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[A/N: Sorry there's no growth yet aside from an imagine spot, but take a good look at the main tag - it's coming in due time. Nonetheless, I hope you enjoy!] I plunk down the cash on the granite counter. “I want a year’s membership.” The man at the front desk (Colton, his name tag says) is surprised. I can see why; when you run a rust-bucket gym, you don’t exactly see people built like me there, let alone signing up. “Uh, sure? Not sure why you didn’t say ‘hello’.” “Small talk isn’t going to sell me on working out here. I made up my mind a while ago.” Months and months ago. “Okay, just fill out this form and you can come back here.” He gives me a bog-standard contract and a shitty 25 cent pen, the ink almost gone. Address. Payment method (taken care of). State ID. My parents wouldn’t let me even THINK about driving a car, but I at least have something. One that somehow makes my face look even rounder and more cherubic than it already is, and one with the shoulder-length hair they thought was “cute”. God, I hate that word. I save the name for last, get it all over with at once in case my ID wasn’t enough. Casey Anderson. Yep… that’s me. I hand over the form, he presses a few keys, and we walk over to the free weights area. Not that it’s far. You can count the cardio machines on one hand, and the sole TV hasn’t been touched in almost a decade. Certainly explained Colton’s beer gut. I can walk faster than him, for fuck’s sake, and I’m almost half a foot shorter than him and even chubbier. “You look you’re new to exercising.” No fucking shit the guy with C-cups, a massive soft belly, thighs bigger around than a skinny man’s waist and a fatter ass than most women who has never seen muscle definition when looking in the mirror is a beginner. At least he’s offering to walk me through the basic barbell exercises. I’ve already researched form before I left for college, but that was late at night in private browsing so I didn’t get an earful from my parents about how I’d invariably get crushed under the bar and die, or trip and fall into a ravine, or break a bone doing yoga. Might not hurt to get a refresher. “Sure.” “Okay, so you wanna start with the bar at eye-level, feet flat on the ground, back arched like this…” Standard stuff. He pounds out 12 reps with the empty bar like it’s nothing, probably because it IS nothing. He gets up and walks behind the bench. Now it’s my turn. Arch my back, and… oh fuck. (One…) 45 pounds is more than I thought it would be. (Two…) I’m less than I thought I would be. (Three…) The bar is pushing into my saggy moobs with every rep. (Four…) A few months ago, they’d have bumped into my breast buds. (…Five…) I just got cleared to exercise after my gynecomastia surgery (…Six…) and it’s embarrassing how much strength I’ve lost in just 6 weeks. (…Seven…) I was at least able to do “girl push-ups” (…Eight…) albeit in private so they didn’t think I was ruining my knees. (…Nine…) Colton’s hands are getting closer to the bar. (…Ten…) I fucking know I should be able to rep this. (…Eleven…) I push one last time. It stalls. Stagnant. Colton finally grabs it on either side of my hands. No. “Let go.” He obliges. I arch my back even further than before, and the barbell resumes its steady ascent. “I’m not… fucking… DONE YET.” It reaches its apex. I move it just a hair towards Colton and my arms finally give out, the clank resonating throughout the gym. His blue eyes are wide with surprise. I get him. You expect that kind of now-or-never effort from a massive, lean bodybuilder, not someone as squishy and pampered-looking as me. It shouldn’t be surprising for long. This should be my new fucking normal, my body changing to reflect who I am on the inside. And what I am is a fucking predator, rugged from a life of kicking ass and taking names, the unquestioned alpha whose very presence inspires terror and lust, people asking, no, begging me to plunge my massive, throbbing manhood into their tight quivering holes and fill them with – great. Now I have a boner. Good news: nobody can see it. Bad news: I remembered that it’s 2 inches hard. Reality sucks. For now. “How the hell did you-” “I wanted it.” “Well, be careful. You need to have gas in the tank for the rest of the workout, haha.” I don’t see how that’s funny. --- “Alright, let’s finish with squats, got that Casey?” FINALLY. You couldn’t have done this before the snatch & clean? By now, he’s warmed up enough that this is his workout for the day. Turns out he’s pretty solid under the fat. His forearms show a surprising amount of thickness and shape as he loads up the bar, even if he probably hasn’t seen a vein in years. His back looks big and broad as he walks under the bar. His thighs are firm and show the shape of his thick quads as he begins to rise back up. He’s too old for me, but he’s easy on the eyes. He re-racks the bar and all the weights, sets the holds to a part of the rack that’s a lot less worn-down than the rest of it, and gives me the floor. He said to only do sets of 5 for this. He says it’s to improve my strength. I think he thinks I have none. I’ll prove him wrong. Feet hip-width apart. (One.) Knees behind toes. (Two.) Bar path vertical. (Three.) Keep your knees from bucking inward. (Four…) Explode upward. (Five!) …Holy shit, that was easy. “Atta kid! That’s probably your strongest lift. Hell, you should probably put some weight on the bar next set!” Wait, already? “…How much?” “Ten pounds oughta do it.” God, I actually get to put weight on the bar for the first time. And it won’t be the last. (Dismount.) 55 pounds to start with. (One.) Add 5 every other day and I’ll be at 135 in less than 6 weeks. (Two.) Another 3 months and it’ll be 315. (Three…) Fuck, I’ll be strong. (Four…) Just imagine what that will feel like. (Five.) “Nice, nice! That was more challenging, huh?” This is the most I’ve felt alive in years. “Sure was.” “How about you stay there for your other sets?” Damn it. Soon. --- Of all the time for Percy to use the bathroom, it’s this one. I swear to God the guys in charge of pairing up roommates do this on purpose. Okay, I hear the faucet, he’s probably close to done. He opens the door. “You’re really serious about the fitness thing?” How can be so fucking dense? I swear to God the dumb blonde stereotype is gender-neutral these days. “Did you think I stocked the minifridge with chicken and broccoli for shits and giggles? Look at me. That’s not something I did before moving here.” “Okaaay then, suit yourself. I’ll get started on homework.” As he walks off, I can hear him mutter “At least he’s only going to do this for a week or two.” Prick. Mine’s been acting up today too. Must be the workout. Better take care of it if I’m getting my pre-labs done. I take my phone out of my pocket, then strip off my clothes. Okay, don’t look in the mirror, don’t look in the mirror, don’t look in the… good, I got the lotion out. Now for the visual aid. I pull up Cliff Renegade’s socials. Fuck, he uploaded another shirtless hiking photoshoot… God, he looks so rugged in those. That rough layer of dark stubble covering his sharp jawline… Those strong, muscular, veiny arms… They have to be at least 18 inches across. That hairy six-pack… And those pecs, so thick-yet-flat... I bet people are joking when they call his tits. And that bulge, dear God. I’d fucking kill to have that in my pants. Maybe then I’d be able to jerk off with more than 2 fingers. Okay, that was a buzzkill, next image… Fuck me, his back’s gotten even bigger and broader and craggier since last time. And those legs look like sheer power instead of the blubber I have. And Jesus Christ in heaven his fucking perfect toned bubble butt is filling out those shorts. God, I want to rail that ass, my cock making him whimper, his feet on my shoulders, oh God and they’d have gotten bigger with the rest of me, I’d look like a breeding stud, just getting leaner and stronger, my cock swelling to dwarf his, just getting bigger, bigger, bigger bigger bigger bigger BIG- Fuck imagine me filling his ass with load after load of my hot cum, his hole just dripping with – crap, looked down. Hey, 2 pumps usually only happens when I’m pent up. Maybe I’m moving in the right direction. But right now, I had better clean up. After all, I’m not fit enough to be sexy when I’m sweaty. Yet.