Growth and Strength: Reunion, Parts 1-3

[lewj99]

Hey guys!  I've written quite a few stories over the years, but they generally focus on extreme strength.  This one has MG elements too so I thought I'd post it here.  It's also loosely based on an encounter with a nicely built old friend in Amsterdam earlier this year - the set-up and parts of the ending, but it'll be pretty clear where the fantasy elements kick in.  Enjoy.  

 

Reunion, Part 1: Schiphol

 

The fields and canals of the Dutch countryside spread out for miles and miles below me as I leaned to look out the plane window.  The KLM flight from Barcelona had been uneventful, flying up through France on a clear evening with a perfect view of Paris at one point.  I put it on my list of destinations to visit someday.  But I was still completely satisfied with the week I’d just spent in Spain, traveling from the north of the country in Bilbao through the center in Madrid and ending up on the Mediterranean coast in Barcelona.  It was a trip I’d been wanting to take for years, and one I was finally able to take when the international travel situation permitted.  For the flight back to Canada, I’d had the option of an early morning departure from Spain with a quick change of planes in Amsterdam, or a flight the evening before with an overnight stay in the bustling Dutch city.  There were plenty of hotels available near Schiphol, so accommodation wouldn’t be a problem.   Not being a morning person (especially a ‘wake up at 3 am to catch a 6 am flight’ person), I opted for the latter choice. 

Am I ever glad I did.  So, so glad.

The sun was setting behind the plane as it made its final approach, giving the landscape a golden hue.  The settlements grew larger the closer we got to Amsterdam.  Cars trundled along an expressway, looking sluggish compared to the speed of the plane.  A line of wind turbines marched along the pancake-flat land, bearing little resemblance to the stocky, iconic windmills of centuries past; these turbines stood hundreds of feet high with three massive blades rotating.  I’d been to the Netherlands before, a few years ago, and found the mid-sized cities like Rotterdam and the Hague more to my liking than the tourist-plagued hustle and bustle of Amsterdam.  But this was only for one night, really a bonus mini trip after a week on the Iberian Peninsula.  Plus, as it turned out, I knew someone in Amsterdam, which hadn’t been the case the first time.

Evan was an old friend of mine from Calgary who’d moved away about five years prior.  First he’d moved to Toronto, then he’d found a job with a European company and ended up in the Netherlands about three years ago.  We’d been reasonably close when living in the same city, but as often happens when someone moves away, we’d fallen out of touch over the ensuing years.  He had social media, but rarely posted, and there hadn’t been any updates in over two years.  But I still had his email address, so I figured I’d send him an email a few weeks before I left on my trip.  Maybe we could meet up for a beer or even breakfast during my overnight layover.  I was pleasantly surprised to hear back from him almost immediately.  He sounded excited that I would be stopping into Amsterdam and invited me to stay over at his place rather than the hotel I’d booked.  Fortunately, I hadn’t pre-paid for the room and was able to easily cancel it.  For some reason, I got the impression that he had an extra room, though he hadn’t actually stated it.

Now, I think a little background information about our friendship is in order.  We met through a gay dating website, though we were only ever friends.  We just kind of clicked that way.  I won’t deny that there was some attraction on my part; he was a handsome man with a beautiful smile and a nicely sculpted physique.  Not exactly massive or anything, but definitely bulge-y in a tight polo shirt.  I will admit there were the occasional ‘benefits’ over the years, but nothing overtly sexual.  Cuddling on the couch a few times while watching a movie at my place, things like that.  He got involved in a couple of serious relationships over the few years that we were friends, nice guys, but nothing that ever worked out long-term.  I found our friendship quite fulfilling; we had a lot in common, and always talked easily over dinner or coffee.  It was kind of a blow to me when I found out he was leaving town.  He was moving on to greater career opportunities, and I was happy for him, but it hit me harder than I’d expected when he left.  I was really looking forward to seeing him again and catching up, figuring he must have some interesting stories after three years of living in Europe. 

The plane landed uneventfully.  Now my least favorite part of the trip – navigating the zoo that is Schiphol Airport.  It generally makes rush hour on the Los Angeles freeway system seem calm and organized.  But fortunately, I didn’t have to go through customs, and the voyage from the gate to the baggage claim area only felt like I was walking the length of ten football fields instead of the usual twenty.  A win in my book.  My suitcase took a little while to show up, but so far everything was on time.  I was supposed to meet Evan in the plaza area just after exiting security, where there was a variety of shops and restaurants as well as the train station.  There was a thump, and I saw my suitcase starting to rotate around the conveyor belt right in front of me.  Perfect.

The plaza area was busy, but felt less chaotic than the terminal area.  He’d mentioned meeting at Burger King; I couldn’t find a map and I didn’t hadn’t connected to the Wi-Fi yet, so I turned left, which naturally turned out to be the wrong direction.  I continued around the plaza on a loop until I saw the familiar fast-food logo in the distance.  Europe is a continent with an amazing selection of delicious cuisine, but the longest lineups you see are invariably at places like Burger King and KFC.  I didn’t see Evan anywhere in the teeming seating area, so I circulated until a table opened up that had a view of the entrance to the shopping and dining concourse.

A thought suddenly popped into my head – I really didn’t have any idea of what our plans might be.  It was already 8 pm, and though I was more-or-less over my jet lag, I was still pretty tired from traveling for a week straight.  Maybe we could just go to a pub somewhere, or hang out at his place and catch up.  I figured I’d let him take the lead on that one since he was the local.  Around me, hungry, harried travelers chowed down on burgers and fries before heading on to their evening flights or into the city.  I took the opportunity to relax and center myself; I’ve always been a fan of being anonymous in a crowd, of feeling that energy while not having to be directly involved in it.

Naturally, a busy airport is about the best opportunity around for people-watching.  The travelers were an extremely diverse crowd, representing the citizens of cosmopolitan Amsterdam as well as arrivals from dozens of countries across the globe.  That was interesting to observe…but let’s be honest, when it comes to people-watching, I tend to be on the lookout for muscle.  Spain had been a little disappointing in that department; the occasional kinda-big guy in Madrid and Barcelona, but no one displaying muscle in a way that would really catch me eye.  Shallow, I know, but what can I say.  My fantasy of a huge bodybuilder sitting beside me on a plane hadn’t come true either on any of the three flights so far. 

Amsterdam seemed to be pretty much the same, unfortunately.  A few reasonably in-shape guys walking around, but no one to write home about.  I pulled out my phone and went through the steps to sign in for the airport Wi-Fi.  I scrolled through the news for a few minutes, then when I looked up from my phone, my eyes immediately locked onto a huge figure in the distance.  By far the biggest man I had seen on my travels – any of my travels.  He had his back to me, looked to be checking his phone, but the width of that back was evident even from far away.  The beast was standing still, and people had to go out of their way to get around him, like ships avoiding a huge protruding rock.  Eventually, the crowd thinned out enough that I could get a clear look at him from the back.  Monstrous legs that swelled out of a pair of tight shorts, only made tight by the size of his quads and thick booty.  Lats that pushed his trunk-like arms out at an angle I’d need a protractor to measure.  A broad neck that merged into a set of traps carved from marble.  I noticed he didn’t have a suitcase with him, and wondered who the lucky person was that he was there to meet.  Why didn’t I ever have a massive bodybuilder waiting to pick me up at the airport, perhaps holding a welcome sign with my name on it…ah well, a man could dream.

I mentally went through the list of Dutch bodybuilders I followed on Instagram, wondering if it could be one of them.  He definitely looked big enough to compete, if not blow away the competition. He didn’t look all that tall, no more than 6 feet, nowhere near the giant Oliver Richter’s territory.  Another name, Wesley Vissers popped into my head, but he had a mop of curly hair and this guy had a close-cropped haircut.  Ah well, someone I could search for later, I thought.  Or maybe Evan might know who he was, since he’d always had a thing for muscle guys as well.  Speaking of which, I thought, where was he?  I hoped I hadn’t missed a message or anything.

But my attention was diverted as the muscle guy turned and started walking towards the Burger King seating area.  Yep, just as impressive from the front as the back.  Thick barrel pecs that swelled under the polo and stretched it as tight as a drum.  Sleeves that were pulled up over dynamite-packed arms, both of which had a thick vein running up and over the bicep.  Forearms that swelled and tapered over heavyset hands.  God, this guy was my fucking fantasy.  Maybe I could get a surreptitious picture as he walked by.  We were less than 100 feet apart, and striding faster.  But before I could get my phone out, I glanced up at his face.  And gasped.

Our eyes met, and I saw that smile.  That beautiful smile. 

Oh God, it couldn’t be…?

But he called my name.  It was.

“Evan?” I said, standing.  A goofy grin came to my face as well.  All the new muscles aside (and THAT was going to be a topic of conversation later, I knew), I was just happy to see my old friend again.  There were a few flecks of gray in the heavy stubble on his chin, but it was the same bright face I remembered from years ago.  We embraced…well, he hugged me fully, and lifted me off the ground a bit, though I don’t think it was intentional.  I did my best to get my arms around his lats, just barely getting onto his back.  The muscle I felt under that tight polo was like the side of a mountain. 

When we ended the hug, I stepped back and looked him over again, trying to process all that muscle.  He was around 190 last I saw him, and he looked to have put on over 100 pounds of sheer mass.  The thought he could be approaching (or over) 300 pounds…a tiny shiver went down my spine.

“Evan, you look…I just…I mean…”

He tipped his head back and laughed.  “Yeah I’ve been hitting the gym a bit more since I got here,” he said.  He rippled his right pec a few times under the pale blue polo, subtle but definitely enough for me to notice.  “You look good too man.”

I know he was just being polite; I appreciated it.  “It’s a little more than…what the…” I still couldn’t get a complete sentence out.

“Plenty of time to talk about that later,” Evan said.  “First I want to hear about your trip.  No, scratch that.  First I want to get a couple of Whoppers.  I haven’t eaten in like two hours.  You want anything?”

I asked for a regular cheeseburger, as I’d had dinner on the plane.  As he strode over to the line, I got another good look at him from the back.  I swear he looked about three times as wide as anyone else in line, an absolute unit.  I also saw the glances people gave as they walked by, often with eyes growing wide.  A kid on the other side of the seating area pointed and said something I couldn’t hear, but his mother quickly shushed him and led him away.  Evan would have stood out in the audience at a bodybuilding competition, but in a fast-food place among mere mortals, he looked like the windmills that completely dominated the unremarkable landscape outside.

When he returned, he ate his two Whoppers in the time it took me to finish my cheeseburger.  We did talk about my trip – although I was fascinated to find out about his transformation, I enjoyed recounting my travels of the past week.  He filled me in about some highlights of the past few years, oddities about living in a foreign country, other places he’d visited in Europe.  It was easy to slip back into the engaging conversations we used to have.  Sure, he had a ton of new muscles, but underneath he was the same Evan I knew.  In some ways, it felt like we had just seen each other the previous week, not years prior.

The catching up continued for another twenty minutes.  Finally, there was a break in the conversation, and Evan asked if I wanted to head out.  He grabbed my fully packed suitcase and hoisted it like it was empty; it barely made his massive right arm ripple.  I expected us to head to the train station, but we kept on walking to the parking garage.  We continued chatting along the way, laughing and reminiscing about old times and mutual acquaintances.

The parking garage was a lengthy walk away that took us out into the cool night air.  I zipped up my jacket, but Evan seemed perfectly comfortable in his polo shirt and shorts.  Fifteen minutes after leaving the plaza, we climbed a set of stairs and emerged next to his car.  It actually looked fairly large by Dutch standards, but it would have been considered a mid-size in North America.  He popped the trunk and lifted my suitcase in.

“I really do need a bigger car, but they’re damn near impossible to park in the city here if you have one,” he said, sounding almost apologetic.  He turned to face me, the overhead lighting in the garage spotlighting every muscle straining under his shirt.  One corner of his mouth turned up in a sly smile.

“So, I’m guessing you have two questions,” Evan said.  “First of all, they’re 24 inches.  Well, like 23 and ¾, but I think I’m good to round up a bit.  I’ll be there soon enough.  And yes, you can feel them.”

My eyes widened and I let out a sharp breath.  “Yeah.  Pretty much bang on.”

The smile broadened.  “Well, you’ve been staring at them for like the past 45 minutes.  Now I know why you were never any good at poker.”  He raised his right arm in a slow, brutal, perfect flex.  The cannonball muscle pushed the sleeve back into the depths between his upper arm and shoulder.  The thick vein I’d seen before pulsed over the soaring peak.  Up close, I could see a network of smaller veins climbing up over that bicep and down over his equally impressive rippling tricep.  I reached out and slowly closed my hand over the peak.  I swear I could feel fireworks going off around me.  The size, the hardness, the density…it was just sublime.  Like nothing I’d ever experienced.

An odd sound somewhere between a gasp and moan escaped my lips.  “Guess you approve,” Evan said before dropping the flex.  “I gotta show you something else too.”

He looked around the garage to make sure no one was nearby.  Then he crouched down a little and slid his right hand under the corner of the rear bumper.  I just had time to say “What are you…” before he grunted and lifted the car off the ground.  The frame groaned and the left rear tire reluctantly raised upward.  His arm was bulging like crazy now, facing a challenge much more intense than a 40-pound suitcase.  Evan gritted his teeth and raised his arm slowly, the bicep I’d just felt contracting into a muscle supernova.  To my shock, the right rear tire started raising off the concrete as well.  His breathing was slow and steady, his concentration rock solid. 

The rear bumper was nearly level with his lower pecs.  He held the car in place for a full ten seconds, until a loud cracking sound emerged from the bumper.  That was his cue to slowly lower the car back down until it cautiously touched the concrete.  Not even the slightest bounce.

“I gotta be careful with that, I’ve cracked a few bumpers that way.  I’m getting better though,” he said.  Casually, like it was the most normal thing in the world he’d just done. 

“Evan.  Holy fuck.”  Well, I guess that qualified as a complete sentence.

“If you’re impressed by that…well, you don’t have all that much time here, so we should get going.  I guess I have a few more things to fill you in on.  But not here.”

[lewj99]

Reunion, Part 2: Workout

I could barely fit in the car with Evan.  His massive shoulder and arm spilled over into the passenger seat area, forcing me to press against the door.  For a brief moment, I wished we were in a more spacious vehicle…then I came back to my senses.  Why wouldn’t I want to be wedged in next to this planet-sized presence?  My old friend who had packed on an eye-popping amount of muscle in the past few years, not to mention his now superhuman strength.  Seriously, I’ve seen (and let’s be honest, jacked off to) videos of brute musclemen lifting the back end of a car, but always with two hands, and they have to strain to get it off the ground a couple of feet.  Evan had just freakin’ palmed the back end of his car single-handed like he was lifting a grocery bag.  What gave?  Back in Canada we’d worked out a few times together, and he’d had some decent lifts in the gym, but nothing even remotely suggesting that level of strength.

Evan looked over at me and smiled, like he was reading my mind again.  It really couldn’t have been hard to figure out what was on my mind though.  “Don’t worry, man.  I’ll fill you all in.”  As we pulled out of the parking garage and headed towards the A4 expressway, the smile faded.  “One thing though.  You have to promise to keep it to yourself.  My employer would be pretty pissed if word got out about what’s going on.  There are very few people who know.  It’s why I’ve disappeared from social media the past few years.”

“Sounds pretty serious.  Like Top Gun, ‘I could tell you but I’d have to kill you’, eh?” I said, trying to keep the mood light.  My mind was racing, however, trying to imagine what my friend had gotten involved with.

A hint of the smile came back.  “Not quite.  But this isn’t just some new kind of creatine I’m on.  I imagine there’d be plenty of people who’d like to get their hands on the formula, some bad actors.  Not that I couldn’t take care of them.”  He gripped the steering wheel harder, enough that I heard it creak a little.  The effort caused cabled muscles and veins to ripple along the length of his arm, highlighted by the overhead lights on the expressway.  He looked like that meme of the Chad driver.  Holy hell.

“Guess I should start at the beginning,” Evan said.  “You know I was working for that pharmaceutical company in Toronto.  So about three years ago I got a message to meet with the boss of the company.  I was pretty nervous, thought I was getting fired, but instead I got an offer to come work in Amsterdam.  Great position, free apartment and car, big salary increase.  The only catch was that I’d have to agree to try out one of the company’s new products.  A muscle growth formula.  Like something out of a sci-fi movie, or one of those stories on the muscle growth sites.

“The whole thing sounded crazy.  I honestly thought I was being pranked, or part of some psychological test.  And why me?  I work in the IT department.  But when the boss man showed me the results of the beta test of the product…fuck, I was hooked instantly.  A before and after video of a test subject who’d been on it for six months.  In that time, he’d put on 50 pounds of solid muscle.  Went from 180 to 230, average to jacked all over.  And not, like, offseason fluffy bodybuilder mode.  Fuckin’ ripped, striations and veins popping out everywhere.”

I could feel my pulse and breath quicken.  “I’m guessing he got a lot stronger too.”

“Yep,” Evan nodded.  “The pictures were enough to make my jaw drop, but the video they showed me made my eyes pop outta my head.  His max bench went from 225 before to 1035.  Over half a goddamn ton.”  His breathing was picking up as well, massive pecs rising and falling under the tight polo as he relived the memory.  “Must’ve had specially made weights, the plates were huge and bent the bar down.  But he pressed it up, perfect form, and set it back without rattling a plate.  I’ll never forget the look on his face as he sat up, just total triumph and conviction.  Like he fuckin’ owned the world.  I had to have that.”

I totally, completely, 100% could relate.  “Looks like you got it,” I said, which elicited a look of pride on his scruffy, handsome face.  I was aching to explore every inch of that muscle, but I knew it wasn’t the right time yet, so I forced myself to change the subject.  “Why all the way in Amsterdam?  Any reason it couldn’t be done in Canada?”  And closer to me, I thought.

He shrugged one enormous shoulder.  “Apparently the type of drug is illegal in Canada.  And like 180 other countries.  Not to mention testing on human subjects.  But there’s some kind of grey area under Dutch law.  I don’t quite get it, never got too deep into the legal stuff.  I’ve heard some talk around the office they’re working with the Dutch Army.  I wouldn’t mind having a few jacked up soldiers to train with someday.  Doubt they could keep up with me though, I’ve been told my results are off the charts.”

God, every time he talked about his size and strength, it sent a jolt through my body.  “So, um, where do you train anyway?  Do you just go around and lift random cars in parking lots?”

“Sometimes,” he said with a laugh, and I didn’t know if he was joking.  “Actually, the company rented out a warehouse that I use as a training facility.  It’s not too far away.  Wanna check it out before we go back to my place?”

As if I would answer anything but yes. 

We exited off the A4 on the south side of Amsterdam in an area of ultra-modern mid-rise buildings.  Evan took a few turns until we ended up on a street of boat repair shops and garages next to one of the city’s many canals.  During that portion of the drive, I learned more about the muscle growth drug he was on.  It was indeed an amped-up version of the formula the original test subject had been given a few years back.  Evan hadn’t started on it right away in Amsterdam; they’d had to run a ton of tests on him and modify the formula first.  He told me he just about went crazy with anticipation during that time.   He’d started on it a little over two years ago and put on 15 lbs of muscle in the first week.  His max bench and deadlift tripled in the first month.  He mentioned that he got weird looks and comments around the office, but he was so thrilled with his gains that he didn’t care. 

What he called his ‘beginner gains’ slowed over time, of course, but still proceeded at a rate beyond what the scientists had expected.  I asked him to give me some numbers, but he was coy about it, telling me I’d see soon enough.  As we pulled into the parking lot of a low-slung, darkened warehouse, he told me they’d tweaked the formula about a month ago, and he was seeing faster gains than he’d seen in over a year.  He was electrified telling me the story.  I got the impression he didn’t get to share all of this with too many people. 

He parked the car; when we got out, I noticed how far his side of the car rose compared to mine.  “Doesn’t look much like a gym,” I commented, and he agreed.  We approached a large metal door on the side of the building.  At first I thought there was a heavy-duty lock on the door, but as my eyes adjusted to the dimly lit area, I could see it was a steel bar looped through a hole.  Not a small one either, at least an inch thick.  Evan wrapped his hands around the ends of the bar and bent the loop open with the same effort I’d use to twist a wire hanger.  When it was mostly flat, he pulled the bar through the hole and set it aside, then slid the big door open on its tracks.

I had to pick the bar up to feel if it was as heavy and solid as it looked.  Indeed it was. 

Evan caught the look in my eyes.  “I have to say, it bodes well for the evening if you’re impressed by that.  They used to have an actual lock on the door, but I forgot the combination and crushed it to get in one day.  Well, more like I never made an effort to remember it.  They replaced it with a bigger lock, and same end result.  After three busted locks, they finally wised up and used the steel bar idea.  Not that there’s much activity out this way anyway.  I probably see more boats than people.”

We entered the warehouse, and he flicked on a set of lights.  Yep, definitely not anywhere near a Gold’s, but it did have a number of interesting…contraptions, I suppose, for lack of a better word.  Thick chains and pulleys attached to steel beams or around what looked like a truck engine.  In one corner, next to a pile of crates, stood an old Army jeep.  The space wasn’t very large, and most of the floor space was taken up with one extremely heavy object or another.

Evan walked over to the crates and slid his hand between two of them.  He tipped it up and shook it around a bit.  Something very solid sounding rattled around inside.  “Cool, they delivered ‘em,” Evan said.  Next he worked his fingers under the lid of the crate – which was sealed shut, mind you – and wrenched it off with a thick sound of splintering wood.  Tossing the lid aside, he reached in and pulled out an iron weight disk.  As he looked it over, the light caught the number stamped on one side: 20 kg, or about 45 lbs.

“Doesn’t look like much for you,” I commented.  I had a hard time imagining Evan doing standard bench presses, military presses, deadlifts, whatever with a standard bar loaded with standard weights.

“It’s not,” he said.  “But they have their uses.  Warm-ups, for one.”  He replaced the disk on top of the pile and slowly peeled his shirt off.  It took a good deal of time for him to work the sleeves over his tree trunk arms.  I couldn’t help gasping at the body that emerged from the super-tight polo.  Every inch looked like it was carved from marble, just absolute perfection.  Rippling, protruding pecs that overhang a midsection that was just a tiny bit bloated, but covered in a series of etched abs.  All of it was covered with the perfect amount of dark hair to highlight his masculine perfection. 

“Shameless, I know,” Evan said, “but the last thing I need is to bust out of another polo.  Damn things are crazy expensive and impossible to find here.”  He pulled the 45-lb plate out again and held it in front of him, fingers firmly gripped on each side.  My mind went through a number of quick scenarios, all of them intensely erotic.  Fortunately, he went with my number one choice.

His grin turned into a snarl as he bore down and started folding the plate inward.  Heavy cords swelled up and down his forearms.  He crimped it tightly, rolling up the iron in a tight spiral.  I’d seen videos of guys doing that with a frying pan and thought that was impressive…ha, what did I know.  When his knuckles met, he interlaced his big fingers and compressed the plate like an iron burrito.  A few light grunts later and it was rolled tight.  I could even see grooves where his fingers had pressed into the iron. It made me feel weak in the knees.

Evan used a variety of techniques on the next few plates.  The second one he held in place with his left hand, then steadily rolled it over with his right hand.  That one really got his forearm jumping.  The third one he braced against his barrel-sized quad and folded in half with brutal efficiency.  On the fourth one he went for a very different approach, forcing his thumbs through the hole in the middle and pressing his fingers against the back.  He had to put more muscle into it this time – his shoulders swelled and bulged enticingly, and thick bands rippled across his chest – but it didn’t take long before the iron stretched.  He emitted a loud grunt which echoed off the walls of the warehouse and ripped the entire plate in half.

But that wasn’t all he had in mind.  He took the two halves, braced the bottom of them in the palm of his left hand, and started folding the tops together in his other hand.  It wasn’t just his forearm, it was his thick wrist and thumb muscles that were looking freaky.  Evan was breathing harder, the first bead of sweat wending its way down his temple.  The bend got harder the tighter it got, but he overcame the resistance with brute muscle tenacity.  Finally, it got so broad that he couldn’t fold it any further.  Instead, he placed the warped mass in front of his chest and compressed it.

God, that really got his muscles working.  Biceps, shoulders, traps, lats…so much to stare at, I barely knew where to start.  His grunting and snarling made my dick jump.  Evan forced the iron into a smaller and smaller lump, almost circular but wavy and uneven where his fingers dug in.  He closed his eyes, gritted his teeth, and gave it one more ten-second, arm-exploding squeeze.  Blowing out his breath, he opened his hand to show me the finished product.  Not much bigger than a baseball.  Holy hell.

For a moment, he looked like he was going to toss it to me, but he thought better and spiked it into the floor instead.  It cracked the concrete and embedded itself a couple of inches in.

Evan opened and closed his hands, stretching them out.  He eyes were practically sparkling.  “Once I figured out I should be bending the plates instead of lifting them, that’s when I started seeing way better gains,” he explained.

“Huh, not sure why I haven’t thought of that before,” I replied.

Next he moved over to one of the contraptions.  There was a thick loop of chain that went up over a wheel.  On one end there was a v-shaped grip, like you’d see on a lat pulldown machine.  On the other side, the chain was wrapped around two long, thick steel beams.  They looked like they’d be used in bridge construction.  I figured Evan’s workout was a far better use.

Evan had to reach high to get the grip, giving me a view of the muscles in his back shifting like landmasses.  He eased his bulbous butt onto the bench, keeping his arms extended but lifting the beams off their resting place.  The wheel squeaked as the chain pulled over it.  I could barely contain my anticipation.  My cock was as hard as one of the beams and leaking crazy amounts of precum.

But Evan seemed surprisingly calm, looking up at the chain and breathing steadily.  I heard him mutter “three…two…” and on ‘one’, he pulled the chain down.  The steel beams on the other side rose obediently a few feet.  Every muscle in his back was working in sync, rising, bulging, and separating.  He did ten slow and even pulldowns, squeezing at the bottom, then easing the chain up with perfect control.  He set the beams down with barely a clank.  A 90-second rest and he was at it again, another perfect steel-mastering set.  By the end of it, his lats were so wide they looked unable to fit through any doorway.

“Getting too easy,” he muttered as he set the beams down again.  He stood up and stretched those lats, which looked to be soaring to heaven.  Again, I was weak.  He walked over to the crate and pulled out part of the remaining stack of weights, carrying seven plates in each hand.  Over 600 pounds in total, a weight most massive bodybuilders would be challenged to deadlift, and he was hauling it around like a couple of 5-pound kettlebells.  A total freak…but in the best way possible.

Evan carefully laid each stack of six on opposite sides of the top beam.  “How much do those beams weigh anyway?” I asked, not even trying to conceal my awe.

“I don’t know exactly,” he said, scratching the heavy stubble on his chin.  “Feels like about three tons, give or take.”

“And they’re not a challenge for you?”

Evan flashed a dazzling smile.  “Guess I’m just built different.”

With the extra weight in place, he resumed the workout.  It wasn’t just the additional poundage though; he had to raise and lower the bars extra carefully so the plates didn’t fall off.  That made the workout even more agonizing.  Beads of sweat were forming on the peaks of his back.  I swear it took everything I had not to run over and lick them off.

He was concentrating hard again, teeth gritted, breathing heavy and powerful.  Seven reps…eight…on the ninth, the plates rattled a bit, but he steadied himself and pounded out a perfect final rep.  He barely took a second to rest before leaping up and heading back to the crate.  “Still not enough, goddamnit,” he said to himself.  Five more plates for each side.  My head spun trying to do the math while keeping my eye on the mountain of muscle working his way back to the bench.  Now an additional 1080, half a ton on top of the original three. 

Man, I was just as impressed with his form as his battleship-wide back and monstrous strength.  Most of the videos you see of guys showing off online, they sacrifice form to move a bar full of weight.  But Evan was pulling that tonnage down like he was part of a finely tuned machine.  His back was swelling to insane proportions.  In addition to seeing the glistening sweat, I could now smell it, a sharp tang in the air.  I walked around (carefully!) to get a view of those lats from the side.  His hairy pits, in deep crevasses surrounded by walls of muscle, were absolutely enticing.  I had a sudden urge to bury my face in one…but not with three and a half tons of steel being hoisted up and down.

He was slowing noticeably on the eight rep, so I started cheering him on.  That seemed to do the trick.  Well, that and his bull elephant power.  He blasted out a ninth and tenth, grunting hard…and then an eleventh for good measure.  His eyes were squeezed shut, and his face bore an expression of delicious agony.  The steel beams lowered inch by inch as Evan got everything he could from that final rep.  He did set them down a little hard, causing one stack to fall over, but he’d been completely successful in mastering all that steel.

When he stood, he looked totally amped up.  Damn near as happy as I’d ever seen him.  “Feel this fucking back,” he half-said, half-ordered.  I was already there.  He spread his lats out, forcing that enormously pumped muscle out farther and farther.  I could have shown a movie on that back.  My hands explored the solid wall, running up and down over muscles I couldn’t even name, marveling in their density.  I did take the opportunity to lean in and lick some sweat off.  He seemed to enjoy it.

“Ok, gotta keep the workout going,” he said after a minute.  Probably for the best, as I was about to blow without even touching myself.  And I wanted to prolong this pleasure as long as possible.

He bounced his pecs as he strode across the warehouse, so I had a pretty good idea what was coming.  But what could he use for a bench press?  It didn’t look like there was an apparatus…but there was the Jeep.

“I swear, I keep asking ‘em for a bigger Army vehicle.  Guess this’ll have to do,” Evan grumbled.  He stretched those meaty pecs out, making thick bands ripple under the dark hair.  He eased his bulk down on the concrete, then scooted underneath on his back.  Next there was a squeaking sound as the shocks rose slightly.  A sharp intake of breath, and then the whole damn Jeep lifted off the concrete.

Evan benched the vehicle slowly, with perfect form (of course), well over a ton of weight pressed up by his gorilla arms.  He got up to a dozen reps, hardly seeming to strain.  After a short break, he resumed the Jeep press, but did something that surprised me even after all I’d seen – he threw the vehicle up higher than I stood on the fifth rep and caught it with a force that rattled the shocks.  In that brief moment, I saw the glory of his pecs soaring above his body.  It’s an image I’ll never forget.

He did a couple more tosses and catches before lowering the Jeep to the floor and emerging from underneath.  It was kind of hard to tell with the lighting, but it looked like the floor had cracked where his back had pressed into the concrete.  “Ok, I was showing off a bit there,” he admitted.  “Time to add a little more resistance.”

Not surprisingly, his ‘little more resistance’ involved the entire stack of weights he’d put on the beams.  540 pounds on each of the front seats, which caused the Jeep to sink and groan.  It was harder for him to get back under; he had to press the side up with one arm to fit his bulk in.  The extra half ton forced him to work harder.  His grunts went from light to moderate as the reps piled up.  No problems hitting a dozen though.  When he came out again, his chest was immensely swollen, with zig-zagging veins crawling their way along the surface.  Along with his hairy pits, I desperately wanted to stick my face between his pecs, and work my tongue into the deep crack between them.

“Jesus,” Evan said, sounding somewhere between pissed and surprised.  There weren’t any more plates left, so he looked for something else to add.  His gaze fell on the big engine in the opposite corner, part of some other contraption.  The only problem was that it was inaccessible, wrapped in heavy chains.  Well, inaccessible to anyone other than Evan.

He stalked over and tried to unwrap it, but didn’t have any luck.  “Fuck it,” he muttered, then yanked at the chains with his muscle-packed arms.  The chains gave a token resistance, but within seconds they were pulling apart.  Evan spat on the floor and escalated his effort.  He was rewarded with a quick series of snapping links and chain lengths rattling to the floor.  With his extra weight free, he hoisted it and walked back to the Jeep.  The amount that his arms and forearms were bulging suggested to me that it was even heavier all the plates combined.

When he set it on top of the iron plate piles, the Jeep sank perilously low.  He looked it over and told me to climb on top.  It was hard to wedge myself in the front seat, but there was just enough room as long as I stayed upright.  The Jeep rose and shook slightly as he resumed his position; I grabbed onto the dashboard for support.

Suddenly I felt myself, along with the other tonnage, being hoisted off the ground.  He counted off the reps loudly, grunting louder with the effort.  The Jeep trembled a little bit, but remained stable.  I think he was actually being challenged, finally.  I pictured him underneath, the sweat rolling down his face, that battle-armor chest bunching up with every rep. 

He paused on the eighth rep, exhaling a series of sharp breaths.  “C’mon man, DO IT!” I yelled.  He gave a warrior’s yell underneath and benched that monstrous weight twice more before carefully setting it down.  I jumped to the floor and whooped with delight.  Evan wormed his way out and stood triumphantly, somehow still not fully spent after that jaw-dropping display.

He let out another yell and hit a savage most muscular, showing off every thick striation rippling across his chest.  “Fuckin’ right!” he exclaimed, then RAMMED his right fist into the hood of the Jeep.  It caved in down the middle.  We just stood there for a moment, staring at each other, both breathing heavily.  The warehouse seemed to blur around me.  The entire world was Evan, my best friend turned insanely strong muscle beast.  I was pulled in by his gravity.

There was only one thing to do.

We slowly walked towards each other.  His rough hands touched the sides of my face and we leaned in for a kiss.  It wasn’t like any kiss I’d ever experienced before.  I wanted to lose myself in him, surrender myself to him.  I have no idea how long it lasted; it somehow felt like both 10 seconds and 10 years. 

It was Evan who finally broke the kiss.  The corners of his mouth turned up in a coy smile.  “I want it as bad as you,” he said quietly, seductively.  “But not in some grungy old warehouse.  I think it’s time to go back to my place.”

[lewj99]

Reunion, Part 3: Nighttime/Morning

Even after we broke off our kiss, the connection hung between us like a magnetic bond.  Over the past couple of hours, I had come to see Evan in a completely different light.  Sure, I’m not going to lie, the fact that he was now built like an ox and about ten times as strong was a large part of the attraction.  After his phenomenal display of brute power in the warehouse, manhandling iron and steel and benching a loaded down Jeep, every muscle in his shirtless torso was fully pumped and harder than granite.  There was a light sheen of sweat sticking to the expanse of his pecs and shoulders, and I was practically high from the manly scent of his pits.  But it wasn’t just the physical elements.  It was also the look of tenderness, and yes, vulnerability in his eyes, as crazy as it sounded.  I’d seen the reactions he’d gotten from other passengers at the airport, stepping aside in shock or gazing at him like he was some kind of circus sideshow.  And this makeshift gym didn’t look like the kind of place he’d take a date or even a new friend.  I wondered if anyone else had been inside, save for the company employees who delivered the equipment.  It was very likely his ‘fortress of solitude’, but he’d taken me there first thing after my arrival. 

He had no way of knowing for sure how I’d react when he showed the full extent of his strength, strength that I didn’t know existed outside of comic books and fantasy stories.  What if I’d freaked out?  We’d had a pretty close bond years ago in Canada, and though he appeared outgoing and confident to those he met, I knew he’d struggled with insecurities and self-doubt.  I mean, we all do, right?  Now he was transformed on the outside, but I’d chatted with enough other guys at the gym or online to know those negative feelings completely go away.  In fact, it was often the catalyst for trying to get perpetually bigger and stronger.  In any event, he had completely opened himself up, and I’d responded enthusiastically.  Not just the mind-melting kiss, but my throbbing cock, which was pressing hard against my pants.

Evan cocked his head and raised an eyebrow.  His grin was cute, innocent, and infectious.  “You just gonna stare at me, or…?” 

OK, enough with the dime-store psychology.  “You got something planned for me, big man?” I replied, my grin as big and goofy as his.  God, I was massively, insanely turned on, but giddy at the same time.  I couldn’t remember the last time I’d felt like that…or if I ever had.

“Maybe,” he countered.  “I can’t help but think you’re still skeptical about this so-called wonder drug.  Doesn’t seem like you’re fully convinced how fucking strong I am now.” He punctuated that by holding his arms in front of him, balling up his fists, and making the muscles in his forearms surge and writhe.  “Seems like you need another demonstration to prove it.”

I looked at him with confusion.  “What are you talking about?  I just watched you roll up iron plates and bench a goddamn Jeep, with me inside.  You’re the strongest fucking man on Earth…” Then I saw his expression and caught on.  “Oh yeah, that stuff was all ok I guess,” I said, making a so-so gesture with my hand.  “Maybe a little better than you can find on YouTube.  But yeah, I think you REALLY need to prove it if you wanna impress me.”

“Ok man, if you insist,” Evan said.  The Jeep was pretty much trashed, so he looked around for something else to test his immense strength against.  Our eyes both fell on it at the same time – the big forklift next to the door of the loading dock.  Probably what they’d used to get that crate full of 45-lb plates in.

My heart was hammering in my chest like a piston as we walked over.  Just pressing the forklift would be an impressive feat.  It wasn’t a little dolly-like device; it was at least 10 feet long, with sturdy tires and thick forks that protruded menacingly from the front.  But as I was quickly learning, Evan wasn’t just going to settle for some garden-variety feat of strength.  No, he had something bigger in mind.

He reached his huge hand into the cab and felt around for the key, which he retrieved and tossed to me.  “Um, I’m not I know how to drive one of these things,” I said. 

“Don’t worry,” Evan reassured me.  “You’re a smart guy, I’m sure you can figure it out.  Besides, it won’t be going very far at all.  Unless you’d rather I drive, and you hold it back…?”

“Ha ha, real comedian here,” I responded.  “You wouldn’t fit in the damn cab anyway.  Maybe if you lost a bit of weight?”

“Never,” he scoffed.  “They’re gonna have to specially design a lotta things for me.”

The thought of how much bigger and stronger he planned to get sent a shiver down my spine.  No time for fantasizing though; I had to operate some heavy machinery.  I climbed in the cab and turned the key in the ignition.  Easy enough.  Meanwhile, Evan took up position in front of the machine, crouched like a wrestler. 

“OK,” I said, “I’m going to get this thing going slowly…”  I pressed on the accelerator – lightly, I thought – but the forklift suddenly leapt forward.  Evan had to do a little side jump, with one foot coming down between the forks and the other to the left, but he managed to stick his arms out rapidly and grab the uprights.  The forklift came to an immediate halt, and I lurched forward in my seat. 

“Slow ‘er down there eh, speed demon,” Evan said.  “Hope you’re ok.  I had to react quick.”

I should’ve been the one asking him if he was ok, but yeah, no issues handling a multi-ton vehicle with nothing but his iron-packed arms.  “Um, yeah, all good.  Lemme try raising the forks first.”  There were a couple of levers with labels in Dutch.  I decided to try the one on the right, and sure enough, the forks began to raise with a low grumble.  I raised them a few feet so that he could get a good grip.

“Take two,” I said.  Evan’s arms rippled in anticipation as he grabbed onto the forks.  I touched the accelerator again, but the vehicle remained firmly in place.  Well, to be accurate, Evan held it firmly in place.  I took the chance to give it more power.  The engine roared, the tires squealed, and Evan planted his sequoia-thick legs in response.  The forklift didn’t move an inch.  I watched with total fascination and awe at the muscle beast a few feet in front of me.  His fingers were gripping the forks so tightly they were indenting the heavy steel.  He was breathing heavily, but his face remained calm and controlled.  Stoic even.

“Raise the forks,” he growled.  I let off the gas a little, and he shook his head.  “No, do both.  I wanna break this fucking thing.”  There was no way I could refuse his command, and no way I wanted to. 

I moved the lever forward again, and the powerful hydraulic lifts went to work.  The forks shuddered up a fraction of an inch, until Evan bore down with his superior arms and made them stop.  I floored the accelerator, really challenging him, and those arms (along with his brutally wide shoulders and traps) flared in response.   His animalistic growl rose in line with the whine of the overmatched machinery.

I fully floored the accelerator, wanting to push Evan’s muscles to their limit.  Trying to master the pressures acting in different directions actually knocked him back a couple of feet, but he quickly got everything in control again.  The engine was straining mightily.  The entire cab was shaking around me as the forces produced by the forklift had nowhere else to go.  The hydraulic lifts were jittering wildly.  Compared to all that chaos, Evan’s monstrous physique was like a statue.

The tires were squealing against the concrete, and I could smell the acrid odor of burning rubber.  His arms were so massively strong and pumped that he was bending the forks inward.  His pecs were getting in on the action, surging and separating into thick bands of rippling power under the dark hair.  My poor cock was practically gushing precum at that point.  Even grazing one of the levers with my crotch would have been enough to set off an explosion.

Loud banging noises emerged from the engine and hydraulic lifts as Evan’s muscle crippled them beyond the point of repair.  Smoke was emerging from the engine, so I reluctantly turned it off.  No longer having to hold the huge machine back, Evan turned his attention to bending the forks.  He placed his bear-sized paws on the outside of the prongs and pressed inward.  Even though sweat was dripping off him now, he seemed to have a vast well of strength and stamina to draw on.  That was thick solid fucking steel, and he was warping it just because he fucking could. 

Heavy grunts echoed through the warehouse, and the smell of thick sweat hung like a cloud.  His pump was so epic it looked like it would last for days.  I cheered him on, yelling encouragement, and he soaked it in.  Evan bent the two forks together until the ends touched.  Then, with arms that were beginning to tremble, kept going.  Seconds later, the two ends had crossed over each other. 

He took a quick break, just long enough to catch his breath, and went to work again.  To my utter shock, he was twisting the two ends together.  As with our kiss, I completely lost track of time.  I think it took him a few minutes (that’s how long it is when I replay it in my head now, as long as I can go before completely losing it).  Muscle forcing steel to distort to its superior will.  Biceps, triceps, forearms and delts swelling into peaks of impenetrable granite.  And his rugged face focusing intently on the task at hand, never in doubt of who would prevail.

Finally, when he could twist the steel no further, he staggered back and pumped his fists in victory.  “Fuck yes!” he roared.  “Fucking muscle BEAST!”  I wanted to run to him and lose myself in that pumped magnificence, but he motioned at me to stay.  One last display of his virility.  He strode back up and grabbed the forks just past the point where they were twisted together.  With a snarled “HRRRGGHH—” he curled the forklift off the concrete.  I instinctively gripped the sides, but my gaze was fixed firmly on Evan.

He pumped out half a dozen reps with the forklift, his arms an absolute riot of cresting muscle and twisting veins.  The last couple of reps were shaky as he pushed himself to his limits, but I wasn’t worried that he would drop the vehicle, and me in it.  I was absolutely confident he would keep me safe.  Sure enough, he set the tonnage down gently before leaning over and placing his hands on his knees to catch his breath.

I leapt out and clapped my hand on his broad back to congratulate him.  I doubt he even felt it.  When he straightened, we locked eyes again, but neither of us made a move to kiss the other because we knew we wouldn’t be able to stop this time.  And this absolutely wasn’t the right setting.  Evan gave a quick nod, and I followed him.  His shoulders were so pumped they barely fit through the frame of the big door when we exited.  I’d thought he was massive when I first saw him at the airport, but at that point he was in a category beyond.  He hadn’t bothered to take his polo shirt; no way it would have fit anyway.

One more quick display of superior strength as he bent the steel rod through the loop to relock the door, and we were off.  Evan’s upper body spilled well over into my side of the car.  He obliged by raising his right arm and flexing that glorious bicep for me, letting me explore it with my hands and tongue as he bounced and tightened it over and over.  I had the sense we were driving quickly, but that bicep was my entire world.  He told me later we got some interesting looks when he had to stop for red lights.

Eventually the drive slowed down as Evan navigated the narrow streets in his neighborhood.  I had to remove myself from the enthrallment of his bicep by telling myself I’d be able to explore the rest of his body upstairs.  He lived on a street of typical Dutch row houses, all four stories tall, which was quite at this late hour. 

Evan retrieved my suitcase from the trunk.  “I’m on the third floor, and the staircase is pretty narrow and steep.  Probably easier if I carry you and the bag…you know, for safety purposes.”  Before I could say anything, he swept me up and tossed me over his shoulder.  Between his arm, delt, and back, I was completely enveloped in solid muscle.  I would have let him carry me across the whole city.

The staircase was indeed narrow and twisting, and Evan had to contort himself to navigate his way through.  At one point, he stumbled on an uneven step and staggered to the left.  He regained his footing quickly, but when I looked back I saw that his other shoulder had left a long crack in the wall.  When we reached his apartment, he unlocked the door and set me down on the wooden floor.  It was an attractive apartment, with a living room/kitchen/dining area to the left, a bathroom straight ahead, and a bedroom to the right.  There was a large and inviting king-sized (or maybe even larger?) bed.   

He set the suitcase down and faced me again in all his muscular splendor.  “So,” he said, and that was all it took.  We started kissing deeply once more, our tongues meeting and exploring.  Our bodies pressed close together, his enormous pecs protruding.  I reached out to take in the wall of muscle before me.  Just getting my hands around his soaring lats was an accomplishment.  Meanwhile, I felt his hands moving down my back.  Those were hands that could crush steel, but they were treating me with tenderness.

We finally came up for air.  Evan pulled my shirt over my head and tossed it into the bedroom.  He trailed a finger down my chest and over my stomach (no abs visible, but flat anyway), stopping just north of my belt buckle.  “I always thought you had a nice body,” he said, and I could tell he was sincere.  His thick hands moved lightly over my chest, circling my nipples and making them as hard as I was below.  “God, we should’ve done this years ago.”

“It’s so much better now,” I replied.  I had my hands as far around his lats as they would get and squeezed him tight.  That impish grin came back on his face and he spread his lats, slowly, the muscle beneath unfolding like vault doors separating.  My arms were forced out as well.  I had a feeling he wanted to play.

I broke my grip and took a step back.  He started rolling his pecs right in front of my face, making the bands of muscle bounce and ripple.  It was too much for me to take.  I dove in, sticking my face into those twin slabs of grade-A beef.  I worked my tongue and fingers greedily.  I gently nibbled one of his nipples; that got a grunted “harder”, which I did.  Evan reached around the back of my head, pushing me into his pecs.  I could barely breathe.  It was heaven.

When he released me, I leaned down and continued to run my tongue around the ridges of his abs.  He made those ripple too; his muscle control was absolute.  Soon I was at his belly button, and it was clear there was only one thing left to do.  The massive bulge tenting his shorts left no doubt we were fully in sync.  I motioned over to the plush rug in the living room, and he knew what I meant.

I kneeled down and took a few moments to enjoy the enormous columns of his legs.  They were just impossibly thick and hard, and his calves were the size of a superheavyweight bodybuilder’s arms.  I reached up to grab the globes of his ass as well, which he flexed for my gratification.  I had no idea an ass could be that solid.  As I was groping that ass, I leaned in and touched my tongue to the tip of his cock through the fabric.  It twitched as he moaned above me. 

I’d begun to reach up to pull his shorts down, but instead he reached down, grabbed the waistband, and ripped them open.  He kept going until he busted them open down one side and just peeled the shorts off.  Now I don’t know if he was naturally gifted, or if the muscle growth formula had enhanced him in other areas, but I had the biggest cock I’d ever seen pointing at my face.  And it wasn’t even fully erect yet. 

“Goddamn,” I gasped, running my tongue around the nuclear-tipped head.  I could taste him; he was delicious.  I played with his balls for a bit as he ran his fingers through my hair.  That huge shaft was at full mast.  It had to be ten or eleven inches.  Just as I was ready to take him inside my mouth, he stopped me and told me to hang on for a second.  He was only away for a brief period, but the suspense was just about killing me.  I took the opportunity to remove the restraints of my pants and underwear.  Drops of precum oozed off my cock and into the rug.  I hoped he wouldn’t mind.

My head snapped up when I heard the sound of something breaking in the bedroom – something heavy. Evan emerged carrying one of those old-style European radiators (like it weighed nothing, of course), which he’d pulled from the wall.  “Thing hasn’t worked for a few months now,” he explained.  “I was waiting for just the right time to fuck it up.  I think this is it.”

He resumed his position above me, holding the radiator at each end and securing his grip.  I wrapped my hand around the base of his torpedo and ran my tongue around the tip, teasing him.  He responded by groaning and sinking his hands into the iron.  When I slid my mouth around his cock, he gave a burst of strength and squeezed a couple inches out of the radiator.  I started out slowly at first, savoring that monster cock, taking it in as far as I could.  I stroked the base of his shaft at the same time.  As I increased the rhythm, he compressed the radiator faster.  The sound of iron squealing filled the apartment along with Evan’s ever-increasing grunts. 

Something dripped down the back of my neck – either water from the radiator or sweat from Evan’s exertions.  I sucked his cock furiously, and he started bucking his hips.  Just inches above my head, he folded the radiator in on itself with his ferocious arms.  I eased up for a brief moment, knowing I was taking him right to the edge, so I could take in the sight above me.  Overhanging pecs with thick nipples pointing down, bear-paw hands twisting iron into a misshapen mass.  Fully beyond belief, and at that moment, all mine.

I went in for the kill, sucking and stroking Evan harder and faster.  His breath started to hitch, and his hands crushed the iron with fury.  “Oh God oh God oh FUCK,” he snarled, then erupted.  His cock erupted in my mouth; I took as much as I could, then pulled out and exulted in the remaining blasts of cum that hit my face.  The man was like a fucking geyser.  A couple stray shots flew across the room, then he was done.

I wasn’t though.  All that muscle, all that strength, all that power, it was too much for me.  I just had to touch my engorged cock and it blew all over the rug.  It wasn’t remotely in Evan’s league, but it was still a powerful orgasm.  Both of us were completely spent, heaving like wild animals, our bodies caught in an afterglow of pure pleasure.  Evan set the radiator down, crushed to the point of being unrecognizable, and pulled me to my feet.  He embraced me, and I rested my head against the stone pillows of his pecs.  We stood like that for a few minutes, coming back to reality but enjoying the pure bliss in the meantime.

After he released me, he gave me that bright smile again.  “Guess I should’ve warned you, that formula makes me cum like a madman.”

“Really, I hadn’t noticed,” I said in my best deadpan tone, which made him laugh.  “But yeah, probably best if we get cleaned up.” 

We took a quick shower together, and I closed my eyes with pleasure when I felt his big fingers washing me off.  Or maybe it was because I was getting tired.  I reminded myself that this day had started about 18 hours ago in Barcelona.  Definitely one for the record books.

There was never any question that we would be sharing a bed.  The only question was whether it would be big enough to fit both of us, and the answer was…more or less.  Of course, I didn’t mind being pressed against his hyper-masculine body.  He promised he wouldn’t roll over during the night.  At first, I thought it might actually be fun being trapped under all that muscle, but then I understood that having 328 pounds of Evan (I asked him) pressing down on me with no way of moving him probably wouldn’t be the best idea.

After all the excitement of the evening, we both drifted off quickly, my left hand entwined with his right.  I slept better than I had in months; I couldn’t fully remember my dreams, but I knew Evan played a part in them.  I woke up a little bit early, just as the first beams of light were coming through his curtains and the birds started tweeting outside.  Having had some time to process the whole experience, I was able to just relax and enjoy being next to Evan.  He was snoring lightly, his pecs rising and falling.  He was also radiating heat.  I rolled over and watched him for a few minutes, tracing my finger over the curves of his delt and tricep.  He was absolutely beautiful.

Finally, he woke up and shifted his bulk in the wide bed.  “Morning,” he said, and gave me a quick kiss. I felt his stubbly cheeks touch mine. 

“Think we can just stay here all morning?” I said.  “Or all day, I’m good with that.”

He chuckled.  “If you want to miss your flight.  They’d probably miss you back in Canada after a while.”

“I know, I know,” I said.  “But we’ve got a little time to cuddle.”  He put his monstrous arm around me and pulled me close.  I willed time to stop.  We lay there for another fifteen minutes or so, until the light was undeniably bright outside.  “How bout I cook you breakfast?” Evan said.  “Airline food probably won’t be much good.”

I took him up on the offer.  I put on a pair of boxers, but Evan cooked in the nude, his thick cock dangling lazily next to an oak-sized quad.  Part of me (guess which part, heh) wanted to attack him, to suck him off again, or even have him fuck me with that massive tool.  But I recognized, and I think he did too, that last night was a special and unique event that we wouldn’t be able to recapture in the light of morning.  The eggs he made were delicious though.  He ate about four times as much as I did.

Half an hour later, I had everything ready to go for the airport.  My flight left in three hours, but with the mess that Schiphol was most of the time, Evan suggested we get out there.  He threw on a t-shirt and shorts, and we crowded into his car for the 20-minute drive to the airport.  I thought I might feel sadness during that drive, but I was actually completely content.

We pulled into the same parking garage we’d left a mere twelve hours earlier.  He said he’d walk me to the terminal.  As we were walking through the garage, he noticed a Toyota Highlander parked with its rear end halfway into the next space.  The owner must’ve been in a hurry to get to the terminal.  Evan strode over casually, checked to make sure no one was around, and hoisted the back end a couple feet off the concrete.  He walked it over and set it down gently, perfectly aligned in the spot.

“See,” Evan said, “sometimes I’m a regular Boy Scout.  I don’t always use this strength for destruction.”

“More fun when you do,” I said.

“Got that right,” Evan said.  He stepped a few feet over to one of the big concrete support pillars and wrapped his arm around it, like he was trying to put it in a headlock.  He grunted and flexed his explosive arm, causing the biceps and triceps to press the sleeve to its limit.  When he removed his arm, I could see he’d crushed the concrete underneath.  Twisted bits of rebar poked out. 

I was shocked, turned on, and alarmed at the same time.  “Um, are you sure that’s the best idea?”

Evan smiled as he brushed bits of concrete off his mounded bicep.  “Nah, nothing to worry about.  It’d take a lot more punishment to cause any real damage.  I’m definitely gonna have to ask them to move me out of that warehouse.  Think I’ve pretty much maxed it out, wouldn’t you say?”  I certainly couldn’t disagree.  As Evan walked ahead of me, I pulled out my phone and took a quick pic of the crunched pillar.  It instantaneously gets me hard to this day.

We had to part ways before the giant security line.  He pulled me in and kissed me once more before I left, short but intense.  The lingering feeling of it got me through the frustration of the slow-moving line.  I made it to my gate with very little time to spare, and rummaged through my bag to look for the novel I’d brought to read on the plane.  Better to get it here than when I was trying to wedge myself into an economy seat. 

When I pulled it out, I noticed there was a note stuck in it.  I pulled out the paper and unfolded it.  It read:

Great to see you again! Hope I could show you a little local fun, and that last night meant as much to you as it did to me. You’ve inspired me to keep getting swole and strong as fuck. And I really hope it’s not another three years before we see each other again.

Evan ♡

He’d included his phone number as well.  He must’ve slipped the note into my bag back at his place when he went to the kitchen to make breakfast.  My heart swelled, and tears of happiness rose to my eyes.  The cost and distance didn’t matter; I knew I’d be making a return trip to Amsterdam before too long.

THE END

[Art]

Wooow great story!!

[jujumusclelover717]

That was great and you explained the strength and muscle scenes so well! Excellent. 

[arpeejay]

Slurp! Although, srsly, I want to see Evan with an extra 200 lbs. Ought to take him about six months, right?!?! 

[Blake]

THE END???? 

 

Noooooo, its can't be....

Absolutely wonderful story, thank you... 

[dredlifter]

Great story!  I always love this concept, because it's something the can really happen!  Two friends meet up after a long time being apart and one is suddenly way bigger, love it. 

[Ro20316]

Man. This was perfect and hit all the right buttoms. 

Yassssssss

 

[Wolf9]

On 12/19/2022 at 4:54 PM, lewj99 said:

His animalistic growl rose in line with the whine of the overmatched machinery.

This is so fucking hot. This is the point in the story where I started to lose my mind.

On 12/19/2022 at 4:54 PM, lewj99 said:

The engine was straining mightily.  The entire cab was shaking around me as the forces produced by the forklift had nowhere else to go.  The hydraulic lifts were jittering wildly.  Compared to all that chaos, Evan’s monstrous physique was like a statue.

On 12/19/2022 at 4:54 PM, lewj99 said:

His arms were so massively strong and pumped that he was bending the forks inward.  His pecs were getting in on the action, surging and separating into thick bands of rippling power under the dark hair.  My poor cock was practically gushing precum at that point.

Yep. Same. Gushing.

On 12/19/2022 at 4:54 PM, lewj99 said:

Loud banging noises emerged from the engine and hydraulic lifts as Evan’s muscle crippled them beyond the point of repair.  Smoke was emerging from the engine, so I reluctantly turned it off.  No longer having to hold the huge machine back, Evan turned his attention to bending the forks.  He placed his bear-sized paws on the outside of the prongs and pressed inward.  Even though sweat was dripping off him now, he seemed to have a vast well of strength and stamina to draw on.  That was thick solid fucking steel, and he was warping it just because he fucking could. 

And this is when I lost it.

Bravo, as always.