From: cograha@attglobal.net

My Coach

by Musclebuff

__________________________________________________

Part One


1 : The challenge

I was a 115 pound wimp, he was six foot two of glorious Germanic muscle. I was a 
miserable, orphaned schoolboy, adrift in my English boys' boarding school, he 
was Fischer, our PT coach. I couldn't climb a rope like the other guys, his 240 
pounds of muscle reached the top in 5 seconds flat. I worshiped the guy, he was 
merely contemptuous. To me he was a god, to him I was a worm. And he let me know 
it. At every gym session.

Six foot two. Hair that was so blonde it was almost silver. A Chinese tattoo on 
the nape of his neck that I later discovered read Eternal Life. I guess it had 
once hidden under a ponytail. His jaw was so squarely muscular it could chew 
through steel. Proud, handsome head, set on a long, thick pillar of a neck, 
trapezii supporting it like buttresses on a cathedral. Sloping thickly down to 
shoulders at least three feet wide with delts capping them like the armor pieces 
of a knight. Proudly swelling pecs only seen under a string tank that clung to 
his abs under the pecline, hardly hiding the protuberant nips that I longed to 
latch my teeth onto. The thickest baseball bis ever seen on a man, complemented 
by the iron horseshoes of his striated triceps. A tiny waist belied the swelling 
of his thick glutes in the lycra hotpants which were inadequately big enough to 
cover them and the giant bulge in front. But it was the legs.... oh, those 
quads, huge slabs of creviced muscle matched by the oversize diamond calves.

The whole, always rippling with muscle - he took care to see the display was on 
permanent exhibition. Whether the football jocks were impressed or merely 
inspired I don't know, I do know that one of his most contemptuous gestures was 
to stare at my tented shorts, and ripple in front of me.

In spite of his scorn, I still lusted after that body. Still wanted to be like 
him. It must have been a surprise to him when, after a particularly hateful and 
shaming session, I asked to speak to him in private. Usually he went off into 
his inner sanctum to train one of his favorites with his own special set of 
weight equipment. Today (Wednesdays were exempt from "special training") he had 
already stomped towards his sanctum when I called out after him.

I had been emboldened by the vision, earlier that week, of him coming out of my 
piano teacher's study, knowing full well that Fischer was not interested in 
music.

"Sir......" He turned slowly and raised one majestic Prussian eyebrow. "Sir, I 
know you think I'm a hopeless case, but I want you to know you're the best thing 
to happen to me since - well, since I saw my first muscleguy on the cover of a 
magazine!"

The sneer dropped from his face as he instinctively flexed a tricep. "Well?"

I gulped and let it all pour out - I had nothing more to lose.

"I want to be just like you. I want muscles like yours. I want you to train me 
every day of my life so that I get to be big, even bigger than you. I want to be 
able to wrestle you and get pinned under those muscles, mastered by you. I want 
to be able to stand beside you and be proud of us both. I want to outflex you 
with my biceps. I want to be able to wear lycra like you and let everyone know 
I'm THE muscle guy. I want it all. I want you." 

Pause. Neither of us moved. Blue eyes glaring into grey ones, both unflinching. 
There it was, out in the open. All he could do was hit me or report me - or 
accept the challenge.

"Will you, sir? Can you, sir?"

"Can I? Yes. Will I? You'd have to prove that to me yourself. Not only your 
determination, but your discretion. Can you do that?"

"I'll do anything - anything at all - for this - for you."

He must have been impressed because he did something I'd never seen him do 
before: he moved in. Stood over me and put his huge hand on the back of my head 
and rubbed it. Never thought of Fischer being tender, not sure I liked it 
either, though my dick rose to it s full 16 year old strength as he flexed the 
other bicep under my nose.

"Kiss it, boy! Let this be a gage between us"

Lustfully I licked all over that hard, huge ball of cleft muscle.

"Enough!" He cuffed me on the back of the neck. That was more like Fischer. I 
guess he knew that taste of bicep was going to chain me to him for ever - or at 
least until he'd finished building me into what I wanted to be.

"Every morning, six a.m. Six days a week starting tomorrow. We'll do that for 
two weeks and then see how we move on. Now, cut and scram!"

He pulled me in to him, grabbed my balls, squeezed (yes I came there and then), 
then kicked my butt out of the gym.

2 : Early stages

So it began. Every morning without fail at 6 am. How I sweated as that horny 
sadist put me through it! Those tank-topped muscles standing over me with every 
rep. By the end of the two weeks I think he had begun to take me seriously. At 
least he saw how maniacally determined I was.

"Think you need some new encouragement. You have to learn to feel your muscles 
working, to put your mind into them. Here - ,"

He placed one of hands on his swollen magnificent pec, and one of his on my 
crotch. His very touch vibrated through me and I knew I'd started a woody at 
once.

"All your strength comes from here," he said, squeezing my tumescent equipment, 
"and the power is transferred to here. All your muscular development must come 
from the center of your being." He was pressing my hand hard on to his pec as he 
flexed it. "Now shut your eyes and imagine how this," (my groin) "connects with 
this." (His pec). Then he placed one hand on my pec and one of mine on his 
groin. "Keep your eyes shut and now transfer to your own groin - imagine my 
power growing into your muscle."

I felt as if some cosmic secret had been revealed as I transferred the feeling 
of his pec into mine. Suddenly weak at the knees, I sat heavily on the bench 
press bench, but He pulled me up and turned me round to face the big posing 
mirror: I was amazed to see my chest was all pumped and swollen. My nips stood 
out a good half inch. 

"Yeah - results are beginning to show. Now look - it's all going to be uphill 
from here - real hard work. I'll give you plenty of encouragement, but it's up 
to you to pull it all together. AND - save your spunk! No jerkin' off while in 
training, got it? I'll let you know when you can relax."

And so it went. Real hard work, plenty of rewards. I got thicker and harder and 
by the end of another month I could see I had the beginnings of a physique! He 
gave me plenty of hands-on muscle comparison which was total incentive to me. To 
feel a huge muscle of his and then go to work on my same muscle was truly 
helpful - now that I had learned to add mind to muscle I felt every fiber of the 
muscle contract, flex, relax on every rep. And all the time he kept on yelling 
at me to envisage HIS muscles while working on my own.

Neither of use knew what complications awaited us.

3 : Six weeks later - Rodney.

Rodney was the all-time jock - captain of the rugby team, champion diver and 
gymnast, unbeaten heavyweight wrestler - and every aspiring guy either wanted to 
be him or have him. An American on an exchange scheme, he was one of those guys 
that Coach trained after football, He also used his prefectorial powers to cowe 
and bully his physical inferiors. So it was with some trepidation, as well as 
excitement, that I received a summons to appear before him...... in the 
prefects' private bathroom. He was also Head of House (English boys' boarding 
schools are split into separate autonomous "houses", each ruled by a House 
Master and an elite team of prefects) and you ignore that kind of summons at 
your peril. But in the private bathroom?? 

I stood before him, sloppily dressed in the loose clothes that Fischer had me 
wear to disguise my rapid physical increase. ("We don't want the whole school 
talking and asking awkward questions.") Hiding my progress in the showers took 
some ingenuity with my bathing schedule, but so far no one had seen what I 
looked like - I thought.

I stood before him as he rose up from the tub. Six feet of perfectly formed 
muscle, defined as a Greek statue, not huge but just perfect. Quite different 
from Fischer's magnificence, but perfect. And didn't he know it. His long dick 
swung as he put one foot up on the rim of the tub. He consciously flexed his 
pecs and abs: I imagined this was his seduction technique but, no, he wasn't 
there - yet. His whole body glistened from the tubwater, highlighting every 
perfect, rippling muscle. He reminded me of the slender perfection of the young 
Steve Reeves at his zenith.

"I understand friend Fischer has been giving you some private training. How 
long's that been going on?"

I guessed these were about to be the questions that Fischer was worried about.

"Uh, about two months, I guess." Mumbles.

"Lock the door and strip off - let's see the results - if any."

If any! I'd show him. I angrily pulled off my sweats and stood naked before him. 
He walked slowly round me, still glisteningly naked. He pinched a muscle, 
muttered, pinched another - whacked my butt (excuse me, glutes). "Flex for me!" 
OK, I'd flex.

"Hmm, not bad - not bad for a beginner. What's he been feeding you on? Master's 
milk?"

"Master's what? Plenty of protein and all those shakes and stuff. He got the doc 
to order special meals for me."

"So, he hasn't started you yet on his own special diet."

"I said, the doc ordered special - "

"Yeah, yeah."

He got very close and started to tickle the underside of my balls. His shining, 
perfect pecs were almost in my face. He licked those perfect, sensual lips real 
close to my face. Then his hand closed tight on my genitals and he licked my 
nose. My dick was hard and upstanding in his grip.

"So the little monster likes my muscles, huh? Want to feel them, huh? You'll 
have to earn that, I think." He took one of my hand and placed it on his pecs, 
his other was already stroking my tool. His tongue licked its way serpent-like, 
in and out, into my mouth, then his abs were was crushed against mine (which 
were already massaging his big dick), as he started to suck the life out of my 
mouth. I couldn't help but respond to the embrace of this highly desirable, 
pretty massive chunk of jock-dom and soon my hands were all over his hard and 
still slippery muscles. I was on the point of cumming when he pulled away and 
shoved me to my knees.

"Suck me, baby! Bet ole Fischer told you no jerking while you're in training, 
huh? Well, you can have the pleasure of blowing me instead!"

I looked up at that amazingly handsome face, those glittering green eyes under 
those perfectly formed eyebrows, set at the ideal distance from his dark curly 
hairline. Those inviting, sensual lips opened to bark another command."

"Suck me, monster! taste a real man's dick and I might let you have it somewhere 
else!"

Then I looked somewhere else: his huge, tumescent prick was waving in my face. 
I'd never sucked a guy before - or even had sex with one - but this I needed 
badly. So I licked the tip where the precum was hanging by a thread, then lapped 
round the whole head and along the delivery pipe under the dick.

"So you're a natural, huh? Done this often, have you?"

I shook my head and mumbled round his dick. "Never? Never had sex with a guy?"

More violent shakes. I dug my fingers into his perfect glutes, squeezed hard and 
pulled his sweet-smelling, dripping dick (now dripping with pre-cum as well as 
bathwater) into my mouth. He allowed me to suck more precum out of the hole in 
his dick, then I mashed my lips hard round the crown and started to suck with 
all my might. He wasn't expecting this and started to buck wildly, with his 
hands locked on to my delts. Then I sucked the whole shaft in to the back of my 
throats and gave him all I'd got - I squeezed one hand round the root of his 
ballsack and dug a long finger up his butt-hole. That got him going! He started 
to ram his dick in and out of my powerful milking-machine lips and banged it 
hard against my larynx.

For all his sexual and muscular arrogance, this must have been an unusually 
disarming assault because he unloaded buckets into my stomach, with his dark 
curly pubes pressed painfully hard against my lips and teeth. Slowly he pulled 
out of me and sank back on the rim of the bathtub.

"Wow, monster! You sure can suck dick! No one has ever milked me for so much so 
soon."

And so saying, he let his magnificent frame sink back into the still warm waves 
of the tub. He turned on the jacuzzi function and closed his eyes, so he didn't 
see what happened next. He went on muttering at me but I was so swept up in the 
next moments that I heard nothing he said. As soon as I swallowed his man-milk a 
warmth spread down through my body and came to rest in my balls which started to 
churn. I turned slowly to the bathroom mirror and wiped the steam off it. Like a 
vision I saw a different me taking shape. If I'd had any clothes on, some of 
them would have got too tight. My pecs were rising and thickening, my delts were 
on the rise too, my bis and tris started to clamp themselves round my arm like 
huge pincers, my quads started to curve outwards for the first time - and all 
the time my nuts were churning and my dick was rising further than usual.

Don't get the idea I was looking like the Hulk - I wasn't even as big as Rodney, 
but there was an appreciable change, particularly in my libido which suddenly 
got very hungry and I longed for someone else's big muscles to calm it down a 
bit. My whole body and mind were humming as I started to hear what Rod was 
meandering on about.

"I guess I'll take a raincheck on that fuck I was promising myself, but there'll 
be plenty of time for all that."

I went over to the tub to see if he had noticed anything, but all he said was: 
"MM! Nice boy cock! Let's have a taste of it!"

He pulled my arm so I was forced to enter the tub with him. I stood in the foam 
that was churning as much as my nuts and stood over Mr Perfect. Then I took his 
head in my hands and started to pump my pole in and out of his throat. He must 
have had plenty of experience in the past of being at the other end for he set 
to work with a will: it didn't take him long to get me gushing. With his mouth 
full, he pulled me down into the tub, our outstretched feet jammed up against 
each other's parts.

He swallowed. Then: "Mmm! Nice boy-milk! Lie back! Enjoy it! Won't always be 
yours!" 

I have to admit it felt good, lying in that warm pulsing, swirling foam with 
this horribly handsome hunk who was treating my nuts to a massage with the sole 
of his foot. Of course I did the same for him.

"Tell you what - I like your spunk (both kinds!) - I'm going to arrange for you 
to be my personal fag, then I can enjoy you whenever I want!" (Fag=schoolboy 
language for personal servant, nothing to do with faggots.)

"But my training, Rod - Sir!"

"Oh, don't worry about that! Whatever Fischer wants, Fischer gets!" Spitefully. 
What was all that about? I began to put two and two together -

"Get out now! Run along , little monster. See you next time."

And he closed his eyes and sank back into the foam. If he hadn't been so fucking 
sexy I'd have wished him to go under for good. For all the trouble he was going 
to cause us in the future it would have been better if I'd seen to it there and 
then. Instead, I pulled on my sweats p.d.q., unlocked the bathroom door, slammed 
it behind me and went straight to tell Coach about the whole thing. 

He was not amused.

4 : Plan B.

Fischer was furious.

His hot and horny Germanic muscle heaved with rage, pecs threatening to burst 
that tank-top. He even got me excited.

"That arrogant little American tyke!" (Little? Looked pretty big to me.) "You 
know he just wants to use your tail, don't you? He couldn't have mine, so he's 
set his sights on you! He means to get you spilling your wad to thwart me and my 
plans for you!"

"But I thought he was one of your jocks?"

"He was, but he couldn't keep his dick in his pants - had to spill it all over 
the place - never knew what 'in training' meant! So when he got to his present 
size, I dropped him. He tried to blackmail me into making him a Superman but 
he's never forgiven me for calling his bluff. And now he's after you in revenge. 
Well, we'll soon put a stop to that!"

And he went fuming to my House Master and squashed any plans Rodney had for me 
as his fag. Said it would interfere with my training and would be a detriment to 
the sports department. My House Master, who had never given me a single word or 
look since I'd been there and no idea what Coach was talking about, agreed - to 
get this huge madman out of his study so he could go on watching Golden Girls on 
his TV. But Coach stayed there till HM was forced to send for Rodney and tell 
him to "forget all that".

"And keep away from [name omitted!]"

"Yes, yes! Now, gentlemen, if you've quite finished....."

Rodney glowered at Coach and slunk off with his tail between his (magnificent) 
legs while Coach returned triumphantly to the gym where I had been told to wait.

"Now we can get on with things! As master Rodney has found you out, we'll have 
to accelerate things and go on to Plan B. He'll keep away from you, I trust, and 
you will keep away from him. Let me know if anything else crops up with that 
bastard!"

"Sure, Coach." But in my heart of hearts there was a little lump of 
disappointment and I was surprised to find that I had a sneaking admiration for 
Rodney, and his arrogance, and had been hoping for another encounter. All the 
same, I knew that there was no question of disobeying Coach - especially if I 
was to achieve my aims.

And so we launched into Plan B. This meant special diet and workouts twice a 
day: big bodyparts in the morning, smaller ones in the evenings - instead of 
prep time. God knows how Coach managed to swing that one with HM. 6 days a week 
and cardio on Sundays. Along with the protein shakes and the 5 meals a day that 
went with them, Coach fed me with a shot of what he called "DragonJuice" before 
every workout. Actually, he confided, it was the distilled cum of Arab 
stallions, processed for him by an ex-student. All sounded very doubtful, but 
whatever it was had a kick like a stallion and had me pushing more weight with 
less effort than ever before. Each workout I could see myself growing: muscles 
now beginning to fill my loose tank top and quads bursting out of my running 
shorts. It wasn't only my quads: my dick was growing faster than any other part 
and was very uncomfortable squished into the jock that Coach made me wear, 
taking care to fit it to my anatomy himself. All designed, he said, to conserve 
my muscle-juice.

"But Coach, won't I ever be able to cum? Sometimes it's agony! (Especially when 
I start lusting after your muscles!) "

"Soon you'll need to - just wait one more stage."

Whatever. I was growing. And using Coach's mind-muscle-nuts technique. Every 
time I swallowed that juice, a charge went through me and I felt as high as I 
did on illegal "smokes" in every workout. Coach had to watch to see that I 
didn't over-reach myself in 

my determination to get Big. He stood over every rep, flexing the same muscles 
as I was exercising. To end every workout we practiced posing at the big mirror; 
he took me through all the mandatory competition poses and kept me at it a good 
half hour every day. Flex! Bulge! Relax - pose - Flex! Bulge! Relax, change pose 
- Flex! Bulge!

Coach did the same poses right beside me. His huge, swelling muscles turned me 
on so much that I had to concentrate real hard not to splurt in my trunks. Huge, 
cleft biceps -flex! Bulge! Side triceps - huge horseshoes! Eight-pack abs, huge 
creviced quads and calves! Flex, turn! Rear lat spread - giant wings opening up 
to carry us both away! This was almost the best part of the day for me: every 
contraction started to show the veins and the striations and I could see myself 
swelling with gorgeous muscle every moment!

And it didn't all disappear by the next morning as it used to. This was the 
effect of the DragonJuice, Coach said - it helped to maintain the growth - 2 
steps forward, but now only one step back! And so, I grew and grew in every 
direction.

After a couple more weeks, he outlaid his plan: I was to challenge Rodney at the 
end-of-term wrestling meet, defeat and humiliate him. After that we would be 
working towards the All-Europe Bodybuilding Junior Championships.

"Wow, coach - sounds great if you think I can do it. But wrestling with Rodney? 
He's been doing it all his life and I've never - "

"But now you will. I taught him all he knows and I shall teach you a few more 
tricks that he's never dreamed of! Wrestling practice every day. Starting 
tomorrow."

Tomorrow came and went, and with it all my fears of meeting Rodney on the mat.

I turned up to find Coach resplendent in a lycra wrestling suit, muscle bulging 
everywhere: I'd never seen so much of my MuscleHero before - huge slabs bursting 
from the sexy suit, flexing in front of the mirror - his amazing abs cresting 
between the straps, the obliques diving down inside to claim his package. He 
wasn't wearing no jock! He threw me a bundle of blue lycra and I started to 
remove my jock before getting into the suit. "Jock!" he yelled. Grumble, mumble, 
I replied. Even with the terrible jock, I felt real sexy once the lycra was 
stretched over my frame. The straps over my now-meaty delts pulled up my crotch 
so that I felt lifted into heaven, ready for anything.

He taught me everything. Every hold, every throw, over and over again. It was 
maddeningly thrilling to feel his super-muscles at last pressed into mine, in 
every conceivable position - and a few the Greeks never conceived! My head 
trapped between the mighty quads, my whole body agonisingly deliciously 
stretched apart by the length and power of his legs and arms. The baseball of 
his biceps curled hard under my chin so I could hardly breathe. Of course he 
"let" me throw him and hold him too - after all, I was going to have to do all 
that to Rodney before long. The secret crotch holds were the best of all - 
especially when I got to grip his mighty meat!

Hyped up with DragonJuice I took to all this like a duck to water, even on the 
first day. He hugged me for the first time for weeks and said I was a "natural! 
More tomorrow - and a special treat!"

At first I thought the special treat was rasslin' in the nude. "We'll do this 
Turkish-style." He took the dragonjuice and smeared the oily stuff all over me, 
massaging it into my pecs, rubbing it round my nips, over my now-massive 
delts....... Then I really started to feel what the oil was doing as it sank 
into my pores. I tingled all over and felt the muscles respond - humming, 
vibrating. His hands wrapped themselves round my batwing lats and down my back 
to my naked but. Fingers slid into my crack, dangerously close! Then down my 
hams and calves, up my shins and quads and...... On to my dick! 

By now my whole body was zinging but when he reached my dick -

"Hell, Coach! What are you doing to me?"

He whacked my dick hard, causing instant submission in that part of the world.

"Only what you're going to do to me, kid!" and he passed me the bottle and 
stripped off. Oh, God! The whole beautiful, huge, unattainable him! I shut my 
eyes for a second to regain control, then lashed into him. I went straight for 
his dick and his nuts - which he wasn't expecting - and I rejoiced to hear him 
gasp as I grabbed the huge, veiny shaft in a tight grip and started to massage 
that pole into instant Pisa-height. He pulled my hands off with some force and 
placed them on his abs. I rubbed into that six/eight-pack, down the obliques 
into his groin again, up to the huge shelf of a chest. There I went crazed and 
was particularly cruel to his nips. He shut his eyes and endured it and when I 
saw tears squeezing out from under the lids I laughed and kindly went on to the 
traps, delts, arms, back ad so on till I came to his butt. I gave him as mighty 
thwack with a handful of the oil on both cheeks and deliberately ran my hand and 
fingers right up his butthole.

Now he yelled and turned on me and threw me down on to the mat and dropped his 
whole 260 pounds on top of me. We both laughed. "I see you've got the hang of 
this, kid! Let's wrestle!" Our big bods slid over each other with wonderful 
sensual sensations, pec on pec, abs on abs, mightily enhanced by the effect fo 
the oil. After a five-minute bout which was more like a cum-less orgy, he had me 
in a very strange hold - I was on top of him, upside down, facing his crotch - 
my hands were trapped under his glutes, and my legs were bent back at the knee 
to behind my neck, so that I was kind of hog-tied on top of him.

"Now here's the treat, Kid! Suck! Suck for all your worth!"

I could hardly believe that I was going to have my dream at last. MY lips 
encircled the great crown of his dick and I sucked it like a lollipop, but real 
hard. Then I ran my tongue down and across the huge vein that striped down the 
hard fuck-pole from it's root to its crown. Then I sucked as much of the shaft 
into my mouth as I could. In this strange position I couldn't get it right down 
my throat but I rammed it in and out as far as my uvula, sucking it real hard.

Coach began to moan and his hips started to buck, trying to force his swollen 
member even deeper. My dick was digging a ditch along the cleavage of his pecs 
and I was "holding on" for dear life.

"This is it, Kid! When I get a hand on your dick, you get going!"

At last! He held my ankles with one hand, maintaining that arc in my stretched 
torso, and grabbed my dick from his pecs with the other. And so, for the first 
time in weeks, I came. And came and came and came. He timed the thrusts of his 
dick in my mouth exactly so that as I came, he came. And came and came and came.

"Swallow it all, kid- you need every drop!"

Almost gagging on the huge torrent of man-muscle-milk - cream - I swallowed and 
swallowed. Then he let go of my legs and I lapped up the overflow from his abs. 
I'd hardly finished the fabulous meal when he pulled me up and slammed me over 
to the mirror.

"Now look!"

To my amazement I found myself looking at some stranger who looked vaguely like 
me. My stupid face had hardened and looked older and better - that was one 
thing, but the veins! The veins were popping out all over me, wriggling like 
living coils all over my body.

"Flex, boy, flex! This is how you really grow!" I flexed a bicep - huge deep 
cleft, with veins running across both halves. I flexed my pecs which divided 
into separate huge hills, humming with blood. My flat stomach was covered with 
them and then, suddenly as I flexed down on them, an EIGHT-pack rose into view! 
"Do a Most Muscular, boy!" My delts swelled and divided into three parts, each 
one separately striated ; my quads snapped into huge slabs arching out from my 
giant teardrops and my calves burst out majestically to rival the quads above 
them. "Lat spread!" Giant buttresses appeared under my arms, pulling my 
shoulders out to impossibly wide dimensions.

As each muscle burst into view, the veins subsided but never quite disappeared, 
giving the impression of vast brooding strength beneath the thin skin. Coach got 
behind me - hell, I was nearly as tall as him, and nearly as big!

He put his arms round me, pinching my nips as he always did. He gently massaged 
my huge new muscles as I leaned my whole weight back on him, feeling completely 
at one with him for the very first time.

"Shit, Coach! I just don't know what to say..."

"Then don't say anything, just rest there - I can hold you up. We'd sit down but 
I want you to get to know your new self, all those beautiful new muscles you've 
been dreaming about all your life and never had till now! You're real pumped now 
and the dragonjuice is still humming about in your veins, but it will calm down 
and a little of the size will go with it.

This is what your friend Rodney wanted and didn't get..."

"He still got pretty good, coach!"

"I know, and would have got better still if he'd held his cum back like you did. 
He got a little of my muscle-juice in him (and that's why you reacted as you did 
when you blew him) but you got the full dose. And you'll get it again every 
week, 'cos you've still got a way to go till I'm satisfied with you. Oh yes, I 
know - the match and all that - but I'm thinking light years beyond that little 
affair."

"You think it's fair to Rodney to fight him with this extra edge?"

"If it knocks the arrogance out of him, anything's fair. He's not a bad chap at 
heart and I'm afraid 'a little muscle was a dangerous thing' for his 
personality. We'll see. Meanwhile, keep out of his way and keep yourself covered 
up. You'll get your unveiling at the Meet!"

I turned round, took that great head between my hands and kissed him full on the 
mouth. He didn't resist me, not even when I shoved my tongue in and it began to 
wrestle with his. It was a very, very long kiss, with pecs pressed on each other 
and crotches grinding into each other, dicks rubbing against each other. I just 
didn't know any other way to say thank you, even half-way adequately. Standing 
there naked, under that spotlight, we both came. We let the cum dribble down our 
abs and legs as we separated our mouths. We both knew this was a momentous 
moment and we both had tears in our eyes. 

He kissed me again, softly, on the lips, then threw me a towel:

"Clean up and get to bed, kid. Back to work tomorrow."

Actually he meant, Monday, for tomorrow was a cardiac Sunday, and that was 
another story.

To be continued tomorrow


Part Two

5 : In the lake

Cardiac activity took various forms ; running the steps in the arena, miles of 
jogging on the treadmill and, occasionally, twenty-five laps across the lake. 
This Sunday was one of those days. The other days Coach always supervised to 
make sure I didn't let up down on those fuckin' awful steps. I guess he thought 
he could trust me on the swimming and took the day off himself. He shoudln't 
have. Or maybe it was a good thing.

I'd done my laps and was letting the cool water flow over my spent new muscles. 
They felt real good under that water as I leaned back and floated free. I 
caressed the eight-pack, the huge new pecs, turned myself on with my nips, and 
generally relaxed. Just the peaks of my delts, the crests of my pecs and the 
whole of my tumescent dick showed above the water. I close my eyes and relaxed, 
going over the miracle of the night before.

I felt my ankles gently entangle in some weeds or something. Didn't worry me so 
I just let it happen. But the ankles were suddenly jerked down, not so gently, 
and I stood there in the water up to my neck. A merman rose from the depths 
three feet in front of me.

"Hi, monster! Remember me?"

It was Rodney, Mr Perfect Muscles glistening with water once again. We were both 
glistening impressively, I guess, as I glared back at his challenging grin. 
After all, even without the HM's help, I was no longer fag-material.

"How have we been, monster? Long time no see."

"Long enough!" I muttered, not knowing exactly what I felt at the sight of this 
horny apparition, but somewhat panicked at the thought of Coach's possible 
appearance, even if only in spirit.

"As long as this?" he asked, grabbing my under-water dick, unfortunately still 
hard as a steel pole.

"Jeez! What's this then? Thicker than I remember!"

I said nothing and only gritted my teeth as he twisted my dick in the water.

"I can tell you still like me, monster. Still like my muscles, do we? Turning 
you on, am I?"

I let him start stroking. How long could I stand it? Meanwhile I said nothing 
and just glared at his far-too handsome, grinning face.. My new body was still 
under the green water and he couldn't yet see how completely I'd changed.

"Come on, you know you like me. You know you want me. I know I want you. Got a 
rain-check, remember?"

And he didn't even know I was going to be wrestling him at the Sports Meet. 
Shit. I certainly wasn't going to break that news. I was saved by the bell, for 
he suddenly let me go and started to swim rapidly away.

"Come on, shrimp! Race you to the boathouse!"

I let him pull away, knowing I was a better swimmer than he was. Then I thought, 
What the hell! And took off after him. I let him get there first.

When I arrived, he was out of the water beside the launch. I stayed immersed. He 
wasn't going to see me yet. He slammed the boat door shut, leaving us in 
satisfyingly shadowy gloom. I swam under the boat and sat on the opposite side 
of the dock, the boat hiding everything from him but my neck.

"Hey, come over here! The boat'll make us a nice bed for the afternoon!"

He jumped into it and lay back, stroking his big dick, his eyes half closed. So 
he still couldn't see me properly.

"So, monster, let's talk before we fuck. Correction! Before I fuck you."

"What makes you think you'll do that?"

"Oh, I know I'll do it, pal - just a question of when. My turn, remember?"

A long silence.

"Has the monster lost his tongue? Come on, I'm getting sleepy."

Good.

"I thought you wanted to talk?"

He dropped his head on to his chest and sighed. The tenseness seemed to go out 
of him and he sounded like a different person when he spoke again.

"Yeah, I do really. Hell, I don't know - there's something about you, don't know 
what.... Hardly know you, but I like you. I guess I just want you."

Hmm. His change of personality was getting to me more than his embarrassed 
words. I almost took pity on him - then I thought, this is just your seduction 
technique again.

"Don't you even like me just a little, monster? Thought you did that day in the 
bathroom."

"That was a long time ago. Lots has changed since then."

"Such as? Has that old monster Fischer been getting at you about me? Fuck his 
ass, man - he never says anything but shit about me."

He suddenly sat up and leaned out of the boat as I shrank back into the shadows.

"Shit man, who cares a fuck what he says about me? You don't, do you? Come on, 
tell me you don't?"

This was getting dangerous. I was starting to like the arrogant bastard now that 
the arrogance was showing chinks. "Not a bad guy at heart" I seemed to remember 
someone saying. Oh, shit! I got angry with myself as well as with him:

"What are you trying to get me to say Rodney? Is this still your revenge on 
Coach talking?

You expect me to leap into that boat and just let you fuck me? I'd fuck you if I 
wasn't in training!"

"Wow! the monster gets angry! If you want to save your precious spunk for 
Fischer, then let me fuck you!"

I shook the boat in my rage. Rodney fell back, hit his head on the divot and was 
horribly silent. I jumped into the boat and seized him in my arms.

"Jeez, Rodney! Wake up! Wake up, man! I didn't mean you to get hurt! Oh shit!"

I splashed water in his face. N o movement. Holding that magnificent frame in my 
arms - something else I never thought would happen - I tightened my lips on his 
open mouth and started to give him Breath of Life! Talk about Sleeping Beauty! 
He opened dazed eyes to find what he thought was me kissing him! He seized my 
delts and began kissing right back, so ardently that I couldn't help but 
reciprocate. These two wonderfully muscular bodies kissed themselves into a 
passionate embrace. I held him tight to me, rejoicing first that I hadn't killed 
him, then because the feel of his muscles pressing on mine, no, not just 
pressing, I was holding him so tight that I was pressing him to me! Both our 
strong, young muscular frames seemed to be doing something they had both been 
longing for. I released some - not too much - of the pressure sad he opened his 
eyes up into mine.

"Jeez, man! Where am I? In Heaven? What's happened to us?"

"You just got knocked out 'nd I just woke you up."

"No, no - more than that, man! Can't we both admit it: we want each other. We 
need each other, for God's sake! Can't you feel it?"

I stroked his beautiful Greek-hero face - "I don't know what I feel - maybe I'll 
find out some day. But not now. Sorry, Rod - not now."

I climbed out of the boat and looked back at him. I didn't care now what he saw. 
I doubted if he could see much through the tears that were running down that 
face.

"Sorry, Rod - gotta go."

And I ran. How could I leave him lying there like that? Was it his heart 
breaking, or mine?

6 : The Meet

Those last few weeks of term before the Meet, I didn't know whether I was coming 
or going. Training heated up to a redhot state, my emotions were all over the 
place - which Coach put down to the strain of preparation. I felt that I had 
betrayed him somehow, yet not. I still worshiped him, everything that he was, 
everything he had done for me, and he was just amazing. He honed my still-
growing body (I had another four or five doses of him and dragonjuice) and now I 
could see that all the puppy fat had finally melted away and my body shone as if 
he had polished it like a sculptor - which he really had.

We wrestled like crazy, he taught me those new tricks he had promised. We joked, 
I was happy, he was happy - and yet my mind was still in that Rodney-focussed 
daze. We often saw each other and nodded or smiled sheepishly. Sometimes he 
looked at me, puzzled, as if he saw something odd about me, and a few times he 
tried to speak to me, but I put up a hand as if to say "Not yet!" hoping that I 
was giving both of us some hope and not just wrecking his. And yes, my delirious 
state of joy at the condition of my muscles kept me going through all that 
emotion. Somehow Coach had "grown me up" in more ways than one and I felt like 
his younger brother - and older than poor old suffering Rodney. Often I felt 
like a real heel when I saw him going around, clearly a different person, all 
that arrogance gone. On the very day before the Meet, I even remarked on it to 
Coach and asked if he really felt it was right to "knock the arrogance out of 
him" now that it had clearly gone anyway.

Coach was no fool, and I'm sure he knew something had happened between Rod and 
me and that it was getting to me. He knew, he had evidence that I had not 
"weakened" but I had never told him about that Sunday afternoon in the 
boathouse. It was my only "error of omission" but I'm sure he saw right through 
it. He dealt with it through mockery:

"Is little Cinderella worried about her Prince Charming? Is she afraid she won't 
get her glass slipper back, then? Or that the poor boy might get hurt? What am I 
supposed to do about it, be your Fairy Godfather?"

I laughed and hit him - we wrestled a bit and no more was said on the subject. 
In fact he threw me a bag of stuff. "Think you're about ready to wear these now 
- get out of those smelly old trunks and put them on!"

"Them" were a couple of pairs of lycra hotpants, some lowcut lycra tanks with 
string shoulders, and a few pairs of lycra thongs - with built-in cock-root 
supporters! I put on a tank and a thong and strutted about flexing in the 
mirror, feeling very horny indeed in my trophy suit, until he flung my sweats at 
me, telling me he wanted me to keep well-covered until the last possible moment 
before the fight. I was about to leave his sanctum when he pulled me to him by 
the delts and looked down (only a little) into my eyes.

"You've done well, kid - whatever happens to us both in the future, wherever we 
go, I'll always remember this time we've had together. You've done well! Yeah, 
and I haven't done badly either!"

He surely hadn't. A massive bearhug, then he pushed me away from him and turned 
away himself. More tears? Oh yes, he knew all right.

The day of the meet dawned. I felt so great. Coach had prepared me perfectly and 
I would be going onto that mat with the greatest confidence, were it not for my 
jumbled feelings about Rod. I knew I could cope with the match OK, but I also 
knew that this was the end of Rod's last term and he would probably be going 
back to the USA straight after - college and all that. And it was "all that" 
that was getting to me. I just had to put it out of my mind until after tonight. 
Not easy, but essential. All the muscle in the world couldn't

wash away the feelings of the mind. Or the heart. 

Eight o'clock that night. It was finally here. Coach wouldn't let me into to the 
arena during all the other events: he kept me in the gym warming me up. We could 
hear all the announcements and cheers from where we were and that didn't help 
the nerves one bit! At last the light-heavies were on and he gave me the present 
of the term: a great terry robe, with his "Eternal Life" characters embroidered 
in big on the back and in small over the heart. One final pre-match bearhug and 
we walked over to the arena.

Somehow or other, Coach had fixed it so Rod still didn't know who his opponent 
was to be - it could have been anyone from any of the other Houses. But it was 
me. I was to be the Mystery Man who was daring to challenge the School champ. 
His jaw dropped a mile when I appeared at the other side of the great mat. I had 
to find a way to speak to him, at least for a moment. We were introduced to the 
public, then brought together in the middle for the ref's homily. As we shook 
hands, I said "Don't let anything hold you back, Rod. Nothing, OK? I certainly 
won't. Just pretend you hate me and give me all you've got!"

The ref thought I was trying to psych Rod out and he ordered us back to our 
corners. Under orders from Coach, I let Rod disrobe first to enormous cheers 
from the audience. First of all, he ran round the arena waving a huge Stars and 
Stripes - some people, his claque, started to sing the tune and when Rodney 
disrobed and flexed there was a huge roar from the crowd. Then Rod, and everyone 
else probably, turned to look at me: I looked at Coach, he nodded. I let my 
Eternal Life robe drop. There was a sudden silence and a lot of indrawn breaths, 
then, as I hit a monstrous double bicep, there was an even greater roar as this 
incredible physique was unveiled. Mine. Now the crowd didn't know whom to root 
for: the boy-god they had known for years, or this boy-god who came out of 
nowhere? 

I couldn't look at Rod until the bell rang for the first round. Then I looked 
and I could see he was furious. Shit! He obviously thought Coach had set him up 
and that I was part of Fischer's Revenge. At least I could smile, because I knew 
he'd have to let me have it now. Before I could recover myself he rushed at me 
with the roar of a bull and butted me in the stomach. I was just in time to flex 
my abs to avoid damage but the weight of his big physique knocked me flat on the 
back. The audience were delighted and let out a huge cheer.

As he lifted an angry leg to kick me in the ribs - or worse - I rolled over and 
seized it, sending him toppling. In a flash I was full length on top of him. His 
muscles struggled to get out from under, his pecs grinding into mine, his pelvis 
trying to shake off my abs, but I had both his hands pinned above his head and 
my knees locked against his waist. He was mine. I leaned close to his face and 
whispered "I know you want to fuck me now and beat me to a pulp but that's just 
not going to happen. But remember what I told you - no holding back!" I needn't 
have worried - with one huge buck of his hips he unseated me

and tried to get my neck into a Nelson. But that wasn't going to happen either. 
I flipped him over my head and stood over the enraged American musclegod - 
beautiful in his rage - and Most Musculared right over him. 

And so it went on. We sure gave the crowd value for money! If you've ever 
watched the more daring wrestling videos - or even WWF before it became a vulgar 
brawl with metal chairs and no skill - you'll know just how sensual it is to 
watch two muscle hunks pitting their strength against each other, seeing one 
pumped up muscle sliding over another, flexing and bunching, bulging to the max, 
body against body, slipping in the sweat. So you might understand how 
exhilarating and mind-blowing it is to be one of those bodies, glorying in the 
power of pure muscle,

At any time I could have toppled Mr. America and ended the match with my 
superior strength, bigger muscle and greater weight. But that was not the plan. 
Coach wanted the arrogance knocked out of him, I wanted him to feel how our 
bodies responded to each other. So I let him have the first round. He was really 
pumped up at that and went through all the traditional actions, double bi with 
one foot in my abs, Winner's lap round the arena to the delight of his faithful 
(and lusting) fans. Unfortunately for him, he took too much time doing all that 
and as the bell rang he was still at it and I was able to leap onto his back 
from behind and bring him down. Good fuck position. "Want that raincheck now, 
Rod? Come on then - take it!" "I'll take it when I want it, you fuck!" he yelled 
as he scrambled to his feet and charged into a double bull-lock, both our heads 
down with arms round each other's backs. Quads, calves and butts swelling as we 
pushed against each other. He tried to hook one of my knees with his foot, but I 
knew that one was coming, twisted him round and seized him round the waist with 
one arm, and the back of his neck with the other. My big bulge was mashing 
against his glutes and I gave him a few hard pelvic butts to remind him what was 
down there.

Good athlete he was, and he jumped up, twisting round and using my hold as 
leverage with one arm, he ripped at my crotch with the other hand, ripping the 
lycra! he locked his legs round my waist, crossed his ankles and squeezed 
unmercifully. Then he rammed one forearm down on the back of my neck and I fell, 
dragging him down with me. This time he was on top, sitting on my chest and 
about to ram his forearm down on my adam's apple. I just caught it in time. I 
pulled his face down to mine. "I love you, you mad Yankee! Don't you get it 
yet?" He relaxed everything for a moment and I took the advantage of pinning him 
in an impossible position. He had to submit. The bell rang. I yanked him on to 
his feet with one arm, so both our bis were ultra-flexed, like arm wrestlers. 
"You mean that, monster?" "You bet!" I turned my back and went to my corner, 
leaving him standing and gawping. Second fall to me.

I could see Coach in his seat - he was looking past me at Rod. I saw a sudden 
stiffening of his body and realized that Rod was ignoring the bell and charging 
my back. Before I could turn he was kneeling high up my back, one arm round my 
neck, the other waving in the air as he yelled "Yahoo!" The ref started to paw 
at him to get off but Coach rose and shouted "Fight on!" and some fool hit the 
bell. We started our Rodeo act, me bucking, him beating my ass and Yahooing over 
and over again, both of us galloping and roaring all over the ring. The crowd 
loved it until I grabbed one quad and unseated him. He fell on the mat with a 
loud bump which knocked the wind out of him and the crown roared its 
disapproval. I was on top of him in a flash. "Kiss me, Hardy!" I said and did 
just that. Cheers and boos. He grabbed a pec and a nip and twisted them both 
hard. 

He grabbed the front of my ripped lycra and pulled himself to his feet. I 
grabbed his suit and round we spun like Don Quixote fighting the windmills. 
Ripping sounds all round. The crazy audience were treated to two great muscle 
guys whirling around, practically naked except for a few rags of lycra, sweat 
flying, shining muscles bulging all over the place, both trying to grab each 
other's packets to complete the strip.

Coach stood to put an end to all this by yelling between his hands at us "One 
All! Fight on!" This galvanized us both into real wrestling again. Now the rage 
had gone it was just pure, sensual fun. We both knew that, however it might 
finish, something great was waiting for us at the end. This next fall had to be 
the decider and the audience knew it. The shouting rose to a new extreme of 
hysteria, egging us on from one muscle-clamped hold to another.

Should I let him win? Whatever I felt about him, or not, I couldn't do that for 
Coach's sake. We had a plan and I couldn't betray him. So I redoubled my 
energies and launched into Coach's surprise ending - the pinhold he had not 
taught Rod. My huge arms seized him round the waist, hoisted him up above my 
head in an Olympic clean-and- jerk lift, whirled him round several times like 
the guys on WWF, with him screaming to be put down before his spine broke while 
the grisly crowd screamed for blood. But instead of ramming his head on the 
floor (which has wrecked many a good wrestler's neck for good - and even killed 
one) I hurled him down in an arc and caught his whole beautiful head between my 
quads so that his face was suffocated in my butt. I held him upside down by his 
knees like this while he writhed and wriggled and bucked and let out muffled 
yells, stifling in the power of my glutes. It was a very pretty muscular sight 
to see all those amazingly chiseled muscles writhing for their very existence 
and mine puffed p with triumph. The crowd's noise slowly died down as Rod slowly 
stopped writhing. By the time he was limp, they were completely still. So the 
sound of me letting him down on to the mat again was amplified by their appalled 
silence. He was out.

Once again, I knelt beside him and administered the kiss of life. He opened his 
eyes. "Did you really mean that?" "Yes, Sleeping Beauty, I did." I walked back 
to my seat as he slowly sat up. The crowd sank back in relief. Everyone sat down 
but Coach and the ref who eventually pulled himself together and walked over to 
raise the hand of the Winner of this extraordinary match. But before he could 
quite do that, Someone Else pulled him aside and raised my arm, getting me off 
the seat. "Ladies and gentlemen, may I present the winner of this great match, 
Mr Mystery Man!".

THEN the crowd went mad, as Rodney put his other arm round my waist and started 
whooping again as he dragged me round the mat. Suddenly he booted me through he 
ropes on to the floor, shoved his head between my legs (again!) and hoisted me 
up on to his shoulders. To the cheers of the crowd he ran me round the entire 
arena in a winner's lap - twice round, and then he stopped in front of Coach. He 
let me down to floor level.

"Good fight, guys!" said Coach. He grabbed my hand in a mason's grip and shook 
it warm ly.

"Can I get one of those?" said an uncharacteristically small voice beside me. 
Coach looked at his outstretched hand, then took it and shook it. At the same 
time, I put my spare arm round Rod's shoulders, and he round mine. Suddenly all 
three of us were shaken by an electric vibration running through the three of 
us. Like two poles electrically galvanized when switched into the Source. It was 
an incredible and supernaturally inspiring moment.

"Congratulations to you both!" he said, then turned and walked out of the 
building. I felt a moment of incredible sadness as I watched his back disappear. 
Rod said later that he felt he had to switch me back to normal, so he grabbed 
what was left of my lycra and ripped it all off - I did the same to him and we 
whooped our impressively naked muscle round the astonished arena, giving them 
the bonus appearance of two major dicks waving in the breeze, and thence out 
into the night, starkers.



7 : The boathouse by moonlight

I stopped, watching six feet of shining, bulging cut muscle dancing maniacally 
in the moonlight. Can this really be mine?

"Your place or mine!" he yelled, throwing my lyc-rags at me. "Where d'you 
think?" I yelled

back, hitting his butt with his rags. I ran away from him down the long sweeping 
lawn towards the lake and plunged in, not looking back to see if he was 
following me. The shock of the cold, night water felt so amazingly sensual, 
licking at my muscles as if it was trying to devour them. I beat on my pecs, let 
out a Tarzan and swam for the Boathouse.

I'd already lit several of the two dozen candles I had installed on a ledge that 
afternoon - along with a couple of wrestling mats and a few other necessaries - 
before Rod hauled himself out of the water. I threw him a huge blanket towel and 
finished lighting the candles. He stood there shivering in his tent, so I crept 
under the blanket and put my arms round him. God, he felt good! The two godboys, 
with their arms round each other standing under a warm blanket. As he held the 
blanket together around us, I rubbed the goose bumps out of his back and his 
butt. I pressed him close so we could both be muscle-conscious as we warmed us 
up. 

The candlelight flickered in his emerald eyes. It was so great not to be looking 
up at him

anymore (thanks again, Coach!), for the two godboys to be equal to each other - 
even if one did have bigger muscles than the other! We hadn't said anything to 
each other since I ran from him on the lawn. That suddenly seemed like a year.

"Hey, Rod!" Quietly.

"Hey, Monster!" Quietly.

"Is this really the guy who wanted to rape me in that bathroom a year ago?"

"Is this really that surly little shrimp who shivered in front of me?"

"The one you blatantly waved your dick at before you blew him?"

"Are you the guy who saved my life and hasn't spoken to me since?"

"Yeah, saved your stinking life with a kiss! Should have let you die - only you 
weren't worth the trouble!"

"You sure of that?"

"Pretty sure."

"Prove it then."

"How do I do that?"

"Monsters are supposed to turn into handsome Prince Muscles, aren't they?"

"And how do they do that?"

"Like this."

Our two bodies, our souls, grew together in that kiss, inextricably cemented 
together for ever. Our lips were locked, our tongues fused. Huge pec melted into 
huge pec as the nips collided, arms, shoulders and lats were carved out of one 
piece of marble. Even our two throbbing fuckpoles demanded each other as the 
precum melded and glued our abs together. Quad remembered quad and only our 
backs, calves and glutes felt out of the picture - for the time being, but they 
cheered on the rest of the double-giant body. 

Our eyes defocussed into each other, green mixing with blue, as we kissed 
without shutting them. Then a shadow seemed to pass over me and I shut mine and 
shivered.

"Hey, fucker! What's the matter? Cold?"

No, I wasn't cold. I was thinking of Coach going to bed by himself while his two 
creations made love to each other. It seemed like some kind of betrayal, even if 
it was with nis blessing. "Congratulations to you both!" I muttered as I 
remembered his proud, sad back marching off through the crowd.

But Rod couldn't help but hear me mutter.

"It's that furkin' Fischer, isn't it?" he growled, and pushed me out of his 
tent. "Are you always going to let him come between us? Some relationship!"

"No, no! Come here! It's just that he looked so lonely tonight." He was back in 
my arms again, but a bit of the old Rod sounded when he said: "He needn't worry 
- I won't be here after Monday and he can have you all to himself again!"

"Oh, shit, Rod! Come on, we both owe him all we are, and we have each other, and 
he has no one. Don't be so bitter about him. I may have feelings for him, but 
they're not the same feelings I have for you, man. You know that. You're the 
chief reason I've gone along with all this - ." I flexed an arm and pinched one 
of his pecs.

"You really mean that?"

"Well, it didn't start like that - the wimp wanted to be Wonderboy from the 
start but it got real complicated when you appeared on the scene."

He softened and grinned. "OK, I'm jealous - jealous as hell. I want you all to 
myself but I know I can't have you. So how about that raincheck? It'll soon be 
out of date!"

"Shit man! Don't keep reminding me. If I'm gonna let you fuck me, I want my 
brain as well as my body to be all yours!"

"Is it all mine?"

"Yeah. yeah, it is."

"Promise or threat?"

"Both."

"Then you fuck me first."

Wow.

I turned him round and pulled his wide, wide back against my thick, thick chest. 
He was so wide as I was so thick it was quite a job to get my hand meet across 
him as I nibbled his ear. I reached out to the ledge and filled my fist with 
lube. While my left hand was stroking his satin, veiny, long thick cock, my 
right was stuffing three fingers of lube up his butt-chute. The rest went on my 
very impatient dick. I turned him round by his dick and mashed our two crowns 
together so that his got covered with lube and my precum. He grabbed my balls 
and took over the lubeing process so that I was able to torture his nips.

"Hey, give me your ass!" he said as he sat in front of me, jerking me off. Not 
wanting him to stop whatever he was doing, I straddled him and shoved his face 
upwards to my butt. His muscular tongue probed the entrance and I started to 
moan. "Yeah, man! Fuck my hole with that tongue! Eat it up!" He squeezed my 
balls and I jerked my dick which by now was ragingly purple. Hell, I couldn't 
take much more of this! I shoved him down on to the mat, pulled his legs over my 
shoulders and shoved my swollen fuckpole up his butt. He took it like a man. I 
could tell he enjoyed it rough. It went in deep, deep as I leaned forward and 
out my hands on each side of his shoulders. I was doing a kind of press-up over 
him, only it was my butt that was doing all the ups and downs as my fuckrod 
mashed into his guts.

"Oh jeez! Fuck the cum out of me, man! Harder! Give me all you've got. I want 
all of you - all your fuckin' muscle and all your fuckin' musclejuice. Get it 
into me, man! Make me cum!"

"No! You're not to cum! Gotta save it all for me, man! Just take that dick and 
shut up!" I started to road-ram his butt as I locked his lips with a kiss and 
fucked his mouth with my tongue. Somehow during the process he managed to get a 
long finger up my chute and homed in on the joy-button.

"Aaaaargh! Mnmngaargh!" I was panting and yelling into his mouth, as he was into 
mine.

I could soon tell we were both dangerously close and I desperately didn't want 
him to cum too soon. So I redoubled my efforts, ramming that dick in so hard and 
thinking all the time that Mr Perfect-Prefect-never-been-fucked was writhing his 
great muscles under mine. My head reared up as I shot a massive wad deep, deep 
into the very center of his being. Never has a dick been so deep inside a lover! 
At least for the moment.

I pulled off him, letting his insides and his butt swim in my gism and before he 
could recover himself I sat down hard on his dick - that went even deeper than 
mine had into him.

"Here's the rain-check cummin' up!" and I started to squat up and down on his 
mighty thrusting thick, so thick fuckrod. I was twisting his huge nips and this 
was making him buck right up into me as I was thrusting down into him. We were 
both yelling FUUUCK! FUUUUCK! at the tops of our voices.

He wasn't content to leave matters like this and somehow he sat up, pushed me 
back, twisted me round, never disengaging his dick, and was fucking me hard as 
he lay flat on top of me. I was flat on my face and he was flat on top of me, 
his Mighty Hunter reaching parts of me I didn't know existed.

My dick was vibrating on the sweat-slick mat. "Shit, man! I'm going to cum 
again!"

"Not until I tell you This is MY rain-check!"

Then he started to get rough. Tearing at my thick pecs, chewing on my ear and 
slobbering into it, while his milk-bottle fucker was pounding my joy-button to 
hell or heaven whichever came first.

"OK, man, CUUUUUUM! I'm fillin' you up, so CUMMMMMMM, darn you!"

Mighty spasms inside me gripped his dick as both of us jetted and spurted 
fountains of cum. He into me and me on the mat. He pushed me aside and lapped 
all that up, then fed it to me, mouth to mouth, so we could both enjoy it before 
he swallowed it all.

We lay there locked in each other's huge, sweaty arms, and hugged and kissed and 
hugged and kissed.

That wasn't the only time we came together that night. I was already one up on 
him so he soon fed me a pint down the throat before we collapsed and fell asleep 
- for a while. We didn't have enough hours left together to waste any, so we 
didn't.

Chapel bells woke us in the morning and we 69ed each other till they stopped. We 
washed ourselves off in the lake and tidied away the evidence in the boathouse. 
Then it was time for him to go and pack. 

And for me to find Coach. 

Shit. 

Continued tomorrow
Part Three

8 : America and all that

So we had one more night together, a night mostly of sobs, tears, kisses and 
promises. Then he was gone. Across that impossible Pond. 

I rode down to the bloody railroad station with him, then watched till the 
hateful train had carried him out of my life. The taxi took me back up the hill 
and let me out near the gym. Hoping no one would see me, I ran down the slope 
and found Coach in the middle of his workout. I flung my arms round the big guy 
and sobbed my heart out.

He wrapped his big arms round me and patted my back. "There, there, big guy. Is 
this the face that launched a thousand ships two nights ago?"

"Oh, shit, Coach! Don't go and remind me. I'm so mixed up - about you - about 
him - I don't where to go or what to do with my life. It's all so fucking 
unfair. Why did he have to go anyway?"

"Oh, boy. A man's gotta do what a man's gotta do. Same for all of us. His time 
here was up. He never knew this would happen - any more than you did. And if 
it's any consolation to you, I bet he's weeping and sobbing on that train 
himself. And he doesn't have me to run to."

I slumped down on the bench. "Think I'll ever see him again, Coach? Oh shit. I 
can't stop." I threw myself face-down and went into new paroxysms of tears and 
sobs. He sat beside me, picked me up and slung my face over his shoulder and 
hugged me. Boy, did I need that hug!

"Sure you will. May take a while, but I'm sure you will. You've both got to get 
on with your lives and he's got to make his own living now. At least you have 
some tasks to fill in the meantime. You've got two years of triumph ahead of you 
to work for - it didn't all end with that match, you know."

"But I want him - I want him now." More sobs on a wet shoulder.

"Man, you have got it bad - haven't you?" - stroking my head and my back. 
Somehow him stroking my head calmed me down and I began to feel less distraught. 
"Here, drink this - it'll make you feel better." Whatever it was went through me 
like a bolt of electricity, clearing away sobs and cobwebs.

"Wow! Shock treatment!" I laid my head on the big pecs and hugged him. "Thanks, 
Coach. Thank God you're here. What would I ever have done without you?"

"Well, you didn't have that problem. Go next door and have a long hot shower, 
then come back and we'll do some exercises to stretch all that stuff out of you. 
OK?"

And so it was. 

Meanwhile, there was that contest at the end of the Summer vac to work for. I 
threw myself madly into it, trying to blot out my unhappiness. More workouts, 
more dragonjuice, more intense posing sessions, more wrestling sessions with 
Coach (!),more growth! But the pain of that diet! Coach was determined to rid me 
of every last ounce of boy-fat and get me down to 2.5 % bodyfat for the contest. 
The closer I got to the goal, the more excited Coach became and the more violent 
our sextimes with each other. That was OK by me.

We often got real kinky, just for fun. Dildos, sling-work, fisting. I fucked him 
a lot and loved to hear him moan and yell when I got really vicious with my 
road-rammer power-slams up his ass. But I moved into a new state of bliss the 
days he first fisted me in the sling. He had shown me some pretty graphic 
leather-fuck movies so I kind of knew what I might be in for . There was one 
called Acres of Ass #1 where some hungry bottom got fisted by a huge morphed BB 
that really turned me on. OK, so I was game for anything Coach laid on me. Feet 
in the air, locked into stirrups, hands gripping the leather web behind my head, 
Coach between my legs, a fistful of lube, one long questing finger teasing my 
joy-button, then two, then three. My great muscles were squirming about with 
delight by the time all four fingers and the thumb were up there, twisting 
about, persuading the door to open wider. It felt SOOOOO great. Coach handed me 
a whiff of amyl or something and took one himself. He seemed to grow ten times 
as big as my head took off somewhere and suddenly! Pop! The fist was right 
inside, possessing me, body and soul! Man, I'd never known anything like it - it 
was as if heaven was cumming in by the back door!

"Shit, Coach! Give me more! I want to feel that big bi right in there!" It never 
got there, but each time we tried this, his arm got in a bit further, but never 
past the elbow. Still it was a great fantasy to dream while he was doing it!

His whole hand seemed to squeeze my joy-button and I fountained into his face as 
he jerked himself off in great spurts all over my chest. With every spurt his 
fist reacted inside me, forcing me to spurt even more. We licked up each other's 
muscle-juice and slurped it into violently kissing mouths.

"Wow, Coach!"

"Now I know how to press your button!"

"You always do, Coach - you always do!"

An hour of fisting in the sling is totally enervating, so in training periods 
only Coach could receive the benefit from my speedily educated fist! 

During this time Coach and I seemed to grow closer and closer to each other. 
Being with him, fucking with him, had a totally different feeling to my all-too-
few times with Rodney, and the more time we spent together, the easier it was to 
endure my bereavement. I'd be 18 in September at which time I became independent 
of the orphanage authorities, so they were only too happy to sign me over to 
Coach for the duration of their authority. And it was round about this time that 
Coach legally adopted me as his "son". That was a day of tears and hugs.

That first contest in Europe was a blast. We spent a couple of weeks at another 
'cousin's' home in southern Italy to tan up and hone down. Then off to Milan for 
the show. The first time I got up on stage with all the rest of that beef! wow! 
Everyone scoping out everyone else, flexing to impress or from nerves. Musclin' 
up and posing with these guys from all over was so cool: Coach had told me that 
Schwarzenegger once said a good pump is as good an orgasm, but musclin' through 
the posedowns with these guys was more like a giant orgy than anything else. It 
was enough to make you cum just standing there - and I noticed a few damp spots 
on certain shiny trunks! The only downer was that people wouldn't believe I 
could be that big and still be "natural" and not drugged to the hilt.

Then began my last two years of school, and with them came the invitation to 
compete in Las Vegas for the Open Junior Olympia in the following May. These 
were melancholy years, and triumphant years. Melancholy because I never heard 
from Rod - never even knew if he got my letters. Then they started being 
returned "Gone away - no forwarding address". That was one real bad day when the 
first of those came back to me.

Come May, and the nerves came back. Not just for the contest but because I was 
going to the Land of Rod. Coach got just as nervous as I was when he started to 
recognize the Rod-vibes coming back.

"Jeez, dad, am I ready for America?" 

"Ready as you ever will be. You're already as big as most of the best Olympia 
contestants and one day you'll be able to wipe the floor with all of them, with 
your superior proportions, your lack of drug-filled bloat, your fat muscle-
bellies (and lack of Growth Hormone stomach!). You're as classically 
proportionate as a Sarcev or a Paris and you're twice as big as either of them. 
Not to mention that stupid boy-god face of yours and all the mass down where you 
can't hide it properly in your bikini!"

Triumphant, yes, because I grew some more and won the Junior Olympia: OK, I won 
it, but that began to be the least of my problems - they were the hangers on, 
the press, the photographers (though I enjoyed posing for most of them), the 
entrepreneurs who promised me millions if I'd make gay porno movies for them. 
None of them would take no for an answer and none of them would back off even 
when I insisted I was "reserved" for someone else. If it hadn't been for the 
protection of Coach and his American "cousin", I'd have been eaten to death.

It was also triumphant because I managed to come up with some software that 
combined firewall, encryption and virus-scan. (Yes, I didn't spend twenty-four 
hours a day bodybuilding, even if it seems like it.) The Government bought it 
off me for a couple of million (pounds) - brokered by yet another "cousin" of 
Coach's - which set me onto a lucrative career and the path of riches. I had one 
reason and one reason only for that money and it was to find Rod.

"If your hunting is as determined as your bodybuilding you're bound to find him" 
said Coach. Whatever his feeling may have been, or not been, about Rod, he never 
stopped helping me find him over the next few years.

Training went on and I won a few more contests here and there after the Olympia: 
my name and pictures started to appear in some of the USA muscle mags - I just 
hoped that Rod still read those things.

I was about to leave school at the ripe old age of 19 and my now-famous computer 
skills were being head-hunted all over the place. The most interesting offer, 
and the best paid, came from Silicon Valley Inc. This small but successful 
company was offering me shares and a partnership as well as a very substantial 
salary. After I had discussed it with Coach, and his "cousin" had sussed it all 
out, I accepted the job.

Moving to the USA meant final separation from my "Dad" and this proved to be 
even more unbearable than the loss of Rod. This time there would be no one to 
pat my back. The ironic thing was that I would now be on the "right" side of the 
Pond and the one person who could have patted my back was nowhere to be found.

"Well, kid, if he's to be found, you'll find him. And you know where I am if you 
ever need me or want to come back. I'll always be with you, no matter what. 
After all, we're family now. And there's always the telephone - as long as your 
millions pay the bill!"

He had come with me to L.A. to settle me in a tiny apartment near Gold's, the 
Muscle Mecca of California, which also happened to be near Cousin's home. This 
was practically the last thing he said before I watched his 'plane climb in to 
the sky on the way back to England. At least there's always the telephone. 
(Yeah, I ran up a lot of those bills over the next few years.) As I watched, I 
mused: you are such a great guy. You're the father I never knew, the man who 
changed my life, and the one who's always there for me. Thanks, Coach. I love 
you, man. 

9 : Hunt for Rod: Porn-king

I hurled myself into work. Made millions. Took over the company, sold it for 
more millions. Was the 25th richest guy in the States at the age of 23. And I 
still hadn't found Rod or heard any news of him. Then one day, while I was 
clearing up a few things with my secretary, a package arrived. An anonymous 
package, no return address. A video-tape. A videotape of Rod. Bigger and 
handsomer than ever, bronzed to a sheen. And fucking some other butch muscle-guy 
who couldn't begin to compare with him.

After consulting with Coach's "cousin" I tried to spend part of a million 
tracing Rod through this tape. He turns out to be the current King of Gay porn, 
hugely in demand and "exclusively" employed by this one studio, HotCakes. And 
there Cousin met the firewall of firewalls. No promises nor threats nor nothing 
could get the company to reveal Rod's whereabouts. They even refused to arrange 
a meeting, even with plenty of financial encouragement, nor would they release 
any kind of publicity about him. I had to admire the lengths of discretion that 
they went to: they wanted, needed to keep him exclusively exclusive, and they 
were paying him well enough to keep him that way.

There was only one thing for it. I'd have to become a pornstar myself.

My fame as a champ BB and as a computer "genius" managed to open the door for an 
appointment with the CEO of HotCakes who understood I was interested in 
financing his product. In spite of my fame, he was taken aback when this tank-
topped muscle marvel wearing striped lycra hotpants walked into his office. 
Close contact with the real thing is always more devastating than the best 
photographs - or videos, but I was my own charmin', non-arrogant self as I took 
a seat in front of the desk that was hiding his woody.

Cutting the boring part of this story, I made a deal with him. I would make two 
videos for him and finance them myself with no expected return - on a couple of 
conditions: that my sex partner in both would be Rod (or whatever he was called 
here) and that he would have no "scenes" with anyone else except me at any time 
until the publication of the second video on DVD. The arrangement was thrashed 
out quite amicably, with all the correct arrangements for anonymity etc., and 
shooting the first video was to begin as soon as the company had sussed out the 
locales and chosen the other actors. I was also to have casting and director 
approval, and enjoyed myself selecting the best muscle-guys in their albums. My 
final condition was that Rod should not be told of any of these arrangements and 
was not to know who was his partner until he met me on the set.

I selected two directors, one for each video. Stephen Scarborough for the first, 
for his expertise and steamy imagination with leather-fuck etc., and Thor 
Stephens for his remarkable talent with fantasy for the second. Both for their 
complete lack of campy flamboyance. I would write the screenplays with them. 
Michael Zen - superb cinematographer of muscle-sex (and a very good director 
himself) - was to be hired away from Titan for both videos.

Came the day when we were all to meet in a sleazy, well-equipped San Francisco 
leather club, and I was as nervous as a kitten. I couldn't even get it up that 
morning because of my extreme anxiety at the thought of meeting with Rod again 
and how he might take it. Was this to be the end of the Hunt? I prayed so.

All the actors had previously been briefed by Scarborough as to what was to 
happen: when I got there the bar was empty except for the half-naked resident 
burly bartender and the supers dressing the scene. Rod and the others were kept 
in another room, out of sight. I had explained the situation to Scarborough so 
he was well aware that Something might happen today. "Should be a great time!" 

The scene was set-up. My muscles, already sheeny with sweat, were in full 
leathers. (Coach had trained me to appreciate the wonderful affinity leather and 
big muscle had for each other and that's why I chose this particular set-up. So 
I could feel great.) My pecs shone as they swelled inside the open biker jacket; 
it hardly contained the arm muscles which were more than usually accented by the 
straps above each bi, as I leaned on the bar with a beer, my quads stretching a 
pair of fine black leather chaps which framed the studded codpiece between them. 
The over-bulging studded cod-piece, for as soon as I got into those sweaty skins 
the libido had returned with a bang. The visible part of the ensemble was 
completed by the obligatory cap, crammed on my Greek-gold curls. "Fuckin' 
leather muscle-god!" I muttered as I admired myself in the mirror behind the 
bar.

The director called for action. The bartender moved between me and the mirror so 
no one coming into the room could see my face. "Cue!" There was a deal of 
clatter and a lot of raucous vulgarity as several pairs of biker boots clattered 
down the stairs and came to a halt somewhere behind me. A well-known (beloved) 
voice spoke behind me.

ROD Well, who's this cunt gettin' in our way?

OTHERS (snigger)

ROD You don't belong here so fuckin' move!

STRANGER (ME) Wanna make me?

ROD You bet I will! Fuck off!

STRANGER slowly turns to face him, leaning back on the bar so that the jacket 
falls back to expose the massive pecs and erect nipples. There are six other 
muscle-bikers backing up the King of Porn and they all look ready for action. 
ROD is dressed in skintight leather pants, leather vest and chain harness only. 
The rest in the usual assortment of leather and muscle.

STRANGER pushes his cap on to the back of his head so the spotlight beams into 
his face. ROD's jaw drops.

The scene fell silent - none of them knew who they would be facing but they sure 
knew now! Rod's bronzed features paled visibly and the jaw stayed dropped. No 
one moved. 

"Cut!" (Scarborough - SS from now on) He wanted to get his cameras set up behind 
the bar so that Rod would dominate the next shot, with my back in the 
foreground. Eventually Rod shook his had and moved in close. He was panting, my 
heart was beating ninety to the dozen.

"What the fuck are you doing here? How did you know where to find me? Did you 
set all this up just to get at me?"

Every ear in the room was straining to hear this exchange.

"Hey, man - don't be angry. Thought you'd be glad to see me. Hoped so anyway. 
I'm not gettin' at you - it's your birthday present."

"Oh, man!" He turned his head away and gritted his teeth. "I didn't want it to 
be like this - I needed to get used to the idea you were over here."

I turned his chin towards me - "Hey! Get used to it, huh? And quick!" He looked 
up at me, still panting, started to half smile and say something when SS called: 
"OK guys, pick up where we left off! Rod, it's your line."

"Hey Steve, I need some fluffing before we start. This shot's on me, right?"

An assistant rushed up, knelt in front of Rod and soon sucked him to a good 
state. Rod never took his eyes off me, and mine rose simultaneously with his to 
the same great height as he was famous for.

"OK, OK!" He pushed the boy away: "Let's go, Steve!"

"Action!"

ROD Men!

The six GUYS all tense up and flex, some squeezing their crotches, looking ready 
to storm the citadel.

ROD Then let's get this fucker and show him who's boss around here!

STRANGER doesn't move except to tip my head at the guy nearest ROD.

GUY Yes, Boss!

ROD Whadda you standin' 'round for! Grab him by the balls!

ALL Yes, Sir!

And they all grab not STRANGER but ROD and hoist him in the air by various parts 
of his muscular anatomy, tearing off his leathers at the same time.

ROD yelling What the fuck? Put me down, you bastards! You've got the wrong guy!

He goes on blathering - off script by now - as they start bouncing him up and 
down.

STRANGER No they have not! I just pay them more! Take him over there, guys!

The huge captive is carried to another part of the room, already covered by Mike 
Z and his cameras, where they dump him unceremoniously in a sling, naked.

STRANGER Tie him up, guys. And tight! He's gonna enjoy this - one way or 
another!

Music rises - it will obscure the next part of the dialog - as ROD's legs are 
lifted to the stirrups and fastened there; his wrists go into cuffs over his 
head, so all he can is squirm and buck his beautiful frame into the leather that 
holds him. 

At the STRANGER's signal, another leathered BB smears both ROD's pulsing crack 
and a large black dildo with several protuberant bumps up the shaft. The 
STRANGER then comes into shot as he approaches the sling to accept the huge and 
heavy slippery dildo in his leather-gloved hand. He hands the guy his jacket. 
His huge striated torso gleams in the blue backlight as he flexes his arm. 

STRANGER Ready for this?

This was scripted, ROD thought, to happen to the STRANGER, not the HERO. 

ROD No, you fucking treacherous bastard!

STRANGER Gag him!

GUY is ready with a cock-gag which he stuffs into ROD's mouth and buckles up 
tight behind his head. His muffled yells roar descriptively around the gag as 
the STRANGER inserts the big black rubber dick into his ass-hole.

CLOSE-UP of the hole palpating, then accepting the black cock. The STRANGER's 
wrist slowly turns the cock in a corkscrew fashion as it enters the HERO whose 
eyes are now bulging.


STRANGER (not heard because of the pulsing fuck-music) This one's for not 
answering my letters - (RAM IN ONE BULGE - the HERO's body bucks) - This one's 
for putting me through three years of agony! (RAM IN ANOTHER - the HERO whimpers 
as he begins to enjoy it) This one's for letting me fall in love with you! (TWO 
BUMPS RAMMED in, out, in again), This one's for all those wasted years! (PULL 
OUT< TWO BUMPS), and this one's for Coach!

The whole great dick is rammed in with one enormous thrust to the hilt.

STRANGER twists it around a few times imto the magnificent writhing physique, 
then, leaving it in, he leans over ROD's sweat-covered face and undoes the gag.

STRANGER Like that, lover?

ROD as himself For God's sake get this thing out of me and fuck me or something!

STRANGER gently removes the dildo - the internal pop that accompanies the 
passing of each bum over ROD's prostate recharges his great dick which begins to 
rise again. 

SHOTS of the other 6 guys jerking off, sucking each other or whatever. 

SS: No fucking yet, please.

STRANGER's dick is lubricated with his own copious precum as he inserts it 
gently but in one firm thrust to the root of ROD's being.

All this time his face has been bent over ROD's. The look between them speaks 
volumes and covers three long years of parted experience.

As the dick reaches its ultimate goal, the STRANGER's mouth closes over ROD's. 

CLOSE-UP of slavering lips and tongues, sucking the love from each other.

STRANGER starts fucking, ROD moans into his mouth. The fucking gets more 
violent, faster, harder as the lips part.

ROD More, man! Give it to me! Harder, HARDER! Aargh, yesss!

Contrary to all 1995 regs, [edited later] STRANGER spurts directly into ROD's 
guts. He's grabbing on to Rod's rod, HARD, to stop him from cumming. After his 
hard spasmed last jets, he pulls out, still clutching the moaning ROD's dick.

STRANGER Right, guys! Go at him!

2 Muscled ones launch their lip and teeth on to Rod's massive pumping pecs; a 
third, seizes his dick in his mouth and proceeds to bring him to climax very 
expertly; # 4 has thrust his dick down ROD's throat from behind him, feeding him 
a whiff of amyl at the same time. # 5 plunges a few fingers up that well-opened 
chute to tease his joy-button. Thus he is pleasured from every quarter and in 
every orifice. The biggest, #6, stands behind the STRANGER, his dick forcing its 
way between his legs and up into his crack, one hand grabbing a nip and the 
other his dick. Thus is the STRANGER also fully occupied for the moment as he 
watches his prey being serviced. Those golden muscles heave and buck and writhe 
under the ministering hand and dicks. This gets the STRANGER so hot that it's 
hard for his partner to hold on to those Olympian muscles. The mouthfucker 
undoes the handcuffs just before he cums and yells:

# 4 Now, guys, NOW!

This is the signal for Rod, myself, # 4 and # 6 to cum, and the bar is filled 
with roars as they all jet to the ceiling, or down a throat or whatever. ROD 
launches himself out of the sling into my arms and this is the cue for the other 
six to engage in a well-directed Scarborough orgy to climax the scene.

ROD Your place or mine?

10 : Catching up

It was my place. We sat at each end of a big leather sofa, facing each other, 
our feet up. Rod with his jeans on, I with my chaps. That's all. Two big 
leather/muscle studs sussing each other out, brandy glasses in their hands. The 
main thing after three years is that he was there.

"So why the hell did you put me through all that?"

"It was the only way to get your attention. You're too darn well guarded by your 
firewall guys."

"You pay for all that? You must be crazy."

"You don't know how much I've paid out to find you. It's taken me three years! 
Why the hell did you never write? Not one answered letter! You know what I've 
been through all this time? Hell, it wasn't just a one-night stand for you, was 
it?"

"You know it wasn't! Anyway, how do you think you got that video in the mail?"

"So why?"

Rod looked down and sighed.

"It wasn't easy for me either, you know? I hated leaving you behind with 
Fischer. I just couldn't bear the though of him having you and not me. Yeah, I 
got your letters - read some of them - but you were so fucking full of happiness 
about your contests, your software, your coach, it nearly killed me. Dozens of 
times I tried to write, but I just couldn't get rid of the idea of you and 
Fischer! So in the end I stopped reading your letters. Then I moved out here and 
didn't get any more."

" 'Gone away. No forwarding address.' You know how much that hurt? I almost 
killed myself thinking I'd never see you again. It was only Coach who saved me 
and pulled me together again."

"Shit! Fuckin' Coach! Fuckin' Fischer!"

"Jeez! Why do you hate him so much?"

"Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck! What're you trying to do to me? You know he's the 
cause of all this? He hates me so much he gets at me by taking you away from 
me!"

"Hey! Don't be an idiot! It was you who went away!"

"Yeah, but he kept you from me. He just wanted to break us up. I told you he 
hates me!"

"You couldn't be more wrong, Rod - he really likes you - , "

"Ha!"

"He does - he was just angry with you for breaking training and trying that 
stupid blackmail stuff!"

"God, he told you all that stuff?"

"Listen, you idiot! He likes you and he loves me! He's always saying what a good 
guy you are at heart, and you can't deny what we all felt after the match when 
we shook hands. You think that would have happened if he hadn't liked you a lot? 
He just wanted to straighten you out so he could bring us together - he wants me 
to be with you. It was real tough for us both when I moved over here. But he 
knows how much I love you, he saw how destroyed I was when I thought I'd lost 
you for ever and he always said some day I'd find you. But all I am, all you 
first saw of me and all you see now is because of him: all I am is part of him, 
and all he is, is part of me. And so are you. To both of us."

Long pause, Rod staring into the fire.

Then he suddenly threw himself towards me and grabbed my quads. Tiny voice, not 
like Rod at all.

"Sorry."

"Hey, pal! No tears, OK? Don't want to have to wipe you up off my quads, not 
just yet.

Come 'ere!"

I hauled him up to lean against me. I shook him by the shoulders, but tears 
still ran down his face and dripped off his nose.



"Jeez, monster! I love you so much! You don't know what hell these last coupla 
years have been - I love you so much and I thought I'd never see you again. Oh, 
fuck!"

I buried my face in his black curls and we both howled. He twisted himself 
around and kissed both my eyes.

"Forgive me?"

"Course. All that matters is you're here, mate. That I can hold you like this 
once again and just love you to death."

"What about Fischer?"

"He adopted me, you know. Now he's my legal Dad. So if he's my Dad you can't 
compete with him! He's going to be your father-in-law!"

That finally broke the ice. Rod roared and cantered round the room. I chased him 
and leaped up on to his shoulders.

"Hey - which way do I go?"

"Turn right and it's the first door on the left!" 

Whooping like madman he charged into the bedroom and threw me down on the king-
size then threw himself on top of me.

"Rain-check time!" he yelled.

"Whoever comes first gets fucked!"

Then things got very serious indeed. He held me by my golden mane and slowly, so 
slowly leaned in to kiss me on the mouth. Three years of hell slowly drained out 
of us as our tongues met and our two impossible sets of muscles melted into each 
other, as they should. His beautiful pecs sighed into mine and my bis squeezed 
into his wide lats as my hands went round to stroke that strong, muscle-lumpy 
back.

The rest of that night passed in a slo-mo haze, from kissing to fucking, to 
exploring each others' bodies and feeling each others' muscles as they 
obligingly flexed on demand. I agreed that his butt-hole had had enough 
punishment for, say twenty-four hours, so I let him fuck me, slowly, 
deliciously, in between long bouts of 69. As the dawn began to break, we rolled 
ourselves into one package in the sheet and fell asleep as happily as, for three 
years, we could only have dreamed.

Continued tomorrow

Part Four

11 : " Fantasy " 



Several peaceful and happy days went by as we caught up. Rod had gone through a 
hard time financially. He had come out to his parents almost as soon as he got 
back. They couldn't wait to pack him off to College in distant California, 
little knowing that, as far as the were concerned, Pornland was the last place 
they should have sent him. When someone kindly sent them a copy of his first 
video, they cut off his allowance. Since then he had got by with a little porn 
work, some personal training and yes, escort work. The porn was fun to do and 
the guys were great to be with, but the escort work was painful. With his porn 
mates it was easier to think of being with me than it was with the sad guys who 
wanted to be "escorted".

His mother sometimes sent him a little money in secret, but most of his income, 
such as it was, came from the dollars doled out contractually by HotCakes to 
their "exclusive" models. The contract had looked so inviting at first, but 
reality bit when the taxes and stuff came off the pay-cheques. It was OK, but 
not easy.

I was a bit embarrassed when I told him how rich I was and how I had got it all. 
The last thing I wanted him to feel was that he was a "kept boy".

"Do you want to be a partner in my company and earn some proper dollars?"

"Hell, monster, I don't know anything about computers!"

"No, but you can learn the basics and help me out. Two decorative muscle guys in 
the office would be nice for the girls!"

"You really think it would work?"

"Better than escort work?" He whacked me for that. "Hey, I mean "partner" - that 
means dividing the spoils equally between us."

"You'd do that? Why the hell should you?"

"Why the hell did I come to America in the first place? Could have stayed in the 
UK and worked for the Government."

He hugged me for that. I told him all he needed to know about my software 
history and about my muscle career. I didn't tell him how much money he'd find 
in his bank account once we'd settled the contract. And I didn't tell him that I 
(we) would soon be selling the business to live on my (our) ill-gotten gains for 
the rest of my life/our lives.

Meanwhile there was another contract to work out: the second video.

"Oh, hell! Do we really have to do that?"

"Yeah - if we hadn't done the first, we wouldn't be sitting on our own private 
Malibu Beach right now. Anyway, you'll enjoy it - it's a fantasy all about us 
and we're the only actors."

"OK, I guess - but you'll have to drag it out of me!"

"What does that mean?"

"Come here!"

A few days later, Thor Stephens arrived for lunch to check the locale for the 
movie - my pool. Rod and I had been working out hard to make sure that every cut 
was clear and every muscle belly was full. It was like preparing for a contest, 
only this time his experience had to show me the way. He's worked with Thor 
before and liked him, so everything was set fair by the time Mike Z arrived. 
While the camera crew set up round the pool and on the beach, Thor went through 
the script with us. The opening shots which established the fantasy were 
crucial: marks had to be met so that the superimposition could be done in the 
lab later. 

Steve Scarborough knew Today was the Day for #2 when he called to say Mr 
HotCakes had rushed the editing and printing through; he had put ads for the 
leather scene out on the website as soon as he could and already they had 
received more than two thousand orders for "Leather". Good start.

Rod and I went into the house to get ready - which in his case meant changing 
into a very skimpy red thong, and, in mine, to stripping everything off. Then it 
began.

* * * * * * * * *


The afternoon looks good: scudding clouds in a blue sky, reflected in the big 
pool. There is a shimmer in the atmosphere and a huge mirror materializes at one 
end of the pool. It reflects the sea beyond the pool.

A violet-blue light ball appears in the mirror, growing until it fills the 
silver frame at which point it shatters silently, revealing the silhouette of a 
huge muscle-god. He steps through the frame, out into the afternoon sun. He 
lifts his arms to the sun and his whole magnificent torso ripples. The arms come 
down slowly into a double bicep pose and the muscles crest and split . The abs 
are hard, regular, divided in to four distinct ridges - maybe five. The gigantic 
lats spread as he puts his hands on his waist and turns to look at his 
reflection in the mirror. 

No one has ever seen a back like this, rising from the tiny waist to the huge, 
wide shoulders that bulge as they flex.

Crossfade to a monstrous semi-tumescent cock, the huge mushroom head purple with 
desire and copiously dripping with precum. The camera travels lovingly up over 
the whole superb torso until it reaches the musclegod's face. The square jaw and 
dimpled chin are supported on a long, bull-thick neck, the mouth is generous and 
sensual. The nose straight and patrician and the eyes - as the camera reaches 
those deep green eyes a flash beams from them;

Crossfade to him raising his hands high above his head - a stream of red-gold 
oil pours out of the sky on to his mighty, swelling pecs. He begins to massage 
it slowly [the whole introductory sequence is filmed dreamily in slo-mo] into 
the striated, incredibly full pecs.

The picture begins to double-focus [action filmed twice and superimposed 
slightly later so that every shot seems to be an echo of itself] and another 
pair of arms come from the mirror to worship these bulging, flexing muscles and 
to massage the oil into every thick, steep muscular crevice.

The hero leans back against the mirror with his hands behind his head and the 
other hands begin to oil his quads, then between his thighs from behind, then 
round the outside of his arcing side leg muscles and on to his dick. One hand 
grabs the balls, the other tries unsuccessfully to encompass the great, veined 
shaft. One of the hero's hands descends slowly to help and the massive member 
rises and rises until it reaches the nipples.

The hands run up to grasp his pecs as he performs a mighty Most Muscular, 
designed to show how thick is each set of muscles, climaxing in the unbelievable 
traps that shoot over his unbelievable delts.

He turns back to the mirror - the other hands disappear - and he jerks himself 
to an explosion of gism - spasm after spasm after spasm. As the wadload reaches 
the mirror a wave explodes in the mirror engulfing the huge guy and filling the 
frame.

The water spirals vertically and the image transports the Hero to the golden 
sands of the beach. The wave recedes to lap round his feet as he looks out to 
sea for his lover. He stands there, magnificent, shining with oil and sweat, his 
great pecs forced to balloon out by the arms he has crossed under his rib-cage, 
just high enough to see the rope-thick eight-pack, flexing and contracting in 
expectation. His giant cleft biceps are forced upward by the pecs, as are his 
huge, striated delts. One foot stand on a rock, making the quads on that leg 
stretch and bunch, as do the calves beneath. As his full weight now rests on the 
other leg, the muscles, particularly the tear-drop and gracilis, bulge mightily 
with their bulky cuts.

Inside the inner quads and hams, and below the hairless abs, between the perfect 
orange-sized balls, hangs the huge cock, almost down to his knee, though the 
root has thickened in anticipation, causing the dick to curve dangerously out 
from the point where his obliques seem to reach down to grab his genitals with 
hungry arms.

There is a violet flash near the horizon and the Seagod is seen to rise slowly 
from the waves. He moves slowly towards the beach. After a few yards he fades 
away and we see a closeup of the Hero's dick pulsing with expectant desire; it 
is already beginning to thicken and rise. The shot gives way to the re-
appearance of the Seagod, considerably nearer. Again he disappears and re-
appears - each time closer - time-stopped. Each time the Hero's dick is seen to 
rise and rise until the moment when the Seagod finally stops about ten feet from 
the hero when it whangs up hard into the deep cleft between his lower pecs. He 
opens his hand to reach out invitingly to the Seagod. Till now we have never 
seen the Seagod below the hips, now, as he moves forward we can see he wears a 
shining red bikini thong which the water has caused to soak and mold itself 
round the golden fuckrod.

He is almost as big as the Hero, about two inches shorter and twenty pounds 
lighter, but, like the Hero, his proportions are incredibly beautiful, every 
muscle striated and delineated, carved into his magnificent frame. He is 
arguably even more handsome than the Hero, with his dark curls falling, David-
like, to the back of his proud shoulders. The sun glitters in the water pouring 
down his pecs and cascading slowly over his abs. His lips open in a devastating 
smile as he moves close, very close to the Hero. As their nipples are an inch 
away from each other, about to make contact, tiny violet-blue flashes of 
lightening flash from those niples until contact is made.

When it is made, both of them are enveloped in a vortex of violet light, moving 
at enormous speed. Their arms go round each other and they kiss, long and deep. 
As every muscle responds to every muscle , the film-speed increases until a 
crash of lightening, wave-sound and violet light explodes. Suddenly all is 
silent.

Then the Seagod says (in a deep, reverb-added voice): Strip!

The Hero replies, I am stripped!

Seagod: Strip me!

He turns his back and the Hero traces the path of the seawater as it runs from 
Seagod's hair, down the huge cleft in his traps - he kneels slowly [back to 
previous slo-mo] and buries his face between the round mountains of Seagod's 
huge, hard, ridged glutes . He takes the thong between his teeth and drags it 
down below the glutes. He puts his hands on Seagod's hips and turns him. He 
smiles up at Seagod, licks the water still running down the cascade-path of his 
abs, takes as much of the red silk-covered dick in his mouth as he can and 
chews.

Close-up of Seagod's ecstatic face, thrown back to the sky.

Hero drags the lycra down and the giant fuckpole is released with a twang. The 
thong dematerializes as Hero takes the uncut cock into his mouth.

Suddenly a wave breaks over them, drenching the muscles once again with running 
water. The foam swirling about their feet transforms into a huge, thick, foam-
white blanket.

Double-exposure allows one Seagod to fall back on to the blanket while the other 
is still being blown by Hero. But an exposure of Hero roses up and falls on top 
of Seagod onn the blanket. The two ghosts are standing, kissing as they fade 
away.

As they fade, the picture goes color-neg, violet and red, shivers and resolves 
into natural color. A midshot of the two, Hero on top, kissing. Black curls 
mingling with bronze-gold curls. Hero kneels up and pulls Seagod's head up so he 
can suck the Hero's dick. Somehow all that monstrous shaft goes right down 
Seagod's throat which manages to accept Hero's manic throat-fuck without problem 
- all the time looking up into Hero's eyes.

Hero leans back on Seagod's raised knees and allows him to suck his balls while 
digging a strong finger up Hero's hole. He knows exactly what to do with Hero's 
joy-button. Eventually Hero can take no more of this extreme pleasure and moves 
beside Seagod.

Lying on their sides they kiss and kiss and kiss, fondle, stroke, squeeze, 
knead, until Hero takes Seagod's long, thick uncut dick into his mouth and gives 
him a blow-job such as no mortal has ever enjoyed. How he loves the feeling of 
that man-god sausage in his moth and down his throat. With delight he sucks 
under the foreskin until the swollen crown is forced to burst out and fills his 
mouth with god-flesh. All the while Seagod thrashes against Hero's body, giving 
a superbly erotic display of flexing and writhing muscle.

A long close-up of Hero's butt in Seagod's face, Seagod's steely tongue fucking 
Hero's hole while Hero jerks on Seagod's dick.

Suddenly Seagod pushes Hero on to his back and lowers himself onto Hero's giant 
and pulsing dick. He throws his head back in ecstacy as the huge fuckrod finds 
its way to the depths of his being. How he rides that stallion! Flexing his 
great quads he squats up and down, ramming his butt down at the end of every 
stroke. He cries out to the Gods as Hero starts twisting the Seagod nips, 
causing him to increase the speed of his self-fuck to that of a road-rammer.

Hero hold's Seagod's butt apart as Seagod bends down to mash his kiss against 
Hero's ecstatically open mouth. Their eyes never close on each other as they 
kiss and chew each other's lips, finally sinking tongues together in the sweet 
dark depths on their souls.

Hero sits up, Seagod astride his quads - their pecs once again let off flashes 
of purple fire as they connect. The feel of huge oiled muscle against huge oiled 
muscle is beyond sensuality and, finally, Hero pushes Seagod back, still holding 
his legs over his mighty delts and, wham! In goes the Hero's pulsing dick in one 
strong stroke to the root of its balls and pubes. Seagod is forced to let out a 
cry of fully satisfied amazement as he receives the full impact of his lover's 
demanding, giant fuckpole .

Hero is too far gone to be gentle - so far he has only fucked his lover 
passively, now he takes command as his dick punishes and masters the Seagod's 
fuck-chute. In the shooting, the fuck went on for ever - at least fifteen 
minutes - with both musclegods becoming more and more manic in their intense 
desire for each other. In the final cut there are many beautiful dissolves from 
close-ups of the extreme fuck to shots of both men's ecstatic reactions, to 
precum dribbling out of Seagod's hole around Hero's ramming dick, to two god-
mouths kissing, oblivious to the seafoam crashing around them (like From Here to 
Eternity) and the supremely final moment when Hero roars as he cums inside 
Seagod's butt, after which he sucks as much as he can out off the foaming hole 
and transfers it into Seagod's own mouth.

They swirl it around each other's tongues, then Seagod swallows hard. This seems 
to empower him - he stands, his muscles visibly swelling, flexing, vasculating 
as he stands over his spent lover, lying there with cum still dripping out of 
his still-tumescent dick. (This is the very first time that the morphing effect 
of Coach's DragonJuice has been seen on screen. It is amazing.)

Seagod gathers this up as he squeezes Hero's dick unmercifully, then lubes his 
own 

unsatisfied dick. In close-up, his balls look huge as they churn with unspent 
muscle-juice and Hero grins as he watches Seagod's dick spontaneously whanging 
itself up against his abs .

Seagod throws himself upon Hero, and the two engage in a violent, oily wrestle, 
both of them seizing every chance of grabbing each other's equipment. Muscle 
pounds against muscle, the lighter wrestler succeeding in nearly every hold with 
the lithe sensuality of his movements. Finally he sits on Hero's waist and both 
men enjoy grasping each other's pumped-up pecs. The match has got them both 
panting, their muscles heaving with the forced activity.

Seagod takes Hero unawares, rolls onto his back, pulling Hero up as he does so 
then, with an amazing flip of his torso, he holds Hero in an arching Boston crab 
above him, rolls over again so that Hero's chest is against the floor and Seagod 
squats above him. Seagod reaches down and pulls Hero's long dick backwards 
between his legs and starts to jerk it hard. Hero cries out for release but now 
he is at Seagod's mercy. He is flipped again - now Seagod is on his back and 
again Hero arches above him, supported by his own hands on each side of Seagod's 
delts. Seagod reaches a hand around him and seizes the big guy's dick again; the 
other hand is rammed - all five digits - up Hero's fuck-hole.

After a few vicious fist strokes, Seagod climbs out from under, pulls Hero's 
legs over his shoulders, throws his hands down in a push-up position on each 
side of Hero's head, and mashes his dick into Hero's depths which he ram-rods 
unmercifully. All the muscles in both guy's bodies are fully stretched, flexed 
and tense in the exercise of fucking and being fucked. Master is now the slave, 
and Seagod really enjoys exploiting his sexual superiority as he fucks his lover 
into heaven.


He pulls out, whangs his potent, cum-laden dick several times over Hero's face, 
covering it with precum while Hero is jerking himself off with massive force. 
Seagod leans back, shoves his whole fist right up Hero's ass which signals both 
guys to a simultaneous ejaculation - a massive fountain of cum splashing down on 
Hero's abs and chest. [Zen's four camera treatment of this moment is unsurpassed 
- the fountain of muscle-cum-juice, seen from four angles, seems to be 
impossibly massive and non-ending.]

Seagod laps up all the cum he can manage in one mouthful and spews it into 
Hero's mouth and face. A lot goes onto the face where Seagod's further 
collection with his tongue develops into the soul-kiss of all time as both gods 
seize each other and roll around in a massively passionate embrace.

As the camera pulls out from its high shot, both guys are locked in their 
embrace with the surf pounding around them once again. Eventually they are seen 
to be framed in the mirror we started with. A big wave crashes against the glass 
and the heros fade from view. As the water subsides the END title comes up and 
we are all washed in our own cum as a result. 

11 : Epilogue: Happily Ever After

When both videos had been finally edited and the music added, Rod and I lay on 
the couch to watch both of them. We laughed a lot, and got very horny with the 
Leather bar one, but the fantasy number was quite another matter. It was 
breathtaking to watch our two big bodies mating with each other at the same time 
as lying in each other's arms on the couch. The muscular passion displayed on 
the screen reverberated in both of us, almost setting off sparks like the movie. 

When it was over, we turned to look at each other in silence. Rod's emerald eyes 
brimmed as he said "Was that really us? Or is this all a dream?" I grabbed his 
massively swollen dick and squeezed real hard: "Does this feel like you're 
dreaming?" He grabbed mine, likewise: "Does this?" As we continued to squeeze, 
our lips masked against each other and our tongues mated. The feel of his big 
pecs pressed against mine drove me out of my mind. I stood up, bringing him with 
me, so that our whole bodies, our fucking great muscles all vibrated with each 
other. I picked him up - he's getting heavier! - And, as once before, carried 
him into the bedroom.

This time we actually had the sound of the sea outside our window, so the 
memories of Fantasy underlay our love-making. It was probably the most tender we 
had ever been with each other so far. We took time, did nothing cursorily or too 
fast in newly exploring each other's bodies. Rejoicing in the glory of our 
pumped-up muscle, we stroked, kneaded, worshiped, licked and sucked on every 
striation of every separate fucking glorious one. For the first time we didn't 
fuck - it didn't seem right for either of us to be top or bottom: we pressed our 
torsos, our quads so hard together, while our hands explored each other mighty 
back, that our swollen dicks, trapped and dripping with precum between our 
eight-packs, erupted spontaneously and for a very long time. As this happened we 
experienced the deepest soul kiss of our lives so far: we fell back on the bed 
and remained locked in each other's muscular embrace until dawn came to wake us 
up.

From that time on we both felt a bond between us, so great that words, not even 
poetry, can really describe it.

The sales of both videos were phenomenal. In the millions I was told. The 
effects in Fantasy were extraordinary and so they should have been for, together 
with the musical score I had commissioned for full orchestra, they cost more 
than the rest of the operation put together. Michael Zen and the two directors 
deservedly received a massive bonus in addition to the royalties they had 
sensibly contracted for in the first place. I had Mr HotCakes treble the fees of 
all the other actors and Rod got five times his normal fee. When he went to bank 
it, he found just how many millions he had "earned" as my partner. He couldn't 
believe I was so rich! And all for a few bits of plastic!

He made me promise I would train him to get exactly as big as me. With the help 
of some dragonjuice imported from Coach, this didn't take long. As he got bigger 
and bigger, my passion for him only increased and we were both mightily turned 
on as our bodies came to resemble each other more and more. When he had reached 
my exact height and weight we agreed stop, with a pact that we should never 
exceed one another again. I won the (adult) Olympia twice and decided that was 
enough. Although Rod was totally supportive, I didn't care for the feeling that 
I was scoring one over him. And he wasn't interested in being part of the 
competition scene at all.

One effect we both had was on the I.F.B.B. itself. Notoriously homophobe for 
years - a few careers and even marriages had been wrecked because of it - my 
fame, fortune and unabashed sexuality forced them, at last, to change their 
bigoted policies. Then, as Rod and I were perfect poster-boys of massive 
physiques built without steroids, the judging standards started to veer away 
from rewarding mass for mass's sake and concentrated much more on the aesthetic 
of a well-designed, perfectly proportioned physique. These had always been there 
(Sarcev and Paris were two perfect examples of undeserved neglect) but they had 
been penalized for not being "huge" enough.



All this accomplished, we decided to have fun. We both enjoyed doing Guest 
Posing, especially as a duo, and were much in demand. We also selected a few 
guys we thought were worth Personal Training, introducing them to dragonjuice, 
but, however much of our own musclejuice was expended on the recipients of our 
training methods, we were never emotionally involved with any of them and we 
remained totally monogamous.

We also engaged the famous Portugese brothers from Cirque de Soleil to train us 
and design for us our own exhibition Adagio act - sometimes we really enjoyed 
doing this in the nude (on very selective and ultra-discreet occasions) which 
always ended in a joint fucking display.

Round about this time we both got buzz-cuts. Very sexy, I thought. But Rod 
didn't care for it on me much: he felt it made my head look disproportionally 
small on top of my huge physique. He looked real cute though!

Through all this time we had frequent visits from Coach whenever he could get 
away from school. At 39, he was more sensational than ever and we always enjoyed 
teasing and poking, at his muscles, discussing them as if he wasn't there and 
comparing them, unfavorably of course, with our own. He'd then take us 
separately into the oil-pit to punish and beat us up in wrestling - showing us a 
few more (lewd) holds he had devised and which came in very usefully thereafter 
!

The first time he came, Rod was very nervous, but I persuaded him to go by 
himself to LAX to meet Coach. I thought they needed some time together before 
Coach arrived at the house. I needn't have worried. About three hours later they 
arrived, roaring with laughter and roaring drunk! Rod had greeted him as 
"father-in-law" and, after a moment of dangerous silence, he had wrapped Rod 
into a massive and noisy embrace which had the security guards running. That 
night I had to muscle them both to bed - also separately - and tie them down 
till morning. It was a great visit and I got a lot out of seeing how well they 
got on together.

A couple of years later, when we sold the business, and many millions the 
richer, we moved to La Jolla and its perfect climate - far enough away from LA 
to avoid, finally, all the hype, mania and dangerous paparazzi of Hollywood and 
all that. We still made a couple of videos when we felt there was a good reason 
(or cast) to do so, in fact Rod bought out Mr. HotCakes and reformed the whole 
method of exploiting the talent.

The important thing was that we built THE state-of-the-art gym in La Jolla and 
put it in Coach's name so that, when we finally persuaded him to leave school 
and move to the U.S., he had something constructive to do - as well as living 
near us. A lot of splendid young muscular god-boys benefitted from his move, and 
he had the whale of a time.

That accomplished we had one more thing to do to keep us occupied for the rest 
of our lives: Rod and I felt it was time we got married - officially. It was his 
idea and it didn't take any time to get me to agree. We managed to keep it very 
private to avoid all the hoop-la: Coach, his cousin and a few good and trusted 
friends, and that was it. 

Coach, who had brought us together and given us both everything that meant 
anything to either of us, was Best Man and gave us away. It just felt as if 
everything in our lives had now fallen into place. You might think the "wedding 
night" was much like many other times we had enjoyed together, but somehow this 
formal commitment deepened our friendship, heightened our attraction for each 
other, and gave a huge, never-ending boost to our libidos - and our love. At the 
ages of 29/31 we have all the time in the world to see it all and to enjoy each 
other.

Happily ever after, in fact.

That's it.