Wow

by Richard Jasper

It’s 1993 and 23-year-old Roger is very much looking forward to welcoming to Atlanta his friend from a usenet weightlifting group, a hunky 35-year-old gay muscle-bear named Jim. To say they’re impressed with each other is an understatement!

A fantasy springing from a real life encounter. “Jim” is modeled on a drop-dead gorgeous Silicon Valley muscle bear I met in Atlanta the first year I was out (1993!).—rpj

“Wow!”

They both said it at the same time. Roger had met Jim online after posting his coming out story / appeal for a work out partner on misc.fitness.weights. Jim, who wasn’t in Atlanta, nonetheless sent words of encouragement, pointing out that “yes, indeed, it was indeed possible to be gay and a bodybuilder.” Which is why they were both standing there in the lobby of the “seen better days” Villager Inn in Midtown Atlanta. Jim had come into town from Silicon Valley for his once or twice a year visit with the local office of the software firm he worked for. Learning of the pending visit, Roger had instantly volunteered to take Jim out to dinner and (since it was Friday night) out to the clubs, too.

“I mean, damn boy, I knew you were big but, damn…” Roger spluttered. The two of them were exactly the same height, 5’11, but Jim, 35, had a dozen years of Roger, 23, and he’d spent all those years turning himself into the musclebear ideal, 240 pounds of powerlifter strength and bodybuilder proportions, most of it covered in a thick layer of silky dark hair. “Yer fuckin’ huge!”

Jim laughed at that and tensed his vein studded 21-inch biceps.

“Look who’s talking,” Jim countered. “I was expecting a beanpole and here you are…” Roger had the decency to blush. When he and Jim had started chatting online he had just started working out, weighing in at a buck-sixty on a good day. “So how much DO you weigh today, hotshot?”

It was Roger’s turn to laugh. Jim had been on a bulking cycle for most of the past six months, getting close to 250 before trimming down to his current 240. Getting regular updates from Jim made Roger simultaneously horny as hell and a regular demon in the gym.

“Uh, well…” he blushed again.

So fucking cute, Jim thought to himself.

“Not sure what I am right at this moment,” Roger finally continued. “But this morning when I got out of the shower I was right at 210. Well, about that, anyway, it kept swinging between 209¾ and 210¼ but…”

Jim’s jaw dropped. “Fuckin’ A, man!” he said, clapping Roger on his nice beefy shoulder. “Fifty pounds in six months? That’s incredible.” About that time Roger’s stomach growled, causing both of ’em to laugh yet again. “C’mon,” Roger said, “the car’s out this way. Let’s go feed that big bod of yours!” Jim wrapped his meaty paw around Roger’s strong young neck. “I’m gonna feed your machine,” he said, smirking at Roger’s blush. “And then you’re gonna tell me how you got big!”

They walked out in the sultry Atlanta evening.

Dinner at Mick’s was good. Jim was gobsmacked by how much food Roger put away. “Okay, now I know how you do it,” he allowed at one point. “You eat like a horse.” Roger blushed. “That’s a good thing, right?”

“Hold your fist out,” Jim said. His eyebrows askance, Roger did so—only to have Jim bump it with his own powerful knuckles. “Damn straight,” Jim said. “Eating like a horse is what it’s all about. The thing is….”

Roger grinned.

“Oh, I know where this is going,” he continued. “Most people who eat like I do look like walruses.” Jim nodded. “So how…?”

“I just spend a lot of time in the gym, that’s all,” Roger replied. Jim leaned back and clasped his thick heads behind his head, giving Roger a superlative view of Jim’s massive arms. “Sheeeit, boy,” Roger said. Jim smirked and put his arms down. “I think it’s about time…” Roger looked at him.

“It’s about time you showed me this gym of yours…”

“Well, fuck,” Jim said when Roger showed him around Urban Jungle. “No wonder…” Roger raised an eyebrow. “No wonder you’re so huge,” Jim said. “It’s a fucking real gym!” Roger laughed, then beckoned at someone entering from behind where Jim was standing. “Someone I’d like you to meet,” Roger said. Jim turned as a huge black man stuck out his hand.

“Lee Haney!”

The big man’s chuckle sent a ripple up and down his huge pecs.

“Well, yep, that would be me, all right, welcome to my gym!”

Jim eyes bulged.

“Damn, Roger,” Haney continued, “who’s this big ass friend of yours?”

For once in his life it was Jim’s turn to blush.

“This is my friend Jim from California,” Roger said.

Lee gave Jim’s hand a firm shake and started feeling Jim’s big shoulders. “Oh, one of them California boys, huh? I bet you compete, don’t you?” Jim snorted. “Well, no sir, I’m just a big ol’ computer geek. You’re never likely to see me on the stage!” Haney chuckled. “Just as well, man,” he pointed out. “You’d have to get rid of all that gorilla fur and that would be a damn shame.” Jim just stood there with his mouth open.

“Roger, I’ma gonna let you and Jim have it. Gotta go let my dogs out. Jimbo, nice meetin’ ya, man, hope to see you around again,” and with that he walked out.

Roger was grinning ear to ear. “Uh, well, is he…?” Jim finally managed to mutter. “Aww, hell, no,” Roger said. “Wouldn’t that be nice? But he sure is a big tease, isn’t he?” Jim just shook his head.

“Incredible.”

Roger looked at his watch.

“Well, Mr. Man, it sure would be nice if we could catch a work out sometime but I’m guessing you’ve got an 8 o’clock meeting, same as me. I think I best be getting you back to the Villager.”

Jim looked disappointed but nodded his head. “I’m afraid you’ve got that right, kid. Besides….” Jim’s steel-blue eyes held Roger’s like a magnet. “There are other ways to get a good work out.”

Roger smiled shyly.

“Show me?”

Jim wasn’t late for his meeting, nor was Roger. Neither was particularly awake, though. They both managed to make it through the day and…

“Hi, there!” Roger said to Jim as he walked into the lobby of the Villager. Jim stopped in his tracks and stared. “What are you doing here?” Roger grinned. “I’m taking you to the airport, of course.” Jim’s jaw dropped. Seeing it, Roger gulped. “I mean, unless, of course, you don’t…” Jim embraced Roger in a massive bear hug. “Thanks, man,” Jim said. “It’s so good to see you again. I felt bad about having to scoot so fast this morning…”

Whew, Roger thought to himself. For a minute there I thought I was gonna have a bad lesbian hair day!

The trip to the airport only took about 20 minutes; Jim held Roger’s hand the whole way.

“Uh…” Jim said as they were getting close. “You realize…” Roger winced. Uh oh… “You realize,” Jim continued, “that I don’t usually go in for the mushy stuff. This isn’t like me at all.” The tingling Roger felt was like an electric current passing through every inch of his body at the same time. “But…?” Jim audibly gulped. “I, uh, well,” he continued. “I think this is going somewhere. I want it to go somewhere.”

Roger squeezed Jim’s hand—hard.

“Call me when you get to California, okay?”

In fact, Jim called him from Dallas. And then from baggage claim at SFO. And then when he reached his condo. After that, they talked every night for a month. Then they got their phone bills (in 1993 cell phones and free long distance weren’t an option, you may recall) and figured out how to use internet chat. They saved the calls for once a week.

They redoubled their efforts in the gym. Jim gave Roger all the details about his diet, his workouts, right down to the sets, reps and poundages, and how much his weight changed from week to week. For his part, Roger played coy. He’d tell Jim what he’d done and how much he ate but he wouldn’t talk weights. Not how much he’d moved, not how much he’d gained. It was driving Jim crazy!

“I’ll be there at Christmas,” Roger said. Jim had extended the invitation and Roger didn’t need to be asked twice. “You can measure me then.”

The day Jim was supposed to pick Roger up at the airport he studied himself in the mirror. He was exactly 260 pounds, 20 pounds heavier than he’d been in Atlanta and despite those extra pounds he was even harder and leaner than before. Jim’s chest now stretched the tape to 57 inches, his biceps were 22” cold (closer to 23½” pumped), and his quads were 31 inches. And what really got him hard was thinking about Roger. He knew the kid was bigger, he had to be, considering the amount he was eating and how much work he was putting in the gym. But how much bigger? As big as Jim had been when they met?

Jim waited outside the gate as the people poured off the plane. His eyes widened when he saw the big man exit, a pro level guy with buzzed hair and black sun glasses, then looked past him, impatiently, to see if he could spot Roger.

“Uh, aren’t you going to say ‘hello’?”

Jim whipped around.

“Roger?!”

The big man wrapped Jim in a powerful embrace.

“It’s about time you noticed me!”

Jim stood back to get a better look.

“Holy fucking shit, Roger!”

It was like looking in the mirror all over again. The shoulders were that wide, the chest that thick, the quads that appeared to have Toyotas strapped to them, the bulging, powerful forearms. Roger grinned his geeky boy grin—it was Roger all right!

“You likee?”

“Woof!”

Roger stuck his fist out. Jim bumped it. Roger handed Jim a cloth tape measure, then pulled off his shirt.

“Whaaaa…?”

Roger arched an eyebrow.

“You’ve been saying for six months you wanted to measure…”

And so Jim did.

Chest: 56½
Biceps: 22
Waist: 32
Quads: 31
Calves: 21

The crowd at the airport was giving them a wide berth and the pre-Segway, post-donut security cop was looking at the two as if he were trying to make up his mind whether to say something. Roger pulled his shirt back on and crushed Jim in monster bear hug. They said it together:

“Wow!”

Their first work out together during Roger’s visit Jim found himself struggling to keep up. Sometimes Jim lifted a bit more, sometimes Roger lifted a bit more, but they both pushed each other beyond what either had done on his own previously. The difference was: Roger was automatically raring to go as soon as he finished one set.

“Take yer minute!” Jim told him, adding to himself because I sure as hell need to take mine. Roger would get his sheepish grin and waited but he never sat down and it was about all he could do to keep from bouncing off the walls. Just like having a fucking puppy, Jim thought. A huge, 260-pound walking wet dream of a puppy! The last day of Roger’s visit, they both got on the scales.

“261,” Jim said. “But it was probably 262 last night and it’ll be 260 this afternoon.”

He looked at the readout on Roger’s scale.

“Shit, dude—265 pounds!”

Roger grinned. “You mean…?” Jim slapped him on the back. “Yeah, I mean. You are the big man in this relationship.” Roger blushed. “Well, uh, no, there’s one area where you’re always gonna be the bigger one…”

Jim laughed.

“Well, thank God for that! I don’t know how I’d feel…”

Uh oh, Roger thought.

“Well…”

Jim snorted. “I’m just messin’ with ya, babe. You are going to go further than me, that’s all there is to it. I’m just gonna work on tryin’ to keep up. You just keep gettin’ bigger and I’ll just keep gettin’ bigger. Deal?” Roger sighed in relief. “Deal.”

They went home, showered and…Never made it to the airport. They didn’t make it to the airport the next day, either.

“Roger..,” Jim began.

“I know, I know, this is crazy,” Roger replied. “But it’s not all that crazy. You see…” It turned out that Roger had a surprise for Jim—namely, a new job just a mile from where Jim was already working, with a scheduled start date of February 1st. “I really was going to tell you before I left, as a surprise-slash-present,” Roger continued. “But then I never got around to leaving!” Jim just shook his head. Puppies will be puppies, I guess. “I figured I’d find a place to stay while visiting, then go back to pack up, but it’s not like I have that much. Besides, Beth (Roger’s sister) volunteered to take care of it for me.” Jim wrapped the big man in his big arms. “You have a place to stay,” he said. “You know that, right?”

Roger looked into Jim’s killer blue eyes. Yeah, he thought, I know.

“I’ll call Beth…”

Six months later…

The big man strode out to the center of the stage and the collective intake of breath from the audience was something you felt as much as you heard.

5 feet 11 inches tall and 310 pounds of solid muscle.

Roger thrust out his 65-inch chest and locked his lats into place. The reaction to his 35-inch thighs rocked the rafters, then he gave the crowd a double biceps shot. 25½ inches of magnificent muscle rose on either side of his yard wide shoulders.

“Wow!” the crowd called out.

Roger spied Jim sitting in the front row and gave him a playful wink, then turned to give the crowd a lat spread like it had never seen before.

In the frenzied pandemonium that followed, Jim thought to himself:

That’s my boy!

Summer 2008

“You realize, of course…”

“That July 11 is our 15th anniversary? Yes, of course…”

“Do you…”

“Want to get married? I can’t think of a finer way to celebrate…”

“Of course…”

“Well, yes, who knows if the Law will stick. I don’t really care.”

“It’s not like you’re getting away from me, even if that stupid Prop 8 passes…”

Which is how Alessandro happened to be kneeling at the foot of a mountain of muscle, trying to keep his hands from shaking and his big fat Italian sausage from bursting out of his pants. Normally, Giorgio, Alessandro’s father, would be measuring Mr. Jim and Mr. Roger but he’d taken Mama back to Italy for a second honeymoon, so the 23 year old hottie was stuck with the job.

Not that I’m minding this one little bit, he thought to himself.

Mr. Jim and Mr. Roger had been visiting Alessandro’s dad almost as long as he could remember. To distract himself, he started asking questions:

“When…”

“Did we first visit your dad?” Mr. Jim asked. “That’s easy,” Mr. Roger continued. “It was the summer of 1994.”

“Right after Roger passed the 300-pound mark,” Jim added.

“And you caught up soon thereafter, as I recall,” Roger pointed out.

“Actually, no,” Jim allowed. “It was another year before I passed 300 but I figured if you were going to have decent fitting clothes I might as well, too.”

Alessandro just shook his head, jotting down the numbers as he measured their chests, arms, shoulders (breadth and circumference), waist, hips (those bubble butts took up some room), quads, and calves.

“Wow!”

Roger and Jim both chuckled.

“Ya know, your dad always says that, too!” they said, simultaneously.

Alessandro sniffed.

“Well, that’s because every 6 months you have a new set of measurements that were bigger than the last set!”

Roger quirked an eyebrow.

“Read ’em off to us…?”

Alessandro gulped.

“Oh, lay off ‘em, Rog,” Jim said. “We don’t actually want him to pop right here, do we?”

Fuck, Alessandro thought, they’ve noticed.

“Oh, I dunno,” Roger said, looking the hot handsome stud up and down. “That might be fun.”

Alessandro groaned.

“You guys are such teases!” he exclaimed, his voice cracking on the last word. “I’m gonna tell my papa!”

Roger tousled Alessandro’s hair with his gorilla hand.

“Oh, now, you don’t want to do that, do you?”

Alessandro pulled himself up to his full 6 feet, grabbed the measurements back from Roger, and proceeded to read:

“Mr. Jim…”
“Chest, 70”
“Shoulder circumference, 76”
“Shoulder width, 38”
“Upper arms, 28”
“Forearms, 23”
“Waist, 35”
“Upper legs, 38”
“Calves, 29.”

Whoosh, Alessandro thought. This is killing me!

“Good job, Big Man,” Roger said. “Just about right for 350 pounds.”

Jim grinned.

“Your turn now…”

I can’t handle this, Alessandro thought, and handed Jim the sheet.

“Chest, 82”
“Shoulder circumference, 90”
“Shoulder width, 46”
“Upper arms, 33”
“Forearms, 29”
“Waist, 38”
“Quads, 42”
“Calves, 30!”

Wow, Alessandro thought.

“Yep,” Jim said. “That’s what 410 pounds of solid man muscle looks like!”

A few weeks later…

Alessandro was invited to the wedding, of course, along with his parents and, it seemed, half of Silicon Valley and at least a hundred national level bodybuilding competitors (none of whom held a candle to Jim, much less Roger.) The two were dressed in matching dove gray silk suits, pearl white shirts, and contrasting ties (mint for Jim, coral for Roger); their shoulders were so broad it was impossible to see the minister, Mike Matarazzo, who wasn’t exactly petite.

“Do you, Jim…”

“Do you, Roger…”

“Wow.” The voice behind Alessandro was soft but deep, masculine, and dripping with lust. Alessandro turned to look. The man sitting behind him was about 30, shaggy blond hair, reddish brown full-beard, with a thick neck and powerful shoulders; Alessandro started measuring him (mentally) and liked the numbers running through his head. The blond hunk’s mouth was open, staring in awe at the wall of muscle on the dais under the canopy. Alessandro turned back to watch the two huge men embrace and kiss, the guests applauding loudly.

Wow indeed, he thought. Wow indeed!

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