Stanley - 2

[grubby41]

[COLOR=white]Stanley's Cup - 2[/COLOR]
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[COLOR=white]Stan got up feeling dizzy, and fumbled in the darkness for the small door-handle. The Priest had already closed the screen, and the only illumination in the small space was the three-quarter frame of light behind the grille. After what seemed a short lifetime, the aged mechanism clicked, and the narrow door creaked open on its ancient brass hinges.[/COLOR]
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[COLOR=white]Stan eased himself as gracefully as he could out of the confessional, and made his way to the second pew in front of the image of Our Lady of Perpetual Help in the side chapel. Since he had already made his genuflection before the high altar, he simply entered the pew, lowered the kneeling rail, and started to say his penance. The Priest had given him five decades of the rosary to say; and so he reached into his pocket to fish out the string of prayer-beads which his grandmother had given him. He had to push out his right leg past the kneeler, and leaned back as far as he could as he attempted to fit his hand into his pocket. As it was, his hand was now so large and his jeans again so tight that he finally resorted to having to push against the beads outside the pocket so that he could reach in with his fingers and fish them out when they finally reached the opening.[/COLOR]
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[COLOR=white]Once he had his rosary out, he knelt upright. He made the sign of the Cross with the crucifix, and began the Creed. As he uttered the opening words, he paused. He could hear his own whispering voice echoing in the small, cool Lady Chapel. Embarrassed, and afraid that someone might hear him, he quietly began again in a lower whisper than before, ?I believe in God, the Father Almighty, Maker of heaven and earth?.[/COLOR]
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[COLOR=white]And again, Stan stopped, and paused.[/COLOR]
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[COLOR=white]And then, once more, he began, ?I believe?.?[/COLOR]
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[COLOR=white]And then he stopped. And he waited. But for what was he waiting? What did he want? What was he expecting to have happen?[/COLOR]
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[COLOR=white]Father Hawker had not liked Stan?s confession, and told him so. Father Hawker had accused Stan of not only giving into his lustful passions, but also of a sort of ?exhibitionism?. Stan knew that Father Hawker disliked him, and he really did not know why. He had never been anything but respectful to the Priest, and was always on his best behaviour when he was at Church. He was polite, and listened intently to whatever it was that Father had to say ? even when Stan was not entirely sure that Christ would agree with what His servant was saying. But his deep respect for those whom the Lord had called to the Ministry, and had set apart to serve His people, always over-rode any reservation that Stan may have had in regard to what Father Hawker, or any Priest for that matter, might say. And then again, who was Stan to say anything anyway? After all, Stanley was only just turning seventeen in a few weeks? time. He had not even graduated from High School. Who was he to set himself up as any sort of authority, especially when he still knew so very little about anything, really?[/COLOR]
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[COLOR=white]Nevertheless, in his heart, Stan knew that Father Hawker was quite wrong. He was wrong about his confession, and he had misjudged Stan?s intentions. Why did this always happen? He remembered that one Saturday afternoon when he and the other members of his Confirmation class had met in the study up the stairs above the main meeting area of the Parish Hall. Stan?s parents had not allowed him to be confirmed at thirteen. They thought ? or, at least, his grandmother had thought - that was far too young to make any sort of commitment of such importance. And so Stan waited until he was fifteen to be confirmed.[/COLOR]
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[COLOR=white]Of course, the other kids in his Confirmation class were twelve and thirteen; and, like most other immediately pre-pubescent children, were still small and scrawny, the boys showing the first signs of wisps of future facial hair; the girls somewhat taller, but still flat-chested but with just enough of a swell to their areolae to be embarrassed - and a little proud; and rows of spots appearing on their oily foreheads, all betokening an unhappy bout of early adolescence.[/COLOR]
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[COLOR=white]Stan, however, had a clear, high forehead, with lustrous dark hair that, no matter how much he pushed it back, fell over his right eye just enough to make him have to toss his head slightly back in order to see. He had to wear shirts tailored for athletic adult men because his neck was already so wide, and his trapezius muscles so well-developed, that regular men?s shirts wouldn?t do up at the top button. Warm weather was always a problem, and so Stan had to wear short-sleeved shirts just in order to get air on his skin; but this also made him feel uncomfortable because he hated how big his veins were, and always tried to cover them up if he could. Sometimes, he would keep his hands behind his head, or rest his head on his hands to avoid his veins swelling as they did when he put his arms down. At fifteen, the vein that ran down his biceps was as thick as his little finger; and inside his forearm it looked like a network of blue electrical wires and criss-crossing strings which actually moved over the thick round muscles when he made a fist or wrote with a pen. And his large, brown hands were knotted with heavy veins that made people stare ? sometimes rather rudely, Stan often thought.[/COLOR]
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[COLOR=white]It was when he was sitting at the long table in the study, with his hands behind his head, that one of the kids looked at him, and sputtered dry-mouthed, ?Look at Stan?s muscles! His arm-muscle is just about as big as his head!? Stan?s face flushed a deep crimson red, and he quickly lowered his arms. The blood rushed back into his veins, and the tension caused by his embarrassment made them swell even larger than was usual. The same kid then did the unthinkable. He asked Stan to make a muscle.[/COLOR]
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[COLOR=white]?Hey, man! Make a muscle! Show us how big your muscles are!?[/COLOR]
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[COLOR=white]Stan really did not know what to do, and he started to panic. And it was exactly then, at that very particular moment of crisis, when he had his just lowered his big and now blood-engorged arms, his short sleeves riding up and caught uncomfortably between his biceps and his deltoid muscles, and all eyes resting intently on him, that the door to the study opened, and old Father Hawker entered the room to begin teaching them their Catechism. Father Hawker looked around at the conglomeration of greasy twelve and thirteen year olds, including his awkward and impressionable niece Deirdre, all gawking at this immodest and hulking young oaf, and from that day on he had his worst sights set on poor Stanley.[/COLOR]
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[COLOR=white]As far as Father Hawker was concerned, the boy was a pornographic cartoon of exactly what was wrong with society. Immodesty, exhibitionism, sensuality, lack of self-control, brazen sexuality and contempt for all propriety ? all of this was evident in the way that this oversized and self-impressed Narcissus displayed his maleness. No doubt it was to intimidate the other, lesser, boys, and to bring about a rush of feminine interest for his own self-gratification in girls who were still far too young to be aware of the dark power of their own feelings, let alone to know how to handle such a display of raw male sexuality. And now he had to deal with this in his own Parish ? and from the grandson of Vivian Cheng, no less. How much worse could this get? [/COLOR]
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[COLOR=white]And so Stan ran afoul of his Rector; and Stan began to question his faith.[/COLOR]

[arpeejay]

Interesting developments! Let's hear it for all avatars of self-impressed maleness! Especially when (a la Stan) they're not impressed with their own impressiveness!

xoxo

Richard

[Reeza]

Holy cats! If Catholic guilt and shame contribute to muscle growth, then please tell me how to relocate to Stanley's universe. I could get credit for my adolescence and become massive!

I love the contrast between Stanley's thoughts/feelings and the assumptions other people make about him. Also the way Stanley misinterprets the thoughts of people who stare at him. This is a really interesting psychological dynamic for a muscle growth story. Great job!

[2bored]

Interesting stuff. You are a good writer. I hope there is more focus on Stanley's physique itself in the next edition.