Tales from the Muscle Juicers: Part 01

[whatizit]

Hi, I am a long time lurker here and this is my first attempt at a story. So be gentle!

A Brief Explanation

I always had a great love for the continuous story "Muscle Juice" located in the forum at: http://www.musclegrowth.org/forum/showthread.php?t=3196

Warning Spoilers!

I always found the simple scene where Mike encounters the awestruck small kid when he unintentionally breaks the bathroom door to be fascinating. Maybe it's the realisation that Mike was just like the kid several minutes before and has to awkwardly backtrack from exulting on this display of his awesome strength to being suddenly shown a stark image of his recent past that he wants to forget.

I suspect that when later additions of the story never mention the kid again has also added to my enjoyment of the scene - making the kid an almost intangible mystery figure. Intermittedly in the past 5 and half years I have been asking myself about the kid. What was he thinking when he encountered this muscle god? Did he get a chance to try the Muscle Juice himself? Maybe the whole reason he was at the bathroom was to buy a bottle from Jason? Was he a nerd? - a class belittled by Mike in the very first post of the story. Does he go on to his own adventure or does he cross paths with Mike or Jason?

I noticed a similar situation occurse in Jaypat's brilliant "Second Puberty" where the hero encounters a gobsmacked undeveloped teenager, Colin, in the high school bathroom. Colin gets his own adventure spin-off "CAFE Blues" which tantalisingly remains unfinished - and just when the story was getting real interesting too. I always hope that Jaypat returns to that story some day.

Anyway,after 5 and half years mulling over the possible adventures of that-small-awestruck-kid-from-Muscle-Juice, and after finally realising that no one else is stepping up the job, and after resigning myself that I have to start creative writing (something I never do for fun!), here is my attempt at a new spin-off.

I had originally thought about just adding contributions to the Muscle Juice thread. But by the time I had decided to start writing, I had already designed a complicated story arc that I would like to write by myself.

NOTE: I have aged the characters up to 16 - probably the biggest change in plot from from Muscle Juice as they were originally about 13 years old. The two kids are now underdeveloped Juniors rather than ungrown Freshmen.


Tales from the Muscle Juicers: Part 01

Patrick hurried along the corridor, gripping his restroom pass tightly. Normally he avoided the restroom in this wing of the high school. Over the past six months it had suddenly become a haven for the football team to hang about in and they were very protective over their turf. Patrick, being a junior who could still be easily mistaken for as a freshman, was definitely not part of the football team’s intimate circle. He was a self-described geek with nondescript baggy clothing that attempted to disguise his boney frame and an unmanageable mane of shaggy blonde hair, grown with steeled determination to avoid undergoing the trepidation of having to pick a “stylish” haircut at the barber’s. Patrick was nervous with most social interactions and making the long journey to the east wing would be his normal course of action. But this was quite the bladder emergency and it was the middle of 3rd period. He took the calculated risk that at this time it would be really unlikely to be any lumbering meatheads lurking in ambush, ready to tackle him away from his goal.

Before he could even reach the restroom door, it suddenly slammed open with great force, ending it's journey with a sharp snapping sound as it’s hinges were shorn in half. Patrick instinctively hit the ground, cowering from the inevitable collision of a high velocity, unattached and definitely rebounding heavy steel door. A few seconds pass by. The inevitable collision never came.

“Holy shit!,” said an awed masculine voice that came from the direction of the explosion.

Patrick gingerly picked himself off the floor and falteringly raised his eyes towards the restroom entrance.

The door was hovering steadily three inches of the ground. A huge, manly fist was grasping the handle tightly, forcing bloated veins to writhe against the paper-thin skin of a Herculean forearm. Beside the arm, a pair of child-sized jeans was straining tightly against the combined might of two titanic legs and a blatantly generous and definitely post-adolescence bulge at crotch level. The jeans’ cuffs were just two inches below knee level. They dangled tattered and frayed, defeated by the might of their gloating conquerors - two thick and heavily striated calves. Below the calves were the tattered remains of white socks, squeezed into an uncomfortable-looking pair of tight trainers. A ridiculously small white shirt just about covered his two protruding pecs, but was stretched taut, revealing every striation of the muscle mass within. The sleeves were completely ripped off and the arm holes enlarged to three times their original size in order to squeeze in his bowling ball deltoids and cobra lats. Similarly, the collar was torn wider to fit his massive neck and bulging traps thereby creating an ineffectual makeshift tank top.

The getup would have been completely laughable if it wasn’t for the shredded hard physique of fitness model wearing it. This was a human clothes horse who could make any garment look sexy. His face was ruggedly handsome, with a perfect square jaw, piercing eyes and striking tousled scarlet hair. His face alone would have set this jock to a life of modelling. But it was his midsection that overwhelmed Patrick - perfectly symmetrical cobbled abs, framed by ridged intercostals and a shelf-like Apollo belt. His narrow waist made his shoulders, chest and thighs look monstrous. The jeans, unable to latch on his waist, were propped up by the sheer width of his thighs and buttocks, and revealed an unrepentant preview of his pubic hair. Patrick’s eyes almost bulged out of their sockets when he noticed the large sticky stains that matted his pubes and dripped into his underwear.

Patrick was completely speechless, content at gazing wide-eyed at this dangerous Adonis. The handsome visage seemed to be equally shocked. The jock’s crotch twitched heavily as he looked at his own arm in wordless joy, flexing each individual tendon and watching his blood vessels dance in response. His face was familiar looking, but Patrick couldn’t quite place it. He was sure he had never seen that man in his life. He would have known if he had attend this school - he would definitely be in the top of the social pecking order.

The jock suddenly registered the presence of Patrick, breaking out of his reverie. The veins of his lower abs tensed and pulsated, as the circulation of blood forced his mighty manhood to outline starkly against his right thigh. He obviously was enjoying the sudden attention. A conceited smirk spread across his handsome face and he chuckled loudly and awkwardly. To Patrick, this seemed to be a half-hearted attempt to bridge the social gap between this towering avatar of testosterone and a worthless puny mortal.

“Little loose,” explained the smirking jock in an arrogant tone. “Better watch for the others, huh?”

A little loose? This guy just tore the door of it’s fucking hinges!

“I’ll just put this over here,” said the jock, his rich voice trying to smooth over the incident. Patrick went weak in his knees when that beautiful right arm suddenly flexed into a intense series of deep striations and brawny peaks as the jock manoeuvred the industrial steel door in the air and carefully leaned it against the wall. All this power from just one arm? That was the sort of strength that Patrick had always craved for in his dreams and wrapped in a package that would make any girl swoon. A sharp pang of jealousy hit Patrick and he felt an intense hatred towards this vainglorious show-off.

Once the door was laid to rest the jock without warning dashed past Patrick, the confined space forcing the youths to brush against each other. As the musclehead passed by, his mammoth pectorals harshly rubbing against Patrick’s face, knocking him to the floor again. The jock didn’t pause but continued to run down the corridor as if he was an Olympic sprinter and exited the building, his overloaded trainers creaking at every step.

Annoyed at the unexpected bull rush, Patrick picked himself up and ran into the restroom, not caring about any further jock encounters, too concerned with the immediate problem of relieving his bladder. Following his custom, he entered one of the cubicles and locked it’s door, too embarrassed to ever use the urinal. A urinal was always too public for Patrick tastes, even in an emergency. Allowing the open world the chance to see his underdeveloped penis was not something that Patrick was comfortable about. Changing in the locker rooms had become a furtive game of trying to change his pants as quickly as he possibly could, while trying to camouflage his crotch behind the overhang of a long shirt and trying to act casual throughout the process.

Anyway, it’s also been well known that the football team have been making this particular restroom their haunt for the past semester. Heaven knows why. Every break and lunchtime the football jocks would invade the room, barring the door from non-Jock entry and directing them to use the restroom upstairs. Better to hide in the cubicle than risk confronting a hotheaded jerk.

Once the business of urination was dealt with he sat at the toilet seat, his thoughts returned to the man-boy who destroyed the door. What he wouldn’t give to have a body like that with hard shredded muscle and cable-like veins! And that monstrous cock! With a body like that he wouldn’t have to worry about bullies and the girls would simply flock to him. He would never have to act shy anymore. Instead, he would seek out the chance to confront people rather than hide away. It seemed so unfair that he was forever railroaded to his toothpick physique due to the bad luck of a lacklustre puberty and childhood lifestyle choices. Even if he never grew past his current height of 5’ 4”, he would never attempt to beef up his body. But how could he gain the courage to enter a gym and risk humiliation from the jocks? Or even embarrass himself in front of his parents by grovelling for a weights set, thereby revealing to them his innermost fantasy?

Fighting his bout of depression, he began slowly stroke his cock as he instead focused his mind on the memory of the jock’s body. He visualized that it was he, Patrick, that had that body of armored flesh. That it was he that had the power to break down doors and push people aside as if they were skittles. That it was he that had a porn sized cock and could fuck any girl he wanted. That it was he who would be admiring his naked body at a full length mirror, flexing his body slowing and deliberately - watching how each muscle bulged, how each tendon pistoned and how each vein pulsed. Jerking his huge dick off to the sight of his magnificence. His three inch nub twitched as he forced himself into orgasm and he indulged in the feeling of euphoria that cleansed his body.

It was time to clean up. He dispensed some toilet paper to clean his mess up from the floor.

He jumped with a small start when he examined the floor for the first time. As expected, his meagre tool had splashed a few drops of milky white cum against the tiles. What he didn’t expect was the river of similarly coloured liquid flowing seeping in from the stall on his right. The tick goo was slowly swallowing his own pitiful deposits. Putting his pants back on, he went to investigate the source of this flood.

The neighboring booth’s walls were covered in thick gobs of diluted white, dripping slowly to the floor. A huge mass of it was pooled around the toilet bowl, obviously caused by a great torrent of force as indicated by the splashes on the wall. The liquid flowed gently along the recesses between the tiles.

An image flashed into his mind of that oversized package squeezed into a confining space. Followed by the image of thick pubic hair drenched with dried white stains.

It couldn’t be? Could it?

Patrick shakily inserted a slim finger into the pool, carefully scooping up a sample. Hesitatingly, he raised the sample to his nostrils. It smelled... slightly musky really, not much to go on. A further test would be required.

Ears burning red with embarrassment, fearful that at any moment the football jocks would return, he quickly lightly brushed his finger against his tongue. A definite taste of salt filled his taste buds. He immediately dashed to the wash basin and rinsed his mouth thoroughly. That’s impossible! How could anyone... ?

He returned to the cubicle, now in his mind a shrine to manhood. In the unnatural pool, slowly bobbing up and down there floated the jagged remains of cloth and thread. He removed them from their bath. He was left holding frayed pieces of denim and what looked to be exploded pieces of sock. At one corner of the compartment, the remains of two shirt arms were discarded, completely jagged - the thick cloth requiring great strength to tear. His heart raced. It was finally dawning on him why the face looked so familiar.

Could it be possible? No!

But... what if it was?

It was Mike’s face. That is, if Mike’s face had a lantern jaw, prominent cheekbones, perfect complexion, dazzling smile, perfectly straight nose and smouldering eyes that any male model would kill for. However the Mike that Patrick knew was a red headed heavily-freckled greasy skinned boy whose surly mug was precariously balanced on a lanky neck. Lanky - as in not being the thick, manly neck of corded muscle, bulging veins and a jutting Adam’s Apple that he met a few minutes ago.

Mike was a complete wimp. Like Patrick. Not that they were buddies or anything - Mike tended to avoid socializing with the nerds despite his similar lack of athletic prowess.

But Mike was wearing a similar white shirt and jeans earlier today and Patrick had noticed that Mike was absent this period. Could it be?

But how? What Patrick was thinking of was impossible! He was allowing his fantasies to overwhelm his common sense.

The walls were dripping with semen. But there was one drip that sounded slightly different to the rest. One unique sound that aroused Patrick’s curiosity. A sound of a drop splashing against an object and not a floor title.

Patrick followed the sound to the back wall underneath the cistern, where a cumdrop was periodically hitting against the neck and a small and empty bottle. Each drop caused the bottle to shake slightly against the floor tile. Patrick carefully bent down and retrieved the receptacle. In doing so he saw the shadow of another object leaning against the outside cubicle wall. He pocketed the bottle and left the cubicle to investigate.

His pulse quickened. His eyes widened.

A small canvas bag was discarded against the stall wall, with the spines of several familiar-looking textbooks poking out. Carefully printed in large felt-tip lettering on the bag’s covering was just one single word. MIKE.

And in the distance, towards the entrance, Patrick had a fine view of the steel door. It’s handle indented with the deep grooves of muscular fingers.

[CallMeCrazy]

I'm interested!

[Yachirobi]

Aside from little nitpicks about punctuation and word choices (that part is stylistic so it's really your call) I think you shouldn't worry too much about English not being your first language, Whatizit. I appreciate that you aged up the characters and I'm intrigued that our hero, Patrick, seems to be straight. I suspect, however, that he isn't really straight or that he won't be straight for much longer. This is definitely a first story but it's a good beginning. I'm looking forward to part two!

[whatizit]

Originally Posted by Yachirobi

Aside from little nitpicks about punctuation and word choices (that part is stylistic so it's really your call) I think you shouldn't worry too much about English not being your first language, Whatizit. I appreciate that you aged up the characters and I'm intrigued that our hero, Patrick, seems to be straight. I suspect, however, that he isn't really straight or that he won't be straight for much longer. This is definitely a first story but it's a good beginning. I'm looking forward to part two!

Thanks for the comment. I agree that my punctuation can get a bit ropey. I also seem to default to writing run-on sentences and I don't think I'm handling them correctly. It's possible that I just don't have the punctuation skills to structure them properly.

Sadly, English is my first language. However writing fiction is very new to me. I'm more experienced with writing technical reports for work and I think it shows.

Also, I find any type of writing to be a slow and painful process - not because of a lack of reading or writing skills, but because I am far too critical of anything I write! I am constantly rewriting sentences and paragraphs as I write them, going through several different iterations before I attempt to start the next sentence. Exams with essays always drove me nuts - the amount of exam time I waste rephrasing sentences over and over again was not good for my grades.

I found with writing the story above that I was less tempted to follow my natural impulses. Maybe because writing fiction is forcing me to flow from sentence to sentence - it's probably the only way to write a story naturally. But I still find myself stopping every twelve lines or so, reread what I had typed and decide to completely rewrite the previous paragraph.

Has anyone any suggestions on how to combat this impulse or am I simply worrying over nothing?

[Maverick0095875]

keep this up dude

[scrawn]

love the story and the idea of picking up on a unfinished/unexplored part of an old fave!

[umlerian49]

Originally Posted by whatizit

Thanks for the comment. I agree that my punctuation can get a bit ropey. I also seem to default to writing run-on sentences and I don't think I'm handling them correctly. It's possible that I just don't have the punctuation skills to structure them properly.

Sadly, English is my first language. However writing fiction is very new to me. I'm more experienced with writing technical reports for work and I think it shows.

Also, I find any type of writing to be a slow and painful process - not because of a lack of reading or writing skills, but because I am far too critical of anything I write! I am constantly rewriting sentences and paragraphs as I write them, going through several different iterations before I attempt to start the next sentence. Exams with essays always drove me nuts - the amount of exam time I waste rephrasing sentences over and over again was not good for my grades.

I found with writing the story above that I was less tempted to follow my natural impulses. Maybe because writing fiction is forcing me to flow from sentence to sentence - it's probably the only way to write a story naturally. But I still find myself stopping every twelve lines or so, reread what I had typed and decide to completely rewrite the previous paragraph.

Has anyone any suggestions on how to combat this impulse or am I simply worrying over nothing?

This is an outstanding first effort. I'm like you-- I had years of writing experience before I attempted fiction. At first I found it awkward and difficult, but over time, I kind of found my groove. I suspect you'll go through the same process.

It sounds like your technical writing experience is encroaching on the free-flow of thoughts you need for fiction. For me, I found that just plowing ahead and getting as much story down on paper and then going back and addressing the flow and structure, as well as typos, works well.

Good job, and keep writing!

[philat99]

Very enjoyable first chapter. Keep them coming. We can sometimes be our own worst enemies in the perfectionist sense. Go with the flow! I would carefully edit in the future, though.

[duk2112]

I love where you've taken this. I eagerly await the next part.

[TemptationIV]

Wow that was awesome! We need more!

[whatizit]

Thanks for the support guys!

[Jaypat]

I'd never read the original story until you posted the link. It's definitely one of the best things I've read on this site in a while. There are one or two outstanding growth scenes in it. I can certainly understand the compulsion to continue it.

I think you write very well. I would never have known you struggled with it if you hadn't posted to that affect. Please continue. I am enjoying the sequel and can see that it has great potential.

On a related note, I don?t think I?ll ever understand the interest in Cafe Blues. No one was that interested in it while I was writing it. Is it just the fact that it?s unfinished? It's really not that good.

[Ender]

Originally Posted by Jaypat

snip
On a related note, I don?t think I?ll ever understand the interest in Cafe Blues. No one was that interested in it while I was writing it. Is it just the fact that it?s unfinished? It's really not that good.

Untrue!!! I and I really believe a lot of people liked it... Colin was a interesting character with interesting problems. Having the people that should be in your corner wanting to chop a couple of inches out of your legs to make you short enough to get a scholarship from Little People of America is very unique. There were some problems that I couldn't see any way to write your way out of without going back several chapters. But it was an interesting premise.

One thing that I liked but may have been a turnoff for some it that idea that Colin would never get huge... for Colin to be average or at least near average was the impossible dream.

Ender

[warrenmuscle]

Amazing! Hope there is more to come.

[xboy]

good story

[hshunk]

I enjoyed it keep going!

[hshunk]

Wow just read this one sounds interesting!