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      Help contribute, donate via PayPal or join with a monthly Patreon contribution.   01/01/17

      To help raise funds I've introduced a monthly contribution option called Pateron. This service allows you to pledge a monthly contribution plus allows me to offer you some rewards for your contribution. If you have any questions you may PM me. If you'd like to make that contribution please click on the image below:      
    • CMiller

      NEWS: Discord Server & Clubs (aka Groups) are back!   08/19/17

      Hello everyone I'm back with a couple big updates! Firstly we now have a Discord server, this is a real-time chat messaging client you can run on your phone, desktop, or anywhere. It's a pretty powerful desktop application that enables people to chat together, and with multiple channels you can find people interested in what you're interested in. If you don't already have a Discord account it's pretty easy to get one, just click the following invite link to get started: https://discord.gg/Ahzu9jC Secondly I'm proud to announce the return of Groups, it's been renamed to Clubs and is now available here: https://muscle-growth.org/clubs/. This system is entirely user generated and allows users to create groups of their own based on any subject they want. Go ahead and try it now, visit the link above to get started if you want to create or join a group!   As always thank you to all of our donators and Patreon contributors who keep the forums going! 

arpeejay

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arpeejay last won the day on April 11

arpeejay had the most liked content!

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About arpeejay

  • Rank
    2500+ Posts
  • Birthday 04/11/1958

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  • Website URL
    www.facebook.com/profile.php?id=100014526707233

Profile

  • Location
    Fishers, IN
  • This profile is a...
    real profile.
  • Gender
    Male
  • Orientation
    Gay
  • What are your interests?
    Some favorite sayings: (1) There's no such thing as too big! (2) There's nothing sexier than fur on muscle! I love looking at pix and vids of muscular men, especially hairy muscular men (Thom Austin, woo hoo!) I love reading stories about muscle growth, especially ones that are big on description (and stats!)
  • What are your stats?
    5'10 1/2" tall, 215 lbs.
  • What are you seeking?
    Stories, community
  • What are your dream stats?
    6 ft., 400 lbs., 10% bf!
  • Favorite Stories
    Too many to list so I'll stick with "favorite authors," namely: Anything by Londonboy, Jaypat, BBMikeNJ, of course, plus many others!
  • Favorite Bodybuilders
    Now: Martin Kjellstrom, Brandon Beckrich, Big Ramy, Adam Kozyra. Then: Ronnie Coleman, Kevin Levrone, J.-P. Fux. RIP: Sergio Oliva, Nasser el-Sonbaty, Mat Duvall, Ed van Amsterdam, Art Atwood, Mike Matarazzo.
  • Got Any Fetishes?
    There's nothing sexier than fur on muscle. Which isn't really a fetish so much as it is my eye candy preference!

Recent Profile Visitors

14256 profile views
  1. The Show

    Great story! But, c'mon, you ended it THERE?!! More More MORE, dammit!
  2. Muscle Blind

    And, yes, as I have mentioned previously, a million years ago at a place where I was wasting my time and everyone else's money, I had three "almost" roommates (in the fact, the four of us occupied two apartments across the hall from each other) who are loosely based on Bobby, Brandon, and Ryan, all of whom, as far as I know, were resolutely straight, in addition to being pocket-sized jocks. What happened to Roger did NOT happen to me (but a boy can dream, can't he?!)
  3. Muscle Blind

    By Arpeejay “What are we going to do about Bobby?” Ryan Chao looked at Brandon Ishikawa, one of his three roommates. “What do you mean?” Brandon waggled his hands. “You know,” he said. “About the fact that he seems to be totally oblivious to Roger’s, uh, transformation!” Ryan sighed. Bobby Harris and Roger Josephs were their other two roommates. The four shared a freshman suite at Worthington University. “I’m not sure there really is anything we can do about it,” Ryan pointed out. “It’s like he’s unable to see what’s in front of his own eyes.” It was the week before Christmas break. When the four of them arrived in August, they hit it off like a house on fire. All of them were brainy and three of them – Bobby, Ryan and Brandon – were jocks. Well, keep in mind that as jocks went, they were a bit on the skimpy side. Bobby, at 5’8 and 180 lbs., mostly muscle with a little bit of summer cushion, was far and away the biggest of the four of them. He had wrestled in high school in Tennessee, was over it now, and was thinking about joining the club rugby team. Ryan, at 5’8 and a meager 130 lbs., had run track in high school in Santa Barbara. Brandon was just about as skimpy, although at 5’6 his 130 lbs. seemed a bit more compact. He had been on his high school swim team in Maryland. At 5’11, Roger was the tallest of the four of them and at 160 lbs. he was the second largest, after Bobby. But he had the muscle tone of a wet noodle and was upfront from the get go that he didn’t know how to throw or catch…anything! “Baseball, football, basketball, I don’t know how to do it,” he said. Brandon had started to tell him that you don’t actually throw or catch a basketball but a glance from Ryan quelled him. “But I want to start lifting, you know? I wouldn’t mind growing some muscles,” he said. “You know the saying: No pecs, no sex!” Aside from Bobby, it was pretty painfully clear that the three of them were virgins, so Ryan and Brandon just nodded their heads. “So, Bobby, you can show me around the weight room?” Bobby waved the suggestion away. “There’s this girl I want to ask out,” he said, vaguely. “Check YouTube. You’ll figure it out.” That was the better part of four months ago and, miracle of miracles, Roger, the geekiest of nerds (or was he the nerdiest of geeks), had indeed figured it out. Ryan and Brandon had been equally eager to beef up and each had managed to add 10 lbs. of muscle, really quite an achievement for guys their size! Roger, on the other hand, had slabbed on 60 lbs. of solid muscle. Standing next to Roger’s 5’11 and 220 lbs. of sculpted beef, Ryan and Brandon felt like little kids. The big doofus had a ripped 8-pack like you wouldn’t believe, a monster set of pecs pushing 50 inches, and, to top it all off, a pair of 19 ½ biceps that Roger never had any hesitation showing off, even in the middle of December. Meanwhile, Bobby, free after four years of needing to make weight, had trimmed down to ripped 160 lbs. If it wasn’t cardio or calisthenics, he wasn’t interested. He hadn’t set foot in the weight room all semester. But whenever Brandon or Ryan remarked on Roger’s remarkable growth, Bobby’s response was underwhelming, to say the least. “Glad he’s going to the gym,” he’d say. “Maybe he’ll beef up.” Brandon would look at Ryan, Ryan would look at Brandon. “Maybe he’ll beef up?” “Yeah, that’s what I said,” Bobby would add. And then one would follow up. “So, like, you know, he HAS beefed up. You have noticed, right?” Bobby would shrug his naturally broad shoulders. “Yeah, I guess so,” he’d say. “Like you guys. About 10 lbs. a piece, right…” And then Ryan would open his mouth and Brandon would give him the chop. “What he doesn’t know won’t hurt him,” he would say. And Ryan would just shake his head. “I don’t get it.” +++ Each of them went away to Tennessee, California, Maryland, and Florida respectively. When they came back… “Holy fuck!” Ryan said. “Jesus H. Christ on a Crutch,” Brandon agreed. Over the winter break, Roger had gotten HUGE! In just three weeks, he had gained 15 lbs. of solid muscle. “Check it out,” he said, flexing his freaking gigantic right arm. “I taped these puppies at 21 inches after my last arm workout.” And then Roger proceeded to tell the two of them about his “Christmas Boyfriend,” Chris, who was a 25 y.o. power-lifting bodybuilder. “He’s HUGE,” Roger said, delightedly. “6 feet and 275 lbs. He couldn’t believe how fast I was growing, especially when I told him I wasn’t using gear.” And then he grinned, conspiratorially. “And when I say HUGE, I mean HUGE all over!” Ryan looked at Brandon, Brandon looked at Ryan. “So, uh…” one of them began. “You’re gay?” the other asked. Roger reached and lifted both of them up, one in each arm “Oh, God, Yes!” he said. “Wasn’t it obvious from the beginning?” The two much smaller, very thoroughly straight roommates, looked at each other one more time. “Put us down!” They were panting for breath after Roger did so. It was clear the big lunk could have held them up there all day. “Well, cool,” Ryan said. “It’s glad you finally figured it out,” Brandon agreed. “We thought it might be the case,” Ryan continued. “But I’m not one to make assumptions,” Brandon proclaimed. “Ditto,” Ryan said. Just then, Bobby walked in, covered in snow. “Surprise! I’m BACK!” Roger squeezed Bobby up in a big bear hug and twirled him around. “Happy New Year, Bobby!” he exclaimed. “I’m GAY!” He dropped Bobby to the ground without being asked to do so. “I knew that,” Bobby said. His three roommates responded as one. “You did?!!” Bobby ran his hands through his shoulder length hair. He had been growing it out since the start of school in August. “Sure,” he said. “Didn’t everyone? It’s easy. You just look at who a guy is looking at. If he looks at girls, he’s straight. If he looks at guys, he’s gay. If he looks at both of them equally, he’s probably bi.” Ryan and Brandon looked at each other. “Did you notice anything else?” they asked. “About what?” Bobby replied. “Roger!!” Bobby rubbed his chin. “He got a new haircut,” he said. “I noticed that.” Brandon and Ryan just rolled their eyes. +++ And that set the tone for the spring semester. Bobby had one girlfriend after another and tended to disappear for at least part if not all of the weekend. He refused to set foot in the gym and yet he remained a rock solid, totally ripped 160 lbs., week in and week out. Roger had one boyfriend after another and tended to disappear for at least part if not all of the weekend. And when he wasn’t in class or studying or pursuing yet another boyfriend, he was in the gym or the dining hall, growing. Every weekend, the other two roommates, in between studying and hitting the gym and eating in the dining hall with Roger and Bobby, talked about it. “I think he’s Muscle Blind,” Brandon said, finally. “Muscle what?!” Ryan asked. “Muscle Blind,” Brandon repeated. “You know. Like being Snow Blind on the ski slopes. Or being Night Blind. You can see just fine until a car’s headlights come along and then your cones or rods or whatever don’t respond quickly enough and run off the road and you crash and die.” For an engineering student, Brandon had quite a vivid imagination. “And we’re talking about…?” Brandon snorted. “Bobby obviously!” he replied. “For whatever reason, he can’t see that Roger has grown improbably huge muscles at an improbable rate.” Ryan pondered that. It was true. Every few weeks, one or the other of them would ask and once again Bobby would say something like “Glad to see he’s progressing, he’s gained what, another 5 lbs.?” When, in fact, Roger would have gained something like 20 lbs. of rock solid muscle, all of it in the right places. For whatever reason, Bobby didn't seem to have any problem noticing THEIR progress. Over the course of the semester, they'd each packed on another 10 lbs. of muscle in all the right places. At 5'6 and 5'8 respectively, they were each a ripped 150 lbs. They looked damned good and the ladies were starting to take notice. But as far as they could tell, Bobby was completely oblivious to the near daily changes Roger was experiencing. On occasion, they would broach the subject with Roger, who just laughed. “I might have big tits now,” he said. “And a fucking squat butt, too. But it’s the wrong kind of tits and ass as far as Bobby is concerned!” +++ The week before spring semester was over, Brandon decided he had had enough and it was time to tackle this issue scientifically. He told his plan to Ryan, who agreed enthusiastically, and Roger, who was reluctant but willing. By this time, Roger tipped this scales at a mind-boggling 280 lbs. of rock-solid muscle. Fully pumped his arms measured 24 ½ inches, his chest was pushing 60 inches, and his quads were up to 33 inches – same size as his waist. The week before Ryan and Brandon had happened to be in the gym when Roger had benched 800 lbs. – for reps! He was recognized by campus coaches and athletes as the strongest man on campus. Bobby, for his part, when pressed, said he thought Roger was “probably up over 200 lbs. now. He’s worked so hard!” That night, once they were back in their suite, Brandon announced that he needed to conduct an experiment for his engineering class and that he wanted Bobby and Roger to take part. “It’s a really simple test,” he said. “I want to determine whether a person, just using their sense of touch, can accurately assess the dimensions of an object.” Bobby nodded. “Okay,” he said. “What do I have to do?” Brandon handed his a bandana. “You, Bobby, are going to wear this bandana and then, just using your sense of touch, you’re going to run your hands over the object and tell me how big you think it is,” he said. Ryan tied the bandana tightly across Bobby’s eyes. “And Roger here is going to be the object,” Brandon continued. Bobby laughed. “Roger are you sure you’re up for this?” he asked. “I don’t want you to get, you know, all excited or something.” Roger rolled his eyes. “I’ll try to keep it under control, Stud.” Brandon cleared his throat. “Let’s start with the two of you standing, face to face,” he said. “Roger has his shirt off. Bobby, I’m going to put your hands at the base of Roger’s neck and then I want you tell me how wide Roger’s shoulders are.” Bobby emitted a small gasp when Brandon put his hands on top of Roger’s massive pecs. Slowly he started moving his hands outwards…and outwards…and outwards. “Holy Shit!” Bobby exclaimed. “When did you get to be so fucking broad, Roger?!” Brandon looked at Ryan, Ryan looked at Brandon. They nodded. “And how wide would you say his shoulders are?” Bobby shook his head. “Beats the fuck out of me,” he said, somewhat breathless. “About twice as wide as mine, as far as I can tell!” Roger smirked, then flexed his right arm. “Next I want you to describe his upper arm,” Brandon continued. Bobby’s hands trembled slightly as Ryan guided them to Roger’s cannon. “Jesus Fucking Christ,” Bobby exclaimed. “This monster is bigger than my thigh!” Brandon moved Bobby’s hand to the crevasse between Roger’s planetoid-sized pecs. “Get outta here,” Bobby breathed. “That crack must be five inches deep!” By the time they finished with Roger’s lats, traps, delts, serratus, and abs, Bobby was breathing heavily. He was sweating. “I think the lower half needs to happen in private,” Roger said, scooping Bobby up in his arms like a bag of feathers. He walked off towards the room he shared with Ryan, closing the door behind him. A few moments later: “Holy Mother of God!” Bobby’s muffled voice drifted through the not-so-well-insulated door. Brandon started towards it but Ryan grabbed his arm. More sounds emanated from the room. “It’s so fucking big!” Mumble mumble mumble “You like that?” Mumble mumble mumble “I thought you’d never ask.” Brandon looked at Ryan. “Uh, did I miss something?” Ryan examined his nails. “Turns out Bobby wasn’t the only one experiencing psychosomatic blindness,” he said, finally. “Remember what Bobby said about ‘looking at who a guy looks at…?’” Brandon nodded his head. “But he never looked at Roger!” Brandon exclaimed. The sounds from the room were getting, well, heated was probably the right word. Volcanic might have been another word. “But he never looked at all those girls he dated either, did he?” Brandon started to protest, then stopped. “Uh, you mean all those sporty girls with short spiky haircuts who could drink either of us under the table?” Ryan aimed his finger at Brandon. “Ka-Pow,” he said. “Pardner, I think you finally get it!” The sounds coming from the room were beginning to reach a fever pitch. “I still don't understand how he couldn't see what was right there in front of his nose, but fuck it -- they seem to have figured it out,” Brandon said, sighing deeply. “Man, I think I could really use a beer. You wanna hit the pub?” Ryan punched his roomie – his straight roomie – on the shoulder. “I thought you’d never ask. Let’s get out of here!” THE END
  4. Gym Confessor

    You can always say: I know this old guy, Richard. He's 60 and he's a wreck. But he coulda been a contenda. You could be a contenda, too! Don't be a Richard!
  5. Muscle-Growth's 2nd Annual Storiversary

    It's for Godofjurai to decide, of course, but I am guessing / hoping / expecting he will be amenable!
  6. My Bodyguard (Epilogue)

    GM, thank you so much for taking the time to explain what you liked about the story. I never quite know where I am going when I set out but it is clear that I grew up on Disney fairy tales: there's almost always going to be a happy ending and the boy almost always is going to get the boy!
  7. Very sorry to hear it!
  8. Albion

    I love it! You have created a new genre! We'll call it: Fun / Dystopia! After Storyversary is over, I hope you will continue it. I would like to see the fascists dragged down. xoxo Richard
  9. Me and Mr. K

    A combination of both but if forced to choose I will take your profile pic every time!
  10. Happy Birthday btw

    1. arpeejay

      arpeejay

      Many thanks for the birthday wishes! They're much appreciated!

  11. Me and Mr. K

    You know I needed another excuse to look at your profile pic, obviously! 😂
  12. Me and Mr. K

    It's missing a period, right? And many thanks for the birthday wishes! They're much appreciated!
  13. Assessing Sixty

    Totally me-me-me and only very tangentially (but importantly, even so) about muscle. A toss-up, as far as I'm concerned, about where to put it. -- rpj I’ve always thought birthdays (more so than New Year’s) were the best time to pause and reflect, assuming one has the time to do so, and that applies doubly for birthdays that end in zero. So here I am sixty years old today. From my point of view, the most noteworthy aspect of my birthday is that I’m still here! Frankly, I really didn’t expect that to be the case. As most of you know, my dad popped off when he was 57, thanks to a dissected aorta (which may or may not have been aggravated by his alcoholism and four-pack-a-day unfiltered cigarette habit.) Ditto, HIS mom, shuffled off the mortal coil at age 56, most likely from the same thing (despite having been a lifelong teetotaler.) I figured my fate would be the same, especially given the fact that I have a long list of medical ailments, including hypertension, high cholesterol and triglycerides, Type 2 Diabetes, and sleep apnea, among others. But 57 came and went and so did 58 and 59. And here I am 60. A couple of months ago I was talking to my therapist about the fact that I get bent out of shape when straight guys (very, very, very rarely) throw their homophobia in my face. “Yes,” I said. “I’m gay and proud to be so. And…” I have spent 15 years with a wonderful man who loves me and takes care of me and very generously supports a life of travel and leisure, great restaurants and endless opportunities to explore botanical gardens, art museums, concert halls, and so forth. I spent seven years with a young man who was regarded as extraordinary, indeed somewhat otherworldly in his ability to take so much delight in the world and those around him, before the Stars in Heaven decided they needed him back to return the glitter and the dazzle to the Milky Way. I have an awesome son and daughter-in-law, an equally spectacular daughter with a handsome, loving, charming and fun sweetie pie of a boyfriend, and quite possibly the best five month old granddaughter that has ever existed (I am just slightly prejudiced on this particular point, I will admit it!) I was privileged to be married to Janet, the mother of my children, for 11 years, and to have known her since we were 15 and 16 respectively. I am sure I married in part because I knew that no children of mine, and I really, really, really wanted to be a daddy, could ever have a better mother. And that I could never have a better friend, something that still holds true today. I fell in love with Janet’s family, too, and Jeremy’s, and Naoyuki’s. J’adore, j’adore, Phyllis, Janet’s mom, who taught me how to be a civilized human being. And, much as I have come to appreciate the things that my dad had to offer as a father, if I had been allowed to choose one of my own, it would have been John Robert Baylis, Jr., my children’s maternal grandfather. Which seems to have been a pattern because, among other things, I don’t how I would have survived the events of July 2001 without being able to lean on Jeremy’s parents, Becky and Ron. Ditto, I was quite frankly terrified of being the parent of adolescents until I met Jocelin, Melissa, and Nick, Jeremy’s younger siblings. Naoyuki’s parents put up with me, and I them, but I think Yoriko, his sister, actually appreciates me. I know I appreciate her! You won’t find a better gal pal in all of Japan! And that doesn’t include a long line but very select line of friends going all the way to early adolescence (Greg Watson, I’m talking about you) and extending right up to today. And then there are beloved family members (hi, Sally, hi, Ginger!) that I have known more or less since I was in my mother’s womb. I was lucky enough to go to some great schools; to work for some great organizations; to do the kind of work I really loved (reporting and librarianship); and to have an impact on the places I worked. That it all ended somewhat prematurely says more about my inability to put up with the stresses of office politics than the field I chose to make my home for the better part of 25 years. Along the way I learned, with varying degrees of success, how to be: (1) the adult child of an alcoholic; (2) a student; (3) a partner; (4) a professional; and (5) a parent. In a recent conversation with Emily Jasper, my darling daughter, I was pleased (but not surprised) to learn that we share a similar opinion regarding what constitutes a “successful human being,” namely someone who acknowledges their problems (and doesn’t deny) them and works at sorting them out, fully realizing that it’s a never-ending process, with setbacks bound to occur along with progress, and the occasional need to just shut down and forget about it all never very far away. And my tendency towards self-deprecation notwithstanding, I’m not knocking my excellent Jasper-Grogan “external appearance” genes. I may be a mess under the hood but I have (more or less) a full head of hair, almost all of which is brown, and even though I have never had the success with weights that I would have liked I can manage to bench one rep for 265 lbs. Definitely not the top of my class, but not bad for 60, not bad at all. “So take THAT, straight guys!” I said. “That’s quite a trophy case,” my therapist said after I gave him the abbreviated run-down of these events. THAT comment struck me as vaguely hysterical given that a “trophy case” is one thing I never thought I would have. Given the anti-sports household in which I grew up, thinking of life events or accomplishments as “trophies” was a total non-starter. But there it is, even so. There are, of course, plenty of things I regret about my life, the two biggest being: First (and only first because it was a goal long before the second came around): Not having devoted over the past 40 years the same time and attention to weight-training that I have managed over the past four months. I don’t think it was in my genes to be an elite competitor but I think I could have been a solid, well-muscled 250 lbs. if I’d gotten my ducks in a row. Second: The decision Jeremy and I made to leave Atlanta for Houston in 1999, when David was 12 and Emily was 10. We were both itching for career changes and we thought that, if we played our cards right, being a plane ride away wouldn’t be that big a deal. We were wrong and I’m sorry for that. On the other hand, I’m not remotely sorry for where my life has taken me since then, most specifically to Naoyuki, and that would not have occurred if we had stayed in Atlanta. If it all ends tomorrow, it will have been a fine life. And if I unexpectedly hang in for another decade or so, all the better. There’s a song (“Drive” by Incubus) that was popular in 2000-2001, about the time Jeremy died. It has refrain that since I first heard it has summed up my stance on this crazy thing called life, and will continue to be my mantra until I take my last breath: Whatever tomorrow brings I'll be there with open arms and open eyes Whatever tomorrow brings I'll be there, I'll be there
  14. Happy birthday. 🎂

    1. arpeejay

      arpeejay

      Many thanks!

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