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  1. Ok guys, here’s the new story I’ve been working on. It’s of a similar size and scale to my last story "AJ & Noah". It’s told from the point of view of Woody (real name Sebastian Wood), a handsome, sassy, self assured (some might cocky) bodybuilder with a cheeky Instagram persona. Woody attends Montgomery University of Bodybuilding & Fitness; the only school in the world dedicated to turning its students into pro bodybuilders, where lessons include Posing Practice 101, Anatomy & Aesthetics and A History of Bodybuilding. There are a few references/Easter eggs to AJ & Noah and some of my other stories in here for anyone who’s familiar with them! I’ve got my friend @reeddune working on some illustrations too which I’ll be sharing soon. MUSCLE UNIVERSITY One I open my eyes and this feeling of warmth washes over me. I genuinely can’t remember the last time I woke up this happy. I look over to my best friend Emily lying in the bed next to me and she gives me this happy knowing grin. There was nothing particularly extraordinary about last night. Just two friends getting a bit drunk and going to the local gay club. But everything about it was awesome. The atmosphere. The people. And I just want to do it all over again. “How’s the head?” she asks me. I smile and shrug under the duvet of her bed. “I feel fine!” She shakes her head. “I can’t believe how much attention you were getting last night!” I beam back at her. “I’m used to it!” I reply cheekily. Even though I’m actually not. At least not these days. Emily grins and playfully rolls her eyes. “I loved it when that guy asked to feel my biceps!” I say excitedly. Emily giggles. “And then his mate joined in!” she says. “They were so funny!” I turn away from her and look up to the ceiling. God I love this room. This house. This town. Everything here is so … normal. It’s the complete opposite to my life at my own university. And now I feel a sudden pang of sadness at the realisation that none of this is mine. It’s Emily's. This is her room. In her student house. In her university town. And I’ll be going back to my (exceptionally not normal) student life in a few hours time. “I’m just surprised you didn’t meet someone and abandon me like you normally do!” Emily quips, with one eyebrow raised. I look over at her and smirk. “I probably should have done! It’s pretty much my only chance to pull these days!” “Seb, there must be other gay guys at your uni?” I pull a face. “You would think!” It might sound a little crazy, but I honestly wouldn’t be surprised if I was the only gay guy at my university. We stay silent for a while. “Is that club open again tonight?” I ask. She looks at me suspiciously. “Yeah?” I wiggle my eyebrows up and down. “What if I didn’t go back today and we go out again tonight?” What If I don’t go back at all, I think. “Erm … don’t you have an exam tomorrow morning?” I pull a face. “Meh!” Emily grins at me. I know she’d love me to stay another night, but we both know that I’m going to be sitting on that train back to Scotland in a few hours time. I sigh, pull the duvet down and look at the thick, perfectly pumped pecs bulging off my chest. “What do you think, boys? Do you wanna go back to Scotland today? Bounce once for yes, twice for no!” Then I bounce my pecs twice. Emily giggles in response. “The pecs have spoken!” I exclaim. She giddily beams back at me and everything suddenly feels good again. I love who I am when I’m with Emily. I love who I am when I’m here. It’s different to how I am at my own university. I don’t feel like I have to put on a front. I’m not competing with anyone. I can let my guard down. I can relax. I guess (like everything else here) I can be normal. Well, as normal as a sixteen stone bodybuilder with arms twice the size as most lads’ my age can be. A few hours later and we’re at the train station, my holdall thrown over one of my ridiculously broad shoulders. My train leaves in fifteen minutes and I want to get a good seat. As much as I love visiting Emily, the seven hour train journey to get there and back is never exactly fun. “Are you still coming down for your birthday next month?” she asks. “Yeah! Of course!” I can’t imagine spending my birthday at my own university. Jesus. How fucking depressing would that be? A couple walk past us; a boy and a girl. They both stare at me as they do and the girl pulls a funny face and looks at the boy wide eyed. Emily looks at me and we both grin. “Jeez! It’s like no one has ever seen a bodybuilder before!” I say. Emily laughs. “You’re definitely a novelty down here!” Something pulls in my stomach. A desire. This is what I want to be. What I should be. A novelty. A rare thing. Something out of the ordinary. This is what I want all the time. I suddenly feel a heavy sadness that I have to leave. “Do your think your uni would let me transfer down here?” I ask Emily. She gives me a sad smile. I know the answer to that one. “I’m not really sure if they’d be able to match your course!” I roll my eyes and manage to smile. Of course they fucking wouldn’t. No other university in the world would be able to match my course. I’m stuck there for another two and a half years. And then … well then there’s a very good chance that I’ll get to live my dream. It’s one small mercy I guess. The light at the end of the tunnel. The one thing I cling to during my shittiest days. Luckily the train isn’t that busy so I manage to have two seats to myself for the entire journey. On the journey down here two days ago some unfortunate fucker had to sit next to me. Because I’m basically built like a brick shithouse, I was spilling over onto his seat. The poor bastard was squashed up with half of his body hanging out into the aisle. Of course, there are some guys out there who would probably enjoy sitting next to me. Some who’d probably walk over hot fucking coals for a chance to be squashed up against my huge, muscular body in fact. The randy buggers. I divide my journey time up by revising for tomorrow's exam, listening to Spotify, staring at how huge and devastatingly sexy I am in the reflection of the train window (did I mention I’m a bit of a handsome fucker as well as being a two hundred and thirty pounds bodybuilder?) and thinking about how I’m going to spend the evening when I get back to my dorm room. By the way, you heard that right. I live in a shared fucking dorm room. Ugh. Just like the ones you see in all those films set in American colleges. Two beds. Two people. Two complete strangers chosen at random by a computer being forced to share a room. I mean … fucking seriously? My university is probably the only one in the UK that has them. They say it helps the students to bond. Really it’s just a cheaper way of housing us. It’s not like I can live off campus either. Trust me, I would if I could. But it's impossible. Because my university is in the middle of sodding nowhere. I’m complaining, but in actual fact, I’m one of the extremely lucky few first years who doesn't actually share his dorm room. Woo-hoo! My old roommate Craig (who was noisy, messy and had about as much banter as a brick) dropped out a few months ago so I have the whole room to myself. It’s mostly great, though there are times when I find myself getting a bit bored. There’s even been a few times where I’ve suddenly realised that I’m talking to myself. I have no idea what that’s about. Half way through the train journey I go to use the toilet. There’s a big mirror on the wall. Christ, I look huge. I’m always a little taken aback when I see my reflection in a foreign mirror. And this is no exception. My shoulders look ridiculous, my famously thick pecs (at least in the world of online muscle fans) are bulging underneath my plain white t-shirt (you should see them in a vest!) and my arms look straight up fucking monstrous. I guess I’m kinda known for my arms. I don’t mean to sound like I’m bragging, but you should see the size of my biceps. They just fucking explode off my arms when flexed. My triceps are pretty crazy too. I mean, at this point I’m basically just an all round freak. Strangers in the street would probably run away from me screaming if I wasn’t so bloody good looking with it. Which people feel the need to remind me about quite a lot on Instagram. I’m always getting told how handsome I am by random users. And it’s not just on Instagram. I read a crazy comment on a muscle blog once where someone said I wouldn’t look too out of place in one of those American high school films where the hot jock guys always look way too old to be playing teenagers. I kinda loved reading that. Then I started imagining what kind of character I could play. I was thinking an unusually buff, British exchange student all the girls go crazy over but who’s actually secretly gay. Then some big Hollywood producer could snap me up and put me in a Marvel film as a superhero. Or as some mutant freak in the latest X-Men film (no CGI needed). I mess with my brown hair a little, which is getting a bit too long at the top, to restyle it. I turn my head to the side and look at my jawline in the reflection of the mirror. People are always mentioning my jawline on the Internet. Then I wiggle my eyebrows up and down and flash a big, cheesy grin at my reflection. And then I laugh at myself. Because I’m such a fucking knob sometimes. I lift my t-shirt up and HOLY ABS. God, I love my stomach muscles. They really fucking POP. It’s like I’ve got six big cobblestones trapped under my skin and they’re trying to burst out. They’re definitely amongst the best developed and most aesthetic abs of all the lads in my year. An idea pops into my head which I can’t resist following through with. I whip out my phone and take a picture of myself, flexing the bicep muscles in my right arm in the mirror while pulling a funny face. Then I load up Instagram and type a cheeky caption. Me and this bad boy bulging off my arm are on a train back to MU. Everyone keeps staring at me. It’s like they’ve never seen a muscle monster before. Weird! #huge #biceps #watchmegrow #freak4life #hellyeah #sexymonster And BOOM … the post is up and my sexy face and bulging biceps are out there for all the world to see. Or all twelve thousand of my Instagram followers anyway. My chest flutters with excitement at the thought of all the likes and comments that will, without question, soon come flooding in. As I walk (well, more like strut) through the carriage to return to my seat, practically every passenger looks up at me. I clock one guy I’m fast approaching who has his head buried in a book. I cough loudly as I walk towards him and he casually glances up. This comical, shocked expression takes over his face and his eyes look like they’re about pop out of their sockets when he looks at me. Ha! I give my new admirer a mischievous smirk as I strut past his seat. And no doubt half the carriage are now checking out my obscenely huge, round arse which is stuffed into my painted on skinny jeans. When I settle back into my seat I load up Instagram again on my phone. I feel a surge of excitement because (as predicted) the reaction to my latest post is crazy. The likes are going mad and new comments keep popping up. Someone calls me a “super freak” (love it). Another person says I’m “so so handsome”. I get called huge, unbelievable and some dude tells me he wants to get his hands on my biceps. The filthy bugger! I like every comment, and even reply to some. Thanking them, or saying “hell yeah” or “I need to get even BIGGER”. For some comments I just leave an emoji. One gets a winky face, another gets the emoji with the one eye closed and the tongue sticking out (I LOVE that one) and, fuck it, the guy who wants to feel my biceps gets the face blowing a kiss emoji. It’s flirty. It’s cheeky. It’s outrageous. And it’s so fucking ME. I love getting all that attention. I love making people go crazy. And I love turning people on. Knowing that they’re aroused by my huge muscles. God. It’s such a bonkers and powerful thought. I jump in the Uber I’ve booked when I get to my final station. The poor driver looks fucking terrified. As we drive to my campus this unsettling feeling churns in my stomach. This is the worst part about going to visit Emily at her university, or going back to my parents for long weekends or holidays; the horrible feeling I get whenever I have to return. If I were in a better mood, I might give my Uber driver a cheeky flex of my biceps before getting out of the car. Instead I say thanks and reluctantly get out. I pause as I look at the assortment of big brick buildings before me and the surrounding greenery. There’s nothing particularly remarkable about my university campus from the outside. It looks like any middle tier university in the UK. I breathe a deep sigh as I look at the only clue that this is anything but an ordinary university campus - a graphic image of an arm with big, flexed bicep muscles on the side of the Prince House building sitting next to the following words: “MONTGOMERY UNIVERSITY OF BODYBUILDING & FITNESS. MAKING TOMORROW'S TOP BODYBUILDERS.”
  2. Links to previous Scotty stories: Scotty Scotty 2.0 Scotty Takes Control Scotty’s Family Trouble Matt powered up the bar, grunting, on his last rep. “We’ve been over this, dude,” I told him, my hands under the bar and ready to spot the weight. “I just don’t see why I gotta wait,” Matt grumbled, for about the hundredth time. I watched him rack the bar and let out a huge sigh. “Too much growth in too many people would look suspicious,” interjected Rich, standing there watching Matt and I, and looking exasperated. “Besides, you’re already coming along. Look how much you’re benching.” Matt just lay on the bench looking up at me like I’d knocked him down. The four hundred pounds on the big Olympic bar hung in the air above his head. I’d given him his fourth pill already, and his pecs were looking pumped and swole. The pills were obviously having their desired effect and his strength gains were through the roof if that last set was anything to go by. My own gains in the last four weeks had continued to be epic too of course, especially with the cocktail of pills and gear that I’d been taking. I picked up the bar in my grip, testing its weight, and started cranking out one bicep curl after the other. “’Sides, bro,” I told Matty, “This weight is too light for you now. You didn’t even need me to spot you. If you want to grow, you gotta put more pounds on.” I didn’t stop repping until I’d hit twenty. I felt my guns swollen slightly with the effort, even though I’d been training chest. Finally, I re-racked the bar with a clang. “See it’s you doing shit like that, man, that makes me jealous.” “Yeah, it was kind of light too,” I informed him, adding insult to injury. “C’mon, brah.” I nodded towards the locker room and reached my massive fist down to give Matt a hand up. I practically pulled him off the bench with one hand. Matt had finally broken two hundred pounds with the third pill but he still felt light to me. I pushed his sorry ass towards the locker room. “Scotty and I both grew before too many people had seen us,” Rich lectured as he followed behind, in a tone like one of our high school teachers might use. “It helped minimize the impact of the growth. But if suddenly everyone starts hulking out it will bring entirely the wrong kind of attention.” Something about what he said made me look around the gym. The other dudes at Big Mike’s had gotten used to the sight of us two hulks over the last two months since school started, as Rich and I had been pounding out unearthly amounts of weight. Adding Matty to the training mix hadn’t raised too many eyebrows yet. But like Rich said, he seemed to be growing at a relatively reasonable pace. Still, I had a moment of pause wondering if we shouldn’t somehow be more discreet. But how could I ever be discreet? I was meant to be larger than life. Little did all these dudes know but Big Mike’s, for all its massive weights, was barely able to even give me a real pump these days. “Listen to the Dweeb, dude,” I told Matty, with a sideways grin. “He’s smarter than us two knuckleheads put together. Hell, anyway I thought you wanted to be a fitness model.” “Fuck you,” was the only reply I got. It was spoken half in jest and whole in earnest, as my momma would have said. But I could tell from his grin that even though he was frustrated, he would be okay with the pace of change. Anyway, neither Rich nor I were willing to give him any other choice. * * * It was Saturday afternoon, and after we’d hit the showers, we headed back to our respective homes. I couldn’t quite get my mind off how at least one other gym goer had been watching us that day. Blake Moran. He was the captain of the football team at the school across town. I figured he was a roid head like me, and I could see when he lifted at Big Mike’s that he was strong to boot. You had to be a serious lifter to go to Big Mike’s in the first place. But he was also a rich boy. His daddy owned a bunch of car dealerships and I figured he could afford the good stuff. The kinda stuff that Uncle Gio gave to me at the discounted rate. I was just a poor boy from the other side of the railroad tracks. Literally. And I need to earn my coin the hard way. I’d moved my stuff down to the basement a couple weeks ago. I needed the room to spread out and it had been a good space to start my new career as a webcam muscle god. Also, it was where I kept the pills in a lock box hidden in a crawl space behind some shelves. The same place I kept my gear from prying eyes around the house. I’d retrieved another couple bottles of Dr Wenk’s miracle pills when I got home. I was taking a pill a day at this point. It wasn’t making me grow as much, but I was still getting stronger and stronger. Like I said, Big Mike’s wasn’t big enough anymore. I needed a greater challenge. In the last few weeks I’d started looking further afield to get the heft of weight I needed for squats, benching, and deadlifts. And I had a plan. I was gonna create a sort of home gym. I’d found an abandoned warehouse a few miles out of town that might be a good spot for it. The old brick building had started life as an old mill, and expanded somewhat over a hundred years of operation. However, the benefit for us: the building had stood vacant for at least fifty years. The Dweeb and I had discussed some possibilities and were batting around ideas of what we might be able to do with it. I was pretty sure the Dweeb would be outgrowing Big Mike’s soon too and we’d need somewhere else to train. But first I had to work on raising some cash to pay for it all. I flipped on the cam and fired up my chat. “How you skinny bitches doing?” I said cockily into the camera as I saw them all eagerly start to come online, giving some shout outs to all my regular viewers when they appeared. I’d never really thought of webcamming to earn cash before I got huge. I mean some of the bigger dudes I’d worked construction with this past summer had joked about fags who’d pay cash to watch them jerk off or fuck pussy. And those were two things I did a lot. So, I’d looked around and saw that there were indeed a few guys who seemed to do shows, some for free and some for money. A little research and I was in business. I was the right age to keep it legal and let’s face it: twenty dollars is twenty dollars. As much food as I eat is eye wateringly expensive. Not to mention my supplements that Gio gets me. Even at the discounted rate it burns a hole in the wallet. At least Dr Wenk took his payment in kind. My business of webcamming started slow, but I found my reputation spread pretty quickly and I wasn’t shy. Soon I was giving shows for individuals and bigger audiences. “Just trained chest,” I told the guys, leaning back in my chair. “And I’m swole as fuck.” I was wearing a new shirt and a pair of jeans, and I put my right arm up, hand behind my head. My tri was like a side of beef, thick and juicy, and I could hear the threads in the sleeve start popping. Hopefully so could my audience. “Fuck, dudes,” I panted, leaning over to lick the massive swell of my right gun. “I just bought this shirt, but I’m not sure it’s gonna last until this evening.” I bounced my pecs, feeling the tightness as they pushed against the fabric. “I just benched a ton at the gym earlier.” Even thinking about it made me uncomfortably tight in my jeans. I always told my audience the truth. A small fraction of them might believe it was true. Some might merely hope it was true, so they could live their fantasies as they stroked their little dicks watching me. But I knew most of them would think it was all hyperbole. Just some massive dude putting on a show for the audience jerking off on the other side of the lens. My left hand tugged unconsciously at the collar of my shirt. I hadn’t lied either. I had just bought this shirt yesterday and worn it for the first time today. I’d figured it’d be plenty big for a while. Guess I was wrong. I flexed again. The pump right now was fucking amazing. Well it was most days after the gym, to be honest. Arnold hadn’t been lying about that in Pumping Iron. It was like cumming. Maybe not quite as good, but still it was pretty damn good. Yeah, I felt the size of my pecs swell as I stoked the fire. Each squeeze mighty. I flexed my left arm, marveling at its size myself. The other night I’d pulled a ham my mom had bought out of the freezer and held it up against my guns in full view of the cam, just so my audience could see how big I really was. And my upper arm was definitely bigger than that ham. The cash had been coming in thick and fast that night. Tonight, I flexed those same arms again. Once, twice, and riiiiiiip. That motherfucker let out a satisfying sound as my arm burst out along the seam. “You want more little dudes, you know what to do. This muthafucka don’t come free.” I could hear the cha-ching even as I watched the cash come in. Fuck, the internet was marvelous. Well as I earned enough for my next round of gear from Gio, I guess the boys had earned their reward. “Okay, you little fuckers, get ready…” I was at full mast and I knew my bulge would be apparent. I pushed my chair back to give them a good view of everything. The lighting could have been better of course. I wasn’t as sophisticated as I could be and maybe I could get one of the geeks who took broadcast courses at the community college to help me light it all better. Whatever that could wait until another day. Leaning back, I brought my arm up and squeezed my massive double biceps. BOOM. BOOM. Those fuckers were so big they had their own center of gravity. Then I started squeezing my pecs. Bringing my arms up and down like I was doing a set of reps on a pec deck. Feeling the ache and burning as I grunted on each flex. The shirt was tight around my throat. It was tight around my back. And my pecs looked like a mountain range of shifting tectonics underneath. As the pump grew the audience and I both focused on the rise and fall of the muscles. Each flex brought the rise a little higher, the fall a little higher too. Even I felt the excitement building, not quite believing that I was pushing so much. Showing these worshippers what kind of god they were watching. “Fuck, yeah! Dudes!” I hollered. “You seeing this shit?” Slowly, but picking up pace, I could feel the tears happening all over. That cotton was not able to contain me as it split, up the sides where my lats forced their way through and the neck where one thread after another snapped against the thick cords of muscle. The symphony coming to a crescendo as the valley of my pecs was deeply exposed and the fabric ripped apart. “OOOOHHHHHH YEEEAAAHHHH!!!!” The shirt split right down the center, torn open from collar down to the massive blocks I called a ten pack. Tiny bits of shirt clinging to me around my shoulders as I sat there. Fuck, I was stoked. I stood up, pulling the tattered remains of my shirt away and flexed a massive most muscular into the webcam. Grinning from ear to ear. “Did you see that, you tiny little boys? Did ya? That was a 6XL. I just tore through a shirt made for a 70 inch chest. Did you hear that, 70 fucking inches? That’s nearly six feet of muscle! Torn apart by just my pump!” My excitement reached a fever pitch as I flexed those massive slabs, in a move that could crush a car, and I could feel my cock pressing, swollen, leaking. I took a step back. I groaned, shuddering, as I felt the button at top of my jeans pop open, the zipper unable to contain me any longer, tearing through, tearing apart, pulling my tight jockstrap until the waistband of the jock could no longer withstand the power of that cannon and snapped. My cock rose up like a tower finally free from all containment. I sat back down, my hand pulling on my cock as I moaned, audience forgotten. I felt sweat on my chest, one hand on my cock, the other on my massive hairy pecs. Like it sometimes did with the pills, I felt the pump moving through me. Mostly just from my upper body, but down further and further still to my quads and calves. The seams of denim of my jeans, much stronger than the cotton, strained as well. A quick tear down the center where the material had been stretched to its furthest relieved not just the pressure, but exposed my massive wheels to my audience as well. I leaned my head back, so fucking long and thick. This needed two hands, and in my two massive fists the head of my cock still rose over and above, triumphant. For an ordinary man it would have taken at least three hands for the same coverage. My voice came from the back of my throat, glutaral, like a wolf, growling, deep, reverberating. As I beat it off. Massive. Thick. I looked up at the screen. “Watch this you little fucks. You can see what a real man can do.” All sense of time was lost, I could have been at it for a few minutes or a few hours, but that thought sent me over the edge and the white-hot fluid fired out and up. “OH, YEAH. OH, FUCK, YEAH!” The first shot launched well over my head. The second even further. The third and the fourth near my head. The fifth on the stubble of my chin. And as I kept firing I felt the burn on my pecs and abs until by the twenty-first shot of cum the fluid became more of a slow pouring of liquid lava, pooling on my fist and I pulled my hand away letting it ooze out and onto my big hairy balls. “Fuck, dudes.” I shook my hand, cum flying off and onto the basement floor. “Guess I got a little excited. Good thing the floor down here is cement, huh?” I laughed a few more times and did some more gratuitous flexing, cum still dripping. I was still hard, and I knew I could get myself worked up again pretty easily. Hell, I could cum nine or ten times without even going soft. But always keep them wanting more, right? “Thanks for watching as always, little guys. If you want to catch this big Italian stud again, you know what to do.” I gave them my best cheeky grin and a wink, and turned off the cam. I looked around and grabbed a roll of paper towel I’d started leaving down here for just such occasions. I went looking for the first shot and realized it had hit one of the ceiling beams about ten feet behind my head. The rest took me about ten minutes to clean up. The clothes were a total write off. Maybe I could charge all these torn clothes as a business expense, I thought? Not that I planned on paying taxes. Even the jeans were beyond any further use as garments. I guess mom could make them into dust rags or whatever. There was a knock at the door, and I hollered “What!?!” Quickly covering myself up in case someone decided to poke their head in. “Patrice needs some help!” shouted my mother. Patrice was the slut my brother Ricky was shacked up with. He’d knocked her up his senior year of high school and they’d been living together since graduation. Although my mother never spoke ill of anyone, she always got a certain look in her eye when Patrice’s name was mentioned. And Ricky was already a constant embarrassment to my father. “What’s the matter?” I yelled up. “She’s got a flat and your brother is at work. Can you give her a hand?” “Yeah, no problem! Tell her I’ll be there in a minute.” Just my luck. * * * I’d pulled on a muscle shirt that was open at the sides, ‘cause I didn’t think I had anything else in my wardrobe that would fit anyway. My lats were already too wide for a lot of my shirts. My truck pulled into my brother’s gravel driveway and I got out. Patrice was waiting for me on the step to their porch. “Jesus, Mary, and Joseph! Is that you, Scotty?” I had to give a chuckle. I keep forgetting that so many people hadn’t seen me since I put on all this new muscle. “Yeah, girl. It’s all me.” “Damn, boy. You’ve grown some.” Patrice was only a couple years older than me and was looking me up and down like a bitch in heat. “So, where’s my sweet niece?” I asked, trying to change the subject. This was my bro’s girl after all – whether or not she really was a slut. “Maddy’s off with my mother and sister, so she can spend some time with her cousins. I was gonna run some errands, but you can see for yourself. Patrice had a car of her own, and it was parked in a shady spot further up the driveway. I walked up and had a look. The tire was pretty flat, no doubt about it. “My AAA membership is expired,” she said coming up behind me. I turned and looked at her squarely. I doubt she or my brother ever had a AAA membership in their lives. That’s what big, burly male relatives were for in Patrice’s book. “No problem. I’ll have this fixed in a minute.” I found the spare easily enough. Trouble was, there was no jack. “Where’s the jack?” I asked. “What’s a jack?” She genuinely looked like she had no idea. I bit my lip. It wasn’t that I minded showing off, but hell. There was showing off and there was showing off. “Do you need a jack?” “Most men would.” “Well you’re big and strong.” I walked back and grabbed the tire with my free hand. It was a Toyota Camry, and I figured it wasn’t weighing any more than I was deadlifting these days. “Stand back,” I told her. I took a look around and couldn’t see anyone watching, so I squatted down and reached under the carriage of the car. “Scotty, I was joking. Don’t try and lift my car.” Taking a deep breath, I heaved the weight up. I could feel the tremor run through my muscles, biceps flexed and quads tensed. The car rose, and then even to my own surprise I was standing there, holding onto the car in one hand. Patrice’s car didn’t have hub caps, and I reached down and started unscrewing the old rusty lug nuts with my fingers. There weren’t that many. As quick as a wink, I had the old tire off and the new tire on, as good as new. My arm was getting tired at this stage and I happily let the car back down onto the ground, massaging my fingers that had become impressed into the undercarriage of her car by now. I turned to look at Patrice and she was standing there, slack jawed. “Holy fuck!” “It wasn’t that heavy.” “Holy fuck! Scotty!” She looked ready to faint, and I moved to grab her just as her legs collapsed. Great. I picked her up, and took her into the house. I had to turn slightly sideways to get through their front door. My brother and Patrice lived modestly, even by my standards. She wasn’t heavy but I set her on their well-used sofa in the living and went into the kitchen to get her a drink of water. “Wake up.” I really wasn’t sure what the proper protocol was in this instance. Finally, after a few moments, she started to come to. “That was amazing.” She still looked a bit breathless. She took the water from my hand and took a drink, pushing her hair out of her eyes. “I never knew you were that strong.” “Yeah, well I work out.” I flex my gun for her. “And I’m really fucking strong.” She stood up and walked over to me, reaching out to feel my arm. She even tried to squeeze it, but my muscle was like hot steel. “Ricky ain’t that strong.” “Well I’m not Ricky.” “No kidding.” She grabbed my dick right through my shorts. “You’re a whole lot bigger.” “Fuck!” I groaned. This was my brother’s baby momma. And I was filling up in her hand. However, I was still a man. And Patrice may not be a model, but she was not unattractive either. I’d never quite understood what she saw in my brother anyway. “Big. All. Over.” “Don’t be starting something unless you expect to finish it,” I let her know. Her hands responded by rubbing over my pecs. “How strong are you?” she wondered. I walked back into the kitchen where I’d seen a big cast iron skillet sitting on the stove. I picked it up by the handle. “Stronger than this.” With a firm grip of the pan, I started to roll it up like it was a piece of paper. Soon there wasn’t anything left but a long thin piece of metal, pretty much unrecognizable as a skillet. I folded that rolled up piece again, and then I started to squeeze. I felt the veins in my forearms pulse and I compressed the metal of the pan until it was about as tight as it could get. Patrice shuddered, and I saw a wet spot on her shorts. “I guess that turns you on.” She looked like she might faint again, so I tossed the metal to the side and grabbed her in my arms. I leaned down and kissed her, long and hard. I pulled her up to me as she couldn’t reach my lips from the floor, I was so much taller. Our bodies were together, hers pressed against my hard, unyielding muscles. As our mouths came together, tongues meeting, and in a fog of testosterone and lust I forgot everything but the feeling of her hands traveling up and down my body. I tore my shirt off, grunting as I pushed down my shorts. I didn’t wait for her to undress, just picked her up and pulled her cheeks apart, tearing open the fabric and feeling my god cock rip into her. There was nothing for it but to hold on for the ride. I began to thrust. Slowly at first, but quickly gaining speed and momentum. I thought about my crushing power, and the ease with which I had lifted her car. I felt all the cockiness of my own size and massive strength. I got harder and harder inside Patrice, and she moaned with pleasure as I pumped into her. Fuck, I had so much power. Unbridled. What couldn’t I do? I thrust into her deep and hard, lifting her into the air with only the strength of my dick. I pumped and pumped and pumped with every thought of my own growing muscle power. Then I came inside Patrice, feeling her shudder with orgasm after orgasm, as I emptied my seed insider her. “Oh my God, that was amazing!” she cried out. “I’m only just getting started,” I told her. And that was the truth. * * * Later that night I came downstairs from taking a shower. I had smelled badly of sex and sweat, all my errands forgotten as I’d spent the afternoon buried in my brother’s girlfriend’s hole. When I came home earlier my dad had just looked at me and nodded his head. He was proud of his son, although he might not have felt that way if he’d known who I was fucking. I stopped by the kitchen, wrapped in nothing but a towel, and found my older brother Ricky sitting there at the table eating out of a tray of lasagna mom had made for me earlier. “You better not be eating my dinner,” I told him. “Fuck me,” he whistled. “You’re looking bigger every time I see you.” “Well you’re looking skinnier than ever.” “We can’t all be 300 pound studs like you.” “350 pounds,” I let him know. At least that’s what I told people who asked. Truth was the truck scales Rich and I used last time told me I was almost twice as heavy. I reached over and grabbed the tray of lasagna, pulling it out of his reach. He’d only had a couple small bites before I’d arrived. I held out my hand and waited patiently for him to give me the fork. With a long sigh he put it in my hand. “Jesus Christ,” growled our father, walking into the kitchen. “Look at you two bastards, eating me out of house and home.” Saying my dad was burly was putting it mildly. When I was a kid, I used to think there wasn’t anyone bigger. And back then my dad could and did put most other men to shame. Even now, at the age of 41 he could have won any amateur bodybuilding contest that he set out to enter. “Awww, Pop,” I said between bites of lasagna. “I’ll give some money to mom tomorrow for the food.” He looked satisfied with my answer. Scotty could pay his own way. “And what about you, you skinny fuck.” He turned to my brother. I managed not to chuckle at my dad’s use of the descriptor, even though it was merited. “That baby momma of yours forget how to feed you?” “We had another fight, Pop.” “What’s the matter now?” He opened the fridge and grabbed a beer, sitting down at the kitchen table next to me. “I think she’s cheatin’ on me, Pop.” “What? How do you know?” “I just know.” I looked at them both. This cut a little too close to home, considering where I’d spent my afternoon. That is to say in the same hole my brother used. Cheating indeed. Ricky had a hangdog expression. My dad’s face was angry. “Why can’t you be more like your brother, Scotty?” he asked. “You don’t see him knocking up sluts and whining about some sad piece of ass.” This was not an unfamiliar line of commentary around the house. Ricky had just never been much like our dad. He wasn’t the sharpest knife in the drawer, and working on the docks was probably the best he could ever hope for. Dad prided himself on masculinity. And Ricky hadn’t quite measured up in that department either, unfortunately. Both the men from mom’s and dad’s sides of the family were big and pretty manly in all the traditional ways. Ricky just wasn’t an alpha male. And it was still a little early to tell with our younger brother, Johnny. Although I figured my trip to the juvenile detention facility the other day had taken care of that. I’d even heard my dad tell one of his buddies once that he wondered if Ricky was even his. Although he couldn’t believe mom would ever cheat on him. It was just such a tough comparison since I’d obviously taken after dad for sure, and now that I’d grown, he found an even greater respect for me. To be cheated on by your wife was about as low as you could go with my father. If you couldn’t keep your woman happy, you weren’t a man. And a man should be the one servicing more than one woman. My dad sighed, and stood up. Ricky’s head was hung in shame. “I’m not sure how you ever managed to father that child in the first place. It’s probably not even yours.” He stomped off into the other room. “Don’t mind him,” I told Ricky, finishing the lasagna. “Naw, bro, he’s right. You’re both right. I am just a skinny little fuck.” “So how do you know she’s banging someone?” “I found the condom in the garbage. Next to our fucking bed. The bitch didn’t even bother to hide it.” I looked away suddenly, and breathed a sigh of relief. I’d cum in her a lot today, but I hadn’t worn a condom once. But then I had another thought. Fuck, this was worse than I thought. Patrice really was a slut. “She threw me out when I got home tonight. Told me I wasn’t even half a man.” Okay, that probably was my fault. “Look, man,” I wondered. “If she’s such a slut, why do you stay with her then?” “I love her man.” Well I couldn’t argue with that, even if I thought he was being a stupid shit. Let the bitch go. There was plenty pussy. Ricky was gonna get himself hurt if he kept on like this. But my heart skipped a beat watching my brother’s suffering. And maybe I felt, I dunno, a tiny bit guilty. “Why don’t you stay here tonight?” I said, suddenly struck by an idea. “We’ll figure this out in the morning. And I’m going to take you to the gym tomorrow. You don’t have to be a skinny fuck you know. And I won’t hear any excuses.” “Thanks, bro.” “No problem.” We sat there in silence for a few minutes. “Scotty?” “Yeah?” “Why don’t you go put on some pants?” “Fuck you, bro. Fuck you.” The End (for now)
  3. muscleaddict

    AJ & Noah

    This is my new story I've been working on. As usual, I'll be posting it both here and on my "Muscle Addicts Inc" blog. It follows muscle addict, Noah Cook, who is back at his parents in the small town he grew up in over his summer break from uni. A few weeks in he bumps into his old school friend, AJ Jones, who is now a competitive juniour bodybuilder with ridiculously huge arms and massive muscle tits that bulge underneath his work shirt! The pair then start to rekindle their friendship over the course of the summer. This story references every bodybuilder from my "Charlie's Secret" story, so if anyone read that one, you might recognise a few names! I've also been working with a really amazing illustrator who's doing some illustrations of the characters and designs for the story. They're more for my blog, but I'll share here too when they're ready! ? AJ & NOAH Prologue I don’t think I’ll ever forget the first time I saw AJ Jones. It was the first day back at school after the summer holidays. There was a sense of excitement amongst my classmates. Not just because everyone was seeing their friends again, but because, for the first time ever, a new boy was joining our class. I spotted him standing in the middle of the playground looking completely lost. He was shorter and smaller than all of the other boys in my year group. He had brunette hair. Green eyes. And he was nervously chewing on the sleeve of his purple school jumper. I really didn’t know what it was about this boy, but I was transfixed. It felt like the whole world had turned to black and white and he was the only thing left in colour. I knew two things in that moment; that AJ Jones was special, and that I wanted to be his friend. I had no idea at the time just how special he’d end up being. One I've often wondered what goes through the mind of a bodybuilder when he’s standing on stage in competition. Thick slabs of muscle bulging off his frame in every conceivable direction. His obscenely developed body parts like balloons of muscle that have been pumped and blown up to an unreal degree. All shrink wrapped in dick thin skin which struggle to contain the sheer mass underneath. Each body part separated by lines, rips and cuts the majority of humans don’t see on their bodies in a lifetime. His whole body painted dark bronze and polished with oil. Not one single hair below his neckline. Completely naked except for a minuscule, thinly strapped, brightly coloured posing pouch. To some, the most grotesque and horrifying image in the world. To others, the most erotic. So erotic the mere thought, let alone the image, of is enough to cause ejaculation. What must it feel like to be one of the most muscular men on the planet? To look down and see nothing but excessively huge mass? To see two enormous plates of pec muscle hanging over thick, blocky abs which burst through your stomach? To see gigantic sized quads with muscle separation you’d normally only see on images of anatomy charts? And just how big of a rush would it be to flex and show off your superhuman slabs and mounds of muscle as an audience of hundreds before you ogle, marvel and stare at your freakiness? As I lay on my bed with my laptop open in the bedroom I’d grown up in, watching a video of Blaine Holton, one of the biggest and most well known professional bodybuilders in the last five years, flexing on stage in a guest posing spot, all of those questions were running through my mind. What did this absurdly handsome, square jawed, thirty-something American bodybuilder feel when he was standing at the edge of a stage flexing his impossibly huge biceps for a cheering audience of non muscle freaks? Pride at what he’d achieved by pushing his body to unspeakable limits and building his biceps to twenty plus inches? Power at the knowledge that he was the biggest and most muscular man in the room? “Noah …” And what did this two hundred and fifty plus pounds muscle bull think when he cranked out an abs and thighs pose on stage and looked down at his own inhuman physique? Was he freaked out by the mounds of crazily detailed mass staring back at him? Turned on, even, by the bronzed painted lumps and bumps of thick, freakish muscle and shiny, posing trunk covered bulge? Did he ever wonder whether he’d taken his physique too far? Or was he so accustomed to seeing the image of his own huge muscle that he felt absolutely no different to what the average built person saw when they looked down at their body? “No-aaaah …” And just what was going through the mind of one of the world’s best bodybuilders as he walked off the stage and made his way through the audience of fully clothed, average built spectators, hitting poses and flexing his muscles as they gawped and stared and frantically took pictures of the spectacle before them? Did he realise how many of them would have loved to be in his shoes, even for just one minute? Did he wonder how many of the audience members before him would have loved to get their hands on his ridiculously developed muscles? Was he drunk with power, basking in the glory of being a roided out muscle freak? Or was he dying to flee the theatre so he could be all alone and spend the night staring at his own freakish creation in the mirror, whilst squeezing, touching and worshipping every inch of his insanely shredded, beyond human slabs of muscle? “NOAH!” ARGHHHH!! I slammed down the lid of my laptop, sprung off my bed and opened my bedroom door. “WHAT?!” I yelled in frustration. Whenever I went back to my parents, I always resorted back 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 said calmly from the bottom of the stairs. Five or so years ago I wouldn’t have felt any guilt about shouting at my mother for interrupting me watching a video of a flexing, roided muscle bull in my bedroom. Now, I felt like the world’s biggest dick. “I’m busy!” I replied, my tone deliberately lighter. “Ooooh, you’re always busy,” she groaned. “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 asked me if I’d do her a favour and go to Tesco to pick up a few things for dinner because she had to go to and visit my nan. I said yes, partly because I felt guilty about snapping at her, but also because doing this favour gave me a reason to leave the house. A sense of purpose, even, for the afternoon, which made me feel completely pathetic. “Fancy shouting at your poor mother!” she said. Then she did a pretend sob which I couldn’t help but smile at, even though I was still annoyed that she’d interrupted me watching a video of Blaine Holton strutting through an audience in nothing but his shiny red posers, just as he was cranking out a brutal most muscular in the face of an extremely lucky audience member. I’ve always found it amazing how easily we forget things. And how our memories have a habit of only selecting the positive when thinking about a situation we’re no longer in. In all of the times I thought about spending the summer at my parents, I never once factored in the possibility that they might annoy me, or that I might grow bored. The irony was, I had been looking forward to being back home for a few months. But all I had wanted during those 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 walked into my local Tesco a feeling of dread hit me. I had this sudden, strong intuition that I was going to bump into someone I knew. If it wasn’t someone shopping there, it would probably be one of the workers. When I was in sixth form, half of my year seemed to work there, including my best friend Naomi. Maybe if I tried to avoid eye contact with everyone in a blue Tesco work shirt I’d reduce the risk of having to make small talk with a classmate I never really liked who was also back from university for the summer. Or someone who hadn’t gone to university at all, and had spent the past two years working in a supermarket. Fifteen minutes and no familiar faces later, I was heading towards the self service checkout and that’s when I saw 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 an incredibly 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 be suddenly faced with an excessively built and muscular man. Or even a genuine, bona fide bodybuilder. Exactly like the one I’d 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 was gawping at the frighteningly muscular lad before her with a look of sheer horror. I couldn’t stop staring at him. Everything but his height was big. His shoulders ridiculously broad, his back absurdly wide and the rear of his upper arms indecently muscular. Even his perfectly round arse looked huge as it struggled to contain the material of his extremely tight, black work trousers. Fuck! I could tell he was young, even from the back. A mini muscle bull in the making. A potential juniour competitive bodybuilder. Working right here in my local fucking Tesco. Practically fucking bursting out of his work uniform. I didn’t think I’d ever been that sexually attracted to the rear image of anyone before. Even the back of his head was hot. With his short graded, light brown hair, which got thicker at the top. And his mini bull neck. GRRRRR! Ridiculously, my heart started to pound as I got closer to, surely, the beefiest shelf stacker in Tesco’s employment history. Once I’d walked past him, I’d be able to conspicuously turn around to catch a glimpse of him from the front. But I didn’t need to, because the woman he was talking to was walking away, and when I was barely a few metres away from him, the potential competitive juniour bodybuilder turned around, my heart leapt into my throat and my stomach violently lurched. Because standing in front of me, now a mini mountain of muscle in a tight fitted Tesco polo shirt, was my old school friend, AJ Jones. “Noah?!” FUCKING HELL! I felt like my legs were going to give way. My mind just couldn’t cope with what was happening. The walls of reality seemed to melting before me, because standing in front of me was a huge and insanely fucking cute bodybuilder with tits which strained through his polo shirt, and a pair of the most enormous and outrageously muscular arms I’d seen on any lad of any age in person. And that bodybuilder just so happened to be one of my old best friends from school. “It’s AJ!” he exclaimed. “Hi!” I nervously replied. “Sorry! I do recognise you. You just look … different!” About a hundred pounds of arms, tits and arse different! AJ smirked. A cocky, adorable and gorgeous grin. To match his oh so gorgeous face. Oh God. How can AJ Jones be gorgeous? How can AJ Jones be a fucking bodybuilder?! “I get that a lot,” he said, nodding and pursing his lips. “I think it’s the hair!” I laughed and he grinned back at me. A warm, nostalgic feeling came over me and, just for a moment, he wasn’t this ridiculously buff muscle boy whose arse I’d not long been checking out. He was AJ, my old friend from school, who I hadn’t spoken to since we’d drifted apart and found new, very different friend groups about seven or eight years ago. “What are you up to now?” AJ asked. “I’m at uni,” I replied, looking at the lucky Tesco name badge sat on his unfathomably thick chest. Ha! I win, I thought. And then immediately I hated myself for thinking that way. “Which uni?” “Goldsmiths, in London. I’m back home for the summer.” “Back in boring Little Denton!” AJ said, playfully rolling his eyes. Boring Little Denton. Where nothing ever happens. Except for the boy who used to eat Tipp-Ex at school growing up to be the type of obscenely muscular, roid munching bodybuilder you regularly blow loads over. Fuck. “Nothing changes much round here!” he added. It was such a ridiculous statement that I couldn’t refrain from making a joke. “No, you look exactly the same as you did at school!” Then it was AJ’s turn to laugh, which made me blush, and feel ever so slightly giddy, because I just made a bodybuilder laugh. A bodybuilder whose upper arms looked about twice as thick as mine. I tried not be obvious, but it was almost impossible to be in such close proximity to a guy that muscular without my eyes veering south of his face. How on Earth had Tesco found a t-shirt to fit AJ? Not that it had fit. One single most muscular and his tits would have probably ripped straight through the material. And his arms. Fucking hell those arms. What did those biceps look like flexed, either side of his absurdly cute face? He hadn’t stayed on for the sixth form, so I hadn’t seen him for four years. I hadn’t even heard about him. He definitely hadn’t been working at Tesco at the same time Naomi had because she would have mentioned it. What had AJ been doing in the past four years that had caused such an extreme transformation? Presumably, spending an enormous amount of time in the gym, consuming a shit load of calories and probably taking a course of steroids, or two. Maybe I hadn’t won after all. Because he looked like THAT, and I looked like, well, me. I had one physical advantage over AJ, though. The same one I’d always had, even when we were younger. I was about four inches taller in height than him. He’d always been short. Right from that very first time I’d spotted him in the school playground, right up until the time he’d left school at sixteen. Maybe he was on a mission to be as wide as he was tall? At this rate, he’d probably succeed. He’d be ripping up the stage with the likes of Tommy “The Tank” Foster and all of the other notoriously short but stacked 212 class competing bodybuilders in no time. AJ Jones. A flexing bodybuilder. Seriously, what kind of cosmic, fucked up shit was going on? “AJ! Can you jump on till seven please?” A hard faced and slightly scary looking woman had interrupted us. AJ pulled a face as she walked away. “I’d better go!” he said. My heart sank. This couldn’t be it. Surely, the universe wouldn’t give me something so mind bogglingly amazing and then just swipe it away from me less than five minutes later? “Good to see you again, mate!” AJ said, with a genuine warmth. Ask for his number! Just ask for his number, I thought. But I couldn’t. It didn’t feel appropriate. And so, I watched AJ Jones walk away with an ever so slight waddle, his thighs visibly thick under his work trousers, his back impossibly broad, and his arse so big and beefy it bordered on obscene. AJ Jones, the bodybuilder. AJ Jones, my old friend from school. AJ Jones, who used to eat fucking Tipp-Ex.
  4. Host: Hello everyone and welcome to another season of "Gainers". I am your host Freddi Fit and you may remember me from becoming the muscle alpha I am today on our very first season just three years ago. *Freddi Fit raises a double bicep flex, stretching his button down short sleeves to their limit. "After all, who can forgot that glorious moment when I was voted to steal everything from Hank The Tank who had been growing massive all season. It was a major upset and the audience was ready to see a new alpha show that brute a lesson. Since then I've been living the dreams as America's hunkiest bodybuilder. Well tonight this dream begins once again with 8 brand new contestants. After twelve weeks, one of them will be left with a hulking body while the others leave smaller than they came. And like always, every week you the audience will decide who gets what. Now let's not waste any time here and meet our contestants. Screen switches to contestant video number one. A nineteen year old college wrestler named Cam. "Hey everyone! The name is Cameron, or Cam for short. I've been wrestling for six years and I can't wait to show the other men who the real jock is gonna be. Maybe if you're lucky you might even see me put some of them in headlocks and drain the muscle from them." Screen switches to contestant video number two. A 39 year old college professor who has been working out for many years. "Hello everyone, it Max here. I've been a health science teach for about 10 years and have always wanted more in life. I'm hoping to win and become the next leading model for muscle god magazine. Either way, I'm hoping to teach the other men a thing or two about what it means to be blessed with muscle." Screen switches to contestant number 3. A 24 year old ex fire fighter who recently begun a modeling career. "If you thought fighting fires was hot, wait till you see me on nothing but my suspenders. Hey everyone my names chad. Make sure you vote for me this season so I can become the muscular flame that makes you sweat." Screen switches to contestant number 4. A 31 year old cop from NYC. "Hey. It's Stu. I've been lifting ever since becoming a cop, but to keep the streets safe, I'm going to need your help to grow my guns and have the fire power needed to intimidate the bad guys and fight crime." Screen switches to contestant number 5. A 27 year old businessman. "Hello everyone, being a businessman keeps me quite busy. So I'm going to need your help building these muscles as big as they can get so I can really fill out my suites nicely! By the way, the name is Dominique." Screen switches to contestant number 6. A 42 year old father. "Hello everyone. My name Ken. Before I had children I was in pretty good shape. However since then I've begun to get out of shape. I need your help to be bigger and better than I was when I was younger." Screen switches to contestant number 7. A 21 year old college graduated pursuing a career in acting. "Hey y'all. Zac here. I've been trying to make it big as an actor but you know they are looking for muscular guys these days. Help me become a jacked up actor." Screen switches to contestant number 8. A 25 year old man living in his parents house. "Hi everyone. I'm Tony, and I've been having a really hard time finding a job. Can you help me you help me out and give me the chance to pursue a career in fitness and get the hell out of my parents house. They'd really appreciate it as well!" Tony is clearly the smallest guy. Although he still has slight hints of muscle, there isn't much for the others to take. Host: "Well don't we just have a great batch this year. The group will be entering the growth cell now where they will spend the next 12 weeks changing. Go online now to vote for your top 4 favorite guys who will receive a special serum boost tomorrow night to start off the game. And don't forget to send in your nicknames for each dude. The most votes will decide what we call each contestant from here on. Anyways. Goodnight Gainer fans! Freddi Fit signing off!" *Freddie fit solutes the camera and transitions in to an archer pose as the credits roll.*
  5. * FINALLY FINISHED * This Chapter is the very first one with NONE of the JP story in it at all, but I will fill a gap in Chapter 21: between JP and Matt's workout at JP's house and heading to the park to meet Andrew and his friends. Once JP and Matt were done playing football with Andrew, Mike and Carrie, they decided to get changed before having supper at JP's house with his parents and Matt's mom. "Matt and I brought a change of clothes with us," JP said, as he and Matt held up their backpacks. "But I'm guessing that you three left your good clothes back at your hotel." "Yes we did JP," Andrew said, "But I brought a Washington Area map with me so that we could find our way here from our hotel." He unfolded the map on his truck hood and pointed to the pink line that went along the roads from the Comfort Inn Pentagon City to Burke Lake Park. He handed JP a pink highlighter and added, "All you have to do now JP is trace the route from here to your house on the map." "Why did you choose a pink highlighter to mark the map with Andrew?" JP asked him with a slight frown. "It's the only colour that wasn't already on the map, so it will stand out," Andrew replied. "I didn't pick that colour to make a crack at you and Matt, if that's what you're thinking." "Actually I was for an instant Andrew," JP conceded, lowering his eyes to the map to hide his embarrassment at being wrong. Then he looked back up at Andrew and added, "I'm sorry about that man." "Don't you know me better than that JP?" Andrew asked him with a hurt look on his face. "I'd never make fun of someone else's choice of partners! I'm not your brother Ryan you know!" "Yeah I do know that Andrew, but I'm just really nervous about anyone else finding out about me and Matt," JP revealed in a very soft voice. Andrew leaned closer to make sure he could hear everything JP was about to say. As he continued tracing the route to his house and filled in the address, he added, "With all the people who have found out today: Matt's mom, you and Carrie, I don't know how much longer we can keep the secret from getting out." "Well don't worry JP, I won't tell anyone: certainly not your parents at dinner tonight," Andrew promised him. "You can trust me like a brother; I hope you know that." "I do Andrew," JP assured him, breathing a big sigh of relief. He set down the highlighter after he finished tracing the route to his house: which was in the subdivision north of the park. "Now, onto a different subject Andrew." His big friend nodded in agreement and stood up to his full height. "As you can see from the map Andrew, my house is in the triangle formed by Burke Lake Road, the Fairfax County Parkway and Ox Road." "I have eyes JP!" Andrew teased him. JP looked up from the map and grinned as he saw Andrew smiling at him. "You know Andrew, even with the map highlighted, you might have a hard time finding my house without my help. Why don't Matt and I follow you guys back to your hotel in his car. Then all you'll have to do is follow me back to my house." "Good idea man," Andrew agreed, looking at his watch. "It's 3 pm now; what time are your parents expecting us for supper?" "5:30," JP replied. "Let's go back to your hotel where we can all get changed. Then Matt and I can show you three around the Springfield Mall and our other favourite hangouts before we head back to my house for supper." "Good ideas JP," Andrew said. "Let's go," he added, folding up the map and opening the driver's door of his truck. Carrie got into the passenger seat and Mike got into the back seat. Everyone closed their doors and wound down their windows. JP stood beside Andrew's window and said, "You lead the way to your hotel Andrew; I'll be right behind you." Andrew smirked at his choice of words. "I didn't mean it that way Andrew!" JP chuckled, feeling his face turn red with embarrassment. "But I'll expect you to be right behind me when we leave your hotel!" "Funny man JP, but I'm a giver, not a taker!" Andrew laughed, hoping to ease JP's embarrassment. His ploy worked as he saw the redness fade from JP's face. "Let's see if you can keep up with me," Andrew bragged, proving that JP wasn't the only one who could use double meanings. JP laughed as he headed to his car and Andrew started his engine. Once JP and Matt got into his car, Andrew pulled out of the parking lot and onto Ox Road. He turned right onto Burke Lake Road and headed northeast towards the intersection with Braddock Road. JP stayed right behind him as they headed northeast, passing a few houses on their left side. "I just thought of something Andrew," Carrie said suddenly. Andrew looked over at her briefly and saw her looking very thoughtful. He waited for a few seconds for her to speak and then prompted her, "Well don't keep it to yourself Carrie, unless it's something I shouldn't know." "It is something you should know, but JP forgot to tell us," Carrie said. "What's that?" Andrew asked her. "JP never told us if his parents know we're coming for supper or how much they know about us," Carrie replied. "I'm sure he asked them if we could come over for supper, but you're right: we don't know what he told them about us," Andrew realized. "I wonder if JP let them know that he thinks of me as his honorary big brother." "I don't know Andrew, but we should ask him when we get back to our hotel," Carrie decided. After about ten minutes, Andrew turned right onto Braddock Road and headed east towards the Capitol Beltway: specifically Interstate 495. "Hey JP, Andrew's taking Braddock Road towards the Beltway: a route we know very well," Matt said. "Yeah and he seems to know where he's going, probably because he highlighted the route from his hotel to the park," JP informed him. "He's probably back-tracking." He noticed Matt looking confused, so he elaborated, "He's retracing his route back to his hotel." Matt nodded in understanding as JP mentally kicked himself for forgetting that his boyfriend wasn't a genius like him. After another couple of minutes, the ramps of the Capitol Beltway came into view and Andrew took the southbound ramp of Exit 54B onto I-495. "Now we head south to Exit 57, which we will take onto Interstate 395 northbound," Carrie informed him, looking down at the map in her lap. "Thanks Carrie," Andrew said, keeping his eyes on the interstate traffic as he carefully merged with it. "This traffic is really heavy; it's worse than driving on the 401 in Toronto!" "Don't tell me that you're nervous Andrew!" Carrie teased him, trying to put him at ease. "You can flatten linebackers effortlessly in football games! Is my huge muscular man scared of a few little cars that he could probably overturn with no effort at all?" "Ok Carrie, I know what you're doing, and it's working," Andrew laughed. "Thank you for helping me relax; I'll have to reward you for that later." "How about we shower together back at the hotel and you can show me how grateful you are," Carrie suggested with a sexy smile. "Okay Carrie, but don't distract me too much with sex talk on this busy highway," Andrew ordered her. He smirked as he noticed her staring at his crotch and then swiftly caught her hand as she reached for the waistband of his gym shorts. "Don't even think about giving me Road Head Carrie; it would be too dangerous in this traffic!" Mike burst out laughing from the backseat and Andrew glared at him in the rear view mirror. "Shut up man; you're not helping!" "It's your fault for speaking your thoughts Andrew, when you should have kept them inside your head!" Mike chuckled. Carrie burst out laughing at his choice of words and Andrew finally cracked a smile: realizing that they had teamed up to make him relax. "Okay guys, it worked: I'm relaxed now," Andrew assured them. "Are you happy now?" "I'll only be happy when I can feel the soft touch of my big man in the shower," Carrie informed him. "You won't have long to wait for that Carrie, as long as you keep your eyes on the road so that we don't miss our exit," Andrew reminded her. Carrie smiled as she looked back at the road and imagined all the fun she and Andrew would have in their hotel shower later. Once JP's car and Andrew's truck got to the intersection of I-495 and I-395, they turned onto I-395 and took it northeast towards Alexandria, passing the Landmark Mall and skirting the northern Edge of the city. They finally reached Andrew's hotel at the Glebe Road exit and pulled into the parking lot. "There now, that wasn't so bad, was it?" Andrew asked as he got out of his truck. "Whatever you say 'Mr Scott,'" JP laughed, recognizing Andrew's quote from Relics: a Star Trek Next Generation Episode. "So, now that we're here which rooms should Matt and I shower and get changed in?" "Mike's room," Andrew replied. "Carrie and I are going to have fun together alone in our hotel room." He glanced over at Carrie with a suggestive smirk, and she returned it with one of her own. Then Andrew turned back to JP and said, "Let's go upstairs now and we'll meet in the lobby in half an hour." JP nodded in agreement as he and Matt followed Andrew into the lobby and up the stairs to his room. "Were you afraid that our combined weight would be too much for the elevator Andrew?" JP asked him with a joking grin. "No JP!" Andrew laughed. "I just figured that star athletes like us don't take the elevator. That's something lazy people would do!" JP laughed as Mike opened the door and waved to Andrew as he and Matt followed Mike inside. "Alone at last Carrie," Andrew said, picking Carrie up effortlessly and taking her into his room. He closed the door with his free hand and began kissing Carrie softly as they headed into the bathroom. "I hope you're going to do more than kiss me Big Man," Carrie teased him with a sexy smile. "I'll hug you as well Carrie," Andrew promised her. "I want you to fondle me," Carrie ordered him. "Maybe later Carrie; I don't want to risk hurting you and the shower is going to be awfully slippery once it's all wet," Andrew reminded her, turning it on. "And so will you Andrew; I'll make sure of that!" Carrie chuckled. "Well then, you'd better start right now Carrie," Andrew decided, making sure the bathroom door was closed. He smirked as Carrie struggled to take off his skintight t-shirt. "What's the matter Carrie: is my t-shirt too tight for you to get off?" "Yes it is Andrew, so I'll let you do it," Carrie chuckled, as Andrew peeled off his t-shirt. "I'll have to figure out some other way to make you happy." "I certainly will be if you keep doing what you're doing Carrie," Andrew assured her, as she began fondling his massive pecs and eight-pack abs. "You mean if I keep doing you," Carrie suggested with a sexy smirk as her soft hands continued to explore his massive muscles. "I don't think that would be a good idea Carrie, at least not until we're both legally consenting adults," Andrew said seriously. Carrie nodded in agreement, not knowing the real reason Andrew was reluctant to have sex with her: he was afraid he would hurt her with his great size and strength. "I'll just keep massaging your massive muscles Big Man." "Yeah Carrie, you've waited since this morning to worship my massive muscles, haven't you?" Andrew asked her with a cocky smirk. "Yeah I have Big Man," Carrie replied, closing her eyes in pleasure as Andrew gently massaged her face and neck. She quivered in anticipation as Andrew bent down and gently kissed her. As his massive arms came gently around her slender frame, Carrie felt tears running down her face. "I love you so much Andrew, and it only grows deeper the more intimate we become!" "Well don't worry Carrie, I'll make sure it gets better each time," Andrew promised her, gently wiping her tears of happiness off her face. "I look forward to it Andrew, and it will be great when we go all the way: hopefully before Christmas," Carrie hoped. Andrew smiled and nodded: feeling nervous about having sex with Carrie for the first time, but only because he was afraid that he would accidentally hurt her with his great strength. Knowing how irresistible his massive muscles were for her, Andrew no longer had any doubts about performing up to and beyond Carrie's expectations. For the next 20 minutes, Andrew and Carrie fondled, hugged and kissed as they had their shower. Then they got changed into their clothes for dinner. They made sure they had their ID and US money and then stepped out into the hallway, locking the door behind them. "Oh, no one to meet us," Andrew said, as he noticed that the other three were not out of their hotel room yet. "Good, that means they aren't ready yet, so we were still able to beat them even though we had fun with each other in the shower," Carrie said. "Yeah, but they had to take their showers one at a time," Andrew realized. "That means it took twice as long." "Don't you mean three times as long Andrew?" Carrie corrected him. Andrew shook his head with a slight smile and Carrie nodded in sudden understanding, realizing that JP and Matt had probably taken their shower together. "Sorry about my mistake Andrew." "No problem Carrie," Andrew assured her. "Now I'm going to see if they're ready." But he didn't get the chance; as soon as he stepped up to the room next door, the door opened and JP stepped out. "Hey Andrew, I see you and Carrie are all ready for dinner," he said. "Yes we are JP; are you and Matt ready to lead us to the Springfield Mall?" Andrew asked him. "Yes Andrew, but I was hoping I could ride alone with you," JP requested. "I'd like to prepare you for the reception you'll face at my parents house. Matt can follow us with Carrie and Mike in my car." "That's fine with me JP," Andrew agreed, after Carrie nodded in approval. "Let's go." As they walked down the hall to the elevator, Carrie smiled at Andrew, very happy that she had such a great boyfriend. JP led them to the elevator, and the doors opened as they approached. A crowd of people got off the elevator and then the five teenagers stepped inside. Andrew pressed the lobby button and the elevator doors closed. After the doors closed and the elevator began to descend, Mike said to JP, "My older brother's name is Matt." "That's good Mike; what does he do?" JP asked him. "He's in the Infantry in the Canadian Army," Mike replied proudly. "He's one of Andrew's instructors during his reserve weekends." JP nodded as the elevator stopped and the doors opened to reveal the hotel lobby. As he led the way across the lobby to the front doors, he said, "We'll make the Springfield Mall our first stop," he added, looking down at Andrew's map. "Will we see any of your friends there JP?" Andrew asked. "No I don't think so Andrew," JP replied. "I never see much of them during the summer." He pushed open the front door and led everyone outside. "See you at my house Matt and be careful driving my car." "I will JP," Matt promised him, waving goodbye. "Since you commented on my car when I arrived at the park earlier, you won't have any trouble finding it in the parking lot JP," Andrew said. JP nodded and tried to figure out how to tell Andrew what he had noticed without making his huge friend mad. Once they got to Andrew's truck, JP took a deep breath and said, "I have something to tell you Andrew, but I don't know how you'll react." "Then you'd better tell me now, before we get in the truck JP," Andrew warned him. "That way, you won't be trapped in a confined space with me if you make me mad." "OK Andrew: here goes," JP said, screwing up his courage. "Basically, when you were bragging about the fun you were going to have with Carrie in your hotel room, you were acting just like Ryan does." "Again with your brother JP," Andrew sighed in exasperation. He opened his truck door and added, "I really hope I get to meet him, considering how obsessed with him you are. From what you've told me, he sounds a lot like some teammates of mine who are arrogant jocks." "Ryan used to be on the wrestling team with me before he focused only on football," JP said as Andrew started the truck. "Now he has a full ride to Virginia Tech." "Are you proud of him for that?" Andrew asked him as they pulled out of the parking lot. "I would be if he wasn't such an arrogant prick about it!" JP snapped. "He took off a summer road trip without even telling our parents where he was going! They just hope that he makes it to Tech in time for the first football practice." "You know, since he's an incoming Freshman, he'll probably be Red-shirted," Andrew informed him. He noticed JP grinning and added, "That should knock his ego down a notch or two." JP's grin widened as he realized that Andrew had once again found a way to make him feel better. Then he suddenly realized something else. "Hey Andrew, does that mean that you won't get any playing time in your freshman college season either?" "I will get some playing time if we win the Provincial Championship this fall JP," Andrew predicted with a cocky smirk. "However, we'll have to wait to see how much playing time the football coaches at Ohio State offer me." He noticed JP's grin turn into an excited smile at the mention of the school he wanted to go to for college wrestling. "Consider my recruiting visits this summer practice for yours next summer JP," Andrew advised him. "By bringing you along with me, you'll be on the radar of the college wrestling coaches and maybe they'll come see some of your matches this fall. Make sure you wear your varsity wrestling jacket on my recruiting visits and bring your District Finalist medal as well." "I will Andrew," JP promised his big friend, really happy that Andrew was preparing him early for his college career. "After supper, I'll get my jacket and medal out of my room for the road trip that starts tomorrow. Did you bring your football jacket with you Andrew?" "Yeah man, it's in the back of the truck in my gym bag," Andrew replied with a smug grin. "I'll probably wear it at the mall; it should be cool enough in there." "Good, then we can see how close in colour scheme they are," JP said, suddenly remembering that Andrew's school colours were blue and white just like his. As they approached the Capitol Beltway, Andrew said, "There's a question I've been meaning to ask you JP." "You want to know how much my parents know about you," JP guessed. When Andrew nodded, JP added, "You also want to know if I got their permission to go on your recruiting visits with you." "And what is the answer to those two questions JP?" Andrew asked him with a big grin. "I'll tell you right now Andrew," JP replied. "We should be at the Springfield Mall by the time I'm done." Andrew nodded at him to go ahead and JP began speaking. ================================================================================================================================================= A few hours before, JP and Matt had gone over to JP's house for their daily morning workout in JP's basement gym. Then they went upstairs to shower and change for lunch with JP's parents. They came downstairs to find JP's parents finishing the lunch preparations in the kitchen. "Good morning JP," his mom Maureen greeted him. "Did you and Matt have fun last night at the National Mall?" "Yes we did Mom, though there was one unpleasant incident that had a positive outcome." "What happened son?" his dad Paul asked him, as his wife ushered them into the dining room for lunch. "A big college guy and his friend were sexual harassing Chrissy so I intervened," JP replied as he sat down at the dining room table. He noticed his dad's face clouding with rage so he hurried on with the story. "One of the big guys wanted to fight me, so when he went to punch me I twisted his arm behind his back, put him in a choke hold and threw him to the ground. Chrissy thanked me after they ran away and then we suddenly noticed two huge guys approaching us. I was about to fight them too, but Chrissy told me that they had been approaching to help her out before I got there. I thanked the huge guys for being ready to help Chrissy out and then Matt and I introduced ourselves to them. We got to know them better throughout the evening and they watched the fireworks with us later, after introducing us to their friend Carrie of course." "And what are the names of these two huge heroes?" JP's dad asked him with a big grin. "Andrew Pearson and Mike Stevenson," JP replied with a proud grin. "Andrew Pearson: the YouTube High School Football Star from Orillia, Ontario, Canada?" JP's mom asked in astonishment. "That's what I asked and Andrew confirmed it," JP replied. He turned to his dad and added, "He's a really great guy Dad and I got to know him quite well in the half hour before the fireworks started." After telling his parents everything he and Andrew had talked about, he showed them the pictures and videos he had taken of Andrew the night before. Then he concluded the story by saying, "I told Andrew that I'd ask you two if he could come over for dinner tonight with his friends to meet you and Matt's mom." "Well considering all that you've told us about him, that sounds like a great idea son," Maureen said, as they continued eating lunch. She looked over at Paul, who nodded in agreement, and added, "He sounds like a great role model for you and I'm glad that his success hasn't gone to his head." "It sounds to me like Andrew could teach your brother Ryan a thing or two about what being a big brother is all about," Paul said with pride in his eyes. "We'd be honored to have a famous Canadian high school football star eat dinner with us tonight." JP grinned, knowing that those words were high praise indeed coming from his dad. "Did you say that Andrew and his friends are going on recruiting visits throughout the Mid-West this week?" "Yeah Dad, but I guess I forgot to tell you what Andrew offered to do for me and Matt," JP realized. "Did Andrew offer to take you two on his recruiting visits with him?" Paul guessed with a glowing grin of pride. JP nodded and Paul shouted, "I knew it! Andrew is indeed the role model you need right now and he's thought of everything to help you secure your college wrestling career!" "You sound more excited about it than I am Dad!" JP teased him. "I am excited JP; Andrew's going to help your college wrestling dreams come true," Paul predicted. "He's really filling the role of the big brother very well so far. We'll have to talk to him over supper of course, but I can't think of anyone I'd rather have looking after you than Andrew Pearson." "I don't need anyone to look after me Dad, not after I took down that punk who was bugging Chrissy last night!" JP informed his dad with a glare. He flexed his biceps and snarled, "I can take care of myself and anyone who cares to test that theory is going to regret it!" "I should have chosen my words more carefully son, but so should you," Paul warned him with a frown. "I hope you don't try to start anything with Andrew; judging by his size, he could crush you like a paper cup!" "And Ryan too!" JP predicted with a cocky smirk. "Stop it son!" Maureen shouted angrily. "Ryan may have been acting like a jerk for the last few years but he's still your brother. He might need you one day, so don't turn your back on him now." Mrs. Maloney had no idea how prophetic those words were, but in a couple of years they would all find out. "Okay Mom, I understand," JP said, mostly to placate her because he couldn't imagine a future where he and Ryan would ever be close again. "I'll think about what you said and try to think of Ryan as my brother and not my rival." "Good for you son," Paul commended him. "But speaking of rivals, both you and Andrew lost your respective championships last season, didn't you?" "Yeah Dad, but why are you bringing that up now?" JP asked. "Maybe during your road trip this week, you and Andrew can mentor each other on how to win your respective championships this season," Paul replied. "I could also give you two some tips during supper tonight." "Good idea Dad," JP said sheepishly, looking down at his plate as he finished his lunch. "I'll tell your ideas to Andrew when I see him at Burke Lake Park this afternoon." "Good for you son: you're including him in your workouts," Paul said approvingly. "After supper you should show Andrew your basement weight room and the wrestling room at school." "More good ideas Dad," JP agreed, as he and Matt stood up from the table. "Can Matt and I head over to the park now to meet Andrew and his friends?" "As soon as you call your mother Matt," Maureen replied, standing up to collect the lunch dishes. "Invite her over for supper and you can tell her all about meeting Andrew and his friends last night." Matt nodded and went into the living room to make the call. His mom agreed to come over to JP's house for supper that night and told him, rather hesitantly, to have fun with JP and his new friends in the park that afternoon. Then Matt and JP said goodbye to JP's parents and headed over to Burke Lake Park to go running with Andrew and his friends. ============================================================================================================================================= "Good story JP," Andrew commended him, as they pulled into the Springfield Mall parking lot. "Well, here we are at the Springfield Mall." The 2006 sign below is only one year after my story takes place: July 2005. "I have eyes Andrew!" JP teased him, throwing Andrew's earlier line back in his face and pointing to the mall sign. Andrew grinned at him and then noticed JP's car pull up beside them with Matt, Carrie and Mike inside. "Hey Matt, I see you made it okay." "Yes I did JP; so what will we do in the mall for the next hour or so?" Matt asked him. "We'll just walk around and stretch from our workout this morning and our jogging this afternoon," JP replied. Then he got out of Andrew's truck and turned around to see Andrew putting on his blue and white ODCVI Varsity football jacket. "And now I know what Andrew's going to do: show off his jock status to all the people on the mall." "Yeah JP, I have to give into the jock image sometime so it might as well be right now," Andrew informed him with a cocky smirk. He locked his truck and added, "I'm ready if you are JP." "Yeah I am Andrew," JP said, following Andrew to the nearest mall entrance. Andrew led the way into the mall and headed for the food court, once he checked the directory to find out where it was. "Supper's not for a couple of hours Andrew." "Yeah I know, but I haven't eaten since lunch so I'm starving man," Andrew informed him. "These huge muscles need constant fuel to stay well maintained." "I can understand that man, but no one could miss how well maintained your huge muscles are. There should be a Five Guys in the food court." Once they got to the food court they realized that there was no Five Guys there. "It looks like you made a mistake JP: there's no Five Guys here," Mike said. "Thank you Captain Obvious," JP snapped. "I don't suppose you can tell me where the nearest Five Guys is?" "You're the one who lives in this area JP; you tell us," Mike dared him, not letting JP know that he knew the answer. "Right across the Interstate on Old Keene Mill Road," JP suddenly remembered. "Let's go: I'll show you guys my favourite restaurant." "And then I can return the favour if you ever come up to Orillia," Andrew offered. Everyone nodded in agreement and then retraced their steps back to their cars. As they walked, JP realized that there was something different about Andrew, but he couldn't put his finger on it. His huge friend seemed taller than he had been before their visit to he hotel, and there was a nagging sound that JP had constantly heard since they had entered the mall. JP slowed, lost in thought, and then looked ahead at Andrew. He finally noticed the source of the nagging sound he had heard. "You're wearing cowboy boots Andrew: that's why you're suddenly taller," JP realized. "Am I?" Andrew asked, looking down. "Oh yeah I am. But then I've always worn cowboy boots since Grade Five, so I didn't even notice. I only wear shoes when I have to dress up, work out or play sports. And the reason that I'm noticeably taller is because the heels on my boots are three inches, not the normal inch and a half. So I stand 6 foot 10 with my boots on: making me the same height as the Undertaker. So I may have to duck my head to get into your house." "Don't worry about it Andrew; you look really cool and tough," JP commended him. "It's no wonder everyone we've passed has stared at you in awe and fear!" "Don't forget about yourself JP; you attract a lot of attention as well," Andrew reminded him. "Yeah I noticed that yesterday at the National Mall and on the train," JP said, suddenly looking embarrassed. "Don't feel embarrassed JP; it comes with the territory of being a top athlete," Andrew informed him. "Just wait until the interviews start!" "You've had interviews Andrew?" JP asked him in astonishment. "Yeah man, I was Athlete of the Week on VR News at the end of the last football season," Andrew replied with a smug grin. "Then the college recruiting visits started a few months ago." "Which schools did you visit this spring Andrew?" JP asked him, as they reached Andrew's truck. "Penn State, West Virginia, Clemson, Georgia Tech, Alabama, Florida and Miami," Andrew replied, his smug grin morphing into a cocky smile. "But those were Junior Day visits, held during March Break. I was one of only 50 high school junior athletes at those events." They got into Andrew's truck and he started it. "The first visits to the schools just for me start tomorrow when we visit Ohio State." "You mean The Ohio State," JP corrected him as they pulled out of the parking lot. Andrew smiled and nodded; realizing that of course JP would know the proper name of the school he wanted to wrestle at during his college years. "What other schools are we visiting this week Andrew?" "Notre Dame and the University of Michigan," Andrew replied, pleased that he would be able to visit three US Football schools that week. "I would have visited Michigan State as well, but they don't offer tours of their football stadium. An Unofficial Visit isn't much good without being able to tour the stadium where I might play college football one day." As they drove across the bridge over the Interstate, JP asked, "Will we spend one night at each school Andrew?" "That's the plan JP, but I'll have to check Mapquest to be sure," Andrew replied. "From what I remember though, the first leg of the trip takes us to Ohio State in six and a half hours. We'll pass halfway between Pittsburgh and Morgantown on Interstate 70 westbound." "And I'm guessing that the schedule is more flexible since we're driving," JP guessed, as they stopped at the red light at the west end of the bridge. Andrew nodded in agreement as the light turned green and they were able to turn left before the oncoming traffic started moving. Andrew parked his truck in front of the Five Guys restaurant and waited for Matt to pull up beside him in JP's dark green Geo Prism. Then everyone went into the restaurant and lined up behind an older couple until it was time to order their food. The guys at the counter soon took their order, staring at JP in awe and Andrew in fear. Andrew felt exasperated that he got the same reaction everywhere he went but he was also relieved that JP was diverting some of the attention off of him. As they waited to pick up their order, Andrew sent Mike to pick a table for them with Matt and Carrie. Then he turned back to JP and noticed him glancing warily around the restaurant. "What is it JP; what has you so nervous?" Andrew asked, though he could guess. "I'm making sure no one from school is in here," JP replied. "I'm really popular there, even more so now than my brother, and since we have a supper timing to meet, I don't want there to be any more delays." He smirked as Andrew grinned at his use of a military phrase. "Just a phrase I picked up from my dad Andrew." Andrew nodded with a smile and hen turned back to the counter to pick up their order. JP breathed a sigh of relief: pleased that Andrew hadn't figured out that JP didn't want anyone from school telling Ryan about his new friend Andrew. But his hopes were dashed as he turned towards their table and noticed a huge familiar figure coming through the front door. "Oh no," JP groaned in dismay; not pleased at all to see his brother's former teammate on the football team. "Let's get to our table Andrew, before he sees us." "Who are you talking about JP?" Anew asked, as they reached their table. "It's Tyler Backton: Ryan's teammate on the football team," JP replied, putting a hand to his forehead in dismay as they sat down. "Of all the people I didn't want to see today, he's the one who could tell Ryan all about you!" "Maybe if he tells Ryan that I took over his role as your big brother, it will shame Ryan into reclaiming it," Andrew suggested hopefully. "Don't worry JP; I'll stand up and hopefully my size will scare Ryan once he hears about it." He stood up, revealing himself and drawing Tyler's attention. Tyler's eyes widened in astonishment at Andrew's size and he carefully approached JP's table. "Hey JP, who's your big friend?" Tyler asked hesitantly once he has stopped beside JP's table. "It's huge friend actually, and his name is Andrew Pearson," JP replied, standing up from the table. Andrew stepped forward to shake Tyler's hand, towering over him even though Tyler stood 6 foot 3 and weighed 275 pounds. Tyler had to conceal a wince at the strength in Andrew's grip, guessing that JP's huge friend could bench a lot more than 400 pounds. "Good to meet you Tyler," Andrew said. "You used to play high school football with JP's older brother Ryan, didn't you?" "Yeah this is my senior year coming up so it's my last chance to impress Penn State enough to get a full football scholarship." "Then we have something in common: we both want to earn a full ride from the NCAA," Anew informed him. "I hope to get into Miami but depending on how the recruiting visits go, I could be persuaded to stay closer to home: like Ohio State perhaps." Andrew glanced significantly at JP as he finished speaking, who took it as a cue to say goodbye to Tyler. "It was good seeing you Tyler but we have a dinner timing to meet. I'll say hi to Ryan for you when I see him again and I'll see you at the wrestling camp in six weeks." "Sure JP; see you later," Tyler said agreeably. He nodded at Andrew and added, "Nice meeting you man." "You too Tyler," Andrew said, giving him a big grin. "See you later." Tyler nodded and headed out of the restaurant with his take-out order. Once he was gone, Andrew turned to JP and said, "There now, that wasn't much of a delay, was it JP?" JP shook his head and grinned: pleased that Andrew had once again found a way to make him feel better. Half an hour later, as they were driving to JP's house, JP said, "I have a very important question to ask you Andrew." "What is it Big Guy?" Andrew asked him, glancing over at him with a small grin. "What's it like to be you?" JP asked, looking over at Andrew with great respect in his eyes. "What do you mean JP?" Andrew asked, even though he had an idea. "You're admired and respected by everyone, even my friends, you're a god on the football field and lots of NCAA schools want you to join their football teams. How have you stayed so humble even though you've been a super jock for years?" "Super jock: that's a good one JP," Andrew said with a smirk. He noticed his smaller friend looking at him seriously, waiting earnestly for an answer. "It hasn't been easy not to let all the attention go to my head for the past seven years. But once I took care of the bully in Grade Five, everyone admired and respected me for being their hero. I couldn't bear to disappoint them, so I had to play the role of the humble big guy." "So you're just pretending to be humble Andrew?" JP asked, looking disappointed. "At first I was, but then it became my natural state," Andrew informed him. "I had a rough time when my Grandpa died almost a year ago and I gave into the cocky jock role to cover it up. But when I got suspended from the team and then we lost the Provincial Championship, it put things in perspective and I returned to my humble and gentle nature. Also, everyone wanted to learn how I got so big and strong so I gradually became a mentor for the small guys: training them to become football players like me in high school." JP grinned: pleased that his image of Andrew as a gentle giant had not been tarnished. "It sounds like you've made nothing but good decisions in your life man." "I know it seems that way now, but 2004 was quite frankly a 'Year of Hell' for me," Andrew informed him with a frown. "That was the title of a two-part Voyager episode in November 1997," JP suddenly realized. "Yeah, but unlike the crew of Voyager, the events were not erased by a magic reset button so I have to live with those memories for the rest of my life," Andrew said seriously. "I was allowed to play the final two games of last season and I didn't let my emotions get the better of me even when we lost the Provincial Championship. Coach Everson noticed my newfound maturity and helped me get invites to Junior Days here in the States a few months ago. And now I'm going on my first Unofficial Visits to schools in the Midwest." "Are you bringing Mike along, just like me, to help him get exposure to the college coaches?" JP asked him, astonished at Andrew's story of maturity discovery. "Yeah man, he was my first protege: I taught him everything he knows," Andrew replied proudly. "I want to help him realize his college football dreams. Unless the college coaches ban me from bringing anyone else along on my recruiting visits, I'll make sure the limelight shines on all my proteges." JP nodded, pleased with Andrew's explanation, and then just glanced occasionally at his huge friend in awe during the rest of the drive to his house. Andrew noticed and smiled quietly to himself: pleased that he inspired such admiration from a famous athlete like JP Maloney. Once they arrived at JP's house, Andrew got out of his truck and took a few deep breaths to calm his nerves. "It's okay Andrew, I told my parents nothing but good things about you," JP assured him, as Matt pulled up in JP's car. "You lead the way into your house with Matt JP," Andrew ordered him. "I'll follow with Carrie and Mike." JP nodded and led the way to the front porch. As he climbed the front steps, the front door opened and JP's parents stepped out. "Hello son, how are you?" JP's dad asked him. "I'm fine Dad: I had a great day with my friends," JP replied. He motioned behind him and added, "I'd like you to meet my new friend Andrew Pearson." Mr. Maloney, who rarely had an emotional reaction to anything, widened his eyes in astonishment at how huge and muscular Andrew was. JP, on the other hand, grinned at how much bigger and more muscular Andrew was than his big brother Ryan. "I'm very pleased to meet you Andrew," Mr. Maloney said, revealing his admiration for Andrew by using his first name right away. He stepped forward and shook Andrew's hand eagerly, who remembered to be gentle so that he wouldn't crush Mr. Maloney's hand. "JP has told me and my wife all about you." "All good things I hope, but I guess we'll find out once you invite me inside," Andrew said. "Yes you will, come on in Andrew," JP's mom said, ushering everyone into the house. She shook his hand once they were inside and added, "Welcome to the Maloney house Andrew." "Thank you Mrs. Maloney," Andrew said, taking off his boots. "You're welcome Andrew, but please call me Maureen," Mrs. Maloney ordered him. "And call me Paul," Mr. Maloney added. As everyone took off their shoes, Matt's mom stepped out from the living room. "This is Mrs. Anderson: Matt's mom," Maureen said, as Andrew and his friends stepped forward to shake her hand. "I'm very pleased to meet all of you," Mrs. Anderson said as they all stepped into the living room across from the kitchen. "So Andrew, JP tells me that you can bench-press more than 500 pounds," Paul said once they were all sitting down. "More like 700 pounds actually, but who's counting?" Andrew asked with a smug grin. His grin faded as he noticed everyone staring at him with a mix of awe and fear. "If you have enough weight plates in your basement gym, I'd be glad to demonstrate," he offered. "We should have enough plates downstairs," Paul assured him. "After all, JP here benches over 300 pounds," he added, smiling proudly at his son. "Let's go downstairs and find out." Andrew and his friends followed the Maloney's downstairs to the basement weight room: where Ryan and then JP had turned themselves into the gods of Central High School. While Mike and Carrie stared at all the machines and weights with astonishment, Andrew didn't seem surprised. "You don't seem surprised like your two friends to see an entire gym down here Andrew," Paul said. "I have one in my basement at home Sir and it looks a lot like this," Andrew informed him. "Call me Paul Andrew," Mr. Maloney advised him. "Because it's time for a rhyme Paul?" Andrew asked him with a smug grin. "Very funny Andrew!" Paul laughed, as JP added extra weight plates to the bench-press to bring it up to 700 pounds. "Twice as much as I bench but I'll get there one day," JP predicted. "First you have to win the State Championship JP," Paul reminded him with a frown. "Yes Dad, I will," JP assured him, putting the locking pins in place. "But before any of that happens, we have to see if Andrew can truly bench 700 pounds or if he was exaggerating." "Hey JP, don't talk about me like I'm not in the gym!" Andrew ordered him. He flexed his massive biceps with a cocky smirk and added, "Last time I checked, I was in the gym!" "There's no way anyone could miss you, considering how big and muscular you are!" JP assured him. "Let's see how effective these huge muscles are in the gym!" Andrew shouted in excitement, laying down on the bench. "Get your cameras ready everyone!" Andrew grabbed the loaded bar as JP lowered it into his hands. Then he lowered it to his chest and pushed it up fairly easily, causing his friends to look amazed at his awesome strength. Since JP was serving as his spotter, though he really didn't need one, Mike was free to capture Andrew's massive strength using the video mode on his digital camera. Mike, like everyone else, watched with amazement as Andrew benched 700 pounds easily, making it look almost effortless. Andrew raised the bar for the tenth and final rep, letting JP put it back on the brackets. "Good job Andrew," JP congratulated him. "How do you feel?" "It felt easier than it did last week," Andrew replied with a big grin. "I didn't even break a sweat this time. Do you have any more weight plates so that I can try again for my maximum of 800 pounds?" "No I don't Andrew," JP replied, his eyes wide with fear and amazement at Andrew's awesome strength. "Too bad JP," Andrew said, sitting up from the weight bench. "I guess I'll have to see if the gym at Ohio State has enough weight plates to challenge me." "Yes, when you take JP and Matt there," Paul said. He looked at his watch and added, "It's time we got dinner started, so we'll go upstairs now. Mike, you come upstairs with us so that you can email that video to the colleges you and Andrew will visit this week." "I'd like to stay down here with Andrew until dinner's ready," JP said. "I have something to show him that I think he'd like to see." Matt glanced over at JP as he headed upstairs and JP nodded, confirming that he was going to show Andrew The Wall. "See you upstairs later for dinner Andrew," Carrie said, standing on her toes to give him a kiss. Andrew bent down to meet her soft lips, kissing her softly. He folded his massive arms around her gently as he breathed in the fruity aroma of her perfume. "See you soon Carrie," he said, stroking her face softly as he drew back from her soft lips. JP grinned as he saw the gentle smile on Andrew's face as Carrie walked upstairs. "You really love her, don't you Andrew?" JP asked his huge friend. "Yeah man, in fact, I hope we get married before we go to college," Andrew replied. He turned to JP, saw him smiling, and realized that he was probably thinking of Matt. "Now JP, enough about me; what did you want to show me?" "What I call 'The Wall' Andrew," JP replied, leading him to a door in the far left corner of the basement. "I've only shown this to Matt, so I hope you realize how much I trust you that I'm letting you see it too." "I understand JP," Andrew assured him. "Let's see what this 'Wall' looks like," he added, as they stopped in front of the door. JP grinned and opened the door, turning on the light so that Andrew could see the contents of the room for himself. As Andrew looked around the back room, his eyes widened as he saw the pictures of JP's progress from a skinny kid to a muscular jock. "You look surprised Andrew," JP said with a smug grin. "Don't you have pictures of your progress at home?" "Just in a photo album, not all over two walls JP," Andrew said with a slight frown of disapproval. JP seemed to twitch at the words 'Photo Album' and Andrew noticed. "What is it Big Guy?" he asked softly. "I have something else to show you Andrew," JP replied. "Again, this is something I've shown only one other person: Matt." Andrew watched as JP walked over to a cabinet in the far corner of the back room. He opened a drawer and pulled out a photo album: the same one he had shown Matt after their visit with Matt's dad. "Are those more pictures of you JP?" Andrew asked with a big grin. "No Andrew, these are pictures of my brother," JP replied seriously. He opened the album and showed Andrew the pictures of his big brother Ryan: from when he was a fat kid in Grade Five to when he became a high school jock. "When Ryan was a fat kid he was always nice to me and I idolized him: following him around everywhere. He was the perfect big brother back then." "So what happened JP?" Andrew asked him gently, as they looked through more pages of the album. "As he got leaner and more muscular, he began to pull away from me, especially once high school started and he made the football team," JP replied. "Once he became a jock, he no longer had time for me." "Then who taught you how to work out when you got to high school?" Andrew asked with a confused look on his face. "Actually Ryan did, but only because I begged him to," JP replied sadly. "He didn't offer to do it; I had to bug him until he gave in. Then he told me that if I worked out a bit, perhaps even joined the wrestling team he was on, I wouldn't get picked on at school. You might not believe this Andrew, but I was barely 100 pounds two years ago." "I know, I can see the pictures JP," Andrew reminded him, pointing to the left side of the first wall. "Yeah that's true," JP realized. "Anyway, Ryan became my personal trainer and workout partner almost two years ago and he helped me become what I am today." "So what happened JP?" Andrew asked, figuring that they would soon get to the heart of the matter. "What happened between the two of you that turned you from workout partners into rivals?" "I really don't know Andrew," JP replied, looking down at his feet. "Are you sure JP?" Andrew asked him seriously, handing back the photo album. "You never gloated when you began to catch up to his size and strength? You never made fun of him when he got stuck on a weight-lifting plateau or put on a few pounds of fat?" JP's jaw dropped in astonishment at Andrew's insight but then his face fell as the full impact of his big friend's words hit him. "Oh no," he whispered, sitting down on the bench with his chin in his hands. "It's all my fault Andrew: I pushed Ryan away by doing everything you described during my last workout with him three months ago! Instead of encouraging him when he got stuck at 325 on the bench-press for three months, I gloated that I was only a few dozen pounds behind him. I rubbed my success in his face instead of thanking him for helping me get to where I am today!" "I'm afraid so JP, but you're not the only one to make those mistakes," Andrew assured him. "I did the same thing with Steve almost seven years ago, even though he never trained me. I certainly didn't think about our friendship when I gloated about suddenly being bigger and stronger than he was when we started Grade Five!" "You were only ten years old Andrew; you probably didn't know any better," JP assured him. "But I on the other hand was already 16 years old three months ago and I still made fun of Ryan!" "Don't feel too bad JP; at least you still spent time with him all these years," Andrew reminded him. JP's face brightened with a small smile as he realized that Andrew was right. "I, on the other hand, completely neglected Steve the summer before Grade Five, even though we had been best friends since Nursery School! And then to make matters worse, once I got bigger than he was, I just gloated about it instead of helping him get as big and strong as I was! I also spent more time with my new protege Mike instead of Steve and then our friendship ended in a big shouting match that Christmas." "And how did you regain your friendship with Steve?" JP asked, hoping that he could get an idea on how to repair his relationship with Ryan. But his hopes were dashed when Andrew replied, "I never did repair my friendship with Steve JP or he would be here with us right now. Instead, I've spent the last seven years being his rival on the football field, even though we're on the Offensive Line together!" He noticed the look of defeat in JP's eyes and suddenly thought of something that could cheer him up. "But you have a couple things going for you that I never had JP." "What's that Andrew?" JP asked, a glimmer of hope returning to his eyes. "You and Ryan are brothers," Andrew replied, as JP put the album back in the cabinet drawer and closed it. "And as you said, you last worked out together only three months ago, which means that you continued spending time with Ryan even when he didn't want to." "That's three things Andrew," JP teased him, ushering him out of the back room. As he closed the door, he gave Andrew a cocky smirk and added, "I thought a smart guy like you would know how to count!" "Very funny JP!" Andrew laughed, as he followed his smaller friend across the gym to the bench-press. "The point I'm trying to make is: you didn't give up on your relationship with Ryan like I did with Steve. I know Ryan's away right now on his pre-college road trip, but when he gets back, you should try to fix your relationship with him before it's too late." "It's already too late Andrew!" JP snapped in exasperation. "Ryan ran off on his road trip without saying goodbye to me or our dad! We don't even know if he'll be back for Thanksgiving, which is four and a half months away here in America! He'll probably have forgotten about me by then! And if you haven't fixed your friendship with Steve, what makes you think I can fix my relationship with Ryan?" "It's only been there months since you last spent time together, not seven years like it has been with me and Steve," Andrew reminded him, trying to keep his smaller friend calm. "Also, don't forget that he's your brother JP. Family ties don't usually get broken; they just get frayed. I have confidence in you JP; you're not the quitting type. You know, the next time Ryan is home for a while, perhaps during Christmas Break, I should come down here so that I can see both of you. Maybe if Ryan sees our brotherly relationship, it will inspire him to regain what he's lost by turning away from you." "Or he'll figure that he's been replaced and resent me even more," JP huffed, feeling worse not better. "I guess I'm not the best example on this matter JP; I can't even follow my own advice!" Andrew finally realized. JP nodded in agreement, wondering when his big friend would stop talking about Ryan. "After all, I've never had a brother and I haven't shown any willingness over the past seven years to patch things up with Steve. I just replaced him with my first protege Mike Stevenson: the guy for whom I originally neglected him! I think when I get home this summer, I'll try, somehow, to make up with Steve. After all, we'll only have one last year of high school together and then we may never see each other again! I can only hope that you try to repair your relationship with Ryan when you see him again. I would hate for you to have to live with the regret of a failed relationship for seven years like I've had to do." "Sure Andrew, whatever you say," JP said dismissively, getting really tired of being lectured by his huge friend. "And maybe Hell will freeze over while I wait for Ryan to become my Big Brother again!" "You'll have to make it happen JP; you can't wait for it," Andrew advised him, trying not to get mad at JP's impatience. "Once you're as big as he is, he won't be able to ignore you anymore! He'll have to talk to you then and maybe he'll be proud of you for a change instead of jealous!" "You're right Andrew," JP realized, relieved that his huge muscular friend wasn't mad at him. "I'll try to fix our relationship the next time I see him, if he gives me the chance that is!" "That's all I can ask JP, but remember: you don't have to do all the work," Andrew suddenly realized. "Ryan has to want to be your Big Brother again or you'll never regain your relationship with him. I only hope it doesn't take something happening to one of you for the other to realize just how important you are to each other." Andrew had no idea how prophetic that statement was, but he did realize that he was scaring JP when he saw a glimmer of tears in his eyes. "Sorry for scaring you like that JP; I guess I'm not doing a very good job of cheering you up, am I?" "No you're not Andrew," JP replied: both truthfully and bravely considering how huge and muscular his big friend truly was. Andrew glared at him and JP hastily added, "But I guess you can't be good at everything, can you Big Guy?" Before Andrew could reply, the basement door opened and JP's dad started down the basement steps. "Dinner's ready you two," he said. "Come upstairs and get washed up." As Andrew and JP followed him up the basement steps, he asked, "What were you two talking about down here? It sounded rather heated." "We were talking about Ryan," JP replied through gritted teeth as he clenched his fists in fury. "I can't believe that he didn't even say goodbye to us before he left!" "Neither can your mother and I," Paul agreed. Then he added, "But I guess we shouldn't be surprised; he's barely acknowledged us during the last four years!" "I'm here Mr. Maloney," Andrew said quickly, hoping to head off another rant about Ryan. "I'd be glad to fill the 'big brother' role for JP." "Thank you Andrew," Paul said gratefully. "That's exactly why we're trusting you to take good care of JP during your upcoming Mid-West Recruiting Visits." He noticed JP glaring at him and hastily added, "Not that JP needs to be taken care of; he proved that last night when he took care of that jerk who was bugging Chrissy!" JP grinned proudly and then his father's previous sentence penetrated his consciousness. He turned from the sink, where he was washing his hands, and asked his dad excitedly, "Did you say that Andrew will be taking care of me during the recruiting visits?" His dad nodded with a small grin. "You mean I can go with my new friend Andrew on his road trip?" "Yes JP, but first clean up the water you splashed on the floor in your excitement," Paul ordered him with a chuckle. JP's face turned red with embarrassment as he grinned sheepishly and grabbed some paper towels. Paul turned back to Andrew and said, "I'm placing a lot of trust in you Andrew: to keep JP safe during this road trip. Can you do that for me?" "For us Paul," Maureen corrected him with a frown. "JP's our son, not just yours." "Of course dear," Paul said hastily. "I didn't mean to forget about you: I just misspoke." "Okay Paul," Maureen said. She handed him some plates and added, "You can make it up to me by setting the table." "I'll help him Mom," JP offered, anxious to spend some time with Matt. "Good idea son, that will give me a chance to talk privately with Andrew for a couple of minutes," Maureen decided. Andrew looked surprised, but he stayed quiet while JP and his dad left the kitchen with the plates and cutlery. Then he turned to JP's mom and asked her, "What did you want to talk about Mrs Maloney?" "Call me Maureen Andrew," Mrs Maloney said. Andrew nodded and Mrs Maloney continued by saying, "I just want you to know how much Paul and I appreciate you being there for JP." "Especially since Ryan hasn't been," Andrew interjected. "JP told me all about that downstairs while you guys were cooking dinner." "Yes Andrew, Ryan hasn't been there for his brother like you have, both last night and today. JP told me at lunch all that you talked about last night and how similar you two are, considering all that you've both gone through over the last few years." "Yes I was surprised myself at how similar we are," Andrew agreed. "But I'm glad to help JP get a head start on his college wrestling hopes by taking him with me to Ohio State." "I have complete confidence in your ability to look after JP on these upcoming Unofficial Recruiting Visits of yours," Maureen informed him proudly. "Thank you very much Mrs Maloney," Andrew said gratefully. "I'll make sure to justify your faith in me by keeping JP safe. But from what I saw last night, JP doesn't need protection from anyone!" "Yes, being a District Finalist in wrestling does have its advantages when dealing with college guys on the prowl," Maureen agreed. "Have you ever had to use force to scare people away from Carrie?" "Only the force of my voice," Andrew replied with a smug grin. "One of the advantages of being huge and insanely strong is that anyone who wants to start trouble is scared away with just a look!" "Good for you Andrew; now that you are in the middle of college football recruiting, any fighting you're involved in could derail that entire train ride!" "Thanks for that insight Mrs Maloney," Andrew said, as the oven timer went off. As she took the food out of the oven, he added, "I find it very gratifying to be a big brother for JP, just like I did in previous years for my football proteges, who are now my teammates." "That's good to hear Andrew," Maureen said, setting the food on the large breadboard. "I'm glad you've had a lot of practice being a mentor. Now let's go into the dining room for dinner; everyone's waiting for us." Andrew nodded and helped her bring the food into the dining room. Then they sat down at the table, where everyone else was already seated. They said grace and began eating. "So Andrew, have you and your friends mapped out a travel plan for your NCAA Road Trip?" Mr Maloney asked. "Yes Sir," Andrew replied. "I have the map book in my truck; I can show it to you after supper." "Good idea Andrew, because if you're taking the route I'm thinking of, I have another idea." "I can remember the route Sir," Andrew said. "It will take us to Ohio State, Notre Dame, and Michigan." "That confirms that my idea will work, but I'll tell you what it is after supper when we look at your map book," Mr Maloney decided. Andrew nodded in agreement and Paul added, "So Andrew, do you realize what an amazing coincidence it was that you and JP were in the National Mall at the same time last night?" "Yes Sir I do," Andrew agreed. "But I also realize that this was the only summer I could do it. Last summer I was Basic Reserves Training and next summer I will be preparing for my freshman season of college football. But I must say, when I saw JP on the train, I knew that I recognized him from somewhere. Then once my friends and I got back from our tour of the National Mall, we used his bright blue tank top as a reference point to find our spot on the lawn again. Then I remembered where I had seen him before: on the front page of the sports section of the Washington Post." He noticed JP's friends and family smiling with pride at the memory of the day JP had been interviewed. "I was trying to figure out how to introduce myself to your son when those two big college guys started bugging Chrissy. I was about to intervene to protect her, but JP got there first and helped her out. Then I was able to introduce myself to him, once he noticed me of course." "You're impossible to miss Andrew," Paul said proudly, referencing Andrew's huge muscles. Andrew smiled quietly as Paul added, "JP told me all about how you were ready to help Chrissy before he got there." He thought for a moment and then said, "I might as well tell you my idea now, while you get yourself a second helping." "What do you mean Sir?" Andrew asked innocently, after he swallowed his last mouthful of food. "You cleaned your plate Andrew and so did Mike," Paul replied with a big grin. "Raise your hand if you want seconds." "How about I flex my arm instead," Andrew decided. He flexed his massive arm with a cocky smirk and added, "Both my huge arms need lots of fuel to get even bigger!" Everyone around the table laughed at Andrew's cocky attitude, which reminded them that he was a jock, not just an athlete. "I think your ego is just as big as your arms Andrew," JP teased his huge friend. Andrew grinned at his smaller friend and then realized he'd better get the conversation back on track. "What was your idea Mr Maloney?" he asked, as he got himself a second helping. "Call me Paul Andrew; I told you that when you first got here," Paul said. He waited for Andrew to nod in agreement and then added, "Ann Arbor is a lot closer to Orillia than it is to Washington DC." "Yes it is Paul," Andrew agreed, grinning as he guessed where JP's dad was going with this. "Good, then since we've hosted you tonight, how about you and your family return the favour once your Unofficial Visits are complete?" "Are you serious Dad?" JP shouted in excitement before Andrew could reply. "I get to meet Andrew's family and friends and perhaps see where he has achieved glory on the gridiron?" "If Andrew and his parents agree," Paul reminded him. He looked over at Andrew, who nodded in agreement. "Good, then all we need to do is get your parents on Skype after dinner and ask them." He looked over at Andrew and asked, "Are they home?" "Yes Paul; they're making plans for me to visit some Canadian football schools," Andrew replied. "Good, then it's all settled," Paul decided. "Let's finish our dinner and then we can Skype your parents and see if they're on board with my idea." Everyone nodded in agreement and followed his suggestion. Then, after dinner, Andrew used his laptop to get his dad on Skype so that he could introduce his parents to his new friend JP Maloney and his family. "Hey Dad," Andrew said once Chad's face appeared on the screen. "Hello son," Chad said, grinning at his son. "How is your Washington trip going?" "It's going quite well Dad," Andrew replied. "In fact, I met some new friends and their parents." He took a few minutes to tell his dad about the events of the previous evening and that afternoon. "What do you think Dad?" "I think you've made a great new friend," Chad said with a proud smile on his face. "But you forgot to tell me his name." "I didn't forget, I held back his name deliberately," Andrew informed him with a smug grin. He motioned JP to step into view of the laptop screen and added, "I think you'll recognize him." JP stepped in front of the laptop screen as Andrew stepped back. Chad's smile widened as he said, "You're JP Maloney!" "Yes I am Sir," JP said, surprised that Andrew's dad recognized him. "How did you recognize me?" "I took a business trip down there last week and I noticed your article in the sports section of the Washington Post," Chad replied. "It was the part about you starting a middle school wrestling camp that caught my eye actually." "Why was that Sir?" JP asked, not noticing Andrew stepping into the living room to speak with JP's parents. "Andrew has been a mentor himself: his first mentor was Mike actually," Chad informed him. "Then he mentored Mike's older brother Mark. The next year, he mentored the current Starting Quarterback and Wide Receiver on the OD Varsity Football Team. You stick with Andrew and he'll show you how to be a good mentor for your future protege Nick." "I will Sir," JP promised him. "You don't have to call me Sir, JP," Chad informed him. "Okay Mr Pearson," JP said agreeably. "That will do for now," Chad said. "Now, did Andrew call me on Skype just to introduce you to me or did he have another reason?" "There is another reason, but I should let Andrew tell you what it is, after you meet my parents of course." JP motioned his mom and dad over to Andrew's laptop and they introduced themselves to Andrew's dad and mom. "My parents had an idea Mr Pearson," JP said. "I'll just get Andrew so that he can hear it too." JP went into the living room to get Andrew while Paul and Maureen talked for a bit with Chad. "Your son is a really great young man Chad," Maureen said. "He has really taken JP under his wing in the absence of JP's older brother Ryan." "Yes I know that very well and he has been a great young man for many years," Chad agreed proudly. "Did Andrew tell you how he has mentored a few of his friends over the years and helped them become football players?" "Yes I believe he mentioned that," Paul said. He looked up and noticed Andrew and JP coming back into the den. "Explain your idea to your dad Andrew." "Actually it was your idea Sir," Andrew reminded him with a smug grin. "You're right, it was Andrew," Paul realized. "Okay Mr Pearson, here's my idea: since Andrew's last recruiting visit is near Detroit, he could go right to Orillia from there with JP." "So that we can host you and your family in return for you hosting our son right now," Chad realized. He turned to his wife Susan and asked, "What do you think dear?" "That sounds like a good idea," Susan agreed. "We have lots of room if you count the guest room and the pullout couches." "Good then it's all settled," Paul decided. "We'll keep in touch so that you can let us know when Andrew leaves Ann Arbor. Then my wife and I will start the journey to Orillia, which we will be able to reach in one day from here. Then we can all meet at your house." "That sounds good to me," Chad said. "See you all in a few days. Be sure to call me once you've crossed the border Andrew." "I will Dad," Andrew promised, waving goodbye to Chad. "See you later." "Goodbye son: enjoy your recruiting visits," Chad said. Once the Skype connection had been broken, Paul turned to Andrew and said, "There now, it's all settled Andrew: once you and JP cross the border into Canada, he can call us so that we can start our journey to meet you in Orillia the next day." "Would a text message be more convenient Sir?" Andrew asked. "That way, JP won't get any international calling charges on his phone bill and neither will you." "That's a very good idea Andrew," Paul commended him. "Thank you for suggesting it." He turned to JP and said, "Now how about you and Matt take Andrew and his friends over to the high school so that he can see the football field and the wrestling room." "Good idea Dad," JP agreed. "But how will we get into the wrestling room? I don't have a key." "But Coach Graves does and he'll be expecting you," Paul informed him. "Once you told us about Andrew during lunch, I knew that it would be a good idea to show him where you have achieved glory on the wrestling mat. So I called Coach Graves and told him my idea. Since he had some work to do for August's Wrestling Camp, he said that he would bring it to his office in the high school after supper. I told him you would meet him there at 7:30." "Okay Dad, I'll go get ready now," JP said, heading for the stairs. "Good idea JP," Paul agreed. "Your mom and I will stay down here to entertain your guests." "Thanks Dad, since I can't do that all the time!" JP joked, heading upstairs. "Don't forget your wrestling jacket JP!" Andrew shouted. JP grinned and nodded, pleased that Andrew had thought of everything. As JP turned the corner out of sight, Maureen turned to Andrew and asked, "Why did you tell JP to bring his jacket? It's really hot outside." "It was my idea to help raise his profile for the recruiting visits," Andrew replied. "It makes sense for him to make sure it still fits. He's pretty muscular you know." "That's an understatement Andrew, especially when referring to you," Mrs Anderson said with raised eyebrows. "Thank you Mrs Anderson," Andrew said. "But I think I should get my jacket out of my truck to make sure it fits. I'll be right back." Andrew headed outside to his car and JP's parents took that opportunity to get their digital camera. Once Andrew came back inside with his football jacket on, he found his friends and their parents waiting for him in the living room. "What's going on here?" Andrew asked with a smile. "Just a group shot before you go, now that both you and JP have your jackets on," Paul replied, holding up his digital camera. "You mean all three of us," Andrew said with a cocky grin, as he held up Mike's football jacket. Paul grinned at Andrew's cocky attitude as Mike put on his football jacket. Then Paul set the timer on the camera, placed it on the mantle, and stepped back so that he would be in the picture with everyone else. Everyone grinned as the camera flashed and then stepped up to the mantle to see what the photo looked like on the screen. Once everyone had voiced their approval of the group picture, JP said, "We'd better get going Dad, so Matt and I can show Andrew and his friends the high school wrestling room." "Actually JP, you and Andrew go ahead," Matt said. JP turned to look at him in surprise and Matt added, "I want to stay here with Mike and Carrie." Andrew turned around to see Mike and Carrie nodding in agreement. Mike saw his look of astonishment and said, "Don't look so shocked Andrew: you must realize that the dynamics of this friendship were set last night when you spent half an hour alone with JP." Andrew nodded in sudden understanding and Paul said, "Besides Andrew, while you and JP are talking with Coach Graves, I can show your friends JP's wrestling videos." JP looked suddenly embarrassed, hoping that his dad wouldn't show the footage of the District Final match that JP had lost four months before. Paul noticed his son's sad look and decided to cheer him up. "If you lend me your digital camera son, I can upload the video you took last night of Andrew to YouTube." JP handed over his camera and grinned at the thought of helping raise Andrew's profile for the NCAA. He watched as Andrew slapped Mike on the back and hugged Carrie goodbye. "I'm ready to go now JP," Andrew said as JP opened the front door. "Good, so am I Andrew, so let's go," JP said, heading outside. Andrew waved goodbye to JP's parents and Matt's mom, before following his friend outside to the driveway. "Should we take your car or my truck?" Andrew asked once he reached the driveway where JP was waiting. "We should take your truck Andrew, it looks cooler," JP replied. "Especially when I turn on the under lights," Andrew said with a cocky smirk. "You must be a fan of the Fast and Furious movies," JP realized. "Especially 2Fast 2Furious," Andrew said with a big grin as they got into his truck. "Because it takes place in Miami right?" JP guessed. "Gee, someone's a genius, as far as stating the obvious!" Andrew laughed as they backed out of the driveway. "Shut up man!" JP laughed as they drove down the street. "Just try and make me JP, if you've got the guts that is!" Andrew dared him with a cocky smirk. Andrew and JP continued laughing and joking as they drove to Central High School, enjoying the freedom to act like jocks without worrying what their friends thought. Meanwhile, back at JP's house, Andrew's friends and JP's parents said goodbye to Matt's mom, who was heading home. Matt promised her that he would stop by to say goodbye the next morning, since JP's parents had granted permission for him to stay over. "After all Matt, Andrew only knows the way to this house, not your house," JP's mom reminded him. "That's why your mom brought an overnight bag for you when she came over for dinner." Matt's mom didn't reveal the real reason she was letting Matt stay over at JP's house that night: she needed some space from her son after the bombshell he had dropped on her that morning. Andrew and JP soon reached the high school and parked by the gate in the fence surrounding the football field. The school below in Fairfax County is probably what the author of the JP stories based Central High School on. And of course the team name in the JP Story is the Spartans, not the Wildcats. "Are you ready to go inside Andrew?"JP asked as he got out of the truck. "As soon as I get something," Andrew replied. He got out and opened up his truck's tailgate. Then he reached into his gym bag and pulled out his old Miami Hurricanes football. Then he closed the tailgate. "See JP, just a little accessory to complete my jock image." "You mean your Super Jock image Andrew," JP corrected him with a smug grin. "Your words JP and I agree with them," Andrew said with a big grin. "Let's go into the school and meet your wrestling coach. Then you can show me the wrestling room where you have achieved athletic glory on the wrestling mat." JP grinned back at his huge friend and led the way into the school for the chat with Coach Graves. As Andrew followed him down the hall to the wrestling room, JP smiled to himself as he realized that he would be mentoring a dozen kids there in wrestling in about six weeks time. "What do you think Andrew?" JP asked as they stepped into the wrestling room. "Most impressive JP," Andrew replied, looking around at all the pictures and newspaper articles on the wall. His eyes widened as he realized that most of the pictures and articles were of JP. "Someone's certainly popular in this school," he remarked, making the understatement of the year. "He should be, he's the first District Finalist we've had in over a decade," a deep voice said from behind them. Andrew and JP turned around to see a burly man in his 40s walking towards them. "I'm Coach Graves: the Head Coach of the District Finalist Central High Spartans Varsity Wrestling Team." "Pleased to meet you Coach," Andrew said, holding out his right hand. Coach Graves shook it firmly, only wincing a little bit from the strength of Andrew's iron grip. "I'm Andrew Pearson: Starting Center for the District Champion ODCVI Blues Varsity Football Team." "District Champion sounds a lot more impressive than District Finalist," Coach Graves realized, causing JP to look down at his feet in shame. Graves noticed and quickly apologized to his Star Wrestler. "Sorry about that JP, but it's true. You're good, but obviously not as good as Andrew here." "I'll do better this season Coach," JP promised with a scary look of determination on his face. "This time I won't just win the District Title but I'll be the State Champion as well!" "I'm sure you will JP," Graves agreed, pleased at how determined his Star Wrestler was to succeed. His cell phone suddenly rang from his shirt pocket. "Sorry guys, but I have to take this call: I've been expecting it." He took out his flip phone opened it up, pressed the green phone button to accept the call and listened intently. "Okay, I'll send him right out." He ended the call and turned to Andrew. "There's someone important waiting for you on the 50 yard line of the football field Andrew." "Okay Coach, I'll head out there now and then I'll meet you and JP back in here," Andrew decided. "We'll meet you out there Andrew," Graves said. "JP and I have a few things to work on for the Lincoln Middle School Wrestling Camp in six weeks." Andrew nodded in agreement and waved to JP as he headed out of the wrestling room. As he walked down the hall towards the stairs, he wondered who could be waiting for him in the middle of the football field: which he could see from the second floor window. Once Andrew exited the building and skirted the stands, he saw a big man in his 40s standing in the middle of the field. As he got closer, he noticed that the big guy was wearing a Central High Spartans Football t-shirt. "Hello Andrew, I'm Coach Palmer: the Head Coach of the Central High Spartans Varsity Football Team." "Pleased to meet you Coach," Andrew said excitedly, shaking his hand firmly. He noticed Coach Palmer massaging his sore hand and smirked as he added, "As you already know, I'm Andrew Pearson: Starting Center for the Orillia District Varsity Football Team." "I'm very pleased to meet you Andrew and there's someone else who would like to meet you: over the phone anyway." He picked up his cell phone and sent a quick text message that consisted of only two words: 'He's here.' "Who did you just send that text message to Coach?" Andrew asked curiously. "You'll find out in about 30 seconds Andrew," Coach Palmer promised him. Sure enough, within 30 seconds, his cell phone rang. "Hello, is that you?" he asked. He listened closely to the answer and nodded his head in satisfaction. "Good, thanks for calling back so quickly." He listened a bit more and added, "Sure I'll let you speak to him, since that is the reason I wanted you to call me in the first place. Just a second." He handed his cell phone to Andrew and said, "It's for you." "Thanks Coach," Andrew said, taking the cell phone and holding it up to his ear. "Hello?" "Are you Andrew Pearson?" a deep and confident voice asked from the other end of the line. "Yes I am," Andrew replied, feeling a little uneasy that the mystery caller knew his name. "Who is this?" "This is Ryan Maloney," the caller replied. ********************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************* And that, after two months, is the end of Andrew's Recruiting Summer Chapter 4. Please let me know what you thought of my first attempt at a cliffhanger ending. ********************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************* Coming soon: - Andrew finds out why JP's older brother called him - Andrew takes JP and Matt on his Ohio State Recruiting Visit.
  6. This story came about from an idea I had a month ago, after re-reading my favourite story on this forum, which was archived from the old forum. The conversation I had with the author, where he gave me permission to use parts of his story in mine, can be found here: https://muscle-growth.org/index.php?app=members&module=messaging&section=view&do=showConversation&topicID=23174&st=0#msg108559 I separated my parts of the story from the author's parts with a line of equal signs: ================== ANDREW'S RECRUITING SUMMER CHAPTER 1: ANDREW MAKES A NEW FRIEND IN WASHINGTON, D.C. Andrew, Carrie and Mike, after spending Canada Day 2005 in Orillia with their parents, headed down to Washington, DC to spend Independence Day at the National Mall. They took Highway 11 south from Orillia to Barrie, where they took Highway 400 down to Toronto. Then they took the 427 to the QEW and headed around the western edge of Lake Ontario to Fort Erie. There, they crossed the border into Buffalo, New York and took US Highway 219 south to Dubois, Pennsylvania. They then turned east onto Interstate 80 and took it to US Hwy 15. They took that highway south to Harrisburg, the State Capitol of Pennsylvania, at the junction of Interstates 81 and 83. They spent the night at a hotel in that city. On July 3rd, Andrew and his friends took a scenic route into Washington DC, taking I-81 down to Hagerstown, Maryland, where they stopped at Borders Bookstore. Then they took I-81 southwest from Hagerstown Maryland into West Virginia, where they stopped at the State Welcome Center and had lunch at the BBQ that was going on. After lunch, they took I-81 further south into Virginia, and turned east onto US Hwy 50 just south of Winchester. They took that highway right into Fairfax, where they stopped at the Fairfax Towne Center and had supper at Five Guys Burgers and Fries. Then they proceeded to their hotel: the Comfort Inn Pentagon City in Arlington, Virginia. Once they had checked in, Andrew, Mike and Carrie jogged to the National Mall in Washington DC, to plot out their route for the morning of July 4th. Late the next morning, on Independence Day, Andrew, Carrie and Mike woke up in their hotel rooms, ready for their 90 minute walk to the National Mall. "I'm glad we scouted out the route last night while jogging," Mike said to Andrew, as they had a late breakfast after showering and getting dressed. "Yeah man," Andrew agreed. "It only took us about half an hour to jog there, but today we'll walk, since there will be so many people heading there." "Good thing we're leaving your truck at the hotel," Carrie said. "The traffic in the National Mall today (July 4th) would be at a standstill for hours. Not to mention that we would never be able to find a parking space." "That's why I picked this hotel Carrie," Andrew reminded her with a smug grin. "It's within walking distance of the National Mall." "Well that was fine for last night Andrew, but maybe we should take the train today," Carrie suggested. "Good idea Carrie," Andrew agreed. "I scouted out a few Metro Stations during our run last night and I believe the Pentagon City Station should serve our needs nicely." http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/thumb/d/dc/DC_Metro_Map_2013.svg/2000px-DC_Metro_Map_2013.svg.png "You're right Andrew," Mike agreed, looking at the Metro Map and the street map side by side. "We can walk northeast on Army-Navy Drive until we get to the Pentagon Row Shopping Center and the Metro Station is right there." https://www.google.ca/maps/place/Comfort+Inn+Pentagon+City/@38.8576678,-77.0593496,14z/data=!4m2!3m1!1s0x89b7b14a8fdfabd5:0x30a73c112191b664 So after breakfast the three teens began walking towards the National Mall, making sure to take a picture of the Air Force Memorial along the way. ==================================================================================================================================================== “Will we have to switch to the yellow line at the Pentagon station to get to L’Enfant Plaza?” I asked as we pulled into the parking garage of the Franconia-Springfield Metro Station. “I don’t think so,” JP answered from the driver’s seat, turning toward Chrissy who was sitting next to him. “Chrissy, didn’t they change the lines around to direct crowds better?” She didn’t answer, staring at JP’s body, totally enraptured by his newest brawn. “Chrissy?” “Huh, what?” she said, suddenly coming out of the daze. “Oh, yeah, you’re right.” He smiled warmly, causing her face to turn a crimson red. It was the Fourth of July and we were headed into DC to see the fireworks on the National Mall. Chrissy had nearly wet her pants at the sight of JP when we arrived to pick her up. At 174 pounds – probably 175 by now – of pure muscle, he was starting to look like a god. His light blue tank-top beautifully accentuated his chiseled shoulders and arms, the color brought out the bright blue in his eyes. He looked…well, perfect. We walked across the bridge into the station, bought our tickets and hopped aboard the train. Immediately, JP began attracting stares from other passengers, their eyes filled with awe. They couldn’t quite believe that a kid his age could be so phenomenally built. They marveled at how his strong, wide neck supported his flawless face, how the straps of the tank-top draped over his gracefully curved traps, how his thick shoulders and arms bulged with muscle upon muscle and were covered with writhing veins, how his lats flared out making the difference between his broad shoulders and tiny waist that much more impressive. And his butt…man, JP’s ass was beyond gorgeous, its perfect bubble shape provocatively filling the seat of his shorts. I, myself, couldn’t keep from watching my boyfriend’s muscular arms jump and flex efficiently while holding onto the pole of the Metro car, his shoulders and lats shifting silently underneath his thin skin as we hurtled smoothly through the suburbs. ===================================================================================================================================================== Within half an hour, Andrew, Carrie and Mike had arrived at the Pentagon City Metro Station. They bought their tickets and stepped aboard the train, which would take them to the L’Enfant Plaza Station just south of the National Mall. ===================================================================================================================================================== "Oh my god," JP said softly, so that only I could hear him. "What is it?" I asked him, following his startled gaze over to the open train doors. My eyes widened as the two biggest guys I had ever seen in my life stepped onto the train. "Those guys are so big they make your brother look like a midget," I whispered in fear. JP glared at me, which reminded me that he was still smaller than his brother. "Sorry JP, I didn't mean it like it sounded." "That's okay Matt," JP assured me, the anger fading from his eyes. A look of fear, which I had rarely seen before, showed up in his eyes. "I never thought I would be scared of any guy now that I'm such a good wrestler, but even I wouldn't be able to take on those muscular brutes," he whispered so that Chrissy couldn't hear. The slightly bigger guy, who had red hair and must have been six and a half feet tall, seemed to hear JP and looked towards him. The huge guy smiled and nodded at JP and after a few seconds of hesitation JP nodded back bravely. "Good job JP," I whispered. "I would've been too scared to make eye contact with such a big guy." JP smiled and I was relieved to see that the fear in his eyes had been replaced with his usual confidence. ===================================================================================================================================================== "Good job Andrew," Carrie commended him. "You scared that guy in the light blue tank top at first, but once you nodded at him, it seemed to put him at ease." "That was my intent Carrie," Andrew informed her. "I know a fellow athlete when I see one and even though he's a lot smaller than I am, I think I want to get to know him better. He looks familiar; once I remember where I've seen him before, I'll introduce myself." "I'm sure you'll get the chance once we're at the National Mall Andrew," Carrie assured him. "I think that everyone on this train is going to get off at the L’Enfant Plaza Station." ====================================================================================================================================================== The three of us heedlessly joked around the whole time and before we knew it, we were coming up the escalator to ground level. As soon as we had picked our spot smack dab in the middle of the National Mall – between the Hirshhorn Museum and the National Archives – JP opened up his backpack and pulled out his beloved Navy Frisbee. “We should get a little game in before it gets too crowded,” he suggested, beginning to pull off his tank-top. Chrissy let out an audible gasp as she saw his bare torso. My heart did a flip, like it always did when he would strip off his shirt. “God, you’re getting to be such a hunk,” she gushed, eyeing his massive chest, “you’re gonna be turning straight guys gay soon.” I burst out laughing, practically choking on my own spit. Chrissy quickly looked over at me. “What?” I couldn’t answer her, I was in such hysterics. JP smiled enchantedly and peered over at me. A chill went down my back. “You should see Matt’s body now, Chrissy,” he commented. “He’s getting bigger, too. Take off your shirt, Matt!” Chrissy looked in my direction with aroused eyes. I bit my lip and acquiesced to my boyfriend’s bidding – how could I not? I not-so-expertly wrestled my T-shirt over my head and threw it on top of JP’s backpack. “Wow!” Chrissy exclaimed. “You look amazing!” She sighed, passing her eyes between JP and me. I could tell that she was in heaven, being sandwiched between the two of us. “I can’t believe I’m hanging out with the two most gorgeous guys in the world,” she said, coming toward me and gently laying her hands on my abs. She raised her head and gazed into my eyes. “Matt,” Chrissy whispered, “I never realized until now how hot you are.” Her hands slid up to my chest, brushing against my nipples. Was she coming on to me? “I’ve been working out a bit,” I admitted, shrugging. Although I was still nothing compared to JP’s body, I had managed some modest gains myself. At 155 pounds – a full 10 pounds heavier than I was during crew season – I was in the best shape of my life. My body fat had dropped to just below 10%, so I knew that all of that new weight was muscle. My chest was developing pecs, my arms were gradually growing thicker and my six-pack – my most prized possession – was getting well-defined. “You gonna play Frisbee with us, Chrissy, or are you just gonna stare at Matt?” JP taunted, smiling brightly. Chrissy blushed and took off her own T-shirt, revealing a white tube-top underneath that clung tightly to her firm breasts. The girl was incredibly hot herself and I know that if I had been straight, I would’ve been completely boned right at that moment. She had an incredibly fit body – curves in all the right places – so you could imagine the looks we got from people, girls and guys. Of course, one look at JP and none of the other guys dared approach Chrissy, assuming that he was her boyfriend and that they would have to go through him first. Little did they know how lucky they might have been if they had tried. ====================================================================================================================================================== Once Andrew and his friends arrived in the middle of the National Mall, between the Hirshhorn Museum and the National Archives, Andrew opened up his backpack and took out his Miami Hurricanes football. "Are you ready for some football Mike?" he asked his teammate. "Yeah Andrew; I'm always ready," Mike assured him. "But do you think it would be a good idea to get a few pictures of the US Capitol Building and the White House before it gets dark in a couple of hours?" "Let's throw the football around for a while first," Andrew decided. "Then we can see those two buildings and get back to our spot on the lawn here by dusk." So for the next hour, Andrew and Mike threw the Miami football back and forth, making sure to take off their t-shirts to show off their massive muscles. As crowds of people began to fill the National Mall in preparation for the fireworks that evening, Andrew and Mike began to draw stares of awe and fear from the people around them. Andrew also noticed the brown haired guy from the train staring at him with a mixture of awe and envy. Andrew grinned at the guy, who bravely nodded back, before he had to dive to catch the Navy Frisbee his smaller friend threw him. ====================================================================================================================================================== For the next couple of hours, we tossed the Frisbee around in fun – no one bothered keeping score. Chrissy and I both admired JP’s athleticism, despite his dense musculature. No matter how far or in what direction I threw the Frisbee, he never failed to catch it, often making spectacular dives to do so. He was just so fast and agile. He was so strong and beautiful. He was a superjock. ===================================================================================================================================================== An hour after they had started throwing the football around, Andrew said to Mike, "I think we've thrown the football around long enough. It's time to go get our pictures of the Capitol Building and the White House before it gets dark. Then we'll get back to our spot here by sunset, about half an hour before the fireworks start." "How will we find our spot once this area is completely filled with people Andrew?" Carrie asked, as Mike put the football in the bag. "We'll look for the guy on our left who's been throwing the Navy Frisbee around with his friend; he's impossible to miss," Andrew informed her. "Especially since he's had his tank-top off for the past hour," Carrie reminded him with a sexy grin. "Careful Carrie; you only have one boyfriend and that's me!" Andrew shouted, flexing his massive biceps. "Whatever you say Andrew," Carrie chuckled as Mike stood up wearing Andrew's backpack. "It looks like we're ready to go." "Yes we are Carrie," Andrew said, looking over to his left and smirking. Carrie followed his gaze and saw the well-muscled guy holding the Navy Frisbee staring at Andrew. Then the guy turned away, embarrassed to be caught staring, and threw the frisbee to his friend. "Has that guy been staring at us for the past hour Andrew?" "Yeah, ever since Mike and I took our shirts off Carrie," Andrew replied, as they started walking towards the Capitol Building. "You've enjoyed shocking him with your huge muscles over the past hour, haven't you Andrew?" Carrie suddenly realized. "Yeah I have Carrie," Andrew replied. "I have been impressed, however, with how quickly he's regained his composure and bravely nodded back at me every time I've nodded at him. Hopefully, by the time we get back to our spot, I'll have remembered where I've seen his picture. Then I can introduce myself to him." "I'm going to take a picture looking back towards our spot on the lawn so that we can find our way back," Mike said. "Good idea Mike," Andrew agreed, as they crossed the street. The three friends turned around to look back towards the Washington Monument. "Make sure you get the guy from the train in the center of the picture. That way, we'll be sure to find our spot when we get back." Mike took the picture and then they continued on their way towards the Capitol Building. Andrew and his two friends continued walking closer to the Capitol Building, and then Andrew suddenly noticed a group of US Army guys up ahead in black t-shirts standing near their trucks. "I'm going to ask them if we can get a picture with them," Andrew decided, quickly putting his t-shirt back on. "I'll signal you two to join me if they say yes." Andrew bravely walked up to the Army guys, all of whom looked glad that they were on the other side of the fence from such a huge muscular guy. It's the same reaction I get from guys at the Reserves, Andrew said to himself with a silent sigh. I really wish people would stop being afraid of how big and strong I am, but I guess that's impossible! The Army guys were glad to have their picture taken with Andrew and his friends, especially after Andrew showed them his Military ID. They even pointed Andrew and his two friends in the direction of the Capitol Reflecting Pool, where other Army guys would be preparing mini-artillery guns for firing later in the evening. Andrew and his friends continued walking and soon saw a good view of the Capitol Building above the treetops: the "CNN view" as some called it. "Good job Mike; you're getting lots of good pictures of our first trip to Washington DC," Andrew commended his big friend. "Thanks Andrew, I get the feeling that we'll always remember this day," Mike said. "Yes we will Mike: because I just remembered where I've seen that guy with the Navy Frisbee before," Andrew said. "Well don't keep it to yourself Andrew!" Carrie admonished him, once she realized he wasn't going to say anything more. "All in good time Carrie; we're approaching those mini-Artillery guns the Army guys told us about," Andrew informed her. Just like the Army guys at the trucks, the guys manning the guns gladly posed for pictures with Andrew and his friends. After the pictures were taken, Andrew made sure to thank the soldiers for their service. The soldiers promptly thanked Andrew for his support, making Andrew feel very humbled and proud that he served his country like they did theirs. Then Andrew and his friends moved on, making their way around the northern edge of the Capitol Building until they reached the large plaza on the east side. "I have an idea for your next profile picture on MySpace Andrew," Mike said suddenly. "What is it Mike?" Andrew asked, as Carrie continued taking pictures. "Stand under the dome and raise your arms as if you're holding it up," Mike suggested. "We'll call it 'Capitol Muscle' or something." "I think 'Capitol Dome Military Press' has a better ring to it," Andrew said, positioning himself properly for the picture. He grinned as Mike took the picture and then asked, "There now Mike: are you happy now?" "Yes I am Andrew; let's head to the White House now," Mike suggested. "Before we go, take a picture towards the Washington Monument in the distance," Carrie suggested. "It's starting to get dark and it will make a great picture." Mike took the picture and then they made their way down Pennsylvania Avenue to the White House. Once they got there, they found lots of people taking pictures and after a couple of blurry attempts, they decided to cross the street so that they could get a better close-up view. "Good job Carrie; I think you're a better photographer than Mike," Andrew said proudly. "That's because I'm the Yearbook Photographer Andrew," Carrie reminded him with a smug grin as Mike frowned. "Are we finished taking pictures now?" Mike asked impatiently. "Can we get back to the lawn before the crowds leave us no place to sit to watch the fireworks?" "Good point Mike; it's almost sunset," Andrew realized. "And it looks like it's going to rain," he added, as the first drops began to fall. "You'd better use the umbrella in the backpack Carrie," Andrew suggested. "You don't want to get all wet." "What about you and Mike Andrew?" Carrie asked, as she took the fold-up umbrella out of the backpack. "Mike and I will drink in the water of life and it will cleanse us from our exertions over the last two hours," Andrew replied cryptically. "You mean the rain will wash off the sweat you worked up from playing football in the hot sun," Carrie laughed, amused at Andrew's attempt to sound wise and mysterious. "Those were pretty good metaphors you just used Andrew." "Thanks Carrie; sometimes I try to sound wise so that people don't forget that I have brains and not just brawn," Andrew informed her. "I don't think anyone who has seen you today with your shirt off will forget that you have brawn," Carrie assured him, making the understatement of the year. Andrew grinned at her in agreement as they made their way back to their spot near the Hirshhorn Museum, by way of the Washington Monument. ====================================================================================================================================================== Soon after JP and I finished throwing his Navy Frisbee around, the skies began to cloud up and it started to pour. We didn’t bother running for cover, instead letting the warm rain soak our skin, though Chrissy quickly realized she would have a problem. “Shit,” she cried, “I’m wearing a white shirt.” JP and I laughed as I loaned her my dark blue shirt so she could cover up her tits. She gave me a peck on the cheek and said, “Thanks, Matty.” I blushed, nervously looking over at my boyfriend who was sniggering. The sudden downpour didn’t last too long, however, and the sun quickly came out again just before it dipped behind the Washington skyline. JP and I decided to run to a nearby concession stand and get something to eat. As we stood in line, my boyfriend leaned over and whispered in my ear. “I think Chrissy’s starting to have a crush on you now,” he said. I looked at him like he was crazy. “Seriously,” he continued. “She knows I’m not interested in her anymore, so she’s moving on.” JP was always quick at picking these things up – or at least quicker than I. “But, I’m already taken,” I rebutted, looking fondly into his angelic eyes. “What am I going to do?” He grinned. “Welcome to my world,” he said, patting me firmly on the back. ======================================================================================================================================================= Andrew, Carrie and Mike got back to their spot on the lawn and marvelled at the view of the National Mall at dusk. "We should make this an annual event Carrie," Andrew informed his girlfriend. He looked towards the Washington Monument with the dusky sky behind it and added, "It's very relaxing here in DC, even on July 4th." "I agree Andrew," Carrie said, snuggling up against the massive chest of her boyfriend. "Plenty of eye candy too." "What do you mean?" Andrew asked her. "Did you see the guy to our left making spectacular dives to catch the Navy Frisbee his friend threw him a couple of hours ago?" "Yeah I did, before we got our pictures of the Capitol Building and the White House, " Andrew replied, smiling at the memory. "He's really athletic and muscular, and he's the same guy we saw on the train. I'm trying to figure out how to introduce myself to him, but I can't think of a good way to do it." He looked over to their left and realized something. "I don't see him now, or his brother, just his girlfriend lone on the blanket to our left." Then his eyes narrowed as he saw something that demanded his immediate attention. He stood up with his fists clenched and glared over to his left. "What is it Andrew?" Carrie asked him, standing up beside him. "Trouble," Andrew replied through gritted teeth. "Stay here Carrie; we'll be right back. Come on Mike." Carrie knew better than to argue with that tone of voice and she stayed behind as Andrew and Mike headed over to stop the troubling scene about to unfold. But as they soon found out, their intervention would prove unnecessary. ====================================================================================================================================================== It was almost dark by the time we headed back to our spot on the lawn. As we approached, JP grabbed my elbow, stopping me in my tracks. I looked at him puzzled, but he was staring grimly in Chrissy’s direction. She was lying on the blanket as two brawny college-aged jocks stalked toward her unseen, eyeing her schemingly. They were about to hit on her…and it was obvious that these guys were the type that would not take no for an answer. The bigger one must have outweighed me by at least 60 or 70 pounds – though a lot of it probably was fat – and the smaller one wasn’t much smaller. Their broad chests filled their wife-beaters to a near-ripping state, their arms thick with bulk. Cautiously, we snuck closer to within earshot. “Hey, baby,” the larger of the two nagged, startling Chrissy. “You alone tonight?” She craned her head up indignantly. “No,” she snapped firmly but calmly, “I’m with two guys who could knock you both out without a fight.” I gulped. Please tell me she’s bluffing, I thought. This only seemed to amuse them. “Really?” the other one retorted. “Well, I don’t see them around right now. You need someone to cuddle with?” “Don’t you even think about it!” I heard a deep voice bellow from behind me. It was JP, an intense fire bolting from his eyes, his muscles twitching with fury. The remaining twilight reflected off his body and buzzed head so magnificently, he was downright intimidating. The smaller guy’s mouth dropped open slightly when he sighted the kid, but the other guy remained unfazed. “This pretty boy is your boyfriend,” he smirked, peering at him assertively. “No,” JP returned without missing a beat, “but I am your worst nightmare.” It was the way he said those words that sent a chill down my spine. The older jock scoffed. “You wanna fight me? Us two against you two?” My heart was pounding and my knees were wobbling. What was JP doing? He couldn’t possibly be enticing the guys to fight us. Though I knew my boyfriend could take this guy, I was certain I’d be dead against the other. I froze. Arrogantly, the bigger dude sauntered up to JP who stood his ground, not moving a muscle. The two jocks were standing eyeball to eyeball, their beefy chests almost touching each other. The jerk slowly raised his fist, an egotistical sneer spreading across his face. That’s when JP struck. In the blink of an eye, JP pounced and expertly twisted his opponent’s arm behind his back, making him yelp in pain. Before he even had a chance to respond, the jerk’s head was forced back over his shoulder by JP’s other arm so that he looked him straight through the eyes. The guy had no choice but to look back as JP shot him his debilitating look of death. “You sure you wanna mess with me?” my boyfriend hissed. His challenger merely gagged in reply, JP’s powerful forearm practically crushing his windpipe. He realized he didn’t have a prayer with the champion wrestler who could, with one quick snap of his neck, take away his life. JP gave him one more squeeze and, as quickly as he had put his opponent in the position, he threw him out of it, leaving him coughing and sputtering on the ground. I stood there stunned. Other than during a wrestling match, never before had I seen him attack someone. It simply wasn’t a contest. The other guy may have weighed more, but he couldn’t match JP’s amazing strength and quickness. His friend helped him off the ground and the two hurried away, afraid to even look at the younger kid again. Immediately, Chrissy ran up and threw her arms around JP. “Oh my God, JP,” she exclaimed, her fingers barely able to fully grasp his huge shoulders, “that was so brave of you! Thanks!” Then, she gave him a big kiss on the cheek. JP merely shrugged and blushed a deep red. “Wait ‘till my brother hears about this.” JP looked back at her, smiling, happy to change the subject. “Nick’s coming to the wrestling camp this summer, right?” Chrissy nodded. “Are you kidding?” she answered. Her little brother Nick was 12 years old and was going to be in seventh grade the next school year. And like many boys in our area, he idolized JP. According to Chrissy, her brother had clipped out every newspaper article about his hero during wrestling season and had been bugging her to take him to a match. As soon as he heard that JP, along with the help of his coaches, was organizing a one-week summer wrestling camp for middle school kids, he instantly jumped at the chance and persuaded his parents to sign him up. Now, he was counting down the days until it started. “He wants to be just like you when he grows up,” Chrissy gushed. “Well, the great JP Maloney makes one helluva role model,” I added, patting my boyfriend on his wide back. "He certainly does," a very deep voice agreed from their right. JP and I looked over to where the voice came from and our jaws dropped. ======================================================================================================================================================= Andrew smirked slightly at the look of shock on both guys' faces. Then the bigger guy in the light blue tank top narrowed his eyes at Andrew, and asked him, "You want to try to mess with me too?" "No man," Andrew assured him, slightly intimidated by the guy's intensity, even though he outweighed him by about 100 pounds. "I just wanted to congratulate you on how well you took care of those two jerks. If someone tried anything like that with my girlfriend, I would have reacted the same way. I was about to intervene to help your girlfriend out but you got there first." "He's right JP," the girl said. "He was coming over to help me before you showed up; that's why I felt brave enough to tell those two jerks to go away." "Thanks man," JP said gratefully, calming down now that he knew the huge red-haired guy wasn't going to cause any trouble. "It's good to know that there are still some good guys left, instead of just jerks." He walked over to Andrew and held out his hand. "I'm JP Maloney of Central High School." "I thought you looked familiar," Andrew said, shaking JP's hand. "I've seen your picture in the Washington papers. I'm Andrew Pearson from Orillia District High School." "Andrew Pearson: the YouTube Football Star?" JP asked him with raised eyebrows. "You've heard of me?" Andrew asked him in surprise. "Yeah man; you're famous, at least online," JP informed him. "You must be really smart, using a new video-sharing website to get the attention of the NCAA Recruiters that way." "Yeah man," Andrew agreed, unconsciously mimicking his new friend's speech patterns. "But to prove it, I'd better remember to introduce my friends to you. The big guy with brown hair beside me is Mike and the girl beside him is my girlfriend Carrie." "Pleased to meet you Carrie," JP said, shaking her hand gently. He turned to Mike and shook his hand firmly. "What's up man?" "My height and weight relative to yours," Mike replied, realizing that he outweighed JP by more than 100 pounds of solid muscle. "You're right about that man," JP agreed. "But I'll get big like you one day." "I'm sure you will JP," his friend agreed. He stepped forward with his hand outstretched. "I'm Matt Anderson: JP's best friend." And more than that, JP thought, as Mike and Andrew shook Matt's hand. Then Carrie and Chrissy shook hands and introduced themselves. "Since all introductions have been made, would you and your friends like to watch the fireworks with us?" JP asked Andrew. "It's the least I can do since you were ready to help Chrissy before I got there." "Thanks man; we'd love to," Andrew replied, after Mike and Carrie nodded in agreement. "Mike: go bring our blanket and bag over here." "Yes sir!" Mike shouted jokingly, saluting Andrew as he ran to their spot on the lawn to the right of JP's group. "Mike did that salute pretty well; is he in the military?" JP asked Andrew. "No, but his older brother is and so am I," Andrew replied quietly. "Thank you for your service Andrew," JP said gratefully, clapping Andrew on the shoulder. "Thank you for your support JP," Andrew said gratefully. "You're welcome man," JP said. "Now, since you're military, I bet you can guess what my initials stand for." "I can guess John Paul, but that's it," Andrew informed him. "Were you named after someone famous?" "Yes: John Paul Jones: the U.S. Naval Hero," JP replied proudly. "And you are a hero as well man," Andrew assured him proudly. "What you did to that guy who was bugging Chrissy proved that conclusively." "Thanks man," JP said gratefully. His face turned angry as he added, "But it wasn't just heroics that made me do that." "What do you mean man?" Andrew asked him quietly, leading JP away from their friends. "Or would you prefer I don't ask?" "No, it's okay Andrew; even though we just met, I know I can trust you to keep this quiet," JP assured him. He waited for Andrew's nod of agreement before he continued. "I saw my older brother's face in my mind as I had my arm around the throat of that guy." "I see; you have some transference issues with a former mentor who turned against you," Andrew said with a sudden look of understanding. "How did you figure that out?" JP asked in astonishment; amazed that Andrew could read his mind so exactly. "My former best friend Steve used to be my mentor as I started working out," Andrew revealed. "But when I exceeded him in size and strength, his jealously revealed itself as he started bashing my proteges: like Mike there." "I can't imagine why anyone would bash someone as big as Mike," JP said with a faint look of fear on his face. "He's as big as you and you must be at least 6 foot 6 and 300 pounds of solid muscle!" "6 foot 7 and 305 pounds actually," Andrew said. "Mike and I are the exact same height and weight; pretty amazing considering he was just 5 feet tall and 80 pounds when I started training him in the fall of 1998." He noticed JP's look of astonishment and decided to switch topics. "But enough about me: let's throw my Miami football around for a few minutes and you can tell me all about your older brother." "Good idea man," JP agreed, as Andrew signalled Mike to throw him the football. He smiled as Mike threw the ball with a perfect spiral and Andrew caught it effortlessly with one hand. "You and Mike make a good team Andrew." "I should hope so; we got our team to the Provincial Championship last season," Andrew remembered. "Unfortunately our team lost, but this year we'll win!" "I'm sure you will Andrew," JP agreed, smiling at his new friend with pride in his eyes. "Have you found that your success has cost you personally like mine has?" "Yeah man," Andrew replied sadly, as he turned away to look towards the Washington Monument. "My best friend of five years turned against me after I beat up the class bully, and we've barely spoken since. It sucked man, and it still hurts almost seven years later." "I know exactly how you feel man," JP said, stepping forward to lay a hand on Andrew's massive shoulder. He was amazed that he and Andrew had encountered such similar problems as they had achieved great athletic success. "My older brother Ryan turned against me once I got close to his size and strength, which is very ironic since he was the one who taught me how to work out in the first place." "That's too bad man," Andrew said, turning around and patting JP's shoulder gently. He looked back at their group and noticed Matt smiling proudly. "But it looks like you've found a new older brother in your best friend Matt." "Yeah, Matt's been great to me over the last couple of years," JP agreed. "He's really filled the void in my life that Ryan created when he walked away." He left out the part about Matt being his boyfriend; not sure that Andrew would understand. "Anyway, enough talk Andrew; time for some football." "Good idea man," Andrew agreed, lifting up his football. "Go long man; let's see how much you've learned." More than you know man, JP thought smugly, remembering fondly how Ryan had played football with him when he was younger. He jogged further down the lawn; closer to the Capitol Building. He stopped in a part of the lawn clear of people but then noticed everyone around him staring at his ripped muscles in awe. JP smirked and thought, Just wait until you see the size of the guy who throws me the football! JP held up his hands to let Andrew know that he was ready to catch the football, but then he had to dive back to catch it because Andrew threw it too far. Man, he's scary strong; I wouldn't want to get on his bad side! JP thought in astonishment and a little fear. I'm just glad that he wasn't the one bugging Chrissy; I wouldn't have been able to scare him away! "Wow, you're really strong Andrew!" JP shouted to his new friend. "What are your stats anyway?" "Six foot seven, 305 lbs, 25 inch biceps and a one-rep max bench of 880 pounds," Andrew replied smugly, crossing his huge arms over his massive chest. Everyone around him, friends and strangers alike, turned to stare at him in awe. Andrew grinned and waved at his new fans; then he flexed his massive biceps and laughed. "Yeah, it's all true everyone, as you can see on MySpace. Just look up Andrew the Tank and you'll find all my pictures!" JP's jaw had dropped along with all the onlookers, but he managed to close his mouth as Andrew turned back to look at him with a cocky smirk. "Are you going to hold that football until it gets completely dark JP?" Andrew teased him. JP shook his head with a sheepish grin and tossed the football back to Andrew in a perfect spiral. "Those stats are really impressive man," he congratulated his big friend, grinning as Andrew caught his catch with just one hand. "You must be a god on the football field." "Yeah I am man," Andrew agreed with a smug grin. "Want to see me catch my own thrown football?" "Yeah man and I'll catch it all on video to show my friends later," JP said, getting out his digital camera. He looked at the screen, after turning it on, and added, "Just stay in the light of the street lamps Andrew and I'll be able to catch everything." "Hey, who do you think you are, giving me orders Little Man?" Andrew sneered with an arrogant grin. He chuckled at JP's sudden look of fear and added, "I was just kidding man; don't get scared." "I wasn't scared Andrew," JP bluffed, hoping that no one besides Andrew had seen the look of fear on his face. "I just thought you were serious, that's all." "I understand," Andrew assured him, meaning that he knew how important maintaining the image of a fearless jock was when one was big and strong. "Are you ready JP?" "I'm ready Andrew," JP replied, turning the knob to video and pressing the record button. "Show me what you've got Big Brother," he blurted out without thinking, wishing Andrew was Ryan. "Okay Little Brother; get ready to be amazed!" Andrew shouted, realizing that he regarded JP as a protege just like he did Mike. Andrew coked his arm back and threw his football high above the treetops. He then ran down the mall towards the Capitol Building and turned to see his football curving down over the treetops. Andrew adjusted his course laterally to intercept it and caught it neatly in his arms. "Yeah!" Andrew shouted in excitement, spiking the ball and flexing his massive biceps. "Now that's how it's done!" Everyone around Andrew who had witnessed his amazing feat clapped and cheered for him, causing Andrew's face to turn red with embarrassment. JP grinned as he approached the crowd gathering around his new 'big brother', pleased that Andrew was acting humble instead of cocky. Wait until I show this video to my friends, JP thought to himself. If Andrew agrees, I may even post it on that new video-sharing site called YouTube! Then his great football skills could reach even more college recruiters! As JP reached the edges of the crowd, his admiration for Andrew grew as he saw his big friend patiently signing autographs, posing for pictures and giving some smaller guys workout tips. If only Ryan was like that instead of being a cocky jerk! JP thought angrily. Then he would be worthy of the Big Brother title like Andrew is! Andrew looked up from signing autographs and noticed JP suddenly looking very sad. He whistled to catch JP's attention and when JP looked up, he said, "Join me in the center of the crowd man." Everyone turned to see who Andrew was motioning at, and their jaws dropped as they saw JP's incredible musculature. JP suddenly became very embarrassed as everyone started asking him for pictures, autographs and workout tips. "Did you tell everyone about my success last year in wrestling?" JP asked Andrew once the crowd of fans had finally dispersed. "I didn't have to man; once I mentioned your name, everyone knew who you were already," Andrew replied. He looked down at JP with a brotherly grin as he added, "You're famous man." "Well, perhaps in this town anyway," JP muttered, suddenly embarrassed. "But you're famous all over this continent man; thanks to your YouTube videos! With your permission, I'd like to post that video of you catching your own thrown football for the US college football coaches to see. Then you'll be recruited even more than you have been! As a Canadian, you're going to need that kind of cutting-edge digital exposure to be noticed enough by the NCAA to be offered a full football scholarship!" "Ok JP, you've made your point, with lots of big words no less," Andrew teased him. As they began walking back to their friends in the center of the National Mall, he asked, "How high is your IQ man?" "Just shy of genius level, so about 150," JP admitted. "Mine's the same as yours man," Andrew realized. "Maybe that's why we're able to carry on an intelligent conversation instead of just carrying a football." "But right now, you're carrying a football Andrew, so what does that say about your intelligence?" JP teased him. "It says that I'm a smart jock, not a dumb one, because I'm actually able to speak entire sentences JP," Andrew reminded him with a smirk. "But if you really want me to act like a dumb jock, I'm sure I could learn." "That's not necessary Andrew; there's already one dumb jock in my life; I don't need another," JP said bitterly, clenching his fists as he thought about what a big jerk Ryan had turned into over the past couple of years. "I'm not going to turn out like my brother; I'm aiming higher in life than just college sports." "Well you have good aim so far JP," Andrew commended him as they made their way down the path shaded by the tall trees. As they skirted their way around the Washington Monument fence, he added, "You'd be great at football man, but from what I saw earlier, wrestling is your first love." Matt is my first love, JP thought, smiling at the thought of the wonderful summer he was going to have with his boyfriend. "Wrestling was my first love Andrew, but once I found Matt, I found someone I could really love," JP said without thinking. "Yeah, I understand what it's like to love someone like a brother," Andrew said, completely missing JP's slip. "I can see that you look at Matt as a substitute for your brother Ryan." "As I do with you now Andrew, " JP blurted out, feeling like he'd known Andrew for years. Andrew's jaw dropped in astonishment and JP hurriedly explained: "It's been really hard not having a mentor for the past couple of years man; I guess I just admire you a lot for not acting like a cocky jerk just because you're great at football." "No problem JP," Andrew assured him, once he realized what JP was trying to say. "I don't mind being your 'Honorary Big Brother' as you prepare for your college career. I'm only a phone call or email away and my hometown of Orillia is only a day's drive from here." "Thanks for being my 'Honorary Big Brother' Andrew," JP said gratefully. "I'm hoping to get a wrestling scholarship to Ohio State so that I can stay with Matt. Of course, since he's one year older than me, like you are, this is the last year we'll have together." "I know what that's like man; my friend Mark Stevenson gets a full football scholarship to Miami this fall," Andrew said. "I'll really miss him man, just as I'm sure you'll miss Matt when he goes to college in a year." He noticed what looked like a hint of tears in JP's eyes and suddenly realized that Matt and JP were more than just brothers to each other. But instead of sharing his sudden insight with his new friend, Andrew asked, "Has Ohio State recruited you yet JP?" "No man, but since I'm just going into my Junior Year, it won't be long until they do," JP predicted with a cocky smirk. "Have you visited the campus yet?" Andrew asked. "No man; why do you ask?" JP asked curiously. "I'm going to Ohio State in a few days for a recruiting visit," Andrew replied. "I know we just met, and we should ask your parents first, but would you and Matt like to come with me?" JP's jaw dropped in astonishment, amazed that Andrew (a stranger one hour ago) was proposing a road trip. But then he saw Andrew's serious look and realized that he had found a new mentor to replace his big brother Ryan. Andrew is the big brother I wish Ryan still was, JP realized. I see now that guys don't have to be related to be brothers. "That would be great Andrew," JP said, once he could speak again. He stepped closer to his new friend and motioned him to bend down. Andrew did so and JP whispered in his ear, "You're really filling the void that Ryan left when he walked away from me Andrew. I never told Matt this, but it sucked having to work out by myself without a mentor around. And even though he has been emotionally absent for the past year, this fall Ryan will be physically absent as well, since he's going off to Virginia Tech. So I have no one left to look up to. But now I can look up to you as a big brother, just like I once did with Ryan." "I'm only an email or phone call away JP," Andrew reminded him, pulling out his flip phone so that he could give JP his cell number. "And since I'm physically present, not absent, you can look up to me right now." JP chuckled as Andrew straightened up to his full height and crossed his huge arms over his massive chest. Andrew grinned at him smugly and added, "I love mentoring the little guys like-" "Little?!" JP interrupted, his cockiness suddenly returning. He flexed his 16 inch bicep and sneered, "Does this look little to you Andrew?" "Yes it does, compared to mine JP," Andrew informed him sternly, flexing his massive 25 inch bicep. JP's cocky smirk vanished quickly and Andrew nodded in satisfaction. "Remember JP, you may be the big man at your school, but then there's college and the real world to consider." JP nodded in sudden understanding, realizing that his new friend Andrew was only one of many men out there who were bigger and stronger than he was. "I'm going to tell you how my dad's cockiness prematurely ended his NFL career JP; then you'll understand why you should be more modest and humble in public." JP nodded soberly and Andrew began telling him the story about how his dad had given in to all the hype and started drinking and driving fast during his NFL career. That carefree attitude led to the car accident that shattered Chad's kneecap, tore his ACL and ended his NFL days forever. Then Chad had to crawl back to Orillia and start from the bottom of his boss's company as a Management Intern. JP's eyes widened in understanding as Andrew told him the story and he realized that his big brother could be headed for a rude awakening as well. But I'll be the one that causes it, JP thought to himself. His fists clenched as he remembered his first reason for working out: to beat up his brother one day. JP had no idea how prophetic that goal would become and how it would change both his and Ryan's lives forever. It was just about completely dark by the time Andrew and JP got back to their friends sitting on the lawn, where they had an unobstructed view of the Washington Monument. It's about time you got back here Andrew; Mike had to fill in for you," Carrie teased him. "I hope not Carrie; you only have one boyfriend and that's me," Andrew growled, glaring at Mike. JP felt as nervous as Mike looked and Carrie had to assure Andrew that she and Mike were just friends. Matt and Chrissy looked really nervous too, and JP suddenly realized that they had looked just like that as he had held that guy in a wrestling hold barely half an hour earlier. JP scratched the back of his shaved head, embarrassed that he had allowed his bad feelings about Ryan to make him lash out like that. I've got to let Matt know later why I did that, JP realized. I hope he understands like Andrew did. He breathed a sigh of relief along with everyone else when Andrew's angry look faded into a sheepish grin. "Sorry about that guys," Andrew apologized. "I guess I was just afraid that some guys would try to cause trouble with you like they did with Chrissy earlier." "What JP did to those guys is nothing compared to what you could do Andrew," Carrie reminded him. "You could have snapped their necks like twigs!" "You'd better tell everyone your idea Andrew, before the fireworks start," JP said suddenly, anxious to change the subject. "Oh yeah, thanks for reminding me man," Andrew said gratefully, slapping his new friend on the shoulder. JP concealed a wince as Andrew quickly told Carrie and Mike his idea about Matt and JP coming along on their Ohio State Recruiting Visit. "What do you think Carrie?" "It sounds great, especially since Mike and I got a chance to know Matt and Chrissy while you and JP were playing football," Carrie replied. "Good, then it's all settled except for the timing," Andrew realized. He turned to JP and said, "We're staying in the Washington area for another day before leaving on the 6th. Is that good for you and Matt?" "Yes Andrew; that should give you guys enough time to meet my parents and Matt's mom to get their permission," JP replied. Andrew looked embarrassed that he hadn't thought of that. "Don't feel bad that you forgot about that step Andrew; I think my dad will approve of you. He's really upset that Ryan took off this summer on a road trip instead of being around to mentor me; he'll be glad I've found a new mentor." "Anything I can do to help man," Andrew said quietly, feeling sobered by the fact that JP held him in such high esteem. But then he realized that JP would never have told him so much while they were alone if he didn't trust him implicitly. "I'll be there for you as much as I can JP, even when I'm away at college. As I've told you twice before now, I'm only a phone call or email away." JP grinned at his big friend, but he also felt sad that it wasn't Ryan saying those things. Where did I go wrong with Ryan? JP asked himself. Have I lost my brother forever? He should be here, sharing one last Independence Day at home with me instead of Andrew having to fill his role as my big brother! JP was distracted from his sad thoughts by the first fireworks going off and he let his cares drift away as he enjoyed the view with his friends and new 'Big Brother.' "The second one looked just like a side profile of Abraham Lincoln!" Carrie shouted in astonishment. "Do you think it was deliberately launched that way?" "I don't know Carrie, but if Mike's been taking pictures, we can find out later," Andrew replied, looking over at his big friend. Mike held up the digital camera to let Andrew know that he wasn't missing anything. "For now Carrie, let's be quiet and enjoy the show." Carrie nodded in agreement and leaned back into Andrew's massive chest. She smiled as Andrew's muscular arms folded around her gently and she realized that there was nowhere she's rather be than in the arms of her boyfriend. ===================================================================================================================================================== The rest of that night was amazing. I couldn’t stop myself from looking over at JP as the fireworks illuminated his flawless face, the different colors reflecting in his dazzling eyes. Every now and then, he would glance over at me and smile. A tear rolled down my cheek. I was so overwhelmed by his beauty and his love for me. How the hell did I get so lucky? Chrissy’s head was leaning on my lap, but I found myself wishing it were JP’s instead. I wanted him near me every minute of the day. ====================================================================================================================================================== Once the fireworks were over around 10 pm, the crowds began clearing out of the National Mall. "I'm not ready to go home yet; what about you guys?" JP asked his new friends. "I'd like to see the Lincoln Memorial," Andrew replied. When his friends nodded in agreement, he asked JP, "Would you and your friends like to join us?" "We'd be glad to Andrew," JP replied, as Matt and Chrissy nodded in agreement. "If you look beyond the Washington Monument, you can see the Lincoln Memorial from here." Andrew and his friends looked to the west and saw that JP was right. Mike took a picture as everyone admired the view. "There, now that we've seen the Lincoln Memorial, we can go home," Matt said impatiently, eager to be alone with JP. "I think Andrew meant to see it up close, as well as inside Matt," JP reminded his boyfriend with a frown. Andrew nodded in agreement and JP smirked at his boyfriend. "See, I told you Matt!" "Okay JP, I give up: we'll see Lincoln up close," Matt sighed. "Then can we go home?" "Yeah we can Matt," JP agreed, realizing that Matt was eager to be alone with him. He led his friends across the street to the path that led to the western end of the National Mall. Everyone admired the view as they walked down the path on the north side of the Tidal Basin. Andrew made sure to take a picture of the Korean War Memorial, since his deceased grandfather had fought in that war as well as World War II. The six friends finally reached the Lincoln Memorial and saw lots of people climbing the stairs, even though it was after 10:30 pm. "Quite a crowd JP," Andrew commented. "I never expected to see so many people at this monument at this time of night." "Abraham Lincoln was arguably the most famous president in our nation's history Andrew," JP reminded his big friend. "And this memorial has been the sight of many famous events since it was constructed. That's why it draws such big crowds at all times: about six million people per year." "I understand JP," Andrew said soberly, realizing the great pride JP felt for his country. "Can we go inside now?" "Sure Andrew," JP agreed, feeling sheepish that he had soured the good mood they had been enjoying most of the evening. "Follow me man; I'll get us through the crowds." Andrew and his friends followed JP up the stairs into the Lincoln Memorial and made their way through the crowds until they could get a good shot of Abraham Lincoln sitting on his chair. "That was a very good picture Mike; especially since you caught the words about Lincoln's memory being enshrined forever," Andrew commended his friend. "Thanks Andrew; I thought you'd appreciate that, considering the events of seven months ago," Mike replied. Andrew glared at Mike at first, remembering that his grandfather had died a year before a few weeks before Christmas, but then he realized that Mike had been trying in his own way to honour Bert Pearson's memory. "Thanks man; I do appreciate it," Andrew assured him, his glare fading into a sad smile as he put a gentle hand on Mike's shoulder. JP asked him what was wrong as they headed back towards the Washington Monument and Andrew told him about his war veteran grandfather: who had served in World War II and Korea during his 20 years of service in the Canadian Forces. After Andrew finished the story, JP realized that he shared a deeper kinship with his new friend than he had first thought: considering that both their grandfathers had served in the military. The group of six friends had reached the Washington Monument by then, and they got a good close-up shot. "Well, it's been great getting to know you JP, but we should get back to our hotel now," Andrew said, checking his watch. "It's almost 11:30." "If you came with us on the Metro, we can drop you off at the Pentagon City Station and then you'll have a much shorter walk back to your hotel," JP offered. "I have an idea of what we can do tomorrow." Andrew looked over at Carrie and Mike, who nodded in agreement. He looked back at JP and said, "Good idea man; thanks for thinking of that." "I'm a little surprised that you didn't Andrew," JP teased him, as they began walking to the L'Enfant Plaza Metro Station. "It's not because I'm not smart like you JP; it's because I'm from out of town," Andrew reminded him with a mock glare. When he saw JP trying not to look scared, Andrew laughed and assured him, "I'm just kidding man; we never would have had such a great Fourth of July if we hadn't met you and your friends!" Mike and Carrie grinned and nodded in agreement and JP breathed a sigh of relief. When he thought back to the one bad incident of the evening, he realized that if those two college jocks hadn't harassed Chrissy, he would never have met Andrew: his new mentor and substitute Big Brother. I wouldn't have traded this evening for anything, JP thought to himself, very pleased that he had once again found someone he could look up to. He hoped that with Andrew's help, he could one day repair his relationship with his older brother, though he suspected it would get worse before it would get better. About half an hour later, Andrew and his friends said goodbye to JP and his friends, agreeing to meet them the next afternoon at Burke Lake Park: a large park near JP's house. "Thanks for a wonderful day at the National Mall JP," Andrew said, as he stepped off the train at Pentagon City Station. "See you at Burke Lake Park tomorrow. Call me when you're ready to meet." "No problem man," JP said, holding the doors open as Mike and Carrie stepped off to stand beside Andrew on the platform. "Thanks for the wonderful opportunity to see Ohio State in a few days with you and your friends. Have a good night Andrew." "You're welcome man," Andrew said, as the doors began to close. "See you tomorrow 'Little Brother'." The doors closed before JP could reply and he quickly raised his hand to wave goodbye to Andrew. As the train pulled away from the platform, JP wished more than anything that he was waving to his true big brother Ryan. Please let me know what you think and if I did justice to the JP Character and his innermost thoughts, a point of view that I can't remember being shown before in either the JP or Nick stories. Note: I will gradually transfer the illustrated version of the story onto my website: http://seanspictures.webs.com. All the pictures will come from my trip to Washington DC on July 3rd, 2011.
  7. PUMP...FLEX...GRUNT...GROW! ! ! ! ! The time has arrived finally after so much preparation, dieting, bulking, cutting, tanning, and even fitting for the big moment in the spotlight. Lucas has started getting ready for this event for three years. He is one of those guys his friends have always talked about. His body has always had no problem responding to the different phases of his training. He isn’t necessarily the biggest guy in his circle of friends, but his is the one with the most definition. Speaking of friends, one of them, Jesse, has decided to join him in his upcoming event just in the last year. He certainly hasn't trained as long as Lucas since he doesn't look as cut or developed, but his insight into his friend’s training had helped him a lot. He always looked up to him when they were both younger, he may have even held a slight crush for him. Lucas has suspected that for quite some time, but didn't want to jeopardize their friendship in case he was upset about it. The closeness they have had lately to each other may make it a little more difficult to hide though. He tries to keep it professional, showing him how to pose, what muscles needs more work, what he needs to eat to look leaner, and how to look harder on stage. While Lucas is a bit shorter, he looks much bigger since they are both in the same weight class. They will be competing against eight other men, two of which they both know. One in particular, Maximo, has been a thorn in Lucas’s side for years because he also competed against him in not only bodybuilding, but also in sporting events in college. The guy loves rubbing his ego in his face every chance he gets. He used to bounce his pecs and flex his arms every chance he got because he always thought he was never going to lose to him. The other man, Zane, is less aggressive, possibly because he is also a lot older and wiser. He views him as a threat only because he has such maturity. He showed up to a previous competition unbelievably big and hard and won the overall easily. So here we are, the day of the main event. It is now that both Lucas and Jesse are prepping for the stage. Both think they look pretty dang good, since their muscles are harder than ever. While Lucas’s nerves appear to be quite low, Jesse seems a bit scared since this is a new experience for him. He reassures him that if he does his posing routine correctly, he will do fine. The other eight men are also prepping themselves as they pump themselves up. The order is selected and all ten of the competitors get in line to wait their turn to get on the stage. After each individual posing routine, the ten competitors are sent out on the stage at the same time. They are all supposed to do posedowns and try to outmuscle each other. Lucas gets on one end of the stage, while Jesse is on the other. The heat on the stage is starting to get unbearable because of the body heat being produced by all of the muscle gods. Jesse is the first competitor to bend over to take a break from the heat. It isn’t long before the guy beside him has to take a breather too. Then the guy beside him does the same thing. Lucas looks over and wonders what is heck is going on. Whatever is happening is starting to spread across the stage. Maximo though seems unfazed and continues to pose like he just won the event. Lucas finally stops posing to go to check on his friend. Jesse says he feels a little better now and gets back up from the floor to continue his posing. Lucas stays beside him to keep him company and starts posing again too. Out of the corner of his eye, he notices something strange occurring to his friend. He can see Jesse’s body starting to grow. He isn't the only one there with the same predicament either. The growth seems to be continuing on nearly all of the guys there. Lucas, Maximo, and Zane seem to be the only three on the stage to be unfazed by this phenomenon. The other six competitors seem to be accelerating their growth cycles since many in the audience seem to be hearing the stage beginning to buckle. Jesse has probably grown an extra 100 pounds at this point and doesn't seem to be stopping. Lucas is in a state of shock at what is happening to him. His friend seems completely oblivious to what is happening to him and is still trying to do his posing routine. Many in the audience have all started racing out of the building due to the impending carnage that is about to happen to the complex. The other two guys that were not growing, Maximo and Zane, have managed to leave without being noticed. Lucas remains with Jesse who is still growing rapidly with the other six men beside him. His growth has gotten so extreme now that he is falling through the floorboards of the stage. His posers are ripped off and his cock is swinging violently since it is probably about two feet long now. His mind appears to be gone since he now looks at Lucas with lust instead of concern. He tries to run from the giant but can't get very far. He realizes that he will pay dearly for staying with him this long. This growing beast grabs a hold of him and slams him to the ground. He attempts to crawl away from him, but the stage crumbles around him as he goes down with it. Lucas is unconscious by the collapse. The six growing giants are not fazed by the collapse and push their way through the debris. As he lies there unable to move, he will be violated by the giant that was once Jesse. He grabs Lucas’s lifeless body and rips his posers off. He squeezes his monstrous cock into his small hole and starts to slowly fuck him. He picks his tiny body up with his cock and moves to a clear spot away from the crumbling building. He loosens him up enough to push more of his girth into him. He draws a bit of blood now as it starts to drip from his hole. The huge creature doesn’t even notice this and continues to fuck him. His brain appears to be on lockdown as his ultimate goal is to pass his power on to Lucas. It is at that moment that he comes to his senses and awakens to feel nothing but unimaginable pain. He has managed to squeeze even more of his cock into him now. He realizes now that he is being raped by this giant as he tries to move, but it is like he is in cement as the behemoth is starting to lie on top of him. He screams in agony as the giant pushes nearly a foot of his cock into his anus. The hulk is starting to push his weight on top of him and is slowing suffocating him. Lucas tries to motion for him to stop but eventually goes unconscious again. The giant man is now starting to pump his thick ooze inside Lucas. With him being crushed slowly, it will take a lot to revive him. The other giants there have started to disperse through the crowd of people still in the building and found victims to penetrate. The cum is now flowing through his body filling up his intestines and even moving into his stomach. He lies there motionless underneath Jesse as his body begins to change as the spunk is absorbed. The hulk begins to feel his ass pushing against his cock as Lucas’s hole starts to widen. Muscles start exploding in size as they widen and swell up into enormous balloons. His back stops getting crushed and grows as muscles bunch up on top of each other. He manages to gain nearly twice his body weight as the hulking brute on top of him starts to groan at what is transgressing beneath him. Lucas still hasn't awakened yet, but his breathing is improving as his body’s organs are recovering rapidly with the new growth cycle. Jesse now pushes his cock all the way in and pumps even more cum into his body. Lucas grows again as he gets taller and taller going beyond 8’ feet and growing past 500 pounds. His increasing size is now surpassing Jesse. When Lucas finally awakens, he feels as if he has been born again. Interestingly, his mind is clear and not jaded like what happened with Jesse. He feels his cock still residing inside him and quickly scoots forward to get it out. Both of their enormous sizes have actually made a crater in the ground beneath them. As the freshly grown Lucas becomes aware of his surroundings, he tries to get up and stumbles into a tree, completely knocking it over with his might. He quickly turns to see Jesse getting up from his position and running towards him. Instead of running himself though, he stops dead in his tracks to clash with the now smaller hulk. The sound of the two behemoths colliding is enough to shatter the glass in the surrounding neighborhood. The complex where the bodybuilding event was held is now rubble. The eerie moans coming from the giants are heard coming from the middle of the debris. Their victims are metamorphosed into growing beasts themselves now as clothes are being shredded and muscles are popping and growing from every aspect of the complex rubble. It is not known how far this will go as a couple of men escaped the fury.
  8. Back to the first part of this chapter.... "The Twenty" Chapter 12, Part 1: A Very Turkish Wrestling Match Finally, another chapter.....a group of the boys are heading off for muscle worship in LA! Part 1. Sorry it has taken me so long to continue. ENJOY! Comments welcome... Updated Links to chapters of "The Twenty": "The Twenty" - A Muscle Novel in Progress. Precis, Introduction, Chapters 1 & 2 "The Twenty" - A Muscle Novel in Progress. Chapters 3, 4, 5 - White Cap Training / Hardcore Muscle / A Brief History of Casey Rockland "The Twenty" - A Muscle Novel in Progress. Chapter 6 "The Twenty" - A Muscle Novel in Progress. Chapters 7, 8 - Hardcore Training, Part 1 / Tiffany's Talent "The Twenty" - A Muscle Novel in Progress - Chapters 9, 10 - Good for Morale "The Twenty" - A Muscle Novel in Progress - Chapter 11: Casey Meets the Muscle Squad "The Twenty" Chapter 12, Part 1: A Very Turkish Wrestling Match "The Twenty" - Chapter 12: Part 2 Casey vs. Karim Abdul: A Very Turkish Wrestling Match "The Twenty" - Chapter 13: After the Match "The Twenty" - Chapter 14: In Which Casey Discovers He Likes to Get Worshipped "The Twenty" - Chapter 15: Casey's First Interview with Sergeant Moster "The Twenty" - A Muscle Novel in Progress. Chapter 16 - Hardcore Training Part 2: Casey’s First Herculaneum Workout, and What Happened After "The Twenty" - A Muscle Novel in Progress - Chapter 17 - The Presentation "The Twenty" - A Muscle Novel in Progress - Chapter 18 - The Musclemen Revealed: Inside Zaftig's Lab "The Twenty" - A Muscle Novel in Progress - Chapter 19 - Further Encounters, Part 1 "The Twenty" - A Muscle Novel in Progress: Chapter 20 - Pose and Approve: Further Encounters, Part 2 "The Twenty" - A Muscle Novel in Progress: Chapter 21 - Sam and Casey "The Twenty" - A Muscle Novel in Progress: Chapter 22 - Field Trips for Worship, Part 1 "The Twenty" - Chapter 23 - Field Trips, Part 2 – Casey Rediscovers Muscle Worship, and Makes a New Friend "The Twenty" - A Muscle Novel in Progress: Chapter 24 - Further Encounters 5: Sam and Casey Again, and Moster and the Cadets Precis: Valhalla Labs is a remote mountaintop Northern California military facility, overseen by genius muscle growth scientist Dr. Ira Zaftig and CO Staff Sergeant Rod Moster, a 7'-0" ripped and hung 395-pound black muscle giant. There, 18 extraordinary bodybuilder-soldiers live, train, and play together, overseen by Moster's strict rules and brutal regimen for muscular perfection. Known as Project Herculaneum, the men serve as Dr. Zaftig's lab rats, receiving regular injections of P-21, a specially developed enzyme that facilitates muscle and strength growth in the very few bodybuilders whose systems can withstand it. The goal: to create an army of supermen, whose strength, size, and combat skills are unparalleled in the modern military. Unfortunately for the Project, the soldiers' enhanced strength and dramatically increased muscular size is accompanied by a corresponding increase in priapic size as well, along with a rapidly diminishing sense of social restraint and inhibitions. And along the way, the men's extraordinary physiques prompt their own extreme muscle fantasies into a daily acting-out sexual reality. Into the mix comes young Casey Rockland, a lonely, handsome, super-hung 18-year old bodybuilding giant. Inducted by Dr. Zaftig into the top-secret government muscle strength and growth project, Casey comes to learn the ropes amongst the muscle giants, whose hunger for hardcore training is matched only by their sexual appetites and growing fantasies, including their insatiable need to receive muscle worship. Casey's innocence, simplicity, and his growing need to receive both love and muscle worship threaten the very core of the decade-long Project, itself only now approaching its full potential. Chapter 12: Part 2 Casey vs. Karim Abdul: A Very Turkish Wrestling Match Casey and Abdul shook hands and almost immediately crashed into each other like sumo wrestlers. Moving with confident skill, Abdul wrapped his arms around Casey’s chest and slid them up underneath his armpits. He gained leverage, letting out a massive grunt as he heaved the big muscleboy up off his feet. Casey moaned as Abdul slammed him down to the mat. “Awesome,” breathed Lang. “That was fast,” said Waring. “He’s not done yet,” said Alvarez. The men leaned in to watch closer. The wrestlers’ gigantic muscles rippled with pumping, vascular power on the mat. Casey managed to break free for a second, but found himself in Abdul’s guard. Abdul was already going for a triangle choke. Casey was slippery enough to wiggle free for a moment, but Abdul climbed onto his back and sunk in a chokehold, rocking Casey backwards as he tried to shove his hands underneath his rippling forearm. It was no use. Superior experience took the moment from Casey. Abdul reached behind him and grabbed Casey’s asscheeks. “Let’s keep it clean, keep it clean,” said Moster, circling. “Think you’re tough, punk?” Abdul snarled into Casey’s ear. “I know I am,” said Casey. He struggled to wriggle himself free. Sweat began to pour down his body, further drenching the mat. Abdul stretched him out as the other guys watched. They slid in the growing pool of oil and sweat. As he dug his hands in, he caught Casey’s posers with his heel. Casey could feel them sliding down his quads the harder he squeezed. The elastic band stretched until is slipped under the pouch. For a flash, Casey felt humiliated and helpless, almost half naked and groaning as Abdul dominated him. Then he retaliated. Snapping one hand onto Abdul’s pecs, he managed to push him back and deliver a powerful backhand blow across Abdul’s face. Abdul’s face whipped to one side. “Fuck Turkish rules. Keep the posers on,” Casey snarled. Moster said nothing. Mouths dropped open. Abdul released the posers, smiled back, as Casey pulled them back into place. Casey looked back at him, and Abdul smiled - and returned a powerful backhand blow of his own across Casey’s face. Casey’s head whipped to the right. He looked back slowly and nodded. “We’re even.” Welts began to appear on the faces of both men. All of sudden, Abdul shot out, gutwrenching Casey’s face into his lap. “No. Now we’re even.” He tried to shoot a takedown, but Casey suddenly sprawled flat, flipped him, and got a tight front headlock on Abdul. He went down on one knee and flipped him over with a fireman’s carry. Before Abdul knew what hit him, he was on his back. Casey felt his arm between his legs as he attempted a cradle. He was close to scoring. Abdul, his face now puffing up, struggled in the sweaty pool of muscle. Casey locked up his hands and rocked him back. The tide of battle changed. Somehow Abdul got to his feet, grabbing hold of Casey’s hips and now shooting for a second takedown, bending over him now and reaching down his broad back. Casey, surprised, tried to sprawl but Abdul guided his hands up again toward the straps of his posers and made him almost sit on his hands. Casey tried to bridge, but Abdul clamped onto him. Saliva sprayed from his mouth and onto the back of Casey’s neck. Abdul flipped him, crashed onto him with his full body weight. It was no use. Casey gave up and collapsed. Sweat poured off Abdul’s face right into Casey’s eyes. Casey slapped the mat to make it stop and Abdul let him go. Body odor wafted from sweaty armpits as the men applauded Abdul’s round one victory over Casey. “Want to go again?” Abdul asked. He was breathing hard. In spite of his win, the kid had been a lot tougher than he anticipated. His eye was swelling shut and his mouth was bleeding a little. “I can take it,” said Casey. His thin skin was red with mat burns, head was throbbing. Was this really him? It was as if he couldn’t control the truth coming out of his mouth. It all felt right. He could take it. He loved the pain, in fact. Loved it. But didn't really want to think about it for the moment. Abdul nodded, stepped back, retired to the corner of the ring. Pedro was there, pouring more oil. “Don’t need that. Massage my shoulders.” Pedro looked at him a little helplessly, his light kitchen fingers not nearly meaty enough to knead the dense muscle mass that was Abdul’s traps, but he tried. After a few seconds, Abdul brushed him away, irritated. “Never mind,” he barked. Pedro’s eyes flashed hurt, and Abdul brought himself up to smile at him slightly. “You tried.” He patted the handsome boy’s face heavily with thick oily fingers, leaving a gleaming handprint on Pedro’s cheek. Pedro beamed ecstatically. He so hoped he could suck his god’s cock later, but didn’t dare to ask. Abdul turned back into the ring. He called to Schumacher. "Get your ass over here and massage my shoulders," Schumacher grunted and went to work on him, kneading the bunched masses with his thick, powerful fingers. Casey was still center, dancing from foot to foot, not caring that his massive tool was bobbing out of his posers. “Lookin’ good, Case,” yelled Obatu from the sidelines. He turned to Washington, sitting next to him. “Know him from Raw Weight.” “Yeah, Miles’ place. Gotta get there again soon.” “Good workouts.” He winked. “A little cash to be made, too.” “Yeah? Doin’ what?” “You know. Trainin’. Getting’ big. Growing. Flexing. Getting your dick sucked. You know.” “Oh, yeah.” Casey didn't know. But he forgot about it in a moment. The whistle blew. “Round two!” announced Moster. Casey and Abdul stepped towards each other, circled, each more wary. On the sidelines, Alvarez glanced over at Lang. Lang’s pants were open, his zipper down, his cock tumbling out of his khakis. He happily worked his long, extra-thick shaft. He glanced up at Alvarez and shrugged. “It’s hot,” he said. Alvarez had to acknowledge it was. “So why not?” Alvarez nodded agreement, opened his fly, with some difficulty pulled out his own already-stiff, mammoth member, and began to chug up and down the shaft with practiced, heavily calloused fingers. Lang looked down, grinned, licked his lips, winked at Alvarez. “Pose and approve later?” “We’ll see.” Lang knew there would be. This was too hot not to follow up with a long pose and approve session and some good butt fucking. But for now, both musclemen turned back to the match and standing side by side, together worked their cocks in silent unison. Their fists plunging up and down. A moment later, Waring, Duncan, and McIntyre had joined them. “Oh, yeah,” said McIntyre. squish squish squish squish squish squish squish squish And a moment after that, Hension, Chad, Meyer and Gunst had pulled their heavy cocks from their khakis and were applying basic spank the monkey techniques. squish squish squish squish squish squish squish squish Moster heard the squishing sounds of numerous big cocks being worked by powerful, pumping fists, looked up, glancing askance at the group. “Begging your pardon sir!” yelled out Hension. “We’re masturbating, sir!” “And why not?” said Moster, but he kept his cock in his pants. Still, out it poled. “Bring it, bitch!” yelled Casey as the two faced off in the center of the mat. “C’mon dude, we wrestlin’ or dancin’? Take a shot!” Abdul taunted. Both men seemed either oblivious to or uninterested in the fact that all around them, every man on the muscle squad was now actively jerking off. Casey shot out a lightning fast single leg. Abdul hopped over it and tried to pivot as Casey dove in, wrapped meaty arms around Abdul’s waist, and brought him violently down to the mat. Somehow Abdul flipped to his belly and Casey applied a painful hammerlock with one hand as he grabbed the back of his head with the other and rubbed his face in the mat. “How’s that mat taste?” Casey asked as Abdul grunted, struggling to turn his head to the side. On the sidelines, Pedro was frantic, seeing his big man suddenly so disgraced, however momentarily. Abdul tried to get off his stomach, but Casey slid his bulging quads down inside Abdul’s and drove his arm underneath his chin. Casey rolled onto his side and poured on the pressure. “Arrgghhhh!” Abdul groaned as Casey stretched him out. Pedro looked on, helpless with worry. “Ya like that, tough guy? Want some more?” Casey murmured between clenched teeth said as he pulled up harder on his chin, Casey totally wrapped around him. Abdul was completely immobilized. He groaned. “C’mon Abdul, you can take this!” Schumacher yelled. He too was now playing with himself freely. Lang, firing away on his stiff-as-iron cock, was laughing. “Put him on his back, Case! Finish him off.” Casey’s posers crept deep into his ass crack as he locked his legs around Abdul’s left leg. His rock hard glutes squeezed together as he wore the huge Turk down. Abdul tried to get free of Casey’s chin lock, but it was no use. He panted and groaned as Casey pulled his head down. “Got some lube?” asked Chad from the second row. The source was surprising. “Here,” said Schumacher, passing around tubes of the prime VALHALLA LABS signature cock-pumping oil. “Gift from the house.” “When did we start making this stuff?” asked Hension, looking down at the tube as he squeezed the warm lubricant onto his thick cockshaft. “Shut the fuck up,” said Lefevre, but he grinned good-naturedly, clapping Hension lightly on the back of the head. On the mat, Abdul suddenly switched it all out. He pried Casey’s hands from the chin lock and sank his arm around Casey’s neck, pulling him down to the mat and now choking him out. His drove his ankles down deep into Casey’s quads and he began to constrict his hold around his neck. Sweat poured off both men. The strong smells of perspiration, olive oil and butt wafted up into the overhead lights. It was now Casey’s turn again to groan in pain. Abdul’s powerful forearm was wrapped around his thick neck. Moster jumped into the ring, sticking his head into his face and asked Casey if he was ready to give up. Casey was grunting and struggling to breathe. Casey was unable to say the words I give. “Too soon,” he breathed out from under Abdul’s body mass. “Loosen up, man,” Moster said to Abdul, who nodded. Abdul loosened the hold so Casey could breathe, but he wasn’t done. Casey tried to get up, but Abdul still was controlling him. Then Abdul reached down and once again slid his hand down into Casey’s now-ripped posers. Casey looked angered as Abdul grabbed onto his thick cock. He handed off the poser to his foot, and peeled Casey’s poser down revealing the muscleboy’s huge penis. “In Turkish oil wrestling rules, the match is now over,” muttered Gunst from the sidelines, watching the mass of slippery muscle tumble on the mats. He rubbed the bulge in his pants, and glanced down. Straight up and out, past the belt line, up into his t-shirt, poling up above his belly. He unzipped and released his mass. “We done?” breathed Abdul. “No!” yelled Casey, now naked. “Naw, it’s way better than Turkish wrestling,” whispered Blankenship, now fondling his own stiff penis, still sheathed in khaki. Gunst looked him quizzically. “I like how it feels in my pants.” “Oh. Oh, yeah. Me too. Sometimes.” Gunst began pumping. “But not now.” Around the ring, all cocks were pumped a little more fiercely as the match intensified. “Okay then. We go for a pin.” Abdul moved his hand up to Casey’s head, rubbing it in his hair to get some sweat for lubricant. Then he came back rubbing Casey’s cock until it was rock solid. Out it poled, 12 inches and more. “Whatcha gonna do about it this time?” he sneered. The 17 bodybuilders were now all leaning in and pumping hard cocks, watching the sweaty jumble of muscle on the mat. Even Schumacher was now pumping furiously. As was Tiffany. For once the self-possessed little muscleboy let his guard down. He worked his cock ferociously, watching the dark match. “They’re pretty even,” said Warning. “Yeah,” said Chad. Next to him on the left, Obatu and Washington looked as if they were about to get up. A light flickered in Lang’s eye. Hension looked wildly around him. He was going to cum soon. Moster directed them all warningly, knowing where they were likely to go next. “Stay where you are, gents. No cumming. Men can hold it.” General moans. The men did as they were told. The wrestling room was silent except for the grunts of Casey and Abdul, the near-silent whirring of Dr. Irving’s video cam, the blue-balled moans and groans of the fleet of masturbating muscle giants, with the squeaky wet regular tattoo of lubricated palms working big cocks. Squish squish squish GRUNT GROANNNN squish squish squish squish squish squish “I SAID, DO NOT CUM!” Moster shouted suddenly. All jumped in their seats. “A man can withstand it!” All sat. 17 monster muscle cocks with nowhere to go but into calloused palms. For now. Up and down. Up and down. “Hey, Chad!” whispered Bogarde loudly. “Squeeze my nips!” Chad reached over to his right with his free hand (the other feverishly pumping his cock) and began violently tweaking Bogarde’s huge, downward-pointing think nipples. “Yeah, make me hurt, man!” Bogarde pleaded, working his cock. “You got it, man.” Squish squish squish UGH GROANNNN UGH UGH GROAN…. squish squish squish squish squish squish UGH UGH UGH GROAN…. Suddenly Abdul flipped, keeping his hold on Casey, who squirmed below. Casey was on his back now with Abdul on top, now in the north-south position. All Casey could see was Abdul’s bulging balls and the red singlet outline of his rigid cockshaft. Abdul lowered his balls onto Casey’s face and caught his head in between his legs. But Casey somehow spread his legs and reclamped behind Abdul’s neck. The two muscle monsters squeezed each other tight, rubbing crotches in each other’s face. Casey’s enormous penis brushed Abdul’s scratchy beard. “Ouch!” Casey cried. Finally Abdul broke the hold and swung around to face Casey, getting him in one of his killer headlocks. Once again, Casey was in trouble. But he managed to dig an elbow into Abdul’s groin. Abdul shouted and Casey pried himself free, stood, and turned. He lunged full weight at Abdul. Abdul was ready for him, grabbing his shoulders and shoving Casey’s face right into his and applying a submission hold. For a moment, they looked into each other’s eyes. Then Abdul drove Casey’s shoulders into the mat. “Ughhhh,” Casey moaned. Abdul had mounted him and was driving his elbow into his head. It was momentary. Casey flopped in his own sweat a moment, and then, with surprising swiftness, changed course, wrapping his hands behind Abdul’s neck and pulling him in toward his chest. He wrapped his legs tight around Abdul’s body and grunted as he started to gain control. Abdul and Casey slid around the mat, slipping out of each other holds as they tried desperately to get a submission out of each other. Suddenly, Casey managed to climb on Abdul’s back and slip his arm under his chin. His stiff cock slapped against his abs. “Shit!” Abdul yelled as Casey secured the choke. Casey squeezed harder. Suddenly Abdul was struggling to breathe. His face was beet red. And suddenly, it was over. Abdul slapped the mat furiously and Casey released his grip. He let out a whoop. He grabbed Abdul by the hair and lifted his head up, using his other arm to flex his biceps. Fast as a flash, Abdul grabbed his hand and twisted his wrist, ensuring Casey’s victory was a brief one – but it was too late. The image had been captured in the men’s brains. “Aweesummmm,” breathed Hension, once again, and to no one in particular. “Wait till I call it!” yelled Moster. “Fuck you,” said Abdul. He hunched back on his knees and locked Casey up in a kneeling position, pressing his slippery forehead into his and looking into his eyes. They panted for breath. Once again, as if alerted by a bugle charge, both suddenly sprang once again into action. Abdul managed to get a headlock on Casey and threw him to the mat. His cock slapped against his leg as Casey tried to turn to avoid getting pinned. Both were so sweaty and slick with the now hot oil that neither could get a good hold. The mat was an ocean of steaming sweat and oil, both men sliding in the mass of liquid. In the circle of chairs around the wrestling ring, the bodybuilders pumped their blood-engorged cocks feverishly. On the mat, Casey freed a hand and ripped Abdul’s singlet wide open. The Turk was enraged. His cock spilled onto the mat. Pedro leaned forward now openly licking his lips. “Please let us cum, sir!” pleaded Hension. “Okay…..guess I’ll play, too,” said Moster, studiedly lazily. He advanced into the center of the ring where the two muscle monsters lay, locked in sinew, sweat, and bronzed oil, their huge cocks flailing openly. “Men, why don’t you join me?” Moster smiled. He only had to ask once. In a heartbeat the 17 bodybuilders bolted from the chairs, clambering over one another and the rings to get to the center of the ring. Still, they waited breathlessly, cocks in hand, no one daring to make a further move. Abdul shot a look of helpless rage up to Moster, but Casey was holding him firm. Neither man could budge. squish squish squish squish GOOSH squish squish UGH UGH UGH GROAN…. And Moster unzipped. The largest black cock in the world poured out of his pants, flopping down to his knees. FLOPppp… In a second it was poled high, reaching nipple level. Moster grabbed it with his fist and slid his hands down it just three times. squish squish squish squish GOOSH squish squish UGH UGH UGH GROAN…. “I’m ready,” he said quietly. The bodybuilders circled the wrestlers, side by side. Casey stared at the huge, pendulous looming cocks above him, heavy dew drops of precum beginning to drip, oozing into the mass of mat liquid in which the two musclemen lolled in their struggles. It was as if it was the first time he had even noticed what the men were up to. “What are they doing??” he cried out to Moster. “What’s it look like, punk?” growled Abdul in his ear. Moster ignored him. “Pedro,” Moster invited graciously, “why don’t you get over here and join us?” Pedro didn’t have to be asked twice. He scampered gleefully into the circle, a little beautiful brown spot of handsome teenhood amidst a turbulent ocean of masturbating musclemen. He pulled out his own pretty little cock and began to pump fiercely, gleefully, staring hungrily at the huge muscle and looming penises all around him. After only a moment, he couldn’t stand being surrounded by the sea of cock without getting to his knees and starting to suck his way around the circle, feverishly. He started with Gunst, his pretty little mouth enveloping the massive organ. From the sidelines Dr. Irving began to walk rapidly behind the circle of men, panning his cam across the landscape of their solid glutes, huge, hard and round, squeezing and relaxing in tense, pumping cannonballs of butt muscle as they pumped their cocks feverishly. Backs of heads. Batwing lat spreads of knitted boulders of muscle. Delts touching. Hamstrings pounding with thick rivers of veins. Butts pumping. Irving got it all on cam. Someday he knew this video would be worth thousands….hundreds of thousands. He captured it all. From the mat below, Casey gazed up, exhausted and confused, bewildered and amazed at a sea of musclecock held high above him. Abdul merely growled. In a few seconds the waterfalls of cum would begin. He couldn’t admit to himself that he had wanted something like this to happen. “What’re they gonna do?” asked Casey, fearfully, muffled. Hmmmm, thought Moster as he pumped his organ. The white cap is wearing off. Probably from the match. If it was still in him, he’d have no problem. Still, it didn’t stop anything. The bodybuilders were groaning loudly now, pumping and flexing, rocking ball-toe-heel, their magnificently bodies undulating rhythmically. “Let ‘er rip!” Moster, now pumping furiously, looked to Dr. Irving, who had never stopped the video, nor moved. “You getting it all?” “Of course,” said Irving, irritated, shocked, perplexed and baffled as always - but never daring to shut down the cam. He could never understand what all this had to do with science, but never mind. He was well paid. “Muthafucker!” Hension screamed. “You boys about ready to shoot?” Moster asked. “Hang on. They ain’t seen nothin’ yet,” said Abdul. He squeezed Casey’s head as hard as he could. It wasn’t too long before Casey wriggled out of it and was on his hands and knees facing him. He came in at Abdul and tried to push him over onto his back, but the muscle Turk reached behind him and sunk his fingers right into Casey’s exposed anus. “WHAT THE FUCK!” Casey cried as Abdul used his rectum as a handle to flip him over. He slammed on his back on the mat. An ocean spray of sweat and oil sloshed into the air. And around them the squishing sounds of muscle jerking grew more frantic. “Oh, maaaaa—aaaan,” said Hension. “Hold off, men!” shouted Moster. "Santa mierda de Dios,” breathed Pedro, now frantically licking Obatu’s cock up and down its 12-inch length. Obatu’s pumping fist was punching him repeatedly in the nose. He didn’t care. He held the cock between his lips and sucked hard. Precum began to spurt down his throat. Squish squish squish UGH GROANNNN UGH UGH GROAN…. GOOOsh squish squish GOOOsh groannnn Ugh unnnghh squish squish squish squish squish squish UGH UGH UGH GROAN…. Casey and Abdul were in a mad final scramble now. Both knew the match was coming to an end. Abdul was enraged he somehow didn’t have the conditioning to go a full hour with Casey; it had only been 12 to 15 minutes in the ring, and no more – and he was wiped out. For his part, Casey was panting deeply and hot as a furnace, pushed to the max. And yet. And yet. Abdul knew Casey could outlast him. Casey, however much he might be forever on the bottom tonight, yet had a couple of hours of strength to go. It was only that he lacked the fighting technique Abdul had hard earned over the years. And this enraged the Turk. Abdul got behind Casey and sunk his arms between his legs, locking onto his other arm and driving his biceps into Casey’s balls. Abdul’s forearm pressed painfully against his thick penis. Casey couldn’t take it. He had to move, giving him enough space to maneuver. Dirty Turkish wrestling. Casey managed to get a “Fuck you”, but he was outclassed, totally helpless and defeated. “I gotta suck cock!” Lang shouted, and dove down in front of Alvarez. In a flash Alvarez’s meat was in his mouth, sluicing juicily down his throat. “Me too,” muttered Hension, who dropped down in front of Gunst. He bobbed and weaved with the mighty strokes Gunst was applying to his huge cock, ducking his head, trying to get his mouth around it. “Shit,” said Gunst. With his right hand he backhandedly smacked Hension’s face hard, grabbed the back of his head, clenched a handful of hair; with his left hand he clutched his cock and rammed it down Hension’s throat. Hension began to violently suck muscle giant’s firehouse cock while working his own and never taking his eyes off the grappling musclemen on the mat. Abdul had Casey’s legs now, lifting him up so Casey was upside down, sliding down Abdul’s back till his head hit the mat and he was facing his ass. His nose went right into Abdul’s exposed ass crack for a minute while the Turk kept tilting his head back to put pressure on Casey’s balls. But Casey rallied. Groaning, straining, working hard, he trapped Abdul’s head in a figure 4, squeezing his face right into his balls as he pinned him. “Yer so eager to see my cock, so get an eyeful of it now,” he hissed. Abdul tried to snarl back, but he could only groan. He was getting tired. And the muscleboy had hours of energy ahead of him. He could feel it. Moster had a hard time seeing if the Turk was pinned or not, the men were so wrapped up in an oily mass of muscled quads, rippling traps, batwing lats, boulder biceps, brick-like abs, pounding glutes, pounding feet, pounding fists, and bulging balls. But it wasn’t looking so good for the Turk. UGH UGH UGH GROAN…. The squad, now in deep sex frenzy, was by now beyond observing the details of combat. Blankenship and Waring had each dropped to their knees, sucking the heavy, veiny cocks of Chad and Washington. Schumacher grabbed Meyer, flipped him around, pulled down his khakis, and plunged his cock mercilessly into his welcoming butthole as the handsome deaf mute played gleefully with his engorged manhood. He began to fuck him with deep and powerful strokes. Meyer smiling ecstatically and waved his mighty butt under the cock blows. He reached back and pried his buttcheeks wide. His asshole was as open as he could get it. He spread his legs. Schumacher’s thick cock was in action, driving, pounding, fucking. Squish squish squish fuckfuckfuck UGH GROANNNN UGH UGH GROAN…. Moster could see where it was headed on the mat. Abdul had taken the first two pins. But Casey was just getting started. He was mad now. The effect of the white caps was weaving in and out, true, and Casey was responding as if he was on mushrooms. But his huge muscles were gleaming with power. Every vein was bursting. Sweat was pouring off both men. And Abdul was breathing hard. But he still had the upper hand. Still, Moster pumped harder. He had to admit: this was pretty hot. Pedro looked at him adoringly, moved to take Moster’s cock in his mouth. Moster pushed him back roughly. “Get away, son,” he barked. Pedro looked frightened and abashed. Moster smiled slightly, an eyebrow arched. “You being a bad boy? Might have to tan your hide later,” he murmured. Pedro looked hopeful but the fear still glistened slightly. He glanced down at Moster’s powerful fist, now stroking his massive meat up and down, up and down. “Your hand could kill my butt!” he squeaked. “Not your butt, little boy. Not yours. Now get out of my way. Go suck Private Duncan’s cock.” Moster tossed a glance at Duncan, who was busily working his dick. Pedro scampered away, ran to Duncan, and knelt before him. “The C.O. says I have to suck your cock,” he cried out, and gathered the mighty pole into his mouth. Duncan was startled. “Okay,” he said. “Don’t mind.” Pedro knelt and went right to work on Duncan’s massive tool. He was particularly excited by the latticework of heavy veins surrounding the muscleman’s member. He began to trace his finger along the thick rivers of vascularity as he sucked. Duncan spread his legs wide. He grabbed Pedro’s black hair in his fist and began to steadily pump his hips into the boy’s face. On the mat, more spent than he wanted to admit, Casey stared up at the circle of musclemen above and around him. Four of the musclemen were sucking musclecock now. The little Mexican teenager was scampering about sucking musclecocks as they were freed up. Schumacher was fucking the cute little muscleguy’s awesome glutes. The other 7 musclemen were straddling the mat edges now, massive quads akimbo, pumping serious cock. And the CO Sergeant Moster had his cock out, too. It was the biggest penis Casey had ever seen in his life. Even bigger than his own. Which was huge. As he stared, he lost focus. And in a flash, Abdul had flipped him again and was straddling his pecs with his own huge body and pressing for an advantage. Casey couldn’t move. The sounds of musclesex filled the wrestling room. On the sidelines, Dr. Irving was capturing it all on video. GOOOsh squish slurp suck suck slurp squish GOOOsh groannnn SUCKSUCK LICK SLURP fuckkkk Casey grunted. A surge of energy hit him. He tried a duck under, but Abdul kept the upper hand. As he went down to his knees on the mat, Casey kept his left arm welded to the Turk’s shoulder, pulling out to his side and anchoring his right hand deep in his anus. “Turkish rules, right?” Casey snarled into Abdul’s ear, beginning to chew on the lobe. He was back in control again. The Turk let out a short gasp as he felt Casey’s index finger work up into his asshole, a big grin on his face. Abdul wanted to smash those perfect teeth in, but he was too busy trying to pry the muscle giant kid’s finger out of his butthole. With a sudden rush of White Cap adrenaline, Casey moved his right arm around Abdul’s waist, mounted him and broke him down so his belly was flat on the mat. He managed a gut wrench and turned him over once, but he was too tough and was able to counter Casey’s leverage with his strength. Moster knew he had to step in. He couldn’t afford to have Abdul so badly defeated. Not yet. Not at the outset of Casey’s career. Sure, Casey Rockland was a muscle outlier. There may never have been a muscleman like him before, and there may not be another again. But it was too soon for the legend to emerge. For the good of the program, Casey had to lose tonight. And it didn’t look as if he was going to. So Moster did the one thing he could do, to save Abdul’s neck. Moster blew the whistle and reached in. He grabbed them both by the scruffs of their necks and powerfully brought them up to their knees. Casey was stunned, dizzy, swirling with confusion and excitement and pain and frenzy all at once. Abdul’s rage was huge but not huge enough to allow his own massive tool to go limp. Both muscle monsters were sporting huge erections. And the men around them were pumping and sucking and fucking furiously. Ugh unnnghh groan moan slurp suck squish squish squish slurp suck suck squish squish squish AH AHH AHHHHHH yeah yeah yeah UNNNGHHHH AAAAHHHHHH!!!! Moster stepped forward, grabbed his mighty cock, knelt down next to the knotted figures of muscle, and began to shoot cum in the Turk’s face. SPURT! BLAST!! AAAHHH YEAH!!! Gallons of gobs of white creamy cum shot maniacally from his deeply creased piss slit. And the biggest cock in the world, on the biggest bodybuilder in the world, began to throb and spurt hot liquid rivers of jism onto the Turk’s face. “FUCKING HELL!” roared Abdul. ‘GODDAMN YOU MOSTER!!!” And the cum spilled, coating his roaring face, filling his mouth and nostrils, dripping down his chin. Moster was aiming it, like a firehose. “On the Turk, men!” he shouted. And with that…all hell let loose.
  9. Hello, all...here is the long-awaited Wrestling Chapter......to catch up where you were before, I highly recommend you look at the other chapters first..... Links to other chapters: "The Twenty" - A Muscle Novel in Progress. Precis, Introduction, Chapters 1 & 2 "The Twenty" - A Muscle Novel in Progress - Chapters 3, 4, 5 - White Cap Training / A Brief History of Casey Rockland / Miles Donovan's Gym "The Twenty" - A Muscle Novel in Progress - Chapter 6 - Casey is Discovered at Miles Donovan's Gym "The Twenty" - A Muscle Novel in Progress - Chapters 7, 8 - Hardcore Training, Pt. 1 / Tiffany's Talent "The Twenty" - A Muscle Novel in Progress - Chapters 9, 10 - Good for Morale, Continued / The Men Hit the Showers "The Twenty" - A Muscle Novel in Progress - Chapter 11 - Casey Meets the Muscle Squad Precis: Valhalla Labs is a remote mountaintop Northern California military facility, overseen by genius muscle growth scientist Dr. Ira Zaftig and CO Staff Sergeant Rod Moster, a 7'-0" ripped and hung 395-pound black muscle giant. There, 18 extraordinary bodybuilder-soldiers live, train, and play together, overseen by Moster's strict rules and brutal regimen for muscular perfection. Known as Project Herculaneum, the men serve as Dr. Zaftig's lab rats, receiving regular injections of P-21, a specially developed enzyme that facilitates muscle and strength growth in the very few bodybuilders whose systems can withstand it. The goal: to create an army of supermen, whose strength, size, and combat skills are unparalleled in the modern military. Unfortunately for the Project, the soldiers' enhanced strength and dramatically increased muscular size is accompanied by a corresponding increase in priapic size as well, along with a rapidly diminishing sense of social restraint and inhibitions. And along the way, the men's extraordinary physiques prompt their own extreme muscle fantasies into a daily acting-out sexual reality. Into the mix comes young Casey Rockland, a lonely, handsome, super-hung 18-year old bodybuilding giant. Inducted by Dr. Zaftig into the top-secret government muscle strength and growth project, Casey comes to learn the ropes amongst the muscle giants, whose hunger for hardcore training is matched only by their sexual appetites and growing fantasies, including their insatiable need to receive muscle worship. Casey's innocence, simplicity, and his growing need to receive both love and muscle worship threaten the very core of the decade-long Project, itself only now approaching its full potential. THE TWENTY A Government Issue Adult Cartoon -XXX- Muscle Fantasy By Joey Silverado This book is dedicated to Tiny Yokum – and to all his fans, past, present, and future. Chapter 12: Part 1 Casey vs. Karim Abdul: A Very Turkish Wrestling Match Five minutes later, Karim Abdul was striding down the corridor, pecs bouncing, headed for the wrestling room. Still carrying his clothes from Casey’s presentation, he was now dressed only in his red Lycra wrestling singlet. His step was deliberate, his gait powerful. As he walked he grumbled to himself, ignoring the low clamor of the rest of muscle squad, who followed eagerly behind. His cock, loose in the singlet, swayed heavily from side to side as he walked, his balls pushed forward. “Asswipe kid.” The rest of his thoughts were a little too vague for words. Thoughtlessly he grabbed his cock and got it momentarily out of the way of his quads, pumping as he walked. Most of the squad was keeping a good 20 yards of distance between themselves and Karim Abdul. No one wanted to be on the receiving end of a wild Abdul punch at this moment. Even Schumacher, McIntyre, and Duncan, men who could well defend themselves and were used to Abdul’s occasional wild swings, were keeping themselves at a cautious distance. Karim knew he had to mark his territory. Now, tonight, and fast. No questions asked. Leaving nothing to second-guessing. After all, even he had to admit it - this kid was fucking unbelievable. He was huge, he was cut, he was raw, he was handsome, he was young, he was unbelievably hung. And at only 18 years of age, he was still growing. Karim wouldn’t rest until he’d smashed the kid’s handsome face into the mat. And maybe pissed in his mouth, too. Something. Something like that. Yeah. Show him who was in charge. But - it was all – well, a little unformed. Even to him. He passed the door leading to the back of the kitchen. He bashed the door open with his fist, smashing the frame and cracking the thick glass. Inside, Pedro, Abdul’s handsome little kitchen cocksucking buttboy, was sweeping up. “Your ass in the wrestling room. Bring that 10-pound canister of olive oil. MOVE!!! NOW!” commanded Abdul. Pedro jumped a mile. Then Abdul was gone, continuing on down the corridor. Pedro immediately put the broom away, washed his hands - his musclegod demanded clean fingernails - climbed up a little ladder to one of the shelf larders, and grabbed a 10 gallon jug of olive oil. Carrying it with some difficulty, he nevertheless darted out the door and ran excitedly after Abdul. "Wait for me!" the eager boy squeaked. He was about to get an awesome muscle show. Maybe suck some massive cock. Wow! Further ahead, Abdul was a man on a mission. And coming up behind him and running by was Private Tiffany. Abdul didn’t like that asswipe, either. Great glutes, though. Perfect glutes. Big, hard, striated boulders. Yeah. Fuckable. Most inviting. He’d fuck the little asswipe’s butt one day and then push his face in the toilet. Yeah. He continued on, paying little notice, though he did allow himself a quick, cool glance at the muscleboy’s rolling, muscular boybutt as he scampered by. From the corridor somewhere behind Abdul, Schumacher was shouting to Tiffany. “Where you going?” he demanded to know. “Getting Dr. Irving!” “Who?” Tiffany turned back, running backwards, explaining patiently as if to a child. “The dude with the camera. Ever notice him? Probably not…” He waved Schumacher off with easy, grinning contempt, turned back and scooted happily up the corridor towards Dr. Irving’s office. Schumacher swore to himself. He had to acknowledge he had no idea who Tiffany was talking about. He rarely noticed the lab workers or other doctors, barely paying attention to even Dr. Zaftig himself. He returned his gaze to Karim, striding purposefully up the hall ahead of him. Karim Abdul’s rocky man glutes rumbled darkly as he walked, and Schumacher gazed into the impenetrable deep butt crack outlined in the red Lycra. Excepting only the cloaked, anonymous butt fucking nights, no one other than powerfucker Schumacher had yet penetrated Karim’s magnificent asshole. Ever. “At least I have that much,” Schumacher muttered. By now he was passing the open office door. Tiffany, his back to the corridor, was hurriedly explaining to some geeky lab coat doctor who Schumacher had never noticed before, saying something about Get the camera out, asshole, and Come with me now…. Schumacher paused for a moment in the office doorway to admire Tiffany’s butt sweep in his tight regulation khakis. His full, hard, rounded glutes were a most enticing display in his slacks, the rear pockets rounded with the curvature of pure muscle, promising the pleasures that lay beneath. Joe Tiffany Now there was a butt to fuck. He grunted and continued down the corridor, following Karim. In truth he didn’t know why he was heading off with the others to the wrestling ring, and especially at this hour. He should be headed off to bed, a quick JO instant replay of the group shower suck / group butt lick he’d enjoyed just 40 minutes earlier, and then plenty of shuteye for another brutal workout tomorrow. That was the life. And another day to plan on getting into Tiffany’s butt. Another day to strategize some deep cock / muscleboybutt frottage sessions. Another day to – “Hey, Schumacher.” It was McIntyre. “Where you going? This way.” He’d walked right past the wrestling room door. “Oh.” He retraced his steps. As he came back, a little sheepishly, Alvarez and Lang were in the doorway. Lang’s tongue was practically lolling out of his head in anticipation, and even cool customer Alvarez had an excited gleam in his eye. “What do you assholes think is gonna happen?” snarled Schumacher as he strode by, pushing past them into the wrestling room. Alvarez put his hands up in mock defensiveness. “Oh, nothing, nothing. We just thought we might want to watch.” “Yeah, we wanna watch nothing happen,” smirked Lang. Both men mockingly bowed as Schumacher went by, Alvarez of course taking the lead, with puppydog Lang following suit. Schumacher glanced down at their packed flies bulging out of their khakis as he strode by. “You both sure got big enough hard-ons, just to watch nothing happen.” Lang looked defensive. Alvarez just laughed, and gently patted Lang’s growing bulge. “Yeah, guess we do.” He nodded and winked, and went inside the wrestling room. Lang followed, and even had the temerity to wink at Schumacher as he went by. Alvarez threw his arm around Lang and playfully squeezed his ass. Faggots, thought Schumacher. His own cock roared to life in his pants and was soon poling straight out and upward. He glanced back down the corridor. Moster and Casey were rounding the corner. Moster had changed out of his sweats, and was now in the regulation Valhalla Labs green t-shirt and tight khakis. Casey still had only his micro posing trunks on. Behind them scurried Dr. Irving, carrying Casey’s sweats and his video equipment. He was babbling on his cellphone. Probably talking to the insane dude who ran the place. Zaftig. Moster noted the ruined kitchen door and sighed. “Another door,” he grumbled. These dudes, when they got pissed off. It’s not like Valhalla Labs was a bottomless money source. Close, but not bottomless. He nodded at Schumacher and gestured briefly for him to go into the wrestling room ahead of them. Schumacher scowled, but did as he was directed. “Dr. Irving?” “Yes, Sergeant Moster?” Irving scurried to catch up to them. “Do you have a white cap on you?” “Why…yes….” Moster knew he would. The little doctor had long since learned that anything could happen when the men gathered, and he made it a point to carry extra medication with him at all times. And there was no sense in irritating Moster with a “Why, no.” He wouldn’t put it past the giant black muscle monster to deck him with one mighty punch in the nose if displeased, which would no doubt kill him. He scrambled and produced a small medication bottle. Moster turned to Casey, struggling a little to keep up, halfway between a walk and a run, his black shiny micro poser barely covering his steadily bobbing cock as he ran. “Here,” said Moster. “Take this.” “Hunh?” Casey stopped full. “Take it. Don’t ask questions.” “What—what is it?” “Extra confidence.” “Drugs?” Casey was momentarily stumped. He remembered that the boys in the Home were always experimenting. It made them silly and weak. He wanted no part of it. “I don’t do drugs.” Moster motioned to Irving. “Go on and set up, we’ll meet you there.” He turned to Casey. “It’s not a drug. Not like you think.” “I don’t do no steroids, neither.” “Not a ‘roid. There is no man in this facility on the juice. We have to do something about your grammar, by the way.” “Then how –“ “Shut up and take it. I will explain later. You will be fine.” Casey gulped, put his faith in Moster, and did as he was told. He popped the pill in his mouth, and smiled with weak subservience at Moster. “Okay, sir.” “What was that?” “I..I mean, Yes, Sir!” “That’s better.” Moster turned and continued down the corridor, Casey scampering after him. Good thing the men still do what I tell them to do, thought Moster. And how long is that gonna last with this boy? Once he finds his power? Moster tucked that thought away. “Let’s go watch you wrestle. You do wrestle, you said?” “Yeah, but I’m scared…” “No need to be.” “…no..…scared I’ll hurt him. I always do….” Except, of course, Ramon Ramon, the much smaller wrestler at Raw Weight Gym who never failed to thoroughly pin the muscleboy. But of course, that was a long time ago. Inside the wrestling room Karim had already snapped on the overhead lights and was doing deep knee bends in the middle of the 20 sq foot wrestling ring, which dominated the center of the room. The thick blue mat of the ring gleamed in the overhead lights, with the VALHALLA LABS logo in the center. Around the ring on two raised platforms were about 40 folding chairs, all affording perfect, elevated views of any wrestling action. Pedro stood eagerly on the side, now holding towels and a water bottle. “Getting limbered up to better meet the kid?” called out Blankenship. He had already grabbed his ringside seat, he too adjusting his crotch as he sat. “Shut the fuck up,” said Karim, squatting. To Pedro he shot out, “Where the fuck is the oil? Get the oil.” Pedro shot off into a storage room and returned with a 5-gallon jug of olive oil. “Goin’ for Turkish wrestling, hunh, Karim?” Chad was grabbing a seat ringside. He nudged Waring. “This is gonna be good.” No answer from Karim. “The kid’s got an iron grip, I’m told,” called out Waring, nudging Eli Meyer’s ribs as he took a seat next to him. Meyer’s mouth hung open in a perennial smile. He pointed to his mouth so Meyer could read his lips. “I said, Casey Rockland’s got an iron grip.” “I heard you.” Obatu was next, leaning against the ropes. “And those quads be killers. He gets you in a lock hold, you gonna be dead in the water. What’re ya gonna do about that, Mr. Abdul, sir?” Karim didn’t answer, regarding them all stonily. Obatu lazily returned his gaze, smiling, unintimidated. Blankenship had started this. But Blankenship had easily dodged the intended receiving end of a few near-miss wild roundhouse punches in the past. He was too fast and too alert to be caught unawares, and Karim Abdul had learned not to waste his energy on him. So Karim suffered the men’s ready comments stoically. “This kid got veins like this?” he asked, flexing his 25-inch biceps, showing off half-inch thick rivers of veins, pulsing with power. “Yeah, I think, actually, he does,” said Blankenship with a smile. “Here he is now. Let’s see. Kid, you got veins like his?” Moster and Casey had appeared at the opposite door, the darkened end of the wrestling room. Both giants approached, in black silhouette against the framed light from the corridor, getting larger as they quietly walked toward the ring. Casey looked up quizzically at the question. “Flex your biceps,” whispered Moster. “Hunh?” “Flex, man. Don’t ask stupid questions. Flex it up. Now.” “ ’kay.” Casey stopped and hammered out a front double bi. 25 inches of his own, in response to Abdul. As always, he felt compelled to go on, adding side chest, front lats, quads, and sent a hand probingly down rippled, hardrock abs. “That good?” “Good, good,” muttered Moster. “You catch on fast. You ever compete, kid?” “Uh…..no……should I? Other guys are so much bigger than me….” Moster smiled. They all think that, at the beginning. “Get over here, plebe,” Abdul called out from the center of the ring. Pedro was standing on a stool, pouring the olive oil over his massive physique, worshipfully slathering him up. Casey in Silhouette Casey stared. “What’s all that….?” he stammered. Moster noted that the white cap hadn’t taken effect yet, but then it had only been a few minutes. “Now, Karim,” said Moster patiently, coming into the light as they approached the ring. “You know Casey is not a plebe.” Abdul started to speak. “Nor is he a cadet. He is now one of you. He makes us The Twenty. You need to accept this,” he continued, walking and speaking easily now as he pulled up the ropes and stepped into the wrestling ring. He approached the angry giant muscle Arab. “And he isn’t threatening you. Casey isn’t going to pull your power away from you.” “That’s not what this is about.” “Bullshit,” one of the men yelled. The others laughed. Abdul glared at them and went on. “Whatever you say, Sergeant Moster, sir,” said Abdul. “I just want to make sure he’s going to be worth my time to train with.” He smiled easily. “That’s all.” The oil was dripping off him onto the mat. Moster said nothing. Casey was now visibly nervous. Still outside the ropes, he leaned in to Moster. “They gonna reject me?” he whispered loudly. “I mean, now?” “No one’s rejecting you,” said Moster loudly. He then turned to the waiting group of musclemen. “Are you, boys?” Something about that ‘boys’ rankled Abdul even further, though Alvarez and Gunst just smiled. The others looked perplexed. “Since when are we boys?” squealed Hension. “Shut up, Hension,” said Chad. “You ever wrestle, boy?” Abdul called out. “His name is Casey. Or Private Rockland.” “I asked you a question, boy. Ever wrestled? Get your butt into the ring.” “You really want all this oil?” sighed Moster. “We’re gonna wrestle Turkish style.” “It’s messy.” “I’ll clean it up, sir!” squeaked Pedro. “Bet your ass you will.” “Yeah, you don’t want a spanking, now, do you?” yelled Lang. He adjusted in his chair, his glutes still smarting from the paddling he’d received earlier that evening. Moster’s cock twitched a little at the suggestion of paddling handsome young Pedro’s hard, receiving little boybutt, a pleasure he had not yet allowed himself, although the teenage boy’s firm little butt cheeks had always been particularly inviting in his kitchen whites. He ignored it for now, however. Later, he thought. Casey shot a look at Moster. “What’s this about spankings?” he asked. Moster ignored the question. “Get in there.” “Yes, sir.” Casey climbed obediently into the ring. Moster watched him closely. The white cap should be taking effect in a moment…. “Oil him up,” commanded Abdul. Pedro ran over to him with the stool and the olive oil, climbed up, and began to pour it all over Casey’s massive physique. The sheer size and beauty of his muscles was overwhelming to the little Mexican, and his own powerful little cock began to bulge in his pants. After a moment, Casey was drenched in the shiny, thick liquid. The two musclemen stood face to face, Abdul in his tight singlet, fearsome muscles gleaming in the light, looming with threatening power. Casey was still in his micro, bulging posers, wet now with slick oil, the top 6 inches of his massive, meaty cockshaft fully exposed, blond tendrils of pubic hair curling with thick radiance. He was embarrassed, humiliated that his huge penis was twitching outwards in anticipation of what-was-coming-next. But then he noticed – Abdul’s oily, pylon-thick tool was also clearly coming to life in the thin singlet. “Good. Now, you got some mighty fancy muscles. But that doesn’t mean much here. We all got fancy muscles.” “You’re not being very polite, Corporal Abdul, “ said Moster, moving to the sidelines. “I think the men ought to introduce themselves before we get into any personal demonstrations of our manhood. Don’t you agree?” Even the ever-present log in lying against Moster’s pants leg was firmly outlined and appeared to be twitching a little, and the thin khaki fabric of his slacks covering it was now smooth and tight. Slowly the 17 others bodybuilders rose from their seats around the ring, one by one. 38 pairs of eyes stared at Casey intently. He glanced at the cocky little Joe Tiffany, and then over at Corporal Schumacher, who was now looking at him expectantly. “Okay, now, boy. This is Turkish wrestling. There are clear rules, but they’re different from American collegiate.” “Hang on,” said Moster. “We’ll get to the Turkish rules of wrestling in a moment. He stepped into the ring and approached Casey, now thick and dripping with oil. The men were now gathered on two sides of the ring, leaning on the ropes, leaning in to see what was coming next. For any other cadet introduced into the ranks, Sergeant Moster would have generally proceeded to paddle Casey’s hard young butt as the formal ritual of initiation. Last had been Private Tiffany receiving the red-hot butt cheek welcome, which he had borne stoically and proudly, displaying the twin globes of burnt-cherry perfection under the paddling. And after all, they had all gone through it, excepting Abdul, of course. Even Schumacher had known the firm, unrelenting hand of Moster on his butt. Hazing was hazing. But tonight, that didn’t seem to be happening. Abdul’s interesting wrestling challenge has precluded that. All were watchful. “Men, introduce yourselves. I was going to do this tomorrow, at Casey’s first workout, but now seems as good a time as any.” He turned to Casey and smiled. “Don’t worry, you won’t have to remember all their names just yet,” he added. “That’s good. I’m not very good with names.” “You’ll know them all, in time.” One by one, each man introduced himself. “My name is Private Leo Jin,” said the Asian man. “I’m 25 and from San Diego. I have been in the Project 8 years. My best bodypart is my forearms.” To prove it, the handsome Asian brought his beefy, fetchingly oversized forearms, walloping with solid muscle and veins, and squeezed the muscles hard. “I’m Private Dan Gunst, and until today, I had the biggest biceps here – except for Sergeant Moster’s.” Gunst flexed his mighty guns and then gave Casey a half-cocked smile. “Guess yours are bigger,” he proffered, respectfully. “I saw that this afternoon.” Moster glanced at him questioningly. “Oh, yeah,” he added. “I’m from Milwaukee, I’m 27, and I have been in the program 3 years. Hi, Casey. Welcome again.” “Hi, Dan!” Gunst sat back down. Moster eyed Casey carefully, wondering when the little capsule might take effect. Casey seemed cheerful and happy. Around the circle they went, each muscleman getting to his feet, politely introducing himself, offering basic information, and then showing him his best bodypart. “I’m Steve Waring, and my best bodypart is my traps.” Bulge. Flex. Steve Waring “I’m Rene LeFevre, and my best bodypart are my pecs.” Surge. Bloom. Bulge. “I’m David Duncan, and my best bodypart are my triceps.” Rip. Bulge. Bloom. Flex. “I’m Schumacher.” He said nothing else but grudgingly offered a front lat spread. Casey nodded without expression. This guy was not to be messed with. Eli Meyer signed with ASL. Casey nodded, showing some intelligence. Moster was pleased. Then Meyer turned around, bent over, grabbed his ankles, and showed off his hams, bulging through the khakis. He turned back and Casey gave him the OK and thumbs up sign. “I’m Chris Hension, and my best bodypart – “ “Is my FACE!” shouted Corporal LeFevre. “I’m a refugee from a lost episode of ’21 Jump Street’!” “Smack me around a little and I’ll follow you forever!” added Chad. “He’s our little boyband musclepup,” explained Blankenship. “Shut up,” yelled Hension, visibly embarrassed once again to be labeled the squad pretty boy. All the men were laughing now. “My best body part is my quads.” He started to rotate them. “And my baby blue eyes,” shouted LeFevre again. Hension was confused and humiliated but continued to show his quads, blooming in his tight khakis. “I think it’s his butt!” said Waring. “It’s okay, Chris,” said Casey. “Your quads are awesome.” Hension looked up, hopefully, and Casey felt compelled to go on. “And I think you’re very handsome indeed.” Hension smiled hugely at Casey, his heart beating a little faster. Gee, he thought. Wow. He gazed at Casey, who was now turning his attention to Private Waring. “I’m Private Ryan Waring, and my best bodypart are my delts.” He extended a powerful arm and began to rotate it. Suddenly Hension spoke up again. “I’m 22,” he blurted out, “and I’m from Toledo!” The men laughed again, and Hension hung his head a little and stuck out his lower lip. Next to him, Chad patted his thigh comfortingly. Casey saw him wink at Hension, who straightened up a little and smiled weakly. Casey’s head was spinning. He was inspired past all understanding by the mind-boggling panorama of muscle before him. And he was part of it. About then, he noticed that the room seemed to be getting a little brighter and a little hotter. He was staring again at Moster’s leg log. “Private Lang,” said Lang. “I’m 28, I’m from Lansing, Michigan, and….” He looked a little helplessly at Alvarez, sitting next to him. “My best body part is……um….” “Your back. Your lats are your best body part,” said Alvarez with quiet encouragement. “Yeah, I guess it’s my lats.” He turned and flared his lats wide. Alvarez clapped him approvingly on his butt. Lang smiled and sat, and Alvarez got up. “I’m Corporal Julio Alvarez, I’m 32, I’m from El Paso, and my best bodypart are my biceps.” He flexed. “Gunst’s are bigger but mine have sick peaks.” He popped them back and forth. “See?” Casey was indeed impressed. “Nice. Sick.” Gunst yelled in good-humored protest and flexed his own guns. Casey looked between Alvarez and Lang. Alvarez glanced over at Lang. “No, we’re not related,” he said. “They’re just joined at the wrist and ankles,” called out Gunst. “More like mouth and cock,” muttered Blankenship loudly, winking at Casey. It was Private Tiffany’s turn. “Casey and I will be meeting privately soon,” he boasted, and made a show of wiping the corner of his lips with his index finger. The men laughed knowingly – all but Corporal Schumacher, who looked down into his lap and seethed a little. Moster watched him intently. Something has to be done about Tiffany. But he didn’t worry. Though Tiffany didn’t know it yet, something was already happening. Casey felt a touch flushed, but his head was suddenly amazingly clear. Suddenly he spoke. “And what’s your best bodypart?” he asked. The stammer was gone, but only Moster noticed it. “What do you think?” Joe Tiffany turned around, bent over and grabbed his ankles. He pulled his gym shorts tight at the crack of his butt and proudly displayed his magnificent bodybuilder glutes. “Cupcakes!” said Gunst gleefully. The men howled. Schumacher made a show of laughing, but all he could do was glare. “Wow,” said Casey calmly. “Very pretty.” Tiffany's Butt after Squats Moster smiled inwardly. Good. He’s responded. And this boy responds well to White Caps, he thought. “No one’s had it yet,” said Tiffany confidingly as he straightened up and turned around, tucking his t-shirt back into his shorts. Then he winked. “Except in group.” “Group?” Casey was obviously perplexed. The men shouted with laughter, which died down sheepishly as, looking around the room, each man eventually shrugged and acknowledged it was probably true. None of them had had Tiffany yet. “I haven’t, anyway,” grumbled Schumacher, and the men laughed again. Tiffany sat back down and ignored Schumacher’s look. “Too bad,” said Casey. “Shame to waste such a pretty little behind.” The laughter died down and the men stared at Casey. No one knew what to say. “What’s ‘group’?” repeated Casey. Silence. On the sidelines, Alvarez raised his head a little. He exchanged looks with Moster. White cap? he mouthed. Moster looked away. Alvarez smiled and leaned in. He nudged Lang in the ribs. “Ow,” said Lang. “This is gonna be good,” said Alvarez in a low voice. “And I’m Karim Abdul. My best bodypart? My whole fucking physique is my best bodypart. As you are about to find out.” He flexed, whipping through pose after pose, his heavy cock bulge, dripping with oil, whipping left to right in his wrestling singlet. Snap. Snap. Snap. Casey could hear it slapping against his thighs through the man’s singlet. “All very impressive,” said Casey, looking pointedly at it. Moster smiled again. The cap had taken effect. “Okay. Turkish wrestling. Rules. One: there are few rules.” Abdul ticked off the rules on his fingers. “Submission: the “crush.” A fighter can get his opponent onto his stomach and then trap him by sprawling on top. If I can keep you down with your face, I can then turn you on a half-nelson for a pin.” “What if you can’t do it?” asked Casey bluntly. “If I can’t crush you, the referee has to begin us again from a standing position.” He ticked off another finger and looked Casey right in the eye. “I am not restricted from placing my hands inside my opponent’s kispet…” “Hunh?” “Your poser. I can also use the waistband to hold you in place. If I yank your poser so far below your hips that you are exposed, I win. Okay. If I can lift you entirely off the ground … “Fat fucking chance.” “Whoa,” breathed Hension. The temperature in the room seemed to raise 15º. Abdul paused, tense, and continued. “…and carry you five paces in any direction, that is a “carrying” pin. Got it?” “Yep.” “Okay.” Abdul looked at Casey. “You wanna go?” “What are we waiting for?” “Let’s wrestle,” said Abdul. He clapped his hands together and strode into the center of the ring. Ever since the mention of ‘group’, Abdul had been a touch shaky – or so Moster thought. Still can’t acknowledge how much he likes musclebutt. To say nothing of getting pissed on,” thought Moster. “Sure thing,” Casey answered, slick with oil and now quietly confident. Pedro scampered to the side of the ring and squatted eagerly to watch. Abdul began to bounce around, heel-toe, heel-toe, flexing his fingers, stretching his arms behind his head, limbering up. “Let’s go, man.” “You got it, man.” Casey hunkered down. “Center of the ring, gents,” said Moster. The men began to circle one another. “You wrestle till one of you gets a pin,” Moster instructed, now in the ring and getting between them. Casey flexed his biceps. “Big peaks, man. Like ‘em?” “Seen bigger,” said Abdul. He crunched forward, did a most muscular, his veins popping like railroad tracks. “How ‘bout you? Like what you see, faggot?” he asked. Casey just smiled, hunkered lower. Abdul palmed the crotch of his singlet. Casey smiled and refused to look down. He grabbed his own crotch, pendulously looming in his bulging posers. “Big handful, man.” “Watch it, boys,” said Moster. “This is a friendly get-to-know-you match.” “I already know him,” said Abdul. Moster snapped his fingers to Dr. Irving, now on the unpopulated side of the mat and with his ever-present video camera whirring. He dug in the pocket of his white lab jacket, wordlessly tossing him a whistle. Casey and Abdul met each other in the center of the mat and stared one another down. Their noses touched. Abdul grinned, ear to ear. Casey followed suit. Both began to gleam with anticipatory sweat. “Wow…..” breathed Hension. His hand shot down into his pants and he began massaging his stiffening tool. Moster pushed the two apart and blew his whistle to start the match. “And……wrestle!!” CLICK HERE FOR PART 2!
  10. One from Perfectguyz and the other from Legendmen. Colt: https://www.pornhub.com/view_video.php?viewkey=736472976 https://www.pornhub.com/view_video.php?viewkey=1143747441 https://www.pornhub.com/view_video.php?viewkey=1699306757 https://www.pornhub.com/view_video.php?viewkey=880000080 Gavin Wolfe: https://www.pornhub.com/view_video.php?viewkey=ph5b5d1e7bb350e https://www.pornhub.com/view_video.php?viewkey=ph5b5d2d8f90814 https://www.pornhub.com/view_video.php?viewkey=ph5b5d2e815d53b https://www.pornhub.com/view_video.php?viewkey=ph5b5d2f9b2ac8b https://www.pornhub.com/view_video.php?viewkey=ph5b5d4b6734ec8 https://www.pornhub.com/view_video.php?viewkey=ph5b5d4c5bb52f9
  11. Introducing the new Wednesday theme: pro competitions. Here is the Arnold Classic for 2019: as well as the Mr. Olympia for 2018:
  12. *NOTE*: This will be the last posting of Worshipper Thursdays. It is being absorbed into Themed Saturdays. Next Thursday will feature the new day for Flexing Wednesdays. A batch of videos from that company in the 2000s. https://www.pornhub.com/view_video.php?viewkey=ph5bb6320332a59 (Beto) https://www.pornhub.com/view_video.php?viewkey=ph5bb6c1eaed193 (Beto 2) https://www.pornhub.com/view_video.php?viewkey=ph5baafcb1646b2 https://www.pornhub.com/view_video.php?viewkey=ph5bb6cb708c50a (Claude) https://www.pornhub.com/view_video.php?viewkey=ph5bb6c4e0deccb (Fernando) https://www.pornhub.com/view_video.php?viewkey=ph5bb6c7cdc7f60 https://www.pornhub.com/view_video.php?viewkey=ph5bb6c65360bdc (Verbal) https://www.pornhub.com/view_video.php?viewkey=1897769951 (Valci) https://www.pornhub.com/view_video.php?viewkey=ph5c618d5801670 (Samuel) https://www.pornhub.com/view_video.php?viewkey=ph5761d38d9253f (Edson) BONUS: https://www.pornhub.com/view_video.php?viewkey=ph5c32493967352 (Tom Lord Ass Worship)
  13. Hey guys, thanks to everyone that voted in the first round which was Lat Spread, it was a very very close contest between our 2 gorgeous hunks, Dan shaved it by one vote! I've got a feeling this is going to be a very close contest overall! So now we come to one of my favourite poses, the side chest, both Dan and Regan have huge mass to show and these poses did not disappoint as you will see shortly. Pretty much every upper body muscle has chance to shine in this pose, balloon like pecs, thick boulder shoulders and incredible arms. Just to remind you , your voting for the guy you want to win the chance to be the guy who uses our new super growth serum. Again along with your choice please give an explanation as to why you chose either Dan or Regan. So here we go with Round 2: DAN We believe Dan has some of the best pecs on the planet, so this pic was an easy choice. The roundness and thickness is mindblowing! The pic also shows the quality of his delts and huge biceps. REGAN We chose this pic as it shows Regans incredible size, was nearly 300lb in this pic and still holding in to some decent definition. Big juicy pecs and colossal arms made this pic the perfect choice. So guys, get voting, who wins it for you, Dan or Regan?
  14. Do you remember Anthony, the Hot Gymnast? https://www.pornhub.com/view_video.php?viewkey=ph5b2b48401a2f4 (Cumshot Compilation) https://www.pornhub.com/view_video.php?viewkey=ph578c4c1f0e5fb https://www.pornhub.com/view_video.php?viewkey=ph5b24bc6006b4d https://www.pornhub.com/view_video.php?viewkey=1746162355 https://www.pornhub.com/view_video.php?viewkey=ph59ed3372c8fb8 https://www.pornhub.com/view_video.php?viewkey=ph5af0778ae1c7e https://www.pornhub.com/view_video.php?viewkey=280574548 https://www.pornhub.com/view_video.php?viewkey=ph5c78008081ebd https://www.pornhub.com/view_video.php?viewkey=998004639 https://www.pornhub.com/view_video.php?viewkey=ph5b4cac08ebba2
  15. Chapter One: As the sun rose over the glorious city of London, the capital of the United Kingdom ruled over by Her Majesty Queen Victoria, Defender of the Faith and Empress of India, it revealed a city with the first mists of autumn mingled with the smoke of the industrial heartland of the East End. Alongside the Thames that flowed through the city, the Westminster Clock Tower, standing tall over the mother of Parliaments, announced to the world via “Big Ben” the bell in the heart of the tower, that eight o’clock had arrived on October 2nd 1872. A fact that Police Constable Thompson, who had been up since six o’clock that morning, was aware of. He oversaw turning off the gas lamps in the district of the City of London and as he turned off the gaslamp outside number seven Saville Row, he looked up and smiled. Even since he had found out that Sheridan, the famous poet of the eighteenth century, had lived in the house until his death in 1814, he felt a sense of pride that he was looking after the street where he once lived and having done his duty carried on down the street. Inside number seven, the owner slowly opened his eyes, yawned and stretched. Taking a clock from his bedside table he listened to the chimes of “Big Ben” and nodded his approval that his bedside clock was keeping perfect time. Placing the clock back, he picked a small bell and rang it expecting his manservant, Forster, to come dashing in and help his master get dressed. However, no sooner had he rang the bell, than he said, “Oh, yes, I fired him, yesterday didn’t I?” and with that replaced the bell. As the owner got out of bed and made his bed, he remembered the unhappy event that had led to him sacking Forster. It happened when the unlucky manservant handed the owner his shaving water and as the owner took out the thermometer to measure the temperature his eyes opened wide and he bellowed “EIGHTY-FOUR DEGREES? ARE YOU TRYING TO MAKE ME CATCH A COLD?”. Forster only had a second to stammer “But, master, it was eighty-six when I left the kitchen” before a “YOU’RE FIRED!” resounded through the house. As the owner examined the clocks on the mantelpiece in his bedroom, chiding one for being a full minute out, he proceeded to perform his morning constitutionals. First he marched up and down the bedroom, raising his hands and feet in alternate steps, waggled his hips from side to side, touched his toes several times and then taking out two kettlebells from the cupboard placed them on the bedside table. As he did he took off the blue dressing gown he was wearing and then the pyjamas and stood there completely naked in the cool morning air. Grabbing the kettlebells in both hands, he took a deep breath, held it and then raised the weights into the air and then stared at his reflection in the mirror opposite. People said that he resembled Byron, the great English poet of the last century, at least that his head was Byronic; but he was a bearded, tranquil Byron, who might live on a thousand years without growing old and his body reflected this. It was well conditioned, thanks in part to the course that the owner subscribed to written, which seeing as he obtained the copies direct from the author he could attest to, Donald Dinnie, a man that many people had compared to the heroes of Ancient Greece and while the owner was nothing like as strong as he puffed out his chest and sucked in his stomach he looked as much of a Greek hero as any of them. As he stood there, he could feel his heart pounding in his chest. He liked the sensation and closed his eyes as he continued to hold his breath. He imagined himself standing on a stage next to Mr. Dinnie, the two men showing off their strength and as they did, the owner’s physique had one more surprise as just below his waist, an organ of the body that most people ignored started to stir. Slowly at first, it lengthened and as it did it thickened at the same time and in his imagination, the owner was soon thrusting it into Donald’s body with the strongman unable to resist. As the sensation grew, the owner opened his eyes and nodded at the sight of the organ bobbing in time with his heart. He knew what was going to happen and dropped the weights and started to rub it, still holding his breath. It wasn’t long before the owner’s face had turned bright red and his organ the deepest purple possible but the owner was determined to push himself to his limits and lay back on the bed, his face scrunched up in a combination of agony and ecstasy. Eventually the torture became too much and with a mighty “RULE BRITANNIA!” the owner roared and was soon covered with the essence of man on his naked body which he rubbed into it with moans of pleasure as his chest heaved, filling his lungs with oxygen. As he started to relax, he chuckled and said “Well done Phileas, next time, ten minutes!” So, who was this Phileas, who has just pushed his physical body to the limits of human endurance? He was an Englishman, certainly, but was he a Londoner? That was a question for the ages however. He was never seen on the floor of the Stock Exchange, nor at the Bank of England or the other smaller banks in the capital, nor in the counting-rooms in the square mile, the financial heart of England nor did any ships ever came into London docks of which he was the owner; he had no public employment; he had never been entered at any of the Inns of Court, either at the Temple, or Lincoln’s Inn, or Gray’s Inn; nor had his voice ever resounded in the Court of Chancery, or in the Exchequer, or the Queen’s Bench, or the Ecclesiastical Courts. He certainly was not a manufacturer; nor was he a merchant or a gentleman farmer. His name was strange to the scientific and learned societies, and he never was known to take part in the sage deliberations of the Royal Institution or the London Institution, the Artisan’s Association, or the Institution of Arts and Sciences. He belonged, in fact, to none of the numerous societies which swarm in the English capital, from the Harmonic to that of the Entomologists, founded mainly for abolishing pernicious insects bar one. He was a member of the Reform Club, the Club that was home to every great Liberal that England had produced and that was all. Was Phileas rich? Undoubtedly. But those who knew him best could not imagine how he had made his fortune, and Mr. Fogg, as he was more commonly referred to, was the last person to whom to apply for the information. He was not lavish, nor, on the contrary, avaricious; for, whenever he knew that money was needed for a noble, useful, or benevolent purpose, he supplied it quietly and sometimes anonymously. He was, in short, the least communicative of men. He talked very little, and seemed more mysterious for his taciturn manner. His daily habits were quite open to observation; but whatever he did was so the same thing that he had always done before, that the wits of the curious were puzzled. Had he travelled? It was likely, for no one seemed to know the world more familiarly; there was no spot so secluded that he did not appear to have an intimate acquaintance with it. He often corrected, with a few clear words, the thousand conjectures advanced by members of the club as to lost and unheard-of travelers, pointing out the true probabilities, and seeming as if gifted with a sort of second sight, so often did events justify his predictions. He must have travelled everywhere, at least in the spirit and yet, from the little that people knew of him, it was evident that he had not left the capital for at least fifteen years maybe longer. Those who were honoured by a better acquaintance with him than the rest, declared that nobody could pretend to have ever seen him anywhere else. His sole pastimes were reading the papers and playing whist. He often won at this game, which, as a silent one, harmonized with his nature; but his winnings never went into his purse, being reserved as a fund for his charities. Mr. Fogg played, not to win, but for the sake of playing. The game was in his eyes a contest, a struggle with a difficulty, yet a motionless, unwearyingly struggle, congenial to his tastes. He was unmarried and didn’t have any children, and whilst you dear reader may have an idea why this was the case, to the residents of London this was something that could happen to the most honest of people and so nothing was thought of it, however as he didn’t have any relatives or indeed dear friends, that was certainly rather strange but living alone in his house with only a manservant suited him to the ground. However on this day, that element was lacking, and so after pouring himself a fresh pot of coffee, to which he added precisely one fifth of a pint of milk to, he downed it in less than a minute and dressed himself so that by eleven o’clock that morning he was sitting in the hallway of his home, his feet now covered by a pair of shoes so bright and shiny that he could see his reflection in them, a pair of brown trousers, a white shirt, with a thick red cravat and a jacket the same colour as his trousers waiting for the new manservant to present himself. However, as the clock in the hallway chimed the hour synchronized to the bell in the Westminster tower, the smile that had been on his face since he woke up disappeared and was replaced first with a frown and then a scowl. “This will never do!” he declared in a huff, “I can’t hire a manservant who isn’t on time!”
  16. This week's selections are shorter than usual: https://www.pornhub.com/view_video.php?viewkey=ph5c69b9adbcb3c https://www.pornhub.com/view_video.php?viewkey=ph5a1bc2051a7b5 https://www.pornhub.com/view_video.php?viewkey=ph5c4561a3d772e https://www.pornhub.com/view_video.php?viewkey=ph56e2878a7cc04 https://www.pornhub.com/view_video.php?viewkey=ph5a8487e4425c0 https://www.pornhub.com/view_video.php?viewkey=1196744915 https://www.pornhub.com/view_video.php?viewkey=ph55a6c6e79f7d7 https://www.pornhub.com/view_video.php?viewkey=ph5aa2ed5e6c73b https://www.pornhub.com/view_video.php?viewkey=ph5b897f674b6a4 https://www.pornhub.com/view_video.php?viewkey=ph5b8afdcc0238a
  17. Links to other chapters: Links to chapters of "The Twenty": "The Twenty" - A Muscle Novel in Progress. Precis, Introduction, Chapters 1 & 2 "The Twenty" - A Muscle Novel in Progress. Chapters 3, 4, 5 - White Cap Training / Hardcore Muscle / A Brief History of Casey Rockland "The Twenty" - A Muscle Novel in Progress. Chapter 6 "The Twenty" - A Muscle Novel in Progress. Chapters 7, 8 - Hardcore Training, Part 1 / Tiffany's Talent "The Twenty" - A Muscle Novel in Progress - Chapters 9, 10 - Good for Morale "The Twenty" - A Muscle Novel in Progress - Chapter 11: Casey Meets the Muscle Squad "The Twenty" Chapter 12, Part 1: A Very Turkish Wrestling Match "The Twenty" - Chapter 12: Part 2 Casey vs. Karim Abdul: A Very Turkish Wrestling Match "The Twenty" - Chapter 13: After the Match "The Twenty" - Chapter 14: In Which Casey Discovers He Likes to Get Worshipped "The Twenty" - Chapter 15: Casey's First Interview with Sergeant Moster "The Twenty" - A Muscle Novel in Progress. Chapter 16 - Hardcore Training Part 2: Casey’s First Herculaneum Workout, and What Happened After "The Twenty" - A Muscle Novel in Progress - Chapter 17 - The Presentation "The Twenty" - A Muscle Novel in Progress - Chapter 18 - The Musclemen Revealed: Inside Zaftig's Lab "The Twenty" - A Muscle Novel in Progress - Chapter 19 - Further Encounters, Part 1 M/M "The Twenty" - A Muscle Novel in Progress: Chapter 20 - Pose and Approve: Further Encounters, Part 2 "The Twenty" - A Muscle Novel in Progress: Chapter 21 - Sam and Casey "The Twenty" - A Muscle Novel in Progress: Chapter 22 - Field Trips for Worship, Part 1 "The Twenty" - A Muscle Novel in Progress: Chapter 24 - Further Encounters 5: Sam and Casey Again, and Moster and the Cadets Chapter 23 Field Trips, Part 2 – Casey Rediscovers Muscle Worship, And Makes a New Friend February 10th, 2022 2110 Hours Casey knew he could trust Ensign Victor. Sam was, after all, a muscle worshipper. And Casey was close to the best there was. Casey had long dreamed of his very own muscle worshipper. The legend that bodybuilders are aloof and don’t want to be worshipped? Bullshit. Bodybuilders wanted their very own private worshippers just as much as muscle schmoes wanted bodybuilders. If Casey knew anything at all, he knew that. He’d learned it in LA. And now he was going to tell Sam all about it. And then tell Sam that he knew just exactly what he was. And Sam, of course, was all ears, all solicitation and comfort. Even as he felt his own excitement growing. He felt his cock, too, burgeoning in his trousers, until he didn’t think he could stand it much more. But of course, he’d have to stand it. At least until Casey was finished talking. And so, Sam listened. Patiently, as it happened. And Casey talked and talked. As Sam’s cock got stiffer and stiffer. “So talk about something else. Do you have friends?” “Well. The guys from the cadet dorm, I guess. But I don’t see them anymore. Guess I don’t get out as much as I’d like.” “No friends outside the compound?” “Naw.” “Are the men of The Twenty your friends?” “Well, I’m one of them….” Casey seemed uncomfortable, so Sam moved on. “Family?” Casey looked down, then looked back at Sam. “The Twenty are my family,” he said after a moment. He paused. ‘Guess we seem to be some kind of crazy cult, hunh?” “Kind of, yes.” Casey seemed to want to ask something. Sam half smiled, waiting. Finally he prompted. “Yes?” Casey was clearly embarrassed, but Sam could see determination in his eyes. “It’ll wait. What else?” “Well, how strong are you?” “Pretty strong. Maybe a little stronger than the others. I can bench 800 pounds. Easy. Curl 350. I run really, really fast, too. Oh, and I’m a good diver. I don’t know how that happened, but I am. I can do anything on a diving board. Don’t even think about it. And I look awesome in a Speedo. But I’m not as strong as Moster. Or Abdul. No one is. They could snap me in two.” Casey didn’t mention the Turkish wrestling night when they got covered in oil and he beat Karim Abdul. No sense in scaring Sam by acknowledging that maybe, yeah, just maybe, he was the strongest man there – and just 19. “I don’t believe that.” “Well, maybe not in two. But he could fuck me up pretty good if he wanted to. He’s an extreme fighter.” “I thought you were, too.” “Well, yeah…. .” “You got thrown out of school for fighting.” “Only once. I only fought once,” he said. “Some guy pissed you off?” Casey smiled. “18 guys pissed me off.” “Wow.” “Yeah, wow. I got ‘em all good, though.” “One after the other?” “All at once.” Casey grinned cockily. “I beat the shit out of all of them.” “Why?” “I got tired of them making fun of me.” “They made fun of you? Sounds dangerous.” “I wasn’t as big then.” “No, of course not. Why were they making fun of you?” Casey looked hard at Sam, and bit his lip. Then he shrugged his shoulders as if determined. He stood up, towering over the table. Sam watched him evenly. Casey reached down and unzipped the steel fly of his pants. He reached his hand in and pulled out his enormous, limp cock. He squatted so that his hips were even with the tabletop. It flopped heavily and noisily on the surface. Thwack. "…. And, boom… there it is,” said Casey. “There it is.” He looked up, shrugged and smiled shyly. “Yes, there it is.” “See, it’s really, really big.” Sam took in the tool’s impossible size for a moment, and whistled. “Yes, I see that. Nice,” he said sweetly. “It’s very big.” “It’s huge,” said Casey, with a sweet blend of sadness and pride. “It’s more than a 15 inches long. It’s like a fucking snake with a life of it’s own. I get hard all the time. I could never hide it in anything I wore. The kids at the home used to laugh at me, call me freak.” “They were jealous, no doubt.” “Probably, yeah, maybe, but fuck. But I got so sick of it.” He started to stuff it back into his jeans. “So one night, I beat them all up.” Sam reached out and lightly touched Casey’s hand. “It’s okay. Keep it out.” Casey looked up, hopefully. “You like it?” “I do.” Casey looked hard at him. He was suddenly shy. He wanted to tell Sam about the field trips for worship, and there was a lot more to tell, too. But he wasn’t certain how it would sound. Sam wanted to help him. “Was there a first time you were worshipped by ‘investors’? By a group of men you didn’t know before?” “Yeah…” “For money?” Pause. “Uh hunh.” Casey was clearly now afraid Sam would judge him. “A lot of money?” Casey didn’t quite know how to tell him exactly how much. “I’m not a prostitute.” “No, I know that. You’re not,” said Sam, looking pensively at Casey’s huge penis extending out of his open fly, lying quietly on the tabletop. “What you are is an uncommonly huge, sexual, handsome 19-year old bodybuilder with a need to show … what you have.” Casey looked at him gratefully. Now he knew he was falling in love with the calm young Navy officer. But even here, in the relative safety of his quarters at Valhalla Labs, and with the gym and training rooms and all the other men so close by, and especially after that wacky muscleshow earlier in the evening to the military brass, the sweet-natured muscle giant was suddenly seized with nervousness. But Sam seemed okay with it. And, indeed, he was. “And…how was it? The first time you were worshipped by strangers?” “Okay. I guess it was okay.” He paused, and his eyes flickered a bit. With excitement, at the memory. “Who were they?” “Some Hollywood dudes.” Sam suddenly recalled. Was that last year in LA the night that…? Oh, God! YES. It was briefly in the TMZ reports late last year, the latest conservative blast against the Hollywood Liberal Elite, some big party night that went south and required some hospitalizations and a lot of huge money. And then – silence on it. All stories withdrawn. No word on it. He’d googled it a few times. Nothing. But Casey remembered. In fact, it was incredible – all those fat old rich men schmoes, and then his new friend Mike later on privately swooning, licking his pecs and swooning over his big biceps and with his sweet little face in his hard butt and then closely inspecting with awe his mighty machine…. But he wasn’t quite sure about how all this would sound to Sam. There was a pause. Sam gazed at the muscle monster boy evenly a moment. “You can tell me all about it. I’m not here to judge.” Casey remembered the night. And his new friend, Mike. “I wonder how I’m gonna tell Sam about Mike?” he worried to himself. After a brief pause, Casey made his decision, and manfully, went on with his story. December 5th, 2021 Los Angeles: 2100 Hours The bus pulled up the drive at 9 PM, the first stop of the evening. It was a large cliff side home high in the Hollywood Hills, lavish and dark, with a glimmering Olympic-sized pool in the back and fountains quietly spraying gallons of illegal water. Beyond and far below, the glittering lights of LA shone in the far distance. Zaftig’s longtime off campus associate, the puny weasel Dr. Shaft, would be waiting inside, in attendance with a group of 9 investors, all quite anxious to see the young gods in action. The bodybuilders filed off the bus in the dark. “Golly, who lives here?” asked Hension, awestruck by the size of the house. “Some Hollywood dude movie producer,” muttered Lang. “Who cares? Time to FLEX.” Casey barely noticed. He was eager, for soon he’d be headed back to his private muscle planet, the place he first visited on the morning his cadet buddies came to say goodbye and stayed a little to admire his muscles. He was all ready to flex for these dudes. He neither knew nor cared who they were. Sergeant Moster, who had gotten off the bus first, quietly barked orders in the large circular drive. Moster, who had gotten off the bus first, quietly barked orders in the large circular drive. “Inspection. Strip down, men,” he commanded. “I don’t want to keep our hosts waiting.” The ten musclemen hopped and danced in the half light, removing slacks, baggies, t-shirts, jeans, shorts, underwear, jock straps, thongs, and boots as poor long-suffering Dr. Irving ran from man to man, frantically gathering up discarded clothing, quickly organizing as to owner, and distributing the proper poser to the proper man. Each poser was personally assigned, custom-tailored to cut across inches south of the lower abs, reveal generous slices of meaty glutes in back, and with frontal sag sufficient to generously reveal the top six inches of root and thick, plunging shaft of each man. The side straps, while thin, were sufficiently strong to hold even at top erection. “Oil up, men.” Bottles of mineral oil were passed around, and the men dutifully applied slathers of oil to their muscles. Finally they were ready, their muscles gleaming in the night. “Line up, squad,” said Moster. “Adjust your posers. When you pull your pants down, I want these dudes to see your top six inches of root and cockshaft.” He had stripped down himself and was now rubbing his own oil in to his mountainous black muscles. “I know with some of you that still leaves another 6 inches or more covered up. Right, Casey?” “More,” said Casey. Still, in the dark Casey turned deep red, still immediately shamed by the thoughts of his huge, unhideable cock. He still wasn’t quite over those years of taunting. Which always flashed his thoughts quickly to Tiffany. Good thing the ginger-haired terror wasn’t with them tonight. Casey always performed better when that boy was nowhere near. “Waring, get over here and do my back.” Waring went to Moster, dutifully pouring oil onto his calloused palms, mixing them back and forth as if he was tossing a muscle salad, and smacked Moster’s broad back hard, rubbing thick oil deep into Moster’s wide lats. The Sergeant felt the man’s rough blisters on his back and smiled. “You’ve been working, Private.” “Yes, sir, I sure have, sir.” The men fell into line, and awaited inspection. Moster paced in front of the muscle lineup and critically appraised his special forces team: Alvarez, Lang, Hension, Schumacher, and Waring. Washington, Abdul, Obatu, Gunst and Rockland. Muscle gods all. He nodded his satisfaction. “Line up according to height. Shortest man first. Private Hension, that’s you.” Hension was pushed to the head of the line. “Put the pretty boy first,” guffawed Obatu. Hension colored deeply, embarrassed as always to be referred to as the group ‘pretty boy’, but obeyed orders. “Dr. Irving, distribute White Caps,” Moster ordered. Irving passed the ration of capsules to the group. “It’s going that be that kind of showing, hunh?” chuckled Obatu. He popped a capsule and within seconds began to envision his powerful sexual fantasies come to life. He tugged slightly on his poser and glanced down to make sure the prominent, pulsing thick veins of his mighty dipping cockshaft were showing. He nudged Washington. “Check it out,” he said. Washington nodded. “Suckable,” he said, busily squeezing his own nipples into pointy hardness. Moster crossed behind the men and walked along, surveyed the lineup of rolling, hard, powerful glutes. He nodded. Huge mountains of gleaming, perfect, rock hard butt. “Butthole inspection,” he announced. Corporal Karim wished he had his butt plug with him, but didn’t betray himself with even a flicker across his stern face. He scowled, but even so Moster knew what the man wanted. He glanced down at Karim’s achingly firm glutes. “You clean, Corporal?” he asked. “Yes, sir.” “Good.” Moster knelt, lowered the man’s posers for a moment to quad height, and quickly inserted his thick fist deeply up inside the man’s butthole, up to his wrist. Karim never flinched. Moster rotated his fist, and just as quickly withdrew, with a butthole POP!, noting to his satisfaction that the Corporal was indeed clean. “Keep your concentration.” He wiped his fist with anti-bacterial lube and moved on to the next man. Hension was looking apprehensive. Moster approached him. “Any women inside?” Hension asked nervously. “Why do you ask, Private?” “Sir, for my best performance, sir, I like to get my face slapped first. And during. By a pretty girl with muscles.” “Not here tonight,” said Moster. “Bend over.” “Yes, sir!” Hension bent over, showing his twin glutes of extreme hardness, shape and striation. Moster lowered the muscleboy’s posers, made a fist, and once again plunged his fist up to his wrist up Hension’s taut butthole, twisting, probing and turning. Like Abdul, Hension never even raised an eyebrow as his welcoming rosebud enveloped the powerful fist. He was excited about lay ahead. His cock began its 12-inch journey to solid stiffness. He pulled his posers back up with some difficulty and wrapped the taut cloth as best he could around his growing engine. Alvarez appeared serene. He knew a good Pose and Approve session was ahead. Lang glanced at him and smiled. Alvarez was best with an audience. An admiring audience. His cock twitched in anticipation. Moster was quick with Alvarez, nodding approval, quickly inserting a probing fist, and moving on to Lang, doing the same. Up the drive at the house, a curtain fluttered. Someone was watching. Alvarez nudged Lang. “What?” asked Lang, clueless. “You see that?” “See what?” Alvarez smiled. “This is gonna be fun.” He stood “Let’s see those biceps, Gunst,” Moster commanded. Gunst complied, and flexed his meaty guns. “26 inches this morning, sir.” “Excellent. Turn around and bend over.” Gunst complied and Moster’s fist entered his butthole. He nodded satisfaction. Moster continued down the line of musclemen, inspecting pecs, nipples, hard abs, and ending with each man by inserting a giant fist up an eager butthole. Finally it was Casey’s turn. “Ever been fisted before?” Moster asked crisply. Casey had to admit it. “Yes, sir.” He turned around and bent over, his perfect butt now in Moster’s face, his fists buried in his obliques, jutting out his butt. It was an incredible ass. Two round globes of muscular golden flesh, perfect, hard-as-nails ovals of sleek construction. Powerful, huge, an incredible human loading dock of rounded power. Inside the darkened buttcrack Moster could see close-up the throbbing, inviting deep of Casey’s perfect butthole. Moster plunged his fist in, and turned it, pulling it out again after a minute. Clean as a whistle. “Good work, Rockland. “ Casey stood, turned and smiled. “I think you’re ready.” He turned to the driver, standing by the bus, impassively staring. “Ferdinand, Dr. Irving, come back in an hour. We should be done by then.” Then, quietly, he asked Irving, “Did the money come in yet?” “This afternoon, sir,” answered Irving. “$35,000.” “Good.” Moster took his place at the end of the line. “Shaft here yet?” “Inside, Sir.” Dr. Irving fiddled with his phone, getting frantic texts from Dr. Shaft. “Good. Give the men back their clothes. Men, get dressed.” Much fumbling and hopping about in the dark. Then - “Move out, men.” The musclemen marched into the entranceway of the one-story cliff side glass house and, single file, marched into the brightly lit living room. Inside, nine manicured, pampered, plumpish Hollywood movie execs, dressed in expensive Italian suits, ties down, were draped around the room, propped up on large plush sofas, drinks in hand, cellphones and Blackberries at the ready, waiting inside. Two or three were handsome enough to gain Alvarez’s slight interest. The smell of marijuana wafted through the air. They’d been drinking. And smoking. And snorting lines of coke. In fact, they all appeared smashed. And ready to see serious muscle. The tenth, a slender young man, sat separately, almost shyly, by himself, across the room on a smaller sofa, right before the vast picture window with the lights of LA twinkling in the distance. “Fucking finally! Bring on the talent!” one of the fat schmoes yelled as the men entered. But as the musclemen got into the room and turned, facing their clients, at full attention, the movie dudes were stunned into silence. “Holy shit…look at them!” "Fuckin' A..." For their part, the musclemen were themselves stunned into a moment silence by the lavishness of the room that extended before them, and the extraordinary view of the city through the plate glass windows, far, far below. The drapes had been opened. The moon shone full in the sky. “Wow,” breathed Lang. “Where the fuck are we?” "Fuckin' A is right," whispered Hension. There were a few moments on silence while everyone was amazed, albeit for different reasons. Sergeant Moster was first to retain his composure. "Gentlemen, thank you for inviting us for the evening. We think we have quite a show ready for your personal delectation..." Dr. Shaft rose from a white sofa. Even as familiar with the muscle in the room as he was, he was never less than stunned each time he saw more than three of the bodybuilders together. The sight of ten of them, including the impossibly giant Sergeant Moster, was enough to momentarily knock the air out of him. “Yes, thank you, and good evening, Sergeant Moster. Good evening, men.” He whispered to Moster. "I'll handle this." Dr. Shaft was excited. The men had not only arrived on time, they all looked….well, incredible. Beyond incredible, in fact. Unreal. Inhuman. The years of P-21 meshed with hardcore raw training had built magnificent muscle specimens unlike the world had ever seen before. No bodybuilding contest – and Shaft had attended hundreds – ever had the kind of raw muscular development that stood before them now. It was as if every muscle on every man had a muscle. Heaped pounds of raw lean man beef. It was staggering. Moster hid his irritation, already planning the next black eye he'd happily plaster on Shaft's face in their next private. “Good evening, Dr. Shaft. Men, you all know ....Dr. Shaft.” Hi, yeah, sure, hello, uh hunh, yeah we see him, etc etc, came from the musclemen. “May I introduce the men to their hosts?” asked Dr. Shaft ceremoniously And the lineup of musclemen turned to their agog clients. Hands at their sides, fists clenched, veins popping, tight white shirts wrapped around massive physiques. Legs spread wide. Quads bursting out of slacks. Biceps about to tear shirt sleeves. Fly bulges loomed to the floor. And the clients, schmoes all, stared back. Breathing. Panting. Disbelieving the universe of muscle they were seeing. Alvarez, Lang, Hension, Schumacher, and Waring. Washington, Abdul, Obatu, Gunst. And Casey Rockland. Team leader, the massive Sergeant Moster. The muscle team was here at last. The clients, schmoes all, stared back. Breathing. Panting. “Fuck, man. They’re fucking huge,” said one of the fattest men. He gulped. “Whatta they gonna do to us?” “You mean…what are they going to do for you,” said Sergeant Moster. “May I present…. nine of the most muscular men on the planet today.” He paused, glanced at his watch. “You have two hours.” He turned to the men. “Men, you may go to work.” The men moved into a line, first marching single file and then fanning out towards the edge of the broad staircase leading down to the sunken living room. At the top step they stopped, stood still, and displayed themselves proudly. Below them, the room of wealthy Hollywood elite schmoes fell into shocked silence, turned their heads, and stared agog at the massive muscle before them. The schmoes were seated together, as if for protection, on a heavy plush creamy white sofa, overloaded with soft, luxurious pillows, extending twenty-five feet across the room from the large picture window. It was a perfect setting for bodybuilder muscle worship. And there they stood. Calm. Blank faced. Each man handsomer than the next. Perfect tanned skin. Waistlines no larger than 32 inches on men each weighing up to 300 pounds – and more. It was going to be a insane night of muscle worship. And a profitable one, too. Shaft had been circulating rumors inside the Hollywood mill for years about this army of ungodly huge and handsome musclemen, and finally had assembled just the sample group of mega-rich movers and shakers that he needed for the initial private presentation. This meant big bucks in the future for Valhalla Labs. Sergeant Moster had delivered as promised, in spite of Dr Zaftig’s worry and misgivings back at the Valhalla Lab. But Shaft had faith. He knew these musclemen. He’d had too many private sessions to not know a little about them all by now. As long as they all behaved, that is, and no one got seriously hurt. They were hard to control, he knew, once they really started flexing and posing and showing it all off with feats of ungodly strength and their insatiable need to dominate. He knew all about his own tendency to wind up in the San Jose ER after particularly enthusiastic sessions with Moster. But, damn, he just couldn’t help it. Shaft had to admit the fantasy of Moster’s (relatively speaking) lightly damaging face punches and the spirited butt spankings he received as punishment for his own poor cock and body and his lame cocksucking was, well, just what he deserved, being the worm he was. And the fantasy memory of all that abuse kept him masturbating feverishly for months after. He hoped his Hollywood schmoes might fare a little lighter punishment than the stuff that he was now addicted to – unless of course they wanted the same treatment? But then, it might get picked up as a tasty little news item, all over TMZ. That couldn’t happen. Could it? It could rock the Hollywood establishment. Top studio heads beaten by massive, crazed bodybuilders in bizarre Hollywood Hills muscle showdown. No. That wouldn’t do. It was all pretty dangerous, but, what the hell. Shaft licked his lips with drooling anticipation and inspected the astounding male muscle display that confronted them all. The ten magnificent young men, plus the-even-huger-still Sergeant Moster, were now lined up, beefy shoulder to shoulder, round and perfect tri-headed delts touching massive delts. They stood in a perfect lineup of muscle on the steps leading from the 20’ ceilinged foyer down into the sunken living room. The entry way was a perfect dais for display, more than 40’ long, roomy enough for a panorama of beautiful beef and rippling vascularity unlike anything the staring schmoes down below had ever seen, or even imagined, before. And even fully dressed in tight, tight t-shirts and ferociously clinging tan slacks, the men were an unbelievable sight to behold. As if carefully posed, men all stood casually with their hands planted on powerful hips, legs spread wide. Muscles gleamed and bulged. Physiques rippled enticingly, displayed for delectation in the clinging super-wide white spandex t-shirts. Every vein, every muscular bulge, every pound of sinew, every cut, every hard-packed slab of fatless lean and bulging male beef was on display for the stunned, wealthy Hollywood insiders. “Jesus fucking Christ,” someone mumbled. “Look at them. They’re not human.” Muscle worship was what these muscle giants lived for. Shaft knew that. Well, it was one of the things they lived for. He was fairly certain they also lived for training, lifting, eating, sex with each other and as many partners, male or female, that they could find. And – of course- getting huger every day. But Shaft couldn’t be sure that muscle worship might not be even more important. And of course, it made sense. After all, weren’t they all getting bigger, handsomer, stronger, more muscular, and more aggressive just so they could be worshipped? It hardly mattered, no more than the original intent of Dr. Zaftig all those years ago when he first started research on creating the ultimate team of massive male bodybuilders. For there they were, eleven muscle gods, still and easy, unmoving, posed, both tense and calm, showcasing magnificent, perfect male muscularity. And there were nine others, just as huge, handsome, and hung as the men before them, back at the lab. The atmosphere in the room crackled. And Shaft could feel it now, could even see the musclemen’s eager anticipation of the impeding worship of their physiques. Their excitement was just beginning to show, starting to loom now, like a faint musky aroma, getting stronger, seeping into the room. They seemed to be getting bigger, to be growing before them. They were certainly measurably heavier in their tight slacks, their flies just beginning to bulge forward and droop down with pointed pushing, with throbbing penis weight, their erections about to bloom and show and push out and forward and up inside their tightening pants. And considering the price tag of upwards of $85,000 the Hollywood elite schmoes had laid out for this private muscle show, inwardly he was relieved that it had all started out without the slightest hitch. And the new man, Casey Whatever His Name was, was there, too, there on the end. The handsomest of all? Shaft wasn’t sure. And, per Zaftig’s regular reports, on his way to being the biggest? And only 19 years old, too. The promise that lay ahead. He’d better be, at a price tag of $15,000 just for his appearance. That shorter man was also improbably handsome. Shaft studied the impressively beautiful Chris Hension, with his perpetual half erection always looming in his pants, thick masculine dark brown nipples, devilish smile and darting eyes; he was certainly a square-jawed piece of eye candy. And then there was Alvarez, always with the thick-lipped handsome Lang nearby – moist lips, always slightly shiny, always recently licked, lips that Shaft just knew glided lightly and lovingly up and down, root to head, over the long, thick penis shaft of his muscle husband Alvarez during their after-hours Pose and Approve sessions. And the scary hairy Karim Abdul, glowering in the middle of the lineup, with the shorter beefslab hardass Schumacher right next to him – weren’t they each other’s nemesis? Maybe they got hard posing together? And that giant Gunst, he of the amazing nearly 28 inch biceps. Shaft hurried over to Moster, just stepping down into the sunken living room, extending a wet hand. “Sergeant Moster, we’re so glad to see you -- ” He was suddenly cut off. Suddenly, from that muscle dais above, came an outraged roar. “Are you who the fuck I think you are?!!!” It was Gunst. He was shouting now, pointing down at someone in the room, at one of the waiting shmoes. All stopped and turned, stunned into silence. On the sofa was sprawled a fat, unshaved, tall mass of slob schmoe, who looked up from his phone, startled and scared. “Yeah, YOU, You FUCKING ASSHOLE!” “Do I know you…?” the schmoe blubbered. “I know you! You fucking asshole! I know you! You preyed on my sister!” Gunst was roaring now. “Get that worthless worm over here!” Waring and Lang stepped down, as if on cue, striding manfully into the room, heading to the creamy white sofa, then grabbing and holding down the particularly fat and ugly Hollywood former studio head, now sprawling agog, to prevent him from bolting. “Never mind, I’ll fuck him up myself…. ” Striding forward, every muscle in his massive frame now quivering with rage, Gunst pushed past Waring and Lang and into the room. The man was an impressive, fearful sight, his veins throbbing, ripped muscle on a mission, his huge pecs roiling and bursting in his tight t-shirt, his piston-thick arms slabs of disciplined beef, his fists clenched and ready to do damage. Casey was stunned. His mouth open, agape. He’d never heard the normally gentle giant Gunst so angry before, never even envisioned it. And he seemed crazed, pointing down at the terrified schmoe, accusing, now standing wide-legged and in full aggressive mode. “You don’t know me!” he screamed. “I don’t know you, either! What is this??? Dr. Shaft??” Shaft came forward, frightened but trying to maintain control. “Corporal Gunst?...” he started. He suddenly felt Moster’s hand on his shoulders, stopping him, pulling him back. Shaft tripped and fell on the carpet. Moster helped him up, shot him a quick look and a little smile, and putting a finger to his lips, shook his head. He mouthed, “No no.” He smiled. Shaft froze and, regaining his balance, stepped back, and did as he was told. Gunst was now standing above the cowering, terrified schmoe, roaring, his legs spread wide, his thick fists plunged into his obliques, ripped intercostals bulging like bricks, htting a powerful front lat spread. He rotated on his heels to show his lats at different angles. His pecs soared to the ceiling, his nipples went taut and pointed downward to the floor, bulging in his t-shirt, the luscious brown areola outlined. “You wanna see muscles, you fucking asshole?? check out these muscles!!! FUCKING WORTHLESS WORM!!! I’M GONNA SHOW YOU WHAT THESE BIG MUSCLES CAN REALLY DO!!!” From the facing sofa by the picture window, the small pipsqueak pencil neck schmoe was seemingly ignoring it all. Transfixing, he was staring directly at Casey now, seemingly unaware of the threatening Gunst, who was apparently on the verge of beating the fat schmoe to death right across the room from him. Casey, ever sensitive, knew he was being stared at. He turned his head slightly and returned the pencilneck’s gaze. He smiled. The pencilneck smiled back, tentative, shy. Casey began to do a slow, subtle, bubbling pec dance in his t-shirt, his mammoth chest bouncing slightly, right to left, left to right, his nipples taut and pushing powerfully into the tight fabric. He smiled a little more broadly. “You like that?” he mouthed. The pencilneck stared and nodded slightly. He did like it. Gunst was now in full flex fury mode. He glided from his threatening front lat spread into an equally threatening front double biceps. POW! he shouted, Just Look at these fucking guns! BOOM! His monster biceps broiled with iron packed sinew, laced with mammoth, pulsing cephalic veins. BAM!!! he added, extending his meaty arms to their full length, working the fingers of his powerful fists before clenching them into furious fist-weapons. “These are muscles, asshole!” he shouted. “And they’re comin’ to get YOU!” And then he bent, slowly, inexorably, coming closer, this huge mass of muscle and rage, smashing his fist in his meaty palm, and grabbed the schmoe by the shirt front, pulling his terrified ugly face up to his spitting, furious mouth. “I’m gonna FUCK YOU UP. I’m gonna beat the shit out of you, and I’m not even gonna touch you with THESE fists. I’m JUST gonna do it with my pecs. And then with my dick. I’m gonna beat your face bloody with my pecs and my dick!” The schmoe was blubbering now. Casey regarded it all somewhat calmly. He’d seen such behavior before at the Home, of course, and the Twenty were always wild and crazy like this on the gym floor, particularly during White Cap workout nights. They often beat the shit out of each other, bounding back for more. Nothing new here. What’s more, he figured it was probably all an act. Gunst was probably being paid for this interesting little muscle play. It was all working, of course, because none of the other musclemen had moved, as if they knew what was coming. And if there had been any serious, real danger, Karim Abdul and Moster, whose combined strength couldn’t even be gauged, would have stepped in to pull Gunst back and subdue him. More to the point, now he realized he recognized the schmoe from online. Something about how he had abused women for 30 years or more, and was now out of the studio, nationally shamed. Some big fat slob who ruined women’s careers if they didn’t fuck him. But he was still super rich, and he’d profited off of his exploitation and cruelty. Now set adrift in the Hollywood community and unable to work ever again, he was still worth several hundred million, and was not feeling any pain. Until tonight, of course. Now he was gonna get what he deserved. Still, Casey was more interested in his potential new friend, who seemed sober, quiet, respectful, and agog at the size of his muscles. That was just the way Casey figured he’d like them. Quiet and worshipful. As he walked over to the distant sofa, his cock twitched heavily, rolled in his pants, and began to point and grow. His new little fan seemed to be the exception in the room. He sat alone on his sofa across the room, maybe 20 feet away from the group of fat schmoes on the long couch. He was just staring at Casey, longingly, neither talking nor texting. Standing before him now not six feet away, Casey smiled in a friendly way. The pipsqueak smiled back, staring at Casey’s physique and handsome face and his ever-growing crotch bulge, blooming in his tight slacks. Tentative, nervous, a little frightened, shaking. “Hi,” said Casey, friendly. He got closer and extended a huge paw. “I’m Casey.” “I know. I’m….I’m Mike.” Mike reached up to shake hands, frightened and brave, his soft little hand covered by Casey’s enormous mitt. He stared at the pumping forearms as Casey gently shook his hand. He was very careful not to crush the little guy’s fingers. The fat slob was screaming now. “Hey, I’m just here to see a little muscle! You want money? I got a lot of money! I'll give it to you. Leave me alone!! Don't hurt me!!!” Gunst laughed nastily. “You just wanted to see a little muscle??? How about FUCKING HUGE MUSCLE??” He started slapping the man lightly across the face, back and forth, little humiliating stinging slaps that popped and smacked in echoes bouncing across the vast living room. “Ouch. Ouch! Leave me alone….!” “You belong to ME, asshole.” Gunst scooped the fat man (who must have weighed 300 pounds or more) up from the deep, sheltering confines of the plush sofa cushions. Effortlessly swinging the screaming man wide above his head, the man’s legs and feet flying in a circle around the work, Gunst swept the slob high above his head and held him there. Carrying him from the room, he yelled back to Waring and Lang, “You boys can join me later when you’ve finished with this group. But for now - he’s mine!” He turned his head up to the impotently squirming producer and lowered him down to meet his face. He spat his words. “Come to think of it, I’m gonna start you out nice and easy. You like glutes? How about some world-class musclebutt? I sure hope so. Casue I’m gonna sit on your face for the next 45 minutes. You’ll get to see my muscleass up close and personal….” And then they were gone, down the corridor. Silence. The schmoes staring, transfixed. “What was all that about? Who is that guy?” Hension whispered loudly to Obatu. Obatu shrugged. “Some movie producer.” “So why did Gunst go off on him like that?” “Maybe he didn’t like his movies.” “Private client,” said Alvarez. “It’s a put-up job. Extra money.” “This guy is paying Gunst to park his muscle ass on him for 45 minutes?” “No.” Alvarez smiled and whispered back. “The dude’s wife. Extra credit for public humiliation.” “Are the bedrooms through here?” Gunst asked, in the distance, his voice now conversational. “Noooooo…!” screamed the fat man. Down the hall they could hear a door opened. “Would in here be good for you?” Gunst asked calmly. “It’s good for me.” The schmoe’s screams continued for a moment, even after the door was closed. And then, they stopped. Very suddenly. Replaced by another sound, that could only be described as “mmmmpppphhhllllfffffffff…!!!... ..uuummmmm…” Presumably Gunst had undone his belt, lowered his slacks, squatted down his naked perfect butt, and was now getting comfortable on the man’s face. “Let me know if you have trouble breathing,” they heard him say, as if he was asking to pass the salt. Mike had watched in silence, his face surprisingly unexpressive. Unfrightened by Gunst’s outrage. That was interesting. He was clearly more nervous about Casey’s unanticipated friendliness. Casey turned back to the roomful of rich Hollywood schmoes, now numbering eight. For schmoes was what they were, and now, Casey had a pretty good gut level understanding of what a schmoe actually was. A schmoe was a creepy, ugly, fat, rich guy who was clueless, mean, selfish, liked musclemen, and was willing to pay his pleasure, and assumed money was all he needed. That was a schmoe. Casey’s lip curled in contempt. And far from frightened or intimated by the display of alpha male dominance Gunst had just performed, effortlessly carrying a kicking and screaming man over his head and out of the room, the schmoes were now quietly giggling, texting, snorting coke and toking up. They seemed to have enjoyed what they just witnessed. Nasty fuckers, thought Casey. He turned back to little Mike. “You’re not like those other guys.” “No.” “Why are you here, then?” “…..well….it’s my house.” Holy Shit. The Jackpot. That was fast. “Really? This is your place?” Mike nodded. “Yes.” Casey went to the point. “You like big muscles?” Casey asked, excited now. No sense in wasting time with pleasantries, although truth to be told, Casey probably had never heard the word before. “Yes, I do.” “Okay, then, watch this. All for you.” Casey moved fast into a front lat spread, rotating from side to side. “See these fucking pecs? They’re huge. You like this?” Casey’s shirt stretched and seemingly groaned from the strain. “….Golly….” Mike was breathing heavily. “Will ya look at that…?” His hand involuntarily moved to his crotch. Casey winked at him, nodding and smiling, reeling off his obvious talents. “Obliques, intercostals, abs like bricks, pecs like cannonballs, all hard and solid. And that’s just for starters. Here’s a most muscular crab shot.” His shirt fabric began to tear as his muscles exploded with sinew, mass and popping veins. “How about big guns?” he asked, flexing his brutal biceps. “26 inches,” he whispered proudly. “These guns measure 26 inches. You wanna touch ‘em?” Mike nodded, dumbly, reached out with tentative fingers, as Casey bent down to offer a closer view of his huge guns. “Touch ‘em! Go ahead and feel ‘em. Stroke ‘em. Ever felt anything so hard?” Mike’s fingers lightly caressed Casey’s 26 inch right biceps. “Wow,” he breathed, and stared up into Casey’s eyes. “I got great glutes, too,” he said conspiratorially, bringing his face now close to Mike. “It’s the ass of death. You’ll see. You can see them later. Really awesome.” Hey, he thought. This guy was kinda good-looking. Maybe he only weighed about 135, but he was cute. And probably really rich. Casey got even closer, flexed that powerful biceps right under Mike’s nose. “See that vein? It’s like a snake, watch it now…go ahead, lick it. Yeah. That’s right. Lick…” “Casey,” warned Moster. “Not yet.” Casey turned back, straightened up. “Yes, sir,” Casey said. “Join us,” said Moster. Casey looked at Moster, nodded, “Yes, sir. Sorry, sir.” And then returned to look down at Mike for a second. “Just a moment. I’ll be right back. He wants us to flex for your buddies. Don’t be scared. It’s just an act.” Mike was nodding feverishly. Casey could see his fly was bulging, and the bulge was not bad. Not bad at all. Maybe he was hung a little? He hoped so. “Well, you shouldn’t be scared,” Casey added. “The guys may beat up those other assholes a little, but I’ll protect you. I’m strong. You won’t get too hurt. And I’ll flex for you, and you can suck my dick awhile, and play with my glutes, and I’ll suck your dick, too, and maybe I’ll even fuck you, if you can take it. You can fuck me! Your butthole big enough? We all good?” Mike nodded, breathless, staring. “Great!” Casey was excited. This was going to be fun. “I like being worshipped! It’ll be dope. Hang on. This’ll only take a second. You wait.” The words came in a rush. “I…can wait….sure.” “Awesome. I’ll be right back.” Casey bounded back and rejoined the team. He readied himself, changed his face, scowled, and looked mean. Moster hid his smile. He was mightily amused. He should have foreseen that Casey would somehow ferret out the one dude who was signing the checks. The other men of the Twenty were, at the end of the day, too narcissistic to note personalities, character, differences, subtleties. For them, it was only about dominating, posing, flexing, showing off muscle. And the schmoes? Like any muscle lovers who lived closeted, rich, narrow, spoiled lives, they were only in it for themselves. But Casey definitely had possibilities. Moster made a mental note. He must remember not to mention this to Dr. Zaftig. Then he spoke, and his voice brooked no dissent. “Gentlemen, you will now silence your devices. Per the agreement in our mutual contract, there are to be no pictures taken, no recorded video, no texting, no emails, Instagram, Facebook or tweets.” There was a pause. Mike pulled his phone from his pocket and switched it off, looked up at Casey, and smiled. The schmoes stared up at Moster, not moving. “I’m waiting.” Still nothing. “Boys?....” said Moster quietly. Together with Casey, the nine muscle giants took a step towards the big sofa, alert, ready hands at their sides. There was a tense pause. “I didn’t sign any agreement…” one of the schmoes started to protest.
  18. Previous chapter: Casey's First Interview with Sergeant Moster Chapter 16: Hardcore Training Part 2: Casey’s First Herculaneum Workout, and What Happened After Casey’s first workout demonstration for The Nineteen that afternoon promised to be brutal – and awesome - as he had hoped it would be. He knew he would love every moment of it. He knew it would almost make up for the confusion and fear he had felt the night before. He would be as strong as a god, sailing through every lift, every rep, every set with strength he didn’t know he had. Almost make up for it. Not quite. But maybe afterwards, he could pose for them? Just a little? In the locker room, alone, and about to go before these crazy huge guys once again, he ruminated. He was, if he admitted it to himself, not a little leery about these guys. After all, he had a big black eye. And just about 12 hours ago, thick, creamy jets of cum had shot from18 firehose cocks and plopped down on him while he lay tangled in a sweaty muscle mass mess with Karim Abdul, both of them with swelling black eyes and bloody noses. Kind of a strange introduction to the world of supreme muscle he had been looking forward to for two years – and had been fantasizing about for far longer. “I wonder what Miles would say,” he thought to himself. He had glanced at his black eye in the mirror in the locker room. It was fully open, not bloodshot, just rimmed with black and blue. Not too bad. Actually, it looked fucking hot. He quickly did a side chest. Bam. Nips high. Rivers of striations. Yeah. Lookin good. He was hot. He knew it, too. Or, rather, was beginning to know it. He found his old sweats, thoughtfully hanging up and waiting for him in a large locker with his name on it, which he assumed was his. He noted that the lockers themselves were almost like storage units, not the shameful, small individual skinny things most gyms had. He looked up, slightly startled. Musclemen Gunst and Obatu were suddenly there at the end of the locker row, waiting for them. At first he barely noticed what they were wearing. But then he saw. “What the fuck?” “You ready?” “Uh. Yeah.” “Let’s go, then.” He stripped down fast, found his old jock in the locker, and grabbing his huge cock and balls, shoveled his heavy machine into the pouch. As always, it sagged heavily, groaning softly from the weight of his manhood. He glanced down the row. Gunst and Obatu were blankfaced. Casey threw his sweats on. “Now?” “…..yeah.” Casey slammed the door and waddled towards them, throwing a bathsheet towel over his broad shoulders. “Let’s go lift.” Gunst and Obatu brought Casey onto the workout floor. All of the musclemen in the squad were in attendance, naturally wanting to see how much weight the pretty muscle boy Casey could handle. After all, he may be huge, and all realized he was pretty fucking strong in the ring. He could move fast, and his mandatory poses last night were impressive. But could the dude lift? Could he train?? Dr. Irving stood by with the video camera, fussily taking his precise notes. And Zaftig was there, of course, hanging back, saying nothing, just watching, watching. And now, at least, Casey could remember the dude’s name. Dr. Zaftig. After all, this was the dude who was going to make him huge. He nodded shyly to him. “Good afternoon, Dr. Zaftig.” “Good afternoon, Casey. Welcome to Valhalla.” “Thank you…” “Let’s get going, Casey,” said Sergeant Moster. “You’re keeping us waiting. Again.” “I’m sorry,” Casey said. Moster frowned. No signs of reaction to all the White Caps swimming around in his bloodstream. There were, inevitably, more moments of muscle awkwardness to be had first. First off, Casey was entirely unprepared for the men’s workout gear. His usual workout clothes fully covered him, a ripped and worn outfit of dirty, sweaty baggies, a sloppy oversized sweatshirt that seemed to have been made for a man of 600 pounds, and full-length sweatpants, ragged and much the worse for wear. Even in these baggies, his bulge loomed heavily, swaying from side to side as he came onto the floor. Moster had changed into his full-dress spotlessly clean green uniform slacks, boots, and a skin-tight regulation t-shirt. His mammoth black muscles gleamed with ferocious power, and his crisp, clinging t-shirt outlined every peak, valley, cut, bulge, thick vein and crevice of his astonishing physique. Casey tried not to stare at him. He was oddly drawn to this black mountain of muscle. “I wanna be as big as you someday,” he said softly to himself. The squad, on the other hand, he nervously noted, were all dressed in White Cap Night Valhalla regulation gym gear: ripped, torn and ragged wife-beaters with muscles bulging every which way. Dripping sweat, muscles red and inflamed, their workouts over. No shorts, Army boots, heavy cable socks, and sweaty, swollen, looming Army-green mesh jocks. Bulging packages protruded, looming cocks, also swaying heavily with each muscleman movement, all around the gym floor. “This is how you guys dress to work out?” asked Casey timidly. Okay, so it was still weird. His question was ignored. There was a lot of barely sheathed bulging heavy duty muscleman dick on this gym floor. His own was more modestly covered. If just as bulging. And just as evident. And no one’s on the floor appeared to be as big as Moster’s. Once again he stared for a moment at the man’s obviously huge, looming penis, outlined clearly in his green trousers. He could see the penis corona, even the deep piss slit through the thick dark khaki fabric. Moster sure wasn’t ashamed of his cock. So maybe Casey shouldn’t be ashamed, either. And what Casey couldn’t know is that the men, just having finished their workouts, were delaying their shower sports. White Caps racing in their bloodstreams. And holding back. Not 10 minutes before Moster had sternly separated Blankenship and Lang from some foreplay, giving each man a quick spanking on their bare bottoms before all the other men. Afterward Alvarez pulled Lang back and eyed him dangerously. There would be words between them tonight. Lang was staring at the floor. Blankenship, of course, was grinning. Toothlessly. “How about starting off with some incline flyes?” said Moster. “You need a warm-up set?” “I wanna stretch first,” said Casey. Miles had always taught him the necessity of proper technique. Light warm-ups were part of that, though once he actually started lifting, what constituted a warm-up for Casey might be a final blasted set for another man. “Always smart.” The men stood watching Casey intently. “Don’t you guys wanna go workout somewhere?” he blurted out. “We’re done,” said Alvarez. “We’re waiting for you.” Abdul was staring at him with undisguised hatred. Tiffany was smiling sweetly, butter not melting in his mouth. Schumacher was blank-faced, and all the scarier for it. The others were intent, if blank-faced. Even Hension, whose thoughts were usually betrayed on his handsome face, wasn’t reacting much. He just was staring. They were all staring. Casey shuffled off to a corner of the Marley mat and began his stretch routine, arms swinging, legs kicking, gentle but firm. The men watched him. “He’s bow-legged!” whispered Hension. Loudly. “Yes, we see that,” said Alvarez, mocking the whisper. “I think that’s so hot….!” Casey heard a resounding smack! echoing through the room. “Ow!” Someone had hit Hension again. Casey, his face turned away, had to smile. Apparently the pretty boy got hit a lot. “Um. This takes 20 minutes,” Casey said. Suddenly he didn’t care what they thought. He was going to stretch. He started torso turns, his hands behind his head. Moster spoke. “Casey, we don’t have all day.” Casey turned back to him and repeated himself firmly. “This takes 20 minutes. I stretch for 20 minutes. If you don’t want to watch, don’t.” And he turned back, cupping his big hands together, continuing his torso turns. Moster smiled slightly. Good. The White Caps had obviously kicked in after all. It seems Casey required more White Caps for an effect, and the societal restrictions weren’t so easily abandoned. But the boy was asserting himself, and quite naturally. Zaftig was suddenly next to Moster. “He’s not so easily bullied,” he whispered. “Not like your other men. You won’t have your way with him so easily.” “You don’t think so?” “No, I don’t.” “Well, we’ll see, then, won’t we?” Zaftig frowned. Clearly, Moster wasn’t concerned about Casey digging in his heels at his first workout, doing it his way, defying the Sergeant. “What do you know?” Zaftig hissed at Moster. Moster, never taking his eyes off the teen muscle giant now doing rapid pushups, turned to Zaftig, laid his cards on the table. “The kid has never been worshipped before. He wants it, he needs it. He needs someone to tell him how amazing he is. And he needs musclesex. Badly. He doesn’t know how much.” “I see. It’s your musclesex thing again. Goddammit, Sergeant. This project is about youth and strength and creating the most fearsome army the planet has ever seen. It’s not about sex. It never was. It was about creating the perfect physical specimen. The most extraordinary physiques the world has ever known.” Moster smiled sardonically. “You’ve forgotten, Dr. Zaftig, or perhaps you never knew. Even when you were a young man. Were you ever young?” Zaftig smiled. “Amazing to consider, isn’t it?” Moster continued. “Everything for men is about sex. And bodybuilders? Even more so. And for these bodybuilders? All that times about 200. 500. All these guys want is to be admired. Worshipped. Sucked off. Felt up. Fuck. And, I might add, get fucked. Train, lift, eat, sleep, shit, fight, suck, get sucked, fuck, train some more, fight some more, fuck some more, suck some more, eat, shit, sleep. And,” he added sweetly, “…that’s about it.” “Fuck you, Sergeant.” But now Zaftig was smiling. He knew there was more to it. Wasn’t there? Moster sighed. “I’m sorry, Dr. Zaftig. But that’s what you’ve created here. Millions of dollars poured into fucking machines. But look at the bright side.” He leaned in. “It’s going to make you millions, as well. All of us.” “I already have millions. I don’t care.” “Well, I don’t, and I do.” “By the way, how did the boy get that black eye?” “Looks pretty hot, don’t it?” “Less than 24 hours in the compound and already someone’s slugged him.” “Don’t look too closely at Abdul or Blankenship.” Zaftig glanced over at Abdul, sporting a shiner of his own, and noted the missing teeth of the blond bomber beauty Blankenship. Zaftig groaned inwardly. Another trip to the dentist. He hated having to take the men off the mountain. But there was a dentist in San Jose who fixed up the men regularly, regular hygiene, capping, replaced teeth, crowns, implants, the works, and charged nothing, content merely with big biceps flexed in his face while he sat in the chair playing with his tiny dentist dick. Then, Moster to Casey, “You about done there, boy?” “No, sir.” “All right, then.” The men were getting restless, shifting from foot to foot, now staring at Zaftig and the ever-cool Moster. Alvarez was the only man on the squad who seemed calm and in control of himself. A fact not unnoticed by Moster. Or Casey, for that matter, now secretly watching all this play out for himself. He was beginning to catch on that there was even more to these big dudes than just training, taking this crazy drug, and spanking their monkeys. “Men, time for some biceps curls,” Moster announced. “All of you go do 15 sets of light reps. 25 reps per set per arm. No ball busting, now. Get to it. No more than 25 pounds. I mean it.” He turned back and smiled at Casey. “We’ll wait until The Boy is ready.” Okay, so he was The Boy again. Zaftig wasn’t done. “In a few months the Joint Chiefs will be here for review. I want Casey ready and I want the men at their sharpest, and no funny business. Intensify their training.” He turned away. “You leaving?” Zaftig turned back. “Hell, no” he smiled. “I want to see my latest boy wipe your men all over the floor. Maybe you’ll listen to me then.” Moster nodded. Inwardly he had to admit he respected Zaftig deeply. The man may have been a puny genius with no body, but he wasn’t dishonest, and he was clearly unafraid of Moster. He had no personal need for muscle worship, and never bothered the men. He was, at the end of the day, a partner Moster could trust, if never take advantage of. He admired that. Moreover, Zaftig had never indicated another other than scientific curiosity about Moster’s treetrunk tool. That was a plus on his side, too. Moster turned to Casey and called out. “Okay, you’re done,” he said, brooking no denial. “What’s your starting weight for inclines?” “Um…..180?” Hension, 20 feet away and now doing the ordered biceps curls, stared at Casey. “Damn!” he squeaked. He put the dumbbell down and scratched his barely covered balls. “180?? To start?” Casey looked away, trying not to notice. That boy certainly was pretty. A perfect face. Without realizing it, Casey licked his lips, staring a little at Hension, who, gawking at the muscle monster, inadvertently smiled back, absently scratching his balls. The exchange did not go unnoticed. Lang nudged Alvarez, who nodded sagely. “180 it is. Let’s see what you got.” Moster strode to the bench, grabbed two 180-pound dumbbells as if they were sacks of feathers, and handed them to Casey. Casey took them without a blink, two sacks of feathers. And so the workout began. One by one, the men re-racked their light weights, approached the bench where the giant Casey lay, ready to lift. Casey’s perfect technique was evident from the start. He smoothly lowered his huge bulk onto an incline bench. He raised his arms into position, the two dumbbells easily held aloft overhead. In no time he reeled off twenty reps of perfectly calibrated incline flyes, then peeling off into overhead presses, gently touching the dumbbells one another, then down to the tips of his big brown nipples, outlined in his oversized sweats. His chest bloomed, rivers of sweaty muscle flowed, the pumped pecs seemed to reach to the ceiling as he pumped. “Pow, pow, pow, pow,” he breathed to himself with each rep. Light stains of pec milk appeared on his sweats. “Wow….” breathed Hension. “Do you see that??” “What’s next?” “Do it again.” “Okay.” He reeled off another set. The men watched him stonily, now all gathered around the bench. More pec milk appeared. “Now?” “Do another.” “Sure.” He did another set. Finishing, he clanged the weights to the floor. “Can I work with something heavy now?” Moster smiled. The White Caps had taken effect. He shot a look over at Zaftig, who merely raised an eyebrow and smiled. “Certainly, boy. Take it to 220.” So he was still Boy. “Anyone have gloves?” “Sure, Case!” Lang reached into his bag and tossed a pair to Casey. Casey smiled a little, hearing Lang call him by the same nickname the cadets down the mountain did. “Thanks.” He caught the gloves and slipped them on. Everyone was watching now. The red light of the video cam continued to blink. Standing next to Lang, Alvarez was blank-faced, but not unapproving. In the corner, Dr. Zaftig now had his head tilted back, musing. This boy will go the limit, he thought. No matter what Moster says about what the men really want. This boy is different. He’s pure muscle, and nothing else. No, that was not right. He was muscle, cock, and butt. This boy would be worth millions. And very, very soon. An uncommon sex machine of the first power. Innocent Casey, unaware of the plans being made around him, rose, took the two 180 pound dumbbells, and re-racked them, two sacks of feathers back to the their featherbed. He strode down the line and grabbed two 220s, returned to the incline, lowered his bulk, and reeled off another set of 20 reps, grunting loudly and blowing out air with each rep. More milk flecks appeared on his shirt. He blew sweat and spit, began to groan mightily. “ugh, ugh, ugh, ugh….” When he was finished he set the dumbbells down gently on the marley floor, and looked up at Moster. Absently he wiped the milk away from his nipples with thumb and forefinger. “Nicely done, boy,” said Moster. He spoke loudly to the group. “Notice that Casey does not drop the weights.” He looked pointedly at Jin, who was famous for throwing the weights to the floor after the punishing final set of any lift he did, excepting squats – where he re-racked as noisily as possible, all while screaming. Jin looked back, defiant. “Why do you do it that way, boy?” Casey shrugged. “Way that Miles taught me, I guess. It’s harder.” “Miles?” “Miles Donovan, Raw Weight Gym.” So that was it, thought Gunst. Miles Donovan. He should have known. Donovan was a biceps freak, and hosted many others in his gym, taking their pay-offs for private posing from men who liked to blast big guns in the faces of the hapless, endlessly paying schmoes. No doubt Casey had been a major revenue stream for the notorious Donovan gym, he reasoned to himself. Of course he had to have huge guns. Miles would have seen to it. Blankenship grinned, a front tooth missing and looking all the hotter for it. “Yeah, makes sense, he came from that old horn dog Donovan’s gym. You worked out on the 3rd floor yet?” Casey looked at Blankenship a little blankly. “Um. No.” Obatu spoke up. “Casey is still too young and green for the 3rd floor. Besides, he has been training at the cadet gym down the mountain for the last several months. Haven’t you, Casey?” “Yeah, I guess. What’s next?” “You flat bench?” “Sure. How much weight?” “Let’s see what you can do.” The squad backed away a little as Casey, gripping each elbow and stretching his arms over his head, walked towards a row of flat benches. Gunst despaired a little. He was wrong. Casey wasn’t posing and being paid for it at Donovan’s. Which meant he’d built those mountainous biceps on his own. “Lose the shirt!” squawked Hension. “I want to see your nips milk!” “’Kay,” said Casey. He stopped, slipping out of his sweatshirt, folding it up carefully. Underneath he wore a baggy green t-shirt, which may probably have been at one time a pup tent. “My nipples always make a little milk when I train,” he explained. “See?” He reached under his soaked t-shirt to a nipple, gathered some white liquid, held out a finger dripping with milk droplets. “But it looks like I’m making a little more today.” In spite of himself, Moster was touched by Casey’s innocent neatness with his sweatshirt. And his explanation. “T-shirt too,” said Waring. “Not yet,” said Casey. Moster’s eyebrow raised a little. He glanced over at Zaftig, who nodded. Good. Good. It was all good. The White Caps were claiming his ego. Casey was showing signs he could stand up on his own. “Load up a starting weight of 360 pounds,” directed Moster. “You can handle 300, can’t you, Casey?” “Sure, easy.” Casey laid his bulk down on the flat bench while Waring and Lang placed eight 45-pound plates on either end of the bar. He began to suck in air in preparation. “Hey, can someone wrap my elbows?” he suddenly asked. “Sure. Washington, grab some heavy wraps for Cadet Rockland. Get to it. The man has to lift.” He lifted the bar off the bench and began to bench, pumping his enormous pecs. Now he was working his hardest. He was now more determined than ever to fit in with these huge men. He was going to show them now. The workout continued. Flat bench, declines, more flyes. All pecs stuff. More milk. Throughout the workout Hension, Lang, Jin, Bogarde, Washington, Meyer, Waring, Duncan, Chad, and Corporal Blankenship were cheerful and approving. They howled their encouragement and counted the reps. “10! 11! 12! 13! 14! 15!" Throw the weights, Casey!” "Okay to throw them?" Casey asked Moster, holding 600 pounds aloft, just about to bring it down to his milky nipples. He was calm. "If the men want. This time. Throw it when you're done." "Okay." He finished pumping, and instead of reracking... Clang! Casey threw the weight on the floor, sat up, grabbed the plastic bottle and chugged a half-gallon of water. Water poured from the side of his mouth onto his shirt. The men whooped and hollered. He wiped his lips with the back of his hand and strode forcefully to the next weight. Immediately the men were counting again. “10! 11! 12! 13! 14! 15!” Clang! Wipe. “YEAHHHH….!” And on it went for 45 minutes of grueling, punishing lifting. Corporals Schumacher, Obatu, LeFevre, and Alvarez and Private McIntyre seemed more reserved. Corporal Abdul just grunted. But he was impressed, in spite of himself. The boy was training harder than he had ever seen. His muscles were blooming, seeming to grow as he watched. Gunst was quiet and watchful. Zaftig was beaming with professional pride. Moster remained aloof and keenly observant. And all the while, Dr. Irving followed every move with the video cam. The cocksure little Private Joe Tiffany cheered him on just as loudly. Casey pretended not to see the evil glint in the muscleboy’s eyes, but he couldn’t help it. He’d learned at the Home how to read signals. The Home…..hmmm. A memory appeared dimly, and, just as quickly, was gone. While resting between two punishing sets, Casey was still silently agog at the size of Moster’s muscles. Occasionally he found himself staring at the improbably large mound resting atop his CO’s left quad. The tip of the mound reached to just above the giant’s knee. He noted the other men seemed to be avoiding looking directly at Moster’s leg. Even though they all seemed to be sporting packages of similar size. Damn, their dicks are big, Casey thought. Are they real? And deep inside Casey, a little voice proudly squeaked…..”Wait until they see MINE…” Then he remembered – …..oh yeah.... They’d already seen it. And he had seen theirs, too. Sorta. Between his half-closed black eye. His hand went up, and he rubbed the black eye. Looked at Abdul, and his black eye. Adbul was smiling a little now. Not friendly, but hard - but still, a smile. Casey grinned wearily as he finally finished up with the last set of triceps pulldowns. Private Meyer, a big toothy grinning lighting up his handsome, beaming face, burst forward from the group, and pumped the newcomer’s hand. “Thanks,” said Casey. Meyer nodded enthusiastically. “He can’t hear you,” said Private Waring. Casey looked at Meyer, stricken for having forgotten that Meyer was a deaf mute. “It’s okay, he doesn’t mind.” Casey, touched, shook Meyer’s hand vigorously. Meyer shook his head cheerfully, touching his lips, and shrugged his shoulders to show that indeed he didn’t care that he couldn’t speak. Then he stepped back and proudly flexed his own powerful, round right biceps, smacking them with his left hand, and reached down to grab Casey’s wrists. He pulled his arms up encouragingly and Casey, getting the message, proudly brought his huge guns up and flexed mightily. “Mother fucker!” yelled Lang and Hension simultaneously. The men roared with laughter, and Casey colored a deep red, smiling sheepishly. Alvarez clamped that affectionate paw of his around Lang’s shoulders and hugged him close. But he looked worried. Something was on his mind. Behind them Hension eyed them both steadily, with longing. Meyer kept his hands on Casey’s obliques as if he was rotating his upper body for all to see. “It’s okay, plebe,” said Jin, laughing. “You’ll get to know us all.” While all through the devastating workout he had been stronger than he could ever remember, now he felt – well, almost frail – as if something, suddenly, was missing. “All right, men,” said Moster calmly. “Rec room in 15 minutes. Casey, shower up.” “Yes, sir.” “Men, file out. Casey, come here a moment first.” He glanced at the men, who leaned in, curious as to what Moster might be saying. “Well, Cadet Casey, it looks as if you’ve made it.” Moster spoke quietly. Casey looked up at him, and grinned wearily. “Thanks, Sergeant Moster.” The men gave him a round of applause, Casey noted that even Corporal Schumacher seemed to approve. He lowered his head, modestly grateful. Then Moster turned back to the group. They were still applauding. Casey was embarrassed, turning to go. He didn’t see Moster’s stone face shift into a slight smile. “Men, get dressed. Shower up. No play time. Get to it. I expect you all in uniform, neat and clean, in the rec room, in 10 minutes. Hop to it. Get a move on.” Then, to Casey, “Casey, use my private locker room to shower.” He pointed to a door across the floor. “You’ll find clean sweats in there. They’ll fit. Grab them after you shower. And no jerking off, boy.” Casey, embarrassed that Moster seemed to be reading his mind, nodded dumbly and headed to the door. He was worried again. He had only masturbated once today so far, and on a day like today, he needed a lot more….especially after that worship session with the cadets this morning. He was discovering….something….and his huge cock wanted to know more. But he went, dutifully, into the private locker room, showered, and changed into the clean sweats he found there. Before he left, he checked his guns and his pecs in the full length mirror. Flexing, he breathed to himself. “Damn. I’m fucking awesome.” And with the capsules still not in apparent full-force effect, dressed in baggy trunks and a clean, white light tee, he stumbled his way to the rec room. For what, he couldn’t tell. Probably more weirdness. But now, he was ready. Dr. Irving was there ahead of them all. He had set up chairs for all the bodybuilders in a semi-circle, with the inevitable video cam set up. There was a chair in the center, obviously meant for him. He glanced over at Moster, who nodded and gestured towards the chair. Casey waddled with his bodybuilder’s walk towards it slowly and sat. He looked around with anticipation. “So now what?” he asked. Zaftig took Moster aside. “This boy is gentle. We don’t want to break his spirit. He’s had a tough time and he just wants to make friends. Go easy on him.” Moster’s shoulders stiffened. The veins in his neck popped a little. He looked Zaftig dead in the eye, and said, “Being sweet to him now will kill him later. Is that what you want?” “No.” “Then let me handle it. I know what is best.” “Did you at least give him a capsule?” “Sure,” answered Moster. “He’ll be just fine.” “Doesn’t seem to have taken effect yet.” “He’s a big boy. Blood volume and all. It takes time.” “Fuck you, Moster.” Moster’s eyebrows raised slightly, but he knew not to protest. Zaftig was properly proud of his discovery. “You know fucking well that White Caps P-21 take effect immediately regardless of ‘blood volume’, if you want to put it that way.” “Dr. Zaftig, it’s my turn now.” “It’s always your turn.” Zaftig turned on his heel and left the rec room without further comment. Moster watched him go. The men were sitting impatiently. “All right, men. Let’s get to it.” He turned to Casey. “All right, Casey. Welcome. You’re one of the group now. We’re now….The Twenty.” “Yeah, baby!” “Bout fucking time.” “Tell him what that really means….” said Alvarez. “Spank him!” yelled Hension, and then, before Chad, sitting next to him, could swat him, he said, “Don’t you fucking hit me!” Chad did anyway. “Ow!” yelled Hension. Casey chuckled. “That’s gotta hurt. These dudes seem to hit you a lot.” “You will too, in time,” said Waring. “What did …he….”….um…” “Alvarez,” said Alvarez. “What did Alvarez – sorry – mean – when he said “tell him what that really means?” Silence. Casey continued. “I mean, what does it mean to be one of The Twenty?” Moster smiled. “Yes, let’s talk about that, Casey. Men, why don’t we show Casey what it’s all about?” Then he paused a moment. Casey wasn't reacting. He was just sitting quietly, albeit with great body tension. His muscles were hugely pumped, and Moster could see the fabric shifting as Casey's enormous cock began to uncoil in his sweats. Soon he would be hard. But the boy wasn't moving. Odd. Quietly, he asked, leaning in, “Casey, level with me.” He looked the teen in the eye. Casey couldn’t look away. Inwardly he was stammering. He was looking at Moster's crotch. “No, look me in the eye. Look up. Not down there. Up. How many White Caps have you taken?” “White Caps?” “The capsules. The pills. How many?” He gazed at him levelly. A pause. “Four, I think. Five?” He shrugged, weakly. "i don't remember." "Where did you get them? I gave you one...." "Uh..." Casey didn't want to indict the men on his first day. Weirdness notwithstanding. “Never mind. I can guess." Moster looked back at the group, all standing still, attentive, neatly dressed in their uniforms. And every cock seeming at attention, poling out hugely in their khakis. The men were ready to play. Past ready. Mmmmm. Not much effect on Casey, though, for 5 White Caps. A few moments of assertiveness and a powerful workout, but…..not much. "Are you feeling anything…unusual?” “Well….” Casey paused and looked away. He found himself staring at the men and their looming erections. Jesus. Here it came. Strong societal blockers, Moster thought. "Do you want to have sex? Like now?" No answer. Casey just stared at the cocks in the room. The men were deadly quiet. Then it hit Moster. Of course. “Casey, are you hypoglycemic?” Not so much to his surprise, even the dimwitted Casey knew exactly what that meant. Still staring the the men's rocket crotches, he spoke softly. “......I need oranges or candy bars sometimes.....” “They told you this when you were growing up?” “They told me in the Boys Home. My blood sugar. I have problems.” Of course. That was it. It happened sometimes. He reminded himself he had to mention it to Zaftig. It was the same for Obatu when he first checked in, and then, years later, for Eli Meyer. Since Meyer could neither speak nor hear and his sign language didn't encompass the subject of hypoglycemia, it took them a few days to realize that a cup of chocolate milk worked wonders on the tight glutes of the hot little muscle fuckee Meyer. Give the boy some cocoa and he'd take massive tool after tool up his butt for hours. He called over his shoulder. “Dr. Irving, please step into my office and get an orange. You’ll find a bowl of fruit on my conference table.” He turned back to Casey and smiled a little. “It’ll be just a moment. Then we’ll tell you what The Twenty is all about.” Irving left the room, used to being invisible except when ordered about. Moster stood up, in front of Casey. "It will only be a minute now." The men, behind him, were now pawing the floor like racehorses, ready to rock and roll. Casey, sitting, was now eye-to-crotch to Moster, in front of him. He stared openly at Moster’s enormous bulge in the fly of his uniform khakis, a thick pylon of sheathed cock snaking heavily along the edge of huge quad muscle, and gulped, looking up. Though Moster was the only man in the room without an erection, his penis yet appeared to be the biggest. “Yes, sir,” he stammered. And stared again. His heart was pounding. Moster put a hand on Casey’s beefy shoulder, kneading his fingers slightly into the thick muscle. “Hang on. It won’t be long now.” He turned to the men behind him. “Men? Drop trou.” Zippers unzipped, belts slipped out of belt loops and went to the floor, as the 18 bodybuilders – even Abdul – dropped their uniform slacks to their ankles. Pants down. Around the room. Now all the men were in micro posers. Those massive bulges were unleashed. Looming, heavy, hard, all already pointing straight out. Their cocks almost fully exposed except for the bulging, straining fabric barely covering cockheads. Some of the posers were ready to snap. Casey stared at them all. "Wow...." he breathed. "Men why don't you do some posing for Casey? You've seen his muscles. I don't think he's had the opportunity to see yours." "You, too, Sergeant," said Abdul. Moster looked at him. He paused. "All right, then." He unbuttoned his bulging dress shirt and slipped it off. Casey could almost imagine he could hear the groan of relief of the fabric, suddenly relieved of the need to stretch over the man's massive muscles. But he wasn't prepared for the massive musculature of Moster. Cocks and balls bulged forth, each man spilling half a foot of visible cock into barely sheathed pouches. Casey felt a dribble of precum shooting in his posers. “Arms behind backs!” barked Moster, clearly now the leader of the group. He turned to Casey and became one with his men. The Nineteen placed their hands behind their lower backs. “Spread legs!” All spread their legs wide, shooting their right legs out in choreographed unison. “Prepare!” Fists clenched, crammed in solid obliques. “Front double biceps!” All arms slowly rose. And 40 cannonballs of enormous power ball biceps snapped into ungodly peaks. The men faced straight ahead, all eyes high and level, as if gazing into infinity. “Jesus,” breathed Casey. He fumbled with his crotch a moment. His head was spinning. The lineup of 19 men stood before him, all flexing with massive front double biceps power. The black muscle god brought his arms down strode slowly across the room back to Casey. As he moved, his half-covered organ swayed heavily from side to side in his posing pouch. Behind him, the lineup of men continued to flex without wavering. He stood next to Casey, and impossibly, appeared to tower over even him. Dr. Irving returned with the orange. “Chow down on this, Casey,” said Moster as Irving handed it to him wordlessly. "Men, drop the biceps pose." The men relaxed. Hension snickered. "Yeah, chow down, Casey." Then, warning Chad...."Don't you hit me...." “Dr. Irving, would you get back to your camera, please?” Dr. Irving went back to the video cam, checking his clipboard, and began to tape. The men circled around Casey as he took a big bite out of the orange, and then another, and then another. A moment passed. Casey began to flush, a deep crimson red – and then, just as quickly – the flush faded. He looked up at Moster, and smiled. Broadly. “I’m fine now,” he said. “Casey,” asked Moster evenly, “have you ever sucked cock before?” “No, sir.” “Would you like to?” “Yes, sir. I think I would.” Snap! Snap! Gunst's and Blankenship's posers snapped. Their cocks bloomed free, swaying heavily, ready for service. Gunst stepped forward, but Blankenship elbowed him heavily out of the way. Gunst looked at him threateningly, raised his fist, ready to punch face. Moster stood back. "Easy, men. There's time for everyone. Who should he start with?” he asked the group. “I think he starts with ME,” said Abdul, striding forward, his hands on the straps of his bulging posers. The 14 inch shaft was fully exposed, the tendrils of Abdul's thick pubic hair shining in the rec room light. “Fine with me,” Casey said, still smiling. “How do I do this?” “Don’t worry. It’ll come naturally. Just let it happen.” Abdul took his position in front of Casey and pushed out his powerful hips. As Casey leaned in, Abdul roughly cupped the back of the teen’s head, and pulled him in close. "Get to work, boy..." Casey open his mouth. Wide. "Sorry about last night, " he said up to Abdul, who loomed over him, taking his mammoth cock out of his posers and aiming it. "Wider," said Abdul. "Can I pose for you guys later?" Casey asked. "Sure thing!" squeaked Hension. Smack!! "Ow! What did I say??" "I said OPEN WIDER," commanded Abdul. "Sure thing," said Casey. He opened his mouth wider. "Let's go." And so.... it began. **** Want to read "The Twenty" from the start? Links to chapters of "The Twenty": "The Twenty" - A Muscle Novel in Progress. Precis, Introduction, Chapters 1 & 2 "The Twenty" - A Muscle Novel in Progress. Chapters 3, 4, 5 - White Cap Training / Hardcore Muscle / A Brief History of Casey Rockland "The Twenty" - A Muscle Novel in Progress. Chapter 6 "The Twenty" - A Muscle Novel in Progress. Chapters 7, 8 - Hardcore Training, Part 1 / Tiffany's Talent "The Twenty" - A Muscle Novel in Progress - Chapters 9, 10 - Good for Morale "The Twenty" - A Muscle Novel in Progress - Chapter 11: Casey Meets the Muscle Squad "The Twenty" Chapter 12, Part 1: A Very Turkish Wrestling Match "The Twenty" - Chapter 12: Part 2 Casey vs. Karim Abdul: A Very Turkish Wrestling Match "The Twenty" - Chapter 13: After the Match "The Twenty" - Chapter 14: In Which Casey Discovers He Likes to Get Worshipped "The Twenty" - Chapter 15: Casey's First Interview with Sergeant Moster "The Twenty" - A Muscle Novel in Progress. Chapter 16 - Hardcore Training Part 2: Casey’s First Herculaneum Workout, and What Happened After "The Twenty" - A Muscle Novel in Progress - Chapter 17 - The Presentation "The Twenty" - A Muscle Novel in Progress - Chapter 18 - The Musclemen Revealed: Inside Zaftig's Lab "The Twenty" - A Muscle Novel in Progress - Chapter 19 - Further Encounters, Part 1 "The Twenty" - A Muscle Novel in Progress: Chapter 20 - Pose and Approve: Further Encounters, Part 2 "The Twenty" - A Muscle Novel in Progress: Chapter 21 - Sam and Casey "The Twenty" - A Muscle Novel in Progress: Chapter 22 - Field Trips for Worship, Part 1 "The Twenty" - Chapter 23 - Field Trips, Part 2 – Casey Rediscovers Muscle Worship, and Makes a New Friend "The Twenty" - A Muscle Novel in Progress: Chapter 24 - Further Encounters 5: Sam and Casey Again, and Moster and the Cadets
  19. Links to chapters of "The Twenty": "The Twenty" - A Muscle Novel in Progress. Precis, Introduction, Chapters 1 & 2 "The Twenty" - A Muscle Novel in Progress. Chapters 3, 4, 5 - White Cap Training / Hardcore Muscle / A Brief History of Casey Rockland "The Twenty" - A Muscle Novel in Progress. Chapter 6 "The Twenty" - A Muscle Novel in Progress. Chapters 7, 8 - Hardcore Training, Part 1 / Tiffany's Talent "The Twenty" - A Muscle Novel in Progress - Chapters 9, 10 - Good for Morale "The Twenty" - A Muscle Novel in Progress - Chapter 11: Casey Meets the Muscle Squad "The Twenty" Chapter 12, Part 1: A Very Turkish Wrestling Match "The Twenty" - Chapter 12: Part 2 Casey vs. Karim Abdul: A Very Turkish Wrestling Match "The Twenty" - Chapter 13: After the Match "The Twenty" - Chapter 14: In Which Casey Discovers He Likes to Get Worshipped "The Twenty" - Chapter 15: Casey's First Interview with Sergeant Moster "The Twenty" - A Muscle Novel in Progress. Chapter 16 - Hardcore Training Part 2: Casey’s First Herculaneum Workout, and What Happened After "The Twenty" - A Muscle Novel in Progress - Chapter 17 - The Presentation "The Twenty" - A Muscle Novel in Progress - Chapter 18 - The Musclemen Revealed: Inside Zaftig's Lab "The Twenty" - A Muscle Novel in Progress - Chapter 19 - Further Encounters, Part 1 "The Twenty" - A Muscle Novel in Progress: Chapter 20 - Pose and Approve: Further Encounters, Part 2 "The Twenty" - A Muscle Novel in Progress: Chapter 21 - Sam and Casey "The Twenty" - A Muscle Novel in Progress: Chapter 22 - Field Trips for Worship, Part 1 "The Twenty" - Chapter 23 - Field Trips, Part 2 – Casey Rediscovers Muscle Worship, and Makes a New Friend "The Twenty" - A Muscle Novel in Progress: Chapter 24 - Further Encounters 5: Sam and Casey Again, and Moster and the Cadets Chapter 17: The Presentation February 10th, 2018 2000 Hours “Rose, dim the lights, and please – please leave us alone. Lock the auditorium doors behind you when you leave so we won’t be disturbed. Does everything have everything they need? Wi-Fi connection good? And Rose….tell Dr. Irving to bring the men upstairs to the lab. We’ll be ready for them in about 30 minutes.” A crisp response in the affirmative. The auditorium lights dimmed. There was a tapping of sensible heels, and the double doors at the back of the Valhalla Laboratories Assembly Hall opened and shut quietly. The lock clicked. Dr. Ira Zaftig cleared his throat, took a drink of water, and looked out serenely at his audience. He clicked his remote. The screen lit up, the light spilling out into the chrome and concrete bunker auditorium. “Are we ready, Gentlemen? Good evening. Welcome to Valhalla Labs.” The Valhalla logo glowed on the 20’ screen. Zaftig’s calm voice echoed darkly into the far regions of the room. “Gentlemen, I know you’ve had a long day. Flying in from Washington, checking into your quarters, touring the facility grounds, and now, after that splendid dinner, I know you’re curious to see the results of our mutual contract with the United States military and the Joint Chiefs. The unveiling, in fact, of our great 15-year initiative.” The five Officers in the front row murmured quietly. Out of courtesy, one or two nodded. Admiral Walrus, the Joint Chief Chair and Committee head, was seated dead center. He said nothing. He waited. Well behind the officers in the half-light sat a row of junior officers and young aides in attendance to the brass. “We here at Valhalla Labs know that we have achieved stunning success. We’re proud to be able to share it with you tonight.” Zaftig spoke easily, confidently. He clicked the remote again, and the first slide came into view. In their swivel chairs, the five Pentagon Officers sat back and turned their attention to the image on the screen. And then they stared. “Jesus, Zaftig, what the hell is this?” demanded Admiral Walrus. “Gentlemen, I give you Prototype 1-A of Project Herculaneum, Specimen Casey: Mr. Casey Rockland.” The image of an impossibly huge, muscled behemoth of a young man was on the screen, presented in four views: front, left, right, and rear. He was squared-jawed, thick-necked, blue-eyed, and handsome, with a deeply cleft chin and full, luscious lips. His arms hung at his side, and his legs were spread confidently well apart. His gaze was centered straight ahead, his jaw set firm with business-like grimness, his head erect. His waist was impossibly slender, given the mass above and below, perhaps 29 inches. His cobblestone abs rippled insanely. His posture was that of a classic anatomy chart. Every vein, every muscle appeared to pulse right off the screen. The young man was clean-shaven. He had a short blond military crew cut, but his eyebrows were thick, dark black, and lustrous. The left brow was slightly elevated with cocky arrogance. His face set him at about 19 years, but the muscle density of his enormous physique made it difficult to precisely age him. Seated in the dark behind the officers, Ensign Sam Victor, Admiral Walrus’ coolly handsome young personal aide de camp, looked evenly up at the screen and took in the image of the young muscleman with cool calm. The muscle boy’s skin – for he was, with his angelic face, little more than a boy, at least in years - was shrink-wrapped over the most astonishing display of musculature Sam had ever seen. Every muscle group, every vein, every cut, every separation stood prominently sculpted, in separate relief from the adjacent muscle group. He wore only the briefest of posing trunks, which sagged deeply to expose the gently curving, then plummeting, upper 6 inches of his tawny-colored, vein-lined penis. His oversized ball sac bulged ferociously in the heavy pouch. The Joints Chiefs were stunned. In the front-view image on the far left, subject Casey Rockland displayed hugely rounded, shining, mountainous pectoral muscles, gleaming with powerful deep furrows of striations, punctuated with thick dark brown, 3-inch sand dollar-sized nipples, poutily pointing downward. His broad shoulders, thick powerful traps and heavy delts looked as if the boy could easily carry a 600 pound bull around a corral. His lats spread almost horizontally behind him like the outspread wings of an eagle. The mighty 3-headed biceps were triple slabs of muscle on each arm, huge beyond all reasoning, the forearms laced with networks of half and quarter-inch iron thick veins. The boy held his enormous hands at his sides, his heavy fingers and thick thumbs crooked slyly inward towards his bulging crotch. Smokestack quads rippled and burst with muscle, and he was supported by a set of calves that ballooned behind him. His feet were enormous, with large thick toes and perfectly groomed nails. His tanned skin glowed with health. Sam assumed the subject’s teeth were probably perfect, too, but for the moment his gaze was leveled just below Casey’ rippling midsection. Well, well, he thought. Let’s just look you over, now. Just who are you, buddy? Superman? Captain America? Tiny Yokum? Johnny Holmes? Naw. This was no cartoon character. No porn star. But no superfreak that Sam had ever encountered before – and he had known many – could boast the cock this boy had. Between his legs in the front view hung a monster penis, less than half covered by the straining, flimsy Spandex posing trunks. The top half of Casey’s shaft was plainly visible. The trunks loomed heavily with the outlined round bulge and piss slit of his cock head. The generals were now murmuring loudly in shocked disapproval. Admiral Walrus just sat and stared. Behind them in the darkness, most of the aides and junior officers avoided one another’s glances. A few men gazed meekly down into their laps, looking up only furtively with appreciative eyes. A few stared outright. “This specimen, gentlemen,” intoned Zaftig’s voice out of the dark, “or, if you prefer, Private 1st Class Casey Rockland, is at present only one the world’s most perfectly-developed men. There are, of course, 19 other specimens.” Sam let out a low whistle. Ensign Tyler, to his immediate left, caught it. “There are 20 of these dudes?” Sam murmured to Tyler. “There’s a challenge for you, Sam. Never known you to turn your back on a challenge.” Tyler responded. “Shut the fuck up, Tyler, or no play time later.” Tyler smiled sardonically but said no more. Sam leaned back to enjoy the view. His brought his big hands behind his head, and leaned back in his seat to contemplate. He focused on the image of Casey’s crotch and allowed himself to dream, if just a little. Casey’s testicles bulged heavy and full in the sac of white Spandex, and the top quarter of the shaft of the penis spilled out and curved visibly downward before being enmeshed in the barely restraining pouch. The cock appeared flaccid, but no matter: the thickness was like tube of a flashlight, and the cock head bulged and pointed down with insistent heaviness. Under the thin sheath of Spandex, Sam could make out the long, curling, resting shaft, the rim of the bulbous cock head, the bulging cock head itself, the inviting piss slit, and the 2-softball scrotum. Curled tufts of iron black pubic hair spilled out from beneath the poser’s tightly hemmed edges. The poser straps strained mid-hips, threatening to burst from the weight. In the left and right side views, thick horseshoe triceps rippled along the battlefield-ready arms, their huge round sweep arcing backward. His pecs bloomed mightily, those taut brown nipples still tantalizingly pointing down. Lower, brick-like washboard abdominal muscles tapered into that impossibly slender yet powerful, vascular waistline. His obliques curved up and outward with menacing power. The roundness of the hard butt and the sweep of Casey’s hamstrings jutted past the back of the line of his head. In the rear view, his deltoids upended mightily blending into mountainous traps, soaring into a thick network of back muscle. His legs were spread wide. Two tight globes of thick, oblong gluteus muscle curved below a rock-solid butt shelf of power. His rocky butt glistened with sweat and oil: a blissfully full, solid, fatless furnace of power. Each splendidly ripped butt cheek appeared to be glancing slightly to the side, barely opening the center spread. Mr. Rockland’s poser was as inadequate going as it was coming, and unable to hide the deep red cherry butthole, which glowed invitingly around the right edge of the tight thin strap that traveled and sank into deep, darkened buttcrack. Below, the exponentially huge, shaped and separated hamstrings exploded, supported by freaky split calf muscles. Get a grip, Victor, Sam thought to himself. It’s just a picture. In his loose white Navy uniform slacks, Sam felt his own cock twitch longingly. He shifted uncomfortably in his seat, and reaching down surreptitiously beneath his regulation belt, his slipped his hand into his rapidly knotting underwear. He rearranged his package. Next to him, Tyler was doing the same thing. They caught each other’s eyes, and in spite of themselves had to suppress immediate blasts of explosive mirth. “Quiet, back there!” barked Walrus. Then: “We came here tonight to see a fucking muscleman?” he said dangerously to Zaftig. Tyler was suddenly seized with a fit of coughing, and Sam busied himself with his laptop, seemingly taking serious notes. Lucky he thought to bring it, he mused. It was covering a fierce erection, now pushing protestingly out of his tight uniform trousers. “I think you’ll find all the men interesting, Admiral Walrus. This specimen, Casey Rockland is 19 years old. He is 6’- 7” tall,” said Zaftig, now in full control. “He weighs 335 pounds. Casey was enrolled in the project formally only a few months ago, when he was just 18. Already he has made extraordinary gains.” Sam noted that the men on either side of him seemed to be breathing more heavily. His cock stirred heavily in his pants, and Tyler was still fooling around with something in his lap. He glanced down the line. Even in the half-light of auditorium he could see that all of the men were beginning to sprout fierce trouser trouts. Even the straight men. “Hmmm,” he thought to himself. “I wonder…” Zaftig continued. “Casey has 1.5% bodyfat. He’s in splendid health, his heart very slightly enlarged perhaps, but his blood pressure holds at an even 130/80. Casey’s lungs are clear. To our knowledge, he has never in his life smoked a cigarette. He can run almost 30 miles per hour for 2 to 3 hours at a stretch. He bench-presses 800 pounds, and can easily perform single arm curls at 160 pounds. He squats easily with 500 pounds, and has been known to do deadlifts of 600 pounds in a set of 25 repetitions.” Zaftig coughed modestly. “Casey is also an accomplished gymnast, and can hold an iron cross on the rings without moving for 5 minutes. His extreme flexibility enables him to land from a flying dismount into a full 180 degree split.” Baby, breathed Sam to himself. Come to daddy. He licked his lips just a little. Tyler was taking short, shallow breaths, as if he was hyperventilating. “Calm down,” Sam chuckled to Tyler, who was trying in vain to appear neutral. Tyler elbowed him sharply. “You calm down…” he muttered, shifting uncomfortably. Sam smiled and ignored him. “Go, man, go!” came a breathless voice from down at the end of the row. Clearly Sam and Tyler weren’t the only men excited by what they were seeing. Zaftig clicked his remote. A new slide appeared with Casey holding a front double biceps pose. “Casey has 26 inch biceps,” Zaftig continued. “His waistline measures 30” after a heavy meal. His quadriceps are 32 inches, and his chest, when expanded, measures a rather staggering 69 inches. His calves and his forearms are, respectively, 20 inches and 25 inches.” Yes, I was going to ask about Casey’s dimensions, Sam thought wickedly. He glanced right and left and observed his colleagues were probably wondering, with various degrees of personal interest, the same thing. “He eats 8 times a day, about 15,000 calories daily, a special diet of lean meat protein, clean animal fat, and low carbs. He drinks between 5 to 8 gallons of water during the course of a normal day. He trains 4 days a week, and the other three days he is required to remain at full body rest and in meditation, so that his body may fully recover and continue the growth process. His workouts are not shade less than brutal. Still, we are very careful not to overtrain any of the men, but because of Casey’s particular passion for heavy bodybuilding, in his case, we have to be unusually strict and watchful. He’d be in the gym day and night if we allowed it. Fortunately, over the years, we’ve learned better.” “I’ll bet you have,” thought Sam. “Casey’s also a black belt in karate and could be a champion extreme fighter – that is, if I ever let him out of the lab.” Zaftig smiled devilishly. “He has a mean left hook,” he added. “He can knock a 250 pound man unconscious with a single punch. His vision far better than 20/5 – what you can see at 5 feet, he can see at 20. Casey doesn’t drink or do drugs. And he has never in the three years we have worked with him here at Valhalla had so much as a gram of processed sugar. In short, gentlemen, Casey Rockland is a perfectly-developed male specimen.” One of the 1-star generals on the Committee blurted out. “Doesn’t do drugs,” General Needling echoed, as if appalled. “That’s a steroided physique if I ever I saw one!” he shouted. Walrus frowned. Another officer, General Wampum, added his harsh agreement. “He’s Ahhh-nold,” came a deep voice from somewhere in the junior officer row. “I’ll beeee beck.” Some chuckles, immediately silenced when Walrus, without turning around, sharply lifted an index finger to one ear. The men were clearly covering their growing excitement with feeble jokes. Zaftig continued. “On the contrary, gentlemen, there are no contraband controlled substances anywhere in Casey’s bloodstream. He’d test negative for any drug. No growth hormone, no insulin, no pain blockers. Nothing synthetic. I assure you there have never been any sort of street drug protocols at any time in Casey’s extraordinary development. Casey receives nightly injections of P-21, Valhalla Labs patented muscle-building enzyme, painstakingly developed by our technicians a decade ago, and unavailable to the general public. All of Project Herculaneum’s subjects receive nightly injections. There are no negative side-effects of any kind to P-21.” He paused for effect. “And it is not a steroid.” Zaftig let that sink in. Admiral Walrus snorted. He didn’t believe a word of this crap. He’d had enough, and the meeting wasn’t 3 minutes old. “What the hell are you talking about, Zaftig?” demanded Walrus. “Is this how you’ve been spending your Pentagon contract? Is this what you’ve brought us across the country from D.C. to see? A muscleman?! Some gym freak? Goddamn it, man!” “Admiral Walrus, sir, “ said Zaftig, his voice lowered to easy familiarity, “let’s just look at the facts. Casey Rockland is no ‘gym freak.’ He’s not simply “a muscleman.” Casey is the result of years of pain-staking research, protocols, hard-core training, and delicate systemic honing. He and the other 19 men we are presenting to you tonight are uniquely developed physically perfect beings. They are trained to exert control in all situations, and to follow orders to the letter. To the letter, I might repeat.” I can think of a few orders I could issue, thought Sam, shifting in his seat. Once again, his twitching cock was beginning to bind in his shorts. He mused if such wishful thinking might indeed have a payoff. The Generals murmured in low tones to Walrus, who nodded fiercely. “He looks – what did you call it?” Needling whispered again to Walrus. “He looks Photoshopped! How do we know this is real? No man looks like this!” Zaftig turned and faced the group. “Gentlemen, I assure you, there’s no trickery here,” he confided with a touch of theatricality. “Zaftig, this is a waste of our time.” Walrus started to get up as if to leave. The other officers stirred, hesitating. Zaftig resumed pacing. “Gentlemen, I confess, I’m disappointed. In fact, I’m speechless. You think this is all pure speculation?” He gestured at the figure on the screen. “Theory? Scientifically uncertain? Wish fulfillment, perhaps? Photoshop?” He paused for effect, and turned to a tall, lanky, owl-like man hovering at the end of the first row. “Dr. Shaft? Perhaps you might confirm to the Admiral…..?” He waited smugly. The Joint Chiefs personal physician, Dr. Shaft, was invariably called in as a paid expert on any matter remotely medical, for which service he balanced his time between coasts, living half his life with his annoying socialite wife of 35 years in an impressive Chevy Chase McMansion near the Washington, D.C. beltway, the other in a smaller, more secluded ocean-front home off the Pacific Palisades. Shaft had remained silent and withdrawn up to now. He turned meekly to Admiral Walrus, cleared his throat and spoke nervously. “Admiral Walrus….requesting your indulgence, sir, but Dr. Zaftig is quite correct. Casey – and the other 19 muscle specimens – does indeed exist. And his specifications and dimensions are just as Dr. Zaftig is presenting them to be tonight.” Walrus grunted. “After all, Admiral Walrus,” said Zaftig smoothly, “Dr. Shaft is your own representative in Project Herculaneum.” “And they’re all living here in this compound?” he demanded. “Now? Tonight?” “Yes, sir. They’re all in residence here at Valhalla Labs. You can see them for yourself in a few minutes, if you wish. In fact, we have planned on it.” A moment passed. Walrus resumed. “Get on with it, then,” he muttered. “It’s a waste of my time, but get on with it.” He snorted. “Admiral Walrus, sir,” said Dr. Shaft, placating him with superior charm. “Dr. Zaftig and the team at Valhalla are indeed introducing a species of super-beings. I have had the opportunity to personally review them myself in the not-too-distant past.” For years, Dr. Shaft had upon occasion enjoyed the discreet company of out of town young male visitors from Venice, California in his West Coast home, whose ‘careers’ on the bodybuilding competition stage he had generously funded. When Zaftig’s informant, one retired pro bodybuilder by the name of Miles Donovan, revealed Shaft’s little secret, Zaftig knew he had an ally, if an unwilling one, amongst the Joint Chiefs. He’d played his cards right, and covertly brought Shaft in months before for an unofficial unveiling. Shaft had been stunned into fawning speechlessness, and gratefully accepted a deal in exchange for support. Zaftig found the man useful but repugnant. And now - review the men? Is that what he calls it? “Let’s not exaggerate, Dr. Shaft. I haven’t created a species. After all, I’m not Victor Frankenstein,” Zaftig said humorously. “Aren’t you?” asked Dr. Shaft. “Who are they? Where did they come from?” asked General Wampum, glaring at Shaft. “They all came to me on their own at different times during the last 18 years,” replied Dr. Zaftig. “On their own, they were already splendid specimens, ranging in age from 18 to 40. Though I searched them all out personally, no one was recruited. Moreover, their dedication to this project is unquestioned.” Zaftig’s audience began to murmur. “This is crazy,” said Wampum. “Crazy?” Zaftig responded, his voice raising. “Crazy, you say? I assure you, General Wampum, these men are real and at the height of their development.” The officers all seemed to speak at once. “Perhaps, to satisfy your doubts, I might pause and take some of your questions now.” “They’re volunteers?” “Are they soldiers or civilians?” “What are their backgrounds?” “How about their general health? Are they medical freaks?” “Are they even Americans?” Walrus demanded to know. “Are they even human?” asked Wampum. “Dr. Zaftig, I have a question.” Sam raised his hand. Walrus half turned, but nodded, permitting the question. Ensign Victor may look like just a pretty boy, but he has brains and guts, Walrus thought. His gesture silenced the group, and he allowed the Ensign the floor with a slight nod of his head. “You haven’t mentioned I.Q. How sharp is Casey’s intellect?” For the first time so far that evening, Zaftig seemed to hesitate. He recovered instantly, but Sam caught momentary crack in the façade. “Casey has the normal requirements of intelligence for a gifted soldier,” he answered. Aha. “This man’s a soldier? He’s enlisted in the US Army?” demanded Admiral Walrus. General Wampum preened a little. “Casey Rockland holds the rank of Private 1st Class in the US Army,” repeated Zaftig, but offered no more information. “Dammit, Wampum, why didn’t you know this?” Walrus demanded. General Wampum stopped preening and slumped in his seat. General Needling came to his defense. “We didn’t know any more about this than you did, Walrus,” he growled. Zaftig turned back to the image of flexing Casey, resuming his presentation as if nothing had happened. He brought his pointer up, lightly touching the tip to the biceps of the left arm. “Note the triple biceps head,” he continued. “The unusually separated deltoids, and the dynamically thick trapezius muscles.” His pointer lightly tapped each muscle group as he spoke. “You see the unusually dense vascularity. Also, pay special attention to Casey’s thin skin. Men with this low bodyfat are often cold, their own bodies incapable of supplying sufficient heat, and their skin can be fragile. Casey is never cold. His metabolism prevents it. And his skin is as tough as rawhide.” I’ll just bet, thought Sam. Zaftig clicked through a series of images showing Casey stripped down in different posing straps, in a various array of training room shots and routines. He lingered on a final image of Casey in a deep leg squat, a barbell of several hundred pounds weight resting easily on his shoulders. His hams were so thick they almost touched the floor. Behind him his butt curved powerfully upward. Far from grimacing at the colossal weight, Casey’s handsome face appeared serene. The auditorium pinged with tense silence. The officers stared hard at Dr. Zaftig. Zaftig gazed calmly back, his mouth now a thin line of determination. Behind him at the head of the table, the screen was frozen with Casey in deep squat suspension, the only light in the dimmed room. Zaftig resumed airily. “Casey Rockland and the other 19 perfectly-developed specimens not only are living and training full time in this very facility, they’re thriving. Within this very complex, these 20 perfect men completed their second shift in another day’s hard training protocol 30 minutes ago. They’ve showered and changed two levels below us while we’ve been talking. In fact, they’re not more than 100 feet away from where you’re sitting now.” Sam’s ears perked up. Zaftig placed his palms on the dais table and leaned in towards the uniformed officers. “I am ready to present them to you now, if you wish.” He let the statement sink in for impact, and pushed away from the table. Behind the Generals and Admiral Walrus, the Junior Officers shifted uncomfortably in their chairs. All except Sam. This is getting interesting, he thought. “Perhaps I should do just that,” Dr. Zaftig said, “We might amend the agenda tonight. I think we need to break a little early. You all probably want to see the results for yourselves. Only then can you make an informed determination for your report.” He crossed toward the stage apron and turned to the group. “If you will all will be so good as to accompany me into the lab?” Confusion. The officers look dumbly at one another. Even Walrus said nothing. No one moved. Zaftig clicked his remote again, and the screen rose. “Dr. Irving?” he called out, climbing the stairs to the stage. “We’re coming into the lab now. Get the men ready.” He flicked some switches on a panel and the stage lights came up. At the back of the stage, a white-coated lab technician appeared, opening double doors. Beyond, the white glare of Valhalla Laboratories was revealed. “Admiral Walrus, Dr. Shaft, General Needling, Gentlemen: if you’ll all follow me.” Zaftig turned without a backward glance and crossed the stage to the opened lab doors. He turned and beckoned the group to follow him. A moment later the group rose, and with some uncomfortable putting away of laptops which had been hiding bulges, and with embarrassing shifting of slacks and trousers, which told the telltale signs of arousal, they crossed the stage and entered the lab. And with the notable exceptions of Walrus and Wampum, Zaftig noted with some satisfaction, that every man in uniform was sporting a straight-ahead trouser trout bulge. ******* Click below for the next chapter! "The Twenty" - A Muscle Novel in Progress - Chapter 18 - Inside Zaftig's Lab: The Musclemen Revealed
  20. Pretty much a mixed bag this week! https://www.pornhub.com/view_video.php?viewkey=ph5c25f99c42e74 (with Sascha Zalman) https://www.pornhub.com/view_video.php?viewkey=ph5c24c83c44257 (with Sascha Zalman) https://www.pornhub.com/view_video.php?viewkey=ph5c2712500af33 https://www.pornhub.com/view_video.php?viewkey=ph5c24c83bae47c (Cassinelli) https://www.pornhub.com/view_video.php?viewkey=ph5c24a50841464 (Cassinelli - with Boris Makov) https://www.pornhub.com/view_video.php?viewkey=ph5a1bc2051a7b5 https://www.pornhub.com/view_video.php?viewkey=ph5c268739cecbc (with Joey Jordan) https://www.pornhub.com/view_video.php?viewkey=ph5b0a5392b3b6f (from The Best Flex) https://www.pornhub.com/view_video.php?viewkey=ph567c28b3dcbc1 (with the Blake Brothers) https://www.pornhub.com/view_video.php?viewkey=ph5c15e12215e21 (with Justin Morinetti - Smoking Hunks)
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