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The Repository - (Complete Story, 10/15/21)


TQuintA

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So after the superhero movie wraps, Jason is up for a role in a drama, but the producers want him to drop a lot of size because it would be "distracting".   Jason is torn because he has to be back at "full size" in less than a year when they start to shoot the big superhero team-up film.   Jason is about to turn down the role when Gerry pipes up "maybe I can help you out here..."

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40 minutes ago, AtTheMomentNew said:

So after the superhero movie wraps, Jason is up for a role in a drama, but the producers want him to drop a lot of size because it would be "distracting".   Jason is torn because he has to be back at "full size" in less than a year when they start to shoot the big superhero team-up film.   Jason is about to turn down the role when Gerry pipes up "maybe I can help you out here..."

BUUUUT....  the producers of the superhero movie want Gerry to play a supersized hero or villain after seeing his size while Jason is shooting the other movie.  They like Gerry being so massive.  The studio obviously sees Gerry shrinking as Jason grows so Jason and Gerry have to figure out how Gerry can keep the extra muscle while Jason packs the muscle on again.  This happens a few times... Gerry loses track of how much extra muscle and/or cock and/or height he has.  Gerry also doesn't realize how truly massive he became until he gives Jason back the extra muscle only to see Jason blow up to almost 300 pounds himself.   Keep in mind Gerry has to workout to so they can keep up the appearances being honest.

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So Part 4 is upon us!  I re read the first episode and realized that TQuinta was very straight forward about how this story was going to go - 4 boyfriends - and he's delivered!

Def see Henry Cavill inspiration in the depiction of Jason Prentiss - handsome, square jaw, dimples, shy affect, broad shoulders - all there!

I would LOVE to see the college boyfriend (Now very wealthy but still in love with Gerry!) to reappear.  But Jason's pretty promising!

Excellent writing as always!

 

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Part 4 – The Hollywood Hunk

Chapter 4

            And that was my life for the next month.  I’d hang out with Jason before and after workouts at his private gym.  We’d often make out a little, do some feeling up—but always through clothes—and we always showered in separate (if adjoining) stalls.  I’d seen him shirtless plenty of times—a delectable treat each and every time, especially since I got to see those million-dollar abs in person, dripping with sweat or shower water, a small pool collecting in his navel—but, disappointingly, he always kept his bottom half covered, usually in oversized basketball shorts. 

            Most of that hangout time, though, was actually spent just talking.  We talked about everything and nothing. 

            He confessed to hating all vegetables and essentially all green foods, only eating them so trainers like Curtis don’t yell at him.  He jokingly hoped his acting career tanked because at night he had long, involved, recurring dreams that involved barbecue ribs, pretzels, and Boston cream doughnuts.  I also got to hear about his past.  He’d lost his virginity in high school to one of his older brother’s friends, and his brother had walked in on them.  It caused a rift that took ten years to heal.  He absolutely loved singing—he would serenade me as we showered—but he felt out of his depths dancing, admitting to me, “I can do choreography if you give me a minute, but just making it up as I go?  I look like a dying bird.”  He also confessed to having every card, gift, and letter ever given to him by any ex-boyfriend.  “But weirdly, I hate birthdays,” he added.

            I shared just as much from my own life (my hatred of spicy food, an edited version of how I’d lost my virginity to Gregg, how I’d made my money with Flynn, the chasm between my mother and me).  I even confessed my love/hate relationship with the Death Knell series.  That almost broke his heart. 

            “Don’t tell me that,” he said, with a look of pain on his face and both hands gripping at his heart.  “Next you’ll be telling me there’s no Santa Claus.”

            “It was based off a card game!” I told him.  “If you want to read something I’m proud of, read the Hollow Maple trilogy.  It’s published under the name Gloria Bowman, but I wrote them too.”

            At 2 AM that morning, he called me, saying, “Death Knell is better, but I could not put my Kindle down.”

            “You’ve read Hollow Maple already?”

            “I’ve read all three of them already.”

            “I’m impressed.”

            “You took the words right out of my mouth, Miles.  Now, I’ve got to go.” Jokingly, he added, “I wouldn’t be surprised if Curtis has surveillance that tracks my sleep, and I should have been in bed hours ago.”

            “Goodnight, Jason.”

            “Night, Miles.”

            I stayed on the phone until he hung up, just in case he wanted to talk more.

            The more time I spent with Jason, the more I felt this feeling creeping into me.  At first, I thought it was just being a fan.  Jason mesmerized me, and I often found myself starstruck by him.  I’d have thoughts like, “I can’t believe I’m really working out with Jason Prentiss” or “I can’t believe I’m showering next to Jason Prentiss while he sings,” or “I can’t believe I’m kissing Jason Prentiss.”  But, even after I would get over these momentary hiccups, the emotion would linger.  So, it had to be something more.

            For a while, I thought it was just a crush.  I’d had crushes before.  The infatuation, catching myself thinking about him when I was cooking or working or, yes, even masturbating.  But this feeling wasn’t a crush.  It was much too big of a feeling to be a crush.  In my experience, crushes are intense but burn out quickly.  This was a slowly building fire, working its way up to an inevitable conflagration.

            At my next meeting with H. K., he stopped me before I left his office.  Apparently, I’d been smiling dreamily the whole meeting.  He had to know if the smile had something to do with how things between Jason and me were going.  I told him everything was great and offhandedly mentioned the feeling.  He just said, “You’re blushing, buddy.  Sounds like love.”

            Love?  I guessed it could be.  I hadn’t fallen in love in a long while.  Maybe I just forgot what the feeling was like. 

            I sat with the feeling, meditated on it.  Love might have been a part of it, but it wasn’t love.  It wasn’t the same as love.  It was warmer than love.  It had a different shaped than love.

            Whatever the feeling was, I liked it.  I really, really liked it.  My workouts went from an obligation to my favorite part of the day.  Because when I worked out, I got to see Jason.

            The whole month, we worked out together, and we worked out hard.  Jason steadily got bigger and buffer and thicker.  It was both enrapturing and enraging to watch it at such a slow, un-supernatural pace.  But, after each workout, he was a little bigger.  He was looking like a real-life superhero.  His shoulders broadened, his chest thickened, his arms curved more solidly.  His muscles were all perfectly proportioned and pretty.  I’d never thought muscles could be pretty until I saw Jason’s up close.  Powerful, yes.  Sexy, yes.  Majestic, yes.  Pretty?  Not until I’d seen Jason buffed up.

            I’d been growing too.  It was harder to notice on me, but having spent seven years at a baseline 272, I could tell that my pecs and arms were getting thicker and that some of my favorite pants were fitting me tighter in the ass and thighs, that my shoulders were more noticeable in my peripheral vision, that doors and stairwells were closing in on me a little, and that there was more weight, making gravity pull on me a little harder.

            On the last day of our contracted one month of workouts together, Jason told me, “I can’t fit into any of my clothes anymore.  I basically had to get a whole new wardrobe.”  He flexed his gorgeously bloated bicep, the skin pulled tight as a vein bulged to the surface, and he smiled giddily, showing off the dimple in his right cheek.  “Shirts that I used to wear every day, I can’t even get over my arms or my pecs.  It’s the best problem I’ve ever had.” 

            At our last gym session together, Curtis announced it was time for our final weigh-ins.  Jason got on the scale and looked dead ahead as Curtis adjusted it.

            215.

            “This is by far the biggest I’ve ever been, and ten pounds more than the studio asked for.  I’m huge!” Jason said, flexing himself into a powerful most muscular to show off his defined pecs and biceps.  He looked thick and ripped and strong.  And beautiful.

            “Your turn, Miles,” Curtis said.

            “Why me?” I asked.

            “Your turn, Miles,” Jason insisted.

            So, I stepped on the scale.

            285.

            “Wow.  That’s a lot for a month.  That’s big.”  I wasn’t used to being lost for words, but those nothings dribbled out of my mouth before I could stop them.

            Jason put one hand on each of my shoulders in an attempt to shake me.  “That’s astronomical.  You’re 70 pounds more than me, and I’m superhero big.”

            “Is this the biggest you ever been too?” Curtis asked.

            “Sure,” I lied.

            After Curtis had left the gym, while Jason and I were hanging out in the locker room, Jason sat next to me on a bench and said, “You’re not that good of an actor, Miles.  This isn’t the biggest you’ve been, is it?”

            “Nope.  It is not.”

            “Wow,” Jason said in a voice that was practically a prayer.  And a tent grew in his basketball shorts.  He’d gone through great pains to make sure I’d never seen his dick, so this was a big deal for him.  And, if the tent was anything to go by, his dick was a big deal for me too.

            “You want to take care of that?” I asked, pointing to his erection.

            “I was hoping you would,” he said.

            Before he changed his mind, I was on my knees in front of him, pulling down his shorts and briefs.  I was immediately met with a thick, musky aroma that invited me in.  His dick was beautiful and disproportionately thick.  His balls were also quite large.  I wouldn’t call them bull balls, but they were far bigger than I expected.  His equipment wasn’t as big as mine, but it was definitely big.

            “Thankfully, I’m a grower, not a show-er,” he said, snapping me out of my reverie, “or they’d have to design me a special superhero suit.”

            “How big?” I asked expectantly.

            “A smidge over 8.  Call it 8 and a quarter.”

            “That is so hot,” I said, taking as much of his cock into my mouth as I could.  It was even thicker than it looked, and I had to calm down my zeal or I was going to choke myself on it.  While I sucked him off, he took off his tank top and flexed his glorious abs and thickened pecs.  I looked up at his refined masculine beauty in awe.  I felt honored to suck the cock of this gorgeous specimen of male beauty.  I teased his cock head with my tongue, and Jason’s breathing grew more intense and erratic.  I picked up my speed, and he began squirming in his seat.  When his balls drew up and he ejaculated, I heard Jason curse for the first time.  He got a foul mouth during orgasm, and I loved it.  I swallowed every last drop of his cum, and then licked my lips to show him how delicious it was.  I don’t know how long I was worshipping his cock, but it was over far too soon for me. 

            “Your turn,” he said, patting the bench next to him.

            Eagerly, I took the seat.  Jason pulled down my tights and underwear, and my fully-hard cock popped out.

            “I knew you were big,” he said, awe-struck, “but I didn’t know you were gigantic.  How big is this?”

            “9 inches,” I answered plainly.

            “Have to be bigger than me everywhere, don’t you?”

            “You’re noticeably taller than me,” I said.

            “Only standing up,” he responded, then swallowed my cock.  In my seven years at this enlarged size, I’d only met a handful of men who could deep throat me, and Jason put them all to shame.  My cock was down his throat so fast that his nose crashed into my pelvic floor like a speeding car.

            “Fuck,” I said as he blew me. 

            He tickled my balls, coated my entire shaft with his saliva, and tantalized my glans.  I, meanwhile, was in heaven, looking down at his distended face and gorgeous eyes over the mountains of my pecs and past the hills, plains, and valleys of my tight torso.  I played with my pecs and biceps, taunting him with just how big I was, stirring him on to suck me harder.

            When I erupted, Jason returned the favor of drinking everything that rocketed out of my cock.

            Both of us now spent, he joined me on the bench.  Both of our cocks were out, and both of us needed a shower.  But as we sat there, I felt that odd, beautiful, nameless emotion return to me.  I had to push it out of the way so I could even talk to him.

            “How did you learn to do that?” I asked.

            “I’m a bit of a size queen,” he confessed.  “You should see my toys at home,” he added.

            “Is that an invitation to your house?” I asked.

            “I guess it is.”  He went over to his locker, pulled out his phone, and sent a quick text.  I heard my phone buzz in my locker.  Smiling, Jason came back over to the bench, sat down, and rested his head on my shoulder, sighing contentedly.

            “Did you just text me from your real phone?” I asked.

            “I did at that,” he said, idly stroking my hairy chest.

            “Glad you decided to trust me.”

            “You know this means we’re officially together, right?” he asked.

            “Sounds good to me,” I said.

            The emotion I couldn’t name intensified within me.

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Part 4 – The Hollywood Hunk

Chapter 5

            Five hours later, I was home and elbow-deep in writing, when my phone rang.

            “I made a huge mistake,” Jason announced.  His voice practically reverberated with stress.

            “Hello to you too.”

            “Sorry.  I’m sorry,” he said.  “Hello.  How are you?”

            “I’m fine.  A little worried about what huge mistake you made.”

            “We shouldn’t have done that,” he said, full of self-reproach.  He almost sounded like a teacher had caught him smoking in the boys’ room.

            “If you’re talking about blowing each other in the locker room, I’m going to have to emphatically disagree.”

            “You don’t know everything.”  Jason sighed.  I could hear a crinkling sound in the background.

            “What is that sound?” I asked.

            “I’m stress eating,” he confessed.  “I’ll work it off later, but right now it’s comfort.  Principal shooting starts tomorrow.  For the next three months, I’m going to be so busy.  For the next three months, I’m going to be too busy to see you.  For the next three months, Miles.  I shouldn’t have started something if I wasn’t going to commit.  If…”

            He was going to keep steamrolling with why dating was a mistake, but I interrupted him.  “If your schedule wasn’t a factor, would you want to start something with me?”

            “Yes.  Absolutely yes.”  He sounded almost relieved to admit it.  “I want this to be something more.  I meant it when I said I was obsessed with you.  I just don’t have the time to see you as often as I want, and that’s unfair to both of us.”

            “Have you forgotten that my schedule is incredibly flexible?  If you can only meet for 5 AM breakfast dates, breakfast will simply become the most romantic meal of the day.  If you need to crash after a long day of filming and have to reschedule a date, that’s cool too.  We’ll find a rhythm.”

            “But I liked our rhythm,” Jason said.  “I liked seeing you basically every day.”

            “Me too.”  I paused for a second.  “Give my number to your assistant or agent or whoever keeps track of your schedule.  If we have to schedule dates like business meetings while the movie is shooting, that’s what we’ll do.”

            “I’m so glad to hear that.  My schedule is either go-go-go a mile a minute, or an empty block of waiting.  Depends on if I’m filming or not.  There’s very little in the middle.”

            “Are we both on the same page again?  Are we still together?”

            “Yes.”

            The call ended soon after, and I went back to writing.  However, only five minutes later, I got another call.  “Good afternoon, this is Lacey Schreiberg calling on behalf of Jason Prentiss.  Am I speaking with Mr. Miles Uhler?”  She had a pleasant but pragmatic voice.  And I swear I detected the faintest trace of a New York accent and a lot of effort being exerted to cover it up.

            “You are,” I said tentatively, surprised Jason had given her my pen name.  Technically, she was talking to Miles Uhler, but more accurately, Miles Uhler didn’t exist. 

            “Hello, Mr. Uhler.”  Her voice rose and fell with practiced intonations as though she spent most of her day on repetitive phone calls.  “Is now a good time to talk?”

            “Yes,” I said, still tentatively.  “And you can call me Miles.”

            “Thank you, Miles.  I will make a note of that.  I am Mr. Prentiss’s personal assistant.  I see to all of his scheduling, and I have just been informed that the two of you have entered into a romantic relationship.”

            “We have,” I said.  I had to stifle a laugh because the phone call felt like a customer satisfaction survey, not a discussion about the guy I was dating.

            “Happy to hear it.  I am calling to introduce myself and to get some basic information from you so I can add you into the relevant parts of Mr. Prentiss’s Google Calendar.  As I said, my name is Lacey Schreiberg, and I am his personal assistant.  You may call me Lacey or Miss Schreiberg, whichever is more comfortable for you.  In addition to his scheduling, I see to Mr. Prentiss’s personal errands—everything from making sure his housekeeper is paid on time to making sure his tux comes back from the cleaners.  As such, if there are any receivables that need to make their way to Mr. Prentiss, please funnel those through me.”

            “Receivables?” I asked.

            “Gifts, cards, flowers—things of that nature.”

            “If I want to give my boyfriend a gift, I give the gift to you?”

            “My apologies.  You misunderstand,” she continued in her polite, but vaguely robotic, voice.  “If you are going to have anything delivered or shipped to him, I will make sure he receives them.  If you want to surprise him with a gift in person when you liaise face to face, that you can do without involving me, though I would appreciate a heads up if the gift involves maintenance of any kind.”

            Flummoxed as to what sort of gift would need maintenance, I said, “Okay.”

            “I understand that Mr. Prentiss has already shared his personal contact information with you.  If, however, you are ever having trouble reaching him, you can contact me, and I will make sure he gets the message.”

            “Thank you,” I said.

            “Also, if you need any reservations made, I will gladly do so on your behalf.  It allows me to streamline his schedule.”

            “Thank you, Lacey.”

            The conversation went on like that for fifteen minutes.  By the end, I almost felt like I’d been through a tax audit, but I was officially a part of Jason’s schedule and had been linked into his official calendar.

            Drained by that conversation, I decided to take a sanity break from writing and make myself a mug of tea, maybe play some mindless video game.  The water wasn’t even hot when my phone rang again.

            I turned off my burner and answered with a hello.

            I was greeted by the most vivacious and friendly voice I had ever heard.  “Good afternoon, Mr. Uhler.  Sorry, Lacey said I should call you Miles.  Good afternoon, Miles.  This is Margaret Whalen.  I’m Jason’s PR rep.”

            “Nice to meet you,” I said, slight hesitation in my voice.

            “I just wanted to touch base with you about your new relationship with Jason.  Lacey tells me your schedule is wide open.  Would you be free for a brief one-on-one at 4:30 today at my office?”

            That was one hour from when she called me.

            “Sure,” I said.

            An hour later, I found myself in Margaret’s waiting room.  The office was decorated in different shades of light brown—lots of beiges and tans, including the leather couch I was sitting on.  A meek secretary had offered me a coffee, but I’d declined it.  After waiting twenty minutes, I was finally escorted inside Margaret’s office.

            She was a tall woman with big blond hair, wafting a floral perfume, wearing bright makeup and even brighter clothes.  I suspect she kept the waiting room in neutral tones so she would pop out against the background.

            When I came in the room, she shook my hand and smiled warmly.  She was wearing six or seven rings on each hand, and her nails were long and painted garishly pink.

            “Sit, sit!” she said.  Rather than sitting in her chair, she walked around her desk so she was on the same side of it as me, and then sat on her desk.  “Since you’re so important to Jason, I thought we should meet in person.”

            “Okay,” I said.

            “You are quite the striking fellow,” she said, clearly indicating my mass and size.  “Handsome, too.”

            “Thank you,” I said, practically with a question mark at the end.

            “I’m so glad he’s dating again.  He hasn’t dated in years.  I told him—completely unsolicited advice—that he should date a man who wasn’t in the biz but who understood the pressures of high-achieving success.”

            “Reasonable advice.”

            “I actually suggested a chef at a high-end restaurant, but a best-selling novelist works too.”

            “I guess,” I said.  “What am I doing here?”

            “Jason hired me to take care of PR.  With Jason, that’s a threefold job.  One, I have to make sure he gets the right press to promote his movies and get him more acting jobs.  Two, I have to make sure he has an appropriate social media presence (he’s such a perfectionist with a camera he’d never post a selfie unless it could hang at the Louvre).  Three, I have to make sure that his privacy isn’t violated in any way.”

            It clicked.  Now I understood the rushed meeting.  She had to make sure there wasn’t a wolf in the henhouse.  I nodded, indicated that she didn’t need to explain why I was here.

            “Smart man.  I can tell from a quick internet search that you are also a man who values his privacy.  I couldn’t even find a picture of you online.”

            I smiled.  “Miles Uhler is a pen name.”

            Margaret clapped once excitedly.  “Excellent.  You really understand the value of privacy, then.”

            I nodded.

            “Good.  I’m not going to make you sign an NDA or anything like that, but I wanted to make sure we were all on the same page and that you weren’t going to make my job any harder.”

            “Not on purpose,” I said.

            “Excellent.  Now, this next thing is going to sound like I’m contradicting myself, but I’m not.  I’m going to send you down the hall to have a few press photos taken.  That way, if news of you leaks, we have something professional and discreet to use to break the story in a way that works for us.”

            “Leaks?”

            “Jason’s an attractive, eligible, Hollywood bachelor.  A gay Hollywood bachelor.  That shouldn’t matter, but we both know it does.  One rag or another is constantly snooping around for news about his sex life.  If the story ever has to make the celebrity blogs and tabloids, we have our press ready to go.”

            “I’ve read about Jason Prentiss in dozens of magazines and websites.  I’ve never seen anything about his personal life, just his professional life.”

            “Because I am very good at my job,” Margaret said, leaning in.  “Trust me when I say that we need these photos only as a precaution.”

            What happened next was a whirlwind.  I was shuffled off to have my hair and make-up done.  I had a blinding array of photos taken of me.  And then I was headed back home.  It felt like two seconds had passed, but it was almost 75 minutes.

            When I got back to my condo, I got a text.  From Jason.

            “Sorry about today,” it said.

            I texted back, “I asked for it,” followed by a shrug emoji.

            “Come by my place for an apology?”  It ended with a kissy-face emoji.

            I could get my writing done the next day.

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