June 3
“Ready for lunch?” I chirped at Karl’s office door at exactly 12:01 PM. I didn’t want to seem too eager.
He stood up from his desk. It seemed like it took a full minute for him to stand up as he just kept rising until he reached his full 6’7”. Like, Banner, Karl favoured polo shirts at the office and the tight-fitting white piqué of his triple (quadruple?) XL bulged in all directions as a torso big enough for two men unfurled itself before me. When he finally stood up straight his enormous pecs hovered in front of the rest of his massive body like two blimps.
He shyly smiled at me. “Ready and willing.” I swallowed hard as I felt my cock begin to chub up already. He had a ruggedly handsome face, though it was an inadequate adjective to describe the terrain of his body. Foothills were rugged, this man was the Alps.
As we walked down the hall, there was an awkward moment where he turned into the break room while I kept going toward the elevators. “Oh!“ he said, and he blushed at the misunderstanding.
It turned out, “lunch” with Karl consisted of us sitting opposite each other in the break room while I nibbled on yesterday’s forgotten cheese sandwich and he methodically consumed five tupperware containers of various foods that were apparently all called ‘macros’.
“You’re pretty ‘macro’ yourself.”
Karl wiped his mouth with his lumberjack forearm and stared at me with those eyes like emeralds. He looked genuinely touched. “Thanks, Jeffy.” He looked down at his food and then back up at me. “Sorry about the confusion. I did say ‘date’ didn’t I? It was just a—“
“Figure of speech. I know. It’s okay, Karl, really.” I touched his forearm near the elbow and he grinned. He tightened his wrist and the single muscle under my hand swelled to fill my palm. It was thicker than my whole arm. “Wow!” I exclaimed. My cock shot to full hardness instantly.
“That one’s called the brachoradialis. Did you know there are twenty muscles in the forearm?”
I did not, but fearful I was about to get a boner killing monologue of Latin names, I stroked his arm and purred: “It’s really hard. You must be very strong.”
He nodded in agreement. “Very.”
We sat there for a few more minutes staring at each other. He made soft snuffling, chewing noises while I stroked the 20 rippling muscles of his forearm as he worked his knife and fork.
“You were going to tell me about horses? To be honest, you don’t seem the type to ride.”
“Oh I don’t. I do have a special connection with horses, though. I find them calming, and it seems the feeling’s mutual. My girlfriend is the real racing expert. She’s English and a jockey; they go nuts for horse racing there.”
I had to tear my mind away from the sudden image of this giant stud of a man fucking his tiny jockey girlfriend like a fleshlight. “Uh… the South!”
He cocked his head, causing one side of his thick neck to swell into a bridge cable. “What about it?”
“They go nuts for horse racing too, don’t they?” I huffed.
Karl scoffed: “When you can drag them away from NASCAR. Man, I hope you never have to deal with NASCAR Nolan. That guy’s a total asshat.”
Just then Karl’s phone buzzed. “Sorry, it’s my girl.” I nodded and he took the call, his face looking progressively more worried as he listened. “I’m leaving now. I can be there in twenty.” He clicked off the call and looked anxiously at me.
“Emergency at the track, they need my special skills, sorry I have to go.” He looked around at the other guys in the break room, then leaned in and whispered. “Uh, listen Jeffy. The guys here are starting to get real competitive about this Pride Month thing. I’d hate them to think I wasn’t, you know, up to it.”
My disappointment at his leaving turned to curiosity. “And…?”
“And so… could you… fake it?” He pulled up his sleeve and flexed his whole arm. “I’ll make it up to you… with a real date.” He winked.
And so I “faked” my first orgasm ever, going full Meg Ryan in When Harry Met Sally in the middle of the TopSports break room while aggressively pawing Karl’s melon sized biceps.
When it was over, Karl grinned sheepishly and then left in a rush for the stables. For the first time since this all started. I stood and proudly displayed my crotch’s dark stain as I left the room and walked through the office back to my desk. Of course the orgasm hadn’t been faked at all. But now I felt a new freedom, and as I passed each hunk I left him with a burning, lustful stare and an unmistakable message:
Come and get it.
Cont.
