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[octuscle]

Nuffin melts the sticky stuff off them pesky climate nutters like da good ol' copper's wee. Ain't no surprise our mate on the right’s all over it, init!

[octuscle]

Mate, he was well shocked that a world-saving glue sniffa could have such a fit bod. A proper trim, a cold one, a smoke, and a decent jacket. And the bloke’s gonna be a right top skinhead. And yeah, this eco warrior’s vibes and goals are switchin' up, innit.

[octuscle]

Is there anything hotter than a tight skinhead ass in freshly pissed jeans? Yes, when the jeans are pulled down!

[octuscle]

The guy on the right? Used to be a kindergarten teacher. Until two weeks ago. Then he went to the wrong bathroom. Or the right one. It's all a question of perspective...

[octuscle]

It wouldn't have been necessary to tie him up. After the shower, he can't wait to suck more fluids out of his master anyway.

[octuscle]

Think twice about which territory you are invading. The young man on the right is still under the influence of special treatment. He no longer associates “golden” with ‘boy’ but with “shower”. And shit, now he desperately wants a haircut. Good thing the guy on the left has his long hair clippers here in the “office”.

[octuscle]

From ZZ to AA

Zhi Zhāng was worried. He had been sent to Lagos because there were “problems” there. No one from the party had been able to tell him what kind of problems they were. Perhaps it had something to do with some kind of new pandemic. In any case, he had been vaccinated again shortly before departure. He had not been told what it was for. He had not asked. He was used to doing what he was told. “Zhi” meant ambition, and Zhi was ambitious. But he was also smart enough to know when it was better to hold back. A party secretary had given him his travel documents. He usually traveled economy, but this time he had a business class ticket. Zhi thought that was a good sign. And the flight with Ethiopian had been more than pleasant. But that was where it ended at the airport in Lagos. Instead of a limousine, a rather rickety taxi was waiting for him.

The taxi driver was a young man who obviously spoke very little English. But he talked a lot. Zhi didn't understand a word. At first. But eventually he began to understand a few words here and there. The man spoke Yoruba. No surprise in this region. Of course, Zhi hardly spoke the language. But during the ride, he learned to understand it. Amazingly quickly. And when he said goodbye with “O dabọ,” the taxi driver almost threw his arms around him with joy.

If the taxi ride was a disappointment, the hotel room was a disaster. A local hotel, very simple, far away from the glittering palaces of the chain hotels. All kinds of languages could be heard in the area, but no English and certainly no Chinese. With great difficulty, Zhi explained that a room should be reserved for him. The man at the reception desk said it was rare for business travelers to stay at his hotel. And even rarer for someone who wasn't from here to speak Yoruba so well. Zhi thanked him. He said that his grandfather was from Ibadan and had emigrated to Shanghai a long time ago as part of a student exchange program. And while his mother had grown up trilingual, he, Zhi, had at least picked up a few words of the language of his African ancestors.

Among the few amenities in his room were two small bottles of water. Zhi could only hope that they contained fresh mineral water. But in the end, he didn't care. He was terribly thirsty. It was hot and stuffy. The air conditioning was broken. Or maybe there was just no electricity. Zhi took off his shirt and jacket. The water felt good. He wanted to change. That was his suitcase. That was his combination for the lock. But inside were not his clothes. No suits, no shirts. T-shirts, sweatpants… All visibly worn, but clean. But not his. He didn't care. He put on sweatpants, flip-flops, and a T-shirt. He needed something cold to drink. And even though he had quit years ago, he desperately needed cigarettes. He went out onto the street. Diagonally across the street was a 24/7. He would find what he needed there. He grabbed a six-pack of local beer and a pack of cigarettes. Shit, did they accept his credit cards here? He pulled out a First Bank of Nigeria bank card. Issued to Adebayo Zhāng. His mother had insisted that he bear the name of his grandfather from her homeland. And he bore the name with pride! And what an absurd thought that this card would not be accepted here.

Back at the hotel, Olakunde was already waiting for him excitedly at the reception desk. “Ade, you have a visitor. Looks important. Waiting for you in the back office!” Adebayo wasn't expecting anyone. But he was here because of those Chinese guys. Presumably, this was one of them. He went into the back room. A small, elderly gentleman in a sweaty polyester suit was waiting for him. “Adebayo Abdullahi? Pleased to meet you.” Adebayo replied in broken Chinese that the pleasure was all his. And he offered the man a beer, which he declined. Adebayo lit a cigarette and asked what this was about. “Well, we don't often bother to welcome new employees in person. You understand, the effort involved is enormous. The flight to Shanghai takes almost 20 hours.” Adebayo nodded, even though he had never flown himself. "But you know, it's not often that you find good people here who also speak Chinese. That's why we want to make you a personal offer. You'll be our jack of all trades here. Driver when people from the party come to Lagos, errand boy. Debt collector when necessary. We pay $800 a month. And there's a welcome bonus of $10,000." Adebayo felt dizzy. That was an unimaginable amount of money. For little work. Just because he was lucky enough to be able to read and write, not only in Yoruba and English but also a little in Cantonese. He said he felt very honored and would gladly accept the generous offer. He had to control himself when the Chinese man began counting freshly printed dollar bills on the table.

Adebayo had never heard the name Zhi Zhāng before in his life. Nor had anyone else, at least no one would admit to it. In any case, there was no party member of that name in the files and registers in Beijing. And there was no one of that name on the passenger lists of the last few weeks either. Adebayo's initials were AA. He was as far away from ZZ as you could possibly be. And since he didn't know that, he didn't care at all!

Inspiration through @begon1

[octuscle]

“Dude, seriously? You've never watched porn on your computer?” Vince couldn't believe what Hunter had just told him. Hunter grinned arrogantly. "Why should I do that, dude? When I want sex, I go out and get it. Just lift up your shirt, make eye contact, and I can fuck anything and anyone I want!“ ”Dude, if you've never jerked off in front of your computer after a long day working on your bachelor thesis, you haven't lived. Try it! I'll send you a few links that I'm sure you'll like."

Hunter sat in front of the computer. He was making good progress on his bachelor thesis. He could have gone to the gym and then had a few beers at the sports bar. But hey, he could give Vince a chance. He clicked on a link. It wasn't long before his hand was on his cock. It wasn't long before he was jerking off like crazy.

“Dude, were r u? coach is furious! and ur bachelor thesis shouldve been handed in ages ago!” Vince was really worried about his bro. “Nu time. Im jerking off. Cum over. Bring beer and pizza” was Hunter's reply.

Hunter easily paid for beer, pizza, and the exorbitant costs of paid porn with his OnlyFans earnings. JRKNGGNR was quite successful. Every time Hunter ejaculated onto his increasingly voluptuous chest, PayPal payments skyrocketed. He still paid his rent with his parents' monthly allowance. If they discovered how he was really spending his time, he would have to consider other options.

Tribute to my new follower @exjocklover5

[octuscle]

Isn't it crazy that the only one wearing a prayer cap is a born Christian, like, what even?

Many thanks to @enchantviking for saving this post of mine!

[octuscle]

Hey guys! Do you notice anything about this lecture hall? No? Well, that just proves that women at university are a huge distraction, right?

Many thanks to @enchantviking for saving this post of mine!

[octuscle]

Perhaps the original is a little blurry...

But the effect it creates is better than the effect of any copy!

[octuscle]

No matter how hard you try...

Tom's pictures are simply hotter!

[octuscle]

Hey dude? I was wondering if you could help me out. I was talking to this guy I like online and I kinda lied to him about being a big bodybuilder. He wants to meet up but I don’t look like I told him. Is there a way to blow me up into a big roided man quick before I meet him? I really like the guy and wanna date him. Any help would be appreciated.

Yo bro! If you wanna roll with the big dogs, hit the gym, man. I ain't lifting for ya, but I got your back. You'll need all the hype you can get… Bro, your crush might as well be your kid! You're rocking a size 38, he's chilling in a size 32.

So, you're chillin' in the car for like thirty minutes. What’s the deal, bro? You got cash, a solid crew, so why’re you chasing some dream? You see those dudes heading to the gym. They're all young and jacked, man. You ditch the jacket to look a bit more laid back. You take a deep breath. The dude at the front desk is kinda cute, but he’s also a sweaty mess. Maybe it’s that artificial shirt of his. "Yo, I’m Kevin, what’s up?" You take another breath and say, "I'd like to sign up for training…"

Yo, next week’s rollin' in. You've hit the gym four times, bro. Your nerves are chillin'. You've even shot the breeze with some of the jacked dudes here. Kevin gives you a nod and says, “Mr. Clifton, you're killin' it, this training's totally workin'!” You flash a smile and toss ten bucks in the tip jar.

Yo, bro, you’ve been hitting the gym morning and night, right? Cardio to start, then pumpin' iron later. You’re feeling like a beast! Work’s kinda mid though… some dudes think you’re slacking. You’re already peeping job listings, huh? At least Kevin’s got your back. He’s like, "Last customer, Mr. C? Don’t go too hard! And what’s with the showers after every sesh? You’ll just sweat again!" You laugh and say clean vibes are just your thing. Kevin laughs, takes a whiff of his armpit, and goes, "Not for me, man!" then gives you a bro handshake to peace out.

Dude, it’s been like a month since you jumped into this gig. Feels like forever ago, right? Now you’re rockin' it as a sales dude at that supplement spot. Sure, the bucks could be tighter, but hey, discounts on all the goodies! Gotta hustle though, 'cause rent's still a thing. So now you’re also the janitor here at the gym. Makes sense, bro—you're here like 24/7. "Yo, Kev, all good?" "For sure, bro," Kevin shoots back. You tell him he can bounce for the day. Last dude’s already split. Time to hit the weights a bit more, then just mop up and straight up organize. Seven hours from now, it’s back to open the gym, man.

Yo, Big Bro, don't you wanna hit the shower before work? Kevin's such a softie. Your clients are jacked bodybuilders, not puny dudes like him. They dig that fresh sweat smell and love when your sweat-drenched tank slaps their chest during a chest bump. "That's my concern, bro! Need anything else? How about I grab some of that sick new stuff from Russia?" Kevin just laughs it off. He's got that natural bodybuilder vibe. Sure, you were too, but you don’t get those monster arms just from curls. "No worries, little bro! I’ll swing by at 8:00 p.m. to take over!"

Bro, you’re like a freakin' brick wall! A brick wall with that serious roid acne. You make everyone in this gym look like total noobs. Except that one dude. Man, he had a vibe. Did he get you to join? Can’t remember, but you feel like he’s the reason you’re here. You took over Kevin's shift, but of course, you rolled in late again. Leg day, ya know? Sometimes you lose track of the clock. No time for a shower or change, just hit the counter and get on the register. Then this massive dude strolls up. Damn, the ground shakes with his steps. You try to act chill, but your junk’s having its own crisis. Shouldn’t the roids make your manhood shrink? Not for you, thank goodness. That bulge in your shorts is definitely catching his eye. “Yo, bro, finally a dude at work who knows the gym grind!” he says. “And finally, someone I’m not embarrassed about smelling like a sweaty beast!” You lock eyes, throw a fist bump. You both check each other’s gains. “What’s on your agenda today, bro?” you ask. “Back and arms,” he replies. “Cardio in an hour?” “Thanks for the invite! Count me in!”

[octuscle]

Hey, you got anything for a vaction? I don't care where its too or how I get there. I am just an overworked and underappreciated 25 year old looking to take a break from my current situation. Can you help?

My dear, it's no wonder that people underestimate you. Never mind, let's take care of the most important things first: two weeks of special leave for good performance, including USD 1,000.00 vacation pay and a voucher for a surprise trip. I've packed your travel bag.

You look at yourself in the mirror in the elevator. You really need a vacation. And a little sun to change your gray complexion.

On the way to the airport shuttle, you start to perk up. Worcation is your secret weapon. Every other weekend in the sun, three days of sports, intensive work, and partying. Your colleagues envy you, your bosses admire you for how you manage it all. The next promotion is yours for the taking.

The airport is your home. It's actually silly that you still pay for your apartment. During the week, you jet around the planet for work. And on the weekend, you meet your special clients somewhere between St. Tropez, Dubai, and Punta del Este. Tessa at the check-in counter adores you. She has already seen that you are on the passenger list. A massage in the lounge before departure and a manicure and pedicure in the welcome lounge after landing are arranged as usual. You return the favor with your million-dollar smile. Tessa melts away.

It's pure coincidence that you're reading the issue of Men's Health with your picture on the cover. The accompanying article is called “Bodybuilding and Big Business.” You're not uncomfortable when the hot flight attendant asks you if that's you on the cover. You nod. You can see that he would love to accompany you to the bathroom. But you've tried that. With your body, sex is only possible in the first-class bathroom on Emirates, even with the best will in the world.

Welcome to Saint Barth! You appreciate Pierrick carrying your luggage. Pierrick is the hottest bellboy in the hotel. And for a good tip, he's happy to help you unwind after the stresses of your journey. Who am I kidding, he'd do it even without a tip. You have no appointments for a few days. You've booked the suite “until further notice.” No one asks where you got the money. But everyone knows that one of the two weekend bags is full of crisp 100-dollar bills.

Enjoy your vacation. And let me know if you need anything else.

[octuscle]

ok, its summer and I am on vacation. I am a man in my 40s. I had this really weird encounter with a local guy who looked like a kid and now I have the sudden urge to go to a party later tonight when I am usually fast asleep by then. Can you help explain what is going on?

Dude, like, why the heck are you even chillin' in Miami Beach? If that's what you call a vacation. Your room's giving major business vibes. Chinos, white shirts, and those light blue polos lined up like it’s some corporate retreat. Laptop chillin' on the desk. And all that aftershave and sunscreen lined up in the bathroom—so organized, bro. It’s 10 p.m., dinner hit the spot, then a whiskey and a cigar on the porch, teeth all clean… Better hit the hay soon, man. But seriously… why not hit that party? Could be a blast. The dude seemed cool, even if he’s just a kid. Your phone buzzes. "Meet me at 11th and Washington. In half an hour." Sounds wild, but you throw on some clothes and bounce from the hotel. It’s a quick stroll to the spot.

As you walk, your pants keep sagging, man. Belt’s tight to the last hole. Those pants are fresh; you haven't dropped that much weight. But your shirt’s hanging loose. You hit the spot, and it’s empty. Then you hear someone—run! Guy shows up, gives you a fist bump, and he’s all smiles. He’s like, you ready to hit the town in your pops' threads? You’re kinda confused; thought these were your fly threads. Then he’s like, you got any cash? You pull out your wallet. “Nice,” he says, “let’s roll.” You dash to this street stall selling clothes—fake jerseys and that kind of stuff. “C’mon, ditch that stuffy shirt,” he says. “Here? In public?” He’s not even listening. You rip off your shirt. Some dude in a car whistles at you, face goes full-on tomato. Your buddy comes back with a sick gym tank top and shorts kinda like his. Your pants are about to hit the floor, so you swap quick into the shorts and pull on the tank. “Nice, way better!” he says. “Now we just need some kicks and a little bling bling.”

Yo, you hit up the next store, right? When it’s time to pay for those pricey kicks, the sales dude gives you this look. He wants to check your driver's license, bro. You whip out your wallet from your pocket. It ain't some fancy black leather Montblanc, nah. It’s a beat-up one with a weed leaf on it. He glances at your license, sizes you up, then he's like, “Belated happy 18th, dude.” You just smile, totally lost. Stash that wallet away; something’s off. Now you’re craving a beer. But wait, you ain’t 21 yet, right? Man, you’re 46, you can totally drink! But why the heck did he mention 18? You peep in a mirror and BOOM, blackout for a sec…

Your bro smirks at you, “You good, dude?” You nod, tongue dancing over your braces. You smell like a locker room after a soccer match. Acne’s still hanging on, and your dick’s stuck in a semi-erect state. Ugh, chilling with the rents is lame. But if you’re in South Beach, might as well enjoy it.

And crap, you definitely ain’t tired at 1 a.m. but no clubs for you. They sniffed out your fake ID right away. Damn! You hit up Miguel, ask if he’s down to game on PlayStation in your hotel. “For sure, man,” he says.

You roll into your room, smooching, and bam, the smell hits you. Shit, if your mom saw the chaos… Clothes everywhere, wet swimshorts draped on the sofa, bathroom looking like a Clearasil and Old Spice explosion. But whatever, you crash in bed. And bro, you two totally lose it!

[octuscle]

Turkish Apple Tea

Life sucked! Just a moment ago, he was the celebrated quarterback who had a happy relationship with the most popular cheerleader in the entire college. He was president of his fraternity and an absolute alpha bro. And then, after a night of heavy drinking, he gets caught in his cool Mustang with another guy, whom he is giving a blow job. The coach suspended him, his girlfriend left him, his fraternity kicked him out. Damn it! There was no eye contact! It wasn't gay. And the guy... Cool Turk, hot body, cool clothes, cool haircut. And a huge, circumcised cock. Boy, that guy moaned his soul out of his body and shot it out of his cock.

Anyway, Hunter was done. He had taken a small room in a guesthouse in the neighborhood called Little Ankara. Just to be closer to the cool guys who probably wouldn't mind if you sucked them off. Without eye contact. And that was definitely easier if you looked a bit like the alpha Turks who hung out in the hookah cafes. So Hunter decided to go to one of the numerous barber shops. New phase of life, new haircut. Yes, that was a cool idea.

The first shop he saw was simply called “Murat's Barber Shop.” Simple. No frills. Perfect. Hunter entered the shop. It smelled of hookah, leather, sweat, testosterone. The man who was presumably Murat was cleaning the long hair clippers. “Haircut?” he asked. “Please!” replied Hunter. “Trimming the ends, Golden Boy?” asked Murat with a grin. Hunter said he had moved here at least temporarily and wanted to fit in a little. Murat grinned again. “How much do you want to fit in, brother?” “Do what you can!” Hunter replied. “At your own risk, Altın Çocuk! Let's start with a scalp massage. A truly life- and consciousness-changing scalp massage!” Hunter sat down in the chair.

Murat spread oil in his hair. It smelled good. Masculine. Like hookah, leather, sweat, and testosterone. Hunter's eyes grew heavy. Lanetli! The man was good, really good! And then Hunter fell asleep.

“Can kardeşim uyan artık!” Hunter opened his eyes. Murat was pouring him apple tea, and he could see himself in the mirror. Lanetli! That wasn't him! Was it? Or was it? Lanetli! Something was wrong here. Something was wrong. Next to him lay the Hürriyet newspaper from June 28, 2025. Yes, that was today. One headline read “Türkiye rekor seviyede petrol ve doğalgaz üretimine doğru ilerliyor.” That was definitely some kind of Erdogan propaganda. Yes, the man was a great leader, but the economy of his home country... Stop! Home country? Of course, Turkey. His parents had emigrated with him when he was two years old. That was almost 40 years ago now. His parents still didn't speak a word of English. And he, Can, also preferred to speak Turkish with his bros. That's why he loved it here in Little Ankara. He could do his job as a cobbler, go to the café, go shopping... He could go weeks without speaking a word of English. Murat handed him his apple tea. “Memnun musun kardeşim?” “Gözünden öpüyorum kardeşim!” replied Can. He drank his apple tea and looked in the mirror again.

Murat was right... Nothing but a shaved head suited him!

[octuscle]

The gym's a real mess, Archibald thought when he spotted the punk in his budget Adidas getup. Those tats screamed trouble. And the newbie ain't into no soap or deodorant, either. Archibald pinched his nose, wanna call the trainer 'cause the hick in the sleeveless ain't following the dress code. Then bam! Face in the pit under that tank.

Arch don’t care ‘bout no gym rules. His homie got him heated. Can't stop sniffin’ that sweaty crotch of the tracksuit. His pal gave him this slick cut so they vibe. And after the blow, he got inked up as a treat. Arch’s a straight-up chav and a player.

Check out Arch's fly new cut right @succc888, ya dig?