Mr Milky Way -- part 4

with his sexy, nearly nude display.

Kip shuffled uneasily between the two taller men. He worried, for he was likely to be overlooked and forgotten. Vince had always been his buddy. They trained together. They were pals. They had decides to wear the same kind and color of posing suit for the competition. Now here was Vince, not just in something different, but in something that practically wasn't even there.

Butch was bug-eyed. His throbbing cock prodded forward, jutting his baggies to a prominent peak. A sight not unnoticed by Mike Miller, whose smile changed to a stupid grin. Something ticked in his head, and something twitched in his crotch. His eyes moved from Butch to Kip to Vince. He scanned the audience and scouted the judges at their table. Mike glanced again at the tent Butch's dick was making. He figured, "What the hell! This night is mine to lose."

While the auditorium lights flashed on and off, the roar hardly abated. Over the din, Butch announced the series of compulsory poses. Like three living sculptures, each of the finalists moved into their positions.

Mike hiked the sides of his suit every chance he got, pulling the red nylon up and away from his body, squeezing his cock and balls against the sweaty wet cloth. Each stretch and release loosened its fit, making the bikini say yet cling. Mike was definitely going to ride out this competition on a wave of style and sex. By the time the compulsory poses were finished. Mike was reeling with euphoria and adrenaline.

Because he had drawn the short straw, Kip was first with his freestyle routine. Mike and Vince stepped away from center stage. Kip?s routine was professional and polished. Smooth, but quick. Not a knockout. Still a small man always has a lot of goodwill with the crowd. Kip was no exception

When Kip backed into the shadows, the audience seemed to hold its breath. Then Vince Tandy leaped into the center spotlight light a big cat onto its prey. Fixing every turn with a surly glare, Vince psyched the crowd with his attitude. Foot stomping accompanied shouts of "Vince! Vince! Vince!" Even without music, Vince would have been a showman. With heavy metal rock anthem blaring, he was rocked. A full frontal display of his hammered quadriceps wound down his routine, followed by an upper-body turn to a side double-biceps. Great stuff. These moves brought the fans to their feet. Vince turned from his batwing lats, quickly flinched his pecs, shook and tensed each leg, and the crowd hooted and cooed. Vince drilled each move to its max. Then, flicking the elastic string at each side of his posing pouch, Vince stretched his shoulders back.

Between each thumb and index finger, Vince stretched the elastic thread higher. He was riding high. He felt indomitable. Vince pulled the elastic tauter. It snapped, leaving a string clinging, wet against his oiled right thigh. He felt a flush of nerve and knew he could not loose his cool. Only for the briefest instant, Vince stood timidly still. Sweat kept the gauzy pouch in place. Vince braced his shoulders and danced his pecs in an alternating rhythm. He felt as ease. At the summit of his career he would pull though.

From the packed house, A rowdy voice hollered, "take it all off!" All around the auditorium, there were boisterous echoes. The stomping chant of "Vince! Vince! Vince!" changed to calls of "Strip! Strip! Strip!" Another rabble-rouser hollered, "Get naked!" Vince kept calm and eased into his last hot shot, a side double biceps. The crowd roared it approval. Vince sensed oil shimmer under the hot spotlight, down his pees. Down his abs. Down into his shaved, hairless pubes. As he turned, he also felt the gauze slither with each shift of his feet. Cautiously he fumbled for the loose elastic string that dangled over his thigh. Never losing his bright smile and his regal confidence, Vince Tandy eased out of the spotlight to stand in the shadows, leaving the next, seeming final act to Mike Miller.

In the shadowy dark of the stage, the pin-spot waited empty. In his head, Mike Miller heard a silent drum-roll. "What the hell? Was he crazy? Was he losing it?" He rolled the sides of his red bikini posing suit under his palms and shimmied it over his highs. When it fell to his ankles, buck