The start of something good

by falseeyedee

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Spring has sprung! The sun is out. The temperatures are warming up. And the boys are wearing less layers of bulky clothing. If it weren't for my allergies, it would be my favorite time of year.

The annual flowering of testosterone fueled muscle display is a tradition that's worth upholding. I love walking down the street and seeing the men and boys strut their stuff. What I wasn't prepared for was who might be joining the manly display.

See, I live in an apartment building. The neighbor on my floor, Nick, is a nice young guy just out of college. I think he's an accountant. Something with numbers. Anyway, last summer when he moved in we met briefly in the hall. He's a skinny and pale thing, blonde but prematurely balding. Nice eyes, blue as the sky, but nothing to write home about.

He's about my height, 5'-9” tall or perhaps a bit less. Anyway, he seems shorter because he's just so scrawny. Because I'm strangely obsessed with people's statistics, I noticed that first month he was in the building, on an occasion that I found myself following him up the stairs, that he wears a size 28 waist, 32 inseam, according to his rather loose 501's. Not much of an ass, and he still had to use a belt to keep the things from sliding down his narrow hips.

Everything he wore looked too big on him. He was that kind of skinny. But he was a smart boy and obviously dressed to cover his skinniness. Lots of long sleeve shirts and layers of sweaters over shirts over t-shirts—all tucked into his jeans—any he still looked small.

During the winter when I ran into him in the hall or on the stairs, he was always wearing heavy sweaters or sweaters and bulky jackets, or jackets and scarf. The kind of clothes one wears in the cold.

Last month, I saw him in the lobby picking up his mail on the way in as I was on the way out. I said, “hi” and kept moving since I had to meet my friend, Bill, for coffee. It wasn't until I'd passed on thru the door that a change had registered itself in my brain. Something was different. What?

It was Nick! He had seemed different some how? He'd looked better some how. Must have been a new hair cut. I paused on the sidewalk and looked in through the glass door at him. He looked healthy in his long sleeve t-shirt and jeans. He looked out at me and smiled. I smiled back. Were his arms bigger?

Two weeks ago, coming back up the hill from the post office I saw a cute blonde coming down the hill. The guy was nicely built. I could tell by the way the wind was blowing his shirt tight up against his torso. Nice squared off pecs and even a couple of rows of abs were hinted at under the shifting fabric. The arms were pleasantly muscled too: long, lean biceps, with, it appeared, a thick vein coming down the front of from out of the sleeve down over the biceps and disappearing down around a thick fore arm.

All of this registered in the first second or so—then I realized it was Nick. Nick! He hadn't had a body like that before. Had he? I searched my brain for any indication of his having a body like that. Nothing came up. My mind was too pre-occupied with Nick's lean, healthy body getting closer and closer.

He wasn't huge by any means, but he was definitely more muscular than before. As he got closer, I could see that the shirt was draping nicely over a growing pair of traps muscles and the start of a decent pair of shoulders. Those muscles looked good on him.

Nick smiled and said, “hi” as he passed me. There was a look of quiet pride in his eyes. It was clear he knew I'd been checking him out. A few seconds after we passed, I turned around to check him out from behind. It was worth the effort. Nick's broader shoulders tapered sexily down to his 28 inch waist. His jeans looked enticingly more snug and he had a nice bubble butt as well.

He turned to look back up the hill, no doubt to see if I'd turned to check him out. I smiled, caught in the predictable act of checking him out. He smiled back at me and continued down the hill.

Today, we met in the hall way. We were both taking out our garbage to the trash chute. The sight of him, shirtless in a pair of jeans, brought me up short. Oh, my goodness! I had no idea he'd turned into such a hunk.

When he had moved in, Nick had been so skinny. His biceps had been about as big as my wrists. Really. Now he had some serious arms on him. They were almost as big as mine and balanced by some big ol' triceps. Nick's abdominals had an enviable 8-pack washboard bracketed by thickly cabled oblique muscles. His chest that had been woefully inadequate when he moved in, was now big and proud: two beefy slabs of muscle like plates of armor.

“Hi, Nick.”

“Hi, Dale. How are you?”

“Okay. Here, yours first.” Dale opened the trash chute for Nick and drank in the sight of his strong muscles.

“Thanks.”

“No problem.” Dale tossed his rubbish in and let the chute close. “Say, you're looking pretty buff. Hope you don't mind my saying so.”

“Oh, thanks.” A big smile spread across Nick's face. “That's cool. Yeah. I've made some gains.”

“Well it looks good on you. How long you been lifting?”

They walked back to the door of Nick's apartment. They paused there.

“Uhh. I haven't actually been lifting.” He looked Dale in the eye as if he were trying to read into the other man's soul.

“No? Come on. You've gotta be kidding me. Gymnastics maybe?” He couldn't believe that anybody could sprout muscles like those without lifting, unless they were in gymnastics.

“No. Not gymnastics either.” Nick looked the other man up and down and opened the door to his apartment, “want to come in for a drink?”

“Sure,” Dale replied, happy for any reason to keep checking out his muscular torso. He followed the muscular young man into his apartment. “I like what you've done with the place.”

Nick's apartment was a mirror image of Dale's, except that his living and bed rooms faced east, whereas, Dale's faced west. His living room was furnished with Ikea furniture and framed posters on the walls. It was a college graduate's first apartment, but it was comfortable.

“Have a seat,” he said as he went into the kitchen. “What do you want to drink? I've got a coke or a protein drink.”

“Whatever you've got, Nick,” Dale said as he sat down on the sofa. Nick came out of the kitchen with two glasses.

“I'm having a protein drink. Why don't you join me. They actually taste pretty good,” he said in response to the dubious look on Dale's face. He handed Dale a glass. “Here's to getting big,” he said and the two men raised their glasses.

They touched glasses and Dale took a sip while Nick took a long deep draft of the stuff. Nick was right: it didn't taste too bad. Dale took another drink. It was actually pretty good stuff. Dale took another longer drink.

“How's it taste, Dale?”

“You're right, Nick. It's pretty good.”

He drank up some more. He thought to himself, “Man I feel good. It's like an overwhelming sense of well being. I feel really good, in fact. I can't remember ever feeling so strong—or horny. Nick looks really hot. Man those muscles looked good on him.” He finished off his glass of protein drink.

“That was good, Nick. Can I bother you for some more?”

“Sure, Dale. No problem.” Nick got up and Dale watched the studly young guy walk back into the kitchen.

“Man, his back is broad and ripples like a topographic map,” Dale thought. “Has he always had such a good ass? I didn't remember his having such a great ass. Shit, he is sexy.”

Nick came back with another glass of the protein drink and a pitcher filled with the stuff. Dale took the offered glass eagerly as Nick sat down in the chair next to the sofa. Dale took a deep swig of the stuff. It was so good. He felt great. Better than great, he felt awesome. And he felt horny, really horny. Nick looked so hot sitting there. Muscles had never looked so good on a man. He looked even more muscular than he had in the hall. That couldn't be. Could it?

“How do you feel, Dale?”

Dale took another deep drink from the glass finishing it off before answering. “I feel terrific, Nick. I've never felt better. Hope you don't mind my saying, but, damn, you're looking good, Nick.”

“I don't mind, Dale. I've put on over 40 lbs of muscle in the past couple of months.” He smiled at the other man's shocked look. “You're looking pretty buff yourself.”

Dale chuckled, because he knew he wasn't anywhere near as muscular as Nick was. But, now that he mentioned it, Dale noticed his t-shirt was pretty tight over his suddenly muscular chest. And his legs felt confined by the unusually tight jeans he was wearing.

“No. That can't be right,” Dale thought. “I'm not a big guy. I'm a pretty average guy and I haven't worked out in years.” He looked down again at his body.

“Shit! I looked good!” he exclaimed. His arms were big and beefy and filled the sleeves of his classic white T. His chest was deep and broad, stretching the fabric of the shirt.

Dale looked up a Nick, “How..?”

“Have another one, Dale,” Nick said as he poured more of the protein drink into his neighbor's glass.

Another drink sounded good to Dale. He took the glass and chugged the protein drink, licking his lips as he put the glass down on the table. Dale felt so good. The feeling of his clothes tight around his growing muscles was such a turn on. Muscles are so hot. His own muscles were so hot.

“Why don't you make a muscle for me, Dale. You'd like to do that for me, wouldn't you?”

“Yeah, Nick. That'd be cool.” Dale lifted up his muscular arm and flexed his biceps for Nick. He was surprised at how high the muscles peaked and at how thick his fore arms were. “Fuck, yeah, Nick. Check these babies out. I'm a fucking muscle stud. Big strong muscle.”

“Dale, you've got a big, muscular physique. Why don't you stand and take that shirt off so I can see your muscles.”

“Yeah, Nick.” Dale stood and found he had to spread his legs to accommodate the muscular size of his thighs. The t-shirt was really tight now, tighter than just a few minutes ago. Dale was a big, buff muscle man and Nick wanted to see him. That made Dale feel so good: strong and sexy. He reached down and grabbed the hem of the shirt and pulled it up off over his head.

“Fuck, yeah! Look at these muscles, man. Big fucking muscles!” Dale tossed the shirt aside and struck a double biceps pose. His arms were huge. “Check out these monsters, man.”

Dale saw that he had rock hard, rippling abs and a narrow waist. He'd never had those before. There was a thin trail of dark hair rising up out of his jeans spreading up over his abs, growing up toward a lightly furry, super hero chest.

“You look good, Dale. You like being a muscle boy, don't you?”

“Muscle boy? Me?” Dale thought, “that is ridiculous—no. That is exactly what I am. Yeah, that's what I am, a muscle boy.” Just the sound of it made his dick get hard. He was a big, fucking muscle boy.

The muscle boy swung his muscular arms down and leaned forward flexing his impressive chest and shoulders in the classic “most muscular” pose.

“I'm a fucking muscle boy, Nick! Look at my sexy muscles, man.”

“Yes, muscle boy, you've got nice big muscles. Take off your pants.”

Man, hearing Nick call him a muscle boy was so hot. Hearing Nick praise his big sexy muscles was really hot. He did as he was told. It was difficult because his legs had grown so much muscle. Dale couldn't believe how big and thick and defined his quads were, how big his calves were now. They had to be the size of a football!

“Fuck, look at this, Nick,” he said flexing his big thigh muscles. He felt so sexy. He felt so horny. Nick looked so hot. Dale knew he was bigger and more muscular than Nick, but the smaller man looked so fucking sexy. Dale wanted to be fucked by the smaller muscle man.

“Muscle boy, tell me what you want.”

Being called “muscle boy” was so hot. It made Dale's cock get harder. He looked down at his bulging crotch and was amazed at the size of his cock and balls. His BVD's could barely contain the equipment. The waist band had been dragged downward because of the shear size of his dick and balls. Looking at his own big dick, over his own hairy, chiseled abs was so sexy to Dale.

“I want big fucking muscles, man. I want you to fuck my muscle ass, Nick. You're a hot, muscle stud and I want you to fuck me. Ride me all day, Nick.”

Nick poured Dale another drink. “This will make your muscles grow, Muscle boy. Have another drink.” He took the glass greedily and chugged down the liquid. he wanted big fucking muscles.

“Muscle boy, take off your briefs.”

Dale looked at Nick and thought, “Man, he is so sexy. His big pecs, rippling washboard abs and fucking tiny waist and his muscular arms make him so fucking sexy. I'm bigger than him. I am so much bigger…. Man, look at my arms!” Dale absent mindedly flexed his bulging right biceps. “Shit,” Dale thought, “it looks bigger than it did 10 minutes ago. That is so cool. I'm gaining all this muscle.” He looked down over his 8-pack abs and began to trace the outlines of the chiseled muscles, vaguely aware that he was supposed to be doing something else.

“Muscle boy!”

A stern voice pulled the muscle boy from his reverie. He looked up and saw a hot, young muscle guy, sitting there in the chair. His hard cock got even harder. The other guy wasn't wearing a shirt and his muscled torso looked so sexy. The muscle boy smiled at him.

“Muscle boy, I told you to take off your briefs.”

“Oh, sure. No problem.” He liked being called Muscle boy.

The muscle boy pulled down his too small briefs and stepped out of them. His ball sack dropped low and his big cock projected out in front of him at a 45 degree angle. It was so big. ”

“Was I always so big?” the muscle boy wondered? But there it was, a good 12 inches long, sticking out in front of him like a fishing pole. He liked feeling the weight of the big, low hanging balls. He liked how his cock and balls were pushed forward by his massively muscular thighs.

“Muscle boy, what's your name?”

“I'm, uhh. I'm…. My name is….” He knew he had a name. What was it? It started with a “D”. What was it? “My name is Muscle boy.” he smiled at the sexy muscle guy.

“Okay, Muscle boy, what do you do for a living?”

A living. A living? There was a fleeting thought that he should know this. He furrowed his brow as he tried to think, but his thick brain was awash with thoughts of muscle. That was it! “I'm a muscle boy. Look at my hot muscles!” He flexed his left arm and watched the biceps peak and split into two distinct heads. Without thinking he reached down with his right hand gently stroked his big hard cock.

Nick smiled a sly smile. His neighbor was such a dope. The guy was so smitten with Nick's new muscles that he'd just done exactly what Nick had expected. God, Dale was such a muscle hunk now. He was hot, with his narrow waist and massive muscles. Nick watched as Dale got off on his own muscles.

Dale had been so obviously a muscle queen. Nick had known that from all the muscle magazines that came addressed to Dale, who clearly wasn't a regular at the gym. That day that Nick had caught Dale checking him out on the street is when he'd decided to take some action.

“Muscle boy! Clean that up. Cumming in the living room is not allowed.”

Nick watched the newly muscled Dale sheepishly wipe his spunk off his big cock and up from the floor with the clothes he'd taken off earlier. The guy was huge like a pro body builder. Maybe he'd given his neighbor a little too much of the formulas. The poor guy had to be almost 300 pounds of lean, hairy muscle now. That's a lot of beef on a guy who was at best 5'-9” tall.

Nah, Nick liked his muscle boys big and dumb. He was taking the muscle growth formula himself. He liked getting big. He liked his new muscular physique. But, unlike Dale, he had the self control to do it slowly. Well, that wasn't fair to Dale, who didn't see it coming. Nick did enjoy growing more muscular quickly enough for people to notice, but slowly enough to really savor every new pound of lean, hard muscle.

Nick had packed on almost 40 pounds of muscle in the last 6 months. He limited himself to a single, small weekly glass of the protein drink, doctored with the growth formula. Only six months ago he'd almost been the proverbial 98 pound weakling: at 5'-8” tall, he'd weighed a meager 115 pounds. Even his tiny 27 inch waist couldn't make his 34 inch chest look good.

Now at 155 pounds, his 27 inch waist looked even smaller than it had before under his new 41 inch chest. He enjoyed the way other guys looked at him now. He enjoyed even more the way the muscle queens licked their lips over his slightly too large chest.

His back had the start of a decent “V” taper. It was definitely more broad than it had been before. But, for whatever quirk of genetics or formulation, his pectoral growth accounted for more of that 7 additional inches around his chest that his lats did. Nick kind of liked the way his chest was developing: the muscles were squaring off and beginning to project impressively. He thought that his nipples seemed to be pointing a big downward.

He knew his 15 inch arms weren't earth shattering. The biceps were decent and the traps were pretty good. When he “made a muscle”, the biceps rounded up like a nice tennis ball. Not huge, but it was only a matter of time before they'd be decent 20 inchers.

Of course Nick wasn't taking the other intelligence inhibiting formula. He'd paid extra for that. The guy who had developed these formulas clearly knew why Nick was buying it. Nick suspected that the guy had his own stable of big, dumb, muscle boys. That's what Nick was gunning for now: his own private stable of the biggest muscle boys around, there for his own and his friend's private use.

“So, Muscle boy, what do you want?”

“I want big fucking muscles, man. I want big fucking muscles and to be fucked hard and long.”

“I think both can be arranged.” Nick smiled at Dale, his new muscle boy and thought how this was the beginning of something good.

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