Built that way 7

[lkjhgfdsa]

CHAPTER 7

I had been hitting the weights hard. Super hard. Eating like a mother. It was the thick of summer, between my sophomore and junior years. I was 17, and I looked like no other fucking 17-year-old you’ve ever seen. 211 pounds of meaty, rock-hard muscle built thick and heavy on my 5’8” frame. Oh yeah, I grew an inch taller. And truthfully, I hoped that inch would be the last. Who needs to top six feet when my solid 5’8” worked beautifully to make my strikingly muscular build look even more fucking jacked than it was?

Since the end of the school year, my broad, heavy chest had grown to a solid 50”, my biceps to a thick 19 1/2”. My cut, washboard waist held fast at 28”, making the V-taper of my wide, heavy lats just sick, just fucking sick. No one messes with a guy with a nasty taper like that.

I could bench 385 for reps. Squat with 600. Deadlift 650. I was the biggest, most ripped guy I knew. And I had a problem.

I wasn’t growing anymore.

I had plateaued. And nothing, no matter what fucking thing I did, what sort of workout routine I tried, got me out of it. I was desperate. I wanted, was absolutely fucking determined, to hit my 235lbs goal by the time school started again in the fall. But nothing I did worked. Here it had been, four weeks now, and I hadn’t gained an ounce over 211. What was I gonna do?

My solution came in the form of a visit to the gym. Usually I worked out at home, in our garage, where the dark and the dust let me concentrate and push my heavy, workhorse muscles to their max. And where, sometimes, after my workout, I would strip my shirt off, feel the sweat trickling down between my pecs, trace the cobblestone ridges of my abs, slip my hand below the waistband of my shorts, and jack off hard. But my back had gotten so strong that I had outgrown my home weight set, so I had been forced to buy a gym membership and do my back work there. It had been a good thing, though, and my back had gained a lot of thickness with the new stimulation. And although I normally worked the rest of my body at home, I figured the rest of my muscles would soon outgrow those weights as well.

I was the biggest guy in the gym, and everyone normally left me alone to do my thing. So there I was one day, doing my thing, enjoying the wide eyes of the other members who covertly watched my bulging muscles work their way through a sweaty set. I caught lustful stares from the guys and girls on the treadmills as I stripped my sweat-soaked white T from my thick, rippling torso. I smiled inwardly on the tented boys pretending to work their shoulders at the dumbbell rack just so they could look at me in the mirror, thinking I wasn’t aware of their furtive glances and the hard bulges in their groins, straining against the fabric of their shorts, yearning for me. Or for a good hand.

Anyway, over at the smith machine stood two guys. One, the guy in the rack, I think he was a senior at my school, or he might’ve graduated the year before. He was lean, with a pretty solid swimmer’s build, but man, his legs were ripped. Bulkier than you would have expected from the rest of him. Looked pretty damn good, actually.

The other guy, standing behind the swimmer, was clearly his older brother. He also had a good build. Filled out his shirt nicely, and his shorts as well. His body was definitely better than his brother’s. Both guys were lean and solid, but the older guy carried more muscle on him. They both worked hard in the gym, clearly, and I found myself wondering why there was such a striking difference in their similarly sized physiques. And then I overheard the answer.

The older brother had moved to L.A., and was just back home for a visit. In L.A., he’d learned a few things from a personal trainer at his gym who was also a competitive bodybuilder. The guy had taught him some unusual exercises—stuff beyond your basic bench, squat, deadlift, lat raise, barbell curl. Real intricate stuff. And now the older bro was helping his younger sibling through some variation of a front squat, a configuration I’d never seen before.

“Aaaahhhrr!” the swimmer sibling roared as he pushed through his seventh rep and racked the bar, sweat trickling down his neck, dampening his shirt and making it cling to his tan, glistening skin. He wobbled a little as he stepped out from under the bar, his muscles toast, his legs jelly.

“Okay, bro, it’s two weeks you’ve been doing this exercise,” said the older brother. “You see a difference?”

The younger one looked down at his thighs and flexed his quads. A nice, well-formed teardrop shape came to life at the southern end of the thick muscle. A deep cut appeared around it. I felt my dick twitch in appreciation.

“Shit,” the swimmer said. “It’s awesome. What other moves can you teach me?”

“A couple of things,” the older brother said. “I learned a new exercise for chest. We’ll do it tomorrow.”

I decided to try that weird front squat out first thing when I got home. And I was just thinking about rearranging my schedule to observe tomorrow’s new chest move, when I heard the swimmer ask his brother:

“These moves aren’t gonna bulk me up too much, are they?”

The fucks!

Why the hell wouldn’t you want to bulk up as much as you possibly could? Add loads and fucking loads of mind-blowing power to your body? Shit. These fucks could keep their toned, slightly-better-than-average physiques. The fucks. That might be enough for them. But not for me. Not for me. I thought briefly about beating the shit out of them, just for the hell of it.

Okay, so they weren’t exactly going to be the type of inspiration I needed. But they sure helped me figure my next step out: I needed to spend time with some real bodybuilders. Learn some new moves. Get some fresh life in my routine. And get inspired to hit things even harder by spending time with some truly massive guys. And for that I would need to take a break from my shit hole of a town. Good thing there were still seven weeks or so before school started again.

I headed home to jerk off. And then I was leaving for L.A.

[arpeejay]

Whenever I read this story, I see an American version of Lorenzo Becker in my mind's eye!

Which is a very, very, very good thing! :-)

xoxo

Richard

[Jaypat]

Gotta love LA!