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Hey, Big Guy (Complete Story 6/25/19)


TQuintA

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Chapter 56

            As soon as we recovered, we dressed, found some cleaning supplies in a closet, cleaned up our table, and locked all the cafeteria doors behind us.  We were back in our bed and spooning within a half hour, and back on Charles’s demanding schedule.

            I woke up on Tuesday.  My calendar was so full, I had to take stock of everything that was headed my way.  Counting that day, it was just over a week until the invitational.  Thursday was the last day of class, my philosophy final was due in one week, and the day after that was the invitational.  And Charles had promised that the last week of training was going to be the hardest.

            This was going to be grueling.

            Luke and Dave were nowhere to be found until lunch.  When they did show up at our usual table, they had huge smiles on their faces.

            “Pleasant honeymoon?” I asked.

            “Something like that,” Luke said.

            “What did you two get up to last night?” Dave asked with a leading tone.

            James unabashedly announced, “Chris walked across campus naked and then we fucked at this exact table.”

            Dave, genuinely taken aback, said, “I thought I was the dramatic one.”

            Luke’s big, cheesy smile was back.  “That’s right, studs.”  He pounded James’s fist, and then mine.

            “It wasn’t on Charles’s schedule, but last night was special,” I said.

            “I’ll say,” Dave said, hiding something behind his voice.

            I would have pried to find out what the secret was, but Charles was expecting us in the athletic center.  And then the days began to blur together again.

            Lifting.

            Posing.

            Fucking.

            Sleeping.

            Wednesday.

            Class.

            Homework.

            Eating.

            Lifting.

            Dancing.

            Fucking.

            Sleeping.

            Thursday

            Class.

            Homework.

            Eating.

            Lifting.

            Posing.

            Fucking.

            Sleeping.

            On Friday, the absence of class made my world feel like a record that had skipped its groove.  Charles filled in the schedule with some extra lifting, posing, and dance practice.  I had come nowhere near close to mastering the intricate feats of the hard dance routine, but I had nailed down the simpler two.  I could barely do a handspring with both hands, but Charles was my unquestioned lord and master, so I still tried to do the one-handed one.  And on top of all that, I still had to write my philosophy paper.  The schedule changed, but only barely.

            Eating.

            Lifting.

            Posing.

            Dancing.

            Fucking.

            Writing

            Lifting.

            Dancing.

            Fucking.

            Sleeping.

            Saturday.

            Eating.

            Lifting.

            Posing.

            Fucking.

            Writing

            Lifting.

            Posing.

            Fucking.

            Sleeping.

            Sunday.

            Eating.

            Lifting.

            Dancing.

            Fucking.

            Writing

            Lifting.

            Posing.

            Dancing.

            Fucking.

            Sleeping.

            Monday.

            Eating.

            Lifting.

            Posing.

            Fucking.

            Writing

            Lifting.

            Dancing.

            Fucking.

            Sleeping

            I woke up, and it was Tuesday morning again.  I felt mighty and powerful.  All my lifts were insanely high, my clothes were feeling tight in the arms and shoulders, but loose around my waist, which was somehow even more taut and defined than it had been a month ago.  I could swear I had the beginnings of a ten-pack, and I thought those were only urban legends.

            I put on my favorite long-sleeved workout shirt so I wouldn’t need to put on a jacket, and I walked to my philosophy professor’s office. I put my essay in his mailbox, and I felt a relief wash over me.  Somewhere deep inside of me, I knew it was an A paper.  I don’t know how I had managed it, but I had.

            When I got back to my room, James was waiting for me in his workout gear.  “It’s weigh-in today.”

            I was blasé about the whole thing, pretty sure I’d still be around 285.  I might even had dropped a little weight.  Sure, I could tell I was stronger, so I might have put on some muscle, but it was counterbalanced and redistributed by some weight I’d lost.  I was beyond shredded.  I thought I could see my muscle fibers before: I now was a relief map of fibers and veins.

            James was far from blasé.  Ever since Charles had forbidden us from weighing ourselves, James was excited to see what his weight was.  He had never put on so much mass so much so fast.  He’d been hovering around 210-215 before Charles’s boot camp, and he had to know just how much he’d put on.

            We got to the athletic center and found Charles in the room he was using as his private office.  He was standing next to a scale.

            “Morning, dudarinos.  I know you’ve been praying for this day.  So, let’s get to doing. Chris, you first.”

            I stepped on the scale, and Charles said, “Excellent.  Right where I expected.”

            I looked down at my mass, as far as I could considering how far out my pecs jutted.  “Can you read the display for me?” I asked.

            “290, silly,” Charles said.

            I’d somehow put on five pounds.  “Aren’t I supposed to lose weight during conditioning?” I asked Charles.

            “You’re an odd one, that’s sure as sugar,” Charles said.  “Now, James, you’re up, fella.”

            We all knew James had put on muscle—Charles had had him on my diet and workout plan—but when James stepped on the scale, I was blown away.

            233.

            James came over to get a huge hug, and I took my opportunity.  “Eighteen pounds in three weeks?” I whispered to James, dumbfounded.  “That’s not biologically possible!”

            “Really?” James said.  “You, of all people, want to tell me what’s biologically possible.”

            “Hey, it didn’t take me three weeks.  It took me thirty seconds,” I said.

            “I hear whispering!” Charles said in his sing-song.  “You two love-doodles really whisper a lot.”

            “Sorry, Charles,” we said in unison.

            “Good work, team!” Charles said.  He turned to James and added, “You’re as big as me now, Mr. Shy-Pants.”

            The realization that my James had grown so big as to be the same size as this frightening mountain of man muscle hit me like a ton of bricks.  Of its own accord, my 16-inch cock grew so stiff that it pulled down the front of my boxer briefs and workout tights.  I felt like I was going to explode right there.

            “I’ll leave you to take care of that,” Charles said.  “Be quick like bunnies.  You’re under my control for one more day, and I won’t let you slack.”

            Once Charles was out of the office, James locked the door behind him and lowered the blind.

            “We’re fucking huge,” James said.  I could see he was equally erect.

            I kept Charles’s desk between James and me.  I had questions before we celebrated.

            “You didn’t Big Guy me while I was asleep or something, did you?”

            “Of course not.  Besides, it only works if you hear it.”

            “Are you sure?  I wouldn’t be mad.”

            “I tried it, of course, back during fall break, and nothing happened.  I promise you, if you don’t hear it, it won’t happen.”

            “Chris, I put on 18 pounds.  You can’t Big Guy me.”

            “Was Charles dosing us with something?  He did always have the cafeteria ladies set aside our food, specially made.”

            “I don’t care.  I don’t care if it was drugs, or if it was the power of suggestion, or if it was magic,” James said.  “You look unbelievable.”

            “I look unbelievable?” I said.  “Look at you.  You’re getting massive yourself, there.  Your pecs are so firm and round, your arms are so powerful...”     

            James interrupted with, “And you’re about to drip pre onto Charles’s desk.”

            I turned to the side so my cockhead was over the floor, and not his desk.

            Through the door, that childlike singsong came in loud and clear. “I hear more whispers when I should be hearing someone slay a dragon.  Make it snappy.”

            James moved over to Charles’s filing cabinet and pulled open the top drawer.  “I was going to have Charles give this to you after the invitational, sort of as a reward, but I think we need its powers now.”

            “What is it?” I asked.

            James took something out of the top drawer and dropped it on Charles’s desk.  “Open to November,” he said.

            “The calendar’s in?” I asked.  I flipped to November, and there I was.  I remember when I took that picture, I was bigger than the entire soccer team, and my cock was so big that I couldn’t fit in the modesty pouch.  And now.

            “I look so tiny,” I said.

            “That’s because the man in that picture,” James said, “that hot man, that man who the photographer called a beefy motherfucker, is tiny compared to you.  Your cock is four whole inches bigger, and you weigh a hundred pounds more than him.”

            Four inches?  A hundred?

            My orgasm came so suddenly that I had no time to brace myself.  The force was so powerful that it knocked me back against the wall in Charles’s office.  Stream after stream of cum sprayed out of my cock.  I roared so loudly that I actually felt my torso rumble.  The sheer massiveness of my body was enough to send me into this height of orgasmic rapture.

            Seeing me cum, James brought himself to a quick orgasm with his right hand, watching my humongous body explode, objectifying me as though I were a porn video and not his boyfriend. 

            As I stood there, trying to get my footing, leaning against the wall, we heard Charles through the door.  “Super-duper.  Change into some fresh workout clothes, and let’s make the most of this last day.”

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Chapter 57

            Dave drove the four of us to the convention center in the city.  The car was a surreal experience.  I’d been in it only two weeks ago, but in just those two weeks, James and I had gotten so big that the back seat was crowded with us, shoulder pressed to shoulder.  And now I did need the seatbelt expander to get the belt around my pecs.

            “Don’t let your ego get too big, Chrissy,” Dave said.  “Luxury cars always have small seatbelts.

            I was dressed in my nicest clothes—Dave insisted.  James had my bag with my posing outfit; I was going to change after we checked in.  Charles had arrived at the convention center before us to get our passes and itinerary, so we walked in through the front doors to find him.

            The first thing I did when I walked in was survey the other bodybuilders and muscle men who had been invited to compete.

            “It can’t be,” I said.  “It just can’t be.”

            Luke, reading my mind, slapped my back.  “Yep, buddy.  You’re the biggest fucker here.  There are some pros who go up above 300 in the off season, but for competitions?  You’re still big dog.”

            My pants suddenly became tight.  “Woof,” I said, trying to sound like I was playing along, like Luke’s comment had just rolled off my back, but I was betrayed by the doubt in my voice.

            “Do I detect a note of reticence?” Dave asked.  “I don’t understand.”

            “I’m a fake.  They’ll spot me for the fake I am.  I don’t think I can do this anymore.”

            “Nonsense,” Dave said.  “You have every right to be here.”

            “Do I?  They earned their muscles.  They’re athletes, Dave.  You keep reminding me how much of one I’m not.”

            Dave burst out laughing.  “Oh my God, Chrissy.  You are taking this way too seriously.  You’re not committing to anything.  This is one bodybuilding show.  You’re not going pro.  You’re not stealing anyone’s livelihood.  This is merely an opportunity.  A key to a door that used to be locked to you.”

            “De-metaphor that, please.”

            “Let’s say you come to LA with me.  To get a job in entertainment, you need name recognition.  You’ve already got a little, but doing a good show here will give you a lot.  Let’s say you take Nicholas Donner up on his offer to be his muse.  To be valuable to him, you need a beautiful body.  Doing a good show here will validate your beauty and raise how much he’ll pay for the privilege to photograph it.  Let’s say you stick with your degree and go into medicine.  To get into that career, you’re going to need a Masters, maybe a PhD.  Doing a good show here will make you stand out from all the other applicants, making it easier to get into the program of your choice.  This is just a feather in your cap, Chrissy.  Enjoy your day.  Don’t take it so seriously.”

            “Thanks, Dave.”

            “No problem.  Just remember that beautiful speech in the next five minutes.”

            “Why?” I asked.

            Dave walked away from me into the crowd and shouted, “Angela!  Matthew!” as he walked to two people who seemed utterly lost and out of place.  Angela was a tall woman with a streak of gray in her sandy blonde hair and a look of nervousness on her face.  She was wearing make-up, but the haphazard way it was applied gave away the fact that she almost never wore it.  She was dressed in a maroon sweater and matching pants in an expensive-looking pair of flats.  She had a death grip around her large black purse, as though letting it go would untether her.  Matthew was a shorter man, only coming up to her shoulder, and his curly brown hair resisted being combed.  His brown eyes sparkled with kindness, but he had a slight squint to them because he refused to wear his glasses.  His cheeks showed the beginnings of smile lines.  He was wearing a Christmas sweater and black denim pants.  Somehow, the whole discordant look made sense when you saw his sneakers: this was a man who put on whatever was closest to him.

            “Angela and Matthew?” I repeated, shocked.

            “Are those?” James asked.

            “Yep,” Luke said.

            “My parents.”

            Dave led my parents back over to where the three of us were standing.  When my father saw me, he tapped on Mom’s shoulder.  “Angie, my glasses.”

            She fished them out of her purse and handed them to him.

            Dad put his glasses on and scrutinized his son.  “Well, hello, Chris.  It’s good to see you again.  I like the blond.  I might try it myself.”

            Mom put her hand on my shoulder and smiled.  “It is lovely to see you.”

            Where was the shock?  The surprise?  The horror?

            “You two seem unfazed by my size.”

            “We follow you on Instagram and Twitter, Chris,” Dad said.  “We’ve seen the steady progress.”

            “We ‘like’ all your pictures,” Mom added.

            “I have an Instagram?”

            Dave coughed and pulled out his phone.

            “So, all those pictures you’ve taken of me…?” I trailed off.

            “And about 9.000 more you didn’t notice,” Dave said.

            “So that wasn’t your account?” Mom asked.

            “Dave has been acting as my manager.  He took care of it for me.”

            Seeing the tension that was about to build up, Luke took his cue.  “We’ll leave you to the family reunion,” Luke said, leading Dave away.  “Come on, babe.”

            “But I want to stay.”

            “I know you do, which is why I’m taking you someplace where you can’t add your color commentary.” With that, they melted into the crowd.

            Once Dave and Luke were out of earshot, Mom said, “I do think this is a bit extreme, but that Charles fellow assures me you are in prime health, and he’s sent me your medical records.”  She looked me up and down.  “You look eerily like Uncle Rudy, but he never got this big.”  She shook her head.  “It’s uncanny.”

            I hugged my mother and kissed her on the cheek.  “I love you too, Mom.”

            Dad turned his cheek and leaned forward.

            “I love you too, Dad.”

            Dad got in a bit closer to size me up properly.  “It’s hard to believe I’m your father.  You’re huge.  You could pick me up like a baby.”

            “One-handed,” I added, flexing my bicep.

            “That is quite impressive.  That is the biggest arm I have ever seen.”  He put his hands on my waist.  “And yet you’re so trim.”  His hands went back and forth between our two waists.  He was dumbfounded to discover that mine was smaller than his, and he was a rather fit man.  “How do you support that upper body with this little thing?”  He knocked a finger against my abs, just a gentle knock, and the solidness of my core hurt his finger.  “Ah.  That’s how,” he said, blowing on his finger.  “You built a retaining wall.”

            “Thanks, Dad,” I said, a little weirded out by how my dad was talking about my body.

            Dad let go of me and looked around.  “So, we know Luke, and we just met Dave.  Where’s the boyfriend?”

            I looked to my right.  James had vanished.

            I turned around, and there he was behind me, cowering down so my parents wouldn’t see him.  I gave him a look of mild amusement, and he waved at me sheepishly.

            “You got this,” I said to him.

            He took a deep breath and stepped from around me.  “Hello, Dr…”

            Mom interrupted him by saying, “Sweet Jesus!”

            “What?” I asked, concerned.

            “This giant man was hiding behind you?”

            “Yeah,” I said.  “He gets shy around strangers.”

            “Not my point.  He’s huge, he’s big enough to compete, and he hid behind you.”

            This is the shock I was looking for.

            “You saw how big I was.”

            “Seeing and understanding are two entirely different things.”  She turned to James.  “I’m sorry for shouting.  That was rude.  You can call me Angie.  This is my husband Matt.”

            Dad put his hand out for James to shake, and he just stared at it.

            “You don’t shake hands?” Dad asked.

            “He’s a hugger,” I said.

            A smile spreading on his face, Dad opened his arms wide, “Then come on and hug me.”

            Seeing my father and James hug was yet another thing to add to the list of surreal things I had experienced that day.

            “I’ll just wave,” Mom said.  “I’m not much for hugging.”

            James nodded and stood next to my father, who looked James up and down from head to toe.  “He’s a cute one, Chris.  Walk with me, James.”  With that, my father escorted James away to have a private conversation.

            “Don’t worry,” Mom said.  “He’s just seeing if James is available to stay with us for part of winter break.  We want to get to know him better.”  Her voice had a mild sharpness to it.  I knew this tone.  This was the beginning of a guilt trip.

            “That’s cool.”

            “Since you’ve already spent a week with his fathers.”  Her tone was intensifying.

            “A weekend,” I corrected.

            “And Thanksgiving,” she added, her tone even more pointed.

            And… I felt guilty.  “I get it.  I’m sorry.  I didn’t know Thanksgiving was so important to you.”

            “Who cares about Thanksgiving?  That patriarchal nightmare?  We missed you.”

            “I’m sorry, Mom.”

            “I do understand, though.  I was young once too.  Though, I must say, my college boyfriend looked nothing like that young man.”

            “Mom,” I said, goading her a little, “are you saying my boyfriend is hot?”

            Mom remained un-goaded.  “It’s an objective fact, son.”  She looked at me and added, “Are his eyes purple?”

            “Violet,” I said.  “Though he insists they’re blue.”

            “They’re medically fascinating,” she stated.   Then, as an afterthought, she admitted, “And mesmerizing.”

            “I like ‘em,” I said, downplaying it.

            “And he’s bigger than I expected.  Did he get you into weightlifting?” she asked.

            “It was more Dave and Luke who did that, but we workout together, yes.”

            “Are you going to be able to watch each other’s routines?”

            I laughed so hard I snorted.

            “What’s so funny?”

            “When you get to know James better, you’ll realize how funny it was to suggest he’d go onstage.”

            “You did say he was shy.”

            “Incredibly.  And I’m not competing, Mom.  I’m just doing a routine.  I’m ineligible to compete.”

            “That’s right, Dave said as much.”  She shook her head.  “The soccer team?  You never showed the least ambition or talent for soccer before.”

            “I still don’t.  I’ll explain the whole thing at Christmas.  It’s a long story.  Right now, I want to know why you and Dad are even here.”

            “To support you, of course.”

            “I don’t follow.”

            “Well, we missed the senior showcase because it came up so quickly.  We were all set to go to your soccer debut, but then I had to cover for a sick colleague.  We’ve missed too many of your events this year.”

            “You knew about the showcase and the soccer game?”

            “Yes.  Dave…”

            I interrupted.  “Dave invited you?  To all of them?”

            “Of course.  We’re just glad we could finally make it to one.  Although, it does feel a little silly coming all the way down here when we’ll just be seeing you next week anyways.  But, I’ve never been to a bodybuilding show, and, well, I think it’s healthy try everything once.”  She looked around the room and saw half a dozen men wearing only their posers.  “Once.”  She repeated.

            James came bounding back and grabbed me by the arms.  “Matt invited me to your house for winter break.  From the 18th, straight through Christmas.”

            My father slowly walked back and joined us.  “It’s official.”

            “Dad, I have to ask,” I said, pointing to his sweater.  “What’s with that ugly thing?”

            “I think it’s neat.  Besides, I needed something to put over my t-shirt.”

            “T-shirt?” I asked.

            “Don’t,” Angela said, her hand going to her temple.

            Dad whipped off his sweater, and underneath was a light blue t-shirt, tucked into his pants, that read, in yellow letters, “Father of @SoccerTweetGuy.”

            “Dad, that is both horrible and awesome.  Is that my twitter handle?”

            “Yep.  Do you love it or do you love it?  Or do you love it?”

            “It’s great, Dad.”

            “You should see the one he made for the soccer game,” Mom said.

            “Ever since he became this huge, hulking hero who looks almost nothing like me, I want people to know he’s my son.  A father can brag.”

            “I think it’s awesome,” James said.

            “Thank you, James.”

            At that moment, Charles came from out of nowhere and threw an ID badge and a manila envelope at me.  “Come on, schmoopsy.  Let’s get a move on.  Tickety-boo.”

            “Is he for real?” Dad asked.

            “Charles, these are my parents,” I said.

            “Charmed.  Now, scoot, mister.  Your routine is in just under an hour, and you’ve got to get changed.”

            Before I could even say goodbye to my parents, Charles railroaded James and me to the backstage area.

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That was fun.  I suspected you might do that to Chris at the show...you didn’t disappoint. The thing I really like about how you write a transformation scene is there is so much more going on.  And you leave a lot to our imagination.  Well done once again. 

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It's so sweet that his parents are there for the show and even better that they support him no matter what.

He has become a beast and now it's time for everyone to see,

I lowkey want a threesome between those three beast now that James is as Big as Charles.

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That show was perfect and now he will become a star. I bet the promoters are gonna start pilling uo to get him signed.

Dave  will be proud.

 

Now it's time to celebrate

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Thank you for that. The experience of being on stage and the trepidation turned to unbridled showmanship was extremely well written.  The self realization that one is a true show off is exactly like that. Well done. 

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