Eleven-and-a-half: A Fantasy Of Great Length by Ray Wilder

Chapter 2: Arnold

This is a work of fiction. All the characters, events and locations
portrayed in this book are fictitious, and any resemblance to real persons,
events or locations is purely coincidental.

Copyright © 1996. All rights, implicit or implied, except for
distribution by this archive and personal use by the individual downloading
the file, are reserved. Inquiries regarding publishing rights for this book
should be directed to: raywild@aol.com

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	Mmmmm. Ooooh, such a big cock. Ooooh, baby, fuck me. Ooooh. Fuck me
with that big fucking cock. Oooooh, yeah! Oh. . . oh. . . oh, slow. Oh,
you're so big. So big! Oh, shit. Oh! Fuck me! Yeah. Yeah. Oh, don't
stop. Don't stop. Oh yeah! Yeah! Oh! Oh! Aaaah! Yes! Yes! Yes! Oh, baby!
Oh, fuck me. Oh, sooooo big. That's it. There. Oh, fuck me harder! Harder!
Fuck me! Fuck me me me. . . me me me. . . meep meep meep. . . beep beep
beep. . . beep beep beep. . .
	The first thing wrong was that the bedside table, where his alarm
clock usually sat, was gone. The second thing wrong was his alarm clock. It
was gone as well. When he figured out that it was his wristwatch beeping
instead, he couldn't remember where he had left it. He fumbled around on
the floor, which seemed unusually close this morning, until he found the
offending thing lying on the floor under the covers.
	Yes, the floor was definitely too close.
	The third thing wrong was the unbelievably bad timing of this rude
awakening. His cock was hard as a rock, jutting up under his bed sheet. He
knew that in another ten or fifteen seconds his exquisitely painful
erection would have been shooting joyous, hot streams of cum all over
himself and the sheet. Instead he had a raging hard-on, he had to piss like
a race horse and he still couldn't quite remember if he should know why the
floor was so close.
	He opened his eyes and took in the strange sight. Not only was the
floor too close but the ceiling seemed to be a long way off by almost the
exact same amount. Well, at least that seemed to make sense, one following
the other in a strange sort of way. This confirmed that the room had not
somehow changed its dimensions along with its other apparent alterations. A
quick glance around revealed other strangenesses. There didn't seem to be
anything in the room, save for a pair of cut-offs, T-shirt and towel, each
hanging over the end of the (empty closet?) door, a pair of gym shoes
lounging over in the corner, the mattress on which he was lying (although
the box spring and frame on which he had been accustomed to finding this
mattress seemed to have absented themselves) and the intrusive wrist watch
which had given up beeping, showing absolutely no concern as to whether it
had accomplished its task or not.
	Oh, yes, and his enormous, painful erection.
	There were many things about being in bed which he was extremely
good at. Waking-up was not one of them. In fact, of the many activities in
which he participated during the course of a normal day, he figured that
waking-up was the thing he probably did the worst. Especially when he was
about to have some brown-haired, blue-eyed, muscular nymphomaniac with the
world's most talented, bionic vagina ride his gigantic cock to orgasm.
	But it seemed that reality had reared its ugly head; it was time
for him to, once again, attempt to slip into the routine of life. This
morning's routine, however, was going to prove more difficult than usual
unless he could figure out why all those wonderful things he took for
granted (box spring, bed table, dresser, a larger selection of clothing)
seemed to be not where he normally expected to find them, but somewhere
totally different and, at this moment, completely unknown. He took a peek
under the sheets to make sure that his personal inventory hadn't changed as
well.
	The first things into view were his enormous pectorals. He squeezed
his arms to his sides and his pecs responded by ballooning several times in
size, creating a sheer-faced ravine between them. The skin on either side
of this grand canyon was rippled and striated with fibers of highly
developed muscles anchored to his breast bone. Further outboard he sensed
the thickness of his arms against the sides of his chest. Bending them at
the elbows, the biceps eagerly tightened into huge knots on the fronts of
his upper arms. Along the backs, his triceps pressed down hard, raising his
arms several inches off the surface of the mattress. At the tops of those
upper arms grew two massive deltoids, forming steel-like football stadium
domes over his shoulders. His forearms, reacting to the flexing of his
wrists, turned into highway maps of New Jersey and Connecticut (those
portions which flanked either side of New York City and were, therefore,
covered with major and minor traffic arteries) as the confluence of veins
running just under the surface of his deeply tanned skin were forced into
stark relief due to their being thrust up by the massive musculature
beneath.
	Further down, just beyond his mountainous pecs, lay the great
flatlands of his abdominals; low rolling hills of muscles stretching off
into the distance, ending in a small forest of light brown pubic hair,
shaved to a minimum to avoid being seen when hiding beneath the minuscule
bathing suits which were favored by those who had the right equipment. The
short, wiry vegetation grew at the base of what many considered to be his
finest quality. Shooting straight up out of the area just below the vast
expanses of his abdominal plain was a towering eleven-and-a-half inch shaft
of dark-red-verging-on-regal-purple flesh, capped by a mushroom-shaped head
that would have put Hiroshima to shame (and such a shame Hiroshima was).
	Aching. Tense. Rigid. Throbbing. A thesaurus could be filled with
the adjectives he and others used to describe his cock. He longed for a
nail he could drive. (A phrase book of euphemisms could probably have been
written as well, had someone taken the time to stop staring and write them
down) He flipped back the sheet and grabbed his massive prick (yet another
for the adjectival list), and squeezed it very hard with both hands. There
were few things his huge cock liked more than being squeezed very hard with
both hands. He liked the way a good portion of his enormous tool extended
out from the top of his hands, even though he was a member of the "one hand
above the other" school of squeeze. In fact, what stuck out above his two
hands would have been considered quite adequate in most circles. As his
hands constricted around the shaft, turning the exposed part of it a
darker, richer vermilion, a rather pleasing amount of fluid seeped from the
slit in the crown and drooled down the blood-engorged shaft. He had been
very close to cumming.
	Deciding to finish the inventory, he tensed his upper leg
muscles. Shaking them a bit, they responded by taking on the appearance of
an air mattress. He raised his legs and bent his knees to watch as his calf
muscles did their impression of stalks of broccoli. Not that they turned
green; rather, there was a resemblance to the way the narrow lower calve
spread out and up to become a rippled, textured knot of muscles about the
size of a good head of broccoli.
	All seemed to be well on the personal front. And the increase in
blood flow caused by the various flexes and stretches seemed to be doing
wonders for his mental activity as well: There was a truck parked out in
front of the house. Yes. He remembered putting things in the back of the
truck. All of his things, come to think about it. The alarm clock, the
clothing, the bed side table. Even the box spring, which answered the
question regarding his unusual proximity to floor and ceiling. All his
things, save those meager few possessions he saw around him. The truck. The
packing. The search for a new apartment. It was all coming back to him
now. Wait a minute. . .Yes! He had it: He was moving! Ta-da! He thought he
must be awake now. No, there seemed to be something missing: Why was he
moving?
	The blood flow had now established itself and answers seemed to be
coming quicker: It had just become too difficult, living outside of the
city. Everything he wanted was somewhere else. If he wanted to do anything,
get anything, go to the gym, a club, the movies, he had to get in the car
and drive a very long way. Finally he had broken down and looked for a
place which was closer to the center of his activities. He had found a
place on the beach. Bike paths, sun, sand, more gyms per capita then any
other city in the country, and bodies. Bodies that inspired awe. Bodies
that made you want to pump lots of iron. Bodies that made you want to cum.
	The final answer having been revealed to him, he got out of bed and
stretched once again, causing a show of muscular development and carnality
that should not have gone unobserved. Actually it wasn't. He knew that for
the last year-and-a-half the woman next door had stationed herself at her
sewing room window with a pair of binoculars. In fact, she had taken up
position from seven until nine-thirty every morning. She was aware that he
would be moving out today and had been sitting on her sewing machine bench
since four forty-five to make sure she caught the last show. Her diligence
was justly rewarded. His muscles swelled, his enormous member jutted
straight out from his lower abdomen, his huge balls hung heavily beneath in
their scrotum and he even had the decency to perform these exertions
standing a tasteful forty-five degrees to the window.
	He, satisfied that he had provided her with a memorable going away
present, grabbed his bath towel from the closet door, wrapped it around his
waist (a futile gesture as his huge cock was still performing its imitation
of a tent pole), and ambled off to the shower. It was only seven on a
Sunday morning and he knew everyone else would still be asleep after having
been out late last night.
	The normally anti-social bunch of clods with whom he shared this
house had suddenly blossomed into social butterflies when asked if anyone
would be around to help him load up the truck. There was nothing personal
about this. The same thing happened when any activity more strenuous or
responsible than beer-tab-pulling was mentioned. One of the many endearing
qualities of this place he was looking forward to putting behind him.
	When he got to the bathroom he felt that odd sense of displacement
again. Most of the familiar articles that, morning after morning, had been
where his sleep-fogged mind could easily locate them, were packed away in
the truck. A toothbrush, comb and a sliver of soap were all that were
his. Everything else belonged to the other occupants of the house. A few
things he didn't recognize. There were far too many comings and goings here
to be able to keep track of the current residents. It made collecting for
the rent and bills a monthly challenge; something else he was not going to
miss.
	His hard-on persisted, which was a bit of a nuisance, especially as
he had to take a shit, as well. Everyone always envied him his huge
cock. People had a hard time figuring out what to look at first; his
impressive physique or the equally impressive bulge in the front of his
pants. Most of the time he enjoyed the benefits of it all. But there were
times, like now, when having a eleven-and-a-half inch erection was a pain
in the ass. Trying to piss standing up while not taking a shit on the
bathroom floor was always a challenge, but it beat the hell out of sitting
down and attempting to get the end of his cock inside the bowl so that
everything ended up in the right place. Christ, it was bad enough when it
was soft and would hang down on the cold porcelain or, worse yet, down into
the water.
	He grabbed his cock with both hands and aimed it at the bowl,
slowly releasing his bladder muscles so as to not encourage a complete
evacuation. Because of the aborted orgasm his tubes were clogged up with
unspent cum, so his piss sprayed out like a firehose. He bent his knees to
get the head of his cock closer to the bowl so the piss wouldn't go
everywhere.
	As he looked down at his hands wrapped around his engorged cock he
thought how much he liked the view. His huge pecs, bulging with the effort
of pulling his arms to his cock, stretched the surface of his chest. He
enjoyed the pressure of the tight muscles tensing just under the layer of
smooth, tanned skin. He let go with his left hand and allowed it to run up
across his well-defined abdomen, lingering on the surface of its highly
developed ridges. As his hand reached the underside of his right pec he
lightly traced the belly of the muscle, stopping at the nipple, teasing it
to erection where it nestled up against the massive bicep of his right arm.
	His bladder empty, he turned around and faced the mirror which
covered the wall above the sink. With his right hand still grasping his
cock he slowly flexed his muscles. Stretching his left arm out, he bent it
at the elbow, causing the bicep to thicken and tighten until, as his
forearm reached the vertical, it formed a peak of massive flesh; solid,
throbbing and covered with veins. He reluctantly released his cock with his
right hand and brought his other arm up to match its mate.
	Flex. Stretch. Crunch. His pecs filled with blood and swelled along
with his lats, those massive developments running from his deep arm pits
down to just above his waist. The traps, muscles that run from shoulder to
neck, rose up, giving the appearance of having inserted football pads just
under his skin. He flexed the muscles in his legs and they jumped out in
full relief, swelling up like quickly inflating balloons. His cock,
momentarily semi-flaccid, hung down in the cradle created by the bulging
muscles of his legs on either side and nestled between his egg-sized balls
hanging down in his scrotum behind. That's the way he liked it. Loose and
dangling.
	Just thinking of how his body felt started to turn him on. What the
hell. What good was spending all that time developing a fantastic physique
if you can't take a little time to enjoy it? Almost immediately his cock
was hardening again, jutting out from its anchorage as it filled with
blood. He turned sideways and flexed his arms in front of his torso, the
pecs jutting up above the piles of bicep that topped his upper arm. As his
cock hardened his scrotum pulled his balls up under the base and held them
firm. The cock, itself, grew darker and darker, turning a lush red, the
head feeling like it was on fire.
	He struck several more poses, to the back, side and front and ended
up against the sink, the massive tool laying on the counter. He picked it
up and hefted it. Several pounds of prime choice cock meat there. He let it
drop back to the countertop and it landed with a solid, satisfying
thud. Stroking the top of it with his hand, a small drop of juice oozed out
of the tip. He dug through the cabinet to the side of the mirror and found
some skin moisturizer. He was so hot that he didn't think, popping open the
cap and squirting it right onto his cock. Fuck! It was cold. Slathering
some on his hand he began to work the lotion into the skin of his meat,
being careful not to get it on the head. There might be some disadvantages
to having a eleven-and-a-half inch hard-on, but there were some pluses,
too. And being as physically active as he was, it meant that he was very
flexible.
	Sitting back onto the toilet he began to run his hands up and down
the long shaft, the tips of his fingernails gently tracing the tube that
ran up the back of his member. As the cock got harder he bent his head down
and touched the tip of the monster with his tongue. A shot of electricity
bolted down the shaft and up his spine. Again and again he flicked out his
tongue, each time receiving another jolt of lightning. His hands started to
pump in earnest. He parted his lips and took the tip of his own cock into
his mouth. Almost immediately he felt the reaction in his balls.
	One hand left the shaft and moved down to his scrotum where it
began to massage and gently squeeze the contents. He felt a fire begin to
burn there and made his other hand work the shaft more quickly. His cock
responded by becoming even more blood-engorged and aching. He knew he
wouldn't have long to wait. He reached up with the hand that he had been
massaging his balls with and ran it over the tip. The juice was really
starting to flow there and he knew that this was going to be a massive
orgasm. He was getting hotter and hotter, his muscles tensing until they
felt like they would rip through the skin. His whole body buzzed with
sensation, each part of his anatomy screaming out for attention. He ran his
free hand over his pecs and the bicep of his pumping arm, feeling the
muscle expand and contract like a powerful machine with each stroke it
took.
	Then, without warning, he was cumming. He sat upright, grabbed the
shaft with both hands and pumped away, aiming it at his pecs. He loved the
feeling of his cum splattering against his massive chest muscles, the noise
it made as it hit made him cum even harder. He came. And came. And
came. Three days was far too long. The tank got too full and it made his
balls ache after it was over. He made a mental note not to go so long
without sex.
	Cum was all over him, mostly dripping down the front of his pecs,
although some clung to his left nipple and the belly of that muscle. It was
also all over his hand, thighs, and abdomen, and dripping down his still
hard cock. He took some toilet paper and mopped up, took a dump and climbed
into the shower.
	He always enjoyed the feeling of soapy hands running over his body
and took extra time in lathering up, wishing for someone to do the job for
him. Especially his back. It was impossible to reach anything but the outer
perimeter of the massive expanses of his back. Each time he tried to wash
there his muscles would expand and prevent his arm from bending any
further. So, you took the good with the bad. Usually there was no problem
getting someone to do the job for him, but he had been so preoccupied with
finding a new place, packing, and moving that he hadn't had the time in the
last few days, or the inclination if the truth be told, to round up a
volunteer.
	The spray was hard and biting as it dug into his huge muscles. He
held his cock up to the spray and let it hit right on the end. Sometimes
there was a little bit left in the orgasm department. He held it there and
the sensation got more intense as the needles of water beat rapidly on the
head of his cock. Just when he thought he couldn't stand it a second
longer, and it always happened just then, a rush of concentrated sensation
ran up his cock and a narrow spray of seminal fluid squirted out the
slit. A feeling of warmth and relief settled over his body and he lazily
finished rinsing. Toweling off, he noticed that his cock was still
semi-hard. He hoped that it would subside a bit, otherwise it would make
getting dressed difficult. Another one of those eleven-and-a-half inches
nuisances to deal with.
	He had apparently decided to forgo shaving this morning; his razor
and shaving cream seemed to be packed. He brushed his teeth to get rid of
the morning mouth, stealing some toothpaste from a tube that looked like it
had survived several transient housemates, ran the comb through his long,
brown hair, abandoned the sliver of soap to the fate of some unknown body,
and wrapped the towel around his waist. The thick rope of his cock forced
itself into relief underneath the towel. He reached down and squeezed it
one more time through the terry cloth and then headed back to his room to
get dressed.
	The feeling of tight cotton clothing stretched across his muscles
and cock. . . really stretched. He didn't usually go out in public dressed
as he was today, but knowing he was going to be getting very hot and
sweaty, he wanted to be as comfortable as possible. His T-shirt was a
French-cut with certain modifications made to accommodate his
broader-than-average torso. The arm holes had been made larger than was
normal for this type of shirt. Although the purpose of a French-cut was to
show off the upper arms, a regular one had the tendency to either cut off
the circulation or rip open the first time it was tested by a
hyper-developed bicep, of which he had two. He liked the way the fabric
clung to his pecs, cupping them like a smooth, ever-present hand.
	His cut-offs were the remains of a regular pair of denim jeans that
had become too worn on the front of the right leg from his massive cock
rubbing against it from the inside. Because of the incredible size of his
organ it was difficult to find underwear which could contain it. Most of
them were too confining or held his cock in such a position as to be a bit
too sexually overt for casual social occasions. He had taken to wearing
boxer shorts and just letting the thing hang down his right pant leg. Over
the months of wear the blue had begun to fade away leaving a white strip,
the width of his huge donkey-dick, down the front.
	He had decided to forgo underwear today. He liked the idea of being
able to get at his cock, without obstructions, to feel it, squeeze it, hold
it, look at it. And one never knew when the opportunity to involve a second
party might present itself. He pulled the shorts up, took the shaft of his
cock and laid it in along his right hip. His huge balls went to the
left. As he pulled the zipper up the denim enclosed itself around his
genitals, clasping them firmly yet gently. He ran his hand over the outline
of his tool as it wrapped around under the right pocket. It responded by
giving a little jump. His cock was in its denim and all was right with the
world.
	He sat on the floor and put on his gym shoes and then pushed
himself up off the floor. It felt good so he did it again. And again. One
hundred push-ups later and his breathing was deep, his triceps throbbing
and his pecs pumped up, proudly thrusting themselves into prominence under
the tight, form-fitting shirt. He took the mattress downstairs and threw it
into the back of the truck, quickly closing the doors before it fell back
out again, then went in and made some breakfast.
	Halfway through scrambling some eggs he heard footsteps on the
stair. A few seconds later a woman came into the kitchen dressed in one of
his soon-to-be-ex-housemates' shirts. He had hoped he could avoid running
into someone this morning, especially a woman, because it always meant some
sort of encounter. The likelihood of this was guaranteed by the way he was
dressed.
	As she came into the kitchen and saw this massive man standing at
the stove, his biceps stretching the arms of his T-shirt to the ripping
point, her eyes lit up in that way which he had come to expect. There was
nothing vain about it, he just knew the affect he had on all women, and
most men. He tried to appear very busy and in a hell of a rush, giving the
excuse that he had to get the truck back or pay for another day. The truth
was that she was a very attractive woman and, had she not just spent the
night with someone else upstairs, he would have leapt at the chance to pump
her with his massive cock. By the expression on her face it was a pretty
safe bet she was thinking the same thing. Her halted conversation revealed
her inability to concentrate on the mundane surface comments with which she
was attempting to lure him into some sort of interaction. Her eyes
continually strayed to other parts of his body, coming to rest, finally and
unselfconsciously on his quite prominent crotch.
	He had once talked with a woman who had been endowed with an
incredible figure. About two or three minutes into the conversation he
realized that, a) he wasn't listening to a damn thing she was saying, and
b) he found his eyes locked firmly on the region of her breasts. She
pointed out that women found it perturbing, at best, to have a conversation
with someone who forgot that anything existed above a woman's neck. But she
also said she enjoyed watching men get so disoriented when trying to
maintain some semblance of decorum and leer at her breasts at the same
time.
	He knew how she felt. After all, you don't go to the trouble of
building a body like this and then get offended when people admire it. He
loved being stared at, desired, lusted after. And this lady was doing a lot
of staring, desiring and lusting. He liked it. Sort of like a cat who
doesn't want to be touched but can't help purring anyway. He sat at the
kitchen table to wolf down his food. She joined him at the corner seat,
thus permitting her to continue the perusal of his body while trying to
make small talk. He leaned back in the chair and spread his legs, knowing
that, without any underwear on, his huge cock would be quite
unrestrained. Her widened eyes and short intake of breath confirmed this
without any need to look down for corroboration.
	He finished his breakfast and carried his dishes to the sink. As he
started to wash them she came up to the sink and stepped into his side.
	"You're in a hurry," she said. "I'll do these,"
	She took the sponge and dish from his hands and moved in between
him and the sink, making sure he didn't have enough time to back away
before she pressed herself up against him.
	On the other hand, he thought, he probably wasn't going to even see
any of these people again. A quick one on the kitchen counter would hardly
make a difference, now would it?
	She noticed he wasn't moving away and took that as
encouragement. Laying the sponge and dish down in the sink, she shut off
the water, turned around and stared at the massive pecs which confronted
her. Her hands traced over their surface, her eyes widening with the
excitement of having such an incredible body under her hands.
	"Flex."
	He flexed. The pecs swelled and bulged. Her hands grabbed them and
pressed, fingernails digging in ever so slightly, lingered there for a
moment. He moaned as she traced the lower edges of the muscles with the
points of her index fingers and then headed outwards to his shoulders.
	"Flex."
	He flexed. The deltoids swelled and bulged. She ran her hands up
over them and then down the back of his arms.
	"Flex."
	He flexed. The triceps, those massive, yet quite under-appreciated
slabs of muscle along the back of the upper arm, swelled and bulged. His
biceps, at the disadvantage for being fully extended, still put in quite a
showing as her hands roamed around the immensity of his upper arm. Her
fingers traced the throbbing veins that ran under the surface of his skin
down to his hands. Taking each hand in her own she placed them on her
unrestrained breasts, full and firm. He pressed his palms into her nipples,
which were already hard and jutting. She sighed. He pressed harder. She
moaned. He wrapped his hands around them and slowly closed them, causing
the breasts to squeeze gently through, ending with a quick tweak of the
nipples. She gasped and started to work her legs back and forth, creating
motion in her genitals. The perfume of her cunt permeated the air,
competing with the smell of the recently completed meal. She spread her
legs and straddled his left thigh, pressing her cunt against it.
	"Flex."
	He flexed. The thigh expanded, bring pressure to bear on her
already inflamed clitoris. She worked her cunt up and down his leg, moaning
and sighing as she enjoyed the feel of the huge muscle filling her
spreading thighs. Her hands ran down his side, past his waist, around his
back and came to rest on his ass.
	"Flex."
	He flexed. The gluts tightened and stretched his cut-offs. She
squeezed hard, pulling herself into his crotch.
	"Flex."
	He flexed. The cock surged. She began to rub herself against his
hardening member.
	"Things got a bit rambunctious last night and I'm a little
sore. Besides I don't think I could take you there..."
	So, there was the other disadvantage to a big cock. They loved to
fantasize about having it pummel them into orgasm. But when the moment of
truth came, many had the tendency to back out. Looked great in the window,
but when I got it home...
	"...but can I suck you?"
	Oh, there is a God.
	He took his hands off her breasts and started to undo his fly.
	"Let me."
	She pulled his hands away from his zipper and took it herself,
slowly pulling it down about half way. She kneeled in front of him and
moved her mouth closer to his cock. Pressing her lips against the denim,
she exhaled, expelling her hot breath and sending a melting sensation up
his spine and down to his toes. She did it again and his cock did a quick
grow, becoming very uncomfortable, pent up in his cut-offs. He told her
so. She undid the rest of the zipper and slowly peeled away the fabric,
revealing the thick shaft at its base.
	"How big?"
	"Eleven-and-a-half."
	"Hmmmmm."
	"Are you hungry?"
	To answer she pulled the cut-offs down to the floor, took his
quickly hardening cock in her hands, opened her mouth and deep-throated
him. He almost fell backwards onto the floor. Truly a woman of hidden
talents, this. He wondered who the lucky stiff was upstairs. He also
wondered if the lucky stiff was just waking up only to find that the one
who was going to take care of his stiff was down in the kitchen sucking on
another one. She seemed to derive the greatest of pleasure from his
reaction and did it again and again, each time taking deep gulps of air
before heading on in again. Owing to this lady's remarkable talents he
found himself swiftly approaching another orgasm. He looked down and
watched his huge cock sliding in and out of her mouth. It seemed almost
magical. Like the seventeen clowns at the circus who all get out of the
same little car. Where did they put them all? Where was his cock going? He
began to thrust and counter-act the movement of her head.
	"Hmmmm. Aw. Yeah. Oh, shit, yeah. Oh, suck my cock. Suck it. Oh,
God that feels good. Aw, that's incredible. Ooo, yeah. Yeah! Yeah! Oh,
God. So deep. So fucking deep. Aw, never before. Oh, holy shit! Oh, God!
Oh, God! Yes! Yes! Yes! I'm going to cum. I'm going to cum right now. I
want to cum in your throat, okay?"
	To answer, she renewed her efforts, assuring him that was exactly
what she wanted.
	His cock swelled. She grabbed his balls and pressed her face
against his groin, holding all of him inside her. Then she started to
swallow. The muscles of her throat began stroking and milking his cock and
within seconds he had released a flood of cum down her throat which the
swallowing action promptly carried away.
	Weak-kneed, he slowly pulled his softening cock from her throat,
hobbled over to the kitchen table and sat heavily in one of the chairs. He
pulled his cut-offs up but stopped short of putting them on all the
way. His huge cock, covered with saliva and dripping a few last drops of
cum, throbbed and bounced as it hung between his legs, as if going through
its own set of orgasmic spasms. She came over and knelt in front of him,
taking his cock in her hands and licking it clean, making it semi-hard
again in the process.
	"I'll never get these damn shorts on if you keep that up."
	"Let me."
	She pulled his shorts up to his waist as he lifted his ass off the
chair. Then she took his balls and raised them up over the zipper, placing
them on the left. The cock was tucked neatly in the right. The lady had a
good memory as well. She pulled the zipper up and gave the still throbbing
cock one last hot-breathed kiss.
	"Thank you," he sighed. "Where did you learn that?"
	"First time." Wink. "I really like doing that but rarely find
anyone big enough to make it worth while."
	"You've spoiled me. Are you available for parties? Of one, that
is."
	"Sure. Here's my phone number. Give me a call." She wrote it down
on a scrap of paper by the phone and stuffed it seductively into the waist
of his pants. Her hands then wandered up his chest to his pecs and squeezed
them again. "Are these available for parties?"
	"I'll call you when I get my phone installed. I've gotta
run. Thanks." He tried to think of something else to say but the look on
her face was satisfied. "Thanks."
	"I'll finish up the dishes. I know you're in a hurry." She winked
again.
	The drive was uneventful and the day held the promise of heat and
sun. The fact that he was towing his car behind made things a bit
interesting, but it was a small sports coupe and didn't seem to bother the
truck much once he got on the freeway. Already the warmth of the sun was
putting a sheen on his skin that, he knew, made his arms and legs glisten
with a seductive, glowing quality.
	The woman in the kitchen. The woman. Shit! He didn't even know her
name. Well, that was pretty crass. Then he realized she didn't know his,
either, and chuckled. A couple of crass sex fiends having a morning,
nameless suck. He hoped the phone number, still jammed into his pants, was
legit. His thoughts drifted down towards his bulging crotch as the memory
of his huge cock sliding completely into her throat caused a pleasant
discomfort. It amazed him, considering the battalion of mouths that had
been around his cock, that no one had ever done what this woman had. What a
wonderful way to start off a day that promised new beginnings, new
encounters, new life.
	Ten years ago he had decided to return to the desert town after a
wondrous summer following his high school graduation. He had leaped into
life, making up for so much lost time, lunging after every experience he
could. So much joy. So much sorrow. And in the end, he found he was not
ready for it all. Those who had been with him during those several months
would have been quite surprised to find him thinking this. He had been an
amazing presence in their lives, taking them, as well as himself, further
into the realm of human interplay than any of them had imagined
possible. But when it was all over, or when he had ended it, he found so
much that he did not understand, so much beyond his control, that he felt
he had to withdraw. Perhaps it had been the people he had been with; they
certainly were an unusually gifted group of humans. Or was it he, himself,
who had been the secret ingredient? He had needed to pull back, to take
stock of what was in himself and what he had done, seen, experienced.
	And then, within the last few months, he had felt things moving in
his life again. The events that passed through him pointed towards the step
he was taking today. He felt developments engineering his future, the most
unusual of which was his meeting with the people at the modeling agency he
was now signed with. And here he was, moving to the beach, to the Mecca of
body building, the center of the media universe, and he could feel many
eyes on him, both figuratively and literally. For the first time in a
decade he felt comfortable about that. He was ready to face the ghosts from
that time. The only thing he had to do was track those ghosts down. And
find out if they were, again, ready to face him.
	The buildings of the city began to close in around the highway
until little that was not man-made was left to be seen. The sun rose higher
in the sky and started to warm his crotch, giving it a lazy, comfortable
feeling. He pulled the half-opened road map across his lap to block some of
the heat. Every now and then he would risk a glance at the unruly sheet of
paper, trying its hardest to escape on the wind coming through the open
window, to double check his progress. He had only been to his new place
twice and hoped that his recollections of how to get there were accurate.
	A white convertible drew up beside him and two women waved to him
in an unmistakably suggestive way. He pumped his left arm and waved
back. They hooted like a couple of school girls and accelerated. Some got
off easier than others.
	Mr. Howard, the old man who was the super for the building, had
gone to great lengths to explain that, although he understood that a "fine,
strapping youth" like himself needed his outlets, he expected all his
tenants to maintain a "respectable existence." He hadn't gone into any
detail of what that was, but it was assumed to mean no wild parties or
blow-jobs in the elevator. He then went on to detail the private, and
probably fantasized, lives of many of the tenants in the building.
	Especially intriguing was his next door neighbor. They had, it
seemed, body building in common.
	"Of course, she's not as big as you, but she's got a fine ass and
the two nicest hooters in the building."
	Discretion being the better part of getting the lease signed, he
decided not to point out just how offensive that statement was. He did,
however, look forward to meeting a fellow pumper. Moving into a new
neighborhood screwed up the work-out schedule for a while and a little help
in re-establishing the regimen was always appreciated. He hoped she might
even be able to recommend one of the local gyms.
	He was also excited about his new job. He had been cultivating a
relationship with the agency for a long time and recently they had begun
using him. One of the agents explained there would be a lot more work for
him if he lived closer. When he let them know he was finally willing to
move to the beach they rewarded him with three jobs in the coming week. Two
of them, he was told, were "trunks only" and did he mind? Hah! He would
make enough on those three jobs to pay first and last months rent, the
deposit, all the rest of the miscellaneous expenses of setting up new digs
and still be able to sock a sizable chunk away into the bank. No, he
certainly did not mind.
	A wrong exit and three lefts to make a right later, he pulled in
behind the building which was to be his new home. He unhitched his car over
by his parking spot, set the emergency brake and then backed the truck up
to the sidewalk that lead to the back door. A series of open walkways
covered this side of the building from the second floor up, making access
from the elevator to the apartments an outdoor experience. The walkways ran
almost the entire length, with only the two outer apartments being the full
depth of the building. His new place was just inside the end one on the
right. On the other side of the building was the beach and ocean. Each
apartment had access to a balcony that ran the entire length of the
building with dividers of green corrugated fiberglass in metal frames
supplying only slightly inadequate privacy. He looked up the building and
counted floors. ...5...6. That was his. Home. Of sorts. He knew the next
apartment in after his was the body builder. He couldn't remember if the
super had told him who lived in the end apartment. He guessed he would find
out sooner or later. Time to get unpacked.
	He cracked open the back of the truck and grabbed the mattress as
it fell out towards him. Setting it aside, he checked the contents of the
truck for any apparent damage. All seemed to have traveled
well. Fortunately, most of what he owned was either big, old hunks of
sturdy furniture, boxes of books, or weights. Nothing much to go wrong
there. The mattress first.
	After the first few trips he was wishing he had spent the extra
bucks for the hand cart. But the effort on his muscles felt good and he
figured that there had to be some practical use for all these
bulges. Otherwise it was like too much chrome on a car. His T-shirt was
soaked through, adhering to his rippling flesh like a second
skin. Occasionally a breeze would run around the building from the ocean
and cool him off, sending a shiver up his spine and causing his nipples to
stiffen to rock hard points of flesh. A steady stream of perspiration
flowed down his head and neck, funneling into a thin river that ran between
his pecs. As it reached his abdomen it spread out and soaked the area like
a flood plain.
	A few trips later, he took a break. Laying down in the back of the
truck, the shade feeling good after all those trips back and forth in the
hot sun, he looked up and noticed someone in the apartment next to his
looking down at him. It was too far to make out who it was, but they seemed
intensely interested in what was going on. He figured he'd get everything
into the apartment, get cleaned up and then maybe introduce himself. But
that meant getting everything into the apartment, right? He grabbed the
first part of his weight machine and started inside with it.
	As he approached the elevator he noticed someone else waiting as
well. He had been making several trips from the truck before taking stuff
up, but the person waiting was a powerfully built, high energy lady. Her
skin glowed with a layer of perspiration and her breathing was deep from
exertion, possibly a morning run. This was, no doubt, his neighbor. He
decided to take the ride with her to get acquainted. She turned as he came
down the inner hallway carrying his box of parts. Her reaction was
immediate. She took him in with one sweep of her eyes, top to bottom. He
sensed she was cataloging every measurement of his body. Her practiced eye
then made a second run up his body, stopping at his crotch. Just then the
elevator doors opened. She stepped inside and beckoned him in with a look
that had the physical force to undress him. She continued to hold the door
until he was inside and then, with her eyes still riveted to his cock, said
"Six?"
	He saw she had already selected the sixth floor, but decided her
penetrating stare required some response.
	"Eleven-and-a-half."
	"We've only get whole numbers around here, Shape. Pick one between
two and twelve and skip the decimal points."
	"Six sounds good."
	"Sure does, honey. So does eleven-and-a-half, but we'll have to
stop there some other time. I have to get to the gym and open up."
	The elevator lurched into action. They spent the ride looking at
each other. His cock stirred slightly under her attentions. Another minor
draw back about having such a gigantic organ. It was hard to conceal
reactions. When his cock stirred, it was as obvious as raising an
eyebrow. But he figured if he was going to be scrutinized so intensely, it
wasn't his fault if she noticed his reactions.
	"You are, obviously, the new kid on the block. Ol' man Howard's
been blabbing about you for a week now. Says that with two of us in the
building, I won't feel like such a freak. Shit. The only person that makes
me feel like a freak is him. Can't get him to look me in the eye for a
second when I talk to him."
	He really hated the fact that, try as he might, the word 'hooters'
kept coming to mind. Her breasts were, indeed, remarkable and the top she
had on, a runner's halter, was not doing anything to subdue the effect.
	"My name's Arnold."
	"How unfortunate."
	"Named after a grandfather. I've thought of changing it."
	"Don't worry. I won't hold it against you."
	"If I told you you had a lovely body..." He paused, hoping she
would catch the allusion.
	"Marx Brothers fan, eh?"
	"My favorite brand of lunacy."
	" I'm Patty."
	"Nice to meet you, Patty. Forgive me if I don't shake hands just
now."
	"Gear?"
	"Yeah. I don't mind the work, but I'm glad there's an elevator."
	"Well, you're working up a fine sweat there, Shape. Clothes
sticking to you in all the right spots."
	The elevator bounced to a stop and the door slid open. They both
got out and headed down the walkway. Patty stopped at her door and called
after him. "Hey, Shape. Whatcha doing for dinner tomorrow night?"
	"I suspect I'm having it with you. What time?"
	"Seven sound good?"
	"Sure. I have a shoot tomorrow afternoon, but I should be finished
by then. Can I bring anything?"
	"Just pack that salami you got there and I'll take care of the
rest. High protein, high carb?"
	"Whatever. I'm only maintenance training right now. See you then."
	He started to head towards his apartment when Patty called after
him.
	"Hey, Shape!"
	Arnold stopped and turned back to her again.
	"I'll be very disappointed if you were lying about that
eleven-and-a-half."
	He set the box down on the walkway. "You got a ruler handy?"
	"Honey, I don't need a ruler. I'd know eleven-and-a-half if I saw
it."
	He walked over to her and asked her to hold out her hand. She did
and he pulled up the leg of his cut-offs. His cock fell out and landed
right in her palm. She gasped and grabbed the massive tool. He felt her
heft it, testing the weight of it. She wrapped her thumb and forefinger
around its girth. They didn't touch.
	Apparently satisfied, she slowly lowered it to his legs and just
stood there, staring at it.
	"I must say, I find your lack of trust in me very disappointing,"
he said, laying on a heavy sarcastic tone. "In the future I should hope you
would take a gentleman at his word."
	It seemed Patty was either lost in thought or at a loss for
words. Arnold grabbed his cock and stuffed it back up into his shorts,
walked back to the box he had brought up in the elevator, picked it up with
an ease which was totally at odds with how much the box actually weighed,
and marched off to his own apartment without looking back, feigning an
attitude of total contempt for her mistrust.
	He put the box of equipment in the second bedroom and headed back
to the truck for another load. When he stepped out onto the walkway Patty
was gone. Walking back to the elevator, he heard a crash and a scream come
from behind him. Something had happened in his other neighbor's
apartment. He listened for a moment to see if it was serious. There was no
more noise and no one seemed to be moving. Someone had apparently fallen or
hurt themselves and they didn't seem to be recovering. He waited for
another moment and then knocked on the door.
	Nothing.
	He knocked again.
	Nothing.