Yeah yeah yeah, don't get nostalgic on me, you old queer. Not when every fiber of my psyche is drenched with envy, and every inch of my physique is oozing with lust to inhabit your impossible muscularity in my own right.

"See, the thing is, Mikey, I'm - well, fuck, I don't even know what the hell I am. Inhuman? A god -??" "Fuck yeah!", I find myself shouting. He grinned, but his pleasure at my autonomic affirmation faded quickly. "It would be cool to have you up here with me, so we could both experience it, together. But -- " and here I saw a tiny tear form, a salty diamond glistening in the corner of his emerald eye - "I love you, and I don't want you to feel the pain it takes to get here." Fucking sentimental geek asshole. Sigh. Gotta love Jeff. He's a sweetie at heart.

But of course, I'm not thinking that then. What I AM thinking, I scream out with no thought of hesitation:

"Dude - fuck the pain! Tell me how the fuck I get 300 more pounds of musclemeat on me! NOW!" I maybe hurt his feelings a little, but I mean, shit. Priorities, you know?

Jeff sighs again, struggling with his thoughts. Nodding slowly, he rolls his head forward on the absurd pylon that has become his neck. I dumbly realize this is what he must do now, if he wants to look down at the floor, which he always did while wrestling with ideas. The simple, familiar gesture was a habit to him, even though he had to crane his neck out over the mounds of muscle in his pecs to even SEE the floor. While he battled his demons, stupid me becomes momentarily obsessed by this question of whether or not Jeff can see the floor. "Jeffie - can I ask you a question?" I venture, softly. Without moving his head, his eyes flicker up to meet mine, the huge green orbs peering through a thicket of blonde lashes.

"Umm…can you see the floor - I mean, right now?" His didn't seem to understand me. Then a grin lifted the corner of his mouth. "You mean, can I look past the rolling escarpment of muscle, and see the floor?" I nodded. "No. All I can see is - " his eyes flickered down. "…my tits." He flickered his pecs at me - first one, then the other, two flopping, elephantine bags of meat. This impudent gesture of manly superiority would normally have pissed me off. Instead I was mesmerized.

"Jeffie -" "Yes, Mikey" he laughed. Gulp…"What -- what do they look like? What do you see when you're looking down at your tits??" "Right now?" "Yeah…"

His eyes flickered away from mine, and he grinned, shook his head, and then snorted out a laugh - a low, deep, animal fuckin' Brahma bull laugh I'd never heard him make before. In the following days, I would come to know it well. It was a smug sound, which combined disbelief, resignation and happy acceptance. It was a satisfied, proud kind of sound. And it turned me on BIG TIME.

"You want to know what my tits look like? Right Now?" Yeah, fucker. "They look, I don't know --" his eyes flickered down and he sorta hunched his head over, peering down into the vast chasm of cleavage as his pectoral muscles shuddered to life, rising slowly like a seeping tide of molten lava to meet his gaze. "Actually, they look kinda like rolling globes. Like two twin globes, bigger than basketballs. They're orbs of solid muscle, they're totally smooth, and tan, and curved like the rim of the earth shot from space. They're…looming; yes, that's the word; they're looming up upon me, catching the light from above and eclipsing the floor into shadow."

"So…um…you can't see the floor?" He snorted again in proudly resigned disbelief.

"No, Mike, believe it or not, I can…not…see…the floor. Just my own pecs. And part of my deltoids and traps, of course, in my peripheral vision, to be strictly accurate." "Dude, be accurate!" I pleaded.

"Okay…well…hey I know. Why don't I do this? See, I can scrunch 'em WAY UP, and --" Here he spawned a sequence of events that was life-altering all by itself, for it culminated in what I consider to be my first TRUE orgasm. Yeah, I know that sounds like fuckin' macho hyperbole, especially after the gargantuan loads you've gotten used to me describing before this. But I swear, man - never before that time, meaning none of the thousands of loads I had blown, had I come close to the kind of ecstasy my cock drove me into when Jeff flexed his pecs fully. Jeff and I learned that day, that this one move of his could made me cum spontaneously, wherever or whenever he did it, no matter how many times in a row. And by "cum", I mean jets of jism spurting straight up from my rock-hard dick like a fucking fountain, while I stagger around the room roaring with lust and pain, a wracking spasm in my balls squeezing out the erupting semen and knocking me to the floor in a writhing seizure, muscles clenching like I'm being zapped in an electric chair or something… Believe me, once you've experienced THAT, you can't go back to just nonchalantly "blowing a load" again.

Basically, what Jeff did, was, he started slowly "scrunching" (his word, the fucking adorable muscle faggot) his arms up and forward, slowly pulling and flexing all the vast, huge, engorged muscles of his upper body into play, pitting one muscle group against another - traps and abs against lats, biceps against triceps and shoulders, in an orgy of pulling, pushing and shoving for precedence in the relatively restricted space of his skeletal frame. Each of Jeff's muscle groups, blown way past the limits of all human proportion, swam before my eyes. "What's amazing about all this muscle," he narrated, "is not just how BIG it is; it's how damn HARD it all is. I mean --" (he'd look at me) "I mean, I can feel how each striation, practically each muscle fiber, squeezes itself to maximum tension, thousands of ropes pulling thousands of grotesquely inflated fibers, piling on top of each other, mounding until they can't go any further, stretching my skin so tight it looks like you can fucking POP me -- but it's all hardness, Mikey, I swear…It's all like granite!"

I literally almost blacked out; but next thing I know I'm crawling toward my god-boyfriend, pleading to take the injection.

"Aw goddamn - please, mother-fucker, I will do anything…"

I didn't even look at him; I could hardly stand to see the look in his face saying "No, Mike - I never will." "You understand how much it hurts? What a risk this is? That it might kill you?"

I began, for the first time, to hear what he's saying. I might die…? The thought, I have to say, was really sobering. I mean jeez - I may be a muscle whore, but I'm a living organism; the thought of being a NON-living organism, of actually ceasing to exist, scared the shit out of me. But on the other hand, I argue with myself - I wouldn't really be able to live much of a life, having seen this FREAKIZOID Andro-god possibility, and not having been allowed to attain it…

So, yeah, I say - I understand I could die.

"What about the pain?"

I thought about this too. Could I take it? Was Jeff exaggerating? Is it possible the pain could be as he described…? Could it be even WORSE…? Suddenly, the existential ramifications of pain being completely subjective from one individual to another, stymied me. How could I answer this question? What if he feels pain in a different way I do? How could we compare experiences to arrive at a mutually-recognized scale of pain? The only idea I could think of was to say:

"Dude, I want to be honest. I can't tell you if I can take the pain because I have nothing to judge by. So I'm asking you - as a guy who loves and now, worships you - do you think I could handle it? And - even more important - in your opinion, was it worth it?"

Jeff's eyelids drooped, the long blonde lashes descending languidly like a Venus flytrap. "…was it worth it?" His eyes snapped up to mine, hard and glowing. He snorted - and the warm force of his hyper-masculine bull's breath hitting my face slammed me to heaven.

"Was it WORTH it???" He grinned an amazing grin - full of power, superiority and sheer self-lust.

"Look at me, and you tell ME if it was worth it!" •