My Best Buddy's Buff Body

[V.R.Goh]

As usual, constructive criticism is always appreciated. As you can tell, I like using alliteration.
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I had just returned home after a long day at work when the phone rang. I quickly ran to the phone, hoping that it wasn?t another telemarketer trying to sell me insurance for a car I don?t have.

?Hello?? I said with the receiver to my ear.

?Yo, JC Money,? said a deep voice on the other end. There was only one person that has ever called me that. Everyone else has called me either JC or Juan Carlos.

?Mikey!? I said, excited to hear his voice. ?How the hell are you?? Mike, or Mikey as I called him, was my best friend growing up. We were practically inseparable as kids; I even called his mother Mom. We played together every day, until his mother got a job in Los Angeles when he was 14. They had to move, and I was devastated. We promised to keep in touch as often as we could. However, daily phone calls turned to weekly emails when we got through high school. Now, at 21 years old, this is the first time I?ve heard from him since I started college.

?Doing great, bro,? he responded. ?I?m in town for a couple of weeks, and I wanted to know if I could stop by. I got something to show you.?

?Sure,? I said. ?You okay, bro? You sound sick.?

?I?m fine,? he reassured me. ?It?s part of the surprise.? We said our goodbyes and hung up.

The whole time, I wondered how he was going to look after seven years. Mike was always the more muscular of us. Although we were the same age, (I was older by two weeks) he looked older. This was only because he was more solid. Not only that, he was much stronger than me. At times, he had to be my bodyguard, defending me whenever some dumb kid picked on me. Since he moved to L.A., I started taking up martial arts. The years have been kind to me, giving me 175 pounds of ripped muscle at 5?9? tall and a 3rd-degree black belt in shotokan karate.

That night, I heard the doorbell ring at about eight-thirty. When I opened the door, I was greeted by the most amazing sight ever.

?What?s up, bro?? said my old friend. He was positively enormous! He looked to be at least 6?8? tall and over 300 pounds of massive, rippling muscle. When he entered the apartment, he had to turn sideways to fit his yard-wide shoulders through the door way. His lats spread out like the hood of a monstrous king cobra. Every single muscle on him was, not only insanely humongous, but also inhumanly shredded. His massive chest and amazing arms stretched the white T-shirt he wore to the breaking point, while his humongous quads made his gray sweatpants look more like tights. In seven short years, my best friend had become the wet dream of every muscle lover everywhere, including myself. I had to focus on the younger image of him in my mind to keep myself lucid.

?It?s good to see you again,? he said in a baritone voice that rocked through me.

?Same here, bro,? I responded, still dumbfounded at the fact that this muscle god was my best friend. ?What happened to you? You?re HUGE!?

?It?s a long story,? he began. ?Remember when I told you that I started working out?? I nodded, recalling our conversations.

?Well,? Mike continued, ?I?ve been putting on muscle like it was going out of style. In a week, I gained 15 pounds. The gains stayed at that pace. Every week, I gained 15-20 pounds non-stop. When I went to the doctor for a check-up, I found out how this was possible. According to the doc, I have a genetic anomaly called myofibrillar hypertrophic augmentation, type 4, or MFHA4. It increases the rate that muscles grow when they?re used. Type 1 is barely noticeable. Type 4 is the rarest of all. People that have MFHA4 can put on muscle from the simplest of actions, like walking.? While he said this, I was virtually mesmerized by Mike?s new physique. His powerful pecs bounced beneath their cotton confines, while his biceps begged to be released from their prison of fabric. Each deep breath appeared to test the strength of the clothes confining his hyper-muscular frame.

?Every since I became this huge, people have been paying me to get a view of my body,? he said, possibly aware of my growing erection. ?Three private shows a night really adds up. I charge $25 for a striptease, the same for flexing my huge muscles, and $40 for both. However, my biggest attraction is the most expensive: $50 for what I call the ?slow-motion Hulk-out.? Since we?re best friends, I?ll give you a private slow-motion Hulk-out free of charge. But, there?s a catch; you?re the only one who gets my shows for free. Everyone else has to pay. Agreed??

?Yeah,? I said dumbly, agreeing to his terms. I didn?t mind his proviso; I wanted his beastly body all to myself for the moment. When or if I planned on sharing my new muscle god would be decided in the future.

?Good,? he said succinctly. ?Besides, I remember you told me that you were a fan of guys with huge muscles.? Yup, that?s me: Juan Carlos Qui?ones Alvarado, muscle fan.

Mike raised his arms until they were parallel with the floor and drew in a deep breath. I could hear the seams of his T-shirt stretching to the limit as he did this. With a short exhale, he bent his ginormous arms at the elbow and flexed his bulging biceps. His sleeves began to tear along the top of his incredibly large arms and peel away like a pair of banana peels. He flexed as hard as he can, forcing the twin tears up to the junction of his upper arms and his deltoids. His biceps, now free from their cotton cages, formed peaks that would make Mt. Everest proud. Each head of his biceps was clearly separated from its mate and showed every single striation. A shit-eating grin spread across his face, indicating that this was his favorite exhibition.

?That?s nothing,? responded my mega-muscular friend. ?You should see the rest of the show.? He dropped his arms to his sides, placing his fists on his waists. He spread his lats, appearing more like the hood of a giant cobra than a human?s back. A loud sickening rip signified that his shirt had torn down the back. At the same time, two more tears formed along the sides where his lats bulged and protruded.

?Watch this,? said the beastly muscleman before me. ?I?ll just use my pecs for this one.? His shirt already looked like it was on its last threads at this point; I didn?t know how it was still on him. He then began to bounce his pecs one at a time. He started off slowly, flexing first the left pec, then the right, then both at the same time. He mixed up the pattern as he increased his speed. Left, right, both, left, right, left, right, both, faster and faster he bounced his monstrous pecs. As he sped up the tempo, his shirt stretched closer and closer to its breaking point. I could almost hear the seams pleading for relief. But they wouldn?t find any respite, as Mike was determined to use his considerable brawn to reduce them to shreds of cotton. Eventually, his pec dance became so fast, his shirt seemed to have two ferrets fighting beneath it. Suddenly, with one final flex, the remains of his shirt exploded off of his torso, leaving only ribbons behind.

His body looked ten times better than anything carved by human hands. Each muscle was proportionate to the others and almost too large to belong to any human. Even his abdominals looked intricately carved, even unflexed. With a single squat, his sweatpants surrendered to his near-godlike might. Tearing like tissue paper, they disintegrated off of his tree-trunk legs. His bull-like calves could probably pulverize diamonds and emerge unscathed. There he stood, naked except for a pair of green posers that looked to fight with the sizeable cock they contained. His powerful pecs flexed periodically, as if they had minds of their own.

?Now for the big finish,? said my smiling mega-muscular friend. He placed his hands behind his head and crunched. His eight-pack abs, already ripped when relaxed, became even more so flexed. I didn?t think such a thing was possible, but there it was before me. I unzipped my fly and began stroking my cock at the sight of this display of superhuman brawn. His posers, like his shirt and pants before them, capitulated to his might and snapped off of him. What remained was the biggest cock and balls ever seen by mortal eyes. I panted in lust and nigh-orgasmic ecstasy.

?Oh fuck,? I gasped between breaths. ?Oh God, Mike, so huge, so beautiful?? Every one of Mike?s mega-masculine muscles were bulging more than they were when he entered the room and covered in viridian veins as thick as a pencil. He looked to have zero body fat, as every muscle looked vacuum-sealed in a translucent layer of beautifully bronzed skin.

Then, Mike went into his final pose. Placing his fists in front of him, he exploded into a most-muscular that blew every bodybuilder in existence out of the proverbial water. All of his muscles jumped out with even more striations and veins, if that were at all possible. I shouted his name followed by multiples repetitions of ?Oh God? as I came. It was my dream come true to see a mega-muscular hunk flexing for me in person.

?Yeah,? he grunted as he flexed harder and harder. ?So fuckin? strong. Fuckin? cum for me. Oh, FUCK YEAH!? Then, he came.

It looked more like the eruption of a fire hose. His cock, which looked at least a foot long and half as thick, began spewing its ivory seed. He roared so loud that I?m sure the crack in the kitchen window was his fault. He threw his head back and his arms to his sides as he continued to cum. I was so lost in lust that I hadn?t noticed a few drops of his cum landed in my mouth.

?Oh, God, Mike!? I shouted. ?I can?t stop cumming!? It was at least another ten minutes before I stopped.

After his exhibition, I found out that he wanted me to come with him to L.A. He wanted me to live with him in his mansion in the Hollywood hills. Apparently, a lot of people like to see his muscles. I also found out something else about Mike?s genetic condition. It turns out that MFHA4 can also be transmitted like HIV to another person. All an ?uninfected? person has to do is come in contact with the blood, pre-ejaculatory fluid, sperm, or (in the case of women with MFHA4) breast milk of someone that has it. I agreed at once. I hope to catch up to my best friend in size, if not surpass him.

[TheMM]

Originally Posted by V.R.Goh

“Oh, God, Mike!” I shouted. “I can’t stop cumming!” It was at least another ten minutes before I stopped.

*moaning noises*...Ungh...You're preaching to the choir Juan.

[V.R.Goh]

Glad to know that you liked it.

I forgot to mention two little cultural notes.

1. Juan Carlos is a compound name, the way Jean-Claude is.
2. In Spanish names, the first surname (in this case, Qui?ones) is the father's last name. The second (Alvarado, in this case) is the mother's. Since he's American, "Alvarado" would be dropped for simplification purposes.

Latino women's names are another story.

[gogr2]

Originally Posted by V.R.Goh

Latino women's names are another story.

LOL... yeah, It's crazy that my name in the US is only 3 names long, my name in the hispanic world is 6 names long... sometimes 10 when you go back one more generation. My poor sister's they get married and they just add names...

[chocomus]

Great story dude! i love when the cum contagiates the growth

And amen to the cum choir, theMM

Latino women's names are another story.

Well, in Spain women don't change their last name even if they get married, but i've never known if latino means people from centre and south-america only or also applies to Spain

[Kymuscleboy]

Awesomely hot story! I hope you continue it with JC's growth and Mikey getting even bigger!

[ushersdick]

woooah that was hot, any more?