By Josef Howard
Everyone who has ever gone to a gym has known someone like him. He’s the average looking guy who is on a first name basis with every stud who walks through the door. You find yourself wondering what it is they see in him. He’s like their mascot, affectionately derided and happy as a puppy just to get the attention. When you talk to him he never fails to drop their names prefaced with “my good friend”.
Stan was one of those guys. Not ugly, just not in their league. Not scrawny or fat; outside a serious gym he’d be taken for a lifter by the people he worked with. I had been going to this gym about a month and anyone worth looking stopped to talk to him. I began to wonder what kind of hold he had over them.
When he introduced himself to me he walked right up to me in the locker room as I was coming out of the shower, wet dick swinging in front of my well-muscled thighs. He met my eyes with his and extended his hand as his gaze drifted down the rise of my hairy pecs, over my tight abs, and paused at my crotch before returning to my face – presumptuous as hell I was thinking.
Then, like he had a reason to know, he grinned and asked, “What’s your name?”
For just a second I thought of shoving him to the side and walking by him without acknowledging he’d said a word, but something made me reconsider. At first I thought it was his grip. Sometimes a guy’s hand in your hand is as sexy as dick – firm, broad, meaty and hot. I looked at it as I gripped him back and shook. I actually felt weak in the knees.
“Stan,” I could see his eyes widen as he watched my biceps expand and contract while I shook his hand. “I’ve seen you working out here a few times. You just join?”
Something about the attention he was showing me started the blood flowing and my dick started to balloon. Several other eyes turned my direction.
When it stood out straight and brushed his thigh, Stan glanced down at my crotch again even more impressed than he’d been with my muscles.
“Great. Good to meet you. I’ll see you around.”
Stan slapped my other arm and released my hand. I ignored the dozen other eyes on my stiffy, opened my locker and pulled on my jeans. They weren’t easy to button, even with cock pushed off to my hip.
Why did Stan have such an effect on me? He was a little too dumpy to be my type. Even his face wasn’t much to look at. But still there was something.
I was still hard after the half hour drive home. It took two sessions with my hands and a cold shower to calm down.
You don’t easily forget someone who gets you that excited, even if the attraction doesn’t quite make sense. I thought about Stan a lot the next day and usually got hard.
The next time I was at the gym Stan was there. That’s another thing about guys like Stan, they live at the gym. You see them there no matter when you go. As I worked out, I found myself watching him greeting a seemingly endless queue of big guys – almost all of them bigger even than me. I was intrigued and I was jealous. Not just that Stan got attention from other guys, but that he could get attention from guys like them.
As I re-racked my barbell at the bench though, I heard, “Angel!”
“Sta-a-a-n!” I threaded my hand around the bar and shook his. “How are you buddy?” It was happening again. Inside my sweats my monster was awake and tugging at the elastic band of my jockstrap.
“Not bad. Listen I’ve having a few of the guys over tonight. You up for it?”
Not much doubt of my answer, and somehow I got the feeling he knew that.
“Tell me where, and I’m there!”
Stan’s apartment building was a real rat hole. It was one of those boxes held up over the parking stalls by steel poles, but my pole was just as straight up and steely in anticipation when I knocked on his apartment door. I could hear noise inside the apartment, so I knew he was home, but I had to wait so long before someone came to the door that I almost gave up.
A gorgeous black stud opened the door. He grinned at me, looked me up and down and shouted over his shoulder. “Hey, Stan. You got another guest.”
The door opened wider. A dim hall led to a small living room. A few other men were standing with beers in their hands.
The man who had answered the door was another of Stan’s enormous friends. His football-sized biceps slipped outside the severely distended elastic sleeves of his polo shirt as he bent his arm up to sip his bottle. Guys his size usually had guts as big as a pregnant woman, but this guy’s abs were flat as my feet. In fact they were slightly concave down the center.
As my eyes returned to his face, he acknowledged my survey of his startling attributes with another grin. He nodded toward the living room and lifted the hand that held his beer in that direction.
Stan shook my hand with both of his. “Glad you could come.” The rest of the room was as built as the man who answered the door. There were five other guys standing near him. One of them roared in raunchy laughter. “We’re always glad to come, Stan.”
Stan seemed to ignore his comment. “Angel’s our first time visitor tonight,” he said. The conversation stopped. The five other guys, any of whom would have taken the stage at the Mr. Olympia by storm, looked my way, with new found interest.
“Jeffrey,” Stan spoke to someone behind him as he stared at me, “Why don’t you take your shirt off and give Angel a clearer view of what he has to look forward to.”
It seemed an odd request, as well as a forward one, but a bushy blonde behemoth slipped his hands down his waistband and peeled his tight stretched t-shirt over his head. His chest was astonishing. His shoulders were like basketballs. His arms were almost as large. Yet it was all beautifully proportionate, and cellophane thin skin was stretched over every rock solid ridge.
“Angel’s hard as a rock just looking at you, Jeffrey,” Stan said. (Was I hard before he said I was hard?) “Are you hard, Jeffrey?” Stan asked.
Jeffrey slide one hand along the tubular bulge from his crotch to his hip and nodded.
“Let Angel see how hard you are,” Stan said. The other men in the room were as captivated as I was.
Angel pulled down the elastic band of his sweat pants and exposed an uncircumcised dick that would have made a donkey proud.
“Jeffrey’s one of my bigger friends, Angel, but he’s not the biggest, and Jeffrey’s not even all the way hard.”
My mouth was dry with lust. I could feel my dick leaking pre-cum through my pants, and for the first time in my life I actually thought I might cum without being touched.
The blood pulsed rhythmically through Jeffrey’s engorged member, and beat by beat it swelled thicker and longer. Jeffrey could barely fit his fist around the base of it as he grabbed it and pointed it at me.
“It’s time to let loose, Jeffrey. It’s time to come,” Stan said
In a heartbeat Jeffrey’s body convulsed and his hard horse-cock shot thick wads of sperm. I’d never seen an orgasm like it. Not just the spontaneity, but the force. Jeffrey leaned back like he was busting a bronco. His hips spasmed and the slit of his dick seemed to stretch to accommodate the great hiccoughs of jism firing from his groin.
When it subsided his face was flush and his chest was heaving. He was coated in a thin film of sweat. He laughed nervously and smiled.
Nearly every man in the room was rubbing his crotch uncontrollably, and a couple of them had pulled their dicks out and were masturbating furiously. And Stan was right; Jeffrey wasn’t the biggest of his friends.
“Now it’s time for you to take off your shirt, Angel,” Stan said.
I should have felt self conscious or at least thought it odd, but it was as though Stan’s suggestion was my own thought, and my chest was bare before I even finished thinking about it.
“Now the pants, Angel.”
I popped the buttons of my jeans and wiggled my thick thighs free of the leggings. I struggled again as they wedged on my wide calves and then stepped free. I hadn’t been wearing underwear.
“Angel has a lot of potential, doesn’t he, men?” Stan talked to the others as if I wasn’t in the room. “I recognized it the minute I laid eyes on him.” The others murmured in agreement. “How much do you weigh, Angel?”
Almost like a thought the words flowed out my mouth. “Two twenty-five.”
“And your arms are – what – nineteen? Twenty inches?”
“Yeah, I knew the minute I saw him that he could be quite a prize. If he’s made this far on his own, think how much bigger he could be with a little PUSH.”
The last word felt like a finger thump on my pec. My heart began to thump like a bass drum and my blood began to surge. Stan’s eyes rolled back into his head. A spontaneous, deep throated groan rumbled in my chest and escaped my limp lips. My mouth was dry and I tingled. My muscles stiffened and my whole body began to swell.
All the eyes in the room were on me, as wide and as wild as mine had been staring at Jeffrey.
I felt a fleshy weight tugging at my groin and I knew it was my dick, not getting hard, but expanding, growing. And my balls were swelling as well, stretching my scrotum and lifting my ropelike dick from the front of my legs.
I heard a ringing in my ears, and my vision began to grow dark. I thought I might drop to the floor in a faint, but my chest heaved and air rushed into my lungs, steadying my legs and reinvigorating me. I breathed deeply again. This time I felt the oxygen rush down to the tips of my toes. My heart thudded like I’d inhaled a popper.
I heard a gasp and then I felt my skin get tight and stretch. I could hear it, like fatigued metal stretching. I could feel my lats thicken against my swelling arms. I could see my shoulders and chest fill the periphery of my vision and feel my thighs pushing each other apart. Even my calves rubbed against each other.
Something about the feeling of fullness in my arms and legs made me want to stretch them. I clasped my hand over my wrist and flexed in a most muscular pose that made several jaws drop. I raised my arms into a double biceps. As big as my deltoids were, my biceps still peaked higher.
“Now that’s hot, Angel,” Stan said. “Only you need to get your dick hard.”
Suddenly the blood rushed to my schlong. It stretched down towards the floor to my knees then raised higher and higher until it was beyond parallel to the floor and finally sprang up against my hard abs.
“He looks good enough to fuck,” Stan said. “Don’t you think so, Fidel? Aren’t you burning with lust for him? Don’t you want to bury your massive cock between those iron glutes?”
I could tell who Fidel was by the visible lust that formed on his face. He was a towering Latin with body beyond Ronnie Coleman. Thick jaw muscles draped over Cro-Magnon cheeks. At Stan’s suggestion a tiny bit of drool formed on his gaping lips. He wiped it off with his open hand and rubbed it into his long, hard tool. Fidel positioned himself behind me and squatted slightly to wedge himself in.
The head of his dick was broader than a thermos. Instead of thinking about the momentary pain, I concentrated on the feeling of his hard chest grazing against my broad muscular back. As he pushed himself deeper he wrapped his thickly muscled arms around my chest and pulled his groin into my ass.
Pandemonium erupted. Jeffrey dropped to his knees in front of the man who had opened the door to Stan’s apartment for me. He engulfed the man’s dick and sucked ferociously at it. My gaze rose up his cobblestone abs and his massive naked chest and I realized I no longer had reason to feel inferior to him.
“Oh, shit!” he shouted and pulled the blonde’s head closer, shoving his hot sucking lips to the base of that cock as he came inside his mouth. His other hand fell from the door knob and grabbed the blonde’s head more firmly.
The light inside the living room was dim, but it didn’t take much light to see an orgy had started. Stan was right in the middle, bent over sucking the dick of one of his massively muscular gym friends while another one of them was vigorously fucking his ass.
We descended into a deep pit of sensual heat, surrounded by hard bodies and harder cocks, tugged at and prodded from every angle, engulfed in a sea of moaning and groaning, punctuated by more frantic breathing or shouts of delight as two, three or more of the studs that filled the small room to bursting came at once. As I listened I heard the pitch of their pleasure drop for a few seconds, then swell once again as intense as before.
Cumming several times in a row had never been difficult for me; I’d always had more than my share of juice; but the sexual energy I felt in that room was ten times anything I’d felt before. I lost track of the number of loads I lost and the number of loads forced up my ass.
In the middle of it all, lost in the haze of uncontrolled desire and never ending climaxes, I noticed Stan wasn’t even having sex with anyone anymore. He was sitting in his living room chair, like a king on a throne, surveying the scene, smiling triumphantly, enjoying everyone else’s pleasure almost as much as if it were his own. And in a way it was his own. We were all here because of him, all pumped up beyond imagination because of him and all doing what we did because of him.
We were his boys. And damned happy about it.
I found it hard to believe, but it was true. None of the guys I had fucked with that night were gay, except – presumably -- Stan.
Later that week I saw some of the guys at the gym on a rare morning that Stan wasn’t there. I was hard in seconds and struggling to position the odd piece of gym equipment to cover my own bulging equipment. But the guys weren’t having any of it. They acted like they didn’t even know me. They didn’t even look at one another more than was necessary to avoid knocking each other over as they maneuvered their broad bodies through the narrow aisles. They were like undercover CIA agents pretending they didn’t know each other.
Not long after that evening at Stan’s I saw Fidel at the grocery store pushing a cart next to an attractive woman with three children milling around them. As nonchalantly as I could, I kept an eye on him. When he separated from them to go back and get something they’d forgotten in another aisle, I followed him. As he reached for the coffee, I reached for the brand next to it.
“What are you doing? Stalking me?” he said.
“No. It’s just –“
“I’m not a faggot.”
“Don’t pull that on me.” I’d had enough of guys playing straight after having sex with me, and I wasn’t about to get screwed around by one that had had his dick up my ass just a couple of nights ago.
“What happens with Stan stays with Stan. I don’t mess with guys, but with Stan it’s different. I can’t resist doing what he wants me to. And when he tells me to do something I want to do it more than I want to breathe! I’m not ashamed of what I do, but without Stan around the thought of doing that shit is disgusting.”
“Papa?” His little boy was at the end of the aisle. He wanted to ask him something, but he was at the age when he was shy around strangers.
Fidel turned his back to me and answered him in Spanish. He turned away from me. I no longer existed.
The next night I knocked on Stan’s door.
The door opened.
“Angel! What a nice surprise! Come on in. You miss me?”
The sad thing was, as much as I hated to admit it, I HAD missed the dumpy little guy. Just the light touch of his hand on my shoulder had my heart pounding and my crotch swelling.
“You want to show me your chest, Angel?”
My nipples got hard as tiny nails.
“Take off your t-shirt, Angel. That’s right. Oh, that’s beautiful, Angel. Look at those heavy pecs. Look at the separation, the striations. Look at how large your shoulders are. And those arms. Flex your arms for me, Angel.”
I felt like a puppet: one eye-popping flex of my right arm, then a double bi. Since the evening I spent with Stan and his pals they were more than 24 inches around, full, round and split down the middle. Truth was that even without Stan around I got off looking at them, flexing in front of the mirror or just rolling up my sleeve and squeezing out a big football sized bulge, even licking them. How could I help it? I AM gay after all!
“I love your tight, muscular abs, too, Angel. I love the V shape your obliques make, the dive into your crotch.”
Stan pulled open the buttons of my fly. He tugged my jeans down over my wide thighs. My stiff dick bobbed up and hit his face.
“And especially this.” Stan opened wide and fit the whole thick head into his mouth.
Stan was a damn good cocksucker. He got most of the way down my dick, got it way down his throat. As big as he made his men, he must have got a lot of practice with cocks as big as mine.
But as good as it felt, I enjoyed what he’d been doing with his mouth before – talking – even more. Nothing excited me as much, hearing him tell me how I looked, hearing him tell me how I felt.
When he stopped and stood I smiled. He knew what his boys liked most, but he couldn’t resist gripping my mammoth cock with both of his hands while he talked.
“I bet it’s been hard to find clothes that fit since last week, hasn’t it? But I bet you’d like to get even bigger, wouldn’t you Angel?”
I felt my heart quicken, my tongue tingle, and a lump formed in my throat. I was already so big that people stared, but I’d always said I could never be too big. Stan was about to make my wildest muscle fantasies a reality.
“You can feel it start, can’t you? You can feel the tingling in your arms and legs and chest, the pounding of blood at your temples, and the beginning of the swelling and stretching. It feels good, doesn’t it? I wish I could feel how good, but I have to settle for seeing that expression of rapture on your face and watching it, which is pretty fucking hot all by itself.
“Don’t you need to flex, Angel? Don’t you need to stretch those magnificent muscles? Flex your arms.”
I raised them both and pumped my biceps. With every flex they swelled a little larger, a little fuller, and a little more firmly.
“Now a most-muscular, Angel.”
I lowered my arms and squeezed my fists together. I could feel my shoulders, arms and chest ballooning. My traps popped up almost to my ears, and my lats stretched so wide and full that I thought I might not be able to lower my arms again.
“Take deep breath, Angel. It’s about to get intense.”
I groaned so loud it almost became a scream as my thighs, the largest muscles in my body tensed involuntarily and visibly swelled. Stan still had hold of my stiff dick and it too was getting thicker and longer, pulling the fingers of his hands apart. It was like my erection was getting an erection.
“Now all your muscles together, Angel. One big PUSH.”
A deep throated growl erupted from my throat as my blood vessels swelled and writhed beneath my skin and entire body began to shiver. My muscles were growing so fast it felt like I was turning into something else, something not quite human.
“Are you extra horny, Angel? Your dick feels really hard! I’ll bet it’s almost ready to burst, isn’t it? It’s time, Angel. It’s time to cum. You want to cum, don’t you? I’m going to lick your dick, Angel, and when my tongue touches your dick, you’re going to shoot like a rocket. You’re going to cum harder and longer than you’ve ever cum in your life.”
Stan knelt at my feet again. He leaned back and engulfed the head of my cock again. It filled his entire wide-open mouth so much I thought his jaw might break. My knees buckled. Stan braced my chest and took the full torrent of my orgasm directly down his hungry throat.
A full minute later when he let my dick slip out of his mouth, I was still dumping load after load, the quivering in my groin so intense that I could hardly stand.
When the waves of intense contractions in my groin finally ended, I stood sticky with cum and sweat, my chest heaving as I caught my breath. My eyes wandered to a mirror he had hung over the fireplace. I couldn’t believe the sight I saw was real. I looked like the Hulk – not the one on television, the one in the comics – with arms as wider than my waist and thighs like tree trunks. It was so marvelously ludicrous I had to laugh.
Stan saw me looking at myself and grinned.
“You like it? I think you’re my best creation yet. I think all the other guys are going to be jealous.”
“More like frightened!” I said as I flexed a bicep that swelled up larger than Stan’s head. “I hope I can get through doorways.”
“If you can’t get through them, you’ll make them,” Stan said with a chuckle.
I patted my flat, steel-ribbed abs. “How do you do that, Stan? Where does that come from? Not that I need to know, mind you.”
“I’ve always loved muscle, Angel, ever since I was a little boy. I dreamed of big hard muscle men from the time I was three. Hard and hairy men, who’d pick me up, put me on their shoulders with my little legs wrapped around their bull necks, my little dick hard with delight. The little boys in school who were muscled always got me going. And in games of ‘you show me yours and I’ll show you mine’ they never disappointed me. It seemed they always fulfilled my fantasies. I hardly wondered why until one summer day alone in the barn with my cousin, Jeffrey.
“Jeffrey had always been a little bigger than me in everyway that mattered. But watching him naked in front of me, I started to imagine what he’d look like even bigger, like his father the cop, who was a serious weight lifter. Jeffrey’s eyes closed and a look of sublime joy came over him. Slowly, almost imperceptibly at first, his muscles started to expand and get hard. As I saw it happening I realized it was me that was causing it, but Jeffrey was too lost in the feeling of growing to wonder about why it was happening. His hands wandered all over his expanding chest, down his cobblestone abs and deep into the forest of fur between his thighs and down the length of his tube steak dick. He was so engrossed in himself he wasn’t even aware I was there anymore. Seeing him like that was so hot I intensified his reverie. When he was as big as his father, I thought, ‘Why stop there?’ I hadn’t even seen my first bodybuilder – not even in a magazine – but I’d seen comic books of Captain America and Thor. Those fantastic images were the model for Jeffrey’s muscular development, and my own pornographic wet dreams were the model for outrageous growth between his legs.
“No one could explain Jeffrey’s transformation, but what did it really matter? Jeffrey was what he was. He didn’t mind and I sure didn’t. My only regret is that I’ve never found a way to make myself grow too.”
“Does it every bother you that the men around you aren’t really into other men?” I asked. “I mean, I am. I always was, and I know they do whatever you want them to when you’re around, but it doesn’t really change how they think afterwards about the things you have them do.”
“It used to bother me. I never really think about it anymore,” Stan said.
“Don’t you find it insulting? The guys – the straight guys – fawn over you in person, but in private we repulse them.” Was I hypocritical? I know I was no big fan of Stan when we weren’t together, but at least I was gay. At least I wasn’t a fag hater. “And what you do for them is so wonderful! They don’t deserve it.”
“Maybe they don’t. I hadn’t thought of it that way before. I guess I was always fixated on what watching them and touching them and having them touch me did for me.”
“Yesterday I saw Fidel in the supermarket with his wife. He was fucking rude! All I could think was – damn – your wife should see what we did last week.”
“Maybe she should,” Stan mused. “Maybe she can.”
When Fidel walked in the front door he was dead beat. All he wanted was a welcome kiss, a cold beer and the couch. He was hot, sweaty and filthy from work.
"You're late," his wife said accusatorily. She was standing by the door when it opened, impatient, angry.
"I had to stop at the lumberyard to get some shit for the job. What are you all dressed up for?"
She was wearing her favorite evening dress, rose red, tight as her skin and so short the tiny tattoo on her thigh played peek-a-boo with him as she flailed her arms and continued her harangue. "We have a dinner party tonight, don't you remember?"
He never did remember their social engagements, maybe because he never cared much for leaving the house in the evening. He would have been happy to spend tonight and every night at home in front of the television, but he knew better than to say it.
"Get into the shower and get dressed. We need to leave in fifteen minutes. And don't forget to shave."
Fidel felt his chin. As usual his face was covered with dense bristle. Some men were cursed with a five o'clock shadow. He was one of them. Some days it seemed like it started at noon.
"Where are the kids?" He asked.
"They're with my mother. Now go, or we'll be late."
Fidel was pulling off his work clothes before he made it into the bedroom, dropping them on the way to the shower, not because he wanted to further frustrate his wife, but because he always had, since he'd been a boy living at home. He'd always had a woman in his life to pick up after him.
He brushed his fingers down his bull-sized dick, enjoying the freedom of walking without pants and the kiss of the cool air on his balls. Fidel barely fit into the shower stall, he'd grown so big from years of lifting and hard manual labor - that and sessions at Stan's place with other guys from the gym. All the big guys knew Stan, and they all loved him, because of Stan's gift. Big as you were, Stan could make you bigger, just by thinking about it. When he'd met Stan, Fidel had been a typical amateur bodybuilder, well muscled and tightly defined, about 220, not terribly big for a man over six foot. After a few sessions at Stan's with the big boys at the gym, Fidel learned how they got so big. He'd put on eighty pounds of muscle in just a few weeks. His wife went crazy trying to find clothes to fit him. So wasn't nearly so crazy for his muscles, but the changes down between his legs made up for it. She never asked how he managed to double his dick size at age twenty-eight, but it sure reinvigorated their sex. Fidel could make her cum in two minutes flat if he really let himself loose, and she wanted him all the time now and doted on him like his grandmother.
If she only knew what went on at Stan's! Fidel was straight as a ruler, but at Stan's, for some reason, he and all the other guys got so horny for each other that every visit turned into an orgy. He couldn't stop cumming, and with the other guys he found he didn't have to hold back for fear he might hurt someone. He could fuck like a bronco, and Fidel loved to fuck.
None of the guys worried about what they did at Stan's because none of the guys Stan invited over were gay, well almost none. There had been that one guy, Angel that Stan invited a few weeks ago. More like fairy, Fidel thought, even if he was as masculine looking as any of the other guys. He'd almost embarrassed Fidel at the grocery store in front of his family. He seemed insulted when Fidel told him off. If he looked at Fidel that way again, Fidel wasn't above getting a few of the guys from the gym together and busting his pretty face.
In the car Fidel let Juanita do the driving. He lay back in the black leather bucket seat and let the houses and sidewalks whip by, occasionally closing his eyes.
"Hey, who are we seeing?" Fidel asked.
"Your friend. One of the guys from the gym," Juanita said.
Fidel thought about what she said. The only guy from the gym his wife knew was Eddie. He and his wife had had them over for dinner a few times a long time ago, but they'd stopped seeing each other. He wasn't even sure Eddie still went to his gym. Maybe it was Jesus. His wife sometimes thought he went to Fidel's gym, just because he was kind of muscular, but he was just a guy Fidel had worked with on a job a few years back.
The streets they were driving looked kind of familiar, but not so familiar that he could guess where they were going. Around a couple corners his wife pulled to the curb and put the car in park.
"Right in front," his wife said, proud of her parking prowess.
Fidel looked out the passenger window. Holy shit! It was Stan's apartment building! They couldn't be going there! His wife had never met Stan. He never even talked about him, not so much because he was hiding his friendship - if that's what it was - but because the guy was so dull, outside of his special ability and the guys that hung around him.
"Did I accept this invitation?" Fidel asked as they stepped out of the car. He was so nervous about where they might be going he didn't even notice the frown on Juanita's face at having to open her own door.
"Like you ever arranged a dinner date in your life!" his wife snorted. "Stan called me. Said he was your gym buddy and he was having a dinner party for all his gym buddies and their wives. He sounded nice on the phone and I thought it would be a good opportunity to meet some new couples. We hardly ever go out any more."
Fidel got in front of her, turned and stopped. "Honey, you've never met Stan."
"What's the big deal. He some kind of freak?" she scoffed.
"Kind of," Fidel decided to run with that thought. It wasn't too far from the truth.
"Well, it's too late now. I accepted. My mother raised me better than to stand up people kind enough to invite us to dinner just because they're a little unusual. Yours too. Especially while we’re standing on the sidewalk in front of their apartment. Now get out the way. What if they can see us out the window?"
For the men in the room, the air was thick as jello. Fidel downed his first beer in less than a minute, and he could tell the other guys were trying to calm their nerves too. Juanita took his third beer out of his hands before he could even take a sip. Just as well, he thought, as he stood next to her talking to two other couples. He might need all his wits to get through the evening.
It wasn't Stan who'd answered the apartment door. It was Angel, the faggot who'd come on to him at the store. He almost didn't recognize him at first because he'd put on almost a hundred pounds since he'd seen him last. The guy could hardly wear clothes he was so big. Fidel thought he'd never see a guy who looked too big, but this guy came close. He must have gotten in good with Stan since he'd seen him. Figures. Stan had to be queer too.
Stan came out of the kitchen just before they sat down at the dinner table -- the same one that he fucked so many guys on so many evenings before -- covered now with a fresh white table cloth, still creased from being folded in the linen closet. Another longer table was set up beside it. There were too many of them to fit around just one. Angel took the head of the smaller one. Stan took the head of the other. Stan took care of the seating arrangements. It was boy-girl-boy-girl, except for the hosts. Husbands were at a different table from their wives, but he didn't keep them too far apart, just far enough to make Fidel and the other men uncomfortable and close enough that whatever happened the wives would be sure to see what their husbands did.
He sat Fidel at Angel's table next to a hot blond, Ann, the girl friend of a guy he'd barely said two words to before tonight, but a guy whose ass he'd had more times than he had fingers. It was easy to see his friend's attraction to her. Her breasts could hardly fit in her top. It was hard for him to look up at her eyes when she talked to him. Most of the guys avoided conversation. Some of them barely raised their eyes from their plates.
Sometime after the salad, the mood began to change. At first Fidel didn’t notice. His heart had been beating faster than normal out of nerves. Then he started to feel the tightness in his pants and a dry, tingly sensation on the roof of his mouth. His nipples were hard, and he noticed the guys' across the table were making points through their shirts as well. The men's eyes got shifty, stealing glances at each other without moving their heads. They seemed to listen to the wives’ conversation, but they didn’t seem to concentrate on what they were saying. Not that the wives would notice much. When had they ever paid attention?
It had to be Stan, Fidel realized. Fidel adjusted the front of his khakis as best he could, but his meaty beast still tented one side all the way to his hip. He tried to distract himself by looking at Ann. He let his eyes wander down her chest, a glance she didn't miss as she talked to the women across the table, but not even those breasts could take his concentration away from the other men at the table.
He noticed Ian was starring at Angel. He followed his eyes and starred too. How could a man be that big? he wondered. His traps were like hills. His delts were so big they would never fit in a shirt. He was wearing something sleeveless, which only accentuated their immense roundness even more. When he picked up his fork, the men at the table almost gasped. His biceps bounced into a mass of muscle bigger than a football. As he raised the fork to his mouth, the blood bunched up inside and all the capillaries ballooned.
Angel could feel their eyes on him. He smiled as he made calm conversation.
"It's so nice to meet the wives," Angel was saying. "We guys see each other all the time at the gym and we hear about you. It's a shame it's taken so long to meet."
"Do you and Stan live together?" Ann asked.
"No, we don't," Angel answered.
"But you're a couple, right?" She continued.
"Just friends," Angel said as he grinned at Fidel. "'Special' friends, I suppose," he added with a laugh. The women at the table laughed with him. It wasn't his muscles they found attractive. It was his devilish sense of humor and his willingness to make any one of them the complete center of his attention without ever so much as glancing below their neck. He might be gay, but he knew how to treat a woman, at least at the dinner table.
Even through his intense arousal, the direction the conversation was taking was making Fidel uncomfortable. His wife knew he hated queers. He couldn't even stand to talk to one casually. He knew she must be wondering how he could have gotten to know these two well enough to be invited to dinner.
"You men, always reluctant to commit," Ann chided Angel playfully.
"Commitment is difficult," Angel agreed. "Ask any of the men in this room. Aren't I right, Fidel?"
Fidel was so nervous, his fork flew out of his hand and skittered across the wood floor behind his chair. The feet of Fidel's chair squeaked like chalk on a blackboard as he pushed back from the table. "Excuse me," he said. As he stood he turned away from the other diners as fast as he could to hide the immense tent at the front his trousers. He didn't dare push his huge piece flat or it would have pushed out with even more ferocity.
Ian and Paul had turned to look at Fidel’s ass as he bent over to pick up his fork. They’d both fucked him before, one time at the same time. Ian reached out and laid his hand on Fidel’s ass. “You got it, buddy?” he said. The women at the table noticed his hand lingered. Why did he touch him at all? It wasn’t like a man that strong was going to fall over. Fidel let himself lean back into it. He stood slowly and rested his hand on Ian’s shoulder. For a moment he forgot that his erection was bowing the fabric of his slacks obscenely, but the rest of the people of the table couldn’t avoid seeing it. The women were stunned. The men were riveted.
Fidel turned toward Ian, his crotch in Ian’s face. Fidel let his hand grasp the back of Ian’s neck and squeeze it affectionately. A wet spot formed at Fidel’s hip bone where the head of his dick was leaking.
Stan was talking to Fidel’s wife, Juanita, but his eyes were on Fidel and Ian. Juanita’s eyes were on them as well, as were the eyes of everyone at their table.
The two of them held still. Like two powerful magnets each at the periphery of the other’s magnetic field, they were poised, unable to resist the attraction slowly drawing them toward each other, building gradually in intensity. Ian’s eyes were riveted on the wet spot on Fidel’s swollen pants. Fidel leaned forward. Ian’s lips grazed the ridge of Fidel’s cock. Fidel’s cock jerked and the wet spot spread like wet ink. He stepped back from Ian’s mouth, embarrassed at the public display, ashamed to meet his wife’s eyes.
Inside his gut though, Fidel felt something else – a warmth, a rumbling, a wave of energy that threatened to unleash itself throughout his big body. Every muscle in his body stiffened. His ears rang and the room began to dim. Fidel gasped for air. His chest expanded and burst the stitches of his stretch pullover. He was growing. Somehow, without even speaking out loud, Stan was making him bigger in front of everyone. He closed his eyes and took another deep breath. He was no longer embarrassed. He was swollen with pride. The guys on the job site had kidded him about his body every since his first visit to Stan. He’d never let them bother him. When he got so wide he barely fit through the doorways, he still didn’t care. Truth was he’d always wanted to be even bigger. He wouldn’t even mind being as big as Angel. Fidel’s pants began to split up the rear and down the sides from his hips to his knees. Blood pounded in his head. His arms and legs and chest throbbed. His dick broke free of the crotch and it swung straight out, slugging Ian in the face. Then he felt hot moisture engulf it. He heard chair legs scrape against the floor. He opened his eyes. His and Ian’s wives were standing, backing away from the table, running out of the room.
He looked down at Ian. His shirt was also in tatters, exposing an even more magnificent body than he remembered. Obviously Stan’s fantastic imagination had been at work on both of them.
Other wives were getting up, tugging at their husbands to stand, but their husbands were absorbed by the scene, unable to take their eyes off it. Some of them were fingering their stiff cocks through their pants. One of them had already freed his dick. As if at a great distance, Fidel heard angry footsteps, high pitched female voices cursing and the front door slamming.
Slowly, in ever wider gulps, Ian’s mouth was forcing its way down the growing shaft of Fidel’s penis. It seemed like for every inch he swallowed another inch sprouted. The wider he opened his mouth, the thicker it was getting. Ian’s face was red and marbled with veins as Fidel’s cock pushed further down his throat, completely cutting off his breath.
Fidel felt a firm hand on his shoulder. Two other hands tugged his shirttails from his torn pants and pulled the ripped shirt over his head. He felt hot hard chest muscle rub against his thickly muscled back. Warm, moist lips sucked on his neck from behind. Someone unbuckled his belt and pulled down his pants. An enormously thick cock rubbed up between his ass cheeks. The man behind him thrust it deep inside him. Fidel welcomed it with a squeeze as it slid deeper and deeper inside him.
“That a’ boy, Fidel,” He heard Angel’s deep, resonant voice behind him.
“Now you’re home, Fidel,” Stan said to him from across the room. “All of my boys are home.”
Fidel could hear sex sounds all around him, the unmistakable grunting, deep throated moaning, and exhilarated screams of men deep in sexual pleasure with other men. He could hear clothes ripping. He could hear the splattering of cum on carpet. But all he saw was Ian’s distended mouth working his newly enormous cock. All he felt was the hardness of an even more enormous cock up his squeezing ass as Angel plowed into him from behind.
“Are you thinking about your wife now, Fidel?” Angel taunted him between labored breaths. “Is it your wife you want? Or is it my big cock pounding into your ass?” Angel wrapped his thirty inch arms around Fidel’s extra wide chest.
Saturated with sexual sensation, Fidel wasn’t THINKING at all. None of the men were thinking anymore, except maybe Stan and Angel, the conductor and the lead player of the sexual orchestration they were all a part of. Later tonight, when the frenzy died down, when the men gathered up their tattered and torn clothing and left Stan’s apartment, the consequences of their coerced actions would become obvious. Whatever their sexual proclivities were away from Stan it would no longer matter. Their secret passion was known to their wives and their girl friends. Soon it would be known to their wives lawyers and the men they worked with. Perhaps they would never fuck another man – outside of Stan’s apartment of course – but that would be too fine a distinction for their family and friends.