My Contest Winner free porn video

My Contest Winner: His Care And Oiling - Part I

Just Being in the Right Gym

I knew joining this gym would be both a joy and torture. The joy is being surrounded by some of the most muscular and hot bodybuilders in the city. Some of them pump and flex wearing next to nothing or, some were covered in sweats that still couldn’t hide all their bulk and bulges. The torture is pure suffering for me. I have a barely controllable passion for studs into their muscles – pumping, flexing, posing, and testosterone-driven strutting, for a worshipping audience with their own straining hard-ons.

I especially lose it – in more ways than one – when they wear nothing more than a little strap and a pouch that shows off their cock and balls. This tease, this evasiveness, this coyness of having their massive and cut bodies just barely covered, makes me cum sometimes without even touching myself. God, they are into their muscle masculinity. They love it. They love to see others lust and get hard over their massive and perfected bodies. I wonder how many of them have a big orgasm into their jocks or whatever while they workout, pump and flex.

Of course, I see more of all of this in internet pictures, some movies, and just once and a while, here at the gym where only the top muscle gods even think about practicing their posing in front of other adoring, lusting eyes. I’ve only been to a couple of bodybuilding shows. I’ve only been in the general audience…looking and lusting from a far at these built hard and hard built paragons of muscle. Torture. I know these guys on stage are getting off on their incredible bodies, the flexing and the pumping.

I can also tell there are a hell of lot of guys here at the gym that get off on the other muscle monsters too. This “checking each other out” and “encouragement by the spotter/buddy” is one hell of excuse to feast your eyes on growing, hard, hot muscle. All this can be accompanied by some awesome eye candy of cock and ball tightly stuffed arrangements. A bulging pouch, workout gear, or some other absolutely killer masculine, sexually arousing piece of cloth – it makes no difference – it’s the hidden sexual mystery on beautiful physique..

God knows I try very hard to hide my glances, especially at their crotches and bulging or hanging meat in the shower. Other guys don’t seem to care if they are seen staring. Or, they aren’t very good at hiding it. It’s all such a tortuous tease. And these posers know it, love it, and get off turning each other on with their muscle and the sexual hypnosis of the rest of us. All of this, and the message is also is “keep your distance”. That unspoken rule just feeds my lust and passion for them. In this gym, anyways, the testosterone level is always high and nobody gives a shit about it as long as you don’t do anything to embarrass the other guy.

It doesn’t matter that you’re about groaning, pumping, and flexing while you work your massive body into one big hard cock itself. It doesn’t matter that you ask for a spot and then linger after the workout to ask some guy’s opinion or offer your own – and keep that up while staring at your results or his. It doesn’t matter that you choose the smallest wife-beater shirt you can squeeze into so your tits hang out. Or, choose workout shorts that squeeze your balls and cock into a bulge struggling not to get squashed between your huge and cut thighs.

It doesn’t matter that you strip down to next to nothing – in a tiny posing strap and straining pouch – late at night. This is to make sure you’ve got a totally turned-on audience watching while you turn yourself into erotic poses of undulating, massive, and cut meat, awesome masculine power, and male sex on two massive legs. It’s about a total body hard-on for the slow and exquisite torture of other muscle worshippers. These guys know it matters to guys like me – big time. It’s why I’m here. And, it’s why they are here too – but they just won’t say it.

That’s just the start of my amazing story – a fantasy fulfilled – a fantasy that I thought was just silly and stupid to think would ever happen in real life.



My Friend Jim Comes Through

Jim, the manager of the gym, for whatever reason, decided to train me a little bit and encourage me from time to time. Jim is a very big and still well-built guy, even though he’s probably 55 or so – clearly a former bodybuilder himself. I’m certainly not anything special –pretty much an average middle-aged guy. My build is solid, but hardly built. I am a good-looking guy with an easy way with people, however. I guess that’s what Jim seems to like.

I know that he appreciates I apply every lifting and training technique he suggests. I’ve been here now for six months and I see some improvement in my musculature and my weight is where it should be. While Jim may be someone easy to connect with, most of the guys in the gym keep to their own – unless they are with a training buddy or a long-time friend. Of course, the really sensual and sexy competitive bodybuilders – the guys I lust over – stick to their own kind, period.

One day Jim came up to me and told me to come back to his office for a moment. I got to watch his big ass and back as I followed him in. Unfortunately, he’s always in loose sweats. He went right to the point and asked me if I would be interested in being a volunteer at the upcoming NPC nationals here in a month. I tried not to look too excited but I didn’t succeed. He grinned and gave me the pass and said “I guess that’s a yes”. I had the presence of mind to ask him a few questions. I found out that volunteers could do a number of things, including work in the pump-room. My mind went on overdrive as I imagined what it might be like with all these near naked guys with gorgeous muscles and a cock and ball display – barely hidden or in “transition” from their street to posing pouches.

I stammered a sincere “thank-you” and he said “I thought you might like this”. I think I saw a glimmer of understanding in his blue eyes. Shit, I didn’t care at that point. He gave me the instructions on how to register now as a volunteer. I didn’t waste anytime.

God, if my fantasies had been overwhelming before – they were insignificant to what I started to obsess about for four weeks. Just more torture. I wondered who in our gym was going to compete and whether I could keep my cool around their muscles, pumping, thongs, and posing in the pump-room. I worried about being too friendly and coming on even a little bit, and getting my ass kicked out. I wondered if I was going to be asked to do the high holy of holies and oil up the hard muscles of one of these musclegods. Could I control myself if one of them let me do the inside of his thigh? Oil his arm-pit – or would he do that himself? Or, oil up his bare glutes, being very slow and careful not to get the oil on his string tucked into his ass crack, or touch the bit of cloth around the graceful muscled curve of his low waist?

Just for the hell of it, I went to Repetrope and used my membership to get the pix of last year’s placers in most all the categories. I get especially turned on with the superheavyweights, heavyweights, and lightheavy weights. Though sometimes, the lighter guys can have the most amazing posing outfits that accentuate their big cock and balls – bulging out from their relatively smaller yet beautifully sculpted and muscled bodies. God, if just 50% of these gods were back again and in even better shape, I’d be nuts with muscle, pouch and basket lust.

I worked out like a fiend for these four weeks, too. I wanted to look as good as I possibly could. I wanted to make sure I looked as appealing as possible in case I made some connection with a competitor. Unlikely, yet I decided to hold out hope and not be disappointed if everyone just kept their normal distance. Besides, I knew most of these guys would have their army of support – be it from girls, buddies, or families. Strangers like me would probably not be welcomed other than in the most unappealing tasks. Shit, I didn’t even know how I would get assigned to the pump-room. I sure as hell didn’t want to be playing guard or something like that – just looking at these gorgeous masculine guys with all their clothes on – bulges and spectacular muscles mostly hidden for a few more minutes.



Just Being There and Serving

I was asked to be at the civic center auditorium on a Friday morning for assignments. Some big guys were around, but it was too early for any competitors. I was early, of course. And after standing in line for an hour, a woman read me the list of assignments still open. I couldn’t believe it when she said the pump room. I kept my calm and told her the pump room “would be fine”. She said someone else would explain the rules a little later. I left with my pump room pass, flying on cloud nine.

Wow, they installed a gym with all kinds of weight equipment for these guys. The shower was just done the hall, the one used by teams for sports events. Even at noon the security was high. I had to show my pass a hundred times before I walked in the door of the pump room. No competitors that I could see, yet. Just a big burly guy that didn’t look very friendly. He was in charge and asked me a bunch of questions and looked at my pass. I think he was trying to decide if I bordered on the weird side or not. If I could make myself look normal, I certainly did then. I made sure he understood I was in for the duration of the contest. He seemed to like that.

There were all sorts of instructions about what to do, what not to do, and things that would get me thrown out. I couldn’t believe how blunt he was. I was shown all the supplies and locations of the changing rooms and showers. My fantasies were in overdrive once again – in the pump-room, in the showers, in the secured hallway, in the locker room. It was a dream come true. Now, all I had to do was just control myself. No easy task, especially with hard-on that wouldn’t stop – even now, and no musclemen were even around. I started to ache down there already.

I was in the pump-room just trying to keep myself occupied when the first competitor and his girl friend showed up. They dropped off his gear and he went to the locker room and changed into his workout gear. He looked like a lightweight – but wide as hell – and so fucking narrow at the waist. A few others started to come in to get ready for the pre-judging that afternoon and evening. Most had their entourage. A few guys seemed alone. I wasn’t asked to do much, except hand them a towel or something. I got concerned about how I was going to stay focused on my job, not on them. Thank god I wore tight underwear and loose pants.

One guy, a bigger guy than the others, came in wearing a very brief light blue bikini-type suit. On top was the classic tee-shirt with sleeves cut out and a scissor cut down his the center of his huge chest from the neck line. God, he looked fabulous. I couldn’t believe his shoulders were so wide and thick. His neck looked like a thick cabled throbbing column. His biceps were already huge and cut without even being pumped. His legs were massive and, literally, were pushing his package way out – enough so that I could see that he was cut and big, even while soft. Shit. I had to look away when he went to the bench press and straddled the bench with his bulging basket staring me in the face 10 feet away. My hard-on just got harder and I thought about going to the john. I decided I’d rather stay.

From here on the show just got better and better and I had more energy throbbing through me than I had ever imagined. It took everything I had to stay cool and just do what I was told to do. Before long the place was taken over by incredibly built musclemen, each with their own posing suit – most very brief – some really did look more like strings and pouches. I was stunned at how some of these guys looked like they were hard or at least partially hard and kept right on pumping and flexing. There wasn’t a lot of conversation, just a lot of pumping, flexing, and very close self-examination. Then the oiling started big time.

I was asked to help a couple of guys that seemed to be on their own. For each one, even through the rubber gloves, I carefully walked the line of applying the dark oil in a smooth and even touch – not too fast and not too slow. It was a mind-blower to feel their hard muscles – all over their bodies – even when they weren’t yet fully pumped. There was one guy whose cock and balls were so big, compared to his pouch, that I could barely concentrate. He looked uncut, however. I think he might have known his effect on me. How could he not? He was clearly displaying all his muscle and sex to get himself (and probably others) psyched up. He’s no dummy. He even asked me what I thought and I was very effusive without being gushing. He gave me a big grin and said thanks for the help, as he strutted off in his big thick glutes to the pull up bar.

I was in seventh heaven all afternoon. I was proving to myself and to these gods of muscle and masculinity, that I learned quickly and did good job oiling, especially when the oil was light colored, as opposed to real dark oil which was a bitch.



Then “The One” Arrives

It was a little later in the afternoon when I was stealing a glance to the door and this very handsome monster walked in – evidently all by himself. Shit, I had no idea these guys were really that big in person! They certainly weren’t in my gym.

I watched him pause at the door and the already sizzling masculine energy in the room jumped up big time. So did my dick. Some heads turned quickly, others more slowly. It looked like a few guys tried to pretend he didn’t even come in.

As he slowly and very purposely started taking a few steps, most everyone went back to whatever they were doing. I was one of them that didn’t. I felt frozen to the floor. He was 30 feet from me but it felt like we were breathing on each other’s neck. My heart was beating so fast it felt like I had drums in my head. I was very afraid that I had given myself away at the wrong time to the wrong guy. Oh, shit.

He was about 6’2” – as tall as Gunther, as I remember. I knew he was a super-heavyweight in an instant, but couldn’t even guess his weight. He had a very confident smirky smile on his face. And god, what a handsome face. Dark hair, medium length on top, short on the sides. Like so many others, he had a skimpy wife-beater tee-shirt on. But he sure as hell didn’t look like many others. His sweats were tighter than I’ve seen on most guys. His legs seemed to stretch the fabric with each step. It was evident that he had a very good tan.

He seemed to be keeping his arms in that relaxed pose guys are supposed to keep on the stage. His right arm, however, was bulging noticeably from carrying his gear bag. I get very hot over big forearms and he had them corded and cut without even flexing them. I couldn’t believe the width in his shoulders. The thin shoulder straps of the tee-shirt seemed buried in deep grooves of muscle between his thick neck and huge delts. All this was happening in seconds.

After setting his gear bag down on a chair, he started pulling off his shoes. His body was truly spectacular muscle in motion. Like I’ve heard said, it looked like he had eels squirming in his back. His biceps just barely flexed but I could tell he had more hard muscle than most guys.

As he untied the drawstring around his tight sweats, I saw him do a quick glance back in my direction. I wasn’t sure but my cock jumped again. The sweatpants didn’t have enough freedom to drop by themselves. He had to pull them down over his beautiful ass and then bend over to push them down over his huge thighs. I really thought this was a dream. Even though he was concentrating on getting the sweats off, I had this strong sense that he had me in his mind’s eye – for my eyes and, frankly, anybody else that wanted to feast their eyes on his mass of monster meat.

In seconds, it was clear he was in a very small posing suit. Yet, for a moment it looked like he had nothing on until he turned a bit towards me. I saw the most sensuous bulging package of balls and cock I had every seen. The strap and pouch were a bright green. I was dying a slow and wonderful death. It was like there was a wrestling match between his equipment, his exploding quads, and the restraining fabric. The fabric was losing. This man was going to win something this weekend and he knew it. And he knew a lot of us knew it, too. The competition was well underway and I was right in the middle ready to serve and worship if there was any possibility of either or both. Is this what he is going to actually wear on stage? Well, if anyone has the total package for those rights, he certainly does.

He then reached down to the bottom of his so-called t-shirt and began pulling himself out of it, one huge arm at a time. It was like he was posing. He was slow, graceful, and very intentional. Guys were watching, again. It really was like he was doing a muscleman strip-tease without anybody, himself included, calling it that. He knew exactly what he was doing now, too. It is truly a feat of work-out discipline and commitment to tons of iron and steel to carry the hard muscle bulk he had – as well as to be cut.

My mind flashed on what he must look like in workouts to get to this peak of muscular glory and perfection. Muscles engorged to the max. Sweat dripping from his head and all over his huge body. Hair wet and in his face. Intense concentration and unhuman exertion lifting the ez-curl bar. A chest with two bowls of striated muscle and a tit on each side pushing the ripped shirt out even more. His workout shorts, already two sizes too small, bunched at the top of his thick and cabled thighs. His jock pouch created a large bulge right between those two monsters. And the oval-like bulge was pushing out relentlessly, not willing to be held back.



The Call of a Lifetime

I “came back” just in time to hear him holler “Hey, you!” I turned my head toward him and he was looking right at me. I don’t usually feel faint over anything. But this was different. A passionate muscle-worshipper like me is like a deer in the headlights at these moments. Stunned. Confused. Scared. I was all of that, with bolts of orgasmic lightening going through my body. Reason is gone. It’s only my turned-on body and cock responding.

I heard my body said “Sir?”. “Come over here and help me out. I need a spotter to get pumped up. Do you know how to oil? My partner is out sick, he announces.” “Yes, sir. I’ve been helping oil all afternoon,” I say confidently. “Good. Now spot me at the bench press,” he instructs. This nearly naked mountain of muscle – in his bulging pouch – walked past me, slowly. I found out later that he was “testing his intuition” about me. I quickly figured out why he didn’t pump-up in his workout gear. He didn’t need to. He wanted to win the contest now – and was extremely proud to flaunt his god-like looks and his hyper-masculine man equipment. No shyness or even hidden agendas with my new muscleman.

He put out his big hand and said “I’m Paul. Who are you?” “My name is Scott. Glad to help you out, ”…. I barely said that with a straight face. I was not going to take any chances. “What do you lift?” he asked casually. I was embarrassed to tell him the puny weights I use, and could hardly get even that out of my mouth. I was also very distracted by his spectacular pouch in between those unbelievable quads.

There’s no doubt he caught my very fast eye-checks. After watching his awesome arms and chest grow with each rep, I moved my eyes to his big pouch. I couldn’t stay there long or I’d miss helping him – not that he really needed help. “Good enough. I usually don’t need a spotter, but I don’t want to take any chances today. I need one hell of a pump-on to do justice to this contest-ready body of mine. What do ya’ think? ” he asked with a sly grin on his face.

As he stood-up, standing within two feet of me – on the same side of the bench, he flexed arms, biceps and forearms together. I said something like, “I don’t see anybody else that can come close to you. You are the biggest and the most cut guy I’ve ever seen.” I blushed and he muttered some “yeahs” and kept on examining his pulsing and rotating arms. I’d never seen forearms explode in such mass, with so many cords and veins. God, it was sexy.

I guess everybody decided I was “his” for the next half hour. Nobody hollered at me to come help them. I was in muscle heaven watching Paul build his already perfect body right in front of my eyes. I kept taking plenty of chances watching his pouch strain as it tried to contain his cock and balls. Anybody else would have considered this obscene. It was clear from the glances over our direction, however, that most all guys acted like he was a feast of male muscular perfection. The eyes of some of them were very hungry.

We moved to a couple of other free weights. I couldn’t see that he needed me to help but he said “Hang in there with me, sport”. I tried to find ways to encourage him and “guard his muscles” close-in without touching these growing rocks. If I had touched him most anywhere, it would have felt like touching a huge hard cock. His whole body seemed like one, especially when he flexed hard. He sweated and I held the towel and he mopped all over his body, frequently.

I damn near shit a brick when he adjusted his pouch by pulling it up and out. He did a wiggle to fit his cock and balls more comfortably. The word “wiggle” doesn’t do justice to his effect on me – or on himself. He murmured, “It’d be easier to work-out naked but that isn’t allowed, yet”. I was silent, yet very grateful for this visual feast of hard pumped muscle, glowing sweat, and a straining pouch that made him look like the god that he knew he was.

I followed him over to the corner and chair where he had his workout bag. “Okay, Scott. I don’t have anyone to oil me up so you’re it. Think you can handle this?” I had a couple of jokes I could have made about what he meant by “this”. I decided to limit myself to a confident, “Sure”.

God this guy is so big next to me and I felt so small. I could feel the warmth of his body heat from his all-over pump. He was one hell of bodybuilder – massive muscular perfection - -built with mass and cuts that I have never even been close to. His back really got me going. Even without a flex, just a pump, those big muscles were carved with gorges stretching from his huge neck, across some incredibly wide shoulders and delts, and down to the top of his butt crack – where the little strap disappeared.

“I’m already dark so I use a light oil for sheen, not for color. That means we don’t need to worry about even color coverage – unlike a lot of these guys around here. I’ll show you. Watch closely so you can do this right,” he admonished. I hardly needed encouragement.

He put his massive right leg up on the chair and squeezed some oil into his palm and rubbed them together lightly. In what was like a slow act of sex to me. He slowly moved his hands up down his hard, tear-dropped thigh. After squeezing some more into his palm, he moved down his calf, which was easily the size of a many muscleman’s biceps.

“Got the idea?” I nodded up and down, scared to death I was being discovered for my muscle-worship passion even more.

“Here, you work on this leg and do it just like I did here,” he instructed. He switched legs and I was shaking. “You okay? Hey, look, I know all my muscle is pretty intimidating. It’s supposed to be. Nobody wins contests, otherwise. So, don’t worry about it,” he said with noticeable understanding. I was so grateful he said that to me. I relaxed a little and got focused on standing to side while he had his other leg up on the chair.

I shit another brick when he moved his glistening big pouch aside to make sure I got up all the way into his inner thigh. I glanced around and everyone other muscleman was doing something like this – some with help – some alone. So, I stopped feeling so self-conscious. He just seemed less self-conscious and less nervous than everyone else.

“Alright, we’re doing this a little in reverse here, but you’re doing great. Let’s get to work on my back side.” I was in motion but stunned at the hardness my hands were feeling – the softness at the same time. I tried to move my hands at a speed that would not disclose how deeply affected I was by touching him. I had to do this and still apply the oil right. Not an easy task for a novice in-person muscle-worshipper.

He lifted his huge arms each time I came around to do the back of his lats and near his shaven pits. He had almost no stubble, just smooth, cut and hard muscle. He gave me a back lat spread as I moved down the center of his back. It felt like he was displaying a extra-wide barn door just for me.

“Now make sure and get the back of these legs”. Well, I had to do his glutes first and that terrified me and excited me at the same time. He didn’t flex. They were already hard and his skin seemed to soak up the oil. I had to move my hands back over them to make sure they had a clear sheen. I couldn’t believe I was touching muscleman’s butt, let alone Paul’s. I kept concentrating and going down his butt, onto the back of each leg. At one point, he took a step back and started to flex and pump his whole leg. The muscles and cables just jumped out in an instant and grew in front of my own bulging eyes. I got bold and decided to rub some more oil onto these hard muscles as he kept is leg flexed. He didn’t seem to object.

When I stooped to get lower, I felt a rush of embarrassment and a deep thrill. I knew then what it was like to really worship serious muscle. I was sure he knew. And, even more, I was sure he liked what I was doing. That sent a tingle all over my body.



The Oiling of “The One” Continues

As I stood up again, he turned around and said, very matter of factly, “Now the front”. At first, it didn’t make much sense to me why he told me to work his huge chest and veined arms. But then I understood, once again, that he liked what I was doing and didn’t give a damn about anybody else. He sure as hell had figured out that I really liked what I was doing for him and to him.

“Start with my neck and work down my shoulder and arm first,” he instructed again. I glanced again at everyone else and saw the same thing going on in different ways on different gods. I told myself everything was fine.

Thank god he turned his head to the side when I started on his neck. I couldn’t look at his face without saying or doing something very wrong. It’s like my hands were separate from my body. It’s like I was two people. One guy doing the oiling and touching – the other watching going absolutely crazy with lust. His traps were like small mountains protecting a thick neck of veins, cables, and muscles.

I was really awestruck at how hard and big his delts were. And, yet, his skin was so soft. I stiffened again as my hands ran over veins coming from his biceps. My disembodied hands moved in parallel down this ham-like, veined side of beef, that he called his bicep and upper arm. I kept right on massaging the oil while he did a little flex. The muscles of his tricep and bicep jumped in my hands. I couldn’t believe the number of big veins and cords and how they covered the extremely hard muscles. I couldn’t slow down or I’d be in trouble. Yet, I was really getting into this erotic worship by my very sensitive hands.

Then I moved my hands – in parallel – down to his massive and striated right forearm. This was too much. The veins stood out even more and I relished feeling the pulsing ridges they created. I stopped to collect myself and get some more oil. He was frozen like a statue, waiting, expectantly for me to continue.

While I grabbed the oil bottle, I took a peek at his gorgeous pouch. It had moved. He was at least a little hard and his cut cockhead was really showing its ridge now. I was too stunned to keep going, much to my immediate embarrassment.



The Truth Will Out

His gorgeous face was about two feet from mine when he said, “Hey, Scott, you still okay? I don’t want to distract you from your oiling here. I know all about how this is turn-on. Most every guy here gets turned-on somewhere, somehow. I just get turned on when someone oils my muscle the way you are. It’s a great feeling so I get a little hard. No big deal. It’s really a compliment to you, my friend.”

I made some feeble comment about just wanting to get the oiling right for him.

I thought I’d crawl in a hole when he said “Yeah…right” – with a noticeable edge of sarcasm. He had an easy smile on his oh-so-handsome face so I assumed I was okay.

I made it through doing the other arm, never getting used to what it feels like to have such big, hard, beautiful muscle in my hands – wrapped in tributaries of throbbing veins.

Then the moment of truth. His huge hard chest and nips. I noticed immediately that his nips were hard, too. They stood out like hard eraser tips. I know from reading and paying attention that touching a man’s chest is a very, very personal and intimate thing for most guys, especially bodybuilders. Some really welcome it and others make sure you don’t get even close.

“Okay, just get it started here on my upper chest and I’ll finish it.” I was very grateful. I ran my oiled hands over his mountains of velvet smooth pecs. The two muscle masses felt unbelievably huge in my small hands. Again, I made sure to remember the feeling of his hard hips on the side of my hands but not stop moving. I left some oil in the crevice for him to spread around. I moved down to his abdominals and he now flexed those. For a big guy like him, I knew he had really worked to get them into such definition. There was one big vein that came down on a diagonal into his bare pubic area that I could have fingered forever.

I actually made my first comment to him, “These are incredible. It amazes me that anyone can get like this”. “Not anyone good buddy. Just a few of us. The few that don’t settle for anything less than muscular perfection. I have been building, pumping and flexing this body for many years now. This is the payoff,” he said with extreme confidence.

He flexed them again. And my hands moved, actually with more noticeable passion, spreading the oil around these classic grooved cobblestones. I think I saw him smiling as I oiled him here.

We were a team, now. He had me to himself and I had him to myself. We were getting ready for night an aroused audience would never forget him – that would go home and get-off fantasizing about him. I knew they would go wild over the sensuous beauty of his massive hardened body.

I can’t remember when, but just before I was done oiling him, he hollered again. “Hey there’s my favorite little guy – looks like you’re coming along nicely there Paul. Could be second place here for you tonight,” he barked.

When I turned my head it was like I was seeing his twin, only somewhat shorter, casually walking over to us.

Oh my ever lovin’ god….



My Contest Winner, Part 2: And Then There Were Two



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,” he said in a friendly way. 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 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?” he asked damn directly.

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, 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,” announced Jim. 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, and those indentations of muscle colliding – jamming – 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 the old timer at his best, Tom Platz,” Jim asked teasingly. “You definitely got some really good stuff there buddy, what the fuck have you been takin’ since I saw you last?” asked Paul sarcastically. 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, bulging, 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 in white undies?

Like a k** 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 just 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, too, 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 V-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,” he demanded. 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 – totally naked. 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,” he added with more sarcasm.

“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 thick 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 – his crotch, that is. The light green contrast on his dark skin was fabulous. Now, he looked like a very, very big version of Gustavo Bedell’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?” he asked matter-of-factly. 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,” he said with a kind of sexy leer in his voice. 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 very used to a deep and continuous 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,” he commented. 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 and those indentations. 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?” he asked with some evident sincerity. 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 muscle-bound behemoths like 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 responded. 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?” he asked like he really wanted to here me talk about all of this. 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 counseled. 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,” he said with some apology.

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 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 added. 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 said appreciatively. 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 instructed. 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, by 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 muscle showmen.

“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?” he asked needing assurance from me. 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” he explained in detail. 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 a line of bald hunks.

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 crown and 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 thick cut manhood so I could oil, just as he had told me to do.