Page 115 - Some Dance to Remember
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Some Dance to Remember 85
“Not me,” Ryan said.
“Then the guy’s even more of a dude.” He turned to his partner. “Hey,
Doyle. This is Blondie’s first contest.” Then he saluted Ryan with his big
meat hook. “Yeah, buddy.”
That night Ryan drove the red Corvette, crammed with the four big
trophies, back to the Motel San Diego. Laughing and exhausted, Ryan
stripped and lay back on the bed.
“Lie still, coach.” Kick arranged the muscle trophies carefully on the
sheets around him.
“Now I know,” Ryan was hot with anticipation, “what Oscar winners
do when they get home.”
Kick, smiling, moved back from the bed. Slowly, sensually, he stripped
himself out of his green Adidas warm-up suit. His tanned body still glis-
tened with the olive oil and sweat of the competition. With his thumbs,
he pulled his tailored brown posing briefs down from his waist, down past
the brass cock ring circling the root of his big blond dick and balls, down
his official Best Legs in Ten Western States.
He had become very serious. For a moment, he stood and studied
Ryan who was awestruck at this intimacy following so quickly the public
physique presentation. The applause was nothing compared to what they
saw in each other’s eyes. In all their private nights of making love, no night
had begun with such wide-open celebration of Kick’s exquisite manliness.
The world for the first time had acknowledged what they had privately
known and pursued so intensely for so long together. The victory belonged
to them both. They were united. They had gone public in their quest for
manly excellence, and the crowds were eating it up.
Naked, in his All-American prize-winning glory, Kick moved toward
the bed. He lowered himself slowly down on Ryan’s naked body.
“I’ve wanted all my life to do this,” Kick said. “This way. This time.
On a night like this. Tonight’s a special one.”
He meant make muscle-love man-to-man, lover-to-lover, bodybuilder-
to-coach, in those triumphant first hours after the winning of his first phy-
sique contest. Their separate boyhood dreams of manhood had conjoined.
“It’s you, Ry. This is my personal best. From me to you. There’s no
other man.”
At the start, the only promise they had made was never to become
ordinary to each other.
“I want to lay it all on you, coach.”
The Energy between them was stronger than ever.
Hours later, exhausted in each other’s arms, in the quiet before the
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