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Remembering Ken - Part 3
It's a beautiful Saturday morning. The sun is streaming through the blinds and I slept in, waking slowly to a sun-warmed room. There is something really special about waking up gradually and peacefully after a great night's sleep. Every inch of my body feels electric and super-sensitized. I am, of course, hard and grind myself into the bed, wishing that the lump next to me was a delicious muscleman instead of my extra pillow. I rolled around a bit, enjoying the sensation of the sheets caressing my body and finally got up feeling very horny and aroused. Finding myself without a mountain of manflesh to play away the morning with, I decided to return to my memory, for the next little piece of my afternoon of perfection with Ken the bodybuilder.
I've put on my favorite cock ring and baggy pants and the tightest t-shirt I own: one that is so tight I actually have trouble putting it on. But once on, it feels fantastic, hugging my form and feeling like soft fingers brushing against my skin with each movement I make.
I should tell you that after I wrote Part 2, I went into my bedroom and jerked-off to one of the most intense orgasms I've had in my life. It actually left me a little light-headed and as I walked around after, still naked, I had the most amazing rush of endorphins and happiness. But enough about me, let us return to the nirvana of bodybuilder muscle.
Ken's thighs. If you recall, Ken's cock had just made itself known to me, swinging fat and heavy inside his gym pants, poking my leg a bit as we made out. The sudden awareness of his lower half caused my hands to follow the muscular cords of his back down to his ass and then around to discover his thighs.
Now when a bodybuilder's arm is handing relaxed at his side, the luscious mountains of his biceps and the ham-like slabs of his triceps are neither flexed nor fully stretched and so they are warm and firm, but malleable and can be played with this way and that. (I would later enjoy a moment of intimacy with Ken's upper left arm, the only movement between our two spent bodies being my index finger softly and lovingly tracing the hills and valleys of his relaxed, casually enormous biceps and triceps.) In contrast to the firm, muscular potential of the relaxed arm, when he is standing even casually, a bodybuilder's outer thighs are steel-hard formations of living stone.
The memory of that later moment is flooding over me and my cock is jumping up and down. My cock ring is doing it's thing and I am raging hard. I want to thrush my hand into my pants and touch it, but I wait, shifting around so it swings a bit in my pants, feeling the caress of the soft flannel.
As my hands came around his waist and my fingers moved down onto Ken's thighs, I learned a whole new meaning to the word "hard." Nothing I have ever felt, whether animal or mineral, not a thick, engorged cock in the height of sexual ecstasy, nor a chuck of polished, statuesque marble has been as hard as the outer areas of Ken's massive thighs. As my fingers ran up and down his legs, over the outside of his pants, the thin layer of cotton served only as a minor tease, masking the great, muscular columns that lay beneath.
I couldn't wait any longer. My hands immediately flew back to Ken's waist and I grabbed the waistband of his gym pants, practically ripping them seam from seam. I couldn't push them down fast enough, and in my lust-driven haste, they got stuck first on his generously meaty cock and then again as they strained to pass around the girth of his quads. But I finally got them down to the floor and he stepped out, each massive thigh having to swing slightly out and around the other in order to pass.
He was now standing there naked as the day he was born, except for a thin rubber cock ring, encircling his shaft and balls, keeping them nice and full and appetizing. I've heard it said that steroids cause bodybuilders' balls to shrink: not so with Ken. I stepped back to take in the full glory of the body he had worked to achieve. The sight was so heavenly, if light had started radiating from within him, I would not have been surprised.
Ken's face was masculine but not blocky, with a strong, squared jaw line and sparkling dark eyes. What had once been a neck in his youth was now a thick cylinder of muscle extending straight down from his ears and disappearing into the shelf of his upper pecs. His traps grew out of his neck on each side, starting almost right beneath his ears and thrusting horizontally out to his clavicles, finally turning 90 degrees and diving straight down to end in his shoulder complex. Ken's chest was indeed a thing of muscular beauty. His pecs were thick and full and looked like they had been attached to his front, instead of growing from within. The stood out from his body on all four sides, forming a little shelf on top, easily over an inch deep. They flowed out and down, ending in a beautiful, round, slightly pouty overhang, with his quarter-sized nipples delicately balanced on the curve, not quite pointing forward, not quite pointing at the floor. Beneath his pecs, his abs were lean and carved, but somewhat irregular in shape and size, looking like a bit like an old cobblestone street. His abdomen tended to hang down a little, showing signs of "roid gut." On either side, beneath his abs, his iliac crest was defined and pronounced, plunging down and to the center where his shaven cock and balls grew magnificently out of a small patch of close-cropped pubic hair.
Jutting out to the sides of his pecs, and with perfect chest-shoulder tie-ins, Ken's delts were truly gargantuan. They were as globes of muscle dough, rolled between the palms of the gods and stuck onto the two corners of his frame. Each head of the delts was defined and they ballooned out and down, forming a v-shape of definition where they disappeared into his upper arms.
Going through this inch-by-inch description in my mind's eye is driving me truly to the edge. I don't think my cock has been this full or this hard in a while and I'm savoring the feeling. My pants can no longer contain it and it as jammed itself into the waistband. I've had to open the fly so it can stick out and not get stuck. I fervently wish there was a giant man here to bring his rippling body of muscle over here and to release me from my fantasy.
Ken's triceps filled the back of his arms like great masses of clay slapped onto the regular arm. It was as if he was wearing them. His biceps were the kind that hang full, thick and deep and almost square at the bottom where they turn into the elbow joint. The cords of his forearms screamed out from just above the elbow at the base of the long head of the triceps and ballooned out, only to disappear again into his wrists.
Emanating from aside his cock and balls, his thighs exploded as muscles upon muscles, drooping down thickly, almost overhanging his seemingly tiny kneecaps. Ken did not suffer from small calf problems as his were thick and full, extending most of the way down the back of his lower legs. Even the muscles in his shins were built and defined.
I've managed to contain myself long enough to get through the full body description. I didn't want to leave you hanging, as it were. My heart feel as if I have just run a few miles and my pulse is pounding in my throat. I have to go take care of this before I make a mess on my keyboard.
Until next time, dear reader.
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 (firstname.lastname@example.org)