My New Buddy's Arms 7

Read previous part

When Jeff left to go lift, I wanted to go with him, but he wouldn't let me.

"Just wait till I get back, Mike, I'll give you a muscle show you won't believe." He put on a tank top with a hooded sweatshirt over it, a pair of baggie sweats and high top Otomix weightlifting shoes. As he walked to the door, I watched his huge glutes roll back and forth, his massive thighs stretching the baggie's fabric tight. After he left, I wanted to jerk off to the memory of that big rounded bubble ass, but I did actually have stuff to take care of.

I called a real estate friend of mine in Cleveland, and asked him to sell my house for me.

"You're moving?" he asked me. When I said yes, he asked me when.

"As of now. I'm in Seattle, and I won't be coming back."

"OK," he said gently, as if talking to a mad man. "What about your furniture?"

"Sell that too."

"Your clothes and stuff?"

"Sell it. Throw it out. Whatever."

"What about your car?"

"You can have it."

"Mike, it's a 500-series BMW. What the hell is going on out there?"

"You wouldn't believe me if I told you, Duke, but something so good that I'm willing to give up my life in Cleveland. Not that that necessarily takes much incentive. Someday, I'll explain it to you." Not that Duke would have understood. None of my friends really knew about or understood my fascination with muscle and size. Most of them couldn't even understand why I worked out like I did. But Duke did promise to get my house on the market.

After I got off the phone, I knew I had some time to kill before Jeff got back. I went into his bedroom and saw his cum-stained posers on the floor where he had changed clothes. How perverted would it be to pick them up and smell them, I thought to myself. Pretty twisted, I answered, as I stooped over and picked them up and put them up to my nose. I inhaled deeply. They smelled deeply of Jeff's muskiness. The backside of the posers were still damp with his ass sweat. I took another deep inhale. Goddam, no wonder dogs sniff butt. I closed my eyes and pictured Jeff as I buried my face in the poser. His massive superheavyweight muscle, making the posers look small as a postage stamp. His swelling size, as he willed himself to get even bigger. His back, wide as a bus, tapering down to his etched 8 pack. I thought of him hulking out even bigger, spreading his lats out impossibly wide, his fists on his waist, pushing in, making his V-torso look even more extreme. His elbows flaring outward, making the lat meat jut out farther and farther. I pulled my hard-on out of my pants and covered it with Jeff's poser. I stroked myself with the smooth satiny material that Jeff used to show off his enormous size. I stroked myself even harder, thinking of what he was going to look like when he got home, fresh from a heavy duty workout, his entire body plumped up beyond belief with muscle, swollen from head to foot, his pec shelf jutting out over a foot, each pec twice as heavy as it was before he left, his nipples pointing down to the floor from the swell of his heaving chest, his delts slabbed onto his wide shoulders, each the size of a beachball. I pictured Jeff on stage at the Mr Olympia, standing between Cutler and Warren, making them both look small. Jeff copying every pose Cutler made, just to highlight his massive superiority. Making Cutler look puny. Flexing his legs next to Warren's, showing how his were nearly twice Warren's size.

"Oh my fucking god," I moaned out loud, about to bust a nut.

"You having fun?" a deep voice said from behind me.

I whirled around to see Jeff standing at the doorway. "Shit," I said, "I didn't hear you come in."

"I can see that," he said. His poser was hanging off my hard-on, a dark spot of precum soaking thru. "That's quite a picture," he said with a grin. "You think you can handle the real thing?"

Read next part