By Boyatt Hart.
The following events unfolded in the mid and late 70s, before the advent of bear/daddy culture. The sex was dangerously unprotected in retrospect and terms like bear, cub, daddy, son, otter, pup, etcetera, were nowhere to be found in the vocabulary of the average gay fellow who often had no role models to counter the notion that he was unique in the world, the only one who had to live with the tormenting shame of those confounding and conflicting feelings and desires.
To say it was isolating to be gay and drawn to large men, strength culture and other masculine pursuits in an age when gay was exclusively characterized by youthful flamboyance, femininity and multi-floor disco palaces would be a huge understatement. Although, I must confess, in hindsight it did make scoring all the more furtive, exciting and rewarding. The downside, of course, was that the dry spells could be long and frustrating; so long and frustrating, in fact, that I was already 31 when my first score finally happened in 1976.
I’ll spare you the blow-by-blow details that led me to him, a man named Luther, in order to get to the heart of this story as efficiently as possible. But I will say that he turned out to be well worth the wait and must take the time to share as much as is required to put the remainder of this tale in proper context.
In short, Luther was everything I prized in a man, and everything I strove to be as a man. At 48 years of age he was a perfect specimen of what I called a bull at the time, standing five feet eleven inches and tipping the scales at well over 300 strapping, powerfully built pounds (wide, thick and round without a hint of blubber), and he was hung like a bull, too. To this day I’ve never seen another man who made a pair of slacks bulge at the crotch the way he did. It was always tantalizingly on display whether he was seated or upright and walking.
Luther’s face was round and he always had a twinkle in his eyes that made him seem jolly. His jaw was square and prominent with a strong chin, his clean shaven beard so heavy that it tattooed the bottom half of his face with a rich blue-black hue, and his wide forehead was neatly trimmed by thinning hair slicked straight back with Brylcreem as almost all men of his generation still commonly applied at the time.
Although he was nothing you could call pretty or handsome in any classic sense of those words, he was far from ugly and the coarseness of his manly facial features imbued them with a rugged beauty that exuded pride in his clearly deep roster of masculine attributes. Yet he always sported this broad, disarming smile that was warm enough to melt glaciers.
His voice was a deep, soothing baritone that was at once soft yet commanding due to the way it reverberated in his immense chest. My knees nearly buckled at the sound of it as he strode up and introduced himself to me on my first day of work on a new job. Proffering a platter-sized paw as thick as the two of my hands together for a handshake that I think was probably meant to gauge the strength of my grip as much as it was to serve as a friendly gesture he said, “Luther Bruchner!” (pronounced brook-ner)
His left paw took my meaty right shoulder in a firm squeeze that he unabashedly let linger too long as he swallowed my larger than average right hand in his and vigorously pumped it.
Making sure to match the power in his grip as exactly as I could I smiled and replied, “Terry Anderson!”
Before it was over his left hand had crept up my shoulder and begun casually kneading the densely mounded trapezius that rose from my shoulder to my neck.
“Nice to meet you, Terry, and welcome to the office,” he concluded with that incredible smile, then turned his magnificently broad back to me and returned to his desk.
At a height of six feet one inch I had a muscular 250+ pound build with a firm, prominent belly shaped much like a smaller version of Luther’s. I had been proudly cultivating that belly for over eight years by then and was used to dwarfing most men in my presence. I could already feel the stealthy glances of most of the other men in the office comparing themselves to “the new guy”, but Luther had thrown me for a bit of a loop. Feeling dwarfed in the presence of another man as I had with Luther was a rare and thrilling experience for me and, frankly, there was just something different about the way he had sized me up.
I first took up weightlifting for high school football in the early 60s and found that my muscles responded well to the stimulation. I liked what I saw as the result. Add to that the pleasure of what I called a lifter’s hard-on to play with at the end of each grueling session and, except for a two year stint in the Army right out of high school where I did what I was told, somehow I just never managed to put them down.
By the late 60s when the superheavyweight weightlifters began to grab the public’s attention I discovered my masculine ideal of the male form and strove to achieve it as closely as I could in the privacy of a one car garage. It had never even once actually housed my car thanks to my growing hodge-podge collection of metal and vinyl-clad plates purchased as needed to satisfy my insatiable appetite for greater gains.
At any rate, my first sighting of those majestic muscle mountains with their enormous, round, hard looking bellies that seemed to lead their powerful strides caused my hard-on to almost tear through my trousers. I immediately ramped up my routines and began consuming food in the most outrageous quantities I could afford as a young man fresh out of college.
The only equipment available to me as a garage lifter at that time was the bench that came with my first home weight set, for the bench press. Looking back, having worked my way up to a bench press of eight to ten repetitions at over 300 lbs I was probably stressing it beyond what it was built for, but the thought of it buckling under the strain never crossed my determined young mind at the time.
For all of my other exercises I had to clean weights that sometimes approached 300 lbs from the ground to commence them. As a result I had developed a strong muscular core that proudly girded my expanding belly and held it up front-and-center, framed by wide shoulders, a thick chest, what showed between my traps of a 17+ inch neck and a beefy set of muscular thighs.
Luther clearly approved and curiously seemed to feel no compunction about satisfying his curiosity by blatantly copping a feel in front of all present. Suffice it to say that nobody dared challenge the colossus, a former Marine who served in Korea I would soon learn, as he quickly laid claim to me by matter-of-factly announcing that I would be riding shotgun with him on my new job.
It was only a matter of three days being alone with him in his car six to seven hours a day before he sussed me out as a gay man and quickly put me at ease by sharing that his marriage had recently ended abruptly when he confided to his wife that he was bisexual. Respecting the honesty between them he flat out admitted that, since their marriage was by that point sexless and their son had graduated college and moved out of state, he intended to explore it. She moved out within days.
“I’ve never yet acted on these feelings, but I guess even the idea of me engaging in sex with another man was just too much for her,” he said in a tone of voice that betrayed his sense of loss without sounding at all regretful.
“If she’s been gone for more than six months then why have you still not acted?” I asked.
“Haven’t yet run across a man who I felt understood what it is I value in a man, I guess…till now, that is,” he responded with a wry smile.
Our gaurds fell by the wayside as our friendship quickly blossomed and by the end of our second week together we agreed to deepen the friendship by becoming clandestine fuck buddies.
On my first weekend visit to his house to consecrate our mutually agreed arrangement we quickly got to stripping our clothes off and, as the first to shed his last stitch of clothing, he displayed himself fully naked with bold confidence. I paused to look him over and was relieved to find that, much like me, for the coarse hair that decorated his thick forearms and legs, his powerfully built torso was only minimally hirsute and only in the most interesting places.
He casually stood before me with his powerful looking arms akimbo, ham sized fists resting on his wide hips, kingly chest and belly seductively heaving as he breathed, and trained his expectant gaze on me as I nonchalantly peeled off my briefs. He was clearly pleased to see that I was equally at ease putting myself on display for him and that my cock, although circumcised, compared as proportionately as the rest of my physical presence did to his.
“Had you figured for a nice one, sport,” he confided with an approving grin as he watched me quickly erect in response to the visual stimulus of his denuded physical enormity.
Luther, in turn, wasn’t the least bit self-conscious about his own hulking, hooded member throbbing to life under my shameless gaze and lifting off the massive ball sac that regally rested against his tree trunk thighs as he admired the muscularity of my nude form. He slowly approached me, his corpulent hard-on lazily wagging from side to side above his huge, sagging balls in rhythm to the pump of his mighty thighs as he tentatively strode forward.
“I must be dreaming,” he sighed as he reached out and explored my body with both hands, sinking his cock-thick fingers into my muscular density.
“I hope not,” I replied as I inched forward the last bit required to bring our bellies in contact, causing the heads of our fully distended dicks to kiss as well.
I sank my fingers into the natural muscular density of his wide, thick shoulders and felt him shiver a bit.
“Forgive me if I get this all wrong. I’ve never kissed a man before,” he softly spoke in his melifluous baritone, “but I guess there’s a first time for everything.”
In truth I was scared to death because at 31 I still had never kissed anyone in a sexual way, but I was hungry for the experience and put up no resistance as I felt him palm the back of my head in one of his meaty hands then press my face to his. With one mighty thrust of his thick tongue he pried my lips and teeth apart and proceeded vigorously to fuck my virgin mouth with it as my nostrils filled with his manly scent.
I shivered in lust at his bold advance and instinctively slid my arms around his barrel chest, squeezing him so hard I would have surely crushed a lesser man in such a full-force embrace. He never flinched, though, and merely moaned in contented satisfaction as he continued his skillful assault on my oral cavity, our swollen hard-ons sword fighting beneath our protruding bellies as they pressed together ever more tightly.
After who knows how long he released my head from his grasp and gently stroked my beard with both of his hands. The two of us panting like dogs in heat, I released him from my grasp as well and slid my hands up on top of his.
He then slowly roamed one of them down over my chest and belly, clearly savoring the tactile rewards of my bulky contours, until he reached my thick, throbbing hard-on. Taking it in a firm grip he used it to tug me closer and whispered in my ear, “Let’s see what other trouble we can get into.”
What transpired over the next nearly 48 hours was exactly what you would expect from two men who had starved for a lifetime for the sexual stimulation and comforting feel of another man’s skin against his own. In that one masterful and impassioned kiss he had smashed down all the barriers that had surrounded us and stood between each of us and our personal fulfillment.
I had never felt more grateful, and might never again, as I felt in that glorious moment when he freed us both from our fears of the unknown and set us happily afloat in a flood of the sloppiest, nastiest, most uninhibited torrent of man sex that your imagination can conjure. So by all means let it go wild, dear reader, and you probably still won’t come close to what we actually did with and to each other’s substantial body as we set sail on our new adventure.