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didn’t know what to say next. All he could think
    to do was tear the guy’s clothes from his flesh, but moves like that
    tended not to be socially acceptable. Certainly not in antiques shop.
    “So, what have we got here?” Max finally asked, removing the top
    from the shoebox. An awed smile broke across his lips as he gazed
    inside. “Sweet! I wish I saw more of these babies. Where did you get
    them?”
    Caught up in Max’s giddiness, he replied, “My old boyfriend gave
    them to me for Christmas about four years ago.” Randy gasped when
    he realized what he’d just said. Girlfriend. He meant to say girlfriend,
    even if that was a lie.
    When Max looked up from the shoebox, everything seemed to
    happen in slow motion. His eyebrows cocked in positions of definite
    interest. His eyes were ice blue without seeming cold. “Nice
    boyfriend.”
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    Vintage Toys for Lucky Boys * G.R. Richards
    “Yeah,” Randy agreed. The words came racing past his tongue.
    He had no idea where they came from or why they were so insistent.
    “Yeah, Brent was a really nice guy. He broke up with me; I didn’t break
    up with him. We’d still be together if it was up to me, but, you know,
    these things happen. We’re actually just getting back to being good
    friends again now. Anyway, before he dumped me, he gave me all
    these toys. For Christmas. I said that already, didn’t I? I did. I know.
    Sorry, I’m talking too much. I’ll shut up now.”
    Max sat with a huge smirk on his face and his back impeccably
    straight. Randy still couldn’t get over how huge his arms were. They
    looked like two great big snow-white cocks.
    “You know, I saw this thing on TV, on a science show,” Randy
    started up again. Why the hell was he still talking? He tried to stop
    himself, but no use. In fact, the more resonance he developed in his
    voice, the more he enjoyed listening to himself speak. Even if he had
    nothing relevant or even interesting to say. Like right now. “Do you
    know where the word muscle comes from? It’s from the Greek….”
    “That sounds about right,” Max interrupted with a deep chuckle.
    Thinking back, Randy said, “Actually, maybe it’s from Latin. One
    or the other. Anyway, the word muscle comes from the word for
    mouse, because they thought writhing muscles looked like little mice
    running around under your skin.”
    Max flexed his biceps and in seconds Randy’s packer was wet
    with lube. He could feel it drooling down Mr. Limpy as Max turned his
    fists in and out. Mice the size of raccoons raced back and forth under
    his white flesh. Randy had to wonder how much of his arousal was
    attraction and how much was jealousy. Fuck, he’d give anything—
    anything—to look like Max. Why couldn’t he be a tall, hot muscle-god?
    It didn’t seem to matter what Randy lifted, he never put on muscle like
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    Vintage Toys for Lucky Boys * G.R. Richards
    that. And he was starting out with a distinct disadvantage.
    “It does look like mice, doesn’t it?” Max replied, interrupting
    Randy’s unachievable reverie of throat-fucking the muscle hunk.
    “Yeah, entomology’s funny,” Randy said. He didn’t want to, but he
    felt himself pressing up against the glass case. He was so damn juiced-
    up, he let himself writhe a bit against his silicon piece. It felt so good.
    “Etymology,” Max corrected.
    “Huh?” It’s not that he liked to get off on his own packer,
    especially not in public, but Max’s ripped body made him horny as
    hell.
    Max stretched his arms far out like a witch on the rack. His
    muscles twinged as he extended his fingers before bringing them back
    in and shaking them out. “Etymology is the study of word origins,” he
    said. “Entomology is the study of insects.”
    “Oh,” Randy replied. He could feel his face turning red from
    embarrassment, and that made him feel like an even bigger fuck-up.
    “It’s a common mistake,” Max went on. “People are always
    mixing up those two words.”
    Brains