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7/4/13 Ouuuuchhhhhhhh, man i ache today, shoulders,arms,chest, legs, back, all killing me, if this is what im gonna feel like after every workout im stopping, i can hardly crouch down properly, every time i go to sit down the back of my legs knack. When jack walked in to the kitchen and saw me he burst out laughing, he asked how i felt, i just glared at him!! He said i would be feeling it for a good few days as my muscles aren't used to being worked out, he also said the workout tomorrow would really test me as i would still be aching, thanks bro! While having breakfast, again consisting of oats, eggs and a protein shake, jack told me i should spend the day looking for my own protein supplements, bcaa, creatine etc as i had been using his for the past few days, he gave me a few websites for me to look at, i told him i would look when i got back from college. When i got to college there was a lot of chatter going round, more than usual it had to be said, i met up with my mates which included buff dave, gone was his baggy clothing, it was now replaced with tight tee's and joggers, they asked if i had heard the news, i told them i didn't as i'd just arrived, dave then told me that there was a new guy started today and he was freaky huge, i was like so?? you know we hate freaky big guys, but dave said that this guy was beyond huge it was a huge he'd never seen before, it was hard for him to describe him he told me i'd have to see for myself, that moment came about 5 mins later. We were sat on the field talking about my gym experience the day before, when dave interrupted me to tell me the new guy was over my shoulder, i turned round to look, OMFG he was gargantuan, he made huge look tiny, i like many others round me could not take my eyes of him, to put into some sort of context im a tooth pick, he was 4 bison put together, as ive said i have a disgust for huge guys, but this monster didn't have the same effect on me, in fact it had the opposite, i was finding myself attracted to his size, even more i was starting to tent in my jeans. I asked if anyone knew his name, dave said that he'd heard he was called Alex and moved here due to some troubles he had were he lived. From that second something inside me fired up, i was no longer wanting jacks body i wanted Alex's or pretty damn close to it, after college i got home as quick as i could to check these websites, jack had gave me. I've now been home for 2 hours and ive been searching the websites for super weight and muscle gain shakes, found some that offer 1300 cals per serving, but its hit home that alex would have needed some sort of super steroid or something like that to get the size he has not the normal weight gainers that are on offer, i was resounded to only getting like jack, which as i've said isnt a bad thing,but my heart was with alex's size, i wanted it badly, that was until i came across a website that my security program didnt have a green tick of authenticity next to it, it had a grey question mark which meant it wasn't sure if it was a safe website to visit. it stated in the google description that this product offered unmatched muscle growth in a short space of time, the websites domain ended in .ru so this product was from russia. I clicked on to it and was took to a page that had a grotesquely huge guy on it and a picture of the product and a tab saying BUY ME underneath, i clicked on it and it took me to a purchase page, there was no detailed description of what the product was, just the price, which was 15,000 russian roubles, which worked out at £250. My mind was obsessed with getting like alex so i clicked buy, the product will take around a 3-4 days to reach me. When jack came home i told him id had a change of goal and wanted to put some more size on, i didn't say how much or about alex, i wanted to keep it a secret and surprise him with my freaky growth, jack told me that was cool but i now needed to work twice as hard in the gym and eat lots, i said i would because i really wanted some size. Jack jokingly asked if his body wasn't good enough, i just laughed and said it was but seeing dave's buffness made me want a little more!! What a liar i am hehehe!!! Thats all for this entry.

A Rainy Night It was a rainy night. Kyle was driving home when the freak storm happened and assaulted his car with a flurry of rain drops. He was not happy. The blond photographer had gotten a bit tipsy after hanging out at a local bar, and a police officer had fined him for breaking the speed limit. Fortunately, Kyle was able to fake being sober, but the fine was still pissing him off. Kyle noticed a large man wearing a soaking t-shirt that clung to his muscular torso. He was tall and extremely well-built, probably an athlete or bodybuilder. As Kyle passed by, he realized who it was: Dylan. Quickly, Kyle slammed the breaks. Dylan didn't seem to recognize Kyle until he rolled down the window and popped his head out of the car. "Shit, Dylan, what the hell are you doing out in weather like this? Get in my car, now!" The muscleboy practically jumped into the car, excited to escape the heavy rain. He shivered in the seat, small droplets of rain bouncing off his swollen muscles and landing all over the floor. "Thanks a lot, Kyle! I'm really sorry I'm getting your car all wet." "Don't worry about it," the blond said, "I can clean it up later. Right now we need to get you home." Dylan chuckled nervously, "Yeah, about that. I live almost an hour away from here. If it's okay with you, could I stay over at your place?" "Of course you can, stud. My place is pretty humble, but it's big enough for two. Though you'll have to explain to me what you're doing out here so far from home!" The musclekid stripped off his drenched t-shirt and placed it in his lap. Kyle practically had a heart attack when he looked in the rear-view mirror and saw three-hundred pounds of sexy barely-legal muscle staring at him. "Something wrong?" The muscleboy asked, his beautiful black hair dripping wet, "I thought I would make less of a mess if I took off my shirt. I can put it back on if I'm distracting you." "No!" Kyle yelped, "I mean, no, it's okay. I was just surprised, that's all." There was an awkward silence in the car for a few moments. Kyle noticed Dylan lazily bouncing his pecs in the mirror, the powerful muscle-pillows pounding to a rhythm in the boy's head. "So, what are you doing out here, Kyle?" Dylan asked, eager to break the silence. "Seems a bit late to be doing photography." Kyle sighed, "I had a shitty day, so I decided to go to a bar I sometimes hang out at. Ended up being a pretty uneventful evening, except that I drank more than I should have and got a damned speeding ticket. My funds aren't so great right now, so the last thing I need to be doing is splurging my cash on beer and tickets." The blond stopped, looking back at the enormous young jock. "You're lucky you're still young. You've got a big future ahead of you, kid. Don't be a moron like me." "No, I totally understand how you feel," Dylan objected, his deep, manly voice rumbling throughout the car, "Sometimes life is just kicking you down, but that doesn't mean you're a moron. I think you're a really cool guy, Kyle. You're nice, and you've got a great body too. You don't know how many people wish they looked like you." Dylan leaned back, allowing his huge, muscular torso to loosen and stretch out. The boy's pecs relaxed, though they still protruded massively, and his eight-pack abs seemed to soften only slightly. "I'm actually having a crappy time too. This hot chick who has a huge crush on me drove me to the mall nearby to show me off to her friends. She's about three years older than me but she was really stacked, so I decided to go out with her. While her dumb cheerleader buddies were all checking me out, this older punk with a buncha' tattoos comes out of nowhere and starts hitting on my girl. He was big but fat, so I punch him in the face and he goes down in two seconds flat. I could have beat him up more, except the hot chick starts crying all of a sudden. Turns out he was her boyfriend. She got pissed at me for making her man look like a pussy so she takes the car and drives home without me. How was I supposed to know that she was dating another guy? Women, I tell you." "Always getting in the way," Kyle laughed. "You should stay a bachelor, like me. It's so much easier without a lady in your life." "Yeah, I'd much rather have a variety to choose from than be stuck with just one." Kyle slyly glanced back at the young musclegod. The adolescent's eyes were closed, and his youthful face seemed to shine as the water evaporated from his flawless gold skin. "I'm guessing you get plenty of gals to choose from with a body like that, don't you?" Dylan smiled to himself. "You have no idea, dude. I can't even go outside without getting attacked by chicks. It has its upsides, like screwing really hot babes. And its downsides, like getting fucked by stupid asshole bitches." The photographer slowed the car down right as they approached the apartment. Like Kyle said, his pad was small, but he did have a bedroom, a bathroom, a kitchen, and a living room, which is pretty much all he needed. "I'm surprised that you don't have any pictures decorating your walls. You know, you being a photographer and all." Kyle smirked, "C'mon, Dylan. I have a life outside of photography. I'm a really good cook, for example. You hungry?" The muscleboy devoured practically everything in the fridge, wolfing down meat, vegetables, and desert as if he hadn't eaten in a week. Kyle satisfied himself with a PB&J. After Dylan was finished, he let out a loud, deafening BUUURRRRRP that shook the plates on the table. "Whoops! Sorry, my momma' taught me better manners than that," the teenage giant patted his belly, which bulged out slightly from huge dinner. Dylan flexed his abs, compressing his stomach to its original size and accelerating his digestion. "You're still wet," Kyle observed, "I have a few modeling clothes that you can wear. Go take a shower while I look for them. The bathroom is down the hall, first door to the left. There's a dry towel on the rack." The huge muscleboy walked into the bathroom and shut the door. Kyle heard the sound of hot water spurting out of the shower head and splattering against hard, rippling muscle. He went to his closet and looked through the modeling clothes. When he came back, the boy was outside, his powerful, glistening muscles dry and his lower body wrapped under an undersized white towel that bulged around his globular ass. Kyle handed the giant athlete a neatly-folded stack of clothing, though he was secretly reluctant to let the musclegod be clothed at all. "Thanks a lot, Kyle!" Dylan smiled before heading back in the bathroom. While waiting, Kyle decided to flip through the photos of Dylan he had taken earlier. Kyle had taken the pictures to an editor, but they were so good that the editor claimed they had already been altered. When Kyle tried to explain that, yes, Dylan really did have a face that perfect and no, those biceps weren't fake, the editor kicked him out. The poor guy just could'nt believe that anyone could look that beautiful without Photoshop. Mai had told him that another company wanted to get a few shots of Dylan shirtless. They were a relatively new corporation, called "Get BIG n' BUFF", that specialized in workout equipment and athletic wear. According to Mai, they just wanted a few shots of the boy's bare torso to confirm that he was really as ripped and massive as he looked. If they really liked Dylan (which Kyle had no doubts about happening), then they would offer a much larger sum of cash and make the teenage hunk their mascot. Kyle's thoughts were interrupted by the ear-splitting noise of fabric ripping apart. He heard an angry "Fuck!" before the musclegiant stormed out of the bathroom. Dylan was wearing a pair of black basketball shorts and a pink t-shirt that was torn down the middle. On the front, the letters "X" and "L" were separated by Dylan's heaving pecs. The muscleboy twitched when he saw Kyle gaping at him, and the resultant flex of his triceps made the sleeves explode off of his arms, unable to contain the teen's powerful muscle. "Do you have anything bigger than this?" Dylan blushed, "All these shirts just too small. I need at least triple-extra-large. Anything less is just way too tiny for me." Kyle shook his head, "No, that's the biggest shirt I've got. I can get you something tomorrow, but right now it's too late to go shopping. Do you mind just being shirtless?" The boy shrugged, "Not really. It's really late, and I always sleep nude. If you don't mind, of course." That caught Kyle off-guard. "Uh, sure, I'm fine with that. You can sleep in my bed tonight, if you want. I'll be staying up a bit longer, so just ask me if you need anything." Dylan flashed a brilliant smile. "Thanks a lot, Kyle! You're a really nice guy!" After Kyle was sure Dylan was fast asleep, he went outside and flipped out his cell phone. Dialing up Mai's number, the photographer waited for her to pick up. "Hey, Mai. How's it going?" "What are you calling so late for?" the sleepy businesswoman groaned, "This better be important." "It is. You remember that hunk that I was showing you? He's in my house, right now." "Shit, Kyle! What are you doing? The kid's parents might accuse you of kidnapping!" "No, it's not like that. He was outside in the huge downpour about an hour ago and I offered to let him stay at my place for the night." "If that's the case, you might as well take advantage of it. You have your equipment, right?" "Well, yeah, but…" "Take a few photos of him before he leaves. Show me them next time we meet." "C'mon, I can't…" "You know what to do, Kyle. See you later." Mai cut the connection. Kyle sighed as he put away his phone. Going back into the bedroom, he saw Dylan lying peacefully on the bed, his colossal muscles relaxed, but firm. The blanket covered his crotch and legs, but his enormous chest and brawny arms were fully exposed, swollen and hulking even when they hung limp. The adolescent's eight-pack looked as tough as a brick wall, every bump of muscle jutting prominently from his stomach. Nervously, Kyle approached and lay his hand on the boy's abs. He gasped when he felt Dylan's rocksolid density, his hands unable to even dent the diamondhard muscle. Kyle stroked his hand over the kid's rippling abdominals, unable to fathom such powerful muscles. Dylan moaned, and Kyle quickly backed away, startled. But then he saw the reason for the boy's moan: a massive tent in the blanket that could have easily been confused for a third leg. The oversized limb rose higher and higher, lifting the blanket up with it. An intoxicating odor permeated the air as the blanket moistened with Dylan's pre. Kyle stared at the enormous appendage with lust, his own smaller penis hardening in his pants. That gigantic fuckweapon was calling to him, demanding him to bow down and suck its mighty cockhead. Before things could get worse, Kyle ran out of the room and shut himself in the bathroom. Whipping out his dick, the blond photographer masterbated furiously. He came all over himself, all over the sink, helplessly cumming for what seemed like an eternity until he finally ran out of spunk and his dick was raw and burning. It was the best orgasm he had ever had.

Hello everyone, It is very nerve-wracking to post a story here. Sharing your work--a piece of yourself--is frightening. The person who opens your work can find something unexpected, connect with the thoughts and feelings expressed, or they can find it complete trash, toss it aside. The uncertainty is overwhelming. How will people react, if at all? But, I'm placing it here, among so many others. Constructive criticism is welcomed, but please be gentle. This story is a bit...different than what you're probably used to here, and a bit dark. Please keep an open mind. You can find Part II here: http://muscle-growth.org/topic/743-the-fire-suite-second-chapter/ With that, let me proceed with "The Fire Suite". ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ The Fire Suite: Part 1 Nothing. Then a square white glow emerges, undulates on the blue walls like movement underwater. A set of small hands move across a keyboard, like a pianist reciting a known melody. The light reveals hands connected to thin wrists and forearms. The tapping of the keys melds with muffled voices in the darkness. Wires string down from ears and uncombed hair into plugs. A pause, then a sigh, and the tapping continues. The screen changes colors, but the glow remains. The full image: a plain young man lies on a plain twin bed with a plain old life. But what does the screen depict? Images move into focus, then quickly erase. Twitter, facebook, tumblr. Eyes linger on an internet browser tab, the cursor hesitates. A click, and a video loads. The typical man appears, strutting, allowing desperate hands to cling on to his torso, his chest. Power, virility without grace. Bounce, flex, the worship goes on from muscle to muscle. Moaning, pumping, removal of clothing. “Oh, oh baby, yeah, ugh, harder, spank my ass, oh!” The pattern continues for minutes of fleeting passion, and then abruptly stops. No tapping, no voices, but the whimper of a lovelorn puppy. There is no lust in the dark. The young man clutches his pillow like a real body, nuzzles against the pale cloth flesh. The mind throbs. The heart crumbles. The glow dissipates, and blue becomes black. This is one facet of life. * You wouldn’t know him. You’d see him everywhere at once: in a street, in a crowd, on a bus, in a book, in a film, in yourself. He’d be the one in the back of the classroom fifteen minutes early, saying nothing. He would read, always reading. Duras, Murakami, Joyce. Without words, he could be what you expected: quiet, shy, clad in dark clothing and thick glasses. Short for a young man, tearing at his fingernails. Unimpressive, uninteresting, unenticing. Your eyes move to a more interesting target as the teacher drones on with another lecture. But he’s still there, writing with fervor. The details aren’t worth your time. The hours pass. You might see him in the dormitory, might accidentally brush against him in the hallway. “Sorry,” he mumbles, staring at the floor as he briskly walks away and out the door. You think for a moment whether he lived in the same building as you did, then think, ugh, he touched me, as if slime exuded on the shoulder of your shirt. The thought ends, and the day continues as if you never saw him. Yet he’s still there. They say college is a step above high school, but you find yourself with your clique, like a murder of crows, up to the same old tricks. Calculating eyes watch their prey, waiting for a vulnerable moment. He should have known better than to enter your territory. Your territory: a place where all the men look the same: athletic builds, sleeveless, name-brand clothing intentionally tight. The gym is an exhibition, a runway, an all-you-can-eat buffet packed with the finest delicacies. “Look at that lame fatty,” your friend says, pointing to the young man. “He looks like he’s never stepped foot in a gym in his entire life.” “One of these things is not like the others,” another sings, with a smirk on his face. “He’s lifting fifteen pound weights—like that’s going to help him. I’ve seen girls do more than that!” And on, and on. You might join in the fun, as if you were watching a really bad B-movie. But the young man doesn’t hear any of the taunts and continues his modest workout. He weaves around the machines, avoiding his reflection in the wall-sized mirrors. Maybe he instinctively knew that he didn’t belong, but it takes courage to even try, doesn’t it? You wouldn’t know what it’s like. And you never want to know. So go on laughing. * Why bother? The den of unspeakable evil: a college gym. It was a place he avoided throughout high school, favoring a cigarette-laden bathroom to change clothing. But now there was no choice, no relative option. Had it not been for his friend’s prodding, he wouldn’t have even tried. Good for your self-esteem, your health, just do it. It won’t hurt, like a doctor says with a gleaming syringe. A question pulses: “Do I dare disturb the universe?” Yet he was alone, in this world of sun and unforgiving steel. A wad of pages full of scribbles and stick figures performing movements was his only guide. The movement is awkward, so much like meeting a new person, stumbling to find the right words. “How do you do, Mr. Dumbbell?” The weight clanks angrily in response, unhappy with its partner. A quiet snicker in the background. From an angle, the large mirror reveals a loose gaggle of bodybuilders, resting between sets. Bored and looking to pass the time. Familiar with the jeers of bullies, he moves around the machines, tries to camouflage into a row of treadmills. Tries to not pay attention, and they’ll disappear. He’s miniscule, he’s not worth it. One more exercise, and it will be over. Breathe in, breathe out. But another quest: his coat remains in the locker room. The open doorway, around the corner reveals that musky odor. It’s too quiet, yet he’d know if somebody had followed him around the building. Clutching his jacket from the hanger, he glances up from the ground at the slight noise ahead of him. In a moment, there is the nude figure, as if he had peered at Apollo bathing in the wilderness. He only needed one moment to capture the haunting beauty of it all: trimmed hair drenched in amber hues, eyes lowered on a torso. Trace the neck, moving to the trapezius, to deltoids. Biceps, triceps, forearms full with cords of muscle and veins. Broad pectorals, pushing out in the warmth of the room, creating a slight shadow over a grid of abdominals. The latissimi flare outward, like a bird preparing for flight. The globe of his gluteus, like the fourteenth night of the moon, slides into a set of heavy quadriceps and impressive calves. The muscle finally finds its way to sizeable feet, and power seeps into the carpet. Unreal. He dared not look further; the scope was enough. Before the being could notice, the young man fled. Finding shelter outside by a tree, he sighed deeply. Just one moment, and the urge for self-destruction returned, as if a knife had been pushed into his body. Later, in the blue-black darkness, the vision would remain. And there, he wished he could end everything. * You watch as the young man scurries for the locker room. Your friends continue their chatter, but you remain silent, as if you actually feel something for the guy. You don’t know what that feeling’s exactly called, and it’s bothersome, heavy in the pit of your stomach. “Come on,” a friend says, nudging your bare shoulder. “He should’ve known better. Like he thinks that it’s going to be so easy. He’d be better taking some magic pill; he’s not going to make any progress with baby weights.” Easy. You had it easy. When you started going to the gym, back in high school, it was acceptable to start with small weights because everyone was, besides those that had been lifting since they were an infant. There was no competition; the field was leveled. Perhaps the young man was too afraid to try when he was in high school. You remember the type: shy, insecure, the kind that therapists and counselors drooled over. But that was his loss, and now the young man had to make up for it, if he could. It was so easy back then, so easy now. You seized the opportunity and built yourself up at the right time. So you didn’t have to worry about weakness, about insecurity. Sure, everybody wants to feel loved and fit in, but you were “normal”. Growing up in a suburban town, playing sports, whatever was in season: football, basketball, baseball, or soccer. It was fashionable, and as long as you did and said the right things, it was simple to be popular. Over those years, friends multiplied like flies. You even managed to have a girlfriend, though females never interested you. There was an image you had to uphold, though you were sure to drop her once you left for school. You could never understand the “others”—kids outside your orbit, your gravitational pull. What was it like to be alone—not just without anybody at the moment, but all the time? College really is like high school: the same cliques, although more of them, still form. Those first moments at orientation define your future, and while you were socializing with the other athletes, what about the others? What happens to those individuals left behind in the social dust? They’re doomed, and that’s their own fault. Why worry about other people’s problems? And yet, at the orientation cruise across the harbor, among the waves of dancing freshman and the percussion of silverware, perhaps you remember the young man, alone at a table, watching the ocean at dusk from a window. Perhaps he stared at you for a moment, finding your strengths and flaws, judging you. Perhaps you were just imagining things as you broke eye contact, fist bumping another student. Are you that transparent? Is he that transparent? At the gym, another friend knocks you again. “Hey, anybody in there? Wake up, bro—you said you were going to spot me at the bench press.” You nod in reply, wondering why in the world this freak was bothering you so much. Oh well. The workout continues in the dim-lit dorm: pulling up, pushing down, the sweat piles on with your partner. He reflects you: the same strong build, the same cocky attitude. But college isn’t so much about academics or romance than just having a good time. It wasn’t like you were planning on getting married with this guy, so what did it matter? You knew what you were getting into without being affectionate. No cuddling, but your partner, grinning, offers seconds in the dorm hall showers. There’s privacy in the early morning, when everyone’s trying to sleep off their hangovers and skip their next classes. In loose clothing, you make your way to the showers. Your partner eagerly tugs you down the hallway, until the creak of a door makes him lose his grip. A figure emerges from the RA’s room, moves swiftly to another doorway. The young man looks down, but makes sure not to bump you as you pass. But you’re not thinking, as you open the shower stall; let the hot water trail across your naked bodies. You’re not thinking, as hands massage your waist, rub lotion on sensitive areas. This pleasure, this is what life is about, not pain. * He remembers the friendly knock on the old door and the cringe that would follow. Those dark, cockroach days, hiding, surviving but unsure how. It was a resident assistant’s duty to nose in people’s business. He was just down the old hall, waiting. Every week, he would come. The giant at your doorstep, far too chipper for his own good. The intentions must be false. Eventually, he refused to take “no” as an acceptable response. And there he was, in the RA’s room: the worn, plush arm chair, the warm glow emanated from lampshades. Evening tea with cream, soft jazz music dripped from speakers. “So, tell me about yourself,” said a kind, deep voice. “I—“ That’s how a friendship, perhaps a first, starts. The young man hesitates, but slowly releases his tension. Breathing calmly, hands stop trembling over long nights. Quiet evenings shift into early mornings on duty, long conversations move with the shift of light. At once, the overzealous RA transforms into a musician, struggling to live, to love. Trust is a hard concept to swallow. Honesty unlocks all the passageways, creates a white vulnerability. “It’s OK. Do what makes you feel comfortable. You can tell me whatever you want,” the giant said one night. Dark eyes expressed concern. “I…did something awful.” A pause. Incapacity to verbalize. He pulls off his right shoe, removes a black sock, unfurls the ribbon, its color matching the stain of the gauze pad. The wound was raw, throbbing, but starting to heal. As the young man re-covers his foot, the giant stares, understands. “The Achilles tendon? But usually people go for—“ “As men, we are taught to be invincible.” Another pause. He remembers the pounding of the water, the steam rolling across flesh. He remembers the collapse, the thud onto tiles, the muffled sobbing. Unconscious. Desperate. Pink disposable razors, fillets of skin, red liquid swirling towards the drain. He remembers hobbling for bandages. This is one facet of life. A brother clairvoyant, the giant pulls the arrow out. “I know what you need…let me make a call in the morning. I’m here for you—I want to get you the help you deserve. You need your rest; tomorrow will bring a change.” Empathy: a foreign language. Another sip of tea, a firm handshake, then back to the hallway. He swerves around the two strong figures moving towards him. He can’t touch that, he won’t touch that. Bathed in moonlight, he sleeps. * You wake. Blankets rustle slightly as you move to check the outside world. A crack grows, and bleached light filters through the window. A pair of strong, calloused hands tugs at your ankle, pulls you back into bed. You look behind at the naked torso, the face transitioning between consciousness and sleep. He lets go and stretches his arms, almost flexing his biceps. “Mmm,” he moans, “Morning babe. Last night was so incredible.” “Incredible,” you might mumble, glancing back outside. Through the glass, you see the lawn two or three floors down. You see the scattered trees, bare but still swaying. And beyond the cliffs, you see the horizon, where the ocean meets the sky, so far away, yet so close. It’s nothing new, but for some reason, you can’t keep your eyes off that expanse of blue and black. “I wished every time we fucked it was that great. We need to do that more often. Weekends just don’t cut it for me, babe. It’s not like anybody’s going to interrupt us; we have this whole dorm room to ourselves. Can you believe that fucking RA thought that we were just friends? What a moron.” You release your eyes from the horizon, and you slide back into bed. Your partner moves closer, plays with the light hair on your chest. He lightly smiles. “Who cares about that guy, though. Mmm, I’m so glad I finally have you. I wonder when you’d figure out that I went to your games just to see you run around…and what a sight that was, in those tight pants…” He continues. You remain quiet. “What were you thinking about last night in the showers?” he asks. “Nothing, honestly,” you reply. “Well, it had to be something. I’ve never seen you get into me so much. Guess it wasn’t that fucking loser that lives down the hall though, huh? Wonder what he was doing up so late, seems like the kind of guy who’d go to bed early because he’s obviously not getting any. Seems like he’s not hibernating in his room anymore, he was at the gym the other day. What the hell was up with that? At least he left before he hurt himself. What a fucking weirdo. It’s almost like he’s stalking you…” You’re half-listening, the conversation isn’t too engaging. But… Stalking you. Could it be possible? You knew you were hot property; there was no doubting that, especially with another attractive individual groping you every moment he got. Perhaps it was mere coincidence that the young man seemed to be everywhere he went. You went to a smaller university compared to others in the area, but it wasn’t like there were that few students where one would keep standing out. And the young man was so average, so unremarkable. So why did he keep thinking about him? You interrupt your partner’s monologue. “Why does it bother you so much? Almost sounds like you have a crush on the guy.” His eyes widen, and he pretends to vomit. “That kid? Ugh, you’ve got to be fucking kidding me. I just don’t want anybody to even think that they can take you from me, and if that I have to destroy that loser, I’ll do it. You’re mine, all mine,” he murmurs, two fingers slowly tracing your genitals. Not thinking, you say, “The water…” The fingers stop moving. “What water?” “Last night. You were wondering.” “Oh, OH. You think it was the hot water that did the trick, eh? Well, if that sets you all a-quiver, then I’ll make sure to get your hot ass in there with me more often.” More fingers move across your skin, squeezing your gluteus muscles. Shuddering, you pull back, get out from the blankets. “What’s wrong, babe?” he says. You want to look at him, but you face a wall. “I need to get ready for class, take a shower, you know. “ “Shower, huh? Want me to come with you?” “No, there might be too many people now. I don’t want to be late for class, and I want to grab breakfast, too.” You look at him carefully. Sarcastically, he frowns, pouting his lips. “Oh, alright. But I want to get breakfast with you. Some of the gang might be there, too—they say that breakfast is the most important meal of the day, especially for growing boys.” “Yeah, I can tell something’s growing,” you mutter, eyeing the popped-up pyramid under the sheets. You fling on some loose clothing, grab your shower caddy, and give your man a light kiss. A release, then you head for the door, wondering what might happen today, if anything. * The morning continues. It is the middle of the morning, but the room is dim with muted light. Clothed, but wrapped in dark blankets, he types. He types slowly, methodically, each key is intentionally pushed. His eyes scroll with the screen, entranced. A knock pierces the air, the door shudders slightly from the weight of large knuckles. Hesitant, he looks up from the laptop at the door, stumbles to his feet. Turning the handle, a friendly smile emerges from the darkness. “Hey there, friend,” says the RA, looking down at bewildered face behind the door. “How are you feeling this morning?” “Fine, I guess…” “I’m glad to hear that. Mind if I come in for a moment?” “No.” Grabbing an empty chair, the giant makes himself comfortable. “Listen, I’ve got some great news. I made a call to the counseling services this morning—“ “Counseling?” “Yes, counseling. I don’t know how you felt about that, so I made an appointment for you to see a counselor there. He’s relatively new—just started last semester—but I know him and he’s a great guy. I think you’ll get along. What do you say, hm? I know you’ve got some time this morning.” Bewilderment flushes to terror. Was the young man that insane? But then again, what other solution was there? His right Achilles’ tendon tingled slightly. The giant smiled again. “I know you might be nervous, but I assure you that therapy isn’t just for nut jobs. I mean, hey, a normal guy, so you’ve just got to trust me on this. Do you?” If there was any trust he could grab onto, it was in this man. The young man nods. “Excellent! The appointment’s for 11 a.m., so we’ve got some time. Do you want to get breakfast at the cafeteria first? I’m starving.” “Breakfast? With you?” “Of course. Unless you don’t want to, or you’ve already eaten.” “No, I haven’t…so I guess…” “Then it’s settled! Get your jacket, it might be cold out.” The young man quietly placed his jacket over his shirt, slipped worn shoes over socks, and moved out of the door into the unknown. Though empty, the hallway contained traces of activity. The two moved across the narrow hallway and down a flight of stairs to the exit. Beyond his room, his warm cocoon, the outside air was cool, startling. It wasn’t far to the cafeteria; just a lawn and a couple streets to cross. The gravel of the sidewalk crunched underneath their feet, making up for the lack of conversation. With each footstep they took, it felt as if time was slowing for everyone but them. An outside force pressed a fast-forward button, the students’ stride hurrying faster between buildings, but their pace remained steady. At this hour, the cafeteria was emptying. A perfect atmosphere for conversation. The giant unzipped his coat and placed his coat on a chair by a window, nudging the young man to join him. The young man followed his friend from the table to the continental breakfast, picking up items here and there, and then returned to the table. He peered out the window, viewing the courtyard below. A wreath of evergreen encircled a walkway, leading to a patio scattered with leaves. He could see another dormitory and a building connected to it, but no people entered or exited its doors. “See that building over there?” said the giant, after munching on a bagel. “That’s where the counseling services are located. They used to be in this building, but after the university acquired that building, they moved there. More room to spread out. And with the student population rising, counseling really needed the space. You should’ve seen it in the basement…it was cramped, awful.” “I can imagine.” The attempt at conversation was broken momentarily by some hollering or shouting. Both men looked to the other side of the cafeteria, noticing a group of jocks who were obviously excited about something. Perhaps a game was won this morning, or somebody got a new girlfriend. Jocks. Them. “Pfft,” the giant muttered. “Typical ‘bro’ behavior over there. No respect for others. But what can you do? Guys like that will never change.” “…I’m surprised you’re not like that,” the young man says quietly. “What? Like one of those muscle heads? No, it’s not for me. Some of those guys live in our hallway, and I can get along with them, as it’s my job, but I’m far too out of shape to go beyond formalities with them. All they think about is partying and sex. That’s what they really come to college for: a good time. Meanwhile, others, like us, actually come to study, to grow as individuals.” “My RA last year…he was like that,” the young man replies. “I thought all RA were like that…he was awful. He lived next door, and his rap music was always blaring. The walls must have been made of paper.” “Oh, certainly not! We don’t all treat our jobs like free money; some of us actually perform our residential duties and not treat our floor like frat houses. Maybe I’m just more traditional and think the job should be taken seriously. Although the free room and board is a nice perk.” The young man said nothing. So, then, was the RA just doing his job to help him, or did he truly empathize and care for him, wanted him to get better? Once the question was formed, he erased. He knew the answer. “What are you thinking about?” The giant asks. “Nothing.” After a pause, he adds, “Nothing important.” The giant looks at the young man, focused in telepathy, but quickly gives up. “Alright, no worries, friend.” A smile. Nobody has ever smiled at him before, or not in a long time. Nobody has ever wanted to have breakfast with him before. He had become accustomed to coming to meals early to avoid crowds, hiding in the empty corner. The experience of sharing company with somebody was foreign, yet exciting. He attempted to smile back, forcing the edges of his lips to curve upward, but the result was unconvincing. “How do you eat grapefruits plain like that?” “Huh?” “Your grapefruit,” the giant says, pointing his knife at the young man’s bowl. “I can only eat them if I sprinkle sugar on the top. It’s too sour otherwise.” “You get used to it over time. And even grapefruit has its own tangy sweetness to it, if you give it a chance.” “You might be right.” The conversation continues, and the cafeteria slowly empties. They finish eating, return their trays to a soapy conveyer belt, and leave the room. The morning air blows, tugs gently on the tree branches. It is a short walk and flight of stairs to the counseling services. The young man approaches the manila door, but feels his fingers twitch for a pen. They long to write the word “RUN” over and over again. A large hand presses his shoulder. “Nervous? I know. Don’t worry, really. They’re here to help. I’m not leaving you alone. Trust me, please.” The young man nods. Trembling hands slowly pull the door handle open, into a new world.

He was the second reason I went to the gym. The main reason I went of course was to get myself into a better shape. But he was the other reason I went to the gym. He happened to workout along the same time I did, and I was so glad he did. Every day I went into the gym, five days a week, he was either there or on his way. Today was chest day for me, and I knew he would be doing chest and arms. He was the type of man that could do a lot more sophisticated workouts than I could. And seeing him in action was more than an experience. Today, I had already finished my warm-up and was headed to the free weight area. I usually stuck to the machine area, but the beast of a man only went to a machine when there wasn't a way he could do what he wanted with barbells or dumbbells. I had just finished my first set of bench presses when he came in. I held my breath as he walked towards me. I could never get enough of seeing him. He was at least 6'1", a good four inches taller than me, and massive. I guess he was at least 280 lbs. But even being that huge, he still had more muscularity than I could dream of. I had heard he was training for a bodybuilding show for the next year. From what I could see, he was going to be massive. He dropped his bag three benches away from where I was and started to get ready to lift. He began by peeling off his t-shirt and I bit my tongue. Time seem to slow for me as I watched his thick hands, calloused from obvious years of lifting grip the bottom of his shirt. Then, casually, he started lifting it up, revealing his hard flat stomach followed by his thick pectorals. I sighed to myself as I enjoyed the show. His chest was smooth and shaved, but that wasn't my main concern. My eyes were glued to his chest as they flexed. He struggled a little as his t-shirt reached the top of his chest. His lats were flaring and the t-shirt simply was too tight around his massive chest and back. Finally, he got the shirt off and dragged his tank top back down. He bent over to put it into his bag, granting me a quick look at his squatter's butt and thick hamstrings before standing back up to his full height. He stretched and twisted a bit, loosening up his muscles. I watched intensely as his muscles worked. He raised his arms above his head and interlocked his fingers. It was simply beautiful to me. His lats flared outward from the string tank-top. I wanted to walk up to him and just try to wrap myself around them, but I wouldn't dare to. My gaze moved upward as my eyes traced the thick veins in his back. They led me to his massive arms. Unflexed, they had to be at least 20" around, lined with veins that pumped fiercely. They were connected to his forearms, which had even more veins that I could see perfectly, even from the distance I stood. He lowered his arm and picked up a five pound plate. I could feel my cock twitch in my shorts seeing how small it looked in his massive paw. With the weight in hand, he started to roll his shoulder and I watched as the boulder of a muscle moved and flexed. This man was simply amazing and I enjoyed every moment of watching him. He turned to me, smiled and nodded. I returned the gesture and turned slightly to the bench I was working on. He was a nice guy, always acknowledging me whenever we saw each other, but he always lifted alone. I admired, almost envied his focus and dedication for getting huge, but I couldn't spend my entire time at the gym drooling at this muscular beast. So, I continued my workout. I did some sets of flat bench, inclined bench and some dumbbell flyes. As I did this, I would occasionally glance back at him and be awed by the sheer amount of weight he was handling. He also moved a lot faster than I did, completely enthralled in his workout while I was occasionally distracted by the big lifter. Occasionally, he would move from one area to another or one bench to another, and watching him was both intriguing and arousing. He didn't simply walk, but stalked around the area. The free weight pit belong to him, everything in it simply a tool to help him get huge. While he wasn't intentionally being aggressive, he still possessed an aura of menace and intimidation. His sheer size and focus was almost stifling to the people that were there to socialize or pretend to lift, and they instinctively avoided him or got out of his way. He wasn't being mean to anyone, but the way he stalked the area, completely focused on his workout started to get me even more aroused. It was as if he was a wild muscle beast who's only driving force was to get even bigger. I had just started some incline dumbbell presses when he walked by me. I saw the sweat stained tank-top along with his glistening skin and could smell him as he headed to the heavier dumbbells. His scent was enthralling to me. It was befitting a man of his stature, a musk that wasn't overpowering, but strong and unique. I knew if I could bottle his smell, I would be rich. He went and moved an incline bench near where I was before going and picking up the 125 lb dumbbells. After he had them, he went and start to do the exact same exercise that I was doing. Most people would be either indifferent or intimidated by him, but not me. It not only awed me, but inspired me. Even though I was only lifting about one-third of what he was, just being near him made me feel like I could do more. He started a set of light presses with the 125 lb dumbbells before moving on to the 150 and 175 dumbbells. I could barely pick them up off the rack, but there was this specimen of a man lifting and maneuvering them with ease. I had to stop watching him out of fear of tenting my pants. I finished my meager set and went to replace my dumbbells when I bumped into him. I bounced off of him and almost fell to the ground. It felt amazing feeling his huge muscles for just a moment and again, I had to focus on not getting a hard on. He smiled at me and said, "Sup bro." I smiled back and said, "Nothing big man." He smiled and continued his workout. He returned the heavy dumbbells and went to grab the 60 lb ones while I replaced the 45's. I knew that he was about to start his arm workout, so I intentionally slowed my own. He stood in front of the mirror, dumbbells hanging at his sides, his chest pumped and heaving as he slowly breathed. I stood at the dumbbell rack, simply mesmerized. Because of the mirrored walls and corners, I could see all sides of his body. The beauty of his physique was breath taking for a guy who was enthralled with muscle as I was. Standing behind him, I could not see myself in the mirror because of his breadth. His waist was probably a few inches smaller than mine, but his upper body was huge in comparison. I looked in the mirrors at his side and could see both his sides and his front. While his chest was imposing normally, it was completely different after his workout. The pump that he had was awesome. His chest seemed to spill out of the tank top, bulging in all directions as he stood in a relaxed pose. The size of his pecs almost made me drool as I looked at them in the side mirror. I could see the veins pulse and even as I watched was feeding his superior muscles with nutrient-filled blood. He flexed them a couple of times, silently appraising them. He would flex one, watch it tense and bounce before scrutinizing the other one, flexing and relaxing it in the same way. I wasn't sure what he was examining, but my attention was firmly fixated on the striations that lined his upper pecs. They seemed to define and accentuate the already massive muscle in a way that I could only dream of. Finally, after a few long moments of self reflection, the beast started to work on his arms. He started with a set of twenty reps of standing dumbbell curls using the 60 lb weights he grabbed. I watched intently as he performed the exercise with machine-like precision. I could literally see the muscle slowly swell as he lifted the weight. After his warm up, he went and grabbed the 90 lb weights and did another set, followed by 100 lb and 105 lb curls. I knew I should have continued my workout, but those arms of his had me completely hypnotized. His completion of the set temporarily brought me out of my reprieve. The big man walked to the rack and as he replaced the dumbbells, looked up at the ceiling with a look of exasperation and irritation. He shook his head and started to walk to the front. My eyes followed him as he walked, glued to the mass of man that was now walking away. I couldn't help but watch as his muscled butt and legs moved in unison, propelling the huge man away. I tried to continue my workout but soon he returned to the pit area. As he walked, the music changed from modern pop to some nice rock and metal. He smiled as he walked and when passed me, he said, "Sounds so much better." I simply smiled and nodded in agreement as he continued towards the preacher machine. I picked up a 20 lb dumbbell and started doing my own curls, my eyes glued to him. I couldn't help but be amazed as I watched him. It started when he sat down and rested his arms on the pad. His biceps seem to expand as he worked into position and his triceps flexed as he reached for the handle. I couldn't tell what weight was on the machine, but it was at least three 45 lb plates. I held my breath as I watched his arms work. It was a thing of beauty, watching the ball of muscle slowly contract, bringing the weight up. The muscle went from a long head to a softball of hard beef. I saw the intense focus in his look as his gaze went from the mirror to his arms. Nothing else existed as he concentrated solely on working the muscle. I wanted to just walk up and feel the muscle work. After he finished, he dropped the weight and let his arms relax. It was just so enticing watching him. His beefy arms lay lazily downward along the pad and I just looked at them. Veins were popping out everywhere and the pump he had was unreal. His arm lying there unflexed was bigger than mine flexed. I looked around and even though there wasn't many people at the gym, no one seemed to notice. I couldn't believe how this force of nature was going unadmired. But, they could have been like me, just too shy to look. I kept watching him as he continued his workout. By this time, I had given up all pretense of working out, but instead focused on watching him while not being completely obvious. I would position myself on a machine near the free weights, making sure I had a good angle to see the big man. I watched him as he went through the rest of his workout. It was unbelievable how his arms were still getting pumped. Doing his hammer curls was particularly enjoyable as his forearms were getting a pump right along with his massive biceps. Enjoying the simple sight of him curling the 100 lb dumbbells was so arousing, I had to look away for a few moments. But I eventually looked back to see him continue, and I continued to enjoy the show of near inhuman strength. But sooner than I would've liked, his workout was done. He put back his dumbbells, then stood in front of the mirror. Again, he started to flex. He did a double bi in the mirror that almost made me cream my pants. Even from this distance, I could see the distinct separation between the huge bicep and the massive tricep that hung from his lower arm. Veins criss-crossed his arms in an almost artistic pattern, throbbing madly from the intense workout he went through. He put down one arm and focused on the other, flexing it harder. The muscle seemed to bulge even more, much to the pleasure of the big man, not to mention my own. He put both of his arms down and took a deep breath. Then, he suddenly crunched down into a beautiful most muscular pose. Suddenly, every vein and striation in his chest and arms were at attention, displaying the massive amount of power that was in his muscles. If he wasn't wearing the skimpy tank top, I would have expected the shirt to burst into shreds. I saw the intense look in his eyes as he examined his muscles. He flexed harder and it seemed that his muscles grew a little more in response. Finally, satisfied with his progress for the day, he grabbed his bag and headed to the locker room. I had to catch my breath after that show, not to mention let my throbbing erection subside. I looked around at the other guys and girls in the gym and saw that no one seemed to notice the stud that just left the area. I wondered to myself how no one could appreciate the mass of beef that was here. I shook my head in confusion, wondering what was wrong with them. After I calmed myself down, I picked up my stuff and headed to the counter. The guy behind the counter saw me coming and waited for me to order. I told him I wanted a chocolate and peanut butter shake. As I waited for him to finish my shake, he walked by me and said, "Later Colin." He then patted me on the shoulder and said, "Later bro," before continuing out the door. I looked out of the corner of my eye to see the beauty of the male form walk out the door, his chest and arms still pumped and still amazing. Maybe one day I'll have a chat with him, buy him a protein shake. Maybe tomorrow. This post has been promoted to an article

The low hum and steady beep of the machine slowly brought David back to consciousness. He opened his eyes slowly, allowing them to adjust to the harsh florescent light that hung above him. He tried to move, but every nerve in his body seemed to scream in pain. He felt some motion to his left and slowly rotated his head to see his friend Jack sitting beside him. “What happened?” David asked, his voice dry and heaving. Coach Jack quickly shut his book and leaned closer to him, “Hey bud, you scared us there. From what your students said, you just collapsed during your lecture. The doc said you had a heart attack.” David closed his eyes and silently cursed. Jack continued, “Let me go find the doc. He said he needed to talk to you when you woke up.” Jack beamed David a brilliant smile before he got up and left the room. David, on the other hand was cursing his stupidity. His physician had told him for years now that if he didn’t shape up, something like this would happen. He knew he was a diabetic, had hypertension and was morbidly obese, but he didn’t try hard enough to change his habits. Just the simple fact that every school year he had to buy all new clothes to fit his expanding waist line should have been a clue, but being the stubborn, lazy guy he was didn’t do anything to change himself. And now, he was lying in a hospital. “Stupid, stupid,” he said quietly. He wanted to kick himself if he wasn’t feeling so weak. As he waited for Jack to get back, he started to get bored, so he tried to look around the room. He could see to his left and right, but in front of him was blocked by his bloated gut. He cringed slightly at the size of it, despairing at how out of control he allowed it. It was a huge ball of fat sitting on top of him, completely blocking his view. He wanted to blame it on all the late night eating and not exercising because of his teaching job, but he knew deep down that he could have fit in some exercise if he tried and his diet had no excuse for being junk food and fast food burgers. As he was wallowing in self-loathing, he heard a creak from his right. He turned his head to see Jack closely followed by a older man in a white coat. Jack smiled as he walked back around the bed but the doctor following behind him looked a lot more solemn. “So Doc, when can David here get back to teaching?” Jack asked with jovial tone. The doctor looked down at his chart before looking at David and Jack. “Mr. Dale, I see here that you were diagnosed with Type II diabetes around five years ago and hypertension about four years. What lifestyle changes did you make?” David winced slightly as he felt Jack looking at him. “Well, you see, I was meaning to start exercising more and eating,” he started before the doctor cut him off. “I see.” He walked towards the foot of the bed and pulled out a pen. “Tell me Mr. Dale, can you feel this?” David craned his neck to try and see what the doctor was doing, but his massive belly was in the way. “No, I don’t feel anything.” The doctor mumbled to himself before saying, “And how about this?” “No, still nothing.” The doctor put the pen back in his pocket before walking around the bed. “Move your arm please,” he asked. David, slightly worried, moved his arms upward as the doctor nodded. “That is good,” the doctor said as he scribbled something on his clipboard. “Well, what’s the verdict?” Jack asked.“Well Mr. Dale, I’m sorry to tell you that you had a stroke and a heart attack. And the combination of those two events seemed to have caused some paralysis in the lower half of your body. I’m sorry, but I would advise against going back into teaching until your risk factors have been lowered by a great deal. David’s heart shattered at the doctor’s words. Teaching was all he had in life and because of stupidity on his part, he had lost not just his legs but his reason for living. “I’ll leave you alone for a while. Just press the button if you need anything.” After the doctor left, Jack stood up. David turned away slightly so Jack couldn’t see how upset he was. “Anything I can get for you?” David shook his head no and Jack continued, “Ok. I’m going to go to the cafeteria real quick and make a few phone calls.” David simply said, “Ok” and closed his eyes. He knew Jack had to call the school to get a replacement teacher for him. He listened to the door close and sat in the quiet room, close to crying. He kept saying to himself, “How could I be so stupid? All I had to do was eat better or exercise or something and this would’ve never happened. Why did I let myself get like this?” He continued to berate himself until he fell asleep from exhaustion. While he fell into a deep pit of darkness, he saw a small pinprick of light. Not knowing what else to do, he floated towards down to it. As he moved closer to the light, it grew and grew until it engulfed his entire being. He stopped moving and just hovered in a warm, bright glow. For the first time since in years, he felt like everything was right. He smiled as he wrapped himself in the intangible threads of comfort that surrounded him. Then, he heard a voice whisper beside him, “Hello David.” For some reason, David wasn’t startled. The voice was so gentle and soothing, he felt no fear or anxiety as it spoke. “I’ve been watching you for a while and while you’ve made some mistakes in your life, you have always had the best interest of others in your mind, even before your own. I’ve decided that I will give you a very, very special gift. I want you to think about your past life, and I want you to focus on a single thing you wish you could change. One moment in time that you look back at and wish you could have made a different choice.” David started to let his mind wonder, and flashing in the emptiness before him appeared scenes from his life. Everything flew by rapidly, but they all seemed to converge on one moment in the past. Finally, the images slowed down and started to replay his first few weeks in middle school. Immediately, he knew what he wanted to change. “If I could change anything, I would have not given up so easily on the weight lifting sessions after school. I liked it, but for some reason I didn’t stick with it. I wish I had the drive and determination to lift and play football instead of being so shy and scared of what people would have thought,” he said aloud. Soon as he said that, the day in question started playing before him. David saw himself lifting on the bench. He could see the smile on his face as he felt his muscles working for the first time. Then he saw the look on his face as he looked around at the other kids in the weight room. He could see the fear that he felt then, knowing that he was getting aroused by the weights and the other kids lifting in the area. He could see the mental anguish he was feeling as he struggled to convince himself that he wasn’t gay. Finally, he could see the pain and defeat in his eyes as he put up the weights and went to leave. The scene stopped as soon as the door was opened. “Here is the point of choice. What would you change here?” the soft voice asked. Thinking carefully, David said loudly, “I would change my entire outlook right there. I would make it so he didn’t feel ashamed about the feelings he was having. I would let him know that getting aroused at the sight of muscle wasn’t a bad thing. And I would give him the focus to stick with it no matter what. I would let him know how much fun it is lifting weights and playing football, and how, even though it might not seem so right then, there were a lot of people in the world that felt the exact same way he did and eventually, he would discover an entire world of gay lifters and bodybuilders to fit in with.” “So shall it be.” The scene before him started playing and he continued out the door, but he was stopped by a large, muscular man. David couldn’t tell what was being said, but he could see the expression of awe and wonder on the his young face. As he talked, David could see his younger self begin to cry and fall forward into the bigger man’s embrace. It took a few moments, but eventually, the muscle man stopped talking and his younger self stood up, dried his eyes and smiled at the big man. The man pointed back inside and David returned to the weight room. The scene faded away and he heard the soft voice whisper, “You have been given a great chance David, remember always, be true to yourself and your life will be filled with joy and happiness.” As soon as the voice finished, the light started to fade. “Hey man! Wake up!” David’s eyes began to open slowly as some person shook him. He looked up to see Jack’s face again, but this time there was something different. Instead of a look of worry, there was simply a jovial smile on his face, coupled with a sense of bemusement. “Dude, I had no idea you were THAT afraid of needles.” “What are you talking about man?” “You mean you don’t remember? I mean, we come here to donate blood with the rest of the team, and the guys were laughing because their huge musclebound coach faints at the sight of a little needle.” “Who me?” “No, I’m talking about the queen of Sheba? How many other huge muscle bound coaches do you know?” David was about to reply, but suddenly his memories started changing. It started from his middle school experience when he chose to stick with weight lifting instead of giving it up. He didn’t even know why he was thinking about giving up lifting. It was such a great feeling in his muscles when he lifted. And who cares if he got hard every time he lifted. It was just the testosterone running through his system. That’s what the big man said. It was perfectly normal to pop boners like that. Even being gay was ok as long as he was happy with himself. The big man had told him so many things that made perfect sense and helped him get through that rough patch in his life. He remembered how rough it was to start, being an openly gay guy in the weight room, but just like the big man said, as long as he was truthful to himself, it would be ok. And it did turn out alright. The coaches saw him as a hard working and dedicated kid and his focus paid off. He grew a lot, his body responding well to all the working out. It seems that he had a lot of testosterone in his system and it went a long way to making him big. He remembered the years of playing football and wrestling, how he just kept growing and growing as he played. He remember the day he got the nickname “Dave the Dozer” from how he plowed through the line. He remembered raising the state championship trophy for football and for wrestling, and he remembered graduating school near the top of his class, and by far the biggest one there. Then, he remembered going to college, learning how to teach kids and coach, vowing that he would give back to his community. He also wrestled and played ball there, repeating the accomplishments of his younger years. David shook his head slightly, clearing out the cobwebs and said to his assistant coach, “Hey man, when you can bench 585 for fifteen reps, then you can give me shit about needles.” Jack erupted in laughter as David swung his legs off the bed. Something felt slightly weird as he moved, and he headed straight to the bathroom. When he closed the door, he was confronted by his reflection. He saw himself with fresh eyes. It started with his face. It was tight and masculine and rough from the years playing sports. He sported a goatee, but the rest of his head was bald. He always liked that look because it was so easy to maintain and since he usually wore his coach’s cap, he liked to maintain the image of the rough and strict coach, even though his jocks knew that he had a soft side. His eyes went down to his neck, thick and bulging with power. He could see the veins that trailed down the massive pillar that connected his head to his torso. Even though it was only visible for a few inches because of his traps, you still could see the power left over from when he wrestled. His shoulders and traps were massive, so wide they spilled off the mirror. He could remember the hours of doing shrugs and presses to get his shoulders to cap off with the thick layer of muscle that they had. His arms were amazingly huge and he was thankful for the genetics that gave him his massive pipes. The last time he had measured them, they were 25 inches flexed, with a pair of hairy forearms that looked like they belonged on Popeye. The polo shirt that he wore was a XXXL, but it still was stretched across his chest like it was Saran Wrap. The school’s mascot that sat on his left pec was just as equally stretched, letting onlookers imagine how massive his chest and back were. He hated how the shirt fit because while the chest was almost uncomfortably tight, the waist billowed in the wind if he didn’t tuck it into his shorts. He knew that underneath the shirt was a hair covered, mainly chest and torso, flat and hard as a rock from all the exercise that he did every day with his players. He looked at his legs, noticing the gym shorts he had on. He remembered that he was going to order some new clothes to try and fit his massive legs. He saw the thick quads and vascular hamstrings attached to his legs, thinking about how his legs were bigger than most people’s waists and chest. He flexed them a little in the mirror, thinking about how he and his team had to do squats today. Finally, he flexed his calves and saw the football sized muscle pop into sharp relief. He smiled to himself, “Yeah, going to have to hit those hard too.” He quickly washed his hands, shaking the last remenents of memory from his old life away before leaving the bathroom. Jack was standing there laughing still and David jabbed him in the shoulder. Jack laughed and rubbed his arm as David said, “Ok, ok. Let’s head on back. We’re going to need extra time for practice today because I swear, anyone that laughs is going to get extra laps.” The two of them started to laugh as they left the hospital room. As soon as they left the room, a figure materialized behind them. The white gowned woman floated towards the window and smiled. “See Kaos, you’re not the only one who can make massive muscled men.” This post has been promoted to an article

Tristan Savage sits in the fourth seat of the second row of Mr. Blum's hot Calculus one class. The A.C is broken, and even with all the windows open, the classroom doesn't seem to cool down. Dark amber, almost brown, eyes along with his short pitch black hair give an almost boring description of the young man. In truth his face is an acquired taste, so to speak. The more one gazes upon him, the more his features begin to poke out. A prominent triangle shaped jaw line, a strong forehead, and a straight nose. His skin is clean and bright, long since devoid of any teenage acne. After really gazing at Tristan, one can't help but talk about him. Students comment on his strange form of attractiveness, and ponder various questions regarding his personality and appearance. Under his school uniform hides a lean body, with broad shoulders and a narrow waist. Year around his arms and legs are completely covered by long sleeved shirts and slacks, even in this warm weather despite the school allowing short sleeves and shorts. Many expect such a handsome and well-built young man to be lively and talkative. A youth entering the prime of his life should be energetic; he should ooze testosterone, and walk with swagger. Tristan Savage should be an alpha male, atop the high school food chain. Upon entering a room he should command respect and loudly greet his buddies. However, he hardly talks, rarely initiates an actual conversation, and spends most of his time alone. His personality is carried online, or rather isn't online. Tristan doesn't have an Instagram, Facebook, or twitter account; he never even had a Myspace. His disposition and lack of presence leads to various character interpretations. To some students, Tristan is a weird looking guy suffering from low self-esteem and no self-confidence. Others view him as painfully shy and lacking any social skills, or as an arrogant prick simply refusing to socialize with his fellow students. At first glance, these and many other descriptions can apply to the young man sitting on the uncomfortable plastic seat, half-heartily taking notes. From 7:25 a.m. to 1:25 p.m., he robotically writes down notes and practice problems for the upcoming AP tests. Once fifth period is over, he exits the calculus classroom and walks across the campus to the school gym, were sixty other students have already changed into their gym uniform and divided themselves into four classes. Tristan, along with five other seniors, waits to check in with Coach Johnson. As seniors they are given certain privileges, especially from Coach Anna Johnson. Coach Johnson is woman in her early thirties, has medium length brown hair, grey eyes, and a runner’s build. She and many other faculty members blatantly play favorites; she in particular favors the state championship winning football and baseball teams, as well as her track team. So long as they don’t get caught, she allows the seniors to skip class and for her dear and precious athletes she even comes up with excuses to get them out of school or reasons to have the school pay for large lunches and clothes. All the seniors waiting for her are members of at least two school teams, whether they be athletic or academic, except Tristan. She and many other faculty members have always held some level of distain for Tristan Savage, son of the legendary high school, college, and NFL athlete Robert Savage. Tristan Savages bears almost no apparent physical resemblance to his father, who at Tristan’s age measured 6’6 and weighted 250lbs. The man was a member of nearly every sports team and club the school offered. A natural born leader he inspired various teams to win many championships, and then moved on to repeat his actions in college, winning title after title. During his NFL career he won five Super Bowls, and used his fame and ruggedly handsome good looks to transition flawlessly into the world of corporate business. He now travels the world closing multibillion dollar deals and graces the covers of various magazines. Occasionally he visits the school where it all started; completely captivating all the students and faculty with his charisma and swagger. Coach Johnson stares at Tristan for a moment and feels disappointment; many other faculty member and students feel the same way. He is seemingly nothing like his father. The young man stands at about 6'2 and weighs somewhere between very lean 170lb and 180lbs. Besides his statistics, his personality is also disappointing. He appears to lack confidence and ambition; to them he is a lazy bum. The idea for this story popped up recently into my head, so I quickly wrote down the beginning and decided to post it. I plan to finish Byond Sexy before continue with this story. By the way the growth will happen in later parts, this part and the next part will be set up. Part 1 As Johnson marks Tristan’s attendance, a strong gust of wind suddenly picks up and hits Tristan's torso. The front of his shirt is pushed into the crevices between his abs, revealing a three by two matrix of round perfectly shaped abdominal muscles. Each set of abs becomes more pronounced as they lead up to his chest. Two large round mounds of muscle pop out a few inches from his body. Almost as if refusing to be out done, his obliques press against the soft piece of cloth. They look almost angry, like they want to tear to the fabric to shreds. Large veins are clearly visible through his shirt. They appear from his shoulders and run along his large biceps before seemly disappearing into his forearms. Broad round shoulders curve in to form a small valley between his large round biceps. Another valley is located between his biceps and upper forearms. Tristan doesn't take notice of the wind, but many students and coaches, especially Johnson do. Everyone seems to forget that hidden underneath the school uniform is the body of a dedicated fitness model; though it doesn’t belong there. They gaze in wonder as Tristan walks way; the air still hitting his body, now exposing an expansive network of iron cables running along his backside. He has no possible reason to possess such a body. Tristan doesn’t participate in any form of athletic events, whether they be school or privately sponsored. He isn’t the type to work out simply for the sake of looking good, after all he never even wears short-sleeved uniforms. None of the students or faculty members has a clue how he managed to grow into such in impressive physique. Over three-fourths the school's student body is enrolled in some sort of athletic team or club that requires strenuous physical activity whether it be football or dance, and none of them have bodies even resembling Tristan’s.

Close Encounter – Part 1: Eyes in the Dark Ben awoke to the feeling of someone invading his space. He opened his eyes to a dazzling display of lights streaming in through the windows. His eyes ached as they tried to get used to the bright flickering lights and violent contrasts between the lights and the dark spaces between them as they flung themselves all around his room like disco balls gone mad. Ben looked around quickly, still feeling the same intrusion but seeing nothing. The room was completely silent, eerily silent. The room was so silent Ben could hear the blood swishing in the veins and arteries around his ear. Suddenly one of the bright lights landed at the side of his bed and morphed into a humanoid shape. The figure was of average human height but its body was extremely thin and almost twiglike. Big, dark, black eyes stared back at him attached to an oversized head with grayish skin. It finally registered in Ben's mind that this was one of those aliens you see on those paranormal documentary shows, and this was real at least he thought it was. The eyes seemed to look deep within him. As soon as he made this contact he felt a small itch on his side. That itch came from a big gun like object poking into his thigh. As soon as Ben saw that the pain of the instrument rushed throughout his body. Ben felt an additional strange sensation inside of him. It was as if something was crawling inside of him and it started from the spot where he was stung and looked up the barrel of the gun to see a large multi-vial chamber. Three vials were emptying one white, and one greyish. The other was filling up with what looked like his blood. His head was grabbed lightly and directed back into the alien's eyes. The pain died down almost instantly to a small itch. Ben's body seemed to be locked in position. He couldn't move at all. Panic began to set in Ben's brain and the pain came rushing back with equal intensity. The alien tilted it's head diverting Ben's mind back to it. The pain dulled to an itch again. It was then that it made sense to Ben that it would hurt much less if he concentrated on the Alien. The Alien smiled. Was it reading his mind? It was a repetative dream that Ben would wake up to at least once a month. The dream was creepy and yet somewhat exciting at the same time. A close encounter with an alien! It was the focus of all of his life. Posters of aliens and spaceships lined his walls when he was younger. Ben had countless books, newspaper clippings in a scrapbook, and many documentaries on UFOs. Ben was virtually an alien geek. Now that Ben was much older at 18, his fascination for aliens had waned but never completely disappeared. The obsession was pushed to the side by life in general. The alien posters were gone and the walls were painted a semi dark blue-ish. The whole room was converted into a more adult like abode. The only remnants of his alien obsession lie on his computer. Ben got up and did his everyday morning routine. Ben would turn on his computer and gather his clothes as it booted up. Once booted, Ben was greeted to the sight of an alien head on his desktop. Ben opened up his file manager and looked up a folder named MM. Inside MM, was a library of pictures and more folders amongst them. Ben clicked on a subfolder called MMP. All the pictures were porn, specifically, muscle man porn. Ben had known and accepted that he was gay since he was fourteen. He came out to his parents at sixteen and since then he had collected a massive library of muscle, cock, and gay sex images and videos. But there was that other folder inside. Ben scrolled down to a folder named UAMM. Ben smiled thinking upon the names of the folders as he double clicked on the folder for "Unidntified Alien Muscle Men." The window opened up another set of erotic images. This time, those images were of various aliens all pumped up to massive bodybuilder proportions or bigger. Ben's cock bulged as the images of his obsession and sexual fantasy had merged in his mind. Ben began stroking his cock slowly as he clicked through the various images of the massive muscle men with alien heads. Each picture he clicked through made his cock harder and harder. Until he came upon his favorite picture. An alien that was truly a muscle god. Its muscles looking as large if not larger than some of the erotic massive muscle art he would collect. The biceps flexed and the huge muscled body bulged to proportions that seemed to swallow the tiny alien head. It was this image that he would cum to everytime. Ben would buck and writhe in his seat as the image induced an orgasm in him that consumed his whole body. Cum would spurt out in loads significantly bigger than normal from his cock. After a couple minutes the orgasmic seizure would lessen and Ben would clean up his mess. After that Ben made his way to the bathroom working out some of the post sex bliss that remained giving him a kind of drunk like state of mind. Ben reached the bathroom and flipped on the light. Looking in the mirror Ben noticed himself staring back. He wasn't a bad looking teen. His body was considered above average in height and muscle. Ben however just barely approved of himself since he had such an obsession for muscle. Ben flexed his arm and watched as a respectable 15 inch arm bulged a bit. The urge to pee quickly took his attention off the mirror and toward the toilet where he lifted the lid and relieved himself. After Ben was done, he went back to the bedroom noting that it was still dark outside. Ben got back into bed and looked at his clock which glared a bright red 2:30 back at him. Ben sighed and laid back putting the covers over his head ready to go back to sleep. Ben laid in his bed looking at the ceiling in the dark for a while. For a brief moment, Ben wondered if he would have that odd alien abduction dream again. Continuing to look at the ceiling his mind got bored and started noting little discomforts of his body. Ben's neck was uncomfortable just below his head so he lifted his head up and patted the pillow briefly to fluff it up. After laying his head down Ben noticed some twinges of light pain in his legs and moved them a bit to relieve that. To Ben this was unusual, maybe restless leg syndrome like advertised on some of those pill commercials. Ben briefly closed his eyes. In an instant Ben heard nothing, it was as if something had sucked all the sound out of the room. Ben knew this lack of sound distinctly. He was in the dream. And as if on cue of his thoughts the room lit up brilliantly with a bright whitish light. But something was different about this time. He could feel it as he noticed the light was different, dimmer. Ben looked to one of the windows and saw a massive shadow blocking out the light from it. This was very different. In this case, the massive shadow was trying to enter. The lower and upper panes of the window were suddenly crushed into the sill as a massive arm pushed them up and poked through into his room. Ben stared in awe as the massive arm was followed by the other equally as big and then a torso that had to slide through sideways, and even them the massive scraped both back and ches against the sides. That was followed by an incredulously thin waist leading to a crotch and bulge that would make a horse jealous. And finally two massive legs propelled their way through the window. The massive form landed on the floor with barely a sound at all the rumble died down along with the light. It was dark again in his room, but Ben could hear the sounds of a shifting form and footsteps getting closer to him. The footsteps stopped at the corner of the foot of his bed. "You are awake." Something said in Ben's mind. It was a deep masculine voice similar to that of the aliens that have visited him in his dreams but much deeper. Ben shivered with fear as he tried to speak but no sound came out. "Calm yourself. I mean you no harm. I will reveal myself to you if you agree to remain quiet." the voice in his head said. Ben could only shake his head yes. In the blink of an eye the lights came on in his room revealing the form that was speaking to him in his mind. Standing at the foot of his bed was a massive and definitely masculine creature. The head was that of the alien he had seen many many times in his dreams but this one had the typical large cranium and the big black eyes but the face was much more sharply defined and the jaw squared off to match the superheroes in the comic books. As massive as the head was, it paled in comparison to the massive muscular form that supported it. The alien's head was almost touching the ceiling which would put him almost at 8' tall. The neck was as big as Ben's thighs and the traps bulged up to what would be ear level on a human. Shoulders were twice and a half wider than an average door. The arms on this extraterrestrial were almost as wide as his body and the legs were twice that size. The abs were thick and hard cobblestones on an almost comically thin waist. And just blow that was a bulge that stood out at least a foot from the massive form as the mighty shaft was pushed out and bowed back in by what looked like a tight pair of boy shorts. Ben gasped as the lights came on and revealed the extraterrestrial in it's massively muscled glory. A once expressionless face soon gave way to a raised eyebrow and half frown as it acknowledged the sudden sound Ben had made. Ben quickly put his hand to his mouth as he realized what he had done. The alien nodded his head and the slight frown gave way to a smirk as he looked down to Ben's crotch. It was then that Ben realized that he had a raging erection from looking at the hulking space alien. "You like looking at me." The alien spoke simply in his head. Was there a hint of smart ass in that comment? Ben quickly covered up his hard cock in embarassment which caused the alien to let out a small chuckle. "There is no point in hiding your sexual arousal. I have already seen it and noticed it in your vital signs as I was entering." The alien mentally commented. Ben continued to stare at the massive form watching his massive chest heave as it breathed. The alien continued to smirk as his dark eyes stared intently at him. Then the alien smiled a little bigger and slowly crossed his mighty arms upon his chest followed by another raised eyebrow. Ben stared on in complete awe of the amazing extraterrestrial adonis in front of him. This was definitely not the same dream as he had before. Was this the same alien? "I can guess what you are asking yourself and chances are I would be right." The alien spoke in his head again. "You are wondering if I am the same one that had visited you before when you were younger. I will affirm that to you." "You're the same one?" Ben suddenly blurted out his question that it almost took the alien by surprise. "Yes I am." "But... but... you're.... HUGE!" "Yes, my appearance has changed." "Why?" "I was looking for a solution to a problem in my home planet's population. A disease has spread amongst my kind and I was looking to other types of life forms to study their DNA and make comparisons. I would use that DNA to try and fix the problem. Human DNA has had some interesting results." "Human DNA?" The alien opened his arms out and smiled. "I mixed human DNA with my own. I was altered into what you see me as now." "So human DNA made you huge?" Ben asked still aogog at the massive alien. "Specifically my DNA and your DNA have complimented each other. Although I am feeling some notable side effects." "Side effects?" "I experience changes in personality and mood which are more dynamic than I am used to and I grew genitalia and sex organs to which you humans use to create offspring." The alien then looked off to the side as it thought out loud. "Natural copulation versus cloning, an interesting theory." The room became unsettlingly quiet as the alien seemed lost in thought. "What is your name?" Ben blurted out the question nervously breaking the silence. The alien looked at Ben quizzically for a brief moment and then smiled again. "My name is Sirrelliac." Ben looked at Sirreliac and it was his turn to smile. "Can I call you Sir?" "Interesting." Sir projected into Ben. "What?" Ben replied out loud. "You are willing to call me 'Sir' melding my name with your English word recognizing a master from a subordinate which is much used in many variations including sexual." Sir stated simply. His words seemed near emotionless and clincal but the context was almost clear "Do you see me as your superior?" Sir asked looking thoughtfully at Ben. Ben looked back at the alien for a moment and then smiled proudly. "What made you think it was sexual?" Ben asked in reply with a flirting undertone. Sir's face suddenly dropped into befuddlement. To Ben the effect was comical and he began to giggle. Sir quickly shook his head and scowled at Ben. "Puny human! Am I your superior?" Sir mentally yelled at Ben as he reached out a massive muscled arm and grabbed him by the neck and lifted him of his bed high in the air. "Yes! Yes you are my superior Sir!" Ben squeaked in sudden horror as airway was nearly choked off. Ben grabbed at the alien's muscled arm noting how big hand hard it was. Sir's face was hard and angry but after a few brief seconds morphed back into befuddlement and then a flash of fear. Sir unceremoniously dropped Ben back to his bed and walked to a corner shaking his head. Sir's movements were animated and his footsteps banged on the floor as his heavy frame paced. Sir seemed to be thinking out loud as he arms flailed as if he were having an angry conversation with himself. Some of it seemed to slip out of his head and into Ben including "... why I was exiled," and "...they were right." "Who was right?" Ben asked Sir out loud. Sir's movements and pacing froze. "You said you were exiled. Why?" The room was silent for a good ten seconds before Sir replied. "I owe you an apology." Sir stated out loud with his deep voice resonating in the room. Sir did not look at Ben. "Accepted." Ben replied quickly knowing that Sir was obviously disturbed by what he had done to Ben. Ben now felt sorry for the space alien. He could only assume based on what he heard that Sir did something to cause his exile. Something which Sir may not have been in control of. Ben got up off the bed slowly approached Sir. "It is illogical to accept my apology so soon after what I did to you." Sir replied again out loud still not looking back at Ben. "Humans like me are sometimes illogical. It's how we adapt in some cases." Ben said as he placed a hand on Sir. Sir twitched at sudden contact. Ben noticed Sir's forearm and bicep explode in size as his arm flexed. Ben jumped back as Sir did. Sir stared at Ben intensely. "I'm sorry, sir." Ben replied calmly. "You touched me. You are not afraid of me?" Sir asked almost meekly which usually isn't possible from such an intimidating figure. But Ben was not shaken now. "No. Because I think I understand." Ben added. "You experimented on yourself and you are experiencing side effects. Your sudden emotional responses are something you said you were dealing with. You also said you were exiled." Sir looked down at the floor when he heard that statement reflected back at him. "Your friends don't like that you experimented on yourself. You're now a freak to them." Ben paused and then added, "It's not hard to deduce." Now it was Sir's turn to be speechless for a brief moment. "You are somewhat correct." Sir admitted after a long pause. Ben walked over to Sir. "Somewhat correct? How so?" "I did the experiments because I was hearing intelligence that there would be an invasion of our home. I felt that our planet needed protection. So I did the experiment on myself." Sir looked down at the floor. "When the invasion happened, I was ready for it. Even though I was only half as big as I am now. The invaders came, and I defended the planet against the whole armada." "Wow! You were like a hero." Ben said with a squee. "Maybe to you, but the elders didn't see it that way. They saw me as a threat. I was too big and powerful for them. They wanted to control me, but I resisted. They sent me away in exile. My only solace was coming here since I had been here before." Sir disclosed with a quiet sadness. "But, how do you feel?" Ben placed a hand up on Sir's mighty shoulder again. "That question is too broad." Sir replied. "Okay, considering the experiment in my opinion seemed to be a great success, do you feel any different, better or worse?" Ben asked more specifically. "They don't know what it's like to be like I am. There are so many things that are new to me just because I can see them differently. Athough I was afraid when I saw what I had done to the invading armada, I was proud of the fact that I had defended a planet from being conquered or worse." Sir brought his hands up and squeezed them into fists, his arms flexing into huge masses of power. Ben saw Sir like he saw some of the superheroes in comic books in that brief moment. "I feel good, I feel like I am better than I was before, like I have evolved into the next generation of my kind."