Mr Milky Way -- part 2

triceps, pecs, lats and a trim waist. Things have changed. Besides the rest, a guy's got to have quads so big they make your dick look like a peanut. Striations on your glutes, and more ripples on your tummy than any washboard my grandmother used. ?Butch!" Mike sighed; "It's a changed sport. Look," he implored, holding out a skimpy three ounces of shiny red nylon. "I gotta wear a bikini like this get attention."

Mike stripped out of the sateen, square-cut trunks he had on. The kind of suit that was in fashion when Steve Reeves was a heartthrob. "What do you think?" He asked. "It's an extra-large, but is it my size?'

"Mike. Don't ask me to comment on the size of your manhood. But sex and show, that's today's game." Feeling his own dick start to swell, Butch splashed cold water onto his face. "Lots of these bucks like to showoff and that includes what's between their legs. Butch reached for a paper towel. He needed to cool off. His sphincter was eagerly sucking the plug end of the dildo

Mike was shimmying into another bikini. Two Mike Millers; one live; the other a mirror image. Butch suctioned the dildo against his prostate. He wanted to shoot his load.

"Yeah, it works for you!" was Mike's mumbled reply. He rolled the black bikini down his legs. Then he stepped into the red one. Stretching it over his thighs, he tucked in his fully loaded nut sack and his pecker into the iridescent pouch. The stretchy nylon spread and settled over his jewels like a thin coat of shellac. ?It?s like wearing nothing but a coat of paint.? Mike thought, as he left the locker-room, and felt the jiggle in his walk skooch the skimpy skivvy deep into the crack of his dimpled glutes. And, "1 can still give Butch a damn good eyeful and a bitchin rise." A wise-ass smile crossed his face.

Kip Dekker and Vince Tandy were already backstage. Mr Short and Mr Tall, they each did an exaggerated double take as Mike Miller strutted toward them. Vince, head-honcho of the duo, whistled a low, sexy note. Mike acknowledged it with a nod. The shiny red pouch, filled as it was, made a sure attention grabber, and Mike wondered if he looked at least as naked as he felt. He fidgeted at the waist bank with his thumb, but there wasn?t any other way to adjust the fit. A drop of sweat and oil rolled off his nose and spotted the front of his suit, right over the head of his dick. Mike was definitely circumcised. He hitched at the waistband a both sides of his hips. The clingy brief was mighty thin.

"How many socks you got in there, big boy?" Vince said in a mock, sultry whisper.

Mike's eyes darted at Vince. He shrugged toward Vince and moved over to the light control panel. His hands dangled self-consciously in front of the spotted nylon. He tugged at his pecker, accentuating his endowment. He checked out Kip, who had a shit-eating grin, "The same size dick always looks bigger on a small man." Vince knew that was Kip's thought. It was his too. Mike knew Kip had eight inches, uncut. "A little foreskin can't make a hell of a lot of difference," Mike thought as he tugged at his dickhead again, stroking it and his posing suit. He stretched the fabric, hoping to loosen it, to make more dancing room. He know Vince ands Kip wanted to psych him out, bring him down from top mental form

Mike peeked into the auditorium. A muscle-head wannabe was playing with the toggles on the light panel, flashing the house lights on and off. Mike ducked further behind the curtains. In a few minutes all three bodybuilders would be on stage for the final posedown. Kip and Vince were checking their oil. Flexing. Mike scoped their tiny black posing suits. Tight. Mike hiked his brief higher at the sides again like he saw so many young studs so. If the sides of his brief rode high on his hips, that emphasized the full beauty of his lean, muscled quads. He admired himself. He enjoyed his brash exhibitionism. "Studly, dude!" he thought. He hiked at his bikini again. He was pleased a pig in shit. "This contest is mine to lose." Vince was tough to figure out, but Mike surmised that Kip was quietly bummed-out. "Mine to lose. Showtime!"

As the house lights dimmed and the stage lights flashed on, the three finalists listened to Butch Taylor greeting the audience and priming them for the competition's finale. The theme from ?Rocky? started blaring over the public address system. It rose from loud to deafening before