Date: Sat, 6 Oct 2001 23:03:50 -0400
From: Jack
Subject: Encounters of the Best Kind

	I can remember the first time I saw Mark, my first day of college,
my first English class.  God he was gorgeous--6'1, 185 lbs. Of solid
muscle, brown hair, beautiful big green eyes, killer smile, and a model to
boot.  There was nothing about this man that wouldn't turn any gay man, or
straight woman for that matter, on.  I remember my first time meeting him,
too, and having the courage to talk to him.  If ever a man had given me
butterflies in my stomach, this was it.
	I was on the university student government, with my own student
office, and he mentioned to me that he often got tired between classes, and
his roommates were always in his room making noise.  So, I suggested that
he come to my office, and this is how we got to know each other.  Him
loafing around on my sofa--we had almost all the same classes--then going
walking to class with me.  I wasn't able to tell then, and at this point
more than a year later still can't tell whether or not he's gay, he seems
to be, he acts like he is, and he's not had a girlfriend since I've known
him, so I look at those as positive signs.
	In any case, as we would walk to class, I did nothing but fantasize
about him.  This man had the greatest body of any mad I'd ever seen, and
here he was, in tight fitting dress pants that showed off his monster cock
straining against his boxers and his muscular ass jumping with each step.
He mentioned to me once that he leg presses 430 pounds on average, and that
sometimes, boxers are hard to find to fit right, and sometimes, the thigh
seems snap when he sits down and his legs spread.  He also mentioned to me
that he enjoyed sex, though he never mentioned with men or women.  I was
about to find out with which, though.
	One night, after knowing Mark for about six months, he said to me,
on a Friday afternoon as we were departing campus for the weekend, "Listen,
my parents are going to be out of town this weekend, and I hate to sleep at
my house alone.  Think you can follow me home and sleep over with me?"
"Oh, of course Mark, no problem," I said, as I thought to myself, "I am the
luckiest gay man on this planet!"
	At the least, if nothing happened, I'd get to see him in his boxers
as he changed clothes, I thought.  So I followed Mark home to a beautiful
Victorian home in a wealthy part of town--after all, he did drive a
Mercedes--and he looked at me with those big green eyes and said, "My
parents don't cook much, there's nothing to eat here.  Want to go out."
"No, I can cook, why should we go out?  Let's go to the supermarket and
pick out some fresh pasta, we'll have fun."  And so we did that, and upon
returning, I made Mark the best Italian meal he'd ever had, and we found a
bottle of wine and began to get quite drunk.  At that point, Mark removed
his tight fitting Armani t-shirt, revealing a body I thought I'd never see.
My god he was gorgeous, a six pack, a huge chest, and biceps that were so
hard and so firm you could bounce a quarter off of them.
	Totally and completely drunk, he looked at me and said, "so, like
what you see?"  Nearly drooling, I said, "Of course I do, god, you're
stunning."  Smiling his killer smile, he unzipped his tight fitting shorts
and dropped them, revealing a pair of blue and green plaid boxers that were
barely enough to support his girth.  He sat back down in the easy chair he
had just gotten out of.  As he sat, his boxers retreated up his legs and
his MOUND of a cock pushed forward, nearly snapping the boxers.  "Don't
worry," he said, "they may not make it, sometimes they just don't."  At
that point, as I was laying on the couch, he came and sat down next to me.
As he did, I curled up to him.  I put my arms around his neck with my head
leaning on his right shoulder, and I sort of wrapped him up.  All of a
sudden, he stood up, picking me up barely holding on right off the couch.
He spun me around three times and tossed me down onto the couch with
incredible force.  "Is that how you like it?" he asked, "or do you prefer
it gentle?"  "ROUGH," I said, "rough as can be."
	"How much do you weigh?" he asked.  "About 110."  "110," he said,
"I outweigh you by 75 lbs.  I bench 230, leg press 430.  I didn't even feel
you on my back when I twirled you around just now, I could accidentally
tear you in half, are you sure you want it rough?"  "ABSOLUTELY!" I
responded.  With that, he picked me up and carried me with one arm to a
different part of the basement, filled with workout equipment, that I'd
never seen before.  "Pray for yourself," he said with a smile.  He placed
me on a bench so that I was laying on it, turned away from me, and
straddled the bench.  Before I could say anything, he was sitting on top of
me on the bench, right on my stomach.  "Are you really OK?" he asked.
"Sure," I muttered, barely able to breathe and able to taste my own liver..
I knew if I was going to die, this is the way I wanted it.  I felt as sorry
for his boxers as I did for myself--they had to be under a terrible strain
with his legs spread on top of me.  With that he laid down on top of me, at
least his girth was distributed, but then he reached to the sides of me and
put his hands on two metal bars.  This was a bench press machine.  I was
under a muscle god who was about to bench press 230.  "ONE!" he yelled out.
Although it was incredibly painful, it was the greatest experience of my
life.  I felt every muscle in his back seize like ropes and force that
weight straight up.
	As I braced for him to start the second press, he said, "Nah, I
can't do it, you're too nice of a guy, and you might end up like a
pancake."  And with that, he sat back up on me and get off.
	"Mark that was SO awesome," I said.  "Can you get really rough with
me, like break me!"  "You want me to get rougher with you?  Are you sure,
I'm really pretty strong, not to boast, but I am," he said, flexing his
thighs forward at me.  "Please," I pleaded with him.  "Well, OK," he
responded.  He picked me up with a tremendous amount of force, carried me
across the room, and threw me down onto the bench of a leg press machine.
With that, he straddle the bench, but unlike the last time where he settled
down onto me, he crashed down onto my stomach.  "UGGG," was all I could say
as all the air rushed out of my stomach.  "Rough enough?" he laughed.
"Let's see what you can REALLY do," I said.  At that point, he began to
push his thighs forward, easily pressing the 430 lbs worth of solid steel
plates.  As he did, I could feel his upper and inner thigh and his hard
round ass flex into my stomach.  Just as the weights let out a CLANG as
they reached the top of the platform, he said, "You're about to get what
you asked for."  As he said it, he flexed and ground his ass into my
stomach.  "Jesus Christ," I yelled out, "how powerful are you."  "You're
about to find out," was the response.  I thought for sure I was going to
die.  As he reached onto the legs of his boxers and pulled them
down--explaining the underwear were about to disintegrate on his upper
thighs if he didn't, he flexed his entire body.  His ass pushed my stomach
straight through to my spine until I yelled, "Oh God please, it's so
wonderful but I really can't take any more punishment, I'm too small,
please please get off!"  With that, he climbed off.
	"You look flatter than before," he said, winking his beautiful
right eye.  "Mark," I said, "I want you to use me as a work out tool, to
work out all your frustrations with your muscled, manly body on my small
little frame.  I know I may not make it out in such good shape, but it
would be the ultimate sexual experience for me to see your big muscles,
flexing, writing, filling with blood and sweat and testosterone, as they
crunched me so I could actually feel how powerful they are.  Will you do
it?  "Let me get this straight," he said, "you want me to work out all the
aggressions of school and work and life on your 110 lb body?  Do you know
how much stress I have, you might..."  "I know what might happen," I said,
"but please."  "Well, if you want it this way, and you accept what might
happen, that's fine," he said.
	With that, he picked me up by the hair, and dragged me off the
bench.  Hell, I knew he might crunch me into a ball, but so be it, this was
going to be great.  "I'm going to use my legs as a very very powerful
scissor," he said with a laugh.  With that, he laid with his right side on
the floor and put his left leg up in the air, spreading his boxers as far
as they could go.  "Lay down between my legs on your back, face up toward
the ceiling," he said.  I did as I was told.  I laid down, my lower back
resting on his ample right thigh, facing the ceiling, but if I leaned my
head to the right, I could see his ass, and boy was I glad I had chosen to
lay that way in a second..  Lightly, he lowered his left thigh onto my
stomach, so I was literally like a piece of paper in a scissor.  His boxers
sort of got rumpled between his legs.  Then, all of a sudden, he yelled
out, "pray to whatever god it is you pray," and he began to flex his legs
closed around my abdomen.
	Hopelessly, I tried to flex my little abs against his thighs, but
he didn't even notice the resistance.  He was literally crushing me, but as
I looked to the right, I could see his boxers wedging deeper and deeper
into his ass, and the strain that they must be under turned me way on.  As
my abs basically collapsed, I let out an "UFFFF" as the air ran out of my
body.  "I felt that," he said with a laugh.  I thought he'd stop.  But not
yet.  "I can feel your spine on my inner right thigh, what to do next?" he
said.  He flexed his inner right thigh and I could hear the cracking,
"SNAP!"  My little body shuddered.  "Don't worry," he said, "I didn't break
your spine, came close to it though, but I only crunched a vertebrae or
two, you'll be fine, happens all the time in football."  "Watch this," he
said, and with no effort, seemed to find what muscle on his thighs was on
my bladder.  I could feel it draining, and my hot wet piss running down my
legs.
	All of a sudden, he let his vice off of me, slid me out from
between his legs, stood up, and said, "I've gotta piss like a racehorse."
He straddled my broken body, unbuttoned his boxer fly, and pulled out a
SOFT 7.5 inch monster.  "Open wide," he said, and as I did, he filled my
mouth with the longest, hardest stream of piss I've ever felt-- but I
swallowed every drop.
	"You know," he said, "it's been a long time since anyone serviced
my cock, and I think it needs to be serviced."  Unable to move because my
back was in so much pain, his cock still hanging out of his boxers, he
reached down, picked my head up by the hair, and shoved his cock into my
throat.  Mercilessly, he slid into down my throat, held my head by my
hears, and began pushing me back and forth on his cock.
	Then, he got super-hard, let go of my ears, and my body actually
hung by his cock, awkwardly, because his cock was in my throat.  All of a
sudden, I felt his tip quiver deep within me, and as I hung from his cock,
he thrust his head back and breathed out, like all his troubles were gone,
his beautiful, buff sweaty body gleaming in the light, and every bit of his
9 inches hard cock spraying his hot, sweet jizz into my stomach.  With a
gleam in his beautiful but menacing green eyes, he said, "Now I'm going to
have to finish you off."