Mascot, The


By Josef Howard

Everyone who has ever gone to a gym has known someone like him. He’s the average looking guy who is on a first name basis with every stud who walks through the door. You find yourself wondering what it is they see in him. He’s like their mascot, affectionately derided and happy as a puppy just to get the attention. When you talk to him he never fails to drop their names prefaced with “my good friend”.

Stan was one of those guys. Not ugly, just not in their league. Not scrawny or fat; outside a serious gym he’d be taken for a lifter by the people he worked with. I had been going to this gym about a month and anyone worth looking stopped to talk to him. I began to wonder what kind of hold he had over them.

When he introduced himself to me he walked right up to me in the locker room as I was coming out of the shower, wet dick swinging in front of my well-muscled thighs. He met my eyes with his and extended his hand as his gaze drifted down the rise of my hairy pecs, over my tight abs, and paused at my crotch before returning to my face – presumptuous as hell I was thinking.

Then, like he had a reason to know, he grinned and asked, “What’s your name?”

For just a second I thought of shoving him to the side and walking by him without acknowledging he’d said a word, but something made me reconsider. At first I thought it was his grip. Sometimes a guy’s hand in your hand is as sexy as dick – firm, broad, meaty and hot. I looked at it as I gripped him back and shook. I actually felt weak in the knees.


“Stan,” I could see his eyes widen as he watched my biceps expand and contract while I shook his hand. “I’ve seen you working out here a few times. You just join?”

Something about the attention he was showing me started the blood flowing and my dick started to balloon. Several other eyes turned my direction.

“Last month.”

When it stood out straight and brushed his thigh, Stan glanced down at my crotch again even more impressed than he’d been with my muscles.

“Great. Good to meet you. I’ll see you around.”

Stan slapped my other arm and released my hand. I ignored the dozen other eyes on my stiffy, opened my locker and pulled on my jeans. They weren’t easy to button, even with cock pushed off to my hip.

Why did Stan have such an effect on me? He was a little too dumpy to be my type. Even his face wasn’t much to look at. But still there was something.

I was still hard after the half hour drive home. It took two sessions with my hands and a cold shower to calm down.

You don’t easily forget someone who gets you that excited, even if the attraction doesn’t quite make sense. I thought about Stan a lot the next day and usually got hard.

The next time I was at the gym Stan was there. That’s another thing about guys like Stan, they live at the gym. You see them there no matter when you go. As I worked out, I found myself watching him greeting a seemingly endless queue of big guys – almost all of them bigger even than me. I was intrigued and I was jealous. Not just that Stan got attention from other guys, but that he could get attention from guys like them.

As I re-racked my barbell at the bench though, I heard, “Angel!”

“Sta-a-a-n!” I threaded my hand around the bar and shook his. “How are you buddy?” It was happening again. Inside my sweats my monster was awake and tugging at the elastic band of my jockstrap.

“Not bad. Listen I’ve having a few of the guys over tonight. You up for it?”

Not much doubt of my answer, and somehow I got the feeling he knew that.

“Tell me where, and I’m there!”

Stan’s apartment building was a real rat hole. It was one of those boxes held up over the parking stalls by steel poles, but my pole was just as straight up and steely in anticipation when I knocked on his apartment door. I could hear noise inside the apartment, so I knew he was home, but I had to wait so long before someone came to the door that I almost gave up.

A gorgeous black stud opened the door. He grinned at me, looked me up and down and shouted over his shoulder. “Hey, Stan. You got another guest.”

The door opened wider. A dim hall led to a small living room. A few other men were standing with beers in their hands.

The man who had answered the door was another of Stan’s enormous friends. His football-sized biceps slipped outside the severely distended elastic sleeves of his polo shirt as he bent his arm up to sip his bottle. Guys his size usually had guts as big as a pregnant woman, but this guy’s abs were flat as my feet. In fact they were slightly concave down the center.

As my eyes returned to his face, he acknowledged my survey of his startling attributes with another grin. He nodded toward the living room and lifted the hand that held his beer in that direction.

Stan shook my hand with both of his. “Glad you could come.” The rest of the room was as built as the man who answered the door. There were five other guys standing near him. One of them roared in raunchy laughter. “We’re always glad to come, Stan.”

Stan seemed to ignore his comment. “Angel’s our first time visitor tonight,” he said. The conversation stopped. The five other guys, any of whom would have taken the stage at the Mr. Olympia by storm, looked my way, with new found interest.

“Jeffrey,” Stan spoke to someone behind him as he stared at me, “Why don’t you take your shirt off and give Angel a clearer view of what he has to look forward to.”

It seemed an odd request, as well as a forward one, but a bushy blonde behemoth slipped his hands down his waistband and peeled his tight stretched t-shirt over his head. His chest was astonishing. His shoulders were like basketballs. His arms were almost as large. Yet it was all beautifully proportionate, and cellophane thin skin was stretched over every rock solid ridge.

“Angel’s hard as a rock just looking at you, Jeffrey,” Stan said. (Was I hard before he said I was hard?) “Are you hard, Jeffrey?” Stan asked.

Jeffrey slide one hand along the tubular bulge from his crotch to his hip and nodded.

“Let Angel see how hard you are,” Stan said. The other men in the room were as captivated as I was.

Angel pulled down the elastic band of his sweat pants and exposed an uncircumcised dick that would have made a donkey proud.

“Jeffrey’s one of my bigger friends, Angel, but he’s not the biggest, and Jeffrey’s not even all the way hard.”

My mouth was dry with lust. I could feel my dick leaking pre-cum through my pants, and for the first time in my life I actually thought I might cum without being touched.

The blood pulsed rhythmically through Jeffrey’s engorged member, and beat by beat it swelled thicker and longer. Jeffrey could barely fit his fist around the base of it as he grabbed it and pointed it at me.

“It’s time to let loose, Jeffrey. It’s time to come,” Stan said

In a heartbeat Jeffrey’s body convulsed and his hard horse-cock shot thick wads of sperm. I’d never seen an orgasm like it. Not just the spontaneity, but the force. Jeffrey leaned back like he was busting a bronco. His hips spasmed and the slit of his dick seemed to stretch to accommodate the great hiccoughs of jism firing from his groin.

When it subsided his face was flush and his chest was heaving. He was coated in a thin film of sweat. He laughed nervously and smiled.

Nearly every man in the room was rubbing his crotch uncontrollably, and a couple of them had pulled their dicks out and were masturbating furiously. And Stan was right; Jeffrey wasn’t the biggest of his friends.

“Now it’s time for you to take off your shirt, Angel,” Stan said.

I should have felt self conscious or at least thought it odd, but it was as though Stan’s suggestion was my own thought, and my chest was bare before I even finished thinking about it.

“Now the pants, Angel.”

I popped the buttons of my jeans and wiggled my thick thighs free of the leggings. I struggled again as they wedged on my wide calves and then stepped free. I hadn’t been wearing underwear.

“Angel has a lot of potential, doesn’t he, men?” Stan talked to the others as if I wasn’t in the room. “I recognized it the minute I laid eyes on him.” The others murmured in agreement. “How much do you weigh, Angel?”

Almost like a thought the words flowed out my mouth. “Two twenty-five.”

“And your arms are – what – nineteen? Twenty inches?”


“Yeah, I knew the minute I saw him that he could be quite a prize. If he’s made this far on his own, think how much bigger he could be with a little PUSH.”

The last word felt like a finger thump on my pec. My heart began to thump like a bass drum and my blood began to surge. Stan’s eyes rolled back into his head. A spontaneous, deep throated groan rumbled in my chest and escaped my limp lips. My mouth was dry and I tingled. My muscles stiffened and my whole body began to swell.

All the eyes in the room were on me, as wide and as wild as mine had been staring at Jeffrey.

I felt a fleshy weight tugging at my groin and I knew it was my dick, not getting hard, but expanding, growing. And my balls were swelling as well, stretching my scrotum and lifting my ropelike dick from the front of my legs.

I heard a ringing in my ears, and my vision began to grow dark. I thought I might drop to the floor in a faint, but my chest heaved and air rushed into my lungs, steadying my legs and reinvigorating me. I breathed deeply again. This time I felt the oxygen rush down to the tips of my toes. My heart thudded like I’d inhaled a popper.

I heard a gasp and then I felt my skin get tight and stretch. I could hear it, like fatigued metal stretching. I could feel my lats thicken against my swelling arms. I could see my shoulders and chest fill the periphery of my vision and feel my thighs pushing each other apart. Even my calves rubbed against each other.

Something about the feeling of fullness in my arms and legs made me want to stretch them. I clasped my hand over my wrist and flexed in a most muscular pose that made several jaws drop. I raised my arms into a double biceps. As big as my deltoids were, my biceps still peaked higher.

“Now that’s hot, Angel,” Stan said. “Only you need to get your dick hard.”

Suddenly the blood rushed to my schlong. It stretched down towards the floor to my knees then raised higher and higher until it was beyond parallel to the floor and finally sprang up against my hard abs.

“He looks good enough to fuck,” Stan said. “Don’t you think so, Fidel? Aren’t you burning with lust for him? Don’t you want to bury your massive cock between those iron glutes?”

I could tell who Fidel was by the visible lust that formed on his face. He was a towering Latin with body beyond Ronnie Coleman. Thick jaw muscles draped over Cro-Magnon cheeks. At Stan’s suggestion a tiny bit of drool formed on his gaping lips. He wiped it off with his open hand and rubbed it into his long, hard tool. Fidel positioned himself behind me and squatted slightly to wedge himself in.

The head of his dick was broader than a thermos. Instead of thinking about the momentary pain, I concentrated on the feeling of his hard chest grazing against my broad muscular back. As he pushed himself deeper he wrapped his thickly muscled arms around my chest and pulled his groin into my ass.

Pandemonium erupted. Jeffrey dropped to his knees in front of the man who had opened the door to Stan’s apartment for me. He engulfed the man’s dick and sucked ferociously at it. My gaze rose up his cobblestone abs and his massive naked chest and I realized I no longer had reason to feel inferior to him.

“Oh, shit!” he shouted and pulled the blonde’s head closer, shoving his hot sucking lips to the base of that cock as he came inside his mouth. His other hand fell from the door knob and grabbed the blonde’s head more firmly.

The light inside the living room was dim, but it didn’t take much light to see am orgy had started. Stan was right in the middle, bent over sucking the dick of one of his massively muscular gym friends while another one of them was vigorously fucking his ass.

We descended into a deep pit of sensual heat, surrounded by hard bodies and harder cocks, tugged at and prodded from every angle, engulfed in a sea of moaning and groaning, punctuated by more frantic breathing or shouts of delight as two, three or more of the studs that filled the small room to bursting came at once. As I listened I heard the pitch of their pleasure drop for a few seconds, then swell once again as intense as before.

Cumming several times in a row had never been difficult for me; I’d always had more than my share of juice; but the sexual energy I felt in that room was ten times anything I’d felt before. I lost track of the number of loads I lost and the number of loads forced up my ass.

In the middle of it all, lost in the haze of uncontrolled desire and never ending climaxes, I noticed Stan wasn’t even having sex with anyone anymore. He was sitting in his living room chair, like a king on a throne, surveying the scene, smiling triumphantly, enjoying everyone else’s pleasure almost as much as if it were his own. And in a way it was his own. We were all here because of him, all pumped up beyond imagination because of him and all doing what we did because of him.

We were his boys. And damned happy about it. •

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