Cocky #44 - King of the Ring! (Muscle Fantasy FIction)

 

In the cavernous silence of an abandoned arena, the story of King Kamali unfolds—a tale of victory, vanity, and the visceral thrill of the pose. “What’s He Gonna Wear Next?” is not just a question; it’s a journey through the psyche of a pro wrestling and bodybuilding champion who lives for the spotlight, even when there’s no crowd to bear witness.

The air vibrates with the opening beats of a high-energy dance remix, the sound bouncing off the walls of the empty coliseum. There, in the center of it all, stands King Kamali, the pro wrestler bodybuilder, adorned in a black bow tie and red velvet posing trunks that hug his muscular form like a glove.  As the music swells, Kamali begins to pose...

With each transition, the trunks change. From the tear-away red velvet to the navy blue patent leather, sequinned and gleaming, each pair more flamboyant than the last. The black trunks come next, revealed in tear away fashion, shiny with a wet look, as if he’s still in the heat of battle.He puts on a display of meaty maleness.  Pumping his muscles as he goes through pose after pose.  Toe pointing perfection at its finest...

but it’s the final pair of posing trunks that hold the essence of his triumph—the shiny white leather trunks with navy blue appliqué. The reveal is slow, deliberate, a dance of arrogance and sexual prowess. These are the trunks of a champion, the armor he claimed from his latest victory.  He tosses away the black posers, eyeing the new white ones with hunger and yearning and gyrates uncontrollably.  A side chest concludes the arrogant unveiling.  A smile punctuates his primal performance...

 But the King is far from finished.  With his white leather posing trunks clinging to his chiseled frame, emphasizing every sinew, every vein, he claps along to the music.  He counts the seconds down.  Listening to the roar of what could only be one thousand worshippers.  With the wood creaking under his weight, he cockily approaches the edge of the stage.  He places his hands on his hips and flares out his lats, pumping his pecs to the music, arrogance dripping from every pore.  The overhead lights cast dramatic shadows across his oiled skin, turning him into a living sculpture - a monument to discipline and raw power.  He revels in the glory of his manhood reminding every man he has ever met who he is and what he is.  He is a god.  Rolling backwards to the other side of the stage he offers up a second look.  His arrogance fuels him.  He isn't just a bodybuilder.  He is THE bodybuilder.  He places his hands on his hips again and pops his pecs over and over as he flares his lats - wide - like an eagle in flight.  His packed white leather trunks gleam under the spotlight. The arena remains silent, but in his mind, the crowd erupts.  He knows he is the best—the Persian Pearl, the Terminator!

 

Kamali’s confidently struts and preens into his final pose serving up his wide, meaty back and the metallic blue appliqué shining against the bright white of his skin tight trunks.   The fabric straining against his muscular glutes and begging for adoration.

 Arms raised, fists punching the air, he celebrates himself, his sweat-soaked body a testament to the effort of his performance.  As the music fades, King Kamali disappears into the shadows, leaving behind a trail of discarded trunks - the remnants of a show put on for an audience of one. The arena may be empty, but the story of his post-championship posing routine will echo in the minds of those who imagine it, a legend of what it means to be a true showman in the world of pro wrestling and bodybuilding.