transformation Charlie

[Mdlftr]

DHalden you are an EXCEPTIONAL writer!  You take the usual muscle story trophes:  growth, mysterious pills/potions/shots/magic/whatever and add HUMOR!  That is VERY hard to do, and you do it so awfully well!

 

The next installment of one of your stories never disappoints!

 

Now, having said that, don't feel ANY pressure -- or anything!  

[gooooool]

waiting eagerly 

[dhalden]

Hey, guys! Here's the next installment. Sorry for the long delay, guys, but the holidays have been hectic as ever this year. You'll forgive me if this installment is as jam-packed with muscle growth as previous ones, but I know which direction I'd like to take the story next, so I'm trying to lay some groundwork. It's been a bitch trying to bridge where the story is with where it's going, but I think an entry or two like this get's the job done. Regardless, big things are coming in 2016. Enjoy!

 

*   *   *

 

Tick. Tick. Tick. The only sound in the wood-paneled office was the incessant ticking of the wall clock located conveniently out of my line of sight, perched overhead on the wall behind me. I mindlessly strummed my fingers on knees, wondering how many minutes remained in this week’s session, and glanced around the tiny room at the tall bookshelves lined with imposing medical encyclopedias. On the wall to my left, a sizable collection of diplomas and certificates of accreditation hung in polished frames. Tick. Tick. Tick. Unable to avoid him any longer, I reluctantly rolled my eyes toward the only other person present in the room.

 

“So are we done here?” I asked.

 

He shrugged good-naturedly. “You tell me.”

 

I sighed. Brian—who was actually Dr. Wells, mind you, but who insisted that we refer to one another on a first name basis—had one of those boy-next-door faces that you couldn’t help but find aggravatingly cute. The sort of face that made me think he’d probably never even touched a beer bottle and had spent his weekends growing up earning merit badges. He was dressed to the nines in quintessential psychologist garb: a pinstriped collared shirt beneath a heavy knit sweater with suede elbow patches, tan Dockers that looked they’d been freshly ironed that morning, and a pair of polished loafers that I could see my reflection in even from across the room. Too bad he’s dressed like my grandfather, I thought. He’s cute as hell. Which was doubly frustrating, considering I was supposed to be confiding in him and getting some sort of therapeutic result in return.

 

“What are you feeling at this moment?”

 

“Hungry,” I said. “I’m always hungry these days.”

 

Brian chuckled. Despite his clean-cut style, he did have a slipshod way about him. His hair was a little too long and looked as if he had run a comb through it only as a formality. He’s so skinny, I suddenly realized as I looked him over. Has he always been that skinny? Lately, I had taken to mentally sorting every person I met into two categories: muscular and not muscular. Walking down the street, I would suddenly notice people I hadn’t before, if only for their excess or lack of brawn. The buff garbage man who came on Wednesday mornings, for example, or the scrawny cashier in the checkout line. Brian most definitely fell into the latter category, but he had just the right face for muscle, I thought. He’d look damn irresistible if he packed on a good thirty pounds or so. 

 

“Well, I don’t have any snacks, but I can get you a water if you’d like,” Brian said. I snapped back to the present and watched as he crossed to a miniature refrigerator behind his desk. He withdrew one of those frustratingly small half-bottles of water that always seem to populate the snack coolers of elementary school soccer teams and handed it to me. I down it in two gulps. “Another?”

 

“If you don't mind,” I said, handing him the empty.

 

“Not at all,” he said, grinning. The contents of the second bottle vanished down my throat as quickly as the first, and though I was still nowhere near satiated, I smacked my lips to convince him otherwise. As he sank back into his armchair, I thought I saw a glint of knowing in his clear, mint-colored eyes. “So, tell me, what have you been up to these days? How have you been spending your free time?”

 

“Uh, well, there's work,” I said, my eyes wandering the room again. “A lot of grading papers and writing tests and answering emails. I had to chaperone the Halloween dance recently, which turned out to be a lot more eventful than I had anticipated.”

 

“What else have you been up to?” he asked innocently. “Have you been working out?”

 

My gaze flipped back to him just in time to catch him looking up from his legal pad.

 

“Yes,” I said slowly. “Most days. Why?”

 

Brian shrugged. “I just noticed that you are looking rather buff these days.”

 

I tried to hide my smirk, but failed spectacularly.  “Rather buff” was the kindly, clinical way of saying that I had packed on a lot of muscle in a short amount of time. It was the sort of thing men said to one another to veil their awe and envy at their peers’ physical achievements. A euphemism. It was like when every guy in the room turned to notice the biggest of them making his grand entrance. But simply noticing him was not enough though. You had to remark about this alpha’s impressive size, with some flippant, borderline deriding comment about how he must be on steroids or was overcompensating for something by packing on slabs of muscle. When the truth was much simpler: there were only a select few who had not just the determination, but also the capacity to grow beyond normal means. Those that did not were simply incapable of comprehending they were not one of these gifted few talented enough to become muscular behemoths. Is “behemoth” what I’m going for though? Sure, I’d like to be even bigger, but…just how big?

 

My mind drifted back to earlier that morning when I first rolled out of bed and stumbled blindly into the bathroom. I flipped on the light and was stunned, yet again, by my own reflection. There was no way of not putting it plainly. Slowly and surely over the past few months, my head had been veritably transplanted onto the body of a ripped, muscular hunk. From the neck down I looked like a professional athlete. I had a full, broad set of pecs and well-defined six-pack. Amazed and enthralled, I gently cupped each pec one at a time, massaging their new bulk between my fingers and letting them drop heavily back into place. With each passing workout they had begun to feel weightier and weightier, even on days I trained legs. My hands roamed down my carved torso toward my abs, tracing the individual bricks of muscle with an index finger. When I flexed now, the divisions between them became deep and more than obvious. Men starve themselves to get a stomach that looks half as good as this, I’d thought, and mine just developed, even with me eating everything in sight. The rest of my upper body development was equally noteworthy. My delts had responded particularly well to my latest routine, becoming rounded caps of muscle that made me half as times wide as I had been before this quest for bigger muscles had begun. My arms, too, had swollen to a permanent 16.25” cold; a mighty flex brought them up to a solid 17”. I usually woke each morning, stretched, and examined them proudly: the ever-thickening cords in my forearms, the baseball-sized mounds of muscle that were my biceps, and the beefy hang of my triceps. Charlie’s bigger though, I thought bitterly. It was the thought that I kept coming back to, the nagging reminder that I was not yet big enough. That I needed to be bigger still.

 

“Yeah, well, I've gotten really into weightlifting,” I continued. Brian nodded and scrawled down a note on his legal pad, as if he had just uncovered a clue in some grand mystery. “Just trying to stave off the dark side of middle age, you know.”

 

“I’d say you're succeeding exceptionally well,” he said. “And why weightlifting, if I may ask?”

 

“As opposed to?”

 

Brian shrugged. “Running. Swimming. Yoga.”

 

I opened my mouth to answer and realized I had no immediate response. The decision to take up weightlifting had not been mine, at least not at first. It had been Charlie’s and I had blindly gone along with it to try to impress him. Or at least get closer to him. Had it been running or swimming or yoga that Charlie had suggested, I would have been sitting in Brian’s office looking like Michael Phelps instead of a lesser Arnold Schwarzenegger. But weightlifting it had been and it was weightlifting I had fallen in love with. The conscience decision to pursue it wholeheartedly had come later, with the fucking fantastic results. But it had been Charlie all along who set me on that path. How do I explain that to a guy that wears loafers?

 

“A friend got me interested in it,” I said finally. Brian scribbled another note.

 

“And,” he went on without looking up, “is this the same friend who recently moved in with you?”

 

“Do I get to see those notes when you're finished or are they top secret?”

 

Brian looked up. “Would you like to see them?”

 

“Do you always have to a question with a question?”

 

“Do you find that odd that I do that?”

 

Odd? Please. You’re the least odd thing in my life right now, my friend, believe you me. In addition to the much-appreciated muscular transformation my body was undergoing, there had been other odd and frankly unexpected side effects. Perhaps I've been lax with some details up until this point, but it had always been my habit to keep clean-shaven, not out of choice, but simply out of lack of the ability to grow facial hair. But lately I had begun to notice a shadow of a beard during my daily examinations and flexing in the mirror. Doesn’t look too bad either. Maybe I’ll grow it out some. If anything, it made my slimming face and sharpening features all the more prominent. My body hair, too, had become more abundant: on my chest, my abs, even my arms and legs. I could only suppose that my levels of testosterone had skyrocketed with the rest of my biology. Even stranger though, were the finer details I saw when I examined my face up close. Was it just a trick of the light or did my skin altogether have a virile glow? How had my blemishes seemingly vanished overnight? And where had the faint lines at the corners of my eyes gone? Not that I was complaining, mind you. Just…perplexed.

 

I smirked. “I'm becoming content with odd, Brian.”

 

“So back to my question,” he said. “This friend who recently moved in with you. Charlie. Is he the one who got you interested in weightlifting?”

 

“He’s a personal trainer. That’s what he does.”

 

“I thought you mentioned he was involved with client relations of some sort.”

 

“Oh, well that’s his day job, but he’s also a certified personal trainer…I think.” I tried to recall where and when Charlie had mentioned having his personal training license, but struggled to come up with an answer. He had offered to train me, and envious of and lusting for his muscles, I’d accepted. Must’ve conflated the details, I thought. But…still. There it was again: a tiny discrepancy that surrounded Charlie. More and more of them had begun to float to the surface lately. First with his supposed work life, then with his coming and going at all hours, not mention of course having caught him in a blatant lie at the Regal Hilton weeks before. It all added up to something, I was sure. The only thing I was unsure about was whether or not I wanted to know what precisely that something was.

 

“And is this the same Charlie that prompted you to begin seeing me in the first place?” Brian sighed, uncrossed his legs, and set aside his pen and paper. “You’ve been coming to see me for nearly two years now, Andrew. We’ve discussed a litany of issues in your personal and professional life. But the one thing we have yet to thoroughly explore is the one thing you stated as being the primary reason you came to see me about in the first place. I have not pushed you on it because, frankly, I believed you had managed to find some resolution with it outside of our sessions. But what I’m hearing here today has me concerned of precisely the opposite. When you walked through my door two years ago and I asked you why you had come to see me, do you remember what you told me?”

 

“Yes,” I said. I shifted in my seat, suddenly uncomfortable. Of course I remember. But…things were different then. He was different. I squeezed my hand into a fist and watched as the chords of muscle in my forearms swelled and flexed. I’m different now, for that matter. Better. He made me better. What’s a skinny guy like you know about it?

 

“And does it not strike you as concerning that the very reason you began to see me, that the very person who cemented in you a sense of insecurity that you’ve wrestled with for nearly a decade, is now your roommate?”

 

“Look, what happened between Charlie and me back then was…that was…I’m over it,” I said. “Like you said. I found resolution.”

 

Brian sighed. “I’m more than passingly good at my job, Andrew. I would even say I excel it, if I may be so bold, and what I’m reading into this situation is not that you have found resolution, but that you’re rapidly backpedaling away from it.”

 

“I…that doesn’t even…you’re so off-base it it’s…ridiculous,” I stammered. I flexed again, feeling my biceps bulge against every part of my sleeves. He doesn’t know what he’s talking about. You’re stronger now. You can feel it in your veins. In your muscles. Strength. Power. You’re not weak. Not anymore.

 

“You’re intelligent, Andrew, its part of what makes you one of my most engaging patients. Detrimentally intelligent, I would venture to say. You manage to convince yourself of ideas that counteract my diagnoses. Yet you always come back to see me. Which tells me that creative as your self-deceptions might be, you’re too intelligent to convincingly lie to yourself.”

 

I sighed. “So if I’m reading this entire situation incorrectly, why not save me the time and frustration and just tell me what sort of self-destructive tendency I’ve fallen into by letting Charlie move in with me?”

 

Brian stared at me with his knowing eyes. Unnervingly knowing, in fact. And sympathetic. The sort of eyes that made you think he could not only see into you, but see all of you, and still find you a decent person. He leaned back in his seat and spread his hands wide.

 

“It is plain to me that this ‘new you’ you’ve begun developing,” he said, “is probably subconsciously linked with some as-of-yet resolved need to prove yourself. To yourself and, more importantly, to Charlie. It strikes me that you have become determined to make yourself physically stronger in order to satisfy the need to make yourself emotionally stronger. That what happened between the two of you is, in fact, nowhere near resolved. That you still need closure for what he did to you.”

 

I looked up from my balled, white-knuckled fists.

 

“I…I, um, have to go,” I said, suddenly standing. “I have to get something to eat. It’s this new routine I’m on. Metabolism and such. Thanks again, Brian. Really. But I think we’re done here for today.”

 

“Andrew, don’t be like that…”

 

I started for the door. “I’ll see you in two weeks?”

 

“Andrew—”

 

Before he could answer, I stepped into the hall and closed the door behind me. I paused, waiting to hear movement on the other side. Seconds passed before a soft sigh drifted through. My hands curled into fists again as I started down the hall. Forget him. He’s misinformed. He doesn’t get it, a skinny little guy like that. Halfway down the corridor, I mindlessly detoured into the men’s restroom. I stopped in front of the large, faux marble sink and stared at my reflection in the mirror. What you need is just to get some food in you. Hunger’s got you all jittery. Wolf down some protein and carbs, then you’ll feel better. Some supplements, too. Some creatine and those BCAA’s should do the trick. I quickly raised my arms into a double biceps pose then dropped them and leaned forward into a most muscular. Every part of my body swelled and reddened as blood flooded my muscles. My traps bulging prominently, I met my eyes determinedly in the mirror. You keep growing and you’ll be just fine. 
 

As I turned to go, the door suddenly swung wide. Brian entered. He froze.

 

“Oh,” he said, surprised. “You’re still here.”

 

“Just on my way out actually,” I said.

 

“You still have ten minutes left in your session, you know,” he said. “Clearly, I spoke out of turn and offended you somehow. I apologize. Why don’t we go back to my office and talk it over?”

 

“No, you didn’t,” I said. “And I really do have to go. I’m sorry, Brian.”

 

I eased past him and was halfway out the door when he called after me.

 

“Promise me you’ll think about what I said,” he said. I paused, my fingers wrapped around the handle of the door. “I know what I’m talking about, Andrew. So please just think about what I said. Will you do that for me?”

 

I gathered a breath, feeling every part of my newly large pecs inflating in my shirt.

 

“Sure, Brian,” I said. “Of course.” 

[sevenaside]

17 inch guns? Jeez this guy got big

[Ro20316]

So this is a inetresting new thing. There was some thickness between Charlie and Andrew in the past? or i just dont remember that part.

It will eb ncie to see this two getting into a crazy wrestling session because if things go where i think they might go Charlie is in for a very pissed of Andrew ina future

[ThePecman]

Absolutely terrific writing. Can't wait to see where this goes.

[dhalden]

Ro20316 - definitely some "thickness" going on with these two. Not what you might think, but something. 

[mario2007]

dhalden, you just managed to leave us on a cliffhanger.....again...but, we LOVE you for it!

 

Can't WAIT for the next chapter....

[Thespispunk88]

Dhalden, I'm loving this! This last entry was a wonderful tease and have some good insight into Andrew. There might not have been any growth in the chapter, but I love the shift in attitude that Andrew has and how that plays with his emotions and decision making.

I can't wait to see where you take this!

[atomcell]

Love it so much. Thanks for bringing your writing talents to this forum.