Three Christmas Stories, Story 3: Miracles Keep on Happening – The Waiting Is Worth It (musc)
by msclvr
First, you need to know a few things about my friend, Frank. He and I have known each other for a long time. Mostly, because we work out regularly at the same gym here in Miami. “Workout” is a kind of understatement for both of us. We are both super-heavyweight competitive bodybuilders in our early 30’s. We both compete in the same contests and, given his size and build, he usually beats me. I’m okay with that, more or less.
We both have our own “groupies” that follow us, support us, and generally want to be around all our muscle. We are classic hyper-masculine muscle gods and we know it, and so do our fans. He actually is way more disciplined in his workouts, his diets, and posing practicing then I am. He eats, sleeps and breathes bodybuilding and competing. At 6’1” and 285 lbs of mass and cuts, he’s earned his victories. Given his incredible size and proportions, some have even described him as a morph.
I am 5’11” and 255lbs at competition weight. I’m known for my hard-won total body proportion, and a bulging basket that I can’t hide no matter what I try. Fans love it, of course. Our friendship, though real, is pretty much at a distance. He keeps to himself, and rarely shares anything about his life outside of the gym and competitions. Most folks consider him to be conceited and grouchy. I honestly don’t think he has any other friends other than me.
His whole life was turned upside down four months ago when his wife died suddenly of cancer. I have no idea what kind of relationship they had, or what kind of sex life they had. He told me about her death in a couple of sentences one day and it was clear he wasn’t going to talk about it any more. I had no idea if there was a memorial service. He became even more withdrawn, if that was possible. Guys at the gym wanted to be supportive of him but he would have none of that.
He just dialed up his manic obsession to get bigger and even more cut for the Arnold Classic. It was clear he was driven to win that one. Sort of like following his example, I worked out more myself and was very careful about my diet. I would compete as well, though knowing he would probably take the title hands-down. Our only conversations focused on sets, weights, diets, and feedback on posing routines. He was an exceptional poser and could bring the gym to a complete stand still as the guys admired and lusted after this muscle monster in a tiny posing strap.
He won Vegas, of course. I came in 3rd in my division. Though we had traveled to and from Las Vegas on the same flight, we certainly did not share a room. In fact, it was disappointing to me at how little contact he wanted to have with me. I was baffled. Yet I gave him the space he wanted. He came back to Miami and the gym gave him a huge welcome home and congratulations party. Since I’m a pretty keen observer of him, I watched him go through the motions of appreciating their congratulations and relishing having the winner be from our gym.
And, in the weeks the followed, he just continued driving himself to get bigger and more cut. I had no idea what contest he was preparing for. He practiced his astonishing posing routine even more frequently then normal. I often thought he really didn’t have a contest in mind. He just didn’t know what to do with his time or his emotions, so he just worked out as hard as he could.
That’s about him. Now more about me. My name is Dave. I am gay. Always been gay. Ever since I was a teenager and lusted after the big guys on the football team. I’ve had girlfriends and, of course, the relationships never lasted, even though they loved being around me, my mass, and feeling up my muscles. I’ve been with men, too. Both bodybuilders and regular guys. Those relationships didn’t work out either.
Sure, I loved having my muscles worshipped and I knew how to really turn guys on with erotic posing, muscle foreplay, soul-rattling muscle talk, and hot man to man sex. Yet, the emptiness I felt over not having a boy-friend or partner was deep, very deep. I understand that Frank, even though there was a lot of distance in our relationship, played a role in helping me keep hope alive.
Ever since I had met him, I had been attracted to him. Why? God only knows. And, I had to always be very careful that I didn’t do anything or say anything that would give even the smallest hint that I felt that way toward him. Though I was to find out later that he knew damn well what was going on with me. He kept his distance and I kept mine. He was married. I was not. He was, evidently, straight. I was not. For years, I have masturbated myself thinking about him…his muscles, his big basket, his good looks, and the amazing strength he had to lift the weights that he did.
It was torture for me when we practiced posing for each other. In any one of his very small straps and pouches, he is sex on wheels to me…the cut of his crown often showing through the fabric. I developed my own mental practices of keeping myself from getting hard when we were both wearing our posing gear. Then I’d go home and beat my own big cock until there was no tomorrow.
I do not really understand it, but there is a part of me that loves Frank. I try not to think about that, too much. It’s too mystifying given that he doesn’t give much back to me. The distance between us makes my heart ache for what I could have with him, and he with me, and what we don’t have. I also know that I need to move on…be more active and available and look elsewhere for friendship and love. Waiting for Frank seems, at least for now, like waiting for something that is just not meant to be.
Then tragedy struck Frank, again. He was rear-ended by a semi and he and his car were violently shoved into the car in front of him. Fortunately, he had a lot of minor injuries but no major injuries. The only reason I knew was that he called me from the hospital. Hell, I didn’t even know he had my cell phone number. He told me about the accident, the injuries, and the reassurances from the doctors that he would probably have a full recovery in the next 2 or 3 months.
He reacted like that was a death sentence. He was very upset that he couldn’t workout. He ranted and I just let him start getting it out of his system right there on the phone. That was it. He was just totally pissed that his world had turned upside down in an instant. He was angry, very angry. No gratitude that he didn’t have major injuries or that he would probably be back to the gym in 2 or 3 months. Fuck, he could have been killed. He didn’t see that side, however.
I’m certainly no psychologist but I knew that God and the Universe had just taken away his only identity -- as a contest winning super heavyweight bodybuilder -- taken away his way of coping with his years of accumulated unknown demons by obsessively working out to get bigger and bigger. And, there was nothing in his life to replace this radical stripping of who “he was”. I gently suggested that I would be willing to come and visit him if he would like. In his trademark grouchy fashion, he grunted a barely audible “yes”. He was not going to be a very responsive patient.
Little did I know then that my visits were to become part of an unfolding story that would change Frank’s life even more – for the better – and change my own. I visited him every day. While he couldn’t say thank you – yet – I could tell he appreciated my company. And, for the first couple of weeks he was just nothing but complaints about the awful food (of course), the surly nurses, and the boredom.
The boredom. It was like he had nothing to do but to be with himself. No working out. No contests. No muscle-worshipper appreciation. Nothing but himself. It appeared he really did not have any friends, or even family, other than me. He alternated between being depressed and angry. We talked. I mostly listened. Something was calling me to be there for him, even though he had never been one to reciprocate.
I admit I liked helping him rearrange his body, his massive arms, and gigantic legs from time to time. He seemed to get a lot of cramps. Or, at least that is what he told me. And I dutifully massaged wherever the cramps were. I usually made it a point to do a really deep massage, slowly, and with feeling. I could tell he liked that. I always got hard. We even joked a bit about how this was a lot like oiling him up for a contest. That was a first. He was just barely starting to get resigned to the time it would take for him to recover and get back to the gym and competitions.
The second bed in his room had been vacant for sometime. Then, one afternoon, some nurses and orderlies moved a guy in and, as a team, shifted him onto the bed from the gurney. He was barely conscious. The nurses said he had just come out of major surgery. He clearly was in bad shape. Before they pulled the curtain between the two beds, I could see that he was a young guy, maybe 21, and carrying lots of muscle on him.
I told Frank what I had seen. He didn’t seem too interested. I stayed for a while longer and told Frank I’d be back the next day.
I came back the next day to find the curtain pulled back and the two of them talking up a storm. Frank introduced me to Paul. Paul was fully conscious and greeted me with an enthusiastic “Hello…Frank, here, has told me a lot about you and how you’ve been helping him.” I was stunned to hear this.
I looked at Frank and he had a bit of a grin on his face. “Yeah, Dave, I told Paul that we are competitive bodybuilders and had just been out to Las Vegas where I won the Arnold Classic. Turns out Paul is a bodybuilder, too, and coming along great. We’ve been able to compare biceps despite our being bed-ridden. He wanted to meet you and see another super-heavy weight up close,” Frank said with some enthusiasm of his own.
“Okay, Paul, Dave and I are going to give you an impromptu bicep competition where you’re gonna be the judge,” Frank announced authoritatively. I had no idea what he had in mind. I did know, however, that we had very different shapes to our arms, though our measurements were usually very close. “Dave, you come over here next to me and roll up your sleeve. Bring your arm down close to mine. Paul, can you see us from where you are?” asked Frank, the “organizer”. “Sure, see you both fine. Shit, are you really gonna pump them up just for me?” he asked with astonishment in his voice. “Hell, yes. On your mark, one, two, three, and pump, pump. Yeah we’re pumping these monsters for you, Paul,” Frank announced again with a lot of excitement in his voice. I was into this and pumping and pumping again to get my peaks as high and cut as I could.
“Alright, Paul, we didn’t measure but who has the best looking arms of the two of us?” demanded Frank. “Well, I’m not sure…I’m not sure I can tell…Dave, you had the most size and bulk, no question about that. Yet, you, Frank, had the double peak and split, plus the size and bulk. So I’d have to say the winner is Frank,” Paul said sheepishly. Frank had a big grin on his face. “There you go, again, beatin’ me out. One of these days the tables will be turned. Mark my words,” I said dramatically. “No hard feelings Paul. I understand why you picked Frank, believe me, I do,” I added.
“God, it really is amazing to actually meet the two of you. And for you to do a bicep competition here for me. What a great early Christmas present! I’ve heard about both of you, even though I work out on the other side of town,” Paul reported. “You’re legends. I want to be like you one day. At least, I had hoped I would before this accident of mine. The doctors tell me I may be in rehab for months, maybe a year. My family is really behind me but I am pretty upset that I won’t be able to workout for a long time and will miss two semesters of school, at least,” he added with some despair. “I’m very sorry to hear that this has happened to you, Paul…from what can see just now, you’ve got the makings for some real success in the bodybuilding world,” I said with a lot of encouragement in my voice. “Thanks, I need all the encouragement I can get right now,” Paul added. I hoped Frank heard that for himself.
“Paul and I have been talking about what it takes to be successful and win competitions,” Frank chimed in. Talking? Frank? I was amazed, grateful and encouraged. Paul may be the ticket to help Frank open up. The bicep competition was quite a step for Frank.
As the weeks went by, Thanksgiving came and went. Paul idolized Frank. Frank responded to Paul with newfound compassion, understanding, and encouragement. He was really being a mentor to Paul, from his hospital bed to Paul’s hospital bed. I could tell they were becoming good friends. I was very glad for them both.
I continued to visit Frank daily. His spirits were picking up noticeably and he talked with me about things and I never would imagine hearing from him. I also continued to massage him, as he requested. Though I finally figured out that he really wasn’t having any cramps. He apparently just wanted me to be physically close to him and touch him. I dared to wonder if more might happen between us.
One day, a few weeks out from Christmas, Paul told us that he was being moved to a rehabilitation facility elsewhere in the city. Both Frank and I told him how much we appreciated meeting and talking with him. He was thrilled to have met two competitive super-heavy weight bodybuilders and couldn’t stop talking about how much he wanted to be like us. We gave him a short posing exhibition. Frank from his bed and me right in front of Paul. He enjoyed feeling my hard muscles, especially my chest and biceps. I knew he would. We exchanged contact information and agreed to stay in touch. I was seeing a side of Frank that gave me a lot of hope, for him, and, perhaps, for me.
I was visiting the hospital so regularly that everyone seemed to welcome me and tell me how well Frank was coming along. They were clear that my visits were making a big difference. And, that having that “young man” share a room with Frank had seemed to change everything for Frank. I completely agreed.
Frank had started to open up to me about a lot of things. I heard about how unhappy he was in his marriage. How alone he felt after she died. How he was beginning to realize that he needed more in his life than just working out and winning competitions. He even asked me, more than a couple of times, how I was doing and what was going on at the gym. Both of us recognized that our bond of friendship had grown much deeper.
He continued to ask me to massage his “aching and stiff” muscles. I whole-heartedly continued to play this little game with him -- with unbridled enthusiasm. I loved feeling up his muscles. He started flexing them for me as I “massaged” each one. We were beyond massage. Though we wouldn’t say it, we were into the realm of muscle-worship, one muscle-god to another muscle-god. All done in a hospital, while he was in bed. Fortunately, hardly anyone ever came in. No second patient in the other bed, either. I loved it when he started to groan and tell me how good my warm hands felt. He was clearly in recovery, in more ways than one.
It was Christmas Eve when we had a conversation that would change everything, some more. He asked me to sit on the bed with him, not in my usual chair. He put his big left paw on my quad and started to massage me! I was in shock. “Flex it for me, buddy, let me feel how hard you are,” he said softly. I gave the quad all I had. “Yeah, we both know what we like, don’t we?” he said even more softly. I didn’t say a word. I just kept flexing it so his hand bounced up and down, as he rubbed it into my hard muscles.
Then, to my much greater surprise, he took both his hands and wrapped them around my upper arm. His hands were big enough so they actually could encircle it, even as big as my arm is. “Flex this for me, too. Show me what you got,” he instructed. I took in a few deep breaths and gave the pump all I had and kept on pumping with a level of power and energy I have rarely felt, even in competition. He squeezed as hard as he could, and his is one hell of hard squeeze. I was mesmerized by his own arms bursting with cords of muscle, veins, and striations as he squeezed mine. And he knew that.
Yet, he couldn’t make a dent in mine. “Fuck, you’ve always been so built and so solid, Dave. There are plenty of times I had wanted you to win your division at least,” he said with a very complimentary and appreciative tone in his voice. “Hey, it is always good to be appreciated, especially by a super-star like you, Frank. You’re the one that has it all and will get it all back for the next Mr. Olympia,” I commented matter-of-factly. He just grinned at that. We were two hyper-masculine muscle-gods sharing what we need to be the gods we knew we were. There was some silence between us…only the whirring of the machines.
“You know, Dave, I owe you one hell of an apology for having treated you so poorly for so long. I’ve had plenty of time to think this over these past weeks. You have been and are an amazing guy…a great friend…an unshakable supporter…and you care about me. And, though I suspect you probably don’t know it, I really do care about you. I’m ashamed to say that I always have but, since I was married, was just very afraid to show it. When she died I got very afraid of the almost overwhelming feelings I had for you. They wouldn’t go away so I just bottled them up and pushed them down, and became even more of an asshole in the process.”
“No, hang on, let me finish,” Frank demanded quietly. “This accident is, in many ways a gift. I’m seeing myself and I’m seeing you in a very different way. Having Paul in here for a few weeks made me appreciate even more what I have accomplished in my life, and how important you are to me. I just couldn’t see it up until now,” he explained. I took a risk and slowly put my hand in his. A jolt of electricity went through my body when he took it and grasped it with a vengeance. God, he is so fuckin’ strong.
“Yeah, I’ve known all along that you were gay. Actually, Dave, you weren’t very good at hiding it. I loved being on the receiving end of your lustful looks at me all these years. Hell, I think I worked out even harder to look even sexier and built for you, not just to win contests. Fuck, I picked out posers that I knew would send you into lust-filled fantasies. I was just very dishonest with you. I hope you forgive me. The truth is I’ve come to understand that I am gay, too. I’d hoped my marriage would “cure” me but it didn’t. Her death just made me more fearful of whom I really am. I’m so sorry for the pain I’ve caused you over the years. I’d understand if you were as angry as hell with me and wanted nothing more to do with me. I’d deserve that, I know.”
“Oh, fuck, you big muscle-head. Sure as shit I’m mad at you. You’ve been a real live asshole to me and a lot of other people who admire you and your accomplishments. You pushed people away when your wife died. You pushed me away, even further. Yet, we knew you needed us. I knew you needed me. I’ve often thought I was an ass-hole myself for hanging around, hoping that you would see the light. Yes, the accident is a gift. Despite all this, I can say that I have loved you for a long time. Thank God, I felt called to hang around long enough for you to “wake up”. And “wake up” you have. I’m thinking we can pick up the pieces of our lives and do it together, if that’s something you want,” I asked with a question. “After all, it is Christmas,” I added.
“I’ll tell you my answer by sharing some of my fantasies I’ve had about you over the years,” Frank announced with fanfare. I was in for an earful. “Imagine that we share a big house together. We’ve turned the basement into a huge workout center. Mirrors everywhere. On the ceiling, too. We’ve got all the latest equipment with enough free weights to help me, I mean us, become even bigger than we already are. We’ll have a posing platform with directed lighting and video equipment to record our posing and muscle-worshipping sessions.”
“I think of what a turn-on it would be for both us to work out in the nude…our bulging muscles, striations, and veins will turn each other on and turn ourselves on. We’ll have oiling sessions where we lovingly oil each other up, each in his turn, flexing each mass of muscle meat as the other oils it up so it shines in the bright lights of the video camera. God, imagine us, two contest winning super heavyweight muscle gods gettin’ it on with each other.”
“We’ll be so enraptured with each other’s muscles, huge body, and big thick cocks. Our hyper-masculinity will super-charge our posing. We’ll wear small straps with very small posing pouches so our cock and balls will be bulging out for our mouths to feed, suck, massage, and teethe on. Our pouches will get soaked in oil, sweat, pre-cum, and saliva.”
“We’ll have pose-offs where we aim to drive the other to have the first explosion of orgasm by banging, rubbing, and mashing our hard and soaked pouches together.” Frank was fired up in a way I had never seen in all the years I had known him. He’s been unleashed. Fuck, I’m getting really hard hearing all this muscle-talk from my own muscle-god.
“You with me, bro?” he looked at me earnestly, coming out of his fantasy. “Oh yeah man, oh yeah. I’m astounded you’ve been thinking like this about us,” I exclaimed. “Yeah, I know, I’ve been keeping a lot hidden for way too long,” he added. “Whether on the bench, or in bed, I’d want you to fuck the hell of my pecs. I’d squeeze them so hard and push them in with my hands --- your cock would be in a vice of hard muscle -- that I’d bring you to orgasm so fast you wouldn’t know what hit you. I’d want your jizz all over my face and chest. I’d want you to take that big fat cock of yours and shove it between my forearm and bicep. I’d flex and flex and masturbate you with my hard as hell arm muscles and you’d shoot rockets of cum. I’d pump you dry with my cast-iron arms encasing that monster cock of yours.”
“Then we’d flip and I’d fuck your pecs, deep into that major-league crevasse of yours….fucking your pigs until they were raw. I’d hold off until the last moment then let my warm jizz shower your face, neck, and chest. You’d pump your arms up like only you can do, and I’d shove my thick meat into the hardened meat valley of your pumped arms. I’d pump and you’d flex and we’d both explode with more cum shooting out everywhere.”
“Each time one of us started working the weights, the other would start working the muscles and whisper sweet nothings and sex-laden muscle talk to get us going. We’d reach new heights in weight and sets, blasting our muscles into mass, striations, cords and veins that we’ll use in our next competition. They won’t know what hit them.”
“With both of us pumped to the max, we’d go to the posing platform, turn on the lights and video and record mind-boggling posing sessions Each session would have intense and cock-hardening muscle worship. Hell, we could invite some of our friends in, that are like us and love muscle, and give them a show they’ll never forget.”
“After one particularly heavy workout session, with all our muscles pumped and cocks hard, we’d head off to the bedroom and really show each other what it means for one massive muscle-god to love another massive muscle-god. We’d fuck and rut until the sun came up and fuck and rut some more.”
“Then, off to the showers, where we’d lovingly wash and worship each of our hardened muscles and big cocks. “Yeah, I know, I getting carried away here. Surprised? Hell, I surprise myself with all of this. God, Dave, I want to be with you so much. You have no idea,” Frank said with passion. “Yes, Frank, I do know, now. I do know. I love the way you are talking and sharing your fantasies with me. I’ve had very similar ones for many years.”
“Your change of heart is a miracle to me, Frank. The accident was, as you said, a gift. Paul helped you along. You’re the man, the hyper-masculine hunk of extreme manhood, that I always thought you could be. I couldn’t ask for anything or anyone else,” I said with a swoon.
“First, we’ve got to get you through rehab and back building that gorgeous body of yours. After all, there are a few contests to win out there,” I said excitedly. I reached over and squeezed his huge arm and he gave me a flex to beat all flexes.
“And, Dave, I want you to be with me all the way. I promise to be with you and your contest preparation, too. You’re too good not to take home a big trophy.” Frank was as sincere as I had ever heard him. Then he said, “I used to say I didn’t believe in miracles, but that is very different, now. Merry Christmas, Dave…you are my muscle-god and I am your muscle-god…what a gift we can be to each other.” Frank and I just looked into each others eyes in wonder and gratitude.
END
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