My current work in progress, a memoir of my lifelong obsession with muscle, is coming along pretty well. Here is a second sample to pique your interest. Again, the photos are not me, or the other person I’m writing about, but are presented for illustrative purposes.
When I was bodybuilding, I dated a younger guy who was not muscular. He went to the gym and worked out, but he wasn’t in it to building muscle, just to stay fit. He was, however, into muscular guys. He was very enthusiastic about my muscle and enjoyed my getting bigger and stronger.
During the three years that we dated, I went from being 185 pounds to 225 pounds (in off season condition). My chest went from 42 inches to 48 inches. My biceps went from 15 inches to 18 inches. I competed in two natural bodybuilding competitions.
My boy friend, I’ll call him James, was about an inch shorter than me. I don’t think his weight changed much while we dated, staying right around 155 pounds – until the last year of our relationship. I enjoyed using my strength to pick him up and carry him around. I enjoyed using my strength to physically dominate him. We were fairly versatile about who was top and who was bottom.
Here’s the thing. James had the genetics to get big. His quads were disproportionately large compared to the rest of his build. He just didn’t have the desire or ambition to get big.
I thought he was attractive, but I was into muscle, too. I thought he’d be really hot with some muscle on him. During sex I’d fantasize about his being bigger and stronger.
Toward the end of our relationship, he started working out with a personal trainer. He got serious about his training and his diet. And his body responded the way I thought it might and the way I’d dreamed it would. He quickly started packing on muscle and getting significantly stronger.
As his body changed, his laid back attitude changed, too. He liked the changes he was experiencing and liked getting stronger. Getting bigger and stronger made him much more confident, even cocky.
It was so fucking hot. It wasn’t like a dream coming true it WAS a dream coming true. I had, at that time in my life, never been with a guy who was also working out and making gains.
Watching James getting bigger, his muscles developing both size and tone was erotic beyond my imagining. In the span of 6 months, he packed on about 10 pounds. His muscles got bigger and his body shed fat. He had never been fat, but he had been smooth, without much definition. But during those 6 months he started to get some definition to his muscles.
As he got bigger and stronger, he started resisting my attempts to dominate him. I was completely surprised the first time it happened. I wasn’t used to James resisting me. I was dismayed by and turned on by his resistance.
After a few more weeks, he was getting stronger and I found it was getting harder to control him, let alone beat him. A few weeks more and James managed to physically dominate me using his new muscles. He pinned me down and fucked me with a cocky dominance that was a complete turn on.
I was still stronger and bigger than him, but that afternoon he’d managed to wrestle me into submission and claim his sexual dominance. That was a huge turning point for us as a couple and for me personally.
In my head, I was the dominant party in the relationship. I had always been bigger and stronger than James. His admiration of my muscles had largely been the basis of our sexual relationship.
When he was able to dominate me with his strength (and superior wrestling skills) and claimed his dominance I fucking loved it! It was like I was finally in the right role in the muscle relationship. A light went on in my brain. The power balance had been wrong.
I think that he had a similar realization about his own role in our relationship. He got verbally dominant with me, taking on a much more active role in the relationship outside of the bedroom.
I remember one occasion during this period when we hadn’t seen one another for about a month. He called up and said he was coming over with something to show me. I was eager to see him, because it had been such a long time.
When I opened the door when he arrived, he kind of bulled his way in, pushing his way in leading with his chest. James seemed so much more masculine or authoritative some how. He put one hand on my chest and pushed me back from the door and up against the wall. He used his foot to close the door. He was wearing a bulky sweatshirt and tight jeans.
He kept his hand on my chest and looked up at me with this mischievous glint in his eye. He kissed me roughly. Then he stepped back, telling me to stay put.
“Check this out,” he said. Then he slowly lifted up the bottom of his sweat shirt, revealing a cobbled 6-pack and a more prominent chest. I noticed that now he was leaner than I was.
Then he peeled off the shirt and bounced his pecs. He’d never shown off like this. I approached him and placed my hands on his pecs. He bounced them again. It is a hot thing to feel muscles move like that in your hands. James grabbed my hands, pushed them down and spun me around and marched me into the bedroom.
In the bedroom, James became a total dominant top and I became an eager muscular submissive. He got much more aggressive about using his strength in bed and I let him because it was fabulously hot.
To me our relationship had finally transformed into what I had long dreamed it would be. I was with a dominant guy who was also a growing muscle stud. Shorter than me and younger than me and developing a beautifully aesthetic physique, he was like my dream man. For me, life couldn’t have been better.
This relationship was pivotal to my coming to understand my relationship with muscle. I was completely turned on by his growth. It was even more exciting to me to see James get stronger and more muscular that it was to experience that growth myself. That last year of our relationship was one of the best years of my life in muscle. Even after we broke up, James kept training and is now, almost 20 years later, not only still muscular, he’s quite the Muscle Daddy.