BateBook Shorts - All Male Fiction: The Trick

By: sausagewithgirth & Ryan Michaels

 

Jimmy’s teammates were tired of his cocky attitude. He acted as though the wins that got them to the meet were all due to him alone. So last night as he slept, his teammates used a stencil and permanent marker to play a trick on him. 

The trick, however, had a very different outcome than they had planned. His teammates had simply wanted to ridicule him in the showers and locker room for a while.

Jimmy woke up early the next morning, though, and went down to the pool to get in some laps. He knew the opposing team would be there getting in some practice before that day's meet, and cocky as he was, he wanted to do his laps in front of them.

Jimmy always did his laps in the nude (it was an all-male university) regardless of who else might be there (that cocky attitude of his again), and did not know his ass was sporting a new look, so he did nothing to try to hide it. 

Several members of the opposing team found it very interesting that Jimmy would be flashing a sign on his tight swimmer butt that invited men to use him like a whore. They figured that anybody advertising like that must want some immediate action.

All Male Fiction: Blowjob Blues

 By: wpblue & Ryan Michaels

 

We sprinted the last several yards along the beach before dropping into the sand; both of us sweaty and panting, trying to catch our breath. We had met on the beach several weeks ago - Sunday morning runners who happened to take the time to chat - and have been meeting to run every Sunday morning since then.

His name was Kyle. He's 26 and is a self-employed fitness instructor. He had what I would describe as a dancer's build. He was thin, but all sinew and muscle. He had an incredibly sexy bubble butt and an enticing bulge that was prominent even when he was wearing baggy running shorts.

His voice was deep and sexy, and even his mundane chatter kept my interest. It was like the sound waves from his voice were covered in lube and they floated through the air to slide around my cock.

His body and his voice kept me in a perpetual state of lust when I was around him, but I did my best to keep myself in check. I hadn't told him I was gay; the subject had never come up, and if he suspected it, he has never said anything about it.

There was really nothing about me to suggest that I was gay (other than the way my eyes lingered on him, the way they undressed him). I have an average build, somewhat on the muscular side, and I am as masculine as he is, though in an understated way. He's definitely an Alpha male, whereas I am more subdued.

He was exceptionally quiet this morning, and I wondered what was on his mind. I turned onto my side and studied him. He was splayed across the sand, eyes closed, arms at his sides, legs spread. I watched the subtle movement of his stomach; studied the prominent bulge in his shorts. He opened his eyes and sighed deeply. He was clearly conflicted about something, and I decided to find out what was bothering him.

"Are you okay Kyle? You're not usually this quiet."

He didn't answer right away, just sighed a few more times before finally speaking. "I'm okay, I guess. But sometimes, life can be really fucked up, you know?"

"I hear ya. What's going on? You want to talk about it?"

Kyle sat up and faced me, his legs pulled up and spread. His eyes locked onto mine, making me feel like I was going to melt. "It's my girlfriend... I know I haven't said much about her before, it's like private stuff, you know? But lately, she's been like a cold fish when it comes to sex. She's cuddly and affectionate, but when I try to have sex, she backs off, tells me that's all I think about."

"Is it?"

"Is it, what?"

"Is it all you think about?"

"Hell no. Well, maybe. I mean, I need sex, you know? Fuck, maybe I do pressure her too much. I sometimes think I'm addicted to sex. I jack off in the shower in the morning and then have to jack off at night too before I go to sleep. Anytime I'm on the computer I end up jackin' off to porn, even if I've already jacked off a few times. It's like my dick is always hard - and I'm always thinkin' about gettin' off."

"Geez Kyle, maybe all that jerkin' off has her upset. Maybe she feels threatened."

"No, she's happy I take care of my own needs because she doesn't want to have sex. But I'm not happy about it; I still want sex, no matter how many times I've jacked off. I mean, that's part of being in a relationship, right?"

I nodded.

"And then, when we do have sex, she won't even go down on me. She'll, like, lick it, and get me all primed, but then won't suck it. She says it's too big, that the taste is gross. I don't get it; I go down on her every time we do have sex."

All this talk about his cock made me look at his bulge. And he noticed where my eyes were. He frowned slightly but didn't say a word.

"Okay Kyle, I get it. You're a horn dog. But do you like her enough to keep dating her, even if she doesn't want to blow you?"

"I don't know man. It's not just the blowjobs; it's the sex in general. I kind of regret asking her to move in with me, now. I mean, there's just no hiding when I get hard, and when I am, which is, like, all the fucking time it seems, I always try to get sex and she only ever says yes about once a week. Hell, I'm hard now just talkin' about always being hard."

Once again, I had to look. And yes, he was hard. I could see the fullness pressed against the material of his shorts. My thoughts were no longer on his girlfriend issue, but on the large hard-on between his legs; I couldn't take my eyes off it. When I did take my eyes off of it and looked at him, he was staring at me. He adjusted himself and closed his legs.

Just as he started to say something, it started to rain. The rain was heavy and Kyle grabbed me by my shirt sleeve and said, "C'mon, let's get in my truck," and we jumped up and headed to the parking area.

By the time we jumped in the truck, we were both soaked. He started the engine and the air conditioner blasted us with cold air. I start to shiver in my wet clothes, and he adjusted the temperature. We sat quietly, and then he said, "I'm sorry to lay all this on you man. I just needed to talk about it. I'll figure something out."

"No problem. I don't mind listening; I just wish I had some advice for you."

"Well, what would you do in my shoes?"

"I'm not sure you'll like my answer to that." As I said that, he lifted the bottom of his shirt and fanned it, trying to dry it out. I looked down and could see that he was hard again, or still.

Again, he noticed me eyeing his cock. I tried to pretend that I was not aware of his aroused condition, and continued with what I had to say. "Your sex drive is not going to go away, and her sex drive isn't going to increase. So, unless you just want to stay frustrated all the time, the only logical choice is to break it off. Until you find someone that has a sex drive to match yours - you'll just have to get it where you can get it."

"I know you're right; it can't work."

We sat quietly again. It stopped raining, and he turned off the engine and rolled the windows down to the cool outside air. When he turned his head back, he followed my gaze, both of us now looking at the outline of his swollen cock. I looked away, pretending to concentrate on something outside.

"You don't need to look away. I'm pretty sure you want to see what I'm packin'."

All Male Fiction: Intimate Strangers

By: Ryan Michaels
ryanxxx@hotmail.com

Ryan drew in a sharp breath as he heard the front door squeak open. It was late, it was dark, and he was home alone, in bed, completely naked.

He heard footsteps, and his body tensed when he heard those footsteps getting closer and closer.

He could hardly breathe as his bedroom door swung open and, even though he was wearing a sleep mask, he shut his eyes.

Ryan felt the fingers and knuckles of what was obviously a man's hand on his skin as the man grasped the top of his blankets and pulled them down, exposing Ryan's bare butt.

As Ryan lay there fully exposed and vulnerable, his ears took in the sound of someone taking their clothes off. Moments later, he felt the mattress go down near the bottom. He remained completely still, barely breathing, as he felt the tip of the man's soft dick lightly brush against his balls before making its way from the base of his ass crack to the top of it.

All Male Fiction: A Real Man

 By: Tommyhawk1

 

"Where the fuck were you?" Gordon asked gruffly as I hurried into the warehouse at ten thirty at night. He was a beefy, large man with a battered face and a ready vocabulary of foul language. Just the sort you’d expect to find working in a warehouse - hard work attracts hard people.

"I'm sorry," I responded sincerely. "I missed my bus." I took my bag from "A Different Light" and hurriedly stuffed it between two pallets of boxes in the warehouse. It would be safe there until I had a chance to sneak them to a better hiding spot, but I couldn't do that now. And showing them to Gordon was out of the question. Half his curse words were "pansy" or worse when he was searching for derogatory remarks to make about someone; "faggot" to him was worse than calling someone a "motherfucker," so I stayed firmly in the closet while at work.

"What you got over there?" he asked as I lifted my hand back. His huge biceps glinted with white crescents from the sheen of his sweat and the glare of the overhead fluorescent lights. His voice was like a god's, the heavy echoes of the cavernous warehouse reverberated back every syllable a dozen-fold.

"Oh, nothing," I said.

"Then haul your pansy ass over here and help me load this truck, motherfucker," he said.

He didn't know I was gay; he talked like that to and about almost everybody. I didn't dare let him see the "A Different Light" book bag, not as big and brawny as this guy was; he could snap me in two without thinking about it.

Taking a gay book and magazines to a job where you're closeted was stupid, I knew that, I knew I should have waited, but the bookstore was right on my way to work. Passing by "A Different Light" bookstore, I made the fatal mistake of peering inside to see what was displayed in the window. A look at my watch to verify I had a couple of spare minutes, and in I went, coming out much later than intended with not only the book but with two porno magazines. And, with my stash now tucked between a pallet of Tide and a pallet of Oxydol, it could wait until I could take it home and give it proper attention.

"Come on, move it, cocksucker," Gordon growled and I hastened over to him. He handed me half of a stack of lists and said, "We got three trucks to do tonight," and I groaned.

Our warehouse takes in the boxcars from individual factories, and from there we load the items ordered by individual supermarkets. We don't handle any of the chain stores, but there are a sizeable number of Mom-and-Pop places that need to furnish their customers with Pop-Tarts and Cheetos; I had plenty of work. In fact, with three trucks needing loading I had more work than I could handle.

Each store had a long page marked with the items and quantities they wanted. We tried to keep the supplies organized so we could go right down the list and grab in order, but in practice, it's never quite that easy. So, you run around until you get all the stuff for one store loaded, then you load that into a larger, plastic shipping box which is then driven over by a forklift and placed into the truck. Gordon drove the little forklift, which was about the size of a Volkswagen, but with only the two of us, he had to jump down from the forklift and trundle a trolley like mine, too.

Once we had the truck filled with the boxes, which contained boxes that contained boxes that contained the essential items for life, we'd move on to the next sheaf of orders. When we finished a truck, we could take a short break, then move the loaded truck out (Gordon did that as well. You have to have a special license and training to drive an eighteen-wheeler) and back another one in and we'd do it all over again. But a truck would take three to four hours to load. Three trucks meant overtime whether I wanted it or not.

So, I worked away on my list, fuming about the unfairness of it all. Damn it, I'd picked up a really butch issue of "Stroke" and couldn't wait to get home and do just what the magazine's title suggested. I had only glanced at the contents, seeing a heavily built, gruff man dominating a younger, more slender man - "Stroke's" favorite form of sex – and it caused my stomach to churn, imagining that big man dominating me, forcing me to take his cock into my mouth... okay, three boxes of salad dressing and I could take this trolley over to the shipping box.

Soon enough my mind was off of sex and back onto my job, because with nothing but cardboard boxes to select from you have to pay attention to what you're picking up. A store orders a box of Ronzoni spaghetti and if you give them American Beauty instead, they don't see it as being all right, you get a nasty restock order and three forms to fill out and sign and initial. One of those goes into your personnel file and they track your performance that way. Sucks. No wonder they had such a heavy turnover of workers on this shitty job.

So, I loaded up that shipping box and the next and the next, and time passed. Soon we'd be finished with the shipping boxes; we could then load the truck with them according to the driver's schedule, and then could take a half-hour break. Sitting and jawing with Gordon wasn't that bad if you let him call you names without flinching. He didn't really mean anything personal by it; it was just his way of talking.

I finished and looked over at Gordon's last box; it was only half-loaded. Hell, he was usually waiting on me, not the other way around. Maybe the guy was slowing down. I decided I could give him a couple of comments while I helped him finish his loading. A few of his choicer comments to me would work nicely, such as "They need to hire some real men to do this work instead of you faggots." I'd like to see his face when I used that one on him!

So, I went in search of him. The warehouse was big (it had to be) so it took some time for me to find him… right by the pallet of boxes of Tide! He had a big load of it on his trolley, and on top of the trolley was a big, white plastic bag… and my copy of "Stroke" was in his hands! And he was looking at the pictures!

All Male Fiction: Late-Night Hunger

By: Ryan Michaels
ryanxxx@hotmail.com

 

As my sleepy eyes came into focus, so did the fuzzy glow of the digital clock on the bedside table; it read 2:06 in the morning. I was staying at the Comfort Inn, a place I was very familiar with, as I traveled to this particular city once a month on business. I usually slept just fine during my regular stays there, but for some reason, I had woken up and just couldn't get back to sleep.

After alternating between tossing and turning and staring at the ceiling, I decided that a snack might help, since I was feeling hungry and thought maybe that was what was keeping me awake. So, up I hopped from the bed and headed off for the small alcove that housed the ice machine and a couple of vending machines.

As I started to peruse the snack items available in one of the machines, a man walked in and took up at the vending machine next to me, which housed sodas and water. "Hi there," he greeted me.

"Hi," I replied, casually taking him in as he browsed the choice of beverages in the machine. He looked to be about forty and was clad in only a white t-shirt and boxer shorts. He was decent looking and appeared to be in good shape. When my eyes moved to take a look at his crotch, they lingered there as I saw the outline of his cock hanging down along his thigh.

"Like what you see?" he spoke, while still looking straight ahead, and then he turned and looked right at me.

"What? I don't know what you mean, I'm just getting a snack," I babbled and turned my head, eyeing the items in my machine again.

"Hey, it's cool," he said. "The only reason I'm up at this hour is because my pecker won't let me sleep, and I'm pretty sure after I caught you checking out my dick that you like sucking on them, and a good suck job would be real nice right about now. So, how about it? You wanna suck on this?" he asked giving his cock a squeeze through his underwear.

By that point my own dick was hard inside my sleep pants, making my condition impossible to hide.

My hard dick was screaming yes, but my head was telling me that this guy, after catching me staring at his crotch and figuring me for a queer, could be setting me up for a beating or something. I'm sure it won't come as any surprise that my cock won out and I nodded my head.

"Great!" he grinned, and then he put his hands to his hips and was about to push his underwear down, right there in the fucking alcove!

"Hey, wait!" I spoke. "We can't do it here! Why don't we go back to my room, or we can go to yours if you prefer?"

"It's after two in the morning; no one is around. Where's your sense of adventure?" he smiled.

"I don't know. I really think we should go back to…"

I stopped there when he went ahead and proceeded to push his underwear down past his balls. One thing I could not resist was a cock. I wasn't just a cocksucker, I was a hungry cocksucker, and now that his cock was exposed right in front of me, all reason and caution went out the window and I immediately fell to my knees in front of him and gobbled that cock up!

All Male Fiction: Relations

By: Marcin904 & Ryan Michaels

I'd known Ed since I was a kid, being that we lived on the same street and I was friends with his daughter growing up. Eventually, I ended up dating his daughter and then, just last year, I married her, so Ed is now my father-in-law.

My wife and I had only been married for just over a year when my in-laws ended up getting divorced. Afterward, Ed up and moved to the edge of nowhere. I never could figure out why; I guess he just needed a fresh start or something.

Ed and I always got along well - I'd always felt we had some kind of connection, although I couldn't quite put a finger on it. I guess I just thought he was a very interesting man's man and I really liked being around him. I missed not having him around anymore, though, and today, finally, I decided to do something about it and pay him a long overdue visit.

Ed lived in a small cabin up near the tree line, and once I saw how beautiful the area was, I understood why he had decided to move to such a remote location.

I arrived a bit earlier than expected and was surprised to find the front door open. I guess I shouldn't have been; when you live out in the middle of nowhere, I suppose you do things like that. I opened the door to call out Ed's name, but he entered the room at the same time. He was wet and wrapped in just a towel. I'd obviously caught him just getting out of the shower.

"Oh, hey, you're early," he said when he saw me there. He told me to make myself at home, and then motioned to his coffee cup on the coffee table and asked if I wanted some. I declined and then he excused himself and left the room.

When he returned, he was clad in a pair of boxer shorts and a wife-beater. He plopped down on the couch, and when he did his cock flopped out the leg of the boxers, which was being strained around its girth.

With a grunt, Ed leaned back, propped one big foot up on the coffee table, and blithely sipped his coffee. He noticed me staring at him, smiled, and raised an eyebrow. It was the same friendly smile I'd seen for years.

But there I was, shrinking in my chair. I crossed my limbs, reversing his open stance. I forced myself to look everywhere else, anywhere but between my father-in-law's legs, but my traitorous eyes kept coming back to him.

Ed reached down to scratch himself, and he froze when his fingers grazed across the exposed flesh of his meaty head. He looked at me and a slow grin spread across his lips. "Whoops. Guess I gave you a little show," he chuckled.

My mouth went dry, but I managed to croak, "Doesn't look so little to me."

We sat there, staring across the living room at each other, in a long, uncertain silence. I could feel my heart thumping in my ears. My face must have been as red as an apple. Ed just kept smirking until he finally nodded and said, "Careful, son, you'll get him going."

My dick was hard in my pants now and my mouth was literally watering, and then I heard myself quietly saying the words, "What if I wouldn't mind that?"

Shit! Did I say that out loud? I thought. Shit! I did! I sat there wondering how my father-in-law would react to such a statement, almost afraid to breathe.

"Then you better get on your knees," he answered

I was relieved that he took it as a joke, and I laughed.

But he didn't.

"You poked the bear, son," he said and his cock jumped, growing down along his thigh. "Only fair he gets to poke you back," he finished, shifting to pop his wrist-thick whopper out through the fly of his boxers. He nodded to the floor at his feet. "Get down there and start sucking, and lose the clothes while you're at it."

All Male True Experience: An Unrelenting Urge

 By: 69andmore

It’s that familiar feeling that comes upon you suddenly, out of nowhere. If you are bi, and married, like me, well, you know what I mean - that sudden, unexplainable urge to have sex with a man, to satisfy a desire. It invades your thoughts, and experience has taught you it won’t go away, won’t allow you to think clearly, rationally, until you surrender to it.

All I knew was that once the craving overpowered me, I was horny for cock and needed a fix, to give in to the hedonistic power it had over me and find some sort of man-sex for relief. Trying to fight it off was futile. 

I was feeling that way today, and to make matters more complicated, it was Father’s Day. Why did I have these re-occurring thoughts again badgering me, especially today of all days?

Although my sex life with my wife was good, and despite knowing that because it was my special day I’d probably be getting some that night, ambushed by the thoughts of a hard cock, a hot ass, and a hot load of cum, I knew what I had to do.

After making my cell phone ring, I went upstairs and told my wife that my buddy Joe had called to tell me his car had broken down and he needed a ride. Of course, that wasn’t true, but my wife and Joe never talked so I knew she’d never hear differently.

With an excuse to get out of the house for a bit put in place, I jumped in my car and headed off to a specific adult book store. I had chosen this particular one purposely because it was fairly new in the area and I had heard it offered booths with glory holes – something none of the others in the area had - and that men went there to use them with other men. Using a glory hole was going to be a new experience for me, but one that I was quite excited about.

That excitement grew as I pulled into the parking lot, and continued to grow as I entered the bookstore, paid the attendant cash in exchange for tokens, and started to make my way to the back area where the booths were located.

As my eyes adjusted to the darkness, I heard the sounds of the sucking and fucking emanating from the porn playing inside some of the occupied booths. The empty booths stood with the doors open, as a small number of guys hung out cruising, some walking around, and some leaning against the walls or booths.

I didn’t have the time or need to cruise; all I needed was to have a little man-on-man sexual activity so I could regain control of my life again, and I immediately walked into the first open booth and closed the door.

After locking the door, I dropped some tokens in the machine and pushed a few buttons until I came across a movie that looked good. It was a gay porno and watching it made my mouth water. I looked around and saw the hole cut in the wall between my booth and the next one, and my cock twitched in my jeans.

It wasn't too long before I heard someone enter the booth next to mine and lock the door. I looked down through the large hole in the wall and was barely able to make out a pair of legs and sneakers in the darkness of his booth.

As I continued to peer through the hole, the stranger dropped some tokens into his machine and then dropped his shorts and underwear to the concrete floor.

All Male Fiction: The House Painters

By: Unknown Author & Ryan Michaels

 

The one good thing about living in Houston, Texas, which is very hot and humid during the summer, is that men tend to strip off their shirts whenever the opportunity presents itself; so, there is a lot of eye candy to look at, and that makes a good trade-off for living in such a hot and humid city.

One summer morning, I changed into my bike shorts and hopped on my bike and started peddling around the neighborhood. I had been riding for about an hour when I drove by a house that had a For Sale sign out front, and a couple of guys painting the outside of it.

Both of the painters looked to be in their mid-twenties, and both were working without shirts on, wearing just shorts and shoes. Both were tanned and well-built. I wouldn't have kicked either guy out of bed, and checking them out caused a stirring inside my bike shorts. I almost hit the curb looking at them.

After averting a header over the handlebars and preparing to get my bike back in motion, I noticed there was a pickup truck with deep purple metallic paint backed in the driveway with a For Sale sign taped to the windshield. I wasn't in the market for a vehicle, but I decided that pretending to be interested and going up and taking a look at it would give me the perfect opportunity to get a closer look at the hot studs that were painting the house.

"Can I help you?" the one guy called over when he saw me there.

"I just noticed the For Sale sign while passing by; just taking a look, thanks," I replied.

I took a good look at the truck to look convincing as to why I was there and was about to get back on my bike and ride off when the guy called out to the other one, "Yo, Mike, there's some guy interested in your truck."

The other guy came jogging over to the driveway.

"Hi, I'm Mike," he said with a smile once he arrived in front of me. "You interested?" he asked.

God, was I interested, but not in his truck! The man was even more gorgeous up close. Of course, I indicated I was interested, saying that I had no vehicle and was tired of peddling my bike around town, and he started telling me about the truck, which afforded me the opportunity to take a good look at his body.

He was about five-foot-eight, had dark brown hair, a naturally smooth chest, tanned skin, and was sporting a six-pack as well as a couple of tattoos. Other than baggy cut-off shorts riding low on his hips, he was not wearing any other clothes except tennis shoes without socks. He also had specs of white paint all over him which made him look even sexier.

This guy could really chatter on and on but he finally came to a pause in his long-winded sales pitch and said, "I gotta tell you dude, if you end up buying my truck, don't give up on the cycling; it's obviously gotten you, and kept you, in great shape, and you wouldn't want all that hard work to go down the drain."

I knew that his comment was purely innocent, just a guy in good shape complimenting another guy who was also in good shape, and not a come-on, but I decided to be kind of bold in my response and said, "Thanks. Cycling is great for the legs and butt, but you've got an amazing chest. Wish mine looked as good as yours."

He grinned and then did that thing bodybuilders do where they make their pecs jump.

"Wow, that's amazing. How do you do that?"

"It's not hard; anyone can do it if they do the right weight training to develop those muscles," Mike replied. "So, back to the truck, you interested in buying her?"

Obviously, I had no interest in buying his truck, so I said, "I'll definitely think it over, but right now I gotta jet. I really gotta piss bad and need to find a bush or something." That last part was true; I really did need to piss badly.

"Dude," he laughed. "No need to be pissing on some old lady's bush. The house is empty, but we're also painting up the inside and have got the key. You are more than welcome to go inside and use the washroom if you want."

"Are you sure it's ok?" I asked.

"Sure. Not a problem, dude. Come on, I'll show you where it is."

I thanked him and I took in his ass as he led me to the house and then showed me where the washroom was.

I went into the washroom, closed the door, and took care of my full bladder.

As I was coming down the hall from the washroom I could see the living room and noticed that Mike, as well as the other guy, were both in the house now, and Mike was saying something to him quietly. When I got out into the living room, Mike introduced me to his buddy, telling me his name was Brad.

Brad also looked to be in his mid-twenties, with the same dark brown hair on his head, and some close-cropped hair on his chest, and was muscular, too, but not quite as ripped as Mike. Like Mike, he was also sporting a couple of tattoos and wearing nothing but baggy cut-off shorts hanging low on his hips.

After introducing me, Mike indicated they were going to take a break and wanted to know if I wanted a beer. Naturally, I said yes.

Mike opened the lid of a cooler that sat in the room and pulled out three beers, handing one to Brad and one to me.

Because the house was empty, there was no furniture in the place, so Mike grabbed some empty paint buckets and turned them upside down, placing two of them side by side and the third opposite them.

I was sitting across from Mike and Brad, and every time Mike lifted the beer can to his lips his right bicep flexed and it was driving me crazy with lust. After sneaking a furtive glance at Mike's crotch, I also noticed that the top button on his cutoffs was now undone and I could see even more of the jet-black streak of hair leading down to his crotch.

Besides being sexually attracted to Mike, I also admired his ripped physique and wanted to know how he achieved it, so I started asking Mike about his workout routine.

Brad's male competitive spirit kicked in and he immediately started ragging on his buddy saying, "Mike may have bigger muscles, but for the muscle that counts the most with women, I have him easily beat."

Mike shook his head, seemingly having heard this argument before, and then rolled his eyes and said, "Brad is just jealous because I get more looks from women than he does."

"You may get the looks, but that's all you get because while you are spending all your time in the gym with your 'homo' bodybuilder friends, I get my workout laying pipe with the ladies, lots of ladies." Brad then jumped up and stood in front of both of us and cupped and squeezed his crotch in his hands and said, "Women like a big dick better than they like big muscles, and they'll choose the big dick every time."

Meanwhile, my dick was begging to get hard, which is bad when you are wearing skin-tight Lycra bike shorts. I was praying they would not notice my growing bulge, and I leaned forward a bit so they would not spot the evidence.

"You've only seen me pissing, so how would you know? I'm probably as big as you are, or bigger when I'm hard," Mike responded.

Brad scoffed at this and then looked at me and asked, "What would you prefer if you were a chick, a big dick, or big muscles?"

"I'd have to see your dick to know for sure, since I have already seen Mike's muscles, which, I have to say, are pretty awesome." I couldn't believe I actually said those words, but by that point, I was buzzed after the exercise and drinking a beer on an empty stomach, and so fucking horny. I knew if it hadn't been for that, I would never have been bold enough, or brave enough, to respond that way.

But what I really couldn't believe was Brad's reaction to my statement. Instead of getting mad and asking me if I was some kind of homo, or telling me to get the fuck out of there, he simply started to unbutton his shorts and hauled out an uncut cock. It hung about five inches or so, soft.

After pulling it out, he let go of it and crossed his arms over his chest. When he did that, his loose-fitting shorts fell to the floor leaving him there naked just a few feet in front of me.