A Most Productive Year

[Vetinari26]

My first story (long time lurker, first time poster), part one of hopefully several installments to come. The growth kicks in near the end of this installment, and will only keep going from here. Let me know what you think!

A Most Productive Year, Part One

“We’re actually doing this,” he groaned, locking the apartment door behind him. His orange buzzcut covered beneath a dark hoodie, Scott was doing his best impression of the weather outside—but couldn’t mask the spring in his step or the twinkle behind his sky-blue eyes.

I should hope so—this was as much his idea as mine. Scott had turned 30 last month, and he was keenly aware that his twenties were over. I’d just started a new career, he was eying a promotion at work. And both of us were ready to move on to whatever came next—leave the binge-drinking and days spend in a cloud of weed-smoke behind. Those things were more fun after a full, productive day anyway.

And so far, it had been great—and surprisingly easy. We only drank on Friday and Saturday nights. Weed stopped being an everyday thing, and then only in the evenings. The TV, for the most part, stayed off. I picked the piano back up. Scott started cooking for fun again. Then, one Friday night we went out to the Eagle to celebrate Scott’s 30^th. That night Scott decided on the next step of our self-actualization.

“God, I always wanted to look like that.” He was staring hungrily at one of the thickly muscled, mustachioed daddies who lurk around the dirty bird as though the man was a slab of meat— and a lucious slab of meat at that. I nodded in agreement—I always struggled not to stare when men like this walked by. His leather harness accentuated his bulging, furry chest in an almost hypnotic way. My eyes were drawn up to his shoulders and armpits (my favorite. I’m a damn pig for mens’ pits, where the chest, lats, shoulders, biceps and triceps meet. Scott always has to push me out of his pits—I can make him come in seconds when I dig my tongue in my favorite spot), his solid muscles shifting around each other as he stretched his arms.

“I could look like that.” I broke from my reverie. Was that Scott? He’d never been much of a gym goer--”I work a physical job. I get enough exercise there” was his line (and I was in agreement—he had beautiful shoulders and forearms).

“Why the fuck not? We’ve had way more free time. I’ve had more energy recently. And I’m thirty.” He glanced meaningfully over his glasses.

“And what does that mean?” I mimicked his body language and tone in faux-seriousness.

“That now’s the damn time. I’m only going to be a thirtysomething once. I already missed the chance to be a buff twenty-something. Once in my life, I want to look like that.” He was actually serious about this.

“I think I’ve still got my membership at the gym down the hill.” I hadn’t been in months, but I still paid the damn membership fees. “I think we can get a discount if I refer you.”

“Do it. This week. We’ll start first thing on Monday”

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“We’re actually doing this,” he groaned, locking the apartment door behind him. It’s the crack of dawn on Monday, and both of us have been moaning all morning.

I gazed up at his 6’2” frame—not huge, but large to my 5’7” self. Even exhausted and cranky, his face is beautiful. The belly he hates so much is faintly noticeable beneath his white T-shirt. I grab him around the waist (I dig his stomach, to be honest), my skinny arms grasping him tightly (how did I let them get this small? I used to be a wrestler in college. Couldn’t tell that nowadays).

“Hell yeah we are.”

“Can we put it off like, half an hour or so? Get, like, a smoothie or something. Those are healthy, right?” I laughed. He only starts bargaining like this when he’s actually committed to doing something.

We managed the early morning death march down the hill and, to give Scott his pre-respite, walked into the next door smoothie shop first. What I wasn’t expecting was a yelp of recognition from the clerk, a gorgeous, well groomed man with a shaved head, his well-developed musculature beneath smooth mocha skin straining his red polo shirt to stunning effect.

“Scott! How are you doing?”

I sent Scott a pleasantly shocked look. If he knew a man like this, how had I never met him? Scott, for his part, looked uncomfortable.

Scott adjusted his jacket. “Oh, good. The boyfriend and I were just about to go work out. We’re going to make it a thing.”

The clerk gave me an appraising look. What was going on? “He’s cute,” he said.

For a moment I forgot about the escalating awkwardness around me and enjoyed the moment. This hunk of a man had given me a compliment! I like to think I’m a decent-looking guy, my Greek complexion and features giving me a dark and striking look, no matter how short and skinny I am. The hairy chest and my ability to grow a thick, dark beard help.

“I’m August,” the clerk said, extending his hand to me.

Oh, I thought. THE August. This was Scott’s ex from before we met, back when Scott lived in LA. I’d only heard Scott’s horror stories from after that relationship went bad, and wondered why he’d stay with someone who treated him that way.

“Nice to meet you. Scott told me a lot about you.”

“I’m sure it was all just wonderful things.”

“Of course,” I lied. “Nothing but the best things.” He laughed. Ok, now I got it. Beautiful, charming, great smile? I’d hang on after the expiration date with this one too.

“You two done flirting?” Scott interjected. August and I laughed. I excused myself to examine the tubs of protein powder that littered the storefront absentmindedly as Scott and August caught up. Apparently the muscles were a new thing—August had gotten really serious about bodybuilding in the past few years, and moved up from LA to get his degree in nutrition. Eventually I reminded Scott that we did, in fact, intend to get to the gym this morning before we both went to work.

“You know? I’ve got just the thing for you two. Hold tight.” August disappeared into the back. Scott looked at me dubiously—clearly there was still some tension between the two of them. Eventually August re-emerged with two already-made smoothies.

“What’s this one?” Scott asked, staring at his after August handed it to him.

“Call it the house blend. Something to get you guys started on your first day. Next time you come back, I’ll get you a normal builder smoothie. Just try this one once, trust me.”

The words trust me hung over the air. I caught Scott’s eye. “Bottoms up,” I said, and began sucking it down. It tasted awful, but I choked it down. Scott followed. We waved goodbye to August, and left the store.

-----------------------------------------------------------

August watched as the two men left the store. He was glad Scott and his boyfriend had been his first customers of the day—the experimental supplement he’d swiped from the university would go inert after in a few hours, so he’d only had a few hours to select his guinea pigs. These two should do quite nicely.

-------------------------------------------------------------

Three weeks later, Scott flopped on the couch. We’d been diligent about working out every other day, and our bodies ached. We’d planned to wait to examine any gains for a month, even wearing shirts to bed, under the pretext that a watch pot never boiled. If we were to weigh ourselves every day, we’d get depressed about the slowness of any progress. Waiting made it exciting.

“My shirt’s tight,” he groaned.

“That’s your clubbing shirt. It’s always tight,” I teased.

“No really I feel like it’s choki--” RIIIIIIP. Damn. I guess it was tight. I toyed with the rip, right down the back of his shirt. Did his back muscles always stick out like that? His back had smooth and soft before. Now I felt ripples—and let my fingers run over them for a moment. As he shifted his arms, I could see the culprit of the rip. His lats were much wider than they’d been, protruding like wings.

“Holy shit! Take off your shirt.”

“I thought we were waiting.”

“Fuck that, let’s check this out.”

As he lifted his shirt over his head, I could see Scott’s biceps bulge like softballs. As he turned around to face me, I gasped. Scott had never had great pecs before. Shoulders? Fantastic. Nice arms, and a cute butt. But his pecs had always beevn a weak point. Not now. Two meaty lumps stared straight at my face, his nipples hard. His belly had gotten a bit bigger, but his chest had grown so much that it was no longer noticeable. His shoulders were no longer just wide, they had a rounded shape to them. But his arms were the best of all—large, bulky things that hung slightly angled out from his sides, producing a day-laborer swagger.

He marched to the bathroom and stared at himself in the mirror, agape. Absentmindedly, he began playing with his pecs and flicking his nipples. He even bounced them a bit.

“Look at this, babe! I look like rough trade.”

I had to agree. He was starting to look like one of the guys we used to leer at at bear bars. There was still a small layer of fat over his muscles, which only made him look thicker. He stepped on the scale.

“This can’t be right,” he said. I stepped in to see what the scale had said. 220. He’d been only 200 pounds a week ago.

“That’s crazy. People don’t put on 20 pounds in three weeks. I mean, I’ve heard people make big gains when they start working out before they plateau, but 20 pounds in three weeks is crazy,” I said.

“Well, let’s see how high up we can get before we plateau, huh? Your turn.”

We’d broken and examined him a week early, I guess it was only fair for me to join him. I took my shirt off too—with some difficulty. It seemed like it’d been getting harder for the last week or so. Scott whistled.

“You should look at yourself in the mirror, boyo.”

What met me there exceeded my wildest hopes. I had my college body back—not huge, but a wrestler’s build. My pecs were distinct again, and I even had some abs starting to show. My arms were even bigger than they’d been before. I hadn’t noticed, but the hair on my chest and back was coming in thicker than before as well. I had the body for my singlet again--I'd have to remember that next fetish night.

“And the weigh-in.” 155. I’d gained 20 pounds, same as him. “You think it had something to do with that smoothie August gave us?” I asked.

“Well whatever it is, I’m fucking you. Now.” And with that, Scott picked me up under one arm and carried me into the bedroom. We stripped off our jeans and underwear, but before we could get started…

“Scott. Your butt.”

“What about it?”

“It’s huge. And firm. Have you been doing squats every day?” He hoisted me over his shoulders and began squatting. He didn't even seem to be exerting himself.

“That answer your question?” He tossed me on the bed, roughly. “Now spread your legs.”

[Guest]

Very hot! Looking forward to more! The eagle sounds like the one in silver Lake too!

[arpeejay]

Great start! Looking forward to more-more-more!

[TheWeremuscleForest]

Hmm, the title is eerily similar to one of my stories.

I'm just kidding around of course, great story!