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

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The story will be on temporary hiatus while I attend to some computer issues.  But I assure you, I have finished the next 20 chapters and will resume regular posting as soon as I am able.

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On 5/15/2019 at 8:31 AM, TQuintA said:

The story will be on temporary hiatus while I attend to some computer issues.  But I assure you, I have finished the next 20 chapters and will resume regular posting as soon as I am able.

thanks for all the amazing post regarding this story. As well as the heads up.

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Chapter 42

            That weekend we wore each other out.  I stopped counting the times we sucked each other off, plowed each other’s asses, or just came.  It was an amazing weekend.

            After my jaunt to the help desk, I stayed true to my word, and we stayed in the dorm room all weekend.  We ate so much take out, but James kept me honest, and it was all things we would’ve gotten if we’d gone to the cart or the cafeteria.

            Without classes and workouts to regiment them, the days blurred together, and I was surprised when there was a knock on the door.

            We had just finished cleaning up the room and James was in the shower, so, stark naked, I opened the door, and a polite woman came in with a rack of clothing.  Undaunted by my nudity, she said, “The fashion department is rooting for you, Rocky” bowed as though she were my vassal, and then left the room.

            I had no idea what lie Dave had told the fashion department, but their work was immaculate.

            I was about to get dressed in the larger-sized version of the outfit I’d been wearing on Friday, the one I exploded out of, when James came back into the room in his bathrobe.  When he saw the clothes, he said, “It must be Sunday morning.”

            “Are you sure?”

            “If it were Monday morning, the alarm would have gone off on your phone.”

            “I meant, are you sure it’s not Saturday?”

            James dried his hair with a towel while thinking.  “I was until you said that.”

            “It’s Sunday morning,” Dave said, sauntering into the room wearing Luke’s sunglasses.  He bulldozed past James and sat in Luke’s desk chair.  “I know, I know,” he said.  He was talking a mile a minute.  “We promised you lovebirds the whole weekend, but the team bus got in about an hour ago, five hours ahead of schedule, and I just could not be around so many straight men talking about sports for another second.  Luke is right behind me with our bags.  The spa was lovely.  How was your weekend?”

            I stood there, naked and speechless.  James reached behind him and closed the door to the room.

            Dave took off the sunglasses, “What?” he asked.  Then, he saw me.

            He dropped the sunglasses, stood up, and said, “Yes.  Yes, a thousand times yes.”  He got close to me to examine every bulge and inch.  “Chrissy, the bigger you get, the more beautiful you become.  Please, please,” he stretched out the second “please” to add extra emphasis, “tell me you weigh at least 295.”

            “285,” I corrected.

            “Aw, pooh,” he seemed a little disappointed.  “Well, ladies lie about their weight all the time.  I’ll subtract five from my weight, you’ll add five to yours, and we’ll tell everyone that you weigh twice as much as me.  Who’s going to contradict us?”  The thought filled him with glee.  “I’ve never felt so dainty.”

            The door to the room opened, and Luke came in with an armful of bags.  “Did Dave tell you we won?” he asked eagerly.  Then he saw me.  “Fuck that.  We can talk about soccer later.”  He closed the door and dropped the bags on my bed.  “Damn, buddy.  You are one glorious muscle monster.”

            “Can I get dressed?” I asked.

            “If you insist,” Dave said as though the very notion was an inconvenience to him.  I squeezed into my new boxer briefs and was able to slide my pants up and pull my sleeves down, but I needed help with the shirt buttons, belt, and socks.  “I take it back,” Dave said. “Watching you get dressed was surprisingly hot.”

            “I’ll say,” James and Luke said in unison.

            The four of us headed to the cart for our usual Sunday breakfast.  I was getting better at walking with this Mack truck of a body, but I don’t know if I would ever get comfortable waddling.  James went to the cart to get all of our breakfasts, and when I sat on the ground, I swear it shook just a little bit.

            Dave and Luke took their usual interlocked repose, and Dave said, “Those clothes still look good on you.  I was worried the extra mass would distort the lines, but they compensated for that.”

            “That reminds me,” I started, “what did you tell the fashion department so they’d rush me new clothes?”

            “That you were participating in a bodybuilding invitational.  There’s one in the city the last week of the semester.”

            “That motivated them?”

            “I may have said that if you did well, you’d have to go on a press junket, and you might need clothes to wear for all the photo ops and interviews.”

            “And if I just happened to mention my designers…” I said.

            “Exactly,” Dave said.

            “There’s just one problem with that,” I responded.


            “I’m not doing a bodybuilding invitational.  I didn’t even know there was a bodybuilding invitational.  I’m not entirely sure what an invitational even is.”

            “It’s a contest,” Luke answered.  “But only open to those who were invited.”

            “Okay,” I said, “so, new problem.”  James came over with our food and sat down.  “I wasn’t invited.”

            “I told you he wasn’t going to like this,” James said.

            “Like what?”

            Dave sat up, pulled out his phone, and began scrolling while he spoke.  “After the calendar photoshoot, I realized that Mr. Donner was right, that you needed management.  So, I’ve been managing you.”  He found the email he was looking for.  “You were invited back in October.  The exact date is in the email if that matters to you.”

            “You signed me up for an invitational without telling me.”

            “It was cover,” Luke said.  “We knew you were going to get bigger and bigger, and we didn’t want people freaking out.  But if you were training for a bodybuilding contest, no one would get confused.”

            “Then why not tell me?”

            “I was going to.  On our way to the invitational,” Dave said.  “The less time I gave you to back out if it, the better.”

            “So, I can still back out of it?”

            “Why would you want to?” Luke asked.

            “Because it’s cheating,” I reminded them.

            “Pardon?” Dave said.

            “I’ll win that thing hands down.  Are you kidding me?  They won’t stand a chance against me.  I’m not taking the victory from someone who worked for it.”

            “I didn’t expect that to be your objection,” Dave said.

            “I told you he wouldn’t like this,” James repeated.

            “But…” Dave started, and I interrupted.

            “Your scene partner backed out, someone was leaving the soccer team anyway, and no one else would volunteer for the calendar.  None of these things did I take away from anyone.”

            “And Rocky?” Dave added, petulantly.

            “A local Rocky Horror costume contest is hardly the same as a professional bodybuilding contest with a cash prize.”

            “Uh, buddy,” Luke interjected.  “You can’t win the prize.”

            “Thanks for the vote of confidence,” I said.

            “Don’t get me wrong, you could totally win, but you’re still on the soccer team, remember?  You’re ineligible to compete in pro sports of any kind.  The soccer coach demanded you be ineligible for the prize money before he okayed you to enter the contest.”

            “The coach knows?” I asked.

            “We made sure he objected.  James knew you’d back out if there was prize money on the line,” Dave said.

            “The people running the invitational want you to do a posing routine because they think you’re an up-and-comer in the field.  That’s it.  A routine.”

            “Okay,” I said. “Gray area.  I could steal someone’s glory or attention, but I can’t take his financial reward.”

            “I think you should do it,” James said.  “I kept this whole conspiracy to myself because I think you’d have a blast on that stage.  And I really want to see my big, beefy boyfriend onstage next to those bodybuilders making them look tiny.”

            My cock twitched.  “You’re dealing from the bottom of the deck.”

            James shrugged.  “You know I don’t play fair.”

            “This is a lot of work to keep up a pretense.”

            “What pretense?” Dave said. 

            “The pretense that I’m going to be a professional bodybuilder or some sort of entertainer.”

            Dave sighed, took his phone back, and began scrolling through his emails.  “The video of you singing at Rocky has gotten so many views that I could parlay that into a lucrative Youtube channel or, with a little luck, a contract with a music label.  The head of the drama department wants you to be in a production of Equus in the spring.  It involves full frontal nudity, and she knows you’re perfect for the part.  She’s even willing to get you some class credits for practicum since she can’t pay you.  Nicholas Donner wants you in his studio the second you graduate.  His price just keeps going up the bigger you get.  Hell, I got a video of our scene for the senior showcase to Lydia Garrison, the premiere casting agent, and now I’m in talks with her to get out here to recruit us.”  He looked up at me.  “Should I keep going?”

            “Are you serious?” was all I could manage.

            “The entertainment business is fickle, Chrissy,” Dave said.  “You have to strike while the iron is hot.  Am I using you as a battering ram to knock down some doors for me?  Yes.  Am I trying to ride your coattails into my own spotlight?  Undoubtedly.  But I also think you’re a born performer, and the sooner you embrace that, the sooner you embrace your future.  And impressing people at this invitational is another step in that direction.”

            “I wouldn’t fight him,” Luke said.  “He’s done wonders for the soccer team.”

            “Don’t make it sound so altruistic.  If I’m going to be a celebrity, I can’t have just anyone as arm candy.  You being a star athlete on a popular soccer team makes us both look better.”

            “Isn’t he humble?” Luke joked.

            “I have one last objection,” I said.  “It’s during finals week.  I don’t want to fail my finals.”

            “I don’t want you to fail your finals either,” Dave admitted.  “You’re the only reason I’m passing chemistry.  But get this, I talked to your professors.  All of them except your philosophy professor are willing to let you take your finals after the invitational.  And your philosophy final is an essay, so you can get that done well ahead of time.”

            “All of them?” I asked.

            “Well, you’re seminar prof bit my head off, but he eventually acquiesced,” Dave clarified.

            “Then I’m in,” I said.

            “Splendid,” Dave said.  “You exhaust me sometimes, you know that?”

            “I exhaust you?  You’re the one who keeps dragging me into these public performances.  Even the calendar was your machinations.”

            “I don’t suggest these things if I don’t know you’d love them.”

            “That’s a liberal use of the word ‘suggest.’”

            “Dave is used to getting his way,” Luke said.  “It’s both the best and the worst thing about him.  Don’t fight it, and it works to your advantage.”

            Dave smiled.  It was beautiful, simple, and easy, and it smoothed over the rough edges.

            “You’re right,” I said.  “Why fight?  I’m sorry.  I guess I’m going to be a bodybuilder now.”

            “Excellent.”  Dave quickly typed a message into his phone while saying, “James, will you introduce him to Charles while Luke and I get ready for my dress rehearsal?”

            “Who’s Charles?” I asked.

            “A personal trainer and an alumnus,” Luke said.  “We’ve had him on standby since fall break.  I’m texting him right now to let him know you’re finally ready.”  Dave finished texting.  “He’s waiting for you at the athletic center.”

            “We booked him when we realized you were going to get too big for Luke or me to help you anymore,” James said.

            I looked down at my expansive mass.  “And I guess that’s now.”

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Chapter 43

            James and I walked into the athletic center, and my world fundamentally shifted again.  Looking around the room, I realized I was the biggest guy in this room.  The room was teeming with athletes in the prime of their youth, everything from lithe gymnasts to bulky football stars, and nary a one of them was bigger than me.  In fact, when James and I walked through the center on our way to the premiere weight room, the athletes parted around me and made room for me just like the everyday people outside the center.  I was now big enough to get that kind of deference in a room of athletes.

            Charles was nothing like I expected.  He was muscular and compact, easily twenty pounds bigger than James, but at least two inches shorter than me.  He almost looked like an aerobics instructor from the ‘80s, if that aerobics instructor was also a serious bodybuilder.  His pink lycra singlet was so tight, it left no room for his junk, which seemed to have retreated into his body.  Like a Ken doll, he gave the appearance of smoothness.  He had black hair in a stylish under-cut, and he did not stop smiling, which was a little alarming as his teeth were toothpaste-commercial white.

            “You, big lug, must be Chris!” he shouted from across the room.  When he spoke, I was doubly shocked.  His voice was in a lyrical, high register, and he spoke with a feminine swish.  I suspect that’s why Dave had chosen him.  “Before we go heave-ho, some ground rules.  Okaysies?”

            The cognitive dissonance between how he looked and how he sounded was off-putting.  “Okay,” I said.

            James nodded.

            “Great.  Rule one, you must call me Charles.  Never Charlie, or Chuck, or Chas.  Only Charles.”

            We agreed.

            “Rule two, until the show, I am your unquestioned lord and master.”  His voice remained relentlessly cheerful.  “I say show up at six AM; you show up at six AM.  I ask for five reps; you give me five reps.  I say you get ten hours of sleep; you get ten hours of sleep.  Is that peachy keen?”

            We agreed.

            “Super awesome.  Just one more rule.  Rule three.”  He cleared his throat and cocked his head to the side.  “Until the show, I am your unquestioned lord and master.  Got it?”

            We agreed.

            “Do you two lovely cupcakes have any questions of your own?”

            “Will this schedule interfere with my classwork?” I asked.

            “I like that your studies are a high priority.  That’s super-duper.  Davey-kins already provided me with your class list, so I made sure to schedule time for class and studying.  Awesome question.  Any others?”

            “I’m used to working out as part of a group.  Can my boyfriend work out with me?”

            “That depends,” Charles said as he stepped close to James, scanning him up and down.  “Is he willing to submit to me as his unquestioned lord and master?”

            James, a look of terror on his face, nodded.

            “Then okie-dokie, pal-sy-wal-sy.  Welcome aboard.”  Charles saluted.

            James saluted back.

            “Vanessa,” Charles yelled, and a cherubic waif of a woman bounced into the room.  “Could you make a copy of the workout plan for this strapping young lad?  His class schedule should be in the file.  Love you, thank you.”  Vanessa bounced out as airily as she bounced in.  “Isn’t she super?  Any other questions?”

            “Will sex interfere with your methods?”

            He smiled his treacly smile and said, “You silly.  I blocked off some time for that.  It’s on the schedule under ‘slaying the dragon.’  Do you think I wouldn’t factor in the needs of every part of your oversized body?”

            “Slaying the dragon?” I whispered to James, practically nonplussed.

            “In that scenario, am I the dragon?” James asked in the same quiet voice

            “I think you’re the prince I’m rescuing from the dragon.”

            “Or is your cock the dragon, and we’re slaying it together?”

            “I hear whispering,” Charles said in his sing-song.  “If you have questions, direct them to me.”

            James and I fell silent.

            “Neat-o,” Charles said and led us over to the warm up area, and while he led us through a series of stretches, he laid out the plan.  “We only have a weensy bit over three weeks until the invitational.  That’s next to nothing, Lucky for me, you’re already in excellent shape.  This will be more about fine tuning.  To keep your priorities focused, we’re not doing weigh-ins.  Nopesy.  We’ll save that for the day before.  I don’t want you two sillies distracted by anything as goofy as a three-digit number.  Cool beans?”

            We nodded.

            “Don’t get too comfy, though,” he smiled.  “I will be hell.  I pinky promise that.”

            Charles was an unrelenting task master.  I was wrung out at the end of our workout—three hours later. 

            He then showed us the meal plan.  I would be eating seven or eight meals a day, including one in the middle of the night.  I could see flavor was not a part of this meal plan.  Then Charles showed us the workout plan, and, true to his word, there were two slots a day labeled “slaying the dragon.”  They were only 20 minutes each, but we could make that work.  Then, Charles showed us what he labelled as the “sparkle plan,” which included yoga for flexibility, dance for grace, and posture for poise. 

            “All three are available as Google docs,” Charles added.

            The next three weeks were almost solidly booked. 

            I looked at James in utter horror.  “I don’t think I can do this,” I confessed.

            He patted my arm and said, “You definitely got this.”  Once again, I swear his eyes flashed gold.

            That oddly comforted me, so I looked at the schedule again, trying to wrap my brain around it.  That’s when I noticed some unscheduled pockets.

            “What’s this empty slot on Wednesday the 29th?” I asked

            “That’s the opening night of the play Davey-kins is in.  He insisted I work it into the plan.”

            That made sense.

            “Why is this weekend in yellow?” James asked

            “Thanksgiving, silly-billy.  You’ll have to stick to the diet and schedule, but I’m not a heartless troll goblin.  You visit your families, and we Skype twice daily to make sure you’re not subverting my absolute authority.  Now, if there are no more questions, I’ll leave you two to clean up and go have lunch.  The cafeteria ladies are expecting you.  See you later for sparkle.  Byesies.”  With that, he bounced away.

            I turned to James and confessed, “I completely forgot about Thanksgiving.”

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Chapter 44

            Later that day, we were at our usual lunch table, James and me eating a mountain of food that the cafeteria ladies had set aside just for us as per Charles’s instructions.  Dave and Luke had gotten there earlier and were already mostly done with their meals.

            “I don’t think I can put all of this away,” James said, staring at the food.

            “That’s my line,” I said.  “Weren’t you the one telling me about how you need to eat to grow?”

            “You have almost 80 pounds on me.  Charles gave me the exact same diet and workout routine as you.  The only thing different is the amount of weight I’m lifting.”

            “Eat what you can, leave the rest,” I said.

            “It’s going to be like Thanksgiving every day,” James muttered.

            Thanksgiving again.  Gathering my resolve, I said, “I don’t want to break up the group for Thanksgiving.  We could always stay here,” I suggested. 

            “If we stay here, Charles will find us,” James said.

            I hadn’t thought of that.  “I’d invite you all to my house, but I haven’t quite figured out how to explain all of this,” I gestured to my massive bulk, and added, “yet.”

            “People are easily deceived with lies,” Dave said.

            “My mother’s a pediatrician.  It’ll take more than ‘I’ve been working out’ to convince her.  Besides, my house is all wrong.  We don’t really do Thanksgiving.  On the plus side, that means they won’t miss me.”

            “What do you mean your family doesn’t do Thanksgiving?” Luke asked.

            “My father’s vegan, so he’s out on principal alone.  My mother says the holiday reinforces antiquated notions of gender, so she refuses to cook.  I usually spend Thanksgiving alone in my room playing video games.”

            “You should’ve said something, buddy,” Luke said, consolingly.  “You could’ve always come over my house.  We do it up right.”

            “I’ve met your family, Luke.  It’s not for me.”

            “Why not?” he asked.

            “How much football is involved on Thanksgiving at your house?” I asked in return.

            “All of it,” Dave answered.  “They watch football, they play football, they wear football jerseys, and there’s a football for a centerpiece.”

            “You’ve never been to my house for Thanksgiving,” Luke objected.

            “And until I propose to you, I never will,” he turned to face James and me.  “He showed me pictures.”

            “It’s true,” Luke admitted.  “Thanksgiving at my house is football-centric.  You would all hate it.”

            “What about your house?” James asked Dave.

            “On Thanksgiving, Mother wakes from her chardonnay nap at 2, the servants have dinner ready precisely at 3.  Rather than hello, Mother tells me how glad she is I’m not ugly.  Dinner feels more like a meeting with an accountant.  She lists all of her recent purchases detailing exactly how much each item cost and all of her new sources of income detailing exactly how much each one is bringing in.  By five, she retreats into her wing of the house, and I don’t see her again until Christmas.  Unless there’s a death in the family.”

            “Poor little rich boy,” I said.

            “Right?” Dave said.  “We were never the Gilmore Girls, but since Father died, that house is practically Antarctica.”

            “What about your family?” Luke asked James.

            “Turkey dinner.  Uncle Henry spends two days making everything.  It’s really lavish, and it’s usually themed around an artist they’re exhibiting at his gallery.”

            “Did your Uncle Henry teach you how to cook?” I asked.


            “I’m in.”

            “Me too,” Dave said.

            “If you don’t go to your house, won’t your mother be upset?” James asked.

            “I doubt she’d notice.  She always looks surprised I’m at the dinner table.”

            “If you’re in, babe, I’m in too,” Luke said.  “You’re more important to me than football.”

            “Won’t your family miss you?” James asked.

            “They’ll be glad for the seat,” Luke said.

            “That seems heartless,” James responded.

            “It’s pragmatic,” I said.  “Luke has four older brothers, all married, three with kids.  His younger sister is still in high school, but she’ll probably bring her boyfriend.  His aunts and uncles pour in from all over the state, dragging his cousins who aren’t old enough to escape the gravity well.  It’s usually about thirty people.”

            “Forty,” Luke corrected.  “And I call them often enough.  They won’t miss me.”

            James was flustered.  “I don’t think you’ll find it all that fun.  After dinner, Dad lectures us about an important person from Native American history to compensate for his guilt at celebrating the holiday at all.”

            “Sounds better than being alone,” I said.

            “Or being without Dave,” Luke added.

            “Or Mother’s financial report,” Dave contributed.

            “I’ll call my dad.”  James pulled out his phone and walked away while dialing.

            “Why does he always walk away from us when he uses his phone?” Dave asked.

            “Uncle Henry taught him that it was rude to have a private conversation in public,” I explained.

            “Do you think his dad will say yes?” Luke asked.

            “I think he’ll say yes so loudly we’ll hear it from here,” I said.

            As soon as I said it, we saw James pull the phone away from his ear as though someone was shouting through it.  They exchanged a few more words, and James came back to the table.  “They said yes.”

            “They?” Luke asked.

            “It’s Sunday afternoon.  Uncle Henry was sitting right next to him.”

            “One small hitch,” I said.  “They saw me less than a month ago.  How do we explain the 50 extra pounds?”

            “I told them about the invitational.  That you were working on getting as big as you could by December12th.”

            “That could work,” I said.

            James was typing something into his phone.  “I’m emailing Charles’s plan to Uncle Henry now so he can plan Thanksgiving around it.”

            “He’s cool with that?” I said.

            James got a text in response.  “His gallery recently began displaying a bunch of Ancient Greek statues of Olympians and wrestlers.  He was already planning an homage to that.  He called it, ‘blessed kismet.’”  He showed me the text.

            “So, it’s going to be a healthy Thanksgiving?” Dave asked with slight disdain in his voice.  Then, after a pause, added, “Still better than Mother.”

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