Hello, my name is Tucker Brady, and I know for a fact I'm a stud. I admit I was no Romeo in my first three years in high school. Hey, I'm a late-bloomer! My senior year should be enough to cement my status. I'll let you be the judge.
The dictionary defines a stud as a sexually attractive man. I think we'd all agree that there are many types of studs. Some are tall, dark, and mysterious and some are the classic 'bad boy'. He could be a quiet, rugged man like the hero in a great Western movie, or he could be rich, stylish, and wearing a tuxedo.
We realize that there's more involved than just having a handsome face. They have a certain something, a combination of confidence, character, intelligence, the ability to get others to follow them, and other intrinsic characteristics that elevate them above normal men.
Like with every group, you have those who meet the requirements and those who exceed the basic criteria: the Pro Bowlers, Hall of Famers, and the GOATS (the greatest of all time). I don't claim to rival Casanova or a 'stud' movie star, but I think I've made it into the ranks.
I'm not making this claim because I'm arrogant, conceited, and overconfident. I'm telling you it because it's true. I'm just stating the fact. In my mind, this is no different than saying cheetahs are fast and elephants are large. Things are what they are.
In my early teenage years, no one would've expected I'd be anything special. When I was seventeen and a junior in high school, I wasn't dating or playing sports. I was a tall, skinny, shy kid with acne.
My family moved the summer before my senior year. I turned eighteen, and miraculously my face cleared, and my weight caught up with my height. I went from willowy to stout. My six feet, two inches frame carried one-hundred-ninety-seven pounds of muscle.
I felt like a new person and decided to take advantage of my fresh start. I smiled more and stopped being shy. I decided to try out for the football team, so I was running and lifting weights. As my physique improved, I became more confident. I didn't know it at the time, but I was on my way to stud-dom.
Here is my story. Stud or dud? Please! My record speaks for itself.
Tucker
^^^Wednesday Seven p.m.^^^
"Tucker, didn't I see you running this morning?" Gail, the attractive, thirty-seven-year-old divorcee who lived next door asked. She had parked in her driveway. The trunk of her car was open and Tucker saw bags of groceries.
Tucker was shirtless, breathing deeply, and walking in circles in his driveway to cool down. "Hello, Ms. Post," he said. He walked to her and said, "Yes, I ran this morning. I'm trying out for the football team. I quit my summer job so I can run twice a day and lift weights to get ready for the season."
She smiled at him, unapologetically ogled his body, and said, "You look like a football player. Big and strong."
"Can I give you a hand with the groceries?."
"Yes. Thank you."
He came to the car and picked up the three of the bags. Ms. Post smiled and said, "You're a handy guy to have around. You made short work of this chore."
As they walked to her house, she leaned in and sniffed him, and said, "Mmm. You smell good. Manly. There's nothing bad about a good, clean sweat." She got her keys out and unlocked the door. Tucker followed her into the kitchen and they put the bags on the counter.
"Can I offer you a glass of water?"
"Sure. That'd be great."
She put ice in a tall glass, filled it from the tap, and handed it to him. She admired his broad chest and powerful-looking body as he downed the drink. When he was finished she said, "Can I impose on you for another favor?"
"Sure."
"A dear friend of my sister had surgery. You know how things are these days, the hospital wants to send you home as quickly as possible. My sister is a nurse and has offered to take care of her. She has twin eighteen-year-old daughters who are quite a handful. Her husband travels a lot, so they are coming to stay with me for a while. I know they'll be bored out of their minds, hanging out with me. Could you take them to a movie? Out to dinner? Or to a party? I'll pay."
"Sure."
She hugged him; he felt her soft breasts compress on his hard chest. She kissed him on the cheek and said, "Thanks. You're a lifesaver. They're arriving on Friday " She held onto him, so he returned the friendly gesture and wrapped his strong arms around her.
He smelled her floral perfume and enjoyed the embrace. A flip switched on in his brain, and his dick began to swell and press against her leg.
"Ah...Ah," he cried out. His face turned red. He quickly released her and stepped back. He added, "I have to go."
Her hands caught his hands. Below them, his hard dick tented his running shorts. They looked down at his erection. Tucker braced for a lambasting and was shocked when instead she looked him in the eyes and said calmly, "Why don't you come over at eight o'clock on Friday night? We'll have dinner, and you can meet the girls?"
"Oh. Okay," Tucker said anxiously. His heart was beating rapidly. He had sweat on his brow.
"You don't need to be embarrassed about your erection," Gail said. She smiled, looked at it again, then looked at his face, and said, "That's the nicest compliment this old woman has gotten in a while."
"You're not old."
She sighed and confessed, "Thanks, but I'll be thirty-eight at my next birthday. I'm not as slim and toned as I used to be. My perky parts sag. Did you know that my husband left me for a younger woman? I'm not feeling great about myself."
She looked so sad that Tucker embraced her. His hard-on rested against her body as she sobbed with her head resting on his shoulder. He held her tightly.
When she stopped crying, he tried to comfort her and said, "You're not dead yet."
"What?" she guffawed, and snot flew out her nose, which she quickly wiped away. She chuckled and said, "I guess that's one way to look at my situation. You're right. My pity party has to end."
She gave him a smooch on the cheek and said, "Thanks for the hug and giving me a shoulder to cry on. The twins are going to love you. You're tall, well-built, good-looking, and kind."
^^^
Friday night at eight o'clock Tucker rang his neighbor's doorbell. He was casually, but nicely dressed. His mother had insisted on ironing his short-sleeve shirt and thrust a bouquet in his hands and said, "You should always bring the hostess a gift."
The door swung open. Gail was smiling and wearing a knit dress that hugged her body. Behind her were the twins, two beauties with long, blonde hair and blue eyes. The teens were dressed alike in skin-tight jeans which emphasized their long legs and tight bottoms, and white, backless ribbed, halter tops.
Gail spoke first, "Hello, Tucker. Are those flowers for me?"
"Yes, ma'am," he answered and held them out.
She took the bouquet, smelled them, and said, "What a lovely gesture. Thank you." She laughed and said, "You have to stop calling me Ms. Post or ma'am. It makes me feel old. Please call me Gail. Let me introduce you to my nieces." She turned and pointed as she said, "This is Amanda, and this is Abby."
Amanda smiled and said, "Gail, he's as hunky as you said. Look at those arms and shoulders. Hello there."
"Hi," Abby said in a quiet voice.
Tucker stared at the identical young women. He said, "Hello. I'm sure you hear this all the time. You look alike. Will you get mad if I can't determine who is who?"
The twins laughed and said in unison, "No."
"Confusing people is part of the fun of being a twin," Amanda said.
"That's why we dress alike," Abby explained.
"Come in," Gail said. "Girls, take our guest into the family room and play nice while I put these gorgeous flowers in some water and finish dinner."
Gail went into the kitchen. The teens went into the adjoining family room. The house had an open concept design, and a breakfast bar separated the two rooms. The twins sat on the sofa. One tucked her right leg under her butt, and the other sat on her left leg. Tucker sat across from them. He looked from one to the other.
"Do you know much about twins?" Abby asked.
"No," Tucker said.
"We were made the same way you were. Our daddy put his penis in our mommy, ejaculated, and knocked her up," Amanda said.
"Amanda, behave," Gail called out.
Amanda gave Tucker a smug look. Abby ignored her sister's vulgar outburst and said, "The fertilized egg split, so Amanda and I are identical twins with the same genetic makeup."
"But we're more than that," Amanda said. "We are mirror twins."
"I've never heard that term," Tucker said. "What does it mean?"
The twins turned and faced each other. Amanda said, "We have similar features, and they are asymmetrical, on opposite sides."
"We are the mirror image of each other," Abby said.
Tucker's mouth opened, but he didn't speak. A confused look appeared on his face. The twins giggled, got up, each grabbed an arm, and pulled Tucker out of his seat. They took him to a mirror hanging on the wall.
Amanda said, "Raise your right hand." He did. "Now look at the reflection in the mirror. Which hand is up?" Abby said.
"The left one," Tucker said.
"The image in the mirror is an exact replica of you but reversed," Amanda stated. "Just as Abby is a reversed image of me. Do you see it now?"
The young women stood side-by-side. Tucker studied them intently. His brow was knitted. Suddenly, his eyebrows flew up, he smiled, and said, "Oh. I see it now. You both have long, straight blonde hair, but you part it on opposite sides of your head. And the beauty mark above your lips is on opposite sides of your faces. "
"Good. What about our boobs?" Amanda asked.
"Ah. Ah," Tucker stammered. His face turned red as he checked out their breasts.
Amanda smirked and said, "I'll give you a clue. Most women don't have symmetrical breasts."
"Ah. Ah," he spluttered as he studied their tits. He looked Amanda in the eyes and said, haltingly, "Your...your left breast is slightly bigger than your right." He blushed and added without confidence, "And Abby, for you, it's the reverse?"
"Correct! We have one that's a B- and one that's a B+," Abby said. "Tell us one more thing."
Tuckers had sweat on his brow. He looked the women over and said, "You are wearing your watches on opposite wrists."
"Very good," Amanda said. "We wear our watches on different wrists because I'm right-handed and Abby's left-handed. Raise your hands."
