Gay Erotic Stories

The gym was older than it looked from the outside; inside, it was simple and sparsely populated. I walked over to the barbell stand at the far end of the open room. As I reached for a weight, I noticed a young, slender guy sitting on a bench adjacent to the stand. He was facing the wall-sized mirror, massaging his arms.

He looked to be in his early twenties, very thin, about 5' 5", and no more than 115 to 120 pounds. Frail was the best word for this guy. His chest had only the slightest development and his arms, hanging to their sides, looked kind of pathetic and bony. I looked him over one more time, because I think the sight of large biceps on skinny guys is great, but this dude didn't seem to be packing much, so I ignored him, picked up a weight, and began pumping.

As I continued to train, the dude looked up at me and said quietly, almost meekly, "Hi." After a bit of small talk, he told me his name was Klaus. Apparently, he'd been coming to this gym for almost two years.

"Pity," I thought to myself, looking down at him as he continued to massage his thin arms, "he's not getting his money's worth." I figured that once the dude saw my physique, he'd really become even depressed than he already looked.

As I watched myself pump in front of the mirror, I looked over at Klaus' reflection. After a few minutes, he'd finally stopped massaging his arms. Then slowly, almost mechanically, he raised his arms to his sides and began to flex them. As I watched, his forearms tightened, veins emerged upon the surface of his smooth pale skin, and his biceps began to rise off his arm. I found myself in a pump-a-thon and so continued to work my weights at a fevered pace. But Klaus continued to stare intently into the mirror, as if he were willing his arms to get bigger before his eyes. I was astonished--this seemingly little nobody had sculpted an impressive set of guns. Pound for pound, I guessed he was bigger than me.

Then, just as mechanically, Klaus slowly pulled his eyes away from his mirror image and looked at me. "What do you think," he said, still holding his arms upright and flexed, the veins clearly crisscrossing the tops of his biceps. I put my weights back onto the rack.

"Klaus--man they're great!" I stammered. "I didn't realize when I first saw you..."

"Yes," he said, a smile crossing his face, "a lot of guys don't realize from looking at me how muscular I am."

We worked out, side by side, for another hour. Then we showered and grabbed a bite to eat. We found that we had a lot in common. After lunch, we went back to my place.

Over a beer, we got to talking about strength training and goals. I told him that I really admired guys his size who, without much weight, managed to build their arms so impressively.

"Yeah," he told me, "it's been a goal of mine since I was a kid. I've always been small. And when I was a teenager, a lot of guys picked on me, told me I was weak, and took advantage of me. I vowed that I'd devote myself to getting bigger and stronger. And here I am. I plan to get a lot bigger still, but I'm very satisfied with my progress. What do you think?"

And with that question, Klaus rolled up the sleeve of his T-shirt and flexed his right arm, the biceps emerging almost volcanically from nowhere, a nice large curve with a hard peak.

"Man," I said. "That's incredible."

"You said you like biceps on small guys," Klaus laughed. "Do you want to feel it?"

"Do I?" I laughed. "You bet." And so I walked behind Klaus and pushed his shirt sleeve away from his arm, allowing me to see his bicep at full peak. I slowly placed my hand upon it. As I cupped it, it felt hard and round in my hand. Klaus turned his head back and said, "How do you like it?"

I nodded approvingly.

"Squeeze it," he told me.

"Huh?"

"Squeeze it. See if you can put a dent in it."

"Come on, Klaus. I'm pretty strong," I said. "I don't want to hurt you."

"Do it!" he said, almost commanding me.

"Okay," I said. If that's what you want." And so I began squeezing Klaus' flexed bicep. Slowly and with little pressure at first. Then feeling the hard muscle underneath my hand, I squeezed it a little harder. Complete resistance. I added more pressure and wondered whether Klaus wasn't a lot stronger than I had imagined. I felt my own fingers and forearms begin to strain. Sweat appeared on Klaus's brow and he began breathing heavily. He was determined more than I was. Thinking this was beginning to get out of hand and that Klaus was embarrassing me, I stopped and walked away, trying not to let him know how hard I had tried.

Klaus sat down next to me and began massaging his arm. "That's okay,’ he said. “you tried." Then he took off his T-shirt, balled it up, and used it to wipe the sweat off his face. Four reddish blotches had formed over the pale skin in his upper right arm. He looked satisfied, even confident, and he began flexing his arm again. The bicep blew back to its original size. Then, smiling, he looked me squarely in the eye.

"Now," he said, "It's your turn."

I really didn’t have a choice, so I capitulated and flexed my arm, building what I considered to be a good display of my bicep. Klaus brought his hands to the mound of muscle and just gave it a go. God his hands were muscular too! Before I realized it, I flinched and folded in pain.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to hurt you,” he apologized.

I was now summarily embarrassed. All I managed to get out was, “No, you really didn’t hurt me (much).” What a bold faced lie. Klaus wasn’t being fooled. He began to console my trounced bicep and as he did so he moved closer to me. Our legs touched. Then he deliberately pressed his leg against mine…not once…not accidentally, but repeatedly. My attention shifted from my injured muscle to another muscle, which was now growing. Jesus, I couldn’t stop it. Would he notice?

It soon became rather clear that Klaus’ attention was now also directed at the muscle between my legs…not the bicep he was still absentmindedly massaging. “Look’s like you have another aching muscle,” he observed.

“Yuh, yyyes, I guess you’re right. I—I always kind of get a but horny when I’ve worked out I guess, I said trying to cover my tracks…my pecker tracks that is.

“Well, I guess we can work on that too,” Klaus suggested, then shifting his hands from my bicep to my the top of my zipper. Quickly I developed a full-blown hardon. I looked down at Klaus’ crotch…a clear tenting of his jeans too. I followed suit and went for his zipper.

Klaus stopped, stood up and just dropped his pants, then peeled off his knit shirt. He wasn’t wearing any underwear, so almost instantly he was standing there stark naked. Again, I stood up and followed suit. In a few more seconds we were both naked and our pricks were pointing at each other ready to duel. I suggested that we might visit the bedroom and get more comfortable. Klaus readily nodded his approval and followed me.

Within a few more seconds we were both on the bed. Klaus leaned over to plant a kiss on my cheek, just as I turned and met his mouth head on. Our lips locked and the full on kiss turned into a passionate dueling of our tongues, each frantically thrashing and searching each other’s hot mouth.

“God, you’re a good kisser!” Klaus said when he came up for air. Then he just spun around and his mouth went for my throbber. I simply followed his lead. We were both so hard that in a couple of minutes of artful sucking, I felt his cock stiffen a bit more, then the first of several torrents of man juice splatter against the back of my throat. This set me off, and Klaus’ expert lips were ready.

As soon as my eruptions had subsided, Klaus pulled off my cock, sat upright and pulled me up so I was facing him. He looked so cute, cum dripping from his chin. He leaned forward and so did I. I could already smell the sweet smell of cum on his breath. Our lips met and his tongue dove inside. To my surprise, Klaus hadn’t swallowed hardly any of my cum, and he was now generously coating my mouth with my own spunk. We continued spreading the stuff around, and then licked each other’s lips and face clean…then cleaned off our cocks too.

The afternoon passed all too quickly…especially when we began exploring each other’s ass. Klaus’ expert mouth was good at that too. He made me squirm with delight, and of course being a dutiful host…I reciprocated. Man, the little guy had one sweet ass. Klaus’ response was remarkable…the more he quivered, the harder I sucked, and the more he cooed with delight.

“Ohhhh, daddy please…I need you…now…please…right now.”

I ask you, “What would any good host do for a good little buddy?”