*--*  Qmodem Capture File  03/10/90 16:33:00  *--*
; N for nonstop; or K for main menu: 
         thing I could lift without straining myself was a couple of bills
         out of Gerald's wallet.

         My first day at the Club, I went straight to the gym.  Wasn't
         much of one.  The space only had a Universal and some floor
         weights.  I couldn't figure out how to use anything, so I sat
         down and lit a Marlboro.  Some asshole told me to put it out.

         I turned around to see what jerk had yelled at me and the only
         fucker there was this big stud who looked like Arnol
         Schwarzenegger, except this guy was good looking.

         "You can't smoke in the gym, kid," he said approaching me.

         "Who says?" I shot back.

         The dude glared at me.  I got a good look at his six foot three
         body.  His long torso stretched from full muscular legs up to a
         huge chest that defied gravity.  His "pecs" were so fat and round
         I swear they looked like Dolly Parton's tits.  The thought
         crossed my mind that maybe they'd be hot to suck -- yeah, I
         wondered what this big stud would do if I was to clamp my mouth
         down like a suction cup on his nipple and lick his titties.  I
         was getting a hard boner thinking about it.

         "Who the hell are you, you stinkin' little punk," he spat out.

         I told him who I was.  "My name's Skip Towne, muscle-head.  Wanna
         make something of it?"

         "Skip Towne?  Are you Gerald's friend?" he asked.

         "That's right, mother fucker.  So lay off."

         "We don't talk like that here at the Club, Skip.  And we don't
         allow smoking.  Gerald has hired me to work out with you,
         although you look like you belong in a punk rock band, not in a
         gym.?

         "Oh Goody!" I replied sarcastically.  "I promise to work real
         hard so that I can look just like you."  I eyed his huge frame
         and imagined what he would look like naked.  "What's your name,
         anyhow?"

         "David Brickston.  My friends call me Brick."

         "This as a brick," I added, eyeing his crotch.

         "Depends on what you're referring to."  He didn't look at me when
         he said this.  I think he was straight.  But I've never cared
         much for that distinction.  A cock's a cock, just because the man
         attached to it's straight doesn't mean the cock doesn't like
         getting sucked.

         "Okay Skip, let's get started.  I'll give you some lessons.  But
         let me tell you something.  I don't like you.  You're a pain in
         the ass and you're a selfish no-good sonofabitch.  I'm only
         helping you 'cause it's paying my rent.  Got that straight?"

         "Sure, Brick.  Real straight."

         He worked me out but good.  The bench press, the curls, the leg
         press and the cycle machine.  Hell, there's nothing "universal"
         about that contraption.  I felt sick to my stomach after the
         first "circuit".  Brick let me quit early and we broke for a
         shower.

         "Listen, kid, no one said it's gonna be easy.  It takes time."

         "I ain't got time.  Besides I only like pain when I'm inflicting
         it."

         Brick's eyes widened.  I don't think he'd ever met anyone like me
         before.

         In the shower, I checked out the rest of his body, the parts of
         him only his "girl" or his work-out buddies get to see:  his firm
         ass cheeks, his low hanging balls, covered with a light brown
         peach fuzz.  His cock was ample, meaning, I could choke on the
         bulbous head.  What a way to go, I thought, choking to death on
         Brick's thick, fat cock.  Hell, he'd probably love it if I did.

         I reached over and grabbed his pecker.

         It seemed like Time stood still.  He broke the silence without
         moving away, his voice shaky.

         "What the fuck you think you're doing?"

         "I want to suck you dick.  Is that such a crime?"

         "You fucking faggot-punk.  No one touches my dick like that."

         He slammed his fist into my chest and I went crashing to the
         soapy floor.  I looked up from the floor and I could see his cock
         was beginning to fill out.  He liked hitting me.

         "Get the fuck out of here before I break you in half."

         "What about the workouts?"

         "You show up.  And no funny business.  Hell, I need the money."

         The next time I came to work out, Brick was very cold to me,
         gruffly pushing me toward the weights without saying a word.  It
         was like that for almost six months.  When we'd break, he'd run
         off.  At first my muscles were as tight as a virgin's butthole,
         but soon, after tremendous effort, my body began to change.  The
         lats filled out, the pecs peaked and the delts were delivered.
         Man, I was looking great.  Thanks to Brick I was turning into
         one mean hunk.

         One afternood, I'd finished working out in the gym and as usual
         Brick had left without even saying goodbye.  Like most days, the
         place was deserted.  I had the lockerroom all to myself.  I went
         over to his locker and noticed he'd left his jockstrap on the
         floor.  I took it, squeezing the soggy rag in my hand.  It was
         still warm from his sweat.  there was a mirror on the wall at the
         end of the aisle of lockers and I turned my newly primed body
         toward it.  I was totally hard now, holding Brick's jock in one
         hand, my rigid prick in the other.  I regarded myself in the
         mirror and jerked off.

         I looked at my muscles -- at my pecs and delts.  My abdomen
         looked like a loaf of egg bread -- shiny, glistening, layered
         with tight hard muscles.  I was beginning to look like Brick.  I
         lifted his jock strap up to my nose and sniffed it, taking in the
         smell -- a mixture of sweat, the musky odor of his balls and a
         bit of precum.  hell, brick's dick was made to be sucked, I
         thought, rubbing my face into the burly scented jock strap.  I
         fitted the pungent rag over my face, unable to see anything
         except the sparks shooting off behind my eyes.  The more I
         inhaled Brick's man-small, licking and chewing on his jock strap,
         the harder my dick got.  I was gonna blow my wad any second but I
         wanted to look at my tits before I shot my load.  I removed the
         jock strap and stared into the mirror.  I didn't see my pecs, I
         saw Brick's.  He was standing riwas released, he started cussing me out but real
         good.  I shut him up again by sitting on his face.

         "Eat my asshole, waybo!"

         He screamed a garbled "No!" and tried to bite me.  But there was
         nothing for him to sink his teeth into down there.  I rubbed my
         asshole up and down along his stubbly upper lip, making sure his
         nose got a good whiff of my balls and ass  His face was built for
         rimming, his prominent nose a perfect butt plug.  I rammed my
         head back down around his pud.  He groaned and instinctively
         licked my crack.  He was getting into this!  His tongue twirled
         around the lips of my male pussy, darting in and out of the
         steaming crevasse.

         I scooped up his balls with one hand and pulled up his sack,
         exposing his pink rim-hole.  I shoved my probing tongue into the
         heated snatch.  As if I were teaching him, he copied my every
         move.

         I don't think he'd ever been rimmed before because poor Brick was
         screaming and hollering like a fifteen year old girl at a Michael
         Jackson concert.

         Next, I fingered his man-hole, flicking the lips, feeling under
         for his prostate gland--his male clit.  Now Brick was putty in my
         hand.  I shoved my thumb up to the hilt while engorging his cock
         in my mouth.  Brick begon rimming me like a contestant in a
         corn-on-the-cob competition.

         I stuck a couple more fingers in his trap, knowing this would
         bring him to his first orgasm.  I scarfed down his tool and
         awaited the inevitable rush of white cream I'd come to relish.
         He retorted with a torrent of jism blasting into the furnace of
         my throat.  Wave upon wave of the milky liquid coated my tongue,
         filling me up.

         I didn't give him time to think about what we'd just done.  I
         jumped off him and dragged his heaving body over to the bench
         press, forcing him to lie down on it. I lifted his arms up and
         hooded them to the top of the Universal.

         He was screaming and holleņing again, so I had no choice but to
         shove my fat cock into the gaping angry hole of his mouth.

         "I told you to shut up, loverboy."

         He gagged and spumed but the look in his eye told me everything I
         wanted to know.  He was scared--not scared of what I was making
         him do, but scared by what he wanted me to do

         I bent down and pulled off his pants.  By now he wasn't kicking
         me anymore.  I lifted his legs and hooked them up to the weights,
         so that it looked like he was in traction.  Now it was time to
         have some fun!  I shoved my dick back in his mouth.

         I spat into my fist and brought the thick saliva down to his male
         box, spreading it like vaseline along his cra