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Never Enough Muscle by LORUS


FallenAway

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Once again, with the author's permission, I'm posting a story he wrote for the old forum and later deleted.  I saved a copy on my hard drive and wanted to make this available to readers who might enjoy it as much as I do.  This was written at a time when coin-operated public telephones were still widely available, so enjoy the trip back to the mid-00's, youngsters.

Never Enough Muscle by LORUS

Part 1

Dexter Rhodes was a bodybuilder. A very big one. He got this way mostly by acting as a guinea pig for his father’s experiments. At only nineteen years old he was 6’ 5” tall and weighed a solid 640lbs of eye-popping muscle. His upper arm circumference alone exceeded that of his waist by several inches. When he pumped and flexed his chest, he could make a table of his upper pecs. He could crush rocks to dust between his biceps and forearms when flexing. His legs were so big that he could no longer wear pants off the rack. Like all his clothes they had to be specially made. But he was so into the size of his body that he tried as often as possible to go around in the skimpiest of outfits. He was studying sports nutrition at college and money was tight since his father cut off his funding. Dex had to work to pay his tuition and fees, but he made enough money from stripping and doing cam-shows online.  

That was how he met his current boyfriend Sonny, over the internet during a cam-to-cam session. There was an instant mutual attraction. Sonny wasn’t a bodybuilder, but he still had enough muscle on his Eurasian physique to allow him to make a living as a fitness model. They’d been together for just under a year. They thought about a civil partnership to mark their one-year anniversary. They planned a honeymoon in the Greek islands, possibly Mykonos. Sonny was ripped all year around, thanks to great genetics and the perfect diet. But Dex was a size freak; he simply couldn’t get big enough, and he had to get bigger. He wanted to postpone the wedding and honeymoon until he was at least another couple of hundred pounds heavier. On that beach in Mykonos, he wanted jaws to drop and straight guys to get boners and question their sexuality just by looking at the muscle god. He was huge now, bigger than so many bodybuilders, professional or otherwise. But he needed more muscles on his incredible body before he felt that he truly deserved to be called a muscle god.

This morning began like any other: angry, playful muscle worship followed by oral and anal sex. Sonny must’ve had reptilian blood in him, for his body was so supple and almost metamorphic, the way he could open his ass and take so much of his boyfriend’s enormous shlong, almost the entire length of the 12-inch shaft before screaming out in orgasmic ecstasy. And when Dexter made a cream pie out of that delicious ass, Sonny’s ass could take so much jizz before reaching its limit in terms of capacity. The young men were lying back in bed, their bodies laved in the sweat of their exertions, when there was a knock on the door.

“That’s odd. It’s only eight-thirty. Who’d be calling at this hour?” Dex had no classes today. Sonny had a photo-shoot later, but they had hours to spare. The huge bodybuilder muscle-waddled out of bed and over to the apartment balcony. He liked to have a naked stretch and a flex in the morning, and because they lived in a predominantly gay part of town, many of the apartment complex’s residents were gay men. Dex liked to think he was providing a service. A lot of his neighbors were single and of different ages. Imagining the fapping that went on behind so many pairs of curtains, binoculars in one hand, dick in the other, made Dex smile from ear to ear. Haha, he also found it so amusing. There were occasions when he would step outside, if only to inhale the stench of freshly spewed cum wafting towards him from all directions. He loved that smell. But he loved the smell of his own muscles even more.

He looked down into the courtyard and saw the mail carrier. Was he expecting a package? He couldn’t recall, but the guy looked cute, and he always loved to tease male callers (mail carriers, pizza delivery boys etc.) by answering the door in his birthday suit. Once he’d even answered the door with a full boner, his massive shlong dribbling precum at an inexhaustible rate. There was still semen dripping from his cock, now. Cool, he might convert this guy in a trice.

The mail carrier was the same guy as before, a cute Hispanic dude who looked like he did some lifting himself. His uniform seemed a little tight for him, and there was an undeniable shape of meaty pecs impressed into that shirt, as well as nice, muscular legs filling out his sexy shorts. Dex made sure to pump his upper body to its max and bounce his pecs vigorously whilst addressing the mail guy.

“Uh... registered letter, sir. You need to... er... sign for it,” said the mail guy, clearly captivated by the size of Dexter’s massive muscles. He blushed visibly and Dex bounced his pecs and flared his lats so much that he had to turn sideways to step out into the hall. His semi-erect cock wiped a sizeable precum stain across mail guy’s shorts. Both men instantly noticed this.

“Shit, I got muscle-cum-juice on your sexy shorts, hot stuff. Maybe you can come in and have breakfast with me and my hot male model boyfriend and I can wash that stain out for you,” said Dex, boastfully. It sounded like something out of a bad porn movie. He flexed a single biceps pose, and his granite-peak cannonball firmed up, so huge and round. Still laved in sweat, his shiny bodybuilder’s skin reflected the light from an overhead light-fitting beautifully. Mail guy’s eyes widened with astonishment. Not only was Dex the biggest muscleman he’d ever seen, but he was also drop-dead gorgeous in the facial department.

“Er...um...it’s fine, sir. I ruh-really got to guh-get going. The stain’s nuh-no problem.” The mail guy passed over the letter. Dex folded his arms, squeezing his muscle-tits together so that the cleavage created the perfect letter rack. Mail guy was visibly sweating, now, as he gingerly placed the letter between the two sweaty mounds of muscle. Dex then reluctantly signed for it. There was only one person from whom a registered letter would be sent to Dex’s address. Dexter Senior.

“Hey, stop flirting with the mail man and come back to bed, big fella,” Sonny called from the bedroom.  

“Letter from the old man. I almost don’t want to open it. I know what he’s gonna say,” said Dex, his bottom lip trembling a little, a strange sight to behold on one so huge and strong. But it looked like his future depended on what his father had to say.

“Want me to read it out to you?” asked Sonny, being supportive as always.

“Nah, I need to do this. But thanks, Babe.” Dex nervously ripped open the envelope. In his father’s neat script, the words said simply: “In your dreams, Junior.”

“Dammit!” Dex angrily ripped up the letter and then stomped around the apartment in search of something heavy and metallic to bend. Fortunately, he kept a toolbox full of crowbars for occasions such as this. He took out two together and bent them into pretzels. Then he picked up the toolbox and crushed it into a ball the size of an egg cup. He made it seem effortless. Sonny hated seeing his Adonis losing the head like this, but he had every right to be angry. Besides, his body got so super-vascular whenever he angrily bent something. His veins were on the verge of popping out of his skin at this moment. Sonny grew hard again and really wanted to kiss every one of the massive bodybuilder’s sexy veins.

“What did it say, honey?” Sonny wanted to hold his boyfriend in that “It’s going to be all right” kind of way. But he knew better than to approach him while he was still at boiling point.

When Dex had sufficiently calmed: “It’s a response to what I asked him at our last family reunion... Grandma’s funeral. Last time we talked.”

“That was just before we met, yes?”

Dex nodded. “You know a bit of the story. I asked him if there was a chance that we could reconcile, bury the hatchet, and I could get reinstated into the program.” Dex’s breathing was slowing as he became less enraged. That was a good thing. Sonny loved him very much, and although Dex would never physically harm him (unless it was a genuine accident), Sonny still knew when to give him enough space. He mentally resolved to visit a hardware store later to stock up on more crowbars. They were running dangerously low.

“And it took him a whole year to get back to you? That’s pretty shit of him.”

Dex nodded again. He bounced his pecs and they looked and felt so massive to him. They helped to distract him from his current emotional state.

“So, what did the letter say?” Sonny now felt it was safe enough to approach Dexter. He put out a hand and Dexter took it in his own beefy mitt. Sonny then began to soothingly rub his 26” forearm. They were monstrously huge. Dex didn’t think so, however.  

“It was a no. What a fucker. It’s not like I set out to ruin him or anything. He’s made his fortune.” Dex let out a slow, defeatist sigh. He hated being in a bad mood. It wasn’t fair to Sonny.

“I’d like to help. But I know very little about what happened with you and your father. Didn’t his research company cure that terrible virus that affected male muscle mass?”

Dex nodded dolefully. He decided to tell Sonny the rest of the story. The virus had been nipped in the bud four years previously, before it became a pandemic. It was one of those ancient microbes that lay dormant in millennia-old ice floes which, due to global warming, were released back into the atmosphere by the receding ice caps. The virus mutated and started causing muscle depletion in infected males. Fortunately, there were less than one thousand cases worldwide, and Prof. Dexter Rhodes received the Nobel Prize as the architect of its eradication. Win-win scenario, right?  

Wrong.

Dex had just started bodybuilding around the time the virus broke out. He made great advances in his training in the first year – a veritable teen prodigy – thanks primarily to a guy at the gym who liked Dex enough to take him under his wing and teach him all the techniques and tricks necessary to get really huge. Then Guy Roche went on a trip overseas – something to do with the reading of a will – and started showing signs of the virus shortly after returning. The bodybuilder lost thirty percent of his body weight in muscle shrinkage in just four months. Cases of this started cropping up in newspapers and television news reports. As with other viruses and flu outbreaks, the public panicked. Pharmaceutical companies and the world’s leading scientific minds in medical research rushed to find a cure as more and more men began to wither away.  

The virus was passed through the air, but only 3% of people exposed developed symptoms. Dex was tested and found to be a carrier, as he’d spent a lot of time breathing the same sweaty air in the gym as Guy Roche. Dexter Senior took no chances. He would use his teenage son to test various serums and anti-viral treatments he was developing.  

Less than two hundred men succumbed to the virus. Guy Roche, they say, was saved by his muscle mass. He’d been the only bodybuilder in the world to develop symptoms, but the virus liked to attack exterior muscle tissues before launching a final assault on internal organs. Heart failure was the outcome for someone exposed to the virus, but in Roche’s case, he was down to 137 lbs. by the time he began the treatments. He was weak, yes, but alive. In just eight months he’d lost more than half his body weight in muscle mass, mass it had taken him years to build. One month after being declared well once again, he was found hanging from a beam in his basement by a concerned neighbor with a spare key.

Dex took his death badly, but his father had already adapted his treatment into an all-out muscle enhancer. In healthy men... especially bodybuilders, the anti-viral serum could help build astonishing amounts of muscle. Since Dex had acted as a guinea pig to his brilliant father’s efforts, it seemed logical to continue trials on him. One year after Guy Roche’s suicide, Dexter Rhodes had ballooned to over 300 lbs. of massive muscle. He was bigger and more muscular than the current Mr. Olympia at the time, and he’d won every bodybuilding contest he entered until he was banned from competing when the secret to his growth became public (as these things are sometimes wont to do).

“So, your dad obviously ceased giving you treatments? But you continued to gain muscle, right?” Sonny couldn’t recall when this scandal hit the media. To be honest, he rarely read newspapers or watched television, even to this day. But what are scandals these days, anyway? Flashes in the pan? One day it’s a corrupt scientist growing his own son into a muscle freak. Next day that’s forgotten in favor of Lady Gaga’s latest shocking behavior on stage.

“You know pretty much the rest of it. I became a whore for muscle-growth. I just wanted to get bigger and bigger. My dad put this down to hormonal instability. He stopped the treatments, and one night I lost it. I drove his Mercedes out to the nearest lake and then threw it right into the middle of the water. I’d picked up cars a couple of times before, but never to throw one two hundred feet. Pulled a couple of ligaments for my trouble, but I healed up soon after.”

Sonny grew hard upon hearing of this massive feat of strength. “Why’d you never tell me all of this before?”

Dex shrugged: “I don’t like to remember the shit times in my life, to be perfectly honest. Everything got better after I met you, darling.” He smiled lovingly.

“And yet you still gained more muscle. Just from conventional bodybuilding techniques?” Sonny’s cock was now in precum overload.

“I stole an entire year’s worth of serum from my father’s personal stock. The modified one, not the one that was made available worldwide. I tried to make it look like a break-in, but my father, already fearing I’d attempt something like this, had me tailed. Since he had to brush all this under the table, there was little he could do, legally, to get me to give back the treatments. And so, he cut me out of the will, my funding... everything. The treatments I stole turned me into the man you know and love today.” Although emphasis wasn’t required, Dex’s upper body burst into a massive full-lat spread, every muscle tensed and bulging beautifully. He was incredible to look at. Sonny wanted to jump him there and then. He thought about making some excuse to the photographer so that he could get out of the afternoon shoot. Just to spend an entire day with his bodybuilding boyfriend.

“And now your supply is gone, eh? But you made some sweet gains in the year since we met. And that was after you’d run out of the treatments, right?” Sonny was finding it hard to set Dex’s story into a viable timeframe, he was that horny.

“Yes, I have,” said Dex, forcing his upper body into a mind-melting most muscular. His muscles seemed to fill Sonny’s entire visual periphery. For a few seconds he could not breathe for fear he would be consumed and crushed by a massively mutating muscle amoeba. Then Dex added by way of a closing remark to the subject: “But they’re nothing compared to the gains I made when I was injecting. I have to get more... somehow.”

Part 2

Sonny seemed lost to his own thoughts, as the hot lovers enjoyed yet another breakfast together. Coffee was a luxury they both allowed themselves only occasionally. Sonny cupped his mug and savored the aroma. Despite the great sex they'd shared earlier, he wasn't much in the mood for eating. In contrast Dexter's appetite was huge, and he was only too happy to polish off any leftovers.  

"I guess this is all my fault, everything that happened between my father and me," said Dex after some moments of silence. Smiling reassuringly, Sonny extended a hand across the breakfast table where it found Dex's to rest on.  

"You have a passion for growing muscle. Fate decided to smile fondly on you for a time. You saw an opportunity and took it. You tried to make amends to your father, but he chose not to meet you halfway. He's a jerk if you don't mind me saying." Sonny sipped on his coffee. Dex managed a half-smile.  

"The more it plays on my mind, the more I grow to accept that what I did was wrong. And now I'm the family black sheep because of a mistake I made."

Sonny was quick to jump to his boyfriend's defense against his bitter self-judgment. "Your father started this. You finished it the only way you could, by satisfying an insatiable hunger inside you. A hunger for growth. It was your father's invention. He should have known how it would affect you ultimately."

"I guess so," said Dex after some time.  

"Come to the shoot with me today. Alfonse would love to photograph you. Besides, we can always use the extra money. It'll be fun."

Dexter considered it. "Not a lot in my wardrobe for a photo shoot. I really should sort out some new attire. I've just about outgrown everything." Somewhat cheered up, the bodybuilder could not mask his muscle pride.  

"Doesn't matter. It's a nice day outside. It's an underwear shoot anyway. Wear something tight and slutty," said Sonny as he set about clearing the table.  

"Everything I own is tight and slutty," Dex reminded his number one man.

"Keep talking like that, hon, and I doubt either of us will get out of here today."  

***

The massive bodybuilder spent quite a while trying to find something to wear. Recently he'd returned from the gym far too many times in a state of extreme muscle lust, his pumps held for an impossibly long time. During these moments Dex would perform hulkouts as much for his own gratification as Sonny's. It had taken a severe toll on his wardrobe.  

He decided that after the events of the morning, some all-out muscle showcasing was the order of the day.  

He opted for a trashy mesh string top, which was literally falling apart. He managed to keep it on its last legs by holding it in place with a sturdy set of red suspenders, which he securely anchored to the skimpiest pair of trashed denim cut-offs no huge bodybuilder had any business being seen in. The cut-offs looked more like briefs than shorts, made to seem even more skimpy, given the fact that two enormous thighs blasted out of them, the vast swell of each muscle belly rippling thickly and with ridiculously deep striations in between. Each thigh tapered down to a solid knee which in turn was under siege from a surfeit of unfaltering, huge calf muscle.  

“You’ll be arrested if you go out like that,” said Sonny when it was time to give Dex the onceover. He was right, the outfit was ridiculously skimpy. Dex only had to sneeze, and that mesh string top would fly apart into so many useless strands. Sonny couldn’t conceal his boner and was so turned-on by how his boyfriend made items of clothing appear like they were about to disintegrate from the sheer pressure of so much huge muscle flexing and bulging beneath them. Sonny went to Dex’s closet and found a trashed denim jacket to go with the shorts.

“Waste of time getting that out. I’ve gained about eighty pounds of muscle since I last wore that. My arms will never get through those sleeves,” Dex protested. His mood had brightened. He was well-known around the city, but there were always the tourists to shock with his enormousness. He really wanted to rape the entire city with his muscularity, figuratively speaking.

“Not a problem,” said Sonny, who quickly got busy with a pair of scissors. He turned the jacket into a sleeveless vest-style, and because it was a little tight across Dex’s shoulder’s and back, it was impossible to fasten across his dynamic chest. After some further checking-out: “You look like an explosion in a Levi’s factory. But huge, and incredibly hot, darling.”

“Not huge enough,” Dex growled, the coiled meat-monster inside the pouch of his jockstrap, slowly yawning awake and thickening as it stirred, pushing against four metal buttons with the potential to turn them into four bullets if he wasn’t careful. He blasted out pose after pose with utmost precision, his movements graceful, never awkward, but oh so masculine in their delivery. A wet stain had already formed in the front of Sonny’s cargo shorts. Some seams began to part down the sides of the jacket/vest as Dex flared his lats to delta-wing proportions. His muscle aesthetics were unmatchable, utterly flawless, and awesome to take in at a glance.  

Dex had grown too large for most cars, although neither of them owned a car. The walk to the tube station from the apartment was a little under two kilometers, plenty of distance in which to strut so much muscle as well as force it down the throats of as many jealous guys in passing as possible. Sonny was a good sport and always played along. It was so difficult doing anything with him – even the most mundane activities – without coming out in a boner. Sonny had had boyfriends prior to Dex, but only Dex could make him super horny like no guy ever had before.  

Near the tube station:  

"That guy over there... taking pictures with that big telephoto-lens camera. He looks familiar," Dex exclaimed, bouncing his pecs vigorously for the pleasure of two twinks who'd spotted in him their ultimate walking wet dream in passing. Sonny followed the giant's line of sight to the fountain in the square about fifty yards from where they stood. "So what? You've been snapped and filmed by just about every modern gadget between here and the apartment. What's so special about him?"

"I think that's the same guy that... nah... can't be... can it?"

"The same guy that did what?" Sonny was growing impatient. His stomach was rumbling, and it was now that he regretted not having solids for breakfast. A bagel would go down nicely just about now. He began to scan for a vendor.

"The mail carrier from earlier, the one that brought the registered letter from my father. I'm nearly sure that's him," Dex explained. As if those words had carried power, the photographer by the fountain realized he'd been rumbled.

"Dexter, darling, I wouldn't worry. You probably converted him this morning to Dexter's Temple of Muscle Infatuation. He's acting beyond his control, like so many men who fall under the spell of your massive muscles. Blast him with a double biceps. He'll cream himself, shoot off to find a bathroom, and we won't be late for our train." Sonny checked his watch. They would make the two-thirty train if they hurried. Alfonse was not known for his patience.

"Hmmm, maybe," Dex mused, although something about this wasn't settling well with him. This day had quickly turned into something unexpected. And no amount of massive muscle fleshing your body out to near god-like status could ever prepare you for the unexpected.

They made it to their platform, and Sonny got his bagel en route. There were two bodybuilders waiting for the same train. They were mid-twenties, one Caucasian, the other black. Both had been showing off and owning the platform, until a huge shadow appeared and swallowed up their own lesser ones like some omnipresent and sentient oil slick. They both, suddenly, felt quite inadequate, and they didn't like it one bit.

One of them said: "Dude, you're a monster. That ain't natural at all. What shit you on?" Both were dressed in gym clothes, and they looked like they'd both had good workouts. Their bodies were pumped and rock hard, but neither of them looked heavier than 220 lbs. tops. Dexter, as if to demonstrate total muscle dominance, worked some tension out of his neck by tilting his head from side to side. The sound of shifting bones was drowned out, but only by a vagrant playing some sort of wind instrument further along the underground platform. Then Dexter drew back his shoulders, forced out his pecs, and flared his lats to further seam-splitting proportions. Mouths fell agape, not just those of the bodybuilders, but pretty much everyone within viewing distance. Further down the platform the vagrant stopped playing his pipe in favor of playing with something else. Dex moved to within pec-touching distance of the lesser bodybuilders. He was a head taller than one guy, and two thirds of a head taller than the other. He loved being the biggest... but he still had to grow way huger than his current size. He could never have enough muscle.

"I'm not on any...shit...dude!!" The massive muscle teen gave the taller of the two a face full of mega-bicep. It peaked at a mind-blowing 36 inches. Some of the color drained out of both their faces when they observed the bulging muscle firm up to cannonball proportions. Probably hard as iron, too. Nearby, a middle-aged, suited gentleman, complete with stereotypical bowler hat, suddenly tugged uncomfortably at his pristinely starched shirt collar before scampering for the nearest public convenience, dropping his umbrella as he went and awkwardly covering up his "embarrassment" with his briefcase. It was time for Sonny to intervene lest Dexter Rhodes take exception to such a remark.

"Fifty thousand and his secret's all yours. Not a penny less," Sonny said, stonily.

"Fuck that shit. We don't have that kinda money, bitch," said the other bodybuilder.

"'Sides, who'd want to get that huge? Dude, you a freak!" The first bodybuilder cracked knuckles with the other before "high-fiving" him. Dexter really hated all that bromance/hetero buddy-buddy shit. He now touched pecs with "Knuckles", and for the lesser bodybuilder it must've felt like he'd been hit by a muscle tsunami.

"I think you both need to get another train. In fact, I must insist that you get another train," Dexter said calmly enough. His mind was still preoccupied with the familiar-looking photographer by the fountain from earlier.

"Dude, we cool, okay? I didn't mean nuthin' by it, is all. We cool, man." The bodybuilders made a hasty retreat considering the moderately-impressive bulk they were carrying.

Sonny's full attention was now back on his boyfriend. He was only three inches shorter than Dex, but he still often got a pain in his neck from staring up at him. He liked to call it his "Romantic Strain Injury". They both liked silly, soppy stuff like that. "They didn't upset you, did they?"

"I'm still in my clothes, aren't I? Couple of jerks," Dex admitted.

"You seem preoccupied. It's not the camera guy again, is it?"

"First whiskey craving in over four years. Dammit why now?" Dex suddenly craved metal to bend. There was plenty of it around, but he wasn't a vandal.

"Whiskey? What in the---"  

"Don't worry about it. I haven't touched a drop since I was fifteen. Bodybuilding helped me kick that particular habit."

Trying not to look visibly upset, Sonny voiced his concerns: "Is there anything else you'd like to tell your boyfriend of almost one year? I thought we agreed ages ago not to keep secrets from one another. So, you were a teen alcoholic, and a thief. What other skeletons are rattling around inside that huge body of yours?" With voices raised, tempers grew frayed. More people began to leave the platform.

"Take that back," Dex growled. His body began to expand, fueled by rising anger. Veins popped out all over his muscled form. More seams parted in the jacket, and parts of his mesh string top began to disintegrate due to the expanding flesh pushing against the flimsy fibers. Unbeknownst to them both, a youth nearby had his iPhone's camera trained on them. YouTube Gold was the order of the day, it seemed. No matter, Dex had found himself in YouTube videos more than a few times already. You just had to type in the right tag words and phrases and eventually he popped up (in more ways than one).

"Why, what you gonna do, bend me into a crowbar-pretzel?" Sonny stood his ground, although he was at a loss for what to do. They'd bickered in the past before. What couple doesn't? But those minor tiffs were nothing like this. This was... getting bad.

Anger caused Dex's blood to boil. His muscles became engorged, and his skimpy garb destabilized further. He decided to ditch the jacket, for it had become uncomfortably tight across his back and shoulders. Now all that barely concealed his super-huge, muscled torso were a few ounces of string and some visibly straining suspenders. The way they stretched over the curved swell of his pecs – the immense prominence of each muscle-tit creating several inches of space between his impregnable 8-pack and the elasticized straps – was a minor miracle in that the front and back clasps were still able to cling to their denim moorings.

"The shit!!!"  It was the youth with the iPhone, creaming himself but unable to do much about it, except to keep filming. Later he would break it off with his girlfriend of two years, Susan, in favor of a new lifestyle in need of exploring. She'd be devastated and blog about it on Facebook to her 1,567 girlfriends before deciding to become a nun. Happened all the time, that.

"Enjoy your photo shoot. Fuck this crap!" The super-gorgeous muscle behemoth stormed off towards the stairwell back to ground level. Concerned and cautious commuters pushed close to the walls to give him a wide berth. A curious police officer, no more than a rookie, called it in and requested instructions on what to do. His superior advised him to "keep an eye on the situation", nothing more. Dexter hadn't done anything wrong. No one had complained about him (too scared to, most likely). He'd caused no damage and the altercation down on the platform had been a minor one, all things considered. He was scantily clad, but it was a warm day, and there were plenty of shirtless hard bodies around. The guy was a giant, but so far, he wasn't breaking any nudity laws. A little bit of denim around his junk and ass just about kept him from getting cuffed (not that any cuffs would hold him).

When the train came Sonny made sure he was on it. He was upset by how the day was going, when it had started out with amazing sex and muscle worship. But their rent wasn't cheap, and Alfonse was a pain to work with, but at least he paid well. Time to focus on work for a while.

 ***

A huge bodybuilder made his way out of the underground and across town. His movement was half-strut, half-waddle, made that way by the sheer immensity of his hugely bulbous thighs and the way they were intricately arranged... powerful muscles fighting against each other for space. As he went his torso continued to hemorrhage bits of shirt string. He made for the fountain, where earlier he'd seen the mail guy snapping him through a professional-looking camera.

It had to be him, he thought. He liked to think that he never forgot a face. The craving for alcohol no longer niggled at him. He was meant to put it down in a diary, but for the life of him couldn't remember where that diary was now.  

"I crave size... more size... more massively huge size... more than anything else," he voiced aloud, something of a vow he was determined to honor. He stood looking at the fountain for a long moment. He closed his eyes. Dreamed of getting bigger, each muscle bloating upwards and outwards with so much more mass and power, skin stretched to wafer thin extremity across the ever-burgeoning bellies. He would make it happen. It had to happen. His mind filtered out all sounds of city life... all except one. The sound of a modest-sized coin hitting water with a discernible "plop" sound. It instantly brought him back to reality.

A thin well-dressed gentleman – his hair snow-white and cropped tightly to a somewhat egg-shaped skull – stood next to him, the top of his head just about level with Dex's shoulder. Fairly slumped in posture and middling in stature, the man was respectable looking, but looked tired and somewhat older than his years. "You can have my wish," he said softly to the giant, without taking his eyes off the baroque cherubic scene carved into the fountain.

"Huh, what did you say?" In truth Dexter had heard him perfectly, but he still had to come fully down from his angry time.

"Have you never tossed a coin into a fountain and made a wish, Mister Rhodes?" The gentleman now moved to the lip of the capacious fountain bowl to take some weight off his feet. He took out a banana from the inside pocket of his light-grey suit and began to peel it with care and precision. He never once made eye contact with the giant muscleman before him. If he felt intimidated by the handsome super-hulk, then he certainly didn’t show it.

"Uh, maybe... as a kid... I dunno. Wait a sec... how do you know my name?"

The gentleman smiled a wan smile and paused with the peeled banana held before him in a hand that ever so slightly trembled.  "I make it my business to learn all I can about the exceptional people with whom I share a troubled planet." He went to take first bite from the fruit. But he paused once again, only to add: "Something tells me you haven't been having the best of days."

Well, he got that right. But Dex didn't like the idea of a complete stranger knowing his name. What else did the old codger know about him? Upon second glance the banana-man didn't look all that old. Dex reckoned he could be anywhere between forty-five and seventy. By now several dozen people, mostly tourists and young adult males, had formed a ring around the huge bodybuilder. They gave Dex plenty of room, but nearly every one of them were recording his image in some fashion. Dex was used to it. His brain just filtered them out. It was human nature, driven to utter fascination by all things "different".  

"Are you spying on me? How much did you pay that paparazzo dude to take my photo and pose as a mail man?" Dex's muscles began to swell further as his anger surfaced once again. Miraculously his suspenders still held.

"I don't employ photo-journalists as a rule, Dexter. May I call you Dexter?"

"Fuck you, gramps," Dex barked before turning around to leave. The same police officer from earlier stood near the burgeoning crowd. He watched the scene intently. The people boundary began to disperse to give the muscle giant room to leave.

"Please don't walk away from me, Dexter. I only wish to help. Why did you approach this fountain if you weren't made curious by the photographer earlier?"

This grabbed Dex's attention and held it in a grip from which not even he could escape. He did a 180-degree turn and walked back part of the way towards the fountain. His chest heaved hugely, suspender straps straining against the rise of so much chest muscle. The string top was almost completely eradicated. He looked massive... beautiful, a sandy-haired Jesse Metcalfe crossed with Zac Efron. Such a facial mix set on a huge muscle-body was a one in a billion occurrence, several billion, even. But it still wasn't enough for him. Not by a mile.

"So, he does work for you. You'd better fess up to what you're about, Mister, or you'll be eating a fire hydrant instead of that banana." Dex's body was flushed with anger which fueled an overall increase in muscle mass as blood and adrenaline swelled his muscle fibers to near-bursting point. People nearby gasped at the sight of such a big man swelling up with further muscle mass.  

"I mean you no harm, Dexter. Of that you can be assured. As to how I know you... well... for now let's just say that I have your best interests at heart. As you grow bigger... and I'm certain you will... the world will come to accept you less and less. Look around you at the gathering you've attracted. And a lone police constable, too. Unless you keep that temper of yours under control, this could easily turn into something best avoided." The man stood up again, but only to toss the uneaten banana into the nearest bin. "Turns out I'm allergic to potassium," he revealed by way of a comic aside to everyone but Dexter. Total pantomime stuff. Dex quickly grew tired of this.

"I'm listening," Dex said simply.

"Alas, I'm done talking... for now. Let me give you my card. I really must get to another appointment post haste." The man began to make his exit, across the street to a waiting limousine. The copper would run a check on the plates. Routine stuff. Everything would check out. Banana man was a ghost in the system, it seemed.

"Wait a sec, I need to know what this is all about!" Dex's voice was a booming one. Pigeons nearby stopped picking at scraps in the street and took to the wing en masse. Elsewhere a kid's balloon popped, and a pregnant woman's waters broke. The woman's husband began to panic and called for assistance. Fortunately, the police officer, no longer interested in a giant nearly naked bodybuilder, was on hand to render assistance. A strange day, indeed.

Dexter stared at Banana man's business card for far longer than he needed to. There was very little on it, just the initials "W L", followed by a phone number. He decided to go home, take a shower, then head to the gym. Nothing like a workout to preoccupy a troubled mind. He started walking... strutting muscle. People still stared in droves.  

They always stared.  

Part 3

It wasn’t the first time that his fob key had been rejected at a gym turnstile. He knew the drill. Stare hard enough at the desk clerk until question marks pop out of your head and steam shoots out of both ears.

“I’m sorry, Dex. Rufus was pretty explicit about the instructions he left,” said Jeff the hunky clerk, hoping to high hell that the biggest bodybuilder ever to squeeze sideways through the doors to this particular muscle-building convenience wouldn’t take his frustrations out on the messenger. Jeff could bench 650lbs for 12 reps in a controlled situation, but it was a different matter altogether when 650lbs of hyper-muscle charged at you in a flying rage with intent to rearrange every bone in your body.

“This can’t happen today. Not with the kind of day I’m having. Buzz me in, Jeff,” Dex insisted. Breathing faster than usual, his mighty chest heaved up and down, in and out, throwing extra inches his way. His suspenders would not hold for much longer. There was no one else in the gym lobby at this time. Maybe that was for the best, should those suspenders fly off suddenly in an erratic pattern with the potential to knock out eyeballs.

“You owe Rufus a grand for the damage you did to the equipment last week. You’re too strong for the place now. He said not to let you in until he sees some green. So please, no trouble, yeah? I need this job, Dex.” Jeff cautiously placed a finger next to a panic button discreetly positioned where Dex couldn’t see it. He hoped he wouldn’t have to push it.

“And I need a workout, Jeff. I’ll ask you one more time... buzz me the fuck in.” Dex’s voice had become a growl. His anger was about to boil again. It was becoming more and more difficult to keep his rage under control. Lifting weights helped a lot. But now he was denied even that privilege.

“Sorry, Dex. I can’t go against the boss’s wishes. I can call him on the phone if you like.” Jeff was a very strong bodybuilder, but he was a dwarf compared to Dexter Rhodes. Anxiety began to take hold like a bitch.

“Huh... forget it. He hasn’t even got the balls to be here when I call in. Fuckin’ wuss. I’ll see him in my own time. Thanks for nothing, Jeff!” With nothing more to say on the matter, Dex vacated the building, much to Jeff’s relief. Of course, Jeff would have to let his boss know that Dex had been in. What he didn’t know was that although Dex left the gym, he didn’t go very far.

Dex waited almost an hour for Rufus’ SUV to pull into the parking lot. Rufus had been a champion bodybuilder in his day. Now in his sixties, he was still in great shape for his age. But it was no secret that he was selling all kinds of performance enhancers under the counter to help his ailing business stay afloat. Dex waited a few more minutes until he was sure that Rufus was in his office. Then he returned to the parking lot, specifically to the private corner of the lot reserved for staff vehicles. It was around the side of the building. Rufus always parked in the same spot, so that he could keep an eye on his beloved motor from the small window to his office.  

Dex wasn’t sure how much an SUV weighed, but it felt near weightless to him as he hefted it off the tarmac and pressed it effortlessly above his head until his arms locked straight. With a mighty grunt he tossed it with two hands as easily as a footballer would a soccer ball during a throw-in. Fortunately, Rufus was doing a little cocaine in the small bathroom off his office proper when the vehicle struck home, otherwise he’d have been killed instantly. The fright of the huge off-roader taking out an entire wall to his office and pretty much destroying everything within, however, caused him to inhale too much coke far too quickly. It triggered a seizure there and then. By the time the paramedics and police arrived, the ex-bodybuilding champ was already in a coma. By 5pm that evening an APB calling for Dexter Rhodes’ arrest meant that every cop in the city would be out looking for him. He couldn’t go home. He didn’t have a phone on him. Sonny would be worried as hell, despite their bad exchange of words earlier.

“I should turn myself in,” he mouthed aloud from a safe vantage point atop an apartment block on the outskirts of the city. These days he could propel himself Hulk-style over inhuman distances. Scaling a twenty-story building took just a few leaps and bounds, using windowsills and extractor-fan casings as hand grips and footholds. On the top floor of this block of apartments, his friend and fellow stripper Giancarlo lived with his boyfriend Rafael. Both were currently out of town. Dexter knew this, and so gaining access to the apartment via the fire escape was no problem to a superhuman muscle-freak.

He suddenly had a place in which to lay low. There was no phone in the apartment, but there was a payphone in the corridor directly outside.

“I need a coin for the phone. Could you help me out?” Dexter standing in an apartment block corridor meant that anyone coming or going simply couldn’t pass unless he pressed himself against a wall. He spoke to a drag queen, half-in, half-out of his outfit for the evening. Was he going to work, or coming from? Did it really matter?

“For you, handsome, you can have all the cookies you want... but the cream you gotta pay for,” said the queen. Now what in fuck did that mean?

“Have you got a coin or not? I need to make an urgent phone call.” Dex ground his teeth and tried to keep calm. He didn’t have time to be toyed with.

“Only if I can kiss all those enormous, beautiful muscles of yours, hombre.” The queen winked at Dex in that exaggerated way that queens sometimes do. He wasn’t very good at it. One wink and off came his stick-on eyelashes.

“How about I bend you over so hard, you’ll be sucking your own dick for a week,” was Dex’s exasperated but somewhat colorful threat. The queen relented, took some coins out of her purse, and threw them at the bodybuilder.

“I can already do that, bitch. Now go call yo’ mamma and tell her you missed out on the best blowjob you’ll never have.” The queen slinked off back to wherever it was she liked to slink to. Dex wasted no further time calling Sonny:

“Hey... it’s m---”

“Where the hell are you? The police were here, asking me questions. I didn’t know what to tell them. Fuck it Dex, you’re all over the news.” Sonny sounded frantic with worry.

“I... um... lost control. Rufus barred me from the gym. The rage I felt, Sonny. I couldn’t help myself. Did the news reports say anything about... well... you know?” Dex felt that kind of dread we all do just before hearing something we’d be better off not knowing. His throat went dry as kindling.

“The news didn’t say much. Just that the alleged target of your attack, gym owner Rufus Boyd, is in intensive care. He’s in a coma, Dex. Because of you. If he dies... well, I don’t have to spell it out for you.”

An awkward silence passed between them for a few long seconds.

“Where are you? Speak to me for fuck sake,” Sonny’s voice was cracked with emotion. He broke down, which was enough to set Dex off as well. His bottom lip quivered whilst his tear ducts began to swell.

“If I tell you, you’ll have to tell the cops, Sonny. If you don’t know, then you have nothing more to tell them, right? I need to lay low while I figure out what to do next.”

“How about turning yourself in? Where will you go? You’re wanted by the police as the main suspect in an attempted homicide. Where can a man that looks like you expect to hide anyway? Please, Dex... do the right thing and don’t prolong this and make things worse for yourself. I... I... love you... so much.”

Another short silence. Then:

“I love you too. I might see if my father is willing to help.” Dex wiped tears out of his eyes with the back of his hand, but one managed to evade him. It dripped off his masculine, chiseled chin and onto his enormous pec shelf, where it then proceeded to forge a path downward over the beautiful, swollen curvature of his left pectoral muscle. The muscle-tit immediately contracted, as though it had been touched by an electrical current. As if hewn from the flesh by a master sculptor’s chisel, deep striations were suddenly carved across both pecs, one of which rapidly sucked up the escaping teardrop.

“Are you crazy? If he didn’t want to know you before... he’s hardly going to be interested in coming to your aid after what happened.”

“I have to try. If anything, I’m going to need bail, and a good lawyer. I might get him to do the right thing.”

“And if he doesn’t. Are you going to start tossing more cars?”  

“I love you, Sonny. More than life itself... more than bodybuilding,” said Dex, and hung up.  

Only part of that admission was true. At this moment in time, the greatly troubled behemoth didn’t know which part was.  

 ***

He worried that the drag queen from earlier might learn of his crime and report his whereabouts to the police. He had to get to his father, but home was on the other side of the country.

“I’ll give muscle shows in exchange for places to hole up,” he decided, as he freshened up in Giancarlo and Rafael’s ridiculously small bathroom. Dex could hardly turn full circle in the cramped confines of the tiny room. Still, he just about managed to splash warm water from the sink all over his muscles and junk. Despite all that happened, he still got hard looking at himself in any mirror. The mirror over the sink was large enough to cater to an average-sized man’s needs, but because of Dex’s height and awesome upper-body width, his pecs completely filled the mirror. He bounced them vigorously, squeezing them with sheer will alone, until they broke into roughly similar-sized sections separated by striations deep enough to hide change in... a lot of change.

“This isn’t how it should be playing out for me. Suddenly everything’s gone to shit. How can I grow my amazing muscle-bod if everything’s gone so wrong?” Dex grew super-hard when he tried to perform a double biceps pose, but there simply wasn’t enough room in the bathroom. He went into the bedroom where the couple had a decent-sized full-length mirror on the inside of a closet door.

Completely naked, Dex began to blast out pose after pose, each movement designed to show him at his most muscular and beautiful. He was huge. A bodybuilder his size got horny far too much. His libido was hyper-charged, and even though he’d had sex only that morning, his balls felt like they had a months-worth of jism in them. Fully naked, and completely erect, Dex’s cock was the size of - if not longer and thicker than - an average man’s forearm. It slammed against the bricks of his ab wall with a most satisfying thud. The mushroom head was already shiny from precum that began to leak from it like resin from the wound of a tree. He touched the viscous bead with a finger, which he then brought to his lips to taste. The flavor of his raw manliness further excited him. He began to growl like a threatening wild animal. He brought fists to his sides and fanned out his lats into a vast spread, puffing up his chest and pecs simultaneously, and he marveled at how his upper body seemed to triple in size. Precum now began pouring down the shaft of his cock, and he wished that Sonny was here to collect it in his mouth, to hold it there before bringing his lips up to his lover’s so that the precum he’d saved could cement their kiss together with even greater degrees of man-lust.

“Gotta get bigger. BIGGER!!!!!!!!! IT MUST HAPPEN!!!!!”

**********************************

Clearly this story was meant to continue, but no further chapters were added.  It's disappointing, but let's frame it as an opportunity to imagine where things would go from here.  I'm sure Dex would find a way to continue his growth, and it would be magnificent.  I'm torn between wanting him to get his anger under control vs. wanting to see him fuck shit up with his gigantic body and incredible strength.  He's only nineteen, and life is a journey, right?  It would be understandable if the power went to his head and he made a few more "mistakes" before getting himself under control with the help of his faithful lover, Sonny. ~ Fallen Away

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