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DeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeHHHHHHHaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaalllllllllllllllllllllllllllldennnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnn, we miss you!

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DeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeHHHHHHHaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaalllllllllllllllllllllllllllldennnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnn, we miss you!

Ha ha aha hah!

 

You can't rush genius! 

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  • 3 weeks later...

“So catch me up on things.”

 

Lynn and I were sitting on the back patio of Bürnt, a semi-high end pizza joint on the opposite end of town, the remnants of our dinner on the table before us. Lynn had demurely opted for a single slice of pepperoni and downed it with a beer, but the moment we had walked through the door, the aroma of the fresh-baked pies kicked my new appetite into hyper-drive. My stomach, remarkably unsatisfied by the three meals I had already downed, growled vociferously and I decided instantly to spring for a large barbecue chicken pizza. Because it was such a nice evening, we chose to sit out on the patio, but I hardly noticed the cool breeze and striking setting sun as I attacked my pie. When I had finally finished, I leaned back in my seat and groaned, contentedly patting my stomach and the eight slices it housed. I glanced across the table at Lynn, who sat with her arms across her chest, exasperated.

 

“Remind me again where I left off,” I said, smiling apologetically.

 

“Well,” Lynn said, rolling her eyes. “You were telling me more about Charlie, but then you got a little sidetracked shoving an entire pizza down your throat.”

 

“Right,” I said. Now that my appetite was (momentarily) satiated, my focus could return to the conversation at hand. How prudently Lynn had dug through her wardrobe to find a t-shirt as tight fitting as the one she was wearing, I didn’t dare venture to guess, mostly because I was certain nearly everything she owned was intentionally about two sizes too small. Her already plainly bountiful boobs were snugly crammed into the tiny black t-shirt, but with her arms firmly crossed over them, they were squeezed together and threatening to rip the material right down the middle. Her burgundy lips were pursed thinly and beneath the table I could feel her foot tapping expectantly against mine, waiting for me to continue. I picked up where I had left off: how earlier that morning, Charlie and I had gone to the gym for our usual workout and regrettably run into Rick. How the tension between the two of these two robust men had been palpable. How they had battled it out with a bench press contest and Charlie had claimed victory, only to pass out shortly thereafter…how I barely gotten the sweating Adonis that was my roommate through the front door and onto my sofa before he collapsed. “And he was still sleeping when I left to pick you up. I texted him, but he hasn’t texted back. I’m getting a little worried.”

 

“I’m sure he’s fine,” Lynn said flatly. Her foot continued tapping beneath the table.

 

I leveled my gaze at her. “What?”

 

“Hmm? Oh, nothing. Forget it.”

 

“What is it, Lynn?” I sighed. “What’s wrong with this one?”

 

Her foot abruptly stopped bouncing and she leaned forward, placing her hands flat on the table, her large breasts spilling onto a pile napkins. “Firstly,” she said, “he isn’t ‘this one’. He isn’t your boyfriend.”

 

“I don’t think that. I know he’s not my—”

 

“Handsome and hunky as this guy is and as much as you might want to fuck the life out of all those muscles, this guy’s straight. Remember that. Secondly, I don’t trust him. I mean, doesn’t it all seem a bit outlandish to you? Your roommate from college that you haven’t heard from in like ten years suddenly emails you out of the blue and moves in with you. Who does that? Freeloaders and fuckboys, that’s who: broke-ass guys who’ll screw you over the second you can’t give them what they want. I mean, he didn’t even have the common decency to friend you on Facebook first.”

 

“I’m not on Facebook…”

 

“That’s an intervention for another time,” she said, waving a hand. “All I’m saying is that for all that sex appeal, what do you really know about him?”

 

“Hold up,” I said. “You make it sound like he’s just some random hookup I picked up at the club. We were roommates, Lynn. Friends. We have a history.”

 

“A lot changes in a decade, Andy. People included.”

 

I opened my mouth to say something more, but stopped. How could I argue a point like that? I knew better than anyone the transformation that Charlie had undergone. The gawky soccer player that I had roomed with for three years had become a full-blown muscled stud since I had seen him last, ready to grace the cover of any fitness magazine. And what about me? Despite the geographic stasis that had cursed me, I had changed too. Yeah, for the worse, I thought, remembering my flabby frame—when suddenly, a second, stronger voice growled in the back of my mind. No. Not anymore. I turned and glanced at my reflection in the window beside our table. The same bookish, bespectacled English teacher that greeted me every morning in the mirror stared back, but he was markedly different now. My arms were thicker, comfortably filling my sleeves for the first time in my life, my chest was actually noticeable beneath my shirt and my stomach didn’t protrude anymore. Hell, even my face seemed a little more sculpted. And I can get even better looking. Bigger. I envisioned my reflection even larger, with bulging biceps the size of softballs, enormous pecs to die for, and shoulders so bulky I was doubly as wide. And who could help get me there? Who would help me keep growing?

 

“I trust him, Lynn,” I said, turning back to her. “It’s as simple as that.”

 

She sat back in her chair again. “Does he pay rent?”

 

“We have an arrangement.”

 

“Does this bitch pay rent or not?” she said. When I didn’t answer immediately, she shook her head. “And why not? He’s has a job, doesn’t he?”

 

“Yes,” I said. “Look, I know you well enough to know that this whole impromptu ‘Iyanla Fix My Life’ thing has just been because you care about me and want to make sure I’m doing the right thing, but can we drop it? Please? I just wanted to have a nice dinner out with my friend. Can we do that?”

 

I could see in her eyes the weighing of the options at hand, but Lynn (reluctantly) agreed and we changed the subject to deciding where we should go to grab a drink next. What I didn’t tell her was that I was suddenly feeling ill. Not from the ridiculous amount of pizza I had put away, but from the sneaking suspicion she had planted in my mind. Why did my argument for Charlie taste like a lie? He had a job—he had told me he did the afternoon we had had lunch at Applebees all those weeks ago—but as Lynn and I drove across town, I could not recall what precisely Charlie had said his occupation was. Something about customer service? I tried not to feel skeptical about the fact that he never once complained or even remarked offhandedly about his job, even after he got home from what I assumed was a long day…but a part of me had already decided to make a point of it to ask him about it soon. Maybe he’s embarrassed by his job or something. Maybe he’s like secretly a construction worker or something? It would explain the muscles. I was certain there existed a reasonable explanation and that the possibility he was abusing my hospitality was ludicrous. It made me feel supremely guilty to believe otherwise, especially given the fact he was currently incapacitated on my sofa.

 

I decided to drown my creeping apprehension. We drove across town and parked outside the ritziest hotel in town. The bar of the Regal Hilton Hotel was a long, polished oak masterpiece located off the main lobby. The bartender, a handsome and scruffy twenty-something, greeted us as we approached and not so smoothly gave me a one-over. Oh shit, he’s got “fuck me” eyes, I realized. This working out thing could really do wonders for my dating life. I ordered a whiskey and as he slid me my drink, my fingers lingered on his. His hungry gaze met mine again and he ever so lightly bit his lip before turning away.

 

“Should I plan on taking an Uber back home tonight?” Lynn asked the second he was out earshot.

 

“I’ll keep you updated,” I said. “What about you? You getting any lately?”

 

“As long as the Energizer Bunny doesn’t go out of business, I’ll be just fine.”

 

“Seriously? Weren’t you seeing that one guy with the…you know?”

 

“Donkey Dan? Eh. Not so much anymore,” she said. “We had differing philosophies. I kept trying to clue him into the fact that just because you have a huge dick doesn’t entitle you to be one, but he was of a different, clearly less-evolved mindset.”

 

I chuckled, sipped my drink, and squirmed in my seat. Even offhanded talk of huge members always got mine stirring and I surreptitiously adjusted my meat. All 8.2 inches of it, I reminded myself. I thought back to my measuring session earlier that morning. Had my cock really grown or was it just a trick of my imagination? It definitely feels bigger now than before. But that’s not possible…is it? Purely for amusement’s sake, I opened my mind to the prospect of growth for the second time that night. That would be awesome though. Shit, I’ve always wanted to push nine inches. I wonder if I could get that last little bit somehow? I’d have the largest cock of any guy I know. At the opposite end of the bar, the bartender met my eyes again and smirked, as if reading my mind. I surreptitiously patted my bulge. This’ll do just fine for now. As a new customer approached and got the bartender’s attention I looked away, swiveling in my seat to mindlessly survey the people passing through the lobby. A young woman dragged a suitcase to the front desk. An elderly man stopped to tie his shoe. A man in an oversized sports coat exited the elevator. I turned back to the bar to check on the bartender. Still preoccupied, damn it. Lynn, too, was busily scrolling through her phone, so I returned to people watching. The elevator dinged again, the doors slid open, and—

 

Seemingly attuned to his presence, my cock reacted first, lengthening to its full size at the sight of him. Although he had traded the sweat-soaked t-shirt that I had seen him in last for the impressively expensive clothes he was wearing presently, he was unmistakable. Or rather, those glorious muscles of his were. I would have recognized them anywhere. After all, I had seen them, studied them, dreamed of them night and day for weeks. I had imagined touching and squeezing and caressing them and wondered what they would feel like beneath my eager fingers. That high, round ass of his that just wouldn’t give up; those broad, deep pecs that I wanted to bury my face in and never come back up from; those incredibly thick arms that were easily twice as big around as an average man’s. The muscles I lusted over. The muscles I wanted, both to touch and to possess for myself. All them were strolling ever so casually across the lobby right in front of me, capped by that head of perfectly coiffed hair and that granite carved face. I swung back around to the bar, wide-eyed. That wasn’t…it couldn’t have been…

 

I reached for my whiskey with a shaking hand and downed it. In the clarity of the burn that ensued, a single thought developed: But it was. I hastily reached for my phone and hesitantly shot off a text: “Hey, big guy. Haven’t heard from you all evening. Starting to get worried. You okay?” 

 

“Another one on the house?” I glanced up to see the scruffy bartender before me, whiskey already in hand. I eagerly accepted and tossed it back. My gaze returned to the blank, black screen of my phone. Any second, his reply would appear. Any second. One. Two. Three...

 

“Andy?” Lynn asked. "Everything okay?" 

 

My phone dinged. Slowly, I unlocked it and opened Charlie’s reply.

 

“Just woke up,” it said. “Was just a little tired. See you soon?”

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After I dropped Lynn at her apartment I instinctively headed for home, but the moment I hit the freeway, I found the notion unappealing. There seemed to be equal chance that Charlie would be there or elsewhere, and coupled with the fact that I was torn between being irked with him and simply wanting to gaze at his incredible body, I was hesitant to do anything or go anywhere until I had sorted out my mental state. I angrily punched the steering wheel and swung into the parking lot of the nearest strip mall. There in the privacy of my own car, I clenched and unclenched my fists, trying to figure out why I was so upset. Had it really been so egregious a lie? That he was supposedly home when he wasn’t? It wasn’t like Charlie was accountable to me. If anything, I had become accountable to him. I had transfigured my life to fit the routine he had set for me. I woke when he said, ate what he told me to, worked out as he instructed. And why? Where did this sway over me come from?

 

The answer was simple, of course. From those big ol’ muscles of his, I thought resentfully. When it came down to it, it was pure natural law. He was the bigger, stronger guy. For all of civilization’s advancement and pride at having separated itself from the animal kingdom, it still came down to which beast was brawnier. He may not have used brute force, but when it came down to it, he had the muscle so he made the rules. It was so ordinary a concept that I hadn’t even realized it had happened. And you like it, don’t you? You like the idea of Charlie having control. Because look at the perfect shit storm of a life you’ve made for yourself up to this point. And you want what he has. The muscles. The size. The power.

 

I heaved a sigh, started my car, and drove home before I could reconsider. Charlie’s car was parked in the driveway and the living room light was on. I reluctantly stepped out of my car and walked up the front steps, pressing my ear to the front door. Inside, I could only hear the chatter of the TV. With bated breath, I entered…and found the living room deserted. The kitchen was similarly empty. It wasn’t until I walked down the hall that I heard the shower running. Equally relieved and peeved, I went into my bedroom and sat on the edge of my bed. Amidst a slew of many things, I reflected upon the discussion Lynn and I had had earlier and felt a hot anger boil up in me again. I’d been blissfully living under Charlie’s influence. Who was she to disrupt that, even if she was right? I glanced through my open bedroom door. Directly across the hall, Charlie’s door was stood ajar.

 

Fuck Lynn and her laser sharp accuracy. Inside the bathroom, the shower was still blasting full force. I’ll just be a second. In and out. Besides, it’s my house and it isn’t like he’s paying rent. Before I could stop myself, I rose and darted across the hall. In the few weeks since Charlie had moved in, I had not stepped foot in my former spare room, but in the short time, Charlie had completely changed it. The first thing I noticed was the smell. The rich aroma of spiced cologne and his unmistakable scent filled the room. God, he smells like sex on two legs. A sandalwood-and-leather-scented candle on his dresser was the only source of light in the room, giving the rest of the room a flickering gloom. I got to work. What precisely I was looking for, I did not know. Something, anything to justify or alleviate my suspicions. Hanging over the edge of his bed were the expensive clothes I had seen him wearing earlier. I picked them up and searched the pockets, only to find them empty. I glanced around the room again and my eyes fell on the closet. I crossed and quietly opened it. A gym bag lay on the floor. I knelt and slowly began unzipping it, folding back the cover and peering inside by the light of my phone. It was filled with the expected—gym shoes, his Platinum Fitness Warehouse keycard, lifting gloves, etc—as well as a slew of XL condoms and a bottle of top-grade lube.

 

Holy shit. Alrighty then. I took a moment to compose myself. This isn’t any of my business. He doesn’t deserve this. Lynn doesn’t know what she’s talking about. I rose and started to leave, when I spotted that the top drawer of the dresser was ever so slightly open. Okay, just one quick glance. I quietly pulled it open the rest of the way and peered inside. I gasped. It was an underwear drawer the likes of which I had never seen. Charlie had every sort of garment imaginable, it seemed. There was the usual—boxer and briefs mostly—but what was most striking were the array of jockstraps at his disposal. Each seemed skimpier than the last, some practically thongs. One was composed of nothing more than a single strap with a pouch for his cock. It’s a fucking loincloth, I thought, amazed. And then: I wonder what he looks like in it. I noticed that each of the pouches designed to hold his cock and balls was impressively large. Hence the condoms, I thought amusedly. That was when I spotted the vial lying amidst the pile of straps and strings. The vial of clear, syrupy mixture of BCAA’s that Charlie had started me on. I plucked it from the tangle of jockstraps and held it to the light of the candle, examining it. The bubbles inside gravitated tantalizingly toward the stopper. It looked surprisingly delicious. Like liquid candy—

 

The shower snapped off.

 

“Ow—fuck!”

 

In the second my head had snapped toward the door in terror, my hand had drifted over the open flame of the candle, singeing my pinky. I dropped the vial and in the darkness it rolled across the hardwood floor, disappearing beneath Charlie’s bed.

 

Fuck fuck fuck fuck,” I hissed. I heard the metallic clink of rings as Charlie swept back the shower curtain. I quickly dropped to my knees and thrust my hand beneath his bed, fishing about blindly in the dark to find the vial. Seconds passed. I could hear Charlie moving about in the bathroom. Oh fuck. Suddenly, my fingers grazed something smooth and round. I clenched it, stood, and swept out the door—

 

“Oomph!”

 

“Unh!”

 

—and smacked into a wet, shining wall of muscle. In the time between the seconds, everything rushed to a crawl. I bounced off the incredible musculature in my path and stumbled backward, arms pin-wheeling, but with his honed athleticism, Charlie’s hands instinctively snapped forward and grabbed my shirt, pulling back toward him. And it happened. He tugged me hard, hugging me to him, so that the only thing keeping our faces inches apart were his plump, wet pecs. I could make out the fine striations of the muscles in his chest, the stubble of his chest hair that he had shaved off but which for all his testosterone was growing back, and smell the aroma of Irish Spring soap drifting from the deep cleft between those two pillows of muscle. I had a fleeting thought—I could stay here forever—before I was pushing myself away from him, my fingers sinking into all that dense, yet pliable muscle.

 

“Sorry, I—”

 

“It’s fine,” he said quickly. “Are you okay?”

 

“No, I’m good. I mean, yes, I’m fine. But…”

 

Now that I had taken a step back, I could take in the entirety of his tall, glistening, muscular self. His shoulders, smooth and round and large as small cantaloupes. The prominent vein of each arm that started at the top of biceps and snaked their way across the crook of his elbow before branching out like a tributary across his meaty forearms. His abs that rivaled a Roman suit of armor and the residual beads of water running ever so gently in the valley between them, down, down, down toward the towel that was wrapped precariously loose around his waist. I snapped my eyes back to his face. His hair, usually blonde, was darkly wet; a single lock of it plastered to his smooth forehead. His deep green eyes searched mine, concerned but unsuspecting.

 

“I didn’t hear you come in,” he said finally.

 

“Oh, yeah, I just got here. I was in my room, but…” I glanced toward his bedroom door. It was wide open, not at all the inch of a crack he had left it. “But I remembered I had left something in the car, so. So that’s what I was doing. Going to my car. To get the thing.”

 

“The thing?”

 

I was suddenly conscious of the vial clasped in my right hand. Had he seen it? Had he felt it when my hands were pressed against his broad, thick pecs? He searched my eyes again. I weighed my options: pretend nothing had happened and go about my merry (awkward) business in hopes that he wouldn’t call me out on the stolen goods or beat him to the chase and acknowledge my theft.

 

“So I found this,” I said and opened my palm. “It was laying on the floor. You must’ve dropped it.” Charlie’s eyes darted toward the vial, back to my face, and unless ever so fleetingly toward his bedroom door. When they returned to my face, I tried to read his gaze, but found it indecipherable. Oh shit this is it. He suspects—no, he knows. How couldn’t he? One second its in his sexy underwear drawer and the next its in your hand.

 

“Thanks,” he said slowly. “But that’s yours. I was going to give it to you later. It’s your next dose of BCAAs. I ran out and bought some while you were gone. Toss it back, man.”

 

“Oh. Uh. Thanks." I rolled the vial in my sweaty palm, popped the rubber stopper with my thumb, and slowly raised it to my lips. I nodded to him in a “bottoms up” sort of way and quickly shot the contents. It didn’t taste as bitter as before, rather sweet actually, and I found myself wishing there’d been more than the half-mouthful.

 

“Good stuff, huh?” Charlie said, and slapped me on the shoulder. I opened my mouth to reply, but realized too late that his motion had jostled his towel loose. It dropped to his ankles and revealed the last bit of him that I had yet to feast my eyes on.

 

And what a feast it was. 

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Jeez! What an ending. I can't wait to read more. Seriously, I love your writing style. And I had no idea what could possibly happen next.

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