The Carny Pt. 01

"I wouldn't bother unpacking too much. We'll be heading out Monday morning," he said, "A change or two of clothes and your toiletries should do fine."

While I set about doing as he'd said, he began nonchalantly stripping out of his clothes. His shirt came off and I cautiously stole glance after glance at the magnificent convexity of his torso. I began to fake rummaging through my bag, buying time to appreciate his breathtaking display.

He sported an undeniable layer of fat that was understandable given the way I'd just seen him eat, but his wide shoulders were rounded with muscular density and unbelievably thick. His plump, proportionately thick arms were also underpinned by an obvious and substantial muscle mass.

His chest was not a pair of sagging man breasts. They were clearly shaped, and responded to his movements, like pectorals. They formed tantalizingly deep creases where they hugged the top side of his belly, which was in no way a soft, slovenly gut. It had a medicine ball shape and proudly stood at attention, firm and round, with his pants belted around it just below his deep navel.

To top things off, it was all handsomely adorned with an hourglass-shaped pelt of silver hair that was still liberally flecked with coal black curls that hearkened back to his youth. 'Pelt' is a little inaccurate, I suppose. I could see his skin through it, but the curled strands sure were thick and coarse as hair goes.

The way it fanned out on his chest left his wide-set, dark brown, half-dollar sized nipples almost fully exposed. He'd set the aging window unit air conditioner set low enough that the chill in the room had them standing fully erect and my mouth began to go dry as they commanded my attention.

He then proceeded to take his pants off. When he sucked in his belly to cinch his belt in both hands, his chest regally expanded and its great slabs bounced out even with it. My heart skipped a beat and my breathing became noticeably uneven and labored.

The pants fell away to reveal him in his boxers, his enormous thighs almost filling the leggings. As with his torso, their pronounced curvature above his knees suggested an impressive mass of muscle that powered the purposeful stride I so loved about him. Then, as he lifted each leg to step out of them and free his feet, I thrilled to the sight of his calves knotting up to spectacular dimensions.

He turned his back to me and, when he bent down to pick his pants up, I watched his boxers cradle his ample balls below his well-rounded buttocks. Pitching the pants onto the dresser along with his shirt, he flopped down on his bed and heaved a sigh.

"I'm bushed," he said as I hefted my bag up and stood it in the chair next to my bed.

I took the two changes of clothes and toiletry bag I'd fished from it to the dresser and opened a drawer. It was empty so I stuck them in and closed it. On my way back to my bed he asked me to turn on the TV.

It was 1973 so remote controls were still largely playthings of the well-to-do. I pulled the on/off knob out and waited for the black and white picture to come up.

"Any particular channel?" I asked.

"It's Saturday night. Bound to be some rasslin' on."

In that long ago year there were only three VHF network affiliates and, I figured for a town that size, only one local independent that might have a wrestling program on. I slowly turned the channel selector and, by the time it clicked to "9", I saw a man in black slacks and a white shirt with a suspended mic pressed to his lips. I eased the volume knob up.

"...and in this corner..."

"There we go," my hulking host contentedly intoned.

I flopped down on my bed fully clothed.

"No need to be modest on my account," he said with his eyes on the TV.

This was at least a decade before wrestling mainstreamed, so the "athletes" were far from the depilatory-smoothed, steroid-juiced bodybuilders that would eventually come to symbolize the "sport". These were burly, well-padded, hairy, middle-aged men cut from the same cloth as my bunk mate.

"I'm fine," I lied, two examples of my masculine ideal parading around on the screen in skintight trunks and another stretched out on the bed next to mine in his skivvies.

At one point, out of the corner of my eye, I saw him slip a huge hand down into his boxers and scratch his balls. I nearly came.

By the time the second fall of the match got underway Roy had begun to softly snore. For the first time since we'd been in the room I felt free to roll onto my side and let my eyes feast on his substantial, nearly naked body.

I gently rubbed a hand over the erection that strained in my jeans and watched the immense chest on which his chin rested swell to the soft rumble of each snore. Then I would thrill to the sight of his prodigious belly standing up as he forcefully exhaled at its conclusion.

When the third fall got started the big man roused. I quickly rolled onto my back and turned my gaze to the TV. He rustled around until he was under his bed covers.

"Be sure to turn it off when you're done," he said as he rolled onto his side and turned his incomparably broad back to me.

"Should I turn it down?"

His response was to resume snoring. When the match concluded I got up and turned the TV off. I then stripped to my briefs, turned off the light and crawled under my covers to play with my rock hard dick in the privacy afforded me by the darkness.

His snore was so deep and soft that it comforted me almost like the purring of a cat. Its rhythm was hypnotic and I soon drifted off with my cock still in my hand.

"SHIT! It's already light out!"

I bolted upright in my bed from the shock of Roy's outburst. He threw his covers back and my eyes almost popped out of my head when I caught sight of his morning wood impressively tenting his boxers.

He swung his legs off the opposite side of his bed from me and sat up. In the soft morning light I took my first notice of the natural V-shape of his strong back, fanning up from his wide hips to his huge shoulders.

He spread his arms to brace his hands on the edge of his mattress and let his head fall back. A deep crease formed at the nape of his bull neck and the dusting of hair across the top of his back stood up in the resulting furrow between his well-padded shoulder blades.

Suddenly he bolted into the bathroom to his left and the door almost slammed shut behind him. There were a few minutes of silence, during which I imagined him willing his unruly hard-on into obedience. Then he began churning up a tide in the toilet bowl with what sounded like a fire-hose-strong stream of urine.

That was followed by the sound of him hurriedly brushing his teeth and then the shower starting. Before I had fully recovered from that initial sighting of his surely prodigious endowment it stopped.

He burst through the door with his wadded up boxers in one hand and only his towel strategically pinned to the underside of his belly to conceal his genitals in the other.

"Get a move on. We're late," he instructed me.

Without a second thought about the hard-on tenting my own underwear I leapt from my bed and ran to the dresser to grab my clothes and toiletry bag. The sight of his lightly furred, beautifully rounded and bare haunches momentarily froze me in my tracks.

He pitched his towel on the bed and, though his back was still to me, I thrilled to the realization that I had at least been in the same room with his fully naked form. I bounded for my turn in the bathroom before he could catch me staring, reveling in that knowledge.

I got myself together at a furious pace and quickly emerged from the bathroom wearing all but my sneakers. He was already dressed in his 'uniform'.

"Good man!" he boasted, "Record time!"

"Thanks, sir," I said sitting to lace my shoes up.

"It's almost eight-thirty. We'll have to skip breakfast and make up for it at lunch."

"No problem, sir!"

"Good," he said, "and easy on the 'sir' stuff. We're all friends here."

"Yes, sir...I mean...sure thing, Mr. McManus."

"Roy," he corrected me.

"Roy," I confirmed, "sorry, sir."

He turned and grinned, causing me to blush when I realized what I'd said.

"I did it again. That's going to be a really hard habit for me to break, s...Mr...I mean...Roy."

"You'll get the hang of it," he confidently asserted as he ushered me out the door.