MEN, MUSCLE, and MAYHEM (16 page)

“I decided to hand deliver the estimate,” he said as he handed me the envelope. “I can explain it to you if you like?”

I gave him my best you think I am a dunder-headed muscleboy with the IQ of a baboon look.

“Oh, I didn’t mean it like that … uh, I mean I like to explain why we may be higher than most anyone else,” Allan recovered.

“I may look mean, but it takes a whole hell of a lot to offend me or piss me off … believe me, kid, I haven’t lost my temper in years,” I said with a smile as I motioned him inside.

What, you say? A juiced-up freak who hasn’t had a roid induced hissy fit? See, you read too much. I have never been a hot head. That is why I sucked as a professional football player. I’m too easy going. The only side effect I ever got from the juice was shrunken balls, but I can still come a gallon of spunk.

I offered Allan a protein shake, and he accepted. As we sat there drinking our whey concoctions, he explained all the window crap, and I pretended to listen, but I couldn’t get over how he was avoiding looking at me. I was shirtless, pumped from the gym and sitting no more than two feet away from him. Although I had showered at the gym, I hadn’t bothered putting on deodorant, so I had a light musk about me, which some guys like.

When he finally looked up, I could tell he was enthralled by my pumped pecs and my nipples, which I pulled on constantly. They stick out a good inch even now.

“You want to touch them?” I asked.

His eyes bulged.

“Look, it won’t make you gay. Straight guys always want to touch my muscles to see what they feel like. Are they hard, soft, will they vibrate?” I said with a chuckle and a smile.

“Sure,” he said as he slowly reached over to kind of poke a finger at my bicep.

I flexed it for him, and he then caressed it a bit before taking his hand away. So, I was wrong about him. He was a big ole fag. I grabbed his hand and put it on my pec while I made it bounce.

“Damn, they are hard as a rock,” he said.

I was not turned on by this. He just wasn’t my type. Yeah, I know, get over it.

“Now, about this estimate. What can we do to get you to come down by at least ten percent?” I may have been pissed at the landlords, but I was still a tightwad at heart, and I wasn’t going for the obvious scene you are expecting here.

“Become my personal trainer,” he said.

I sat back and looked at him. He had potential and a good frame. And that gut he complained about wasn’t really that bad, just a little soft.

“Take off your shirt,” I said.

He stood up and without hesitation removed his shirt. His shoulders were broad, and his biceps a nice size, too. However, his chest was a surprise as it was huge, which made me make a mental note to suggest he wear a tighter company shirt, and it was covered with hair, curly blond hair that trailed down to his pants.

“You’ll have to shave that,” I said pointing to his chest.

“Really?” he said as he ran his hand seductively down his torso.

“But not until after you bend me over this table and fuck my brains out. The condoms and lube are in the drawer behind you. If you want me to train you, you better be ready to do what I say at the drop of a hat,” I said without stopping to take a breath. Then I stood, dropped my cut-off sweat shorts revealing my hard five-inch dick. Yeah, I know, everyone in these stories is hung like a horse. Well, I’m a bottom, and I may not have a lot of dick to play with, but I certainly have enough muscle to make up for it. Besides, little dicks get hard, stay hard, and shoot nice creamy loads. So, get over it.

I also know that I said he wasn’t my type. But, I wanted that estimate lowered, and my hole filled at the same time. He was there; I was horny; do the math.

I then bent over the table, while he fumbled around with his pants.

“Hurry up, I don’t get this horny often, just grease it up and plug me,” I said over my shoulder.

I then felt the cold lube dribbling down my crack. He sort of rubbed it all around, and I could tell he was nervous. I then heard the condom wrapper being opened; he cursed himself while he tried to roll it on. I clearly had him flustered.

“Are these the largest ones you have?” he asked.

I turned around and saw what looked to be a good ten thick inches of circumcised dick sticking straight out at me. There you go – a horse-hung top in a porno story. Are you happy now?

“Look in the back of the drawer. They must have slid back. There should be some extra-hungs or whatever they call them,” I said as I marveled at his heat-seeking moisture missile, which is a friend’s nickname for huge cocks.

“Found them,” he said with delight.

“Good, slip one on and fuck my brains out,” I said as I again bent over the table. “And, don’t bother eating me out or fingering me, just stick that barbell up my chute … I hate foreplay.”

He did just that. All the way in, no apologies, no hesitation, no finesse, no bullshit, and I loved it.

“Now, reach around and pull my nipples as hard as you can while you fuck me.”

And, he did just that. He reached around and pulled my big nipples, no apologies, no hesitation, no finesse, no bullshit, and I loved it.

He practically pounded my huge muscular ass over the moon (excuse the pun) and pulled my nipples another inch. I was in heaven. He was having a pretty good time, too. Or, he was good at faking it because he kept telling me what a hot ass I had and what a sexy motherfucker I was. And at one point, he started nibbling on the back of my neck, and that did it.

I cried out as I came. I wasn’t even touching myself since I was using my hands to hold onto the edge of the table while he pounded me for points. And, right after I came, he filled that extra large rubber with his own load and yelled out loud what a “man slut” I was, and amazingly, I came again – hands free.

When he recovered, he apologized for calling me a man slut and gave me ten percent off on the windows in addition to another ten percent for the hot fuck.

I never told him, but calling me a man slut was the best part of the fuck.

The windows look great. And Allan? He is a muscle freak now, too.

I love being me.

THE CENTER OF ATTENTION

Billy played center for as long as he played football, beginning with peewee, then middle school, high school, and now college. For some reason, coaches automatically put him in that position, bent over with a quarterback’s hands up his crotch. Was it his size? He was always the tallest – and widest – kid with the ability to run over anyone headed for the quarterback like a steam roller? Or, was it his round muscular butt, which was so tantalizing in that position. He never thought it was his butt. After all, he had a talent for hiking the ball and immediately knocking down at least three defensive linemen before they knew what hit them. Years of playing football in his hometown of Newport News gave him a reputation, and many a lineman would try to challenge Billy, but by the end of the game, the quarterback on Billy’s team would never have a scratch on him.

He entered college with a full scholarship. By eighteen, his frame had filled out quite nicely, and now in his senior year at age twenty-one, he was, as one of the cheerleaders called him, ‘hunkalicious.’ Billy was over six-foot-five, weighing more than 280 pounds, with a chest that measured at least fifty-four inches, biceps that approached twenty inches, a waist that although thirty-eight inches was tight and ripped, quads that measured over thirty-five inches and of course, that big round muscular butt. While many of his teammates were using steroids and other ‘enhancements,’ Billy had no desire to do anything that wasn’t natural. He didn’t have to as he was one of the lucky few who could get more muscular just from looking at a dumbbell. To make his teammates more jealous, Billy had inherited the best of both his Russian and Moroccan genes – smooth dark skin, strong facial features, green eyes, thick curly hair and bright white teeth. His hands and feet were huge, and he could palm a football with no problem.

Their first two seasons were highly successful with few losses, so the team was quite surprised when their coach resigned under pressure, and a new coach from a Southern university was brought in. And along with that new coach arrived a new quarterback. The new quarterback was not unexpected as Jerry Garrison had graduated the prior year and was playing pro-ball now. Billy wasn’t envious, for he was not looking forward to a pro football career. He was a straight-A pre-med student, and he was actually looking forward to ending his football days. After all, he had been playing center since he was six years old, and all the practices were getting old.

The team entered the locker room silently the day after the announcement of their new coach and quarterback. As they changed into their practice uniforms, there was grumbling about the new coach’s reputation, rumors and gossip that Billy didn’t care to hear. The advantage to playing center was that all he had to do was remember when to hike the ball, plow forward and hope he hadn’t hurt a defensive lineman – too badly.

After changing, they ran out to the field and lined up, awaiting the introductions.

Billy looked to his right and spotted a tall, black man with an almost equally tall, but younger, black man beside him. The older man looked to be in his mid-thirties, around six-foot-three and muscular. Billy guessed he played football in his youth and maintained his athletic physique. He was wearing a tight white polo shirt that accentuated his large chest and bulging biceps and blue coaching shorts that did little to hide his full basket. He was wearing a cap, but Billy could tell the man had a shaved head, and the hat did not hide the fact that he was perhaps the most handsome man he had ever seen with dark smooth skin and a bright smile surrounded by thick sexy lips. The younger of the two looked to be about Billy’s age and maybe only an inch shorter if that much. He was muscular but leaner than the older man. His hair was cut short, and he had high cheek bones, a wide sexy mouth and big dark eyes. He was wearing a green practice jersey and matching sweat pants, but they weren’t nearly as tight as the coach’s, which is why he probably didn’t look as muscular at the moment.

The two men approached.

“I’m Coach Clifford Montgomery, and this young man is your new quarterback, Karl Johnston,” the older man said with a bit of a Southern twang Billy recognized, for they were from the same part of Virginia that he was. “Assistant Coach Frase will run you through your drills today. Which one of you is Greenberg?”

“I am,” Billy answered.

“You come with Karl and me,” Coach Montgomery said as he signaled for Billy to follow.

As Billy left his teammates, he shrugged his shoulders but did as he was told and caught up with the new coach and quarterback.

“I think it’s important that a center and quarterback get to know each other intimately. You two will have to work closer than anyone else on the team, you understand, Greenberg?” the coach asked.

“Yes, sir,” Billy responded.

“Good.”

Karl just looked back at Billy and smiled.

They continued walking in silence until they reached the locker room, then went back to the room that was usually used for rehabilitation with its massage tables, whirlpool and other useful equipment. Billy noticed the coach had moved some things around and created a large area in the middle of the room with a section of workout mats. Needless to say, Billy was a little confused. After playing football and the same position for over fifteen years, he was used to new coaches, but never had been brought into a situation with just the coach and quarterback.

“I hear you aren’t heading for the pros after college? They say you’re going to medical school,” Coach Montgomery said.

“Yes, sir, I’ve always wanted to be a doctor. Playing football was a way of getting scholarship money, and what I didn’t spend on undergrad, I can use for medical school,” Billy answered, expecting the coach to give him the same spiel he always got about how with his talents he should go pro and all.

“Good for you,” the coach said, surprising Billy. “You’ll have a longer career as a doctor and be able to walk without pain after thirty as well.”

“Wow,” Billy responded. “You’re the first coach to give me that response.”

“Johnston here is also pre-med, and the sexy fucker wants to be a surgeon, so I need for you to protect him, so he doesn’t injure those hands,” Coach Montgomery informed him. “I am not all that keen on playing pro unless you’re too stupid to become something else. All that money and a broken body never make for a good combination or a happy long life.”

Karl smiled, while Billy wondered if he actually heard the coach call him a ‘sexy fucker.’ This wouldn’t be too shocking, for coaches and players usually referred to each other with sexual innuendoes and pet names all the time. It was a male-bonding thing, yet there was something about how he said it and the fact that Karl smiled and still had not said a word.

“Damn, a surgeon. Cool. I’m going to become an OBGYN,” Billy said directly to Karl.

“All that pussy? Can you handle it?” Karl finally spoke, and what a deep, sexy voice he had, Billy thought as he smiled back at his new quarterback.

“OK, enough of this flirting, love birds, let’s get to work,” the coach said. He then handed Billy a football. “Greenberg, I want you to practice hiking to Johnston. I don’t want any fumbles, none. You hear me?”

They both nodded as Billy bent over to hike the ball. The room was particularly hot, and Billy was dressed in all his pads. He was thankful he had not put on his helmet or he would have passed out.

“Aren’t you curious what it’s on?” Karl asked.

“Oh yeah,” Billy said. “It’s just that this is strange for me. I’ve played center for as long as I can remember, and I never had to practice hiking like this in a room away from everyone.”

“You’ll find I have new ways of doing everything,” Coach Montgomery said. “Before we get started, why don’t you get out of those pads; it’s hot as fuck in here, and I don’t want your parents crying to me when you die of heat exhaustion.”