reMASTERed

I’m on my back, chest heaving, sweat dripping off my pecs. Your 230 lbs of rippling muscle towering above me drop onto my chest, straddling in a reverse schoolboy pin. Your hamstrings frame my face, bare soles planted wide beside my head, balls hanging heavy in those black shorts an inch from my mouth. You grind back just to remind me who’s on top, smearing sweat across my lips. I taste salt. My cock jerks anyway. Your weight settles, trying to flatten me. Big mistake. I shoot my arms between your thighs, grab behind your knees, and explode upward. You feel my shoulders lift first, then my hips. Your balance wobbles. Before you can post your hands, I snake my right leg up the front of your torso, calf sliding over your pecs, and hook my left leg behind your lower back. My ankles cross hard right between your shoulder blades with a wet smack of sweaty skin on skin. The second you commit I crank my scissors the opposite way and pull with everything I’ve got. Your quads clamp my ribs; min...

If you ask me what defines my type of man’s man, my answer would most likely be crafted to flirt with a Bo within earshot. If I had to go by the infatuations I’ve had in the past, they tend to be short, dark, and strong.  One thing they all shared is that they left me stumbling and infatuated at first sight. Yet because some of them buck the trend entirely, they screw with the stats—which makes me wonder whether my so-called “type” was never really about height, hair, or build at all. Maybe it was simply a yearning desire to defy the shackles of morality and shatter the bondage of social convention… …to ride astride the rush of arousal.  To lose oneself in the lure of unbridled intent.  To share the ebb of curious abandon or lap in the splendor of timeless wonder, mutual pleasure, and unbridled awe—wading naked and bare, together in the wake of Nature’s co-creative confluence. Ecstatic. Exalted. Sated. Blissfully content. Instead, I’m wont to weave a tangled web of intr...

His thighs opened wide like he was daring me to try and escape, those thick, sun-bronzed quads flaring open in invitation. The second I shifted, his ankles crossed with that lethal *click* and locked me deep in his vice. I bucked hard, trying to worm my way out, but he was too fast. The raw power of his muscular thighs hit like a freight train—an ox-strong crush that reminded me exactly who was in control.   Before I could suck in a breath or brace, he straightened his legs with violent force. The sudden snap broke his own ankle lock for a split second, giving me the opening I needed. I twisted fast, dropping the height of his legs from my chest down to a more manageable mid-waist hold. But the second he felt me slipping, his eyes flashed. He opened his legs wide again, then slammed them shut like twin pythons. His quads detonated against my sides with the force of a kidney punch, veins popping like cables under golden skin. This time he kept the ankle lock tight, kicked out h...

‘Bring it on,’ I shot back at his cocky challenge. I was a college wrestling champ, maybe rusty, but I figured we were evenly matched. Or so I thought. The stranger sitting beside me at the bar was bald, bold, and breathtaking, almost Androgynous. I couldn't imagine such a vision of masculinity as an opponent,and in my mind we were rough-housing in tangle of bedsheets and limbs. I was dead wrong.