Chance of a Lifetime


By Lemur1

Murphy McDaniel looked at his thick, muscular body in the bathroom mirror. His sandy blonde hair, still damp, clung in ringlets hiding the gray that was becoming less subtle as he neared fifty. He was still hot as fuck he thought to himself – prime aged beef. A lifetime of working in construction, and religiously going to the gym showed in spades.

All his buddies on the job called him Popeye because his forearms were almost as thick as his 17-inch upper arms and just as impressive. He wasn’t like the pretty boys he’d see around the gym with their tiny waists and small ankles that made the calves look bigger than they really were. Murphy’s body was more like a block - thick and strong from head to toe. At 190 lbs and 5’9” he was all man. He continued to admire himself in the mirror pushing his fingers through the thick, carpet of blonde that covered his chest and wondered why any man would shave himself clean. He may not have an exaggerated V-taper of a bodybuilder, but no amount of body hair could hide his thick full muscles.

The steam in the bathroom obscured portions of the mirror from his view but as his right had worked it’s way over his chest muscles his left found its way down to his plumping cock. Always the best for show when he used the showers at the gym his fat cock was his prize possession. It quickly filled out to its familiar eight plus inches and beer can thickness as he gave it a few gentle strokes. His cock was ready for tonight. No matter how often he masturbated it was always ready for a little bit more. His balls the size of two large eggs seemed to crank out and unending supply of cum and orgasms to spare.

He was just teasing his cock knowing it was going to be getting all the action it craved at Score tonight. Score on South Beach was Murphy’s favorite bar these days. It always had a ready supply of tight young asses that were eager to be one of his fucks of the evening. They just seemed easier and easier to pick up the older he got – there was just something about Murphy they couldn’t get enough of.

Murphy was unpretentious when he cruised. He didn’t get all dressed up, or where fancy colognes – nothing more than a pair of jeans, a tee shirt and some old spice. I guess it was all just a part of the “straight-acting” image he projected. But, for Murphy it wasn’t acting. He didn’t think of himself as “gay.” He didn’t think of himself as “straight” either, labels were for losers. Murphy knew he would never marry, just like he new when it came to sex he preferred a hard firm ass and hairy thighs of a man to smooth curves and lace panties of a woman. Even so he still didn’t think of himself as queer or gay.

Not one of the guys that worked for him had a clue about what Murphy did on most weekends. He was just Murphy. They all secretly wanted to be him; unencumbered of kids or a wife and a body that didn’t quit. Maybe that’s why there were always trying to “hook him up?” Every couple of months one of his buddies would tell him about this nice lady that was a friend of the wife and how maybe he should ask her out. Murphy would always oblige. It was no big deal. Of course they better be good looking with a big rack if he was gonna be seen with them. He did have a standard to maintain. A night on the town, a decent meal and a good fuck was a no brainer to him - his cock didn’t mind how it got off as long as it got off. The fact that it kept up his image of a “lady-killer” was a bonus.

He looked over into the bedroom and saw the clock on the nightstand. It was past 10:00 pm, which meant he better get going. There would be lot of traffic on I-95, and he didn’t want to miss any good tricks. Murphy preferred his little encounters away from his own turf and South Beach did nicely. He towel dried his hair and quickly pulled on his tightest jeans and favorite light blue tee shirt. The steam had cleared from the bathroom now and Murphy gave himself one last look over. He loved the way this tee clung under his hard pecs and even showed the subtle outline of his abs. The light color made his tan seem even deeper. Yep, he’d have ‘em eating out of his hands again tonight.

He walked through his sparsely furnished three-bedroom home on his way out to the garage. He made note of the unfinished kitchen cabinets as he passed them and thought he really need to get those done at some point. He locked the door behind him as walked over to his baby. He pulled the magnetic “McDaniel’s Construction” sign off the side of his new black F-250 truck and tossed it behind the seat. His jeans slightly groaned as his glutes and thighs expanded from the light effort of hoisting his body up into the cab. He fired up the V-8 and backed down the driveway and stopped to stare at his house under the light of the full moon.

He thought to himself it really was more house than he needed. He remodeled most of it himself with plans to sell it for a tidy profit at some point, but there where still unfinished projects so he just put those plans off. He made good money and owning sure as hell beat paying rent - “renting was for losers,” he chucked to himself. He turned the wheel and drove down the familiar streets of his Kendall neighborhood; past the homes of people he didn’t know and made his way out to I-95.

He smiled to himself as he drove thinking of all the nice pieces of ass he was going to be getting tonight. •

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