. I think I was almost about to start ejaculating. “Holy… cow!” My hand was still, but the mounding and rippling of the enormous muscles on his upper leg made my palm and fingers dance against the striated, distended, individual bunches of muscle. I was beside myself with awe. “Wow! How do you do that?” I asked.
He smiled, but kept flexing it under my hand. “Lots and lots of squats and stuff,” he said. “It’s kinda big, huh? And hard….” He smiled.
I nodded; I kept my hand on his leg, and then started to move it a bit. Over that enormous leg. On top of it while he flexed. I had no idea that a man could do this with his muscles. His legs were gigantic! Just huge! I’d never seen legs that even came close to this. While I felt out his enormous, rippling leg, I took my forefinger and started to trace the deep divides between the muscles with my fingertip. It was dizzying!
I didn’t have the words to describe it to my own brain. But what I did know was that this was the most wonderful thing in the world. I was touching Alex's muscles! I knew I would remember this for the rest of my life.
And I have.
He just kept rippling, undulating, and bulging his leg for me. I moved my hand more. All over it. Up to the edge of his shorts—which he had pulled up higher so I could see, and feel more—then all the way down almost to his knee. Inside and outside. It was freaky and wonderful. He definitely didn’t have a problem with me feeling his muscles. He liked it, actually. “That’s cool,” he encouraged. “Your hand feels good.” He watched me touch him for a few moments, and then asked, “Do you like touching it?”
“Wow! Yeah! I can’t believe how you can do that!”
“You and I are a lot alike, I think. You like touching big muscles?”
I was losing my fear. “Oh, man…. You’re amazing!”
He smiled. “I’m glad you like it.” He continued to flex and flex. Rippling his enormous leg muscles. Tightening them, loosening them, and then tightening them again into steel chords of hard, bulging muscle. “Wait till you see the rest of me, bud.”
Oh? How was this possible? I had jacked off to stuff like this—fantasies of Alex's muscles—forever (at least it seemed like forever). But I never dreamed that a muscle fantasy like this would ever actually happen. What did he mean wait till you touch the rest of my muscles? He was going to… what… pose for me? Take off his shirt? Or maybe just flex his arm again? Maybe that was it. He was going to let me touch his arm? Fuuuuuudge. I was quickly going to have to rewrite my cursing vocabulary, there were new bad words I needed to add.
My trembling hand (and then both of them) moved over and around his entire leg, and I swear I nearly came. I had had orgasms. But I knew—I totally knew it wasn’t a good thing to do. God did not approve of it—at all. I didn’t even know that rubbing my hand on my penis… I didn’t even know it was called masturbating. And I certainly hadn’t heard the term jerking off—or jacking off. I was young and scared of all of that—scared, because it always felt so good, and because I knew it was bad. Plus, I did not hang around with other boys. So I didn’t get the education about that kind of stuff that they shared amongst themselves so easily. So… feeling like I might start squirting… it was not a happy feeling. My fear returned in an instant.
I was hopelessly hard. And even though my boner was twelve-year-old sized, I was still scared Alex would see it. It didn’t even occur to me to check out his crotch. I was so enamored with his muscles that I couldn’t think of anything else. But later, his “package” would be front-and-center in my attention. Stay tuned.
I have no idea how long he let me feel his leg muscles like that—running my hands up and down, over and under them. But the longer he let me, the more relaxed I felt. His encouraging words didn’t hurt either. “You should think about massage, Bryan. Your hands feel nice.”
Then I sensed motion, and turned my head to see him roll his pecs under his tank top. Holy heck! He smiled when he saw my reaction, and then he did it some more, waving his massive pectorals at me while he assessed my reaction. (I didn’t even know they were called pectorals, to be honest. My knowledge of the names for muscles came later, and for sure, in time I’d know more about male anatomy than most people.
“Holy…” I think I was about ready to fall off the bed.
He just kept doing it, smiling at me. “What do you think?” he asked.
“I… wow!”
He grinned. “Thanks.”
It was at that moment that everything changed: All of my dreams came true. He pushed himself off the bed, stood up, and turned to face me. His muscles were mind-numbing! He just stood there in his tank top and cut-offs, silently, without moving… letting me take in his physique. His broad, round, boulder-like shoulders took my breath away.
Then he unbuckled his belt and started to unzip his shorts.
“Do you want to see more?” he asked.
I swallowed. So nervous again. Unable to answer.
He smiled, stepped closer to me, to where we were almost touching, and said, “Here, scoot forward.”
I obeyed, pushing myself away from the wall, and moving over the mattress so my feet were on the floor.
Then he started fiddling with the bottom of his cut-off jeans, pulling them up. He shifted his weight from one leg to the other, as if trying to find the best position to show them off. The enormous, defined muscles waved, undulated, and rippled right in front of my eyes.
Just that action nearly made me come. You can’t imagine it unless you see it.
He pulled the ragged edge of his cut-offs higher up his leg, revealing more of his legs than I’d seen before. It was tremendous. I was so hard I thought my cock would break!
Then he put his weight on one leg and moved his hand to the other leg. He started moving his relaxed leg back and forth. It was so enormous I just couldn’t believe what I was seeing! And so rippling with individual mounds of muscle. And veins everywhere! After he rolled his gigantic, relaxed leg back and forth a few times, all of a sudden, he FLEXED it, and it immediately hardened into stone. It was huge! And solid!
I don’t know how long I must have stared at it, with my mouth open. But eventually, as he continued to flex his gigantic legs right in front of me, he said, “Go ahead and feel.”
I reached out and put my hand on one leg and touched it while he gave me a show. I couldn’t believe what was moving under my hand.
Then the moment I had fantasized about since the first time I’d seen Alex years earlier happened. He started pulling up his tank top. For me. Just for me. For the sole purpose of showing me his body.
This.
This was happening?
Once he got his shirt over his head, he let it drop.
For some reason, seeing him at the lake with no shirt was nothing compared to this. Because now we were practically guaranteed a whole night of privacy together. He knew I was infatuated with his muscles, and he was satisfying my most secret desires!
His nipples were BIG! And they rested on a pair of pectorals that were just gargantuan. With like a really big and deep valley between them! And his blond hair, contrasting with his tan, hairless skin—it was mind-boggling! Shoulders. Arms. And abs! His abdominals were out of this world! And the diagonal muscles on the ribs at the sides… they were so hot! All with that small waist! He looked better than any muscle man I had ever seen, anywhere, in person, on TV, or in magazines.
There was no fat on him. His abs were insanely defined. They drove me nuts! And his obliques and serattus muscles were out of this world. (Like I said, I didn’t know the names of all the muscles yet, but it wouldn’t take me long to learn them.)
He relaxed and just let me look. His face was serious, but after a few seconds a corner of his lip turned up. “You doing okay over there?”
The fudger knew the effect he had on me. And he was teasing me about it.
And I loved it. “Yeah.”
He pulled his cut-offs open at the zipper even more. I could see he was wearing some kind of yellow underwear—not briefs, but smaller. Like speedos or those “posing trunks” that I’d seen in the muscle magazines.
He let his arms relax at his sides. And he just watched me as he fried my brain just by showing me his relaxed body. The man didn’t have a flaw on him. When he just stood there, and breathed, his abs and chest moved—so hot! Every time I saw that narrow lower torso, contrasting with his broad, powerful shoulders, I wanted to bang my head against the wall.
Eventually, he started to flex his whole body for me—with his zipper open.
He started with the obligatory, standard double-biceps. But Alex's version of the pose was anything but standard. I’d seen him flex like this in public, of course—here at the lake, and last year at the mess hall—but with just him and me here, it was a horse of an entirely different color.
Ever so slowly, each forearm came alive with an undercurrent of snakelike tubes of muscle; they were wrapped in ropes of intertwined veining, from wrist to elbow. The largest of the veins jumped the gap and continued to envelop the surfaces of the distended upper arm masses. Fingers closed into fists, and the unimaginable might of the forearms began their movement from horizontal to raised vertical pillars of muscle.
Line after line of fibrous meat began to define itself on the surface of each rising biceps. Alex’s arms grew into two pinnacles of muscle magnificence. I’d never seen arms so big, and so defined like that. And so pointed! I mean, they really did come to a freaky point at the top of the biceps—despite being so big and round everywhere! The overstuffed footballs of meat reshaped into rounds of living rock. Mountainous flesh curled higher and harder until two spheres the size of volleyballs had announced their awesome presence. These near-perfect shapes then shattered themselves as they split across the top to permit a second rounding of chiseled meat—each one the size of baseballs—to escape from within.
Soon the immensity of each precious deltoid had been reduced to a foothill of muscle in the presence of the grand mountains of impossibly peaked biceps. The upper sphere of muscle of each multi-split biceps muscle forced the skin sheathing to translucent thinness.
As his handsome face smiled out its awareness of this astounding display, Alex tightened the flaring volumes of each overwhelming triceps that formed an even greater mass along the base of his upper arms. Springs and coils of banded muscle burst into view as these magnificent triceps wonders assumed a level of definition equal to their upward balled brother muscles.
It was when he started trembling that it really got to me. He strained so hard to make his muscles bigger—for me—that he quaked with the effort. And holy fuck that was the most erotically powerful thing I’d ever seen. He held the pose, quivering. His arms trembled with his effort to grow his biceps even higher. And they obeyed his will, moving up, out of the base of his arms like a volcano building a ready-to-erupt cinder cone. I was harder than I’d ever been in my young life. When I saw his arms quiver like that, it was enough to make me almost fucking cuss out loud.
Then when he seemed satisfied that he had totally fried and sautéed my brain, he relaxed out of the pose. There was something about him just standing there, relaxed that was somehow even more gorgeous than when he flexed. His enormous, full pecs, protruding over that double-column stack of crazy-delineated abdominals… and those serratus! And his obliques: he had this totally-nuts “V” thing—an Adonis belt—that sank from his waist into his posers. Fuck, fuck, fucky fuck.
He relaxed out of the pose and then he started pulling the skin out from his lower torso again. There was no fat on this guy. His shoulders were just fucking huge… round and solid—and so extremely wide! And it was so cool… they had a mind-blowing amount of separation between the lower part of the deltoid and the triceps. He bobbed back and forth on his legs, and kept flexing his muscles. And he kept showing me how the skin was just so lean. His arms were so enormous and ripped when he bent them to pull on the skin! And that big, thick cephalic vein that runs down the biceps muscle on each arm was so prominent and distended that my pre-teen mind had a hard time taking it all in.
“So what do you think?” he smiled.
I choked out a crackling, Wow, I think. But really, for the love of God and money I have no idea if I was able to communicate clearly.
He must have gotten the gist though, because he smiled broadly. He knew I was entranced beyond comprehension with his body.
He had to know.
Then he started working his jean shorts again. “I’m gonna show you what I look like with just my trunks on, okay? That alright, bud?”
I nodded.
“If you are interested in bodybuilding, I think you’ll like this.”
If you are interested in bodybuilding…. Gimme a break.
I nodded again. He used the term “bodybuilding”. And yes, I was interested in that. Yet, later in life I’d come to differentiate between bodybuilding and muscles. The only reason I was “interested in bodybuilding” is because bodybuilding is the means to the end: big muscles. There’s a difference. Bodybuilding is a “sport”, jacking off to muscle men is something entirely different. I wasn’t nearly as interested in bodybuilding as I was in bodybuilders.
“Okay,” he smiled. He pushed his cut-offs over his legs—and their size didn’t make his job an easy one. For a second, I didn’t know if he’d be successful. I wondered if he ever had to cut off his clothes, just to get out of them! But he was eventually successful: He pushed them all the way down to his feet, stood tall, and stepped out of them.
The posers were yellow, but they had a kind of silky sheen to them. And holy fuuuudge, the man was packing some obscenely major dick! He was gigantic down there! His genitals were so big that they pushed the posers down-and-away from his torso. I could see some of his blondish-brown pubes in the space between the strap and his waist!
He stood right in front of me. He rolled and waved his pectorals… very slowly, and he watched for my reaction. His pectorals formed the consummate chest. Big, round, meaty, hard-looking, complete with an overhang that made his nipples point downward!
I was so dizzy. I was so flippin’ turned on by his body!
He smiled at my awe-struck silence. He flexed his legs again for me, making them pop. It was shocking how big his legs were, and how defined and gorgeously veiny they were.
His abdominals were—to me—an actual erotic experience. Just unparalleled abs, sculptured, it seemed, out of marble. He had a true eight-pack; I didn’t know that was even possible. A twin mountain range running from north to south, his abs were better than perfect. The definition on them was staggering; the valley between each abdominal muscle was deep and… well… I was stunned by them.
And again, that pouch was filled to overflowing with those genitals of his. And I could see the outline of his penis, concealed right next to two colossal nuts. It was obviously long and thick. And I’d learn later the term, VPL—Visible Penis Line: He had a pronounced one for sure!
He smiled down at me: “So, last year, when I did the strength show in the cafeteria, did you like that?”
I nodded. “Yeah. That was amazing. How did you do… all those things?”
“Lots of workouts—and practice.”
“Wow.”
“What was your favorite part?”
“The handstands. That was amazing.”
“Oh, you mean these?” He turned away from me, and oh my god almighty. His back side was an actual orgasm. Those inexplicably wide shoulders—deltoids from another planet—that wide back… and that small waist! And that ass! Holy fucking fuck! And those enormous legs: Hamstrings from hell, and a pair of globe-like calves to make me whimper!
But when he bent over—away from me—keeping his legs straight… and… well, everything started to flex, and it all hardened into an obscene display of male virility. I swear I nearly lost it. And I swear that while he was bent over like that, with his legs totally straight like that, his hard ass pointed right at me, he flexxxed his glutes right at me. GodDayumn it.
Then he put his hands on the floor. He shifted his weight onto his hands, then slowly lifted his feet off the floor and raised them toward the ceiling. His upside-down physique was facing me, and even inverted, his reddening face showed amusement at my reaction. Evidently, he liked how much I just lost it over him.
And then… well, I almost expired right then and there: He started to bend his arms, and his body moved lower, toward the floor, just like yesterday. His mighty arms bulged with the work. He lowered till his nose almost touched the floor, then he pushed himself up again. Then he did it again. And again. Masterfully… as if it took no effort at all.
When he was done, he lifted one hand off the floor—gracefully—and placed it up next to his torso. He held the one-arm handstand, and I just sat there.
How this was happening was beyond my comprehension. I was past the point of trying to figure out why Alexander like me… why he wanted to spend time with me… why he even knew I existed!
He lowered his legs and returned to an upright position. His physique was never not astounding, and when he just stood there with a placid, friendly smile on his face, I melted. I mean, I could stare at this vision for all eternity. His gloriously tan and flawless skin and blond hair, and those gorgeous blue eyes. The man even had dimples. And that’s not even starting off (again) inventorying all those endless, bulging muscles.
“You like that?” he smiled.
I think I lightly shook my head. “I just… can’t believe.”
He thanked me. “So, I could hit a few poses for you, if you want.”
He had to ask? I swallowed, caught my breath, and said, “Yeah.”
His boulder-like shoulders and hard, over-muscled, arms were going to be my death. I couldn’t believe them. He put one hand behind his head, then raised the other arm and flexed his biceps once again. He exhaled his air and made his abs stand out like cobblestones. He held the pose, making his arm tremble like before.
This was the most erotic, manly, hunky pose in all of history.
While he held that pose, his flexed arm trembling, I felt a long, heavy surge of warm fluid escape my cock. Then another. And another. Holy—Oh, hell! I was ejaculating! He’d made me start squirting. Just by showing me his muscles! An unbelievable load of my youthful semen filled my short pants. I couldn’t help it. No way could I have helped it.
I’d jerked off many times, even at this young age, but I’d never come without touching myself. But now, just looking at Alex's almost-naked body… and the way he flexed like that… and how he trembled from how hard he was working to make them huge for me… If Jesus himself came through Alex's cabin door and ordered me to stop ejaculating into my shorts, I couldn’t have.
Despite the fear that I felt, I remained still. I couldn’t let on that he’d actually made me come… just by flexing his muscles. I’m sure my face showed my horror. My pained expression and my frozen position must have surely given away what was happening down there—what he had caused me to do. I figure my eyes probably bulged out of my head from the horror of what was happening to my body.
He eventually relaxed out of the pose. The exertion of flexing for me—not to mention doing those handstands—had started getting his body pumped.
Hell—those arms again! Just… even… relaxed! The prominent veins that ran down them only added to the all-encompassing orgasm I was experiencing. Yet I held still, sitting on his bed, my feet on the floor, while he smiled down at me with everything in the universe that threatened to make me whimper out loud.
Alex knew how to show off his body. He was an excellent poser. It felt like he knew what drove me insane.
Finally, I squirted out the last traitorous glob of stuff into my underwear. And when I took a quick glance at my crotch, Alex saw me do it. And even though my jizz wasn’t evident (yet) it would only be a minute or two until the wetness seeped through my briefs and stained my short pants.
I’m not sure what he was thinking, but my boner—although not big by anyone’s standards (at that age anyway)—was very obvious. My smallness couldn’t hide the hot-dog that made my pants bulge. I had a nice, hard wiener—wrapped, as it were—in my short pants.
After a brief rest, Alex resumed posing. He seemed unaware of what had just happened. Maybe he didn’t know that I’d just reacted to seeing all those muscles by squirting my worship seed, filling my shorts—just because he was there, showing off.
He leaned forward at his hips, then moved into a most-muscular pose, getting painfully close to me. His most muscular pose was astounding. There was so much size and definition there. His vascularity was off-the-charts stunning! I know I keep saying this, but all the magazine pictures, TV appearances, and movie muscle guys in the world, didn’t compare to what was right there in front of my eyes! Once again he held the pose—hard—until his body quaked. His gaze was right at me, intense and while it was scary as hell if he really knew what he did to me, his face held a friendly—if intense expression.
He moved into a side-chest pose; his pectorals had crazy striations that fanned out from deep in his cleavage. Every time he held a pose, he quivered with the effort. It was the most fucking-hot thing ever—seeing a supreme muscle man tremble like that.
Then he turned around to give me another look at his barn-door-sized back. And his glutes. Hell, this was glorious! His hamstring muscles were, of course, gigantic… and his calves… but the overwhelming point of interest was that ass! It was supreme. Ripples of muscle practically waved at my face. Once again he bent forward; he grabbed his ankles, but this time he just held his jackknifed body like that. His ass and hamstrings were right there, waving in my face. I hadn’t ever even come close to considering what a Top was—or a Bottom. I hadn’t really thought much about asses, but right now, Alex's hard, rippling glutes were getting my full attention. I wanted to touch that ass—and those big, gorgeous legs—and never let go. The pose was blatantly obscene—and I’d later understand that Alex knew it.
He stood up and turned to face me. He was breathing hard now. After a moment, he asked, “You like looking at my muscles?”
“Holy fuck,” I said… instantly regretting my cuss word.
He chuckled. “Thanks.” He studied my crotch briefly, but once again said nothing about my erection. While his chest rose and fell with heavy breaths, he said, “A lot of people don’t realize how much work goes into posing.”
“Yeah. I can see. It’s so cool, how big you can make your muscles.” Yes, he was pulling more words out of me.
“Thanks.” Then he said, “And they’re as hard as they look, man.”
He sat back down on the bed, the sides of our bodies touching; he took my hand; he moved it up and placed it on his abs. He removed his hand, leaving mine on his lower torso. “Go ahead and feel my abs, and my chest.”
I was this close to actual death.
I started to feel his abs. Alex remained still for me, watching my hand. I moved it around the mounds, in between them, over them, under them… I couldn’t believe what I was doing. “Wow,” I said. I was too chicken to feel out his chest. It loomed so fucking large in my vision, but I couldn’t work up the nerve to feel out his pecs. He pushed the air out and his abs shrink-wrapped under my fingers. The skin was so thin! The individual abdominal muscles were like little mountains, with deep valleys between them.
My hand moved over his abs for who knows how long.
“Your hand feels nice on my abs,” he said. “Do you like touching them?”
“Wow.” Saying yes seemed like such an overt admission.
“Go ahead, Bryan. My chest is really kinda fuckin’ huge, dude,” he chuckled. “I’m not trying to brag… but a lot of guys think my pecs are big.” He watched my nervous little hand on his abdominals. He kept prodding me: “You can feel my chest, dude. I promise it won’t bite,” he grinned.
He was so friendly—even a little humorous—that it almost broke down all my inhibitions. I still couldn’t bring myself to feel out his chest. I knew it wasn’t like his chest was a sex organ or anything. But feeling out a guy’s chest seemed really… well, intimate. It felt very, very personal. I couldn’t bring myself to do it.
So he helped me. He brought my hand up his abs, just to where his pecs protruded out. “Here,” he said. “Go ahead.” Then he chuckled and added, “I work hard to make my chest freaky big. Go ahead and feel it. Move your hand up onto it, whenever you’re ready.”
I slowly, carefully moved my trembling hand up, over the overhang, onto his chest-proper. Sweet Mary Mother of God! I was feeling Alex's fucking chest! He held still. The skin was so full… and warm… and hard… yet smooth. Golden-tan: So smooth and hairless and flippin’ brown skin to contrast with his blond hair! I ran my hand over his pecs. He was warm. Hard. Perfect. And hard, yet almost pliable somehow.
“Here. Keep your hand on one of them,” he said. “Hold it there.”
I obeyed.
Then he started to bounce that pec… slowly wave it… under my hand! Jesus Christ! His mighty chest undulated under my palm and fingers. Alex just kept doing it! His face cracked into a smile. “Holy fuck,” I whimpered. This was too much for me to handle. And I loved it. I was so fucking hard I thought my penis would break.
He just kept rolling and flexing his pec under my hand.
I felt myself… nearing… oh fuck… I was gonna… while my hand was on his chest!
“You like that?”
I couldn’t answer. Because… I started to come again. In my short pants, again. (Ah, the ability to recover so quickly, thanks to youth.)
Totally serious. Again, a hands-free orgasm over Alex’s muscles.
I gave out a yip with my first ejaculation. My body gave a few small, but uncontrollable jerks as my orgasm started. Damn, my semen was powerfully shooting out of my cock! “Ohhhhhhh…” I moaned. “Ip… Ungh….”
Alex just massaged my hand with his pectoral. Slowly, easily, hard and soft, alternating, undulating, growing, flexing… all under my touch. It was unbelievable. I couldn’t move at all, so I wasn’t able to take my hand off his chest. And I just kept filling my shorts with warm milk. Shot, after shot, after warm, wet shot…. All while my hand trembled on Alex's immense, hard chest.
“You like this, don’t you…” he smiled.
“Oh… oh…” I think I said, “fuck” a few times too. “Oh….”
He kept rolling his pec. He started rolling the other one too. Instinctively, I started moving my hand between the two half-globes of pectoral magnificence. I couldn’t imagine a more orgasmic thing. Being next to all this unimaginable muscle, all housed in a man who was so extremely nice… it was mind-numbing.
He put his hand on top of mine and started to help me move it over and under and around his thick, wide, pulsing-yet-impossibly-hard chest. And his abs. I don’t know how long my orgasm lasted, but fuuuuuuuck.
I’m pretty sure I was whimpering.
When I finished filling my shorts—again—I kind of collapsed next to him, partially leaning my head against him.
WHEN I LOOK BACK ON THAT FIRST NIGHT, I am amazed that not much more happened. Maybe Alex was reading me well; he saw my hesitancy. He was a great guy, and he didn’t want to push. In retrospect I would have done anything with the man that night, of course. He needn’t have waited. But he didn’t do—or say—anything else that night.
In his bathroom, I cleaned myself up as best I could. I slept in the “sick bed” alone, while Alex slept in his oversized one. He slept in his posing trunks. Well, I think he might have slipped them off after he got under his covers (It was dark, and he was on the other side of the room). I’d learn later that he almost always slept naked.
Me—before I drifted off to sleep, I made one more mess in my underwear while I lay in that extra bed. I’m sure the mess was pretty bad and probably even stained the sheets.
I’d wanted to slink through the darkness, across the room, and crawl into bed with him. But of course I was too afraid. Alex was, apparently, willing to wait. Maybe he was the kind of guy who loved anticipation. Despite my disappointment of not being in his bed, my mind reeled with the memories of him posing, and us talking. It was, after all, only a prelude to what would happen the next night….
— SRS
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