Teen Bodybuilder

Teen Bodybuilder

Teen Bodybuilder by swimmboy4@aol.com

This story contains references to sexual contact between teenaged males. If you do not enjoy such stories, or it is illegal to read such stories in your jurisdiction, please do not continue reading.

The following story is a work of fiction. Brief references to bodybuilders Derek Charlebois and Danny Young are in no way meant to imply anything about their sexual orientation.

Teen Bodybuilder

Tyler Bradwell. That was the name on the slip of paper I'd received at the check-in desk. My first roommate at State U. would be Tyler Bradwell. It was the end of August, and thousands of kids were on their way to State to begin the fall semester. I had arrived on a Friday afternoon, and found that I was there before Tyler, and thus had my pick of beds. The dorm room was fairly small -- like most dorms everywhere - and contained two single beds, two desks, a small table between the beds and two chests of drawers. One bed by the window, the other near the door. The room was plain -- tile floors, walls painted white, and the slightly battered furniture already mentioned.

I was a freshman, eager to start my college "experience", yet nervous to be away from home for the first time. My name is Eric, and I was an only child -- accustomed to having my own room, and having my own way in most matters. I was uncertain about this whole college thing -- how would I deal with sharing a small, cramped room with another guy, when I'd had my own room for my entire life? I was somewhat shy -- I'd absolutely hated high school gym class, changing in front of all those other guys, furtively "comparing" my equipment to theirs -- and them doing likewise. I'd been on a swimming team for years, but always showered in my suit, then wrapped a towel around myself before stripping it off. What would it be like to sleep only four feet away from someone else? To share a bathroom with a couple dozen other guys on the same floor? All these worries began to trouble me, making me question the wisdom of choosing state over a college in my hometown, where I could have remained at home while attending day classes. I had been having strange "feelings" about guys for a couple of years now, but I had convinced myself that it was just some dumb phase. When the right girl came along, I'd be as normal as every other guy -- I was sure of it!

Friday night arrived, and I was still alone in my room. Classes didn't begin until the following Tuesday, following Labor Day Monday. So the campus was still fairly quiet, with most students not arriving until Saturday or Sunday, and some not due in until Monday. I grabbed a burger at a nearby BK, then headed back to the dorm to do some decorating. I had selected the bed by the door, since I was afraid the window would let in too much cold air during the upcoming winter, and I HATED being cold. My parents had driven me to the dorm, then taken me shopping for linens, towels, storage bins, etc. My mom had wanted to make the bed for me, but I'd sent them on their way by mid-afternoon, so now faced the daunting task of readying the room for occupancy. The burger had given me new energy, so I started working with vigor making everything ship-shape for fall.

First, I cleaned the room -- wiping a summer's worth of dust off the furniture and window sill, then used a small hand-held vac to clean the floor. Next, I made my bed, then put storage bins underneath it, filled with shoes, folded clothes, odds and ends, etc. I set up the small TV I'd brought on top of my chest of drawers. By now, I was getting pretty warm, so stripped off my tee-shirt and worked in just my khaki shorts. The weather was warm, and I'd opened the window all the way, but nothing seemed to help cool that room. I tacked up a big map of the good `ol USA on the wall above my bed, and a couple of rock music and sport posters I'd picked up here and there. I even put up some curtains my mom had picked up, even though the window was over my roommate's bed. Then I looked around with satisfaction at my new home. It was now after 9 p.m., and it still seemed I was the only person on this floor of the dorm. Occasionally, I'd heard voices or a slamming door, but such sounds seemed far away -- maybe a floor or two below or above.

I was exhausted and had grown overheated, so I stripped off my shorts and opened the closet door to throw in my shoes. The door had a full-length mirror inside, and I stopped to check out my reflection in the glass. I was a good 5'11", and solid of build. I had a good physique, though not overly impressive. I had brown eyes, and short brown hair, though the summer sun had lightened it considerably. I'd been on swimming teams since age 9, and my high school team had been runner-up to the state champion teams the past two years. I had even broken a state record in the 200 freestyle, but my state was not a powerhouse in swimming, and plenty of other high school seniors were faster than I was. I was good -- but probably not good enough for the college team. I had not been recruited, and held little hope that I could be a "walk-on" addition to the varsity team here. Still, there was a chance -- the school did not have many men's swimming scholarships, as the campus struggled to pour money into women's sports to keep the Title IX hounds at bay. The men's team might -- just might -- need a guy like me. My family was paying my tuition, so the athletic department wouldn't have to spend much on me. Buy me a couple racing suits and throw me in the pool. Walk-on tryouts were in two weeks, so maybe, just maybe. Anyway, as I gazed into the mirror, I examined my body more closely. I had broad shoulders thanks to my swimming, and my abs were tight and taut, though the proverbial "six-pack" had eluded me. My arms were long and strong, with nice biceps and triceps that I flexed as I gazed at myself. My legs were solid, and a little hairy. I had a little fuzz on my chest, and a pronounced treasure trail of hair leading from my navel downward into my briefs. Yep, briefs. I know most guys my age were wearing boxers, but I liked briefs -- FTLs to be exact. Tighty-whities if you prefer. Why? Well, I just liked feeling secure -- not flopping around all over the place. Maybe my years of Speedo-wearing had made me feel more comfortable in briefs -- I don't know.

As I gazed at myself, flexing and posing, I began to feel that familiar feeling "down there". Within moments, my erection was straining against the tight white cotton briefs, yearning for release, needing to be touched and stroked. I had to chuckle to myself -- it seemed as though my dick was in constant need of attention, always hardening at the worst possible time, always stirring, always ready for action. But other than my hand, my boy had seen no action whatsoever. You see, I was a virgin, certainly the only virgin college freshman in America. I'd had a few girl friends, but no girlfriends -- know what I mean? What concerned me, however, was that this fact did not seem to bother me too much. For to be honest, I had always felt closer to guys than to girls. Maybe it was because I was an only child, with four female cousins, having grown up on a street with six -- count `em, six -- girls my age and no boys within three or four years of my age in any direction. Only on the swim team did I have much contact with guys my own age, but none lived close enough for me to "hang around" with them regularly. I had always felt a desire, even a need, for male companionship, friendship, camaraderie. Recently, I had begun to think of guys in other ways -- wondering what they did at night -- how they touched themselves, pleased themselves. Did they please themselves in the same ways I did? Did they wonder about sex? Were they curious about their bodies? Were their cocks like mine, responding to the same stimuli, craving the same touch or stroke? Did they ever -- BAM! The door from the hallway flew open wide, slamming against the chest of drawers. Whirling away from the mirror and toward the door, I beheld him standing in the doorway, suitcase in one hand, pillow under that arm, holding a piece of paper in the other hand with the words "ROOM 417" written large enough for me to read from where I stood. Where I stood in my Fruit-of-the-Loom white cotton briefs, erection throbbing but rapidly wilting, with undoubtedly the most idiotic expression ever known across my face. He looked at me, looked down at my bulging briefs, then back up to my eyes, and asked, "Are you Eric?" "Uh, um, yes, yes I'm Eric", I said as I leapt for the bed where I'd thrown my shorts and quickly pulled them on. As he continued to stand in the doorway, I said, "I wasn't expecting anyone -- I thought I was almost alone in this building. Who are you --the Resident Assistant?" "No, my name is Tyler, and we've been assigned as roommates," he replied, while still not budging an inch closer into the room. "Oh, OK, uh, I was wondering when you would get to campus. Come on in -- welcome to State", I said in as friendly a voice as I could muster. "Well, I guess I should have knocked before I opened the door -- I, uh, I didn't mean to, uh, interrupt whatever you were doing", he said. At this statement, he looked down toward my shorts, then the floor, as I turned a deep shade of red. "No, no -- I had just been cleaning up the room -- you know, dusting and sweeping and everything, and I got so hot that I just stripped down to my underwear to try and cool off. You didn't interrupt anything -- really -- come on in and see how you like the place!"

And then he came into the room, stepping from the darkened hallway (two bulbs were out) into our small but well-lit dorm room. And I truly saw him for the first time. And he took my breath away.

His name was Tyler Christopher Bradwell, and he was from a suburb of Minneapolis. Here is a description of the perfect male who stepped into room 417 at 9:47 p.m. on that Friday night: he was 6'1" tall, with short blond hair, blue/gray eyes, and the warmest, cutest smile you could possibly imagine. His weight I later learned was 204 lbs., but it was 204 lbs. of solid bodybuilder muscle. You see, Tyler was not your typical, ordinary 17 year-old male (he wouldn't be 18 until late September) -- I learned that he had won the teen title of Mr. Junior Minnesota in a nationally-sponsored bodybuilding contest earlier that summer, and was considered a favorite for the national title in the competition scheduled for November. Thus, standing in our room was the perfect male, with a flawless, muscleboy body that was a wonder to behold. Sneakers covered his large size 13 feet, and tight, faded jeans encased his powerful legs. His waist was extremely narrow -- maybe 30" -- but the yellow tee-shirt he wore was bursting at the seams as it tried to cover his massive upper body. His arms were huge -- his biceps a good 21", with thickly muscled forearms. His chest was probably 40"+, with pecs that thrust from his body -- hard, firm pecs crowned with protruding nipples that looked like erasers poking through his shirt. Even through the shirt I could see his stomach was a solid, razor-cut six-pack. His neck was strong and muscled, and his face was chiseled. He smiled, revealing sparkling white teeth. I had to smile back -- what could I do? "Well, I finally got here," he said. "I thought the drive would never end!" "Is this all your stuff", I asked. "No, my `rents brought me and are parked downstairs. Once we unload the car, they will head over to the Howard Johnson's near campus for the night, then drive home tomorrow." "Well, let me get my shoes on and I'll help you get your stuff." He dropped his suitcase and pillow on the other bed and together we headed down the hall to the elevator.

His Mom and Dad were pleasant and gracious, and his stuff was soon in the room. The last article to be unloaded from their van was Tyler's weight bench and weights. His dad and I carried the bench up, while Tyler easily brought his free weights. We just piled stuff in the hallway until we could find room. His mom had fixed his bed, and his parents soon left us to settle in for our first night on campus. The room was crowded with boxes, suitcases, etc., and where on earth was the weight bench going to go? Tyler stowed stuff up on the closet shelf and the closet floor, leaving just the bench and weights. "I'm sorry to have all this stuff", he said, "but I need to workout several times a day, and I really need this bench and weights. But I can fold the bench and slide it under my bed, and leave my weights in this corner. I can set the bench up between our beds when I need to do my sets, then put it back when I'm done. God, it's hot in here!" And with that, he peeled off the shirt, revealing his awe-inspiring body to my curious -- even hungry -- view. I gasped audibly and simply stared, drinking in the site of his incredible physique. He smiled and chuckled a little, saying, "I guess I should have told you I'm a bodybuilder!" "I can see that -- my God, you're body is beauti -- I mean, I mean -- you're body is awesome!", I stammered. That's when he told me about the Mr. Junior Minnesota contest, as I listened with rapt attention. I had to ask -- "Did you have to do all those poses, wearing a Speedo in front of all those people?" He laughed and said, "Well, it was a lot less than a Speedo. I wear a posing suit -- it's very small -- much smaller than a Speedo - so the judges can see as much of your muscular development as possible." With that, he fished into a suitcase and withdrew what I thought was an empty hand, until he opened his fingers to show me a skimpy piece of fabric that in no way could have covered any part of him. He shook it out to reveal a small yellow bikini - or even less than a bikini, as the side straps of the scanty thing were no more than an inch wide. "You wore that little thing?", I asked incredulously. "Yep. I admit I was a little shy about it, but pretty soon I got used to it." "Wow Tyler, you've got balls!", I said with admiration in my voice. He smiled his wonderful smile, and we then proceeded to stow the bench under his bed, and together got the rest of his stuff put away. I found myself watching carefully to see into which drawer he placed the tiny posing suit -- I didn't know why I wanted that information, I just did.

By now it was nearly midnight, and both of us were hot and exhausted. The temperature was still near 80, making the room with it's one open window near 90. I headed down the hall to the bathroom for a quick shower while he hung his clothes on hangers, and returned a few minutes later. He grabbed some underwear and shorts, and headed to the showers as well, returning maybe 10 minutes later. By the time he had returned, I had stripped to my briefs and was covered by a light sheet. Tyler walked in wearing the shorts, hung his jeans in the closet, and said "I'm beat. I can't wait to hit the sack!" He then dropped his shorts, revealing his pure white bikini briefs. It was a brand I knew well -- Jockey Elance, and I was familiar with them because I had once driven to a mall twenty miles from my house (where likely nobody would know me) to purchase a three-pack of the exact same briefs. Bikinis that I kept hidden at the back of my closet because my mom wouldn't understand me desiring anything but the tighty-whities I'd grown up wearing. Bikinis that now were at the back of the bottom drawer of my chest of drawers in this very room. My favorite bikinis -- the ones I wore when I needed to feel especially horny, especially aroused. And here was Tyler, turning to face me in such briefs, smiling, muscles everywhere, with bikini bulging obscenely with the pressure his maleness was placing on the thin cotton fabric. He was not erect, he was simply a big boy -- a very, very healthy young male - a fact the bikini well emphasized. I could not help but glance at his large bulge -- then glance again as he walked between our beds and climbed into his own. The tiny little bikini fit him so snugly, so sexily, the way it hugged his narrow hips and encased his nuts. Did he see me looking there? Oh, I hope not. "Good night, Tyler", I said quickly, hoping to distract him from any thoughts he had that maybe I HAD been checking out his "package." "'Night, Eric -- sweet dreams!", he said as he switched off the small light on the table between our beds. "Oh, God -- he did see me looking at him", I thought sickeningly.

Sleep did not come easily -- I was exhausted, yet I couldn't stop thinking about my roomie, now breathing softly just four feet away. His powerful male hardbody -- so muscular, with that big chest, trim little waist and sexy six-pack, those bulging thighs and calves, huge arms, sexy, barely-clothed male package -- oh, the torment. What was he really like? Was he arrogant about his big, buff body? Was he a snob -- nasty and conceited about his looks and bod? Those skimpy little Elance briefs -- why did he wear them to bed? I usually wore mine when I was in the mood for some special "play", but what about him? Were these his regular choice for underwear? Would I be treated to seeing him frequently -- clad in such ridiculously small briefs? I hadn't gotten to know him well this first night, and I couldn't help wondering., as sleep finally carried me away.

Saturday dawned warm and sunny, and Tyler and I awoke earlier than hoped -- I guess the excitement of being in a new place had us both a little wired. I watched him rise and hop out of bed, his morning erection throbbing in that bikini. He seemed nonchalant about his near-nudity, and playfully picked up his pillow and threw it at my head! I of course returned the fluffy object with a trajectory that was supposed to carry it at his head, but instead sent it careening toward his crotch! He caught it just in time, and said loudly, "Hey, watch the aim, will ya?" I just laughed and got up, making no attempt to hide my own swollen member tenting my briefs. I noticed he gave a quick peek at my briefs, then put on some old shorts and flip-flops and headed toward the john., where I soon followed. After finishing our morning lavatory activities, we headed to the cafeteria for breakfast, then returned to our room by 9:30. "Well, what should we do today?", he asked. I suggested we take a walking tour of the campus and locate the buildings where our classes were soon to be held, and he agreed. "Let me just change out of these old shorts," he said. With that, he stripped off the shorts and loose tee-shirt, and began rummaging in his chest of drawers wearing just his tight bikini briefs. I took the opportunity to study him from the rear. His back was huge up top, tapering to that narrow waist. The briefs covered --but not completely -- the cutest little ass I'd ever seen on a guy. The scanty little things were stretched tight, but were so small they did not quite cover his ass. The tops of his cute buns, and about an inch or so of his crevice could be seen, and I was shocked to find myself growing erect at the site. What was going on here? Was I becoming aroused by Tyler? No. NO, I had to stop thinking about him that way. I jumped up and headed for the door, calling over my shoulder, "Hurry up -- I'll wait for you at the elevator."

A minute or so later, he came down the hall toward me. And I couldn't help staring -- he wore sneakers and white ankle socks, and then all I saw were his powerful legs going all the way up -- up to the smallest pair of blue nylon running shorts I'd ever seen. And the shorts were split up the side, and with every powerful stride he took, the slit would open nearly to his hip, revealing the side band of the little white bikini underneath. His shirt was a tight-fitting tank-top, one that left no doubt the dude was built of solid muscle, white with blue lettering, What amazed me most, however, was the wording on the shirt: Minnetonka Swim Club. Going down in the elevator, I asked him about the shirt. "Oh, my older brother gave it to me -- he's a swimmer at the University of Texas, and he belonged to our local team. "Are you a swimmer, too?" I asked. "No, no -- I was never fast like my brother Justin. I went into bodybuilding instead. However, I do swim for the cardio exercise -- I can't lift weights 24-7! But I like the shirt -- it lets me show off my physique!" And that it did -- every big, macho muscle in his upper body was displayed in the tight tank top. The look was incredible, and again I found myself becoming slightly aroused. I hurriedly changed the subject, telling him about my swimming background and futile hopes to make the varsity team. The campus was much busier than yesterday, and as we walked the quads, I noticed nearly every girl, as well as many guys, watching Tyler furtively. Tyler sensed this as well, and seemed to relish the stares and glances. And who wouldn't look at the scantily-clad musclegod, with the sun shining off his golden hair, his dazzling smile, and calm assurance? I immediately began to feel special just walking beside him -- as if some of his magic was rubbing off on me! And walking beside him allowed me to see him in all his glory -- the flimsy, tiny shorts that could not hide his large crotch bulge, the slits giving anyone who watched a peek at his little briefs with every step, the tank clinging to his muscular form. It was a windy day, and occasionally a gust would whip along the walkway, blowing the shear fabric of Tyler's shorts up and away, giving me and anyone nearby a tantalizing view of his sexy, virgin white bikini briefs. Usually the back panel of the shorts would lift several inches, exposing a good bit of the bikini covering his powerful gluteus muscles. Oh, he was so perfect! At one crosswalk, a campus cop car slowed, then stopped to let us cross. I could see the young cop staring intently at Tyler's crotch as we stood on the sidewalk. Glancing down, I went weak in the knees when I saw a gust of wind had lifted the front panel of Tyler's daring shorts, exposing much of the white, cotton-sheathed male bulge beneath to anyone's view -- and especially the cop stopped five feet away. The cop had a lewd smile on his face as we crossed in front of him. Tyler, meanwhile, was totally unaware of his exposed condition -- he kept walking and chatting as we continued across campus. A few minutes later, we passed a group of four coeds, who stared so intently at Tyler, it was as though they were raping him with their eyes! As they passed, a couple let out audible sighs, and once behind us, one blurted out "Oh my God, who is that blond stud?", loud enough for us to hear. Tyler just smiled and chuckled. I couldn't take it any longer -- I blurted out "How can you stand it Tyler? Those girls just fucked you from head to toe with their eyes! Dude, you need to put on more clothes or the next group of girls may just throw you down and rape you right here on the quad!" He burst out laughing, then said, "Eric, it's just my muscles man! Drives the girls crazy, which I don't mind a bit!" Then, more seriously, he said, "I just wish a girl would like me for me -- just once." "Well," I said, "you might have to cover up those big guns of yours so a girl could see the real you." He frowned, and looking down, said, "The muscles are all I have -- I don't think a girl would like me otherwise." I was stunned -- this calm, self-assured muscleboy bodybuilder was insecure? It didn't make sense, and we were quiet the rest of the way back to the dorm. Once inside, Tyler asked me to sit -- he wanted to tell me something. "When I was 14, I was a scrawny, dorky little kid. No one liked me -- I had asked a couple of girls to a school dance -- one laughed in my face, another politely refused, but later I saw her in the hallway pointing at me and laughing. Eric, I was so lonely, so desperate for friends -- you can't imagine. Anyway, that summer I saw an internet site about bodybuilding -- it had a story about a kid named Derek Charlebois who started building, and he charted his progress over the net. I got interested, and would read up on him all the time. Suddenly, I knew what I wanted to be -- a bodybuilder just like Derek, so I started following his routines -- his diet -- everything. By 16, I was getting big -- and this past year finally got the nerve to enter a contest. My brother was home from UT on Spring Break last March -- he encouraged me, bought me a posing suit, drove me to the contest, and virtually held my hand the whole way through. It was a local contest -- and I won. This gave me the courage to go forward with the Jr. State contest. It was last month -- my bro was home for the summer and he took charge of me. For weeks he worked with me -- spotting for me -- drilling me. He bought me the yellow posing suit I showed you yesterday -- the first one he got me was fairly modest, but he said the yellow one would really show off my thighs and lower abs, and it looked great with my blond hair! I refused to wear something so ridiculously brief, but he made me wear it around the house for days and days until I finally felt comfortable in it. Anyway, to make a long story short, my life for the past three and a half years has been bodybuilding -- and that's all. I haven't even asked a girl out in all that time. You see, when I'm flexing or posing -- even if I'm almost nude -- I feel powerful and in control. But outside the gym, I'm still the same shy, lonely guy I was before."

I looked into his eyes and swore I could see moisture there. He sighed, and sat down on his bed looking dejected as hell. I couldn't believe this was the same jock-stud who had just paraded around campus in skimpy running shorts and muscle tank top fifteen minutes earlier. I got up and went over to his bed and sat beside him. I did the only thing I could think of doing -- I put my arm around his shoulder and gave him a warm hug, then said, "Tyler, I'm glad you told me this. You and I are more alike than you might imagine. I've never been a big hit with girls. Here I am, 18 years old, and still a fuckin' virgin, so it's not like I'm some expert on girls, or relationships, or anything else for that matter. But you know what? You are my roommate, you are my friend. Together, we can do anything! When you need some courage or support, I promise you Tyler, I will be there. And I hope I can count on you the same way." He looked at me, and his face broke into a radiant smile as he said, "Eric, you can ALWAYS count on me!" With that, he wrapped his big, beefy arm around my neck, pulled my head forward, and mussed my hair with his other hand! It was such a sweet, boyish thing for him to do, and I laughed and giggled like a little kid as he easily manhandled me.

That night, we stayed up talking until one a.m., as the building became noisy with new students adjusting to campus life. The room was still hot, so we slept with the window open. Light from outside streetlights shone into the room, and across the bed where he lay. He was a restless sleeper, tossing and turning frequently. It was too warm for sheets, so he lay in bed in just his little bikini, and as I watched him sleep, I began to have feelings that could no longer be denied. I longed to be his friend, and more, so much more.

Sunday we arose fairly late, and grabbed a quick breakfast. While I loved to pig out -- waffles, bacon, scrambled eggs -- Tyler selected food carefully, eating lots of fruits, healthy cereals, etc. Tyler went back to our room early, while I was still chowing down and chatting with a few guys in our building. When I returned to our room about noon, I was astounded to find Tyler had set up his weight bench, and was in the midst of a ball-busting workout. The room was hot, and it now smelled like raw sweat -- the sweat glistening on Tyler as he pumped the free weights up and down. Rep after rep after rep -- then onto his back where he used the leg raise bars to pump his thighs to gigantic proportions. It smelled like a locker room -- and I loved it. Tyler realized how powerful the odor was, and apologized. But I told him, "How will I know if you're working hard or not unless I can smell it? It doesn't bother me a bit -- you just keep working." And why would it bother me? For you see, to do his exercises, Tyler had stripped back down to just his skimpy briefs -- now wet and clinging to his muscular body very provocatively. He saw me glancing at his briefs, and said, "It was so hot in here, I thought I would just work out in my underwear. Is that OK with you?" "Sure, Tyler -- it's fine with me -- it's just us guys here!", I said in as calm and friendly a tone as I could summon. The bench also had a weight bar attachment, and Tyler decided to do some presses with the heavy bar set. He asked me to spot for him, which I was happy to do, though I warned him I certainly wasn't strong enough to catch or hold the bar for long with the amount of weight he'd put on. He assured me it was OK -- then settled back on the bench with his legs straddling on either side. What a site to behold -- the muscle stud on his back, wearing the white bikinis that were now so wet, they were virtually transparent. I could easily make out his dirty blond pubic hair where it was matted beneath the white fabric. Lower down, his thick, lengthy shaft was flaccid -- and still probably five inches long as it curled toward his right hip. His nutsac was not overly large, but still swelled the material where it pressed below the shaft. Every muscle glistened with sweat, and seemed to pop out from his skin with the exertion. Up and down went the heavy weights, until I thought even his mighty arms would burst from the strain. And still he did more. The air reeked with his manly odor, and I began to feel lightheaded as desires long suppressed began to rise within me. He grimaced and pumped, grimaced and pumped. Finally, he replaced the bar and began another series of leg raises. Then, he let out a long sigh and simply rested on the bench, his workout complete. His eyes were closed, and I stood near him, drinking in the incredible, sexy sight before me. The muscleboy was exhausted, every muscle pumped to the max, body glistening, oozing the smell of man-sweat, his tiny briefs soaked and completely see-through. I stared at his large male organ, and was shocked to see his shaft had hardened and lengthened -- for it now reached virtually to his hip, and was firm, turgid under the briefs. Did the workout arouse him? I stared until I feared my eyes would burn a hole through the fabric, then turned away just as his eyes fluttered open and he grinned up at me. "That felt great!," he shouted. "Let's go for a swim!" I looked at him as though he had gone mad. "Tyler, you've been pumping weights for over an hour -- don't you need some rest?" "Well, I could take a little nap, maybe an hour or so, but I know you wanted to start training for the swim team tryouts today." "I do, I do," I replied, "but I can go over to the Rec Center by myself." "No way, dude -- I'm going with you to time your sprints and make you swim your ass off!" he said lightheartedly. "Well, I'm going to read the intro chapter to my history book now -- if you want, why don't you nap until 2, and I'll wake you and we'll hit the pool then?" I told him. "OK, that would be great -- we'll go at 2. Just wake me whenever!" And with that, he hopped onto his bed, and was asleep within 45 seconds. Somehow, I made it through the first chapter, though it took me twice as long as it should have. For some reason, my eyes were drawn to the sleeping youth across the room, sprawled on the bed, sweat-soaked briefs clinging to his muscular form.

At 2:15 I awakened him from a sound sleep. Before gently touching his shoulder, my hand had lingered above him -- almost touching him. His strong chest rising and falling, chiseled abs, tree-trunk thighs, and yes, my hand had strayed above his waist, almost dropping to touch his male bulge -- to caress it, fondle it, stir him to a throbbing -- oh, I had to wake him up before I did something I shouldn't. He was groggy for only a moment, then leapt out of bed. Finding his briefs were still damp, he said, "Let me just change out of these wet briefs, then I'll throw on my shorts, grab my suit, and we'll be off." With that, he peeled the tiny white bikini down his thick thighs and dropped it to the floor. I told myself not to look. I warned myself not to look. I looked, and saw him completely naked for the first time. And what a sight. His cock was soft, yet still hung down some five inches in length. His nut-sac was a dusky beige, and fairly large -- I could easily see his two testicles encased within, Surrounding his male organ was a fine cloud of golden pubic hair, so soft and downy. I saw all of this in the quick glance I stole as he pawed through his drawer for another pair of underwear. A moment later, he had donned a clean pair of the exact same briefs -- virgin white Jockey Elance, and moments after that, he was dressed in khaki shorts and tee-shirt. From another drawer, he fished out a pair of the dorkiest long shorts I'd ever laid eyes on -- swim shorts that would reach to his knees, if not beyond. "Dude," I said, "are those what you wear in the pool?" "Yeah, why?", he asked. "Well, no wonder you are so much slower than your brother at swimming -- I'm sure he wouldn't be caught dead in those dork shorts!" "Well, what are YOU going to wear -- a Speedo?" he asked. "Of course -- I'm a real swimmer", I said, and pulled a small blue Speedo from my gym bag to show him. "Man," he said. "I could never wear something that small to the pool!" I was astounded, and said, "What are you talking about? You wore that little yellow thing on stage to pose in -- why wouldn't you wear a Speedo?" "Oh, well, on stage, you're only up there for a couple minutes. But you swim for an hour or more -- what if you get...um...well, you know...what if you get excited -- you can't hide it in a boner suit!" "Well," I replied, "first of all you are underwater most of the time, so who will see? And if you're on deck, just hold a towel in front of you. Look Tyler, no offence dude, but please, if you're going swimming with me, please wear a real swim suit!" "But these shorts are all I have", he replied. I said, "I have some extra suits in my bag -- you can wear one -- now come on, let's go!" And with that, we hurried out of the dorm and over to the Rec Center.

In the locker room, I fished through my bag and found the perfect suit for Tyler -- it was a downsized red Speedo I'd had for a while -- just starting to fade, and somewhat low-slung in style. I handed it to him and he looked at it skeptically. I proceeded to put on my blue suit -- somewhat brief, and made of a lycra material. He was changing very slowly, so before he could protest, I grabbed my stuff and walked to the pool deck to wait for him. Soon, he appeared, and he took my breath away. The suit was small on me -- on muscle-stud Tyler, it was sexily skimpy. Oh, he was decent -- but not very. The tight suit left nothing to the imagination, and his cock and balls were snugly outlined in the front. The back stretched tantalizingly across his bubble buns. As he got closer, I was delighted to see a few stray golden pubes curling above the low waistband. I could hardly breathe. Shunning any towel or other covering, he paraded across the pool deck straight toward me, as though on a posing stage, attracting stares from both girls and guys -- lust from the girls, envy from the guys. His earlier workout had pumped his muscles to the max, and he looked just like a bodybuilder in competition -- all bulges, throbbing muscles and gleaming bronzed skin. His only bow to modesty -- my outrageously revealing red Speedo. We walked to the edge of the pool and dove in -- me neatly, Tyler with a big splash.

We swam together for nearly an hour, sharing a lane even though the pool was not very crowded. Of course I was a good bit faster than Tyler, and could hold 100s on a 1:10 pace comfortably. Tyler could only manage about a 1:30 pace, so I lapped him several times during our first set. At the shallow end of the pool, I noticed that every time he stood, he would reach down and tug the small suit up -- it wasn't falling off, he just wanted it to cover him more. Every time I swam next to him, or passed him, I couldn't help but take a peak at him underwater, watching how the small suit clung to him, accentuating his male bulge. Tyler was almost too muscled to be a good swimmer -- the weight of his muscles made him work hard just keeping on top of the water, not to mention moving through it. We did some kicking sets, and even some IM sets -- but Tyler couldn't do butterfly, so he substituted freestyle. I was excited when he said, "I'm too tired today, but do you think maybe sometime you could teach me fly?" "Sure, Tyler -- I'd love to teach you -- maybe in a day or two we can have a practice session." He rewarded me with a radiant smile, and returned to the kick set. After an hour, Tyler was beat -- not surprising considering his morning workout. But I wanted him to time me in a few sprints, so I got a stopwatch from my bag and asked him to time me. He was happy to get out of the pool, and stood on the deck above me waiting to start the watch. Looking up at him, I had to smile at the way the wet little red Speedo clung to him, accenting his sex organ where it bulged at his groin. He seemed to have lost all shyness about the suit as he strode up and down the deck timing me. I did well -- I went a sub-51 for one 100, and all were under 55. Pretty good for my first swim in a new pool. Tyler was effusive with his praise -- "Wow Eric -- you almost broke 50 seconds on that one!" "You are awesome -- a great swimmer!" I finally began to redden with embarrassment, but he wouldn't stop -- he just seemed so excited by my swimming prowess. And I then noticed that Tyler was even more excited than I thought -- for his cock had noticeably lengthened, and was pressing firmly against the thin lycra fabric. He seemed unaware of his aroused state, and continued to smile and pat me on the back, while I shyly looked down, stealing glances at his swollen cock in my favorite red Speedo. I then saw a young male lifeguard sitting in the chair nearby, and he too was staring at Tyler, though more openly than I. The guard looked dazed, and kept licking his lips and blinking, as though unable to absorb the incredibly hunky site before him. I suddenly felt jealous, and grabbing Tyler by the elbow, steered him quickly back to the locker room. We changed, and when Tyler started to hand me the red suit, I told him to keep it for now, since we would probably swim again soon. We stopped for an early dinner at the cafeteria, and returned to our dorm room. It unsettled me -- why did I have such a strong reaction to the lifeguard's lustful stares at Tyler? Why did I feel so jealous? I was confused, and spent much of the evening pondering what these feelings really meant. We spent the evening chatting, meeting some of the new kids who had moved in on our hall, and watching some TV. Around 10:30, we were ready for bed.

Tyler's audacity in wearing his skimpy bikini briefs had given me courage to do the same. I retrieved a couple of my own pairs I'd hidden in the back of the drawer, and after showering, stripped to my underwear to get ready for bed. "Hey, are you wearing my underwear?", Tyler asked. "No, not yours -- well, they're the same brand as yours, but I have my own." "Cool," he said, "I thought you were just a tighty-whities kind of guy!" "I like both kinds -- I just thought I'd mix `em up a little. Besides, I can't let you have all the He-Man bikini action around here!" Tyler laughed, then leaped from his bed and tackled me, taking us both down hard onto my bed. "Wha...what are you doing?", I cried. "Just proving who the REAL man is in this room!", he said, as he easily pinned me on my bed, straddling me from above, his own tiny briefs slipping lower on his trim waist. His large cock and balls were proudly bulging out the crotch of the briefs, and were only a foot or so above my chest. I stared at that bulge, transfixed, as he grinned above me. The room was hot, and I could smell the scent of his sweaty underarms -- it was intoxicating, and very arousing. "OK, OK, I give Tyler -- you're the He-man here.", I replied. For some reason, as he started to release me, I reached up and tickled the sides of his narrow waist and tapered obliques, and he collapsed in a pile beside me, giggling like a kid and trying to fend off my fingers. I couldn't believe it -- the macho muscle-god was ticklish! I pounced on him immediately, fingers flying as I tickled him anywhere and everywhere. "YOU'RE the He-man," I taunted with an evil smile. "NOW who's on top?" As he laughed and giggled, I fingered his taut, six-pack abs, his sides, his narrow waist -- even brushing his big, hard pecs. He was so ticklish, he became weak as a kitten as he writhed helplessly beneath me. I pushed his muscle-laden arms above his head and held them there with one hand, while I tickled his exposed, sweaty underarms, then returned to his trim, sexy abdomen, and even brushed his nipples, which were rapidly hardening. He had his eyes closed, and his feeble struggles continued as he gasped for breath between fits of convulsive laughter. "Ple...ple..please Er..Eric," he gasped, "please do...don't tickle m..m..me." I continued to stroke and prod his big, muscle-bound teen body, enjoying this opportunity to feel his awesome bod at will, but less intensely as his struggles became weaker. "Stop Eric, ple...please -- I can't ta..take it. I can't bre...breathe" Glancing between his legs, I noticed he had become very aroused, and his shaft was straining against the thin white material. Feeling wickedly naughty, I kneeled above him and placed my knee on the bed between his legs, just below his groin. Then I leaned forward over him, gently driving my thigh into his crotch, rubbing and pressing on his hard-on and nuts, while pretending to get a better grip on his arms above his head. I could feel his cock throbbing against my leg as I pressed, and Tyler suddenly grunted and said, "Oh, oh Eric -- my dick -- you're crushing my dick -- it hurts!" "Oh, I'm sorry Tyler -- I was just trying to get a better grip on your arms." So I eased back a bit, wary for him to spring up and throw me. But he didn't -- he just laid there all sexy and helpless while I rested my hands on his six-pack. "I give, Eric -- you win! YOU'RE the he-man!", he said. He looked up at me shyly, and smiled. "Uh, Eric -- are you OK?", he asked, nodding and glancing toward my own groin. I looked down, and was ashamed to see my own dick hard and yearning to break free of my bikinis, a large wet spot prominently displayed where my cock slit pressed against the fabric. I was leaking fuck-juice, and was rock hard! And Tyler could see it all! I began to redden in embarrassment, and crawled off him, apologizing as I went. "I'm sorry Tyler -- sometimes I...well, sometimes I get sort of excited, I guess." He nodded toward his own swollen member and said, "Yeah, me too!" We both chuckled and Tyler got up and went to his own bed. We were tired anyway, and knew we had to hit the hay. We shyly grinned at each other, said goodnight, and turned off the light.

The room was sweltering, even with the window open . We had gone to bed at 10:30, but I couldn't sleep -- thoughts of Tyler kept me awake. I kept remembering his big, beefcake muscle-boy body, and how it felt to dominate him -- to have him helpless and pleading. His smile, his laugh, his body. I kept remembering the fleeting moments I'd been on top -- tickling him, touching him, stroking his muscular chest, feeling and teasing his rippled abs, grazing his nipples, even digging into his pits as he writhed beneath me. After we'd turned off the lights, I'd smelled my fingertips, and could smell the manly scent that was Tyler. I licked and suckled my fingers as thoughts of him tormented me. I finally slept, then awoke again. The digital clock now read 5:14, and I couldn't sleep again.

Tyler moaned -- softly -- and tossed and turned slightly. As the minutes wore on, he moaned again, and again. He began squirming, writhing in his bed. He muttered something in his sleep -- then again. It sounded like "Danny, don't Danny", over and over again. I picked up a small penlight I had on the table between our beds, and looked over. His sheet was tangled around his feet, and he was on his back, slowly writhing and moving his body as he mumbled again ,"Danny, please" -- at least, that's what it sounded like. His eyes were closed -- he was sound asleep -- yet he kept writhing and mumbling. He was dreaming, apparently about someone named Danny. As I played the light down his body, I saw that his skimpy bikini briefs were very low on his hips -- his squirming must have tugged them down. Most amazingly, I could see the front of the briefs where they were tented obscenely by his erection. His shaft was stretching the fabric outward, virtually lifting the waistband off his tight, firm lower abdomen, exposing a fair amount of his soft, curly pubes. As I watched, he squirmed again, his cock shaft pushing even harder against the cotton prison that entrapped it. I couldn't believe it -- was Tyler having a wet dream? Had our earlier wrestling and tickling session aroused him this much? "No Danny, no", he mumbled, as his shaft strained and stretched. His cock had nestled itself into a pouch of the protruding material, and I could see the entire shaft where it formed a hard ridge under the flimsy fabric. "No, Danny...", and his hips seemed to thrust slightly. And then, I watched in wonder as a huge drop of clear fluid seeped through the cotton where his piss slit pressed against it. He WAS having a wet dream, and I was getting a front-row view! He muttered and writhed again, his bulky muscle-boy body gleaming with a light sheen of sweat. The drop of fluid soaked the white material, then another drop emerged. His left hand began to subconsciously stroke his left thigh, and I watched as his dick hardened still more. He was now really squirming and moaning, and I found myself hypnotized by the sight before me, my own cock throbbing in my bikini. Every muscle in his body was taut -- but none more than his big, swollen cock, now threatening to rip a hole through the bikini briefs he wore. More and more drops began to emerge, and soon the material all around his cockhead was soaked, and I could see the purplish, mushroom-shaped head through the wet briefs almost as clearly as if he were naked. Another big drop --then another eased out and soaked the material still further. But now, the drops were not clear, but milky, as his young, virile body began to release its pent-up supply of sperm into the fluid. Another gasp...another "Oh", and his cockhead erupted, shooting gobs of creamy white semen into his sopping bikini, dripping through the material and pooling on his pubes below. Gush after gush of his life-giving seed poured from his throbbing, turgid shaft, pumping a seemingly endless supply of baby-batter from his hard-muscled body. I was delirious, gasping for breath almost as shallowly as Tyler. I had never witnessed anything so sexy -- so stimulating. Thinking quickly, I turned on the light between our beds, stood up, and walked to his bed, shaking his shoulder gently. "Tyler, Tyler, are you alright dude?" Then I sat back on my own bed to hide my stiff erection as best I could. "Wha...what?", he said groggily. "I heard you calling out, twisting and turning -- I thought maybe you were sick." Then, boldly glancing down his body to his sperm-soaked briefs, I innocently asked, "Oh, Tyler, what happened?" He looked down at his sopping briefs and cum-covered pubes, and said, "Oh, damn, I must have had a wet dream! What a mess!" He tried to pull the sheet up to cover himself, but it was hopelessly tangled around his feet. "Dude," I said, "your fuckin' underwear is soaked. That must have been some dream." He chuckled as he climbed out of bed, holding his hands over the bulge in an attempt at modesty. "Damn, this happens to me a lot. I have to go down the hall and clean myself up!" He started for the door, and I asked, "Tyler, maybe you should pull on some shorts -- wouldn't want anyone in the hall seeing you with cum dripping out of your briefs." "Yeah, good idea," he said. He pulled on some khakis from a drawer, then turned for the door. "Tyler? Don't you need to get a clean pair of underwear to take with you?" "Yeah, yeah, I do." He fetched another pair and headed down the hall. The moment he was gone, I reached down and went to work on my own cock -- the scene I'd just witnessed was so erotic, that I lost all control. I quickly stroked my hard shaft, beating my meat as I had done so often before, and within seconds was shooting a huge load of cum. I grabbed some tissues and was able to catch most of it, and I hurriedly threw the soiled tissues in the waste can. A minute or so later, Tyler returned in a fresh pair of bikini briefs, the khakis in his hand. From under the folds of the khakis, he extracted the sopping, cum-stained briefs and threw them into his laundry pile. "Who is Danny?", I asked. "Why do you ask that?" "Well, you were mumbling something like "don't Danny or stop Danny" when I shook your shoulder." Without thinking, he said, "Oh, I was dreaming about Danny Young -- he's a bodybuilder I really admire -- uh, I mean, Danny is, uh, Danny is Danielle, a girl I know." "Well Tyler, which is it you were dreaming about? Danielle, or Danny the male bodybuilder?" "Oh, can we just go to sleep?", he blurted, and sank down onto his bed, his face noticeably reddening.

The next morning was Labor Day Monday, and Tyler was already gone when I awoke. I got up and went to my computer, and did a search for a bodybuilder named Danny Young. I found it -- a picture of a brown-haired, square-jawed musclehunk clad in a tiny little posing suit that left nothing to the imagination. Tyler was dreaming about this guy? He kept saying "don't Danny" and "stop Danny". What was Danny doing to him in his dream? Wrestling him? Dominating him? Forcing him to do something? My imagination ran wild. Then I remembered the soaked pair of bikini briefs, and I went to Tyler's laundry pile. There they were -- still damp where his ejaculate had soaked into the cotton material. Tyler hadn't bothered to clean them -- gobs of his sticky cream remained inside the briefs, slowly drying. I put them to my nose and inhaled, sniffing the essence of his muscle body into my memory. Before I could control myself, I began to lick and suck the cum from his briefs, eating it hungrily, almost desperately. I savored his seed -- licking it from the fabric and enjoying his musky flavor. I couldn't believe I was doing this -- what was wrong with me? Eating another guy's cum? Yet I couldn't stop, my erection throbbing as my desires drove me to depravity. The sound of the doorknob turning snapped me back to reality, and I tossed the bikinis back onto his laundry pile and plopped down on my bed as he entered. He had no shirt on, just the skimpy pair of running shorts from the other day. God, he looked so sexy -- all sweaty and hardmuscled like that. "Hey Eric", he said, "I just went for a morning run. Guess I have too much bodily tension for my own good, judging by what happened last night." "Tyler -- it was a natural thing -- hell, I have wet dreams sometimes -- it's no big deal. If you're not taking care of the situation one way, nature finds other ways to relieve you!" Tyler laughed and said, "Yeah, I guess." Then he got the strangest look on his face as he glanced around the room and saw my computer screen -- with Danny Young still posing in that ridiculously small posing suit. "Why is Danny Young on your screen?" "Oh, um, I was just curious about the guy you mentioned last night," I stammered. "Oh", he said, and looked down toward the floor in embarrassment. "Tyler, that dude doesn't have anything on you -- your muscles are as big as his", I said. "You really think so?", Tyler asked, looking up with a hopeful expression on his face. "Yes, dude -- I keep telling you -- your body is awesome!" Tyler grinned and sat on his bed. I had to ask -- "Tyler, was it really a girl you were dreaming about last night, or was it this guy?" "Well, um, I...I guess it was him", he said, nodding toward the screen. "What was he doing to you? You kept mumbling stop and don't and stuff like that." Tyler's face flushed with color. "Well," he began, "I dreamed he and I were in a pose-off at a big bodybuilder competition. He was in a little black posing suit, and I was in my yellow suit. Every pose I did -- he did better. He was bigger -- stronger -- more buff than I was, but I was holding my own, and it pissed him off. He started walking across the stage toward me, and I kept backing up until I was flat against a wall. I felt like a little scared kid with him facing me. He came closer and closer -- overpowering me, dominating me. He pushed his body against mine. I looked down and could see his posing suit was all stretched out from his big erection -- he put his big, swollen dick against mine, and he...well, he started dry-humping against my dick. He said to me, `I will make you come in your posing suit and make a big wet stain. Everyone will see it and know you are just a little boy who wets himself!' I...I couldn't get away -- he had me pushed against the wall in a spread-eagle sort of way, and kept thrusting his dick up and down against mine. I tried to hold it, but I could feel the cum rushing up my dick, and then, well, then it just shot out into my posing suit. He got a smirk on his face and stepped back. I looked down and saw my posing suit had a huge wet spot, and my jiz was leaking through the fabric. The audience was laughing and pointing at me -- I was so ashamed. And then, well, then you woke me up." I was barely breathing by the time he finished recounting his hot, sexy dream. I smiled at him, and patted him on the shoulder. "Thanks for telling me the truth, Tyler. It was just a dream, you know? We can't control what we dream about." "I...I know," he said, "but it was sort of embarrassing -- to dream about a guy doing that to me -- you know, making me cum -- and then be awakened by my roommate, covered with the stuff!" We both had a good chuckle about it, and Tyler hurriedly changed to head for the cafeteria. After he was gone, I decided to skip my morning plans. I crawled back into my bed, and for the second time in less than four hours, stroked myself to a body-shaking orgasm, thoughts of Tyler and Danny pounding in my head, Danny overpowering Tyler -- milking him -- raping him. I began by slowly touching and rubbing my stiff penis, fantasizing I was Danny manhandling young Tyler -- I used featherlight strokes and touches -- teasing my sensitive spot just below the corona on my undershaft -- my fingertips barely dancing along my pulsing sex rod. Gobs of milky precum oozed and drooled from my piss slit, and these I smeared along my rigid shaft, soaking the material of my Elance bikini where it stretched against my rock-hard cock. My fingers slipped along my soaking, sticky shaft, teasing more and more sexjuice up my shaft and out the tip. I could imagine Tyler pleading, begging me not to milk him, yet the stroking continued until my cock couldn't take another moment of teasing and torment. It finally erupted, gushing wads of my thick, creamy seed into and through the thin bikini, where it dripped down to pool on my lower abdomen. I sank back onto the bed, completely exhausted. Suddenly, I began to sob, filled with desire and shame. Desire for Tyler -- a need for him to be mine, yet shame at those very same feelings. How could my mind be filled with such wicked, nasty desires for this boy who was nothing but kind and good to me? What was wrong with me? How could my feelings of sinful lust be so evil, so strong? Would I really do such things to Tyler, given the chance? My mind was spinning, and my feelings of loneliness and shame overwhelmed me until tears streamed down my face. I was finally, just barely, able to pull myself together and make my way to lunch.

Later that afternoon, Tyler did another heavy workout. Again, stripped just to his tiny little briefs, he was on his exercise bench, sweating and straining and pumping and grunting. I pretended to read a magazine while secretly admiring is mind-blowing physique. He did squats, and his calves -- his hamstrings -- every muscle in his legs swelled with blood, growing and bulking to incredible proportions. Other exercises pumped his biceps, triceps and his forearms to massive sizes. He did butterflies on the bench, and his chest swelled and glistened. Crunches (while holding weights) made his abs ripple, burning away any ounce of fat that might dare to settle at his trim waistline. On and on he went, and harder and harder I got. We had propped the door open to the hallway for a breeze, and once, a guy named Jimmy from down the hall popped his head in to see what we were up to. Jimmy was a rather skinny guy, something of a bookworm really, and fairly quiet and shy. When he saw Tyler on his back on the bench, pumping and sweating in his little bikini, his eyes nearly popped out of his head. ""Geez, Tyler -- you are HUGE", he said with awe and admiration in his voice. "Your muscles are bigger than those guys on the magazine covers!" I couldn't resist teasing him -- "Oh yeah, Jimmy -- you like checking out those magazines?" He blushed and stuttered, "No...no... I mean...sometimes I see them in the store...you know...you see the covers with these big muscle guys." "Sure, Jimmy, anything you say", I replied. Jimmy seemed rooted to the spot, hypnotized by the sight of my roommate flexing and pumping in his skimpy briefs. Jimmy came into the room and sat at the foot of Tyler's bed, asking him how much he could lift, how often he did this, etc., etc. Just anything to have a reason to stay and admire the musclestud before him. Tyler answered his questions as he wrapped up his workout, then sat up and wiped his face with a towel. "Tyler", Jimmy asked quietly, "can you do a pose for us -- like those guys in the magazine?" "Sure", Tyler said, happy to have an admirer of his awesome bod. He stood in front of Jimmy, not more than three feet away, and began to pose. Jimmy, as if in a daze, gazed up and down Tyler's body from head to toe, lingering, I noticed, at his midsection. Then, he slowly stood up and stepped to Tyler, and put his hands on Tyler's swollen bicep -- squeezing and feeling it, even caressing it. "Tyler, you are so powerful, your muscles so big and strong", he said in a husky voice. Tyler seemed to love this body worship, and made no move as Jimmy placed his hands on his mighty chest, touching and feeling those awesome pecs -- even grazing his fingertips across Tyler's hard nipples. Tyler's eyes fluttered, and I could definitely see his penis, once flaccid in his briefs, now begin to lengthen and harden. Jimmy continued to touch Tyler, running his fingertips along the six-pack abs -- Tyler snickered a little from the ticklish touch, making Jimmy snap out of his trance. "Oh, Tyler, I...I'm sorry..I shouldn't have touched you like that." I said, "Jimmy, I thought you were going to feel him up completely." "No, no...I just wanted to feel his biceps and then,,,well,,,then I started feeling his chest and..and..," he trailed off. Tyler smiled and said, "It's OK, Jimmy, you're not the first guy to want to feel my muscles. I'm getting used to it." "Really? You don't mind?", Jimmy asked. "No, go ahead -- it's OK." With that, Jimmy put his hands back on Tyler's chest, shoulders, then went behind him and felt his back muscles. Jimmy then sat back down on the bed, and I was shocked to see him reach out and touch Tyler's massive thighs -- lightly running his fingers over the bulging quads -- touching and squeezing and fondling Tyler's thighs. I was shocked, and found myself totally aroused by what I was watching. Tyler had closed his eyes again, and as Jimmy caressed his thighs, I saw him become completely erect, his cock straining against the damp, sweat-soaked fabric that covered it. I was actually panting, thinking Jimmy might reach up and brush the hard shaft -- but he just stared open-mouthed at the huge cock pushing the white cotton material toward his face. I could see Jimmy's cock, swollen, pressing against his jeans, and he suddenly said, "I, I've got to go." He jumped up, skirted around Tyler, and ran out the door. Tyler turned around and smiled at me. "I guess I like it when people admire my body. Do you think that's weird?" "No," I said, "and yes I do think you like it", and I smiled as I pointed at his huge erection tenting the small briefs. Tyler looked down and blushed, and muttered "oh" as he turned away from me and pulled on some sweatpants to hide his throbbing dick from my eyes.

Classes started on Tuesday, and Tyler and I became busy rushing to class, squeezing in quick lunches, doing homework, purchasing last-minute books, and all the other stuff that seems to take up too much time. But each afternoon, I would head over to the pool for two hours, swimming and drilling and practicing, trying my damnedest to get ready for the walk-on tryouts. Sometimes Tyler would go with me, and we always shared a lane in the pool, and he always wore the little red Speedo I'd given him. Tyler worked me relentlessly, urging me onward in my quest. After our joint swim, he would parade around the deck in his swimsuit, carrying the stopwatch, and timing my 50s and 100s. He was like my "coach", and I did my best to please him. One day, I'd wanted to try and break 49 seconds for a 100 free. But I just couldn't do it -- I kept going 49.7, or 49.4. I was shaking with exhaustion from my efforts, and finally told Tyler it was no use. He came over to the edge of the pool and squatted down in front of me, his bulging maleness only inches from my eyes, barely contained in the red suit. He put his hand on my shoulder and said, "Eric, this is your dream -- to swim fast and make the team. I share that dream with you -- no one wants this for you more than I do. I'm not going to let our dream slip away. I KNOW you can do this -- you are only 4/10s of a second off. The other day, when I couldn't finish those reps with the weights, you told me I could, and I did. Now it's your turn -- you can do this. I know you can. Now, get up on the block and we will try again." I had to obey -- I wanted, needed to please him. I returned to the block and took my mark. When he hit the button on the watch, it read 48.84. He walked over to the pool as I wearily climbed out and wrapped his huge, beefy arms around me in a bear hug. "I knew you could do it", was all he said. I leaned my head on his shoulder and whispered, "Thank you, Tyler. I could not have done that without you."

Every day, Tyler would work out on his weight bench, doing mind-blowing sets and reps that a normal guy wouldn't even fantasize about. His body glowed with power and virility. Frequently he would wait for me to return from classes to do his work-out, so I could spot for him. His little briefs would be soaked with sweat, and become almost transparent from the dampness. First Jimmy, then a couple of other guys from our floor would find reasons to stop by our room during his workouts, openly commenting on his incredible muscles, and secretly admiring his ripped and stripped body. Tyler never seemed annoyed by his growing fan club, and continued to wear nothing more than his little bikinis. His cock was always semi-hard as he exercised, always tenting the briefs. The fan club never interfered with the workout, and my position as spotter was secure, They just stood by the door, or occasionally sat on one of our beds, admiring the teen musclegod before them. Sometimes they would ask him about a certain set, or a particular muscle, and he would oblige them by explaining how this or that set would make such-and-such muscle so much bigger. I can't say that they were interested in Tyler sexually (though I wondered about Jimmy) -- it was just that Tyler's awesome physique was so commanding, they were mesmerized by him.

Finally, two weeks into school came the day for swim team tryouts. Tyler came with me to the pool late that afternoon, and gave me words of encouragement as I changed in the locker room. "Hey, is that a new suit?", he asked as I pulled on an extremely brief, tight racing suit. "Yeah, it's a special suit made for racing -- it's very slick and water-repellant", I replied. "Cool," he said, and surprised me by reaching out and running his fingertips along my right hip, feeling the fabric. Then, he surprised me again by attempting to slip his index finger into the waistband -- just above my pubes -- and proclaimed, "OK, it feels nice and tight -- no chance it will slip off when you blaze through the water!". He looked into my face and smiled shyly, and I smiled back, my stomach fluttering from his touch so close to my pubes. We walked out to the pool deck and I introduced myself to the coach and assistant coach. I did some warm-up swims, but nothing too strenuous -- I needed to save my energy for the time trial. A handful of other guys were there, and one girl as well. Finally, it was my turn to swim. Walking to the starting block, Tyler was beside me, and I felt suddenly warm when he put his arm around my shoulder. "Eric, this is your moment -- you know what needs to be done, and you know you can do it. Show this team what you're made of!" And then he shook my hand firmly and smiled warmly. I felt ready to race -- that was, until Tyler turned to walk away from the block, then reached out and swatted me on the behind! I glanced back at him as he gave me the "thumbs up" sign, and realized it was just a friendly pat, the typical action of a typical jock. I suddenly felt a bond with him -- the swimmer and the bodybuilder -- two jocks at their prime. I stepped onto the block, took my mark, and when the race was over, had swum an amazing 47:48 100-yard free. I was ecstatic, and Tyler whooped and pumped his fist in the air when my time appeared on the board. The coach came over to my lane and leaned down to say, "Eric, I think we can use you on the team." I leapt from the water as if I had wings, my face glowing with excitement. Tyler didn't even need to ask what the coach had said -- he knew instantly, and a moment later I was off my feet as the big, strapping muscleboy wrapped his arms around me and lifted me several inches off the deck, laughing and shouting "Yes, yes," the whole time. The coach gave me a copy of the practice schedule for the fall semester, then said to meet with him tomorrow to fill out some paperwork, get a team locker assigned, etc.

Walking back across campus, Tyler was overjoyed for me. "You did it, Eric, just like I knew you would -- you are a stud!" His joy was infectious, and I couldn't stop smiling and laughing as we headed past the Student Center building. Suddenly, I noticed some blue flyers taped to the wall, and could not believe what they advertised. The Student Welcoming Committee was sponsoring a weekend of "back-to-school" events the last weekend of September, and one of them was a "Mr. And Ms. Hot Bod" contest! I tore the flyer from the wall, and said, "Tyler, this is for you! You are going to win the `Hot Bod' contest here on campus -- no guy on this campus could even come close to beating you in this!" "Well, I don't know...I...uh...I am not sure I should enter. Some of the guys on the football team here are pretty awesome -- I saw them practicing shirtless the other day", he replied. "Tyler, those blockheads can't hold a candle to you -- listen to me -- this would be a great way to meet people on campus -- to get your name out there -- to BE someone around here! You helped me make the swim team, so I'm going to help you win this contest!" Glancing at the date, I realized it was the very next weekend. "We have one week to get you ready -- well, with all those muscles, you're already ready, but this week will be MY week to train YOU. Now, let's grab some dinner, then get back to the dorm and start planning."

It was the busiest week of my life -- with classes, homework, and swim practice, I didn't have much time for anything else. But I made time for Tyler. He would save his hardest workout for when I returned to our room from practice, and I made him work like he'd never worked before. I piled on weights, gave him extra reps, watched his muscles swell to incredible sizes. While he worked, Jimmy and the gang would refill his water bottle, hand him his towel, and generally faun over him, while I was the stern taskmaster -- exhorting him, praising him to new heights of power. His body was absolutely drenched in sweat by the end of his exercises, and he would collapse on his bed, his tiny white briefs transparent, his sex organ semi-hard and stirring. He would lie there looking so spent and drained, his mighty chest heaving, perspiration trickling between his pumped pecs, pooling between the ridges of his abs. I couldn't take my eyes off of him, I would just lie on my bed and stare at him resting, his eyes closed, his tongue occasionally licking his parched lips. One night, just three days before the contest, I saw him grimace as he sat on his bed and moved his right arm while resting after a killer set. I asked him what was wrong, and he said he had a pain in his shoulder. Without thinking, I went to his bed and sat beside him. I placed my hands on his massive, muscled shoulder, and began to gently knead and massage the aching tendons. He moaned softly, and I could feel his body relax as he slumped slightly into me. I worked his shoulder for several minutes, while the weary boy became sleepier. Soon, his head was resting against my shoulder, his eyes closed. It felt so good to have him so near me, his face so close to mine, his body in my hands. I gently nudged him awake, then stood and helped him lie down on his bed. He squirmed dreamily, then quickly fell back asleep. I stood over him, admiring him, wanting to touch him again, yet knew I should resist. I pulled the sheet over him so he wouldn't catch a chill, then went to my own bed and was soon sound asleep myself.

It was Friday night, the last day before the contest. I'd had an early dinner with my teammates, then hurried back to my room to help Tyler prepare. He did another heavy workout, but tonight we'd told the "spectators" not to come by, for Tyler had to prepare himself mentally. He pumped, strained, exerted, and stretched every muscle in his magnificent body. Then, instead of collapsing on his bed, he walked to his drawers and retrieved something. Before I could realize what had happened, he'd stripped off his soaked underwear, and pulled on a tiny, light blue string bikini, one with a pouch that barely covered his bulging groin, and cut high on his thighs. He looked stunning as he dried himself with a towel. Then, he walked back to the drawer and pulled out a bottle of what I could see was baby oil, and turning to me, said, "Eric, will you help oil me up?"

I was stunned. "What are you doing?", I asked him. "Well, I like to go through my posing routine the night before I go on stage, and want to get the oil on my body to see how I will look to the audience and judges. Of course, tomorrow I'll wear my yellow posing suit. I didn't want to risk getting any oil on it tonight, so I'll just wear this old string bikini for now." It was as though I was under a spell. All the desire -- all the hunger I'd had for him these past weeks came flooding to the surface, overwhelming my other senses. I got up and walked over to him, and, taking the bottle, poured some of the glistening oil into my palm. He just stood there in the middle of our room, barely clad in the skimpy baby blue string bikini, waiting for me to rub the oil into his muscles, to massage his flesh, to make him shine. I started with his back and shoulders, placing a thin coat over his rippling back and powerful delts and traps. Then I walked in front of him and poured more oil on my palms. I slowly massaged the liquid on his chest -- I rubbed and rubbed his big pecs, and then went lower. I massaged the oil into his abs, and around his tight sides. Lower and lower I went, until my fingertips were touching the waistband of the little bikini he wore. Then lower -- I slipped my fingers into the briefs and rubbed some oil along his inguinal ligaments, and I could feel the soft curls of his bushy pubes tickling my fingers. Tyler stood with his head tilted downward, eyes closed, and grunted softly. I knelt before him, and began to massage his ripped calves. Then, I softly massaged his bulging thighs -- his hamstrings and quadriceps felt like steel in my hands. I continued to rub, stroke and caress his thighs, as his grunts became soft moans of pleasure. The pouch of his light blue bikini began to quickly expand, tenting outward from his body. Within moments, he was completely erect, and I could see his cock throbbing and twitching under the taut fabric. And still I rubbed his thighs, one at a time, with both my hands -- hands now shaking and quivering with excitement. He moaned softly again, and was gasping for breath. I was hynotized, my eyes focused on the straining dick trapped beneath the thin bikini material. And then it happened -- a dark wet spot suddenly appeared where the flared tip of his large cockhead pressed against the fabric. I massaged harder, and watched as a large drop of precum emerged from the tip, passing through the cotton fabric and clinging to his cocktip. I glanced up at his beautiful face -- his eyes were closed, his mouth open and gasping for short breaths. I let my fingers begin to stroke and tickle the front and inner sections of his thighs -- more fluid emerged from his tip, and began to trickle slowly down the front of his bikini, rolling slowly down the straining underside of his shaft where it forced the bikini outward. "I...I'm sorry," he said softly, his eyes glazed as he looked down at me. "I can't help myself ...I get so excited when my body...my thighs...are rubbed and massaged. I can't help getting an erection." "Tyler, it...it's OK...I don't mind. I get erections. So do you. It's nothing to apologize for", I replied quietly, as I continued to fondle his quadriceps. "Please... please... Eric... stop or I will lose control", he said. I replied, "It's OK Tyler... tonight, I am in control." And with that, I reached out and began to softly squeeze his hard shaft -- caressing it, stroking it through the stretched fabric, milking the glistening drops of precum from it, one after another. I was aching with a hunger for him -- those burning feelings and desires that I had fought so hard to control -- to ignore -- to deny -- they exploded like a million fireworks, sweeping over me with a force all their own. I loved Tyler -- his body, his smile, his whole being, and my primal needs would no longer be denied. He moaned again, but made no effort to stop me. He stood there, his big muscleboy body helpless to prevent what was happening. I began to lightly scratch my fingernail up and down the exposed, throbbing undershaft -- so rigid I could feel his seminal duct ridge where it protruded from the hard flank. I smeared the oozing cockjuice up and down his shaft, soaking the front of the skimpy pouch from tip to balls. I became brazen -- almost delirious with lust -- and slipped the fingers of my left hand into the leg opening, where I tickled, prodded, and fondled his swollen gonads -- the sparse hairs there tickling my fingertips. His grunts grew louder and more urgent, as he panted for breath, gasping "oh" and "please" under his breath as I drove him into a sexual frenzy. His body glistened as the light played off his rippling muscles, and his head was thrown back, eyes squeezed shut, chest heaving. I continued to tickle and tease his hard shaft, and with every upward stroke, his penis tip would emit another drop of his nectar -- his sexual lubricant flowing freely as his reproductive organ prepared for the coming ejaculation. I dipped my fingertip into the next drop that emerged, and drew it toward my lips, leaving a golden strand of his love honey suspended between us. I tasted it, and sampled his tangy flavor. Then, I roughly placed my thumb at the bottom of his shaft and milked upwards yet again, forcing another huge pearl of his juice to emerge from his gaping piss slit and cling tantalizingly to the pulsing tip of his steel-hard cock. "Oh...oh", he said again, and I could feel his big bullnuts start to ascend toward his body, preparing for the explosion that was to come. The fabric of his skimpy underwear was completely soaked with his precum where I'd smeared it up and down his throbbing rod -- the light blue material now see-through, soaked in his love fluids. The material offered his cockshaft no protection at all from my scratching and rubbing fingers -- it might as well have been a piece of wet tissue paper covering him -- barely separating my hand from his sex organ. I finally stripped the small, sopping bikini down, struggling to get it over the prodding shaft that was entangled within it. The briefs clung around his muscular lower thighs, his legs too big to allow the small leg openings to fall to the floor. His cock was there -- all seven inches of pulsing man-meat, shining with his sex fluid that was drizzling from the tip. I played with his shaft -- squeezing it, kneading it, stroking it, tickling it -- until he was shaking with pent-up lust and need. Finally, I placed my fingers on the undershaft, just below his flared mushroom head, and began to rub and stroke there with short, firm motions. I knew this area was a place of special sensitivity on my own cock, and found it to be so for Tyler as well. His body went rigid, and he gasped "Uh...uh...uh", as I fingered his overworked g-spot. I placed my left hand under his tight testicles, and began to palm his aching `nads. "Uhhh", he groaned, and with that, the weeping piss slit at the tip of his cock gaped wide open, and out shot wave after fragrant wave of muscleboy teen spunk -- gushing shot after ropey shot of white cream, flying in all directions -- on me, on the floor, on the bed nearby. He must have shot seven or eight times, soaking me with his fertile boy seed. The room reeked of man-sex. Tyler began to slump, his body spent, and I was barely able to help lower him to the floor. He lay there for several moments, then looked at me with a tired, sleepy smile. He reached out his finger to wipe a dollop of his sperm from my brow, and said , "We can't do this tomorrow night until after the contest. I won't have the strength to walk on stage." I cradled his big-muscled body in my smaller arms as best I could, and said, "I love you, Tyler." He nestled his head against my shoulder and whispered back, "I love you, too, Eric."