The first time Grant laid eyes on a copy of a muscle magazine was the sizzling summer of 1989. The glossy cover boasted a big, broad shouldered bodybuilder with tanned muscles gleaming, his biceps as big as baseballs, his pecs meaty and defined, and his waist tight and toned. His packed blue posers were like a sliver of the sky wrapped around his manhood with the thin double stitched straps straining against his superman size. Grant was instantaneously and entirely mesmerized and from that moment on a fanatical fan of massive musclemen.
A mountain of muscle mags, and a decade later, he stumbled upon an ad for “Monzie’s Muscle Shop”, a stage show scheduled for that upcoming September featuring a unique blend of bodybuilding and bravado that sexily showcased the pinnacle of the masculine male physical form. Grant, aroused and excited, knew he had to attend.
September the 6th was a Saturday night, and the theater with its mid-century modern minimalism and bright neon lights was the perfect backdrop for what Grant was sure was to be a very erotic and exciting event. The theater was off the beaten path, in an industrial area of the city where no one really went. Grant approached it as the marquee above the sidewalk bathed the street in a golden glow. A promo poster by the entrance immediately and understandably caught his eye. It featured “Massive” Mikey Matz, a two-time Mr. Michigan, showing off his phenomenal physique, a true testament to his years of torturous training.
The poster was striking. A visual feast for the eyes designed to capture the muscular make up of its star attraction. It featured “Massive” Mikey Matz doing a side chest pose in a tight, tiny pair of packed posing trunks, so snug they appear painted on. The posers did an excellent job of emphasizing his well-developed physique and beautiful backside. His bicep, flexed, was bulging as big as a boulder, a testament to his strength, and his service to the gym. The thin straps of Mikey’s white stringer were stretched over his broad shoulders, doing little to cover his massive pecs, which weren't just huge but sculpted with deep striations, highlighting the two mounds of muscle. The oil coating his skin caught the light, giving his tan a glossy sheen that accentuated every curve and contour of his muscles. Mikey’s Italian features, close-cropped black hair, and confident, inviting smile, all contributed to his captivating charisma. The poster was a preview of the performance that awaited inside—a showcase of muscle, movement, and the artistry of bodybuilding.
The neon lights around the marquee danced across Grant’s face, casting a kaleidoscope of colors across it as he studied the poster. Grant snapped a pic of it and stepped slowly into the lobby.
The silence of the abandoned space surprised Grant. The stillness only served to amplify the soft sound of three bright screens on the far back wall. The displays were alive with motion, each cycled through promotions for the evening’s performances. On them, a parade of built bodybuilders flexed and posed, their tight, tiny trunks leaving little to the imagination. Their tanned and cut physiques glistened, enhanced by the screen’s glow, with each muscle group presented to perfection. The bodybuilders moved with a cocky assurance, each flex a testament to their confidence, and the endless hours of hard work etched onto their bodies.
As Grant’s gaze lingered longingly on the screens, something glistened on the first one that quickly captured his eye. A massive musclemen, a terminator in trunks, tossed away his fictitious firearm. In sunglasses and gloves, he spun around. He was brazenly bedecked in a black leather jacket, and a tight, tiny, black pair of posing trunks that clung to his body like a second skin, sculpted and seamless, shiny and slick, accentuating every curve and contour of his gargantuan glutes. The beautiful bodybuilder stripped off his jacket and stood still for inspection. Posed and presented. His back, broad, his quads, huge.
He strutted across the stage as if he was up for auction. Each stride a request for recognition. Each pose a plea for a higher price, and a final bulging bicep displayed for a bigger bid.
Grant felt a thrill of anticipation; the bold bravado and stylish showmanship was no doubt a teaser of the performances that would soon unfold on stage. The sexy show promised to be an unforgettable display of muscle, charisma, and the art of "fantasy flexing".
On the second screen, the dramatic possibilities of a posing performance continued to unfold as a bulging bodybuilder took center stage. He too was a vision of strength and showmanship, and his presence effortlessly commanded attention. With a flair for the flamboyant, he began to gyrate - swinging his hips is a circular motion, his muscular body mimicked his movements. Tanned and toned, cocky and confident.
The muscleman's movements were unrestrained and full of erotic energy. It was a display of raw power, pumpin’ pecs and an unbridled passion for performance. His body moved with a rhythm that was both intimate and intense. His shellacked and shiny blue posing trunks served as a stark contrast to his suntanned skin, which made his performance all the more striking.
The third screen featured yet another captivating clip. A huge, built bodybuilder turned his big back to the camera. He was dressed in camo shorts, a nod to a rugged, battle-ready aesthetic that was no doubt about to give way to something more revealing. With a taunting and teasing motion, he flexed his lats and stripped off his shorts, unveiling the perfect pair of posing trunks. Black, taut and oh soooo tight.
Grant’s brain began to buzz as “Massive” Mikey stepped into the spotlight, his proud presence commanding attention. Bulging and big. Massive and muscular. The brazen bodybuilder was draped like a dream in a white stringer that hugged his sculpted frame. The letters ‘USA’ were emblazoned across the front of it and they stood out as an accurate endorsement, a true testament to his cocky confidence and national pride. His pink posing trunks, were packed and perfectly presented, leaving little to the imagination. His super human size showcased the results of his relentless and rigorous training routine. Mikey’s eyes gleamed with a mischievous spark as he surveyed the seats in front of him, his stance exuding an air of arrogance as intoxicating as it was arousing. With a sexy smirk, he raised his arms, the muscles rippling like waves of water, his biceps bulging into behemoth boulders. Two twenty tonne twin peaks of pure power.
His muscles flexed and shone under the stage lights, a living sculpture of human potential. He transitioned from pose to pose, each movement a challenge to the posing obsessed posse in attendance to admire him, to envy him, to want to be him. He commanded and cajoled them. “Massive” Mikey was not just a muscleman; he was the perfect performer, a provocateur, a titan in pink posers who knew exactly how to leave a bunch of bodybuilder addicts breathless and constantly coming back for more.
The performance had ended, and the air off to the side of the stage was thick with the scent of suntan oil and the sound of heavy breathing. Grant made his way to the edge of the side of the stage, his heart racing. He had never been that close to a bodybuilder before, and the sight of his idol, Mikey Matz, was almost overwhelming.
Weeks passed.
In the solitude of his apartment, he slowly started to examine the package. It was lighter than it looked, but something about it felt significant. The beige wrapping paper crinkled under his fingers as he carefully removed it, revealing a shiny black box beneath. The top of the box was emblazoned with the words “Mikey Matz” in golden letters that seemed to dance under the light, followed by “Boston’s Premiere Private Poser” and a phone number. Grant’s heart skipped a beat. His body started to stiffen. His palms began to sweat and his heart raced. Grant took a deep breath, steadied his nerves, and slowly flipped open the lid of the box.
Grant's excitement grew. On the back of the card, it read, “Mikey Matz, 2-time Mr. Boston” and “Muscle Fantasies are my specialty!” Below that was a website address and a password. Grant was too stunned to speak. This was no ordinary package; it was an invitation to a world he had long admired from afar. Looking deeper, he reached into the box and pulled out a pair of stretchy, silky, shiny black posing trunks. As Grant ran his fingers over the fabric, he was struck by the smoothness that greeted his touch. It’s was like nothing he had ever felt before - supple yet strong, a paradox in textures. The material was cool against his skin, a stark contrast to the warmth of his hands, and it slid under his fingertips with an ease that was almost fluid. The stretchability of the fabric, especially around the basket, was remarkable. Grant tested it, pulling gently at first, then with more confidence. It gave way beautifully, not straining or warping, but hugging back against his balled up fist as it returned to its original shape. The stitched straps felt like a couple of cords. They were textured, taut and tactile to the touch, with a texture that spoke of quality. The pair of posing trunks smelled of coconut and charisma, and power and pride. A label inside confirmed their original owner: Compliments of “Massive” Mikey Matz.
Moments later, under the dim lights of his apartment, Grant sat himself at his computer, the soft hum of the machine buzzing. His heart raced as he typed. First the website address and then the provided password, a string of characters that felt like the key to another world. The "ENTER" button below, a golden barbell, stacked to the max with weight. He breathed deeply, exhaled completely, breathed in again and...clicked the enter button…
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