Sunday Afternoon at the Gym

[Mdlftr]

The gym, Sunday afternoon, late spring, mid-afternoon. All the young 20 somethings have bagged today’s workouts to catch some rays and check out the possibilities- male and female. The responsible guys are busy mowing the lawn, or bringing the family back from brunch or a graduation. That was me, yesterday— doing chores, making the social obligations, including a graduation party for the son of friends. The new graduate, a newly matriculated “man of the world” with his high school diploma, is ready to face the world. Just yesterday he was a monosyllabic, pimply-faced teenager, borderline surly, and now, he’s “Mr. Graduate”! Good luck to him.

Today, I have my time, all to myself. I’m footloose and fancy free, having done my work, so here I am at the gym, busting butt. I like lifting. I love what it does for me- thickening up my chest, broadening my back, plumping out my triceps ‘til they hang, thick and heavy off the backs of my arms. My legs are firm and solid, with a decent sweep down to the knees. My butt is hard and rounded, and does justice to a pair of Dockers. I recently had to move my wallet to a front pocket, so I could sit evenly on a chair. I smirk at the memory. My glutes are getting big. My trainer says my butt and legs respond particularly well to training, and add to my overall strength, so it’s all good.

But I crave a big chest. No, make that a huge chest. The kind where the pecs bulge up and out, forming a full, rounded shelf of muscle, before sweeping sharply down under to tie in over the abs. Over the years, I’ve always checked out the chests on the pro builders. Arnold, of course, with his bulging shelf jutting over cobbled abs. Columbu with the freaky double split in his pecs, the result of childhood starvation in Sardinia, and not just conditioning, as he said. Ronnie Coleman is amazing, with his 200 pound dumbbell flyes, and those enormous mounds he calls his chest. Truly, a new standard!

Still, I like the neat, compact, defined-but-bulging guys, whose chests are the focal point of their physiques. People like Mark “Jugdale”, “Jugs Betancort”, “Mike Mass-arrazzo”and my current favorite, Mike “So-big-they-almost-Drag-na”. There’s just something about thick chested, bulging pecked Italian guys—the contrast between macho dark good looks and prototypical masculinity juxtaposed with the almost feminine fullness of a really massively developed set of male pectoral muscle mammeries that really pushes my buttons.

I work towards that vision: the day when I, with my tall, lean frame, will push out a shirt, make it cry for mercy, bust buttons off an Izod. My trainer is helping me there. He says it will take a while, since I’m not a naturally chesty guy, but I’ll get built for my frame. >Sigh< I want to be chesty by anyone’s standards, not just “comparatively”. So, here I am on a Sunday, prepared to do (yet another) chest workout, my second of the week.

I’m in the locker room, putting stuff in my locker and getting dressed. Shirt off, I’m checking myself out in the mirror, doing a quick side chest flex, crab shot and front relaxed pose, and thinking about how I’m really going to hit the incline bench today, when I am interrupted.

“Enjoying the view? See anything you like?” a baritone voice says, behind my shoulder. Mortified, I jerk my head up, and catch sight of a pair of dark brown eyes, heavily lashed, a Classic Roman nose, and two perfectly chiseled lips, drawn up in a smirk, looking at me in the mirror.

“Shit! You startled me!” I whip around and confront the stalker.

He stands just beside my left shoulder, still smirking, still amused. His body looks like a pillar- a thick, immovable, muscular pillar. I can’t believe it. It’s the thick, stacked Italian muscle man of my dreams. He stands about 5’ 10” to my 6’ 3”, about 235, with arms like logs, legs like columns and a chest like two enormous mounds of meat. He is built and jacked. He’s cute, with the large eyes, dark curly hair and square chin of a Roman god, dominated by that straight, classic nose and thickly muscled neck, sitting on top of impossibly wide shoulders.

I stand there staring at this vision, my mouth open. “Urgh,” I say.

He grins wider, having caught me staring at his body. He reaches down, crosses his arms, and pulls off his t-shirt in one fluid motion. His thick muscles don’t interfere with the grace of his movements. He stands, shirt off, shoulders back, displaying the biggest, fullest, thickest, most developed, most BEAUTIFUL chest I have ever seen. The pectorals arch out into space, heavy with muscle mass. They swell out, up and across his chest, thickly filling the space from boulder shoulder to boulder shoulder, up to the base of his thick neck, and deep into the pits on either side. His smooth, hairless skin is a lightly tanned golden olive, with darker areolas the size of quarters surrounding perky dusky nipples. The nipples ride on the surface of his massive pecs, and point out and down, even though they are fully erect, because his pectoral development pushes them out. “See something you like?” He flexes, casually popping both pecs in an alternating rhythm, while his dark eyes effortlessly capture mine.

I keep staring. “Shit,” I mutter. He grins wider, then goes into a side chest pose, followed by a crab shot and finishing with a relaxed pose. He is clearly duplicating every pose I just did, except his posing is the stuff of wonder – showing size, thickness and power in every step. The muscle swells and settles and swells again, like an undulating wave. I stand there, drinking it all in, while part of my mind wonders if brain damage can occur from staring too hard. I seem incapable of moving, or making any noise other than grunts. Maybe I’ve had a stroke. Yeah, that must be it….must be.

He drops his arms, chest still up and out, in a natural, resting position. Even relaxed, he has the kind of pectoral development and mass that I dream of – beautifully proportioned, thick and full. Swelling with power. I suddenly realize that I’ve sprung a boner. Damn, this is too much! First the gaping, then the staring…what’s next--- drooling?

He chuckles, clearly delighted at the effect he is having. “Wanna lift?”

If he’d asked me if I wanted a million dollars, I couldn’t agree more! “Only if we work chest!’

“Done!” He pulls a tight (naturally) scoop tank down over his shoulders, exposing 80% of his massive chest while showcasing the amazing muscle cleavage, and leads the way to the gym. We’re off, on a workout that lives in my memory, as my introduction to what a true, growth-inducing chest workout is. 70 minutes later, dripping sweat, pumped beyond belief, and staring at my own rack in the mirror, we make it back into the locker room.

No one else is around. We’re the last ones in the place, having outworked everyone else. The owner, a friend, has left me the keys to close up, and headed out to enjoy the rest of the afternoon.

Standing in front of the mirror, doing our post workout posing, he says, “Not bad,” as he eyes my pump. “You kept up, and didn’t wimp out.” He flashes me one of his trademark smirks. “Not bad for a tall guy!” He pulls his tank off over his head, with some effort, as it catches on his barn door shoulders and thick pecs. He is pumped beyond belief- his mammoth chest flushed a deep red, with deep cleavage and sharply defined edges. His tris are almost purple with the blood engorging them, as they stand out from the backs of his arms.

“Hey, I did alright! But you, you’re amazing! You have the biggest chest I’ve ever seen!” I am gushing like some sort of whacked out fan. My man-crush is even starting to embarrass me, but I can’t seem to help myself. “Damn, I’d love to be stacked like you!” I burble.

“Thanks. I have to have a big chest to balance out my big guns,” here he flexes an awesome double bicep, flashing that trademark smirk.

Throwing caution (and sense) to the winds, I reach out to his now bare chest and grab his enormous muscle pecs, one in each big hand. “God, these things are immense!” I squeeze in wonder. “They’re beautiful!” He looks up at me, broadly smiling now. He slowly flexes the huge mounds as I am squeezing. The mass rolls under my hands and actually forces my fingers apart. I stare, open mouthed, at the swelling mass.

“I can’t believe these things can get any bigger!”

“You ain’t seen nothing, yet,” he chuckles. “Watch!” He flexes harder now, and his pectorals swell up further and further, turning dark with blood as he pumps and pumps his chest. In a low voice, he tells me how he started lifting at age 13, after seeing an Arnold movie. At 15, he was benching 275# for reps, more than most men can lift at twice his age. At 20, he competed in power lifting contests, compiling a personal best in the bench of 605, unassisted, with a 780 squat and a 950 deadlift. After that, he turned to bodybuilding, to shape and refine the mass he’d built. He stands there in the locker room, pumped huge, his massive, smooth pectorals glistening with sweat, their beautiful mass hanging heavy from his thick frame. I am in muscle heaven.

“Why are you so smooth? Don’t you have any body hair?” I ask.

“I had it lasered off. I was getting fur on my shoulder blades and on the tops of my shoulders. I got tired of shaving all the time, so I had it lasered off, along with the few hairs around my nipples.” Here he looks down at his jutting pectorals, and gives his nipples a quick brush with one calloused hand. He looks up at me, smiling.

“So you’re hot for my tits, is that it?” He flexes them and they jump on his chest, falling thickly on his barrel rib cage. He maintains the eye contact, demanding a response.

“Yeah, I guess I am.” I admit freely. “I’ve always loved big muscle on guys, and I’d really like to have it myself. Will you help me?” I look at him, waiting, blue eyes locked on brown. This is like time out of reality, this whole afternoon in the gym, bathed in golden light from the late sun. We stand in the locker room, pumped, post workout, looking at each other, assessing.

He finally speaks. “Yes. I will,” he says quietly, solemnly. There is a pause. “Well, go on then,” he encourages, smiling, stepping closer to push his chest in my face.

Time stands still. Then, as naturally as breathing, I lean over and take one perky nipple in my mouth, biting down gently and pinching it in my teeth. I continue squeezing the other pec, feeling the thick, hard mass under the silky smooth skin. My breathing speeds up, becoming deeper and ragged, as I continue to nibble on his pecs. His breathing speeds up, his arms are wrapped around me, his hands cradling my head as I nurse at his chest. He moans, quietly, clearly as turned on as I am. We begin rocking together, lost in a haze of sensation.

“Wait” He reaches down and gently cups my chin, bringing my head up to his. “This isn’t only what you want. What you really want is a big chest like mine, isn’t it?” He peers intently at me.

“Yesss” I rasp out, my mind still in a fog of muscle worship. “I love your big pecs. I want that for myself.” Here I reach down and cup his massive pecs again, feeling the solid mass in my palms.

“I want that for you too,” he smiles at me. “I can help you do that. We can work together to bring up your chest to the size you want…and deserve.” Here he suddenly cups my left pec, squeezing it firmly. I gasp in surprise and automatically flex back.

“See, you’re already hard and defined,” he says, looking down and caressing both of my flexing pecs. “All you need is more size,” here he looks up at me from under his heavy brows. “And I’m just the man to give it to you.” He smiles, squeezes, and leans in, pushing me up against the lockers. “You’ll be so big, you won’t believe it.” He pushes harder. I push back, caught up in the moment.

Just another Sunday afternoon at the gym.

[Londonboy]

Here's to Sunday afternoons at the gym. I'm hoping for a real-life experience that mirrors this story tomorrow. Here's to big Italians, as well. Thanks Mdlftr.

[dolphinbad]

I would like a Sunday Afternoon, like this. Great job!

[sexiscriptor]

this is looking good man, can't wait to see where this goes
~C

[scott2462]

Nice start. Looking forward to see where this goes.

[arpeejay]

Woof!

xoxo

Richard

[michaelv2]

double woof!

[growinmuscl]

NICE story, great work!

[pitt]

This story is soooo hot, can't wait for the next chapter!

Thanks

[cesarvillavi]

Damn it! My gym closes on sundays.

Great story! It's really hot and it would be great to read more of it.

[Mdlftr]

Thank you to all the readers and the folks who commented on this story.

I originally wrote it a while ago, then let it sit for "seasoning". I'm glad that so many of you liked it. I'm not the only one who gets psyched over big chests! (See the "Huge Pecs" thread for further coroboration!)

For those of you who "couldn't wait to see where this goes". I appreciate the thought, but only ever intended this to be a "one-off." Frankly, I find the recent trend towards "20-parts and continuing" muscle epics to be a bit intimidating. In my experience, those tend to turn into stories about relationships, which are fine and satisfying in their own way, but not what I'm writing. I really enjoy the muscle growth, and find that that usually works for me in short, intense bursts, rather than long, extended stories.

'til next time, thank you to all you loyal readers and writers in this forum!

Mdlftr