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Bigger They Cum, The
|I've always been a big guy. Over six foot in grade 6, a reluctant star on
the junior-high basketball team, I was 6'5" by the time I finished growing
at the age of 15. Tall and lanky, I tried to put a little bit of muscle on
my frame, but was never very successful. I'd always end up getting too
turned on by the jocks in the gym to get a good workout in, and too
confused by my own sexual longings to enjoy it. So, with no results and a
hard dick, I'd sit and think about all those guys that I'd seen pumping up,
working their hard teenage bodies, while pretending that I was interested
in the girls I was supposed to be dating.
In university, my residence was right across from the Athletic Centre and so I could watch the big jocks come and go, in and out of the building. The university had a half-decent football team, so there were plenty of large men wandering the campus, always in packs, their shoulders filling their university jackets, their heavy football-player thighs rubbing against each other as they walked. I started working out on a regular basis, but not down in the basement with the serious lifters. I'd work out upstairs on the machines and run around the track. And then I'd go home and jack off for an hour.
You see, fairly early on I realized the intense connection between sex and exercise, sex and muscle. I felt it as a kid, and now at 23, finishing up my degree, I was pretty convinced. AFter a good lift, I'd be hornier than ever and would jack myself off again and again, thinking of the guys that I'd seen wandering around in the change-rooms, their thick heavy pecs jiggling slightly as they walked, their dicks flopping from side to side, pushed around by the masses of their thighs. I was still tall and fairly slim, but I'd put on some muscle so I was feeling okay about myself. And besides, a big dick is always a confidence booster.
The few times I'd had sex with women, they were always surprised by the size of my dick and made wide-eyed comments, but I figured that they were just trying to flatter me. Butter me up, 'cause everyone knows that guys like to think they're pretty big. But when I started to have sex with guys, I realized that I wasn't "just average" after all. I looked pretty much in proportion to me, but that meant that I was as much bigger in the dick department as I was height-wise. I was between 9 and 10 inches hard, when I finally got over my embarassment and measured it. So, even though I wasn't a hulking musclestud, I felt that I had my own kinda mass.
Anyways, I was working out, finishing up my last papers and thinking about what I was going to do with my life when I heard about a new book published by this prof in the phys ed department Jeff Something. It was called "Gay Jocks" or something like that, and was causing quite a stir around the university. He'd done a study about homosexuality and athletics and published his findings, outing both his research and himself in the process. I picked up the book at the library and found it really hot. Stories about all the cruising that goes on in the showers, all the homoeroticism of football and rugby. And I really got off on the section called "Gay Muscles" So, I decided to look this guy up. See who he was, and what he was like. He sounded like a guy after my own heart. Or dick, for that matter.
His office wasn't in the athletic centre, but was nearby, and I dropped by during his office hours. I knocked on the door, and when he opened it, I tried not to stare. I don't know what I'd been expecting, maybe a healthy guy, but kinda bookish, not the megastud that stood before me.
Around 6'1" (not too much shorter than me), he had to be over 230# of muscle. With short black hair and deep green eyes, he looked quizically at me. He was wearing a short-sleeved dress shirt that must have been made especially for him, but still seemed a trifle small, so that his nipples pressed hard agaisnt the fabric and his arms filled the sleeves. He must have put on some muscle since it was made, cause the top button was undone, unable to contain that huge, thick neck and his delts were clearly visible, massive rounds of bulging muscle. I realized that I was staring.
"Uh, sorry to bother you. But I've been reading your latest book and found it rather interesting."
"Oh?" he said flatly.
"Umm.... yeah. I was wondering if I could talk to you about it. I-uh. I'm Kirk, by the way."
"Hi Kirk, I'm Jeff. But I guess you know that already. Did you want to talk about this now?"
"Only if you're not busy. I don't want to bother you." I was acting like a kid around this stud, and felt really embarrassed by my embarrassment.
"Well, I've actually got some marking to do." He seemed kinda cold, dismissive.
I was getting less nervous, and a bit pissed off. I'd come all the way over here and he was just brushing me off. I decided to get a bit brazen.
"Okay, but maybe you'd be able to meet for a coffee sometime. Maybe we could get together at the Toolbox, or the Barn." They were both gaybars in the city.
Jeff's face clouded over. "Alright. That's it!! I want you and your homophobe friends to LEAVE ME ALONE!! Get out, GET THE FUCK OUTTA MY OFFICE!" His fists clenched and unclenched again and again, and his eyes blazed. He stared at me like he could bore right through me and the vein along the right side of his neck throbbed. I thought I was going to die as I heard one of his sleeves begin to rip as his bicep flexed in anger.
I stammered, yelped even. "No! HOld on! I'm no homophobe!! Fuck, I'm a fag!"
He stopped his relentless advance, but was no less angry. "Yeah, right. I'm no longer enjoying these little tricks from you and your frat brothers!"
"No I'm serious! What do I have to do? Sing show tunes for you? Quote AbFab until I'm blue in the face? I'm sorry, but there's no membership card for being a fag. I can't show you my ID." He looked a little less homicidal now. "Look, I read your book, was both surprised and pleased to see that you were here, and to be honest, found it kind of erotic. I just came over here on a whim, and an ill-conceived one obviously. I'll leave you alone." Now I was getting annoyed. "Sorry to have *bothered* you." I turned to go.
Now the big man was looking a bit sheepish. "Hey." He grabbed me by the arm as I was leaving his office, his hand wrapping around my upper arm with a strength that I couldn't escape. "Hey, I'm sorry." I turned to face him, and he fell silent. "It's just that, since the book came out, I've been having problems..." His voice trailed off into silence.
I grimaced and shook my head. He'd obviously had more than problems. Harassment sounded more like it. "Yeah well... sadly, I can't say I'm that surprised. I can't imagine all the straight jock-boys being thrilled to find out that there are fags among them."
He began to smile a bit. "Well, they know they're surrounded by fags. Who do they think keeps sucking their dicks?" We both laughed, and I started to relax for the first time since I walked into the little office. "No, their problem was that I told the rest of the world exactly what's going on."
"Do they honestly think anyone's surprised? Jock's have been synonymous with desire for me since I was a kid, and I can't imagine that I'm that unusual in that regard." We both smiled and the last bit of tension disappeared.
"No, you're not. I *did* do a lot of the field research for this book myself..." He grinned, and I had to laugh. This behemoth of a man, forearms like gnarled wood, thick and covered with twisting veins laughed as well and I was surprised by his laugh. Loud and free. From a man that 5 minutes earlier wanted to kill me. And easily could have. My dick began to get hard....
"Well, you certainly never cruised me at the AC, cause I'd have remembered *that*!"
"I'm sure I would have remembered you as well."
"Oh?" I wasn't sure what was going on, but was beginning to feel like I wanted to get out of that office. It seemed just a little too small for the two of us.
"Yeah." An awkward silence. We stood across from each other and I tried to control my burgeoning dick. Here was a man custom built for me. Tall, intelligent, out, and HULKING. I realized that I was staring again, this time at his thighs, which flared out large from his small waist. I could just imagine him in a pair of spandex workout shorts, stretching the material to its utmost so that I could feel the muscle quivering beneath, see the material starting to give. One flex and he'd rip through them, unleashing pound after pound of killer quad onto my willing tongue.
"Just how tall are you, anyways?" His voice broke me out of my reverie, and he smiled again as I tried to gather my scattered thoughts.
"Around 6'5". Not too tall, just at the top end of normal-tall."
He walked right up to me, so that his hair was tickling my nose and the thick slabs of his pecs were touching my lesser ones. "No, I'm at the top end of regular tall. You're gigantic!"
"You're not exactly one to talk, Mr. Small-guy! I may be, what, four inches taller than you? But you've got at least 30 pounds on me!"
"How much do you weigh?"
He grinned and flexed his pecs against me. "Make that 45."
I stepped back, astounded. "You're kidding. 245 pounds??"
He looked a bit embarassed. "Yeah... 247, actually. A bit much eh?"
"No, it's fucking fantastic!" I was getting too horny for my own good and couldn't believe that I was talking like this to a prof.
"Ah..." He really began to grin now. "A real muscle-junkie, are you?"
I was incredibly horny, but not beyond getting nervous when a man who could rip me apart asks a dangerous question. I stammered and looked at the floor. "Umm, well, yeah...."
"Well then....." He paused. And I waited, uncertain, dick throbbing slowly. "Well then, I'm really glad you came to my office after all." I looked up and into his sparkling eyes. He winked and glanced down at his arms which he held at his sides. I watched as he began to flex those bis and tris, and the sound of fabric tearing began to fill the air.
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