MEN, MUSCLE, and MAYHEM

by Milton Stern

  He looked right at me, smiled and said, “I wish you would.”

  And, I did. And he leaned in and planted his mouth on mine while simultaneously hitting the red button, stopping the elevator between floors. His tongue was down my throat before I could protest, and I decided not to protest and felt up that perfect body.

  I finally came up for air and with a gasp asked, “What about your fiancé?”

  “We’re both bi,” he said and proceeded to remove my shirt and pull down my shorts.

  In the time it took for me to fully comprehend what he said, my jock was around my ankles, and my dick was in his mouth. He had pulled his shorts down and was stroking his cock while working mine, and I figured we didn’t have a lot of time, and he figured we didn’t have a lot of time, and he sucked me for points and knew I would blow any minute, and I tried to get him off my dick, so I could get at his, but he was insistent, and I just shot my load, and he swallowed every drop while jerking his and shooting between my legs and hitting the wall of the elevator. It all happened so fast, that I was still comprehending what happened when he stood up, pulled up his shorts, and I retrieved my shirt, jock and shorts, and he hit the button, and we stepped out of the elevator.

  “Have a good run,” I said as he took off.

  A few weeks later, his fiancé went to visit her parents, and he came over, and we did it again. This time, however, we took our time. He has since married Gina, and their wedding was beautiful. And on occasion, he stops by for a little pre-run work out.

  CLOTHING OPTIONAL

  After a seven-hour drive through rural southwestern Virginia, a few miles across the Tennessee line, and down a very dusty country road, I arrived at the TimberBear Campground. I had read about it online and decided to try a different kind of vacation, but after being buzzed through the gate, if you want to call it a gate, and driving up to the main cabin, if you want to call it a cabin, I was beginning to rethink my idea of an alternative getaway.

  Between the geezer who checked me in and the one who pointed out my cabin, there were a total of seven teeth. I drove down the hill to the far side of the grounds past what I assumed was the pool and bath house, a couple of campers and trailers, and spotted little duplex-like cabins lined up in a row. Mine was number 6–6B to be exact since it was a duplex of sorts.

  It may have been late September, but the weather begged to differ, with temperatures in the nineties and not a cloud in sight. I heard they were suffering through a drought, and by the looks of the layer of dust on my 1975 AMC Matador Coupe, they weren’t kidding.

  What I didn’t see were very many people. I guessed it was late in the season, which was fine, since I am not fond of crowds. I parked around back and unpacked my car. Being this was a clothing optional campground, I didn’t have to pack a hundred outfits for a change the way I did for that miserable cruise my best friend talked me into taking.

  “Nice ride,” came a voice from behind me.

  “Thanks.”

  “1974?”

  I turned to face what appeared to be a post-op FTM transsexual wearing only cut-off shorts. “1975 AMC Matador Coupe Barcelona Edition … it was my grandmother’s.”

  He walked over to my car, and I hastily walked around front to 6B, opened the door and took in the décor. ‘Early trailer park’ would best describe the room, for the cabin was just that, a room. There was a bathroom with a shower stall, and that was about it.

  I unpacked what few things I had with me then changed into my swim trunks to take in what little daylight was left in the afternoon. I don’t know why I put on my swim trunks since they would be coming off as soon as I arrived at the pool.

  I am a former powerlifter and have continued to work out hard since ending my competition days in the late 80s, which enables me to maintain my thickly muscled physique. I am not what you would call bodybuilder cut, but at five-eleven and over 270 pounds, I am a lot of man, and I have a pretty thick cock and big balls that swing nicely if I do say so myself. I am not self- conscious about my body, but I am aware that there are those with a lot more ‘definition’ and much prettier faces. The best way to describe my face is that it is that of a bouncer, which is what I do for a living, and my nose has taken its share of punishment as well as my jaw. I get my share of ass when I want it, but I have found that as I grow older and especially after ‘a certain age,’ I don’t crave it as much as I used to. I figure I have done all I care to do in bed, so if I find myself rolling around naked with someone, it better be special.

  I chose an empty chaise at the pool, which wasn’t difficult since there were about four people there, and took off my trunks, lay down and took in what sun was left for the day.

  I was bored already.

  After what seemed hours, but was only about thirty minutes, I gathered my things and made my way back to my cabin.

  I was kind of tired from the drive and having put in a long shift the night before, so I took a shower in the tiny stall and decided to take a nap.

  I never realize how tired I was. When I opened my eyes, it was pitch black in the cabin, and the clock next to the bed indicated it was 2:11 – AM! I hadn’t slept like that in years. I was sprawled out naked on top of the bed and sporting an erection that could hammer nails.

  I got out of bed and looked out the window. There was no one around or lights on, so I opened the door and stepped outside, stark naked and still pretty hard. I stretched my arms and let out a big yawn, when I heard, “Hello.” I just about jumped out of my skin.

  I had a neighbor in my duplex. Standing at just over six feet, he wasn’t a bad looking one either. He was around my age, bald, with a mustache, a nice muscular hairy chest – and everything else – and wearing boxer briefs. I immediately hid my cock with my hand.

  “Hey, sorry about that ... I didn’t think anyone would be out here.”

  “No problem,” he replied then he turned his attention back to his cell phone. “I can’t get any bars.”

  “Isn’t it late to be making calls?” I asked while still standing there willing my dick to go down, which it eventually did.

  “I’ve been trying to get a hold of our office overseas all day. Ahh fuck it,” he said, then flipped his phone shut. “I guess I should just go to sleep.”

  “I just woke up from a nine-hour nap,” I said with a laugh. “I think I’ll see if the pool is open all night.”

  “The pool is closed, but the steam room and sauna are open all night. They’re in the bath house right next to it,” he said, obviously having visited here before.

  “Thanks, either one sounds good right now.”

  He went back into his cabin, and I into mine. I brushed my teeth to get rid of the dead rat taste and hoped my breath didn’t offend my neighbor. I grabbed two towels – one to sit on in the sauna or steam room and one to dry off with. I didn’t bother putting on a pair of shorts and just wrapped a towel around my waist, and slipped on my flip-flops, grabbed a jug of water, then stepped out.

  The steam room looked as if a sloppy orgy was played out just hours before, so I chose the sauna. After figuring out how to switch it on, filling the bucket with water to pour over the coals, I hung one towel on a hook outside the door, and slipped off the towel around my waist and laid it on the bench, sat down, leaned back, closed my eyes and relaxed.

  I started to sweat almost immediately and took a healthy swig from the jug of water. I then wiped the sweat from my chest down my stomach and along my cock, which started getting hard again. I didn’t care, figuring no one was going to come in at this hour, and if they did, whatever.

  Wiping sweat across my cock turned into gentle stroking until it was standing right up again ready to do some carpentry work. I closed my eyes and continued gently stroking my dick.

  I was starting to feel pretty relaxed and a bit horny when the door to the sauna opened. I opened my eyes and saw that my cabin mate had entered, and this time he wasn’t wearing the boxer briefs.

  He walked right over to me w
ithout saying a word, leaned down and planted his mouth on mine. We proceeded to make out and wrestle our tongues, while he reached down and grabbed my dick, and I switched my hand from my dick to his, which was also ready to hammer a few nails and had the heft to do so.

  The guy was a great kisser, and he apparently thought I was to, which I am of course, but his moans didn’t hurt my ego. When his mouth left mine, I missed it immediately, until he hopped up on the bench with his feet on either side of me, his hands on the wall behind me, and his huge cock pointed at my face.

  I opened my mouth, let him shove it in, and grabbed his balls. He fucked my throat like a champ, and I didn’t gag at all. When I could feel he was getting close, he increased his rhythm, then pulled out and shot a big load all over my face while I held onto his balls.

  When he was drained, he hopped down from the bench, got down on his knees and swallowed my cock. It only took a few seconds for him to empty my balls into his hungry mouth. He then stood up, leaned in and licked my face clean before planting his mouth on mine again as we tasted our comingled loads in his mouth.

  He then winked, turned around and left.

  I never saw him again.

  A MARRIED MAN

  I should know better. He’s married with kids. He has one car he shares with his wife. He can only stop by for twenty minutes and with only ten minutes notice.

  I get a text. “What’s up?”

  I answer, “My cock.”

  Same crap every time. He isn’t even that good-looking. I mean, he works out and all, but his body is nothing worth writing home to Mom about. If I did write home to Mom, the only thing I could say is he’s Jewish. “Oh, and by the way, he’s married, too, and on the down-low.”

  Good thing my mother is dead. This would kill her for sure. I can hear her now. “What? There are no nice Jewish unmarried boys? You have to go after a closet case?”

  Strangely, I met him on a sex line. Or maybe not so strangely. Where else would he go for sex? Synagogue? Please.

  I remember that first meeting. No head shot, just a body shot. I remember seeing his face for the first time. Ugly is the best way to describe it. He was bald with a big nose and squinty eyes. I let him in anyway. I guess I am just a pig for sex. I could do better, not a lot better, but certainly better than this troll. His dick wasn’t that big, but the cock-ring didn’t hurt.

  I wondered when he put that on. Did his wife see him in it?

  However, the sex was pretty good. It wasn’t the best, but it was worth a repeat. But, a repeat was next to impossible.

  I’d text him, and he’d say he couldn’t get away. Or worse, he was headed to a “buddy’s” house for a three-way. He thought it was cool to tell me that. The man was a bigger slut than I – and an asshole to boot.

  So, why do I continue to stay in touch? I actually erased his number from my phone, only to have him text me for a hook-up out of the blue. And, twice he would contact me, get me all horned up, only to cancel at the last minute because he was dealing with his daughter’s teenage drama of some sort.

  Yet, here I sit.

  It’s Sunday afternoon. I should go to the gym, take a nap, read a book, do something constructive. But, he texted me. Now, I am hard as a rock. I don’t know why. As I said, he’s ugly, he’s married, and more importantly, he’s selfish.

  There is no future with this guy. He isn’t going to leave his wife. And, he certainly isn’t going to leave her for me. I know that. I am not as dumb as I look.

  We have already texted at least ten times. Now, he is having trouble finding an excuse to leave the house with their only car. He asks me for an excuse. What the fuck do I know? I am not married, and I haven’t been in the closet since kindergarten. If I want to get laid, I just get in my car and go.

  Four hours have gone by, and I have wasted an entire afternoon. It is near dinner time. I have to work tomorrow. I am past my need for dick now. I keep giving him fifteen more minutes before I start making dinner and forget about the whole thing.

  I receive one final text. “Sorry, stud. It ain’t gonna work tonight.”

  I don’t even answer. I erase his number. I am done …

  … at least until the next time he sends me a text.

  CONFERENCE CALL

  I had been camming with Jeff for years. We met on Bigmuscle then exchanged Yahoo IDs and would cam and flex every couple of months. He was in the business like me, so I knew he would be discreet. Besides, if he sold a video of me, I could do the same to him.

  He lived 3,000 miles away. I felt as if I knew him intimately. We would strip then flex, then jerk off for each other. We told each other our fantasies. He would tell me how he wanted to sit in my lap while I flexed and fucked him; I told him he needed to sit on my face first. It was harmless camming, so I told him things I wanted to do that were not usually part of my routine. But, it was all in good fun.

  I bought a new computer with a cam built in, so I wanted to try it out. Well, the cam was on the top of the screen, so I had to fold it a bit to get a good shot, but that limited my ability to see what he was doing, so I bought an external cam to enjoy as well as put on a show.

  I am usually pretty good with computers, so hooking up the external cam was easy enough.

  I was on a video conference call with my agent and manager, when my Yahoo IM popped up with a message from Jeff. I told him to give me about thirty minutes until I finished up this call.

  A half hour later, I ended the call with my guys, and sent an IM to Jeff that I could ‘play’ now.

  And, as usual, we were naked in seconds, flexing and showing off.

  I had slipped on a cock ring and was greasing up my dick, while he did the same. In between, I would wipe off my hands and type up some nasty message; he would then reply with something even nastier.

  Occasionally, I would tease him by rubbing my thumb on the head of my dick, then trailing a string of precum up to my mouth and licking my thumb clean. He loved that, being as much of a cum pig as I was.

  His favorite thing was for me to flex my bicep right up to the camera, and when he was ready to come, he would beg me to do that. I liked watching him flex his legs and muscular butt.

  We were really going at it today, and I was standing, naked, flexing, all oiled up and stroking away. I was getting close, so I gave him a thumbs up. I then let go of my dick, flexed both biceps and came without touching myself. My dick shot up high and quite a few times, then a few extra spurts dripped down the length of my dick and onto my balls while I continued to flex.

  He came, too, all over his hairy belly.

  I waved goodbye; he did the same. Then, I cleaned myself up before turning off the cam.

  My Skype buzzed. It was my agent.

  I clicked him on after slipping on a T-shirt.

  “I just figured out how to jump start your career,” he said.

  I didn’t realize both web cams were going at once. Since the one he was watching was the one that was part of the computer with the bad angle I mentioned earlier, all he got was the neck down.

  The video went viral in about an hour. The interviews requests poured in, and I neither denied nor admitted that it was my body.

  I just signed a four picture deal with a major studio.

  I specified no nude scenes in my contract.

  Oh, and Jeff? He is directing one of the pictures. We finally are going to meet face-to-face.

  THE LAB RAT

  Dr. Musclestein had a theory. Anyone could achieve the results of a steroid user, provided they had proper nutrition, access to the best weight training equipment available, unlimited time, and encouragement.

  He had a state-of-the-art gym built in a wing of his home, complete with kitchenette, bedroom, full bath, and French doors leading to his backyard swimming pool. The subject of his experiment would be required to live in that wing of the house for thirty days. His waking hours would mostly be spent working out. He would also be eating quality proteins, fresh fruits and vegetables, a
nd he would have daily, two-hour tanning privileges by the pool. However, no television would be allowed. When he was not eating or sleeping, he was to be working out. His muscles would be pumped during all his waking hours, forcing them to grow beyond anyone’s expectations.

  However, to test his theory, Dr. Musclestein needed a lab rat. He searched high and low across the local college campus, but there were no candidates who fit the bill. He visited all the local gyms, but no one was right for the job. He even scoured the beaches. There were those who were willing to be his subjects, but all had been on the ‘juice.’

  He needed a natural bodybuilder, and he was disappointed. All this expense to build the perfect lab, and he could not carry out his experiment. He was about to give up, when he noticed the man mowing his lawn. This was not his usual gardener. Bobby, his gardener, was in his sixties and although in good shape for his age, he was no muscle man. But Bobby’s replacement was exactly what the Doctor had ordered.

  Dr. Musclestein had an idea, but he would need to get dressed first. He usually walked around his home in nothing but black sweat pants. To look at him, one would have thought he had already tried out his theory on himself. He was six-foot-five and 260 pounds of smooth, rock-hard muscle. Everything about him rippled and bulged. But, if he was going to approach the gardener about his experiment, he needed to dress the part. He changed into gray slacks, a white shirt, striped tie, a lab coat and his black framed bifocals.

  As he stepped out the back door, he spotted the gardener, who just at that moment was taking off his shirt. The man was five-foot-nine and looked to weigh around 190 pounds. He was hairy and thickly muscled. Dr. Musclestein guessed him to be Italian, and when the thirty-four-year-old man introduced himself as Scott Manicotti, his heritage was confirmed. Scott wore his black hair in a crew cut and also had a goatee. The doctor thought to himself, If this guy is not gay, he missed an excellent opportunity.

  Dr. Musclestein explained his theory to Scott, who seemed more interested than any of the other potential subjects, and that afternoon, Scott moved into the lab wing of the house. Dr. Musclestein kept the door to the lab locked in the event that Scott might try to escape, which would cause him to have to start his experiment anew. However, since Scott had been there, he did not complain once. He enjoyed being able to work out all hours of the day and night.