muscle growth Re-Posting: My New Pal by BBMikeNJ

[arpeejay]

Just a reminder:

You can find BBMikeNJ's stories in the current iteration of the forum by looking here:

https://musclegrowth.net/profile/3125-bbmikenj/content/?type=forums_topic&change_section=1

Ditto, you can find his earlier stories in the pre-2007 Archive by searching the Author Index for BBMSN.

https://archive2007.musclegrowth.net/index-byauthor.html

There are a good couple dozen stories that aren't in either place. As time permits (and I'm retired, so a project like this one is right up my alley) I will be re-posting them here (Mike has kindly granted me permission to do so!) -- RPJ

 

My New Pal

By BBMikeNJ

The first time I saw him, I was sitting on the front porch of my parents' summer cottage. It was hot as hell outside, but the porch was shaded by a big pine tree, so it wasn't too bad. Besides, it was cooler than inside the cottage, which had no air conditioning. I was done with college for the summer, and my parents weren't coming down till the middle of August, so I had the place to myself for a while.

I'd just gotten back from a jog at the beach, and was sitting there drinking a MaxWhey drink when I saw this kid on the front sidewalk. He kept walking back and forth past the cottage, and as he did, he was pretending to be playing the drums with his hands. The funny thing was, he actually had a pair of drumsticks in his hands. He looked like he was about 20 years old, and was wearing a knit cap with red hair sticking out around the bottom, a white tee shirt with an old vest, baggy cargo pants that looked about 6 inches too long for him. He was kind of a chubby kid. Well, chubby might be too harsh. Stocky or husky might be closer. I could see by the way his tee shirt hugged his gut fat that he was not in great shape, but he looked like a heavyset kid that carried his weight well, since the rest of him looked pretty thick and solid.

By about the fifth time he passed by the house, I yelled out to him. "You need help finding something?"

He stopped drumming and looked up, surprised to see someone on the porch.

"Nah," he said, "I'm just waiting on my sister. She's visiting the old lady that lives down the block," he said, pointing with a drumstick.

"Oh, okay. Do you wanna come up here and wait in the shade?" I asked him. It was close to 90 degrees already, and the sun was beating down on him out on the pavement.

"Yeah?" he asked. "Sure, man, that'd be great." He came up to the porch, put both drumsticks in one hand, and reached out with the other hand to shake. "My name's Tommy."

"Joe," I said, as we shook. His hand was big and chubby. Again, maybe not so much chubby as beefy, and more solid than I'd expected, and he had really thick wrists. As he stepped up on the porch, I realized that we were about the same height at 5'11". He was heavy enough that the old porch floorboards creaked under his weight, which I guessed to be about 220. "Have a seat," I said.

"Thanks, Joe," he said, as he plopped down into an old wicker chair, that also creaked under his weight. "It's nice up here," he said as he looked around and wiped some sweat off his brow.

"You want some water or something?"

"Nah, I'm good," he said. "My sister volunteers to read to old people during the summer. She'll probably only be about a half hour or so." He sat his drumsticks down on the side table.

"And you just wait for her on the street while she does this?"

Tommy laughed, and said, "Not usually. Her car was in the shop, so I gave her a ride today. I figured I'd practice my drumming skills, like you saw."

"Are you in a band?"

"Yeah, for about six months now. Problem is lately, when we're playing, my forearms swell up and start to ache like crazy. They burn like they're on fire, but I can't stop in the middle of a set, so I just keep going and force myself thru the pain, and just about the point where I think I can't take it anymore, I go into a zone, where the pain is still there, but it's almost like pleasure too. And once the set is done, my forearms have veins all over them. They look sorta like yours, only a lot more veiny."

"I'm dieting down for a bodybuilding show next month," I said, looking down at my forearms. "It makes the veins stand out pretty good. I don't really see that many on yours."

"Watch," he said. He put his forearms out, his palms up, onto the arms of the wicker chair. The underside of his forearms just looked thick and white to me, no veins showing. In fact, I couldn't even see much muscle. But then, he balled his thick hands into fist and clenched them. His forearms looked like they turned to stone, and the thick belly of them bulged out big as bowling pins. He clenched his fists harder and harder, and the skin under his fingers turned white, even as the rest of his thick palms grew redder and redder. His forearms swelled with gnarly ropes of muscle, and then the veins began to pop up. Slowly at first, but then, it was like a magic trick.

"Jesus," I said, mesmerized.

"I know....keep watching." And he clenched and unclenched his fists. More veins popped up. Then he leaned forward, let his arms hang down, and shook out his hands. I could see his fores turning redder as blood engorged them. They swelled even fuller. "Let's compare," he said, holding out his left arm. I put my arm next to his. He had four times more veins then I had, snaking all over the belly of his fores, and they looked thicker and harder than mine. His forearm was half again as big as mine, too.

"Dude," I said, standing up.

"I know, freaky, right? Yours looks kinda stringy, Joe, you dieting too much?" he asked sincerely.

"No, it's what I gotta do to get these," I said, lifting my tee shirt to show my abs, which I admit I did partly to repair my ego after seeing his insane fores. My abs, I knew, he could not match.

"Holy smokes, Joe, you got that Situation dude beat with those suckers."

Grinning, I flexed them harder. Then I pinched the skin on them and moved it back and forth. It was tight as cellophane over my stomach.

"Man," said Tommy, "you could cut diamonds with that gut. You're so skinny!"

"I prefer shredded to skinny, man," I said sort of defensively.

"Oh, sorry, Joe. You are definitely shredded then. How much you weigh?"

"I'm at 195 right now, want to get to 185 for the show."

"You wanna lose ten more pounds?? Man, you'll blow away in a stiff wind!"

"Well, it's a natural show, so none of the guys are that big." I said, again somewhat defensively. "How much do you weigh?"

"I'm around 235 right now, but I seem to keep gaining," he said sort of sheepishly, and it made me feel bad for asking. "And I'm getting clumsier too. The other day I ripped a doorknob right out of a door at my house. My Pops was like 'Goddamit, Tommy, first you eat me outta house and home, and now you're tearing the place apart'."

"Is that your dad?"

"Naw, I live with my grandpa, I call him Pops. He's a retired Marine, and he acts all rough and tough, but he showed me how to replace the doorknob. I kinda wanted to see if I could crush it though, but I knew he'd get mad."

"You think you could have crushed the doorknob?"

"Yeah, I think so. I've always been pretty strong, but the past 6 months, seems like I've gotten stronger.

"What was the doorknob made of?

"Brass." Tommy was looking at his right hand, and rolling his thick fingers back and forth. It made me swallow hard to think that he could have dented in a brass doorknob with that hand.

"Wait here a second," I said, heading inside. I came back out with my gym bag, and dropped it onto the porch. I opened it up and started looking thru it.

"What are you looking for?" Tommy asked.

"I have a pair of handgrips in here I want you to try."

"Nah, man, that's okay. Pops gave me a pair about 3 months ago. I crushed the handles on them first time I tried it. He just shook his head and walked away."

"Seriously?" I said, looking up at him. "What were the handles made of?"

"Heavy plastic."

"Okay, these should be better," I said, pulling out my pair from the gym bag. "These are called Captains of Crush, and are made of heavy metal." I handed it over to him. He played with it in his hand, looking it over, and I realized as his fingers engulfed the gripper, that his hand was way bigger than mine.

"How many times can you do it?" he asked me, working the gripper deeper into his grip.

"This one is a number 3, and they only go up to 4, so it's real hard to close. I can get 10 to 15reps with the number 2, and about 3 or 4 with this one." I failed to mention to him that I have to cheat a little by either pressing it against my leg, or using a little help from my other hand.

Tommy lifted the grippers up toward his face, and looked at it. Then he started to squeeze. "Oh yeah, these are definitely harder than the ones my Pops gave me," he said.

"See, I told you."

Then he tapped the ends together. And held it there. "Wow," he said, "this feels awesome!" Then he opened up the grippers and tapped them closed again. And again. Soon he was tapping it closed fast as a pair of castanets. I counted 30 reps before he stopped. Then he tossed the grippers to his left hand, and did 30 reps with it. Then he tossed them down into the wicker chair, and started rolling his fists around as we both stared at his fores.

"Joe, man, I feel like I could bend steel with my bare hands right now!"

"Fuck, Tommy, I have no doubt." My heart was pounding a mile a minute at such a display of grip strength.

"My forearms are like two gigantic hardons, they're so freakishly swollen! You should feel them!"

"Tommy, geezus..." I could see that he was chubbing up in his pants, and so was I.

"You got those numbers 4's around? I wanna crush them!"

"Shit man, I wish I did! I got a weight set out back we could use. How often you lift?"

"I never have," he said, without looking away from his bloated fores.

My god, how could that be? "Tommy, how old are you?"

"I just turned 18 last week."

"You want to learn how to lift?"

"You know, I never thought I would, but now I got an ache inside to try it out."

As I looked at the big kid flexing his forearms on my porch, I realized that he had broader shoulders than I did, and thru his tee, his delts looked rounded and solid. Maybe a lot of it was fat. Maybe it wasn't. What would happen if he started training hard?

"Come on, bro, let's go out back and I'll show you," I said.

"Heck yeah, bro," he said, putting his big heavy forearm across my shoulders as we headed inside. My knees almost buckled from the weight of it. "I'm sure glad I came up here today."

"Me too, man. Me too."

More to cum…

[arpeejay]

Part 2

I led Tommy thru the cottage and into the backyard. Yesterday, I had gotten all the weights and the bench out of the shed, and set them up on one side of the yard. It wasn't like a whole gym set-up or anything, but there was an Olympic bar for the bench, 305lbs of plates, and dumbbells going from 25's up to 75lbs. The only problem with today was that there were no trees in the backyard for shade, and it was already hot as hell. The outdoor thermometer was almost at 100. I stripped off my shirt and tossed it onto a lawn chair.

"Whaddya think?" I asked Tommy, nodding at the weights, but he was looking me up and down.

"I think you look like that Taylor Lautner kid, only with more muscle, and better abs," he said.

"Yeah, you think so?" I said, grinning and flexing my pecs. I actually got that a lot. Sometimes girls would stop me on the street or at the beach and ask to get their picture taken with me. Last week, I even signed autographs for two chicks. Even though I told them I wasn't that dude, they just giggled, then screamed when they saw I'd signed my name "T Lautner".

"Come on, Tommy, let's workout." I walked over to the bench, which already had the bar on it with a 45lb plate on each side. "You've really never done a bench press before?" I asked him.

"Naw. I wasn't much into sports in school, so I never went to the weight room. I do some pushups at home once in a while."

"Hmm. Maybe we should start with a lighter weight," I suggested, but Tommy was already getting onto the bench. He laid back and put his hands up onto the bar.

"Like this?" he asked.

"Yeah, that's it," I said, walking around to spot him. He lifted the bar off the rack and locked his arms above his chest.

"OK?" he said.

"Yeah...now lower the bar till it touches your chest, and push it back up."

He did a rep, locked his arms at the top and said, "That seems simple enough. How many should I do?"

"Why don't you try to get ten, and we'll see what happens."

Tommy did ten reps pretty smoothly. "Wow, that feels good!" he said. "Can I do ten more?"

"Sure, man. I usually only use this as a warm-up, but you probably don't want to go any heavier your first time anyway."

He did ten more reps, then said, "This is awesome. Can I see how many I can do?"

"Knock yourself out, big guy, but you might be sore tomorrow."

"That's OK," he said eagerly, and then started pressing out rep after rep. Up to 40, then 50, then 60. At this point, I was even curious to see how many he'd get. Seventy then 80. I stepped closer to the bar in case he suddenly gave out, but he didn't even seem to be slowing much. Finally, when he got to 100, I said, "OK, man, time to stop," and I pulled the bar back toward the rack. He lowered it down and sat up, a big grin on his face.

"I did 100...that's good, right?"

"Yeah, that's pretty good I guess."

"How many can you do, Joe?"

"I've never really tried to do max reps with 135."

"Here," he said, standing up, "try it. It feels amazing."

"OK," I said. I got down on the bench, and started doing reps. Tommy went to the other side of the bar and stood over me.

"I stand here in case you can't get the bar back up?" he asked.

"Yeah, but I don't think that will happen." But when I got to 25 reps, I realized that the bar was beginning to feel real heavy. By the time I hit 30, my arms were starting to shake, and I was slowing way down. At 34, the bar sank to my chest, and stayed there.

"You alright, Joe?"
"Yeah, man," I grunted, "just help me get the bar back up."

"Oh, OK." Tommy put one hand in the middle of the bar, and lifted it back up onto the rack like a feather. "You only got 34," he said, confused.

I sat up on the bench, but didn't look back at him. "Yeah, well, you lose a lot of strength when you're dieting down for a show. And this fucking heat isn't helping any either," I said, wiping the sweat from my forehead. My whole body was drenched already.

"Dude," I heard Tommy say, "look at my chest." I turned around and saw Tommy staring down at his shirt. His chest appeared to have doubled in size. It looked like someone had stuck 2 soccer balls inside his tee, which was now sticking out so far at the top that the bottom of the shirt was floating away from his gut like a curtain.

"Jesus," I said.

He rolled his pecs and they swelled up even higher. "Whoa," he said. "Is this normal?"

"Not entirely," I said. The fucking kid had the chest of a powerlifter after only one set of bench pressing. Take off your shirt, and let me see."

"Naw, man," he said, taking a step back.

"Come on, Tommy, I wanna see what's doing under there."

"Naw, Joe, I don't want to."

"Why, just because you're fat, you don't want to take off your shirt? What are you, a chick?"

He looked up at me hard. "Don't call me fat," he said.

"Hey, so you're a little chubby, man, you're strong as fuck, and you could always lose the gut." I stood up off the bench and turned toward him.

"Take it back," he said, walking around the bar and up to me.

I felt bad about upsetting him, but I was didn't like how pissy he was being. Plus the fucking kid had out-benched me by almost 70 reps. "Get over yourself, fatboy," I said. That's when he took a swing at me. Fortunately, I have good reflexes, and lurched my head backward as his hand came at my face. I watched his big meaty fist swish by my nose, and not only could I feel the wind from it, I could actually hear it as it went by.

"Jesus, you asshole, you could hurt someone," I said, and I shoved my hands into his chest to push him back. Only he didn't budge. His chest was dense and heavy, and reminded me of the bags of Quik-Crete my dad and I got when we put in the new fence last summer.

"Wanna try that again?" he said menacingly. Without a pause, I shoved into again, only harder this time, with more of my weight behind it. This time he budged, but only about an inch. "My turn," he growled, and pushed into my chest with both his meaty palms. I stumbled back about three feet, but managed to keep on my feet. I went at him low, and using my shoulder and all my weight, I slammed into his gut. It was pretty solid, but not like his chest, and I heard him let out an ooooph as I hit. He stumbled back into the bench, and fell backwards, and as he did, he held onto me, bringing both of us tumbling over the bench and onto the ground. I landed on top of him pretty hard.

"Cocksucker," I said to him as we grappled around.

"You're the cocksucker, you fucker," he grunted. "I'm gonna break your spine." He picked me up and slammed me down, landing on top of me hard. It felt like 240lbs of wet Quik-Crete flopping down on me. If I wasn't so muscled up, I think he'd of broken all my ribs, the fat fuck. Then he tried to wrap his thick arms around my torso, but I was so slippery with sweat, I got out of his hold. I grabbed onto his shirt and rolled him off me, but he grabbed me and pulled me back in again. I elbowed him in the gut a couple times, and could tell it was knocking the wind out of him. Then we got locked together, and were rolling all over the yard, tearing up sod, and smashing into the shrubs. We rolled thru my mom's rose bushes, scraping ourselves up on the thorns as we snapped the branches. I grabbed onto his shirt again, and heard it rip. I tore at it harder, and ripped it more. "Ha," I grunted, "shirtless fat fucker," and tried to get the shirt off him.

"Motherfuckerrrrr," he roared, and I felt myself being lifted off the ground again. He stood up, holding me in his arms, then went running with me thru the yard, until my back slammed into the wooden fence, smashing us both thru a 6 foot section of fencing, and landing in a heap in the front yard. I looked around at the shattered wood slats, then at Tommy, who was sitting there breathing kinda scary hard, and his face was all red and sweaty as hell. I was panting pretty hard myself.

"Shithead," I said to him.

"Prick," he said back.

"You thirsty?" I asked him.

"Yeah." After a pause, he said, "I'm hungry too."

"Tommy?" said a voice from the street. "Is that you?" We both looked up. There was a cute blonde chick at the end of my driveway.

"Hey," Tommy answered back. Then he looked at me and said, "That's my sister."

She walked up to us, looking real puzzled. "What's.....going on?" she asked.

"Hey, Sherri, this is Joe," Tommy panted out. "We were just....messing around."

"I see. It looks like you two just had some rough sex," she said as she scanned the broken fence, his ripped up shirt, our scraped up arms and legs. "Hi, Joe," she said, and reached down to shake my hand. I saw her looking my body up and down. "Did anyone ever tell you you look just like.....?"

"Yeah, he knows," Tommy interrupted.

"Except bigger, and with better..."

"...abs, yeah yeah, he's heard it before," Tommy said, rolling his eyes.
"Thanks," I said, standing, and clenching my abs so my 8-pack tightened up even harder. Then I brushed them off with my hands, making sure she could see how tight my skin was over my muscles.

"Nice," she said.

"Jesus," said Tommy, rolling his eyes again.

"You ready to go," she said to him, without looking away from my body.

"I thought I might hang out a little longer here. You wanna take the car?" he said, pulling the keys from his pocket.

"Oh...OK," she said, turning to him and taking the keys. "Text me when you want a ride."

"Shit," groaned Tommy as he reached into his other pocket and pulled out his phone. It came out in his hand in broken pieces, which he let fall to the ground onto the broken fencing.

"Nice job, bro," said Sherri. "Pops is going to be thrilled about this one."

Tommy looked guilty. "This is my 3rd phone this month. Sometimes I accidentally crush them in my bare hand."

"You can use my phone later, if you want to hang. Or I can give you a ride."

"Yeah? Cool. You mind Sis?"

"No problem, Tommy. I'll go shopping, maybe buy you a new shirt. I'll catch you later. Nice to meet you, Joe."

"You too, Sherri," I said. I watched her as she headed down the driveway. She turned back once to get another look at me.

"Your sister is Hot," I said when she was out of earshot.

"Oh, don't even go there, dude" Tommy said.

I laughed and said, "Let's go inside and find something to eat."

More to cum…

[arpeejay]

Part 3

Tommy and I went thru the hole in the fence into the backyard. I looked around at the damage. Nothing too serious, except my mom's roses looked trashed, and we'd uprooted a small dogwood tree. I went over to it, leaned it back up, and stepped around the trunk. It tilted a little when I let go of it.

"That'll do for now," I said to Tommy, "Let's go inside." We went thru the backdoor into the kitchen. I opened the refrigerator, pulled out a bottle of water and handed it to him. I took one for myself. We both downed our bottles in no time.

"That was good and cold," said Tommy, wiping his mouth.

"You want some eggs?" I asked him.

"Sure."

I pulled out a dozen eggs. "I'm gonna have a 6 egg white omelet...that what you want?"

"What do you do with the yolks?" Tommy asked.

"I toss them."

"Man, that's the best part! Put those in mine."

"You want a 6 egg yolk omelet?"

"No....I'll take your 6 yolks, plus the other six whole ones."

"Dude, that's gross."

"Not as gross as all egg white."

I laughed. Maybe he had a point, I thought, as I pulled out two pans. As I started making the eggs, I said, "If you want, you can borrow a shirt from me. That back room is mine, you can change back there if you want."

"That's OK, Joe. You were right, I was acting like a chick about the fat thing. I need to get over it." With that, Tommy reached up and grabbed the neck of his tee and ripped it down the middle. He ripped the rest of the tattered tee off him, and tossed the pieces into the garbage can. I looked over at him. Fucking kid had a gut alright, but his upper body looked solid as a boulder. His pecs were still absurdly bloated from the benching and wrestling, and stuck out over his gut like a four-inch shelf of muscle.

"Hey, Tommy, when you said you did some pushups at home, how often you do them?"

"I've been doing them almost every day for the last six months," he said. "That's when I started really feeling like my body was changing, you know, like getting thicker and more solid. Plus, my grandpa helps me do some workouts at home."

"Like what?"

"He showed me how to the pushups so I keep my body straight and go down till my nose taps the floor. And he bought me a pair of those pushup bars you put on the floor, so you have to go deeper. And then he started adding stuff to make it harder."

"Like what?" I asked again.

"Well, I do the pushups in the garage where he has his speed bag set up, so at first, he put an old car battery on my back to add some weight. Pretty soon, that was too light, so he put a couple cinder blocks. Those were harder ‘cause he stacked them, and I had to go a lot slower to keep them balanced. And now, sometimes he puts a safe on my back."

"A safe? How much does that weigh?"

"It's a small one, Pops says it weighs 75lbs, but lately I can feel him pushing down on it as I do the pushups, and he must be pushing pretty hard, cause I can hear him grunting as I push up."

I was looking at him and his chest, and almost burned the eggs. "How many can you do that way?"

"Maybe, like, 50 I guess. I kinda lose track and just go into a zone, just like when I'm drumming." He was looking around the kitchen as we talked. "I only stop when it feels like someone's holding a blowtorch to my chest."

"Have a seat," I said, and he sat down at the kitchen table. I grabbed two plates, and gave him his bright yellow omelet, and sat down with my drab white one.

"You got any bread?" he asked.

"Naw, man, I didn't get bread, I'm cutting way back on the carbs till the contest."

"Jesus, Joe, I don't know how you can stand it." Then he stopped talking began to scarf down the eggs.

"Yeah, sometimes it gets tough. But it's only four more weeks."

"Um-hum," he grunted as he shoveled the last of his omelet into his mouth. He put his fork down, wiped his mouth off with his hand and said, "You got anything else to eat?" I had only eaten about 4 bites of mine.

"Let me see." I got up and went to a cabinet where I was pretty sure I'd left some protein powder from last year. "Here it is," I said, pulling out a container of ExtremMass Weight Gainer mix. It was about half full. "You like chocolate?"

"Oh yeah."

"I don't have any milk," I said, as I pulled out the blender, "I guess water will have to work."

"That sounds weak," Tommy said, "What else can you use?"

I went to the pantry and found two cans of condensed milk. "I guess I can mix one of these with some water, that would be like milk."

As I mixed the stuff together in the blender, Tommy said, "You gonna eat these?" as he pulled my plate toward him.

"Damn, man, are you that ravenous?"

"I know, Joe, sorry, but lately I get so hungry I can't help myself." Then he ate my omelet. "Hmm...those egg whites aren't so bad," he said as he finished, wiping his mouth again.

I finished his shake, pulled out a glass and set it down in front of him. "You're not having any?" he asked me.

"Nah, I can't have shit like this till after the contest."

"Save the glass, then, just hand me the pitcher."

I handed him the pitcher and watched him down the thing it about 10 gulps. "That was goddam delicious," he said, wiping the chocolate ring from around his mouth. "Can I have one more?"

"Dude, that's sick," I said.

"Just one more, then I'll be done." I made another one, using the second can of condensed milk, and he downed it just as fast. He slammed the pitcher down on the table. "Ah, man, Joe, that's almost as good as sex!" He slid back from the table and stood up. His gut had swollen up like someone had inflated it with a bike tire. "I don't know why I was ever embarrassed by this gut, it feels goddam amazing," he said. Then he started patting it with his big hands. It sounded like he was hitting a side of beef. "You should feel it," he said, and he reached out and grabbed my hand, and started rubbing over his ball gut.

"Dude, what the fu....man, it's so hard!" I had expected his gut to be soft, kinda squishy, but it sure wasn't, and his skin was so tight over it, it felt like the big inner tube we used to play with at the beach when I was a kid. And the kitchen was real hot, too, so we were both sweaty pretty heavy, and his sweat was rolling down his big hog pecs and dripping off his nipples onto his gut.

"Aw, Joe, I feel so strong when I stuff myself like this," he said, then he grabbed me around the waist and lifted me right off the floor. "So strong," he said in a daze. I put my hands on his shoulders so I wouldn't fall, but he had me good and tight. His goddam delts were thick and dense with muscle.

"Put me down, dude," I said to him.

"Sorry, man, sometimes I get carried away." Suddenly, he seemed to have an idea. "Wait right here," he said, setting me down, and he went out to the front porch, and came back in with his drumsticks. "Watch this," he said, and he snapped one of the drumsticks in two like a toothpick. He took the thick end and stuck it in between his pecs. When he took his hand away, the drumstick stayed in there.

"Dude, that's cool as hell," I said. "Now, squeeze your pecs together harder." When he did that, his chest swelled up and out, nearly swallowing the drumstick. I reached up and pushed the stick, and it sank in even deeper. Tommy groaned with pleasure. "Oh fuck yeah," he said. He flexed again and I felt his pec muscles cover my fingers to the first knuckle. I rubbed my fingers on his sweaty bulked up muscle, feeling the power of them. I pulled my hand out, and said, "Wait here." I went into the mud room, and came out with an old basketball. "I used to do this in my dorm when I didn't have time to lift." I held the ball in both hands and raised my arms out straight in front of me. Then I squeezed. My pec muscles bounced to attention.

"Whoa, Joe," said Tommy, "look at the strings of muscle on your chest!"

"Yeah," I said, squeezing harder, "those are striations. This really brings them out." Tommy reached out and touched my pecs. "Holy shit, Joe, your striations feel like guitar strings!" He ran his thick fingers up and down my sweat covered chest. "That's wild man, your chest looks like the basketball! Let me try it." I handed the ball to Tommy and he held it out in front of him. "Just squeeze in?" he asked. "Yeah, bro," I answered. He began to squeeze and his chest responded. It swelled out even farther, the drumstick completely buried in a seam of sweat-dripping muscle as the two slabs of his chest pressed harder and harder together. A thick vein stuck out on both sides of Tommy's neck as he increased pressure. Suddenly, I heard a hissing sound. "Ah, yeahhh," groaned Tommy, as the basketball began to deflate from his crushing grip.

"Jesus, dude," I said, as a twisting vein popped up on his forehead, and his eyes glazed over and his lips curled into a snarl. The hissing grew louder, and then I heard a snap as the air valve on the basketball popped outward. "Do it, man," I said, "crush the motherfucker." And the palms Tommy's hands grew closer and closer together as the air was forced out of the basketball, till the ball flattened out on itself. He only stopped when we heard the hissing stop. He handed me the basketball, which looked more like a baseball mitt now. Tommy's big chest was bloated and purplish, pushing out so far his nips were pointing down toward his sweat-drenched ball gut. His delts and arms had swollen up too, and big veins snaked down his biceps, so jacked I could see them throbbing. He raised his right arm and flexed it. It balled up like a softball. There had to be 19" of bulked up arm, with his fores bloated beyond belief.

"Joey," he said to me, sweat dripping off the end of his nose. "Let's armwrestle."

More to cum…

[arpeejay]

Part 4

Tommy stood in my kitchen flexing his big right arm. He'd just challenged me to armwrestle, and I thought about saying that I didn't want to strain my arm four weeks out of my contest, but I didn't want to look like a pussy, so I said, "You're on, man." I sat down at the kitchen table, and kicked a chair out for him to sit in. He got a big grin on his face and sat down, pulling the chair up close. "I got game," I said, and flexed my own arm, so that he could see that he wasn't the only one with a major set of guns in the house. Even cut, my arms were still holding at 18". Well, myabe closer to 17.5, but they were ripped to the bone.

"Not bad," said Tommy. "What's this line?" he asked, reaching out and running his fingers along the top of my big peak.

"That's the split in the biceps, which is really two muscles so that line is where they meet."

Tommy flexed his arm again. It balled up big and round. "I don't have one," he said, looking at his muscle.

"That's because..." and I stopped myself before I said "you're fat," and instead said, "you're so bulked up. You gotta get pretty lean before it shows up good."

"Well, you're pretty lean, so that makes sense," he said, as he sat his elbow onto the table with a heavy thud. I wasn't sure if he meant that as a compliment, or if he was being a smartass. I put my arm up on the table next to his, and we locked hands as I scooted in closer. "You say Go," Tommy said as we secured our grips.

"OK.....Ready...Set....Go!"

In less than a second, Tommy slammed my hand down on the table. If I had blinked, I would have missed it. It was like I wasn't even ready to start, yet I was the one who'd said Go.

"Jesus fuck," I said, pulling my arm back, pissed and embarrassed at the same time.

Tommy just laughed and said, "That's OK, you just have bad technique. Plus, I shoulda told you something."

"Told me what?"

"I've been practicing armwrestling with my grandpa for the past year or so. He's real good. He did armwrestling tournaments the whole time he was on the police force, and has a bunch of trophies. He's taught me a lot. He says I have a lot of potential, especially since I beat him for the first time about 2 months ago. He told me then, if I was holding back from beating him, he'd throw me right out of the house. I beat him that day, and so far, every day since. He seems proud of me when I do it, but he gets that look on his face like you have now."

"Well, hell yeah, man, you could have said something. That's kind of a chicken shit thing to do, don't you think?"

"Hey, don't be mad, man," Tommy said. "Here, put your arm back up, and I'll show you something real simple that makes a big difference.

I hesitate for a second, but then put my arm back up. The big dope seemed so eager and sincere, I felt bad about being a sore loser.

"Now," he said, "try and put your hand like this, and then get your wrist set so that you can get a better angle. It makes a huge difference in leverage, you'll be amazed."

"OK," I said, letting him shift my hand into position. "OK, I think I got it. That does seem better. You say Go this time."

"OK.....Ready....Set.....GO!" And we were off. This time, Tommy didn't slam my hand down in a flash. I was holding him up, and I could see him straining, as I pushed with all my might. "That's it Joe," he grunted out. "Now lean forward a little, just not too much..." And I leaned into it, and felt the power in my arm surge like no weights had ever gotten me to feel. I pushed and pushed against Tommy's thick hand. The kitchen table was shuddering as we poured on the power. Veins were popping out on both our arms. I was pushing so hard, my whole body seemed to be quaking. "Come on dude, push harder," Tommy said, and I looked over at him for a split second, and I thought to myself, he's holding back. The fucking kid is toying with me. No wonder that pissed his grandpa off, it was annoying. I leaned farther in with my shoulder, and I felt my ass leaving the kitchen chair. Then I was pressing into him with all my weight. His big arm didn't budge an inch, and then he slammed my arm down to the table, only this time, I was so off-balance, I flipped down onto my back right on the table, cracking the oak top right down the middle. Tommy leaned over and said, "You alright, Joe?" Sweat dripped off his nose onto my face.

"Dude, your sweat," I said, wiping it off with my free arm. Tommy pulled me up off the table, our hands still in a death grip. I landed on my feet, face to face with him, our noses about an inch apart.

"You can't lean that far forward," he said, staring at me, holding my hand up to his big chest. "That's cheating." I could feel his hot breath on my face. Neither of us said anything for a second or two. Then I pushed away.

"OK, sorry," I said, then I changed the subject. "What's up with this grandfather of yours anyway, training you like this?"

"Pops? I don't know. He retired from the force last year, and I think he took me on as his pet project."

"How old is he?"

"Fifty-six. He's still in great shape though. He runs about 5 miles a day, I think. Jogging is the one thing he hasn't gotten me to do yet."

"He a big guy?"

"He's 6'2", maybe 260."

"Holy shit," I said.

"Yeah. Tough as nails, too. After the Marines, he was on the police force for 30 years."

"And he doesn't train you with any weights?"

"No, not yet anyway. He likes to rig things up for me to workout with. Like for chin-ups, he put a bar in the garage, and then he wraps a bungee cord around my waist with those cinder blocks looped thru it. Lately though, he's just been trying to hold me down as I do chin-ups. Last couple of weeks, I've been able to lift him clear off the ground."

"You can do chin-ups with his 260 on you?"

"Uh-huh."

"How many?"

"Like 10 or 12...so far anyway. I'd like to do more, but Pops thinks the beams that the bar is attached to are starting to bend."

That would explain the delts on the kid, practically the size of two pumpkins slabbed onto the sides of his thick traps. I realized, as I checked out his shoulders, that he was dripping with so much sweat that it was starting to puddle on the floor. Even his cargo pants were soaked thru.

"You want a pair of shorts, man? You gotta be hot in those pants."

"Yeah, that'd be sweet."

I grabbed a clean kitchen towel and tossed it to him. "Here, wipe yourself off, and I'll go find some shorts." I went back to my parents' room. I knew my dad kept some summer clothes down here, and I found a pair of Nike basketball shorts in a dresser drawer. Size XL. That oughta fit the kid, I thought to myself, and as I turned around, he was standing in the doorway. His pants and shoes were gone, and he was wearing just a pair of Joe Boxer briefs. I had to sit down on the bed at the sight of him. "Tommy, geezus dude."

"What's wrong, Joe?"

"Man, your legs are humungous." Except for the two powerlifters who trained at my gym, I'd never seen anything like it in person. And those guys were squatting 800, 900lbs for reps. Tommy's legs still surpassed theirs in sheer mass and density. His quads were massive thunder thighs of pure power. And his calves! Eric Fankhouser would be jealous of those beasts. Maybe I was feeling a little weak from dieting and armwrestling, but I was feeling lightheaded just looking at those legs.

"You alright?" Tommy said, waddling over to me, swinging one thigh around the other.

"Man, how big are your thighs?" I had to ask. They had to be 34 inches.

"I don't know, I never measured. Only thing I ever measured on me was my cock once, and that was 9 inches, but that was over a year ago, and I know it's grown since then, I can just tell."

Of course he had a niner plus. Mine was 8 and a half....his just had to be bigger. "You shave your legs?" I said, noticing some stubble.

"No, I never had much body hair until about 6 months ago. It's starting to come in, though, can you feel it?" And he reached out, took my hand, and placed it on his thigh. He started rubbing my hand up and down. "Feel how bristly it is? Especially up higher." And he moved my hand up high on his immense quad. The stubble was definitely bristly. It felt like it was going to rip my skin. "Joe, you sure you're OK? You look like you're gonna pass out. You want to go get some pasta or something. I think you need to eat something."

He was right, I did need something to eat. I was definitely having a sugar low. I hadn't even had so much as a piece of gum in 2 weeks. I wanted to eat and eat, and bulk up big as Tommy, bulk up like I was in the winter, when I'd felt so strong, and my muscle was so full. I rubbed his thigh and felt the power in it. The size. The hardness. I wanted to lean my head on it. But instead, I pulled my hand away.

"I got that show," I said, weakly.

"Forget that show, man, this can't be healthy. And you're gonna get up on stage and flex around in a pair of panties?"

"Posers," I said, "they're called posers." My head was spinning.

"Whatever," said Tommy. "Look at you, man." He put his hands under my armpits and lifted me straight off the bed. "You're light as a feather," he said, his face right at my crotch level. "I could hold a dude twice your size like this," he said, and I could feel his hot breath thru my shorts.

"Tommy," I muttered. I'd never been with a dude before, never given it much thought. But I was having definite stirrings inside.

"I bet I could press you overhead like a toy," Tommy said, hoisting me over his head and then behind his neck, resting me on his traps. He turned and looked at himself in the mirror about the dresser. "Look at me, I'm racking you, Joey," he said, draping his big veiny fores over my body. Then he stepped closer to the mirror. "Is that really me? Look at me, man, I'm fucking huge." Then he started pressing me over his head. "Aw, yeah, man, I'm feel sooo strong." It was like he even forgot he was pressing me, he was so into his reflection. Rep after rep he lifted me absentmindedly. "Can't believe I just turned 18 and am this fucking huge. And it's just gonna get better. Bigger. Stronger. You feel the strength, bro?" Then he pressed me back overhead and looked at the mirror. "You gonna help your pal get even bigger and stronger?" he said, as he lowered me, and raised me again. "Grow me into a beast of pure size and power. Look at this shit. Aww yeahhhh. Goddam it Joey, I'm feeling strong as an ox....even stronger." He lowered me for another rep. "We'll get you strong too, man, no more of this dieting shit. Bulk you up good, so no one can trounce you in armwrestling like I did today. Crushed you pretty good, didn't I?" He switched my weight over to his left arm and held me straight overhead as he lowered his right arm and flexed it in the mirror. "Aww, man, look at that. Fucking HUGE!" He brought his thick balled-up bi up to his mouth and kissed it. "Look at that arm, man, took you down like nothing." Then he lowered me slowing toward his face with one arm, and gave my crotch a quick peck.

That's when I passed out.

More to cum

[arpeejay]

Part 5

I woke up on top of the bedspread on my parents' bed. I still felt a little dizzy, and was trying to remember what had happened before I passed out. I remembered Tommy pressing me over his head for reps, using me like a weight, and seeing his reflection in the mirror as he did it. Was it possible that he was that strong? I had to be imagining some of it. Then Tommy came out of the bathroom, toweling off his hair. He had on my dad's Nike basketball shorts, which were super baggy on my dad. On Tommy, his legs and ass were so huge, they fit him snug, like spandex.

"Hey, you're awake," he said. "Hope you don't mind, I took a shower while you were...napping."

"No problem," I said, as he walked over to the dresser, looked in the mirror, and ran his fingers thru his thick reddish-blond hair. The thick mounds of muscle on his back rolled as he pushed his hair back. I was struck by the fact that, despite being so bulked up, he had a very impressive V taper going from his thick wide shoulders to his waist. His glutes were so rounded out, and so wide, they stretched the webbing of the shorts till it was almost transparent, like fishnet stockings.

"I weighed myself on the scale in there," he said, nodding toward the bathroom. "I gained 8lbs since last week. Am up to 249," he said proudly.

"That scale reads about 5lbs too high," I lied. It actually read about 6lbs too low, so that meant he weighed closer to 255. It just pissed me off that he was that thick and solid and was growing so fast.

Tommy stopped fixing his hair and looked at me in the reflection. "That's weird," he said suspiciously, "cause I look and feel so much bigger, Joey." He walked over and stood at the far side of the bed. His quads were face level with me. He nudged them against the side of the bed, and the bed moved.

"Dude," I had to ask, "how'd you get your legs so big? You sure you never did squats?"

"Nah," he said. "Pops said they'd stunt my growth." He flexed his leg muscles slightly as we both looked at them. They swelled about an inch.

"Then how?"

"There's a real steep road close to our house. Pops had me start hiking up and down it with a weighted vest on. Started out with about 20 lbs., added weight almost every day."

"Shafto Road? Out by the college?" I asked.

"Yeah...it's right by where I live. You know it?

"Yeah," I said. As a kid, we used to ride our bikes out that way, and I could never make it all the way to the top of that road. It was a long steep incline, and my legs would be pumping and burning as my bike went slower and slower, till finally I'd have to hop off and walk the rest of the way to the top. Coming down was fun though.

"It didn't take long till the vest wasn't enough for me, so Pops made a harness and attached our riding mower to it."

"You hike all the way up Shafto Road with a riding mower behind you?"

"Yeah, but it sucks big time. I puked the first couple times I did it. And going up's not near as bad as going back down. Pops switches the harness so the mower is in front of me, and I have to go real slow, otherwise it starts pulling me faster and faster till I lose my balance. That only happened once though."

"Your pops walk alongside you, make sure you don't get hurt?

"At first he did. Now, he sits on the mower."

"Tommy..." I said, thinking of him trudging up that hill, pulling the mower with his 260lb grandfather sitting on it.

"Yeah, I know, it's pretty sick," he said, and he laid down on the bed next to me. "Next, he wants to try using his jeep. At first I really hated it, and I hated him for making me do it, and it still sucks while I'm doing it. But when I'm done, and we get home, and I eat, the feel in my legs, my whole body actually, is so intense it's like nirvana or something. Plus, my ass has grown about six inches outward, and my quads a good four or five. So I go upstairs, turn on my TV, lay on my bed, and it's like I can feel the power in my legs growing. They get so bloated and full. I can punch them and I don't even feel it. And, I clench my ass and feel myself lift up on the bed. Sometimes I trace the veins in my thighs with my finger, and I can feel the blood pumping thru them. Up and down my finger goes, there's so many veins. Now I'm kinda looking forward to the jeep."

"You don't watch TV with Pops?" I said, changing the subject quickly because I was starting to feel funny. Like I was going to have to reach out and touch his legs. Too feel if they were as hard as they looked.

"Hell, no," said Tommy. "All he ever watches is the Military Channel or the History Channel. And God forbid you talk during a show. Couple weeks ago I was in there with him, and he'd had a couple beers, and I talked, and he said 'Kid, if you say one more word....’" So I said 'but Pops', just to be smart. He whirled a beer bottle at my head...didn't even look away from the screen. The old guy has wicked aim and a strong throwing arm. You ever been hit in the head by a beer bottle?"

"No."

"It hurts. And the other night, I came in to say goodnight to him, and he was watching a show on Vietnam. I stood at the doorway and said, 'Is that what it was like over there, Pops?'

"He was in Vietnam?"

"Yeah, but he hardly ever talks about it at all. But this night, and again, after a couple beers, he starts going on and on....I finally turned and walked away while he was still talking."

"Dude, that is rude," I said.

"I didn't think it was that rude. I didn't think he even knew I was still there. But he came after me down the hallway and tackled me so hard that when I landed, it knocked a couple pictures off the wall."

"He can still tackle you?" I asked.

"Well, he took me by surprise....but yeah, and hard, too. That's why I stick to my room mostly. Plus," and he paused for a little, "and you can't tell anyone this..."

"Who would I tell?"

"I started watching that show Smallville after my hikes...."

"Yeah, so?" I said.

"This will seem weird, but I watch it and wonder what it'd be like to take on that guy that plays Superman. Like, what it would it be for me to knock him around a room while I mock him. Tell him how I'm gonna fuck Lois and Lana at the same time. It kinda turns me on. Imagine how easy it'd be for me, he's even smaller than you. And the other night, after my hike, when my legs were feeling so insanely smoked, I imagine getting him into a leg scissor. Just putting him between my thighs and squeeeezing. Crushing down on the Man of Steel. Hear him start to beg, even while I'm still barely trying. And then squeezing tighter. And while I was imagining it, I was pressing my thighs together, tight as I could, and held them there in a flex till they were shaking with power, veins all over, sweat dripping off me. And then I came. Didn't even touch myself, just exploded like a cannon. Does that seem weird?"

I didn't say anything, but I pulled the bedspread up over my shorts. I had to force my eyes away from his quads.

"What you do that for?" Tommy asked.

"Cause you're a freak," I said.

"Let me see what's doing under there," he said. He reached for the cover, and I shoved his hand away.

"Get away from me, Sicko," I said. As he chuckled, the doorbell rang. "Who the fuck...." I said. "Tommy, go see who that is."

"What, are your legs broken?" he said with a smirk.

"Come on, bro," I said.

"It's your house," he mocked.

"And I'm chilling out in it, man. Besides, I'm still lightheaded."

"OK, OK," he said, laughing. As he stood up off the bed, the bedsprings seemed to squeak with relief. I heard him walk to the front door and open it, and start talking with someone. Then I heard him go to the kitchen, then back to the door. Some more talking, then the door shut. Tommy came back to the bedroom door and said, "I hope you don't mind, while you were sleeping, I ordered some...."

I smelled it before he even said it..."Pizza," I said. The smell of pizza flooded the room and made me salivate. I hadn't had pizza in months. I loved pizza. "Dude, I can't eat pizza." I said, pissed off.

"Not even one piece?"

I stood up and walked to the bedroom door. Tommy turned sideways to let me squeeze past his bulk. I went into the kitchen and there on the table were three pizza boxes and two 1-liter bottles of Coke. I walked past it, opened the refrigerator and grabbed a container. I brought it out, took off the top, then got a fork and started eating from it. Tommy came into the kitchen and looked at me.

"What are you eating?" he asked.

"Brown rice," I said between forkfuls.

"Ah, god," he said, making a face. "You don't even heat it up first?"

"Believe me, that doesn't help much," I said, forcing myself to eat the dry chewy rice.

Tommy opened up a box of pizza and pulled out a slice. He folded it in half and shoved half the piece in his mouth. He took a step toward me. "Shure you don't want shome?" he said as he chewed.

"Get the fuck away from me," I said, turning away from him. "Take that shit outside, asshole."

He peeked into the container of rice. "Looks like maggots," he said, as he shoved the rest of the slice into his mouth. I slammed the container down on the counter, opened the refrigerator and took out a whey drink. Fruit Punch. Oh yummy. I gulped it down as fast as I could, trying hard not to gag at his maggot comment, which wasn't far from the truth. My head was throbbing from my low sugar, and I had an intense desire to shove my fist down Tommy's thick neck.

"Get it the fuck out, man," I said.

"You're really not gonna have any," he said, wiping his mouth with his arm. "That's impressive, man. Whacked, but impressive. I'll take this out front and stop tempting you." I could tell he felt badly, as he picked up the pizza boxes and soda and headed out the front door, but it was hard not to be mad. The whey drink helped quell the overwhelming desire I had to devour the pizza, a little anyway, and I decided to take a shower to take my mind off the lingering smell.

After my shower, my sugar levels must have come back up, because I felt a lot better. I dried off, put on a pair of shorts, and went out to the front porch. Tommy was sitting in a chair, looking like he was in a stupor, surrounded by three empty boxes of pizza and an empty bottle of Coke. The boxes looked like they'd been attacked rather than simply opened. His face was all sweaty, and there was a glob of reddish-orange pizza grease on the top of his bulging gut mound.

"Nice ab," I said mockingly. He looked down at his gut, saw the grease, and rubbed it all over his stomach with his hand, making the skin glisten. He licked off his fingers and stood up.

"Punch it," he said.

This took me by surprise. "I'm not gonna punch it," I said.

"Come on, you won't hurt me," he said. Then he flexed his gut. I couldn't believe it as ridges of muscle appeared on his rounded, oily stomach. It looked like a tortoise shell. "You too much of a pussy to try?"

"Alright, if you want," I said, and I punched him in the stomach. It was like hitting a solid side of beef.

"Dude," he said, "my sister hits harder than that. Do it again."

This time I reared my arm back and really slammed the big cocky kid.

"That's was better. Pops hits a lot harder though. He says pretty soon he's gonna take down the heavy bag in the garage and just use my gut. And watch this," he said, and he started sucking in his big ball belly. I couldn't believe how far he was able to pull it in. And as he did so, his chest swelled up and outward, like two big medicine balls. "Aww, yeah," growled Tommy, as he sucked his gut in till it was almost concave and thickly ridge with muscle. His pecs ballooned out as if he had on one of those shirts that powerlifters use when they compete, pecs bulging up and out at the top. They practically hit his chin. He reared his shoulders back, and his chest swelled out even farther.

"Fuck," I said, taking a step back in awe.

"Yeah," he said. Then he reached down and grabbed the full 1-liter bottle of Coke and placed it on top of his right pec. He played with it for a while, balancing it. He leaned back a little, then let go of the bottle. It stayed on top of his chest. "Oh yeah, look at that shit, Joey," he said. He let it rest there for a few seconds, then he bounced both his pecs upward, sending the bottle flying. He snatched it midair with his left hand and squeezed it with his thick fingers until the top popped right off, like a champagne cork. Fortunately, he had the top facing toward the front yard, because the Coke exploded out of it in a 4-foot arch. He mangled the bottle in his hand till it spewed out the whole liter. He tossed the crushed up plastic into the yard then turned and looked at me. We were both breathing heavy. I'd never seen someone so jacked up. Veins snaking all over his chest and arms. And that look on his face. Raging with confidence. He kept his shoulders held back so that his arms jutted out from his sides.

"Maybe I ought to enter that contest of yours. You got any of those posers handy?"

More to cum…

[arpeejay]

Part 6

"Let me see those posers," Tommy said to me as we stood on the front porch. He had beads of sweat all over his big sweaty torso, and despite my shower, I was sweating again too.

"Sure," I said. We went inside. "I'll be right back," I said, leaving Tommy in the living room. I found my gym bag, and pulled out a pair of black posers. I took off my shorts, and pulled on the posers, then went back to the living room.

"Whoa," said Tommy as he got a look at me. "You sure are skinny."

"Ripped," I said, as I look at myself in the mirror over the fireplace mantel. I was looking totally shredded, and could make my muscle ripple at the slightest move.

"Uh-huh, whatever," Tommy said. "Don't you feel funny walking around in that tiny bikini bottom?"

"Nah, not really. I did at first, but now I'm used to it. The hardest part for me is trying not to get a hard-on when I'm wearing it."

"Yeah, I could see why, you got yourself all packed up in that tiny silky pouch. Your muscles sure do show up good, Joe."

I smiled, and flexed a double bi in the mirror. Tommy stepped up behind me, and put one hand on each of my peaks. "Yeah, real muscley," he said, rubbing my arm muscles with his fingers. "You're like a gazelle." I wasn't sure I liked that comparison. I didn't think I looked that lean. Suddenly, I could feel Tommy's hard gut pressing into the small of my back. I could feel the heat of it, the thick muscle of it. Tommy leaned his head toward me till I could feel his hot breath on my ear. "You got a pair of those posers for me?" he said.

I put my arms down and sidestepped away from him. "You can't be putting on posers, man, you're too bulked up."

"Chicks like my bulk," he said, huffing himself up, showing his size.

"How many chicks you been with exactly?" I asked.

"Some," he said defensively. "Maybe 5 or 6. And maybe they were all fat chicks, but they like my bulk."

"They liked you ‘cause you smell like pizza," I said.

"Hah hah, very funny," said Tommy. He stepped toward me, and I reflexively stepped back, till my back was against the wall. "You think I smell like pizza, Joe?" he said. He leaned toward me, turned his head to one side, exposing his neck to me. "Take a whiff, man, tell me how it smells." His gut was now pressing against my washboard abs. His neck was wet with sweat. I leaned into it and breathed in. "What do you smell?" Tommy asked.

"Pepperoni," I said.

"Taste it," he said.

"You ever done this before, Tommy?"

"No. You?"

"No. Never much wanted to, before."

"You want to now?" he asked.

I answered by putting my mouth on his neck and sucking on his sweat. Now I knew why people wanted to be vampires. I couldn't resist the urge. Tommy let out a groan as I sucked his neck harder and moved my mouth up and down his sweaty skin. He did sort of taste like pizza, all greasy and salty. It tasted like my gym smelled, too, all musky and kind of funky. It tasted good and I wanted more. Tommy grabbed my crotch in his big right hand and gripped onto it, nearly sliding me up the wall. As his fingers groped my ball sac, I thought about how easy it was for him to close the #3 grippers.

"Yeah, you do get a hard-on when you're wearing these little panties, don't ya?" he said, stroking me thru my posers. My eyes almost rolled back into my head as he gripped harder. I lifted my mouth off his neck, and started sucking on his ear. His ear was thick and sweaty, hard and chewy. He groaned again as I gnawed on the cartilage. He slid me up the wall with his crotch-gripping hand. I could feel his hard-on on my leg, pressing thru his shorts like a steel rod. He started bucking against me, banging me into the wall. I arched myself into his power-gut, feeling the size and hardness of it as it pushed into me.

Suddenly, I felt him lower me down. He let go of me and backed up. "Dude, is that the right time?" he asked as he looked at the clock on the wall.

"Yeah," I said, confused as hell. "It's 5:30. So what?"

"I gotta get home, man, we eat at 6. Pops will crucify me if I'm late."

"You kidding me, Tommy? What the fuck? And, you gonna go home like that?" He had a huge pup tent that was about to rip thru my dad's Nike shorts. "Besides, you just had three pizzas like ten minutes ago."

"Yeah?" he said, puzzled as to why that would matter. He looked down and grabbed the waistband of the shorts pulling it outward, and then bouncing his legs up and down to shake down his hard-on. "Can you give me a ride?"

"Yeah, sure, no problem," I said sarcastically, as I readjusted my own boner. My posers were soaked with pre, and I had been about 8 seconds away from exploding in them. "Let me get changed." I went to my room and took off the posers. I had a real urge to just jack off right there, but I didn't want to mess up the wall. I put on a tank top and shorts and went back out. Tommy had taken off the shorts, and put his cargo pants back on. "You want a shirt?" I asked him.

He lifted up his arm and sniffed under his pit. "No, I'm good."

We went out the door and I led him to my red Toyota Tacoma pickup.

"This your car?" Tommy asked. When I said yes, he said, "It's cute. Like a little baby truck."

"Just get in, asshole," I said.

He laughed and said, "Why's the tailgate open."

"It's jammed," I said. "We were having a party at school, and some kid dropped a full keg on it. I'm taking it to a body shop this week to get it...." I looked over to see Tommy putting his hands under the tailgate and pushing up. His big bulky arms bulged as the tailgate stayed open, but the back tires lifted off the ground. "Jesus, dude," I said, stunned. He shoved on the tailgate again, and the truck lurched forward and slammed into the front of the house. I heard glass shatter.

"What was that?" Tommy grunted.

"My headlights, shithead. Stop."

Tommy lowered the truck back to the pavement. "Let me try one more thing," he said.

"Nah, man, come on, stop it," I said, but not very forcefully, because I kind of wanted to see what he would do. He put both his hands on the top edge of the tailgate and squeezed. I saw the metal dent in a little. Then he lifted, stepping into it with his shoulder. Now with the truck wedged against the front of the house, he had better leverage. I heard the hinges start to creak as the tailgate moved upward. They creaked louder as he pushed harder and shoved the tailgate shut with a loud slam. "There," he said. But he had pushed the tailgate shut with such force, there were two large dents where his hands had been. The whole door was bent out of shape. It looked like my truck had been rear-ended.

"Now how am I supposed to open it?" I asked.

"Like this," he said, grabbing the tailgate again and pulling down. This time, the hinges didn't just creak. They snapped. The whole door came off in Tommy's hands. "Dude," he said, looking at me like a dog that just got caught doing something wrong. "Will insurance pay for this?" he asked.

"Your insurance?" I said.

"I don't have insurance," he answered, still holding the door.

"No kidding," I said. "Let's go."

"Hey, Joe..."

"Yeah?"

"This door is totally trashed, right?"

"Looks that way."

"You wanna see if I can bend it in two?"

"You think you could?"

"It's not that heavy. I bet I could bend it right over my knee." Tommy got down on one knee, and laid the door across his other one. Then he put one big forearm over each side, and hooked his fingers onto the top. He leaned his torso over the door and started to press down. His back muscles bulged as his shoulder blades pushed his traps up to the size of watermelons. The tailgate started to bend down on each side. Once it started to give, Tommy poured on all his size and power, and the door bent in two really quickly. Tommy tossed it off his knee and stood up. "That was easier than I thought," he said, but his face was red and drenched in sweat again. I looked at the door, then up at him. "What's the matter?" he asked.

"Dude, you are a freak," I said. His torso was so pumped up from lifting the truck and bending the door. He looked even bigger than before, especially his fores, which were roadmapped with veins on both the tops and the bottoms. Big bloated fucking kid powerhouse. He looked like Zack Khan standing in my driveway, heaving with size and power.

"You like it though, right? You want me to show you more? I could roll that door up like a Ho-Ho," he asked, stepping toward me, thrusting out his mighty chest.

I was pretty sure I had cum a little, watching him bend the tailgate in two, but I said, "Aren't you late for dinner?"

"Shit!!" he said, rolling his head on his big neck. "We gotta go!"

As Tommy clambered into the passenger side of my truck, I watched the chassis tip to the right, and heard the shocks hissing. I dragged the trashed up tailgate from behind the truck and got in on the driver's side. I backed out of the drive and, with his directions, headed toward his house.

More to cum…

[arpeejay]

Part 7: Meeting Pops

Tommy pointed out his driveway to me, and I pulled in. As I drove toward the house, I saw someone sitting on the front porch. As we approached, he stood up, and I could see it was a big older guy, smoking a cigar.

"Is that him?" I asked Tommy.

"Yep."

"How mad do you think he'll be?" I asked. Tommy was getting home 45 minutes late for dinner.

"Not sure. Never been late before, he just always likes things to be on schedule."

I pulled up in front of the porch and stopped. As Tommy got out, Pops put his cigar down and stood up. He was a big ole guy, around 6'3", easily 250, and he had cop written all over him, with his high and tight haircut and squared off jaw. Plus, he was wearing a tee shirt from that show 'COPS', so he literally did have COPS written on him. He had a hypermasculine air to him, and you knew he was used to being able to intimidate other men.

"Where you been, boy?" he said to Tommy, stepping off the porch.

"Nowhere special," said Tommy, "just lost track of time."

"Who's this?" Pops said, looking at my truck suspiciously.

I jumped out of truck and came around to their side. "Joe Tonelli, sir, glad to meet you," I said, sticking out my hand.

“Uh huh," he said as he took my hand and shook. I could feel his calloused palm as he squeezed with a manly grip. "Arnie Berg," he said, taking me in with his steel blue eyes. I felt like he was trying to read my mind. "You a gymnast or something?" he asked me as he let go of my hand.

"Joe's training for a bodybuilding show, Pops," Tommy said.

"Is that right?" he answered, still looking me over. He looked like he could be training for one himself, with his big shoulders stretching his COPS shirt tight, and his torso veeing down to a flat, trim waist. His shorts were kind of long, so I couldn't see his quads, but his calves were big and hairy, with a perfectly diamond shape, each with a thick vein running along the side. He looked over my shoulder and said, "Nice pickup. Too bad about that dent in the side. Did that just happen?"

"Not too long ago," I said.

"Uh huh," he said, as he walked to the front of the truck. "You know both your headlights are broken out...you could get a ticket for that." Then he walked around to the back. "Where's your tailgate?" he asked.

"That broke off...." I started.

"Don't tell me...not too long ago," he said. "You have anything to do with this, Tommy?"

Tommy stared down at his shoes as he kicked some gravel in the driveway.

"That's what I thought." Pops looked at me and said, "Kid doesn't know his own strength sometimes."

"I think maybe he does, Mr. Berg," I said.

He got a sly grin on his face and said, "You might just be right, Joe. Why don't you come in and join us for dinner?"

Tommy looked up in surprise. "I still get to eat?" he said.

Pops walked up to him and smacked him roughly upside the head. "Course you get to eat, boy," he said, "but you ever show up late again without calling me, I'll kick your ass."

Tommy beamed as we headed inside the house. I was thinking that would be one fight I'd like to see. "Where's Sherri?" Tommy asked as we walked thru the front room. "She's out with Jeff," said Mr. Berg. "Oh yeah?" said Tommy, "you haven't scared him off yet, Pops?" "Not yet," said Mr. Berg, "but we'll see."

Mr. Berg led us to the kitchen, where there was food everywhere. In the middle of the kitchen table, there was an entire turkey. He started pulling big bowls out of the oven, filled with potatoes, yams, vegetables. He put them on the table, along with two loaves of bread and a stick of butter. Tommy was already sitting and loading up his plate with food as Mr. Berg cut off big slabs of turkey and added them to his plate. "Have a seat," he said to me, so I pulled up a chair and sat down. Mr. Berg started to put a heap of mashed potatoes on my plate when Tommy, his mouth filled with half a yam, said, "He can't eat those, Pops, too many carbs." He swallowed that mouthful, then stuffed the other half of the yam in his mouth.

"It's OK," I said, letting Mr. Berg pile up my plate. I didn't want to be rude, and besides, I could go off the diet for one night. I hadn't had mashed potatoes since last Thanksgiving, and when I tasted them, it was unbelievably good. "These might just be the best potatoes I've ever had," I said.

"A lot of butter," said Mr. Berg.

"And cream cheese," sputtered Tommy, as he ate an entire drumstick.

So my diet was trashed. I figured I might as well go for it. But as I ate, I couldn't help but watch Tommy as he scarfed down plate after plate of food. "Mesmerizing, isn't it?" said Mr. Berg. "Sure is," I answered. I'd never seen anyone eat so much. He had seconds, then thirds, fourths and fifths. When we were done, Mr. Berg and I had eaten a slice of turkey breast each. Tommy had eaten the rest of the turkey, all the bread, and not a single bowl had a leftover in it. Tommy leaned back in his chair, beads of sweat on his forehead, and rested his hands on his bulging ball-gut. He let out a groan when Pops said, "While you clean up, Joe and I are going out on the porch." Mr. Berg went to the fridge as Tommy stood up heavily and started putting dishes in the sink.

"You want a beer?" the big man asked me.

"No, thanks," I said, having blown my diet enough for one night.

"Suit yourself," he said, grabbing 3 bottles and heading for the porch.

"I could help him clean," I offered, as we sat down out front.

"Nah, that's his job. Besides, he's in a food stupor now. He'll finish up there, then go right to bed."

"Really?"

"Oh yeah. That's when all that food turns into muscle on him. Never seen anything like it."

"He get bigger ever week?"

"Every day. Been that way for almost a year now. The fat started melting off him, and he got interested in working out with me at the same time. His gains are coming on even faster now. He could hit 300 lbs., before the summer's over."

"Looks like he has a good trainer," I said.

He got a big smile on his face and said, "I do OK." Then he pulled back the sleeve on his tee and flexed his arm. I didn't expect to see his peak rise up that full and high. It was perfectly shaped and looked hard as rock.

"This big muscle arm gets harder every year," he said. "Give it a feel." I reached over and grabbed hold of it as he kept it flexed and took a big swig of beer with his free hand. "Squeeze it harder, Joe. Try and dent this old man muscle." So I did. I tried to dig my fingers in, but the harder I tried, the harder he flexed. He downed his whole beer while I tried to dent his big bi. "Like diamond, eh?" he said as I stopped squeezing.

"I'll say."

"Looks like you got a major set yourself," he said. "Let me see."

I leaned forward in my chair, and flexed my arm up for him, proud that he had noticed. He reached over and put his thumb on one side of my peak and his index finger on the other. Then he squeezed. His grip was like a steel claw, and dug into my muscle painfully. I tried not to let on, but then he got a grin on his face, and crushed down harder. "Awww," I yelped, falling forward from the chair and landing on my knees in front of him.

"That hurt?" he said. "Good thing I didn't do this," and he gripped harder. I tried to pull my arm away but I couldn't. He was crushing my biceps muscle into jello. Just when I thought I might blackout, he let go. "Good thing I didn't do this," he said, moving his fingers to each side of my elbow and applying a pressure point grip. My vision went white with pain, and just I was about to piss myself, he let go.

Dizzy, and still on my knees, I rested my hand on his leg. He leaned in close to me. I could smell the stench of beer and cigar on his hot breath. I didn't much like beer, and I hated cigars, but coming off his breath, it made me want to taste it.

"Don't ever let Tommy do that to you, Joe. His grip is twice as strong as mine now. Maybe three times."

"How could that be?" I said.

He was silent for a moment, his ruggedly handsome face less than 2 inches from mine, then said, "I don't really know. He was always a stocky kid, and strong for someone who played no sports and showed no interest in athletics. But last year, I was doing some spring cleaning, and I asked him to help me slide the refrigerator out. I turned to do something, and when I looked back, he had lifted the fridge right off the ground and moved it back. He saw me staring at him, so he put the fridge down and said, 'I didn't want to scratch the floor.' That's when he started getting into his own size and power, and so did I. I took him for a physical. His test levels were three times what they should be for an 18 year old. Doc wanted to test him for a tumor or something, but I said no. A lot of it is probably genetic. I was always real muscular. By the time I was 10, I had what you would call an 8 pack, but we called it a washboard stomach back then. I still got it, too. Plus, I've been getting stronger and bigger all year too. Tommy must be motivating me. Last year, you mighta been able to dent my muscle. Not now." He leaned back and took a long swig of his third beer as he rubbed his stomach with his free hand. "Babes love it," he said with a wink. "You ever been to Club Aroma down on the highway?"

"The strip joint?" I asked. I'd been there a couple of times with some friends last summer. The owner brought in some real hot girls, mostly from Russia and Poland.

"Those dancers down there can't get enough of this," he said, lifting his shirt. His stomach was covered with swirls of blond-gray hair, and even sitting like he was, it was flat as a board. When he flexed it, I could see the 8-pack even thru the hair.

"Jesus," I said.

"Yep," he answered, patting his flat muscle gut.

"How high's your test level?" I asked him, jokingly.

He grunted out a laugh, and looked at me with an expression that said, "Higher than yours." Cocky old fucker.

"Mr. Berg..." I said, trying to change the subject, especially since the guy was starting to turn me on.

"Call me Arn," he said, putting his shirt back down, flexing his pecs as he did.

"OK, Arn. You know that bodybuilding show I'm doing in a couple weeks?"

"Yeah."

"That morning, before the show, there's a powerlifting competition in the gymnasium. You think Tommy would want to compete?"

He looked at me and a smile started to grow on his rugged face. "Now, that'd be something wouldn't it? See Tommy win a handful of trophies. He's never really done that kind of lifting though. The only time I have him squat anything is out in the backyard, using the refrigerator."

The thought of Tommy doing squats with a refrigerator on his back, his quads swelling up with power, made me adjust myself in my chair.

"Think you could teach him the lifts?" Arn asked me.

"No problem," I said. "He catches on quick."

"That he does. You think he could win?"

"I think he'd crush," I said. Good thing it was getting dark outside, because I was getting all riled up. "I'll come back first thing in the morning and take him to my gym," I said, standing up to get ready to head home.

"You can't go anywhere tonight. You got no headlights," Arn said. "Just spend the night here, and I'll get you new ones tomorrow."

"Where will I sleep?"

"There's a sofa in the living room, but it's not real comfortable for sleeping. You could bunk up with Tommy if you want. He's got a double bed, although he's taking up most of it these days."

Just then, Tommy appeared at the screen door. "Kitchen's all clean. I'm tired. I'm heading up to bed," he said. He was shirtless, and his stomach was wet with dishwater. Soap suds dangled from his big left nipple. He looked so zoned out, it was like he had been drugged.

"Joe's gonna bunk with you tonight, that OK?" Arn said.

"Yeah, that's cool, whatever," Tommy said, turning to head up. His back was so huge, and it looked even wider than this afternoon. He lumbered over to the stairs and went up.

"Kid sleeps like a log these days. I think he gets growth pains though, so hopefully he won't start thrashing around in his sleep. He might knock you across the room. And sometimes I think he sleepwalks. I've been finding the fridge nearly emptied out some mornings," said Arn.

We stayed up for a little longer, talking about training Tommy for the powerlifting event. By the time I went up to go to bed, Tommy was soundly asleep, half covered by the sheet. I stripped down to my briefs and climbed in next to him. He didn't even stir. His breathing was deep and steady. His room was hot and stuffy, and thick with the smell of his musky teen sweat. His skin glistened with it. He was on his back, and I rubbed my hand across his big slab of a pec, so solid and heavy. His nipple was jutting out like an eraser and I leaned up and started sucking on it. He didn't move. His nip was hard as rubber, but the skin was smooth as satin. I tasted dish soap on it, so I sucked it all off, till I was tasting only his salty oily sweat. He made no sound at all except his deep breathing. I pulled the sheet off of us, and felt a wave of his musty heat hit me. I saw that Tommy was hung like a goddam mule, even in repose. A big flopping mule cock resting between his massive thighs. And he had a huge set of balls. Huge. I resisted the temptation to cup them and feel the weight of them. To see if I could feel the testosterone pulsing out of them. I pulled the sheet back up. My lust for this big moose of a kid was overwhelming me. I forced myself to turn away from him, but my back was resting up against his thick sweaty arm. I wasn't going to be able to sleep a wink like this. I got up, pulled the blanket off the foot of the bed, and got down on the floor.

It was going to be a long night.

More to cum…

[arpeejay]

Part 8: The Hike

Note from BBMikeNJ:

I picture Tommy looking something like this guy: 

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZIOYBGqNJZk

The night was long and hot. Tommy's bedroom window was open, but not much air was blowing in, so the room just got stuffier and hotter as the night went on. I kept tossing and turning, totally uncomfortable on the hardwood floor. I finally folded the blanket up and slept on top of it, which helped, and I eventually fell asleep.

Around dawn, I woke up to find Tommy straddling on top of me.

"What the.....??" I said, trying to sit up, but he had my shoulders pinned down with his hands, and was leaning into me with all his weight. I could bench press 315, but couldn't budge Tommy. It was like trying to move a bank vault.

"I am gonna fuck you so hard, fuck your brains out," Tommy said, sneering down at me. His voice sounded funny, and he was freaking me out. "I'll pound you right thru the floor," he said, sweat dripping off his chin onto my face. I could feel his thick hard-on swelling on my abs. I began to struggle. "Try and get away," he said. "Come on, fight me." He lifted one arm and flexed it. "Look at this muscle...You think you can take this?" He put his big arm up to his mouth and kissed it. He held me down with the other arm like I was a little kid, but as he flexed, he left my right arm free, so I hit him as hard as I could in his solar plexus. My fist thudded on him solidly, right below his sternum.

"That supposed to hurt?" he said. He shifted himself up higher on my torso, twisted me sideways, and maneuvered one thick leg behind my back. "I'll show you pain," he said, as he started to squeeze me between his quads.

"Tommy," I said. He pinned my head to the hardwood floor with his hand.

"Shut up, bitch, I tell you to talk?" Then he flopped his upper body sideways onto the floor as he bore down with his 34-inch quads and locked his ankles across each other.

"ahhhhfuckkk" I groaned. He squeezed harder. And every time I breathed out, he tightened his scissor hold, and I couldn't breathe in. The strength in his legs was unbelievable.

"You give?" he said.

"fuckyou," I groan out. He squeezed so hard I thought I was going to black out.

"Tap out," he ordered. I tapped three times on the floor. "Tap out on my leg," he said. I pounded on his thigh as hard as I could. "AH YEAH," he said. "Harder." I hit him over and over, till he finally released his hold, shoved me on the floor and straddled me again. His big cock leaked pre all over my chest. He started grinding into me like a rutting bull.

Suddenly, there was a knock on the bedroom door.

"Wake up, guys," said Pops from the hallway, "time for a hike." I heard him walking down the hall. When I looked up at Tommy, his face had completely changed. He looked confused.

"Joe?" he said. "What are you doing here?"

"Dude, you fucking kidding me?" I said.

"I musta been sleepwalking again. I hate that."

He stood up, and as he did, his thick rope of pre-cum didn't even break, but stretched from my abs up to his thick erection. I looked up at him towering over me, big thick musclehead kid. Strength beyond belief. As I soaked in the size of him, he cupped up his pre-cum and stroked it over his big cock. "I was having this dream that I was about to rape the crap outta someone," he said. Then he looked down at me and a look of realization swept his face. "I didn't hurt you, did I?"

"No," I lied, "but you oozed all over me." I rubbed his pre-cum into my chest, then wiped my hands on the blanket.

Tommy laughed. "That's a good look for you, man, all shiny with my ooze. Makes you look bigger. Got your cock all hard, too."

"Shut up," I said. But I did feel different. My muscles felt fuller and tighter than ever. It must have been all the carbs I ate for dinner. And my cock was throbbing like hell.

"I gotta take a piss before I bust a nut here," he said, starting to step away from me.

"Wait a minute," I said.

"What?" he asked, turning back to me.

"Cum on me, man."

"Serious?" Pre was still leaking out of his cock, and he was stroking it in. I watched his big forearm ripple as he stroked himself harder.

"Dude, you were just grinding against me like a goat. I wanna see how much paste you got."

"I coulda fucked you like a chick," he said, widening his stance over me as he jerked off.

"Fuck you man, my ass is way too tight for that...."

"Monster cock? Dude, I'd rip you open like a melon with this club." It was a club, too, looked like it was about 11x 7 inches, with pre-cum flying out of it in all directions as he pumped it hard. "Don't touch yourself yet," he said to me as I started stroking my own hard-on. I put my hands to my sides. "Just watch this huge cock swell and blow, man. I know I got a huge one, I seen other guys in the lockers, they're puny next to this. Huge fucking muscle cock, and now I got huge fucking muscle to go with it. Just think of me picking you up and breeding your tight skinny muscle-ass with this, bruising your insides till you cum just feeling the power of it. Awww yeahh, so fucking huge.....gonna cum all over your little musclebody...awwwwfuckkkkyeahhhhh..."

Tommy shot like a fountain, the first spray going over my head, then he leaned over and pushed down on his cock, aiming the spray at my chest, splattering me with hot paste. I couldn't believe what a huge load he had. Finally, he let go of his cock, and squeezed out the remaining drops by flexing his dick muscle, making it bounce up and down, shaking the jizz onto my abs.

"Now come to this muscle," he said, raising his arms into a double bi and flexing over me. He sucked in his gut like he had on my porch, making his chest heave out. He was massive 18 y.o. Hercules, showing off his mass. "Fucking HUGE," he said. He flexed his cock again, and more cum dripped on me. I rubbed my hand in it and grabbed my hard-on. He sneered down at me and bounced his huge balloon pecs. I came in seconds, the first arch of jizz flying over my head just like his had, then the rest flying out and landing on my delts and chest, mixing with his. I'd never come so hard in my life. Tommy turned and walked over to his bed. He tore off a pillow case and tossed it to me. "Here," he said, "wipe yourself off with this." Then he started to strip the bed apart.

"What are you doing," I said, mopping up the quart of cum that was all over me.

"I had about four wet dreams last night. Happens all the time now. Pops makes me change the sheets every day," he said, wiping his dick off on the sheets. "Sometimes bleach doesn't even get out all the stains. Pops calls them 'sheets gone bad'." He bundled up the bedding, and then went and opened up the bedroom door.

"Hey, aren't you afraid Pops will see you....like that?" I said, nodding at his hard-on.

"He's used to it. He just shakes his head and tells me to put some clothes on. Says it's like he's living with a barn animal." With his ball sac hanging halfway to his knees, he did kind of look like a barn animal. He walked down the hallway, and I heard a door open. Then I heard him pissing. It sounded like someone spraying a garden hose into the toilet. As I got up to put my shirt on, he came back in. His erection had gone down, and his dick was swinging between his legs like a big pendulum, his low-hanging balls behind it, big as eggs. "You should go piss too, Pops is getting ready downstairs. We're gonna hike the hill. Hey, and that scale at your house must be off. Mine says I weigh 287 now." Goddam kid had over 100lbs on me.

Mr. Berg was already in the garage when we got downstairs. He had his legs wrapped around the heavy punching bag, and was doing sit-ups in midair. I'd never seen anyone do that before. When he saw us come in, he did one last sit-up, grabbed the top of the bag with one hand, released his legs, then hopped down to the ground. He was shirtless, and his torso looked like granite.

"You do 200 of those a day, boy, and you might get a set like this," he said, strumming his hairy 8-pack with his fingers. The garage stank of old cop muscle sweat.

Tommy rolled his eyes at me, then went over and picked up a vest-like harness, and started putting it on.

"You ready to try the jeep today, kid?" Pops asked him.

"Yeah?" said Tommy. "Hell yeah."

"Don't forget to hydrate first," said Pops. Tommy went over to the refrigerator on the far wall of the garage. He opened it up, and I saw about ten gallon-sized containers that looked like they were filled with water. Tommy took one out and started drinking from it. "You should have some too, Joe," he said. I went over and took one out, and took a gulp. It wasn't just water, though. It had sort of a metallic taste to it.

"What's in this?" I asked.

"It's an energy drink that Pops mixes up. It helps a lot," said Tommy, then he finished off his gallon.

"Just an herbal concoction I make using some stuff from overseas," said Mr. Berg. "Tastes good, right?"

It did taste good, and I figured what the fuck. I drank as much as I could while Arn attached a thick chain to the front of his jeep, and then attached the other end to Tommy's harness. Then he came over to me with another vest. It looked like a flak jacket, with iron bars in each of the many pockets. "Here," he said, "this has got 75 lbs. added to it. You should be able to handle it, though, you got a sturdy set of legs there."

We headed down the driveway and turned left toward Shafto Road, which was about a half mile away, along a level street. Even so, by the time we turned onto Shafto, I was already sweating. And Tommy, towing the jeep behind him, was drenched. The incline on the road was slow and steady at first, and then really became steeper for the second half of the hill. It was about a three-mile stretch of road to the crest of the hill. My legs started burning about an eighth of a mile into it. I hadn't thought the extra 75 lbs. would make such a dramatic difference. I tried to motivate myself by thinking about how firemen have to carry their 50-lb. packs up flights of stairs in burning buildings.

Tommy was huffing pretty good, too, and was leaning forward hard as he pulled the jeep up the hill and onto the steeper part of the road. A half mile into it, and not only were my legs on fire, but my lungs were starting to burn too. The morning sun was behind us, beating down on the road. I don't think the temperature had gone below 80 all night, and it was rising fast. Tommy was keeping up with me pretty easy, I thought, given his load. Then, as the incline started to increase, Tommy went huffing past me. I tried to stay even with him, but he trudged ahead, digging his big feet into the blacktop. I'd only drank about half a gallon of Mr. Berg's energy water, but I was about to toss it. As the jeep came up alongside me, Mr. Berg stuck his head out.

"You losing steam there, Joe?" he asked.

"Uh uh," I lied, but stopping to put my hands on my legs to catch my breath.

"Maybe this will help," he said, and he reached down in the jeep, stuck a cattle prod out the window, and jabbed me in the ass.

"Muutherrfuckerrr," I yelped as pain seared thru my body. "You fucking crazy?" I said to him.

"Use language like that, you get another one, boy," he said, raising the prod. I caught up with Tommy pretty fast.

"The old dude is nuts," I huffed to him. Tommy didn't even look at me. His total focus was the top of the hill. He was sweating buckets. Even his harness was drenched with sweat. Veins were popping out on his forehead. His calves looked like they had doubled in size and were covered in even more veins. I turned my attention to the road, and began to take it one step at a time. I tried not to notice when Tommy got a few steps ahead, or when Mr. Berg tapped the side of the jeep with the cattle prod behind me. Up and up we went. We passed the point where I used to have to stop my bike as a kid and walk the rest of the way up. The steepest part. My legs felt like someone had a blowtorch to them. So did my lungs. I told myself, when I got to the top, I could puke my guts out.

Finally, we were almost there. Tommy was leaning over so far his hands almost touched the street, his big arms hanging down like an ape's. Tommy made it to the top first. The last few steps were pure agony for me, but I heard Mr. Berg put the parking brakes on the jeep and hop out. "Need some help?" he said, swinging the prod at me. I bolted the last few feet to the top, and fell to my knees. I started to dry heave.
"Don't you puke," Pops said to me. "You puke, and I will ride your ass with this prod all the way down, you hear me?" I looked up at the old fucker. I wanted to pounce on him and knock him down the hill, but I knew darn well he'd kick the living crap outta me, even if I hadn't just hiked up this damn hill. I swallowed hard to keep from barfing, then sat down on my ass. I looked over at Tommy's legs. His gym shorts had been pushed up high by his big thighs, which were purple with pump. His quads hung out about four inches over his kneecaps. I'd wager those quads were over 36 inches with veins all over them. His chest heaved in and out as Pops undid the harness. Tommy's face looked a little green. "Help me pull this vest off him, would you, Joe," Arn said. The vest was a heavy canvas material, with heavy metal rings at different levels for attaching the harness. It was soaked thru and heavy with sweat. The smell of it almost knocked me over. Hot, rank, jock-sweat. It took both of us to pull the vest over Tommy's big arms. Sitting there shirtless, Tommy looked like a powerlifter who'd just run a marathon. Big hulking kid, his skin blotchy from heat and exertion, his muscles bloated, sweat pouring off him, his eyes glazed with exhaustion.

Arn helped me get out of my 75 lbs. weighted vest. I saw him look up at the sun as he tossed the vest in the jeep. Then he said, "You know what guys, why don't we take the trip back down in the jeep? We'll do the full hike another day. We'll get back home, and I'll make breakfast."

"Breakfast?" said Tommy. The thought of food almost made me wretch again, but it perked Tommy right up. He stood up, grabbed his vest and the heavy chain and walked to the jeep. "Let's go," he said.

More to cum…

[arpeejay]

Part 9

As we drove back down the hill, Tommy sprawled himself out in the backseat of the Jeep. I sat next to Mr. Berg up front. He was looking over at the other side of the road.

"Maybe I shouldn't have ridden the brakes so hard," he said. I followed his gaze, and saw the skid marks running all the way up the side of the road.

"You had the brakes on the whole time?" I asked.

"Yep."

Tommy had lugged the jeep all the way up that hill against the brakes. I looked back at him lolling in the back. He was looking at the back window as we drove. He had one hand down his shorts. I looked at the size of him, and thought about the growing power of his body. I felt my cock stir.

"Good way to ruin a set of tires, though," Mr. Berg said. "Not to mention the brakes."

It didn't take us long to get back to the house. Mr. Berg parked the jeep out front. "I'll go start breakfast. Why don't you guys go take a swim out back?"

"Nice," said Tommy, muscling his way out of the backseat. "C’mon Joe," he said to me. I followed him thru the garage and out the back door. They had a big backyard with a huge in-ground pool. Tommy stripped down to his sweat-soaked briefs and said, "Race you to the end," and dove in. I jumped in right after him. The cold water was shocking, especially after our hot hike. I was an excellent swimmer, and flew past Tommy in the water, who was smashing his big arms into the water so hard that he was creating waves. I made it to the shallow end, tapped the side, and stood up. Tommy was heading toward me like a rhino. When he reached the end and stood up, he said, "Damn, you swim fast, Joe." I watched the pool water bead up on his taut skin, then roll down his big pecs. He looked even bigger wet. His skin had red marks on it from where the harness dug into it as he dragged the jeep up the hill. I looked at him, and saw him staring at me. "Bet I could throw you clear across the pool," he said, looking me up and down.

"Bet you couldn't," I answered, moving back from him.

"How much you wanna bet?" he said, grabbing me and lifting me clear out of the water.

"I'll bet you a blow job, cocksucker," I said, as he lifted me over his head.

"You're on, dude." He shifted me around in his hands, getting a better grip. He did ten reps with me overhead. Then he reared back and tossed me like a water polo ball. I soared thru the air and landed an inch from the far end of the pool with a big splash. When I came up out of the water and looked down at him, he was laughing his ass off at the other end of the pool. He leaned over and flexed into a most-muscular, his delts swelling out, big and round with muscle. I started swimming toward him, and he started swimming toward me. When we met in the middle of the pool, we grabbed each other and started wrestling in the water. We rolled over and over, sending water splashing out of the sides of the pool. We roughhoused around back and forth. His bulk was easier for me to maneuver in the water, but his strength was unbelievable. I tried to push him under. It was like trying to submerge a tank. The harder I pushed down, the more I raised up out of the water. Tommy didn't budge. Instead, he grabbed me and dunked me under with tremendous ease. He held me under while I thrashed around. Then he lifted me out of the water, and slammed me under again. I barely had time to catch a breath. He did this over and over to me, working me like a shirt he was washing out in the pool water. About the tenth time he dunked me, I was able to slip out of his grip. I swam around him underwater, came up behind him, and jumped up on his big solid back, so heavily muscled, I felt like I was jumping onto a gorilla. I put one arm around his neck and pulled it in tight with my other hand, applying the sleeper hold I had used on the thug back at the ice cream shop.

"Double or nothing on our bet if I take you down, Tommy," I panted out, as I gasped for air.

"Oh, you are so on, man."

As I tightened my hold on around his neck, I began to realize just how thick it was. And so solid. I wasn't making any kind of dent into his muscle. As I tried to squeeze harder, Tommy started walking into the shallow end of the pool. He made his way to the ladder, and climbed out, me clinging to his back. Our combined weight, along with his strength, made the aluminum railing bend. He pulled us up and out, and stood next to the pool, water pouring off us, as I tried to bring him down.

"Come on, Joe, put everything you got into it," he said, tipping his head back, opening up more of his neck to me. My sleeper had taken the thug down in under 20 seconds. Tommy wasn't getting any weaker at all. In fact, standing there with me on his back, he seemed even stronger than ever. And so completely pumped up from our roughhousing that he felt bigger than ever too.

I couldn't understand how I wasn't cutting off the blood supply to his head, so I shifted my hold around his neck. When I did that, he began to bulge his muscles. I felt his traps rising up under my arms, rising like an emerging submarine. His neck grew thicker and stretched out my hold. Big freaky muscle kid was breaking my hold just by making himself swell. I heard him chuckle as he realized he could muscle his way out of my hold. I pulled harder with my arm, and dug my biceps into the side of his neck. "That tickles, little dude," he said. Then he reached up and grabbed my arms and pried them apart with his grip of steel. Then he backed up toward the pool, and tossed me off of him into the water.

I stood up in the shallow end. "Cocksucker," I said.

"That's were you're wrong, man, that would be you. And now you owe me two." I looked up at the swaggering bulked-up kid. His massive quads were still swollen and purplish from our hike, and his pump from our wrestling around had brought out even more vascularity over his whole body. He flexed his huge pecs at me, then grabbed his crotch. I could see the entire outline of his big dick in his wet briefs, the cotton clinging to his package like a transparent skin, highlighting his huge mushroom cap dickhead. He lifted his crotch and cupped it upward. "Hope you don't gag easy," he said to me, as his oversized package flopped up and over his hand.

"Fuck you," I said, and he laughed.

Then we heard Pops yell out from the kitchen window, "Breakfast's almost ready, guys." Tommy waddled over to an outdoor cabinet and pulled out towels. He threw one at me as I came up behind him. As I dried off, he stripped off his briefs. His glutes were twice the size of mine, and as he bent over, I could see striations in them. He turned to face me. "This bad boy needs some service," he said, stroking himself. "Hope you got soft lips."

"Cut it out, asshole," I said. I dipped one end of my towel in the pool water, then I snapped it at him, snagging one of his low-hanging bull balls.

"Ouch!" he said, jumping back.

"Serves you right," I said.

"Yeah, maybe," he said, rubbing his ball "But you'll still pay for it."

We put on our gym shorts and went inside. Pops had whipped up a huge breakfast. The stove had a pot or a pan on ever burner. He served us up plates full of eggs, corn beef hash, hash browns, and toast. As we sat down and started eating, Pops filled a huge bowl full of oatmeal and put it in front of Tommy.

"You want any?" he said to me, holding the pot.

"I'll pass," I said, so he plopped the rest of the oatmeal into Tommy's bowl. He ate everything on his plate and in his bowl, and then had seconds. I tried eating around my egg yolks, and avoiding the carbs, but Mr. Berg had cooked everything in bacon fat, and it tasted so good, I ended up cleaning my plate off too. I didn't have seconds though. My 6-pack was having enough trouble holding in my expanding gut wall. This didn't bode well for my comp, but it sure felt good.

After Tommy and I finished, Mr. Berg sat at the table eating his own breakfast, while Tommy washed the dishes and I helped him dry.

"Joe thinks you should enter the powerlifting match over at the college, Tommy," said Pops. "You think you're strong enough for something like that?"

Tommy stopped washing and dried off his hands. He picked up a frying pan I'd just dried, turned around to face Pops, and put the pan on his thigh. Then he started to bend the edge of the pan with his fingers. He folded the edge underneath itself, and then rolled the pan up like a crepe. He put the rolled-up pan on the kitchen table with a thunk. "That answer your question?" he said.

Pops stopped eating and looked at me. "Kid's getting kinda cocky, don't ya think?"

"Uh-huh," I said, staring at Tommy's hands and forearms, thinking if Mr. Berg hadn't been there, I might be paying off one of my bets right now.

"Well, I've got some errands to run," said Pops, "and since you think you're ready, I'll swing by the college and pick up an entry form for you. Plus, I need to get a new pan. And I'll stop and pick up some headlights for your truck, Joe."

"You want me to come with you?" I asked.

"No, you guys stay here. You can figure out how you'll show Tommy the lifts he's going to do. Besides, I might stop by the club for lunch." He got up and put his plate in the sink, grabbed his keys, and headed out. After he left, Tommy and I finished cleaning up. Tommy tossed the ruined frying pan in the garbage, then went into the bathroom down the hall, and came back with a scale. He put it down on the kitchen floor and stepped on it. His big feet nearly covered the whole thing.

"288lbs. Yeah, I'm ready," he said, looking up at me. "You show me those lifts, Joe, and I want you there watching me at the contest. I wanna show you how strong I am, man. I'll out-lift anyone who gets in my way, make you proud," he said, stepping off the scale and coming over to me. His big quads were still bloated full and tight, and he started flexing them. I got down on my knees and started feeling his legs. "I'll squat a bus for you, Joe. Hell, I'll squat a whole planet with these suckers." He flexed harder. His huge quads pushed his shorts up high on his legs. His sartorius muscle bulged out like an over-fed boa constrictor. I ran my hand up it, following its sweep across his huge thigh until my hand was at his groin. "Aww, yeah," he groaned, "so huge and strong...." His big cock was already muscling its way out of his shorts when I reached in and grabbed it. I pulled it out. Then I went down on him. I was going to pay off my bet right there in the kitchen. Tommy leaned back against the counter as I sucked him off. I took him in deep...deeper than I thought I could. I wanted his power inside me so badly. I sucked and sucked while he groaned, "Ahh fuck yeah, Joe, I knew you had a hot mouth, I fuckin’ knew it...getting huge, man, I'll be over 300 lbs. soon, you'll see..." I took him in even deeper. "Aww, Joey, man, you got a hot throat too! Goddamm, I can't hold out....."

And that's how I paid off my first bet. Tommy flooded my throat and stomach with a bucketful of his jizz. I drained him as hard as I could, because I wanted as much of him as I could get. I figured I'd pay off the second bet after he crushed all comers in the powerlifting event. Or maybe I'd make him wait till he got to 350. That oughta motivate him.

More to cum…

[arpeejay]

Part 10

After Tommy and I got cleaned up, I took him to the Powerhouse gym I use during the summer when I'm at my parents' beach house. I'd been coming here since high school, and Ken, the manager, told me back then that I had the genetics for bodybuilding. It was because of him that I got into it. This gym was pretty hardcore, and even in the off hours, there were always a handful of muscleheads working out. And if you came after 5 o'clock in the summer, most of the local lifeguards were there too, along with a bunch of blue collar lifters. It could be quite a scene.

I introduced Tommy to Ken, the gym manager, and as Ken signed him up, he asked Tommy what gym he'd been lifting at before.

"Nowhere," said Tommy.

Ken looked at Tommy skeptically, then at me.

"Tommy works out at home," I said.

"You got this big working out at home?" Ken said. At 5'8", 240 lbs., Ken was a thickly muscled guy with tremendous strength.

"Yeah, but now I want to get bigger. And stronger. Way stronger," said Tommy.

"How old are you, kid?" Ken asked.

"Just turned 18," said Tommy.

"How much can you bench?"

"That's what we're here to find out," I said. "Tommy just entered the powerlifting competition that's coming up."

"Oh yeah? That's excellent, Tommy. I'm going to be in that meet too, so good luck to you." Ken was a super nice guy, so I knew he meant that. He'd be thrilled to have some kid from his gym do well at the competition. He shook hands with Tommy, and then someone else came into the gym to sign up. "You show him the ropes, Joe," said Ken. "You're looking bigger than ever, too. You change your workout?"

"No, not really. Just my diet."

"Well, keep it up, the muscle is looking full and solid. You might have to compete in the light heavyweight division instead of middleweight," he said, as he turned his attention to the new member. That made me feel great, him noticing the muscle like that. I wondered if I'd really grown that much to be noticeable to him. Tommy and I went over to the scale next to the drinking fountain and I weighed myself. 208lbs. That was 15 lbs. heavier than I'd expected. I went over to a mirror, lifted my shirt, and check out the abs. Each segment bulged out like cobblestones. Still shredded to the bone, and even close to an 8-pack showing if I clenched down hard enough. Seemed hard to believe, but it was an awesome feeling. I looked back at Tommy who was weighing himself.

"294 on this scale," he said. "I like it. Let's bench something." When he stepped off the scale, I heard it creak with relief.

Tommy and I went over to a bench, and I loaded the bar to 225. When Tommy pumped it up and down like it was a breadstick, I added another 90lbs. I showed him how to spot me, and then I did six reps with the 315. I'd never done more than three reps with that much weight, so I was pretty pleased. Then Tommy went. When he got to 20 reps, I made him stop. "Save some strength for 405 lbs.," I told him, and we added more weight to the bar. This was 40 lbs. more than I'd ever maxed out, so I told Tommy to keep a close eye on the bar. I almost had it up, but he had to help me lock it out. When he sat down on the bench, he said, "How many should I do?"

"Just try to do eight," I suggested. When he got to ten, I stopped him. "That's good," I said.

"I can do more," he said, not even sitting up on the bench, but clearly waiting for me to add more weight.

"No doubt," I said, adding another 90 lbs. A couple of the other guys had stopped working out and were looking over. I saw the new member walk away from the desk and toward the locker room, giving Ken a full view of our bench. Tommy grabbed the bar and benched out 12 reps so rapidly that the 45-lb. plates were clanging together loudly. Tommy sat up, and I saw that his chest was starting to swell up like never before. "Goddam, man," I said to him.

"I know. It feels amazing." He flexed his chest at me and grinned. He was already about to bust out of the string tank top I'd let him borrow. "Can you add more?"

I saw Ken coming over toward us as I loaded the bar to 585. "How much were you lifting at home, Tommy?" he asked.

"I'm not sure. How much does a refrigerator weigh?" Tommy said, as he laid back down on the bench.

"Not 585, I don't think," said Ken.

"What if it's filled with wet bags of cement?" Tommy said, as he put his hands on the bar.

Ken looked at me puzzled. "Don't ask," I said to him. Then Tommy benched the bar for 8 reps. When he sat up, his chest was engorged to the size of two beach balls.

"Jesus," said Ken.

"I know, right?" I said to him.

Ken rubbed his chin as he thought about something. "This could turn out to be real interesting," he said. "There's a guy who's going to be at the meet. He dominates every comp I've ever seen him at. He works out here once in a while. He's a massive Turkish guy who is juicing real heavy, and has gotten himself to about 380lbs. Not all of it's muscle, but his strength is off the charts. He's a pretty major asshole, though, and I'd love to see him get shown up. From what I'm seeing here, I bet you could do it, Tommy."

"Sweet," said Tommy. "Can we add more weight?"

"Why don't we go see how much you can squat?" Ken suggested.

We went over to the squat rack. Ken and I loaded a bar with 225.

"That's it?" Tommy said.

"Let's just see what kind of form you have," said Ken.

Tommy ducked his head under the bar and rested it on his swollen traps. "Like this?" he asked, as he lifted the bar up and squatted down till his thick glutes were tapping his ankles. He did 20 reps, then racked the bar. "I need way more weight," he said.

"So you do," said Ken. He and I loaded the bar till it was at 605. Tommy did 20 more reps and slammed the bar back on the rack. His legs were swelling, pushing his shorts up his quads and deep into his butt crack. He turned toward us and shook out his thunder thighs. "That's more like it," he said. "Add more." We added 100 more pounds to each side, bringing the bar to 805. Tommy did 18 reps. He slammed the bar down and said "Oh hell yeah. That feels so good." I swear his voice was growing deeper with every set. His sweat-soaked tank top was clinging to him like wet tissue, the straps straining on his beast chest. "Get this off me," he said, leaning over and outstretching his arms. Ken and I peeled the wet tank over his head. Ken wrung out the shirt and tossed it into the corner. When Tommy stood up, he looked bigger than ever. Pumped huge and swole. "More weight," he grunted, then got under the bar again. We loaded the bar to 1005 lbs., so much weight that the bar was bending downward on each end. Tommy did eight reps. When he turned around, everyone in the gym was standing behind us, watching. Tommy's thighs had to be swollen to 36", all red and blotchy from the pump, and snaked with garden hose veins. Some of the guys had hard-ons, and went scurrying to the locker rooms. Everyone's jaws were agape, including Ken's. Tommy turned back to look in the mirror. There was a deep red line across the top of his back where the bar had been resting, but when Tommy arched his shoulders back and flexed, the red line was broken up by rolls of bulging muscles that created a deep valley down the middle of his massive back.

"Bring on the Turk," Tommy snarled into the mirror.

"Should we show him how to do deadlifts?" I said to Ken, feeling all proud of my freak powerhouse of a pal.

"Oh, I know that one," said Tommy. "I've seen it on YouTube." He stepped up to the loaded bar, put his hands under it, and lifted it off the rack, the bar pushing into his big barrel chest. He stepped back, then bent over, lowering the weights to the floor with a heavy thud. Then he started repping out deadlifts with the 1005 lbs. His back muscle bulged and rippled with power from the exertion, and veins snaked around both sides of his expanding lats. Every time he lowered the weight, thick cords of hamstring muscles swelled out on the back of his legs, and the ground shook as the plates hit the ground. Tommy was sweating so heavily that it looked like he'd been oiled up. He did ten reps, then put the bar down. Then he stood up, wiped his hand on his pants, then put his hands on his hips, and flared out his lats. "Saw this on YouTube, too," he grunted, as his back spread out and out and out, like the Hulk's. I'm pretty sure a couple of guys came in their shorts.

"Jesus fuck," said a stunned Ken.

"The next couple weeks should be interesting, huh, Ken?" I said.

"I'll say," he answered, as he staggered back to lean against the leg press.

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