Custom fit

by HumbleBrag

Adam’s family grows in unexpected ways after he reconnects with a childhood friend.

Sharing your home with a stranger is never easy. Not just because I’m an only child and didn’t have to share a lot growing up, but I’m also gay. And not hide-in-plain-sight gay. No, I’m obviously, notably gay. Have been for as long as I can remember. Which means I’ve gotten the shit beaten out of me by straight dudes for equally long. The very thought of sharing close quarters with another guy made my stomach clench. Between my slight size, delicate voice, and rather bold dress sense, if I ended up getting paired with someone even slightly homophobic it would be a nightmare.

With a single dad and no family wealth to pay for college, I was taking out loans for tuition and cutting costs in any way I could. Living at home my first year was a pretty easy call. It was an easy commute, half my classes were online lectures anyway, and I could still help my dad out around the house. It would make everything easier. At least, that was my thinking before a jocked-up muscle stud completely took over my home, school, and family.

“I figured out a way to supplement our income next year!” my dad told me excitedly over breakfast, wiping a few drops of milk from his warm brown beard.

“Oh yeah, what’s the plan?” I asked, hoping it’s not taking on any more shifts at the hospital. He’s been an emergency room nurse for the last five years, working night shifts bandaging up drunken frat boys at 3 a.m. My breakfast is his dinner, so he’s still in his scrubs from last night’s shift and he’ll likely crash right after we eat. “I can’t stand the thought of you working more than you already do, just so I can get a design degree.”

“Then you’ll love this. You remember Mikey and Nora who used to live next door?”

“Yeeeeeah…” I said slowly, the smile dropping from my face.

“So Mikey is also starting at State next month, and with dorm costs so high, we thought it would be great for him to live here next year with us. That way he’s got friends of the family to make the transition easier. We can charge them a lot less than the dorms and it’ll still make a big difference in our finances.”

“Dad! No!” I stuttered out.

“What’s the problem? You two were so close growing up. You don’t want to reconnect?”

“We were close when we were 10! He completely ditched me in middle school for his wrestling buddies and they bullied the shit out of me for years. And he just stood there! Every goddamn time!” I ranted, noisily clearing the dishes and punctuating every point with a clattering plate. “He didn’t even say goodbye when they moved away, for fuck’s sake.”

“Language!” my dad chastised, his baritone voice dropping into his authoritative octave.

“You don’t even know him!” I kept going, ignoring him. “He could be a bigot. He could hate gay people. He could be dangerous!”

“That’s the thing, he’s bisexual! Out and proud for over a year now.” This gave me pause, and my dad jumped on his chance. “People grow up. He’s 18 now just like you, and from what Nora tells me he’s a great guy. Polite, considerate. Give him a chance and I’m sure you’ll be friends again in no time. Honestly kiddo, I think this will be good for you. Get you out of your comfort zone a bit.”

“Oh yay, discomfort. How incentivizing,” I huffed, as my dad wrapped his big arms around me and pressed me into a hug. Eighteen years old, and I was still so small compared to him. He was 6’1” and 250 pounds of lightly padded muscle, fluffy in the middle and furry all over, but strong as an ox. I took after my mom’s side, slight build and a measly 5’7”, basically hairless other than a head of reddish-brown curls and a light dusting of fuzz for my pits and pubes.

“Tell you what,” he said holding me out to meet my eye, “let’s try this for the first semester and see how it goes. If you’re not feeling it, we can make arrangements for him elsewhere. This is your home, and I will never let it be unsafe for you.”

I sigh and frown at my own childishness. “Fine. Agreed,” I said, shaking his hand and offering a smile. “What’s he studying, anyway?”

“Sports medicine and physical therapy.”

“Ugh.”

“Ha. Yeah. This should be fun,” he chuckled, heading off to bed. “Night, kiddo.”

“Mornin’, dad.”

Mikey arrived mid-August, one week before freshman orientation. I had stayed behind while my dad picked him up from the greyhound station after dinner (breakfast for dad). I was anxious as shit, so I busied myself rearranging my new bedroom space. I gave up my attic sanctuary to make sure dad could sleep during the day and I moved into one of the two basement bedrooms. They were smaller, and joined together by a jack & jill bathroom my dad had been using as a private en-suite since the other bedroom was just storage before this week. That’s right, I’d be sharing a bathroom with a practical stranger.

I heard the front door open and dad’s voice as they moved through the upstairs. Sounded like they were moving kinda slowly, talking through the angles and approach of fitting something big down the basement stairs. I went out into the den and saw dad and Mikey hauling a massive trunk down the stairs. By the way my dad was straining, it was insanely heavy, but Mikey wasn’t showing any signs of exertion at all. Nope, the slab of muscle on the other end of the trunk was barely fazed by lifting. My jaw dropped as he came into view. He was huge. Towering.

“We can put it over here for now,” Dad grunted, gesturing with his head toward the back wall, “and figure out where to set up the rest later tonight.”

They lowered the trunk to the floor and I got my first real look at Mikey when he stood up. He was enormous. 6’4”, maybe 6’ 5” and proportioned somewhere between a hockey enforcer and a bodybuilder (I didn’t know the classes or whatever, but I might be doing some googling). His heavy pecs were pushing the material of his sweatshirt to its limits. Sleeves stuffed with bulging arms. His jeans might as well have been painted on his tree trunk thighs, and his bulge was full to bursting, heavy and round the way only a combination of big soft cock and huge bull balls can achieve. I shook my head to clear it and met his eye for the first time to see a cautious smile creeping in at the corners of his mouth.

“Hey,” I said, extending a hand to shake.

“Adam! It’s so good to see you!” Mikey said, grabbing my hand and pulling me into a tight hug. My face was wedged between the bottom of his pecs and I could feel his heartbeat. I tentatively patted his back, which felt like patting the flank of a horse, and internally begged my dick to stop swelling in my pants. His body was radiating heat like crazy and his fierce grip didn’t seem to be letting up any time soon.

“Air…” I managed to choke out the word from inside this muscle beast’s grasp.

“Oops! Sorry.” He released me and blushed. Seriously. Insanely cute. Who the fuck was this guy? “It’s just really great to see you.”

“Well…” my dad interrupted, smiling slyly, “I’ll just grab the rest of your stuff from the jeep.”

“No worries, Steven. I got it,” Mikey said, already bounding up the stairs. Still an unlimited supply of energy, I saw.

“So what’s this?” I asked my dad, avoiding his knowing looks. I gestured to the trunk in the corner.

“Free weights. He’s got a bench and everything to set up a pretty decent home gym down here.”

“But… I sew down here.” I gestured to my sewing table, two sewing machines, dozens of bolts of fabric, and shelves of thread & notions on the wall.

“There’s room for both,” Dad assured me, patting my shoulder.

The next week flew by in a haze. There was a lot to do before school started, and for me, a lot to get used to. My dad was over the moon having another guy around. The two of them clicked right away, constantly laughing and swapping jock stories over meals. He even joined Mikey for some workouts when his schedule allowed. As much as it stung to see him so overjoyed to have another athletic guy in the house, it was nice seeing him so happy.

I, on the other hand, was struggling. The above-mentioned workouts were intense, with the grunting and the clang of metal and the smell of sweat clinging to the air. Spicy, heady, guy sweat creeping into my nostrils and making my mind wander to its source.

It made me insanely horny without even looking up. And I did look up. A lot. I’d watch his massive, rock hard body swell larger, pencil-thick veins snaking their way through canyons of muscle to pump more power and size into every inch of him. Fuck. I was so screwed.

Mornings were the worst. We would be on a similar schedule come orientation on Monday morning, so we talked out the best ways to share the bathroom.

“I wake up crazy early, so I’ll grab first-shower, then you can shower while I’m shaving and whatnot, then we’ll head to campus together. How’s that?” Mikey proposed, unpacking a seemingly endless supply of grooming products from a box while I lean against the wall.

“Damn,” I said, looking at the impressive selection. “You really are bi.” He laughed and I blushed at my own stupid comment. “So in this plan, I’m naked in the shower while you’re standing at the sink, huh?”

“Yeah, of course,” Mikey said with a snort. In this small space he felt even bigger (or I felr even smaller) and I swore I could feel the warmth of his breath change the atmosphere. He was facing the mirror and I was staring at how the rocky expanse of his bowling-ball shoulders tapered gracefully down to the absolutely epic bubble butt bobbing in front of me and I felt the blood leave my face. I caught his eye in the mirror and he looks concerned.

“Or we can stick to robes and boxers! I know not everyone has good locker room memories. But… well…” He was talking a bit fast now, looking down and sort of moving his moisturizer around aimlessly. “I just mean, you know we’re going to see each other naked eventually, right? Like, it’s just bound to happen sharing close quarters like this.”

I found my eyes drifting back to his ass, so I was a bit surprised when he turned to face me and I was staring right at his hefty bulge. Again. It had been three days and I couldn’t stop. It might have been the best bulge I’ve ever seen, and I’m a goddamn connoisseur. In jeans he’s an ample mound that emphasized the sheer mass, the fly straining with the force. In sweats he moves and bounces playfully, showing just enough detail to make it clear he was packing a huge set of balls behind a swinging monster. The idea of seeing him in his underwear threatened to drive me insane. Shit. How long had I been staring at his dick? Shit. Way too long! I looked to the counter beside him and grab the nearest bottle of something and pretended to read the label.

“It’s not a problem, just making sure we’re on the same page,” I muttered, trying for a casual vibe.

“Great,” he said. I could hear that sly smile creeping in. “Cuz I’m already overheated.” He grabbed his shirt from the bottom hem and pulled it up and off. I heard threads tear and he swore.

“Aw, I liked this one,” he mumbled, inspecting the damage. “What I get for showing off.”

I was half listening, half tracing veins on his biceps when it dawned on me what he was saying.

“Oh, is it on the seam?” I said, taking the t-shirt from his hands. Its soft cotton was still warm from his body. “Easy mend. I’ll get to it tonight…” I had to swallow. “Well. See ya later,” I blurted, turning quickly away from him.

“Oh. Okay. See you at dinner.” He barely got this out before I’d stepped out into my bedroom and closed the bathroom door behind me.

I raised his shirt to my face and inhaled his musk, feeling my cock inflate to full attention. I walked toward my bed, shucked my pants and started to jerk off. Again. This one would make a personal-record-breaking eighth time since waking up. I was, indeed, very, very fucked.

I was 9 years old when we moved to the south end of Washington Avenue. My mother had always seemed (to me, at least) to be a happy person, so no matter how my dad explained it, I couldn’t grasp why she had left. I still don’t. Not really. She’d packed two suitcases, kissed me once on the forehead, and hadn’t looked back.

My dad worked hard to smile in the weeks that followed, always a look of pain or concern creasing his brow as he struggled to make our new life as comfortable as possible. We’d have to move, he told me, since mom had inherited our big, blue craftsman house from her father, and would be selling it. My father and I didn’t need much space, so when he found an affordable (if dated) bungalow in a working class neighborhood, he snatched it up. It had a finished basement with thick 70s shag carpet and fake-wood paneled walls, and an attic bedroom with low-sloped ceilings and tiny windows.

“This will be yours,” he told me in the attic, giving me the tour. My face lit up and I started running around the big space, planning where to put my bed and dresser, my costume trunk and my books. “The family next door has a boy about your age, too,” he continued. “Maybe you two can be friends.” I ignored this and kept planning out my room out loud.

Dad was always trying to get me to be more social. I was kind of a weird loner of a kid; I had more books and costumes than toys, and spent most of my time playing alone, acting out daring rescues and magic rituals. The other kids my age didn’t really get me, nor I them. I was neat & clean, polite, and liked to read.

I baffled other kids, and kids hate being baffled. So, most of the time, they hated me. That’s why dad felt compelled to force a friendship with the kid that lived next door. He had tried stuff like this before, dragging me to classmates’ birthday parties. But no previous experiences could have prepared me for Mikey. We’d only been in the new house for a week when he sprung the first arranged playdate on me.

“Just show him your toys. I’m sure you’ll find something in common,” he’d said in a low voice before ducking back downstairs and leaving me alone with him. Mikey was a good three inches taller than me at that age, and a lot sturdier built. He had blondish hair in an awful bowl cut, bright eyes, and a genuine smile. I was on the small side, but I found myself wondering how close in age we really were.

“Sooooo,” he started, pulling me out of my haze, “do ya have any video games?”

“Oh. Um. Yeah, there’s an N64 in the basement,” I said, trying to remember the last time I played anything on it.

“Cool. Got Mario Kart?” he said, lighting up.

“Oh. No.” I watched his smile fall and it surprised me how much I wished I had Mario Kart in that moment. “I have Smash Brothers,” I offered with a slight shrug.

“Dude! Even better!” he yelled, grabbing my hand and leading me through my own house. How the hell did this kid know where my basement was? God he was strong.

“We’re going to play Nintendo!” I yelled to my dad as we tore through the living room to the basement door. That’s what it was like being with Mikey. He had momentum and gravity. It was easy to get swept up in his excitement and before you knew it you were playing a 5 hour Smash marathon and having a legitimately good time despite yourself. After that day we were pretty much inseparable. My first real friend.

Freshman orientation arrives and I drive us to campus in Dad’s boxy crossovers that looks like a toaster and gets great mileage. I’m acutely aware of how much Mikey fills the space, and I’m not just talking about our elbows touching. His head’s on the ceiling and his knees are bumping the dash. I, on the other hand, look like I need a booster seat. His same usual scent of clean sweat and warm worn cotton fills every inch of the car and fuck he smells good. I try to be subtle about adjusting my semi, but I swear he sees it. Curiously, he soon adjusts himself as well, a pinch and tug maneuver that makes me swallow reflexively.

We arrive and park, and he stretches beside me in the parking lot, giving me a glimpse of his cobblestone abs when his ratty t-shirt lifts up.

“What’s with you and these old shirts?” I ask, trying to keep my voice more concerned than shady. “They barely fit you anymore.”

“I don’t really have a lot of clothes. Keeping up with a growing teen and all that. You know parents,” he says. I sigh. My teen years haven’t exactly been explosive on the growth front, but I certainly know how tight money can be in a single parent home.

There’s a steady stream of students heading in one direction, and we both kinda just end up flowing into traffic. Mikey pulls out a printed schedule and map from his backpack. Which is oddly adorable. I just downloaded everything onto my phone.

“Let’s see. I’m off to the life sciences building and you’re at something called Craft Works on the east side of campus for the morning. We can meet back here for lunch at 1:30?” He’s pointing to the student union on the map.

“Um. Sure. Sounds good.” His light wash jeans and faded red-tee might be plain, but the peak physical specimen underneath is anything but. Judging by the unabashed ogling, this adonis is the hottest thing to set a size-14 foot on this campus in some time. Slack jaws, drooling, whispers, and one very sweet looking girl who outright rode her bike into a tree, unable to tear her eyes off his pecs moving under his shirt. Yes, Mikey may feel like a stranger this morning, but by noon he’ll be surrounded by people.

We reach the fork in the path and I’m surprised when Mikey grabs my hand and pulls me into an abrupt hug. I remain shocked for a moment, nestled into the cleavage of his pecs, painfully aware that my left arm is pinned to his thigh mere inches from his ample basket. He holds me there like a safety blanket, and I can’t help but melt into him and relax.

“Good luck. Make friends. Text me if you need me,” he says, a slightly worried look on his face. Is he worried about me or anxious for himself? It’s hard to tell and before I can ask he turns on his heels and walks briskly toward the science buildings. I linger a moment. To watch his epic ass and powerhouse thighs move in his jeans. I am not alone in this action.

I quickly realize that most of my classes put me in the “newer” end of campus. A 70’s time capsule built when the trade school got absorbed by the university. As I walk the halls of the massive factory building they call the Craft Works I see workshops and labs for everything from ceramics to glass blowing to auto body repair. I follow the signs for Textiles & Apparel up a staircase to the third floor.

My one respite from my high school bullies was my passion for sewing. I know, what a cliche: the gay kid is into fashion. But it’s not fashion that I love specifically, but the physical act of sewing. Whether it’s by hand or on a machine, I love the action of constructing things from fabric. Plus you’d be surprised how much money you can save just by mending things that are worn or tailoring things that stopped fitting. So I saved for a solid sewing machine that could take on a few layers of tough denim at once. I set up a sewing table with dress forms and an old hutch I filled with salvage fabric and thread and notions and shit. It was my sanctuary, and I would spend hours down there working on a project, forgetting everything else sometimes.

But this, the textile shop and sewing studio at, is better than I could have dreamed. Huge, individual-paned factory windows flood the space with light. Heavy industrial sergers and sewing machines line the walls, huge tables for patterning and cutting in the center, and more fabric than my mind could handle was absolutely everywhere. I spot a supple chino in warm brown that would look amazing against Mikey’s skin tone. I could reinforce the inner thighs with an interfacing to prevent wear from his massive quads. I’ve already mended two pairs of jeans for him in just one week, and I can tell they won’t last much longer.

“All right, freshman fashionistas! Eyes on me!” The bright tenor voice breaks my reverie over the chino and I focus in on the speaker. A tall young man with dark black hair and deep brown eyes stands in the center of the large room. He’s dressed simply but impeccably in black jeans and a loose teal-and-orange-striped shirt, unbuttoned down to his sternum.

“I’m Jack Matsuda, I’m a TA for Professor Everett, and your guide for this first semester. Got questions? Come to me. For now, follow me for a tour of the facilities and then we’ll go over the syllabus as a group.” Roughly 30 people around my age are gathered around Jack, and I realize I’m one of 3 guys in the whole room, TA included.

“For some of you, these machines and tools will be completely new. For others, like this obvious ringer here,” Jack says, singling me out from the crowd, “the fabrication parts of the program will be cake. Nice bias cut on those pants, by the way. Tricky work and the drape is sublime.”

I blush furiously, but look down to hide a grin. Jack shoots me a wink and a sparkling smile that makes my stomach flutter. “My point is this: Help each other. Share skills. Talk shit out,” he says to the crowd. “You’ll need it to survive the program.”

My walk to the student union feels like floating. I’ve had a wonderful morning of exploring the Craft Work, or The Works as the upperclassmen call it. Everyone I met was super friendly after Jack’s surprise endorsement, and Jack himself spent a lot of one-on-one time showing me things. He’s got so much knowledge and he’s so kind, I find myself crushing already. You might think me desperate and horny, but to that I reply… shut up.

I’m scanning the crowd for Mikey when my bully sense starts to tingle. I pass close to a table of jockish guys who elbow each other and snicker in my direction. I hear a distinct, “What the fuck is he wearing.” In the crowded student union cafeteria, I feel epically smaller than I did a moment ago. “Hey, kid!” A blond jock with a permanent sneer says to me. My face drops and my stomach sinks. I should just go. I turn quickly and start to head back toward the entrance.

“Hey, nice blouse!” I hear called out behind me in a rough, mocking voice.

“Hey, I’m fucking talking to you!” I hear his anger ramping and move a bit quicker, weaving through bodies and using my small size to create distance. With a glance over my shoulder I confirm he’s following, a hateful hunger in his beady eyes, when smack. I walk into what feels like the flank of a horse. I look up and see Mikey’s smile, toothy and bright.

“There you are! It’s hard to spot you in this crowd,” he says jovially. “Shit. Are you all right?” he asks when he sees my expression.

“Yeah, just… overwhelmed by the crowd,” I lie. “Can we get out of here?”

“Of course. There’s a shawarma cart parked by the quad?” Mikey offers, eyes concerned and quizzical.

“Sounds good. Let’s go,” I say, glancing back to see my pursuer angrily backing into the crowd at the sight of Mikey.

Fifteen minutes later, I’m sitting on the grass watching my behemoth of a roommate devour a takeout container of mixed chicken and lamb over rice. I pick at my gyro and try to breath in the calm. Fuck. It was such a good day until that happened. Mikey has been talking nonstop since we got outside and I deflected his questions by asking about his morning.

“And there’s a massive therapy pool!” he continues, “Like an Olympic-sized hot tub with an accessibility lift. I can’t wait to soak in there after a good workout. Guess I’m going to need a swimsuit,” Mikey muses excitedly.

I picture Mikey in a square-cut speedo with bold color blocking that emphasizes his meaty gifts in all the right ways.

“There’s a smile,” he says, “Feeling a bit better?

I nod and give him another shy smile.

“I won’t push, but whenever you want to talk about what happened back there, I’m down to listen.”

“Thanks,” I reply. Then after a moment’s thought, “I’ve been thinking about something.”

“Fire away,” Mikey mumbles around a mouthful of chicken.

“You need new clothes. I’m going to be making a lot of random garments for classes, experiments, and trial and error. And I thought… maybe you could… be my model. I could even make you a swimsuit,” I say, looking up to gauge his reaction.

“That would be amazing!” he blurts out. “Are you sure? You’ve already done so much for me. I’d keep the clothes?”

“Yeah, it’s mutually beneficial. I get a live-in model that I can work with in my own time and you get a whole new wardrobe. I might have to bring final pieces into The Works for critique once they’re done, but after that they’d be yours,” I assure him, galvanized by his excitement.

“I’m in. A hundred percent,” he says with a painfully firm handshake. “Sorry,” he adds sheepishly as I wince and rub my hand. “So how do we start?”

I swallow. This is the complicated part. “Um, well, before anything else, I have to measure you.”

Mikey smiles big. A familiar look of mischief and cockiness that makes my nuts twitch.

“Fuck yeah,” he says.

When we get home Mikey heads straight to the basement, bounding down the stairs like an excited kid.

“Hey Steven, have a good day at work!” he calls out to my dad as he bounds through the living room. Dad’s awake and dressed for work in bright green scrubs. I toss him the car keys.

“Gas tank is full. Thanks again,” I say, looking him up and down in his slightly looser scrubs, “You’re looking trim, have you lost a bit of weight?”

“Yeah. Lifting with Mikey is paying off already,” Dad says, pulling me into a hug. I can feel the muscle building under his fluff. “I’m heading to the hospital, you two have a good first day?”

“Adam, come on!” Mikey yells from downstairs before I can answer. Making dad and I snort-laugh.

“Just like old times,” Dad says, shaking his head. “You two have fun,” he says with a wink as I head downstairs.

When I get to the bottom of the stairs, I see Mikey has stripped down to a pair of olive green boxer briefs, the pouch absolutely stuffed with a firehose of a cock. The thick soft shaft pointing down down over big, full nuts. He pulls up a pair of familiar gym shorts and hefts his ample package into them, the light blue nylon almost skin tight on his massive quads and bubble butt.

“I’m just going to get a quick pump going. That way I can still grow a bit into anything you make!” Mikey says, loading his curl bar.

“Are you planning on getting bigger?” I say, trying to keep my throbbing boner under control.

“Honestly it just kind of happens. Sometimes… kinda overnight,” Mikey admits, grunting as he reaches the end of his curl reps.

“That explains a lot of the rips in your old clothes,” I say, watching him settle in for shoulder flys.

“Yeah,” he grunts between reps, “My mom hated it. She worked so hard to keep me clothed and I’d just rip right through things. She was still kinda raw from my first growth spurt when I was a kid. That was rough on her,” he says. Even through the grunts I can hear it’s a tough subject.

“What happened with your first growth spurt?”

“I just had all this energy all of a sudden, a seemingly endless supply. I felt hyper competitive and developed kind of a short fuse. Probably just from the sheer amount of testosterone pumping through my system,” Mikey says, grabbing massive kettle weights and starting lunges. “And worse of all, I didn’t know my own strength. I broke… fuck, pretty much everything I came into contact with. Then I’d get frustrated that things kept breaking and kick a hole in the wall.”

I imagine a slightly smaller Mikey with a temper and tendency to break shit. “Fuck.”

“Yes. Fuck indeed,” Mikey says resigned and regretful. “After eight shitty, destructive months of this she figured out that I just needed an outlet for the energy. And maybe some structure. She bought a full weight set from an older neighbor who used to be a professional football player. The sweet old man barely charged her anything,” Mikey smiles as he loads the bar for bench press, lovingly patting his weights. He stretches out on the bench and I marvel at his bulge in this position.

“Old dude said he was glad his old gear would be getting some use, and that hauling the stuff out of his house was pretty much payment enough. So I got a home gym and poured myself into it completely.” He’s getting more intense as he reminisces, breathing heavier and pushing the bar up faster and faster, grunting as his chest strains and expands upward with every rep.

“The bigger and stronger I got the more in control of myself I felt. I got to be the man I wanted to be, not some asshole fueled by hormones and anger.” His grunting grew louder and for my ear at least, decidedly sexual. “And it felt amazing. All this power. All this fucking muscle.”

Each push of the bench press was like a thrust of a hard cock, building in ferocity until he actually got verbal, “Fuck!” Grunt. “Yeah!” Grunt. “This!” Grunt. “Feels!” Grunt. “So!” Grunt. “Good!” Still breathing heavy he sat up, flexing, admiring his pump, running his hands across his full, heavy pecs and humongous biceps. I’m standing by my sewing table dumbstruck by the one-man muscle-worship session I’d just witnessed. Hard cock throbbing away in my jeans.

“Well. Mikey says, standing up and filling the space. Ready when you are.”

I look down at the measuring tape in my hand and gulp hard. “Okay. Let’s do this.”

“Where do you want me?” Mikey asks, still breathing heavily from his workout.

“Um. Right here is great,” I reply, indicating the spot right in front of me. He steps onto his mark and stands tall and hulking, shoulders squared, looking down his muscle cleavage at me.

“Raise your arms,” I whisper hoarsely. I wrap the measuring tape around his natural waist. “Drop your arms,” I say, this time more clearly. These actions are familiar enough to give me some confidence, but his body is radiating heat and he smells like sex and caramel and I want to lick his armpit.

“33 inches,” I say aloud, jotting the number down. I slide the measuring tape down to the waistband of his boxer briefs, pushing the gym shorts down a bit to get access to his hipline.

“We going low rise? Like Britney in 2004?” he chuckles, his voice lower than usual and profoundly close to my ear.

“I’ll need it for swimwear and underwear,” I reply with a sly smile. It’s true too. I’m doing my best to be completely on the level right now. Which mostly involves ignoring the erection hidden under my untucked shirt.

“Okay, chest is next,” I say, and realize our height difference is big enough that I’ll need to stand on a chair to do it properly. I grab a milk crate and step up, bringing me just about eye level with my massive friend. “Arms up.”

I wrap the measuring tape around his chest, “Drop em,” he does. “49½ inches,” I say, jotting. And swallowing. Mikey bounces his pecs playfully and gives me a grin.

“Daaaaamn, I knew I was close to breaking 50!” He flexes to himself cheerfully.

“Turn away from me, please,” I say, trying to focus. With his back turned I quickly adjust my painfully hard erection, giving it a squeeze as if to say, “Soon buddy. I promise.” I run the measuring tape across his shoulders and jot down an impressive span of 28 inches, which I say and write down.

“Interesting,” Mikey says, “in bodybuilding we measure shoulders differently. But that makes sense.”

“Huh. I didn’t think about that. Like you probably don’t need this one,” I say, running my measuring tape down his spine from the nape of his neck to the cleft of his perfect bubble butt.

Mikey blurts out a sound that’s halfway between and whimper and a laugh and bucks his hips forward, setting me off balance. My stomach drops like lead as the fall sensation hits me and I realize I’m going down backward. Everything is moving in slow motion for a second, and then I feel an arm like a steel girder rise up across my lower back and fling me back up as Mikey spins around and catches me. Instinct kicks in and I wrap my arms and legs around his torso, clinging for dear life. We stay like this for a moment, frozen.

“Sorry,” he says, our faces close and eyes locked. “I’m ticklish there.”

I’m suddenly very aware that my fully engorged dick is pressed against his upper abs, and throbbing with my heart beat. He looks down, then back up to me, blushing a vivid shade of scarlet that likely matches my own. I loosen my grip and slide down his body, hopping down and standing awkwardly close still.

“No worries. Great catch,” I mumble, turning to my measurement notes.

“Yes you are,” I think I hear him say quietly. “So what’s next. Biceps?” he says louder, and kind of quickly.

“Heh. You wish, meathead. For now I’ll just need sleeves and inseam,” I say, taking a breath before walking back over to him. I place the zero end of my tape at the top of his shoulder and run the length down his sleeve. Jot down the number and drop to my knees without a thought. Mikey makes a slight chuckle at this and I roll my eyes at him. Normally I have to tell people to spread their legs to shoulder width, but his natural stance is already there. Still, his thighs are so thickly muscled, it’s a squeeze to get my hands between them.

He spreads a bit more to allow me access, but I need him standing naturally and instruct him to do so. His thighs snap shut on my hand holding the tape measure in place like a vice. I swallow, and run the other end to his ankle. I jot down the number. I feel a slight but firm pressure on my wrist and look up to see his usually prominent bulge has inflated to porn star proportions. His dick’s pointed down, and probably only half hard, but the fat arc of his shaft is already straining the material of his gym shorts. I realize his massive mushroom head in poking my wrist and holy fucking fuck, it’s got to be even bigger than I imagined.

“Okay then. All done,” I croak from my dry throat. Pulling my hand free with some force and looking for a hand hold to get off the floor. Mikey offers me a hand and I take it, basically floating into standing assisted by his epic strength.

“Alrighty then,” he says, looking down, then blushing yet again and dropping his hands to his crotch like a soccer player protecting a free kick. “I… um… I’m gonna go take a shower and get this sweat off me.”

“Yes! Good good. Shower. Yeah,” I say, pretending to busy myself with the measurements I took.

He’s gone in a flash and I count to ten before flat-out running to my room. I strip fully, unleashing my cock from its tight confines and stroking my thick 7.5 inches from tip to base. I may be a tiny human, but I pack a surprisingly healthy endowment for someone of my stature. Yeah, it’s a big cock, but that beast of Mikey’s must be fucking monstrous. I fall backward onto my bed and grab my lube from the nightstand, vaguely aware of the sound of the shower running in the background. I start furiously jacking, picturing his ample meat stretching the pouch of his boxer briefs. How his massive pecs heaved under my hands as I measured them. I picture his bulge growing while I touched him and I’m over the fucking edge, blasting out five big shots of spunk that arc high and splatter down onto my bare chest and belly. Fuck, I even got some on my cheek. I sigh and laugh a bit, rolling my head back and letting my refractory period sink in.

Eventually my load starts to cool on my skin and I realize I need a towel. I pull on a fresh pair of undies and head toward the bathroom when I notice: I never closed the door. It’s halfway open, with a clear view of my bed. I step quietly toward the door and see the shower, glass door fogged, and Mikey’s massive back. He’s facing the spray, with one hand up on the wall, the other obviously jacking his monster cock. Everything freezes in my mind and I swear I can hear my own heartbeat in my jaw. I can’t see his dick, but I can tell from the long strokes that it’s utterly enormous. His back is rising and falling with his breaths. His shoulder building momentum as he fucks his hand. Suddenly his whole body tenses and he stands stock straight. His other hand shoots down to his cock and I see the first huge eruption of cum fire up and hit the shower ceiling. The next over his shoulder and behind him. He’s bucking his hips and growling. Literally growling as he orgasms.

He starts to turn and I panic, closing the door to only a crack and tip-toeing back to my bed. I use an old pair of underwear to mop up my load and sit on the mattress listening to the sounds of the shower and feeling my fresh erection throb. This is worse than I ever imagined. I have feelings for him that are far more complicated than I really realized before today.

“Fuckity.”

It’s been two weeks since I measured Mikey and to my relief we’ve been too busy with classes to have any more awkward incidents. Well, awkward and hot (hotkward? New word?). I’ve been waking up early to minimize bathroom crossover time, and keeping music on during our drives to school. He’s being as Mikey as ever; beaming his bright smile and effortlessly loving life. We lunch together most days on the quad and we catch up on how classes are going. Which is great. I’m loving the Works more and more every day, and Jack has proven every bit the mentor I hoped he would be.

Mikey reports his classes are going well, and he gets asked out by both women and men on a daily basis. I’ve personally witnessed this once. A confident blond junior with athletic build and tight sundress, her hair curled and face perfectly made up. Shit, she even wore false eyelashes for the occasion. Mikey listened eagerly as she spoke and then begged off in the kindest way I’ve ever seen. Explaining that he really needed to focus on school for the time being and wouldn’t be dating anyone any time soon. I smiled reflexively as she walked off dejectedly.

Yeah, things were going well. I was even enjoying my required humanities and science coursework. My only issue so far has been my cafeteria bully from the first day. Turns out he’s in my geology lecture (my advisor said it was the easiest choice to fulfill the science requirement). It seems once that he clocked me as gay and vulnerable he was locked on target. Any time I’m near central campus I stumble into his path.

His name is Brett, I found out after another near incident when he catcalled me from across the science courtyard. He’s six feet of solid jackass, clearly the loudest of a group of guys most people avoid on instinct. Before meeting Mikey I would have called him a big and muscular, but my definition of the term big has changed. Superhero level or not, he’s still way bigger and stronger than me. He spends every lecture snickering and elbowing his buddies before coughing “faggot” in my direction or throwing trash at me the moment the professor turns her back. Fucking juvenile, I know, but he does this thing where he gets close. And quiet. So only I can hear the vile shit he’s whispering. In my experience this kind of focus will immediately turn to violence the moment he can corner me.

So I don’t give him the opportunity. I scurry across the campus like a rat anytime I’m not with Mikey. I skipped a lecture or two when I spotted him lingering by the door. Today is one of those days, and I head back to The Works to put some time in on my first project in Pattern Making 101: a pair of sturdy and supple chinos and a button front shirt for Mikey. Once fitted and measured, these basic patterns I can adjust to make him just about anything.

“Hi Adam,” Jack says, approaching my workstation and picks up a loose pattern piece with a deft, elegant hand. “This is looking promising. Big though, I assume these aren’t for you?”

“Hey. Yeah, these are for my roommate. He doesn’t have a lot of clothes that fit,” I say, showing Jack my sketches for the chinos. To my surprise he starts flipping pages, and my cheeks flush crimson as he turns page after page of Mikey-shaped garments, ranging from hip hugging pants and muscle popping shirts, to a rather revealing square-cut speedo I’ve been fantasizing over.

“Hmmm…” Jack says with a sly look in my direction, leaning his lithe body onto his elbows to meet my eye level. “Looks like you found yourself a menswear muse.”

“Heh. Yep. He’s… um… inspiring,” I say, adjusting my plumped dick in my slacks. “Actually I’m just packing up to meet him by the shawarma cart for lunch.”

“Great timing!” Jack replies with an easy smile. “I’m starving. We can talk fabric on the way,” he says, picking up his bag and slinging it over a shoulder.

“Totally,” I say. This isn’t the first time Jack expressed wanting to hang out outside The Works, and I guess he’s taking the initiative. After dodging Brett this morning I welcome the company walking across campus.

Despite his long legs Jack walks slowly, lazily kicking his feet out, hands in pockets. Orange and red leaves drift down around him as he rants about the difficulties of working with silk charmeuse. Fuck I love college. We reach the quad and I easily spot Mikey walking across the grass toward us.

“Hey hey,” Mikey says, pulling me into a tight hug that makes me blush. “This must be Jack,” he adds, extending a hand to the stunned upperclassman. Jack’s jaw is slightly open as he looks my beefy stud of a roommate up and down. Pausing notably at his ample bulge.

Jack takes the massive hand and gulps, before regaining his signature cool composure. “Ha! Did my reputation precede me? I love when it does that. You must be Adam’s muse. You’re in for a real treat, getting a personal wardrobe from this one. He’s already set up to be the star of the freshmen class.”

“See. I knew you were a genius,” Mikey says, throwing an arm around both of us and walking toward the food carts. “I need protein. Tell me everything about my roommate’s incredible genius while we eat.”

Forty-five minutes later and the three of us are laughing like mad under a tree while Mikey recounts the drunken exploits of his high school teammates.

“And then he falls off the bleachers, arms windmilling wildly as he tips over backward, catching the banner as he goes. It trailed after him like a rhythmic gymnast holding one of those ribbon wand things!” Mikey finishes through bursts of laughter.

“No!” says Jack, entranced, “The same banner his girlfriend made in spirit squad?”

“Yes! It was like a cartoon. I can still see it happening in slow motion in my mind,” Mikey sighs, closing his eyes leaning back to let the dappled light dance across his face. I glance over at Jack and see his eyes lingering on Mikey’s biceps, pecs, before darting away out of prudence or politeness.

Now that more time has passed and I’ve acclimated to Mikey being around, I’ve found myself watching other people ogle him and much as I ogle him myself. And so many people do it. Men, women, non-binary people, professors, little old ladies at the grocery store, you name it; if they’re into muscle or dick or both, they’re undressing Mikey with their eyes. And I love watching people eye fuck him. It makes me feel normal.

Another thing I’ve noticed is that he’s very aware of when it’s happening. He’ll spot a lurker, and I’ll see him assess the person. People who seem aggressive or gross he’ll avoid pretty thoroughly. But if they seem shy, or sweet, or if they’re (at least what I would call) cute, he’ll get this slight smile and I swear he’ll angle his best parts toward them. Casually avoiding eye contact while he stretches or flexes. They’ll blush and look away, and then he’ll smirk to himself and adjust his monster dick in his worn jeans. It all plays out in a few blinks, but it’s the cockiest I see him, and it drives me wild.

Jack is definitely in this second category for Mikey. And I’m literally sitting in the middle soaking up the energy between them. Even with their clear attraction to one another, I’m not feeling left out or overlooked by either of them. Mikey’s knee is even touching mine every now and again, and I know it’s intentional because he shoots me a smile with each touch. I always feel safer when Mikey’s around.

“Okay. Time’s flying. I’ve got to get to Art History,” Jack says after a lull, gathering up our lunch containers and grabbing his messenger bag. “Please tell me this can be a regular thing?” he asks both of us, and we nod enthusiastically.

We watch as my lanky mentor rises to his full height, brushes off his slim legs and pert ass, and heads off toward east campus. After about 20 paces he turns and shoots us both a wink and a devilish smile.

“He’s awesome. I can see why you like him,” Mikey says, smiling down at his big hands. “Hey, did you cut Geology today? I waited outside the lecture hall for you,” he asks, still not meeting my eyes.

“Oh. Um. Yeah, I kinda did,” I admit, blushing. Shit. My turn to look down. “It’s not a big deal. I’ll make it up.”

“Oh, totally. I’m not like… I’m not trying to scold you or anything. I just thought I’d surprise you and was confused when you weren’t in class,” he assures me quickly. “Why’d you skip it?”

“Oh, I just got caught up in what I was doing at the Works,” I lie. I’m not sure why I don’t want Mikey to know about Brett harassing me. Maybe I’m just embarrassed to be dealing with bullying as an adult. Maybe I’m still a bit butt hurt from when Mikey stayed quiet when I was being bullied as a kid. Either way I know I don’t want to tell him. Even though now that I meet his gaze and he mine, I feel like he knows I’m hiding something immediately. If he really can tell I’m lying, he doesn’t let on.

“Cool cool. Just don’t fuck up your science credit making me clothes, okay?” he says, standing up and offering me a hand. I take it and enjoy the ride as he effortlessly lifts me to standing. He throws his arm around my shoulder and pulls me tight for a moment. “Where are you headed now?”

“Library. Got my first essay assignment in English,” I say, gesturing across the quad. “You’ve got Western Civ, right?”

“Ugh. Yes. So boring,” Mikey laughs.

“Ha. Yes. And useless,” I snort back, “So meet at the car at 4?”

“No need to walk alone. I’ll come find you in the Library when I’m out. About 3 p.m.?” Mikey says with a slap on my back and a quick left toward his class, loping off quickly on long, strong legs. I swear he does that so I can’t argue. Sigh. Fine. Off to study.

Two days later I walk through Mikey’s open bedroom door. “Hey! You got a sec to try on these chinos?” I ask, standing in the bathroom door to Mikey’s bedroom. “Oops, sorry,” I stammer, realizing he’s in nothing but his boxer briefs. His one pair of notably nice boxer briefs. The designer-label ones with the tailored pouch which he’d somehow managed to shove himself into; the waistband pulled down by the weight of his ample genitals, the light blue material straining to contain his girth.

“No worries, Adam, come in,” he says, gesturing me into his room and holding up two very similar ratty band shirts, one in black and one in a faded red. “Your timing is perfect. I have a date tonight and need to pick an outfit.”

Did he say date? Holy shit. Someone got through Mikey’s dating deflection. I’m dying to ask who it was. Should I ask? Wouldn’t he have offered the info if he wanted me to know? Why wouldn’t he want me to know? Oops. I’ve been standing with my mouth open for way too long. He’s holding the shirts in front of himself one after the other, eyebrows raised in question.

“Oh! Um. Yeah, what kind of date? Cuz those shirts both say dive bar,” I reply, cringing slightly at the armpit holes on one. I immediately see the excitement drop out of his face and feel a pang in my heart. “Come on. Nothing impresses like a personal tailor. You can wear the chinos! And I’ve got some older shirts of my dad’s that might fit you pretty well, too. Let’s see…”

I head into the den to grab the chinos off my work table, and he follows in his undies. I hand the pants over, loving the warm caramel color in the light. “The cotton has some stretch, but I tailored them pretty tight,” I admit

“Sweet! This color is so rich,” Mikey gushes, his eyes sparkling. Swoon.

I turn to dig through my hand me down boxes looking for a shirt to match as he pulls the pants up his ripped thighs, grunting as he slowly, gently forces the fabric up around his ass. I pick out a black polo I had practiced some embroidery on (I meant the monogram to be a compass but it came out more like a little clock). I turn to offer it to Mikey and find he’s gotten the chinos on.

My heart jumps into my throat and my eager cock floods. I fought the rush of blood with every ounce of decency and sanity I could muster. For a moment I was successful, but seeing his body fill and stretch something I made for him brings me to full mast surprisingly fast. I tuck my turgid member under the waist of my jeans, hiding it as best I can as I walk up to (ahem) check the fit.

Standing shirtless and barefoot, afternoon sun streaming in through the high basement windows, he looks like a fucking calendar model. He twists to see the fit along his legs, lifting a foot and arching his abs, chiseled like a cobblestone road. His pecs are a shelf of power rising with each breath, his huge biceps pushing peaks as he moves. He must’ve been doing crunches for his date, because a vein as thick as my finger runs across his abs, down his adonis belt and under the waistband of his underwear. I watch as it pulses slightly in rhythm with my own cock. Fuck me. Kill me. Either way, do it soon.

“Come on, what’s the verdict?” His words snap me out of my reverie. Okay, now or never. Just get it over with. I step close and grab the waistband, tugging the pants up a quarter inch.

“Waist seems perfect,” I say, ignoring my erection hiding under my untucked shirt. “Turn for me,”

He spins, showing me his meaty ass, the perfect globes filling the material just to the point of tension without activating the stretch. I feel the heat radiating off his body, smell the scent of his skin fresh from the shower. I drop to my knees to check the hem.

“Turn to your left,” I say, watching the tug and drape of the cotton as he moves. “How do they feel? Any discomfort? Any pulling or restriction?”

“Nope! I mean, they’re tight, but the material is so soft it’s not restrictive anywhere. It’s like a second skin,” he says, moving more dramatically, lifting his knees high and walking in place. He turns to face me while I’m still kneeling. “Do I look okay?”

I snort. Is he serious? I wonder for a second if it’s a trap (old conditioning dies hard) until I see the earnest appeal on his face.

“Oh. I’m sorry. I just assumed you know you always look hot. And yes, in those pants you look what I would call ‘ridiculously hot.’” I say, standing up and blushing. “But don’t take my word for it, mirror’s over there.”

He grabs me by my shoulders and pulls me into a hug. I melt a bit as he presses my face into his pec, the soft dusting of hair tickling my cheek. Then he surprises me and leans in to lay a kiss on my cheek. He’s close enough for me to taste his breath on my tongue. It’s minty.

“You know,” he mumbles, breaking the hug and walking to the mirror, “you always smell like cinnamon.”

“It’s a styptic agent,” I say still dizzy from the adrenaline, cock still at attention under my waistband. “Stops the bleeding when I prick myself with a straight pin.”

“That’s both adorably nerdy and impressively resourceful,” Mikey says with a smirk. He picks up the polo and pulls it on, tight across his pecs, nipples hard. It’s short on him but the chinos sit at his actual waist so the garments just barely graze each other. The perfect tease.

“Oh my god. These pants feel amazing,” he says, assessing himself in the mirror head to toe. He palms his massive mound, reveling in the heft, and slaps the outside of his thighs appreciatively. He tugs the hemline of the shirt down a half inch, only to have it rise back up as he moves.

“Fuck, I do look hot,” he sighs, and then he starts flexing. Pumping his arms in and out, forcing blood into his already hot, hard flesh, swelling in the snug clothes. He sees the pump his flex has given him and I see his brain switching into workout mode. He works his way through each muscle group, forcing veins to pop up and throb across his neck and biceps, the hard peaks of flesh forcing the short sleeves to bunch around his armpits. The polo collar stretches open as his pecs inflate, getting firmer and fuller with each breath.

He’s breathing roughly now, his eyes lit up like green flames. He shakes his thighs, letting the weight of the muscle fill his pants (my pants) to the point of breaking. Even his calves stretch the cotton, bunching up and down as he bounces on the balls of his feet. He palms his crotch again, a steady stroke of his thumb from the waistband down, guiding his swelling cock into an arc over his balls as it lengthens and expands. The fat shaft pushes the brass zipper out with visible force, already huge but still flexible, still only a semi. He groans low in his throat and pulls a tight, veiny most-muscular pose, filling every inch of his torso and grunting hard with effort.

Holy fuck, how is he doing this. He’s growing bigger and harder right in front of me. No weights, just fucking force of will. I swear I can feel the room stretching around him as he radiates energy. Pop. A thread snaps somewhere around his chest. Pop. Another between his thighs. I actually hear the teeth of the zipper crunch slightly from the growing force of Mikey’s tremendous fuck-stick and I lose it. My own cock erupts, shooting a massive load under my shirt. I gasp as spurt after spurt of hot cream coats my stomach, my unit throbbing fast under the waistband of my jeans. His eyes meet mine as I exhale a whimper. He smirks that fucking smirk.

“Thanks, Adam. So much,” Mikey says, turning toward me. I want to tackle him. I want to run my hands all over his body and—“Jack’s not going to know what hit him!”

Did he say Jack? My Jack? That muscle bound douche-nozzle was going on a date with my mentor? Fuck, do I like Jack? I don’t know if I’m mad or just spun. I picture Mikey holding Jack like he just held me. At 6’ 2”, Jack is almost tall enough to meet his 6’ 5” gaze. I imagine them kissing, and feel a combination of dread and arousal wash over me. I suddenly realize I’ve still got a hands-free load cooling under my shirt.

I sigh to myself and head to the shower to rinse off, and either cry or jerk off again. Possibly both.

Mikey gets home shortly before midnight. After an evening of processing I’ve come to the conclusion that I am being ridiculous and Mikey can do whatever he wants with whomever he wants. No skin off my nose. I would be pissed if he suddenly cared who I dated. … Even if I were dating the one person who’s treated him well and endangering his degree and stability in his department, throwing everything into possible chaos and upheaval. But that’s what he does, isn’t it. He heaves things upward.

Okay. So maybe I’m still a bit salty. I’m sitting at my sewing machine when he comes home and heads down to our basement. He’s got a slight frown on his face and his hands in his pockets. I pull my headphones out of my ears and look up at him.

“How was your date?” I ask, trying not to sound cold.

“Um. It was good. But I don’t think Jack will want a second date,” he says sheepishly. “I don’t think I was very good company tonight. We mainly just talked about you. I… mainly just talked about you.”

The silence hangs thick in the air between us. I feel my brows knit together in frustration and confusion. What the fuck did that mean?!

“Anyway. Would it be cool if I worked out? I’m feeling kinda bleh and it always makes me feel better.”

“Yeah. Sure,” I say. “Cool if I keep doing what I’m doing?”

“Of course. As long as you put the music on the bluetooth speaker. It helps the pump,” Mikey says, stripping off the black polo and then removing his new chinos. Folding them carefully and placing them on an empty spot on my work table. I try not to glance down at his epic meat stretching his boxer briefs… more than once at least.

He heads to his room momentarily and resurfaces in workout gear. My dad gave him a bunch of his old tank tops that dangle loosely from Mikey’s shoulders and hang to midriff, but those he usually discards as soon as he breaks a sweat. His shorts on the other hand are his from high school. They must have fit him well when he was 16, but now the light blue shorts are like a second skin. The seams are pulled taught and threadbare.

I connect my phone to bluetooth and press play. Nico Vega’s Beast starts its steady thrum, the beat heavy and the riff rough. Apparently it’s leg day, and Mikey starts out with the jump rope to warm up. Bouncing on the balls of his feet like a boxer, I can see his ample bulge flop heavily in front of him. He keeps glancing down, watching the meat swing from his vantage between his muscle tits. I feel the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end as he licks his lips, watching his basket swell. He drops the rope and reaches down to adjust himself, clearly not caring that I’m watching. Or maybe, from the corner of his eye, he’s showing me? Performing for me? His hand leaves his dick and adjust the straps of what I now see is a jockstrap underneath the tight shorts.

Mikey crosses the room to his heavy bar and loads it for squats, I try to count the plates but I’m trying not to seem too interested, it’s a lot of weight. 280 pounds? That feels insane to me. He tears off his tank top and positions himself right across from my sewing machine, facing me. He hoists the plates onto his frame in the squat position.

He locks eyes with me as he starts his first descent, massive thighs filling every inch of those old shorts. Sweat glistens across his face and chest as he rises and falls, finding a rhythm in the song for his heavy breathing. The worn nylon shorts start to make their way up his legs with each drop and his bulge—holy fuck his bulge—stretches the fabric knuckle-white as it tries to contain his massive cock. The grunting starts and I grip the sides of my table, mesmerized. I feel my head rise and fall involuntarily with my roommate’s massive form. As the music builds tempo so does Mikey, a cocky smirk tweaking the corner of his mouth, his eyes flashing with power. That’s when he starts to grow.

With every push upward he rises slightly taller. His delts swell large and round under the heavy bar, his arms following suit. His chest pushes outward, further defining the crevice between his meaty pecs. As he drops his quads grow thicker, unbelievably hard, pushing up against swelling calves. The material stretches to its limits and beyond, pulled so thin now I can see veins outlined underneath.

“Fuuuuuck Yeeeeeah!” he groans loudly as his epic thighs and alpha muscle ass pump huge and burst through the seams of his shorts, shredding the fabric with audible relief. He drops the bar and rises to his full height. I barely register the impact as I look up, astonished: his head brushes the basement ceiling now. He flexes and twitches a moment, letting his new bulk settle on new bones. His body glistens with sweat and his pupils are blown out with lust.

He meets my eyes, breathing ragged through his smirk, and looks down. I follow his gaze to its prize; down his heaving pecs, broad as dinner plates, nipples pointing downward, hard and bright pink; down his brick wall of an abdomen, individual muscles popping and rippling with his expanding lungs; down to his ravaged shorts, little more than hanging shreds of blue nylon pulsing toward me at eye level by a truly monstrous bulge.

Mikey hooks a thumb into the waistband, and with a slow steady pull, tears the material from his body without the slightest strain. He lets the blue tatters drop from his hands, revealing a dark red jockstrap pulled quivering and taut as a bowstring across the fat, fist-sized head of his cock, several soupcan-thick inches of shaft exposed as the waistband stretches downward helplessly.

He walks toward me, closing the distance with a few slow strides, the monster basket bobbing from side to side as his massive thighs fight each other for dominance. He reaches my sewing table and pushes it aside with one hand, it slides across the floor easily, exposing my satin pajama bottoms, tented large by my own diamond-hard cock. I freeze in my seat, his still-pouched cock inches from my salivating mouth.

“Sorry. I can’t keep doing this with you. I need you to know.” With those words he clenches his ass and flexes his cock once with a lewd grunt. The jockstrap, able to take no more, snaps like a rubber band and shoots past my cheek.

His majestic fuck club bounces freely in the air between us, radiating heat and smelling like sweat and holy fuck it’s still growing. Free from the constraint of his jock Mikey’s prodigious member continues to swell and rise until it’s almost smacking him in his abs. Thick veins ran from a baseball-sized head down a shaft as thick as my forearm. His kiwi-fruit-sized balls bounce as he flexes and grows.

“Measure it,” he says. “I want you to know.” I bite my bottom lip and pull the measuring tape from where I keep it draped around my neck with a trembling hand. I reach out and wrap my hand around his shaft at the midway point, my fingers far from meeting. It was hot to the touch, hard as stone wrapped in velvet. I feel a vein pulse heavy under my fingers as I attempt to pull it down parallel to the floor to measure it. His beast mode erection won’t budge. Mikey flexes it, pulling me roughly to standing with just his cock, and chuckles.

“Here,” he says, placing one hand at the base and pointing his massiveness at me. I run my hands up and down his cock, worshiping, learning, memorizing every square inch of it. Finally I wrap the tape around his thickest point for his girth, and run it from base to tip along the top. Seeing the numbers I moan out loud.

“Say it,” he commands. “Out loud.”

I swallow, my mouth suddenly dry. “Eight and a half inches around. Eleven and three eighths inches long.”

“Fuck. Yeah.” His hand shoots out and grabs my pajama shirt, wrenching the fabric open, tearing seams and scattering buttons. “On your knees.” I obey, and he starts to jack his massive weapon with both hands, pointing it at me at the end of each stroke like a cannon. His mouth was hanging open and he was moaning outright, his gaze ran up and down my pale body, hungry with lust.

“Jerk off with me?” he says, his voice suddenly softer, more urgent. A check in. “Please?”

I don’t need to be asked twice. I shove my pajamas and briefs down to my knees in one push. I wrap a tight fist around my thick 7.5” and rapidly thrust myself in and out.

“Oh shit,” he says, seeing me pound my own hand in rapture, “you’re so fucking hot,” he sputters as he speeds up his own double-handed jacking to match my pace. I saw that fat, epic fuck pole swell one more time, filling out the skin to the max and going hard as polished concrete and I start shooting my load in ribbons up onto his red hot pole.

“Aw yeah, here it comes!” he gasps as his cock erupts ropes of cum onto my chest and face. I feel the impact, counting them out: three shots, five shots, pouring down my stomach in rivulets, slicking my own still jerking hand. I was still fisting my prick roughly as he shot his 13th and last spurt of hot white liquid. He half moans, half chuckles as he shakes the last trailing bit of cum from his monster mushroom cockhead and gives his shaft a slow, appreciative stroke.

“Ohohoho yes. That was fucking overdue,” he says, pulling me into an embrace, my pants still around his ankles. Cum dripping off the walls.. Looking up at him I’m dumbstruck. Who the fuck is this person, half big goof, half veiny muscle dom?

“Sorry about your pjs,” he says, looking over the mess sheepishly and seeing my sewing table askew and tattered fabrics on the floor. I felt a chill all over as the epic money shot cools on our skin. “I guess we’ve got some things to discuss.”

“Come on,” I say, “let’s get cleaned up before dad gets home.” Jesus, that was a jarring prospect. We grab towels out of the clean laundry and head through his room to the bathroom. I can feel him close behind me as I walk, heat radiating off Mikey’s muscles, his breath hot and close to my neck. When we reach the bathroom he sidesteps me and starts the water running. I wet a washcloth in the sink and start a sponge bath. Mikey pokes his head out of the shower stall.

“You coming?” he asks, completely casually. Fuck. I need a cold shower and some fucking time to think, not a hot shower full of hormone-muscle-beast thoughts. Jesus fuck, what was going on? “There isn’t enough hot water for both of us. Just get in.”

Begrudgingly (really, I swear I hesitated) I climb into the shower with my friend. He takes up most of the space, but has given me the area closest to the shower head, so it’s cramped but warm. He tucks his arms in quite a bit to fit in the cone of the spray, and now he has to hunch his shoulders a bit too. All this bunches up his torso into a barrel of writhing snakes, his abs clenching tight above his softening cock, swinging fat and heavy, bouncing off the tops of his bull balls.

I turn my back to him and run my head under the spray. I scrub the drying cum from my hair and face, then my chest. I jump when I feel his hands on my back, slick with soap. His palms feel huge as they rub broad circles from my waist to my shoulders, strong fingers trailing after to explore my shape. I sigh and relax into his touch, which was all the encouragement he needs, apparently. One hand slips around to my belly as the other cups my ass. One thick finger tracing its way through my asscrack, grazing my hole before hooking under my taint. I gasp as he applies pressure and gently lifts me onto tiptoes, balancing my body against his with a firm hand on my chest. He lowers me down and slides his newly freed hand around to my cock, almost tentatively. Now flush against him, I feel his cock begin to swell in the small of my back. He growls low in his throat as he strokes my now completely hard dick.

I look up at him, craning my neck to see his face. I have to get some idea of what he’s thinking about all this. Our eyes meet and I melt. He’s looking at me with such need, such unabashed… pain. Shit. He’s wincing. I turn around and start looking him over for an injury, but I can’t find any. Not a bruise, not a cut, not a contusion anywhere on his perfect, rock-hard, slippery body.

“What’s wrong?” I ask. “What hurts?”

He chuckles. “Um, kind of everything. After I grow like that, there’s just this dull ache, everywhere. Particularly in my legs and back, but, you know, everywhere. It gets intense. Really bad at night.”

“Growing pains,” I mumble. This is actually fascinating. If I were more scientifically gifted I would record data.

“Finish showering. I’ll be back in a minute,” I say, quickly rinsing off the last of Mikey’s tremendous load and hopping out of the tub. I towel off and throw on some black briefs and a t-shirt. With boners forgotten and caretaker mode activated, I head to my dad’s bathroom for his rather extensive first aid kit. I grab heat packs, Tiger Balm and ibuprofen and head back downstairs. I enter Mikey’s room and find him just coming out of the bathroom, a towel around his waist.

“Put on something to sleep in, and meet me in my room.”

“I’m really fine,” he protests, seeing the first aid kit. He’s walking tenderly, though.

“Not fine. No arguing. Do as you’re told for once.” My turn to dom, I guess.

I go to my room, pile the pain relief supplies on my nightstand and dig the old heated blanket out of my closet. I turn to my door when I hear the floor creak under my behemoth of a roommate. He stands in the doorway, filling the frame with his broad shoulders and new height, wearing a white t-shirt and red, square-cut boxer briefs. I eye his soft member, clearly outlined, curving off to the right in the tightly packed pouch, before shaking my head to clear the horny cobwebs.

“Get on the bed,” I instruct, “Stretch out as best you can.”

He groans a little as he plops down, and my full-size bed squeaks a protest to his mass. Lying down fully he just barely fits, his enormous feet hanging an inch or two off the end of the mattress. I crack one of the heat packs and massage the chemical contents to life.

“Lift up your butt.” He obliges with a smirk and I pointedly ignore his massive bulge rising to meet me. Instead I look at his powerhouse thighs, veins pumping away. I put the heat pack under his lower back and he eases himself down on top of it with a sigh. I put two more heat packs at his knees and grab the Tiger Balm. It’s a thick ointment with camphor, menthol and clove. I swear by the stuff. I slick up my hands with balm and look down at my patient.

“Try not to enjoy this too much,” I say, seeing his eyes light up.

“Right back at you,” he replies, putting his hands behind his head and spreading his thick legs for better access.

I start at his feet, which are as long as my forearm and heavy as fuck. I work my thumbs into his high arches and he moans in pleasure. I massage balm into his heels and the balls of his feet, working my way through each toe, one by one. I love the way his massive feet feel in my hands. The menthol in the balm opens up my lungs and I inhale Mikey’s scent deeply. He smells clean and masculine with an underlying sharpness. Sweat, soap, and iron.

I work my way up his calves, applying more balm and working it into the muscles with my fingers, thumbs on either side of his shin bones. His definition is crazy, I can feel each individual muscle that makes up his calf. I lighten my pressure as I slide a hand into the pit of his knee, rubbing little circles with two fingers. He gasps and bucks his hips, his fat cock visibly thickening and pushing against the cotton-lycra blend. I smile and do the other calf up to the other knee. He’s anticipating it this time, so the only sound he makes is a sort of low growl.

I move to the side of the bed and massage his thighs. Or at least I try, they’re solid as granite and bigger around than my waist. I need more leverage. With a resigned sigh and an undeniable erection in my tight black calvies, I climb on top of Mikey reverse cowboy style. He shifts underneath me and I shoot a hand out to brace myself on the wall. It’s like riding a mechanical bull. I’m sitting right on his package now and I feel him swell beneath me.

“Think of baseball,” I say.

“My cock is too big for a regulation cup,” he responds huskily, his massive shaft pumping larger between my ass cheeks.

“Ah,” I gasp as I feel him growing, “Then think of your grandma.”

“... Dude. Ew.”

I feel his girth recede a bit at that. Thank god. I slide myself forward a little to rub his thighs. This is a better vantage, I assure myself, leaning into his muscles with my full weight. As I work my way down toward his knees, I’m basically laying myself across him from taint to tip, my own hardness impossible to hide. I feel his broad hand caress my back and he moans again as I work the muscle, encouraged.

“Okay,” I say, climbing off him and adjusting my throbbing dick. “Roll over. Lose the shirt.”

He eagerly peels his shirt off, tossing it aside and rolling over. I move the heat packs from his knees to under his shoulders and move to climb back aboard.

“One sec,” he says, reaching underneath himself and arranging his massive member. He settles back down, and puts his hands under the pillow, flaring his lats out like massive wings. “K. Climb on.”

I swing my leg over and straddle the massive globes of his perfect ass. My dick throbs and I can’t help it, I press myself against him and a tiny moan escapes my lips. He chuckles happily and clenches his butt cheeks playfully around my shaft.

“Focus, Adam. Think of your grandma,” he says, vindicated.

“Shut. Up,” I chuckle.

I lean forward and massage balm into his lower back. Working the heels of my hands up either side of his spine and following the rise and fall of his huge, striated back muscles. I reach his shoulder blades and have him tuck an arm behind his back, bringing the point of the scapula up and out. I push my fingers beneath the ridge the bone creates and Mikey groans in pain and satisfaction. I repeat the process on the other shoulder blade and then start rapidly thumping his back with balled fists just to get the blood pumping.

I’m pretty much done, but something comes over me, and I’m not about to give up my seat of power. I lay down on top of him, my chest and belly narrow on his broad back, and push up into upward facing dog. The curve of my taut body follows the natural S of his spine and my hard dick presses into the crease between his hard glutes. He spreads his hands and grips the sheets of my bed, humping the mattress beneath us. His meaty ass bumps me up and down like a rag doll. He spreads his legs so his knees could find purchase and my body slid down between his legs. He was panting into the pillow now, that same low growl barely audible. I watch his epic bubble butt pumping his cock up and down my bed, his huge balls bulging obscenely between his thighs. I shove my hand into my briefs and start furiously stroking my dick. I’m getting close really quick and then it hits me.

“Stop. Hold up,” I say, tapping Mikey’s thighs.

“What? What’s wrong?” He’s stopped completely. I smile at that. Hey, consent is sexy.

“Don’t cum on my bed,” I chide. “Seriously, you’re like a fire hose.”

“Aw fuck,” Mikey laughs, rolling over and tangling me in his legs in the process. We sort our limbs out and both flop back on the bed, face up, side by side. I sneak a peek at his gorgeous fuck stick. Thick, hot and glistening with precum, a good 7’ sticking straight up past the waistband of his boxer briefs. He turns his head to the left and looks me up and down, sprawled out next to him.

“Fuck. I want to cum again. I want you so fucking bad,” he growls, gripping his shaft hard. “I’ve wanted you since the moment I saw you again.”

“Jesus Christ, yes. I wanna feel you cum,” I answer, reaching for him, arms outstretched.

He rolls on top of me and I feel the crushing mass of muscle tense and writhe above me. He rips my t-shirt off of me with one hand, lifting me off the bed momentarily in the process. I shuck my briefs before he destroys those too. I wrap my hands behind his thick neck and my legs around his waist, my face between his ample pecs. He hooks a thumb into his boxer briefs and pulls them down his legs. Then slides his fat, throbbing monster cock between our bodies. From cock to solar plexus I feel him throb and thrust, coating us both with precum. I feel his massive delts jump as his hands grip the mattress.

I grind my whole body against his torso and dick, running my tongue between his hard pecs and nipping at his taut pink nipples when I find them. I feel the incredible power of his thrusting hips between my thighs and dig my heels into his perfect bubble butt for balance. He arches his back and brings me up to his face, and for a moment we just lock eyes and marvel at one another. Then he goes in for a kiss, tentatively at first. Trying it out.

I close the gap and shut my eyes, lost in lust. It was as if it were the one last hesitation; the line between messing around and actually having sex. Later I’d think of tonight as a tipping point, as if somehow everything that came before it—our history, the flirtation, the looks, the longing—could be excused as boys being boys (filthy perverted boys). But when we kiss, when I feel his tongue caress mine, when I run my fingers through his hair and we fervently hump to an explosive, mutual orgasm (sheets be damned)… well, all bets were off.

I feel him tense up and he groans into my mouth, my own dick starts shooting, spasm after spasm of intense relief and overwhelming pleasure rocking me against his monstrous prick. He orgasms and I feel every drop surge through his massive shaft, his cockhead swelling and hardening beyond hard against me. I still can’t believe the amount he comes. I’m coated in big gushes from navel to sternum. He collapses on top of me and I breathe in his scent, hot in my lungs.

He kisses my neck and rolls onto his back, carrying me and our mutual mess with him. He sits up and I slide down his abdomen into his lap. He licks a little of his spunk off my collar bone and I shiver with sensation.

“How do you taste?” I ask.

He makes a soft smacking noise with his lips, as if savoring himself. “Hmmm. Kinda salty.”

I snort-laugh and lean my head against him. “Fuck, I’m exhausted.”

“Damn. I could go again,” he says, matter of factly.

The next morning I wake up warm and secure, feeling Mikey’s heavy pecs pressed against my back. His slow sleepy breathing makes the fuzz of his chest hair tickle my back a little and I grin to myself and squirm a bit as he inhales. My ass wiggles a bit and I feel his massive erection flex between my cheeks. Fuck. It feels so thick and hot pressed into me I’m not sure how I missed it a moment ago. My hole tenses at the thought of taking his massive endowment up my ass, but my cock throbs to full attention. I can’t help it, I press myself against him and grind his cock eagerly. He moans sleepily into my hair and his big arms pull me tight.

“Morning,” Mikey says, grinding back and making me shiver with pleasure. “Ugh, I’m so sore. Please tell me it’s the weekend.”

I’m kinda blurry still myself so I pull my phone out to be double sure. Sunday morning, 7:40 a.m. I breathe out a sigh of relief as it registers that I have nowhere to be but here.

“Yep, it’s Sunday,” I say, settling back into the little spoon position and scooting my body close to Mikey’s warm center of mass. He pulls me into the bubble of warmth and covers us with my blanket, curling around me and kissing the top of my head. He’s capable of such incredible strength, I’m a little surprised with hom gentle he can be. Not delicate by any means, his hands are like granite and his grip feels unwavering, but unmistakably not meant to hurt. When he hugs me, I feel how much power he’s restraining, and I marvel at his control.

I roll over in his arms and take his face in my hands, pulling myself up to kiss him deeply, only wincing slightly at my own morning breath. I get over it quickly, because kissing Mikey appears to be my purpose on this earth, and pretty soon we’re wildly making out again. The enormous muscle beast lift/rolls me onto my back and starts to kiss his way down my neck, his prodigious telephone pole of a cock throbbing against my leg and his hands roaming across my belly down to my own pulsing member. He growls low as he wraps his hand around my shaft and I gasp.

Just then we hear the sound of keys clumsily jingling in the front door upstairs. Our bedrooms are directly under the entrance and I can hear that my dad’s just gotten home from a night shift at the hospital. It was a 10-hour shift and I can hear the exhaustion in his steps.

“Shit. I… this is… shit!” I rapidly whisper, sitting up abruptly and bonking Mikey in the face.

“What, what’s happening?!” Mikey says, looking around for the source of my frustration. Then he hears my dad’s footsteps above us.

“Oh, yeah, shit. Probably not the best way to find out about us, huh?” he mutters, looking down his massive pecs and rolling cobblestone abs to his monster torpedo cock. A drop of pre-cum drips down from his fat cock head and lands near my own rigid erection (adding that to my spank bank, aaaaand, moving on).

“Shower. Now. I’ll get my dad landed in bed,” I say quickly, hopping up and looking for a clean-enough pair of underwear that’s also tight enough to strap down my erection. I smell like sex and dude but I throw my robe on anyway and head upstairs.

I find my dad standing at the fridge looking lost in just his scrub pants. He’s already shucked his nursing shoes by the door and pulled off his scrub top, which is tossed onto the growing laundry pile in the living room. He’s absentmindedly scratching his furry belly with a pout on his beardy face.

“Hey Dad. How was work?” I ask, making sure my robe is closed.

“S’all right. Sharon needs me to cover her 3rd watch so I’m back there in 8 hours.” He sighs, finally selecting a slice of leftover veggie pizza from the fridge and munching on it lazily. “How was your night? You two get up to any trouble?”

“Heh. Um. Nope. Just sewing and lifting,” I lie, feeling a reflexive knot in my stomach. “We’re simple men with simple needs.”

“Mmhmm.” He smiles sleepily and ruffles my already-messy bed-head. “Well, I’m crashing. Carol is picking me up at 2:30, so take the car if you need. Keys are on the thing. Love you, kiddo.”

And with that he trundles up the stairs to sleep. Fuck. I hate lying to him. I’m not even sure why I am. It’s not that I think he’d be angry. Or weirded out. I’ve been out since I was old enough to express preferences, this isn’t a surprise. It’s just, what are the rules for dating your roommate that your dad has promised he’d watch out for. Not that we’re dating. Hooking up with. Hooking up with, again, I hope. A lot of agains, I hope. I want to try and take that monster cock every way I can. And also the kissing. That part. And maybe gay marrying him and being able to touch and hold forever and ever. … Holy fuck, I need a cup of coffee and a hot shower.

Twenty-five minutes later I’m headed downstairs with coffee for me and a protein shake for Mikey, who says coffee makes him jittery (and then downs pre workout, go figure). I find him in the bathroom, towel wrapped around his waist, wiping steam from the long mirror. I slowly take him in, starting with his enormous size-14 feet, up his plump and calve muscles to his tree-trunk thighs which top off with an ample bubble butt I could bury my face in. Even in a towel, I can see that perfect peach bounce with his movements. His trim waist tapers in and my eyes follow the graceful upward reach of his spine as his back expands into an imposing lat spread, topped off with his massive shoulders, big as bowling balls but cut and striated so I see every bit of detail as he shaves and brushes teeth.

“Hey, I left you hot water,” he says, smiling at me in the mirror as I drop the drinks on the counter and strip off my robe. He beams a huge grin as I step out of my boxer briefs and my big (by my standards) softie flops against my thigh. He chuckles.

“What?” I say, stepping into the shower and sliding the glass door closed. “What’s funny?”

“You, having no idea how incredibly hot you are,” Mikey says, turning his back on the mirror to face me properly. I can’t help it, I glance down at his bulge. The fluffy white towel does not disappoint. I can see his fat hog hanging down, plump from the hot water (and maybe, apparently, my hotness), the heavy mushroom head clearly defined. Fuck, I might even be able to see the thick vein that snakes across the top of his shaft.

“Do you know how silly that sounds coming from a literal Adonis?” I scoff, ignoring my own rising cock. “I’m a 6. You’re a 15.”

“Well, firstly, I’m an 11.375. You measured last night, remember?” That cocky fucking grin will be the death of me, I swear. “And secondly, you’re deluded if you think you’re a 6. Like, fuck the whole numbers thing, you’re just hot. The way you move, the way you stand, your hot perky ass, your lithe little body. And then you surprise me again and again. Like your hands! They’re huge! And deft, and strong, and so fucking skilled. Then you pull out this big, thick cock!” He snort laughs, gesturing at my growing member, almost to full mast from Mikey’s praise.

I can feel that I’m blushing and I hope it isn’t too noticeable under the spray of hot water. I glance out at my roommate and see him gripping his cock through the towel, his hand working the shaft bigger and bigger as his eyes travel up and down my body. I start to soap more slowly, angling myself toward Mikey in ways I hope are showing off the features he just praised. I close my eyes and step directly under the spray and start to stroke my hard dick. I hear Mikey’s towel drop to the floor.

“Wait! Hold up,” I say suddenly, rinsing the shampoo from my eyes. “We are not doing this again without talking first!”

“Oh, don’t worry, I’ll talk. I love how verbal you are,” he says low and deep, gripping his cock and stepping toward the shower door.

“Not what I meant,” I reply, though my hand starts slowly stroking my shaft again. “No! Shit. Hold on.”

I rinse off fully, turn off the spray, and step out of the shower. To his credit, the lumbering giant seems to have heard my need for non-sexy times and isn’t immediately jumping my bones (bone? We’re both still hard). He even picks his towel off the floor, only to then ceremoniously drape it over just his monster cock like hanging it on a thick, throbbing towel bar. He looks down with pride before tilting his head at me and smirking.

“Clothes. Please,” I beg. “Go put something on so I can focus.”

Mikey makes a pouty face that I want to kiss so badly it hurts, but he goes back through the door to his room (notably leaving it open) to dress. I head to my room to do the same.

Five minutes later and we’re sitting on the orange plaid sofa that separates Mikey’s home gym from my home sewing studio in the basement. He’s thrown on one of his ratty old band tees and a pair of gray sweats that perfectly hug his bubble butt and bouncing bulge. He sits angled (bisexual seating?) with his legs spread and smiles at me warmly.

“So last night got a bit wild, huh?” he says, sheepishly.

“Yeah, you could say that,” I say as I glance around the room at the discarded free weights, shredded gym shorts, and my sewing table literally tossed aside. I spot his destroyed jock strap in the corner and swallow reflexively. “You left last night headed out on a date with another guy. My damn mentor, who I introduced you to.”

Mikey looks down at his hands in his lap for a moment.

“You always tell people you’re not looking for a relationship right now. Not even dating,” I continue. “So I guess I just kinda want to know where we stand.”

He takes a deep breath, meets my gaze, and nods once, determined. “Last night was a mistake.” My stomach drops and I—“No! Not that. That was not a mistake. I mean the date with Jack.”

I must look confused, so Mikey offers kinda rapidly, “Jack asked me out, and the three of us had such a great time on the quad, and I guess I kinda confused some feelings I’ve been having for you as potential feelings for him.”

“Feelings for me?” I ask.

“Yeah. Since the day I came back. Since the first time I hugged you again.” He blushes. “That’s why I always dodge the dating question. I’ve been focussed on my crush.” He reaches out tentatively and takes my hand. “And I just, I needed you to know. Like, how I feel. Because when I left… the way I treated you. The way my friends treated you, and the way I let them… it fucks with me. Like that’s not who I am. And I left you with them. Your dad told me what you went through. The bullying. The fights.”

“They weren’t fights, Mikey, they were beatings. I took beatings,” I say, blinking back tears in spite of myself. “I took so many fucking beatings after you left. It took years for me to figure out that I even could fight back, let alone how. And even then, I… the best I could hope for was sinking my knee into some fucker’s nuts or getting my nails into his face. I… it was a nightmare.”

I’m shaking from the memories, fist clenched in my lap. Sometimes it’s like I’m right back there, and I’m having trouble speaking now. Suddenly I feel Mikey’s arms wrap around me, warm and insanely solid. I relent into his grip and he pulls me into his lap, cradling me and kissing my head, my cheeks, my tears.

“Never again. You hear me? I’ll never let anything like that happen to you again,” My giant friend whispers into my hair. We sit like this for a while in silence, just feeling safe.

Eventually Mikey pulls back and lifts my chin to meet his gaze. “So I guess the answer to your question is, I don’t care where we stand as long as I get to stand there with you,” he says, a cheesy grin plastered on his earnest face.

It’s the following Wednesday and we’re officially dating. That’s what we landed on calling it, after talking out what that means for both of us. We figured out we don’t just want a physical thing, we’re even trying to take the physical side slow, at least until we tell my dad. Out of respect. I was pleasantly surprised that Mikey is excited to go on actual dates. He wants to hold hands in public and snuggle at the movies and win me stuffed prizes at a carnival. Call me jaded, but you have to understand, every guy I messed around with before Mikey did so entirely on the DL. I was (at best) a dirty femme boy secret, not arm candy for the public eye. But this already feels different.

We set our first actual date for Friday. I have to write an American Lit paper that’s due on Friday, and after Monday and Tuesday nights were spent making out and grinding my eager ass on his growing bulge, I realized I might need to spend some time in the library to get it done on time.

I love our college’s library. It’s an old brick beast from the 30’s with lovingly maintained original oak moldings and floral wallpaper and art nouveau sconces. The shelves tower and the chairs creak. The librarians might be original to the building too, as not one of them looks a day under 85 years old. I’ve been parked at a big wooden table for 2 hours, maybe more, under a stack of early 20th century American literature and one book on bodybuilding I grabbed on a whim. It’s hard to tell time here, which is another plus. I check my phone and see that I’ve got about 30 minutes until Mikey picks me up.

I stretch and yawn, shaking off the afternoon haze from my eyes. A few other students were in this section earlier, but now I find myself alone in the corridor of desks that runs between the stacks. Enough literature for now, might as well take a look at the bodybuilding book so I can reshelve before Mikey gets here. I’m really just researching for tailoring purposes, I assure myself as I flip through page after page of classic athletes in tiny posers. I’m not surprised to see a number of the men modeling muscle groups or posing-routine positions aren’t even as big as Mikey, though they’re all extremely well defined. One guy comes close, his dark brown skin glistening in every photo, purple posers snatched into his striated glutes. A confident glean in his eye as he looks at the camera.

“Oh look, faggot’s got himself a skin mag.” I hear the snide chuckle over my shoulder and I wince and shut the book quickly.

“Oh! Don’t stop on my account, go ahead and pull that tiny dick out!” Brett sneers into my ear, his hands gripping the back of my chair hard, holding me in place. He’s whispering, but performatively. Snidely. Like he’s mocking the very space for its expectation of shared respect. “Or is there even in dick in that prissy fucking skirt?”

My stomach is clenched in fear and rage as he reaches a hand over my shoulder to open the book in front of me. “Mmmhmmm. Just as I thought. You like looking at big men, faggot? You’re just dying to get a taste of this, huh?” he jibes, flexing a bicep beside my head. I keep my eyes fixed forward, my teeth grinding in disgust. Fuck this fucker.

“Not really. I like my men with real power.” The words tumble out of my mouth before I can stop them.

“Fuck you say to me?!” he says at full volume, moving a hand to the back of my neck and gripping hard. I wince at the pain, but realize he’s left me an opening.

“I said get your fucking hands off me,” I bark back at an equal volume, startling him. His grip loosens slightly on my neck and I take my chance, sliding down the chair and ducking under the desk, grabbing my book bag off the floor and scrambling to the aisle.

He’s coming around the desk fast, fire in his eyes, but I’m surprisingly fast when in mortal peril and I flat out run toward the end of the stacks, feeling Brett’s massive footsteps shake the room behind me. “Don’t run! We’re having fun!” he calls out, eliciting a shush from the 95 year old librarian hiding somewhere among the literature.

I round the corner and bolt toward the stairs, speeding down them and praying I don’t slip on the polished stone. I can’t hear him behind me now, but I’m not slowing down for anything. I turn into the long hallway heading toward the lobby and sigh with relief. Almost there. I glance over my shoulder to see if he’s following me and walk blindly into what feels like a brick wall. A pair of hands shoot down and grip my shoulders roughly and I realize my mistake. He doubled back and cut me off.

“Gotcha,” Brett says with a sneer curling his lip.

“Let me go,” I say as firmly as I can muster. He starts to half lift/half walk me into an empty classroom off the hallway. This is it, my brain echoes. Get ready to take another beating. How the fuck am I going to explain this to dad. To Mikey. What if it’s worse? What if this is the fucker who kills me?

“Hey! What the hell is going on down here?” Her voice is like a light in the dark, and I crane in his grip to see who’s speaking. My voice feels frozen but if I can shoot her a look, tell her I need help somehow.

“We’re just messing around! Calm down. Jeez,” Brett barks back at the student working the reception desk, a young woman with full curves and a stern intelligence to her pretty face.

“Get your hands off of her!” she calls out, and for a moment I’m afraid she’s talking to someone else entirely before realizing she means me.

I make eye contact with her and shake my head emphatically, no no no.

“That’s not what it looks like. Security!” she calls over her shoulder, keeping one eye on Brett and reaching for her cell phone. His grip releases and he’s already walking down the hall, disappearing around a corner. I slump against the doorframe. Another 2 feet and he’d have had me out of her view. Out of anyone’s view. My head is spinning. She rushes over to me, catching my weight like a fainting debutante in an old movie.

“Hold on. Come here. Sit,” she coos in comfort, ushering me to the reception desk and plopping me in a chair. “What’s your name?”

“Adam. Thank you. I don’t know what would’ve… I. Just. Thank you,” I mutter, trying to get my thoughts under control.

“I’m Claire. Oh, and sorry for any misgendering earlier. I could only see your top and well… Anyway, nice top,” Claire says, handing me a bottle of water.

A rough, loud burst of laughter escapes my lips and I suddenly feel relief wash over me.

“Thanks,” I say with a dry laugh. “I made it.”

“Damn, really?” she says appreciatively.

“Yeah, I’m in the fashion design program,” I reply, then a sickening thought dawns on me. “Shit! I’m going to have to talk to security. What if they want me to file a complaint?”

“Oh, I mean, we can call them when you’re ready. I just yelled that to scare him away. We don’t actually have any security within earshot,” she assures me.

“And… if I don’t want to call security?” I ask.

“Ah. Yeah. I’m not about to make you do anything you don’t want to do,” Claire says with a knowing tone. “But I’m also happy to talk about it, if you want.”

Twenty-five minutes and a lot of way-too-personal sharing later, Claire and I are pretty much bonded for life. She’s a sophomore, majoring in Literature on a partial academic scholarship, hence the work-study. She’s got an effortless comfort vibe that melts my defenses, and I find myself telling her things I wasn’t even aware I was thinking. About Mikey, my dad, fashion, and the Craft Works.

She thinks I should report Brett, but I know what it’s like to report bullying in an academic environment. It’s my word against his (Claire didn’t see him well enough from down the hall to be a witness to anything other than a heated exchange) and the thought of telling some campus security bro what just happened while wearing a silk charmeuse blouse and slacks makes my stomach do backflips. The thought of my dad finding out that I’m being bullied again makes it even worse. And then there’s Mikey…

“Why not tell him? He sounds like the kind of guy who would really want to protect you,” Claire ventures.

“I think that might be exactly why I don’t tell him. We’re still getting to know each other again, and there’s kind of a history with me getting bullied and him not doing anything.”

“Are you scared he’d do that again?”

I shake my head. “I’m scared he’d be so determined to right past wrongs, that he’d do something rash. He’s… um… very strong,” I mumble, vaguely. The whole truth is that I haven’t seen Mikey angry or even really upset since we were kids. Back then, he’d get pissed if I beat him in Soulcalibur too badly and toss his controller, then come back in a huff two minutes later cheerfully demanding a rematch (which I’d also win). Now? I have no idea.

“Okay, we just met, and I don’t know you well, so naturally I’m going to offer you an unsolicited opinion on your entire life as I’ve come to understand it in this conversation,” Claire says, dramatically taking my hands, closing her eyes and taking in a deep breath, before continuing with, “You cannot deal with everything in your life alone. Everyone needs people. So figure out who you can trust, and do it. Trust them.”

She sighs and waves her hands, as if scattering the heavy thoughts and feelings to the wind. “Also, don’t look now, but the hottest guy I’ve ever seen just walked in.”

I glance up to see who she’s talking about, and am unsurprised to see Mikey sauntering up to the desk in (new) black gym shorts and a weathered gray Incubus band tee. I love seeing him out and about in the world, and even in these austere surroundings, he’s sex on two enormous feet. His ample mound wrestling his massive quads as he walks toward us (possibly in slow motion, I might be imagining it) palpably changes the blood flow in my body and I blush and smile.

“Wait! Are you serious? That’s your roommate?!” Claire says in a hushed voice, watching me swoon, then turning her attention back to Mikey’s powerful aura. “Damn. Get it, girl.”

Mikey reaches the desk and I stand up to gather my things. “Hey babe,” he says cheerfully. “Making friends? Hi, I’m Mikey,” he says, extending a massive hand to Claire.

“Claire. Please tell me you have a straight brother,” she replies in a playful plea.

“She’s a hoot,” Mikey tells me as we walk to the car. Fall is in full swing now and the last bit of twilight glows between the bare tree branches along the quad. I’m walking slow, steps heavy with complicated thoughts. I suddenly think, I was almost assaulted today. I feel the pang of heat in my bruised wrists and amend the thought, I was assaulted today, it just could have been way worse. Remembering Brett’s grip makes my whole body feel cold and a shudder rises up through me.

“Hey, you okay?” I hear Mikey ask as he slips his hand into mine. His hand feels warm and solid in mine and I hold it tight.

“Yeah, just, processing some shit,” I say, and lean my body against him as we near the parking lot. He wraps an arm around my shoulder and pulls me close. I’ve never dated anyone so open with PDA. The privilege of never getting fucked with, I assume. I could get used to this. I slip my arm around his waist and focus on enjoying our lovers’ walk.

We reach the car and load in, me in the driver’s seat. I look over at Mikey, rippling muscles stuffed into his clothes and his whole body stuffed into the passenger seat and I can’t help myself. It feels weird fucking around in the house since we haven’t told my dad, but I need to feel him. I need to touch him. I’m barely aware of my actions as I unbuckle and climb across the shift stick to mount my hot stud right where he’s sitting. I wrap my legs around him and take his face in my hands, kissing him hard and long.

“Hmmph, okay!” Mikey mumbles as I straddle his now rapidly inflating bulge and begin to grind my ass. I feel his shaft rising to meet me, and my own erection aches inside my slacks, so I press it to his abs. He rewards me by moaning into my mouth and taking my ass in his hands, gripping and rubbing each cheek.

I reach alongside the crack between his seat and the door until I find the control level for his seatback. I smirk and stroke his cheek before dropping him backward with a crashing thump. Mikey blurt-laughs as he falls, then looks up at me from his new position with wild, lusty eyes.

“I have no idea what’s gotten into you, but I fucking love it!” he says, bucking his hips beneath my perky ass.

“Not my first car rodeo, but definitely the biggest bull I’ve ever ridden,” I mumble, squeezing his rock hard monster with my ass cheeks. “Let’s free this beast.”

I grab the waistband of his shorts and work them down his thick thighs, exposing black compression shorts. “Holy fuck,” I say, “that was your cock compressed?”

Mikey growls in response, a low rumble that I feel with my whole body. I peel back the shorts and wrestle his cock free, watching it bob and fully inflate in the open air. I’m kinda kneeling on the floor mat between his massive legs, but determination is strong and I manage to wriggle out of my pants and purple CK briefs. Mikey sees me undressing and pulls his shirt off quickly, popping an armpit seam in the process. I climb back on top of Mikey, but then surprise him by flipping myself around and straddling his face and lining myself up to suck his cock.

“Oh fuck yes!” Mikey says, grabbing my ass with both hands and burying his face in it. His light stubble feels incredible between my cheeks, but I’m face to face with his monster cock and I’d be lying if I said it wasn’t my entire focus.

I start slow, running my tongue along the top of his shaft from root to fat mushroom head. I do this again and again, building speed and intensity, getting the entire massive fucker slick with spit. I take a moment and compare his throbbing cock with my own forearm. They’re strikingly similar in size, but his cock is like steel wrapped in velvet, and that thick pulsing vein running along the top drives me wild. I take his tangerine-sized cockhead in my mouth and feel him stretching my jaw. He moans into my taint and a ripple of pleasure flows through my body from there. He’s writhing underneath me, my hard cock pressed between his thick pecs. As I begin to bob up and down, taking a bit more of his girthy shaft with each pass, warming my throat.

I’ve never sucked a cock this big before, but I’m love drunk and cock drunk and with filthy gay gods as my witness, I’ll take this epic fuck club to its hilt or die trying. I feel his head reach the back of my throat and can feel with my stroking hand how much left I still have to go. I get a good breath in through my nose, and take the plunge.

“Oh fuck!” Mikey exclaims as I deep-throat his monster. “Oh Adam! Oh shit!”

Encouraged and emboldened, I drive his rocket cock deeper into my throat, cutting off my air supply entirely and focus on finding a rhythm. Tears are rolling down my cheeks, but I can feel him bucking and grinding between my legs, his hands wildly roaming over my back, my ass, my legs, my balls, aching for release. I suck and lick and work my way up and down, throat fully relaxing, but still stretched beyond what I thought possible. I pull off and gasp for air, but return immediately. I need it. I want it inside me. I want to feel him erupt and gush his massive load into me. I want him to fill every part of me until I burst. I’m working his shaft with both hands as I take him tip to pubes, ramming him into my throat over and over.

The whole car is rocking on its axles, Mikey’s feet and hands grip the walls of the interior for purchase and I swear to fuck I can hear the metal groan in protest. His breath quickens and his pecs close and flex around my throbbing 7.5” cock pressed between them. I suddenly realize I’m about to blow my load and I moan loudly into his shaft. Which just comes out as vibration.

I feel the first spurt of cum blast out of me and paint streaks down Mikey’s abs. “Oh fuck yeeeah!” he responds, flexing his pecs more around my shaft, squeezing me as I shoot. I feel a shot hit the underside of my own chin as I hear him blurt out, “I’m coming!”

I don’t need to be told, I feel him reach his peak as the shaft expands to climax-hardness inside my throat. I pull back, keeping his head past my tonsils and feel his cock pulse as he roars beneath me an empties blast after blast directly into my stomach. I feel more and more full, and have to pull back further as the gushes don’t seem to be stopping or lessening yet. A blast fills my mouth and I feel it spilling out around his monster head. I swallow as much as I can and collapse on top of my man.

We both lie there for a minute or two. Matching our heavy breathing and slowly relishing our refractory period. Mikey’s hands slowly stroke my body on top of his. Eventually my load starts to cool uncomfortably between us and I untangle my limbs from the awkward car positions they’ve found.

“That was amazing,” he says, pulling me toward him. I spin around clumsily in our combined sweaty mess and cringe laugh as my body slides across his cobblestone abs. Mikey reaches into his gym bag in the backseat, pulling out a slightly damp, sweaty towel for both of us to clean up. He’s grinning from ear to ear. We mop up as much as we can, struggle into our clothes again and I plop back into the driver’s seat.

“So,” I say, buckling up. “Home, or do you need a burger after that?”

Mikey lights up his thousand-watt smile. “Burger please!”

My dad sits at the kitchen table across from Mikey and me, his brow knit anxiously as his eyes flit between us. We decided to tell him together, and knew we wanted to do so before our first real date. We didn’t intend to wait until Friday morning to do so, but here we are. One week of sneaking around and I might be developing an ulcer from the stress. Our plan to keep the fooling around to a minimum at home has gone exactly as you might expect. If you’re judging me right now, then you’ve never seen Mikey on a weight bench. Grunting rhythmically, stacks of iron plates floating above him, arms pumped, chest expanding, spine arched, heavy monster bulge pushed toward the sky, wobbling and bouncing with each push. Fuck. Now I’m hard.

“Um, so yeah, we have something to ask you,” I start, pulling myself closer to the table to hide my tenting corduroys. “Er, ah, tell you, is more accurate. Or I guess ask. Too. Cuz, you know, your house and everything.”

“Okay, last time you were this nervous you’d flooded the basement,” he replies with a laugh. Then his face falls. “Please tell me you didn’t flood the basement.”

“No! No. Nothing like that. No property damage. Yet. Ha! That’s funny cuz it’s not… like that,” I stammer nonsensically. Wow. Why is this as hard as it is?

“Want me to do it?” Mikey chimes in earnestly, taking my hand under the table and giving it a squeeze. I nod, chuckling at my own buffoonery.

“So, I’ve asked Adam out on a date tonight. Is that all right with you?” Mikey asks my dad brightly. That simply. That direct. I suddenly feel like an idiot.

“Holy shit, is that what this is about?!” Dad laughs, visibly relieved. “I thought one of you had gotten kicked out of school or arrested or totaled the car!” He’s cracking up now, hard. I feel like even more of an idiot.

“So you’re okay with this?” I say, lifting our clasped hands up from under the table. Waving them together for emphasis.

“Aw! Oh my god, that’s so cute,” my dad says, beaming from ear to ear. “Yes. I’m okay with it. Honestly I’m annoyed you thought I hadn’t noticed.”

My jaw drops. Mikey covers his face with his huge hands and laughs dryly.

“You knew? How?!” I blurt out, feeling a bit salty.

“Well the attraction was obviously mutual, you two stare at each other way more than I think you realize. Plus, for the last week, the basement smells like lots and lots of sex. Seriously, air it out, guys,” my dad laughs at us, standing up and grabbing an orange from the counter.

“Listen, you’re both adults. Young adults, but adults nonetheless. You can date who you want. Yeah, okay, I admit that dating your roommate has the potential to get messy, but so does any relationship. It also has the potential to be awesome.

“Adam,” he says, turning to me directly, “The best thing I could hope for is that you find someone as bright and passionate and kind as you are. If this works out, it could be exactly that. If you break up and can’t stand each other we’ll deal with it. But right now I say give it a shot and see if it works. Just be honest with each other.”

Mikey and I exchange looks, jaws slightly dropped. “Huh,” I say. And after a moment, “Is this some sort of parenting trap?”

“No, it’s really not. I’m totally a cool dad. I’ve been telling you your whole life, I don’t know why this is surprising,” my dad says as he heads toward the stairs, then turns to us with a serious expression on his face, “But I’m also a nurse, so you’re both getting doctor’s appointments, STD/STI panels, and I recommend going on PrEP. Now, I’m going to bed.”

He doesn’t wait for replies. He just saunters off to bed looking pleased with himself and eating orange segments. Mikey turns to me, pure elation on his face.

“That went just about as good as it could have gone!” he says, flashing his signature optimism. I on the other hand…

“My dad just told us to air out our sex dungeon. I’m going to need a minute,” I say, still processing.

“Oh my god, yes! Your face was priceless! And I had already almost lost it when he asked if you flooded your basement.” Mikey’s fully cackling now, and I realize he’d been holding back laughter the entire time.

For a moment I’m pissed. This had been stressing me out so much and Mikey was so fucking sure it would work out. I watch him stand and stretch, his hands brushing the lowish kitchen ceiling, his t-shirt riding up and exposing his perfect abs, dusted by a warm happy trail leading temptingly down into the waistband of a pair of snug black jeans with shredded knees. He picks up the last orange and starts to peel it deftly. He’s still chuckling and the warm notes of his laugh ring off the tile backsplash and suddenly it is funny. Every moment of it. And just like that I go from annoyed to enamored. The power of Mikey, I guess.

“What are we doing for our date tonight?” I ask. It’s not my first time asking, but Mikey has maintained total secrecy for his plan. He smiles knowingly in response.

“I will be kind and tell you this much: there will be walking and eating. Dress accordingly,” he says, eyes twinkling. “Come on, you’ll be late for Jack.”

“You’re late,” Jack says as I walk into the Works, “Good thing you’ve got a fast blind hem stitch,” he says, handing me a pile of tulle that I’m guessing is either four gowns worth or one giant gown worth, depending on the occasion.

“Everything is marked, just do your magic!” Jack says chipperly as he moves to the next group, already in progress.

Jack is working on a few different projects, and our professor offers extra credit for first year students who assist when he needs extra hands. I don’t need the credit, but it’s a great way to get practical experience and Jack asked me to be here to support some of the less experienced volunteers. Honestly I was kinda relieved when he asked. I didn’t know how he’d feel about his and Mikey’s fizzle of a date, let alone Mikey and I maybe being together. To my pleasant surprise, he just laughed.

“I got swept up in the reflected glow coming off of you two sparking, that’s all.” He’d mused on Monday morning over coffee on the way to class. “And the horniness I’m experiencing will subside with time, I suppose.”

I got the feeling he was holding back a bit of sadness, but the Jack I’ve come to know plays things pretty close to his chest. And even if I did detect a bit of rejection ache, it hasn’t changed our dynamic. He’s even joined us on the quad for lunch twice this week.

After a frenzied two hours of hem stitches and keeping the newbies from sewing sleeves shut, we’ve wrapped up a few of the projects and got the rest to a good pausing place. I’ve got an hour before my next class and Jack offers to help out with my pattern-making project. I’m trying to make a swimsuit for Mikey and working with the material is more challenging than I anticipated.

“You see the pouch needs to stretch, but it also needs to hold and snap back into shape,” I say, showing Jack my pattern and first passes on some stretch spandex. Jack picks up a prototype and examines the stitching for a moment. He then inserts his entire fist in the pouch and gives it a good stretch. He keeps his hand there a moment and looks up at me, a bemused expression on his face.

“Seriously?” he says, indicating the massive pouch design with a chuckle.

“Seriously,” I say with a slow intense nod, “Took the measurements myself.”

“Fuck dude. Well, you can’t blame me for trying, can you?” Jack chuckles,

“Nope. Never,” I say earnestly, “I fully understand the desire.”

“Honestly, the hardest part is that now you’re both off the market. I can’t even run to you for comfort,” Jack muses, before subtly adjusting his crotch. I try not to steal glances. I fail. What can I say, Jack’s hot. And the obvious erection he’s tucking to his hip only adds to my own stirrings.

“Anyway, I don’t think this spandex is going to work,” Jack continues, smiling at my blushing cheeks, “There’s some super stretch neoprene in the bolt room, follow me. It’s got slightly less stretch than the spandex, but more structure. And a stretch stitch will hold well for the edging, so you won’t have to zig zag stitch it like the spandex. Equally secure but less home ec.”

“Yeah, the zig zag was giving first year vibes,” I say, “That’s brilliant. Oh, grab that orchid shade! Is it a 4-way stretch?”

It’s 6pm-ish and I’m standing near the quad in my date outfit. I chose a pair of dark purple slacks that make my butt look awesome, a white oxford shirt with pearl buttons, and a gunmetal gray velvet sport coat. Even though I got ready in the locker room at The Works I feel cute and fresh and totally not anxious at all. Okay. Lie. But two out of three ain’t bad, right? I look down the path toward the athletics buildings where Mikey would be coming from. It’s mid-October and the trees are almost bare. Orange and burgundy leaves are still heaped on the sides of the walking paths and scattered across the lawns of the quad. The street lights glow warm yellow and I even spot a few people in early Halloween costumes. I don’t see Mikey yet and I try to release some anxiety with a sigh.

I pull my phone from my bookbag to check the time and see I have a message from Jack. It’s a pic of him stretching the pouch of the swimsuit we made together to its limits with an enthusiastic fist and a determined, goofy look on his face. “Go get him, Tiger!” The text reads. I snort a laugh and text back an eggplant and sweaty face emojis. I put my phone away and glance down the path again. I do see a big muscular guy headed my way, but it’s not Mikey. Not tall enough, or big enough in the shoulders. This guy does spark a bit of recognition though, and even in the dusklight I can tell he sees and recognizes me too. Fuck. It’s Brett. I know that cocky gait anywhere.

I try to turn on my heels to start walking quickly down the path toward a crowd of people but instead I walk directly into Mikey.

“Oh! Shit!” I yelp, momentarily thinking Brett somehow moved super fast and caught me already. “Fuck. Sorry. I thought you’d be coming from the athletics buildings.”

“I had to run home to get something. Are you okay? You look terrified,” Mikey says, taking my shoulders in his hands and looking me over.

“I’m fine. I just got the creepies standing here alone in the dark,” I say quickly, smoothing my shirt under my jacket. I glance back over my shoulder, but the Brett shaped figure is gone. Maybe it wasn’t even him. Maybe I’m getting paranoid. Mikey looks down the path where I’m scanning and looks worried.

“So, you look amazing!” I change the subject, stepping back to take in the full picture of my date. Fuck. I might be dodging questions, but I’m not lying. Who knew this guy could dress himself in anything but jeans t-shirts and gym clothes. He’s filling a pair of light gray wool slacks to near bursting, the subtle stripes of the material emphasizing his long, powerful legs and mountainous heavy bulge. A sleek black leather belt with a gold buckle tops the epic mound like a cherry. On top he’s kept it simple with a black dress shirt with charcoal buttons. It must be a slim fit, so he can’t quite button it around most of his ample pec shelf, but a white athletic cut undershirt peeks out where the shirt can’t manage. He’s rolled the sleeves to elbow, showing off the veins on his forearms. He must have pumped a little after dressing, like I saw him do before his date with Jack.

“Yeah? You like? I had some help,” Mikey says, flexing his arm a bit and spreading his feet apart to pose a little.

“Well, I’ll have to thank them,” I say, wondering internally who he tapped for help.

“You look fucking adorable,” he growls at me, pulling me closer to him by my hips and leaning down for a kiss. “I like you in velour.”

“It’s velvet,” I whisper into his neck with mock-fury, standing on my tiptoes. “Never say the word ‘velour’ to me again.”

“Ha! Noted. Come on, dinner awaits,” Mikey laughs, then wraps and arm around me and walks us toward the parking lot.

Dinner, Mikey reveals after a ½ mile walk to the edge of campus, is a cute little Vietnamese noodle house. The walk passes quickly and we chat about our week so far, my American Lit paper, his Bio exam. Mikey likes to be touching me when we walk and I’m getting more and more used to hand holding and his arm around my shoulder. I admit sometimes I like to walk separately just for the opportunity to watch his body move through space.

The restaurant itself is on the garden level of a vine covered brick building, down a little concrete staircase with a small courtyard full of twinkly lights. We step inside and I see the whole restaurant is covered in string lights of various shapes. Stars on the bar. Flamingos and chili peppers running along the trim. Tiny plastic cocktail-glass-shaped lights glow colorfully amidst the vines of potted plants. The overall effect is funny, whimsical, and entirely romantic. We get seated in a corner booth that’s a bit cramped for Mikey’s big frame.

“Are you okay here? We can sit somewhere else,” I say, scanning the other tables for something more spacious.

“Nope, I’m perfect,” Mikey says, pressing his knee into mine under the table. We’re so close I can squeeze his knee between my thighs and I look up to see his eyes sparkling. “Flirt,” he chides, playfully. Lifting a menu.

The meal is delightful. Pho and lumpia and this pancake thing stuffed with bean sprouts and fresh herbs. The longer we talk the more comfortable we both get and soon enough Mikey is cracking me up with stories from his week. Tales of bio professors with handlebar mustaches, the water polo team tossing their coach into the pool, and a classmate who clearly has a crush offering him a massage three times in one day.

“Holy shit! A third offer? This poor girl,” I laugh. “Just tell her you have a boyfriend. She’ll be sad, but she’ll get the hint.”

Mikey stops chuckling and looks up at me, beaming from ear to ear. “Boyfriend, eh? Couldn’t even wait until the second date?”

Judging by his shit-eating grin, he thinks he’s caught me off guard. But I match his gaze and nod slowly. His chuckle fades out and he tilts his head.

“We both know what this is,” I say clearly, holding eye contact, “I’m yours to do with as you please. And I’d wager you’re mine to do the same.”

Mikey breathes in deeply, chest rising and expanding. He exhales and I feel the warmth of his breath on face. Fuck this man fills a space.

“We’ve waited long enough, Mikey,” I say, letting my eyes wander down his torso. I can’t see his cock from here, but I know where his blood is flowing. I slip my foot from my shoe and extend a leg slowly between his, tracing my way up his inner thigh until I feel the pulsing mass of his junk, pushing hard against the gray wool. He’s only at half mast but the bulge is enormous. I stifle a moan and look back up when I hear a low rumbling growl emanating from his throat. He grips the table’s edge with his hands and the dishes rattle a bit.

“I thought we were trying to take things slow,” Mikey says, gently grinding my foot.

“This is me trying,” I say, running my toes softly down his shaft, then tucking them under his hefty balls. Fuck, I can feel his taint throbbing with his heartbeat.

“Do you gentlemen need anything else? Dessert? Coffee?” I nearly jump out of my skin when the waiter pipes up. From the slightly flustered tone of voice and eye line flitting between Mikey’s crotch and me blushing, I guess he’s been there for maybe a full minute.

“Just the check, please. Thank you,” Says Mikey, barely holding back laughter. The waiter flees to his point of sale screen, but keeps glancing back at Mikey. Sigh.

“We can never come back here, now. You realize that,” I tell Mikey as I tidy and stack the dishes in front of us.

“You’re telling me. I have to walk out of this place like this,” he replies, gesturing toward his mammoth erection running down his thigh.

“Pity. The food is awesome,” I lament, then, “So where are going next? Somewhere a little more private?”

“Um, okay, so I have an idea, but it’s definitely illegal,” Mikey says, eyes sparkling.

“Fuck. Sounds about right. You lead, I’ll follow,” I say as we get up to pay. I throw a glance at Mikey’s crotch when he stands and nearly moan out loud. Gray wool slacks. Take notes, boys. Off we go.

We walk fast back toward campus, Mikey taking long loping strides and me double stepping to keep up. Where is he leading us? I never really go to this side of campus by the athletic center. I’d think I was a bad friend but Mikey’s never been inside The Works, either. Just as I’ve quickly learned all the shortcuts and back ways in The Works, Mikey has clearly been exploring the athletics buildings. We slip behind a giant concrete behemoth of a building on a footpath that cuts through a narrow courtyard. Down an accessibility access ramp to a basement entrance. Mikey looks at me as he tries the push bar on the door. Locked. With a smirk and a wink he holds up a single finger in pause, then reaches over between us and pushes the big blue disability door release button and the door unlatches and swings open aided by the motor.

“Ta-dahhhhh,” Mikey says in a hushed voice. “Follow me, stay close.”

I tiptoe behind him so the heels of my dress shoes don’t make too much noise. The hallway is long and brightly lit and I realize how exposed we are, but I haven’t seen a single security person or even a camera, so I relax a bit and let Mikey take us on a ride. I take a moment to check out his ass in those pants as he pads carefully up to a corner to peek around it, and the luscious cheeks do not disappoint. We reach a heavy metal door and Mikey produces a single key attached to a yellow plastic tag from his pocket, he unlocks the door and leads us inside to a smallish locker room of sorts. Benches, lockers, showers, and a distinct sharp chemical smell in the air.

“Where are we?” I wonder aloud. With that Mikey pushes open a big set of double doors at the far end of lockers and I see my answer. The sound of the doors echoes across the massive tiled room. Dark except for the crystalline blue glow of an olympic-sized swimming pool. My jaw drops. We broke into the pool after hours. Mikey looks over his shoulder at me with a mischievous smirk and starts pulling off shoes and socks.

“Security never comes down here. I’ve been dreaming about this for weeks,” Mikey says, pulling off his button front shirt and tossing it aside unceremoniously. Seeing the cautious look on my face, Mikey turns to me as he unbuttons and slowly unzips the fly of his gray pants, the zipper parting eagerly under the pressure of his growing endowment. I see his light blue date-night underwear straining to contain his rapidly inflating girth and my hands start to unbutton my shirt on autopilot. He smiles that smile and hooks his thumbs into the waistband and pushes pants and boxer briefs down in one motion. His enormous junk bounces free and swings in front of him. He turns and I get to see his juicy bubble butt in glorious motion as he takes three huge steps and jumps wildly into the pool.

The splash is incredible, and he bobs to the surface and tosses his head back to clear the water from his hair. I’ve gone from carefully undoing pearl buttons to almost tearing my pants off in an effort to join him. I’m tripping over my shoes which I forgot to take off before my pants and Mikey laughs as he treads water. I’m laughing too now and I exasperatedly pull off my last sock and half trip half belly-flop into the pool. For a moment I’m blind in the bubbles and confusion under water, but I feel Mikey’s hands pulling my naked body towards his and we crash together as we surface, laughing and kissing.

We’re shallow enough that he can stand and I can’t, so I wrap my legs around his waist and my arms around his shoulders. I pull his face to mine and grind my slippery little twink body against his wall of muscle. His whole torso feels hard and flexed in my hands, and I trace the definition between his bowling-ball delts and rippling triceps. My growing cock pushes hard against his abs and I slide between the cobblestone muscles as we make out. Mikey’s hands are gripping and massaging my ass, the middle finger on his right hand gently probing and priming my tight hole.

“You want this ass?” I growl into his ear, nipping and licking at his lobe.

“Fuck yes,” Mikey replies, breathing hard already.

“So fucking take it,” I challenge, grinding myself down his body. I don’t have to grind far before I feel it, the monster mushroom head of his hard cock, poking my ass cheek.

Mikey wastes no time, and moves us powerfully through the water to the edge of the pool in the shallows. I guess his plan and kiss him deeply before spinning around and gripping the edge of the pool, pushing my perky ass toward him. He rubs his hands across my back, caressing me in the water, learning the arc of my spine as he strokes his 11+ inches of thick shaft. He rubs his massive head on my hole, and for a moment I’m truly terrified. This man could split me in half if wanted.

Instead I feel his head move out of position and feel him bury his face between my cheeks. His tongue starts to tease my hole, warming the muscle and relaxing me. I feel his tongue slip inside me briefly and I gasp in pleasure. His stubble feels amazing between my cheeks and I find myself riding his face gently. He comes up for air and then dives back down, eliciting another squeal from me as he plunges back in and keeps eating my ass.

By the time he needs air again I’m aching to feel him inside me. “Fuck me. Please. I need it. I need you,” I beg, lust drunk and wild, waving my ass at him.

“Tap me if you need me to stop,” Mikey grunts, tapping my hip twice firmly to show me what he means. I nod, and reach back to repeat the tap on his hip. “Good boy,” he rumbles.

I feel his mushroom head meet my hole and throb gently against it. He slows his breathing and I match him. “Uuuhhhhngggghhhhhhhhh,” I hear myself grunt as his impossibly thick cock pushes past my entrance. My hips buck and he grips me tightly to keep himself inside. “Oh fuck, Mikey. It’s fucking huge!” I blurt out, pain and ecstasy playing tag in my brain.

“That’s the head,” Mikey chuckles, making me laugh too. “Don’t worry, babe. We’re going to go nice and slow,” he says. And he does just that. I don’t know how long it takes (forgive my sense of time being fucked, but there’s a monster cock jamming up the thinking parts of my brain), but I do know before receiving another few inches, Mikey lets my body acclimate to the enormity of him. He’s slow, methodical, and intentional. Every push feels more and more like I’m being torn in half, but the longer he’s in me the more the burn turns to radiating pleasure. His roaming hands caress and lovingly hold me all over, anywhere he can reach. One hand always holding one of my hips, keeping us regulated and controlled. Soon enough I feel massive nuts bouncing softly off of mine underwater and I realize we’re there.

And fuck. Am I fucking there. His monster cock is inside me and I can feel him fully rearranging my insides. My head spins with pleasure and I grip the edge of the pool harder and slide myself up and down the telephone pole up my ass. I’m gasping and moaning as I feel Mikey gently match my strokes, but soon I feel his grip tighten on my hips and I relent control to him. He grunts as he slides me up and down like a human fleshlight, angling his thrusts. I watch the waves begin to lap the edge of the pool as he picks up pace. I’m holding on as best I can, trying to keep up, but each thrust makes my head swirl and I’m barely aware outside the waves of sensation pummeling my entire body.

He flips me around to face him, keeping himself balls deep as he does, and for the first time since he entered me I can see his face. In the blue glow of the pool lights, his pupils are completely blown out with lust, wet hair whipping across his brow. I instinctively grab the back of his neck and pull us together. I wrap my legs around him and ride that massive cock for all I’m worth. Eyes locked together as I bounce up and plunge myself down on his soup-can thick inches again and again. I’m seeing stars with every buck of his hips and I’m only vaguely aware that I’m half grunting, half screaming in absolute ecstasy.

He moves us into shallower water, basically up to his crotch, and lays me gently on my back, floating. I spread my arms out as he rubs my belly and slowly gives me every inch of his nearly foot long cock. I move one hand to his on my belly and feel what he’s feeling: his monstrous cock visibly moving inside me. I gasp as I feel it and crane my neck, chin to chest to see the bulge of his fat cockhead rising out of my slender abdomen. Fuck, it’s like electricity on the surface of the water.

His thrusts start to ramp again and we move to the edge of the pool again, this time me standing in front of him instead of floating. He lines himself back up with my hole and my eager pucker takes his head in with a hungry pop.

“Fuuuuuuck yes,” he moans as he re-enters me.

“Fuck me, Mikey. Fill me up,” I beg over my shoulder, getting a good grip on the edge of the pool.

Mikey starts to thrust and my vision goes stark white for a second. I can hear the thrashing of the waves being generated by the powerful swings of Mikey’s hip. I feel his massive hand pressed hard to my chest, forcing my back against his abs as his hips push up and in like a fucking piston. I roll my head back and feel his hard pecs flexing under the back of my head. My own cock is out of the water and drooling precum into the pool. I reach down and grip it tight, letting the ride do the jerking for me.

“Oh fuck. Oh fuck. Adam, I’m gonna cum!” Mikey roars as his thrusts go deeper and harder than ever. I grind my hips to push him as deep as he can go and feel tears streaming down my face from the effort.

“Cum inside me!” I shout, “Give me that huge fucking load!” I bark as I plunge myself down one last time on his pulsing monster.

Mikey roars and grips me like a vice as his thrusts buck blast after blast of white hot cream deep in my guts. I feel his massive load overflowing around the base of his cock as he creampies my ass. As he slows he reaches around and wraps his fingers around my drooling cock. Still inside me and not feeling any smaller or softer, he strokes my cock steadily as he pulses his hips gently in rhythm.

“You’re so fucking hot, taking this giant fucking cock on the first try. Your tight little ass feels perfect wrapped around my fuck club. Fuck I love your cock. Feels so good to have a big cock to hang onto while I pound this perfect ass. Shit, Adam, you’re so close. I can feel it. You’re throbbing in my hand, oh yeah! Fuck, baby, fuck my fist. You’re so fucking hot, I can’t wait to take this cock. I wanna feel you feel inside me, I wanna feel you erupt,” Mikey whispers in my ear, fast and strong, his words punctuating the steady strokes of his meaty hand down my own thick cock. His words are rumbling through his chest into my back as he strokes me faster and faster, his epic girth still stretching my hole and filling me to bursting—

“Oh fuck!” I cry out as the first shot splatters up my chest and up past my shoulder. I fire off another blast, bucking wildly in Mikey’s firm grip. Then another, and another. I come more than I’ve ever seen myself come before, and I start to laugh as my refractory period washes over me. I feel Mikey’s prodigious member soften and slide out of my hole. I myself melt into my lover’s arms and he hugs me tight and we fall backward into the water together laughing.

We float there together for a few moments, just enjoying the silence of the pool. Then Mikey perks up and scoops me into his arms.

“Hot tub!” he yells as he surges through the water, carrying me over to the ladder.

“Yes!” I laugh as he tosses me over his broad shoulder to scale the ladder. I feel my floppy, post-sex semi cock flop against his pec and a warm blush colors my cheeks. Then I spot my bookbag over by my clothes. “Wait! Hold up.” Mikey stops on a dime and gently puts me down on my feet.

“I have a present for you,” I say, scampering over nude on the wet tile and popping a squat by my bag. I hear him moan as I dip my ass to the floor. “It’s so perfect. How could I have spaced it until now,” I mutter as I walk back and hand Mikey the small bundle of black and purple neoprene.

“What the…” The muscle-bound jock towering over mutters as he stretches out the squarecut speedo in his hands. I see the realization dawn on him and his eyes pop up to meet mine, fully sparkling with joy. “A speedo? For me? Like, made for me?”

“Finished it today. Jack helped me figure out the material choice, so credit to him, too,” I say, proud of my accomplishment. I look down at Mikey’s impressive junk, the fat heavy shaft bobbing lazily in front of him, arcing down between two kiwi-fruit sized nuts. “Try it on!”

Mikey steps carefully into the leg holes, partly out of reverence for the garment, partly because we’re dripping wet on hard tile. He slides the suit up and turns slowly to show me as he pulls it up his bountiful ass cheeks, which pop into place and give a satisfying bounce as they settle into the suit. I gave him full coverage on the ass, but the bright purple color blocking is designed to emphasize his assets. On both sides.

He turns to me and presents his massive cock and balls, flopped over the front. He pulls the sculpted pouch out and rotates his pelvis back to deposit his balls into place, then stuffs his elephantine softie in as well. He arranges himself comfortably into a sorta half side tuck. Then rearranges so his shaft is pointing straight down. Both options make my mouth water. I close the gap between us and take the waistband of the suit in my hands. I find the hidden drawstring I placed on the inner waistband, and gently cinch and tie the suit, then tuck the ends of the drawstring into Mikey’s stuffed pouch.

“How do I look?” he asks me, his hand sliding around my waist and slowly pulling me against his body.

“Fuckable,” I reply, looking up at him through the space between his massive pecs.

We spent the rest of the night in the pool and hot tub. Mikey modeling and trying out his new swimsuit with some surprisingly fast laps. You’d think with all that lean mass he’d be too heavy to swim fast, but with a strong kick off and his powerful limbs, he moves through the water like a knife.

After he shows off a bit and gets in a good workout, we cuddle up in the hottub. It might be the heat from the water, but every time he kisses me my head swims. I’m lost in the moment, feeling his hands run rampant across my body when he gasps and stops.

“What’s wrong? What’s happening?” I say, ducking into his arms in case security is finally here to arrest us.

“What time is it?” Mikey asks urgently, head craning looking for a clock on the wall. I spot it over his shoulder.

“Yeesh, after 10. We’ve been here for hours,” I reply, relieved we aren’t busted.

“Shit. Too late now,” Mikey says, shaking his head. “I had this entire evening planned for our first date! We were going to walk along the river and then go to this Mugler exhibit downtown, a collection of runway looks from some year to some other year!” he laments, clearly excited, if a bit fuzzy on details. “I ran it by Jack and his jaw dropped so I figured it was something you’d love.”

He’s right. Mugler is major. “When does the exhibit end?”

“I think it runs through Thanksgiving, so we’ve got some time,” Mikey says, bringing me in for a kiss. “Just to be clear, you do want to go on more dates, right? Are we considering this one a success?”

“Yep! Gorging ourselves on Vietnamese food followed by a rousing round of trespassing and the misuse of a therapy pool? Best first date ever,” I reply matter-of-factly.

“I don’t know about misuse, that felt pretty therapeutic to me,” Mikey growls into my neck and pulls me close against his ample pecs and cobblestone abs.

It basically takes no effort for him to lift me normally, in the water it feels like I’m weightless. His massive hands wrap around my waist and cup my ass and my body surges through the water in whatever direction his whims lead.

“Speaking of Thanksgiving,” I mutter into his collarbone post-kiss, “are you going home for the fall break? See your mom?”

Mikey gets quiet, looks down into the swirling water and shakes his head.

“I don’t think it’s in the cards. Honestly, we never really celebrated that one after dad died. I don’t think it even dawned on her that I might come home next month. She’s going on a cruise with my aunt.”

Mikey never talks about his dad, and most of the time when he brings up his mom it leaves him quiet, staring off at nothing. I try not to bring either of them up in general. I guess I don’t talk about my mom much, either.

“Well, that’s great news! More Mikey-time for the rest of us,” I say eventually, kissing him again before I climb out of the hot tub and run across the tile floor. I jump wildly, arms flailing, into the deep end of the pool.

“Now get in here and fuck me stupid again!” I yell as I surface, shaking my head to clear the water from my eyes. Only to open them and see Mikey flying at me full speed. A massive grin plastered on his face.

About a week and a half after our first date, Mikey and I are having lunch with Jack and Claire on the quad. Last week, I spotted Claire along the footpath that leads to the library and invited her to join us for lunch. Claire immediately complimented the quality of Jack’s knock-off Fendi monster tote, and now they have their own text chain. Our foursome lunches have been a pretty regular thing since that day. We’ll grab food at the student union (or more often, the shawarma cart) and lounge on the grass to enjoy the last of the serotinal warmth. Apparently that’s the season we’re in, as Claire tells us.

“...Yeah, it’s the adjective form. Autumnal is obvious enough, hibernal like bears in winter, pre-vernal is when there’s both frost and thaw, vernal is spring, estival is summer, and then we have right now, serotinal,” Claire muses, leaning back to catch the waning sunlight on her face. She has a tendency to orate facts in a way that always makes me feel profoundly under-read, and also delightfully collegiate. Like, this is why I’m here, to listen to brilliant people talk about the things that fascinate them.

“Anyway, soon it’ll be too cold and we’ll need a new lunch spot,” she finishes.

“The student union has a few good spots with tables, but they can be competitive,” Mikey says between bites of chicken and rice. There’s yogurt on his chin and I’m resisting licking it off. I picture us sitting in the student union but immediately remember that it’s where Brett usually hangs out.

“Uh, we can do better. Plus the food is flavorless,” I say quickly. “There’s The Works? It’s not far from the Library.”

“Yeah, no good. The Works gets really cold in the winter. Plus it’s so far from Mikey’s classes, it hardly seems fair,” Jack chimes in, munching an apple. He’s sitting with his long legs crossed, flipping idly through a copy of Vogue and showing us occasional designs and ads. “The best thing about the quad is that it’s central to all of us.”

The debate continues but I find my attention wandering to Mikey. I love watching him eat. Like Jack, he’s sitting with his legs crossed, but their similar positions only make the proportional differences between them more apparent.

Jack’s long legs are light and lean, and with ankles crossed his knees float upward like blades of grass. His back is straight and supported. He’s languid, yet poised. Watching him it always feels like he could spring up at any moment, long muscles coiled tight around a lightweight frame. Even his bulge, which I’m now noticing, is a subtly suggestive slope along one thigh. Mikey, in stark contrast, is like a carefully stacked pile of boulders. Like the waymarkers people build along hiking trails and beaches. Each leg is resting heavily in the grass, his knees spread wide and low. His back curves forward over his takeout boat of grilled chicken and yogurt sauce, but not hunched, he’s fully supported. When he sits up (or even better, leans back) he spreads his arms out to support his mass.

Occasionally he extends an arm or leg fully, and I always marvel at his reach. He’ll start with a stretch, arms together making his pecs pop, and push them uuuuuuuup with a moan. Then he rotates his delts and drops his arms back, catching himself and stretching his spine backward out of his hunkered-down position over his food. He also seems like he’s always ready to jump up and jog off, but it’s sheer power. Sometimes when he actually does jump up and run off, I expect the earth underneath him to show dents and divots in the shapes of his massive feet and glorious ass.

This particular stretch, like most of Mikey’s stretches, ends up with him wrapping an arm around me to pull me close against his body for a quick kiss. I’m getting more comfortable with PDA. It helps that Claire is here to keep Jack entertained when we get handsy. If we get too cuddly Claire and Jack just laugh and roll their eyes, and start gossiping or planning fun future shit. Like right now.

“I can’t believe it’s already Halloween next weekend. Are you going to the party at Psi Nu?” Claire asks Jack.

“Yeah, it looks like it’s the shindig to be at. Their parties are usually good. Wild parts mixed with chill parts. And the brothers aren’t bad. I hooked up with one of them last year, they’ve got a few gay guys in the mix,” Jack replies. I can’t picture Jack with a fraternity bro, but I gather frats aren’t like they are in movies. At least I hope they aren’t.

“What are you wearing?” Claire asks excitedly.

Jack perks up at this (always a good question for Jack. Or me for that matter.)

“I’m going as Sailor Mercury from Sailor Moon.”

“Cute! I haven’t seen that show since I was in middle school. She’s the smart one, right?” Claire asks.

“Yeah, Ami. She’s my favorite.”

“That’s perfect,” Mikey gasps, being an Anime fan himself. “You look great in blue. Are you wearing the goggles?”

“Mmhmm! They arrive tomorrow.” He nods. It’s fun to see Jack feeling giddy. “How about you, Claire? What’s your costume going to be?”

“Poison Ivy from Batman & Robin. The Uma Thurman one. With the eyebrows,” Claire replies, wiggling her brows at Jack.

“Fucking iconic camp. Two enthusiastic gay thumbs up,” Jack laughs, then turns to Mikey and me. “Are you two coming to the party? Debuting your disgustingly adorable couple vibes for the State U social scene?”

“You should. It’ll be fun. Plus, safety in numbers and all that,” Claire reasons, seeing me cringe. “Think of it as a public service announcement: The campus must be informed that Mikey is off the market, and this is the perfect opportunity to rub all their faces in how hot you are together.”

“What do you think?” Mikey asks me with questioning (dare I say hopeful) eyes. “Your first college rager with your cool new friends?”

“I don’t know. A fraternity party on Halloween seems like a baptism by fire. Can’t we just do the Trick-or-Drink thing in the dorms? Or the party in the student union?” I bargain.

“Trick-or-Drink got shut down early this year. And the parties at the SU are dead. No booze, overhead lighting, chips without dip. Unfit for hot people,” Jack muses, putting on a pair of sunglasses and lying backward on the grass.

“You can only avoid the rest of the student body for so long, Adam,” Claire tells me, dropping the sing-song tone and meeting my eye. “Anyway, people want to know who the adorable and impeccably dressed new twink on campus is. It’s cruel to deprive them of your wit and color sense. With great power, and all that.”

I turn to Mikey and he’s smiling so gently at me. “I’ll do whatever you want to do,” he assures me. “But honestly, it kinda sounds like fun. I want to show you off.”

“Fuck it. Why not?” I sigh, conceding. Shit. “What are we going to wear?”

“Oh, I’m sure you’ll whip something up that makes all the normies look like the party-city discount-rack nightmares they are.” Jack winks.

“Wait, is this happening?” Mikey beams. “Awesome. Okay. I think I might have a couple’s costume idea that you’re going to love.”

It’s Saturday night and we’re getting ready to go into the belly of the beast: a college fraternity on Halloween night. In a rare instance, I’m dressed down to a ratty white t-shirt and a pair of old jeans that fit tight even on my slight frame. Or maybe I’m filling out a little. Either way, I’m appropriately dressed for what we have in mind. I’ve mixed three shades of body paint, a greenish gray, a lighter green, and a muddy, darker green-gray. Brushes and painting sponges are prepped, and I’ve spread a large plastic drop cloth over the old sofa and the floor in front of it.

“Hey big guy, you ready for this?” I call over toward Mikey’s room.

“Oh yeah,” he replies from the door frame. “Born ready.” He smirks at me as he walks to the center of the tarp. He’s shirtless, and got a great pump going in his workout before we started prepping. His lower half is tantalizingly wrapped in snug-fitting black pants, and a pair of sturdy boots with thick black soles brings his height to just-beyond ceiling-scraping. Even with the dark material his hefty endowment is prominently visible. I give him a slow, appreciative look up and down.

“How about you, Doctor? You ready to make your monster?” He says, grinning from ear to ear.

“Ready as I’ll ever be,” I sigh, and take the middle green and a big sponge and start dabbing paint onto Mikey’s abs. I stand back and take a look after blending the first spot and it’s actually going on pretty well! With a bit more confidence I start to apply the rest of the base coat across his torso. I admit, I’ve never painted a muscle god green before, and I was anxious it wouldn’t work. With that anxiety evaporating I’m able to get lost in Mikey’s body. His abs are so beautifully defined, a rolling road of cobblestones that rise up to carve crevices between each row. I dab deep into his adonis belt, watching the vein that snakes down and vanishes into the waistline of his pants pulse lightly under my touch. I follow his transverse abdominals around the sides of his belly, and then work my way up his front to the bottom of his heavy pecs. He breathes in sharply, and squirms a bit, making me smile. He’s ticklish around his mid ribcage, and I love to see him twitch when I caress there.

“Fuck. This is, um, hotter than I pictured,” he mumbles, and reaches down to adjust his growing shaft in the tight pants.

“Really?” I ask, bemused. “This is exactly how I pictured it,” I say, dragging the paint sponge across his nipple, watching it perk up in response. I slip behind him and paint his back from waist to just under his shoulder blades, being sure to follow the graceful curve of his spine.

“All right, big guy, sit for me,” I say, scanning the room for an easy chair.

“I got ya,” Mikey says, and then kneels in front of me. With our height difference that puts his eye line at about my chin, and he looks up to meet my gaze. I’m suddenly stuck with how handsome he is. His eyes are hazel, an outer ring of green and inner circle of brown with gold flecks that sparkle and there’s this smile on his face that just makes me want to—

I drop the paint sponge, take his face in my hands and kiss him. His lips are warm and soft and I feel his hands wrap around my waist and pull me in. I guess I caught him a bit by surprise, because when I break the kiss he gasps.

“Sorry. Got lost in your eyes for a second,” I say, reaching down to grab my sponge off the tarp.

“You never have to apologize for kissing me,” he says, maybe a little love loopy still. I see the paint marks left on his face from my hands and feel my face go hot.

“Okay. Let’s finish this paint job before I tear those pants off you and we miss the party,” I say, smirking down at my gentle giant. Yeesh. He’s rubbing off on me.

From this angle I can easily paint the tops of his pecs, and I relish every moment. I gently dab paint into his deep clavicles, up and out to his monster shoulders (fucking boulders of muscle, remarkably firm at rest). I walk and paint my way around him, finishing his back. I start his arms next, getting the sponge into the lines of definition where his delts meet his triceps and biceps, marveling at their size as I dab dab dab. I feel my cock inflating and pushing hard against my tight jeans. I feel Mikey’s breath on my throat, and realize his breathing is ramping as I paint.

“Okay,” I say, noticing it came out huskier and hornier than I intended. “Stand for me again, and I’ll do the rest of your arms.”

Mikey gets one foot underneath his center mass and locks eyes with me. That fucking smirk again. I feel my cock throb steadily in my jeans as he rises up to his full height, inches from my face. He holds eye contact the entire time, moving through meeting my gaze to towering above me, looking at me down through the deep crevice between his pecs. I swallow, reflexively.

“Arms up,” I croak out, then more confidently, “Arms up, please.”

He complies, and I get more paint on my sponge. With his arms up he’s even more imposing, and I feel remarkably small. I paint his pits, starting on the left, then pause for a moment at the right. I can’t fucking help it, I get my face in his armpit and breath in his heady, post-workout musk. I’m close enough to feel his soft hair tickle my nose. He showered between getting a pump and now, and he smells like a combination of clean skin, man sweat, and sandalwood soap. I grip my own cock through my jeans and moan into him.

“Fuck, Adam, you’re so fucking hot,” he babbles at me, clearly fighting to control himself.

“Right back at you,” I say, shaking my head to clear the sex fog.

I finish his pits, and move to his arms. Fuck, his glorious, massive arms. He flexes for me, letting me hang off his arm for a moment as I paint the rolling peaks of muscle, the deep definition, and trace his thick veins snaking across the pulsing muscle. I paint his hands, loving how long and thick his fingers are. Watching the calloused palms soak up the paint.

“Okay, down, big guy,” I say, prepping the smaller sponges with the base color.

“Sorry, can’t help it,” Mikey says, adjusting his obvious growing shaft where it’s pushed out along his hip.

“Fuck,” I say, reaching down and giving it an appreciative squeeze. I was so lost in his torso that I hadn’t noticed. Very unlike me. “Um, I actually meant I need you back on your knees,” I chuckle, still groping.

“Fuck me. Yes, Sir,” Mikey says through a devious smile, clenching his ass and pumping blood to his growing beast. He slowly drops back down to his knees and I feel a growl escape my own throat. His eyes grow wide at that. (Heh. Surprised myself, too.)

I take his face in my left hand, gently, seeing his hazel eyes light up at my touch. I kiss him again, this time taking my time. I tease his lips with my own before locking us together in a passionate one. I break away and start nonchalantly painting his face. Moving his chin up or down, dabbing the sponge along his strong jaw and chin, working paint into his perpetual 5 o’clock shadow.

“Okay! That’s the base layer. Now we just need highlights, shadows, and the stitch painting,” I say, feeling accomplished, despite the numerous dick-stractions. “All we have to do is keep our hands off each other for another hour while I finish.”

“... We’re fucked,” Mikey laughs. “What was I thinking when I came up with this?”

“Well, we both know which head this idea came from,” I say, reaching down to cup his epic mound in those tight jeans. The feel of it sends a shudder through me that reverberates through him starting at his junk. He moans lightly.

Yup. We’re fucked.

“Well, look who decided to finally show up!” Claire calls to us from the grand wrap-around porch of the Psi Nu house. The fraternity must have a killer gardener, because Claire looks right at home sitting on their railing in her Poison Ivy costume. Large wisteria vines wrap around a trellis and onto the eaves above her, and dense boxwoods and waxy-leafed camellias line the beds beneath. “I was beginning to think you’d forgotten about us.”

She’s surrounded by 4 or 5 people, all of them strangers to me. Alrighty then, here we go. Mikey gives me a smile and we walk up the porch steps side by side. When we approach the group, all eyes are on Mikey. And with good reason. I spent my time well, building highlights and contours to emphasize and exaggerate every rippling muscle in his torso. Watching all those body painting tutorials on YouTube really paid off. Once I’d finished the color work I used a slender brush to paint the stitches on my Frankenstein’s monster. For my own costume, we found an old lab coat and I tailored it a bit, and paired it with gray wool slacks and a white Victorian-era button-front shirt (thanks to Jack and his connections in the theater department’s costume closet). Then I messed up my brown curls and used a bit of purple eyeshadow and smudged black eyeliner to bring home the mad-scientist vibes.

For a finishing touch, Claire loaned Mikey a pair of radioactive green contact lenses. Which is how we discovered Mikey’s one weakness: touching his own eyeball. I laughed for a solid 25 minutes as he struggled and swore into the mirror, tears and saline wash running down his face. He was only able to get one of them in comfortably before giving up, so I added a stitch line running from his hairline and wrapping around the orbital socket, as if his face were two corpses sewn together, and honestly I think it turned out better than if he’d managed both.

The complete image is a pocket-sized Dr Frankenstein and a jacked behemoth of a Frankenstein’s monster. We look like a bara manga version of the classic and it took everything in my power not to just jump his bones the moment we finished. But we fucking made it. We look hot as fuck, scary as hell, and we’re at our first college party.

“Hot damn!” Claire cries out as she hops off her perch on the railing and pulls me into a hug, enveloping me in a cloud of green tulle and fake English ivy.

“You two look amazing! Go on, give me a pose,” she commands, waving her hands as if arranging a tableau.

Mikey does a quarter turn, tightens his abs, and throws up a bicep. His massive arm rising into an insane peak, only emphasized by my paint job. I try my best, “It’s alive!” look and turn my palms up toward the heavens in triumph. Claire laughs and wolf whistles so hard I almost don’t notice the flash.

“Hey!” Claire chides her friend who’s holding up a phone snapping pics. “Manners, Julia. Jesus, people, a little warning before breaking out the cameras,” Claire says before fluffing her red wig and rearranging her ample tits in their corseted confines. She steps into the frame and joins us on Mikey’s other side and we both swoon while he rattles off a quick posing routine. Claire’s friend snaps a few more pics laughing, then turns to her little group and mimes fanning herself, as if overwhelmed by the hotness. Believe me, sweetie, I get it.

“You look amazing, by the way,” I tell Claire after our photoshoot. I’m being honest, too. She’s got a great balance of burlesque and movie costume references, and the asymmetry of her tulle/ivy embellishment feels organic and flattering. “Where’s Jack, inside?”

“Thank you! And no, I haven’t seen him yet! I texted him and he replied ‘never rush a drag queen’ and then went radio silent,” she replies, eyes rolling at the last part.

“Come along, let’s get you two drinks and take a lap? See the house?” Claire proposes, linking arms with us. She hesitates a moment. “Mikey, hon, are you still wet? Cuz I borrowed a lot of this and I’m not getting body paint on it without getting lucky for my trouble.”

“Ha! All good. Adam set me with powder and hairspray. I might be stuck this way for life,” he replies, still managing to be charming through 8 layers of monster makeup.

“Excellent!” Claire says, pulling us close. “Let’s party.”

The Psi Nu house is as grand inside as it is outside, only they really went nuts on the decorations inside. There are dense cotton cobwebs strung from every crown molding and door frame. Purple, green, and orange string lights twinkle everywhere through occasional bursts of fog from a machine tucked into the corner of the living room, which appears to be hosting a drinking game centered around a deck of cards circling a single pint glass.

Through a large archway covered with hanging bats and plastic bones we enter the dining room where the long table in the center is an active beer pong tournament. A Roman centurion and Spiderman (decent bulge, nice ass. Thank you, spandex) are clearly winning against a toilet paper mummy with his boxers hanging out and a Party-City Cleopatra who is definitely not being a good loser. We slip through the crowd watching the game and pop through another doorway into the kitchen where a tall guy with safety goggles and a lab coat is presiding over a large kitchen island covered with liquor and mixers. He teased his shaggy blonde hair up and sprayed it green. Claire glides into a spot along the counter and pulls me forward.

“Wes! You look adorable in green!” Claire flirts with the bartender. “What are you mixing up? Got enough for three more?”

“Claaaaaaaire! Yeah, I got ya covered. Who are your friends?” Wes replies, deftly combining bottles with a clear sense of purpose, and only giving one eyebrow raise at Mikey’s looming form behind me, so close I can feel the heat radiating off him.

“This adorable fashionista is Adam, cream of the freshman crop at The Works,” she introduces. “And this is his boyfriend Mikey. Don’t let the brawn fool you, he’s majoring in sports medicine and absolutely slaying. Boys, this is Wes, we dated freshman year, then realized I’m too awesome for him.”

“I remember that differently,” Wes says with a wink. “But we can debate later.”

“Promise?” Claire teases, taking drinks from the now blushing bar boy and distributing them.

“Good to meet you!” Mikey calls out over the din. “Anyone with the balls to debate Claire is someone worth knowing.”

“Damn. Flattery will only get you more drinks,” Wes smiles back.

I sip my drink and find it fruity, sweet, and absurdly alcoholic. A step up from high school party punch, but the intent feels the same: Get faded and get faded fast. We bounce from one room to the next for about an hour; a den lined with couches around an improvised dance floor, crowded with bodies. A fenced yard lit by bistro lights and the glow of an empty hot tub steaming in the night air. A finished basement with another bar and a foosball table surrounded by grunting jocks. It’s no surprise that Mikey gets immediate attention in any room we enter. Some people are flat out staring. One girl yelled “Franken-Fuck-Me!” at the top of her lungs as we left the den. The crowd is already getting pretty thick in each room, and I’m beginning to feel a bit overwhelmed by the jostling of bodies, but Mikey is always close to me, and when I get feeling cagey he always manages to put a reassuring hand on the small of my back or give my hand a squeeze.

Claire introduces us to more people than I can possibly remember and I slowly realize she’s actually quite popular. I don’t know why I hadn’t realized. She’s always parting ways with one group or another before joining us on the quad for lunch. Her and Mikey make a great pair, effortlessly chatting with every person we meet. I wish Jack would get here already so I had another introvert to wallflower with.

“All righty, that’s the run of the place. Except upstairs, but that’s all Brother’s rooms. People only go up there when they get invited to smoke pot or hook up,” Claire says, wrapping up our guided tour of the party.

“They’ve got a great setup here,” Mikey says, looking around with an eager grin. “What do we do first? Get in on the pong tournament? The DJ seems good, we could dance?”

Oh shit, he’s asking me. Claire is looking at me too.

“Um. I’ve never played beer pong before, I don’t know how,” I answer, looking around for an easy answer. I’ve also never danced in public before, but I’m not about to admit that. Wait, why? Why would I not admit that? I look at my friends and shrug. “Fuck, this is all kinda new territory for me.”

“Have you ever won a goldfish at a carnival?” Mikey asks.

“Yeah, when I was like, 12.”

“Then you have the skills for beer pong! Honestly, if you hate it, I’ll never ask you to play again,” he says, disarming me with a smile. “What do you say, you down for a night of trying new things?”

“What the hell. Let’s do it.”

Mikey smirks. “Fuck yeah.”

It turns out I’m pretty good at beer pong. After challenging the reigning champions Sid (the Roman Centurion) and Dan (Spiderman) to a match, we realized they were already pretty blitzed from having won a few rounds. Don’t get me wrong, we drank our share, as Sid the Centurion has a mean shot when he can focus. But between Mikey’s natural coaching ability and my borderline unhealthy competitive streak, we were able to keep up, and then totally wipe them out. Sid and Dan were gracious losers, particularly when Mikey told them it was my first game.

“It was an honor to lose to you. Like getting the shit kicked out of me by David and Goliath,” Sid muses, shaking our hands in turn. I noticed him stealing a lot of glances during the match, and not just at Mikey.

“I demand a rematch once you two have gotten on this goddamn level!” Dan exclaims gesturing at himself, then jump-tackling Sid’s back and riding him into the kitchen shouting “Yah! Giddyup.”

“I need a refill, I’m following that mess,” Claire announces, trailing after Sid and Dan.

“So…?” Mikey says, turning to me.

“So… one of Wes’s drinks and one game of beer pong in and I’m feeling ready to try a bit of dancing,” I reply, warmth in my cheeks.

“Yes.” And we’re off to the den in a bee line. Mikey weaving between couples parked making out in the hallway, towing me along through the crowd in an even flow.

We arrive and land plumb in the middle of the dance floor, dark aside from the spinning lights cutting rainbow beams through the fog-machine mist. Mikey bounces on the balls of his feet like a boxer, bobbing and nodding his head to the rapid EDM. For a moment I’m dumbstruck, watching his body pulse and gyrate, his rippling core, his heavy pecs bouncing, arms flexing and releasing in perfect tempo. Fuck, he dances like a go-go boy, and when he sees me staring, he looks like he knowns it, too. He runs a hand down his undulating torso and hooks his thumb into the waistband of his jeans, letting his fingers brush across the sizable bulge beneath.

He beckons me toward him. Or maybe he doesn’t. Maybe he didn’t need to. Either way, I’m in his arms and then I’m pressed against him and then I’m kissing him. He’s still dancing, swaying and lifting me as we kiss and grind. I feel my feet reach the ground and the beat takes over, driving me to dance. I spin and jump and Mikey matches me, throwing liquid hands like a rave kid, then surprising me again with some skilled animator moves.

Shit. Of course he can dance. What can’t he do? Oh! Put in contacts! Yes. Gotta remember that. I cackle at that thought and Mikey raises amused eyebrows at me.

“I’ll tell you later!” I yell over the blaring speakers.

We’re dancing for I don’t know how long. How long are EDM songs? Do EDM songs have ends? Just when I start to feel like I’m losing steam, I feel a pair of hands spin me around and I come face to face with a stunning anime goddess. Shining blue hair, gold circlet, cerulean and white sailor suit with perfectly laid pleats in the skirt. Every detail was on point.

“Jack!” I practically scream, jump-hugging my mentor. “You’re finally here!”

“Yes! I have come to save you from the overwhelming boredom you’re obviously experiencing without me!” Jack declares over the music.

“Save us, Sailor Mercury!” Mikey cries out, swooning hilariously and scooping Jack into a high-flying bear hug.

“Holy fuck, Frankenstein!” Jack laughs as they spin together. “Lemme down you brute!”

With that Mikey puts Jack on his feet and the three of us dance together to the thumping bass. It’s another few songs of jumping and spinning before I start to feel a bit more lightheaded than I realized. I take a step back and Mikey looks at me with concern. I fan myself, hoping to indicate I’m a bit flushed.

“You wanna get some water?” Mikey shouts over the music, leaning down to reach my ear.

“Yeah, I think I’ll head to the kitchen and find Claire!” I yell back.

“I’ll come!” He screams, just as the song drops for a moment, making it the loudest thing anyone has ever heard. People look over but the music picks back up immediately. I burst out laughing as Mikey tries to shrink himself (to no avail, I might add).

“I’m good! You two keep dancing!” I say, shooing Mikey back to Jack as I meander drunkenly to the brightly lit kitchen.

Bartender Wes has been replaced by Sid from beer pong, and he looks up with a grin when I approach the kitchen island.

“Doctor Frankenstein, good to see you again,” Sid says jovially. “What’s your poison.”

“Sid the Centurion, always a pleasure,” I reply, a little sloppy on my S sounds. “Is there water?”

“Absolutely,” he says, handing me a small bottle of water. “I saw you and your monster getting hot on the dancefloor, I’d be thirsty after grinding that beast too.”

I blush what must be a deep and vibrant shade of crimson.

“Yeah, we get a little wrapped up in it sometimes. Didn’t realize we had an audience,” I mutter, feeling like hiding somewhere.

“Oh, I think this whole party might be your audience tonight. You two are the hottest couple to come along in a hot minute,” Sid winks back. “I had to step out of the room. Nowhere to hide a boner in this leather skirt thing.”

“Pteruges,” I automatically reply before what he says actually sinks in.

“What?”

“The skirt thing. They’re called pteruges. It’s plural, each strip is a pteruge,” I say, really looking the Centurion up and down for the first time. He’s a shorter guy, maybe 5’ 9” or 5’ 8”, but he’s built square and strong and he obviously works out. Nice pecs and big round shoulders, a soft layer covers an obviously strong core. I glance further down and see his legs are almost as thick as Mikey’s. His strappy roman sandals laced up some seriously carved calves and his powerful thighs vanishing into the hanging leather folds.

“Huh. Good to know,” he replies, smiling rakishly as he looks me up and down in return. “I admit I picked this costume just to be naked all night. I love showing off.”

“Heh. You and my boyfriend have that in common,” I laugh, glancing back toward the den and the pulsing lights and music. That’s when I see him. That fucker Brett is standing in the hall that runs along the stairs. He’s looking away, into the living room with that sneer on his face.

“Shit!” I mutter, and step out of view quickly.

“Uhhhh, you okay?” Says Sid, all flirting gone from his voice. “Oh, that guy. Ugh.”

“You know that fucker?” I ask.

“Yeah, Brett something. He came to a pledge mixer and gave everyone bad vibes. He’s gross around women, too,” Sid says, keeping an eye on him. “How do you know him?”

“That asshat’s been bullying me since fucking orientation. Can’t seem to shake him,” I say, realizing I’m ready to run out of this party. Fuck. I hate this. I hate feeling afraid to just do normal shit. I’m more angry than afraid now, and absolutely ready to confront him, but what would I do about Mikey? Brett could hurt him if things got physical. Actually, probably not, but I don’t want Mikey arrested, either.

“Hey, you want to hide out upstairs with your boyfriend while I take care of it?” Sid offers. “We can get rid of that guy quietly and then you can either head out safely or rejoin the party once he’s gone?”

I consider it a moment, and look Sid in the eyes for a sign of duplicity or ill intent (shit, do I have trust issues?).

“Yes. Please. That would be great,” I sigh, finally.

“Okay. Let’s find your friends,” Sid says reassuringly. He wraps an arm around my shoulder and steers me out the side door from the kitchen through some kind of butler’s pantry to the far side of the den and dance floor. The moment Mikey sees my face he’s by my side like a golden retriever, beaming his big smile at me. Claire and Wes are dancing with Jack, twirling to Grimes in the lights.

“I was just going to come find you! They’re gonna do keg stands and I’ve always wanted to try that!” Mikey says, then sees my face and Sid standing behind me. “What’s wrong, what happened?”

“Nothing. Er. Something. But let’s go upstairs. Like, now,” I say quickly, keeping an eye on the doorway near where I saw Brett.

Mikey looks concerned for a moment, then nods to me and Sid. “Okay. Let’s go.”

“Come on, we’ll use the back stairs,” Sid says, leading the way and Mikey taking up the rear. We snake through the crowd to a small hall that leads toward the backyard, but hang a quick left just before the French doors that lead outside. A narrow staircase rises up and around a corner and then down a hallway with dark wood paneling up half the wall and beautiful wooden doors running down either side.

Sid leads us into his room, and gestures toward his desk chair.

“I’ll head down. Dan and I will get rid of the guy. Don’t worry, we have protocols for exactly this situation,” Sid tells us, then heads out of the room and closes the door behind him.

Mikey holds my hand and looks at me, frowning.

“What guy? Did someone say something? Did someone touch you? If one of these frat douches fucked with you I’ll tear this place apart, I swear to fuck—”

“Chill,” I say. “No one touched me.” (Tonight, I think to myself, remembering the day I met Claire.)

“Then what the fuck is going on, Adam?” Mikey pleads with me. “This isn’t the first time I’ve seen you like this. What aren’t you telling me?”

I sigh. “It’s nothing. I’m just… there’s this guy. Just a bully. In my geology lecture. He says shit to me. Standard fucked up, homophobic, femmephobic shit. I just… I thought I could handle it. I always have before.”

“He’s here?” Mikey says, standing up and heading for the door.

“Don’t leave me alone,” I say quickly. “Please. Let the frat boys do whatever. Just stay with me.”

Mikey stops. Looking down at me, so sad. He sits down heavily on Sid’s unmade bed, which creaks in protest under his mass.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” He says, looking at his enormous feet.

“I… fuck. I don’t know. It feels like decisions made by a different person now. I was afraid of how you’d react. Or wouldn’t react. But I didn’t know you then. Or I was making decisions based on the past. Or something. Fuck. I’m confusing myself”

“I’m not confused,” Mikey says abruptly, breaking me out of my trance. “I love you.”

Fuck. He said it.

“I love you too,” I say, feeling it with my whole body. “I was thinking it as I said all that. That it’s all different now. I’m different now. Whatever we do about Brett, we’ll do it together.”

“I could just beat him to a bloody pulp,” Mikey offers, muscles twitching. And I can see in his eyes he means it. Which is terrifying, but also… hot? Yes. Insanely hot. Is that bad? No time. Think about that later.

“Tempting, but I prefer you outside prison walls,” I say, getting up and crossing the gap to the bed. “Anyway, you can’t possibly make decisions right now. You’re too keyed up.”

“I am pretty drunk,” he replies, his eyes darkening as he looks me up and down. “And you dance very well.”

“Mmhmm,” I say, removing my lab coat and tossing it on the chair behind me. “Plus all that energy we built up painting your body.”

“Uuuuuungh. Fuck” He moans as I reach down and cup his monster bulge through the black stretch denim. “Kiss me,” he requests.

I climb on his lap, straddling his waist as best I can, take his face in my hands, and kiss him hard. His hands roam wild on my back, finding the hem of my shirt and untucking. I gasp when I finally feel his hands on my bare back, pulling me close. I grind myself against his granite torso and wrap my arms around his broad shoulders. He moves to my neck, kissing and nibbling and sucking as I moan and bounce myself on his lap.

“I wanna suck your cock,” he growls into my ear, then bites the lobe gently. Well fuck, I don’t need to be told twice. I stand up and start unfastening my belt when the door opens and Sid walks in.

“Oh! Shit! Sorry!” Sid yelps, politely covering his eyes as I fumble to get my belt buckled back up.

“Nope. Sorry! It’s your room,” Mikey says on our behalf. “So what’s up? What happened?”

“Dan and another brother are handling it. He was already making some people uncomfortable so I didn’t even mention you,” Sid says, handing us both bottles of water. “So now we just ride it out for a bit while they ask him to leave. Unless you two would like some privacy.”

“No. No. It’s fine. We’re just a little pent up,” I say, ignoring a subtle groan from Mikey. “Thank you again for your help.”

“Of course. You know if you guys want to keep the party going, I’ve got weed?” Sid says, smiling slyly and grabbing a bong off of his desk.

“Oh… shit. Um, I’m down. Adam?” Mikey says, surprising me entirely.

“Huh. I mean, I never have before…” I reply.

“You don’t have to,” Sid says.

“Zero pressure,” Mikey affirms.

“Honestly. More for us,” Sid laughs. “Or we don’t even have to. This room hot boxes fast.”

“Yeah, maybe we shouldn’t,” Mikey bats back to Sid, a playful smile creeping in.

“Load the fucking bowl,” I say, rolling my eyes at them both. “And to be clear, your peer pressure game is awful. I was just planning on trying it anyway.”

Twenty minutes and one rough-as-fuck coughing fit later and I’m stoned for the first time ever. It’s kinda like being in a warm comfy bed on a cold morning, only I’m dressed. Well, less dressed than earlier. Buttons are hard to unbutton sometimes, huh? Mikey pulled my shirt out earlier and it was all bunchy so I just pulled it off, leaving me in a white tank top and my gray slacks. I also took off my shoes, at some point, it would appear.

Anyway. Mikey is saying something.

“What?” I ask him.

He and Sid just burst out laughing. At something. Me? Is it me? Rude. At least they’re both smiling and cute. So cute. Mikey in particular. I’m gonna kiss his face.

“I asked how you were feeling, but I’m guessing gooumph,” Mikey starts, but then I kiss the words into mush. He kisses me back, but also is laughing at something again.

Sid shakes his head.

“Welcome to being crossfaded, new friend,” he tells me. And I look at him and Mikey and realize they’re also totally stoned.

“Fuck. This is nice,” I mutter. “I haven’t thought about Brett in like, minutes. Tiny dicked fuckwit,” I say, then clap my hand over my mouth.

Mikey and Sid burst out laughing.

“He does have that vibe!” Sid yells. “Like he’s utterly furious with whatever dark god cursed him with 3 inches.”

“I still want to beat him up,” Mikey laughs, barely choking out the words around his wheeze-laughs. “Can I beat him up?”

“Oh you could definitely take him,” Sid says, looking Mikey up and down appreciatively. He lets out a low whistle. “Easily.”

“Mmmmhmm,” I say, reaching over and feeling Mikey’s epic bicep. He flexes it in my hand and I gasp a bit.

“Whoa. Fuck, dude, that’s huge,” Sid says.

I look up, expecting Sid to be ogling some part of Mikey’s rock-hard anatomy, but he’s looking at me. Specifically at my crotch. I glance down and notice (not sure how I missed it, but here we are) that I am fully erect. The girthy rod pressed firmly against my thigh, torpedo head clearly defined under the light gray material of my slacks.

“Shit. Sorry,” I say, and I shift to try and hide it but Mikey’s huge hand slips down and cups it, stroking me even harder with a squeeze.

“I keep telling him it’s huge, but he doesn’t seem to realize. Mmmmm. Fuck. Stoner boners are the best, right?” Mikey says, his voice husky.

I look from him to Sid, and both of them have their eyes locked onto my diamond-hard dick, which is now twitching feistily as Mikey strokes me. Fuck me, is this happening? I love the way Sid is devouring my cock with his eyes.

“Fuck, dude, it looks huge. I’m not small and I’m nowhere near that big,” he says, reaching under a pteruge, showing off a pair of tight, olive-green trunks. He squeezes a thickening shaft and my cock flexes automatically in Mikey’s hand.

“I was about to suck his big cock when you came in,” he tells Sid.

“I… uh… noticed that,” Sid says, relaxing back in his chair a bit, letting a hand rest on his meaty thigh. “You said you were feeling pretty pent up. I know how rough that can be. You’re welcome to pick up where you left off. I could just hang here and watch, if you’re okay with that?”

Mikey looks at me. “It’s okay to say no,” he says. “We’re pretty lit.”

“No, I want it. I want him to see it. I want him to see you, too,” I say, feeling absolutely crystal clear as I reach over and cup Mikey’s prodigious bulge, already plumped as far as the stretch denim will allow.

“Oh fuck yes,” Mikey says, pulling me to his kiss.

We’re on the floor by the bed with his long tree trunk legs sprawled out in front of him, so I straddle his nearest thigh. I slide up him, rubbing my aching shaft between us and pressing my leg to his growing mound. We make out in deep, slow, passionate kisses while I grind myself into him. Feeling his muscles tense and flex under my hands. I grip his shoulders for more leverage, press my body to his enormous pecs heaving with building breath. He growls into my neck and then gently but insistently pulls my tank top off over my head. I laugh as Mikey sits up and hikes my body further up his own, wrapping my legs around his waist. He gets one knee under him and rises to standing, carrying me with him like I weigh nothing.

He lays me down on Sid’s full size bed and looms over me, eyes dark with arousal, muscles twitching in anticipation. I know that look and I like these pants, so I undo my belt as quickly as I can before he can rip anything asunder. But he surprises me and caresses my legs through the material, looking at me with absolute reverence as he does so. He’s teasing my bulge with slow passes, coaxing it to throbbing ferocity. I see him glance over at Sid in his chair and smile. When I look over, I see Sid’s dropped his costume and is sitting with legs spread, his healthy hog in his hand. His eyes are locked onto my cock, pulsing in Mikey’s grip through my slacks.

“You wanna see it?” Mikey asks Sid.

He nods, a pleading look entering his eyes. “Yes, please,” he says huskily, stroking his cock from the base, pushing his snug foreskin down his drooling pink head. I’d say he’s a bit over 6 inches, nicely thick, and uncut. For a moment I think I’m really not that much bigger than him, what if he’s disappointed when he sees it? But fuck he looks hot watching us, worshipping.

I look back at Mikey and give him a nod. He unbuttons my pants and starts the zipper, slowly easing it down. My cock is pointed down in my boxer briefs, and the arc of my shaft pushes out through the opening. The bright pink modal fabric stretched tight by the force of my arousal.

“Oh fuck yes,” Sid moans, adjusting his position to see better. Or grip his cock better. Or both.

Mikey gives me a wink and my rising cock a squeeze and hooks his fingers into the waistband of both my pants and undies and slides them down. My cock springs free and slaps my belly with a loud smack.

“Fuuuuuck,” Sid moans.

I grip myself, holding my thick shaft up to show off the length. Fuck, I do look huge right now. Bigger than usual even. It feels so good to stroke myself after a long day of teasing and tantalizing. I look up at Mikey, who looks like a wolf about to devour a bunny.

“You want it?” I taunt Mikey, waggling my heavy piece and lifting my hips toward him.

He’s on me like a shot, kneeling on the foot of the bed and laying his massive rock hard bulk between my thighs. I lie back and put my hands behind my head, turning my face toward Sid so I can watch him stroke while Mikey takes my sizeable cock into his mouth.

Mikey wastes no time and licks me from nuts to head before plunging his face down and doing his best to take my entire length in one go. He gags and chokes a bit, then pulls off of me to the head and begins working the fat torpedo tip of my cock with his tongue before driving down and taking me into his throat again.

“Shit, babe, that feels so fucking good. You like this big cock?” I say, and feel the hum of his muffled reply against my shaft. I watch as Sid pulls his big bull nuts out of his trunks, tucking the waistband beneath his taint so the whole package gets a lift. “Mmmm. Nice nuts, man.”

“Heh. Thanks. I cum like a cannon,” Sid replies, looking devilish.

“I fucking bet you do,” I say, watching the hefty orbs bounce with his strokes.

Mikey pulls off of my cock a moment and looks over at Sid.

“Fuck me, those are huge. Almost as big as mine,” he says appreciatively, cupping his massive bulge. I can see he’s fully hard now in his pants, tucked to his hip and fully threatening to force its way out over his waistband. He sees me looking at his shaft hungrily and gives me a wink. “Wanna flip over and fuck my face?”

“Fuck yeah!” I say, untangling our legs so Mikey can lie back on the bed, his head by the foot and his massive feet flat against the wall. I spin around and shuck the pants and undies from my ankles, then climb aboard my muscle giant and straddle his chest. My raging hard cock is now slick with spit and nestled right between his pecs, which he flexes in response and groans as he grips my ass cheeks in his face. I grind my cock into his chest and bury my face in his bulge. He guides me back and lifts my hips to get access to my pre-cum drooling dick. He takes me into his mouth and I gasp at the sensation from a new angle. He swallows me slow, showing me the path to thrust into his throat, and when I feel him relax a bit I start rocking my hips in the rhythm he established.

“Fuuuuuuuuck!” I moan as I writhe, bouncing my ass more and more as I pump my cock in and out of Mikey’s throat. His hands are wildly gripping my thighs, my ass, rubbing my arched back as I ride his face. I grab his monster cock through his pants and massage it as I buck, feeling myself building closer and closer, bucking wildly now as I fill his throat. I look over at Sid and he’s fully gooning in his chair, pre-cum streaming out of him like a faucet, jaw trembling as he mutters a silent ‘fuckfuckfuckfuck’.

I slow my thrusts and catch my breath, Mikey’s hands slowing to match me. I pull my cock slowly out of his mouth, watching Sid’s jaw go slack as I reveal more and more of my hugeness, slick and shiny with Mikey’s spit.

“He’s ready,” I tell Mikey, climbing off and kneeling on the bed beside him. “Show him the beast.”

Mikey emits a low growl in reply, then swings his legs over the bed toward Sid, who stops dead and looks up as Mikey rises to his full height. He unbuckles his belt and wraps the buckle end around his wrist, then snaps his arms apart, pulling the belt out of every loop with a loud CRACK. He takes another step towards Sid and sidles his feet into a wide stance. He unbuttons the first button and a whimper escapes Sid’s lips.

“You like muscle? You like size?” I ask, standing up myself to get a view of Mikey and Sid at the same time.

Sid can only nod in silence as he stares up at the behemoth in front of him. Mikey pushes his pants down, leaving only black briefs. Fuck, his dumptruck ass looks amazing in those briefs. Even in this dim light I can see the material between the top of his mighty cheeks is see-through, stretched sheer by the powerful globes of his ass. He turns toward me slightly and I see his fat mushroom head peeking and pulsing at his hip. The insane girth of that massive shaft is not even fully covered by the thin strip of cotton and lycra holding it back.

Sid is almost hyperventilating as he tries to take in the sight before him. A towering muscle freak, painted greenish-gray from the waist up, dense pecs heaving, powerful arms tensing and twitching at his sides, sweat rivulets dripping down the cut crevice between his 8-pack, down to a jaw-cracking thick shaft, veins visibly pulsing beneath the material, giant kiwi-sized balls pushed forward by his seam-shredding thighs.

Mikey chuckles at Sid’s reaction, then silently reaches down and takes his briefs in his hands on either hip and steadily, slowly tears them to shreds, allowing his nearly foot long cock to bob and swing perpendicular in front of him.

“Hhhghungh,” Sid grunts, his cock flexing furiously, as though trying to cum hands-free. “Oh, fuck. Hold on. Not yet,” he grunts, trying to hold his edge.

I move to Mikey’s side, my own cock standing straight up between my modest four pack (huh, since when do I have that much definition?) I reach over and take his glorious god-cock in my hand, and stroke it slowly, encouraging it to absolute full mast. I watch Sid as his head spins from disbelief.

“Yeah. I know the feeling, buddy,” I say, kneeling down to worship Mikey’s epic member. I help him out of his tight jeans and briefs, still wrapped around his shapely calves. I get my nose under his big balls and jack his cock with both hands as I suck and nuzzle his nuts.

“Oh, babe, fuck, I need this,” Mikey moans, losing himself in my manipulations. I’m getting pretty good at finding his buttons, so I double my efforts and watch his knees wobble for a second. He shoots a hand up and grips the ceiling for balance, his palm flat to the plaster, bicep popped. The room floods with his smell, spicy, fresh sweat. making him even more imposing as he looms over us. Sid has tentatively started stroking again, clearly on the verge of exploding any moment, but also incapable of holding back from touching himself any longer.

“Guys, I don’t know how much longer I’m going to last!” Sid stammers, eyes darting between huge cocks and heaving muscles.

“I’m close too,” Mikey tells me.

Well fuck, let’s light this roman candle. I get to my feet and Mikey and I both close in around Sid in his chair. We loom over him, both stroking madly.

“You fucking love these monster cocks, don’t you?” Mikey moans, his voice rough and breathing ragged. “So fucking big, fucking thick. You wanna feel this powerful cock pummeling your insides?”

“Fuck yes!” Sid yells, fucking his fist with pure abandon. “You’re so fucking massive! Biggest cocks I’ve ever seen! Oh, fuuuuuck!”

I see Sid’s heft nuts pull up tight to the base of his cock and he erupts, the first shot of his load a thick white rope of cum that splatters the underside of Mikey’s shaft. The next few shots are less bombastic but equally large. I feel droplets splatter across my legs and he shows no signs of stopping yet.

“Holy fuck! You weren’t kidding about being a cannon!” Mikey calls out, not missing a stroke as Sid’s jizz coats his monster fuckstick. He’s stroking lubed now and I see him swell to his absolute largest. He’s ready to pop. “Aw fuck, here it comes!”

Mikey blasts out a heavy load, even for him, spraying blast after blast all over Sid, who’s still shooting smaller blasts himself! The sight is too fucking much for me and I cry out as I climax, unloading my own healthy round of cum shots onto Sid. Sid revels in his mini bukkake moment, ropes of jizz dripping from his chin, splattered across his lightly furry chest, sprayed all over his tummy and legs. He chuckles in satisfaction.

“Holy shit, boys. That was very very hot,” Sid says, finally. Standing up and walking to his closet. He retrieves a stack of towels and hands them out to us. I clean myself up, then see Mikey is at a bit of a loss with how to clean the mess without cleaning his body paint and I take the towel from him and help. This also gives me an excuse to enjoy his monster softie a bit, which I clean with exacting attention to detail. Sid mops up his puddle on the floor with the practiced hand of someone who unloads by the quart on a daily basis.

“Say, Sid,” Mikey starts, picking up his tattered briefs from the floor. “Any chance I could borrow some underwear?”

We all burst out laughing.

“But in his own letters the creature states that if he were to take a name, it would be the name of his father. His creator. The creature’s namelessness is a reflection of Victor’s coldness and rejection. I would argue that by naming him, and specifically naming him for Victor, the audience is sympathizing with the creature,” Claire counters, lounging back in the rising steam, her ample and exquisite tits out, legs sprawled across Wes’s lap. “Literature is a living thing. Mary Shelley didn’t write a child’s story of good versus evil, it’s more complex than that. She challenged people’s perceptions her entire life. The audiences’ collective naming of the creature, and therefore identifying the real protagonist and antagonist of the story, is a resounding support for the spirit and intent of her work.”

“I’d argue that naming the monster isn’t necessarily a reflection of collective recognition. People are way stupider than you give them credit for,” Wes replies, followed by a long draw from his beer. “They’re probably just reflexively assuming the iconic character is the one the story is named for. Uh oh, speak of the devil.”

Wes opens his arms in welcome as Mikey, Sid and I approach the hot tub. After Halloween, Claire and Wes went from friends who occasionally fuck to a couple that occasionally pauses their debates to fuck. It’s been six weeks since the party and the Psi Nu house has become a regular hangout for all of us. Claire and Wes dating is a big part of that, but we’ve been getting closer to a lot of the other brothers. Though none of us have pledged (and I don’t know if I ever would) they’ve been really enthusiastic about us coming around all the time.

“Friends of the House,” Sid calls it.

Oh, yeah, that’s some more news. The day after the party, in the sober daylight, Mikey and I were able to unpack some of the more, um, let’s say questionable decisions from the night before. We were lucky we ended up meeting Sid, instead of some rohypnol packing predator. Once we agreed not to make decisions like that under the influence of anything ever again, we noticed that, as it turns out, impulsively pulling a third person into our sexual dynamic is something we both really, really enjoyed.

“So what would that mean for us?” Mikey asked, a bit sheepishly. “Like, the us part of us.”

“I mean, you’re my boyfriend, right?” I started, keeping eye contact to try and feel out Mikey’s reaction.

“Yes! I mean, yes, please…?” Mikey replied, obviously doing the same.

“Good. Okay. Right now, I wouldn’t want to do anything sexual without you around. And I wouldn’t want to do anything romantically with anyone else at all,” I said truthfully.

“Oh, fuck, phew,” Mikey breathed out a sigh of relief. We both did. Together. Whatever comes next, we were doing it together.

So we talked it out (with some googling, and texting Claire and Jack, and joining a subreddit or two). Every detail. What we’d be down to explore, what our hard limits are, non-verbal cues to let the other person know we want to stop or feel unsafe. And what’s funny is, we ended up closer than ever. Fuck, we even talked about things we might want to try one-on-one. I told Mikey about fantasies I’ve never spoken aloud before that morning. And he told me about some of his. I loved it. And not just because his fantasies were hot as fuck. Now that we have a deeper understanding of what we both want, it feels more secure.

Turns out Sid was down to be our occasional third, and otherwise is just a great friend. And when I say Sid was down, I mean he fell to his knees and sucked us both off on the spot. And fuck can Sid suck a cock, worshipfully wrapping his mouth around my thick shaft and working my nuts with his freehand as he fondles his own massive balls. Popping between Mikey’s jaw stretching monster and my hefty piece with perfect rhythm. Chef’s kiss. If he had a rating page I’d give 5 stars. And I admit, we hook up in Sid’s room about half the times we’re over.

Now it’s the first week in December and Sid texted inviting us over for some hot tub time before finals. It’s been cold, but not enough to snow yet. Jack wasn’t kidding when he said the Works gets brutally cold in the winter, and I admit the furnace at home has been struggling to keep the basement above 55. That adds up to a lot of me hunched over a sewing table and Mikey lifting in cold conditions, and our bodies could use a hot soak.

“Well if it isn’t Doctor Frankenstein and his monster, come to argue the merits of proper nomenclature with us?” Wes greets us as we approach. “Claire was just being far too kind to the unwashed masses.”

“And Wes was just losing his chance to get any tonight by resorting to classist reductive reasoning,” Claire laughs, tilting her head at Wes. “Join us. The water is lovely.”

We all start the process of stripping in the backyard of a frat house, dancing to keep as warm as possible while pulling sweaters over heads and shimmying out of jeans. Mikey is wearing the square-cut trunks I made for him, and I love seeing his epic meat outlined in the pouch. I see Sid glance over and enjoy the sight as well, and I smile knowing how much it turns Mikey on to be looked at exactly like that.

“I want a swimsuit like that,” Sid muses.

“I want a cock like that!” Wes calls out from the hot tub.

I snort-laugh. Sid nods in agreement. Mikey’s looking down, but I can see the smile quirking the side of his perfect mouth. I turn to Wes, stripped down to my white trunks. They’re not skin-tight, but they are short. Like gym shorts from an 80’s slasher movie. I built a snug pouch into the band to keep my soft dick from flopping out the leg openings, and the resulting bulge is bouncy and full.

“And you’ve never seen it hard,” I say, giving Wes a wink and holding my hands in front of me, about a foot apart.

“Fuck,” says Wes.

“Ow. No thank you,” says Claire, her eyes wide. “I tap out around there,” she explains, pointing to around the 7 inch mark. Mikey looks over my shoulder.

“Well, that rules Adam out, too,” he chuckles, climbing into the tub. I watch the globes of his ass wrestle in the suit as he steps his massive legs over the side of the jacuzzi.

“Goddammit. Am I small?” Wes cries out to the universe, standing up and raising his hands in exasperation.

“No, Adam’s just surprisingly well hung,” Sid laughs, climbing in behind Mikey and splashing Wes as he passes. He does look kinda dorky in his board shorts, even though they hug his ass well.

“I’d be happy to make you a suit. Something that really emphasizes your assets,” I laugh through chattering teeth. I’m now shivering and blushing simultaneously, still pulling off my last sock. I’m always the last in the tub. Probably because I take the time to drape each item of clothing over one of the patio chairs carefully before moving on to the next. What can I say, fashion demands sacrifice. I climb in quickly, settling in between Mikey and Sid, letting the warm water and the warm, hard bodies heat me up in unison.

“Dude, seriously? That would be awesome. I can pay you,” Sid says, clearly digging the idea.

“Mmmhmm. I accept trade, you know,” I flirt back.

Claire gasps, “Shit! That reminds me, I still owe Jack twenty bucks for our Halloween bet.”

“Dude, I’ve seen your dick, you’re not small by any means,” Sid assures Wes.

“Aw, thanks man,” Wes says earnestly, then, “I’ve seen your porn searches, you’ve got high standards for size.”

“Wait, go back,” I say, refocusing the conversation on Claire. “You made a bet with Jack? Spill, girl.”

“Oh, it was weeks ago. Jack just said everyone hooks up at Psi Nu parties…”

“Thank you, we do our best,” Wes interjects.

“And I said you and Mikey were too freshly together back then to tag anyone else into the love fest,” Claire finishes.

“Huh,” I reply. “I may need to mull that over for a minute.”

“Surprised the hell out of us, too,” Mikey says to Claire in a mock whisper.

“All good? You two might be my favorite couple ever, so I’m kinda invested,” Claire asks, leaning toward Mikey and I. I admit, I love the way her breasts drape across the top of the water when she leans in.

“All good,” I say, taking Mikey’s hand over the water and displaying the gesture for her appraisal.

“We’re together, and we’re down to clown, as a couple,” Mikey specifies.

“He’s been trying out different phrases to describe our dynamic. I like that one,” I explain.

“OOh, fun. Lemme try,” Claire says, never one to back off a writing challenge. “Hmmm. Monogamish?”

“Too Millennial,” Wes cringes. “How about PolySlamorous?”

“No. Boo,” Mikey laughs.

“Truly terrible, babe,” Claire agrees.

“Flexible?” Sid pipes up.

“Ironically, that feels too rigid,” I say. “Does that make sense?”

“Wait, I got this!” Claire says, her eyes sparkling. “Open to suggestions.”

“Ooh. I like that!” Says Mikey, then, trying it on. “Oh us, we’re open to suggestions.”

“It’s good! Non-committal, but not dismissive. Wordplay, but not dad-hat wordplay, like Wes’ idea,” I assess out loud, waving a hand at Wes as he opens his mouth to protest.

“So it’s settled, Adam and Mikey are open to suggestions,” Claire declares proudly.

“I have a suggestion!” Says Jack out of nowhere. We all look over to the patio where he stands, looking chic as fuck in an all-black winter ensemble. He unbuttons and removes his peacoat, deftly working the classic toggles. He kicks a foot up on a patio chair, and slowly unzips a knee-high black leather riding boot. “One of you rubs my aching back while the other rubs my sore-ass feet. How’s that sound for a fun couples activity?”

Jack removes the other boot, then slowly removes his black cashmere sweater, revealing the soft slope of his spine. He unbuckles and unzips his pants, stepping out of them gracefully, extending his long slender legs with each motion. I feel Mikey’s hand grip my thigh under the water a bit. Jack looks over his shoulder at his audience, giving us a wink and an ass shake in his electric blue Andrew Christian swim briefs.

Claire wolf whistles at this.

“Damn, nice ass,” Sid mumbles appreciatively. I idly wonder if they’d ever hook up.

“Quit teasing us and come get your back rubbed!” Mikey sighs, impatiently.

“Never rush a diva,” Jack chides while pulling off his socks, but then immediately shivers in the cold and runs to climb into the tub. He sits unceremoniously in my lap with a steaming splash.

“Hello, lovely,” he says, and plops a kiss on my forehead. He slips off my lap, his ass dragging gently across my junk and crosses the short distance to a spot by Claire in an entirely unnecessary tiny dog-paddle stroke.

“Finals kicking your ass?” Wes asks with a chuckle.

“Entirely. But at least I’m almost done. Just need to get through my Art History exam and I’m golden,” Jack sighs.

“Oof. Slide identification or essay?” Sid asks in sympathy.

“Both,” Jack answers grimly.

Sid, Wes, and Claire groan loudly, throwing their heads back with tragic emphasis.

“How about the freshmen, how are your finals going?” Wes asks, probably noticing our nervous glances.

Mikey and I exchange looks.

“I know Mikey’s finals have been pretty tough, but he’s pre-med. It’s mostly science and math,” I say, patting his knee under the water. “Mine have been easy, by comparison (and not just because half of them are sewing projects). English was a snap, I’d read the book before so I just revised an essay from memory as best I could.”

“That’s my boy,” Claire smiles. “Anything left?”

“I’m done tomorrow,” Mikey says. “But it’s just my Spanish oral. Ser pan comido. Adam, you just have Geology, right.”

“Fuck. Um. Yes, er, well no…” I stutter, caught off guard. Everyone looks at me, worried.

“Spill, diva,” Jack says firmly.

“Fuck. I just, kinda, fucked that one up. I won’t be able to pass anyway so I figured why even bother?” This is humiliating.

“I thought you nailed the midterm?” Mikey says, perplexed.

“I did. I just missed too many lectures running from Brett the Bully,” I say, shrugging and trying not to feel what I’m feeling.

“Fucking Brett!” Sid cries out.

“Fuck that guy,” Jack says with narrowed eyes.

“I swear, I’m going to tear that guy’s arms off one day,” Mikey grumbles.

“And I’m going to watch,” Jack piles on.

“That’s not your fault!” Claire shouts in exasperation. “You were literally being stalked by a deranged homophobe! No. Nope. Not happening. Who is the professor?”

Claire reaches for her phone and I momentarily panic.

“Who are you calling?!” I blurt out.

“No one. I’m looking up their office hours so we can get you some extra credit and save this grade,” Claire soothes, barely looking up. “I’m on the department page, what’s their name?”

“Cordova. Robert Cordova,” I answer. “You think you can save it? I haven’t reported Brett or anything.”

“Totally. Having documented the issue with faculty will actually help whenever you do choose to turn the hate-filled little shit in. Can you pass the final?” She answers honestly.

“Definitely,” I nod. “There was another lecture on Thursdays, so I’ve just been going to that one. Lab work and exam grades are good. It’s just the attendance.”

“Nice. We’re on his schedule. Tomorrow morning, 10 a.m., Billingsley Hall. I’ll meet you there.”

“Thank you,” I say, then, cheekily, “mom.”

“Yeah, thanks mom!” Sid echoes.

“Thanks mommy,” Wes says lewdly.

“Ew,” Claire replies, kissing Wes.

Later that night I’m face down in my bed, ass up and back arched, screaming in pleasure as Mikey slowly pistons his enormous cock in and out of my hole. He jumped me the moment Dad left for work tonight, literally dropping the free weights he was using for bicep curls onto the floor and scooping me up from my desk where I was studying. We usually get each other off a few times a day, but as finals ramped we had to slow down out of necessity. The result is a fervent, need-driven Mikey lost in lust.

He started by kissing every part of me, working his way from my lips to my neck to my collar bones, roaming hands exploring, caressing, gripping me close and hard. I gripped his bowling ball delts as he worked his way down to my abs, then my rapidly inflating cock. He took me into his mouth and I flexed my taint to pump myself larger in his warm wet mouth. He loves feeling me grow in his mouth.

The more we fuck the better I get at taking his monster shaft, and today when he entered me it felt amazing. I felt his epic thickness stretch me as he pushed deeper, his fat mushroom head collided with my prostate and I saw stars. Now I’m drooling, feeling my own diamond hard cock slap against my belly as his powerful bulk simultaneously grips me tight and thrusts me across the mattress. He’s moaning, growling, and I feel his balls start to slap higher and higher on my own as he gets close.

“I’m close,” he grunts, voice husky.

“Uhhh-huh. I can feel it,” I moan helplessly. He slows to an almost stop, holding his edge.

“Wanna flip? Finish off inside me?” He asks. I perk up at this, coming out of my fog.

“Fuck yes,” I answer.

“Fuck yes,” he echoes, and I can hear his grin as he pulls out of me. We switch positions, with him lying on his back, knees up, glorious ass spread wide for me as I stand at the foot of the bed. I love this position. It’s always funny feeling like I’m looming over him, but I can’t argue with the view; My muscle beast, his monster balls twitching under the waving tower of his cock. Its shadow cast on his chiseled abs, like an arrow pointing up to his heavy pecs rising with each breath as he waits for me to take him.

I line myself up, caressing the inside of his tree trunk thighs, cupping the cheeks of that gorgeous bubble butt. My cock throbs thickly and drools precum between us. I rub his eager hole with my thumb, teasing him a bit.

“Holy fuck, yes. Give me that big cock,” Mikey begs, stroking his rock-hard pillar in front of me. Fuck he’s hot.

“You want it?” I say, lining my torpedo head up with his hole. “You got it.”

I push myself inside him, slicked by my own precum, and moan as I pass his tight entrance. I’m lust drunk, but don’t want to go too fast too soon. I want him to feel me for as long as he can hold out. He’s whimpering a bit as I ease deeper, letting him acclimate to my girth. I push another few inches in and feel his thighs wrapping around me. The closer I get to being fully inside him the more I feel myself giving in to the need to pound his ass. I want to smash our bodies together and drive him wild.

I gently push myself into his ass up to the hilt, pressing my body against him and feeling my nuts hang between his plump ass cheeks. His powerful cock throbs in front of me, and I can’t help but feel like it’s an extension of my own. I playfully thrust into him and am rewarded by his cock flexing and a fresh drop of precum spilling from his fat mushroom head. I moan and begin rocking my hips, slowly piston fucking his hole as he writhes and whimpers, making his 8 pack dance and quiver. I run my hands up and down his impossibly strong thighs as a shudder runs through his body, responding to my thrusts. I feel him relaxing a bit as we find a rhythm, so I gradually increase my pace, giving him more of my thick shaft with each push, then pulling out almost to my head and plunging back in again. Mikey gives satisfied grunts with each slap of my balls against his perfect bubble butt and his enormous nuts bounce happily on the top of my shaft.

“Fuck that feels fucking amazing,” Mikey moans, tweaking his hard nips with thumb and forefinger, cupping his own heavy pecs. I love when he worships his own muscles like this, and I work my hips a little harder, leaning in and guiding us a little further up the bed. I push myself as deep as I can go inside him and a moan escapes both our lips as I do. Pressed together, I can feel his monster cock twitch against my belly, reaffirming the feeling that his cock is an extension of my own. I marvel at what it would be like to attach his nearly foot-long beast to my body and I grin at the image. Fuck, I could probably suck my own dick if it were Mikey’s size. I’m naturally pretty flexible (I may have tried solo once or twice). I wonder if I could…

I lean forward, open my mouth wide and run my tongue over the tip of Mikey’s cock, my dick still in his ass. Which feels about as awesome as it sounds. The sensations driving each other in turn, fuck and suck, take it and give it, making me harder and opening me up, looping back in on itself like a sexy, gay ouroboros.

“Uuuunngh! Holy fuck! Holy fuck yes!” Mikey screams out. “How are you even?! Ooooh,” His hands move from his pecs to grip the mattress on either side.

Jackpot. I begin to bob up and down, finding a rhythm for both my hips to fuck his perfect ass and my mouth to work his monster cock. I steady his shaft at the base with one hand and wrap the other around his thigh for leverage. With this angle I take his entire cockhead into my mouth and fucking work it for all I’m worth. He’s bucking and spasming underneath me, alternating between driving his cock deeper down my throat and working his ass into my thrusts.

“Oh god! I can’t—This is—Oh fuck, don’t stop Adam!” Mikey cries out. His arms shoot up and grip the posts on either side of my headboard. He’s moaning wildly now, gone entirely nonverbal as I continue to plunge my thick inches into his ass and lick and suck more and more of his cock, surprising myself a little with how much I can take at this angle. I hear wood straining as he growls deep in his throat and his lifter’s grip tests the durability of my bed. I feel his fuck club inflate to it’s peak hardness and size, filling me and driving me right to the edge.

“Oh fuck here it comes!” Mikey roars, muscles tensed and veins throbbing as the first massive blast of cum fills my throat. I vaguely hear the sound of wood cracking and feel the bed jerk wildly as his whole body is wracked with the power of his orgasm. The sensation of his cock pulsing blast after blast down my throat pushes me over the edge and my own cock erupts inside him. I’m lust-drunk and moaning around his monster cockhead stuffed into my mouth, bucking my hips into him with each volley of my own climax for what feels like minutes.

Eventually, I pull my mouth off of his giant member and slide my softening cock out of his ass, and promptly collapse on top of him. I’m about to utter something about leveling up when I hear a loud CRACK and feel a suddenly drop as the bed collapses underneath us. The momentum tosses me onto Mikey, and we both let out a yelp as we collide first with each other (SMACK) and then with the mattress and boxspring as the fall comes to a hard stop on the floor I bounce a bit on impact but am cushioned by Mikey’s muscle mass, effectively knocking the wind out of him in the process.

“Oh, fuck, are you okay?” I sputter, checking him quickly for signs of pain or visible injuries. Mikey coughs and struggles to get a breath in, eyes watering at the corners. I kneel beside him on the destroyed mattress and help him roll over on his side. His breathing deepens a bit and his body twitches a bit. For a moment I think he’s sobbing but then I hear the laugh. It’s one of those building laughs that rolls from chuckle to laugh to full-blown side-split. I don’t know if it’s the adrenaline from the fall or what, but the relief of it starts to wash over me and soon I’m laughing too. He rolls over and shows me the chunk of bedpost still in his meaty paw and I realize what had happened and the laughter doubles. The two of us cackling now, rolling around on the shattered remains of my ruined bed.

Eventually the laughter subsides and we carefully climb off the collapsed bed frame to assess the damage.

“Um. Sorry about your bed,” Mikey says, a small smile creeping into the corners of his mouth. He looks down at his bicep and flexes for himself a bit.

“Holy shit, are you proud of yourself?” I say with exasperated laughter, gesturing to the splintered headboard. He looks at me with an expression I’ve come to think of as demonic joy. “Wait—Are you turned on by this?!?”

“Yes. Fuck yes,” he says, scooping me up again and kissing me fiercely. “I’ve always wanted to fuck a bed in half.”

“Well technically I was doing the fucking,” I say, defiant, wrapping my legs around his waist for stability.

“Fuck yeah you were,” Mikey growls into the side of my neck as he kisses and nips. “When you got your mouth around me…”

Mikey shudders with pleasure at the memory, and I feel his barely deflated cock growing hard against my ass.

“All right, take me to the shower. We can round two in there and get ready for bed at the same time. I’m meeting Claire in the morning to save my Geology grade, remember?” I say.

“And then you’re meeting me and Sid at the fitness center for a workout at noon,” Mikey reminds me as he carries me to the shower.

I honestly had forgotten I’d agreed to that. Sid introduced Mikey to the student gym on campus and apparently they make pretty good workout buddies. Now they want me to join in and I have to admit I like the idea of watching them lift things in slutty dude workout gear. I just forgot the part where they’re expecting me to also lift things and exercise. Shit. That’s actually a lot of scary new experiences for one day.

This is normally where I’d be thinking that I’m fucked, but for some reason it doesn’t feel as daunting.

(More to come)

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