So I've written something AJ & Noah/Muscle University related. An idea came to me the other day - what if there was some sort of alternate reality/universe where instead of AJ being the bodybuilder who Noah went to school with and ran into at his local Tesco's it was someone else? So, just for fun, I've re-written chapter 1 of AJ & Noah with one big noticeable difference!
AJ & NOAH (ALTERNATE UNIVERSE)
I slam down the lid of my laptop, sprIng off my bed and open my bedroom door.
Whenever I come back to my parents, I always resort to being a teenager. Wanking off to bodybuilders in my bedroom and shouting at my mother. Often for no, or very little reason.
“I just want to ask you something! There’s no need to shout like that!” my mother says calmly from the bottom of the stairs.
Five or so years ago I wouldn’t have felt any guilt about shouting at my mum for interrupting me watching a video of a flexing, roided muscle bull in my bedroom. Now, I feel like the world’s biggest dick.
“Ooooh, you’re always busy. God knows what you do on that computer!”
Hmmm. Wanking off to videos of bodybuilders on YouTube. Wanking off to pictures of bodybuilders on Instagram. Occasionally chatting to other like minded muscle addicts about wanking off to bodybuilders on Twitter.
My mum asks me to go to Tesco to pick up a few things for dinner because she has to go and visit my nan. I say yes, partly because I feel guilty about snapping at her, but also because doing this favour gives me a reason to leave the house. A sense of purpose, even, for the afternoon, which makes me feel completely pathetic.
The irony is, I had been looking forward to coming back to Little Denton for the summer. But all I've wanted during these first few weeks of my summer break was to be back in London. Why is almost every place inherently more appealing when we’re not actually there?
As I walk into my local Tesco a feeling of dread hits me. I have this weird feeling that I’m gonna bump into someone I know. Which isn’t exactly an unlikely scenario. When I was in sixth form, half of my fucking year worked here, including my best friend Naomi.
Fifteen minutes and no familiar faces later, I’m heading towards the self service checkout and THAT’S when I see him.
Every single secret lover of huge, freaky muscle will be familiar with the incredible rush that comes with seeing a real life bodybuilder in a public setting.
It’s such a surreal and amazing experience. To be walking down the street, or boarding a tube, or even walking down the meat aisle of your local Tesco and suddenly be faced with an excessively built and muscular man. Or even a genuine, bona fide bodybuilder.
Just like the one I’ve suddenly spotted, with his back to me in an extraordinarily tight fitted blue Tesco polo shirt, conversing with a well to do looking elderly woman, who is gawping at the frighteningly muscular lad before her with a look of sheer horror.
Jesus Christ! I can’t stop fucking staring at him. He’s about my height. And looks about my age. He’s got these huge shoulders. A massive back stretching the blue material of his work uniform. Crazy fucking arms. And the arse. Holy FUCK the arse. It’s just ginormous. There’s no other way to describe it. It’s sticking out a mile, barely contained by the material of his extremely tight, black work trousers.
Clean up on aisle three. Someone’s made a mess on the floor. Someone being ME looking at the potential junior competitive bodybuilder. Working right here in my local fucking Tesco. Standing right in front of me. Practically fucking bursting out of his work uniform.
Who the hell is this guy? HOW is there a bodybuilder in Little Denton? How is there a bodybuilder working at fucking Tesco?
As I approach the lad who is surely the beefiest shelf stacker in Tesco’s employment history, I suddenly start to feel nervous. My chest tightens. My stomach clenches. My heart actually starts to beat faster. I am a ridiculous human being.
Once I’ve walked past him, I’ll be able to sneakily turn around to catch a glimpse of him from the front. Even though I can’t really know, I kinda get the sense that he’s good looking. Like, really good looking. I think I hate this guy as much as I’m attracted to him.
But it turns out … I don’t have to wait. Because the downright terrified looking woman he was talking to is walking away, and now, as I’m barely a few metres away from him, the potential competitive junior bodybuilder spins around to face me and oh … my … fucking … GOD.
JESUS FUCKING CHRIST!
How did I not guess it was him? Why did I not think it could be the boy I spent most of my teenage years obsessing over? The only guy in Little Denton who ever came remotely close to looking like the bodybuilders I was turned on by in the muscle magazines Naomi used to buy for me.
Okay - he didn't look like THIS when we were at school together. But he was still pretty jacked even then. He was the only lad in my year who had abs. Like, genuine six pack abs. I used to try and get a glimpse of them in the changing rooms before and after P.E. Everyone used to crowd around him when he was getting changed and comment on how shredded he was and how awesome his six pack was. They used to get him to flex his guns too. Sometimes even in Science class for our teacher Mr (Fantastic Arse) Bentley. And now. Well now he looks like THIS.
“It’s Woody. From school!”
He’s got this fucking smirk on his face (his RIDICULOUSLY handsome face). Like he’s getting a kick out of my reaction. Like he knows.
I nod. “Yeah! I erm … remember you!”
That’s a fucking understatement. I was obsessed! Completely and utterly obsessed with Sebastian “Woody” Wood. He was my Jordan Catalano times a hundred. I used to write our initials in all my notebooks. N.C heart S.W. How fucking embarrassing. I sometimes drew pictures of us too. Not good ones. Just crap little doodles. Me always slim. Him always big and beefy with flexed guns and pecs and six pack abs. Most of the time we’d be holding hands.
Woody shrugs and smirks some more. “Everyone remembers me!”
Cocky bastard. God - not only has he ballooned and fucking morphed into a proper bodybuilder since I last saw him, but (if possible) he’s gotten even more absurdly gorgeous. I’m not kidding. The guy looks like he belongs on the set of a Hollywood film or something. It’s fucking crazy to think I went to school with a guy this huge and handsome.
“What are you up to these days?” he asks, with an eyebrow raised.
“I’m at uni,” I reply, looking at the lucky Tesco name badge sat on his unfathomably thick chest.
Ha! I win, I think. And then immediately I hate myself.
Woody nods and folds his huge arms across his big chest and holy FUCK - his biceps bulge and pop. Is he doing that on PURPOSE?
He narrows his eyes. “Which uni? No - wait - let me guess!”
Still with his arms folded, he purses his lips and looks me up and down. I immediately feel nervous.
“The Montgomery University of Bodybuilding & Fitness!”
Cheeky. Fucking. Bastard.
His face relaxes. And now he's just cheekily grinning at me. Oh my fucking GOD that grin. I feel like I want to melt into the fucking floor.
“Seriously, mate - what uni?”
“Goldsmiths, in London. I’m back home for the summer.”
He nods. God that face. God those arms. God those fucking tits!
“Back in boring Little Denton!” I joke, rolling my eyes.
Woody screws his face up. “How can Little Denton be boring? I live here!”
I raise my eyebrows at him. But I’m smirking, in fucking spite of myself. And now he’s smirking back. And it feels like … bloody hell … a moment. That something’s actually happening between me and the guy from school I spent half of my teenage years obsessing over.
I try not to be obvious, but it’s almost impossible to be in such close proximity to a guy this muscular without my eyes veering south of his face. How on Earth did Tesco manage to find a t-shirt to fit Woody? Not that it does fit. One single most muscular and his tits would probably rip straight through the material. And his arms. Fucking hell those arms. What do these biceps look like flexed, either side of his absurdly handsome face?
Woody didn’t stay at school for the sixth form, so I haven’t seen him for four years. I haven’t even heard about him. No guesses as to what he’s been doing since then. Spending a shit load of time in the gym (probably Scorpio’s - the nearest hellhole hardcore bodybuilding gym), consuming a shit load of calories and probably taking a course of steroids, or two.
Maybe I haven’t won after all. Because he looks like THAT, and I look like, well, me.
“So … this is where you work?” I ask.
Something flickers in Woody’s expression. Fuck! I hope he doesn't think I'm being shady. But then he relaxes his face again like he doesn't care. “This is job number two!”
I nod and bite my lip.
“I also work at the Leisure Centre gym!” he tells me. And then he straightens his back and actually fucking PUFFS his massive chest out. “I’m a personal trainer!” he says, proudly.
Of course you fucking are.
“I mostly just work here because I like freaking the locals out! Especially the old dears!”
HA! I chew on my bottom lip to stop myself from smiling so much.
“Plus … you know, I look good in the uniform!” he says, wiggling his eyebrows up and down. Jesus. SUCH a cocky bastard.
I nod and pull a face and Woody’s just smirking at me. Then he looks down, brings his forearm up, curls his hand into a fist and OH MY FUCKING CHRIST … the bicep muscles in his left arm flex and explode before my very eyes. It’s like a ball of marble-like, obscenely huge muscle. Flexing right in front of me. In the middle of the fucking meat aisle (hmmm … kinda fitting!) in my local bloody Tesco.
“Sebastian!” A hard faced and slightly scary looking woman interrupts us. She’s shaking her head and pulling a disapproving face. “Jump on till seven. Now!”
Fuck. My heart drops. This can’t be it. It can’t be over already. Woody pulls a face as his boss walks away. “I better go!” he sighs, rolling his eyes.
“But erm …”
Oh my God WHAT?
“You should sign up for the gym at the Leisure Centre!” he says, the corner of his mouth curled into a smirk. “You get a fifty percent discount for your first personal training session.”
“Okay!” I say, without thinking. A little too eagerly. Fuck. Woody furrows his eyebrows slightly. Was he joking? Oh God. He was clearly fucking joking. But he’s smirking again.
“Cool!” he says, nodding. “We’ll have you jacked and shredded by the end of the Summer,” he says, looking me up and down. “GRRRR!”
“SEBASTIAN!” his boss yells.
Did a bodybuilder just GRRRR at me after flexing his biceps? Clean up on aisle three. There’s been another bloody spillage.
“You’ll be wearing shiny posing trunks in no time!”
OH MY GIDDY FUCKING GOD.
“See ya, Noah!”
And with that, I watch Sebastian “Woody” Wood walk away with the hottest fucking waddle I’ve even witnessed in real life. His thighs visibly thick under his work trousers, his back impossibly broad, and his arse so big and beefy it borders on OBSCENE.
Sebastian Wood, the lad I was crazy about for years. Sebastian Wood, the guy who’s transformed himself into a proper, jacked bodybuilder with enormous tits, huge biceps and a gravity defying arse. Sebastian Wood, who’s just invited me to sign up to the gym he works at, and who might be giving me my very first ever personal training session.
Maybe my summer in Little Denton isn’t going to be so boring after all.