Lot # 37

The festive atmosphere and energy of the event suddenly grew silent before it then vocalized into one collective “ooooh and awwwww” as lot #37 strutted across the platform.

His smooth bronze skin was the gift of Mediterranean – Latin ancestry. The blinding white smile, a gift from very good genetics and a hefty dental bill I would guess. His body. Those muscles. They were no gift. A physique like that was sculpted from years of hard work and dedication in a gym. The results of both are being proudly displayed; Six feet two inches of male anatomy, stacked with 225 lbs. of statue like granite muscles. Muscle porn on display.

The innocent smile placed him appropriately in his mid-20’s yet totally in contrast to the masculine physique it belonged to. Separately either would be a killer, together they became the explosion of lust presented on the stage before us. Clad in a thong, barefoot and that smile, he owned that stage. Every muscle in his body flexed, relaxed and tensed as he moved about. Words or any announcer lingo/hype would pale in comparison to simply allow the perfectly oiled muscles ripple under the stage lights to incite the eager crowd and rev up the bidding that was about to begin.

"Gentleman” the auctioneers voice cracked through the raucous caused by #37, “Meet Marco.” He pauses for effect. “He is…..”

“One thousand Dollars” my hand flew in the air interrupting the announcer and stunning myself as much as stunning the crowd.

“Well, so much for building up anticipation.” He chuckled into the microphone. All attention now in my direction. Up until this point in the evening, all of the bids have ranged between 400 to 700 dollars. My thousand-dollar burst was a very bold opening bid proving my lust for this young man erased any precedent that was set earlier.

Marco looked as surprised as the rest of the room, including myself. Surprised that I started the bidding before it had begun and surprised that I had started the price at such a steep amount.

The announcer took control of the room again. Politely mocking my zealous bid, reminding the crowd that this was indeed a benefit for the local charities and my largess was greatly appreciated. The bidding continued.

Bids proceeded in 50-dollar increments. Marco noticed my hesitation once we got close to the 1500-dollar mark. The sexy wink he tossed to me was all of the incentive that I needed to charge ahead and bid until victory. This slab of muscle was mine for the evening.

“We have $1800.00 on the table. Do I hear 19?” The auctioneer worked the bidding like a pro.

“Going once!” Marco’s, right pec flexed in timing to the auctioneer challenging for more money.

“Going twice.” His left pec popped making it obvious thatthe first pec bounce was not an accident. I held my breath begging for the bidding to cease.

A right left – right left pec dance greeted the “sold” announcement. I could finally breath.

The announcer was reminding the audience that all of the money being raised was for a great cause, thanking both me and Marco for contributing before moving onto the next contestant. As Marco made his way through the busy crowd of well-wishers, hugs, back slapping and ass grabbing through the other guests, he seemed genuinely surprised that his bid went for so much. His humbleness only made him sexier as he gracefully acknowledged and thanked the other guests who congratulated him.

“Well hot damn, daddy.” He approaches with a huge smile. “You may have won the bidding, but it looks like I won the fucking prize.” He drags me in for a nice big kiss.

The ‘daddy’ moniker is still new to me. Even at 59, I realize that yes I am a daddy and with his age I could most likely be his fuckin grandpa. But since moving to South Florida, I have accepted that being a ‘daddy’ is kind of a good thing. The younger Latin studs seem to have a liking for us older guys, so work with what you got, and right now what I got is this incredibly hot young muscle stud calling me daddy. Yahtzee.

The chatting between us is easy, natural, not forced. He is free with his body contact and openly affectionate. I like the feel of his hand as they make contact with my lower back, or arm. Grazing my ass and even cupping my pec now and then. The contact is comforting, as comforting as his disarming smile. And as welcome as his quick wit in conversation. Instantly, we were friends.

“Why don’t I grab my things and meet you out front.” He gives my ass a light slap and then peck on my cheek, “give me 5 minutes.” As he disappears into the crowd.

“I am starving” He greets me out front. “Do you mind if we meet at my place? It’s just that I have some food already prepped there and I am not much for fast food.”

“Marco, let me assure you - if eating the proper food is responsible for any part of all of this,” I gesture over his body, “Then every meal should be eaten at your place.”

“Make yourself at home.” He welcomes me into his home offering me a glass of water. “I need to change.” His condo was amazing. Overlooking the intercoastal facing east. The lights and the yachts below were an impressive sight. Impressive was also the sight of Marco when he returned wearing nothing but a sarong wrapped around his chiseled waist. My eyes feasted on his beauty as he walked towards me.

“That posing strap was about to choke me”, He chuckled, adjusting the bulge under the sarong. “Hope you don’t mind.” He gestured to his lack of clothing. I smile acknowledging that yes indeed it was ok. Even though he was damn near nude all evening in front of me and the crowd, somehow here, in his private space, in a sarong, he was even hotter if that is possible. I drank this vision in, burning this memory into the very depths of my spank bank.

“If you would like to change out of all of those clothes into something more comfortable, I laid some stuff out on the bed for you” He gestures toward his bedroom. “How about I make us some drinks while you change.” With a sweet kiss on my cheek and a pat on my ass, he sends me on my way. “You are way too over dressed for my tastes.” He chuckles as he sets about making us a cocktail.

There is no way to recount the scenarios that raced through my mind in those few short minutes of changing out of my clothes. It would take reems of paper and hours of testimony to recant the whirlwind of fantasies that flashed through my mind in those 90 seconds. I was in fucking lust. Pure raw natural desire for this young man. And I was all in.

“Hot Damn!” I suppose I had chosen an option to his liking. “That wrap looks hotter on you than it does me.” He assesses my body while his hands approvingly rove over my pecs, and abs, then shoulders across my back and down to my very solid ass.

“I knew you were in decent shape.” His hands continuing the physical inspection, “but it appears daddy was keeping this hot fucking body under wraps.” His verbal and physical appraisal of my body was a huge turn on. And coming from a young man who could fill the cover of any fitness magazine, I accepted his compliments with pride.

Instantly our conversation revolved around training, diet, working out and muscles. We were both so fitness goaled it was refreshing. His fetish for the muscle world ran as deep and centered as mine. Those that know me, also know just how deep that fetish of muscle is for me. And I meet very few others that share it.

“So, it is safe to assume,” Marco gets right to the point. “That you bid all of that money because my muscles turn you on?” He pops up a double bicep flex just to poke fun at the redundancy of his own question.

“The second you walked onto that stage, my precum started flowing.” I assured him, giving my heavy cock, wrapped so festively in the tropical printed sarong, a tug and adjustment. “You – young man, are the perfect combination of physical beauty with muscles and good looks. For me, a total wet dream in the flesh.” My hands trace the square slabs of muscles that shape his pectorals.

With his eyes partly closed and his head lolled back, my words sink into his consciousness while my hands caress the muscles over his pecs, my thumbs strum waves of pleasure through his senses into his core. Jolts of pleasure right through the erect nipples under my thumbs.

“Don’t stop.” He quietly begs for my hands to continue the exploration of his body. His right-hand tugs at the sarong sending it to the floor then joins his left hand behind his head. With his fingers laced behind his neck, his body open and fully exposed, his head slightly arched back. His body language screams – ‘take me’. And I plan on doing just that.