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|Not a muscle growth story as such, but i think you'll like it.|
|I hate blind dates. Let me just get that up front. But, last night
I had a blind date with a guy…damn, lemme tell ya, he was hot.
We were set up by a mutual friend. The mutual friend knows us both from the gym. I'm a morning gym person, the blind date is an evening gym person, and the mutual friend is obsessive and works out both in the morning and the evening. Actually the mutual friend has a pretty great body as a result. He lifts in the morning and does the cardio scene in the evenings. I should look as good. If he weren't taken, I'd want to date him.
But, anyway, said mutual friend has been trying to get us hooked up for about a month, but we were both reluctant to go on a blind date. Eventually, we both caved in to the pressure and agreed to at least talk on the phone and see if it went anywhere.
So I called him. His name is Gerard and goes by Jerry. Anyway we got over the initial awkwardness and had a pretty cool conversation. Turns out Mutual Friend is right, we have quite a bit in common. We talked for about 2 hours and wrapped up the telephone call by agreeing to meet for dessert at Sweet Inspirations on Market Street. Yes, it is a cliché to meet for a blind date there, but it seemed like the location of least commitment, if you get my drift.
Before we go any further, let me tell you about myself. I'm an architect, 32 years old, with about 10 years of serious lifting behind me. I even competed in the local natural body building two years ago as a middle weight. I'm 5'-9" tall and 195 pounds of pretty solid muscle. My chest is 47 inches, my waist is 34 inches and my guns are 17 inches. I'm not cut to shreds, but I'm not a fatty either. I've got a pretty clear 6-pack when I flex my abs.
Muscle is important to me. I like being big and I like muscular men, especially muscular men who are shorter than I am. Other than my muscle and my intellect, I suppose I'm pretty average with medium length brown hair and brown eyes. I wear glasses and I've got a mustache and a goatee, it goes with the architect image.
So anyway, Gerard who goes by Jerry and I agreed to meet in the evening after he had finished working out. I liked that. It showed that he was committed to his workouts and didn't let other things interfere with them. I described myself to him and told him that I'd be wearing a caramel colored suede shirt-coat.
The appointed night, last night, I changed my clothes after work for my blind date. Now, I figured as nice as this guy seemed on the phone that it would end up going no where, so I didn't go all out to impress. But, on the other hand, I am vain enough not to want to go looking like a slouch. So I decided to wear a pair of black jeans, the ones that fit me exactly right at the ass and are nicely snug around my 27 inch thighs. Did I mention my big thighs? I'd like them to be bigger, but they are pretty big for a guy my height. Anyway, I digress. I decided that I'd wear my black stretchy Versace short sleeve shirt. It's a little too small and fits pretty snuggly. I can't actually button the top button because my neck is too big. When I inhale, the snaps [yeah, snaps] are tested and the fabric spreads just a little to show what chest hair I have. The sleeves of the shirt are filled nicely by my arms.
I told you I was vain. I wasn't dressed to kill, but maybe to wound or maim. It took me a while to find a place to park and I arrived just a little late. I scanned the room as I walked in and although about half the men in the room looked up nobody seemed to be expecting me. Although one or two men did follow me with their eyes as I walked to the counter to order.
I didn't want to look like a pig, so I postponed getting a dessert and ordered a decaf which I took to a table against the wall near the front. I was sitting down when it dawned on me that Gerard who goes by Jerry hadn't told me what HE looked like or what he would be wearing. Sometimes my intellect fails me. So I had to count on this guy recognizing me. Fortunately, I was the only brown haired guy with glasses, a mustache and goatee and a caramel colored suede shirt- coat.
I nursed my coffee for a while and watched the people walk by on the street and checking out pretty much everybody who came into the café. Several people came in but none matched what I did know about Gerard who goes by Jerry: he's a 28 year old graphic designer. I should have asked more questions.
One fellow came in who made my heart skip a beat. What a hunk: short, dark and handsome. He was an Asian guy, 5 or 6 inches shorter than me with a tiny little waist a big muscular chest and biceps that looked as big as mine, although that was probably an optical illusion. Short beefy guys always look like they've got bigger arms or chests to me. It's all about proportion. Trust me. I'm an architect. Anyway this little guy was like everything that turns me on. He was Asian. He was short. He was muscular. Under a motorcycle jacket his tight stretchy black t-shirt was tight enough that I knew both his nipples were pierced. Yum-mee.
Well that wasn't Gerard who goes by Jerry. About 2 minutes later, while I was still trying to watch the Asian in the reflection in the window, a tall drink a water came in. He paused at the entry and scanned the room. I almost didn't notice him so preoccupied was I with the little muscley Asian. But he managed to catch my eye. The light of recognition went on in his eyes. He smiled and nodded and came over toward me.
My heart sank. After seeing the man of my dreams come in, this guy was a let down. Gerard who goes by Jerry was taller than me, about 6 feet, maybe a little less. He was blonde with short spikey hair, clean shaven and appeared to have no muscle at all. What was Mutual Friend thinking?
I stood and shook hands as we did the introductions. His grip was firm. Okay, to be honest, it hurt. Clearly he was trying to impress me with a show of strength. He went up to the counter and got himself a coffee and a piece of cheesecake I agreed to share. He clearly wasn't what I was looking for, so I figured I could eat all the fat stuff I wanted.
I watched him walk up to the counter and he passed the man of my dreams who was deep in discussions with a beefy leather man who looked like he was in his late 40's at least twice his age. Life just isn't fair.
I tried to assess what Mutual Friend had been thinking. Gerard who goes by Jerry was tall and slender. He was blonde and tan. He was wearing a pair of baggy fit Levi's and a copper colored t-shirt under a thick flannel jacket. I don't know. He looked like he weighed about 150 pounds. The baggy Levi's did hang nicely off what appeared to be a significantly round and bubbly ass. Other than that, I just couldn't see what Mutual Friend was thinking.
He loped over and placed the cheese cake and his coffee down on the table. We smiled at each other and started making chit chat. He sat down and put sugar in his coffee. He'd forgotten forks, so I got up and fetched them along with some napkins. While I was up he took off his flannel jacket and hung it on the back of his chair.
His copper colored t-shirt was sleeveless. He had decent arms, I thought, for a skinny guy. His biceps were long and lean, with a nice vein down the front, but certainly nothing to write home about. His fore arms were kinda big, but more than big they were really well defined with a few veins just bulging up under his skin. Since he'd taken his jacket off and tried to impress me with his grip, I figured it was time to break out the big guns, so before I sat down I took off my jacket and hung it on the back of my chair.
I noticed that the same eyes that had followed me when I came in were looking at me again with greater interest. Although, the Asian muscle guy didn't seem to notice.
We chatted about this and that. Jerry had nice green eyes and a winning smile. I mentally compared my arms to his. Not flexed, but bent at the elbow, my biceps were firm and filled up the sleeves of my shirt to the point where the sleeves kinda started to ride up toward the valley between my shoulder and my biceps. Not flexed, but bent at the elbow, his biceps were firm, with long muscle bellies, and his shoulders were rounded nicely.
He did have traps that seemed to climb higher up his neck than I would have thought. Since he was bent forward, leaning on the table, I couldn't make out how big his chest was. His t-shirt was a little oversized. But I figured a tall lanky guy like him probably buys his clothes a little big to hide his skinniness.
We were having a nice conversation, but I wasn't interested really and my brain was trying to think of a nice way of ending the date. That's when he leaned back in his chair and raised up his arms clasping them behind his head. I was shocked! I was suddenly more interested. His nothing to write home about biceps, when bent with his hands behind his head, gathered themselves into orange sized balls of muscle. And, leaning back like that, his shirt fell along the contours of two very nice looking pecs. And, he shaved his arm pits.
This was something more interesting. Maybe Jerry did have some muscle after all. He brought his arms down and folded them across what was not an insignificant chest. Folded like that, his arms looked much bigger with serious biceps and beefy fore arms. This was a guy I could be interested in.
Crafty devil that I am, I suggested that we go to my place for a glass of wine. He agreed. We both stood and grabbed our respective jackets. I didn't put mine on, and he didn't put his on. As we walked out of the café and around the corner to my car, I noticed that Jerry had big, thick triceps and that his chest was high and full. His t-shirt wasn't tucked in and it hung from his chest, hardly making contact with his stomach and fell full and loose around his narrow hips.
We got into my Volvo and I asked him about his workouts. That night had been his leg and back day. Not his favorite, but he said he swore by squatting heavy. I agreed about that, while noting to myself that this meant his arms and chest weren't pumped up from his work out. Hmmm. Better still.
At a traffic light, I looked over and mentally compared our biceps again. I knew mine were 17 inches cold and flexed. Just looking at them, practically side by side, I could see that his and mine were almost the same size in this relaxed state. But his were longer because of his longer arms and therefore must in fact be bigger. Better still.
When we got to my place, it was an oven. I live in one of those old `20's high rises that is on city steam. Which means that when the fall weather is mild, you still get full heat. This, I though, could work to my advantage. I apologized for the heat and asked him to take a seat while I fetched the wine.
While I was pouring the wine, I noticed thru the door from the kitchen that Jerry had bent over to examine a second place trophy from the last body building contest I was in. It sits on a side table in my living room. Two things struck me about this. First, he did have a glorious ass. It was full and round and I bet it had dimples. Second, bent over, I could see from the way his t-shirt fell that he had a very nice V taper from his narrow hips up to his surprisingly broad shoulders.
I came in gave him his wine and we sat down. He sat at one end of my black suede sofa and I sat opposite him in my terribly trendy chrome and black leather chair. He crossed his legs. This brought the size of his thighs into my sight. Even thru the fabric of his baggy jeans, they were nice. I could see that he had a formidable tear- drop of muscle just above his knee. Oh, yes. This was getting better and better.
I had brought the bottle with me and plied him with drink. I liked the way his biceps balled up when he raised his glass to his lips. After he'd had a few glasses to my one, he was flushed from both the alcohol and the stifling heat of my apartment. I apologized again and took off my shirt, suggesting that he do the same.
My physique is fairly buff and, although most men don't like to say this about themselves, I look my in tight jeans and best bare chested. I casually tossed my shirt over the back of the other chrome and leather chair, before fetching another bottle of wine. I could see in the mirror that his eyes followed me and with a smile.
Returning with the wine, I poured both of us another glass and asked him about his workouts again. This time I wondered of him what he thought his best developed muscle group was. Self-serving? Yes. But it worked. Jerry said that he thought his chest was his best developed muscle group. The way his t-shirt fell over his two broad pecs, I was inclined to agree, but I asked if he'd be embarrassed if I asked him to show me.
He gave a little laugh as if to dismiss the question, but I persisted, no really, would he show me. I didn't have my shirt on and we could compare. With a little bit of thought, he put his wine down and stood, a little shakily, and reached down grabbing the hem of his shirt. He pulled it up and off slowly, as if he had an idea of what I was really after.
I have to say, I was shocked again. His abdominals were amazing. The looked like cobble stones, hard and defined even though he was relaxed. He had an 8-pack that put even mine in my glory days of competitive body building to shame. His obliques looked like thick pythons of muscle that plunged deep into his trousers.
His chest was magnificent. He had a long narrow torso, with these incredible abs capped with the most glorious pectoral muscles I'd ever seen. They appeared to have a great expanse of smooth tight golden skin over broad, beautifully shaped mounds of muscle. He had more than the beginnings of a deep cleft between the hard pecs. His nipples pointed downward. There was just a hint of stubble indicating that he shaved his chest as well as his arm pits. I wondered what else he shaved.
I whistled and complemented his physique. It was really terrific. He was very lean and his muscles in their relaxed state were much firmer than mine. The definition was beautiful enhanced by his golden tan and lack of hair.
I suggested that we compare and struck a most muscular pose, flexing my chest, shoulders, arms and traps. They popped nicely. I struck the pose a couple more times, flexing harder each time, forcing a bit of a pump. I'd flex for him, then I'd flex into the mirror so I could see, then I'd flex for him again. I'm around 10% body fat, and looked pretty damn good, even better the more I flexed.
Jerry's inhibitions were dropping rapidly, thanks to a bottle and a half of Merlot. He took a deep breath and matched my most muscular pose and fucking blew me away. If my muscles popped, his fucking exploded! They seemed to get half again as big and they looked like they were carved out of marble. He copied my technique and struck the pose a bunch more times, flexing harder each time. His muscles easily flushed with blood and with each succeeding flex, they got bigger and harder and more defined. His muscles were so lean the striations were amazing. I could see the individual bundles of muscle that made up each individual muscle. He couldn't have had more than 4% body fat.
We were both flushed by now and beginning to glisten from the perspiration. I'd never been so happy about the stupid city steam.
I asked him how much he weighed, saying that I was 195, as I grasped my hands behind my head, leaned back and flexed my abs for all they were worth. He took the implied challenge and matching my pose told me he weighed 186 pounds. My sorry 6-pack was no match for his granite washboard. He wiggled his hips and chest and flexed harder showing off his serratus muscles as clear as day.
The quick math I did in my head told me that Jerry actually had more lean muscle mass than I did by about 3 pounds. Although I outweighed him by 10 pounds, he actually had more muscle mass! This kind of threw me. I like being big. I like being bigger than my sex partners. That's one of the reasons I like shorter men. I had figured, before he took off his shirt exposing all that glorious muscle, that I had to out weigh this tall slender guy with muscle alone. I calmed myself down with the thought that he was about 3 inches taller than me and that 3 pounds had to be matched with about 7 or more others in shear bone weight.
He asked me the inevitable question that all weight lifters ask each other, how much did I bench? This got me back on safe turf so to speak. I'm a pretty strong guy. With 10 years of hoisting iron behind me, I can push a lot of weight. The last time I did a one rep max was about 4 months ago. At that time I lifted a very respectable 255 pounds. And I told him so.
Gee, he said, I though you'd lift more. You look so big and strong. I don't know if he meant that as a left handed compliment, but I decided to take it as a normal compliment. How much, I asked, did he bench?
He said that last week he and Mutual Friend had done their one rep maximum lifts. I knew Mutual Friend had as he and I had talked about it. I hadn't know they were workout partners. Mutual Friend had, I knew, maxed out at 287 pounds. I figured there was no way Jerry could match our friend, and probably not my max. I was wrong. Jerry said that he had maxed out at 312 pounds. That, he informed me was 1.6 times his body weight. Christmas, this guy was strong!
Jerry poured himself another glass of wine and took a deep swig. He said that he was really enjoying himself. In spite of my shock over his strength, which I didn't mention, Mutual Friend had come thru, this guy was quite a hot stud and I told him that I was enjoying myself as well.
Jerry's inhibitions were completely gone by now, though his manner was still somewhat bashful. He wanted to know did I arm wrestle? I said that I had done. He asked if I wanted to arm wrestle him? This was certainly a challenge and I'm not one to back down from a challenge. My arms were about as big as his and I figured I had a good shot at besting him here. [Yes, I know it's not a contest, but my competitiveness gets the better of me sometimes.]
We pushed the chairs aside and repositioned a side table so we could arm wrestle. We kneeled on either side and grasped our left hands so that neither could use them to gain some leverage. His hands were bigger and his arms longer, but we managed to arrange our fingers and thumbs in a grip that we both found comfortable. I counted down to three.
We both went at it, pushing against the other. Our gripped hands wavered a bit, but stayed more or less at the even mark. He was strong. I pushed harder, my biceps and fore arms flexed impressively. His hand started to move an inch or maybe two, then although I did not let up, my hand was pushed back to the starting point.
I was perspiring now and beginning to breath deeply. This skinny guy was really strong. I looked at his arm. His biceps were pumped up and looked like a grape fruit sized rock with a thick vein pulsing down the top of it. His fore arms were pumped up too. I could see the veins popping up like a net trying to contain the swelling muscle. I looked up and saw that he was barely perspiring. He smiled at me.
I dug deep and was breathing really deeply now. My biceps were beginning to ache but I found more strength and pushed against his hand even harder. He anticipated this and met my pressure pound for pound. His right pec was flexed hard and I could see every striation of muscle. I looked at his biceps again and saw that they were so pumped that I could see the split between the heads developing.
God, my chest was aching now and my biceps were in so much pain. My arm was beginning to tremble now from the exertion. Perspiration poured off my face and dripped on the table. Jerry had the gall to ask if I wanted to call it a draw.
That was not an option. I was grunting with every breath now like when I'm squatting heavy. I could feel that my abs were completely flexed. My chest hurt. My arm and shoulder hurt. I dug down into the depths of my gut and found the strength to push even harder. I pushed and bellowed like an power lifter in competition and felt his arm slowly give way. One inch. Two inches. Three inches. I was going to win. He was giving way.
But no! I felt his grip on my hand get tighter. It made me wince. I saw his fore arm bulge a bit more. I saw his split biceps swell just a little more and barely breathing hard, Jerry pushed against my hand and I felt it moving back toward the center. I pushed and pushed for all I was worth. My biceps were screaming. My arm trembled uncontrollably as I fought against the gathering strength in Jerry's arm.
I did not relent. I felt my hand moving back toward the table. One inch. Two inches. Three inches. I was perspiring like I'd run a marathon. My chest was heaving with each breath as I tried in vane to resist his power. But he just pushed my hand down further and further as if he were pulling on a stubborn slot machine handle. I did not give up. And he pushed me right down pressing the back of my hand slowly but forcefully hard against the table top.
He released my hand and in the absence of the pain it caused, I realized how vice like a grip he had. I was spent and fell to the floor a sweaty heap of flesh. My right arm was pumped up like I'd been curling for hours. My chest was sore. My abs were sore. I looked up and saw that he stood easily without pushing up and quietly shook out his right arm. It was pumped up beautifully, veins popping out all over his fore arm, biceps, and shoulders. His right pec was pumped up bigger than his left pec. A single bead of sweat dripped off his chin and dropped onto his chest. I watched it slowly move down his swollen right pec until it hung like a rain drop from the very bottom of his pectoral muscle then dropped to the floor out of sight.
This fucking gorgeous, fucking strong young man took a few steps and reached out with his right arm to help me up. My right arm and pec were so tired. My pec was twitching uncontrollably and my arm was still trembling. But I managed to raise it and grab his hand. His vice like grip squeezed my hand and he helped me up as if he hadn't just worked that arm into a pulp. Maybe that was just me.
I stood close amazed at how hard and thick his pecs looked up close, feeling the heat his body radiated, even in my hot apartment. Still holding my right hand he used his left hand to tilt my chin up and bent over and gently kissed me full on the mouth. I melted completely and knew I'd fallen in love.
He didn't look like much with clothes on, but he had it all, good looks, amazing body, incredible strength. Mutual Friend was right. I should have listened to him earlier.
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