The guy strode into the gym like he owned the place, slammed his bag down on the floor and bellowed, "Not bad! Not bad at all! I think I can get even bigger here!"

Then he ripped off his sweatshirt and started crunching out poses in the wall of mirrors - double biceps, side triceps, most muscular - right there in front of everyone in his jeans.

"Who's this douche?" Larry said to me, halting his progress on the lat machine.

"Damned if I know," I replied, watching the workout intruder take narcissism to a whole new level, a pair of dumbbells hanging mute by my sides.

The new guy finished off his routine with a peak of the biceps and a twist of the torso, screaming his abs out in stark relief. Then he threw us a sneer and ambled off in the direction of the locker room.

"Christ," Larry grunted. "There's a guy who needs to be taken down a notch or ten."

"Yeah," I murmured, a plan already forming in my mind. Alongside some other visualizations - of me and the big, blond-streaked muscleman getting it on.

I'd liked everything I'd seen of the guy: his tanned, ripped torso with the bulging chest plates; his huge, vein-striated arms that peaked up into the clouds; his cleft chin and square jaw and bright blue eyes. Yeah, I liked everything about the dude, except his 'tude; that did need a whole hell of a lot more work. And, I was just the horny man to do some honing, since I worked part-time at the gym.

All of our initial misgivings were confirmed when Dexter started working out for real. He hogged barbells and dumbbells, posed in front of other guys doing the same, failed to wipe down the machines after using them, derided people by offering unsolicited 'advice' on their 'weak spots.'

He even threw a huge arm around my shoulders when I was curling a barbell and said, "Been watching you, little guy. I think that's way too much weight for you to handle. Try less, more reps. You're never going to get the mass, anyway."

"I'll try and forget that, thanks," I growled, vowing right then and there to take my plan out of my brain and put it into action.

It's not hard to get into the head of a muscleman; slightly harder to get into his shorts. And, I was going to do both, so help me, or risk a beating trying.

I rolled things out the following Monday. First, using my master key to open up Dexter's locker, I replaced his sweatshirt, muscle-shirt, and shorts with larger versions of the same. His originals were all well-used, with the tags faded, so I washed and faded the new duds, too, before slipping them into position.

Dex wasn't the brightest bulb in the sunlamp. I watched him from around the corner, as he stripped off his street clothes and put on the new gym clothes I'd bought for him. The look on his rugged mug in the full-length mirror attached to his locker door was priceless, as he saw himself practically swimming in his duds, his fragile ego instantly flashing onto the apparent fact that he was getting smaller, not bigger. That's crushing news to a mass-man.

Since I'd gone to so much time and trouble in arranging the 'ol switcheroo, I decided I deserved to squeeze some additional fun from it. I was actually wearing Dexter's old muscle-shirt and shorts, the muskily-scented garments draping my tight, toned, but rather small body. And now I slid a hand under the shirt, cupping my left pec, pinching my pink nipple. As I slid my other hand down into the drawstring-tight shorts, gripping and ripping the heavy metal that had swelled up there as a result of watching Dexter change.

The befuddled guy even put on a show for me, spurring me on to greater flows of testosterone. He stripped off his oversized togs and threw them down onto the floor, then stared at his naked bronze body in the mirror, trying to figure out where he'd gone wrong, what had shrunk.

The light gleamed off his gloriously rounded glutes, his thick, high-toned traps and delts, his breathtakingly broad shoulders and lats and perfectly powerful legs. And when he spun around for a rear view, I got a good gander at the snake-like muscle dangling down from his loins. He was hung like he was huge, his cock four inches of smooth, tan shaft and meaty hood, un-erect.

The gym was empty that early in the morning, just me and Dexter—just Dexter, as far as he was concerned—as he went through his erotic routine, searching for his shocking loss of muscle mass. My hand and cock bulged his shorts, my other hand roaming all over my clenched chest. While big stud was fired by anger and frustration, I was fired by lust and desire, my cock raging in my stroking hand, nipples stiff and tingling.

I filled my eyes with the hunk's beefcake body and jumping cock, as he bounced from one rippling pose to the next. My balls filled with semen, cock humming cum-hard in my hand. It seemed entirely appropriate—jerking off in the guy's shorts—since the big jerk was the source of my arousal.

I twisted a nipple 'til it screamed, fisting wildly, feasting my eyes on Dexter, my nostrils sucking in the smell of him in his gym clothes. Then I bit my lip, and whimpered, jerking, jetting. He topped off his hasty routine with a full-blown most muscular, his ass cheeks clenching hard enough to break any man's resolve. I stained his shorts with my appreciation over and over and over.

I wasn't done with him there, though. I had a couple more surprises waiting for the big guy out in the gym.

He had a favorite weight belt, and after reluctantly putting on his baggy new clothes, he walked out into the gym and plucked the belt off the wall, curved it around his waist. Only this was a smaller version of the same belt, and the hole that normally cinched him up tight and trim was now beyond even his strength to reach.

I walked up to him wrestling with the heavy leather support and slapped him on the shoulder. "Looks like you're putting on a few pounds, huh, Dexter? Better be careful about what you eat."

He stared at me with a look of pure horror, then down at the belt that just wouldn't hook up. I moseyed on by, swishing my hips. And, Dexter dropped the belt and ran for the wall where the scales normally stood. Not today, however, since I'd removed them. He looked around, lost.

That's when I loaded three-hundred pounds onto a benched barbell and slid in underneath, pounded out twenty straight reps. Dexter watched me, as I finished the set off with a flourish by sitting up and exhaling, "Getting strong now!" to the tune in the Rocky movie.

Normally, as he and I both knew, I can barely push two-hundred pounds off my chest maybe six or eight reps. But, thanks to the twin Styrofoam seventy-five pound 'plates' I'd inserted into the middle of the other plates, I was suddenly appearing a whole lot stronger, much to Dexter's chagrin.

He gave me an angry grimace and tried to hoist his own favorite, pre-loaded one-hundred-twenty-five-pound barbell off the floor, to crunch out some curls. But today the guy staggered under the weight, his arms shaking like a ninety-eight-pound weakling as he tried to raise the bar.

"Looks like you took on more than you can handle, Dex!" I yelled. "Better take it down a notch."

There were more guys in the gym now, getting a big kick out of the big man fighting the barbell—little realizing that I'd replaced the normal iron barbell with a lead version, adding another twenty-five pounds or so to the mix. It was a sight to behold, and everybody got a good laugh, except the body on the end of the lesson in humility.

He cornered me in the shower an hour later, as I was soaping myself up with pride.

"You've been screwing around with my stuff, haven't you!?" he accused, jabbing a thick finger backed up by a thick fist into my face.

He was as nude as I was, his burnished body beaming, heavy cock hanging. "Go soak yourself," I responded. "There's too much blood in your muscles and not enough in your head."

I had to give the guy credit, though, for pointing the finger at me so quickly. He obviously wasn't as dumb as he acted.

Now he acted with rage, flattening out his hand and swinging it at my face. I caught the edge of it in my hand, hooked his little finger and bent it backwards, bringing the muscleman down to his knees on the slippery tiles. He stared up at me, water streaming off his handsome, anguished face. My cock rose up to console him, the naked stud at my feet putting me on full arousal.

He looked at my prick, lengthening, thickening right there in front of him. Then he looked up at me again, something besides anger and pain showing quite clearly in his blue eyes now. I released his finger, and he shook out his right hand, grabbed onto my cock with his left.

"Yessum!" I gulped, jumping at the man's hot, wet touch.

He pumped my cock, the water deliciously lubricating his actions. My dick quickly poled out full-length in his tugging hand. He liked what he saw, and felt, expressed it by sticking out his neon-pink tongue and flicking the tip against my swollen hood.

I was jolted again.

Down on his knees, with my hard cock in his huge hand, his thick tongue swirling around my cap, Dexter wasn't such a bad guy. A great guy, in fact, when he slid his plush lips over my cockhead and sucked, still pumping my shaft with his hand.

I shot my own dripping hands into his hair, grabbing hold, urging him on. He responded enthusiastically, gripping my dick at the base and sliding his lips and mouth down my shaft until they met up with his hand. I was buried in the guy's velvety-wet, furnace-hot mouth; he obviously knew how to handle all types of iron.

I curled my fingers in his hair, clawing at his scalp, as he kept me locked down in the wicked man-eating pose. My cock throbbed in his mouth and throat, beating time to my heart thumping away in my chest. I felt my balls boil, the deep-throat pressure getting intense.

Dexter pulled back, releasing my dong from its heavenly home in a gush of hot air and saliva. Then he was all over it again, swallowing me up again, pulling back tight and quick, pushing forward, deep-sucking my cock. The water streamed, and we steamed, my brains and body ablaze with the awesome sensations of the muscle hunk wet-vaccing my dick.

He squeezed my balls with one hand, head bobbing fast and furious. He snaked his other big mitt up onto my water-sheened chest and clutched a pec, spun a nipple. I full-body shuddered, staring down at the guy with his mouth full of my cock. His heartfelt sucking up was getting to me, apology accepted.

I helped him to his feet. Then I threw my arms around his hulking body and showed my admiration and appreciation for his noble change in attitude, kissing him hard and hungry on the mouth. He squeezed my naked body tight, our cocks pressing together along with our lips. The temperature skyrocketed another hundred degrees or so, the both of us blowing off steam in the best way known to man. Dexter shot his tongue into my mouth, twirled it around my tongue.

We Frenched, kissed, fondled; devouring each other's mouths and getting a real good feel for one another's bodies. I slid my hands down off the big guy's muscle-bunched shoulders, down his long, strong back to his tight, trim wasp-waist, and then onto his ass cheeks. I gripped the tawny pair, and he moaned into my mouth, undulating his butt, his cock against my cock.

He was all ready to assume the ultimate posing position against the wall of the shower room, and I would've loved fucking that hard ass as I stared at that chiseled body. But, I owed the guy something for all the aggravation I'd caused him. So, I wheeled him around and slapped my own hands up against the tile, stuck out my bubble-bum, waving it like a white flag in front of the bull. Besides, I wanted to feel that eight-inch ball-bar he possessed pumping me to supreme peakness.

Dexter gripped my narrow waist with one hand, soaped up his dong and my crack and butthole with the other. His thick fingers felt great scrubbing my rear entrance, his bloated hood even better, squeezing against my pucker.

"Fuck!" we both groaned, as he popped through, slid shaft into my anus. He went in slow and sure and all the way, swelling my shimmering butt, turning my vibrating cock steel-hard.

He planted both of his hands on my hips and planted his feet, started rocking, gliding his rod back and forth in my chute. Fuck, it felt wonderful! His corded thighs smacked against my rippling cheeks, fingernails biting into my flesh, cock delving deep as a man can go, sawing pure pleasure all through my trembling body.

He was used to performing, before a crowded auditorium or a crowd of one. So, he really worked my anus, pumping slow and long and sensuous, then hard and fast and savage. I bounced with joy on the end of his thumping dick, up on my toes, scratching at the tile and flooding with water and heat.

I tore a hand off the wall and grabbed up my own humming cock, stroked in rhythm to Dexter's pumping. My hand was slippery, my cock ultra-stiff, and I really didn't have to pump at all, the big man's brutal pounding rocking me to and fro, doing the erotic job for me.

He flung himself at my bent-forward body, driving my ass, holding nothing back now. My butt was on fire, anus burning. I cried, "Yes!" then blasted, my cock going off in my hand without notice. Just as Dexter hammered his last loving stroke home, and shouted, and jerked. Hot semen sprayed my chute, jetted out of my cock. My head spun and body floated, getting fucked full of cum, emptying a gallon out the other end.

Dexter held me in his big, strong arms afterwards, the pair of us trembling, despite the hot water and steam. I apologized for jerking him around, and he apologized for acting like such a jerk.

Gym harmony was restored. Workouts never went so well.