My wife and I are best buddies. What do you call spouses who compare biceps? Buddies. Sometimes, after a workout, we would have a flex-off.
One time she said, “I want a round bicep-ball like yours.”
Squeezing it she said, “Hmmm. Why is mine so much harder?”
She was, unfortunately, correct.
The buddy relationship began on our wedding night. We were twenty-four years old and had been living together for two years, so making love on our wedding night was not the priority that it might have been for others.
We got drunk in the hotel bar before going up to our room. Rather than make love, she wanted to arm wrestle. We did it on the bed. She was quite strong. After all, she’s a big girl, five foot eleven. I’m a full inch shorter…. all right, an inch and a half, but I outweigh her. She was very disappointed when she lost.
I said, “Get over it Babe, you’re a girl. You’re not supposed to win.”
It became a tradition. We would arm-wrestle every year on our anniversary (for eight years now). And every year she would detest losing.
As I said, she’s a big girl, tall and lean with small breasts and great legs– the athletic type, my type. She’s basically a knockout, with long, beautiful jet-black hair.
We had a very good sex life. We were experimental for a while. We tried numerous positions but eventually settled on the two basic ones: she on top and me on top. Sometimes we would execute a clever reversal. It’s not easy to do a roll-over without becoming dislodged, but we soon mastered it.
What was most disappointing about our sex life was her inability to come during intercourse (or my inability to make it happen). But she insisted that most women do not have vaginal orgasms.
I said, “You’ve never had a vaginal orgasm, ever?”
“No,” she said, “it’s never happened for me.”
So we tended to have extended foreplay. Yes, I became a wizard with my tongue and fingers. Always, when she came, I would have a finger resting on her asshole. When it went into spasm it was like a voice telling me of a job well done.
I found it odd that, in spite of getting plenty of sex, I still had strong urges to jerk-off. And it seemed odd that my masturbation fantasies shifted so often. It would be about flirtatious women at work, then about girls I’d been with before marrying. Does anyone jerk-off thinking about their wives? I never did.
Eventually my fantasies took me back to my senior year in high school– in the front seat of my car, in the back seat. That was a good year for me. And finally, while stroking myself, I found myself thinking of my old friend Dave.
Dave and I were best friends in the tenth grade. We were sixteen, horny as hell and afraid of girls. Our bodies were beginning to fill out; his more than mine. He would often urge me to feel his hard, flexed biceps. In his backyard he would wrestle me to the ground and force me to submit. Oftentimes he would punish me and make me beg.
In his backyard tent there was just enough room for the two of us to lie down. Inside that tent we would jerk-off side by side. We did the same thing in the basement of my house. We would measure each other (both six and a half inches). We had swordfights with our dicks.
Eventually we did it for each other. We took turns giving hand-jobs. Because I loved the feel on his fingers on my dick, I always came quite quickly. Dave,on the other hand, took a very long time to come, but I didn’t mind because I enjoyed stroking him. I liked to try different things with my fingers. I loved making him moan. One day in the tent, with Dave stroking me, I tried to prompt his head down on me but he resisted, finishing me off with his hand. When it was his turn, I tried to go down on him but he got pissed off and snapped at me.
“We’re not gonna do that,” he said. “We’re not fucking gay!”
As always seems to happen with young friends, we drifted apart and began to hang out with other kids. At that time I experienced a strange growth spurt; not in my body, but in my dick. It became a full inch longer and much thicker. The head became fatter, redder and more defined. Needless to say, I was delighted with the changes and could not stop playing with it.
When I heard through the grapevine that Dave was moving out of town, I went to his house in order to say goodbye. All right, I was hoping for one last stroke. I was hoping to show him my new and improved cock. I was also curious to see if he too had experienced a growth spurt.
He was home alone and we had a chat up in his room. He made reference to “the old jerk-off days” and we agreed to have one last fling. I was already hard when I dropped my jeans.
His eyes widened and he said, “Holy crap, what happened?”
“It grew,” I said. “Feel how thick it is.”
I lay down on his bed. He squeezed it gently at the center of the shaft and said, “Wow, you really got a handful now!”
His hand on my new thick cock felt sublime. His words– “a handful”– sounded sublime. I lay back on the bed and he finished me off in two strokes.
“Man,” he said, “that was quick, even for you.”
He proceeded to lie on the bed, his pants down at his knees. He was soft but I quickly hardened him up. I immediately realized that he too had grown. He was every bit as big, if not bigger than me.
I said, “Yours grew too. It’s really big. You were bullshitting me.”
“I wanted to surprise you,” he said.
I coaxed it with soft deft touches. In the old jerk-off days neither us had been skillful. But I had been reading a lot of internet porn and I was a quick learner. I tickled his balls, his taint, his hole. I told him to close his eyes and relax. That’s when I went down and took him into my mouth.
This was my first time and I was surprised at how warm and smooth it felt in my mouth. It was quite pleasant.His initial resistance was met with the speed of my tongue. My internet porn lessons had served me well. He groaned and gave in. I blew him for a very long time. I had forgotten that he took such a long time to come. What had I gotten myself into? It was nice to hear him moan. When he reached up to ruffle my hair it gave me a thrill. But when would he come? It was well over an hour when I realized that he had complete control over his orgasms. He was holding back not only to prolong his pleasure but to show off. Having brought me off with two quick strokes, he was now belittling me with his stamina, with a sexual prowess far superior to my own.
He said, “Don’t you wish you could last this long?”
Then he said, “Answer me!”
I took my mouth off of his fat, gleaming dome and said, “You know I do Dave.”
It was the truth. I envied him for his good looks, for his muscled physique and, yes, for his endless rock-hard erections.
Much later he was still in my mouth, as big and hard as ever. He was lying back with a shit-eating grin on his face, his hands up behind the back of his head. He was showcasing his hard, swollen dick and his hard swollen biceps. It occurred to me that he was waiting for me to beg, the way I was forced to beg my way out of his painful headlocks and choke-holds.
So that’s what I did, with my eyes. I made huge, pleading, begging puppy eyes With a fat dick in my mouth I must have looked clownish. He laughed out loud, but it worked. Accepting my surrender, he grabbed a fistful of my hair, drove his cock deep into my skull and came in buckets. With my hair in his fist my head was a mere vessel for his load. When he pulled out of my mouth he continued shooting on my face.
After I cleaned myself up it was time to go. In parting we shook hands and I winced visibly in his iron grip. He smiled. The pained expression on my face was the cherry on his sundae.
I had gone to Dave’s house to show off my my new and improved cock but I left feeling small. Walking home I thought, oh well, I gave him a nice goodbye, a nice long goodbye.
Now in my thirties, whenever my cock was in my hand, I found myself thinking of Dave. Oddly enough, these masturbation orgasms were long and sweet, better than what I experienced while making love with my wife.
Around this time my wife and I had been regulars at a gym for several years. She clearly took workouts more seriously than I, but we both were committed to staying in shape. At home she seemed always to be on the floor doing push-ups. She had me install a pull-up bar on the back porch. Her hard work became visible as her shoulders and arms developed. She wore tank tops and sleeveless shirts at all times, even in winter.
On our ninth anniversary we’d gone out for a lovely dinner. We drank a bit too much wine. We were in the living room listening to ZZ-Top. She looked great in her sleek black sleeveless dress.
Suddenly she said, “Hey, it’s our anniversary.”
She knelt and planted her right elbow on the coffee table. It was her annual arm-wrestling challenge, I said, “Girl, will you never learn?”
We locked up on the coffee table and, from the beginning, I did not like my chances. I could not budge her. While she could not seem to budge me, I was alarmed at the dramatic, defined swelling in her arm. It was was very rough sledding for me. It was like trying to move a brick wall. I hated the smug look on her face. She looked down and admired her swollen muscle, but it was still a standoff. We were locked up in the twelve o’clock position.
Out of desperation, I said, “Not bad, girl– call it a draw?”
She said, “Nah we can keep going.” Sure enough she moved me down two inches, then two inches more. My arm began to tremble with fatigue. The smile on her face was maddening. She took two more inches when I suddenly felt a weakening in her arm. When I took back a good three inches she said, “Oh my, look how strong you are.”
So there it was. She was toying with me, prolonging my humiliation. Inexplicably, I had a raging erection.
When she finished me off she smiled and sighed. I was very annoyed– she was much too pleased with herself. “Finally,” she said, “after all these years. You know I just had this feeling. I thought, I think I can actually take him now.”
“Well,” I said, “I guess you were right.”
She looked at me severely and said, “You guess?”
My face and throat were burning, blushing. She said, “Oh well you lost. It was fine the last eight years when you won. But as soon as you lose… wait a minute, I get it, I’m a girl. You poor baby, you lost to a girl. It’s written all over your face. Did I trample on your masculine sensibilities? Do you have to go and off yourself now? If I knew you were gonna be like this I wouldn’t have gone so easy on you.”
I looked at her quizzically and she said, “My God, you didn’t know.”
She raised her arms to give me a gun show.
She had indeed finally achieved the hard, defined bicep-balls she’d always wanted. It was actually lovely to look at. She was beautiful. Her arms were beautiful. It made me even harder. I was desperate. I was a afraid I would go off in my pants .
You’ve heard the expression “follow the money.” Well, in my life it’s always been “follow the dick.” So of course we ended up in the bedroom.
It took me two seconds to strip. When I pulled at her dress, she said, “If you tear this fucking dress I’ll murder you. Be patient. What’s wrong with you?”
In bed I offered to go down on her but she said, “Babe, you don’t have the time. You’re much too far along. What’s gotten into you? I’ve never seen you so worked up.”
I was inside her in seconds. First I was on top, then she was on top. We did several nifty “roll-overs.” I was deep inside her when she said, “Own up to something.”
“All right.”
“My muscles turn you on.”
“They do.”
“Apparently they drive you wild.”
“Apparently.”
She said, “Was that so hard to admit?”
She was right about my having little time. I came quickly. As fucks go it was short, but very very sweet.
She said, “Jesus, I know which buttons to push now.”
“What do you mean?”
“Be quiet,” she said. “I’ll ask the questions. First of all, who the fuck is Dave?”
“What?”
“Dave. Dave. When you came, you whispered in my ear. You went ‘Oh Dave.’ I think you have some explaining to do.”
It was a strange and troubling thing for me to hear. I didn’t understand it, but I didn’t want her to think I was unfaithful, especially with a guy. So I told her everything, the tent sessions, my basement, the many hand jobs. I even told her about our last meeting up in Dave’s room, about the marathon blow-job (minus the humiliation). She especially liked the term “new and improved cock.” And she loved Dave’s comment when he said, “Wow, you really got a handful now.”
“That’s just a sweet sweet story,” she said. “I can’t believe you kept it to yourself all these years.”
“Well, I didn’t want you think I was… you know…”
“Gay? Dude, what does blowing Dave have in common with loving my new physique?”
“I give up.”
“Gay,” she said. “You’re gay. Not a lot gay. But you’re absolutely a little bit gay. Get over it. If it makes you feel better, I’m a little bit gay myself.”
The next morning, Saturday, I woke up with my usual morning erection. She was dressed and ready to leave. She said, “I’ll be a while. First the hairdresser, then my self-defense class. Oh yeah, then a good workout.”
She pointed at my cock and said, “Do me favor and shave that bad boy while I’m gone. It’s like a damn jungle down there.”
While she was away I stood over the toilet with scissors, getting rid of big clumps of pubes. In the shower I finished the job with razor and shaving cream. Throughout the process I had an erection, which I found odd, but it made the job much easier. I was pleased to learn that a clean shave makes a dick look bigger.
I was in the living room when she got home. When she walked through the door my cock leaped. Her beautiful black hair was gone. Her hair was short. It wasn’t butch short; it was a very short boy’s haircut. She was still beautiful but now she was a beautiful sixteen-year-old boy in a wet tank top. The veins in her arms were swollen from her workout.
I followed my dick. I wanted to kiss this stranger forever. I took her by the arms to push her against the wall but she quickly reversed me, pinning me against the wall and holding me there. She looked bigger somehow. Her inch and a half height advantage seemed like six inches. Her hard, polished shoulders glistened with sweat.
She thrust her pelvis against my erection and said, “Oh my, you’re happy to see me.”
With my head I gestured toward the hallway and bedroom. “Let’s go,” I said.
“No. I need a shower. I’m all sweaty from the gym.”
“Please,” I said. “That’s how I want you.”
In the the bedroom we quickly disrobed. When I tried to push her onto the bed she executed one of her self-defense moves, twisting my arm up behind my back. From behind, she snaked her other arm around my throat, squeezing tightly. I was in a fierce choke-hold with a hardon reaching from here to Hawaii.
With her warm lips against my ear, she said, “Are you sure this is tight enough? I can tighten it up for ya.”
She guided me to the bed and deposited me gently on my back. She straddled me and seized my wrists tightly, pressing them down into the mattress. Straddling me, she slowly lowered her crotch onto my erection. She began to grind slowly while I moaned.
“You shaved,” I said.
“No, I got waxed at the salon”.
I groaned and she said, “Aw, Baby, what’s wrong. Don’t you like it?”
“You planned everything,” I said. I strained helplessly against her iron grip.
She said, “Why fight me? You know you’re not going anywhere. Why the struggle?”
It was a silly question. I struggled because it was beyond sexy, because it thickened my dick, because it would no doubt prolong my orgasm. I struggled because it was fucking hot!
I could feel her warm juices washing over my cock. The lips of her pussy kissed my cock again and again while sliding up and down the swollen shaft. I strained with all my might to free my arms, but it was hopeless.
She said, “That seems like a terrible waste of energy. We both know I’m too strong for you.”
Hearing this, I moaned. I said, “Put it inside you.”
“Shut up. Don’t tell me what to do.”
Watching her was amazing. She wore a superior, self-satisfied smile. My eyes scanned her body. Her small breasts had all but disappeared. Thousands of bench stresses and push-ups had replaced them with hard pectorals.
It was all new to me. I was being held down by this lean, sweat-flecked dynamo; a hard, beautiful boy-creature with a pussy.
As I struggled she said, “Here’s a fact. I’ll do this to you whenever I want. And I’ll release you whenever I fucking well please.”
That’s when I came, nearly howling at the ceiling.
The look on her face was smug, triumphant. I said, “If you wanted to, you could let me go now.”
“Ask me nice.”
“Please.”
We were quiet for a long time afterward. Finally she said, “Things might be getting just a bit weird.”
“Just a bit.”
“I won’t lie,” she said. “I’m really getting off on all of this.”
“But you didn’t come.”
“Oh dear, you would be wrong about that. I came like gangbusters. You need to know that all this is a game-changer for me.”
“Because you can kick my ass now?”
“Basically yeah. But it’s the whole thing, the whole ball o’ wax. Holding you down gives me a rush like you wouldn’t believe.”
“You’re telling me that I better get used to it.”
“Yes.”
“I think I’m already used to it.”
She said, “I was just teasing last night. You know, when I said that I’d tell everybody I could take you.”
“That wouldn’t bother me.”
“Really?” she said. “Maybe I’ll tell just Molly. She’d get a kick out of it. But I promise not to tell her how easy you are.”
“Oh, you bitch.”
“I’ve been thinking,” she said, “about that story you told me. About your old boyfriend, Dave.”
I felt my cock stir. This was odd because it was too soon for a second erection. I said, “He wasn’t my boyfriend.”
“Whatever. I thought it was cool. You gave him a nice sendoff. A nice long sendoff.”
There was no question about it. My dick was hard again.
I said, “I should be in the Guinness Book of World Records– longest blow-job in history.”
We both laughed. She said, “You did that because you loved him.”
“Oh stop it right now.” My dick was standing up now, a rocket ready for take-off.
“For sure,” she said, “You were in love with him.”
My erection was unusually urgent, red and tight with bulging veins. She looked at it and said, “See? Erections never lie.”
A shaved dick always looks bigger, but this was a special hardon. She said, “It’s your new and improved cock.”
It was indeed a tenth-grade moment. She squeezed it gently at the center of the shaft and said, “Wow, you really got a handful now!”
She straddled me again but did not hold me down. I said, “Going easy on me huh?”
She brought her index finger to her pink, pursed lips and went, “Shhhh.”
I was happy that my hands were free to explore her body. With a feathery touch I made circular strokes around her nipples. Only the head of my cock was inside her. She was squeezing it with her pussy. She finally lowered herself all the way and I moaned.
She looked peaceful and dreamy as she rode me. In a soft voice, barely above a whisper, she said, “What’s my name?”
In a reverent, almost prayerful tone I said, “Dave. Your name is Dave.”
I stroked her veined arms with light, feathery fingertips. I squeezed her hard biceps and said, “Oh my God Dave, you’re so strong. Promise me you’ll never hurt me.”
She sighed and smiled.
My hands went up over her shoulders and down along the tight landscape of her back, relishing the hard, squirming snakes of muscle. I cupped her lovely firm cheeks.
With a finger on her butt-hole I said, “Dave, I love you. I am so in love with you, Dave.”
Suddenly the hole went into spasm. It went ballistic against my fingertip, sending me a message in anal Morse code. The message was; Dude, job well done.
It was a vaginal orgasm– her first. She remained calm and quiet throughout. She opened her eyes, squeezed my cock tightly with her pussy and said, “Your turn.”
I came on command. Strange noises came out of me. I felt my neck and face straining with the pleasure of it.
She said, “Jesus Christ. Don’t have a fucking stroke.”
Afterward we lay quietly for a while. She smelled divine, with a lovely co-mingling of perspiration and pussy. She held me so tightly in her powerful limbs that I felt like a child.
She said, “I take it all back, dude. You’re not just a little bit gay. You’re gay as all fuck.”
At the risk of being squeezed to death I said, “Dude, look who’s talking.”
