Fantasy (mc musc)
by Derek Williams
Most guys think it’s important to get laid fairly often, but for me it’s essential. I imagine you’ve got the same problem. If you haven’t gotten any for a week or so, pretty soon you’re glancing at random guys and making up little fantasies in your head. The hot guy at the coffee shop is going to ask you into the back room for a little one on one time, or that nicely bronzed hunk working construction across the street from your office is going to come over to play.
The difference for me is that when I have a sexual fantasy, it becomes real. I’ve actually had those guys. And since I can never stop when I’m ahead, now the guy at the coffee shop quit his job to be a twinky bartender and the construction worker shows up everyday in nothing but a pair of short shorts. I’ve never been able to stop until I cum, once I get started thinking about someone like that
Most days I’m pretty good at staying grounded, but if I don’t get any for a few days then some poor dude off the street is going to end up being my partner-du-jour.
Like today, here it is Wednesday and I haven’t gotten screwed since Friday night.
Weekend nights are easy, all you have to do is go to the club and find the hottest guy there. Think ‘I wish he’d take me back to his place’, and next thing you know you’ve got someone just begging to take you home. Those boys know how to show a guy a good time, no fantasy from me required.
Wednesday? Who goes out to the bar on Wednesday night? Instead I’m sitting here trying to concentrate on this spreadsheet and not think about…anyone in particular.
That’s when Peter walks into the room. Well, no worries there. Peter is this little twerp from the mailroom. He’s maybe 23 years old with a stupid looking buzz cut and the kind of obnoxious attitude that makes me think his Mom probably has a hard time tolerating him. Peter thinks he’s super-smart because he studied psychology during University, but now he’s working this barely-above-minimum job to pay the rent. He’s blonde, chubby, and you’d swear that he picks out those shirts just to look awful.
“Hey Trent,” he says, “want to knock off early and go back to my place? I know about your, shall we say problem, and I was thinking I could help you with it.”
I’d like to say there’s no way he can actually know, but honestly if you could add two and two together you might notice that weird things happen around me. If Peter watched me closely enough, he might even have seen me change someone.
I’m certain it’s not a fantasy. You’d have to be delusional to dream about this happening. But it’s almost four-thirty and my boss tends to walk by my office at five o’clock on the dot, already in his workout gear for his after-work lifting. It might cause an unfortunate incident.
“Eh, what the hell,” I say.
Peter’s already off the clock so I wander out of the office a few minutes after him, telling my secretary that I’ll be gone for the rest of the day. He’s waiting outside, and looks like he’s shuffling around in his wallet to find a bus token.
Screw that. I hail a cab and he gives the driver directions back to his stupid little basement apartment.
“Here’s the way this is gonna work,” I say once we’re there. “You’re going to give me a hand job, maybe suck me off if the spirit moves you, but that’s it.”
Jerking off doesn’t usually do anything to help the fantasy thing, but getting blown should give me a couple of days margin until I can pick up some guy on Friday. I never feel bad about the Friday night guys, ‘cause it’s not like they’d be there if they didn’t want to fuck anyhow.
He just nods. I lie back on his unkempt bed and stare at the ceiling while he undoes my belt. He starts stroking my cock slowly, and soon enough I’m starting to get hard.
“I know you don’t really like me,” Peter says. “I know that you think I’m fat and lazy and funny looking.”
“Peter, this isn’t really going to turn me on,” I say, but I’ve got to admit that he’s good with that hand, I’m somewhere above half-mast and him talking isn’t doing anything to kill that.
“I know you’d rather be getting this handjob from someone else. Imagine if I was a hot jock instead of the loser I am. Think about how turned on you’d be then.”
It’s like someone telling you that you can’t think of a polka dotted elephant. It’ll be the first thing that pops into your head. Peter as a hot jock, it was hard to even picture.
“I’d be an inch or two taller than I am now, call it 6’1”. And I’d weight a hundred and ninety pounds, not this fat guy, just toned muscle.”
I was hard by now, thinking about Peter all muscled up instead of a blob of jelly.
“Rounded pecs, overgrown delts, peaked biceps and thick triceps. And below the chest, a v-like torso with eight pack abs leading down towards a trim waist.”
At this point I was starting to fantasize about Jock Peter. No, that wasn’t right. I was having the fantasy, but Peter was definitely the one supplying it, talking me through it.
“Below the waist, these perfect quads and diamond calves. Looking for all the world like an underwear model. This rounded ass that pushes out any pants you try to hide it in. Meaty and perfect.”
I was getting really turned on, but Peter was just stroking my cock slowly, keeping me hard but in no danger of cumming.
“And around the front, a nine inch cock with big, low hanging balls. When a man smells those balls he just can’t help himself, he falls in love with Pete. ‘Cause that’s what I’d be named, Pete. Nobody would think to call this stud ‘Peter’.
“I’ve got this square jaw and these deep piercing eyes that make you feel like I can look into your soul. They’re pale blue. I’ve got pretty short hair that always looks messy in a perfectly fashionable way. My teeth are gleaming white and all perfectly placed.”
I was breathing pretty heavily, and Pete was making sure that this was going to last. I glanced up at him, and sure enough, there was Pete just like he’d described himself. The perfect hot jock.
“But Pete isn’t just beautiful. He’s talented too. He’s an incredible lover.” Pete chose that moment to form his fingers into a circle just below my cock head and run them down my length. A surge of lust ran through me, and I fantasized about how Pete could make anyone feel amazing with just a slight touch.
“Pete’s rich too,” he said. “He makes a thousand dollars an hour from being a model, and even more when guys like you come over to his penthouse suite to pay for his…services.”
I blinked and Pete’s dingy apartment was replaced with the sweetest bachelor pad I could think of. Windows everywhere showed a view of the city. I was on silk sheets; my clothes had migrated to the floor nearby. Pete sat over me, slowly rubbing me to climax.
“Pete has great taste in clothes, and when he wears something a little bit different people jump to follow the new trend. He’s charismatic as hell, so everyone does just what he wants.”
I never would have fantasized about this stuff, but Pete was in control of this one. Pete stopped touching my cock for a moment to peel off his tight muscle shirt. He undid the buttons on his jeans, but I stopped him: “Please Pete, can I do that for you?”
I really wanted to please him, and I was thrilled when he let me.
“Now turn over,” Pete said. I could hear him popping open a bottle of lube and sliding on a condom. Pete put his hands on my back and lined his thick cock up against my hole.
He was gentle, just teasing for a moment, then pulsing in and out with these smooth, well timed thrusts. He really was an amazing lover. As he started going faster and faster I could feel myself getting closer to climax.
Suddenly I could feel him cumming inside me, and he started to collapse down against me. When his weight hit me, I suddenly came too. The relief was enormous. I heard him moving around, cleaning up and taking a shower, but I fell asleep in the afterglow.
When I woke up a couple hours later, Pete was standing across the room, drinking a whiskey and staring out the windows of his penthouse. He was only dressed in these skimpy little square cut briefs and the light behind him made him look epic, like a greek god.
I got up, without speaking to him, and gathered my things. He accepted my five thousand dollar payment. If you ask me it’s a steal of a deal, only five grand for the best sex on Earth.
“Come and see me next time you can get the money together Trent,” Pete grinned at me and I just melted. I knew I’d be back. It seemed like every time I started thinking about how much I wanted to come and see Pete, the money turned up somehow.
“Bye Pete,” I said as I let myself out, but Pete was already on his cell phone lining up the next day’s photo shoot.