This story contains male/male Sexual content if it is illegal for you to, or you find this sort of work offensive, don't download or read it. This story is protected by copyright. It may not be downloaded or copied other than for your private enjoyment and may not be changed in any way without the express, written consent of the author. This story may not be posted on any pay-to-view website.

Remembering Ken

This is the true story of a mind-blowing experience I had a couple of years ago. I'm currently sitting at home in my living room, and I've been surfing the Web looking at hot men. Instead of just jerking it for a quickie as I usually do, I thought it would be fun to intensify the evening by relieving this experience through writing about it as vividly as possible. There is a certain exhibitionist quality to writing this way that gets me more than a little bit riled up.

"Do you want me in posers?"

"Surprise me."

"OK. See you in a bit," he said, chuckling.

I had just arranged my first Internet hook-up with a man who looked like he would fulfill a fantasy almost 20 years in the making. For as long as I could remember, I'd had incredibly strong and powerfully erotic fantasies about sex with bodybuilders. I'd spent hours surfing around the Web and staring at muscle magazines and bodybuilding videos, jerking off to violent climaxes in my mind's eye at the hands of these amazing men. And now, I had finally managed to not only connect with a bodybuilder in person, but I had a date in an hour to do nothing other than have all the sex with him that I could handle.

As I drove across town to the motel where he was staying, my mind oscillated between thoughts of how seedy and sordid the whole thing was and hopeful fantasies about how he would choose to surprise me with his attire. Would he just be naked in all his magnificence? I hoped not, there is something about huge, overdeveloped muscles revealed by the shape of clothing, and appearing from inside that clothing that makes my blood boil. Would he somehow cosmically know of my lust for enormous, rock hard, vein-covered, gargantuan tree-trunk thighs sticking out from a miniscule, cock-encasing bikini below a tight-fitting tank top? Would he be in loose, baggy clothes or something so tight that it left nothing and everything to the imagination at the same time?

I arrived at the motel and parked just down from the main entrance. I had worn my tightest bikini briefs and the jeans that I thought made my ass look cutest, along with a fairly tight, stretch t-shirt. I grabbed my gym bag, which I had brought as a condom-carrier and to hold a few extra clothes in case I needed them and found the ground-floor door with the room number he had given me. I paused for a moment, my heart pounding in my chest, my nerves a morass of anticipation, excitement, fear and lust.

I knocked.

Writing this now, my pulse has quickened as I relive those first few moments. My cock has grown heavy in my lounge pants and wants to feel the open, moving air of exposure and nakedness.

The door opened onto a darkened motel room, and there he was. Shirtless (even that word gets me going with fantastic anticipation) and wearing a pair of baggy workout pants, he smiled. "Alex?" His voice was soft and masculine.

I didn't think my heart rate could actually have increased, but it did and I was certain he would be able to see it pounding at the front of my chest. My mouth went bone dry and I had to focus to speak. I had seen really big men before, usually at the gym wearing tank tops or muscle shirts. I'd even seen professional, competitive bodybuilders both at my gym and at a competition I went to once, lusting after them all secretly, reaching unimaginable heights of pleasure with them in my mind.

I imagine that the object of my afternoon's affection was probably actually not quite as big as those monsters, but in that moment, there was nobody bigger or more perfectly put together. The man I saw standing there, was about my height, but was too broad to fit through the door without turning his shoulders a bit. I would guess he was about 5'8" and probably 240 pounds of essentially nothing but muscle. His body fat was easily no more than 3 or 4 percent.

"Yes. H-Hi, Ken?"

He nodded gently and I stepped into his room. My body was on fire and my mind was racing. I can only imagine what I looked like to him and what it must feel like to know that the very sight of your body can produce such an effect on another person. He stepped back a pace or two to allow me to enter and reached to close the door behind me. I don't care how many muscle magazines or videos you have looked at, there is nothing in this world like unapologetically big, naked muscle rippling and twitching two feet in front of you. And as much as flexing and posing turns me on (and believe me, the effects are strong and immediate), all that meat and flesh just "being" and moving casually to do something as insignificant as turning the knob to close a motel room door, takes me to soaring levels of arousal.

He smiled at me and said "Hello" in a playful, sexy sort of a way. Since I was more or less frozen with nerves, he reached down and gently took my bag out of my hand, placing it on a nearby chair. I just sort of stood there, staring, probably with a stupid, dumbstruck grin on my face. I didn't know where to begin.

What were the rules? Was there etiquette for this kind of thing? I'd never done anything even remotely close to this before. I mean, I'd had sex with a few different guys, but that was always after a date or two and was an expression of interest and personal intimacy, usually following a bunch of making out. What did one do on an essentially anonymous hook-up where is was only about the physical and the animal, without the emotional?

Sensing that I wasn't really sure of what to do, he reached out and put his hands on my shoulders, sliding them over my chest. He said "do you like this?" and I responded "yes." My heart was pounding so hard and so rapidly that I could barely speak. The adrenaline was coursing through my system like you wouldn't believe. As if to give me permission, he reached down and took my hands in his, bringing them up and placing them on his unbelievably wide and defined chest.

It is difficult to convey exactly what a bodybuilder's body feels like. People commonly use words like huge, hard, cut and ripped. Standard size adjectives include monster, massive, thick and wide. To say Ken's chest was huge doesn't make the point. To say it was hard and ripped isn't enough. It was... colossal. It was thick and deep and meaty and hot (people don't usually consider that bodybuilders give off tremendous amounts of heat and are actually hot to the touch) and hard. Ken was a white guy, but the stony finality of obsidian comes to mind. His pec muscles were big and square and met perfectly in the middle of his chest, pushing against each other to form a crevasse at least an inch deep. (I later stuck my finger in there and it went it most of the way to my second knuckle.)

Standing there, dumbfounded, feeling this man's chest, my mind whirled with thoughts of "man" and "body" and "perfection." My blood was boiling with lust and I thought my cock was going to explode from all the blood my body was pumping into it.

What I was feeling in that instant, in that moment in time, was a visceral, inherent understanding of the meaning of every size-related superlative, pushed through a sexual filter and driven straight to the center of my being. In a word, I was overwhelmed. The feeling was unparalleled: pure, unrestricted, unconsidered, unguided, overt lust. And the best part was that the object of my lust liked what he saw in me and in his effect on me enough to want me to continue.

I now have a raging hard-on, my pulse is racing and my cock has started to drip a little. I've played with it a bit, enjoying that sublime rush of feeling when the super-sensitized underside is first just barely stroked. Now I need to think about something else for a bit while I soften up a little and go back to just being "heavy." I love the way a heavy cock feels when it brushes against my thigh -- whether it's my own cock or someone else's.

I'm going to take a break and think about something else for a while. I'll come back later and write about what happened next. If I'm able to do this four or five times and to resist reaching down and just pounding myself, I expect that when I finally do give in, I'm in for a very intense time.


This is the first story I've posted to Nifty. Please let me know what you think. I'd also like to hear any ideas or requests you have for other stories or situations involving bodybuilders or other men with huge, overdeveloped muscles. Alex (