Hello all. I've been around the forum for some time, and regularly post pictures, but this is my first actual story I've written for the forums. I've chatted on Skype and Discord about freakishly, inhumanly, conditioned bodybuilders and those chats have inspired me to write this (I’ve also posted some of those chat logs here: https://muscle-growth.org/topic/9851-extreme-conditioningfreakishly-lean-chat-logs/)
I’ve decided to write a contest prep journal of sorts. Following the main character from the start of prep at 16 weeks out up to the competition and immediately after (for those unfamiliar with bodybuilding contest prep, 16 weeks is the standard time you diet for to get ready for a show). Since prep usually starts out slow I move through the beginning quickly and become more detailed the closer he gets. In standard muscle fiction style though, this is no ordinary bodybuilder and no ordinary prep as he ends up becoming the leanest, most inhumanly conditioned bodybuilder anyone has ever seen. I hope people enjoy it.
Special thanks to @ShreddedFreaksLoverfor his Jeff stories and the inspiration they have provided, and to all those shred and vascularity lovers I’ve chatted with over the years for the material to draw from. Also thanks to @muscledlust for inspiring me to share some of my rants on conditioning and to all those I've chatted with over the years. The main character’s name is Sven, he’s competed in bodybuilding once before. He also has a day job as an engineer and professor at a university.
16 Weeks Out
Here we go again. It’s been four years since I last competed. My first, last, glorious failure on the stage. Why am I doing this again? After all that pain? After I swore I’d never step on stage again? I get angry just thinking about it. That stupid so called friend and training partner who said he’d help me prep. The feeling of abandonment and disillusionment I felt after the show. Like being kicked by the curb and forgotten.
Why? Who knows. It’s a world I’ve never fit in. Never been “one of the guys”. Perhaps that’s good though. Most the people I’ve meet in this sport are self-centered, shallow, assholes. Maybe it’s better I’ve never quite fit. I was so angry after that show. Angry at him, angry at all the people I knew at that gym, angry at myself. No, angry isn’t right, disappointed. I had serious potential. I could have won. I had been training for years. Obsessed with muscle and bodybuilding ever since I was a little kid.
I remember the first time I saw a bodybuilder, or, at least highly muscular man. Thank god for Soloflex commercials and ESPN. I didn’t even know what I was looking at. All I knew was it was power and masculinity at a level I had never seen. Wearing only a stripped black and yellow spandex singlet, muscles exploding through the fabric. Huge, monstrous, unbelievable muscles. Bowling ball sized biceps, perfectly round and split. A ripped eight pack clearly visible through the fabric. Thighs so big they pushed his legs apart threatening to rip the singlet apart at the seams. Capped with an impossibly massive set of shoulders. So wide and round it looked like he had stuffed football shoulder pads under his skin. Absolute power and strength in human form. I wanted that. I wanted to be that.
I was hooked. Anything with muscle, it didn’t matter what kind. Gymnasts, football players, strongmen, bicyclists (big thighs and calves), exercise videos, workout machine commercials, adds for weight lifting sets in Boys Life, muscular actors on TV, and of course the holy grail, bodybuilding books and magazines (this was before the internet). But always in secret. I knew such interests would not sit well with my family, they wouldn’t understand. I was a geek. A young, awkward, probably slightly aspergers, engineer and band geek from a family of academics. We simply didn’t do football, or weightlifting, or “manly” sports. We cross country skied and ran. I hate running.
In high school, as soon as I was old enough, I started to train, quietly, slowly, under the radar. Some friends and I started lifting at the local YMCA. It was a 45 minute bus ride, one way, and not the most glamorous place. The gym was in the old pool (literally). No windows, all tile walls, no AC. I was in heaven. My friends lasted 3 weeks, I never stopped. Despite being a geek and never playing any sports, I was always strong for me size. I took quite naturally to lifting. I had no trainer, no guide, and relied on books and articles, but I made good progress. The start of the journey from 140 lb band geek to 230 lb wall of muscle that now looks back at me in the mirror. I love training. Being in the gym is home to me. Training your ass off to get bigger and stronger. The mental and physical discipline required. The meticulous diet, every bite engineered not for enjoyment but to fuel and develop your muscles even further. Working harder than anyone else around you and reaping the rewards.
The longer I trained the more I became obsessed not only with muscle, the size and the power, but with conditioning. Seeing a bodybuilder with obscene road map vascularity, razor sharp cuts, paper thin, grotesque skin, and the most magnificent and shocking off all, striated, alien walnut glutes. It all made the muscle all that more intense and primal. The bodybuilder no longer looked human. No longer a mortal man, but now transformed into a being of raw muscle and fiber.
I remember way back when Rich Gaspari freaked everyone out when he walked on stage for the first time with striated glutes. No one had ever seen anything like it before or even imagined it for that matter. It stunned the entire crowd. Now straited glutes are standard, almost required. I love how bodybuilders keep pushing the envelope of what people think the human body is capable of. Evolving into more and more perfected forms. To me the pinnacle of that evolution is conditioning. Zero percent bodyfat, veins covering every inch of skin, cuts so deep you can lose your finger in them, and saran wrap thin transparent skin.
Conditioning is the great equalizer. It doesn't matter if your huge roided up bodybuilder or a men's physique guy, conditioning wins, period. It separates the amateurs from the complete freaks who have taken their sport and dedication to the next level. You could have 50 lb more muscle on you than another guy but if he is peeled to the bone without an ounce of fat or water, he wins. Everyone else on stage looks fat in comparison. That is why I love bodybuilding. The transformation from normal human to inhuman, god like, perfection. Through absolute discipline, an insane work ethic, and relentless effort the pinnacle of the evolution of male physique can be achieved. It’s beautiful because it is so rare and difficult. Only the most dedicated ever get close. Seeing how far it can be taken. Seeing how perfected and absolutely fat, water, and skin free the body can become. Becoming a walking anatomy chart that makes people puke and look away when they see it. To me that is the ultimate goal. Let the mass freaks have their day, I vote for the beyond shredded competitor every time.
I've been around bodybuilding contests and bodybuilders for a long time. It's insane when you see someone in person with that truly contest ready, obscene, level of conditioning. You can't look away. Every movement is like a cascade of alien muscle and fibers. It's unreal. Nothing about the person looks human. Everything on their body is ripped beyond belief, not just the normal bodybuilding muscles. Their face, hands, feet, everything. Not to mention those gorgeous, walnut like, striated glutes. You don't count as ripped in my book unless your ass looks alien and your face has striations.
One of my favorite parts is the face. That sunken in, skinless, skelator diet face you get when you've really achieved anatomy chart status. You can see the jaw muscle fibers and every disgusting cut and insertion on their face. One of the hottest looks I've ever seen. I love the thought of people being able to know you're that ripped just by seeing your face. Fully clothed and you know there’s an inhuman freak underneath, just from one look.
I have fantasies about what being that lean must be like. Walking around knowing no one else around you comes even close to the level of perfection you've achieved. Going to the gym and taking your shirt off in the locker room to change and people just stare in awe and disgust. Not so much a freak as a superior man (which can sound bad, but I don't mean it that way). Knowing that you've developed your physique to a level of size and conditioning most will never approach. Perfected and carved like a masterpiece. Knowing you put in the hard work, diet, and training to obtain the physique you want while most others just dream of it. Seeing how others react when they see what a human body can really look like. What it can achieve, compared to their pathetic, fat, weak bodies. The unwavering discipline that you have that they don't. Ultimate alpha status.
Wearing normal clothes, knowing that under your shirt is the most insane, grotesque, beyond humanly ripped physique anyone has ever seen, or even dreamed of for that matter. Being at work and knowing you’re an absolute freak. Under your shirt is a dry and skinless eight pack, crawling with veins. Your quads are disgusting road maps with inch deep cuts, and your glutes are so shredded you leave ridges in chairs when you sit on them. You eat chicken and broccoli while everyone else eats doughnuts and hot pockets. You fuel your body and goals, never wavering in your discipline, they don’t.
People stare at your face when you walk by, talking behind your back about how "gross" it looks. Your hands covered with hundreds of veins, the skin so thin it gets sucked between each finger. Looking down, lifting up your shirt, and revealing the most grotesque, alien, vein covered abs anyone has ever seen. People around you gasp and stagger back at the sight. It's so unreal, so mutated and alien, people can't even comprehend what they're seeing. You've pushed your body and your conditioning to such an extreme level you no longer even resemble a normal human. The ultimate goal of any bodybuilder, to become so freakish people can't even comprehend what they see. To push what it means to be human to entirely new levels of size, development, and conditioning.
Waking up in the morning and seeing your reflection in the bathroom mirror. Barely even able to recognize yourself. Living your life as a fucking freak. Looking down and seeing this skinless, vein covered mutant. Even touching your own body feels alien. All your hard work reflected in that body. Moving your paper-thin skin around your abs and watching how it forces the veins to move. Flexing your pecs and being able to count the sinews and feel each ridge and valley.
Knowing you want more. Seeing how your skin could be thinner, the sinews in your chest ever deeper. Waking up every morning knowing that your leaner and freakier than the day before. In bed feeling that your abs are that bit tighter, skin that bit thinner, a new vein in your quad. It feels incredible. You can see the transformation before your eyes almost. That pushes to you work even harder. To be even more strict and disciplined. To push it to the next level and then the next. It becomes addicting. Wanting that feeling every morning. Not being able to wait to see what the mirror tells you you've become. What new level of beyond human conditioning you’ve achieved.
I also sometimes wonder if their cocks also get just as freaky and vascular. I love the idea of this shredded as fuck, vein covered, muscular cock to go with that body. So lean even the head has a web of veins popping out. Rock hard, pulsing with garden hose thick veins. The perfected cock for the perfected human body. I think they’d be able to work out their cocks just like they work their muscles. Training them and getting some unreal muscle tissue and development. Bringing the definition of dick skin shreddedness to a whole new level. Crafting this muscular, alien, beast cock. So muscular and strong it can lift weights just like any other muscle. Hold up a man with their cock alone. The true definition of dick skin. Becoming so shredded your entire body is one giant muscular, inhuman, cock of muscle.
My ideal cock would be that. Huge, angry, and just as grotesque as the body of the man who possessed it. You could see it bulging angrily against my shorts, so massive and thick you can see its veins through the fabric. Pulsing with blood and power. Trained and perfected just like my muscles. I'm able to exert absolute control over it, flexing and pumping it like a muscle. Able to make it rock hard on command, leaking pre-cum on command. Fed from my massive freak balls. Trained to produce limitless amounts of pre and cum. My cock able to orgasm over and over without ever getting soft. No limit to what it can do.
Thicker than a beer can and over a foot long hard. Almost a being all its own. Developed to such a point it’s no longer a just a cock but an embodiment of pure muscle and power. Men see it and instantly try and look away but cannot. They stare at it. Massive and red, angry with power and size. An obscene web of veins crawling over the shaft, wrapping around it, feeding its power. The massive bright red pulsing head. So bloated and developed the fibers running along its surface flex and twitch at my command making the head resemble two huge striated pecs. I watch in horror as I flex and turn my cock head into a symphony of striations and cuts. The massive slit running down the middle, endlessly leaking pre like a fountain.
I imagine curling plates with it. The shaft pumping up and flexing growing an even more intense red. It's as if my cock is on fire, burning with uncontainable power and desire. The huge veins explode causing the shaft to transform into an alien roadmap of pulsing, squirming, mountains feeding my cock with more blood, forcing it bigger and bigger. I can see it growing right before my eyes. No longer a remotely human cock, but a grotesque mutation of muscle and testosterone. The true cock of the beyond human, shredded, and skinless god who I’ve become. The ultimate cock for the ultimate physique.
All of this which brings me back to that competition. I was big, 250-260 lb offseaon at that time. Fluffy. I had never competed before, so I had some weight to lose to compete. Like most newer guys size was always more important to me than conditioning. Eat, lift, grow, eat, lift, grow, screw cardio. I had no idea how to prep for a show, so I asked a friend from the gym to help me. Long story short, things went south. My so called friend disappeared 5 weeks before the show, I lost my discipline and motivation, and everything feel apart. I came in soft, I didn’t place well, and I was disappointed and angry. I swore I’d never compete again.
But it’s always there. Always nagging at me. That desire to try again. To do it right. To show all those so-called friends I had had what a freak I could really be. To set the record straight and prove to myself I could do it. I want to wipe the stage with their pathetic physiques. Win the contest without even hitting one pose. And I feel like I could now. I have the support of my new husband, I’m more stable and secure, and I know what I want. So, being an engineer, I went full OCD, turned on research mode, and came up with a plan.
One of my all-time favorite freaks is John Meadows. His conditioning is always fucking unreal. His skin is so dry and thin it's just this grainy, disgusting, paper thin layer holding in an obscene amount of muscles and veins. Just looking at him almost makes you turn in disgust. Cut with veins cover every inch in such number you can barely see anything but vein and muscle. Plus he always touts the most awesome death face and just mutated appearance. Fucking love him. Old man grainy dick skin to an entirely new level. The freaky as fuck thing is that he stays almost that conditioned all year round. It's insane.
I read every book he wrote, every training article I could get my hands on, watched every video. I attended seminars with him and learned all I could about contest prep and how to achieve his inhuman level of conditioning. I did this with other bodybuilders too. Frank McGrath, Dorian Yates, Miha Zupan, Helmut Strebl, Alessandro Galli and Carlton Loth among others. Every shredded to the bone, ripped beyond humanity bodybuilder I could find. I learned all I could.
I also researched penis enhancement and training literature. Not only did I want to bring the most inhumanly shredded physique the world had ever seen to the stage, I wanted the freak muscle cock to go with it. I developed a training plan and drug regiment aimed at turning my modestly sized cock into a grotesque freak of nature. I’ve already started on this part. A year ago, I started pumping my cock religiously. First just the shaft, and then moving to the entire package. It felt incredible. At first, I couldn’t pump it up much, but over time my ligaments loosened and my cock became accustomed to the routine. Now in a marathon session I can pump it to over 10 inches in length, thicker than a beer can, bright red and pulsing with pre-cum. My balls the size of grapefruit. A true monster cock.
I love the feeling of it between my legs. So massive and heavy. The massive mushroom head has become super sensitive and the slit leaks pre almost constantly. I’ve also gained greater control over my cock due to the pumping. My cum volume has markedly increased and I can generate an almost non-stop stream of pre-cum. I can get rock hard on command and my cock is more sensitive than ever. It’s almost like having your cock edged all day. Constant arousal and pleasure. I’m always at least semi-hard. It’s incredible walking around with it pumped, though it took some getting used to. Going to the gym and seeing it bulge through my shorts. Seeing others look, unsure of what they see, unsure if they want to see what they see. The feeling of absolute male power it gives me. Knowing I have a bigger cock than anyone else around. Silly I know, but nothing says alpha male like a giant leaking cock.
But it’s not enough. I don’t just want a big pumped cock, nice as it is. I want a massive, shredded, muscular beast cock. Something so obscene men gag at the sight. Something no longer human. The pumping was just the first stage. Getting it used to being huge, being stretched and pumped. Now it was time to start stage two. I planned to train and supplement my cock just like a muscle. Take its now massive pumped state and transform it into a grotesque muscle cock.
Now contest prep starts. It’s time to get revenge for my past. To set things straight. I want to walk on that stage the most conditioned, most inhumanly shredded freak of nature the world has ever seen. An absolutely skinless, walking anatomy chart, god of muscle without a single ounce of fat, water, or skin on my body. No longer remotely human. I will be the next Rich Gaspari. The next bodybuilder to shock the world with an unimaginable level of conditioning. Something never before seen or even dreamed of.
But that’s not enough. Bodybuilders to this point have neglected their cocks. The perfect bodybuilder would have a cock to match their physique. Hell, some are even ashamed of the bulge in their posing suits. They try to hide it! I will treat it just as any other muscle. I will walk on that stage with a true muscle cock worthy of my perfected, skinless, physique. Bulging obscenely against my poser. The massive shaft and garden hose thick veins clearly visible through the fabric. Leaking an ever growing wet spot of pre. Flexing bigger and harder with every pose I strike. That will be my gift to the world of bodybuilding. Absolute development and perfection of the human body. A new state of masculinity and power.
So that’s the plan. Start prep now, enter the contest, and fucking destroy everyone. I want to win without even hitting a pose. Win just taking off my shirt backstage. Hell, win just by letting them see my grotesque and peeled face. Have people puking and gagging just at the sight of me. Unable to even comprehend the skinless, vein covered, mass of fibers and striations in front of them. Wondering how such a person can even exist and, secretly, wanting it. Seeing their faces drop as they realize the have no chance of winning against the freak I've become. They may as well just quit now and save themselves the embarrassment of standing next to me on stage. Of going through their routine pretending that they could even compare, even begin compete against what I've achieved. Standing in witness to the next evolution of bodybuilding.
It all starts now… To be continued.