The Entity and Stephen Lewis Part 2

[JP71]

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

[COLOR=gray]Quick Note: I had intended for this to just be a two-parter, but the story's kinda got a mind of it's own, so now it's in multiple parts. [/COLOR]

[COLOR=gray]-James[/COLOR]




[COLOR=gray]The next day was Friday. It had been a slow week at work. True, the January sales were in full swing, but people were being more careful with their spending, and retailers reported their leanest Christmas period for many years. As a result of the downturn of credit card overspending, my workload wasn’t nearly as voluminous as it should have been for this time of year (in all fairness, I was still settling in to this new position). Should I be worried about my future tenure at the company? Maybe. If the worst happened, and I found myself jobless within the next few months, I had enough cash saved to see me through some tough times. To be honest, my libido was running my life, now... calling the shots. It didn’t care about stuff like having enough money to meet life’s demands, and all that shite. It only cared about Gary Shields. Right now, though, it appreciated the urgency of my moving out of the hotel before they started charging me for the room, and getting settled into my new place in Xavier Heights. [/COLOR]

[COLOR=gray]Shirley had come in an hour early, to make up for leaving an hour early the day before. She was good like that. By the time I arrived in at 9:01am, she already had a great deal of her work completed for the day. I smelt a fresh brew of coffee emanating from the machine in my office and I blew her a kiss straight away.[/COLOR]

[COLOR=gray]“I’m leaving early today, bitch. Moving into the apartment. You could have warned me about Lance, by the way,” I said, not quite reproachfully, as I picked up some incoming mail with my name on it.[/COLOR]

[COLOR=gray]Shirley positively beamed behind her computer monitor, and did her best to can her giggles before she started that snorting laugh I hate so much. “Oh come on, I’d assumed the two of you were made for one another, hee hee. All those muscles, Stephen.... right up your alley, no pun intended.” Shirley was crap at puns, by the way.[/COLOR]

[COLOR=gray]“The muscles were okay. But the greasy hair, acne and pregnant belly I could’ve done without. And that tracksuit he had on was somewhat radioactive. Plus, I think you’ve dropped me into the centre of Steroid City.” I prepared a delicious latt? for myself. With my office door ajar, I could hear Shirley perfectly.[/COLOR]

[COLOR=gray]“Well with a gym across the road, it’s hardly surprising. They’re all into it these days. I blame peer pressure and the media. My God, have you seen that ad for Bacardi on the TV? Half-naked muscled bartender struts his stuff at the bar, practically making a cocktail with his pecs.” Shirley’s broad Cork accent made the word “pecs” sound like “pics”. She went on: “And don’t get me started on that Jersey Shore nonsense, the bloody state of that Situation gobshite.” Her cage was truly rattling now, hooked up to an outboard motor filled with nitrous. She hadn’t finished: “The kids these days are being bombarded by images of muscular males, society pressuring them into looking that way. And with unemployment the way it is, gyms are crammed with youths with nothing to do all day but build their bodies. Can’t begin to imagine where they get the money from. Selling the “gear”, that’s where.” She seemed to have it all figured out, and then some.[/COLOR]

[COLOR=gray]“I suppose Liam can’t wait to get a membership, eh?” I was at my desk now, trying not to superimpose the image of Shirley’s son onto the body of a massive, muscular brute. Why can’t imaginations come with an “off” switch?[/COLOR]

[COLOR=gray]“Perish the thought, boss. Jesus, I dread the day that happens. He has a friend, Kyle, who’s already pretty well-built, I mean, with the emphasis on the “well” part, and he’s just gone seventeen. They’ve been spending a lot of time together, and I don’t think it’s just for the Xbox.” I detected a tinge of worry in Shirley’s voice now. In my mind I was a fly on the wall while Liam spent some “quality time” with his friend, playing with their, er, consoles. I kept this image extremely brief.[/COLOR]

[COLOR=gray]Shirley stepped into my office, cursorily glancing at her watch to emphasise a point. “Well now, that’s a personal best straight off,” she said as she parked her arse on the corner of my desk. For a woman of her age, she had fabulous legs, and she wasn’t opposed to showing a bit of leg as the slit in her skirt parted to reveal a total absence of cellulite. Way to go, gurl. [/COLOR]

[COLOR=gray]“What do you mean, bitch?”[/COLOR]

[COLOR=gray]She practically thrust her Donna Karan NY watch in my face. “You lasted ten minutes without mentioning “He Who Shall Not Be Named”. Well done. I think you’re cured.”[/COLOR]

[COLOR=gray]“Get the fuck out of my office, you smart cow,” I jovially commanded.[/COLOR]

[COLOR=gray]“He phoned in sick by the way. Melanie from HR told me.” Shirley waited until I’d slurped some latt? to tell me that. She caught me in mid-slurp. Creamy foam shot out of my mouth and decorated my desk while my eyes waxed to the size of small moons. Shirley was a cunt. I panicked inside. Was it his heart? Was his body finally buckling under the weight of supporting so much muscle? My own pump quickened as adrenaline flooded my system.[/COLOR]

[COLOR=gray]“He hasn’t taken a sick day since 2007; ingrown toenail, I believe it was. But don’t worry, boss. It’s nothing you should be worried about. They had a vicious row last night. Gillian rang me at two minutes to midnight. I was still up, but I didn’t entertain her for long. She said he packed his bags and moved out. It’s for the best, considering their lifestyles. If you want my opinion, they should never have been married in the first place.”[/COLOR]

[COLOR=gray]“You don’t have to tell me that, Shirley. I used to date the guy.” I wondered where he went, where he might have stayed last night. My heart was pounding. I knew I wouldn’t be able to concentrate for the rest of the morning. Thank God I was leaving early. “Did she say what the row was over?”[/COLOR]

[COLOR=gray]“She didn’t go into too much detail. Apparently he came home from the gym last night in a foul humour, and this wasn’t the first time either.”[/COLOR]

[COLOR=gray]“Anything else?” Dammit, I needed a valium. Shirley, as if psychic, heard my alarm go off, and skipped out to her desk to get her bag. She came back in with two Xanax in her palm. [/COLOR]

[COLOR=gray]“They’re the strong ones. So only take one for now or you can forget about driving home today.” She went on about the row in the Shields abode: “She was getting ready for a semi-early night. Then he barged in and bounded straight up the stairs. And, get this... he smashed several of the banisters on the way up.”[/COLOR]

[COLOR=gray]“Jesus,” I barked, and then to myself: “He’s so fucking strong!” I was suddenly reminded of Lance in the concourse of Xavier Heights yesterday, and the package that changed hands with the other bodybuilder. Was there a connection? No way to know.[/COLOR]

[COLOR=gray]“Well, Gillian wasn’t having any of it. Her father fitted those banisters singlehandedly as a wedding gift, and he has a bad back and all. She saw red and raced upstairs to have it out with her husband. She found him in his den, where he keeps his weights in the house. Only back from the gym and the bastard was working out even more.”[/COLOR]

[COLOR=gray]My stiffy “boinnged” itself awake. I adjusted myself in the chair to lessen the discomfort I suddenly felt. I was wearing tighty-whities, having run out of fresh boxers. That reminded me: I had a lot of laundry to leave in today.[/COLOR]

[COLOR=gray]“She asked him what was wrong and he screamed obscenities at her and threatened to kill her if she didn’t leave him alone. She countered his one by threatening to call the Gards, which seemed to calm him somewhat. So he took a cold shower, apologised to Gilly, and then packed a suitcase. That’s all I know, boss.”[/COLOR]

[COLOR=gray]“He was definitely working something out of his system,” I remarked, my eyes staring far off into space. I began to drown in my thoughts as Shirley was pushed into the periphery of my awareness. And I knew she wouldn’t stand for that.[/COLOR]

[COLOR=gray]“No shit, Sherlock. Anyway... Gillian texted me this morning. She got her brother Anthony to sleep over, in case Gary decided to come back and start up again. Anthony’s pretty big himself. Used to play rugby semi-professionally. Now he does cage fighting. Still though, I’m sure poor Gilly didn’t get a wink of sleep last night.”[/COLOR]

[COLOR=gray]Poor Gilly? Poor fucking Gilly? This was the woman who managed to give me a black eye, that day when she got home early to find me fucking her extremely muscular husband. I absolutely despised her.[/COLOR]

[COLOR=gray]“Get me Gary’s mobile number. I’m gonna call him. See if he’s okay.” Inside I trembled at the thought of resuming contact with my god-like ex. But a whole new set of circumstances had arisen, and secretly, selfishly, I saw it as an opportunity to win him back. Until I was otherwise informed (via the Shirley Information Network), I must now assume that Gary and Gillian’s marriage was over. While I doubted that Gary had spent the night on a park bench, still, I had an apartment with plenty of room for him to use if he wanted it... and only a thirty second dash from his home away from home. However, my more rational side, the side not empowered by my libido, told me that Gary had friends, connections, family. He probably already had digs sorted out. The guy was obsessed with bodybuilding, and he spent every free minute he had bodybuilding to the max (or even beyond?). He worked, he ate, he slept... and the rest was bodybuilding and always would be. It made him an extremely difficult person to have a relationship with. With Gary you could obsess over him constantly from afar, and then enjoy only brief snatches of physical time with him. It was no wonder whatsoever that his marriage to Gillian had always been a very open affair.[/COLOR]

[COLOR=gray]“Are you sure about this? I mean, it’s no skin off my nose one way or the oth---[/COLOR]

[COLOR=gray]“Just get me his number.... please,” I interjected sharply, not meaning to. I was very tense.[/COLOR]

[COLOR=gray]Shirley said nothing, but quickly exited the office. She made a quick phone call from her desk, and then returned promptly with a ten digit number neatly written on a post-it. “I suggest waiting until the Xanax kicks in before you phone him. Also, bear in mind, that even though it’s early yet, you might be interrupting a work-out. And that may not be the best thing to do under these volatile circumstances.” She left the office in order to get back to her work.[/COLOR]

[COLOR=gray]She was right about phoning him straight away. Maybe I would send him a text instead. No... that wasn’t the way to go about it. Dammit, what happened to my backbone of late? I stared at his number on the post-it, long enough to commit it to memory. I was horny as well, although my heart was no longer beating as crazily as it had been. [/COLOR]

[COLOR=gray]At 10:15 Shirley stepped back into the office. “I’m heading for my coffee break. You have my permission to go home, boss. I have everything sorted here,” she said, and I was grateful for her comforting tone.[/COLOR]

[COLOR=gray]“I have your permission? You’ll have my job before the month is out, you bitch,” I playfully remarked.[/COLOR]

[COLOR=gray]“That’s the plan, Stephen. Now get the fuck out of here. You’re no good for anything work-related today. If Estelle rings looking for stats, I can forward her the file.”[/COLOR]

[COLOR=gray]I loved Shirley Sullivan to bits, I really did.[/COLOR]

[COLOR=gray]“See you Monday then,” I said, and made a swift departure.[/COLOR]


[COLOR=gray]I drove straight to the hotel and took care of everything there. Once I’d packed up my things I drove to Xavier Heights. The bulk of my belongings were still in Dublin, but I had arrangements with a removal company to get the stuff down to Cork, once I gave them the go ahead. That was the next thing I did. I was told Monday afternoon at the earliest. Before I knew it, it was lunchtime. I had nothing in, and so I decided to find a nice restaurant in town and have lunch there. A quick search on my iPhone soon narrowed it down to four choices. Little Caesar’s clinched it for me, for I was suddenly salivating for pizza. When I got there I was ravenous, and I was summarily attended to by a very handsome, and yes, you got it, very muscular Italian-looking waiter. His hair was shining sable, slicked back in the front, but he wore it long at the back, with locks of hair efficiently tucked behind each ear. The uniform was an all black affair, with matching red bowtie and cummerbund, a little up-market for a Little Caesar’s pizzeria, in my opinion. But I wasn’t complaining. His shoulder-to-waist ratio was insane, with super-broad shoulders providing foundation for tall, firm traps that made it look like he might have been missing neck vertebrae, although the Cardassians from Star Trek still had one over on him in that department. The roundness of his deltoids capped his shoulders nicely, and I positively leapt inside when I saw so much chest muscle bouncing beneath his perfectly-fitting shirt. I ordered mineral water whilst I made my choice of which pizza to order. I decided against a starter. He had no personality whatsoever, bless. [/COLOR]

[COLOR=gray]As he leaned forwards to place my water and glass onto the table, the way he stretched brought his thick lats into considerable relief. I thought I could hear threads straining in the shirt, but that was just my imagination. The restaurant was at half-volume, so not exactly quiet. His nametag read: “Bruno”, a sexy name for a sexy fellow. Alas, he was one of these top-heavy types, or “wine-stoppers” as I liked to refer to them. He had little or no muscle below the cummerbund, so it was plain to see that he only worked his upper body. Such a let-down, I thought, because it was obvious that he had the looks and genetics to be a killer bodybuilder. I ordered a Four Seasons 12”, deciding I’d like a variety of toppings. As Bruno moved away to deal with my order, I got such a hard-on when I checked out that incredible delta-sweep of his back, but it was quickly averted when my gaze moved lower and I saw little in the way of a posterior... and legs of average proportions.[/COLOR]

[COLOR=gray]I’ll bet Gary’s back is three times that wide, I mused, as I toyed with a breadstick. I’ll admit to you, the back is my favourite part of a bodybuilder. It can be flexed out to such mind-blowing proportions, and has the widest surface area of any muscle groups (again that’s debatable and a matter of preference, I guess), and I think bodybuilders look a lot bigger from behind. I suddenly imagined Gary straining to get through the single-width door to this establishment, probably having to turn sideways because his shoulders had grown so wide. And still entering sideways, he’d have to hold his breath to get that mighty chest through the frame without taking half of it with him. I thought about calling his mobile, to see how he was doing, and what his plans were for the immediate future.[/COLOR]

[COLOR=gray]Dammit, no matter how hard I tried not to sound like I was trying to worm my way back into his life, I would fail miserably at convincing him I wasn’t after anything but friendship. I stopped dialling his number on the fifth digit and slammed my phone down angrily enough to catch the attention of the couple dining at the next table. I cast them a cursory look before turning away to stew in my solitude and utter sexual despair. Bruno eventually came back with my order. I ate half there and had Bruno bag the remainder to go. I decided to leave grocery shopping and laundry until Saturday. If I was hungry later, the other half of the pizza would be consumed cold, although there was a microwave in my new kitchen, but the kitchen itself was in dire need of a thorough cleaning. It was as greasy as Lance’s hair.[/COLOR]

[COLOR=gray]Come evening I found myself unusually tired. I mean, my day hadn’t exactly been an eventful or busy one. I got a text from Shirley to say that Estelle had broken her ankle during a step aerobics class, and would be out sick for at least a month, so I was expected to have a great deal of extra work on my desk come Monday. Fuck it, these things happen. I sent Estelle a “get well soon” text, and her reply was “Not fuckin’ likely! Haven’t been this pampered in years.” At least she was in good spirits.[/COLOR]

[COLOR=gray]I took a shower, just warm water, for I didn’t feel like unpacking any of my stuff from one of three holdalls that I’d been living out of for the past ten days. Fortunately Lance had made up the bed for me and it was surprisingly inviting. Before collapsing into it I went out to the veranda. My apartment was on the top floor, so my view of the gym called “Mass Central” was a good one indeed. With a telescope I would see so much, zooming right into the weight room if I wanted to. Well fuck it... it was their own fault for having an all-glass front. Just like the gym I briefly went to back in Dublin. The memory now fixed itself in my mind, not so much the pain from my injuries sustained at the turn of a new millennium, but my recollections of that horrid time in my life suddenly focused on Marek Rcazkowska’s trial, and how I couldn’t take my eyes off him as I testified against him. He looked uncharacteristically and defiantly amazing in the suit he’d squeezed into as he sat, stony-faced, beside his lawyer. This was three months after the incident. He was ex-army, no previous convictions, and the Polish Embassy people had done their utmost to have him returned to Poland where he would probably have gotten off with a less-severe sentence. But the charge was attempted murder, for witnesses had come forward, expressing how they saw him about to throw me in front of a speeding number 16 bus, only three members of the gym’s staff intervened in the nick of time, my life saved. [/COLOR]

[COLOR=gray]Two of the three blokes, to whom I owed my life on that day, were present in court. Marek really hadn’t got a leg to stand on, nor did he utter a single word throughout the forty-five minute procedure. Of course, his lawyer tried to get a push toward leniency, on the grounds that Marek was under the influence of mood-altering drugs, but it was later established that the drugs he’d taken in the locker room – just prior to him catching me looking at his junk – would not have had time to kick in, as he’d downed a lot of protein shake beforehand. Now I’m not a chemist or a doctor, as well you know, but there was a lot of jargon raised at the trial about absorption versus metabolic rates and other stuff you really don’t need to know. [/COLOR]

[COLOR=gray]The verdict was guilty. Marek was found guilty of aggregated assault with an attempt to endanger the life of another, as well as damage to public property (apparently he wrecked the turnstiles in the gym in an effort to get to me). He was also charged further with two counts of drug abuse and possession with the intent to distribute. Overall he was sentenced to five years in prison. I thought the judge had gone easy on him. As he was led away by the Garda? to begin his sentence, a young girl, obviously a relative of his started crying out loud and then began screaming fitfully. As a result she was also escorted out of the courtroom. Marek locked gazes with me before he exited the capacious room, and the look on his face was one of extreme remorse. For a split second he was a human being, albeit an extremely huge and muscular one and nothing like the maniac he’d been back on the day when I almost met my maker by his hand. I felt nothing but contempt for him at the time. And soon after the trial I quickly dismissed the memories of the day justice was served.[/COLOR]

[COLOR=gray]Until now. [/COLOR]

[COLOR=gray]Marek the Brute was in my thoughts again and he shouldn’t be. Strange, that I hadn’t thought of him by name until right this very moment. He was gone from this world, now, unable to fuck his health up – or endanger the lives of others – ever again. Good riddance to bad rubbish. Mass Central was a 24-hour facility. It was coming on for eleven at night, and yet I counted eighteen cars in the gym’s parking lot. I wondered which one belonged to Gary. I also wondered if he’d ever worked out into the small hours of the morning, unable to come down from the pump he so intensely required to maintain his impetus and determination to grow, and grow, and grow. I thought about texting Shirley; maybe she knew what car he drove, considering how close she was to Gillian Whore-Dyke. Knowing that would be a huge help to me in my pursuit of catching that all-important, gonad-swelling glimpse of Gary, the one I’d yearned for, for so long. [/COLOR]

[COLOR=gray]Back when I knew him he drove a navy-coloured Ford Focus. Would he still have it five years later? I strained my vision to see if one of the cars was indeed a navy Ford Focus. But it was hard to tell from this far away. The guys working out on the machines were the size of rodents to me. Shit, I could easily have bought a telescope or set of binoculars in town. I cursed myself for my indolence. Then I yawned heavily and decided to call it a night. In the hours that followed, I would experience something inexplicable, not to mention very unsettling. And it was the beginning of many such experiences over the next ten months. But please, bear with me. You’ve done quite well so far. I’m glad I haven’t bored you in my near-constant ramblings about Gary, when the true star of my story is my apartment... the bedroom... specifically that bed which initially accepted me into its embrace so easily, that very first night.[/COLOR]



[COLOR=gray]I dreamed I was in the embrace of a mighty, muscled man, and yet he seemed ephemeral, ghosting massively around me as if to smother me in his strength, but not maliciously, not to begin with at first. Was it Gary? My imagination had a tremendous spontaneity about it, and although I had a well-exercised mind thanks to my fiction writing, I still couldn’t will myself to dream about the man I so wanted to occupy not only my every waking thought, but my unconscious ones, too. There might have been snatches of Gary here and there, as my dreams drew heavily from my memories of our few months together. I even thought I could now smell that musky sandalwood scent that I used to get from the post-workout Gary, the one that grew me instantly hard upon the merest sniff. So potent was it now that it brought me gradually out of my restless unconscious wanderings.[/COLOR]

[COLOR=gray]I squirmed in a dark abyss lined with muscular arms, so very, very muscular... great appendages that screamed with the strength of their constant growth and development... biceps swelling huger and huger and forming into vast mounds that sought to obscure my escape. I struggled to tensely bound across an uneven landscape wrought of man-flesh, with thick, monstrous veins hulking upwards – reminding me of the root structures of great trees unearthed by hurricane-force winds – to trip me up with every step I took. I was racing along some mighty multi-limbed giant, panicking as I tried to escape his clutches. And each time he brought up a powerful limb to flex mightily before me, so my passage of escape was rendered void. Screaming for dear life, I avoided as many root/vein upheavals as I could, but as the great giant flexed, so more and more veins burst to the surface, feeding his growth as he grew larger, and his monstrously massive topography stretched further and further in all directions. He was the brute of my deepest and darkest fears, and finally, ultimately, he would have my life... my blood.[/COLOR]

[COLOR=gray]But no, this couldn’t be how it ended. I was no one or thing’s victim, maybe years back, but not now. I would not allow a great anomaly of form and design to take me to its impervious oblivion. I could be in control, if I so chose it. And now I chose not to be a running victim. I concentrated hard, and even as a great python-vein broke away from the fleshy terrain from which I struggled to escape, I knew that it couldn’t hold me for long, no matter how hard it tried. [/COLOR]

[COLOR=gray]The devil-vein coiled around me, seeking not to crush the breath out of me, but its role, it seemed, was to drag me down into the flesh of my vast aggressor, and make me one with it. And the power of those constrictive coils, oh how they tried to win me over. But this caustic dreamscape would not beat me, not when I bit right into that vein, and drew some of that strength from it. I gulped ravenously, with an appetite that could never sustain me in real life, for I would surely drown from the volume of its voraciousness. And as I drew the strength out of the great Brute, so I felt myself changing, expanding, and I liked the feeling so much. I strained against the depleting coils that could no longer contain me, and with one magnificent shrug, reduced my squirming bonds to so much chaff and ruin. I was free. And I was stronger than I’d ever been. I found that I was now able to glide across this hazard bio-terrain, and I’d injured the giant sufficiently that it could no longer throw up its great bicep barriers to stop me. And so I escaped, and returned to the waking world. But getting there was like having to pass through the body of another, a feeling that unsettled me and caused me to wake up with a start.[/COLOR]

[COLOR=gray]The room was cold, the quilt long-since cast from the bed. I felt clammy fingers caressing me all over, making every muscle in my body tingle with a crawling sensation I didn’t much care for. I shot out of the bed and tried to support myself on legs that suddenly felt sore, gruellingly so. In fact, all my limbs felt sore to the touch, more so the muscles they depended on to properly function. It was pitch-black in the room, save for pale light that found its way in from the streetlamps beyond the concourse. The room was new to me, but I strangely felt far from alone. Panic gripped every part of me at once. My heart rate must’ve easily hit 140. I felt around for a light-switch and eventually found it. [/COLOR]

[COLOR=gray]“Who’s there?”[/COLOR]

[COLOR=gray]I was answered only by silence. But I was still convinced that I wasn’t alone. I checked the built-in wardrobes. All empty. Then I went into the bathroom, where I found a toilet brush. That would have to do as a weapon. The mirror over the sink was relatively small, but I had to do a double-take when something caught my attention. Something about me wasn’t quite right. Thoughts of a nocturnal assailant waiting to cut my throat were suddenly pushed to one side, despite that I had the second bedroom, kitchen and sitting room still to check for signs of intrusion. For the next few moments, however, my neck became my single point of interest.[/COLOR]

[COLOR=gray]It looked thicker, more sinewy than before, better than it had ever looked in my youth. The flesh beneath my chin had begun to sag since the onset of my thirties, but now my jaw line looked tight, chiselled. What was going on? I rubbed my eyes and pinched myself to make sure I was properly awake. It so turned out that I was wide awake indeed. I wondered if there was a full-length mirror somewhere, and to my delight I found a free-standing one in a corner of the second bedroom. There was only a bare 40-watt light bulb in that room, but it was good enough to see by. What I saw made that chiselled jaw of mine almost drop off my face and shatter on the floor at my feet. I had muscles, seriously hot muscles. I wasn’t buff by any means, but I had a granite hardness to my instant physique that could easily be compared with, or out-do, many a male underwear model. I could make the cover of Men’s Health, with the body I now had. I had no way of gauging how much body fat I’d lost, but I’d had it checked at 17% a couple of years ago. Now it looked like it was closer to 8%. I couldn’t be sure. I’d lost body fat and gained muscle. Just by sleeping?[/COLOR]

[COLOR=gray]I was still groggy from this most surreal of experiences. I needed coffee. With nothing in my pantry, I decided to drive to the nearest 24-hr McDonald’s. The McCaf? latt?s were semi-decent, and I reckoned a shot of espresso wouldn’t go amiss either. I dressed in the first thing I could find, a pale-grey-coloured hoodie sweat-top and matching baggy bottoms. I’d bought the sneakers to get back into jogging, and they’d hardly been worn. It was 2:15am and minus three degrees Celsius. Fortunately my car heated up really quickly. I was soon cooking nicely as I tried to remember the way to McDonald’s. [/COLOR]

[COLOR=gray]I bought a large caramel-flavoured latt? and had the guy put a shot of espresso into it. It was a bizarre concoction, but I welcomed it. I also ordered two apple and cinnamon Danishes and wolfed them down with a hunger that really didn’t become me. I’d never before felt so hungry at this time of the morning, not even way back during the graveyard shift in Outbound and that Sweet Trolley from Hell. As I nursed the latt?, elements of my dream came back to me, and I started to piece things together, although nothing made sense whatsoever.[/COLOR]

[COLOR=gray]I’d woken up feeling that somebody was in the room with me, which clearly wasn’t the case. And yet I could now recall coming out of that dream and feeling as though I was passing through another person. No wait... that wasn’t right. Another person was passing through me. Was there a difference? I counted back to the dream itself, seeing the most bizarre images of great and monstrous biceps flexing up hugely from a massive torso that made up a nightmarish, nonsensical landscape. They had tried to mar my progression, appendages of a great Beast or Brute that saw only to do me harm. I remembered being ensnared by a great vein the size of a boa constrictor.[/COLOR]

[COLOR=gray]“And that’s when I grew,” I almost shouted aloud. Several feet away, clearly within earshot, the guy behind the McCaf? counter gave me a brief glance. I folded my right arm before me and cupped the granite-hard bicep that balled up beneath the sleeve of my top. It felt new and powerful, although it was minute compared to Gary’s gargantuan guns. He’d gotten his arms to twenty-eight inches back when we were together, without synthol or shit like that. I could only imagine what size they could be five years later. I grew hard fantasising about his upper arms exceeding the circumference of his waspish waist. My new muscles kept me hard well after I’d dismissed that image from my mind. My outfit hid my muscles perfectly. You couldn’t tell from looking at me clothed that I was sporting muscles whatsoever. I wondered if this was a one-off transformation. I still couldn’t explain how this happened, the seemingly impossible. It defied all physical laws, and yet I was living proof of the event. I suppose there was a chance I was losing my mind. Maybe that Xanax Shirley gave me earlier was causing me to hallucinate. I quickly dismissed that theory, for I’d taken that particular pill several times over the years and nothing so monumentally incredible had occurred by way of side effects. I decided to ask the guy behind the counter:[/COLOR]

[COLOR=gray]“Do I look crazy to you?”[/COLOR]

[COLOR=gray]To which he replied: “Only for drinking this shit, friend.” His supervisor overheard what he said and shot him with a fierce, reprimanding stare. I decided to leave. It was very late. Thank fuck it was Saturday and I could have a lie on and afterwards decide how my life would play out from here on.[/COLOR]

[COLOR=gray]On the way home to Xavier Heights, however.... I took a wrong turn and went down the wrong street, ending up in a cul-de-sac that had me inventing new and colourful expletives.[/COLOR]

[COLOR=gray]“Shit...shit....SHIT!!!!!” I had a sat-nav, but not installed in the car. It’d been a birthday present from my parents, but it was packed away in one of my removal boxes back in Dublin, no use to me now. Eventually trial and error put me back on the right heading, but strangely I now had to pass Mass Central in order to get to the apartment complex. I felt myself slowing down, and actually pulling into the parking lot. The caffeine energised me, and I was still far too shaken to go back to that creepy apartment. I figured: “Fuck it. I’ve got muscle, now. Might as well see what it can do.” Right there and then did I realise that I’d not only changed physically, but my mysterious transformation had purged so much deep-rooted fear out of me. Okay, I wasn’t a big bloke by any means, but if I were to guess, I’d say that I’d gained at least ten pounds of solid, lean muscle mass. I felt like I needed to see what I was now capable of. I parked my car and got out into the freezing air. I noted that there was only one other car in the parking lot by this time, an SUV. It wasn’t a Ford Focus, but that didn’t mean a thing. Gary could have changed cars more than once since 2006. Would he even fit into less than anything but an SUV these days? My heart began to speed up. I thought about jumping back into my car and getting the hell away from this place, which in my case meant travelling just two hundred metres to Xavier Heights. I drew in quick, icy breaths that made my throat and chest burn. And so I hurried into the gym’s lobby, thankful that the soreness in my muscles had lessened considerably.[/COLOR]

[COLOR=gray]Once I was inside, the bloke behind the reception desk barely glanced upwards from his magazine. He looked scrawny and pale, hardly the right type you’d expect to find on the payroll of a place like this. I had to clear my throat in order to catch his attention fully. “Erm... I was wondering if I could try out some of the machines. How much for an hour?” [/COLOR]

[COLOR=gray]“Is it your first time here,” he tonelessly inquired. The kid looked no more than eighteen or nineteen. He had heavy circles around his eyes, and he really looked in dire need of a good night’s sleep as well as a vitamin or two.[/COLOR]

[COLOR=gray]“Uh yeah, I moved into Xavier Heights, so that entitles me to a discount, right?”[/COLOR]

[COLOR=gray]The kid fiddled with a booger in his nose before continuing: “That’s right, a third off a year’s membership. But you have to join for the year to get the discount. Since it’s your first time here you’re entitled to a free day pass.”[/COLOR]

[COLOR=gray]Day pass? I was only going to be here for an hour at the latest. “That’s great. So then, locker rooms are through there, right?” I pointed to a set of doors adjacent to the reception booth. Then I realised I had nothing to store.[/COLOR]

[COLOR=gray]“Uh-huh,” the kid was already back fingering through his x-rated magazine as he buzzed me through the turnstile. After that I more or less had the place to myself. I wondered what to do now. I decided to go up to the weight room, for cardio wasn’t why I’d visited the place at such an ungodly hour. Dammit, I thought to myself, as I froze solid some ways up the first flight of stairs. I turned back to address zombie guy. “Erm... that wouldn’t be....er... Gary Shield’s SUV out in the parking lot by any chance? I’m an old friend of his.” Surely Gary, the biggest bodybuilder alive, would be virtually a celebrity in a place like this.[/COLOR]

[COLOR=gray]“Nope, that belongs to Cynthia, my boss. Well, actually it’s her boyfriend’s. Engine froze on her. She couldn’t get it to start. Caught a taxi home. Bitch left me a tenner short in my wages last week. Fuck her. Gary Shields rides a motorbike. Don’t ask me what model. I’m not into bikes. He went home about an hour ago.” One hour ago I’d been waking up from the craziest dream ever to find myself transformed.[/COLOR]

[COLOR=gray]“Er thanks, mate.” Looks like I had the place to myself. I wondered how many members of the gym drove motorbikes. It made sense, I suppose, that Gary should now opt for a motorcycle. He’d obviously outgrown many makes of car at this stage. Maybe his ride was a big brute of a machine like a Goldwing, or something similar. I hardly imagined a normal-sized cycle would be durable enough to support a giant like him for too long. Still, I’d learned vital information just for showing up here. And I didn’t have to worry about bumping into Gary, or anyone else, for the next hour.[/COLOR]

[COLOR=gray]Up in the weight room I could’ve hopped onto any of the various machines. How best would I test my strength? The room reeked of musky sandalwood: Gary’s post-workout fragrance. I grew immediately hard. I walked around the floor, trying to best gauge where the smell was at its most pungent. I decided it was at the leg-press machines. [/COLOR]

[COLOR=gray]“Wow, Gary was working his wheels tonight.” I fondled my dick as it jostled around in my pants, quickly growing long and thick and assuming a complete upright position. There were two leg press machines, a big one and a small one. I opted for the small one with the Cybex brand name. The larger one, an Atlantis, seemed to cater for the huge musclemen, and the plates went up, I think, in 45lb increments, although this particular one was busted and it was half-covered with a tarp with an “Out of Order” sign stapled to it. I wondered if Gary had busted this before he left earlier, perhaps his strength was now too great for the machines on this floor. My cock throbbed harder now, and I found this to be tremendously distracting. [/COLOR]

[COLOR=gray]The Cybex plates were in 10-15 lb increments, and so I loaded it up with 200 lbs to begin with, a ballpark figure if ever there was one. I had used a similar press to this back in the day, when I was part of the gym clique in Dublin, but it seemed so long ago, now, as to be irrelevant. I was nearly positive that I could press heavier than that, but I decided to start at 200 lbs at an incline setting of 3 and take it from there. My set of shiny new wheels made short work of that weight in no time at all. I decided to add more weight. I loaded another 100 lbs onto the machine. I pushed out a set of ten reps effortlessly. I rested for one minute and then pushed out another ten reps. I began to feel a burning sensation in my quads. Bear in mind that I was still a little sore from the unexplainable phenomenon that had put this muscle on me while I slept, so it was hard to tell if I was even doing this right and not risking personal injury. But I felt like I could push more weight easily. [/COLOR]

[COLOR=gray]I hunted around for heavier plates. I wondered how much weight Gary could push with legs as massive as his. I found heavier plates – some of the 45s you see hogging the limelight in muscle mags and online gym videos – and struggled a bit to get them loaded. I added up the weight to 390 lbs. I got back into position, took several deep breaths and then began to press the weight, slowly at first, finding a comfortable rhythm. I managed another ten reps, but this time I had broken a sweat and my legs felt as though they’d been set alight. I decided to stop. I felt I could go heavier, but this was just an experiment. I had to consider my health. Work would really become an unsavoury prospect for many of our subordinates if both Estelle and I were laid off with exercise-related injuries. I decided to call it a day. But before I left, I thought about having a go of the free weights, just some barbell curls to try out my new guns.[/COLOR]

[COLOR=gray]I found a couple of 20-pounders and tried them out. I curled them easily... careful of the form I applied to the movements so as not to pull any of the muscles I’d just been freshly endowed with. I managed fifty reps easily per arm, and I so wished my top was a sleeveless variety. Wait a sec... I was alone here, except for the reception guy. I could take off my top and no one would say anything, although there were signs all about stating that you weren’t allowed to train shirtless. There was adequate light, here, and the biggest mirrors of all. I jumped at the chance to see my new muscles in action, hardon along for the ride, obviously. [/COLOR]

[COLOR=gray]I put down the weights and hefted my hoodie over my head and let it fall to the floor in a heap. I gasped when I saw myself reflected in the mirrors behind the free weights stands. My cock had adopted a semi-flaccid state as I briefly focused on curling the weights, but now that my eyes bugged out from what I saw in the mirrors, it tented out my sweat pants once again.[/COLOR]

[COLOR=gray]I was definitely on the first rung of the Adonis Ladder. My face was now devilishly handsome, now that it’d firmed up, although it still looked 35. My body on the other hand, screamed 22. A slight sheen of perspiration had polished my slightly olive-hued skin, which served to define my musculature further. I was deeply cut, with impressive striations rippling across my pecs with every laboured heartbeat. I had little in the way of traps at this stage, but like I’d observed earlier, my neck was now thick and striated, very impressive indeed. Beneath my not-unimpressive pecs I flexed and relaxed my six-pack over and over, occasionally sucking in all I could as if to inflate my upper body still-further. My intercostals married well with the Apollo’s Belt I now sported, in between which my lower abs were a spider-web of visible veins... visible that is to say... for the first time in my life. I spent some minutes check-posing myself, doing the moves. My biceps shot up nicely when I flexed them in double-bi fashion. I wondered how much I’d gained there. My arms never grew above thirteen and a half inches. They now looked closer to fifteen. My forearms were impressive, too, bulging insanely when I made a fist, the veins looking set to flee the nest entirely if I applied too much pressure. I positively squeaked as I ran my fingers across my biceps once again, and then I twisted my upper arms to bring out the horseshoe-shaped tris I’d always dreamed of. The summer seemed so far away, and I hoped, now, that it would be a scorcher. Fuck it: I’d be visiting the folks in Spain in August. Could I wait that long to show off this muscle?[/COLOR]

[COLOR=gray]I positively squeaked for joy as I allowed my fingers to trace the fabulous contours of my budding delts. They added gorgeous roundness to my shoulders, and also some much-welcomed girth. I about-turned and twisted my neck so that I could pivot my head around to take in the glory of my improved back. It was a festival of defined muscle back there, my traps at the rear having adopted some new mass even though they had yet to gobble their way towards my ears. Before long the front of my bottoms were soaked with precum. I had to relieve myself. That meant going home. Before I left, though, I tried another set of bicep curls, this time with 30-pounders. I managed 32 reps with each arm before tiring. I knew that professional bodybuilders could curl 80 lbs and even a lot more, so I knew I had a long way to go yet.[/COLOR]

[COLOR=gray]I used my top to towel myself dry and then put it back on before going downstairs. Zombie Guy was still there, and still engrossed in his magazine. I thanked him for the time and he grunted something without looking up. Then, as I was about to pass through the front entrance:[/COLOR]

[COLOR=gray]“Saw you on the video monitor. Y’got quite excited lookin’ at yourself, huh? Don’t worry. Happens to the best of ‘em. I’ll erase the security tapes before my shift ends.” He spoke in the same monotonous drawl as before.[/COLOR]

[COLOR=gray]“Er... thanks,” I replied awkwardly, feeling my face blush a deep red. I really had to develop a “gym sense”. I wondered if I really wanted to make this a lifestyle, as I climbed into my car. More importantly, I wondered if I had the guts to train at the same gym as Gary. So far we’d avoided crossing paths in work. But here it would be a different matter entirely. Was this the life for me? Regardless of the discount entitlement at Mass Central, I could probably afford to train at another gym. I also wondered if tonight’s phenomenon was an isolated incident. What if it happened again? What if my destiny was to grow as huge as Gary – maybe huger – if I allowed this mysterious phenomenon to claim me further?[/COLOR]

[COLOR=gray]I can’t remember what time it was when I got back to the apartment. I decided against sleeping in that bed again, and grabbed a pillow and duvet to finish out my night of interrupted slumber on the lumpy two-seater couch. It turned out I couldn’t get comfortable. That couch would have to go. The terms of the contract meant that I had the freedom to redecorate, but changing furniture required consulting with Lance. I would talk to him tomorrow if he was around.[/COLOR]

[COLOR=gray]Then I realised... it was already tomorrow. [/COLOR]



[COLOR=gray]Part 3 click HERE[/COLOR]

[biguglymofo]

Thanks for the second installment. I'm really enjoying your style...the flux in timelines, and the amount of detail in his thought process. I'm also enjoying the fact that he didn't just explode with size. You gave us a bit of a teaser on what's to come, but didn't blow your wad in installment 2. Thanks! Keep 'em coming. I assure you, no pun was intended in those last two statements. LOL

[JP71]

Originally Posted by biguglymofo

Thanks for the second installment. I'm really enjoying your style...the flux in timelines, and the amount of detail in his thought process. I'm also enjoying the fact that he didn't just explode with size. You gave us a bit of a teaser on what's to come, but didn't blow your wad in installment 2. Thanks! Keep 'em coming. I assure you, no pun was intended in those last two statements. LOL

Thanks for the feedback. Much appreciated. I had intended on this story only being 2 chapters, so I'd planned to have massive musclegrowth in the second part. But the story is developing quite organically, so I've had to add more chapters. There is some pretty huge growth to come, but I can't say for certain whether or not it will happen in one go. The story has settled into a decent pace, now, so I'd hate to ruin that. I'm glad you're enjoying it. It's interesting that you noticed the flux in timelines. They can be a bit of a head-scratcher at times, but I'm really enjoying fleshing out the story like this.

[umlerian49]

And you wonder where I find the time to write!

I like the way the story just sort of bounces along, free and easy. It's really easy to get in Stephen's head and become involved in the whole thing.

You've tipped us off that there'll be massive muscle growth, so I'm ready!

[Reeza]

Happy to see that you're writing again. I'm looking forward to the rest of this one. It has a lot of intriguing details.

One small issue: 500mg of Xanax would easily kill a person. A normal dose would be .05mg. If Shirley is taking 500mg Xanax tablets, then she must be the superhuman in this story.

[JP71]

Originally Posted by Reeza

Happy to see that you're writing again. I'm looking forward to the rest of this one. It has a lot of intriguing details.

One small issue: 500mg of Xanax would easily kill a person. A normal dose would be .05mg. If Shirley is taking 500mg Xanax tablets, then she must be the superhuman in this story.

Oooh well-spotted, but quite easily explained, good Sir. I actually OWN some xanax and on the blister pack it says "250 micrograms". My mother has used 500 microgram versions in the past. I double-checked the pack before I wrote this in. Obviously Shirley is a middleaged woman from the West of Ireland - with an extremely busy schedule - and can't tell a miligram from a microgram, bless her. She did say it in the abbreviated form, remember. I'm happy enough with what she said. People get stuff like this wrong all of the time. I guess Shirley has enough on her plate and can't get everything right 99.99% of the time (like meself), tee hee.

Additional: but just in case I got it wrong, I checked out medicines.ie and saw that there are two varieties of Xanax on their database, available in 250 micrograms and 500 microgram tablets. I'm not sure, but maybe they're classified differently in the US? That's why I stopped writing stories set in the US and now prefer to set them on my own turf. Easier to do research that way. Shirley shortened it to "mg", the dizzy bat. :-)

[ferro]

It's the abbreviation that's the problem. Microgram is mcg, so 500mcg is 500 micrograms, or half a milligram. Milligram is mg, so 500mg is 500 milligrams, or half a gram. The way it was written in the story, the dosage was 1000 times greater than it really was.

Tell Shirley she should shorten micrograms to mcg, not mg. It's a very easy edit.

(Reeza's .05mg dosage would be 50 micrograms.)

Originally Posted by JP71

Oooh well-spotted, but quite easily explained, good Sir. I actually OWN some xanax and on the blister pack it says "250 micrograms". My mother has used 500 microgram versions in the past. I double-checked the pack before I wrote this in. Obviously Shirley is a middleaged woman from the West of Ireland - with an extremely busy schedule - and can't tell a miligram from a microgram, bless her. She did say it in the abbreviated form, remember. I'm happy enough with what she said. People get stuff like this wrong all of the time. I guess Shirley has enough on her plate and can't get everything right 99.99% of the time (like meself), tee hee.

Additional: but just in case I got it wrong, I checked out medicines.ie and saw that there are two varieties of Xanax on their database, available in 250 micrograms and 500 microgram tablets. I'm not sure, but maybe they're classified differently in the US? That's why I stopped writing stories set in the US and now prefer to set them on my own turf. Easier to do research that way. Shirley shortened it to "mg", the dizzy bat. :-)

[Ender]

Or since we're in Ireland maybe a banshee, but a banshee is a feminine spirit with out a male counterpart and this strikes me as a very masculine entity. And I have a hunch it is the same one that drove Marek Rcazkowska’s growth an eventual attack on Stephen. It meant to take Steven then but lost track of hime when stephen quit hitting the gym and finally picked up Gary because it sensed a link between Gary and Stephen. And finally it's long wait has been reward and Stephen will get a lot more than he ever imagined.

I watched way too much Twilight Zone, Outer Limits, Thiriller, and Tales from the Darkside when I was growing up.

[2bored]

Bro, you can write.

[Reeza]

Originally Posted by ferro

(Reeza's .05mg dosage would be 50 micrograms.)

One last totally unneccesary comment: Turns out I was a dizzy bat as well. A normal dose in the USA would be .50mg (or 500mcg)

As if any of this really detracts from the quality of the story.

[JP71]

Originally Posted by Ender

Or since we're in Ireland maybe a banshee, but a banshee is a feminine spirit with out a male counterpart and this strikes me as a very masculine entity. And I have a hunch it is the same one that drove Marek Rcazkowska?s growth an eventual attack on Stephen. It meant to take Steven then but lost track of hime when stephen quit hitting the gym and finally picked up Gary because it sensed a link between Gary and Stephen. And finally it's long wait has been reward and Stephen will get a lot more than he ever imagined.

I watched way too much Twilight Zone, Outer Limits, Thiriller, and Tales from the Darkside when I was growing up.

Interesting theory from you, Ender, but you're way off. But you'll like where I'm going with this, I promise you that.

[biguglymofo]

Originally Posted by JP71

Interesting theory from you, Ender, but you're way off. But you'll like where I'm going with this, I promise you that.

Enough promises....get to writing...I'm getting tired of clicking "refresh".

[arpeejay]

Great addition -- and I'm glad it's going to be more than 2 chapters! I'm loking forward to "meeting" Gary!

xoxo

Richard

[philat99]

Looking forward to chapter 3!

[muscleboi25]

That was quite hot, words escape me on what to say except great story and I can't wait for the next installment!