ETHAN'S GREAT AWAKENING

Written on 27 April 2017.

 

OW AVAILABLE! JUST PUBLISHED TODAY. If you have a hankering for muscle, and muscle stories (not to mention muscle worship stories), you're in luck. My newest book, "Ethan's Great Awakening" is now available in the Kindle format. Click HERE, or on the picture below to go to the Amazon.com page where it's available. Oh, and please, after you read it, will you support me by returning to that page at Amazon, and WRITE A REVIEW? Pretty please? I'd appreciate it. Thank you.

 

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2017-0427

NEW STORY COMING TOMORROW

Written on 26 April 2017.

ell, my Curious Web Surfing friends, it's about time I published a new book on Amazon.com, don't you think? Well, I do. Thence, tomorrow, I'll have a link to my new book, "Ethan's Great Awakening." Some of you might remember I posted a story on my old site, titled "Ethan's Awakening," a few years back. I got so much positive feedback on that story that I thought I'd expand it.

Thence, "Ethan's Great Awakening." It'll be a buck-two-ninety-five or so, and I'm confident that those of you who love muscle-worship erotica as only I can deliver it (friendly, consistent, and most importantly, HUMBLE me), then you'll wanna get this book.

In anticipation of this exciting publishment (that's not a word), HERE's a link to the original "Ethan's Awakening" story, just to whet your erotic appetite. Note: the new story will have a few tweaks and changes to the first section (at the aforementioned link), so it'll be a tad different. Then, there are a bunch of new chapters. You're gonna love it in an instant. Guaranteed to make any muscle-erotica lover hard, (if not more than hard!).

So, check back tomorrow! I'll have a link to the book's page on Amazon.com. Oh, as with all of my books, I'm only publishing it for the Kindle, not as a paperback. Let me know if you have a hankering for another format (Apple Books, maybe? That's doable if I get enough requests).

 

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2017-0426

FROWBACK FRIDAY

Written on 14 April 2017.

n the before-time, I wrote a story, titled "Strapping." The inspiration for the main character was the inimitable Victor Martinez, pictured as Today's Guy. So, since today is actually Frowback Friday, I thought I'd start re-publishing said story. We begin (rather appropriately, I believe) with Chapter One. 

The Curious Web Surfer is encouraged to clicky on Victor's gorgeous body, wherein said Surfer will be magically transported to the aforementioned chapter.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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2017-0414

MOVIE REVIEW: 'BEING 17'

Written on 31 March 2017.

eing 17 is a great movie. Set in the French Alps, it’s a coming-out story that is quite compelling. Blond Damien and Black Thomas are both 17, enrolled at the same high school in their small town. Damien’s mom is a doctor; his dad is in the military. Thomas was adopted by his French parents, and he nurses an underlying insecurity because of that. Yet his resent is most often expressed in homophobic physical confrontations—against Damien.

When Damien’s mother starts treating Thomas’ pregnant mother, the teens are forced into a relationship that Thomas resists at every turn. He continues his aggression against Damien, even though Damien is able to hold his own. Because Thomas’ house is high in the mountains, and since his mother needs bed rest in the town’s hospital to help with her pregnancy, Thomas is compelled to move in with Damien’s family for a brief time. The pressures mount, but one of the joys of this movie was how Damien’s self confidence prevailed.

The story is a very pleasant journey, actually. The two boys continue to harbor animosity toward each other, while simultaneously forming a friendship. The whole progression was beautifully written, and wonderfully acted.

The actors who play both Damien (Kacey Mottet Klein) and Thomas (Corentin Fila) are quite easy on the eyes, and I found myself sighing with approval, more than once. The other scenery was spectacular. I mean, the Alps, okay? The supporting actors were also very good.

This was a high-end kind of indie movie. Definitely worth your time, if you don’t mind the subtitles. [Available on iTunes, and Amazon Prime]

Trailer: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=u4odOwOIH70
Released: 2016
Language: French, with subtitles

Sean’s Ratings (Scale: 1 - 7):
Production/cinematography: 6
Writing/Story: 6.5
Acting: 6.5
Eye Candy: 5.5
OVERALL: 6

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2017-0331

PAVLOVIAN RESPONSE

Written on 17 March 2017.

ately I've been stalking—er, I mean, becoming friends with—a dude from work. He's a fine man indeed. Tall, lean, strong, gorgeous. Ostensibly straight, yet (apparently) quite innocent and friendly.

You get my point.

Let's call him Csaba.

So we've taken to texting each other, Csaba and I, often late in to the night. Usually we use Facebook's Messenger.

As you may be aware, whenever one receives a text message in Messenger, a distinctive "ping" sounds on said recipient's phone. And to be honest, I've started to get hard whenever I hear that ping.

The dude wants to talk? Csaba, is that you?

The CWS is prolly not aware that I have an extensive background in psychology. (I've elected to keep this part of my edumication secret to those outside my Inner Circle.) And what I found, during my undergraduate work (actually, I only majored in psychology for a few months, back when I attended our local Community College, so take all this shit with the proverbial grain of salt, as they say), was that there was this psycho (logist) dude, way back in the day, who had long white hair. He must've had some kind of bestiality fetish, 'cuz he used dogs to prove his shit.

You are familiar with said famous psycho-scientist Pavlov, no? He's remembered for postulating (love that word) the idea what when a bell rings, a dog starts salivating. I've never actually read Pavlov's thesis, but I do find the concept fascinating. Ring a bell, make a dog spit. Who knew? I've actually tried the idea on my Shih Tzu, but it didn't work. That damn dog won't spit for nuttin'. Ring a bell all day long, and the thing just lies (or is it lays?) there.

Anyhoo, what I'm tryin' to say here is that every time that damn "Messenger" bell pings my phone, I sit straight* upright in my bed, and start to get hard. Then, I look at the message from Csaba, blithely respond, then lie (or is it lay?) back on my pillow and jerk off. Just the fact that the dude wants to text makes me ejaculate. Truth.

So now, Ping = Boner.

And I'm a wreck.

Apparently Pavlov knew what he was talking about.

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* That word has various meanings, okay? 

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2017-0317

The muscle-nurse

Written on 16 March 2017.

ou will NOT believe me when I tell you about my visit to the doctor's office today. Seriously.*

I'm still trying to take it all in (in a manner of speaking).

So, I had a hangnail on my left pinky, and I thought I should, you know, let someone examine me—er, it. So I called my doctor, and he just happened to have an opening today. When I got there, the waiting room was full of other muscular bodybuilder-types, which I thought was a bit strange.

Yet, very nice.

Anyway, when an assistant opened the door and called out, "Seanny? Sean Reid Scott?" I immediately jumped up. She directed me to follow, which, you know, I did. We stopped at the scale in the corridor and she said, "Please take off all your clothes and step on the scale."

Which I did.

She eyed me with a peculiar, rather lusting eye, as I stripped. When I stepped on the electronic scale, ala-naturale, she noted my weight with a sniff. "Two-hunnerd-and-45-pounds." Then she glared at me, obviously checking out my enormous, nekkid, physique, up and down. THEN she tried to grab one of my nips. "Two-hunnerd-and-45-pounds of pure muscle, I see," she cooed.

I pushed her hand away and sneered, "Sorry, honey. I don't play on that team."

She harrumphed, and told me to follow her into an examination room.

Which I did.

Wherein she pretty-much tried to rape me. Long story short, by the time the attending nurse entered, I had the assistant-bitch in a full nelson.

"Miriam," the nurse said as he placed his hands on his hips. "You know the doctor has told you to stop raping the patients. For chrissakes, take a stroll out to the waiting room. There just might be a pound or two of muscle out there what might be amenable to your particular fetish."

She looked at the male nurse and said, "Yeah, but this is Sean Reid Scott! Where am I gonna find a man like this? "

The hunky nurse pushed her out of the room. I was still completely nekkid. I held my clothes at my side. He offered to help me dress.

Which I refused.

I did, however, elect to move said clothing in front of my lower torso, in order to hide my growing erection, since the nurse dude was OH MY GOD HOT AS HELL, and had more muscles than should be allowed by law.

The sizzling-hot muscle-nurse took my blood pressure, and my pulse. He was a bit surprised with my vitals. "They're a bit elevated, dude," he said, seemingly genuinely perplexed.

Breaking News: That wasn't the ONLY thing about me that was elevated. Thanks be to the gods I still had my clothes covering my essentials.

I insisted that he take my vitals again. And again. And, actually, again.

"Hmmm..." he finally said. "Maybe I need to do more research here. You're obviously in excellent health, Sean Reid Scott. Your physique is almost as gorgeous-and-developed as my own."

"Almost," I squeaked.

"So, I propose that you let me probe you a bit more. If that's alright with you." He gave me a wink and a smile, and I nearly gave him an involuntary sperm sample right then and there. He patted the exam table and cocked his head to the side. "I'd like you to hop up here, so I can probe you more closely before the doctor comes in."

Which I did.

 

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* As is our policy here at MuscleStimulus.com, some of the items presented for your reading (and viewing) pleasure may contain "fake news" kind of stuff. 

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2017-0316

Restroom Encounter

Written on 11 March 2017.

ccasionally, I enjoy using the restroom. When I'm at home, I call it the bathroom. In public, it's the restroom. And it's always a pleasurable experience. Back when I was employed by quite a large, multi-national corporation (no, not Fox News Corp.), my fellow workers and I were sometimes subject to random drug tests to ensure that we were straight—er, I mean, drug-free.

One of the popular bumper stickers/tee shirts that protested this invasion of drug-privacy said, "Pee for enjoyment, not for employment." At the time, I had never really considered enjoying the act of peeing. Yet, the concept is sound. I'm not saying I get any kind of sexual fulfillment out of it (other than the fact that when I pee, my hand is in its favorite spot anywhere). My own fetishes definitely eschew the concept of pissing on dudes (or being pissed on by a dude) as a means of sexual stimulation. But that's just my bent, as it were. If it turns you on, piss on. Me, I choose to piss off, if you will.

But I digress. Let's get to the point of this little ditty.

As I alluded above, I was enjoying myself in a restroom recently, and when I emerged from my stall, I bumped into a shirtless guy who was standing in front of the mirror (I think the Brits call them reflectors, no?), taking selfies (I think the Brits call them self-portraits, no?). The dude was stage-ready muscle. Ginormous, ripped and beautifully tanned (in a tank-top-print kind of way). As an added benefit, the phone he used to take said selfies was my favorite brand.

He saw me come out (from the stall) and immediately dropped his hand (holding his phone) to his side, blushing. "Oh, I didn't know there was anyone here," he said. Despite his obvious embarrassment and coy demeanor (which, BTW, gave me a boner—even without the attached body), his voice was deep and resonant (which only added to the bonerific effect of the whole situation).

Noting his obvious distress in having been discovered, I took the opportunity.

"Oh, please," I smiled. "Don't let me interrupt anything, sir. I was just taking a private little piss. You know, getting pleasure from said activity."

He smiled, still shy: "Oh, thank you. I certainly didn't mean for you to see me in this state," he said, glancing down at his well-muscled, bare torso.

"Please," I insisted. "Your state is in no way offensive to me." I made a point of allowing my gaze to caress the aforementioned muscles. He seemed to take note. He lifted one eyebrow (how do people do that?) and seemed to struggle with suppressing a smile. "In fact," I ventured, "I find your development... quite remarkable."

He allowed his smile to fully form now. "Really?" He re-checked himself in the reflector, then looked back at me. "I'm flattered. And pleased."

"Oh, I can assure you: stumbling out of my stall and coming upon such a visage of physical perfection... the pleasure is truly mine."

We talked for awhile, in front of that reflector. He responded well to my requests for an occasional flex and pose. I asked him if he was getting cold, standing there in the stark nakedness of the public restroom. He nodded slightly. Minutes later we were running through the rain, under an umbrella (I think the Brits call them bumbershoots, no?), toward a waiting car.

 

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2017-0311

Muscle Proliferation

Written on 08 March 2017.

oes anyone besides me realize how much proliferation of muscle there's been in the past 20 or 30 years? You needn't have been alive in the '70s, say, to understand the "Big Bang" that has happened to bodybuilding. It's been overwhelming.

Not that that's a bad thing!

I mean, just take a gander at some of the old muscle websites from back in the day (like, even just 15 - 20 years ago). They were comprised, basically, of a collection of a few hundred men who were, IMO, second-generation* pioneers in the bodybuilding phenomenon. Muscle hunks like Shawn Ray, Andreas Cahling, Mike Mentzer, Bob Paris, Rory Leidelmeyer, Mike Matarazzo.... 

But today. Just, fresh hell! There are tens of thousands of guys who have lifted themselves to the development levels of those earlier decades. And even higher. They're all over! It only takes a brief scan of hosting sites like tumblr to realize I speak the truth here. Take today's guy (please!). Michael Pearson is jacked, stacked, bulked and ripped like many of the bygone dudes would have loved to be. And he's just one of jazzillions!

I, for one, love it. We are all better for the amount of muscle there is to enjoy. Can you imagine living 100 years ago?

 

* Obviously, Eugene Sandow is often feted as the father of bodybuilding, but it really started to take off in popular culture in the '60s and '70s with muscle pioneers like Dave Draper, Arnold, Frank Zane, Franco Columbu, and others.

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2017-0308

Rub-a-dub-dub

Written on 02 March 2017.

leanliness is, of course, next to godliness. Everyone knows that.  It's always good to know that the guy you're going to sleep with is dedicated to good hygiene. Nothin' worse than getting all frisky and horny with a guy and realizing he has BO.

Apparently, today's guy applies quite a bit of diligence to his cleansing regimen. Let's take a gander at some of the things Guy uses to keep his body fresh and clean. First, there's the various bottles of lotions, emollients, and soaps. Obviously, Guy likes to use a full-spectrum approach when it comes to his baths, and his skin care. Note, also, the red mug perched on the rim of the tub. Dead give-away that Guy likes to spend a bunch of leisure time in the tub; this allows the aforementioned emollients-and-such ample time to be absorbed into his skin.

Then there's the glaring presence of the vinegar. WTF? Am I just ignorant of some secret cleansing property in vinegar? I mean, I do use vinegar when I clean my coffee maker. But when I clean myself? Don't think so.

Anyway, regardless, Guy's cleaning regimen definitely meets muster, as far as I'm concerned. Yes, maybe he needs to pay more attention to the rinse cycle, but really. He's fine.

Yet, why does this picture make me think of Mr. Magoo?

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2017-0302

The things you'll see in Wanker's Corner!

Written on 24 February 2017.

ow-a-days you can't hardly throw a dead chicken across the countryside without hitting some guy who wants to take off all his clothes in the restroom. This actually happened * to me today!

So, anyway, I was driving down I-205 and realized that I needed to make a "pit stop" in order to keep my pants unsoiled. You know how that goes. Toilets, I've learned, are way under-rated. So, I faithfully engaged my turn signal—or should I say, I tried to engage said signal, only to realize that it had been on for who-knows-how-many-miles. Once I safely swerved across three lanes of traffic, I exited the freeway in search of a place to pee (and possibly poop, but I don't really want to get into the details if you don't mind). 

Fortunately for me (and my bladder/bowels/underwear/car/passenger), directly off the exit I found an establishment that actually sported a restroom. But even more amazing was the fact that my driving companion and I actually found ourselves in Wanker's Corner! Who knew? (Well, Yours Truly should have known, since I've had my MuscleStimulus/MusclePla.net/BuffMuscles.com empire headquartered there since dirt. But my memory loss and geographical challenges are a whole nother story.) Needless to say, I was ebullient as I jumped out of my Maserati® and made my way to the powder room.

But, guess what I saw once I shoved my way pass the paparazzi, into the can? Today's guy! All nekkid and stuff! More importantly, all muscular and stuff! I cleared my throat, and as I brushed (as close as possible) by him, I said, "Pardon me, sir. I just need to use a stall." Then, as I made my way into the nearest one, I turned back and smiled, "You wouldn't care to join me, would you?"

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*Some, or all of today's "facts" have been manufactured for your reading pleasure. (Think: "Fake News.")   ;)

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2017-0224