muscle growth Miss Mabel's Fitness Studio

[Butch]

Now that a proper period of time has passed, I believe there is no harm breaking my silence on the issue, and telling the whole story at last. I will spare no details, and hope this will answer all and every question, for once and for all.

It began when I moved to Monroe, a leafy county seat in central Georgia. My uncle had passed away and left me a cozy little house in town. Since my occupation allowed me to work from home, and I was on the rebound from a disastrous relationship, I thought a sleepy southern town would be a good place to regroup and re-establish myself. I was 23 years old.

I explored the town, as one would, and took note of all the shops on Main Street – an easy walk from Uncle Leroy's house. There were the usual places; a cafe, a book store, a hardware store, the county court house, law offices, a five and dime – you get the picture. One store front in particular piqued my attention, Miss Mabel's Fitness Studio. This appeared to be the only place to exercise in town. There was no barbell club, no YMCA, just Miss Mabel's place. Of course my heart sunk. When I decided to move to Monroe I had not considered where I would work out, and now realized there were no good options.

I am always one to make the best of any situation, however. Maybe I would give Miss Mabel's a try. I was in a new town and should not have a closed mind, I thought. There were a good number of folks coming in and out of the place, and the sign painted on the front window intrigued me.

Miss Mabel's Fitness Studio

Have the Body of Your Dreams!

Satisfaction Guaranteed

I entered and approached the receptionist desk. The attractive young woman looked up and, just for an instant, a look of confusion and slight annoyance crossed her face. She quickly recovered herself and put on the usual helpful smile that was her stock in trade as a receptionist in a sleepy Southern town.

“Can I help you?”

“I'm new to town and looking for a place to work out.”

As the slight hint of annoyance returned to shadow her smile I quickly surveyed the place and noted that the clientele were exclusively women of various ages, mostly plump, some chubby, a few downright portly. I have a thing for larger gals, so this looked like the place for me, even if Miss Mabel's receptionist would prefer that I get lost. Game on, I thought.

“I'd like to start a membership right away,” I said.

“Well, it's just that...it's just that... Well wouldn't you be more comfortable at the Y in Elkins?” she replied, employing her sweetest Southern drawl.

“I'm living just around the corner and this place is much more convenient, you know. Yes, I think it suits me fine. And I appreciate the guaranty.”

Dianne – for that was the receptionist's name – tried her best to dissuade me, but soon enough gave up and I had my membership. She explained that all the classes were taught by Miss Mabel herself. There were classes with names like Jazzercise, Zoom-a-Roo, Pump It! and the like -- each class suitable for clients of varying fitness levels. I took my first class, Cardio-Crunch, the very next day and learned, to no surprise, that I was the only male member. Miss Mabel was always “charmed” to see me and did not seem put out. Which was a great disappointment to me, of course.

After a month of classes I approached Miss Mabel after a Zoom-a-Roo session. “Mr. Freeman, did you enjoy today's class?”

“Very, much. I'm enjoying all the classes and even the daily tips.” Miss Mabel always wrote a 'Tip of the Day” on the white board in front of the workout room – things like “How to Cook Leafy Greens.”

“But I must say,” I added, “I'm not really satisfied with the results.”

“Well, you keep trying and I'm sure you will continue to make good progress.”

“Perhaps,” I said. “But there is the matter of the guaranty.”

“The guaranty, Mr. Freeman?” A slight look of concern crossed her face.

“Why yes. The guaranty: 'Have the Body of Your Dreams! Satisfaction Guaranteed.'”

“Ah yes. That guaranty. Well, as I said, after one month you can't expect...” She looked a bit nervous.

“I've actually lost some muscle since I started here. I am not satisfied.”

“Mr. Freeman, it is clear to see that you lift weights, or at least you used to lift weights. You are a well built man. You cannot expect to replace weight lifting with aerobics classes and not lose some muscle.”

I pushed my point. “All the same, I am not satisfied and you guaranteed I would be.”

It was at that moment I realized that beneath Miss Mabel's charming Southern exterior lay a steely, hard soul. I could see it in her eyes. A moment later, though, she recovered her perfect poise. “I certainly do not want an unsatisfied customer, Mr. Freeman. Come by tomorrow at two in the afternoon and I will see to your guaranty.” As she said this she looked me directly in the eye, and, for some reason, a cold shiver ran through me. She seemed to be thinking “Game on” as she said these words. And I thought to myself, So be it. Game on, indeed.

“Great. I'll see you tomorrow,” I said, and turned to leave.

“Oh, and Mr. Freeman, when you come by tomorrow, please knock on the back door. We're closed at that hour so I'll have to let you in.”

At precisely 2:00PM the next day I rapped on the back door. After entering, Miss Mabel led me down a short corridor and into a back room that was very tidy, brightly lit, antiseptic; like a doctor's examination room. After a short exchange of pleasantries Miss Mabel got down to business. “I want you to know, Mr. Freeman, that I do take the guaranty quite seriously. We want you to have the body of your dreams...Now if you would roll up your shirt sleeve I will administer the shot.”

“What shot?”

“Why the shot that will help you attain the body of your dreams. It seems the classes alone are not working. And you do want the body of your dreams, right Mr. Freeman?” There was something menacing in her manner, but I was not prepared to back down.

“The shot. Of course, the shot.” I rolled up my sleeve. “For the body of my dreams.” I was proud of myself for calling her bluff, and more than a little surprised when she actually jabbed me. She rubbed the injection site with alcohol, placed a bandage on it and led me back down the corridor and out the back door. “We'll see you in class tomorrow, then?”

“Yes. See you tomorrow,” I blurted out in confusion, as she closed the door behind me and I stumbled out into the afternoon sun. I thought I had the upper hand, but Miss Mabel had won that round in our little game. Undoubtedly a dose of sugar water, I thought as I made my way home.

The next morning when I awoke every muscle in my body was aching. I thought about skipping Miss Mabel's for the day, but, remembering our conversation on the way out, I refused to give her such satisfaction. Indeed, she seemed a little surprised to see me, but I saw her smile with pleasure at my stiff, achy performance in class. She was enjoying my suffering. What kind of a game have I gotten myself into?

Over the next few days the muscle aches subsided and I began to feel good. I had more energy, I was killing it in Jazzercise. And my muscles felt strong. I actually started feeling pumped after Miss Mabel's classes. And slowly I regained some of the weight I had lost. A bit of lean muscle mass returned.

By the end of the month I had gained ten pounds of muscle and was back up to my prior weight, 180 lbs., as I once again approached Miss Mabel after class. “Mr. Freeman, I see you are making great progress in class this past month. As I said, you can't expect everything in one month. I'm just so glad to see you meeting your goals – “

“I'm still not satisfied,” I interrupted.

“But Mr. Freeman...”

“I still haven't got the body of my dreams.”

This set her back on her heels a bit, but she recovered quickly as always. “Fine, Mr. Freeman. We'll see you at two tomorrow,” she said with deep resignation in her voice. “Back door, as last time.”

That next month was the most glorious time. After the second shot my body was taking off. My previous high water mark was at 190 lbs., and I must admit that came with a bit of chub. But now I was rock solid, well defined muscle. 185 pounds, 190 pounds, 195 pounds (a new personal best), 200 pounds! I always wanted to be a 200 pounder! At only 5 foot 8, I looked pretty damn thick at 200 pounds. I was stoked, but I would never let Miss Mabel know it.

At the close of the next month I again approached Ms. Mabel after class. “I'm still – ”

“-- not satisfied,” she cut me off, finishing my sentence for me. “Tomorrow at 2, Mr. Freeman?.”

“Err...yes. Tomorrow at 2, Miss Mabel.” I was playing the game best I could, but she seemed to be winning. Now it seemed as if she were playing me. And I had started the whole thing.

The next day as I started to roll up my sleeve she told me that would not be necessary. “In fact, I need you to drop your trousers and underpants. Now turn around and bend over the examination table. This one's going in your ass.” She said this in a cold impersonal voice, no hint of her usual Southern sweetness. Maybe I was getting to her.

The next day I was so stiff all over I could barely move. My muscles were screaming and there was no way I could get to Miss Mabel's. On the following day when I did make it into the studio Miss Mabel could not hide a knowing smile as she saw me gingerly step into the room. “It is so nice to see you, Mr. Freeman. We so missed you yesterday.”

That was the beginning of another extraordinary month. I was eating like crazy. Consuming protein shakes like a mad man. And growing, growing, growing. 210 pounds, 220 pounds. Now I was clearly a bodybuilder in the making. And I started doing extra calisthenics to highlight certain body parts: wide-span push ups for pecs, squats for quads.

I was a jacked-up, 240-pound mountain of muscle as I met Miss Mabel in the examination room at the end of that crazy month. Miss Mabel was in control as she injected the serum into my butt cheek, but I was keen to knock her off balance. “You know,” I said, “I'm here to get the body of my dreams, and in my dreams I am taller.” Almost at the same moment I felt a sharp jab in my other butt cheek.

“A little something to make you taller. That's why God gave you two butt cheeks,” said Miss Mabel, without missing a beat. She won again. As if she knew I was going to express dissatisfaction with my height, she had the second shot ready to go.

“Don't expect I'll see you tomorrow” she added, “but I'm sure you'll make it on Thursday.”

She was right, of course. The next day I was in much too much pain to go anywhere. But now I loved the pain. It meant growth. And I loved the growth. I lived for the growth. When I hit 250 lbs. I spent an hour in front of the mirror, enthralled by my own growing body. The push ups and squats were making a difference, giving me full, round pecs and bulging quads. These areas were growing a little faster than the rest. And to my intense delight, I had grown an inch. How tall would I get? I stared at my 5 foot 9 inch, 250 pound body in the mirror and staring back at me was a mega-jacked, pro bodybuilder with super-broad shoulders and a narrow waste. Could that be me?

The growth continued through the month, so that by the end of that month I was 5 foot 11 and weighed a hefty 270. My quads were bursting and the sheer size of them caused me to waddle as I walked, carefully placing one bulging quad in front of the other. When I entered a room my pecs preceded me.

At the close of the month Miss Mabel genuinely seemed to think I might be satisfied, but I quickly informed her I was not. I did not have to remind her of the guaranty and got the two shots, one in each butt cheek, as before.

I was becoming not just a bodybuilder, but a very large bodybuilder. I was ecstatic to reach 6 feet in height. And then another milestone, 300 pounds. I was a certified freak, and loving it. I've seen gym rats who walk around with arms out to the side, chest puffed up to make them look huge. But I did not have to pose or fake it or puff up my chest. I had become the real thing – a muscle-bound monster. My lats and arms were truly so large that my arms stuck out to the sides even when fully relaxed. My neck was bigger around than my head. My forearms were thick with writhing, wriggling sinew, and the forearm bellies were huge balls of muscle.

I stood in Miss Mabel's examination room, a 6 foot 2 inch, 300 pound bull, and took the next two shots in the ass with a broad ear-to-ear grin on my face, a grin that I could not suppress. I love this game, I thought to myself.

As you can imagine, the ladies at Miss Mabel's Fitness Studio were horrified as I bulked out into impractical size. And although I was so muscle-bound I could not really keep up with the movements, I kept coming to class like clock work. No one could fathom what was going on, and neither me nor Miss Mabel provided a hint of what was up between us.

I was basically as big as the world's biggest muscle men now, and I began to wonder where this would end. Was I to get bigger than the biggest men on the planet? There was no let up in my growth as I blew past 300 pounds. I had my most amazing month of growth to date. Seems I was really dialing it in with my diet. That month I grew a full four inches and gained 40 pounds of muscle mass, and now I was larger than the largest bodybuilders on the planet, 6 foot 6 inches tall and an astounding 340 pounds. Ummmh. It felt so good to be me. I loved the attention. I loved being the alpha male of all alpha males.

On the next visit to Miss Mabel's examination room I surprised her in a way I had not before. I told her I was satisfied...with my height. I was tall enough now, I said. But I informed her that I was still not satisfied with the size of my muscles. I then heard her mumble in a low voice something like “Rule of Six.”

“What was that?” I asked, “Did you say 'Rule of Six?'”

“Yes. That's what I said. Rule of Six.”

“Is that something to do with being 6 foot 6?” I questioned.

“That's part of it,” she responded.

I could get nothing more out of her about this Rule of Six business, but, hey, who cares? I'm bulking into the largest muscle freak of all time, and not sweating the details.

Without warning I got a jab in the right butt cheek. All right I thought More fuel to grow by. Things were going so well that I had forgotten that Miss Mabel and I were locked in our inexplicable combat when Miss Mabel fired the next shot – literally. I felt a jab in my left butt cheek.

“Hey,” I exclaimed. “I told you I was satisfied with my height.”

“That was not for height,” she told me.

“If not for height, what was that for?”

“If not for height, what was that for?” she taunted. “More muscle, dumb ass. You said you weren't satisfied yet. And we always make good on our guaranty here at Miss Mabel's Fitness Studio.” She had dropped all pretenses of being a Southern belle by this time.

Well, I am guessing you can imagine what happened during that next month. This is where things got to such an extreme it was actually a little frightening. I towered over people as my muscles got thicker and thicker and thicker. 350, 360, 375, 390, an astonishing 410 pounds. With a small waste, and my back impossibly thick and wide, I was truly a sight to behold.. I had to hire people to scrub me down in the shower as I could not reach most of my expanding body to wash up. Life was insanely complicated and inconvenient at this size, but I did love the attention, loved to see shock and disbelief on people's faces. Floors groaned and buildings shook as I lumbered along.

At the end of that month I was ready to call it a game. I was done. I was big enough. I had more pure muscle than any human in history. I was satisfied.

But when I saw the smug look on Miss Mabel's face in the little examination room, I could tell that she could tell that I was satisfied. And a kind of insane defiance overcame me. I could not let her win.

“I'm not satisfied,” I stated flatly, trying not to let my emotions show, trying to sound as cool and calm as possible.

She had not figured on this. I had nailed her. I could see she was truly shocked, and this time she did not recover her cool so quickly. But when she did recover, there was a dangerous look in her eye. She was calculating; she was up to something, I could see it, and sense it.

“Fine,” she said, trying to impart a weary resignation to her tone. “Drop your trousers and we'll go another round.”

The jab in my right butt cheek brought a warm sense of happiness over me. I will continue to grow, I thought. Then the jab in my left cheek. A lot. I will continue to grow a lot, I thought, and was surprised at the gladness that came over me with this thought. While I was mulling these happy thoughts over, however, I felt a stab in my right shoulder. “What was that shot for,” I shouted.

“Are you satisfied?,” Miss Mabel hissed, and before I could respond I felt a stab in my left shoulder.

Then in her cheeriest voice, “That ought to do for today. See you in a month, Mr. Freeman.”

I wobbled out the door. Once again I had taken the upper hand in our battle, and she had wrested the advantage away to her side.

Four shots! Holy shit! What was going to happen to me now? If I gained 60 pounds during the last month on two shots.....

I did not fit in cars anymore. I hired a driver and rode in the bed of my pick up truck. And the growth was insane. We measured my quads and pecs and figured that my pecs weighed 35 pounds each. That's 70 pounds of pec meat. Each quad was over 60 inches around making it nearly impossible for me to walk. I blew right through the 400s in a matter of weeks and hit 500 pounds in no time. I was as big as TWO huge bodybuilders. And still growing. I had to get a Seeing Eye dog because I could not see over my pecs. And still I grew larger, thicker, wider.

I weighed an incredible 530 pounds at the end of the month, and was so large I could not enter the back door of Miss Mabel's studio. The door frame was just not wide enough to accommodate my bulk, even as I tried to enter sideways. I got stuck in the door frame, my face lodged between my giant pecs, so squished in I could barely breathe. Miss Mabel asked if I was satisfied, and I told her I was, but with my face pressed into and between 80+ pounds of pec meat, she could not hear me. I repeated again and again, “I am satisfied.” But to no avail. The giant mounds of muscle stifled my voice as I struggled for breath.

“Suit yourself,” I heard Miss Mabel say. Then a jab in the left butt cheek which was on the inside of the door frame. And a jab in the left shoulder. I remained lodged in place for several more minutes struggling to free myself, but to no avail. A jab in the right butt cheek was followed by a jab in the right shoulder. Miss Mabel had apparently gone out the front door and come around to the back door to administer the shots in the parts of my body stuck outside the door frame.

Fearing she would take advantage of my vulnerable position to administer even more shots, I finally tore myself out, taking the entire door frame and much of the adjoining concrete block wall out with me.

“See you next month, Mr Freeman,” she sang out in her cheeriest voice. “I'm afraid I'll have to send you a bill for the building damage,” she added, smiling.

I was inhuman now. My pecs were like beach balls, giant beach balls. They swelled to almost fifty pounds a piece. My thighs were too large for human locomotion. I moved extremely slowly with a new kind of gait that could only be called a lumber/waddle. Nothing, absolutely nothing made for a human fit me. I was basically immobile. The first immobile human in history.

I soon reached 600 pounds with no sign of stopping and had reached something on the order of 650 pounds when I next headed over to Miss Mabel's for our monthly appointment. This time I was not going to let anything get in the way of ending this for once and for all. She won. I was done. I was huge beyond belief. I was satisfied.

When I got to the studio, however, there were some of my lady friend classmates milling about out front, chattering away with anxious looks on their faces. It seems Miss Mabel had packed up, closed the studio and disappeared. She left behind an envelope for each of her clients, and inside each envelope Miss Mabel had placed a written exercise routine and diet plan, personalized for that particular member. One of the gals found my envelope in the pile and brought it to me. Of course I was too muscle-bound to open it, or even to hold it up above my pecs where I could read it, so I had receptionist Dianne open it for me and read it to me.

“This is odd,” she said.

“How is it odd?” I asked.

“Well, it is not an exercise or diet plan like the others. It just says 'You win.'”

At that moment one of the gals rushed up a bit out of breath. “Did you see the 'Tip of the Day' Miss Mabel left on the white board? It says 'Rule of Six.' What do you think that means?”

Epilogue

Well, I guess you all know the rest. Being quite the curiosity, I am constantly in the news. You probably already know that I have attained a constant size that never varies now. I am 6 foot 6 and 666 lbs. of rock solid muscle.

Miss Mabel, wherever you are, I hope you are reading this, and I want you to know that I am one extremely satisfied customer.

[arpeejay]

Awesome work! Short and sweet and just right: Growth, growth, growth!

And it would have made a GREAT Halloween story if you had twisted it just a little bit!

[Ro20316]

Rule of six.

 

AMAZING