[This story was originally published on the Interwebs in 2009; now republished in memory of Mike Matarazzo, who was the inspiration for the main muscle character. Your comments are welcome.]


Chapter One:

I swear the guy could have passed for Mike Matarazzo. Well, the Mike Matarazzo of the early '90s when he was in the best shape of his life. But this guy was here. Now.

I had been looking for a used pickup for a few weeks, and my search had brought me to this used car lot. It wasn't as shady as most of them are. In fact the owner was actually the mayor of our small town. He often hired young guys from our town, or one of the nearby bigger ones, to sell cars. He had a reputation as being one of the more reputable dealerships in the area.

So I don't know why I waited so long to check out the lot, but as soon as I got out of my car and started looking around, I was glad I had come. Not really because I had seen a pickup I wanted. No-- it was because of him. Walking toward me from the sales office was the most over-developed bodybuilder hunk I had ever seen. Like I said, Matarazzo would have been proud.

Or put to shame.

The closer this guy got, the faster my heart beat.

He was smiling. Not a shit-eating grin-- just a friendly, confident smile that despite his imposing size and features seemed to put me at ease. He wore a white long sleeved dress shirt and tie, and a pair of pleated navy dress pants that God only knows how he ever pulled up over those legs. I mean, it almost looked as if each of his legs' girth was close to the girth of his waist! Those pants had to be tailored. But despite his freakish proportions, he didn't strut. In fact, his walk was fluid and-- dare I say it-- graceful, even though I swear I could feel the earth move with each footfall.

His hair was freshly cut in a perfect flat-top, very short on the sides. God, his face was gorgeous.

I tried to make like I was looking at trucks, but my attention was totally on this guy, and the closing distance between us. I looked back at him, and I literally had to fight not to gasp out loud. His neck, wrapped, as it were, by that bright white dress shirt, was as thick as a phone pole, and it was supported by a pair of traps that were unimaginably powerful. Fuck, this guy was a hunk.

And still he smiled as he approached.

And then I began to attempt to take in the size of those arms. In spite of being fully covered by his shirt sleeves, they were impossible to camouflage. Fucking amazing guns. Fucking unbelievable shoulders. His tie draped down over his chest and the tip of it must have hovered a good two inches out in front of his belt. My cock was embarrassingly hard, and I know it must have been noticeable.

"How you doin' this afternoon," he said. He stopped about 5 or 10 feet from me. I don't know if it was because he knew how intimidating he was, or if it was to stand back and look at the rig I was standing next to. He didn't wait for me to answer his greeting. He probably had an idea that I was going to have a hard time talking. "Nice rig," he said. "It's actually got low miles on it."

I scuffled my feet and made like I was going to kick a tire or something. Shit, I was frozen in lust.

He looked over the truck and made mention of some of its other features-- which I was unable to hear because I had been tele-ported to some other dimension.

"Wanna take it for a test drive?"

I looked at his gorgeous, smiling face and finally found a single word, from my frozen vocabulary. "Sure."

"I'll go get the keys, dude. Hang on. I'll be right back," he smiled. With that, he got a number off a sticker in the windshield, turned and trotted back to the sales office. My eyes were glued to his body the whole time. I don't even know if I looked back at the pickup the whole time I waited. I think my eyes were glued on the sales office.

He called me "dude." Oh holy fuck. I thought I would die. I love it when straight guys call me "dude." And to have this guy tag me with that all-affirming title-- shit.

I could see him walk behind the counter of the well-lit sales office. The windows ran from ceiling to floor. Even at this distance, he was amazing to look at.

If he wasn't on to me as soon as he walked up to me the first time, I'm sure he had to suspect when he returned with the key to the truck. "Name's Chad," he said, extending his hand. The warmth and strength-- and gentleness-- of his grip made me pretty much lose it. I coughed and choked when I tried to give him my name, and the whole time he just smiled at me, and held my hand in the shake. Finally, when I regained my composure, I said, "Josh."

He released my hand and motioned me to the passenger side. "I have to drive it off the lot," he said as he climbed in. He had to adjust the seat so he could fit. "Nice thing about this rig is that the seat moves way back, giving you a lot of leg room. I'm six-two, and I don't have a problem at all."

Okay, maybe he was a little taller than Matarazzo too.

We drove for a few minutes and then he pulled over and unbuckled his seat belt. "Wanna give it a try?" His grin was killer.

"Sure," I said. Yeah, I had at least two words down: my name, and "sure."

We both got out and traded sides, passing each other at the front of the rig-- almost touching. Our eyes met as we passed, and he smiled that comforting, confident smile again.

I don't really remember any of the particulars about the truck, even though I know he went through a lot of information while I drove-- horsepower, engine size, features, etc. Those things flew out of my head as fast as they came in. I was totally occupied with him.

"You a local?"

I was nudged out of my trance by his question.

"Oh. Uh, yeah. Born and raised here," I answered.

"So, you went to Cold Creek High?" he asked.


"I went to Riverdale," he said. Riverdale was a town about twice the size of Cold Creek, about ten miles away. His smile grew, and he said, "We crushed you in football last year."

"You play?" I asked

"Naw," he said. "I was kinda skinny in high school."

My eyes grew and I gave an expression of disbelief.

He grinned. "Really," he said. "I didn't start working out 'til after I graduated."

"Shit," I let slip out.

I pulled the truck back onto the lot.

"So, you interested," he asked.

I so wished I could take that question for the meaning I wanted.

"Oh, I don't know," I said.

"Yeah, it's kind of a big decision. How 'bout I give you my card. If you decide you're interested, just give me a call." He pulled out a single business card from his shirt pocket-- a pocket that was backed by the biggest, thickest slab of chest meat I had ever seen in person-- and handed it to me. "My cell number is on it too, dude. If you find a rig somewhere else, give me a call-- anytime-- and I'll bet I can give you a better deal."

"Thanks," I said. Shit, the conversation was winding down. I never wanted to leave this guy's ominous presence. I guess I must have gone ozone again, because after a few seconds, I noticed that a lot more than just a few seconds had passed.

"You okay, dude?" I heard him ask.

"Uh. Oh-- yeah, sorry. Just thinking," I said.

Another moment of silence. And then, as I sat behind the steering wheel and he sat to my right, he moved his left hand onto my right knee. "You sure? Seems like something might be wrong," he probed.

I looked at his hand on my knee, and then at his face-- it was comforting and relaxed.

"No, man. I'm fine." I tried to make like I was just a normal guy. "Just trying to figure out what I want. In a rig."

He took his hand off my leg. Oh I wished he hadn't. "Yeah," he said. "Sometimes it's a big decision."

We finally opened our respective doors and got out. He lifted the hood and we poked around under there for a few minutes, but the only thing I can remember was the inhuman "V" taper of his back as his mammoth lats flared out above his svelte waistline. I swear I came as close to involuntarily creaming myself as I ever have. His slacks wrapped around his glutes like I was wishing I could do with my hands. I don't know if he knew what I was looking at or not, but he did seem to take a long time pulling out the dipstick and checking the fluid level as I watched from behind.

He lowered the hood and turned around to me. He leaned back against the hood, resting those perfect glutes against the grille, and placing his hands on the edge of the hood. "Anything else you want to see?" he smiled.

Usually I'm pretty adept at making like I'm cool with things, even when I'm overwhelmed with a muscle guy. But this Chad dude had me totally thrown. I just looked at him.

Finally, he broke the ice and looked around the lot. "We've got some full-size rigs, if you're interested in looking."

"I think that's all the size I can handle," I smiled, looking at the hood of the truck, but close enough to Chad's body that it might have been difficult to tell what it was that I was really talking about.

He didn't let on like anything was amiss. "So, Josh, you going to school?"

"Naw, I just graduated from State. Decided to come back to Cold Creek and take over my sister's business. She owns a couple of coffee huts-- one here in town and one over in Farmington. She wants to open another one in Riverdale. I'm taking over the one here." I shuffled my feet on the ground. Chad just held his beautiful position against the front of the pickup. "Might try to expand a little later, after I get the hang of the business."

"Cool, dude," he smiled, still not moving. His radiant blue eyes sparkled. He seemed genuinely interested. "Where's the coffee hut at?"

"Oh, over on Burleson, next to Hank's Hardware."

"Oh yeah," he said. "I know the one." He lifted his left hand up and ran his palm through his flat-top. His watermelon-sized biceps muscle bunched and the shirt sleeve tightened against the mass.

Oh, fuck. I was so close to an involuntary orgasm just watching that. I'd never come by accident, but for the first time in my life, I thought it was definitely possible.

He scratched his head and his muscle bulged. "I don't get over to that side of town very often, but I'll have to make a trip and check it out. I'm a freakin' caffein monster. Love to have a big coffee before a workout," he smiled. He lowered his hand and looked right into my eyes.

I had no choice but to avert my gaze. He was simply too much. Too much manliness. Too much muscle. Too much power. And gorgeousness, if that's even a word. I swear, if he had said "Come. Now. In your pants," I would have had no power to resist his command. But he didn't say that. Instead, he just looked at me. Smiling comfortably-- he seemed totally content to just hang there with me. No pressures. No need to talk if I didn't want to.

Finally I had to break the silence. "Well, thanks, man, for the ride. And thanks for the no-pressure sales. I really appreciate it. I'll have to think about it." I looked down at his business card that I'd been fumbling in my fingers, then back up at him. He was as intimidating and gorgeous as the moment I had first seen him. "And I'll give you a call."

"Cool," he smiled. He leaned off the front of the truck, then stuck his hands in his pockets. Shiiiiit. His triceps pressed out at the already exhausted sleeve fabric (exhausted from fighting against his biceps) nearly causing them to rip. He pushed his hands into his pockets, straightening his arms. He looked almost-- almost coy and shy. He smiled back at me. "I'll look forward to hearing from you. Like I said, call me. Anytime. Day or night." Then he grinned and said, "You know-- if you have a car buying emergency in the middle of the night." Then he laughed at himself.

I laughed too.

"Yeah, if I have a car buying emergency in the middle of the night, you'll be the first guy I call," I joked back.

Chad extended his hand once again and we shook. Did he have any idea of the effect he had on me? Was I able to hide it, or was it totally obvious that I was overcome with lust for this guy...

[More to cum...]


Sean Reid Scott

[email protected]


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