I consider stories like this one my “mature style,” which is just a grandiose way of saying I’d been writing M-G fiction 10-15 years before I got around to it. Often I forget when I wrote a story but if it’s like this one—a bit over 12,000 words—it means “2008 or later…”—rpj
The following Saturday, 4 a.m.
James was wide awake. There was something he needed to tell…
“Are you awake?”
James yawned, then laughed.
“Yeah,” he answered. “I was trying to persuade myself to go back to sleep but it’s not happening yet…”
Silence ensued, long enough that John began to think James had fallen asleep again.
“There’s something I need to tell you,” James whispered loudly.
John reached up and turned on his bedside light. “Well, in that case,” he said, eyes still closed. “Don’t whisper. Just say it.”
“Uh, well, y’see…”
John waited patiently.
“I’m gay,” John said, in a very small voice.
John sat up and looked at his roommate. “Dude…” he began.
James covered his face with his bedspread. “Please don’t hit me!” James’s words were muffled by the covers.
John laughed. “Dude,” John said again, “it’s not a problem. I’d already figured that out. I just waiting for you to tell me.”
The bedspread flew off and James sat bolt upright. “What?! How did you know?! I mean, what did I do?!”
John just shook his head. “James, doofus, there are a couple of things about me you need to know. First of all…”
Well, first of all, John was straight as a board. He really liked guys, and having guy friends, but the only things that made his pecker stand up were boobs and long hair and a nice ass.
“My most favorite uncle, my dad’s youngest brother, who is actually closer to me in age than my dad,” John continued.
“What about him?” James asked.
“He’s gay as a goose,” John answered. “That’s what. So don’t sweat it.”
John rubbed his eyes. “James, my uncle Ron told me the quickest way to tell whether a guy was or wasn’t was by looking at what the guy is looking at. You never look at girls, you always look at guys. You try to hide it but I see the chubby you get when I change clothes—thanks for the compliment!”
James thought he might die of embarrassment right then and there. “But…”
“But nothing,” John continued. “I’m not telling anyone, unless you want me to do so, and my guess is that no one else has noticed. The only ones likely to notice are (a) straight girls who know why they feel ‘safe’ around you and (b) other gay guys.”
John stood up, stretched, then sat down on James’s bed. He put his strong, well-muscled arm around his friend’s scrawny shoulders.
“And the big guys who like to pick on fags? They have no fucking clue whether you are or you aren’t, they just like to pick on people. So stay cool and it will be fine.”
James realized he was leaking tears all over the place. “Uh, well, y’know…”
John hugged him again. “You’re a good man, James,” his roommate said. “You’ll make some hot guy a really wonderful boyfriend someday.”
John stood up again, mussed James’s hair, crawled back into bed, and turned off the light.
“Thank you, John,” James said in the darkness.
“Don’t sweat it,” John replied.
I think I’m in love with you, James said to himself.
“And I love you, too,” John answered—confirming James’s suspicion that he was psychic. “I always wanted to have a brother and I couldn’t have asked for a better one than you!”
John was out like a light after that.
James wondered if he’d ever sleep again.
The evening after their second workout, John pulled out a cloth tape measure and ordered James to strip to his skivvies.
“Uh, why?” James asked, blushing furiously.
“It’s an experiment, remember?” John said, motioning James to lift his hands over his head and wrapping the tape around James’s scrawny chest. “We need baseline stats.”
John checked the tape twice, blinking rapidly.
“Well, let’s see what the other numbers are.”
They were equally surprising.
“Damn, boy,” John said finally. “I didn’t think anyone was that skinny!”
James blushed again.
“Just how much do you weigh?”
James had to step on John’s electronic bathroom scale three times before it would actually register.
“114.8 pounds,” John read off. “Geez, I think I weighed more than that in 8th grade!”
James hung his head.
“But don’t worry,” John said. “I’ll make you eat.”
The thought of what John could feed James made his head spin but he pulled himself together long enough to ask: “Well, uh, how about you? How much do you weigh?”
“Let’s find out,” he said, stepping on the scale.
“Look at that,” John added. “160! I thought I’d put on a few pounds over the summer! I was about 150 when I graduated!”
James gulped. “Jeez, John,” he said. “You’re a hulk!”
John laughed at that. “Oh, c’mon, dude, 160 pounds isn’t remotely hulkish!”
James grimaced. “Oh, no,” he agreed. “Not at all! Just because you weigh 40% more than I do.”
John’s eyes lit up at that. “Really?” he smiled. “That’s so cool. Think what it would be like if you weighed 40% more than I do!”
James gulped. “Shit, John, that’s impossible. There’s no way I could ever weigh 225 pounds!”
John clapped his friend on the shoulder. “We’ll see about that!”
And so it went.
Every day but Sunday, the two roommates worked out at the gym first thing in the morning, then went to the dining hall for a big breakfast. Every evening, before turning in for bed, they spent half an hour stretching each other out.
Thanks to those stretching sessions, James always felt completely rested and ready to go the next morning. Of course, it was also the case that he consistently woke up at 2 a.m. with a raging hard on and promptly beat himself in no more than 10-12 strokes.
“Boy, you go through a lot of kleenex,” John observed one morning, causing James to blush more furiously than usual; James pretended like he hadn’t heard and John, the mischievous glint in his eyes notwithstanding, let it drop.
Somehow in between they managed to go to all their classes, do all their studying, and keep up with John’s active social life. James was surprised when John told him that he wasn’t going to pledge the fraternity but he figured he was just making judicious use of his time. The lacrosse team, the SGA, and the French club took up plenty of John’s time as it was.
Invariably there were meets and meetings and parties and John dragged James to almost all of them, going out of his way to introduce his roommate to his friends and to the new people he was meeting for the first time.
“Really,” James said, “you don’t need to go to all this trouble.”
John shook his head. “Don’t be silly,” he replied. “You need the practice. How are we ever going to find you a boyfriend if you don’t meet people?”
It was James’s turn to laugh. “Who says I need a boyfriend? I have too much going on as it is!”
And why would I want one when I have you, he added to himself.
“Well, you can’t rely on me forever,” John pointed out, once again reading James’s thoughts. “One of these days some girl is going to get her hooks in me and then you’ll be on your own!”
“But not yet,” John added. “Not yet!”
As the semester went by James did, in fact, become a bit more comfortable at the social gatherings John dragged him, too. It didn’t hurt that he was growing like a weed!
“Uh, James,” John said about halfway through the semester. “We need to go to the mall.”
James blinked at his friend. “Whatever for?”
“To buy you some new clothes, doofus. We’re going to Antoinette’s party Saturday night and the ones you have don’t fit.”
The slack-jawed expression on James’s face was priceless.
“Don’t tell me you haven’t noticed?”
James shook his head.
“Step up on the scale, dude.”
This time the scale registered as soon as James stood on it.
“Yep,” John said, “that’s about what I thought—130 pounds.”
James stared at John with disbelief.
John pointed at the numbers on the scale. “Read it yourself, doofus!”
John could see James doing the arithmetic in his head.
“Yes, yes, that’s 15 pounds in 8 weeks. Or, to be more precise, about a 12% increase in your overall body mass.”
James’s eyes bulged.
“And,” John added. “As far as I can tell, it’s all muscle.”
John pulled out the measuring tape again. This time he didn’t have to ask James to take off his shirt. The stats were still pretty pathetic compared to John’s but quite significant for James.
“Wow, indeed—keep up the good work!”
News that he’d managed to gain 15 pounds in eight weeks without even noticing only spurred James to redouble his efforts in the gym—and in the dining hall!
“I’ve been reading up on this stuff,” James told John. “If we increase our protein intake so we’re getting at least a gram per pound of bodyweight…”
John held up his hands. “Whoa, big boy, what’s this ‘we’ business? You’re the one who wants to get bigger. I’m fine with the size I am now.”
James looked at his roommate. “You’re already bigger than when we started working out,” he pointed out.
John nodded. “Well, 5 pounds maybe.”
“Don’t you want to get bigger?”
John shrugged. “Well, sure, but only if it’s quality muscle,” he said. “And not much bigger, thanks. Stronger is good, yeah, but not if it slows me down.”
It occurred to James that John was actually an athlete. “Oh!” he said. “You mean, like, for Lacrosse?”
John patted his friend on the head, as if he were a little boy figuring out how to tie his shoelaces. “Exactly.”
James looked disappointed.
“You, though,” John said. “You should go for it. Get as big and as strong as you want. There are plenty of sports where fast isn’t what it’s all about. Assuming you even want to do sports.”
James shook his head.
“To tell you the truth, I never thought about it.”
John pulled a book off the shelf above his desk.
“Take a look at this one,” John said. It was the Encyclopedia of Modern Bodybuilding, Powerlifting, and Weightlifting. “And just don’t look at the pictures!”
James had the good grace to blush as he flipped through the pages.
“Oh!” he said again, another lightbulb going off in his head. “So these are sports, too?!”
John laughed. “Doofus, for a near-genius sometimes I really wonder about you!”
But he didn’t have to wonder long. During the remaining eight weeks of the semester, John gained another 5 pounds of solid muscle while actually improving his speed and endurance on the Lacrosse field.
As for James: 20 pounds of solid muscle!!
“Jeez,” John said. “150 pounds! I’ve heard of ‘beginner gains’ but 35 pounds in four months is pretty damned spectacular!”
James’s grin was a mile wide. “And I benched 225 this morning, first time ever!”
John choked on his Gatorade. “Really?! That’s fucking awesome!”
James and John had continued their workouts together throughout the semester but over the previous month they’d had to change things up on a couple of days. James had started doing chest on his own, with assists from the other guys in the gym.
“Uh, James, I gotta tell you something,” John said. “Don’t take it the wrong way, okay?”
Uh oh, James thought, what have I done?
“The thing is,” John said. “I’m jealous, okay? That’s as much as I bench and I outweigh you by 20 pounds!”
Whoosh! What a relief!
“And you can run circles around me on the track,” James pointed out. “Your point?”
John laughed at that. “Okay, then, if that’s the way you want it. I’ll be the fast one and you’ll be, well, let’s think…”
He pondered a minute, then: “Meathead, that’s it. No more ‘Doofus’—from now on you’re ‘Meathead’!”
James lit up. “Really? How very cool! I like it!”
After all, he thought, I’ve been called much worse things!
James’s parents were quite taken aback by their son’s appearance when he arrived home for Christmas. His father was an inch or so taller than James but only 140 pounds, with narrow, rounded shoulders and a little tummy poking out. When James had left for Wyndham, his father outweighed him by 25 pounds or so, not much but clearly the difference between man and boy. Now, although James was no taller, he outweighed his dad by a good 10 pounds—and seemed bent on growing more!
They insisted that James go see the family physician, which James agreed to on the condition that they buy him a one-month membership at the nearby suburban gym. Startled, they readily agreed, figuring it was just another adolescent fad. They were relieved, although a bit surprised, when James’s physician, who had known the boy since birth, pronounced him in splendid health.
“Best ever, in fact,” Dr. Barclay declared. “He’s never been this healthy.”
James’s father and mom looked at each other.
“So it’s okay if he goes to this gym?”
The good doctor barked a laugh. “Okay?! Hell, he should have been going long since. Definitely let him go!”
With the exception of Christmas and New Years’ Day, James spent an hour or two every day of break at the gym. His appetite when he was at home was quite surprising—and would have been alarming if his parents had known that he was supplementing their meager meals with protein shakes and cans of tuna three or four times a day.
Much to his parents’ satisfaction, James was still completely enamored of his Star Wars collection and overjoyed with additions he found under the Christmas tree. It was quite reassuring, really, to see that he was still their son, not some overgrown changeling! (On the other hand, James made a point of trying on his gift clothing in his bedroom—nothing fit! It was all at least two sizes too small! Thankfully, James knew just where Mom kept the receipts; she and James’s dad never knew that he exchanged all the clothing for identical items in larger sizes!)
I dunno, James thought, how much more of this I can take!
Fortunately, the weekend after New Year’s, it was time to head back to Wyndham.
John was waiting for him when James walked into their dorm room.
“Meathead,” he cried. “Good to see you man!”
James grabbed John and squeezed him up in a big bear hug.
“Oof!” John said. “I can tell you’re even bigger than when you left!”
James chuckled, then peeled off his winter gear.
“Holy moly,” John exclaimed. “You musta gained 20 pounds!”
Blushing, James pointed out that, no, in fact he’d gained only 10 pounds over break!
“Crikey,” John said. “That puts you at what? 160?”
James nodded. “How about you?” he asked.
“Ha! I gained 5 pounds of flab from eating all that Christmas crap, but then I started jogging again on New Year’s Day and I’ve already lost it all. I’m exactly the same weight as when I left.”
James pondered that. “So…”
John smirked. “So, yeah, Meathead, I still outweigh you by a staggering, gigantic 10 pounds, woo hoo!”
He looked at James again. “And, no, I didn’t spend a minute in the gym,” he pointed out. “Unlike you, who apparently lived there!”
It was James’s turn to grin.
“I got my bench press up, at least!” he noted proudly.
“Oh, Christ,” John replied, “I hate to think what it must be now. 250, 275?”
James squared his shoulders and poofed out his chest.
Fuck, John thought, he has a chest.
“315,” James said, matter-of-factly.
“Holy hell!” John replied. “That’s fucking twice your body weight!”
The expression on James’s face would have done justice to the cat who ate the canary. “Wanna know what else I can do?” he asked.
John stepped back a pace, laughing. “Hey, if it’s sexual, I don’t want to hear about it. I know how you ‘mos get when you’re all horned up on testosterone,” he joked.
James twisted his neck from side to side and rolled his shoulders.
Jeez, he looks like a frickin’ wrestler, John realized.
“Oh, nothing sexual at all,” James said. “Just a little trick, that’s all. Come stand in front of me.”
It was the first time James had ever ordered John to do anything and John found himself obeying without thinking. And then James’s thick, meaty (when did that happen?) hands were under his armpits and James was pumping him up and down for reps, like he was barbell or something, only John sure as hell had never managed to do push press with 170 pounds!
After 15 reps, James dropped John back down to the floor.
“Whoosh!” John exclaimed. “Where the hell did that come from?”
“Pretty good trick, huh?”
And why do I have a stiffy? John asked himself.
Spring semester seemed to fly by for James and John, possibly because they spent a bit less time together.
“You’ve graduated,” John said their first Saturday after classes started.
“Huh?” James asked. “What are you talking about?”
“I mean, Meathead, that you’ve learned everything you’re going to learn from me in the gym,” John pointed out. “You don’t need me anymore.”
James spluttered. “Bu-bu-but….!”
John shook his head. “But nothing,” he continued. “And, let’s face it, James. It’s not just that you’ve learned everything I have to teach you—you’re way ahead of me. Fact is, we have different goals and…”
James was looking glum. “And…?”
John smirked. “I can’t keep up with you, Doofus!”
James laughed at that. “I thought I was ‘Meathead’?”
“You are ‘Meathead,’” John agreed. “Except when you’re being a doofus instead. I reserve the right to use the terms interchangeably, depending on the circumstances.”
Which is why John started working out in the West Quad weight room instead of the main campus gym where James was now a well-respected member of the Bee Gees, the Big Guys who tossed around the heavy weights that were out of the league of most gym-goers.
Besides, John said to himself, if I had to watch him go at it like the Hulk every morning, well…
He shook himself. No point in thinking about that!
Other than that, their routine was much the same. They still met at the dining hall for breakfast, lunch and dinner; John still dragged James, albeit with less dragging than previously, to the same array of social functions; and they still spent half an hour before bed each night doing partner-assisted stretching.
Somehow, every weekend, John managed to go out with a different girl. He was beginning to notice that, unlike high school, he didn’t seem to be having many second dates, much less third or fourth dates, and nothing resembling going steady.
He had hopes for Kelli but she turned him down after the second date. Exasperated, he blurted, “Well, why not?” She gave him a soul-searching look, as if she were trying to make a decision, then said. “Well, wouldn’t it be awkward with James?”
John’s jaw dropped. “What does James have to do with it?”
There was just a hint of pity in Kelli’s look but never having had any experience with that kind of look John didn’t even notice.
“He has everything to do with it, doesn’t he?”
John frowned. “You don’t like him?”
Kelli rolled her eyes. “That’s not it at all, dummy! I adore him. It’s just that the two of you do everything together, y’know?”
John just stared at her; Kelli shrugged her shoulders. “I guess when you get down to it, I’m just not very good at sharing.”
She gave John, whose mouth was still hanging open, a sisterly kiss on the cheek and headed back to her dorm.
After that, John decided any girl he went out with would get one follow-up invitation from him but any others would have to come from them. And then he put it out of his mind; he never quite got around to noticing that there no more third dates.
Meantime, the gym was obviously doing wonders for James.
Sometime in early February he caught up with John in terms of weight. A month later…
“Oof,” John said while he was stretching out James’s big, beefy shoulders. “This was a lot easier to do when you were just a little shit.”
With that James sat up, flipped John over, and began kneading his roommate’s back, his big quads squeezing John’s narrow, muscular hips.
“On the other hand,” John pointed out reasonably. “It’s now a lot easier for me to stretch you. Which has its advantages, don’t you think?”
With that he really put his weight into the next motion and John groaned in pleasure.
“Ja, Hilda, da massage is very goot!” John said in his best fake Swedish accent.
They were both in a sweat by the time they finished.
“Uh,” James said. “I think I’m gonna have to take a shower before I go to bed.”
John nodded. “Me, too,” he agreed, then added. “You know, this really isn’t supposed to be a sport! The point is to relax, not beat the living shit out of each other.”
James laughed. “You’re saying, in other words, you want me to go easy on you?”
John rolled his eyes. “Well, ya know, I’m not the…”
Then he paused.
He looked at James.
Broad shoulders, thick chest, meaty arms, big quads and calves, washboard abs.
“Jesus, Meathead, just how much do you weigh these days?”
James pondered that. “You know,” he said slowly. “I don’t really know.”
John grabbed the tape measure and ordered James onto the scale. His eyes bugged out when he saw the number: “Holy shit!” he exclaimed. “180.8!”
James shook his head back and forth. “I thought it was probably about that, just wasn’t sure.”
Which was a small prevarication on James’s part. The fact was he weighed himself every day, sometimes twice. That morning he’d been 180.2 in the gym—he “just wasn’t sure” how much he weighed that evening.
“How about you?” James asked casually.
John snorted. “Not that much!”
He stood on the scale; James read the number. “175.4!”
John looked at James. His roommate had a shit-eating grin on his face.
“Wanker,” John said. “You passed me and didn’t mention it, huh?”
He punched James in the shoulder—in was like punching a brick wall. James just laughed.
“So, uh,” John began. “Just how much do you bench now?”
James rolled his eyes. “You and the holy motherfucking bench press,” James growled.
John just looked at him. “You’re not up to 400 are you? Because, ya know, that would be seriously scary.”
James patted his friend on the head as if he were a little boy. “Now, now don’t fret,” James said, teasingly. “You have nothing to worry about, I’m definitely not there.”
John looked at the big thick vein crawling up James’s left arm and the noticeable cleft between his big pecs. “Not yet, you mean.”
James waggled his hand in the universal signal for “maybe, maybe not.”
“How much, dammit!”
James squared his shoulders, threw out his chest, locked his lats into place, and gave James a salute. “385, sir, reporting for duty sir!”
John actually turned pale. “Holy fucking shit,” he said. “That’s 130 pounds more than I can do!”
James’s grin was the definition of shit-eating.
He’s a fucking beast, John told himself.
James punched John in the shoulder, causing the young athlete to stagger back a step. “Lights out, buster,” James said. “Can’t grow if you don’t rest!” With that he turned, crossed his arms, and pulled off his baggy t-shirt.
Fuck, John thought, Look at that fucking back!
Forgetting the shower, John hastily slid under the covers and turned off his reading light before James could turn around.
“Nitey nite, Meathead,” John said.
“Nite, Buster,” James replied.
John suddenly realized that the semester was only half over.
What’s he gonna look like come May?!
Sleep was a long time coming that night.
John continued to be amazed by his roommate’s progress, although after that incident he decided against querying James further regarding his weight and/or bench press records. Grapevine indicated that the latter were continuing to proceed in a significant fashion but John really didn’t want to think about it.
Besides, he thought to himself, I’m making progress, too!
And, indeed, that was the case. By the end of the semester John had put on another 5 pounds of solid muscle, boosting his weight to 180 pounds, 20 pounds more than when he had started in the Fall term as a 160-pound freshman. Likewise, he really did have different goals than James, who was all about size and strength; during the time James had turned himself into a hulk, John had added significantly to his vertical leap while continuing to increase his speed and flexibility. For a 5’7”, 180-pound thick-muscled white boy, his sprint was pretty phenomenal and he was being seriously recruited by the track team.
As for James…
Eight more weeks brought 20 pounds of additional muscle.
“I did it,” James said the last night of the semester.
John’s shoulders tensed. “Did what?” he asked, cautiously.
“I achieved my goal,” James replied.
John raised his eyebrows.
“Two hundred pounds,” John said, pointing at his chest. “As of this a.m.!”
John’s jaw dropped. Fuck, he thought.
“That’s fucking amazing!” John exclaimed.
“Check it out,” James cooed.
With that he ripped off his baggy t-shirt, stripped off his gym shorts, and went through a classic bodybuilder’s posing routine, calling off his numbers with each pose.
“Biceps, 18½ inches.”
“Forearms, 15 inches.”
“Neck, 18 inches.”
“Chest, 49 inches.”
“Shoulders, 54 inches.”
“Waist, 31 inches.”
“Quads, 27 inches.”
“Calves, 18 inches.”
Here I am all happy about having gained 20 pounds in eight months and this guy…
“What do you think, Buster? 85 pounds in 8 months? Not bad, huh?”
John’s jaw dropped.
“You’re how much now?” James asked.
John pulled himself together. “Right at 180,” he replied.
“Cool beans, 20 pounds more than on the first day, huh?”
Before he knew what was happening, James was telling John what to pose and when, correcting his posture, adjusting the angle of his arms, showing him how to full extend his lats, etc.
Again, James called off the numbers:
“Biceps, 16 inches.”
“Forearms, 12½ inches.”
“Neck, 16 inches.”
“Chest, 44 inches.”
“Shoulders, 48 inches.”
Jeezus, John thought, his chest is bigger around than my shoulders!
“Waist, 32 inches.”
“Quads, 24 inches.”
“Calves, 16 inches.”
John stood there stunned. His former “little shit” roommate now outclassed him in every dimension!
I hate to think, John said.
“And Ty tells me you benched six plates last weekend,” James said. “Great going! Welcome to the Bee Gees!”
John had the grace to blush. He stammered his thanks, then asked the question he’d been avoiding all semester.
“Uh, and you?”
James got a serious look on his face. “Let me show you something?” he asked.
John stood stock still, afraid to breathe. He nodded, ever so slightly.
James grabbed John’s belt buckle with his right hand and…
It was like going up on an elevator or some kind of hoist.
James held him there, breathing deep and heavy, but not grunting, not panting, just barely breaking a sweat.
John counted the seconds. It was 30 exactly before James slowly let him back down to the ground.
“475,” James said when John’s feet were back on the floor. “That’s how much I bench.”
“And, yeah,” James finished for him. “That’s 70 pounds more than the record for any previous freshman at Wyndham.”
John felt light-headed. His knees sagged slightly.
James pulled his roommate close, wrapping his arms under John’s and around his back to support his friend. John’s face fell on James’s meaty pec.
“It’s just amazing,” he muttered.
James chuckled and the vibration emanating from his big, deep chest sent a tingle up and down John’s spine.
“It’s all because of you,” James said, rubbing his thick, strong hand through John’s hair, then whispered. “It’s all for you.”
John realized that his dick was harder than it ever had been in his life. His mouth parted slightly, then he wheezed as James gave him a hug so strong the air just whooshed out of his lungs!
James sat John down on the bed and pushed John’s head between his legs.
Eventually, John sat up again, red-faced and teary eyed.
“Meathead, yer gonna be the death of me!”
James just laughed.
“I think yer gonna live, Buster! You better anyway because I’m rooming with you again next year and if you think this is rough treatment just wait ‘til then.”
With that, James turned to the closet and started pulling out clothes. John hadn’t thought his dick could get any harder but looking at James’s mile-wide back and beefy bubble butt was, well, just plain uncomfortable!
Fully dressed, James turned back to John, leaned down to his friend, and kissed him square on the mouth.
“I gotta run,” he announced, pulling his iron-coarsened paws from John’s neck.
“What?” John spluttered.
He really couldn’t make out what James had just said. He could still feel the heat of James’s meaty hands on his own strong neck.
“Gotta run,” James repeated. “I’m taking Kelli to the dance and then we’re going out to the Kappa’s lake house for the night. I’ll see you in the morning.”
The dazed expression on John’s face told James he still had some explaining to do.
“Kelli, you know, the girl you dated back in February? Kappas, y’know, the fraternity you rushed?”
“Hey, it’s nothing,” he said. “Kelli asked me because she knew that dumbass football player she broke up with last month was gonna be there and she didn’t want him ragging on her.”
John looked at his friend. “And…?”
“And, well, it’s kinda funny,” James continued. “She told me that Blake, the dumbass, is, well, terrified of me. Turns out he was there watching me squat the day I broke 650, and, from what I’ve heard, I guess I was pretty over the top that day, growling and shit.”
John thought about that. “Blake Herndon is 6’2 and weighs 250 pounds,” he observed.
“Go figure, huh?” James put in. “Great big guy, only benches 350. What’s up with that?”
John stared at James. “You really don’t get it, do you?”
James moved to the bed to stand directly in front of John. He put his hairy mitts on John’s shoulders and looked down into John’s eyes.
“I get it, John, I really do. Do you?”
Then he walked out the door.
Next morning, John was gone before James got back. There was a note on James’s pillow.
Sorry I missed you, Meathead! Mom and Dad called at 6 a.m. to say they wanted me home by suppertime and you know how long a drive it is. Have an awesome summer! You are the best roommate a guy could ever have. I can’t wait to see you in August!
The note stayed in James’s wallet all summer.
James’s parents were seriously freaked out when their one and only son, still no more than 5’7” tall, returned home for the summer weighing 200 pounds of solid, quality muscle.
“Steroids!” they accused.
So James went back to see Dr. Barclay, who gave a whistle and shook James’s hand before doing all the tests. Barclay knew enough about adolescent endocrinology to realize James’s growth was just within the realm of humanly possible.
“So I’m doing this more for them than for you,” he told the strapping 19-year-old.
The test for steroids came back negative but James’s testosterone level was off the scale, even for his age.
“It’s sort of like you’re going through a second puberty,” Barclay marveled. “Without the additional growth in height. I ought to be writing you up for a medical journal! And if I recall correctly…”
James blushed. “Yeah, doc, you recall correctly,” he pointed out. “Last year I was hairless as a chihuahua.”
“And now you’d give a gorilla a run for his money! Your voice is deeper, too, right?”
James’s dad, who despite being two inches taller than his son now looked rather like a scrawny (albeit hirsute) teenager next to James, who outweighed him by 60 pounds, admitted with some embarrassment, that, well, yes, he’d gone through the same late adolescence “late puberty,” too.
“I guess it runs in the family, huh?” James asked.
His dad nodded—and then he and James’s mom promptly left town for a 3-month “research study” in Idaho, leaving James to his own devices. They were clearly uncomfortable with his lumbering presence.
James heaved a sigh of relief when they were gone: with them out of the house, he could eat as much as he wanted, when he wanted, and he could spend hours in the gym without having them on his case about it.
A week after he got back home and the day after his parents headed to Idaho, the phone rang:
“Meathead,” came the cheery voice on the other end.
“Oh,” James said. “It’s you.”
John had sent an e-mail to James every day since returning to his parents’ house and thus far James hadn’t replied to single one of them.
“How’s it going, big guy?”
“Why are you asking now?”
There was a pause on the other end of the line.
“You’re really pissed, aren’t you?”
“Ya think?” James asked in a sarcastic tone. “You left without saying good-bye, dammit. And don’t give me that ‘it’s a long drive’ line; I can use Mapquest as well as the next guy. You could have left at noon and still been home by supper time. I was back at our room by 8 a.m.!”
John did what he was good at in those situations—he changed the subject!
“So how was the dance? How was Kelli? Did Blake give her any trouble?”
James snorted. “No, he didn’t give Kelli any trouble,” he replied.
Uh oh, John thought. “So did he give you trouble? You didn’t get into a fight, did you?!”
James laughed. “Yes and no,” James answered. “Yes, Blake did give me trouble; no, we did not get into a fight…”
“Uh, you’ll have to clue me in, Big Guy, I’m not following.”
James pondered a moment. Do I tell him?
“Turns out big Ol’ Blake and I have something in common,” James said.
“Aside from muscles?” John asked.
“Oh, it’s about muscles,” James replied. “But it’s something else we have in common.”
John thought about that a minute.
“You don’t mean…?”
James laughed again. “Uh, yeah, I do mean,” James continued. “Blake does a great impression of the uber-straight jock but the fact is he’s gay as a goose. He wanted me to plow his big ol’ football player butt!”
“Hey, John, you there?”
John’s voice sounded shaky.
“Uh, yeah, Meathead, still here, just dropped the phone because, uh, the dog was chasing the cat and they knocked the base station off the counter…”
James smiled inwardly. He knew for a fact that John had (1) a big-time, “off to the ER” quality cat allergy and (2) an elderly beagle that couldn’t chase its own tail, much less a cat.
“Did you, uh…?” John finally asked.
“Hell, no,” James blurted. “You think I want my first-time to be with a drunken lout like that?!”
Damn, James thought, wincing. TMI!
For the first time in the week since he’d left Wyndham, John broke into a big smile.
Oh ho! he thought.
“Well, buddy,” John said, finally. “I’m really sorry about missing you that morning but the ‘rents were giving me hell and I thought, what the heck, I’m gonna see him again in four months, plus there’s the phone, and, oh, yeah, this cool new thing called the Internet!”
James winced again. “Okay, okay,” he replied. “I know I’ve been bad. But, well, ya know, I was just plain pissed off.”
John apologized again, and James apologized for being pissy, and John asked what was up, and James told him about going to see Dr. Barclay and how his parents had taken off.
“Ya know,” John said. “Now that you mention it, your voice is a lot deeper than it was when I met you last year. I guess I just never noticed because you kept getting bigger and it just sorta seemed to match.”
James was a bit too embarrassed to mention the hair. He thought it was hot but he had no idea what John, who wasn’t smooth but no hairy ape, thought about it.
“Of course,” James pointed out. “If you ever want to come up here, there’s plenty of room. I’ve got the run of the place and no commitments other than gym and the grocery store.”
The silence that followed was long enough for James to begin to wonder whether they’d been disconnected.
“Well,” John said slowly. “I’d have to check with my parents, and, well, I’m guessing they’re not going to go for it, especially since we’re having this big family reunion thing and they’ve all got me running around like a decapitated chicken doing chores for them.”
“Well, okay then,” he said. “I guess I’ll see you in August. Offer still stands, though. Just let me…”
John cut him off.
“Yeah, August will be great, Meathead, hey, I gotta run, it was great talking to you, they just won’t let up on these chores, ya know?”
“John, there’s something…
James put the phone down, crossed his big thick arms across his beefy chest, and contemplated his hairy toes for a long a time.
Then he went to the gym.
The summer passed quickly for James and John. What John hadn’t pointed out to James was that he was spending more time than ever in the gym, boosting his calories, and just trying to get big.
“I don’t need to be fast, I want to be big,” John told himself every morning. “James can do it, I can do it.”
For his part, James’s insane rate of progress only accelerated. With no distractions, he was totally free to lift, eat, drink, shit, piss, lift some more, eat some more, sleep a lot, and start over.
“And grow hair,” James said looking down at himself. “By the end of the summer…”
By the end of the summer, John was quite pleased with his progress: 20 additional pounds of solid muscle.
Fuck, John thought, looking at himself in the mirror. I did it! I’m the same size as James!
He cinched in his cobblestone abs, squared his big broad shoulders, locked his thick meaty lats into place, and gave himself a double bi shot.
Eighteen inches cold—I wonder what James will think of these puppies!
Of course, as soon as the thought crossed his mind John started wondering, as he did every day, just how much bigger James had gotten. Here he was all pleased with himself that he’d gained 20 pounds over the summer but that freak had put on fucking 85 pounds in eight months during their freshman year.
C’mon, John told himself. He can’t really be maintaining that pace.
The only other thing bumming John was that he still wasn’t nearly as strong as James had been back in May. He was just as big and built as James had been then but John was only benching 385 pounds.
Only, John said, shaking his head.
It occurred to John that adding 70 pounds to an already respectable bench in just four months’ time was nothing to sneeze at. For that matter, how many 19-year-old guys benched nearly twice their body weight?
Not many, he concluded.
But it wasn’t 475 pounds, which was what James was benching in May. It just wasn’t, well, freakish.
Like James, he added to himself.
Like John, James was curious, too. John had been keeping him up-to-date with his progress, both in terms of his muscle and strength gains, but whenever James bugged John for pictures the latter resisted, saying he wanted to see pix of James first!
“Hey,” James said, at one point. “You can come up here anytime you want.”
John changed the subject again and eventually they stopped asking each other.
The third week of August John unlocked the door of the 10th floor studio / efficiency university apartment he and James would be sharing that year. It was 1.5 miles from the middle of campus, the best a couple of low-ranking sophomores could get at Wyndham, which gave preference to freshmen and upperclassmen, not sophomores.
James had already taken the right-hand bed and desk set up, as evidenced by the books, the laptop, and the inevitable collection of Star Wars action figures mixed in with the latest Lego confections. Luggage, though, was on top of the bed, still unpacked, and the shower was running.
“Yo, Meathead,” John called out, poking his head inside the steamy bathroom. “I’m here!”
“Hey hey hey,” James called over the din of the splashing water. “Glad you made it, Buster, out in a minute.”
Damn, John thought, his voice is really rumbly now. When they met last year James’s tenor was almost falsetto compared to John’s pleasant baritone but it sounded, well, deep now.
A couple of minutes later, John was fussing with his duffel bag when he heard the bathroom door open and a pair of thick feet trotted into the studio’s open living / sleeping area, followed by a deep-bassed “Yo.” John turned to his roommate and…
“Fuck!” he exclaimed, and involuntarily sat right down on the bed.
James was dressed in a bath towel only and…
My God! John thought.
James was totally frickin’, pro bodybuilder huge.
“You okay, little buddy?” James asked, stepping towards his friend.
John looked up at James’s looming form. It occurred to him that James was still no taller than his own 5’7” but…
“Yer a fuckin’ gorilla, man!”
James blushed and scratched his mammoth chest.
“Well, uh, yeah, about the hair and all, I guess it runs in the family,” he said, shrugging shoulders the size of mountains. “I tried shaving it off but it took fer fuckin’ ever and grew back even thicker.”
James paused, an apprehensive look on his ruggedly handsome face, a face sporting thick sideburns and a five o’clock shadow, even though it was only noon.
John looked James up and down, as if seeing him for the first time.
“You’re hairy? Oh, you’re hairy! How cool is that?! I always wanted to be that hairy myself but I guess I’ll have to be content with the economy package!”
Whoosh, James thought. That’s a relief.
“But I wasn’t talking about your fur, doofus,” John continued. “You could be as smooth as a baby’s behind but you’d still be as big as a fucking gorilla!”
John stood up and began moving his hands across James’s body, taking in the width of his shoulders, the breadth and thickness of his chest, the jutting overhang that loomed over James’s equally cobbled abs.
“Fuck,” John said again. “How much…?”
It occurred to John that James’s hands were crawling over his body, too.
“250, man,” James confessed. “I gained 50 pounds over the summer.”
John staggered but James caught him—it was like being held by granite.
“I already knew how much you weighed, thanks to all those e-mails,” James said, hugging his friend. “I knew you were going to be bigger and more muscular. I just didn’t realize how fucking much hotter you would be. How did you get to be more handsome?”
John barely heard what James said.
“Where the hell is my tape measure?”
James turned and unzipped a pocket on his gym bag.
“Here,” he said. “Use this one. You inspired me to buy one.”
The next 20 minutes were surreal for John. He measured James’s forearms, biceps, neck, shoulders, chest, waist, quads, calves. He had trouble adjusting to James’s new size, having to try over and over again to get the tape into place. But, God, the numbers:
Forearms, 19 inches.
Biceps, 23 inches.
Shoulders, 66 inches.
Chest, 60 inches.
Waist, 32 inches.
Quads, 33 inches!
Calves, 22 inches.
“You are,” John said at last. “The biggest, most muscular man I’ve ever seen in my life.”
James smiled and pulled his friend close. The hair on James’s massive torso was as soft as lambs’ wool, almost as thick, and warm as an electric blanket.
“You like it?” James asked.
John had spent a lot of time thinking about the kiss that James had given him that spring night before heading out to the dance with Kelli (and Blake). He’d thought about it a lot.
He’d thought about all the girls he’d dated.
He’d thought about all the times he’d gotten off.
He’d thought about the fact that in all that time he’d never managed to get laid.
He’d thought about the many times he was really close to getting laid but thought of some excuse to run away.
He’d thought about that first time James had picked him up and how his dick had instantly gotten hard.
He’d thought about the fact that he never really had made a connection between what he was thinking or looking at and whether his dick was hard or not.
He’d thought about James a lot.
And every time he thought about James, the same thing happened:
His dick got hard.
He remembered being stunned by James’s muscles and by the sight of James’s huge back leaning over his bed that last spring night.
He thought about James and he put his hand on his hard dick and when he did it exploded.
John wrapped his strong, manly hands around James’s brahma bull neck and pulled James’s face to his own.
“Meathead, the truth is,” John said. “I fuckin’ like it a lot.”
John had a lot of practice kissing. By his count, he’d kissed about a hundred girls since he’d turned 12. He’d kissed so many that he was a good kisser; such a good kisser, in fact, that some girls nearly got off on it.
Now he kissed James.
He kissed James the way he kissed Lori and Shannon, the two who had made him stop kissing because they were soaking their panties and his hand was between their legs and they were gonna cum if he didn’t stop and good girls didn’t cum on the first date, did they?
Except for the kiss he gave John in May, James had no practice kissing anyone other than his parents and the occasional odd, musty old relative, but John wasn’t aware of that detail. What he received from James was every bit as impressive as James’s incredible body.
They pulled apart at last.
“Can you deal with it?” James asked.
He was ready to find out.
“One thing I gotta know,” John said.
James looked at him askance.
“How much are you benching now?” John asked.
James laughed. “I shoulda known that’s what you were gonna ask, Buster.” He looked at his room-mate. “Do you really want to know?”
John had spent all summer fantasizing about how big James might be getting, how much he might be benching. At 250 pounds, James was bigger than he ever imagined.
“Actually, I hate to think,” John said. “I really wanna know—but I’m already jealous.”
James smirked then lifted his left arm and gave John a mind blowing view of his massive 23 inch biceps. “I think you may want to sit down for this,” James pointed out.
Trembling slightly, John complied.
John felt his dick begin to throb.
“Aaarrgh,” John exclaimed, dumping a massive load of cum into his shorts.
James was on him in a flash, pulling John’s shorts down, burying his rugged, handsome face in the sticky mess. John was afraid he might pass out. Despite just having shot the biggest load of his life—no hands, Ma!—he was already achingly hard again.
James finally lifted his head up, licking his lips. A big dollop of cum was attached to the end of his nose. John used his right index finger to clean it off James’s nose, then stuck it in his mouth.
“Hmm,” John said, moving his tongue around his mouth. “Tastes like licorice!”
James shook his head.
“No, it doesn’t,” he said, somewhat pompously. “It tastes like crême brulée.”
John laughed and James slammed him back onto the bed, straddling John’s narrow, muscular hips, looking down at his roommate with an expression of lust and desire and affection that was almost painful to see.
“Fuck,” John said. “Yer a fucking mountain, James, you’re blotting out the sun.”
James pulled his hard dick out of his gym shorts.
“Jeez,” John said. “Nice piece o’ meat.”
In the previous year, the two roommates had never managed to see each other’s equipment down there. Now they compared.
“Well, who’d a thunk it,” James observed.
Not only were the two sophomores the same height, their dicks were nearly exactly the same size. Measuring, they found that John’s was 8½ long to James’s 8 inches but James’s was bigger in circumference, 6½ to John’s 6 inches.
“You’re the big man,” James said, referring to John’s extra half inch of length. “I guess that means you want to fuck me?”
“I’m the big man? Are you kidding? I look like an elf next to you. Dick size has nothing to do with it!”
Fact was, of course, neither of ‘em had ever fucked anything other than their fists, the occasional pillow, and, in John’s case, a watermelon one summer.
“You’re kidding!” James said.
Which pretty much was John’s response when James fessed up to having had a banana up his butt on one occasion.
“I wouldn’t recommend it,” he added. “Too squishy!”
John thought about that. “Maybe a cucumber?”
James chuckled. “Yours is about the right size and shape.”
John pondered a moment. “Shouldn’t we be making out like howler monkeys?”
James laughed. “I’m giving you a few minutes to recuperate.”
It was John’s turn to laugh. “I think I was recuperated before I finished spurting.”
So they got down to it. Intensely, frenetically, slowly, calmly. They started by sucking each other off, then took turns figuring out how to fuck each other. Over the next four hours they tried every position they could think of, some of which were pretty ludicrous, others posed the risk of serious dick-snapping injury. All were hot, all were pleasurable.
“Fuck,” James said at last.
“Again?” John asked. “Ready for Round 4?”
James sat up. “Actually, I’m dehydrated,” he said.
At that precise moment John’s stomach yowled like a cat in heat.
“Whoa,” John said. “I guess we better tank up, huh?”
James pulled his lover from the bed. Whoa! James thought. He’s my lover!
“You got it, lover boy,” James said. “Let’s get some chow and hit the gym.”
John threw out his 48-inch chest, flexed his 18-inch bicep. “Lover boy?!” he asked.
James wrapped his meaty paws around John’s shoulders and pulled the smaller man close.
“Lover Stud,” he growled.
John smirked. “Better,” he agreed. “Provided I can call you Man Mountain.”
James’s big, thick dick started to plump up again. “Grrrr, damn, Lover Stud, don’t get me started. I fuckin’ need to eat, dammit.”
John was totally gobsmacked at how much food James put away. “Ain’t no way I’m keeping up with you in that department,” John told his Big Man.
“Have another helping,” James replied. “Gotta eat if you’re gonna grow.”
Then he paused.
“Oh,” James said. “I take it you do wanna grow, right? Last year you kinda pooh-pooh’d the idea!”
John blushed. “Uh, well, yeah, that was then, this is now.”
James grinned. “Good,” he said. “Because if you wanted to stay small you’ve done a piss poor job of it.”
John tried not to wiggle with pleasure. “Let’s face it,” John said. “I wanna be totally fuckin’ huge, man—just like you!”
In the gym, James had John work out first.
“I’ll coach you,” James said. “And when you’re done, you’ll coach me, okay?”
John laughed at that. “As if,” he said. “More like I’ll be your plate changer, that’s it.”
James put his meaty paws on John’s thick, broad shoulders.
“We’re partners in this, Lover Stud, don’t ever forget it. You started me down this road. I couldn’t have gotten this far without you. It’s time to return the favor.”
John tried not to choke up. He thought his heart would burst with the love and affection he felt for James at that moment.
Five minutes later, of course, he was cursing James as the vilest bastard to ever cross his path. James wasn’t just a beast, he was a tyrant, pushing John to failure over and over again.
“No mas,” John said at last. “No mas.”
James put his face nose-to-nose with John’s, and John gulped. He was pleased with his own fucking broad shoulders but was suddenly painfully aware that they were about the same width as James’s chest.
“You just benched 385 for 5 reps, asshole,” James growled. “That’s 4 more than you’ve ever done before, right?”
John swallowed hard. “Jeez, I did, didn’t I?”
James pounded his big fists on John’s thick pecs. “Just 1 more rep,” he said.
John lay down on the bench and then noticed that James was stripping off the plates. In their place, four 45-pound plates on each end of the bar.
James glared at him. “You’re gonna do this,” James rumbled. “No excuses.”
Looking up at the bar, John noticed that it was sagging slightly on either end.
Jesus God, he thought. It’s twice my fucking weight. If it slips, it’s gonna fucking put me in the basement.
He blew out his breath, once, twice, three times…
“C’mon,” James grunted.
Four times, then.
John’s thick strong arms drove the massive weight up off the stanchions, James providing guidance but no assistance.
Slowly, slowly, slowly the trembling bar descended to John’s chest, James’s gorilla mits wrapped around just inside John’s grip.
John drove the weight straight up, thinking of that time James put his hands under his armpits and pumped him up and down.
Fuck, John thought. I did it.
With James’s assistance, the weight crashed back down on the stanchions.
“Congratulations,” James murmured. “There are exactly three other guys on campus, besides me, who can bench that much weight.”
Then James leaned down and whispered in his lover’s ear.
“I fuckin’ want your ass. Meet me in the locker room in 5 minutes.”
Then he strode away.
John just lay there for a few minutes, his gym towel covering his gym shorts and his raging erection. Slowly he stood up and painfully made his way to the locker room.
Blake, the junior football player who James had turned down at the Kappa’s lake house party, passed him with a look of concern on his face.
“Whoa, dude,” Blake said. “Did you wrack yourself?! You better take it easy there! Yer gettin’ way big but you don’t want an injury.”
John just smiled and nodded.
Wanker, he thought. And he can’t bench 400 pounds! Now if I walk very, very slowly, maybe I won’t come in my pants before I get to the locker room!
And so it went for the rest of their sophomore year.
Eat, drink, lift, fuck, sleep, rinse, repeat. John cut back on his array of social involvements, which didn’t stop him and James from getting invited to every party and gathering on campus.
It didn’t take them long to become the campus “it” couple. They were huge, they were hot, they were gay, they were a couple. The Wyndham Gay-Straight Alliance was started by them and built around them; thanks to their presence, it was an instant success. And once Blake, captain of the Wyndham football team, came out (at their urging and with their encouragement), it was in the national media. James and John were interviewed for stories by Sports Illustrated, ESPN, the Washington Post, and even the New York Times.
James’s parents took the latter as an opportunity to disown their only son, cutting off any further contact with him. Not because he was gay but because he was a bodybuilder; they thought it was disgraceful and told him so.
“Ya know, I ought to feel bad,” James told John’s parents when they came to visit for Alumni Weekend. “But I really don’t. They raised me and they cared for me but beyond a certain point I think they kind of ignored me.”
John’s mom wrapped her athletic, tennis playing arm around one of James’s (by that time it was significantly large than her waist.)
“I know it hurts, honey,” she told him. “But you have us now. We’ll never replace your parents but we’ll never be anything other than completely proud to have you as our other son.”
John’s dad gruffly agreed.
“Besides,” he added. “You’ve done so much for John.”
John and James looked at each other and burst out laughing.
“Whaaa…?” John’s dad wanted to know.
“S’okay, Dad,” John said. “Really. Private joke, that’s all.”
Training, of course, was insane and soon enough it, too, was cause for media coverage, this time by publications that specialized in bodybuilding and weight-training.
Working out with James, John’s gains increased significantly.
“I’m growing faster than I ever did before,” John observed. The first month of training out with James he had put on 7 pounds of muscle; the next month it was 8 pounds.
“That’s mega cool, Stud Lover,” James replied, but then sighed and added:
“Me, on the other, I’m slowing down.”
John rolled his eyes.
“Oh, yeah, I noticed that,” he said, sarcastically. “It must be such a burden to be gaining 10 pounds a month instead of 12 or 15 like you did over the summer.”
“Good point, Buster!”
“Damn straight, Meathead!”
They had just finished a photo shoot with Muscular Development and had another scheduled with Flex for the following weekend. After seeing the news stories about the two hunky teens, the muscle mags couldn’t resist, their long-established homophobia tossed casually into the waste bin.
And why not?
By that time James was packing 270 pounds of competition quality muscle on his 5’7” frame. Visiting the Olympia Expo that fall and standing next to Branch Warren caused a minor sensation; like James and John, James and Branch were just the same height and since Branch was ready to walk on the stage he was down to about 245 pounds. James was carrying 25 pounds more muscle than Branch and despite being “off season” nearly as hard and muscular.
“Damn, boy,” Branch had told him. “I hope I’m retired by the time you start competing.”
James was disappointed that Branch declined to pose with him until John whispered in his ear:
“You’re bigger than he is, dumbfuck, and your arms are a lot bigger. You really think he wants to be shown up by a teenager?”
James spent the rest of his time at the Expo with a big supplement bag held strategically in front of his crotch.
For his part, John was a ripped 215 pounds with biceps pushing 20 inches cold. Next to Branch and James he looked petite; next to anyone else it was clear that John was a fucking monster.
They were monsters in the weight pit, too.
A week after John benched 405 pounds for the first time he and Blake and Kyle and Trent stood around James and watched in awe as the former skinny geek pushed 700 pounds into the air, 45 pounds more than his best lift over the summer and close to three times his body weight.
“Damn,” James said when he sat up. “That felt fucking good!”
He tried not notice that in addition to John and Blake both Kyle and Trent, legendary pussy hounds, were sporting major wood.
Good thing I go last, James said to himself, a smirk crossing his face. Time for these boys to hit the showers—cold showers!
Two months later, during the MD shoot, James benched 815 pounds, crossing the bodyweight x three barrier for the first time. John couldn’t restrain himself. He jumped on James while James was still on the bench and started humping him furiously. James placed his gorilla hands his head, flexed his mountainous 25 inch biceps, and casually stood up, fully supporting John’s 215 pounds on his forearms and hips.
The photographer, a legend in the muscle world, blew his load, prodigiously staining his khaki dress pants.
For Christmas they went to John’s parents’ house. James was 290 pounds by that point and John was up to 230. There was a steady stream of friends and relatives in and out of the house for two weeks, all wanting to see the Gay Muscle Lovers, as Flex magazine referred to them.
(John and James thought it was kind of rude for Flex to juxtapose their pictures with those of Bob Paris and Rod Jackson; true, they made Bob and Rod, who were both big men, look like a couple of nelly school girls, but “those pix were works of art,” James noted. “We’re just a couple of guys!”)
John’s friends were absolutely stunned by his size and totally in awe of James.
“The cool thing is,” John always managed to point out. “When he and I started rooming together, James was 115 pounds soaking wet.”
It usually took a minute for people to translate “when he and I started rooming together” into “18 months ago.” When they did, their eyes grew even wider.
At one point during the vacation John’s dad shooed everyone away and sat the two of them down in his office study.
“Here’s the deal,” Dad said. “I want you two boys to stay in school, no matter what, okay?”
John looked at James, James looked at John.
“Come again?” John said. “Why wouldn’t we?”
His dad gave him the “don’t kid a kidder” look.
“I’m not totally ignorant of the way your chosen sport works,” he pointed out. “I know about contests and endorsements and magazine contracts. In fact, I know quite a bit about them.”
A high-priced corporate attorney, John’s dad knew how to do his research, and how to work the network to find out the inside dope.
“Let them pay you buttloads of money for the pix,” he advised. “But stay in school and get your degrees. You’re only going to get better over the next couple of years and every 10 pounds you gain is another $100,000 they’re going to add to any offer they make.”
The two hulks looked at each other, then grinned.
“Thanks, Dad,” James said. “We’d pretty much come to that conclusion. It’s nice to know we have your support.”
John’s dad wrapped each of the men he thought of as my sons in a big bear hug.
“You two rock my world,” he said, blowing his nose. “Your mom’s, too, of course.”
At the end of spring semester, James looked around the studio apartment he and John had shared that year, a forlorn expression on his handsome, manly face.
“Our first apartment,” John pointed out.
“I’m gonna miss it,” James muttered.
It was very much representative of the two of them. Everywhere you looked: bodybuilding magazines, posters, framed photos, supplements, giant cans of tuna and protein powder, Star Wars action figures, and Legos everywhere. (John had never had any use for Legos, even as a kid, until he saw his first episode of Rick and Steve on Bravo and it was like a switch had been flipped; he was more obsessed with them than James was with action figures!)
Crowded, though. Just a couple of weeks into the school year, they’d quietly replaced the twin beds (which belonged to the University after all) with a reinforced steel-framed California King. It was crammed into the sleeping alcove so tightly there was barely any room for them to stand at its side (well, considering how thick James was, that was no surprise) and only on one side. John had to crawl over James every time if he had to get up to take a piss. James had volunteered to sleep on the inside but John liked crawling over him so they left it that way.
“You’ve been complaining for months about how small this place is,” John observed dryly.
James grinned at his lover.
“Well, ya know,” he said. “If you weren’t so fucking huge.”
There was that. At 260 pounds, John was 10 pounds heavier than James had been when the school year started, nearly the same size James had been when he’d come close to (accidentally) humiliating Branch Warren.
John threw out his 60-inch chest and flexed his freakily vascular forearms and biceps. The “puppies,” as John still thought of them, now measured 23 inches cold when flexed.
“Ya think I’m big, do ya?” John asked, purring seductively.
James moved close to John, wrapping his hands around John’s huge arm.
“Oh, yeah, Mister,” James replied. “Totally fucking huge.”
John punched his lover in his left pec. Even though John was now regularly benching 700 pounds for reps, punching James’s chest was like steel girder. It didn’t budge.
I thought he was huge when he outweighed me by 50 pounds, John thought. Now, well, shit…
At 330 pounds of solid, sculpted muscle, James was a fucking tank. His chest was pushing 70 inches, which was frickin’ amazing considering he was only 67 inches tall; his biceps were in the high 20s, his waist only 35 inches.
Nearly three times what he weighed the day I met him, It’s fucking unbelievable.
James stood there, soaking it up.
He gets off thinking about what it’s like to be me now, James mused.
James ran his big thumb across John’s left nipple. Under might have been a better description; John’s pecs were now so thick and full that his nips tended to point down rather than out.
Because I’m so huge, he doesn’t always appreciate how fucking awesome he’s become.
James put his other hand on John’s raging erection.
And he doesn’t have a clue that I still remember what it was like to be a ‘little shit’ of a guy.
James’s own big tool was at full mast now.
“I think…” John began.
“I think,” James added.
“I think we have time for another round, don’t you?”