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Overdue, but here ya go! Will probably have to edit out some typos as I revisit this but hopefully you can enjoy! Chapter 1: https://muscle-growth.org/topic/14262-the-librarian/ Chapter 2: https://muscle-growth.org/topic/14459-the-librarian-chapter-2/ Chapter 3: https://muscle-growth.org/topic/14606-the-librarian-chapter-3/ ++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++ Chapter 4 Tom had never felt so horny in his entire life than in the immediate hours learning that he now weighed 246 lbs. He thought back to growing up, being a 150 lb beanpole for so many years, and here he was nearly 100 lbs bigger of pure, dense, manly muscle. That afternoon in the locker room felt like an awakening. For the first time in his life Tom actually felt BIG. Any bystander would've said he'd been looking big for a couple of weeks now, but it wasn't enough for a true muscle obssesor like Tom. No, even now, Tom knew that he wanted more. So much more. But, he was finally reaching a size where he could truly enjoy himself. After dumping a copious load back in his home shower, Tom felt refreshed and ready to go. He slipped on some gym shorts and a sleeveless black shirt. He glanced in the mirror and smirked at the handsome stud who smirked back. Before today, Tom would never be caught dead going out into public in a sleeveless shirt. But the man in the mirror, the man with the big arms hanging at his sides, looked like a man whom it would be a shame to cover up those mighty arms. His short black hair accentuated a light tan, obtained in the past three weeks during various shirtless yardwork sessions. Tom couldn't help but slowly bring up his arms and flex. Holy shit. He really was starting to look BIG. Still not huge, not in his mind anyway, but these were the cannons of a serious weightlifter, someone who could step on stage at an amateur bodybuilding show and place well. He looked like a total alpha stud. As a joke he whipped on some aviator sunglasses and a backwards ballcap. Looking in the mirror he snapped a quick pic and sent it to a couple of his old college buddies. Tom had to know. He reached into the drawer near his bed and fished out the tape measure. He wrapped the tape around his left arm and FLEXED with all his might. The tape tightened and he examined the number. Almost 19.5 inches. Immediately Tom's cock went to full erection in his gym shorts, even though he just had a furious shower jerking session. And he couldn't wait to grow them even more. Tom's phone buzzed, his buddies had seen the photo and had responded with various platitudes: “Damn, Tom, you got HUGE!” “Geez are you eating roids for breakfast, lunch and dinner? You're arms are bigger than my legs!” “Holy shit, man. I'm going to make you train me if you can get me looking like that!” All the attention made his ego swell right along with his pumped up body. Tom then began to sift through his closet, noting that most of his clothes would no longer do. He tried on a few t-shirts and loved the feel of the fabric clinging to his skin. Some of the shirts were now far too small, but that didn't stop Tom from trying them on, as it gave him a frame of reference to just how large we has getting. Tom slipped on a size large white t-shirt that was extremely tight. He faced his mirror. With snarl, Tom slightly bent forward, brought his two fists together in front of his waist, flexing his biceps and triceps. Simultaneously, he flared his lats and squeezed his pectorals as hard as he could, mimicking a crab pose to the best of his knowlegdge. Then it happened. The doomed shirt split right up the back along this erectors. The sleeves blew out at the arms. Tom could barely hear the fabric tearing as he roared loudly, looking proud and cocky in the mirror. Tom relaxed the pose and chuckled to himself. He looked like the 1970's TV Hulk after the transformation, shreds of a t-shirt hanging from his frame. Thus, Tom decided it was time to do some shopping for a wardrobe upgrade. Hewas able to find a t-shirt that just fashionably tight and some gym shorts and headed out. At the mall he was elated to find out he was now in XL and XXL size range, depending on the brand. A nice late-20's woman at the department store directed Tom to some brands he had never heard of. “I think you will like these shirts,” she said, eyeballing Tom, obviously interested. No doubt she would be disappointed to learn that Tom played for the other team. But, the attention she was giving only stroked his ego more. “...this brand designs most of their clothes for younger men in an athletic cut. I can see that you spend a lot of time in the gym. These clothes will fit you well and accentuate your development, which is very impressive I must say,” she smiled and suppressed a giggle. Tom cocked his eyebrow and smiled handsomely to the lovely woman. “Well, thank you Miss. It can be a hassle to find clothes with my proportions.” “Oh it's nothing! It's nice to be able to help someone of your impressive...uh...stature, rather than the really obese gentlemen that come in.” “Well, ma'am, as you can see I'm certainly not obese.” Fully flirting back, Tom then lifted his shirt to reveal his cobbled abs to the stunned saleswoman. “Oh my! Um...wow, sir,” she said fanning herself. “Pardon me for asking, but how old are you?” “Forty-nine.” “OH MY GAWD!” The woman shouted, looking stunned. “Wow, I was going to guess 38 at the latest. You are so handsome and built you make the men my age look like weaklings. Um, say, I hope this isn't too forward, but let me give you my phone number...” The young woman winked and recited her number. Playing along, Tom typed it into his phone. “Please, if you need help finding any more fitted clothes give me a call...or for anything else.” It was turning out to be a tremendous day. Tom walked out to his car with two shopping bags full of new clothes that would now fit his enhanced body. He even bought a few garments another size up as he KNEW he was going to grow into them. Nothing was going to stop him from further growth. On the drive back home, Tom drove by a small building with “TATTOO” written vertically down the side. On a whim he pulled over and walked inside. Tom has always liked tattoos but had never had the confidence to get one. Part of it was that he used to feel too small and another part was that he used to be intimidated by the gruff looking exteriors of the parlors. But now, none of that was an issue. Tom walked in and a friendly, overweight bearded man in his 30s, face adorned with several piercing and arms covers in ink, smiled and welcomed him in. “Hello there, man. What can I do for you today?” The parlor was empty, so no wait. It seemed everything was going well today. “I want to get a tattoo on my shoulder. I was thinking a panther. Not like a full panther, but maybe some artistic version of a panthers face prowling though the jungle or something.” “Cool, bro. I think something like that would look great on you. I've done ink for several muscle dudes like yourself. I know what you're type likes, give me a few minutes to come up with a sketch.” And like the Grinch's heart, Tom once again felt his confidence grow by another size. And it only fed into his awareness of his body. How he could feel himself taking up more space. How all his clothes were tight. How he was BIG. Fifteen minutes later the artist came out with a blue sketch of a fierce looking panther's face, partially obscured by what looked like jungle branches and vines. It was an image of a powerful predator ready to leap out of the shadows for the take down one of its victim. It was perfect. “I love it, dude! Let's do it.” The artist ushered Tom to the back area. Tom rolled up with sleeve and the artist swabbed and cleaned the skin. “If you are worried about pain, bro, don't. You've got a big meaty shoulder, the more muscle you have less the needle will hurt. And you've got a BIG delt. Damn, man, you are one of the bigger guys that I've inked.” The artist imprinted the stencil and went to work. The two bantered, the artist asking several questions about his gym. It turns out the artist had inked a few of the lifters from Tom's gym. Ninety minutes later the tattoo was done. Tom paid the artist, leaving a hefty tip. He then headed home to enjoy the rest of the best day of his life. If only he knew it was going to get better. ++++++++++++++++++ Finally Monday arrive and Tom was back at work. Even with his new wardrobe, it couldn't be missed how big Tom was getting. So much so that Susan cornered him in his office. “Boss, I have to ask, are you on steroids?” Tom couldn't help but chuckle at the response, which only irritated Susan even more. “I'm serious. I don't want to you doing something stupid to harm yourself!” “Susan, first let me correct you in that steroids can absolutely be used safely and effectively to put on muscle. But, if you must know, no, I'm not on steroids. I'm just maximizing my beginner gains. And it feels awesome.” “Beginner gains?” Susan asked skeptically. Tom went on to explain the idea behind beginner gains and then going into an in depth description of how he was putting on so much mass. Susan raised her hands to interrupt him after a five minutes spiel on the benefits of behind carb loading. “Alright alright! Yeesh. I'm sorry I asked. You really are becoming a meathead. But you swear you aren't doing anything dangerous?” “Susan, I promise to my knowledge I'm not doing anything unhealthy. Trainer Ron has helped me jump-start my fitness, I think my body is just making up for lost time.” Reluctantly, she accepted his explanation. “Well, Ok. But if I find out you are doing something bad I will kick your ass so hard, even if you are 300 lbs!” As she walked out of his office, the thought of being 300 lbs crept into Tom's head, sending more blood to his crotch and stretching his cock down along his growing thigh. +++++++ A couple of days later Tom's world would get turned upside down. It was mid-afternoon and the front desk worker was on her 15 minute break so he was momentarily filling in. As luck would have it, in walked a man that nearly turned Tom into a quivering mess. In walked a dark skinned man with a tight, youthful, yet masculine face with deep set, inquisitive brown eyes. On top of his head he had medium length dark brown hair styled upward and forward and trimmed down to a buzz on the sides. His handsome face was framed by a close cropped beard covering what was the definition of a square cut jaw. His prominent cheek bones indicated a low body fat. When Tom was finally able to break his gaze from the stunning stranger's face, he only became more aroused as he examined the rest of the man. He had on a sleeveless shirt with large duffel bag slung over his shoulders. The strap of the bag was nestled in the gap between the pyramidal trap and his cantaloupe-sized shoulder muscle. Each exposed arm could provide any biology class a lesson in muscular anatomy. Cords of veins ran down each arm, encircling sinewy biceps and triceps that bulged off his arms even when unflexed. Tom could only imagine how much the muscles jumped if the man flexed. The veins spread out across his large forearms like parasitic vines on a tree trunk. On his torso, the strap of the duffle bag had rested in the ravine created by the twin molehills that were his pecs. The strap pulled his shirt fabric into the crevice furthe accentuating the size of his pecs even though the shirt fabric was fairly loose. Due to the size of the man, Tom guessed the shirt had to be an XXL at least for it to be as loose as it was. Even then, it couldn't hide the musculature that was underneath. The shirt was loose enough that sadly, the mans abs were hidden, but judging by the mans face and his vascularity elsewhere it would have been foolish to think that his abs were anything but sensational. Further down he had on some Jed North gym shorts. The bottom of the man's quads were exposed and like the rest of him, large and defined. The gym shorts were sufficiently filled by his large legs and of course, what looked to be a healthy bulge. Even from the front Tom could see his calves bulging out on each side of his tanned shins. The man was wearing athletic socks and sneakers, rounding off what was obviously gym attire. Entering the lobby, the man scrunched his face in a bit of confusion, noticed Tom, smiled and walked toward the reception desk. Tom silently prepared his brain to speak as the hottest man he ever seen approached him. He was glad he was sitting at a computer desk, his crotch safely hidden underneath. “Hey there!” The mains voice was deep as he cheerily greeted Tom, offsetting his intimidating presence. “When did this place become a library? Last time I was in town this was a hardcore weight room.” Tom gulped and summoned the courage to speak, “Oh yeah. Just about few months ago. I found out after we opened that this used to be a gym.” “Oh, that's too bad. I got some of the best workouts of my life in here. The guy who ran this place was awesome. He gave us all free protein shakes after our workouts. I swear every time I lifted here I made a month's worth of progress in just the couple of days I was in town.” “Um...so what brings you to town.” “I'm a sales rep for a water treatment equipment company. I make my rounds down here every few months. By the way, I'm Jack.” “I see. I'm Tom.” The handsome man leaned in and shook Tom's hand. Tom could feel the power in his grip, the thickness of his hands. “Well, I'm sorry to disappoint you man, when I first saw you I didn't think you were coming here on purpose,” Tom chuckled. “Jack cocked one eyebrow, and retorted, “Oh, and why wouldn't you think a guy like me would be in a library?” Tom stammered, embarrassed at his inadvertent put down. Jack chuckled teasingly and relaxed, letting Tom off the hook. “Hey buddy, I'm just joking. I can see that you clearly lift too. I'm sure like me you get your fair share of 'meathead' stereotyping. But I'll have you know I'm a member of my hometown library. I just got done reading the first book of this Wheel of Time series, “The Eye of the World” by Robert Jordan. I really liked it, ever hear of it?” A new wave of astonishment flooded Tom's brain. First Jack had noticed his own gym progress and second, Tom had read every book in the Wheel of Time series. He could barely contain his excitement as he responded, “Yeah! I have. It's one of my favorite series. I think you'll really like the rest of the books.” Jack grinned seductively, cripes the man was muscle sex on a stick. “Good to know, man. Say, since this place is no longer a gym, know of any good places? I prefer a real gym, not one of those fitness club places.” “Um, yeah Jack. I go to a place called the Flex Plex. Here I can give you directions. I'll be there in about two hours for my workout. “Thanks, buddy. I haven't taken my preworkout yet, maybe I'll have another meal and we can lift together!” “Uh...um..are, are you sure? I think you might be a bit out of my league...” Tom glanced at the man's arms again. Running numbers in his head, this guy had to weigh AT LEAST as much as Tom, and being a few inches shorter and much more shredded, the man obviously had a lot more muscle than Tom, even as big as Tom had gotten. Jack smirked again, “Nonsense, buddy! I can see you got a great set of pecs and there's no denying those big arms stretching your sleeves. I'm sure you'll give me just as motivation as I am giving you right now.” Jack winked. Tom's mind raced. Was this uber-stud hitting on him? “Uh, well, sure Jack. I'll be there around 6:00pm. If you are there we can lift together. What are you working tonight?” Jack smiled and looked down at his arms before looking back at Tom, boring holes in his eyes. Jack suddenly and quickly raised his left arm and FLEXED the cannonball muscle right in front of Tom. “Working arms and delts, you?” Tom's mouth hung open as he eyed the pro-sized arm in front of him. The enormous mound of muscle had a clear split in the peak, something only the best of best and those with top notch genetics could achieve. The arm had to be over 20 inches, perhaps 21 or even more. Tom slowly gazed up the arm and into Jack's smiling face. Weakly, Tom replied, “Uh...yeah. Me too, man.” Jack chuckled and dropped his arm. “Somehow, Tom. I figured you would be be. I'll see you later tonight.” With that, Jack turned and sauntered out of the library, giving Tom a great view of his bulbous muscle butt. +++++++++++++++++++++ The rest of the afternoon Tom felt like his impressive dick was going to tear through his pants. This guy Jack had stepped right out of his fantasies and into HIS library. It seemed like the universe was completely on his side. After Jack left, Susan came over. “Oh my god, boss, who was that delicious hunk of meat? That had to be the sexiest man I have ever seen.” Susan leaned in close and whispered, “And I'm sure you felt the same way, too, huh.” Tom chuckled and replied, “His name was Jack, apparently he used to come to the gym that used to be here.” Disappointed , Susan sighed, “Figures. A pure meathead.” “Actually, he said he's an avid reader. He just finished the first book in long series that I have read a couple of times.” Susan jokingly fanned herself. “You're kidding, right? That Grade-A slab of beef reads too? I hope you got his number for me!” This time Tom leaned into Susan, grinning, “Actually, I think he plays for my team. And I think we are going to work out tonight together.” At this Susan dramatically sighed and threw her head back. “Ughhhh you are kidding me! I knew it was too good to be true. First YOU and now this Jack fellow. You know, boss, intelligent fitness hunks are really messing with my mind. I swear, ALL the best ones are on your side. Well, I wish you luck. Try your best not to jump his bones.” Susan giggled as she walked away. Once his shift at he library was over, gathered up his gym gear. He put a few scoops of the special protein powder into the small container in his duffel bag to use for his post workout shake, slung the bag over his shoulder and headed to the gym. At the gym he got changed, put his stuff in his locker and headed into the workout area to warm up, glancing around constantly for any sign of Jack, hoping among hope that Jack wasn't playing him. Sitting on the floor, he reached toward his toes to stretch his long hamstrings and lower back when suddenly he felt two hands pressing on his upper back, pushing him forward. “Here let me help you get a good stretch, buddy!” A deep voice rumbled from behind him, a voice he couldn't possibly forget from the afternoon. “Ahhhh, thanks Jack. That really helps!” “No problem, buddy. Here, now you do me.” Tom relaxed the stretch, stood up and turned around and froze. Jack was standing there in a small maroon tank top, plastered to his rippling, caramel colored body. The outline of his heavy square pecs clearly visible, his nipples barely visible moreso because they were mostly pointing downward due the heavy development of his chest. A deep canyon formed above the neckline of the tank where his upper pecs surged upward. A large gap of air formed underneath the straps of the tank where the fabric was suspended between his huge traps and those mountainous pecs. The arms were as he remembered, huge and veiny, the sinews easily visible under the thin skin. He was in the same Jed North shorts, shoes and socks from earlier that afternoon, revealing just enough of his legs to prove that this uber stud never skipped leg day. After giving him a slow look over, Jack looked up into the smirking face of Jack. He had been caught, but Jack only winked. “Glad to see a friendly face here, Tom. Ok help me stretch.” Tom took a deep breath as Jack turned and sat down on the floor. Jack's W-I-D-E back fanned out tremendously like a manta ray, leaving only the thin y-strap of his tank to hug his spine. Jack put his hands on the warm, firm upper back muscles and pushed as Jack had done to him. “MMMM that feels good stud, thank you.” Tom froze. There is was, officially out there. Jack wouldn't use the word 'stud' unless he were into me, Tom thought. Tom decided to return the favor, his confidence growing as this superman continually stoked his fire. “Thanks, Big Guy! I can't wait to get a workout with a huge, buff hunk like yourself,” Tom replied. Jack stood, turned and smiled up into Tom's handsome face. “Right on, handsome. Let's get HUGE!” And with that the two engaged in an epic chest, triceps and biceps workout. With Jack leading, Tom was able to push himself even further than even what Ron had been able to coax out of him. The entire time Jack and Tom spotted each other, hands on muscles, helping each other to gut out extra reps. When Tom would think back this workout from the future he would instantly get hard thinking about the erotic undertones. Feeling Jack's enormous pecs and his arms as he benched and curled. But in the moment, is was all about the work. Having perfect form. The reps. The contraction. Tom was thankful he was working so hard as he no fear of boning up in front of Jack or the rest of the gym, even though he was getting to feel up the man of his dreams. Finally the workout ended. Tom was nearly speechless as he saw a fully pumped up Jack. Jack smiled at his workout buddy. “Damn Tom, you are a beast. I've not found very many lifting buddies who were able to keep up and match my intensity. You've got what it takes, man. I mean, I can see that all over pump you got, wow man! I can't believe you've only been lifting for a few months. You could be a monster!” Tom was eating up the praise, “Thanks, Jack. If I could ever look half as good as you I would be happy. You are so massive and still ripped to shreds! Your veins are insane man! Your arm looks like a roadmap. You've even got big wormlike veins on the top of your huge pecs, wow.” “Thanks, dude. Ok let's head into the locker and have our post workout shakes. In the locker room with their clothes drenched in sweat they each made a shake to load up on post-workout nutrients. Tom scooped himself two scoops powder and chugged it down, the excess drink running down the sides of the cup onto his strong chin. For Tom, it was starting to click just how special that protein powder was. With all his progress and seeing and the now even heavier weights he was lifting with Jack, that just had to be it. It seemed to be some super supplement...and Tom knew he still had 3/4 of the stuff left. Jack sucked down the last sipo of his drink, set the cup down and stripped off his tank, exposing his perfect bodybuilder torso to Tom. “Oh yeah, Tom, drink that down and come pose with me.” Tom sucked down the drink in four large gulps and responded, “Actually, I know of a private posing room we can use. Follow me. Stud.” Jack smirked and followed Tom to the posing room. Once the door was locked, Jack practically tackled Tom. He wrapped his rippling arms around Tom, crushing their big chests into each other. “Fuck, Tom, you are the hottest guy I have seen in a long time. Handsome and strong. And smart! And you kept up with me during the workout, fuck man you drive me crazy! I can't believe how PUMPED you look right now. You look like you are 10 lbs heavier since we started the workout!” Tom grinned to himself as his swore he could feel secret supplement working even faster from taking two scoops. He swore he could feel each of his muscles swelling, bloating, growing harder, more defined. Jack leaned up an planted a ferocious kiss right on Tom's lips. Tom moaned and kissed back at the slightly shorter muscle stud. His own hands feeling and squeezing at Jack humongous delts and biceps, which Jack noted. “Oh yeah stud, want me to flex these babies?” “Fuck yeah, Jack. Please show me them.” “Boom! Twenty one inches when pumped, which they are pumped as fuck right now! Might be TWENTY TWO after our intense workout.” He flexed even harder and demanded, “Lick them, Tom!” Tom first grabbed the mass of arm muscle, unable to place any sort of dent into it. Then, as instructed, he brought his mouth forward and kissed all over the throbbing ball of sinew. He mouthed back to Jack. “Jack, you are the hottest guy I have ever seen. I can't believe you find me hot, I just about lost control when you walked into the library.” Jack moaned back as Tom kissed his exposed pecs, licking into the valley between the plates of armor. “Tom, I couldn't hardly believe that YOU were a librarian. I thought some jock stud was joking around when I saw you behind that desk. But then you told me all about the books you read. And I realized you had both brains and brawn, that makes me drool, Tom. Jeezes I'd swear your pecs are pumped even BIGGER since we got into the locker room...And you know what else makes me drool?” Jack pushed back and held Tom at arms length and grinned. “Tom, jacked up librarians with BIG DICKS make me drool. And as we've been attacking each other I felt something VERY large poking into my side.” Jack, keeping his smirking gaze on Tom, slowly dropped to his knees. Tom continued to squeeze Jack's boulder-like delts as Jack descended. Jack then slowly pulled down Tom's waistband until the large throbbing shaft sprung downward from it's own weight like a lowering drawbridge. “Oh fuck yeah, Tom. That is ONE. BIG. COCK.” Jack maneuvered his face under the huge shaft and nuzzled his chin against Tom's balls. “Look Tom, your cock is almost as long as my entire face, you big hung library STUD!” Tom stood entracned as he looked upon his own monster dick laying on Jack's face. It looked more engorged than he had ever seen it, perhaps a ½ inch longer too! Jack then licked up and down the underside of the shaft as Tom's breathing intensified. Jack looked up as Tom stripped off his tight shirt above. “Fuck yeah Tom, you look so fucking huge. A big tall muscle stud who is only growing BIGGER! I swear from this view it looks like your muscles are pulsing bigger and bigger. So fucking hot. Two ripped dudes pushing each other to grow. Muscles growing. Shedding fat. You are going to get so huge, Tom. The biggest, baddest, buffest librarian in history.” From on his knees Jack leaned back and bounced his massive pecs so Tom could see. Jack then grabbed Tom's massive cock and rubbed his cockhead on his engorged pecs, nearly sending Tom over the edge. Jack continued to tease. “You really do look bigger too Tom. That huge pump you got looks like it set in. From down here I can see your arms look bigger. You abs look deeper, your chest is bulging out more. And...maybe it's just me, but it feels like you cock is growing too!” At that, Jack moved his face to Tom's cock again and swallowed the entire thing in one motion. Simultaneously, Jack reached out and fondled Tom's egg-sized testicles. No one had ever been able to deepthroat Tom, but this musclestud was doing so like a professional. Tom resisted as long as he could, but the muscleman's warm wet mouth, titanic body and the knowledge that he was getting bigger was too much. With a roar Tom emptied his huge nuts into Jack's gullet. To his surprise, Jack swallowed every drop. Once Tom finished, Jack slowly slid off the huge shaft, inch after inch of wet slippery cock slowly exited his mouth. With a sated look, Jack looked up at Tom, brought his own arms up into a hyper-intense double biceps flex, and proceeded to blow a mighty load from his own impressive dick all over Tom's legs and feet. ++++++++++++++++++

Sup? I just signed up to this forum, and I am just excited to delve deep into what you guys have to offer. I've been a huge muscle fan for practically my entire life, so just being on here is amazing! Wish I found this place sooner. I've been cooking up this story for a good while now, and have been scared to release it due to me not having that much, well, trust in it. After all, this is my first time writing about something like this. But I decided to take the leap and see where it will take me. All in all, this is my first story post. I really do hope that you can find some enjoyment in what I have written. And, if you don't, please do not hesitate to tell me why. I want to get better so I could entertain you guys! A special thank you to Vinsfield(an0n12)for being such an awesome guy. Without him, I probably would have never been inspired to make these series of chapters. This is for you, dude! Update: Sorry for the absence. Hey, guys. I know that I have been gone for an insanely long amount of time, and I just want to apologize. I know that most of you guys have been hoping for another part to this, so, again, sorry for such a long absence. School has been terrible. Matter of fact, it was only because I had July 4th off that I was able to continue working on Derrick and Me, since my workload was pretty much nonexistent on that day. Nonetheless, I went back and re-wrote everything for the story. And when I mean everything, I mean everything. The story (up to chapters 0 - 2) will hold a few aspects that you guys saw and liked in this post, but there are a few things that have been re-purposed and a few new things that have been added to give the story a bit more depth. Long story short, the version I have been working on is an entirely new take on Derrick and Me. I decided to re-work the story because I believed a few aspects of it made it rather lacking. Actually, a few of you guys even pointed out some of the things the story did wrong, which I must thank you all for. Nonetheless, I have re-wrote chapters 0 to chapter 2, and I will continue to update them until I am comfortable with how they look. That brings me to the next part of this update. I wanted to delete this post, due to it now being obsolete with the coming of the newer version. However, I knew that many of you guys enjoyed some parts of this version. So, I decided to simply archive this post – marking it as old – while uploading the newer version of Derrick and Me on a separate post. With that said, this post will not receive any more updates. No edits, no updates, no new parts – nothing. I’m going to dedicate my time to the one I re-wrote. But I just want to say thank you for the support that all of you gave me when I first posted this. Without you, I wouldn’t have been able to detect what was wrong with this story. So just thank you! Anyway, here is the link to the newer version of Derrick and Me: Chapter 0: When I first met him, we were both just beginning high school. I was around 15 years of age, and he had just turned 14. Given, I saw him around school a couple of times, just being a typical kid. But, there was something about him that made me interested in him. I wanted to say something to him, but it was hard for me to do so. I was a shy kid, who was afraid of embarrassing himself. I never talked to a lot of people due to that issue. It was due to this shyness that I couldn’t make a lot of friends back then and was the reason why I struggled with just introducing myself to him. But one day, everything changed. On that day, a teacher asked me about what I wanted to be when I grew up, and I told her that I wanted to be a bodybuilder. He was interested in bodybuilding just like how I was, and so he came to me after classes ended and asked me if I wanted to hang out with him and talk about the Olympia. And from that day forward, we became close friends. Every day we talked about everything under the sun about bodybuilding– how to meal prep, what kinds of work outs we could do, and the bodybuilders making the headlines in the fitness magazines. As time went on, we both got our parents to buy us a gym membership, and we started working out every week. We pushed each other to the limit for about a year, and, by the time that we both reached the 10th grade, we were the biggest kids in the school! Our relationship grew as we continued to work out with each other. We quickly turned our friendship into something brotherly. We became closer as we became bigger and stronger. It was surprising to me at the start, since I never thought I could achieve something like this. However, I loved every second of it. We became so close that, after we pushed ourselves in the gym, we would chill and eat at my house. Sometimes, when the workout that we did was strenuous enough, Derrick would just crash at my house for the night. When this happened, since we didn’t have an extra bed for Derrick, we would both just sleep together on the same mattress. Sometimes, when Derrick wouldn’t have anything to sleep in, he would just strip to his jockstrap and sleep next to me, and neither of us would mind. I kept telling myself that this is what friends usually did, and that it was nothing bigger. But, deep down, I knew that such was a lie. I started developing feelings for Derrick, but I hid them out of fear. I don’t even remember what I was even afraid of, but I just couldn’t bring myself to confessing. But, deep down, I knew I loved him. And, to be honest, I believed that he was in love with me too. We were “brothers” for a good while. But then, one day, he just disappeared off the face of the earth. I tried calling him, but then his phone was de-activated. I went to his house to ask his father about what happened, but, when I approached the man, he just dismissed me. To say that I was worried out of my mind would be an understatement. I searched everywhere for him. I called everyone, asking where Derrick was. I never found out what happened to him, and the reality that I would never see him again hit me, and it hit me hard. Going to the gym was never the same without Derrick. I contemplated just quitting the gym all together. However, I couldn’t just let myself lose everything I worked towards. I knew Derrick would have wanted me to continue pushing myself while he was gone, so, despite me losing my friend, I pushed myself ten times harder than before. By the time that I was in my senior year, I was practically half as big as those IFBB bodybuilders. But, as I grew bigger and stronger, I still felt something missing. I always looked back to what me and Derrick had - how we grew with each other and how the bond between us grew. I reflected on how all of that was just randomly cut short. By that time, I wanted to say so many things to him. But I knew that it was too late. And so, despite me fulfilling my dream of becoming big, I still felt empty inside. It has been 10 years since Derrick disappeared…. Chapter 1: Walking Alone It was nine o’clock pm. The streets where devoid of any life. The only thing that accompanied me was sounds of the wind blowing past me, my boots hitting the ground, and the rustling of my gym bag. My work at the care repair shop ended just an hour earlier, to my satisfaction. After an entire day of dealing with my horrible boss and insufferable customers, I was ready to go to the gym to sweat out my day. Going home to crash just could not cut it, I had to go to my second home - The Lifting Dead. To be walking on such barren streets did make me feel increasingly lonely, but the lack of people around made walking to the gym so much easier. After all, the last thing that I would need is to come from a crappy day of working only to be harassed by people who think they can take me on. Plus, walking alone does help me clear my head and think about my routine before I enter. In a few moments, I found myself at the entrance of the gym. I scanned the entire frame, took a long sigh, and attempted to force myself through. However, like always, I initially struggle with fitting through. “Yeah, this is the only thing I hate about this” I grumbled to myself as I tried to fit my large mass through the tiny door frame. With a bit of time and elbow grease, I was able to get through the door frame. However, by that time, the trainers from the front desk and a few gym rats were glancing at my direction, obviously butting their nose into my issue with the doors of this establishment. I brushed their glances off my shoulder and walked up to the counter to get my ID scanned. As I walked up to the desk to get my ID scanned, I noticed someone else trying to get through the gym door. I kind of laughed to myself, but I didn’t focus much on him. By the time I had my ID scanned and was heading towards the locker room, the man was already out of his predicament and was chatting up the guys at the front desk. I didn’t necessarily care about what they were talking about though, as I was just psyching myself up for my hour-long workout. *45 minutes later* My chest became stretched and tightened, while my veins popped out of my skin as I raised the barbell over me. The pain rushed throughout my upper body, and I could feel the endorphins spread itself through my veins. “Five…six…seven…” I whispered to myself in between breaths as I relentlessly working out my chest. The pleasure that I was experiencing was directly connected to the strain that went through my chest. As lifting the barbell became more strenuous, the pleasure that I experienced became more intense. I felt every fiber, vein, and muscle in the part of the body I worked out exert all its energy into a single forward motion, while actively fighting against the weight that was placed on you. I felt like the strongest man alive with every push you make. “twelve…thirteen…fourteen…” I pushed through my lips as I tried to make each rep count. As I lifted the weights over my chest, I could have felt my chest stretch and grow by a few inches. Imagining the gains that I would gain from each repetition filled me with the energy needed to push through. Just having that feeling course through your body while knowing that, after all this, you would become stronger than ever….it was magical. “Eighteen…nineteen…” I said as I struggled to get out that one last rep. With all my might, I squinted my eyes, exerted all the energy out of my upper body into this one last push, and lifted the weight over my body once more. The intensity of the workout reached its climax, and so the pleasure became immense. I felt all the endorphins course through my veins with this last rep. Everything about it was spectacular. “Twenty…fuck” I said as I placed the barbell back into its rack, while feeling all the energy, pleasure, and strength drain out of my body. I felt weak once again, which only made me desire to keep working at it. I lifted my body up from the bench press, the energy that I stored dripping from all over my body, with my wife beater sticking to my body like a leech. I took off my shirt, exposing my glistening, hairy chest. My chest hung out into the open, it’s veins bleeding out of my skin and the whole formation throbbing endlessly. I look down and pop my pecs, smiling to myself about how great that workout was. I looked around the gym room, butting my nose into other people’s workouts to see if they were pushing themselves just like how I was. 99% of the people there were just doing weak or incorrect reps or were just dicking around on their phone. I laughed to myself, knowing that no one in this gym could rival me, my mass, or my dedication to the sport. “Yeah! Just one more” said a man with an extremely deep voice. I took a quick glance behind my back, only to see that guy I saw earlier helping this woman finish up her leg workout. “One more, Beth! You can do it!” the man said as he supported the woman, who was trying to finish her last squat. She was able to push through, and, after she was done, she dropped her weights and started to breath heavily. She then started to laugh hysterically. “Wow, Derrick” The woman said as she tried to catch her breath. “You’re really pushing me”! My ears perked up when I overheard the lady mention the man’s name. Derrick? My Derrick? And for him to have just randomly appeared out of the blue and in my gym. It just seemed too weird for me to just accept like that. I turned around to get a better eye on the trainer. He was a very tall man – possibly 6’0 – with a large build. His arms and legs were toned, and he was able to fill out his tank top nicely. He looked young, but he happened to be bald. He had colored tattoos of roses and dragons painted all over his arms, but they were a bit hard to see, because his dark skin made it so. He was a far cry from the Derrick that I knew. Given, it has been ample time for someone to go through puberty and to just change overall. I kept looking at the man, as he shook the woman’s hand and walked away. As she walked away, he seemed to have picked up on the fact that I was watching him. So, he made his way towards my direction, and placed himself right in front of me, with a very light smile growing on his face. I was shocked that he decided to come over here, but I straightened myself out and decided to be the first person to say something. “Uh, sup? Didn’t mean to but my head into your business” I said nervously, as I felt myself get slowly lost in his hazel eyes. “Okay” said the man, his smile slowly fading away. The atmosphere slowly became more uncomfortable as this continued. I grumbled, trying to figure out what to say next. My mind was trying to process the possibility that the person standing in front of me could be him. Before I could pull a word or two out of thin air, I heard him chuckle for a quick second. “Dude, are you fucking serious right now? You, seriously, don’t remember me” the man said, as he looked deeper in my eyes. I found myself speechless as he stood there with a serious face. It was only a few moments later when I found myself crumbling onto my bench as he softly pinched the side of my neck. “Aw, shit, what the fuck!?” I screamed as I caught myself. “High school, 10th grade.” The man said, chuckling even louder as he reached his hand down to help me. “You were talking shit about how were getting bigger than me. Got me pissed off, so I pinched you on your pressure point to get you to shut up. You ended falling to the floor crying, and I ended up getting detention for 3 days because they thought I was starting something” the man said. At that moment, I knew what he was talking about. And, at that moment, I knew who I was talking to. “You jackass. What the fuck are you doing?!” I said jokingly, and I grabbed Derrick and gave him a hard hug. “Hey, you know what I am! Weird and random” Derrick said, as he patted my back hard. “Like always, dude” I said, happy that I was able to reunite with my friend once again. “Dude, how long are you going to be here for”? “I was actually going to talk to my bosses, then I was gonna change out into my street clothes and leave” Derrick said. “Ah, cool! Well, I was going to finish up my routine. Guess I’ll catch you in the locker room, dude” I said, as I bumped fists with him. “Sure thing! Catch you later, dude” Derrick said we both parted ways to take care of our business. As I went to the free-weights area of my gym, I stopped pre-maturely to think. “Wait…” I said as I stopped for a moment. “Derrick works here”!? Chapter 2 (part 1): Reunion The time was 10:30 pm when I finished up the last of my chest workouts. As I sat down on the cold metal bench, I could feel my pecs pulsate subtly. I was drenched in an unimaginable amount of sweat, to the point where my tank top became heavy and transparent. It stuck tightly to my rough skin, so, to cool myself off and to make myself more comfortable, I chose to take it all off. As I pried the drenched tank off my body, I felt a great sense of relief with my skin being set free. I rolled up and threw my tank top onto the bench, while standing up to examine myself. I was able to truly admire every muscle on my form. My whole upper body was exposed, glistening in my sweat. The definitions of my six pack abs showed profusely with the addition of the liquid. Every part of it popped from my body, giving me a nice, defined bubble gut. I was able to truly admire my throbbing chest, counting each long vein that bled from my skin. They were like huge jugs that could swallow anything that dared challenge them. I popped my pecs a bit, snickering to myself about how heavy and large they have become. I then checked out the logs that I call arms, slightly flexing them to make every muscle and vein pop. With my other hand, I traced my fingers over each crevasse bulge. I was lost in the formation of my own body. “Stop feeling yourself” Derrick said, as he stood at the corridor of the locker room, smirking to himself. I quickly rose my eyes from my body, caught off guard by Derrick. I just chuckled to myself as I stopped flexing and plopped myself onto the bench behind me. “Hey, I should be able to appreciate what I have” I said as I gathered my tank and threw it into my gym bag. “Well, I guess you deserve to see the spoils of your work. You sure as hell got big ever since I last saw you” Derrick said as walked to where I was. He sat down right next to me and punched my biceps to see how thick it was. I flexed it a bit more as he did so. “You ain’t anything different, Derrick. I mean, dude, you’re look like the fucking Hulk” I said as I took my free hand to feel Derricks biceps. They were a bit more defined than mine but were just a tiny bit smaller. Derrick stopped punching me as so to flex both of his arms, and so took both into my hand. “Like what you see, dude” Derrick questioned me, as he flexed harder for me. As I slowly worshiped Derricks biceps, I admired the attention that his other muscle group had. I stared down to his legs, taking in how his thighs popped out. The individual muscle groups of his leg were rounded, bulging out. And, with the fact that he barely had any fat, you could see every bit of detail. They looked just as firm as his arms, which showed his discipline in making sure that everything was well-developed. Yet again, I found myself lost in muscle. But, this time, it was Derrick’s. “I’m up here” Derrick said, as he lifted my chin so that I could be looking straight at him. He stared straight into my soul with his hazel eyes once again, keeping me occupied as he took off his tank, exposing his gut and his hairy chest. He then did one full motion, flexing every part of his body. All his muscles and veins popped out at that one moment, causing Derrick to look larger than me. “All of this muscle…every last bit of it…” Derrick said as he ran through some poses to make every bit of muscle be seen by me. “…is better than yours! So, don’t feel yourself too good” Derrick said as he led himself into an abdominal pose. A huge smile spread across his face as he rubbed his physique in mine. I broke out of the trance he put me in and stared down the man who was showing off in front of me. Taking it as a challenge, I took off my shorts to show off the progress I made with my legs. “Bullshit. Bull…. shit. You see what I have here, man?!” I said as I turned around to show off my hamstrings and calves. I flexed both, exposing more of the muscle fibers and veins to protrude even more. “You can only wish to get this far with your legs. I’ll give you this, you got far. But not as far as me” I said, as I flexed by back leg muscles harder. Derrick laughed to himself and bent down to fell my leg muscles. He rubbed and squeezed every side of it, punching my calves repeatedly to admire how hard they were. “Haha, nice. Love the definition you put in them” Derrick said as he slowly got up from worshipping my legs. “You truly did grow a lot, man. It’s actually insane” I said as I folded up my shorts and threw them in my bag. “Guess you’re about to take a shower now, aren’t you” Derrick said. “Yep. After an hours’ worth of nonstop working out, I need myself a nice bath to cool off” I said, nonchalantly. I grabbed my toiletries from my bad, and, with my just my jockstrap on my body, I made my way towards the showers. “Guess I’ll do the same. I smell a bit musky from working out, so I could do with one” Derrick said as he dropped his short shorts onto the floor, exposing him in a small G-string. “You think I want to see that” I said, as I turned my head away from Derrick as he changed out of his work out clothes. “Hey, you’re the one that decided to drop to nothing but a skimpy jock first” Derrick said as he opened a locker near him and took out some toiletries. “Oh, wow, you have a locker here too? How long have you been working here?” I said, surprised at how Derrick owned a locker near his. “Oh, well, only for about a day really. I called in a few days earlier though, so that they could set me up with a locker and my own counter” Derrick said. After he was done gathering his belongings, he walked over to where I was standing, and we both began walking to the showers. As we walked there, I spotted Derrick take a few glances at my lower areas. I knew that he wanted it, but I wasn’t going to just hand it to him like that. He needed to work for it.

Hey all. Obligatory disclaimer, long time luker, first time poster. This prompt came from a write thread on /y/ and is as follows: "Requesting a story about a young man receiving his own GroBot in the mail, and continuing to have fetishy sex with it after activating it. The GroBot should have total sentience, but be submissive to his owner. The owner should just be happy to get his dick wet with his growing android hunk. The only requirement is that theirs lots of growth and sex." Constructive criticism is appreciated. I normally don't write smut (or write at all, tbh) so please let me know if you like it. According to the anon on /y/ the prompt was inspired by rippedsaurian's character. ****************************************** “I didn't fucking order this.” The Amazon guy just stared at me. He clicked his pen again and repeated, “Ya gonna sign or what?” I huffed and scribbled my signature and he bolted out the door leaving me with a gigantic six-foot package sitting in my empty living room. Again, I scratched my head. There was no way I drunk ordered anything THIS big, even drunk me would have balked at the price. I cut down the sides of the package and revealed the inner box that just reeked of expensive production value. Light gray with gold-yellow trim and a shiny matte finish overlay the word GRO-BOT plastered on the side in large sleek lettering. Still puzzled I discarded the front of the fancy box and let out a small gasp of amazement. Before me stood a lean and average sized human looking robot. Much like the color of the box the GROBOT was colored dark gray around the torso and thighs and a dark yellow-gold in the shoulders, upper back, calves, crotch posers and head. The robot had no visible face but did have a V shaped colorless slit on the face that simulated eyes. The bot was also very clearly defined, each muscle group separated and distinct with no body fat to be seen at all, much like an anatomy mannequin. My eyes trailed lower to a small plastic sign affixed to the crotch that said “Please BOOP eyes to initiate start-up.” Following instructions, I pressed my finger to the plastic V shape and the eyes lit up with a cool white light. A small chime signaling start up rang and I watched as the operating system stimulated the GROBOT's muscles in a visible shock wave that ran the length of the body. A few moments later the head turned and fixated on my face. “Initiating Operator Mode. Please specified desired vocal auditory output. Press left pectoral for lower vocal pitch and right pectoral for higher vocal pitch.” The robot cooed. I stared a moment before complying and placing my hand on the left pec. The robot repeated the same phrase in a slightly lower and sexier voice. I immediately repeated and pressed the left pec again several times resulting in a smooth and rumbling base and pressed the eyes to continue. “Growth-based Regenerative Organic-synth Battle-bot for Offensive Training or GRO-BOT.” The bot did a small bow with his hands behind his back before continuing. “Thank you for your purchase, Master.” I stared at the robot, dumbfounded. Taking a few steps back I slouched in my favorite armchair and placed my head in my hands, letting out a great big sigh. The bot had tracked my movements with its (his?) head and said nothing. I saw another bolt of stimulation travel down the bot from head to toe as it stepped out of the box and followed me to the chair, planting its feet exactly a foot from me. “My sensors have detected that your blood-pressure, pulse and respirations are elevated. It appears you are in acute distress. How might I be of assistance, Master?” “Why do you keep saying Master?” I groaned back to the bot. The eyes flashed twice, apparently processing my query. “I am your product. You are my Master.” That did not exactly clarify the situation. “Who bought you?” I inquired, “I do NOT remember ordering something as expensive as you probably are.” More flashing eyes before the bot replied, “My subscription information lists you as the sole and primary subscriber. I am your product. Payment information is restricted.” I stood up and poked the bot hard in the cleft of the pecs with my finger. The bot registered the abuse with a few flashes of its V shaped eyes and fixated its face on mine. Each word was punctuated with another jab to the pecs as I demanded to know, “What. Do. You. Do?” “My original function was to serve as an opponent to humans training to engage in hand to hand physical combat. My architects have determined that I can provide other, more sensitive, uses to non-combat civilian personnel.” The bot replied, coolly. “In summary: I am a sex bot. Do you wish to initiate customization?” That immediately changed my tune. “YES!” GRO-BOT hummed a moment before replying. “Please specific desired height.” “Six feet and four inches.” GRO-BOT began to hiss slightly, like the sound of hydraulics expanding, and his body began to stretch upward slowly. The increased height did not pad itself out however and once completed growing the bot looked too lanky to be attractive, so I decided to up the specificity of my requests. “More weight. Wait! More muscle.” GRO-BOT flashed a moment before requesting, “Please specify body type. Average. Athletic. Olympian. Fitness Model. Body Builder.” “Fitness model!” Cables of new muscle stretched and snapped into existence across the robot's entire body. The sounds of stretching nano-flesh filled the room and GROBOT began to fill out in all the right places. His already defined torso swelled into two slabs of define pectorals complete with an eight-pack of washboard abs and shredded lats. The shoulders were next and each one ballooned out into round powerful bowling balls. Lastly, the arms writhed with new power as the biceps swelled from skinny bumps to powerful tennis ball sized orbs within a few flexes. I moaned out loud at this hot growth and placed my arms on both pectorals, squeezing their newfound hardness between my digits. With a surge of power GROBOT flexed both his pecs as hard as he could, and I felt the warm hard mounds turn to stone beneath my fingertips. My fingers traveled down the bot's torso and down to the fantastic abs on display. The brick like muscles were perfectly symmetrical with a clean divide down the middle that accentuated their power. GRO-BOT raised his arms over his head and crunched his stomach so hard one of my fingers was pinched between two of its shredded abdominal. I was really feeling horny now. My hard cock was staining my pants with pre and I had to let it lose. I frantically dropped the trousers and stood a full attention in front of my new personal sex slave. I leaned back in my comfy chair and slowly began to stroke my length while raking my eyes over the contours of the bot's body. I needed more. “Raise an arm and flex.” GRO-BOT blinked and complied, raising its right arm and bringing it to a firm flex. At his current size the bicep was about a s big as a tennis ball with small veins running beneath the small muscle and up the length of the forearm. I stroked myself faster. “Increase the bicep size by twenty percent.” The veins in the arm pulsed slowly as they supplied the arm with more liquid fuel and after a moment GRO-BOT relaxed his arm and re-flexed. The new bicep was noticeably bigger than it had been before but not quite where I had wanted it to be just yet. Before I could issue a new command, the veins pulsed again and GRO-BOT relaxed and flexed again. And again. And again. With each new flex the arm was even bigger and more defined than before A large vein appeared at the head of the bicep and pulsed with each new flex as the now soft-ball sized bicep grew even further. I was moaning at this inhuman display of power and beat my dick harder and harder until the growth stopped. I immediately let go of my dick to stop myself cumming to soon. I was not going to finish before I had my way with this new robot. “Take out your dick.” GRO-BOT obeyed. The gold fabric posers suddenly vanished and revealed a four-inch soft dick with a grey shaft and gold head. It looked pitiful against the rest of the bot's rock-hard body, so I decided to give my new bot a makeover any man would dream of. “Grow your other arm and jack off while doing it.” The overgrown sex toy blinked once as it processed the request and lowered his new huge right arm to his soft dick while raising the left arm and beginning to flex. The robot slowly began to stroke its own manhood (robot-hood?) in time with the flexing of his arms. The growth started again, first with the pulsing veins. With each flex of the inflating arm GRO-BOT also stroked its own dick to a hard six inches. I was going wild now. I was jacking off furiously and spewing precum everywhere like a leaky faucet. GRO-BOT had completed his growth cycle and relaxed both arms to his sides while his dick, still hard, began to leak its own fluid. My hands flew off my dick and I gasped for a few breaths, fighting the urge to cum early. My mind raced with ideas. How much control did this robot have over itself? How specific could I get? “Increase penis length by two inches.” The bot bleeped again but nothing happened at first. GROBOT's cock continued to leak and then suddenly throbbed back and forth like it was being flexed. Veins spread across the long fuck pole and supplied it with ample fuel while throbbing increased in intensity. The large grey-gold penis stood fully erect and shot a large wad of cum straight into the air. The bot's dick slowly stretched upward toward the sky and fired another round into the air. GRO-BOT reached down, grasping the shaft, and vigorously ran its thumb over the head while the organ finished its growth spurt. The last volley of cum exploded out of the tip like a covered garden hose and the throbbing subsided as it reached eight inches. GRO-BOT blipped again before he spoke, “My sensors detect a rapid pulse and increased perspiration, both indicative of arousal.” GRO-BOT reached out and placed his hands on the armrests of my chair and leaned over me so that I could focus only on his incredible bulk. Veins pulsed on his chest as the bot again flexed his upper body only inches from my face. GRO-BOT thrust his hips and his robot dick made contact with my own weeping manhood. “Do I please you, master?” I did not reply. I had to focus on not cumming too soon or this fantastic experience would be over before it really began. Idea after idea swam through my head of all the new possibilities I had in store with GRO-BOT at my disposal. It appeared he was fully customization and ready and willing to perform whatever I wanted. Do whatever I wanted. Be whoever I needed. “Change your body type to body-builder.” GRO-BOT straightened up and very quickly began to initiate the changes, this time growing outward instead of upward. The growth started at his thighs and began to spread downward. Each pillar of flesh bulged and stretched with new cables of nano-muscle and swelled even bigger around than they had been previously. Each pulse was accentuated by the huge pulsing veins that began to crawl down each length. The growth spurt had then reached his calves which exploded with a small bang into fist sized calf muscles. I let out a moan and quickly sat up in my chair, reaching behind GRO-BOT and grabbing onto his already bulbous glutes. GRO-BOT's behind inflated slowly but surely while I squeezed and manipulated the globes of flesh. It felt like I was holding two halves of a watermelon that kept getting bigger and bigger. Each slab felt tighter and tighter until I felt like they would burst at any moment. Suddenly GRO-BOT clenched his cheeks and thrust forward, slamming his eight inches down my throat. I groaned and gurgled and did my best to suck off this freakishly muscular bot while he continued to face fuck me with long and slow motions. Each thrust slapped his bulbous balls on my chin and after a few moments I grabbed and squeezed them tight. GRO-BOT shuddered and bucked wildly, I could feel his dick throbbing in my mouth as he shot his load again. His orgasm completed, GRO-BOT withdrew from my mouth and stood at the ready, his dick still rock solid. “I-I need you.” I stammered, trying to delay my own orgasm. “I need you inside me, now. PLEASE!” GRO-BOT's eyes blinked. In one swift motion he bent over and hoisted me up into the air by the hips. My hands clambered up his body and I wrapped my arms around his thick bull neck. GRO-BOT was supporting me like I weighed nothing to him! I let out a moan and my legs gripped the washboard abs of his midriff. GRO-BOT shifted me in his grasp and I felt a thick digit probing at my hole. GRO-BOT pressed and prodded at my delicate ass, feeling his way around my taint. The finger retreated and then returned with fresh lube from the prodigious amount of pre spilling from the robot's own cock. I felt him puncture my hole with this slick finger and slowly begin to finger fuck me open. I clamped down on the invading digit and gripped GRO-BOT's neck harder. He was not deterred and continued to slowly finger my hole lose. A moment later the invader was removed, and I heard the robot speak, “You are so very tight master. I will need to insert more than one finger to properly prepare you.” I yipped when I felt two fingers enter me with even more ease than before. GRO-BOT stretched my hole even wider and continued his finger fucking. After a moment I felt him hit my prostate and I let out a long and slutty moan. GRO-BOT continued his prodding once he knew he had struck gold, he sped up and jabbed at me harder. I could feel the hot pressure building inside me and spread from the inside out until I was putty in his hands. GRO-BOT removed his fingers then and grabbed me by the ass with both hands. “It is time.” I felt the head of his cock press against my lose hole and I tried not to tense. GRO-BOT slowly lowered me onto his enormous cock, pressing his head against my hole several times before thrusting through my defenses and sinking me on his thick pole. I gasped and screamed out as he quickly filled me with his entire eight inches. The pain was sharp at first but after a few moments I felt the pain ebb away and was replaced with an intense feeling of fullness. I raised myself up an inch or two and slammed down again, relishing in the pure pleasure of this robo-cock inside of me. “P-Please. Fuck me. Fuck me HARD!” I gasped. GRO-BOT wasted no time and gripped me tightly with both hands before sliding out of my well lubed ass and slamming back in. I could not stop myself from wailing as the musclebound bot begin to fuck me ferociously while supporting my body with this powerful form. I cried and screamed, feeling my tight hole loosen under the intense onslaught of this fucking machine. GRO-BOT did not tire, nor did he slow down. He kept his eyes fixated on me and plowed me deep like the muscle whore I am. I clamped my ass around his cock and was met with an extra hard thrust that dazed me for a moment. His body undulated underneath me, and his rippling abs massaged my own hard dick, I met his thrusts with my own and began to fuck the hard creases of his bulging abdominal muscles while GRO-BOT continued his own onslaught on my abused ass. I was turned on to the max at this point, but the deviant part of my brain knew that I could have even more. “More! More! P-Please I need you bigger! PLEASE! GROW BIGGER AND FUCK ME HARDER!” GRO-BOT's eyes flashed in compliance and I yelped as a sudden pain spread through my ass. It happened again as the huge robo cock grazed my prostate and I felt my hole stretch even wider. He withdrew from my insides until the tip of his gargantuan cock was at the edge of my sphincter. “Yes, master. I exist for your pleasure.” I heard it before I truly felt it. A slow but steady stretching sound beneath me. The next thing I knew the burning at my hole was even stronger and I clamped down again out of reflex. This did not stop the hot pleasure at my entrance as GRO-BOT's fuck pole grew inside me. He invaded me slowly this time and I felt this now gargantuan robotic cock fill me as no one had ever before. I felt him throb with each gush of pre-cum he squired inside of me until he finally hilted inside me. “Are you enjoying this, master?” GRO-BOT queried. I could not answer. Slowly, achingly slowly, he removed his extracted himself fully from my hole and leaned me back, placing me delicately on the furnished chair. I drank in the sight of GRO-BOT's completed transformation and glorious musculature, salivating over his colossal vein ridden arms and titanic pecs that looked too big to be true. My eyes lowered to his now mammoth sized cock. It was by far the most powerful looking dick I had ever seen, easily a foot in length and as thick around as the bottom of a wine bottle. He was continuously leaking precum that slid down his length and dripped onto the floor below. “Master, I must inform you of something.” GRO-BOT leaned down and raised my leg slowly back over my head with one of his pumped arms. My heart raced, and my dick hardened knowing what this hunk was preparing me for. I tried to contain my lust and stall my impending orgasm for as long as I could, but I was close to my breaking point. I needed this fuck so badly it was killing me! Delicately, he raised my other leg until I was spread-eagled, ass to the world, and primed for fucking. “You exist for my pleasure too.” The thrust pierced me with such force that I almost fainted from the sheer overflow of pleasure. GRO-BOT continued his bombardment of my ass with fast, deep, foot long thrusts with the full power of his entire body weight behind them. I was incapacitated from the overdose of endorphins my battered prostate was driving to my brain as this perfect machine plowed me more completely than any human had before. I was delirious with pleasure, numb with pain, and harder than I had ever been in my life. “Your pleasure gives me pleasure, master. I live to serve. I exist to please. The more your desires change me, improve me, the more pleasure I can give. The more leisure you feel, the more pleasure I feel.” As if to make his point he slowed his fucking motion and positioned himself exactly where he knew my joy button was. The monstrous android thrust rapidly back and forth, battering my prostate into submission. I screamed in pleasure and begged him to never stop fucking me. To never cease the endless ecstasy I was experiencing. The droid focused his blank face upon me and blinked in comprehension, his assault on my ass never wavered or even gave the slightest hint of slowing down. I reached out and grabbed onto the massive biceps planted next to my head and GRO-BOT responded by increasing the blood-flow to his already massive arms. I watched the veins bulge and swell as new fuel was pumped into the muscles of his arms, my digits stretched apart as the massive muscle was pumped ever harder under my fingertips. “You are mine now, just as I am yours. No human will ever be able to fuck you as well and as deep as I can.” GRO-BOT's dick swelled again inside me, mid thrust, the spike in pleasure making me see stars. I let out a howl of lust and started beating my dick harder than ever before. He knew I was close, very close. He lowered his body closer to mine, almost smothering me with his muscular bulk. I leaned in and dragged my tongue between his brawny cleavage and tasted real sweat. I latched onto one of his huge perky nipples and bit down hard. I was rewarded with more growth of his lower body which lead to even more explosively hard thrusts. His cum was gushing out of my abused ass with each commanding thrust. I could feel his thick hips slap against my cheeks each time he conquered my hole. And make no mistake, that's what it was. He was sexually conquering me, fucking me as no human ever had or ever could. I could never go back after this. I needed this to be over, for him to finally own me sexually. I needed to cum. “Oh god. Oh please. Oh, oh, here it comes. I”M CUMMING!” I screamed. My balls contracted, and my hips bucked wildly as I came harder than ever before in my life. Stream after stream of my seed splattered all over GRO-BOT's chest as he continued his predatory ass fucking. My vice like grip on his robotic cock only egged him on and he continued to literally fuck the cum out of me, timing his thrusts against my prostate with each volley I shot. I was still shooting when I felt him lean away from me. I watched as the android twisted his nipples and flexed his chest, showcasing his veined pectorals to me in a display of dominance. He held himself upright in obvious orgasmic bliss, straining with all his might as he continued to plow into me and fill me to the brim with this seed. I heard it burst out of my hole and drench the floor below the armchair. I felt my hole stretch each time a volley entered passed my sphincter. I welcomed the heat that grew within me as GRO-BOT unrelenting orgasm raged for a full minute. “S-stop...” I heard myself breath. I was so thoroughly exhausted I almost couldn't muster the energy to speak. GRO-BOT listened and obeyed. He removed his now 14-inch manhood from my gaping hole and hoisted me into his arms. Everything was dim and fuzzy, but I could feel him carry me into the other room and gently, almost lovingly, lay me down on my bed. The last thing I remember was the flash of his eyes before I sank into the mattress and drifted off to sleep.

I suddenly had the urge to know exactly what was going through the mind of, not just my new oiling partner, but the man whose gorgeously peeled and newly glistening obliques my fingers were currently dancing with. From the intense look of awe and admiration on Stuart Fox’s slightly flustered face as he rubbed oiled into the incredibly carved out, alien-like mounds of muscle sticking out of Tommy’s stomach, he was clearly harbouring similar feelings to this indescribably amazing and highly arousing act as I was. As Tommy gently twisted to the left to bring out more of the muscles in the right side of his midsection for Stuart to oil, I cautiously glanced at him in an attempt to find the slightest clue as to whether he was enjoying the act as much as Stuart and I were. With his immensely thick arms bulging either side of his head and still locked into his abs and thighs pose, Tommy was glancing down as Stuart oiled up his barely human midsection. While no where near as animated or outrageously cocky as he was when he was crunching down on his abs in his posing routine, there was still a hint of a gentle but slightly cocky and undoubtedly smug grimace in Tommy’s face. More than anything though, he looked like he was having an absolute blast crunching down and having his huge, shredded mass being oiled and touched up by two perfectly regular sized non-muscle freaks. As he suddenly clocked me looking at him, Tommy stared me in the eyes. Still grimacing slightly, he pursed his lips and softly exhaled, before gently biting down on one side of his lip, as the other side curled into the most devastatingly sexy and teasing smile, like, “Fuuuuuck, Charlie, you have no idea how bloody good this feels. To be this huge and shredded, just gently flexing out for two muscle mad buddies, who are clearly in some kind of seventh fucking heaven being able to get their greedy mitts on my tight as fuck, cheddar grating midsection.” I couldn’t help but return this with a coy, flustered smile, which, completely amazingly, only seemed to enhance his sexy, teasing grin to an even bigger degree. There was absolutely no doubt in my mind at that point that Tommy Foster not only knew the effect he was having on Stuart and I, but was clearly loving every moment of it. It was a mixture of this knowledge, the fact that the atmosphere had undoubtedly become a lot more sexual, probably from the moment Stuart and I had laid our hands on his ass striations, and the mischievous, sexy and arguably flirtatious smile I’d received from Tommy, which led me back to the question that had been in the back of mind since he’d unexpectedly implied that Stuart and I were spending the day surrounded by magnificently built muscle bulls in tiny, shiny posing trunks because we just so happened to cream our jeans over them on a regular bases; was Tommy Foster a gay bodybuilder who’d orchestrated this whole set up, and dragged two suspected gay muscle lovers back to his hotel room so they could touch, feel and worship every indecently sized lump, every perfectly carved out bump and every impossibly pumped bulge on his amazing physique? It was with Tommy’s next move, and his accompanying words, that I was finally provided with a much needed answer. Throwing his arms back down and relaxing from his pose, with the most mischievous smirk on his face, Tommy took the bottle of oil from Stuart’s hand, and placed it on the desk behind him. Conflicted from feeling disappointed that the job was done, but also feeling an incredible sense of intrigue as to what was going to happen next, Tommy walked back up to Stuart and I. Still grinning wildly, he playfully shook his head and made a statement I never thought I’d hear coming from anyone fully tanned and oiled and wearing a pair of impressively filled out posing trunks. “You guys are way too cute!” HOLY! JESUS! FUCKING! FUUUUUCKK!! He’s gay. He’s an actual gay competitive bodybuilder. I’ve just had my hands on every single inch of the phenomenally conditioned, otherworldly body of an actual fucking gay competitive bodybuilder. Failing to suppress the sheer surprise and elated feeling that I’d just been described as “cute” from a man who had the power to make me want to furiously jerk off just from merely looking at him, my mouth curled into a similar, dizzy, excitable grin to the one Stuart Fox was also suddenly wearing. Tommy Foster beamed in response, before reaching out his hand, wrapping his beautifully bronzed palm around my fingers, drawing it to his midsection, and placing it flat on the centre of his beautiful set of gorgeously chiselled abdominals, with not a single spot of newly sprayed oil to rub in sight. As I tried to comprehend the fact that a genuine gay competitive bodybuilder, fresh from being awarded as the second best amateur middleweight bodybuilder in America wanted my hands on his crazily developed bumps of tummy muscle, Tommy Foster, once again, threw his arms around the back of his head. Much more akin to the attitude and aggression I’d witnessed during his routine, he then scrunched up and contorted his uniquely handsome face, now mere inches away from mine, into an insane grimace and crunched down hard with one of his loud, “EURGH!” sounding grunts. As I felt the thick abdominal muscles explode and tighten underneath my fingers, my throbbing cock manically jerked and suddenly felt more intense, sensitive, and closer to blowing the most tremendous sized load than it ever had. Someone else in that position might have taken better advantage of the situation by running their hands over his ab blocks, tracing the deep, prominent separations with their fingers, moving their hand up to his pecs, or down to his thick, braided, gloriously shredded quads, but I was completely paralysed. Tommy Foster may have been the one to initiate contact by placing my hand on his stomach, but this was still new, undiscovered territory for me, and I had no idea what the rules were. So much so, that when a grimacing Tommy stopped flexing and threw his arms back down either side of his, I instinctively took my hand away. One again he was looking at me with a devilish smirk. “How did those abs work out for you, Charlie?” Unable to even conceive a constructed reply to his question, I just blushed and sheepishly smiled instead. In response, Tommy unexpectedly reached out his hand and gave me a brief, soft but affectionate squeeze on the side of my arm, all the while flashing that devastatingly sexy grin, which made me feel as if I was just about ready to melt into the carpet. Looking at Stuart Fox, then back to me, with a comical, quizzical expression, he then made the most outrageously cheeky statement. “I think Stuart looks like a bicep kind of guy!” Stuart’s mouth curled into his most excited smile yet, as Tommy Foster took his right hand and placed it on his own upper arm so Stuart’s fingers were wrapped around his un-flexed bicep. Tommy then clenched his fist and brought his forearm up in line with his chest, while pursing his lips in a brilliantly cocky manner and releasing the hottest grunt, as I stood and watched the most enormous ball of deliciously bronzed, rock hard bicep muscle erupt and explode under Stuart Fox’s fingertips. Stuart released a hushed, “Fuck!” in response and his eyes looked like they were close to bulging out of their sockets. Tommy growled in response as he flexed his gigantic bicep muscle hard. Stuart locked eyes with Tommy, the most adorable expression of sheer awe, amazement and disbelief at what he was experiencing. Tommy then released a hushed but obscenely cocky, “Yeah!” causing Stuart to grin uncontrollably. Watching the reaction of someone who harboured the same thoughts and feelings towards muscle that I did, and who I also happened to have grown increasingly fond of, as he experienced what it felt like to touch the flexed, incredible sized bicep of a genuine bodybuilder was amazing. So much so that I didn’t even contemplate, in that moment, that it might be my turn next until Mr Gorgeous Abs/Tommy Foster announced his next intended move to Stuart. “Let me blow the other one up for Charlie.” OH. MY. FUCKING. SHITTING. BUGGERING. GOD!! Twisting slightly to face me with a devilish look on his face, Tommy outstretched his left arm to the side of his torso. Stuart, whose hand had now slipped from Tommy, was mischievously grinning at me and his eyes were wide as if to say, “Mate, get fucking ready for this because you have noooo idea how bloody good it’s gonna feel!” Even though I’d already felt practically every muscle group of Tommy’s, his flexed bicep was still uncharted territory and I was fully aware how terrified I must have looked as Tommy, once again, took my hand and placed it flat on his outstretched upper arm, which was still as inexplicably huge and incredible to the touch in it’s un-flexed state as it had been when I was rubbing oil into it. I gripped my fingers around the magnificently sized muscle in preparation. In one, quick movement, Tommy Foster bought his clenched fist and forearm up while releasing a loud, “TTTSSS!” His gigantic sized muscle exploded into my hand and my fingers gripped further as I squeezed and felt the phenomenally huge, granite hard, marble-to-the-touch bicep of a competition conditioned bodybuilder. I was unable to suppress a half-groan, half-panting sound in response, causing Tommy Foster to release a grizzly and extremely hot grunt. I looked up at his face to find his nose scrunched up and an indecently cocky smirk emerging through gritted teeth, which soon curled into a full-on, elated grin in response to my awe-stricken and completely amazed expression. He then, unexpectedly, bought his lower arm back down so his bicep was, once again, stretched out and un-flexed, and in another quick, sharp movement, bought it back up for another bicep flex. As Tommy released a slightly manic, “HRYEEAH!” the marble-like ball of bicep muscle erupted and bulged once more in the palm of my hand. As if suddenly remembering he had not one, but two indescribably lucky muscle worshippers to attend to, Tommy suddenly twisted his head to Stuart. With my hand still wrapped around his flexed bicep, he exclaimed, “Let’s get a front double bicep.” He cocked his head towards his other bicep, signalling for Stuart to wrap his hand around it. As he obliged, Tommy pursed his lips into the most amazingly arrogant expression, bought both of his arms up into a double bicep flex and at the peak of the pose, growled an excitable and outrageously cocky, “YEEEAH!” My eyes suddenly met with Stuart’s, and we affectionately grinned at each other in unison at the incredible act we were involved in. I couldn’t help but think of the moment in the pump room that morning when I’d fantasised about Stuart and I with our hands wrapped around the glorious bicep peaks of our first filming subject, the insanely cute, tight bodied, lightweight competitor Mr Golden Posers, and how amazing and utterly surreal it was to suddenly be involved in that very act with an even bigger and undoubtedly hotter bodybuilder. As he stopped flexing and relaxed from his pose, my hand instinctively slipped from Tommy’s bicep, but I couldn’t help notice that Stuart’s was firmly and bravely still gripped to Tommy’s other upper arm. “I bet you guys didn’t expect to be doing this today?” Tommy cheekily said, before announcing his move. “Let’s give you guys a side chest.” Twisting to his side, he gripped his left wrist, bought his chest up and sat down into an amazing side chest while releasing the most brilliant and dirty sounding, “HOOOOO!” The upper arm Stuart hadn’t let go of since Tommy’s front double bicep pose was flexed again to maximum effect. As the obscenely huge bicep muscle Stuart was gripping with one hand bulged through Tommy’s cling wrap skin, he confidently gripped Tommy’s tricep with his other hand and explored the incredible mounds of rock hard, impossibly sized muscle which made up his right upper arm. Looking at me and nodding downwards to the thick, squeezed slabs of pec meat ballooning off his chest, in a hushed and incredibly sexy tone, Tommy Foster exclaimed, “Feel that shit, Charlie!” Accepting his invitation, I tentatively placed my hand over the bunched up mound of flexed muscle which made up Tommy’s right pectoral. As my skin made contact with the fleshy balloon-like mass, he unexpectedly flexed and the thick chest muscle bulged and danced underneath my fingers. I could feel Tommy’s eye burning into me, and as I cautiously glanced up, he gave me a similar sexy and incredibly endearing wink to the one he had when he’d squeezed a most muscular in my face during his routine posing. As I watched Tommy looking down in admiration at his own magnificent mass of flexed upper body muscle, which was being squeezed, touched and explored by the hands of two unbelievably lucky muscle lovers, with a look of sheer pleasure on his face, one thing became abundantly clear to me. It wasn’t just me and Stuart who were undergoing the most amazing and highly arousing experience. Tommy Foster was clearly also loving being a ripped up freak, tanned and oiled in his tiny posers, flexing and having his barely human slabs of unhealthily shredded muscle felt, admired and worshipped by two newly found, muscle obsessed fans. As if reading my mind, Tommy confirmed this very thing when he relaxed from his side chest pose and made a bold and unashamedly honest confession. “God I love being a bodybuilder!” And we bloody love you being a bodybuilder too, Tommy!

This is a story I wrote years ago for my "Muscle Addicts Inc" blog. I've been going over it and making a few tweaks here and there and thought I'd share it here as I work on it. It's far from perfect but some of you guys might like it, or parts of it anyway! CHARLIE’S SECRET One My name is Charlie Steatham and I have a secret. It’s not a secret because it’s something I’m ashamed of. On the contrary, it’s something I love having. A part of me I wouldn’t ever want to change. It’s just not the kind of thing that would really be appropriate to tell a person in most given situations, or the kind of thing the majority of people would really understand even if I did. Let me tell you how I came to discover I even had this secret to keep. It was one Saturday afternoon back in England. I was home alone and innocently flicking through a magazine my parents bought weekly, which specialised in, of all things, radio and television listings. I wasn’t really reading it, just half heartedly turning the pages, stopping every now and then to linger on the odd thing which caught my attention, unbeknownst to me that I was about to stumble on to something which would have the strangest, and most incredible effect on me. An effect like nothing had ever had on me before. Something which would lead me to a world I never even knew existed. I remember feeling my eyes physically widening when I first saw the picture, and how it felt like my heart actually stopped beating for just a millisecond of time. Staring at it, I couldn’t quite get my head around what I was seeing, and why it seemed to have me so completely transfixed. Staring up at me from the page, was the most grotesquely muscular man I had ever seen. Every single one of his body parts was enormous. From the neck up he just looked like an ordinary man, he was handsome for sure, with nothing particularly special about his features, except for the fact his skin was a dark bronzed colour with an oily shine, but from the neck down, his whole body was a mass of gigantically huge, almost cartoon-like balloons of hard, smooth, muscle, bulging so much they looked as if they were about to burst. Every muscle was deeply separated, and most had a number of thick, wiry veins running across them. I had seen muscular guys before. Movie stars and athletes with six packs and tight, hard toned bodies, but the man in this image was something else entirely. He didn’t even look like a human being. He looked like a new superior species of the human race. A sick experiment gone wrong. Some kind of otherworldly creature, computer generated for a superhero film. As this monstrously massive muscle freak of nature, completely naked except for a small, shiny, green pouch covering his genitals, his hands resting on the top of his enormously thick legs, biting down on his lower lip and his face contorted into an almost arrogant but hugely proud expression, like he was having a whale of a time simply just possessing that freakishly huge, anatomy chart like body, stared up at me from the pages of this incredibly ordinary magazine in the living room of my parents incredibly ordinary house, I was completely and utterly hypnotised. My heart was pounding, my mind was racing, and for some reason, my penis was rock hard, twitching and pushing against the material of my boxers and jeans which were now struggling to contain it. This thing which had unexpectedly intruded on me from another world seemed to have this incredible hold and power over me, and I had now idea why. It didn’t feel wrong, but I knew that whatever this effect it was having on me was, it definitely wasn’t of the ordinary. After staring at the image for what seemed like hours, I forced myself out of my muscle obsessed trance, and tried to focus my mind on something else, but I couldn’t. My mind had been invaded, and my thoughts completely taken over by the image of that freakishly huge mountain of enormous muscle. I needed to see it again. I took the magazine into my bedroom and lay on my side on the bed, my upper body perched up by my elbow, the magazine next to me, flat on the bed. I flicked through the pages to try and find the image, and when I did, it was like I was seeing it for the first time all over again. I had no idea what was happening to me, all I knew was that in front of me was something so amazing and special. I had never desired anything more than this specimen of extreme muscle mass. This huge, hulking mountain of thick, superhuman muscle with his air of incredible power, extreme arrogance and hyper masculinity was the most beautiful and sexually provocative thing I had ever laid eyes on. I reached for my throbbing hard on, bulging and straining through my jeans, gently squeezed and started tugging. Soon enough I was popping open the buttons of my jeans and my white cotton boxer encased hard on was sticking out. I tugged and wanked, all the time staring at the muscle freak before me. Staring at the huge mounds of croquet ball shaped muscles which popped from his arms and fought for space with his perfectly smooth and insatiably thick chest, which looked like it was made of marble, but had tiny, wiry veins spread across the upper half. Staring at how his deeply carved shoulders ballooned like two watermelons trapped under bronzed tinted skin, which tightly stretched across the enormous, smooth muscle and looked unhealthily thin. Staring at his six beautifully shaped stomach muscles which looked like they had been carved with a knife. Staring at the incredible mass of lines and ripples etched into his tremendously large, hard looking leg muscles, and while staring at this presumably once ordinary sized man who’d built and moulded his entire body to extreme proportions and made himself look like a member of an entirely new, superior species, who looked up at me from my bed with an expression of complete and utter self satisfaction, and his air of incredible power and arrogance, my entire body seemingly shook, the most pleasurable sensation I’d ever had consumed my entire body, I let out a loud groan of ecstasy and my boxers filled up with a wet creamy liquid. Staring at a picture of, who I later found out was one of the top professional American bodybuilders of the time, hitting a most muscular pose on stage at a bodybuilding competition in probably the best condition of his career, I’d masturbated and made myself cum for the first time in my life. From that moment on, I’ve been completely obsessed with huge, freaky muscle. Nothing turns me on more than the image of competition ready, monstrously muscular, indecently shredded bodybuilders who live and breathe for being huge, who love nothing more than to climb into small, brightly coloured posing trunks, made of the shiniest material imaginable, and to stand in front of a camera, or an audience, and flex, tense and squeeze their cartoonishly big, deliciously carved, deeply separated balloons of thick, hardcore muscle mass, looking both impossibly beautiful and inhumanly grotesque in equal measures, loving every single moment of showing off their phenomenally built, superhero-worthy, circus sideshow freak-like bodies. As one can imagine, it’s a fantasy that stubbornly stays at that; a fantasy. How many ripped and peeled competitive bodybuilders sporting biceps bigger than the size of the average man’s head do you see walking round your local supermarket? None. And how many jacked and shredded muscle freaks one week away from competing at their fourth bodybuilding show of the year do you see on a Friday night at the local pub? Absolutely zero. Of course, there have been some very rare, and exceptionally brilliant moments where I’ve encountered fairly big guys sporting some pretty decently sized muscle, one or two of whom could have easily stepped onto a bodybuilding stage at some point, at various places, and of course, those moments will probably be forever etched into my memory, but for the most part, genuinely huge muscle guys, and certainly bodybuilders like the one in the magazine I found all those years ago, and the ones I have spent countless hours watching and viewing ever since, still remain an extremely elusive and rare breed. The world of extreme bodybuilding is an exceptionally small one, to which I have no ties or belonging to. Except for finding the courage to attend a bodybuilding show which I’ve yet to do, it’s a world I didn’t think there was much chance I would ever step into. That was, until today. Or to be more precise, two Tuesday’s ago, when Professor Walsh (officially my favourite lecturer from the university in California I’m temporarily studying at for a term) presented myself and my fellow students from my Video and Audio Production Techniques class with a list of the options for the first, one day work experience placement of the semester. This is a day where every student on the course has the opportunity to participate in the filming of various types of film, television and video productions. Every student has to select three options, and the Professor tries her best to assign the student to one of their choices. This is not always possible though because, as you can imagine, some of the options are more popular than others and there are only so many students allowed on each placement. Some of the students, usually the louder, more extroverted ones, were intent on getting the big gigs like production on the set of a film, and popular television talk shows. Personally, I was happy with anything that would give me some experience. Copies of the list were passed around to raised voices and excited chatter. I scanned the list to see, sure enough, a well known television talk show, work on an independent film, the set of a fairly well known cop show from cable who were filming in the area, work for a local news television station, and some more fairly obscure productions. Although nothing was particularly standing out as something I had a real desire to do, it all sounded pretty exciting. And then, as my eyes steered down to the bottom of the page, they suddenly widened, my heart leaped into my throat, and I almost couldn’t believe what I saw written on the last line, as the very last option; Filming Backstage at a Local Bodybuilding Competition. My head was spinning. Was this really happening? Was the universe finally providing me with an entry into this world I never thought I would enter? I kept checking the list, looking at the words again, just to make sure I wasn’t hallucinating, and sure enough, there it was. My opportunity to be at, and take part in the filming of an actual bodybuilding competition. I suddenly pictured myself backstage at a bodybuilding competition, in a space packed full of massive, bronzed painted muscle men wearing nothing but tiny sized, thinly strapped posing trunks, each pair shinier and brighter than the next. Every single superhuman muscle brute of a man intensely pumping up his shockingly huge muscles, grunting and huffing with every lift as their huge slabs of man meat strain and bulge through their completely hairless, drum tight skin, and me, standing next to a cameraman, closely filming every single pump of a massive, competition conditioned All American muscle freak, mere inches away from his blown up balloons of bulging, rippling muscle. The fact that I was looking at the opportunity to be in the presence of the kind of muscle bulls I’d been wanking off over for years and to see their enormous, freaky muscle up close in person was mind blowing. However, it terrified me just as much as it excited me. The two days which followed were spent agonising over what to do with this opportunity I’d been unexpectedly faced with. My mind was completely split in half. It felt like two voices had invaded my head, one voice saying, “You have to do this. This is a rare, once in a lifetime opportunity and you will never get this again. It will absolutely amazing, it will blow your mind and you’ll get to see real life, genuine muscle freaks pumping, flexing and posing close up. Deep down you know you want to do this, and if you don’t, you will always regret it.” Meanwhile, the other voice was shouting, “Don’t be stupid, you can’t do this. You will make a fool of yourself. You will feel uncomfortable and nervous. People will look at you and think you are strange. And how will you explain your reason for wanting to do this to your classmates, and Professor Walsh?” One minute, a certain voice would sound clearer than the other, and I would make what I thought was my final decision. But then, out of nowhere, the other voice would suddenly shout up again, and I’d start to doubt my decision again. Even on the day of handing in our choices, sitting in Professor Walsh’s class, with five minutes to spare before the lesson came to a close, I still hadn’t made my final decision. I also knew that if I selected the bodybuilding competition, there was a very good chance I would get the placement. I couldn’t say for definite, but I knew it was fairly unlikely that any of my other classmates would select it as an option. There were a couple of guys in my class with a little bit of muscle on them who clearly went to the gym, but I would have been highly surprised if any of them had a genuine interest in bodybuilding. It was, without a doubt, one of those obscure placements to make up the numbers which nobody wanted to end up on. Well, almost nobody. Professor Walsh was wrapping up the lesson. “OK, class, you might have noticed this red box at the front of my desk.” This was it. My time was up. “By now I presume you’ve all made your three choices for next weekend’s work experience placement,” Professor Walsh continued. “If you’d like to place your completed sheets into the box as you leave. Please keep in mind, you are not guaranteed a place on any of your choices. We will do our best to assign you to one of your choices, but due to limited spaces on each placement, in some cases this will not be possible.” My classmates had started to shift and while everyone was getting out their sheets and gathering their bags in order to leave, I was staring at my sheet with my pen anxiously hovering over it. Two of my choices had been ticked, which just left one. The words “Bodybuilding Competition” leered up at me, testing my every nerve and ounce of bravery. My pen was wavering from the tick box next to it, to the box next to the option of “Production on a Music Video.” The voices in my head both clearer and more frantic than ever, one in battle with the other. Bodybuilding Competition Charlie, you HAVE to do this! Music Video Don’t be stupid. You will make a fool of yourself. Bodybuilding Competition Just imagine it! Real life, genuine muscle freaks pumping, flexing and posing close up! Music Video You will feel uncomfortable and nervous. People will look at you, and think you are strange! Bodybuilding Competition Deep down you know you want to do this, and if you don’t, you know you will ALWAYS regret it! And with one quick motion, I ticked the box next to my third and final option, and my fate was sealed. My heart was pounding as I approached the box on Professor Walsh’s desk, and my hands were shaking slightly as I dropped the sheet in. The second after, I glanced up to see Professor Walsh looking at me behind her desk. A friendly smile was trying to mask an expression of curiosity and slight confusion. She had clearly noticed my anxiety and I felt a sharp, brief pinch that I might have been rumbled. The incident quickly faded from memory, and as I left the classroom and walked along the corridor, the strongest emotion of elation, sheer pride and an overwhelming feeling that I had just done something amazing came over me. I had just taken one step closer to that crazy, amazing world of huge, freaky muscle I never thought I would ever be able to enter.

Not long after reading the part of the story (above) that got my blood pressure racing, I saw this video of Regan Grimes posing the day before he won in Classic Physique at the New York Pro a few days ago. He sounds just like Tommy would, especially at 0:42. I wish the video was longer. Enjoy.

My first story submission on here. Chapter 1: “I can’t stop growing” Jonas muttered between mouthfuls. My mouth was hanging open in disbelief ,I was giving the strangest interview of my life. The man in front of me was this overly-muscled, hairy, half-naked monster. The same guy who only a year or ago had been a top player of a New York City gay kickball league and maybe 180 lbs at best. Now he was enormous, closed off and holed up in his Brooklyn apartment. Jonas hadn’t shaved in weeks, his dark hair had grown long, flowing onto his rounded shoulders. And he sat there in only tight boxer briefs, his bloated, heavy muscles on full display. Normally I’d be turned on by a massively muscular guy, by this monumental hypermasculinity, but instead I was growing concerned. Here was a man who had ballooned up into a massive roided bear of a man in one year, seemingly in denial about it. From a respectable athletic guy into a freakishly beefy offseason mess in one year! “All I’ve seen you do since I got here is eat” I replied. “You’ve been eating non-stop since I got here almost an hour ago.” “I can’t stop. You don’t understand, it’s not a choice.” He replied in frustration. Jonas looked like he was eating some sort of thick gruel, but he assured me it was oatmeal and protein powder. He apologized for his shirtlessness, claiming he was too big for his clothes.. I was tempted to believe him. His once lean build was now so overblown, roided out to an almost grotesque degree that I was amaze he still fit in his apartment. Jonas’ hairy and ample muscle gut sat in his lap as he ate. Massive, fur covered pecs loomed over it, looking like heavy slabs of muscle. His tremendously muscular arms tensed and flexed with each movement. I imagined he had to weigh somewhere north 300 lbs by now. In my whole life I had scarcely seen a man as large. I was a part time writer covering gay sport events for the New Gotham Weekly, a local gay publication. Sports had always been a little passion of mine, and I figure this would be a fun and light side-job. Something to do in my spare time. I had actually met Jonas when he lead his kickball team marching in pride two years back, when he was a different man. He was popular, a 20-something handsome gay boy with jet black hair and a permanent Five O’Clock shadow. He could have stepped right out of some telenovela. And then I met him again when his team won the big kickball division match.I even made a little feature about it. And before all this, he was so classically good looking. When I heard that “hot Jonas” had dropped out of kickball to do bodybuilding it piqued my interest. I decided that I wanted to know what had happened to him. Sightings of him last year in town confirmed that the one-time 180 pound scenester had developed into a serious bodybuilder, and he continued to get bigger and bigger as the months went by. But it had been about 6 months since anyone had even seen him out or heard a word from him. He had cut off communication with his friends, his family. No one knew what was going on. Only the most minimal of communication had been returned. Someone told me he was “concentrating on his bodybuilding career”. That's when I came in. I found his email and I contacted him saying I wanted to interview him, thinking it might be interesting to do a story about a former leading kickball player who’d turned to bodybuilding, and write a bit about life as a bodybuilder, maybe he’d look hot with all the extra muscle, I thought- but I had no idea what I was getting into. Jonas was now this enormous shut-in. He had apparently quit his job, stopped talking to friends, stopped using facebook and only left his cramped one bedroom in Brooklyn to hit the gym. And here I showed up thinking this would be some sweet little puff piece about a particularly sexy ex-kickballer turned bodybuilder. Jonas looked me right at me with these soulful eyes when I asked him about his disappearance from the scene. “I couldn’t explain to people what was happening to me. I couldn’t explain why I had to go home, why I had to go to the gym. My friends were freaking out about the changes, but no one could stop it from happening. The nagging, the comments, it just made everything worse. I couldn’t be around those people anymore, it was too… stressful.” Jonas shifted his substantial weight and lifted his hulking body out of the chair. He lumbered towards the fridge to grab something else to eat. He pulled out a prepared meal of rice and chicken and began shoveling food again. “How long have you been living like this?” I asked. “It started a little over a year ago. It wasn’t serious at first, I thought. I just started eating all the time and my training went into overdrive. I really liked the muscle I put on the first few months. But then the injections started” “Injections?” I asked “Yes, injections. And that's when I really started blowing up. I felt like I was growing larger every day. I stopped liking it. I stopped wanting to get bigger. Right around the time I hit 220 I realized I was getting too big even for kickball. I tried to stop growing, I did everything I thought of, but I can’t stop. Nothing can make me stop” “If you don’t like it, why’d you continue with the injections?” “I told you already” he said, flustered, “I can’t stop” I scribbled some notes to look busy, buying time. “Are you going to try and compete?” I asked sheepishly. I saw a little hint of temper rise up in his eyes “You don’t understand. I don’t want this, I never wanted this” he said, gesturing down at his massive pecs. His rounded shoulders bulged and flexed with each movement of his arms. Jonas was still eating and I was more puzzled than ever. “If you don’t want to get bigger... why do you keep eating?” I asked again, halfheartedly expecting a different response. “Listen, This is not possible. I don’t control this, like I said. I’m eating but I can’t stop. it won’t stop.” That's when I started feeling a little alarmed. I was tempted to try something, but I was unsure how’d he react. “Well what if I…” I said, reaching over to grab the tupperware out of his hands. His huge, powerful build immediately shifted and pulled away, out of my reach. “No, even if you tried, I wouldn’t be able to stop myself from taking it back.” No doubt, I thought. This man could crush me in a fight. I sat there trying to let his words weigh on me. What I had halfheartedly expected to be a small, potentially fun fluff piece about a former gay kickball captain was turning into something else entirely. His compulsion, this all-consuming obsession with eating and lifting, could it really be entirely outside of his own mental control? I paused for a moment and an unsettling silence hung in the air of that stale apartment. “Have you seen a psychologist?” I asked in a gentle tone. “It wouldn’t do any good” he quickly snapped back. “This is not a natural thing, this is a curse.” Jonas had finished scarfing down his meal and sat up quickly to grab more food. I couldn’t help but be surprised by how quickly a man of his size moved. “You’re going to outgrow that kitchen” I said to him half jokingly, hoping to lighten the tone. “I’m outgrowing everything.” He sounded deadly serious. “I have no clothes that fit me anymore. I can’t run anymore and everything feels smaller.I don’t know when this is going to stop.” “If you’re upset about getting bigger, why haven’t you seen a doctor about it? Or a phscolo…” “I told you already” he interrupted. It’s just not going to happen.” He sounded more defeated than angry. “Ok, just tell me how you got into this lifting then” I asked patiently. I never thought i’d actually sit for a serious interview for my part time job. “I’ve been lifting for years. But this. All this… “ Jonas said, gesturing at his huge build. “This started last year. I met a man, an older guy. We were out at a bar. A big guy, muscular, older. We were chatting in the bar. I admired his muscles and then he told me he’d love to see me bulk up. I thought it was a weird comment so I just started to ignore him. He was really persistent, telling me he wanted to see me get huge and all this weird stuff. I mean, I liked his arms, he must have noticed, but then he just latched on. I don’t know what happened, but not long after I noticed I was eating a lot. It was subtle at first, but I just found myself eating, and cooking and I started taking up lifting seriously. I don’t know what he did to me. I still can’t figure out how he did it to me, but he’s made me like this.” Jonas had a seriousness to his voice that startled me. Here in front of me was a gargantuan overfed, overgrown bodybuilder who I knew was lifting on his own and eating endlessly on his own, and yet, there was a total conviction in what he said. He didn’t own any responsibility for his current actions, something that made me worry for his own mental state. “So if you quit your job, how are you paying for this apartment and all this food?” Jonas paused a little before taking another swig of a protein shake. “I have a donor, he’s paying rent. I get food delivered.” “Who’s the donor. Is it the guy you met? the older gentleman?” “I…. I might be saying too much.” He muttered. Then Jonas leaning his bulky torso in close to mine. I felt the heat coming off his huge body. “Listen” he whispered “I don’t want anything else to happen. Maybe we shouldn't talk about this.” When I felt his powerful arm against my shoulder I got chills down my spine. This man was huge, and probably out of his mind. I took that as my queue to leave. The guy had gone insane with steroids. That was the only conclusion I could think of. I thanked Jonas for his time and I politely mentioned that I would never publish anything without his approval, fully knowing that I had nothing to run anyway. Headline: Young gay man gets addicted to steroids, loses his fucking mind. Nah, that wouldn’t work. I headed back home to finish a little feature about Roller Derby girls. I had to get back to my real job too. I tried to shrug off the encounter with Jonas and go about my work that week, but on Thursday, a full week later, I got an email from him. He wanted another interview. “I have to tell you what's happening because, I don’t know what's going to happen to me. Lets meet this weekend.” I wanted to ignore it. This Jonas kid was blown up so big that he go into a rage and really hurt me if he wanted. Part of me was too attracted to the idea that this might be a chance for some real journalism, or at least a juicy story. That following Saturday I found myself walking up the stairs of Jonas’ Brooklyn brownstone.

Author's Note: Just a quick little dive out of my comfort zone and into themes I don't normally write about. Feedback is welcome! PLEASE give me feedback! Please also enjoy! Halvor Hardbody Halvor was lifting the tank. He was lifting the bloody fucking tank. Slowly, surely, higher and higher, every gargantuan fucking muscle on that massive body swollen with mass and tearing more and more rents into his once pristine suit. Already huge, his body had exploded with size as the transformation took hold. Monster biceps, engorged with pure power, bulged and flexed and heaved as his sleeves finally gave way, torn to bits before the onslaught of hard, unyielding flesh. He wanted more, craved more, and I more was I glad to give. A pair of swelling, bulging mounds were growing fat and firm within his slacks, poised to blast the fabric apart as they swelled with more mass. So delicious, so inviting, I wasted no time plunging the syringe through his pants, through his underwear, almost laughing as I pulled the trigger and dosed those muscular buttocks with another round of juice. Above me, the monster roared with savage euphoria, biceps exploding to the size of watermelons as his body metabolised new power. I could hear the tank screaming in protest as sausage-thick fingers crushed into the reinforced hull, bending the steel like putty as another wave of growth swept over him. Veins thicker than garden hoses rose across the length of his arm, throbbing with the serum and causing his muscles to bulge out with impossible new power. He was growing taller now, pushing the tank further and further from the ground as six feet grew to seven, then eight. His shirt collar snapped apart as his neck expanded to the thickness of a telephone pole, a similar fate befalling his watch as his wrists grew with his body. On either side of his head, huge traps were bulging out of his flesh, hard like rocks fused to widening, swelling shoulders. I took a step back, allowing my breath to catch as I watched his lats bursting out of either side of him, spreading out and bulking up until his back assumed a magnificent Y-shape. The entire front of his shirt ripped to shreds as massive pecs swelled out of his chest, never stopping until a pair of corded, oversized wrecking balls bulged from his body. As the remnants of his shirt fell away, eight bricks of sinewy muscle punched their way out of his stomach, forming a veritable wall harder than concrete. SHRRIIIIIIIIIP! POP! A button popped off the front of his trousers as the zipper burst under the strain. Gigantically muscled thighs exploded through the legs of his pants, hulking out of his skin until they were thicker than oil barrels, every frigging muscle so perfectly sculpted I could make out every knot and fibre. There was another pop, softer this time, as enormous feet busted through his socks and shoes, his toes crushing asphalt as he steadied his growing brawn. A vile smirk graced my lips as I watched my monster grow, the last of his suit falling off him as he hulked out, bigger and buffer than any man had the right to be. It was such a pity he had chosen to wear what have been the stretchiest jockstrap money could buy, for even now I could see the straps clinging to his buttocks for dear life. How offensive. I simply had to have them removed. A low growl rumbled within Halvor's throat as I reloaded my syringe-gun, before pressing the needle into the firm flesh of his ass and pulling the trigger for one last, supercharged dose. “RRRAAAAAAGGGHHHH!” thundered my monster. He was getting so fucking tall now, blowing my expectations out of the water as he surged to ten, maybe eleven feet. So much mass, so much barely contained power exploding out of his body, growing every conceivable muscle to outrageously massive proportions. He was evolving, no doubt, his pecs were swelling out into humongous, overdeveloped masses of heaving muscle. His quads had split into their individual muscle groups, teardrop-shaped mountains of powerful sinew shifting and bulging under paper-thin skin. I watched his back surge out, so much brawn bursting out of his body he was soon wide enough to fit three grown men on either side of his head. Those bricks on his stomach were growing, widening, empowered by the serum as they morphed into titanium anvils that heaved and hoed with every violent breath he took. As that colossal body stretched impossibly taller, I spotted his bones thickening and reinforcing to accommodate him growing huge! More importantly, so huge and so muscular he had grown that his offending jockstrap had finally given way, exposing his swollen erection for the world to see. Not caring about the tank he still carried, I strolled around his monster quads to better admire his throbbing prick. As the penis wasn't a muscle, the serum could do little beyond pumping it up harder than nature allowed. Although that wasn't saying nature had been stingy, for Halvor's magnificent manhood measured a magnificent nine inches long. His balls were nothing to scoff at either, fat like kiwis and almost twice as heavy with sperm. Hah! His quads were so freakishly developed they had pushed his balls forward, making the whole ensemble look a lot bigger it actually was. He needed it, for now that he had grown to nearly twelve feet tall and weighed over two tons of muscle... well his dick looked puny compared to him. Not that it mattered at the moment. “You can stand down any time, General!” I called out, pulling the gathered soldiers from their trance, “Wouldn't want me to give our friend here another shot now would we?” There was a moment's silence as the good general gathered his wits, and then... “You're in no position to negotiate, boy!” he snapped from above me, “Now put me down! Or else!” “Or else what, General?” I volleyed, “Go on, I'm listening!” Silence. I almost felt sorry for the old man, to have such a long and distinguished career end with one of the biggest military blunders in history. I actually wondered if he didn't realise how I had the upper hand here. Well, Halvor did, but it would be some time before that gorgeous beast of man was in any position to think for himself, so authority defaulted to me. “General?” “Put. Me. Down.” he growled, before adding, “NOW!” “General, please,” I implored, rolling my eyes as if he could see me, “Your men have already shot my suit full of holes and detonated every canister of sleeping gas you brought, so unless you're planning to tickle me to death with more bullets I don't see what else they can do here.” Silence again. I gave Halvor's massive thigh a small pat. “Shake him,” I whispered, “Gently.” “W-WOAH!” wailed the general, loud clonking sounds coming from the tank as Halvor complied, “STOP. THAT. RIGHT. NOW!” “I just need two words from you, sir!” I yelled over the din, “Two words, or I get our friend here to cause a little over a billion dollars worth of hardware damage.” Some of the nearby armoured vehicles actually zipped back a few feet. “Okay, okay!” he relented, popping his head out of the hatch to face his men, “STAND DOWN!” “You can put him down now, big man,” I commanded, before quickly adding, “Slowly.” The general's driver actually tumbled out before the tank treads even reached the ground. He had turned white as a sheet and was clutching the growing wet spot on his pants like his life depended on it. Judging by the smell, that poor sod had creamed himself at least twice from the muscle show Halvor had given his ride. Delicious. General Ambrose was next. Despite our differences, I've always respected the man, especially how he always carried himself in that regal, dignified manner most soldiers lacked. Immaculately dressed as always, not even a single strand of that handlebar moustache out of place despite Halvor quite literally rocking his world mere moments before. “Alright, boy,” he almost spat the words, he loved calling me boy and we both knew it, “You've won, now return the hostage and fuck the hell out of my country!” “Is that what you're calling him now?” I asked defiantly, helpless to stop the cheeky smirk playing my lips, “I'll have you know Mr. Hardbody here came with me willingly.” “Dominating the mind of a prison guard does not constitute 'willing', boy!” yelled Ambrose, “We both know you only took him because you think he's hot stuff!” “Well I'm not the one who's spent the past two hundred years deprived of earthly pleasures, General,” I gestured at the stoic, titanic muscleman beside me, “Besides, I figured you wanted me to have him!” “You're a twisted little twat you know that?” “If you didn't, why would you have assigned this handsome, rugged, strapping young man to my containment detail? I haven't met someone so eager to tackle me down for even the slightest provocation since James Monroe assigned me that one chap with the tattoo on his left butt cheek.” “Shrink him down, give him back, and you're free to go, boy.” “No can't do, General,” I said gleefully, like hell I was going to part with this beast of a man, he didn't even have family to go home to, “Besides, I seem to remember the President issuing you an order so... distressing... you actually challenged him before being overruled.” That did it. I hadn't seen a man pale so quickly since my breakout last week. “My orders are absolute, boy,” he grunted, his fearsome visage blazing so fiercely I actually wondered if he would combust. Thankfully, he did not. “And yet you spent the whole night pleading to gods above that you would not have to carry it out,” I said smugly, before turning to my hulking new friend. “Did you know the President wants you dead?” I said to him, earning only a fearsome-yet-stoic look in return. Man, some face paint and I could get him looking like a hot, musclebound Viking, “Told the good General here to put two or three into your head after I was out of sight, something about being compromised by yours truly made you a complete liability to this great, glorious country.” Impossibly, even more colour ran from Ambrose's face when I turned back to him. “'But think of the military applications!' you had yelled, before almost throwing your hat at the fat man when he waved you aside,” I recollected, a little too gleefully, “'Just one of those motherfuckers and we wouldn't need to deploy a single man into a warzone ever again!' and then you were interrupted by the President's third mistress who really shouldn't have access to the war room, before yelling, 'The boy even promised us a box of super-serum if you attend the gala in a banana-suit! We cannot miss this opportunity!'” Someone chuckled in the background, quickly silenced when he realised no one else would join him. “I never did check if you bought that banana-suit you know?” I said simply, a broad grin plastered over my face, “Maybe if you told me the truth, I'll start cooperating with you.” Ambrose looked very much like someone had fed him a lemon. There was a muscle twitching in his chin and he really looked ready to combust this time. “We did,” he admitted, sighing, “With the spots as you specified.” “And yet he didn't attend the dinner?” “You already know the answer to that.” Trust my luck things would turn out this way. Coercion was always more fun when everyone knew just how much power I held over them. “You know something, General?” I said, “I actually spent the whole of last night wondering why you would be so hesitant to shoot Halvor here, not that I would have let you succeed of course. I thought so hard about it I eventually gave up and decided to give myself the answer.” Ambrose's eyes flashed, “Stop, boy.” “He reminds you a little of yourself when you were younger,” I continued, “Headstrong, stubborn, more than eager to put evildoers in their place, even if it meant tackling and holding them against the wall with your body.” “But then you began developing softer, more effective methods. You had to after all, you had to prove to Washington that your promotions were justified. You put all that behind you until that one fateful day when the adoption papers arrived.” The General had gone stiffer than a board, clearly having forgotten he could hide nothing from me. “Finally you had a son to call your own,” I crooned, “That he reminded you so much of yourself you couldn't help but swell with pride just thinking about him. You didn't mind that he didn't want to think, only obey, he was your son and you would support him no matter what he chose to do with his life.” “You just wished... for a few improvements.” I gave Halvor's gorgeous butt a gentle pat, “Bring Sergeant Ross to me would you?” Someone squealed as my monster stomped off and seized one of the soldiers from the crowd. It was the driver of Ambrose's tank, the one who had creamed himself twice before falling out. “You know General,” I purred, “I've always held great respect for you, and your father, and his father, and his father before that. Would you believe me if I said your family once served as the most elite of my enforcers?” Ambrose blanched. “Well, whether or not you believe me is not relevant, not now anyway.” Sergeant Ross was still squirming in Halvor's iron grip, trying in vain to hide the magnificent erection throbbing within his soaked trousers. He was looking at me helplessly, his eyes occasionally darting to where Ambrose stood utterly motionless. “Daddy's about to make a very big announcement, little boy,” I drawled. It was true though, the lot of them (while adults) were technically young enough to be my great-great-great... many-greats grandsons. I turned back to the good General, “I'm beginning to suspect you already know how this is going to turn out, you're a smart man, so... your move, General.” For the longest time, Ambrose could say nothing. His breathing, while hard, was steadier than I had ever heard, as though he was actively controlling himself. “D-Dad?” squeaked Ross. The general inhaled deeply, closing his eyes for a moment before opening them again. “I had hoped, all your life, that you would grow up to be bigger and stronger than you are now,” he admitted, “Not unlike Private Halvor here, just not to this... size.” Ross spluttered something in shock, before craning his neck up so he could gaze upon Halvor's monstrous chest muscles. “You spent your youth so small,” continued the general, “So weak, I thought I was going to have a heart attack when I saw your enlistment papers. But somehow you passed out, as a full blown combatant no less.” Ambrose shuddered, and paused to steady his breathing. “I never told you how much the Gamma incident crushed me, not so much because we only just contained the Hulks, but because one of them hurt you during their rampage.” He turned to regard his boy. “Ever wondered why you were assigned to drive my tank?” he said, so softly and yet so clearly and firmly, “It's because of me. I nearly choked the piss out of the pencil-neck from Washington who tried to return you to the boots. I know you weren't mine at the beginning, but you are mine now and I'll be damned if I put my only son at risk.” “I... I don't understand,” squeaked Ross, “D-Dad! What's going on?” “Not very bright is he?” I whispered, hoping I was soft enough that the Sergeant wouldn't heat me. “He's not,” said Ambrose, loudly and clearly, “But I don't care, he's mine.” “Daddy wants only the best for you,” I explained, taking over and edging into the space between Ambrose and Ross, “You see, he even risked a demotion-” “Dismissal,” interrupted Ambrose. “-dismissal... by throwing at fit at the President, because he knew the super-serum would grant him his greatest wish.” The Sergeant's eyes grew wide at the realisation. “N-No!” he gasped, “I don't... I don't want to!” Gods, why wouldn't you? Someone in the crowd yelled out, “If he doesn't want it then I do!” Silence... then... “YOU SHUT YOUR FACE, JIMSON!” bellowed General Ambrose, “YOUR PSYCH PROFILE IS FUCKING SHIT, YOU HEAR ME? SHIT!” “Well then,” I said, clapping my hands together and swinging around to face the general, “General Ambrose, I believe this concludes our business. If you ever feel like defecting as your ancestors did, I'll know where to find you.” Ambrose didn't need to be told twice. Almost automatically, he reached out and took from my hand the syringe-gun and its final dose of super-serum. There wasn't nearly enough juice in there to create another Halvor, but boy wasn't Ross going to get BIG! The good sergeant was struggling now, although he was so pitifully weak compared to Halvor the bigger man wasn't budging an inch. “NO!” he cried, although his swollen erection said otherwise, “I DON'T WANT TO BE A MUSCLE MONSTER! P-PLEASE DAD! NO!” “Its for your own good, son,” Ambrose said grimly, “I never forgive myself if you hurt yourself following my orders, now hold still.” Miraculously, Ross did just that, although he did not stop pleading otherwise. There was a soft hiss as the tiny needle sank into the flesh of his neck. Ross gasped, his mouth hanging open as waves of pleasurable shudders shot through his limbs. “You can let him go now,” I said to Halvor, who immediately dropped Ross onto the dirt. “Oh god,” he was moaning, wobbly as he got to his feet, “This feels... so good... so good!” And suddenly he was changing. Ambrose just stood there, slack jawed as Ross began expanding outward and upward. His chest grew into large, rounded slabs that filled out the front of his uniform quite nicely. “Oh my god!” Ross cried, his voice dropping an octave, “This is fucking awesome!” I watched him raise his arms and pump his guns, their shapeless forms suddenly bulging out as huge biceps grew out from nothing. Despite the thickness of his uniform, I could make out sizeable traps bulking up on either side of his neck, which was growing so muscular it was soon wider than his entire head! All over, his outfit was tightening like crazy. His once loose pants were inflating with mass, rippling with corded muscle as his quads hulked out of his legs. I had to give the army credit, their uniforms really were designed to withstand anything. As his shoulders broadened to accommodate the massive laws blasting out of his sides, the fabric held, although the occasional screech of Velcro could be heard as straps burst off his sides. Between his legs, a growing bulge was sticking obscenely out of his crotch, visibly throbbing as the serum surged through the veins of his shaft. It wasn't going to grow, goodness no, but there was no doubt in my mind he would soon be strong enough to bend iron rods around his cock. “Fuck YEAH!” Ross finally shouted, almost half a foot taller than when he started, “What a fucking FEELING!” Ambrose, ever the military man, recovered first. “How you feeling son?” he said quietly, “Everything good?” “BETTER than good!” Ross roared, before bringing his arms up and striking an incredible double bicep, completely visible despite the uniform, “I feel fucking AMAZING! Thought I was going to lose my mind like this buff bastard here!” He began flexing his fingers, almost biting his lip when he realised even the smallest parts of his body had grown stronger. “Fuck!” he grunted, before scooting off, “Gotta find something heavy to LIFT!” “I don't suppose you're open to negotiations?” said Ambrose, eyes never leaving his adopted son, “For more serum, I mean.” “You already know my terms, General,” I replied, “Banana suit. Big published event. Consider this just a freebie.” “Figures,” he grunted, “One dose is enough for him to start lifting tanks right?” “You bet it is.” “Well, then I don't suppose you'll do an old man a favour and leave then? I'd like to keep this a private family event.” I looked around, “We're still surrounded by troops.” “They're my men, boy,” he sneered from behind that moustache, “We are a family, although I doubt you'll ever understand how this works.” “Humph,” I humphed, “Maybe I don't need a family.” “We'll see about that now won't we?” he laughed, “Or have you decided you'll leave Private Hardbody behind? Because you know, you don't really need a family, or do you?” “Yeah like I'm going to fall for any of your tricks, old man!” I laughed, before beckoning Halvor over, “Take me in your arms beefcake!” My... muscle slave... obeyed me without a second thought, arms huger and more muscular than my entire body sweeping me off my feet and cradling me against those awesome pecs. Almost automatically, I found my hand reaching for that rugged, angular jaw, now covered in a layer of thick, bristly stubble. “Well, I'll be off then!” But the General's attention was already elsewhere, the whole battalion's too actually. Ross had stripped off his top and grabbed a hold of an armoured car that was slowly being hoisted off the ground. There were quite a number of them cheering, loudly too, the nerve of them, ignoring me like that. I didn't feel left out, of course. I didn't. Not at all. Not even a little. Here was the military arm of a nation who saw it fit to imprison me for centuries, deep beneath the earth, after they had decided I was much too dangerous to live freely in their new land of the free. And they had the right to be scared, I won them their frigging war! My powers were nothing to scoff at, and they knew just how drunk I could get using them. In fact, why not use them right now? So I clasped my hands together and turned one palm against the other, causing a curious mass to form between them. I removed my right hand, and saw to my delight a dark, leather-bound notepad that came with its own pen. Inside, amongst the uncountable, near-infinite pages compressed into the too-small space, were all the improvements to the world I had wrought since the beginning. You see, whatever I wrote, anything I wrote, would come true. And it did not matter where I wrote or what I wrote on. This little book had simply been written into existence so I would never go without a writing pad again. But the pen in particular was precious to me. It was a simple ballpoint, plastic and blue and bereft of any branding. Useless in the hands of your average Joe, but a most dangerous weapon in mine. Halvor here – sexy, beautiful, savage Halvor – had let me swipe it from him last week, when I mocked the power of his manhood and let him smash me to the wall of my cell. The poor, foolish boy hadn't even realised I had taken it from him. None of them were allowed writing instruments near me, and they all knew I wouldn't be able to use blood to write, having long since written my invulnerability into the annals of history. They were so good at their jobs too – the best of the best, or so they've been told – why would they even suspect one of their number would have forgotten to check himself before coming to check on me? In the end, it was simply bad luck, good on my part, that let me out. “You know something Halvor?” I say to my beefy new friend, “I could simply write the mind-numbing effects of the serum away, and then you could get right to making sweet, sweet love to my deprived little face.” Private Halvor Hardbody could only spare a soft grunt as we continued down the highway. Somehow, I loved him all stoic like that – a great contrast to the hotheaded young man he had once been. He was still a little hotheaded actually, at least without the serum mucking up his brain, but I had long since written away most of his immaturity. Ah well, to business! My suit is no longer riddled with bullet holes. I write in a single stroke. And has returned to a pristine, immaculate state. A gentle ripple sweeps across me, and I see to my delight a suit as good and crisp as when I first wrote it into existence. Halvor is clad in a stylish leather harness that greatly emphasises the massiveness of his pecs and arms. My bodyguard's muscular chest bulges out suddenly, pushed up by the straps running across his huge body. Oh hell yeah! Halvor's nine inch cock grows to an incredible six feet long, thicker than my waist and riddled with fat, throbbing veins. His balls swell to the size of beach balls, heavy with cum. The big man actually bucks, a soft moan slipping through those strong, kissable lips as his cock begins hulking out of his crotch, cum spurting from his pulsing dick hole as he struggles to keep pace. A sturdy saddle appears on his cock, secured to the middle of his shaft by a series of tight leather straps. What? You can't expect me to have him carry me to the safe house now can you? I know he's my muscle slave and all, but I'd prefer if he keep some of his dignity. And he thoroughly, thoroughly enjoys having my ride his cock like one would a horse, reins and all. I could see him sweating now, that big man was almost biting his lip as he sought to please me despite the waves upon waves of pleasure shooting into his crotch. Now that the housekeeping was over, I could move on to more pressing matters. Like family. Family. I write, before pausing to stare at the word. I wish to know what it means to have family. Halvor jerks to a sudden halt, great big hands seizing me by the arms and wrenching me off the cock saddle. He turns me over as if I weigh nothing, bringing me face to face with the emerald green visage I knew I was falling for. There were no clouds in them any more, no more serum making a mess of his head. Here was no longer a slave who bowed to my whims, but a man – a big, strong man – who craved my soul more than he hungered for my flesh, my power. “Here is a man who will move mountains for you,” he finishes, the heat of his breath tearing through me like an inferno, “Not because he knows he can, but because he knows you will do the same for him.” I am pressed into his face, his lips crushing into mine and his tongue filling me with bliss. My eyes begin to roll, the pen falls from my fingers, and soon I know no more.

HOLY F*&K!! That was so fucking hot!! Don't forget that little "TSSSS!" with the abs and thighs at 0:56! Yep, that's pretty similar to what I had in mind for Tommy, only his would be louder, cockier and more over the top!

I'm so pleased to see you've continued this story. The series is a real favorite of mine. Please continue.

If a doctor checked my blood pressure right now, it would be about 290 over 110.

PS: I didn't catch any typos but a couple of places it looks like you were in a hurry and left out a word or two (or rewrote and dropped something -- I'm always doing that!)

I thank you! The gay male librarians of the WORLD thank you!

I wonder, would Tom's cum have some of that suplement in it too? And would having sex with someone else amplify their results? >;3

Great !!

Haha! I think lots of us here would love a Tommy in their lives! To flex and squeeze for us whenever we like (grunts, groans and other outrageous noises included)!

Holy fuuuck I need a Tommy in my life lol. Barring that, I need a @muscleaddict in my life to describe my fantasies so perfectly!

Brandon looked at Corey as he ran his hands over his newly enhanced six pack. This caused his bicep and pec to bulge even bigger, causing Corey's eyes to bulge. "What do I think - I think all that muscle makes you really hot....." Corey's face went red, he couldn't believe he just said that. Brandon smiled, " Really you think I'm hot?". Corey stuttered", Well, I um, um, um". Sensing Corey wasn't ready, and not wanting to ruin the mood, Brandon started bouncing his muscular pecs. "I really should get to know my newly pumped up muscles better, want to help me?". As Brandon said it Corey practically lunged at him, and placed his hands on Brandon's pecs. As Corey was trying to squeeze them he said, " Oh my god, they feel like stone". Brandon smiled and raised both of his arms and flexed, "What do you think of my new guns?". "Your arms are huge, you must be so strong now. I definitely want a muscle potion". ******************************************************************************* As Brandon walked into Corey's house, Corey took note of his jeans hugging his massive quads, and how his shirt was painted on his muscular torso. Corey was practically jumping with excitement, "Did you bring it, do you have the potion?". Brandon reached in his pocket, pulled out the potion and placed it on the table. "I want to watch this transformation as it happens", Corey said as he removed his shirt. Brandon looked at Corey's torso and couldn't believe that just a few short weeks ago he admired how much muscle he had. Corey drank the potion, and both boys waited, but nothing happened. "How do you feel, I always felt warm when I drank the potion?", Brandon asked. Looking concerned, Corey said, "I don't feel anything". Both of them looked at the potion bottle which was full again. Without even thinking Brandon grabbed the potion and drank it. "The potion must be defective". Instantly Brandon felt the usual warmth returning to his body. He looked down at his already tight clothes and simply said, "Uh oh". As Brandon's pecs grew bigger and heavier he could feel seams starting to give on his shirt. As the growth increased the front of his shirt couldn't keep up and ripped down the front. Next his shoulders and back joined in the growth, which was no match for the shirt. As he watched pieces of his shirt fall to the floor, Brandon thought it was rather funny the only pieces remaining on his body were the pieces plastered to his arms. But as the growth shifted and his biceps began to grow and bulge his sleeves simply couldn't keep up. Next the growth shifted to Brandon's lower body. The seams on his jeans began to give. He couldn't believe his quads were becoming so muscular they were causing a pair of jeans to burst. He could feel his ass growing more powerful and becoming an even more impressive athletic bubble butt. As his jeans fell away the only clothing that remained on Brandon's body was a rather tight pair of bright red bikini briefs. Corey thought Brandon's tiny dick even looked a little bigger. Maybe even it was finally being affected by the potion. As the growth was subsiding Brandon and Corey surveyed the new and improved Brandon. He no longer looked like a fit baseball player, he now had the body of a beefy muscular wrestler.

I'm a HUGE fan of superhero stories and I like where this is going. Alpha has chosen Johnathan for a reason and it seems like Johnathan is in for some big surprises! Being in the presence of a larger-than-life superhero is always a huge dream of any teenage boy, let alone being invited and flown to his home! That is the ultimate thrill ride. I can't wait to see where this goes from here.

Hehe, cool. Let's plan a bit more in advance for the next show, then.

Chapter 1: https://muscle-growth.org/topic/14262-the-librarian/ Chapter 2: https://muscle-growth.org/topic/14459-the-librarian-chapter-2/ Chapter 3: After his encounter with Ron in the gym posing room, Tom's desire for growth was super charged. For the next week his dedication for growth was unfaltering. His intensity in the gym had been elevated and at Ron's insistence, Tom ended his membership at the small 24-hour gym and signed up as a member of the hardcore Flex Plex. At home, Tom purged his kitchen of all the unhealthy and processed food that remained, leaving him with only top notch substances and ingredients. He dove into videos on cooking and nutrition and learned the best methods to make what would normally be tasteless health food appetizing. At work, Tom was operating on a new level of confidence. With this workouts and improving nutrition, he was lively and energetic. Charming and engaging with the visitors to the library, something that Susan picked up on. “Tom, you sure are happy lately, Boss. But I can't blame you. You look great. You are practically walking around with your chest puffed out. And it has become a very noticeable chest. I think you may need to borrow one of my bras soon.” Tom chortled her remark. “I think I've got a ways before that will be necessary. But yes, I've been making some great progress in the gym lately-” “I'll say! Don't think I haven't noticed those polos looking even tighter lately. It looks like you've been shopping at the Baby Gap.” “Oh stop, it is not that tight!” Tom chuckled, replying in defense. “Hey! Hey! I'm not complaining! And truthfully no one else is either. I don't know if you've noticed, but there has been a noticeable increase in the number of women visiting this branch. Word about the city's hottest librarian seems to be getting around.” “Well that's flattering, but I would prefer to see an increase in the number of hunky young men...” “Oh, I would too, Boss! I would too.” Tom had weighed himself at 226 lbs at the end of the week, another staggering jump of 7 solids pounds of muscle, a number that led to another jackoff session in front of the mirror as Tom admired the burgeoning stud that stared back at him. All he had to think of was his growing muscles. How he was setting new PR's on virtually every exercise, growing stronger and stronger. He recalled staring up at the underside of Ron's pecs as he benched 225 lbs for ten reps earlier that evening and how proud he was. Benching two plates on each side for ten was always a measuring stick for the truly strong, and now he was there. Alas, as exciting as the previous week was for Tom, it was the following week that the struggles began. Even with all the effort he had been putting into his workouts, even with all the motivation, he found the weights he was using were no longer increasing. Here or there he had been managing to eek out an extra rep or two with the help of Ron or another regular member of the Flex Plex yelling him on, but the gains were slowing down. At the end of the week Tom had only managed to put on an addition two pounds, up to 228 lbs. At work, the new branch had steadily been gaining patronage as new people became aware of the new facility. Susan was quick to remind Tom that he had a part in that as well. “Boss, I think our wish has come true! Have you even noticed that a few more young men have started to come to the Library? I'm not going to claim to have serviceable gaydar, but I've caught a few of them staring at you, you know.” Tom, shocked, didn't believe her, “Don't tease me, Susan. I've noticed more people coming and so obviously there will be a few more men but I haven't noticed anything.” Susan rolled her eyes and giggled. “I'm serious, Tom. Cripes, sometimes I don't believe you are gay for as unobservant as you are...” While work seemed to be going great, that week his gym progress was nagging on his psyche. His growth had seemingly halted and as weighed himself he found that he had not gained a single pound nor set any personal lifting records that week. “FUCK!” Tom grumbled as he stepped off the scale. Ron winced at the outburst. “Woah, Dude. What's going on?” “I didn't gain a single pound this week.” Ron chuckled as Tom grumbled. “Damn, Bro, you've been bitten hard!” “Bitten hard by what?” “The iron bug! You've got a case of iron fever as hard as anyone I've ever seen.” “I'm just trying to get bigger. I want to get bigger. I NEED to get bigger!” Tom glowered. Ron rose up his hands in defense and smirked, “Easy, big guy! I want you to get bigger too. You are just hitting a plateau. Every lifter hits one eventually. And let's be honest, it's not like you can grow forever. Look in the mirror, dude. You are jacked!” Ron reached out and thwacked Tom's meaty exposed chest with an open hand. Normally this would've send blood to Tom's package but he was so frustrated he hardly noticed. “It's not enough, Ron! I gained seven lbs a couple of weeks ago in six days alone. Now I've only put on 2 or 3 lbs in the two weeks since! What the hell?!” “Heh heh. You really are becoming a meathead, aren't you, buddy?” Ron reached up and ruffled Tom's sweaty hair. Tom turned to glower at the shorter stud but when his eyes saw Ron's handsome smirking face he relaxed. “Sorry, Ron. You're right. Things have just been going so awesome in the gym and at work that I should appreciate this.” “Yeah you should, stud! Hey man, get this. I heard from one of my gay buddies about this certain 'Hot Librarian” at a nearby branch. You wouldn't happen to know anything about this fella, would you??” “Shut up, Ron. Did Susan put you up to this??” “Who the hell is 'Susan'?” Tom huffed and Ron chuckled. “Hell yeah, man. Look at you! Becoming a known asset in this little city, you are. Seems like many people want a taste of some librarian beef.” Ron, looked around, looked at Tom and then lowered his voice, “...And I can't say I blame them!” Ron winked and reached up and quickly tweaked Tom's nipple, sending shudders down his exposed sweaty torso. Tom grinned back down at Ron. “You better not start something you don't want me to finish.” “Haha. Or maybe I do, Tom!” Ron winked. Fuck, Ron really knew how to get Tom's gears churning. “But, hell Ron. Why have I stopped getting bigger. It feels so damn sudden.” “That typically means you need to change up something. Need to give your body a little shock of some sort. Tell you what. Next week we will change up the weights and rep ranges. You might try mixing up your supplements. The trick with muscle growth is to constantly keep your body guessing. Maybe try some weight gainer powders too. Got any?” Tom thought back to the unmarked tubs of what smelled like chocolate protein powder back in the closet at the library. “Yeah, I think I do.” +++++++++ Tom took Ron's advice to heart. The following day once his shift was over, Tom grabbed one of the unmarked black tubs of powder and took it home. He also committed himself to increasing his caloric intake by another 1000 calories. He went to the store and along with his shopping cart full of meats and eggs, stocked up on almonds, natural peanut butter and whole milk. From his internet research he read that these items were great ways to get in additional healthy calories. Tom pulled up to the checkout stall and started loading his food onto the belt. “Did you find everything you were looking for, sir?” the cashier said his rehearsed line. “Yes, thank you,” “Wow, Sir, I can see how you got so buff.” Tom was taken aback as he looked to the cashier, a sturdy, athletic looking high school kid. The kid's strong build seemed to indicate that he was heavy into sports. Tom was briefly at a loss for words as this was the first time a stranger had acknowledged his newly built musculature. The friendly young man added, “I'm trying to pack on some more muscle myself for next football season. I was the backup linebacker last year. Coach told me I need to eat more meat and eggs to put on size. It obviously seems to be working for you.” “Um...thanks. And yes, you gotta follow the old adage, eat big to get big.” Tom puffed out his chest as his confidence grew on the spot. Here was this young stud, looking up to and praising his build. As the teen, Chet, according to his nametag, scanned and rang up his total, he and Tom bantered like two gym bros, sharing their lifting poundages and techniques. Chet was thoroughly impressed that most of Tom's progress has only come in the last couple of months. Tom even found himself giving the young jock some advice on nutrition and lifting! It was all something completely new to Tom. Back in high school he was a beanpole, tall and skinny. He had virtually no experience conversing with a school-age jock in his entire lifetime. Chet rang up the last item and read the total to Tom who whipped out his credit card to pay. “Well, thanks, Chet. It was nice talking to you. Good luck with football.” “Thank you, Sir! As much as you eat I have a feeling I will see you again in here.” Tom thanked the young man and headed to his car, feeling bigger and better than ever. +++++ The following day Tom geared up for an intense leg workout with Ron. Tom dreaded leg days. Being a tall guy, he naturally had an aversion to squatting down low. And Ron, being the hardass trainer that he was, never went easy on Tom. It was good thing in the end and he had been seeing his legs grow like the rest of him, but it was never easy. That morning Tom had made himself a nice homemade gainer shake consisting of whole milk, cottage cheese, natural peanut butter, oatmeal and a scoop of the chocolate protein powder from the unmarked black tub. He topped off the shake with a juicy strawberry to give it a touch of sweetness. As he guzzled down the thick shake, he savored the flavor. The new powder was a nice rich chocolate which went perfectly with the hint of strawberry. Soon after consuming the shake he began to feel a warmth spreading through his body, almost like the feeling he got after drinking a strong nitric-oxide preworkout powder. “Damn, I feel good!” Tom thought to himself. He was feeling so alive and energetic that he debated heading to the gym right then and there, but he knew his workout would be even better with Ron. For the next hour he tried to busy himself with weekend chores, laundry, dishes and paying the bills. But any little task he did seemed to stimulate his body. He almost felt like he was getting a pump just from folding clothes and scrubbing pots. The feeling of blood pulsing through his veins and muscles caused his dick to chub with excitement. It was like his body was on overdrive. Finally, the hour was up and it was time to head to the gym. At the gym, Ron was witnessing what seemed to be an animalistic version of Tom. Tom ferociously attacked the weights with an intensity that the even-keel librarian hadn't really shown before. With every rep he gritted his teeth and roared, sweat pouring down his face. As Tom finished and excruciating set of 25 leg extensions, he flopped out of the machine and fell to the ground, groaning as his quad muscles were bloated with a painful pump. “Damn, bro. What's gotten into you? You are on fire today. I think you've set a PR on every exercise we've done.” Between breaths Tom was able to respond. “I don't know man. I just...I just feel like I have so much energy...my body is buzzing...I just feel...powerful and aggressive.” Tom looked up to Ron and caught his eyes. Ron could practically see a fire in the librarian's pupils. Tom growled to Ron, “...And I like it!” “Haha, big guy. I like it too! You keep working like this and you are going to explode with size. Here let me help you up. Ooof! Damn you are heavy!” Ron grabbed Tom's arm and helped pulled the growing man up onto his wobbly legs. “Woah, easy there! Grab that machine and steady yourself, dude. You better prepare yourself man. You are going to be baby deer for the next of days the way you worked your legs today, fuckin' awesome! Holy shit, man. Pull up those shorts a bit.” Still hanging onto the leg press machine for support, Tom reached down and hiked up the left leg of his shorts. It was then he saw what Ron was seeing. His medialus and lateralis quad muscles were pumped harder and bigger than he had ever seen. New, small veins crisscrossed the pulsing muscle. Ron reached down and poked his vastus medialis as it bulged and threatened to encroach on his kneecap. “Goddamn, Bro! It's like I'm poking granite. Have you always had those veins in your leg muscles?” “Not that I remember, Ron. Jeezus my legs feel so pumped.” Tom straightened his left leg, flexing it harder and his lower quad muscles hardened even further, pushing Ron's pointer finger away. “Damn, Tom. You've got some serious wheel going on here. Hang on I gotta take a pic of this.” “What?! No way, man I'm not like that...” Tom protested. Ron chuckled as he pulled out his phone, “Too bad, man. I'm posting this on my Instagram. If my potential clients see you then I will be getting lots of business soon. Alright, flex that big wheel! Awesome, bro!” Tom returned home and headed straight to the kitchen. As part of his new dedication Tom had been preparing several premade meals when he had time at night. He pulled out three compartmentalized Tupperware containers and scarfed them down within the next 10 minutes. As he sated his hunger he chuckled to himself as he patted his stills sweaty, engorged belly, “Shoot, that was supposed to be three meals worth of food. Now I have to make more.” Tom whipped out his phone and pulled up Ron's Instagram page and sure enough there was his picture with the caption, “My good bro Tom the Librarian got an epic leg day pump today! DM me for training rates!” followed by several hastags including: #legday #squattilyoudrop #datpump #neverskiplegday #nevergiveup and #librarymuscle. The last one making Tom laugh to himself. Tom examined the picture closely and had to admit he'd never seen his legs look that big. He then reached down and pulled up his shorts again and was surprised to see that his huge pump was still there. Ron and Tom only worked out together on the weekends and on Thursday, so for the first half of the following Tom had to workout alone. Everyday Tom would enjoy a meal shake with the mysterious protein powder and every day, even without Ron there, Tom enjoyed the best workouts of his life. The pumps were insane. His joints felt better than ever. Where he was used to feeling little aches and pains, he felt none of that. After after gym session he felt hungrier than ever. He was eating more and more during each meal and was having to prepare nearly twice as much food at nights than what he was used to. But it was worth it. Tom could practically feel himself growing. It was like any pump that he got from the previous workout remained. His swollen muscles never seemed to lose their pump. He felt harder than ever...and so did his cock. Along with the killer workouts his sex drive had ballooned. Tom swore that he had an erection more often then his heavy softie. He found himself making more trips to the bathroom at work to take care of business and relieve some pressure. He hadn't felt this horny since he was a teenager and even then he wasn't sure he as amped up as he was now. With his slowly swelling body, Tom began to notice more and more how little things here and there reminded him of his progress. Simple things like lathering up his face to shave was now slightly more challenging as his plumped biceps impeded him from bending his arms too far. How restocking books seemed to give his delts a good pump. How reaching up to scratch his neck was now more difficult. And the clothes. His clothes were becoming tighter and tighter, something that had not gone unnoticed by Susan. “Boss, you really need to move up a size...it's becoming a bit distracting. You're shirts and pants have gone from fashionably snug to way too small.” Tom glanced at the red, checkered long sleeves covering his arms. They were plastered to his biceps and forearms. The oxford shirt was tight all over and the buttons strained across his pecs. “I guess you're right. I hadn't really noticed how much progress I have made lately,” Tom lied with a smug grin. Susan rolled her eyes. “Yeah, I don't believe that for a second, Mr. Muscles. I admit, you look great, but if you don't get some new clothes soon you are going to burst out of those.” That thought sent a pulse to Tom's cock. “Haha Susan, I've still got to put on a few more pounds before that happens...” As he spoke Tom reached forward to grab a pen at the edge of the desk when a sudden RIIIIPPPPP interrupted the silence. Tom looked over at his shoulder, the seems of this sleeve had torn loose from the shoulder. “SEE!!” Susan shouted. “My goodness, Boss. You are becoming the hulk.” As she spoke, Tom was happy he was sitting at his desk as his cock has shot to full mast. And could it be? Was it possible that it felt like his cock has extended just slightly further down his leg than he remembered? “I guess you're right, Susan. I'll have to hit up the mall this weekend, heh heh.” Tom chuckled happily at his situation. Susan exited the room. Once the coast was clear Tom hurried to the bathroom for another tension relieving jack off session, thinking about how he was literally growing out of his clothes. On Thursday, Tom strutted into Flex Plex and right up to Ron, who gave him a quick once over. “Geez, big guy. Are you wearing a smaller shirt? You look really big today.” With a smug grin, Tom replied. “Nope, just making some awesome gains lately thanks to you!” “I know you have buddy, but I swear you look way bigger than when I saw you last weekend. Shit, dude...” Ron trailed off as he studied Tom's body, which seemed to be stuffed into an excessively tight T-shirt. In the past, as they lifted and pumped, Tom vascularity would increase. But now, even before their workout, Tom's arms were lined with thick, pulsing veins. The duo proceeded to have an epic back workout. For the first time since Tom had known Ron, Ron was rendered speechless as he watched his former protege attack the weights. The formerly quiet and reserved librarian was roaring and yelling as he completed barbell rows, dumbell rows and lat pulldowns, his back pumping and expanding wider and wider. Since this was a hardcore gym, the beastly yelling he was emanating wasn't unusual from the big lifters, but these sounds had never been heard from this new member. By now, Tom was now not only using the same weights as Ron, but was consistently lifting 20 to 30 lbs more than the ripped surfer. “Fuck, man. You are a goddamn beast, dude. You look like you are going to tear out of that shirt,” Ron had commented as they grabbed a drink of water after their last set Tom smirked down at his trainer and almost growled. “I hope I do soon, buddy. Fuck, I just feel so awesome. Like I could just tear down the walls of this place. Like nothing can stop me. The weights have been feeling lighter and lighter. I swear I'm growing by the hour!” Tom punctuated this last statement by bringing his arms up into a double biceps pose, right there in the open gym by the water fountain. Ron had never seen his client pop any sort of muscle pose before with any sort of seriousness. Ron watched as Tom's biceps plumped and hardened. The lump of arm muscle bloated as Tom slowly bent his arms and brought his fists toward his head. With a SNARL Tom reached full flex... RRRRRIIIIIPPPPPPP. Just like the previous day in the office, the sound of tearing fabric was heard. Ron watched aghast as Tom's biceps had torn through the too tight sleeves of his soaked workout T-shirt. “YESSSSSSS” Tom hissed as he flexed and unflexed his burgeoning canons, shreds of fabric hanging from his sleeves. Blood began being redirected to his crotch as his dick plumped excitedly to half mast. “HOLY FUCK, DUDE!” Ron exclaimed. “Those pythons are HUGE! Way bigger than last week. C'mon, bro. We gotta check something...” Ron glanced down at Tom's shorts and noticed the growing bulge. He shook his head, turned and headed to the locker room. “Follow me, dude.” Ron led Tom into the locker room. Tom swaggered as he followed his trainer, noticing just how small that Ron looked. He remembered Ron looking so huge and jacked when they first met a few weeks ago. The guy was still super ripped stud and hot as hell. As he followed Ron he couldn't help but ogle the surfer stud's pert ass, but he couldn't help but grin confidently that it was obviously apparent that he was bigger than Ron. Much bigger. And not simply due to his height advantage. “Alright dude, step up on the scale. You were 227 last Saturday?” “228,” Tom corrected. Tom placed one foot on the scale, then the other and stepped up. With rapt attention the two men stared at the LCD display on the wall. 246 lbs. Ron gasped. Tom just stared at the number. “HOLY FUCK, TOM. That's eighteen pounds in five days!” As Tom processed the number his dick quickly swelled to full mast. At that moment he didn't give a shit if Ron or anybody else noticed the obscene tent in his gym shorts. He was all man. He was a strong, jacked beast. He was the hunky librarian. He was a bodybuilder. “FUCK YEAH,” was all Tom had to say.

What Stuart then said to Mr Golden Posers was even more incredible and unexpected. “Do you wanna hit some poses for the camera?” OH MY FUCKING FUCK!! Mr Golden Posers gave a casual nod of acceptance, like he’d just been asked the most normal thing in the world, which I quickly realised in this situation, probably was. Not quite believing what was unfolding before my eyes for about the forty-fifth time that day, I braced myself to witness a devastatingly cute, rock hard, competition conditioned bodybuilder cranking out random poses and flexing his freshly pumped muscles right into the lens of the camera I was eagerly staring down. I had no idea something even more amazing and surreal was about to happen. Just when I thought Stuart couldn’t possibly have said anything more unexpectedly bonkers and inexplicably awesome, he proved me wrong. “Ok, why don’t you hit…” HOLY SWEET FUCKING JESUS!! He’s not. He can’t be… “…a front lat spread?” FUCK FUCK FUUUUUUUCKKK!! Yep, this is happening. This is actually fucking happening. Stuart Fox was calling out the poses. Before my head had a chance to explode over the pump room floor, Mr Golden Posers was wrapping his thumbs and fingers under each of the thin straps of his remarkably hot trunks and, while pursing his lips in concentration, he yanked both straps up, and straightened himself up into a front lat spread. His pumped little lats spread out like wings under his completely hairless armpits as he stared directly down the camera I was holding. For a second time since I’d started filming, it felt like this hot little muscle freak was posing and flexing his beautifully carved out muscles just for me. I suddenly had the urge to get down on both knees and look up to see this magnificent mountain of hard, tight, thinly skinned muscle looking down on me. Seeing that pointy bulge in the crotch of those brilliantly coloured posing trunks sticking out, drawing my mouth towards the golden covered bulge and - “Let’s see a front double bicep!” FUCKING FUCK YEAH!! As the tiny straps of his trunks snapped back down into place, Mr Golden Posers relaxed from his front lat spread with a small exhaling sound, then, pursing his lips once again in an arrogant and unspeakably hot manner, he bought both of his arms up either side of his head and cranked them back down into a front double bicep. Before my mind had chance to slip into another fantasy, Stuart’s hand was suddenly on my back and he was giving me instructions. “Charlie, get closer!” A jolt of panic shot through me, and before I knew what was happening, Stuart Fox was giving me a gentle push towards the flexing, hard bodied, pocket rocket of unutterably hot muscle before me until I was literally standing about two feet away from his body. My camera closed in on those impressively pumped, rock hard-to-the-touch, croquet ball shaped biceps erupting as he flexed harder and harder. He was holding the pose for what seemed like ages, his lips pursing even more, as he turned his head from side to side to get a look at his own incredible flexed guns. Being stood so close to this ripped up muscle dude, I could not only feel the heat coming from his hard body, I could also smell the scent exuding from it. An extremely hot and masculine mix of aftershave, something sweet and cosmetic-like which I presumed to be the smell of his competition tan, and his natural body scent. He didn’t seem to want to let up from the front double bicep pose. Flexing and flexing, showing off his huge, hard, impossibly pumped guns. As I looked at his sexy little face contorting with sheer effort, I suddenly noticed tiny beads of sweat forming on his forehead and cheeks. He was squeezing out every last inch of this bicep pose, and as my attention returned to those mounds of magnificently flexed, granite hard muscle, I suddenly wanted nothing more than to reach out and squeeze them. He was clearly proud of his abnormally big biceps, and was loving every single second of showing them off to Stuart and I. What was the betting that he’d love to have some hands on them? Feeling, squeezing and fondling the fuck out of every single inch of his massive, freaky peaks? I couldn’t attend to both at the same time though, so I’d probably have to have a bit of assistance. My mind then spiralled to the image of me with my mouth wrapped around his right granite hard bicep, kissing and making out with the muscle as it bulged underneath that cling wrap skin. Then looking over and seeing Stuart Fox doing the exact thing with his left bicep. Two muscle mad mates worshipping the fuck out of a pint sized, tight as fuck, ripped up muscle cutie. Locking eyes with each other and lingering for a moment, both thinking the exact same thing. “Are we in heaven, mate?? I think we might just fucking be. And yep, I think I might just splat my fucking pants at any given seco - oh - oh - OOOOOOHFFFFFUUUUUCCKKK - oooops, too late.” When Mr Golden Posers finally stopped squeezing and relaxed from the pose, there was a pause as he looked at Stuart Fox with his hands on his hips. Slightly out of breath, it seemed he was waiting for his next instruction. Instead of doing that, however, Stuart took his unexpected behaviour to a whole new level. He turned to me and posed a question. “Do you know the poses?” I instantly panicked, and my first instinct was to deny that I did. I suddenly noticed that Mr Golden Posers was looking at me, waiting for my response. “Erm…” FUCK! Say it. Just say it! And then, surprising even myself, I suddenly and nervously blurted out my next words. “Abs and thighs?” I looked at Stuart who was smirking at me like crazy, and another wave of panic went through me. How on earth would a guy like me know anything about the official names of bodybuilding poses? Had I been rumbled? Or more accurately, had I, in fact, just given my own game away? And then I realised, by the smile on Stuart Fox’s face, that it may not have been an entirely bad thing if I had. As I coyly smiled back at Stuart, Mr Golden Posers interrupted the moment by throwing one arm behind the back of his head. With his right hand resting on his hip, and adopting the same adorably cute and crazily hot nose wrinkling and bottom lip biting that he’d done before, he crunched down into a one armed abs and thighs with an amazingly hot, “Hhmmppfff!” sound. The lines separating his beautifully shaped baby abs deepened, as they popped out from his torso, almost as much as the golden coloured bulge in his posers did. He then made a switch and threw the other arm behind his head for another crunch, all the time pulling that endearingly cheeky expression and staring into the camera. I couldn’t help wondering if he preferred this style of abs and thighs, with one hand resting around his hip area, because it increased the chance of drawing the attention of the lucky spectator to his awesome, shiny, bulge packed trunks. There was a slightly awkward pause when Mr Golden Posers relaxed from what had undoubtedly been his hottest pose yet and was now just standing and shooting glances at Stuart and I. I looked at Stuart, who was looking at me in return, and it took me a moment to realise they were waiting for me to call out yet another pose. A ripped up muscle guy backstage at an actual bodybuilding competition was waiting for instructions from me on what to do next. When I signed up to study for a semester in California, I never would have imagined this is how I’d be spending one of my Saturday afternoons. I was tempted to go with a back lat spread pose. I hadn’t seen Mr Golden Posers from the back yet, and I wanted to know whether there were lines in his shiny trunk covered ass, but an urge to watch him hit another pose suddenly took over. “Erm…most muscular?” I said. A mischievous, but sexy grin emerged on Mr Golden Posers’ face as if to say, “Awwww hell yeah! Get ready for this one fuckers,” as he once again clasped his right fist with his left hand, and then gave a short, sharp crank down into the pose, accompanied by adeep and inexplicably hot grunt. In reaction to this, my throbbing boner suddenly and uncontrollably spasmed and I felt something wet in my boxers. For a spilt second I feared I may have actually cum before realising it was no doubt just pre-cum oozing and dripping out into the crotch of my underwear. Mr Golden Posers stayed in the pose for a few seconds, squeezing hard as if his life depended on it. Striations erupted on his squeezed chest, the thick veins popped through the wafer thin skin of his bulging biceps and the lines separating his gorgeous little abs became more prominent than they were three seconds before. A pumped up, beef packed little muscle stud was cranking his barely human mass right down the lens of a camera I was operating and staring into. When he stopped squeezing, he was beaming at Stuart and I, displaying his sexy, mischievous and incredibly endearing smile in its full glory for the first time. As if on cue, someone loudly announced for the lightweight competitors to start queuing up to go on stage. I expected a brief gesture towards Stuart Fox and I from Mr Golden Posers before he waddled away to show off what a rock hard, brilliantly carved out muscle freak of nature he was and crank out the very poses he’d just performed on stage for an adoring audience packed theatre. What I didn’t expect was for him to reach out and shake Stuart’s hand, then reach for mine, giving us both friendly nods of thanks and approval. Stuart wished him good luck, while I was unable to mutter up another single word as this devastatingly sexy bodybuilder revealed what an incredibly friendly and down to earth guy he was. As I started to reconsider my marital future to Bryan Macleod and pondered the chances of becoming Mrs Golden Posers instead, he was strutting away from us, and I finally got a chance to see what he looked like from behind. His deliciously pumped up little lats winged out from his gorgeous back, while, as predicted, those incredible posers looked just as shiny and unspeakably hot from the back, as they perfectly hugged a modestly sized, lovely shaped ass which, sure enough, came with a few freaky lines and striations peeking through the skin. As I watched him walk him walk away, I felt a slight pang of regret that I gave up the chance to see the beautiful detail in those glutes up close. Left alone again with Stuart Fox, he took me by surprise when he offered up a compliment. “You did well.” I wasn’t entirely sure whether he was referring to my camera skills, or my ability to get ridiculously close to a pair of massively pumped, gloriously flexed biceps without blowing a massive wad in my jeans, but I offered up a shy smile of gratitude anyway. “I have one tip though,” he continued. “Don’t be afraid to get the camera closer. It might feel like your invading their space but they’re used to it. They know what they’ve signed up for here.” Hmmm. A day spent with secret muscle loving work experience attendees shoving cameras in their faces wishing they were touching, squeezing and licking every inch of their absurdly pumped, superhuman sized mounds of man meat?! “You’re not close enough until you can see the beads of sweat on the muscle.” OH MY FUCKING GOD!! Actually…make that…SLURP FUCKING SLURP!! Before I had the chance to ask Stuart whether I could whip out my phone and record every single unknowingly (or were they - the cheeky bugger!) and inexplicably hot word he was saying, he was drawing my attention to a corner of the pump room. “Looks like Baz is putting your classmate’s skills to good use.” I turned to the spot where Stuart was looking to witness Billy Horvath handing out assorted refreshments and drink bottles to Baz Wade and a small group of men who were presumably his mates, and who all pretty much gave out the same obnoxious, and slightly threatening vibe that he did. Baz was talking to Billy, and as he turned and walked off with the most disgruntled scowl I’d ever seen Billy sporting, it was clear Baz had marched him off somewhere to perform another errand. “Yeah, that’s pretty much how Baz treats all the work experience guys if he can get away with it,” Stuart explained. It was official. Billy Horvath was Baz’s bitch for the day. I couldn’t help but smile and failed to suppress a guilty chuckle, before realising, that that could have been me. As if reading my mind, Stuart gave me a mischievous grin. “Lucky you got me huh?” “So, Charlie Steatham, what do you feel like shooting next?” Stuart’s question caught me a little off guard, and I had no idea how to respond. Luckily he was about to offer up some suggestions. “OK, so we could go in search for some of the super heavyweights guys. Or…” he paused, gave me a slightly quizzical look, clearly doubting his next words, shook his head with a slightly sheepish grin and said, “nah, forget it.” “What?” I replied. I was eager to know what Stuart was going to say. He was still looking at me like he was trying to figure out whether he could trust me or not. “Come on,” I gently ordered. Stuart took the plunge. “OK, well you might think this is totally stupid, and I’ve never actually told anyone this before, so no laughing, and you might think I’m a complete nerd when I admit to this, but, I sometimes play a little game with myself.” My ears pricked up and I was instantly curious. “So, we have all these bodybuilders in this room to film,” Stuart continued. “All in excellent, competition condition. However…” he momentarily paused and raised one eyebrow as my mind heart began to race with what was about to follow. “Some guys will have things about them, that are better than some of the other guys. So, I sort of challenge myself to film the guys who have the best of a certain attribute.” He looked at me with a quizzical look as if asking if I were following his drift. I nodded, so he continued. “For example, I might set out to find the most inhumanly shredded guy in the room.” WHAT THE - DID HE JUST SAY? - I CAN’T EVEN - OH FUUUUUUUCCCCKKK!! I couldn’t believe what I’d just heard. Did Stuart Fox just casually utter the words “inhumanly shredded” like it was the most casual thing you can possibly say? Along with my eyes practically bulging out of their sockets, I couldn’t hide the grin of sheer pleasure at hearing someone describing muscle in the hottest way possible. I suddenly flashbacked to Bryan MacWoofityWoof casually rolling words like, “Jacked up muscle bulls,” off his tongue to a disgusted Billy Horvath and I. What was it with these camera men coming out with the kind of unutterably hot muscle descriptions I’d only ever said in my head, or read on the Internet? Stuart continued. “And then I might set out to find the most all out monstrous muscle freak in the room.” HOLY SWEET FUCKING JESUS! “And then the guy with the biggest muscle tits.” TITS?! FUCKING TITS?! He could have said pecs, but no. He went one fucking better and used the word TITS! “The guy with the most incredibly shredded abs.” FUCK FUCK FUCKITY FUCK FUUUUUCK!! I felt like I’d slipped into some kind of muscle related twilight zone. Here was a handsome, charming guy, not only detailing to me the most awesome, imaginative and bonkers self-invented game involving a room full of brutally huge, beautifully ripped muscle bulls in tiny, shiny posers using the craziest and hottest vocabulary, but also inviting me to play it with him. “Erm…let’s see,” Stuart was talking to himself and thinking. “What else is there”? The guy with the most freakishly striated ass. Say the guy with the most freakishly striated ass!! “The guy with the craziest feathered quads.” OHGODOHGODOHGOD. I seriously can’t take much more of this. “The guy with the most freakishly huge biceps.” If I splat my fucking pants right here and now Stuart Fox it’s all your fucking fault! “Erm…this one’s a little quirkier.” Most impossibly cute guy in the room? The beast with the biggest posing trunk bulge (BOIIIING)? The carved out muscle freak you wanna splat your pants over the most?! His tone took on a slightly cautious tone. “The guy with the best posing trunks?” STUART FOX YOU’RE FUCKING KILLING ME!! And then, without thinking, I said, “I think we’ve filmed him already.” As soon as the words left my mouth I instantly panicked, and felt my cheeks starting to burn. Stuart quickly responded with an agreeable, “YEAH!” in a tone which sounded more like a, “DAMN FUCKING STRAIGHT WE HAVE!” And then it was Stuart’s turn to blush, as we both coyly smiled at each other and one thought went through my head: Definitely a beef crazed muscle lover who pumps massive loads into his boxer shorts over inhumanely shredded posing trunk sporting muscle bulls on a regular bases! “So, now you know how the game works,” Stuart continued, “are you in or out?” I wanted to ask Stuart if this was a trick question, and tell him I couldn’t remember the last time I’d been propositioned with an idea so brilliant, so bonkers, and so perfectly catered to my taste it was untrue. Instead I just cheekily grinned at him, which he took as a yes. Even though I’d not long met him, I was already feeling incredibly comfortable with Stuart. In fact, I couldn’t quite believe how well we were hitting it off. As a result of being generally quite shy, I usually found it hard to relax around people I didn’t know. Most of the time when I’d meet new people, it almost felt like a wall of anxiety would build up around me, suppressing all of my good qualities and preventing anyone from warming to me at a rate that was relatively normal. On very rare occasions, however, I would meet someone who, for whatever reason, made me feel instantly relaxed, and seemed to break down that wall of anxiety with relative ease. Maybe they were a special type of person, or maybe they just came armed with a very big sledgehammer. Either way, Stuart Fox was, without question, one of them. “So, Charlie Steatham, the next question is, which guy do we go looking for first?”

Taken a back by Stuart’s questions, I started to go into slight panic mode, but was rescued by the return of Bryan Macleod, striding towards us in his tight fitted, bright blue t-shirt, just as masculine, just as beefy, and just as God damn sexy as before. “Everything going OK, guys?” Bryan asked. I nervously muttered something in response which he didn’t seem to register, as Stuart took the lead in telling his senior that he’d taken me up to speed with his camera and we were about to start filming. Bryan then instructed us to shoot a guy who had no camera on him. Pointing to an area just a few yards away, my stomach twinged with nerves at the words, “lightweight guy in the golden posers.” Excitement followed, but quickly transformed into slight disappointment. All of the enormous, superhuman muscle beasts around us, and we were being ushered in the direction of a lightweight competitor. Bryan MacWoofityWoof wrapped up his conversation with my new mentor Stuart Fox, who may or may not be a beef crazed muscle lover who pumps massive loads into his boxer shorts over inhumanly shredded, posing trunk sporting muscle bulls on a regular bases. He then turned to me, a warm, genuine smile worn on his extremely masculine but at the same time oddly pretty face, and with it, a warm strong hand unexpectedly squeezed my shoulder. It was like an electric shock sent signals to every corner of my body. I felt an instant chemistry as my future husband made unexpected, friendly body contact with me for the first time. In my rather surprised state, I looked at Bryan and tried to nervously offer up a hint of a smile back, while all the time wondering what it would feel like to have his tongue wedged down my throat. I was bought back to earth by a camera case being handed to me by Stuart, and my stomach anxiously tightened as I realised what was happening. We were about to head towards the lightweight bodybuilder in the golden posers as instructed by Bryan Macleod, aka The Sexiest Woofster In Woofsville. A bodybuilder who we’d, presumably, be able to get up close and personal to, capture every nook and cranny of his competition conditioned physique and be responsible for filming the kind of footage which, without comprehensible rhyme or reason, reduced certain grown men to quivering heaps of muscle crazed messes, unable to sit through even two minutes of it without splattering their tummies with endless ropes of hot, creamy spunk. As I gingerly trailed Stuart Fox, I eagerly glanced around the area to where we were heading to try and get my first glimpse of our filming target. In the sea of obscenely muscular, completely hairless muscle bulls, I suddenly spotted the most outrageously shiny, and, without any question, the hottest pair of golden coloured posing trunks I could imagine, and I knew straight away that I’d found him. My nerves made a comeback as Stuart and I closed in on our target, but they were overshadowed by the sheer surrealism of the situation at just how close I was standing to a real life competitve bodybuilder, who remained completely unfazed by the two strangers who’d just invaded his personal space, as he watched himself in the large mirrors on the wall he was facing and pumped up his arms with a barbell. As I looked around to see most of the other surrounding muscle bulls with cameramen mere inches away from their insatiably pumped bodies, I realised that in this setting, at least, this was completely normal. I must have looked like a small rabbit caught in the headlights at that moment. Stuart was looking at me with a knowing expression on his face, the left corner of his mouth slightly curled in a smile. It wasn’t the suspicious, judgemental look I had feared receiving from someone who could sense my anxiety of being in this setting, but more of a look which said, “I totally know what’s going on your head right now, mate!” It was also a look that also sparked a further affection for him on my part. With his eyebrows raised, Stuart was suddenly holding the camera away from his torso and towards me. It took me a moment to realise that he was offering it to me. I panicked slightly, and my first instinct was to oblige, but a stronger impulse suddenly took hold of me, and before I had time to reconsider my actions, I was taking the camera off Stuart. Mr Golden Posers suddenly acknowledged our existence for the first time, by giving us both a friendly nod of approval, accompanied by a brief but friendly smile. Before I knew what was happening, I was holding up Stuart Fox’s CX100 camera and staring down the lens at a competition conditioned bodybuilder pumping up just a few feet away from me, in, what arguably had to be, the shiniest and hottest pair of posing trunks in the room. It was only in that moment, when the nerves had eased and my focus was completely on my film subject, that I noticed the guy wearing said posing trunks was equally as hot. No taller than 5’6, despite being a bodybuilder, Mr Golden Posers had a relatively small frame. He looked like the kind of bodybuilder who wouldn’t look particularly huge in an office suit, but would surprise and shock everyone by lifting up his shirt and revealing rock hard, shredded abs. On that small frame, however, were smooth, shiny slabs of muscle which looked like they were made out of marble, all shrink wrapped in the thinnest, most gorgeous looking skin. His entire body looked rock hard to the touch with rips, cuts, and shreds in all the right places. Perfectly pumped biceps, completely smooth pec pillows, which twitched with every pump of the barbell, brilliantly separated abdominals which made up his ultra tight midsection, impressively sized delts with wiry veins gathering underneath, and a pair of solid quads, with some impressively freaky separations, all made up a frighteningly muscular physique both beautiful and freaky in equal measure. Despite probably being in his early thirties, he had an incredibly boyish charm, along with a cheeky, mischievous look about him. Like he was more than capable of getting himself into trouble but charming his way out of any sticky situation. He also happened to be insanely cute. Gorgeous, twinkly eyes and an adorable button nose all contributed to his small, handsome and perfectly proportioned facial features. He oozed self confidence, and clearly knew that with his sexy looks and hard, tight, freakishly muscular body, he was about three times hotter than the average man. I could also tell by the way he carried himself and by the way he ogled himself in the mirror that he just loved being a ripped bodybuilder, pumping up his muscles in his shiny golden posers with a camera shoved in his face. I would bet good money on him being the kind of guy who’d spend an entire day flexing in the mirror if he could. As I watched this deliriously sexy, pint sized muscle dude pumping up his extremely tight, beautifully developed muscles, pursing his lips in concentration with every rep of his barbell curls, exuding an incredible power and the sexiest self confidence through the lens of the camera, everything around me seemed to slip away. My nerves, my surroundings, Stuart Fox, and the other jacked up muscle bulls mere metres away from me. All I could see was this man who’d morphed his body into a work of art, and was now preening and pumping up every inch of it ready to show it off in all it’s otherworldly glory to anyone lucky enough to bear witness. Just like when I’d been watching the muscle video with Billy Horvath and Bryan Macleod, I couldn’t help but smile at the sheer surrealism of the situation. All of the videos I’d watched of monstrous muscle, pumping up and flexing, hardly being able to believe the incredible, freaky and beautiful images I was watching, and the incomprehensible and overwhelming effect it had on me, and now, here I was. Not watching from the comfort of my bedroom, but actually standing in a pump room, backstage at a bodybuilding show, mere feet away from muscle of the same incredible quality and being the very person filming every amazing moment on camera. And just like when I was sat in that room with Bryan and Billy, my relentless rock hard erection was furiously throbbing against the material of the boxer shorts containing it. My focus turned away from the kind of beautiful, rock hard mounds and bumps of thinly skinned encased muscle I never imagined I’d be in such close proximity to, and towards the unspeakably hot, golden coloured material wrapped around the waist of my filming subject and barely containing the pointed bulge in his crotch. My mind just couldn’t fathom how shiny his trunks were. There was only one explanation; they simply weren’t regular posing trunks. The person responsible for tailoring these fantastic coloured posers had clearly used some kind of special, ultra shiny material, not normally used for producing trunks with. I suddenly wondered what the opinion of the man sporting the posers himself was. Had he just purchased them from a random website, and once they’d been delivered, looked at them, shrugged, and thought nothing of them, or had he gone to a bodybuilding and fitness store, took one look at these golden coloured trunks sticking out a mile amongst the other dull, matte, non shiny trunks, and knew he had to have them right away? Maybe he even had a bit of a thing for posing trunks, but didn’t really ever mention it to anyone else because he wasn’t sure how common it was? Maybe he set out to buy the brightest, shiniest, tiniest posing trunks he could find? Maybe he had a massive collection of posers at home, all different colours, but mostly bright and made from super shiny material, and these bad boys were amongst his favourite? Maybe he even wore his trunks at practically every given opportunity, in the most normal settings and surroundings? Brightly coloured, thinly strapped, miniscule posers hiding underneath his jeans, or work pants, because it reminded him of the fact that he was a competitive bodybuilding muscle freak, hiding slabs of hard, ripped beef underneath his clothing. Maybe he liked the way the bright, shiny material felt against his completely shaven balls and cock, and maybe every time he slipped into a pair of his gloriously shiny posing trunks, without having the slightest idea why, he found himself getting a hard on? Noticing how thin the inexplicably shiny, gold coloured material barely containing his pointy bulge was, my mind then suddenly slipped into a crazy fantasy scenario. I imagined him finishing up his set and setting the barbell down, before looking at me, nodding for my attention and saying, “Hey dude! Wanna see something freaky?” He’d then grab my right hand and draw it towards his shiny posers, hovering over the material between one of the straps and his crotch and ordering me to take action by saying, “Pinch that dude!” Obeying him, I’d pinch the shiny posing trunk material with my thumb and index finger to discover that it was, as expected, paper thin. He’d then navigate my hand towards his unfathomably tight midsection and barking another order at me. “Now pinch this!” My thumb and index finger this time pinching the skin covering his beautifully peeled ab bricks, as Mr Golden Posers exclaims, “Same fucking thickness, dude!” in a manner so excitable, it’s as if he’s only just made the discovery himself, and now he’s telling, and showing everyone who’ll listen. I’d gasp in response, not just at how shockingly thin the skin covering his granite hard, beautifully carved out stomach muscle is, but, as this amazingly hot muscle lad so accurately pointed out, how the thinness of the skin is exactly the same as that of his phenomenally hot, paper thin posing trunks. My attention then suddenly turned to his endearing and attitude filled facial expressions. So far he’d been pursing his lips in concentration with every rep of his barbell curls, but then, out of nowhere, he suddenly animatedly scrunched his face up, wrinkling his nose like a bunny rabbit, then, showing the top layer of his perfectly straight, beautifully white teeth, he bit down on his bottom lip. He stayed like that for the last few reps; his nose wrinkling every time he bought the barbell up to chest level and his amazing biceps bulging and exploding with each pump, begging to be flexed, squeezed, and fondled, ideally in that order. Then, with a small, and extremely hot, “Ooooof,” exhaling sound, Mr Golden Posers finished the last rep of his set and put the barbell down on the floor with a loud clatter. Straightening himself up, he then did something which, if I had been in the comfort of my own bedroom on video, I’d probably cry out an, “OH FUCK!” and try with all my might not to unleash a litre of cum right there and then in my boxers. He gently placed both hands on the top of his quads and tensed his freshly pumped, rock hard body in a most muscular pose. His crazy delts popped out from his frame, his pillows of pillows of pec muscle tightened, the lines separating his baby abs deepened, and the pouch in his indecently shiny posers pointed straight ahead. Still in his pose, he squinted his eyes, and, once again, bit down hard on his bottom lip, before snapping his mouth open like he was letting rip a soundless roar, displaying the kind of outrageously cocky and animalistic attitude which drove me crazy, while all the time gawping at his own tight, rock hard muscle bod in the mirror. Mr Golden Posers then turned his attention away from his own reflection and stared right into the lens of the camera I was looking down. He clasped his right fist with his left hand, bit down hard on his bottom lip once more, wrinkled up his cute button nose again, and then squeezed down into another quick most muscular. His veins erupted and his muscles bulged as he cranked out the pose, and for a very brief moment, it felt like he was flexing solely for me. He relaxed from the pose with a loud, exhaling, “Boooof!” and, from my left, Stuart Fox let out a sudden and unexpected word of approval; “Nice!” One simple word, which suddenly sounded like the hottest and most brilliant word anyone had ever uttered. I looked at Stuart Fox, my eyes wide in surprise. This unassuming guy who may or may not go home tonight and blast a massive creamy load into the crotch of his undies at the thought of all the ripped, flexing muscle bulls he’d been surrounded by all day, was confident enough to openly praise bodybuilders on their outrageous displays of muscle posing. Mr Golden Posers endearingly and slightly sheepishly smirked out of the left corner of his mouth, and nodded to Stuart in thanks. Not surprisingly, I was smiling at Stuart too, which he returned with a cheeky, unabashed smirk, which said something like, “Yeah, I know, matie. That was pretty fucking awesome if I do say myself and you really were NOT expecting it were you?! Welcome to the world of crazy pumped up muscle, Charlie, where it’s perfectly OK for non-bodybuilding cameramen to give little nods and words of praise to ripped, flexing muscle dudes in brightly coloured posing trunks.”

Three The walk to the pump room felt like the longest sixty seconds of my life. I was still enjoying the rush of, not only unashamedly confessing to another person at least part of my true feelings towards bodybuilders without being completely inappropriate or giving any mention of sticky, cum soaked boxer shorts, but also rendering Billy Horvath speechless. I couldn’t help thinking that if Professor Walsh and my classmates knew this, I’d be welcomed back to college like some kind of hero. The adrenaline caused by my confession was also deterring the slight reoccurring nerves and anxiety which had been practically unbearable not half an hour ago. That was before I had entered an auditorium to be greeted by the image of a flexing, competition conditioned bodybuilder unapologetically plastered on a huge poster, met a camera man and potential like minded muscle lover, who was not only incredibly sexy and unquestionably gay, but also comfortable enough to walk around in t-shirts with outrageously awesome muscle related slogans written on the back and to stand in front of two strangers confidently rolling words like, “monstrous, jacked up muscle bulls” off his tongue, spotted a real life bodybuilder I’d more than once masturbated over in the form of the obscenely sexy Blaine Holton, who, despite being covered up a tracksuit, looked more monstrous than I could ever have dreamt, sat in a small room with two complete strangers and watched the kind of footage of shredded, hardcore muscle freaks I only ever watched in my own company and usually resulting in me filling up my underwear with half a litre of spunk, and then went part way to divulging my real feelings and confessing to another person for the first time how amazing I thought said muscle freaks actually are. And now I was on my way to a room full of those very muscle freaks to witness the superhuman specimens who turned me on more than anything else on this planet not just in real life, but up close and personal. Billy was walking slightly behind me. I didn’t need to be facing him to know that he was wearing a permanent scowl, wishing he were anywhere but here. In front of me was the extremely sexy rear view of Bryan Macleod, those ridiculously awesome words spread across his modestly broad back and the un-flexed upper arm muscle of his meaty tricep peeking underneath his t-shirt sleeve. I suddenly wanted to know what this devastatingly sexy man’s opinion of me was. I’d been sure that that cheeky smile Bryan had flashed at me during the screening of the muscle video was a knowing smile. A smile which had said, “The game’s up, kid. I know you’re a secret muscle lover who’s currently battling an epic sized hard on in those jeans of yours as you sit here watching these uber-human muscle beasts flex and squeeze their God-like muscle mass.” I then I wondered whether I reminded Bryan of himself at my age. Bookish, shy and awkward, blasting loads to pictures and videos of bodybuilders on an almost daily bases, years before he signed up for a gym membership and eventually found himself on a camera crew responsible for filming one of those very kinds of videos, enabling him to meet and be in the presence of the very freaks who turned him on more than anything else in the world. My thoughts then turned to whether, in turn, when I looked at Bryan I was seeing a considerably hairier, admittedly more masculine, and undoubtedly sexier future version of myself. Was this going to be me in fifteen years time, confidently strolling around bodybuilding competitions in cheeky, muscle related sloganed t-shirts, filming footage of some of the biggest, nastiest and most hardcore muscle bulls on the planet in their most shredded, otherworldly conditions? By then, of course, Bryan Macleod-Steatham (nee Macleod) and I would be enjoying our seventh year of marital bliss. It would have been a small, but beautiful ceremony, attended by close family, friends, and a small number of guys from the camera crew. The latter of which would have been particularly amused at the figurines on top of the wedding cake. Two miniature versions of Bryan and I in our matching “LIVE FOR THE PUMP” work t-shirts. A small camera on a tripod, and on the other side of it, a miniature bodybuilder in nothing but a pair of red posing trunks, his muscle bulging as he cranked a most muscular into the miniature camera. Granny Steatham not quite knowing what she was looking at it, but smiling and nodding in admiration and approval anyway. My increasingly elaborate fantasy was suddenly interrupted by the future groom to be himself, who was addressing both Billy and I. “Ok, guys, when we get inside I’m gonna introduce you both to separate camera men. I will be around if you need me for anything, but they’ll be looking after you for most of the day.” My stomach suddenly flipped and a voice in my head cried out, “NO,” in protest. Obvious attractions and ever so slightly far fetched fantasies aside, I felt safe with Bryan. He was warm and friendly, and if my very strong suspicions were right, he not only understood why on earth a guy who didn’t look like he’d spent any considerable amount of time clutching a dumbbell would have any interest or business being at a bodybuilding contest, but was coming from almost the exact same place. Now I was being dumped into the hands of a complete stranger. Not only that, I was going to be losing Billy Horvath too, who, while generally irritating and antagonising me to the point that no other human being had ever done before, had become an unlikely and surprisingly comforting companion in this bizarre but so far brilliant adventure. My thoughts were still in panic mode when I suddenly realised the three of us were heading directly towards two large double doors, and I became fully aware that the walk to the pump room was over. “OK, guys, if you’d like to follow me through.” The doors were swung open, my heart suddenly fluttered and before I had time to process another single thought, I was inside a pump room, backstage at one of the biggest bodybuilding competitions in the country. The first thing which struck me was just how busy the large space making up the pump room was. My pre-conceived imagining of the room hadn’t been massively detailed, but it definitely hadn’t included quite as many people as it actually did. There were a handful of women from what I could see, but most of the occupants were men. Lots of them were fully clothed, and seemed to range in body size, making it hard for me to decipher exactly what they were doing backstage at a bodybuilding show on a Saturday afternoon. Were they part of the film crew? Here to support their buddies who were competing in the show, or actual bodybuilders themselves, hiding tanned, shredded, muscle packed physiques under their clothing? Amongst them, however, were guys for whom there was absolutely no doubt as to what they were doing in a bodybuilding pump room. I had watched numerous video clips featuring superhuman sized muscle freaks backstage at bodybuilding shows, pumping up their phenomenally huge, beautifully carved out physiques, and flexing their barely human, thinly skinned, shredded to perfection mass. Not fifteen minutes before I had been sat watching one of those very clips. And now, I was actually standing in a pump room, witnessing those very kind of superhuman muscle freaks first hand. I was practically walking through a sea of humungous, bronze painted muscle Gods in indecently shiny, brightly coloured posing trunks. Everywhere I looked I saw super-sized slabs, mounds, and bumps of muscle hanging, twitching and wobbling off the frames of these extraordinary men who’d taken their bodies to the absolute extreme. I was surrounded by the kind of hardcore muscle monsters I, along with many others, had been filling up my underwear to since I’d first learnt how to masturbate. It was the most incredibly surreal and uniquely strange sight I’d ever played witness to in real life. It also happened to be the most erotic and sexually charged. It felt like my very first muscle experience of accidentally stumbling across the bodybuilder in the TV listings guide all those years again, only every feeling was multiplied by about a thousand. I’d been edging closer to the world of extreme muscle for weeks, and now I was standing right in the centre of it. I wanted desperately again to adopt that superpower which enabled one to freeze frame time, and just stand there, marvelling at the freaky and amazing sights of hardcore muscle around me. Any nerves had once again evaporated and instead, I was in a complete head spin of the place I’d somehow found myself in. It was only when I realised Bryan was introducing Billy Horvath and I to people who weren’t monstrously sized, tan drenched bodybuilders in ridiculously tiny posing trunks, that I even remembered regular sized people existed. “Guys, I’d like you to meet Stuart, and Baz, two of our camera crew members who’ll be showing you the ropes today.” Standing before Billy and I were two young men who didn’t look like they could be any different from each other in appearance. Stuart Fox was a slim built, fairly handsome, mousey blonde haired guy in a check shirt, who looked about two or three years my senior. Much like Billy and I, Stuart didn’t look like he had any business being anywhere near a bodybuilding competition. And yet, with his seemingly down to earth demeanour, he seemed completely relaxed and confident in his surroundings. Baz Wade on the other hand looked the type of person who wouldn’t hesitate to pick a fight with someone’s eighty six year old grandma if she so much as glanced at him in a slightly negative fashion. Standing at about 6’3, he towered above all of us in height. Not only that, the guy had some serious build to his frame. It would be completely deceitful to describe him as muscular, but a little unfair to describe him as overweight either. Incredibly stocky was probably the only accurate description to give this rather intimidating and thuggish looking guy with a neck tattoo. Baz was probably the type of guy who knew a lot about bodybuilding, hung around and surrounded himself with muscle dudes, meat heads and genuine bodybuilders. He probably had a yearning desire to be a hardcore muscle freak himself, and had no doubt made attempts at becoming one at various points, but so far just remained the stocky, out of shape guy on the other side of the camera. In stark contrast to Stuart Fox’s relaxed, down to earth presence and approachable manner, Baz Wade was looking at Billy and I, although his eye frame seemed to be set more on Billy than me, obnoxiously chewing his gum with a look of sheer contempt and judgement. There was only one person I’d met who’d adopted a look which came even close to matching Baz’s expression of disapproval, and that person was standing next to me, looking right back at Baz with his own unique look of disdain. As he sneered at Baz Wade, there was absolutely no trace of the panic and fear I had seen in Billy Horvath’s face when we’d been watching Bryan’s video, or when we’d first entered the pump room to be greeted by the image of a dozen monstrously muscular beasts as they pumped up their outrageously huge muscle mass. Billy clearly wasn’t threatened or scared of Baz. It obviously had to take something so flat out freaky and unique, such as the sight of attitude filled, vein splattered muscle men flexing and squeezing their superhuman sized muscle mass into a camera lens, to induce any kind of fear in Mr Horvath. I found myself momentarily amused at the sight of these two polar opposite men sneering at each other in equal judgement and distaste, when I then realised, there was a fifty-fifty chance I’d be spending the rest of the day with one of them. I looked at Baz and wondered just how many small animals he’d crushed with his bare hands and eaten for breakfast that morning. Suddenly the prospect of sharing a work experience placement with Billy Horvath seemed almost appealing. Bryan MacWoofityWoof, aka, the future Mrs Charlie Steatham, continued to address the four of us to announce my fate. “OK, Charlie, I’m gonna put you with…” NOT BAZ! PLEASE GOD! NOT BAZ! “…Stuart.” FUCK YES!! “And Billy, you’ll be under Baz’s supervision.” As a Blaine Holton bicep sized wave of relief went through me, I looked at the guy who’d now be by my side for the majority of rest of the afternoon. A guy who appeared so easy going he looked as if he should be lying on the floor horizontal. Stuart was looking at Billy and Baz, both of whose sneering had only deepened since Bryan’s announcement, and clearly trying to mask a cheeky smirk of amusement. Since he’d only known Billy for approximately thirty seconds, this was clearly at his expense for having to spend the afternoon with Baz. I couldn’t help but wonder; was Baz the camera crew’s very own Billy Horvath? “Right then, I’ll leave you guys to it,” Bryan announced. “I’ll keep checking in with both of you throughout the afternoon but any problems just come and find me. Have fun, guys.” And with the temporary exit of the insanely sexy, furry forearmed, possible future version of myself, and probable future Mrs Charlie Steatham, Baz Wade uttered his first words in an abrupt, unfriendly tone. His look of contempt for Billy never wavering for a single moment. “My station’s this way.” He nodded in the direction of a corner of the pump room, and Billy had no choice but to follow the inexplicably large, and frightening looking young man, leaving me to get acquainted with my new supervisor. “I don’t envy your friend,” were the words Stuart Fox used to break the brief awkward tension between two complete strangers who suddenly found themselves having to converse with each other. “I wouldn’t exactly call Billy a friend,” was my reply, which prompted a short knowing huff of amusement from Stuart. “He doesn’t exactly seem like the happiest of guys,” Stuart mused. “I actually think this might be his worst nightmare. NOT a happy chappie.” Stuart Fox beamed and cheekily imitated my last word, which suddenly brought the difference of our nationalities to the forefront. “Chappie! I like that!” In that moment, I couldn’t help noticing how Stuart’s playful smile made him look just that little bit more handsome than he had before. He wasn’t so good looking that you’d break your neck gawping at him in the street, but he was handsome all the same. The awkwardness between us had not only eased at a surprisingly quick rate, but we were now indulging in friendly banter. I wanted to keep it going but my brain was struggling to think of a worthy comeback. “I do that quite a lot,” was all I could muster. Stuart looked at me blankly. Fuck! I’m killing it! “Say things. Words. That people don’t get.” Like now for instance?! You are not making ANY sense! “Since I’ve been here. In America, I mean.” And that sentence was HOW hard to string together?! Stuart Fox’s responsive and friendly smile seemed to relax me and help my find my misplaced social ability again. A brief probing of what had bought me to America and how long I’d been here followed, and then it was seemingly down to business. “So, Charlie Steatham, have you ever used a CX100?” Stuart asked as he slapped the head of his camera to which the question referred to. “No, but I’ve used the CX1?” Stuart playfully scowled. “Your school needs to update their equipment! OK the CX100 is similar to an CX1 so you shouldn‘t have any problems, but there are a few subtle differences.” I probably should have paid a lot more attention to what Stuart said over the next few minutes, but as he started to explain the intricate differences between film camera models, I suddenly became aware of exactly where I was again, and exactly what was surrounding me. Only half listening to what Stuart was saying, my eyes starting to wander around the noisy, crowded pump room. A few yards away from me, an extremely butch looking, mid to late thirties bald guy in shiny black trunks which looked they’d been cut from a bin bag was doing a set of bicep curls in front a camera. Veins spread across his delts and ran down his biceps, which erupted in size to an incredible degree with each pump. The thick cushions of hairless pec meat resting on his chest twitched and jumped with every lift of each barbell. Not far away, a youngish looking blonde dude, with hot jock looks, was mulling around and breathing heavily while messing with the straps of his matte blue posers. His big, blocky abs popped out of his slight tortoise shell stomach, pulsating as he breathed in and out. Meanwhile, hanging over his stomach, were two patio-slab like muscle tits, bronzed and oiled to a ridiculous degree. An incredibly handsome muscle daddy with a goatee I instantly recognised but couldn’t quite name was standing around in a black vest so comically tight it looked painted on. His tits strained through the material, and his outrageously huge, tan painted shoulders and tattoo decorated arms bulged out. On the bottom half, he was wearing nothing save for a pair of bulging, shiny emerald green posers. He caught the attention of a camera man, and unprompted, proceeded to cheekily twist and tense his thick tanned quads, revealing crazy cuts and separation with each twist and turn with a look of pure arrogance and smugness on his supremely hot face. The lucky camera capturing every moment of the crazy display of muscle before it. And then, for the second time that day, I spotted a bodybuilder I was very well acquainted with. Sitting in a chair, still fully clothed in his black tracksuit and looking as wide as a brick shit house was the devastatingly sexy Blaine Holton. I then suddenly clocked what Blaine was clutching in his hands and resting in his lap. A pair of the shiniest bright red trunks I’d ever seen. The hard on I’d inevitably found myself with on entering the pump room and witnessing competition conditioned bodybuilders in tiny sized posers first hand had eased with the introductions of Stuart and Baz. But now, glancing around at these incredible hardcore muscle men, I was fully erect once more and throbbing underneath the jeans that were attempting to tame my raging, muscle fuelled boner. I just about came back to earth to catch the last of what Stuart Fox was telling me about his camera. “So,” he addressed me with the start of a question, “happy chappie?” I smiled at the cheekiness of his question, which in turn, was met with a playful grin from the man who’d posed it. “I do have one question,” I replied. “Shoot!” “Do we just stay in one place and film whatever’s going on around us,” I asked looking at the non-action in front of Stuart’s camera, “or do we move around?” “I do a bit of both. Some guys, like Baz, prefer to just stay put, or stick to one area of the room, but I like to move around. I pretty much just shoot whatever guys I like the look of.” My ears suddenly pricked up at this last statement. “Guys I like the look of.” In what sense what this slightly charming, undoubtedly handsome guy with a cheeky sense of humour and sharp bantering skills talking here? Guys he thought were in great contest shape, combining impressive size with excellent symmetry and definition who looked fantastic on camera, or guys whose shredded, freaky as fuck bodies he wanted to lick every single inch of until he blasted a big creamy load in his undies? And a question which only marginally entered my subconscious before was now suddenly begging for an answer. Was Stuart Fox a gay, muscle obsessed lover of bodybuilders like me?! What then followed from Stuart’s lips only deepened my curiosity. “I wonder how your friend’s worst nightmare is going,” he pondered, nodding in the direction of Billy Horvath. Looking more uncomfortable than I’d ever seen him, Billy was standing clutching a tripod as Baz Wade filmed a young, cute, tracksuit clad bodybuilder in deliciously ripped condition lifting a barbell. I smiled at Stuart, and before I had chance to respond, he posed me a question. “So, Charlie, how about you? Is this your worst nightmare?” Stuarts’s look was a mixture of curiosity and weariness which prompted two words to shout out in my head; HE KNOWS!

Whatever must have been going through Billy’s head was clearly a far cry from what was happening in my own conscience. I had always been curious as to whether I would be turned on by muscle if I were to ever attend a bodybuilding show. I’d be watching competition conditioned bodybuilders in tiny posing trunks flexing and squeezing their alien-like muscle mass, so the odds of me getting hard would be expectedly high, and yet, I’d be in a theatre surrounded by people, and I’d never been entirely sure whether that would prevent me from getting turned on. Following my experience of watching muscle sitting next to Billy Horvath though, I’m pretty sure I now know how that particular scenario would play out. The second that first muscle monster filled up the TV screen with his incredible slabs of carved out mass, I had started to swell, and within seconds I was sporting a fully erect hard on, which hadn’t stopped straining through my jeans since. I was clearly wired to be turned on by monstrously sized muscle men, as discovered that one afternoon when I came across the image of the pro bodybuilder squeezing out a massive most muscular in the family TV listings magazine, and any surrounding influences or people were clearly unlikely to affect that. Just as some excessively bronzed, absurdly handsome muscle stud bought his terrifyingly thick pecs up into a side chest pose, while biting down on his bottom lip with an expression which lay somewhere between adorably cheeky and downright bleeding cocky, Bryan Macleod twisted his head round, and, completely ignoring Billy, made a bee-line straight for me. He shot me a three second look, before turning his attention back to the TV. The initial three words which went through my head at that moment were, “What. The. Fuck?!” I told myself it could have been completely innocent, but even though it had only been brief, it had been a really inquisitive look, like he was intrigued to know what my reaction was to the onslaught of jacked up, carved to the bone muscle bulls I was being forced to watch. I was also baffled as to why his eyes went straight to me, and completely ignored Billy. Did he suspect I was a beef obsessed muscle addict just like him? I relaxed slightly when he turned again, this time to check on Billy, and yet when he did so, a slight twinge of disappointment filled my stomach. I suppose I quite liked the fact that, for whatever reason, whether innocent or less so, Bryan was more interested in my reaction than Billy’s. And then, as if sensing my disappointment, or reading my mind, he shot another look at me, only this time, in another, “What the fuck?” moment, the corner of his mouth curled into a sexy, cheeky smile. I had absolutely no idea what it meant, or why he did it, but my adrenaline levels at that moment shot through the roof. It was a similar feeling to being in a club, and after having spotted a really cute guy you like, and glancing over, trying to be subtle, but really wanting him to notice you, he finally locks eyes with you, and gives you a smile which says he thinks you’re pretty cute too. I didn’t for one minute think that Bryan’s smile meant that he was attracted to me, certainly not if he was, in fact, turned on by bodybuilders in the same way that I was. But it meant, on some level, and for whatever reason, incredibly sexy, twinkly eyed, nicely muscled Bryan Macleod was interested in what I thought. With the incident fresh in my mind, I suddenly turned my attention away from the barely human muscle freaks on the TV screen and towards Bryan Macleod, sitting at the front of the round table. The awesome slogan of “LIVE FOR THE PUMP” scrawled across the blue t-shirt covering his modestly broad back. His elbow and big, furry forearm resting on the table, his upper arm looking impressively thick and pumped. Facing away from me, but slightly turned to the side, I could just see part of his handsome face, but was mostly presented with his extremely masculine and undeniably sexy bald head. Looking at Bryan, I suddenly felt a pang of desire. I started wondering what was hiding underneath that cheeky t-shirt, and what his biceps looked like flexed. I then started to wonder what was going on, both in Bryan’s mind, and his trousers, as he watch muscle monster after muscle monster, flex, squeeze and pump up their amazing mounds of gigantic man meat. And then I imagined Billy Horvath fucking the fuck off, probably to run to the nearest bathroom to be violently sick with disgust and horror at the freaks he’d been endured to watch, leaving Bryan and I alone, and me feeling a surge of bravery, which encouraged me to exit my chair, and walk over to the front of the room where Bryan was sitting. With Bryan looking up and presenting me with a sexy, inviting smile, I’d sit down on his lap, and wrap my arm around his thick back and broad shoulders, as he wrapped his left arm around the back of my waist. There’d be an incredible, and instant chemistry the moment we touched, and he’d gaze at me with those lovely, pretty eyes, make a soft, sensual, “Mmmmm,” sound, and then he’d passionately lock his lips with mine, in what would be the most incredible and sensual kiss. Warm and strong, but soft at the time. The sexual chemistry between the two of us becoming more intense. The kind of kiss, that if prolonged enough, would probably result in one, if not both, of us ejaculating in our pants. As our lips passionately locked together, one of my hands would sensually explore the back of Bryan’s masculine bald head, which would feel both hard and yet strangely soft to the touch. And as we stopped kissing, and he looked at me with the sexiest glaze of satisfaction, I’d cheekily bring my left arm up to his thick pumped upper arm. The moment my hand made contact with his skin, he’d outrageously bring his arm up and flex his bicep, as an adorable, part cocky, part sheepish grin emerged on his face. I’d gasp in amazement at how the muscle exploded before my eyes. Rock hard, and impressively big. Bryan suddenly transforming into a mini version of the massive, rippling muscle monsters playing on the screen behind us, only hotter, because he was here, and real, and flexing just for me. I’d wrap my fingers around Bryan’s mound of rock hard, paper thin encased bicep muscle, sinking into a kind of orgasmic trance as I encountered my first real touch of big, flexed muscle. And with my hand still firmly clamped on Bryan’s bicep, he’d bring his arm down, in order for his large masculine hand to slide to my rock hard cock, straining and bulging through my jeans. And then, as quickly as I had started fantasising about Bryan Macleod, an image appeared on the video playing on the TV screen which pulled me out of it. The most out of this world freaky muscle monster blasting a crab most muscular in slow motion and right into the cameras lens. The most absurdly hot muscle beast with huge, thick balloons of oil and tan drenched muscle mass flexing as hard as he humanly could while fully displaying his clenched teeth, in the most shamelessly cocky grin he could possibly display. The most flat out sexy muscle bull who just so happened to be Blaine Holton. The same Blaine Holton who I’d spotted that morning in the foyer, looking like a tank on two legs underneath his strained black tracksuit. The same Blaine Holton who, at that very moment in time, was probably in the pump room, pumping up his mammoth sized mounds of superhuman mass with a camera mere inches away from him capturing every single moment. A camera which I could quite possibly be standing on the other side of in the next ten or so minutes. The clip of Blaine was the last moment of what had undoubtedly been some of the hottest muscle footage I’d ever sat through. Bryan stood up to turn off the TV and addressed Billy and I once again. “So, guys, hopefully that’s given you an idea of what we’re about, and the kind of videos you’ll be helping to film today. I know some of these guy’s physiques might be a little shocking and extreme, but please don’t feel intimated. If you have to speak to the bodybuilders, they’re usually very friendly guys. They’re just here to pose and show off their huge, ripped bodies, and we’re just here to shoot them doing it.” As my heart fluttered at Bryan saying the words, “huge, ripped bodies,” and I stared at his thick chest bulging underneath his blue t-shirt, and his big, solid looking biceps straining under the sleeves, my eyes suddenly veered south and I almost fell off my chair at what I saw. Any suspicions, and hopes, I had had that Bryan was as crazy about muscle as I was, were pretty much confirmed by the thick bulge straining in the crotch of his jeans. There was no question about it. Bryan MacWoofityWoof was sporting a massive boner. Either it was purely coincidental, or Bryan had become rock hard watching the same enormous muscle bulls flexing their amazingly pumped beef that had caused my boxer briefs to seemingly shrink to half their original size. “OK, guys, I just need to make a brief phone call to my colleague, then we’ll go down to the pump room and get you started.” My stomach leaped, but the adrenaline and excitement were now far outweighing any nerves and apprehension that were left inside me. Bryan exited the room leaving me alone, once more, with Billy Horvath, who didn’t waste any time in voicing what was going on in his head. “Oh my God! What. The. Fuck?!” I groaned internally, and felt immediately infuriated. I looked at Billy, sighing and rolling my eyes, probably in a less subtle manner than I should have. I didn’t like to make a habit of being rude to people, but Billy was the sort of guy who would test the patience of even the most tolerant of people, and I’d already had to endure a fairly large dose of his obnoxiousness earlier that morning. “Seriously, dude. What the hell were they thinking sending us here?” TWAT! “This is seriously messed up. I mean, those guys, they’re revolting.” TWATTY TWATTERING TWAT! “They don’t even look human!” Hmmm. Can’t really argue with you there. FUCK YEAH! “I am seriously gonna make a complaint to the college. I don’t know what on earth they’re playing at sending us to a place like this. Those guys. All that muscle! It’s just gross!” And then I finally cracked, and surprised, even myself, with my response, partly at how calm and relaxed I said it. “Actually, I think they look pretty fucking amazing!” Billy was gob smacked. His mouth was actually hung open for about two seconds, before he closed it, and just looked completely shocked and dumb founded. I waited for his response, but nothing came. For the first time since I’d had the displeasure of meeting Billy, someone had finally managed to render him speechless, and that someone had been me. It was also the first time I’d ever gone any way to giving a clue as to what my opinion of bodybuilders was. As a feeling of pride and satisfaction overwhelmed me, I couldn’t help smiling. I wasn’t sure if Billy saw this or not, but I didn’t care either way. The silence was broken with the return of Bryan MacWoofityWoof, who I’d now also given the second nickname of Bryan aka The Future Mrs Charlie Steatham, who walked back into the room clutching his phone, and said, “OK, guys, I think we’re all set here. Let’s get you both down to that pump room and get you shooting some muscle.”

Two Bryan Macleod led Billy and I into what looked like a small meeting room, mostly taken up a large round table and a dozen chairs. A large flat screen TV was the only other notable furnishing in the room. “Take a seat, guys,” Bryan instructed. As I shuffled into my seat, I glanced over at Billy, who still had that same disgruntled expression on his face. Bryan remained standing at the front of the room, and began to address us. “OK, guys, first I’d just like to say a big welcome to the film crew. You already know me as Bryan. I’m also part of the crew you’ll be working with today. We’ve been accepting students from your university for a few years now on placements, and it’s always great to have extra hands to help out. Hopefully you will learn a lot from our camera guys. I understand bodybuilding might not be of much interest to either of you, but we find most students who work with us on our placements end up enjoying soaking up the atmosphere of being at a bodybuilding competition.” I looked over at Billy to see him rolling his eyes in a disapproving manner, before veering my eyes back to Bryan. Big, sexy Bryan with his furry forearms and meaty gym trained chest bulging underneath his brilliantly sloganed t-shirt. Lovely, friendly Bryan, who is clearly gay and quite possibly just as crazily turned on by huge, freaky muscle as I was. Hot, woofy Bryan who was about to unleash a torrent of words which would have me squirming in my seat and cause my face to turn a shade of red akin to a lobster with a sunburn. “Let me tell you a bit about what we do here. We specialise in filming bodybuilding and fitness videos for the Internet. Everything and anything muscle related we film. Training and workout videos, weightlifting contests, and, of course, bodybuilding shows. In addition to filming the actual competitions, we also often shoot some behind the scenes pump room footage. This is what you guys will be helping us out with today. You’ll be helping to film the bodybuilders pump and pose…” Oh fuck! Pump and pose! Two simple words. One epic boner! “…before they head out to the stage. We like to get really close up to the muscle when the bodybuilders are pumping up…” Pant pant pant! “…so our viewers can really see how huge and ripped the bodybuilders are.” FUUUUUUUUCKK!!! Are you TRYING to make me spunk my pants on the spot Bryan?! “We like to give the bodybuilders a little bit of encouragement to hit some poses for the camera, but most of the guys don’t actually need it. They’ll be voluntarily posing themselves. These guys love the camera, they love to flex, and they LOVE to show off how shredded they are.” Estimated time before I splat my pants: 5 seconds!! “Let me warn you both. Some of these guys are not just big. They’re monstrous.” Make that 3 seconds. WOOF FUCKING WOOF!! “You’ll be filming some of the most jacked up, flat out freaky amateur muscle bulls, not just in the State, but in the country.” Oh fuck! Mind = blown! Jacked up?! Awesome! Flat out freaky?! Incredible! Muscle bulls. BULLS?! Bryan Macleod, I want your furry forearmed babies. Now! I had read these kinds of descriptions of bodybuilders on the Internet before, but I didn’t think I’d ever hear anyone say them out loud in person. I couldn’t quite get my head around what was happening. Hearing a person, not just any person, but one as sexy as Bryan, unashamedly talking about muscle, and describing bodybuilders in such an unapologetic and unspeakably hot way was like a revelation. The other thing I loved about Bryan’s descriptions was the fact that when he uttered the words “monstrous” and “flat out freaky” his mouth curled into a small, self satisfied grin; like he was getting some kind of kick out of saying these crazy, alien words to two guys who didn’t look like they had any business or interest in any conversation involving bodybuilders. I tentatively looked over at Billy Horvath, sitting in the chair next to me. The look Billy was giving Bryan was part disdain, part horror, and part utter confusion. As I wondered what the hell might have been going through Billy’s over opinionated mind in that moment, I couldn’t help feel somewhat amused at his expense, which, at least, helped to ease my slight embarrassment just a little. However, when I looked up to see Bryan MacWoofityWoof reaching for the remote control for the television at the front of the room, along with another twinge of panic, I had a strong suspicion my embarrassment was about to return by the bucket load. Bryan addressed Billy and I again. “OK, guys…” Do NOT play one of your videos. “…I thought I’d give you an idea…” Oh God no! PLEASE God no! “…of the kind of thing you’ll be helping to film today.” FUCKING FUCK NO! I can NOT sit here in a room of people, not just people, Billy Hor-fucking-vath people, and watch the kind of indecently pumped muscle freaks that I regularly blow massive creamy loads to! “So, I’m going to play you a video featuring some clips from the last bodybuilding show we helped to film.” If there was ever a moment where I could suddenly develop a superpower of my choice it would have been then. I’d chose the ability to pause time, grab my jacket and get the hell out of that room, leaving Billy to watch Bryan’s video of freakishly shredded muscle bulls pumping and posing their shiny trunks off, and sparing me from my inevitable mortifying embarrassment. I’d take a sneaky detour to the pump room, find that incredibly handsome mass of gorgeously pumped, phenomenally monstrous muscle Blaine Holton, who I’d spotted in the foyer not half an hour before, walk right up to his superhuman sized, beef packed frame, cheekily unzip the jacket of his black tracksuit to reveal a mass of bumpy, bulgy, deliciously thick muscle underneath, tentatively place both hands on those dense balloons of beef hanging from his chest, give them both a firm squeeze, then quickly head to the theatre exit, having no doubt ejaculated in my trousers before my hands even made contact with Blaine’s incredible, otherworldly body, and running as far away from the venue as I could. As Bryan played with the TV remote control and lined up the kind of footage I’d usually only watch alone, in the comfort of my bedroom, and would usually result in my boxer briefs lying in a sticky, crumpled ball in the corner of my bedroom, all the nerves and feelings of anxiety I had experienced in the lead up to the day returned with a vengeance, only this time they’d bought along a few friends, in the form of sheer embarrassment, and plain old fear. I was right back where I was in Professor Walsh’s classroom, nervously putting my seemingly innocent piece of paper with my choices for my work experience placement in the red box on her desk, praying that no one noticed, and thus, suspected why I had been reduced to a bag of nerves. Only this was much, much worse. I felt like the secret I had kept for years was about to be exposed. Worse, it was about to be plastered on a TV screen which I was being forced to watch in the company of others, and there was no escape. All it would take was one glance from Billy or Bryan and I would be rumbled. They would take one look at my nervous, uncomfortable, embarrassed face and, somehow, instantly know that I had a fetish for huge, ripped muscle. My thoughts were interrupted by the inoffensive rock music which made up the soundtrack of the video. This was it. The only escape would be if the video were to miraculously refuse to play, for the TV to suddenly blow a fuse, or for the building’s fire alarm to sound, causing for a quick evacuation. Luckily, Bryan sat down to watch the video with his back to me and Billy, who I refused to look at. I was frozen stiff. If I didn’t look at Billy and if Bryan stayed transfixed on the TV with his back to me, I might just get away with them noticing what a nervous mess I’d turned into. But what about when the video had finished, and Bryan was facing me again? And if watching a video of monstrously huge muscle freaks in the company of others reduced me to a nervous wreck, how was I going to cope when I was standing in an actual pump room, surrounded by real life monstrously huge muscle freaks pumping up their ridiculous sized muscles and flexing mere feet away from me? As my mind suddenly went into sheer panic mode, the image of the most shockingly sized bodybuilder flashed on the screen. The clip was in slow motion, as the freak in question strutted towards the camera, his body a mass of beautifully bronzed, mammoth sized, carved to perfection muscle, bulging, rippling and fighting for space on his torso. With both hands placed on his enormous sized, vein splattered quads, he cranked down into a most muscular, every muscle tightening and locking into place, his eyes tightly shut, and his mouth widened into an outrageously cocky expression, as if he were roaring like an animal. Seeing this image while in the company of others was the single most surreal moment of my life up until that point. I’d watched endless similar clips of bodybuilders before, but for some reason, in this environment, sitting in a room with two other people, it felt like I was watching muscle for the very first time. The sheer shock and surrealism of the situation completely rid me of the panic and nerves which had consumed me not three seconds before. As quickly as the muscle monster who had just completely shook me of all my senses had appeared, he was gone, and replaced by the image of another bodybuilder. This one even bigger and freakier, showing off his otherworldly body by blasting a massive front double bicep with the cheekiest, proudest smile etched across his handsome, All American, clean cut face. One phenomenally huge, alien-like muscle monster after another flashed on the TV screen. As I watched in complete awe and amazement, I suddenly found my mouth curling into a smile, which, no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t seem to stop. Not only was I amused at the surrealism of the situation I had found myself in, but I was beginning to get a real buzz from sitting in a room, watching these massive muscle monsters flex and pose, with two people who, to my knowledge, had no idea of the effect these kind of images had on me. My feelings of fear and anxiety had gone, and been replaced by those of excitement and sheer adrenaline. The video switched from clips of bodybuilders on stage, to clips of bodybuilders in a pump room. Close up shots of thick, twitchy pecs, gloriously pumped biceps and deeply carved, six pack abdominals flashed on the screen. Muscle bulls pumped up, beef monsters hit poses into the camera, oil was seen being slapped onto hard, thick muscle, and outrageously shiny, brightly coloured posing trunks lit up the TV screen. As a clip of an impossibly cute, Latino guy with hard, shredded muscle encased in gorgeous, silky skin crunching down into an abs and thighs pose, his cheeks puffed out to the max, before transforming his face into a smug grimace of self satisfaction and effort as he cranked down hard on his tight, peeled midsection, and wriggled his upper body from side to side, I glanced over at Billy Horvath for the first time since the video had started. Since meeting Billy outside the auditorium that morning, his facial expressions had ranged from judgement and disdain, to disgust and disapproval. Now for the first time ever, Billy looked genuinely scared. Gone was the self important, over opinionated, pretentious twat I’d come to loathe in the short few months I’d been in Professor Walsh’s class, and in place, was a lost boy, who looked completely out of his depth, painfully uncomfortable, and more than anything, just plain terrified. This was presumably the first time Billy had ever seen anything like the freaky, hardcore muscle beasts he was being forced to watch. I may not have particularly liked Billy, but that didn’t stop me from feeling sorry for him.

Amazingly, during the days which followed before my next class, where I would find out the outcome of my placement, my mind felt fairly relaxed. Every now and then I would experience a moment of sheer panic that I had made a huge mistake. To make myself feel better, I reasoned that even if I got the placement and I decided at the very last moment if I couldn’t go through with it, I could always just fake an illness. It wasn’t until I was sat back in Professor Walsh’s classroom that the butterflies started to kick in. I was anxiously waiting for some kind of eye contact from the Professor, wondering whether she would glance at me again and her expression would give away her thoughts on why this slim guy, who clearly had no obvious interest in bodybuilding, would chose it as one of his placement options. So far, there was nothing, but the nerves were growing by the second in anticipation of what was to come. It was only until about ten minutes before the end of the lesson that I was put out of my misery. As copies of the list were handed around to raised, excited voices, my nerves were unbearable. It literally felt like someone was squeezing the insides of my stomach. I desperately tried not to look at Professor Walsh in case we made eye contact. Whatever suspicions had already formed in her head would certainly be further fuelled by the fact I had suddenly turned into a quivering mess. As the pile of lists made it’s way down my row of desks towards me, I suddenly realised how badly I actually wanted to see my name against the bodybuilding placement. A muscle video I had watched the previous night suddenly flashed in my head, and as I thought about the insanely handsome, competition conditioned muscle monster pumping up his enormous, paper thin skin encased biceps backstage at a bodybuilding show in his indecently shiny blue posing trunks I had shot a load to, the list was in my hands, my eyes were shooting down the page, and there it was. Filming Backstage at a Local Bodybuilding Competition CHARLIE STEATHAM YES!! My heart leaped into my throat, and the nerves were suddenly replaced by sheer elation. But then, as I looked again, I noticed I wasn’t the only person on the placement. Filming Backstage at a Local Bodybuilding Competition CHARLIE STEATHAM BILLY HORVATH OH GOD!! BILLY HOR-FUCKING-VATH OH PLEASE GOD NO!! I had been so fraught with whether to put the placement as one of my choices in the first place, and what the Professor would think if I did, that I hadn’t given a second thought to the person I would actually be sharing the placement with, and even if I had, I would have never anticipated it would be the most annoying, obnoxious and unlikeable person in the class. In my few short months at the university, I don’t think I had ever seen Billy Horvath crack anything even closely resembling a smile. He was a pretentious, joyless, friendless individual with an opinion on everything, which was often opposed to that of everyone else in the class, including Professor Walsh. He was just about the last person I would ever want to share any kind of experience with, least of all this one. I glanced over at Billy, who was staring at the list. His face was red, his teeth were clenched, and he looked like he was about thirty seconds away from committing some violent act of crime. Billy was not a happy man at the best of times, but I knew the face of an incredibly pissed off person when I saw it. I usually didn’t waste too much time in getting my things together and leaving the classroom after my lectures had finished, and this one was no different. That was until I saw a flustered and determined looking Billy charging towards the Professor’s desk. I purposely held myself back, pretending to read the lecture notes I had just spent the last hour making, glancing up discreetly to see what was going on between Billy and the Professor. I wasn’t close enough to hear the conversation, but Billy was aggravated and clearly not happy, while the Professor looked diplomatic but stern, firmly shaking her head, which only seemed to aggravate Billy more. It didn’t take a genius to figure out what the conversation entailed. Billy was clearly trying to argue his way out of being on his chosen placement, and Walsh was firmly telling him that he was staying on it, whether he liked it or not. As much fun as it was to see Billy getting some sort of comeuppance for generally being the obnoxious person he was, this was one occasion where I would have liked to have seen fate on his side. When an enraged Billy had left, and the Professor was left subtly shaking her head at her desk, I quickly gathered my things to make an exit. Have you ever known something was about to happen before it actually does? Almost like for a split second you develop this psychic ability, and somehow you just know what’s about to occur, and then a second later, it does? That’s exactly what happened to me when Professor Walsh called my name just before I reached the door to exit the classroom, and even though I knew it was going to happen, I was still taken a back when it did. “Charlie!” Fuck! “Can I talk to you for a minute?” Fuck fuck shitting buggering fuck!! A jolt of fear shot through me. Not long before, I had been desperately trying to avoid eye contact with her and now she wanted to speak to me, and I had absolutely no idea what it was she had to say. As I tentatively edged towards the Professor’s desk, she was looking at me with a look of genuine concern. “Charlie, I just wanted to make sure you are OK with your placement?” You mean you want to know why the hell I want to spend an entire day surrounded by a bunch of disgustingly muscular, grotesquely huge muscle FREAKS of nature caked in oil and tan and wearing nothing but brightly coloured posing pouches? Of course, this could have been my opportunity to offer some kind of explanation as to why someone like me would have the slightest bit of interest in being involved in the filming of a bodybuilding competition., even if that explanation were ultimately to be a lie. But I just couldn’t think that fast. “Erm…yeah. I mean it’s an opportunity to gain some hands on experience isn’t it?” I reasoned. And a years supply of material for the fucking WANK BANK in my head!! Grrrrr-RUFF!! “I know it wasn’t your first choice but competition was really tough this year. A lot of students weren’t placed on any of their choices,” she explained. Your bother’s a bodybuilder. Tell her your brother’s a bodybuilder. THAT’S why you chose the placement. You have some small, vague interest and knowledge of bodybuilding because your brother is a bodybuilder. “Well to be honest, I didn’t think my chances of getting a place on the other two were that great, so I thought I’d pick one of the more interesting placements from the obscure options that I didn’t think would that be popular.” I didn’t make a habit of lying but in some instances, like this one, it was necessary. She smiled, and I could see in her face that she was genuine and sincere, and any possible suspicions I thought she may have had were all just paranoid thoughts in my head. “I knew you’d have a mature attitude about the experience, Charlie, and I know you’re the type of person who will gain something out of whatever type of filming you’re placed on,” she continued. I decided in that moment that I actually really liked Professor Walsh. I suddenly had an image of randomly running into her at an obscure book launch in New York in five years time, where she’d confess to me how she’d always thought I was the student who had the potential to achieve the most out of my class. “And you know we’ve had students on this placement before and we’ve generally had really good feedback. Some of the smaller camera crews let you get a lot more involved in the filming than the bigger ones. I think you might be pleasantly surprised, Charlie.” Pleasantly surprised at how many times I manage NOT to instantly ejaculate in my pants?! I was genuinely excited to hear this, and nodded along, but my mind had also, once again, drifted to the online video I’d watched the night before of the bodybuilder backstage at a competition pumping and posing for the camera. More than once whilst watching it, I’d imagined that I was on the other side of that camera, mere inches away from him. It was probably best that the Professor was wrapping up our conversation at this point, as something just a little south of my belt buckle was beginning to swell. I started to leave when she called me back. “Oh, and, Charlie, try not to let anyone…” she paused for a moment, as if trying to find appropriate word to use, “affect your experience.” Her eyes widened, and it was as close as her expression could get to rolling her eyes or acting inappropriately for a Professor. She was clearly talking about my new filming buddie, Mr Horvath. In that moment, and for the first time, I suddenly developed a curiosity as to what Billy would make of the pumped up muscle monsters we’d be filming a week on Saturday. I couldn’t help smiling at the thought of small, weedy, over opinionated Billy surrounded by a bunch of humongous, egotistical bodybuilders, pumping, posing and flexing their superhuman sized muscle. As I left the Professor’s classroom and headed back to my dorm room, a huge smile erupted on my face. The whole situation suddenly felt incredibly surreal and exciting, and for that moment at least, all of the nerves, doubts and fears had all but disappeared. If only they had stayed that way the morning of the work placement. The morning of the actual bodybuilding competition that was about to take the place in the arts theatre I was staring at head on, wondering what on earth I had been thinking to ever believe I could actually go through with the experience. The nerves hadn’t just reappeared that moment either. They’d been slowly creeping back for the days leading up to the placement, getting stronger and more unsettling. With the big day finally here, I felt like my stomach had literally been invaded by a group of miniature people who were tying every single one of my intestines into the tightest of knots. I was an absolute wreck, and before I had time to run in the opposite direction to hide under my duvet, never to face Professor Walsh or set foot in her classroom again, the unwelcome, short, slight figure of Billy Horvath was obnoxiously striding towards me, looking as characteristically gloomy as ever. Billy Horvath always seemed like he was about ten seconds away from saying something that would annoy, offend, or insult you. “So, you’re the other sucker who got this joke of a placement?” Annoyed? Check! “Professor Walsh must think as highly of you as she does of me!” Offended? Check! “Maybe if you actually made some contribution to the class every now and then her opinion might change!” Insulted? Check check fucking CHECK!! Billy clearly liked the sound of his own voice outside of Professor Walsh’s lectures as much as he did during them. “So, Charlie Steatham, can you please tell me what the hell we’re supposed to learn from being at a place like this?” he asked. Oooh…erm…I dunno Billy. How about learning how NOT to be an absolute fucking TWAT?! “Ummm, well we are gonna be operating cameras on a legitimate film crew,” I reasoned. Billy scoffed. “Do you know I didn’t tell anyone where I was going today? I’m that embarrassed,” he exclaimed. “I could be on an actual movie set, or at a television studio right now. Even a music video for a shitty boy band would be better than this. I mean, bodybuilding? Ugh! It’s fucking gross. A bunch of disgusting, brain-dead, meatheads.” Twat twat wanking buggering TWAT!! “And I see your as full of opinions as ever, Steatham?” I wasn’t a confrontational person, but Billy was pushing me to the edge. “Look, Billy, I really don’t care where we are or what we’re filming,” I explained. “I just want to get in there and see what I can gain from the whole thing. You know, make the most of this opportunity? Did anyone force you to come today?” “Oh, he has a voice! Some more of that in class and you might actually end up on a real studio set instead of standing outside here next time.” Billy was beginning to really aggravate me. “I have a voice. I just don’t feel the need to use it at every given opportunity. You see, I also have this thing called social awareness. Knowing when people don’t want to hear my voice. Knowing when people actually want me to shut up.” Billy’s eyes were wider than I’d ever seen them. He’d got the message, so he responded in typically obnoxious, annoying fashion. He sarcastically sucked his lips into his mouth while animatedly nodding, and imitating the action of a zip going over his lips with his fingers. I sighed, and shook my head. I waited for him to say something, but he wasn’t budging. Neither was that idiotic, wide eyed, lips sucked in, “not saying a word” expression. I stared at the theatre head on, and a very slight twitch of nerves fluttered in my stomach, which amazingly, felt pretty good, because it was about fifty times less intense than what I had felt before Billy’s arrival. For all his incredible annoyances, Billy had calmed my nerves. As he followed me towards the theatre, I realised how comforting it was to have someone with me in this incredibly nerve wrecking experience. Even if that person was someone like Billy Horvath. The whole experience suddenly became very real the moment I was stood in the theatre foyer and facing a huge poster with the words BODYBUILDING CHAMPIONSHIPS boldly written on it, and a large picture of the head and upper torso of a massive, ripped, competition conditioned muscle freak. His ridiculously huge, insanely shredded torso was exploding into a crab most muscular pose. Every flat out freaky inch of him was painted in bronzed tan. His body a mass of bumps, ripples and veins. His phenomenally sized arms were flexed to the max, and his traps were bulging up to his earlobes. As he squeezed every incredible, otherworldly muscle, his eyes were jammed tight shut, and his mouth was forced as wide open as humanly possible in the most unashamedly arrogant and testosterone fuelled facial expression. Although it was the kind of image I’d become so accustomed to seeing, ever since I innocently browsed through that magazine in my parents living room all those years ago, it was also the type of thing I’d only ever seen in the privacy of my own bedroom. But here it was in a public setting. This large, bold, unapologetic image of a monstrous sized, shredded to the heavens, outrageously cocky muscle bull in all his absurdly conditioned, arrogantly superior glory. Staring at me as if to say, “Yes, Charlie, this crazy world of extreme muscle you’ve been fantasising over all these years really does exist, and you’ve just stepped smack bang into the middle of it.” I nervously looked over at Billy, who was staring at the poster with his mouth hanging slightly open and his face curled into an expression of confusion, disgust, and pure fear. Before I had time to guess what was going through his head, I suddenly had my first glimpse of some genuine, real life muscle. My heat fluttered and my eyes widened at the image of a bodybuilder who I instantly recognised as Blaine Holton, standing with his arms folded, talking to a regular, non bodybuilding guy. Although he was covered up by a black tracksuit, he looked absolutely monstrous, with a torso which looked about twice the width of the man he was talking to. Blaine Holton was stupidly handsome and masculine looking, with the craziest square lantern jaw, and a massive, gorgeous smile he loved to flash at the camera. He was outrageously cocky too. In the few online videos I’d seen of him, he’d cheekily scrunched up his gorgeous face, and arrogantly snapped his mouth wide open as if shouting a loud, cocky, “YEAH!” while flexing and squeezing his muscle, which just so happened to be astonishingly thick and dense. Like massive, fleshy balloons of beef bulging off his carcass, all shrink wrapped in the tightest and most attractive silky smooth skin. Not only was I very well acquainted with this mountain of incredible muscle, I’d lost countless amounts of cum watching him flex, squeeze, pump and pose. And now, here he was, standing just yards away from me, looking even more incredibly handsome than in any picture I’d seen, or any video I’d watched. His competition ready muscle bursting underneath his clothing, ready to pump and pose for a camera I could quite possibly be on the other side of in the none too distant future. My thoughts were broken as an overly cheerful, slim man in a checked shirt, clutching a clipboard, approached me and Billy. “Are you guys looking for directions?” He’d clearly been trained on how to be pleasant and cheerful, even if someone like Billy, who was glaring at him with a look of disdain, was so unnecessarily rude to him. “We’re here to do some work,” I replied, before pausing. It was absurd given where we were, but I was a little embarrassed to say the words out loud, but I had no choice, so I continued. “Filming backstage at the bodybuilding show?” I felt myself blushing slightly at saying the word “bodybuilding” out loud. It was a fairly controversial word at the best of times, but for me, it also had so much hidden meaning to it. “Ahhh, I’ll just find someone to assist you guys.” As Mr Cheerful disappeared, Billy broke his record five minutes of silence. “I can not believe I am here,” he said slowly through gritted teeth. “Let’s just make the most of it shall we, Billy?” I sighed. I was determined not to let him get the better of me. It wasn’t long before Mr Cheerful was bouncing back towards us with another man in tow. “OK, gentlemen, this is Bryan Macleod. He’s part of the film crew and you’ll be reporting to him today.” Bryan Macleod was in his late thirties, possibly early forties. Although no one could have mistaken him for being one of the competitors in the day’s bodybuilding show, he’d clearly spent a fair few hours at the gym. He was broad, with a full and thick looking chest which bulged underneath his bright blue t-shirt, which also nicely showed off his pumped, modestly sized biceps, and exposed his solid looking, slightly furry forearms. He was bald, but in a sexy way, and although he was very masculine and butch looking, his big, slightly twinkly eyes and the rather gorgeous, warm smile he wore as he introduced himself, gave him a slight pretty boy quality. A very slight femininity in his voice and his general mannerisms couldn’t hide the fact that to the eager eye, he was, in fact, gay. As his warm strong hand gripped and shook mine, I instantly felt an attraction. Bryan gave Billy the same warm, friendly introduction he had given me, and Billy gave him the same rude, unfriendly response he had given everyone that day. “OK, guys, if you’d like to follow me I’ll give you a quick overview of what you’ll be doing today. Then I’ll introduce you to some of the camera crew and get you started.” As Bryan turned, the printed words of “LIVE FOR THE PUMP” were revealed on the back of his t-shirt. I couldn’t help but smile. I’d known Bryan for approximately four minutes and not only did I have a huge amount of respect for him, I also suddenly had a yearning desire to be like him. A confident, well muscled gay guy who not only worked on a camera crew filming huge, shredded muscle freaks at a bodybuilding competition, but was also confident enough to walk around in public wearing t-shirt’s with cheeky muscle related phrases. I suddenly wondered whether there was any chance that he was as completely crazy about, and insanely turned on by muscle as I was? As I followed the built, butch, sexy figure of Bryan Macleod (who in my head I’d now nicknamed Bryan MacWoofityWoof) across the foyer of the theatre, through some double doors and along some corridors, with a sulky Billy Horvath (who in my head I’d now nicknamed Billy Hor-FuckOffAndDisappearUpYourOwnArse-vath) in tow, not knowing what the next few hours were about to entail, the nerves had all but disappeared, and all I could feel now was an overwhelming mixture of excitement and elation.

Chapter 5 "Be proud of yourself Kurt!" Eric said to me after looking at the scale. 250 pounds was a cause for celebration. “You’re bigger than me now!” Eric said enthusiastically. I had been packing away the food for weeks, and it showed. I looked like a big rugby player, or even a football player. I was big, for the first time in my life I actually felt big too. Eric took our weekly progress photo and added it to the collection. It was pretty amazing to see how big I looked in that photo. At first I was a little anxious about my belly and if I was getting too heavy to quickly, but Eric kept pushing me, telling me how hot I looked and how he loved my increasing size. I had to admit, the strength gains were a huge ego boost. I was feeling more and more proud of the weight I could push every day. Pushing 315 on bench wasn’t so bad anymore. I kept at it, thanks to Eric’s encouragement. Nothing was going to stop me. At night after the injections, Eric would lay me down and we’d talk throughout the day. He’d tell me how much he was proud of me for what I had already accomplished and I always felt energized, even more motivated to get massive after those sessions. I couldn’t trace back when or where this drive for size was coming from, but as each week passed my urge to grow into a mass monster only increased. I imagined myself at Jonas’ size and it started turning me on. I had never gotten turned on by that idea before, but now I was totally into it. Even during our fuck sessions, Eric would tell me how big I was getting and how big I was going to grow, and it always made me get off. I kept eating, training, sleeping, eating and fucking. That was my life, and I loved it. Eric was devoted to me, to my growth, to my success in the gym. He didn’t seem envious at all as I began to surpass him in strength. Sometimes I’d borrow his shirts, but soon it became clear that I was starting to stretch them out. When I hit 260 Eric took me out for a whole new wardrobe. Everything was XL or XXL (so I could grow into it). Part of the problem was the speed I grew out of my pants too. My whole lower body had ballooned, which felt great but started to cause new issues I’d never experienced before. The chaffing was real. My meaty thighs now rubbed together all the time when I walked. My ass was swelling out huge, which at first made me somewhat self-conscious, and required bigger pants. I went from 36s to 38s, and then to fit my ass I had to go up all the way to 40s. It gave me pause, I remember being hesitant about buying the size 40 pants. “It's not your gut, hon, its your booty” he said to me. I knew it was mostly true, but the size of my waistline was expanding with the rest of me. I had a hard time suppressing my insecurities, was I just gonna start looking fat? But that all began to change. I remember I stepped on the scale one morning, seeing 265 and feeling really proud of myself. I looked long and hard at my reflection, my widening, thickening frame. I had a belly now, no doubt about it, but instead of being insecure and anxious about it, I was turned on. I cupped the bottom side of my little gut with my left hand, feeling its weight. I didn’t hate it. No, actually, I liked the way it complimented my muscular chest and arms. It was a good look, I decided. The words “you like being thick” just kept rolling in my mind. I did like it. And I wanted more. The weeks rolled by, and I started to feel big. Less than a month after hitting 250, I was up to 270. My size was starting to really sink in. I was comfortably filling out an XL shirt, which was pleasantly tight on my 19 inch arms. Eric couldn’t keep his hands off me, calling me a “big muscle pig”, and I realized, that is what I was, I was becoming a big muscle pig. Eating was my life. Lifting and fucking were just breaks from the constant eating. My gut was permanently rounded out from all the eating, and Eric would rub it and tell me to keep going. Part of me freaked out about what was happening to me, another part embraced it as my new identity. I was a big, strong, beefy dude, and that should give me confidence. My face was filling out, sometimes I had a hard time recognizing myself. I had let my beard grow out and my body was getting hairier everywhere, something of a side effect from the “vitamins” I guess, but I liked it. It made me look like the kind of bulked up muscle bears you see on the bear event posters. Fuck, I was big and hot enough, that could have been me on one of those event posters. Our life continued week after week, endless streams of pre-made meals delivered to the apt, or just take out sometimes too. Progress photos showing my growth.I know Eric was a good cook, but rarely showed it. Instead we just ate and ate. All these meals were starting to have an effect on him too. I watched my big muscle bear boyfriend grow thicker too. He didn’t seem to realize it maybe, but he was probably a good 20 pounds heavier than when he had moved in. Most of it was muscle, but I could see his furry belly had thickened a bit too. At 280, even my XLs were getting snug. Somehow I found myself sauntering through a Big and Tall store looking for XXLs and XXXLs. Eric reminded me: 300 pounds would be in my near future. My whole attitude towards the gym and towards my body had changed. I was just meant to be the biggest dude in the room. I wanted to be the biggest man anywhere. I wanted to be strong as fuck, and big as a barn. My ass didn’t fit in the 40s anymore, so I went up to 42s, and bought some 44s, just in case. Growth is intoxicating, and the longer it continues the more you want it to continue. The more I wanted to be huge, the only problem was, and I told Eric this, was that I was nervous about what friends or family would say about my new size. What if they were concerned and told me to stop getting bigger? I didn’t know what to think. But I guess what was remarkable was how soon that worry disappeared too. After a few days, I *wanted* everyone to know how big a man I was now, how strong and how powerfully built. If someone told me I was getting too big, that’d be a compliment, telling me to keep going. Eric agreed. I really wanted Jonas to see how big I was getting, but I decided I should wait a few more weeks until I broke 300. Two weeks and almost 130 meals later, I hit it. Granted I was stuffed from the buffet I had gone to with Eric, but I was there. I felt so fucking heavy. The floorboards creaked under my feet now, my feet had widened from the increasing weight and my shoes no longer fit correctly. I looked absolutely massive. My shoulders looked twice as wide as they had been two months ago, and my arms had broken 21 inches around. My chest was thick, heavy looking, and rested just above my big round musclegut. I loved my musclegut, furry, round, thick. It was a source of pride. A big strong man’s gotta have a big manly gut too, right? __________ My life was starting to become somewhat more normal. I got a job at a nearby gym. I let my beard grow out longer. Everywhere I went I felt like I was looked at like a freak. At my size, I understand why, but this kept me from wanting to leave the house. It was Jaime, the gym owner, who treated me normally, who encouraged me, who let me feel comfortable in my own skin. He didn’t make constant references to my size, he didn’t stare at me. He treated me like a regular employee. I quickly became known as “hulk” or by the other employees and even some gym members, but Jaime always called me by Jonas. And I loved his gym, it actually had weights I could use. Not many gyms have 180, 190 or 200 pound dumbbells, but his did. And he was easy to talk to. As a big guy himself, he didn’t make me feel like a freak at all. My arms might have broken 25” but Jaime still found a gym shirt to fit me. Piece by piece, my life was regaining some normalcy. I was still lifting seriously, still eating 7 times a day, but I wasn’t a shut in anymore. I was talking to people. Maybe getting stared at, but at least it felt good to be out. And actually, I was starting to like my size. I was a freak, sure, but a lot of guys were actually envious of my size. 360 pounds of offseason but defined mass. How many men have ever reached this size? And I was maintaining is, seemingly effortlessly. Sure, I was a hulk, sure I’m huge, but I’m Jonas the hulk, and I had a life and people to talk to. I got along well with the other employees, many of whom seemed eager to know about how I had gotten so big. I woke up to the doorbell. It was 8:00am. I Looked out from the curtain and saw a massive burly bearded man I didn’t recognize. It wasn’t former Master Eric, or one of his friends, so who was this? When I opened the door the heavily bearded face that greeted me was suddenly recognized. “Kurt?!” I exclaimed. It was hard to believe that this beefy, thick bear of a man in front of me was that skinny journalist I had let into my house months ago. “Hi Jonas. How do I look?” he asked. Kurt had a meal in tupperware in his hands, with a fork in it, and another, I presume, in his backpack. “I’ve done some… growing.” he continued. Kurts face was much fuller, heavily bearded and his neck had thickened incredibly. Thick tufts of hair escaped from under his tight collar. Like what had happened to me, the Eric’s concoction had caused him to grow hair everywhere. His traps seemed to rise up nearly to his ears, and his whole frame looked so bulky, like a strongman competitor or a powerlifter. “I broke 300 pounds big guy.” he said, beaming “and I’m not stopping. I’m gonna be bigger than you soon!” I shook my head. This was all Eric’s programming talking. Not the skinny little reporter I was interviewed by. That previous Kurt hadn’t ever been able to understand the desire to grow, he didn’t have any drive or want for it. T I let Kurt in and stared at him. Eric’s handiwork really was impressive, and undeniably effective. He hadn’t lied on the phone. Kurt was enormous. An impossibly blimped out, bulked up powerlifter in the spot where a nerdy reporter used to stand. Part of me couldn’t believe that the massive bearded man in front of me was Kurt, but that familiar smile gave it away. “You look bigger too, I see” Kurt continued. I had done some growing since I had last seen him, but was pretty much sitting stable at 360 lbs. Granted I knew how massive that was, I had no illusions about it, but I hadn’t put on any more size in the last month. And I was thankful my growth had subsided. Life at over 350 lbs gets surprisingly more difficult. From bus seats, to doorways, to simply maneuvering around other people on the street. Now that I was going outside and working at a gym, I was having to get used to a world built too small for me. “So I just wanted to come over and say hello, since it’s been awhile” Kurt said “and I wanted to tell you that I’ve found my calling. I’m gonna grow huge just like you.” “Kurt” I began “You have to understand, Eric isn’t who you think he is, this desire to constantly eat and get bigger, this isn’t you. You didn’t used to want this” I said in an exasperated tone, gesturing to his bulky physique. “Well. I do now, I want to be massive, and I’m gonna get so big that you’re gonna look like a shrimp next to me.” He puffed out his beefy chest for emphasis. I sort of went slack-jawed at this comment . “...Eric told me you’d be jealous.” he continued. “And I don’t have to listen to you”. For the next fifteen minutes I tried to tell him about master Eric, I tried to tell him about the cocktail of drugs he’s been doped up on and how they were making him easily manipulated and suggestible. I tried to tell him everything I knew, and everything I had realized since leaving Eric several months prior. Kurt didn’t listen, of course, and stormed off after my comments made him angry. He shook the place with his heavy footfalls when he stomped off, just reminding me of what a Only a few minutes later I received a second knock on the door. For a former shut-in, this was far more guests than I was used to in a week, much less one morning. It was my boss at the gym, Jaime, a big powerful muscle bear in his own right. I had only been working there for a month, so I was puzzled as to why he had come to my house (or looked up my address..) “Listen” he said firmly “I know Eric, and I know what he did to you... and that Kurt kid. I know, because I was the first guy he experimented on.” My mouth went slack for the second time that morning. “Eric has gone too far, and I’m going to shut him down. I just need your help”

Ok, so after almost two years I decided to finally finish this story off. One of the things I don't like about MG fiction is how repetitive it can be, in that there is rarely any real conflict, drama, and it just seems like guys grow and then are turned on by it. I've read a lot of stories like that, and I wanted something different, something darker and more dramatic. I'm not sure if the fiction actually loses its appeal or "fappiness" by doing this, but I hope it's still gets people's imaginations going as it has mine. Here are the last three chapters of my MG drama. ______ Chapter 4 I quit my job with the New Gotham weekly so I could focus more of my time on training and writing. Eric agreed that this would help me really make gains in the gym. I was about 220 lbs the day I called in and quit. I didn’t do it dramatically, but the editors said they were sorry to see me go. I wasn't, I was getting bigger and without having to run around everywhere I could really focus on making the gains I wanted. Truth be told, with Eric around the house all the time I didn’t find myself doing much writing. Aside from hitting the gym, eating and getting my daily shot of “vitamins” (as we jokingly called it),all we did was fuck. He was so into me. He loved how much bulkier I was. Sure I didn’t have really defined abs, but my arms were 18” already. I was getting bigger and I loved it. And so did Eric. We were getting competitive at the gym, which turned him on too. I was benching 225 easily and comfortably. He got me so pumped up for it each day. Our sessions there sometimes went on for two hours. I couldn't get enough of training and eating. It carried into the bedroom too. We fantasized together about my growing mass. He kept telling me how big I was going to get and I couldn't get enough of it. Eric and I spent so much time together, he barely even went to his job. Two weeks after quitting work I was pushing over 230 lbs. Nothing from my old wardrobe fit even in the slightest. Everything was comically small on me now. Even the largest shirts I was so excited to buy a month ago were now tight. I was now on the upper end of L territory. Soon I was benching 275 with ease. It was so fun to push out 10 reps at that weight. A month before I could have barely done 1 rep. Now 10 was a good warmup for 315. Other big guys at the gym were starting to acknowledge me. I was getting the sort of head-nod you get from serious lifters when they recognize another of their own kind. It was intoxicating. I wanted more. I wanted to grow into the biggest guy there. As I said before, I was eating constantly. About every hour I was eating. Without the appetite stimulants I couldn't have done it. Nine actual meals in a day. And boy, was it doing a number on me. By the end of the day my stomach was always barreled out, full and round with food. Everyday I woke up feeling heavier, bulkier, bigger. I was excited to step on the scale and see proof. I loved it, I saw progress happening before my eyes every day. Each curve of muscle on my arms and shoulders became slightly more pronounced each morning. My back was widening, my legs thickening, my pecs filling out. Sure I was starting to get a bit of a belly, and all the food I was packing in just emphasized that, but Eric assured me that it was the muscle growth that was dominating my physique. I was definitely packing on mass. I tried to get in touch with Jonas, but I didn’t hear from him. I figured I was growing even faster than ever. The cycle I was doing was much more effective than I realized steroids could be. Even Eric was baffled by the results. “Get the most out of this cycle, see how big you can get doing it” he kept saying to me. I followed true to that. What a rush. Eric practically had moved in with me and was keeping his eye on me often. He kept pushing the food, even when I forgot. I loved it, I loved his constant pressure to help me grow and become the mass monster I dreamed about. I did notice he seemed more distracted as time went on, as if something was troubling him. He never said what. ____ “Jonas, where have you been man?” Began another voicemail from Kurt the reporter. “Ive gotta tell you, I’ve started doing a cycle and things are really changing in my life these days. I want to meet up!” I turned off my cell phone and slipped it into my pocket. I had new shorts, new shoes, new shirts, all XXXLs and all straining to hold my 360 lbs frame. I knew leaving the house and getting away was good for me mentally, and things were starting to finally become clear. That cocktail of “vitamins” my so-called “master” had put me on, they were like no other cycle of steroids that existed. They were unrelenting in packing on mass, but they didn’t require periods off -cycle and didn't have the side-effects that dbol or testosterone have. Without the drugs in the last two weeks, my hunger had slowed down, and so had my growth. I seemed to have stabilized at the size I was now. Yet I hadn’t lost any of the fullness or strength to speak of. “Master” as he had me call him, was not pleased with me. He would come into my apartment roaring and demanding I get back on my cycle. Even then, when I was with him , I feel this urge to make him proud of me again. I want him to love me again. Ever since I’d pushed back, ever since Kurt told me to take control of my life, I’ve only seemed to make master more upset with me. I love my master. Or at least, part of me does. Part of me also hates even calling him that. When he’d yell and make demands, sometimes I’d just have to think about something else, imagine being somewhere else. I’d remember what it feels like to make my master happy. Then I’d fluctuate back to this confusion and anger towards him for what he had me do, what he did to me. But these thoughts come and go. I’ve been alternating between my will to get out and my desire to be together with him, to be happy, to be obedient. Even as I think about it I find myself going back to that place mentally, I feel myself moving away from it at the same time. As if part of my thoughts weren’t even my own. Like that desire and my obedience wasn’t really part of me, but something master wanted from me that I gave. And I’m not sure why I gave it so willingly. But I have been moving on. Quite literally. My daily walks became more common and I found I loved the fresh air like I had when I done sports. Part of me wanted to travel out and get away to clear my mind, to get away from Master and his domination. Surely enough I had seen so little of him recently. Time passed and I realized I was better off alone. It pained me to be alone, but it gave me space for to think about things I hadn’t thought of in months. I started ignoring Master’s messages, and just ignored his calls. I still hit the gym, I still ate, but now I felt I had all this new free time. I’d call old friends and reconnect, though I didn’t want to meet them yet. I didn’t want the shock of them seeing me. I went out shopping… I thought about getting a job at the gym even. Maybe I could be a gym desk monkey, something to do and pass the time to make a little money. The messages from master continued to roll in as time passed. It pained me to realize this, but when I got an angry messages from Master about Kurt, it confirmed my suspicions. One in particular came in one day, it left me speechless: “I know what you two did together, and I’m not going to let Kurt get away with his infidelity to his new master. If you think you’re big now, wait until you see what I’m going to do to your reporter friend! He’s on dosages twice of what you were on, and he’s going to blimp out so big he’ll barely be able to walk by the time I’m done!” This shook me. I wanted to warn Kurt, I tried to call him, but I didn’t get an answer. We were just guinea pigs to master. I had known there was one before me too, I’m not sure what had happened to him. Master never spoke of his sub before me. But it was clear, he just wanted to see how massive his subs could get from his drugs. He must have felt like he had free reign to do whatever he wanted to us. I just wanted Kurt to come see me again, so I could tell him about my new freedom and what his master was doing. I wanted to see him so I could get him from getting any more tangled up in all this. I wrote to him again via email, something I had so rarely done in the last year. But no response came for another week. Finally I got an email: “Jonas, I got your voicemail. I’m doing so great right now, you wouldn’t believe how fast I’m growing these days. All I do is eat, lift and grow. It’s like a dream come true right now. Eric and I moved into his place and he’s totally pushing me at the gym. I’m stronger than him now! We should definitely meet up, maybe next week?” It was official. I had been replaced. He had his new sub, and he was going to turn Kurt into a monster without Kurt even realizing it.

Chapter 3--- I guess I like drama. ___________________________ I had played soccer all through high school and volleyball and tennis in college. After graduating and moving into New York I did kickball, bowling and softball. All those sports were with the gay leagues.I guess I have to admit I have a bit of a competitive streak in me, because I’ve always been pretty strong at sports. So pretty much all my life I have been in shape. Skinny, but in shape. Before I started lifting seriously I was about 165 lbs or so. And I had lifted on and off for years to supplement my workouts on the field. I knew what to do, but Eric really got me into it. He showed me new lifts I didn’t know anything about. It was awesome to get so much help from an older guy who really knew the ropes. Eric put me onto a 6-day split, with one rest day a week. My routine otherwise was pretty normal. He bought me a special bag to carry my meals with me so I was able to get out and do my reporting for the New Gotham Weekly while still having my meals prepped and ready to eat whenever I needed them. Eric encouraged me to follow my passion- to write. He was so supportive of me. I quit my part time office manager gig. I never cared much for stocking office supplies anyway. I was going to be dedicated to writing, eating and lifting. Those first few weeks were such a rush. I told Eric I wanted to take progress pictures, since I knew I’d be starting a cycle soon. I had it in my head that I could create what Jonas’ master had created in that photo album. That was my idea anyway. So Eric took my “before” pics. After the first week, already feeling the effects of the cycle and all the food, we took a second set of pics. My libido was through the roof and I was eating all the time. The difference was noticeable. I went from 165 at the start of the week to 172 by the end. By my second week all my lifts were going up. It was incredible. Later on that second week I saw some friends of mine out and they commented on my build, saying I looked a little bigger. I got the “You’ve been working out” comment everyone secretly loves getting. I kept fueling my workouts with prepped meals. The first few days I could only get 6 in during the course of the day, but I kept pushing. By the end of the week I was eating 8 prepped meals a day. By the end of the second week it was up to about 9 meals a day, all packed in tupperware and made of variations of past, chicken, rice, quinoa, fish and steak. They really were delicious. I ate them steadily so I never felt too full to keep going. I thought of Jonas and how he was always eating. Inadvertently, I was starting to do the same. The days passed along and I found myself in a new routine. One that centered me around my gym and my kitchen. I still kept up my outings to to local sporting events and with more time to focus on writing my little feature pieces for the New Gotham Weekly were turning out well. I was half tempted to ask for more work from the Weekly, but I decided against making myself too busy. During the first week of training the meal shipments only came in twice a week. By the third week they were coming four times a week, which is what it is like today, only with larger boxes. I stopped going out to the bars, so I think my bar friends missed me a bit, but I saw folks out during lunch. By the third week I was already getting close to 180 lbs. I went out and grabbed lunch with a buddy of mine and he mentioned I looked bigger. My sleeves had gotten tighter on my medium size shirts. I’d have to graduate to larges soon. I’d see friends here and there, and I’d still get reporting done. All the while I was eating constantly and hitting the gym hard. On the day I broke 180 I got a note from Jonas asking for me to meet up with him again. Part of me was excited to show up a full 15 lbs heavier and see if he noticed. He changed the time of my meet up with him and I ended up showing up bright in the morning. This time he answered the door fully clothed, but that didn’t do anything to hide his tremendous bulk. Jonas was larger, I could tell immediately. It had been three weeks and it was visible. His XXXL shirt was straining to hold together. “I’ve taken your advice. I’m trying to get out more.” He said “I finally bought new clothes. I’m up to 340 lbs now.” I became surprisingly excited just hearing that. My ears definitely perked up. “If you don’t mind, I’d like to go for a walk. I’m trying to get outside more. It’s clearing my mind” he said. I agreed, and this massive man sauntered out of the door, slowly walking down the stairs of his apartment. Because of the sheer muscle mass, every movement caused his muscles to visibly flex, even with a shirt and sweatpants. He complained of how his size slowed him down. He couldn’t even run anymore. He tried to demonstrate and to my surprise it was a total turn on. Here was a man whose lats were so enormous that they pushed his gargantuan 25” arms way out to his sides. His shoulders had this permanently rounded bowling-ball appearance. His neck had disappeared into the mounted mass of his bulging trap muscles. His butt was so huge it looked like two basket balls under those sweatpants, with the largest quads you could imagine. Jonas was a total muscle freak. When he started to jog his massive thighs just rolled around each other, fighting for space. His whole body tightly bounced, his arms mobility limited by their size. He probably only got about 10 feet down the sidewalk when he stopped. “I just keep gaining” Jonas said in between heavy breaths. Watching his massive chest rise and fall was downright hypnotic. “It’s getting harder and harder to do this stuff. I think someday you’ll know what this is like” He said I couldn’t quite get what Jonas was trying to say with his last comment, but I tried to respond on the positive side: “Well, you’re built like a tank. I guess that running is something you’ll have to give up. But I bet you’re the strongest man at your gym!” I was clearly in awe of his size and he could tell. “I am. I’ve been the strongest guy for weeks. The weights keep getting easier.” He replied without any sense of pride in his voice. Jonas must have noticed I was bigger. I was still completely dwarfed by this guy, but he must have been able to tell how tight my shirts were getting. But he didn’t say a word about it. We continued our walk around the block and I just found myself getting hard looking at him saunter down the street. I had never been into freaky muscle dudes before, but now suddenly I was really into his size. “I don’t get it. Why you’re so upset about being the biggest strongest guy in the Tri-State area?” I asked “I’d love to be your size.” . “Would you really want to be this big?” He asked sharply, keeping his eyes on the sidewalk in front of him. “Yes I would.” Part of me was surprised by the frankness and confidence of my own response, I guess I really did want it. I wanted to be as big as Jonas. “Well, if you really want to be this size, you will get there.” He replied. I sort of scoffed at his comment. Even with my recent gains, there was no way I could look like that freak for years and years. No matter what cycle Eric put me on. Jonas and I talked for several hours that afternoon. I think we both enjoyed eating and talking together. He said things were becoming clearer to him. He had called his mom and dad and had even reconnected with a few friends over the phone, though they probably didn’t get a glimpse of his new size. I knew how anxious he was to show up at 340 lbs in front of his friends. That afternoon I felt an attraction to Jonas for the first time, but I didn’t dare act on it. I guess I had a thing for troubled muscle freak types. It would be several more weeks before I’d see him again. I went back to my routine that I had built for myself, Eric and I kept getting closer and closer, physically and emotionally. I hadn’t considered him a potential boyfriend when we first met, but now with all the time we spent together something was starting to take off between us. I guess he sort of became my man. And I became his man. And thank god, I needed someone to take my raging libido out on. Eric was the handsome muscle daddy I needed. Eric also continued, at my behest, to take my photographs. I wanted that photo album like Jonas had. Soon I broke 190. It was a rush seeing the numbers go up on the scale every day, and soon after I hit 190 I started getting more attention. It was noticeable. Guys at the gay rugby matches I watched were suddenly asking me about when I was going to join their team. 190 lbs didn’t feel much different, my clothes were just getting small, but otherwise I didn’t feel big. But suddenly I was casually being called “big guy” and getting a lot of comments from friends. The photos showed some undeniable changes too. I was bulking up fast. I was getting broader and more muscular, no doubt about it, and I had the start of a big off the off-season look going for me. The day I benched 185 for 10 I felt good about myself. I remember that. I was able to go up to 205 without much difficulty either. Eric bought me some XL shirts for me to “grow into”. He was always helping me, he did the injections too. I told him he should try this cycle himself, but he told me he’d rather see me grow. And I was happy to grow for him. It was clear my size gains were turning him on. We ever had a little celebration the day I broke 200 lbs. He was getting really turned on by my body and I loved it. Never before had I felt so sexy. Each pound was an exciting conquest. Each pound that seemed almost effortlessly pile onto my frame. Every day brought more visible progress. I found myself looking and flexing in front of the mirror more and more often.. I loved how my shirts were getting tighter on my arms and how much meatier I felt. The stronger I got the more I wanted, too. I was starting to get competitive with Eric. I figured it wouldn’t be long before I caught up to his 275 lbs bench. My eating didn’t slow down for a second. I just kept pounding that food day in and day out, ‘round the clock. It felt so satisfying too. It was making me into a new man, a huge man. The kind of freak I wanted to become. When I hit 210 lbs I started to feel big. I felt bulky. My stride was changing. People didn’t even recognize me. My face had filled out a little and I decided to grow a beard, so that was understandable. I wanted to see Jonas. Ever since that last encounter with him I had become so turned on by the idea of being as large as he was. Now I wanted him to see me again, obviously bigger and on track to get so, so much larger. When I did see him a week later I tipped the scales at 215. I was loving every minute of it. Then he opened the door and I saw that massive shirtless frame of his completely filling the doorframe. His eyes met mine and we both looked at each other with some surprise. He was enormous, hairy and oozing testosterone. He was nearly 360lbs now he said. Inhumanly massive. I was so overcome with lust that I just threw myself at him. He didn’t even push away. I found myself running my hands over his gargantuan arms and heavy, massively rounded, furry chest. I grasped and my hands over every corner of that hypermasculinized body, every muscular curve and bulge that I could reach. There was just so much of him. I don’t know how else to describe it. Just so much man pressed against me. To see and feel so much muscle flexing over me and under me. When he sprawled across his queen size bed he practically took up the whole thing. I was just on top of him, feeling his bulk while our lips were locked. His dick was so large and despite all the gear he was on and had been on for over a year, his balls were enormous. Must have been some good stuff he was cycling, I thought. Jonas was too big to do anything but jerk off. How could we do anything else? Maybe if I were his size we would be able to do more. But it was an incredible rush. It was like living out some sex fantasy I hadn’t known I had. This overgrown, roid-blimped bodybuilder who was totally into me, flexing his 25”+ arms while he jerked himself off... His huge hairy pecs bulging with each motion. Fuck, thinking about that session still gets me hard. I fell asleep on top of him. I couldn’t get enough. I wanted to cuddle but he was too big to be little spoon. We even tried. I could barely get my arms around his gigantic back. My hand only made it as far as the side of his left chest and his arm was so heavy, as it rested on mine, it put it asleep after only a minute. He was just so big. I asked Jonas if his master would be ok with what we did. He didn’t really know. He figured his master had put the two of us into contact so he might have expected us to fool around. But Master, he said, was a temperamental man. Jonas went on to mention that things were starting to get clearer in his mind since the last time we had met up. He said he felt like the urges he had to lift and eat weren’t even his own anymore. Big changes were going to happen between him and his master, he felt. He said he knew he could use his size to get his way if he wanted, and he admitted that this really was a benefit to being as massive and strong as he was. He even hinted that he was getting tired of taking orders from his master. I thought about that for a minute and contemplated the nature of their relationship. Here was a submissive partner who could so completely physically overpower anyone. I for one wouldn’t want to be that "master" who got on Jonas’ final nerves. When I got home later that night Eric was stomping around the house, furious about something. What he was so mad about he didn't say. He refused to talk about it. All he did was eat and snap at me. I gave him some space. I wondered if he knew about Jonas and our dalliance? No, I had never told him about Jonas, there would be no way for him to know.

Chapter 2 ____ When Jonas greeted me at his door he was again shirtless, hairy with a fork in hand. In fact he looked noticeably bigger. Something about the width of his tremendous shoulders, or his massive traps. His pecs looked so heavy and his rounded, hairy muscle gut barreled outwards He looked even more imposing than a week ago. Standing in front of me was a muscle freak in the farthest depths of the offseason. He must have noticed my astonishment. Between bites from a meal prepped in a Tupperware container Jonas simply said: “I grew”. “Damn! I can tell” Jonas' bowling ball shoulders bulged and flexed as he moved and shifted his weight. “I’m up another 10 lbs this week. I’m over 320 lbs right now.” I couldn’t tell if he was bragging or complaining. He turned around and opened the door to invite me in. He was wearing jumbo sized sweatpants that clung tightly to his massive muscled ass. I couldn’t help but stare at his huge legs either. He ushered me into his dimly lit apartment, and aside from the two foot tall pile of used tupperware, his place actually looked pretty neat. I sat down at the little round table from the week before. It looked like my chair hadn’t moved. I made some offhand comment about the tidying up and he responded. “My… master had a cleaning lady in.” He said “He didn’t like how dirty it was getting.” Master. So that's what this kind of relationship was. He had some sugar daddy funding his bodybuilding. That explained so much. “So tell me a little bit more about your master. He’s the guy who’s getting your food delivered, right?” The big man nodded. “He’s the one who’s making me like this.” Jonas casually flexed his massive bicep, which had to be at least 23” around. I found myself gawking again. God he looked enormous. Everything on his physique was so massive and bloated with muscle. “He knows I don’t want to be any bigger. He knows I want to stop growing” Jonas began “But he doesn’t care. It turns him on to watch me outgrow my clothes, to see me grow.” “So you just keep eating” I said. “I told you before” he said between mouthfuls. “This isn’t a choice.” I tried to figure out what angle I could use on this story. “Man Hypnotizes Young Gay man in a Master/Muscle Slave Relationship”. I mused the idea of how my sports column could be stretched to cover this. “Master/Slave Bonding leads to Heavyweight Bodybuilding” “So can I meet this master of yours?” I asked. “You will. But he’s not here yet.” Something about his tone sounded slightly ominous. “How much are you eating every day?” I asked “I have no idea. I don’t do it consciously. It’s just happening. And My fridge is so full that master got me a second one several months ago” He replied. I found myself still staring as his bulging body as he spoke. The largest man I’d ever seen had actually gotten visibly larger in a week. “I’m sorry, you said you gained ten pounds in a week?” “Yes, and it's been like this for several weeks. I’ve been growing like this for the last month. Before that I was gaining at a slower rate. Master has me on something new, something experimental. He says there's no limit to how big I’ll get now.” He had a solemn look about him. “He takes care of me, but this is what he wants. I never dreamed I’d end up like this.” “Why not try and get out of it?” I asked. “Get out of it? like No, I can’t, I’ll never escape master. I don’t want to.” Jonas replied “Well, what if you just get outside more instead? Being inside all day can’t be healthy.” I realized I was probably one of this man’s only current connections to the outside world. “I used to have a life.” Jonas continued “ I used to have hobbies, you now. Now that's all gone. All I do is eat and lift and sleep. I don’t have time for anything else. And I don’t want people I know seeing me like this.” He sounded as if he was completely ashamed of his new size. “Jonas, they’re going to have to see you at some point. You can’t hide from your friends and family forever. Are you scared of what they’ll say?” I asked. “I know what they’ll say. They’ll freak out. They’ll say they don’t recognize me. And I’m sure it’s true. Sometimes I don’t even recognize myself. I’m too big and they’ll remind me. I don’t want to see anyone who knew me smaller than this” He voice dropped and grew more somber “I had to switch gyms several months ago because I felt uncomfortable getting so big around the regulars who knew me. Last month I saw an ex of mine on the way to my new gym. I tried to ignore him, but I know he saw me. I saw the look on his face.” “So it really bothers you to have people see you like this, and makes you self conscious?” I asked, perplexed by the cognitive dissonance that must have been going through his mind. “Like you wouldn’t believe. Like I told you, at first it was great, but after I started getting big it became too much and I wanted it to stop.” “But you’ve continued the injections, and this insane eating habit.” I said, gesturing at the foot he was still stuffing into his mouth. Jonas frowned. He was troubled. “How many times do I have to tell you? This is not my choice.” Jonas said in an exasperated tone. “I have no power over this” He again paused for a second and looked down at his feet.“Maybe someday you’ll get it... “ There was silence for a moment. before he lifted his head. “I want to show you something.” The massive overfed weightlifter sauntered over to his laptop and brought it to me. Suddenly he was avoiding eye contact with me when he spoke. “These are the progress pics master takes. I thought you’d like to see them.” Jonas said He set the laptop on the table in front of me. Sure enough there was an entire photo album of progress pictures. The first one I saw showed a side by side comparison in four panels of his growth. The first picture showed a muscular looking Jonas who looked far smaller than his current state. “220 lbs” it read. The next pic showed him at 250 lbs and he had definitely filled out into the size of a heavyweight bodybuilder. His arms, shoulders, pecs had all noticeably grown in the photos.The third panel photo showed him at 280 lbs, looking massive, bulked up way into offseason size, with his rounded thick midsection, bloated heavy muscles and incredibly thick pecs. The fourth picture showed him in about his current state, labeled 315 lbs. His overgrown physique was practically too large for the photo. “This is 7 months difference” Jonas said. “ The third pic was just last month. I’m gaining faster than ever. Master has started a new routine of injections. They’re making be blimp up. I’m getting way too huge. I can’t even move around right anymore. I’m getting too chunky too.” He said in a sad voice, patting his furry muscle belly for effect. “But I can’t stop. “ I was blown away by the gallery of photos. There were more of them, taken from the side, taken from behind, all with the same lighting and the same background. These were all meticulously photographed and put together. And it was insane to look at. You could see every how the mass had just piled onto his from in the last months. I couldn't help but get a little turned on looking at this transformation on the screen. He had gone from looking like a gym bro to an overroided monster in a record breaking time. “How often does he take these?” I asked “Master takes them twice a week. You can see them all there.” There was a little video composite of 58 photos. I watched the video and my boner sprang to life. I can’t ever recall being turned on by something like that before, but it definitely pushed some button. Just seeing his arms and chest and shoulders swell and grow with each photo…. I was I watching Jonas morph on screen from 220 to his present size. “He took the most recent photos last night.” Jonas said. I lost track of time while I was looking at his photos. I kept replaying the video. Jonas just kept eating away in the kitchen while I preoccupied myself with this gallery of photos. I don’t know how long it had been but when I looked up, but I noticed it was almost getting dark. Jonas was nowhere to be seen. When I finally called out his name I heard the floorboards creak in the back of his apartment, and then heavy footfalls. He came walking out, as wide as the hallway. “Oh you’re awake” He seemed suddenly embarrassed by his own words. I lifted my groggy head to look up at his massive silhouette. Had I actually dozed off? Either way, It was about time for me to get going. I picked up my things and thanked Jonas again for inviting me over. I still wasn’t sure what he or I got out of our second encounter. Again, I didn’t have anything to work with, nothing to make a story out of, but Jonas seemed determined to have me listen to his story. Maybe the big guy was just lonely, since he had cut everyone else out of his life. I guess I was more than happy to indulge him. I headed out a second time and went to my gym. I guess Jonas inspired me, I hit those weights hard. I was disappointed that I didn’t get to meet Jonas’ master. That was an important component of the story that was missing. He was a shadowy figure- some older muscular man, that’s all I had. Nothing else remarkable happened that evening. I carried the prepped meals that were waiting for me in the hall into my apartment and put them in my fridge. I pulled my brand new half sized fridge inside, it was still in the box it came in. Eric came over a little later and helped me install my new half-sized fridge. I was lucky to have a strong guy like him who could help me out. I didn’t bother bringing up Jonas, but he did tell me about his new routine, and a new cycle I should try. I found myself munching on my prepped meals all night long. And while Eric and I didn’t know many of the same people, we still chit-chatted and gossiped like old friends well into the night.