Mascot, The

What Happens With Stan Stays With Stan


By Josef Howard

I found it hard to believe, but it was true. None of the guys I had fucked with that night were gay, except – presumably -- Stan.

Later that week I saw some of the guys at the gym on a rare morning that Stan wasn’t there. I was hard in seconds and struggling to position the odd piece of gym equipment to cover my own bulging equipment. But the guys weren’t having any of it. They acted like they didn’t even know me. They didn’t even look at one another more than was necessary to avoid knocking each other over as they maneuvered their broad bodies through the narrow aisles. They were like undercover CIA agents pretending they didn’t know each other.

Not long after that evening at Stan’s I saw Fidel at the grocery store pushing a cart next to an attractive woman with three children milling around them. As nonchalantly as I could, I kept an eye on him. When he separated from them to go back and get something they’d forgotten in another aisle, I followed him. As he reached for the coffee, I reached for the brand next to it.

“What are you doing? Stalking me?” he said.

“No. It’s just –“

“I’m not a faggot.”

“Don’t pull that on me.” I’d had enough of guys playing straight after having sex with me, and I wasn’t about to get screwed around by one that had had his dick up my ass just a couple of nights ago.

“What happens with Stan stays with Stan. I don’t mess with guys, but with Stan it’s different. I can’t resist doing what he wants me to. And when he tells me to do something I want to do it more than I want to breathe! I’m not ashamed of what I do, but without Stan around the thought of doing that shit is disgusting.”

“Papa?” His little boy was at the end of the aisle. He wanted to ask him something, but he was at the age when he was shy around strangers.

Fidel turned his back to me and answered him in Spanish. He turned away from me. I no longer existed.

The next night I knocked on Stan’s door.

The door opened.

“Angel! What a nice surprise! Come on in. You miss me?”

The sad thing was, as much as I hated to admit it, I HAD missed the dumpy little guy. Just the light touch of his hand on my shoulder had my heart pounding and my crotch swelling.

“You want to show me your chest, Angel?”

My nipples got hard as tiny nails.

“Take off your t-shirt, Angel. That’s right. Oh, that’s beautiful, Angel. Look at those heavy pecs. Look at the separation, the striations. Look at how large your shoulders are. And those arms. Flex your arms for me, Angel.”

I felt like a puppet: one eye-popping flex of my right arm, then a double bi. Since the evening I spent with Stan and his pals they were more than 24 inches around, full, round and split down the middle. Truth was that even without Stan around I got off looking at them, flexing in front of the mirror or just rolling up my sleeve and squeezing out a big football sized bulge, even licking them. How could I help it? I AM gay after all!

“I love your tight, muscular abs, too, Angel. I love the V shape your obliques make, the dive into your crotch.”

Stan pulled open the buttons of my fly. He tugged my jeans down over my wide thighs. My stiff dick bobbed up and hit his face.

“And especially this.” Stan opened wide and fit the whole thick head into his mouth.

Stan was a damn good cocksucker. He got most of the way down my dick, got it way down his throat. As big as he made his men, he must have got a lot of practice with cocks as big as mine.

But as good as it felt, I enjoyed what he’d been doing with his mouth before – talking – even more. Nothing excited me as much, hearing him tell me how I looked, hearing him tell me how I felt.

When he stopped and stood I smiled. He knew what his boys liked most, but he couldn’t resist gripping my mammoth cock with both of his hands while he talked.

“I bet it’s been hard to find clothes that fit since last week, hasn’t it? But I bet you’d like to get even bigger, wouldn’t you Angel?”

I felt my heart quicken, my tongue tingle, and a lump formed in my throat. I was already so big that people stared, but I’d always said I could never be too big. Stan was about to make my wildest muscle fantasies a reality.

“You can feel it start, can’t you? You can feel the tingling in your arms and legs and chest, the pounding of blood at your temples, and the beginning of the swelling and stretching. It feels good, doesn’t it? I wish I could feel how good, but I have to settle for seeing that expression of rapture on your face and watching it, which is pretty fucking hot all by itself.

“Don’t you need to flex, Angel? Don’t you need to stretch those magnificent muscles? Flex your arms.”

I raised them both and pumped my biceps. With every flex they swelled a little larger, a little fuller, and a little more firmly.

“Now a most-muscular, Angel.”

I lowered my arms and squeezed my fists together. I could feel my shoulders, arms and chest ballooning. My traps popped up almost to my ears, and my lats stretched so wide and full that I thought I might not be able to lower my arms again.

“Take deep breath, Angel. It’s about to get intense.”

I groaned so loud it almost became a scream as my thighs, the largest muscles in my body tensed involuntarily and visibly swelled. Stan still had hold of my stiff dick and it too was getting thicker and longer, pulling the fingers of his hands apart. It was like my erection was getting an erection.

“Now all your muscles together, Angel. One big PUSH.”

A deep throated growl erupted from my throat as my blood vessels swelled and writhed beneath my skin and entire body began to shiver. My muscles were growing so fast it felt like I was turning into something else, something not quite human.

“Are you extra horny, Angel? Your dick feels really hard! I’ll bet it’s almost ready to burst, isn’t it? It’s time, Angel. It’s time to cum. You want to cum, don’t you? I’m going to lick your dick, Angel, and when my tongue touches your dick, you’re going to shoot like a rocket. You’re going to cum harder and longer than you’ve ever cum in your life.”

Stan knelt at my feet again. He leaned back and engulfed the head of my cock again. It filled his entire wide-open mouth so much I thought his jaw might break. My knees buckled. Stan braced my chest and took the full torrent of my orgasm directly down his hungry throat.

A full minute later when he let my dick slip out of his mouth, I was still dumping load after load, the quivering in my groin so intense that I could hardly stand.

When the waves of intense contractions in my groin finally ended, I stood sticky with cum and sweat, my chest heaving as I caught my breath. My eyes wandered to a mirror he had hung over the fireplace. I couldn’t believe the sight I saw was real. I looked like the Hulk – not the one on television, the one in the comics – with arms as wider than my waist and thighs like tree trunks. It was so marvelously ludicrous I had to laugh.

Stan saw me looking at myself and grinned.

“You like it? I think you’re my best creation yet. I think all the other guys are going to be jealous.”

“More like frightened!” I said as I flexed a bicep that swelled up larger than Stan’s head. “I hope I can get through doorways.”

“If you can’t get through them, you’ll make them,” Stan said with a chuckle.

I patted my flat, steel-ribbed abs. “How do you do that, Stan? Where does that come from? Not that I need to know, mind you.”

“I’ve always loved muscle, Angel, ever since I was a little boy. I dreamed of big hard muscle men from the time I was three. Hard and hairy men, who’d pick me up, put me on their shoulders with my little legs wrapped around their bull necks, my little dick hard with delight. The little boys in school who were muscled always got me going. And in games of ‘you show me yours and I’ll show you mine’ they never disappointed me. It seemed they always fulfilled my fantasies. I hardly wondered why until one summer day alone in the barn with my cousin, Jeffrey.

“Jeffrey had always been a little bigger than me in everyway that mattered. But watching him naked in front of me, I started to imagine what he’d look like even bigger, like his father the cop, who was a serious weight lifter. Jeffrey’s eyes closed and a look of sublime joy came over him. Slowly, almost imperceptibly at first, his muscles started to expand and get hard. As I saw it happening I realized it was me that was causing it, but Jeffrey was too lost in the feeling of growing to wonder about why it was happening. His hands wandered all over his expanding chest, down his cobblestone abs and deep into the forest of fur between his thighs and down the length of his tube steak dick. He was so engrossed in himself he wasn’t even aware I was there anymore. Seeing him like that was so hot I intensified his reverie. When he was as big as his father, I thought, ‘Why stop there?’ I hadn’t even seen my first bodybuilder – not even in a magazine – but I’d seen comic books of Captain America and Thor. Those fantastic images were the model for Jeffrey’s muscular development, and my own pornographic wet dreams were the model for outrageous growth between his legs.

“No one could explain Jeffrey’s transformation, but what did it really matter? Jeffrey was what he was. He didn’t mind and I sure didn’t. My only regret is that I’ve never found a way to make myself grow too.”

“Does it every bother you that the men around you aren’t really into other men?” I asked. “I mean, I am. I always was, and I know they do whatever you want them to when you’re around, but it doesn’t really change how they think afterwards about the things you have them do.”

“It used to bother me. I never really think about it anymore,” Stan said.

“Don’t you find it insulting? The guys – the straight guys – fawn over you in person, but in private we repulse them.” Was I hypocritical? I know I was no big fan of Stan when we weren’t together, but at least I was gay. At least I wasn’t a fag hater. “And what you do for them is so wonderful! They don’t deserve it.”

“Maybe they don’t. I hadn’t thought of it that way before. I guess I was always fixated on what watching them and touching them and having them touch me did for me.”

“Yesterday I saw Fidel in the supermarket with his wife. He was fucking rude! All I could think was – damn – your wife should see what we did last week.”

“Maybe she should,” Stan mused. “Maybe she can.” •

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