Rear ended--part 4

[5uiat]

Here's part four. Previous parts:
http://www.musclegrowth.org/forum/sh...ad.php?t=16933
http://www.musclegrowth.org/forum/sh...ad.php?t=16939
http://www.musclegrowth.org/forum/sh...ad.php?t=16949
Again, feedback is awesome! I'm sorry if these are short-ish, I'm writing when I get the time and really I have trouble getting into longer stuff.

The door was open, and the dazzling sunlight gleamed off a buzzed blond head that poked up above a stripped car. Eyes creased, dimples formed. Marcus grinned up at me.

He slowly rose. His fingers found the car frame and pushed him up, so that his titanic arms and broad shoulders came into view at once. Veins ran all the way down his arms and he shone with a light sheen of sweat mixed with grease. He was wearing stained blue mechanic's coveralls that fit like a glove over every bulge and gap. But as he pushed himself up his flexing pecs proved too much for the already low-riding zipper in the front, and as he lazily pushed himself to his full, impressive height the zipper kept rolling down to show the whole of his pecs, dirty, sweating, and swollen with muscle. Below them I could only see shadow. As he came around the car his coveralls parted over his surging traps and he had to push them back up to keep the coveralls from simply falling off of his engorged muscle. He wiped his hand on the pants of the coveralls, and my gaze fell down to his quads, whose size and definition was visible even through the fabric. They pushed at the coveralls as if trying to escape, and above them I swear I saw his crotch (which filled the coveralls as nicely as the rest of him) twitch noticeably. He was wearing heavy boots.

He extended a massive but cut arm toward me, and shook my hand. His hand was hot in mine. "Hey buddy," he said. "How you doing?"

PART IV

"Not bad, dude," I said. I had decided to take the cocky, tough-guy approach to Marcus. It was the only way I could think of not to swoon or just get lost in those crystal eyes. "How long do you think it'll take you to fix my trunk? I don't have all day."

"Should be pretty standard, if I remember right." He put up one tree-trunk arm to block the sun. His blue coveralls wrapped around it like cellophane. The fabric in the pits of his arms was stained dark with sweat, and a wonderful musk invaded my nose. "Yeah. Get a new cover for the light and hammer out the back. I can do it in half an hour if you just want to stay and...watch." I swear he slowed down on the word 'watch', and his blond eyebrows definitely rose expectantly.

"Not like I can get anywhere else without a car," I bluffed, trying to recall the anger I'd felt when he first rammed into me.

"Just pull in here, and I'll get her fixed right up."

Marcus showed me a spot at the back of the lot adjacent to the garage. It was in the full sun, but right next to the tools and hidden behind the rest of the cars in the lot. "I like this spot," Marcus said. "It's really hidden--I take naps here sometimes when my dad isn't breathing down my neck."

"Your dad?"

"Yeah, this is my dad's garage. I've been working here through high school to try to save enough to go to college. My dad doesn't play around though--you should see him! You think I'm big?" He flexed. It was a good thing I was sitting down. The blue fabric lifted over his bicep, strained--and broke, splitting down his bicep so that a wave of tanned muscle crisscrossed by veins burst from his shirt. "Shit!" he said. "Third time this month that's happened. But my dad makes me look like a twelve year old."

I couldn't even think of words, let alone speak.

"I might as well just rip this sleeve off now. It'll just get in the way." And without even looking like he was trying Marcus tore the sleeve off at the shoulder and threw it to the ground. His arm looked like four separate limbs, each the size of my calves--the teardrop forearm coated with blond hair, the snakily-veined bicep, obscenely bulging tricep, and shoulders that seemed to be in danger of invading his arms. "I'll just go get my tools."

While Marcus was gone, I picked up the sleeve he had discarded. The tear in it was at least a foot long. I held the end up to my nose, inhaling the smell of his midday sweat like perfume. I carefully pocketed the sleeve.

Marcus returned with a replacement light cover and an assortment of screwdrivers and hammers. I settled myself on the curb and watched the enormity of his blue-swathed back as he worked. He seemed surprisingly light and agile, and I had to remind myself that he was only 18. Just out of High School.

"You planning on going to college here? I'm just starting up my third year."

"Yeah, dude." He grunted. Rather than kneeling down to check the underside of the trunk for damage, he simply placed both hands under the rim and LIFTED, bending his knees. His butt practically tore the back of his coveralls, popping to diamond hardness as he lifted the fucking car four inches off the ground. His back spread, and the veins in his exposed arms seemed to stand out a full inch. "Okay, the underside is fine."

Then, the question I had been waiting for. Anticipating. Dreading.

"Do you mind if I take the top of my coveralls off? It's hot as fuck." He didn't even wait for an answer. His back was still turned to me, and he let the zipper fall and shrugged the coveralls off of his massive shoulders. His traps came halfway up his neck--that bull neck whose cords jumped into sharp relief whenever he smiled. The coveralls slowly, slowly slid down his back, exposing row upon row of corrugated back muscle. His lats pushed his arms out a good foot further than they should have, and the valley in the middle of his lower back disappeared in shadow. The sun was at its hottest, and sweat flowed down underneath his blond buzz-cut from the base of his neck to the small of his back in torrents, making the whole machinery of boy muscle shine.

I stood up, my body no longer even under my control. I was sweating and salivating. I felt like I was dying just looking at that massive back. He glanced back at me, standing there slack-jawed. His eyes twinkled and that cocky smile spread across his face again. "What?"

Dammit, he wasn't going to make this easy for me. No, 'see something you like?', no, "wanna feel my guns?" no 'come here, boy!'.

"You're just....you're so big Marcus. I'm sure you get this all the time. Look at your fucking back man! Your shoulders must be at least three times the size of your waist. And the sweat just makes everything stand out more, like oil on bodybuilders. Have you ever thought about doing bodybuilding? You should, man! When I saw you yesterday I knew you were fucking buff man, but I had no idea that--"

He interrupted me, turning to face me full on so that each bulging, sweating, dirty muscle of his shone like a lighthouse. Massive chest and shoulders, cut arms, bulging sixpack, angel's face, giant boots. His voice was deeper than I'd ever heard it.

"Come here, boy."

I stand corrected.

[ldaniel13]

You, sir, definitely know how to write a very sexy story... and leave people at a cliffhanger. D'oh!

[iluv2flex]

[COLOR=indigo]Boing!!![/COLOR]

[COLOR=#4b0082]This is exactly the stuff I like...Marcus is one hot dude.[/COLOR]
[COLOR=#4b0082]Can't wait to meet his Dad[/COLOR]