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In a great big park, there was a long path. It went straight from one side of the park to the other, which made anyone who looked at it from the air say it looked like a half-finished coat-of-arms. Thanks to that and all the families walking along it, I chose to ignore it and ran straight through the foliage.

Ducking under logs, leaping from rock to rock over the creek, even going out of my way to climb up and down a fun-looking tree: this was a lot more fun than climbing up buildings in town, even with a basket around one arm. Plus, if I ever fell, the leafy, grassy ground would be much softer (except for any rocks or sticks that might be there). I liked to think of myself as a quick, agile Vulpine specimen, especially with the crunching and gasping that came from the guy behind me. I didn't look backwards, but it sounded like he didn't climb what he could avoid and didn't crawl under anything when he could just stomp through it.

A few obstacles later, and I'd finally gotten to the big, rocky hill. The path to it got removed after that child hurt himself while trying to climb it, but there were still ways to get there. I had to transfer the basket to my mouth (after apologizing to the couple making out in the cave at the bottom) so I could climb up the rocky parts directly. Just as I hoped, I was already up on the plateau when I heard the sound of hooves stomping up the slope. I'd gone just fast enough that, when he finally flopped down on the smooth-ish stone floor, the basket was empty and the picnic was already spread out.

"Hey, Spab, thanks for joining me! Would you like some root beer, or just start with the- uh, okay then!"

My big brownish Equine friend just grabbed a bottle of root beer in a large white hand and gasped through his nostrils in between chuggings. I'd seen Spab before heading to or coming out of this big gym a couple of times, but I'd officially "met" the big Shire Stallion after that, in the library down a ways from it. It turned out that I was the one borrowing books on sports and he was looking up existentialism. That guy had built himself up for mental endurance as well as physical, and it turned out he was researching authenticity in times of trendiness while I was looking to pack on some strength. We met up some more, and he enjoyed talking and debating with me as much as I liked working out with him. He had as much fun watching me get exhausted lifting weights as he did watching me get confused.

But now, I got to help him in the other area everyone thought Equines were the best: speed! While he drank the whole bottle of soda pop, I told him how much he'd improved since the first time he chased me around the park. Since his eyes were closed to focus on the soda he was drinking, I also got to look him up and down: thanks to his focus on pushing and pulling, he had well-defined musculature all over his powerful body. He even had his shirt in his hand when he came staggering up the hillside, so I got to see his broad chest heave with each breath. All he had on was a tight pair of blue gym shorts that didn't even make it to his knees. If it wasn't for his reddish-brown fur or his light russet mane and tail, he would definitely look like the masterwork of a genius sculptor with a muscle fetish.

...Or maybe a metalworker, since the running and sports he'd done with me had turned his movement away from "boulder" and more toward "molten steel". When he told me about his mixed Germanic heritage, I felt like I should've known thanks to his sizable perseverance and his philosophical-

"I said I'd rather race in a straight line or a circle than an obstacle course! Your mind was wandering again, Gareth." Another thing that I liked about him was his composite accent. I couldn't do it well; you'd have to have heard it from him.

"Heheh, sorry, Spab. I was just admiring the view. Take a look: you can look out over the whole park from here, but you'd need to be on the roof of the gazebo with binoculars to look back at us!" He walked on over with a sandwich in his mouth, and I couldn't help but think that those blue stripy gym shorts he had on were too tight-looking to be as comfy as he said they were.

"You're actually right! It looks just like a half-finished coat of arms from up here! If I stand on one side, and you stand on the other, and someone else were to take a picture-"

"Why not invite one of the women from the gym up here? This'd be the perfect place to cool off and relax together!" When he turned around with an embarrassed grin, I had to munch on a carrot to help me keep a straight face. "Actually," he replied, "I'd rather invite over here someone from the library instead. I met a Doe with very cute glasses one time, and, well, I'd prefer to date smaller, smarter women. That kind of femme just has something... handsome about her, I'd say."

I actually hadn't heard that before. "Well, just so long as she's the one that's cute," I got through cheeks full of carrot, "and not just her glasses. Though I guess anyone can be cute, guys are handsome; women are beautiful!"

I saw some sandwich crumbs fall as he laughed. "Actually, for me it's the other way around. With femmes, I tend to feel, well, warm, and gentle, even if they're just talking or smiling. It's different with males for me. I can't help but admire the masculine physique, and I know it's a stereotype, but there's just something about strong males and charming females that I like for different reasons."

While I was gulping down the drink I'd brought for myself, he must've sat back down and grabbed an apple. While his mouth was full, I told him, "Actually, aren't strong males and smart femmes more of a dichotomy? Besides, you've got muscles and brains, and oh, it isn't bigotry if you just like things that way, unless you want everyone to be like that."

He shook his head when I mentioned bigotry until he didn't have a mouth full of fruit any more. "No, I know that. I just find those kinds of people attractive, for lovers and friends." I didn't want him to take it the wrong way, so I leaned over to rest my head on his shoulder and mumbled an apology. Now normally I'd expect some awkward silence or absent-minded petting, or even a hasty re-assertion of full-on straightness, but instead Spab just said, "It's okay," and reached over to give me a full-on hug. Normally, I'd be all for it, but after a second between those rounded pectorals, I had to push my head away and shake it until I got dizzy or dry.

"Heheh. Sorry, Gareth. We probably should have showered off first, I think."

"Bwaugh. Thanks for trying, but I think so too. The only part of sweatiness I like is when you wash it off you."

He offered me his shirt - which didn't help at all - and pointed way over to the right, a few blocks away from the park. "I'm staying over there for now. It's actually close by, and it's fair that I give you some hospitality in return for the great picnic. If we run, I can even get there first!" His intentions were pretty obvious, but I just couldn't say no to that guy. Also, I didn't want to say no in the first place.

Spab's pad was actually kind of sparse. Other than the green walls and the reinforced couch, it looked just like the kind of place a guy would rent if he was looking for somewhere better and didn't stay inside much in the meantime. Then I went into the bathroom, which looked out of place until I realized he didn't spend much time at home and must have wanted a place that offered thorough cleaning first. It had a bidet, a toothbrush rack, multiple soap dishes, and all kinds of little drawers and cabinets for everything from towels to ear swabs. I'd just finished using almost all of its fixtures - wearing cargo shorts means I've got spare pocket space for even a toothbrush and towlettes and stuff like that - and was ready to finish off in his big, reinforced bathtub-shower. The thing looked like you could chuck a bomb in there and just need a really good sponge to make it look as good as new.

I'd just piled up my clothes and had a towel ready when Spab trotted in, his gym clothes probably already in the laundry, asking if I wanted him to wash any of mine. "You could've waited for me to turn on the water and gotten in first," I told him, while turning the faucets, "but I didn't get sweaty enough to need it now. If you want to join in, though, go right ahead; I can scrub your back!"

I think he looked kind of embarrassed, but he tried to hide it. I just closed the shower door and started washing off my face as he went from the can to the bidet (so I had to turn off the water when it got too hot). When he finally opened the door and stepped in, I couldn't help but get an eyeful of him: the steamy water matted down his fur, showing off all the definition of his powerful body all the more. I was almost as tall as him, but the Stallion must've had about thirty pounds more of pure muscle.

He must've said, "Go ahead" or something, then held up one leg to flex his bulging calf and thunderous thigh together. Running my soapy paws from his hoof up that leg made me think of felt-on-stone as I cleaned him off. I went for more liquid soap and he raised his other leg for me. I couldn't fit both paws around his thigh, but I didn't need to. I just massaged it all in and listened to him whicker as I did. I didn't want him to get ahead of himself, though, so I went quickly and carefully over his Equine equipment next; he just laughed at the ticklish feeling, and he was starting to smell better already!

Next, I finally got to do what I'd promised: I slipped my arms around behind my muscle-bound friend to scrub his back. As I worked my way up, he raised his arms and drew them back to flex against my grip. Massaging the soap into his back, eyeing his equally buff front side as I stood up, I relaxed him so much that he couldn't hold the pose and turned it into a strong, friendly hug. He whispered in my ear, "Now let me explore you," but I told him, "Do your face while I finish you off. Then you can focus on me all at once." We turned so that the hot water would rinse off his back, and he gradually tightened his chest and abs for me to restore to a pristine condition. I was slow and careful in exploring those smooth contours, working my way up his abs and obliques as the water ran down them from off his shoulders. Crouching down, I started nuzzling them, rubbing my cheek against them as my paws worked against his round, bulging pectorals. He also made them work against me.

I needed more soap to work on his arms, starting underneath them as I gave the same treatment with my face to his pecs. I could feel his happy whinny and his heartbeat at the same time as his arms began to flex. I couldn't help but give a sigh of my own as my paws slid over his powerful arms, and then back under them on my way back down. Even his forearms had a smooth, lean bulk to them, for me to trace their hills and valleys all the way up to his broad shoulders and his thick light-coloured mane. I think he tried to look into my eyes, but I just muttered that it was his turn to wash me over.

Did he ever! When my feminine friend hopped in the shower with me, her touch was always playfully affectionate. As soon as Spab ran his big hands up and down my arm, it felt really reverent, as if he was eating a really great meal or admiring a painting. When his hands came down, I started to flex: the look on his face when my bicep bunched up was that sort of trance-like state I'd only seen before on people practicing bondage. He still tried to tickle me when he was cleaning me off underneath my arms, but it was right back to admiration for the other one. He even ran his cheek under my tricep and over my shoulder after his hands were done.

"Mmmm, beautiful, powerful Fox... turn around for me..." I even leaned forward a bit and raised my arms up to the back wall, for him to crouch down and start on my legs. It too him a bit longer than it did for me, since I had toes and had to keep my tail out of the way. I raised each leg and flexed just like he did, and his firm but gentle massage made me feel relaxed, but also proud at getting that kind of careful attention. He must have had the same idea as I did, since his attention to my maleness was quick but thorough as well. Though it still made me twitch a bit.

Then he started running his soapy hands up and down my back, massaging like a pro. He must have liked the black stripe I had, since he ran a finger all the way down it to the base of my tail. He even took hold of me by the waist and ran his cheek back and forth, all the way up to my shoulders. I leaned back as he did, tightening my abs from the top down as his fingers traced around them. We just stood there for a while, Spab nuzzling me from behind as he worked his way up and down, touching the white patch of fur on my chest, and giving an appreciative whinny as I stuck my pecs out against his arms. They weren't handfuls like his, but when he murmured, "Aahh, nice and hot and lean," next to my ear, I could tell he was having as much fun as he did when I was working him over.

When I started to feel him poke against my tail, that was when I turned around in his grip and said, "Okay, Spab. Now I'm as ready as you are." With a handful of soap each, I held up my tail so he could give it the same kind of attention that he gave to the rest of me. His was short and braided, but I went slowly enough so that we finished at the same time. Then, our squeaky-clean bodies pressing tightly in the still-warm water, I started soaping up the big, round musclebutt that I'd left until the end. Just as large and powerful as the rest of him, his gym shorts tended to cling to it during the day. Rubbing him down in a tight, friendly embrace, I could start to feel the way he did. His hands closed around mine, and we started squeezing them until neither of ours' had any give at all. We just stood there a bit, admiring our and each others' strong masculinity, though after a bit we could each feel a soaped-up finger start to push their way between the tight press. I relaxed a bit, but squeezed up again once he was partway in; when he understood and let go, I went in slowly until he'd taken it all. Spab was a bit more eager to clean me out from the inside, but his other hand reached back to turn off the water. With just the running water turning to a drip, we kept up the hug and happily fingered each other.

The happy groaning started when we both started flexing again. His gland was easy to find, as if he'd had a lot of pent-up sexual frustration recently. Once he began to touch my soft spot, I couldn't help but nip at his ear a bit. I could feel him kiss my neck in return. I don't know how long it lasted, but once we finally let each other go and washed our hands, I just picked up a few things out of my pockets and I followed my friend out to the couch.

I'd call it hot and raw and carnal, but we both agreed afterward that it was a lot of fun as well. I didn't know he was so flexible, and he probably didn't count on just how much stamina I had. When one of us was finished, the other was ready to start again in a different position, getting both of us going again. Even before the picnic, I could tell between "natural protein supplement" jokes that he had plenty of fruit in his diet. He did say he preferred mine to his, but that was probably because he didn't have to lean or reach as far when it was me. For me it was a rough, over-affectionate afternoon's worth of fun with a close friend, but his steady pace and attitude was different. It was like ritual worship of virility with every part of his powerful body, and we were both parts of some kind of living altar. I'd explain it all in detail, but it'd need a focus all of its own.

When we were both completely spent, after enough towelettes and tissues were used, we just sat on the couch in a happy, less powerful hug while we caught our breath back.

"Wow... Thanks, Spab. I guess we both needed that! Definitely ask that Doe at the library out some time. It sounds like the two of you'd be happy together."

"I'm not really sure." He suddenly looked embarrassed or ashamed of himself. "What if she doesn't like what she finds out about me? I mean you and I just-"

"It isn't a problem if she turns out to be open-minded. If you date for a while and then you explain it to her, she could understand. Especially if you work things out so that nobody does anything behind each others' backs. Hey, it might even be a benefit!" He didn't seem to understand with his blank look, so I had to explain: "Okay, y'know how fully straight guys love all-female action? Well there are femmes who find all-male action just as hot! Plus, it'd give the both of you more options if you're ever up for three at once. Heh, if she's open to it, you know you could both trust me!"

Dodging a couch cushion, we eventually got our clothes back on and agreed that I'd keep my nose out of his business with women unless he asked otherwise. I like and respect him, and I hope him all the best, but I also hope that he'd be willing to invite me back again. As selfish as I am for thinking it, he'd still be missing out if his mate didn't allow it. Actually, she'd be missing out too. Next time I see him, I'll ask him for help with the gym instead of the library, or just race him through the park again!