I was preparing for my second bodybuilding contest. I was 31, and competed that year at 178 pounds at 5′-9″ tall. It was the best contest condition I ever achieved.

The day before the contest, I went to a friend’s apartment. David had volunteered to apply the fake tan. He was a fitness competitor and I felt a little less self -conscious about having him help me with this.

I went to his place directly from the gym. I still had a decent pump when I arrived. We put newspapers down on the floor in the middle of his sunny living room to protect the hardwood floors.

David turned up the heat, which I appreciated. With my bodyfat down around 6% and stripping down to naked (on his suggestion; to avoid tan lines), the warm apartment was just more comfortable.

Sun streamed in the living room windows and I stood in the middle of the room. Before my friend started to apply the tan he walked around me slowly, appraising my physique.

“Dean, you look good! Your waist is ripped and your ass looks great. I wish I had quads like yours.”

It was kind of weird to hear these things from a friend while I was naked. But, I also liked hearing these things. Not only did it help to alleviate my anxiety about the contest, I LIKED hearing praise for my physique.

He asked me to run through the compulsory poses. As I hit each one, David would appraise my posing and my physique. A couple of times he came up and repositioned my arm, or pushed or pulled my torso to improve the pose.

The dispassionate way that he did this made me feel quite objectified. I wasn’t Dean, his friend. I was an anonymous muscle man being judged. That, too was something I liked.

“Oh, your pecs look great there. Hold that pose longer. Flex your right pec more. Pull your shoulders further apart. Squeeze your abs tighter.” As he spoke, he gently traced the outline of my pec with his hand, or ran his hands down my abs, tracing every crevice with his fingers.

The idea of just being an object of desire, or a slab of sexy muscle, desired and admired just for my appearance was something I enjoyed.

I am not embarrassed to say that I responded to this attention, to his gaze, to his touch, to the praise and objectification. I got an erection. It made me laugh nervously. David appraised my cock as well, with a raised eyebrow and a hungry smile.

He picked up the tan, which came in a can, and a paint brush that I’d bought at the Ace hardware store. He opened the can and proceeded to apply the tanning liquid. He directed me to raise my arms and adjust my cock and balls so he could apply the tan completely.

As he painted it on me, David continued to talk about my physique: the quality of my muscle, my vascularity, my thickness and mass. He painted my entire body from my face, ears, and neck all the way down to the tops of my feet. The only part of my body he left unpainted was my cock and balls.

After I was painted I had to let it dry completely before I could put on my clothes. But because I was completely naked and completely covered in the damp tanning fluid, I couldn’t sit down.

David went over to his sofa and sat in the middle, with his feet stretched out in front of him and his arms outstretched resting along the back of the sofa. It was a relaxed, power pose.

He talked to me about my physique. As if my body was a different person. It was another expression of his objectifying me. He judged my physique. He directed me to turn this way and that, so he could see me better.

I stood there soaking up his praise and his criticisms. Taking his direction. He had me look up, out the window, as if I was looking out into the auditorium.

At that point, I noticed that there was a young black guy in the apartment across the street watching us. I don’t know how long he’d been watching, but he had pulled down his pants and was working his cock.

I smiled at him and raised up my right arm and flexed my biceps, looking first at my own muscles, then across at the guy. He was stroking his cock a little faster.

David turned and looked and laughed. Then he egged me on to hit more poses. Directing me to hit side chest. Then a front lat spread. Then a back lat spread. Then a most muscular. I focused on hitting my poses and winked at the masterbating guy across across the street.

By this point, my cock was fully hard. I was just finishing a front double biceps pose as the young guy came, spewing his cum as he jerked in pleasure, when I realized that David was on his knees in front of me. He grabbed me by my ass and pulled me in as his mouth engulfed my swollen cock.

He took my entire cock, then pulled away and told me, “keep flexing your abs, flex your pecs, keep making muscles!”

Then he took my cock in his mouth again and I did my best to continue flexing as he blew me. He was aggressive, kneading my ass with his strong hands. One hand reached up and grabbed my left pec and squeezed my nipple as his other hand was pulling on my nut sack. His beard scratched the sensitive skin around my groin.

Finally, I couldn’t pose any more and I grabbed his head and held it, pulling it in closer as I came, leaning back, groaning like an animal as my knees went weak. I almost fell as I came, pumping my spunk down his throat. But he steadied me with his arms around my ass, and pulled me toward him.

When he pulled away, licking his lips, he pulled me down onto my knees, then he stood up and using one hand under my chin raised my face to look up at him and used his other hand to play with my now sensitive left nipple. Twisting and squeezing my nipple and scratching it with his fingernails.

“I need to be careful,” Dave said, “We don’t want to rub off this lovely tan.”

He pulled me up to my feet and gave me another look all around, making sure we hadn’t rubbed off the tan. As he looked me over again, I looked through the window across the street and the blinds of the young black guy’s apartment were closed.

“You look so good naked.”

“Thanks. I enjoyed today.”

“I enjoyed you, too. All that hard muscle for me to use and abuse. Did you like that?” I nodded. Before I could respond, Dave said, “Let’s do it again after your contest. I’ve only just started with you, my muscle toy.”

That made me grin like an idiot. I was somebody’s muscle toy!

I had flexed my biceps for guys before. And I’d let a couple of people feel my biceps. But this had been the first time I had ever been worshipped. It wasn’t the kind of worship that I had read about where the worshipper was submissive. Dave had been in charge.

I had enjoyed being objectified. I had been turned on by being dispassionately appraised and judged. Being naked and on display for another man’s enjoyment, just a slab of muscle to be used and abused had turned me on.

Seeing that I had turned on Dave’s neighbor had given me pleasure, too.

When I stepped on the stage the next day, standing on the stage with all those strangers looking at me, appraising me like a side of beef, got me aroused. I competed with my cock filling my posers in front of about 500 paying strangers. The memory still gets me hard.

Standing on the stage in the spot light. I could hear them all. And I knew that Dave was in the audience. And I couldn’t wait to get naked for him again.