Date: Sun, 3 Aug 2014 06:08:52 -0700
From: z119z 2000 <z119z2000@yahoo.com>
Subject: Boi 4 Hypno

Boi 4 Hypno

z119z

© by the author 2014

The kid was in the wrong place. I almost added "at the wrong time," but
there would never be a right time for this kid, not in Vir.

Vir is a juice bar on East Holly Street, right in the middle of our city's
gay village. It's on the ground floor of the same building that houses
Woodie's Gym, a shrine for serious, hard-core bodybuilders. It sells
protein shakes and other drinks Vir's "nutritional supplements consultants"
(the baristas) describe in extravagant terms as "muscle builders,"
"energizers," and "detoxificants," made with lots of things that are
"essential for health and vigor" or at least things that are hyped as
essential. In short it's a pick-up joint for guys with big muscles who want
other guys with big muscles. It's a clean, well-lit place to go when your
body is still glowing from exertion and you're looking for someone to glow
with. There's no dress code, but most of the customers have just finished
working out and favor shorts that stop at the top of their thighs and
string T's with scoop necks that expose their arms and most of their
pecs. It smells of guys oozing testosterone. Lots of testosterone. Guys
whose earlobes have serious muscles. Like me.

So, anyway, as I was saying, this kid walks in. Twenty, maybe
twenty-one. He looks like he's skipping his class in super-advanced physics
or some kind of math no one at Vir has ever heard of—he might even be
the teacher. He's short, five-five or five-six. He's got long dirty blond
hair that hasn't been washed for weeks, but it doesn't look like he's
intentionally going for a stringy, oily 'do dusted with dandruff and with
small critters crawling around and mining his scalp for stray bits of
food. It's more like he doesn't worry about his hair—it doesn't even
occur to him that he might think about his hair. Or any other part of his
body for that matter. His arms are at most six inches around. There's not
the slightest hint of a curve to indicate he has biceps. His T-shirt droops
from his narrow shoulders. He's wearing khaki pants that sag in the
back—he's got no butt. I've seen swizzle sticks thicker than his
legs. His knees are so bony and sharp it's a wonder they don't slit his
pants open. Pale, pale skin. He wouldn't be a nerd without glasses with
thick lenses and big, almost colorless plastic frames that slide down the
ridge of his nose till they come to rest on the bump at the end, right?
Well, he doesn't disappoint in that respect either. When he pushes the
glasses back up, the lenses magnify his eyes so much that they look twice
as big as anyone else's.

Now, some guy walks into Vir, he gets checked out. We pay attention to
bodies here. For some guys, it's the competition. Does he have bigger
biceps? Does he have more definition? For others, it's more a matter of Can
I get this guy to want me? There are even some for whom the question is Can
I dominate this guy? It's a very aggressive, cut-throat place. Guys without
big bodies and well-defined muscles are greeted with sarcastic
remarks. They can't get two steps inside the door before someone lets them
know they don't measure up (literally).

So when this poster child for some deserving charity walks in, everybody
turns to check out the newcomer—casually, like they're not really
looking at him, you understand; their minds are on other things, see. The
guy just happens to be passing through their field of vision, and they
can't help but notice him. Usually this would be when the remarks and
catcalls start. Instead, there's this collective intake of breath that ends
in an embarrassed silence. Some smartass starts to say something, but the
man standing next to him jabs him with an elbow to hush him up. I mean if a
guy's chest is only 50 inches, he's fair game, but what do you say to a
shrimp who has a 25-inch chest? Maybe he's sick. Who knows? It happens. You
don't make fun. That would be cruel. We're bigger than that. So it's like
we decide not to see the kid. He's invisible. He's not big enough to
notice. He's not the type of guy we want to think about. We don't want to
know such people exist.

The nerd walks over to the bar. I'm sitting in the back corner next to the
wall. It's a bit darker there, but it gives me a good view of everyone
else. More important, it gives the other guys something to look at. Now,
most guys, they don't like to sit next to me. I make them seem small. I
intimidate other guys, even other bodybuilders. They don't want to be seen
beside me, because I'd win that competition. I'm not bragging. It's a
fact. All I'm saying. Usually I sit sideways so that I can rest my
shoulders against the wall. Besides, when I turn to face the bar, my
shoulders are so wide that no one can sit next to me. I sort of crowd over
in the next space. Long and short of it is, there's always an open seat or
two next to me.

The kid looks around and sees that the stool beside me isn't taken. So he
comes over and sits down. He nods at me. Vir has a list of its standard
drinks—the protein shakes and whatnot—written on a sign board over
the bar. The kid pushes his glasses back up on his nose and squints at the
board.

"What's good?" he says.

At first, I'm not sure he's talking to me. He hasn't turned to face
me. He's still looking at the sign. But I'm the only person around. So I
figure, what the hell? Be nice to the kid. I'm a big man. I don't have to
put other guys down to make myself feel good. The kid's not doing me any
harm.

"I'm having a Number 7."

The kid looks up at the board and reads the description. "One dozen locally
sourced egg whites from free-range hens, blended with 250 grams each of
freshly harvested, unprocessed kelp (Laminaria saccharine; source: Bay of
Fundy), malted winter wheat berries (Triticum aestivum; source: Natural
Nature Farms, Kansas), and soya beans (Glycine max; source: Old Red Barn
Mills, Illinois) in additive-free spring water triple-distilled on the
premises. 100% organic. Sixteen essential amino acids for energy-enhancing
cellular replenishment."

Then he looks over at the blender jar sitting in front of me. The Number 7
isn't the most appetizing-looking drink. I'll admit that. I'll even admit
that it tastes toxic. It looks and is slimy, and the inside of the blender
is flecked with bits of kelp and other unidentifiable blobs.

"What's it taste like?"

I stand up and reach over the bar and grab a glass. I pour a half-inch of
the Number 7 into it and push the glass in front of the kid. "Here, try
it." I don't tell him he's going to like it, because it's not a drink
anyone likes. It's good for you. That's what matters.

The kid picks up the glass and sniffs at it. He makes a face and then
shrugs his shoulders. The face tells me he doesn't expect to like it; the
shrug says that he's going to try it anyway. He lifts the glass and tilts
his head back. Now the Number 7 is thick. So it doesn't run smoothly down
the side of the glass when the kid raises it to his mouth. It sort of hangs
in the bottom of the glass for a second and then the glob gives way and
plops into the kid's mouth. He slams the glass down on the bar. He looks
like he wants to spew this wad of rancid paste that's invaded his
mouth. But he's game. I have to give him that. He chews a couple of times
and then swallows. His Adam's apple bobs up and down. He looks over at me
with this look of disbelief.

"How can you drink that . . . ?" I know he wants to say "that shit," but he
thinks twice before telling someone as big as me that he doesn't think much
of my taste in drinks.

"It's good for my body. It replaces the protein I use up when I'm working
out." I look at the list over the bar. "Maybe you should try the Number 28,
the carrot and apple smoothie. Let me buy you one." I signal the nearest
nutritional supplements consultant, and soon the kid has a blender full of
orangish liquid in front of him. He's more wary this time, but he takes a
drink. I don't think he loves the taste, but at least he can drink
this. "Thanks," he says.

"I'm Jake." I hold out my hand.

"Leonard."

We shake. The kid—Leonard—can't take his eyes off my bicep. I can see
he likes the way it moves when we shake hands. I don't squeeze Leonard's
hand the way some of the assholes in Vir would. He's a nice kid. I don't
need to prove anything to myself. I know I'm stronger than Leonard is ever
going to be in his life. But the kid's probably going to find a cure for
cancer or invent a trans-warp drive. Me, the most I'm ever going to do is
to be a very, very big guy. To each his own. Live and let live, that's my
philosophy.

Leonard has to turn toward me to shake my hand, and it's then that I notice
that there's something written on his T-shirt, over his left pec, or what
would be his left pec, if he had pecs. The lettering's real small—like
in a book, that small. I have to lean in a bit and squint to read it. "Boy
4 hypno."

"What's that all about?"

"What?"

I point to the letters. He tugs on his T-shirt so that he can see what I'm
talking about. He reads it like he's never noticed it before.

"Oh yeah," he shrugs. "I don't know what it means. Somebody left it at my
place, and I needed a clean shirt this morning. So I just put it on."

Now that tells me two more things about Leonard—other than he's just not
clothes-conscious, I mean. That I already figured out. One, guys remove
their clothes when they're at his place. And two, they're in such a hurry
to get out of there that they don't put all their clothes back on. Guys
visit my place—they remove their clothes too. Sometimes they don't want
to put them back on. That can be a problem when I'm trying to get them out
the door. Some guys—I have to use a little persuasion on them to make
them get dressed. Other guys, I've just finished fucking their brains out,
and they're so dazed they don't realize they're not completely dressed when
they leave. I dump a bag or two of other guys' clothes in the charity box
every couple of months. None of their clothes are ever big enough to fit
me. I'm not bragging. It's a fact. Just saying, that's all.

Then it hits me it's kinda odd that I'm spending even this much time
comparing what happens at Leonard's place to what happens at mine. Because
usually I don't even look at guys like Leonard. But there's something about
the kid. OK, he's short and small, but he's also smart and
confident. There's enough to him that it makes me think it's not a waste of
my time to talk with him. And I'm feeling, I don't know, sort of protective
toward him, if that makes any sense. I mean, he's not my
responsibility. But I've got this urge to extend an arm around his
shoulders. Not a real arm. I'd never do that. If I put one of my arms on
his shoulders, I'd probably break his collar bone. A pretend arm to shield
him from the other guys—that's all I'm saying.

He's got balls. I'll give him that. He can't be so unaware of what's going
on around him that he thinks he fits in here. Yet he walks into Vir, looks
around, and sits down next to me, the biggest guy in Vir. It's like he
decided he wanted to make me look even larger and himself even smaller.

Leonard's kinda looking me over. He's not being rude about it, and I'm used
to being stared at. So I don't mind. I'm also curious whether he likes what
he sees and whether and how he'll put a move on me. I've always been good
looking, and I started bulking up in high school. So a lot of guys have put
the move on me over the years. I collect "moves." It's kinda my hobby. I
should maybe write a book about it. You wouldn't believe some of the things
guys have said to me to try to get me in bed.

Anyway, the barista left my change on one of those plastic trays. Leonard
reaches over and absent-mindedly picks up a dime. He starts playing with
it, twisting it between his fingers and turning it over and over. Then he
places it over the knuckles of his left hand and starts walking it back and
forth over his fingers. I've seen guys doing that on TV and the movies, but
they usually use quarters. Leonard's fingers are so small that a quarter
would be too big. He's also got his hand pressed flat on the bar. I've
never seen anybody walk a coin with hands held flat before. Leonard keeps
doing it, back and forth. Each time the coin flips over, there's a flash of
light. His fingers aren't moving—least not that I can see. I don't
understand how he's making the coin move. Muscle control—that one's
thing I know a lot about, but it's like Leonard isn't using any muscles at
all to move the coin.

I gotta learn how to do this. I pick up a quarter and try to copy what he's
doing. But no dice.

"How are you doing that?" I can't even get the quarter to move.

Leonard looks down at his hand in surprise and watches the dime move back
and forth over his fingers. "That? It's easy. I think about doing it, and
it happens. It's just an inanimate object. I can control it with my mind."

Which is a pretty odd thing to say, if you think about it. But I wouldn't
have this body if I didn't use mind control. That's what a lot of
bodybuilding is. You picture the muscles you want to have in your mind, and
then you work on your body till you fill in the picture with your
muscles. So I try again. No luck.

"You have to concentrate. Don't think about moving your fingers. Just
picture it in your mind and let it happen."

Now, I'm beginning to get the idea that Leonard has a stronger mind than
me. Fair enough. Lots of guys are smarter than me. But I give it another
try. The coin doesn't budge. I shrug and start to throw the quarter back on
the tray when Leonard says, "Keep on trying. Here—just watch my
coin. Don't think about the coin on your fingers."

So I do what he says. He keeps talking to me about just relaxing my mind
and letting it be blank and how I should just keep watching the coin on his
hand. I don't know how long we're sitting there, with me watching and him
talking.

"Cool." I look up and there's one of the baristas staring at the both of
us. I look down, and the coin on my hand is moving. I don't know when it
started, but it's moving in synch with the coin on Leonard's hand, back and
forth like his. Of course, the moment I realize what's happening, my coin
stops moving.

"Coin operated," says Leonard, sort of to himself. I don't know what he
means by that, but he just shrugs and tosses his coin back onto the tray. I
do the same. I feel ridiculously happy. It's like I just accomplished
something great. In one part of my mind, I know it's silly. It's just a
trick, but the other part of my mind I'm feeling really grateful to Leonard
for teaching me how to move a coin with my mind. I'm also feeling kind of
dizzy, light headed. I guess I'm just not used to using my brain that
much. I don't know how long I've been sitting there listening to Leonard
talk and moving the coin. I glance at my watch and see that I've been
sitting in Vir for over three hours. It doesn't feel like that long. I
don't know where the time went.

Anyway, I shake my head to clear it. Then I look around Vir. Suddenly I
don't want to be there anymore. It's like it hits me that it's such a
pretentious place, selling sham science and pushing stupid, overpriced,
ineffective drinks. What am I doing sitting in a place filled with
overbuilt, narcissistic, insecure wannabe studs? Guys who use muscles to
compensate for their inadequacies. I have to admit it's weird for me to be
thinking this way. I never thought about such things before, but these
ideas just pop into my head. I'm not even sure I really know what all those
words mean. It seems almost like these ideas have been buried deep inside
my head for a while, and now they're just coming to the surface. I don't
understand it, but I know that I'm seeing Vir and the guys in it clearly
for the first time and that I don't belong there.

I push my glass toward the barista and say, "Hey, Leonard, let's go back to
your place and hang for a while."

Leonard nods. And just like that, we walk out together. I'm with my good
buddy Leonard, and all's right with my world. Now, I know this is gonna
sound strange, but I'm horny as hell. Luckily Leonard's place is only a few
blocks away. Otherwise I might have grabbed him and taken him into an
alley. I mean I'm bursting. If I had to walk any further, I would have
popped out of my shorts. As it is, I've got a serious tent in front. An
Eiffel Tower.

As soon as I step inside his apartment, I'm tearing off my clothes. I'm not
wearing much, just a T and shorts and a jock strap. So it doesn't take me
long. Leonard—he's so cool. He looks me over and smiles.

"Nice," he says. "Real nice." He pats me on the arm.

I'm flooded with this feeling of relief. I've been so worried that he might
not like me. That maybe I'm not his type or not good enough for him. I mean
Leonard could have any guy he wants, and he's chosen me. I'm quivering with
excitement.

"Go on into the bedroom," he says. "I'll be in in just a minute."

So I go into the bedroom and lie down on the bed. Right away I have a
problem. Should I lie face up or face down? I want to be face down, but I
don't want to imply that I'm assuming that he wants to fuck me. But if I'm
face up, maybe he'll read that as meaning I don't want him to fuck me,
which I do. And this is confusing, because I never get fucked, and here I'm
worrying about how I can signal Leonard that that's exactly what I want him
to do to me. So I think, maybe lie on my side. But do I lie on my right
side, facing the door so that he sees the front of my body? Or do I lie on
my left side and show him my butt? You can see my quandary, and I'm not a
guy who uses words like "quandary" because I don't ever have
quandaries. But now I've got this big dilemma. Dilemma, another word I
never use because I don't ever have dilemmas. I'm so excited about being
with Leonard that I'm not thinking straight.

So I try lying on my left side, with my butt facing the door. I pull my
left leg up so that my balls are visible between my thighs. My asshole is
deep within my ass cleft, and there's no way anyone could see that unless I
use my hand to pull my buttocks apart, but I'm hinting that it's available,
should Leonard be so inclined. I feel really good lying there, but a bit
anxious and concerned because Leonard's taking his time getting to the
bedroom. I hope he hasn't changed his mind.

Maybe, I should be on my right side. That way, when Leonard comes in, I can
smile at him and let him know I want to be with him. So I roll over. My
dick's hard. Throbbing hard. I hope he doesn't get the idea that I started
without him and have been playing with myself. That would be wrong on so
many levels. I try to make myself soft. Usually I can control my dick, but
not today. I don't know what's wrong with me. My palms are sweating, and my
heart is pounding. I wish he would hurry up. I really need his cock.

There is a pile of clothes in the corner. Mostly underwear—T's and
briefs, but a few shirts and pants. Leonard likes a great variety, that I
can see. He's got every style and color. He must have been bigger at one
time, because most of the stuff is too big for him. Way too big.

I hope I smell ok. I took a shower after working out. So I should be
fine. But I didn't have a chance to brush my teeth after drinking the
Number 7 at the Vir. I probably have kelp breath. While I'm wondering if I
should hop into the bathroom and see if he's got any mouthwash lying
around, Leonard finally comes in.

"Hey, sexy," I say. Something's wrong with my voice now. My throat's all
dry, and the words come out broken and too high-pitched. I try again in a
lower voice, "Hey, sexy." It's better this time. Sort of a throaty growl,
but then this girlish giggle comes out of my mouth, which sort of spoils
the effect.

Leonard's still dressed. I give him this nervous grin. I can feel it
stretching the corners of my mouth. I even stick my right hand between my
legs to cover up my hard-on. Like I'm embarrassed or something. I hope I
don't seem too needy. Whenever I'm with a needy guy, I feeling like
smacking him. Guys should have more pride and be more restrained, and now
I'm acting like this teenage girl who's about to lose her virginity. My
face is all hot. I think I'm blushing.

Leonard is so nice. He sees that I'm anxious. So he sits down on the bed
and pulls my hand away from my dick. "Just relax, Jake," he says. "I'll
take care of everything. Lie back. Just relax. Leave everything to me."

He puts my hand on his leg and leaves it there. His body is so warm. I can
feel the heat of it through his pants. He pats me on the hip, and suddenly
this wave of relaxation and contentment sweeps through my body. He's so
special. I'm still excited, but now I know everything's going to be
fine. I'm with Leonard. He'll take care of me.

Leonard sits up and pulls off his T-shirt. That's the first time I've seen
his chest. He's so beautiful. Thin and so smooth. No definition. No bulging
muscles. No veins popping out.

He bends forward and kisses me. Then he lies down on the bed beside me and
wraps his arms around me. He is so sexy.

I'm such a slut. I stick a couple of fingers inside the waist of his pants
searching for his cock.

"Somebody's in a hurry," he laughs.

I nod my head sheepishly. The guy's a mindreader. But it's no trick to read
my mind. All I can think about is Leonard's cock.

OK, what happens over the next couple of hours is between Leonard and
me. I'm not a kiss and tell kind of guy. I'm not going to betray
Leonard. He's special. All I will say is that Leonard's so considerate and
gentle with me. Especially since he's so big where it counts. The guy's a
grower not a shower. I thought it would hurt, but it was like having this
hot force inside me. I've had sex before, but this is the first time
anybody's ever made love to me, with me.

So, we're lying there afterwards. I'm exhausted, but I know I want to see
Leonard again. He hasn't said anything for a while, and I'm beginning to
worry he might not like me. He's on his back. His body is so gorgeous. I
can't keep my hands off him.

"That was great," I start. "The best sex I've ever had. You're terrific."

He nods at me. He gave so much of himself that he must be exhausted too.

"I . . ." I don't know what to say. I feel so clumsy and gross. Next to him
I look grotesque. All these stupid muscles. I feel like crying. I've wasted
so much time building my body. "I hope you don't find me too ugly." There I
said it. What's been worrying me.

"Jakey boy," he says. "You're not ugly. You're being silly."

I know I'm being silly, but I'm feeling really emotionally fragile at this
point. The last thing I want is to lose Leonard now that I've found
him. "It's just that I'm so disgusting. I'm so big. I'm a freak." By this
point I'm practically wailing.

"Come here," he says. He pulls my head down onto his shoulder and starts
stroking my hair. "I like your muscles. And you're my freak. Anybody else
says you're a freak, you come to me, and I'll take care of them. Now, tell
me. How big are you around the chest?"

"Sixty-seven inches," I say. "But I can reduce that. If I stop working out,
my chest will get smaller. It will take some time, but I can get it down to
a better size. More normal like." I'm not certain I can do this—usually
what happens when guys as big as me stop exercising is that all those
muscles turn to fat, and that would make me even grosser that I am
now—but I'm trying to make Leonard like me. At this point I'd promise
anything to see him again.

"How big is the largest chest in the world?"

I have to stop and think. "It's difficult to say. There's some guy from
Russia who's supposed to have a 73-inch chest. Some fat guys have bigger
chests, but they don't count in bodybuilding. But for bodybuilders,
seventy-some inches would be the tops."

"I want you to have the biggest chest in the world. Seventy-five
inches. Could you do that for me?"

"It would take a lot of work." And suddenly I want to do it. Anything for
Leonard. I'm so relieved. "I thought maybe you didn't like my body. I know
I'm not as beautiful as you." I'm so overcome with emotion at that
point. Leonard doesn't think I'm ugly. He likes me.

"Jakey, my boy," he says. "What about thighs? How big are yours?"

So we go through all the body parts, and I tell him how large I am, and the
size of the largest bodybuilders, and Leonard sets me goals to achieve. By
the time he's finished, I'm pumped to do this. I'm gonna be the biggest guy
in the world for Leonard. And Leonard is so sweet. He promises me that
he'll provide plenty of motivation and teach me how to focus and
concentrate better, like with the coin trick.

It's evening by the time we finish talking. Leonard says he's got some
reading he has to do for his classes, and he tells me to go home and get
some sleep. "We'll talk tomorrow," he says. He programs his number on my
phone. "Call me at 6:30," he tells me.

That's over ten hours from now. I don't know how I'm going to last that
long. "Can I take your picture?" I ask. I'm feeling needy again, and my
cock is beginning to throb again just from looking at Leonard and thinking
about him.

He laughs and strikes a pose. We both know that I'm infatuated and acting
silly. I take the shot anyway. Now, at least I'll have something to look at
until tomorrow morning. I won't jerk off to it. I have to save myself for
Leonard.

My clothes are lying in a heap on the floor where I dropped them. I pick up
my jock strap and shake it out so that I can step into it.

"You can leave that here," Leonard says. "I don't want you wearing
underpants around me ever again. Besides I need something to wear." He
pushes his glasses back up on his nose. He's so cute when he does
that. Then he waggles his hips so that his cock swings back and forth. Just
to show me that he needs the strap to hold everything in place.

I hand the jock over, and Leonard puts it on. It looks much better on him
than it ever did on me. He's so big the outlines of his cock and balls are
visible through the fabric. It makes me feel so good to see him in my
jock. It's like his cock is inside me again, thrusting and pumping. I hold
my phone up, and he nods OK. I take a picture of Leonard in his jock
strap. I'm going to feel Leonard inside me all night, every time I look at
that picture. And I'm going to be looking at it all the time.