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Basket Case, A
|This is a work of fiction that contains graphic descriptions of sex between men. If you are under 18 or not into gay sex, read something else. Any stories in the same genre that you would like to share with the author will be appreciated.|
|I've never been shy about checking out the sexy "Escort Ads" in the local gay newspaper. In fact, I'd personally enjoyed these muscular sex machines on at least ten different occasions in the past three years. The majority of them were very satisfying and fun to be with, if only for an hour or so. However, a new ad in this past week's paper had definitely caught my eye and this is my story.
"Competitive 28yr bodybuilder, new to area, 6'2", 225, 21" a, 32 "w, 57"c, big b-butt. Posing, sensual massage, safe fantasies, maybe more. Friendly, passionate, ripped. I'm Kurt. Try me."
My heart started beating fast, again. It doesn't take much these days. This ad was special. It felt like Kurt was talking to me. ("You are, aren't you, Kurt? I know you are. Great big muscle guys like you have been my thing since I saw my first muscle magazine on a newsstand in sixth grade.") Unfortunately, it hasn't been until the last few years that I let myself come out and make my muscle sex fetish OK. Better late then never. And, I've been really horny for weeks, no sex partner since a few months ago, and I'm going through Colt Cream like there's no tomorrow.
Yes, yes, yes. "Competitive bodybuilder, 28 years and new to the area!" If Kurt is telling the truth (I must want him, given my personalizing of him already) that means I haven't had him "escort" me before. I get butterflies, really, just thinking about a 6"2" mountain of big and cut man muscle ready to satisfy my every need. My mind flips through my fantasies of Kurt like fast 3D color slide show. "Friendly and passionate." Boy, has he got my number. I've given up any pretense of looking cool to others or myself about muscle sex. It's great when I let my natural passion and enthusiasm out - completely. And, it's an extraordinary experience when they "let it all hang out" too, so to speak.
Long ago I decided I wanted these guys to pump-up in front of me before they started their posing. I want the maximum in a cut look and big muscles. Give me those veins. Give me iron-built muscles that I can see wiggle with the slightest movement. Yep, I know want it all. This time, I wondered what it would be like to lay on top of Kurt with my cock nestled and pushing into his thick, muscular, steel-girded lower back, grabbing and squeezing at least part of each of his massive biceps, nuzzling his thick, hairy, corded neck, and feeling the arch of his hard-muscled back while he pumped up with 20 sweat- making push-ups. Then, in between all that, I'd grab onto those square slabs of bulging pec muscle and feel them pump with every push up. I'll probably ask him to do that power routine with me.
I think back to a couple of my sex partners and escorts and I get pleasantly hyper thinking about the incredible mystery, beauty, and sensuality of a muscle man's big bulging basket. I'm not exactly fussy either. I love pure white underwear, cut low on the waist, and high on the thigh. In a basket, a hard or soft cock doesn't matter, at least until I'm ready to nuzzle and lick his basket into an arching hard cock that I cause to move up and out of his elastic top. In white, these guys are so pure, so pristine, so mine. And, I love those gorgeous silky soft stretched tight posing trunks, too. The smaller the size (of the trunk, that is) the better. Some of the bodybuilding magazines and contestants have figured out that maximum exposure works. It's called "basket points" in competition. Works for me!
I always fixate on cracks and slippery crevasses of muscle. Like the crack between the thigh and the lowest abdominal muscle that cradles the small but reinforced strap that holds my man in mystery. I notice the sweep of the serratus into the groin, the crack that that little strap settles into holding a full tight basket and huge powerful ass. When I see and touch those trunks as they ride up high on those muscular cheeks - be still my throbbing cock! Not to mention that gorgeous rear crack highlighted by a shred of fabric sucked down and sticking to the sweaty skin in between sculptured, striated mountains of cheeks. I can't believe how fast my mind sees all this in the seconds I'm looking at this ad.
Though I usually get a message answering machine, this time it gets answered. "Hello." "Hi, my name is Scott and I'm calling for Kurt." "I'm Kurt" he says in a strong yet intimate way. I tell him that I've read his ad and want to talk about his services. As usual for this type of conversation, he asks me what I'm looking for. I'm feeling bold and encouraged by the sound of his voice. "I really like to worship big cut body-builders -- who really like to be worshipped -- in every way -- and like to get hard and turned on themselves. You're ad seemed right on target." "I only do out calls but I don't charge for travel time." I told him no problem and that I was counting on him being what he advertised otherwise I wouldn't pay full fee. "You said your name is Scott, right? Well, Scott, you won't be disappointed. And I mean that. Look if I hit it off with a client, I like to be asked back and get referrals. I am in a training cycle back for a contest back in Los Angeles that is one month away so I'm especially big and cut with only 6% body fat right now. Will that do? And, I'm not a clock watcher." I let out a laugh and decide I'm gonna like this guy. "It's $200 an hour. I know a little higher priced than others but, believe me, you won't regret it." Okay, I've heard that before but something tells me he's not bull-shitting.
We agree to meeting at my home at 8pm tonight. I ask him to bring a couple of different posing trunks and underwear. And then, much to my surprise and delight, he gives me a list of different choices. Damn. Sounds like he knows what he's doing. I may have hit pay dirt here. I tell him to bring the skimpy light blue one and his white bikini-cut Calvins. He checks directions and we sign off.
After I hang up the phone, my hands are sweaty, my heart is racing, I feel a little flushed. I can feel like a kid with a new toy in situations like this. Only I'm not gonna even try to break him! Maybe I might let him break me!
After cleaning up the living room, the bathroom, and my bedroom, I set-up some candles and make sure my bedside essentials are available. Time seems like it's creeping along. I wonder if he might not show. I always worry that, despite my reliable gut reactions, I might get a slasher one of these days. Those thoughts come and go. I take a shower, trim my toe-nails and finger nails (I certainly don't want to scratch my mountain man at a peak moment!) I make sure I've got a couple diet-drinks and beers in the fridge. It there's one thing I've learned from these guys, when I treat them well, they are much more inclined to "give it there all." And that's just what I want...the whole enchilada.
I'm 5 foot 8 inches, in my early 50's, with a stocky but not overweight build, with a handsome face and a very strong upper body and legs. Not too much body hair. Average cock size but I've got a lightening fast erection when I want to. So, I feel pretty attractive myself. I'm in my tight cutoffs with a tight T- shirt and low cut gym shoes when the doorbell rings. My heart jumps and my blood starts rushing again, and I open the door.
Well, what I feast my eyes on defies description. I try not to look so shocked and delighted. But it doesn't work. I stand there like a fool just for a couple of seconds, and he just blurts out "I guess you like my packaging? Right?" His boldness momentarily catches me off guard and I just respond with "Well, first impressions are everything and you're definitely packaged as promised!" "I'm glad you think so, Scott." God, I love how he's using my name. I feel weak. Thank God I have the presence of mind to ask him in. I hold the door as he brushes me ever so lightly with his clothes. I close the door, turn around, and he's assumed this very relaxed and friendly pose, looking straight at me.
My mind is racing. I picture him powerfully but gently lifting me up into his arms and carrying me into the bedroom. No wonder I love guys taller than me. He's gorgeous and blond. His face has a rugged look to it, square, with a hint of stubble that looks so masculine. His eyes and mouth smile so genuinely and that instantly relaxes me. He's wearing a standard issue black leather jacket, a pair of tight jeans and gym shoes. Damn, he looks huge. Even with his clothes on, I can see he's got some very big delts and arms, tied to some yard- wide shoulders. His thighs have his jeans stretched tight. And, his basket. Well, it is one very large undefined mound pushing out far enough to push the uncover his zipper aside.
I ask him if he wants a beer or diet drink. As I go out to the kitchen for his diet drink, he has his jacket off in a flash and is already beginning to do some torso stretches with his arms out. He's wearing a tight white T-shirt and I just catch a glimpse of an incredible V-shaped torso, unflexed, just natural. His arms. His upper arms are the diameter of large grapefruit. His forearms arms hang and bulge creating an aura of tremendous power and sexuality. As I reach into the fridge, my mind's eye flashes back to catching his waist and legs without his jacket. I get so turned on with those small waists, at least in comparison to a great muscular chest and huge man-meat thighs. This guy is really put together. I flash on the good-looking, massive and sculptured model- bodybuilders I've seen on the net and in muscle mags -- Bob, Justin, Mike & especially Pete - Kurt's just like them!
As I reenter the living room, he's sitting down on the edge of my couch, in that classic arms on legs with hands clasped in the center pose, leaning forward so invitingly. He looks up with those smiling eyes and says that we can go over the one hour a little bit if we want to. His next appointment is only a few minutes away. Now that is a hell of a great way to start. It's clear he wants to please.
As I hand him his beer, I simultaneously end up watching his veined forearm and bicep bulge and twitch as he grasps the beer can. And I also get to glance down right through his huge legs onto a packed basket that is completely cramped between his thighs and straining to get out even more. I look back up and he gives me a wink. I feel a little embarrassed but say to myself that I'm just going to be uninhibited. Period. It's great that he seems so relaxed. As a vote of confidence, I hand him his $200 and he slowly tucks it into the small pocket at the top of his jeans. And, of course, his arm muscles bulge at each twist and push. He knows I'm watching that, too. Those guys in Los Angeles taught him well.
We exchange a few minutes of small talk about how he started in bodybuilding. He did collegiate wrestling first and then got into bodybuilding with the encouragement of a coach. I wondered just what kind of encouragement that coach gave him. He tells me about moving from Los Angeles where he had learned how to be an escort and a certified Microsoft Network technician. I try to imagine what it would be like to have him working on my computer while I watch his body move. I hope he wears T-shirts. Probably not. So what, it would all show through anyway. While he talks, I'm fixated on each move of his body. He's at ease, graceful, very intentional, moves slowly, and is quite aware of the breath-quickening and blood-rushing impact he is having on me. Damn, he was dealt one great hand of physical beauty and sex appeal.
His boldness continues when he asks me where I would like to begin. I laugh a bit and tell him in my bedroom and with a slow strip, flexing each muscle as he goes. I like that I'm matching boldness for boldness here. He gets up and comes over to me. I get anxious wondering what he has in mind. He asks, "Would you like me to carry you into the bedroom?" I feel weak. Faint. He laughs that little laugh again and puts one huge arm under both knees and tells me to lean back. His other arm catches me in the middle of my back and I'm airborne. Talk about a fantasy come true. My face is 6 inches from very handsome face and his light beard stubble. I also have a close-up look at his huge striated shoulders. His neck is bulging and pulsing with corded muscle and veins. My legs feel this girder of steel holding me up with such ease and power. He looks right at me and gives me a big smile. I love it that he knows he's enjoying having such an effect on me. I let myself relax, feel helpless, feel like a child safe in dad's huge arms. He turns around and slowly, deftly, he moves and turns through the hall making sure I don't hit the wall.
In no time it seems, he has me at my bed and leans over slowly gently putting me on the bed. Like in slow motion, he pulls each of his arms out from underneath me, examining each arm and its first pump. He looks at me. I watch him watching me. My eyes are in wide peripheral mode soaking in the beauty of this guy and luxuriating in his attention on me.
My cock is now a hard rock itself. I flex it so it throbs a couple of times. I'm going to ask him to do that too. He moves easily to about four feet in front of me and puts his hands on his waist in my absolutely favorite Superman pose. He lifts up his chest - my heart is racing - the cleavage must be at least two inches deep between his slabs of pecs. His nipples already stick out and down...always a sign of a truly built chest. I'm mesmerized by the contrast of this huge beautiful chest, and his incredibly small waist that I know represents more physical power than I can imagine. Then my eyes feast on his two thighs. They're not really thighs. They're huge slabs of striated beef just waiting to pop and split out of his jeans.
I look back up at his face. He's been waiting for my eyes. At that very moment he slowly brings each arm into an unreal double biceps pose. Just when I think I've seen it all, he takes in a huge breath and starts flexing, and flexing, and flexing. The arms get more and more pumped. He takes in a full breath before each pump and his chest juts out ever more. The split between the lower and upper biceps is sexy as hell. His bicep is double-capped. And, the veins. The veins are everywhere. I look longingly at that one long vein that slithers up and down the inside of each arm, anticipating how mind-blowing it will feel to press my finger into it. And he continues to pump. He looks at me and then looks at his arm. He looks at me again and then looks at the other arm. I'm in heaven. My face, my breathing, my unintelligible sounds tell him everything he needs to know. Right in the midst of a massive pump he looks at me and asks if he's everything I hoped for. All I say is that he's fantastic and that I'm really glad I called him. He responds with "There's no question you like muscles, Scott." There he goes, using my name again. Jeez, I think I'm in love.
"How about helping me take off this shirt?" He raises his monster arms and leans over toward me. I reach down to both sides of his waist, touching his soft yet hard skin, and drag my hands up his body as I pull as hard as I can to get his white t-shirt off. I stop breathing as I unveil a torso that blows my mind. He's got it all. His side abdominals seemed etched in his skin. His upper and lower abs are like cobblestones with half-inch deep cracks between them. Then his traps begin to show. Even though they're being stretched long, they bulge like the hood of huge king cobra. He pulls pack and I just hang onto his t- shirt as he slowly pulls himself out of it. It's like I'm in a kind of shock. He straightens up and shakes his muscles the way bodybuilders do to loosen up, relax and get ready for something.
I reach out and grasp his hips and, looking directly at his big smooth basket, pull him into me. He puts his hands back in the Superman position, again. I wonder how the hell he knew that would make me melt? We'll do the push-up ride a little later. This guy doesn't even need to pump it up!
My hands feel like they're not even a part of me. They have a mind of their own as they begin to circle and massage this mountain of manhood that feels and looks like half a cantaloupe. I create a full circle around this beautiful mass with both my hands and move if clockwise and counter clockwise just to get the full measure of what is in this muscle god's basket. He responds by slowly and gently thrusting his hips into my hands to add pressure. The power and strength of his body feels like it's all focused in my hands.
I reach around to and grab each of his glutes, even though grabbing is impossible. They're too hard and too big. All I can do is to pull him closer to me. Which he lets me do and I start massaging his basket with the sides of my face. I push. I prod, hard. I nudge. He starts to groan and I get even more turned on. My crotch is very wet. I'm into this for a few minutes that, in the best of all worlds, this could last forever. He moves his two thumbs and forefinger to the front of his pants, pulls them a little tighter, unhitches the clasp and slowly pulls down his zipper. I watch from about two inches away as his zipper comes down over a small mountain.
About half way down, I see a crack of light blue that starts just below a little light brown pubic hair. Hell, my breathing stops again. He stops the zipper for a moment. And it feels like we're just standing in endless time. His hand. His hand is definitely big. His fingers are long and sensual. He's got a just a touch of dark hair on the back of each. His wrist grows quickly into an expanding forearm that has more cords and veins than I've ever seen. He stops again and moves down and grasps his massive basket in his big hand and gives it a powerful squeeze, his forearms flair into cords, and then he slowly pushes his bulging basket around, all within two inches of my face. The heat is intoxicating. Meanwhile, my small hands have moved to the back of his concrete cabled thighs. I kiss his hand.
He tells me he needs some help in getting his jeans off. I instantly fantasize that he's so big that he can't do it alone. I flash on what it would be like to help him get dressed and undressed every day. I grab both sides of his jeans and really have to yank them hard to pull them down from his waist and over his unveiled mountains of thigh muscle and crevices. His basket is now in its full glory. I almost stop pushing his jeans down as I gaze at the hills, bumps, and a lengthy bulge now very evident. I see the corona of a very large cock. His two balls seem to take up a lot of space, pushing out his cock seductively to the point of straining the pouch.
He lifts each leg as I pull off each pant leg. And, of course, I get to watch these eel-like thigh muscles lift each mountain of leg muscle. I let out a huge breath just to partially release all the tension that has built up in my body and crotch in the last few minutes. He steps back a foot and does a few trunk twists. I am dumbfounded at what these basic trunk twists can reveal on a ripped bodybuilder. Every muscle, I mean every muscle, is pulled and pushed and stretched to the point where each can be distinctly seen and traced with a finger. Maybe more on that later.
I sit back and he moves closer again. God, he knows just what to do. I'm in heaven.
Now, it is truly amazing what a passionate muscle man can do with his basket when he puts his mind to it. And, it's truly amazing what I can come up with for my big studs as well. Sometimes I like to be close up, within a tongue lick of the basket. This time I just start passionately chewing and nuzzling Kurt's bulge, pushing it around, feeling its thick muscular contours. I love it as he lets himself start to harden, little by little. I push around this muscular hard tube with my mouth, my nose and my cheeks. We both love that feel of soft fabric gently but relentlessly massaging some very sensitive skin - his cock and my face. A hard muscle, a hard cock, is such a fabulous combination of soft and hard, solid and pressable (you know what I mean), steel and satin, thick and flexible.
I move my fingers slightly under the elastic on each side of this truly beautiful light blue basket of massive manhood and massage his skin, up and down, just underneath the elastic. He swoons and sways. I'm teasing him the same way he's teasing me...it is delicious. I pull on both elastic bands. It tightens the trunks on his butt and in his butt crack. He likes that, too. While I'm pulling his basket closer to my tongue and face, he's tightening his powerful grip on my own traps. I love feeling the power of my own muscles, albeit certainly not anywhere developed as his.
Up to this point, his big and heavily veined 7 incher has been steadily pushing itself out the top and to the side of his delicate strap. The elastic band is massaging his piss-hole and corona and he's in heaven, too. His pre-cum is leaking down onto the elastic and fabric and creating a beautifully near transparent spot. I reach in and gently but powerfully grab his big guy and pull him down, down, down until he pops out of the lower elastic band on his right side. His hairy balls drop and I just move back and forth massaging both his cock and balls, at the same time, with my two hands.
Now, while I'm doing all of this, Kurt is really putting out. He's posing and sweating his ass off. He knows I'm looking right at his eight pack and boy, does he know how to show off the definition of his uppers, lowers, and serratus. Then he starts slowing moving his flexing back and forth between his pile-driver legs, especially his gigantic thighs, and his abs. While my hands and face are pushing themselves into his basket with his extended cock, and moving his equipment around, he's able to shake loose of his left thigh and then tense it. The tear drops and sinews literally pop out all at the same time. Damn, this is more then my eyes and hands can handle at one time. My eyes and my right hand move down onto this terrain of granite, covered in hardened gulleys and rivulets of chiseled stone, rounded mounds of steel-hard muscle, demanding that my index finger move up and down, tracing the gulleys, slowly, pushing, probing....feeling the enormous power at every point on this terrain of hardened muscle In vain my palm and fingers attempt to grab and move steel ridges that will not be moved. Those slippery crevices can only be felt and pushed at. They can't be moved.
And, neither of us are doing this in silence. He tells me to "watch this", "feel that", "now move over here", "try this", "push on that." I like that he's so proud of what's he's got and is just loving my worship of him. He is most definitely passionate. As for me, I'm pretty inarticulate... a lot of "oh my Gods", "damn", "jeeessus", "wow", "do that again", "and again"...he's so agreeable, so wanting to please me, and pleasure himself. I think "thank you for moving from Los Angeles."
I was in another world, again. My left hand was all over his massive thigh muscles, and my right hand was gently rough-housing with his hard cock. It just bounced back up with every push down I made. He stopped his swaying, thrusting and moaning. I wondered what was wrong. When I looked up he had slight smile and was looking directly into my eyes. Then, it happened. Now, I've seen a lot of pictures of some fabulous "hands behind head, thrust out and flexed thigh meat, and severely tightened ab" poses. Well, I sure as hell never felt one before, especially on a guy built like massive Kurt. And all of that with a tiny little posing strap pushed aside by a big thick hard cock arching out on top of two fur-covered balls. I couldn't hold it and I just shot my wad straight through his legs onto the floor. It had been years since I'd come without some sort of touching, masturbating, or fucking. He held the pose while I shot and grabbed his ass to hold me in place, up close. I couldn't believe him or me. Then he relaxed it all. The glistening on his skin had turned into clear steady sweat drips down his torso, into his crotch, and down his legs. He asked me, with an edge of sarcasm, if I wanted to see that again. I could only give a weak nod.
He first took his big muscular hand and grabbed his hard cock and pushed it back behind his trunks and made his trunks stretch out in front damn near the full 7" length of his hard cock. Talk about the "tent look." How did he know I liked that, too? His cock is so hard and strong that it pulls the elastic from his front waist and both of his thighs. All this did was to open more of his muscled waist to my detailed inspection with my eyes and my fingers.
Again, he shook his thigh, put his hands behind his head, and exhaled as he tightened these awesome ab bricks. While my hands flew over his legs and torso, soaking in the incredible feeling of satin on steel, he tensed even more. I started sucking and licking the end of his cock. I could feel the piss slots, the corona, the acorn shape of his monster, through the fabric of his trunks. The light blue was turning lighter...almost as translucent as the spot up on his waist band from his pre-cum. He dropped this pose and brought his hands down onto his hips in the Superman pose (again!) and thrust his covered cock further into my mouth. We both are groaning like bears in heat and were covered in sweat. While sweat isn't one of my turn-ons, I knew this was so clean, so pure, so healthy, so him, that I actually enjoyed feeling it on my hands and face.
In a soft voice he asked me if I was ready for "Phase two." Phase two? I wondered just for a second, than then quickly said "yes." Given the past 45 minutes, whatever Kurt, this extraordinarily sensitive and passionate muscleman had in mind would just be fine by me. Then, speaking very slowly and intentionally, he wanted to know if it would be "easier" for me to lower his posing strap down his massive thighs with my teeth or my hands, because "my muscles are so big and my strap was so small." He said that so slowly and so deliberately that it was like an act of sex itself.
The hell with work tomorrow. I knew I'd be a different kind of basket case tomorrow morning.
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