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Trying On Shirts
🕑 Added 2017-07-01 10:59:01 +0000 UTC When a parcel full of formal shirts that I couldn't remember ever ordering turned up on my doorstep one day I was more than a little confused to say the least. They were addressed to me and a quick glance confirmed that they' probably fit me - perhaps a little tightly but that wasn't exactly uncommon given my size - and so I chose to believe that they were a gift from an anonymous source and should be thankful that somebody was looking out for me.Considering my recent muscle gain a new stock of shirts was precisely what I needed so they arrived at exactly the right time. I had been busting my ass off at the gym for months and it had paid off big time as I quickly turned my average build into something that turned heads whenever I went anywhere. I wasn't putting on the muscle for any reason than an attempt to feel more comfortable inside my own skin. I had long suffered from anxiety and never felt like I was good enough so I hoped that putting the hard work into my body would help me feel more relaxed in myself.
Trying on the first shirt - crisp and white - I was surprised at just how good it felt against my skin. As expected the shirt fit a little tightly but it couldn't be any worse than anything I had been wearing to work in recent weeks. There had been more than one occasion where just folding my arms resulted in my sleeves busting at the seams, exposing my biceps and giving everybody a free gun show. They didn't seem to mind all that much but I was embarrassed to say the least. Hopefully these shirts were less prone to falling apart at the slightest flex.
As I stared at my reflection and pulled a few poses, making sure the shirt fit me in all the right places, I slowly realized that I was feeling different. The usual anxiety I felt when looking at my reflection - although it had lessened a small amount since my muscle gain - was completely gone and replaced by a confidence that was foreign to me. All I could think about was work and climbing the ladder to success. I had never exactly had strong career goals but suddenly it was all I cared about, already plotting ways to get my manager to notice me and score that pay-rise I had most likely been due for years considering I had worked there for six years now.
I was so distracted by my sudden desire to work that I spent the next hour sitting at my desk going through files I had brought home with me and concocting a plan I panned to pitch to my superiors the very next day. I was so engrossed in my task that I didn't even notice I was still wearing the brand new shirt. A little confused by my actions, I unbuttoned the shirt and slipped it off my shoulders only to be greeted by a familiar lack of drive when it came to my work.
Huh. That was strange. Thankfully there were still three more shirts to distract me from the bizarre mood that had just taken over me and I was content to try the rest of them on. Grabbing the contrasting black shirt next, I pulled it on and was amazed by just how good I looked in it.
I was a bonafide stud! My muscles looked suitably great, bulging at all the right places and even though the sleeves appeared to be hanging together for dear life I actually liked that. I couldn't help wondering why I never showed off my body more considering how much work I had put into it. Surely wearing some more tight clothing - or hell, less clothing - was justified now that I had such an incredible body. There were plenty of guys out there who would kill for a body like mine, I knew it, they just didn't have the commitment that I'd had and that was why I was ultimately a better man than them.
Watching my reflection flex and show off just how great my body was, there was no doubt in my mind that I could get absolutely any girl I wanted. Hell, I would no doubt be the hottest guy they'd ever seen in their lives and they'd probably be tripping over each other in their attempts to try and get a piece of me. Thankfully there's enough to go around and when it comes to the ladies I always know how to treat them right. In fact I was already starting to get hard just thinking about all the pussy I would no doubt get if I was to head down to the nearest bar at that very moment.
As much as I was tempted by the idea to prove myself correct and pick up some hot chick with big tits and a fat ass, I was also curious to see how the other two shirts felt on so once again reluctantly removed the black shirt. All of the sexual and borderline misogynistic thoughts from just a moment before vanished from my mind, leaving me rather confused about what I had just been doing and in severe need of a distraction.
Despite them all being incredibly comfortable, somehow the gray shirt managed to feel even lighter on my skin. It felt like it was massaging my muscles, boosting me with what was now a familiar level of confidence. I was no longer shy about my body, in fact I wanted to show it off and what better way than to wear an obscenely tight shirt that would get all the guys staring at me in both envy and lust?
I could already imagine it - being the center of attention at Queen City, the only gay club in the city that I had only heard was full of slutty twinks and handsome bears. I was sure they would all flock to me just to admire my muscles and beg for my attention. Maybe I'd let them do it. After all, people always did tell me that head from gay guys was better than anything a girl could do. Hell, just the thought of having a woman blow me actually made me feel disgusted.
The temptation to barge next door and demand that old Mr McMann worship my impressive muscles was strong because I knew he would do it. His last boyfriend had left him over a year ago and in that time he'd begun watching me more and more, especially when I'd begun working out. There was no doubt he'd lick the sweat off my pecs or kiss my feet if I asked him to and I knew we'd both have a lot of fun in the process.
There was still one more shirt though and that kept me from giving into that temptation. I wasn't even aware of the fact that each shirt had sent my personality in extreme directions, each time it just felt natural to me, but I had a good feeling that the last shirt would fit best of all.
Slipping on the navy blue shirt over my bare muscular chest, I wasn't at all surprised to discover that it struggled to contain my pecs and abs just as the others had. What I was surprised about was the unfamiliar face suddenly looking back at me in the mirror. I recognized him as some dudebro-type British reality star who'd ended up in modelling but I couldn't put a face to the name...
Dan Osborne, duh! Shit, why had I had so much issues remembering my own name? That's damn embarrassing. I've gotta say though, this shirt looks great on me! I wish I knew who sent them so I could thank them - and maybe ask for some more. They're damn comfortable and they make my muscles look great and really, what's more important than that?
I'd better get a move on. I promised Tom Daley I'd rail his ass today and make him forget about that stupid fiancé of his. We both know who the real man in Tom's life is but I just love hearing him say it when I'm balls deep into him and enjoying my life as a celebrity stud always on the verge of busting out of his shirts!
