Gay Erotic Stories

It was a long and difficult contest but here I am, the new Quad-State Arm Wrestling Association champion. After the two-day double-elimination tournament among no fewer than 128 contestants, I have beaten all comers to take this spot behind the first-place table. The final round of bouts before this audience of more than 2,000 were actually easier than expected, but yesterday's and this morning's were exceptionally difficult. Perhaps the other contestants tired a bit more than I. Whatever the reason, I'm about to be crowned this year's champion, king of the hill, strongest man in the Quad-State area. It's certainly a great feeling! But there IS one last hurdle, just a formality, something that has never caused previous tournament winners any problem. As is traditional for the quad-state association, the audience is asked if anyone is willing to challenge the winner before he is crowned. Although this may seem a little unfair in that the winner has just endured at least 7 bouts in 2 days, not to mention the one that concluded just minutes ago, and the challenger would be fresh. This feature really excites the audience and often gets mmore new coverage than the actual tournament bouts. Usually the challenger is some overweight bouncer who has the night off, or a longshoreman who's had a little too much to drink--both easy knockoffs. Anybody who's anybody in this sport was one of the contestants - or didn't make the cut. I'm only aware of one case, and that was years ago, where such a challenger beat the tournament winner - and he was disqualified for having something in his hand. So I've got nothing to worry about. I'll just put on a good show for the audience and cameras and I'll have that crown after 15 years of focussed training and almost 10 years of hard fought competing. So the emcee announced the challenge and after more than 30 seconds with no takers, a man near the back of the auditorium stood up to accept. Even from that distance, I could see that he was exceptionally tall and certainly wasn't an overweight bouncer. And, as he strode down the aisle, it was apparent that he was quite sober as well. As he neared, I could see the angular features of his face, his dark skin, his thick sideburns that widened just a bit below the earlobes before ending abruptly. Under a lightweight jacket that was open in the front, he was dressed in a thick, blue, long-sleeved chambray shirt, the kind that gave "blue collar workers" their name. I couldn't really tell how much muscle there was on his long arms but from the face, I knew there certainly wasn't much fat. The emcee read the rules: Winner take all, 5-minute limit for Warm up, free arm off the table, referee starts the match and can call a foul at any time, etc. He was then offered an opportunity to withdraw, which he refused. When asked his name, he said in a rumbling bass voice "Just call me 'Little Boy'" which seemed a little odd, but then I assume he had his reasons. The warm up clock was started. For me the best preparation is to close my eyes and think calm thoughts, especially between bouts when recovery ability is one of the attributes of a good arm wrestler. In past years I've seen others, both regular competitors and challengers, do everything imaginable to warm up. I've seen them do pushups, sit-ups, dance, run laps around the stage, pump dumbbells, even execute a posing routine. "Psyching out" your adversary is part of the game, especially for those less experienced than myself, and many of the warm up routines I've seen are little more than that. Instead, he just removed his jacket and proceeded to roll up his Right sleeve. Not your usual "unbutton and pull up the cuff" or a quick "turn, turn, turn and it's done" but a very careful and deliberate fold, equalize, smooth, equalize, and fold again action. I've never seen anybody take so long to roll up their sleeve but then, I can't complain; I can use the extra rest. He probably thought that a well-rolled sleeve might make him stronger or perhaps it might psych me out if it revealed a good biceps. Actually I saw it as a possible advantage for me - I would be able to see changes in his muscle tension and thereby perhaps anticipate his strategy. Pro level arm wrestling is as much strategy as it is raw power. I, in contrast, was dressed in the Association's standard competition uniform - a robe with 3/4 length, flowing sleeves, not unlike what martial arts practitioners wear. It would probably heighten audience excitement if they could see the contestant's working muscles, but on the other hand, only having the wrists and forearms - and faces - showing focuses attention on the wrestling. His gradually revealed arm remained straight, but like his face, was dark, angular, and free of any noticeable fat. His sleeve seemed exceptionally large before he began, and indeed it was shaping up into a cuff nearly 20 inches inside circumference. The width of the cuff was over 3 inches, but it seemed suitably narrow for such a large circumference. It was loose on his still unbent arm but, unless he had no biceps at all, would certainly fill up during a good flex. In the absence of any warm up, I couldn't really judge how much muscle there was, but the fine network of veins signaled that what I saw was not fat. After what seemed like 10 minutes, the cuff was exactly halfway up his upper arm. He then continued to smooth out wrinkles and very carefully equalize the cuff's width all the way around until the bell rang. I had hoped to see that arm bend while he rolled up the other sleeve but now it's obvious that he had no such intention. The referee stepped forward and seated him opposite me in front of the first place table. Only after sitting down and adjusting his seat did he raise his bared arm into wrestling position. Even that he did without even a twitch of biceps tension. As the referee positioned our elbows and locked our hands, I could see that much of the bulk of his upper arm was now below the cuff but still not a hint of tension in any of the muscles. Hmmm, perhaps I can use the oldest trick in the book - the fast start - to quickly defeat This obviously powerful man. Modern refereeing has made this gambit harder to execute, but it is still a common way to quickly defeat inexperienced contestants in the early rounds of a tournament, thus leaving maximum energy for the later rounds. If there continued to be no evidence of muscle tension at the end of the referee's count, I'd just slam his arm to the table before he could react. "Ready - Three - Two - One - Wrestle!" and the referee released his grip on our hands. The man's arm still showed no signs of tension so I just pushed with all my might. His arm moved without resistance save the inertia of its considerable mass as it accelerated downward and hit the table.\ "I've won." I thought to myself, "I've won!" But wait ... there was no sound, no vibration in the table. I felt his arm slam down onto the hard table but there was no sound. I looked to confirm what I'd felt and was shocked to see that his hand had stopped 2 inches ABOVE the table and was as motionless as if it was resting on a glass block. His rolled up sleeve had snapped to attention atop a biceps that looked like a hard, twisted steel cable - like what holds up the Golden Gate bridge and almost as thick. At each side between biceps and the remainder of his arm, there was a gap where sleeve did not touch skin but clearly that 20 inch sleeve was almost full, even though his arm was bent barely 20 degrees. I was impressed by his ability to go from passive flexibility to such rigid tension so quickly. Clearly, he was powerful AND quick, but I still had the advantage being in the offensive position, able to use my triceps, pectorals, and deltoids, while he was in the defensive position having to rely solely on his biceps. We stayed in that position for perhaps 10 seconds, as I was unable to capitalize on my advantage and he was, perhaps, content not to mount an offense of his own. Then suddenly, but very slowly, his biceps began to contract pulling his - and my - lower arms upward. As the muscle swelled inside his sleeve, the gaps visible earlier quickly disappeared. Then, what small wrinkles remained in the cuff smoothed as the cloth stretched taut. This all happened in perhaps 2 inches of movement - and I was powerless to stop it. But then at that point, just as suddenly, the motion stopped anyway. Again we were locked in position, this time with our hands about 4 inches above the table. I could do nothing offensively - it was as if I was wrestling a bronze statue. But that also meant he hadn't the strength - or the will - to pull up further and perhaps escape his defensive position. All in all it seemed pretty good for me. Pecs, triceps and deltoids are larger muscles than biceps and so they tire less rapidly. Additionally, everybody except pro arm wrestlers, train for biceps size rather than endurance. Nearly always, the man in the defensive position will tire before his opponent, even if overall he's the stronger man. So, although I couldn't budge his statue-like arm at this time, it wasn't moving against mine either. The longer we held that position, the more likely it was he would tire and I'd get the victory that he has temporarily denied me. As we continued to sit there, arms and hands locked, I had the opportunity to study his arm in detail. The thick, rope-like biceps exited his sleeve, curved outward then back somewhat as it descended toward his elbow and abruptly ended as it joined a flattened tendon that resembled three thicknesses of a car's seatbelt. Either side were two large veins which continued down his bowling pin shaped lower arm and disappeared into his wrist. The lower arm muscles were in as bold a relief as the biceps and they too resembled a bundle of steel cables. Actually I'd never seen anyone so powerful looking before and I've seen plenty. Still, we were locked in position and I had the ball so to speak. I became a little concerned though, because his face had not changed at all during this time and it would have if he was beginning to tire. That twinge of concern escalated into worry as I began to feel the first signs of fatigue. We'd probably been locked there for a minute and a half - longer than any match during the last 2 days - and I was pushing as hard as I could. Any letup now could signal him to begin an offensive move that I might not be able to resist. Sweat began to form on my forehead but no sign of any on his. As I began to weaken, his arm began to move upward again - very slowly - perhaps 1/4 inch each time. I felt another wave of fatigue. His biceps swelled a bit more as it shortened. From deep inside his thick cuff I heard muffled pops and ripping noises. These stopped briefly then BANG!! Like a pistol shot, his rolled up sleeve split at the top and exploded! The sleeve had blasted open all the way up to the deltoid. The remaining cloth unrolled like a red carpet and hung down from his armpit. The crowd gasped as if they had just seen a murder. The now absent sleeve revealed a huge, fully contracted, magnificent biceps. It looked like a large gourd, encrusted with vines, had been implanted under his skin. I was in awe as its neck near his deltoid swelled into a huge, fissured body which then abruptly curved back into a rounded end a good 4 inches from the base of his forearm. It had to be approaching 30 inches around and it was just, was just magnificent! The sheer sight of it caused immediate uncontrollable abdominal convulsions as I impregnated my robe. I had been beaten, that's for sure, but I just sat there transfixed by the sight of this man's biceps. As my senses returned, I realized that he, rather, his biceps, had not been fighting me, but had been fighting his own rolled up sleeve! I had merely resisted enough of its might to prevent that sleeve explosion from happening immediately - or at least at will. As soon as I had weakened a bit, his biceps was able to escape the confines of that sleeve and become free to contract full force against his, and thus my, arm. The careful folding, smoothing of wrinkles, equalization of cuff width, all was done to ensure a sudden, uniform, and thus powerful explosion. I was the tournament winner - the best of the best - but this man's power was nuclear and mine, merely conventional. I finally understood the significance oof hi nickname. I continued to study the beauty of his fully flexed arm. The base of his forearm was even bigger than before. Even though there was a sizable space at the base of his biceps, his wrist actually touched its peak. My eyes followed the taper of his forearm up toward the comparatively narrow wrist and then to his hand. It was still gripping mine but I could tell the angle was decidedly unnatural. My eyes continued to follow my arm and then a tide of terror washed over me as I saw the bloody fragments of bone and tendon that lie at the end. He had ripped off my arm! In that millisecond of explosive power when his sleeve gave way, his biceps had ripped my entire arm off at the shoulder. I would probably never compete again or do a thousand other things that require a good right arm. As I began to faint from loss of blood and semen, all that that Seemed secondary. I just kept repeating louder and louder "What a magnificent biceps!"