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Nifty - Gay - College - Bodybuilders Sons And Dads - Bodybuilders Sons And Dads 1

 
Date: Tue, 15 Feb 2011 12:29:48 -0800
From: M. D. <usmcbb@gmail.com>
Subject: BODYBUILDERS: SONS AND DADS

MUSCLE SON
________________

The win at the Nationals placed Andy at the top. His body responded with a
testosterone rush that blew him away.

Coach knew it was time to bring Andy to the next level. Don had been
coaching collegiate wrestling for 25 years and could spot talent
immediately. He loved his boys as his own, but some more than others, and
it showed. Watching Andy grow into the nation's best wrestler brought him
enormous pride and a very close relationship with the boy. He knew that his
post game conference with Andy needed to be very direct.

225 packed onto a 5'10" frame earned Andy the nickname "fireplug." And he
used it to his best advantage on the mat. He'd been to the Nationals three
times previously but never placing first. This was indeed a special
day. The pregame session with Coach had been intense, more intense than
usual. He and Coach stood next to each other in front of the full mirror in
his office. Andy, wearing his favorite singlet; coach in his suit and tie.

Andy couldn't see it, but he knew that Coach's EG&A USMC tattoo was
underneath the white shirt and it made him feel connected, his own tat
clearly visible on his right bicep.

Instinctively, he flexed it and coach naturally put his hand over it and
whispered into the wrestler's ear "that's it son, right n' tight for
coach."

Andy smiled and flexed tighter his 20" baseball bicep swelling with blood
and pride that he was making his coach proud. Don placed his other hand on
the nape of Andy's high and tight.

Coach had made sure that before every match that Andy was smooth, shaving
him so that there was no chance that another grappler might snag him. It
was common practice, but Coach took extra care for this match. As an ego
boost for the young wrestler, Coach gave him a full, regulation high and
tight haircut, inching Andy closer to the Marine that he wanted to
become. It was a perfect high n tight. Standing next to Andy, Coach and he
looked very similar save the age difference. Don ran his fingers over the
boy's bicep and by reflex, tensed his own bicep, swelling with affection.

Don took muscle very seriously. At 56 years old, he knew that he was
approaching the upper limits of professionally competing in the
bodybuilding world. As a Marine, he took great care of his personal
appearance and always kept the USMC look. Close cropped hair, tight shirt
and pants, even wearing his old PT gear at the gym. His dress blues hung
neatly in his closet, no reason to it, but he liked to stroke the blood
stripe every now and then to remember the years he spent serving and the
way it made him feel to be a Marine.

The broad USMC tat and the USMC bulldog stretched tight on his tank top
might have been why Andy approached him in the gym to ask for a spot on the
bench press. Andy was at the height of his physical challenges and needed a
push to go farther, whether he knew it or not. Coach did and responded
immediately. Andy's genetics offered a lot. Defined pecs hung over a true
eight pack. Legs that only years of wrestling practice could develop and
the thick neck of a hardcore weightlifter.

Andy liked how he looked, often comparing himself to the pros in the
bodybuilding mags. Alone in his room, he often would imitate the poses by
the pros especially after Coach had helped him shave before a game. A
bottle of baby oil in his nightstand helped him feel like a true
bodybuilder, a dream he has been hanging onto for years. His posing was
weak, but good for a young man his age. The oil, the pump from jacking iron
and a good look at the latest muscle mags was all he needed to get into the
head that allowed him to really focus on how his muscular development was
progressing.

It was natural that Andy and Coach would walk to Coach's office after the
win. Coach's arm around Andy's neck, his thumb stroking the smooth skin of
the shave nape of his wrestler Marine high n tight. Coach could feel the
tension in the kid's neck and feel the damp sweat through the wrestling
singlet. He flexed his chest naturally, making the dress shirt taught
against his 50" chest. A size he was determined to get Andy to and bigger.

Don walked into the back of his office to change from his business suit, a
tradition for him to show the wrestlers' respect and professionalism. Andy
sat down in the chair in front of Coach's desk. Andy looked around.
Pictures lined the walls, a tribute to coach's work over the years. In each
one, without exception, Coach stood with a previous wrestler, individually,
with his hand on their neck and a serious kind of smile. Each wrestler, in
the college white singlet, two bands of navy blue and gold running down the
side had a clarity about them, A dedication of sort. And each of them,
every one in the twenty-odd photographs had his hand cupping his balls
slightly.

Andy didn't pay too much attention after the quick scan, sitting back down
and thumbing through the muscle mags on the Coach's desk.

Don felt more comfortable after a quick shower and shave. He walked out of
the private bathroom wearing his white boxers, smelling of soap and
aftershave. Andy didn't notice Coach's approach. He was focused on a spread
in the magazine showing the Master's competition earlier that year and one
photograph in particular: Coach in his posers with his arm around Nick, a
wrestler Andy knew who had won the Nationals three years previous and was
now an active duty Marine.

"You like that picture son?" Coach placed his hand on Andy's shoulder,
softly gripping it. Andy's reflex was to pump his bicep, something Coach
knew would happen.

"Nick's a good kid. Great wrestler, not as good as you though, son." Coach
explained further.

"Wasn't ready to compete, but he came down to Austin to see me win the
Masters. Good kid."

Andy knew Nick as a hard core wrestler who spent a lot of time with Coach.

"You look great, Coach," Andy said. He relaxed into the back of the chair,
feeling both Coach's hands rubbing his shoulders. He spread his legs, his
wrestling shoes hooked around the legs of the chair.

"You want to compete, son?" Coach's hands were now resting on the straps of
Andy's singlet.

"Yes," Andy whispered. "Yes Sir."

"What was that son, I didn't hear you," Coach barked.

"Sir Yes Sir!" Andy barked back sounding every inch the Marine. Coach drew
closer, his boxers now a few inches from the back of Andy's neck.

"Good boy, we're gonna make that happen for you this year. You already have
the size and definition. Just need to get you polished up, son."

Andy's head leaned back, barely touching Coach's boxers. Coach's hands were
now firmly planted on Andy's chest, the slick singlet material covering
well defined pecs, the material stretching tightly over the deep rift
between them.

"Just relax, son, you deserve this." Coach slid his hands down over Andy's
chest to his rock hard abs.

Coach knew how it felt. He was a wrestler first, bodybuilding came after
and from that. He knew Andy was exhausted and jacked up at the same
time. He knew that smell of a hard-won match, the overdose of testosterone
running through Andy's body. He knew exactly how a tight singlet felt, the
smooth muscle drawing it tighter and tighter.

He'd been coaching for almost 25 years now and could tell a real wrestler
who wanted to be a bodybuilder from just a glance. He knew who were the
muscle heads. He also knew how young muscle jocks reacted when they first
put on their wrestling singlets. Most of them got hard immediately. They
all got hard eventually, no matter how they tried. It's just what muscle
jocks do when they're around a bodybuilder.

Andy was different though. He was dedicated and hungry, Coach could
tell. He bent over, his blond mustache barely scraping Andy's whitewalls.

"You know I love you like a son, don't you Andy?" Andy nodded.

"You always needed a muscle dad, haven't you?"

Andy knew he did. And he wanted to call coach "dad" ever since he joined
the team. Alone, at night, he thought of Coach as his dad, wanting to be
beside him as he lowered his hand into his underwear and stroked himself
off, each and every night. Sometimes he would whisper Coach's name as he
shot ropes of cum onto his leg. Then using his wrestling practice tee, he'd
clean up, saving a little bit to rub into his high 'n tight.

"Yes, dad." Andy said softly.

"Just you and me, son." Coach knew the boy was ready.

He could see his champ's cock swelling against the leg of his singlet,
could feel his heart beating quickly and the scent of muscle and sweat grew
heavy in his nose. Coach reached down and placed his hand lightly on Andy's
cock, rubbing it through the white singlet. He could feel the young muscle
jock respond instantly, as if by rote, to his touch. The small spot of
precum on Andy's singlet serving as enough lubricant for Coach's index
finger that was rubbing the head of his star player's cock. Andy came hard
and fast, the cum soaking the front of his singlet. He'd never felt
something as powerful as this and it took him a few moments to regain any
sense of himself. The wetness of his singlet made it cling to his cock and
abs. Coach's hand rested on his balls, making sure that Andy knew he was
still there.

"There you go son. Now you know what being a bodybuilder is all about."

Don stepped around the chair so that he stood in front of the spent young
muscle jock. His own cock hard in his white boxers. He had worked up a
sweat from jacking his son off. The raw masculinity of the act triggered a
deep bond between them, so when Coach started to rub Andy's neck, it was
natural for him to lean forward.

Andy swallowed his Coach's cum like a natural. Coach's hands stroking his
neck, he didn't have much choice, the reflex was too powerful. The taste
was uncanny. And he greedily swallowed all of it, leaving Coach's cock
glistening, clean and powerful. He stood in front of Andy, his feet spread
shoulder width, his boxers around his ankles and rested his hand on the
back of Andy's head. He looked down at the top of Andy's Marine cut and
spat, rubbing it into the sharply cut hair.

"Just you and me, champ," he said lowly.

"Son." Coach exhaled, leaned forward and kissed Andy with a deep, forceful
kiss that sealed the deal.

They were bodybuilders, father and son, and they were locked tight in the
smell, taste and muscle of true, intense masculinity.

Don felt at home in the pump room of the competition. But it was Andy's
first time and his excitement was contagious, making Don feel like a kid
and a dad at the same time. The previous nine months were intense, for both
of them. Andy had grown so quickly and solidly that Don wondered just how
big he could get him, seeing the potential of a true bodybuilder. And Don
worked even harder than usual to prepare for the competition wanting to be
his best for his muscle son. His baseball sized bicep peaks had grown to
softballs, his abs a clear eight pack and his back a map of dedication.

Andy's progress was astounding. His frame showed of his genetics as well as
his work with Coach in the gym. Perfectly square pecs were a cold 50", his
biceps round and holding at 23", by far the largest of the group of
competitors. His quads swelled under his shorts and the calves rose out of
wrestling shoes to a perfect diamond.

Don was damn proud and it showed. He had worked non-stop with Andy to get
him ready and his expectations were exceeded. Don made sure his son had the
tightest cuts, the mass where he needed and a tight, crisp high n tight to
go with their shared USMC tats.

They had spent almost all of their time together during training and the
bond they first explored had become so tight that they didn't correct
others when they assumed they were father and son. Indeed, Don was forming
Andy into his own image. He took care of all the details: the grueling
diet, the supplements, the gym fees. He even went so far as to make sure
Andy dressed appropriately to his new stance as a bodybuilder, Not a muscle
jock. Not an aspiring bodybuilder. A competition-ready bodybuilder.

Don took care of the administrative stuff, booking the hotel room and
registering them for the competition. He had made sure that they staid at
the host hotel, so it wasn't far for Andy to take their bags up to the
room. The woman at the front desk of the hotel assumed they were father and
son and said so. Don said nothing to dissuade her from that. Andy gathered
the bags, realizing one of them wasn't familiar but let it be. Carrying
their heavy gear through the lobby, his white tank top stretched tight over
his chest and his biceps naturally flexed, he saw a few of the older
bodybuilders in the lobby stare and smile. He was at ease being surrounded
by other muscle. It felt natural. No events were scheduled for the evening
so Don wanted to be alone with Andy so they could focus on the next day's
preliminaries.

At 56, Don had been to over ten of these events and knew the scene very
well. He walked towards the elevators, stopping to exchange handshakes and
pats on the biceps with Master competitors he'd known for years. One, an
old friend asked Don about the muscle jock he had seen. "That's my son," he
replied with a smile. The friend nodded and smiled in return. He knew
exactly what Don meant.

Don was a natural coach, so when at the competition previously, he
naturally drew the younger muscle heads asking for tips. And more. The word
"gay" didn't have much weight in these situations. Muscle attracts muscle
and it was unspoken what went on behind closed hotel doors even though
every one knew. Don had the pick of the litter. A few years back he took
care of a young cop from Baltimore who was so roided up he couldn't stop
flexing as Don gave him the hand job of his life in the lobby bathroom. He
left the cop panting, cum running down his uniform and sweat dripping onto
his Dehners.

Another year it was a young college muscle jock, a baseball player or
football, Don didn't care but the guy didn't stand a chance on the stage
but was so unbelievably into muscle that Don masterfully edged the poor kid
for an hour before watching him cum on the mirror. And himself and Don. He
taught the kid all about muscle worship that night, until the jock couldn't
take it anymore. Little did he know that Don was slowly feeding of the
kid's muscle. Swallowing his cum and licking the testosterone off his pores
so that he would get bigger off of his work.

The kid was spent but Don kept going, sucking him off three more times
until the kid couldn't come anymore. The jock was in pain on the last
orgasm, pleading with Don to stop. Don did blow a load onto the guy's face
but by then it was too late and too little. The kid withdrew from the comp.

This year was very different. Coach had a clear focus and knew exactly how
to get his son to the finals.

Don took visualizing winning very seriously. The two trained hard that
night at the local Gold's, making sure Andy wore exactly what he told him
to. A USMC tank top a size too small, a jock, Marine shorts and a pair of
high top wrestling Otomix. By the time they got back to the hotel room,
they were both jacked up, primed and ready for what was next.

"There's a reason I wanted you to wear that gear, son." Don continued,
"it's what I wore to prep for my first competition. I've been waiting for a
true son to give it to." Andy reflexively tensed his pecs.

________________

The lightest touch could make Andy blow his load, so Don was careful,
playing him as close and deftly as he could. And he could, very well. With
each pass of his fingertips over his son's cock in his wrestling singlet,
he edged Andy closer. Staring straight into his son's eyes as he gently
brushed the USMC EG&A on his hard leg, the other hand just lightly feeling
the precum ooze through the tight red fabric.

Andy's knees were buckling, growing weaker with each stroke. His hips
pushed forward at the top of each brushing movement. He couldn't help
it. His arms were wrapped around Don's thick neck and stared back at his
dad, giving up control of his muscular body to the one man who made it
hard. When they embraced like this, they both knew it was more than a
post-workout jack off, it was the result of Don building his son's body;
bringing him nearer to perfection as his muscle son.

Don knew every inch of Andy's body and Andy his. Don was the sculptor and
Andy his creation in his own image: an all-American, blond Marine
bodybuilder. His son's skin tanned and smooth, his blue eyes staring back
at him as Don continued slowly stroking his son's cock in the official
Marine Corps wrestling singlet he gave Andy. It was his at his age, and it
felt natural.

Andy's sweat was beginning to show on the chest of the singlet, mixing with
his dad's previous scent in the material. Andy's eyes were rolling back and
forth now, his cock hard as only his dad knew how to get it; the singlet
material outlining his cock, thighs, ass, chest. Don leaned forward and
spat into Andy's open mouth and delivered the final stroke to his son's
cock. At that moment, Andy swallowed and let thick, pent up streams of cum
flood his singlet.

Nearly blacking out from the sensation he collapsed forward, his dad's
enormous arms embracing him, slowly stroking his neck. Don reached down and
held Andy's balls through the singlet material then took his finger and
inserted it into Andy's mouth. Andy swallowed hungrily, just as he did his
dad's cum minutes later. Just as he would continue to do as the young
muscle jock grew larger from his dad's coaching.

Don and Andy had become inseparable. Andy was growing fast, not only in
bulk, but also in definition and attitude. His Marine stance, haircut and
clothing all worked to make him look and act just like Don. Don brought
Andy to a few competitions as an audience member but knew that soon, very
soon the kid would be competition ready. He spent all his free time with
Andy and controlled every aspect of his training in and out of the gym. And
Andy grew into the role beautifully. He mimicked his dad's posture, dressed
often in his old gear and spent every moment of his day trying to be more
like him.

The NPC Collegiate Competition was that weekend and Don had a surprise for
him. Andy and would attend, but this time, Andy was going to compete.

Don knew his son was ready to compete. His youthful muscle jock was now a
formidable young bodybuilder, his chest now 52" and cut into perfect
squares. The eight pack abdominal muscles were tight as a drum, his arms
well machined pipes and his legs, already enviable from wrestling were now
the shining, smooth powerhouses of a true bodybuilder.

But Don wasn't taking any chances. Andy was going to make his dad the
proudest and Don was going to make certain that Andy walked off that stage
with the trophy in his hands.

"Son, how badly do you want to compete?" Don knew the answer but he asked
Andy. They were sitting in the hotel lobby having a quiet dinner before
tomorrow's competition.

"You know how badly I want to," Andy replied.

"Good. You're ready now. I took care of all the paper work, you'll be in
the light heavies."

Don rose and placed a business card in front of Andy with a room number
written on it. He patted his son's shoulder and let his thumb press against
the whitewall on thee side of Andy's head. He knew he had to let Andy
experience this on his own and left, heading up their room to finish the
competition paperwork.

________________

In the elevator, Andy checked himself out in the mirror, preparing for
something but he didn't know what. He was pumped at the image. A white
Under Armor shirt with a high band for the collar, on which was embroidered
"USMC." A quick flex in the mirror showed how skin tight the shirt was, his
pecs and abs and biceps, even the traps were in high definition. The red
white and blue stripes of his jock were just visible above the waistband of
his 501s. Tight 501s tucked into his unlaced, spit polished leather
Corcoran jump boots. The large EG&A belt buckle polished it off. He liked
what he saw, every inch a Marine bodybuilder. The blond flattop, clean
shaven face and a true muscle head.

Walking down the hallway to the indicated hotel room, Andy checked out his
profile in the decorative mirrors that lined the hall. He knew there were
other people and was mindful to be discreet, but still, he really did like
what he was seeing; becoming more comfortable in his skin.

"How ya doin' son, Don said you'd be stopping by. Come on in. Name's Kurt."
He extended his hand which Andy shook, Kurt placing his other hand around
Andy's thick forearm and grasped them tight.

"So," Kurt said, "looks like you're our newest competitor tomorrow for the
Collegiate." He walked with Andy, arm around his shoulder drawing him into
the room. Andy quickly scanned the room: Dehner boots in the corner, high
polish. A uniform in dry cleaning plastic that he couldn't quite make out,
a few suits hanging next to it. Muscle magazines on the bed and a stack of
folders on the small table by the window, each with a picture clipped to
the front.

Andy felt comfortable, especially for meeting a stranger but he knew this
was right and relaxed.

"Don say's it's your first comp tomorrow," Kurt said as he looked down
while pouring two glasses of single malt. "Tough comp to start with," Kurt
handed the tumbler to Andy. "Prost!" Kurt said, slamming his glass against
Andy's and they each drank, Andy coughing most of his up through his
throat.

Kurt slammed him on the back and let his hand run up his spine to rest on
the back of Andy's high n tight.

"Relax, old friend of Don's, served together and even competed a few times
together. Beat his ass at the last Masters."

Kurt took a Marine stance shoulder wide and held Andy's chin in
his hand, tilting it upward. He looked concernedly at Andy's jaw, "you'll
get rid of that five o' clock shadow tonight son."

Andy nodded and looked into Kurt's steely gray eyes.

"Sir, Yes Sir!" reflexively, Andy answered, his blue eyes staring back at
Kurt's intense gaze. Determined, powerful and purely commanding. Andy
flexed his pecs and he didn't know why. But it felt right.

"Good, son, let's get you competition ready."

Kurt stood solidly in front of Andy. Probably about dad's age, maybe a bit
older, he was not as muscular as Don but more defined and agile. Gray,
razor sharp flattop and gray mustache, Kurt was 6' 2", 235 of refined, well
kept muscle. Perfectly shaved body except for a chest of gray hair closely
cropped. He wore a taught white tank top with a symbol on front Andy didn't
recognize. A thick black belt around his 34" waist held snug the cammo
shorts. Like Andy, he wore Corcoran jump boots, unlaced, squarely defining
the diamonds of his calves. This was, without doubt, a military man. A
man's man who had been around muscle for a long time and had defined
himself by that. Andy trusted him and felt comfortable as he only did when
in the company of true muscle and masculinity.

There was something about Kurt's stance that kept Andy's attention focused
on the ripples of abs under the white tank top and the belt buckle, an
insignia like the Marine's but not quite somehow more elaborate. The V
of Kurt's body kept drawing his eye to the belt buckle, the wide footed
stance, Kurt's absolute presence, his stillness mesmerized Andy.

Kurt placed his hand around the back of Andy's head and pulled him forward
until his forehead rested only inches away from the belt buckle.

"That's it, son, relax." Kurt stroked Andy's nape briskly.

"We're gonna get you ready for the comp, champ."

"First thing we're going to do is take an overall of you, son," Kurt said
to the top of the Marine's head. "So stand up and let's get a look at you."

Andy complied. Tuned into the masculinity in the room, he stood at parade
rest, arms behind his waist as he pushed his chest forward and flexed
harder than he ever did before. Kurt circled behind him, taking a stance
directly behind him so that he was slightly askance, both could see Andy's
body in the mirror standing leaned against the wall. Andy was focused like
never before. This was a different feeling than what he had with Don.

"The first thing is to relax, to own your place on the stage," Kurt almost
whispered into Andy's neck. "Be proud of your work, the dedication, the
growth."

Kurt was directly behind Andy and his arms were on his shoulders.

"Square your shoulders with your feet." Andy complied, and anticipated what
Kurt would ask next by raising his head so that his jaw was square. He
wanted to present the profile of a muscle Marine.

"Son, I'm going to get you ready to compete for the first time so I need
you to pay attention and to relax as we go through this. My buddy Don got
you this far and he did a damn great job but I'm here to polish
you up, get you prepared and honestly, son, get you to win the comp, so
trust me and I'll do ya right."

Andy nodded.

"Good boy, don't talk, just listen and respond naturally."

Andy nodded again.

There's a feeling only bodybuilders can sense when they come together. Kurt
ran his hands over Andy's pecs, lightly, feeling the slick material contain
the swelling muscle.

"I know, son, don't fight it, I know you can't help flexing. I want you to
flex wherever I touch."

Andy nodded, feeling more comfortable.

The kid's pecs were perfection and Kurt knew it. Slowly, calmly, he ran his
fingertips down the abs, strumming them like a clothed guitar. Andy stood,
leaning back slightly to tense the eight pack. He felt Kurt's hands
stroking his abs through the skin tight shirt.

"Son, your dad did a damn good job. I was in the audience at the Nationals,
kid, you were prime then. Damn, Don did a good job."

Kurt enjoyed stroking the kid further, getting him off on his own muscle
and his own achievements.

"Don't worry, buddy, I know how you two get along. And I'm not interfering
with that, just here to help you reach a potential you didn't know you
had."

Kurt's hands rested one hand on his belt buckle, the other on Andy's.

"Feel ready, kid?"

Kurt and Andy stood stock still at attention. Kurt, pressing his pecs
against Andy's traps and back, feeling the sweat and heat rise through the
flexed muscle through his shirt. He reached around, Kurt's own massive,
baseball biceps embracing Andy's traps and held onto his belt buckle with
both hands.

"Time to try something new, Marine."

Kurt unbuckled the Marine's buckle, an act that would get any other man
killed with his nose shoved into his cranium. But Andy stood still, flexing
hard. Sweating hard. The white Under Armor shirt becoming part of his
body. Kurt leaned his head forward so that his gray mustache brushed Andy's
ear.

"It's all about muscle, son."

Kurt flicked the buckle open, letting the motion of his fingers continue to
flow and stroke the band of Andy's jock. "Easy son, time to show off the
work."

"Don gave you his gear, didn't he, boy?"

Andy nodded.

"You're wearing his gear right now like you do every day. Gave you this
shirt he wore when he was your age, right? This jock?"

Kurt stroked the collar band where the USMC emblem, the Eagle, Globe &
Anchor stretched over Andy's thick wrestler's neck. Kurt's other hand ran
softly over Andy's left bicep. Andy, without thinking flexed it harder than
ever before, the baseball peak stretching the Under Armor material into a
perfect mound. Kurt stroked it back and forth and held it in his hand. He
gave a broad smile to Andy who was staring intently at his own bicep.

"That's it, son. Focus on how that feels. Feels good, doesn't it?"

Andy nodded, too focused to speak.

Kurt kept stroking the muscular pipe. "It's all about muscle, son. That's
the whole point of bodybuilding, son. To get off on your own muscle."

Kurt reached into the open front of Andy's jeans and let his hand rest on
the Marine's jock. He didn't stroke it, just let it hold Andy's cock and
balls. As he continued to stroke the bicep, Kurt felt Andy's cock stiffen
and his hips begin to move back and forth.

"That's it son. Only true bodybuilders know how this feels. You're not a
muscle jock anymore, son. You're becoming the bodybuilder you always wanted
to be, right?"

Andy moaned, speeding up the thrusts of his hips against Kurt's hand on his
jock, precum soaking the cotton mesh of his and his dad's jock.

"You stopped looking at them in the magazines wanting to be near them, now
you want to be them, isn't that right? You want to take over their muscle
and make it your own. I know son, true muscle heads know it, the
feeling. You want to wear their gear and own their muscle, I'm right aren't
I? You want to be your dad, don't ya?"

Andy was close to coming. Kurt could sense it. Andy had tilted his head
back, slowly moaning and Kurt obliged by rubbing the kid's neck harder and
with more meaning. Andy's entire body was now getting hard. Kurt removed
his hand from Andy's jock and watched as he kept moving his hips, flexing
every muscle in his body. Kurt had achieved his goal, he had Andy to the
point of thinking only of his own muscled body, about being a bodybuilder,
about getting off on his muscle like never before.

Kurt stepped back, watching the kid fucking the air and staring at how his
pecs formed two perfect squares under the material.

"You'd wear nothing else but his jock and boots, right? Bet he gave you all
his gear."

Kurt moved his thumbs up under the white shirt. He lifted it up to expose
the abs and then higher and Andy rested from flexing his guns and raised
his arms in submission to allow Kurt to remove the shirt with a sharp tug
over his head. Andy's smooth torso glistened from the sweat, his abs tight
and perfectly forming an extended eight pack.

Silence.

"Now, boy, we got some work to do. Time to get you deeper into
muscle. Competing isn't fun. It's hard work. And you need to be ready. Take
off the jeans and the boots and yer socks. And the jock." Kurt barked.

"At ease." Kurt knew how to speak to a young Marine. Eying him as he
rounded the stud. A perfect specimen, Kurt thought. Perfect for this type
of training.

Stripped of his gear, nude, Andy still had this feeling of being fully
present.

"OK, buddy. First things first. You're gonna need to shave down."

A hand around his neck, strong and guiding, Kurt pushed Andy towards the
bathroom. Obviously Kurt knew in advance what he needed to do since he had
already put a chair in the bathroom and had laid out several safety razors,
a straight edge, various bottles and a stack of towels.

Not that Andy needed a lot of shaving. His blond hair was already a sharp
high n tight flattop and Kurt didn't need to touch it, it looked regulation
and sharp as it should. His pecs were already polished smooth, It was just
the legs that needed to be shaved of a light, blond peach fuzz. That and a
good face shave and he'd be smooth as any competitor. Truth be told, the
kid could have taken care of this easily, but Kurt thought that he needed
the psychological boost and Kurt, well he wanted to inspect the kid more
closely and get into his head a bit. Don had shaved him before, but this
was a pro job.

"Shaving's important, kiddo, most bodybuilders don't pay much attention to
it but it can make or break a ranking."

Kurt began to heat up a towel and placed it on Andy's head, tilting him
back with a finger.

"Just relax a few minute."

Kurt starting organizing his tools, but kept looking into the mirror behind
him. Andy's pecs were perfect with a deep cleave between them. His legs
were unbelievably muscular from the years of wrestling. Kurt shook his head
and grew a little jealous of Don. Andy's cock rested on his quads.

Kurt took off the towel and lathered the face heavily. Not much to say,
Kurt paid close attention with the straight edge and cleaned his face so
not one piece of stubble remained. Standing behind the seated muscle jock,
Kurt was getting hard staring down at the perfect looking Marine, his cock
beginning to press hard against the restriction of his jock. Kurt ran his
hand over Andy's razor sharp flattop.

"You used Marine hair gel, don'tcha?" Kurt asked.

Andy smiled, feeling bonded with another Marine who knew that "gel" meant a
good load of cum from jacking off in the morning and rubbed into the hair
to make it stand up and extra sharp.

Kurt sat on the rim of the bathtub, pulled the legs of his cammo shorts up
high so that his own smooth, muscular legs were bared. He flexed as he
brought Andy's leg up and rested it on his leg. He started at the ankle and
moved up, against the grain to make it extra smooth. He'd stop occasionally
and rub oil on the newly shaved patch. Both legs didn't take long and Kurt
poured more oil on them, massaging it into Andy's legs, flexed and
alternately relaxed.

"OK, bud, stand up for the next part. Still sitting on the bathtub lip,
Andy stood at parade rest in front of Kurt. "Spread the legs wider, son."

He felt Andy jump a bit when he placed his hand on Andy's upper thigh. His
thumb and index finger to stretch the skin between his pelvis and thigh.

"Don't sweat it bud," Kurt said staring at the hair he was about to remove.

"Gotta shave all of it, son."

Andy was a little awkward and looked aside, but Kurt was determined with a
straight edge. He swiped the area clean with efficiency, his knuckles
occasionally brushing Andy's cock and balls.

"Alright buddy, stand real still for this last part."

Kurt held Andy's balls in his hand and looked up to make sure the kid was
doing OK.

"Yup, son, smooth as a baby's ass, balls too."

Andy took a deep breath. He never had this feeling of a warm hand and
lather on his balls before and his cock responded by twitching a bit. Andy
could sense the beginning of a hard on he couldn't resist and he looked up,
clearly uncomfortable. Kurt knew what was happening to the muscle jock.

"Don't worry son," Kurt said.

"I've shaved a lot of competitors and it happens all the time. Ya can't
help it. Don't worry son. Just between us, just between two bodybuilders."

Andy took a deep breath and looked down as Kurt finished shaving and took
the posing oil bottle in his hand. He applied a thick coat, massaging it
into Andy's balls and inner thigh. This really triggered a full erection.

"Just between us Marines," Kurt whispered and doused Andy's cock in warm
oil, grabbed his cock in a fist and began stroking, twisting his hand as he
went up and down the kid's cock. Andy let out a deep moan, moving back and
forth as Kurt worked his cock.

"Oh god, I'm gonna cum," Andy exhaled.

"That's it buddy, just a regulation Marine hand job. No one needs to know
but us, Marine muscle to Marine muscle."

Andy placed both his arms on Kurt's shoulders, watching the older
bodybuilder's bicep and traps flex and relax as he ran his calloused hand
over his cock.

"Oh, coach." Andy was close.

"That's it son, just like your wrestling coach did for ya in school after a
match, right? Fucking stroked you off every time you won and a few times
when you didn't right?"

Andy nodded, breathing heavily. Kurt varied the rhythm, keeping Andy close
but not letting him cum just yet.

Kurt was enjoying getting into what drove this jock to be a bodybuilder.

"You blew him a few times, didn't ya?"

Kurt didn't need to look up to know that Andy was nodding, he knew it was
true. It always was, so he continued his line of questioning to turn the
muscle jock into a bodybuilder, getting him focused on muscle and muscle
worship.

"Big guy, your wrestling coach huh? Married, probably couldn't keep his
hands off you. Turned you onto muscle I bet, making sure the muscle mags
were out in his office, trained with him privately at his house, I'm
sure. Taught you how to pose, probably worked out together bare chested,
huh?"

Andy was so close his head tilted back and his eyes shut, he was flexing
without even thinking about it, involuntarily.

"Gave you his old singlet from his college days, didn't he. And you wore it
all the time, jacking off in it pretending it was him, I know. I jack off a
lot of young muscle jocks son. They all fall in love with their coach. You
all need older muscle to teach ya all about how muscle feels, you need that
bond. One muscle jock to another. Nothing wrong with an older muscle man
helping out his champ, son."

Deep inside his head, Andy knew he needed this, he needed this
understanding of his drive to compete, to be around and part of muscle. He
was beginning to understand what that meant finally and he could barely see
straight. A small tear from the stimulation dropped from his eye; a bit of
spit drooled down his cheek. He was lost in what Kurt was telling him about
himself.

"I know son, I'll get ya off," Kurt whispered.

Probing deeper, "There's a special bond between muscle jocks and their
coach's son. You needed coach to make you a man, I know. But now you need
another type of coach. A bodybuilding coach who understands your
needs. That's why your dad sent ya to me son. Knew you'd trust another
Marine, an older Marine bodybuilder to show you how powerful that bond
is. Been doing this for years buddy, helping out young muscle jocks get
bigger, find their coach, getting 'em off on muscle off before they even
knew they needed it."

Kurt spread his legs further apart in a solid Marine stance, his boots
inches away from Andy's. He ran his finger under Andy's balls, the oil
lubricating the touch so that it sent jolts of excitement coursing through
Andy's body, forcing him to flex involuntarily.

"That's it, show coach your muscle, flex your bicep son. You used to do
with this your wrestling coach in your singlet I bet, while he stroked you
off, telling you how muscular you were, drowning you in his pecs and
rubbing the back of your high n tight. I knew he did. Couldn't help
himself. It's natural, son, coach cared about you loved you
wanted you to become his muscle jock. Started by priming you up in the gym,
got ya going, took ya to his office so you could both look at who was
it, who was your favorite? Cutler? Priest?"

Andy moaned "coach."

"Yup, jacked off with him over muscle mags at first until that day when he
took of his shirt and flexed for you... just for you in private, didn't he?
You jacked off right there still wearing your wrestling gear. Remember how
that felt? Huh? Your cock hard in that skin tight singlet? The straps
stretching over your pecs? Right? Still jack off to that don't ya?"

Andy was so fired up he didn't realize that Kurt had stopped stroking his
cock. He stood in front of Andy now who was nearly sitting on the edge of
the bathroom counter, his glutes two solid, flexed globes. His cock
standing straight up and dripping enough precum that it was running down
his cock and mixing with the oil on his leg. Kurt slowly massaged the
precum into Andy's muscle.

"You want to do that one more time, huh? Be with coach one more time, say
it Marine."

He didn't wait for the answer, it was clear what this jock needed, what all
muscle jocks yearn for as they get bigger.

"Put this on," Kurt commanded.

He reached into his gym bag and tossed Andy a singlet. The singlet. The
singlet that he wore when he and coach bonded. Don had saved it and gave it
to Kurt before the two met, knowing that his son had to be with his old
coach one more time before he could move forward and become the bodybuilder
that he wanted. Andy's jaw dropped and looked quizzically at Kurt who just
nodded and said "and these" and handed him his old beat up Asics wrestling
boots. He then walked into the bedroom, leaving the kid to gear up.

The distraction let Andy's cock relax to half hard but was still pumping
out precum, enough to soak a small part of the singlet where his cock was
held in place by the stretched cloth. He checked out the bag further and
found his head gear. He strapped himself into the gear without questioning
any of it. It was a natural act he did with coach before each match. His
mind was on autopilot. He missed his old coach and he was getting one more
chance to see the coach he looked to as a father before meeting Don.

"Real muscular guy, right?" Kurt shouted from the bedroom.

"Yes Sir," Andy yelled back.

He stood in front of the mirror, letting all the old smell and sweat and
dried cum flood back into his body, mindlessly rubbing his flexed pecs. He
had grown considerably since then, so the singlet was skin tight, flatter
against his abs, but stretched across his pecs and quads. It was exactly
how he remembered it. White, two red stripes running down the side. The
boots, beaten up but still a respectful all white. The headgear strapped
tight. Andy felt that something intense was about to happen. But he felt at
ease, like he had returned home and knew where everything was, what was
expected of him and how to do it.

"So if Don's right he was a cop, right? Volunteer coach?" Kurt asked as he
rustled with something Andy couldn't make out from the noise alone.

"Yes, Sir, State Trooper."

Andy could hear heavy footfalls approaching the bathroom, but he was lost
in his own image in the mirror.

"Let's take a look at ya, son. Come here." Kurt didn't doubt that the kid
would obey his orders.

"Heh champ, welcome back. Looking good."

The high spit polish Dehners struck Andy's eyes first. Kurt's massive
calves pushed the back of the Dehner boots to their limit. The tan breeches
so tight around his thighs, the stripe down the side curved to accommodate
them. Duty belt slung just above bulge that was pronounced and full. Kurt's
eight pack abs allowed a small space between the belt and his abs. His
torso was clad in a skin tight, navy blue Under Armor long sleeve shirt
with a high collar, CHP embroidered on the side. His chest drawing the
material so tightly that it stretched across his two pecs without touching
the skin. His biceps, cold, filled the sleeves in perfect proportion. Chin
up, flattop and a big, welcoming smile finished the image.

Andy didn't say "coach" so much as breathed it as one would in reverence to
a long lost friend.

Kurt stood solid, still and with force. He placed his hands at parade rest
behind his back and widened his stance so that his chest thrust forward and
his cock pushed even more tightly against the uniform material. He set his
pecs into a solid but relaxed flex.

Andy drew closer. Without words, he stood in front of his coach and reached
out, just pressing on Kurt's pecs, running his hands, and eyes, over his
coach's chest, feeling the warmth under the tight, tan shirt. Both their
gazes turned serious and focused. Kurt effortlessly raised his left arm,
turned his head to stare at it and offered a bicep curl directly in front
of Andy's face.

"Go ahead champ, just like we always did, feel coach's muscle."

Andy ran his hands over Kurt's 25" biceps, lingering on the peak and
feeling the solid weight of the muscle.

"Oh coach, I missed you Sir."

Andy leaned his head forward and rested it on Kurt's pecs. Exhaling. Kurt
wrapped his arm around Andy's neck.

"You know I love you like a son," Kurt spoke lowly. "You know how proud I
am of you son?"

Kurt hit the "s" in "son" with emphasis to drive the point home.

"Watching you at the meet today made me really proud, watching how your
muscles reacted, your determination to win, your pride. I want you to feel
how proud I am of you son."

Both stood with erections in their uniforms. Not an aching, lustful hard on
but a sense of true masculinity growing in their bodies, of having found
one another and forming a tight bond. Kurt ran his hand down the side of
Andy's singlet, following the path of the two red stripes, curving over his
jock's thigh and ass. He let his hand wander to the front of the singlet
and held his hand, motionless on the tight bulge, not moving his hand, only
wanting to connect.

"It's OK son, just between us, just between coach and his muscle jock."

With his hand around his neck, Kurt flexed his arm and turned Andy towards
the table. There lie a stack of muscle mags, old ones, dog-eared and
slightly fading. He opened one of them to a marked page.

"That's the one, isn't it?"

Andy nodded while staring at an old picture of Matarazzo in his
prime. Sharp flattop, tanned and massive.

"Mine too, son."

Kurt stood behind Andy and placed his hands on the straps of his singlet.

"That's it, look harder, focus on the muscle, son."

Kurt's hands ran over his jock's pecs and biceps, feeling Andy get into the
known and comfortable sensation of flexing for his coach without even
thinking of doing it.

"You like getting jacked up like that don't you, son? Pumped from working
out with coach at his home gym, waiting for me to get off duty?"

Andy didn't have to speak, Kurt knew exactly what to say to plug into the
kid's psyche.

"Just the two of us son, jacking iron in the garage, pushing each other. I
know you like it when I lift with you son, still wearing this uniform,"

Kurt pressed his duty belt hard against Andy's back.

"Turning you into a hardcore muscle jock, watching your muscle flex,
together, just flexing together. Any man would be proud to have you as his
son, his All-American Marine muscle jock. They'd probably give their left
nut just to be doing what comes naturally between us, Andy, just to flex
and feel our bodies hard against each other."

Andy's cock was full and heavy, laying against his right quad, the precum
slicking up the singlet, making every move, every flex of his leg feel like
a stroke of his coach's hand.

"You want to get jacked up with coach, don't you? Feel that pump together?
Make coach proud?"

Andy nodded and absentmindedly raised his left hand and mirrored coach's
bicep curl. Kurt stroking his bicep and letting his hand run over Andy's
newly shaved armpit, letting his sweat permeate and cling to his fingers.

"Let's do it, Marine!" Coach barked and Andy knew exactly what to do.

Coach cleared a space and they both dropped, perfectly set on the four
points of their boots and two hands. Both knew from PT in the Corps how to
execute push ups and they did this before and after each lifting
session. The hotel room faded and they were both back in coach's garage,
Andy in his post-meet wrestling gear, coach in his police uniform.

They knocked out 25 with no problem, Kurt barking the reps like the drill
sarge he was. Andy responded like the Marine he was by pushing harder to
make his coach prouder. After the second 25, both were getting harder, the
sweat soaking their uniforms, inhaling each others testosterone. They both
were pushing themselves to get bigger, more muscular, closer to each other
through muscle-bonding.

"Stand up son."

"Make coach proud, buddy."

Andy sat on his heels.

"You know what to do, son."

Kurt took a step closer, both their bodies moving in unison as they
breathed hard to recover from the workout. Kurt put his hand on the back of
Andy's head and stepped up. Andy placed his hands on the back of coach's
Dehners and began by burying his nose into coach's police breeches.

"That's it son. Aw fuck, son. You're gonna make me blow my load in my
uniform."

Andy sucked hard on coach's cock through the material.

"Fuck son, that's it. Yeah. My young Marine muscle jock, fucking
bodybuilder jock."

Kurt was losing it. He didn't intend to get this far, he knew he was role
playing, but this was more than he thought possible. He was getting into
the scene as much as Andy and it felt different than any other time. He'd
played with some serious collegiate muscle. Big guys, heavyweights. They
all ended up in some muscle worship scene and they all blew their loads
like they never did before. Kurt especially liked the college jocks who
didn't know why they were so starved for his muscle. Wrestlers, football,
baseball players, they all responded to an older bodybuilder. But
this. This was something entirely different. He was getting off on his own
muscle in this uniform, with this kid on an entirely new level. He never
lost control and came like this before. Andy's need for his muscle was
overwhelming. Fuck Don. He got there first. Kurt could easily take this
jock to the next level and more, be his real dad more than Don, but fuck,
they were friends and ya just don't do that.

But Andy was bringing him to the edge and the jock knew what he was doing.

"Ah son, that's it, get coach off son."

Kurt was becoming Andy's coach and Andy was becoming his muscle son. Both
were losing focus on their roles, on the parameters. This was becoming
real.

Coach would come home directly from his shift still in full uniform. He
knew Andy liked seeing him in his gear, the tight uniform showing off his
coach's bodybuilder build. The sharp police uniform made Andy draw even
closer to him. Likewise, coach made sure that Andy kept all his gear on
after the match. The singlet accentuated the young muscle jock's tight
frame, his cock, always half hard after a meet like most wrestlers' had a
pronounced round bulge. Something natural about an older muscle cop being
with an aspiring bodybuilder, a young Marine who stood tall and proud,
showing off his muscle to his coach, pushing himself hard to please his
coach. Kurt was thinking of Andy more and more as his son, the son he
wanted badly, to grow into a perfectly refined example of masculinity and
muscle. He was too far gone, he couldn't stop this anymore. Kurt lost
control.

"Oh fuck son, what are you doing to me... aw fuck!"

Kurt arched his back, his muscular pecs stretching the navy blue Under
Armour CHP shirt tight, his nipples visible. He paused breathing as he felt
the massive power of his cock explode inside the CHP trooper uniform.

He'd come in posers before and in his jock. But he never came in a cop
uniform before. It felt awesome, adding a new level of muscle to his
head. The orgasm was complete, fully flooding his body and brain. His huge
load absorbed slowly by the breech material. He could hardly stand,
balancing himself on Andy's shoulders and head. The kid kept sucking,
drinking his coach's cum through the material. Kurt flexed like a spasm, a
wave of muscle rushing over his body. This is what he was seeking with all
those others jock. True muscle sex.

Kurt was always the top. Always. Even when muscle worshiping with the other
muscle jocks, the young muscle always worshiped him, always shot their load
first and at Kurt's command. But now, well, now he was going to help Andy
out and help him discover a level of muscle worship he didn't knew existed.

Kurt lifted Andy up by his hairless pits, slick with sweat. He stood him
before the mirror and stood behind him. The two bodybuilders stared at each
others reflections.

"Come on champ, show coach what ya can do,"

Kurt ran his hands down the straps of Andy's singlet, now wet with sweat
and precum. He looked enormous in the singlet, chiseled muscle, the white
singlet showing off his tanned skin, his blue eyes and blond hair. Kurt
lowered his hand and just brushed the tip of Andy's cock through the
material.

Deeply entwined in the actual coach's identity, Kurt didn't distinguish
anymore. Andy was his boy if even for this session only.

"Just relax son, show coach how hard you've been working out. Show me that
muscle, son. Just like you did for coach in his office after winning the
Nationals."

Kurt's hand now pressed against Andy's hard cock in his wrestling gear. In
the mirror stood an All-American wrestler, his pecs punched out, his cock
clearly outlined in his sweaty singlet getting jacked off by his coach.

"That's it show coach how much you love him, boy. Your a daddy's boy aren't
you son? Like being around older muscle? Safe with me son, gonna make you
my own muscle jock. I looked a lot like you at your age,"

Kurt ran his hand harder the full length of Andy's shaft, getting his cock
ready. Andy moaned but kept his eyes open, staring at his own body as he
flexed.

"C'mon muscle jock, show dad what you're working on. Like coach jacking you
off, I know, only the best for ya son, only between us."

Kurt positioned himself closer to get more leverage on Andy's cock. He
grabbed it through the material and started stroking slowly but solidly,
making the precum act as a lube so the fabric rubbed his cock for its full
length on each stroke.

"Just like coach did, right son? Get you off in your singlet; the singlet
he gave you. His singlet. Jacked you off for a long time until you couldn't
control it anymore and shot a load in your gear, just like you're going to
do for me right now son. C'mon son, be my Marine muscle son. Bond with
coach's muscle. Be coach's bodybuilder like you always wanted. You are a
bodybuilder son."

Andy was silent when he came, but he was forceful. Kurt held his cock in
his fist and felt it surge with power, pulsing out enormous amounts of cum
with such force it pushed the cum through the singlet and ran over Kurt's
fingers and down his leg. Andy wasn't breathing until the last spasm shot
through him, still ejaculating even though he had spent his load.

Near collapse, Kurt held him up, Andy leaning back on his chest, breathing
heavily. Kurt steered him towards the bed where he lie down beside him, his
arm over the jock's chest. Both exhausted, they fell asleep not knowing the
time or even the day, but they did know they were bonded, that Andy finally
got to be with his old coach for one more time and that Kurt was calling
him "son" in his mind as they both fell into a deep sleep.

________________

Don knew it would take as much time as needed to have Kurt work Andy. They
both agreed. The bond between Don and Kurt was rock solid, so he didn't
have any concern about his boy being hurt or freaked out or even shy. He
was, in fact proud of him for taking this next step. When he asked Kurt to
help him out, Kurt simply nodded, held Don's shoulder and said "don't worry
buddy, anything for you and your son."

But not having Andy around the first night was difficult, he had grown used
to having the kid around, not even for sex. Just hanging tight with a young
muscle head, talking about training, being lazy bums together, just regular
guy stuff. He had to admit that he missed his son, if even a little
bit. But that was for others, Don rested solidly on his foundation with
Andy and he was just distracted in his hotel room that night by a hot
shower, shaving with extra precision, being a narcissistic bodybuilder and
generally just shuffling around in his boxers and tank top watching bad
television.

He also knew it might be a day or two before Andy returned. Kurt had a lot
to teach. Don was responsible for getting the old wrestling gear and the
cop gear. He wanted nothing but the rel thing for his son so he had some
strings pulled, favors called in. He knew Andy would appreciate the fact
that it was the real stuff and probably reacted to the unique smell of a
man before anything. "Good for him, I'm glad."

The next morning, Don knew he had to get out and do something, just not sit
around and wait. So he decided to go for a run. Too much lifting without
cardio was always his downfall, so he suited up in his old beat up, twenty
year old Corps sweats and jump boots and was out the door at 04:30.

"Name's Doug." Don looked up and found a guy limbering up next to him
against the wall, obviously going for a run also.

"Don," he extended his hand and shook.

"Going on the west path towards the beach? Could use a running bud."

Don nodded, smiled and said sure, he'd like a running bud too. They started
slow but hit a mutual rhythm soon enough. In between exhales, they talked
in staccato blurbs. Marine Corps. Son competing. Yes, Masters competitor
years ago. Doug responded with 43. Sales rep. Engineering material. Just at
competition as a fan.

Right at the entrance of the beach, they took a break. It was a hard four
mile run at an easy pace, but it seemed like a good resting point.

Just two jocks talking during a break. Doug was from Chicago and obviously
doing well. Wore the latest Under Armour running gear which costs a fortune
Don knew since he was pricing it out for him and Andy. And truth be told,
while Doug went on about his wife and his own bodybuilding efforts, Don was
looking at how he filled out the material. Not a heavyweight, not even mid,
but the 43 year old sales rep from Chicago had a damn good, solid body on
him. Maybe 48" chest, 18 peaked guns, good solid wheels, not bad. 6" maybe
5"11 Don guessed. Not military ever, Don thought, the hair was short but
not too much so to classify as military. Brown. Clean cut guy. Seemed OK in
his book. Obviously a muscle head.

"Next 5 miles in under 0:25," Don barked.

Doug, still trying to figure out this Don guy jumped, said "OK Chief" and
they hit the path running, the ocean to their left, leading towards the
less popular spots.

Doug peppered him with questions as they ran harder. How long in the Corps,
tell me about comps, asked some training tips and diet questions. General
stuff. But as they ran harder, the questions faded and they were getting
winded and slipped in the mode of just two jocks running.

It might have been the lack of focus that caused Doug to trip over some
driftwood close to the five mile mark.

"Damnit." Doug was sitting up massaging his ankle. "Fucking stupid."

"Can you walk?" Don asked, snapping it Marine mode.

Doug attempted to stand and immediately crumpled over, but made it to the
standing position with Don's help and limped about.

"Old college football injury comes and goes." Doug, obviously pissed
at himself.

"Don't worry buddy, got a lot of scars, I'll fix ya up."

It was cool, not cold in the dawn. But Don took off his USMC sweatshirt and
gave it to Doug to put on, kneeling before him examining the ankle in his
white tank top that had become his daily uniform lately. Doug tried to
refuse but Don gave him a Marine stare that convinced the guy that he had
no option other than to piss off a bodybuilder Marine by not putting it on.

"Yup, ya gashed it bad bud," Don spoke to the leg, "need to clean it
out. Ripped the gear up."

"Fuck, I just bought this shit, expensive as hell. Oh well."

Don hated when civilians whined.

Don stood up, shoved out his chest, exhaled and looked around. He spotted
an open-air type of restroom structure and thought must be running clean
water there.

In the voice that comes naturally to a Marine, he barked "GIT UP, we're
walking to that over there and we'll bandage ya up and get you mobile
'cause I sure as hell ain't dragging you around all the back to the hotel."

Doug responded as any guy would. He sucked it up, put an arm around Don's
massive shoulder and limped his way like a wounded soldier to the
latrine. He went on about how sorry he was and what can he do to thank him
and all pretty much nonsense to Don who was just helping out another
jock. Finally he had enough of this bullshit and yelled at him to "shut the
fuck up!" And he did. Until he started apologizing again.

God, Don hated civilians.

Don was a man of action, not of thought in these conditions. The guy was
bleeding heavily. Nothing life threatening but if untreated, he could loose
too much. He leaned Doug against the cement wall, swiping the air-blown
sand away from him. Sat him down and examined the situation up close. The
branch tore a small hole in his tight Under Armour gear but it went deep,
causing the capillaries to rush blood to an open wound. He had to get the
wound clear. Not an emergency, but wanted to make sure he was OK to get
back to the road without making the wound worse.

He reached up and found the waistband of the Under Armour running tights
and pulled them down.

"Whoa, Sarge, ya think that's necessary? I mean..." He skittered closer to
the wall, palms firmly planted.

Don didn't have time for this and said "yes" and gave another look that
shut the guy down.

Tough going with the running tights man, they were skin tight and Don had
to make sure they cleared the wound without tearing anymore skin. So he was
real slow, undid the sneakers and with great care rolled the cloth over the
wound. Without a word, Don proceeded. Doug was just staring now, not
wanting to get this guy pissed off. He was taking care of him like a Marine
and he relaxed knowing that he was in the best care possible.

Don filled his hands with water from the faucet and rinsed the wound. Back
and forth from the bathroom sink several times, paying close attention to
get any dirt or sand out, handpicking wood splinters out.

Now that Don could see that the extent of the naked wound would require
stitches, he took off his tank top and wrapped it around Doug's leg,
pinching the nerve in his knee that makes his calf relax and wound it tight
to protect it.

Doug was in pain and rested his head against the cool cement blocks of the
wall, totally giving up to the Marine's superior skill.

"Man, thanks, I don't know what..." Don looked at him sternly. He shut up.

Don took off his Marine sweats and started rolling up Doug's legs
carefully. "You need to keep warm until I can go get some professional
help." Doug felt warm in this guy's gear. Deeply warmed and looked down at
the USMC emblem and felt safe, warm, taken care of.

"Let's see the neck," Don said, knowing Doug took a deep abrasion when he
fell.

Doug knew better than to object by now and pulled off the USMC sweatshirt
and pulled the collar down on his Under Armour shirt. Don felt for the
waist on the shirt and pulled it up, triggering Doug to raise his hands. He
rolled it over his head and then carefully over the neck.

"Goddamn stupid grunt getting yerself banged up on a run." Don whispered
under his breath automatically.

"Yes, sir, sorry sir." Doug didn't know where that came from but it seemed
appropriate and registered acceptance on Don's face.

"Stay here." There was no option for Doug. He staid. In his jock Don left
the beach bathroom and scouted the territory. The wind had picked up and by
Don's reckoning, they had ran well beyond five miles out into the National
Park area of the beach.

"Fuck."

Don sat beside Doug against the cold cement, told him it might take a while
and hunkered down into a curled sitting position, trying to conserve heat
as it began to rain outside.

"My boy's competing tomorrow," Don stated. "Can't miss that."

"Hell no, won't happen," Doug stated and put his hand around Don's
shoulders.

"You're cold guy, put on my gear, it's rated for winter." Don turned to
him.

"Serious, you're doing more for me than I am for you, do it."

Don stood up and exhaled. His old jock wrapping around steel wrought iron
pelvic bones, his cock flaccid but it filled out the pouch. With no words,
he picked up the gear and inspected it.

"My kid's really into this gear, been trying to get me to wear it."

"Fuck yeah you should with that build. Best for muscle. I wear it all the
time. Even gets me off when I wear it." Doug slinked back from that
comment, thinking maybe he went too far.

"Here man, you got to roll it on at your size, don't try to yank it down."
Doug tried to get up and halfway made it.

"Like this," Doug made with the Marine's sweatshirt.

Don rolled the pants up from his ankles, over his quads and snapped the
waistband on his 34 waist. "Fuck, this is it," Don thought.

"Now with the shirt, you got to relax the arms and chest, roll it over the
neck like this:" Doug tried with the shirt but hit a raw nerve and clenched
down.

They both stared at Don. Don in his mind's eye about how he looked cause he
felt more powerful than in years. Doug was amazed to see a real life
superhero, a bodybuilder Marine in his own gear. Don flexed. And then
flexed his legs, the material clinging to him. He flexed his pecs, the
white rimming making it larger, the collar expanding around his neck. He
couldn't stop flexing, he lost his bearings. The material was skin tight
and Doug, sitting in Don's own gear looked like a defeated jock.

As a favor to a bud and a good sized muscle bud, Don reached down
underneath Doug's waistband and stroked him off. Doug, protesting he was
married with kids, finally relaxed and blew a load in the gear, knowing he
had lost it to a worthier muscle Marine. Don made him shoot in the sweats
and told him "there, we're even, you got a hand job from a bodybuilder like
you always wanted and you get to keep his gear and I get to wear this and
watch my son compete tomorrow. See you there."

Don took out his cell phone he had all along and called 911 and filled them
in.

Don ran back to the hotel at a slow pace, feeling his muscle sculpt the new
skin tight Under Armour.

Don slipped in quietly from the side door, but people noticed.

He was in the pre-comp conference where trainers, promoters and ad sponsors
got the last news before the formal competition. The run had gotten Don
pumped. The new gear helped a lot to show it off. Anywhere else, he might
be looked at with surprise. Here, among bodybuilders and muscle heads and
jocks who knew muscle, he was not a focal point.

He was sweaty from the run. It made the gear cling to him. Even the
better. Doug had good taste, buying the best gear available. Even a few of
the true underground Under Armour heads didn't knew this gear
existed. White bands under heavy shoulder black made his biceps pronounced,
even when not flexed. He breathed heavy. This was muscle home and he felt
comfortable. The skin tight running tights new to him, the broad stripe
down the leg a lot like his Marine Blood Stripe, he stood proud, his cock
half hard as all bodybuilders' are... all the time. They can't help it, the
testosterone fills it. His cock was his cock and it was hard in skin tight
lycra and he thought, "look at it." He was a true Marine bodybuilder.

Standing at the back, he could easily ignore the bullshit commercial
promotion in front. Instead, he scanned the room for his son. He didn't
know why the urgency, just missed him. A lot. The he saw the back of Kurt's
head. Unmistakable Marine high n tight and muscle neck. He slid next to him
on the folding chair and put his arm around him. Said "buddy."

Without moving his gaze, Kurt slid his hand around Don's waist and
flexed. Don flexed in his new gear. It was the silent handshake of
bodybuilders. They sat and listened, while they slowly stroked one muscle
group at a time.

"Let's go to your room to talk, just between us, bud," Kurt said into his
ear.

No words are needed between friends like Don and Kurt. They stood up and
went to his room with purpose.

"Where'd ya get that gear, it's damn hot buddy," Kurt smiled as he watched
his bodybuilding buddy walk in front of him. Don waved it off. Shooting a
bicep curl and a quad thrust to show it off. "Never mind," he said. They
both laughed like the old buds they were and entered Don's room.

"Listen," Kurt, calm now behind closed doors, "your son is powerful buddy."

"Where is he?" Don asked with a little too much emphasis.

"Relax, with an old pro judge friend of mine, probably telling him how to
throw his chest up front, just a time waster, wanted an hour or two with
you to talk. Old judge will probably blow him, you know how they are."

Don got up and poured them both a drink. "Can't thank ya enough for taking
care of him, getting him to that space to let of go of his old coach."

"Buddy, that's just it, I think he needs a coach and a dad. Jock with that
potential is rare, once in a lifetime. I cursed you last night for finding
him first cause I could do a number on him alone, but I didn't."

Don's hands gripped the glass hard and stared at his Marine brother. "You
mean to tell me..."

"Relax, we're muscle brothers, I'd never do that." They both took a moment
to process the information pretending that they weren't doing that.

Kurt rose. Don could see he was wearing the belt buckle he knew. The one
with the eagle and crosses. He could see his old buddy's quads against the
denim, the shelf pecs in his dress shirt, the spit polished boots.

Don immediately rose. The full Under Armour suit feeling more than a second
skin, it felt erotic and weird and natural at the same time. His dick was
getting hard in the tights but he didn't care, he was with a bud from way
back, the guy who got his cherry at his first comp.

Kurt drew him close.

"You remember buddy how it felt? Andy's just starting on it, he needs
guidance, maybe from a better dad." Kurt moved his hand down Don's pecs,
over the taught material and down to the waistband.

"Right bud, just like old times?" Don leaned his head forward. And gave a
grunt.

"Not yet bud, gonna make this complete."

Kurt took the syringe and tapped the head.

"Like I met you Don. First competition. You were hungry for muscle and I
fed you what you needed."

Don tried to flex as the spike went into his bicep. He couldn't.

"Bud, I hate to do this to you, but you understand I need to do it. Andy
needs it and I do, too."

Warmth fled through Don's body, relaxing his body against his will. Dumbly,
he felt Kurt release the needle and swab it with iodine.

"Bud, I'm sorry. I need to do this. I know I said I wouldn't but I need
your son. I'm sorry."

Don understood, damn, his muscle were sweating into the gear or were they
sweating into his, he couldn't tell but he knew he absorbed Doug's muscle.

Don started to move around checking himself in the mirror and liking this
new gear a lot. Now he understood why his son wanted it so badly. The quads
were obscene in this material, the pecs larger than they were. His cock a
full bulge reminding him of wrestling days when he'd get hard on the mat.

Kurt stepped behind Don in front of the mirror. Years of competing together
and apart gave them an easy language. To Kurt, Don had found a new
fetish. The tight Under Armour gear did make him look incredible. Shelf
pecs. Peaked arms, quads that would be hard to accommodate but bent to his
will in this material. The white stripe against the black material pointing
that out. Kurt obliged.

Being a few years his senior, Kurt knew how Don would respond to the shot
as he did when they first met. While Don posed in the mirror, Kurt prepped
the needle and slammed it into Don's neck, emptying the contents with a
quick push.

Standing behind him, Kurt watched as the drug surged through the pumped
muscle and eventually, into Doug's brain where it had maximum effect.

Don felt the familiar roid rush, flushing his face and buzzing through his
brain. But something else in the shot made him drop to his knees and feel
weak. His muscles did not respond to the instinct of flexing, he had
trouble concentrating. Eventually, he was laid out on the floor, exhausted
and confused but feeling Kurt's presence standing in front of him.

Don looked up at Kurt's legs, his Marine haircut brushing up against Kurt's
spit shined jump boots. He tried to reach up, to connect with his muscle
bud but couldn't. He was drooling, his mouth wide open and his cock hard in
the tight gear. Breathing heavily and in a whisper, he mouthed "wha..."

The crab pose was Kurt's favorite and he executed it over Don's head. When
finished, he placed his index finger into Don's mouth which Don felt but to
which he could not respond.

"That's it buddy. Remember when you first came to me? Jacked up and needing
a bud who understood the power of muscle? Remember the first juice shot?
Remember how that got you on my cock and how long we stroked?"

Don's cock arched through his tight gear, a small precum shot darkening the
Under Armour but his mind was struggling to stay present.

"Buddy, I'm sorry to do this to you, really." Kurt stroked the EG&A tat on
Don's left bicep. "But I have no choice, I need Andy as my son. I've never
felt such power from another young bodybuilder. You did good, but I can do
better and bigger than you can."

Kurt reached further down the proud bodybuilder's abs and slid his hand
under the tight waistband of Don's running gear, sliding his hand into a
grasp on his cock, feeling the totally shaved balls and upper thigh.

"You know how it is. you outgrow your coach and start seeking a true muscle
dad. That's what Andy and I have bud." Kurt started slowly stroking the
laid out muscle. Don couldn't resist, arching his back and breathing
deeply.

"Don, you're my true muscle bud and damn, I hate doing this to you, but
buddy the feeling is too strong. Wish you never sent him to me. Don't
worry, I'll always help ya out."

Kurt could see that the extra roid and sedative was taking effect on Don's
muscular frame. He started stroking his pecs and cock like a true USMC
brother.

"I want your son, bud. He needs me and I need him as my son."

Don came hard and easily into Kurt's mouth "thanks, bud, knew you'd
understand."

Kurt drank deep and fully of the defeated bodybuilder's cock, leaving Don
spent and crippled.

________________

Andy could feel the pressure of Kurt's hand on his head, bending him at the
knees since Kurt's muscular quads were right behind his.

Kurt angled from the mirror to the table by the window. With a slow force,
he bent Andy over so that his forehead was resting above the table, his
chin touching. Andy gave a bit of struggle by flexing his muscle in awkward
ways, but he relaxed finally.

Clearing his head, he saw the folders with the competitors' profiles. It
took a moment before he focused on a folder that bore his name. And photos
of him from years ago as a wrestler, a young builder standing next to Don
at wrestling matches, a beaming smile, and finally, above and to the right,
a name card, in a plastic sleeve with a ribbon attached that had Kurt's
name in bold type and underneath "NPC Collegiate: Judge."

Andy felt Kurt's hand on his shaved balls at about the same time he felt
his cock press against his ass. Andy had never been fucked before but it
didn't feel uncomfortable. Kurt knew Marines and he moved his hand around
to grip Andy's pulsing cock. Andy felt a sharp pinprick in his tensed
ass. A warm feeling spread down his legs and into his torso.

"Son, you're gonna take my load and you're going to let it spread through
your body. I'm giving you my muscle, son, cause you deserve it and need
it. I'm going to make sure you walk away with the 1st place trophy."

Kurt thrust harder and bent down so that his mouth was next to Andy's
ear. Andy was silent, completely overwhelmed by his new coach's muscle and
listening intently to his words being planted in his head.

"I'm going to fill you with my muscle, son. I want you to take it. That pin
prick was fast-acting roids. It's going to make you feel a bit weird for a
bit as your body reacts to it, but relax, I got your back." Kurt thrust
deeper, feeling ready to cum, his own muscle flexing taught.

"Nice and slow, stud. You do what I tell you and I guarantee your win. I am
a judge. And I'll do that for you."

For all the times that Don blew Kurt in the pump room after a competition;
for the times they would jack each other off in front of the posing room
mirror; for all the times Don drenched his buddy's pecs and abs with his
testosterone-laden cum; he would deliver a win to Don as a final present
and through his own perfectly built bodybuilder son.

Kurt's load blew deep into Andy's gut. He just held Andy's hard cock in his
grip, not letting him cum just yet, edging him till he could feel the cum
and the roids mix in his head.

"Good boy," Kurt said as he brought Andy to his wobbly feet.

He leaned a weak and spent Andy against the wall, enjoying watching the
young, muscular Marine get lost in the muscle worship and the strange but
powerful bond he was feeling with Kurt.

"Did good for your first time, son. Now relax and let me take care of you."

Kurt placed his spent cock back in his jock and leaned forward, both his
arms placed on the wall, his biceps on either side of Andy's head. The
sweat from fucking the kid creating an intoxicating odor, filling Andy's
nose with a pure, overpowering smell of total masculinity. Andy's head was
swimming, the roids taking effect. He was being controlled by them and Kurt
and it felt like nothing he'd experienced before.

Andy kept trying to flex his pecs and arms, but he couldn't focus. His cock
was dripping clear precum down his shaft. He had one goal and that was to
have Kurt get him off.

Kurt stood in front, his pecs barely touching Andy's, his five o'clock
shadow and mustache grazing Andy's cheeks.

"Time for you to experience serious muscle worship, son. Time to get off
with another bodybuilder. Time for you to come as a bodybuilder for the
first time."

Kurt spat in his hand and reached down to hold the tip of Andy's cock,
using his thumb to slowly rub just the bit of skin under the head. Andy
kept trying to flex, but the sensation flooded his mind, his eyes rolled
back into his head and he kept thrusting forward into Kurt's hand. Kurt
took Andy's cock by the base, holding his cock straight up and let the kid
pump his fist.

The ropes of cum landed squarely on Andy's chest. When he was done, Kurt
smoothed the cum onto the Marine's chest and on his arms. Andy was so out
of it, Kurt could have done anything to him, but he leaned forward and
place his thumb between his lips and opened Andy's mouth.

He licked a large string of cum off Andy's chest and kissed him deeply.
Andy was a bodybuilder now and he knew the kid's love of muscle had just
begun.

"Tell your dad that you're ready to compete. Tell me that you're going to
win it for me."

Kurt rubbed Andy's neck and smelling of both their cum, testosterone and
muscle.
 
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