Mascot, The

Guess Who's Coming to Dinner

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By Josef Howard

When Fidel walked in the front door he was dead beat. All he wanted was a welcome kiss, a cold beer and the couch. He was hot, sweaty and filthy from work. "You're late," his wife said accusatorily. She was standing by the door when it opened, impatient, angry. "I had to stop at the lumberyard to get some shit for the job. What are you all dressed up for?" She was wearing her favorite evening dress, rose red, tight as her skin and so short the tiny tattoo on her thigh played peek-a-boo with him as she flailed her arms and continued her harangue. "We have a dinner party tonight, don't you remember?" He never did remember their social engagements, maybe because he never cared much for leaving the house in the evening. He would have been happy to spend tonight and every night at home in front of the television, but he knew better than to say it. "Get into the shower and get dressed. We need to leave in fifteen minutes. And don't forget to shave." Fidel felt his chin. As usual his face was covered with dense bristle. Some men were cursed with a five o'clock shadow. He was one of them. Some days it seemed like it started at noon. "Where are the kids?" He asked. "They're with my mother. Now go, or we'll be late." Fidel was pulling off his work clothes before he made it into the bedroom, dropping them on the way to the shower, not because he wanted to further frustrate his wife, but because he always had, since he'd been a boy living at home. He'd always had a woman in his life to pick up after him. He brushed his fingers down his bull-sized dick, enjoying the freedom of walking without pants and the kiss of the cool air on his balls. Fidel barely fit into the shower stall, he'd grown so big from years of lifting and hard manual labor - that and sessions at Stan's place with other guys from the gym. All the big guys knew Stan, and they all loved him, because of Stan's gift. Big as you were, Stan could make you bigger, just by thinking about it. When he'd met Stan, Fidel had been a typical amateur bodybuilder, well muscled and tightly defined, about 220, not terribly big for a man over six foot. After a few sessions at Stan's with the big boys at the gym, Fidel learned how they got so big. He'd put on eighty pounds of muscle in just a few weeks. His wife went crazy trying to find clothes to fit him. So wasn't nearly so crazy for his muscles, but the changes down between his legs made up for it. She never asked how he managed to double his dick size at age twenty-eight, but it sure reinvigorated their sex. Fidel could make her cum in two minutes flat if he really let himself loose, and she wanted him all the time now and doted on him like his grandmother. If she only knew what went on at Stan's! Fidel was straight as a ruler, but at Stan's, for some reason, he and all the other guys got so horny for each other that every visit turned into an orgy. He couldn't stop cumming, and with the other guys he found he didn't have to hold back for fear he might hurt someone. He could fuck like a bronco, and Fidel loved to fuck. None of the guys worried about what they did at Stan's because none of the guys Stan invited over were gay, well almost none. There had been that one guy, Angel that Stan invited a few weeks ago. More like fairy, Fidel thought, even if he was as masculine looking as any of the other guys. He'd almost embarrassed Fidel at the grocery store in front of his family. He seemed insulted when Fidel told him off. If he looked at Fidel that way again, Fidel wasn't above getting a few of the guys from the gym together and busting his pretty face. In the car Fidel let Juanita do the driving. He lay back in the black leather bucket seat and let the houses and sidewalks whip by, occasionally closing his eyes. "Hey, who are we seeing?" Fidel asked. "Your friend. One of the guys from the gym," Juanita said. Fidel thought about what she said. The only guy from the gym his wife knew was Eddie. He and his wife had had them over for dinner a few times a long time ago, but they'd stopped seeing each other. He wasn't even sure Eddie still went to his gym. Maybe it was Jesus. His wife sometimes thought he went to Fidel's gym, just because he was kind of muscular, but he was just a guy Fidel had worked with on a job a few years back. The streets they were driving looked kind of familiar, but not so familiar that he could guess where they were going. Around a couple corners his wife pulled to the curb and put the car in park. "Right in front," his wife said, proud of her parking prowess. Fidel looked out the passenger window. Holy shit! It was Stan's apartment building! They couldn't be going there! His wife had never met Stan. He never even talked about him, not so much because he was hiding his friendship - if that's what it was - but because the guy was so dull, outside of his special ability and the guys that hung around him. "Did I accept this invitation?" Fidel asked as they stepped out of the car. He was so nervous about where they might be going he didn't even notice the frown on Juanita's face at having to open her own door. "Like you ever arranged a dinner date in your life!" his wife snorted. "Stan called me. Said he was your gym buddy and he was having a dinner party for all his gym buddies and their wives. He sounded nice on the phone and I thought it would be a good opportunity to meet some new couples. We hardly ever go out any more." Fidel got in front of her, turned and stopped. "Honey, you've never met Stan." "What's the big deal. He some kind of freak?" she scoffed. "Kind of," Fidel decided to run with that thought. It wasn't too far from the truth. "Well, it's too late now. I accepted. My mother raised me better than to stand up people kind enough to invite us to dinner just because they're a little unusual. Yours too. Especially while we're standing on the sidewalk in front of their apartment. Now get out the way. What if they can see us out the window?" For the men in the room, the air was thick as jello. Fidel downed his first beer in less than a minute, and he could tell the other guys were trying to calm their nerves too. Juanita took his third beer out of his hands before he could even take a sip. Just as well, he thought, as he stood next to her talking to two other couples. He might need all his wits to get through the evening. It wasn't Stan who'd answered the apartment door. It was Angel, the faggot who'd come on to him at the store. He almost didn't recognize him at first because he'd put on almost a hundred pounds since he'd seen him last. The guy could hardly wear clothes he was so big. Fidel thought he'd never see a guy who looked too big, but this guy came close. He must have gotten in good with Stan since he'd seen him. Figures. Stan had to be queer too.

Stan came out of the kitchen just before they sat down at the dinner table -- the same one that he fucked so many guys on so many evenings before -- covered now with a fresh white table cloth, still creased from being folded in the linen closet. Another longer table was set up beside it. There were too many of them to fit around just one. Angel took the head of the smaller one. Stan took the head of the other. Stan took care of the seating arrangements. It was boy-girl- boy-girl, except for the hosts. Husbands were at a different table from their wives, but he didn't keep them too far apart, just far enough to make Fidel and the other men uncomfortable and close enough that whatever happened the wives would be sure to see what their husbands did. He sat Fidel at Angel's table next to a hot blond, Ann, the girl friend of a guy he'd barely said two words to before tonight, but a guy whose ass he'd had more times than he had fingers. It was easy to see his friend's attraction to her. Her breasts could hardly fit in her top. It was hard for him to look up at her eyes when she talked to him. Most of the guys avoided conversation. Some of them barely raised their eyes from their plates. Sometime after the salad, the mood began to change. At first Fidel didn't notice. His heart had been beating faster than normal out of nerves. Then he started to feel the tightness in his pants and a dry, tingly sensation on the roof of his mouth. His nipples were hard, and he noticed the guys' across the table were making points through their shirts as well. The men's eyes got shifty, stealing glances at each other without moving their heads. They seemed to listen to the wives' conversation, but they didn't seem to concentrate on what they were saying. Not that the wives would notice much. When had they ever paid attention? It had to be Stan, Fidel realized. Fidel adjusted the front of his khakis as best he could, but his meaty beast still tented one side all the way to his hip. He tried to distract himself by looking at Ann. He let his eyes wander down her chest, a glance she didn't miss as she talked to the women across the table, but not even those breasts could take his concentration away from the other men at the table. He noticed Ian was starring at Angel. He followed his eyes and starred too. How could a man be that big? he wondered. His traps were like hills. His delts were so big they would never fit in a shirt. He was wearing something sleeveless, which only accentuated their immense roundness even more. When he picked up his fork, the men at the table almost gasped. His biceps bounced into a mass of muscle bigger than a football. As he raised the fork to his mouth, the blood bunched up inside and all the capillaries ballooned. Angel could feel their eyes on him. He smiled as he made calm conversation. "It's so nice to meet the wives," Angel was saying. "We guys see each other all the time at the gym and we hear about you. It's a shame it's taken so long to meet." "Do you and Stan live together?" Ann asked. "No, we don't," Angel answered. "But you're a couple, right?" She continued. "Just friends," Angel said as he grinned at Fidel. "'Special' friends, I suppose," he added with a laugh. The women at the table laughed with him. It wasn't his muscles they found attractive. It was his devilish sense of humor and his willingness to make any one of them the complete center of his attention without ever so much as glancing below their neck. He might be gay, but he knew how to treat a woman, at least at the dinner table. Even through his intense arousal, the direction the conversation was taking was making Fidel uncomfortable. His wife knew he hated queers. He couldn't even stand to talk to one casually. He knew she must be wondering how he could have gotten to know these two well enough to be invited to dinner. "You men, always reluctant to commit," Ann chided Angel playfully. "Commitment is difficult," Angel agreed. "Ask any of the men in this room. Aren't I right, Fidel?" Fidel was so nervous, his fork flew out of his hand and skittered across the wood floor behind his chair. The feet of Fidel's chair squeaked like chalk on a blackboard as he pushed back from the table. "Excuse me," he said. As he stood he turned away from the other diners as fast as he could to hide the immense tent at the front his trousers. He didn't dare push his huge piece flat or it would have pushed out with even more ferocity.

Ian and Paul had turned to look at Fidel's ass as he bent over to pick up his fork. They'd both fucked him before, one time at the same time. Ian reached out and laid his hand on Fidel's ass. "You got it, buddy?" he said. The women at the table noticed his hand lingered. Why did he touch him at all? It wasn't like a man that strong was going to fall over. Fidel let himself lean back into it. He stood slowly and rested his hand on Ian's shoulder. For a moment he forgot that his erection was bowing the fabric of his slacks obscenely, but the rest of the people of the table couldn't avoid seeing it. The women were stunned. The men were riveted.

Fidel turned toward Ian, his crotch in Ian's face. Fidel let his hand grasp the back of Ian's neck and squeeze it affectionately. A wet spot formed at Fidel's hip bone where the head of his dick was leaking.

Stan was talking to Fidel's wife, Juanita, but his eyes were on Fidel and Ian. Juanita's eyes were on them as well, as were the eyes of everyone at their table.

The two of them held still. Like two powerful magnets each at the periphery of the other's magnetic field, they were poised, unable to resist the attraction slowly drawing them toward each other, building gradually in intensity. Ian's eyes were riveted on the wet spot on Fidel's swollen pants. Fidel leaned forward. Ian's lips grazed the ridge of Fidel's cock. Fidel's cock jerked and the wet spot spread like wet ink. He stepped back from Ian's mouth, embarrassed at the public display, ashamed to meet his wife's eyes.

Inside his gut though, Fidel felt something else a warmth, a rumbling, a wave of energy that threatened to unleash itself throughout his big body. Every muscle in his body stiffened. His ears rang and the room began to dim. Fidel gasped for air. His chest expanded and burst the stitches of his stretch pullover. He was growing. Somehow, without even speaking out loud, Stan was making him bigger in front of everyone. He closed his eyes and took another deep breath. He was no longer embarrassed. He was swollen with pride. The guys on the job site had kidded him about his body every since his first visit to Stan. He'd never let them bother him. When he got so wide he barely fit through the doorways, he still didn't care. Truth was he'd always wanted to be even bigger. He wouldn't even mind being as big as Angel. Fidel's pants began to split up the rear and down the sides from his hips to his knees. Blood pounded in his head. His arms and legs and chest throbbed. His dick broke free of the crotch and it swung straight out, slugging Ian in the face. Then he felt hot moisture engulf it. He heard chair legs scrape against the floor. He opened his eyes. His and Ian's wives were standing, backing away from the table, running out of the room.

He looked down at Ian. His shirt was also in tatters, exposing an even more magnificent body than he remembered. Obviously Stan's fantastic imagination had been at work on both of them.

Other wives were getting up, tugging at their husbands to stand, but their husbands were absorbed by the scene, unable to take their eyes off it. Some of them were fingering their stiff cocks through their pants. One of them had already freed his dick. As if at a great distance, Fidel heard angry footsteps, high pitched female voices cursing and the front door slamming.

Slowly, in ever wider gulps, Ian's mouth was forcing its way down the growing shaft of Fidel's penis. It seemed like for every inch he swallowed another inch sprouted. The wider he opened his mouth, the thicker it was getting. Ian's face was red and marbled with veins as Fidel's cock pushed further down his throat, completely cutting off his breath.

Fidel felt a firm hand on his shoulder. Two other hands tugged his shirttails from his torn pants and pulled the ripped shirt over his head. He felt hot hard chest muscle rub against his thickly muscled back. Warm, moist lips sucked on his neck from behind. Someone unbuckled his belt and pulled down his pants. An enormously thick cock rubbed up between his ass cheeks. The man behind him thrust it deep inside him. Fidel welcomed it with a squeeze as it slid deeper and deeper inside him.

"That a' boy, Fidel," He heard Angel's deep, resonant voice behind him.

"Now you're home, Fidel," Stan said to him from across the room. "All of my boys are home."

Fidel could hear sex sounds all around him, the unmistakable grunting, deep throated moaning, and exhilarated screams of men deep in sexual pleasure with other men. He could hear clothes ripping. He could hear the splattering of cum on carpet. But all he saw was Ian's distended mouth working his newly enormous cock. All he felt was the hardness of an even more enormous cock up his squeezing ass as Angel plowed into him from behind.

"Are you thinking about your wife now, Fidel?" Angel taunted him between labored breaths. "Is it your wife you want? Or is it my big cock pounding into your ass?" Angel wrapped his thirty inch arms around Fidel's extra wide chest.

Saturated with sexual sensation, Fidel wasn't THINKING at all. None of the men were thinking anymore, except maybe Stan and Angel, the conductor and the lead player of the sexual orchestration they were all a part of. Later tonight, when the frenzy died down, when the men gathered up their tattered and torn clothing and left Stan's apartment, the consequences of their coerced actions would become obvious. Whatever their sexual proclivities were away from Stan it would no longer matter. Their secret passion was known to their wives and their girl friends. Soon it would be known to their wives lawyers and the men they worked with. Perhaps they would never fuck another man outside of Stan's apartment of course but that would be too fine a distinction for their family and friends. •


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