Sunday, 28 August 2016


So I've been writing quite a lot lately! I've just finished a short, 10,000 word story called "The Day I Became A Muscle Freak" (the first few hundred words of which are on my Tumblr here), which I'll be sharing in some form or another soon. And now I've started work on another story.

The working title is "Dan and Jake" and it's about two very popular British juniour bodybuilders who have their own vlog (they've been dubbed "the beefiest vloggers on YouTube") and is set on the day of a competition.

It'll be a while before it's finished (presuming I actually finish it) but I thought I'd pop the first bit of the story on here for now.

The church was absolutely packed, and as the organ man started playing, I began to walk down the aisle. I turned to the man to the right, clutching my arm. Good old pops. He looked genuinely choked up. Bless him.

Everyone was looking at me all doughy eyed. Granny Adams was dabbing her eyes with a tissue. Auntie Mavis nudged uncle Boris, and signalled to my outfit, both of them then staring at it in admiration.

I looked down to admire it myself. A black dickie bow around my neck, a pair of smart black boots and a pair of bright red posing trunks. As shiny as you can imagine.

The red trunk coloured bulge was looking up at me. So were my abs. In all their thick, wonky shaped, and phenomenally peeled glory. Six crazily developed bumps bursting through my tummy to remind me that I'm a freaky, excessively developed muscle boy who loves nothing more than to strut around a bodybuilding stage, flexing and squeezing his superhuman sized mass for all the world to see. My slabby, beautifully carved out muscle tits, and the rest of my huge, bronzed, vein plastered body were obvious reminders too.

What was the organ man playing? I knew the song - but I couldn't quite get the name. It was only when I got to the front of the church that it suddenly hit me. It was a ballad organ rendition of The Prodigy's "Smack My Bitch Up". (NOTE: This may seem a bit random but it has significance later on in the story!)

A large, stocky man was standing in front of me smiling. He was wearing one of the t-shirts from my website; black with the words "BROTHERS IN BEEF" printed on it, and around his neck was a dog collar. I recognised him instantly. It was the commentator and host from a dozen of my previous bodybuilding shows. I'm pretty sure his name was Bob.

"Friends, relatives, muscleheads", Bob began in his thick Yorkshire accent. "We're here today to witness the union between two of Britain's biggest and most popular young bodybuilders".

I took a sneaky glance at the man standing next to me. It would only be one person. Could only be one person.

"Yo dude", he quietly said, with his fist held out for me to discreetly bump. I obliged, obviously, and just caught a quick glance of the bow tie around his neck, exactly like mine, and the big blocks of abdominal muscle popping through his stomach. Also exactly like mine.

Bob carried on the sermon for a number of minutes, and then it was time for the vows.

"Do you Jake "The Shredinator" Adams, take Dan "The Man" Murray to be your lawfully wedded muscle freak"?

"FUCK YES!", I exclaimed, and everyone roared with laughter. "Oooops sorry", I sheepishly said. "I mean, I do".

And with those two words, my heart swelled. I do I do I do.

"I now pronounce you, pumped up, shredded to buggery muscle freak and, well....pumped up, shredded to buggery muscle freak".

I couldn't wipe the grin off my face. He's mine. Dan The Man is finally mine.

"You may now squeeze a head to head crab most muscular".

"HELL YEAH!", Dan exclaimed.

I turned to face my new hubbie, matching bow tie, black boots, shiny red posers and all. A huge, cheeky grin plastered across his face, as utterly gorgeous as ever. The face that plays a big contribution to him being one half of the two most popular and well loved bodybuilders in Britain.

"Let's do this mate!", Dan said.

I grinned wildly and noded as I bent forward and lifted both arms up so my elbows were level with my shoulder blades. Bob wanted a head to head crab most muscular and that's exactly what he was gonna get.

"SQUEEEEZE IT LADS!", shouted Bob.

And squeeze it we did. With my forehead pressed up against Dan's, we both brought our arms down and blasted out matching crab most musculars, while aggressively shouting in unison.


Dan "The Man" Murray. My lifelong muscle buddie. Best friend. Vlogging partner. Brother in beef. Fellow shredded muscle freak. Love of my life. And now my husband.


Our heads still locked. Our teeth gritted.


Faces scrunched to buggery. Intensely but affectionately looking in each other's eyes.

"Dude! Wake up"!

Every muscle squeezed and bursting through our paper thin skin. Shiny red posers barely able to contain our bulges.


Ugh. Whats going on?! Fuck. I feel dazed. Disorientated.

"What the fuck were you dreaming about"?

The church has gone, and I'm in a strange bed instead. A hotel bed. The curtains are open. Ugh. Why is it so fucking bright?

But there's one saving grace. I feel typically giddy and a sense of warmth washes over me as I see Dan's face, just as handsome first thing in the morning as it always is. He has a bad case of bed head. Ruffled and un-styled. He's never looked more adorable.

He's lying next to me in the double bed of the hotel room, still wearing the white vest he went to bed in last night. His arms have never looked more pumped and his delts more ridiculous. His whole upper body looks like its ready to burst.

"Dude you were saying my name in your sleep!", Dan says.

"Oh", I reply, my cheeks suddenly burning up and my pulse quickening.

"Ummm...I think I was dreaming about the show", I reply.

"Did I kick your arse for the third year running?", he cheekily says with a grin.

"Actually I kicked your arse", I playfully say.

"You must have been dreaming dude".

Still half awake, I smile and dreamily gaze at my best friend and fellow bodybuilding musclehead from my pillow. I want nothing more than to just stay in that hotel bed with him. For us to spend all day under the sheets, exploring and worshipping each other's indecently muscular bodies.

Feeling each other's huge, pumped biceps, squeezing each other's thick, balloon-esque pecs, exploring the deep lines separating each of our shredded blocks of ab muscle and rubbing our huge freaky quads together. Making each other cum over and over until we finally collapse and I fall asleep with my arm wrapped around his crazy midsection and my head buried deep into the thick cushion which makes up one of his ridiculously developed pecs.

Unfortunately, we have the juniour class of Britain's biggest bodybuilding show to compete in, which Dan will no doubt champion in for the third year running, leaving me to, once again, settle for second place.

Not that Jakes physique is miles ahead of mine in terms of quality. In fact, I'm guaranteed to always be better conditioned than him. Better than any lad in my class in fact. After all, I didn't get the nickname "The Shredinator" for nothing. Razor sharp cuts, dick thin skin, freaky veins (even on my abs!) and a full on bonkers Christmas tree will all be making their usual stage appearance today.

And I'm not exactly lacking in size either. My pecs look like two pumpkins bulging off my chest, my quads get thicker with every passing show and my shoulders were replaced with two, huge, perfectly round boulders many moons ago. Oh and speaking of moons, my bum is huge. Like, seriously fucking enormous. There's not a pair of posing trunks in the world big enough to cover up my ridiculously big rump.

Sunday, 21 August 2016


I don't feel I say this enough on the blog so here goes. I. LOVE. POSERS!! Tiny, shiny, sticky, slurpy POSERS!! Posers barely able to cover up their owner's huge, shredded glutes round the back! Trunks which stretch and strain with the owners thick bulge at the front! Posers which, on occasion, get plastered and drenched in sweat, tan and oil when worn in competition and flexed, posed and squeezed in for fucking hours! POSERS POSERS POSERS!!

So what make would I classify as being the perfect pair of posing trunks?! In short - they would have have three things! Firstly, they would *have* to be decent sized, i.e. the tinier the better! Secondly, they'd have to be colourful (black trunks are passable in expectational circumstances if they meet the other criteria - Marc Antoine Andrade's black trunks are a shining example)! And thirdly, they'd absolutely *have* to be as shiny as fucking possible!! Matte look posers? Bugger off! Velvet trunks? The work of the devil. My top tip for any bodybuilder preparing to step on stage? Find THE shiniest fucking posing trunks imaginable and wear those babies with pride! Just like every indecently shredded, outrageously pumped, excessively muscular lad in this post!

Links to my previous posing trunk pic collections:

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