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|I had just relocated to a new city a few weeks ago and had been so busy I hadn't yet checked out the local scene. I was out on a Monday just to scope out some local joints. Monday usually being a lull at most places, I certainly hadn't expected the line I finally ended up in.
I had walked passed this place a couple of times, but it always looked closed for remodeling. Finally seeing that it was open for business, I wanted to check it out. At the cover booth (cover charges on a Monday??), I saw a poster advertising "Plexus Announces the Return of Amateur Night. Come cheer on your favorite Gro-Go Boys all night long!" The typos on these ads always amused me. As for amateur go-go dancers, I thought I was in for a comedy night more than anything serious. As I paid the cover (on a Monday night, no less) they handed me a raffle ticket. At least I could get a free drink out of it.
I could hardly believe it. The place was packed! All types were present and seriously accounted for. Making my way to the bar, I tossed down the ticket and asked the bartender what it would get me.
He looked at me in disbelief. "You must be new here. This, my friend, will get you the chance to be a gro-go boy for the night. You'd better hold on to it."
"Would you mind telling me why the thought of amateur go-go boys is such an attraction?"
"Just grab a seat and watch; it'll be clear soon enough. Just remember, the more you want it, the more there is." With that he tossed me a bottle of water and went about his business.
I made my way to the dance floor only to find it blocked off with clear panels.
"Dance floor opens at the end of the show. Of course that's when the real show begins," said a passer-by noticing my confusion. "Just grab a seat quickly, cause the place is gonna get crowded real fast by the look of it."
I made my way to the "viewing area" and took a seat that offered as much by way of crowd viewing as it did the show.
"Good Evening, Plexus!" Boomed an anonymous voice over the loudspeaker. "Making his return to us this evening, back from a couple of months pumping it in Miami is Rico, and he's got a question for all of you…"
Just then the light show began and Ricky Martin's voice announced "Do You Really Want It? Do You Really Want It?" The audience responded enthusiastically "YEAH!" each time the question was posed. I had never encountered a strip show audience this responsive. Getting some poor, amateur soul out there must be real fun for them.
And with the thumping bass a dancer finally appeared on the dance floor. He was trim and tan, like they usually are. I rarely encountered what I looked for in a go-go boy, and that was muscle – lots of muscle. The crowd, however, went wild and started cheering him on like he was the end-all-be-all of manhood. His performance started off slowly, mostly with him stroking himself through his clothing.
As he raised his arms over his head, I noticed that he was not as lacking in the muscle area as I had thought.
At this point he bent over to peel down his shorts. As he stood back up, I saw that his thong was already full. His hips moved in sync with Ricky's beat, which only caused him to flop back and forth across the front of his thighs, stimulating himself even more. Hip. Hip. Hip. Flip. Flop. Flip.
Raising his arms over his head to writhe and tease some more before removing his shirt, I could see a set of nicely worked abs that should have been more pronounced through his T-shirt. Letting his arms return to his sides, he took no efforts to pull it back over his lower abs. In fact, it didn't even look like it was ever long enough to cover them. I leaned forward to determine if there were any lighting tricks going on here. He shrugged his shoulders a few times and urged the audience to `bring it on' with some hand gestures.
I looked around the audience and noticed that several members were actively massaging themselves while cheering on the dancer, who was now flexing along with the beat. I saw that his arms were more pumped than when he had started, so much so that they were no longer covered by the sleeves. I watched for a few seconds more and could have sworn that his shirt was actually drawing in on his upper body. He flexed his pecs a few times for the crowd, and they went wild with cheering. With that he reached for the collar on the shirt and, with the crowd screaming (and some looking like they were actually blowing loads) he ripped it from his body. I could not believe what I saw; this guy was now seriously built. Even his cock looked like it had gotten bigger during the routine. He grabbed some baby oil and started working it into his chest all the while the crowd kept cheering. I couldn't believe what I was seeing; this guy was actually growing more muscular!
I leaned over to the guy next to me and started to ask questions. "Is this really happening?"
"Better believe it. After the first round, they work the crowd and get even bigger in the process. Course you'd better be waving something larger than a single or a fiver if you want to attract the attention of a 7 or 8 foot musclestud."
"7 or 8 feet?"
"Yeah. The place gets pretty crowded by the time the dance floor opens, what with 5 or 6 dancers, the waiters, bouncers, and bartenders."
"Everyone gets that big?"
"The waiters only go up to about 7 feet, just enough to let them work there way through the crowd. Bouncers have total control over their own size and use it. Later on you'll have to walk through their legs to use the john. That's so they can make sure everyone inside is on their best behavior. The bartenders respond to crowd stimulus like the dancers, only their size determines how long the place stays open. Once they get too big to move around back there, it's last call and no one else is served."
"Is that all?"
"Then there's the star of the show – the amateur"
"Why would an amateur be the star?"
"Because they aren't used to the growth formula, they tend to be over- responsive to stimulus – including their own. That's why the place has been closed; the last one got so big he actually crashed through the roof. I think the owner has made some changes to prevent that, but all the same I was jacking off for weeks over that scene!"
We returned our attention to the dance floor as a frat jock ripped through his football jersey. The painted-on football pants had already given under the strain of the quads and cock.
Deciding that it was as good a time as any to make a trip to the ATM, I made my way to the front of the bar while trying not to make the bulge in my pants affect my walk. I checked my pocket to make sure that I still had my ticket and make an unsuccessful attempt to re- adjust my cock. "Wouldn't that be hot," I thought.
At the bar, I ran into the same bartender again. He had already done some growing and was showing off a set of biceps that had to have exceeded 30" each. Of course he was now also 6 and a half feet tall. "How's it hanging?" I asked.
"You tell me," he laughed while grabbing his cock through the g- string and letting it land with a THUMP onto the bar. My reaction told him everything he needed to know, and apparently everything he needed to grow as well, for both he and his cock stretched up a few more inches right in front of me. "So much for avoiding the funny walk now," I thought.
"Thanks, I needed that," he smirked. "Have another bottle on the house. You need to run back and catch Big John. He's a real crowd pleaser."
Making my way back to my table I was just in time to see a huge man clad in a leather vest suddenly become unclad as his chest literally exploded upward and outward. The audience showed their appreciation in kind. A quick survey of the room showed that many members were actively jacking off and making no efforts to hide it. I guess this is the type of energy that makes this place what it was.
Big John was now teasing the audience with a pair of chains that he had brought out with him. They appeared to be loops of chain links that he kept dragging up his arms and letting rest on his shoulders. He would then start a double biceps, but every time he crossed his wrists the chains slid off his shoulders. Shaking his head sadly, he would re-start the little routine.
Sensing what he wanted, the audience suddenly became very quiet and focused. These chains were at least a foot larger than his arms were now, and it was obvious that he wanted them to be armbands; this would require his arms to grow over a foot in order to hold them in place.
He gave the audience a signal that he was only going to try it one more time. Even the music had been cut low at this point so that everyone could focus on Big John becoming even bigger or perhaps even F.H. John. As he crossed his wrists, everyone in the room could tell that something was happening. He had to struggle to bring his arms together, and this was a very good sign. Halfway up and the chains had not fallen yet, but we could all see that his arms were still not big enough. Several members of the audience started to moan as they stroked themselves while others started to chant under their breath. "Grow. Grow. Grow. Grow…"
And so it went. The tension increased as the crowd re-doubled their efforts. Big John was starting to smile as he realized he was getting what we all wanted, but it was still not enough. Slowly the DJ added some volume onto the sound system, and the audience kept focusing on his arms. As the volume increased, so did their mantra; With the swelling of the mantra came the swelling of Big John, and it was more than his arms that were showing signs of growth. With one dramatic heave, he adjusted his stance with a thudding BOOM! And the audience gasped as they realized that his arms held the chains in place. A cheer went up as he let them drop to prove the chains were there to stay. First one bicep, then the other, he proudly lifted them into position in order to survey himself for the crowd's approval.
While leaving the floor, the crowd started to get visibly antsy. "Looks like they're about to announce the lucky number," informed my neighbor.
"Would the holder of ticket number 714593 please report to the dance floor," boomed the voice over the loudspeaker.
I glanced at my ticket; it was 714590. "Oh, well, better luck next time," I thought. From the far edge of the audience I saw an ecstatic guy jumping up and down hugging all of his friends. He wasn't built too badly now, about 6-1 with sandy golden hair and a day's worth of stubble on his tan, jutting chin. He would have passed for a macho construction worker in his jeans and white T if it weren't for his whiny screams of joy.
"Looks like another `See Tarzan, Hear Jane' guy. We'll see if he gets any more gusto with some serious muscle packing him out."
I was about to engage in some mindless conversation when the largest hand I'd ever seen reached down the front of my shirt grazing my chest, abs, and crotch before planting itself on the lip of the stool between my legs. "Mind if I take a seat," rumbled an incredibly deep voice. I looked up and saw the jumbo jock that had torn through his football jersey earlier.
"No problem," I said making to slide off the back of the stool. He prevented this by planting his other hand on my back and pressing my chest into his swelling arm.
"I don't want to sit on it, I just wanted to use it for a while." With that he began performing single arm curls of me on top of the stool. My cock had been rigid since I first looked up at him, but this made it painfully so.
"My arm's not feeling tired, but I could do with some massage action," he smiled while still performing reps. I needed no further invitation to take both hands and try to squeeze what I could grab of those magnificent arms. He paused at the bottom of a set in order for me to focus on them.
When he was through he set the stool back down on the floor and drew back up to full height in order to survey himself. He pressed his hips forward into my shoulder as he inhaled and watched his chest expand outward over my head. He then started to excite himself by slowly rolling and flexing them just to see how much he far out the bulges would expand outward.
I let my hand drop between his legs and reach through them to stroke his hamstrings certain that I looked every bit as wanton as the women staring up at the cover stud of a cheap romance novel. He didn't seem to mind the attention a bit. In fact his crotch was noticeably harder on my shoulder and had even started to creep up even higher. Squatting down to my level on the stool, he wrapped his left arm around my back and pulled me into his chest. "This one's for the road," he whispered as he pinned my right hand under his crotch with his thighs. Tightening his grip with his left arm, he then flexed his massive right biceps up in my face. Not even wondering if it would be considered appropriate, I opened my mouth and started worshipping it with my tongue. As he didn't pull away but kept flexing harder. I was seriously excited by this time and within seconds was gasping audibly having climaxed in my pants without even being touched.
I opened my eyes and saw that the guy's arm had grown by several inches, adding to its off-season fullness I found so hot in jock types. Rather than pull away immediately he wrapped it around the front of me and gave me a gentle hug that seemed to last minutes. "I'm Jeff by the way. Behave yourself now, if word gets out about how much you like this, you'll be getting enough action tonight to last months."
With that he stood up and started lumbering off to another table. I was mesmerized watching his shoulders sway with the thudding of his steps that could still be felt with the thumping bass of the music.
Reaching for my water, I finished it while keeping an eye on the goings on of the room. Rico had made an appearance and was more than happy to have located a group desiring as much Latin loving as he could give.
There was another guy who had a cop's hat resting on his head that seemed to enjoy single arm curls with people and frisking them while they were dangling several feet off the floor. Someone else kept reaching down the front of shirts and flexing out of them to the delight of their exposed wearers. Big John was trying to convince enough people at once that he needed to outgrow the chains for good.
Jeff the Jock had made his way around the room by having mock wrestling bouts with his fans. Obviously the largest guy in the room, I was a bit jealous that everyone else was able to take more advantage of his size than I was.
I was debating leaving the spot for a quick trip to the bar when a hand bearing a bottle of water thumped down onto the table.
"I'm sorry, but I didn't order this," I said casually looking over my shoulder and into the waistband of one of the waiters. The half- liter bottle of water seemed small in comparison to the bulge in his crotch, and it was a toss-up as for which I'd rather have. I craned my neck up the perfectly chiseled abs and over the equally perfect chest to see (how surprising) a perfectly chiseled face smiling back down at me. I smiled weakly as I explained again that I hadn't ordered anything.
"Relax, it's from Mr. Shug."
"Brad – the bartender up front is also the owner; he thought you might need another."
I reached for my wallet in order to offer a tip but he placed his large hand on my shoulder and stopped me. "Don't worry about it, if the boss is interested, I know not to be." And with that he went about his way.
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