Gay Erotic Stories

I knew this was going to be a bizarre day. I was going to be initiated into Capital City Gay-Bi community's most respected muscular men's club, the 5-H Society. Horny Hard Herculean Heavyweight Hunks. Yep, sounds a little bizarre, but trust me, see these muscle dudes up close and personally and you look at 8 of the strongest men at their various weight classes in the entire state. And 8 of the most physically imposing!! I had just completed my a.m. workout at the Get Huge barbell club on the city's west side. At 5-9 and 204 granite-hard pounds, with a 435 bench and 675 squat to my credit, with 18-inch guns and a sharply defined 46" chest, I was feeling particularly hot as I headed into the shower. But at the Get Huge, one of the country's most prolific weight training centers, you never -- ever -- fail to run into your comeuppance. There was Tony, one of 40 -- count 'em, forty -- guys with 800-pound squatting, 500-pound benching credentials among the gym's nearly 2,000 members. At 5-8, 265 overpowering pounds, he was hard to miss. "Hey, peewee," he never failed to greet me. "Lookin' good this morning? Work them quads again? Meanin' to tell ya, you gotta put weights ON THE BAR, peewee, know what I mean?" Weight room humor, it kills me! I do eight man-reps with 495 on my pyramid squat workout and this wiseguy stomps me out like a cigarette butt. Anyhow, I won't waste your time with the usual back-and-forth blue bullsh*t. I get out to catch the bus to work and there's this scantily-clad monster on the cramped vehicle's stairway, a blond State University grad school farm boy, it turns out, who literally filled almost the entire doorway! A classic heavyweight power lifter's W-I-D-E back with pronounced erector muscles, barndoor lats, tapering to a 34" waist. As he turned around, I discovered his pecs were harder than boulders, but as the last accepted passenger before the bus turned into an express, I had little choice but to get a face full. At 6-6, 312 pounds, he stood nearly a head taller. But because of the rush-hour logistics, I got an intimate view of the most massive pecs I'd seen since the Arnold contest here last spring. His body language and eyes let me know he admired my compact build. But ... "You like what you see?" I was asked. "What's not to like, dude, you're one helluva man." "Where you headed?" "Work -- Insurance company, then I've got a meeting up near the university, up on High Street." "High Street? I live up at 2455 North." Uh...ohhhhhhhh. Bullseye. I was in a summer leisure suit and fortunately, I had a thick jockstrap in place, because my 8-inches of love was shooting off inside. With a pair of satin undies on as well, I prayed nothing of substance made it outside, if you know what I mean. The old stain on the trou look isn't particularly acceptable in today's business world, if you get my drift. "I'd better say this softly," I said. "Are you in the 5H Society?" "Why do you ask?" "I'm getting Initiated this evening!" "Oooooohhhhh, that's youuuuuu. Let's just say you'll never ever forget tonight ..." I froze. His pecs hardened, my face placed right in the valley between. He didn't miss a trick -- resorting to the old bodybuilder-with-attitude's alternate flex, the striations nearly imprinting on my face! His 23-plus inch biceps nearly blasted a hole in the vehicle's roof as he hung onto the overhead bar. What a man! He kept pumping his pecs alternately... "You kinda like that, don't ya?" "Not bad. You come attached with a name?" "Yeah, but you will call me Mister tonight. Jason Oliver. Grew up in Nebraska, went to Catholic high school in Omaha, wanted to just plow some ass on that 100 x 53 field for the Cornhuskers, but blew my knee out senior year. "Went there and graduated, majored in physical training. Not as dumb-jock as it sounds." "Indeed. My stop, Jason..." "Sooooo. You want off here?" "Yeah, if it's ok with you." "You REALLY want off?" "C'mon, Jason, my job..." "Your job is to come with me." "Ohmygod." "I think you need a little preliminary session, little man." "I see." The outline of a 12-inch fire hydrant was plainly visible through Jason's slick turquoise workout pants. A man in EVERY possible way... "Geeeeeze," I said softly. "Everything about you is huge." "People know who I am, know what I mean?" The insurance building, a prominent 15-story modernistic glass-dominated structure, had come and gone. For a day at least, my occupation had changed from claims adjuster to beeeyatch. "...Twenty four hundred North!" the driver proclaimed over the intercom. "St. Mark's Hospital, The Alliance Center." Suddenly, the most powerful hands I've ever encountered clapped one viselike grip on my right shoulder, the other on my left arm. He literally lifted me vertically and steered me out onto High Street, following me closely. Verrry, verrrry closely. Nudging me with sensuous bouncing motion. "I think you and I are gonna get along just fine, little man," Jason said. "You just have to know there are a few rules..." Twenty four fifty-five was a four-story walkup with a massively-reinforced fourth floor concrete base. Jason's boundless power and energy was astonishing as he rocketed up the stairs to the top floor. "We've got a major weight room," Jason said. "We don't lift pussy weights up here, either," he added, sticking the key in the massive metallic door. The thick red door with the security eye opened to a to a greeting by the most perfectly-chiseled, powerfully defined young teenager I'd ever seen. "Hi," the kid said. "Kyle." "Jean," I said. "French for John. People call me both and worse!" "How old are you, Kyle?" "Fifteen. Just turned Monday. We have off from North High today, so I'm catching up on my workouts and schoolwork." " 'Scuse me just a second," I said. "Jason, what's the deal, a 15-year-old kid living here?" "Lost both parents and his sister in an accident. He's another member's cousin. He's got a few relatives in Kentucky, but they wouldn't take him. So we kinda shaped him up. Know what I mean?" "God, yes." Over by the impressive bay window that offered an unfettered look at the constantly changing downtown skyline, Kyle presented an eerie silhouette of teenage power, his 17" biceps exploding to an almost obscene peak as he executed perfect-form 45-pound dumbbell curls. His arms were soooo powerful, you could see the systolic vein snaking down his biceps in that silhouette. "Kid's a stud," Jason said. "Horny as hell all the time, but he knows how to channel his drive." "Channel his drive?" "Yeah, kid's got a monster dick, almost got him in trouble at school a couple weeks back, because the gym teacher questioned him about his sexuality and Kyle jumped him and had to go to the principal's office. "He's very, very aggressive. As you'll find out tonight! Guess you better call in work and tell 'em you're sick, Jean. 'Cause you're gonna be busy today! Like I said, you're gonna remember tonight for the rest of your life!" NEXT: Kyle and Jean get...it...on!!! First on the mats, then ...