You're My Type

I’m about to give up on this shit-hole dive, maybe head back to the gym and hope for some late-night weakling, when this dude comes in with his friends. He’s slight, forgettable, dressed identically to his buddies, yet neither his clothes nor his haircut lives up to theirs. Skinny with a slight paunch, he keeps his head down and his shoulders stooped, hoping that maybe the others won’t notice how unworthy he is to be with them.

He’s perfect – exactly my type. My cock comes alive with sudden hope.

Of course, it doesn’t take them long to notice me. Why would it? Even in the most popular bars, I stand out. In a shit-hole like this, I’m a freakin’ Adonis. They stare as they get drinks – I purposefully ignore them, but let them have a good look at my muscle, the two-hundred sixty pounds that’s barely contained in run-down jeans and a wife-beater. I hate performing for them like this, but when the guy glances at me, I get a confirmation. I can feel it – I can feel it DEEP – he’s the guy.

And I gotta have him.

At least the search is over – sometimes the stretches in-between become torturously intolerable. As it is now I haven’t cum in over two months – sometimes it’ll be even longer before I find someone – and nothing else will get me off. Nothing else will ease my agony. They saw to that. Now all I gotta do is land him. Finding him is one thing – getting what I need is quite another.

They have their drinks and stand in a tight little circle at the end of the bar, checking out the dozen or so nobodies that populate the pool tables. There’s no one in the place anywhere near my level and it isn’t long before they’re looking at me again, chatting like hens. I give them nothing till my target looks at me – then I smile, winking at him.

The others are atwitter – they all see my flirt and they erupt with laughter and jealous jokes. He’s clearly embarrassed, but still gives me another glance – and even making eye-contact with him lights me up inside. My cock jumps. Damn, I need to cum so bad!

No. No, play it cool. Don’t turn into some pathetic bitch – I can land this guy without humiliating myself. I CAN! Look at me, this huge, hot bodybuilder that’s hung like a God damn horse. And look at him, so skinny and little and weak.


Resisting the urge to approach him becomes harder and harder, like my cock. If I’m gonna make a voluntary move, I better make it soon, otherwise…

And just like that, he breaks away from the group and heads to the john – thank fuckin’ God! I give him about twenty seconds before I head in after him. He’s in the stall without a door, his weak stream dribbling against the porcelain – even THAT gets me going – the only sound in the small, empty room. With a quick shake-shake, he turns around and finds me dominating the stall door. His first reaction is fright – he jumps and clutches his pearls, like I’ve heard some gay guys say. “Oh my God!” he blurts, his trebled voice strumming my libido. “You scared me!”

“No worries,” I say, reaching up and grabbing the top of the doorframe, giving me the opportunity to flex my biceps. “I wanted to talk to you without your buddies around. I’m Tanner,” I lie – I found I can lie as long as they don’t ask me a direct question. And I would certainly rather they didn’t know my real name.

He’s so nervous. It’s understandable. “Are you… uh… are you gonna let me out of the stall?”

“Maybe if you tell me your name…”

He is shallow-breathing, close to hyperventilating. “C’mon, man. I don’t think this is funny. Please get out of my way!”

“Relax, hot guy.” I say, releasing the stall and stepping back, my hands in the air like a criminal caught. “I’m just trying to talk to you.”

He steps cautiously past me, making eye-contact for the first time – my cock jumps in my tight jeans. “Okay,” he says, then when by the relative safety of the exit, he adds, “Why?”

“Why what?”

He snorts. “Why are you trying to talk to me?”

I put on my best smile and say, “You’re my type.”

He laughs out loud. “Seriously, who put you up to this? Was it Marty? Did those guys, like, pool their money so they could get a good laugh on me? Are you the birthday surprise they’ve been trying so unsuccessfully to keep secret?”

“Dude, what are you talking about? I’m just a guy at a bar who thinks you’re hot.”

He’s derisive. “Yeah, right. A guy like you is into a guy like me.”

“Why is that so hard to believe?” I ask quietly, stepping into his personal space. “You’re my type.” I look down into his eyes – he barely comes to my collar bone and maybe weighs a third of what I do. “I’m Tanner.”

He swallows, then says, “I’m Richard.”

“Yeah?” I grab him by the front of his pants at the waistline and pull him to me. “What do you say we get out of here, Richard? Go someplace and get to know each other better.” I rub against him. Straddling my muscular thigh, I can feel his growing excitement. I’m gonna get him, I think. I’m gonna cum. My own cock comes to life and begins to harden in my jeans.

He reaches out and begins to feel my body. That’s cool, I think, as long as the little fag doesn’t try to kiss me…

And as soon as the thought’s out, I regret it. Can’t think things like that – not when shit’s going so well. Do what you gotta do to get this guy – think what you gotta think.

But it’s too late. He pushes away from me. “I don’t think so,” he says. “This is a lousy joke.”

“It’s not a joke, Richard,” I plead as he turns to open the door. After that stray thought, I might lose the whole thing. Fuck. I can’t – not now. “Please. I’m not kidding – I swear to God, man. I’m not. Look at this body. You can do whatever the fuck you want with it – I’ll let you do whatever the fuck you want. C’mon’, man – I gotta cum! I’m going out of my fucking mind!”

He shakes his head – disbelief. “I don’t think so.” But when he tries to open the door, I slam my hand against it and keep it shut.

“You don’t understand, Richard. I will do… anything you fucking want. Anything. You want me to beg? I’ll beg. I’ll fuckin’ fall down on my knees and beg you, man. You need me to beg you in front of your friends? You need me to humiliate myself like that? I’ll do it, Richard. I’ll do it. You don’t understand what I’m going through – you don’t know how bad I need this. And what I’m willing to go through to get it.”

He contemplates it – at least I see him thinking. “No,” he whispers. “This is too weird.” Shaking his head, he exits the bathroom.


But I’m not willing to give up – not yet. I’ve looked for too long, each day lost amping my sex drive up that much further. I’ve tried so hard to be humble…

He’s back with his friends, fiddling nervously with his drink when I approach. As they notice me, they stop speaking and stand still, each of them hoping I’ve come to talk to them – like THAT would ever happen. No, I think. No, stay humble – stay focused.

Richard. His cock.

“I think we’re gettin’ off on the wrong foot,” I say to him, smiling. “I didn’t mean to scare you in there.”

Keeping his head down, he mumbles, “You didn’t…”

One of the other guys pipes up. “Who’s your friend, Richard?”

I glance at this guy with all the venom I’d have reserved for an opposing football team, knowing he can feel my annoyance – of course, I don’t want to actually abuse him. That would queer the whole deal – I just want him to know he’s not my type. “I’m Tanner,” I say, not offering my hand. “And I’m kinda hot for your buddy here.”

“Richard?” Another guy says, and I can hear the incredulousness in his voice. “Really…”

I wanna punch the guy. I mean, I CAN’T of course – but I want to. Attitude.

“Well, you know,” the guys says, putting his hands on Richard’s shoulders, “it’s Richard’s birthday! Isn’t it, now, Richard?”

“Is it?” I ask.

Richard shrugs him off. “Stop it, Marty,” he says, still not looking me in the eye. “Joke’s over.”

Now the other guy looks confused. “What are you talking about? What joke?”¬¬

“The joke where you get some big hot bodybuilder to come on to me so you all can have a big laugh at my expense…”

They’re confused – he’s confused by their confusion. “But, we didn’t…”

“They didn’t,” I say and he finally – FINALLY – makes eye-contact with me. As soon as he does, it all comes shooting back – the hunger, the need. “Now let’s get the fuck out of here before I do something desperate.”

He looks at them uncertainly, although they clearly encourage him with their eyes – after a second, he pushes me to the side, away from them. Even his touch is electric. His buddies pretend to not pay attention and begin a conversation, but they’re all clearly hanging on our scene. “Listen…” he pauses, lost, his voice an electric current to my balls.

“Tanner,” I supply. I’m shamelessly rubbing myself against his scrawny hip.

“Tanner,” he says, stroking my rock-hard torso. He wants to kiss me – disgusting, but I want him to so bad. “Listen, I would love to be with you, but…

So I kiss him instead, causing an immediate erection for both of us. I don’t fucking care – at this point I’ll do anything to get his cock. I’ll even kiss his gay ass. And a good kiss, too. “I live not two blocks from here,” I mumble, wrapping my arm around him to pull him toward the exit.

“But listen,” he says, leaning into my ear. “I’ve never… I mean… I don’t know if I can take… you’re so big…” He runs his hand along my erection, which sends shivers down my spine.

“What are you talkin’ about?” I ask him, almost laughing. “I don’t wanna fuck you, Richard – just the opposite. I want YOU to fuck ME!”


And then it’s out – the truth – and as soon as it is, I’m compelled to tell him the rest. “Dude, it’s the only way I can cum! I swear to fuckin’ God – I gotta be some little gay dude’s total muscle slave. I need it – I need to serve some small, weak nobody in order to get off. I need the guy to fuck me so I can cum. Please. I’ll do whatever the fuck you want.”

There’ve been times when I thought I’d get away without confessing all that, moments when I think I’m gonna score without having to humiliate myself. But it’s just a cruel joke – I should know better by now. It’s the only way I can get off anymore.

Worse, something happens to him when he hears it. There’s a change – a shift – something in his look, his attitude – like he’s been empowered, emboldened. And then he says the almost inevitable, “Serious? I’ve had that fantasy my entire life” line or some variation of it. They all have, all the guys I’ve gone through this with – so much coincidence that it makes me wonder whether it’s true or whether it’s implanted there to intensify my humiliation. Either way, with a new glint in his eye, I can tell he’s into it.

“Let’s get the fuck out of here,” I say, knowing I have the winning line, “and you can be my Master.”

He smiles – like a boy with his first taste of power – and says, “Tell them that.” Then he steers me back to the group, saying, “Better yet – I order you to tell them that… muscleboy.”

And a “Yes, Master” is out of my mouth before I even realize I’ve said it, followed quickly by the humiliating thrill of obeying an order from this little…

No. Don’t think. Just do.

“Guys,” I say in a loud voice, hands behind my back, standing at attention – my erection obvious in the front of my pants, “I’m going to be leaving with your buddy Richard here in a second, but he’s worried you have the wrong idea. He doesn’t want you to think he’s some little bottom guy about to get pounded by some massive bodybuilder. No, just the opposite. He’s all top – and I’ve been begging him to dominate me and fuck the shit out of my muscular ass. And he’s finally given in.”

Silence – like someone stopped the music. Stunned silence. If it were any other situation, it would be funny.

Richard laughs, at least. “Looks like I get my birthday wish after all,” he says, running a hand across my pecs – it makes me shudder. The scared boy in the bathroom stall has been replaced by this confident top. “So you boys will understand if I cut this short. Thank you and look for facebook updates!”

And then I’m following him out of the bar, idly holding one of his belt loops and eager to get to it. He wants to go to his place, which is a few blocks further than mine, but I don’t care. In the long run, it’s easier if I’m the visitor and not the host. “Put your arms around me,” he says, “like we’re drunken lovers finding our way home, hopelessly in love.”

Without a thought, I throw an arm protectively around his shoulder, pulling him close and nuzzling his neck, stroking his soft belly with my free hand. For anyone passing us, we are two teenagers in love – as disgusting as I think that is, my erection hasn’t dimmed.

We pass the local Whole Foods and I’m sure someone will recognize me, but I don’t stop. I can’t.

Soon enough we’re at his place, a basement apartment in an old brownstone, full of books and DVD’s and a gigantic computer with WoW set on pause. He shrugs the place off, like it matters to me and says, “Want anything?”

I smirk – as distasteful as the words are, I say them. “Just your cock.”

I stand at attention as he undresses me, struggling to get the jeans down over my massive thighs – for my own entertainment, I flex them, giving him a challenge. He leaves me in my jockstrap, my erect dick sticking out over the waistband by at least two inches. “You’re so big,” he whispers, which makes me chuckle. “Flex for me while I jerk off.”

For a while he lays on his futon, stroking himself as I hit pose after pose. He’s small-framed, skinny with an unfortunate belly. If I wasn’t so turned on, I’d feel kind of sorry for him. Whatever few hairs he has on his body, he clearly shaves off, even his pubes, leaving him boyishly smooth. He wears a pair of pink squarecuts with DIESEL on the waistband – he’s anything but. There was a time in my life when I probably would’ve made fun of him – him or his type – but now…

…now I just want him to fuck me.

He strokes me and kisses me and licks me as I flex for him – he’s getting off on my muscles the way so many like him have. He’s kneeling before me, arms wrapped around my thick quads, his face buried in the webbing of my jockstrap, when he asks me – ASKS me! – “Can I suck your cock?”

“Oh my God! Yes! YES!!”

Like that, with my eyes closed, it’s almost normal – I can almost make it work. A hot, desperate mouth on my big, rock-hard cock – it doesn’t have to be gay at all. Everything’s just like it used to be. But then he’s moaning or maybe I’m moaning, whatever, but there sure as hell isn’t a girl in the picture, and he’s offering me his dick and I take it in my mouth before I can think about how disgusting it is. It’s nothing like mine, nowhere near as big, like mouthing half a hotdog.

But at the same time, horrified as I am to admit it, it’s the most amazing thing I’ve ever tasted – and his pre-cum only sweetens the deal. The only thing that could possibly be any better – or more degrading – is him fucking me with it. I slobber on it, soak it, tease it – here’s the cock I’ve been searching for over two months, finally in my grasp. “Please fuck me,” I beg. “I can’t take it anymore. I gotta have you inside me!”

“You ready for me?” he says, his voice breathy but in the role – this would be the greatest fuck of his life. “You ready to give it up to your nerdy little master?”

Am I ready? Hell, no! I’m straight! I’m straight and straight men fuck girls and for fuck’s sake, get that tiny little cock inside my tight, straight muscleboy ass! I’m just begging – the words are falling out of my mouth, an unending stream of “Fuck me! Yeah, fuck me nasty!” I’m revolted – I’m horrified, but I just gotta have his cock!

I bend over next to his futon, but have to rest my knees on the frame so my hole is low enough for him. Stepping up behind me, his nervous fingers smear lube on my ready rosebud. I can see the whole scene clearly in the mirror on the closet door – his tiny little body looking like a peewee quarterback getting the snap from an all-pro lineman. It’s all so fucking hot. Humiliating and hot.

Even at his size, he finds me tight – why wouldn’t he? I’m only a slut for a certain type and that type is right now pushing his cock into my hole. It’s agony – it’s ecstasy! It’s revolting – it’s liberating! He’s inside me and everything is suddenly right with the world.

I try to focus on how good it feels, not what I think of it – let my body be gay and shut my mind off – but it’s not easy. He hammers away like a rabbit – the tempo of the small-dicked with something to prove – and I want to tell him to slow down, long strokes, make it last, but all I seem to be able to say is “Harder! Fuck my sorry straight ass harder!”

And just like that, he’s ready to cum – he announces it. “Gonna blow!” he yells. “Oh, fuck – gonna blow big!”

“No! Please, no! No yet… just a little longer. Fuck me a little longer!”


When he shoots – no doubt the best orgasm of his life – I shoot, too, definitely the best of mine. Like always, blinding in intensity and fulfillment. Rope after rope of thick white cum stored too long in my throbbing balls blasts all over my pecs and abs. We both collapse and separate, and I find myself wishing, as I often do, that it would’ve lasted. Doesn’t seem fair…

The next thing I know, I’m waking up in a pool of my own cum. I’m sure I wasn’t out long, a minute or two at most, but I notice it immediately – I feel different. The compulsion is gone – the need, the hunger, absent. For the moment, I’m myself again. I know from experience that this feeling won’t last, so I want to get out of here and enjoy it while I can.

I grab a shirt from some pile and wipe the cum off myself, determined to dress and depart before…

As if on cue, he begins to stir, collapsed on the futon. I have my jeans on – jockstrap stuffed in the back pocket – when I hear him say, “What? What’s happened to me?”

I turn to face him – and even though intellectually I know what I’m about to see, it always weirds me out. The little geek who just fucked me is gone – transformed – and in his place stands a very different man. He’s built like a Physique Competitor or a buff Underwear Model, the kind of cobble-stone abs that, as a bodybuilder, make me twinge with jealousy. He’s pumped and veined, lean and mean – he’s every over-muscled jock in the frat house.

And he’s hung for bear – the tiny little cock that rocked my orgasm has changed into a solid piece of meat that rivals my own. As he examines himself and discovers his new body, that big cock starts to harden, swinging like a club.

Though it’s not a word I often use, he looks sexy.

“Holy fuck, look at me!” He flexes his biceps and feels his own peak. “Tell me what’s going on.”

Of course, I’m compelled to obey, but I would tell him anyway – I’m not a complete asshole. Well, not anymore. I finish dressing as I speak. “It all started about ten years ago, when I was in college. I was that arrogant college jock that everyone hated, built like a brick shithouse, hung like a horse, and killer with the ladies – I was the guy everyone was jealous of and I loved it. You know the type.”

“I can picture it,” he says, studying himself in the mirror as he listened – he had no idea how to pose, but was doing his best.

“So, to say I was… homophobic… was a bit of an understatement. And I would sometimes… beat guys up – worse, I would beat guys up and get off on it.”

He’s stopped his posing and is staring at me, astonished. “Wow…” he mumbles.

“Yeah, I was a real asshole.” I break the moment and put on my boot. “And so this one time, this guy – who looked a lot like you – well, like you used to – small, weak, kind of soft – and, uh… it was pretty bad. I got… I got really carried away.” I don’t look at him, but continue to focus on lacing my boots. “I don’t know what was wrong with me – I just wasn’t able to stop. I kept hitting him and hitting him…” I finish my boots, but remain silent.

“So what happened?” he urges.

I stand and brush my palms across my thighs. “I got cursed,” I say, turning to face him. “Yeah, you heard me right – cursed. I got cursed.”

“What do you mean, you got cursed? What does that mean?”

I shrug. “It means what it means. I got cursed. It was a couple days later – I’d thought I’d gotten away with my crime, you know? Seriously, that’s where my head was. I was more worried about getting caught than what I’d done to the guy – what the fuck was wrong with me, right? So I had this dream – maybe it was a dream – maybe it was real – it sure seemed real – anyway, there was a room, I was in a room with a shrine… I don’t know. I was kneeling before a statue, an ancient, tribal kind of thing – female, rough stone with gigantic breasts, these eyes that glowed with red fire when I looked at them. And there was a feminine voice, low, the music in her tone so powerful that the words she said became true as she said them. I was cursed, she sang. From that moment on, even though my mind was still straight, my body would be gay. I would only be able to orgasm with a cock up my ass, a particular kind of cock. From that moment on the only thing that would excite me sexually would be a man in the form of my victim. And anytime I found that type of man, I would do anything, it seemed the more humiliating the better, to get him to fuck me.”

I look at him, leaning against the doorframe, processing this information. Finally, he says, “And I was…?”

“You were.”

“So, am I cursed, too? Is that what happened – you passed it on?”

I laugh – wouldn’t that be great? “No,” I say, half-smiling. “”You’re the only one that gets out of this with a win. As a gift for taking part in my punishment, you get turned into that: buff, ripped and hung like a porn-star. Enjoy.” I start to head for the door.

“Hey! Don’t rush off!” he calls after me. When I turn, I see him standing there holding his big, new cock, waving it at me as he rubs his abs. “Why don’t you hang around and help me break in this new body?”

“Sorry, Richard,” I say, opening the door. “You’re not my type. Not anymore.”

He chuckles and continues playing with himself. “No, I suppose not.”

“Happy Birthday,” I say. “And thanks.”

“Wait.” He approaches and unexpectedly takes me in his arms, hugging me. “Thank YOU,” he whispers – and kisses me.

And instead of fighting him, I kiss him back.

It doesn’t last long – a second or two, but long enough to make me wonder why I fought it for so long.

And I’m gone.

It’s eight or nine blocks to my apartment and I opt to walk instead of cab, enjoying the night air and the peace that comes with the absence of the curse. Nothing driving me to find cock – no pent-up need to cum – it doesn’t usually last this long.

Perhaps I’ve finally been forgiven.

At home, I’m reflective and spend a few hours writing these words – his kiss still on my lips. It’s just as I’m beginning to believe it could be possible that I might be free, I realize I’m horny. The more I think about what it would take to lift this curse, the more I feel the mental need for a certain kind of guy – some weak, frightened, beta-male type. He’s out there. Somewhere.

And I’m compelled to find him.

When I do, I’ll know. He’ll be my type.


(AUTHOR’S AFTERWORD: Credit Where Credit Is Due Department – I have rather shamelessly borrowed from one of my favorite authors, BARALAI, and his “Praise the Goddess” series. Because of my own thematic material, I didn’t want to expose the idea of being cursed until later in the story, so I’m thanking Baralai here instead. I don’t think I’ve borrowed enough to qualify this as one of my “Playing With [author’s] Toys” series, but I think I’ve been true to their spirit. Regardless – thanks, Baralai!)