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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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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