Muscle Worshippers: Chapter 4 of 14

[LJackson]

Chapter 3 is here.

 

4

Olly

Monday, August 4th

 

Today has not gone exactly as I planned.

I was too busy at the weekend to write this, although now I guess I can see I was busy keeping myself busy, finding excuses not to ruminate. I realised suddenly how much my bedroom belonged to the me before I went to Uni. Perhaps it belonged to the me before Friday, too. I binned my Coldplay poster and went to Homebase for tins of paint. They made my arms ache carrying them home — I suppose I wanted to prove something to myself, and failed. I suppose I proved just how weak I am.

And I had long text conversations with Sophie, trying to talk her into giving me a firm date to come up to London. Every time she put me off, I felt I knew absolutely for certain that she had found somebody new. A real man. Someone bigger than me. Someone who can carry two tins of paint back from Homebase without wincing, anyway.

Someone who's not another man's bitch.

I forgot to mention that on Friday, Mr B.'s only comment on the whole situation was that he didn't like to see me dressing casually. I don't know if he somehow thought I'd initiated the dirty atmosphere by showing my elbows in public, I don't know what he thinks, if anything, but because I am basically in his power, I borrowed a pale blue shirt off Anthony. I didn't think he was so much bigger than me, but he must be, because it was flapping around me. I've never felt so skinny, and my body was slick with sweat by the afternoon.

All day, in the heat and silence, feeling I could still smell that girl's juices all day, smell that big guy's sweat, I began to lay real plans for what to do next. I could easily get the bus into Lewisham one afternoon, go to Argos, buy a cheap set of weights, and get to work. I could do it in my bedroom and nobody would know anything was different. It would take a few months for me to see some change, but I was feeling committed. I could get Mum to make protein rich meals, without her quite catching on to what I was doing.

I didn't ask myself why I wanted to keep it all a secret. I didn't want to admit that it was about insecurity, about being a man and not a boy. I certainly didn't want to think that it was about sex. And yet the whole day, all I could see was that girl lapping at the big guy's crotch. That could be you, I thought.

The guy, not the girl. Obviously.

I left the library, ready to throw off that stupid outsize shirt and let the fresh air at my body. I was pretty upbeat about my plans and I was just pursing my lips to whistle when I spotted the Beast waiting for me, on the other side of the road.

For a second, I thought about running away. Then I knew I had to fight.  It would be like swinging a punch at a brick wall, but anything else and I'd feel like the bitch he had made me on Friday. I set my jaw, balled my fists, and crossed the road.

The thing is, when he saw me, he smiled. And as much as it was hard for him to do, it wasn't a scary smile. He suddenly looked told off, like a little boy.

'Hey, bro,' he said.

'Hey,' I said, more squeakily than I intended.

'I was, uh, hoping I'd get to see you.'

I didn't let myself relax, even if I could. I did a vague shrug. 'Here I am.'

'You got five minutes?'

'Well...' I didn't feel I could lie to him. And I was full of curiosity now. What did he want? 'Yeah, man, I'm cool for another hour. You want to walk in the park?'

'Cool, bro.'

I was desperate to unbutton my shirt and let the cool air get to my skin, but seeing him again was a reminder of his enormous, veiny forearms, his biceps like huge sandbags of flesh, and the massive cubes of muscle that were his chest, each one dimpling his t-shirt with a grape-like nipple. I could make out massed curls of dark hair on that chest also pressing on the thin fabric of his t-shirt.

Walk along beside him with my scrawny, hairless body on show? No way.

We walked across the grass together. His body rippled slowly as he moved. I wonder if I could ever do the same? Of course I could, it's just a matter of will power. I have that self hidden inside just now. I'm the same as him, he just wears it on the outside. His devotion to size, to power, to strength, is obvious, but it's in me too. I feel it burning now.

'I wanted to apologise for last week,' he said.

'No, don't,' I said.

He looked at me dumbly. 'Really?'

I hesitated. 'Actually, I suppose you're right. I'm just being polite.'

We both laughed. 'Polite is too right,' he said. 'You're too fucking polite, and I don't know what polite is, that's what Estelle said. We ought to meet midway. You ought to smack me in the face, for what I said to you, mate.'

'No,' I said. Again, he smiled. 'I can't,' I said. 'I think I recognised something — not everything — but something true in what you said on Friday.'

'You mean, like, you wanted to be my bitch?'

His hand was resting lying on his crotch. I glanced at it to try and see if he had a hard-on. Did that sort of thing turn him on? That was how it seemed on Friday. I couldn't be sure, though — I could see now that he was, well, rather blessed in that department. His big cock bulged inside his jeans, his big hand lightly resting upon it as though upon a small pillow, but I couldn't see whether he had an erection or was just big down there.

I realised I had been staring at him, somewhat.

'No!' I exclaimed. 'Of course not!'

He smiled. 'I have met guys who... said they wanted that.'

I gave a nervous laugh. For a minute, all I could say was, 'Wow.' I looked down at my body, swaddled in Anthony's shirt. 'That must be pretty weird.'

'Yeah, of course,' he said. 'But when you look like this, people feel they have a claim on you.'

'I feel sort of jealous,' I told him.

'Ah, who wouldn't be?' he said, and rolled over on his back. 'Yeah, it's nice having people stare as you walk down the street. Who wouldn't want to be a freak like that? I'd hate to be, you know, normal size.'

'You were normal size at school, though, right?'

He stared up at the sky. 'I started working out when I was sixteen. I was getting pretty big when we left school. You went off to develop your mind, right? University and all of that?'

'Astrophysics.'

He whistled. 'Well, this is my degree, my qualifications.' He felt his right bicep and squeezed it till it was massive. 'Oh, yes...'

I ran my eyes back and forth over his body, laid out on the grass, like it was a car he'd built: the product of five years' hard work. 'Why did you decide to do it?'

'This is who I am,' he said. 'I think that's what you recognised, isn't it? Like you said. This is who you are, too, right? It's just nobody can tell because you're little on the outside.'

'It's not exactly like I should thank you,' I said.

'If you had what I had, you could pin me down and give me what you think I deserve,' he said.

'I'm not a violent person,' I said.

He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. 'Doing this to your body — it upsets certain balances. You become more than a man, Olly. Your lusts are greater. Sometimes, the red mists come down...'

'Like Friday?'

'Perhaps I saw something in you too,' he said.

'You saw someone you wanted to humiliate,' I said.

'Yeah, but in that moment, it was fun. It was hot. It was for Polly... sort of. I knew it would get her juices flowing, and fuck me, was I right. We came right here. This patch of grass. The sun was beating down. She got my cock out and she just rode it, man. Just spat all over it and rode it till she squirted.' He grabbed his cock now in memory of that ride.

I grabbed my own cock, involuntarily, but probably nobody noticed.

'Later, she told me what a cunt I'd been. I was hardly conscious of it at the time, on a chemical high. She told me I should make it up to you. I told her you'd probably prefer her to make it to you, but then, it wasn't her who did all that shit to you on Friday.'

'No,' I said. 'Anyway, I have a girlfriend.'

'Really, man?' he grinned. 'That's cool. What's she like?'

'Beautiful. Clever.'

'Is she crazy for your cock?'

I looked down at my hands. 'She's never actually seen me naked. I was hoping that would happen soon, when she visits from Brighton. I'm not sure she's really so interested.'

'Dude, that's not the spirit.'

I shrugged. 'I was actually thinking, if you have any tips, about — you know — lifting a few weights.'

His hand was suddenly around my arm, sizing it up. His fist pretty much encircled my forearm, no problem, and it was hardly a stretch for him to size up my non-existent bicep. As he squeezed, his own muscle bulged, almost grotesquely. I could smell the sweat in the hairs on his arm.

Then he was reaching through Anthony's shirt and feeling up my chest, which is flat all the way down, clumsily pinching my sweaty nipple through the cotton fabric. He felt my scrawny belly and then my thigh as if appraising a cut of meat.

Then he laughed. 'Lots of work to do there,' he said. 'I don't think lifting a couple of budget weights from Argos will quite cut it.'

My heart sank. I felt so disconsolate, I stopped feeling angry about the way he'd run his hands over me. Why shouldn't he treat me like that? He was obviously used to dealing with the body as simply flesh. He was the best judge I could ask for.

Just a shame he'd judged me so harsh.

'Hey, why the long face, bro?' he said, laughing. 'I didn't say it was impossible. But you're going to have to take it serious. To start with, you have to join a gym.'

'I guess.'

'No, really. You need serious equipment if you wanna be...'

I finished his sentence with the only word in my mind. 'Big.'

'That's really what you want?' His voice was soft.

A shiver went through me, as if I was in a rocket ship during take-off. 'Yeah.'

He punched my arm. 'Knew it, bro. I knew it. Hey, I think we ought to have a session right now.' He was suddenly rigid, half rising off the grass. 'You want to come?'

'Where to?'

'Uranus,' he said, and then burst out laughing when he saw my face. 'It's my gym, dickhead. It's not far fro m here, which is one plus point, and I can get you in for free as my spotter.'

'Don't I need to know stuff to do that?'

'Not today,' he said. 'It'll be good to go there with a friend. I never have before.'

I followed him out of the park, back into the village. I was telling my surprise new friend about the gym in East Dulwich, the council one that I'd thought of joining. I thought it might still be too expensive for me, though, even though it was the cheapest option. I was trying to hint to him that I didn't exactly have ready funds to join a place full-time. He didn't seem to be getting the gist, though, just kept telling me stories about his first time working out, how he couldn't live without it nowadays.

And in spite of myself, I was thinking: this is the first step. No matter how long it takes for the second step, I'm starting on that road down to maximum size. I already have a guy like the Beast on my side, someone to ask questions, someone to encourage me.

No, more than that. A true friend who understands that desire to make your biceps grow, the pleasure in inspiring envy in other guys, the longing to make your belly solid, to make your very grip an object of destruction. A brother in muscle.

Maybe even more than that.

His gym is in a corner of the village that I've not visited before, near the art gallery The building looks Victorian. There's a big bronze plaque on the wall, but I would never have guessed before now the sort of thing that happened inside. In fact, there was a sort of mystery to the place that made me think the gym might not be the whole story. I'm not sure exactly what I mean — I hadn't tried to put it into words until now.

Anyway, it did have a gym inside it, and apparently it's men only. I suppose that is a bit odd, but not unheard of, and I was secretly relieved. I don't want any girls — especially fit girls — seeing me in this state. Only once I've put on some mass.

Of course, I could never afford to join the Beast's gym. Its top of the range, high class. But more on that later.

He wanted to show me the ropes, he said. Obviously, I couldn't go into the gym in my work clothes, but the Beast keeps a set of gym clothes in the locker room. In one smooth move he pulled off his Uranus Gyms tee and handed it to me.

'It'll do for today at least,' he said. 'Sorry if it pongs a bit.'

A dark smell hung around the fabric: I suppose it was just sweat, but it had a sort of animal tang to it. I wondered if he worked with animals somewhere. I wondered if he worked at all. Was he a kept man?

I realised I was staring at his naked chest, the dark hair slicked down with perspiration over his massive pecs like a Japanese silk screen print of a forested mountain. His nipples were immense and dark, and something about the smell of the shirt and the way he looked at me, I momentarily wondered what it would be like to put my mouth around one. God knows, I was that worked up about the idea of visiting a gym for the first time. Crazy the way your brain runs sometimes.

I peeled Anthony's shirt from my sweat-sodden body, and the Beast looked me over and gave a little chortle. Seeing my expression he said, 'No, but you've got hardly any body fat at all. That's good. You may be scrawny but you'll show the muscle much sooner.'

Heartened, I undid the fly on my trousers and pulled them to my ankles. I caught him looking at my chicken legs, and obviously deciding not to comment. He handed me a spare pair of shorts and I pulled them on, tightening the cord as far as they would go to make up for my lack of girth.

I looked away as he was changing into his shorts, beginning to worry he was getting the wrong idea. He seemed cheerful, though. I really think he's been working out on his own this past three years.

The actual space with the equipment was immediately intimidating. Overhead strip lights cast shadows in all directions. The equipment glinted in the glare, like the beads of sweat in the Beast's cropped hair.

To start he had us doing press-ups, just as warm-ups. I remember doing these, no problem, when I was a kid. Well, this time I had a problem. I didn't understand at first, till the Beast pointed out how much more weight I have to press now, even in my minuscule condition. He, on the other hand, moved like a piece of machinery, rising and falling smoothly, a little hiss of breath escaping on every exertion. I tried again and managed about five before my arms crumpled and I fell to the floor.

Like I said, that was just the start.

Next we did some stretches. That was a lot easier, of course, but still I could feel how out of shape I was, how unskilled, how used to just slouching about. The Beast showed me how to stretch out my chest muscles, how to relax my neck. He got me to lie on my back with a leg in the air, and he pressed against me, ensuring I was stretched as far as I could go. His big dick was pressing against my thigh through my gym shorts, and suddenly I pictured him doing this with his girlfriend.

Estelle, he'd called her. The one who had told him he should prostrate himself before me. Well, the reverse seemed to have happened. Did he stretch her out like he was doing me? Do girls have to do that when their men have big knobs like he does? Does Sophia expect that from me? Could I ever stretch her out the way a real man like the Beast could do?

I mustn't feel down about this. If I put on muscle it'll make up for my little dick. God, she'll be on heat 24-7, she'll never look at another guy, knowing what I can do to her. What he could do to her now.

Yes, I mustn't let him meet her...

Next he took me over to the dumbbell bench, standing against a wall of mirrors. He picked up a couple of big weights, 30kg I'm pretty sure, and began doing alternating bicep curls, slowly bringing the weight up toward his shoulder, his forearms suddenly springing out with vascularity, his biceps bulging outward. Well, I thought, I'm not going to try and lift the same as him. I picked up 20kg.

Perhaps I should have asked first. I stood beside him, watching him alternating these big blocks of metal, and I couldn't get either of mine even above waist height. My muscles were straining and my arms were shaking and I managed to raise the right one, but the left one just wasn't happening at all.

This is real, I told myself. This is strength, and lack of strength. It's not just aesthetic. This is about what you can and can't lift.

I put back the 20kg, tried it with 10kg, put that back and started with 5kg.

The Beast met my eye in the mirror, and smiled. 'I'll lead you through a routine,' he told me.

We did alternating dumbbell curls, and then a set of dips — the kind of thing I did all the time on the staircase when I first arrived at St Edward's, I know it, but something I couldn't manage at all now — to lift yourself up, basically, to rest on your forearms and then lever yourself back into the air. Fortunately, you can set the machine so that it helps you a bit.

 Naturally, the Beast needed no help. In fact, he looked in danger of buckling the dip station. He showed me how to do pull-ups, too, the reverse situation essentially. I managed a couple, and stood back to watch him pull himself off the ground like a mountain climber.

We went back and forth, doing sets on the dip station and the dumb-bells, until I ended up back where I'd been with the too-heavy weights. My heart sank, but he explained that's all part of the process. If you don't push yourself to the point where you can't go on, your muscle will never be torn, never be stimulated, never grow. He knows all about it. He's grown from something much like me into something — dangerously big.

Then he took me over to the bench where the barbells stood in racks. This was something else I'd seen on TV. I tried picking them up, testing the weight, and found I was just about comfortable with a 15kg. I lay down on the bench as he directed, and he stood over my face, explaining what I had to do. I looked up directly along the mass of his thighs, the huge mound of his dick in his shorts, the hill of his belly, and the peaks of his chest. I felt like he could have crushed me, harder than that barbell, if he'd wanted to.

He grabbed my hands in his huge paws and positioned them precisely on the bar, getting me to hold it directly over my chest so that it grazed my nipples. That was the line I had to keep coming back to. I lifted it high, in a quick smooth motion as instructed, and lowered it slowly to my nipples, the cold iron bar weighing solidly upon them through his t-shirt.

I managed to do the number of repetitions he suggested, each time the bar pressing more firmly on my nipples. I could feel a strange sense of power below my forearms, which stayed ramrod straight throughout. I had benchpressed 15kg for the first time in my life!

He made me do some wrist extenders then, to work on my forearms, and then back to the bench press. Round and round till the strength in my chest muscles gave out and the bar rolled across my chest. I felt so fucking good. I felt like there was some power hidden in me that was beginning to flame into life.

It waned slightly when I saw how much the Beast was pressing. He had to load plates onto the bar specially and fit them into the rack. Then he asked me to stand behind him, just where he had stood before, and he looked up at me from where he lay on the bench.

I had to hold the bar, and if I felt like he was losing control of it, I had to heave with all my might and stop it, I suppose, landing on his throat. That neck of his was looking so huge and muscular that I joked the bar would just bounce off it, and he laughed, but he was still businesslike.

The first ten reps, he did with his usual machine smoothness. I watched the muscles working in his arms. God, how enormous were they. My own were like bits of nylon compared to knots of rope. He rested, then went for ten more reps, and these were slower, and his face was red and straining. The last of his final ten reps, he gasped and lost control of the weight. It was too heavy even for him.

I did all I could to hold it above him, but it was like gravity and decided to take it and I couldn't quarrel with him. He just managed to catch it at the last moment and settle it down on his barrel chest. 'Fuck,' he said.

It was an intense moment, seeing him lose control. It was only a tiny thing, the briefest moment, but I felt like he had shown me some of the vulnerability he had forced out of me on Friday. I think any last doubts about the respect between us were quashed in that moment.

'How was that?' he asked, staring up at me with slightly mad eyes. His giant chest was rising and falling as he caught his breath.

'Fucking good,' I told him, with a slightly embarrassed smile.

'Want to do some more?'

I nodded.

'You know,' he said, 'I need a spotter here. I always have to ask people, and they never want to. If you're interested, we could work out together all week.'

'Well, I -' I was about to make my excuses, but he cut across me.

'I can get you a free membership, of course. I'm close to senior people in Uranus.'

For a second I didn't quite follow what he meant. Then I was grinning.

'Okay,' I said, 'Cool.'

'Let's do some more,' he said.

'Yeah,' I said.

He did shoulder presses next. 'My shoulders are shit, mate,' he said, a sad little look in his face. He wouldn't let me disagree. 'You don't know strength yet,' he said. 'You'll see how bad my shoulders were.'

He got me put my hands under his biceps for the final rep, so he could go through the burn and lift, even when his arms were tiring. He pressed massive dumbbells over his head, with multiple weights the size of an LP. He grunted and gasped as he went, and again I began fantasising about him and Estelle, and how hard he fucked her. When you're big, do you have to be careful, the power you fuck at?

Or do they want you to give them everything you have. God, I want to find out.

We went into separate cubicles when we showered off. I thought about him and Estelle and found my dick was rock hard. I had a bar of soap with me, so I sudsed myself up and had a nice slow, slippery wank. The Beast was in the cubicle next to me, and I could see him through the glass. I wondered if I should tell him what I was doing. Is that the sort of thing men do?

No, I think they probably don't.

He called through to say that he was going to towel himself off, and at the very same moment I spunked up the glass wall of the cubicle, biting my lip. I had to stand there and carefully rinse the cum off the glass. I was careful to wrap myself in a towel after. I don't want him to see how small I am down there.

Afterwards, he gave me a protein shake he made himself. He keeps flasks of it in his locker. It was bright red, and it smelt like Hell. It didn't exactly taste like chilled champagne, either, but I love it for that. It tastes like hard work, which is what my life is going to be about from now on. Hard work and dedication, and building myself into my ideal.

I saw the Beast's vulnerable side today. However strong you are, you reach a point where something overpowers you. I love that guy, but one day I've decided I'll take him to that point.

And then he'll be where he had me, down on his knees.