Thursday, 15 February 2018

MUSCLE FICTION STORY: HAVE YOU SEEN THESE POSING TRUNKS? (PART 5)

"I wanted to pause time. To stay in that moment for as long as I wanted. To stand there staring at the image of this mighty flexing muscle bull before me. To marvel at the sheer hugeness of the bronze painted balls of muscle bulging off each of his upper arms. To study the vein (that glorious fucking vein) running down the middle of the right bicep. To let him overwhelm me with his display of pure power and hyper masculinity."

Ok guys, here goes with the penultimate part of "Have You Seen These Posing Trunks?"

Part four saw Oscar turning up at the flat of local competitive bodybuilder Liam "The Guns" Watson to give him back his missing posing trunks. On his way to use the bathroom, Oscar spotted something in Liam's bedroom; a pair of sparkly pink posers lying on his bed. Venturing inside to take a closer look, Oscar then came upon something else; Liam's posing trunk collection lying in an open drawer!

After marvelling at the trunks of every conceivable colour, Oscar pulled out a pair of super shiny, ruby red trunks he recognised from a picture on Liam's Instagram profile. Picking up the posers, Oscar then bought them to his face, but as he took a deep inhale of the shiny trunk material, he realised he wasn't alone...


“OSCAR?!”

OH FUUUUUCCCKKK!!

Everything in that moment seemed to happen in slow motion. A sudden, intense panic took over. I jumped, threw the trunks back in the drawer and turned to find Liam “The Guns" Watson in his mint green vest, and all two hundred plus pounds of his insanely huge muscle filling up his bedroom doorframe. A look of utter confusion sat on his achingly gorgeous face.

“Were you ... sniffing my posers?!”

OH GOD. This can’t be happening. This can NOT be happening.

“NO!” I cried, instinctively. But as soon as I said it, I knew it was ridiculous. He’d caught me red fucking handed.

I sighed. “I mean ... yes!” I confessed, completely surprising myself.

Liam was still looking confused. “Why?!” he asked. He didn’t seem angry. More just baffled.

My brain went into overdrive as I tried to think of a conceivable explanation as to why I was standing uninvited in a bodybuilder’s bedroom sniffing a pair of his posing trunks. But there wasn’t one. There was only one possible explanation. Only one thing to do. I had to tell Liam the truth.

I winced, closed my eyes, scared of what I was about to say, but knowing I had to say it anyway, and then just blurted it out.

“Because I love posing trunks!”

I opened my eyes, a strange relief coming over me.

“You ... love posing trunks?” Liam repeated, his eyebrows furrowed.

I nodded, feeling sheepish and nervous, but also strangely elated.

“I guess ... I sort of have a thing for them?!”

“Huh!” Liam replied. “What kind of a thing?” he asked, folding his huge arms across his chest so they bulged and popped to an outrageous degree (FUCK)!

He was still confused, but it didn’t seem like he was judging me. More than anything, he just seemed curious.

“Ummmm…” I began, not really knowing how to explain. “I guess, like, how some people are into ... sexy underwear?”

Sexy underwear they wanna wear under their jeans to Tesco. Sexy underwear they wanna sit in at home and spunk a huge creamy load into while watching a bodybuilder blowing up his nickname earning biceps on their laptops! SPLAT SPLAT SPLAT!

“Oh right!” he exclaimed. “So it’s like ... a fetish?”

“I guess,” I sheepishly said, feeling my cheeks begin to flush. It’s funny, because I’ve never really thought of my love for shiny posers as being a fetish, but I guess that was probably the easiest way for Liam to have understood it.

“Are other people into this?” he asked.

“Yeah! I mean, it’s pretty rare. But yeah … there are others,” I replied, thinking about the fellow trunk lovers I’d spoken to on muscle blogs, via email, and on Twitter, who go just as bonkers over a pair of shiny colourful, glute hugging trunks as I do.

“What is it about them?!”

Oh God.

“Erm … I dunno. The shape. The look. The material. Everything really!” I explained, surprising myself at how honest and detailed I was being.

The whole situation was incredible surreal. I couldn’t quite believe what was happening. I’d just been caught sniffing a pair of posing trunks by the very bodybuilder who owned them and now I was confessing that they turned me on. I was scared, nervous, aroused and excited. All at fucking once.

And then Liam said something which invoked another emotion; complete and utter surprise.

“Huh!” he began, still with his obscenely huge arms folded across his chest; the veins popping through the hairless, bronzed tinted skin struggling to contain the pure mass it was covering.

“Well, mate, this is a new one on me, but ... I think I kinda get it!”

What. The. FUUUUUCCCKKK!!

I was gob smacked. Completely and utterly speechless. What the fuck was going on?!

“I mean ... I’m not into them the same way you are, “ Liam explained. “But I do love my posing trunks. I mean … you can probably see that for yourself.” As he said this he gestured to the still open drawer containing his posing trunk collection.

“There’s definitely something about them,” he confessed. “I usually just wear them for when I’m posting pictures on the Internet. And for competitions obviously. But sometimes ... I think about wearing them just for fun.”

OH MY FUCKING GOD!!

“I don't really know why”, Liam continued. “It’s kind of like an urge. Instead of wearing boxers, I sometimes think about just popping some shiny trunks on and going down to the shops with them on under my jeans …”

PANT PANT FUCKING PANT!!

“Is that mad?!” he asked, grinning slightly.

“Ummmm …” I replied, wanting to tell him that actually YES - it was a tiny bit bonkers. But also just about the sexiest thing he could have possibly fucking said to me.

“Wow! So you must have thought you’d struck gold when you found my trunks in your washing?" he asked, with a cheeky smile.

My cheeks suddenly reddened but I couldn’t help but smirk back. “Ummm ... kinda,” I replied, feeling like a giddy teenager in the presence of a boy he had a secret crush on.

“So ... I gotta ask. Why d’ya give ‘em back?”

Ooooh … errrmm, I dunno. To meet the huge, gorgeous muscle bull who’d made me spunk something fucking rotten (IN his own fucking posers) by blowing up his ginormous guns for the camera.

“It kinda just felt like the right thing to do,” I lied.

Liam’s mouth curled into an adorable grin, and when I saw those cute little dimples emerge on his cheeks, I felt a stab of guilt that I hadn’t been completely honest with him.

I decided to balance this out by telling him a truth. It was probably good that this was said so hastily in my attempt to ease my conscious, because if I’d have thought it through before hand, I probably wouldn’t have said it.

“Plus ... I guess I just wanted to meet you,” I said, blushing furiously.

“Ahhhh. Mate!” Liam replied bashfully, but smirking in a way that one does when they’ve just been thrown a compliment.

“You know, that’s one part of being well known on the bodybuilding scene that I can’t get used to,” Liam began. “People that I don’t know wanting to meet me. Talk to me even. It’s happening more and more since I started “The Guns” nickname. I mean, it’s awesome. And flattering. But ... I’m just a lad who likes to lift things …”

Liam “The Guns” Watson - marry me NOW!

 “… and stomp around stages in shiny, tiny posers, obviously,” he added, grinning.

Hold that thought. I’m just gonna spunk in my boxers first. FUCKING HELL!!

“So, I take it you have your own posing trunk collection?” Liam asked.

I couldn’t help but smirk at this. Just the fact that a bodybuilder was asking me if I owned posing trunks in such a casual manner was both absurd, and fucking incredible.

“Erm … no actually!” I replied. “I don't even have one pair!”

“Why not?” Liam asked.

“I dunno!” I was still smirking, trying to wonder whether I was actually having this conversation, or whether someone was about to come along and pinch me to wake me up. “I guess I’ve always been worried I’ll look a little silly in them,” I replied, honestly.

“You could definitely pull them off!” he exclaimed. I grinned even more as Liam’s eyes, once again, focused on my upper arms.

Of all the things that had happened at Liam’s flat up until that moment, nothing was as surprising as what the gorgeous muscle bull in front of me did next.

He looked at his open drawer, which contained what had to be one of the hottest and most impressive collection of posers in the country, if not the fucking world.

His eyes then fell on me again, and he seemed to contemplating something. Battling with himself, even, over whether he should say what he was thinking.

He then shook his head to himself and firmly said, “Fuck it! Take ‘em!”

Completely confused, I stood there looking at Liam. He signalled to the open drawer.

“Take the red trunks.”

Ermm. Huh! WHAT?!!

“I owe you one for bringing my special blue trunks back. So you can have the red ones. I probably have way too many pairs anyway.”

What. The. Actual. Fuckety. Fucking. FUCK?!

I was dumbfounded. Not only had Liam been unbelievably cool and calm with the fact that he’d not only caught me in his bedroom uninvited, but with a pair of his posers shoved in my face, not to mention my confession that I secretly got the horn for shiny posers, but he was now actually gifting me said posing trunks. Right there in that moment, looking at the insanely gorgeous muscle freak before me, tanned and bulging out of his mint green vest while his outrageously hot Mohawk sat on his insanely hot head, I swear, diary, I actually fell a little bit in love with him.

“Are you sure?” I tentatively asked, hoping and praying that the answer would be “YES.”

“Take ‘em before I change my mind,” he replied.

I reached in the drawer and my cock juddered as I was, once again, instantly met with the soft, shiny fabric of posers, and pulled out the bright red ruby trunks.

I blushed furiously as I awkwardly stood there with my brand new gifted posers clutched in my right hand.

Liam was mischievously grinning at me. It seemed as if he was enjoying seeing me squirm. “I reckon those bad boys’ll suit you!” he said.

I goofily grinned and just stood, red faced, letting him tease me for his own enjoyment. Letting him do whatever the FUCK he wants to me.

“Well, thanks again for bringing my trunks back to me, mate! And I hope, ummmm ... I lived up to the bodybuilder on the Instagram profile?” he said, slightly bashfully.

“God yeah!” I enthusiastically replied, without hesitation.

Liam chuckled. “I hope “The Guns” lived up to it too!” he added, with a devilish grin.

“Definitely!” I replied, feeding his ego.

With the surrealism of enjoying friendly banter with a bodybuilder about the size of his biceps, I suddenly felt a surge of confidence. I didn’t think there was anything he could have said, or done, to make me blush even more at that point, so I reasoned I had nothing left to lose.

“I loved that front double bicep shot you posted last weekend!” I said.

“Oh yeah?” Liam replied. “That was a popular one!”

And then, with one swift movement, Liam instructing me take his ruby red posing trunks suddenly wasn’t the greatest moment of our encounter.

Lifting both of his arms up, Liam was suddenly flexing his enormous, nickname earning guns in a front double bicep pose. His face was scrunched up, and his mouth wide open in the exact same arrogant expression he’d worn in the picture I’d shot a massive load to the Saturday before. Only this time, I wasn’t looking at a picture on the Internet. This time the scene was happening right before my eyes, in Liam “The Guns” Watson’s bedroom, just a mere few feet from where I stood.

I wanted to pause time. To stay in that moment for as long as I wanted. To stand there staring at the image of this mighty flexing muscle bull before me. To marvel at the sheer hugeness of the bronze painted balls of muscle bulging off each of his upper arms. To study the vein (that glorious fucking vein) running down the middle of the right bicep. To let him overwhelm me with his display of pure power and hyper masculinity.

“FUCK!” I cried in response.

When Liam relaxed, he instantly started laughing. His face beaming, he was clearly on some kind of incredible high from being a muscle freak, two days out from his next bodybuilding show, flexing and showing off his enormous muscles for an audience. Any audience - even near strangers who he’d just caught sniffing his posing trunks.

“Just as impressive in person?” Liam asked.

“YEAH!!” I exclaimed in response. The rush of seeing Liam flexing in the flesh seemed to diminish any leftover nerves and shyness. “Unbelievable mate!”

Still proudly grinning, Liam then bought his fists together and outrageously squeezed a quick most muscular pose, accompanied by a deep, playful, and unspeakably hot grunt. “EURGH!!”

The plates of pec muscle underneath his vest squeezed together. His enormous triceps erupted like crazy. His upper body just a mass of solid, bunched up, beautifully carved muscle.

It barely lasted two seconds, but just like the moment Liam first opened his front door, just like when he’d walked into his living room with his muscle bulging out of his mint green vest, and just like when he’d flexed his monstrous biceps in front of me, I was positive the scene would forever be imprinted on my memory.

“Fucking HELL!!” I exclaimed, inhibitions almost completely gone.

And then, the unthinkable happened. Liam flexed again! Bending forward slightly, he cranked out a brutal, power packed, crab most muscular; his teeth gritted and his nose scrunched in brilliantly animated fashion.

His watermelon-like delts filled up my view. Enormous, round boulders of gorgeously bronzed muscle. His biceps had never looked bigger, or more beautiful. Balls of inhuman muscle, squeezed and popped to an absurd degree. And, out of nowhere, two thick mounds of trap muscle erupted either side of his neck like two vicious little creatures about to pounce on their prey (let it be me, please let it be me), stretching the mint green cotton material of the straps of his vest. 

I wanted to lick those traps. Feel the solid muscle and paper thin skin underneath my tongue. Work my mouth down until I was kissing his enormous delts. Taste the tan, sweat and mass of a roided up muscle God who’d pushed his body to unspeakable limits. I wanted to suck on his biceps. Feel that throbbing vein against my tongue. The more Liam would squeeze, the harder his bicep would become and the more the vein would throb, the harder I would suck and the closer my dick would get to exploding with cum.

When Liam straightened up he was still beaming proudly, but there was an ever so slight bashfulness there too. He held his fist out for me to bump in a bro-ish manner. I obviously obliged, wondering whether even a simple touch of his knuckles against mine would increase my arousal (it did, fucking HELL it did).

“Always fun posing for an appreciative muscle fan!”

I wanted to ask for more. I wanted to watch Liam hit a whole host of poses. See his lats spread out like wings, and his tits jump up to his chin as he blasted out a front lat spread. Watch his thick pec explode off his chest, and his right bicep bulge as he treated me to a side chest pose. I wanted him to whip off his vest so I could watch his block-like tummy muscles crunch and burst through his gorgeous skin as he squeezed out an abs and thighs pose. And I wanted more of those power packed, trap erupting most musculars. A whole fucking volley of them. One after the other.

And while Liam flexed, posed, crunched and scrunched, I wanted to explore every single one of his obscenely developed body parts with my hands. Squeeze every mound of muscle. Feel every lump and bump. To do the thing I’ve wanted to do since opening my very first copy of “FLEX” magazine; worship a real life, competition conditioned muscle monster. I want it. I need it. I have to fucking have it.

“Thanks again for coming round, Oscar,” Liam said.

I was suddenly snapped back to reality. “No worries,” I feebly said. “Thanks for the er… trunks,” I said, blushing at the reference to the inexplicably shiny red posers I was probably going to blow a massive load into as soon as I got home.

He grinned in response. The most gorgeous, dimple revealing grin. I was gonna miss those dimples. “No problem, mate!” Liam said chirpily. “Glad to be able to repay you for giving me back the others,” he said, referring to the sentimental trunks he’d not long been reunited with.

Liam turned to walk out of his bedroom door, and I took a step to follow, but something was suddenly bursting to get out of me.

I’d been brave enough to contact Liam. To come to his flat. To give him back the missing posers I’d found, obsessed about, developed a crazy obsession with, and finally creamed into.

I’d been brave enough to wander into his bedroom uninvited. To check out the sparkly pink posing trunks lying on his bed. To reach into the drawer full of posing trunks. To pull one out and take a big whiff of the material.

I’d been brave enough to admit to Liam that I had a fetish for shiny posers. But it wasn’t enough. There was something else I needed to do before I left Liam’s flat. Something that would take just one last ounce of bravery.

I want it. I need it. I have to fucking have it.

“WAIT!”

To be continued...

Thursday, 1 February 2018

MUSCLE FICTION STORY: HAVE YOU SEEN THESE POSING TRUNKS? (PART 4)

"Staring back at me was not just one pair of posing trunks. Not even just two. But a whole host of shiny posers. Of every colour conceivable. Orange. Purple. Green. Even gold! All as shiny as the rest.

My heart was pounding and my cock was furiously pulsating as I looked down at the plethora of shiny, colourful material. I had found Liam “The Guns” Watson’s posing trunk collection. And it was the most glorious and downright fucking horny collection you could imagine."


It's time for part 4 of "Have You Seen These Posing Trunks?"

In the last part, muscle junkie Oscar returned to the launderette where he'd previously found a pair of local bodybuilder Liam "The Guns" Watson's shiny blue posing trunks mixed in amongst his washing, to find that the gorgeous muscle bull had erected a poster asking if anyone had seen those very trunks. Thus providing Oscar with the opportunity to meet and converse with a genuine, competition conditioned bodybuilder.

After much deliberation over whether to give up the trunks he'd come to love so much, Oscar seized the day and got in contact with "The Guns". Now he's on his way over to the flat of the gorgeous, 200 plus pounds muscle freak...


Friday July 21st - 10:00 pm

Dear Muscle Diary,

My name is Oscar Grimes and I'm obsessed with exactly two things; shiny, tiny, brightly coloured posing trunks, and the huge, roided muscle bulls who wear them.

Last Wednesday was a day I'll never forget. Not only did I witness a bodybuilder in the flesh in my local launderette, but I also found a pair of his posing trunks left behind in one of the machines.

And today, Friday July 21st, is also a day I’ll never forget. For so, so many reasons.

I've always found it amazing how a single moment can stick in your memory and stay there forever. So many things happen to us every single day, and many of them are forgotten so quickly. But sometimes, something will stay in our heads. Like our brain takes a picture of a precise moment that we can access any time we like. And every time we do, it’s almost as clear as when it happened. Today was full of those very moments.

One of which was when Liam “The Guns” Watson opened the door to his flat, and all six feet and two hundred plus pounds of him was stood staring at me from over the threshold.

Obviously I’d encountered this absurdly sexy muscle beast in the flesh two Wednesday’s before when we’d waddled into the launderette. Another such moment that will forever be etched on to my memory.

And yet, as he stood looking at me with a warm, inviting smile, I was completely overwhelmed with just how insanely fucking hot he was.

Presumably because he was only two days out from competing, his skin was tinted a gorgeous, golden colour. A few more coats and he’d be bronzed and ready to step to stage. It completely contrasted with my typically pale complexion.

His hair had changed since our first encounter a week and a half ago. It was now shaved except for a strip down the middle, which was not only spiked up and styled into a hot Mohawk, but dyed bright blue in the most outrageous fashion.

Strong, masculine features sat on his handsome face. His slightly large, jug ears stuck out in the sexiest fashion (perfect for grabbing hold of with both sets of fingers when pounding his obscenely huge arse) and on both cheeks, either side of his devastatingly gorgeous grin, sat two little dimples like parenthesis. (The most adorable looking parenthesis you’re ever likely to see.)

As for the mountain of outrageously developed muscle sitting below his neckline; annoyingly, it was covered up save for the top of his broad chest peeking out over the top of the same black hoodie he'd worn at the launderette.

Much like on that occasion, he was wearing long shorts, so everything bar his completely smooth, bronzed shins were covered up.

But even though there was very little beef on display, I was still completely overwhelmed and incredibly aroused by his enormous frame. Standing before me was a man who’d moulded and transformed his once ordinary sized body into that of an excessively sized muscle freak.

I couldn’t help but wonder at one moment had Liam realised he’d crossed the line from gym going muscle lad into all out roided muscle bull? When random strangers had started gawping, shrieking and pointing at him as he walked down North Street? When he’d attempted to buy a hoodie in H&M to discover it was too small, forcing him to buy an XXL sized one from the shop at Deano’s Gym? Or maybe it had the first time he'd looked in the mirror and his dick had instantly exploded at the image of the monstrous muscle freak staring back at him?

“Oscar?” he asked as I stood at the door, about an inch shorter than him, the shiny blue posing trunks I’d said my sad goodbyes to fifteen minutes before tucked up in the backpack slung over my regular sized, non freaky shoulders.

The nerves I’d felt walking to Liam’s house seemed to have been overtaken by a sense of sheer shock and disbelief of being in the presence of, not only a real life competitive bodybuilder, but one as utterly huge and sexy as Liam.

“Yeah. Hi!” I said, trying to keep my focus on his face, and not be too blatant about staring at his enormous frame.

“Come in mate,” he said, ushering me over the threshold and shutting the door behind me. As he sidled past me, we were closer than ever. Just being in such close proximity to a muscle bull of such magnificent size was incredibly horny.

I followed Liam into his flat, taking in his huge back covered up by his Deano’s Gym hoodie and his outrageously developed and astonishingly huge arse stretching the material of his blue shorts.

“Do you want a drink Oscar?”

I loved the way he called me by my name like we were friends, even though we’d only just met.

“Ummm … can I just have some water please?”

“Sure mate!” Liam replied, before disappearing into the kitchen and leaving me in the living room of Brighton's biggest and sexiest muscle bull. I quickly scoured the room. A big Union Jack rug sat on the floor, matching Union Jack cushions sat on the black leather sofa, a huge flat screen TV was stuck to the wall, and sitting on a book shelf at the end of the sofa were multiple bodybuilding trophies, shaped like mini muscle men.

Three framed pictures sitting on a shelf above his mantelpiece caught my eye. An old fashioned photo of a married couple I presumed to be his parents, an adorable picture of a black French bulldog looking joyful with his pink tongue flat out and a picture of Liam himself; tanned from head to toe, his whole body a mass of bronzed, shredded, competition conditioned muscle mass, a medal round his neck and a bodybuilding trophy at his feet. And all he was wearing was a pair of bright blue, shiny posing trunks. The very same posing trunks tucked up in my backpack at that precise moment!

My dick juddered as I moved closer to get a better look at shredded Liam, flexing a hand on hips most muscular, an ecstatic grin on his oh-so gorgeous face, every freakishly developed muscle separated my beautiful lines and cuts. And all in those very familiar posing trunks. The hottest blue posing trunks in the world. The trunks I’d sniffed, and rubbed in my face as I wanked myself stupid. The trunks I’d fucking SPUNKED in just six nights before!

“That was my first ever win mate!” I jumped as Liam “The Guns” Watson re-entered the room, and when I spun around to face him, I was met with an image so surreal and unexpected my jaw literally dropped, and my mouth hung open for just a second as I tried to compose myself.

Liam had taken his hoodie off, and now had only a mint green coloured vest partially covering his upper body. His bare shoulders were absolutely fucking ridiculous. Like two bronzed half watermelons bulging either side of his frame.

I could see a lot more of his chest. Huge, thick plates of muscle which stretched out the material of the vest at the bottom (begging to be squeezed, fondled and played with) and spilled out of the material at the top.

And his arms. Jesus fucking CHRIST those arms. Nothing could have prepared me for seeing those in the flesh. The biggest upper arms I’ve ever seen on any human being outside of a bodybuilding competition.

It was like they’d been injected with every fucking steroid and growth hormone on the market and pumped till they were in danger of going pop.

Even relaxed I could see that vein I’d become familiar from his Instagram pictures, snaking down the middle of the left bicep. His forearms were obscenely thick too. Almost twice the size of mine, completely hairless and snaked in outrageous veins.

As he walked towards me and reached out his right arm with a glass of water, freaky striations suddenly erupted underneath the paper thin, gorgeously golden skin of the accompanying shoulder.

I took the water, all the while in a state of shock that I was in the presence of a man so freakishly huge and muscular.

I wondered in that moment if Liam ever played with He-Man action figures as a young lad. And then I wondered just what that lad would have thought if he’d have somehow been shown what an enormous, superhuman muscle bull he’d become as an adult.

“Sorry Oscar! I didn't mean to make you jump,” he said. His mouth curled into a mischievous grin as he said it, and I got the sense that he not only knew that his incredible body was making me nervous, but was also getting a bit of a kick out it.

Whether he had any idea of the other thoughts that were going through my head I wasn’t sure. Or what effect his newly revealed slabs, lumps, bumps and mounds of obscenely developed muscle were having on my crotch.

“Novice class of Mr Brighton 2014,” Liam added, referring to the picture of him on his mantle piece.

“You probably recognise the trunks!” he exclaimed, grinning even more, with those adorable dimples appearing in his cheeks. Meanwhile, I furiously blushed at the mere mention of the item of clothing I’d been obsessing about for the past week.

“It's partly why I was so gutted when I lost them. Sentimental value and all that,” he said, slightly sheepishly, making me want to melt into his Union Jack rug.

I nodded. “I get that!” I replied.

“You must have thought I was a bit of a nutter for putting up that poster!” he said.

I’ve always struggled to conceal my true feelings. I winced slightly and made a, “Hmmmm…” noise, to which Liam just laughed.

“I was a bit desperate mate! I went straight back to the launderette when I realised they were missing. I think I scared the woman working there a bit. Not just cause I was trying to explain to her what a pair of posing trunks looked like, but because, well …” at this point Liam paused, looked down and signalled to his body. The huge, freakishly muscular, competition ready body bulging out of the mint green vest just inches away from me. FUCK!

“The poster idea came to me when I saw a similar one for a missing cat taped to a lamppost a few days earlier. I went back and asked the old dear in the launderette if I could put it up. I think she thought I was well and truly NUTS but let me do it anyway. Probably for fear I was gonna eat her!”

I laughed out loud at this, and Liam grinned.

“I’m guessing it was the first time anyone’s ever put up a poster for a missing pair of posers,” he said, still grinning and looking rather pleased himself. I was getting the impression that Liam rather liked doing things which were not completely of the norm.

“I honestly wasn’t expecting anyone to respond to it! So I was really chuffed when I got your text Oscar! It's not just the fact that I won my first ever show in them. I’m competing on Sunday and they were gonna be my trunks for the finals. To match the hair,” he explained, running his right hand through his outrageously hot, bright blue Mohawk. “It's kind of an ensemble. Blue hair. Blue trunks. To make me standout,” he said, cheekily grinning.

It seemed utterly absurd that a man this huge and gorgeous would need to make any sort of attempt to stand out in a group or crowd.

“Plus, I guess they’re kind of my favourite trunks,” he added, shrugging and looking a little sheepish.

I couldn't help but smile at this. The idea of Liam having a favourite pair of posers was as adorable as his dimples.

He’d stopped talking and there seemed to be something hanging in the air. Liam had an expectant look on his face and the penny suddenly dropped. He was waiting for his posing trunks. Of course he fucking was.

“Oh! Your posers,” I said. The word had left my mouth without any kind of pre-thought. Turning around from Liam to fetch the trunks from my backpack sitting on his sofa, I had no idea whether he noticed that I’d gone bright red with embarrassment. But I was also feeling a rush of adrenaline too. I had never said the word “posers” or “posing trunks” to another person out loud before.

My heart was pounding as I fetched the obscenely shiny, blue trunks out of my bag. An act which enhanced my adrenaline even more. Turning around and nervously handing the posing trunks I’d shot a huge wad of spunk into back to the gorgeous muscle freak standing before me was single handily the most surreal moment of my life up to that point.

“Thanks dude!” Liam said, beaming as he was reunited with his beloved trunks, now dangling in his right hand, in the horniest image. A huge sexy muscle bull reunited with his favourite shiny posers. There was still a part of me which had doubted whether I’d done the right thing in parting ways with the posing trunks I’d come to love so much. But standing in front of Liam in that moment, I realised I’d absolutely made the right decision. I wondered whether it would be completely out of the question to request him to strip, put the posers on and start hitting up some poses in the living room?

“So how come you didn't hand them in?” he asked.

Because I fucking LOVE tiny, shiny, slurp-tastic posing trunks!

"I, ummm … didn't find them until I’d gotten home,” I lied.

“Ahhhh! That makes sense,” Liam said, nodding, and making me feel slightly guilty.

“So, you go to Deano’s?”

The question completely threw me. Why on Earth would he think I go to the most hardcore gym in town? My biceps aren’t THAT good, are they?!

“Erm .... no. I go to Fitness Addicts,” I replied, nervously.

“Oh right. I just assumed,” he said. Liam was looking at my upper arms, which were mostly on show below the sleeve of my t-shirt. An actual bodybuilder was checking out my biceps. I couldn’t help but feel a rush of excitement. But I also felt something else. Flattery. Confusion. He actually thought I went to Deano’s Gym. What the fuck?!

“So ... how do you know me?”

This question threw me even more. I was completely and utterly baffled. And then he explained himself, and everything suddenly make sense.

“You used my name in your text message.”

HOLY FUCKING JESUS!!

I wanted the ground to swallow me up. To pause time and run the hell out of Liam's flat. I used his name in my text message! “Hi Liam!” How could I have been so fucking stupid?!

My brain went into panic mode. How WOULD I know Liam? Me, a regular sized, non-bodybuilding guy? How could I explain that I was completely and utterly obsessed with huge, freaky muscle? That I regularly creamed off to pictures and videos of posing trunk sporting muscle bulls on the Internet, just like I did with a picture of him when I stumbled across his profile on Instagram on Saturday night? And that’s when it hit me. An answer for Liam which could just save me.

“I follow you on Instagram,” I hastily said, my voice trembling slightly.

“Oh right!” he replied. The answer seemed good enough for him. “I forget I’m pretty well known on the Internet. So you follow bodybuilding?” he asked.

“Yeah,” I replied, nervously, but fairly confidently. It was the truth after all.

“Awesome!” Liam exclaimed. His eyes went back to my arms, and his next statement made me blush crimson.

“I can see you've got some biceps on you!” he exclaimed with a cheeky grin.

I sheepishly grinned. I couldn’t help it. I don’t know why I said what I did next. Maybe it was the confidence of having a bodybuilder praise the size of my arms.

“The guys I work with actually have a nickname for me.”

“Oh yeah?” Liam asked with one of his eyebrows raised.

I nodded, blushing like crazy and regretting what I’d said, but knowing it was too late to back out of the conversation.

“They call me Mr Biceps!” I said, wincing.

“HAHA!! That's awesome!” Liam exclaimed. “Mr Biceps! I like that. They call me “The Guns”, but you probably know that already,” he said.

I smiled and nodded and my eyes went straight to those upper arms of him. Huge, bronzed, and the size of fucking tree trunks!

It would have been the perfect opportunity for Liam to have lifted those bad boys up, and given me a quick, cheeky, front double bicep pose. Or to lift up one of his forearms, squeeze his fist and flex one of those hard, marble-esque balls of beef. But sadly, he didn’t do either of those things.

Suddenly needing to relieve myself of the water Liam had given me, and also perhaps wanting to prolong my encounter with this gorgeous, cheeky, charming bodybuilder I‘d amazingly found myself in the company of, I asked Liam if I could use his bathroom.

Today was full of moments I’ll never forget and, and being distracted by something on my way to Liam “The Guns” Watson’s bathroom was most certainly one of them. Along with every single thing that followed that night until I eventually left his flat.

With all the doors in Liam’s flat wide open, it wasn’t hard to spot his bathroom. But as I got to the bathroom door, something in the room next to it suddenly caught my eye. Something which made me stop dead in my tracks.

Lying on what was clearly Liam’s bed was a pair of bright pink posing trunks. Not just bright pink, but glittery, sparkly and indecently shiny. FUCK!

I went into the bathroom with my mind completely pre-occupied with the image of those posers. Trying to will my boner to go down so I could take a piss knowing the world's sparkliest pink posers were casually lying on the bed of a beefed up bodybuilder whose house I’d amazingly found myself in, right next door was virtually impossible.

When I’d finally relieved myself, I walked back into the hallway of Liam’s flat, my heart pounding because all I knew I had to do was turn my head towards his bedroom and I’d get to see those gloriously pink posers once again.

I stopped in my tracks, peeked down the hall to check Liam wasn’t coming to find me and turned to his bedroom. Sure enough, there they were. The bright pink posing trunks of Brighton’s hottest bodybuilder. Just as shiny and sparkly as before.

I should have turned around right there and then. Walked back to Liam’s living room, and enjoyed the last of what had been a short but fucking incredible encounter with a real life, gorgeous muscle bull.

But I couldn’t. I couldn’t stop staring at those shiny posers. Just lying there on his bed. Had they been worn earlier that day? Had Liam tried them on and hit a few poses in the mirror, trying to decide if they were coming to the show that weekend, along with the beloved, newly reunited blue posers he’d lost at the launderette the week before.

Maybe he’d just tried them on for fun? Maybe he’d been wearing them earlier that day. Maybe they’d been hiding under his trackies at the gym. Maybe he liked the feel of the shiny material against his ass and dick as he pumped up his enormous muscles and worked himself into a sweat? OH GOD!!

When I think about it now, I actually can’t quite believe what I did next. But I couldn’t stop myself. I couldn’t tear my eyes away from those shiny pink posing trunks. I was transfixed. Hypnotised by the pink sparkly material. It was like they were calling me. Beckoning me to go forward. So I did. I put one foot in front of the other, and walked into Liam “The Guns” Watson’s bedroom.

A strong stench hit me as I walked through the doorway. A hot, powerful, masculine odour. Like the bodybuilding version of a teenage boy’s bedroom.

His bed sheets were grey and the walls were painted dark red. I had seen those walls before. On the back wall I could see the familiar poster of “Pumping Iron”. Arnold Schwarzenegger, quite possibly Liam’s hero as a horny, muscle crazed teenager, looking down at a single flexed bicep in black and white.

This was the room in the photo of Liam flexing his insane biceps with his mouth wide open in outrageously arrogant fashion on his Instagram. The photo I’d wanked off and spunked to whilst wearing a pair of his posing trunks just six days before.

But now another pair of Liam’s posers had taken over my mind. The shiny, sparkly pink fuckers I was getting closer to with every step I took, until I was standing at the foot of Liam’s double bed, looming over them.

I turned to the door to double check Liam wasn’t there, and nervously picked up the posers. They felt fucking incredible in my fingers. Soft. Smooth. And insanely horny. An image flashed in my mind of stuffing the pink posers in my jeans pocket, silently creeping towards Liam’s front door and running all the way home.

I placed the pink posers back on the bed, trying to position them as they’d been before I picked them up. I turned to leave, when something in an open drawer of Liam’s wardrobe suddenly stopped me dead in my tracks; the bright shiny material of another pair of posing trunks. And not just one! I moved closer to the open drawer, looked down and was met with, quite possibly, the most beautiful sight I’ve ever seen.

Staring back at me was not just one pair of posing trunks. Not even just two. But a whole host of shiny posers. Of every colour conceivable. Orange. Purple. Green. Even gold! All as shiny as the rest.

My heart was pounding and my cock was furiously pulsating as I looked down at the plethora of shiny, colourful material. I had found Liam “The Guns” Watson’s posing trunk collection. And it was the most glorious and downright fucking horny collection you could imagine.

I wanted to shrink myself down to five inches tall and climb inside the drawer. Stand completely surrounded by the shiny, colourful material of a bodybuilder’s posing trunk collection. Run through the shiny fabric completely naked. Bathe in it. Wrap my whole body in it. Feel and smell the posing trunk material all around me. A miniature sized trunk loving muscle addict in a sea of giant, shiny posers.

I nervously looked to Liam’s bedroom door again. It hit me in that moment. Even though I had been nervous, scared even, to phone up Liam and come to his flat. I did it because a deep rooted desire took hold of me and over rode that fear.

And that’s exactly what was happening to me in that moment. I was nervous to be trespassing in Liam’s bedroom, standing over his posing trunk collection lying in his drawer. I knew it was wrong. That I shouldn’t have been there. That I’d never be able to explain myself if he walked in and caught me. But desire had taken over.

The same desire I’d felt when I’d picked up my very first copy of “FLEX” magazine in my local WH Smith when I was fifteen years old and nervously took it to the counter. The same desire burning inside of me when I was stood outside an exhibition centre with a ticket to my first ever bodybuilding show stuffed into my wallet. The same desire which took over me when I was holding Liam’s shiny blue posing trunks in my hand last Saturday night and pulling them up my legs.

And now, that very desire was willing me to reach my hand into the open drawer before me and pull out the unmistakable ruby red posing trunks Liam had been wearing in the Instagram photo I’d creamed off to last weekend.

Somehow, they felt even more incredible than both the blue posers I’d been in possession of for the last week and a half, and the sparkly pink ones I’d been holding just a minute before.

They were unquestionably shinier than both of those pairs too. Liam “The Guns” Watson’s shiniest posing trunks. Dancing in my fingers. Mine, just for those few seconds. To hold. To feel. To worship. To love.

Without any hesitation or thought, I closed my eyes, brought the ruby red posing trunks to my face, pressed the shiny material into my nose and mouth, took a deep inhale of the shiny red fabric and...

“OSCAR?!”

OH FUUUUUCCCKKK!!

To be continued...

Wednesday, 24 January 2018

MUSCLE FICTION STORY: HAVE YOU SEEN THESE POSING TRUNKS? (PART 3)

OK guys, here goes with the third part of "Have You Seen These Posing Trunks?"

So far, muscle addict and posing trunk lover Oscar Grimes not only saw a real life bodybuilder in his local launderette, but then found a pair of the muscle bull's shiny blue posing trunks he'd accidentally left behind in amongst his washing.

The second part saw Oscar trying on the trunks, and finding out more about the original owner on the Internet; a local competitive bodybuilder with huge, nickname earning biceps called Liam "The Guns" Watson.

In this part Oscar's journey takes another unexpected twist when he returns to the launderette for yet another eventful evening, which leaves him with a bit of a muscle related dilemma on his hands...


Monday July 17th

Dear Muscle Diary,

Well, diary, It's been five days since my last visit to the laundrette and almost all of my thoughts are still occupied by two things;

1. The super shiny, brilliantly blue posing trunks I found sitting amongst my washing in the tumble dryer, now filled up with my muscle loving spunk (blush)!

2. The original owner of said posing trunks who was part responsible for them being filled up with my muscle loving spunk and whose Instagram profile I've been regularly checking since Saturday night; Liam “The Guns” Watson!

So you might think I'm slightly bonkers when I make this confession, but now that I've actually put the trunks on (and shot a massive load of spunk into them - ker-SPLAT!), I keep fantasising about wearing them out in public! Obviously not just wearing the posing trunks (I’m pretty sure I’d either get arrested, or carted off to the nearest nut house), but wearing them under my jeans.

I don't know why but the idea of walking around my local Tesco with the obscenely shiny fabric of a pair of posers clinging to my arse under my jeans really appeals to me! As does wearing them under my trackies at the gym. Using the leg press or pumping up my biceps with my dick tucked into the blue poser material. Or even (and this is the craziest idea of the lot), wearing them to work! Shaking hands with a client, who has absolutely no idea that, underneath my smartest suit trousers, lies the obscenely shiny trunks of a huge, roided bodybuilder! Going to the toilets, unzipping the flies and being greeted with the sight of that bright blue poser material! FUCK!!

And, as much as I love Liam's posers, I can't stop thinking about how much I'd love to own another pair. Just as shiny as the ones I have, but a different colour. Maybe I'd go for red, like the ones in the Instagram shot of Liam flexing his biceps. Or maybe something more adventurous. Bright pink. Or glittery gold! Maybe I'll buy a couple of pairs and build up a collection. Maybe I’ll make it my personal mission to have a pair of posing trunks from each colour of the rainbow. A different pair to wear and spunk in for every day of the week. Slurp, squirt, SPLAT!

And as for Liam himself? Well, I just can't comprehend the fact that there's a bodybuilder who is that huge and gorgeous living in Brighton, and presumably not that far away from me if we share the same launderette, who I've seen in the flesh, and who's posers I've fucking SPUNKED in! And with the posing trunks, we'll always have this awesome, special link (even if he does not know it)!

Since finding him on Instagram on Saturday night, pretty much the first thing I did when I woke up on Sunday morning was check out his profile again. He looked just as huge, just as gorgeous and just as fucking spunk-worthy in the cold (and sober) light of day.

Since then he's been regularly posting new pictures. More shots of him hitting various poses at home in front of the Pumping Iron poster, and even a few pictures of him flexing at the infamous Deano’s Gym.

Even more amazing and horny is the fact than in almost every new picture posted he's wearing a DIFFERENT pair of posers! FUCK!! Purple, bright orange and emerald green trunks have all made an appearance. All super shiny. And all incredibly horny. Which begs the question; just how many fucking pairs of posing trunks does Liam “The Guns” Watson own?! And where, and how, can I get my greedy mitts on another one of them? SLURP!!

Yours,

Oscar Grimes (possible future owner of more pairs of tiny, shiny posing trunks!)

Tuesday July 18th

Dear Muscle Diary,

So, tomorrow night is laundry night, and exactly one week since I saw local bodybuilder Liam “The Guns” Watson and found a pair of his posing trunks amongst my washing.

I'm actually kind of nervous. It's not just that I feel like I'm returning to the scene of a crime, but also because I'll be returning with the spunked up posing trunks in my wash bag. I've also had a terrifying thought; what if Liam is at the laundrette again?

I mean, on one hand, that would be fucking AWESOME because I'd absolutely love to see the gorgeous muscle bull whose Instagram profile I've been regularly checking since creaming a load over on Saturday in the flesh again. But, on the other hand, seeing him again and just knowing that I was in possession of his trunks, which I’ve fucking SPUNKED in, would make me feel incredibly nervous! I'd probably turn into a quivering mess.

And what if (and this is my biggest fear, diary), he's not only there, but also, somehow sees his missing posing trunks in amongst my washing?

I have this image of myself sitting on one of the benches in the laundrette waiting for my washing to finish, eagerly and nervously checking the door to see if Liam has walked in.

The washing then finishes and I'm putting my clothes into the basket ready for the tumble dryer, but ooooops, I accidentally drop the shiny blue posers on the floor, just as Liam Watson walks through the door. FUCK!

Maybe I should go to another launderette? Maybe I shouldn't take the posers, even though I really want them washed so I can wear (and then shoot another fucking load into) them again? ARRRGHHH!!

Yours,

Oscar Grimes (self confessed perpetual worrier!)

Wednesday July 19th

Dear Muscle Diary,

Oh. My. ACTUAL. Fucking. Buggering. GOD!

I'm starting to wonder whether I'll ever have a non eventful night at that bloody launderette! You will not fucking BELIEVE what's happened now.

Nope, Liam didn't catch me washing his missing posing trunks. And no, he didn't accidentally leave anther pair of shiny as shit posing trunks in a washing machine for me to find and keep.

Thankfully, Liam wasn't at the launderette tonight. But I know for a fact that he had been there since his visit last Wednesday. Let me explain, diary.

With my washing in the machine (creamed up posing trunks included - SLURP!), I sat in my usual spot on the bench by the door. I turned to look at it, half wishing Liam “The Guns” Watson would come waddling through the frame in his Deano’s Gym hoodie, half hoping he wouldn't, and that's when I saw it.

Something was pinned to the notice board on the wall of the launderette which made me heart leap into my throat and my eyes almost pop clean out of their sockets. Barely able to believe what I was seeing, I nervously stood up and walked towards the notice board to examine it.

Stuck to the board was a poster. At the top sat six words I never imagined I'd see put together; “HAVE YOU SEEN THESE POSING TRUNKS?” Below them sat text which read, “IF FOUND CALL” followed by a phone number.

And in the middle of the poster sat a picture of the most beautifully shiny, brilliantly coloured posing trunks you could ever hope to see. The exact same posers I’d found amongst my washing exactly one week ago today. The exact same posers I'd sniffed, tried on, obsessed about and blew a huge creamy load in four nights before. The posing trunks of Liam "The Guns" Watson, who apparently is so desperate to have them back he's erected a poster in the fucking launderette, and supplied his phone number!

As I tried to comprehend exactly what the hell was happening, a middle aged man sidled up next to me. I looked over to see him examining the poster. He screwed his face up in confusion, then raised one eyebrow and looked at me, as if to say, “What the ACTUAL fuck?!” to which I nervously smiled and furiously blushed.

I sat back down on the bench, trying to take it all in. Liam wants his posers back. I could see Liam again in person! I could phone him (fuck!), go to his house (FUCK!), actually talk to him in person (OHGODOHGODOHGOD). But that would mean giving the trunks back. The trunks I love so much.

I looked at the poster from the bench once more and looked at the words at the top. Have I seen those posing trunks? Hmmm. Seen ‘em? Yep! Sniffed ‘em? YEP! Spunked a huge creamy load in ‘em? YEP YEP YEP!

And then I saw the number again. The phone number of Liam Watson, local muscle God, beef monster and spunk inducer extraordinaire!

Whatever my decision, I wouldn't get anywhere without that number. I waited for my washing to finish, and as I headed out the door, I stopped once more at the notice board and nervously got out my phone.

Pretending I was looking at a flyer just beneath it, I tapped Liam’s number into my contacts, before leaving the launderette with the freshly cleaned trunks in my bag, and absolutely no clue what the hell I was going to do next.

Yours,

Oscar Grimes (possessor of Liam “The Guns” Watson’s phone number - FUCKING HELL)!

Thursday July 20th - 8:00 pm

Dear Muscle Diary,

Just one question; what the actual buggering fuck am I gonna do?

So, last Wednesday night I couldn't sleep because I couldn't stop thinking about Liam’s posing trunks. Well, last night I couldn't sleep because I couldn't stop thinking about the poster Liam had outrageously (and crazily!) put up in the laundrette asking if anyone had seen them, and just what that means for me.

I have the opportunity to speak to, meet, and converse with the huge, gorgeous bodybuilder I spunked off to on Saturday night while looking at a picture of him blowing up his enormous nickname earning biceps whilst wearing an actual pair of his super shiny posing trunks! FUUUUUCKK!!

But, as much as the idea of meeting Liam excites me, it fucking terrifies me. Even just the initial first contact. Phoning the number he gave on the poster. Actually speaking to him on phone! Oh God! What the fuck would I say?

“Ummm ... hi there. Yeah. I have, well, practically stole your posing trunks, which I fucking SPUNKED in by the way. Whilst looking at a picture of you blowing up your biceps on my laptop.”

OK, so maybe I wouldn't say those EXACT words. But even just the idea of saying the words “posing trunks” out loud to another person (any person) makes me nervous.

And then to actually meet Liam in person, to go to his house, or for him to come here (a huge competitive bodybuilder in my FLAT!), talk to him, converse with him, hand him back his posers ... OH JESUS!!

By the way, diary, is it completely and immorally wrong to give a bodybuilder his trunks back AFTER you've wanked and blown a huge creamy load in them? I put that very question into Google but, strangely, nothing came back. I may be the first person in the history of the universe to face this dilemma.

No. I can't do it. I can't meet a huge, gorgeous, pumped up muscle bull and give him back his shiny, slurp-tastic trunks I came in whilst looking at a picture of him flexing his biceps with his mouth wide open in an outrageously cocky fashion. I just can not do it.

Yours,

Oscar Grimes (nope, can’t do it)

Thursday July 20th - 9:00 pm

Dear Muscle Diary,

I've made a decision. I'M GONNA DO IT! I've been thinking about this all evening and I've come to this conclusion; the question is not how CAN I meet Liam “The Guns”  Watson in person and give him back his missing posing trunks, but how can I fucking NOT?!

I've thought about the pros and cons of both options, and it really comes down which set of cons outweighs the other.

CONS OF MEETING LIAM:

1. I could potentially make a right TIT of myself.
2. I'd be nervous as fucking HELL!
3. I'd lose the shiny blue posing trunks forever.

CONS OF NOT MEETING LIAM:

1. I would miss this amazing, potentially once in a lifetime opportunity to meet and interact with a real life competitive bodybuilder (and a bloody gorgeous one at that)! And once that opportunity has gone, it will never, ever come back.

And THAT is why I've decided ... I have to fucking do is! Yes, I'll lose the trunks. But they were never really mine to begin with. And there are other trunks. TONS of other trunks for me to order, buy and own. But there will be never be another opportunity like this to so easily meet Liam.

And I'm nervous. God, I'm fucking nervous. But I’m excited as hell too. Liam “The Guns” Watson ... the unthinkable is about to happen. I’m about to meet Brighton’s biggest and sexiest roid munching muscle bull, and you’re about to get your missing posing trunks back!

Yours,

Oscar Grimes (I’M BLOODY DOING IT!)

Friday July 21st - 6:30 pm

Dear Muscle Diary,

Oh God. Oh fuck. OH JESUS! I think I’m having a panic attack. I have just got off the phone with ... LIAM “THE FUCKING GUNS” WATSON!!

But there's more. I’m going to his HOUSE! In half a fucking HOUR!! FUUUUUCKKK!! I’m nervous. I’m bricking it. But FUCK I’m excited!!

Well, diary, despite my last entry I've still been deliberating over whether to use Liam’s number and meet up with him all day. Thanks to the Deano’s Gym Facebook page I know he’s competing at the Tiger Bodybuilding Classic in London on Sunday though, so I figured if I didn't act soon, I'd be spending the entire weekend, and probably most of next week too in this state of mental torture, so I told myself it was “now or never“.

I don't think I've ever been so anxious about making a phone call. My heart was pounding as I brought up Liam “The Guns” Watson on my contact list and hovered my finger over the call button.

All that was screaming in my head at that moment was, “I can't do this! I can't fucking do this!”

I dropped the phone on my bed. Relaxed for ten seconds, and then a wave of inspiration hit me. I picked up my phone again, and like a big fucking coward, composed a text message instead.

“Hi Liam. My name’s Oscar. I saw your poster in the launderette and I have your posing trunks.”

I deliberated for a second whether to include a kiss. Maybe even a smiley face emoji. But left it as it was and, heart still pounding, hit send.

The sweeping noise of a sent message sounded from my phone and one single thing went through my head; “FUUUUUUUUCK!” But I was smiling. Like crazy! I couldn't fucking help it. Even just texting Liam was such a fucking rush!

And then something happened which completely wiped the smile off my face and caused my whole body to go into severe panic mode. My phone started ringing. And the name of the caller which appeared on my screen? LIAM “THE GUNS” WATSON!!

I answered the phone. Nervous as HELL. “Hello?”

“Hey! Is that Oscar?” OH JESUS!! Even his voice was HOT!! Deep, smooth, confident, SEXY! My dick started swelling instantly.

“Yeah. Hi!” My voice was trembling slightly but what the fuck do you expect, diary?!

“I just got your text. You have my posers?”

There was a tone of hope in his voice which was adorable as hell.

“Yeah!” I replied. I just couldn't think of anything else to say!

"Where d’ya find ‘em?” Liam asked with a tone of curiosity.

“In the launderette,” I replied. There was a pause and I knew I needed to give Liam more. “They were in with my washing. I think you must have left them in the machine?”

“Oh right,” Liam replied. “HA! Sorry about that mate!”

What the fuck? He’s apologising? He's fucking apologising! That is both adorable and fucking ABSURD! If only he bloody knew what finding a pair of shiny posers from a gorgeous competitive bodybuilder meant to me!

“So, where do you live dude?” As I told him, I had an image of him turning up at my door. Coming into my flat. Following me into my bedroom. A six foot, 200 plus pounds bodybuilder. In my bedroom!

My heart raced further as I told Liam where I lived, and he informed me that his flat was about a fifteen minute walk from mine.

“So ... are you free now?!” Liam asked.

OH JESUS!

“Ummm ... yeah!” I replied.

FUUUUUCK!!

“Any chance you could come round to mine in half an hour?”

WHAT IS THIS LIFE?!

“Sure!” I replied, as casually as I possibly could.

“Awesome!” There was a sudden excitement in his oh-so-sexy voice which was incredibly endearing. He was just a lad who wanted his shiniest posers back. Just a lad who regularly stomped around bodybuilding stages plastered in greasy, glistening, golden tan flexing his ginormous sized nickname earning biceps, twice the size of most men’s heads! And he’s inviting me round to his fucking flat!!

“I'll text you my address. See you in half an hour Oscar!” I don't know why, but hearing him say my name in his insanely sexy voice made me want to melt into my bedroom carpet.

I hung up the phone, and my whole body felt like it was going to combust with excitement.

I fetched Liam’s posing trunks from my drawer and, as I held them in my hands, I felt a twinge of sadness. It was time to say goodbye to the shiny, bright, ridiculously hot blue posing trunks I so fondly loved.

We’ve had some good times together. From the time I found them tangled up amongst my washing in the tumble dryer, to the first time I got them out of my bag at home and ran my fingers through the super shiny material. From the night I wanked off with them placed over my face, feeling the material on my skin and breathing in the fabric to the night I finally put them on for the very first time and blew a huge load of spunk into the shiny pouch whilst looking at a picture of a bodybuilder blowing up his enormous sized biceps.

But now it’s time for a bigger and potentially better adventure, because in half an hour, I’ll be standing on the doorstep of that very fucking bodybuilder’s flat!

Holy. Jesus. Fucking. CHRIST!!

Yours,

Oscar Grimes (soon to be standing in front of local bodybuilder Liam “The Guns” Watson!)

To be continued...

Saturday, 13 January 2018

MUSCLE FICTION STORY: HAVE YOU SEEN THESE POSING TRUNKS? (PART 2)

OK here goes with part two of "Have You Seen These Posing Trunks?"; my story about a muscle addict and lover of tiny, shiny posing trunks called Oscar who encounters a huge, gorgeous bodybuilder at his local launderette.

After taking over the machine previously used by the muscle bull, Oscar found a pair of his shiny, blue posing trunks he'd accidentally left behind mixed in amongst his washing...

Part 3 coming soon!


Saturday July 15th

Dear Muscle Diary,

Well, diary, it's been three days since I found the shiny, bright blue posing trunks of a genuine bodybuilder hidden amongst my washing in my local launderette. And I've barely been able to think about anything since!

I've now creamed off with the posers placed over my face three times (blush!) and I officially feel like a right kinky little bugger.

None were quite as amazing as the first time though and I've been thinking more and more that it might be time to take things to the next level, i.e. trying the posing trunks on!

It didn't feel right at first, but the more days that pass the more that feeling is fading, and the more they're starting to feel like they're my trunks (even though they're really not)!

Now it's just a case of choosing the right moment. I want to save it for a time when I'm really fucking horny. I’ve always fantasised about owning a pair of posing trunks, and trying them on for the first time and I basically just want it to be the best experience that it can possibly be.

Yours,

Oscar Grimes (potential soon-to-be wearer of tiny, shiny posing trunks!)

Sunday July 16th

Dear Muscle Diary,

Oh God. Oh fuck. Oh shit. I did it, diary! I tried on the trunks. FUUUUUCKKK!! But that's not all, diary. There's more to tell you! So much fucking more. And it involves the original owner of said trunks!

So I went out last night for a few drinks with my mate, Ste. It was one of those nights where I didn't really wanna go but I just sort of forced myself because I felt like I needed a night out.

Well, as soon as I was in the pub, I knew I shouldn't have bothered. The atmosphere was dead and the alcohol didn't seem to be helping much. We went to another place which was a little bit better, but as the night went on, I just kept thinking about how much I wanted to be at home with my posing trunks, watching and wanking off to some obscenely shredded muscle bull on YouTube!

Anyway, things finally picked up after a few shots and the place livened up. Ste was drooling over guys that would never be interested in him (sorry Ste!) while I suddenly found myself snogging this young cutie patootie with a hipster beard and leather cap. Whenever I go out with Ste, he hardly ever pulls and I always do, which always surprises me because Ste is so outgoing and confident, and will literally chat to anyone, and despite being a wee bit chunky he's really handsome. Maybe it's because I still have a bit of a baby face and, despite the fact that I’m thirty-two, still occasionally get asked for ID when I try to buy vodka from my local Tesco Express. Or maybe it's the modestly sized arms I've built up since my mid-twenties. Don't get me wrong, diary, I'm not going to be entering any bodybuilding competitions any time soon, but my arms do look quite good in a t-shirt. Ste's grabbed and copped a feel of them on a couple of nights out, which I always secretly get a kick out of. My workmates even christened me with a blush worthy and rather ego boosting nickname a few years ago; Mr Biceps!

So the leather capped cutie patootie (he didn't tell me his name) asked me if I wanted to go back to his place. I thought about it for a moment. He was a sexy little bugger and the kissing was pretty horny, but then I thought about the morning after. Waking up in a stranger’s bed feeling and looking like a bag of warmed up shit and just wanting to close my eyes and melt into the mattress and disappear, before magically landing in my own bed. Alone, and safe from any potential awkwardness and the possibility of morning sex which they always want to have. And then I thought, again, about watching some obscenely huge muscle monster flexing and squeezing in a pair of brightly coloured posing trunks on my PC screen. And then I thought about the posing trunks sitting in my drawer back home. The insanely hot, indescribably horny posing trunks of a real life, genuine bodybuilder, both of which I hadn't been able to stop thinking about since my adventure at the launderette on Wednesday night. So I said my goodbyes to Mr Cutie Leather Cap, grabbed Ste and headed for home.

Ste was feeling a bit down on himself on the walk. Apparently, not only has he not had sex for the last six months, but he hasn't had a snog either. I don't really know how that's possible, but apparently not only does he never pull when he goes out, but hardly anyone messages him on Grindr either. The last guy he met from there opened the door, looked him up and down, screwed his face up and told him he wasn't his type.

We were almost at the Pavillion when Ste asked me a question. “Oscar, if you didn't know me and you saw me in a club, would you pull me?” The honest answer is, diary, I would have pulled Ste seven years ago when we first met. He's never been my type, but he's handsome, and funny, and it's so fucking endearing how excited he gets about things like Doctor Who and Batman. But now, I can't even contemplate kissing Ste. It's Ste, for fucks sake! But I sensed that he needed some type of validation and because he was feeling so down on himself, I gave it to him. “Yes Ste! If I didn't know you, I would pull you!”

He grinned like mad and I felt a slight warmth. “You still could you know,” Ste said with one eyebrow cheekily raised. “Pull me!”

Taken aback, I laughed and playfully told Ste to fuck off. It was when we were approaching Ste’s turning and we were stood still facing each other that he offered up his next proposition.

“OK, if you won't snog me, at least let me feel one of your biceps!”

I laughed again and Ste just cheekily grinned. I decided to play along, so I took his left hand and firmly placed it on my right, unflexed bicep.

Ste made a jokey, “Mmmm,” sound and I rolled my eyes and giggled. And then? Well, I’m not really sure what made me do it, diary, but without even thinking, I bought my forearm up so it was sat horizontal against my stomach and clenched my right fist so that my bicep flexed and bulged underneath Ste's fingers. He suddenly stopped grinning, his eyes bulged, and his face transformed into a shocked expression. “FUCK!” he cried out.

Something happened to me in that moment. Seeing Ste's shocked and amazed reaction to my muscle, having someone feeling my flexed bicep, I suddenly felt incredibly horny, and starting to swell in my boxers.

It was nothing to do with Ste himself. I think it was just seeing someone’s amazed reaction to what my flexed muscle felt like. Ste's not even into muscle. Well, not the kind of grotesque, shredded freaks I cream off to on a regular bases. So, diary, imagine his reaction if he were into muscle? And imagine if, instead of my modestly sized bicep, I had a twenty inch, paper thin skin covered, bronzed painted, freakishly huge ball of bicep muscle bulging off my upper arm?

“That feels HUGE!” Ste said, still squeezing my flexed gun, and doing nothing to diffuse neither my ego or power trip.

I sheepishly grinned at him. “Hardly!” came my honest reply. When he finally released his grip, we laughed, hugged and said goodbye. “See you later … Mr Biceps!” Ste playfully called out as he walked down his street, giggling in his typically extroverted manner.

That unexpected but brilliant little moment with Ste got me even more in the mood to get home and watch some seriously freaky muscle.

I wondered, in that moment, what Ste would think of the huge, roided muscle bulls I regularly blasted loads to. I did once tell him that I liked really huge guys, but I still think he'd be surprised if he saw just the kind of superhuman sized monsters that made my boxers sticky. And I have absolutely NO idea what Ste would think if he knew that for my last three wanks I’d had a pair of posing trunks sitting on my face! In fairness, he'd probably just laugh and call me a kinky little fucker.

When I arrived at home, I poured myself another cheeky drink, and fired up my muscle ridden PC. I was in the mood for something new, so I went to straight to my subscriptions in YouTube.

There had been a huge amateur bodybuilding show somewhere in Europe last weekend. One of my favourite channels had been slowly uploading videos from the competition all week and there'd been a ton posted in the last few hours.

You wouldn't find any of the big named pro bodybuilders, or any American muscle monsters competing in this sort of show. It was mostly shredded to death East Europeans, with a couple of good old fashioned British muscle bulls thrown in for good measure.

After watching videos of an arrogant as fuck, Austrian bull wearing outrageous golden posers and some nasty, gritty, British muscle daddy who really should no better than to be stomping around bodybuilding stages at his age, I came to a video of a twenty something British lad called Andy. Sporting a physique packed with some seriously gorgeous beef, carved and shredded in the most shocking condition, Andy hit his poses with more energy than the bodybuilders in the first two videos put together.

When Andy spun around to hit a rear pose, revealing the most obscenely sized arse spilling either side of his tiny purple posers, I suddenly had a flashback to the enormous sized and perfectly round arse belonging to the sexy as hell muscle bull from the laundrette last Wednesday. The owner of the shiny blue posing trunks I had now paused the video to fetch from my drawer.

For some reason, the trunks looked even hornier and shinier than ever. As I held them in my hands, I knew the time I had been waiting for had come. This was it. Horny as fuck from watching a bunch of jacked up muscle freaks flexing and ripping up a bodybuilding stage, and slightly less inhibited with the alcohol running through my system from my night out with Ste, I knew this was the perfect time to try on the shiny blue posing trunks of the gorgeous, local bodybuilder I'd found sitting amongst my washing four nights before.

My heart was thumping as I took my jeans and boxers off. Even just feeling the shiny poser material brushing against my legs as I put them on felt insanely horny. And then I nestled my hard throbbing dick in the shiny blue pouch. With the lining of the trunks against the head of my cock, I put my right hand to my trunk covered hard on and squeezed. Fuuuuuuuckkk! It was some kind of miracle, diary, that it didn't explode with a huge load of spunk right there and then.

I had always feared that if I ever did purchase, or manage to try on some posing trunks, I would look a little silly in them. But as I admired my reflection in the mirror and saw myself wearing the insanely hot posers of an actual bodybuilder, I realised I didn’t look silly in the slightest.

It didn't matter that I didn't have huge slabs of shredded beef hanging off my bones. Or that my skin wasn’t painted with bronzed competition tan. The posing trunks just looked hot as fucking fuck, even against my pale, none freakishly muscular legs.

With my hard on stretching out the pouch of the shiny posers, and the back of the trunks hugging my regular sized arse, I went back to my laptop to continue watching the video I’d found of Andy, the gorgeous, shredded British muscle pup, flexing on stage.

Within seconds of pressing play, Andy has spun around, shuffled to the front of the stage and was cranking out most muscular after most muscular, each one accompanied with his mouth wide open in the most brilliantly arrogant fashion.

As I stroked my hard cock through the soft posing trunk material, rock hard, horny as fuck and fearful that I was about to cum at any given moment, I looked at Andy and realised that it wasn't just his oversized bottom that reminded me of the bodybuilder from the launderette. It was also his face. He had the same masculine but boyish quality. A little rough around the edges. Very laddish. Undeniably British. And oh-so bloody gorgeous!

And then I had a thought. What if, somewhere on the Internet, there was a video of the bodybuilder from the launderette, flexing on stage in the very trunks I was wearing? I doubted he'd be at the level of the bodybuilders from the show I was watching videos from, but there could easily be a video of a Mr South East contest somewhere. He had posing trunks that he felt were in need of a wash, so he most likely would have competed recently, or was due to compete soon. Unless there was something else he did in his posing trunks which required them to be asked afterwards? A thought which made my dick furiously jolt under the shiny poser material.

I tried my luck and did a quick search but no such videos materialised. At least not ones from the last five years.

In sheer desperation, I put “Brighton bodybuilder” into Google and one of the top five results bought up the website for the infamous Deano’s Gym. From there, I reached the gym’s Facebook page, and that's where I struck gold!

I was immediately drawn to the very latest post at the top of the page which read; “Good luck to Liam Watson, who is competing at the Tiger Bodybuilding Classic in London next weekend.” And then I looked at the picture of the huge, shredded muscle bull in the picture, hitting a front lat spread in a pair of very familiar looking shiny blue posing trunks and my heart lurched into my throat.

Looking at the gorgeous face of the flexing muscle beast, lips pursed in arrogant fashion, I was suddenly transporting back to Wednesday night, watching that very face walking through the laundrette with a holdall full of washing in his hand, not knowing that he'd accidentally left a certain garment of clothing in the machine.

The very garment of clothing he was wearing in the picture I was looking at, and the very garment I was wearing at that precise moment!

And then I read the rest of the text which accompanied the picture. “Check out more of Liam on his Instagram page here” which was followed by a link, which I excitedly clicked and HOLY SHIT, I was now on the Instagram page of the bodybuilder whose trunks I'd been wanking off with the past three days! A mini digital glimpse into the world of Liam Watson, the huge, gorgeous Brightonian bodybuilder who was competing in a show next weekend.

My eyes went straight to the very first post. A close up picture of an outrageously huge, flexed bicep, with a freaky, thick vein running right down the middle. FUCK!

And that's when I noticed something in the bio of the profile. Liam had written his name, but there was something sandwiched in between his first name and surname. Liam had a nickname. A nickname which became even more appropriate as I scoured the many pictures on his page and landed on one of him blowing up his seriously enormous biceps while flexing a front double.

I wasn't just wearing Liam Watson's shiny blue posers. I was wearing Liam “The Guns” Watson's shiny blue posers!

As I scanned the pictures on Liam's profile, I was reminded of my “five things about muscle which drive me completely and utterly bonkers” list from earlier in the week.

Beyond human biceps? Check! Mammoth sized tits? Check! Outrageously cocky posing? Fucking check! An enormous sized bottom? Big fat CHECK! Brightly coloured, shiny as shit posing trunks? To which I took my eyes off the screen and looked in my lap. THE BIGGEST FUCKING CHECK!

In addition to the close up bicep shot, I quickly adopted a number of favourite pictures from Liam’s Instagram. Amongst them, a rear shot of Liam completely naked with his gigantic sized ass on full display (FUCK!) with the cheeky caption, “Sorry if my naked bum offends anyone. I just really wanted an excuse to use the peach emoji!” and a contest photo of him from a few years earlier, tanned to shit, with a little less size but shredded to buggery, cranking out a crab most muscular with his eyes closed, face scrunched and teeth gritted in the cheekiest (and horniest) fashion (fuck yeah Liam)!

But my absolute favourite picture was the second most recent one posted on his profile. A shot taken that very morning, of Liam standing in a room with a huge black and white poster of the classic documentary film “Pumping Iron” hanging behind him on the wall.

Wearing nothing but a pair of beautiful, bright red posers, just as shiny as the ones I was wearing, packed and filled out by his indecently big bulge, Liam was hitting a front double bicep pose. His insane biceps peaking to an obscene degree. Huge, round, and perfect. The right one with that freakish, thick vein running right down the middle. God I love that vein.

His face contorted into the most outrageous expression. Manic, crazy, and cocky as fuck. His mouth wide open in an almost animalistic fashion. A huge, freaky, gorgeous muscle bull flexing his enormous, nickname earning guns, displaying extreme masculinity, unapologetic attitude and pure power in the horniest way conceivable.

That was it. I couldn't hold it in any longer. I furiously tugged on my throbbing hard on through the fabric of Liam's posers and, staring at his gigantic biceps and sexy, ‘tude packed face, the head of my dick exploded and a huge load of cum blew into the lining of the posing trunks.

I looked down and saw the spunk seeping through the shiny material. What an image. What a feeling! The orgasm was even more intense than the one I had Wednesday night with the trunks placed over my face. Intense, immeasurable pleasure consuming my whole body. I felt like I'd been transported to the ceiling and someone needed to come and scrape me off. And God did I scream. Uninhibited shouts of orgasmic pleasure. God knows what the neighbours thought. Fuck ‘em! If they'd been shooting loads into their undies over monstrous bodybuilders in tiny sized posing trunks since their teenage years and had amazingly managed to be in possession of a pair of such very trunks and were blasting a massive load into them for the first very time, they'd be screaming the place down too.

Basking in a post orgasmic high, I looked at Liam flexing on my laptop and I suddenly felt a twinge of something. Not so much guilt, more a slight feeling of wrongness. What would this man think if he knew I'd just shot a load in one of his pairs of posing trunks? I pushed the thought to the back of my mind. There was no point dwelling on it. After all, Liam will never ever know. His posing trunks are long gone. Never to be seen again. And now they're mine. To wear and cream in. Over and over again.

Yours,

Oscar Grimes (wearer and new, proud owner of tiny, shiny posing trunks!)

COMING UP IN PART 3: Oscar returns to the launderette and has another eventful evening!

Saturday, 6 January 2018

MUSCLE FICTION STORY: HAVE YOU SEEN THESE POSING TRUNKS? (PART 1)

OK lads, it's time for the first part of my new story! This one is written in diary form and features a self confessed muscle addict called Oscar, who meets a local (huge and gorgeous) competitive bodybuilder in very unusual circumstances.

I had the initial idea for this story a few years ago but never got round to writing it. However, even though the set up is an old idea, everything else here is new.

Oh, and as you can probably guess from the title, there's a pretty heavy focus on teenie weenie, super shiny, brightly coloured posers!

Thanks to Anthony Chia-Bradley for letting me use one of his pics for the below design.


HAVE YOU SEEN THESE POSING TRUNKS?

Monday July 10th

Dear Muscle Diary,

Here are five things about muscle that drive me completely and utterly bonkers.

#1. Biceps

Big, granite hard, croquet ball shaped guns. Huge, freaky, vein encrusted peaks. Insanely pumped, thinly skinned, beyond human biceps. Guns that erupt to heart stopping proportions when blown up in an incredible front double bicep pose. Cannons that explode either side of (and look just as fucking big as!) the head of the muscle beast who owns them when rocking out a cheeky abs and thighs. Biceps that tense into a ball of rock hard, marble-like muscle mass and explode off the upper arm of a bodybuilder when he’s blasting out a massive side chest. FUCK YES!

#2. Pecs

Mammoth sized, patio slab tits. Absurdly developed, vein plastered chest pillows. Deliciously thick mounds of incredibly dense chest muscle. Pecs that hang off the torso of a jacked up muscle bull, begging to be squeezed, tensed and flexed. Chests that jump up like a cobra trying to attack the owner’s chin when he hits a front lat spread. Tits that bounce up and down like two puppies in a sack when the two hundred plus pounds muscle God they’re attached to decides to treat his adoring audience to a spot of pec bouncing. BOING!

#3. Attitude/Cocky Posing

For me, diary, the way a bodybuilder poses, and the attitude he adopts when he’s flexing, both on and off stage, has a huge part to play in how hot I find him. Nothing gets me going more than seeing a competition conditioned muscle freak stomping and strutting around a stage while displaying the most outrageously cocky, testosterone fuelled, power packed ‘tude! Ripped up muscle lads who really give it hell on stage, pulling all manner of shamelessly cocky facial expressions. Juiced up muscle pups who scrunch up their faces to absolute buggery and cheekily stick their tongues out as they squeeze their tan drenched mass. Roided up beef monsters who grunt, groan and yell as they crank out their poses with only mission on their minds; to make every audience member cream in their pants. FUCK YEAH LADS!

#4. Glutes

Obscenely developed, indecently muscular rumps. Enormous sized, gravity defying bottoms. Freakishly striated, line plastered glutes. Alien-like, shredded to buggery booties that explode with lines, details and striations when tensed and flexed on stage. Wafer thin skin encased arses so insanely conditioned you could grab a block of cheddar and use them as a fucking cheese grater. Gigantic orbs of ass meat that greedily gobble up the back of the tiny, shiny posing trunks of the owner. YOINK!

#5. POSING TRUNKS!

It’s not just the image of competition conditioned bodybuilders that drives me nuts. It’s also the outrageous clothing garments known as posing trunks they’re required on wear on stage. Yes diary ... I FUCKING LOVE POSING TRUNKS!! Brightly coloured, teenie weenie trunks so unbelievably shiny you need sunglasses to look directly at them. Micro sized posers whose stupidly thin straps get pulled up and yanked during a cheeky lat spread (YOINK)! Shiny as shit trunks which get plastered in greasy, golden tan and fucking drenched with the sweat of the muscle bull wearing them during competitions (SLURP)! Bright pink, glute hugging trunks. Glittery gold, bulge stretching trunks. TRUNKS, TRUNKS, TRUNKS!

Yours,

Oscar Grimes (self confessed, horn crazed muscle addict)

Wednesday July 12th

Dear Muscle Diary,

Oh. My. Fucking. GOD!! You will not bloody believe what has happened. Or what I'm now in possession of, and staring at, right at this very moment. FUCK!!

OK, let me start at the beginning. So, tonight was washing night at my local launderette (whoop whoop). Wednesday's are not usually very busy but, for some reason, tonight all of the machines were being used (bugger). I was about to leave when I noticed that one had finished its cycle but, annoyingly, no one seemed to be taking their newly washed clothes out of the machine.

I sat on the bench and started to read a book, in hope that the washing would be collected, or that another machine would be freed up shortly.

Ten or so minutes into waiting (double fucking bugger) and I was seriously considering giving up and trying again for tomorrow night when, who should walk into the laundrette, but the man who owned the finished washing sitting in the machine. But not just any man. Oh no, diary. A fucking BODYBUILDER!!

My jaw almost dropped to the floor when he walked in. Because of where I was sitting, I could only see him from the back initially. He was about six foot tall and built like a brick fucking shit house. A huge barn door back stretched out a black hoodie with the words “DEANO’S GYM” written on the back. Deano’s is a local hardcore bodybuilding gym. If a bodybuilder were to hail from Brighton, he'd almost be guaranteed to have trained there.

Two gigantic orbs of ass meat were stretching his black shorts, making up one of the biggest and most perfectly round arses I have ever seen on a man. And on the lower part of his legs sat two ridiculously huge and developed calves.

Every single person in the laundrette looked up at the sight of this monstrous bodybuilder waddling through the shop.

When he was done throwing his washing into a bag, and finally freeing up the machine, he turned to head for the door, and that's when I managed to get a view of him from the front. Ho. Lee. Fucking. Shit!

Well, my eyes went straight to the top of his enormous chest. Peeking out of the top of his gym hoodie zipper, I could just see the top of two plates of thick muscle, separated by a deep groove in between. Other than his shins and his thick bull neck, it was, sadly, the only glimpse of flesh I got to see.

But something else more than made up for the that. Now able to see the muscle monster’s face, I could see that he was exceptionally fucking sexy in the looks department. Undeniably British and extremely masculine, but with a hint of boyish charm, I guessed he was no older than his early thirties. His hair was styled into a trendy quiff, but shaved really short at the sides. His complexion, while not quite competition bronzed, was more tanned than the average British man. Even for July.

He strolled out of the door with his focus straight ahead, completely ignoring the gawps and stares of every average sized person in the launderette.

The way he walked, the way he looked, everything about him just exuded this incredible confidence, that sat just below that fine line which crossed into arrogance.

The whole scene was incredibly surreal, not to mention insanely horny. This ginormous sized, juiced up, muscle bull casually strolling through the run down launderette I frequented on an almost weekly bases. FUCK!!

So, you're probably now thinking that that's the end of the story? The reason for my over excitement at the beginning of this diary entry? An awesome and horny muscle sighting involving a huge, gorgeous bodybuilder?! WRONG!!

So, with the washing machine previously used by the muscle beast now freed up, I dumped my clothes in there without really paying much attention to what I was doing; my mind still pre-occupied with thoughts of the absurdly sexy, big bummed gorilla I'd just unexpectedly encountered.

An hour later, and still on a high from the muscle sighting, I was throwing my now washed clothes into one of the launderette 's tumble dryers when I suddenly noticed something tangled up in my washing which made my heart jump into my fucking throat!

In amongst my wet towels and work shirts, I could see something foreign, blue, bright and shiny, and I knew, in an instant, exactly what it was.

You know that scene in Willy Wonka & The Chocolate Factory, where Charlie Bucket opens the bar of chocolate and gets a glimpse of the shiny golden ticket? Well now I know exactly how Charlie felt.

I reached my hand into the dryer, and tentatively pulled on the blue, shiny fabric, just enough to confirm that, mixed up with my washing, was a pair of genuine bodybuilder’s posing trunks! FUCK!!

I shut the dryer door, put the spin on and sat back down in the bench; grinning like crazy and barely able to contain my excitement.

The gorgeous Deano’s Gym attending muscle bull had accidentally left a pair of his posing trunks in the machine, and I had clearly not noticed them when I'd popped my washing in after him.

Of course, the right thing to do in this situation would have been to hand the stray garments in. And normally I would have. But this was no normal situation. And these were no ordinary garments. These were fucking posers! Actual posers from an actual fucking bodybuilder. The thing that turned me on, only second to the type of roided freaks and monsters who wore them on stage.

My dick had started to stir and grow the second I clapped eyes on the blue material, and had grown further the moment my fingers had made contact with the fabric. Fuck! I'd actually touched a pair of shiny posers!! FUCK!! I was actually now potentially in possession of a pair for of shiny posers! Triple fucking FUCK! Unless the bodybuilder came back to retrieve them before the dryer stopped, of course.

And then I had an image of the muscle bull storming back into the launderette, checking the machine, frantically looking around and approaching the old dear who worked there looking for his missing posing. But such an event did not occur and, before I knew it, my dryer had stopped and my washing was done.

There was no way I was going to hand the trunks in, not least of all because I couldn't think of anything more embarrassing than handing a pair of bright blue posers to the lovely, but slightly batty, old woman working there.

I could have left them in the dryer I guess. That would have been the second most moralistic thing to do. But I didn't. Because I knew that if I did, I would always regret it. So I did what any sane muscle addict with a rampant love for tiny, glute hugging posing trunks would have done. I scooped my washing from the dryer into my bag, making sure that no item had been left behind.

Whilst heading to the door, a man sitting on the bench gave me a curious look, a little like I was a crazy person, because I couldn't wipe the smirk off my face or hide the elation I was feeling knowing that in my bag was a pair of the thinly stripped, super shiny posing trunks of a gorgeous, roid munching competitive bodybuilder. JESUS. FUCKING. CHRIST.

The whole walk home I was absolutely buzzing. I kept thinking about what was in my bag at that precise moment, intertwined with my boxer shorts and t-shirts. I couldn't fucking wait to get home and examine the posers further.

The moment that came and I was stood in my bedroom with my washing bag placed on the bed, my heart was pounding like crazy. It was madness! How could an item of clothing stir such intense feelings in me?

I rummaged through the bag and, once again, my dick began to swell and my excitement grew when my fingers and eyes were met with the shiny blue posing trunk material.

Retrieving the freshly washed trunks from the bag I held them up in front of me and just revelled in the horniness and amazingness of what I was holding in my hands.

They looked even shinier than they had from the tumble dryer. It sounds crazy - I had seen so many pictures of videos of bodybuilders wearing posing trunks, but never, ever did I imagine that they'd be so shiny in real life. Or that the fabric would feel so good in my fingertips.

I ran my hands over the thick, shiny pouch, my fingertips up and down the thin, wiry straps, flipped them around and felt the blue material which made up the back.

I suddenly had an image of the muscle bull I'd so brilliantly seen earlier that day waddling towards me in the launderette, hitting a monstrous crab most muscular, tanned up to shit and wearing these very posers and my fully erect cock juddered furiously in my boxers.

I don't know why I did what I did next. I bought the trunk pouch to my nose and, bringing the material to my face, I took a big sniff of the shiny fabric. Predictably, I was hit with the smell of fabric conditioner. But there was something else hidden there too - the incredibly horny scent of the material itself, which no doubt would have been stronger, sexier and more intense when the muscle bull had bought them brand new.

I wanted more than anything to take my jeans and boxers off. To work the trunks up my regular sized, non muscular legs and nestle my throbbing cock into the shiny blue pouch.

But something stopped me. The knowledge that they weren't really mine. Somehow, it just didn't feel right. Instead, I just I lay the trunks on my bed and marvelled at the beauty and all out fucking sexiness of them. A pair of bodybuilders posing trunks. Brighter, shinier and hornier than I could ever have imagined.

Yours,

Oscar Grimes (sort of proprietor of tiny, shiny posing trunks - FUCK!)

Thursday July 13th

Dear Muscle Diary,

What a day! I don't think I've ever survived a work day before being so pre-occupied, or feeling so damn fucking tired.

And the reason for both of those things? The bright blue posing trunks I'm now so brilliantly and crazily in possession of.

I literally have not stopped thinking about them, diary. It's like I've been possessed. Those teenie weenie, super shiny garments have taken over my whole mind.

And it wasn't just today either. It was last night too. It sounds completely and utterly bonkers, but I didn't fall asleep until two a.m. My mind just would not shut off. Just knowing what was sitting in my drawers mere metres away from my bed. Those beautifully shiny, brilliantly coloured posers.

I finally managed to get to sleep, only to wake up an hour later, hard as fuck and with the trunks still occupying my mind.

There was only one thing for it. I got out of bed, opened my drawer and held the posing trunks in my hands.

I took them back to bed with me. I didn't really know what my intention was, but I needed to blow badly and I wanted the trunks to be there.

I thought, again, about putting them on. It felt a little less wrong than it did before. But it still didn't feel completely right. Not now. Not like this.

My cock was throbbing furiously and I started to tug on it through my boxers underneath the duvet.

With the posers in my free hand, once again, I bought the material to my face and placed the trunks flat over it. Shiny, shiny fabric over my mouth, nose, forehead and covering my eyes. I rubbed the posers in my face with my hand while wanking off. The smell of the trunks filling my nostrils, the shiny, slippery fabric consuming my face, as I breathed in the posing trunk material.

I kept imagining where they'd been. In a pump room. On a bodybuilding stage. In the audience of a show during a crazy posedown as their beefed up, tan plastered roid monster of an owner flexed and posed in them.

As I continued to wank and breathe in the posers, I thought about that very roid monster who I’d seen earlier that evening. The “DEANO’S GYM” hoodie. That ridiculous back. His enormous, perfectly round arse. Those huge calves on display. That pec cleavage. The bull neck. His gorgeous, tanned face. That super hot hairdo. And the way he strutted through that launderette. A genuine muscle bull amongst mere mortals.

And then I imagined him wearing the trunks. Pulling the straps up as he hit a lat spread pose on stage to wild applause from the audience. Turning around and outrageously tucking the back of the posers into the crack separating those two gigantic orbs of ass meat.

I grew closer to cumming and groaned into the poser fabric as I imagined these very trunks buried deep in his arse crack. The pouch filled out and stretched by his dick. His bronzed competition tan rubbing off on to the trunks as his bulge rubs against his inner quads. Trunks getting mucked with tan. Sweat dripping down his abs and reaching the shiny fabric. Pre-cum dripping into the crotch as he squeezes a monster most muscular on stage.

And then I imagined him rushing home after the show. Still drenched in tan. Still wearing his posers. His bright, shiny, teenie tiny posers, now drenched in the tan, oil, and sweat of its muscle monster owner; full of adrenaline and testosterone and horny as hell from flexing and showing off what a fuck off huge muscle freak he is to a room full of ordinary, non bodybuilders, all of whom were dying to touch and worship his muscle, making him feel like the God that he is.

And then I imagined him flexing in the mirror. Cranking out pose after pose. Grunting, groaning, huffing and puffing with every squeeze and flex. His hard throbbing cock stretching out his mucky pup posing trunks to an outrageous degree, ready to explode at any given moment.

And as I imagined the muscle bull squeezing out a trap exploding crab most muscular while growling like an animal and filling up his posing trunks with spunk, I pushed those very posers into my face and unleashed a muffled groan as thick wads of cum exploded from my cock and filled up my boxer shorts in what was probably one of the most intense and pleasurable orgasms I’ve ever had. FUUUUUUCKKKK!!

Yours,

Oscar Grimes (self confessed, horn crazed lover of the tiny, shiny posing trunks I now sort of own!)

COMING UP IN PART 2: Oscar tries on the trunks, and finds out more about the bodybuilder who originally owned them.

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