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|We’re back at the Ripcord again tonight, where it all started three
years ago. We walk side by side through the bar, as big as any four
normal men. The crowd parts before us as we take up our position on the
patio. It’s always easy to tell the newcomers from the regulars, the
open-mouthed awe of the newbies, the excited, gleaming expressions of
the ones who know what to expect.
Kel is completely awesome. At 360 lbs. he has no more than 5% bodyfat, he’s exactly twice the size he was when I met him three years ago. The boy wanted to be a man, and now he’s as big as any two men.
And, yeah, he’s all natural again, golden-brown ringlets spreading across the twin hemispheres of his massive pecs, creeping down the crevasse between his mind-blowing eight-pack. The boys all like it, they like it a lot, especially with the buzz cut and the short-trimmed beard. The Boy is major WOOFDA.
As for me…
Well, put it this way. The two of us together weigh exactly 800 lbs., so do the math, OK?
440 lbs. of man.
Still furry as fuck, still no more than 10% body fat, my chest now well past the 80 inch mark, my biceps up to 35 inches.
Kel gives the boys a show, going through his mind-blowing posing routine. The look on his face as he flexes his awesome right arm, watching the 28 inch bicep peak higher and higher, a fucking volcano of muscle, is enough to get me all hot and bothered.
Then he gives them a shot of his mighty 72 inch chest, and rolls his mind-blowing 36 inch quads, before hitting a most muscular that brings the house down.
I can tell what he’s thinking:
“This is so fucking awesome!”
“I am so fucking huge!”
“I can’t fucking believe it.”
And then it’s my turn.
“Believe it, baby,” I whisper in his ear.
Kel shows them muscle, I show them STRENGTH. A few days ago I achieved a personal best, benching 1540 lbs. for a single rep, 3 ½ times my bodyweight. I call on my favorite bear buddies, Frank and Jim. They’re a couple now and they’ve made a lot of strides themselves. Still more bear than muscle but they’ve gotten bigtime into powerlifting – and these days they’re both weighing in at about 300 lbs.
I lift Frank above my head with one hand, Jim above my head with the other. Then I do some juggling, tossing and catching them in a blur of motion before sending them shooting across the patio to Kel, who sends them spinning into the crowd, a pair of fur-covered bowling balls.
Then it’s time for the final act.
Kel comes for me, stripping as he walks across the decking, his monstrous shoulders casting a shadow a mile wide. We grasp hands and I lift him up above my head, my arms fully outstretched. Then slowly, carefully but with no apparent strain for either of us, he flips himself into a handstand, the two of us together more than 12 feet tall, 800 lbs. of muscle and fur and dick for your viewing pleasure.
He flips down again, lithe as a cat, and turns his back to the crowd, burying his sweet head under my chin.
“Who’s your boy, Daddy?”
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