Miracle Man 2
by AKA
Almost everyone was out partying that night except Steve. He had a date to keep with a weight room the next morning and he was determined that by the time the summer ended, he'd have the body he saw on the guy who was now a permanent fixture of his fantasies.
He watched for Cary to come home that night but he was apparently out with his friends, whoever they were, so Steve's nightly show had an early curtain. The truth of it was that telling Cary he knew he was being watched, that his evening physique displays were not simply private gyrations but were, instead, designed to get the other dude hot and bothered actually intensified Steve's exhibitionist desires. Knowing you had an attentive audience was one thing, and the voyeurism was interesting but hardly unexpected... everyone, after all, knew Cary was gay and he certainly made no secret of it and Steve knew he had a hot body, hell half the reason he spent so much time developing it was that he got off on himself... but having another pair of eyes worshiping you, even from afar, watching your every move, tracing the lines of your muscles and wishing they were the hands caressing your cock... Steve found that he was even more excited by the prospect.
But there was no Cary tonight. Steve sat on the windowsill still in his shorts and closed his eyes, feeling the warm summer night wind flow across his bare skin. His hand rested on his dick, lying quiet and limp in his shorts. Somehow, without Cary there driving him on, he just wasn't into it.
What was it about Cary, anyway? The guy was cute, no doubt about that. He had potential. Kind of a thin looking guy, never went in for sports, never saw him doing much physical activity of any kind. But Steve wondered why he had this... desire for Cary. Was it just because he knew the other guy was like him, so maybe he could finally be comfortable around another guy without worrying that he was sending the wrong signal? Was he hoping Cary knew things Steve didn't?
And he was, after all, damn cute. Although Steve hated using that word. "Cute." Made Cary sound like a puppy or a doll. But he was cute, dammit! He was fucking cute, with his big bright eyes and beautiful skin and the way he smiled. He always seemed so relaxed with himself, so self confident and just... comfortable.
Steve barely even knew his favorite voyeur and couldn't say why, exactly, he decided one night to allow the guy across the street, who he knew watched him anyway, to get a show like he never expected.
And Steve never expected to enjoy it so much, either. Jerking off was so much better when Cary was watching him. He could almost feel the other set of eyes worshiping his body and watching his moves. It was as if Cary's observation was a caress or a form of permission for Steve to do everything he wanted to. To feel himself and his own powerful muscles, to move his hands across his skin, down into his shorts, to expose himself utterly, completely, in every way he could be uncovered and still maintain the safety net he'd built.
And then today, he tore part of the net away. Steve told him he knew Cary was watching him. Then he stripped naked in front of the guy, feeling a rush of adrenaline and a sort of sexual exhilaration watching Cary becoming aroused, seeing the desire and need in the other guy's face and the way his eyes drank his body in. He wanted to, in front of everyone, grab the guy's face and kiss his lips hard and full and deep and fuck what anyone thought. He wanted to.
So tonight he wanted to put on a show like Cary never saw, never even dreamt of. He wanted to look directly at the guy's face as he beat off. He wanted to lick his digit and bend over and finger his tight little hole. He wanted to drop a gob of spit on his hard, red tool and jerk himself slowly, so slowly until the load in his balls was thick and hot and then cum stream after stream as Cary watched. He wanted to get his muscled body so hot and bothered that he'd do all the things he did to himself for someone else, lost in a haze of sex and desire, using every inch of his prime powerful body to its pornographic filthiest.
But the lights never came on across the street, so Steve retired early to hit the gym before the sun came up.
Cary sat in his darkened room and watched Steve sitting on his windowsill. He came home from the graduation stunned and embarrassed, completely confused and wondering what Steve's little game was.
Was he being cruel on purpose? He didn't sound like he was trying to be mean or mocking in the moments before he stood there naked in front of Cary, displaying for him (and everyone else, it had to be said) that he was just exactly as beautiful and muscular and amazing as he seemed to be. That his clothes, if anything, concealed that he looked even better than expected. That everything about his body, from his wide shoulders to his tightly muscled belly to his low- hanging cock was as close to male perfection as a guy could possibly get.
But why was he doing these things?
He might be able to understand it if Steve ever showed the slightest interest in him, or even looked at him. He certainly watched Steve enough to know if the guy was looking back. But he never was. And it seemed very certain now that all the rumors and his own suspicions were true, that Steve was gay and wanted him... or needed him watching.
Maybe that was it. Steve was some sick fuck who got off on the watching. Which, up to this moment, Cary was very happy to fulfill. He loved to watch as much as or more than Steve liked being watched. But before he was getting away with something, and now Steve knew he was watching, he knew it all along! And he wanted Cary to watch! He enjoyed it!
Which was, for Cary, another sort of turn-on altogether. He wished he were in that room with Steve. He'd let the guy get hot and bothered, strut his stuff, get himself hard, then Cary would teach him a thing or two about what that dick was for. If Steve thought this long- distance worship was hot, wait'll he got a load of what two guys in the same room could do.
But then Steve was gone, and Cary had nothing to show for the night. He lay on top of his sheets and tried to dream the good dream with Steve in it. The really good one.
Steve was in the gym early the next morning, excited to begin his "Summer of Muscle" as he referred to it. He wanted to enter college a different guy, a guy to make other guys stop dead in their tracks. A guy bulging with strength everywhere, an overwhelming image of masculine beauty and power too beautiful and muscular to ignore. A guy to make straight guys consider switching sides.
As far as Cary was concerned, Steve was mostly there already. All Steve had to do was ask.
He was feeling pretty horny this morning as well. Since Steve didn't get a chance to work his bod into a sexual frenzy last night, he was doubly charged up and ready to work his muscles until they screamed.
There was no one else at the gym when he walked in at 5:30 in the morning. He'd jogged to the building from his house to warm everything up so he could dig right in and start building the man he saw in his mind ... when that man walked through the doors looking just as gorgeous and amazing as he had so many mornings ago.
Again, he was the handsome, sleek young man he'd been before all his muscle, and his horsedick, swelled into being. Steve was determined not to have this meeting go as the last one had, with him tongue-tied in awe and wonder at the guy. So he finished his reps with the dumbbells, set them aside and walked directly over to the guy who was stretching his long limbs and twisting his firmly muscled body as Steve approached.
The guy seemed at first to take no notice of him. He was so focused on his warm up that he never even met Steve's eyes, but when Steve said, "Hi," he slowed his warm up and then stood erect, shaking his arms loosely as he scanned Steve's body.
Steve felt almost exactly as if he was being sized up. The man's direct gaze was slightly embarrassing, as if he was looking not just at what Steve was showing on the outside, but what he was hiding on the inside as well. Maybe it was those eyes. There was no color in them save the darkness that looked outward. His face was smooth and sculpted, nearly expressionless like a perfect mask. Then he slowly started to walk around Steve's body. Steve could recognize a hint of the scent that had saturated his towel after the guy wiped himself down with it at the end of their last meeting. "I'm... I'm Steve."
"Yes," he said, "I know." His voice brought back their last encounter full and hard. The soft, deep growl that came out barely above a whisper. Still, in the large empty room, it rang in Steve's ears and shocked him like a deep, hot kiss on the mouth.
Steve wrinkled his brow. "So, you know my name but I don't know..."
"Take off your shirt." It was more of a command than a request. The guy was standing behind him, so he couldn't see what expression, if any, crossed over his mask of male beauty.
Steve simply complied. He pulled the ends from his sweatpants and tugged the gray cotton shirt over his head, holding it limp in his hand. His muscles were pumped and hard, vibrating from his workout. Suddenly, hands were on his shoulders, squeezing firmly. They moved down his back. They felt smooth and lithe, but so warm and commanding that he simply stood there as they moved across his back.
One was on his side, above his hip, and it circled around to the front. He tensed involuntarily, making his abs jump out like a carton off eggs, but the other hand came up to his neck and slightly massaged him, feeling so good that he felt it all the way down to his balls. "Relax," the guy said. "No one is going to hurt you." The hand crawled over his shoulder and across his chest, bringing the two into an embrace back to front. The guy's voice was in his ear, very close, he could feel his warm breath when he said, "You're very beautiful, Steve."
"I..." He gulped. The words reached through him.
The hands continued to caress him, moving all over his flesh as the guy moved to stand in front of him again. Both of his hands were on the tight, rounded plates of his chest. The touch of them felt both rough and tender, they massaged his skin and muscle and when Steve looked up the guy was looking directly into his eyes. "What do you want, Steve?"
"What?"
"Tell me what you want."
"I'm not sure..."
The guy's face finally changed. He smiled, slowly at first. Then the smile reached those dark eyes and his whole face changed. It became warmer, more handsome. Steve wanted nothing else in the world, suddenly, than to have the man's lips pressed to his.
The guy tilted his head and leaned forward, and gave Steve his wish. The guy leaned forward, his hands moving around Steve's muscled torso, pressing their mouths together. The kiss was soft at first, tender and warm, then his strong arms pulled Steve closer and the kiss became more passionate, deeper. He opened Steve's mouth to his and pushed his long tongue inside. It felt thick and hot in Steve's mouth, and he kissed him back eagerly, returning the embrace, wrapping the guy up in his bare, muscled arms, his fingers digging into the guy's soft silken mane.
The kiss deepened. It was Steve's first time kissing another guy, and his hunger was suddenly swelling. Everything he dreamed of, all his hidden secrets, all his desire and denied passion was boiling up inside him, bubbling through his blood. He wanted this never to end, this feeling, the hard embrace, the hot, wet kiss, the feel of another man's bulging body pressed against his own, the hard brawn of it, the pure masculine power.
But it did end, finally. He felt the other man pulling away, the build-up of heat inside him dampening. His lips reached to hold the guy's mouth to his own, but his arms fell away and then they stood there, looking at each other.
"Is that all?"
Steve felt an anger fill him. What was the guy doing, playing with him? Toying with him? "What the fuck is up with you?"
He was smiling again. Then he moved around Steve, said, "Excuse me," and went to the pec deck.
Things got weirder fast. As Steve watched, he felt a distinct sense of deja vu. It was as if the other morning was repeating itself exactly. This time he walked over to watch the guy work out, to see what happened to his body, how he was growing so huge so fast, what the muscles looked like.
The guy was wearing the exact same outfit, even. Steve hadn't noticed that, he was too engrossed with finding out who the guy was when he had been so... blissfully interrupted.
The guy set his arms behind the padded levers of the machine and started pressing them together. Immediately, Steve could see that his chest was swelling. Each pump produced a bigger growth of muscle. He could almost hear the guy's body grow, his power swell as his muscles bulged larger and larger. The tight shirt started developing the same small tears along the seams as his body grew, and then his thick lats swelled suddenly outward like wings and the T-shirt ripped open. Then his shoulders bulged thick and fat and round and the shirt tore more.
The guy smiled ... Steve remembered that, too, from the last time. The guy smiled and pumped a final, hard push of the weight and the shirt exploded off his body, ripping itself apart to expose the deep, hard development that was suddenly everywhere on his torso.
This close, Steve could see the muscle fibers clearly. They pulsed and bulged, sleek and fat with brawn. His chest was now two rounded globes of power, with thick cables erupting out from the deep separation between. His had a six-pack of rippling muscle on his tight belly that swelled and retracted as he breathed. He allowed the paddles to relax back, stretching his huge chest wide and flaring his thick lats before standing up.
He seemed taller. Was that possible? His dark, dark eyes sparkled and he stood next to Steve near the machine and turned toward him. The stood chest to chest, skin to skin. The guy had a slick sheen of sweat across his muscled flesh and, like last time, he said, "Excuse me," and moved his bigger body across Steve's well-trained one. His scent was stronger, deeper and more profoundly male than when they kissed as if he was growing more strongly masculine as well as more muscular.
He approached the tighmaster and sat down, positioning his fine, round ass on the seat and bending his legs behind the paddles to lift the heavy plates of iron.
Steve followed him over and squatted down on his haunches, positioning himself in front of and between the guy's legs to watch them explode. If this happened the same way, he'd be able to witness not only the guy's long legs swelling with growth, but also to watch his dick start to demonstrate its own amazing development.
It didn't take more than a couple of pumps before things started happening. The guy was ballooning with muscle, and after the third flex, with his thighs and calves blooming and growing, Steve could see the guy's bulging basket start swelling. Then the side seams of his shorts began to split, starting at the hem and ripping upwards as the coiled meat in his groin grew more massive with each flex of his swelling muscular legs.
Eight pumps and they were huge. Ten pumps and they were massive. At twelve pumps Steve watched the snake in the guy's loins crawl longer and longer until every inch of its massiveness was pressing so forcibly against the shorts that the seam was stretching itself apart.
Then the guy stood and Steve rose to his feet with him and the fat bulge between the guy's legs subsided as the length of his grown cock relaxed downward, drawn by what Steve imagined being its heavy poundage of blood-engorged meat. The shorts were so tightly drawn against the dude's thickly muscled thighs that the dick, though it clearly wanted to, couldn't completely free itself.
"Excuse me," he said softly, rubbing his mass of re-developed muscle against Steve's exposed skin. The guy's body dripped with sweat, and the stink of his quick but effective workout rose off his body and surrounded Steve like a mist of sex. Steve took the opportunity of their closeness to try to break this spell, to rouse the guy from the dream of their encounter. As the young man moved against him, Steve sought another embrace, another meeting of their bodies together, another deep kiss to revive the passion inside him, the want of this man and the desire for what he had.
And the guy fell into the embrace easily, lifting his arms and pulling Steve close inside a shared embrace. His more massive body was rock hard and red hot. His skin was shiny and smooth and wet, his muscles like marble under the slick skin that clung to his brawn. And Steve moved his mouth toward the guy's soft lips and kissed him, and found his kiss returned in kind. He reached down to cup the guy's ass in his hand and squeezed. The kiss became deeper, still, and Steve could feel his whole body growing as hot as the man he held.
But again, the man drew away. He met Steve's gaze with his dark eyes and smiled. Then he moved to the curling bench and lifted a bar heavy with plates and pumped his arms to enormity. The biceps became balloons, filling up faster than ever, literally exploding with new, thick cords of power that swelled into each other until the long cables became melons of muscle. The triceps swelled outward. His shoulder s grew even more massive and, after only a few reps, he set the bar down and straightened, turning toward where Steve stood to display himself in his ultimate glory.
Steve found his heart pounding hard and fast and his dick swelling tall and thick as he again looked on what the guy became. He knew what came next, and just like before the guy started to stretch and bend his masses of muscle, showing that his body wasn't just super strong but super flexible as well. And, again, the guy's cock finally outgrew his short's capacity to restrain its developing size and they shredded off his body, his tool spilling forward and down almost a foot long and as thick as a beer can. The head was a red plum, his balls were heavy and round and hanging low behind that massive evidence of his overwhelming manhood.
He walked toward Steve, the heaviness of his dick causing it to slowly swing in a slow arc around his fattened balls, and he stood in front of him, inches away.
Steve didn't have his towel, but he was still holding his T-shirt. So the guy reached down and took the slim cotton garment and wiped his brow with it, then scrubbed it through his hair. The shirt was doing it's best to soak up the guy's dripping sweat but it was just a T- shirt after all.
He took it and lifted one arm and rubbed it under, into the dark forest of curls in the pit. His shoulder muscles bulged and swelled. Then he repeated the gesture under his other arm. The shirt reeked of him already, of his deeply masculine scent.
Then Steve reached to take the shirt and the man paused, giving it to him. And Steve finished the job of polishing the beautiful, massive form before him.
He unwadded the shirt and placed it in his open palm and wiped across the guy's chest. He could feel the man's heat and hardness through the material, feel the shirt dampen against his palm. He wiped down his tight, rippled belly and the sides of his torso, then his arms.
The shirt was sopping, unable to gather any more of the man's steaming heat, but it didn't matter to Steve. The man's eyes watched his movements, and he turned so Steve could rub the cotton across his bulging back, the wideness of his upper which he spread open like wings, down the to the deeply tapered waist, and down further.
Steve sank to his knees as he rubbed his shirt over the muscled mounds of the man's perfect ass. He mopped over the tight mountains of muscular beauty and into the deep dimples on either side. Then the man repositioned his feet to open himself to Steve's tough, and Steve slowly, tenderly pushed the shirt between the globes of the guy's butt, into the hairy crack and down, further down, and onto his tight, red hole.
Turning again, Steve found himself face to cock with the biggest tool he ever dreamed of. It was firm and fat and finely veined. The head was long and thick, with a flaring ridge he had a sudden desire to tongue. Instead, he gently surrounded its girth with the shirt and, cupping his hands around the shaft, he dragged the cotton along its length and polished the drooping head. Then he lifted it - it *was* heavy, incredibly so! - and lifted his round, hairy balls into the shirt and caressed them gently, reverently, lovingly.
Then he wiped down his legs, but they remained wet because the shirt was literally dripping now, saturated with hot wetness so that the silky dark hair on his long, muscular legs clung in wavy lines to his copper skin.
He turned again, facing Steve as he rose to his feet. "Thank you," he said softly. Then he lifted his hands to Steve's chin and drew their lips together another time and gifted Steve with a soft kiss, a tenderness that brushed against his lips so lightly that he almost didn't feel it.
Then he smiled, meeting Steve's astonished gaze, and moved around him toward the exit.
"Not this time," he said to himself. This time, the man wasn't going to disappear. This time, Steve followed his high, round ass from the gym into the locker rooms. This time he wanted to see where he went, and maybe get the fucker's name.
The guy walked slowly and deliberately through the lockers toward the showers. He moved with a sleek, athletic gait, his hips swaying invitingly, the muscles bunching and stretching in evidence of his vast power. He left a wet trail of footprints on the concrete and Steve tossed the sopping shirt aside (after breathing in the heady aroma of the man's overwhelmingly masculine scent) and struggled to get his sweatpants off, but his boner was making that difficult.
The man turned the corner into the open showers and Steve heard the water engage. It sounded almost like applause to him, as if the empty room was so proud to be able to wash the amazing body it saw that it couldn't help it.
Steve leaned a hand against the wall as he watched the man stand under the steaming flow, He hung his head down and let the water pour over his dark mane. It streamed like a river through the deep development of his bulging power. Steve felt jealousy that the water touched the man everywhere at once, like he wished he could, like he wanted to be all over that beautiful muscular man's amazing form.
Finally he got free of his sweats and walked purposely toward the guy. "Hey," he called.
The man looked over at him. He smiled, a toothy open smile. An invitation, almost. He straightened and turned, the blasting water showering outward as if encountering a rocky shoal. The hot water flew all around him, some landing across Steve's naked form like drops of fire.
He didn't wait for anything. He went up to the guy, into the hot stream, and put his hand behind the guy's neck and pulled their mouths together. This was no chaste, tender kiss. This was passion and desire. This was hunger. This was want. This was need.
Steve concentrated all his need into the kiss and was nearly shocked out of his skin when he felt a hand on his hard prick. A hand not his own. The guy's touch was magical. He surrounded Steve's stiffy and slowly stroked him. Steve could feel the touch everywhere. The guy was rubbing his thumb along the underside of his helmet, were the head split. His fingers gripped onto him and stroked again, slowly. The kiss went on, and tongues were employed. The guy's felt huge inside Steve's mouth, and he remembered this feeling from minutes ago. The feeling that he had a fat, pliable dick in his mouth, a dick painting a wet trail of pleasure inside him.
He rose up on his toes when the guy's other hand found his ass and his fingers started to dig deeply between his mounds. He felt the tingle of an unknown touch on his asshole, the press of something familiar yet alien. His own ass play was expected, he knew where his fingers would go. This guy's explorations were new, amazing, experienced.
The hot water poured over and between their bodies. Steve felt the man's newly grown muscle pressing against him, the hard roundness of them, the sleekness of the guy's skin. His own hand moved off the guy's neck as he tried to wrap an arm around his shoulders, but he couldn't anymore. The man was so big, now, that he stretched beyond his arm's capacity.
Steve's whole body trembled as his undercarriage continued to experience the guy's well-informed touch. His dick felt harder than it had ever felt before, as if the guy was squeezing growth into it. He tried to relax his ass, to allow more exploration, but everything was overheating. Between the kiss, the stroking and the poking, Steve's body was feeling more overall sexual pleasure than it ever had at one time before.
He could feel his load building, feel himself close to cumming, and he tried to hold himself bad. But the guy was insistent, his touch constant, his passion and power and size overwhelming, and Steve was suddenly shooting his creamy cargo all over the guy's hand, and his belly, and everywhere. The guy was stroking him fast and hard, drawing his seed from him, making his cum harder with each pump until his load was spent and he sagged into the guy's embrace.
The held each other under the hot water. The guy felt so good, his embrace was firm and rock solid. "Who are you," Steve whispered.
"You know," the guy answered.
Steve breathed slow and steady against the man's broad muscular beauty, his overwhelming masculine power. "I don't..." he said. "I don't know who you are."
The guy broke the embrace, holding Steve by the arms, meeting his gaze. The room was fogged with steam, nothing could be seen but the two of them inside the hot, thick cloud. "You know," he repeated. Then he kissed him, that same tender way, and backed away into the swirls of gray.
Steve stood under the hot spray for a few minutes more, and then went out to get dressed. He found his sweat-soaked T-shirt on the floor near his locker where he dropped it. The guy's strong stink was all over it.
He took it home with him.