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My Contest Winner
And Then There Were Two
|Okay guys...your private and public appreciation and feedback inspired me these past few days. Given the density of detail, I've broken this part into sections, for easier reading, and "breathers" *grin* Enjoy.|
|Meeting Another Jaw-Dropping Winner
"Fuck you, Mr. Super Heavyweight asshole!" This second behemoth, wearing very tight cotton workout clothes surrounding colossal muscles, was really pissed at Paul's "Mr. Second Place" comment. I was really startled. Yet, as they pumped their four clasped hands, and held it for more than a just a few beats, this new guy broke out in a huge toothy grin. "I got cuts that'll put your bulky beef to shame. You'll see it in the flesh, just the way you like it," and his grin got extraordinarily seductive, if I read him right. These two muscle giants, standing together, were a truly awesome, a totally erotic sight, setting my muscle-sex and worshipping fantasies into high gear. And, fuck, these fantasies were becoming real! No story to download. No video or DVD to play.
With Paul's damp and slightly oily towel in my hand, I didn't know what to do or say. Then Paul said, "Hey Jimmy, meet my new oil man, Scott." "Jim Hansen, glad to meet `cha." As I put my hand in his, he shook it pretty hard. And what I looked at was this ruggedly handsome face and a bald head sitting on top of real high traps and shoulders, bulging out of a tight sweatshirt. But, what I instantly felt were the hard calluses. So masculine. "I'm Scott, just helping out." I said that with more shyness than I expected. I was very intimidated being surrounded by these two handsome and very sexy muscle monsters, both taller than me, and god knows how many feet wider. His slightly wide ears gave him the look of a Marine jug head. Bottom line? I was no longer merely a watcher, lurker, or borderline repressed stalker. I was deep into their muscle, bodybuilding, and sex world.
"Shit, Scott is doing more than helping out," Paul said as he looked to me and back to Jim. "He's getting me ready in every way. Couldn't have asked for someone better to get me really stirred up and ready to win this whole thing." I didn't know whom to look at – Jim's mass of muscles all seductively covered up and ready to be unwrapped, or Paul's nearly naked body that I had just oiled and knew intimately. Paul told Jim how I'd been "helping" him warm-up, oil-up, pump-up, and doing a great job. It's like Paul was selling me to Jim. I knew I could do this. I'd learned a lot about the pros, bodybuilding, muscle sex, and worshipping, for years.
"Well, I'm running a little late so I think I'll just camp here with my stuff if you guys don't mind." Jim said that as more of a statement of fact, not a question. "My group, the heavyweights, is about an hour away from line up. Hey, Scott, even though Paul has mostly shit for judgment, I'll take him at his word about you, and use you to get me ready. You game?"
Something just got into me. Instead of saying "sure", I just went into action, pulled a few more chairs over, and pushed some of Paul's stuff aside, just a little. Paul said to Jim, "I'm getting him to talk more and more. He's adjusting to being around big muscle, close in, real close in. He knows what the pros look like, don't ya, Scott". I looked up with a smile of enthusiasm I couldn't have hid if I wanted to. "Yeah, I know. Paul has been great in helping me learn to keep focused here. I just want to help any way I can," I said with true sincerity. Looking at Jim again, I glanced at his arms. They were the size of my thighs. And, they were pushing his heavy-duty sweatshirt right to the limit. Fuck, I'd forgotten how incredibly sexy, powerful, and totally erotic musclemen could be -- fully clothed.
"Yeah, I bet you do." Jim's knowing toothy grin was still on. I felt myself get red in the face but kept on getting "camp" set up. We were off to the side of the room. The other guys and friends had put some distance between their camps and ours. I could see why.
Strutting Winner Muscle
"So, Mr. Super Heavyweight, check this out." Jim had already dropped his bag and cooler. Though he was about five feet away, it felt like five inches. Paul and I were standing next to each other. Jim looked us both in the eyes. The big hands on his spectacular arms grabbed either side of his warm-up pants and he just pushed down like he was doing a strip tease. God, these guys never miss maximum impact opportunities.
At the same time, he kicked off his loafers, leaned over and pulled his pants further down his humungous thighs, roped with muscle. Veins and arteries feeding blood everywhere. Holy mother of god. He was wearing tighty-whities that contained an overstuffed pouch equal to or bigger than Paul's. My mouth went dry. His sweatshirt actually looked short now, revealing an incredibly small waist, and some lower abs that looked as hard as steel. He was one very sexy, sexy muscleman. And, like Paul, he knew it and he flaunted it, big time. He looked back up at the two of us, exuding hyper muscular energy, as he pulled his legs out and kicked the sweats away.
Sticking his right leg out in front of him, he jiggled his leg a couple of times and froze it. Fuck, he wasn't even warmed-up and he exploded into crevices and rivulets of huge strips of muscle. His skin seemed almost painted on him, it was so thin. Veins, the likes of which I had never seen, were going everywhere and all over the place. Coils of unrolled muscle went up and down his thighs. They tapered dramatically down to his knees. And his calves burst out just beneath. I had just oiled some of Paul's awfully hard plate- like muscles. Now, I could see my fingers, covered in oil, exploring Jim's coils, muscle grooves, those indentations, of muscle jammed into more muscle. He would feel so hard and I would make him so smooth. I'd try to push my palms into his thickness, but he wouldn't budge. I would have to make due with finger exploration and palm massage. That would be a lot, in fact.
"Cat got your tongue, Paul? The guys tell me I look like Tom Platz." "You definitely got some really good stuff there buddy, what the fuck have you been takin' since I saw you last?" As I looked at my nearly naked "client," I could tell Paul was impressed. His easy smile had been replaced by a pretty serious look. "Not much more than the usual. Just got the massing up and body-fat down at exactly the right time, finally." Clearly, Jim was very proud. He knew he looked spectacular. And, like Paul, he definitely had an attitude. And I couldn't keep my eyes off his beautifully pronounced and pristine white package, the top of which was just barely covered by his sweatshirt. The cloth piss slip was just starting to split open. God, how sexy can a guy get?
Like a kid real excited about getting his dad's approval, Jim reached back over his shoulders and yanked his sweatshirt up, over, and off – all with a grand and powerful flourish. I couldn't believe that I was here watching, between these two gorgeous studs, all this muscle expand in front of my own eyes. Again, no dreams. No fantasies. No stories to print and jerk-off to. This is real- time. Live. Like all this was tailored for me. I did a quick look around the pump room. Most of the guys had stopped what they were doing and looking right to the three of us, drilling down on Jim's amazing display of mass, definition, and proportion.
"So, you think I'm still Mr. Second Place?" Jim asked Paul with no small amount of sarcasm. "Jimmy, baby, I've never seen you lookin' so damn fine. Fuck, you are definitely gonna take the heavy weights, that's for sure. Awesome. Absolutely awesome. Beautiful, fuckin' beautiful." Paul seemed a bit stunned. Yet the way he just said that, I could tell he was turned-on at the same time. I didn't look down at his posers, though I should have. I would have seen his big meat start to stretch his cloth cover. Instead, I was watching Jim move from some quick pumping-up into a double-bi, then turning to his side and pulling his arms into a tight side chest.
I damn near lost it when he extended his arms, still in the side chest, and his huge triceps just added another half sphere to his long yet double-headed biceps. From this side, his capping delt muscle jammed itself into his trap. Then it pushed into his upper arm meat, forcing the flesh to create a chasm big enough for an entire fist. Cables of muscle all over his inner right arm, and more cables thrusting out on the outside of his left arm. Fuck, and his chest lifted up two exploding rock-hard balloons with striations cascading into his deep center crevice. I'd seen pictures of Lee Priest like this and lost it every time. My hands wanted so much to go in there and grab each of those fuckers and twist, turn, and squeeze those pecs until I blew my wad. And make him blow his wad, too. Damn, I wondered if I was ever going to get a release this weekend.
All of this, and the guy was doing this in his very brief whites. They seemed to have more bulge in the front then ass sticking-out in the back. He could go on-stage like this and still win. This was one of those moments when a muscleman wears underwear that does a better job than most posers would, at least with my tastes. As he turned to face us again, he drew himself up into the relaxed pose. What was so stunning was how very thick and wide his shoulders were. His traps were huge peaked triangles framing a corded and cabled neck that looked extremely powerful.
Then his lats. His lats just spread and mushroomed out like three quarters of a football, each. And the taper down to his very small waist was something to behold. He had one of those veins extending down from his lower ab into his crotch. That, I could finger forever. The contrast between his broom-handle shoulders and his power-packed waist was stunning. And to top it all off, his jutting package looked like it was truly the alpha and omega of his body, the center, the core of his throbbing masculinity, and his sexual energy. Fuck, what a spectacular hunk of man!
I started to imagine standing in front of him and oiling him up and down on both sides, feeling and massaging, not just feasting my eyes, on this testosterone packed torso. As I said, Jim was one of those guys whose proportions and lines just lead you automatically down, and up, to his package. No way of avoiding that. He just has that sexually very powerful look that can take anybody's breath away, gay or straight, male or female. Dennis Newman had that effect. So did Bob Paris. Though they had nowhere near the mass that Jim has. All of that together is fucking unbelievable. It's like I wanted my eyes to have fingers to feel what they were seeing so close-up.
Paul Meets the Posing Challenge
"Okay, Scott, we gotta get humpin' here." I didn't know what he wanted me to do, so I looked at Paul who was standing there in all of his own winning glory, looking even bigger than Jim, his hands on his narrow hips shaking his head in both disbelief and admiration. I saw Jim pull out some black posers from his bag, turn and face the wall. Much to my surprise, he very quickly leaned to the side and pulled down his whites and stepped out of them. God, my eyes zoomed all over his cut and gorgeous ass, massive back, and very thick legs. Fuck, this is what a true muscle god looks like. Thank god we were off to the side of the room.
Then, with a little more deliberateness, still with his back to us, he stepped into his posers, pulling them almost all the way up. They were still rolled, at least over his striated ass, as his hands evidently pulled the pouch out so he could arrange his cock and balls. Those veined hands, leading two gigantic arms, edged their way to his backside and he unrolled and straightened the waist strap. Then he lifted the butt strap out and let it snap back into place. I, of course, was absolutely mesmerized at this display of masculine muscular nudity, the seductiveness of a temporarily hidden front, the sensual movements needed to get a poser on right and arrange big equipment, and the astounding combination of mass and cuts all over his still to be pumped-up body.
"Alright, everybody ready?" He sounded like a general taking charge. "Hey Paul, why the fuck did you get here so early and get oiled up so soon?"
"Well, you dumb ass, you know the drill, you just did it yourself!" Paul was evidently equally irritated with Jim's question as he was laughing at their shared strategies. "I wanted these guys to know, early in the game, who was gonna win the overall. Period. They need time to get discouraged. Right? So do you, evidently."
"Yes, oh great one. That's one area where you do have very good judgment," Jim said with appreciation. He looked at me and said, "I've learned from the best." He winked at me and flexed each of his pecs. Oh fuck, I'm not going to be able to take much more of the very thing I want.
"You sure have and don't you forget it. Hell, I won't let you forget it this weekend. And, I certainly won't mind sharing the stage with you and your new and improved body as they announce your second place finish." He was grinning, finally. Paul was lightening up a bit, much to my relief. I was wondering if I was going to be in the middle of these two monsters in more ways than one, some of which could be extraordinarily stimulating, other ways maybe not so pleasant. Just to make his point, Paul started pumping his own arms. I thought he was going into a double-bi, but he kept on going, putting his hands behind his head.
Oh fuck, here comes his most muscular. I hope I don't loose control and attack him.
Without saying a word, he stuck his right leg out, crunched his arms in, and squeezed down on his entire body. Everything changed, everything, instantly. He grimaced and pushed in and down even harder. His bulging poser had knobs in it, just like Nassar's used to get. It was a sight to behold. Unbelievable masses of muscles all over his body. All with deep cuts and veins spreading like cracked ice everywhere. It was the all over mass that made Paul so exceptional. God, and his light green basket started thrusting out way beyond his side straps. You could almost see some daylight between his basket and the rest of him. The light green contrast on his dark skin was fabulous. Now, he looked like a very, very big version of Gustavo's now famous pose in his blue sequins strap affair. Fuck, they ought to have basket competitions on the national circuit.
The grimace was quickly replaced with the standard tension grin. I wanted to fuck his thick brick and mortar abs so bad. "Well, this is what you all are up against, Mr. Heavyweight!" Paul's confidence was not misplaced. I looked around at the rest of the guys. Those that had been watching Jim and Paul in the last few minutes were looking pretty disheartened. I wondered how many of them were turned-on, as well.
The First Touch of His Muscle
In the meantime, Jim had sat down backwards in one of the chairs. "Hey, Scott, you ever given a seated massage?" Oh, fuck, sorta but not really, I thought. I'd given back rubs sitting on a guy's ass. I wondered if that counted. "Well, I've done back rubs and, I guess, some shoulders," I said with fake confidence.
"Well, I need a shoulder massage bad to loosen me up and get rid of some of this pre-contest tension. You wanna give it a shot, then we'll get to the oiling." He reached in his bag and gave me a small bottle of massage oil.
"Usually Paul and I give each other a massage or two, then oil each other up. But, since you're part of the team today, you get to do it right now." Oh, that explains a lot of things, I thought, as I poured some oil into my hands and eyed a huge back topped with traps the size of, well, biceps, if that is possible. "Rub your hands together to get them warm so I don't jump out of my skin when you touch my muscles. My skin is already tight enough." He laughed at his attempt at humor. I was too nervous. And I was also extremely excited. My afternoon perpetual hard-on was still perpetual. I was getting used to the achy feeling.
I was in awe of these guys inviting me in to their world, not keeping me at a distance like so many other muscle heads would. I was being made part of a muscle-conquering team, not being made to feel less than a man. Jim was inviting me into his most personal space and appreciating my caring, attention and, yes, true worship. It's like he was saying, "It's okay. Come. Feel. Squeeze. Push. Explore. Love my muscles. Love me. It's okay. I want you to." I had the inkling of establishing a psychic man to muscle connection that only men can have with other men.
Damn. Jeesuz christ. His traps are fuckin' unbelievable. Even relaxed and without much oil, I can barely reach around and grab them. They are so big! The oil makes them feel real good but I can't grasp `em the way I really want to. There's no way I can make these monsters mold to my hand. Or, squeeze them. Fuck, they are hard. How can his muscles be both relaxed and hard at the same time? It must be in my head. "I carry a lot of tension in those babies. But they are solid as rocks anyways. Just do your best to get the oil massaged in." Oh, that's why.
He knew what I was thinking. I was in heaven. I'd never felt traps this size on anybody, let alone a muscle god like Jim. I wished he'd flex so I could feel them totally hard and morphing up into his neck. I leaned in a little to see what I could in front of him. Not much. His pec shelf, even unflexed, blocked just about everything from my view. I wondered what it would be like to reach down, grab, twist and push on them right now? Dropped that idea quick.
"Move over toward the delts. There. Yeah, push down into those canyons. They need to be worked, too. Yeah. You're doin' it. Hummmm. Ummmm. I love nothing more in a workout then to do really heavy-duty shoulder shrugs. That's the only way to get these fuckers as big as they are. I've busted more wrist straps than you can count." I loved how he was telling me all this muscle stuff. For me, it's like a guy talking about sex. Maybe it is for him, too.
"Out more, out. Yeah. Squeeze if you want, but I don't think you'll get anywhere. Oh, yeah. Good, rotate those delts. Move `em around. Okay, push on `em. That'll stretch the tendons and that is just what the doc ordered. You're good, Scott, very good. You sure you haven't done this before?" God, he could talk forever and I'd never be bored. Couldn't believe I was getting another compliment. Paul said the same thing a few minutes ago. I really like knowing I'm working with behemoths this. So unexpected. Makes me feel pretty damn powerful and sexy myself.
"Well, not too much. I really do admire guys that have physiques like you and Paul, though. I work out but what you guys have done just blows me away." I thought of saying more, but decided to let him carry the ball. I moved back over to his traps and tried to concentrate. I was getting so turned-on again, that I was worrying he might think I was trying to do more than massage oil into him.
"Well, you've got a good touch. You gotta love muscles to really do it the way you're doing to me. Otherwise, it's just another massage. Whadya' think of what you've seen back here so far?" I didn't know what the fuck he meant. He added, "I could tell from Paul's enthusiasm about you that you're really into muscles. Right? Fuck, so am I. How do you think either of us got so massive? It's primal stuff here, real primal, my friend." He paused for a few moments. I pushed harder on his traps and he just groaned in a very satisfied way.
" Well, you might as well know, I `m gay. I don't make a big deal out of it. But, using my muscles and showing them off is one of the ways I make sure I stay in close touch with my masculinity. That's been important to me ever since I was a teenager. That's true for more guys than you'd imagine, gay or straight. Narcissistic? Yes, but there are a lot of worse things to be. Shit, I'm yabbering here more than usual. Otherwise, I'm pretty much a creampuff. Guess I am a little nervous."
I jumped in with "Boy, I think you and Paul are just amazing. You've got cuts that I've only rarely seen in pictures posted on Internet sites. I've seen this guy Dave Palumbo on the Internet. His veins and cuts are unbelievable, like you. Your taper, your V, is the best I've ever seen. Especially, in the heavier classes. Guess I'm yabbering, too. But I really appreciate being able to see you guys close up and help out." I felt a little stupid, but at least I was being mostly honest. What I didn't actually say to him, yet, was how sexually powerful and provocative he was for me. Maybe he knew that already, too. I'm sure he'd figured out that I was gay. At least we were both yabbering about muscle together. I liked that. I kept up massaging as best I could, but I could feel my hands and wrist getting tired. Not my spirit though, not at all.
"Thanks. Good job. Maybe I'll need some more of that later. Feels great. I really needed it." He stood up and, again, I was staring at his huge back and a tight, muscle-ripped ass. He had a few pimples or blemish-like things, but that just added to his masculinity so far as I was concerned. Damn, his poser's back strap was so small; he might as well have been wearing a string. I know that's the trend though. Don't mind that one bit, needless to say. I wonder how much smaller the pouches are going get and when.
Getting Even More Personal
"So, we're gonna do it the way Paul and I usually do it. My oil is a lot like his, goes with my tan, too. It should go on easy. And, you've certainly had some practice this afternoon. I'll wear these black posers on stage. They're dark but keep the oil off them. We'll use tissue on the edges if we need to." He moved around behind me a little more, which confused me at first. Yet, I soon realized that he wanted his awesome backside to be seen, buy everyone else. I was between him and the wall so I didn't block their view, even though most of them were not exactly close to us. Damn, these two monsters are cagey.
"The way I get going is to pump and flex each muscle, as you oil it. That gets me warmed-up and also starts the pump. And, most important, I start getting into each of my muscles the way I need to. It's kinda like self-hypnosis. So, just follow along thru my muscle groups. Keep oiling if I keep flexing that muscle. Now, you got it?" I nodded, having concentrated very hard on his instructions. Boy, if there was ever a time to do something perfectly, it was right now. I wanted him to feel totally appreciated. Dare I say "worshipped"? I wanted my oiling of his beautiful body, all over, to help him get into that state of muscle flexing existence that only he knows. I had a flash, too. Would he get hard? Would his pouch be pushed out even further by his already thick steel pole?
I looked out to see what Paul was up to. He was working the equipment while a couple of gawkers apparently were asking him questions as they got up real close to his hot muscle. He seemed to be enjoying the attention. Fuck, they were really adoring him as they pointed to his muscles. I'll knew I'd have to touch him up.
I stood in front of Jim, oil bottle in hand. No gloves. As with Paul, I'd decided I could cope with the light oil stain for a while. Shit, it would be my "badge of honor."
"Start with my head, then my face and move down to my neck. Be sure you don't put it on too heavy. We can add more if we need to and I don't want it in my eyes or mouth." Shit, I felt the pressure building. I pulled a chair in front of me to get high enough to see what I was doing in oiling his very sexy bald head. Talk about hardness! I kept thinking of the head of a mighty big cock and oiling it up. I'd get to the back of his head later. He reminded me of that gorgeous hunk, Rusty Jeffers.
I always thought guys did their own faces. Though, right here, right now, I was thrilled to feel his beard stubble. Honored to touch his face gently and spread the oil evenly. He kept looking straight ahead. I knew he was concentrating. I began to see and feel the tightened cords and tendons in his neck muscles. Oh, god. They are so sexy. He clenched his jaw and neck and everything became a relief map of bulging, sexual muscle. I damn near fell off the chair, getting off the chair.
As I moved toward his traps, he brought his arms around front, clenched his hands, and did a modified most muscular. Those traps that I had massaged earlier became solid steel and damn near connected half way up his neck. He held that explosive pose while I moved out over to his delts and circled them as best I could. "Yeah, yeah," he started to mutter. More for my own benefit, I made sure I ran my fingers up and down the channels of his amazing striations. Everything was so damn hard. He let up and let out a long breath. I took a step back.
Next, one at a time, he extended each gigantic arm and flexed it unceasingly. Jeesuz, they were bigger than my legs! The first was the same as the second. I started back at his delt, moved around to the outside, and then went under and back to the inside. He kept up his low "yeahs." This, I eventually figured out, was his mantra. I knew I was doing good. God, it sounded like we were having sex.
I will never forget how it felt to touch and oil his entire bicep and tricep with my relatively small hands. Feeling the veins. Feeling the splits. Feeling him pump-up and expand the muscles the moment I oiled them. Hell, I wondered who was really in charge here, him or me? Incredible. I loved trying to circle his exploding forearm. It was like pumping one very big and heavily veined cock. He spread out his long fingers, and pulled a few into his palm to get just the right flexion on a couple of muscles. He rotated his hand, and then pulled it back into a fist and rotated it again. Everything was popping out at different times. I was mesmerized. And, I had to keep going. I made sure I did the back of his hands, just in case. Oiling the back of his huge and very strong hands, that had just orchestrated major muscle flexes, may have been the moment that I knew I had a crush on him. Shit. Shit. Shit!
He kept his chest pretty much in the relaxed pose, or at least that's what it seemed like to me. Like with Paul, I was a little hesitant but terribly excited to feel these pecs of his. He picked up on that and said, "Don't stop now". I lived my fantasy of a few moments ago and oiled up his lats, serrratus, and obliques just as I had imagined. "Yeah, yeah." I decided to do both sides at once, so I had to have my arms around him at the same time to do that. Holy shit. It was all I could do to not passionately embrace him and jam my own package into his beauty. Fuck, a mutual bear hug.
I started to imagine what hot frottage sessions could be like with him and all his very hard, bulging muscles. While I was in my world, he was extending his arms totally above his head, and kept moving his torso side to side to flex each muscle, one at a time. What a display of muscle power! His posers seemed to drop further as he pulled in his abs. He twisted his raised arms and froze them into Sergio Olivia's famous graceful and very powerful pose. I could hardly concentrate. I wanted to fuck each and every one of his muscles with my cock and never stop. The audience will go nuts.
He brought his arms down and just said "My back." When he knew I was back there, he brought his arms up into a rear bicep pose. Then, it was incredible. He flexed back, flexed forward, and pumped his arms up and down. His back morphed into a huge set of peaks, valleys, and contours that were, like everything else, very hard. My hands felt like they were on roller-coaster riding up, down, and around. More "yeah, yeah." He kept pumping and flexing. And I kept oiling like a madman, even though he sure didn't need more oil. And, what he really needed now, for this contest, he was getting from me. We were in a muscle-worshipping groove, together.
He stopped that flex and immediately put his hands down high on his hips and went into a lat spread that floored me. I remembered shots by Arnold demonstrating the unreal peak of back muscular development. This was what I was looking at. This is what I was oiling. He kept pumping that spread and I kept oiling. This was really becoming an act of sex for me. And, it was like we were having it together, just Jim and me. He'd flex, I'd touch and oil, he'd "yeah", flex, and I'd oil some more, probably more slowly the second time. I could feel the eyes of some of the other contestants on us. Some of them had even come around to the side to get a better view. Couldn't blame them.
Getting Into the Meat of Things
When we got to his legs, I kneeled for the whole time. Didn't give a shit about aching shins. I was very aware of the worship position I was in, by kneeling at and for him. I wasn't alone in the room in that position. But, for me, this was just what I wanted to feel. I imagined how he must have been feeling, like a god ready to do battle. Armored with plates, blocks, and ribbons of oiled muscle. Standing very tall, very wide, and handsome as hell. Intimidating the fuck out of any man who would dare cross his path. In turn, I imagined him holding, protecting, and caring for me the way a hero of his stature surely would.
When I got to his front, still on my knees, there it was. His manhood was hard, really hard. He was still facing the wall. His thick pecker had pushed this little black pouch down and to the right. So much so, that the left side of his pouch was showing more shaved pubic area than normal. And, here I was, kneeling with my face twelve inches away from his very stirred manhood. And, it was encased in black mystery. I get off big time on cut guys. Because he was jutting out and I was so close, I could see his very pronounced ridge wrap more than half way around. It had the German helmet look I love. God, if my eyes were fingers, I would have carefully touched the top of the ridge and dragged my finger around its' hardness. I imagined it must be pretty moist inside all that, too. Not to mention that his precum had started to darken the broad tip of his angled black basket. He hadn't been saying much but "yeahs" as we went along. He didn't say much now. He didn't need to. Neither of us did.
I mustered up the focus to finish his front left leg as he flexed his thigh meat and calf. Then, a moment of truth. I shuffled over to the right leg and started oiling from his feet up. He was alternating between flexing his amazing thigh and bicep-like calf muscle. As I got up near the middle of his right thigh, I knew what I had to do, and I was scared. And, I was having a natural total energy rush, the kind of which I rarely have. This was not just any kind of cock on any kind of guy in a bedroom. Jim, his muscle, and his cock were in a class of muscle gods all by themselves.
With my open right hand, palm in, I went behind his hard, black encased cock, and gently moved it forward, holding it away from his thigh while I finished oiling with my other hand. Holy mother of god. And, he just kept flexing. And I just kept holding his cut manhood so I could oil, just as he had told me to do.
What I did next seemed so natural, so perfect. I closed my hand around him, and gripped. Like circling my hand around a steel bar ready to for a curl. His poser was still loose enough so I could maneuver my whole hand into a complete grip around this black, hard monster. The poser fabric gave way to my own squeezing. He stopped flexing and I stopped breathing. I felt held in suspended time, in a world of total man and glorious muscle, which had eluded me for years.
If ever there was a symbiotic relationship, this was it. I had his hard sex in my hand, and he had his body in one hell of hard pump. In that moment I saw how flexing can be like an orgasm. And, with this kind of orgasm, you can have it again and again. That's what he was giving himself. That is why he was so hard. And, he couldn't have done it without me. I saw that more clearly than I ever had, even with Paul. All of this in public, evidently not uncommon in pump rooms.
We didn't stop there. Completely forgetting the rest of the world and focusing totally on my man, I started to squeeze more and squeeze hard. He let out a quiet gasp, twitched his hips, and flexed his cock at the same time I squeezed. I became almost possessed. I squeezed again, even harder. He bucked his hips and flexed his cock, again. Though my eyes were glued on my tight fist and his straining cock, my peripheral vision picked-up him bringing his arms down in front into a low crab position. Fucking god almighty. His veined hands were clasped around each other and he exploded his whole body, once again, into a mind-boggling display of cuts, mass, bulges, veins, and throbbing arteries. I didn't move a muscle other than to squeeze hard, once again.
At that moment, he started whooshing air out of his pursed lips just like we do at the most demanding part of a lift. I caught his tempo immediately and matched my squeezes to each of his exhales. He kept up exploding all the muscles in his body. It was then that it dawned on my consciousness that I was jacking him off into an orgasm and it was seconds away. I wasn't pumping or tunneling him; just giving him the hard squeezes this muscle god desperately needed.
"Oh… oh…. Ughmm…ughmm… fuuuck…." and he started pumping his cum into his poser, surrounded by my squeezing fist. His wet spot expanded, fast. His warm cum, instead of dripping out of the poser, was forced back up his shaft underneath my fist. I was transfixing the experience of this traveling warmth in my mind for the rest of my life. I kept holding tight as he bucked into my fist. "Yeah… yeah….oh shit….yeah…," Jim breathed. He slowly started to let his crab fade away, but he held his hands and forearms clenched right next to my face. At the same time, I started to unclench my fist. I could feel the sticky cum as my palm and fingers lifted off his hard steel bar. "Fuck, man, whoa….," he added ever so quietly. I looked up and he had one very happy grin on his face.
I let my hand drop from his cock. Never will I forget the hardness, the warmth, the feel of the wet fabric covering his hot steel. Now, all of this happened a hell of lot faster than my telling. After all, so far as the other guys were concerned (I hope), all that I was doing was oiling up his front torso while he flexed. God, I don't think all that took too long for anyone to wonder. Wishful thinking on my part, probably. Jim just was just "exhibitioning" like everyone else does in their own way. Fuck, after all, I'm surrounded by exhibitionists here.
I stood up more or less breathless, trying to appear as normal as possible. It wasn't possible. I looked to the side of me and there was Paul, staring at the two of us. Oh, shit! Jealousy? Disgust? I'm going to get pounded, hollered at, kicked out. I was flushed with a flash of fear. My joy had been replaced by terror and shame.
Then Jim's voice boomed above me, "Hey, Paul, you were right. Scott is very good at what he does and he knows how to do everything, almost as good as you. Just as you said." I couldn't believe he said that so casually. Like this goes on all the time? And, I had a glimmer of hope that all was not lost.
"See, what did I tell you Mr. Second Place?" Paul said matter-of- factly. "By the way, the judges will probably take away more points if you walk out there with that big boner of yours." I looked at Jim again.
"Yeah, yeah, yeah. It'll go down. Just have to get Scott away from me, and change this soaking rag." I decided then that I would ask him if I could have it. I was sure he'd be willing to give it to me, kinda as a thank-you present. As if I needed a "thank you" present. I already had what I had really wanted.
"I need a touch up. Give me a hand, will `ya?" Paul asks. I was stunned, grateful, and very relieved. God, this had worked out beyond what I had ever thought possible. I had done good. These muscle monsters really did like me. Two of them! At the same time! Fuck, I was in love with them both. No question about it.
"I'm going to flex my arms first, let's work on them again," said Paul in his very deep and sexy voice.
"Hey, Scott," said Jim, as he pulled his wet poser down, still facing the wall. His beautiful cock was still hard, too. "If you don't have any plans, you're welcome to come back to our party room, celebrate, and we'll relive our wins, whatever they turn out to be."
"That'd be great," I said with passion and excitement I felt deep inside, throughout my own sweaty body.
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