Bisexual Bodybuilders Vol 1

by Emeric Varady

  “I hope so,” Bob said, fervently. “You see, Dorottya is a really nice lady, and she sure seems to like sex. But she’s kind of old and frumpy. And I think she’s promiscuous. You know, she drinks a lot, and when she does, she picks up guys and fucks them. I don’t think she’s all that choosey. Is that an unkind thing for me to say about her?”

  “No. Your assessment of her seems accurate enough. She served her purpose. But you can do better. A lot better, Bob.” Adolar realized that this was a cold thing for him to say; but from his perspective, it was no more than the truth. A hot young guy like Bob could do a lot better. He could be having sex with Adolar, for one thing!

  “I could do better? What makes you say that?” Bob asked.

  “You’ve got so much to offer—that’s all.”

  “You aren’t just saying that, are you? To make me feel better, I mean. Do you really mean it?”

  “Of course I mean it. Listen, Bob. Frankly, I meet a lot of people who want to befriend me. Sometimes they’re sincere. Other times, they have ulterior motives—they just want to associate with a minor celebrity, hoping some of the so-called glamor and prestige will rub off on them. When I spot such a phony, I tend to be a bit standoffish, to discourage him. It’s usually a guy,” Adolar added, with a smile. “But you’re not just another starstruck fan. You’re very special to me. I think you’re one of the nicest men I’ve met in some time.”

  Even as he blurted out that admission, Adolar told himself, Cool it, you idiot! Don’t say too much. Don’t let this kid know how you really feel about him … how hot you are for him! Be careful. Take it slow.

  But Bob seemed to be delighted. “Is that true? No kidding?”

  “It’s true, Bob. No kidding.”

  “I’m glad.”

  “Are you?”

  “Sure. You’re special, too. For such a famous guy, you’re very easygoing. That’s why I feel comfortable talking to you like this. And there’s one other thing that’s been bothering me—”

  “Yes?”

  Bob hesitated. “You see, there’s this friend of mine. We were talking about sex, and he told me he’s fooled around with other guys, a few times. He told me he’s even let a couple of the faculty members at the university suck his cock.”

  “Really?”

  “Yeah, really. No kidding, Adolar. I was pretty grossed out when he said that to me.”

  “This friend of yours. Does he have a name?”

  “Urban. I’ve mentioned him to you.”

  “Oh, yeah. I remember. Sorry, my mind wandered for a moment there.” Onto the topic of sex—with you! “I don’t want to shock you, Bob, but such things do go on. Of course, it’s wrong … it’s totally out of line for a faculty member to have any kind of an intimate relationship with a student. It’s be like me using my gym as a cruising ground—you now, trying to pick up the members whom I find attractive.” Adolar was surprised by how glibly the words emerged from his mouth. He felt like a total hypocrite, although he experienced no sense of shame.

  “Is that—hooking up with the guys who train here—forbidden? I mean … can’t there any be any exceptions?”

  Adolar was dumbfounded. Bob looked almost disappointed!

  “Well … we’re all only human, after all. That’s why it’s called ‘consensual sex,’ after all.”

  “Can a guy have feelings for another guy that are kind of, you know, sexual … without necessarily being gay, himself?” Bob wanted to know.

  “Wow. That’s a whole other issue, Bob, and a rather complicated one. I don’t want to give you a quick, superficial answer. But such feelings are perfectly natural, Bob. Everybody has them, at one time or another.”

  “Do you, Adolar? Shit! I guess that’s a dumb question. You’re bisexual, after all.”

  “Ah … yes, I am. So you see, same-sex attraction, same-sex relationships—they’re perfectly natural, just like I said.” Adolar consulted his wristwatch again. “Damn! It’s almost time for me to go to my appointment. I wish we could talk about this some more, Bob.”

  “I wish we could too.”

  An idea occurred to Adolar. “Maybe we can, soon. My wife’s going out of town this weekend. She’s visiting her relatives, and I’m not going with her on this trip. You see, Bob, my in-laws and I have what you might describe as a ‘love-hate’ relationship. With the emphasis on the dislike! So I’ll be left all on my own this weekend. How’d you like to come to my place for dinner, on Friday or Saturday night? That would give us a chance to sit down and talk, man to man, all we want.”

  “I’d really like that,” Bob said, impulsively. “Can we do it on Friday night?”

  “Of course. I’ll cook for us. Nothing fancy, just good, simple food and plenty of it. You bring your appetite. And it’ll just be us two guys, remember, so we’ll keep it casual. Don’t dress up, come as you are. Would you like to come over around eight?”

  “Sure.”

  “Here, I’ll write down the address for you. See you then. And thanks again for the sweatshirt.”

  “Thank you, Adolar!” Bob exclaimed, with fervor. “For everything!”

  Adolar fought back a smirk. You just wait, you sexy little muscle pup. You may soon have a lot more to be grateful for, if I have any say about it!

  Confused about the whole gay sex thing, are you? Well, I’ll be happy to take care of that problem for you, and set your mind at ease!

  Adolar kept nothing from his wife. He told Vanessza that he’d invited Bob over for dinner on Friday evening, when she’d be gone for the weekend.

  Her first reaction, in typical feminine fashion, was concern that the house wouldn’t look tidy for her husband’s guest. “I can straighten things up a bit, before I leave,” she suggested.

  “Don’t you dare,” Adolar said. “Bob is a college student, for Christ’s sake. Imagine what his place must look like. I’m sure he isn’t fussy about such things.”

  “I don’t want him to get the wrong impression—that’s all.”

  Adolar leered at her. “Oh, trust me. Given half a chance, I’m going to make sure that he gets exactly the right impression!”

  “You’d better not make your intentions too obvious,” his wife advised. “You might scare the poor kid off.”

  “I’ll take it slow,” Adolar promised. “Step by step.”

  “You pig. You’re going to do everything in your power to have sex with that boy, aren’t you, short of drugging and raping him? And you’re going to do it in our bed.”

  “That’s the plan,” Adolar admitted, with a complete lack of shame.

  “Well, I am going to make up the bed with clean sheets and pillowcases, then, before I leave. I don’t want Bob to think we’re running a whorehouse, here. I want him to know that we do have standards. They may be damn low, but we do have them!”

  On Friday afternoon, Adolar drove his wife to the train station.

  “Have fun with Bob tonight, darling,” Vanessza said.

  “I plan to.”

  “You really are a complete man whore, aren’t you? You don’t even have the decency to pretend that you’re not looking forward to it, and that you can’t wait to get rid of me. Well, don’t do anything I wouldn’t do. More importantly—don’t do anything that’s likely to end up with you being charged with statutory rape. Bob is over the age of consent, isn’t he?”

  “Of course he is. And I don’t like them too young. That’s like going fishing—the small ones, you just take them off the hook and toss them back into the water. You didn’t marry a fool, you know.”

  “No, I just married a total sex addict—that’s all.”

  “I love you, too, Vanessza.”

  “And I love you, you asshole. If you’re going to misbehave the whole time I’m gone, at least have the decency to do it in private, behind closed doors.”

  “I will. And you, have a safe trip. Give my love to your folks.”

  “Ha! As though they don’t know how you feel about them. I can already hear the
lectures they’re going to give me, again, about how I threw myself away on you.”

  “And I am so grateful that you did that.”

  They kissed each other goodbye, and Vanessza got on board the train for Szeged. [Translator’s note: Szeged is a city in southern Hungary, about three hours and twenty minutes from Budapest by rail.] They truly did love each other. They were husband and wife, but they were also best friends. They understood each other. In some strange way, the fact that they harbored no illusions about each other only made their relationship stronger.

  Chapter Five: Mentoring the Muscle Pup

  After he saw Vanessza off at the train station, Adolar returned home. There, his preparations for his guest were minimal. He’d told Bob that theirs would be a casual evening together, and he intended to live up to that. Adolar set the kitchen table—he’d decided that it would be more intimate if he and Bob ate there, rather than in the dining room—and then he got dinner started.

  In the master bedroom, he stripped naked and went into the bathroom. Inspecting his reflection in the mirror above the sink, he decided against shaving. A hint of weekend beard stubble made him look sexy, he thought. And he definitely wanted to look sexy, tonight. He did take a long hot shower, shampooing his hair and giving himself a thorough scrub from head to foot, paying special attention to his armpits, his crotch, his genitals, and his ass. He was, he knew, getting himself squeaky clean in anticipation of having sex, later on in the evening. He only hoped he wouldn’t be disappointed!

  Inside his head, he was already running through various scenarios, debating the best way to seduce Bob. He could be sly and indirect, feeling out the lad, taking his time. Or he could be blunt, making his move right away. Or he could play the role of the sympathetic, more experienced older guy, who was taking a youngster under his wing and mentoring him.

  One thing was obvious. As Vanessza had warned him, he mustn’t come on too strong. That might indeed scare the boy off.

  Stepping out of the shower, amidst clouds of steam, Adolar dried himself with a towel, combed his wet hair, and scented himself with a light, discreet application of a citrus-flavored cologne. The scent, he decided, was suitably masculine—not too faggy.

  He pulled on a pair of old, faded, well-worn jeans, without underwear, and the sweatshirt which Bob had given him. Then, barefoot, he went back downstairs and into the kitchen to monitor the progress of what was cooking on the stovetop.

  Everything was going well. Adolar and Vanessza always kept plenty of beer, wine, and liquor on hand. They usually bought their wine at the liquor store by the crate, because it was cheaper that way. Adolar opened a bottle of a good red table wine from the Csongrád region of Hungary and poured himself a glass. Carrying it into the living room and sipping from it, he surveyed the room.

  He decided that a more intimate, seductive ambience was needed. He turned all the electric lights either off or down low, and he lit a few thick pillar candles in glass holders, which he set out at various places about the room. Then he put fresh logs in the fireplace and lit it. Spring was rather late in coming to Hungary, this year; the nights could still be chilly. The fire soon blazed up, bright and hot, sending welcome warm air out into the room.

  The final step consisted of turning on his stereo system, and loading a favorite soft jazz CD into the player.

  “Perfect,” Adolar told himself, as he drank more of his wine. The man cave was ready to receive its visitor.

  God, he felt horny! He was aroused in that tense, nagging way which he associated with acute sexual frustration, and which made him feel willing to take risks—to do anything, provided there was any chance it might result in his getting laid. He could almost feel the sperm pressure building up in his loins, in his balls—making the piss slit in the glans of his prick fairly drool with his need to unload. It was a terrible thing, to be at the mercy of his biology like this.

  Recklessly, he gulped down more wine, to give himself Dutch courage. He was beginning to get a pleasurable buzz.

  At a quarter to eight, the doorbell chimed. It was Bob, all right. He was not only prompt—in his eagerness to spend the evening with Adolar, he had arrived a little early.

  Like his host, he had dressed down for this informal occasion. He wore jeans, a tight-fitting gray T-shirt which displayed his muscular shoulders, heavy chest, and big arms to their full advantage, and running shoes without socks.

  “Hi, Adolar,” Bob said, a bit breathlessly.

  “Hi there, yourself. Come right on in.”

  “Did Mrs. Mezey get away, all right?”

  “Oh, yes. She’s in Szeged, by now.” Adolar was tempted to add, She always gets off, if I have anything to say about it! And so will you, my boy—I can promise you that! But he restrained himself. “You’ve never met my wife, have you?”

  “No, sir.”

  “I’ll have to rectify that omission, once she gets home from this trip. But tonight—for now—it’s just the two of us here, as I said it would be. I’m having some wine,” Adolar pointed out. “Want a glass?”

  “Yes, please. No, wait. I thought you were like Coach Kozma, and you didn’t approve of us guys on the team drinking?”

  “What I don’t approve of, Bob, is guys your age going out and getting shit-faced drunk every weekend,” Adolar said. “That’s a bad habit to get into. And not good for your physique. This is different. A little wine before dinner can’t hurt you. It’s good for the digestion, in fact. And this is a special occasion. The first time you’ve been to my home. The first time you and I will have some real time to spend together, just the two of us, without any distractions. I’ve been so looking forward to this—” He was saying too much, Adolar realized. He told himself to shut up, to play it cool.

  But his blood, fueled by his intake of alcohol, was heated—almost boiling!

  Bob was still feeling a bit awed, at the mere fact of being alone in Adolar’s presence. “Then I will have a glass,” he mumbled. “Thank you.”

  “Excellent. Here you go. Is it warm enough for you in here? Let me throw a couple of fresh logs on the fire,” Adolar said. “Oh, and I’ll sprinkle some of these granulated chemicals onto it, too. They make the flames turn different colors—and they smell nice. I find the whole concept kind of pissy, myself; but you’re a guest, so it’s all in your honor.”

  “And I do feel honored,” Bob assured the older man. “I see you’re wearing your new shirt.”

  “I really do like it. It’s very soft and comfortable. Really too nice to wear while working out—which, as you know, takes its toll on your gym clothes. Speaking of fashion choices, I’d better go put some shoes on.”

  “Don’t bother, not on my account. It’s your apartment. Be comfortable.”

  “And I did say I want this to be an informal evening. Take yours off, if you want to.”

  “Maybe I will.” Bob kicked off his own shoes.

  That’s right, Adolar thought, excited by even this token gesture toward undressing. Get him relaxed, get him drunk, get his clothes off—and then have your way with him! Inside his jeans, he was developing a boner of uncomfortable dimensions. He hoped Bob didn’t notice—or he hoped his guest would notice, since that might put some ideas into his head!

  “I’m going to go check on dinner. Sit down, Bob. Drink your wine. Enjoy the fire. I’ll be back in a minute.”

  Feverishly, Adolar retreated into the kitchen. He was a good cook, who had the ability to time and calculate cooking times precisely. The meal was almost ready.

  He returned to the living room. Bob was sprawled on the couch, with his long legs extended in front of him and his bare feet aimed toward the fireplace. He was guzzling his wine with unashamed relish.

  He looked so sexy, so tempting, that Adolar wanted to throw himself on top of him, tear his clothes off, and take him, then and there. Instead, Adolar said, “Dinner’s almost ready.”

  “Good. I’m starved.”

  So am I, Adolar wanted to say. Oh, so am I!
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  “Something smells good,” Bob added.

  So do you, Adolar almost blurted out. God, I can’t wait to taste you … to give you a tongue bath, to lick and suck you, all over your naked body—!

  “What’re we eating, if you don’t mind my asking?”

  “Oh, just your basic hearty, filling fare. Salads, steaks, baked potatoes, and steamed vegetables on the side—all disgustingly healthy,” Adolar said. “Nothing that’ll violate a bodybuilder’s strict diet, I think. Culinary austerity, as our friend Ferenc, the waiter at the café, would say. Remember him? But I’m doing my best to make it all taste good.”

  “I can’t wait to taste it.”

  “You have an appetite? Good. I’ll make it my business to fill you up.”

  “This is so nice,” Bob declared. “I mean, just being here with you. Just us guys, hanging out together.”

  “Yes, isn’t it? There are times when a man needs to be around other men. With no women around, to distract them or get in the way.”

  They ate seated at the kitchen table. Both men were hungry, and they cleaned their plates. Adolar made a point of topping off Bob’s wine glass, at every opportunity.

  “I have an apple pie, for dessert,” Adolar said, as he served them coffee. “It’s store-bought, but it’s from a good bakery. And we can top it off with some vanilla ice cream, if you’d like.”

  “I’m supposed to be in training, Adolar,” Bob protested. “All these calories—!”

  “Oh, you’ll burn them off, soon enough. Even though I’ve never seen you without your clothes,” Adolar added, a little recklessly, “you’re hardly fat, Bob. Hell, there isn’t an ounce of excess body fat anywhere on you, from what I can see.”

  “Or on you, Adolar. You’re in great shape.”

  “Am I? Thanks. And thanks for not adding, for your age.”

  “You aren’t old. You’re still a young guy.”

  “Am I? Then, in that case, I suppose pie and ice cream can’t hurt me, either.”

  They enjoyed their dessert, and then they retired to the living room.