Angel: A Sequel 9 (musc)

(Author's note: please refer to important background in Parts I-VIII)

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A New Muscle Reality

Grant and I were now living in a totally new world for both of us. Hell, I didn't know whether to call him "Grant" or "Superman". It really doesn't matter. I can't separate one from the other. I don't want to, either. He is being both to me and to himself -- in the most profound sense.

Out of necessity – some days ago -- we had to buy a much bigger and wider couch to accommodate his massive size and height and my never-ending need to be on top of his undulating mass of flexing muscles. In some fabulous moments – I'd be beneath him – nearly (and gloriously) suffocated by his weight, size, mass, and his huge hard cock that just kept jamming and punching me. God, I loved it. I found out that I, too, had a bit of a masochist streak in me, and he got his rocks off taking full advantage of me.

Now, with his gorgeous very tight and fitting-like-a-glove contoured new Superman outfit, we were in a new ball game – to put it mildly. He looked absolutely spectacular. He was, without a doubt, the full and complete personification of Superman. The same very handsome and unbelievably built Superman that children, men and women had fantasized about for years. What did my unbelieving eyes see? The fabric on his huge chest and torso – a very bright red and yellow emblem on deep blue. The tightness of the sexy red trunks (emphasizing a spectacular bulge!) around his narrow waist and muscular butt. The form-fitting blue leg "leotards" (for lack of a more masculine word).

His hot and sleek bright red boots. His narrow yet muscular waist accentuated by a thick yellow belt that just exuded a locus of incredible power. All of that plus his god-given extremely handsome face (with dimples and a cleft, and a day old beard that just never grew any longer), waves of curly dark hair, ears that stood out just a bit (very sexy), and a pair of blazing eyes and a blazing smile that was always an invitation to come close, real close. And, because he was an angel, he just glowed in ways that attracted people – bringing them close to him – in a mystery that defied human experience and understanding – certainly mine. And, none of this is overstatement on my part – none.

All of this extremely sexy outfit was tightly stretched over his total "to die for" mass of muscles, striations, veins – in such total overall perfect proportions that made men both weep and get hard – and made women go nuts with lust. The very tight fabric showed off all his contours, bulges, bulk, vascular tie-ins, and extraordinary cuts and definition. There was no other man on the planet that could come close to him. And, we would find that out – for real – soon enough.

He was so proud of his new look – strutting around, posing, and parading for me – frequently asking me (just like a kid would) what I thought. Most of the time I was speechless. I could just barely mutter guttural sounds of delight, shock, and enthusiasm. More often then not, I let my hands answer and slowly wander and sensually explore the entire mystery of his ever so tight and thin fabric covering his hyper-masculine and massive physique. What a birthday gift he had given me and himself!

As we had done so many times before, he lay down on our couch and invited me over to lie on top of him. Only this time, I was lying on top of Superman. Oh fuck. I couldn't believe one of my fantasies (there would be many more) was coming true. Of course, he is so huge in so many ways and I am so small. Yet, that difference just fed into our mutual passion to explore each other with unbridled enthusiasm. Not only was I nuzzling into all his muscles, I was nuzzling into Superman…dressed in all his glory and power. It was a new feeling.

I couldn't get enough of him and the feel of the tight fabric against his warm, hard muscles. I had always got incredibly turned on by pictures of bodybuilders that were partially clothed. Seeing them for real was something else entirely. He tightened each muscle for me as I jammed and pushed myself into his body. I moved up to his face, paused right above his beautiful lips, savored his extreme good looks, met his eyes with my own, and gave him the deepest most heartfelt kiss I had ever given him. I couldn't stop. My tongue circled the inside of his entire mouth. God, he tasted so sweet. He smelled so incredibly masculine.

He reciprocated by powerfully touching every cavity in my own mouth. I brought my hands to the sides of his face and cradled his gorgeous head in my hands – coveting the beauty, power, and love that he was giving me. He, in turn, brought his arms up around my back. And, with his ever so delicate power, completely encircled me in an embrace of passion, power and muscle -- telling me so much about how he felt about me – silently.

As usual, though never assumed or taken for granted, our hard cocks were, once again, crushed against each other in their own passionate dance of jamming and thrusting. While he was still easily twice my size, both in width and length, my new cock was certainly up to the task of making my presence known to him and making him feel good. We started humping each other hard. He, of course, was the "power bottom" extraordinaire. His unlimited strength and flexibility gave him the ability to literally throw my lower body, cock, balls, and ass up into the air at will. I always came down hard on him, and me. Sometimes it hurt. Yet, god, what a ride that always was.

We extricated ourselves from the couch and made dinner together. Fuck, how cool it was to have Superman standing around the kitchen helping me cook dinner, his red cape flowing in all directions. In one way, so normal. In another way, so incredibly surreal. I had told him earlier that I wanted him to keep his Superman outfit on, even though I had grown to love having him always be buck naked around me. He agreed with no argument. I really think he liked it for a lot of his own reasons, too.

My fantasies about him being Superman and all, had been running wild all day long. He knew that. It was exciting for both of us. We were exploring a whole new territory together.


A New Way Being "One" in Bed

We decided it was time to hit the sack and snuggle like we always did. And, as often happened, we'd fuck the hell out of each other, too. I always got off a couple of times rubbing fucking his flexed muscles with my hard cock – all of them – his pecs, his abs, his massive arms, his quads, his mind-boggling back and, of course, his tightly muscled ass. As I mentioned earlier, though it was a mystery to me, I was always thrilled when he got off working me over. Our laundry machine was always running it seemed. We generated a lot of cum and other body juices.

"Paul…I have an idea…would you like me to stay in my outfit in bed with you? Or, do you want me naked, as usual?" he inquired with utmost sincerity. "Holy mother of god…yes, yes…please stay in your outfit. I can't imagine a better feeling than sleeping next to Superman in all your extraordinary super-hero presence," I said with great excitement and passion. I remember as a little kid thinking about what it would be like to sleep with Superman. Now it was really happening. As he sprawled out in bed, his outfit was a fabulous contrast to the pristine white sheets. I stripped and snuggled in next to him…spooning with my back to him. I hunched something very special was going to happen but didn't quite know what.

He knew. He had read my mind earlier, as always. He undid his yellow belt and pulled down his tight trunks and jock strap. His big hard cock flipped out and jammed itself into my butt. "Would you like Superman to fuck you, Paul?" he asked very seductively. "Yes, oh god, yes…I want to feel all of you inside me as deep as you can go. I want to feel Superman's massive cock ravage me…take me…pound me…explode inside me…own me…" I stammered. Boy, was I ready. I'd certainly been fucked by Grant many times, but never by Superman. A small distinction, perhaps. Yet it was a big one for me.

"Let's make this even more special, Paul, my dear friend and lover," suggested Superman. "I'm going to take this beautiful big red cape of mine and wrap you and me in it together. It will create a cocoon of protection and be a symbol of my possession of you while I fuck the hell out of you," he explained with deep mystery in his voice. "I want this cape to be a fortress for you, a powerful bond with me, as I surround you with all my hard muscles and bring you so close into me that we are, in fact, one," he added sounding like a poet. "Oh my god…I can't imagine anything more beautiful than that, Superman…thank you…thank you," I whispered. Deep-seated, long-held dreams since childhood were coming true. This was going to be a very special ritual between us.

With grace and no hassle he rearranged the huge cape so that it covered us both. He even tucked in the edges around my front side. My back side was up against his hard cock and the rest of his outfit. I loved the feel of his slick boots as I explored them with my feet. It occurred to me that there might be something kinky we could do later with his boots that could be a real turn on. He gently moved his massive fabric covered right arm under my head and brought me in very close to him. I always loved using his massive bicep and tricep as a pillow. The deep blue tight fabric made it even more special.

Then Grant – I mean Superman – began gently pushing at my tight hole. Given his unlimited strength and power, he is still always so gentle with me. I snuggled into the cape even more and adjusted myself on his huge arm. I could feel his non-stop supply of warm pre-cum lubricate the outside of my hole. I told myself to relax. "How does it feel to be wrapped up in my cape and feel my big cock at your doorway, my friend?" he inquired. "I'm in heaven, in heaven, Superman." I loved calling him Superman. So primitive. So symbolic. So filled with fantasy and, now, reality. I was one very lucky man.

As he just started to enter me, I could feel his enormous width and immoveable steel-like probe slowly advance. I took in another deep breath, having learned before to do this with him. "Yes, Paul, I'm your Superman and I am loving you with all my heart and soul. I won't hurt you. You are too precious to me," he said reassuringly. "I want to feel all of my width, length, unlimited strength, and hardness – and get surrounded by your beautiful tight ass. That is your gift to me," he added. He tightened his arm hold on my head even more – just to make his point. I was in a wonderful "prison'.

"Okay, relax that anal ring of muscle and I'll pass through. It'll feel great," he said encouragingly. I did. It hurt for a moment. And then I had, as I had had before with him, an incredible feeling of being filled so deeply. And he wasn't done. He kept pushing in and I kept pushing back on him. He felt so very very big that I thought my ass would explode. It never did. His exceptional lube made this all possible.

"Oh yeah, fuck, Paul, yeah…take me…take all of me…take my big Superman cock…I'm gonna pound you into ecstasy," he screamed. And that he did. Between being damn near crushed by his arm around my head and the mystery of being completely encased in his red cape, I was letting myself go in a way I had never done with him before. With his huge cock pounding me and my flexing my anal muscles and pushing back, we were indeed, one.

Then to my surprise, he added another sensual delight. He brought his hulking left arm around. It lay very heavy on my side and he grabbed my hard cock and started masturbating me with a vengeance. Fortunately I, too, had lots of lube. Damn. He knew how to do me in spades. He touched and massaged all of my sensitive spots with his hairy thick fingers. I was so turned on by being fucked by Superman and by being masturbated by Superman too, that I started churning instantly.

I started hollering all sorts of expletives and exploded volleys of jizz into his cape one right after another and he just kept on pumping me. God it felt so good to have his big hairy Superman fist around my hard cock. It was like he was giving me a direct transfusion of his own unsurpassed masculinity and testosterone. He wouldn't let up. He knew there was more in me and he was right. More explosions. More release and a profound sense of delirious depletion.

My explosions, no surprise, started to get him revved up big time, too. "Hang on, Paul…I've got some thick warm mother loads for your ass. Special delivery from Superman," he guffawed. "Shit, yeah, Superman. I want it all. I want all your spunk…all your cream…all your cock driving deep into my ass…give it to me, man…give it to me…" I hollered back. I was in another world.

Then it all happened at once. Everything. He tightened his vice-like grip on my head. He kept pumping my cock, even harder, even though I had nothing left to give – or so I thought. His whole body damn near went into a catatonic state of a total body muscular flex. And I felt his cock get even harder and bigger in my ass. I was scared, but trusting he would always be in total control…though I wondered about that at this moment, frankly. "Holy fuck…fuck…fuck…shit…god…oh god…it's all coming right now…right now…I can't control it…jeesuz…." he just screamed at the top of his lungs.

And then I felt his whole body flex again and surge with unbelievable power as he let loose with his first torrent of warm jizz. My ass filled instantly with an incredible, all encompassing warmth. Then another pump and another explosion. I could feel the jizz leaking out my ass. He truly was a geyser of cum. He stiffened and flexed his body even more and pumped out more nectar of the gods. I kept flashing on how we were doing this enveloped and encased in his extremely seductive red cape. This was so deeply symbolic to me.

In between pumps he kept muttering questions (more muscle-sex talk) to me about "How is it to be fucked by Superman?" "How does it feel to have Superman's big cock in your ass?" "How does it feel to be surrounded by my cape and your head held by my massive arm?" "Do you feel protected?" "Is this a fantasy come true for you?" "How'd you like having my big hairy muscular fist beat the fuck out of your big cock?" "Ever feel such unlimited strength and power in a God like me?" I was only able to barely nod my head in response to each question and smile lovingly at his very handsome face and tightly cordoned neck muscles.

In a maneuver only he was capable of – given his unlimited strength – he simultaneously rolled over on his back and pulled me up over on top of him – me facing up -- with his hard cock still deep inside me. "Oh shit, Paul…I just love your sweet tight ass. It makes me feel even bigger than I already am. And you're so willing to trust me and take all of me. God, it is so damn special. You are so special," he purred. I chimed in: "I never imagined a fuck session like that with Superman. You are definitely Superman. I loved being enveloped in your big red cape. I felt so special, so protected, so cared for. It was like being in a womb," I said with deep appreciation for his passion and sexual creativity with his new identity.

We weren't through quite yet. He brought his big beautiful guns up to my chest, and with another vice-like grip, proceeded to squeeze and re-squeeze me. It was more heart-felt, though it did hurt a bit. At the same time, he bounced his pelvis up high so his still hard cock would jam back up into my now very raw ass. That was amazing. But then he started to bob and weave with his pelvis so my ass got every angle of his monster hard cock – sorta like an internal meat grinder. He was having his way with me, once again, as only a Superman of his unlimited strength can do. I loved it. He squeezed me a little tighter and said:

"You know, Paul, there are 1000's of men who would deeply love to be with me…who would give most anything to be manhandled by their Superman…to be with me in bed like we are right now…to have their long-held childhood fantasies fulfilled. We saw that at the gym with those musclemen. If I could, I'd give myself to all of them.

Yet, you are the one I picked and picked many years ago. And I'm so glad I did. It means so much to me to be your Superman and give you what you need and have always wanted not just in a man, but in Superman. You're a special guy, so open, so vulnerable and filled with fantastic fantasies that can light us both up," explained my Superman. I really liked it when we got philosophical with one another from time to time – a good balance to all the focus on sex and muscle-worship.

"Oh thank you Superman. I feel so honored. And I like calling you Superman. Hope you won't mind if I forget and call you Grant sometimes. You're both to me. And, as I've been thinking, you're going to need to be both out in the world if we are to get out of the house once and a while," I snickered. He laughed, as well.


Planning Some More Muscle Adventures

We kept waking each other up throughout the night. We just couldn't get enough of each other. Our cocks would get hard and poke and prod whatever they could connect to. I'd always thought he had testosterone for blood. Now I was thinking I did too. I was very grateful. It was like we had to keep reminding each other that we were there. Grant made sure I stayed tightly wrapped in his big warm cape. My hands couldn't stop roving over his mountains of fabric covered muscle, exploring every crevasse, and swooning over his big cock and balls. Fuck, I couldn't get enough of my manhandling his big cock's warmth, hardness, and amazing length. He giggled when I tickled his piss slit and rubbed that very sensitive spot just under his crown. He didn't miss a beat and did the same for me.

I must have been asleep at one point because he extricated himself and his cape from around me. Went out into the kitchen, made coffee, and brought it back to us on a tray for some early morning joe in bed. So thoughtfully domestic. I was awake by then and still marveled at the extraordinary and profoundly masculine and sexy look he carried so proudly as my Superman. Fuck, I had never seen such a handsome, massive, and bulging man -- ever. In a simple and loving gesture, he recovered me in his cape. In a way it felt like an act of sex…much like last night.

We started talking about going back to Gus' bodybuilding gym and visiting the muscle heads there (See Angel: A Sequel – Part VI). It had been a few weeks and Gus had made it clear that we were welcome at any time. In fact, I had noticed that Gus was the head promoter of a big regional NPC physique contest in a couple of weeks. That meant a lot of those massive monsters that had fucked Grant and been fucked by Grant, and muscle-worshipped Grant, would be there getting themselves competition ready. That brought back some really hot memories that got us both hard real fast. In fact, Grant was losing the war with his jock strap and tight red trunks – his huge cock was way up to his left hip again and just inviting me to massage, rub, pound, and generally try to manhandle it even more. That, of course, isn't really possible with Grant's cock. It does what he wants it to do. I tried anyways. He loves it when I really rough-house with it and pound at it real hard. He just grins, reminding me that he's impervious that way.

We got fired up and came up with a plan. We'd go to the gym and, of course, be greeted with the same cheers and hollers from the muscle monsters we had met last time. We knew he would still be their muscle god. Grant would pack his full Superman outfit. We'd go into Gus' office and talk about being part of the physique show. Not as a competitor. Grant would blow them all away in a heart beat if we did that. But, instead, Grant would do a special posing exhibition at half time or just before the awards were made. The cool angle would be that Grant would come out and do his breath-taking posing routine in his Superman outfit. Our hunch was that that would bring the house down. Only Gus would know that Grant was going to transform into Superman for the posing exhibition.

We knew Gus would want to see "the goods" first. So, fast forward, and we're in Gus' office and Grant says he'd like some privacy to make some changes from his always skimpy and tight shorts and wife beater shirt to his "outfit." He wanted to surprise Gus. Of course, just before that, when we entered, the guys just went nuts welcoming us, coming up to Grant and being completely uninhibited about feeling up his muscles and package. They were gushing in their compliments about how good he looked and how glad they were that he had come back.

In the meantime, Gus said fine to Grant using his office and he and I left Grant alone. Gus peppered me with questions about what Grant had in mind and I said he'd see in a few moments. So the other muscle men in the gym were kept in the dark, Grant called Gus and me back into Gus's office. There was Superman, basking in the bright sun streaming thru the windows, and looking every bit the extraordinary, massive, handsome, cut, and vascular god that he is – only with his spectacular yellow and red emblem on his tight blue top, with a yellow belt, super tight red trunks, skin tight blue "leotards", shiny red boots, and the huge flowing red cape that made him look incredibly sexy. He was in a "relaxed" pose (if there really is such a thing) with his hands on his hips.

Gus was completely beside himself in shock and disbelief. "Fuck, Grant, you are absolutely astounding…breathtaking…what an unbelievable transformation into a real live Superman. God, you are so fuckin' massive, built, and sexy anyways, and this outfit just jumps your wattage up 10 times, if that is even possible" he exclaimed with unabashed enthusiasm. "Yeah, man, we thought you'd like it," gushed Grant. "Here are a few poses to bring it home."

Superman then proceeded to give us a private posing session that left both Gus and me completely overwhelmed and turned on big-time. Superman -- Grant just has that way about him. Massive double-biceps with peaks. Vascular forearms the size of a man's head. A huge pec shelf that pushed the limit on the outfit. Tits the size of large peanuts. Traps, his signature body-part, that make even the most winning competition musclemen cry with envy. Two sets of three delts fully striated and showing completely through the blue fabric. A set of quads and calves that are so huge and so defined that they are twice what even the most developed body-builders can ever hope for. And, fuck, his huge package, wrapped in the red trunks. As always, his V-shape was unheard of, it was so dramatic. And, god, he smiles all the time and completely brings his audience – including the two of us -- into his display of super massive hyper-masculinity. In a word, he was an astounding sight to behold.

Gus was so excited he could hardly get his words out. And, being the master promoter that he is, he instantly had all sorts of ideas about how to make Grant's exhibition the cornerstone of the whole competition. After some careful talk between Grant and me, we agreed Gus could use Grant's Superman picture on posters and advertising. That would definitely draw the crowds. We agreed on a basic contract. We talked about how Gus could set up some elaborate staging to make Grant's stage entrance as Superman as tension-building, mysterious, and eye-popping as possible. Fuck, this was going to be exciting.

Neither Gus nor I wanted to leave the office and, instead, wanted to gawk and watch Grant extricate himself from his sleek, tight, and sexy outfit. We got to see all his massive and cut naked body in action while he did just that. It was equally cool to see him jam himself into his cutoffs and take that thread of a t-shirt and drape it over his shoulders and pecs…nipples showing prominently. That was quite a treat, especially for Gus who was clearly getting really horny and attracted to Grant in a very personal way. That just goes with the territory for Grant…now Superman for Gus.

More planning conversations would follow but the die was cast. Superman – like folks have never seen Superman -- was gonna be in town in a few weeks. The men, as we were leaving and saying our goodbyes, were still thrilled that Grant was there and demanded that he come back and work out with them. He said "absolutely." They also invited him to the physique show. We said "sure" to that, too. Little did they know.

While driving home, it was clear we were both more than a little nervous about having Superman become public. Yet, we both wanted the thrill and joy of sharing him with the world. He wanted that for himself, especially. We just didn't want our own private little world to get too taken over by what could be an onslaught of muscle-worshippers, media, and Superman fanatics. Unfortunately, we didn't have any answers for those important questions, yet. As always, I couldn't keep my right hand off his massive quad and I loved exploring the amazing contours and striations of a myriad of his flexed quad muscles. I also had to get my hand down into his bulging package and squeeze his huge cock and balls at the stop lights. He got hard quick.


A Somewhat Violent Diversion

Superman was back in his outfit for dinner. God, I loved it. He was so proud. I was so proud. He flipped his cape around to great effect…making sweeping statements of control and power with it that only he could make. Needless to say, I got easily distracted from making dinner, especially when he came up behind me and jammed his massive whole body and hard cock into my back. I loved it when he nuzzled and kissed me on the neck, and licked my neck hairs. Even the most subtle touches by him could be so fucking sexual and arouse me to no end.

We decided we wanted to go out tonight. I caught myself by surprise by suggesting we might have some "fun" visiting the big biker bar in town. It was famous for leather and lots of muscle. It was also famous for being really homophobic. I'd been there a few times minding my own business and just barely escaped with myself in tact. Grant liked the idea, explaining that he had watched me for years be treated with terrible disrespect and verbal abuse at this place. He'd been pissed that I had even taken such risks completely alone and gone, and even more pissed that I got treated so badly.

"I think I'm in the mood for putting some of these jerks, assholes, and meatheads in their place. Bang a few heads. Maybe twist a few arms. Show them what gay muscle power really looks like," he said adamantly. I was surprised to hear this from him. This was a side of him I hadn't seen. Yet, there was a part of me that wanted to go back, watch him take on a few muscle hot heads, and protect me, at the same time. I realized that I had never had anyone in my life care enough to protect me in any way, let alone the way Grant had started to do.

He knew full well that his short muscle shorts and skimpy t-shirt would provoke these guys. He didn't care. I dressed in my jeans and a tight polo shirt. We both looked pretty gay in our own very different ways.

"Oh shit, we could be in big trouble," I said as we pulled into the pot-holed parking lot. I'd never seen so many huge bikes and massive trucks. "No sweat, Paul. I can handle whatever anybody wants to dish out and give it back even better," he exclaimed confidently. God, I loved his bravado and I knew he was right.

The huge bouncer at the front door looked us over with a sneer and spit on the ground in front of us. I thought "Welcome Grant and Paul." "Watch yourselves…we're not into queers here," he growled. He certainly had our number. In we went anyways. The place was really noisy, dark, smoky, and filled with big muscle men in leather outfits or white t-shirts. Some had lumberjack shirts on, as well. We went up to the crowded bar and nobody would move to let us get to the bartender.

Grant, using his full size and power, just pushed his way through the men, not even apologizing. I was definitely seeing another side of Grant. A bunch of guys pulled away and had looks of shock and "what the fuck" on their faces when they saw the height, width and muscle mass of Grant. We got our drinks and moved over to a place near a wall to check things out. I was a little scared yet very proud to be with my partner, my massive monster of a partner, especially in this kind of place.

Almost immediately two really big guys, though not anywhere near Grant's size, came over and stood right in front of us. They were into intimidation. "What brings you two faggots to our place on this lovely evening?" said one sarcastically. He was covered in leather that also covered some pretty big muscles. His thick wide mustache made him look even more intimidating. "Just here for a beer. New to town. Heard this was a friendly place," commented Grant casually. "Well, friendly, yes…but not to faggots. Fuck man, though I've never seen a man as well built as you, I also don't much cotton to guys wearing short shorts and t-shirts just to show off their steroid muscles. That's way too gay for us. And your friend here looks like he just stepped out of a preppy boy catalogue," he added disdainfully. "He's my partner," Grant shot back instantly. "Whatever you say daddy," added the big man even more sarcastically. For the moment, Grant did not respond. I followed his lead, even though I was stunned at what I was hearing from this guy.

"We're not lookin' for any trouble man…just want to be left alone and enjoy the scenery," emphasized Grant in his deepest and most authoritative bass voice. I kept moving closer and closer to Grant. Had we been anywhere else I would have wanted to hold his hand -- not so much as a statement, but out of fear. The other guy said, "We ain't scenery for the likes of you…you can get that kind of scenery at night down at the park in the bushes. So, why don't you two just put your beers down, and hustle your asses out the way you came in and go down to the park?" said the guy. "Nope. Not doing that tonight, my friend," stated Grant. "I'm not your friend, asshole – though you might like me to be in more ways then one – especially with my big thick cock" the guy added with more sarcasm. "Well I guess we'll just have to escort you two out whether you like it or not. Grab the little twink Sam. I'll handle the big guy," he instructed.

That was all it took for Grant to literally rip the big guy's hand off Grant's huge forearm and twist it hard just for the effect. The guy yelped and said, "God damn you, you son of a bitch! Who do you think you are?" "Who do you think you are?" countered Grant. "My partner and I have as much right to be here as you do. You and your friends will never get past me. I have more muscles and moves than 10 of you have together," announced Grant defiantly. "We're here and we're queer. Get over it!" he added loudly and proudly. We might as well been back in the 70's when all the anti-gay conflict was rampant. I was very intimidated, scared and excited to see Grant make promises he could definitely deliver on…even though these asshole bullies didn't know it, yet.


Battle of the Big Guns

"Well, since you want it that way, we settle things around here a lot of different ways. One way with guys that have a lot of muscle like you, is to have some serious arm wrestling contests. Not one, but at least three. You gotta beat all three of us or you're out the door," he announced with equal authoritatively. A crowd of big leather guys had gathered around us and cheered the announcement of the contest. Grant and I looked at each other with big smiles. The big guy instantly saw that and took offense. "Looks like you're pretty cocky. Think that all those show muscles can handle real men that always win their contests?" he said loudly so the crowd could hear him.

The crowd, clearly not in Grant's corner, murmured lots of assent and encouragement. "Not cocky, just very strong, my friend. Line your men up and I'll take them on one at a time. No problem for me though they may be disappointed when they lose or even get hurt," Grant stated emphatically. "You may be a faggot, man, but I like your spirit. We got some proven muscle here…men that don't loose…especially to showmen like your type," the big guy asserted.

Since this contest was evidently a frequent "rite of passage" at this bar, a very sturdy table was already set up at standing height with the requisite arm pads. The bartender came over to serve as referee. "Hey Tiny," the big guy hollered, "Why don't you show this fag what real strength is?" said the big guy. Out from the crowd came another very big guy wearing a leather vest and sporting plenty of bulging arm muscle and a huge beer gut. Very hairy and very intimidating. Still, Grant was much taller, much bigger and, of course, carrying a hell of a lot of more muscle mass then Tiny. Tiny showed no fear as he came up to the table and faced the very tall Grant, who had to lean over to get his elbow down on the bench's surface.

The bartender went through the rules and both the monster and my Grant jostled back and forth to get the best possible elbow and entwined fist position. Grant looked over at me and gave me a quick confident smile. Oh fuck, Tiny had no idea what he had gotten himself into. The moment the countdown ended, Tiny put his whole body into overdrive in an attempt to quickly catch Grant off guard. It didn't work. Grant's massive and vascular arm didn't budge an inch. Yet his arms and shoulders began to explode in a pump and vascularity that, as best I could tell, took the audience by surprise. I think Grant was doing that for show. This was really kids work for him. No exertion required.

Tiny tried again. No go. "Hey, Tiny, is that all you got?" taunted Grant. I couldn't believe Grant was talking that way. Tiny got visibly angry and tried to force a power pin. Again, Grant didn't move an inch. Instead, Grant started very slowly to muscle Tiny's big arm to move in the "wrong" direction for Tiny. Tiny fought back to no avail. Grant kept up the unrelenting pressure and did it so casually. Then, wham, Tiny's arm was flat on the bench. Dead silence in the room. Mutters of "fuck," "holy shit," "where'd this guy come from?" rippled through the audience that had gathered real tight around the bench. In an amazing display of more bravado, Grant announced, "Ok, you guys said you had at least three "real men". Bring on the next one, and he better be stronger."

Tiny pulled away in shock, rubbing his arm. He clearly had given everything he had and had strained both his arm and shoulder. He couldn't look Grant in the face, let alone congratulate him. Grant shook his arms out and waited. Another behemoth, much bigger than Tiny, came forward and the crowd cleared the way for him. God, what an ugly looking guy, but covered in massive muscles, lots of body hair, and a mop of unruly hair on his head. He looked sorta like a crazy man. His eyes were on fire. He was on a mission to teach faggot Grant a lesson and repair the image damage that Tiny's loss to Grant had inflicted on the whole group. Talk about nasty mob psychology!

"I've won 95% of all the contests I've entered, Mr. Muscleman. And I sure as hell don't intend to loose to an underdressed muscle showman like you," he announced. Grant said, "Well, I don't intend to loose to you either. Besides, I hunch you've got more fat there than real muscle in that big body of your's." The crowd reacted with a cat calls and feigned fear at Grant's insult. The guy didn't let himself get rattled. He just leaned in and challenged Grant to get his arm up and be ready for getting a broken arm. Grant just smiled and took the position. He was still so damn big compared to these other guys.

Suddenly, the big guy stopped the count and told the referee that Grant was moving and repositioning his wrist after the count had started. Of course, Grant had done no such thing. This was all a distraction. Part of his strategy to unnerve Grant. What a waste of energy that was. "Okay, you fruit loop, show me what you got in those muscles of your's," he taunted. Grant stayed silent. Like Tiny, this guy could not get Grant to move his arm no matter how much power he put into it. Yet, Grant, just playing with the guy, let the guy take a couple of inches and the leverage edge for just a moment. The guy smiled big thru his grimace. Just when he was feeling sure he was taking Grant down, Grant simply started to push back and back. The guy was in shock. "Surprised now are you?" Grant asked sarcastically. "Want to see what else these muscles of mine can do?" he continued with an air of supreme and justifiable confidence.

Grant continued the onslaught and the guy was clearly losing his control and his confidence. "Fuck, fuck..what's going on here?" the guy demanded. Grant just said, "I'm winning and you're losing. How does it feel big guy?" The guy, not willing to concede, redoubled his efforts to get back at least to the starting position. That great effort, much to everyone's surprise, produced an arm muscle seizure and he lost all power and down he went. Grant said, "Well, that's just part of taking on someone stronger than you, my friend." Grant was a master at putting these guys in their place. Like Tiny before him, the guy had to quickly massage his arm, getting help from his friends, to reduce the excruciating pain. He was clearly extremely angry – probably at himself and no doubt at Grant.

Two down, two wins for Grant, and one to go. Grant was establishing himself as the king of tonight's arm-wrestling -- yet nobody was anywhere near ready to say that out loud or congratulate him. Feeling like his manager, I came over to Grant and massaged his arm, whispering words of encouragement and pride. Of course, he really didn't need his arm massaged. We were just being a good team in the face of macho muscle jerks.


It's Time for Posing

"Okay, if I win this last contest, I want you all to buy drinks for my partner and me," announced Grant. There was some agreement yet still a lot of resistance to the mere thought of "welcoming" us. Oh fuck, I damn near blew a load when this third monster stepped up. Clearly the group had been saving him for the last. A kind of insurance, I guess. He was a walking massive wet dream. Though not as big as Grant, he had mountains of muscle that just bulged so naturally through his t-shirt and very tight jeans. I couldn't tell if he was a power-lifter or a super-heavyweight bodybuilder or both. Probably both, given both his mass and cuts.

And, like a good gay guy, my eyes went straight to the guy's package, which was absolutely huge. His big thick cock was running down the inseam of his right leg for all to see. Guess it was his "calling card." Handsome in a very rugged way. Huge traps and deltoids. Massive arms with thick veins. And a hairy chest that truly was a shelf, and it wasn't even flexed. Like Grant, he was wearing a trademark spaghetti strap t-shirt. His smile rivaled Grant's in confidence.

"My name is Nate. What's yours big guy?" asked Nate. "Grant," Grant responded. "I guess you're new to town. Haven't seen you around any of the gyms or here at our bar before," he said dripping with false friendliness. "What you say we give these guys what they really want and compare double bicep poses?" he asked with an open invitation to "take Grant down" on arm size. Big mistake. "Sure," said Grant with his always in tact confidence. The men cleared a space and Nate and Grant took to the center of the bar, where most of the good lighting was. Guys moved around to get in front. I saw a few men already begin to massage their ample packages. Nothing like muscles to trigger a big surge of a man's testosterone. And, in a group like this, the testosterone surges just feed one on the other.

"Okay guys," said the referee, "Fire them up. Use the pumps for the warm up. Give us your best pump and keep pumping until we declare a winner," instructed the referee. Fuck, it was a mind-blower. Both muscle gods started out looking strikingly similar. Huge biceps. Triceps like hams. Vascular forearms. Huge and cut traps and delts. I wondered if Grant might actually be outdone by Nate. While both were smiling, Nate was clearly feeling that he was taking Grant down. Nate took in deep breaths and redoubled his pump. His vascularity exploded and a second peak on his set of biceps appeared. Shit. The guy was awesome – just so fuckin' massive.

Grant, on the other hand, was being very methodical. I'd seen him do this at the gym weeks ago and knew he had a damn near unlimited capacity to expand and grow to proportions unheard of among muscle men and body-builders no matter what their build. I was just wondering why he was taking so long. He had a strategy, of course. As Nate struggled and sweated to hold his pump, Grant started pumping and pumping and pumping even more. His already massive muscles just expanded like balloons covered in a dizzying map of veins, striations, and tendons. He was absolutely huge. It was like he was building himself into a morph we'd see on the internet. His second bicep peak on both biceps put Nate's to shame. I was really getting excited for Grant. His triceps had astounding size and vascularity. His forearms were a mass of muscle, tendons, veins and had huge circumferences….clearly much much bigger than anyone else's in the bar, including the power lifters.

Finally, the guys started whooping and hollering for more of Grant. To a man, they had never had seen a hyper-masculine body-builder of Grant's proportions. Nate was nothing to sneeze at, but he couldn't hold a candle to Grant. Exhausted from multiple pumps and holding them while Grant was building to his, he finally had to let his arms drop to his sides – though thrust out to accommodate the expanse of his huge lats. Grant kept his going, dancing his fingers, forearm, and biceps like he was doing a muscle ballet. Like the muscle heads back at the gym, these guys couldn't keep their hands off their bulging crotches and hard cocks. Grant was turning them on…really turning them on…and they had no embarrassment about that whatsoever. Fuck, I do like that about musclemen with other musclemen. When they want to be, they can be so sexually excited and appreciative. The cheers for Grant were non-stop. He has passed the test. We were finally "welcomed". All because of Grant.

The referee announced that a third arm-wrestling contest was not necessary because Grant had met and exceeded the posing challenge from Nate. More cheers for Grant. He acknowledged those cheers with a massive back lat spread, a front lat spread unseen among men, and a mind-boggling cock-hardening most muscular that drew loud gasps, cheers, and "whoops" from the men.


From Homophobia to Kudos

What a change. The guys just swarmed around Grant. They demanded he pose some more as they ran their hands all over his massive body. He enthusiastically obliged them. They fought for positions, both front and back, to not miss feeling up each flex. I loved how a few of them really got bold and started grabbing at Grant's big package. His now very hard cock was just about coming out the bottom of his tight shorts. The men that had challenged us with verbal bullying and challenged Grant to arm-wrestling, were very much in the background, nursing their self-inflicted psychological wounds. They were quite alone.

The bartender announced that drinks were on the house. The guys couldn't stop getting them for us. We had to be careful to not overdo the drinking. I was equally impressed with the guys that came up to me with all sorts of questions about what it was like to be Grant's partner. So much for homophobia. I know many had an agenda about what our sex life was like. I had no problem telling them how Grant's strength was a huge turn-on for us, making for a very passionate and creative sex life. They loved hearing about that. They wanted Grant for themselves. They wanted Grant the way I "had" him. Both of us got plenty of questions about Grant's availability for private posing sessions and muscle-worshipping sessions that night, or any other night for that matter. We were polite and just told the guys we'd give it some thought.

We both had gotten used to dodging the questions about where we came from and our backgrounds. Nobody seemed any the wiser. They were just thrilled that Grant (and maybe me) were one of them. I made a mental note to make sure to ask Gus to get the upcoming physique contest posters up in this place. These guys would show up as small army in the auditorium to see "Grant" again. Little did they know who was really going to "show up" on stage.


The Posing Goes to the Next Level

The evening wasn't quite done yet. These guys just couldn't get enough of Grant. So a few guys organized a posing exhibition on a small platform at the back of the bar. While Grant would be the star, a bunch of other body-builder guys stripped down to their jock straps and briefs. Some were massive super-heavyweights and some were middle-weights with amazing definition. All took turns showing off their best poses. Grant was pushed up on stage, took off his spaghetti t-shirt, yet left his shorts on with his cock head sticking out his left leg. His short shorts could not possibly hide his huge and very sexy package. The same was true for some of the other muscle men. Grant was completely into the scene and was inspired to give a posing exhibition that made many of the men ejaculate big time.

The "show" was also as much about their respective baskets or packages and blatantly showing their hidden endowments, as it was about their not insignificant muscles. Not the kind of thing you'd see at a physique show. Yet it certainly would happen back stage at physique shows and in the privacy of the competitor's, promoters, and sponsors hotel rooms. My fantasies started like crazy with that thought…and what could happen at the upcoming physique show and afterwards. Fuck, I do love muscle men that know how to really get it on with each other. Grant is a master instigator of those scenes…an absolute master.

The best part was when another competition started…one that blew my mind. A couple of really big and beautifully built guys decided to face-off, very close, and start posing – challenging each other pose for pose, face to face. The unspoken intent was to visibly turn the other on. That is, to make the other guy hard and get his cock to either pop out of his jockstrap or briefs or, better yet, have an orgasm right in the moment.

God, they started jamming their big baskets into each other, while posing, trying to provoke the other muscle god into getting hard. They'd push and prod their ample packages to get the other guy's cock harder and more visible. The sweat pouring off them brought many of their cocks into near transparency thru the wet (pre-cum and sweat-soaked) fabric. It was a visual feast with all the guys inspiring the others to do the same. More glorious group psychology. (I used to be a psych major)

A lot of guys went after Grant. However, since he was so tall, his basket was out of reach of the basket of most others. Given that turned-on muscle men are turned-on muscle men, they would make up for that and just start grabbing, massaging, and pushing at each other's packages and equipment, Grant's included. Some went right for Grant's goods and jammed their hands down into his shorts and had a field day. Grant ate it up…inspiring even more posing…his stunning most muscular always got things hot.

Once I realized everybody was in on this unbelievable scene, I stripped off my jeans and polo-shirt and put my new big cock into the game as well. Fuck, what a great feeling it was to have many of these muscle men want to dominate me and worship my small but muscular body. I'd forgotten some musclemen just are really into smaller men. Many of them went after my tight and defined body with a vengeance. Fuck, what a great feeling that was. My hard cock matched up with the rest of them…no problem.

As the evening got late, some of the guys were leaving – often with one another. The free drinks had everybody more than lubricated. They all came up to Grant and me and each, in their own way, told us how glad they were that we had come. Some even apologized for being jerks when we arrived. As they did this, almost all of them copped another feel of Grant's muscles. They evidently wanted memories to jack off to that night and for nights to come. He continued to get propositioned for quite a few overnights that night. Grant gave 'em what they wanted with a big smile, yet politely defined the invitations.

The bartender came up to us and was especially gracious. He said we had a standing invitation to come any time and suggested that Grant think about doing regular posing exhibitions. Clearly, it was very good for his business. I kept thinking about how we were gonna deal with Grant being Superman, too. Fuck, that would really blow their minds.

Grant's skimpy t-shirt was lost somewhere on the floor, but that didn't matter. I found my jeans and shirt on the floor, though plenty mangled and dirty. Hell, I think they had cum on them from god knows who. We got in my car, took in a deep breath. I told Grant how very proud I was of him and his willingness to take a stand for us right at the start of the evening and put those guys in their place. He said he was glad it didn't get any rougher verbally or physically. It's just not his style. We both laughed our asses off when we recalled Nate's challenge to Grant for a double-bicep posedown. Grant, even in my small car, put up a double-bi, and kissed and thanked "his babies." We both laughed again.

When we got home, I again asked Grant to don his Superman outfit. As always, I had the honor of "helping" him get into it. Holy shit, what a man, what a god. This outfit just got me so damn turned on I knew I had to get him into bed and get myself wrapped, once again, in his big red beautiful cape. Who knows what would happen next.

As we drifted off to sleep, nuzzled and wrapped together, we talked about what his upcoming posing exhibition could mean for him and us – for better or for worse. Last I remember thinking was seeing him in my mind come slowly down the stairs at the center of the stage – his cape flying in the wind from the wind machine -- surrounded in mist, to the music of "Also Sprach Zarathustra" ("2001 Space Odyssey" theme).

In my dream like state, he was totally pumped to the max. His whole Superman outfit was really lit up with the bright spot lights. He was glowing more than usual. It was just natural for him…no tanning necessary. His arms would hang way out over his huge lats. His stunning V-shape would cause men to get hard. His body was simply a mass of huge and extremely proportionate bulging muscle. And his huge package would be strategically arranged for maximum visual and sexual impact. He'd own the auditorium completely. The crowds would be on their screaming and stamping their feet. The deafening applause would not stop. In a highly unusual and mysterious way, Superman was now on planet Earth. He'd slowly come down off the stage and start moving around among the audience members, meeting their deeply held desire to touch and feel him…to make sure he was real. They'd have wet dreams for life.

To be continued

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