m/m Deano's Summer: A Muscle University Story

[muscleaddict]

10 minutes ago, BrzNLA said:

Pretty sweet setup mate. This first chapters are phenomenal in getting us involved, excited and curious about Deano’s Summer.

Thank you, matie. I'm glad you're enjoying it so far.  

[muscleaddict]

Three

“What time do you call this?” my dad barks as he walks into the kitchen the next morning. Jesus - why does my dad always have to be so annoying? Why does he always have to be so LOUD?

I look at my watch. “Half past eleven?”

“Cheeky little shit!”

I down two paracetamol with some water. I feel so fucking rough. I was hoping my dad would have gone out of the house by the time I’d gotten up. I honestly feel like I could just go back to bed and sleep for the rest of the day.

“Feeling a bit hungover are we?” he asks in a patronising voice. I roll my eyes and don’t respond.

“GOT A HEADACHE?” he shouts. Then he starts picking things up off the kitchen work surface and banging them back down loudly. For fuck's sake.

“Feeling a bit SICK?” he says, grabbing me by the waist with both hands and shaking me.

“STOP!” I cry. But I’m laughing too. In spite of myself. I sit down at the kitchen table, put the hood of my black Montgomery University hoodie up, fold my arms across my chest and lean my back against the wall. My dad’s now leaning against the work surface. His huge arms bulging out of a tight black “DEANO’S GYM” t-shirt.

That’s my dad’s gym. And no, he didn’t name it after me. He named me after himself. He’s Deano Senior. I’m Deano Junior. And yes - unfortunately, we do look alike. I get my shortness from him. And my large nose. The only thing I probably inherited from my mum was my slightly olive skin. Unlike Josh. He’s all mum. 

My dad is basically a forty-something bald version of me. Only he looks a lot scarier. You really would NOT wanna mess with Deano Watkins Senior. He’s got a thick bull neck. Massive traps. Meaty forearms. I already mentioned the huge arms. He’s a veiny fucker too. He’s even got them in his forehead which adds to the general scariness. He hasn’t competed as a bodybuilder for years but he’s still a proper fucking tank. 

“Any sign of your brother?” he asks me.

“Nope!” I say, closing my eyes and hoping for the pounding in my head to stop. Josh tried to phone me a few times after I walked out of the pub last night. I ignored every call.

And then I hear a sound which makes my heart drop. The front door opening and closing.

“Speak of the annoyingly handsome devil!” my dad says. 

Ugh! I open my eyes and Joshua comes bouncing into the kitchen wearing the same tight fitted short-sleeved shirt and skinny jeans he was wearing last night. Something pulls in my stomach when I look at him. Because even though he’s clearly hungover he still looks SO fucking good.

I close my eyes again as Josh and dad talk about which mate's house he stayed at last night. I still feel so pissed off at what happened in the pub.

“Are you still in a strop with me?”

I know Josh is talking to me, but I keep my eyes shut and don’t move or speak. 

“OI!” Josh says. And then he kicks my leg with his foot. “Pretty boy!”

“Fuck off!” I spit, knocking his foot away. Probably a bit too aggressively.

“Oi! Don’t talk to your brother like that,” my dad barks.

My chest tightens. Sometimes I wish I could just tell my dad to fuck off too. Like right now for instance. Josh is just standing there with this smug look on his face. 

“Deano threw a hissy fit last night and ran out of the pub,” he tells my dad.

“I didn’t RUN out of the pub. TWAT!”

My dad lunges forward and whacks me on the leg with a pile of post he’s holding, one of the veins in his forehead practically bulging.

“Why did you run out of the pub crying loudly with your arms waving around in the air, Deano?” 

“He told his mates I got suspended from uni!” I cry with my voice raised, sounding like a whiny fucking teenager.

“Well you did get suspended from uni,” my dad says, straight-faced. Why am I not fucking surprised that he’s taking Josh’s side?

I’ve had enough of this. I groan and stand up to leave but my dad stops me. “OI - what are you doing tomorrow?”

Oh God. I have a horrible feeling I know what’s coming. “Dunno yet,” I say with a shrug.

“Then you can help out at the gym.”

ARGH! Josh does a twattish, high pitched laugh and dad shoots him a look.

“Haven’t you told dad yet?” Josh says in an annoying voice. Dad looks from me to Josh confused.

“D wants to get a job this summer!”

Fuck’s sake. Dad looks at me, his eyebrows furrowed in confusion. “Tesco’s don’t do uniforms to fit bodybuilders!” 

Josh laughs and I roll my eyes.

“Ten AM. Tomorrow!”

I’m feeling brave. “What if I don’t want to help out at the gym?”

Dad shoots me a stern look, his eyes widened. “Then I’ll stop paying your fees for that bloody university!”

Josh pulls an eeek face behind dad’s back. Almost like he’s ready to be on my side again.

My dad sighs. “Will you NOT be going to the gym practically every day anyway?” he asks, his tone a little lighter.

I shrug and pull a face. “Suppose!”

“Well then! You might as well get paid for it. Three days a week! Unless you’d rather be the beefiest shelf stacker in Tesco’s employment history?”

I guess my dad has a point. I will be training at Deano’s, so I may as well earn a bit of money out of it. And I guess it would be a hell of a lot better than working in a shop. Even though I'd kinda love to do my own thing. To get away from dad and Josh for at least some of the time I’m back home.

I sigh. “Fine!” 

“Three days?” Josh cries. “That’s slack! You made me work SIX days a week when I left college!”

“Well when YOU start winning junior classes of bodybuilding competitions and showing promise of becoming a pro, I’ll let you off with only working three days!” dad says, hitting Josh in the chest with the stack of post he’s still holding.

My chest expands when I hear dad say those words. He tells us he’s heading to the gym and walks out leaving me and my brother alone in the kitchen. Suddenly after dad’s comment, I don’t feel so inferior to my sickeningly good looking brother.

“Come on then!” Josh says, lunging forward and playfully poking me in the ribs. “Where did you go last night?”

My stomach clenches. “Home!” I say, with a casual shrug.

He rolls his eyes and pulls a face. “So that’s the thanks I get for inviting you out?”

I shake my head at him and go to walk out. Josh groans. “Look - if I knew it was gonna piss you off so much I wouldn’t have said anything about you getting suspended from uni!”

My chest feels lighter. I stop and turn around. He’s giving me this sincere look. “I know now, don’t I? I won’t mention it again!”

And now I’m wondering whether I overreacted last night. I don’t think it was so much Josh telling his mates that I got suspended that I was bothered about. It was more the questions about what I did to get suspended.

“Stroppy little prick!” he says to me, with a smirk. He kicks my leg again gently. “Go back to bed. You look like shit!” Then he walks out of the room. “Even more than usual!” he shouts from the hallway.

I’m not gonna lie. Being the son of the owner of Brighton’s most well-known hardcore bodybuilding gym definitely has its advantages. For a start, I get to train there for free. Any time I want. 

I also get treated like a bit of a celebrity by a lot of the lads there. Just because of who my dad is. Just like now, as I’m walking in on my first day of helping out and Big Steve, a late thirty-something mountain of muscle with a big bald head, who has worked here for as long as I can remember, stops what he’s doing and rushes over to me with a big excited grin on his face.

“Fucking ‘ell! MINI D!” (That’s what Big Steve always calls me.) He squeezes my shoulder and grabs my hand in a friendly embrace. 

“Alright, Steve!”

“Looks like that uni’s doing what it’s supposed to!” he says, squeezing one of my upper arms and looking at my torso. “Do you actually do any studying up there or do you just train all day?”

I smirk and shrug. “Pretty much just train all day!”

“Alright, Deano!” a Deano’s Gym regular says with a nod as he walks past.

“Where do you want me?” I ask Big Steve, after he’s told me about his upcoming bodybuilding competition (class 3 at the NABBA South East).

“Juice Bar do ya?” he asks. 

The Juice Bar is a sort of chill out area of the gym with a bar where lads can buy pre-workout drinks and shakes. I follow Steve’s orders and make my way over there. 

It can get a bit boring in the bar, but it doesn’t require much work. Mostly you just get to chill out and observe the various monsters, bulls and budding freaks of the gym. Weekdays are usually pretty dead. Night shifts are a bit more fun sometimes. That’s when the real monsters tend to come out. I’ll probably only have to work here for a few hours and then dad will let me head out to the gym floor where I’ll help out there and do some training.

I jump behind the bar when I get there. It’s pretty empty apart from one short-ish dude with a shaved head who’s eating out of a Tupperware box and flipping through one of the muscle magazines that are littered around the tables. Definitely not the sort of reading you’d find casually lying around a doctor’s waiting room. When I was about sixteen I sneaked one of those muscle mags home. There was a particularly freaky bodybuilder on the front cover, who I later discovered was this old school bodybuilding legend called Brad McCarthy.

I obsessed about that magazine for weeks beforehand. Then one day I finally plucked up the courage to steal it. I stowed it away in my backpack so I could look at it when I was alone in my bedroom. Which is completely crazy. Because my dad would have let me take it home no questions asked. I was already into bodybuilding at that point so it would have been a completely normal thing for me to borrow it. I guess it was because of the feelings that that particular bodybuilder on the cover stirred up in me. And I guess because I was interested in doing a little bit more than just looking at Brad McCarthy and all the other shredded muscle freaks in the magazine. 

The walls of the Juice Bar are covered with pictures of shredded bodybuilders in competition. Pretty much every lad who’s ever trained here and competed in a show is on one of the walls somewhere in this room.

That’s another advantage of being the son of the owner of Deano’s Gym. I’ve seen and gotten to meet some proper fucking monsters over the years. Including Liam “The Guns” Watson, who earned his IFBB pro card at a big bodybuilding show in London a few months ago. Not only is he huge and handsome as shit, but he’s such a fucking nice, down to earth lad. I actually became a bit obsessed with him a few years back. Like every time I came to the gym, I secretly hoped he’d be here too. He just had this sort of presence about him. Super huge. Crazy thick biceps (which is obviously what earned him his nickname). He had these big jug ears too. I thought about those ears a lot.

Apparently he lives in London now, so I haven’t seen him for a while. I don’t think I’d feel the same way about him now though. I suppose I have those kinds of thoughts about other bodybuilders these days. My stomach twists at that thought.

And now I’m suddenly wondering what Sebastian Wood is up to. How he’s been spending the first few days of his summer holidays. With Henderson maybe? I mean - how is that even gonna work? I don’t exactly know where Henderson lives, but judging by his accent I’m guessing it’s somewhere up North. Which means it’s miles away from where Woody’s parents live.

I’d never even heard of Woody’s hometown when he told me that one day we were training together. But I looked it up afterwards. It’s somewhere in Surrey and from what I found on the net, it looks and sounds like a pretty fucking posh place. Which makes me wonder if his parents are actually loaded. It would just be bloody typical for Woody to be well off on top of everything else.

But yeah - wherever Henderson does live, I know it would take him ages to get to Woody’s. I know how long it would take me to get there from here. Or the train station at least. One hour and forty minutes. I looked that up too. Two trains and one tube ride and I’d be there. I have an image of the train station in my head. I sometimes picture Woody meeting me at that platform. In his black vest and skinny jeans. Maybe wearing that black ICON cap he sometimes wears. I remember the first time I saw him wearing that cap at the SU bar. He was with his first roommate, Craig (he was such an annoying prick). I thought the cap made Woody look like a bit of a twat. But then I couldn’t get the image of him wearing it with his black vest out of my head for the whole night. His shoulders and arms on display. His thick pecs peeking out of the top of the vest. How effortlessly and annoyingly good he looked. I thought about him a lot after that. Maybe that’s when it all started. 

The hours in the Juice Bar drag. I mostly play around on my phone. All the time avoiding the urge to check Instagram, which I’ve made a promise to myself not to look at. Just for the time being. Because I know there’s a very strong possibility I’ll see an update from him. And possibly Henderson. Maybe even see the two of them together. And I just can’t deal with that after what I saw in the Watson House gym the other day. I don’t know what seeing pictures of the two of them together will do to me right now. 

“Here he is!” my dad announces loudly as I walk on to the gym floor a little later on. He’s standing with another guy who works here. I walk over to them. My dad has this proud grin on his face. 

“Fucking ‘ell, Deano! He looks more like you every time I see him!”

I playfully screw my face up like I’m offended. 

“I know. Lucky bastard!” my dad says. 

They’re both just grinning at me. I’m finding it hard not to smile back. I feel like I’m being proudly shown off.

“Wait ‘till he loses his hair!” my dad says. Then he reaches out to touch it and I dodge back quickly to avoid his hand. I’m pretty proud of my hair. I definitely have one of the most distinct styles of the lads in my year at uni. It’s shaved around the sides and slicked back and styled on the top. I copied it from this really hot guy I saw at the gym once. 

“Oooh. Don’t touch the hair!” my dad says with his hands up. “Ya little poof!” His mate laughs.

I feel a tug in my stomach and give him a fake sarcastic smile. “Training are you? Oh, prodigal son of mine?” he asks in a stupid voice.

“Yep!” I say, in a short manner.

“Oooh - he’s gone in a mood now. Stroppy little shit!”

I pull a face and roll my eyes.

“Go on. You can get yourself home after this!”

I nod and walk away.

“Back here tomorrow!” he calls after me. 

Fuck’s sake. I look back and he’s got his hands over his mouth as if he’s speaking through a loudspeaker. “AT NINE O’CLOCK!” he bellows at a completely unnecessary volume.

The gym’s pretty dead when I start my back and biceps training. But about twenty minutes in, some absolute fucking monster in a bright red hoodie that I’ve never seen before walks in. Shaved head. Tanned. Probably late twenties. Kinda thug-ish looking. He takes his hoodie off to reveal a white vest underneath and holy FUCK. Okay, he’s not the best conditioned of lads, but he’s got some serious mass on him. Crazy shoulders. Brutally thick arms. But it’s the fucking pecs I can’t stop looking at. They’re like two balloons bulging off his chest. They even remind me of Brad McCarthy’s. No fucking shit. And as he trains, and gets more and more pumped, the white vest he’s wearing slowly gets wet with sweat. Until he’s just one massive sweat soaked mountain of balloon-like muscle. I swear his pecs looks like they’re about to fucking burst. I don’t spend my entire workout just gawping at him, but it’s hard not to keep drawing my gaze back to him. He notices too. At one point, he even makes eye contact with me and gives me a friendly nod (no smile) and my insides do something funny. 

Josh isn’t in when I get back home. I love having the house to myself. That’s one thing I really miss when I’m at Muscle University. Having my own room. My roommate Shaun’s my fucking boy and I love the lad to bits, but sometimes I just wanted nothing more than to go back from my lectures or the gym to an empty room. To have my own fucking space and to just not have to deal with anyone.

I crash on my bed once I'm in my room. I’m still thinking about that guy at the gym. His size. How intense he was when he trained. The pure testosterone radiating from him. The sweat soaked vest. The big balloons of pec muscle bulging off his chest. I probably would have obsessed about that guy if he’d been a regular at the gym a few years ago.

I have no idea who he is. I might be able to find him on my phone if I do some digging, but I’m determined to keep up my abstinence from Instagram. I just can’t risk looking at the app right now. 

I jump up and dig out an old shoe box tucked at the back of my wardrobe. I haven’t looked in it for years, but I know what’s in here. I open the lid and sure enough, nineties bodybuilding legend Brad McCarthy is looking up at me from the front of the magazine I stole from my dad’s gym all those years ago. Big, sweaty, balloon-esque tits and all.

I jump back on my bed, my now hard dick throbbing in my gym trackies. I guess it’s time to get reacquainted with Brad and the other muscle freaks in this magazine. 

[DennisFLL]

22 minutes ago, muscleaddict said:

Three

“What time do you call this?” my dad barks as he walks into the kitchen the next morning. Jesus - why does my dad always have to be so annoying? Why does he always have to be so LOUD?

I look at my watch. “Half past eleven?”

“Cheeky little shit!”

I down two paracetamol with some water. I feel so fucking rough. I was hoping my dad would have gone out of the house by the time I’d gotten up. I honestly feel like I could just go back to bed and sleep for the rest of the day.

“Feeling a bit hungover are we?” he asks in a patronising voice. I roll my eyes and don’t respond.

“GOT A HEADACHE?” he shouts. Then he starts picking things up off the kitchen work surface and banging them back down loudly. For fuck's sake.

“Feeling a bit SICK?” he says, grabbing me by the waist with both hands and shaking me.

“STOP!” I cry. But I’m laughing too. In spite of myself. I sit down at the kitchen table, put the hood of my black Montgomery University hoodie up, fold my arms across my chest and lean my back against the wall. My dad’s now leaning against the work surface. His huge arms bulging out of a tight black “DEANO’S GYM” t-shirt.

That’s my dad’s gym. And no, he didn’t name it after me. He named me after himself. He’s Deano Senior. I’m Deano Junior. And yes - unfortunately, we do look alike. I get my shortness from him. And my large nose. The only thing I probably inherited from my mum was my slightly olive skin. Unlike Josh. He’s all mum. 

My dad is basically a forty-something bald version of me. Only he looks a lot scarier. You really would NOT wanna mess with Deano Watkins Senior. He’s got a thick bull neck. Massive traps. Meaty forearms. I already mentioned the huge arms. He’s a veiny fucker too. He’s even got them in his forehead which adds to the general scariness. He hasn’t competed as a bodybuilder for years but he’s still a proper fucking tank. 

“Any sign of your brother?” he asks me.

“Nope!” I say, closing my eyes and hoping for the pounding in my head to stop. Josh tried to phone me a few times after I walked out of the pub last night. I ignored every call.

And then I hear a sound which makes my heart drop. The front door opening and closing.

“Speak of the annoyingly handsome devil!” my dad says. 

Ugh! I open my eyes and Joshua comes bouncing into the kitchen wearing the same tight fitted short-sleeved shirt and skinny jeans he was wearing last night. Something pulls in my stomach when I look at him. Because even though he’s clearly hungover he still looks SO fucking good.

I close my eyes again as Josh and dad talk about which mate's house he stayed at last night. I still feel so pissed off at what happened in the pub.

“Are you still in a strop with me?”

I know Josh is talking to me, but I keep my eyes shut and don’t move or speak. 

“OI!” Josh says. And then he kicks my leg with his foot. “Pretty boy!”

“Fuck off!” I spit, knocking his foot away. Probably a bit too aggressively.

“Oi! Don’t talk to your brother like that,” my dad barks.

My chest tightens. Sometimes I wish I could just tell my dad to fuck off too. Like right now for instance. Josh is just standing there with this smug look on his face. 

“Deano threw a hissy fit last night and ran out of the pub,” he tells my dad.

“I didn’t RUN out of the pub. TWAT!”

My dad lunges forward and whacks me on the leg with a pile of post he’s holding, one of the veins in his forehead practically bulging.

“Why did you run out of the pub crying loudly with your arms waving around in the air, Deano?” 

“He told his mates I got suspended from uni!” I cry with my voice raised, sounding like a whiny fucking teenager.

“Well you did get suspended from uni,” my dad says, straight-faced. Why am I not fucking surprised that he’s taking Josh’s side?

I’ve had enough of this. I groan and stand up to leave but my dad stops me. “OI - what are you doing tomorrow?”

Oh God. I have a horrible feeling I know what’s coming. “Dunno yet,” I say with a shrug.

“Then you can help out at the gym.”

ARGH! Josh does a twattish, high pitched laugh and dad shoots him a look.

“Haven’t you told dad yet?” Josh says in an annoying voice. Dad looks from me to Josh confused.

“D wants to get a job this summer!”

Fuck’s sake. Dad looks at me, his eyebrows furrowed in confusion. “Tesco’s don’t do uniforms to fit bodybuilders!” 

Josh laughs and I roll my eyes.

“Ten AM. Tomorrow!”

I’m feeling brave. “What if I don’t want to help out at the gym?”

Dad shoots me a stern look, his eyes widened. “Then I’ll stop paying your fees for that bloody university!”

Josh pulls an eeek face behind dad’s back. Almost like he’s ready to be on my side again.

My dad sighs. “Will you NOT be going to the gym practically every day anyway?” he asks, his tone a little lighter.

I shrug and pull a face. “Suppose!”

“Well then! You might as well get paid for it. Three days a week! Unless you’d rather be the beefiest shelf stacker in Tesco’s employment history?”

I guess my dad has a point. I will be training at Deano’s, so I may as well earn a bit of money out of it. And I guess it would be a hell of a lot better than working in a shop. Even though I'd kinda love to do my own thing. To get away from dad and Josh for at least some of the time I’m back home.

I sigh. “Fine!” 

“Three days?” Josh cries. “That’s slack! You made me work SIX days a week when I left college!”

“Well when YOU start winning junior classes of bodybuilding competitions and showing promise of becoming a pro, I’ll let you off with only working three days!” dad says, hitting Josh in the chest with the stack of post he’s still holding.

My chest expands when I hear dad say those words. He tells us he’s heading to the gym and walks out leaving me and my brother alone in the kitchen. Suddenly after dad’s comment, I don’t feel so inferior to my sickeningly good looking brother.

“Come on then!” Josh says, lunging forward and playfully poking me in the ribs. “Where did you go last night?”

My stomach clenches. “Home!” I say, with a casual shrug.

He rolls his eyes and pulls a face. “So that’s the thanks I get for inviting you out?”

I shake my head at him and go to walk out. Josh groans. “Look - if I knew it was gonna piss you off so much I wouldn’t have said anything about you getting suspended from uni!”

My chest feels lighter. I stop and turn around. He’s giving me this sincere look. “I know now, don’t I? I won’t mention it again!”

And now I’m wondering whether I overreacted last night. I don’t think it was so much Josh telling his mates that I got suspended that I was bothered about. It was more the questions about what I did to get suspended.

“Stroppy little prick!” he says to me, with a smirk. He kicks my leg again gently. “Go back to bed. You look like shit!” Then he walks out of the room. “Even more than usual!” he shouts from the hallway.

I’m not gonna lie. Being the son of the owner of Brighton’s most well-known hardcore bodybuilding gym definitely has its advantages. For a start, I get to train there for free. Any time I want. 

I also get treated like a bit of a celebrity by a lot of the lads there. Just because of who my dad is. Just like now, as I’m walking in on my first day of helping out and Big Steve, a late thirty-something mountain of muscle with a big bald head, who has worked here for as long as I can remember, stops what he’s doing and rushes over to me with a big excited grin on his face.

“Fucking ‘ell! MINI D!” (That’s what Big Steve always calls me.) He squeezes my shoulder and grabs my hand in a friendly embrace. 

“Alright, Steve!”

“Looks like that uni’s doing what it’s supposed to!” he says, squeezing one of my upper arms and looking at my torso. “Do you actually do any studying up there or do you just train all day?”

I smirk and shrug. “Pretty much just train all day!”

“Alright, Deano!” a Deano’s Gym regular says with a nod as he walks past.

“Where do you want me?” I ask Big Steve, after he’s told me about his upcoming bodybuilding competition (class 3 at the NABBA South East).

“Juice Bar do ya?” he asks. 

The Juice Bar is a sort of chill out area of the gym with a bar where lads can buy pre-workout drinks and shakes. I follow Steve’s orders and make my way over there. 

It can get a bit boring in the bar, but it doesn’t require much work. Mostly you just get to chill out and observe the various monsters, bulls and budding freaks of the gym. Weekdays are usually pretty dead. Night shifts are a bit more fun sometimes. That’s when the real monsters tend to come out. I’ll probably only have to work here for a few hours and then dad will let me head out to the gym floor where I’ll help out there and do some training.

I jump behind the bar when I get there. It’s pretty empty apart from one short-ish dude with a shaved head who’s eating out of a Tupperware box and flipping through one of the muscle magazines that are littered around the tables. Definitely not the sort of reading you’d find casually lying around a doctor’s waiting room. When I was about sixteen I sneaked one of those muscle mags home. There was a particularly freaky bodybuilder on the front cover, who I later discovered was this old school bodybuilding legend called Brad McCarthy.

I obsessed about that magazine for weeks beforehand. Then one day I finally plucked up the courage to steal it. I stowed it away in my backpack so I could look at it when I was alone in my bedroom. Which is completely crazy. Because my dad would have let me take it home no questions asked. I was already into bodybuilding at that point so it would have been a completely normal thing for me to borrow it. I guess it was because of the feelings that that particular bodybuilder on the cover stirred up in me. And I guess because I was interested in doing a little bit more than just looking at Brad McCarthy and all the other shredded muscle freaks in the magazine. 

The walls of the Juice Bar are covered with pictures of shredded bodybuilders in competition. Pretty much every lad who’s ever trained here and competed in a show is on one of the walls somewhere in this room.

That’s another advantage of being the son of the owner of Deano’s Gym. I’ve seen and gotten to meet some proper fucking monsters over the years. Including Liam “The Guns” Watson, who earned his IFBB pro card at a big bodybuilding show in London a few months ago. Not only is he huge and handsome as shit, but he’s such a fucking nice, down to earth lad. I actually became a bit obsessed with him a few years back. Like every time I came to the gym, I secretly hoped he’d be here too. He just had this sort of presence about him. Super huge. Crazy thick biceps (which is obviously what earned him his nickname). He had these big jug ears too. I thought about those ears a lot.

Apparently he lives in London now, so I haven’t seen him for a while. I don’t think I’d feel the same way about him now though. I suppose I have those kinds of thoughts about other bodybuilders these days. My stomach twists at that thought.

And now I’m suddenly wondering what Sebastian Wood is up to. How he’s been spending the first few days of his summer holidays. With Henderson maybe? I mean - how is that even gonna work? I don’t exactly know where Henderson lives, but judging by his accent I’m guessing it’s somewhere up North. Which means it’s miles away from where Woody’s parents live.

I’d never even heard of Woody’s hometown when he told me that one day we were training together. But I looked it up afterwards. It’s somewhere in Surrey and from what I found on the net, it looks and sounds like a pretty fucking posh place. Which makes me wonder if his parents are actually loaded. It would just be bloody typical for Woody to be well off on top of everything else.

But yeah - wherever Henderson does live, I know it would take him ages to get to Woody’s. I know how long it would take me to get there from here. Or the train station at least. One hour and forty minutes. I looked that up too. Two trains and one tube ride and I’d be there. I have an image of the train station in my head. I sometimes picture Woody meeting me at that platform. In his black vest and skinny jeans. Maybe wearing that black ICON cap he sometimes wears. I remember the first time I saw him wearing that cap at the SU bar. He was with his first roommate, Craig (he was such an annoying prick). I thought the cap made Woody look like a bit of a twat. But then I couldn’t get the image of him wearing it with his black vest out of my head for the whole night. His shoulders and arms on display. His thick pecs peeking out of the top of the vest. How effortlessly and annoyingly good he looked. I thought about him a lot after that. Maybe that’s when it all started. 

The hours in the Juice Bar drag. I mostly play around on my phone. All the time avoiding the urge to check Instagram, which I’ve made a promise to myself not to look at. Just for the time being. Because I know there’s a very strong possibility I’ll see an update from him. And possibly Henderson. Maybe even see the two of them together. And I just can’t deal with that after what I saw in the Watson House gym the other day. I don’t know what seeing pictures of the two of them together will do to me right now. 

“Here he is!” my dad announces loudly as I walk on to the gym floor a little later on. He’s standing with another guy who works here. I walk over to them. My dad has this proud grin on his face. 

“Fucking ‘ell, Deano! He looks more like you every time I see him!”

I playfully screw my face up like I’m offended. 

“I know. Lucky bastard!” my dad says. 

They’re both just grinning at me. I’m finding it hard not to smile back. I feel like I’m being proudly shown off.

“Wait ‘till he loses his hair!” my dad says. Then he reaches out to touch it and I dodge back quickly to avoid his hand. I’m pretty proud of my hair. I definitely have one of the most distinct styles of the lads in my year at uni. It’s shaved around the sides and slicked back and styled on the top. I copied it from this really hot guy I saw at the gym once. 

“Oooh. Don’t touch the hair!” my dad says with his hands up. “Ya little poof!” His mate laughs.

I feel a tug in my stomach and give him a fake sarcastic smile. “Training are you? Oh, prodigal son of mine?” he asks in a stupid voice.

“Yep!” I say, in a short manner.

“Oooh - he’s gone in a mood now. Stroppy little shit!”

I pull a face and roll my eyes.

“Go on. You can get yourself home after this!”

I nod and walk away.

“Back here tomorrow!” he calls after me. 

Fuck’s sake. I look back and he’s got his hands over his mouth as if he’s speaking through a loudspeaker. “AT NINE O’CLOCK!” he bellows at a completely unnecessary volume.

The gym’s pretty dead when I start my back and biceps training. But about twenty minutes in, some absolute fucking monster in a bright red hoodie that I’ve never seen before walks in. Shaved head. Tanned. Probably late twenties. Kinda thug-ish looking. He takes his hoodie off to reveal a white vest underneath and holy FUCK. Okay, he’s not the best conditioned of lads, but he’s got some serious mass on him. Crazy shoulders. Brutally thick arms. But it’s the fucking pecs I can’t stop looking at. They’re like two balloons bulging off his chest. They even remind me of Brad McCarthy’s. No fucking shit. And as he trains, and gets more and more pumped, the white vest he’s wearing slowly gets wet with sweat. Until he’s just one massive sweat soaked mountain of balloon-like muscle. I swear his pecs looks like they’re about to fucking burst. I don’t spend my entire workout just gawping at him, but it’s hard not to keep drawing my gaze back to him. He notices too. At one point, he even makes eye contact with me and gives me a friendly nod (no smile) and my insides do something funny. 

Josh isn’t in when I get back home. I love having the house to myself. That’s one thing I really miss when I’m at Muscle University. Having my own room. My roommate Shaun’s my fucking boy and I love the lad to bits, but sometimes I just wanted nothing more than to go back from my lectures or the gym to an empty room. To have my own fucking space and to just not have to deal with anyone.

I crash on my bed once I'm in my room. I’m still thinking about that guy at the gym. His size. How intense he was when he trained. The pure testosterone radiating from him. The sweat soaked vest. The big balloons of pec muscle bulging off his chest. I probably would have obsessed about that guy if he’d been a regular at the gym a few years ago.

I have no idea who he is. I might be able to find him on my phone if I do some digging, but I’m determined to keep up my abstinence from Instagram. I just can’t risk looking at the app right now. 

I jump up and dig out an old shoe box tucked at the back of my wardrobe. I haven’t looked in it for years, but I know what’s in here. I open the lid and sure enough, nineties bodybuilding legend Brad McCarthy is looking up at me from the front of the magazine I stole from my dad’s gym all those years ago. Big, sweaty, balloon-esque tits and all.

I jump back on my bed, my now hard dick throbbing in my gym trackies. I guess it’s time to get reacquainted with Brad and the other muscle freaks in this magazine. 

Very hot.  Can't wait for us all to meet Mr. Pecs from from the gym in the coming chapters! 

[Ozymandias]

53 minutes ago, DennisFLL said:

Very hot.  Can't wait for us all to meet Mr. Pecs from from the gym in the coming chapters! 

I second this!

[muscleaddict]

Hmmm. Sorry, guys. I can't really promise that Mr Sweaty Balloon Pecs will be back! 

[Ozymandias]

18 minutes ago, muscleaddict said:

Hmmm. Sorry, guys. I can't really promise that Mr Sweaty Balloon Pecs will be back! 

Your teases don’t fool us anymore!

[muscleaddict]

14 minutes ago, Ozymandias said:

Your teases don’t fool us anymore!

Haha! Do I have some kind of reputation for that?   I guess you'll just have to keep reading then, mate.

[BrzNLA]

Great Chapter Mate. Awesome to be introduced to the whole Deano clan. I can’t wait to read the next chapter.

[WashburnDaddy]

47 minutes ago, muscleaddict said:

Haha! Do I have some kind of reputation for that?   I guess you'll just have to keep reading then, mate.

Ah well - it is better to have a reputation rather than none at all! 

[stewbake]

I love where this is going!