Stress Relief (Part 1)

[arpeejay]

By Richard Jasper

[This will be a shorty, just 2 parts!]

"I'll be a goddamned sonofabitch," Roger muttered as he slid into the driver's seat of his beat up Ford Fiesta.

Another day on the job, another day having to endure the beyond inept supervision of J. Harvey Hightower.

"Yes, Mr. Hightower, no, Mr. Hightower, I can't read your fucking mind Mr. Hightower," Roger continued, while starting the car. "Ya think if you maybe got laid, Mr. Hightower, you wouldn't be such a fucking prick, Mr. Hightower?"

Roger's grip on the steering gave new meaning to the term white-knuckled.

It didn't help (the steering wheel, that is) that Roger was a big beef guy, 5'11 and 230 lbs., great big shoulders, powerful chest, thick lats, strong arms. At 39 he'd been training for the better part of 20 years, never quite making the progress he knew he could make if he hadn't been stuck in one goddam cube farm after another.

By the time Roger made it to Big Mac's, the big suburban gym just down the road from his seen better days apartment complex, he was pretty riled up. He slapped his membership card down on the front desk, not even glancing at the guy standing behind it, and snarled.

"Gimme a towel, and not one of those little hand rags."

"Whoah, big boy," a deep masculine voice replied. "No need to rip my head off."

The voice was a combination of He-Man, Clint Walker, Barry White, and every big-dicked action hero who ever lived. Roger looked up at the owner of the voice and felt his jaw hit the floor.

Mr. Towel was probably Roger's age, about the same height, but easily 300 lbs. of fur covered muscle, with not an ounce of fat, and ruggedly handsome to boot.

"Uh, well, uh, ya know," Roger stammered. "You're right. You didn't deserve that. I'm very sorry. Let me try that again, OK? May I have a towel, please?"

Mr. Towel laughed, a subsonic rumble that started somewhere deep within what appeared to be a legitimate 60-inch chest.

"No problem, bud," he said, extending a towel and his right hand. "I'm Gabe."

Roger, trying not to drool, took Gabe's hand and gave it a firm shake. Roger was no slouch but it was clear Gabe could crush his hand like a bug if he had a mind to do so.

"You seem like you're really stressed out, man," Gabe said.

Whoosh! Roger let out a big sigh -- he didn't realize quite how wound up he was!

"You got that right, big guy," Roger said. "You know how it is, sometimes work just totally sucks and today was one of those days."

Gabe shook his head.

"I am soooo lucky, dude, I totally love my job."

Roger gave Gabe a closer look.

"How come I've never seen you around? I figured today must be your first day!"

Gabe just winked.

"In this location, yes."

Roger smiled.

"Well, I hope I'll see more of you," he continued. "Not that many big guys work out here, OR work here."

Gabe looked Roger up and down.

"I see one of 'em standing in front of me," he pointed out. "You're what, 29? About 250?"

Roger blushed.

"Jeez, turn a fella's head, why don't you! Add 10 years and subtract 20 lbs. and you'll be about right."

Gabe grinned.

"If you say so! I guess I'm just really good at seeing someone's potential!"

Roger was torn. He was lapping up Gabe's compliments but he was also afraid of the inevitable let down. Any guy being this hot is just showing how nice he can be, he thought to himself, not for the first time. He can't really be into me.

"Hey, Roger, you ever try this new pre-workout drink?" Gabe asked, pointing to a big blue tub on the counter labeled Stress Relief.

"Heck, no," Roger replied. "Never even seen it. Besides, I'm afraid I can't afford much in the way of supplements on my salary."

Gabe pulled a Nalgene water bottle from under the counter, filled it with 10 ounces of cold water and a level scoop of Stress Relief, then shook it vigorously.

Damn, Roger thought. I could watch him do that all fucking day!

Gabe handed the bottle to Roger.

"Drink up," Gabe said. "On the house."

Roger looked Gabe in the eye. The big man looked excited, like he was a pusher, or a used car salesman.

Or a guardian angel, Roger thought, and wondered where in heaven's name that had come from!

Roger slurped it down.

"Jeez," he said. "That's the best tasting shit I've ever had!"

Gabe laughed.

"To tell you the truth, I don't know what good shit tastes like. But I'll take your word for it!"

Roger felt the smooth slurry of Stress Relief sliding down his gullet. It tasted like eggnog, a hot toddy, and a primo cocktail, all rolled into one. It took him less than a minute to realize whatever stress he'd been feeling was really, actually, literally, totally gone!

"Wow! This stuff is great! I feel like I could tear the gym apart!"

Gabe laughed.

"In a good way, I hope!"

Roger laughed, too.

"In the best way!"

Gabe slapped Roger on the back as the handsome man strode confidently into the locker room.

[More to cum...]

Part 2: http://www.musclegrowth.org/forum/sh...ad.php?t=17276

[Lucas88]

Ok...I can honestly say I have never been so stressed that I didn't notice a 300-pound muscleman standing eye-to-eye with me...BUT...if that's what it takes to meet one, I am willing to GET that stressed!

[gogr2]

Originally Posted by Lucas88

Ok...I can honestly say I have never been so stressed that I didn't notice a 300-pound muscleman standing eye-to-eye with me...BUT...if that's what it takes to meet one, I am willing to GET that stressed!

LOL... sad to say I have been that stressed and in hindsight met some very huge soldiers while deployed.

Richard, I have to say it is sort of weird seeing ones own name as a character in a story... though, it makes sense... Gabriel means "strength of God" in Hebrew. Can't wait to see where the next chapter goes.