Bus Stop Dad

by Sean Reid Scott  This email address is being protected from spambots. You need JavaScript enabled to view it.

Originally posted: 2009  ::  Approx. 5,500 words

HE FIRST FEW WEEKS THAT I LIVED IN my new condo, I drove to work every day. It was convenient, especially while I was settling into my place. Now, however, it was time to reduce my carbon footprint, so I checked out the bus schedules.

The bus stop was right at the corner of my block; and even though I had to leave home about 15 minutes earlier than when I drove, it was an easy commute, and cheaper than paying for gas and parking every day.

Across the street from my bus stop was a really nice park; I looked forward to spending time there, especially in the summer when the weather warmed a bit. Across the other street from the park was an apartment building, and the commuters from that building, coupled with the few people from my complex who took the bus, made for a crowd of five or six regulars who got on at my stop.

There was only minimal eye candy to be seen, which basically consisted of one really good looking young businessman who got on at the stop. He was tall-- maybe 6’3”-- and although he was gorgeous, he looked like a runner or a bicyclist, not a weight lifter. He’d never be mistaken for a bodybuilder, that’s for sure, and my proclivities definitely favored the muscled men.

Definitely.

So, although my eyes continuously made their way to this guy’s face, my gaze was always on the lookout for more.

The first week I rode the bus had been spring break in the area. That next Monday, when kids went back to school, a group of grade-school children gathered across the street from my stop to wait for their school bus. A few parents waited for the yellow bus with their kids. One guy in particular happened to grab my attention like few men have ever done. Even from across the street, and even though he was completely clothed in jeans and a hoodie, his physique was obviously the benefactor of his intense discipline in the gym. The guy was built! I mean breathtakingly so!

He had a young son-- probably in the first or second grade, and he also had a yellow lab on a leash. Under the hoodie he wore a baseball cap-- the bill was the only part visible. The guy and his son talked a lot-- he made me wish he had been my daddy. Gosh, this guy was awesome. Daddy, as I nicknamed him, was sociable with the other parents there, but not overly talkative. I just got the sense that he was confident and kind, but still a manly-man who had a quiet sense of his own strength.

Daddy was probably six foot or so, and his sweatshirt jacket was very, very kind to the mounds of muscles that it covered, allowing them to bunch and bulge all over hell. One of the first features that struck me was his very pronounced trapezius muscles. And his delts were round and big, and his arms looked huge. One other thing that set this guy into a league all his own was the fact that his legs were ginormous! I mean, his jeans were full of rock-hard, huge muscle! He was one hell of a musclehunk.

If his physique and demeanor weren’t enough to knock my socks off, his face certainly was. Even from a distance, his one or two day’s worth of beard growth was evident, and really hot. His eyes looked gorgeous-- dark eyelashes and sparkling eyes; and his teeth were perfect white; god his smile was killer.

Well, the kid’s bus pulled up that morning, and it blocked my view of him as he stood on the sidewalk and bid his son good-bye. But when the bus pulled away I was treated to an awesome sight of Daddy and his dog walking away toward the apartments. Fuck, his glutes made the hottest bubble butt hard ass! And again, those powerful legs just made the whole package breathtaking.

The commute-- or rather, waiting for the commute-- for me had suddenly turned into the most exciting part of my day. I made sure to keep my eyes pealed for Daddy and his kid-- and their dog-- every morning, and fortunately their routine was as regular as mine. I never did see mommy bring the kid to the bus, so I didn’t know what that was all about.

I had been about two weeks into this routine, and had seen Daddy and co. every work day. He always wore that hoodie and a baseball cap. His jeans wardrobe consisted of dark and light variations. He never had his hoodie unzipped, so I couldn’t tell what kind of T-shirts he favored. On a Wednesday, I got the day off for a dentist appointment in the afternoon; but I got up and went down to the park so I could get my daily fix of Daddy. I had to be discrete about it though, so as to not be mistaken for a pedophile-- what with all those kids and all. I did, however, take the opportunity to walk down the sidewalk where the kids and parents were assembled, and I got a close-up look at Dad. God, he was everything I had been imagining from a distance-- and much more! Just indescribably gorgeous! And his warm presence was powerful-- even in that brief pass-by his muscle-body exuded strength.

I sat myself on a bench in the park. The day was warm and dry; I watched as the school bus pulled up and Daddy hugged his little boy good-bye and walked off with his yellow lab. Of course, I followed.

From a distance.

I couldn’t tell which apartment he went into, but I was able to determine the building, and that it was on the second floor of the two-floor complex. As I turned to go back to my building down the street, I heard a man whistle, like to his dog. I turned and saw Daddy running with his lab over to the park. Daddy had grabbed a Frisbee and was taking his dog out for some fun! While still wearing the hoodie, he had let the hood drop off, so his cap was fully visible now.

I followed the pair over to the park and once again sat down on a bench, wishing I had brought a newspaper to make myself look inconspicuous. I decided to take out my iPhone and surf the web, keeping one eye (okay-- both eyes) on Daddy and doggie as they played. He was so cool. The dog was cool too, actually, catching the Frisbee in his mouth, jumping high to get it.

At some point Daddy and I made eye contact. Keep in mind that we were probably 30 yards apart, but he did obviously look over at me a few times. I’m not a bodybuilder, really, but I do keep fit, and I’ve been told more than once that I’m better-than-average as far as looks go. Anyway, of course my heart quickened when he looked my way. I tried to find the balance between showing an acknowledgment of his presence and not being obvious. Whatever, it must not have been threatening to him to see me there, frequently watching him and his dog.

Then the vector of his Frisbee throws started to change. His throws got closer to me! And Daddy and I started to smile and nod frequently. I was going nuts inside.

“Lady” kept inching closer to me with each catch of the Frisbee (Daddy was calling her by name). Finally, she ended up almost in my lap as she lept for the plastic disk, and Dad took the opportunity to come over and apologize for her getting in my way.

Oh. My. God. He was coming up to me-- and talking to me! His smile sent shivers through my body. His face was poetry. His muscles pushed out against his sweatshirt and pants; his narrow waist was evident, even under the bulky clothes. “Sorry about that,” he said. He was a little winded, from running and playing with Lady. He stopped in front of me.

“No problem, man,” I found myself saying. “She’s a beautiful dog.”

“Thanks,” Dad said. He looked off at the trees and said. “Nice day.” He turned to me and said, “I love this park.”

“Oh yeah, me too.”

Then he said, “I think I’ve seen you at the bus stop across the street, haven’t I?”

He remembers seeing me?

“Oh, yeah, you might have,” I answered. “I usually take the bus to work. I live right over there in those condos,” I pointed.

“Cool. We’re practically neighbors.” Then he extended his hand. “Mick. Mick Williams.”

“Sean Scott,” I said. “I’ve seen you with your little boy, waiting for the school bus.” As soon as I said it, I was hoping he didn’t think I was stalking his kid. I’m no pedophile, but maybe I’m just self-conscious these days.

He grinned. “Yeah, Tucker. He’s in the first grade.”

I figured if he was suspicious of me stalking his kid, he wouldn’t be giving out his son’s name.

“Wow. That’s cool. It’s cool that you’re able to be here in the mornings and take him to the bus like that,” I said.

Mick kicked a clump of dirt in the grass. He actually looked a little coy. “Yeah, I’m really lucky in that respect. I work out of my apartment, so I can also be a full-time daddy.”

“That’s awesome. Tucker is a very lucky boy.” I wanted to say that Tucker was very lucky to have such a cool muscledaddy, but of course I didn’t.

Mick played with Lady in a little tug-of-war with the Frisbee while he stood there. I could see his arms were gigantic, even under his sweatshirt.

“So mom doesn’t get to take Tucker to the bus, huh?” I ventured.

Without looking away from his play with Lady, Mick answered, “Oh, mom is-- well, she’s out of the picture now.”

“Oh. I hear you,” I responded. I didn’t want to offer undue sympathy (maybe she died?) where it might not be needed (maybe he left her and he was happy she was out of the picture), and I wanted to affirm that whatever his situation was, I wasn’t going to offer any kind of judgement.

“Yeah, it’s good this way. Things are good for Tucker and me.”

“That is really cool.”

Mick kept playing with Lady, finally wresting the Frisbee from her and throwing it far into the open field. She ran off after it. Mick turned to me. “So, what is so darn exciting that you get on that bus every day for?” He made a motion to the place where my bus stops.

“A paycheck,” I said deadpan.

Mick laughed, and I thought I had died and gone to heaven. God he was just adorable-- so beautiful, so muscular and powerful-- and yet here he was interacting and laughing with me!

“I’m a CPA at a firm downtown,” I said.

“Really?” Mick said. “You don’t seem like the numbers type.”

“Oh?”

“I don’t know. I guess appearances can be deceiving,” he said. “But to me, you look like a misplaced Wilderness Guide or something. Maybe a Forest Ranger. For some reason, the whole urban thing doesn’t seem to fit you.”

I laughed. “Wow-- you’re perceptive! I just moved here from Montana-- was born and raised there-- and boy, do I miss it!”

Mick laughed. “See? I knew it!”

“That’s amazing,” I said, continuing my laugh. I wondered if maybe he liked the outdoor types.

I didn’t have a problem talking about myself, but I wanted to find out more about Mick, so I redirected the conversation. “What is it in that apartment of yours that’s so darn exciting that you stay home every day?”

He chuckled. “I have a number of irons in the fire. I do computer work, mainly. Website design, databases, some small business I. T. work. And I do some photography too. Kind of a jack of all trades, master of none.”

“Wow; that’s cool. Sounds like a really cool lifestyle.”

“Yeah, it really is.”

Lady had returned a few times and Mick threw the Frisbee away for her each time; she kept running back and forth. As she ran off after it again, Mick turned toward me and unzipped his hoodie. “This playing with the dog thing can get you kind of hot,” he said. He pulled the sweat jacket off and revealed an upper body that was wrapped in a tight-- but not too tight-- fitting dark red T-shirt. I nearly peed my pants. This guy looked like he should be competing with the pros! He draped his hoodie over the bench, next to me. His arms-- they were unreal!

Just mounds of muscles all over his torso, and his jeans-- I bet they were no bigger than 30 inches at the waist.

“Apparently,” I said, “working from home also gives you time to hit the gym.”

He smiled. “Oh yeah. Been bodybuilding since high school,” he said, bending down to take the plastic disk from his dog’s mouth. “Do a little power lifting too,” he added.

“Shit. You look amazing.” I had met enough muscleguys at the gym to know that most of them don’t mind at all if you comment on how great they look. It’s just that you can’t come right out and ask to feel. Suggesting a blow job is also grounds for immediate suspension of a conversation. But respectful admiration, coupled with the occasional request for advice, is totally doable. Most muscle worshippers, I think, are too afraid to do this, and it’s their loss.

Mick smiled back, looking right into my eyes. “Thanks.”

Our eyes lingered on each others’ face for longer than normal, and I could have sworn that Mick’s eyes twinkled at me. He made me want to crawl into a sleeping bag with him and never come out.

After I finally broke the gaze, I fumbled for some words, but found none.

“You got the day off?” Mick said, reaching down to pet Lady.

“Oh… uh, yeah,” I said, somewhat flustered. “Dentist appointment this afternoon.”

“Ah, yes,” Mick said. “The visit with the dentist. Too much fun.”

“Yeah. It’s just a check-up, so I’m hoping for the best.”

He squatted down, continuing to pet Lady, rubbing her body down with his strong hands and arms bulging everywhere; “Well, you want to come up to my place and kill some time ‘til then?”

“What?” I couldn’t believe he was asking me that, and my startled reaction was probably way too telling of my shock, even though such an invitation wasn’t anything unusual at all, really. “I mean, really?” I was trying to recover. “Well, sure.”

“Cool.” Mick looked down at Lady and stood up. He threw the Frisbee toward his apartment and picked up his hoodie off the bench.

I stood, and we walked toward his place.

Inside, Mick’s apartment was immaculate. I was impressed. There were pictures of Mick and Tucker on the walls, and even one picture of them with a woman-- obviously the mom who wasn’t around anymore. Of course what really caught my eye was the collection of pictures of Mick on the bodybuilding stage, along with a big stash of trophies. He had almost as many power lifting trophies as bodybuilding ones.

“Wow, you are amazing,” I said, staring at his awards and pictures.

“Thanks,” he said. “You want something to drink? Ice tea? Coffee? Water?” he looked at his watch and said, “If you come back later, I’ll offer you a beer, but 9:30 in the morning is probably a little early,” he grinned.

I laughed. “Nothing, thanks. I’m fine.” I think at this point, my infatuation with his muscled physique must have become a little obvious. It was impossibly hard not to just look at it. He was perfect. His proportions were the definition of art. Everything tied together so well. Huge, ripped muscles. Lean, fat-free, clear, warm skin. A face that would make angels envious. I just couldn’t pry my eyes off him.

And he didn’t seem to mind, although I do think he noticed.

Yeah. He noticed.

He looked right at me, with an almost mischievous smile. “You okay?” he said.

“Me? Fine. I’m fine,” I said, forcing myself to avert my gaze. I looked back at the awards his body had won.

Mick walked over to me and started pointing out which awards won what contest, and which pictures where taken where and when… At this point, he put his arm around my shoulder while he talked. It could almost have been just a regular, friendly kind of gesture, but for me, it nearly started my raging hardon squirting.

“You into bodybuilding?” he finally asked.

I gave an innocuous answer, saying that I was-- like any het guy might.

“Cool,” he said. We were both still looking at the display case of his stuff, his arm around my shoulder. Then he slowly pivoted and faced me, letting his arm move down my back and then fall to his side. Almost instinctively, I turned to face him at the same time. We were face to face, only inches apart.

God, I wanted to die. I couldn’t believe I was so close to such divine pulchritude! The growth of beard on his face-- shit, he was so incredibly gorgeous.

Mick was silent. So was I. We looked at each other, and at that moment, it became obvious where all of this positioning and posturing was leading. Mick put his hands on my waist and pushed his crotch against mine. Our cocks touched with only denim between them, and he rubbed his jeans against mine. His arms were so big, his shirt looked like it was stretched to the physical limit of the fabric.

He shifted his hips again, and our jeans rubbed our crotches again. We both looked down to watch.

I have to admit that at this point my knees were on the verge of giving way. I had never been in this position before. Fully closeted, I was afraid of making contact with a guy. The aforementioned gym conversations were as far as I had ever gotten with a muscleguy, and I couldn’t believe that someone-- someone who blew everyone else out of the water-- was initiating this kind of closeness with me. His muscles filled every millimeter of my vision. His T-shirt seemed tighter now-- painted on. His chest was enormous. His boulder shoulders looked like they could hold the earth-- like Atlas. Even his abs were visible under the fabric-- they were amazing.

“Your arms-- they look like they’re made of iron, and covered in silk,” I said. We had already crossed the barrier, what with the cock rubbing through our jeans; and I was so out of breath that I wondered if he could even understand my mumblings.

He said nothing. He took his hands from my waist and started to lift the T-shirt fabric out of his jeans. Slowly, he lifted the shirt-- still standing so that our growing cocks remained connected through the denim. I know I gasped out loud-- or at least I sighed. He put the T-shirt down and returned his hands to my waist.

“God-- your chest.”

Mick smiled.

I just stared at all his muscles.

It seemed like an eternity. Mick obviously didn’t want to rush anything. He let me just look. I ran my eyes up and down, back and forth. I probably licked my lips-- I don’t remember.

And then, without a word, Mick made a “go-ahead” kind of gesture with his head, face and eyes. He gave me permission to touch.

My trembling hands started on his forearms. That would be the safest place to start. But even his forearms screamed strength and power. They were thick, veined appendages that had obviously lifted tons and tons of weight over years in the gym. Up his arms my fingers and palms went, moving onto his upper arms. The safest place here was the triceps.

God, I nearly ejaculated right then and there. I had never felt a guy’s muscles. Never. His triceps were gargantuan. They were huge mounds on the back of his arms. Tight. Warm. Hard.

Now, though, came the real deal. My hands moved forward, onto his biceps. I felt their incredible mass. My fingertip felt the thick, long vein on each one. I opened my hands and moved them all over his guns, slowly feeling every sinew and bulge. I hadn’t considered how hard and big a man’s arms could be when you’re actually feeling them.

Mick was very patient with me.

“God--” I whispered.

His shoulders-- delts and traps-- were just as delicious as his arms.

“Fuuuuuck--” I mumbled as I ran my hands over them.

Finally, my hands made their way onto the inevitable. The ultimate destination (at least for this part of the journey) was that incomparable duo of pectoral muscles: Mick’s massive chest.

Huge areola, crowned with peanut-sized nipples were supported by warm, hard plates-- no, shelves-- no, continental shelves of brawny muscle. I palmed them lightly, and my head began to spin. I couldn’t believe this was happening to me.

My hands moved up and over them-- slowly enjoying their warmth. Mick’s eyes moved to half-mast as my thumbs and fingers lightly rolled his nips, then spread back out to feel to the outsides of his pecs.

I don’t know how long I spent, just on his pecs, but after a few minutes, I let my hands go everywhere on his upper body: his shoulders, arms, abs, pec, and even around to his back-- which brought us into a sensual warm embrace that culminated in a kiss that I thought existed only in my fantasies. Mick could give Cupid lessons on kissing. From intense, to languid and soft, we kissed a long, long time while my hands kept treating themselves to the hard musculature of Mick’s award-winning powerful body.

As I continued to feel him out, Mick put one hand on my neck to make sure I wouldn’t pull out of the kiss. He rubbed our jeans together, and I gotta tell you, that sensation-- at this point in the whole episode-- brought me as close to climax as I had ever been without actually falling off the cliff, so to speak.

Finally, our lips parted and Mick stood back just a bit. Our eyes were locked on each others’. Without looking at his hands, he undid his belt and zipper. Slowly, softly, he asked, “You want to see my legs?”

I didn’t answer, and he didn’t wait for one. He forced his jeans down over his quads-- with much protestation by said leg muscles to said jeans-- and in so doing, his enormous arms tightened and bulged with intoxicating power. His triceps-- I don’t know how a person could look at them without getting immediately hard.

With his pants off, he slipped off his shoes, leaving his socks on. He wore boxers, that although ample in their leg openings were as stretched by his giant legs as his shirt sleeves had been by his arms.

His legs rippled with purring, morphing, moving, powerful life.

God, this was just unbelievable. How many men like this existed in the world? And what were the odds that one of them lived across the street from me? And that he’d befriend me? And that he’d let me see? And that he’d let me touch? And kiss?

And what would happen next?

Well, I’ll tell you what happened next. Mick put one foot forward and gently rocked his upper leg until he hardened it into granite.

Un-fucking-believable. Just completely outside the realm of possibility.

Huge, hard, hot muscles-- ripped as good or better than anything you’ve ever seen on a video clip. And probably bigger. His legs looked like they could crush phone poles if an unfortunate one found itself between them.

Mick pulled up on the fabric of his boxers to reveal more of his leg and flexed them again. Then he pulled up on the other one and did it again.

“Fuuuuuuuck,” I whispered. “I think I’m going to faint.”

Mick chuckled. “Well, before you do, why not cop a feel?” His voice was even and relaxed-- almost matter-of-fact.

I didn’t have to be asked twice.

Oh, sweet Jesus.

Mick flexed and rippled his legs for me as I bent down and held them. I felt all of them. His quads, hamstrings-- his lower legs, the calves. Up and down, enjoying his lower body as much as I had the upper. He flexed for me for the longest time, never seeming to tire. I felt them. I hugged them. They were so huge-- hugging just one leg was like hugging a person! I even kissed them a few times, and Mick seemed to like that.

I ran my hand on the inside of his quads and he caught my fingers between his legs, flexing them so hard and tight that I nearly couldn’t pull free. His demeanor seemed to be encouraging me ever higher, and he pulled back on his boxers whenever I ventured thus.

Finally, the moment came. My fingertips had been sneaking up higher with each new northward campaign, and now-- this trip-- my fingertip met up with a warm object. Mick wasn’t hard-- well, not totally hard. My fingertip kept moving slowly up the inside of his boxer leg, and onto his thick cock. Just the head. And then a little farther. As my thumb came into contact with it, my hand curled around it very slightly. My touch was extremely light. I didn’t grab it at all-- just kind of moved my hand over it.

Mick looked down at me, expressionless, as I explored his genitals. By now, my fingertips had run up the length of his shaft and were now beginning to nest in his manicured pubes.

My free hand moved up Mick’s hamstrings on the back side of his leg and began to see what it could see on his back side. God, his glutes were hard.
As I fingered his sphincter with one hand, my “front” hand continued to take in all of his manhood-- again, very gently, almost open-palmed, just rubbing it and teasing it.

It was definitely growing.

Mick and I continued to stare at each other as I became intimately acquainted with his most private areas. His massive muscles were hardened stones-- immovable because Mick was frozen as I touched him. The only things that moved were his chest as he breathed, and his cock as it pulsed a little higher with each beat of his heart.

And still, he looked deep into my psyche.

He knew he had me right where he wanted me; and that was because he had me right where I wanted to be.

Totally unbelievable. Here I was, looking up at this god, feeling every square inch of his body, feeling his genitals! And making him get hard! I gingerly stroked him to full erection.

When his cock achieved its full potential, it was obvious that the usefulness of his boxers had been exceeded. I pulled them down to the floor-- slowly. Mick reached down and pulled me up to a standing position, where we embraced again and kissed. When we finally parted, his precum had moistened my lower shirt.

We ended up, a few minutes later, in Mick’s bedroom. He undressed me, and I found myself kneeling before his majesty, kissing his erect dick. Slowly.

Than a lick.

Mick liked this. A lot. He moaned every time my tongue came out. They were long, luxurious licks, punctuated with tender kisses. His clear pre-ejaculate nectar was sweet. Remember, this was my first time (!), so all of this was new to me-- but it came totally naturally, that’s for sure. Hell, I had lived something like this countless times in my dreams. Never did I think it would actually happen.

He was thick and long. I couldn’t get all of him in my mouth, but that didn’t matter. My favorite part was wrapping my lips around his cock head. I think he liked that too.

When he was fully insane with lust, he had me lie on my back on his bed. He took my ankles in his hands and spread me apart. Now the challenge for me would be to hold back my orgasm until he got inside.

And that was a mighty tall order. Mick took his time. First, he rubbed the whole length of his hard, thick penis up and down over my ass hole. He closed his eyes, perhaps envisioning the ultimate penetration to come. Eventually, he pressed his head against my sphincter.

He was gentle. I think he knew this was new to me. He went very slowly, allowing his natural lube to slicken the path. He nuzzled his head against my hole, pushing gently against it, then pulling back. Then a little harder, opening me just a bit.

I got the distinct impression that this was going to hurt.

Despite Mick’s tender efforts to make it otherwise, when he finally parted me and slowly pushed in, I cried out.

He didn’t stop, though. He gently continued to push inside.

I don’t know how it works with everyone else, but for me, having the pain of Mick fuck me didn’t diminish my aroused state in the least. I was actually getting more and more close to blowing my wad as he pushed up to the hilt.

As Mick began to pump, slowly rocking in and out, I reached my limit. My cock burst a hard shot, and a loud blast of my cum splattered above my head onto his bed covers. The second volley creamed my face.

Mick, seeing the effect that his powerful presence was having on me, quickly began filling me with his seed. I could feel his thick, long cock convulse inside me, blasting my guts with his essence. My essence was spraying all over his room and my body. His essence was making me warm inside.

As Mick’s orgasm intensified (and mine as well) he leaned forward and collapsed onto me, still flexing his hips and pumping hard into me. We kissed between moans (and during them) and I hugged him tightly.

It was more muscle that I had ever dreamed of having, and it was all mine.

I was actually able to pry myself away from Mick to make my dentist appointment. Unfortunately, when I returned to his apartment, Tucker was home from school and Mick was busy being Daddy again. He did, though, ask me to join them for dinner; and then when Tucker went down to bed that night, Mick and I ended up on the couch, watching a DVD-- well, watching part of a DVD. Halfway through the movie, I convinced Mick to show me his posing routine, and, well, one thing ended up leading to another…

Mick and I became real good friends. And Tucker as well. And Lady. The weekends when Tucker went to visit his mom became my favorite times.

— SRS

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So it is written. So shall it be.

The Church Camp Lifeguard 

CHAPTER ONE: MY PRE-ADOLESCENT AFFAIR OF THE HEART
by Sean Reid Scott  This email address is being protected from spambots. You need JavaScript enabled to view it.

Posted: 2022  ::  Approx. 3,200 words

KNEW I LIKED MEN when I was five years old. Truth. Yes: at the ripe young age of five. No joke. That’s when I first realized. That’s when it all started. 

By the time I was eight or nine, I had firmly established my “type”: Muscle Men: big, masculine, powerful, bodybuilder-types. I was obsessed.

So, the summer before fourth grade, when my siblings and I made the annual trip to spend a week at Church Camp, you can imagine my pleasure when I first saw our camp lifeguard for that year. 

His name was Alexander. 

His hair was light blond—the color that’s called towhead on kids; I was a towhead back then too. But that’s where my similarities with Alex ended. He was buff, big, and beautiful: muscles that had no business being there—other than to torment me.

I’d always kind of remember him looking a lot like the old muscle heartthrob Dave Draper back in the ‘60s (only a lot more ripped and lean; yeah, that comparison might be a bit anemic. Alex was ten times better than Dave Draper.). Alex was huge—and all muscle: rippling, fat-free muscle. Even though he was in high school—probably his senior year—he seemed a lot bigger and a lot more buff than any high schooler I’d ever seen. And to me, a nine-year-old kid obsessed with muscular men, he was Mr. Universe incarnate.  Alex was obviously into weights and bodybuilding. He was big. Really big. And he was always really, really lean.

Even all these years later, I can remember that first moment I saw him. I can see it like it was yesterday. His physique was astounding. He was a bodybuilder. He kept his nearly-platinum blond hair a short, and he was the epitome of gorgeous.

Anyway, on that July Sunday afternoon our bus took off from our church parking lot and arrived at Camp Canyon an hour-and-a-half later. We’d stay the week, and go home on Saturday.

I hated Church Camp. No. Scratch that. I loathed Church Camp. Many of my fellow gay guys will identify with my plight back then: I felt alone, and isolated. I truly believed I was immoral for liking guys and not girls. I knew I was an enormous disappointment to God—basically a pariah. 

If anyone ever found out my “secret” I’d have dug a hole to China and never turned back.

So yeah, Church Camp, where you’re crowded into cabins with all sorts of confident, jocky, “normal” kids: it was hell. Ironic, huh? Hell to me was Church Camp. Go figure.

There were two things at camp that horrified me the most (other than being discovered): 

1) Bee’s nests. It seemed that every building (especially the cabin I was assigned to) had at least one very active beehive in its eaves. Usually near the front door—or near the cabin’s sole window (which was likely near my bunk). I was horrified that they’d swarm me, and my entire body would be literally covered with bees. I’d die a torturous death… as slow and painful as a person could possibly experience. I hated bees. 

2) Sleeping on the bottom bunk under the fattest kid in camp. Only a thin piece of particleboard separated me from, like, 300 pounds of impending death. And every time the kid rolled over on the bunk above me, I could see the thin plywood bend and bow, signaling my demise if not immediately, then certainly while I slept. It didn’t help that he was a loud nose-breather either.

Most nights I would silently cry myself to sleep in my sleeping bag (if, like I said, I could sleep at all). 

That was how it was… until I saw Alex. Then, although camp was still horrible, at least I had our lifeguard to pine after. And Alex was so freakin’ pine-worthy. I looked for him at every bend in the path, around every camp building, at every meal in the big cafeteria hall, at every campfire—and especially in the afternoon when we had swim time at the lake. Of course, he was always there, lifeguarding everyone. The only disappointment was that he almost always wore a tank top, even while lifeguarding at the lake. Don’t get me wrong, there was no way to hide his big muscles. And he was so flippin’ gorgeous and friendly. But I really wanted him to take that tank top off. So bad.

The girls always surrounded his lifeguard station; I watched from afar. Whether I was just sitting on my towel, or actually swimming in the water, my eyes were never off Alex for more than a few seconds at a time. His smile was absolutely perfect. I was a wreck. Smitten. My fourth grade self was totally consumed with him.

During “crafts,” when we had to make those stupid square picture frames out of those wooden sticks they use as handles for ice cream bars… I thought of Alex. And when we had to make hanging strings for the stupid frames out of yarn… I thought of Alex. I thought of Alex during lunch too. And during Bible lessons. Campfire too (where my  cabin mates made fun of the idea of throwing “faggots” into the fire; not that I even knew what that meant… I was only nine.). When Reveille sounded first thing in the morning, and we all gathered at the big field to raise the flag… until lights out, and Doak (the fat kid in the upper bunk) threatened my very life just by being above me… all I ever thought about was Alex. All I ever did was keep an eye out for him.

ONE DAY, WHEN I WAS WALKING BACK to my cabin after lunch in the big hall, Alex was on the path, coming toward me. He was alone. It was a beautiful, sunny day; I will never forget it. The sunshine made his blond hair shimmer, and his skin was a contrasting tan. In his tank top and shorts, his wide, rounded shoulders and muscular arms were amazing. And his chest… his tank was cut low at the neck, so you could actually see the cleavage between his pecs. I remember the striations! The man had no fat anywhere. He wore raggedy denim cut-offs, and his legs were really big and muscular! He wore flip-flops. I don’t have a foot fetish, but even his feet were perfect. 

He approached me, and my heart raced. What should I do? I couldn’t actually turn and run the other way—which was exactly what I wanted to do. I couldn’t just dive into the bushes, or duck behind a tree. He’d obviously already seen me.

I was doomed. (Nowadays, I’d say I was fucked.) I had to make like everything was fine—like I wasn’t about to turn into a heap of blubber at passing him on the path.

The gap between us closed, and when he got a few feet in front of me, he stopped on the path. “Hey, Bryan, how’s it going?”

He knew my name? What the heck? I stopped too. I was gobsmacked. Dumbfounded. I wanted to cry. What should I say?

When I didn’t answer, he asked, “Are you enjoying camp?” Holy heck the guy wanted to engage me in conversation!

I finally found the wherewithal to nod. Barely nod.

“Good, buddy.” 

Buddy? Holy heck. I was going to spontaneously combust right there on the dirt path. I couldn’t meet his eyes. I’m sure that would have resulted in instant and eternal death.

“Hey, if you ever want to talk about anything, I’m always available when I’m not lifeguarding. Just in case you want to talk. About anything.”

I just looked at my feet.

“To tell the truth, I remember when I was a kid. It was hard to figure out some of my feelings and stuff. I kinda felt like a weirdo.”

I frowned at the dirt. Him? Alex? He felt weird when he was a kid? How was that even possible? He was everything! The consummate stud!

“So anyway, just an offer. I know when you start approaching middle school it can be a rough path to follow.”

All I could do was scuff the dirt with my tennis shoes. He must have known that my paralyzing shyness was because of my insecurities; wasn’t that hard to tell. 

“And hey, you’ve been coming to the lake every afternoon, right? I think I’ve seen you.”

I wanted to die. 

I figured out where my neck muscles were connected and I nodded again—very faintly. When I did so, lifting my head just a bit, my eyes landed on his ball-shaped calves, bulging on the back side of his lower legs. Above them, his upper legs were just mind-boggling. There was no hair on his tan, shaved legs; I remember noticing how the frayed bottoms of his cut-offs hung down on his enormous, veiny quads.

I was trembling; I’m sure of it.

“Yeah, I thought so,” he said.

Had I answered?

“Hey, why don’t you come and see me at my lifeguard station some time. It’d be fun to get to know you better. What do you think?”

I barely nodded again, and squeaked out, “Okay.” It was at that moment I somehow maneuvered my head upward… over the massiveness of his ripped physique, over arms, chest, and broad, defined shoulders, to look up into his face. His aquamarine eyes tended toward sea-blue. They were deep, yet powerfully bright. Like no set of eyes I’d ever seen. And the instant our eyes met I felt a kind of nausea nearly overcome me. But in a good way. I’m serious. I was struck by how gorgeous he was; even setting aside his Herculean build, Alex was so stunning that he made my stomach knot.

I averted my gaze and tried to focus. Oh yeah, his invitation to visit his lifeguard station. There was no way in heck I was going to do that. I needed to get out of there—fast. I was on the verge of breaking down and crying, right in front of him. I was scared spitless. Yeah, he was all nice and friendly—but he was that way to everyone. And of course if he knew about my secret, he’d never talk to me again. He’d report me to the Camp Director, for sure. Yeah, I wanted to just crawl into a cave and die. Please let me die.

Keep in mind, though, that at nine years old, my “secret” hadn’t actually developed into anything sexual. It was an emotional attraction to men. I was just on the cusp of starting puberty, so sexual feelings weren’t even a thing to me yet. Still, I knew I had an attraction to men, and I also “knew” that no other boys had these feelings. So I was already aware of being odd and weird at best… deviant and perverse at worst.

“Cool,” he smiled. “I’ll keep my eye out for you, buddy.” And with that he ruffled my hair and walked off.

He ruffled my hair! He touched me. And he ruffled. My. Hair!

I stood there, in shock for a few minutes, and then ran to my cabin—full-out ran. I threw myself on my bunk and held still. Had anyone seen me? Talking to him? I was petrified that someone had. Because if they had, they obviously would have been able to tell that I liked him. 

I was doomed. 

OF COURSE, I WAS TOO SCARED TO GO to the lake during swimming time. Anyone who saw me there—after Alex had talked to me on the path—they’d know for sure. 

I knew, of course that the normal guys talked to him all the time. But they were normal! The only reason someone like me would ever get close to Alex was because of the infatuation. I was enamored with him—and his muscles. There was no way I could admit that. Showing up to ogle him would be a dead giveaway. I could not be found out. 

But deep inside, I knew I couldn’t stay away. I had to go. In fact, there was no way I could stay away.

So I went. But I knew I’d stay away from him. No way was I going to walk up to him like he’d mentioned. I did my best to remain invisible: Lie on my towel, slip into the water where I could watch him discreetly, from amongst the other bobbing heads in the lake… always making sure that no one saw me look.

But at one point, while I was lying on my too-small towel, letting the sun dry me off, I sensed a shadow move over me, blocking the sunlight. I opened my eyes, and… 

Alex was standing above me. Smiling. His huge body filled my vision. “Hey Bryan, how you doing?”

I didn’t know what to do. I needed to act like a normal kid, but… how was I supposed to do that?! Well, one way to be normal was to answer the question he’d just posed. So I did: “Okay,” I said, looking at anything other than his beautiful face and enormous, rippling muscles.

“Nice. You having a good time, bud?” I looked around; no one was with him. It was just him and me.

“Yeah, I guess.”

“Good. Well hey, I was hoping you’d come over and spend some time at the lifeguard stand. With me, you know? That is, if you want. It gets pretty boring just standing there alone, you know?” His smile could melt steel. And all of his muscles were like steel. 

The idea that he was bored, and “alone” at his lifeguard stand was ridiculous. People surrounded him, all the time. But I didn’t have the mental capacity to work through all that.

“Oh. Yeah, I guess.”

He smiled more. “Well come on, then. Grab your towel. There’s plenty of sunshine over there too.” He extended his hand to me.

What the heck was going on here? 

He was teasing me, wasn’t he. Testing me. He was going to make fun of me. He knew my secret didn’t he, and he was going to make some kind of example of me, exposing my weird, not-natural, sinful thoughts. He was going to make me admit my infatuation with muscle men in front of the entire camp. I could feel it.

But I was too afraid to just sit there. He’d given me a lawful order; well, a legitimate, polite request anyway. So I moved. He bent down and helped me to my feet. 

I was touching him. Our hands. He was so… so… solid! Those muscles were strong! Just from our hands touching I could tell. Once I was standing up, he helped grab my towel and shake it out, then turned and motioned for me to follow.

I obeyed, walking behind him—which gave me a front-row seat to the widest back and narrowest waist ever. I stared at his wide, “V”-shaped lats (I didn’t know the names of the muscles yet, but that’s what I was looking at). Under his tank top, I could see the insane development of his back. It was like no back I’d ever seen on a man. I didn’t have access to much muscle stuff—magazines or TV stuff, and this was before the Internet—so I had never been exposed to anything like this: his back, and his wide shoulders… his deltoids were really rounded. He wasn’t wearing cut-offs anymore; he wore glute-hugging shorts that hugged his ass and accentuated his legs. His giant legs—upper and lower—were like nothing I’d ever imagined!

We arrived at his stand. I looked around. The place was buzzing—full of kids—but no one was really paying us any mind. Some kids—especially girls—hung around, but for the moment, they mostly kept their distance.

He ruffled my hair again. “Sweet, buddy. I’m glad you moved. Like I said, it can get lonely, and I like to talk with people.” Then he launched right into conversation with me! “Have you been coming here to Camp Canyon for many years?”

I still wasn’t sure what was going on. I was definitely leery. Petrified, really. What was… why was this hunk, this jock, this muscle man talking to me?! I forced myself to nod. “This is my first year.”

“Cool. You have some brothers here too, right?” How did he know so much about me?

For the next few minutes he asked me questions, and I answered—mostly with one-word answers.

He had to blow his whistle a few times to stop kids from horseplay… and a few times some girls came up to him all coy and flirty, and although he was nice, he didn’t engage them.

I just couldn’t figure it out. Why did he want to talk to me? Although I wasn’t fully convinced that he wasn’t trying to entrap me and reveal my feelings (about him), he was starting to not make me as scared as I’d been before. I didn’t think I’d ever not be scared of him, but… maybe less scared. And of course, infatuated.

I spent most of the time sitting on my towel, listening to him, and answering his questions. I guess this was what conversation was like. I mean, I was used to conversation, but I was definitely not used to conversation with God Himself—and Alex was that for me. Which obviously only made me feel worse about myself because obviously God would not approve. And at Church Camp of all places.

WHEN SWIM TIME WAS OVER AND EVERYONE was going back to their cabins, Alex said to me, “Hey, can you hold up for a sec?” I had just finished shaking out my towel. I draped it over my shoulders and waited while he closed up his lifeguard stand. I was trembling, and not because I was cold. Nope. I was scared again. 

What did he want?

“I’ll walk you back to your cabin, okay?” he said.

He wanted to walk with me? He wanted to be with me? You could have blown me over with a soap bubble. This was not reality! Couldn’t be!

As we walked on the path, Alex continued talking. He was so flippin’ friendly! His manner was soft and unthreatening. “I remember when I was in fourth grade, I really felt like an outcast,” he said.

I scuffed the ground as we walked.

“And well, I just want you to know that you’re not alone, you know?”

He was trying to trap me—I just knew it. There was no way he felt like I did. I was this close to bolting—running to my cabin and burying myself in the depths of my sleeping bag.

But I kept to the path.

He left me at my cabin, and I joined my cabin-mates for an afternoon quiet time in our bunks. I was so ready for Doak to fall through and kill me. And Alex had talked to me. About weird things. I just wanted to go home. Run as far and as fast as I could. Away from here. Away from prying eyes and ears. Away from falling fat kids. Away from Mr. Perfect Muscles. Mr. Camp Canyon himself.

And yet, there was no place on Earth that I’d rather be: with Alex the lifeguard.

— SRS

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So it is written. So shall it be.

The Church Camp Lifeguard 

CHAPTER THREE: GETTING TO KNOW YOU
by Sean Reid Scott  This email address is being protected from spambots. You need JavaScript enabled to view it.

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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So it is written. So shall it be.

Brawn 

by Sean Reid Scott  This email address is being protected from spambots. You need JavaScript enabled to view it.

Posted: in the before time  ::  Approx. 4,500 words

EOPLE ALWAYS FOUND IT IRONIC that his parents had named him Brawn. When most people learned his name, their first response was something like “sounds appropriate,” even if they only thought it without voicing it.

Many people didn’t voice it, though. He didn’t come across as the type of man who would laugh at much.

The guy was enormous.

He was more than enormous; he was a giant of a man-- the kind of physical specimen you only read about in Ripley’s “Believe it or Not,” or in fiction on the Web. Certainly, you didn’t actually encounter men his size.

As he grew up, Brawn had somehow managed to confine his need to dominate-- or at least to direct it in nominally non-violent spheres. His dad would undoubtedly beg to differ with that assessment, though. He finally kicked Brawn out of the house at age 16 when the pile of mangled lawn mowers, crunched car engines, crushed hot-water-heaters, and even imploded vaults began to fill the garage to overflowing.

The garbage haulers and recyclers refused to pick them up-- just too much.

It seemed every week, Brawn dragged home some new mass of metal from the junk yard. Once in the garage, he stripped to cut-offs and went to work-- pushing and compacting whatever it was that he’d obtained.

His dad was incredulous at first, just amazed at his kid’s size and strength. Some times he’d stand in the kitchen door, watching. As Brawn’s huge back reached around, say, a hot water heater and his enormous arms expanded, he flexed, lifting it in the air. Then the thing began to creak and groan. With a hiss, it would give under Brawn’s inhuman grip, crumbling inward. In a matter of minutes the thing would be reduced to half its original size, and Brawn’s dad would silently excuse himself to retreat to the bedroom for a new set of boxers, to replace the cum-filled ones he was wearing.

He loved his son, and he didn’t want to make him go-- if for no other reason than his own infatuation with Brawn’s incredibly unbelievable physique.

But the bigger the boy got, the more unruly he became. He began to defy his dad’s authority. He stopped cleaning up after himself. He began to apply his temper to the woodwork. His dad was going broke on carpenters called to repair and replace door jams and headers forced out of place and cracked by Brawn’s short fuse.

He didn’t really fear for his life, although Brawn could have pulled him apart with minimal effort. But he knew Brawn couldn’t use his temper on his own dad. That he knew.

Now, on someone else… maybe.

But nevertheless, dad had had enough of the repair bills, the dump yard that his garage had become, and the rebellious attitude.

Brawn and an older buddy got an apartment.

And for the rest of his high school years, Brawn tried as best he could to toe the line and stay out of trouble. Sometimes, his temper didn’t always stay in check-- like the time he ripped that highway guard rail off its posts and folded it like he was playing an accordion. Or when he went to the rail yard and lifted one end of a parked rail car off the tracks and sat it down three feet off.

But occasionally, he was able to use his hot head and out-of-this-world strength for good. Tommy (his roommate) liked to work on his F350, and occasionally Brawn would serve as a jack, benching the thing from one of its axels, holding it there while Tommy worked on it, lying at Brawn’s side. More than once, Tommy had to jerk off at the feat, and that just made Brawn smirk while the older kid moaned, shooting his load up at the undercarriage.

After high school, Brawn-- who was pretty good with gadgets-- got a job with a cell phone company, working in their device support office, mostly fixing phones. It was actually pretty amazing to see this hulk of a kid working so tenderly and gently on these tiny objects.

But as time progressed and Brawn’s body moved into its maturity, his blood pulsed with so much testosterone that he had to get out.

Out of this life.

He looked as his situation and realized that this just wasn’t right. There was more for him. If only he could direct all of this heat that boiled inside-- in the right direction.

Unfortunately, he couldn’t.

It was a sunny Wednesday, lunch time. Brawn sat on the edge of the city square, eating his lunch, watching people as they passed by.

He was angry. (Brawn was always, but now even more.) He looked at the hopeless circle of his life. Somewhere in the microscopic synapse of his brain, a connection formed. It was tentative at first, but it became stronger. Then, inside, he snapped.

This was over. He had had enough.

He wanted more.

More of what he had no idea. But he knew that he didn’t have enough.

He was a master at acting impulsively, but for some reason, at this juncture he decided to think things out. He decided to come up with a plan.

The plan only took him an afternoon to formulate, so when you consider it was a plan that would alter his life forever, one could argue it was impulsive nonetheless. But he did give it some genuine thought, however cursory.

When five o’clock rounded the bend, Brawn closed up his work station and headed for the door. His plan was now engaged: Pleasure. Pleasure no matter what. From now on, Brawn would live for pleasure; and his mighty body would not only be the recipient of that pleasure, it would be the means for it as well.

First stop, an old gym that was tucked away inside a dilapidated warehouse in the seediest part of town. Only the most hardcore lifters frequented this gym. Most of ‘em were more interested in powerlifting than bodybuilding. But guys with honed physiques were there too.

It was the kind of place where you watched your back. Drug deals went down in the parking lot at all hours of the night and day-- and the abundance of roids made for quite a business inside the gym as well.

Brawn had never been to this gym, so when he walked in the door on that sweltering summer evening, heads turned. His skin-tight T-shirt and cutoffs left nothing to the imagination. The vast array of muscle at the gym had never seen anything like Brawn-- and that was saying something. Men who could easily bend rebar with their bare hands watched in awe (awe that was hidden from view, of course) as the nineteen-year-old stood in the doorway. His silhouette blocked most of the light that entered, save for the point at his insanely narrow waist, where there was much more light slipping by.

The kid looked around the room and locked eyes with most of the men. A few guys were in the middle of sets and weren’t yet aware of Brawn’s presence.

Brawn felt his penis thicken ever-so-slightly as he watched this tonnage of muscle admire his body.

Brawn didn’t move for a minute or so more. When he did, he strode over to a corner where a few duffle bags were thrown. He faced a wall as he lifted his T-shirt up over his torso, almost tearing it as it fought to navigate his lats-- lats that were so wide and thick that the overhang protruded out parallel with the floor.

Brawn lifted the fabric all the way up and tossed it on the floor. A relief map of muscle and veins advertised itself to the onlookers, eliciting a couple of muffled gasps.

Someone dropped a dumbbell.

Brawn turned and faced the room. All eyes were glued to his immense, rippling physique-- a physique like none other on earth. He ignored them, although his cock did jump once again at the sight of so much muscle overcome by his body.

Both of the benches were occupied. The guys that had them were huge men-- not by comparison to Brawn, but huge by normal-human-standards. Brawn walked to the closest one. It had over 500 pounds on the bar. He looked down at the guy sitting on the bench, and without saying a word communicated all that need to be communicated.

Without speaking, the guy stood moved out of the way.

Brawn sat, and then lied back. He grasped the bar wide, and without hesitation pushed it up off the stand. With a methodical, consistent speed-- but by no means slow-- Brawn lowered the bar to kiss his protruding nipples then immediately pressed it upward. His velocity increased slightly after the first few reps, and it was clear he was very comfortable with this warm-up weight. After 12 reps, Brawn racked the bar and sat up. He scanned the room for more plates, but could see only a few 45s were free. The bar on the bench next to him had four 100 pound superplates on it. He stood and moved to one end of the bar.

“Going to need these,” he said as he grabbed the first one. He paused, locked eyes with the big-gutted bencher and nodded for assistance. The guy immediately stood and took a 100 off the other end of the bar. One more trip for Brawn and the guy, and Brawn’s bar was now 400 pounds heavier.

“You going to need a spot?” the bencher asked.

Brawn just grunted. It would take more than that one lifter to spot him anyway… He lied back on the bench and placed his hands wide again. His enormous arms tightened as he began to press the bar off the stand.

As a few more muffled gasps of awe were raised, Brawn lowered the bar to his chest with seemingly the same amount of effort as before. He pressed it up, paused, and lowered it again.

He slowed down at the eighth rep, and with the ninth he paused at the bottom. With visible effort taxing his unimaginable body, Brawn tightened his muscles and slowly forced the bar upward. The stress had its biggest effect on Brawn’s cuttoff denim shorts. The power of benching the high side of 900 pounds for rep after rep, while displaying this inhuman power to all of these musclemen, had thickened Brawn’s dick more and more with each rep. Now, on this ninth rep, the fabric finally lost the battle to contain the thickening and lengthening member. As the bar made it to the middle-- that sticking point-- Brawn’s shorts burst at the zipper. It was just the added inspiration the teen needed to force the bar the rest of the way up.

A few moans wafted through the air as Brawn held the bar there, unwilling to quit before an even 10 reps. Brawn’s chest rose and fell with steady, fast breaths-- and then, he bent his arms and lowered the bar very slowly.

As his pecs thickened and rose to kiss the lowering bar, Brawn’s gigantic arms began to twitch. Ripples and veins fought to service the boy’s straining cannons. He pressed his feet into the floor, but kept his back straight, in perfect form. His pinky-sized nipples reached out and caressed the steel bar, and immediately Brawn began moving it upward once again.

As his anaconda pulsed up above his boxers, Brawn finished the rep, to the astonishment of everyone in the room.

Brawn sat up and noticed that a few of the guys had either turned away as they tried to hide their orgasmic appreciation for the feat they had just witnessed, or they were so mesmerized by what they had seen that they weren’t even aware of the wet spots on their workout shorts.

One guy was trying to conceal his inability to control himself by standing up against a weight machine. Brawn met his eyes and slightly cocked his head in a “come-ere” motion. The horrified man could only obey.

Standing next to Brawn, the guy’s hardon bulged beneath his sweatpants; a large dark spot dampened the place where the head pressed. Brawn pulled the waistband out and slipped his fingers inside, scooping up some of the lust offering. With his other hand, he gently squeezed the guy’s balls just for a second. He withdrew his fingers and let go of the testicles, bringing the white glob on his fingertips to his lips. He slowly inserted the fingers inside and slurped the jizz.

“Thanks for the compliment,” he said, looking up into the man’s wide eyes.

The next hour, Brawn worked just about all of his body parts, breaking pretty much every rule about grouping muscle parts on various days. The gym tried to resume its own routine of clanging plates and grunting effort, but there wasn’t a man there who didn’t have at least one eye on the teen the whole time.

He was finishing up with back.

A bodybuilder-type-- actually a really huge and ripped bodybuilder type-- had been doing sets of pull-ups on the only chin-up bar in the gym.

But it was Brawn’s turn now.

“How much do you weigh?” Brawn asked, disregarding the fact that the guy was in the middle of his set.

Somewhat pissed, but not wanting to show it, the guy dangled for a second and then-- his concentration lost-- dropped to the floor. “230,” the man said. He looked heavier than that, but that was probably because he was so freakin’ lean. Every muscle shown in fantastic definition. The guy was amazing.

“That’ll be about right,” Brawn said. He moved to the bar, forcing the bodybuilder to step aside. He turned to face the room, looked at the BB, cocked his head and said, “hop on,” motioning with his head for the guy to get behind him.

The bodybuilder hesitated.

“You got a problem?” Brawn asked. His eyes demanded immediate obedience.

The guy knew resistance was futile, yet draping himself on this giant of a kid-- in front of his peers in the gym-- was the last thing he wanted to do.

But like I said, he knew he had no choice. Slowly he moved to Brawn’s back. As he looked at the indescribable breadth and definition of the teenager’s back, he felt his staunchly heterosexual cock begin to twitch. In an instant, Brawn had reached inside the guy and pulled to the surface every latent gay muscle-loving feeling the guy had subconsciously repressed.

Unable to process these feelings of unbridled lust for this musclekid, the bodybuilder froze. Yet, he knew Brawn wouldn’t wait forever.

Indeed, Brawn didn’t. He turned his thick neck and glanced at the man behind him. “Get on. Now.”

Involuntarily, the man subordinated himself. The next thing he knew, his arms were wrapped around Brawn’s muscled neck, and his legs coddled the teen’s extremely narrow waist as his ankles locked in front of the enormous quads.

Brawn raised his giant arms outward and then up. Standing on his toes, he grasped the bar with a wide grip, palms facing away. The floor immediately began to get farther away, and the bodybuilder was astounded at the ease with which the muscles to which he clung tightened, contracted and lifted the combined weight of Brawn and himself. The guy rode up and down on Brawn’s back for rep after rep-- all the while his cock getting harder and harder as it pressed into the small of the teen’s back. 

Just when the bodybuilder thought he could hold back his orgasm no longer, Brawn finished the set and stood on the floor.

The guy didn’t know if he should get off or not.

“Off,” Brawn said, and the guy obeyed.

“Good warm-up,” the teen smirked. “But I need more weight.” He scanned the room for the necessary equipment, and soon the bodybuilder had a weight belt around his waist that held a chain carrying two 100 pound superplates.

Brawn crouched in front of the bodybuilder, adjusting the belt. The strain of the weight on the man was obvious. Brawn looked up at the man’s face. “What’s your name?”

“Thomas,” came the reply.

Finishing the last adjustment of the belt and chain, Brawn slowly rose. He stood right in front of Thomas, and put his hand on the man’s engorged genitals and, as if shaking a man’s hand, said “Glad to meet you, Thomas. My name’s Brawn.”

Thomas didn’t move. Had Brawn kept his squeezing hand there even one more second, he would have surely cum.

“I don’t think you’re going to be able to hold on to me very long with this additional weight,” Brawn said. “But don’t worry. I have an idea.”

With that, Brawn gently leaned forward and wrapped his hands around Thomas in a caressing, sensual hug. He moved his face down to Thomas’ and kissed the man. In a few seconds, his tongue was gingerly exploring Thomas’ mouth.

Both the men’s breathing increased, and Brawn was hard as a pipe before a minute had elapsed. Brawn broke the kiss. He pulled his boxers apart, and did likewise with Thomas’ shorts. Planting his feet shoulder-width apart, Brawn lifted Thomas-- and the 200 pounds-- into the air.

“Spread ‘em,” he smiled up at the bodybuilder. 

Thomas raised his legs, and Brawn slowly lowered him onto his gigantic cock.

Thomas wailed in pain, squeezing Brawn’s delts and traps, trying to push himself up.

But it was too late, and Thomas was unable to make any difference in his downward progress. Internal organs moved aside as Brawn’s tree branch of a cock moved inside the world-class competitive bodybuilder.

As Thomas’ ass met the trimmed fuzziness of Brawn’s pubes, Thomas’ moans took on a resigned tone. He held his breath, and then alternately panted, trying to find some sort of comfortable position-- which wasn’t at all possible.

Brawn leaned his face into Thomas’ once again and kissed him gently.

Tenderly.

Brawn flexed his cock inside Thomas, and the bodybuilder yelped.

Brawn smiled.

But now it was time to get back to working out. 

Brawn’s mighty arms reached up once again and grabbed the bar above. With Thomas impaled on his giant cock, Brawn’s body burst into rippling oceans of muscle as the two men cruised upward toward the ceiling.

After the first few reps, Brawn began to nuzzle Thomas’ neck. By the end of the set, the bodybuilder would have a nice dark hickey to show for the event-- not to mention an ass in need of some reconstructive surgery. But alas, by the time Brawn would be done with him, the only surgery Thomas would be getting would be an autopsy.

After 10 relatively easy reps, Brawn finished the set. He wrapped Thomas in his gorgeous, powerful arms and smiled. He put his forehead against Thomas’, and although the words he said to the smaller, older bodybuilder weren’t audible to anyone but Thomas, Brawn’s smile and tone seemed to be trying to reassure the man that everything was going to be just fine.

But Thomas was in pain. He whimpered, almost crying.

Brawn slowly walked around the gym, with Thomas on his cock, and the plates of metal dangling between his legs. He kept his forehead against Thomas’ and alternately kissed, then whispered and grinned.

When the between-set rest was over, Brawn returned to the bar and began another set. As his magnificent body raised and lowered, Thomas’ whimpers of pain began to turn to moans of pre-orgasmic bliss.

It was on the sixth-- or was it seventh-- rep (most observers weren’t counting) that Thomas cock began to erupt with enough white spray to make a porn star proud. Coating Brawn’s abs, his downward-pointing nipples, chest and even a few blotches landing on Brawn’s shoulders, Thomas literally gushed with appreciation for the muscle freak on which he rode.

Brawn’s pace slowed just a tad by the eighth and ninth reps, and the tenth rep was clearly a challenge. By the time Brawn let go of the bar and stood below it, it was clear that Thomas wasn’t the only man in the room who had exploded with white love for the teen. Abandoning any shame whatsoever, four men had completely exposed themselves as they masturbated to Brawn’s inhuman display of strength and youthful virility. Two men had begun kissing and petting each other-- apparently enjoying their new-found lust for muscle. And one guy writhed in his orgasm, even though he remained clothed.

Brawn resumed kissing his worshipper’s mouth. His enormous arms engulfed Thomas, bulging with powerful size. He squeezed his glutes as he tightened his cock inside Thomas.

As he withdrew his slimy, wet tongue from Thomas’ mouth, he whispered thanks for his service. “And now, it’s time for the best part,” Brawn said softly. He pushed Thomas down on his roaring cock.

Thomas yelped.

Brawn frenched Thomas yet again, and flexed his cock again.

And again.

His tongue raped Thomas’ mouth; his cock raped Thomas’ ass. And his powerful arms tightened even more.

Stars began to appear in Thomas’ field of vision. The strength of the arms around him was cutting off his air flow. As he flirted with unconsciousness, Thomas could sense Brawn’s orgasm was imminent.

Brawn panted as he kept his tongue in Thomas’ mouth. His cock throbbed. He gently bucked his hips, forcing just a hint of movement within Thomas’ body. Only millimeters of motion was necessary, or desired. Brawn’s ultimate control was unfathomable.

The intense pain was overwhelming Thomas. Brawn’s thickening penis threatened to expand beyond what his mighty body could contain.

Still more panting from Brawn’s horse-like nostrils against Thomas’ face-- as that warm, wet tongue continued to slowly move over molar, bicuspid, tongue and even back to the uvula.

The men in the room renewed their sexual worship of the teen. As two men came a second time, Brawn’s vice-like arms began to crack ribs in Thomas’ lean body. 

Thomas shrieked inside Brawn’s mouth, immediately jolting out of his semi-conscious state.

Brawn’s breathing became slower now. He had brought himself exactly where he wanted to be: the edge. He held still; then he tightened and twisted his bulging arms once again and heard a few more pops of rib and vertebrae.

The teenager brought one hand up Thomas’ back and set it onto the man’s neck. He tightened it, finding the right position. His forearm fissured with striations of rippling muscle, to the onlooker’s delight.

One more slight rotation of Thomas’ body on his cock, and the report of cracking vertebrae could be heard by most of the men in the room.

As Thomas’ pain and inability to inhale began to displace his consciousness, the stars in his eyes increased. Dizziness overcame him. He started to slip into the darkness.

And Brawn froze.

Brawn held completely still; on the edge. His stupendous control was beyond belief. He held his man in his gigantic arms. He kept his cock still inside Thomas’ body. He was only millimeters away from eruption, yet he stood there, on the precipice, for what seemed like hours, enjoying every single second of the moment.

Just before passing out totally, Thomas began to feel the first explosions of Brawn’s cock inside him. The hot, gushing explosion of semen burst up into his abdominal cavity. The pain, more intense than anything he had ever felt, was white-hot. But the sensation lasted only a few seconds, before Brawn’s supreme manliness discharged the life from within the bodybuilder.

As Brawn’s mammoth cock opened and closed repeatedly, inside Thomas, the teenager’s hand squeezed the neck and snapped it. Brawn’s life essence filled Thomas’ dying body. The jizz began to shoot out of Thomas’ ass, flowing onto Brawn’s growling balls.

Brawn shot and shot for almost five minutes, emptying himself into the impaled, twitching body.

Even when he was through, Brawn held Thomas for a few minutes, caressing him, kissing him, loving the feeling of overpowering him in this ultimate sexual conquest.

At just the right time, Brawn’s huge, rippling arms released his prey. He lifted Thomas up-- it had to be high, in order to get him all the way up off his completely vertical cock. As Brawn’s cock thwapped against his abs and pecs as it was released from Thomas’ now limp body, the teenager let go of the man. Thomas’ once powerful body fell to the ground, hitting and being hit by the two 100 pound plates.

Brawn turned from the pile of metal and muscle. As he did do, his cock swung wide into the room, proclaiming its supremacy (as if it needed to do so).

A few more flexes of his cock, and Brawn was able to express out the last dribbles of cum.

Some of the men whimpered. Some gasped over and over, dangerously short of breath. A few of them headed for the doors, but stopped themselves before exiting, because they couldn’t stand to be out of the presence of this newly-discovered god.

Brawn slowly cleaned up the cum and blood from his cock, occasionally stroking himself as he did so.

The room was frozen, in lust and in fear.

Brawn looked the men over and found the best-built guy there. They locked eyes.

“You’re next,” the teen announced. “Come-ere.”

— SRS

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So it is written. So shall it be.

Bice 

by Sean Reid Scott  This email address is being protected from spambots. You need JavaScript enabled to view it.

Posted: in the before time  ::  Approx. 7,800 words

O THERE I WAS, JUST MINDING my own business... walking through the forest on my weekend excursion.

Sometimes I just like to get away from the city. There's so much noise there-- so many people-- so much "stuff" going on.

But up in the mountains, in the woods-- it's quiet. There's no one to bother you, to ask you to flex your muscle for them, to ask you if they can feel, to ask you to take your shirt off, to ask you how much you can bench (the all-time most-common question), to beg you to pose for a picture (so annoying sometimes), to ask you questions about 'roids (don't take 'em).

Yeah, it's peaceful up here. Nothin' much happening except for birds singing, squirrels scurrying their nuts, creeks flowing. Plenty of privacy.

Of course, even without the reflection of windows in the city, I still am hornier than hell about my muscle body. Bet those squirrels wish they could pack my nuts. Yeah, dream on, my furry friends. These nuts are for my fingers alone this weekend.

As I lift my big legs to step over a couple of branches, I hear a moan or something, coming from behind a tree. Curiosity engaged.

I quietly, softly sleuth around to the side of the tree, where I find this guy, working his cock like he's in love with himself (what sincere bodybuilder isn't?). Aside from his adorable, massive physique, I can see the guy is also model-quality-gorgeous. God, what a magnificent hunk! He's stripped naked, except for his boots, and he’s lying back on a red blanket. A few feet away, his clothes are piled, and I notice on the sleeve of his shirt a shield for the Forest Service. The dude is a Ranger.

He's stroking himself slowly. The guy's body is fiercely muscled, and the biceps and triceps of his stroking arm bulge as he wraps his fingers tightly around his ginormous cock. He breathes hard, and his abs ripple with each breath. His stroking is slow and deliberate-- clearly this federal employee is taking his time, enjoying all that nature has to offer him.

Wish I had his job!

A twig snaps under my boot and the hunk jerks his head. Our eyes meet, and his initial horror at being discovered is immediately replaced with something more base-- more feral-- more lusting.

I recognize that look very well.

Hell, like I just said, that's one of the reasons I cum up here. To get away from the fawners, the worshippers, the lusters.

But with this guy-- well, lets just say I'm not minding the fact that his eyes are undressing me.

And, yes, they are.

I can see him start at my bull neck-- a neck built by years of football training, and-- more recently-- uber-heavy shrugs down at the gym. His eyes move down my traps, onto my shoulders. His mouth opens in disbelief-- and that's saying something, 'cuz this guy is built like a brick shithouse. He licks his lips. His eyes move onto my chest, which is encased in a T-shirt that fits perfectly. He gazes at my pecs, and I see his hand tighten around his cock. A sliver of pre-cum slithers out his piss slit as he marvels at my plate of armor.

Then, he looks lower, at my abs; each ridge and bulge is easily visible beneath my shirt, and my waistline pours into my jeans like milk from a pitcher.

Then there's my legs. Bigger-columns-than-are-in-front-of-the-fuckin'-Supreme-Court support my massive body, and Ranger Dude has to force himself to breathe as he realizes he’s been holding his breath.

He's stopped stroking now. Frozen in amazement that such a god could be found roaming through the forest-- his forest.

His lust for me fights with his feelings of insecurity. Clearly, he's used to being king of the forest-- his gigantic arms, thick chest, skinny waistline and thick, powerful legs attest to the fact.

But now, he's more than met his match.

He swallows hard.

"Don't let me interrupt you," I smile, stepping into the clearing. "Looks like you're having quite a time, there, Ranger." He glances over at his piled clothes, acknowledging how I knew his occupation.

"I'm sorry, sir," he says nervously. "I didn't expect anyone to come by here." He tries to hide his throbbing boner, but ever since I came into the picture, it has only hardened, lengthened and thickened. I stifle a grin at his use of the word, “Sir,” since he’s obviously at least ten years older than my 20.

"No worries, man," I smile. I take a look around at the towering fir trees, then I look back at him. "I'd probably be doing the same thing, if I were out in the woods all the time." I look down at his hand, which has started to slowly stroke again-- obviously involuntarily. "Shit, Ranger, you've got one rock-hard cock you're workin' on there. I'd offer to lend you a hand, but it looks like you have everything under control," I smile.

He looks sheepish, and then his mind wraps around what I just said. He looks up at me and our eyes meet.

"Come to think of it, maybe there is something I can do to help you with that," I say looking at his monstrous cock. As I lift my T-shirt up over my head, the Ranger freezes again. His hand tightens around his penis and his eyes widen as they begin to take in the magnificence of my upper body.

I don't pose. I don't have to.  Suddenly everything is quiet. You know how all the animals hush-- the birds stop singing-- right before an earthquake? Yeah, like that. The whole fuckin’ forest seems to cum to a stop as I reveal my rippling, massive upper body.

Just standing there, relaxed, my huge physique, with its insane striations and definition-- paper-thin skin that covers muscles more thick, powerful and huge than the Ranger has ever dreamed of-- well, just having me standing there, relaxed, it's enough to send the bodybuilder Ranger over the edge. Ropes of thick, white semen begin to shoot out of his cock, into the air. You can hear the splooge plop onto leaves and twigs between his legs and beside his torso. Some of it lands on his abs and chest. A few more streams burst out and land on his chin and neck. All the while, he is just holding his cock still-- looking at my upper body.

"Hell, Mr. Ranger," I smile. “You're a quickie! I haven't even taken off my jeans yet. Haven't even flexed anything yet.” I lift my right arm and flex it-- the biceps grows and splits into two rippling heads mounted on a triceps that could pass for a watermelon.

Ranger Dude moans and squirms as even more of his jizz erupts into the air.

"Can't control yourself, huh, Mr. Ranger?" I grin.

God, I love hiking. And camping.

Within the hour, I have the Ranger slung over my shoulder, hauling him back to my camp. It's going to be a good weekend.

  • • • • •  

“Here’s your bread, guys,” the waiter said to the two young men as he placed the napkin-wrapped warm treasures on the table. The smell was heavenly-- the Olive Terrace was known for its complimentary bread. “Your soups will be out in a minute.” The waiter turned back toward the kitchen, knowing that at least one of the guys would have his eyes glued his own broad back and tight muscle butt.

He was right. He was usually right about these things. He could tell when he had an envious guy in the palm of his hand. They gave off signals, and Bice was very adept at reading them.

Bice was one of the more successful (and popular) waiters at the Olive Terrace; and with good reason-- not only was his level of service unmatched, he was friendly and outgoing. This-- and the fact that he was built like a cross between Michelangelo’s David, Adonis himself, and Hercules-- saw Bice’s tips exceed those of all other wait staff at the Terrace-- ever.

Really, for a 20 year old (hell, for a man of any age) Bice’s physique was astounding. His arms were the first thing you noticed. Then you realized that those guns hung from the broadest rack of shoulders you’ve ever seen. Wide delts, for sure-- but much of Bice’s shoulder width was from plain good genetics. An advantage he played to the hilt by building them out with heavy, heavy weights. Then you saw his chest, and all you could wonder is how much that guy could bench. Your mind tried to figure out if he was a bodybuilder or a powerlifter, but you couldn’t cum to any certain conclusion. Until you took in that waist. In the polo shirt that Bice wore at work, his narrow abs supported his rack of pecs with such svelte grace that you wondered-- how.

And then there were those legs. Columns of wide muscle. When he walked back in to the kitchen of the Terrace, the patrons, in unison, watched and marveled at the impossibly hot muscle butt that was held up and displayed to perfection by the twin towers of quads, hamstrings and calves. Then he’d bend forward slightly, to pick up an order from the cook’s window, and you’d see the broad wings of his back. Coffee would spill, and flatware would fall onto plates.

Bice’s boss loved him-- he brought in scores of customers. However, he also caused a huge rise in their costs of replacing dishes. The manager did the numbers, though, and realized that the replacement costs were more than offset by the increase in revenue whenever Bice was on duty. Seems a lot of people had caught on to Bice’s schedule, and whenever he was on shift-- the waiting area filled up quickly.

Bice was confident, that’s for sure. Some might even say he was cocky. But he could afford to be. He made women swoon and men envy, and he knew it.

As the two guys at the table continued their conversation and started on the bread, Matt, the guy Bice had pegged, kept glancing around the crowded restaurant to see what he could see. He was always on the lookout for muscle, and despite the fact that he had already found today’s Supreme Object of Muscle Worship in that waiter, he liked to see what else was going on. Hell, that waiter was actually more than just today’s prize-- he took the week, month and year prize! He was unbelievable!

Matt shifted into crowd-confirmation mode now. This is where, after finding a SOMW, you start scanning the crowd to see the effect the aforementioned god is having on everyone. As expected, whenever the muscle waiter walked by, there were stares and comments amongst the patrons. Mostly just stares.

“Dude, did you hear me?” Roger brought Matt back to the conversation.

“Huh? Oh, I’m sorry… what?” Matt fumbled.

“Have you chosen your vacation days yet?” Despite Roger’s impatience, Matt’s companion had no idea what Matt was thinking about, nor what he was looking at whenever the water happened by. He was oblivious to things muscle-- at least as far as envying musclemen. Sure, he recognized a well-built guy when he saw him, but it stopped there. No envy, no self-deprecating comparisons, and certainly no lust.

But not Matt. Matt was so in to muscle that it was scary. Despite his straight outward appearance, Matt was hopelessly in lust with anyone who’s chest measurement was larger than his waistline.

“And the lentil?” the waiter said, startling Matt with his immense presence. He was holding two bowls of soup.

“Here,” Matt said, motioning to the space in front of his chest. Matt was a gym rat. He worked out continually, some of this devotion admittedly due to his desire to build himself up into the musclemen he surreptitiously desired, but much of his constant presence in the gym was simply because he lived for muscle. He made every opportunity to see it. So, because of his multiple hours in the gym, Matt was no slouch in the beautiful-body department. He could definitely hold his own among the lesser gods. No one would accuse him of being a pencil-neck, geek, or least of all a twink, that’s for sure.

Matt watched as the waiter’s thick forearms danced their spaghetti-veins all over hell. Instant boner alert. As the waiter’s fingers released the bowl, the forearm fibers wriggled with striations that would make a pro bodybuilder feel jealous. God, that was a thick arm!

“And the vegetable beef for you, sir?” the muscle waiter said to Roger.

Roger nodded politely, again, completely oblivious to the effect the waiter was having on his dinner companion.

Bice made sure his eyes met with Matt’s as he withdrew, and he noticed the well-built guy had copped a look at his name tag.

Nice.

After the main courses were brought and half consumed, Roger excused himself to use the facilities. Bice grabbed the opportunity to check on Matt.

“Everything okay here?” he said, smiling. He could tell Matt was nervous-- the kid was averting his eyes quite a bit.

“Oh, yes. Thanks,” Matt said.

“I thought you’d like the spinach ravioli,” Bice smiled. “It’s one of my favorites.” “Yeah, it’s great,” Matt said. God, this guy is so nice! I can’t believe he’s staying so long at the table! I hope Roger never comes back! Matt thought.

Bice brought a fingertip to his temple, and his biceps bulged and split in two. His striations and definition were amazing! Fuckin’ ginormous arms! “Say, do I recognize you from the gym? Do you work out at 22-hour fitness?” Bice asked.

“Oh-- naw,” Matt answered. “I go to Belly’s” “Oh. I hear that’s a pretty nice facility.” “Yeah, it is. Can get crowded in the evenings, though,” Matt replied.

“Yeah so can 22-hour. But I usually work out in the morning-- got this gig here at the restaurant most evenings,” Bice said.

God in heaven. He’s like every fantasy! No-- scratch that! Every fantasy would be kneeling in front of this guy! And he’s TALKING to me! Matt thought. He fumbled with his food, nervous as hell. “That sounds good,” he said. He didn’t know what to say. He felt like a nerd.

“I’m Bice,” the waiter said, extending his big arm.

“I know-- I mean, nice to meet you,” Matt said, practically spitting on Bice’s torso as the embarrassment overcame him. The handshake was warm and firm. How many waiters actually introduce themselves to customers, and shake their hand?

“And you are…” Bice probed.

“Oh, Matt. I’m Matt.” “Well, I sure will have to check out Belly’s. You look like you get in some major work over there, Matt,” Bice smiled.

“Me?” Matt said, shocked. “Hell, coming from you, I-- I mean, you’re huge!” Bice smiled. “Thanks, man. Yeah, I love working out.” Matt was so flustered, he didn’t know whether to spit (again) or wind his watch. Bice could tell he was causing some major confusion and fear, just by engaging the kid like this.

Matt looked up at the huge hunk, meeting his eyes in this rare moment, and said, “Apparently so.” Bice grinned. “Well, nice to meet you, Matt. I gotta start paying attention to the other guests.” “Yeah, sure. Nice to meet you too.” Matt was only mildly successful in not choking on his food while Bice walked away. He looked away from that ass and back for a second and saw a number of the guests staring at the huge musclegod as he walked.

Roger returned a few minutes later, completely oblivious to Matt’s state of mind.

They split the tab; Roger gave Matt cash and Matt used his credit card. Of course, the tip was enormous.

“I’ll just need your phone number under your signature-- restaurant policy,” Bice said as he handed Matt the small black folder that contained the Visa slip.

Matt had been to the Olive Terrace scores of times, and he hadn’t remembered having to give his phone number before….

  • • • • •  

“Hey, man,” the voice on the phone smiled, “I hope you don’t mind me calling you like this-- it’s kinda unusual, I know. This is Bice-- the waiter at the Olive Terrace last night?” Matt nearly dropped his cell phone. “Oh, yeah,” he squeaked out. “Hey.” “Like I said, this is probably against the rules, so if you don’t want to talk, just tell me; but I wanted to ask you a question about your gym-- Belly’s right?” “Yeah, the one over on Kent Boulevard,” Matt said. He was scared shitless. Why was this guy really calling? Had he noticed Matt looking at him?

“I was planning on going over there and checking it out, and I was wondering if you know anyone over there-- you know, in the membership department? Maybe you know if they’re having any specials for new members now?” Bice’s voice was friendly and very convincing.

“Oh, uh--” Matt fumbled with his words. “Hmmm, let me think.” He so wanted to be helpful right now. To say “no” and just end the conversation-- that would be an unbelievable travesty. “Hmmmm, well…” Matt racked his brain. He didn’t know anyone there, really. He always kept to himself; didn’t mingle with the employees, except maybe some of the better looking, buff trainers, when the opportunity presented itself. “I really can’t think of anyone off the top of my head. I guess I spend most of my time on the weights, not at the front desk.” As soon as he said the words, he realized how condescending it sounded-- but when he was nervous like this he wasn’t very good at organizing his thoughts, that’s for sure.

Bice laughed. “Yeah, that’s definitely true-- me too.” He deftly changed the conversation to keep it going. “Hey, do you want to hook up and workout there sometime? Maybe I can get a trial membership or something, and you could show me around? I know their sales guys will do that too, but I bet someone like you could give me some inside scoop.” Matt knew he didn’t have any scoop at all. “Sure, man,” he said. “Wow, that’d be cool. You going over there soon?” “Actually, I have to wait till Wednesday. I have stuff going on till then. You free in the mornings?” “Yeah, I am this week. I’m working swing,” Matt said.

  • • • • •  

Matt was so nervous he literally thought he was going to throw up. His hands fidgeted; his stomach churned with nausea; his heart felt like it was beating 200 times a minute.

He sat in the living room of his apartment, with his cell phone between his legs. Bice and Matt had agreed on a Wednesday meeting at Belly’s, but the musclegod called at the last minute and had cancelled. Something had come up.

“But hey, I still want to hook up with you, dude,” Bice had said. “You free Saturday?” So, here it was, almost noon on Saturday, and Matt waited. Instead of hitting Belly’s right away, Bice wanted to pick Matt up and grab some lunch first-- maybe check out a bookstore downtown, “You know, kill some time together…” he had said. Bice had said he’d ring Matt’s cell when he got to the apartment complex. And sure enough, right at noon, the phone went off.

Within a fraction of a minute, Matt found himself descending the stairs out side his unit, looking down on Bice, who was sitting in his Mustang-- top down, waiting. (Top of the Mustang was down-- not Bice.) It was a warm day, and Matt was glad he’d decided to wear a T-shirt and not a tank top. Bice wore a tank, and Matt just didn’t want the emotional baggage of being seen in a tank top next to that. It would be bad enough as is… “Hey man,” Bice smiled when he saw Matt. His face was so goddam cute.

As Matt climbed into shotgun, he at once found himself relaxing in the presence of Bice’s relaxing demeanor-- and ratcheting up his nerves in the presence of Bice’s astounding otherworldly body.

Bice threw it into gear, and they sped off into the sunshine.

“God, I love this,” Bice smiled as they drove. “I spent last weekend up in the forest-- it was beautiful.” He looked over at Matt, who was trying to relax. “Love the outdoors, man.” “Yeah, me too,” Matt said, shifting his legs. Bice was in denim shorts, and the comparison between the two bodybuilder’s wheels and his own was like the difference between a Renoir and one of those Thanksgiving turkeys that kindergardeners make by placing their hands on a piece of paper and outlining it. Well, maybe not that stark; Matt had respectable legs. But Bice’s giant quads were unbelievable-- even relaxed.

Instant boner.

“So, what do you do in your spare time, besides working out?” Bice asked as the wind whipped their hair.

“Oh, just work, mostly,” Matt said. He wished there was more, but he didn’t really want to tell Bice that much of his time was spent on the Web, jerking off to guys who would weep in the presence of Bice.

“Yeah, I hear ya,” Bice smiled. His muscled arm shifted the gear and Matt had to catch his breath.

A few more questions by Bice (he seemed so genuinely nice-- not at all stuck on himself!) and Matt decided it was time to more actively become involved in the conversation. God, he needed to do something to sound like an interesting person.

“So, Bice--” Matt began, “that’s an unusual name….” “Yeah, it’s a nickname really. My real name is Thomas Jason Wellington. I went by TJ for most of my life-- until high school. When I started working out for football, my buddies noticed that I was getting kinda big. Especially my arms.” Bice lifted his right arm and flexed it. God help me. The arm was easily as big in inches as Bice’s age, and as he flexed it, the biceps peak grew-- and grew-- and grew. It was the most un-fuckin-believable biceps peak Matt had ever seen-- anywhere, in person, in print, or on the Net. The peak came to a point that would rival the Matterhorn-- and then it split, with a freakishly deep crevasse between the pointed heads. The bottom of Bice’s upper arm bulged with lumpy size. Just freakin-unreal.

“Bice-- short for Biceps,” Bice smiled. He looked back at the road, but held his arm up for his worshipper to see for a few seconds longer.

Matt knew he was moistening his tighty-whities with pre-cum. He fought the urge to adjust his boner to a more comfortable position.

Bice put his hand back on the stick shift, and Matt’s eyes followed it. The huge man’s hand kind of fondled the head of the stick shift and his forearm again bulged with striated, veiny power. Bice looked down at his muscular fingers as they played with the head, then over at Matt, who’s own eyes were glued to the hand. Bice stifled a grin and continued to rape Matt’s mind with taunts and teases.

  • • • • •  

I pulled my Stang into a parking stall and we both got out. I had Matt wound up pretty tight, and was looking forward to even more fun. I figured some interaction with the public would be a nice touch.

We ordered some sandwiches at a small shop and took our lunches to a table outside. The street was busy with summer shoppers, but not overly crowded.

I restrained myself from doing anything overt-- like flexing while we ate, haha. I easily could have, and Matt would have loved it (not to mention everyone else who was strolling by); hell, he was practically stroking himself already, what with his eyes glued to my arms, shoulders and chest. But I really don’t like to go that route when I’m in public-- unless someone else initiates contact.

Which they usually do.

Sure enough, about the time I was done with my first sandwich a couple of dudes walked by and one of them practically fell off the boardwalk when he passed by me. He stared at me, and stopped suddenly. His buddy walked right into his back and they both almost fell over. “Dude, you’re stacked!” he said.

I smiled, put down my sandwich on my plate and said “thanks.” “Where do you work out?” he said.

“22-Hour,” I said. “You guys go there?” “Naw-- LA Fatness,” he answered. “They’ve got a lot of good equipment. Man, there’s no one there who even comes close to your build, though-- and we have some pretty big and ripped guys!” “Thanks,” I said. I’ve found that it doesn’t pay to get embarrassed, so I usually just say “thanks.” “Dude, how big are your arms?” he asked.

I like it when guys aren’t ashamed to call me out, but that doesn’t mean I have to give ‘em everything they want. “Oh, about twice as big as they used to be, and half as big as they’re gunna be,” I grinned. I could tell he wanted me to flex for him, but I wanted to make him to work for it.

“Yeah, right,” he laughed. “Like that would be possible. You are totally ripped-- just huge,” he continued.

So, yeah, now I was figuring he had paid his dues and could be rewarded for his accolades. I raised my right arm, bent my elbow and tightened it. I have this way to flex my arm and make it look huge (which it is), and then I hold it for just a sec, and just when you think it’s the biggest thing this side of Texas, I slightly rotate my forearm and tighten everything all the way. Then the peak on my biceps raises, it splits into two distinct heads, and then it grows even more. It really blows people away.

“Hhhoooooollllly SHIT!” the dude gasped.

His buddy whistled long and low, and then swore under his breath.

Matt looked like he was going to cum right then and there, and if he hadn’t had his hands on his sandwich, I swear he would have been pushing on himself under the table while I flexed.

A guy and his girlfriend walked by and I heard him say to her, “Fuck, did you see that guy’s arm?” She turned around and gaped at it, then continued on with him.

“Fuck, man,” the first guy said. I swear he was fighting with himself not to reach out and touch it.

Before he could, I put my arm down and took a bite of my sandwich. In order to touch, you have to give more compliments and worship.

“So, you have to have won every contest you’ve entered, man,” the guy said.

I finished my bite and looked up at him. I smiled my most puckish grin and said, “I win everything I do.” I stared him down with my smile and he looked away, totally drained.

“Fuck,” he said as he started to walk away.

His buddy followed, pausing to say to me, “Thanks, man. You’re amazing.” “My pleasure,” I said as they passed by. I took another bite of my sandwich.

Matt was chewing on his food, but he was staring at me. He finally said, “You get that a lot? People just coming up to you and commenting on your muscles?” “Usually a couple of times a day.” “Really?” “Yeah. Little boys are the best. Their eyes bug out. Sometimes they think I’m the Incredible Hulk. It’s fun to talk to them, and their daddies,” I said.

  • • • • •  

My stomach felt like it was in my throat. I don’t know how I was able to swallow anything. When Bice had flexed his arm for that guy, I swear I almost came. Just seeing that dude’s expression blew me away. Bice certainly isn’t afraid to show off a little, but he also doesn’t go around strutting his stuff for everyone. I mean, in a weird way, he’s kind of humble-- or maybe he just doesn’t think it’s that big of a deal. I dunno-- he’s just totally hot in every way.

After lunch we walked down to a little bookstore. Most of the stores in the town had opened out onto the walkway and had put out tables and displays. People mingled in and out. Of course, I loved watching them, because most of them loved watching Bice. Men, women, teens, kids... even the elderly. It was so cool to watch the watchers.

Bice bought a paperback book. I didn’t get the title, so as we left I asked him.

“Oh, Catcher in the Rye,” he said. “J. D. Salinger died a few months ago, and I heard them talking on the radio about it. I’ve never read it, so I thought now would be a good time.” “Cool,” I said. I thought for a minute as we walked and said, “But I doubt you’ll be able to identify with the main character.” “Really? Why?” Bice asked.

“Just read it. You’ll understand. Trust me, you have nothing in common with Holden.” “So...” Bice contemplated, “...he’s some kind of loser?” He stopped and turned to me with a shit-eating grin.

I just sneered a sarcastic kind of look at him, and he burst out laughing.

God, I loved being able to do that to him.

We ended up spending most of the afternoon walking down that little shop-filled street; and when we got to the end of the road, it opened up onto the beach, which was filled with people enjoying the nice weather. The sunny, warm day had brought out quite a few sun worshippers. There was a volleyball game going on, and lots of people in the surf, as well as on blankets.

“Wanna get your toes wet?” Bice asked me; his face was bright with enthusiasm. As I looked at his perfect, white teeth and his astounding eyes I realized that he not only had the body of a god but he had the face of one too. Just amazing.

“Uh-- sure,” I said.

We stepped off the boardwalk and onto the sand. Bice stopped and slowly lifted his tank top off.

Oh-- holy-- godddd-- in-- heaven.

His skin was perfect. Perfectly wrapped around his bulging, proportionately perfect muscles. Proportionately perfect, yet oversized just enough to make you dizzy. Everything was big-- and ripped.

I almost had to look away, it was so amazing.

God, those fucking arms were over the top!

He dropped his tank and bent over to undo the straps on his sandals. His back was amazing! He stood up and kicked off his sandals, then bent over and picked them up, as well as his tank top. He looked at me with an expression that said, and you?

I got the message, and despite dreading having to stand shirtless next to him, I obeyed. We both walked toward the water with our shirts and sandals in hand, and the people gawked.

I tried to watch their reaction, but too many people gazed at Bice for me to catch.

As we walked past the volleyball game, the ball was served, but the guy who was its intended received was so busy looking at Bice’s physique that the ball bonked him in the head. A few of his teammates laughed, but nobody scolded him; everyone knew what the problem was, and you just couldn’t begrudge someone for freezing in his tracks when this perfect specimen of muscular development passed by.

As we got close to the waterline, Bice dropped his tank and sandals on the sand; I did likewise. We didn’t venture in too far-- just up to our calves. The cool water felt good; I hadn’t realized how warm it had gotten. The sun was beating down on us and the water was refreshing.

Bice was playful. He really seemed to enjoy life. He kicked the water a few times, bent down and washed his face in the surf with his hands, and then stretched. “Man, I love living here!” he said loudly, almost shouting.

Me too, Bice. Me too.

  • • • • •  

As the afternoon turned into evening, Matt and I found a busy outdoor restaurant back on the boardwalk. We only had to wait a few minutes for a spot at the bar.

The chicken was great-- a good break from all that food I serve at the Olive Terrace. The bartender was a good looking guy who was buff-- really dark eyes and sparkling eyes. He gave Matt and me the best service. But I just couldn’t get over Matt. He really had it bad for me in such an obvious way. I think he thought he was hiding it pretty well, but he wasn’t, really. His eyes were all over my muscles; and even though I’m used to it, when I saw his eyes wander all over me, it was a huge turn-on.  I couldn’t wait to get him to my place after dinner.

Or-- maybe we wouldn’t go to my place.

As the evening wore on, they had a live band start playing. It was a spectacular evening outside, and people were having a great time. There was a small dance floor, and I just couldn’t resist. I may not be the world’s best dancer, but I do okay. At least, it seems that people like my dancing; or maybe the just like to watch my gyrate like that-- haha.

Anyway, I got Matt to loosen up enough to get on the floor a few times; I think the drinks helped him to relax.

Yeah, I know they did. Later, back on our stools at the bar, he was enjoying a Margarita, and he was feeling pretty good. “Dude,” he smiled, looking me over, “everyone in this bar is staring at you.” “Really? I hadn’t noticed,” I grinned, taking a sip of my drink.

Matt laughed, “Yeah-- right.” I laughed back.

He was looking at my shoulders and arms. “You look good in that tank top,” he said, taking another drink.

“Thanks,” I said. “Hey-- I know this little, secret spot on the beach a few miles up,” I continued. “You want to get out of this place?” “Sure!” he said. He swigged down the last of his drink and we walked back to my Mustang.

The sky was clear, and the warm breeze seemed to make the stars twinkle with brilliance. I had found this spot of beach about a year ago, and had brought a few girls here-- and maybe a few guys. I don’t know how it hadn’t been discovered; it was very secluded-- and very beautiful.

We left the car in some trees and walked down a short path to the beach. It was closed in on one end by a huge rock formation-- inaccessible from the north. The other end of the 100-yard long beach was blocked by thick brush and trees. The sand of the beach was pure and soft, and the tree line was punctuated with a few logs and small rock formations that formed a few very secluded spots that were perfect for spreading a blanket; which we did with the one I had brought from my trunk.

The surf rolled and provided wonderful ambiance. There was a full moon that was so bright it might have distracted someone trying to sleep-- but neither one of us was there to do any sleeping.

We took off our sandals and Matt sat down on the blanket. I could tell he had had plenty to drink.

“I’ll be right back,” I said. I walked down to the water and dipped my hands, washing my face. It felt good. When I got back to Matt, he was reclining back on his elbows, looking up at me.

“God, you’re amazing,” he said.

I took the base of my tank top in my fingertips and slowly lifted.

Matt followed my every move.

I pulled it up over my head and let it drop to the blanket. “Sure is a nice, warm evening tonight…” I smiled.

“Yeah,” Matt said, his mouth dry.

I looked around the moonlit, empty beach. “You know, I’ve been here maybe a dozen times before, and I’ve never seen anyone here-- day or night.” “Really?” Matt said, glancing at the storybook scenery…   • • • • •   I looked back at Bice; he was still admiring the beautiful beach. Indeed, it was like something out of a movie. But Bice made the scene look anemic in comparison to his wonderful muscles and gorgeous face. The moonlight cast a matte onto his chest and abs that accented every bulge and valley. A movie director couldn’t have duplicated what Mother Nature was doing to Bice’s torso and arms. The lighting was perfect-- and the longer we spent there, the more our eyes adjusted to the blue glow and more and more details became visible.

Bice looked back at me now. “Yeah-- really. Never seen anyone here.” He looked down at his long, muscular fingers as they started to fiddle with the button on his shorts. “Yeah. You don’t mind if I take these off, do you?” he asked. “I figure, when else would the opportunity present itself to romp on a private beach?” “Yeah-- really,” I said. “Go for it.” I could tell the buzz from the Margaritas was affecting me. I wasn’t a heavy drinker, and it didn’t take much to loosen me up.

As my cock hardened into a steel pipe, I watched as Bice unzipped himself and pushed his shorts down over his impossible legs. He wore white thong-like briefs. He stood tall and smiled at me.

I wanted to start crying. Never had I imagined someone so well-built and handsome.

“You gunna make me be the only naked guy down here?” he grinned.

I didn’t respond, other than to just swallow hard.

Then Bice hooked his thumbs into his waistline. He pulled the fabric out, and slowly taunted me. It wasn’t like one of those strip-tease acts; no, it wasn’t that blatant. But it was obvious to me that he was having fun with me. Eventually he pulled his thong all the way down and flicked it away with his big toe. His schlong sprung forward; he wasn’t erect-- at least not hard-- but he could definitely be getting that way. It was big. Thick. Pubes trimmed and manicured. Yeah, he took care of himself. The moonlight reflected off the rim of his cockhead. I could tell he wasn’t totally limp. The thing stuck forward-- more than a limp cock would.

He smiled at me and put his hands on his hips.

I wanted to die.

“You wanna go for a swim?” he smiled.

I really wanted to just lie there and look at him, but I acquiesced. “Sure,” I smiled. I sat up, then stood. I knew that when all was said and done, I’d be advertising myself with a boner to knock off all boners, but maybe the alcohol was limiting my shame or something-- I didn’t care. I guess I figured that by now, Bice knew how much I was smitten with him. At least I hoped he knew.

Instead of watching me undress, like I had him, while I stripped Bice turned and made a beeline for the water. By the time my naked body joined his in the surf, he was distracted enough to allow me to get my cock under water before he could really pay attention to it. As the cool water moved over my body, my boner subsided.

Bice wanted to play. There was really no organized game or anything; we just romped in the surf, chasing and splashing. He’d dive under the water and come up in front of me and splash me in the face. Then he’d dive away, headlong into the water as I watched his bulging naked frame slink underneath. I followed, and the interaction kind of turned into a game of tag.

And I suppose the reader of this little yarn can guess what happened next.

Yeah-- just like you might imagine-- at one point in the game, Bice caught me; but instead of simply tagging me, he grabbed me from behind. He squeezed me with his impossibly huge arms and then turned me around. He held my shoulders with his hands.

Then the playing stopped. He looked into my eyes. We stood in the water, the moon reflecting into his twinkling eyes. The water ran down our faces. He smiled gently at me… and then moved his face even closer to mine… and then… he closed his eyes as our lips met. He wrapped his strong arms around me, and as his tongue gently caressed mine, his hands ran up and down my back.

I reciprocated. My heart was beating so hard that I thought I would die. My hands moved over his back, and Bice held me still. He kissed so tenderly, so gently. I felt the heat of his body. The heat of his rippling back and the mounds of individual muscles moved under my palms and fingers.

We kissed for a long time-- long enough for me to get hard again, even in the cool water. Bice’s hand found my boner and caressed it. He drove me crazy with his tenderness.

“I think-- maybe-- we should head back to that blanket,” he said softly between kisses.

I nodded in approval.

  • • • • •  

The guy was so hot-- and so mine. We didn’t have any towels to dry off with, so we just reclined on the blanket and kissed while we dried. I could tell Matt was enjoying himself. His hands moved all over my body, stopping to feel one muscle, and then another.

I don’t know how much experience Matt had with guys, but god he was a great kisser.

We laid on our sides for awhile, kissing, feeling and caressing; then I couldn’t take it any longer. Matt’s adoring hands were driving me crazy. I was as hard as a rock. I moved on top of him, and he spread his legs. He stared at my face and put his hands on my butt. He was totally inviting me in, and yet he looked afraid.

“First time?” I paused.

He nodded yes.

“Don’t worry. I’ll take it nice and slow.” I placed my plumb against his sphincter. It was at this point that Matt’s cock began to pulse, and then without any manual stimulation, he began to ejaculate onto himself. He put his hands on my triceps now and held on for dear life. His whole face squinted and contorted. This was one hard orgasm. He panted and shot long, thick streams of cum onto himself.

God, he must have been holding it for weeks! It was a good thing we were out here on the beach, because this would have been a hell of a mess to clean up inside. As it was, the blanket was drenched from his come.

I took the opportunity to began pushing inside. Matt was so into survival mode with his orgasm that he wasn’t able to offer any resistance at this point. Thus, the insertion went smoothly. His virgin ass was tighter than I had had in a long time. God, he was tight. It felt so good.

As Matt started to calm down, I pushed into the hilt. He gasped. I could tell it hurt him, yet he put his hands back on my ass and didn’t let me pull back-- which turned out just fine anyway, because all it took was that one initial push to bring me to the brink.

My cock erupted inside him, and his eyes went wide. I collapsed onto him and grabbed his shoulders, tightening my big arms around him. I squeezed with the rhythm of my ejaculations. I buried my face in his neck. His hands stroked my broad back and ass muscles. He seemed to enjoy feeling my ass cheeks as they tightened and relaxed with the pulses of my orgasm. I moaned in rhythm.

So did Matt.

I pushed harder with each subsequent burst, and Matt’s hands moved over the rippling muscles of my tightening and loosening butt cheeks.

“Oh god, oh god, oh god,” he said as I fucked him.

It seemed like it would never end. I hadn’t realized how much this kid turned me on. He was so cute, and such a great fuck. The feeling of my muscles on top of him was so powerful. The fact that he enjoyed my physique so much made my enjoyment exponentially more powerful. This dude was going to need to be fucked-- and fucked often.

  • • • • •  

We ended up leaving the beach at about 2 AM. Bice drove us back to his place. I was exhausted. We fell asleep in his bed-- in each others’ arms. I don’t know what Bice was dreaming about, but my dreams were filled with scenes of him flexing and posing for me while I stroked myself off… dreams which would come true only the very next day.

 — SRS

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So it is written. So shall it be.

Barista 

by Sean Reid Scott  This email address is being protected from spambots. You need JavaScript enabled to view it.

Posted: in the before time  ::  Approx. 3,000 words

T WAS ONE OF THE HOTTEST days of the year-- summer had been unleashed with a vengeance. Consequently, the local coffee shop wasn’t very crowded; the only patrons there were the people who didn’t have air conditioning-- or a blanket at the beach. Not too many hot drinks were being served that day; mostly iced mochas and the like.

As for me, I wasn’t there for the drinks-- or the air conditioning. What drew me to the Coffee Hole was Riley. That’s what his name tag said anyway. He was a barista. He was a blonde god. I mean, his body made me ache, it was so gorgeous.

I loved to sit at my laptop and watch Riley prepare drinks because as he reached forward, either for the espresso machine, the coffee urn, or even the cash register, his big, muscly arms bulged with lumps and size that exuded power. He must have been some kind of competitive bodybuilder, because every one of his muscles was honed and built to its full potential. God, I was glad the uniform at the Coffee Hole consisted of short-sleeved polo shirts. And the blue ones they wore contrasted with Riley’s rich, blonde hair just perfectly.

When he was taking your order, he was the nicest guy. His smile could melt you. Gorgeous teeth. It was hard to remember whatever it was that I was ordering because I kept going into a trance. I bet he was used to it. He didn’t seem to mind, and he seemed to be genuinely patient with those who stuttered, choked or simply lost all train of thought as they looked at him. I loved to watch the people as they came into the cafe. Frequent double-takes. Many hushed whispers: young girls and young women who giggled and pointed at him when they came in; “That’s him,” you’d hear one say to another.

He’d stand there patiently, his arms at his sides, while the customer tried to speak. His chest would rise and fall slightly with each breath-- hell, his pecs under that blue polyester shirt must have been carved by God Himself to show how a man should look. This day, like I said, was really hot outside. Halters, tank tops, khaki shorts and cutoffs dotted the room as their wearers drank frozen concoctions that had been expertly prepared by Riley, or his associate-- a young girl whose name escapes me at the moment.

As occasionally happened, a couple of guys came in from doing their skateboarding thing, wearing only cutoffs-- no shirt. And as the sign says, “No shoes, no shirt, no service.” The kids were kind of cocky, and after Riley told them they needed to get a shirt on, they lipped off to him with quite a selection of profane words and derogatory remarks. Riley brushed it off and tried to wait on the next person, but the dudes didn’t let up.

They weren’t big guys at all. Like I said-- skateboarders. Possibly, they had been skateboarding under the influence, because they were getting belligerent.

They kept mouthing off, and it was obvious that the customers were getting uncomfortable. Riley told them to leave again, to no avail. He told the girl to call the cops and stepped out in front of the counter.

Riley could have easily taken both of them, I imagine, if one of them didn’t have that knife. The dude whipped it out and brandished it, swinging toward Riley, who took a step back. Of course, everyone inside already had their attention riveted on the scene at the counter, but now the whole place came to a complete stop. The knife dude’s partner seemed to grow a little uncomfortable with the whole confrontation; he tried to calm Knife Kid down, but KK was already committed to his course of action. KK swung the long knife at Riley, “Hey muscleman-- you fuckin’ prima donna, you ever do battle with one of these?” He stabbed the air with it, grinning up at his opponent. What happened next was one of the most stimulating things I’ve ever seen. As KK was going off on how macho he was with that knife, Riley took one step forward. With his free leg, he kicked KK’s hand with the speed of lightning. Knife Kid never saw what hit his hand; the knife flew out and clinked loudly against a big window. Riley lost no time in grabbing KK and wrapping his big arms around the punk’s neck. There was no struggle; even if KK had tried to squirm out of Riley’s powerful grip, there was no chance.

KK’s partner made for the door and ran out.

“Get your fuckin’ hands off me you faggot,” KK yelled.

Riley’s grip tightened; you could see his shaved forearms bulge with veins and striations. God, they grew to the size of a normal man’s upper arms! As Riley’s biceps muscle buried itself in KK’s neck, the kid choked and cried out. His legs did a little kicking, but there was no moving Riley. The hunk had a good 12 inches on the asshole, and easily a hundred pounds. It took about five minutes for the cops to arrive, and when they did, they took custody of the scum bag and the whole store erupted in applause for Riley. The kid turned deep red and returned to his position behind the counter. I stayed until the cops were done interviewing Riley and the girl, and a few customers. “Dude, you were amazing,” I said when I went up and ordered a mango smoothie.

Riley smiled and thanked me.

“You take some karate classes or something? That kick to the knife was awesome,” I continued. I thanked the gods that I had an excuse to gush over Riley.

“Yeah, I’ve studied a few marshall arts,” he said.

“And apparently some bodybuilding, too,” I said, admiring his upper torso.

“Oh, yeah,” he smiled. He busied himself with preparing my drink, and I watched his wide lats flare as he faced away from me. God, his shoulders were wide! These shoulders were obviously built up from years in the gym, but the kid had freaky genetics to begin with. Why do some guys get the breaks like that… “Here you go, sir,” Riley said, waking me from my thoughts as he handed me my smoothie. “Thanks, man,” I smiled. I looked at his name tag, as if it were the first time I had taken notice. “Riley, right?” “Yeah,” he said. Then, as if suddenly remembering his manners, he said, “and you are…” “Sean,” I said. “Good to meet you, Sean,” he said.

Fuck, the sound of my name falling off his lips was like a drug-high or something. A rush of pleasure filled my whole body.

“Great to meet you too, Riley,” I said. “Officially-- I’ve been in here a lot, so I kind of know you…” I didn’t like how my thoughts were being conveyed, but he got the idea.

“Yeah, I have seen you in here before,” he said, and I got the impression he actually had remembered seeing me-- a concept which also brought me great pleasure.

This is where it got kind of interesting.

There were no more customers waiting behind me, and Riley just stood there, close to the counter-- like he kinda wanted to keep talking. So, I obliged. I felt a little uncomfortable, but whenever there was a lull in the conversation, Riley just stood there. He could have busied himself with cleaning up, or whatever, but he didn’t. He’d look at me and smile, and then he’d think of something else to say.

Now, I was easily 10 years older than the kid-- I figured he was in his early 20’s; and I wasn’t very big at all. I do a lot of swimming, and I guess I have what they call the “swimmer’s build.” Not huge at all, but very lean and fit. Riley seemed to look at me in a friendly way-- not gay or anything-- but just like he looked at me as a peer, and appreciated me. As for me, I was lost in lust.

“So why aren’t you out at the beach or something?” Riley asked.

“Oh, I don’t know,” I hemmed. “I might check it out later. Maybe just no one to go down there with.” Now, as soon as those words hit the air between us, I knew how corny they sounded; but Riley didn’t miss a beat.

“Well, I can help you with that,” he shot back. His perfect-- perfect-- perfect teeth beamed and his cheeks dimpled. I looked at him, trying not to die right there in front of the counter. I didn’t know what to say, but I found another string of words jumping off my lips, “Really? That’s cool. When do you get off?” Another really, really lame-- if not totally obviously gay-- sentence on my part. I wanted to cower next to the counter and hope Riley hadn’t heard it.

“Three-thirty,” he smiled. He turned to shut off a ringing timer behind him-- the coffee needed to be replaced, apparently. “You live close?” “Yeah,” I said. “Just around the corner in the townhouses.” “Cool. You want to give me the number? I can be at your place by 4:00 if you want.” My knees literally buckled. I actually had to put my hands on the counter to keep from falling down. Luckily, I think I pulled off the maneuver without revealing what was happening to me. “That sounds really good, man,” I smiled. I looked at his adorable model-perfect face and smiled. “This is cool. I get to hang at the beach with a hero.” Riley smiled and blushed. “Yeah, whatever,” he said. • • • • • I had seen Riley at the Coffee Hole many, many times in his blue polo shirt, but nothing had prepared me for when I saw him standing at my door, wearing a tank top and swim trunks. He smiled like he owned the world and said, “You ready to soak up the sun?” I think I did a pretty good job of hiding my coronary.

My place is only a couple of blocks from the beach, so we walked down. The place was pretty crowded; it was the hottest time of the day, and the weather was fantastic. Of course, being the stalker that I am, one of my pleasures came in walking next to Riley, and looking at the other people as they noticed him-- watching their double-takes, stares and smiles of admirations. He had the looks, muscles and personality, and it was so cool to be seen with him.

We talked about nothing and everything on the way down there, and when we laid out the big beach blanket I had brought, the conversation didn’t slow. Except that I probably inadvertently paused while I watched him pull his tank top up over his torso. I think there were more than a few other people watching the little disrobing ceremony as well. Not that Riley made a show out of it; he acted like he didn’t notice. I, however, stopped mid-sentence to catch a quick gasp. If I had been in love with him at the Coffee Hole, and if I had nearly swooned when he showed up on my doorstep some ten minutes ago, I definitely was near death now. God almighty, this young dude was off the charts! Oh. My. Holy. God. For all intents and purposes, you could in all truth say there was nothing wrong with this guy’s body, and everything was right. We already agreed that his face and head was worthy of any magazine cover, and we already agreed that he has muscles out to here, right? But my story-telling is woefully inadequate to paint a picture that really capture’s Riley’s painfully gorgeous physique.

Perfectly, overdone proportions. Not so much that he looked roided out; but more than enough to tell you that this was more than mere genetics. This guy obviously spent more than his share of time in the gym! His arms were Herculean-- there’s just no way around it. And his chest looked like he probably benched more than a lot of power lifters do. His abs: rocky ridges. And his legs, well, they were the perfect foundation to this blonde’s amazing physique.

Riley looked out at the surf, completely oblivious to the riot he had nearly created by taking off his tank top. He was also either oblivious to my verbal lock-up, or he was really used to having people freeze whenever he did this. I forced my eyes off his body to gauge the crowd, and it would have been easier to count the people who weren’t looking at Riley than those who were.

I tried to find my place in the sentence I had abandoned, but couldn’t, so I totally switched gears and, looking out at the surf myself, said, “Beautiful beach, huh?” “Oh, yeah,” Riley said. Then he looked at me and asked, “You ever do any body surfing?” “Yeah,” I smiled. “I’ve ridden a few waves before.” Within a few minutes we were both up to our necks in salt water, riding and paddling in with the waves. We must have spent an hour out there, and we both had a blast.

Walking back onto the sand, I noticed that the crowd had not diminished at all. It really was a beautiful day, and the whole town seemed to turn out to enjoy it.

Riley dried himself with his big beach towel and I watched as his sinewy, vascular muscles danced under his lean skin while he did so. He put the towel on his head and rubbed his hair quickly, treating me (and the other gawkers) to a fantastic display of his flexed, bulging biceps. God, he was probably causing multiple orgasms at this very moment! I imagined that many of the young boys who now headed into the surf were doing so out of necessity, to discretely empty the jism out of their trunks.

As he laid down on his back, how I wished I were the blanket. He closed his eyes and soaked up the sunshine, warming his body to dry.

“Dude, how do you get so big and stay so lean?” I asked.

Without raising his head or opening his eyes, he smiled and said, “Aw, I dunno-- just like living the healthy lifestyle, I guess.” “You ever do any bodybuilding shows?” I ventured.

“Yeah, I’ve done a few,” he said.

“Put the other competitors to shame, I bet.” He laughed. “Well, it can be pretty competitive.” He raised his hands behind his head-- eyes still closed-- and said, “But I do okay.” A smiled formed on his lips.

“Fuck,” I said in a sarcastic tone.

His smile broadened. I laid down next to him. I was getting hard, and I knew I had to get my mind off Riley or it’d be very embarrassing. I tried to think of anything to take my mind off the gorgeous god next to me: dying babies, brussels sprouts, women… but I could tell it was going to be a “hard” fight.

He eventually broke the silence with, “So, where do you want to catch dinner?” “Dinner?” “Yeah. After fighting the ocean like that-- I’m gunna need to refuel,” he said. I could tell his eyes were still closed as he talked, as were mine.

I hadn’t really contemplated getting dinner together; but I was pleasantly surprised that he brought it up.

“Well, there’s a great place down the beach,” I said. “The Cantina-- they’ve got a nice outdoor bar, and some good food.” “Yeah-- I love that place,” he said. “Haven’t been there in a long time.” The crowd at The Cantina was as appreciative of Riley’s body as the beach crowd was, and I enjoyed that. The food was fantastic, and the drinks were great. Afterward, after we enjoyed the sunset together, we made our way back to my place. I invited him inside, and he accepted. There were some more drinks.

As we both slumped back on the couch, and I tried to compensate for the robust buzz I was experiencing, Riley complimented me on my condo. Then from out of the blue he said, “Uh-- would you mind if I crashed here on your couch?” I sat up and opened my eyes. “No, not at all. You okay?” “Yeah,” he grinned-- his eyes closed. “Just don’t feel like walking anywhere.” Well, long story short, as we were each preparing for bed (I had told Riley to take the guest room), I made one final trip to the kitchen for something (I don’t remember what it was, and to tell you the truth, it was probably a ruse just to cop a glance again at Riley while he was shirtless), he came out of the bathroom, wearing boxers only. But the show-stopper was this: While our bodies passed in the hall, and I excused myself, Riley stopped and put his hand on my butt. I froze.

He looked at me; I looked at him, and neither one of us flinched. His hand remained on my ass cheek. There was obviously a connection being made. Then, and I swear this is the truth, Riley smiled, leaned forward and started kissing me. I gotta tell you it was the most seductive, sensual kiss I had ever had in my life. I went from semi-limp to crowbar in 15 seconds flat. And Riley was there feeling out my cock to confirm it. At this point, we spent quite a few minutes in the hallway, exploring and feeling. Myself, I came very close to needing CPR about three times. God, it was heaven-- just un-fucking-believable heaven. My hands were made to traverse this guy’s body. I know I was trembling as I slowly felt his broad shoulders, heavy-big arms, and thick-pouty-rockhard pecs. When I slipped my hand beneath the elastic of his boxers and started to feel his tight ass, I nearly passed out. Here, in my arms, was the man who could take down the man of my dreams. And he was kissing me-- and letting me touch wherever I wanted.

The hallway got way too hot very quickly, so I pulled Riley into my bedroom, where we fell onto my bed after quickly disrobing ourselves of any residual clothing we might have been wearing. I have to admit, I’m not too experienced in this kind of intimate contact-- preferring to jack off in front of the computer monitor-- but Riley seemed to know exactly what to do and where to touch-- and kiss.

I came before either of us was really ready for it. Sorry, but I just had no control whatsoever. You try lying on a bed with a Herculean-Adonis god and see if you can have self-discipline. I defy any red-blooded muscle worshipper to spend two minutes in bed with Riley without involuntarily coming.

Just isn’t possible.

As he held my ankles wide and gently pushed himself into me, I looked up at his beautiful eyes. God. His cock was generous, and very hard. Thick muscle invaded my ass, and the sensation of having the essence of his body moving inside of me once again brought me to orgasm. I jizzed all over myself before he was even halfway in. He smiled, somehow knowing that I couldn’t be expected to restrain myself in the presence of such male beauty. He bit his lower lip slightly as he smoothly moved in to the hilt, burying his brown pubes against my quivering ass. Then he rocked. Gently.

He was perfect.

His body, looming above me, was totally muscled out of this world. A bodybuilder’s bodybuilder. A model’s model. And to watch himself pleasuring himself with my rectum; it was pure pleasure. I was still coming, mind you, and it was the most astounding orgasm of my life-- before or since. One of those moments that is seared into your memory forever.

When he came, he seemed to be genuinely lost in his climax. He stared a hole in my face, smiling and wincing, occasionally groaning-- but he wasn’t a yeller, that’s for sure. Upon finishing, he bent forward onto my body. I wrapped my arms around his muscular torso and we embraced for quite a few minutes. The next morning, we awoke in the same bed, both exhausted from the night-long meet-and-greet. It was the beginning of a life-long friendship with benefits; not the least of which was free coffee down at the Coffee Hole, whenever I wanted.

  — SRS

This story is free. Your appreciation is priceless. Please write to me if you enjoyed this story. If you experience orgasm during the reading of this work, well… all the more reason to let me know how much you love me: This email address is being protected from spambots. You need JavaScript enabled to view it.

My very wankable website: https://musclewank.com 

©©: 2022 & earlier: Sean Reid Scott

The above copyright is held under the Creative Commons License, noted forthwith: 

Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivs || CC BY-NC-ND.

Additionally, the following conditions apply to reproducing this work:

Permission is hereby given to reproduce (heaven knows us gays can’t do that on our own), transmit and publish this work IF & ONLY IF the following conditions are stringently met (and I mean, stringently!):

1. Said work must be published in its entirety only. An exception will be made for brief reviews (only if they’re favorable, though), so long as a link to the original website of publication (https://musclewank.com) is plainly and obviously attached to said review.
2. Permission for publication is completely and utterly limited to the Internet/Web only. No paper printing of this work is allowed under any circumstances, unless granted in writing by The Author, Sean Reid Scott.
3. (& this is a biggie:) Any and all publishment of this work on the Web must include the following:

1. The Author’s name: Sean Reid Scott (with the prominence due such a luminary)
2. A hyperlink to the home website of publication:  https://musclewank.com
3. Lots o’ love.

3. This work (and any derivatives allowed under Clause One, above) must be published on the Web only, for the enjoyment of others only. NO HATEFUL, DEROGATORY, ANTI-GAY, EVIL, BAD or NEGATIVE (in any way) usage of this work is allowed. Nor will it be tolerated. Seanny has lawyers, k? No one is allowed to harvest the juicy, erotic, nasty, smutty stuff from this work and use it to further an agenda of hate and/or not liking gays. Got it? We are everywhere.

The above-cited Creative Commons License is binding. It is full. It is all-encompassing. It is exact and real. Nor does the aforementioned license stand alone regarding this work: The four CONDITIONS noted above (including the three alphabetized “biggies” subjugated under Number Three), must needs be adhered-to in addition to the Creative Commons License cited herein. The Author reserves the right to impose additional conditions (possibly retroactive) regarding the use and/or publication of this work, at his whim, without regard to anything.

So it is written. So shall it be.

Bachelor Party 

by Sean Reid Scott  This email address is being protected from spambots. You need JavaScript enabled to view it.

Posted: in the before time  ::  Approx. 6,700 words

NE OF MY BEST FRIENDS down at work was also one of the best looking guys I had ever met. He easily could have gone into modeling if he wanted to. I think, though, that he didn’t really have any idea how good looking he was. His eyes and facial features still make me catch my breath when I see him.

Over the course of our friendship, I made an occasional remark about sexual things-- specifically gay kinds of ideas. I’m not out down at work, and so I wanted to find out if he was amenable to, you know, some man-to-man fun. It was funny, because there were times that I thought he actually might get what I was suggesting, and was sort of interested. But there were other times that he seemed so oblivious to gay ideas that I totally convinced myself that he’d rather deck me than let me give him a blow job. One of the clues I read to think he might not be totally heterosexual was the fact that he hardly ever talked about his conquests in the bedroom, like the other guys did-- even though he dated quite a bit. Then one day, he and I were talking about taking girls to bed and he said that maybe he was “old fashioned” but that he really needed to get to know a girl first. That was a red flag to me. I hoped… The other thing that made me wonder was the fact that here he was turning 32 and he still wasn’t married, nor did he ever seem to date someone for more than a few months. Again, he claimed to have intimacy with girls (after he got to know them…) but I couldn’t verify that at all. By the time it came for me to get to meet the woman, they’d break up.

But recently, Johnny had been dating one particular woman for quite a while. More than once Johnny told me that “this is the girl.” I took it with tongue in cheek. I was surprised when they announced their engagement.

So, as the wedding approached, a bunch of us guys planned a bachelor party for Johnny. He had said he didn’t want a stripper (“Teri would kill me.”) and many of the guys were disappointed (I couldn’t have cared less). We decided on a golf tournament and then barbeque and drinks afterward at Tim’s house. When the day of the party came, nothing could have prepared me for the guy from out of town who joined us. He had been Johnny’s roommate in college and had flown in just for the party-- he was going to be the best man. His name was Dustin, and he made my heart stop. The same age as Johnny, Dustin was now a systems analyst in Chicago; still single. When he appeared at the club house, he wore a rich yellow polo shirt and khaki shorts-- making his beautiful bleached-blonde hair look gorgeous. God, he was drop-dead HOT! He had the requisite 2-days growth of beard, which is a total turn-on to me. But his face and hair weren’t his most amazing features. He was built! I mean, shoulders out to here-- a thick chest, and arms that looked like they could easily bend the golf clubs in his bag. And all of that upper-body muscle poured gracefully into his waistline, which I swear had to be 30 inches or less-- and this on a guy who was probably 6’ 2” and easily weighed 250 pounds! I’m not kidding! His tiny waist almost looked too small, except for the fact that it just looked so damn awesome!

His ass was pure torture. As we played our 18 holes that afternoon, I just couldn’t stand to walk behind him-- his glutes were perfect, flexing globes of muscle as he walked. Yet, I couldn’t stand to not! Powerful, thick legs and freaky-big calves rounded out the foundation of this unbelievable guy. I kept looking for the paparazzi to jump out of the bushes on the course; he should have been on TV or something.

When Johnny first introduced Dustin to the other six of us, you could tell the guys were awed. This guy was off the scale, as far as testosterone and good looks go; and these guys were all sports nuts and jocks in their own right. They knew a real man when they saw one. It was fun to listen to their reactions when Dustin excused himself to use the restroom before we went out to tee off.

I was elated when Johnny chose Aaron and me to play with him and Dustin, and I think I could see disappointment in the four guys who had to play behind us-- and not just because they wouldn’t be with the bachelor of honor.

Anyway, as we progressed through our holes, I was able to find out that Dustin was an avid sports jock himself-- played football, baseball and basketball in high school. In college he dropped the team sports and took up weight lifting (duh). He had entered some power lifting contests and had done really well, and he had done some bodybuilding contests as well-- also doing very well. He seemed to not want to really talk about his conquests at the bench or on the stage though; not that he was shy or anything, he just didn’t think it was a big deal.

It was a hot day on the course, but Dustin’s polo shirt stayed dry. I’m sure that my gazing at him was obvious, but dammit, I just couldn’t keep my eyes off those arms-- hell that whole body!

By the time we got to Tim’s house, we were really ready to eat. The beers and hard liquor didn’t hurt either. Dustin held his alcohol well. When I was getting a buzz on, he still seemed to be totally sober, despite drinking as heavily as the rest of us. He laughed and joked with us, obviously feeling confident despite being the outside guy in the group. God, his laugh and his smile just melted me.

As the sun started to set, we all sat around on the patio at Tim’s. Somehow, even though it was Johnny’s party, the attention frequently turned to Dustin, and occasionally to his buff body. More than one guy made a point to compliment his build, and they all seemed interested in how much he could bench, etc.

But the intriguing thing to me was the fact that Dustin seemed to look back at me almost as often as I checked him out. Late in the night, the party started to die down, and a few of the guys left Tim’s. At the end, I was the last one there beside Tim himself, and Johnny & Dustin.

“You staying with Johnny?” I asked Dustin as we cleaned up the beer bottles.

“Yeah,” Dustin said, smiling at his host.

Johnny looked back at Dustin, and I could swear there was a “look” exchanged between them.

The driving arrangements had worked out so that I needed a ride home, and so Johnny offered to drop me off. I sat in the back while Dustin rode shotgun. “You going to invite Sean to come over for awhile?” Dustin said out of the blue.

Johnny turned around to me and said, “You want to, Seanny?” “Uh-- sure,” I said. It was well past 1:00, but it was a Saturday night and I certainly wasn’t about to pass up the opportunity to spend some more time with Dustin-- and Johnny, for that matter.

When we got inside Johnny’s house, the three of us crashed in the living room. Johnny and Teri were living together, but because of the bachelor party, she was out of town, staying with girlfriends. Dustin looked at me, and our gaze lingered-- as it had done a number of times before, that day. Then he looked over and Johnny, who was resting his eyes as he slumped back in his easy chair. “Johnny, I think you should tell Sean about us,” Dustin said.

Johnny’s eyes flew open, then he caught himself and acted like he didn’t know what Dustin was talking about. “What…” he said.

“Or, maybe he already knows,” Dustin said, looking back at me.

“Knows?” I asked.

“What are you talking about, man?” Johnny interrupted. He looked perturbed and slightly embarrassed. At that point, Dustin stood up and walked over to Johnny. He bent down and kissed Johnny on the lips-- and Johnny didn’t resist! Dustin held Johnny’s head in one hand, and placed the other on Johnny’s chest. They continued kissing while I watched-- while I became hard. Eventually, Johnny’s hand moved up onto Dustin’s forearm; it was obvious he was enjoying this.

Dustin’s broad lats pushed against his polo shirt as he hovered over Johnny, and his ass-- godalmighty, that ass. Like I said, I was hard in a few seconds and getting harder.

When they broke the kiss, the both looked for my reaction. Dustin grinned. “Looks like you were right, Johnny,” he said. “Sean’s already got a hard-on.” Well, yeah. My hand was clearly rubbing on my crotch.

Johnny smiled broadly.

“You were right?” I asked him. “You thought I was gay?” “I was suspicious,” Johnny answered. “You seemed-- well, maybe it’s just gaydar.” I took a look at Dustin’s marvelous body, then at Johnny again. “I take it you guys did more than just study when you were roommates in college,” I smiled.

They looked at each other and said in unison, “You could say that.” All three of us laughed.

Dustin came over to me and put his hand on my pants, squeezing lightly. I nearly squirted right there. I had been pretty closeted over the years, and really had very little experience with other guys-- preferring to masturbate to porn over actually picking up guys. Dustin’s thick forearm was veiny and very muscular. He looked like a true bodybuilder, with no hair on his arms at all. He smiled down at me. Within a few minutes, Dustin was actually laying right on top of me as I reclined on the couch. His heavy body was warm and so tight! We kissed passionately, but tenderly. I held his wide lats in my hands as we frenched. Johnny came over and joined us, touching Dustin, kissing us both, and undressing himself and us.

Johnny’s was the first cock out. I had wondered how endowed he was; he was not only good looking, but he worked out quite a bit and I loved his body. Certainly, he was nowhere close to Dustin’s league, but he was well built in his own right-- a “swimmer’s build.” I hadn’t ever seen Johnny totally naked, but I frequently had sole a look at his crotch; and although I couldn’t tell for sure, I suspected that he had quite the large member there.

I had no idea.

OhMyGawwwwwd it was huge! This thing looked like it belonged on a horse! It’s funny how some guys who are on the skinny side sometimes have the most gigantic organ imaginable. I can tell you that I had never seen anything like this-- not on any porn site anywhere! Johnny was still limp-- probably from all the drinking and just from the state of exhaustion we had all been in.

It was hairless-- Johnny had shaved his pubes totally-- and he looked amazing.

He stood with that thing dangling next to Dustin and my faces, and just the heat of it made us stop kissing and take notice.

“Aw,” Dustin said, “I have missed that thing…” he turned his face to it, took one hand and coddled it, and then started kissing it. It didn’t take long for it to start growing, and then Dustin began to lick it. It rose in the air, getting harder and harder. Dustin’s tongue gave it a bath worthy of its size and shape. My eyes must have bugged out of their sockets, because I couldn’t believe that just a few inches from my face was the most gigantic, gorgeous cock in the universe, growing and tightening under the careful stimulation of Dustin’s tongue. Dustin lapped up any secretions of precum that Johnny’s giant dick produced. By the time the musclegod was ready to take it in his mouth, he had provided it with a glossy sheen.

Dustin couldn’t contain all of it, but he did give it a gallant effort. It was so hot to watch this huge guy struggle to open his throat enough to service the thing.

As for me, Dustin’s heavy body was still on top of me, and I found myself pressing my cock against his, moving ever closer to the edge of climax.

But it would have been a shame to cum that soon. I mean, Dustin was still fully clothed! I had to see that body-- all of it. I started untucking Dustin’s shirt from his shorts, and this was enough to clue him into what had to be done. He let Johnny’s hard penis pop out of his mouth and then dismounted me. He didn’t make it very suspenseful; just took off his clothes rather unceremoniously. But he didn’t have to make a big thing out of it. Hell, he could have thrown up the whole time he stripped, and he still couldn’t have made it any less spectacular. God, the guy was so ripped and lean! He was just huge! He could have gone on any bodybuilding stage in the country, right then and there (well, he would have needed some posers) and he would have been a contender, easily winning pretty much any amateur contest, for sure.

Dustin could tell I was flabbergasted. He smiled at me; then he raised one arm, knowing he had me where he wanted me, and flexed it. He watched my face bug out. His biceps grew into a football-like mass of rippling stone! “Fuuuuck!” I exclaimed. Quickly, I took off my clothes and started stroking.

Dustin looked at Johnny, and the two naked men embraced while they kissed again. Hands ran up and down Dustin’s back and ass.

The god broke their kiss and looked back at me-- I was wanking away. “Now, where were we…” he said with a smile. With that, he laid back down on top of me-- our bodies now both naked-- and Johnny positioned himself where he had been before, with his boa constrictor next to Dustin’s face. The muscle freak laid on my trembling body as he once again took Johnny’s cock in his mouth. I ran my hands up and down his back, occasionally squeezing his tight ass globes and pulling them close to me while I bucked my hips to press my cock into his. When he had been standing there, he started to get hard-- and now both our organs were at their full potential. Of course, even though both Dustin and I weren’t anything to laugh at in the cock-size department, neither of us could hold a handle to the massive thing that was in Dustin’s mouth at the moment.

I bucked my hips again, pressing hard against Dustin’s torso, and before I could stop it, my penis began squirting out hard shots of cum between our abs.

Dustin moaned as he sucked on Johnny-- it was almost a chuckle. He appreciated that he had made me cum just by lying on top of me. As for me, I just pressed and jerked. My hands trembled as they felt Dustin’s impossible muscles.

Johnny tipped his head back, and it was apparent that he was being ramped up toward climax by Dustin’s very effective ministrations. Indeed. Before I was even done, Johnny hollered and flexed his body tightly. Dustin didn’t seem to miss a beat. Maybe he was really used to taking Johnny’s essence, but he just began swallowing and taking it all in. Johnny looked like he was in pain-- it must have hurt so good.

The mess between Dustin and myself ended up crusting over, since we spent the next few hours sucking each other off. It started with me working on Dustin’s dick while Johnny kissed the muscleman-- after that, I can’t remember all of the positions we took. All I know was that the windows started getting light before we were done. We fell asleep in each other’s arms and didn’t wake ‘till noon.

After the wedding, Johnny felt some kind of obligation to cut back on the homosex encounters, but that meant more time for me to be with Dustin. We ended up being quite close; every time he flew in from Chicago to visit Johnny & Teri, he stayed with me.

Remind me to tell you about Johnny & Teri’s wedding night. I can’t say for sure, but I’d be willing to guess that the best man and myself might have had a better honeymoon night than the bride and groom….

  — SRS

This story is free. Your appreciation is priceless. Please write to me if you enjoyed this story. If you experience orgasm during the reading of this work, well… all the more reason to let me know how much you love me: This email address is being protected from spambots. You need JavaScript enabled to view it.

My very wankable website: https://musclewank.com 

©©: 2022 & earlier: Sean Reid Scott

The above copyright is held under the Creative Commons License, noted forthwith: 

Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivs || CC BY-NC-ND.

Additionally, the following conditions apply to reproducing this work:

Permission is hereby given to reproduce (heaven knows us gays can’t do that on our own), transmit and publish this work IF & ONLY IF the following conditions are stringently met (and I mean, stringently!):

1. Said work must be published in its entirety only. An exception will be made for brief reviews (only if they’re favorable, though), so long as a link to the original website of publication (https://musclewank.com) is plainly and obviously attached to said review.
2. Permission for publication is completely and utterly limited to the Internet/Web only. No paper printing of this work is allowed under any circumstances, unless granted in writing by The Author, Sean Reid Scott.
3. (& this is a biggie:) Any and all publishment of this work on the Web must include the following:

1. The Author’s name: Sean Reid Scott (with the prominence due such a luminary)
2. A hyperlink to the home website of publication:  https://musclewank.com
3. Lots o’ love.

3. This work (and any derivatives allowed under Clause One, above) must be published on the Web only, for the enjoyment of others only. NO HATEFUL, DEROGATORY, ANTI-GAY, EVIL, BAD or NEGATIVE (in any way) usage of this work is allowed. Nor will it be tolerated. Seanny has lawyers, k? No one is allowed to harvest the juicy, erotic, nasty, smutty stuff from this work and use it to further an agenda of hate and/or not liking gays. Got it? We are everywhere.

The above-cited Creative Commons License is binding. It is full. It is all-encompassing. It is exact and real. Nor does the aforementioned license stand alone regarding this work: The four CONDITIONS noted above (including the three alphabetized “biggies” subjugated under Number Three), must needs be adhered-to in addition to the Creative Commons License cited herein. The Author reserves the right to impose additional conditions (possibly retroactive) regarding the use and/or publication of this work, at his whim, without regard to anything.

So it is written. So shall it be.

Alex 

CHAPTER TWO

by Sean Reid Scott  This email address is being protected from spambots. You need JavaScript enabled to view it.

Posted: in the before time  ::  Approx. 6,700 words

LEX CLOSED HIS BEDROOM DOOR BEHIND HIM as Victor checked the room out. It was somewhat sparse-- typical guy stuff: A few posters of almost-naked women; football posters; some baseball stuff; a couple of tennis rackets in the corner (Victor wondered how a big guy like Alex would do on the tennis court); a small collection of books on a shelf. It wasn’t messy, but it wasn’t decorated, by any means. On a shelf just above the books, there were a few power lifting trophies; a couple for bench and two or three for other events. Shirtless Alex cracked a slight smile at Victor as he closed the door. Victor had had to hold up his pants, since they were still unzipped from their encounter in the living room.

Alex approached and pulled Victor’s pants down. “Take off your shirt,” he said softly.

Victor did as he was told. When Alex had Victor’s pants and briefs down, he started taking off his own shorts and boxers. Now, they were both naked.

“Make yourself comfortable,” Alex said, nodding to the bed. Victor lay back on the queen-size bed, on his back. The nerves had totally left him now. He was in the presence of a god, and the god was friendly. He couldn’t believe where he was, but he was totally accepting it now. He put his hands behind his head and looked at the naked musclehunk that stood at the foot of the bed. “Good,” Alex smiled. “I want you to keep your hands there for the next few minutes. Don’t move your hands until I give you permission.” Victor smiled.

And then, Alex began to pose.

He hit a double-biceps first, and Victor strained to keep his hands behind his head-- how he wanted to touch himself as Alex’s gigantic guns flooded with hardness, peaking with baseball-sized peaks which sat on a triceps that looked like a football. Alex held the pose for quite a few seconds, rotating his wrists slightly to make the muscles flex, fold and bulge with ripples.

As Victor watched, his boner returned to him quickly. It bobbed as he flexed it in response to Alex’s amazing arms.

Next, Alex moved into a side chest pose, slowly rotating and then grasping his hands just below his inhumanly-developed pecs. Victor could see the striations in the cleavage. There was so much meat on those things too-- just pure poetry-- strong, powerful poetry.

Alex winked at Victor as the worshipper’s cock pushed out a clear bead of pre-cum that glistened on his stomach.

The musclestud smiled as he slowly turned away from Victor. He gave his worshipper a lat-spread. Oh my fucking god. It was like a manta ray! As Alex relaxed the pose, his whole back rippled with waves of rock. Victor was beside himself.

Alex raised his arms and gave him a back double-bi. His arms looked even harder, and more lumpy from this angle. Victor tried to guess a number for their measurement, and he was sure it was well over 20 inches. Well over. Slowly, Alex put his arms down and turned to face Victor again. As he did, he had a shit-eating grin on his face. But Victor’s eyes quickly moved off Alex’s face. As the musclegod’s torso rotated around, Alex’s now-erect cock swung into view. It was totally erect! Obviously, Alex liked being worshipped-- a lot!

Alex continued to grin, and amazingly, his cock continued to move higher! What would be a full-erection for most men was only about 80 percent there, for Alex. By the time the huge man put his hands behind his back and prepared for an abs/leg flex, his cock had continued to grow and rise, until it now was pasted firmly against his abs! All the way! There was virtually no space between the throbbing dick and Alex’s abdominal muscles.

But Victor didn’t have much time to marvel at this sight. Alex, with his hands behind his head, started to wiggle his right leg, making the loose, huge mound of muscle flop back and forth. Then, in an instant, he hardened it. Oh, goddddddd-- it steeled into cables, ropes, lumps, mounds and mountains of granite-hard muscle. Alex’s legs were so huge, it made Victor gasp. At the same time, Alex exhaled and tightened his abs. It was the most astounding display of muscle-- totally naked, erect muscle-- that Victor could have ever imagined.

Victor, absentmindedly, removed his right hand from behind his head. His cock demanded attention, and he moved to comfort it.

“Ah- ah- ah!” Alex clucked. “Not yet.” Chagrined, Victor slowly placed his hand back behind his head. He looked longingly at his cock. Alex did too, and they both saw it bob up and down, begging for a hand. Alex smiled. Then he resumed his posing routine. He was slow and graceful; just an amazing poser. He lowered his arms and placed his hands on his hips. It wasn’t a true bodybuilding pose, but it was one of the most powerfully erotic things Victor had ever seen. Alex’s perfect, perfect teeth shown bright and white as he grinned. Akimbo, Alex just smiled; his cock still pasted against his abs.

Victor could see the first vestiges of pre-cum begin to wet the purple cock-head of his god-in-the-flesh. Alex changed from the relaxed pose to a front lat-spread. Just so much power and pulchritude… Then, Alex moved his position slightly and went into a most-muscular pose. As he did so, his whole body seemed to tighten and thicken. God, it was awesome.

Victor wondered how long he could hold out. His cock screamed for attention. This was pure torture! Next, Alex relaxed for a second. He looked down at his pecs, and then at Victor. With his eyes still on Victor, he tightened his pecs into two moons of boulder-like muscle. They hardened, rippling as they did so. And then, Alex did something that Victor had never seen before-- in any of his bodybuilding videos. Alex actually tightened his pecs even more! As he did so, his chest rose! It moved from tight and hard, to high, tight and hard. Victor had never seen anything like it. It was pecs on overdrive, higher and bigger than ever!

“Oh, goddd,” Victor moaned. His dick jumped up and down as he involuntarily tightened it.

Alex liked the adulation. The young musclehunk relaxed his chest and walked to the side of the bed closet to his admirer. He stood over Victor, looked down at him, and the began to slowly-- painfully slowly-- ripple his pecs. “You like pecs?” he teased as his chest moved in lazy waves-- up and down. And then-- from side to side! It was unbelievable!

Alex bent his knees. He lowered himself to the side of the bed-- his knees pressed against the side of the mattress-- so he’d be right above Victor. He was still slowly flexing and relaxing his pecs.

“Oh shiiiiiit,” Victor whispered.

“Okay, buddy,” Alex said. “Go ahead and take one hand-- and feel my chest.” Victor didn’t have to be told twice. He moved his shaking fingers onto the rolling muscle. Alex continued his erotic pec flex. The muscle moved in languid waves under Victor’s palm. Alex held still-- except for his pecs-- as he gave Victor’s worshipping hand the ride of it’s life. Victor felt Alex’s pecs-- both of them, slowly moving between them. As he did so, his eyes couldn’t decide what they wanted to look at. It was a toss-up, but most of the time they moved between the amazing biceps, that were just inches from his face-- those amazing roped, biceps, with that cephalic vein, thick enough for a marine to climb in a training exercise-- to his big, long cock, wet and plastered to his cobblestone abs.

Victor’s hand tightened on Alex’s right pec as the first involuntary ejaculation of cum shot out of the worshipping cock. He didn’t actually realize what was happening until the second burst landed on his own face. His penis, totally un-stimulated by physical touch, had held out as long as it could. But now, only minutes after its first orgasm, it couldn’t help it. The third blast actually made a squeaking sound. Victor’s fingers grasped Alex’s mammoth pec hard as he struggled to remain conscious. It was the most powerful thing he had ever experienced in his life. Not missing a beat, Alex climbed onto the bed, on top of Victor. The 245 pound beast of muscle enveloped young Victor, and kissed him tenderly as Victor continued to explode between their bodies. Alex gently pressed his torso-- and cock-- against Victor, giving the bottom guy a little resistance, which served to invigorate his orgasm.

Victor’s one hand stayed on Alex’s pec; his other embraced Alex’s back, hugging him hard. He pressed his pelvis against Alex’s as he continued to shoot. Alex’s gentle tongue explored Victor’s mouth once again, and in spite of that, Victor moaned into Alex’s mouth as he spasmed with his lusty orgasm.

When Victor was done, Alex lost no time in positioning himself. He pushed himself off Victor, lifted Victor’s legs-- grabbing them by the calves-- spreading his butt hole before his appreciative eyes.

“I’ve… I’ve never… done this… before,” Victor said, somewhat embarrassed.

“I know,” Alex comforted.

“You do? How?” “I could tell. I have a knack,” Alex said. “I like virgins the best.” Victor didn’t know whether to be embarrassed even more-- that both his lust and his inexperience were so obvious-- or be comforted that perhaps since Alex had experience with virgins he’d be sensitive to their apprehension. Whatever, he sure did seem to know what he was doing-- and what he wanted. Alex gazed at the little red cherry that was Victor’s hole and smiled. He reached up to Victor’s abdomen and scooped up a portion of cum. He moistened his finger with it and pushed it into Victor’s hole.

Victor jumped. Although he’d often dreamed of something like this (well, not really like this-- nothing in his dreams even came close!), and although he’d stuck a number of foreign objects up his ass before, he wasn’t prepared for the long finger of Alex. As Alex continued to “prime the pump” so to speak, Victor moaned. God that felt good.

Alex withdrew. Still holding one calf up with his right hand, Alex got a second helping of Victor’s jizz with his left, and this time pushed two fingers inside. He wriggled them just a bit, and then slowly pushed them all the way in-- as far as they’d go. Victor moaned more.

“Just getting you ready, buddy,” Alex smiled. “Need to make sure you can take all of me.” He wriggled his two fingers inside Victor. “God, you’re tight. This is going to be nice.” He slowly pulled his fingers out, then grabbed Victor by both calves and adjusted him on the bed with his mighty arms. One last time, Alex went to the pool of lust that Victor had produced, and wet his fingers. But this time, he applied the milky potion to his own cock. He wet his bulging cock-head, and then lubed most of his thick shaft, all the while smiling at Victor. “Thank you for providing this,” he said. “It’ll make it easier for you, and more enjoyable for me.” Without further delay, he leaned forward. His big cock was so hard and tight against his own body that he had to pull it away from his abs and lean forward even more, to get the angle right. It took a little maneuvering, but eventually, as Victor held his own legs out wide, and Alex supported himself with one had next to Victor’s torso, and aimed his cock with his other hand, he began knocking on the door. Alex pressed just hard enough so his cock-head would stay in position, while he leaned farther forward and now supported his muscular upper-body with both hands on the bed, on the outside of Victor’s torso. Alex gazed into Victor’s eyes with a mixture of calm, comfort, anticipation, and dominance.

He rotated his hips just a bit, flexed his glutes, and pushed.

Gently.

Regardless of how gentle Alex was, Victor was totally unprepared. He cried out as Alex pushed inside. Victor’s sphincter spread apart with great protest.

“Just relax, little buddy,” Alex smiled. “The more you relax, the easier it’ll be.” Victor tried to relax, but as his ass hole muscles closed around the lip of Alex’s cock-head, he whimpered. His whole body tightened. Alex grinned; god, he loved overwhelming guys like this. Hell, he loved overwhelming girls every once-in-a-while, but with guys-- fuck, it was much hotter. His musclebody was a thing of astounding beauty and power, and having this power over another guy was just-- just so fucking awesome. “Affffhhhhhgggh,” Victor moaned, tossing his head deep into the mattress.

Alex paused, only for a second, and then pushed again. Like a downed fir tree trunk being somehow pushed into a long, dark tunnel, Alex moved his thick cock inside Victor. He flexed his glutes. He flexed his back, and Victor’s hand felt it ripple and bulge. He flexed his hamstrings. He flexed his toes. He sighed as he moved farther inside, invading-- dominating-- overpowering not just Victor’s ass, but his whole body; his mind too; his entire being was being controlled now. Alex was in total control. He pushed in farther, slowly. As his cock neared the halfway point, he leaned forward and began kissing Victor’s moaning mouth. He bent down, resting on his elbows now, holding Victor’s head still with both hands, kissing him, frenching him, covering his body with his massive muscles. As Alex moved in to the hilt, he pushed harder, squeezing his ass muscles together, flexing his whole body with amazing power.

Then-- Alex held still. Just pushing. Hard. Kissing. Holding still. Enjoying the feel of the power he had over this guy.

He slowly pulled back, maybe half way. Victor moaned again, now not wanting it to leave.

He needn’t have worried.

Alex reversed, and slowly-- powerfully-- pushed all the way back in. Then he held it again. Hard. Powerful. Still.

Inside Victor’s rectum, Alex flexed his cock. It stiffened and tightened. Victor could feel it.

Alex did it again. Flexing his mighty tool, inside Victor, he extended his hold on the smaller guy’s body-- his psyche-- his… everything.

It only took a few more flexes, and Alex’s whole body began to tighten. His breathing was hard, blowing a stiff breeze out of his nostrils onto Victor’s face. Alex’s tongue continued to rape Victor’s mouth-- and within seconds his enormous muscle cock began to erupt inside Victor’s ass.

Victor could feel the warm liquid as it shot hard out of Alex’s cock head. Alex held his breath and squinted his eyes. Victor’s hands now moved all over the muscleman’s back, feeling the ripples of muscle as they rolled and hardened. Alex’s torso seemed to steel, his butt flexed more. As he pulled his tongue out of Victor’s mouth, Alex gasped, and then groaned. He lifted his head up, cranking his neck back.

Victor looked up in lust, as the thick neck and traps as they flexed with sexual fulfillment. “Aaagggggggghhhh,” Alex moaned. He began to push in rhythm as his penis filled Victor’s rectum. He put his head down and resumed the mouth-rape as his cock erupted like a volcano with his steaming, white lava overflowing Victor.

Again, Alex’s whole body tightened, and now froze. He held perfectly still now, all except for his giant cock, which throbbed with an orgasm that Alex couldn’t remember besting. He held still as his cock opened and closed, depositing his seed; it lasted well over a minute.

Finally, it was over.

“You okay?” Alex smiled as he brushed Victor’s hair with one hand. “Yeah,” Victor whispered.

“You realize, it’s all downhill from here,” Alex smiled. “I’ve ruined you for any other man.” Victor chuckled. “I think you’re right. And I think you’ve ruined all other men for me. Every other guy, from here on out, will be…” he actually couldn’t complete his thought, because while he was talking, Alex flexed his cock inside Victor’s ass and pushed out the last of his jizz. Alex chuckled too. “Sorry to ruin it for you man,” he said. “Maybe you’ll just have to stick with me, huh?” He smiled, a genuine, adorable smile.

“Yeah right,” Victor said. “I thought you like virgins best.” “I do. Doesn’t mean I don’t like coming back for more helpings, though.” They must have lied there for 15 minutes-- maybe 20-- before Alex began to pull out. When he did, Victor grabbed the musclebutt and pulled it close. “Don’t,” he begged. “Not yet.” Alex didn’t argue. They resumed kissing. Victor could tell Alex was still very hard inside, because he’d continually flex and tighten it as they kissed. As Victor’s ass continued to enjoy the dominating member, his hands moved all over Alex’s massive musclebody, enjoying all that the superhunk had to offer.

Eventually, maybe 10 or 15 minutes later, Alex slowly pulled out, the objections of Victor notwithstanding. As his penis popped out, it smacked back up on Alex’s abs.

“God in Heaven,” Victor exclaimed, looking at the red, wet cock, “you’re still hard?!” Alex grinned. “Just a very blessed man, I guess.” “Holy shit…” With that, fully-erect Alex began posing again-- exploding his gigantic, beautiful muscles all over the place. And even though he couldn’t believe it, Victor soon found his own cock re-hardening.

The End

  — SRS

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So it is written. So shall it be.

Alex 

CHAPTER ONE

by Sean Reid Scott  This email address is being protected from spambots. You need JavaScript enabled to view it.

Posted: in the before time  ::  Approx. 6,700 words

HE BOOKSTORE WAS QUIET THAT DAY. Not unusual for a sunny Saturday afternoon.

In the back of the bookstore, a small coffee shop served a few customers. The lone barista, Victor, struggled with finding something to do. Everything had been restocked, the sitting room had been cleaned and mopped-- twice. There were only two customers, a pair of women, who chatted quietly in one corner while they sipped coffee.

Victor had a pretty good view of the bookstore at the front, and it didn’t look any busier than the coffee shop. He pulled out his iPhone and started to thumb through pictures of musclemen.

Ah, musclemen. Victor was a hopeless muscle worshipper. Some of the pix he perused were of bodybuilders in contest, or working out in the gym; some were of nudes-- muscle-masturbators, cum shots, sex scenes; it didn’t matter to Victor, as long as the subject was built to the hilt-- and hopelessly good looking.

He stared at a picture of a bodybuilder jerking off. Just as his 20 year-old cock began to thicken, Victor noticed someone walk through the front door of the store.

Victor stopped-- he froze. Then he slowly clicked off his iPhone. He wouldn’t be needing it for a few minutes. The guy who just walked in immediately finished the job on Victor’s cock that the porno pic had started.

He was a walking wet dream. Well over six feet tall-- maybe 6’ 5”; muscles everywhere; lean; powerful; gorgeous face.

The guy wore cargo shorts that were filled with thick, muscular quads. Calves weren’t anything that turned Victor on very much, but they were a tell-tale indication of what the rest of the body held-- and these calves were huge and thick; and shaved. But it was the guy’s upper body that set off all of Victor’s alarms. Flowing north out of those khaki cargo shorts was a tiny waist. It held a set of twin columns of ab muscle that were wrapped tightly in the guy’s T-shirt. You could actually see the abs through the fabric as the guy walked. Above that tremendous display of core muscle, the guy’s lats flared out into two wings that rivaled the Concorde. The guy’s yellow T-shirt was thin cotton-- fabric that lightly clung to a set of pecs-to-die-for. Then there were those shoulders. Godallmighty-- those shoulders! Broad and thick! Hanging from those mighty delts, a pair of cannons stood at attention where a normal man’s arms would be. A thick cephalic rope-- I mean thick and freakishly defined-- ran down each ripped biceps. Triceps on the back of those cannons bulged in a battle with the sleeve fabric that demanded Victor’s attention-- and the attention of anyone else who might be fortunate enough to see this muscle stud.

A pair of thick, bulging traps topped off the guy’s musclebody, and they supported a thick neck. Higher, the guy’s hair was cropped short on the sides, but the brown/blond curls on the top were sexy. Two adorable ears stuck out-- something that made Victor think of a young private, or marine recruit.

He looked to be about Victor’s age.

The guy casually strolled through the store; his destination was the health and fitness section-- obvious choice. Victor knew the aisle well. He’d looked over the offerings-- the pictures-- in that section many times. The guy stopped and perused the muscle books, nutrition volumes and bodybuilding/weightlifting tomes. Fortunately for Victor, the aisle was situated so that the guy stood in profile as he held the various books; as his bent arms held the books, his gigantic biceps bulged to the point that Victor wanted to swoon.

“Refill please?” one of the women said, waking Victor out of his stupor.

“Huh? Oh-- sure. Sorry.” He took her mug and forced himself to turn away from the muscle show in order to refill it. He gave it back to her, while re-fixing his gaze upon the musclegod. “Is there a charge?” “Oh, yeah. Uh-- fifty-cents,” Victor said without looking at her.

She gave him two quarters. Victor’s mouth was half open. He took the coins and held them.

The woman looked at Victor, then over to see what Victor was staring at. Then she looked back at Victor, a puzzled look on her face. She finally got it, and returned to her girlfriend.

Victor, absentmindedly, put the two quarters in his pocket instead of the register. It wasn’t intentional by any means. He was just not totally there. After a few minutes, the guy kept two books in his hands and continued to stroll around. He looked at the layout of the store, assessing what was available.

Oh please, oh please oh pleaseohpleaseohplease… Victor thought to himself. You want some coffee… Coffee! You’re DYING for a coffee! He practically called out to the guy. Then, to Victor’s joy and horror, the guy spotted the coffee shop in the back. He paused, then started toward the counter.

Victor’s heartbeat went off the scale. The guy was looking right at him as he approached. The closer the guy got, the more Victor got a sense of the perfect proportion of this man. He was huge, yes, but his muscles weren’t so overblown that he wasn’t beautiful too. You don’t often see guys this tall who are so perfectly developed and proportioned. Absolutely beautiful.

The perfect mix of Hercules and Adonis. Strength and manly beauty. How is it that men like this actually exist?

His skin-- flawless. His lips, eyes, teeth-- perfect. A single dimple adorned his chin. He hadn’t shaved in a few days. His warmth preceded him. As he got to the counter, Victor could actually feel the warmth that all those muscles were giving off. “Hi” he smiled.

Oh my fucking god. Victor felt near death. The guy actually said “Hi”! Victor squeaked out his best “Hi,” in response. He knew he should say something else, like What can I get for you? but he couldn’t remember the words.

The guy looked up behind Victor, at the menu. He studied it for a second, while Victor undressed him with his eyes. God, those muscles were just perfect! There was nothing about this guy that was off, or misplaced, or wrong. Nothing!

“I’ll have a medium Frappalatte. Carmel,” the guy said.

“Sure. Good choice,” Victor said nervously. He didn’t know what the hell he was saying.

The guy smiled at him and reached into his pocket for his wallet.

Stop the world. I need to get off now and catch my breath. The guy’s triceps bulged as he reached into his front pocket for his wallet. Victor’s hardened cock felt ready to explode right then and there.

“How much?” the guy finally said. His strong, long fingers thumbed through his wallet, but he was smiling as he looked right at Victor’s frozen face. He was probably used to this.

“Huh?” “How much? For the medium Frappalatte?” “Oh. Sorry,” Victor answered. “Three-fifty.” The guy gave him a five.

Victor rang it up and actually was able to calculate the correct change. He handed it to the guy. Now for the most excellent part. “And your name?” Victor asked.

“My name?” “To call out when your drink is ready.” Usual procedure when there were a few people in line; but it wasn’t like Victor would be needing to use the PA system to announce the order when it was done. The guy was the only person in line.

“Alex,” he smiled. “Alex North.” People usually didn’t give their last names.

Victor smiled. “Thanks.” Alex kept smiling back at Victor. Just too cute for words. And all that muscle just confidently standing right in front of him.

Victor finally turned and started on Alex’s drink. He knew exactly what he’d be doing as soon as the uber-stud left the establishment. He’d be Googling, Facebooking, Twittering and Wikipedia-ing every Alex North he could find on the planet. God, 21st century technology was grand.

“Pretty quiet day, huh?” Victor was facing away from Alex, working the drink. Did the stud just say something? Was he trying to make small talk? Victor wanted to freeze in his tracks, but the few years of thespian work he had done in high school came in handy. He decided to act like a guy who wasn’t totally infatuated with the customer. He kept moving, working on the drink. “Uh-- yeah,” he said. “Nice weather days can be really slow in here.” He congratulated himself on his ability to put a complete sentence together under these circumstances.

“Yeah, I was thinking of heading down to the beach myself this afternoon,” Alex said.

God-- that’ll probably cause a riot. Victor made a mental note to watch the news that night for said public disturbance. He continued to work on the drink, unable to think of what next to say.

“You like working here?” the guy then asked.

God in Heaven! Why in hell was this guy trying to strike up a conversation? Victor wasn’t even close to this guy’s league, social caste or status. There was obviously nothing physically he held in common with the dude. Victor was a geek. This guy was a jock-- a bona fide musclestud. He could have any friend he wanted. He could ignore anyone he wanted. Why was he being so friendly?

“Yeah, it’s nice,” Victor said, turning to glance back at his new idol. He got an eye-full. The guy looked just as astounding as before, but Victor’s memory hadn’t been able to process and store all of Alex’s gorgeousness and astounding dimensions. It’s nice? IT’S NICE? What kind of a lame thing is THAT to say? Victor struggled to come up with something more intelligent to say, but couldn’t.

“Bet you meet a lot of people here,” Alex continued.

He’s trying to kill me. He’s trying to kill me isn’t he, Victor thought. He knows that as soon as he leaves, I’m going to commit suicide. He knows that, and he loves it. He wants to torture me.

Alex finished with the Frappalatte and turned to Alex. “Whip cream?” he asked.

“Sure,” Alex smiled.

Fuck. All that insanely lean muscle, and the guy can still have whip cream. Most body-conscious narcissists would be ultra careful with the empty calories they consume. He’s got so much muscle-- this stuff will be metabolized before he gets out the door, Victor thought. He shook the can, turned it upside-down and swirled it on top of the drink. When he was done, he handed it to Alex, who took it in his hand-- but not without allowing Victor to see the thickest, biggest, most boner-inducing forearm he’d ever imagined. Rippling networks of veins crisscrossed a slab of man-beef that moved as Alex’s fingers curled around the cup.

Victor actually let out a “pip” kind of a moan/squeek in response. He hoped to god that it hadn’t been perceived by Alex. As Alex took the cup, Victor’s eyes moved upward, to one upper arm-- then both of them. Alex stood there, his arm bent, kissing up the first bit of whipped cream. It was an exercise in muscle sensuality that heretofore had never been experienced in this galaxy. Watching Alex’s arm bulge-- shit, it had to be somewhere in the low 20-inches area of girth-- while his lips puckered forward to inhale that tiny bit of whiteness-- it was nearly enough to send Victor into an involuntary orgasm right then and there. Literally.

Victor had never cum without stimulation before, but he thought to himself there was a first time for everything. Indeed, as he stood there, he felt his cock fill with sensitivity-- hot, tingling sensitivity-- the feeling you get right when you are sauntering up to the cliff of orgasm; right before you jump off. He actually pressed his stiff organ against the counter. Alex seemed oblivious as he took another whiff of the milky cream. “Hmmmm, I love whipped cream,” he said.

Then-- and this is what nearly consigned Victor to an insane asylum-- Alex stuck out his tongue and began to lick the edge of the cup, where the whipped cream slightly dribbled over. And this was no normal lick. It was his tongue having sex with plastic and a milk byproduct. It curled around, stuck into the whipped cream, over and inside the edge of the cup. It was a long and thick tongue-- one that moved with such erotic sensuality that Victor couldn’t peel his eyes off it. Alex kept his eyes on the cup; the corners of his mouth turned up-- he was obviously enjoying himself. “Mmmm, I think this is going to be great,” he said as he retracted his tongue into his mouth. He smiled again and looked back at Victor. “You do good work, buddy.” Buddy? Oh god. Buddy. I make the guy a drink, and now we’re buddies!

“Thanks,” Victor said, his eyes glazed over with lust.

Now, instead of finding a seat in the coffee shop, or perhaps leaving for the front of the store whence he came, the muscleman stayed at the counter! He just stayed there! He made more chit-chat with Victor as he enjoyed every drop of his cold drink, smiling, occasionally laughing, and even winking at him! On one occasion, Victor actually had to place his hands on the counter and look down-- his eyes filling with stars from the overwhelming encounter he was experiencing.

As Alex tossed the empty cup in the trash, he turned to Victor and said, “So, do you make everyone’s drink this delicious? Or… was this a special one, just for me?” Victor’s eyes squinted. What was this dude saying? He didn’t know how to respond, and for a few seconds said nothing as he racked his brain for something to say. “Well… I like to think I take care of all my customers, but I do have to say, I made yours with extra care, man.” Alex laughed, and his cheeks dimpled. “Really? How’s that?” Victor found his humor. “Well, I put about a pound of butter in it. I hope that doesn’t ruin you for your next contest,” he smiled.

Alex laughed louder now. “What kind of contest would that be?” he asked innocently.

Victor made a special point to obviously look at all of Alex’s muscles. “Duh--” he said.

Alex smiled more.

“But I bet your metabolism is off the charts with that build,” Victor ventured, feeling more confident about Alex’s responses. The stud certainly didn’t seem bashful about his body, that’s for sure. “You could probably eat a ton of lard and not have it show.” Alex smiled. “I’ve been know to. I love lard-- it’s my weakness.” Now it was time for Victor to laugh loudly. “Yeah, right.” “Well, thanks for the compliment, buddy, and for the drink.” “Shit, man, you’re incredibly built. I bet you get those kind of remarks all the time.” Victor hoped to hell he hadn’t gone too far. “Been known to. But, I don’t know,” Alex said, “it’s nice when someone really appreciates…” He paused. “You know.” “Umm… not quite sure what you mean,” Victor said nervously.

For the first time, Alex seemed a teeny tiny bashful. “You know,” he repeated, “…when a guy admires your work-- what you’ve worked hard for. It’s nice.” It wasn’t a very definitive statement; kinda vague, really. But somewhere deep inside himself, Victor felt a surge of confidence, so he decided to prod a little further. “Yeah, I’m sure it is, but then there’s probably those people who want to appreciate… too much… you know…” “Oh… yeah, well, to tell you the truth, just between you and me, I don’t really mind. I mean, if it’s someone I’m not interested in, I just change the subject; but if I like the person’s advances, well I let ‘em keep coming at me. You never know how things might work out.” Now Victor was even more puzzled. Alex seemed to make a point of not getting gender-specific. “Well, I bet you’re going to cause quite a stir down at the beach this afternoon,” Victor said. Alex smiled. “Why don’t you come on down? You have to work all day?” “Yeah, till four anyway.” “Well, how ‘bout I check back here then, and we can catch something to eat together,” Alex said.

Okay, now this is getting unbelievable, Victor thought. “Really?” he asked.

“Yeah, you up for that?” “Uh-- sure! I mean, that’d be cool.” “Awesome,” Alex smiled. “Like I said, you never know how things will work out.” The afternoon lasted forever, and Victor was going insane waiting for 4:00 to come around. Even his replacement, who got to work at about 3:50, could tell Victor was distracted. But finally, Victor punched out, and stepped outside, just as Alex drove up in his Tacoma.

“Hop in,” Alex said. He had his hands on the steering wheel, and his big arms seemed to take up the whole universe. He was wearing a tank top now, and Victor couldn’t help but latch on to Alex’s amazingly huge deltoids, with his eyes. As he buckled his seatbelt, Alex said, “How about Mexican?” “Sure,” Victor said. Inside, his heart was pounding; he was nervous-- really nervous. He was firmly in the closet-- had never been with another guy, not even to jerk off. Hadn’t ever told anyone about his feelings toward men. And in addition to his nerves about all of that, he wondered what Alex was really like. Was he just playing Victor? Maybe he was some kind of Jeffry Dahlmer-- going to go out to dinner and then have Victor over to his place afterward-- for dessert. Or, maybe he had no idea how Victor felt, and everything he said about being appreciated really applied just to women, and he had inadvertently left out the gender during his comments-- maybe he was just being friendly. Or, as Victor secretly hoped, maybe Alex really did know what Victor was feeling-- maybe he could see the look of lust in Victor’s eyes, how Victor went weak in the knees when he looked Alex up and down. And maybe he really wanted Victor to “appreciate” him after dinner.

“You okay?” Alex asked as they drove.

“Huh? Oh, sure.” “Cuz you seem kinda quiet, buddy.” Buddy again. Maybe Alex called all guys Buddy, but Victor liked it-- a lot. “Oh, yeah. Sorry,” Victor apologized.

“Nothin’ to worry about, man,” Alex assured. “It’s all cool. Just two guys going to have some Mexican food. We can go over to my place afterward if you want. If you don’t-- no problem.” “Cool,” Victor said, nervously. He still didn’t like the vagueness with which Alex talked. So many things he said sounded like he knew exactly what was going on with Victor-- and yet so many things sounded like they could be taken both ways. “You hang around gyms very much?” Alex asked, keeping his eyes on the road as he drove.

“Me? Do I look like I work out?” Victor laughed nervously.

“Well, I don’t know,” Alex said. Then he looked over at Victor and said, “But you do seem to appreciate the bodybuilder kind of guy.” Okay, now he was saying something definite. “What do you mean?” Victor asked.

Alex smiled. “No worries, man. Like I said before, I would have changed the subject if I was bothered by it.” He paused and looked at Victor. “You’re nervous, I can tell. Let me put your mind at ease. I know what you like. But I can tell you’ve probably never felt at ease to express it. Don’t worry man. I just want to be your friend. Promise. I’m just interested in catching some dinner with you. We’ll take it at your speed, if you want to even go there at all afterward.” Victor didn’t respond.

“Sound fair?” Alex asked.

“Sure,” Victor forced a smile. He was so nervous, he felt like “Sure” was the last word he’d ever speak. He was done. This was so much more than he could handle-- so much more than any of his wildest fantasies. Was this really happening? Or was he truly misinterpreting what Alex was saying? God, he was still nervous, despite Alex’s reassurances. This was such totally foreign territory for him. And Alex was so overwhelmingly-- muscle and good looks. It was like something Victor had read so many times in an online muscle fantasy story. Only this was real. They pulled up to the El Pollo Chipotle and Alex parked his pickup. As they walked in, Victor followed Alex; he couldn’t decide which he enjoyed more: watching Alex’s superb physique as his lats, bazookas and shoulders cut a path-- and by the way, where in hell had that ASS come from?! Victor hadn’t had the chance to assess Alex’s butt before, and GodAlmighty, it was taut, tight and tempting! Fuck… The second thing Victor struggled with watching was how the people reacted when they saw Alex for the first time. It was awesome to walk behind him and look at the faces of the people. Some would just stare, some would whisper and nudge the person next to them.

The two men were escorted to a booth. Dinner and beers were fantastic, and Alex had a way of making Victor feel more and more comfortable as the evening went on. He genuinely seemed to take an interest in Victor, asking about his job, his school, his family, etc. When Victor admitted to being a Thespian, he expected Alex to be at the least, uninterested, and at the most, maybe even make fun of it. But no-- “Aw, I’d never have the balls to get up on stage like that.” The reference to his own balls notwithstanding, the comment surprised Victor. “Haven’t you ever been on stage in a bodybuilding contest?” “Well, yeah, but that’s different. You don’t have to act then. You just be yourself.” “You have to pose! AND, you’re standing up there with only a bikini on!” Victor laughed. “Talk about something I’d never be able to do!” Alex laughed too. “I guess you’ve got a point,” he said as he sipped his beer. Victor looked at Alex’s shoulders and arms again. “But I guess, if I looked like you, I’d have absolutely nothing to worry about, standing up on stage and showing my body to everyone.” Alex laughed, smiled, and then said, “Thanks.” He took another drink of his Corona and added, “Like I said, it’s always nice to be appreciated.” “Well, to be honest, I appreciate that-- what you’ve got-- a lot-- I mean a lot,” Victor said. Maybe the beer was loosening him up. He never figured he’d be able to tell a guy that. Part of it, Victor was sure, was Alex’s disarming personality. “I am having a hard time believing I’m here, with you.” Alex tried to stifle a laugh, then said, “A hard time?” He raised his eyebrows. “I thought so.” He grinned.

Victor smiled nervously, then broke into a full-face grin himself. “So, what now?” Alex asked as they drove out of the restaurant parking lot. “It’s still early. You want to go down to the boardwalk?” “Sure,” Victor said. At this point, he was falling so hopelessly in love with Alex that he didn’t even care if the muscleman was another Dahmer. Alex had cast his spell, and Victor felt lost in lust, and love.

The sun was still hours from setting when they started walking down the boardwalk, next to the sandy beach. Again, Victor reveled in the stares, pointings and whispers of the passers-by as he and Alex walked together.

When they finally walked in to Alex’s apartment, the sun was low in the sky. Victor’s nervousness had returned, but he fought it back valiantly. “So, this is my digs,” Alex said spreading his big arms wide.

“Nice,” Victor said. A few bodybuilding trophies sat on a bookcase in the living room and Victor walked over to them. “An award-winning body, huh?” he said, admiring the awards.

Alex came up behind Victor and placed his hands on the smaller man’s shoulders. He chuckled. “I never heard it put quite like that. I like it.” He squeezed Victor’s traps gently.

Victor was startled by the physical contact, but he quickly relaxed as Alex gently massaged. “You want another beer?” Alex asked. “I got a fridge full of ‘em.” “I’m okay, for now,” Victor answered.

Alex kept rubbing Victor’s shoulders. Victor had read all the ribbons, and the inscriptions on the trophies-- twice, so it was certainly time to move away from the bookcase, yet he didn’t want to break Alex’s rub. So he stood there. “That feels really good. You a masseur?” “Nah. But I know what feels good to me, so I figure other guys like it.” Other guys. “Well, when you’re done, I’ll have to return the favor,” Victor volunteered.

“Cool,” Alex said, matter-of-fact. When he was done, Alex took Victor’s shoulders and turned him around so they were facing each other. He kept his hands on Victor’s shoulders. They were very close. They looked into each others’ eyes for a few seconds. The nerves immediately returned to Victor. Alex sensed that; he stepped back and dropped his hands. “So, my turn now?” he smiled. Without waiting for an answer, he turned around facing away.

Victor’s trembling fingers made their way up onto Alex’s amazing traps. He couldn’t believe what he was doing. He pressed his hands onto Alex’s traps, firmly so they wouldn’t shake, and began squeezing slowly, methodically. God, Alex’s muscles were hard. “That feels good, man,” Alex said. “You got good hands.” Encouraged, Alex continued; momentarily, he even spread his hands outward a bit, toward those bulging bowling balls of deltoids. “Whoa-- that feels really good, buddy. You must have experience doing this.” “You’re the first,” Victor said. “Well, shit. You’re a fast read, man.” “Thanks.” More massaging, and rubbing; each time Victor’s hands moved outward toward Alex’s broad deltoids, Alex seemed to encourage him with a slight moan. So, Victor took the hint and finally spread his hands full-on to Alex’s cannonballs.

“Shit, you’ve got the broadest shoulders I’ve ever seen,” Victor allowed himself to say.

“Thanks.” The skin was warm, tight, and just perfectly blemish-free. Alex obviously spent his summer days in the sun; his tan was rich and golden. “You really have good hands, Victor.” “Well, I guess I just have a good medium here to express my craft,” Victor said.

Alex chuckled.

After another minute, Alex said, “You mind getting the lower part of my traps? Down the center of my back? I did traps yesterday, and they’re still a little tight.” Victor didn’t answer; he just obeyed, moving his squeezing hands onto the fabric of Alex’s tank top, to the bulging muscles of the lower trapezius. God, they were thick. Alex breathed out a sigh of appreciation.

After a minute, without warning, Alex crossed his arms in front, grabbing the opposite edges of his tank top, and lifted it up, over his head. Victor had to pull his hands off in order to let the fabric go.

Alex tossed the shirt on the couch. Now, before Victor’s eyes, Alex’s whole back bulged and rippled with unreal mounds of muscle. The guy looked competition-ready. Just unbelievable definition. How can a guy be so huge-- and so ripped? “Shit-- you must be under 3 percent body fat,” Victor exclaimed.

Alex said, “Something like that,” and then stepped backward, closer to Victor, inviting him, without words, to resume-- which Victor did without argument.

Victor’s cock began to overcome the nerves that had up-until-now kept it flaccid. As his hands, for the first time ever, moved over, around, under and between the amazing musculature of a musclegod’s back, his penis began to harden. Within a minute, it was vigorously protesting the confines of Victor’s tighty-whities and cargo shorts. Alex moved his arms and shoulders, causing his back to ripple with insanity. “ChristAlmighty” Victor whispered. Alex smiled, although it wasn’t visible to Victor. He flexed his back again, and again, the worshipper behind him swore under his breath as his hands trembled over and over the rippling ridges. At this point, what was going on was less a massage than a hand’s-on anatomy lesson/worship session for the masseur. Victor’s hands only squeezed when they moved over an especially bulging muscle-- less to massage it, than to feel it. Victor’s hands moved lower, down to the “Christmas Tree.” Alex put his hands on his hips and spread his wings.

“Fuuuuuuck,” Victor said. He moved his hands onto the enormous lats. His penis continued to protest its confines-- it hurt in this position, but Victor’s hands were quite busy right now, thankyouverymuch. The cock would have to wait. Victor slid his palms out onto the edge of the lats. Alex held still while Victor rubbed them up and down, smoothly feeling the rock-hard gigantic lat muscles. This back exploration and appreciation went on for many minutes before Alex finally turned around to face Victor. Victor’s hands dropped to his sides.

For the first time, he was able to see Alex’s front side, shirtless. It was like a dream. Alex was like a dream. Victor nearly wet his shorts. Pecs-- perfect, broad, high, thick and pouty, with flawless skin and silver-dollar areola and peanut-sized nipples that pointed toward the ground-- stood at eye-level with Victor. Under the overhang of Alex’s chest, his abdominal columns stood like sentinels protecting his core. It was just amazing. Each mound of muscle had a shrink-wrapped skin that was so thin it almost looked transparent. You could see the muscle fibers. The abs poured like a pitcher of milk emptying into Alex’s cargo shorts. Shit, he had a narrow waistline. Easily narrower than Victor’s, even though Alex easily weighed 75 pounds more than Victor-- probably a lot more. “Why’d you stop?” Alex asked innocently, inquiring as to the reason that Victor’s hands weren’t still on his body.

“Well… I mean… you turned around,” Victor said.

“So?” Alex smiled. He took an almost imperceptible step toward Victor, again inviting him to get to back to work. Victor hesitated. He finally decided to put his hands on Alex’s shoulders again. That seemed like the least forward place to start. As he did, Alex closed his eyes. Victor was glad. It was hard to do this while looking Alex in the eyes. Alex seemed to be enjoying it more this way, too.

After a minute, Victor’s hands moved out and down, onto the gigantic, bulging upper arms. It was like nothing he had ever imagined. Here he was, a deeply closeted (or so he had thought) muscle worshipper, and he was feeling out a guy who was built far better than the guys he had ever fantasied about!

Alex, for his part, stood perfectly still, allowing Victor all the time he needed. Victor fingered the cephalic vein. God help me, he thought. It was like a cable-- a most sensual and powerful feature of a man’s muscle-arm-- and Alex’s was crazy-defined and thick, lying on arms that would make most bodybuilders whimper with envy. Finally, all the playing around could proceed no further. It was time for Victor to breach that most sacred of body parts-- from whence there would be no doubt as to the goal of all this hands-on pleasuring. Victor’s hands moved up Alex’s arms, slowly, over the shoulders, and then-- slowly-- down onto the armor plates of Alex’s smooth, powerful chest. Alex’s eyes remained closed, although he did mumble a very soft moan as Victor’s hands spread out and took in the magnificence.

These pecs were to die for. Victor was amazed at how thick and round they were. You could set an object on that shelf and it’d stay! Victor cupped the outer bulges of the pecs, allowing his thumbs to move over Alex’s nipples-- very gently.

Alex jumped slightly, working hard not to startle Victor. He obviously liked what was happening. “God, you DO have a good touch,” he whispered.

Encouraged, Victor continued to feel out Alex, moving his hands back and forth slowly, up and down-- slowly. His fingertips ventured into the deep cleavage. The striations between Alex’s pecs were obvious, and Victor played in there, moving his fingers over the defined cuts. Then, he took one of Alex’s nipples between his thumb and forefinger. He twisted it very, very gently. Alex groaned, allowing his head to tip back a bit. He obviously was enjoying this.

Victor twisted the other nipple now as well, holding the total poundage of Alex’s massive body hostage with just his fingertips. Feeling very confident in how things were going, Victor moved his left hand out and downward, onto Alex’s upper arm again, while he continued to play with Alex’s other nipple. As he did so, he leaned forward and placed Alex’s free nipple between his lips.

“Ohhh godddd,” Alex sighed. “Holy fuuuuck.” Victor pursed his lips. As he began to suckle, he spread his right hand out over the total expanse of Alex’s other pec. He cupped it, and began rubbing it slowly with his whole hand while he sucked on the other pec. He kissed it. He flicked it with his tongue.

With each new action, Alex moaned his approval.

Eventually, Alex brought his head forward and looked down at his worshipper. As Victor continued to nurse, Alex took one hand and gently placed it on Victor’s crotch. He could feel the hardness of Victor’s penis under the khaki fabric.

Victor held still. No man had ever touched him like that.

Alex summoned his other hand and together his strong, long fingers unbuttoned Victor’s shorts and began to work on his zipper. Victor stopped nursing and stepped back to give Alex room to work; as he did, Victor moved his other hand to take up where his lips had left off. As Alex unzipped Victor, Victor continued feeling out the broad, warm, hard expanse of Alex’s pecs, with both hands.

The zipper down, Alex reached inside with one hand, on the outside of Victor’s briefs. As his masculine fingers prodded around, and readjusted Victor’s throbbing boner, it popped out of the elastic waistband-- maybe an inch or two was showing. Pre-cum oozed out of the slit freely; indeed, it had been oozing out for a few minutes-- much of the front of Victor’s briefs was already wet.

Alex pulled his hand up just far enough to be able to re-insert it, this time inside the briefs. His warm, strong fingers slowly ventured downward; his palm surrounding Victor’s dick.

The two men’s eyes locked as Alex’s hand moved farther south. Victor couldn’t believe this was happening.

As the tips of Alex’s hyper-masculine fingers reached Victor’s hairy balls, the fingertips curled around them gently; then the musclegod squeezed the whole cock-- just barely. It was almost imperceptible. Alex could feel Victor’s heartbeat in the organ. It was throbbing with a strong, fast pace. Alex squeezed it again, just a tad harder.

That was all it took.

Victor’s hips bucked involuntarily, pushing his penis back onto Alex’s hand as his plump, purple cock head exploded with a long rope of cream. It shot up, and Victor squeaked and then moaned. His face tightened as he volunteered his second offering of adoration. Like the first, this was a long rope of ejaculate, and it arched up, seemed to hover in mid-air, and then fell downward slowly, splashing between Alex’s abs, upturned forearm and Victor’s pubes.

Alex held his hand still, yet firm, as Victor grabbed the muscleman’s hips. A third volley of steaming jizz squirted up-- and then a fourth. Victor was amazed at how prolific his cock was. He couldn’t remember ever coming with such a volume of jizz. His hands squeezed Alex’s waist as he climaxed even higher. When he was done, Victor had wetted much of Alex’s thick, veined forearm, and had deposited his semen in quite a few splotches on Alex’s abs and pecs. His own pubes were drenched. His penis expelled the last squirts onto itself, and the semen dribbled down it in rivulets of white cream. “Wow-- it doesn’t take much for you…” Alex smiled. His strong fingers were still extended around Victor’s hard dick.

Victor breathed hard. “Actually, it does take much for me. But you’re quite a bit much,” Victor smiled.

Alex smiled back, enthusiastically. He looked down at the mess Victor had made. “Thanks, for the compliment,” he said. “I don’t remember having a guy make so much jizz for me.” “You’ve done this before, I take it,” Victor said, “…to another guy.” Alex smiled into Victor’s eyes. He didn’t say anything. Slowly, he moved his face close to Victor’s; then he began kissing him. Victor moaned a few times as they began a tender kiss. Alex squeezed Victor’s cock and pushed on it; he used his thumb to squeeze the urethra, massaging the last drops up and out of Victor’s piss slit.

All Victor could do was moan. Alex’s tongue invaded Victor’s mouth. It was warm. It ran around Victor’s teeth, slowly. Alex’s other hand came up and held Victor’s head still as his tongue raped the smaller man’s mouth-- gently and tenderly.

“God you’re cute,” Alex said as he withdrew his tongue and their lips parted. “You’re making me hornier than I’ve ever been.” Victor had been called a few things by jocks before-- especially in high school-- and none of them included the word “cute.” Alex took both hands now, and started to use his fingers to gather up as much of Victor’s cum as he could. He slurped it up, then went looking for more. It took a minute, but when they were both cleaned enough, Alex took Victor by the hand and led him back to his bedroom.

To be continued…

 — SRS

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So it is written. So shall it be.

The Church Camp Lifeguard 

CHAPTER TWO: MY ALEX
by Sean Reid Scott  This email address is being protected from spambots. You need JavaScript enabled to view it.

Posted: 2023  ::  Approx. 11,900 words

HE ABSOLUTE ONLY THING I LIKED about Church Camp was campfire. And that was a stretch. Every night the whole camp gathered around a circular fire pit and did the Kumbaya thing. You could stare into those flames forever, just contemplating… singing the songs… being bored when someone talked about the Lord… listening to the snap, crackle & pop of the wood as it burned… watching the embers rise into the dark, starlit sky… and of course, finding where Alex was, and then looking at him as often as possible.

Alex stood on the other side—opposite the fire from me. His body towered over the kids, and the adults too. The orange light from the campfire flickered and illuminated the faces of everyone surrounding it. But I only had eyes for Alex. He remained standing, as some of the counselors did, while all of us campers sat on a stair-step circle—lots of us with legs crossed. A few kids closest to the fire threw faggots into it. 

I swear Alex and I met eyes quite a few times. And I was just beside myself about the whole thing. He was the man of my dreams; he was everything I wanted to be—and everything I wanted to be with. How was it possible that he even knew I existed? And he actually pursued me?! He wanted to be with me?!

It didn’t help that some of the cabin-mates sitting next to me had a short conversation about him. “Can you believe how big the lifeguard is?” “Oh, Alex? Yeah, he’s amazing. Really ripped.” Yeah, everyone liked Alex.

When campfire was over, Alex was deluged with requests for attention, as usual. He was always friendly with everyone, so I knew he’d be busy while everyone filed back to their cabins. I slunked back to our cabin and got ready for lights out. 

I suppose there were a dozen—maybe fourteen—guys in my cabin, plus the Cabin Counselor, Rick. Rick was okay, but he was oblivious to the teasing and taunting that went on. I wasn’t out-and-out bullied, per se, but I would have given anything to be able to get away from that place. 

Maybe Alex's cabin?

As usual, the other kids goofed off while they got ready for Lights Out, stalling as long as they could, making fun of kids who weren’t there, flicking boogers at each other.

I tried to keep as low a profile as possible. After I brushed my teeth and peed, I snuck into my lower bunk, crawled into my sleeping bag, slunk down, and pulled the cover up as far as possible, trying to not be there.

After the lights were off, Rick tried to lead everyone in a prayer. Afterward, he let everyone talk and goof off for awhile as they settled down. 

Me, I lay there silently, not paying attention to any of the ruckus that was going on. The jokes about tits and stuff just didn’t do it for me. All I could think about was Alex. And apparently, I was just just getting old enough that I was able to—I didn’t know what it was at the time, but… well, it felt really good to push on myself—my penis—while I laid on my stomach in my bag. And then, while someone in the darkness told a joke about something… I felt warm stuff come out and make my hand wet.

It’s entirely possible that the first time I ever came was there, in my bunk, thinking about Alex the lifeguard.

CAMP ENDED AT THE END OF THE WEEK, and I returned home. Life got back to normal. But I never stopped thinking about Alex. In the fall, I started fourth grade. As time progressed I would fall headlong into puberty, and all its confusing, depressing manifestations.

Puberty almost did me in. I was wracked with depression, and a lot of that depression had to do with the fact that my feelings toward men had started to express themselves sexually, in masturbation. I never thought about girls when I jerked off. Never. It was always men. And as my infatuation with Alexander would indicate (as well as my fixation on countless other well-built men over the years), my taste in men definitely tipped toward bodybuilders—muscle men… just like Alex.

I was entirely convinced that masturbation was a sin. Plus, I really truly believed that guys who liked girls never masturbated. I honestly believed that jacking off (I didn’t call it that; I didn’t even call it masturbation. I didn’t know what it was called) was something only abnormal boys like me did. Only someone who was into men would masturbate. Sex education at school wouldn’t come until high school (as far as I can remember), so jacking off was not something anyone ever mentioned. So, as far as I knew, the only guys who masturbated were kids like me—boys who had thoughts about men. Normal boys (who were attracted to girls) did not masturbate. I was convinced of this. (And I didn’t reconcile my conflicting ideas that I was the only one who did this, vs. Only abnormal boys like me did this.) So obviously, my jerk-off sessions were all the more problematic for me. There was really something wrong with me.

THE NEXT SUMMER, I WAS AT THE THRESHOLD of my pubescent depression years, and even though I had looked forward to hopefully seeing Alex at Church Camp again, that possibility didn’t eliminate the dread I felt about the venture as a whole. 

Fortunately, Alex was lifeguard again.

And whoa. 

During the ensuing year Alexander had packed on some major muscle! He’d probably grown an inch or so taller too. (Yet all of his height and muscle growth that first year was nothing compared to what would come later.) But yeah, that second summer I fell even more in love with him. He was still friendly as heck, and once again, he sought me out and wanted to be my friend!

I just did not understand it. Why would a jock-stud-hunk like that even give me the time of day? Let alone want to be my friend? It was a dream come true.

Alex always had the attention of anyone who saw his physique. And his pleasant, accepting personality didn’t hurt. Everyone loved Alex. The boys envied him, talking about his build, his apparent strength, etc., and I’m sure the girls loved how gorgeous he was. Me, I was all in.

I remember that second summer at camp as vividly as all the rest. With the additional size Alex had added, his muscularity was impossible to ignore. And no one did, it seemed.

We gathered at the lake in the afternoons, as usual. Alex was at his station, valiantly protecting our lives while we all pretended to swim—while we really just kept stealing glances at him standing there in his tank top and swim trunks, muscles all over the place, blond hair glistening in the sun, tan skin soaking up said sun like he’d made Sol himself. The fact that he wore a tank top meant that his muscles were definitely front-and-center visible to all.

Some of the more brave boys (the normal guys) goofed off closeby, occasionally making a comment about Alex's body: “How much can you bench?” being the usual ice-breaker. I wasn’t ever close enough (didn’t dare) to hear his answer. Funny how seeing a guy built to the rafters makes people (not me, obviously) feel the freedom to engage the muscle dude, and ask questions about his physique.

And when the questioners got their fill of answers, someone—thank the Lord—would inevitably find the courage to ask him to flex a bicep or whatever.

Thank the Lord.

Being the uber-friendly guy he was, Alex was usually happy to oblige. The reaction from the kids was half the fun. I mean, seriously… his audience would Oooh and Aaah all over the place. Having received a positive response from the god, someone would invariably ask for more. And Alex was good about it.

I remember one particular day, Alex was standing next to his raised lifeguard station (up a short ladder to a seat on top) busy flexing an arm for a kid, and someone flat-out asked him to take his shirt off. Alex feigned shyness; his demure smile made me weak. But he was a good sport, you know, so he ended up agreeing to let the kids have a look. At all those muscles.

What must it be like to have a body that is so packed with crowd-pleasing features that people ask you to take your shirt off? It must be a rush. Makes all the hours in the gym worth it, and all.

Anyway, Alex toyed with the bottom of his tank—his long, muscular fingers fiddling with the material—and slowly (dramatically), started lifting it up. He revealed his abs, and I swear all activity on the lake came to a complete and utter stop. One of the boys poked Alex’s abs with a fingertip; the lifeguard laughed. Another kid did the same.

Then Alexander lifted the tank top higher, at just the right speed to make the entire event an event. When he got it all the way up and over his head, then lowered his arms to his sides, I’m pretty sure there was a collective gasp.

I know there was one from my mouth. Despite my efforts to muffle it.

“Wow!” someone said.

“Holy crap!” another boy called out.

“Jeremy, come ‘ere and look at Alex!”

“Dude, you’re totally ripped!”

“Shoot, dude, you should be on a magazine!”

“Gonna come in my swim trunks!”

That last one was from me, although thankfully I didn’t say it aloud. Pretty sure anyway.

“Let’s see some poses,” someone said.

“Yeah, give us a flex.”

Alex wasn’t haughty or egotistical; he was just obliging and friendly. He let kids look. He let them exclaim. He let them gawk. He let them touch. And he let them feel: biceps mostly. But some copped a feel of a pec or whatnot. To be honest, I kinda got lost in my thoughts.

I’d dreamt of this—seeing Alex display his muscles… watching him let kids feel how hard and big they were. All friendly like. All innocent. What he didn’t know, though, was that he was providing lil’ ol’ Bryan with pornographic images that I’d save and use in perpetuity. Seeing him flex and watching others feel was porn to my eyes.

I sometimes wondered (at least for the next year or so, until he confirmed for me—a confirmation that will be revealed later) whether he knew how much his muscles affected us fledgling sthenolagnites. Would he have been so willing to flex if he knew he was leading us pervs down the path to sinful depravity and inevitable homosexuality? (I mean, this was Church Camp… and the adults were ostensibly there to keep us on the Straight and Narrow, right? And believe me: Ours was not a gay-friendly congregation.) Did he have any idea that he was driving kids like me insane when he showed off like that? That every night after that, us sexual deviants would push on our penises in our sleeping bags and make that white stuff come out and get our forearms all wet? While us gays-in-waiting fantasized about that very scene?

In later years, I’d wonder how many other kids like me stained their sleeping bags over Alex. At the time, I was sure I was the only one. Now… well, now I know better.

THE FOLLOWING YEAR, THANK THE LORD, Alex was there again. My fixation only grew and grew—probably in direct proportion to the amount of muscle he’d put on. He was nineteen—or maybe even twenty—now, and I was in danger of having an involuntary orgasm if I even just thought about him. I figure he probably added about 15 to 20 pounds of muscle per year. And just got taller. And leaner.

And I had only put on more pubescence. There was a lot of testosterone going on in my little body. Testosterone on the inside; zits on the outside. Not kidding. 

Suffice it to day, I was eleven years old when I started truly hating myself. Yet even though sixth grade was bad, it was nowhere near as bad as seventh grade would end up being. And I think it might be safe to say that not a day went by that intervening year that I didn’t think of Alex. And as my masturbation habit grew and grew, he was the prime actor in my fantasies.

My puberty years were absolutely horrible. I held on to the Lord, but He definitely didn’t hold on to me. The next few years would be the definition of depression.

THAT YEAR THOUGH, THE SUMMER BEFORE sixth grade, Alex was at camp again. I first saw him in the main hall, helping everyone check in and get their cabin assignments. He was more stunning than ever—bigger, leaner, more veiny, bulging muscles everywhere… yet he was beautiful—nothing like the roid gods of today. I have no idea what kept me from fawning all over him in public. Other kids seemed to be totally comfortable with doing it. He was so big and powerful-looking that I think I truly ran the risk of coming in my shorts. I suppose if I had been, like, 17, and at my sexual peak, it might have happened.

At the morning flag raising, Alex was always there in all his glory, wearing a t-shirt and shorts that showed off his body. This did nothing to help. Nothing.

Every morning he found me at breakfast, and sat next to me while he tackled his huge plate of eggs, potatoes, bacon, sausage and all. I just couldn’t figure out why he sought me out! This was Wednesday, and his habit of sitting with me was well-established. Breakfast was the one meal when us campers didn’t sit together as cabins; we could sit wherever we wanted. So I usually sat alone—until Alex came and sat beside me.

“How was fifth grade last year?” he asked while we ate.

I was still flabbergasted by how he kept track of me: my age, my grade, etc. “It was good,” I said. I wanted desperately to offer up some more information about it; I felt tremendously awkward in my silence. I knew how to carry on a conversation, even with adults, but with Alex, my brain got all discombobulated.

“Good. What did you like about it?” 

“Well, my teacher was good.” I liked chorus, too, but that would have meant another sentence. Plus, it was already becoming plain to me that chorus was quite distinct from, say, football or basketball—two of the many sports (all of them, honestly) I shunned.

“Nice. Did you have any favorite subjects?”

“Well, I really liked long division,” I perked up. That was something that I had excelled in—best in the whole class just about. The potential for being labeled a nerd notwithstanding, I did take pride in that. “And I was pretty good at it, so….”

“Really? That’s awesome, Bryan.” He looked directly at me between bites, and I swear I saw a genuine acceptance and appreciation there. It was enough to make me float above the table. Almost. “I loved math in grade school. It was one of my best subjects too.”

Who knew that Alex and I had something in common? Would that we had more.

The meal moved forward with my new confidence in discussing math, and despite a few younger kids coming up and trying to climb up Alexander's immense body, we were able to actually hold a pretty good conversation.

“Hey, I was wondering,” he said toward the end, “would you want to come over to my cabin sometime and check it out? I’m studying to become a nurse, and this year I’m acting as the camp first-aid guy. You could check out some of the equipment and stuff that I have. They gave me my own cabin—with extra room—in case someone gets sick.”

“Oh. Cool.” Nerves returned with a vengeance. What the heck was this? And why did he like to spend time with me?! That he sought me out was the most confusing concept I’d ever tackled.

“I could ask your Cabin Counselor if you want. Happens all the time… when someone expresses an interest in medicine or something. It’s up to you if you want to.”

“Oh. Okay. Yeah. That sounds cool.”

“Nice. I’ll talk to your counselor. You’re in the Elk Cabin, right?”

Again with the knowing more about me than seemed normal to know. “Yeah.”

“I’m good friends with your counselor, Roger. I’m sure it’ll be okay. How about if I arrange it for after dinner, during Cabin Clean-up and Reflection. Then we can walk over to Campfire afterwards.”

“Okay.”

OUR TIME TOGETHER THAT EVENING couldn’t come soon enough. But unfortunately, there was an entire day to endure in the meantime. At crafts later that morning, while I intently worked on gluing cotton balls onto a paper plate with a face drawn on it—to represent a man’s hair (wtf?), the kid sitting next to me asked, “Do you know Alex? Is he a relative or something?”

Relative? Yeah, right. Like we had any genetics in common.

The kid’s name was John; he was one of the jock kids; I was flabbergasted he was talking to me.

“Uh… no,” I said shyly.

“You seem pretty close to him. I mean… why’re you always hanging around with him? He’s always talking to you at the lake. And he sits with you in the mess hall a lot,” John said.

I was decidedly not liking this line of questioning. Fudge, I just knew that Alex's attention would bring bad things. The kid was getting too close to a very uncomfortable subject for me. “Dunno,” I said.

“I thought he might be your brother or something. Man, I’d give anything to have a big brother like that,” he said.

Tell me about it.

Holy heck, John was so straightforward… and able to say some of the things I felt about Alex. But he wasn’t being weird about it—not weird like I felt. He was just admiring Alex… and by extension, my friendship with him.

“Well, is he as cool as he seems? I mean, he’s always friendly and stuff… but….” He didn’t finish the sentence.

“He’s nice.” I glanced to the side and saw John just staring at me.

“But I don’t get it. Why do you hang out with him? I mean, why does he hang with you?”

I was so freakin’ scared. What was I supposed to say?

One thing I had begun to develop as a kid—a defense mechanism I guess, to ward off anything that made me uncomfortable—was a quick wit (well not maybe actually quick, but whatever). And at that moment, I needed any self defense I could find. So somewhere inside me, I found this: I looked at John and said dryly, “Must be my magnetic personality.”

John paused a second—staring at me with no expression—then he burst out laughing. And it was a friendly laugh, not one to make fun of me. “You’re pretty cool, you know that Bryan?” He slapped me on the back all friendly-like, then got back to his craft thingy.

1. He said I was cool?
2. He slapped me on the back?
3. He said I was cool?

Apparently there were benefits to dating the camp lifeguard. Yeah, dating. That’s what we were doing right? Ha ha…. Whatever. I was toast.

This whole thing was like some kind of movie. In a way I just wanted to break down and cry. I was an emotional wreck, but in the best way possible. Someone really, really cool liked me! Not just someone though… Alex! The most cool dude in the universe!

I felt like a feather blowing in the wind, unable to land anywhere… every time I felt like I was getting close to hitting something I could fasten myself to, the breeze picked me up and blew me randomly away. Up into the air, in an easy downdraft, across a meadow… I felt out of control. Always dizzy. Twisting and turning at the emotional whims that moved inside and through me. I couldn’t stand. I couldn’t stand it! There was no purchase. I drifted, never closer to the ground than two feet, never able to land and figure out what was going on here.

If my thoughts were somewhat poetic in all of this, it’s just the way I am, okay?

For some reason, I kept remembering an old movie my mom had rented on VHS…. It was My Fair Lady, and I’d later realize that musicals like that were kind of a stereotype for guys like me to enjoy. The song that kept playing in my mind that week said:

“I could have danced all night,

I could have danced all night,

And still have begged for more.

I could have spread my wings,

And done a thousand things….”

I couldn’t remember all the words, but the words I did remember were enough. I was dancing all day and night over the fact that Alex liked me (only metaphorically, of course… dancing for real would have been… counterproductive). And he wanted to spend time with me. I imagined myself swinging from light pole to light pole (another song, Singing in the Rain—haha) singing “I could have danced all night,” while I swooned and swooned over Alex.

The interaction with Jock-John was further proof that Alex's attention on me was an actual miracle. From God? Did the Lord approve of me liking Alex?

Of course He didn’t. My infatuation with Alex was infused—saturated—with homosexual desire. And I didn’t even know what “gay” meant yet. But I knew I was the scum of the earth and that the Lord detested my thoughts—John’s approval (and of course, Alexander's) notwithstanding. There was no way in hell that God thought that my thoughts about Alex were good.

But I just couldn’t stop! And in a very big way, I didn’t even care! I was headed to hell at 175 miles per hour, and I didn’t give a rip. All I could think about was Alex.

“Alex!” someone yipped.

I snapped my face up from my stupid little art project to see Alex walking into the crafts area (which consisted of a group of picnic tables arranged in a clearing). Alex was, as usual, all blond, buff, confident, and wonderful. He wore a tight-fitting, yellow t-shirt. Perfect color on him.

“Hey Alex!” one other boy called, waving.

A couple of girls sitting across from me started giggling and whispering to each other, while they kept glancing over at the incredible hunk.

“Hey guys,” Alex said with a smile. “How ya’ll doing?”

Positive, enthusiastic reactions came from all the tables (even though the place had seemed like a morgue a minute earlier; the crafts were the stupidest thing any of us could think of).

Alex said to everyone: “I’m just going around to let everyone know that since it’s supposed to be really hot today we’re gonna open the lake for swimming a half hour early.”

Enthusiastic cheers.

“But before you come to the lake—and all day long, for sure—I want all of you to make sure to drink lots and lots of water today, okay? In this heat, hydration is really important.”

“Okay,” “We will,” “Alright.”

Then Alex saw me sitting at my crowded table. Then… he walked over to me!

Please Lord, let me die right here. Embalm me right now. No, scratch that. Let’s go with cremation. (It might even happen spontaneously [combustion] if I wasn’t careful.)

“Hey Bryan, how’s it going?” he said just to me.

“Good.”

He looked at the man on my paper plate, and the hairdo made out of cotton balls (Yes, this was a sixth-grade art project. I think the camp’s Arts & Crafts teacher was only trained in kindergarten crafts). “Lookin’ good, buddy,” Alex said, squeezing my shoulder. And he left his hand there while he looked around the table and noticed the other kids’ work. Hand on my shoulder. He didn’t take it off till his attention came back to me and he said—to me, “See you at the lake later?”

Well… yeah…. Wild horses couldn’t keep me away. “Sure,” I squeaked, hardly even lifting my head to acknowledge him.

Then one boy on a different table called out, “Hey Alex, flex for us!” The kids vocalized their approval at the suggestion.

Alex smiled, the lifted one big arm and tightened his biceps into a mountain. He was slow and deliberate—like he knew exactly how it’s done to maximize the effect on the audience.

Everyone gasped and oohed, of course.

Emboldened by Alex's cooperation (and likely the reaction of the crowd) the kid then said, “Let’s see more, man. Take off your shirt!”

Everyone called “Yeah,” and other encouraging words.

Alex wasn’t shy. But neither was he stuck on himself. He reacted with a coy “Naw.”

But the kids would have none of that. They all pressed the issue.

Finally Alex looked over at the Crafts Teacher dude, for permission. He got it. (I saw a wistful look in the guy’s eyes, and a hopeful smile followed; pretty sure he was as on-board with the idea of Alex taking his shirt off as the rest of us.)

Having received approval of the crafts guy, Alex slowly—artfully—lifted his shirt, revealing a set of abdominals that were astonishing. I’d never seen such a sight. Alex had definitely gotten leaner this past year. Each one of the eight mounds was delineated by a deep vertical ravine, and multiple, deep horizontal ones—separating each abdominal bulge with sensual clarity.

Alex studied his abs while the kids all gasped, then he looked up at his admirers and smiled. Slowly, the bottom of the shirt moved higher. He had to puuuuul it out and away from his chest in order to get it up higher. And when his pecs were revealed, I wasn’t the only one there who was blown away by their size, their thickness, and the deep cleavage between them. The big, brown areola, with peanut-like nipples didn’t escape our notice either, for sure.

The t-shirt eventually came off—not without an obvious effort on Alex's part to get the sleeves to let go of his tree-trunk upper arms—and the kids moaned and cooed their amazement. Alex stood there for a moment, letting us soak him in. Then he lifted both arms in a graceful transition to a double-bi pose. I swear the silence was all-encompassing. That was, until everyone started with “Wow!” and “Holy heck!” etc.

In retrospect I wonder if any other boys got hard like I did right then.

Alex did a few other poses: Side-chest and most-muscular (which basically left everyone on the verge of uttering words that ought not be uttered at Church Camp). By the time he put his shirt on and re-admonished us to hydrate all day (a duty that was even more imperative for me, since I’d likely be ejaculating lots of bodily fluid very soon and would need to replenish), everyone was thoroughly blown away by Alex's muscles.

He said good-bye and the crafts dude cleared his throat—a few times—and told us to get back to our stupid crafts.

As soon as Alex left, John looked right at me and smiled. “That’s so cool, dude,” he said softly. “You’re cool to have a friend like that, Bryan.”

I was trembling. I was cool! All because of Alex.

There had to be some religious analogy in all of this. Alexander was my Savior. He liked me unconditionally. He extended his grace to me. Unmerited, unearned favor. To me. Just like the Lord did.

Yeah, I was going to hell in a really fast-moving hand basket. I doubted the Lord appreciated the comparison. (He should have been flattered.)

IT WAS DEFINITELY HOTTER THAN NORMAL that afternoon and I was so very grateful for that… for two reasons. 1) They opened the lake early. 2) Alex the Lifeguard was going to be shirtless, all afternoon.

Oh my dear Lord. Sweet Jesus with a life preserver.

He wore tattered, cut-off jeans, those old-timey reflective sunglasses, and a smile. And that was it. And so help me Hanna, it was a sight to behold. The brief show at the crafts tables had been mind-boggling. But there was something about just being able to watch, and look, and ogle, and watch some more—without worry of being discovered. I mean, everyone was doing it.

I think that was the day I converted from Christianity to Alexianity. Well, no… I had converted long before that day. But I gotta tell you it was more than I could take. The man was flawless. Huge. Gorgeous. Tan. Perfect. Muscles everywhere. Abs that wouldn’t quit. Arms that were dizzying. Really big and round shoulders out to here. Legs that put the trees surrounding the lake to shame. A chest that made me want to cry. There’s no way I could take it all in. There’s no way I could go anywhere near him. So I just bobbed in the water, staring.

And fortunately, that day he didn’t seek me out. Yeah, he was busy. But maybe it was because we had a date that evening, and he felt obligated to let his fans fawn.

Some of the girls who surrounded him (they were relentless), must have been making comments about his muscles—specifically his chest—because at one point he made his pecs bounce for them. They squealed and giggled. Yeah, Alex was the star of the show.

Me—despite being in the moderately cold water, I was as hard as a tree branch. And when he rolled his pecs like that I came as close as I had ever come (till that point in my life, anyway) to spontaneously coming. Right in my swim trunks, in the lake.

ALEXANDER FOUND ME AFTER DINNER, and we walked from the dining hall, across the little bridge that went over the creek, to his Cabin. My heart was pounding so hard I thought it was going to blow up. Or maybe I would throw up. Maybe both. I was living a dream. How was it possible that Alex had sought me out, and wanted to spend time with me? 

But Alex was all kinds of nice… cool, chill and just plain okay. “So this is the cabin,” he said. “It’s my cabin where I stay and sleep, and since I’m the camp first aid guy this year I get a place to myself.” He directed my attention around the room. “So there’s a bed for sick kids and stuff for first aid and things.” The patient’s bed was in the far corner, and there was a curtain that could be pulled out to offer anyone using it some privacy. (If I’d have had the good fortune of having to spend a sick night in Alex's care, I would have been pissed if he’d pulled the curtain.) He motioned to a few medical things like a stethoscope, blood pressure thingy, and some shots and other stuff.

The entire room was warm and western-homey. It reminded me of when my family had vacationed in Yellowstone—it was a bear motif, and deer, and moose. Very cozy.

“Cool,” I managed to squeak out.

“And over there is my bed,” he indicated a big cot/bed in the corner, against the wall. There was a night stand next to it. “They brought in a wide cot because they said a big guy like me needed the room,” he chuckled.

“Yeah,” I said. I could hear my heart pounding.

Besides being huge and ripped, Alex was really tall. Whenever he stood near a door, it seemed like he almost came up to the top of the frame. Suffice it to say, I felt like a speck of sand in his presence.

“The only thing this place lacks is some weight-lifting equipment,” he smiled. “But I timed my workouts so I could have a week-long break from lifting. It’s actually good to do that every once-in-a-while.”

“Oh.” I was still avoiding eye contact with the man, but whenever he looked away, I stole glances at him.

He plopped himself down on his bed; putting his pillow on the floor, he leaned his upper body against the wall at the head of the bed. He bent one leg and pushed himself against the wall while he kept one leg draped over the side of the bed. How did a man get legs so enormous? He usually wore cut-off jeans if he wasn’t wearing swimming trunks, and now the cut-offs barely contained those enormous, veiny, muscled legs.

He leaned forward and patted the bed and motioned for me to sit down on the other end.

With trepidation, I did.

“So is camp going alright this year, bud?”

“Yeah. It’s good.” Only because of him.

“Good.” There was a moment of silence, then he said, “I gotta tell you, buddy, I remember when I was your age. I was really confused about… well… everything,” he paused. “And the stuff I was confused about? Well the people in the church just wouldn’t understand… I was sure of that. So there was really no one I could talk to. I was a pretty quiet guy. Lots of room in my brain to analyze everything,” he laughed. “And that was really upsetting, to be honest.”

I nodded, staring at my hands. What was he talking about? I mean, I totally identified with everything he was saying, but… I was confused. No way could this guy have ever felt the same kind of funny that I felt.

“So, you don’t have to say anything if you don’t want. I just want you to know that I’ve been there. And I care.”

Ha. He may have “been there,” but he certainly hadn’t been here. Where I was. No way did he know what was going on in my head. We sat there for a few moments, silently passing the time. It actually felt comfortable. It was like he just wanted to pass the time… with me.

I think when I didn’t respond, he must have decided to kinda back off on the I-identify-with-your-inner-turmoil talk, because he changed the subject. “What kinds of things do you like in school? English? Science? Gym? I know you said math….”

The idea of gym made me almost roll my eyes. Ha. Gym. Riiiiiiight. I was the most awkward, chubby, un-athletic kid ever. Math was great. Science was sometimes cool. History was horrible. But I didn’t mind English. “English, I guess.” And music. And drama. But yeah… not gonna admit that.

“Cool. I liked math, actually. Still do. And science. Being a nurse, you know? It’s all science,” he said. I was staring at the wall at the back of the room, next to his fireplace; he was on my right, facing my profile.

I nodded and looked down, searching the bed’s army-green blanket for microscopic anomalies.

“But of course, as I got older, I really got into weight lifting,” he said.

Ya think?

“Bodybuilding is really cool,” he continued.

“Yeah,” I agreed with a squeaky voice. I think I was sweating hard now, even though it wasn’t really hot in his cabin. For some reason, I looked over at him, and our eyes met. His eyes twinkled with his smile. Man, his muscles were just everywhere.

“It really gave me confidence,” he said. “And it was really fun and cool to learn about all the exercises… and how the different ones target specific muscles to make them bigger and harder.”

I nodded. Fudge, I didn’t want to talk about this. He had to know this was pure torture for me. Although all I really wanted in the world was to have him take off his shirt and flex his muscles for me, at the same time, the whole idea petrified me. And I certainly didn’t didn’t want to talk about this.

“When I started going to the gym regularly,” he said, “there were a lot of really cool guys there who helped me out.” He shook his head slowly—I turned my head to him when I saw the motion in the corner of my eye. He continued: “Some of ‘em were really buff—big and strong-looking. I mean, muscles everywhere,” he said. “It was amazing. I was really intimidated by most all of ‘em.”

I couldn’t imagine Alex ever being intimidated by anyone.

“But there was this one guy who was really nice. He was older than me… like maybe what I am to you,” he continued. “And he kind of took me under his wing and showed me how to lift and stuff.”

Somehow I was able to keep looking at him while he talked.

“And what was really cool was… well, I was pretty shy about it, but to be honest the guy had so many big muscles, I just couldn’t stop looking at them. And thinking about them, you know? All I could think about was what it would be like to see them more… flexing and stuff. And how hard they’d be.” He looked off, up toward the ceiling, almost wistfully. Then he chuckled and looked back to me. “I was really into guys with big muscles.”

What? What was he saying? I looked back down at the bed and the fidgeting fingers in my lap, hoping my heart wouldn’t beat right out of my chest. This was scary, hearing him talk like this—it was as if he knew what I thought.

“So anyway, the guy who helped me, and kinda became my weightlifting coach… his name was Tyson.” He stopped for a second, then he leaned toward the little night stand next to his bed. There were a bunch of notebooks and folders in it. He pawed through some of the folders and then pulled out a picture of a man. A bodybuilder. In just some posing shorts. The guy was amazing. He had, like, no fat. And big muscles. And his posing trunks didn’t hide much. I thought to myself that—back then especially—the posers were too small to wear in competition. I dunno. But anyway, the guy looked like a lot of the muscle men in the magazines my brother had stashed under his bed.

Yet Alex was even better than this guy—hands down.

“That’s him. Tyson,” Alex said.

“Wow,” was all I could get out.”

“Yeah,” he chuckled. He let me look for a few moments, and I examined every detail I could wrap my eyes around. “He’s really awesome. When I saw him in the gym the first time, I was really amazed. He had muscles everywhere.”

“Like you?” I have no idea how that came out of my mouth.

Alex chuckled comfortably. “Well, yeah. I mean, I was just starting out and stuff. So I didn’t have any muscles yet, really. But like now you mean? Yeah. I’m actually bigger than Tyson now,” he smiled.

Told ya.

“‘The student becomes the teacher,’ I guess,” he laughed. Then… and this is when I think I had my first-ever out-of-body death experience… then… he lifted one arm and flexed his biceps. Just. For. Me. He had a t-shirt on, so he pulled the sleeve back toward his shoulder to show the whole upper arm. It was fucking ripped, and enormous! The pointed peak of his biceps muscle was astounding.

I’m pretty sure I almost fainted. I’d never had someone flex an arm just for me—certainly nothing that big, and that defined… that amazing. Alex held it, hard and pulsing. It was huge. Just fucking huge. I will never forget it. You could actually see the split biceps heads (something I’d learn all about as I got older). And the whole thing was just gigantic! Very defined—and no fat.

He rotated his wrist and made the muscle move and… holy fuck. His forearm was freaky-thick, and there were veins all the heck over it! His muscle was E-Nor-Mous!

I was this close to passing out. I swear.

“What do you think?” he said casually.

How was I supposed to answer that?

Alex said, “I think you might be like I was: scared as shit over big muscle guys.” Alex cussed? He was a camp counselor. Lifeguard nurse dude. And he cussed?

I swallowed hard and looked down. “Yeah. I guess.” He was pulling my words out of me. I didn’t want to talk. He just pulled the words out.

“Yeah, but what I learned is that most big dudes—muscle guys—are pretty cool. Some of ‘em are kind of scary, I guess. But I decided that when I got big and stuff—like I am now—I’d try to be friendly about it.”

Oh. Okay.

“And I don’t want you to be nervous or anything,” he continued, “but you did like watching me flex for you all this morning at crafts, right? I saw you looking.”

Oh please, Lord. Please, please, please. Find me a way out of here. Fast. 

He looked at his flexed arm, then at me, and smiled sincerely. “Do you like it? I mean, do you like big muscles?”

Please Lord, take me. Take me now. I promise to never sin again.

I think I might have given a slight nod.

He relaxed his arm and lowered it. “Well, if you ever want to feel my arm—or any of my muscles—just let me know. I bet you’ve never touched muscles as big and hard.” 

You’d win that bet, for sure.

He smiled again, but the smile was so friendly it totally, somehow, put me at ease. “If you want to, it’d be kinda fun. You could come back here to my cabin some time, and I could strip down… you know, to my bodybuilding trunks… or whatever… and pose for you… show you all the different muscles and stuff.” He paused a second then said, “I’d do it right now for you, but we have Campfire pretty soon, and I wouldn’t want to rush.”

He kind of put the subject aside and just sat there with his hand on his veiny, giant upper leg, chilling. He looked out the far window, just kind of thinking….

He met my eyes. Yeah, I had been looking right at him, oblivious to how obvious I must have been. “So if you ever want to learn more about bodybuilding or… you know… just talk about weight lifting and stuff, I’m your guy, dude.” He pointed his thumb to his chest and smiled.

He called me dude. 

I nodded slightly. “Cool.” Then I looked down again.

“No problem if you’re not into big muscles, man. Only if you’re interested.”

He looked out the far window again. It was starting to get dark outside. Evening Bible study was probably wrapping up, and everyone was probably going back to their cabins to get ready for the big campfire we had every night—put on sweatshirts, and stuff for when it cooled off after dark.

“Well, maybe later. We should probably get ready for campfire,” he said.

I nodded, but I was so flipping disappointed. Man, I wanted to see his muscles!

But what he did next would definitely provide me with fantasy material for decades to come: He pushed himself off the bed and crossed the room to a small chest of drawers. In his t-shirt, his mammoth frame was staggering. Just perfectly perfect. His wide back and narrow waist made that “V” shape that was amazing. So much muscle. So much good looking-ness. He pulled open one of the drawers and grabbed a few items of clothing. Without turning to me he said, “Just gonna grab something warmer for when the evening cools off.”

With that, he tossed a new t-shirt and a hoodie on the top of the bureau—it was nothing more than a glorified desk with lots of drawers. Then, still facing away from me, he pulled the shirt he was wearing up and over his head.

Oh. God. Help me. His back! Those shoulders were so broad, and his back was so flippin’ wide! And all over his lean back, his muscles bounded and rippled! And it was mind-numbing how it all tapered down to a waist that was insanely little. Alex slowly fiddled with the t-shirt, and as he did so, he turned toward me; it felt like it was all in slow motion. 

His chest: At profile view, his pecs stuck out from the rest of him so big, hard, round, and glorious I thought I’d faint. This pecs were so thick that his nipples pointed down! Toward the floor! And then… his abdominals. And those arms! Shit! I’d never seen anything like it. I’d never seen so much lean muscle! He was totally on par with any muscle man I’d ever seen in the magazines. Better, to be honest.

When he got to facing me full on, he glanced up at me for just a second. A corner of his mouth turned up; I swear I wanted to crawl right under that cot I was sitting on. His smile grew a bit. He inhaled deeply, making his chest rise and fall, and he said, “What do you think?” Then he winked at me.

Alex's muscle body was hairless. I don’t know if he shaved or if it was natural, but his chest, abs, and well… all of his tan, absolutely-perfect skin was flawless, hairless, and just bulging with mounded muscle. All of that tan, ripped muscle contrasted so beautifully with his blond hair. His bare upper body was better than the most vivid dream I had ever imagined. Goddamn!

“You’ll definitely have to come back here some time this week, if you’re really interested in bodybuilding, and stuff.” He looked quite amused at my dumbfounded expression. “I get the feeling you and I are a lot alike—that you’re interested in big muscles too.”

I think I nearly fell off the little bed.

“Seriously, Bry. It’s cool. I’m glad. I just hope you’ll give me a chance to show off for you sometime. I’d love it.” Then he bent down and picked up the new t-shirt. He pulled it over his torso… his enormous arms were just beyond belief. Then, to my huge disappointment, he picked up the sweatshirt-hoodie and put it on over the t-shirt.

“You ready to head out?”

No. Definitely no. I couldn’t stop staring at his body—even fully clothed. The hoodie hugged his frame just perfectly—not too tight, but tight enough to show off everything underneath.

“You should probably head back to your cabin,” he said as he walked toward me, “so you can get something warmer too.” He extended one hand to me. I took it—he was just the definition of solid. He pulled me up to stand. “I’ll see you at campfire, ‘kay man? I might not be able to sit with your cabin, but I’ll keep an eye out for you.”

“Okay,” I said quietly.

He was going to look for me there.

OF COURSE I DIDN’T DARE TELL anyone in my cabin where I’d been during cabin clean-up. Seems no one really cared anyway. I was used to it. There were only one or two kids in the whole camp that I ever even made eye contact with, so…. But I would have literally died if anyone knew that I’d been with the hunky camp lifeguard! Everyone worshipped Alex—almost as much as the Lord. So yeah, there was no way I was going to admit that I’d been with him. Everyone would know how I felt about him… they’d know for sure!

I mean, the fact that a muscle-loving kid like me had been with him, it would raise all sorts of red flags. I was not athletic; I was not socially advanced; I was quiet to a fault. Sure, I used humor as a great self-defense mechanism. Lots of kids thought of me as kinda funny. But everyone would wonder why Alex would want to spend time with me. Everyone would wonder why he would even glance at me!

I couldn’t figure it out myself, actually. But I knew I was smitten, and well… in love. I think I actually was. Alexander the Lifeguard had been with me! And he invited me to his cabin! It would have been easier to learn that the world was flat than it was to figure all of this out.

As usual, everyone flocked to Alex whenever he was around. And tonight at the campfire was no different. Jock guys and fawning girls started calling out, “Hey, Alex!” and “Alexander! How you doing?” before I even saw him.

But when he saw me, he smiled and gave a small hand-wave across from the other side of the big circle. I’m sure no one had a clue that he was waving at me. 

The Pang was heavy that night. All I wanted, was to be with Alex.

In my bunk that night, I lay there quietly, enduring all the stupid chatter, the practical jokes, the bullying and making fun of other kids who weren’t in the room (yeah, Church Camp was brutal), and of course the inane, vulgar talk about girls: boobs, tits, pussy, cherries, kissing…. It was disgusting. (Now, if they would have been talking about men in that regard, well yeah… would not have been vulgar at all.

Anyway, I lay there in my bunk, trying to be as absolutely invisible as possible (I did not want anyone’s attention in any way. Except maybe Jock-John’s. But although he was nice to me when we were just the two of us talking, he didn’t seek me out, and he certainly didn’t make conversation with me in front of others, if he could help it. So I lay as still as possible, praying for Lights Out to arrive as soon as possible. At one point during the melee, I rolled over onto my stomach.

Fuck, I was as hard as a stick. And instinctively, I started pushing my cock into the mattress. My sleeping bag totally covered me—I was engulfed in it. It gave me a semblance of privacy. And when the lights did go out, it was even more private.

It didn’t get quiet right away, of course. There were stories, and all kinds of shenanigans to be had. But in the dark, I could dream. And push on myself.

I floated somewhere between consciousness and the ozone layer, and started to fantasize about Alex.

THE PRIVATE POSING SESSION TO WHICH Alex had earlier invited me didn’t take place the next day. That’d have to wait till Friday. He pulled me aside at the lake Thursday afternoon, telling me there was going to be a special treat for all of us that afternoon, and that he would have me over to his cabin again—just the two of us (he stressed that point)—on Friday evening, after Campfire.

But after swim time was over that day, before dinner, a special event (the treat Alex mentioned) had been arranged for all the campers: a strength demonstration by none other than Alexander the lifeguard.

Yep.

It was a fantasy come true. Everyone gathered in the mess hall. The event was optional, but I’d wager that every kid in camp was there. No one wanted to miss this. I’d be willing to guess that Alex's little exposition was better-attended than any Bible study or Campfire time—what with how kids always found a way to skip stuff.

The event started at 4:30. They hadn’t set up the tables for dinner yet—that’d come after Alex was done showing us how strong he was. So we all sat on the floor or in chairs in a big circle, with a clearing in the middle where Alex stood. A thick rope hung from the hall’s high rafters.

The room was buzzing with excitement.

Camp Director Mr. Madison entered the circle and stood next to Alex, who was wearing his usual cut-offs (damn, those enormous legs) and, right now, a tank top (damn, those gargantuan arms and shoulders).

“Okay, everyone,” Mr. M called out, “settle. Settle!” He waited for a moment, then lifted the Bible he held and read a verse: “Proverbs 20:29 says, ‘The glory of young men is their strength,’” He pointed to Alex, then to himself as he continued, “‘And gray hair the splendor of the old.’”

Everyone laughed while he ran his hand through his silver hair.

“But it also says, in Exodus 15:2, these important words: ‘The Lord is my strength and my defense; he has become my salvation.’” He closed his Bible and said to us, “And that is why we’re here right now, to have a little fun while we appreciate that the Lord is our strength.”

Inwardly, I questioned how Mr. Madison was going to tie in Alexander's physical strength with God’s provision of defense and eternal salvation. But at that moment, I really didn’t care how he framed it, nor about the relative absurdity concerning his theological basis for calling this meeting.

“Our camp lifeguard, Alexander, is—as you all know—blessed with a very strong body. Some of that is thanks to his genetics—which of course comes from God the Father; some is due to his tenacious self-discipline and hard work in the gym, of course. But in all things, God is glorified. It is the Lord who gives us—even Alex—the strength we need.” Then he quoted another strength passage from memory: Psalm 18:32: “It is God who arms me with strength and keeps my way secure. So, this afternoon, we have a treat. Alexander has agreed to demonstrate some of his strength for us. And while we witness his feats of physical prowess, I hope you’ll all remember that it is The Lord God Almighty who gives us strength.”

Yeah, in retrospect, I think it was a huge stretch to think us kids (especially those of us with sthenolagnia) would be able to make the connection between God’s strength and Alex's stunning muscles. But who was I to argue?

“So let’s hear it for Alex,” he looked a bit embarrassed, but added, “the muscle man!”

Everyone cheered loudly.

Alex struck a double-bi, then got everyone to quiet down. He thanked Mr. Madison and continued: “Okay, well I owe all my strength to the Lord, of course.”

Some kid shouted, “And a lot of time in the gym!” and everyone cheered.

Alex grinned. “Yes, we all have to make decisions about what we do with what the Lord has given us.”

I thought Alex's take on the whole thing was better than Mr. Madison’s. But whatever. I really wasn’t paying attention to the “life-lesson” aspect of this little meeting. Nor, I doubt, were many others.

“So first of all,” Alex continued, “I’m going to do some rope climbs.” He grabbed the rope that hung from the rafters, and tested to make sure it was secure.

From the sides, Mr. M cleared his throat; Alex looked over at him and Mr. M gave him a “look”.

“Oh. Yeah,” Alex smiled. He let go of the rope and started in on taking off his tank top. And as always, Alex taking off his shirt was never just a simple shedding of fabric. He was a showman, through-and-through, despite his apparent humility. He knew what everyone wanted, and he knew how to give it to ‘em. While boys and girls alike cheered and borderline cat-called, he lifted the shirt off. The man’s muscles were mind-numbing. His physique was perfect. Overly-perfect. Big muscles all over hell, with likely, maybe, three percent body fat. I’m serious.

The audience stirred him on to give a few flexes of his pecs as he released the shirt to the floor, and everyone went bonkers, of course. None more than me, although I didn’t express it.

When Alex grabbed the rope again, his upper arms bulged with dizzying size. His rippling torso—his intercostals, serratus, and abs (like I said, I’d learn the names later, but for now the lines of rippling muscle were stimulating beyond words to me)—bespoke not only strength, but a lean sensuality that etched itself into my psyche.

Then he started moving upwards. In a flash he rose—hand over hand—without using his legs at all. And before you could say involuntary orgasm, he slapped the beam at the top, then lowered himself down again. Everyone cheered, and he gave a double biceps.

Then, to everyone’s surprise, Alex produced a couple of heavy weights—the kind you find in weight rooms. These were the big ones. At the time, I didn’t know anything about how much those discs weighed—the ones you put on the ends of a bar to do bench presses—but I’d later learn that they were 45 pounds each.

“Now Alexander is going to do the rope climb again, but with weights, added” Mr. Madison announced.

Alex donned a padded chain around his waist, and attached the two 45-pound discs to it. He grabbed the rope again, took a few deep breaths, and started in. His entire body flexed and tightened, and although it was slower this time, he did indeed begin to move upward. Arm-over-gigantic-arm, Alex lifted himself upward, higher and higher.

“Holy shit!” some kid cussed. Cabin Councilors scanned their kids to determine who the offending person was. I don’t remember hearing that he’d been discovered.

Despite the unbelievable weight, Alexander moved with fluid grace. Determined and deliberate. He rose higher and higher. The strain showed, but his pace was perfect; he never slowed one bit. When he got to the top, he once again slapped the beam before returning to the ground with the same, even pace as when he’d risen.

Everyone went nuts.

Alex stepped out of the chain and launched into a few poses while everyone cheered.

His next feat demonstrated not only his inhuman strength, but also his ability to perform gymnastic miracles. He did hand-stand push-ups! I’m serious! He first bent over, placing his hands squarely on the floor, then lifted himself into a handstand. Everyone liked that, of course. But that was just the beginning. Once he was positioned in the handstand, he slowly bent his arms and lowered his body… until his nose nearly touched the floor! Then, while everyone yelled and went nuts, he puuuuushed his entire body up. His triceps grew into an oversized football, and his biceps, although not directly involved in the feat, also managed to be engorged to the size of, well, almost the size of a soccer ball.

And that was just the first rep!

He ended up doing many of those.

After he was done with that, he stood upright, his face flushed with exertion, and accepted the adulation he was definitely due.

And then there was a little posing demonstration—which nearly sucked the electricity out of all the light fixtures. Defined and delineated perfect muscles that just tortured me.

Mr. M then announced that Alex would now demonstrate, “just how strong all those protruding abdominal muscles are.” While Mr. M explained, Alex took the hanging rope and fastened a foothold above his head; he lifted himself, inverted himself, and secured both feet in a knot in the rope. When he was done, Alex hung, inverted, a few feet above the floor. 

Holy fucking fuck. (If some kid in the crowd could get away with actually saying “shit”, I figured I could get away with thinking a worse expletive.) Alex's body, upside down, was astounding. The diagonal lines of his serratus and ribs, and the abs… his small waist, contrasting with those wide shoulders… his gigantic legs… all of it hanging there, helpless… Fucking damn it was a sight to see.

Mr. M moved in, ostensibly to make sure the rope was secure and that Alex wasn’t in danger of falling. But my memory serves up a vision of the man testing more than just the rope. Seems to me—and this might indeed be a manufactured memory—I recall seeing the director actually stroke some of Alex's presented muscle, specifically, I remember fingers and palms moving over Alex's insanely large-and-ripped quads and hams. Alex's great legs extended up from his groin like two colossal tree trunks. The sheer muscular size of those immeasurable thighs made me harder than I’d ever been.  And Mr. Madison’s playful appreciation of them nearly made me wet my pants (and not with urine).

Mr. M’s hands—both of them now—moved upward, to the writhing beauty of Alex's  calf muscles. These heavily-tenoned lower leg creations were chiseled, hardened columns of meatiness. Line upon carved line blossomed with rich fullness as the amazing bellies of calf meat—vein-laced magnificence for sure—fell under the worshipping appreciation of Mr. Madison’s hands—and our bulging eyes. The director then permitted his hands to return lower, and linger over the hewn curving volumes of corded quadriceps as his sense of touch explored the sensation of a multitude of steel-hard snakes, each one coiled and stacked aside one another under the thin sheathing of skin covering the distended, upended upper legs.

Mr. M continued his sensual, tactile assessment of Alex's muscles. His hands traveled downward onto Alex's waist… his fingers danced around Alex's tiny belt line, then down onto the muscle man’s inverted abdominal rack. He patted Alex's abs thoughtfully. He caressed the bulging mounds, and even traced the deep valleys in between.

There’s no way this actually happened, is there? Holy hope on a rope…. I truly hope that memory is accurate. Of course, it’s not though. Mr. M’s touching (in my memory/fantasy) is simply too erotic to have been real.

As much as Mr. M wanted to continue with the admiration and investigation of the colossal body of muscle dangling there in the middle of the mess hall, he realized there was a task at hand. Taking one last longing gander over the impossibly phenomenal muscled body hanging in readiness, he sighed, stepped to the side, and announced (rather breathlessly, as I recall), “Alex will now perform some inverted abdominal exercises. He will raise his body upward to touch his hands to his feet. He’ll then relax and let his upper torso fall back to vertical, and then repeat the process. He has asked us to help him count each repetition.

There were lots of ooohs and other exclamations.

“Alex has committed to doing 50 of these inverted, hanging sit-ups; more if he is able.”

I just stared at the seemingly helpless physique that hung from the rafters. I never dreamed that any man could possess a body with almost all those pounds of solid muscle and be so breathlessly beautiful at the same time.

I couldn’t imagine how Alex's minuscule waist, lined with abs that resembled something between river-rock and cobblestones, could be capable of lifting those massive pecs and lats that had to be well over two times the size of the waistband.

Alex's pecs were so monstrous in scale that they refused to surrender any of their imposing thickness to the extension of their meatiness caused by their inverted suspension. Mounted on the endless curvature of mammary muscle and pointing toward Mr. Madison were the darker brown points of Alex's erogenous nipples, nestled in the warm brown bed of his inviting areola.

It was an unbelievable scene.

At the signal, Alex inhaled deeply. His torso tightened, and the skin receded into nothing as his abdominals flexed. He lifted his arms away from the floor, and his upper torso bent upwards. His mammoth arms stretched up, and he touched his toes.

Everyone in the hall shouted, “One!”

Alex's body unfurled into a vision of mindlessly wonderful, stretched muscle beauty and magnificence. Lines carved out each brilliantly plated abdominal muscle that had been charged with hoisting the endless wonder of his upper body. The individual fingers of his reinforcing obliques and serratus muscles reached out to embrace each side of the suspended torso.

The plated flatness of each severely perfect abdominal exploded again into mounded spectacles of instant glorious power as they rounded into intensely sheered images filled with the unimaginable strength needed to lift the massively fissured upper torso upward for the second repetition. Each inverted leg muscle shifted to cast stone, carved with line upon line of corded vein-strewn meat as they lent appreciated assistance to the midsection muscles.

And Alex continued….

Upon the completion of the twentieth rep, it was the quivering pectoral masses as they paraded their expanded prominence as Alex's magnificent body rolled downward that warned of the first signs of fatigue. Shivers of undulating cables of pec meat quaked across the glowing, sweaty body. All of his over-challenged, massive muscles began to show the stress.

The room continued to call out each rep. Many of us were lost in awe, many of us were lost in lust, I am sure.

And Alex just kept on, lifting, touching his feet, then letting gravity take him back town to upside down vertical. Up and down. His pace never faltered, even though his body became shiny with sweat.

At the 40^th rep, he seemed to start slowing. But his efforts continued. Up, and down.

I think we all expected him to stop at 50. He was definitely showing fatigue by then—if not exhaustion. But no. Fifty-one, two, three, four, and then… fifty-five. At that, he relaxed and hung still, his glistening muscles taxed.

The room was alive with cheers and exclamations. The rope had been secured at the roof’s support beam by a pulley that was in turn secured to a bolt on a vertical beam. Three men loosened the knot at the vertical beam and all of them struggled with Alex's weight at the other end of the rope, working to lower him gently onto the cement floor. 

Alex's hands contacted the floor, and eventually he lay there, his body heaving with recuperative breaths.

The massive heap of nearly-naked muscle looked like a piece of art. He was perfect.

He untied his ankles, then accepted a long drink of water while he sat there a moment, then he stood, lifted an arm in victory, and accepted the enthusiastic praise from his worshippers.

Er… audience.

Mr. Madison joined Alexander, holding his hand aloft as if he’d just KO’d an opponent. He stood close to the muscle giant, beaming. Then he said loudly, “Psalm 29:11 says, ‘The Lord gives strength to his people; the Lord blesses his people with peace!’” He faced Alex and said, “Thank you, Alex, for your demonstration of the Lord’s strength.”

Personally, I doubted the Lord had much to do with it, but that’s just me.

We were all dismissed to our cabins to get cleaned up for dinner.

On my way to my cabin, while I listened to the other guys go on and on about how awesome, strong, and cool Alex was, I hand an epiphany. Cleaning for supper, I changed out of my sneakers and socks into flip-flops.

When we all returned to the hall, the tables and been set up. The rope had been removed, although you could see the pulley that had held it, still affixed to the rafters. As fate would have it (or, okay, the Lord’s will), the place directly under the pulley, where Alex had hung only a half-hour earlier, was precisely where my cabin was assigned to sit: in the middle of the room. I took my seat. Then I glanced under the table. To my immense pleasure, the person who had wiped up the sweat that had dripped from Alex's muscle body, hadn’t done a thorough job. I slipped off the flip-flop from one foot and dragged my foot through the remnant of wetness.

I got some of Alex's sweat.

I swore I would never wash that foot again.

What I had no way of knowing was that someday, second-hand transfer of Alex's sweat to my foot would be laughably inadequate compared to what would come my way first-hand.

THAT NIGHT AT CAMPFIRE, THE KIDS would not leave Alex alone. They were climbing him like he was a Jungle Jim, laughing as they hung on him, touching him, and asking him to flex.

He obliged as much as he could—even for those who wanted to see his biceps. He removed his hoodie, pulled his t-shirt sleeve back, and made a muscle. They gawked and felt. Still, I never once got the idea that Alexander was in any way impressed by his own body. He was confident, for sure, but he never made anyone feel bad just because he was gorgeously muscular and dizzyingly strong.

Later in my bunk, I produced multiple orgasms-worth of jizz—all the while dreaming of the promised session of watching Alex pose for me, in private, the next day.

— SRS

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