Cratus' Coots: Cameron

He cast quite a figure coming off the plane, striking, impossible NOT to notice – something beyond his looks, something about his aura. It was hard to pin an age on him – maybe thirty-five, maybe forty, maybe he was just prematurely gray. He had an heroic build, tall, muscular without being musclebound, power tempered by grace. As he exited the small prop plane and descended the stairwell, the island sun lit him like an overhead spot, his heavy pecs casting shadows over his taught stomach – for shame a viewer couldn’t see the thickly muscle six-pack that lurked beneath his t-shirt. Certainly they could see the way his heavy cock shifted back and forth beneath his tailored linen pants – that it was almost always half-erect didn’t make it any less obvious.

Everybody stared. That was one thing he hadn’t quite adjusted to, yet – it made him uncomfortable. No matter how handsome or thickly muscled or well-hung he’d become, he didn’t think he’d ever get used to the staring, even though it secretly turned him on. (But then, just about EVERYTHING turned him on these days.) He started wearing mirrored sunglasses just so he’d stop looking like a bodybuilder with the eyes of a scared rabbit.

He was really horny, too! That was gnawing at him beneath everything else. It’d been almost six hours since that hot little flight attendant at LAX and he was starting to feel the need again – and, much as he loved that feeling, he didn’t think he was gonna score anything walking across the tarmac (though the baggage guy was kind of hot), so he tried to put it out of his mind. Of course, his big cock jostling around inside the soft linen pants didn’t make that very easy.

There were only three or four people on the flight with him – and none of them worthy of joining the mile-high club – they weren’t tourists, so what they could be doing in this part of Central America was anybody’s guess. Hell, what HE was doing in Central America probably couldn’t be guessed, either, so why speculate?

He saw his name on a sign held by a college-aged kid just inside the terminal – the kid was kind of hot (certainly, his cock reminded him, hot ENOUGH…), but looked like a grad-school bio major all up in his khaki shorts and wrinkled polo. Strutting up to the kid, he tried to look even bigger, yet even more nonchalant. “You lookin’ for me?” he said, and his deep baritone dripped sex. He wondered how long it would be before this kid was sucking his cock. “I’m Cam Metzker.”

“Yeah, I guessed,” the kid said. “I’m your ride up to the Lab. You got luggage or anything?”

“Nope. Just me and the shirt on my back… and computer bag over my shoulder and carry-on in my hand. How long will it take to get there? I’ve been on a plane for most of the day getting here from the States.”

The kid led them out to a small Hummer in the parking lot. “It’s a pretty bad road up the mountain,” he said, motioning Cam inside, “but the view alone is worth it. Why? You need anything before we go?”

Cam smiled, showing off his beautiful white teeth. “I could really use a blow job,” he said, letting his hand gently squeeze his substantial package (as beautiful as his teeth), “or a bottle of water.”

The kid was immediately uncomfortable. “Um… we’re not allowed to… engage… in any sort of… that sort of… activity… with the… uh… subjects. There are… people for that. If you need… well, we could… you know, pull over someplace and you could… take care of yourself while I… wait outside or something. I mean… I know what you’re going through and… the side-effects…”

“Son, I’m a very… mature man. I’m quite able to control myself, thank you.”

“I don’t mean to offend.”

“You’re not offending me,” Cam said, leaning back in the seat with both hands in his lap, idly holding his package. “I said a blow job OR a bottle of water.” He smiled that winning smile – that politician’s smile – that seductive smile, and added, “I would’ve taken either. Or are there… people for THAT, too?”

The kid was embarrassed and quickly reddened. “In the back there, in the cooler – water, I mean. And protein bars, in case you need to eat.”

“Thank you.”

They drove in silence, which Cam was sure the kid preferred. Fine by him, it gave Cam the opportunity to look around. He’d never been to this part of the world before and was surprised at how quickly civilization ended and wilderness began. What he thought would be a ten-mile jaunt up the mountain turned into a several hour affair, not just for the quality of the road, but for the kid’s tentative driving. Clearly someone had told him not to damage the car – as if a Hummer were damageable.

All well and fine, it gave Cam a chance to reflect. As he watched the flora and fauna go by, he thought how, not quite a year ago, he sat dejected at his fiftieth birthday party, feeling like crap, looking like crap, while his friend Benjamin whined on about how it was all downhill after fifty – your body gives out on you, your libido takes a near permanent vacation. “Hell, Cameron,” he said – the words that echo in Cam’s mind even now, nearly a year later, “even you’re going soft! And who’d have thought that Cameron’s once perfect pecs would turn into man-titties? All we do after fifty is sag and drag.”

And Cameron Metzker, who’d never been a bodybuilder or anything but had kept in farily good shape for a man his age, felt the weight of that statement. His workouts had gotten progressively worse over the last couple of years, making it hard to find the motivation to even GO to the gym. Where he’d once been firm and strong, he was now flabby and loose. Where once there’d be veins, now there was soft, fatty flesh. It was a terrible cycle – lose your motivation, your workouts suffer; your workouts suffer, your body weakens; your body weakens, you feel bad about yourself; you feel bad about yourself, you lose your motivation; you lose your motivation, your workouts suffer… and on and on. It’d been that way for the past half-year, ever since he’d hurt his shoulder. He’d never come back from that.

And the backslide at the gym almost mirrored the backslide in his sex life. Not that he’d been particularly active, but he’d usually get laid every couple of weeks or so – at least he’d masturbate every day. Lately, there wasn’t even interest in that.

It was just getting worse.

His Primary-Care Physician prescribed the testosterone gel that all his peers were on, but Cameron didn’t notice all that much of a difference. He gave some thought to steroids – he knew guys at the gym (younger guys!) who dealt in them, but he didn’t completely trust them, and he felt a man his age shouldn’t do anything without a doctor’s supervision – five years away from the AARP, he reminded himself bitterly. So he languished in his descending spiral.

And that probably would have been the end of the story as Cameron petered out and rotted away but for the life-changing intrusion of the internet on the twenty-first century. Even a half-centenarian like Cameron was deeply immersed in the Internet. Like most folks his age, he was heavily invested in Facebook, where his profile picture showed him shirtless twenty years ago, when he had abs.

It was a Facebook friend that turned him on to the Clinic in the first place. This guy Gerald, who’d been posting pics of himself over the last six months as he beat his abs into amazing – frankly, unbelievable – shape for a senior who was (as he claimed) “all natural.” He and Cameron had been posting back and forth for some time, building their virtual friendship, trading apps and quips and silly links. When Cameron responded dejectedly to a birthday post from Gerald (a cute little pic of two musclebears hugging), Gerald read the truth into Cam’s words.

Because of that, Gerald fessed up his involvement with this Clinic – how they were looking for guys over forty with low testosterone levels for growth hormone therapy. (Cameron liked the word “therapy” – it implied security.) If interested, Gerald was happy to be Cam’s referral – apparently, someone had to vouch for you, which Cam found intriguing, too. Gerald used the phrase “ideal candidate” – he FWD’d Cameron a link and a cell-phone number.

That connected him with Dr. Nic Cratus of the Cratus Clinic, who was chit-chatty and funny and laid back in the way of successful, confident men who were oblivious to the flow of time. Cameron liked him immediately. He was understanding and sympathetic and described Cameron’s symptoms before Cameron could himself: the loss of libido, of life-energy, the horrible workouts, the loss of muscle tone and strength, the low self-esteem.

The sell was so easy that Cameron wondered if he hadn’t been victimized. Cratus prepped him for sticker shock – there were some inevitable up-front costs, some blood work that would have to be footed by Cameron, supplies and the like – but the total wasn’t as bad as he thought it’d be. Sure, it cleaned out his savings pretty effectively, but he wasn’t planning on buying a new car anytime soon anyway. (Didn’t most guys buy cars for THEIR mid-life crisis? he thought. Well, I’m buying youth!)

Cratus used the phrase “ideal candidate” himself a few days later when going over Cameron’s blood work on the phone. Though he was generally in excellent health for a man his age, Cameron was surprised to discover how low his testosterone had sunk – but he’d never even considered that his pituitary gland had all but stopped functioning.

“Looks like you’d be an ideal candidate for growth hormone therapy,” the doctor said. “We’ll get those levels up to what they were and I think you’ll be very pleased with the results.”

And so Cameron gave his information over the phone, the Doc emailed a receipt and several links of information for Cameron to read, and the FedEx truck showed up the next morning with a box full of unconstituted HGH. Well, something… better than HGH – this stuff had been tweaked so as not to require Cameron to take testosterone, too. “This blend will rejuvenate your natural production,” Cratus explained, chuckling. “Better living through chemistry, right? Believe me, better to kick start your own than to crash out at the end of a cycle. When it’s natural, it just feels better.”

Cameron took him at his word. The reading suggested that he wouldn’t even see results until three months into taking Growth, but Cameron swore he felt it that very first day. And whether he really could or not, he had the kind of workout that he’d been pining for the last few years, and that was reward enough.

Such a tiny little amount – such tiny little bottles. The insulin needles, not even the size of a pin – he had to wear his readers to put two units in the syringe – hardly caused more than a prick as it sank into the flab of his stomach. He barely even noticed it.

On the other hand, he noticed the erection that woke him around four the next morning. His cock was throbbing, almost painful, in its need – Cameron hadn’t had a steel rod in nearly twenty years – certainly not without Viagra – but hadn’t felt anything like this since being a teen. Grabbing it and masturbating in bed, in the middle of the night, reminded him of decades earlier, when he’d done it growing up with two other brothers in the room asleep.

After his orgasm – news-worthy in itself – he felt content – more, he felt happy – and he drifted off into a peaceful, nearly meditative slumber that lasted about an hour. When he woke from that, he felt like he hadn’t in years – energetic, enthusiastic, hungry to DO! He sailed through his day with the kind of excitement that made his coworkers dubious. Why, he still had energy when he hit the gym after work – and that almost never happened! What’s more, the pump was good enough that it got him horny – horny!! – and he actually jerked off for the second time that day (how long had it been since he’d done that?).

In that same blissful, post-climactic space, he started reading the articles Doc Cratus had linked him to. This was the first time one of Cameron’s doctors had ever tried to educate him instead of dispense pills and dispense with. Cameron found it refreshing – it served simply to make him more confident about his decision to work with the clinic.

The first article was a LONG – and painfully thorough – overview of growth hormone. Very general, but it did teach him a lot. One of the things it advised that he really dug, was to get up in the wee hours, take your shot, then go back to bed for an hour or so before beginning your day – this somehow helped your body metabolise the hormone better. Cameron was all for it. He’d wake every day around four from the throb of his morning hard-on anyway, then, pretending his dick was insistently leading, he’d make his way to the refrigerator where he stored the HGH in the butter compartment. Even though his dick knew it was the shot that was restoring it to its former glory, it was still impatient, straight-up and rock-hard, pointing right at the injection site.

Afterwards, Cameron would slip back into bed and jerk off. This was his favorite moment of the day, fantasizing about growing younger, more muscular, more sexual. Even his orgasms began to improve. He would doze off then, the fantasy becoming a dream. When he finally woke, he had a Zen-like calm and percolating energy.

And it wasn’t too good to be true – it WAS true. It was a viscious cycle of feeling good: he worked out, he grew; he saw the improvements in his body, he felt motivated; he started eating clean, he tightened up; he had more sex, he felt younger. It kept going and going, for weeks on end, and all he did was improve.

When he entered his third month – the month that every source he’d read said he’d “feel it” – he couldn’t imagine that it’d be better than what he was feeling now. Yet it was. It bumped in such a way that it would’ve frightened him if he hadn’t felt so calm and at peace, happy to the core. His dick got sort of half-hard and stayed that way permanently, plump and full and very masculine – he didn’t try to hide it, either; he was actually kind of proud of it. He had a damn nice dick.

His workouts took a big jump, too, though he hadn’t felt like he’d been stuck on a plateau. He awoke late one night unable to get comfortable. Half asleep, he shifted his arm and heard a “pop!” in his shoulder, and the nagging pain he’d had for the last two years disappeared completely. He began lifting heavier, flexing deeper – working hard stopped hurting and started feeling good – a good pump was as good as sex (better than most good sex). He began to look forward to squatting, got into the power of dead-lifting, in short, the gym became his friend again after so many years of being his adversary.

He’d have never called himself fat – certainly flabby, husky, or loose – but as he entered this third month, he began to… tighten in earnest. Cratus sent him an article about how the body loses fat equally from all areas at once (arguing against the non-sensical idea of “spot reduction”), so the places where Cameron had the most fat were the places that tightened last. But as he watched his torso progressively harden as the muscle beneath it grew, once he lost the loose titties and the flabby abs, once he had the expansive pecs and a solid core he used to have, he began to watch a six-pack etch its way into his flesh. How many fifty-year-olds had that?

It only inspired him to work harder and eat better.

And have more sex.

Seriously, there seemed to be a never-ending supply of boys looking for muscle-daddies. And Cameron found it easy to scoop them up and bang their pretty little asses. They liked his big, hairy muscles, his desire to dominate, and his long-lasting erections. He liked them all – but he was too satisfied, too happy to get bogged down in anything negative, so he found new ones frequently (sometimes more than one on the same day).

About a half year in, it became impossible to pretend that something wasn’t happening to him. His coworker’s comments had changed from “looking good” to “getting kind of big, aren’t you?” He laughed them off. “Just an old man getting back in shape,” he’d say, flexing something for them.

His work was interfering with his working out, anyway. It was hard to concentrate – all the headaches and drama and pettiness – and he wanted to improve himself, remove himself from the negative, so he opted to let himself be bought out from the firm and he retired five years early. Everybody thought he was crazy, but he seemed so genuinely happy, they didn’t argue with him.

The next few months were a blur of workouts, near-constant eating, and daily fucking. Cameron grew, going from his flabby 215 to a rock-solid 238 with heart-breaking abs on a waist that seemed disproportionately small. But something else was happening. As his bodyfat disappeared and his skin tightened, he lost that puffy little double chin, those crow’s feet faded away – it wasn’t that he was looking younger, exactly, just not quite as weathered. He looked mature, but somehow ageless.

He went through other changes, too – he confessed this one only to Dr. Cratus: it seemed like his cock was getting bigger. Was that possible? Because he wasn’t on steroids, his balls hadn’t shrunk. As a matter of fact, they were so busy working so hard, they’d grown, too – they hadn’t produced like this since Cameron was a teenager. He understood his balls (to a bodybuilder, something working hard and then growing made complete sense) but his cock surprised him. Was it possible – could his cock be getting bigger?

Cratus assured him that with this particular blend of GH, because it was jacking up his own test output naturally, there seemed to be a side-effect from that tinkering – the subject’s penis would often thicken and gain up to an inch or more in length. “Why didn’t you tell me that sooner, Doc?” Cameron joked, because nothing could upset him anymore. “I would’ve upped the dose!”

Cratus chuckled. “It’s not a guarantee – it’s a side-effect. Consider yourself lucky. You ARE happy about it, yes?”

And Cameron wasn’t the only one happy about it. He was becoming something of a local celebrity in the gay community – the way big, friendly, built, hung tops often were. He was always being stared at – at the gym, working out, the locker room, the shower – and though it made him uncomfortable, it didn’t stop him from displaying himself like the prime specimen he now was, the hairy muscledaddy with the thick cock. He never hurt for attention, but he always woke at 4am with the same hard-on regardless of the action the night before – that was his cock’s favorite moment. Just a little bit every day – just the two units – and he slowly, so slowly improved.

He was kind of sorry that all the rejuvenation didn’t include the hair on his head, but he kept it in a high-n-tight anyway, so he looked like the drill sergeant of your darkest fantasies. Mercifully, he didn’t seem to be getting any hair on his back, either, so he counted his blessings.

At nearly the end of the year, Cratus required another round of blood work. Cameron, at 6’1”, was holding steady at 242 with a bodyfat level of 4 percent. He was in perfect health – his primary-care physician had said that. But he submitted to the blood work for Cratus – he wanted to keep doing the HGH, after all. He didn’t want to ever stop feeling like this.

Cratus called him barely a week later, and the doctor seemed to be very excited. “How big ARE you?” he asked.

“Still sitting in the low 240’s,” Cameron responded happily. “It’s been a couple months. I think I’ve gotten the most I’m gonna get, weight-wise – you know, for my age – so I’m focusing on sculpting. I’m down to like three percent body fat – you should see my abs.”

“Well, you should see your blood work.”

Cameron couldn’t help but smile. “Oh, yeah? How’d I do?”

“You did well. Very well. So well, in fact, that I have a bit of a proposition for you…”

And that was how, less than a month later, Cameron found himself on a plane travelling to Central America to take part in Dr. Cratus’ research – as a test subject. He would be gone only six months – and since he’d retired from his job, there’d be few that would actually miss him. It took almost no effort to find some cutie little muscleboy to house-sit and he managed his bills online, anyway. With no immediate family to worry about – (not that he was really capable of worrying anymore – he couldn’t sustain any negative emotion thanks to the hormone therapy) – there was nothing keeping him in the States, so he happily accepted Cratus’ offer. He jumped at it so fast, in fact, that he surprised himself. Certainly a year ago, he’d never seen himself doing something like this (or being built like this, either). He’d just been a sad, soft man melting away into old age.

Now, not quite a year later, an extremely well-muscled man of indeterminate age rode along a pothole dinged dirt road up the side of a mountain in the middle of a jungle. He could do nothing but laugh.

The Cratus Clinic sat atop the mountain, five buildings carefully arranged to be distinct from each other – it was much nicer than Cameron was anticipating (he had visions of jungle huts and bamboo). It wouldn’t win any awards for architecture, but these were scientists, after all – their vision extended to a different level than cinderblocks.

The kid driving him spoke for the first time in nearly two hours. “That’s the main building,” he said, indicating the large building in the center of the complex. “The labs, the offices, the pharmacy. On the right there are the personnel’s living quarters – we have an on-site staff of nearly fifty, including scientists, trainers, interns and… test subjects.”

Cam chuckled, stroking a hand across his massive pecs. “Like me,” he said.

The kid snorted his obvious disapproval. “The building on the left, the one connected to the main labs, is where you’ll be quartered. You guys have better accommodations than the staff who’ll be working with you, not to mention the private pool and the outdoor gym.”

“How many of us are there?” he asked – he hadn’t considered that he might not be the only one.

“Five, including yourself. You’re the last to arrive.” He parked the Hummer in front of that building. “C’mon, I’ll take you to your suite.”

It reminded Cam of a dorm – probably the cinderblocks. They entered into a Common Area with sofas and a television, a pool table, and an extremely overdone kitchen island. Cam whistled his approval. “Nice,” he said – he couldn’t help but notice the abundance of mirrors.

“That’s not even for the main meals,” the boy said, indicating the kitchen. “There’s a cafeteria for that – you guys have your own chef of course – this is for nothing more than snacks and comfort food.” His tone was jealously, but Cam had trouble processing those kind of emotions now – for him, all was good. He was nearly incapable of feeling badly. How could he, when he looked so good and felt so young?

Just as the boy was turning him around to show Cameron his room, there was a loud crash above them – a boom! – as if the roof had collapsed. “There’s a weight room upstairs,” the kid said. “Some of the guys prefer the privacy – and the mirrors. That’s probably Daman, dead-lifting again.”

The doors to their rooms ran along the same wall, their names inscribed in little brass plaques – Cameron’s was the center door. There were no locks.

The room itself reminded him of a hotel room, a King Upgrade – the large bed dominated the room, but there was a small sofa, desk, lamp, dresser and television one would find in any large, standard hotel room. Plenty of space to be comfortable. Cameron was about to check out the bathroom when the kid said, “If you don’t need anything, I’m gonna go and check back in. I’m sure somebody official will come welcome you and discuss the boring stuff. In the meantime, make yourself comfortable and check out the pool.” He indicated the sliding glass door on the far side of the room.

“Thanks for the ride,” Cameron said, so grateful that, without thinking, he went to hug the kid.

The kid dodged it, awkwardly stepping out of the way. “No problem,” he said, backing out of the room. “I’m sure somebody will be by to… help you…” And with that, he was gone. Cameron could hear the wheels squeeling as the kid backed out of the parking lot. He laughed to himself.

He toyed with the idea of taking a shower and so stripped his shirt off, but the warm, moist air felt so good on his skin he decided to go for a swim instead. As he was pulling his pants off, he noticed a large Styrofoam cup on the desk – the cup was sweaty, recently placed there – next to it was a small paper then that read “Drink Me.” Cameron thought it cute and did so without hesitation – a protein shake, thick and sweet, delicious, it totally hit the spot.

He slid on a pair of low-rise, square-cut trunks, his favorite swimsuit because it showed his basket off so beautifully. After taking a moment to admire himself in the mirror (the entire wall opposite the bed was mirrored), he slid open the glass door and stepped outside.

The sun was so bright, he couldn’t see until he put on his sunglasses. Again, he was taken by the spectacular view – from the top of the mountain, he could see for miles in all direction, almost all completely wild land, few dots of civilization. A remote outpost. Before him, the paved deck broke into two distinct areas: the huge inground pool to the left, and the outdoor gym on the right.

Though he intended to go to the pool, he was distracted by the gym – it reminded him of Muscle Beach in California – all-angled benches and free-weights and squat racks and pull-up/dip stands. The machines must be inside, he thought, so they don’t get wrecked by the rains.

There was a guy bench-pressing in just a black jockstrap, easily handling the 225 on the bar – he seemed to be repping just for the fun of it, for the pump. He had an amazing body, Cameron thought, reminding himself again how horny he was – his cock didn’t waste anytime thickening up a little.

The guy racked the weight with a hard slam and quickly stood, flexing his chest to pump more blood into it. “Fuck yeah,” he said, squeezing his pecs, then he noticed Cameron standing there. He smiled and flexed them for Cam. “Howdy do,” he said. “You must be Cameron.”

“You guess right,” Cam said. “Just made the trek up the hill. And you are…?”

“I’m Gregg,” the muscular hunk said, offering Cam his hand – his grip was firm and powerful. Gregg was a man who shook hands for a living, Cam thought. He couldn’t place the guy’s age, but the thinning salt-n-pepper hair and the gray around his muzzle put him and Cam in the same neighborhood. Like Cam, he was good and hairy, his gruff chest and roidgut highlighted by his clearly-manscaped body hair – his nipples were both pierced with barbells. Muscularly, he and Cam were nearly the same size – Cam was bigger, but Gregg had better abs – their packages were nearly identical, too.

Gregg pulled him in from the handshake to a hug, pressing their muscular bodies together – Cameron’s cock immediately came to life.

“Jesus, man!” Gregg said. “How long has it been since you’ve had sex!”

Cameron laughed. “This morning,” he said. “A little flight attendant at LAX.”

“Oh, that’s ridiculous! No one should have to go that long without!” With that, he casually knelt in front of Cameron and pulled the hem of the trunks down, until Cameron’s hardening cock sprang out. “Nice,” he whispered, and took it in his mouth.

Now, Cameron had had good blow jobs – and since his dick had grown over the last year, more and more guys wanted to try – Cameron happily let them. And this guy had an experienced mouth – and Cameron was ridiculously horny.

A light breeze blew across Cameron’s exposed skin. He raised one arm up in the air and stretched as he grabbed the back of Gregg’s head with the other. Gregg responded by grabbing Cameron’s balls and gently pulling them – he looked up at Cam while he blew him. “You’re fuckin’ hot,” Cameron growled. “You want my big load?”

“As many as you want to give me,” Gregg said, licking Cam’s head like a lollipop. He ran the fur on his chin over it, which made Cam shudder, then he took Cam’s cock all the way back in his throat, pushing his nose into Cam’s pubes – his chin fur tickled Cam’s balls – and almost literally sucked the cum out himself. He forced Cam’s orgasm, glutting down the load, swallow by swallow, as Cam shot helplessly into his mouth. Dude was fucking awesome – WAY better than that kid in the Hummer would’ve been!

“Holy fuck,” Cameron said when Gregg released his cock. Gregg flat-tongued it a couple times to make sure it was clean, tucked Cam back into his shorts, then stood, French-kissing Cam so he could taste his own load.

It tasted good.

When the kiss finally broke, Gregg said, “Very nice – you’re gonna fit in well around here.”

Cameron squeezed Gregg’s package through the cotton webbing of his black jock strap – Gregg’s dick was nearly identical to Cam’s, too. “And what about repaying the favor?” he asked. “When do I get to suck this hot piece of meat?”

Gregg laughed, pulling away slightly – as far as one could when someone was holding you by the package. “Anytime you want it, baby. I don’t think there’s anywhere near enough dick-suckin’ around here – everybody wants to fuck all the time. Time to shake these old fucks up, I say – unless you’re another one of these ‘total tops’ like they are.”

Cam smiled – he couldn’t help but like the guy. “Well, it’s been a long time since anybody’s fucked me, but that doesn’t mean I don’t like suckin’ dick! I may be old, but I’m not dead!”

They laughed together that time – and bonded. Cam felt like he’d met his long-lost brother, a twin he didn’t know he had. He was anxious to suck the guy’s cock and really get to know him. Were all the guys as hot as he and Gregg? Were they all salt-n-pepper musclegods?

“Let me get my set in,” Gregg said. “I like to workout and have sex at the same time.”

Cam smiled. “Can I work in with you, then?”

“In with me… or in-TO me?”


And it wasn’t long before Cam was pounding the hell out of Gregg’s muscular ass as Gregg straddled the flat-bench and leaned against the bar. As good as his mouth was, it was nothing compared to his hole – he fucked with a joyous abandon, like a man with a second youth, bound to experience all the pleasure he could.

Their noise disturbed the guy laying out by the pool. “Jesus H, Gregg,” the white-haired guy called – the back of his chaise lounge was to them, so Cam couldn’t see anything but a tousle of white hair until whoever it was raised a very muscular arm, “Would you just fuckin’ cum already? Some of us are trying to nap!”

“That’s Ravishing Rick,” Gregg panted to Cam by way of introduction. “He’s an asshole.”

Ravishing Rick, laughing on the chaise, called, “Don’t make me come over there, boy. I’ll show you an asshole!”

“And you can put it right in my face, old man. I’ll bury myself in it all afternoon!”

Rick snorted and stood up off the chaise. Even while he pounded away on Gregg’s ass, Cameron appreciated the hunk of man walking over from the pool – he was… well, ravishing. Six feet and a whopping two-fifty at the least, Rick was either an old man with an excellent plastic surgeon or a middle-aged man with stark-white hair and ridiculously good skin. The only place he showed any weathering was around his over-developed nipples, which were pumped and swollen themselves, though it seemed the region around it had collapsed with age.

Another spectacular set of abs, tightening down to a completely unrealistic waist and tiny hips. Rick wore the thinnest of white thongs, stretched to the limit with his prodigious cock. He had the legs of a porn star, not a bodybuilder, and his wheels were out of proportion with his upper body. Also unlike Cameron and Gregg, Raveshing Rick was completely smooth – the only hair he had was the short mess on his head, a thick white handlebar moustache, and a triangular soul-patch beneath his full bottom lip. With his tan as deep as it was, the white stood that much more starkly against it. He was rough and rugged and flat-out gorgeous, whatever his age.

He smiled at Cameron – and his teeth were perfectly white, too. “Woof,” he said, then he looked at Gregg, bent over before him on the bench. “How’s his cock?” Ravishing Rick asked, playing with his own through the silky material of his thong.

Gregg panted and laughed. “It’s fuckin’ awesome’s what it is – god damn thick’s what it is. Oh… fuck… yeah!”

Ravishing Rick stepped up to Gregg’s face and lowered the front of his white thong, exposing his ravishing cock – long and thick from a small bush of well-manicured white pubes. He slapped Gregg’s face with it. “Why don’t you get this nice and wet and maybe I’ll try out that sweet ass of yours, too?”

“Give it to me, old man,” Gregg said, slipping the cock into his mouth.

Ravishing Rick let out a quick moan, then smiled at Cameron. “I knew that would shut him up,” he said, pinching his own nipples as Gregg sucked him while getting fucked by Cam. “This is nice,” Rick growled. “I could spend the next six months just like this. You ready to let me have some of that ass?”

“Hold on one second,” Cam said, really slamming in a few thrusts, wrapping the straps of Gregg’s jockstrap around his hands and pulling him in tight. Cam dropped his load deep inside – Gregg moaned around Ravishing Rick’s cock. “All yours,” Cam said, slapping Gregg’s ass and slipping out – he and Rick high-fived, tagging the other in.

Rick’s ravishing cock was completely hard now and Cam figured, with a dick like that, the guy had to have been a porn star when he was younger, in his prime. Or maybe he was in his prime – again. Maybe they ALL were.

Cam himself was better than his prime.

Ravishing Rick stepped up to Gregg’s ass and, while masturbating himself, jammed a couple of his thick fingers into Gregg’s hole. Rough – Gregg moaned from the treatment. “Nice, boy,” Rick said. “Tight but pliable.” He pulled his fingers out of Gregg’s hole, wiped the excess on his own cock for a little extra lube, then just rammed his big cock inside – Gregg moaned loudly. “Fuck yeah!” Rick said, smiling, while he slowly began to long-dick Gregg’s hole. For Ravishing Rick, it was a core workout – watching his abs flex on each thrust was nearly hypnotic. Especially when you could tell how much he was enjoying it.

He was an unbelievably gorgeous man, whatever his age. Well, the same could be said of all three – hell, they should make Old Man Porn – silver fox porn! Cameron didn’t think the market for that would be so good – unless they saw the scene unfolding before him. It was hotter than anything Cam had ever seen on video.

He was still horny. Even after a blowjob and a good fuck, Cameron was hungry for more. He knelt on the opposite side of the bench from Rick’s hypnotic abs, facing Gregg and kissed his scruffy new buddy deeply. (He tasted like cum and cock.)

Gregg was straddling the bench, bent over, holding the bar for balance, so Cameron laid on the bench and slid beneath his buddy, until his face was even with Gregg’s jock-clad crotch. He watched Ravishing Rick’s big piece slide in and out of Gregg’s willing hole – Gregg’s hard cock fought the confines of the webbed pouch.

At first, Cam just chewed the black jockstrap and the balls beneath it, causing Gregg to moan even louder, but by then Gregg’s cock had gotten so hard it popped out all on its own. Cameron happily took it in his mouth.

He tried to time his work to the pace of Rick’s thrusts and it wasn’t long before the three of them found a rhythm – when Cameron reached up and started pinching Gregg’s nipples, that threw the man over the edge. “Holy fuck, men,” Gregg barked. “Gonna cum!”

And he did, filling Cam’s mouth with his salty-sweet nectar – frankly, it was the best Cam had ever tasted, clean and vitamin-packed. It tasted healthy. Nutritous. Youthful.

He tried to swallow it all, much as there was, when he felt Rick’s orgasm through Gregg’s cock. Some of Rick’s cum dribbled down the back of Gregg’s balls and Cameron lapped that up greedily, too. He could easily get addicted to it – like comfort food, cereal before bed (cereal before bed with the thickest milk ever!) – it was so clean and deliciously pure.

The three of them disengaged, cheerfully readjusting themselves in pouches and straps. Ravishing Rick had the biggest cock of the three, emphasized even more by his crazy lower abs and pronounced cum-gutters, and it took him a while to get it into the tiny scrap of material that was his thong. Gregg wiped his ass with his sweat-towel and slid his jock back into place – Cam wouldn’t be surprised to learn Gregg was gonna continue working out. Cam’s plump cock showed itself nicely in his square-cut trunks.

“That’s a helluva way to meet people,” Cam said, smiling broadly – he felt so positive and cheerful.

“We’ve been doing that non-stop for two days,” Ravishing Rick said, flexing his abs. “At least now everybody’s here.”

Gregg snorted himself. “Yeah,” he said. “Maybe we’ll finally find out what’s goin’ on.”

“They haven’t told you guys anything?”

Rick shook his head. “They kept saying, ‘Wait till everyone’s here. Relax and enjoy the hospitality.’”

“And that’s just what we’ve been doing,” Gregg interrupted, chuckling a little and squeezing Rick’s cock gently.

“The problem is we’re all tops,” Rick said, brushing Gregg’s nipple with the back of his hand. “Gregg here’s the only one who’s at least versatile. No one’s brave enough to ask Daman and Jasper’s ass is so tight you’d need a crowbar and a diamond-tipped drill to get into it.”

Gregg laughed aloud, stripping the plates off the bar and re-racking them. “And what about your ass?” he asked Rick. “I don’t see you offering it up.”

Ravishing Rick turned around and displayed his beautiful ass, a thickly muscled, striated bubble butt, its shape and beauty only emphasized by the cut of the y-back thong. He looked at Cam as he spoke. “I’m happy to give my ass to any man who can TAKE it.”

Cam smirked. “Is that a challenge?” he asked.

Ravishing Rick faced him, maybe only an inch or so shorter, but his stature made Cameron feel small. “No,” he said, grabbing the back of Cameron’s head. “It’s a fervent desire.” He kissed Cameron forcefully, his tongue invading Cameron’s mouth.

Instead of fighting him, Cam took control of the kiss, locking Rick’s neck in the crook of his elbow, enjoying the thick hair of Rick’s moustache and soul patch – he’d love to feel that on his asshole. Rick didn’t seem to be putting up much of a struggle – maybe he WANTED to be dominated. Maybe all the tough talk was for show.

“Looks like Cameron’s as insatiable as the rest of us,” Gregg said, patting the two of them on the back – Cam broke the kiss and grabbed Gregg’s package. “Bunch of dirty old men.”

“Says the baby,” Rick laughed, gently pushing Gregg in the gut.

Gregg laughed, too. “Only here,” he said. “It’s me and the rest of you old coots, unless Cameron’s in his forties, too.”

Cam smiled. “Sorry,” he said. “Just turned fifty.”

Rick laughed as Gregg said, “Dammit!” under his breath. “He’s in my decade,” Rick teased. “Of course, I’ve only got a year left before I hit the big six-oh!” He flexed his impossible abs. “I hear it’s all downhill after that.”

They all laughed about that – good and hard, because it seemed for them that, as a concept, downhill had stopped existing. Hell, thought Cam, if he’d known retirement had meant growing more muscular mixed with cheerful sex in the tropics, he would’ve cut the chain long ago.

Of course, they all really knew what to thank – and who.

As if on cue, a soft bell rang from the main building, like a school bell, only a more gentle tone – like they didn’t want to startle the old guys. “Ah,” said Rick. “Seems we’re being summoned.”

“Is everyone back all-together?” Gregg asked, popping a POLICE baseball cap on his balding head – talk about a scruffy muscledaddy. And he was so young – forty-five! “C’mon boys, let’s go find out what this is all about.”

They followed him with cheerful anticipation to the dorm, rough-housing together like teens along the way. Whatever was in store for them, they’d greet it enthusiastically, like men with a new lease on life.

Cam wasn’t surprised to discover his fifty year old cock getting hard again. Maybe it was a fountain of youth, after all.

To be continued