searching for....

[V.R.Goh]

I remember seeing a story on this website called My Flexing God, or something to that effect. Anyone know where I can find it? Also, whatever happened to that story Me and Mr. Perfect by zipman?

[philat99]

I was meandering through the archives and found Zipman stories including Me & Mr. Perfect.
Mike

[khsbig]

is this story up on any site? wanna read it without downloading the zip file.

[philat99]

Found Zipman on a Yahoo site, but not with this story.
Mike

[diegodominica]

I found the story in an old file, so here goes. Hope it prints out in a quick reply:

Me and Mr. Perfect by Zipman

I suppose there's one in every high school. You know, the guy
who's perfect. Good-looking, top student, great athlete. Well,
we've got one at my high school who tops 'em all. Scott is the
most perfect of the perfect. So naturally, I hate him.

Scott is not just a straight-'A' student, he's the kind of
straight-'A' student who never worries about getting a 'B'
because he's never even come close. He not only is acne-free
with perfect white teeth that are straight without braces,
he's got the kind of stunning good looks that make people gawk
and stare. And on top of everything else, Scott is an
all-round athlete -- a natural at every sport he tries who has
all the coaches begging him to be on their team. You know the
type... after football season he says to himself, "Let's see,
do I want to become an all-state wrestler or be captain of the
basketball team this year? Should I set the school record in
the decathlon for the track team or lead the baseball team in
home runs and slugging percentage?" Decisions, decisions! Of
course, it helps that he's about six-foot-two and two-hundred
and God-knows-how-many-more pounds of solid,
perfectly-sculpted muscle. I could hate him for that all by
itself.

But the worst, the most disgusting, thing about him is that
he's perfectly friendly and humble, and probably the nicest
person I've ever met in my life. This means I can't hate him
without feeling like a jerk, which makes me want to hate him
even more, and... well, you see, it's a vicious circle.

Now, in a perfect world I would have gym class with Scott so
that I could hate him daily in a more physically personal way.
But unfortunately I only see him in my biology class, where I
don't even sit near him. We do have one thing in common --
we're the two smartest students in class, so we take turns
answering the teacher's questions and I get to hate him when
he shows me up. Occasionally after class (okay... almost every
day after class) I will go talk to him about something
(whenever I can think of something to talk to him about) and
Scott will do that annoying thing where he turns away from his
jock buddy and looks you right in the eye and seems to give
you his full attention as if what you were saying was the most
important thing in the world to him at that moment. You see,
somehow Scott knows that if he was a normal jerk (like most of
the other athletes) all his perfectness would be easier to
take. So just to be more irritating he pretends to like you
and stares at you intently with those big blue eyes (actually,
they have such a deep color they're more like indigo, I think)
and you lose your train of thought and end up babbling like an
idiot. Man, I hate him!

Yesterday as he was talking to me after class he actually
touched me! He put his hand on my shoulder and I'm ashamed to
say I felt a strong tingling sensation where he made contact.
I couldn't help it. And I noticed he seemed to feel something
too, but it was probably just surprise at how scrawny my
shoulder was. But the tingle was definitely there, I felt it.
Afterward, I hated him for making me feel that way against my
will. And I hated myself, too, for not being able to stop
thinking about him when I... um... do certain things in my
bedroom at home. But normally I spend most of my time thinking
about how much I hate him for being perfect.

Really, I do.

Today was lab day in biology class and I was staring at Scott
wearing that tight polo shirt. I would hate him for being a
show-off, but actually the shirt was the right size, it was
just all those damn muscles that made it look too tight. I was
wondering what it must feel like to have those big rock-like
things on the front of your upper arms that bulge out all the
time when your arms are bent, even if you're only lifting a
pencil. It’s probably also very uncomfortable when you try to
cross your arms in front of you and those big, inflated chest
muscles get in your way.

Suddenly, Scott and his lab partner came right over to the
table where Larry and I were working. Then, as if in a dream,
I heard Scott’s voice telling me that he'd like to switch lab
partners for our next assignment. His jock buddy Steve didn't
seem too happy about it, and Larry was giving me a look of
desperation that told me he wasn't too thrilled with having
Steve as a partner, either. But what could I do? Scott was
giving me that "look" and I got all stupid and said, “Okay.”
And I threw an elbow into Larry’s ribs when he started to say
something, even though I didn’t mean to. It wasn't my fault,
honest! I hate it when Scott does that to me.

It all happened so fast. Suddenly Scott was asking me to come
over to his house to begin working on our project. It had to
be after dinner, because he has practice after school, of
course. I borrowed my dad’s car and drove over to Scott's
house following the excellent map he quickly sketched for me
(did I mention he was a terrific artist as well?) and I figure
Scott's family must be rich, because his house is like a
mansion compared to mine and it's in a neighborhood where the
homeowners probably spend more money on gardeners than my
family spends on food. Scott greeted me at the door with a big
smile, like he was really glad to see me. I mean, he's just so
wonderful he makes your teeth ache. I hate it when people are
like that. So I tried hard to maintain my feeling of contempt
for his obviously phony friendliness, but it was difficult
because he was wearing a tank top and spandex biker shorts
that showed off his bodybuilder's physique like nothing I'd
ever seen him wear in school. When I followed Scott up the
stairs to his room I was mesmerized by the way the muscles in
his buttocks seemed to roll and flex with each step. I wonder
if he would have gotten the wrong idea if I had reached out
and grabbed them just to see how hard they felt with all that
Lycra covering them so tightly. I suppose he would, the
bastard.

I don't know how we did any studying at all, but I let Scott
do most of the talking and I basically just agreed with
everything he said. I spent most of my time looking at the
veins in his huge forearms as he took notes and wondered how
he could write anything at all without breaking his pencil
into splinters. He was making me feel stupid again, when
normally I am the smartest one in my class. So I was getting
that familiar feeling of hatred for him building up, when he
suddenly asked if I'd like to take a break and see the gym he
has set up in the basement. "Sure!" I chirped, like the
conversational idiot I am around him, and he walked over to
the wall and pressed a button on the intercom panel and told
his mom that we were going to be in the basement for awhile. I
wonder if he ever sees his parents at all -- maybe the three
of them have their own parts of the house and they only get
glimpses of each other passing from one area to another. I
like that idea... but I still hate Scott for actually being
able to live that way. He's an only child and I've got four
progressively more annoying younger brothers and sisters. I
automatically hate anyone who's an only child.

We went down to a wood-paneled and carpeted room that I swear
had more equipment than the school's weight room. "I'd like to
try a little experiment, are you game?" he asked. I nodded and
he went over to the dumbbell rack, picked up a fifty-pounder
and started doing curls with his right arm. I've seen Scott's
biceps before, of course, and since they look like they're
flexing all the time -- even when he's just walking down the
hall holding his notebook tucked under his arm, and I’m
staring stupidly at him and saying to myself, “Oh my God, look
at that thing bulge!” -- I figured they can't look that much
different when they're flexing really hard. But I was wrong.
When his perfect biceps get perfectly pumped they are a marvel
of perfectly sculpted human flesh. I hadn’t seen anything that
impressive since my family visited the Grand Tetons. Scott
asked me to put my hand on the muscle as he worked it and I
didn't say anything in reply because my I.Q. had just dropped
another thirty points and I could only move zombie-like to his
side and put my hand on the large moving boulder that was
trying very hard to burst through his very tight-fitting skin.
When he paused at the top of the movement his biceps bulged
out like a cannonball of pure muscle. And since he has no
visible fat at all anywhere on his entire body (he is, after
all, perfect) you could see all the veins and fibers in his
biceps, which looked like it was chiseled out of solid rock.

"There... do you feel it?" Scott said.

I nodded. "It's very hard," I said. (Gosh, what a genius I am!
He will forever remember me for my clever repartee!)

"No," he said, "do you feel that buzz going from my arm into
your hand?"

"Oh, you mean the tingle. Sure, I feel it. It's really strong.
You mean, you can feel it too?"

"Of course I can... and it feels real strong to me, too! Here,
let's try something..."

He tried to hand me the dumbbell and I actually started to
take it, like the dummy I am, then I recoiled in horror. The
thing weighs, after all, fifty pounds, which would probably be
a good bench press weight for me. But he insisted, so I
grabbed it and when Scott let go my arm dropped down so fast I
felt my shoulder just about pull out of its socket. Then Scott
quickly grabbed my left wrist and squeezed it... hard! I felt
the tingle run up my arm. Scott squeezed even tighter and the
buzz ran across my shoulders and into my right arm.

"Now!" he shouted. "Try doing some curls!"

I did as he said and felt my own biceps contract hard enough
to raise the weight. As it rose up to my shoulder my mouth
dropped open in amazement. This couldn't be happening! Scott
kept his death grip on my left wrist, and although it hurt bad
it also felt good (as is true for so many things in life, I
have discovered). My right arm felt energized like never
before. I continued pumping out curls like it was just a
normal workout for me... that is, if I ever worked out. I even
lost count of the reps because I was so bewildered by what was
happening. Suddenly Scott released my wrist and the dumbbell
plunged down like it now weighed a thousand pounds. I dropped
the weight immediately and gave a little side-hop so it didn't
mash my toes. Scott laughed and grabbed me by the shoulders,
beaming.

"Wow, buddy! That was great! How did it feel?"

"It felt great, except..." I rubbed my right arm. "Ow! It's
already kind of sore." (Wait a minute... did he just call me
"buddy"?)

"Do you mind?" Scott said, starting to unbutton the front of
my shirt. "I want to see what it looks like."

I fought the panic I always get when I have to take off my
clothes in front of someone, and I let him take off my shirt.
Like the geek that I am, I was also wearing an undershirt. I
stood there feeling like a helpless victim, raising my arms
automatically as Scott peeled the tee-shirt up over my head,
revealing my impeccably puny physique. I looked down at my
right arm and noticed that it was perhaps a bit less scrawny
than before... maybe... if you looked at it just at the right
angle. I made a fist and drew it up slowly.

"Hey, man! You're getting a pump!"

"Do you think so?" I said, bending my arm up and down a few
times. You have to understand, I have never used the word
"pump" to describe a part of my body in my entire life. So
this would be a big event for me, if it were true. I looked at
Scott and frowned. "You've got to tell me what just happened
here... 'cuz I don't understand any of it."

Scott looked concerned and let out a big sigh. "I guess I can
tell you about it without worrying that you'll just laugh at
me. But I really don't understand all of it myself.

"I've always been stronger than other boys my age. For as long
as I can remember I've always had muscles, too. And ever since
I've felt other boys’ muscles and compared them to my own,
I've known I had harder muscles than everyone else. Then there
was the 'tingle' thing. Sometimes I could feel it when I just
brushed my hand up against another person, other times I
hardly felt anything at all. But I always knew I had
something, like electricity, running through me. When I
learned a little about how nerves and muscles work it started
to make some sense. You see, our brain sends an
electro-chemical message through our nerves to make our
muscles contract. My theory is, I somehow have a super-charged
nervous system that over-stimulates my muscles all the time.
It's like the difference between ordinary house current and a
lightning bolt."

I kept nodding at him and wondered whether I should be slowly
backing toward the door in case he started talking about UFOs.

"So developing muscles always came naturally for me, because
the way my muscles were over-stimulated made them get bigger
and stronger just from doing ordinary tasks. And when I got a
little older and started lifting weights, my strength just
exploded and my muscles got so dense and hard that it was kind
of scary. I used to feel them and wonder how much stronger I
could get. I think all this electrical activity somehow
affects how my brain functions, too. That may be why I have a
photographic memory."

(Wait a minute... he has a photographic memory? I must
remember to add that to my list of things I hate about him.)

"I've only recently started experimenting with the 'tingle'
thing. I discovered I can transfer some of my energy into
other people's bodies. But they have to be a good 'receptor'.
Most people hardly feel the tingle at all. That's why I got so
excited when I grabbed your shoulder yesterday and got the
biggest buzz I'd ever felt in my life! You and I must be a
perfect match. I'm a good transmitter and you're a great
receptor!"

My head was starting to hurt. "You mean, just touching you can
make me strong?"

"Come on," he said eagerly. "Let's try some more!" Scott
stripped off his tank top and moved over to the weight bench.
I started reeling from the sight of his upper body utterly
naked. The word "breath-taking" was never more meaningful to
me. With pecs and abs like that, added to his spectacular arms
and shoulders, the effect was overwhelming. I actually felt
dizzy and had to grab on to something to keep my knees from
buckling. Scott lay down on the bench and cranked out a fast
set of bench presses using a weight that I could only guess at
because I'm gym-ignorant. The bar had a couple of those huge-o
plates and a couple of merely very large plates on each end.
The speed at which he was cranking out reps told me the weight
was easy for him. After about a minute, Scott sat up and began
repeatedly flexing his massive, boulder-like pecs that looked
like they could stop a truck. "There, I think I'm getting
warmed up a little," he said. "Why don't you try giving them a
feel?"

Huh? What did he just say? I decided I didn’t care if I heard
him wrong, I was going for it. I walked up and reached out
with eager hands, fingers flexing in anticipation. When I made
contact with those huge slabs of fully-flexed muscle the
feeling was intense! A bolt of power shot up my arms and
seemed to hit my brain like an orgasm! Scott saw my reaction
and quickly stood up, grabbing my shoulders.

"Quick... we've got to hurry while my generator's humming
strong!"

He suddenly grabbed me in a front bear hug and squeezed. The
breath left my lungs immediately as I felt those enormous
stone-hard pecs crush into my soft little chest. Scott lifted
me up and adjusted my body until our nipples made contact. My
eyes nearly popped out of my head when I felt the surge of
energy this caused. The hot electric touch of our nipples
rubbing together gave me an instant boner in my shorts. So now
I could truly say the mixture of pleasure and pain was coming
to a climax. Except I couldn't say anything at all because I
couldn't breathe. I felt his arms tighten as his flexing pecs
started to compress my rib cage quite painfully. From clavicle
to crotch my torso was mashed up against his granite physique.
I could feel his body start to vibrate with a pulsing power
that was flowing into me like electricity. It was so intense I
could hear a buzz growing louder in my ears like... well, like
a generator humming!

I think the feeling of power was causing Scott to get a little
carried away. He cinched his arms even tighter around me and
the pain of being crushed was so great I was worried he would
kill me before I had a chance to find out what he was trying
to do. With the increased pressure of all this skin-to-skin
contact, the energy flow that was pulsing into my body kept
increasing until it finally penetrated all the way back to my
spine. When this happened, there was an explosion throughout
my entire nervous system that hit me like a lightning bolt. I
hadn't felt anything like it since the day I stuck that
screwdriver into the electric outlet when I was four (okay, so
I wasn’t always a genius). Scott released me immediately and I
dizzily wobbled back and forth on my feet. I couldn't see,
hear, feel or think for a moment. I imagined my hair was
probably standing on end and smoking, like in a cartoon. I
think drool may have been coming out of the corner of my
mouth. I was dazed, but I was smiling. And the front of my
underpants was now all sticky with goo. Scott grabbed me by
the shoulders, pushed me down on the bench and laid me flat.

"Sorry, buddy, but we've got to act fast!"

"Okay, let's go!" I said, but I think it actually came out,
"Bluh, blah, wuh?..."

Scott placed my hands on the bar and took the weight off the
stands for me. Whatever the weight was, it was not too much.
In fact, I was cranking out reps with about the same speed as
Scott. I could feel my chest and arms pushing the weight up
powerfully, but it was like someone else was doing the work
for me. In a way, I guess that was true. After about a dozen
reps the weight started getting heavier. The next rep it
weighed twice as much. Then someone set a grand piano on it,
and my arms collapsed. Scott rescued me before the bar made a
permanent impression on my torso.

I sat up, still feeling a bit woozy, as Scott whooped and
applauded. "That was amazing, buddy! I can't believe how great
you are at receiving my energy! Wow, this is going to be
great!"

I tried to smile but the pain of almost being crushed by
Scott's arms (and the barbell) plus the soreness from the
extreme workout my puny chest muscles just experienced was
almost doing me in. I rubbed my chest and felt some pain, but
also a good, tight feeling. Was this what a pump felt like?
Scott lifted me to my feet and moved me in front of the
full-length mirror. He reached from behind and rubbed my chest
with his big, strong hands.

"It's gonna be fun watching you grow. Just imagine when these
pecs are pumping up as big as mine!"

I tried to stifle a laugh, but he was serious! He asked me if
I felt game for one last exercise and I guess he took my
goofy, wan, out-of-it smile to be a yes. He grabbed a kinked
barbell and placed it in my hands, then stood behind me and
gripped my shoulders. The tingle shot down into my arms
immediately. I started curling the weight and felt the pull
and stretch of my biceps as they worked. Scott dug his fingers
into my shoulders so hard that I figured I would have five
nice little circular bruises on each one when we were done. I
finished the set and Scott held on so I could put the weight
on the floor without dropping it.

"Now, let's see what you look like! Come on, flex those guns!"

I raised my arms and hit a double-biceps pose. I'd like to
tell you that mountains rose up on my arms, but in reality
there was only a very slight bowing upward of the muscle where
before there was only flabby flatness. Still, I was encouraged
by the almost noticeable effect my brief workout had created.
For the first time I began to believe I could actually add
some shape to my pathetic biceps. Scott tried feeling my
flexing arms and although he easily (and painfully!) crushed
them down when he squeezed, I was reassured by the nifty way
they sprang back when he released.

Suddenly Scott grabbed my wrists and held them tight. "Now
keep flexing... flex your arms as hard as you can!"

I felt the tingle surge into my arms again. I grit my teeth
and gave it my best flex. When I looked at my arms I couldn't
believe the difference. My biceps were bulging up bigger than
I thought was possible! The slight curves were now, well,
almost dome-shaped! Maybe I could have hills, or even
mountains, someday!

Scott released me and I shook out my tired arms. He could see
in my eyes I was really beat. I put my shirt back on and felt
the ache throughout my upper body as the pump left my muscles.
I was definitely going to be sore in the morning. I looked at
Scott in dazed confusion and tried to make some sense out of
what had just happened to me. He slapped me on the back, then
grabbed my shoulders and ushered me upstairs.

"No workout tomorrow... you'll need the rest. If you're sore,
just keep moving and stretching. We'll do some leg work the
day after."

We reached the front door and I turned to look at him. Scott
was still brimming with exuberance and he suddenly hit a
most-muscular pose. "Yeah! I'm really psyched!" he shouted.
"This is going to be great! Finally I'm going to be able to
share this with someone!" Scott's impromptu muscle display was
making me weak in the knees again. His muscles were just so
damn perfect! When he flexed his whole body like that, the
muscles would pop out all over, with each one making its own
perfect peak beneath his paper-thin skin. Once more I felt
that familiar stiffening in my shorts, which was really
uncomfortable now because they were a warm, wet sticky mess.

Scott relaxed and we stood there looking at each other for a
moment. I tried to think of something to say, but he was
smiling at me with those beautiful eyes of his and, dammit!...
I was feeling stupid again! Scott told me to get plenty of
sleep tonight and he'd see me in school tomorrow.

I stepped outside, but before he shut the door I spun around
and finally found my voice. "There has to be a better way of
getting your energy, without being crushed half to death," I
said.

"Well, the nipple technique worked pretty well, so... I have a
theory about another way of transferring my essence into you,
and the effect may be more powerful and last longer, too...
but I don't think you're quite ready for that experience yet!
Maybe when we get to know each other a little better we can
try it... if you're willing."

Scott winked at me and gave me his best smile of the night,
then closed the door. I stood there under the glow of his
porch light wondering if I really heard him say what I thought
I heard. I was stunned that he could be so thoughtless! How in
the world did he expect me to get any sleep at all after what
he had just said to me?

God, how I hate him!

END