Let's Make a Deal - The Sequel

He brought back my vitamin water and motioned for me to have a seat on the barely padded bench that passed for a couch.

"Have a seat, bro. I just have a few more sets to finish up real quick." he declared.

So I sat down as he proceeded to pick up one of the bars loaded with weights and do squats with it. I watched as he grunted and breathed through a couple of sets, muscles flexing under his tight clothes.

He set the weights down on a rack at the head of the workout bench and then proceeded to pull off his sleeveless Under Armour shirt. I stared fascinated as he revealed sweat-glistened rippling upper-body muscles, pulling the shirt over his head in what I suspected was purposefully slow motion. He then sprawled out on his back down on the workout bench under the heavily weighted bar he'd just racked.

"How bout giving me a spot, bro?" He asked. Or maybe he ordered? Either way I jumped up out of my seat and went to the head of the bench. I positioned my hands where I thought they should go and, I guess, helped him lift the heavy weight up out of it's rack and lower it down to his broad, defined chest. In actuality, I don't think I really helped at all, and I know for sure i wouldn't have been able to lift the weight on my own. I had never spotted anyone lifting before, and had to rely on what I'd seen spotters do on television and in movies as Colton began pressing the bar up and down.

I guess he must have been keeping count, but I was practically mesmerized watching him go, chiseled chest rising and falling, bulging arms flexing. I had often fantasized about what Tyler must look like as he worked out, although I had never actually accompanied him to the gym. If it was anything like this, I'd have to start going with him, if just for moral support.

By the end of his sets, Colton was even sweatier than when he'd started, and there was less room in the front of my sweatpants. Even with my crotch hovering over his face while he lifted, Colton seemed to take no notice of the growing hard-on in my pants. I took note of the faint outline of his soft cock in his tight little gym shorts.

Finally finished, Colton re-racked the weight with no real help from me, and I took a step back and he sat up on the bench, barely even panting. He sat there, I swear in a pose to show off a bulging bicep. Rather than looking at me, he was looking at himself in the full length mirror on the wall across from the bench.

"Such a good pump, bro. Look at that bicep."

He turned slightly and straightened out his arm at his side, causing the muscle to flex even further.

"You like that huge bicep, bro?" He asked.

It took me a second to realize he was talking to me. I cleared out the sudden frog in my throat.

"Ehrm.. Yeah, man. It's... nice." I commented. It really was impressive looking, but I still felt weird having to compliment it out loud.

"Grab my phone there, and snap some pictures of me while I'm swol, bro." He ordered.

Weird, but okay. I grabbed his phone off a small end table and discovered his wallpaper background was a picture of himself shirtless and flexing at the beach. I opened the camera app and started snapping pictures.

Colton would shift around on the bench, flex a different muscle and tell me to take another shot. Part way through this impromptu photo shoot, he pulled out a squeeze bottle of some kind of clear oil under the bench and began rubbing it into his own taught skin; over bulging arms, chiseled pecs, and rippled abs. All the while he instructed me to snap this picture and that picture.

I noticed, but didn't mention, as Colton shifted around on the bench and stood up, moving around to get the perfect pose of his oiled up body, that he was now sporting a little tent in the front of his gym shorts.

"You wanna get some shots of this jacked back, dude?" He asked.

"Sure?" I replied.

"Gotta get it oiled up first." He tossed the bottle of oil at me, I fumbled to catch it with his phone in my hand. He turned his back to me. "Oil up my back, bro." He ordered.

I set his phone aside and oiled up my hands as I stepped forward. I started at his broad shoulders, rubbing my hands over the tight skin and down over the defined muscles of his back while he flexed.

"Aaaaah yeah, you like that back, dude?" He asked. I didn't know if he was being rhetorical or if he expected answers, so I did just to be on the safe side.

"Yeah." I replied, rubbing my oiled hand up the defined valley that ran up the middle of the small of his back.

"Yeah I bet you like it. I bet you wish you had a back like that."

Not knowing what else to say on the subject of his jacked back, I continued rubbing the oil into every nook and cranny.

"I bet you want to see my glutes. I bet they're nice and swol after those squats."

Wait, glutes meant ass, right? Yeah, actually I was interested in getting a look at that bubble butt inside those gym shorts.

"Do you want to see my glutes or what?" Colton repeated, sounding a little miffed at my silence.

I cleared my throat. "Uh, yeah I do..."

He reached down behind him and slowly pulled down the back of his shorts, revealing the most gloriously tight round bubble butt I'd ever seen in person. There was no hair and no tan line and my mind instantly pictured Colton laid out tanning in the nude.

"How do you like those glutes?"

I knew better now than to leave the question unanswered.

"Yeah, it's real nice." I offered.

"Nice? That ass is fucking glorious, dude." He countered, sounding slightly hurt.

"You're right, it is pretty glorious." I agreed.

"It's tight from all those squats, man. Rub some oil into it dude. I bet you want to rub all over those glutes."

I couldn't argue with that, and squirted some more oil into my hands before going to work on those glorious cheeks. I focused on one cheek, and then the other. Daring even to swipe an oiled palm between them down through his crack. Colton sighed and watched me squatted down behind him massaging his ass through the mirror in front of him.

"Yeah I bet you like that. I bet you want glutes like that." He hissed.

What I wanted to do was part those tight cheeks and bury my face in his ass, but I didn't dare do it without Colton's permission, and I was afraid to ask.

Eventually he asked if I wanted to rub down his front. I choked out some sort of response in the affirmative, and Colton lay down on his back on the workout bench. I got on my knees beside the bench and worked more oil between my hands.

With a painful erection trapped in my pants, I proceeded to kneed and massage oil into any and every rippled muscle that Colton instructed me to.

He ordered my hands over traps and pecs, thighs and calfs. All the while I tried to not too noticeably stare at the tent pitched in the crotch of his gym shorts, which were still hiked low in the back from the glute rubbing, but were pulled up just enough to hide the prize in front. They rode low enough, however, to show off a tantalizing V at his pelvis, and to make it all but certain that he was shaved as hairless in the front as his back and ass were.

Eventually patience paid off as Colton ordered me next to massage his abs. I took the opportunity to rub oil into each ridge of his impressive 8-pack, and then dared to go even lower down his waist, rubbing hands slowly back and forth in the valleys of that mesmerizing V.

Colton groaned out his satisfaction, all the while his head turned away on the bench, watching his own rubdown through the mirror.

"Yeah, you like that Adonis Belt, bro? I bet you wish you had one like that." He taunted. I had never heard the term before, but guessed that it was the name for the V. In response I rubbed my hands up and down each side slowly and with more pressure.

Colton let out a breath, and mine caught in my throat as he reached down below my massaging hands and into his own shorts, finally pulling out his erection.

He was, indeed, shaved hairless down there. My hands froze where they were pressed into his lower-midsection and I watched fascinated as he began rubbing his own cock, pushing the waistband of his shorts down below his balls with one hand and stroking up and down the shaft with the other. He was not as huge as I would have imagined in my own fantasies, but he had a cute little cut and slightly curved cock with a proud, beet-red head at the top.

"Keep rubbing my muscles, dude. Don't fucking stop. I know you don't want to stop rubbing this body."

Snapped out of my trance, I began my rubdown again with renewed vigor. Putting more pressure into it, I went back over his chest and shoulders and abs, all the while keeping an eye firmly on the admirable work Colton was doing on his own crotch.

I was just biding my time, patiently waiting for my invitation to join in on the fun in his lap. Eventually he pushed his shorts further out of the way and reached up and firmly pulled one of my hands off of his chest and forcefully yanked it down to his crotch. I eagerly wrapped my oiled up palm around his smooth shaft and, with his meaty hand wrapped over mine, we began stroking him together with him controlling the pace.

"Yeah, that's it, rub my body, bro..." He continued his demands through deeper and deeper breaths. I tried hard to continue to kneed and massage his oiled muscles with one hand, and aid in masturbating him with the other. He watched it all, eyes transfixed to the mirrored wall.

"Fuck yeah, rub those muscles... Tell me how much you love this body... You wish you had a fucking body like this, don't you?"

"Yeah, I wish I had your fucking body..." I offered, sensing he craved a verbal response. In my head I thought that more accurately, I wished I had his body on top of mine, humping in and out of me.

"Aaaah yeah rub me... rub those fucking muscles bro... uhhhh I'm going to blow, dude! I'm gonna blow my load. Uhh I'm gonna blow a load all over my fucking body... Fuck look at my muscles fucking flex when I cuuuuum-"

Colton still had my hand in a vice grip locked beneath his on his oiled up shaft and was forcing me to stroke him at a lightning pace. As he let out a final groan his body went rigid and I watched as his lubed up muscles indeed flexed and he began spurting his seed from his purple swollen head. Four globby streams shot out and landed first on his taut neck, then on his chiseled pecs, his sternum and then finally on his rigid abs. Another lazy spurt hit his hand and mine wrapped beneath. He pulled my hand and his up the shaft, milking out one last blob.

As he sat up glistening, but barely out of breath on the bench, I came back to reality and realized I was the one panting, still in my shirt with a hard dick still caught up in my sweatpants.

Colton stood and, I swear, stared at his oil and cum sheened body in the full-length mirror for a good silent 30 seconds before saying anything.

"Well, bro, I'm gonna shower off. You can come in the bathroom and watch while you take care of yourself down there, if you want," he offered, matter-of-factually.

What followed was an awkward 10 minutes where I went with Colton into his bathroom as he got into a glass shower stall and left the door open while I sat on the toilet across from the stall and watched.

He got the shower running and proceeded to soap himself up and rub himself down while I pulled my aching erection out of my pants and shamefully beat myself off and he seemed to not even notice I was still there. As I watched him carefully rub himself clean and jerked myself off, I honestly came before he was even finished showering. I politely tried to cum as neatly as I could into a ball of toilet paper that I tossed into a nearby wastebasket.

I left soon after. Colton saw me to the door and thanked me for coming over, giving me a few quick tips and pointers on where to start if I ever wanted to be as fit and jacked as him.

And that is how I learned what 'Muscle Worship' meant. Apparently I'd missed that definition when I was reading up on craigslist hookup lingo.

The experience turned me off on the whole anonymous hook up thing. My interactions with strangers had always been awkward, and it always seemed to take me months to get to know and open up to people. That was why I had so few close friends. It obviously translated into my sex life more than I'd wanted to admit.

I was trying to find a quick substitute for my feelings and experiences with Tyler, but I was really just kidding myself. The closest thing I'd got was a self-obsessed fitness freak that was like Tyler turned up to eleven, but also devoid of all the other fun, oddball idiosyncrasies that made Tyler, well, Tyler.

I was clearly wasting my time. I knew I couldn't have Tyler in the way that I wanted. I also knew the other part of me, the part that felt like I really just needed to find a girlfriend of my own and move on, never stood a chance of reaching that goal either if I continued living in my parents basement.

I gave up on the anonymous hookups, put my head down and started looking for my own place.

It took awhile, and somewhere during the process it became apparent that if I wanted to have any money left over at the end of every month after I'd bought a home, then I'd be better off renting out a room to someone to offset the mortgage cost. Well, I wouldn't be renting out a room to just anyone. I'd rent out a room to my best friend, Tyler.

So after a solid few months of searching, I found a decent 2 bedroom fixer upper that was definitely still livable, in a quieter more private neighborhood a bit further out from the city, and suddenly I was a homeowner. A homeowner with a best friend who I had previously hooked up with for one wild weekend a summer ago, who I secretly still kind of obsessed over, for a roommate.

But, I make it sound more dramatic than it actually was. Our best friendship had already survived it. We'd already gone years before that with my weird, I thought hidden, man-crush on Tyler. It could continue to survive now that we lived together, and it did.

Despite the big game I talked to myself about moving on with my life and growing up and finding a girlfriend once I'd moved out of my parents house, there wasn't too much development on that front. I mostly just enjoyed the freedom of living out on my own with my best bud. We spent a lot of days working opposite shifts at our respective retail locations, and other days and nights hanging out, drinking and goofing off, having occasional small get-togethers with other co-workers.

Of course, there were also quite a few nights where Justin would have Rachel over. Yes, they were still dating. It was strange, Tyler didn't really spend much time talking about Rachel or mentioning her when she wasn't around, but when she came over they seemed like a decent couple. They would spend most of their time when she was over in Tyler's room watching TV before she would sometimes spend the night.

Our bedrooms were directly across the hall from each other. The rooms shared a wall, and there was a heating/AC vent along the baseboard that carried sounds, sometimes quiet clearly, between our rooms.

They never seemed to get especially loud or rambunctious with their sex, but there were definitely nights laying in bed where I could make out faint murmurs and stray moans, bumps and bed squeaks. Those nights, obviously, I would do the adult and not at all creepy thing, and quietly masturbate while I strained to listen in. All the while, I would think about the things Tyler must be doing to Rachel in there with his sweaty body. The things he would be doing to her with his mouth and cock. The things he would be making her do with her mouth, and her body. On the occasions where I replaced one of them in my mind with myself, I would get rid of Rachel and think about what Tyler would be doing to me.

And for a couple solid months things went on like that. I can honestly say it wasn't too terrible of a life. If I ever did feel single and alone and sorry for myself, I had Tyler right there to take my mind off of it and make things fun again, provided Rachel wasn't over. I think I even succeeded in not creating any weird sexual tension in the house, too. Sure, there were occasions where I'd catch Tyler walking around the house shirtless or something, and I'd steal an extra glance or two. Maybe Tyler noticed, maybe not, but it never got weird-

Until one night when it got very weird.

It was a rare weekend that both Tyler and I had scored days off. We had a few friends who we both knew from back when we worked at the same store over for a little party. It was also rare that Rachel, too, was there for the party. Usually Tyler kept Rachel-time separate from hanging with me-time or anyone else for that matter. He was just weird like that. But Rachel was there that night, and it was a perfectly fine night. Everyone drank and had fun, people slowly left as it got late. Eventually Tyler and Rachel stumbled off to bed, our few remaining guests went home, and I went to bed myself.

It became clear pretty quickly after turning everything off and crawling into bed, that Tyler and Rachel weren't asleep yet across the hall. I could hear muffled noises and hushed voices through the wall and the vent.

Well, it was late, and I'd been drinking, but I was never one to pass up the opportunity to prove Whiskey-Dick (or in my case, Vodka-Dick) was not a factor for me, with a good whack-off sesh.

I had just settled in, pulled my trusty pair of old cum crusted underwear out from under my bed for cleanup, and stuck my hand down my jockeys when I detected a change in the sounds coming from Tyler's room.

Faint as they may be, I had become an expert in detecting the sounds of the two of them late-night fooling around in there. This sounded more like some kind of argument. They were still trying to keep it down, and I couldn't really make out too many specific words, but I could definitely tell they were having a disagreement. Intrigued to try and hear what they were fighting about, my jacking-off plans were forgotten as I lay there leaning as far out off the edge of my bed as I could towards our shared wall.

Strain as I might to hear, I never really got a gist of what they were arguing over. The muffled disagreement went on for a good few minutes before eventually everything went quiet. I've had my fair share of hearing Rachel try to quietly slip out of the house late at night or very early in the morning, so I could say with a pretty good certainty that they had either made up and gone to sleep, or passed out still mad at each other, because I heard no one leave. Anyway, it seemed like the excitement was over for the night, and I was pretty exhausted myself so I decided to give my dick the night off and go to sleep.

I must have dosed off for at least a couple minutes, just long enough to be startled awake by the sound of my bedroom door opening. My eyes shot open to darkness and my heart pounded as I saw the even darker outline of a person standing in my doorway. For a brief moment I was sure I was about to get Michael Myer'd to death, until I heard a voice let out in a ridiculous stage whisper, "Pssst Maaatt..."

It was Tyler, and if I had to guess I would have said he was still a little drunk.

"What the fuck, Tyler?" I just as loudly stage whispered back, for I don't know what reason.

"Shhhhhh! You'll wake Rachel up." Tyler whispered, but might as well have shouted, back as he stepped completely into my room and quietly closed the door behind him. With the door closed I could barely even make out the shape of him moving closer to me in bed. I propped myself up on my elbows and faced in the general direction I thought he was in.

"What the fuck are you doing Tyler? Go back to bed, you're drunk." I guess we'd both decided whispering was what we did now.