The merger

by Richard Jasper

When wannabe musclebear Rik Farnsworth and sexy twink Ryan Steinmetz finally get together, something surprising ensues!

Added: 27 Jun 2020 2,481 words 2,325 views 4.3 stars (3 votes)

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They met at the Eagle.

Derik “Rik” Farnsworth was in his usual attire: Tight white v-neck shirt that showed off his broad shoulders, bespoke leather vest that didn’t do much to hide his middle-aged belly, and tight black jeans that showed both a nice basket (but left ‘em guessing as to what was really there) and a nice hard butt. At 5’10” and 225 pounds, Rik, 52, was a beefy daddy / wannabe muscle bear. Big shoulders, big pecs, beefy arms and legs, killer calves and a 38-inch waist that never wanted to go away no matter how much cardio he did. He had slightly wavy sandy brownish blond hair, a full goatee, and short, curly strawberry blond hair all over his body.

Ryan Steinmetz, 25, was wearing a vintage Mickey Mouse polo shirt, coral-colored Calvin Klein draw-string shorts, and classic black Converse PF Flyers. Also, 5’10”, Ryan had what Rik had had when he was that age: broad shoulders, nice arms, good pecs, decent legs. Unlike Rik, he had a 31-inch waist with a nice six-pack going. Plus vaguely floppy dark brown hair, green eyes, nice, thick eyebrows, pouty red lips, and a short, well-kept beard with reddish highlights. And except for his pits and legs, smooth as silk.

They gave each other the eye and then promptly looked the other way, Rik figuring he was too old for the young stud, the young stud figuring the (from his point of view) “fucking hot DILF” was out of his league. And then there was Pete. It was Pete in fact who introduced them. At 45, he was a scaled down, slightly chubbier version of Rik. For the past month Ryan had been his live-in lover and years before Pete had been Rik’s summer-long fling.

Oh, no, Rik thought as he was shaking Ryan’s hand. The poor kid.

You’d think in a metro area with 2 million people every gay man wouldn’t know every other gay man’s business but not so. Rik had seen it too many times. Pete found one young stud after another, moved in on them by playing up his house and his travel schedule and procession of brand new Porsches (he was a car salesman, big whoop), and as soon as they took the bait he started in on them, systematically destroying their self-confidence in his belittling, gas-lighting, self-important way. Rik hated to think what Pete must have gone through as a child to turn into such a complete and utter douche but whatever it was didn’t excuse his petty cruelty.

Rik gave Ryan a firm handshake and a crooked smile and, when Pete wasn’t looking, slipped his social media card into Ryan’s back pocket.

“In case you ever want to, you know, just hang,” he said. “I’m well-aware that I’m old enough to be your daddy. But Pete, well, he can be pretty intense sometimes, y’know? Let me know if you need a breather.”

Ryan gave Rik a puzzled look, then nodded.

The next day Rik was at Fitness World working shoulders when he looked up and there he was.

“Hey, hey, hey,” Rik said, re-racking the 40-pound dumbbells. “Look who’s here! It’s Ryan, right?” Ryan actually blushed when Rik called his name. Aww, Rik though, ain’t that just fucking adorable? That asshole Pete sure knows how to pick ‘em!

“It’s Rik, right?” Ryan asked. “I had no idea you trained here.”

Rik nodded.

“About a year now,” he said. “I really hate training by myself and they have great trainers here. I was at Flex Complex before but my trainer, Dan Hardy, ran off to Cincinnati to get married and I was stuck.”

Dan was the 2017 Mr. Hoosier and Ryan instantly recognized his name.

“Oh, wow,” he said. “You got to work with Dan? How cool is that?”

They spent the next 15 minutes talking about bodybuilding and related sports. Turns out Ryan had aspirations to compete in Men’s Physique. Rik had zero competitive aspirations but he had been following bodybuilding since he was a sprout and his knowledge was approaching encyclopedic! They wound up training together that day, much to their mutual surprise, and found out that despite the difference in their ages they weren’t all that far apart in strength.

“I’m twice your age,” Rik observed, sighing.

“But you outweigh me by 50 pounds,” Ryan countered.

“I’m an old man,” Rik protested.

“That’s call ‘muscle maturity,’ dumbass,” Ryan pointed out.

They made a training date for the next day. And the day after that. And…

On chest day, Rik had a confession to make. “I have a lousy bench,” he said. “I’ve been lifting longer than you’ve been alive and the most I’ve ever put up for one rep was 275.” Ryan rolled his eyes. “C’mon, dude, give yourself a break,” he said, adding. “That’s the most I’ve ever put up, too! And I don’t have 18-inch calves or a 455-pound squat.”

Rik considered it.

“Fair enough,” he said. “You know what this means, right?” Ryan looked at him. “That we need to work on hitting 315?” Rik bumped his fist. “Damn straight!”

And a month later they did. Things went on like that for six months. They both gained 10 pounds, all in the right places but Ryan’s calves still lagged and Rik’s waist was still stuck at 38 inches, no change.

“On the other hand, Mr. 52-inch-chest,” Ryan said to Rik. “Your delts are so huge they’re going to have to widen the doors. And I don’t want to hear any more whining about your ‘little’ arms. Little 18 ½-inch arms!” Rik snorted. “Uh, look who’s talking, Mr. 18-inch-arms and you’re only 185 fucking pounds,” he replied. “With a 29-inch waist and a fucking eight-pack already.”

They stood side by side, the middle-aged bear who was more muscular every day and the 25-year-old stud whose hotness was setting off fire alarms.

“You know what we would be great?” Ryan said.

“What’s that?” Rik responded.

“If we could, you know, merge our bodies,” Ryan continued.

Rik guffawed.

“You mean my mass and your leanness?”

Ryan punched his lifting buddy’s full, thick, rock-hard delts.

“Your shoulders and my abs,” he said.

“My calves and your veinage,” Rik countered.

They smiled at each other.

“Knowing me,” Rik continued, in his po-faced way. “We’d end up with my gut and your calves.”

Ryan just rolled his eyes.

“Finish up with single-armed cable curls?”

Rik’s eyes gleamed.

“You betcha!”

Ryan didn’t show up the next day.

Or the day after that. No texts, no e-mail, no phone calls. Rik fought down his urge to panic (or to get pissed) off and sent one last text: I know I’m not your dad or anything but you’re my friend and I do worry. Please let me know that you’re okay.

A minute later: Sorry. Dealing with some shit. I’ll be fine. See you tomorrow morning.

When he saw Ryan the next morning, he gave him an arched “what the fuck is going on?” eyebrow.

“Not right here,” Ryan responded, nodding towards the corner of the gym.

Rik dutifully followed him over and started loading the t-bar row. “Pete dumped me,” Ryan said, without further ado. “Kicked me out in fact. Said, well, I don’t want to get into what he said. It was all shit. I spent Wednesday and Thursday finding an apartment and getting my stuff moved.”

Rik sighed. “Oh, man, I was afraid it was something like that,” he said. “Except that we’re out here in the middle of the gym, I would give you a big hug.” Ryan nodded. “If we were not here in the middle of the gym, I would let you,” he replied. “But if I did I would start crying.” Rik felt like crying, too. Ryan was just about the nicest guy he’d ever met. He didn’t deserve to have Pete crap all over his life.

Pete is such a fucking asshole, he thought.

“Pete is such a fucking asshole,” Ryan said. “I hate to say it but it’s true.”

Rik patted his young friend on the shoulder.

“I would have told you that six months ago, but you needed to figure it out for yourself.”

Ryan shook his head.

“I figured it out a while ago, actually,” he continued. “I just hadn’t decided what to do about it. Actually, I’m really lucky that he ended it when he did.”

This kid is so fucking smart, Rik thought, but it wasn’t what he said.

“This evening, if you’re free, cocktails and dinner on me.” Ryan’s eyes lit up. “To celebrate, you mean?” Rik laughed. “Yes, to celebrate,” he said. “It’s a little too early for you to start going on dates!” Ryan looked down and murmured something – something Rik didn’t catch – under his breath.

Rik picked Ryan up at his new place and took him to Ferguson’s, the local steak house with its own quite comprehensive wine cellar. And then they both had a couple of glasses of wine too many and on the spot Rik hired one of the valet parkers to drive them and Rik’s car back to Ryan’s place and called Uber to send the parker back to Ferguson’s.

“Come on up,” Ryan said. “I’ll show you the place.”

The place was largish studio with a bedroom alcove. A bunch of boxes on the kitchen counter, a new futon sofa, and a queen-sized bed in the bedroom alcove were all he had, along with various lamps sitting on the floor.

“I think it’s time you gave me that hug,” Ryan said, leaning against the kitchen counter. Rik gathered the younger man up in his arms and gave him a good bear hug. “No, a real hug,” Ryan said, when Rik tried to let go. He nuzzled his handsome head against Rik’s neck.

Holy moly, Rik thought. “Bud, are you sure this is a good idea?” he squeaked.

Ryan nipped his earlobe. “I’m pretty sure it’s a bad idea,” he replied. “But it’s what I’ve wanted since I laid eyes on you and judging by this I would saying the feeling is mutual.”

It was mutual.

Rik decided he didn’t have to be the grown up all the time.

They spent a lot of time exploring, as bedmates who are friends before they get into bed often do.

Soon after they’d started training together they’d noticed that not only were they the same height, they wore the same shoe size and their hands were more or less the same size and shape. Turns out, perhaps unsurprisingly, their dicks were, too. Ryan’s was maybe half an inch longer, Rik’s was possibly an inch bigger around.

They weren’t shy about sharing their muscle fetish. Rik straddled Ryan’s hips, squared his big broad shoulders, threw out his big thick chest, and flared his ridiculous lats before sweeping in to nuzzle Ryan’s neck, lick out his pits, and chew on his pierced nips. Ryan bounced his pecs, scrunched his rock-hard eight-pack abs down into a vacuum, pose, and licked his 18-inch biceps.

“You are such a hot fucking stud,” Rik breathed.

“Look who’s talking, Big Daddy,” Ryan replied.

They came all over each other simultaneously, having never gotten around to fucking.

And then they fell fast asleep.

Roger lazily opened his eyes, hopped out of bed, and padded to the bathroom, his extra-wide, ridiculously muscular size-16 feet thumping the ceramic tile. His ridiculous dong, 10 inches soft, let loose a noisy waterfall of piss that seemed to go on for five minutes.

Must have had too much wine last night, he thought. Then he looked at himself in the mirror.

“Mighty fine, Big Man, mighty fine,” he said.

The six-foot mountain of muscle enjoyed looking at the dark brown, nearly black, fur covering his monstrous pecs and the way those pecs bounced every time he moved.

Why couldn’t that asshole Pete appreciate me for who I am?

He scratched the sexy reddish-brown morning stubble that would be a five o’clock shadow by 4 p.m. and looked himself in the eye: they were a blue so dark they might have been sapphires.

Oh, well, Ferguson’s was good. Hope that cute parker made it home okay!

And then he stood stock still in front of the mirror.

“I’m Roger Grosbeck,” he said to his reflection.

I’m Rik Farnsworth.

“I’m 6 feet tall.”

I’m Ryan Steinmetz. I’m 5’10”.

“I weigh 420 pounds of solid muscle. I’m the biggest, builtest motherfucker anyone’s ever seen.”

I weigh 235 pounds and I don’t have abs.

I weigh 185 pounds and I don’t have calves worth shit.

“I have a 13-inch dick.”

Six inches.

Seven inches.

“I’m 37 years old.”



“Furry as fuck.”

Smooth as silk.

“Five percent body fat.”

We have abs!

“So what the hell is going on?”

And then he remembered.

Growing up in Northwest Florida.

Growing up in Northeast Indiana.

Having two younger brothers.

No, having an older sister.

Having an asshole, alcoholic father.

Having a laidback, loving rocker dad into Jerry Garcia and the sacred herb.


I’m not complaining, Rik thought.

Nor am I, Ryan offered.

“…am something more.”

Than I was.

Than we were.

“Are we okay with this?” Roger asked himselves.

We are.

I am you.

You are me.

We are one.

“In that case, now what?”



“We fucking rule the world.”

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