The Cabin

I wrote this story a while ago but recently wanted to publish it for more people, so here we are! Warning: unrealistic proportions ahead. Everything is consensual, and both men are over the age of 18.

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I've never understood why people don't like mornings. Like on every other morning, my alarm went off at 6:00am, I spent about 20 minutes on my phone, and then I ran through my morning routine. Crunches, reverse crunches, jumping jacks, pushups, and squats: a quick calisthenics workout to start my day. I always sleep naked, partially because I feel less inhibited, but mostly because I love to feel the weight of my dick and balls against my thighs or on the ground whenever I do my exercises.

It was the summer after senior year, and we had just had graduation. I had swum for my high school for all four years, and my hard work paid off in a full scholarship to a solid university. My swimming career shaped my appearance in many ways; hours spent in the chlorinated water had bleached my hair from a light brown to a dirty blond, contrasting with my darker eyes and thick Italian brows. My most noticeable features are my shoulders, which are considerably wider than my waist, creating a proud V-taper. It's not bulky, but very lean, which I've worked on by eating well and exercising daily.

Unfortunately, it's considered public indecency to run naked through the neighborhood, so I do the next best thing and throw on a pair of spandex, socks, and running shoes, grab a granola bar, and head out. I love my bulge. My dick is about 5 inches soft, growing to a respectable 9 inches when hard. However, what fills out my spandex most are my balls; each testicle is about the size of a tennis ball, and my sack hangs very low, especially in this kind of hot weather. When I think about how much I enjoy my own body, I'm usually in a state of semi-chubness, and my bulge is positively obscene. I don't really care, though. I bask in the attention I get when I get it, but I don't really get very much at 5 in the morning anyway.

Today was particularly exciting because it was the day I would go to my parents' cabin with Matt. Matt, my best friend and also the love of my life. It was weird to think that we had been friends for so long and I had dropped so many hints, but he still seemed oblivious. While I wanted to move our relationship in a new direction, he seemed unaware that that was even a possibility. You might be thinking that he's just not gay. I didn't know one way or the other, but it was definitely worth a shot.

Descriptions don't really do Matt justice, but I'll try to illustrate him as best I can. His eyes are a light gray and his hair is dark brown, contrasting with his relatively pale skin. His jaw is so defined it makes me want to yell. While I stand at a somewhat average 5'11, Matt towers over me at 6'2. While that doesn't seem like that much of a difference, he still manages to have that effect. Most of it stems from his physique; while I excel at swimming, Matt is the star of the wrestling team. He competes in the highest weight class, but his weight is pure muscle.

The closest to naked I've ever seen him is in his singlet, and Matt in a singlet should be one of the Seven Wonders. His shoulders are like mine, but much bulkier and fuller. His biceps are like pillows, and while they're massive and thick, they aren't super veiny or anything. His pecs are incredible, twin slabs of muscle that jut out proudly from his chest, creating a deep crevasse. His abs are visible even through the fabric of his singlet because they're so thick and the gaps in between them are so pronounced. To top it all off, his waist is only 32 inches around.

Thinking about Matt at his skimpiest was getting me hard, which was uncomfortable while I was running, so I decided to turn around and head back home. My parents don't wake up as early as I do, and by the time I returned at 6:00, they were still fast asleep; fine by me. I took out all of the ingredients to make an omelette—eggs, bell peppers, potatoes, cheddar cheese, and salt—and started cooking, thinking about my plans as I did so.

Matt and I planned to celebrate our graduation together before we went off to college. We were going off in the same state, and we would only be an hour away, but I really wanted to spend quality time with him before he left. He was really into the idea, which was definitely a relief. The last thing I wanted was him wanting to avoid me because of my romantic advances. I was hoping to get him drunk enough to loosen up and tell me what he wanted; I had a lot of alcohol that I had collected at the cabin, unbeknownst to my parents.

I was picking him up from his house at ten. After eating my omelette, I had a couple of hours to kill so I decided to play some video games. I wouldn't be able to play any while we were at the cabin, so it was a bittersweet experience. I was about two hours in, absentmindedly stroking the bulge of the spandex that I hadn't yet changed out of, when I got a call. It was Matt. My heart skipped a beat.

"Yo," he said his deep, gravelly voice. "I'm bored, wanna come now?"

Heck yes I do. "Sure," I replied and hung up. I decided to keep the spandex on, throwing over it some shorts and a t-shirt. I left a note for my parents and headed out the door to my car.

It was a beautiful day. When I pulled up to his driveway, he was already out the door of his house. He was in a tank top, not one of those douchy gym rat ones where the armholes extend to their waist, but still a small piece of fabric that looked like a second skin on him. His arms didn't really touch his sides when he walked because of his shoulders, which rippled in the morning sun. I sat there, absorbing his physique as he strutted down to my car.

And we set off. We talk about all sorts of things for the two hours it takes to get to the cabin. I'm not much of a talker in general, but he is. Of course, I don't mind because it allows his dulcet tones to wash over me. He talks about sports, family, college. He talks about girls too. He's never slept with any of the millions of babes who line up to fuck him. It's the hope that I cling to. But he's always vague, which is just annoying. I nod and grunt and mhm when I have to.

And before I know it, we're there. The cabin is picturesque, beautiful, perfect, everything right. It's a little wooden house tucked away in a lush pine forest, surrounded by trees and bounded on one side by a creek that's just deep enough to swim in. I mean, you can just picture it—it's one of those places that shouldn't be real but is. The only downside is that there are mosquitoes, but I've come adequately prepared to fight them off.

"I'm starving," Matt says as soon as we pull into the driveway, which is really just a cleared path through the woods.

"It's still a ten minute walk to the cabin," I responded with a yawn.

"Oh hell naw, I'm running," he declared, grabbing his duffel bag and strapping it on. "Race ya," he said, taking off. I had just been gathering my things, so I was not ready. I also had more things than him; obviously I was faster (psh) but that was my excuse for lagging behind. Watching him run in his sweatpants from behind gave me a great view of his muscular bubble butt and thick, tree-trunk-like legs. That was another excuse—but not the one I'd tell him, of course. Maybe later.

Soon enough, we arrived there, panting and sweating in the summer heat. The cabin is basically a house that just happens to be in the middle of nowhere, so it has things like running water and electricity. Most of the amenities, like the stove and refrigerator, are old, but functional. My family is rich, but still frugal, only spending money when they have to. It works, I guess.

In my bag, I brought a lot of food, enough for a few days (adding on to what was already there), and there was a supermarket half an hour away if we really needed more. By the time I finished getting our things into our rooms—there are two bedrooms in the cabin—Matt had made sandwiches. Seven of them. The guy is a big eater, which makes sense considering his massive frame. "Two of them are yours," he said with a grin, mouth stuffed with tuna salad.

"How kind," I returned, picking up one and taking a bite. For once, he was silent, eating his sandwiches and taking in the environment. I really love it there, and so I appreciated those minutes of reflection and appreciation. Soon, the sandwiches were gone, though, and the fun had to begin sometime.

"So, are you ready to go swimming?" I asked. This was what I was looking forward to most, of course, being a swimmer. Most of my motivation stemmed from seeing Matt shirtless, but a large part of it was my love of being in the water, especially the creek, which I've loved since I was a little kid and what originally got me into swimming.

Matt's face completely blanched, and his expression went blank. "Shit," he said. "I forgot my bathing suit."

Of all the tragedies that could possibly befall us! His reaction made me really worried for a second, that he'd left something really important or that he had forgotten about something and he had to leave.

"Okay? Dude, there's no one around. You don't need one, we'll just go skinny dipping. I do it all the time out here." If there's one thing I am, it's smooth. I don't get flustered around sexy guys like Matt; even if they've stolen my heart, my composure will never be broken. I don't even know how it happens; words just come to me easily and I let them out. This idea was one of these occurrences. After saying it, the thought of him naked blew my mind.

"I have to go to the bathroom," he mumbled. His face was contorted with some kind of emotion that I couldn't pinpoint. It was honestly one of the strangest experiences of my life, to see him this way. Normally, he's one of the most confident people in the world. What he worried about his size?

Discussion of his penis is something that I've been avoiding so far, and that's because I honestly don't focus on it that much, especially with someone like Matt who's got so much else going on. I like dick, but here's a confession: I'm a huge size queen, and I'm not just talking cocks that are bigger than my own. I like unrealistically huge dicks, and the muscular hunks that possess them. Well, none of them exist, so I don't try to project that vision onto my real-life crushes. It just makes it more difficult to accept that they're normal people, just like you and me, in the end.

However, it would be dishonest to say that I haven't bulge-watched Matt, because I think everyone in the world has. Frankly, it's impossible to tell exactly what he's packing, even when he's wearing a singlet, but it's definitely huge. There's just a bulge, though, and no distinction between his penis and his leg or anything. Outside of wrestling, he always wears sweatpants or athletic shorts, and it's never really visible. But what could he be nervous about?

I asked myself these kinds of questions as I gathered my stuff to go swimming. The creek is practically in the backyard, which is great. I brought a towel and a handle of vodka (with bottles of water too; stay hydrated!), because why not—it looked like Matt could benefit from it. Then, I started stripping. I keep my promises, even if I'm only half-aware of what I'm saying.

I was about ready to jump in, butt naked, when I realized that Matt was watching, jaw agape. He had walked over with a towel from the bathroom, but he had dropped it. I had never seen him like that. Was it because of little old me? I blushed at the thought, embarrassed at myself but also proud of my body. I turned around, mostly-soft dick slapping against my thighs. He looked... Uncomfortable.

"Come on, Matt! Let's go!" I called. He shed his tank top, maintaining his strange countenance. The sight of his familiar muscles caused my member to engorge, and I could practically feel the blood rushing to my groin. I felt sheepish, and so I turned around again, to jump in, so he didn't have to see my dick getting hard at the sight of him.

"Come back," he said, boomingly, in his deep voice, but still betraying a sense of uncertainty, an odd foreboding, apprehensiveness. He was still right outside of the house, in what could be called a patio, while I was down the steps to the creek. I was about forty feet away from him, but I was sure that I was fully visible to him.

I turned around yet again and started to walk back. As a sort of afterthought, I grabbed my spandex (which I had kept on since the morning) and put it back on. It was one thing to have a boner, and it was another thing entirely to be completely naked with a boner. I felt that it was basic courtesy to keep it under wraps when he was still dressed (which he was, from the waist down).

"I, uh..." he started, faltered, stopped. He's never at a loss for words, and I was just as speechless as him.

"You okay?" I finally got out. "What's going on, man?"

He started to say something again, and stopped. Took a deep breath. "Okay," he said, resignedly, as if he had just given up an internal fight (which he had probably just done). And he started to undo the knot in his sweats. "I guess I'll just show you," he muttered, almost incomprehensibly, in the lowest audible octaves I can imagine anyone can speak at. I shuddered.

He pulled down his pants, not seductively at all, getting his foot stuck in the anklehole of his right leg, swearing to himself, blushing. He's so damn cute, I just wanted to kiss him right there, on the mouth. But I decided against it. I had an intense feeling of trepidation, that something important was about to happen, and I had no idea what it was, but it had to do with what was underneath his pants. I had the fleeting thought that he might have just been wearing embarrassing underwear or something, and I had to keep from laughing out loud at the thought of Matt wearing Spiderman tighty-whiteys or something equally ridiculous. I was fully hard at this point, but I was ignoring that, focusing on him.

His boxers were loose, very loose, even though his thighs are gigantic. His magical bulge was there, familiar as ever. I saw him take another deep breath, lasting about ten seconds. Inhale, exhale. My own breaths were bated. "Fuck it," he said, pulling down his underwear in one fell swoop, adjusting something near his crotch while he was bent over, and then standing up straight.

To say that I was shocked would be an understatement. His dick appeared to be mostly soft, though I noticed it twitching and slowly inflating. The base of his was impossibly enormous, probably about as thick as my forearm, and it went down, down, down, until the uncircumcised head made contact with his knee. His knee! And his balls... While I thought mine were big, they were like little raisins compared to his, which were probably each the size of a volleyball. I had never seen anything so grotesquely beautiful in my whole life. I couldn't stop staring.

When I finally looked up at his face, he looked relieved, but still tense. Like he was waiting for me to say something.

"It's... wow," I spluttered. Slick. "How have you been able to hide that, uh... that monster?" I finally got out. I mean, jeez. I had gone all my life questioning whether or not he was packing, and it turns out that an elephant would be jealous of his meat!

"I keep it strapped away," he murmured, bending down and picking up a black cord that looked kinda like a thong. I had never seen anything like it, and I didn't know how he would use it. It didn't look particularly comfortable, and I didn't want him to put it on or anything...

"Ohhh. Shit." I realized with a jolt what he meant. If it didn't go in front, or down his leg, or whatever, then it must go behind. "Dude, that's crazy," I said, and then I immediately regretted saying that because I didn't want to make him feel bad or like a freak or anything. It certainly explained his unique bulge.

I went over to him to give him a hug. As I pressed my body into his, feeling his tight muscles against my own, I could tell that my fully hard dick was pressing into his abs, but I didn't care. This was an intimate moment, and I really didn't want to scare him away.

After a while, I broke the embrace and stood directly in front of him, looking up into his eyes, where there was a pale fire flickering. "Does it hurt?" I asked, with genuine concern in my voice. I wanted to touch him more, to reassure him, not necessarily because I wanted to fuck him (though I did, I really did). I can't remember or even attempt to describe the emotions that were swirling through my head in these moments. My dick knew, though.

"Well, I can keep it soft enough to stay there, and if I can't, then, well, I guess I have to go to the bathroom and take the strap off and wait until it gets down again," he responded, still murmuring very softly, as if he were telling me a secret that he didn't want anyone else around to know. Like I said before, there was no one around, not within a ten mile radius of us.

"Have you ever had to do that before?"

He paused. For a long time. I couldn't tell if he was thinking, trying to remember a time when he had to (if he ever had to), or if there was something he was leaving out. "Yeah, once..." he mumbled, even softer than before. His face was shifting through the red-white spectrum, turning various shades of pink before turning bright red or pale, pale white.

"When?" I asked, almost hesitating because of how uncomfortable he seemed. But to me, there was no turning back.

His response came immediately, but it was too quiet for me to understand what words he was saying. It just sounded like an extremely low-pitched mutter. "What?"

And then he took a quick breath that was more like a sigh, and snapped: "It only happened once at one of your swim meets okay that's why I never go to those even when you want me to!"

It was like a slap in the face, but, like, a good slap, the slap that you get when you've just fainted and he's directly above you trying to wake you back up. I was completely speechless, staring off at some fixed point in the woods, and the thoughts that were whirling through my head suddenly attained clarity. It all made sense, in that moment, in the best possible way. A smile began to blossom on my face, and as I looked back at him, he started to smile too.

"I can't believe you never told me that," I finally said warmly, punching him in the shoulder (ow). "I thought you didn't want to support me for some reason," I added, my voice dropping a little.

He grabbed my shoulders and looked me dead in the eyes, a serious expression taking over his face. "I will always be here for you," he stated, slowly but firmly. "Always." Then he relaxed, and let go of me. His grip was strong, painfully strong. "I loved to watch you but I hated to watch you because it was painful. But I love..." and then he trailed off. But he didn't have to continue.

"Hey, it's cool, don't worry about it," I reassured him. "Let's go swimming."

Was it cool? I wasn't cool. I was trying to stay calm, but my heart was pounding like crazy and I was breathing heavily. All I could feel was this intense euphoria from having been validated, for all this time he was avoiding me and my lurid advances—but for the best reason possible! The image of his massive dick — I mean, it was soft and the head was touching his knee, I swear, so it must have been at least a foot long — and gargantuan balls was seared into my mind, and I couldn't get it out, but I hardly even wanted to.

Swimming was fun, I guess, though I don't remember it that well. We just kinda headed down, I took my spandex off, and it was his turn to stare at me. Unlike him, I tried to make the best of the situation, posing for him and giving him sexy looks. I could tell he liked it by the way his eyes danced and his dick lurched.