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Muscleace

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So I know I haven't posted an actual story on here in a LONG time. So here is a cleaned up rp that I did with a personal friend (no he is not on the forums).

 

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Preacher Curls

 

“So you’re not gonna talk to me?” Janet Wilford guided the Ford Navigator down the turnpike, stealing glances at the slouched figure in the passenger seat. “Marcus. MARCUS. Don’t be a brat,” she scolded, giving him a slap on the shoulder.

 

“Don’t fuckin’ touch me!”

 

“NO cursing,” she snapped, trying to sound authoritarian. She’d never been good at it – had a voice like a bird, and now a teenaged son that didn’t take her seriously because of it. “Don’t curse in church.”

 

“I’m gonna stay in the car.”

 

“For two hours? No you’re not.”

 

"This is TWO HOURS?!” Marcus slumped against the window of the car like he’d been shot. “You’re the worst. Dad wouldn’t make me go to stupid church.”

 

“That’s part of the problem.”

 

“Don’t,” Marcus said with a grand roll of his eyes, as only teenagers could do. “Spare me the God shit.”

 

“These are nice people,” Janet said through gritted teeth. “Church is more than just praying. Be polite.” She sighed and looked at his dingy plaid shorts. “Couldn’t you have at least worn pants?”

 

"Couldn't you have not dragged me to church." He spat back. "I'd rather be playing Call of Duty or some shit."

 

 "Language!" Janet shouted back, "This'll be good for us. And if not, you better just grin and bear it. You might actually learn something."

 

Marcus crossed his skinny arms and slouched. He knew there would be no reasoning with his mother.

 

 The Ford rolled into the large parking lot for the large Crossroads Family Church. His mother took a deep breathe. "Now we are here. Please be respectful at least."

 

“Even the name’s dumb,” Marcus glared at the sign, like it was taunting him. “Why didn’t Avery or Bella have to come?”

 

“Because they behave.”

 

Marcus slammed the car door shut. “Oh, so this is s’posed to FIX me,” he chuckled cruelly. “Thanks Mom. Nice to know that you care.”

 

“I DO care.” Janet’s frustration was coming increasingly to the forefront. “I just want you to find some good kids to be FRIENDS with!”

 

“’cause mine are shitty huh? You hate my friends, say it, you hate my friends.”

 

“They’re not good influe-”

 

“You hate my friends!” Marcus accidentally said this as they opened the door and entered the church lobby, and Janet went red in the face when she realized people had heard. Marcus, to his credit, didn’t say it again.

 

“Hi folks,” a very elderly, very stooped man in a plaid Oxford and khakis said. “Welcome to Crossroads, glad to have you here today.”

 

Marcus stared at the ground as Janet talked to the man. He wore a name tag that said ‘My name is ELMER and I’m happy to help!’ “Here’s a bulletin for ya,” he said to Janet, and then repeated the phrase as he thrust one toward Marcus. Marcus didn’t see it at first because he wasn’t looking.

 

Elmer held out the bulletin for a few moments before seeing Marcus wasn't paying attention. "What's wrong little guy?" Marcus grumbled back, "I'm not little." Surprising the elderly man heard the mumbled words. "Oh right, I'm sorry it must be my age. My eyes aren't what they are used to. Looks like we are having a casual day." Marcus looked up. "Huh?"

“Back in my day, church was a big deal,” Elmer smiled, more to Janet than to Marcus. “Boys would never dream of goin’ to church without a collared shirt. But you feel so comfortable in the Lord’s House that you wear pajamas around it, and that’s okay.”

 

“These aren’t pajamas,” Marcus said, taking the bulletin and walking away, but feeling suddenly self-conscious. He looked down at the dingy t-shirt – it had a skull on it – and the shorts that had been wadded up in a ball on his floor. He felt a little bad, but that annoyed him too…he didn’t come here for a guilt trip. Still, a shirt with a skull on it was maybe not the best thing to wear to church. He began picking at the black decal, just to pass the time as his mom talked to her friends, and to his surprise it peeled off pretty easily. In a matter of minutes he’d already torn off both the eye sockets, which made the skull look much less menacing. He continued to pick at it. Flakes of the synthetic material wafting to the floor. Then he felt something hard rub against the tips of his fingers. He picked at it until he thought it wasn't a good idea. With most of the skull decal gone, the shirt was plain black. His finger was resting again a white button. He looked confused. Was this shirt always a button-down? He shrugged it off. At least it looked nice, maybe he would blend in. He hoped for no more guilt trips about his attire, not that his pants were that much better than a skulled designed shirt.

 

He passed by a mirror and looked at the shirt. It wasn’t a button-down, it was just a plain black t-shirt with a couple white buttons in the middle of it. Like they were spares sewn on for a rainy day or something. Marcus thought this was very strange, but he didn’t have anyone else to mention it to, and he couldn’t talk to his mom about it because she was freaking out about everything (she was so annoying), so instead he wandered over to the doughnut table.

 

 A plump woman with a friendly face was manning the doughnuts. “Welcome to Crossroads,” she chirped.

 

“Thanks.” Marcus looked over the doughnuts and reached for one with his fingers.

 

“Napkin, honey, napkin,” the woman said.

 

“Oh, right...I wasn’t gonna touch any of the others.” Marcus grabbed a napkin anyway just to not get the woman riled up.

 

“I’m surprised you want a doughnut! With how you look.”

 

Marcus almost rolled his eyes but stopped himself. “I’m really skinny but I do eat,” he said, walking away with a glazed prize, missing the woman’s confused expression.

Marcus' right sleeve grew taut as his bicep bunched up when he brought the doghnut to his mouth. He was getting tired of people commenting on how he looked. He was in the house of God. Would He really care what people wore as long as they came? He munched on the doughnut, the sweetness overwhelming his mouth a bit. "Too much sugar..." He thought. He looked to his mother who was still chatting non-stop with her friends.

 

This was so boring. What a shitty day. If he’d been at Dad’s he would’ve still been asleep. No wonder he was so tired. Marcus ambled over to the beverages and poured himself a piping hot cup of coffee. He didn’t even like coffee, but a perk would do him good.

 

“How about that Spieth kid, huh?” A friendly man struck up a conversation as he poured his own cup.

 

“Yeah, uh, he’s real good,” Marcus mumbled, taking a sip of the bitter drink. His face puckered up and he wanted to add some sugar, but he resisted and took a second sip. This one was way better.

 

The man continued the small talk with Marcus continuing to nod and give small replies, until he found himself getting into the conversation a bit more. "Yeah, it nice too see that he has turned a new leaf. So many troubled youth these days. I hope he sets a good example for them. I hope more follow in his footsteps." The friendly man agreed and they continued their conversation until the man's wife came by to take him to where his family was sitting. "What a good man." He thought as he watched the man walk away.

 

Marcus looked down at his empty coffee cup, realizing that not only had he drunk the whole thing, but he’d filled up a second and finished that one off too. He had a nice buzz going as he tossed the cup into the trash. The coffee had elevated his mood and put some pep in his step. And thankfully, it had warmed him up, because for some reason he’d worn a t-shirt and shorts to church, and the a/c was blasting in here. He thought about turning it down, even thought about where the dial was located, but decided against it.

 

He walked past his mother, down the aisle of pews to the altar. After genuflecting, he stood there and took in the neatly arranged altar. It was then an altar boy bumped into him and dropped the Bible he was carrying. Marcus bent down to pick it up and he felt the back of his shirt ride up. He handed it to the boy and smiled as the kid ran off. He tucked the tail of his shirt into his pants. He paused as he felt a leather strap running around his waist. He looked puzzled at the black belt holding up his pants. Since when did he wear a belt? It was a nice belt – shiny leather, with a silver buckle. Marcus was so focused on it that it took him a moment to realize that his ratty plaid shorts were actually ratty plaid…pants. This made his mind reel. He got nervous that the legs had ripped off and fallen and his butt was exposed or something, but he patted around himself and no – everything intact, just…pants. He could hear people’s conversations starting to diminish and saw the worship team filing in with their instruments in hand.

 

The hairs on the back of his neck stood up from stage fright when he realized everyone was starting to sit down and he was standing up in front of the congregation. Marcus quickly scuttled to the first open pew and sat in it, refusing to look back at his mom as the modern worship team launched into a pleasant song – it wasn’t some boring hymn, it was almost like a rock song he’d hear on the radio. Except it was about Jesus and how great he was. Marcus found himself tapping his sneakers against the carpet.

 

As he tapped his sneakers, the whiteness faded from them. The logo became lost in the blackening fabric and smoothed out to match the rest of the shoe. Soon the shoes were entirely black and had a new sheen to them. The tapping became louder as the shoe, along with his foot, stretch further and wider until they were a rather larger size 15. They looked almost like fancy clown shoes for a man his height. When he realized he was tapping his foot, he stopped. Instead he started tapping his finger against his thigh. Damn, this was a great song, and the worship leader had a terrific voice. Marcus felt inspired to sing along, croaking out a word here and there. The words were up on the screens, but Marcus had never had a great sense of rhythm, so he wasn’t good at getting the whole verses – but he could spot when each phrase was ending, so he would chime in a nice “Goooooddd” or “aboooooove” with the rest of the congregation.

 

The first song ended and Marcus wondered if he should take this opportunity to go back to his mom. But then the worship leader began praying, so instead Marcus bowed his head – didn’t shut his eyes, though, he wasn’t a big praying guy – and stayed still.

 

He folded his hands together and closed his eyes, hoping to blend in. If he had his eyes open or not focusing so much on what the worship leader was saying, he would have seen or heard his knuckles crack and expand, causing his finger to lengthen and thicken and his palms to widen. That wasn't the only part of his arm shifting. His shirt grew tight where his bicep was as sinew was added to the muscle. It bulked out and pressed tightly against the shirt as it started to take on a new material.

 

As Marcus’s biceps swelled out, they pushed enough against the t-shirt sleeves that the fabric started to split – and where the black ripped apart, a light lavender color appeared. There was also a thin line of lavender down the middle of Marcus’s back, where the shirt was curiously strained.

 

Marcus stuck his hand under his arm and itched, feeling the bloated bicep shoving against the side of his body. The seams of his t-shirt were also starting to turn light purple, and the plaid of his pants was becoming a much more subtle pattern that blended into the dark gray wool that now composed them.

 

 As the worship leader stopped praying, Marcus opened his eyes and flicked through the church bulletin as the next song started up. His eyes fell on some words at the top of a page: “MARTUS TILFORD.” Was that someone’s name? It was so close to his own, what a coincidence. And ‘martus’ was actually Greek for ‘witness’. Maybe this Martus Tilford was being a witness for Christ somewhere.

 

Not that Marcus gave a shit about that, he told himself, trying to maintain his disinterest, but then they started reading a passage from the Bible. His ears perked up as they began to read the story. His disinterest was fading fast. He felt enamored with the message of the story and how excellently it was explained. It seemed so wonderful to his. As he sat and listened, he started to sit up straighter, and higher, his ass pushing off the pew and straining the seat of his pants.

 

“Before we continue,” the worship leader said, “let’s all stand and greet one another.”

 

Marcus stood up and suddenly felt horribly dizzy, to the point of needing to grab the pew in front of him so he didn’t fall. He looked down at everyone around him and realized that he was either tall, or everyone else was really short.

 

 There was a kid in the pew behind him who extended his hand. Marcus met it. “Mornin’ pal,” he said, annoying himself with his own cheerfulness. That coffee had really done a number on him. He went down the pew with a big smile on his face, vigorously shaking hands. “Good morning. Hi, how ya doing? G’morning. So glad you’re here. Hi, Marcus. Nice to meet you. Martus, good to see ya! Happy Sunday. Hello, I’m Martus. How are you today? I’m so glad.” He was taller than every single man or woman he met, and his hand enveloped theirs every time.

 

 Marcus looked at his hand when he went back to his seat. It was a big hand – thick fingers, a broad palm. Meaty and creased, and bulging with muscle, like he’d been laying bricks in his spare time or something. He looked at the white buttons running up the front of his t-shirt, and for the first time noticed that the black fabric had odd splotches of lilac here and there. The sleeves hung past his elbows now and clung tightly to his curiously big upper arms, which were laughably disproportionate to the rest of his body.

 

 His forearms were still skinny but had some shockingly large veins crisscrossing up to his biceps. Marcus traveled one of his big fingers along the vein and fingered the soft violet fabric appearing over his arms. He liked twill fabric, it was thick and durable, and the sheen highlighted his muscles. He always got twill dress shirts. Just thinking of this was enough to cause a tall folded collar to pop out of the top of Marcus’s t-shirt, the points flopping out like wings around his neck. The collar sat flush against the back of Marcus’ neck, covering the skin up to the hairline. Sleeves shot down Marcus’s arms and buttoned cuffs formed around his wrists. The lavender spots spread out over the black as Marcus swayed to the worship song.

He reached up and stuck a finger inside his shirt collar. It felt strange, and yet right, to be sporting a collared shirt. What had Elmer said? Something about shirt collars and how it was good to wear them to church. Church was presenting yourself before God, and you should dress up a little. A nice dress shirt, sure, nice pants. Marcus patted his waistline to make sure his shirt was still tucked in.

 

Those standing behind Marcus were craning their necks a little more than before. The boy’s back was getting wider, and combined with his towering height, it was hard to see over or around him. His lats gently, but noticeably, had popped out and pushed at his bulging arms, straining the back of his dress shirt more. The fabric was getting tighter all over, and soon Marcus had to reach up and open the second button on his shirt, exposing a line running down the center of his tanned chest, as his pectorals cropped up.

 Marcus raised one hand above his head toward the heavens as he sang. He looked up at the church’s ceiling and noticed the lavender shirt cuff around his wrist, remarking to himself that he’d never liked that color, except now he was wearing it. His eyes traced his arm, noting how the muscles were making the sleeve’s fabric tighten, and wandered down to his torso, where the shirt’s white buttons now stood out against a sea of lilac twill, puckering slightly over his chest and stomach. He looked large. His pecs were starting to stand out pretty far, making the open buttons of his shirt sit that much further apart.

 

 Marcus stole a glance over at Elmer, the greeter. The man was so stooped and yet still praising the Lord – it was inspiring. Elmer couldn’t stand up straight, but Marcus sure could on his behalf. The boy heaved his large chest up, flared out his lats and straightened his spine, pulling himself up to his full magnificent 6’5” height.

 

Marcus sang along with the rest of the congregation. His neck pushed the collar of his shirt apart as it thickened. Along with the corded muscle of his neck, his vocal cords also changed. His voice became deeper and melodic. As he sang, he put more enthusiasm into it. In fact, it also seemed like the now large young man was leading the whole church in the song. He even smiled and the notes tumbled out of his mouth. Once the song ended, he sat down and glanced at the bulletin. SOmething caught his eye. "Parcus Tillman." He read then thought to himself. "Was that the same guy it had said when I first read it?"

 

Marcus squinted at the program. Without thinking about it, he unhooked a pair of reading glasses from his shirt and placed them on his face, where they fit perfectly and lent his countenance some gravitas. He then pushed his long bangs back from his forehead so that they didn’t get caught under the glasses, and a curious thing happened – despite him not having any product in his thick hair, his hair stayed swept back, molded into a style by invisible pomade. His hairline inched back at the temples, going from a straight line to a peak, and Marcus absently itched between the open buttons of his shirt as hair began to sprout on his chest. He even felt hairs bristle against the lower part of his sleeves. The feeling was also mimicked in the legs of his pants. Then he had to look down. Leg of his pants? "Wasn't I wearing shorts?" But when he looked down, all he could see was a pair of nicely pressed khakis that were taut over his bulky thighs. "No... I'd never wear shorts to church." He chuckled lightly to himself. "I must be getting old if I'm forgetting what pants I'm wearing." A faint shadow formed around his lips as he grinned. Brown hair follicles pushed their way out from his chin and lips, forming a well-kept stubble. Absent-mindedly, he stroked his stubble as the worship session went on.

 

His stomach gurgled and he thought back to what he’d eaten for breakfast: six eggs, two pieces of toast, Greek yogurt, bacon, lots of coffee, and a special Sunday morning treat, a cinnamon roll. His stomach gently filled in and pushed against the buckle of his belt, changing the profile view of his body somewhat. Marcus reached down and loosened his belt to the next notch, discreetly adjusting his package in his pants as he did so. He had more beef than a second ago. His jaw was fleshier, his chest fuller, his abs rounding out like a dome and pushing against the buttons of his dress shirt. And though it would have been unimaginable just that morning, now the stubble on Marcus’ face was looking thick and furry, quickly growing into a full beard.

 

It was natural for men like him to not be so defined. He couldn't stay shredded forever he told himself, but he sure was going to try and keep it as long as he could. He was doing a great job at it too. His abs were still visible, he could keep up with the young’uns in the gym. Hell, he even played on a local football team. Suddenly, he felt some constriction around neck. Reaching up to his neck, he loosened his tie a little, the back of his hand brushing the bushy, but well-kept beard. His smile was beaming as the reader read the next passage. His pearly white teeth contrasting nicely with his brown beard.

 

Feeling his shirt and collar getting continually and curiously tighter, Marcus reconsidered and removed his tie, rolling it up and setting it on the seat next to his Bible. He opened up the next button down on his shirt to give himself a little more breathing room, and while he did this, he heard some unpleasant popping noises come through the church speaker. Looking down, he saw a tiny black microphone pinned to one of the open buttonholes of his shirt, and he felt a wire snake around his thick body and attach to a mic box clipped to the back of his pants. Marcus’ smile quickly faded. Why was he mic’ed up…did they…expect him to TALK?

 

 Panicked, he grabbed the bulletin. SERMON: PARTES TILLMAN – THE BODY AS THE TEMPLE. Thank God that wasn’t his name, although his body was certainly a temple. Marcus looked down at his muscles, which were still bulging bigger, threatening to rip his shirt and pants. Man, he looked like a bodybuilder. He could even sort of remember competing.

 

The panicked expression slowly faded from his face. Of course he used to compete. He started bodybuilding when he was a teen. He had a rough childhood, mainly stemming from his parent's divorce. He was wild and rebellious, but then found how destructive it could be. He had decided to channel his frustrations into the gym. He worked out like a madman. He swithced his diet and even found a weight lifting partner who would compete alongside him. That's how he found the church too, thanks to... He had to think for a moment. He couldn't quite remember his apparently old friend's name.

 

Marcus shut his eyes for a bit and tried to think, and with his eyelids closed, his body swelled remarkably. He’d been big to begin with, but he crossed that threshold quickly and blew into an oversized XXL hulk, his shoulders alone taking up three or four seats on the pew. His belt buckle was forced down as his abs grew out over it.

 

His shirt sleeves thinned over gargantuan, rippling arms, but none of this compared to his chest, which grew out so enormously that Marcus, when his eyes opened, thought he had a couple kids sitting in his lap. His peripheral vision was picking up his pecs and thinking they were people’s heads. He was, by far, the biggest person in the church, in every way – including the enormous bulge that was hanging for all to see in between his thighs. The Lord had been very generous in that department. The Lord had been very generous with a lot of things in his life. He had a body he could build, friends he could share his life with, he had a job that he loved. He smiled as he thought of how blessed he was in life. Some crow's feet and a few wrinkles showing on his face as he did so. The reader finished the passage and he looked at the bulletin to see what was listed next. Sermon: PERTES TILMEN. He chuckled at such an odd name.

 

Someone else was chuckling, too – two very muscular teenage boys next to him, repeatedly nudging each other. Marcus didn’t even think about it, he just grabbed one of the boys and pulled him apart from the other one. Completely second nature. The twins were always horsing around at the least opportune time. “Behave yourself,” Marcus hissed under his breath, “I’m about to preach.”

 

It was like a lightning bolt went off in his brain, right between his ears. One of the church deacons was introducing the pastor of the morning, who had passed his interviews with the elder board and was now going to preach a “trial sermon” before the congregation. Marcus was slowly ascertaining that the man was talking about him.

 

The reader was finishing up the introduction. "Now please rise as Peter Tilmen comes to give us his first sermon." He motioned for the giant of a man to come forward to the altar. The twins, Aiden and Adam, watched as their father lumbered up to the podium and shook the reader's hand, once again completely engulfing it. The twins took after their father, tall, built, and handsome. He cleared his throat and turned towards the congregation. He certainly did not need the microphone, se he did not lean in like the reader did. "Thank you for having me," he began. Marcus wanted to say that he didn’t know what he was doing. His heart was racing a mile a minute, but his mind was impressively calm. “Now, let’s get this out of the way – the first thing people notice about me is that I’m pretty big. You’ll notice my sermon is entitled ‘The Body As The Temple,’ and well…not all temples are the same size.” There was some polite chuckling at this, and that made Marcus relax a little. And the more Marcus relaxed, the more Peter took over. “I’ve been a competitive bodybuilder for almost three decades now, and I have found this level of dedication brings me closer to God in many ways, and sharpens me for my true calling, which is the pulpit.”

 

Some people were definitely just staring at the mountain of a man and not listening to his message, however his charisma had already won the rest of the congregation over and held their rapt attention. As he moved on, he became more confident with his speaking. Peter was easily moving Marcus out of his mind. Marcus... did he even know a Marcus? He continued on with his sermon. "God has given us all our crosses to bear. Just instead of walking with mine, I squat with it." Another couple of chuckles came from the audience, mostly from the younger crowd and the twins. He smiled warmly. "We all have our hardships and it is what we do with them that makes us who we are. We can either allow them to overcome us and lead us to sin, or we can overcome them and lead ourselves on the path of God."

 

“But before I continue, let me tell you a little about myself. My name is Peter Tilmen,  born in Pennsylvania, grew up in California, grew big in Texas where I went to seminary. I am a widower, so I am sorry to say that I will not be able to offer your good church a first lady.” The single women of the church all scooted forward in their seats. “I do come bearing two other gifts, my boys, Aiden and Adam,” Peter continued. “They’re great boys. Most of the time.” Peter’s eyes sparkled at them. They both smiled back at him. Their smiles the trademark Tilmen smile, wide and pearly white. Their smiles held a hint of mischievousness. He was glad to have avoided anyone making the everything-is-bigger-in-Texas joke, but he knew it would be bound to come up some time. Some jokes got old faster than he did. He didn't want to dawdle on his own personal life for too long and continued to preach his sermon.

 

Once he finished his sermon, he sat down back with his twins. The congregation clapped for him as well as the first reader. "Thank you Mr. Tilmen." The rest of the worship session went smoothly. Him and his boys singing and praying together as it drew to a close. "Now there will be refreshments and snacks in the back. Have a blessed day." Ambient voices talked to each other as everyone began to file out of the large room. Adam and Aiden were quickly approached by some well-dressed girls around their age. He chuckled as some women approached him. "They take after their father." He thought to himself as he engaged the women in polite conversation.

 

Peter shook a lot of hands that morning. He talked about bodybuilding with three very interested teen boys. He talked to Elmer the greeter. And one of the last people he talked to was a teen in the parking lot. “A hoodie? Buddy, buddy, ya gotta dress up for church. You’re coming to the Lord’s house, you gotta look nice!”

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