Things first started going "freak-show" for us when Jeff starts working long nights on this big secret project in the lab. I don't know what this project is. When I ask what he's doing down at the lab, merely to be polite and make goddamn conversation over our protein-shake dinner like any NORMAL family, Jeff tersely says "Research." Now this, should you ever have the misfortune to date a molecular biologist yourself, is shorthand for "you're far too stupid to understand it, and it would be abysmally frustrating to me to try to MAKE you understand, so let's both of us stop pretending we care to go on with this conversation." Living with Jeff, I got the whole fuckin' code-book worked out.

I didn't really care why he was spending so much time at the lab. At the back of my mind I'm suspecting it's only an excuse to spend more time with his slave boy "assistant" Brandon. HA! - I used to joke that Brandon's the only frat boy in history who earned his government work-study dollars by being a cum-pig slave for a muscle-bound biologist.

But he seemed to be distracted even from his training of Brandon. Anyway, whatever it was, I'm busy enough not to really mind Jeff's inaccessibility, what between my photography and hitting the iron myself. See Jeff's training has turned me from a hot little number into a true muscle stud, and my gains only fuelled my lust to workout more. I wanted to get really big, and so I was eating like a pig and hitting the weights HEAVY, and in general kinda scaring myself. You know, doing freaky shit like standing in front of the mirror at the end of each workout pumping and flexing my traps, chest, and arms to "maximum swole." Every now and then, I'd stop and look into the mirror and think, "Jesus, who the hell is this guy?" Literally, not recognizing my own reflection! Because I'm used to thinking of myself as this cute, tight-bodied gym jock - and staring back at me in the mirror is this massive musclebeast roaring his lungs out!

Now, whenever we headed home for family drama, it was big brother Joe who would do a double-take and stare at ME with envy and amazement in his eyes. I'm bigger and more cut than he ever was. Plus he's working long hours now at this dumb-ass job, and losing his conditioning, if not his looks. He's still a handsome SOB, and of course he still has a super-human cock. He'll be on the list of America's A-1 studs until the day he dies, because of that monstrously beautiful slab of manhood hanging between his knees.

Joe loved to taunt me and Jeff by lounging around the pool with these paper-thin board-shorts on that clung to his thigh, outlining the length and heft of the prick-from-hell. But Joe almost never takes his shirt off anymore if Jeff and I are anywhere nearby!

Luckily, he and Jeff get along like a house afire. Jeff told me why, one afternoon while we were all lying out by the pool getting some sun. It's because even though Joe's getting paunchy, "That's only because your bro is straight. Chicks don't give a shit about muscle, so poor Joe has nobody to play with and challenge him. Plus, he's disadvantaged by having such a huge cock; it makes it easy to get plenty of pussy without having to hit the gym too often. He could muscle up bigger than you in about two minutes if he wanted." And I knew that - Joe could indeed, probably.

So Jeff continues: "Once a stud, always a stud. Our chosen tribe of muscle acolytes always honors its own. Their muscles still keep smoldering sparks of the fire alive." Then Joe, who was listening to our conversation with amusement while ostensibly sleeping in the next chaise, starts laughing, and without even opening his eyes, shouts "That is the most FUCKED UP SHIT I've ever heard! Do you faggots ever talk about anything except muscle? You queers sure know how to fuck a topic to death! Jesus Christ." We laughed til our nuts turned blue.

Being with Jeff was the most incredible time. I was giddily looking forward to spending my life with my hot boyfriend, urging each other on to ever greater heights of orgiastic muscle and cock worship. Not only were we blowing each others' minds by mentoring each other in understanding the philosophical underpinnings of our mutual life-long muscle obsession, but we were also pushing one another far beyond what we thought possible - physically, I mean. I mean, we looked frickin' AWESOME. After my initial weight-gaining phase, during which I gained, like, sixteen pure, actual, shredded pounds of muscle - I spent a few months getting cut, tanned, and ripped-up as possible. I so shocked myself, by my fuckin' studly muscled appearance, as if I were a top fitness competitor or something, that I started for the first time to really start to take self-portrait pics. I'd dragoon Jeff into service, and I'd pose us and prop us and shoot us every which way. The pics became immensely popular online and brought in tons of money. I think those pics are so successful because it's clear we're not just two gaspingly gorgeous guys - we're full of the sheer amazing joy of being young, hot and randily in lust with each other. With my bod, and my tats and my piercings and my red goatee, and my titanic legs, I feel like I'm able to fuck just about anybody I want. Naturally, I go on a bit of a tear, with Jeff's encouragement. I'm fucking everything in town. Right? Shit, sometimes you just gotta get off, know what I mean? And my work started to blossom, too; I mean, creatively, I was all abuzz. I think it was because being with Jeff helped me grasp more of the rights and responsibilities of being one of the chosen few: a young, gorgeous hyper-masculine gay muscle man with a ten-inch cock. Life was sweet. For now… •