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m/m The Repository - Part 4 (Completed, 9/21/21)


TQuintA

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Part 1 – The High School Hero

Chapter 1

            I’ve never embraced the spotlight.  I’ve had many chances at having the center of attention all to myself, but that’s not who I am as a person.  I like to be just on the outskirts of the spotlight—close enough that I can feel its warmth and people can see me, but not so close that it blinds me.  If I wanted to be magnificently famous, it would have happened.  I had many opportunities.  Instead, though, I stayed on those outskirts. 

            My life has changed drastically depending on whose outskirts I was staying on.  The high school hero, the college con-artist, the West California wild card, the Hollywood hunk—they each changed me in very different ways.  But I don’t want to tell my whole life story—every grocery trip, every load of laundry, every DMV line.  I do want to give the highlights, though.  Because, oh, have I had some highlights. But I’m getting a little ahead of myself.

            I guess I should really start by explaining my nickname.  My name is Gerald P. Vaughn, but it’s my most intimate nickname that really matters.  I’ve had many casual nicknames throughout my life, but only a select few have ever called me The Repository.

            My high school boyfriend gave that particular nickname to me. 

            I didn’t know then why Gregg picked me.  He was the hunky hero of the football team.  I was the editor of yearbook who spent my weekends writing fan-fic of Spider-man and The Hunger Games.  He had firm, taut muscles and dazzlingly blond hair and sparkling blue eyes.  I had a somewhat slight frame, and mud-brown hair and eyes.  He was well over six feet tall.  I was a slightly more than average 6’, my only really distinguishing feature being my height.  He came from money and was super popular.  I worked at a deli part time to help the family expenses and had a small but tight-knit circle of friends. 

            Gregg and I only met because we had the same AP English class.  I’d noticed him freshman year, but I don’t think he even knew my name until we had that English class together.

            At our little high school in Illinois, any student taking an AP class senior year had to take a special one-day seminar at the end of their junior years to give us our summer assignments so we could hit the ground running come September.  That’s where Gregg and I officially met.  He asked me out, and we dated in secret all summer.

            He was still closeted, so we couldn’t date openly, but I was still a teenager—so I didn’t really care.  I liked having him as my secret.  We would spend muggy summer afternoons in my attic bedroom in each other’s embrace.  We didn’t do a lot of talking, but we spent a lot of time together.  I couldn’t get enough of his athletic torso and pert pecs.  He couldn’t get enough of my kisses.  Gregg told me I was an amazing kisser. He wouldn’t be the last.

            A few months into our relationship, a week after my 18th birthday, we finally decided it was time to go beyond the heavy petting and hand jobs and try some serious sex.

            After the dance of condoms and lube, Gregg prepared to top me.  He pounded me dutifully with his girthy 5 inches, but lasted all of two minutes.  Apparently, Mr. Football Hotshot was a virgin before he started dating me.  He’d had girlfriends, he'd told me, but I guess none of those girls had gotten as far with him as I had.  I wasn’t going to hold it against him; I was a virgin before I started dating him too.

            When he finished, he told me it was my turn.  My head was so filled with stereotypes about gay sex and who tops who that I actually didn’t expect he’d give me a turn topping, and I was so excited to try.

            I put the condom on my eager (and perfectly average) 6 inch dick, and I began working myself into him.  I wanted to fuck him hard and good, but given the disparity in our bodies, I didn’t think I could.  Then, instinctively, it occurred to me.

            “Lend me ten pounds,” I said.

            “What?” he asked in a fog of sex and confusion.

            “Lend me ten pounds of muscle,” I repeated, adding, “Please.”

            Perhaps thinking it was some kind of role play, he meekly said, “Okay.  You can borrow ten pounds of muscle.”

            As soon as he said it, his muscles diminished a little.  He was still firm and big, but nowhere near as big as he had just been.

            At the same time, I felt my body become more solid, stronger, taking up more space.  My flat chest blossomed a little, my arms thickened, my abs tightened, my ass firmed.  His ten pounds were in my body, and I used them to start fucking him harder and more thoroughly.

            Gregg looked at our bodies, and a look of joy spread over his face as I picked up the pace of my fucking.

            “You can borrow another ten, as long as you fuck me senseless,” he said, giving into the passion.

            Ten more pounds melted off his physique.  He still looked fit and healthy with a trim midsection, but he looked more like an up-and-coming football player rather than a football star.  I, meanwhile, now looked like I’d been working out for years, building my body up to teenaged muscular perfection.  My chest was thick and proud, my arms were strong and solid, and my ass flexed into round relief as I plowed Gregg thoroughly.

            He came for the second time before I came once. But when I did climax, the might I had in my borrowed muscles flexed and tensed, drawing up close to the surface.  Looking down at my reduced boyfriend, my body was thicker and meatier than his, a realization that spurred my orgasm to greater heights.

            I pulled out and rolled over so we could spoon, and as soon as he had his arms around me, I said, “Okay.  You can have them back now.”  When I said it, my form returned to its normal state, and the arms around me grew strong and burly, Gregg’s arms as I had come to know them.

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Part 1 - The High School Hero

Chapter 2

            Gregg spent the rest of that night holding me tightly, kissing the side of my face, and whispering lovingly in my ear.  That night was the first time I told him I loved him.  It should have been a moment of joy, but I was upset that I had done that.  With Gregg, conversation was all lips and lust and dirty talk.  Saying I loved him threw me off so much that I almost exploded in surprise when he said it back.

            For the first time, I slept in the arms of a man I loved and who loved me back.

            At breakfast the next morning, he quizzed me.  “How did you do that?” he asked.

            “Borrowing your muscles?  No idea.”

            “Have you ever done that before?”

            “Never.  I just…” I momentarily trailed off, trying to find the words, “I just knew I could.”

            “It was so hot when you took them, but part of me,” Gregg confessed, “was scared you’d never give them back.”

            The thought had never occurred to me.  “They’re your muscles.”  I stated flatly.  “I was just borrowing them.”  The thought of just keeping them… that put my stomach in knots. 

            “Can you borrow anyone’s muscles, or just mine?”

            “I’m pretty sure I can borrow anyone’s muscles.”

            “Could you borrow someone’s muscles without their permission?” he asked, a devilish gleam in his voice.

            “Nope.”

            “Have you tried?”

            “I’ve never borrowed anyone’s muscles until last night,” I repeated.

            “So, then how do you know you can’t borrow someone’s muscles without their permission?”

            I shrugged.  “The same way I knew I could borrow muscles in the first place.  I just know.”

            “So, someone lends you their muscles…”

            “Out loud.  I need explicit verbal consent.”

            “So, someone lends you their muscles out loud, you hold on to them, to use as you want, and then you give them back.”

            “Yep,” I said, finishing up my bowl of cereal and taking my dishes to the sink. 

            He cocked his head and added, “You’re like a repository that takes limited collections.  No, not a repository.  You’re The Repository.”

            “That’s the least sexy way you could have worded it.”

            “Ah, but this way we can talk about it in public without anyone catching on.”

            “Public?” I said, dropping my spoon loudly.  In our months of dating, I’d never spent any time with Gregg that wasn’t in my attic bedroom.

            “You were absolutely fucking hot with muscles,” he said.  “If you want, I could show you your way around the gym. Build those muscles up yourself.”

            I said yes more to spend time with him in public than any other reason.  We got memberships at a gym just outside of town—he was still closeted—and we would spend two or three afternoons there a week—whatever his sports schedule would allow.  I toned up, and my muscles grew firm, but I wasn’t as yet putting in the effort or lifestyle changes to gain any real permanent mass.  I was a taut, svelte 150 pounds.

            Gregg, meanwhile, redoubled his efforts at the gym. For weeks after he started calling me The Repository, I never saw him without a protein shake of some sort.  His coach was pleased, but Gregg and I both knew that he wanted to get bigger so he’d have more mass to lend me.  When we lost our virginities, Gregg had been hovering between around 180 pounds.  He quickly moved up to a solid 185 and climbing.

            And every time we had sex, he’d lend me at least 10 pounds, often 15 or 20, so we could “meet in the middle.”  Part of our foreplay was Gregg lending me some muscles and working his way through a posing routine, and then, I’d do the exact same routine with his muscles.  That always working him up into a lather.  It’d work me up into a lather too, how heavy I was, and how my body bulged in all the right places.  Then I’d return half his muscles and fuck him senseless.  Gregg never wanted anything other than rough and hard, and I was happy to oblige.

            After a few weeks at the gym, Gregg looked at me despondently.  I was confused because I thought everything was going swimmingly, but Gregg’s face said otherwise.

            “Spill,” I said to him in the locker room.

            “You’ll think I’m shallow,” he replied gruffly, dismissing me.

            “I already know you’re shallow.  I don’t care.”

            He made a noise partway between a sigh and a grunt, and then said, “I was really hoping you’d put on some muscle mass by now.”

            “Why?  I can just take a collection,” I said.

            Words exploded out of Gregg like a burst dam.  “School starts in a month, and I want to come out,” he started.  His tone was somewhere between “embarrassed to admit this” and “sub-textually commanding me” and “rushing to get it all out at once.”  “And I want us to be a real couple.  And I want to introduce you to my friends.  But all my friends are guys on the football team—some of them are bigger than me.  And our friendship is based on giving each other shit.  They give me hell because they think I’m a single virgin.  They call me Father Gregg—they think I’m celibate like a priest and a good little boy.  And if I could be out with you, they’d shut up about that.  But you’re this skinny little lit nerd.  Don’t get me wrong, you’re an adorable, fuckable, skinny little lit nerd.  But they won’t give you the time of day you deserve.  If you were more like the guys, even just a little, they wouldn’t give me shit about you.  And so, I was hoping you’d have put on some muscles to make my coming out easier.”

            “You want us to be a real couple?”  Yep, that’s all I heard.

            So, he showed me how to eat to grow, and I started taking lifting seriously.  He pushed me hard in the gym.  He was ugly with some of the things he said to try to motivate me, and I put a stop to that real quick.  But the pushing paid off, and in another month, I was tilting the scales at 157.  Seven pounds in one month—beginner’s gains, he called them.  I felt exhausted.

            “Is that good enough?” I asked.

            We walked through the front doors of school the first day of senior year, hand in hand.

            His friends did give him shit, most of which involved in-jokes I didn’t understand, but when they saw my measly bicep, they could see that Gregg was making a man out of me, in more than one way. My friends were far nicer to Gregg than his were to me, accepting him as part of our circle without incident, and practically without comment. 

            I was delighted.  Gregg and I were finally doing normal couple things, like eating lunch together, and finding five minutes between classes for a quick make out session.  On nights he didn’t have games or practice (and I didn’t have work), we’d go to the movies or hit up a restaurant.  We learned each other’s likes and dislikes.  Gregg was an absolute chicken around horror films, and I can’t handle spicy food.  Things like that.

            There were some delightful spillover perks to being the boyfriend of the football hero.  Gregg got invited to all the coolest parties, so I got to go to places I’d never be invited alone.  Gregg visited me at the yearbook office to hang out during his free period, and suddenly everyone on the yearbook staff was cool by association.  Gregg (nominally) joined our school’s Gay/Straight Alliance (I’d been a member since freshman year), and suddenly it was the biggest club on campus.  He fell asleep at the first meeting, and only showed up for the social gatherings after that, but that bare minimum participation made the group seem cool to the student body. 

            It was bizarre how much he bent the world around him to his will.  I shouldn’t have been surprised.  He’d done it to me too.  Apart from working on growing my muscles, I even went to some of his football games.  I always went with my friends because I find football unbelievably boring, but I cheered on my man.

            We even did the meeting each other’s folks things—it’s a step that comes earlier when you’re 18 and live with your parents.  His dad (Gregg’s folks are divorced) absolutely loved me.

            “When Gregg came out to me,” his father explained, “I expected his boyfriend would be a skeevy, tattooed 30-year-old on a motorcycle or some meathead who didn’t know how to multiply.”

            “Dad,” Gregg interjected.

            “You’re a smart boy, son.  You’re taking AP classes for crying out loud.  But you surround yourself with idiots.”

            “They’re my friends, Dad.”

            “The friends you keep tells everyone what you think about yourself.  A boyfriend like Gerry here shows people that you value yourself.”

            My parents, on the other hand, were ambivalent.  They’d guessed I was gay years ago, but I apparently had never officially told them.  They were shocked when I brought Gregg around for dinner.  My mother was impressed Gregg was so handsome, but as I am an only child, she couldn’t look at him without seeing a grandchildless future.  My father just kept saying, “As long as he respects you and makes you happy,” but he didn’t sound like he meant it.  He was inscrutable.

            But Gregg and I were officially a couple, and everyone knew it.  In addition to our normal dates, we kept going to the gym—the school gym now.  Gregg was willing to work out with me in public.  I wasn’t exactly thrilled with working out in the school gym.  I felt very out of place because was it more of Gregg’s territory than mine.  On top of that, there was this creepy guy from the town who would come in and use the facilities.  And no one said anything.  The whole gym had a weird vibe.

            Still, I went regularly, just to spend time with Gregg, if nothing else.  Ostensibly, I was there to build up my muscles right alongside him, and I was, in fact, doing that.  After a month of being out as a couple, Gregg had put on another few pounds, putting him at 190.  I’d also put on another 2 pounds.  I was almost 160.  I rounded up because it made Gregg grin.

            I was perfectly happy with the way things were, but things never stay the same for long.

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I'd say you can borrow my writing skill - but goddamn, you've already got too much! You're the greatest writer among us, for sure.

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3 minutes ago, TQuintA said:

You're a flatterer.  :)

I don't consider it flattery if I actually believe it :P

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Eager to read one of your stories from the beginning! So excited to see another one from you! It's really cool so far!

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It 's summer and TQuinta has delivered another story with amazing dialog and an unpredictable plot!  

" I could actually tell what muscle had come from which man,"

 

What a unique idea! 

Very cool!  "I'll donate 25 pounds, Alex!"

 

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  • TQuintA changed the title to The Repository - Part 4 (Completed, 9/21/21)

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