Date: Thu, 04 Apr 2024 18:58:24 -0700
From: sean@seanreidscott.com
Subject: Key To My Heart -- Chapter FOUR

Key to My Heart -- Chapter Four
By Sean Reid Scott

This story contains homosexual themes and depictions of sex between men. It
is intended for Adults Only. Please do not read if you are offended by this
subject matter.

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CHAPTER FOUR


THE NEXT FEW MINUTES WERE the most humiliating minutes of my entire
hitherto-lived life. Keyshawn had been standing there, waiting for me to
answer his ostensibly innocent, "Whatdayathink?" and I was unable to
respond--the two contributing factors to my frozen silence being 1) Key's
unimaginably perfect muscle body, and B) Urine.

Urine, urine, everywhere. Actually, as it turned out, the pee wasn't as bad
as all that.

When I hadn't responded, genuine concern appeared on Key's face. He looked
up and down my body, and he spotted it. My blue jeans were a decidedly
darker blue around my crotch.

"Oh fuck," he said, immediately moving toward me. His muscular hulk was
hovering over me in a second. And the rippling features of his fat-free
physique just overwhelmed me. "Oh fuck, Ollie.... Did I make you do this?"
He examined my darkened crotch area with worry. "Dammit, dude. I am so
sorry!"

I found it so freakin' adorable that he was genuinely concerned for me, and
not out-and-out rolling on the floor with pitying laughter. He really
wasn't amused in the least; he was sincerely concerned--with a dash of
guilt added in--that it was he who caused this. (What kind of person
automatically assumes that his muscular body was the cause of someone's
loss of bladder control?)

"Fuck, man," he continued, "what can I do? How can I help? Do you need me
to carry you into the shower? I can check the sheets to see how much seeped
in. Do you want me to take everything down to the laundry room? Fuck,
Ollie, I am so sorry about this."

I think he might have said more, but frankly, my brain stopped and latched
on to the "carry you into the shower" concept. If I hadn't been all
pee-wet, I would have definitely taken him up on that offer. Instead,
though, I lifted one hand, indicating that I wanted him to stay the fuck
away from me. "Invisible line, man," I moaned. "Respect the line."

He stepped back, complying with my wishes.

To say I was embarrassed, or ashamed, would be like saying the Mona Lisa is
a nice pic. I was mortified. I was not in the mood for conversation. What I
really wanted was for Keyshawn to get on that flight to Abu Dhabi I had
considered, and get the fuck out of Dodge. In a word: I wanted to die. I
sincerely wanted to die... right after I curled up on the floor in a fetal
position and wept excessively.

But instead, I sat up and examined my pants. Fuck I was warm down
there. But it was quickly turning into uncomfortable coldness. Key stood
back while I gingerly rolled my body to one side and stood up. I looked
back and examined the bed. There was a dot of my pee on the spread--maybe
the size of a quarter. But when we lifted that up, nothing had seeped
deeper. Thank the Lord.

"Dude, what can I do?" he asked again. "Let me help. Please." It was almost
comical to see this mass of nearly naked, muscular perfection come across
as meek and apologetic. He was sincere in his vexation with himself. As
if... as if he was the one who had embarrassed himself.

"I'm fine," I sighed. "Just... wait a second." I inhaled a deep, slow
breath, and pondered my plight. I felt the heat of the man standing next to
me. "Okay, I need to change, obviously. And shower... yes, shower."

"I can take the bedspread off and take it down to wash it," he
offered. That actually sounded like a good idea. I wanted the room to be
empty for a minute or ten.

"Okay. Thanks. I'll just slip into the bathroom." I grabbed some fresh
undershorts and a new t-shirt; I wasn't going to put on pants... it was
evening now, and the next event would be bedtime, so I was gonna be casual
(ha) for the rest of the night. "I'll... I'll just be in there," I
indicated the bathroom.

"Good. You just take your time. A nice hot shower, man. Just relax and make
yourself comfortable," he said. He pulled the bedspread off and rolled it
into a ball. "I'll take this downstairs right away."

I looked at his almost-naked, jacked body and raised my eyebrows. "Maybe
throw on some sweats or something first?" I was glad that my brain was
working somewhat normally with the dry humor again.

He looked down over his enormous chest, surveying the Key-made
landscape. "Oh, yeah, of course. You just take that shower. I'll be back in
a jiff."

I locked myself in the bathroom and just stared at the mirror. Another big
sigh. I was such a loser. Fuck... who does this? First cumming without so
much as touching myself, and then this... the most humiliating act a man
can experience: Losing his bladder. I was pathetic. I truly expected that
when I would later emerge from the bathroom, Keyshawn's side of the room
would be bare--devoid of all his belongings, and he would be, by that time,
in his parent's dining room, regaling them with the story of my hilarious,
helpless, hopeless, inability to control my bodily functions.

I heard Key moving around in the room, presumably throwing on some clothes,
and then he left. While I stood there, silently staring at the mirror, I
heard someone in the hallway curse and blurt, "Holy shit, man!" Obviously,
someone had come across Key walking down the hall toward the elevator. "So
fucking jacked!" the person followed up. Of course, Keyshawn got these
kinds of exclamations all the time--even covered in a sweatshirt and pants.

I shoved open the shower's plastic curtain and started the water. It
usually took at least 60 seconds for the water to warm up. I peeled off my
pants, and apparently Key and I thought the same thing at the same time:
I'd need to throw my jeans and underwear in the laundry too.

The room's hall door opened, and as soon as I had my clothes all off, I
opened the bathroom door. Key was standing there, holding the
bedspread. And now I saw why that dude in the hallway had pretty much lost
his ever-loving shit: Key had only put on sweatpants. No shirt. The
fucker. Apparently he really did enjoy inciting near-riots.

We exchanged no words. I handed him my soiled clothes, and he gave me a
polite smile. It really was awesome how we thought alike.

By the time he was gone again and I had slipped under the shower's hot
spray, I was feeling slightly better. The soapy water moved all over my
body, and I felt a tinge of relief. Damn, the water felt good. While I
dried off, I heard Key return to the room. I wiped the fog off the mirror
and put on my underwear.

Emerging from the bathroom, I saw Key sitting on his bed; he'd shed the
sweatpants and was wearing only that white thong thing.

He had been looking (somewhat forlornly) out the window. But when he turned
and saw me, his legs instinctively spread just a bit (who the hell knows
why), and he gave me a sexy smile.  And fuck, his pouch! I have no idea
what the man was packing in that thing, but it had to be some kind of
anaconda. "How you doin, man?" he asked. He was grinning--because he
abso-fucking-lutely knew the effect his nearly nude physique was having on
me, but I also saw a hint of concern on his face.

I walked to my bed and sat down directly across from him. "I'll survive."

He nodded. "The bedspread is in a washer. I'll go down and put it in the
dryer in a while."

"And cause another fracas in the hallway?"

He rolled his eyes, "And elevator, actually."

"You fucker. You love pithing people's minds, don't you."

"It's my speciality," he said deadpan. A long silence was followed by his
return to sincerity: "I am so fucking sorry, dude. I really should have
thought things ahead before I..."

"Before you stripped down and cause me to empty my bladder --just because
your muscles made me lose my ever-loving encephalon?"

He chuckled. "Nice. You have no idea how much it turns me on when you use
medical terms, dude."

Noted.

But then, more silence, and he hung his head. "Fuck, man. I really am
sorry."

"You act like you could have prevented it," I objected. "...or like maybe
you should have anticipated this." I cocked my head in a frown and thought
for a second. "Wait a minute. Has this happened before? Have you made guys
wet themselves before? ...simply by taking off your clothes?" The earlier
questions I had pondered to myself had returned.

He actually looked sheepish now. "Well...."

"Serious?" The fucker. "You fucker!" I exclaimed-slashed-laughed. He
totally knew the effect he had on guys like me. I rolled my eyes and shook
my head in mock disbelief. Truth was, I totally believed him. And I lusted
all the more because of that little tidbit of information. The man actually
he had the ability to make dudes come, just by stripping.

He presented his palms to me, resting them outside his quads: "Don't hate
me because I'm beautiful."

Now it was my turn to nearly double over laughing. I saw him grin at my
reaction. The guy was gold itself.

"So... does this happen often? I mean... do you know? Have you actually
seen a guy do this? Wet himself? Before I did, that is?"

He nodded. "Couple of times.... And actually... coming too."

I rolled my eyes, and sighed in self-disgust. "I suppose I shouldn't admit
to anything...."

He chuckled and looked embarrassed again. "Don't have to, man. I saw it,
Ol." He couldn't help the smile that involuntarily took over his face.

"Fuck. You mother-fucking fucker. You knew I was coming? Before dinner?
Fuck. You knew exactly what I...." I shook my head in mock disgust. "And
the sad part is... you absolutely loved it, didn't you."

"Dude," he said seriously, "I wish no discomfort on anyone." He placed his
hand on his heart, and aside from that playful gesture his delivery was
entirely sincere and serious... which is why I knew he was blowing air up
my ass.

"Reeeeely.... Discomfort no, but a little spontaneous ejaculation never
hurt anybody, right?"

"Maybe," he gave a sly grin.

"You fucker," I smiled. "Is that why you manipulated the room assignment?
So you could watch me lose my eternal-loving mind... over your body?"

"A man can have a little fun, can't he?" he winked.

"What am I going to do with you. I'm serious, Key. You have ultimate power
over me. How am I supposed to survive the rest of this year with you in my
room?"

He stood up. "Come `ere," he said softly. Because I had no choice, I
obeyed. I stood, and he pulled me close to his tower of Black muscle, and I
snuggled into the hard warmth.

"This isn't helping," I said. "As far as my loss of control goes." I rested
my head against him, and as my ear pressed against his chest I felt the
resonant chuckle emanate from his body.

"That's why I'm doing it. We need to get you on a regimen of Key
exposure. Train you up so you can control yourself around me."

I found my hands wrapping around his small waist, as his arms surrounded my
back side. Holy fuck... I was falling.

Falling... falling... falling.... This was so out of the realm of
possibility I couldn't even comprehend what was happening.

His big hands gently caressed my back, rubbing me in circles... tracing my
shoulders, skimming my arms. Gently, slowly.... "You gonna be okay?" he
asked tenderly.

"Fuck, Key... I can't believe this. I can't believe I'm here, hugging
something like... what, 270 pounds of the most striking, gorgeous, hard
muscle-physique ever."

"Two-hundred-eighty," he corrected.

"Well, I wasn't far off. And what... six-feet-five?"

"Basically."

"And, like, zero-point-three percent body fat?" I asked as we continued to
stand together, hugging.

"Ha. That'd be impossible. I'd be dead."

"Well, whatever it is, it should be illegal."

He chuckled. Fuck me till I burn, I could listen to--no, feel his resonant
chuckle forever.

After a long, contemplative moment, I said softly, "I'm scared."

He pulled back and I met his concerned eyes. "Why?"

"Because I am totally smitten, Key. I don't know where you stand on the
attraction thing, but... I'ma just come out and say it... I am hopelessly
in to you. And standing here like this, it's fucking scary to think it
might not be what I want it to be... that it could be only temporary. I'm
gonna need years of counseling as it is, if we remain friends.... If we
stop being friends, I don't know what I'll do." He smiled a genuine smile
at me, then I added, "I suppose I should be afraid about coming out to you,
but I kinda know you already knew that about me. I don't even know where
you stand on the orientation scale, for crying out loud. So if you're gonna
run now that you know I'm... you know...."

"Gay."

"Yeah, that. If you're gonna run, let's rip the Bandaid® off right
now and get it over-with."

"Like I said before, Ollie, I already knew. I knew the first moment I saw
you the other day, that you were gay... and that your particular attraction
as far as men goes, is muscle. Correct me if I'm wrong, but you like big,
bulging, jacked muscle. And well, the spontaneous creaming in your pants
was a dead giveaway too," he chuckled.

I sighed. "Soooo perceptive," I mumbled.

"Well, Greg was right, man. You were kinda obvious. But that's what I like
about you. You wear your penis on your sleeve, dude."

I cringed. "Ew. Horrible imagery."

He smiled down at me. And then he moved me away just a bit... it had to be
done if he was going to do the next thing: He bent forward and our lips
connected. It was a long, slow, erotic, sexually powerful kiss. He
introduced his tongue into the mix, and I had to pull off.

"Dammit, Key, you want me to stain my underwear again, don't you."

He shrugged. "To be honest, yes. But I'd actually prefer you'd wait till
I'm fucking the daylights out of you... and you could come all over
yourself while I come inside you."

"Well, that definitely answers the orientation question regarding Keyshawn
Tanner," I said deadpan.

He nodded with a twinkle in his eye. He began pulling off my clothes--my
t-shirt, then my briefs.

"What are you doing?" I asked.

"Making sure you don't stain your underwear again."

When I was totally naked, he moved his hands all over my smooth skin. Up,
down, in, out... everywhere. And I looked up at him like a puppy to its
master, wondering if it was even possible for a human to experience more
than I was experiencing at this moment.

I so wanted to tell him... more about how I felt... more about how this
must all be some kind of a dream.... But I had run out of words, and I was
starting to feel like my never-ending-stream-of-praise for him was getting
to be too much. Maybe I should just shut up and enjoy this. Be with him in
the moment....

He stood up tall again and pulled me close again, next to his heat-factory
body. My height, next to his... well, I could feel his cotton/nylon genital
pouch push against my stomach. And the hardness and fullness of his cock
and balls pressed at me. Lower than his, my shaft was already totally hard
(again, duh). But my erection was a mere fraction of the size his semi was,
of course. I shuddered to think about seeing it--sans the thong--when it
was fully erect.

After a moment of more hugging, Key put his hands under my arms (where a
regular guy's lats would be, but my torso was basically a bamboo stick) and
effortlessly lifted me off the floor--and I do mean effortlessly. It was as
if I weighed ten pounds to him. He didn't grunt, he didn't show any sign of
effort or struggle. He simply raised me--in a slow, fluid motion... off the
floor with no exertion whatsoever.

And the thing was, he held me close to his body the entire trip up. Fuck!
It was like being on an amusement park ride; he slid me up his torso, so
that every front-facing atom of my little body tingled as they rubbed
against the ripples and jacked mounds of his muscles: his pouch, his abs,
his widening upper torso (my hands briefly caressed the Concorde
delta-wings of his lats, which elicited a shudder from deep within my
soul), that astounding chest--which, by the way, required my body to
actually change course so I could maneuver around the jutted overhang; the
thought struck me that it might be handy to keep some climbing ropes and
those carabiner thingys, to make future treks up the front side of his
mountain/body that much easier.... That astounding chest (I repeat for
emphasis; the chest was indeed the highlight of the journey, requiring the
majority of my attention), those beyond-belief biceps and triceps (I put my
hands on them when I was eye-level with his neck, and moved my palms and
trembling fingers over the unyielding, hard--yet somehow
undulating--conglomeration of his upper arm muscles--those bent arms that
were leisurely holding my limp body in mid-air), which triggered yet
another guttural murmur from my core.

He stopped when my face was level with his, and my feet dangled a
foot-and-a-half off the tiles. He tenderly brought his lips close to mine,
but before he kissed me, he moved his tongue over my lips, wetting them
thoroughly. Oh. My. Gawd. My heart beat faster than that of a mouse
cornered by a cat. When he started affectionately kneading my lips with
his, and pushing his tongue inside my mouth, skimming it over my own
tongue... a feeling of disorientation, and some kind of euphoria, washed
over me.

He held me, suspended in air, while he languidly explored my mouth. His arm
muscles--his entire body--seemed oblivious to the fact that he was, almost
absently, holding 145 pounds off the ground. There was no struggle, no
stress... no straining at all. He was holding a feather.

At some point, he broke the kiss; he looked deep into my eyes, gave a
smile, and then began lowering me down his jacked body--and let me tell
you, the return trip down was no less exhilarating and stimulating than the
trip up had been. When my toes just barely made contact with the floor, he
lifted me up again, just as slowly--just as sensually as before. At the
top, we kissed briefly this time, then he lowered me once more. My ticket
to his muscle amusement park ride (actually, he wasn't just a ride, he was
the whole park) must have been for unlimited trips, because he
slowly--totally indifferent to my weight (admittedly it's not much, but
still, 145 pounds is 145 pounds)--pulled me up and down the muscles--the
relief map of continental plates, mountain ranges, indented canyons,
pectoral cleavage, and abdominal bumps & lumps--that comprised his
physique. Each bulging mound my cock rubbed against pushed me closer and
closer to losing congrol of my semen.

Think about this. I was the self-proclaimed Founder, Chairman, President,
and CEO of the International Sthenolagnia Men's Muscle Worshiping
Association (ISMMWA®); I doubt a more muscle-lusting man existed on
this blue marble we call Earth than Yours Truly.

And I was experiencing this.

I hovered somewhere between Nirvana, Unconsciousness, Heaven, Uranus, and
the locker room of my local gym... unable to wake up from this dream of
ecstasy... this paradise.

When he brought me up the third--or was it the eighteenth--time, he held me
there. We kissed, deep and wet. I heard him slurp, and he let out some
genuinely erotic groans too. GoodGod when he sucked and and lapped at me it
was like he was devouring my essence... eating me out, and enjoying every
tiny morsel. Hearing his slurps and smacking sounds could have been
off-putting... but holy fuck no: It was prurient, indecent, and the most
seductive sound I'd ever heard. And I've heard a sound or two in my
lifetime.

While we kissed, I spread one of my hands out against his breastbone, and
let my fingers move lower, into the dark, deep gorge of his pectoral
cleavage. He tightened his pecs, and his twin moons clenched hard around my
digits--trapping my hand there.  The pressure his pectoral muscles exerted
on my fingers was hard and unyielding. I couldn't extract myself--for just
the sheer power of his chest. I nearly wet myself again. For a moment, I
truly wondered if I would be able to get my hand out. I probably couldn't
have if he hadn't relented. But he did; I felt the concrete of his
pectorals soften, allowing me to reclaim my hand. I rubbed the freed
fingers with my other hand, and felt his chuckle thrum through the room.

Thing was, I was actually in no danger of wetting myself again. Because the
human body has that mechanism--that switch--which allows either pee or
ejaculate to surge down the urethra at any single moment--but never at the
same time. And... one guess as to which of those fluids was starting to
surge forth from me at this moment.

You got it. My cock convulsed to life, and like one of those
industrial-strength sprinkler systems they use for irrigation, it snapped
and sputtered with its first blast. I commenced jetting salvo after
uncontrollable volley of jizz onto the barely-existent space between our
torsos. My turgid shaft and my churning balls, tight against this giant's
abs, sprayed streams and streams of thick, dripping cream up onto the
cantilevered projection of his pectorals. It wouldn't have surprised me if
semen stalactites started forming on that overhang.

My suspended body jerked with each powerful release of cum from my
slit. And Keyshawn Fucking Tanner effortlessly suspended me in the air,
tight against his body, accepting the fluidic essence that constituted the
ethos of my worship while we kissed each other.

Just as I began to finish up, Key walked us the few steps to his bed and
smoothly lay down on his back, with me on top of the most comfortable--yet
hopelessly hard--human Black mattress ever conceived. I rested my head on
the pillow of his chest and closed my eyes. His big hands slowly traced up
and down my spine, then fanned out to caress all of my back, my ass, arms,
shoulders, and legs. My hands found the ordnance of his upper arms, and I
kept them there, occasionally moving from the bottom-side of his
football-like triceps to his bulging and swelling biceps. My head rose and
fell, slightly, while the twin orbs that comprised his chest slowly
inflated and deflated with his contented breaths.




I AWOKE THE NEXT MORNING surrounded by Key's immense body. Interestingly,
my sleep, though deep and hard, wasn't without agitation. I dreamt. A
lot. Most of my dreams had to do with me being in a horrible car accident,
and while I was wrapped in all of this heavy, black steel, the rescuers
scrambled to get the Jaws of Life set up in order to extract me. Those Jaws
were actually Keyshawn's brawny, Herculean arms--an allusion to the imagery
I had conjured the day before. Most of the dream was spent in unsettled
distress while I watched Key's mighty arms struggle to extricate
me.... They flexed, grew, gyrated, trembled and shook with unimaginable
power, right in front of my eyes... and I came and came, multiple times,
while I watched him exert all of his quivering might--his unimaginable
strength--in his struggle to wrest me free.

The incongruity of the whole nightmare was that the steel of the car that
held me tight was actually Key's body itself. So, as dreams are wont to do,
it didn't make sense that he was both my captor and my liberator.

Regardless, the dream--watching those incomparable arms writhe with all
that flexing power--made for some incredible orgasms. And as I would
realize as soon as I was fully awake--and Key and I would discuss
momentarily--those orgasms existed not only in the dreams, if you know what
I mean.

Key was wet with my splooge; his sheets were saturated. Much of it had
dried, too. What a mess. What a beautiful, sexy mess.

"G'morning," he said when he saw my eyes open. His brawny arms wrapped me
in the cocoon of his warm stronghold. The combined girth of his arms was
more than the circumference of his lower torso, so I was totally encased by
him... in a sense, in him.

"G'morning," I responded. I saw, and felt, the mess I had made. "Good
god. Fuck, Key... what a fucking mess!"

He moaned in pleasant, amused agreement. "Yeah... the best kind. I think
you came, in your dreams, like three or four more times after we laid down,
bud."

I sighed. "Fuuuuuuck." I felt totally spent--exhausted, despite the
sleep. "I'm thirsty."

"No doubt," he chuckled. His voice completely enclosed me. I imagine it was
something like the sensation a fetus gets when its mother talks... it can
feel as much as it can hear what the mother is saying. Lying on Key, with
my head resting on one of his pecs, that's what it felt like: I could feel
the reverberations of his voice being transmitted throughout my entire body
more than my ears actually heard the vibrations of the sound.

Dear God in Heaven, let this be real.

I'd just woken up from a dream; can you wake up from a dream in a dream? I
hoped to the Lord that... not.

I found it curious that despite all of this Ollie-on-muscle direct contact,
and the profuse amount of semen I had produced in response to said contact,
Keyshawn F. Tanner still had his thong thingy on. He'd never become nekkid.

Obviously, he had nothing to hide--unless that object tucked away in his
pouch (and mind you the pouch was not really up to the task, if you know
what I mean) was some wickedly amazing semi-soft dildo he bought at an
Equine Supply Center. Seriously, my eyes had given that hidden treasure
more than enough examination (albeit through the fabric) when he'd shed the
pants last night, and god-help-me it definitely put the Stallion in his
Mr. Stallion moniker.

So I could only conclude that Key had chosen to do it this way. Maybe he
just wanted to concentrate on me, and his pleasure would come later? Yes,
please.

Once I peeled myself away from the sticky mess that was my jizz--all over
his torso and, a lot on the sheets--I stood at the side of his bed,
examining everything: his reclined physique, and the mess. "You still have
your thong on," I noted.

"Yeah," he smiled. Fuck, those bright teeth. Whiter than the fabric hiding
his schlong. "After you came--the first time, while you were awake--you
were exhausted. I really just wanted to snuggle you... to sleep with you."

"And I can thus assume that you have no sexual needs whatsoever? I mean,
dude... you didn't even come, right?"

"Didn't. But don't you worry about that. Part of what turns me on is being
able to hold off... hold back... make myself wait a while. Being with you
all night long was kind of torturous for me. And fuck, Ollie... it was so
hot having to control myself... while I held your body like that... letting
you dream, and cum and cum and dream."

I squinted at him, questioning. "Wow. That's kinda... hot."

"It definitely was, dude." He leisurely moved his hand down his ribbed and
mounded torso; it stopped on top of his pouch. He didn't say anything more.

I gulped. "Holy fuck." I was standing there, ogling a nearly naked muscle
deity who was looking at me with almost glowing-red, sexy, devious,
intense, powerful, lusting eyes, while his fingertips tickled his sex
organ. The message was as transparent as his shrink-wrapped Black skin over
his muscles. "Fuuuuuuuuck," I whimpered.

He chuckled. "But I want you to know, we'll take this at your pace. I know
you're intimidated by all of this..." he lifted his hand off his genitals
and indicated his entire body, "and to be honest... well... you ain't seen
nothin' yet," he chuckled as he looked back down at his somewhat-concealed
manhood. He returned his hand to his crotch, and despite it's muscular
size, the hand couldn't contain everything under it.

"Shhhhiiiiiiiiiit...." I felt my sphincter involuntarily tighten while I
stood there.

"Don't worry, Ol. Like I said, I'm not going to make you do anything you
don't feel comfortable with. I just want you to be prepared. And we'll take
all the time you need to make those preparations."

All the preparation on Earth wouldn't help a Panamax ship navigate the Erie
Canal.


[Chapter 5 is prolly next.]


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This story is ©© 2024 Sean Reid Scott under the Creative
Commons Copyright thingy.












CHAPTER FOUR SYNOPSIS: The fun continues as Ollie comes "clean" with how
Key's bare physique sent him into a tizzy, embarrassing the hell out of the
little guy. But then Key and Ollie get to know each other even better;
let's just say that Ollie describes the experince of touching and feeling
Key's incredible body as an "Amusement Park Ride." This is where the true
Muscle Worship experience begins.



CHAPTER FOUR


THE NEXT FEW MINUTES WERE the most humiliating minutes of my entire
hitherto-lived life. Keyshawn had been standing there, waiting for me to
answer his ostensibly innocent, "Whatdayathink?" and I was unable to
respond--the two contributing factors to my frozen silence being 1) Key's
unimaginably perfect muscle body, and B) Urine.

Urine, urine, everywhere. Actually, as it turned out, the pee wasn't as bad
as all that.

When I hadn't responded, genuine concern appeared on Key's face. He looked
up and down my body, and he spotted it. My blue jeans were a decidedly
darker blue around my crotch.

"Oh fuck," he said, immediately moving toward me. His muscular hulk was
hovering over me in a second. And the rippling features of his fat-free
physique just overwhelmed me. "Oh fuck, Ollie.... Did I make you do this?"
He examined my darkened crotch area with worry. "Dammit, dude. I am so
sorry!"

I found it so freakin' adorable that he was genuinely concerned for me, and
not out-and-out rolling on the floor with pitying laughter. He really
wasn't amused in the least; he was sincerely concerned--with a dash of
guilt added in--that it was he who caused this. (What kind of person
automatically assumes that his muscular body was the cause of someone's
loss of bladder control?)

"Fuck, man," he continued, "what can I do? How can I help? Do you need me
to carry you into the shower? I can check the sheets to see how much seeped
in. Do you want me to take everything down to the laundry room? Fuck,
Ollie, I am so sorry about this."

I think he might have said more, but frankly, my brain stopped and latched
on to the "carry you into the shower" concept. If I hadn't been all
pee-wet, I would have definitely taken him up on that offer. Instead,
though, I lifted one hand, indicating that I wanted him to stay the fuck
away from me. "Invisible line, man," I moaned. "Respect the line."

He stepped back, complying with my wishes.

To say I was embarrassed, or ashamed, would be like saying the Mona Lisa is
a nice pic. I was mortified. I was not in the mood for conversation. What I
really wanted was for Keyshawn to get on that flight to Abu Dhabi I had
considered, and get the fuck out of Dodge. In a word: I wanted to die. I
sincerely wanted to die... right after I curled up on the floor in a fetal
position and wept excessively.

But instead, I sat up and examined my pants. Fuck I was warm down
there. But it was quickly turning into uncomfortable coldness. Key stood
back while I gingerly rolled my body to one side and stood up. I looked
back and examined the bed. There was a dot of my pee on the spread--maybe
the size of a quarter. But when we lifted that up, nothing had seeped
deeper. Thank the Lord.

"Dude, what can I do?" he asked again. "Let me help. Please." It was almost
comical to see this mass of nearly naked, muscular perfection come across
as meek and apologetic. He was sincere in his vexation with himself. As
if... as if he was the one who had embarrassed himself.

"I'm fine," I sighed. "Just... wait a second." I inhaled a deep, slow
breath, and pondered my plight. I felt the heat of the man standing next to
me. "Okay, I need to change, obviously. And shower... yes, shower."

"I can take the bedspread off and take it down to wash it," he
offered. That actually sounded like a good idea. I wanted the room to be
empty for a minute or ten.

"Okay. Thanks. I'll just slip into the bathroom." I grabbed some fresh
undershorts and a new t-shirt; I wasn't going to put on pants... it was
evening now, and the next event would be bedtime, so I was gonna be casual
(ha) for the rest of the night. "I'll... I'll just be in there," I
indicated the bathroom.

"Good. You just take your time. A nice hot shower, man. Just relax and make
yourself comfortable," he said. He pulled the bedspread off and rolled it
into a ball. "I'll take this downstairs right away."

I looked at his almost-naked, jacked body and raised my eyebrows. "Maybe
throw on some sweats or something first?" I was glad that my brain was
working somewhat normally with the dry humor again.

He looked down over his enormous chest, surveying the Key-made
landscape. "Oh, yeah, of course. You just take that shower. I'll be back in
a jiff."

I locked myself in the bathroom and just stared at the mirror. Another big
sigh. I was such a loser. Fuck... who does this? First cumming without so
much as touching myself, and then this... the most humiliating act a man
can experience: Losing his bladder. I was pathetic. I truly expected that
when I would later emerge from the bathroom, Keyshawn's side of the room
would be bare--devoid of all his belongings, and he would be, by that time,
in his parent's dining room, regaling them with the story of my hilarious,
helpless, hopeless, inability to control my bodily functions.

I heard Key moving around in the room, presumably throwing on some clothes,
and then he left. While I stood there, silently staring at the mirror, I
heard someone in the hallway curse and blurt, "Holy shit, man!" Obviously,
someone had come across Key walking down the hall toward the elevator. "So
fucking jacked!" the person followed up. Of course, Keyshawn got these
kinds of exclamations all the time--even covered in a sweatshirt and pants.

I shoved open the shower's plastic curtain and started the water. It
usually took at least 60 seconds for the water to warm up. I peeled off my
pants, and apparently Key and I thought the same thing at the same time:
I'd need to throw my jeans and underwear in the laundry too.

The room's hall door opened, and as soon as I had my clothes all off, I
opened the bathroom door. Key was standing there, holding the
bedspread. And now I saw why that dude in the hallway had pretty much lost
his ever-loving shit: Key had only put on sweatpants. No shirt. The
fucker. Apparently he really did enjoy inciting near-riots.

We exchanged no words. I handed him my soiled clothes, and he gave me a
polite smile. It really was awesome how we thought alike.

By the time he was gone again and I had slipped under the shower's hot
spray, I was feeling slightly better. The soapy water moved all over my
body, and I felt a tinge of relief. Damn, the water felt good. While I
dried off, I heard Key return to the room. I wiped the fog off the mirror
and put on my underwear.

Emerging from the bathroom, I saw Key sitting on his bed; he'd shed the
sweatpants and was wearing only that white thong thing.

He had been looking (somewhat forlornly) out the window. But when he turned
and saw me, his legs instinctively spread just a bit (who the hell knows
why), and he gave me a sexy smile.  And fuck, his pouch! I have no idea
what the man was packing in that thing, but it had to be some kind of
anaconda. "How you doin, man?" he asked. He was grinning--because he
abso-fucking-lutely knew the effect his nearly nude physique was having on
me, but I also saw a hint of concern on his face.

I walked to my bed and sat down directly across from him. "I'll survive."

He nodded. "The bedspread is in a washer. I'll go down and put it in the
dryer in a while."

"And cause another fracas in the hallway?"

He rolled his eyes, "And elevator, actually."

"You fucker. You love pithing people's minds, don't you."

"It's my speciality," he said deadpan. A long silence was followed by his
return to sincerity: "I am so fucking sorry, dude. I really should have
thought things ahead before I..."

"Before you stripped down and cause me to empty my bladder --just because
your muscles made me lose my ever-loving encephalon?"

He chuckled. "Nice. You have no idea how much it turns me on when you use
medical terms, dude."

Noted.

But then, more silence, and he hung his head. "Fuck, man. I really am
sorry."

"You act like you could have prevented it," I objected. "...or like maybe
you should have anticipated this." I cocked my head in a frown and thought
for a second. "Wait a minute. Has this happened before? Have you made guys
wet themselves before? ...simply by taking off your clothes?" The earlier
questions I had pondered to myself had returned.

He actually looked sheepish now. "Well...."

"Serious?" The fucker. "You fucker!" I exclaimed-slashed-laughed. He
totally knew the effect he had on guys like me. I rolled my eyes and shook
my head in mock disbelief. Truth was, I totally believed him. And I lusted
all the more because of that little tidbit of information. The man actually
he had the ability to make dudes come, just by stripping.

He presented his palms to me, resting them outside his quads: "Don't hate
me because I'm beautiful."

Now it was my turn to nearly double over laughing. I saw him grin at my
reaction. The guy was gold itself.

"So... does this happen often? I mean... do you know? Have you actually
seen a guy do this? Wet himself? Before I did, that is?"

He nodded. "Couple of times.... And actually... coming too."

I rolled my eyes, and sighed in self-disgust. "I suppose I shouldn't admit
to anything...."

He chuckled and looked embarrassed again. "Don't have to, man. I saw it,
Ol." He couldn't help the smile that involuntarily took over his face.

"Fuck. You mother-fucking fucker. You knew I was coming? Before dinner?
Fuck. You knew exactly what I...." I shook my head in mock disgust. "And
the sad part is... you absolutely loved it, didn't you."

"Dude," he said seriously, "I wish no discomfort on anyone." He placed his
hand on his heart, and aside from that playful gesture his delivery was
entirely sincere and serious... which is why I knew he was blowing air up
my ass.

"Reeeeely.... Discomfort no, but a little spontaneous ejaculation never
hurt anybody, right?"

"Maybe," he gave a sly grin.

"You fucker," I smiled. "Is that why you manipulated the room assignment?
So you could watch me lose my eternal-loving mind... over your body?"

"A man can have a little fun, can't he?" he winked.

"What am I going to do with you. I'm serious, Key. You have ultimate power
over me. How am I supposed to survive the rest of this year with you in my
room?"

He stood up. "Come `ere," he said softly. Because I had no choice, I
obeyed. I stood, and he pulled me close to his tower of Black muscle, and I
snuggled into the hard warmth.

"This isn't helping," I said. "As far as my loss of control goes." I rested
my head against him, and as my ear pressed against his chest I felt the
resonant chuckle emanate from his body.

"That's why I'm doing it. We need to get you on a regimen of Key
exposure. Train you up so you can control yourself around me."

I found my hands wrapping around his small waist, as his arms surrounded my
back side. Holy fuck... I was falling.

Falling... falling... falling.... This was so out of the realm of
possibility I couldn't even comprehend what was happening.

His big hands gently caressed my back, rubbing me in circles... tracing my
shoulders, skimming my arms. Gently, slowly.... "You gonna be okay?" he
asked tenderly.

"Fuck, Key... I can't believe this. I can't believe I'm here, hugging
something like... what, 270 pounds of the most striking, gorgeous, hard
muscle-physique ever."

"Two-hundred-eighty," he corrected.

"Well, I wasn't far off. And what... six-feet-five?"

"Basically."

"And, like, zero-point-three percent body fat?" I asked as we continued to
stand together, hugging.

"Ha. That'd be impossible. I'd be dead."

"Well, whatever it is, it should be illegal."

He chuckled. Fuck me till I burn, I could listen to--no, feel his resonant
chuckle forever.

After a long, contemplative moment, I said softly, "I'm scared."

He pulled back and I met his concerned eyes. "Why?"

"Because I am totally smitten, Key. I don't know where you stand on the
attraction thing, but... I'ma just come out and say it... I am hopelessly
in to you. And standing here like this, it's fucking scary to think it
might not be what I want it to be... that it could be only temporary. I'm
gonna need years of counseling as it is, if we remain friends.... If we
stop being friends, I don't know what I'll do." He smiled a genuine smile
at me, then I added, "I suppose I should be afraid about coming out to you,
but I kinda know you already knew that about me. I don't even know where
you stand on the orientation scale, for crying out loud. So if you're gonna
run now that you know I'm... you know...."

"Gay."

"Yeah, that. If you're gonna run, let's rip the Bandaid® off right
now and get it over-with."

"Like I said before, Ollie, I already knew. I knew the first moment I saw
you the other day, that you were gay... and that your particular attraction
as far as men goes, is muscle. Correct me if I'm wrong, but you like big,
bulging, jacked muscle. And well, the spontaneous creaming in your pants
was a dead giveaway too," he chuckled.

I sighed. "Soooo perceptive," I mumbled.

"Well, Greg was right, man. You were kinda obvious. But that's what I like
about you. You wear your penis on your sleeve, dude."

I cringed. "Ew. Horrible imagery."

He smiled down at me. And then he moved me away just a bit... it had to be
done if he was going to do the next thing: He bent forward and our lips
connected. It was a long, slow, erotic, sexually powerful kiss. He
introduced his tongue into the mix, and I had to pull off.

"Dammit, Key, you want me to stain my underwear again, don't you."

He shrugged. "To be honest, yes. But I'd actually prefer you'd wait till
I'm fucking the daylights out of you... and you could come all over
yourself while I come inside you."

"Well, that definitely answers the orientation question regarding Keyshawn
Tanner," I said deadpan.

He nodded with a twinkle in his eye. He began pulling off my clothes--my
t-shirt, then my briefs.

"What are you doing?" I asked.

"Making sure you don't stain your underwear again."

When I was totally naked, he moved his hands all over my smooth skin. Up,
down, in, out... everywhere. And I looked up at him like a puppy to its
master, wondering if it was even possible for a human to experience more
than I was experiencing at this moment.

I so wanted to tell him... more about how I felt... more about how this
must all be some kind of a dream.... But I had run out of words, and I was
starting to feel like my never-ending-stream-of-praise for him was getting
to be too much. Maybe I should just shut up and enjoy this. Be with him in
the moment....

He stood up tall again and pulled me close again, next to his heat-factory
body. My height, next to his... well, I could feel his cotton/nylon genital
pouch push against my stomach. And the hardness and fullness of his cock
and balls pressed at me. Lower than his, my shaft was already totally hard
(again, duh). But my erection was a mere fraction of the size his semi was,
of course. I shuddered to think about seeing it--sans the thong--when it
was fully erect.

After a moment of more hugging, Key put his hands under my arms (where a
regular guy's lats would be, but my torso was basically a bamboo stick) and
effortlessly lifted me off the floor--and I do mean effortlessly. It was as
if I weighed ten pounds to him. He didn't grunt, he didn't show any sign of
effort or struggle. He simply raised me--in a slow, fluid motion... off the
floor with no exertion whatsoever.

And the thing was, he held me close to his body the entire trip up. Fuck!
It was like being on an amusement park ride; he slid me up his torso, so
that every front-facing atom of my little body tingled as they rubbed
against the ripples and jacked mounds of his muscles: his pouch, his abs,
his widening upper torso (my hands briefly caressed the Concorde
delta-wings of his lats, which elicited a shudder from deep within my
soul), that astounding chest--which, by the way, required my body to
actually change course so I could maneuver around the jutted overhang; the
thought struck me that it might be handy to keep some climbing ropes and
those carabiner thingys, to make future treks up the front side of his
mountain/body that much easier.... That astounding chest (I repeat for
emphasis; the chest was indeed the highlight of the journey, requiring the
majority of my attention), those beyond-belief biceps and triceps (I put my
hands on them when I was eye-level with his neck, and moved my palms and
trembling fingers over the unyielding, hard--yet somehow
undulating--conglomeration of his upper arm muscles--those bent arms that
were leisurely holding my limp body in mid-air), which triggered yet
another guttural murmur from my core.

He stopped when my face was level with his, and my feet dangled a
foot-and-a-half off the tiles. He tenderly brought his lips close to mine,
but before he kissed me, he moved his tongue over my lips, wetting them
thoroughly. Oh. My. Gawd. My heart beat faster than that of a mouse
cornered by a cat. When he started affectionately kneading my lips with
his, and pushing his tongue inside my mouth, skimming it over my own
tongue... a feeling of disorientation, and some kind of euphoria, washed
over me.

He held me, suspended in air, while he languidly explored my mouth. His arm
muscles--his entire body--seemed oblivious to the fact that he was, almost
absently, holding 145 pounds off the ground. There was no struggle, no
stress... no straining at all. He was holding a feather.

At some point, he broke the kiss; he looked deep into my eyes, gave a
smile, and then began lowering me down his jacked body--and let me tell
you, the return trip down was no less exhilarating and stimulating than the
trip up had been. When my toes just barely made contact with the floor, he
lifted me up again, just as slowly--just as sensually as before. At the
top, we kissed briefly this time, then he lowered me once more. My ticket
to his muscle amusement park ride (actually, he wasn't just a ride, he was
the whole park) must have been for unlimited trips, because he
slowly--totally indifferent to my weight (admittedly it's not much, but
still, 145 pounds is 145 pounds)--pulled me up and down the muscles--the
relief map of continental plates, mountain ranges, indented canyons,
pectoral cleavage, and abdominal bumps & lumps--that comprised his
physique. Each bulging mound my cock rubbed against pushed me closer and
closer to losing congrol of my semen.

Think about this. I was the self-proclaimed Founder, Chairman, President,
and CEO of the International Sthenolagnia Men's Muscle Worshiping
Association (ISMMWA®); I doubt a more muscle-lusting man existed on
this blue marble we call Earth than Yours Truly.

And I was experiencing this.

I hovered somewhere between Nirvana, Unconsciousness, Heaven, Uranus, and
the locker room of my local gym... unable to wake up from this dream of
ecstasy... this paradise.

When he brought me up the third--or was it the eighteenth--time, he held me
there. We kissed, deep and wet. I heard him slurp, and he let out some
genuinely erotic groans too. GoodGod when he sucked and and lapped at me it
was like he was devouring my essence... eating me out, and enjoying every
tiny morsel. Hearing his slurps and smacking sounds could have been
off-putting... but holy fuck no: It was prurient, indecent, and the most
seductive sound I'd ever heard. And I've heard a sound or two in my
lifetime.

While we kissed, I spread one of my hands out against his breastbone, and
let my fingers move lower, into the dark, deep gorge of his pectoral
cleavage. He tightened his pecs, and his twin moons clenched hard around my
digits--trapping my hand there.  The pressure his pectoral muscles exerted
on my fingers was hard and unyielding. I couldn't extract myself--for just
the sheer power of his chest. I nearly wet myself again. For a moment, I
truly wondered if I would be able to get my hand out. I probably couldn't
have if he hadn't relented. But he did; I felt the concrete of his
pectorals soften, allowing me to reclaim my hand. I rubbed the freed
fingers with my other hand, and felt his chuckle thrum through the room.

Thing was, I was actually in no danger of wetting myself again. Because the
human body has that mechanism--that switch--which allows either pee or
ejaculate to surge down the urethra at any single moment--but never at the
same time. And... one guess as to which of those fluids was starting to
surge forth from me at this moment.

You got it. My cock convulsed to life, and like one of those
industrial-strength sprinkler systems they use for irrigation, it snapped
and sputtered with its first blast. I commenced jetting salvo after
uncontrollable volley of jizz onto the barely-existent space between our
torsos. My turgid shaft and my churning balls, tight against this giant's
abs, sprayed streams and streams of thick, dripping cream up onto the
cantilevered projection of his pectorals. It wouldn't have surprised me if
semen stalactites started forming on that overhang.

My suspended body jerked with each powerful release of cum from my
slit. And Keyshawn Fucking Tanner effortlessly suspended me in the air,
tight against his body, accepting the fluidic essence that constituted the
ethos of my worship while we kissed each other.

Just as I began to finish up, Key walked us the few steps to his bed and
smoothly lay down on his back, with me on top of the most comfortable--yet
hopelessly hard--human Black mattress ever conceived. I rested my head on
the pillow of his chest and closed my eyes. His big hands slowly traced up
and down my spine, then fanned out to caress all of my back, my ass, arms,
shoulders, and legs. My hands found the ordnance of his upper arms, and I
kept them there, occasionally moving from the bottom-side of his
football-like triceps to his bulging and swelling biceps. My head rose and
fell, slightly, while the twin orbs that comprised his chest slowly
inflated and deflated with his contented breaths.




I AWOKE THE NEXT MORNING surrounded by Key's immense body. Interestingly,
my sleep, though deep and hard, wasn't without agitation. I dreamt. A
lot. Most of my dreams had to do with me being in a horrible car accident,
and while I was wrapped in all of this heavy, black steel, the rescuers
scrambled to get the Jaws of Life set up in order to extract me. Those Jaws
were actually Keyshawn's brawny, Herculean arms--an allusion to the imagery
I had conjured the day before. Most of the dream was spent in unsettled
distress while I watched Key's mighty arms struggle to extricate
me.... They flexed, grew, gyrated, trembled and shook with unimaginable
power, right in front of my eyes... and I came and came, multiple times,
while I watched him exert all of his quivering might--his unimaginable
strength--in his struggle to wrest me free.

The incongruity of the whole nightmare was that the steel of the car that
held me tight was actually Key's body itself. So, as dreams are wont to do,
it didn't make sense that he was both my captor and my liberator.

Regardless, the dream--watching those incomparable arms writhe with all
that flexing power--made for some incredible orgasms. And as I would
realize as soon as I was fully awake--and Key and I would discuss
momentarily--those orgasms existed not only in the dreams, if you know what
I mean.

Key was wet with my splooge; his sheets were saturated. Much of it had
dried, too. What a mess. What a beautiful, sexy mess.

"G'morning," he said when he saw my eyes open. His brawny arms wrapped me
in the cocoon of his warm stronghold. The combined girth of his arms was
more than the circumference of his lower torso, so I was totally encased by
him... in a sense, in him.

"G'morning," I responded. I saw, and felt, the mess I had made. "Good
god. Fuck, Key... what a fucking mess!"

He moaned in pleasant, amused agreement. "Yeah... the best kind. I think
you came, in your dreams, like three or four more times after we laid down,
bud."

I sighed. "Fuuuuuuck." I felt totally spent--exhausted, despite the
sleep. "I'm thirsty."

"No doubt," he chuckled. His voice completely enclosed me. I imagine it was
something like the sensation a fetus gets when its mother talks... it can
feel as much as it can hear what the mother is saying. Lying on Key, with
my head resting on one of his pecs, that's what it felt like: I could feel
the reverberations of his voice being transmitted throughout my entire body
more than my ears actually heard the vibrations of the sound.

Dear God in Heaven, let this be real.

I'd just woken up from a dream; can you wake up from a dream in a dream? I
hoped to the Lord that... not.

I found it curious that despite all of this Ollie-on-muscle direct contact,
and the profuse amount of semen I had produced in response to said contact,
Keyshawn F. Tanner still had his thong thingy on. He'd never become nekkid.

Obviously, he had nothing to hide--unless that object tucked away in his
pouch (and mind you the pouch was not really up to the task, if you know
what I mean) was some wickedly amazing semi-soft dildo he bought at an
Equine Supply Center. Seriously, my eyes had given that hidden treasure
more than enough examination (albeit through the fabric) when he'd shed the
pants last night, and god-help-me it definitely put the Stallion in his
Mr. Stallion moniker.

So I could only conclude that Key had chosen to do it this way. Maybe he
just wanted to concentrate on me, and his pleasure would come later? Yes,
please.

Once I peeled myself away from the sticky mess that was my jizz--all over
his torso and, a lot on the sheets--I stood at the side of his bed,
examining everything: his reclined physique, and the mess. "You still have
your thong on," I noted.

"Yeah," he smiled. Fuck, those bright teeth. Whiter than the fabric hiding
his schlong. "After you came--the first time, while you were awake--you
were exhausted. I really just wanted to snuggle you... to sleep with you."

"And I can thus assume that you have no sexual needs whatsoever? I mean,
dude... you didn't even come, right?"

"Didn't. But don't you worry about that. Part of what turns me on is being
able to hold off... hold back... make myself wait a while. Being with you
all night long was kind of torturous for me. And fuck, Ollie... it was so
hot having to control myself... while I held your body like that... letting
you dream, and cum and cum and dream."

I squinted at him, questioning. "Wow. That's kinda... hot."

"It definitely was, dude." He leisurely moved his hand down his ribbed and
mounded torso; it stopped on top of his pouch. He didn't say anything more.

I gulped. "Holy fuck." I was standing there, ogling a nearly naked muscle
deity who was looking at me with almost glowing-red, sexy, devious,
intense, powerful, lusting eyes, while his fingertips tickled his sex
organ. The message was as transparent as his shrink-wrapped Black skin over
his muscles. "Fuuuuuuuuck," I whimpered.

He chuckled. "But I want you to know, we'll take this at your pace. I know
you're intimidated by all of this..." he lifted his hand off his genitals
and indicated his entire body, "and to be honest... well... you ain't seen
nothin' yet," he chuckled as he looked back down at his somewhat-concealed
manhood. He returned his hand to his crotch, and despite it's muscular
size, the hand couldn't contain everything under it.

"Shhhhiiiiiiiiiit...." I felt my sphincter involuntarily tighten while I
stood there.

"Don't worry, Ol. Like I said, I'm not going to make you do anything you
don't feel comfortable with. I just want you to be prepared. And we'll take
all the time you need to make those preparations."

All the preparation on Earth wouldn't help a Panamax ship navigate the Erie
Canal.


[Chapter 5 is prolly next.]



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