FEATS OF MANHOOD By BrianWM The title of the exhibit was as simple as it was enigmatic: "Feats of Manhood". I slipped into a seat towards the back of the small auditorium and waited for the show to begin. Looking around, I noted that the audience was exclusively male, waiting expectantly. An odd assortment of props was on the stage: a huge 60's era Cadillac convertible, a school bus, numerous large metal drums, and some weights. Soon the curtain in the middle of the stage opened and a figure stepped out. Extremely tall by any standards, approximately 6 feet 6 inches, the figure emerging appeared, if anything, extremely obese. He was dressed in an oversized tee-shirt with long loose sleeves that ballooned over a bulky torso. The initials "MM" were stenciled on the front. His lower half was encased in baggy sweat pants. "What a slob," I said to myself, as I prepared to leave. What compelled me to remain was the only part of his body that was visible: a disproportionately thick neck, swelling out from his shirt making his head look almost tiny, stretching the fabric around the collar. The muscles on each side of his head were so thick they protruded out beyond his ears. "His collar size must be 30 inches!" I mused. His dark blonde hair was cropped short in a butch- like flat-top. Although shaven, he had noticeable stubble making him look even more brutish. The audience murmured and shifted in anticipation. The man on stage grinned impishly and, his hand reaching up to his shirt collar, he started tearing it downward. What emerged made the audience gasp. Gruesomely huge pectoral muscles, mounted on an enormous ribcage and sporting large red-purple tits, leaped out. He continued ripping the shirt downward, revealing not the expected distended flabby belly but a tight ripped abdomen with an impressive 8-pack of rippling muscles. He shrugged off the tattered remains of the shirt. Only then did the magnitude of his arms become apparent. Enormous biceps ballooned from all angles of his upper arm. His forearms were bulging hams already glistening with sweat. His lats flared wide, shoving his arms out and back. He paused, allowing the crowd to see and appreciate his physique. The monster grinned, struck a bicep pose, and started inflating his arm meat in short successive pumps. Gasps arose as the peak of his bicep rose and swelled in bursts. He then strutted over to a set of dumbbells, each loaded with 120 lbs, picked them up, and started effortlessly curling. His biceps continued swelling, with cruel looking veins as thick as fingers appearing encircling the swollen peaks. He threw the dumbbells aside and swaggered over to the Cadillac. The audience murmured as they realized what he intended. He stooped, grasped underneath the enormous car to find a grip, straightened up, and started curling the car! Up and down. Five, ten, twenty reps...His arms exploded with rippling, throbbing, pulsating movement as his arm meat feasted on the chunk of metal. His arms, now pumped to the max, were hard as concrete. I glanced at the men around me and noticed that a few had their hand on their hardening crotches, squeezing and rubbing their dicks in appreciation of the spectacle. The muscle man on stage threw down the car and struck a double bicep pose this time. The peak of his biceps now reached the palms of his hand, completely filling the space within his flexed arm. He grunted like an animal, beads of sweat appearing on his upper body. Then he pulled out a thick link chain. He casually wrapped it around his neck and padlocked it tightly at the front under his chin. The metal dug into his flesh and his face and neck started changing a dark purple as the blood flow was constricted. He paused for several seconds as his face grew darker and darker from the engorged blood. Then suddenly he flexed his neck and the chain broke, fragments flying in every direction. The audience roared. To pump his pecs the giant got on his back and slid under the Caddy. The car lifted up slowly as he started bench pressing it. Down. Up. Down. Up. Down. Twenty reps. Then with a loud roar he flung it up and off to the back of the stage where it toppled over on its side. The man, now a monster bursting with engorged muscles, rose to his feet and flexed his chest toward the audience. The pecs had metamorphosed into huge slabs of throbbing man meat, completely filling the space between his bent flexed arms. The pecs stood 6 inches thick off his ribcage, rising on each side of his chin. His cleavage could envelop your entire erect cock. (Which, indeed, I fantasized, sliding my now-hard dick up and down between his warm, sweaty pecs.) As if reading my mind, this testosterone-drunk stud picked up a 45 lb plate, slid it between his mountains of pec meat, and flexed again. The plate held, suspended between his rock hard pecs. Up until now he had kept his sweatpants on. Large patches of sweat had appeared around his crotch during his physical feats. He reached down and loosened the drawstring. The significant bulge in front kept the pants from sliding down until he yanked them off, stepped out of them, and kicked them aside. Another gasp from the crowd arose and two men fainted. The impact of his gruesome, gargantuan thighs packed with enormous slabs of muscle was almost lost as we took in the visual impact of the inhuman mass mounted between them. Under his sweatpants were black posing trunks, stretched tightly over his round, muscular butt and straining to envelope a set of male sex equipment the size and weight of a bowling ball, drooping down almost to his knees. He turned sideways and bounced up and down on the balls of his feet, proudly displaying his colossal manhood. More cries of lust from the whacked-out audience. The side view of his pecs was awesome: the tight pumped chest muscles were like hard rubber jutting up and out, so solid they hardly moved. As this muscular beast had bit by bit revealed his unbelievable body parts I had endeavored to estimate his massive measurements: neck 30 inches, shoulder girth 80 inches, chest 75 inches, biceps (pumped) 30 inches, waist 30 inches. My senses were already reeling as I now absorbed his lower build. His thighs must be in excess of 40 inches cold, deeply striated, so heavily packed with muscle that that seemed to sag around his knees. Shit! Thighs so much thicker than his waist were mind-numbing. Overall, this destroyer must weigh between 350 and 400 pounds. God only knew the dimensions of the cruel-looking equipment between his legs. I reasoned that the "MM" on his ill-fated tee-shirt must mean Muscle Man, Monster Male, Muscle Monster, or some such combination. Then as he stood there he started flexing his legs, squeezing the blood into those hypertrophic slabs. The already unbelievable mass of his tree-trunk thighs started growing and thickening before our eyes as he continued squeezing his leg beef. The slabs of muscle grew outward and lifted upward until they had nowhere to go, seemingly reaching 50 inches in girth. The guy was so packed he could not keep his legs together; instead, he had to straddle them outward, his feet about a yard apart. He turned sideways again. His man tools, still tenuously encased in the stretched, straining fabric of his jock sling, were lifted high by the swelling of his thighs. The monster stud grinned at the audience and jerked his crotch upward in a series of seductive thrusts. The heavy sperm-packed balls bounced off his tight thighs. Several men, who by now had their cocks out of their pants and were desperately whacking off, lost their load at this incredible sight. I felt my own pre-cum wet against my skin. The show didn't end here. The muscle master, by now totally pumped to superhuman size and girth, swaggered over to the row of metal drums, lying on their side. He straddled the first one with his military thighs and squeezed. The metal drum groaned, deformed, and collapsed like cardboard. A squirt of something hot and sticky hit me on the back of the neck as the guy behind me shot his load, muttering "Fuck, oh bloody fuck oh fuck oh fuck!" Others came too and one could see streams of man-juice leaping into the air from the sensory-overloaded men, who were groaning and yelling at the spectacle. The human trash compactor on stage mounted each metal drum in turn and one by one they were reduced to pathetic piles of crumpled tin foil. The last one he lifted and held it between the palms of his hands parallel to his chest. Suddenly contracting his mighty pec muscles he squeezed and within seconds the drum was flattened. Roars from the crowd rose. The floor of the small auditorium was becoming slippery with the quarts of cum shot from the male audience members, wild with desire. A group of men had congregated towards the front, reaching on-stage in worship of the incredible muscle man, begging him to take them, fuck them, piss on them, degrade them. Some were drooling, others had fainted. One more feat of manhood awaited. The school bus. None of us in our wildest dreams could envision what was about to happen. The Muscle God, now sweating and pulsing with distended veins and pumped body parts, parading His male ego like the Stud he was, strode aggressively up to the bus as if He were going to fuck it into oblivion. He climbed on top of the vehicle and straddled it with His legs, anchoring His heals on the ridge line of the roof. Gasps of disbelief arose as His intent became clear. Like a demolition machine, this arrogant Power God was going to crush thes huge vehicle between His legs. He took a huge deep breath, His enormous rib cage expanding, and started squeezing. His face and neck slowly became blotchy and purple at the enormous exertion. Cords of muscle and tendon rose in his neck as he flexed his mountainous thighs. His entire body quivered as he focused his strength on the metallic destruction between his legs. His straining neck was now a behemoth column of purple, pulsating distended flesh. The leg muscles grew, convulsed, and strained. For a while nothing happened. He groaned, sweat streaming over His convulsing body in this improbable battle of monster muscle versus manmade object. His legs made jerking movements as they strained against the stubborn sheet metal. Then a sound was heard: a whining screech of fatigued metal slowly increasing in intensity. The audience waited, breathless. The Muscle God was screaming in agony as His muscles ached and bled. Then a crash was heard as the windshield of the bus imploded. The cabin of the bus was being crushed! Crash after crash was heard as each side window succumbed to the deformation. More and more men ejaculated high into the air as their torqued male frenzy escalated. The Muscle God continued squeezing and screaming and sweating. Another visible change was occurring. The massive man-bulge mounted between the legs of the Stallion was convulsing and growing. The blood that was rushing to His straining thighs was also pouring into His enormous sex tools. A shaft the thickness of His massive forearms started lifting up, straining the already weakened fabric of his skimpy posing trunks. The heavy melon-sized balls were pulsing and swelling, pumping out superhuman quantities of testosterone as they prepared to discharge their load. With a snap the black posing trunks exploded from the overwhelming volume of his sex tools, the thick tall shaft of man flesh continuing to rise upwards. Several in the audience screamed. The dark purple head of the superhuman man pole was enormous - no human mouth could accommodate its bulk. The thickly veined shaft continued expanding until the cock head was level with His pecs. As His prick swayed back and forth during his continuing exertion, pre-cum from His sperm factory was smeared across His chest. With a load crash the top of the school bus finally surrendered to the muscular persuasion of this determined Superman. With a final roar of agony and triumph His thighs slammed together, crumpling the sheet metal between his knees. Simultaneously the slit of His swollen throbbing cock head dilated and a thick volley of man juice shot up, slapping the ceiling of the auditorium with globs of sperm. As he continued compressing the rubble between his beastly thighs, stream after stream emerged from the amazing reservoir of this superhuman fuck factory, enough man seed to repopulate the planet. The stage was soon awash in sticky, milky cum. I might have blacked out momentarily at this incredible spectacle. My mind was reeling from this incredible display of hypermascularity. My unbelieving eyes feasted on a 14 or 15 inch man tool. What would it be like to have sex with this God, to have those mighty thighs and arms wrapped around you? Would his fist-sized cock head break your jaw? Would one strangle from the onslaught of cum pumping down your throat and into your stomach? How would it feel being impaled on that thick prick pole; would it tear a person open? The Muscle God jumping down from the crushed bus. With a final act of contempt toward the crippled object, he swaggered over to the door of the vehicle and, with bare hands and barely an effort, ripped it off its hinges. The audience was now gasping on complete overload. He held the sides of the door between the palms of his hands like an accordion and squeezed. The door immediately crumpled into debris and simultaneously another thick glob of cum shot from his still-throbbing manhood. He tossed the scrap metal aside. Finally, triumphantly strutting out to the edge of the stage, this untiring Sex Stud starting to beat His meat out toward the audience. His shaft was so incredibly thick that He used both hands in unison, stroking up and down. Despite the huge volume of cum already expelled, His elephant bull balls rose to the occasion yet again. He flexed every muscle in His body, His chest expanded, His diaphragm rose, His abdomen hardened, and with a yelp of pleasure and triumph, the slit of His prick head opened wide, and a thick stream of hot milky liquid shot out over the eager audience. For several seconds jet after jet bathed the men's faces. Then He was gone and it was over. With a final shudder of physical sensation, I stood up and prepared to leave, noticing that no one else in the audience was moving toward the door. The man next to me, bathed in sweat, was wiping his face and stuffing his now-flaccid dick into his pants. I asked him why no one was leaving. "The next show starts in 15 minutes," he replied. "The guy is 18 and is working his way through school. He has to get back to classes by 1:00."