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Luv Dreams Part 4

Luvdreams 4: No Shirt, No Shoes, Big Problems!

My name is Ralph Landris, and I am a reporter for the Star Ledger. I cover Atlantic City and the New Jersey shore areas for the paper, and usually report on crime, health code scandals and the other titillating trivialities of news reporting. Then last summer I got my big break, the scoop of the decade. I was on the boardwalk when I saw HIM for the first time. Up to that time I had been a straight macho news reporter with name recognition at a half dozen strip clubs…then I saw Frank and became gayer than George Michaels in a public restroom. The details of my tale are reconstructed from personal observations and follow-up interviews.

How can I describe Frank Defeo? The first time I saw him, he was shirtless, wearing only a pair of tight revealing gym shorts and a pair of flip flops. He didn’t so much walk down the boardwalk, as srtut like he owned the place, and that he did. Everywhere on his body could be seen the bulge of muscle. He had just finished a contest and a string of photo shoots out on the West Coast and was utterly ripped. His abs were like chiseled granite, a staircase of ridges leading up to two massive pectoral muscles that danced as he walked. The pectorals were set against a backdrop of broad behemoth shoulders connected to arms bedecked with muscular forearms, wrists, bugling biceps and triumphant triceps. Veins laced these twisted cords of sinews, like light festooned on a Christmas tree. From his shorts stretched thews of thighs like tree trunks, leading down to bulging calves. Crowning this vision of virility was a head as perfect as the body. The profile was Olympian with perfectly proportioned ears and nose, chin and cheeks sculpted by a divine artisan, and eyes soft and yet powerful in majestic contrast. I felt a bulge of my own in my pants, and a lump in my throat.

I was not the only one. As this Hercules passed, the crowds of tourists and residents were set a buzz like a hive struck by a rock. Cameras clicked and hearts melted. According to legend several dozen men stricken by their own inadequacies in contrast to the magnificent masculinity of Frank from that moment on were victims of Erectile dysfunction. Whenever they attempted to make love after that, a vision of the he-man paragon that is Frank flashed in their heads and their miniature manhood went flaccid in the despair of their sense of inferiority and shame. Other men in the crowd reddened with anger, as their wives and girlfriends gazes fell lovingly on Frank. Some were tempted to challenge this threat to their male dominions, but a second look at his bulging muscles and sledgehammer fists, and the clear potency and dominance of this spectacular male sent yellow stripes racing up their spines, and in a few yellow streams racing down their legs. For some this was not an issue, as their pants tented with erections.

There was a tittering of lies told by women to girlfriends, boyfriends, husbands and lovers that they didn’t like muscles so big, that it was gross and “icky” and unattractive. Their hardened nipples, slackened salivating jaws, moistened loins and dilated pupils belied their words in the face of the inescapable biological evidence of their attraction. In his days as a bouncer, according to those who knew him then, such women were those that doesth protest too much, they would tell their friends this standard line, but stuff phone numbers and hotel keys in his pants. Alone with the object of their desire, they could not wait to rub their fingers, lips and tongues over the contours of his muscular frame they pretended to despise.

Frank strolled into an ice cream parlor with his buddy, whose presence I only then became cognizant of, so narrowly focused had I been on Frank’s physique. In normal circumstances, I would say his friend would be considered rather buff and athletic, but compared to Frank he somehow seemed diminished, almost puny. They strolled through the door ignoring the NO SHIRT, NO SHOES, NO SERVICE sign. I followed up behind to see if anyone would dare to deny this demiurge the frozen delicacies of his desire, after weeks of diet and deprivation to achieve his shredded form. I ignored the sirens of ambulances drawn to the boardwalk by the petitions of pleas over cell phones due to the fact that dozens of tourists had passed out in his wake. They had succumbed to what would be later misdiagnosed as “heat exhaustion”.

In the ice cream parlor, a large cranky middle-aged woman in an apron and paper hat saw in her peripheral vision the flash of abdominal flesh forbidden by the sign. “No shirt, no-” she got one glimpse of Frank and her face and tone softened. “-no charge for you-handsome.” The jowly fifty-ish chunk of a woman was giddy and giggly as a girl of 14, gushing over Frank and by extension his buddy. Moments later the two were leaving the shop with free double scoop ice cream cones, and the lovesick momma was fanning herself like she was having hot flashes.

As the pair left, they were hemmed in from all sides by adoring women, girls, and even some love-struck guys. Glazed over eyes, goofy smiles and the expiration of passionate sighs marked the crowd, which flowed around Frank and his friend, who glided through the onlookers like the bowsprit of a ship plowing through the waves. Some drops of melted ice cream dripped from the cone on to his magnificent chest. Half joking, Frank said to his buddy, “ Hey you think any of these babes would want to lick that off me?” That was when the riot broke out.

The cops arrested Frank for lack of a better plan to restore public order. The cop frisked Frank in a matter that more reflected molestation rather than law and order. It was as if the police officer could not help but admire the magnificent muscles and manhood with the massage of his fingers, the blunt, buff and macho cop becoming a bit bi-curious within the magnetic flux of Frank’s charismatic presence. The cop attempted to keep up his gruff exterior while his manhood ebbed away by Frank induced desires that would later bring him into therapy, and months later leather bars.

Frank was brought in front of a paunchy middle-aged judge who sat bored on his dais dispensing justice to a series of minor mayhems, mishaps and misdemeanors. When he saw Frank, his drew himself to attention in more ways then one. After a few moments, he asked to see Frank in his chambers, and had him take off the ill-fitting shirt he had been given at the police station. The fabric was already straining from the pressure of Frank’s gargantuan muscular chest and arms and as Frank tried to extract himself was reduced to ruin. The judge could not help but reach out to touch the muscle-god, to prove he was not hallucinating. Within moments he was on his knees, his arms wrapped around one of Frank’s quadriceps, professing his love, adoration and devotion. “Worship me bitch!” laughed Frank, and the judge fell prostrate to the ground licking Frank’s toes and apologizing for the inconvenience of Frank having to be booked and arraigned. He promised to make personal restitution for the City’s affront by buying webcam time and joining Frank’s website in perpetuity. He has been a good client of Frank ever since. For form sake, he did have to order Frank not to appear without a shirt in Atlantic City again, which given what happened, Frank concurred was a prudent course of action.

Luv Dreams Part 3

Melinda was in a rut. An attractive woman in her early thirties, she had been married 7 years to a successful surgeon. She saw very little of him for the last few years and was beginning to have trouble remembering when was the last time she had sex with her husband. She worked part time as a bookkeeper at the country club. She had been indulging in some fantasies about Dave, the tennis pro. Mostly she just tried to keep busy. One of the her big time occupiers was remodeling her spacious home. She decided that the deck was too small for her renovation plans, and decided to hire a handyman to expand it. She asked around, and found out that her neighbors all recommended Frank Defeo. She was intrigued by the wistful, longing glances they made when they mentioned Frank, soon she would know why.
The bell rang and Melinda steeled herself for some hard bargaining, Frank was here to hear what she wanted done and to give an estimate. She might be wealthy, but when it came to contractors, the stingy side of her reared its dragonhead. She answered the door and all her well-rehearsed lines and stratagems evaporated like a morning fog before a bright summer sun.
What stood before her on the threshold of her home, could only be described as a vision. The light from the sun at that angle created a halo around his head accenting the apparition of male beauty that stood before her. His face was handsome in a way that was purely masculine, exhibiting the freshness of youth without seeming boyish or feminine. It was framed by brown wavy tresses, and highlighted by a strong chin, classic nose, symmetrical features, and two deep brown soulful orbs that pierced her heart as if they shot crossbow bolts. His tight t-shirt, moistened by the sweat of a deck job he had completed a few minutes earlier, was like a second skin, revealing the contours of two massive slabs of pectoral muscles and a enviable set of washboard abs. A pair of bulging biceps could hardly be contained by each short shirtsleeve. Around his narrow waist hung a tool belt, below which were a set of tight cut-off jeans under which jutted two massive tree-trunk thews of quadriceps muscle.
Melinda was speechless, her lips instinctively licking her lips. Her pupils dilated, her nipples became erect, and her loins were anointed with an inviting dew, ready for the lover she had dreamed of all her life. Melinda was lost in a fog of awe and desire. As Frank spoke, she heard only sound, and through her nostrils swirled pheromones that penetrated her being heart and soul, delivering her heart and soul to the stranger before her. She led the Olympian god into her home, and pointed out a number of projects inside and out, that needed to be done. The gorgeous dreamboat wrote down figures, and whatever estimate he pro-offered, she accepted without question or debate. To such a man, the only answer is yes. He made some suggestions for projects, which she agreed to with relish, for the more times she could bring this fantasy in the flesh back to her, the better. Frank sketched out a plan for the new deck even grander than what she had dreamed of and she gave the affirmative, despite the fact that it made Swiss cheese of the budget she had originally anticipated. Whenever he spoke, all she saw were the alluring lips that framed the words, wishing she could kiss them. Frank asked her whether she would need her husband’s approval for all the work, but at this point she had essentially forgotten the existence of her spouse, so little did he resemble a man in comparison to the paragon of masculinity and virility that was Frank Defeo. Before she knew what she was doing, she had wrapped her arms around the powerful shoulders and was kissing him passionately. Frank was momentarily taken back by the surprise rush, but in a flash joined in the embrace and the kissing.
As Melinda grew a bit wobbly on her feet, Frank swept her up into his strong arms and carried her to the bedroom. There Frank, the handyman hammered away, screwing her brains out with his power drill, wrenching his sinew in rippling contractions, contortions and extensions as they wrestled in the most ferocious, passionate and energetic love-making she had ever experienced. She let out cries of delight so loud, that all down the block, neighbors were trying to figure out what the sound was from-save those ladies in the neighborhood, who had already enlisted the services of Frank, the handyman. A year later, when a friend was asking Melinda who had done that fantastic work on her porch and house, Melinda mentioned Frank with a wistful, longing look, as she burped her beautiful baby of the same name, with curly brown hair, and penetrating brown eyes.

Luv Dreams Part 2

Cum-uppance

The city had reeled from a strange rash of “muggings”, a group of over enthusiastic bodybuilders who were also muscle worshipers, had been assaulting buff, handsome men, wrestling them to the ground, binding them and then licking their biceps, sucking on their nipples and caressing the muscles and loins of the bound and helpless studs. The number of crimes of this nature were unknown, some had been too humiliated to report the assault, others had been too embarrassed because to their surprise and consternation, they had enjoyed the encounter.

The city had tried some buff cops as decoys but each time the muscle cop and his partner had ended up tied and molested. To the shock of their brethren the dozen affected cops had taken to hanging out in a local leather bar thereafter. This could not continue. The town needed a superhero to take on these dastardly buggermuggers, and they turned to Frank Defeo. The cops promised Frank that a swat team would be standing by to back him up on his signal, but he that just brought a guffaw from the big guy.

Frank jogged in the park which had been the scene of the attacks. He noticed it was devoid of men, who-once the stories had circulated- had stopped frequenting this acerage of green. He jogged down the lanes wearing tight running shorts and no shirt. His pectoral muscles were two giant slabs of corded muscle topped with two tempting pepperonis. They flexed and bounced as he ran, his thighs rippled, and there were flashes of his loaded guns as his arms swung forward and back as he ran. His running shorts were tight and outlined his girded loins. The women enjoying the park forgot what they were doing as he ran by, their mouths dropped open, their eyes bulged out like the compound eyes of insects. Frank was like a bright flame and the women were moths. Their loins moistened with the dew of desire, pulses raced. and husbands, boyfriends and lovers were forgotten. They had discovered the paragon of masculinity, a handsome he-man that they thought only existed in the realm of fantasy, here in the flesh. All men were spoiled for them thereafter. From that point on they would only desire Frank, and would assess their lovers by how close they came to the impossible standard he had set.

Frank of course was also a wet dream for the gang of marauders. As he approached a thicket of shrubbery in which the gang hunkered they pounced.

Frank smiled a snarling predatory smile as the group of seven came at him. They had not anticipated the furious rain of blows that came at them packed with 275 lbs. of muscle behind them. The sickening smack of Frank’s iron fists against flesh and bone. One received a blow to the stomach so powerful it knocked the wind out of him and the continuing swing slid up the ribs and drove into the chin of the attacker. He would be sipping from a straw for several weeks due to a wired jaw. One could almost see the boff! Bam! Slam! Whap! of the comic books. When the SWAT team arrived it was all over.

Those of the group that were still conscious were slithering as they attempted to crawl away with their limp and twisted limbs. The gang was a black and blue mass of bruises adorned with splashes of blood, all of it their own. They looked as they had been through a trash compactor, twisted broken wrecks of human beings, eyes nearly swollen shut, and lips so fat they looked as if they had had an overdose of collagen injections. They resembled cars after a head on collision with a wall at 50 miles an hour, a wreck of crumpled and twisted mass of metal, plastic and shattered glass. The human wreckage was so devastating, one could only feel pity for the would be assaulters. Enough teeth to fill two whole sets of jaws lay strewn about as jagged fragments. There was the stench of voided bowels as the attackers had known true fear for the first time.

Frank was leaning up against a tree, studying his scratched and swollen knuckles, his mighty fists still partly covered in the gore of his opponents. The massive muscle god was not even winded, and had barely worked up a sweat. The police had to haul the seven offenders to the ICU, it would be many weeks of reconstructive surgery, rehabilitation therapy and hospital care before the group could even be considered of a condition to be arraigned. Still in the euphoria of the pain medication, they had vivid dreams and fantasies of Frank, but always in these dreams they were never in control, but were submissive slavish thralls of their muscle god. Nurses grumbled at having to clean up the crusted rivers of nightly emissions sent as offerings to Frank.

Luv Dreams Part 1

Frank and the Tax man

Frank looked at the letter from the IRS, one last time confirming the time of his appointment. With a smirk he crumpled it up and tossed it across the locker room into the trash. Pumped from his gym workout, his corded sinew pressing hard against his flesh, his pectorals, biceps bulging with a few tiny beads of water from his shower glistening in the fluorescent light. Veins popped revealing a vascular array to inspire envy. His abs looked like something your great-great grandmother would use to wash clothes. Around him guys struggled not to stare, feelings of awe and their own inadequacies lighting up their neurons. Serotonin levels plummeted in the men around them while their dicks swelled in uncontrollable attraction. The butch became bitch, and a half dozen men came as Frank shone like a god, his features were aesthetically pleasing, the words to describe them were rugged, striking and sensual. Frank exuded a raw sexual magnetism, irresistible to mortals.

Frank pulled a tight white t-shirt over his pumped corded muscles. It fit so snuggly it was like a second skin and the outline of his slab like pecs. The short sleeves struggled against a portion of his bulging biceps and triceps, although most of these muscles poured out from the shirt, guns so big they could only be described as field artillery. His jeans were tight, the massive thighs straining the fabric to within a hair of their tensile strength limits. He strutted out of the locker room and headed for the exit of the gym as he walked by there was the vision of his narrow waist, Herculean chest, bulging biceps and a visage so sexy it would make even a lesbian moist. Then as he walked by the fan-like back, bubble butt and mouth-watering calves hit the admiring eyes like the second fist of a one-two punch. The sounds of dropping weights and jaws could be heard as he passed. Several ladies (and a few guys) swooned. As he passed the reception desk, a beautiful blond in a tight t-shirt advertising both the gym and her bountiful cleavage made the sign with her fingers for him to call her. Frank merely smirked as he left the gym, he was used to the shockwaves he left in his wake.

As he strolled down the street enjoying the spring air, he could hear the paramedic sirens racing toward the gym. They really needed to post some warning signs up. As he walked down the street he drank in the admiring stares and sighs. He came on the main street and hailed a cab. Three pulled up, the drivers arguing and cursing for the privilege of having Frank as a fair. The big man made his selection, and the disappointed drivers slunk back into their cabs. Frank rattled off the address and slid into the back of the cab, the seemingly capacious area seeming to dwindle with the injection of his massive frame. His driver, an already excitable Pakistani, was bubbling over with an effusion of inane conversation aimed at gaining the attention of Frank, who simply ignored it as he looked out the window. From his peripheral vision, he noted the driver making frequent use of his rear view mirror, and knew it was not the traffic he was looking at. Had Frank been the nervous type, he might have been a little concerned that the driver looked back too frequently to be driving very safely. Miraculously he arrived at his destination without traffic incidence, and as he reached for his wallet, the driver shook his head and explained the ride was on the house.

Frank left the cab and as he strode the dozen paces to the entrance of the federal building, he heard the screeching of breaks, the cry of horns and the minor traffic mayhem that his presence on the sidewalk of a busy street typically caused. As he entered the building he saw the normally buff alpha-male contract guards of the Federal protective services slumped a bit in the face of the ultimate dominant male. No one challenged him or asked his business, or him to empty his pockets. They just waved him past with glazed look of admiration and desire plastered on their faces. Security and efficiency were temporarily arrested as Frank strolled past his chin jutting forward, instantly owning every room he entered. He entered the elevator. There were three women in the elevator and their eyes fixed on Frank like a fat kid on ice cream and candy. Tongues moistened lips, hearts pounded like re-enactments of Poe’s “Tell-tale heart”. Their breaths sucked, in like their lungs had swallowed black holes. Frank got off and the ladies followed, even though it was not their floor, they needed to experience more. As he entered the IRS office he heard the thumps of the ladies behind him as they fainted to the floor.

Frank made his way to the reception desk. His massive sledgehammer like fists resting on the desk in a commanding fashion. He leaned over the desk creating a shadow. The receptionist looked up with him to ask his name and her words drifted into gibberish as she gazed up at a muscle god. Her pupils dilated, her loins moistened in autonomic anticipatory hope. Frank snapped his fingers and waved his hands in front of her face until she was roused from her stupor and could function again. She buzzed Mr. Soames that his 11 o’clock was here. Soames rubbed his hands in anticipation of the kill. Several dozen female and male admirers had sent Frank some off the record cash, and Soames was feeling the predator. He was expecting the pleading, the shattered expressions, the stooped shoulders. What he was not expecting was Frank. The minute Frank entered the room, Soames changed from predator to prey. One penetrating glance from the muscle god, and Soames was putty in his hands. Frank played Soames like a yo-yo using his expressions and physique to intimidate and titillate. By the time the interview concluded, Soames was changing the paperwork such that Frank was entitled to several thousands dollars worth of additional refunds and he had reduced the once formidable Soames who had filled thousands of hapless taxpayers with trepidation, into a simpering, whimpering slavish worshiper. As he handed Frank a copy of the paperwork, Soames could not resist kissing the master’s hands as Frank looked down with a smirk of condescension and victory. As Frank opened the door to the office to leave, those in the waiting room caught a glimpse of Soames licking and kissing Frank’s work boots. While they were slightly contemptuous of Soames, they were at the same time envious, for they also wanted to so intimately worship the Muscle God.