By Richard Jasper

"Dammit all."

Carlos Trujillo turned to look at his Saturday night dancing / fuck partner, Roger Fentress. The big man was fiddling with the snaps on silver and black track pants, as he'd been doing since they'd arrived at Zen an hour earlier.

"Que pasa, hombre?"

"They fucking won't stay snapped," Roger replied.

Exasperated beyond measure, Carlos swooped in and jerked the offending garment to Roger's ankles.

"Ya don't need `em, dewd. You fill out them shorts just fine."

It was true.

At 5'11 and 230 lbs. of solid muscle, Roger had added 4 inches to his quads and 3 inches to his calves in the three months he and Carlos had been dancing together. At 31 inches, his quads were now an inch bigger than his waist, just like Carlos' were.

Roger and Carlos, in fact, were near twins, albeit the one was a pale, furry Anglo boy, the other a deeply tanned, smooth as silk Latino. Carlos was 2 inches shorter than Roger but 10 lbs. heavier. By this time, Roger's legs were actually bigger than Carlos', their arms were about the same, Carlos was a bit thicker through the chest and back.

"Here ya go, babe, I got a present for you."

Where Carlos could hide a gift piqued Roger's curiosity. Carlos had on his usual Saturday night garb � black go-go shorts, thick white socks, black high-tops, and a heavy gold chain. In other words, damned skimpy!

"Awwwww, Carlos, thank you, man!"

It was a gold chain, a twin of the one Carlos always wore. He gave his bodybuilder buddy a crushing bear hug, lifting the shorter man up off the ground � not something he'd have been able to do when he joined Body Zone, Carlos' gym, a mere seven months ago.

"Excuse me, gentleman, hate to interrupt the love scene, but I just gotta get a pic of the two of you." It was Louie Feldman, the short, dumpy balding photographer who covered the bar scene for "Velvet," the local gay rag.

"Sure thing, Louie!"

Carlos held the record for appearances in "Velvet," 78 in the previous two years, and this one would be the 50th in a row.

"C'mon boys," Louie said, "give me a biceps shot."

Carlos and Roger were happy to comply, standing side by side, elbow to elbow, popping their massive guns.

Louie grunted as he took the shot; he was in this business for a reason, as the very few who had ever seen his muscle-plastered studio walls could tell you.

"When you boys competing next?" Louie asked. "Yer both pro's now right?"

Roger blushed and began to stutter a response but Carlos interrupted.

"Hell, no, Louie, Roger here ain't never competed. He only started training a few months ago."

Louie's caterpillar eyebrows shot up?

"Really? Jesus, man, you've made some great progress. You guys look like twins. So, fella � what's your name? What are your stats."

Roger regained the power of speech.

"5-11 and 230 lbs."

"Just about the same as you, right, Carlos? And what are your measurements?"

"54 chest, 30 inch waist, 31 quads."

Carlos' jaw dropped. He looked at Roger and realized he'd been seeing the guy who first showed up at Zen three months ago, not the one in front of him today.

"And your arms?"

Roger blushed yet again.

"Well, you know, it's been at least a while since I measured so I don't really know. Last time it was 20 inches, right on the nose, but that was after a hard work out."

Carlos' jaw had yet to return to its usual position.

"Catchin' some flies there, Carlos?" Louie asked. "That's almost the same size as yours, isn't it?"

Carlos nodded.

"Tell ya what, fellas, let's go out on the patio and take your measurements, how about? You do the measuring, I'll take the pix � it'll make for a hot spread!"

So they did. Roger did Carlos' first, starting with calves (20 inches), then quads (29 inches), waist (28 inches), chest (55 inches), and biceps (21 inches for his right, 21 � inches for the left.)

"Fuck man," Roger said when they were done; Louie let out a little moan. For a short, fat fuck he had one helluva bulge in his baggy sweat pants.

"Those are some fucking wicked numbers."

"Let's get yours," Carlos said. His eyes got bigger with each set of numbers: calves (21 inches), quads (31 inches), waist (30 inches), and chest (54 � inches.)

"That's just half an inch less than yours, Carlos," Louie pointed out. "Tape his arms now."

Roger trembled slightly as Carlos brought forth the tape, then steeled himself � and his arms. Louie noted to himself that if anything they were more vascular than Carlos' were.

"Right biceps, 21 � inches," Carlos called off hoarsely. "Left biceps, 21 inches."

Their arms were mirror images of each other.

The photo spread of Carlos and Roger in "Velvet" was extremely popular, so much so that the editor gave Louie a raise and suggested they think about hiring the two bodybuilders to be spokesmodels for the magazine.

That night Carlos did not go home with Roger to Piney Point. After Louie departed, Carlos decided the dance floor was too crowded and that they should stay out on the darkened patio. He ordered round after round of shots, downing one after the other while Roger lined his up on the wrought iron table under the big banana plant. When there were 10 of them on the table, Roger stood up and stretched.

"Big man," he told Carlos, "it's time to go home."

"Naw," Carlos said, "the night's still young."

Roger frowned.

"Well, then, let's go dance," pulling Carlos up off the bench by his wrist, only to have Carlos stumble against him.

"Uh, babe�"

Carlos shook himself.

"Man, I think I'm gonna be sick."

Afterwards, Roger took Carlos back to his bachelor pad.

"Just don't throw up in my car, OK?"

Carlos glared at him.

"Your fuckin' expensive car too good for me, is that it?"

It was Roger's turn to gape.

"I was joking, hon. I just don't want you to throw up, period, that's all."

Carlos said not a word for the rest of the 10 minute drive to his apartment in Miraflores.

Roger walked him to the door and helped Carlos with the key.

"You gonna be, OK? Is there anything else you need?"

Carlos had stopped glaring, now he was drooping.

"It's OK, man, I'll be fine. I just need to get some rest. G'night�"

Roger found himself looking at Carlos' front door. •

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