BODYBUILDERS VS ZOMBIES (The Walking Muscle-Dead)

[JP71]

[COLOR=gray]BODYBUILDERS VS ZOMBIES[/COLOR]

[COLOR=gray]OR ?The Walking Muscle-Dead?[/COLOR]

[COLOR=gray]By jp71[/COLOR]

[COLOR=gray]The name?s Frank Necro. Necro ain?t my original last name, but I changed it to suit the circumstances that recently saw the world go completely to shit. Not that it hadn?t gone to shit long before Z-Day. Yeah, Z-Day, what else was I gonna call it? Sure, Romero might have written it into one of his recycled scripts at some point. Or maybe I heard it in Zombieland, or some other Hollywood shit about the shuffling undead. Thing is, it?s been such a long time since I saw a movie, or tasted a Twinkie like that Woody Harrelson dude ? again from that Zombieland movie ? that I guess separating fantasy from reality has had its day. Heh heh, the old lady dropping the piano on the zombie was funny. And that kid Jesse Eisenberg was kinda cute and geeky. I like cute and geeky, sometimes even in the bedroom. But you don?t see much of that, these days. Just so much muscle... festering, barely-held-together muscle. And this is the kinda muscle that stinks to high heaven.[/COLOR]

[COLOR=gray]Heaven, hah. If there were such a place, and I don?t believe there is, its denizens would be hocking loogies down on us forsaken folks. Not many of us left, now. Just Quiet Hal and me ? he?s my fuck-buddy ? well, we haven?t seen another living soul like us in at least a month. Not that we much keep track of time anymore. But we see tonnes of the other critters. Thing is... since Z-Day (yeah, I know it?s been done for fucksake), it?s like as if their numbers are growing. And I?m down to my last box of hollow points. Takes more than just a slug to the head to bring one of ?em down, these days. Quiet Hal thinks they?re gettin? stronger. Fuck that. They?re still slowly rotting into piles of twitchy crap, but it?s like they?re recruitin?, or something... always fresh waves of muscle-fucks to replace the ones that damn-near shook themselves apart in their search for fresh, dripping human brains.[/COLOR]

[COLOR=gray]Doctor Artie, who?s not really a doctor (not really anything anymore), more of a first-year biology drop-out with a Sci-Fi Channel addiction, believes it?s the pituitary glands that they?re after, and the balls and spinal fluid. Guess we?re to blame, really. If only I hadn?t started that goddam ?American Muscle on Foreign Shores? society (lame fuckin? name, I know), none of this would have happened. Yeah folks, I, Frank fuckin? Necro, caused the Zombie Apocalypse. And not only that, I turned us all into the fucking chem-labs that these stinkin? bastards need in order to keep stinkin? the place up. At least, that is, until they melt into a steaming pile of piss-n?-shit and putrefying muscle. Maybe I should go back a ways, tell you how all this came to be...[/COLOR]

[COLOR=gray]I think it was about five years ago, maybe a little longer. I was working as a personal trainer in my hometown of Houston, helping out those super-obese types that had their stomachs stapled or banded up to lose life-saving amounts of weight. Dr Phil McGraw simply adored me, and once, at an awards ceremony in my honour, Richard Simmons tried to jump me, although we?d all had a bit too much to drink, and for me at least, as a bodybuilder, I really can?t handle too much liquor. Okay, Simmons didn?t get to first base, but I was drunk enough to take it as a bizarre form of flattery. Swatted the little bastard like a fly, too. He tried to sue my ass, but I counter-sued and won.[/COLOR]

[COLOR=gray]Yeah I was well-liked in media circles, not just by the morbidly obese who craved my wisdom in a last-ditch effort to get their lives back, but also from those who made money making TV shows about them. I even got my own cable show ? which ran for two seasons ? that was until I started to get so big physically that the channel execs decided I no longer looked suitable for television. Fuck them. I didn?t care. I had excellent genetics, way-too-excellent at times, it seemed. Then the recession hit and people were losing their jobs left, right and centre. I?d saved enough money from my television show days (and from the DVD sales of both series) in order to purchase and set up my very own gym. I decided I was through with helping fatties (most of them would gain the weight back within a year anyways), and decided I wanted to finally explore my bodybuilding potential, taking things way beyond hardcore, before I turned 40.[/COLOR]

[COLOR=gray]But I had to keep lowering my rates, giving out more and more free-trial memberships in order to get the patronage of my fellow statesmen, as money was becoming a luxury for a lot of people. Wallets became thinner, but waistlines expanded due to an increased dependence on cheap processed foods. My overheads were through the roof. Well, I could go on and on about this, but the struggling economy didn?t cause Z-Day, just made a lotta fuckin? people anxious and miserable. What began the current nightmare was the letter I received one morning, the morning that would see me having to let two more staff go (I so hated doing that), informing me of the death of my father?s estranged brother Daniel. Daniel came from the old country, Ireland, like my late father. Both brothers did well for themselves in life, with my father opting for a career in automobile sales in the US, whereas Daniel remained in County Kerry, where he built up a hugely successful empire in forestry and lumber production. As his only surviving next of kin, the letter from the custodian of his Last Will and Testament, telling me that I?d inherited a majority share in a company and properties to the value of two and a half BILLION Euros, caused me to faint on the spot. Yeah, I fainted like a fucking girl.[/COLOR]

[COLOR=gray]I remember staring at that letter for ages afterward, wondering if it was some kind of hoax drawn up by one of my old college buddies. It was then that I realised I hadn?t seen any of them for years, not since I?d quit football to concentrate on bodybuilding. Bodybuilding became my life, the only thing I truly cared about. I?d never had a relationship, but being gay, I afforded myself plenty of chances to go out clubbing, if only to show off my incessant hard work at the gym, and to flaunt my once admirable celebrity status. I won?t lie to you... my muscles are huge... and men loved to worship them. And I loved to be worshipped.[/COLOR]

[COLOR=gray]There was only one clause in the will that stated I would have to live permanently in the Emerald Isle if I were to become sole executor of my late Uncle Daniel?s estate, as well as majority shareholder in the empire he?d built from the ground up. Fuck, we?d never even met one another, and to my knowledge my father and he weren?t that close. But here I was, now, insanely rich, and free to pursue my ultimate dream of becoming the biggest, strongest bodybuilder on Planet Earth. I wouldn?t miss Houston. I went on the internet and researched Ireland?s bodybuilding circuit, and to my complete joy, discovered that it was hugely popular in the land of the Blarney Stone (or whatever it?s called). That suited me fine. Relocation would happen in the blink of an eye, as I had very few ties to Houston... or to anywhere else for that matter.[/COLOR]

[COLOR=gray]It didn?t take me long to acclimatise neither. It turned out that I?d inherited several properties and more than sixteen thousand acres of land, as well as a lumber processing plant, none of which I cared for. Provisional managers had been appointed by my late uncle?s bankers to run the shows, and all I was required to do once in a while was sign my name on some dotted lines. Of course, I had an advisor... making sure the board of directors weren?t trying to trick me into selling my majority share of the family holdings. I was McNamara, back then, but that name no longer means shit to me. Things went smoothly and I soon set about transforming one of my new properties into the ultimate gym. Obesity had become a huge problem in Ireland in recent years, but fuck it... I was done with dancing with fatties. From now on I would surround myself with hot, sexy muscle. So I decided to start the American Muscle on Foreign Shores society, which I?m only gonna refer to as the AMFS from here on. The gym would be our headquarters, our place of self-worship, adoration and exploration. And you had to be a superheavyweight bodybuilder, at least 250 lbs, before I?d consider letting you join.[/COLOR]

[COLOR=gray]Sure, I was picketed a few times by angry locals who wanted in, claiming it was a violation of their civil rights and discrimination and all that. I got rid of them easily enough by donating to local charities. The newspapers dubbed me the ?Gentle Giant with the Big Heart?. I doubted that at 40 years old I was the heaviest bodybuilder at 310 lbs shredded, for I?d met Marcus Ruhl in his off-season whilst he was the guest of honour at the opening of a bodybuilding store in a Dublin City Centre shopping mall, and he had a good few pounds on me. But everyone was different, right? Besides, I figured I?d get bigger than him, one day. A lot bigger.[/COLOR]

[COLOR=gray]I felt it in my blood that science was the way forward. So I opted to bend the rules of the AMFS and not just limit membership to super-huge bodybuilders, but I also extended an olive branch to any scientists out there who had an interest in improving on the physical and athletic prowess of the human male, without him having to resort to under-the-counter illegal substances. Money was no object for me. The scientists that came on board had to become bodybuilders themselves, a little clause I added to their contracts. I would also provide them complete funding. The reason for this? Simple: I wanted to be surrounded by so much American Muscle. But I eventually bent this rule, too, allowing in boffins from other countries, such as Britain, France and Romania, even Finland. Besides, the men who worked on this most exceptional and specialised research could better appreciate the scale of their goals, if they themselves could ultimately benefit from them.[/COLOR]

[COLOR=gray]Okay, so maybe it was my money that started the Zombie Apocalypse, not me directly, for I didn?t make Z-Jolt, the outstanding compound that eventually transformed a planet for the worst, but I sure as hell funded and promoted the fuck out of it. I was even the project?s top guinea pig. Well, once it didn?t turn chimps into raving lunatics, but built them up beyond the size and muscle-density possessed by gorillas, I was only too pleased to have the boffins stick me with their controversial syringes.[/COLOR]

[COLOR=gray]Z-Jolt didn?t just happen overnight. It went through many permutations and revisions. After the first year of the AMFS, its members had swelled to one hundred and forty individuals, twenty-eight of which worked solely on the research end of things. Our headquarters were truly state of the art. We had all types of Americans living in Ireland as its resident members. These came from all walks of life, including several staff from the US Embassy in Ballsbridge ? both military and administration ? regularly using the gyms, the pools, and steam rooms, on an ongoing basis. They, like the blue-collar workers, architects, musicians, and even the eminent Irish-American playwright Jacob Turley, all served the ultimate goal of the AMFS: to become the biggest, strongest men on Planet Earth. Of course, for some never-explained reason, I was the biggest of all. By my forty-first birthday I was now 367 lbs with just four and a half percent body fat. I made Marcus Ruhl look like a stickman. I was huge, and I fucking loved every inch of me.[/COLOR]

[COLOR=gray]One morning, on my 42nd birthday, just three hundred and fourteen days to Z-Day, I decided to take a day off from life. I?d remain in my spacious penthouse apartment ? which I?d had built above the gym complex so I was never too far from the weights ? just posing and muscle-strutting, and entertaining my new fuck-buddies Hal Sawyer and his boyfriend the playwright Jacob Turley. I often handpicked from the AMFS members a consenting duo to join me in my plush pad. Hal was the most recent member, a would-be stage actor who Turley had spotted working as a tour-guide operator on one of those open-top coach tours you often see transporting foreigners around a city to showcase its various landmarks and attractions. I?d already been fucking Turley quite a bit, but neither of us had the time to commit to a ?relationship?, if you wanna call it that. He had to build his body (as a practicing member of the AMFS), and also produce his latest Broadway masterpiece, although he preferred to debut his works at Dublin?s prestigious Gaiety Theatre, and it?s not so-named because it?s full of programme-fanning faggots. Shit... there I go again, talking as if these things are still viable in the present. I don?t even know what the theatre is used for now, but like everything else across Ireland and the rest of the world... its purpose has long since become void.[/COLOR]

[COLOR=gray]Anyhow, that?s neither here nor there. I was fucking Turley, as close a dead-ringer to a mid-thirties Richard Gere than anyone else on the planet prior to Z-Day. He had Gere?s irresistible sex-appeal. You know what I mean. Gere was famous for trying not to be sexy while coming across as SUPER-sexy. Turley had the same sparkle in his eyes, but there was also an air of the intellectual about him, and I?d be lying if I didn?t get a boner every time he sounded off a word of more than four syllables. On top of this, one of the other reasons I was so attracted to him was the fact that out of the AMFS?s ever-swelling members, Turley had responded to the Z-Jolt trials better and faster than most. When he?d joined at the beginning, he?d sported a shit-hot body, lean and rock-hard musculature and a super-fit and super-shredded 197 lbs at a height of five eleven. Now he had thick, rock-hard musculature and was still a super-fit and super-shredded athlete. But in just a year of engaging in the ongoing trials, he?d bulked up massively to 302 lbs. He was a very beautiful man, with just enough body hair to add greater sex-appeal to his bulging muscles without detracting from them. Like me he was hung like an elephant. We had pretty much the same-sized cocks, although his looked a little bigger because I exceeded his muscle-mass by 65 lbs or so.[/COLOR]

[COLOR=gray]I will admit to liking a huge muscle-man?s cock penetrating my muscle-butt over and over, enough to make me scream and cum a huge load at a time, but I also liked to be the giver, too. Turley would let me do anything to him, although he had a bad habit of reading his plays aloud to me, as he put them through the various re-writes necessary to get them polished and ready to be performed. I guess I didn?t mind. The man was just so goddamned sexy for his thirty-six years. And because we could never be emotionally involved, I didn?t mind one little bit when he arrived at the penthouse, that Friday morning, with Hal Sawyer in tow. Hal was an AMFS initiate, just about breaking even with the minimum size requirement to become a member. I remember thinking that he must have genetics as exceptional as mine if he weighed in at a super-shredded 259 lbs, but he was just twenty-one years old. He?d even passed the obligatory drug test that helped determine who became members and who didn?t. The AMFS had no place for juicers. It was for genetically gifted, without a doubt... the sons of athletes and artisans, the low-to-inhibited-myostatin types, the ones whose desire to lift and grow started at a very early age, so they could take advantage of every particle of HGH their bodies would produce throughout adolescence. ?Quiet? Hal Sawyer was one such muscle-prodigy, whose father, a bodybuilder before him, had started his only son early in the sport, at only age ten.[/COLOR]

[COLOR=gray]The kid was a muscle-addict, taking it way beyond mania. I could see a little of myself in him at that age and I totally approved when Turley took him into our bed. Turley was still the one who made me go weak at the knees. He wasn?t a scientist, and he was the only current member to whom I saw fit to totally bend the minimum size requirements rule in order to get him in. The fact was that I simply wanted him to be a part of my life, but with no emotional attachments. I wanted sexual partners, others to muscle-worship, and, thus, be worshipped in return. I had no time or interest in the baggage that often resulted from liaisons of this nature. We kept it simple. MUSCLE + SEX = FUCK YEAH, a simple and addictive equation.[/COLOR]

[COLOR=gray]Okay, so now you know how I think in relation to what I want and what I get out of sex/muscle-worship. Unless you?ve ever found yourself in a situation as awesome as this, and before I continue to tell the story of how the world went to festered shit in just the few days it took for Armageddon to take hold, let me take the time to reminisce about the good old days, that particular Friday morning, just under a year before Z-Day, when first I laid my handsome eyes on the uber-Adonis that is Hal Sawyer.[/COLOR]

[COLOR=gray]I was 42, back then, but I easily passed for 35, or so I?d been told. That was three years ago, and despite being to Hell and back (several times), Hal tells me I could still pass for 35. It pleases me to hear shit like that, especially after I ruin another fine pair of boots by stompin? on yet more zombie heads, crushing their desiccating skulls and exposing the creamy goodness within. It reminds me of the world we now struggle to survive in. But be damned if we don?t look great doing the zombie-stompin?.[/COLOR]

[COLOR=gray]?Frank... I want you to meet Hal Sawyer. He?s gonna be in ?Three Summers in Connecticut?, playing the part of Chris the farmhand,? said Turley whose key card granted him full come-and-go access to my penthouse. Turley had to repeat himself to get my attention, so rapt was I on performing in front of my vast bedroom mirror. I?d just come off a cycle of injections administered by the Z-Jolt Project Leader, Dr. Rutger Lamminen (formerly of the Folkhalsan Institute of Genetics in Helsinki). He liked to joke about his name, saying that with a surname like Lamminen, so close in spelling to the protein ?Laminin?, a career in genetic research was a fate unavoidable. I was bigger and harder than the previous day, and because hypertrophy only occurred during periods of sleep, I was anxious to check my progress. I wasn?t disappointed either.[/COLOR]

[COLOR=gray]?Frank? can you even register that I?m here?? Turley could never lose his cool. He was far too laid-back for that, except when muscle-lust got the better of him. But his voice could be shrill and authoritative when it needed to be, so he caught my attention on the second attempt. Now I?d considered myself pretty much the muscle-daddy, and super-hunky because of it. I was six feet four inches in height, and my frame was so perfectly formed upon which to beautifully distribute my muscle with the emphasis on size, strength, and, most importantly: AESTHETICS. My shoulders and delts were thick, wide and bulbous, and my waist tight as a wasp?s. Everything in between was massive, bulging beyond belief, and ever-thickening. The muscles of my upper-body were at war for space just to exist on me. They were running out of room at the rate I was growing, but I knew that I was still good to gain a great many lean, rock-hard pounds, for weeks to come yet.[/COLOR]

[COLOR=gray]Turley didn?t seem to notice much of a change in me, but Sawyer had never seen me before. This kid was huge, don?t get me wrong, and because I was naked in front of my posing mirror, my ten-inch rod instantly twitched and pumped its way past fourteen inches. It stood half-flaccidly, midway between soft and fully erect, as my chest heaved from the excitement of my exertions, and also from the lust I suddenly felt from seeing Hal for the first time.[/COLOR]

[COLOR=gray]He was about five ten, 257 lbs and standing just one inch taller than Cutler. He had similar measurements to Mister O, for I was pretty good at guessing a bodybuilder?s dimensions just by looking at him, but although Hal and Cutler were both blonde-haired, the similarity ended there. I had little liking for the then current model of size-freak bodybuilders, with their pushed-out guts caused by abusing hormones which made their organs grow along with their muscles. I called them ?fat muscle?, but as was the case of all of my gym?s current members, the aesthetic ideal we all went for harkened back to the 1970s, the era of the Zane, Columbu, and Schwarzenegger. Hal Sawyer was a combination of all three body types, but like most of us, especially the ones who responded better to the Z-Jolt trials than others (a pecking order had already been well-established at this point), his body just oozed masculine, angular beauty, rounded and bulging in places where those bulges screamed beauty and power, and not in the wrong places that irksomely yelled: ?food baby?. Imagine how Hal would look after a year of Z-Jolt coursing through his veins.[/COLOR]

[COLOR=gray]He was almost completely shirtless, but for a sweat-stained mesh-top with very loosely woven mesh that looked like semi-transparent gauze, the way it hugged every contour of his hugely-developed chest. He, like many others like him, had cut the top short so that it ended just a couple of centimeters below the under-swell of his very thick pectorals. The curve and swell of his pec-meats caused the tattered hem of the shirt to tent out and flutter slightly as they heaved and rippled from him simply breathing. For pants all he had on was a moistly-stained jock-strap, and I inhaled its reek from across the sprawl of my fancy pad?s living room. His face was pure Robert Redford, a little Brad Pitt, with maybe a dash of Mark Paul Gosselaar from the side, although his hair hung loose around his bull-standard neck and pumped up traps, with a fringe that was a little too long on one side of his face, almost covering his right eye. His triceps and biceps were hugely developed and pumped, and his body?s overall vascularity was almost as impressive as my own. We all loved thick, visible veins across our beloved tapestries, and Hal really was no exception there.[/COLOR]

[COLOR=gray]I particularly liked the way his swelled lats caused his arms to stick out, elbows further out than the shoulders. I loved that stance on a bodybuilder, the one we all love to do to show off our sizes, but not make it look overtly obvious that we?re posing. The hugest of us all, in other words, me myself, could never really look relaxed even in a relaxed pose. Our muscles were way too big and developed for us ever to get away from that.[/COLOR]

[COLOR=gray]My eyes remained fixed on his jockstrap for a while, the smell of the cotton and nylon accentuated by a hint of rubber, all of which married with his cock-musk, which soon had my rod fully erect at almost fifteen inches. Hal had yet to speak, but I knew I was having an effect on him, and Turley could tell from my rising arousal that it was time to play. He quickly stripped down to a backless thong, which, like Hal?s jockstrap, struggled to keep his junk fully concealed. We were all massively hung, and I began to fire off pose after pose as Hal and Turley commenced to make out in front of me. Hal never took his eyes off me the entire time, as Turley explored every rise and valley of the youngster?s exceptional physique, and he matched me pose for pose, no easy feat, considering that Turley was all over him like a rash. He was playing with me, testing my tolerances before I lost complete control and had to climax, and I liked that so very much.[/COLOR]

[COLOR=gray]I pushed a full lat-spread upwards and outwards, my upper-body muscles seeming to explode out in every direction, struggling to break free of my expert control. My ribcage expanded as I dug knuckles into my freakishly small thirty-inch waist, fanning my chest girth out to its fullest and sexiest sixty-eight inches (this was nowhere near as big as I needed it to be, but I had already exceeded everyone?s expectations in the muscle-growth department.[/COLOR]

[COLOR=gray]Likewise my vascularity improved, veins thickening and looking more cut and prominent than ever. I tightened my obliques and abdominals, excellent mid-section control allowing me to pull in the muscles and make them shine, but also to create the illusion that my chest was bigger and thicker than it actually was.[/COLOR]

[COLOR=gray]Hal matched my fluid movements, his own lat-spread not as impressive as mine, but his chest-to-waist ratio was simply mind-blowing. Because he was shorter than I was at the time, the differential between waist and shoulders caused me to yell ?Sweet fuck? when I saw his upper pectorals almost swallow half his face, and the lats, gorging on blood, to almost completely fill in the space between his biceps and forearms. He had become a sheer wall of muscle, and I noticed how his burgeoning erection began to snap fine threads in his jockstrap, as it, too, grew larger and larger. Turley was grunting, now, his intellectual side completely overwritten by his muscle-man-lust. He was kneeling before the younger man, now, guzzling on nylon as his nose and mouth cavorted with the aromatic fabric of the jock. Whilst doing this Hal matched my double-biceps pose, and although his peaks were not as impressive as mine, his biceps bulged large and high and proud on his upper arms. Still he said not a word, but studied me, copied me, silently worshipping me as I began to skid around on a small pool formed of my precum.[/COLOR]

[COLOR=gray]Finally I crabbed down into a massive most-muscular pose, my muscles almost cracking my skin open in places, and I was so proud of my insane definition, with my paper-thin, albeit fibrously strong skin, stretching like a membrane in places, as my muscles swelled huger and harder. I held the pose, leaning into it, grunting and snorting like a possessed stallion. I out-muscled the lad in every way, but I certainly didn?t out-pose him. His skin was golden-brown, unlike my lighter shade (from lack of good sunshine), and he hadn?t been in Ireland long enough to lose it. His skin seemed thinner than mine, and it reflected the light better than mine ever could. His most-muscular pose easily made confetti of the mesh half-top he had on, and it flew apart, almost violently, into wispy strands that floated less than gently to my shag rug.[/COLOR]

[COLOR=gray]I forced even more power, greater pressure, into my most-muscular, knowing I could hold the pose longer and better than anyone else. Sweat clung to every part of me, and still Quiet Hal (as he would come to be known), matched me perfectly, for his body was of sculpted bronze, and his beauty would be boundless and without flaw, once he began to put on some serious size. By now a slavering Turley had shredded the jock with his teeth, and his tongue lapped the juices that leaked copiously from Hal?s massive, throbbing rod. I couldn?t contain myself any longer. I had to have him.[/COLOR]

[COLOR=gray]Now I?m not sayin? that I had a premature ejaculation problem or nuthin?, but sometimes I would erupt too soon, simply due to an overwhelming burst of testosterone inside me. This was one of the few side-effects Dr. Lamminen and his team were looking into. But my cum-production was through the roof. I simply couldn?t contain myself when, without warning, Sawyer somewhat violently grabbed hold of the back of Turley?s trunk-like neck with one hand, and with the other clamped tightly around a firm, gluttonous ass-cheek, commenced to raise Turley into the air, over his head, where he then proceeded to pump out a set of reps. Turley was 310 lbs, no weakling, and by the time Sawyer had him at the tenth rep, I was already jerking my rod spastically and spraying them both with weighty gouts of thick cream.[/COLOR]

[COLOR=gray]By the time Hal was done with pressing his boyfriend over his head as much as one hundred times, I was already lying on my bed and licking my cream off my fingers. I was in that dreamy, cooling-down phase, the part where most people reach for the post-coital cigarette. But I didn?t smoke, and besides, I liked the taste of my own cream. Soon Turley and Sawyer joined me in the bed, one on either side. The kid was covered in my spunk, and he was only too keen to see me lick him clean, which I did without argument. Turley also got in on the act, and soon our libidos were fired up again. In this respect we cavorted on my ultra-deluxe California King bed well into the afternoon on the Friday of my 42nd birthday. We explored every last inch of each other?s bodies many times over. We sucked and fucked our way through each and every one of our orifices, and in some respects new orifices were created as our muscles pressed against each other, forming new clefts and gullies that invited our voracious cocks to explore them.[/COLOR]

[COLOR=gray]These times were many in the early days, but as Z-Jolt continued to evolve, with new breakthroughs made almost on a monthly basis, our fun was not to last. Something vile and festering was about to make itself known? something microscopic, barely there at all. But like my desire to grow my muscles beyond human measure and tolerance, this tiny seed had big plans for Planet Earth.[/COLOR]



[COLOR=gray]Well, what did you think of this? Should I carry on? Is the Zombie Muscle Apocalypse worth your attention and interest? Comments always welcome? and craved.[/COLOR]

[anpuZA]

Interesting. Though I kinda wish you could've made the muscle zombies more wholesome. Just saying.

Please do continue.

^^

[umlerian49]

It's too bad we'll never find out what happens, what with the world ending tomorrow and all.

[JP71]

Originally Posted by anpuZA

Interesting. Though I kinda wish you could've made the muscle zombies more wholesome. Just saying.

Please do continue.

^^

I've never met a zombie that was wholesome. The whole point to them is that they're literally, slowly, coming apart. Besides, I haven't featured zombies of any kind in the story, just mentioned them at the start. I assumed that was clear. Besides, they're not in the story to be attractive. So I don't really get what your saying.

[JP71]

Originally Posted by umlerian49

It's too bad we'll never find out what happens, what with the world ending tomorrow and all.

Oh no, umlerian49. Not you, too. Damn this Harold Camping and his Merry Band of Misfits.

[Reeza]

Holy Hell! What will your fevered imagination produce next?

I like the noir-style narration and your characteristic bits of humor (or is it humour?) But I'm worried that the gory horror aspects of the story might deflate the erections caused by your lavishly detailed descriptions of muscle and sex. I enjoyed Zombieland and God knows I like muscle erotica, but they are currently stored in separate compartments in my two heads. Juxtaposing these two genres? Ummmm - do I really want my Willie to stiffen while I'm reading about rotting flesh and spilled brains? Would it lead me into late night orgies at the local morgue?

I'm sure someone will say, "If you don't like it, don't read it. And shut up!"
But you know I read everything you write, JP. I simply must. With great power comes great responsibility, dude. Do you really want to turn me into a necrophiliac?

[JP71]

Originally Posted by Reeza

Holy Hell! What will your fevered imagination produce next?

I like the noir-style narration and your characteristic bits of humor (or is it humour?) But I'm worried that the gory horror aspects of the story might deflate the erections caused by your lavishly detailed descriptions of muscle and sex. I enjoyed Zombieland and God knows I like muscle erotica, but they are currently stored in separate compartments in my two heads. Juxtaposing these two genres? Ummmm - do I really want my Willie to stiffen while I'm reading about rotting flesh and spilled brains? Would it lead me into late night orgies at the local morgue?

I'm sure someone will say, "If you don't like it, don't read it. And shut up!"
But you know I read everything you write, JP. I simply must. With great power comes great responsibility, dude. Do you really want to turn me into a necrophiliac?

Oh well, look like I'm giving this one the Last Rites, then. It seemed like a good idea at the time, huge sexy musclemen fending off scores of buff zombies at a time, but I guess I should quit now and avoid a lot of negative feedback, which I'm now sure this subject matter will evoke. No biggy. I actually wrote this about a year ago, and placed it in an unmarked folder within my musclegrowth main projects folder (not sure why I did that). So I thought I'd put it on here to see how it would do. Plenty more ideas where that came from

[wrestlejock646]

I for one was captured quickly by this story and I'm sorry that you've already decided to end it after one very hot, enjoyable installment. I say forget about the negative comments and continue!

[JP71]

Originally Posted by wrestlejock646

I for one was captured quickly by this story and I'm sorry that you've already decided to end it after one very hot, enjoyable installment. I say forget about the negative comments and continue!

Well, maybe if it gets enough hits and I get some more positive feedback, I may just decide to continue. We'll see. I'll read back over what I've written so far (and I have about 4 pages of the second chapter on hiatus), and decide if it's worth it. I do like the premise of the three bodybuilders, the protagonist, huge and bulging, his lust for growth fuelling his rage against the zombie outbreak (as well as a turbo-charged desire to survive), coupled with the playwright, who's intellect is impressive but always overwhelmed by muscle-lust, and finally the fuck-buddy, who cements the three together, rarely speaking, mimicking the one he desires to equal and outgrow, with a genetic pre-disposition to become insanely huge and powerful. Hmmmm.... I may just decide to continue with this. Watch this space.

I agree with Reeza tho, I want my readers to get off to my stories, as we all do, but the gore that I will be unable to exclude from the would-be coming chapters, may soften a lot of stiffies out there.

[lead guitarist]

JP71, you are a highly creative person and a very talented writer, and I love what you're doing with your Superman App story. But I think I have to side with those of us who think that zombies and their rotting flesh and gore will limpen, rather than stiffen, dicks. At least mine! I'm a fan of your other work, but I doubt I'd be a fan of this story.

[LtGort]

I'm intrigued by the story and want to read more. Gore turns me off too. But I want to read this story for readings and curiosity's sake. It doesn't have to be porn and get me hard for me to read it.

Please continue!

[JP71]

Originally Posted by LtGort

I'm intrigued by the story and want to read more. Gore turns me off too. But I want to read this story for readings and curiosity's sake. It doesn't have to be porn and get me hard for me to read it.

Please continue!

I would like to please everybody, but I'm getting a lot of conflicting feedback regarding Bodybuilders vs Zombies. Maybe I should just cut my losses and move on. I'm still loving The Superman App, and I'm about two thirds of the way through that. I've tonnes of ideas for stories anyway. Can't win 'em all, I guess, ha ha.

[anglekindle]

Originally Posted by JP71

I would like to please everybody, but I'm getting a lot of conflicting feedback regarding Bodybuilders vs Zombies. Maybe I should just cut my losses and move on. I'm still loving The Superman App, and I'm about two thirds of the way through that. I've tonnes of ideas for stories anyway. Can't win 'em all, I guess, ha ha.

Its a pity, as a zombie-movie fan I would have loved to have seen where you went with this. Oh well.

[umlerian49]

Originally Posted by JP71

Oh no, umlerian49. Not you, too. Damn this Harold Camping and his Merry Band of Misfits.

Hey, we're all still here. I didn't bother to wind my clock...

[philat99]

Too bad I read this after you made your decision. I, too, could care less about the negatives! Once your juices are flowing, it seems the ideas MUST be written, if even for just a few of your fans.

[miniace2009]

I really enjoyed this story and I would love to see where you would go with it.
Pretty much my only complaint was the beginning where you kind of meandered for a little while but once you got started, the story flew EXCEPTIONALLY well.

Please, please, PLEASE continue. As an avid reader of most every zombie story written I REALLY would love to see what comes next.

[JP71]

Originally Posted by miniace2009

I really enjoyed this story and I would love to see where you would go with it.
Pretty much my only complaint was the beginning where you kind of meandered for a little while but once you got started, the story flew EXCEPTIONALLY well.

Please, please, PLEASE continue. As an avid reader of most every zombie story written I REALLY would love to see what comes next.

Yeah, well considering the huge response I got (my best ever on any story I think) has swung things in favour of me continuing with this, so expect more soon (although I still have several chapters of The Superman App to do yet). So then... the Zombies are coming, best run for the Hills......( no wait, they have eyes, forget the hills, just goddamn PANIC!!!!)

[elysiumfields]

Hey m8. I'm not a fan of the Zombie genre,in fact i think its over-used. But for heavens sake do not be put off by negative comments. If people don't like the story then don't read it. Besides,theres a few muscle snuff stories on here with less criticism.

Even if i'm not into gore myself,i'm intrigued by how the muscle growth plays into this..
Mind you, i can't say much for myself. I tend to (from time to time) like the thuggish bad jock growing,beating,winning over the good guy (who might be flawed himself.?)

[COLOR=darkred]WHEN THERES NO MORE ROOM LEFT IN HELL, THE MUSCLE DEAD WILL WALK THE EARTH..![/COLOR]

[arpeejay]

Totally awesome! Please continue! I want to see all of them grow Grow GROW! :-)

xoxo

Richard

[nypup2train]

Well! I'm coming a bit late to this one (curse my irregular visit schedule!), and let me say that just reading through the _comments_ is a harrowing experience! Watching the fate of this story shift several times made for quite the nail-biter. :-)

So, while I'm glad to see that the (final?) outcome was...

Originally Posted by JP71

Yeah, well considering the huge response I got (my best ever on any story I think) has swung things in favour of me continuing with this

Let me still register my vote for continuing this one, as-is. I'm intrigued so far, plus I can get into some pretty dark stuff (when told right) and I don't "squick" easy.

Looking forward to part 2!

Yaknow, I mentioned "coming late to this one"... but now that I look at this thread, I notice that said "nail-biter" (in which the fate of the story changes at least three times) in fact all takes place over a period of just 3 days from the initial posting. With the first pronouncement on the story's fate being made barely 20 hours after it first hit the board!

It's natural to get excited about something you created and be eager for instant feedback, JP71. But you might want to give people at least a few days to get around to reading the story and posting their reactions, before you draw too many conclusions about how it was received!

[Lucas88]

I like the musclegrowth-twist you gave the zombie theme. What theme HASN'T been done before one way or another?

It's a fun piece and the attitude of your main character comes through clearly.

Have fun with it!

[JP71]

Well just so y'all know... Im two thirds of the way thru Part 2. I'm now very keen to pursue this.

[Mad Dog]

As long as there's more mega-hung ultra-muscled guys and not so much description turned over to gore and zombie viscera, it could be interesting!

[liang1]

Please keep writing, would love to see how the story progresses!