Lgryphon@erols.com Copyright 1999 by Gryphon Tales Aug. 1999 WARNING: This story is sexually explicit fiction and describes male to male sexual practices. If you are underage or are offended by, or are hostile to this type of material then don't read it. INVITATION: If on the other hand you decide to read this story and have intelligent, adult, constructive (non-flaming) comments, compliments or even complaints you may reply to: lgryphon@erols.com I will reply to sincere, helpful correspondence. Enjoy! - LeatherGryphon - KEYWORDS: muscle, growth, sex, gay, fantasy It's been a long time since I submitted one of my tales to the web. This story was a sizable work in progress several years ago. I've returned to it to shorten it for this presentation. The Nth Dimension Chapter One "Contact" The image jumped at me like living energy. A massive muscular male figure that emanated an aura of undeniable masculine completeness lay flat on the screen but took dimension and root in my mind. Transfixed by the image I was oblivious to the office clatter around me. Secure in my cubicle with the back of my monitor presented to any casual observer I sat for perhaps twenty minutes inspecting the incredible work of art before me. A work of art it was. I recognized it as a photographic morph but the quality and care imbued to the image can only be classified as art. A brief return to reality saw me bookmarking the page and saving the image to disk. I fumbled back through the web browser looking for the path I had followed before I'd arrived at this intoxicating image. The path wasn't logical, the links I followed weren't even related to this type of erotic image but there it was. A brief doubt rose in me so I quickly recalled the bookmark. My heart leaped again when the image appeared. Yes, it was there. Again I was drawn to the image, it captured me as surely as if I were some slave leashed and drawn to the masters face. As I studied the details of the picture I vaguely remember grunting something as one of my co-workers said "Good night Lance, see you Monday." The office grew quiet and yet I was still fascinated by the image in front of me. I don't know how long I sat there but eventually I felt the pain in my knees from sitting still so long. A quick lean backwards and a shuffle of my feet eased some of the discomfort by getting the fluid moving in my arthritic knees again. I ran the cursor over to "Print", got up painfully and walked down to the printer. A grayscale image was just finishing printing when I got there. I rolled it up and returned to my desk and looked at the printout. Nope, gray scale wouldn't do. I fumbled around the settings in the computer trying to find the name of the color printer. Five minutes later I had a nice glossy color print of my naked muscle god. I slipped the images in my briefcase, shutdown my computer, packed up my laptop and briefcase, grabbed my leather jacket and left for home. All the way home I couldn't stop thinking about the spell the image had cast on me. The image had been standing in an empty solid field of rich blue like the purest of desert sky. Even now in the middle of Friday night rush hour the image haunted me with a life of it's own. Adrift in that endless sea of blue the figure shimmered in my mind and beckoned me to return. Naked, erotic, muscular in the extreme, glistening, vascular, rippling, bulging, handsome, endowed with the king of phalluses, and hung like a bull. Every feature that makes the physical image of man complete. The essence of being physically male presented in a total package. An image so alive that it continuously reverberated within me. True to my routine, I stopped at my gym. I loved my chest and shoulders night. The warm up on the stationary cycle went quickly. I barely noticed the time pass, my mind still immersed in the unbelievable image haunting me during the boring minutes of warm up. The concentration of heavy bench presses brought me back to reality for a while. Hot and sweaty at the end of the last set, I tore down the bar and moved on to the incline bench. I could see myself in the mirrors and watched with fascination the rippling contractions cross my upper pecs, shoulders and triceps like music through my mind. The bar cycled smoothly and slowly through its pattern, even when reaching the end of the last set. The struggle of the last reps, as painful as they were, came from depths of intensity I didn't know I had. I'm not contest material but right then I felt and looked pretty good. Exhausted, I sat quiet for a moment looking at myself. Never have I had such a positive body image. The man in the mirror had never been there before. After finishing decline presses I went for another drink of water. With chest fully pumped, the walk to the far end of the gym was an erotic experience in itself. The tight full feeling of blood engorged pecs and the heaving chest drawing in massive quantities of air to satisfy the need of those hot muscles felt so wonderful. Before starting shoulders I grabbed onto the frame of a piece of equipment near me and slowly and deliciously stretched my pecs. Man, what a feeling. I enjoy the stretch I think the most. To pull the muscle back into shape, to force the fibers to relax from their shocked contracted state, to let blood flow freely back into the demanding tissue, that is the immediate gratification for such hard work. Shoulders went well too. By time I had worked all around the shoulders, my delts and the entire traps were all hard and pumped. Thick, rippling shoulders, I'd worked hard for those. I delighted in my appearance and totally exhausted feeling. My workouts didn't always go that well. That night though, it seemed like I could do no wrong. Anxious to get home I grabbed my clothes from the locker room and walked back through the gym grabbing glances of myself in each mirror and window. "Yea, he's lookin' good tonight", I thought. A quick shower after taking my supplements left me sore but refreshed. Dinner didn't take long to heat and eat since I always prepared everything ahead of time on the weekends. I'm not much of a gourmet, which is somewhat of a blessing being a bodybuilder. Finally I was able to setup my laptop and get back on the web. I found the image again but this time it had changed a little, perhaps the position of the arms or the look on the face, but something had changed. I copied it to disk again intending to do a difference comparison later. Intent on finding the source of the image, I tried various approaches. I found no direct evidence on the URL paths leading to the page it was on. Determined to find something about the image I started several brute force searches on the name of the image. I was almost ready to give up when an obscure search engine, one that is usually good only for finding thousands of useless sites regardless of what you ask for, finally finished. There were only two entries in the list. One was the site I'd already found and the other turned out to be a reference to the image in a collection of posts on an obscure list. A little more investigation gave me the e-mail address of the person who sent the post and I was off on my quest to find the man who had created the image. The rest of the weekend was torture. Every hour the e-mail screen drew me back taunting me with yet another useless piece of spam. I answered a few personal notes from friends but kept hoping for a reply to my query about the image. My dreams were filled with fantasies revolving around the god-like image isolated in that dimensionless sea of blue. Late Sunday night it came. A simple reply and equally simple request . "Hello Lance. I'm glad you like him. Tell me more about him." Nick Chapter 2 "Opportunity" Intending to simply acknowledge his reply and ask a few questions of my own I began my reply. Thoughts of the image stirring in my mind rushed to my fingers and thus it began. "Nick, what can I say? The detail, the confident pose, that deep look in the eyes, I feel as if he were looking out at me, inviting me to talk. I like the way you've got him looking straight out at me, eyes focused directly into mine. I have a million questions but won't bother you with them. I just appreciate this chance to talk with you." - Lance - As typical with initial e-mail contacts I tried to keep the message short yet inviting. I don't want to frighten off a potential friend by making them feel as if they had to respond with an equally lengthy letter. As a writer it's so tempting to keep the questions and ideas flowing onto paper. "Onto Paper!" How odd to think that that simple phrase has failed to keep up with technology. Sure the words could actually make it to paper someday but were, for the moment, still in electronic limbo. Content that my response was safely out of my machine and now presumably lodged at its destination, I resumed my examination of my own accumulated e-mail. This was a busy day. I'd released my latest story to the Web during the middle of the week and it had apparently been discovered by weekend browsers. Sunday was always a busy day. I can imagine millions of people around the world finding an unoccupied moment during their weekend. An hour or so to once again abandon the confines of their reality and venture into the intangible electronic world at large. Of those millions of wired-in people, ten of them had read my story and liked it well enough to tell me so. I went through each message. I always do. There is great pleasure finding that you have touched a person deeply enough to evoke a response. There were the typical one liners saying "Great story", or "Loved it", or "Can't wait for the sequel". A few of them would get explicit with comments indicating that I'd hit their buttons. "Kept one hand busy for an hour", or "Good whackin' material". It was late and I had been up late the previous night but I worked dutifully through my mail. The last of the new e-mails was a letter from a friend in Toronto. Like most of my cyber-friends we'd never met but the kid seemed really interested in bodybuilding so we've been staying in touch. My response this time took quite a while and went into detail about a modification to his workout routine. By time I'd finished and sent his letter, another had arrived. A glance at the "subject" column quickened my heart. My letter to Nick had been answered. I'd been keeping his image on screen as the wallpaper behind all the desktop icons. When the letter popped on the screen it occupied only a portion of the display. I quickly read. "Lance, or would you prefer LeatherGryphon? "Thanks for writing back, but I was really looking for you to tell me what you see in my image. Tell me a story. Build me a reality" Nick A brief note yet it intrigued me. I sat staring at his note and examining that incredible hunk in the image. Calmness swept over me and I drifted into contact with the image. Fascinated by the image of the huge muscular man in the endless featureless sea of blue I let myself examine the background. A shimmer passed across my field of view and the soft pastel color seemed to take on a life, a glow. The blue receded from the surface of the screen and its depth became unfathomable. Like an exploding sky the color expanded and enveloped me. The empty soothing color flowed around me and I was alone in a universe of light. There was nothing to draw reference to, the blue was absolutely uniform, pervasive and intangible. Without reference points I suddenly felt fear. I was suspended in nothing, no support, isolated in an empty space of light. I couldn't tell where I was looking. No sensation of up, down, left, right or distance. Suffocating blueness like that in turgid water during a SCUBA dive, thirty feet down half way to the bottom in only twenty foot visibility. The illusion of falling crept into my mind. I let my mental gaze attempt to peer everywhere but I had no idea how I could tell which way I was looking or where I hadn't looked. I was alone, lost, and beginning to panic. No! Not alone! The image of the huge bodybuilder had to be here somewhere. The panic subsided as I let myself remember the unbelievable man that had captured my imagination for the whole weekend. I relaxed and became quiet. At least my mind became quiet. I tried to close my eyes but nothing happened. Still just the endless field of blue. I thought there must be some way to see my hands or feet but try as I might I could feel nothing move and nothing came into my view. Just empty color reaching into my being. Perhaps the only observable aspect of my situation was the caressing color and the warm feeling of contentment slowly pushing my panic into the nothingness. Time seemed unmeasurable. Everything was unmeasurable. My thoughts seemed further from me. Curiously I watched ideas emerge from nowhere, take shape and distort into tendrils of nothing. Like swirls of cigarette smoke in a closed room the ideas had strength and direction for a moment as they rose from the generating end of the cigarette. Without warning the smoke succumbs to chaos and dissipates into whirlpools of confused purpose. With usefulness exhausted, the idea returns whence it came, nowhere. Yet the stream of thoughts continue. An endless river of creative matrix daring to expose its fragile connections to the infinite forces of this reality. How I knew this I wasn't sure, but the impassionate view of my own thoughts from a detached vantage point was a sensation of power. A thought of the massive muscular man emerged in the stream of consciousness. I surrounded it and sheparded it. Subsequent ideas flowed into my protected bubble of reality. The surrounding chaos was, for the moment, ineffective. The thought took shape in my mind and became substance in my reality. The image of my muscleman grew into my universe. Like the image in the computer but now it had dimension. It moved. I saw life in the image and it reflected my thoughts. I don't know whether it turned to face me or I focused my view to face it, but the eyes became powerful magnets that aligned our souls. Straight into the eyes my gaze continued. The distance between us diminished and the apparent size of the image increased exponentially. Our approach accelerated and the image loomed incredibly huge. The sensation of unbelievable speed continued for only a moment but terminated in an instant with the return of the field of blue. Shocked by the abrupt end of the experience, my mind raced. Then with reluctance, grew quiet. The pervasive field of blue was again my prison. Again I was alone in the nothingness of this world. NO! This time it was different. I could hear my heart beating. I looked down, surprised that I had a sense of being able to determine where down was. My feet and legs came into view, my hands then my arms. I could look around. I had my body back. Not quite my body though. I was much bigger. My arms were like hams. I clenched my fist and watched the forearm flexors writhe and bunch into bands of steel flesh. With clenched fist my arm curled toward my chest and a mountain of muscle formed where my bicep was. My fist hit another mountain of hard flesh inches deep covering my chest. Curious fingers relaxed their curl and my hand became an instrument of exploration sensuously sliding across the mounds of muscle and deep into the crevice between my pecs. The chasm ran like the grand canyon between huge mounds of living mountains. The fullness of each mount twitched with the stimulation and sent ripples of rhythmic contraction racing from bottom to top. Hidden under the curve of the massive left pectoral muscle was a good sized pierced nipple with a ring of suitable size. The feeling of that ring catching between my fingers enticed me to play and pull on it a bit. This only increased the feelings of pleasure this new body was providing me. A quick check on the right pec discovered no ring but the perfectly formed nipple itself was a delight to examine. I wished that I could see them but like much of this new body I was denied the pleasure of actually seeing it. I had to content myself with exploring by touch. Explore I did. Across the chest, grabbing the far edge of the slab of meat that was my chest. Going deep into the armpit looking for the bottom. The size of my arms and chest conspired to keep me out. I couldn't quite get there. Muscle bound for sure, and I loved it. Up across the shoulder, I lifted my arm and felt the huge frontal lobe of the delts separate from the lateral delt making a meaty handle I could barely grab with my hand. Twitches of my shoulder hardened the held muscle and it escaped my grasp. Still further up to what should have been the base of my neck I found only a barrier of sloping muscle running from my shoulder entirely up to the base of my head. Thick ropy muscle the rear of which I never found. Like my sight, much of my touch was denied by my physical limitations. The neck projected thickly down from my ears and merged well down onto my chest. Both hands together could not encircle my wrestler neck. It must be beautiful. Oh, to be able to see it. The arms though obviously huge and beautifully shaped were more impressive under the eager examination of my hands which could cover only the side of the biceps. The thumb wouldn't even wrap over the edge. From the top, the rear of the triceps was another unreachable place. By posing my arm in a single-bi position I could see and feel both the descent of those marvelous triceps and the extreme width it granted my arm. Rock hard arms too big to grasp by hand and almost impossible to believe by sight. The sinewy forearms were barely graspable near the elbow and tapered to a strong masculine wrist capped by long sensitive beautifully shaped hands. Strong yet inquisitive and supple. The pad of muscle under the thumb was as big as a small egg and could surely crush rocks. Those hard, tactile hands were more than happy to continue exploring the body that supported them. Together my hands ran in parallel, up and down the tight rows of abdominal muscles. The finger deep creases between the rows deserved additional inspection to identify their range and hardness. Looking down I could see my thighs. Those powerhouses of iron flesh bulged and displayed their magnificence as I moved them to get a better look. The hands stroked along the length of them and dared to come around to the inside down near the knees and slide slowly upward into the crotch. There, at the center of it all, was the indication of how much I was enjoying this. A cock, erect, hot and stretched to purple hardness. Ten inches of three inch diameter mantool. My cupped hands, full beyond capacity, held two lemon sized balls cradled tenderly as I felt their mass. They were pulled in tight ready to shout. Beyond the balls was the shaft that invited my lusting hands to caress it. Up along the tingling tool my hands played it like a musical instrument. Sweet music of pleasure sent waves of excitement through this mountain of granite flesh that I now accepted as my body. The crescendo of sexual music exploded through my mind and outward through layers of muscle and erupted in concentrated explosions through the purple doorknob on my dick. The jism spurted into the blue void and receded into the distance in various directions. However small, those little pieces of me gave me a reference of space and time. I thought how wonderful it would be to have company again. To be among other people, to have Earth under my feet, to feel sunshine, to touch, to love and be loved by another person. To be out of this prison of perfect unity. I watched wistfully as my man seed disappeared into the newly created space. I thought of running along a beach, the sound of waves gently lapping a Bahamian shore, sunlight and clouds, and sand and green palms, black seaweed. I felt more alone than before and my eyes began to run with tears as I watched the last of the receding jism disappear. In desperation I grabbed back at the thoughts of the beach and again sheparded the fragile matrix of ideas into a bubble of reality protected from the ravages of chaos. My bubble grew and grew and I poured my joy and love, my sorrow and my desire into it. A feeling of attraction then another rush of acceleration as I was propelled into my creation. ...