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Hey guys! I've written quite a few stories over the years, but they generally focus on extreme strength. This one has MG elements too so I thought I'd post it here. It's also loosely based on an encounter with a nicely built old friend in Amsterdam earlier this year - the set-up and parts of the ending, but it'll be pretty clear where the fantasy elements kick in. Enjoy. Reunion, Part 1: Schiphol The fields and canals of the Dutch countryside spread out for miles and miles below me as I leaned to look out the plane window. The KLM flight from Barcelona had been uneventful, flying up through France on a clear evening with a perfect view of Paris at one point. I put it on my list of destinations to visit someday. But I was still completely satisfied with the week I’d just spent in Spain, traveling from the north of the country in Bilbao through the center in Madrid and ending up on the Mediterranean coast in Barcelona. It was a trip I’d been wanting to take for years, and one I was finally able to take when the international travel situation permitted. For the flight back to Canada, I’d had the option of an early morning departure from Spain with a quick change of planes in Amsterdam, or a flight the evening before with an overnight stay in the bustling Dutch city. There were plenty of hotels available near Schiphol, so accommodation wouldn’t be a problem. Not being a morning person (especially a ‘wake up at 3 am to catch a 6 am flight’ person), I opted for the latter choice. Am I ever glad I did. So, so glad. The sun was setting behind the plane as it made its final approach, giving the landscape a golden hue. The settlements grew larger the closer we got to Amsterdam. Cars trundled along an expressway, looking sluggish compared to the speed of the plane. A line of wind turbines marched along the pancake-flat land, bearing little resemblance to the stocky, iconic windmills of centuries past; these turbines stood hundreds of feet high with three massive blades rotating. I’d been to the Netherlands before, a few years ago, and found the mid-sized cities like Rotterdam and the Hague more to my liking than the tourist-plagued hustle and bustle of Amsterdam. But this was only for one night, really a bonus mini trip after a week on the Iberian Peninsula. Plus, as it turned out, I knew someone in Amsterdam, which hadn’t been the case the first time. Evan was an old friend of mine from Calgary who’d moved away about five years prior. First he’d moved to Toronto, then he’d found a job with a European company and ended up in the Netherlands about three years ago. We’d been reasonably close when living in the same city, but as often happens when someone moves away, we’d fallen out of touch over the ensuing years. He had social media, but rarely posted, and there hadn’t been any updates in over two years. But I still had his email address, so I figured I’d send him an email a few weeks before I left on my trip. Maybe we could meet up for a beer or even breakfast during my overnight layover. I was pleasantly surprised to hear back from him almost immediately. He sounded excited that I would be stopping into Amsterdam and invited me to stay over at his place rather than the hotel I’d booked. Fortunately, I hadn’t pre-paid for the room and was able to easily cancel it. For some reason, I got the impression that he had an extra room, though he hadn’t actually stated it. Now, I think a little background information about our friendship is in order. We met through a gay dating website, though we were only ever friends. We just kind of clicked that way. I won’t deny that there was some attraction on my part; he was a handsome man with a beautiful smile and a nicely sculpted physique. Not exactly massive or anything, but definitely bulge-y in a tight polo shirt. I will admit there were the occasional ‘benefits’ over the years, but nothing overtly sexual. Cuddling on the couch a few times while watching a movie at my place, things like that. He got involved in a couple of serious relationships over the few years that we were friends, nice guys, but nothing that ever worked out long-term. I found our friendship quite fulfilling; we had a lot in common, and always talked easily over dinner or coffee. It was kind of a blow to me when I found out he was leaving town. He was moving on to greater career opportunities, and I was happy for him, but it hit me harder than I’d expected when he left. I was really looking forward to seeing him again and catching up, figuring he must have some interesting stories after three years of living in Europe. The plane landed uneventfully. Now my least favorite part of the trip – navigating the zoo that is Schiphol Airport. It generally makes rush hour on the Los Angeles freeway system seem calm and organized. But fortunately, I didn’t have to go through customs, and the voyage from the gate to the baggage claim area only felt like I was walking the length of ten football fields instead of the usual twenty. A win in my book. My suitcase took a little while to show up, but so far everything was on time. I was supposed to meet Evan in the plaza area just after exiting security, where there was a variety of shops and restaurants as well as the train station. There was a thump, and I saw my suitcase starting to rotate around the conveyor belt right in front of me. Perfect. The plaza area was busy, but felt less chaotic than the terminal area. He’d mentioned meeting at Burger King; I couldn’t find a map and I didn’t hadn’t connected to the Wi-Fi yet, so I turned left, which naturally turned out to be the wrong direction. I continued around the plaza on a loop until I saw the familiar fast-food logo in the distance. Europe is a continent with an amazing selection of delicious cuisine, but the longest lineups you see are invariably at places like Burger King and KFC. I didn’t see Evan anywhere in the teeming seating area, so I circulated until a table opened up that had a view of the entrance to the shopping and dining concourse. A thought suddenly popped into my head – I really didn’t have any idea of what our plans might be. It was already 8 pm, and though I was more-or-less over my jet lag, I was still pretty tired from traveling for a week straight. Maybe we could just go to a pub somewhere, or hang out at his place and catch up. I figured I’d let him take the lead on that one since he was the local. Around me, hungry, harried travelers chowed down on burgers and fries before heading on to their evening flights or into the city. I took the opportunity to relax and center myself; I’ve always been a fan of being anonymous in a crowd, of feeling that energy while not having to be directly involved in it. Naturally, a busy airport is about the best opportunity around for people-watching. The travelers were an extremely diverse crowd, representing the citizens of cosmopolitan Amsterdam as well as arrivals from dozens of countries across the globe. That was interesting to observe…but let’s be honest, when it comes to people-watching, I tend to be on the lookout for muscle. Spain had been a little disappointing in that department; the occasional kinda-big guy in Madrid and Barcelona, but no one displaying muscle in a way that would really catch me eye. Shallow, I know, but what can I say. My fantasy of a huge bodybuilder sitting beside me on a plane hadn’t come true either on any of the three flights so far. Amsterdam seemed to be pretty much the same, unfortunately. A few reasonably in-shape guys walking around, but no one to write home about. I pulled out my phone and went through the steps to sign in for the airport Wi-Fi. I scrolled through the news for a few minutes, then when I looked up from my phone, my eyes immediately locked onto a huge figure in the distance. By far the biggest man I had seen on my travels – any of my travels. He had his back to me, looked to be checking his phone, but the width of that back was evident even from far away. The beast was standing still, and people had to go out of their way to get around him, like ships avoiding a huge protruding rock. Eventually, the crowd thinned out enough that I could get a clear look at him from the back. Monstrous legs that swelled out of a pair of tight shorts, only made tight by the size of his quads and thick booty. Lats that pushed his trunk-like arms out at an angle I’d need a protractor to measure. A broad neck that merged into a set of traps carved from marble. I noticed he didn’t have a suitcase with him, and wondered who the lucky person was that he was there to meet. Why didn’t I ever have a massive bodybuilder waiting to pick me up at the airport, perhaps holding a welcome sign with my name on it…ah well, a man could dream. I mentally went through the list of Dutch bodybuilders I followed on Instagram, wondering if it could be one of them. He definitely looked big enough to compete, if not blow away the competition. He didn’t look all that tall, no more than 6 feet, nowhere near the giant Oliver Richter’s territory. Another name, Wesley Vissers popped into my head, but he had a mop of curly hair and this guy had a close-cropped haircut. Ah well, someone I could search for later, I thought. Or maybe Evan might know who he was, since he’d always had a thing for muscle guys as well. Speaking of which, I thought, where was he? I hoped I hadn’t missed a message or anything. But my attention was diverted as the muscle guy turned and started walking towards the Burger King seating area. Yep, just as impressive from the front as the back. Thick barrel pecs that swelled under the polo and stretched it as tight as a drum. Sleeves that were pulled up over dynamite-packed arms, both of which had a thick vein running up and over the bicep. Forearms that swelled and tapered over heavyset hands. God, this guy was my fucking fantasy. Maybe I could get a surreptitious picture as he walked by. We were less than 100 feet apart, and striding faster. But before I could get my phone out, I glanced up at his face. And gasped. Our eyes met, and I saw that smile. That beautiful smile. Oh God, it couldn’t be…? But he called my name. It was. “Evan?” I said, standing. A goofy grin came to my face as well. All the new muscles aside (and THAT was going to be a topic of conversation later, I knew), I was just happy to see my old friend again. There were a few flecks of gray in the heavy stubble on his chin, but it was the same bright face I remembered from years ago. We embraced…well, he hugged me fully, and lifted me off the ground a bit, though I don’t think it was intentional. I did my best to get my arms around his lats, just barely getting onto his back. The muscle I felt under that tight polo was like the side of a mountain. When we ended the hug, I stepped back and looked him over again, trying to process all that muscle. He was around 190 last I saw him, and he looked to have put on over 100 pounds of sheer mass. The thought he could be approaching (or over) 300 pounds…a tiny shiver went down my spine. “Evan, you look…I just…I mean…” He tipped his head back and laughed. “Yeah I’ve been hitting the gym a bit more since I got here,” he said. He rippled his right pec a few times under the pale blue polo, subtle but definitely enough for me to notice. “You look good too man.” I know he was just being polite; I appreciated it. “It’s a little more than…what the…” I still couldn’t get a complete sentence out. “Plenty of time to talk about that later,” Evan said. “First I want to hear about your trip. No, scratch that. First I want to get a couple of Whoppers. I haven’t eaten in like two hours. You want anything?” I asked for a regular cheeseburger, as I’d had dinner on the plane. As he strode over to the line, I got another good look at him from the back. I swear he looked about three times as wide as anyone else in line, an absolute unit. I also saw the glances people gave as they walked by, often with eyes growing wide. A kid on the other side of the seating area pointed and said something I couldn’t hear, but his mother quickly shushed him and led him away. Evan would have stood out in the audience at a bodybuilding competition, but in a fast-food place among mere mortals, he looked like the windmills that completely dominated the unremarkable landscape outside. When he returned, he ate his two Whoppers in the time it took me to finish my cheeseburger. We did talk about my trip – although I was fascinated to find out about his transformation, I enjoyed recounting my travels of the past week. He filled me in about some highlights of the past few years, oddities about living in a foreign country, other places he’d visited in Europe. It was easy to slip back into the engaging conversations we used to have. Sure, he had a ton of new muscles, but underneath he was the same Evan I knew. In some ways, it felt like we had just seen each other the previous week, not years prior. The catching up continued for another twenty minutes. Finally, there was a break in the conversation, and Evan asked if I wanted to head out. He grabbed my fully packed suitcase and hoisted it like it was empty; it barely made his massive right arm ripple. I expected us to head to the train station, but we kept on walking to the parking garage. We continued chatting along the way, laughing and reminiscing about old times and mutual acquaintances. The parking garage was a lengthy walk away that took us out into the cool night air. I zipped up my jacket, but Evan seemed perfectly comfortable in his polo shirt and shorts. Fifteen minutes after leaving the plaza, we climbed a set of stairs and emerged next to his car. It actually looked fairly large by Dutch standards, but it would have been considered a mid-size in North America. He popped the trunk and lifted my suitcase in. “I really do need a bigger car, but they’re damn near impossible to park in the city here if you have one,” he said, sounding almost apologetic. He turned to face me, the overhead lighting in the garage spotlighting every muscle straining under his shirt. One corner of his mouth turned up in a sly smile. “So, I’m guessing you have two questions,” Evan said. “First of all, they’re 24 inches. Well, like 23 and ¾, but I think I’m good to round up a bit. I’ll be there soon enough. And yes, you can feel them.” My eyes widened and I let out a sharp breath. “Yeah. Pretty much bang on.” The smile broadened. “Well, you’ve been staring at them for like the past 45 minutes. Now I know why you were never any good at poker.” He raised his right arm in a slow, brutal, perfect flex. The cannonball muscle pushed the sleeve back into the depths between his upper arm and shoulder. The thick vein I’d seen before pulsed over the soaring peak. Up close, I could see a network of smaller veins climbing up over that bicep and down over his equally impressive rippling tricep. I reached out and slowly closed my hand over the peak. I swear I could feel fireworks going off around me. The size, the hardness, the density…it was just sublime. Like nothing I’d ever experienced. An odd sound somewhere between a gasp and moan escaped my lips. “Guess you approve,” Evan said before dropping the flex. “I gotta show you something else too.” He looked around the garage to make sure no one was nearby. Then he crouched down a little and slid his right hand under the corner of the rear bumper. I just had time to say “What are you…” before he grunted and lifted the car off the ground. The frame groaned and the left rear tire reluctantly raised upward. His arm was bulging like crazy now, facing a challenge much more intense than a 40-pound suitcase. Evan gritted his teeth and raised his arm slowly, the bicep I’d just felt contracting into a muscle supernova. To my shock, the right rear tire started raising off the concrete as well. His breathing was slow and steady, his concentration rock solid. The rear bumper was nearly level with his lower pecs. He held the car in place for a full ten seconds, until a loud cracking sound emerged from the bumper. That was his cue to slowly lower the car back down until it cautiously touched the concrete. Not even the slightest bounce. “I gotta be careful with that, I’ve cracked a few bumpers that way. I’m getting better though,” he said. Casually, like it was the most normal thing in the world he’d just done. “Evan. Holy fuck.” Well, I guess that qualified as a complete sentence. “If you’re impressed by that…well, you don’t have all that much time here, so we should get going. I guess I have a few more things to fill you in on. But not here.”