Tank

[Corwin]

[Background. Several months ago, a guy began to IM me. 295, 20 inch arms, solid muscle. "I'm the real thing," he said as he cammed with me (and he is). Anyway, he likes my writing. Well, I offered to write a story for him. This is it. I hope he likes it -- wouldn't want to make a guy that big mad, after all. -- Scott]

Chris pulled into the gym's parking lot. His day had been long and
rough, and he was looking forward to pumping heavy weights. The cab
of his truck felt confining to his 270 pound body. His 18.5 inch
arms rubbed against his barrel chest as he turned the wheel, parking
in two spaces. He hated feeling cramped, and he knew his body
needed the extra room to move comfortably.

When he stepped out of the truck, Chris saw a couple guys leaving the
gym. He recognized them. They were serious lifters, coming to the
gym every day and training for a couple hours. They thought they had
nice bodies, about 220 pounds of ripped muscle, give or take. They
were wimps. What they considered lifting heavy, Chris did for warm
ups. Knowing that they were pushing themselves, trying to build
muscle that Chris already had, push him to lift harder. This was
his buddy Mike's gym, and Chris was the biggest, strongest mother in
the place. That's how he and his buddy liked it too.

As Chris walked past the two boys, he nodded, staring straight into
the first's eyes, then the seconds. He could see it. The jealousy.
The envy of his power. Ya, they wanted it, but they would never have
it. Their envy fed Chris as he geared up for today's lift.

The guy behind the desk greeted Chris as he walked past and into the
locker room. His locker was in the back, but Chris wasted no time in
stripping off his tshirt. He noticed the guys in the locker room
catch glances at him as he strode to his locker. He heard one of the
bigger guys whisper, "Shit, he's even bigger than last time."

'Ya,' Chris thought, 'but not big enough.' He grabbed his gear from
his back, and stipped out of his jeans. He always wore a jock, so he
pulled his shorts over his tree trunk legs. His workout shirt was
ripped. He was never able to keep them whole. His swollen pumped
muscle always tore through, and it wasn't worth restricting his growth
just to keep a t-shirt prestine.

As Chris left the locker room, he saw his friend Joe walking in. Joe
and the gym owner Mike were friend's from youth and had gotten the
weight lifting bug together. There had always been a friendly rivalry
between Mike and Joe, and many of their friends referred to them as
"The Twins" since both had similar shapes, mass and lifts. Joe and
Mike often tried to work out with Chris, hoping the big guy might give
one of them the edge to finally surpass the other. "Hey Tank," Joe
extended his hand in greeting, calling Chris by the name he was known
in the gym. "Just startin'?"

Chris took Joe's hand and shook. "Ya, chest today," Chris said. Joe
was one of the bigger guys, and he and Chris sometimes worked out
together. Joe couldn't really keep up, but it allowed Chris to go as
heavy as possible with a partner.

"I could really use your advise, man," said Joe. "I've been stuck at
375 for three months. Just can't seem to get these boys to do any
more. Mind if I work in with ya?"

Chris laughed. "Well, I've been gettin under 480 for reps, but I
guess I can find some time to help you out."

Joe's eye widened, and he slapped Chris on the chest. "Fuck, you are
one big boy, Tank" he said. "I'll change and join you," Joe said,
rushing to the locker room.

Chris walked over to a couple of the power racks with benches. He
loaded a bar up with four plates, got on the bench, and cranked out a
set of 20 reps. "too light," he grunted as he put another couple of
plates on. He was finishing another set of 20 when Joe came over.

"You're a machine!" he said.

"Let's put some real weight on this bar and I'll show you what a real
man can do," Chris said. He put another two plates on as Joe got his
bench set up with four plates.

Chris laid back down on the bench and started to lift. Joe stood by,
ready to help, although he knew Chris could handle this weight with
ease. Chris pumped out 13 steady reps, but began to slow at 14.
"Wimping out, huh Tank?" Joe teased. Chris's face turned red, forcing
out two more reps. "Never!" cried Chris as he dropped the weight onto
the rack.

Joe grinned, and got under his bar. Chris moved to stand over him as
Joe did his set. When he began to slow, Chris sneered. "Who's the
fucking wimp! You want a man's chest like mine, you gotta work hard."
Joe strained, and eeked out 15, but Chris had to help him put the bar
back.

Chris grabbed four 10 pounders and upped the weight. "Don't worry,
I'm here to help you," Joe joked.

"When I need the help of a runt like you to lift something this
light," Chris said, beggining his set. He had intended to do eight
reps, but pushed out ten, slamming the weight into the rack as he
finished.

"Fuck ya!" he said, looking at Joe. But Joe was watching something
else.

Chris turned, and looked in the direction Joe was looking. There were
people working out, but nothing special. He could see the gym's
office, but the door was closed. Inside, he saw Mike, the owner. He
seemed to be arguing with someone. He noticed Mike jerk backward, as
if someone had pushed him, then Mike was pressed against the glass and
lifted upwards.

"What's up with that?" Chris said.

"Dunno," said Joe. "Saw some new guy go in there and close the door.
I saw Mike stand up, and then, well, ..."

"I'll be back," said Chris, walking toward the office. With each
step, he got more pissed. Whatever's going on, it was interrupting
his workout. Nothing interrupts Chris. Before he got to the office,
some busty broad got in front of him.

"You don't want to go in there," she said. "My boyfriend is having a
talk with the owner, and he wants some privacy."

Chris took her arm, and gently but forcefully pushed her out of his
way. "Ya, whatever." HE didn't like manhandling women, especially
babes like this one, but he was loosing workout time to deal with this
'boyfriend'. He knocked on the door, then slammed it opened.

Sure enough, there was some guy in there roughing up Mike. He had
grabbed Mike by the shirt, and was holding him against the wall.
Mike's hands were pressing on the guy's arm, but the man held him firm. The
guy was wearing a tent-sized sweatshirt that draped over what appeared
a large frame. He wore jeans that hugged squatter's glutes and fit
over his thighs and calves like a second skin. "Get the fuck out of
here," the guy said, not even turning to look at Chris.

"You gonna make me," challenged Chris.

The guy twisted his head. He was good looking, but no A&F model. He
gave Chris the once over. The guy snickered, then added, "I said to
go away little man."

Chris flexed his chest and took a step toward the guy. The guy
responded by dropping Mike and turning to face Chris. "This isn't any
of your business," the guy said.

"Mike, is it my business?" Chris asked.

"Tank, I..." Mike started, but Chris interrupted.

"See, Mike said it's my business." Chris now stood chest to chest with
the guy. Chris had to admit that the guy was big, but he flexed his
pecs in a show of his own superior size. The guy responded by
bringing his big hands to Chris's pecs and shoving. Hard. Chris
resisted, but found himself taking a step back.

"Tank?" the guy chuckled at Chris's nickname. "Dude, you may think
your big," he said as Chris regained his footing, "but you are way
outclassed by me." With that, the guy grabbed at the base of his
tshirt and lifted slowly. Chris first noticed the man's six pack.
His waist must have been 34 inches, but it was thick with muscle. As
he hefted the shirt over his pecs, his lats flexed wide like a stealth
bomber. The guy pulled one arm out of his sleeve, then another,
letting his chest relax as he casually dropped the shirt to the floor.

"Shit," said Mike, whose eyes were darting back and forth between Chris
and this guy.

"What are you? 220? 230 maybe?" he asked Chris.

"275. Plus," said Chris, refusing to be intimidated.

"I'm a hard 295," said the guy. "You are looking at a 56 inch chest,
33 inch waist, and 21 inch guns. Cold. This is a tank's body, not
that skinny thing you got. So, leave me and this wimpy guy alone.
We're negotiating how much he's gonna pay me to work out at this gym."

"You may be big, but I'm the main man at this gym," Chris said,
lifting off his own shirt and flexing his own pecs. "You wanna take
on this muscle, let's go at it, wimp."

"Tank," Mike said, trying to intervene, "it's OK. I'll"

"Fuck it's not OK," said Chris. "Come on, wimp. Workin' chest today.
Liftin' heavy. You think you can keep up with my muscle. Let's rock
and roll. All this talkin and huff'n and puff'n ain't proven nothin'.
The test of muscle is out there, not in here."

The musclehead looked at Chris, then at Mike. "Ya, maybe showing you
boys what a real man can do will make my point." He started toward
the door, pushing Chris out of the way. He shoved hard, and even
though Chris had braced himself, he was forced to step backwards out
of the guys way.

As soon as they entered the gym, the guy's girlfriend came running up
to him. "Is this our new gym?" she asked, grabbing his arm.

"Soon babe," he said, wrapping his huge arm around her and lifting her
off the floor. "Gotta show these wimps what power is first."

She sighed and smiled.

Chris ignored the display and walked to where he was working out. He
took the small plates off, and replaced them with two more 45s. "500
here," he said, lying down. He saw Joe, who was about to say
something, but saw the determination in Chris's face and the fire in
his eyes and thought better of it.

The other guy had gone to Joe's bench. He layed down, and Chris heard
the weights clank as they left the rack and the guy began a set.
Chris ignored him.

Chris grabbed the bar, then slowly lowered it to his chest. With
determination, he forced the bar up. Chris forced thoughts of failure
from his mind. The bar was light. He was strong. With perfect
control, he did a second rep, then a third. His chest began to burn,
but he ignored it. The pain fueled his determination. Four. Five.
He heard people in the background, "tank. Tank. TANK." Six. Seven.
His face was flushed red. His chest was on fire. He lowered the bar,
and with a scream, raised it for his eighth rep. He made it look
easy.

He sat up, and looked at the musclehead. His girl was counting as he
pumped out reps at a feverish pace. "Thirty," he heard her say, and
the guy wasn't stopping. He past forty with no problems, then, at
fifty, casually put the bar on the rack. "Kinda light for a warm up,"
he said, sitting up. His chest was covered with a fine mist of sweat
that glistened in the florescent lights of the gym. "You done over
there? That looks like a good weight for a warm up," he said, getting
up.

Chris stood up. A crowd had begun to gather around them, and he heard
murmurs as they got their first good look of the new comer next to The
Tank. The guy grabbed a towel from his girl, wiped his chest then
wiped the bench. Laying down, he took a few deep breaths, then
grabbed the bar. His control of the weight was perfect, and he seemed
totally at ease as he cranked out rep after rep. He heard someone in
the crowd start counting at 5. By his tenth rep, half the crowd was
counting. When he reached fifteen, he casually put the bar down. He
sat up, flexing his pecs hard, forcing veins and striations to appear
on his herculean chest. "Ya, better for a warm up," he said, smiling.
"Whatcha say to another two plates for the next set?"

Before Chris could reply, the guy stood up. He heard someone gasp,
and another person mutter, "Look at the size of him."

"Do it," said Chris, his voice booming. "Whatever you can do, I can
do better."

Two of the lifters grabbed a couple of plates and put them on the bar.

"Doubt that," said the new guy. "I could do this weight when I was
18. Shit, I benched 300 when I was 16. Don't hurt yourself trying to
keep up."

Chris felt his heart beat faster. He prepared himself, placing his
hands on the bar. He could do it. He knew he could. It was heavier
than he had ever lifted, but fuck that. He was strong, and his power
would prevail. He screamed and lifted. The bar jerked up, and Chris
lowered it to his heaving pecs.

The weight felt like it could crush Chris. He tried to control it,
but it was hard. He lowered the bar to his pecs, arched his back, and
pressed. The bar went up slowly for the first rep. The second was
harder, and the third nearly impossible. Chris thought of the
arrogance of the musclehead, how he had threated Mike, and how the
bimbo had swooned all over him. He felt an adrenalin rush and pressed
out a forth rep, then a fifth. The bar wobbled as he tried to control
it, and barely got it to the rack after the sixth rep. Chris was
breathing hard as he laid on the bench.

"That all you got?" asked the creep. "I guess that's pretty good for
a little guy like you, but get up and let me show you how it's done."


Chris began to move, but the guy grabbed his hand and yanked him off
the bench. His girlfriend towelled down the equipment as the guy
waited.

From the crowd Chris heard more whispers. "Shit, Tank is pumped."
"Ya, look at that swole." "Never seen him that big before." "The
other guy is huge, do you think..." "Tank's unbeatable." "Is he?"
Chris looked at the bar. Nearly 600 pounds. This guy can't be that
strong, can he?

The guy lay back. "Show them how it's done, Ron," the girlfriend
said.

So now the creep had a name. Ron lifted the bar. He lowered it,
totally under his control. She counted. One. Two. Three. Four.
Five. Six. Seven. He didn't stop. He didn't even slow down. Nine.
Ten. Eleven. Twelve. He put the bar back. Sitting up, he said, "Now
that's a workout." Again, he flexed his pecs hard.

"Fucking muscle monster," he heard someone say. "Even makes Tank look
small."

"Put on another two plates," Ron ordered. "That's a good work out
weight for me. Bit light, but I'm not really dressed for a heavy work
out," he said, taking the towel and wiping down the sweat in his
pits. "You wanna try?" he asked Chris. "That last weight seemed a bit
much for you."

"Out of my way," Chris ordered. He had butterflies in the pit of his
stomach, but he had to do it. He was number one in this gym.

"OK, but I did do twice as many reps as you last time. I don't
think..."

"Shout up and let me lift," said Chris.

Ron stood, and Chris laid down. He told himself he could do it. He
took several deep breaths, grabbed the bar, and pressed with all his
might. The bar didn't move. He tried again. Nothing. He screamed,
demanding all the strength he could muster. Still, the bar remained
on the rack. He tried one last time, but the weight was too much. He
sat up, defeated.

"Good try, little guy. But let me show you what these muscles can
do." Ron got on the bench. He prepared, then lifted. His tris
looked like steel cables as the bar moved. It had so much weight it
seemed to sag, but Ron had total control. He lowered the bar to his
chest, which seemed to grow to meet the metal. He raised the bar, his
pecs swelling with blood. A vein protruded from his chest and pulsed
with the beat of his heart. He cranked out a second rep, then a
third. The crowd began to cheer for him to encourage him to do
another, then another. After eight perfect reps, Ron put the bar back
as easily as he had lifted it. He jumped off the bar and hit a crab
pose, then turned into a side chest, showing the massive muscle that
had just bested Chris.

Ron walked over to Mike. "Look's like I got me a new gym," he said,
putting his massive arm on Mike's shoulder. "And a new friend." He
said the word friend with an intonation that suggested more. Chris
knew that Mike had access to 'roids that he shared with his best
customers, and Ron obviously knew that too. The muscle freak obviously
had plans to get bigger, and he wanted Mike to help him.

"Ya, guess so," said Mike, a certain sadness in his voice.

Joe and some of the others went to talk to Ron, asking him advice in a
congratulatory way that displayed their obvious jealousy and envy at
his size. Mike tried to get away, but Chris could see Ron grabbing his
friend's shoulder tightly, sending the clear message 'you'll leave
when I let you leave.'

Chris went back to his workout. He moved to a cable machine, and
began to do cross-overs, taking out his frustration on the machine.
He was lifting heavy, and the pain from his sore muscles and his anger
only caused him to lift harder. He barely noticed when Ron came over
to where he was working out.

"I'm gonna work in," he announced as Chris finished a gruelling set.
Chris had just dropped the cables when Ron shoved him out of the way.
He grabbed the cables, and yanked them hard. Ron's chest exploded
into ripped muscle. He did a second rep, then growled, "Damn, I knew
this would be too light for me!"

"Fuck you," said Chris.

"You and what army," Ron said, doing reps faster now. He did a set of
15, then intentionally dropped the weights with a loud crash. People
turned to look.

In a loud voice, Ron announced, "I gave you your warning. This is MY
gym now, so don't go fucking pissing me off." He slammed a pointed
finger into Chris's swollen pec.

Chris quickly grabbed the finger. "Don't fuck with me," he said.

Ron grabbed Chris's arm and squeezed, pulling his finger free. "No,
it is you that doesn't fuck with me, runt." Chris tried to move his
arm, but Ron's gun flexed and contained Chris's might. "I've
destroyed little guys like you before, and I'll do it to you too. You
better just get use to being number two here. Get me too pissed off,
and I'll help that dude Joe grow huge. Not as freaky as me, but he'll
make you look skinny, you can be damn sure about that. Keep pissing
me off, and no gym in this city will let you train there. Fuck,
you'll be lucky if bowflex will let you buy their shit."

Ron pulled Chris's arm down, and stepped forward, pressing his sweaty
chest into Chris's. Ron flexed his toros, making his body warm steel.
He stared straight into Chris's eyes, his breath filling Chris's
nostrils. "Understand?"

Chris stared at him, then spit directly into his face. Before he
could back away, Ron pushed him hard forcing him to step back and trip.
Chris landed hard on the floor.

"Just for that, you can forget any help Mike has been getting for you.
You're cut off. I'm Mike's new best friend, and I'll decide who gets
what from him." Ron wiped the spit from his face, and went to Mike's
office.

Joe came over, offering a hand to help Chris up. Chris batted it away
and stood up on his own.

"Shit man, what did you do to piss him off?" Joe asked.

"Existed," said Chris, who headed toward the locker room. As he did,
he saw Ron go over to talk to Joe, putting his arm around Joe's
shoulder as if the he had just found a new friend.

Chris undressed and went to shower. When he got out, Ron was in the
locker room. He was putting something into a duffle bag, and Chris
recognized the vials as roids. Ron turned, and smiled at Chris.
"That Mike is a good guy. Couldn't wait to give me his best stuff to
help me get bigger. Said it was for some loser, but after seeing how
big I was, he needed to help me get even more freaky than I am." Ron
flexed his arms into a double bi, raised them high, then turning his
head, kissed one peak, then the other.

Chris said nothing, his anger building. He dropped his towel, and
reached for a jock. He heard Ron laugh.

"Shit dude, you're small all over," he said. Chris turned to Ron, who
had shed his jeans and had a towel drapped over his cannonball
shoulders. Ron hefted the sausage that hung between his legs. At
first, Chris thought Ron was sporting a hard-on, then he noticed how
soft it was. 'Shit,' he thought, 'this guy is bigger soft than I am
hard!' Chris clenched his fists as his anger grew toward this new
asshold. "If your girlfriend ever gets tired of boys and wants
someone who is a man everywhere, let me know. Tif doesn't mind me
playing around a little. Shit, she even plays with me. Loves to hear
the other babes scream as I plow them with my big nine and a half inches." Ron
headed to the showers.

Chris had had enough. He pulled back and slammed his fist into a
locker, denting the door so much that the lock broke. He heard Ron
laugh, which only made him want to lay a few of his punches into the
scumbags face. Instead, he pulled his pants on, grabbed his shirt and
went into Mike's office.

When Chris got in, Mike jumped up with a startled look. "Shit," he
said, "no one saw you did they."

"What the fuck?" asked Chris.

"Ron or his girlfriend," Mike closed and locked the door, "they didn't
see you come in here?"

Chris's eyes narrowed, and Mike closed the shades. "Think she's
talking to some girls. The jerkwad is in the shower."

"Good," said Mike, relaxing a bit.

"So what's this giving him roids. They weren't mine, were they?"

"I told them they were, but no," Mike opened a drawer and handed Chris
some vials. "This is the good stuff. Shit Tank, you gotta help me.
I've heard of this guy. He goes around from gym to gym, drives the
clients away and takes the owners to the cleaners keeping him
supplied. HGH, Dibol, you name it."

"Fucker threatened me," Chris said.

"Ya, that's what he does. Anyone he thinks might be able to take him
on, he goes after them. First, he gets them cut off. Then he forces
them out. One by one, he drives all the big guys away. The little
guys go next. Shit, like they have a chance against him. When the
gym folds, he goes on to the next one." Mike shook his head.

"So what d'ya give him if I got the good stuff?" Chris asked.

"Half strength. Put a false label on it. Heard his old gym folded,
and took that as a precaution. Tank, I know you wanted to grow."

"Never big enough," Chris interrupted.

"Well, I'm here for ya. You're the only one who can put that freak in
his place."

"May need some more stuff. Better if you can get it," Chris said.

"Anything," said Mike.

Chris nodded his head, stood, opened the door and walked out.

[a_little_voice]

I like it, very well done. Can't wait to see where it's gonna go from here.

[scott2462]

Great start. Look forward to part 2.