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(2011-11-21 21:28:56)
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Related article: Eleven-and-a-half: A Fantasy Of Great Length by Ray WilderChapter 15: ArnoldThis is a work of fiction. All the characters, events and locations portrayed in this book are fictitious, and any resemblance to real persons, events or locations is purely coincidental.Copyright Lolita Boys � 1996. All rights, implicit or implied, except for distribution by this archive and personal use by the individual downloading the file, are reserved. Inquiries regarding publishing rights for this book should be directed to: raywildaol.com======================================== Or should he have thought: "Completely unobserved except by his next door neighbor," who, at that very moment, was standing on her own balcony, peering through the divider at him. It was a shame he couldn't see her in return. Something told him that it was, indeed, a female. He could hear her shortness of breath as he stretched and flexed his muscles, making sure that his massive back put on a good show for her. He thought of quickly popping his head up over the partition and catching her in the act but the fact of the matter was that she was standing on her own balcony and had every right to be there. It was not her fault that there just happened to be a naked man standing on the other side of that divider. He was, of course, flattered by her interest. But in light of his contemplation of privacy just a moment before he was a bit bothered by the intrusion. After all, they hadn't even been formally introduced. He felt that now was not the proper time for a confrontation. What would happen if, after placing her in the embarrassing situation of having to own up to spying, it turned out that she was someone with whom he would want to develop a neighborly relationship with. Besides, his blood sugar was getting critically low, due to lack of nourishment; he knew sustenance was high on the priority list. One last flex of his naked gluts and he turned back to the apartment, making sure not to establish any contact with the person on the other side of the corrugated green divider. He stopped for a moment and surveyed the scene before him. Boxes and crates were strewn about the living room in no particular order, giving no aid in the identification of their contents. Moving to his bedroom, he dug through one of the seabags and pulled out a shirt and a pair of pants. Underwear and a pair of socks were located at the bottom of the second (of course) sea bag. The briefs were put on with the (for him) normal amount of difficulty as he stuffed his huge cock into the support cup which was almost filled to capacity already with his two balls. He thought there must be someplace that made a regular bikini brief that catered to the owners of larger than average cocks like himself (well, all right, he admitted, "larger than average" didn't accurately describe his situation, but the point was the same). He had, earlier in the day, installed his chin-up bar in the second bedroom door jamb as a kind of moving-in ritual. He walked over to it and did a few dozen quick pull-ups of different varieties and then dropped to the floor and accomplished fifty close hand push-ups. He savored the feeling of his genitals brushing the floor with each rep and the pump in his pecs and triceps. The closet door had a narrow full length mirror on the inside that the former occupants had obviously left to atone for having taken the shower curtain, and he stood back and did a quick check-pose. Already everything had been pretty well pumped up from the morning's work-out. The additional effort of the just completed exercises put a nice shape on everything. He noticed that the peaks on his pecs were noticeably higher than the last time he had checked. When heavily contracted the inner slopes of his chest muscles defined themselves with an extra level of swelling that hadn't been there before. Even after he relaxed, the definition in those mountains of muscles was considerably more than it had been. His biceps felt full, the skin around them tightly stretched and covered with the pattern of veins and that one large artery which ran down the crest, throbbing as the blood coursed powerfully through. He put his shirt on and left the top two buttons loose. Not only did he like the way it revealed the inside edges of his pectorals (some referred to it as a cleavage. Once.), but it was just too damned uncomfortable when they were fastened. The pants were pleated and flared, giving the appearance of baggy while hugging his ass and massive thighs to maddening effect. The underwear he had on was not as high riding as some, so Lolita Boys the bulge in the front of his pants was of a more conservative nature than had been the case with the cut-offs he had been wearing all morning. He pulled on his socks and shoes, grabbed his wallet, change and keys and headed out to find a decent place to eat. He figured with all the gyms around there had to be plenty of places that catered to those who required carbohydrate and caloric intakes that were above the norm. Nothing of that type seemed to be in eye shot of his position on the walkway, so he decided to hook the car up to the truck and check out the neighborhood. He figured he would also stop by The Pump House and deliver Patty's gym bag for her, as she had apparently not discovered its absence yet. Backing the truck up to the car without taking off a bumper proved to be interesting. He hooked up the tow bar and brake lights and headed out. His first stop was a gas station to fuel the truck, as per his agreement with the rental company, and get directions to The Pump House. As luck would have it the attendant was a rather well-dimensioned young lad who knew Patty's gym well, speaking very highly of it, and could also offer several suggestions as to where to pick up a great bite to eat. Arnold thought that his appearance at the gym might precipitate the tour that Patty had mentioned so he figured that he had better Lolita Boys eat first. He took the young man's advice as to the best place and headed down the road about a mile to Norma's Diner. Norma, and her diner, was a local institution renowned for its clientele as well as its menu and serving portions. Norma had, at various times, been married to two Mr. America's, a Mr. Universe and a Mr. Olympia. Her taste in physiques ran to the extreme. She displayed posing shots of all her husbands above the window where the food was passed through from the kitchen. The picture displayed in the center of this impressive line-up of physiques changed constantly. She had sworn off marriage to the physically developed, (she had, in fact, married a moderately physically fit lawyer) as it seemed she could never maintain an interest in them if they lost the following year's contest. But she just couldn't keep completely out of the scene. Rumor had it that her latest conquest always filled the center position. The parking lot was full enough that maneuvering the truck and car through it would have been difficult so Arnold parked on the street a half block away. As he walked up to the building several young ladies sitting at a booth by the window focused their attention on him and expressed obvious hope that he would be coming to try some of Norma's fine cuisine. When he did, indeed, turn up the front sidewalk and enter the restaurant, the commotion he caused brought the indomitable Norma herself out to see who the cause of it was. Apparently the appearance of a new face was always cause for celebration. Norma knew that the nubile young ladies seated at booth four would always be on the look out for new candidates. She knew this because, back in the days before the place was known as "Norma's" she had been one of the girls in booth four. So when the familiar cat calls and entreaties began she threw down her grill scraper, wiped her hands on her apron, pushed the stray lock of chestnut brown hair back up into the chef's hat she wore and headed for the dining room. Her expressed intent was to rescue the poor, unsuspecting soul from the abuse. She didn't want a new customer to get turned off about the place seconds after having walked in. Second on her list of reasons was that the picture frame over the center of the pass-through was currently empty. This did not go unnoticed by the regular crowd. So when Norma made her swooping entrance the way had already been cleared in anticipation of this very moment. Smug smiles and just a few knowing glances from those customers who were past occupants of the center frame, greeted her arrival. It would be safe to say, considering Norma's history of marriages, that she had encountered every manner of extra-developed physique. It would also be safe to say that she had developed a rather jaded view of what a body should look like. Likewise, it would be accurate to surmise that her attitude towards bulging biceps and thrusting pectorals, sweeping lats and firmly rounded gluts would be a bit on the blaz� side. Therefore it should be taken as the most telling of descriptions of Arnold's physical attributes to say that, upon passing through the swinging kitchen door and coming face to face with him, as was the way it was planned from years of making this same rescue mission, she stopped cold-dead in her tracks, forgetting the rules about standing in front of swinging kitchen doors, and, on the following return of the door, was knocked straight forward into Arnold's arms. The waitress who had been the next person through the door was now wearing the entire order for Lolita Boys booth number four. Fortunately all of them were so consumed with looking at Arnold that none of them realized that their meals had just become a fashion statement and the waitress quickly withdrew to place another order for two Normaburgers with cheese, two blt's, three orders of fries, one order of rings, and a slice of strawberry-rhubarb pie. Norma was busy not disengaging herself from her rescuer. Once she realized she was on her way to a collision course with this beauty she let it, nay encouraged it, to happen with as much awkwardness as she could muster. Arnold was not the least bit deceived by her almost clownish attempt to appear out of control as he helped her recover her balance and dignity. He allowed her to catch and stabilize herself on his upper arms. But there was no doubt as to the expertise with which those hands quickly ran up and down his arms and torso, assessing the dimensions of every muscle and tendon. He also knew that her attention was drawn to the area just below his belt and that, had there been a way to even remotely justify the action, she would have made sure that her hands-on evaluation would have taken in that part of his body as well. To be sure, Arnold was not the most muscle-bound man Lolita Boys to ever walk into Norma's. In actuality there were several men and one woman in the place at that moment who's physiques were developed to a level much more advanced than Arnold could ever hope to attain. But the total effect he and his crotch projected was one far beyond that of the physically observable. Even with the baggiest of pants, it was obvious to the most casual of observers (and observers of Arnold were very rarely casual) that there hung between the man's legs a cock the proportions of which very few had ever laid eyes (or lips) on. This, then, was the attitude and impression which first greeted him as he walked through the front door of Norma's Diner, feeding trough to the physically over-achieving. "What's your pleasure, my beauty?" asked Norma. "It depends on what your capacity here is." Arnold eyed her with a touch of suspicion, thinking that there was sure to be a hook here. "I'd hate to make a request that would cause you to overstep your authority." Norma chortled with glee. Very few men, and almost no new comers, would ever dare to bandy words with her. She saw a challenge and rose to the occasion. "Well, give us a try. If I find I can't handle it," a quick flash of the eyes to his cock relayed her real meaning, "I'll pass your request on to higher authority." Arnold realized he was probably dealing with the person in charge. He even supposed that, were there such a person as Norma, this might be her. He took that chance and replied, "I have it on good authority the owner of this establishment knows how to feed those who pump." Norma figured he knew who she was and decided not to play the fool anymore. Instead she grabbed Arnold by the right bicep and ushered him down the aisle to a seat at the end of the counter. "Sit here, me bucko, and Auntie Norma will fill your gullet with the most highly charged, nutritionally balanced, muscle feeding meal you've ever wrapped your lips around." The last part of her comment was directed straight to his crotch and no one, not the people at the other tables and booths, not the three men whose picture had once caught the fumes rising off the plates of hundreds of Normaburgers, not the extremely disappointed young nubiles at booth four, not any of the staff and not even Geraldo, the bus boy, whose command of the English language, while improving daily, still consisted of calls for more glasses and whatever he had learned by listening to American Baseball games on the radio, none of them mistook Norma's meaning and her implied intent. Norma headed back to the kitchen after having personally delivered a copy of the menu, fussed over the placement of the salt and pepper shakers, made sure there were plenty of napkins in every napkin holder within five seats of Arnold and commanded that the waitress whose station it was take care of getting him a glass of water. It seemed not to matter to her at all that the very waitress she was referring to was, at that very moment, standing directly behind Arnold with the largest, coldest glass of water the place had, the thought running through her mind that she could accidentally spill the water in his lap and then help him mop it up, getting a chance to gage the size of his obviously formidable cock herself. A sharp, meaningful look from Norma on her way back to the kitchen left little doubt in her mind as to what her fate would be, were she to pull such an immature, uncouth, inhospitable and totally tasteless stunt without letting Norma take care of the clean-up. Arnold liked the way the place felt. All the benches and stools seemed to have extra room around them. There was a sign on the wall that said "four to a booth, unless your shoulders are as wide as mine," with a picture of a man with impossibly wide shoulders. He looked around at the rest of the people to see what their reaction to his entrance had been. Aside from the still agitated ladies over at booth four everyone seemed to have settled back to their meals without much more thought as to his presence. Although he was very well-built it was apparent he was not aiming for competition. The accent was on definition rather than on mind-boggling size. This usually put other body-builders minds to rest, regarding any professional jealousy. As for his superiority in the genitals department, there was nothing he or any of them could do about it. If there were any hard feelings harbored against him on that count they were beyond his control. He considered it the other person's problem, not worth getting upset about it. There was a time when he took such hostilities personally. For several years he was acutely aware of the occasional male's jealous thoughts regarding the size of his dick. He even found himself avoiding beaches and any place else where the usual clothing would put his cock in too much prominence (a situation difficult to avoid in even the most clothed of circumstances). One day he realized his life was being controlled by the need to hide. This, he decided, was foolish. He was what he was and nothing was going to change that. The world could get over it or not. The waitress had set down the water glass and was waiting for his order. It appeared she was under instructions not to leave his side until she had fulfilled his every desire. She also looked like she was willing to do just that. He scanned the menu and found several things that immediately hit the spot. He asked for the details about them and ordered up what seemed to be a dish with a certain amount of pride attached to it. It was listed as having the standard breakfast ingredients but promised to be more than one normally found in a restaurant meal. Norma's reaction to his order was heard throughout the restaurant and the good-natured teasing he was getting seemed to indicate his initial acceptance into the ranks of a "Norma-ite". The waitress brought him the beverage he ordered, a high-carbohydrate shake affair with more calories and burnable energy than most third-world nations consume in a week; standard fare for someone in training. And although he wasn't training, per se, he felt a need to replenish what he had worked off that morning. While he was waiting for the meal to show up one of the young ladies from booth four made her way over to his stool. "Hi there. I'm Brenda." "Hi. I'm Arnie. Glad to meet you." He generally used the shortened version of his name when in the company of body builders. The name "Arnold" held such a religious connotation for the devout that anyone using the same name was viewed as a heretic. The girl was either not quick enough to pick up on it or did and understood the convention. She seemed to be an aficionado of body building by the way she was appraising his body. She also seemed to dabble a bit in it herself. Her figure was full but firm, nothing seemed to jiggle when she walked. It was like looking at one of those vacuum packed bricks of coffee, not an ounce of unwasted space; what they called, in the local vernacular, a hard body. She casually laid her hand on Arnold's shoulder, slowly tracing the definition of the muscle beneath his shirt. "We figured you're new here," she said, nodding in the direction of her compatriots in booth four. "Especially with the way Norma reacted to you. Where're you from?" "I just moved in from the desert. I've got a place on the beach about a mile from here." "Are you training or just maintaining?" "I try to keep a little ahead of the game but I'm not aiming towards competition, if that's what you're asking. What's your involvement in the sport?" "I just like muscle. The more there is to grab onto, the happier I am." At this last comment her fingernails dug perceptively into his shirt, leaving little doubt as to what "more" she had in mind. Arnold glanced meaningfully at her hand. He wondered why she thought she had license to become so intimate with him. Patty had been one thing. He had set the tone for their interaction and encouraged it, but this girl was making assumptions that had no grounding in reality. She shifted her position a bit, Lolita Boys making it difficult for anyone else in the place to get a clear view of what she was doing, and then traced her inquisitive fingernail down the outside of his bicep, across the surface of his fore arm and ending on the top of his right thigh. The palm of her hand flattened against the top of his thigh and then slid towards his hip joint. When it reached the point where leg became abdomen and turned north she headed decidedly southeast. The bulge of his cock was thrust into prominence by the briefs he had on and she began to run her hand over the extent of it. Before she could go any further, though, he cleared his throat and looked directly into her eyes with an expression of distaste for her uninvited actions. She abandoned her research but her eyebrows raised, asking the question that was first on anyone's mind who had gotten that far. Arnold put one hand on the countertop and the other about two and a half feet away, palms facing each other. She rolled eyes and laughed. "You men are never satisfied, are you? Can't be happy with what was given to you. You always have to want more." "I just didn't want to be accused of any false modesty." He hoped Brenda would be astute enough to recognize the humor at her expense. She made a few more comments meant to draw out personal information. Arnold fended them off tactfully and by the time Brenda returned to her friends and a now luke warm Normaburger she felt as though some incredible conquest had been made when, in actuality, nothing of value, aside from the quick feel she'd copped, had been exchanged. Arnold's breakfast arrived on four plates. Each of the four major food groups was represented: A huge plate of sliced fruit, an omelet (yolks, no whites) with something just shy of a bushel of vegetables mixed in, a tall stack of buckwheat pancakes, and Lolita Boys an eight ounce T-bone steak, medium rare. To this was added a twenty ounce glass of fresh-squeezed orange juice and an equally tall glass of cold milk. "Is there anything else I can do for you?" the waitress asked. The look in her eyes relayed the limitless nature of that question. Arnold felt like saying "a blow-job" just to see what her reaction would be, her attitude being so blatant, but decided against it. Either she would have taken offense, not realizing how equally intrusive her attitude was, or she would comply and his eggs would get cold. He, instead, replied that everything seemed fine. She didn't even attempt to cover up her disappointment at not being requested to climb under the counter and suck his balls dry while he consumed his brunch. As she walked away in a huff Arnold shrugged, a bit bothered by her disappointment and a little annoyed at the cavalier attitude the women he had encountered so far seemed to have regarding the availability of his cock. He felt if he had slapped it down on the cash register counter when he first came in then the whole matter would have been settled and he could have eaten breakfast in peace. Norma, at least, had the decency to wait until he was just mopping up the last of his pancakes before venturing over to accost him. She was busy in the kitchen but took a break and came out to see how he liked his meal. "You've obviously had a lot of practice feeding body builders." Arnold noted. Norma told him the identity of the four photos over the pass-through. "I made them breakfast every morning. I know what the big guys like. I hear you're not into competition. What are you doing, modeling?" The grapevine had been active. He wondered what other details of his encounter with Brenda were now general knowledge. "Good guess. I'm just getting started but the agency I'm with has a few jobs for me this week." "Skin shots?" "Oh, I suppose they'll probably want me to take a few pieces of clothing off. I'm not too concerned with the details of the job. It's the agency's job to make sure everything is on the up and up. And if I have any reservations about it I have it in my contract to walk out." "Well, Arnie, you're a pleasure to look at. I'm sure you'll be quite successful." "Thanks for your confidence." "I've been around the block a couple of times, kid. I have an eye for what flies and what sinks in this town and I don't mind telling you I see a big set of wings on you. Now I gotta get back to the kitchen. The orders are piling up." "Thanks for the great meal. And if you're only halfway right about my professional future I'll be a very happy man." "By the way, kid, where're you gonna be working out?" "I haven't found a place yet. I'm going to look at one this afternoon." "Which one?" "A place called The Pump House. You know about it?" A thunder cloud formed over Norma's head, her nostrils flared and the gnashing sound of her teeth sent a shiver up his spine like fingernails on the blackboard. Arnold thought she was going throw something but at the last minute she seemed to re-establish control. It was a good thing, too. All of the items near at hand had that industrial, heavy-duty look to them, meant to take and deliver lots of abuse. "Who told you about that scum hole?" "My next door neighbor." "Well, I don't know who your neighbor is but their taste in people obviously has reached an uncustomary high point in their dealings with you. If I were you, I'd take a real close look at other options before making any decisions which might be regretted later. If I were you." With that she turned back to the kitchen, shouting at several very non-deserving-of-abuse employees on the way. There was little doubt in Arnold's mind that whatever she perceived as being wrong with Patty's gym had little to do with the reality of the place itself. Something deeply personal was involved here; something that, aside from piquing his curiosity, he was sure had little to do directly with him. He left a tip on the counter and proceeded to the cash register to pay his bill. His waitress met him there and informed him that the girls at booth four had already taken care of his tab. Arnold did not like leaving these women with the impression he was in their debt. The proprietary nature of this act reflected the view that he was beholding to them for having allowed one of them to run her hand across his crotch. He went over to explain that Lolita Boys he felt uncomfortable in accepting their "generosity" but by the time he got to the booth all of their eyes were glued to the front of his pants and he figured there wasn't much use in it all. He thanked them kindly for the welcoming gesture and hoped that he would some day be able to return the favor "by buying you a breakfast" he said specifically. They asked him to sit down and join them for a cup of coffee but he begged off, sighting the return of the truck as his excuse. He said his good-by's and departed before any additional information was allowed to exchange hands. On his way out, he passed the cash register and his waitress stopped him. "She has something in for one of the people over at the Pump House." "That was made quite obvious." "If you were to listen to her she would tell you to watch out for a gal Lolita Boys by the name of Patty. It seems they disagreed about the marital status of her last husband." She indicated the picture furthest to the right over the pass-through. The man looked familiar and Arnold thought he had even seen him as a guest poser in a competition he had entered a few years back. Patty's taste in men obviously moved toward the large as well. He noticed that of the four pictures presently occupying the position of honor the man on the right was the largest in all respects. All respects. He wondered if this was a prerequisite for entry into The Pump House. Well, he was on his way there now, so he'd soon know. "Thanks for the information. I thought it might be a personal matter. I didn't think it had anything to do with me." "Oh, but it has everything to do with you." "How so?" "You see that empty frame in the middle of the other four?" Arnold nodded. "That one's reserved for her current fling." "I thought she was married." "Yeah. So?" Arnold was starting to feel like a possession. He thanked her, again, for her assistance in understanding the prevailing situation and made a hasty departure. He knew little of Patty beyond her forthright manner and apparent leanings towards men with large cocks, but in a comparison of the two women's behavior he was willing to bet that the fault in perception was sure to fall to Norma's side of the net. He hoped he would have a chance to get Patty's side of the story without endangering their friendship or instigating a scene. He waved once again to his benefactors as he past in front of the building and headed back to the truck and got it headed in the other direction through a series of turns through the neighborhood. As he drove past the diner once more he felt sad that the place should make him so uncomfortable. The food had been outstanding, both Lolita Boys in its quantity and quality. But he was not able to justify going there for the food if he was going to feel this inhuman afterwards. There must be a certain sector of the population that thrived on that kind of attention, he certainly dished out and took in his fair share of sexual bantering, but this was a step beyond what he thought of as respectful of himself as a person. He retraced his route, driving past his building, made a left a few blocks further down the road and traveled up that street about a quarter of a mile. On the corner of two nondescript streets lined with single story bungalows sat what surely was a store front. A second appraisal indeed led him to think of a neighborhood service station. Over the parking lot in front was the traditional canopy and in the middle of several cars he saw the islands where the pumps would have been. The three garage doors had been covered and the only windows appeared to be those where the attendants station would have been. He thought this a bit odd. All the gyms he had ever been to prided themselves on lots of natural light and big open spaces designed to accommodate large bodies moving huge amounts of weight around. This place, besides being apparently devoid of light, seemed far too small to get much serious work done. He parked the truck and car on the street, grabbed Patty's gym bag and crossed to the other side. Even up close he would never have guessed the actual use of the building. He walked to the front door and peered through the window. The glass seemed to be tinted and what he saw inside didn't seem to make sense. Inside the door was a reception area with a desk, presently unattended, and a lounging area with refrigerator, microwave, a vending machine and a bunch of over-stuffed arm chairs. A bit cozier than he was used to in the high-tech, steel and mirror atmosphere of most other gyms, but nothing as unusual as what lay beyond this area. A railing ran behind the reception area. Beyond that could be seen a huge open space that was completely sun-lit. He couldn't see the ceiling, so he could only imagine that the entire roof over the room was sky lights. The room was sunken about six or eight feet, accessed by a set of stairs from the reception area, and was considerably larger than the exterior of the building would have led one to believe. Plants were everywhere. Each station seemed to be surrounded by them. Some seemed to have found a home atop the framework and mechanisms of the larger pieces of gear. He could see several men and women utilizing what Patty had modestly referred to as the "not as well-equipped" equipment. Compared to some of the places he had trained at out in the desert this was the promised land. True, he had checked out some of the more well known places closer to the beach, and their assortment of gear seemed to be more vast, but in one glance he was able to see almost every station he would use in the course of a normal workout cycle. Just then a head appeared at the bottom of the stairs. All he could see was the back of it but he recognized it at once as being Patty's. He opened the door, went to the reception desk and waited for her to finish talking to another person at the bottom of the stairs. That person, a young man, could see Arnold as he approached the desk. His jaw stopped moving in mid-sentence and he just stared up at him. Patty turned around to see what had attracted her friends attention. Arnold waved. Patty came up the stairs followed closely and eagerly by the boy he had distracted.
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