10th anniversary

by Richard Jasper

George and Joseph reflect on when they met and what it was like growing into horse-cocked super studs.

George watched Joseph sleeping, sprawled across their bed. Even in sleep, the massive muscles of Joseph’s awesome chest rippled with each in-and-out of his gentle, sleep-filled breathing.

He’s fucking gorgeous, George thought to himself. How did I get so lucky?

Joseph stirred and rolled to one side, so that George could see his more-than-yard-wide shoulders and mountainous back muscles. George felt his cock stir.

I knew he had it in him but even I would not have guessed he’d turn out to be this fucking huge.

Ten years before, when they first met, Joseph, at 25 years old and 6 feet 3 inches tall, was all of 160 pounds. Even then he had a swimmer’s build, with nice broad shoulders, narrow hips, and a tiny, taut waist. And then there was that python stuffed in his speedo.

It’s a wonder anyone ever recorded his times, George thought. They weren’t watching him swim.

If Joseph had never gained an extra pound of muscle, it would have been quite alright with George. He liked big, of course, but long and lean was just as nice, from his point of view, and if there was a giant horse cock attached, all the better.

But I want to get bigger, Joseph had said. Big like you.

So George had shown him the ropes. The building block exercises, the meal planning, times and amounts and ratios of proteins and carbs and all the rest.

God how he grew, George remembered.

Sixty pounds that first year, all of it muscle. At 220 pounds Joseph looked completely different, still just as lean, but big all over now, not just down below.

It blew his family away when he went back home…and he just kept growing.

It was amazing, really. His gains were always quality muscle mass. His body fat ratio never climbed out of the single digits. Each year, his strength increased with (usually, in fact, even exceeded) the gain in muscle.

Twenty pounds of muscle in year is a lot.

But that’s what he did.

Every year for nine years in a row.

Still no more than 6 feet 3 inches tall, Joseph now weighed in at 400 pounds of hulking, ripped muscle. He had given up swimming years ago; he was just as fast, if not faster, than he had been, but throwing that much weight in the water tended to swamp the other swimmers.

He’s a god, George thought. There’s no one like him.

No one with an 80-inch chest. No one with 32-inch biceps. No one with 40-inch quads.

Not to mention the 13-inch monster under the sheets.

Which was, he now noticed, at full mast.

Perhaps it’s time to wake him up, George thought.

After 10 years together, he had a good idea how to go about it.

Joseph stirred in his sleep. He was dreaming of the day he met George. It was in the locker room at Emory. He looked up and saw this…mountain! That’s all he could think to call it. Probably an inch or so taller than Joseph, which made the fucker tall, given Joseph’s 6 foot 3, and…

Impossibly broad…

Impossibly thick…

Impossibly furry…

Holy shit, Joseph had thought to himself. When did Pete Kuzak start working at Emory?

George caught his eye and – so cute! – used his finger to push up his sexy, stubble-covered jaw. Joseph remembered to close his mouth!

“Howdy,” the huge fucker said, sticking out a paw that would have fit just fine on a grizzly bear – or a silverback gorilla. “Name’s George…”

Joseph couldn’t think of what to say.

“I’m guessing yer glad to meet me,” George said, with a little chuckle. “Either that or you’ve got one helluva banana hidden under that towel.”

Joseph turned bright crimson, head to toe. Easy enough for him to do, given his blond hair, blue eyes, and flawless, nearly hairless, pale Scandinavian complexion.

Power of speech did eventually return, they actually managed to get dressed without raping each other there on the locker room floor, they even spent an hour or two knocking around campus (George was new to Emory, just coming back to get his Ph.D. in physical therapy) before they went back to Joseph’s apartment for the mutual unveiling.

George had let out a whistle when he saw all 13 x 7 inches of Joseph’s manhood at full-mast. As for Joseph…

“Jesus,” he exclaimed. “Yer fuckin’ big all over, aren’t you?”

“Not as big as you,” George had replied.

But, shit, 12 inches is 12 inches, and George’s was, if anything, even thicker around than Joseph’s.

“It matches,” Joseph pointed out. “Massive, just like the rest of you.”

And, fuck, George really had been massive, even then. Three hundred pounds of fucking hulked up, shredded muscle spread out over 6 feet 4 inches of man. Before that day, Joseph never had cum so hard or so many times in one evening.

Amazingly enough, it just got better. George was like a puppy with a new bone when Joseph revealed, somewhat shyly, that he too wanted to be “big all over” and Joseph’s heart did somersaults when George kissed him and said, “You can do it, man, if that’s what you want, and I’ll be happy to help.”

So Joseph had gotten huge…and George had kept growing.

Joseph’s eyes fluttered open. Something hot and wet was on his cock, something he knew so well.

“Shit, babe,” he muttered, “you’ve almost got me there, let me wake up a bit.”

George levered himself off of Joseph’s massive cock, smacking his lips as he did so.

“That’s too fucking hot not be wide awake for it,” Joseph added.

“How about this instead?” George asked.

He straddled Joseph’s hips with his monstrous, 50-inch quads, squared his 50-inch-wide shoulders, stuck out his mountainous 100-inch chest, and locked his Godzilla-sized lats into place. He reached down and palmed his totally hard 12 x 8 fuckpole, pinched his silver-dollar sized nipple, flexed his mind-blowing 40-inch bicep and gave it a kiss—and gently squeezed Joseph’s telephone pole between his concrete glutes.

“Shit, shit, shit,” Joseph gasped, the hot jism squirting out from under George’s heavy nut sack and all up Joseph’s cobbled 8-pack.

“Oh, well,” George said, a trifle smugly. “There’s more where that came from.”

Joseph groaned.

It’s no fair, he thought. I’m married to the biggest, best built man on the planet. The strongest, too. I don’t have a chance.

Some of that, of course, was literally true. At 6’4 and 500 pounds of mind-blowing muscle, George really was considered the “biggest, best built man on the planet,” at least from the point of the Guinness Book of World Records. And with a 2000-pound bench, a 3000-pound deadlift, and a 4000-pound squat, he was a certified freak.

“You ready for breakfast?”

It was a good way to start one’s tenth anniversary celebration.

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