Chance loved to look at guys' bodies, guys who really put time into getting firm and cut. He had become a connoisseur of a great body, from all the hours he'd logged in gyms, in sport, and reading his fitness magazines.
He knew his was easily a top ten percent body, maybe even top 5. Great pecs, very ripped eight packs (he did the 100's workout: 100 crunches for upper abs, then 5 sets of 20 reps in the Roman chair, then 100 twisties, then 100 reverse crunches - which were by far the toughest - for his lower abs), and as a wrestler, he couldn't neglect his lower body. His thighs and calves were awesome.
He was very proud of his calves, especially: most gym guys ignored them, but not Chance. Calf raises up the yin yang. As a result, he had gorgeous ripped muscles on his lower legs the size of big grapefruits. He thought they looked really cool. They went with the great set of guns he'd worked so hard on. Yep, dude, body-wise you're a stud.
And right in the middle, Chance started stroking it sensuously, was what he thought was a nice-looking piece of meat. It was thick and veiny, which Chance thought looked hot, and his was always one of the longest ones in any locker room.
If only he could put it to better use, he sighed, stroking himself hard. He continued to gaze at himself in the mirror, watching his tool rise hard in his big hand, loving to see those big balls jostle underneath as he stroked himself up and down.
He was glad mom and dad hadn't circumcised him, as he loved to work his finger under the hood that partially covered his cockhead for a while, playing with the piss-slit a little, and then, as he grew harder, jack that sheathe of skin up and down his pole.
He stared at his body and tweaked his nipple hard - god, he loved that feeling. He rubbed his pec all around and kept pinching his nubby little tit. And then, another thrill for him, he moved from his chest to his ass-crack, letting one hand wander down there as he jacked himself with the other.
Mmmmm, damn, did that feel good. He clenched his ass-muscles hard against his fingers a couple times, which always got his cock harder. He spit a huge gob on his fingers and then started another favorite of his, fingering his hole.
Oooohhh yeah, was that ever nice. First he'd just trace his spit-slick fingers around his little hole, teasing a little, then as he got more moist, he'd work them in further. It felt so good.
'Ass-play' is what he heard one of the guys on his high school squad call it (and what he did on his chest was 'tit play' - he guessed all guys must like this, and why the fuck not, it felt so damn fine). Shit, he wished he could get some chick to do it to him, but the few he'd asked had all declined with varying degrees of disgust.
He had a good rhythm going - clenching as he poked around his hole, and stroking his hard cock. Harder and faster he worked the fingers in his ass, using his powerful leg muscles to flex his ass up and down on his one hand, while his other hand worked his cock.
Mmmmm, he could feel it building; it was coming any second . . . OH YEAH! Gobs and gobs and gobs of thick white cream shot out. Damn, he liked getting off. He loved his hard, male body; there were so many pleasure spots, it seemed. His cock, his balls, his ass, his nipples, his lips, probably more, but he hadn't gotten around to exploring them yet.
Damn, it didn't seem fair! He had such a powerful interest in sex, and no girl to share it with. He saw one little last drop of cream on his dick-tip, reached down, swiped it with his finger, and brought it to his full red lips.
He watched himself in the mirror as he savored it, licking it off slowly with his tongue, playing with his finger, sucking on it sensually, like a girl might suck on a popsicle . . . or a guy's dick. Damn, Chance laughed, he really needed to get laid. He was getting kind of squirrelly.
He wiped his cum off and found a clean white T, some not-too-dirty old jeans, and a fresh jock. Jockstraps were the only underwear he wore, when he wore underwear. As a big-dicked guy, he loved the feel of his long, thick meat encased in that tight mesh all day. It was like getting a kind of low-level dick massage.
Plus, not to brag, but he thought he looked mighty good in 'em: the waist bands and straps seemed made for his lean-muscled flesh, and the mesh pouch showed off his long snaky meat perfectly.
He chose one of his new grey Bike straps to wear to Reed's; they had that classic Bike waist that really seemed to set off his abs. After he wriggled into it, he admired himself in the mirror for a bit: the jock fit perfect, it seemed spray-painted on.
Dang, you are a hot-looking dude! "I'd fuck ya!" he laughed. He couldn't resist stroking down sexily on his jock-covered dick. Then, he pulled on some old, faded dungarees that were a little big on him (they were from a few years ago, way before his new ab routine had carved a couple inches off his waist).
He thought they way they hung low on his hips, letting about an inch of the jock's waistband show, looked hot. Plus, that classic Bike waistband stripe and logo let guys know he was into fitness.
The T-shirt he grabbed was one of his smaller-sized ones. It revealed his muscled chest in all its glory; plus, Chance liked how short it was: stopping right below his belly button, it let you get a glimpse of his abs and that trace of his jock.
Yep, looking good, dude; looking good, indeed! Kinda like James-Dean-as-Muscle-Stud. He grabbed his matching dungaree jacket, checked Reed's address, grabbed his anthropology notebook, and headed out.
___
Reed, meanwhile, had lost all track of time. He'd found an incredible amateur porn site on the net and got totally sucked in, clicking through photo after photo of some wonderfully hot-looking college-age guys.
Naked, in his computer chair, he was just about to cum as he stroked himself to a picture of a beautifully muscled nude boy, huge thick dick draped across his thigh, who lay back in a sweet splendor of lust. The knock on the door shook him into a panic.
"Uh, who's there?" he said nervously, as shaking fingers flipped his laptop closed.
"Hey, dude. It's me, Chance. Ready for our planning meeting?"