BUS STOP DAD
by Sean Reid Scott
[NOTICE: This story contains vivid descriptions of homosexual encounters. There's lurid, kinky sex here. Homo sex. It's prolly straight out of HELL, if you're inclined to hold the religious perspective. Really, this story is not for those who button the collar tightly. If you can't stomach this kind of smut, skedaddle. Likewise if you're under 18. Additionally, please note that this is a work of fiction. Any resemblance of characters herein to any person, living or past, is unintentional, coincidental and totally not what the author had in mind.]
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HE FIRST FEW WEEKS that I lived in my new condo, I drove to work every day. It was convenient, especially while I was settling into my place. Now, however, it was time to reduce my carbon footprint, so I checked out the bus schedules.
The bus stop was right at the corner of my block; and even though I had to leave home about 15 minutes earlier than when I drove, it was an easy commute, and cheaper than paying for gas and parking every day.
Across the street from my bus stop was a really nice park; I looked forward to spending time there, especially in the summer when the weather warmed a bit. Across the other street from the park was an apartment building, and the commuters from that building, coupled with the few people from my complex who took the bus, made for a crowd of five or six regulars who got on at my stop.
There was only minimal eye candy to be seen, which basically consisted of one really good looking young businessman who got on at the stop. He was tall-- maybe 6’3”-- and although he was gorgeous, he looked like a runner or a bicyclist, not a weight lifter. He’d never be mistaken for a bodybuilder, that’s for sure, and my proclivities definitely favored the muscled men.
So, although my eyes continuously made their way to this guy’s face, my gaze was always on the lookout for more.
The first week I rode the bus had been spring break in the area. That next Monday, when kids went back to school, a group of grade-school children gathered across the street from my stop to wait for their school bus. A few parents waited for the yellow bus with their kids. One guy in particular happened to grab my attention like few men have ever done. Even from across the street, and even though he was completely clothed in jeans and a hoodie, his physique was obviously the benefactor of his intense discipline in the gym. The guy was built! I mean breathtakingly so!
He had a young son-- probably in the first or second grade, and he also had a yellow lab on a leash. Under the hoodie he wore a baseball cap-- the bill was the only part visible. The guy and his son talked a lot-- he made me wish he had been my daddy. Gosh, this guy was awesome. Daddy, as I nicknamed him, was sociable with the other parents there, but not overly talkative. I just got the sense that he was confident and kind, but still a manly-man who had a quiet sense of his own strength.
Daddy was probably six foot or so, and his sweatshirt jacket was very, very kind to the mounds of muscles that it covered, allowing them to bunch and bulge all over hell. One of the first features that struck me was his very pronounced trapezius muscles. And his delts were round and big, and his arms looked huge. One other thing that set this guy into a league all his own was the fact that his legs were ginormous! I mean, his jeans were full of rock-hard, huge muscle! He was one hell of a musclehunk.
If his physique and demeanor weren’t enough to knock my socks off, his face certainly was. Even from a distance, his one or two day’s worth of beard growth was evident, and really hot. His eyes looked gorgeous-- dark eyelashes and sparkling eyes; and his teeth were perfect white; god his smile was killer.
Well, the kid’s bus pulled up that morning, and it blocked my view of him as he stood on the sidewalk and bid his son good-bye. But when the bus pulled away I was treated to an awesome sight of Daddy and his dog walking away toward the apartments. Fuck, his glutes made the hottest bubble butt hard ass! And again, those powerful legs just made the whole package breathtaking.
The commute-- or rather, waiting for the commute-- for me had suddenly turned into the most exciting part of my day. I made sure to keep my eyes pealed for Daddy and his kid-- and their dog-- every morning, and fortunately their routine was as regular as mine. I never did see mommy bring the kid to the bus, so I didn’t know what that was all about.
I had been about two weeks into this routine, and had seen Daddy and co. every work day. He always wore that hoodie and a baseball cap. His jeans wardrobe consisted of dark and light variations. He never had his hoodie unzipped, so I couldn’t tell what kind of T-shirts he favored. On a Wednesday, I got the day off for a dentist appointment in the afternoon; but I got up and went down to the park so I could get my daily fix of Daddy. I had to be discrete about it though, so as to not be mistaken for a pedophile-- what with all those kids and all. I did, however, take the opportunity to walk down the sidewalk where the kids and parents were assembled, and I got a close-up look at Dad. God, he was everything I had been imagining from a distance-- and much more! Just indescribably gorgeous! And his warm presence was powerful-- even in that brief pass-by his muscle-body exuded strength.
I sat myself on a bench in the park. The day was warm and dry; I watched as the school bus pulled up and Daddy hugged his little boy good-bye and walked off with his yellow lab. Of course, I followed.
From a distance.
I couldn’t tell which apartment he went into, but I was able to determine the building, and that it was on the second floor of the two-floor complex. As I turned to go back to my building down the street, I heard a man whistle, like to his dog. I turned and saw Daddy running with his lab over to the park. Daddy had grabbed a Frisbee and was taking his dog out for some fun! While still wearing the hoodie, he had let the hood drop off, so his cap was fully visible now.
I followed the pair over to the park and once again sat down on a bench, wishing I had brought a newspaper to make myself look inconspicuous. I decided to take out my iPhone and surf the web, keeping one eye (okay-- both eyes) on Daddy and doggie as they played. He was so cool. The dog was cool too, actually, catching the Frisbee in his mouth, jumping high to get it.
At some point Daddy and I made eye contact. Keep in mind that we were probably 30 yards apart, but he did obviously look over at me a few times. I’m not a bodybuilder, really, but I do keep fit, and I’ve been told more than once that I’m better-than-average as far as looks go. Anyway, of course my heart quickened when he looked my way. I tried to find the balance between showing an acknowledgment of his presence and not being obvious. Whatever, it must not have been threatening to him to see me there, frequently watching him and his dog.
Then the vector of his Frisbee throws started to change. His throws got closer to me! And Daddy and I started to smile and nod frequently. I was going nuts inside.
“Lady” kept inching closer to me with each catch of the Frisbee (Daddy was calling her by name). Finally, she ended up almost in my lap as she lept for the plastic disk, and Dad took the opportunity to come over and apologize for her getting in my way.
Oh. My. God. He was coming up to me-- and talking to me! His smile sent shivers through my body. His face was poetry. His muscles pushed out against his sweatshirt and pants; his narrow waist was evident, even under the bulky clothes. “Sorry about that,” he said. He was a little winded, from running and playing with Lady. He stopped in front of me.
“No problem, man,” I found myself saying. “She’s a beautiful dog.”
“Thanks,” Dad said. He looked off at the trees and said. “Nice day.” He turned to me and said, “I love this park.”
“Oh yeah, me too.”
Then he said, “I think I’ve seen you at the bus stop across the street, haven’t I?”
He remembers seeing me?
“Oh, yeah, you might have,” I answered. “I usually take the bus to work. I live right over there in those condos,” I pointed.
“Cool. We’re practically neighbors.” Then he extended his hand. “Mick. Mick Williams.”
“Sean Scott,” I said. “I’ve seen you with your little boy, waiting for the school bus.” As soon as I said it, I was hoping he didn’t think I was stalking his kid. I’m no pedophile, but maybe I’m just self-conscious these days.
He grinned. “Yeah, Tucker. He’s in the first grade.”
I figured if he was suspicious of me stalking his kid, he wouldn’t be giving out his son’s name.
“Wow. That’s cool. It’s cool that you’re able to be here in the mornings and take him to the bus like that,” I said.
Mick kicked a clump of dirt in the grass. He actually looked a little coy. “Yeah, I’m really lucky in that respect. I work out of my apartment, so I can also be a full-time daddy.”
“That’s awesome. Tucker is a very lucky boy.” I wanted to say that Tucker was very lucky to have such a cool muscledaddy, but of course I didn’t.
Mick played with Lady in a little tug-of-war with the Frisbee while he stood there. I could see his arms were gigantic, even under his sweatshirt.
“So mom doesn’t get to take Tucker to the bus, huh?” I ventured.
Without looking away from his play with Lady, Mick answered, “Oh, mom is-- well, she’s out of the picture now.”
“Oh. I hear you,” I responded. I didn’t want to offer undue sympathy (maybe she died?) where it might not be needed (maybe he left her and he was happy she was out of the picture), and I wanted to affirm that whatever his situation was, I wasn’t going to offer any kind of judgement.
“Yeah, it’s good this way. Things are good for Tucker and me.”
“That is really cool.”
Mick kept playing with Lady, finally wresting the Frisbee from her and throwing it far into the open field. She ran off after it. Mick turned to me. “So, what is so darn exciting that you get on that bus every day for?” He made a motion to the place where my bus stops.
“A paycheck,” I said deadpan.
Mick laughed, and I thought I had died and gone to heaven. God he was just adorable-- so beautiful, so muscular and powerful-- and yet here he was interacting and laughing with me!
“I’m a CPA at a firm downtown,” I said.
“Really?” Mick said. “You don’t seem like the numbers type.”
“I don’t know. I guess appearances can be deceiving,” he said. “But to me, you look like a misplaced Wilderness Guide or something. Maybe a Forest Ranger. For some reason, the whole urban thing doesn’t seem to fit you.”
I laughed. “Wow-- you’re perceptive! I just moved here from Montana-- was born and raised there-- and boy, do I miss it!”
Mick laughed. “See? I knew it!”
“That’s amazing,” I said, continuing my laugh. I wondered if maybe he liked the outdoor types.
I didn’t have a problem talking about myself, but I wanted to find out more about Mick, so I redirected the conversation. “What is it in that apartment of yours that’s so darn exciting that you stay home every day?”
He chuckled. “I have a number of irons in the fire. I do computer work, mainly. Website design, databases, some small business I.T. work. And I do some photography too. Kind of a jack of all trades, master of none.”
“Wow; that’s cool. Sounds like a really cool lifestyle.”
“Yeah, it really is.”
Lady had returned a few times and Mick threw the Frisbee away for her each time; she kept running back and forth. As she ran off after it again, Mick turned toward me and unzipped his hoodie. “This playing with the dog thing can get you kind of hot,” he said. He pulled the sweat jacket off and revealed an upper body that was wrapped in a tight-- but not too tight-- fitting dark red T-shirt. I nearly peed my pants. This guy looked like he should be competing with the pros! He draped his hoodie over the bench, next to me. His arms-- they were unreal!
Just mounds of muscles all over his torso, and his jeans-- I bet they were no bigger than 30 inches at the waist.
“Apparently,” I said, “working from home also gives you time to hit the gym.”
He smiled. “Oh yeah. Been bodybuilding since high school,” he said, bending down to take the plastic disk from his dog’s mouth. “Do a little power lifting too,” he added.
“Shit. You look amazing.” I had met enough muscleguys at the gym to know that most of them don’t mind at all if you comment on how great they look. It’s just that you can’t come right out and ask to feel. Suggesting a blow job is also grounds for immediate suspension of a conversation. But respectful admiration, coupled with the occasional request for advice, is totally doable. Most muscle worshippers, I think, are too afraid to do this, and it’s their loss.
Mick smiled back, looking right into my eyes. “Thanks.”
Our eyes lingered on each others’ face for longer than normal, and I could have sworn that Mick’s eyes twinkled at me. He made me want to crawl into a sleeping bag with him and never come out.
After I finally broke the gaze, I fumbled for some words, but found none.
“You got the day off?” Mick said, reaching down to pet Lady.
“Oh… uh, yeah,” I said, somewhat flustered. “Dentist appointment this afternoon.”
“Ah, yes,” Mick said. “The visit with the dentist. Too much fun.”
“Yeah. It’s just a check-up, so I’m hoping for the best.”
He squatted down, continuing to pet Lady, rubbing her body down with his strong hands and arms bulging everywhere; “Well, you want to come up to my place and kill some time ‘til then?”
“What?” I couldn’t believe he was asking me that, and my startled reaction was probably way too telling of my shock, even though such an invitation wasn’t anything unusual at all, really. “I mean, really?” I was trying to recover. “Well, sure.”
“Cool.” Mick looked down at Lady and stood up. He threw the Frisbee toward his apartment and picked up his hoodie off the bench.
I stood, and we walked toward his place.
Inside, Mick’s apartment was immaculate. I was impressed. There were pictures of Mick and Tucker on the walls, and even one picture of them with a woman-- obviously the mom who wasn’t around anymore. Of course what really caught my eye was the collection of pictures of Mick on the bodybuilding stage, along with a big stash of trophies. He had almost as many power lifting trophies as bodybuilding ones.
“Wow, you are amazing,” I said, staring at his awards and pictures.
“Thanks,” he said. “You want something to drink? Ice tea? Coffee? Water?” he looked at his watch and said, “If you come back later, I’ll offer you a beer, but 9:30 in the morning is probably a little early,” he grinned.
I laughed. “Nothing, thanks. I’m fine.” I think at this point, my infatuation with his muscled physique must have become a little obvious. It was impossibly hard not to just look at it. He was perfect. His proportions were the definition of art. Everything tied together so well. Huge, ripped muscles. Lean, fat-free, clear, warm skin. A face that would make angels envious. I just couldn’t pry my eyes off him.
And he didn’t seem to mind, although I do think he noticed.
Yeah. He noticed.
He looked right at me, with an almost mischievous smile. “You okay?” he said.
“Me? Fine. I’m fine,” I said, forcing myself to avert my gaze. I looked back at the awards his body had won.
Mick walked over to me and started pointing out which awards won what contest, and which pictures where taken where and when… At this point, he put his arm around my shoulder while he talked. It could almost have been just a regular, friendly kind of gesture, but for me, it nearly started my raging hardon squirting.
“You into bodybuilding?” he finally asked.
I gave an innocuous answer, saying that I was-- like any het guy might.
“Cool,” he said. We were both still looking at the display case of his stuff, his arm around my shoulder. Then he slowly pivoted and faced me, letting his arm move down my back and then fall to his side. Almost instinctively, I turned to face him at the same time. We were face to face, only inches apart.
God, I wanted to die. I couldn’t believe I was so close to such divine pulchritude! The growth of beard on his face-- shit, he was so incredibly gorgeous.
Mick was silent. So was I. We looked at each other, and at that moment, it became obvious where all of this positioning and posturing was leading. Mick put his hands on my waist and pushed his crotch against mine. Our cocks touched with only denim between them, and he rubbed his jeans against mine. His arms were so big, his shirt looked like it was stretched to the physical limit of the fabric.
He shifted his hips again, and our jeans rubbed our crotches again. We both looked down to watch.
I have to admit that at this point my knees were on the verge of giving way. I had never been in this position before. Fully closeted, I was afraid of making contact with a guy. The aforementioned gym conversations were as far as I had ever gotten with a muscleguy, and I couldn’t believe that someone-- someone who blew everyone else out of the water-- was initiating this kind of closeness with me. His muscles filled every millimeter of my vision. His T-shirt seemed tighter now-- painted on. His chest was enormous. His boulder shoulders looked like they could hold the earth-- like Atlas. Even his abs were visible under the fabric-- they were amazing.
“Your arms-- they look like they’re made of iron, and covered in silk,” I said. We had already crossed the barrier, what with the cock rubbing through our jeans; and I was so out of breath that I wondered if he could even understand my mumblings.
He said nothing. He took his hands from my waist and started to lift the T-shirt fabric out of his jeans. Slowly, he lifted the shirt-- still standing so that our growing cocks remained connected through the denim. I know I gasped out loud-- or at least I sighed. He put the T-shirt down and returned his hands to my waist.
“God-- your chest.”
I just stared at all his muscles.
It seemed like an eternity. Mick obviously didn’t want to rush anything. He let me just look. I ran my eyes up and down, back and forth. I probably licked my lips-- I don’t remember.
And then, without a word, Mick made a “go-ahead” kind of gesture with his head, face and eyes. He gave me permission to touch.
My trembling hands started on his forearms. That would be the safest place to start. But even his forearms screamed strength and power. They were thick, veined appendages that had obviously lifted tons and tons of weight over years in the gym. Up his arms my fingers and palms went, moving onto his upper arms. The safest place here was the triceps.
God, I nearly ejaculated right then and there. I had never felt a guy’s muscles. Never. His triceps were gargantuan. They were huge mounds on the back of his arms. Tight. Warm. Hard.
Now, though, came the real deal. My hands moved forward, onto his biceps. I felt their incredible mass. My fingertip felt the thick, long vein on each one. I opened my hands and moved them all over his guns, slowly feeling every sinew and bulge. I hadn’t considered how hard and big a man’s arms could be when you’re actually feeling them.
Mick was very patient with me.
“God--” I whispered.
His shoulders-- delts and traps-- were just as delicious as his arms.
“Fuuuuuck--” I mumbled as I ran my hands over them.
Finally, my hands made their way onto the inevitable. The ultimate destination (at least for this part of the journey) was that incomparable duo of pectoral muscles: Mick’s massive chest.
Huge areola, crowned with peanut-sized nipples were supported by warm, hard plates-- no, shelves-- no, continental shelves of brawny muscle. I palmed them lightly, and my head began to spin. I couldn’t believe this was happening to me.
My hands moved up and over them-- slowly enjoying their warmth. Mick’s eyes moved to half-mast as my thumbs and fingers lightly rolled his nips, then spread back out to feel to the outsides of his pecs.
I don’t know how long I spent, just on his pecs, but after a few minutes, I let my hands go everywhere on his upper body: his shoulders, arms, abs, pec, and even around to his back-- which brought us into a sensual warm embrace that culminated in a kiss that I thought existed only in my fantasies. Mick could give Cupid lessons on kissing. From intense, to languid and soft, we kissed a long, long time while my hands kept treating themselves to the hard musculature of Mick’s award-winning powerful body.
As I continued to feel him out, Mick put one hand on my neck to make sure I wouldn’t pull out of the kiss. He rubbed our jeans together, and I gotta tell you, that sensation-- at this point in the whole episode-- brought me as close to climax as I had ever been without actually falling off the cliff, so to speak.
Finally, our lips parted and Mick stood back just a bit. Our eyes were locked on each others’. Without looking at his hands, he undid his belt and zipper. Slowly, softly, he asked, “You want to see my legs?”
I didn’t answer, and he didn’t wait for one. He forced his jeans down over his quads-- with much protestation by said leg muscles to said jeans-- and in so doing, his enormous arms tightened and bulged with intoxicating power. His triceps-- I don’t know how a person could look at them without getting immediately hard.
With his pants off, he slipped off his shoes, leaving his socks on. He wore boxers, that although ample in their leg openings were as stretched by his giant legs as his shirt sleeves had been by his arms.
His legs rippled with purring, morphing, moving, powerful life.
God, this was just unbelievable. How many men like this existed in the world? And what were the odds that one of them lived across the street from me? And that he’d befriend me? And that he’d let me see? And that he’d let me touch? And kiss?
And what would happen next?
Well, I’ll tell you what happened next. Mick put one foot forward and gently rocked his upper leg until he hardened it into granite.
Un-fucking-believable. Just completely outside the realm of possibility.
Huge, hard, hot muscles-- ripped as good or better than anything you’ve ever seen on a video clip. And probably bigger. His legs looked like they could crush phone poles if an unfortunate one found itself between them.
Mick pulled up on the fabric of his boxers to reveal more of his leg and flexed them again. Then he pulled up on the other one and did it again.
“Fuuuuuuuck,” I whispered. “I think I’m going to faint.”
Mick chuckled. “Well, before you do, why not cop a feel?” His voice was even and relaxed-- almost matter-of-fact.
I didn’t have to be asked twice.
Oh, sweet Jesus.
Mick flexed and rippled his legs for me as I bent down and held them. I felt all of them. His quads, hamstrings-- his lower legs, the calves. Up and down, enjoying his lower body as much as I had the upper. He flexed for me for the longest time, never seeming to tire. I felt them. I hugged them. They were so huge-- hugging just one leg was like hugging a person! I even kissed them a few times, and Mick seemed to like that.
I ran my hand on the inside of his quads and he caught my fingers between his legs, flexing them so hard and tight that I nearly couldn’t pull free. His demeanor seemed to be encouraging me ever higher, and he pulled back on his boxers whenever I ventured thus.
Finally, the moment came. My fingertips had been sneaking up higher with each new northward campaign, and now-- this trip-- my fingertip met up with a warm object. Mick wasn’t hard-- well, not totally hard. My fingertip kept moving slowly up the inside of his boxer leg, and onto his thick cock. Just the head. And then a little farther. As my thumb came into contact with it, my hand curled around it very slightly. My touch was extremely light. I didn’t grab it at all-- just kind of moved my hand over it.
Mick looked down at me, expressionless, as I explored his genitals. By now, my fingertips had run up the length of his shaft and were now beginning to nest in his manicured pubes.
My free hand moved up Mick’s hamstrings on the back side of his leg and began to see what it could see on his back side. God, his glutes were hard.
As I fingered his sphincter with one hand, my “front” hand continued to take in all of his manhood-- again, very gently, almost open-palmed, just rubbing it and teasing it.
It was definitely growing.
Mick and I continued to stare at each other as I became intimately acquainted with his most private areas. His massive muscles were hardened stones-- immovable because Mick was frozen as I touched him. The only things that moved were his chest as he breathed, and his cock as it pulsed a little higher with each beat of his heart.
And still, he looked deep into my psyche.
He knew he had me right where he wanted me; and that was because he had me right where I wanted to be.
Totally unbelievable. Here I was, looking up at this god, feeling every square inch of his body, feeling his genitals! And making him get hard! I gingerly stroked him to full erection.
When his cock achieved its full potential, it was obvious that the usefulness of his boxers had been exceeded. I pulled them down to the floor-- slowly. Mick reached down and pulled me up to a standing position, where we embraced again and kissed. When we finally parted, his precum had moistened my lower shirt.
We ended up, a few minutes later, in Mick’s bedroom. He undressed me, and I found myself kneeling before his majesty, kissing his erect dick. Slowly.
Then a lick.
Mick liked this. A lot. He moaned every time my tongue came out. They were long, luxurious licks, punctuated with tender kisses. His clear pre-ejaculate nectar was sweet. Remember, this was my first time (!), so all of this was new to me-- but it came totally naturally, that’s for sure. Hell, I had lived something like this countless times in my dreams. Never did I think it would actually happen.
He was thick and long. I couldn’t get all of him in my mouth, but that didn’t matter. My favorite part was wrapping my lips around his cock head. I think he liked that too.
When he was fully insane with lust, he had me lie on my back on his bed. He took my ankles in his hands and spread me apart. Now the challenge for me would be to hold back my orgasm until he got inside.
And that was a mighty tall order. Mick took his time. First, he rubbed the whole length of his hard, thick penis up and down over my ass hole. He closed his eyes, perhaps envisioning the ultimate penetration to come. Eventually, he pressed his head against my sphincter.
He was gentle. I think he knew this was new to me. He went very slowly, allowing his natural lube to slicken the path. He nuzzled his head against my hole, pushing gently against it, then pulling back. Then a little harder, opening me just a bit.
I got the distinct impression that this was going to hurt.
Despite Mick’s tender efforts to make it otherwise, when he finally parted me and slowly pushed in, I cried out.
He didn’t stop, though. He gently continued to push inside.
I don’t know how it works with everyone else, but for me, having the pain of Mick fuck me didn’t diminish my aroused state in the least. I was actually getting more and more close to blowing my wad as he pushed up to the hilt.
As Mick began to pump, slowly rocking in and out, I reached my limit. My cock burst a hard shot, and a loud blast of my cum splattered above my head onto his bed covers. The second volley creamed my face.
Mick, seeing the effect that his powerful presence was having on me, quickly began filling me with his seed. I could feel his thick, long cock convulse inside me, blasting my guts with his essence. My essence was spraying all over his room and my body. His essence was making me warm inside.
As Mick’s orgasm intensified (and mine as well) he leaned forward and collapsed onto me, still flexing his hips and pumping hard into me. We kissed between moans (and during them) and I hugged him tightly.
It was more muscle that I had ever dreamed of having, and it was all mine.
I was actually able to pry myself away from Mick to make my dentist appointment. Unfortunately, when I returned to his apartment, Tucker was home from school and Mick was busy being Daddy again. He did, though, ask me to join them for dinner; and then when Tucker went down to bed that night, Mick and I ended up on the couch, watching a DVD-- well, watching part of a DVD. Halfway through the movie, I convinced Mick to show me his posing routine, and, well, one thing ended up leading to another…
Mick and I became real good friends. And Tucker as well. And Lady. The weekends when Tucker went to visit his mom became my favorite times.
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©© Sean Reid Scott
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