Description A pizza delivery guy thinks he’s hot shit—and he is. But he hasn’t met the guy who’s been getting hotter and hotter his whole life.
|Updated||01 Mar 2003|
When you look like I do, and have a body like mine, and especially a cock like mine, it really distorts your perspective. I didn't know just how distorted mine was until last night.
It started out like every Wednesday night. I got home from high school football practice at 5 and had to be at work, ready to deliver my first pizza, by 6—and there was no leeway, since dinner rush was already started. So I had to shower, change, and drive halfway across town in an hour. Doable, right? And yet every week I was five, even ten minutes late. Why? Because after my shower I'd start combing my long black hair in the full-length mirror on the back of my bedroom door, and the same thing would happen—the same thing that happens every time I take a goddamn shower. I'd start watching the muscles of my bicep, jumping and shifting, glistening in the steamy bathroom, and soon I'd be combing slower and slower, watching the big heavy muscle move. Then my eyes would shift to my pecs, heavy and spherical, moving with the arm that was combing. Then my gaze would move to the other arm, traveling down it to where my free hand was slowly stroking my rapidly growing cock. Finally the comb would be set down, and I'd lower my other hand and use them both to jack off. When it's totally hard—which is annoying often—it's twelve and a quarter inches long and as wide as my thumb is long, so I need both hands. It doesn't take long—all I need to do is watch that totally hot, totally cute, totally hung jock in the mirror getting off, and I get off. But it's been making me late for work.
My boss mentioned it last night. He's just a college kid himself—swim team type with short blond hair—but since he's delivery supervisor he's got tenure over high school seniors like me. When I came in the back door and started to hurry past him he grabbed my arm. “Hey, Ryan, I gotta talk to you,” he said. I noticed he didn't let go of the arm; his hand felt hot on my tricep through the company-issued shirt. And his blue-green eyes kept drifting down to my crotch. Ever since he saw me haul it out at the urinals a few months ago, his eyes keep dropping when he sees me.
I grinned innocently at him. “Whassup, Mike?” I said.
As he replied I closed the gap between us. “Well, I hate to say this, but … you've been … coming … in late, coming in late,” he added hurriedly. By this time I had closed the gap; my tightly packed crotch was just brushing the fly of his jeans. Then I felt something move, violently, behind that fly, and suddenly even though he hadn't moved his fly was pressed up against mine.
I raised my eyebrows, my face still innocent. He shifted slightly—it was almost imperceptible, but now his pert swimmer's pecs were brushing against my much more ponderous ones. I flexed slightly—it was almost imperceptible, but now my pecs were pressed hard against his. His fiery hand was still on my tricep; I let that muscle expand, too, filling that hand (and the sleeve of my shirt).
Our lips were inches away, and I quickly calculated that taking it one step further would make him mine completely. I shifted my head forward slightly, just enough that he impetuously moved his head forward the rest of the way. Our hot, full lips locked. I didn't kiss him hard, I kissed him good, better than any girl. Somewhere I'd learned that a hot, sensual kiss is the only way to finish reeling in whatever's on your hook, and now that I was legal I’d been… exploiting of that maxim abit. You kiss and just walk away, secure in the knowledge that he's conquered—which is what I did with Mike. I could feel his eyes on my ass as I walked off.
Mike was no further trouble, though the poor guy was very distracted all night. I was busy for a couple hours, then things started to drag. Around 10 I was sent out on a call to one of the apartment houses near State—a common destination for us, but I didn't recognize the apartment number.
I banged on the door with my left hand, holding the pizza in my right, and at first there was no answer. Then someone inside called frantically, “Just a minute!” I whistled nonchalantly as I waited. Then the door opened and all nonchalance faded.
Standing in that doorway, damp from the shower and clad in a brief towel, was the sexiest man I had ever seen or imagined.
It didn't seem to matter that I was bigger than he was in muscle size. Very tall and very lanky, he was a work of art, crafted by some god to be the most beautiful and yet ferally sexual man that could be, carved from living rock. His glowing eyes held me, and I was mesmerized, yet all the while I was aware that he was nearly as awed by me.
We stared at one another for a full minute, then something happened that I'll never forget. His towel started to move, then suddenly a thick cockhead poked below the hem of the towel—which was down near his goddamned knees.
My jaw dropped open; and my cock, wadded up in my shorts, tried to get instantly hard. He glanced down and said, “Aw shit!” Amazingly he started to turn away.
I couldn't let him. “Wait!” I said. “Please let me come in.” He glanced up at me, and I realized he was acutely embarrassed. He grinned at me sheepishly. I smiled and said, “Please.”
I came into the apartment and set down the nearly forgotten pizza, closing the door behind me. Then I approached him and, standing before him, slowly loosened the towel.
The towel fell to the floor in slow motion, revealing inch by inch a massive living organ, pink and lightly veined, thick and getting thicker, impossibly long and getting longer. He reached out with long-fingered hands to stroke my arms; almost involuntarily my arm muscles pumped, straining the shirt, and as he drew in his breath his monstrous, Tom of Finland cock—now stretching below his knees though still only half hard—started to stiffen rapidly, quivering with its own ponderous bulk, rising and growing.
I looked up into his eyes, which were filled with fire, and without thinking I did what I never do—I went in first for the kiss. He was tall enough that I had to lean up. His lips were warm and soft, his mouth hot, his tongue long and sinuous. And as we kissed hard and passionately, grabbing each other's asses, stroking each other's broad, tapering backs, floating, lost in time, I felt his enormous cock sliding rapidly up between my legs until it slapped hard against the bottom of my crotch, and stayed there, locked into position, like it belonged there. I felt his hot meat throbbing through my jeans, and suddenly my cock couldn't take being cooped up any more. I had to take a couple steps back to free his cock from between my legs and set a record for shucking my 501s, boxer briefs, and company shirt, all the while staring at this embodiment of pure animal sexuality, his long gorgeous bod flushed, his heavy, thick, godlike cock swaying in front of him while his eyes drank me in almost literally. My own cock, harder than ever before in my life, almost painfully hard, stuck straight up toward my pecs, liberally leaking precum.
I stepped forward and wrapped my musclebod around him, taking his monster between my legs—it stuck out a ways past my ass—and pressing his fiery bod against mine. Our mouths fucked; his hands grabbed my self-lubricating cock between our flat abs and started stroking it expertly, and if I hadn't been kissing him I would have yelled in pleasure. He started fucking my legs, rocking his hips gently in and out so that his heavy, massive cock, still pressing hard upward against my groin, slid in and out of the tight, hot space between my legs. His groin muscles must have been tremendously strong to support such a huge, heavy organ, and I felt as though his cock was pushing upward so hard that he might lift me off the ground. He started to moan urgently, his kissing and his stroking of my own cock getting faster and more intense.
We were still standing in his hallway, some kind of four-legged creature of passion, our big bare feet planted in the tile as we fucked. I was immersed in the moment; all I knew was our bodies, our cocks, our sex, our passion; and the moment was building, our pulses were pounding faster, his monster cock fucked my legs faster and faster, his hands on my cock flew up down and around; and my over muscled frame engulfed his perfectly carved body, our mouths locked together, my long hair flying, my hands stroking his whole body, until suddenly I started to feel his monster cock swell up between my legs. Everything went white, and I pulled my mouth away from his and cried out as I exploded, cum gushing straight up out of my cock, splashing on our chins and necks. We collapsed against each other, laughing, breathing hard, still cumming, until finally we were spent, and we stood holding each other for a long time.
Eventually we stirred and started kissing again, enjoying the sheer pleasure of the moment. Then, reluctantly, we pulled apart to clean up. My cum was all over both our necks and shoulders, and his cum had shot out of that cannon onto the wall of the hallway. We wiped that up with the towel he'd been wearing, laughing, and then headed into the bathroom to shower.
On the way to the shower, I couldn't keep my eyes off his bod, the way his generous but not oversized muscles seemed chiseled out of some kind of living, pulsing rock, the movements of his long legs and arms, how his eyes glinted as he looked at me, how his half-hard cock, truly a trouser snake, flapped heavily against his firm thighs. He kept his big warm hand on my back, stroking it gently as we walked. I broke down and asked if his cock had always been that big. He smiled at me, and I got the sense that though he'd answered that question too many times, for me he'd answer it willingly. I blushed slightly.
“When I was nine, I had a tremendous growth spurt,” he said in a deep but silky voice. “After a while it settled down, but it never really stopped. Until a few years ago I was still growing an inch a year—and so was my cock.”
I gasped—then frowned. “Get out,” I said.
He nodded. “For real,” he said. “I grew six inches—both ways—that year. Then it dropped down to an inch a year, but it went on and on. My brothers were gonna kill me, they were so jealous,” he added with a grin. “I was just enthralled. Until I went to college I couldn't keep my cock out of my hands. Or my mouth.” He smiled wistfully, not noticing as I faltered in mid-step. I'd tried a hundred times to suck myself off, but I'd never been able to better than lick the tip. “It took a tremendous effort of will-power to get a life and stop all that.” He chuckled. “That and a D in calc my first semester!”
By now we were in the bathroom, which was clean and tidy but not immaculate. It was still a little steamy, and there were little puddles on the floor. I'd forgotten I'd gotten him out of the shower, and I said I was sorry. By way of answer he bent down and kissed me, his long-fingered hand caressing my left pec. “Don't apologize,” he said softly. I barely noticed that my dick was totally hard again. His was swelling rapidly, and I watched in awe, my entire musclebod hot and aroused. I wrapped my inadequate hands around it and felt it swell, growing inevitably toward a huge, massive, rock-hard, rock-heavy, throbbing erection.
“A few years ago,” he said, still in that soft, sultry voice, his face a few inches from mine, “my growth started to slow down. Now, it's only a half-inch a year,” he added, kissing me again. His long hands started appreciatively stroking my pulsing, musclebound arms.
“It must be tough buying clothes,” I breathed. His monster cock was totally hard now, and he was moving his hips forward and backward slightly, gently fucking my until-this-moment-seemingly-huge hands.
He nodded. “I don't wear a lot of clothes,” he said. This of course aroused me even further. Inflamed, I kissed him hard, then breaking free looked down on the ship's mast of a cock that was only inches from my mouth. I opened my mouth, bent down a little and took it in, still stroking with my hands.
Amazingly it fit easily, though it filled my broiling mouth, and I tasted his sweet precum as he gently thrust in and out. The top six or seven inches of it—the top six or seven inches!—were a little narrower, so it was perfect for sucking; it flared out in the middle, becoming nearly a palm's-breadth wide before tapering gently to the base. I devoured it greedily as his caresses moved lower, until he wrapped both hands around my precum-slick ponycock. We both groaned loudly.
Even though I had just come the overwhelming sexuality of the man had me close in minutes. His cock was in a way only symbolic of this gut-level, overpowering ability to merge with you physically and—I don't know, I can't describe it, but it's like it's at some level beyond the physical, like we're fucking on another plane, connecting, penetrating, mixing like hot liquid metals in a smelter, and man, I had thought fucking felt good, but I'd never felt anything like this. To my astonishment, even as I was thinking this, and tried to hold back an enormous orgasmic explosion, his cock seemed to get ultra-hard in my hands, completely filling my greedy mouth, and he panted, “God, it's never been like this!” We both came in that second, blowing our tops with an impossible amount of cum, swooning against each other.
“Stay,” he said, still panting.
Slowly, my life—my job—drifted back to me. “I can't,” I said. “But I'll be back.”
“I know,” he said, looking down at me. “I didn't mean just tonight.”
So I packed up my stuff and moved out of my parents' house and came to live with Rick. I never thought twice about it. It was wonderful—and not just the sex. We had fallen in love. I was still fascinated by his bod, and he was by mine, and I insisted on measuring him—height and cock—regularly to see if he was still growing, and he agreed on condition that he would measure my stats, pecs and waist and legs and so on (and height and cock just for the fun of it), because he wanted to see if I was still growing. Well shit, I had to work for mine! So I pushed him to work out with me, and he started growing that way, too, much to my delight.
So imagine an evening about six months down the road. We'd just finished doing him, and he started doing me, kissing me to get my cock hard while I tried not to giggle. (That long hot tongue exploring my mouth always, always worked, and I was a little embarrassed at being so easy to turn on and off.) I felt the measuring tape along the top of my cock, and Rick pulled away from my lips. I kept my eyes closed a moment, always liking to savor that moment after the kiss. After a moment I heard him say “hmmm.”
“What is it?” I said. “It's not shrinking is it?”
“No, it's not shrinking,” he said. Something in the way he said that made me open my eyes. He looked at me steady-on and said, “I think it's time I told you.” He glanced down at the cock as I frowned, then back up at my face. “It's growing. It's just over an inch longer than when I met you.” He bit his lip, waiting for my reaction.
I stared at him. Finally I said, “Am I …” I couldn't say it, so I put my hand over my head. He nodded, still biting his lip.
Suddenly I grinned broadly. Hugely relieved, he grinned back.
“Fucking A!” I said, pulling his toward me and hissing him hard.