Razor

[Speaker]

?The fuck?? I muttered to myself as I pulled the last supplement out of the box and noticed that there was still something at the bottom. They'd done this before, sending me a free trial of some supplement or another, but this didn't look quite like that.


I reached in and pulled it out. It was a razor. Just an ordinary shaving razor, although I was a little put-off by the fact that it wasn't even in a box of its own. Like someone had just grabbed it and thrown it into the box before adding in my jug of protein.


Then again, I wasn't about to complain about getting a new razor, especially since my old one had become painfully dull. I rubbed the bristles that had started becoming itchy two days ago and sighed. I can probably go one more day before having to deal with this crap. Shaving was always an irritating chore, only exacerbated by the current state of my razor and my perpetual lethargy. I should have gotten a new one ? or at least a new blade ? a month ago.


?Well, I definitely shouldn't complain.? I shrugged and tossed it casually up where I kept the rest of my toiletries before turning and stashing the huge jug of whey protein on top of my desk.


Not going to lie, I'd gotten bit by the iron bug a few months back. At the start of the summer after senior year, my friends and I had decided to hit the gym to stay in shape now that track was over and none of us would be continuing with it in college. We'd all been mediocre. None of us great, by any means. So my one friend Ricky had decided he was going to try his hand at the weight room. One thing led to another and we showed up at the gym on the first day as an entourage of around ten people that systematically pissed off everyone else there ? hogging all the weights and not really doing much but chatting idly with each other. But by the end of the summer I was the only guy who still went regularly. And because I'd become a consistent gym attendee, I'd been able to see some initial results.


I'd started to order some supplements, mostly the basics like protein powders and the like, but even though I'd started to get serious about the whole weightlifting thing, I knew that it wasn't the kind of thing that would end up with me strutting around nearly naked on stage like those freak bodybuilders. Nuh uh. Just because I liked having a little muscle on my frame didn't mean I was ever going to be doing that.






I put down the razor and rubbed my face. Definitely an easier shave than my old dull one.


As I stared in the mirror, inspecting, trying to see if I'd missed any stray hairs. Fortunately, my face passed inspection. I rinsed the remaining shaving cream off my face and left the bathroom.


I walked back to my room and picked up my backpack. But another feeling came to me as I was about to walk out the door and go to class. I paused. I felt like...


I felt like I needed to hit the gym! I was feeling energetic. Maybe the shave had been a bit of a symbolic start to my day but I was feeling like I was ready to take on the world.


I dropped my backpack to the floor. Hell, it was only one of my ethics classes anyway. I pretty much slept through that class every day and was still pulling off straight A's on every paper. I could afford to miss a class if I wanted to. And I really wanted to.


It was leg day today, and normally that inspired dread in me. There was no workout I hated like squats. But now I was looking forward to testing myself. To see what would win: my thighs or the weight. My dick started to harden at the thought.


There was no way I was going to let some piece of iron beat me.


I grabbed my gym bag and practically charged out the door.






Over the last week or so, it really seemed like my workouts had taken off. Every day I was lifting in the gym with the kind of intensity I'd never imagined I possessed. It was like a drug. Every day I went to the gym to get my iron fix, but every time I woke up the next morning I felt like I wasn't sore enough. That I could still be lifting harder. And so I went to the gym and lifted even more intensely the next day. Never mind that after the third day of this progression I'd been approached by the gym management and told that if I didn't stop screaming as I benched more than I ever had in my life they'd be forced to ask me to leave. That was okay, I'd wanted to check out the hardcore gym on campus anyway.


Muscle. It really was like a drug. The more I had, the more I wanted.


I rubbed my rough face and sighed. It was definitely time for another shave. It had only been two days since I'd last shaved but I could feel that if I procrastinated another day then I'd be on borderline-beard territory. And not the good kind of beard, but the half-patchy atrocity of a beard that most 18/19 year olds tended to get. I had to get that hideous thing off my face.






I flexed my leg in the mirror in the bathroom. I'd begun to see definition appearing in my quads slowly but surely, week after week, although since I'd gotten intense with my workouts it seemed to definitely be coming faster. It meant hours and hours of squats, leg presses, lunges, and leg extensions but I was definitely getting bigger in the thigh.


Although it occurred to me that it would be easier to see the definition if my leg didn't have so much hair.


I shook my head a little. I might be gay but that wasn't a reason to shave my legs.


Although, straight guys do it too, the thought appeared in my head. Swimmers, models, bodybuilders. Being gay had nothing to do with it.


Bodybuilders? I groaned. For some reason I couldn't get that damn word out of my head.


And part of me wondered. What would it really be like?


?Fuck it.? I said and grabbed my shaving cream and my razor. I figured that I'd only shave my chest, just to see what it would be like to be able to see my muscles without my carpet of fur. And that way I wouldn't get laughed at in the gym the way I would if everyone suddenly noticed I had hairless legs.


Thankfully the bathrooms in my dorm were all singles, so I was able to lock the door behind me. I turned on the shower and stood under it for several minutes, letting the water soak into my body. Every drop of hot water that caressed my body only made me want to see what it would really be like. To be nothing but muscles and skin.


I stepped in front of the mirror and applied a generous coat of shaving cream. And then I took a deep breath, pressed my trusty razor against my skin, and drew it down across my chest. And as I did so, to my immense surprise, the razor felt good. It felt good the way that a shower after a long sweaty day makes you feel clean. The razor was wiping away the dirty hair that covered my chest.


?Fuck.? I swore as I nicked myself, drawing a little blood. I made another swipe, a little more carefully, and let out a deep breath of satisfaction. Damn, I never realized how good it could feel to shave!


I slipped into a bit of a trance as I carefully stripped away every trace of the fur that covered my chest. Every draw of the razor made me feel a little better, like I was peeling away an outer shell that had been there for my whole life. Like there was something underneath that was only now being let free.


I only zoned back in when all the shaving cream was gone and my chest was smooth as a baby's cheek. I looked in the mirror to see the result.


I gasped. To my shock, the hairless chest stapled to my torso hardly looked like mine. Not only the fact that the thick black rug was gone, but the pecs there simply did not belong to me. Those were the pecs of a man who'd been lifting for six years ? if not longer ? not six months! I rubbed my hand over the silk-smooth flesh in wonder. I'd never imagined so much meat could be packed under my skin. Instinctively, I flexed my chest ? something which had become a goal of mine in the last few months ? and it responded beautifully, hardening into two thick pecs big enough that I thought I felt them stretching my skin. To my hand, they felt like granite that had been covered by a tiny, thin sheet.


I stared into the mirror in wonder. I looked a little ridiculous, with a hairless chest that belonged on a man twice my size. The rest of my body was furry and belonged to a guy who was definitely athletic, but nothing compared to the owner of the pecs that appeared to have been surgically inserted beneath my skin. It was like I'd undergone some male variant of breast implant surgery. I rubbed my hard nipple and almost moaned.


I heard a knock at the door but I ignored it. I had to keep going.


I spread shaving cream over my stomach and continued my work. I worked slowly and methodically. The trance settled over me once again, but I peripherally noticed that as I drew the razor over my skin my abs were becoming more deeply etched into my skin by the moment. Like they'd been chiseled out of my abdomen by some weird sculptor who dealt with flesh instead of stone. Not ? I smirked ? that there was much of a difference between stone and the incredibly solid muscles that now covered my abdomen. I shook my head a little. That was a weird thought.


My legs were next. I coated them with a thick layer of the white shaving cream and went to town, entranced by the way that every swipe of the razor revealed a different leg than had been there before. Like the shaving cream had changed my legs and the razor was only revealing what was already there. My legs were massively thick, every head of my quadriceps defined as a real bodybuilder. My thighs bulged outward in a way that they'd never done before. They were so big and hard I felt like I could crush coconuts between them without breaking a sweat. I felt like I could leg press nearly a ton.


My calves exploded as I sent the razor streaking along my skin. I was cursed with high-insertion calves, unfortunately, but they were as ripped, huge, and defined as my genetics would allow for. I flexed them and even if they weren't my hugest body part, they were quite possibly my most solid. They were the kind of calves that a bodybuilder who knew that his calves sucked would develop. The kind he spent hours on in order to compensate for shitty genes. They felt like diamonds under my skin.


The light knocking on the door became a pounding. ?Joe? Are you in there?? I heard a male voice calling. I didn't recognize him though. It certainly wasn't anyone from my dorm and I wasn't exactly sure how whoever it was knew my name. Besides, I wasn't ready yet.


I lathered up my arms one by one and stared as the razor revealed cords of muscle. My forearms were covered in so many veins I was amazed that I didn't nick a single one of them as I brought the razor up towards my elbow. My veins looked like they were part of some kind of netting that encased the thick muscles below.


And of course, when I reached my upper arms I carefully revealed new biceps. New peaks that formed with every single motion of my arms. After I finished using my unshaven right arm to shave my left, I passed the razor to my left hand and watched the incredible interplay of every single ripped muscle in my transformed arm as it slowly shaved the other one. It was almost hypnotizing the way that every single glorious muscle in my arm shifted with the slightest motion of the razor in my hand.


I paused. I wasn't exactly sure what I'd do about the hair on my backside which I could no longer reach given the sizes that my arms and chest had reached. To put it off, I decided to shave my crotch.


This one took an especially long amount of time. Who wants to nick their dick, after all? I was a little disappointed that my dick and balls didn't grow as I shaved them, but I realized that all the razor was doing was maximizing my genetic potential. I was still Joe, just a Joe that had picked up his first weight at twelve instead of nineteen and who had seven years of bodybuilding under his belt. Whatever ? at six and a half inches, I was above average anyway.


What did happen as I shaved my crotch though was that my skin started to darken and tan. It quickly went from pasty-white to athletically-tanned to the artificial coloring that bodybuilders wear on stage. My skin was almost brown by the end of it all.


?God damn it Joe, let me in!? I heard the guy outside the door shout, now furiously pounding on the door.


I sighed and reached for my clothes. But instead of the pile of clothes that I'd thrown in the corner of the room there was a gym bag. I reached in and on top of the folded sweatpants and other clothes I saw a bright blue poser.


I pulled it out and stared at it before pulling it on. I resisted the temptation to look in the mirror and see what I looked like, because I instinctively knew that I wasn't complete yet.


I pulled open the door. A blond bodybuilder ? a few inches shorter than me ? wearing only a pair of sweatpants was standing there holding his own gym bag and with a look of exasperation on his face. I recognized him as one of the guys from my high school. He'd gotten a reputation as a bit of a meathead. He never seemed to play any sports, but was always in the weight room ? at least until he left school around sixteen. Nobody seemed to know where he went ? he didn't really have many close friends. I tried to remember his name. I'd never really spoken to him much before ? I'd never had the courage. Charlie! That's what it was.


?I need to shave your back and ass remember? We forgot to do yours this morning.? Charlie pushed his gym bag into my hands and pushed me into the room forcefully. He kept muttering to himself. ?God damn it Joe we should have done this days ago but nooooooo. Leave it to the day of the contest...? He glanced at my back and cursed.


I stripped naked, for some reason not caring around him whether I was clothed or not.


?Sometimes I don't know why I listen to you...? He muttered. ?Razor.? He demanded like a doctor demanding a scalpel, holding his hand out. I passed him the shaving cream too, for good measure.


He didn't seem to notice that my back and glutes were as developed as those of a guy who'd been lifting for only a few months. Of course, that didn't last. I could feel myself widening and my ass bubbling outwards as Charlie shaved the areas that I couldn't reach myself.


I thanked Charlie and pulled the posers back on and stared at myself in the mirror.


Finally I was complete. It was like this was what I had always been meant to be. A big, just-under-six-foot tall, 223 pound, nineteen year old bodybuilder. Maybe not the biggest nineteen year old in the world, or even the biggest in the country, but big enough to be competitive with anyone else my age. My physique wasn't flawless, but it was as good as my genetics could possibly make it. I flexed eighteen-and-a-half inch biceps in the mirror. I had really wide lats; my body had a pretty impressive V-taper, despite the fact that I had a pretty wide waist ? not from fat, just that my hip-bones were wide.


It suddenly hit me. I was at a competition. I was at a bodybuilding competition! Adrenaline shot through me as I hit pose after pose, flexing each of my swollen muscles like I was trying to make them burst. I went through the entirety of what ? I realized ? was the routine I'd been practicing for weeks.


I flexed a double-bi and held it. I frowned a little. ?Left arm's still a little bigger.? I grumbled.


But that was just the first flaw. Even though my body was fantastic I couldn't help seeing where I needed improvement. Obliques not tight enough, one pec slightly differently shaped than the other, calves too small for the rest of me ? despite my valiant efforts. I was nervous. I couldn't help being nervous.


I felt a hand on my shoulder. ?You're ready for this Joe.? I looked over at Charlie, who leaned in and kissed me full on the lips. Mentally surprised, my body's natural instinct was to go with it, kissing him back and letting his tongue briefly probe my mouth.


As our lips parted, knowledge suddenly hit me. In this reality, Charlie wasn't just some meat head in the high school weight room to me.






?Can I get a spot?? I finally worked up the courage to ask the blond guy as he rested, sitting at the preacher bench. He looked up, recognizing me the same way I knew him ? as a guy I'd seen after school in the gym on a daily basis. Like me.


I gestured over at the bench. ?Goin' for a new one-rep max.? I explained.


The blond smiled. ?Sure. How much you going for??


?225.?


He whistled. ?That's almost mine. I did 245 last week.? He smiled in pride.


?Yeah well, I'm a freshman. Can't complain about 225 as a freshman.? I grinned, stepping towards the bench, flexing the tight pecs that had been forming under my skin over the last few years since I'd started lifting.?


?I'm a freshman too, y'know.? He folded his arms across his well developed chest.


?Seriously?? My face fell for a moment. I'd hoped he was a year older, so I could claim to be the school's strongest freshman. Then I grinned. ?Then I'm just gonna have to catch you.?


?Yeah? Well start by getting this shit.? He gestured at the barbell with the four 45lb plates. ?You got this man.?


?Fuck yeah I do.? I placed my hands on the bar. ?No way I'm letting some fucking metal beat me.?






?Come on! Push!? Charlie shouted at me, encouraging me as I attempted to do my heaviest set of deads yet. My hamstrings and back were burning like never before as I let out a loud gasp of pain and finished the motion. I dropped the bar to the floor and staggered away, practically falling down onto one of the nearby benches.


Charlie offered his fist. Gasping, I bumped it. ?Nice job, man.? He said as I pulled a drink of my water bottle. Lowering the bottle, I grinned at him.


?I've almost got you.?


?Ten more pounds man. Ten more pounds.?






?Ready man?? Charlie asked me as I stepped up to the squat rack, loaded with iron. We were the last ones in the weight room, as usual. Charlie and I were more intense than most others in the gym, and we tended to bother other lifters with the noise we made, so we generally worked out after everyone else was gone. The supervisors had learned long ago that we knew how to take care of ourselves here.


I took a deep breath. If I could do ten of these, then I'd have officially tied Charlie on the squat rack. I'd already tied his one-rep max ? this was to make it official.


I got under the bar and pressed up, grunting as the weight shifted onto my back. I took a few steps back and squatted low, Charlie mimicking my motions as he spotted me.


Six felt awful. Four more, I told myself. Focus! Charlie got up close, until he was right against my back, ready to help me the instant my quads failed.


But at the bottom of my eighth rep, I felt something hit my glute. It wasn't Charlie's leg. It couldn't be ? it was too small. It was his-


My eyes widened. My concentration failed. I almost collapsed under the weight. Charlie grabbed tight and drove me up to the top ? his hard dick pressed up against my body the whole time ? and helped me rack the weight.


As I took a few deep breaths to steady myself, I looked around. Charlie wasn't there. I turned and saw him running. ?Charlie, wait!? I called, but he was already out the door.






He pushed me away. ?Yeah I'm gay! You got a problem with that?!? Charlie faced me, tears welling up in his eyes as I finally was able to get with him one-on-one around the back of the school. ?There! Is that what you wanted to hear?!?


?Charlie-? I reached out to touch him on the shoulder, but he recoiled.

?Go ahead, hit me!? His voice broke and he sobbed a little. ?Call me a faggot! It's no worse than I get at home!? My mouth dropped open a little in shock. I'd never been to Charlie's home, despite all the times he'd come over to mine. But I'd never liked his parents, and Charlie only confirmed my suspicions.


I reached out again and grabbed his shoulder. He tried to shake it off, but those hours working my grip strength paid off. I grabbed his other shoulder. ?Get off me.? He demanded, looking as if he was going to punch me ? though I knew he never would ? but I was unrelenting. He looked into my eyes. And then I pulled him into the tightest hug I'd ever given.


?Charlie.? My voice was almost as emotional as his. ?You're my best friend. I don't give a fuck if you're gay or not.?


There was a moment of pause. I almost thought Charlie just wasn't going to react. Then I felt Charlie's arms hesitatingly reach around me. He suddenly pulled me even tighter into him. I felt warmth along my neck as his tears fell from his body onto mine, sobbing into my shoulder.






I sat on my bed, staring at Charlie as he slept on the bed my parents had bought for him, snoring softly.


It had been a little of a sleeping realization. Something I'd only seen out of the corner of my eye. But it had only recently occurred to me how cute Charlie was. From the blond hair to the cheeky, mischievous smile to his incredibly muscular sixteen-year-old body, everything about him was hot. I could see how all the girls went out of their way to talk to him. I understood why they did. I understood exactly why girls thought Charlie was sexy. It made sense to me. And that thought scared me.


I got it.


Am I gay too? It was a question I'd been pondering for months, now, ever since I felt a fluttering in my stomach when Charlie hugged me tight ? a quick thing after a tough day in the gym. Not that Charlie hadn't hugged me before ? hundreds of times, actually ? but for the first time I felt more than brotherly affection towards him. It had been a casual thing between best friends. Or so it had seemed at the time.


Now that I was thinking about it, though, it occurred to me how little I was attracted to girls, really. It wasn't that I found girls unattractive. I could tell a cute girl from a harpy. But I'd always assumed guys were just exaggerating when they saw a cute girl and couldn't take their eyes away, just because I'd never felt anything like that. Now I had, though. With Charlie.


I rolled onto my back and let out a deep breath. I scrubbed my face with my hands.


I think... I think I may be gay. I finally admitted to myself. Not that it was an all-the-sudden revelation, but I'd never admitted it to myself consciously before. I think subconsciously I'd known for a while, though. Or at least suspected.


What did that mean though? I snorted a little. I guess I didn't have anything to worry about on a personal level. Not much anyway. My best friend reject me for being gay? Not likely, with Charlie. My parents? They moved Charlie in with us when his parents kicked him out. Me being gay ? if I really was ? was not going to be a problem for them either.


I sighed and sat up. I idly noted how the hours of crunches I'd done made it easy to lift even my bulky upper body out of bed. I stepped over to the other bed.


I took a deep breath and gently shook Charlie's shoulder. His snores briefly halted, before resuming. I swear they were louder, as if to spite my attempt to wake him. I shook again, harder this time. ?The fuck?? He groaned and blearily opened one eye. ?What's up?? He said, groggily, rubbing his eye.


I hesitated. Was I ready to tell my best friend that I had a crush on him? I looked him in the eye for a few seconds.


?What's up?? He asked again, opening his other eye and sitting up on one thick arm.


No. I wasn't ready for that. But I had to start somewhere when it came to talking about this. My homosexuality, if that's what it was.


I sighed. ?I need to talk to you.?






?You know I can never thank your parents enough, right?? Charlie said as he finished applying oil to his bicep.


?I'm pretty sure they've got an idea of it, yeah.? I agreed as I rubbed tanning oil into the middle of his back, where he couldn't reach. ?All done.? I announced.


?You should be competing too, you know.? Charlie commented. He turned and faced me, almost taking my breath away. A magnificent seventeen year old bodybuilder faced me. He was no pro, by any means. But he was good. He was damn good for his age. ?How do I look?? He asked, flexing a double-bi.


My dick almost started to harden. ?You look fantastic Charlie. You'll mop the floor with these guys.? I gestured around at the other teens.


?Have you seen that guy?? Charlie gestured over at a big teen, pumping his biceps. ?Those biceps have to be at least eighteen, maybe nineteen inches.?


?That's what happens when you're competing against guys who are nineteen and you're seventeen, Charlie.? I wasn't going to lie to him. ?But don't just compare your biceps as a way of deciding who's gonna win. Yours are seventeen and a half.? I pointed out. ?And even if his are a little bigger, he's not as ripped as you. You're ready for this, Charlie.?


?You really think so??


I looked him straight in the eyes and nodded. I meant it. Even from a simply aesthetic, below-the-neck perspective, he looked great. Not even taking into account that I thought he was cute as hell.


Charlie paused for a moment, looking away. He took a deep breath, then he looked me in the eyes. ?You're so confident in me? I've got an idea, then. I'll make you a bet.?


I was a little wary of the cheeky smile beginning to form on Charlie's face. I knew that look. ?Okay...?? I asked, hesitantly.


?If I don't win this contest, you have to buy me dinner.?


What?


Oh my God. Was Charlie asking me out? I searched Charlie's expression, but in the place of the playfulness he'd had earlier, his eyes were sweet. Plaintive. He wanted this. Oh God. He wanted me.


What was I supposed to do? Fall in love with my best friend? A best friend who seemed to want me back?


What would happen if it didn't work out? Charlie lived in my goddamn room! That could get awkward if we fucked up a serious, romantic relationship.


Charlie grabbed my hand. ?Joe??


My throat was dry. I swallowed. Repercussions be damned, I wanted Charlie. I smiled. ?Sounds great. Now go out there and kick ass!?


Charlie grinned hugely. ?You got it man!?


He started to walk away but turned around. ?To make our bet fair, if I win I'm buying you dinner. It'll be my gift to myself for winning.?


I grinned. ?Well then win damn it! I don't want to fucking pay.?






?Hellooooooooooo?? Charlie waved his hand in my face. ?You in there Joe? I know I'm a good kisser but I can't have melted your fucking brain!?


I blinked and rubbed my head, my rock-hard bicep getting in the way of my forearm as I scratched my hair. Years and years of information had just been poured into my brain. I felt a little woozy.


?Sorry about that Charlie.? I lowered my arm. ?Lost my train of thought.?


He shook his head. ?You're ready to compete, man. Don't try to wimp out now by faking an aneurysm or something.?


?I'm not trying to wimp out.?


He slapped my meaty shoulder. ?Then have some fucking confidence man.? He grinned. ?I guarantee you'll mop the floor with your weight class.?


I took a deep breath and nodded. ?You've got my number??


?Yeah, here.? He reached into his sweats and handed me a circular number eighteen. Part of me was disappointed it wasn't a number sixty-nine ? deep down, I swear I hadn't matured a day past twelve. I took it and attached it to my posers. I looked back in the mirror. Fuck, I looked like a real bodybuilder: a nineteen year old, two-hundred twenty-three pound heavyweight stud, ripped as fuck and strong as a tank.


Not that I wasn't nervous, but I realized that not all the butterflies in my stomach were from fear. I was excited. I was excited to strut around on stage, next to naked, flexing my muscles for all the world to see. I wanted the world to see what a fucking stud I was. I had to distract my train of thought to keep from getting hard in my posers.


It finally came to me: I realized that all the disdain I'd had for serious bodybuilders before I found that razor had been nothing more than jealousy. I think deep down I'd known that this is what I'd always wanted. Why else was I spending so much time in the gym, when all my other friends had wimped out on it? Why else had I started wearing tighter clothes to show off my developing chest? I think that even if that razor hadn't changed my life, I would have eventually ended up on stage. I would have eventually come to the same conclusion. It just catalyzed my catharsis. Woo ? alliteration!


Somehow I knew that I didn't have to accept this. The razor, whatever it was, wasn't going to force me to live this life. If I wanted, I knew I could go back to being a nineteen year old beginner. That old life.


I barely even considered it. I flexed a most muscular, relishing in the feeling of every tight muscle attempting to break through my skin.


But even if I wanted to reverse it all ? and believe me, I didn't ? I would never make that choice. Not for me, but for Charlie.


I looked over at him as he watched me. He seemed content to do nothing more than stare at me. I felt like I could do the same. God he was beautiful. I stepped over towards him and kissed him again. ?I love you.? I whispered.


Charlie drew back from the kiss briefly and smiled that cheeky smile that I loved. ?I love you too.? He kissed me again.


We eventually parted lips. ?As much as I love to kiss you, Joe, you're on stage in like ten minutes.? He reached into his pocket and grabbed his phone. ?Fuck, eight minutes!? He swore as he glanced at it.


I nodded and grinned, my teeth shining out of my darkly tanned face. ?Let's do this.?






The cheering of the crowd erased any remnants of my nervousness as I took my first steps into the light of the stage to the battle cry of my music. It emboldened me. They were cheering to see me!


I grinned and bowed my head a little. I was a little embarrassed, though no longer nervous in the slightest, but I felt mostly flattered. The excitement built in my stomach.


The least I could do was give the crowd a show.


I strutted to the center of the stage with all the swagger of a professional wrestler and exploded into the first pose of the routine I'd practiced for days. The crowd roared for me.


I did everything flawlessly. Every pose was tight and perfectly executed and my cocky attitude was driving the crowd wild. I could feel every muscle trying to tear its way through my skin, and hearing the crowd cheer as my muscles flexed as tight as could be was an indescribable rush. I knew at that moment that this was the first bodybuilding show I'd done, but it was far from the last. I knew I'd be doing this for life.


And as I flexed one last single bicep pose before I waved to the crowd and walked offstage I knew I was a strong contender to win. I almost laughed at my prior nervousness. It seemed so stupid now. I'd been training six years for this moment. Despite my inexperience, I'd been more than ready.


Charlie was too. And he had the experience to back it up. I was lucky enough to see his routine before I had to go on stage again and he was as perfect as I was. He flexed that body that I knew so well like a man possessed. I smiled at the thought that even though the crowds were staring at Charlie and his beautiful body, I had him all to myself.






I sat in one of the lobby chairs, pulling sweatpants over my aching legs. Flexing your muscles for an entire competition wears the hell out of them. My whole body was sore. But the pain was worth it, I thought to myself as I glanced at the trophy next to my chair.


Then again, I'd spent six years in the gym with the philosophy that the pain would be worth it, so maybe that wasn't too big a surprise.


Charlie walked up to me already fully dressed and bearing not one, but two trophies. Noting this, I pointedly rolled my eyes. I knew he was going to be insufferable. I muttered 'showoff' under my breath ? just loud enough for him to hear me ? to which he responded by sticking out his tongue.


?Not my fault the judges thought I was cuter.? He quipped.


I pretended to grumble incoherently.


?Oh come on. First in the teen heavyweights and second in the teen overall? That's pretty fucking fantastic for your first competition Joe.?


I guess I can't say I was disappointed. But I couldn't shake the feeling that I wanted more. ?Next time, I'm beating you.? I promised Charlie.


He grinned. ?You'll have to start working your ass harder in the gym then. You've been slacking.?


?Fuck you.? I snorted and stood, pulling on my t-shirt. It was the same one as earlier so I didn't end up staining multiple shirts orange. It was still a little damp from when I'd been sweating earlier.


As I was feeling around in my gym bag, making sure I hadn't forgotten anything, I felt the razor bump my hand. I paused. Somehow I knew that it was no use to me anymore. It was just an ordinary razor to me now.


?What's up?? Charlie asked, noting my pensive look. ?You ready to go??


?Not yet. I think I left something in the bathroom.? I lied.


?Want me to come look with you?? Charlie raised an eyebrow seductively. I could tell he had more than simply searching on his mind.


I shook my head. ?Later.? Charlie shrugged. ?Go out and find my parents if you can. I'll meet you out there.?


Charlie nodded. ?Don't take too long.? He leaned in and whispered. ?I've got a few ideas for how we can... ah... celebrate our win.? He shot me his mischevous grin. I just shook my head knowingly and smiled in reply.


As Charlie was leaving, I pulled out the razor and stared down at it for a moment. It was useless to me now, but that didn't mean it would be useless to someone else?


?Ow!? I exclaimed, dropping the razor into my gym bag, as I felt something soft ? if heavy ? hit my head. I rubbed my head and glanced up where I saw a guy, maybe sixteen years old. He had a large gym bag over his shoulder and had been too busy staring at another bodybuilder he'd been following to see where he was going. I could see the hero worship in his eyes.


?Shit!? The kid swore. ?Sorry... man...? He broke off as he realized that I was the guy who'd just won the second place in the overall teen division. The other bodybuilder looked around when he heard the kid speak. I recognized him from the podium as the guy who'd gotten third overall, and had been the runner up to me in the heavyweights. He was tall, at least 6'2?. He probably weighed about the same as me, although I definitely looked thicker since I was at least three or four inches shorter than him.


?Hey you're Joe Stevenson right?? The guy asked, walking back over to me. I nodded and offered a hand, feeling it was better to say nothing than to speak and reveal that I had no idea what this guy's name was.


?Vic Latimore.? He introduced himself, drawling while I breathed a mental sigh of relief. He jerked his thumb at the sixteen year old. ?And this is my little bro Trevor.?


I shook their hands and smiled politely. ?Good to meet you guys. You from around here? I don't think I've ever seen you before today.?


Trevor looked embarrassed but Vic just grinned. ?Nah, we're country boys. Took us three hours to drive here for this competition. Gotta say, I'm not too pleased with drivin' all this way to lose to you twice. Watch out, though, Stevenson. I'm gonna beat ya the next time I'm on stage with ya. That's a promise.? He sounded almost playfully cocky.


I smiled at his attitude. ?You can try.? Of course, we all had that attitude. A bodybuilder didn't usually make it far without that ?I am going to win, no 'ifs' 'ands' or 'buts'? attitude.


I glanced over at Trevor whose gaze was fixed firmly on his feet. ?What about you, bud?? I asked. ?Got a sport??


He nodded. ?Soccer.? He mumbled, reddening. He certainly had the build for it. Both guys had lanky genetics. Vic had to be taking a weight gainer in his supplements ? and probably a lot of it. I could tell just by looking at him that if he hadn't taken up bodybuilding, he'd be as skinny as his little brother. He probably had to fight to pack every single pound of muscle onto his body. I could appreciate that. Nobody had it easy, but Vic was fighting an upward battle and showed no sign of submission.


I frowned a little at Trevor's obvious embarrassment. ?Nothing wrong with soccer, man.? I reassured him.


Trevor shook his head with the kind of weary motion that showed he'd been told that before. I winced. I could imagine Trevor telling friends and relatives that he played soccer in that same embarrassed tone, and their predictable condescending response to his tone which only served to shame him further. Not that soccer was inherently embarrassing by any means, but that Trevor saw it that way. The fact that he just didn't like it, combined with people telling him not to hate it, creating a cycle which only worsened with every iteration.


Trevor had looked up in response to my silence and was staring at me. I think he knew that I understood how he felt.


Vic clasped Trevor's shoulder. ?We gotta get going. It's a long drive home.? He looked at me. ?Good to talk to you man.? I nodded.


As Vic and Trevor walked away I noticed that Trevor's own backpack ? one embroidered with the name of his soccer team ? was open at the top. I picked up the razor again.


I wasn't sure exactly what it would do with Trevor. Maybe he didn't secretly want to be a bodybuilder like I had. Maybe he did. But somehow I knew that whatever choices he wanted to make differently in the past, the razor would help him.


I grabbed my own bag and snuck up behind him. I dropped the razor into his backpack. Trevor paused as he felt the weight added to his backpack and glanced around. I brushed past him quickly, meeting his eyes only briefly. ?You coming?? I heard Vic say.


Trevor nodded and walked on. I smiled as I walked in a different direction, looking for the way Charlie went.





Thanks to Aardvark for test-running the story!

[nnnrg]

That, amazing. Where can I find a razor like that?

[tattcub]

Very cool...

Clever idea...

Thanks

TC

[marduk1126]

Loved it, +1 for getting the bodybuilding details right. I loved the flashback, too.

[Aardvark2]

I agree, all the bodybuilding details make me curious about you, Speaker Excellent work, and I'm honored to have helped. It's good to see you back!