New Story: The Entity and Stephen Lewis by JP71 Part 1 of 2

[JP71]

[COLOR=windowtext][COLOR=gray]THE ENTITY &[/COLOR][/COLOR]
[COLOR=windowtext][COLOR=gray]STEPHEN LEWIS[/COLOR][/COLOR]
[COLOR=windowtext][COLOR=gray]By JP71[/COLOR][/COLOR]
[COLOR=windowtext][COLOR=gray]Part 1 of 2[/COLOR][/COLOR]

[COLOR=windowtext][COLOR=gray]It’s been a while since I’ve posted anything on the boards, and I’m back with, hopefully, a blindingly-good two-parter. I wrote this first part in one sitting, and I’ve literally begun to turn to stone in front of my computer, so if I don’t end the first part now, it’s gonna get even longer. 19 pages long, 10,900+ words. But you know me, I can’t write anything short. There’s a fair bit of exposition here, but you’ll get to some hot, juicy bits, I promise (and I promise Part 2 will be heaving with muscle growth). Having been away from writing for several months (has it been that long?); I wanted to prove to myself that I could get lost in a good yarn once again. If you don’t like it please say so. If you DO like it, please say so. As always, enjoy my work, people. And it’s good to be back. Really good. [/COLOR][/COLOR]






[COLOR=windowtext][COLOR=gray]This would be my third change of address in less than eighteen months. The credit card company I worked for was downsizing its operation for the fourth time in the wake of Ireland’s economic troubles, and they’d decided to close the Dublin offices altogether, opting to run everything from their Cork base, which also served as the hub of their entire European operations. It also meant a promotion for me from Duty Manager to Chief Credit Controller, a job that carried a significant pay rise. I’d been with the company for eight years thus far, and was one of their best department heads. I guess when it comes to downsizing and out-sourcing, it makes good business sense to hold on to the staff whose work commitment and output can best serve a company that’s trying to stay afloat in hard times.[/COLOR][/COLOR]

[COLOR=windowtext][COLOR=gray]I looked forward to the new challenges facing me. But I wasn’t too keen on the move to Cork. Sure, I’d been there a few times in my life, twice as a child with my parents, and once again, for a few months in 2006, when the Cork offices went live. At the time I was there as a trainer and consultant, nothing more. I’d met Gary there, actually sat in on his interview when we hired him that year, and I take the full blame for turning up the heat in the interview room so that we all had to take our suit jackets off. I had to see the way his dress shirt clung to his sculpted musculature. The suit was obviously tailored to fit him, and even before he’d removed the jacket (thank God for fast-acting thermostatic controls) I could tell he was a serious bodybuilder. Of course, my boss at the time, Estelle, knew exactly what I was up to. And later on in the pub after work she reprimanded me by buying me a pint, commenting on how we both had the same taste in men: hunky and muscular.[/COLOR][/COLOR]

[COLOR=windowtext][COLOR=gray]I don’t want to dwell too much on Gary Shields, but it’s so hard not to, and so I probably will. Turned out he’s bisexual, and we had a fling together. But that’s all it was. He lied to me about being single. And he was married the whole time, but simply removed his wedding ring when we were together. He also didn’t wear it at the interview, or later in work, because I grew to know him as a player who liked to swim in many pools, pretending he was single and into anything that moved. But his body was incredible, and although he’d played me for a fool, I think I enjoyed being that fool for the short few months during which I thought I’d bagged me a bodybuilder for a boyfriend.[/COLOR][/COLOR]

[COLOR=windowtext][COLOR=gray]Gary still worked for the company, but it was a big place with many departments. Sure, there were bound to be incidents where our paths would cross, and I heard on the vine that he was way bigger than when we were together. Although I dreaded bumping into him, my ever-hungry muscle-lust positively craved a glimpse of him, power-packed with another five years of muscle-growth on him.[/COLOR][/COLOR]

[COLOR=windowtext][COLOR=gray]But I don’t really want to talk about work. It’s my apartment where the focus of this story should be, if only I could get Gary out of my head. I’m glad I can put pen to paper. Short story writing is a wee passion of mine. Been doing it since I was a teenager, and my tales often feature massively muscular heroes whose muscles could grow to extreme proportions. If only it could happen to me for real. I dreamed of being a huge bodybuilder, and when I left college at twenty-three, a qualified graphics designer, I decided to follow my dream and take up weight-training. Turned out I couldn’t get a job anywhere as a graphics designer, and ended up working in McDonald’s for four years, but I climbed the ladder very quickly and was running my own store within two years. It turned out that I was an exceptional manager, and the credit card company soon attracted me with a really good salary and excellent benefits. I’d been there ever since. But between leaving college and starting my second job, I’d tried to become a gym junkie. I made some decent gains to begin with, made friends and was soon part of a gym clique. I was the only one in the gang who was gay, and I decided at the time to keep my sexuality secret. I wasn’t out of the closet at the time anyway, although I’ve been out now since about 2003.[/COLOR][/COLOR]

[COLOR=windowtext][COLOR=gray]I tried my best never to get caught eyeing up the muscle in the locker room when I’d be in there. But it was just so difficult to avert my eyes, although I always did my best never to strip off my shorts in the locker room. Sure, some guys would come out in erections, especially with all that musky testosterone hanging in the air like intoxicating ether. Bodies respond to chemical secretions in all kinds of ways, right? But I always had a fear that I’d be singled out, that if I was seen to have a stiffy in a public place, that immediately a great big flashing neon sign would appear over my head, with a hand pointing downwards next to the word “HOMO”. I guess that looking back, even had my assault never happened, I was too paranoid and self-conscious in all the wrong ways to ever make it as a bodybuilder. Although I wanted muscles badly (and I’d tried several failed attempts to work out at home over the years), somehow I never felt comfortable in the gym. Probably because I was struggling to deal with my sexuality, and being in an environment in which I was constantly surrounded by self-obsessed, horny heterosexual musclemen, was not making be feel in any way better about myself.[/COLOR][/COLOR]

[COLOR=gray]I later found out that the bastard who beat me up in the gym’s parking lot had been seriously abusing steroids. Like most of the “roided ones” I sometimes saw injecting themselves in the toilets and locker rooms, the juice they were on came from illicit sources. How anyone could stick themselves with something of dubious origin and content was beyond me. I read in the papers about how these guys were dropping dead in their twenties and autopsies showed that they had all kinds of substances in their bloodstreams, anything from skunk urine to aftershave. The guy that attacked me was Polish, a real Eastern European muscle-head who was addicted to getting super-huge. To be honest, when he caught me staring at his manhood on the night it happened, I was overwhelmed by his size, the thickness of his muscles, and the roided-out exaggeration of his midsection (ugly on some, but not him). His arrogance was turning me on, too, and my senses became intoxicated and attuned only to the sheer dominance of his masculine presence. I’d dropped my guard and the towel I was using to conceal myself. He saw my boner as our eyes met, and I swear to God his entire body seemed to swell even huger (is that a word?) as his rage fuelled his motions. His skin flushed a deep red colour and he charged towards me, yelling obscenities both in Polish and broken English. Panicking – something I wasn’t known for – I grabbed my stuff from the locker and fled. Fortunately I’d managed to get some shorts on, and I can’t even remember doing so (heck, I can’t remember slipping out of them to begin with and breaking my cardinal rule). But this guy was completely naked as he stampeded after me. The locker room was on the ground floor, just off from the lobby, so I didn’t have to get very far to escape. Maybe once we were out in the lobby, where there could be children, he would stop his pursuit. But I was out of luck. Adrenaline allowed me to easily leap the turnstile as I aimed myself for the double doors of the entrance. After that it was just a few metres to my car. The brute coming after me was easily 280 lbs, maybe even more. I expected he would get stuck at the turnstile and the receptionist would deal with him for breaking the rules.[/COLOR]

[COLOR=windowtext][COLOR=gray]By the time I got to my car I couldn’t hear a thing above the sound of my panicking heart pounding inside my skull. I was afraid to look behind me. I’d dropped my gym-bag and other personal items as I made my escape. Fuck it; I knew I wouldn’t need them anymore. Fortunately I still had my car keys on me, although my hands trembled and I dropped them out of my sweaty grip before I could activate the electronic fob to get my door unlocked.[/COLOR][/COLOR]

[COLOR=windowtext][COLOR=gray]How he didn’t break my back from the kick I’d received is something that baffled the doctor tending to me later on. I felt the foot slamming into me from behind, slamming my entire body against the side of my car with force enough to rock it considerably. With the wind completely knocked out of me, the huge brute picked me up as though I weighed nothing at all, and held me right over his head, screaming maniacally as those drugs of dubious content and origin worked inside him, bonding with his body chemistry in ways nature never intended, giving him the potential to be a killer.[/COLOR][/COLOR]

[COLOR=windowtext][COLOR=gray]I think I passed out then, and it’s a good job I did. But he roughed me up significantly while I was unconscious, managing to fracture my collarbone in three places, as well as shatter two of my ribs, one of which punctured a lung. The incident made the papers and the following day’s lunchtime news, although I was unconscious for two days after it and in intensive care for five days. But I found out later that three of the gym’s trainers came to my rescue and brought down the beast. Apparently he was about to toss me in front of an oncoming bus, only they got to him in time and did quite a number on him, too. They saved my life, and we became friends for a short time. But the gym was closed down following my assault, deemed to be in violation of many safety codes, not to mention improperly-trained staff. Further probing by the Garda? revealed a drugs ring operating from within the gym itself. No prizes for guessing where my assailant was getting his gear. The manager of the gym was prosecuted, and I also later heard that the brute died during year two of his five-year incarceration, suffering a heart attack during a workout at the prison gym. He was twenty-six years old. Amazing to think he was getting his juice even from behind bars. What a world we live in eh?[/COLOR][/COLOR]

[COLOR=gray]And so I never set foot in a gym after that, well, not for several years at least. I still wanted to get muscles, and I hired a personal trainer to come to my house after my promotion to McDonald’s store manager meant that I could afford to hire someone to train me privately. But by this time I was no longer committed. Stress from work was interfering with my ability to commit to a regular routine. I worked out a lot to start with, but gradually this became less and less, and I began to call my trainer less and less, too. Eventually I quit altogether and decided I couldn’t balance a heavy workload with the kind of responsibilities I had, AND be a bodybuilder.[/COLOR]

[COLOR=windowtext][COLOR=gray]Changing jobs in 2003 would distance me from my bodybuilding dream even further. I decided to take stock of my life and concentrate on the things that really mattered. I was an only child, and my parents bought a villa in Spain for their retirement, so I saw them twice a year if I was lucky. I had a few friends to keep me from becoming a complete loner, but relationships were non-existent. I had a few brief encounters here and there, mostly at employee functions, although my area supervisor frowned at the idea of a store manager dating a member of the crew staff. That was one of the reasons why I decided that two years running a busy fast food restaurant was enough. I needed a change. Fortunately the credit card company had no such policy with regard to inter-employee relationships, not that that was my sole reason for changing jobs.[/COLOR][/COLOR]

[COLOR=windowtext][COLOR=gray]So I kept my head down and worked hard in the new job, learning all I could, getting recognition for it, and climbing the ladder. The first year was night-time work only, and that was when I fell seriously out of shape. We had to call live to the United States, where the bulk of our sales occurred. It started at 5pm and went on until 2am. I almost went crazy that first year, and the nightly sweet trolley, provided to give us the sugar rushes most of us believed got us the sales our jobs depended on, became a close friend. Before long I had saggy man-tits and a spare tyre I loathed. I had to get off the night-shift. And so I did. I exceeded all sales projections for my department, and was quickly promoted to the day shift. At least there’d be no more sweet trolley, and I soon curbed my addiction to chocolate. I eventually took up jogging in the park and did some push-ups and crunches at home for a few months. The tits and spare tyre disappeared. I wasn’t muscular by any means, but I looked decent enough in the buff, not that anyone got to see me naked. I needed a man and I needed one badly.[/COLOR][/COLOR]

[COLOR=windowtext][COLOR=gray]But enough of the back-story. The rest of this took place across the past year, ten months, in fact. It’s been ten months since I moved into my apartment in Cork, just a stone’s throw from my workplace, and a handy twenty minutes from the city centre. Ten months ago I had no idea how radically the fate of my mostly uneventful life would take such a dramatic turn. For better or worse? Hmm, I still haven’t decided which. Maybe when I get it all written down – my sole reason for writing this – I might understand things better. But please, read on... this is getting so very interesting, is it not? Trust me; the best is yet to come. At least I think it’s the best. I’ll let my readers decide.[/COLOR][/COLOR]

[COLOR=gray]It was just after the New Year when I moved into my new home in Cork. I was up to my eyes in work helping with the big move from Dublin to Cork. It was also a daunting and emotional time, having to see almost a hundred employees cut from the payroll, damn this recession. All of them good, decent people, with young families and homes now worth less than half of the mortgages with which they’d used to buy them... out of work. And guess what? No one was hiring. Sign of the times. Ireland and Greece had suffered the worst of Europe’s economic collapse, and with no light at the end of a tunnel that seemed to stretch on and on ad infinitum. I felt somewhat guilty accepting a promotion when so many people I worked with had lost their jobs. Three months into the role, and I didn’t even notice the compulsory 10% pay cut we all had to take in order to keep the company afloat. And now my job entailed collecting the debts of people who could no longer afford to pay their bills. Of course, the brunt of my work would be liaising with the finance company through which so many of our account holders had taken out payment protection when we first shoved the credit cards down their throats, so-to-speak. I’m a nice guy, I promise. And today’s my last day in this fucked-up job, now that I’ve decided to give writing my all. I’m thirty-six now, and I’ve gotten all I could possibly want from my life, but I’ll get to that. I just can’t say how long it will take to make sense of where I am now. But stay with me on this.[/COLOR]

[COLOR=windowtext][COLOR=gray]Like I said, I was up to my eyes in work, so Shirley, my secretary and good friend, was designated the role of finding me a place to live. The company had put me up in a hotel, but they were only paying for a fortnight’s stay, and I was on day ten before Shirley found what she thought would be a decent apartment for me to move into.[/COLOR][/COLOR]

[COLOR=windowtext][COLOR=gray]“So did you actually view the place, or just pictures of it on the website?” I was talking to Shirley on my mobile whilst driving to work from the hotel on day ten of my new life in Cork. Luckily there were no cops around. It wasn’t too bad of a place, no better or worse than Dublin, but the local accent was proving difficult for me to get to grips with. But I did my best not to show my lack of appreciation for the local inflection. The West of Ireland, to be honest, felt like a different planet. But I’m sure I would get used to it eventually.[/COLOR][/COLOR]

[COLOR=windowtext][COLOR=gray]“Yeah, I went there this morning. It’s twenty minutes from town and five minutes from work. If congestion is light on the roads in the morning you should get here in no time. The complex is called Xavier Heights.”[/COLOR][/COLOR]

[COLOR=windowtext][COLOR=gray]Xavier Heights? Thoughts of the X-Men immediately came to mind, but I quickly dismissed the mental image. I was driving to work across the city centre at a little after noon. Traffic was light, but it was raining heavily, and I was taking a risk talking on my mobile whilst driving in the rain. I was now in a position to take paid mornings off, three a month if I needed to, and since I’d only just moved from Dublin, I still had affairs to set in order both in Dublin and in Cork, most of which was over the phone. “Hmm, geographically it sounds ideal. What are the beauty features like, if any?”[/COLOR][/COLOR]

[COLOR=windowtext][COLOR=gray]“I didn’t know that was a priority for you, Stephen,” said Shirley, sounding noticeably downcast on the other end of the line. [/COLOR][/COLOR]

[COLOR=windowtext][COLOR=gray]“Why, is it next to some train tracks or something? Please don’t tell me that, Shirley. I’m a really light sleeper.”[/COLOR][/COLOR]

[COLOR=windowtext][COLOR=gray]“Er, worse than that. But it’s a really great price. And besides, you’re over that fear of yours now, aren’t you?”[/COLOR][/COLOR]

[COLOR=windowtext][COLOR=gray]I’d worked with Shirley before, for six months in Dublin when she first joined the company, and again in 2006 when I was helping with the set-up. She was also a friend of Gary’s wife, but I never held that against her. It was through Shirley that I’d learned how much bigger Gary had gotten, although I had yet to catch that glimpse of him, the one I dreaded as much as yearned for.[/COLOR][/COLOR]

[COLOR=windowtext][COLOR=gray]“Don’t tell me, it’s a gym, right? And I’ll bet it’s the one “He Who Shall Not Be Named” uses, am I correct?” Suddenly I had designs on setting up a voyeuristic telescope from my new bedroom window, trained on the gym as I settled into my new evening role of Gary-spotting. I felt a tightening in my crotch as my balls and dick began to react to the new images flashing across the screen of my mind.[/COLOR][/COLOR]

[COLOR=windowtext][COLOR=gray]“I’m afraid so, boss. But look, I never see Gary from our floor. He’s down in Inbound. We all know he’s too dumb to ever move out of that position. You can take the lift right up from the lobby and if you’re lucky you won’t be sniffing his perspiration any time soon. I know for a fact he uses the stairs all the time, says it helps his glutes stay firm and also improves his cardio. Personally I think he has a fear of enclosed spaces.”[/COLOR][/COLOR]

[COLOR=windowtext][COLOR=gray]“You have such a way with words, woman,” I playfully criticized. But Shirley knew me well. We’d shared many a pint after work together. She knew all about my assault from years back, my fear of gyms as a result, but also how I managed to deal with that and also juggle (struggle?) with my penchant for bodybuilders despite what had happened. I should have had counselling, but I liked to think I was in control of my fears and desires, ensuring that one never overlapped with the other. Who was I kidding?[/COLOR][/COLOR]

[COLOR=windowtext][COLOR=gray]“Look, stop dwelling in the past, boss. It’s a nice complex. Sure, it’s next to a gym, but I have it on good authority from the landlord that several of his tenants frequent that gym. And now that I think of it, there was a lingering manly muskiness about the place when I was there this morning. I told the landlord you’d take it. I have the contract right here for you when you arrive in.”[/COLOR][/COLOR]

[COLOR=windowtext][COLOR=gray]“You fucking bitch!”[/COLOR][/COLOR]

[COLOR=windowtext][COLOR=gray]“Yeah but you love me regardless. So then, about my raise...”[/COLOR][/COLOR]

[COLOR=windowtext][COLOR=gray]“Fuck off, we’re in a recession. See you in a few minutes then.” I didn’t know whether to be peeved with her or not. I could no longer keep the images of Gary out of my mind. By the time I pulled into the parking lot of the Cork offices, I had a raging hardon. Fortunately I had my briefcase with me, but my suit jacket just about hid it. Of course, now was the wrong time for a bike courier to be in the building, dealing with Pauline the receptionist as she signed for a parcel. The guy looked Italian, twenty-something, tall and lean, with not much musculature to him. Still though, he filled his shorts extremely well, and so I made a beeline for the men’s restrooms and spent a good ten minutes relieving myself.[/COLOR][/COLOR]

[COLOR=windowtext][COLOR=gray]“Morning, Pauline,” I said pleasantly enough as I flitted my way across the lobby to the elevator.[/COLOR][/COLOR]

[COLOR=windowtext][COLOR=gray]“It’s ten to one, Mister Lewis,” said Pauline, as she fiddled with her phone headset whilst touching up her lipstick. The woman was the spitting image of Tina Turner, who turned out to be her party piece at the company parties. I got off at my floor, and, thankfully, no sign of Gary. At this time of day he’d probably he heading to lunch, but I wouldn’t be going near the canteen today. Shirley would pick me something up, and besides, I was too nervous to eat anything since she’d told me about the apartment and what was next to it. It would be a Gary-free afternoon. I was only working until 5.30pm. I didn’t think my libido would be able to handle another invasion of the “muscle-munchies”.[/COLOR][/COLOR]

[COLOR=gray]I signed for the apartment whilst only cursorily glancing over photos of the place. It so happened that the master bedroom had a small veranda that indeed overlooked the gym. Inside me my heart leapt and exploded into celebratory fireworks, although I’m sure Shirley picked up the squeak of glee I must’ve made when I saw the photo. The notion of buying a telescope actually gained weight in my thoughts. Was I capable of being a voyeur? My lack of a healthy sex-life cried “YES!”[/COLOR]

[COLOR=windowtext][COLOR=gray]Later in the day, Shirley came in with coffee and a chicken and salad bagel for me. I still wasn’t hungry, but I would force myself to eat. It was a lazy afternoon, with not much happening. I slurped the coffee gratefully. The caffeine gave me an instant buzz.[/COLOR][/COLOR]

[COLOR=windowtext][COLOR=gray]“I finished typing those letters you wanted, Stephen. I was wondering if I could leave early today. I have to collect Liam’s birthday present on the way home.” Liam was Shirley’s son. He’d just turned sixteen. He was a decent kid and very handsome for a lad of his age. [/COLOR][/COLOR]

[COLOR=windowtext][COLOR=gray]“Shit, shit.... SHIT!!!! Shirley for fucksake you could have reminded me. I wanted to get him something.” I began to reach for my wallet, but Shirley was having none of it.[/COLOR][/COLOR]

[COLOR=windowtext][COLOR=gray]“You don’t have to do that,” she defended, shifting her weight from one foot to the next.[/COLOR][/COLOR]

[COLOR=windowtext][COLOR=gray]“Nonsense, I know you years, bitch. Here.” I took a crisp fifty Euro note from my wallet and pushed it into her hand. “Get him an Xbox game or something. I insist.”[/COLOR][/COLOR]

[COLOR=windowtext][COLOR=gray]“Thank you, you silly bastard,” she said with a blush. She made to leave, delighted to get off work an hour early. It was late night shopping in the city. If she left now she could just about beat the bedlam of city traffic at rush hour. But before she left my office...[/COLOR][/COLOR]

[COLOR=windowtext][COLOR=gray]“Er... just one thing... you haven’t seen Gary lately, have you,” I simply begged to know.[/COLOR][/COLOR]

[COLOR=windowtext][COLOR=gray]“You know I did. I was at their New Years Eve party. And to be perfectly honest, Gillian Shields has an eye for the ladies. I swear to God, she was making eyes at Debbie Fullerton the entire night. Then they mysteriously vanished for about two hours, only to reappear just before the countdown. I think she and Gary knew exactly what each of them was after before they tied the knot. In any case, I never broached the subject with Gillian. We’re close enough for her to tell me in her own time, although she’s building quite a reputat----[/COLOR][/COLOR]

[COLOR=windowtext][COLOR=gray]“What’s Gary like? What was he wearing that evening?” I didn’t mean to cut in, but I could see that she wanted to get away. She’d told me before that he’d gained considerable size since 2006, but she never went into too much detail. Considering the way my day was going thus far, I [/COLOR][/COLOR][COLOR=gray]really [/COLOR][COLOR=gray]wanted her to go into detail now.[/COLOR]

[COLOR=windowtext][COLOR=gray]Shirley let out a slow, drawn-out sigh, one that only bordered on exasperation. She tried not to look annoyed with me, but I could tell she was. “For the five millionth time, he’s HUGE, Stephen...” she began.[/COLOR][/COLOR]

[COLOR=windowtext][COLOR=gray]You could almost hear the cartoonish “BOINNG!!!” noise made by my dick as it sprang up hard inside my pants. Thank God I’d opted for boxers today instead of my usual tighty-whities. I had a feeling I’d be wearing loose-fitting undies, now that I was in the same building as Gary again.[/COLOR][/COLOR]

[COLOR=windowtext][COLOR=gray]“Buh-but, he was pretty big when we were together. I mean... how big is he capable of getting?” Damn, my horn was yearning for release. The sudden way I shifted my position in my chair completely gave away the fact I had an erection. I don’t know who blushed more, me or Shirley.[/COLOR][/COLOR]

[COLOR=gray]“Well you could always phone down to Inbound and ask him yourself, hon. And on the night of New Years Eve, he was wearing a VERY TIGHT Levi’s ribbed-top that clung to every inch of his massive musculature like a second skin. In fact...,” and Shirley now licked her lips once before finishing, “... the fabric was stretched so tight across his titanic chest that the buttons were strained to popping right off. But don’t even get me started on his painted-on jeans. He gets them specially made, like all his clothes. No jeans off the rack will go anywhere near his tree-trunk thighs.” She was finished. I knew she was humouring me, for she’d read one of my muscle-growth stories before, after hounding me for a week to read one. I finally relented. She had a photographic memory, so I knew she was able to recollect some passages of my story and re-work them into her description of Gary on New Year’s Eve. She told me what I wanted to hear, bless her. I both loved her and hated her equally for it. Before she left, she popped to her desk outside my office and then popped her head back into mine.[/COLOR]

[COLOR=windowtext][COLOR=gray]“Catch,” she said before leaving for the day. I caught the box of tissues in one hand, a lucky catch if ever there was one. Shirley was an amazing person. She was brilliant at anticipating all of my needs. She knew me better than I knew myself, I think. I suddenly felt lost without her. Maybe if I make it as a published author I can hire her to do my PR. Who knows?[/COLOR][/COLOR]

[COLOR=gray]As soon as she left I locked my door and pulled down the blinds. I had to masturbate, that image of Gary in the tight Levi’s shirt straining against his massive muscles now fixed in my head. By the way, did I mention that he was also drop dead gorgeous in the facial department? Back when I knew him, he had tight-cut blonde hair, dyed though. Shirley had told me that he recently went back to his dark colour, which suited his piercing blue eyes a lot better than the blonde, in her opinion. I couldn’t help it, but my obsession for Gary had intensified since I’d returned to the Cork office. Believe me when I say this, but when I knew him for the fling we had back in 2006, he was even bigger and more beautiful-looking than some of my favourite bodybuilders, such as Dennis Newman, Mike Francois, and Rich Gaspari. They were pretty big back then, and yet I thought that Gary looked even bigger than they did at the heights of their careers (I had a personal preference for the bodybuilding superstars of the 80s and 90s). According to Shirley he was now HUGE, with capital letters. My mind, even with its writer’s imagination, struggled to morph the image of the Gary I knew five years ago into the Gary he had ultimately become today. As I shot a massive load of cum, fortunately catching it in a tissue before it could stain my pants, the urge to see Gary would quickly lessen now that I’d relieved myself. Still though, I had to catch a glimpse of him before I left work for the day. The problem was, just how was I going to accomplish that? I had a morbid fear of making eye-contact with him and engaging him in small talk. Sure, we would probably be civil with one another, technically I was superior to him, just not the one he reported to. But I know I wouldn’t be able to look him in the eye. And my reason for this? Simple, I had failed to become everything that he was. I may have been over him in the workplace, but in everything else I was miniscule, a dust mote in the eyes I could never bring my own to meet. I preferred to glimpse him from afar, if I could. I was pathetic.[/COLOR]

[COLOR=windowtext][COLOR=gray]Our relationship hadn’t ended on the best of terms. We both knew my assignment to the Cork offices was only temporary. Once it was up and running I’d be back in Dublin, and far too busy to maintain the relationship with Gary over a long-distance. I persuaded him to transfer up to Dublin, but Cork was his home and he was married and settled there. Gillian wasn’t meant to get home early, that day back in May 2006, when she caught the pair of us together and going at it like the clappers in the marital bed. If what Shirley told me was true, then it might explain why Gary and Gillian’s marriage didn’t end following his infidelity. She was probably up to the same thing as he was, but with women as her personal preference. For all I knew, they probably held swing parties or some such, bed-hopping with any Tom, Dick or Harriet. I’d gotten tested after the break-up, just to be on the safe side. The tests were all negative. Still though, Gillian went to town on me and I barely made it to my car without a few bruises to show for it. This paralleled my earlier horrific experience with the Polish bodybuilder from the gym incident as some kind of bizarre comic twist to my personal history. Again this wasn’t something I care to dwell upon.[/COLOR][/COLOR]

[COLOR=windowtext][COLOR=gray]I moved back to Dublin and got on with my career. Shirley, being Gillian’s friend, kept me apprised of their marital status, which, thankfully, continued. At least I didn’t have to bear that particular cross: guilty of breaking up somebody else’s marriage.[/COLOR][/COLOR]

[COLOR=windowtext][COLOR=gray]Besides, Gary was so muscular and beautiful... he could have any guy or girl he chose. We’d only visited a gay bar once in the time we were together, but it was a complete disaster from my point of view. I did my best to wear clothing that made the best of my pretty average physique. True, the sweet trolley was a thing of the past, and I’d gotten rid of the tits and spare tyre, but I was 165 lbs at a height of six feet, so I was a little on the scrawny side. Plus I had bad posture that came from years of slouching and sitting behind desks, although I consider myself to have quite a handsome face that’s weathering well (I look a little like David Duchovny, so I’ve been told). Still though, there was no way I would try to match Gary’s dress sense, especially that night in the gay bar. We arrived separately, because I had a meeting that went on far too late, and so I was running late from the get go. Gary was on a week’s holiday, using up time that was owed to him. As always he’d spent most of it in the gym, pumping himself up to extreme proportions. He could hold a pump for ages, and so knowing that we were going to the gay bar that particular Friday evening, he made sure that his show muscles: his biceps, triceps, deltoids and pecs were at their most swollen with blood.[/COLOR][/COLOR]

[COLOR=windowtext][COLOR=gray]When I arrived at the bar at a little before 10pm that evening (we were supposed to both arrive there together an hour before), the place was already buzzing. Most of that buzz was happening around Gary, for he was surrounded by guys trying their best to get into his knickers. When I saw what he was wearing I almost about-turned and fled. I had a nice casual pink shirt on, and loose-fitting jeans, and I thought I looked really well that evening. Gary on the other hand...[/COLOR][/COLOR]

[COLOR=gray]He was wearing a semi-transparent mesh-vest, which hung like a gossamer web from his insanely pumped muscles. It was barely a garment at all as it ended just above his bellybutton, and his muscles would surely have destroyed this flimsy fabric were it not for the bright red suspenders that seemed to push against his melon-pecs, holding them in place from acting too obscenely out of turn. The suspenders were clipped to a pair of customised cut-off Levi’s 501s. I say customised because there really wasn’t a lot to them. He’d removed the waistband entirely and made them into short-shorts, but strangely they suited him, and certainly not in a Daisy Duke fashion either. They seemed to enhance his masculinity further, which, like the mesh-top above them, exaggerated his muscularity to the point where it seemed that his scant garments could barely contain the massive musculature beneath. So much of his physique was on show at any one time, leaving little to the imagination. And the way he stood, breathtaking it was, with his lats so pumped with blood and mass that his arms were set aslant from his sides, and by several inches. When he lifted his beer bottle to his lips it was like he struggled to get it up past the massive promontory formed of his shelf of thick, massive pectorals. And to think, he’d ventured out like that, caring little for the stares he would no doubt receive on the way to the bar.[/COLOR]

[COLOR=gray]My heart skipped several beats as I “drank in” my extremely sexy boyfriend. Blood then rushed to my brain, making me light-headed. He was a complete show-off and he was drinking, too, which only served to lessen his inhibitions further, not that he had many to begin with. I felt myself seeping across the floor towards him, as if powered to do so solely by the fact that he was surrounded by a great many hot-looking guys, each one fuelled by muscle-lust, a primal desire to worship every inch of Gary Shields – this muscle-god in cut-off jeans and manly red suspenders – and win the ultimate prize of going home with him for the evening. Even as I trickled closer to the centre of activity in the bar this night, time seemed to slow down for me. Everything took on a dreamy haze, as the speakers in the bar boomed out some techno-drivel designed to get queens merging on the dance floor. One of the guys next to Gary, my Gary who bulged hugely (as well as towered over) every other guy in the bar, deliberately splashed his drink all down Gary’s front. I could see every globe of that wine cooler, suspended in time for a moment as it slowly splashed across Gary’s rippling pectorals, the mesh-top ruined. It was Gary’s cue to relieve himself of the soiled garment completely. At this point I think the music stopped (or had I just screened it from my perceptions of the moment?). Gary was the star of the evening, and he knew it. He was addicted to the attention his muscles brought him. That was how I’d always wanted to be myself, huge and hulking with hordes of massive muscles, each one the object of a guy’s lust as he gathered with others in a frenzy of interest around me. Gary was the living epitome of all that I’d dreamed of being myself. It was because of this fact, there and then, that I began to resent the very sight of him. Of course, his choice of behaviour this evening didn’t help change my opinion of him whatsoever.[/COLOR]

[COLOR=windowtext][COLOR=gray]Everyone around him was now silent, holding their breaths as Gary reacted to the “deliberate” accident. What would he do? Punch the clumsy oaf’s lights out? There I go again, thinking every bodybuilder has a violent streak in him, and just for the record, I have nothing against Polish guys, not when I’ve wanked to so many of their pics on the internet. [/COLOR][/COLOR]


[COLOR=windowtext][COLOR=gray]For a moment I thought he was going to flare up, for even from twelve or so feet away, I could see him getting more and more pumped, the veins on his temples and the thicker cords of his neck standing out ostensibly from beneath paper-thin skin. Maybe I was seeing the true nature of Gary, and would be wise to sever all connections with him from here on. Maybe... maybe the sky would fall in and save me the trouble.[/COLOR][/COLOR]

[COLOR=windowtext][COLOR=gray]But Gary didn’t hulk out the way I anticipated he might. Instead he slipped down the suspenders, letting them hang loosely at his thick, muscular sides. Then he struggled in that sexy way that all bodybuilders do when trying to get out of tiny-tight tops without their massive muscles making the act look anything but clumsy. He needed help to get free of the soiled garment, and he insisted that Clumsy Oaf do the honours. Within seconds he was free of the gossamer sheath, his muscles now fully exposed, his thickly rounded and very wet pecs hanging and bobbing from his robust frame and glinting in the lights from the bar. I took so much in as time slowly returned to a normal pace. Like, for instance, Clumsy Oaf pocketing the ruined top, a prize to be treasured and wanked over and never washed for all eternity. I also noticed how Gary was really enjoying himself, for the crowd around began to goad him on, chanting: “FLEX...FLEX...FLEX...” over and over, and who was Gary to deny his audience? He began the poses, the most muscular, making his muscles so very taut and bulking out of his skin with the threat of completely blasting it apart, as if they desired to break free of its confines and swell and gobble up all the free space around him. He then bounced his pecs vigorously for a time, before swelling up into a full-lat spread that saw several of his entourage step back so that he’d have ample room to fill. I swear to you, these guys would follow Gary Shields to the ends of the Earth and he could command them to his every whim. This was Gary doing what he did best: showing off and then some.[/COLOR][/COLOR]

[COLOR=gray]I[/COLOR][COLOR=gray] wasn’t sure whether or not his burgeoning hard-on was to blame for two of the buttons of his fly to come undone, for there was a sizeable bulge there (but what didn’t bulge on Gary Shields?), or if one of his adoring fans had managed it, but I could tell even from twelve feet away and the occasional horny male getting in the way, that Gary was not wearing underwear. His fly-fringe was quite visible now, and with only two buttons left closed on the shorts, I feared for their future. If the shorts ended up in someone’s pocket, how in God’s name would we get him home in the nude? When I saw one out of the crowd begin to pull down the cut-offs, that was the RED ALERT I needed to finally intervene. I stepped out of my reverie, feeling my own dick pressing hard against the inside of my pants, but I ignored it for the main. By the time I broke up the muscle-worship fest, the suspenders were already half-way to Ebay. I rudely broke through the crowd and put my arms around Gary’s massive neck and shoulders.[/COLOR]

[COLOR=windowtext][COLOR=gray]“Remember me?” I went to kiss Gary, but he was having none of it, and pushed me away. He immediately regretted doing that. I walked right around him and immediately spotted something of moderate concern.[/COLOR][/COLOR]

[COLOR=windowtext][COLOR=gray]“One of these vultures has made off with your wallet, darling. Or maybe your Neanderthal brain forgot to bring it with you this evening,” I said as I pulled out a twenty note and pressed it between the valley of his massive pecs. Instinctively he flexed them and the note held good. “For the taxi fare home,” I curtly explained before adding: “I’m sure you won’t have a problem getting drinks bought for you, seeing as you’re the star attraction. I’m going home. Might see you at work Monday, or maybe I’ll take the day off to find myself a boyfriend who gives a fuck about me.” I waited for a response from Gary, but none came. That was the last time I’d set foot in a gay bar, well, for five years anyway. But a lot would change for me following the move into my new apartment. Sorry for meandering there for a bit. But even though that night marked the beginning of the end of my relationship with Gary, still though, it was a powerful memory, seeing him the way he was dressed that night... so huge and bulging in a very sexy and muscle-enhancing outfit, barely there though it was. I think of him like that often when I’m wanking to his memory.[/COLOR][/COLOR]

[COLOR=windowtext][COLOR=gray]Anyway, I’d never relieved myself at work before, and for a moment I was worried that I might have been seen, but I quickly dismissed this as paranoia. We had competitors in this business that would stop at nothing to steal a piece of our pie, and so we had the building swept for bugs several times a year. I would get away with it. I couldn’t stop thinking about what Shirley had said, when I goaded her to do so...[/COLOR][/COLOR]

[COLOR=windowtext][COLOR=gray]“For the five millionth time, he’s HUGE, Stephen...”[/COLOR][/COLOR]

[COLOR=gray]Buh-but, my mind stammered as it tried to find reason to this statement of fact, he was HUGE back when I knew him. And now he was even bigger? How could that be? How could Gary Shields have packed on so much more muscle? Was it physically possible for a human male to carry such muscle mass and still remain healthy? A brief thought of Polish guy, my deceased assailant, dying prematurely in prison of a heart attack flashed in my mind. Gary had to be taking something, something unnatural. And now I was worried for his health. I worried that he would die and I would never get to see his new size before that happened. I had to see him, not out of genuine concern for his well-being due to the consequences of our history together. But my muscle-lust, those insatiable munchies, had to see what he had become. I had to witness his HUGEness for myself.[/COLOR]

[COLOR=gray]I’d tried the social networks. Bebo didn’t have him, nor did Facebook or Twitter. He’d registered his name on MySpace, but there were no pics of him whatsoever, and his profile pic was of Spider-Man, of all things. But I knew it was his page, because he loved Spider-Man. Plus other giveaways were the bodybuilding links on his page, as well as a link to the company we worked for (why he’d put that up is beyond me). So I knew this was his page, but no pictures. Grrrrr![/COLOR]

[COLOR=gray]Then it dawned on me. He was an attention freak. He loved big parties and social outings. They’d had a Christmas party here, same as the Dublin office. Gary wouldn’t miss that for anything. I made a quick call to the HR department and asked if there were any Christmas party photos on the database. The girl I spoke to, Melanie, was only too keen to please the head of the Credit Control department, so I soon had a slew of pics sent to my PC along with a message from Melanie advising me not to distribute them, as she hadn’t had a chance to start the next quarterly newsletter into which the pics would be published. There were thirty-seven jpegs in all, and I held my breath as I clicked through one after the other, each time holding my breath in case that was the pic that would have me masturbating profusely for years to come. Each time, however, Gary didn’t feature. Oh, there were plenty of Pauline from Reception in Tina Turner mode, but I reached the thirty-fourth picture and decided to quit. Obviously the photographer was male... probably that slut from HR who’d slept with several female co-workers and went through women as though they were an endangered species. Yup, I was right. Photo credits went to slutty Paul Regis, who I thought was nothing to look at, and yet he had a charm about him that was enough to win him the ladies. So you can imagine, then, that there were very few men in the pictures, just a lot of women, especially the better looking ones with low-cut dresses on. And Pauline to boot. I decided to check the last two pictures.[/COLOR]

[COLOR=gray]“OH MY FUCKING GOD!!!!!” [/COLOR]

[COLOR=gray]I screamed. I knew I did, but fortunately no one heard me. How could they? My office was well insulated. There was Gary, looking insanely huge, standing next to Jasper the maintenance man. Although Jasper was a weedy little man (known for his roaming hands), Gary towered above him. It was such a pity that the picture was blurred and badly lit. Could I enhance it somehow? I had photo-manipulation software in my laptop, which I’d left back at the hotel room, and so I summarily emailed the pic to the laptop where I resolved to work on it later. But I wanked to the image nonetheless, for although I could just about make out Gary as little more than a big smudge next to a smaller smudge, I could easily appreciate his size. Shirley was correct: he was bigger than when we were together. WAY bigger. Somehow he must’ve been persuaded to dress smartly for the party. There wasn’t a dress code per se at our company functions, but it was sort of encouraged anyway. Sometimes promotions depended more on a person’s conduct in social gatherings than in what they had between their ears. I’d attended enough Management Development courses to know that the directors only attend these things so that they can keep their eyes on certain individuals who have the ambition to climb to corporate ladder, but then fuck up their chances by acting like a complete prick with alcohol on them, insisting they can dance with two left feet and after nine gins, before puking all over the shoes of the CEO’s wife.[/COLOR]

[COLOR=windowtext][COLOR=gray]Anyway, it was the first time I’d seen Gary in a shirt and tie outside of the workplace, but you know what? Between you and me, I think I preferred him in a dress suit. I don’t know what it is, but I think that bodybuilders, especially the huge ones, look absurd in a dress suit. That mode of attire was never meant to have so much massive, sexy man-muscle straining against it from within. And it was because of that, that I found bodybuilders in suits (sans the jacket) to be incredibly sexy indeed. I would be able to see more if I enhanced the picture back at my hotel room. So then, I had my wank, finished up for the day and was about to leave for the elevator when my mobile rang. It was an unknown number, but thanks had to go to good old Shirley for passing my private number to my new landlord. I’d completely forgotten about the apartment. I had signed the papers, but the landlord wanted me to stop by with them and collect the apartment key. Shit, I wanted to get back to the hotel to get my laptop and enhance Gary’s pic so that I could wank the bejasus out of myself for the rest of the evening.[/COLOR][/COLOR]

[COLOR=windowtext][COLOR=gray]Fuck it, I had to take charge again. Gary had quickly grown to an obsession again. I couldn’t help it. My life had changed in this new year. I was now working and living in Cork, and Gary was nearby and way huger than ever. As well as that, his gym was next to my new abode. I swear to you, Shirley planned this from the start, the cow. I decided to meet the landlord. And I was really glad that I had.[/COLOR][/COLOR]

[COLOR=windowtext][COLOR=gray]For a start he was a bodybuilder. Nowhere near as large as Gary, but it turned out they knew each other. The bloke was clearly hetero, and he had a ring on his finger (but that means very little, these days, it seems), and there was a forced over-masculinity about him, almost as if he was compensating for a little queer skeleton in his closest that perhaps was only let out to play whenever Gary Shields was near to hand. There I go again... letting my imagination make the wrong conclusions about every second guy I meet. But as I accepted the keys and was shown around the apartment by Lance, yup that was his name, I brought up the subject of his physique, which seemed to inflate his ego a little as he muscle-strutted from room to room, his shiny Nike turquoise and white tracksuit straining against the not-inconsiderable muscle-mass he proudly sported. I also said it in a non-gay way, the way a straight bloke might compliment another straight bloke. Believe you me... I didn’t want to bear the brunt of another beating by an enraged bodybuilder. Fortunately Lance took my compliment well. But there was a greasy quality to him that ruined anything he might have possessed by way of the muscle aesthetic. He was obviously juicing, for he wore the jacket part of the tracksuit unzipped, and his roid gut was positively obscene. He also had acne up to his chin and his dark brown hair looked like it hadn’t seen shampoo in a year. But he had muscles to burn and he seemed proud of his accomplishments.[/COLOR][/COLOR]

[COLOR=windowtext][COLOR=gray]I learned a little about who my neighbours would be. There were twenty-seven people in residence, mostly men, and twelve of them frequented the gym next to Xavier Heights. Looks like I’d be catching a lot of muscles coming to and fro from now on. I saw that as a “boner bonus” and nothing but. Lance also told me that I was entitled to a 33% discount on gym membership for being a resident of Xavier Heights, yet another bonus, should I decide to finally overcome my fear and give the gym another shot. Then I remembered that Gary went there; it was his home away from home. I really couldn’t think beyond this point, and put the offer to the back of my mind for the time being. I wrote Lance a cheque that covered the first and last month’s rent plus the deposit, and that was it. He left happily enough and I was alone in my new apartment. The place came semi-furnished, but I didn’t like the colour scheme. No doubt Shirley would sort out the decorators, bless. A brief thought crossed my mind, as I wondered which particular Xbox game she’d bought for Liam out of the money I gave her for his birthday. Damn it, here I was horny as hell in my new apartment, and I was suddenly thinking about video games. I don’t even have an Xbox myself.[/COLOR][/COLOR]

[COLOR=windowtext][COLOR=gray]I made for the veranda and took in the view of the gym across the road. It was called “Mass Central”, which in my mind wasn’t the right title to attract the casual person into joining the establishment to lose weight, get fit and tone up. To me the place screamed: HARDCORE BODYBUILDER, and Gary was the best piece of advertising this joint would ever need. I really hoped the picture Melanie had emailed to me showed him as he really was today. Sometimes cameras can play the oddest of tricks on an image, especially if it’s not focused properly, as the case was with this picture.[/COLOR][/COLOR]

[COLOR=gray]No, I told myself. This is Gary now. This is his size. The camera was out of focus but it didn’t lie. If so, he’s got to be the biggest fucking bodybuilder on the planet. If so, then how did he achieve this? Furthermore, he still holds a job at a credit card company, stuck in Inbound which caps his salary off at around thirty-two grand per annum. Bodybuilding is very expensive. How could he achieve such gains on his salary and STILL run a home, a car, as well as all that life throws at you? No one could get to be that big without help, could they? Maybe that lesbian whore-swinger he was married to made a decent wage, too. I’d forgotten about her.[/COLOR]

[COLOR=gray]With a body like his, he could be a big noise in the world, and yet he wasn’t. He could’ve (should’ve) won every bodybuilding title under the sun by now, and yet there was nothing of him online or in magazines. He operated solely outside of the professional or amateur bodybuilding circuits, but it just didn’t make sense to me. That’s it, I reasoned, he had to be on something. Something that meant he could never compete in contests, for fear of being exposed as a cheater, or worse, investigated by the proper channels in order to find out what made him so big in the first place. But he held down a job, and didn’t get into trouble in work. He was accepted by his co-workers for being the person that he was. People got on with it. Gary got on with it. And all of this was driving me absolutely crazy. It occurred to me, there and then, that I was the only person known to Gary who had a problem with who he was. I was someone who could never take him for granted, because I was obsessed with him, obsessed with the idea of him being so huge, the biggest, most-muscular bodybuilder alive. Then another frightening notion popped into my addled thoughts: what if he was STILL growing? Maybe he was some kind of genetic freak... a MUTANT! Here I was, in my new apartment in a complex known as Xavier Heights, and I was thinking that my ex-boyfriend was a real-life Colossus. I grew hard again. But I wanted to save my cum for the wanking later, once I’d enhanced the photograph. I would spend another night at the hotel, and then move into the apartment in time for the weekend.[/COLOR]

[COLOR=windowtext][COLOR=gray]I left my apartment and took the elevator down to the concourse. Before getting into my car and bleeping open the concourse gates with the fob that came with my apartment keys, I caught sight of Lance again. He was talking to another bodybuilder, and they didn’t seem to mind how cold it was. Damn, they were like flies around here. Something changed hands, a package, followed by what could have been a wad of money. Lance looked all about and his eyes lingered on my car for a moment just as I ducked inside, but I’m sure he couldn’t see me through my tinted windshield. Still though, it didn’t take a Hercule Poirot to figure out a drug deal was taking place. These guys were juicing, that much was clear. What if Gary got his stuff from Lance? The very substance that helped him build the mass he maintained could’ve been in that package. My mind was playing leapfrog with itself. I quickly gathered myself and started up my car.[/COLOR][/COLOR]

[COLOR=windowtext][COLOR=gray]After a much-needed shower to help me get ready for my evening, I changed into a robe which I left purposely untied, and set to work enhancing the picture of Gary waiting for me when I checked my emails. There were other things that probably required my attention, but I set them all aside to work on the picture. My Photoshopping skills weren’t the best, but I managed to get the image looking ten times better than the original, thanks to a video tutorial I found on YouTube. I adjusted the focus and the gamma correction easily enough. Then I applied more subtle effects to enhance Gary’s musculature as best I could. I touched it up where it needed it, applying contrasting splashes of light and dark, which totally brought out his pecs. I used smudge and liquefy tools to create gaps between the buttons of Gary’s white shirt, making it appear like his pecs were straining the hell out of the garment. Fortunately his tie had swung right over his left shoulder prior to that fucker Paul Regis snapping the picture. Maybe it was a random thing, with the tie, but I liked to think that Gary deliberately flipped the tie away, to show off his chest better.[/COLOR][/COLOR]

[COLOR=windowtext][COLOR=gray]I was hard for the whole time I worked on the picture. I had no idea how much time had passed, so engrossed was I in making this picture look its best. I made sure to crop out the part with Jasper in it, for he was an immediate boner-killer if ever there was one. Finally I could do no more with it. I saved the image and brought it up to full screen size. I placed the laptop at the end of the huge bed the company was paying for me to sleep in. But I had no intentions of sleeping now, not for ages yet. With the lights dimmed, that 17” high-resolution rectangle became the centre of my universe. In my mind I could see Gary coming to life in the pic, forming muscular pose after muscular pose, as our co-workers urged him to totally hulk out of a shirt that seemed too small for him from the get go. He began to growl for his audience. A pair of ladies panties flew through the air and struck him across his gorgeous cheek, and I chided myself for allowing that inept element to filter through my imagination’s defences. Backlit by light from the laptop’s screen, I worked my cock vigorously until its sweat turned to vapour, ghosting off it in languid whorls.[/COLOR][/COLOR]

[COLOR=windowtext][COLOR=gray]The picture was now running at a zealous frame rate in my mind. Gary, as usual, was completely caught up in his routine of showing off, caring little that he was being viewed by male and female, young and old alike, from the lowliest janitor to the most eminent CEO. My mind expertly set the scene, and the object of my attention, Gary, performed beautifully for me. He flexed his bull-like neck twice and popped the first button off the collar. It landed in the wine glass of the Chairman’s wife. She choked on it, but no one noticed. A sinewy monolith of a neck burst forward, and Gary growled some more as he worked up his muscle frenzy further, his massive, manly Adam’s apple bobbing like a great muscle in its own right. Next was the turn of the shoulders. He was easily five feet across at the shoulders, standing at six feet five or more. So his height had increased also? Impossible. My mind was running away with itself. But I was its prisoner and right now I had Stockholm Syndrome.[/COLOR][/COLOR]

[COLOR=windowtext][COLOR=gray]The mountain range formed of his traps shoulders and the delts that capped them superbly with such mind-blowing rounded contours, heaved and bulged with even more insane size. Seams in the shirt easily gave way, and someone came forwards with a microphone to better amplify the sound of an expensive, and very well-made shirt being turned into a dishcloth. Now it was the sound of great sails getting rended apart by the wrath of God Himself, the supreme deity enacting a terrible vengeance upon the crew of some stalwart ship of yore (Okay a bit too descriptive there. Fuck, I’ll edit it later). I tried to focus on the image, but occasionally other bodybuilders were being superimposed over Gary, and I cursed myself for it. As he formed a huge most-muscular pose, those mountainous traps afforded greater mass and definition, so Gary became Craig Golias, if but for a fleeting second. His biceps, when he first burst the left shirt sleeve, then the second, became the massive guns of Chris Bennett, albeit rounded off at their crests with the secondary peaks of Josh Bergeron. He flexed the forearms of Jeff Long, and killed the shirt sleeves completely. When he bounced his pecs with enough energy to pop three more buttons on the ailing garment, they were the massive, bulbous monsters of Johnnie Morant. And Strydom and Matarazzo fought for ownership of Gary’s huge lats, when a lat-spread effortlessly forced the shirt to split apart down either side. I wanted him to be just Gary, but my mind was compensating with parts of other bodybuilders, because I had no idea of what Gary really looked like now, beyond the enhancements I had made to the picture. I wanted him to end his hulk show by flipping him around, so that I could see the shirt split apart right down the middle of his back, and maybe his dress pants could follow suit, but I was already gobbing up another big load from my cock, not as much as I had back at work, but I made a decent enough mess of myself. My legs jerked and I lost control of my right foot. It struck the laptop hard enough to send it flying.[/COLOR][/COLOR]

[COLOR=windowtext][COLOR=gray]“Dammit!” It was a very expensive, top of the range SONY Vaio, and it had stuff on the hard drive that would have me quite embarrassed when collecting it from the repair shop. I continued to spasm until my balls were utterly spent. I lay on the bed, spread-eagled and alone, but somehow gratified. The laptop turned out to be fine, and for that I was pleased. I thought about going to the veranda to spy on Gary. Perhaps fortune would find me tonight and I would glimpse him muscle-strutting from his car to the gym, thinking he might be in the mood for a last-minute late-night workout. I went to the veranda and searched for the gym. Then I remembered I was in the hotel. My mind had tripped up on itself once again. And if you think I was losing the plot now, wait until you hear about the things that would occur once I’d moved into the apartment.[/COLOR][/COLOR]

[COLOR=windowtext][COLOR=gray]Part 2 click HERE[/COLOR][/COLOR]

[umlerian49]

Another roaring good story! I feel like I'm right inside Stephen's head, and it's a wonderfully nutty place.

[arpeejay]

I'm reminded of Peter F. Hamilton, another writer whose work I enjoy (despite, not because of, the amazing amount of detail...) Great start! I look forward to a detailed description of Gary (hopefully before part 19!)

xoxo

Richard

[JP71]

Originally Posted by arpeejay

I'm reminded of Peter F. Hamilton, another writer whose work I enjoy (despite, not because of, the amazing amount of detail...) Great start! I look forward to a detailed description of Gary (hopefully before part 19!)

xoxo

Richard

Hmmm.... interesting. Forgive me for my ignorance, as I don't read as much as I should, but I've googled Hamilton and learned a bit about him. I'm going to get into his books, now. So thanks for the tip. According to wikipedia:

"Peter F. Hamilton generally uses a clean, prosaic style. His space opera is characterised by the way it switches between several characters?often there are three or more main characters, whose paths begin separated but eventually cross. Common themes in his books are sexually precocious teenagers, politics, religion, and armed conflict."

I don't really see any of myself in that description of his writing style, certainly I avoid religion and politics thoroughly (don't want to piss off any groups). As for "prosaic style"? By definition prosaic means "lacking in imagination" and "dull". Sorry, mate, but I really don't see this as my style at all. Although Hamilton has published several works, and makes a living from it, so he must be doing something right, ha ha. And I guess opinions can vary from reviewer to reviewer.

As for the detailed description of Gary. I'm sure it will come long before Part 19, considering the story is in two parts, which I clearly pointed out at the top of the page. Do I detect a hint of sarcasm, or am I way off the mark?

[The Pecman]

Wow, terrific story -- quite a complex plot, and some interesting characters. Good job!