When I was fourteen years old I saw my first bodybuilder: it was Steve Reeves, on the cover of Health and Strength. I guess you could say he changed my life: from that moment on, he was what I wanted and what I wanted to be. He became my continual spur though, over the years, my perception and ambition grew, along with the increasing size of the bodybuilders I devoured (alas, only with my eyes) in all the magazines I bought and hid from my family.

The Steve-ideal was replaced several times as I grew older (and bigger) by bigger but no less handsome guys, always of his type: Bob Paris, Rich Gaspari, Milos Sarcev, Dennis Newman, even Jay Cutler - though he was blonde, shorter and more massive than the "Steve-Ideal", he was still handsome and hot and, above all, well-proportioned unlike the mass freaks he was competing with.

My own physique could never compete with these guys, let alone Jay, but it did reach a competition standard of some quality and I won a lot of classes - never the "overall" champ. Like my dad, I started to lose hair at 21 so, for my first contest, I shaved it all off and liked myself better for it. Maybe it was because my look was now so different to the Reeves-Paris-Newman perfection.

But let's get back to Him and how I first found Him. I was in London, out of work, spending my days doing push-ups at the Park's swimming enclosure. Walking home (no money for buses or taxis) I saw him emerge on the other side of the road from a fashionable but quiet hotel. I had to stop and gawp. Six foot plus. Ten foot wide. Tight jeans showing off those amazing quads. White tee-shirt showing off everything else. Even from the other side of the road I could see every thick muscle belly molded by the helanca of his too-tight tee. I had to swallow and walk on when he turned to speak to someone inside the hotel. At the end of the block I stopped and looked again. He was grinning at me. I crossed the road and walked towards him, my big dick tenting my cut-offs, and my hard nips doing the same to my cut-off tank.

We were almost in reach when a Hollywood blonde emerged, teetering on her high heels. The doorman opened a taxi for her and, as she was crouching to get in, He turned to me and gave a regretful shrug before he slid those massive delts in beside her.

Having been faced with my ideal man, I had never felt such a let-down.

I was having to do escort work to pay the rent at the time and I was bidden one night to "escort" some dame to a charity dinner. Fat, fifty, typical fag-hag, I guess she was about as opposite in every way to my ideal bed-mate, so I was praying she'd be "too tired" for anything after the dinner. After about half an hour of standing about with a warm martini, totally ignored by my companion, I caught myself yawning in the direction of the entrance. The yawn was cut off sharply: He was there. Tanned. Immaculate. A tux so well-cut that it betrayed every muscle on his body as only a well-cut suit knows how. Our eyes connected immediately. He just had time to raise his eyebrows and grin again before his companion joined him. Yet another Hollywood blonde.

We found ourselves sitting directly opposite each other at the long and narrow dinner-table. Our ankles, at least, were able to connect. I thanked the caterers' long tablecloths for hiding my steel-erection and the inevitable outpouring of precum that I could feel jerking out of my dick. Any conversation with him seemed to be out of the question.

"Hey, buster!" complained my companion, "get your eyes off Mister Perfect: you're supposed to be entertaining me!" She made her claim and immediately turned away to talk to the "more interesting" dinner partner on her other side.

Perfect Paragon soon excused himself and made his way, I guessed, to the men's room. I gave him a discreet five minutes and then did likewise. Neither of my neighbors noticed my departure. As I reached the door he was returning. As we passed he slipped a wadded piece of paper into my hand and gave it a squeeze. His telephone number, thank God!

I called him next day.

"I'm all tied up - can't talk long. Need to see you but I'm going back to NY tomorrow. Are you ever there? Take this number and for God's sake call me. I'll be there until I go to the Coast in September. Sorry - gotta go." Click. Now you'd better believe this: His name was Steve Newman.

As luck would have it I landed a job which took me to New York a few weeks later. Hardly daring to believe I'd find him, I called his NY number the night before I left London. He remembered me. He wanted me to meet him at a smart NY health club: "Be in the sauna precisely at eleven fifteen tomorrow night. It'll be empty and I'll leave a message with the concierge to let you in. OK?"

OK indeed.

By eleven-thirty I was sweating like a pig, my (considerable) muscle relaxing in the damp heat. As I massaged my dick: would he come? Is he standing me up? Shall I just jerk off and go home? I had almost decided to when a shadow fell across my face. A huge shape was blocking the light coming through the open door of the sauna.

"Hey, you! Hot enough? You certainly are! C'mon, make some room for me!"

Even as we sat there, side by side in the heat, I could see he was almost a half-head taller than me and that the quad that was ramming itself into mine considerably thicker. His towel fell away, revealing a massive erect fuck-rod, already pleasantly scarlet with a purple mushroom head. Actually, mine was bigger than his, but he won out on every other dimension.

Our mouths magnetized toward each other, our tongues connected, hands found and squeezed big stiff pecs. I stood up on the bench, feet astride his narrow hips, out my hands on those huge delts which, readers, defy description, since every one of the triple-heads were so huge and hard. I slowly squatted as I lowered my ass towards his dick. When I felt his mushroom nosing at my pucker I started to squirm my big glutes so I could enjoy his invasion at leisure. But it was not, after all, to be on my terms. He put both hands at the top of my folded thighs and rammed me down at the same time as his cock reared up and jammed itself in to the hilt.

I went for the best ride of my life on that bucking-bronco-dick, endlessly ramming it into my fundament until I spurted a huge load all over his chest. My butt muscles spasmed around his invading member and he roared as he gushed into me.

"C'mon, you fuck-pig, clean me up - and don't swallow it!" He pulled out of me and pushed my head down to his chest so I could lick up every ounce of my gism, along with all his muscle sweat. I licked and sucked my way across the mighty, full definition of his pecs, and down across the solid eight-pack towards his still-weeping dick which I sucked clean until it was hard and copiously weeping again. All the time he kept saying "Don't swallow!"

My mouth was pretty well bursting with my joy juice, and his sweaty gism: he sucked it into his own mouth and we swirled it around both our tongues, enjoying the intoxicating taste and aroma. Then we both swallowed.

I stood up and he returned the favor, sucking me off as I stood on the hot bench in front of him. Same procedure sharing the proceeds.

"C'mon. Let's shower and dry off and get back to my place."

The shower was too public for us to be indiscreet but, as we rinsed ourselves off in opposite showers, I could at last compare our physiques and see just how much more massive he was than I. It was as if someone had put me into a computer and then morphed me up till I looked like him. As he soaped and rinsed every massive, striated muscle, and I followed suit with my own, this desire to be morphed into him slowly overcame me.

Discreet or not, there was no hiding our erections from each other nor anyone else. As we were toweling off, he came towards me with a grin and whispered: "I know what you want! I can see it a mile off - feel it too!" He whanged my cock with his towel (painful, but provocative) and started to get dressed. Was it just a sexual innuendo, or had he read my mind? I guessed I'd find out soon.

We took a cab to his pad on the Upper East Side - hardly able to squeeze our over-sized shoulders into it. Strong hands felt flexed quads all the way - when they weren't grabbing at our monstrous packages - to his penthouse. Wow, this guy must be rich!

"Live alone?"

"You bet!"

He seized me round the waist and pressed his pelvis into mine. I could feel the steel of his dick pushing through both our pairs of pants and he must felt mine likewise. My arms stretched round his enormous stretched lats; his hazel-green eyes looked into mine for a moment until we lost focus as our lips latched on to each other and our tongues fucked each other's mouths for an age. During this soul-fuck - for that's what it was - I felt the rock hard tris and bis as he grabbed hold of my flexed lats. It was like embracing a living boulder. I started to groan into his throat as he gently grabbed my tongue between his teeth.

"Suffering, dude?" he said.

Those green eyes drilled into mine as I pulled his teeshirt out of his pants. He reciprocated in one stroke by ripping mine into pieces. I had a harder time with his helanca number but it was soon off and I was able to feel the magnificent sweep of those thick pecs. Without taking our eyes of each other, our belts slid out of their loops and we pulled off our own pants, socks and shoes. We stood there naked - except for my Calvins: he wasn't wearing anything else and I soon wasn't wearing those as he ripped them off me and squeezed my thick, swollen package in one hand. I grabbed his throbbing pillar, glad to notice that I could best him in at least one part of the anatomy.

"Not bad!" he said. "What're we going to do about all this?"

"First I just want to look at you - every part of you - get you to flex for me, let me cop a feel of all that fucking great muscle-meat, then fuck me to eternity."

"Sure, but I'll be fucking you into my eternity, OK?"

Whatever he meant by that was OK by me. I watched him with growing anticipation as his huge muscled, catlike frame stalked round the room turning off all the lights except one overhead beam near the big mirrored wall. He handed me a bottle. I didn't need to ask questions. I oiled every inch of that perfection, that paragon of sensuality, feeling every muscle rippling and flexing under his thin skin. The palms of my hands both thought they'd gone to heaven.

When I'd finished the neck, the traps, the delts, the arms, the pecs, the lats, all those criss-crossing back muscles, I knelt before this muscle-god to smooth the oil on to every strata of his abs. My fingers could have gotten lost in the crevices between each part of the eight-pack and my cock longed to slide up and down the center cleavage but, for now, it contented itself with weeping pre-cum on to his marble floor.

I cupped one hand round the root of his cock and balls, giving him a human cock-ring (and a tight one) while I massaged the oil into the giant quads and hams, down on to the impossibly outsize calfs. I slid my hand up the back of his left leg, across the front of his upper quads and joined it to my other hand round his balls. My mouth finished the anointing as it closed round that pulsing, swollen dick head and swallowed it whole. I fucked the purple mushroom with the back of my throat until he started to gasp and pulled me off it. He shoved me backwards on to the floor with a thrust of his arm and went straight into a most-muscular right over my head.

I can tell you that's the best angle to look at that pose. My frame and my muscles supported themselves on my elbows as he walked right over me and stuck his butt out into my face.

"If you want me so bad, stuck your tongue up here, boy!" I held on to those marble pillars he called legs and did just that. Then he pulled me to my feet and stuck a flexed bicep under my nose. It seemed to grow and grow and then split into two equally huge halves, then it swooped away into a double bicep pose, down into a front lat spread. And so it went on. The perfect muscle display at incredibly close quarters.

He pulled me into him, shoving a big pec into my face. I traced the underside of that thick sweep with my tongue and then latched on to a hard nipple and chewed as he grabbed both our dicks together in one oily hand and started to pump them. I felt my balls tighten and the gism start rising so I pulled away.

"Too much for you, am I, boy?" he taunted. "Well, let's have a look at you."

He turned me round the face the mirror and stood at my side.

"Not bad. Not bad at all. You've worked hard." As he went on talking at me he started to caress every (big) muscle of my body: my mind went schizophrenic as half of it tried to concentrate on what he was saying while the other half was enjoying something it had never known: the physical appreciation of another muscle-god.

"Look at you and look at me: we're practically dead-ringers for each other. OK, I have hair, and I have three inches on you in every direction and in every dimension, but we're both cut from the same slab of marble. The thing is, what do you want to do about it? No, don't answer me yet - just get it into your head that you can be what I am if you really want it. You're going to say it's impossible, but it's not: if you are prepared to make sacrifices you can be part me and I can be part you. Apart from some superficial facial features we could be identical."

I didn't know what the hell he was talking about and, as he continued to drive me wild with what his hands were doing (they seemed to be in seven places at once) and, though he was right about our similarity - except for my pug face and the fact that I was so much smaller than he - I told him so.

Of course I wanted to be like him - of course I felt I wanted to be part of him - forever if possible - but... At the moment what my dick really wanted was to fuck each other to blazes. I told him this too and, when he started to laugh, I threw myself at him and wrestled him to the ground. I felt as if I was wrestling with the bear the skin underneath us came from: for the moment I was on top of him, grabbing his pecs and his cock, the next he was on top of me in one of those 69 holds I enjoyed watching Billy Herrington and Brett Mycles use on their opponents: so near a double face-fuck and yet so far.

I snapped at his balls - he slapped my face and laughed. I whacked his pecs with both hands and he grabbed my wrists.

"Well, want it or not?"

"I want to fuck!" He shook me hard.

"Patience, dude! The fucking can wait! Concentrate on what I'm saying - want eternity with me and my muscle or not? I'm asking you, how much do you want to have what I've got, be what I am?"

He finally got my attention. What was he really offering me? Was this some kind of Faustian bargain or was he seriously telling me I could have what he had? Superior muscle. I was driven into yelling back at him.

"Yeah, I want it all, dude!"

"Then, like it or not, the fucking will have to wait! Get dressed - we've got somewhere to go."

"Wha - ??"

He went to a closet and flung me some leathers.

"Put these one - we're going to a really exclusive leather dive: they only let in major muscle. You'll find what you want there."

"But I want - '

"I know what you want, and you'll get it, I promise! Get your pecker down and get dressed!" and he flung some boots in the direction of my groin.

The leathers were a beat-up old pair of chaps: he was putting some on too so I dragged mine on. Dragged was the word: it took a lot of effort to fit them round my big quads and when I did up the zip it felt like two pairs of hands were running themselves down my legs. The "second skin" clung to me and outlined every strata of muscle: I felt as if I'd been taken possession of by some muscle hunk soul. My dick reared up and started to weep as I ran my hands down my thighs over the thin, skin-tight sweaty leathers.

He was wearing the same. By now I was totally bemused - and frustrated as hell. "Put this on - if you can get it on over that thing!"

"This" was a kind of studded leather jock into which I could barely force my equipment. "Do it up outside the chaps - it's rigged to come off easily when it needs to.

No shirt? No, that was apparently all that was required. He had a triumphant glitter in his eyes as I was rushed, regretfully, out of his penthouse into his car - finding myself in no time in this dark kind of dungeon-bar, full of muscle hunks doing unmentionable things to each other in slings and other kinds of equipment I'd only seen in videos.

His firm hand pushed me over to the bar where a huge bald, and bearded hunk presided: he was a ringer for the wrestler Goldberg, only his giant muscles were much more defined.

"Looks like you've found who you were looking for, Steve. Pretty good too!"

"Sure - prep him for me will you?"

What the hell was going on here? I was prepared to go along with anything he wanted but this was getting stranger and -

He pulled me into a tough embrace - glittered at me for a moment, then kissed me roughly. As he did so I felt a massive prick (I mean a needle) in my butt: I looked round to see Goldberg withdrawing a vet-sized syringe from my glutes. Before I had time to complain I felt a wooziness come over me and me knees started to give way.

"Whoa, boy! You'll be fine in a minute! Trust me!"

One of his strong arms held me up round the waist and one hand gripped my dick which, unlike my knees, felt stiff and excited. I was vaguely aware of a lot of muscle standing around us in the shadows, all stroking their dicks, or each other's.

Slowly strength seemed to come back and, with it, a growing feeling of sensuality and sexual desire. My whole being seemed to be responding to Steve's libido and all I wanted was Him. I clung my arms round his naked torso and longed for his fist to jerk me off. But this was not to be.

"OK, guys - he's ready. Let's get him over to one of the slings. It'll be easier for them both there."

Several pairs of strong arms lifted me up and carried me across the room. Steve never took his eyes off me and mine never left his. Someone's pair of hands unsnapped the codpiece as I was deposited in the sling: Steve fastened my ankles into stirrups high up the chains in front and Goldberg cuffed my wrists to the chains above my head. My butt was thus open and vulnerable to whatever Steve was going to do with it and my hands could no nothing to prevent it. Worse, they couldn't touch him.

As many hands started to stroke my muscles, and a pair of lips found my dick, my frustration grew and I started to buck my torso in the sling in a futile effort to reach Steve.

"Get off him boys, and we'll strap him down!"

The hands and lips withdrew as Goldberg tightened a strap round my waist - now I was totally immobilized and only had my voice left to complain with. But I was so drunk (drugged?) by now that I could only moan in Steve's direction. He stood between my legs, massaging his already stiff cock as he leaned over me.

"Calm down, brother! We've already exchanged DNA once [in the sauna?] and now we're going to do it again. I know you want to touch me and feel me, but your physical frustration will double your desire for what comes next. You'll love it, I promise you! And I keep all my promises, as you'll find out. Now, relax and enjoy - I sure will!"

It was about now, in my fuddled state, that I realized we'd never used condoms in the sauna and, as I saw him lubing up, we weren't about to now! Somehow this seemed right and complete because of whatever relationship we had or were about to have - so my crazed mind went on wandering as he started to press his giant rod (not as big as mine!) into my butt.

I've had a lot of sex in my time but I'd never felt the excitement of wanting a dick that felt bigger than a fist stuffed up my ass as I had now. I breathed deeply, inhaling Steve's whole self as well as air, and that raging hot, throbbingly veined, rock-hard mushroom head pushed its way into me and started a slow fuck. He grasped my flexing bis and leaned his massive chest on top of mine as he fucked me. Goldberg, standing behind me, pushed my head forward so Steve could reach my mouth.

The passionate power-fuck became a passionate embrace as he also fucked my mouth with his tongue. My engorged, weeping dick was being grated against his thick washboard abs over and over again. Goldberg whispered into my ear: "Do all you can NOT to cum - it's really important that you don't cum!" I moaned as Steve mercifully pulled his abs away from my dick and his power fuck became a jackhammer fuck. Goldberg was twisting my nips to prevent any premature ejaculation.

Steve started to moan back and Goldberg released my wrists so I was able to wrap my arms round Steve as he approached his climax. Even so, as he neared it, his shoulders reared up and he roared like a bull. I could feel gallons of hot gism pumping into my ass as I clenched my butt muscles round his cock. I desperately wanted to come but Goldberg roared "NO!" over Steve's cries and dug his nails into my nips.

Steve collapsed his huge frame on top of mine, kissing and hugging me violently. I felt my ankles being released from their bonds. Goldberg's huge bulk forced us up into a standing position.

"Quick, now!"

"You have to give it to me now, brother - give me all you've got, OK? This is it!"

Still hugging, still embracing, still kissing, he walked me over to a curved, leather-bound, fuck-table. He pulled his lips off mine, gave me one deep long look, almost as if to say Goodbye. He whispered "From here to eternity! I keep my promises! Now, FUCK ME!"

He turned away and leaned over the moon- curve of the table, spreading his legs wide. Someone fluffed me unnecessarily and had to be sent flying by Goldberg's mighty paw. He patted me encouragingly on the back. I didn't need to be told: my big(ger) dick found its way automatically to its target and entered deep into Steve's being. I left it in as deep as I could, leaned over Steve and put my arms round him so I could grasp those mighty pecs. I was stretched on the moon-curve as much as he was.

"Want it?"

All Steve did was growl. At that very moment there was another violent needle-stab in my butt and I felt a hot rush of fluid from my backside flowing instantly into my throbbing dick. Goldberg's finishing touches? Whatever - I was galvanized into the fuck of my life. And I think it was the fuck of Steve's life too - had he ever had such an enormous rod up his backside?

I started to pump in and out of him unmercifully - all the way out, all the way in, over and over again. In deep, I rotated my hips to bruise his joy-button as much as possible, swift deep strokes, gearing up slowly into such a power-fuck as I had never given anyone else, ever.

I pulled Steve up, so I was fucking him standing - this seemed to get easier and easier. The harder I fucked, the more I felt my muscles burning, insistently swelling. Steve felt smaller - I felt taller. I was overpowering him with every fuck-stroke.

My mind clouded as I fucked on and on: I seemed to melt into him, and he into me.

"FUUUUUUCK ME!!!" he yelled as I got near to cumming. The more he yelled, the harder I fucked - I was lost to the world now, just feeling his pecs under my hands and his butt round my cock - literally on cloud nine. Nothing and no one existed for me but Steve and his muscle and mine. My balls were boiling, my dick swelled and swelled inside him as the gism fought its way to the surface of our being. I squeezed his pecs and yelled, and he yelled as I jetted and jetted into him over and over again.....

The clouds cleared - I came back to the surface of this world. My dick was still gushing and throbbing and I was clutching my own pecs. I opened my eyes. Everything was hushed. I was back in the bar - but Steve wasn't. Shit! Where was he? What had happened? I turned to find Goldberg smiling sympathetically behind me.

"Where . what.?"

He turned me towards a big dark mirror and switched on a light over it. I gasped. There was Steve. There was I. But there was only one person in the mirror. And he wasn't really me - bigger, taller (I could tell this by Goldberg's reflection) - hugely muscled. It was my face, yet it was Steve's. And it had hair. This glittering, sweat and cum-covered body flexed his biceps - I felt my own, they were flexing..

It wasn't Steve's body either - it was even bigger than his - as if my muscle had been added to his. Huge, but still dazzlingly proportioned -beyond Dennis. Beyond Jay. Beyond Rich. Beyond Steve R. I felt the unbelievable bis and tris, I swept the full-swelling pecs and rubbed the abs, felt the giant cannon-ball delts, grabbed the bigger-than-Platz quads, twisted to see what I could of the giant back. All bigger, much bigger. Fucking hot!

I turned to Goldberg and silently asked the question.

"He kept his promise. Now he's you and you're him. Yeah - fucking hot! Enjoy!"

I turned back to the mirror: out of the face that wasn't mine - and yet it was - his green eyes grinned at me. I heard an echo coming out of my own mouth: "I keep my promises. You'll never fuck alone: when you fuck someone I'll be fucking you, when someone's fucking you, you'll be fucking me. I've got what I wanted: more muscle - and so have you. You're stuck with me - from here to Eternity!"

Suddenly I felt complete - even in this naked state. As I pulled those sexy, suggestive sweaty leathers on again I asked Goldberg, "Just who am I?" He shrugged.

"You and Steve, I guess. What's your name?"

"It's Steve too - always has been - coincidence?"

He chuckled. "Must be. Enjoy!"

Enjoy! To the end of time.

Can you believe that? •