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Old April 12th, 2012, 05:50 AM
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Ultra GMan
Blessing or Curse? Chapter 1

[Hey all -- this is a story I've been writing elsewhere, but thought I'd share with you guys here. There is muscle growth in the later chapters but not the earlier ones, which is why I hadn't posted it here initially. Right now it's up to 17 chapters with more on the way, so I'll post a few each day as to not overload the board with all the installments right at once. Anyway, hope you enjoy! I've loved so many of the stories here that I thought I should return the favor.]

Blessing or Curse?
by Ultra Gman

Chapter 1

I guess I should explain why I'm writing this. You see, there's a lot of misconceptions going on out there about what it's really like to have my particular... condition, I suppose. Some people in the gay community call it the "blessing." Those of us who have it call it that sometimes, but it's just as often referred to as the "curse." But I don't think that everyone else out there really gets what it's like to have it. I figured I'd write these journals and put them out here on this blog so you can see just what it's like to be, well, me.

Anyway, you can call me John. (What, you think I'm going to put my real name here? Where my boss could find it? Yeah, right.) I look like a pretty average guy at a glance. You know, dark hair, slightly attractive features (or so I prefer to think), five foot nine inches, a little muscular. I go to the gym and I run a lot. Partially because I love running (and other exercise as well), partially because I also love eating. And yeah, partially because when you've got my condition, it's important to stay in shape. It makes things a bit easier if you're feeling particularly... needy.

Sorry, I'm bad at introductions. Maybe I should just jump right into my life? You can certainly pick things up as we go along.

Last night was another typical Monday night for me. I'd gone running first thing in the morning for an hour and knocked out an easy six miles, then headed into the office for most of the day. Work's normally pretty boring, just me working at the BGA (that's Big Government Agency for all of you non-DCers), putting in my eight hours. It's been slow in my department lately, but I've been there long enough that I don't have to worry about things too much. Besides, it's the government, right?

So after going home and having dinner, I changed and headed out to my local bar, the Green Lantern. I like it partially because it's about the most non-pretentious gay bar in DC, and partially because I can walk there. Monday nights are karaoke nights, but I'm not there to sing. I'm there to be noticed. So I've got on a slightly-tight t-shirt that shows off my pecs and biceps (and I have to say, they're looking pretty good as of late), and I fill out a pair of jeans nicely right now. All that running means my calves bulge, and that's not the only place the denim is full these days, right?

When I get to the bar, it's pretty quiet, but I am there a little early. "Hey Josh," I said, sitting down on a stool. The bartender smiles at me and gives me my gin & tonic without even being asked. One of the good things about being a regular. I've actually worked the bar here a few times when they've been short-staffed; they know and trust me, and I went to bartending school the summer before my senior year of college so I could make a little extra money. Mind you, I'd help out anyway. Josh is a sweetheart and a half. He's a tall drink of water, as my grandfather used to say. Built like he came right out of the midwest, which is exactly where he grew up. Short blond hair, dimples, a slight baby face, nice muscles (they put mine to shame), and a little twinkle in his eyes at any given moment. But it's that slow, drawn out way of speaking that gets me every time. I'd drop my pants in an instant for Josh. I'm pretty sure he knows that, too. The fact that he hasn't ever made a move on me? Part of his charm.

But I digress. For the next hour or two, I'm sitting at the bar, slowly sipping my first drink and watching the crowd. It fills up a bit, although most attention is on whomever's singing. A couple of these fellows can really sing, incidentally. I'm not sure I can take hearing Patsy Cline's "Crazy" every week, but if it's the short redhead that regularly sings it then I'll get by somehow. Or that bearish blond who is all about Kelly Clarkson and is almost ready to be ordained as a priest. No, really. He's trying to find a parish that is cool about him bringing his boyfriend. Gotta love the Episcopals.

It's getting close to 10 o'clock when I first met him, though. He's a couple of bar stools over and I can feel him glancing over at me, clearly interested. He's in a crisp white shirt and black pants, like he came right from the office. Then again, I can also see a lanyard attached to a badge that's tucked into his shirt pocket, so that's not much of a leap of logic to make. He's got big, thick rimmed glasses on, the kind they used to wear back in the '60s, and it's really hot on him. Sort of geeky and studly at the same time. I can imagine him on the beach wearing a pair of old school black squarecuts, those glasses, and a pipe. Hot. And I don't even like pipes.

I lean over to Josh and ask him to give '60s guy a drink on me, and about ten minutes later my admirer walks on over. "Thanks," he says, a little shyly. Oh god, he's got a deep southern accent. I'm glad I'm sitting on a barstool or my knees would have gone a little weak. "That's mighty kind of you."

I smile in response. "My pleasure," I reply. "I figured I should at least buy you a drink before I make you take something off."

'60s guy blinks for a second, and then blushes a deep shade of red. "Your dork badge," I clarify with what I hope is a cheeky grin, and reach out and tug on his lanyard. "You forgot to take it off."

"Oh, oh oh!" he stammers, still blushing. He yanks the badge out of his pocket and I catch a glimpse of his name--it's Charles--before he pulls the lanyard off entirely and stuffs the whole thing into a pants pocket. "I think I'd go to bed with it on sometimes, I'm so forgetful." Finished blushing, he puts his drink down on the bar and sits next to me.

"That's ok," I said. "Besides, we can talk about what comes off next whenever you want."

Charles pauses, and then laughs.

About an hour later, we're walking back to Charles's place. He also lives close to the Green Lantern, which makes sense since it is a Monday night and there's no reason to go afield. By this point I've made him blush four or five more times, which is fine by me. I know his blood is pumping. More importantly, for the past twenty minutes or so he's had a rather large erection pushing hard at the front of his pants, and I finally couldn't take the waiting game anymore. Leaning over, I started whispering in his ear that we should go somewhere a little more private--and then, to seal the deal, I gave his ear a little lick.

Honestly, at that point I could've asked him to have sex with me in the center of Thomas Circle and he'd probably have done it.

We walk into his condo and he flips the light on, apologizing for "the mess." It's not bad, really, just some newspapers and magazines on the couch and floor, a framed vintage movie poster leaning up against the wall waiting to be hung. "I'm not here to award a Good Housekeeping award," I reply. Grabbing him by the hand, I pull him up to me and push my mouth up against his.

He's a pretty good kisser, moving his tongue around a little too vigorously in places but I'm not going to complain. I can feel his penis straining to get out of his pants, and my own pants are also tented by now as well. Slowly I begin to move my mouth down his neck, unbuttoning his shirt as I go. He's a pretty handsome guy; not very hairy, which means I won't have to worry about flossing afterwards. But he's got great pecs--then again I think I saw a tennis racket in the corner of the room--and he tastes like salt.

The next thing I know, we're in his bedroom and he's down to his underwear. My pants and shoes are back in the living room, and he's tugging my shirt off as well. I just clipped my chest hair down to a shortish length, and as he runs his fingers up and down it, I'm getting a great thrill. His hands are running down my sides, now, and then his thumbs hook on my boxer briefs and pull them down in one fell swoop.

My penis proudly bobs in the air, all seven inches of it. Without saying a word he goes down on it, getting almost the entire thing into his mouth on the first try. Damn, he's good at this. I grip his shoulders tightly and instinctively push my hips up a little bit, his fingers tickling my balls while he continues to suck my dick.

Before long he pulls off, though, and I am starting to realize that this na?ve southern boy might not be so na?ve after all. His own underwear is off now, and as he reaches for a condom to push onto his eight inch penis (trust me, I'm an expert at eyeballing penis sizes by now) I know I'm in for a good ride tonight in more ways than one. Pushing my legs up into the air, he slaps a little bit of lube on his condom, and then pushes into me, hard.

I'll be honest here. I've had a lot rougher than this, so I'm ok with it. But I know that's not what he wants me to do, to prop up on my elbows and say, "Yeah, that's cool." And of course, with my condition, even if I wasn't used to it being so rough I adjust to this sort of thing pretty quickly. But instead I gasp loudly, a startled, "Oh!" for his benefit. And I can tell that's really getting him going, and he starts ramming into me hard and fast, and I begin a series of gasps and moans. Mind you, they aren't really faked at this point. He's got a nice sized penis, and he really does know how to work it well. This? This is good.

About ten minutes or later, I can see it on his face that he's starting to try and hold back but isn't too sure how much more he can hang on. That's actually a good thing, because I'm starting to see little sparks, so to speak. So I let out another gasp, and then let myself release. As my cum starts shooting onto my chest, Charles gives a little shudder and then starts orgasming as well, giving an extra-hard thrust with each spurt into the condom. In a minute or so he's finally done, and the two of us are sprawled on top of his bed, panting and our limbs all tangled together.

He leans his head on my pecs (which are cum-free but only because I'd jacked off yesterday) and gives out a long sigh. "That was great," he finally says. "God, John, you're the best thing that's happened to me all month."

"It's the second," I drawl in response.

"Yeah, but yesterday sucked," he replied, and then laughs.

As we continue to lay there, I can feel the warmth starting to spread in my junk. Here we go, I think. Hopefully he isn't noticing what's happening below the belt (if I still had a belt on). I kiss him a few times, and then ask if it's ok to use his shower. He nods, and I scoop up enough of my clothes and scoot into the next room.

The hot water sprays down on my body, as I lather up and clean myself off as best I can. I stop for a minute and do an especially good sudsing up on my penis. Giving it a few strokes, it quickly plumps up to its full length. Sure enough, I'm now up to eight inches. But I know it's only a matter of time until it gets even larger.
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