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

[arpeejay]

Drool.

That is all! 

[Wrestlejock646]

So good!

[MochiNii]

Muy buenos capitulos, vivaa 2 seguidos

[AtTheMomentNew]

Oooh.  Let's speculate on Flynn's "opportunity".  He could shoot a year's worth of OnlyFans videos of impossible muscle worship and muscle comparison.   Flynn could have Gerry return the muscle in ten pound increments and shoot a new video each time.  Then he releases the videos in reverse order so he can show monthly muscle growth.   Flynn could also loan Gerry even more muscle and shoot some really hot "98 lb weakling vs. 450 lb muscle monster" specialty videos.   Lots of money-making potential with Gerry's gift.

[MadDog]

I get more and more excited whenever the protag experiences growth of his own, even if (or especially because) he's a little circumspect about it!

[citizenies]

Cant wait for the next parts

[TQuintA]

Part 2 – The College Con-Man

Chapter 12

            Flynn woke me up bright and early—far earlier than we’d normally get up on a Saturday.  He’d already gotten dressed, gone out, gotten us breakfast, and come back.

            “I’m not wasting a nanosecond of today.  Not if I don’t have to,” he said.

            I was still lying in his bed, completely naked.  At my new enormous size, wearing anything to bed felt like an impracticality, and Flynn loved me sleeping naked so he could watch me sleep.

            Without moving, I asked, “How much money do you plan on making today?”

            “Make?”  Flynn sounded confused, almost insulted.  “I’m spending money today.”

            Now it was my turn to be confused.  I opened my eyes and looked up at him.  “But you said we were taking advantage of today.”

            “Don’t be so literal.  I thought you were a writing major.”

            I was suddenly far more excited about the day.  I moved to get up and get dressed, but Flynn stopped me.

            “Oh, no no.”  He reached under his bed and pulled out a breakfast in bed tray, opened the legs, and set them on my lap.  “You get breakfast in bed.  I get to stare at that heavenly chest.  We both win.”

            I sat up and scrunched my massive ass until it was comfortable on the bed, then pulled the tray close to me.  I had to lay it on my legs because my quads were too massive to fit underneath the tray’s legs.

            “What’s for breakfast?  I’ve had practically nothing but brown rice, chicken, and vegetables for the past seven weeks, so I’m down for anything.”

            “Shit,” Flynn said slyly.  “I wish you told me.  I got us brown rice, chicken, and vegetables.”

            Then, from his to-go bag, he pulled out a myriad of containers holding pancakes, fried bacon, and pretty much every other breakfast food I could think of.

            “I didn’t know what you’d be in the mood for.  Decided not to make up my mind.  There’s even some healthy stuff in there.”

            I ate enough to stop my stomach from growling, and then I stopped, contented.  I expected to devour the whole spread, but the bodybuilder’s diet Shafe had had me following relied heavily on eating big, so it felt like a privilege to eat until I was full and then stop.

            True to his word, Flynn just watched me eat.  Though he did lick up a few crumbs that fell to my chest.  Considering how far out my chest now stuck, I was surprised it was just a few that landed there.

            “Is the whole day planned,” I asked after finishing breakfast, “or is this a play-it-by-ear sort of thing?”

            “I almost printed an itinerary,” Flynn admitted.  “But this is a day of indulgence, recreation, and enjoyment.  Not a business meeting.”

            “Then, what’s next?”

            “That depends on you.  I know you don’t want to be found out as The Repository.  So, I actually have two entirely separate plans.  You’ve been Mr. Recluse recently—class, gym, dorm.  Nowhere else.  And I get it.  Being this fucking huge raises questions.  Plan A involves people.  Are you comfortable going out and interacting with people?  Choose Plan A.  I promise to only take us places no one will recognize you.”

            “Excellent.  Plan A it is.”

            Plan A started by going to a beach—one that was an hour outside of town.  Flynn bought me a scandalously small blue bathing suit.  I wore it under my biggest pair of pants.  When we got to the beach, the fun started right in the parking lot.  We stripped down to our suits out in the open.  It took a few minutes longer than it should with Flynn’s hands all over me, especially my chest and ass.  I’ll admit I loved the attention, considering Flynn was once so anti-PDA.  Besides, with my vast muscularity in such a minimal and tantalizing suit, who wouldn’t want to touch me?

            Because it was morning, there were very few people at the beach yet, but we did run into some dedicated beach bunnies right there in the parking lot.  This pair of women stared at us as we stripped.  They barely blinked they were staring so intently.  Flynn’s a big muscular guy too, so he got his share of the looks, but they were mostly staring at me.  They kept waving us over to their car flirtatiously.  When flirtatious didn’t work, they stepped up the invites to suggestive. Then explicit.  This wasn’t an invitation to chat or go to a hip party; this was an invitation to fuck. 

            At first it was funny.  Flynn was squeezing my pecs every thirty seconds; he and I were clearly a couple—how oblivious could they be?  But the more they insisted, and the more graphically they insisted, the less funny it got.  One of them was seconds from taking off her top to get our attention.  By this point, we were down to our suits, our clothes were locked in the car, and we were already on the beach proper with the parking lot just behind us. And still they were beckoning us to have our way with them.  Flynn was having none of it.  He grabbed me from behind, put his hand down my swimsuit, and turned my head into a kiss.  We rolled around for a few seconds on the sand locked in an embrace like that.  And when we came up for air, the girls had moved their attention onto lesser, heterosexual men.

            That nonsense behind us, we set up our towels close to the water because we planned to do a lot of swimming.  I was pleased to go into the ocean.  With the meager showers in Hinde Hall and the gym, it had been weeks since all of me had been wet at once.  I had a momentary fear I couldn’t swim at this size and would sink like a rock.  Instead, the salty water buoyed me up.  I could float weightlessly.  With just how massive I was, that was practically witchcraft.  I could’ve stayed in the water all day, but Flynn also wanted me to get some sun.

            “You’re pale as a ghost,” he said.  “We live in Southern California, and you’re always pale.  How?”

            “I’m an indoor cat,” I said, and then purred.  “I like reading, and writing, and going to the gym, and those sorts of things.  I have never been camping in my life, and the thought of a nature hike repels me to the point I might cry."

            "You’re still incredibly pale.”

            “I didn’t say otherwise.”

            As we lay in the sun, soaking up some rays, wearing the most expensive sunglasses I had ever seen (courtesy of Flynn), he curled up next to me, putting his head on my massive, heaving chest, and clinging to me like a koala.

            “If you lie like that, I won’t get a tan.”

            “I’ll risk it,” he said.

            While we lay there, I looked around and saw a lifeguard stand.  There was this buff young stud standing there, watching us.  He was clearly supposed to be up in the stand, but we’d so thoroughly distracted him, that he was still standing at the base of it, a look of incredulity painted on his face.

            “We have another admirer,” I said to Flynn, pointing out the lifeguard.

            “At least this one has a penis,” Flynn said, drawing my attention to the lifeguard’s semi.  “Let’s go over and meet him,” he added, egging me to stand up.

            Flynn strutted, and I waddled over to the wooden lifeguard stand a few steps behind him.  The lifeguard was muscular and svelte, but Flynn was bigger than him.  I looked like two of him smashed together.

            “Enjoying the view?” Flynn asked.

            “You two are gods,” he said, his voice trembling in awe.

            “You’re sweet,” Flynn said.  Then, he turned to me and said, “Carry me back to the towels.”

            I picked him up in my arms, cradling him like a child, and walked back to our spot on the beach.

            “You didn’t want to flirt with him some more?” I asked as we walked back.  We’d only spoken with him for about five seconds.

            “I am flirting with him,” Flynn responded.  “I thought you knew.  Your suit is too small.  All morning, your entire ass has been hanging out.  All morning.  Your.  Entire.  Ass.”

            Now that I knew the score, I started waggling my ass as we walked.  When I heard the sound of binoculars hitting sand, I knew the lifeguard enjoyed the show.  I peeked over my shoulder and saw the lifeguard with his back to the ocean.  He was trying to hide it, but he was clearly beating off.

            We spent a few hours at the beach—roughhousing, making out in the water, lying in the sun—then, as it approached lunch time, we decided it was time to go on to the next activity.

            As we walked past the lifeguard’s stand back to the parking lot, I could see a very obvious stain in his speedo—and the resurging outline of his erection.

            “We taunted that poor man,” I told Flynn in the car.  We had hosed off the sand and salt and put on more concealing clothes, but we were still in the beach’s parking lot.

            “That man will never forget us.  He will think about us when he’s 80.”

            “I’m glad you’re pleased.”

            “I hoped there’d be some muscle heads at the beach so you could outclass them.  Make them feel pathetic.  Guess they don’t come out until the afternoon.”

            Flynn then drove us to a park about 40 minutes from the beach.  He’d gotten us tickets to an outdoor afternoon concert—an eclectic collection of everything from baroque to pop—and packed a sumptuous picnic.  Since we were outside, we took off our shirts and shoes and laid out a blanket in the soft grass.  We dined leisurely while listening to the music.  During the first song, a married couple—both older gentlemen—were surprised to see men so young at the concert, so they came over and joined us, tempting us with the two bottles of Bordeaux they’d brought.  We shared our picnic, they shared their wine, and when we’d finished our meals, Flynn put his head in my lap, and I stroked his chest hair as we listened to the music.  The married couple were similarly spoony and spent the rest of the concert with arms and legs interlocked.  It was a beautiful and calm few hours—almost regal.

            When we got back to the car after the concert, Flynn looked at me and said, quite calmly, “This next one, I admit, is more for me than you.  But if you keep an open mind, I think you’ll really like it.”

            “My mind is open,” I responded.

            He drove us to a small, deserted gym.

            “What is this place?”

            “It’s the closest place to the park that has wrestling facilities.”

            “Wrestling?”

            We got out of the car, and I marveled again at how empty the place seemed.

            “Is this establishment even open?” I asked

            “I rented it out for the afternoon.  What I have in mind would definitely draw a crowd.”

            “How much did you spend on today?”

            “I rented this place for a song,” he said, popping open the trunk.  “They didn’t know what their facility was worth.”  He threw something from the trunk at me: a wrestling singlet.

            “You want to wrestle me?”

            “I really want to wrestle you.”

            We went inside the facility and went to separate locker rooms.  I had a lot of trouble squeezing myself into the wrestling singlet.  My ass and thighs were almost too big to force through, and the fabric kept riding up over the swelling mass of my quads.  My chest was so huge that it distended the straps of the singlet, created a deep U, so deep that my nipples were likely to pop out at any moment.  And my arms kind of looked ridiculous, forced out to the side by my lats with nothing covering them.  I’d never been one to wear tank tops when working out, but if I had, they all would have looked this misshapen and distressed this past week.

            When we came out of the locker rooms, I couldn’t help but smile.  Even with the elegant Crocker logo in front, Flynn looked hunky in his wrestling singlet.  The garment actually made sense on his body shape.  He filled it out fully, and I could see the bulge of his crotch—which I guess means he could see mine.

            “I love the look,” he said.  “You barely fit, huh?”

            “Barely,” I said, trying to dig the fabric out of my ass.

            “Excellent.”

            “Flynn,” I said, building up to my point, “are you upset that I’ve never come to any of your wrestling matches?”
            He laughed.  “God no.  I’m on the mat for like ten minutes, and those things are hours long.  I like wrestling, and I get bored at them.”

            “Good.  Because I’d go if you wanted me to.”

            “And that is appreciated.  Now I need you on the scale.”

            I surrendered and walked over to the scale.  Before I stepped on, Flynn went first.

            “I’ve been adding some mass,” he said, fiddling with the sliding parts of the scale.  “I need to know exactly how much.”  He stopped fiddling.  “It’s in between 248 and 249.”  He stepped off the scale.  He looked entirely pleased with himself.

            “What weight class is that?” I asked.

            “Someone knows a thing about wrestling,” Flynn responded, feigning being impressed.

            “I also know the word ‘half-nelson.’”

            “I’m a heavyweight,” Flynn answered, chuckling at my ignorance.

            “Yeah you are, my big strong man.”

            “The heavyweight class is from 183 pounds to 285 pounds.”

            I stepped on the scale, and Flynn played with the sliders.

            “You’re essentially 300,” Flynn said, his eyes lit with lust.

            “300?  Are you sure?”  I looked at the scale.  He was rounding up, but by less than a pound.  “I know I’ve gotten fucking huge, but that’s fucking impossible huge.”

            “Especially with that tight six pack you’re rocking, Vaughn.  Damn.  I knew you’d gotten big too.  But I only dreamed it was this big.”  He wolf-whistled, and then woofed.

            “I did say this was where my body would want to find homeostasis.”

            “You did.  I didn’t believe you.”  With a telling smile, he then asked, “Isn’t this the…” and trailed off.

            I interrupted him, “The biggest I’ve ever been.  Yeah.  I was 290 when I had that three-way in high school.”

            A proud, almost smug glimmer spread across Flynn’s face.  “I’ve been enjoying you at your biggest.”

            “Yes, you have.”

            “Let’s go to the mat,” Flynn said, excitedly.

            “Are you sure you want to wrestle?  I’m 15 pounds over limit.  This won’t be regulation.”

            “Fuck regulations.  I want to see if my skill and talent can take down someone who outweighs me by 50 pounds.”

            “I’m glad you’re okay with going against regulations because I don’t know the rules.”

            “If I pin you to the mat, you lose.”

            “Are you sure?  That sounds like I win.”

            “For our purposes, it means you lose.”

            I nodded, and we went over to the mat.  We squared off and began wrestling.  I had no clue what I was doing, and I wasn’t used to my limbs being this thick.  I was having difficulty moving my arm across my body, and Flynn was fast as fuck.  We started just by circling each other like birds of prey.  After 90 seconds of just circling, he had my knee and elbow trapped together.  I barely saw him move.  It seemed instantaneous.  I fell to the floor and had no leverage to get back up.

            “Uncle,” I said.  “Or whatever you say at the end of a wrestling match.”

            Flynn released me, got up, and began dancing around the mat in celebration, like a football player in the end zone.  “I knew it.  I knew I could pin you if I had to.”

            I was still lying on the mat.  I wasn’t going to ruin his moment by reminding him he beat a complete novice.  After watching him dance for about thirty seconds, I spoke up.  “Baby, if you wanted to pin me, all you had to do was ask.”

            Flynn helped me to my feet.  “Still two more rounds.”

            “I thought this wasn’t regulation.”

            Flynn was bouncing and stretching out his arms like I’d seen people do in movies about wrestling.  “I want to win two out of three.  Prove I can.  Show it’s not luck.  It’s an ego thing.  Then we make this more interesting.”

            “I have no problem being pinned again,” I said.

            We squared off for the second match, and Flynn basically threw his arms around my chest and tackled me to the floor.  We landed face down with a thud, Flynn on my back.  That gave me an idea.  I flexed my chest as large as it would go, really inflating it with breath and blood and brawn.  Flynn’s grip loosened until my chest was just too massive for him to encircle, and then he slipped off my back, having nowhere to grasp.  Before he could regroup, I rolled over and lay flat on top of him, pushing down with all my force.  I felt Flynn underneath me trying to squirm his way free or push me off of him, but he couldn’t budge me.  After he struggled for a minute, he tapped his right hand against the mat wildly.

            “That’s wrestling code for surrender, right?”

            “Right,” he said, his voice strained from my weight crushing down on him.

            “Awesome,” I said, getting up.  When I looked down at him, his cock was hard, and there was a little wet stain at the tip from the leaking pre.  “Aww, you liked that?” I teased.

            He got up and readjusted his singlet to give his cock some more room.  “I fucking loved that.  You were too huge to encircle, and then you smothered me.  It’s not a legal move, but you definitely pinned me.”

            “It’s not a real win if I cheated,” I said to him.

            Flynn shrugged.  “Cheating can be effective.”  He began doing that bouncing/prep thing again.  “Ready for round three?”

            “As ready as I can be.”

            When round three started, I was determined to win not just by crushing him, so I dove and went for his legs to trip him up.  I caught the left one, but he moved so quickly, the other one completely avoided me.  He spun his body around so that one leg was in front of my chest and one was behind my neck.  Then, he slid his one leg up so that both legs were on either side of my neck.  I, meanwhile, was fumbling blindly, trying to get my arms around any part of his body.  Before I knew what was happening, he was on his knees, his thick quads on either side of my face, his crotch pressed into my traps, and his ass on my ear.  Then, he heaved mightily and flipped us over such that his legs were wrapped completely around my neck, immobilizing my head.  Then he grabbed my flailing arms and held them behind my back.  I could still kick my legs, but I felt like Curly from The Three Stooges, and I was finding no traction or purchase.  After a ten or so seconds of kicking at nothing, I knew I had lost.

            “Uncle,” I admitted.

            Flynn bounced up and danced around the mat again, like a preening jock.  “I knew it.  I knew I could do it.”

            “Glad you were right.”  I got up off the mat and did my best to adjust my singlet so it wasn’t strangling my thighs.  “We’ve only been here a half hour or so.  Wasn’t there something else you wanted to do here to get your money’s worth?”

            “Oh, we’re not done wrestling, but this next bit will be fun for both of us, not just me.”  He walked over to me, stared at me intently with those milkshake-colored eyes, and pulled my straps over my shoulders.  Then, with practiced skill, he forced the singlet down off my thighs.  They fought him—both the singlet and my thighs—but he knew what he was doing, and shortly, I was naked in this gym, standing in my shoes.  “Take your shoes off.”  He commanded as he took off his own singlet.

            “Yes, sir,” I responded, delighted as his chest popped free and unobscured by any fabric.  When I finished getting undressed, I stood there, just marveling and my naked, hairy boyfriend in all of his thick, masculine magnificence.  It was easy to see just how much bigger than him I was, but I reminded myself that most of my bulk was borrowed.  “Is this the time for naked wrestling?  I’m down for some naked wrestling.”

            Flynn kicked off his shoes and then went over to his gym bag.  He pulled out two bottles of body oil.  “Not just naked wrestling,” he said, popping open the top of one of the bottles.

            He poured a healthy handful into his left hand and slowly approached me.  He lifted his hand to my pec, and then pressed the oil into my skin, rubbing gently, coating as much of my right pec in oil as he could.  The oil was warm and slick, and it caught the light of the late afternoon sun.  My chest hair blackened and appeared thicker and darker, and my chest muscle, and all of its sinews, stood out in sharper relief.

            Slowly, deliberately, Flynn coated my entire chest in the lustrous oil, and the viscous fluid dripped from the shelf of my pecs, splashing on to my legs and the mat.  He rubbed copious handfuls into my abs, bringing them into frightening focus, all my body hair now matching the darker shade of my chest hair.  He oiled every inch of my body with fastidious study.  Front and back, top to bottom.  The focused attention had me hard and horny.  He saved my dick for last, but even that too he coated in a silken coat of oil.

            “My turn,” he said, dumping the remnants of the bottle on his chest and rubbing it in greedily.  It had taken almost a whole bottle to coat my expansive surface area, so I opened the second bottle and began helping him slick his whole body.  His muscles, too, began to pop out like relief maps.  His thicket of body hair absorbed a lot of the oil, soaking it into a wet carpet of luxurious fur.

            I was less patient than Flynn had been, so he was soon coated from head to toe as well.

            Once we were slick with oil, shining and glorious, we squared off on the mat.

            The wrestling this time was intense, erotic, and nearly impossible.  Every time Flynn thought he had his hands on me, they slipped to the side.  Every time I thought I had him somewhat pinned, he glided out from under me.  Our bodies made wicking noises as we sloshed against each other, our body hair like paint brushes lacquering each other with oil and sweat.

            After five minutes of slipping and sliding across each other, I managed to flip Flynn onto his stomach.  His ass, lubricated and radiant, was right in front of me, and I was incredibly erect.

            I went to push my dick in, and he muttered, “You know I only let bigger guys top me.”

            “And I’m the biggest you’ll ever have,” I said, fully pushing into him.  I slid in easily from the lubrication, and Flynn squirmed underneath me, pressed between my weight and the accumulated oil on the mat.  We writhed erotically for a few minutes, and I realized just how little traction I had.

            “A bit more challenging than you thought it would be, eh, Vaughn?”

            “Challenging, yes.”  Then I held my position stock still and began flexing my dick, causing my slippery body to involuntarily thrust in and out slightly.  “But not impossible.” 

            “Oh, fuck,” Flynn said.  “I am impressed.  I didn’t think it would be that easy for you.”

            “Who said this is easy?”  I grunted from exertion.

            Flynn grunted his approval and arousal.

            I worked up a rhythm, clenching the muscles in my ass and groin to extend and retract my dick.  Flynn was mewling in pleasure.  Because I couldn’t thrust traditionally, his prostrate was getting a lot more attention than it normally would.  The orgasm burst forth from him, his cum mixing with his sweat and the oil.

            I was having trouble building up the friction on my dick, so I wasn’t quite there yet.

            I took stock of our situation.  I was in essentially a push-up position on top of him, and he was on his stomach underneath me.  And we were incredibly slippery on a rubbery mat.

            Suddenly inspired, I pushed my knees into the mat, twisting them back and forth to get as much tension as I could.  Then, I wrapped my arms around Flynn as far as my muscles would let them, trapping him in a bear hug.  Bracing myself for what was either my best or stupidest idea, I pushed off mightily with my knees and slammed onto my back.  I drove Flynn’s body hard onto my dick, finally getting the friction I needed.

            In this new position, I squirmed underneath him, holding him in place with my sheer immenseness.  I slid my ass up and down on the mat, and my dick was thrusting in and out of his asshole, never fully emerging.  Flynn was lost in the fog of his post-orgasmic bliss, and this level of fucking was just driving him further into the territory of brainless delights.  I don’t know how long I bucked like that, but eventually, I could feel the orgasm building.  So, I bucked faster and wilder.  Flynn screamed in staccato bursts of explosive sensation.  I began puffing like a steam engine from all the exertion, and then, delightfully, orgasm.

            I had never worked so hard for an orgasm in my life, and I had been rewarded with a full-body experience.  Electric sensations of pleasure danced from my forehead all the way down through my toes; the epicenter of delight was the lightning rod of my cock.

            When I returned to my senses, Flynn and I got up—farcically, but steadily—and made our way to the locker rooms where we scraped off as much of the oil as we could in the showers.

            “We’re leaving this place a mess,” I said.

            “I told them they were likely to find it oily and messy, and they built that into their price,” Flynn reassured.

            Soon as we were as clean as we were going to get.  Our bodies were still slick to the touch, and our hair looked like we’d doused ourselves in hair gel, but we weren’t dripping and could grip things without dropping them.

            Almost on top of that, an alarm went off on Flynn’s phone.

            “It’s time to return Shafe’s muscles.”

            I pulled out my phone, called Shafe, and unceremoniously returned his sixty pounds.  He was absolutely fucking thrilled.  He was standing on the scale when I returned the muscles, and he was elated to report that he hadn’t even lost one pound.

            I looked down at my slick body.  “Why didn’t we shrink me before we took the shower?”  It would’ve meant less surface area to clean.”

            “Like we could’ve dialed with our hands that slippery.  Besides, I wanted to watch.  One last time, you half stuck out of a shower stall.”

            I took a full assessment of my post-deposit body.  I was self-evidently the size I’d been when Shafe first lent me his 60 pounds 7 weeks ago, or thereabouts.  A stop at the scale confirmed it; I was now 240 pounds.  I’d had supernatural aid, yes, but I’d put on those 60 pounds—they were mine now.

            “You look gorgeous,” Flynn said, kissing my shoulder as we stared at my weight on the scale.  “I know you probably want to shed this mass.  Get back down to a more manageable size.  You don’t like drawing attention.  But I think it would be hot if you maintained this beautiful beef.  We’ve got the clothes already.  And you don’t need a part-time job right now.  You have the time and money to dedicate to the upkeep at the gym.  And a meal and workout plan that’s already routine.  It would be absolutely fucking hot.”  He sat down next to me and flexed his arm next to mine.  “Especially now that I’m the bigger man again.”

            “We’ll see,” I said.

            We then went to our favorite gay club.  I don’t think we ever actually had dinner that night.  Alphonse and his crew were delighted to see Shakespeare even more buff than they’d last seen him, and they all loved the slick, oiled-back hairstyle.  That night, even though we’d had some of the most athletic sex I’d ever had with Flynn, Flynn fucked me good and proper, reasserting his place as top.  He was going to lord those eight pounds over me, and I didn’t care.  I just loved him penetrating my waiting ass while caressing my muscles.

            Maybe I would keep these 60 extra pounds.

[zazu]

He is starting to come around, and I am absolutely loving it.

[Wrestlejock646]

Flynn and Vaughn together--they're amazing characters I just can't get enough of either one! Great new chapter! I think possibly, no, definitely, the hottest installment so far!

[Mdlftr]

Naked exotic wrestling after a morning at the beach! Summer in muscle fantasy land!

Great descriptions!

My favorite line:  "I’d put on those 60 pounds—they were mine now."

- Now THAT's  a fantasy I'd like to see myself!