Barnes & Noble Flexathon by Gregor weekgrgr@cfl.rr.com What happened to me the other night is the kind of scene that you always fantasize about happening and it somehow never does, or you can spend months actively looking for it without any luck, and then one day it just drops into your lap out of the blue. This particular evening I had a really good workout--you know, where you feel strong and you're really motivated and each rep feels right, and you manage to push it farther than what you normally do. I trained arms and back. I snagged that elusive pump in my arms and it felt so good, the muscles flushed and warm and bulging, that I really pushed, doing a couple of extra sets of concentration curls. I flexed in the gym mirror--16" biceps, not super veiny but a nice rounded peak, filled-in forearms. "Not bad," I thought. Someone walked by, nodded in appreciation and said "Lookin' good, dude--show 'em off." I felt pumped up enough to stop in at the Barnes & Noble down the street, which has sort of a cruisy reputation. I got dressed without showering and put on one of my black pocket T's that's a size too small. My arms looked good bulging out of the tight sleeves, so I hurried on over there. The place was crowded (it was Friday night), so I started walking up and down the aisles, on the hunt for muscle. Lots of guys were eyeing each other and some were having their tete-a-tetes over coffee, but no one was built. I scoped out the place twice--upstairs and down--but didn't find what I was looking for. "Oh well," I thought to myself after awhile. "I'll watch a muscle vid--maybe Rod Riddick's workout--and have a long, slow jack session." I was about to leave, but decided to walk by the magazines one last time. There are about four rows of magazine racks and as I rounded the corner of the last row I couldn't believe it. Standing there was a guy with huge arms. If I had to guess, he was about 26 or 27, maybe 5"7", about 160, red hair cut in a short flattop, looked like he was in the Army or Marines. He was wearing sweats, Nikes and an olive green T- shirt (Army-style) with a dogtag around his neck. The shirt was tight and the sleeves were really short, almost like a muscle T but not quite. He wasn't a bodybuilder, although I could tell from the shirt he had pretty big pecs too (nips poking against the thin cotton fabric). But his arms were huge! His biceps in particular really bulged, even though his arms were relaxed, like he did nothing but curls to get them really big. I had a roller coaster thrill in my gut, but I played it cool. His eyes shifted and I knew he was checking me out, even though his head didn't move. I walked past him, tensing my arms and holding them out a little farther from my sides. I turned the corner, walked down the next aisle and turned again so I'd be back in his aisle. When I turned the corner again he was looking in my direction, like he expected me to come around the corner. My heart began to pound with excitement, knowing that he was probably there for the same reason I was, but I still kept my cool. This time I acknowledged him with a quick nod, and as I passed by I looked down at my right arm and raised my forearm a little to flex my bicep. Fortunately my pump was still going strong and I had a nice vein running along my bicep head. I wanted to stop right there and grab this guy but I forced myself to keep walking. I rounded the corner again, walked down the next aisle and turned. I got shivers when I saw he was looking in my direction again, and this time he reached up with his right arm and took a copy of Flex from the shelf (he was standing in front of the sports section of mags). When he brought the magazine down he opened it and stood there holding it open, and his bicep looked like a softball ballooning out of his short, tight sleeve. He obviously wanted me to follow his lead so I reached up and grabbed a copy of Muscle & Fitness, which happened to be displayed next to Flex, and opened it, keeping my left arm tensed as hard as I could. So there we were standing about a foot apart, deliberately tensing our arms. Evey few seconds he would look toward me or I would look toward him, and when our eyes met I knew he wanted to flex those big guns of his for me. I was getting really hard but I didn't try to shift my dick to hide the hardon. It was like there was no one else in Barnes & Noble except us, carrying on this wordless muscle ritual. I wanted to say something to him, but at the same time I didn't want to break the spell--it was so hot just standing there silently displaying our arms to each other while we held those muscle mags open. I'm sure other people were thinking "what the hell is going on here," but to tell you the truth I didn't even notice. I was too wrapped up in this guy's arms and wondering what would happen next. After about 5 minutes of this (which seemed like hours!), he looked me straight in the eye and then jerked his head slightly in the direction of the restrooms. I knew immediately what he wanted to do--"Yeah, buddy, let's go in there and flex." I nodded too, and without a word he put Flex back on the shelf and started to walk toward the restrooms. I waited a few seconds and then began to follow him, about 10 feet behind. He had a sexy, manly swagger and swung his big arms just a bit from side to side as he sauntered, as if daring me to come up right behind him. >From the rear his ass was tight, his lats flared from a small waist and thick veins snaked down his forearms. For all I knew everyone could have been staring as we made our way toward the restrooms, but I was so excited I didn't notice and could have cared less. All I wanted was to see him pop those bi's. To be continued...