Vivid

by BRK   

Alex sees a new neighbor moving in and lets his imagination build him up to new levels of sexiness.

Oh, look at you, I thought as I drank in my brand-new neighbor for the first time. You are one sexy fucker. You won’t mind if I make you even hotter, will you?

Something happens to me when I get hard—like, really, precum-spitting, desperate to blow a gallon of seed hard. It’s like my imagination takes over my senses, consuming what I see and feel. Rather than pulling in the normal world, my sight fills instead with all the detailed, ball-churning, wilder-than-reality fantasies I can spin in my fevered, obsessive, and slightly perverted imaginings. It’s like all at once my every perception redlines, taking all of me with it, until finally I squeeze my eyes closed tight and blast my load, and my senses lazily drift back to the mundanity I’d left behind the moment I started stroking—like a stray leaf borne high and free on the giddy windscapes of a hot and sexy storm curling down at last, slow and easy, until it slumps, sated and drained, to rest on the calm, rain-spattered grass.

Maybe I got too into the habit of jerking off to my own imagination from the beginning instead of scrolling up porn like a normal kid. Maybe my mind does this because unlike other guys who can get off on a nice round pair of tits or a lanky, v-shaped torso leading to a big, mouth-hungry cock, I tend blow my loads to the kind of guy you don’t see in sex-pandering blockbusters or the magazines racked in the Walmart checkout line—or anywhere else, really. I don’t know. I just go with it.

Look at that body you’ve got. Packed with sleek, hard, beautiful muscle like a fucking model. Yeah, like that. Tall and hard-bodied and hot as fuck, poured into those clothes like there’s no way to hide how hot you are.

All this explains why when an attractive new neighbor moved into the rental house next to mine while I was staring out the window jerking off like a crazed banshee one warm and breezy afternoon in May, climbing out of a dusty, nondescript white sedan just in front of a medium-sized moving van presumably packed with all his worldly goods, my entire debased first impression of him wasn’t what my eyes would have seen but what my slutty, eye-candy-hungry imagination molded him into the second I saw him.

He paused by the open door of his car—sweet ride, too, you deserve a sexy, spunky convertible like that—and looked down at himself, his expression puzzled. Aw, c’mon, babe, you know you look good. You’ve always looked good. Everyone sees how you fill out those jeans so well. You turn people on just walking by and letting ’em see your fine legs and your hot, tight ass. My new neighbor shook his head slightly, and when his chin lifted I saw the ghost of a sexy smirk. Yeah, that’s it, I thought, slowing up my strokes a little to draw this out as I watched from my bedroom side-window, everything next door in full view. You know you’re a hot fucker. Those gleaming blue eyes, and that perfect stubble, and that cocky smile that makes women wet and guys’ cocks twitch just looking at it. He straightened, drawing in a breath, a stray breeze ruffling his sandy hair and plain white top. Yeah, that super-thin tee shirt can’t hide that hot, muscley torso of yours, can it? Might as well take it off and show us your firm, fuzzy pecs and that washboard eight-pack you’ve got going—yeah, like that, fuck.

The object of my lust-enhanced and lust-enhancing fantasies casually tossed his tee into the gleaming white Miata drop-top and went around to meet the three movers, who’d already disembarked the panel moving truck while I was mentally customizing my new neighbor and were clustered around the back end, one of them busy unlatching the rear doors. I decided to work on them for a while. You appreciate other hot guys too, I can tell from the muscle-guy movers you hired, I thought as I rhythmically pounded my own rigid dick, shifting my stroking to my other hand with a shiver of anticipation.

Yeah, these are the movers you wanted. Just look at them, all three of them deliciously cute and shirtless, too, to show off their swole aesthetic muscle physiques, I purred to myself, soaking them in. Fuck, they’re so hot. All of them are, like, four inches shorter than you and yet they’ve got fifty pounds of super-defined, zero-body-fat muscle on you each. While I was busy boosting the movers in my fantasy version of what was going on next door, my guy had gone to open the garage and the back door into the house and then quickly returned. He was now standing back a bit on the sidewalk in front of his house, eyeing his workmen appreciatively. One of them saw him looking and smiled saucily back at him, flashing a quick bicep pose to show off his peak while giving my guy a rapid, admiring up-and-down of his own. I looked back at my new neighbor, who was smirking as he stared back at him. Yeah, look at that mouthwatering muscle. You went and hired the four-armed muscle-hunk movers because you knew they’d be all strong and sexy, just like you like. The cheeky mover dropped the two left arms he’d been flexing with a wink and a quick pucker of his lips, the thick, sculpted limbs falling to rest one just above the other alongside his enticingly flared lats as he turned back to the truck. The padlock snapped, and the movers pulled the doors open and slid the wide ramp down to the asphalt, ready to go to work as my new neighbor watched with interest.

They’re so smoking hot, no wonder you love watching them. It’s such a turn-on that they’re all identical, too, right? Three identical muscle-hunk movers, all ready to show you how hot they are. My guy seemed to agree—he was definitely more than appreciative of the four-armed bodybuilder trips as they started bustling around the back of the truck. They were clearly playing to their audience, groping each other’s asses and brushing cannonball shoulders against each other as they worked. Yeah, you were smart to wear your baggy jeans today—that beautiful wrist-thick dick of yours is almost to your knee and it’s only half-hard! Those grapefruit-sized nuts must be churning, too. Good thing you’re so handsome and so deliciously ripped, most guys are looking at your face and your body before they catch the size of your enormous junk.

I noticed my guy’s hand twitch, like he wanted to adjust the not-too-subtle tubular bulge pushing out the left leg of his pale, loose-cut jeans. He frowned slightly and decided to cross his arms over his bare, lightly hairy pecs instead, his own biceps squeezing attractively as he did so. His colossal cock twitched again perceptibly in his pants, lengthening just a bit more. I smiled, tightening my grip on my own thick, raging erection as I stroked. Oh, don’t worry, that beast will get a workout soon enough, I told my fantasy guy. You know how to control it until the time is right—as long as you don’t get too turned on! I watched as he licked his lips, clearly hoping the time would be right very soon, his half-hard, half-hidden monster cock flexing impatiently.

The movers started trooping boxes of books, kitchen gear and whatnot into the house. My new neighbor offered to help but they waved him off, so he stood near the truck, arms still folded over his buff, naked chest, directing them as necessary, watching their shoulder and back muscles shift and bunch as they heaves and hefted. Oh, they love showing off their strength, don’t they? I thought to him. Each of them is so crazy strong they can take four or five heavy boxes no problem. Those six muscle arms they’ve got make it even easier—and hotter to watch, right? My guy definitely agreed, his eyes fixed on the hunk-trips’ stacked shoulders and flexing arms, only occasionally drifting down the sweaty, v-shaped backs to their round, hard asses and thick, sinewy legs as they paraded back and forth in front of him, emptying the truck of boxes load by load with impressive speed and efficiency.

Yeah, they’re just as into showing off as you are into watching them, I thought, speeding up my strokes a bit. They’re so turned on by the way you’re ogling them—yeah, they are. Fuck, their mouthcocks are all hard and thick, the heads pushing wantonly past their lips, already rock-hard and slick with pre, just the way you like ‘em. So crazy hot the way you make guys spring mouthboners like that just from how stunningly good-looking you are and how you look at guys with that smoldering blue sapphire gaze. Now you just need to help them out a bit. My guy, as if picking up on the hint, stopped the sweaty muscle-triplet who’d just returned to the truck empty-handed, gripping his glistening shoulder and bending down for a fast, deep kiss. Yeah, you love being tall and kissing shorter guys like that, I thought excitedly. All that height in your extra-long legs and your twelve-pack abs turns everyone on. Me included… Boy, was I included.

Once he’d pulled back, I watched as the mover grinned around his mouthboner and returned to his work, my new neighbor eyeing him avidly as he tromped up into the truck again, his work boots clattering against the metal of the ramp. Yeah, you love the taste of precum on your big, long tongue when you kiss a guy, don’t you? I thought to my smug-looking neighbor. Good thing those mouthcocks make plenty of it for you take.

Each return trip to the van now involved a deep, mutually appreciative smooch for each of them from the taller man, a process that seemed to step up the already snappy speed with which the truck was emptying. Now they were down to furniture, each mover hefting entire bookcases, bureaus, armchairs—the couch only got two of them at each end because of its unwieldy size, I was sure. I commented on some of the goods as they passed, upgrading a few things here and there for my own amusement, though the wall-sized flatscreen one of them carried in single-handed (or rather six-handed) sparked a twinge of envy… which of course made me huff a laugh at myself for my stupidity. Well, is it weird to be jealous of your own fantasies, or not? Then that got me thinking I should go over and meet my dreamy neighbor and his hunktastic movers myself, but even drowning in my all-consuming, too-vivid imagination I could remind myself none of it was real—or, at least, not real enough for me to join in. Besides, the stroking I was giving myself from this scene I’d created felt too good to stop. My climax was building with every once-over my guy gave them, every kiss of a returning hunk-triplet. It wouldn’t be long before I’d be painting my chest and belly with tons of hot spunk, and then, as I lay basking the pleasure of self-made afterglow, things would return to the banality of normal life, just like always.

In between the brief mouthcock makeout sessions my guy kept his position, watching the three sweat-dappled perfectly alike movers shifting his goods into the house and strolling back to him, up and down the driveway, the lazy light spring breeze cooling their damp, sun-bronzed skin. Since it was my own imagination providing me with this delightful vista I could zoom in as closely as I liked, and so I drew my focus close to his tanned and excellently crafted chest, itself warm and sun-toasted and pricked with a few drops of sun-caught sweat trapped in the short, curly brown fuzz of his chest hair. Lingering there for a moment, stroking faster and faster, I then slid my gaze languidly down the long, cobblestone road of the scrumptious twelve-pack abs I’d built for him. The expanse was cramped and tight but flexible and slightly mesmerizing, the muscles bricked close together around a thin, faint trail leading to his navel, and so chiseled they looked like carved iron—until he heaved a breath as one of the trips lapped back to him for a kiss, that is, and the lickable brick road rippled in palpable enjoyment. Then the mover returned to the truck, smug around his protruding tongueboner and obviously riled by all the slow-burn foreplay. All three had hard, straight, and very visible ridges along the hips of their Levis—very nice to see, though these were nothing like the scale what my extra-tall, long-legged neighbor was sporting in his much baggier jeans. His was past his knee now and forearm thick at least, past half-hard and, from the look of it, slowly gaining despite the control I’d vested him with. He had to be thinking about how soon he could release his enormous beast into the open air, free at last to feel the affection of eighteen callused, cock-practiced hands and the long tongue of its lifelong master as it stretched to its ultimate size and hardness.

Then, all at once, the move was over, the empty truck was being closed up and secured, and they were all clustered by the driver’s door, the still tableau eerie after an hour of carnally-underlined motion. One of the hunk-triplets was presenting a clipboard for my neighbor to sign as though it were a petition demanding the three of them be allowed to fuck their god senseless. My neighbor signed just as solemnly, though with a slight curve to his kiss-swollen lips, and handed the clipboard and pen back to the brother who’d given it to him like a diplomat at a treaty signing—an accord between the twelve-packed, bonerifically hot, plausibly-sized giants and the swole-muscled, self-replicating hunk-clones of Sixarmia. Was this it? I wondered anxiously, slowing my strokes as I stared in fascination at the scene. Were the movers going to drive off to the next gig, leaving my guy abandoned in his need? I held my breath, so agitated I momentarily forgot that I was the one orchestrating all of this in this first place.

The mover took the clipboard, reviewed that it was correctly signed—then tossed it negligently into the open window of the cab and the three of them pounced as one. Fuck yeah, I thought, pistoning furiously on my dick again. Suddenly I was almost painfully close. The three of them mobbed him, using their extra arms and their uncanny strength to pick him up (eliciting a surprised yelp for him and a snort of hot laughter from me) and bustle him up the driveway and into the house like he was the box they’d left for last. Then they were hone, out of sight from my window, but it didn’t matter—I was gone. I could have imagined I could see into his house, seen the trips pushing him onto the living room carpet and hauling his pants off, watching in awe as his inhuman cock swelled to massive, titanium hardness before they piled onto him and made him christen his pristine white walls with enormous amounts of hot, dripping jizz. I didn’t even need to see it., and my climax was exploding through me anyway, forcing more cum onto my chest and abs than I’d spit in ages. Maybe ever.

I lolled in my comfy self-stroking chaise while my new neighbor and his movers got up to their mischief behind closed doors, happy to lazily guess what they were up to without needing to see it. Finally, weak-kneed and drunk on heady lassitude, I climbed to my feet and drifted to the shower. I washed myself with a silly grin plastered on my face, euphoric and even a little impressed at just how much spunk I’d managed to clog my short, bristly chest-hair with. I stayed under the hot water for ages and soaked myself into decadence, only emerging when my stomach rumbled its complaints of neglect. Finally I climbed out and dried off, pulled on an old pair of sweats, smiling at the distant sound of the van driving off at last—though my bet was the departure was only for now.

I was just heading for the kitchen to see if my still-pleasure-addled brain could sort out some kind of dinner from my mostly empty fridge when I heard the doorbell.

Nonplussed, I headed to the front of the house, opened my door, and had to suppress a gasp.

In front of me was a sweet, perfectly built, slightly hairy chest—one I knew intimately because I was the one who shaped it every detail. Below it was the start of a long boulevard of rippling abs, but I stopped myself before I traveled that road and saw what lay below, for that way madness lay. Instead I looked up and was instantly caught in the bluest, most alluring eyes I had ever seen. With no small amount of astonishment I felt my dick, which I had flogged to complete submission only a half-hour before, start to move against the denim of my jeans in helpless response to his compulsive attraction.

My brain marveled at what I was seeing, or, rather, still imagining. I must have been so deep in the afterglow of my sweet pseudo-voyeuristic jerk-off that I was still seeing my fever-vision fantasies instead of mundane reality. Another part of my brain seemed troubled, sending pulses of faint alarm that something had gone awry—but then he spoke, and all my neurons scattered like startled cats.

“Hi,” he said, his voice pleasant and calm. “I just wanted to introduce myself. I’m your new neighbor, Cole.”

He stuck out a hand and I took it, remembering three or four pumps in that I had to speak, too. Fuck, don’t get hard yet, I told the mouthcock he’d given me just from being so incredibly hot. “Uh, Alex,” I said, my voice a little thicker than usual. “W-welcome to the neighborhood.”

“Thanks,” he said. “I thought maybe I could get the lay of the land from you—the good grocery stores, parking tips, local handymen, that kind of thing.”

I nodded idiotically up at him. Fuck, he’s tall. And ripped. I’m decently fit, but I got nothing on this guy. “Sure, I can totally give you some tips,” I said. Both of them, I added mentally, a little dazed. My brain was short-circuiting as a glut of arousal overloaded me, in brazen contradiction of my hard-won satiation. Amazing, my big dicks really were getting hard, just when they should have been dead asleep—and as I was commando in these jeans they’d be tough to miss.

Just then my stomach growled again, very loudly, and Cole’s lips twitched. “Uh, maybe over dinner?” I continued smoothly. “I was about to make cheeseburgers,” I added, jerking my head toward the kitchen. Lucky I just went grocery shopping and got scads of food. I frowned—where had that thought come from? But I knew my cupboards and fridge were packed. I was pretty sure. No, I had just gone shopping, and I had been about to make cheeseburgers, but my brain was swimming in hormones and I couldn’t quite think.

“Cool,” my neighbor said. “I’d love that.”

I grinned dopily at him, inviting him in… mostly just to watch him duck under the lintel, and to have him in my house, and to check out his sweetly fuckable ass. As we headed back to the kitchen I caught a glimpse of his cock from the side—it was down to his knee again and straining valiantly against the slightly tighter pants he’d changed into after messing around with the mover hunks. A metaphorical third leg to match my real one—nice. I suppressed a shiver of pure, narcotic desire.

“You, uh, need any help unpacking later?” I blurted out as we walked, then almost slapped myself. Maybe that mouthboner’s a good idea after all.

But Cole just smiled down at me—or maybe it was a leer. “Sure, Alex,” he said. “You can lend me a hand if you want.”

I grinned back up at him, cheeks warm. Hell, I thought giddily, if he wants he can have all eight. But then, that seemed to be the idea, and my embarrassment melted as he looked me over with as much naked interest, somehow, as I had in him.

So cheeseburgers were had, and cocks were stroked and sucked and spunk released, and then more pleasure was had, and more and more and more as days and months became lifetimes of simple bliss, and so fabulous was my man and so easy the euphoria of our intertwining lives that I never needed my overactive, too-vivid, sex-fever imagination again.

Well, that’s not quite true… but those should probably be stories for another time.

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