In Corpore Sano - Part 5

[tekuno]

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In Corpore Sano
Part 5

This story has been completed. Content warnings and general description are included with the prologue, general commentary is in the comments following the epilogue.

Prologue | Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10 | Part 11 | Part 12 | Part 13 | Part 14 | Part 15 | Part 16 | Part 17 | Part 18 | Part 19 | Epilogue

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The next morning, I awoke with a plan. I had the early shift that day, which meant I would be tied up for lunch and dinner, but I would call Detective Beaufort 5 minutes before leaving for work. This would give me an excuse not to explain everything immediately, and I could suggest we meet for dinner, or lunch the next day. And if the meal was a success, socially speaking, I could push onward and make a further date.

Predictably, a series of small personal emergencies interfered. My cell phone had not quite connected to its charger the night before. The shirt I had planned to wear to work turned out to have developed a hole under one arm. One of the laces on my work shoes broke and had to be replaced. So I not only had insufficient time to call the detective, but had to rush to get to work on time, and was still slightly late arriving.

All through my shift, I looked forward to getting off work and calling the detective. I didn't want to call on break, in case he asked for details immediately; I would hate to be within earshot of my coworkers or the owner while describing that dream.

But, as always, Murphy's Law struck: the bartender scheduled for the evening called in, at ten minutes before my shift ended, to say that his flight home from visiting his parents in San Francisco for the weekend had been delayed due to a prolonged thunderstorm, and he wouldn't even be back in town until at least 2 AM. The other two people on staff who were qualified to tend bar were both unavailable -- one had broken an arm two days earlier, the other was on vacation in Europe until the next week. The owner was able to tend bar, but he had tickets to the theater that night and had made all sorts of promises to his wife, and I owed him a favor for permitting me to juggle my schedule. So the kitchen whipped me up a sandwich and fries for dinner, I ate in the last half-hour before my shift should have ended, and I stayed on behind the bar until closing. Far too late to call anyone.

I reached home in a bad mood, but on reflection it would make just as much sense to try my plan again the next morning. With the other available bartender unlikely to be able to work the lunch rush, I had a last-minute schedule change to the early shift.

I tried the detective's cell phone, and after an unconscionably long wait, I was transferred to his voice mail. I hadn't expected that; somehow I had pictured him as the sort who would pick up immediately. I left a long, not-entirely-coherent message which asked him to call me back on my landline, and hung up before leaving for work.

After work I headed to the gym and rushed through a workout, hoping that when I reached home there would be a message for me. There wasn't.

There wasn't anything the next day, either, even by the time I came home after my evening shift -- thanks to the two unavailable bartenders, I and the other remaining qualified employee were working nearly every day for the time being.

When there was no call back at the end of the third day, I decided to take a further step. I called the Detective's home number instead. Just in case he had some sort of requirement to keep his personal and work life separate, my message this time was entirely social; I merely asked if he would be interested in going to lunch sometime.

There was no response. After a few days, it became such a sore spot that I actively tried to distract myself from thinking about it. I volunteered to work more hours and put in some very heavy workouts at the gym, and helped my parents with a bunch of chores. Still, I kept checking my voicemail and my cell phone every so often, hoping I had somehow missed a message earlier.

I wasn't sure exactly what this meant -- having been alone for so long, I really didn't know the protocol. Maybe he just wasn't interested in me? Maybe by chance he had met someone else in the extra 24 hours between when I had intended to call and when I had actually called, and didn't want to get involved with a second person? But what about the picture I was supposed to identify? Shouldn't he have called me back about that? Or maybe he just had a lot of other things to worry about at work -- it sounded as though this hadn't been a very high-priority task. Maybe he would get back to me on a strictly professional level at some point in the future, but was no longer interested socially. I didn't feel like heading for the Police Department and asking to see him to find out.

In general, I was having a nadir of self-confidence. Every guy I met was either off-limits because of work, an unspeakable loser, or refused to so much as talk with me. I tried very hard not to let it show, but I couldn't get it off my mind.

It seemed like the only thing I had going for me was my size. That's why people were flirting with me, after all. Well, then, obviously I needed to take some steps to get even bigger. I spent two hours researching nutrition and then went and blew $300 on supplements at the local sports nutrition shop. Then I spent every spare moment for a few days researching exercises carefully and revised my workout plans.

It was after my third "improved" workout, after a long day of work and not long before the gym was going to close, when I ran into Paul again. Almost literally; I had just finished up in the weightroom and was covered in sweat. While passing through the door to the locker room, because I was wiping some sweat from my forehead, I nearly bumped into a fairly big guy who was headed that way from the cardio area. When I looked up, I was shocked to see that it was Paul. Our eyes met, and he smirked.

Paul had transformed. He wasn't as big as me, but he was pretty big. At this point, I was definitely in the top 10 to 15 percent of guys at the gym, by muscle size. Paul had started off near the bottom -- there was one weedy guy I saw every once in a while who had been skinnier than Paul, but otherwise he had been so slim that even the steady stream of beginners who showed up a couple of times and then disappeared for good looked stronger. Now, using the same measure, he would have been in the top third. It was simultaneously impressive and depressing to see how quickly he had made such gains. Of course, the higher your notional ranking, the harder you would have to work to keep growing, but even so, getting so far so fast was an amazing feat.

Having started off so skinny, he had practically no body fat, so even though his muscles were smaller than mine he looked almost as good, at least to me at that moment.

"Hey, Scott, after you." His voice had become a bit deeper. It was still oily, but somewhat less revolting. I headed in to the locker room to get my shower stuff, too tired and surprised to think clearly, and headed for the showers.

Only after I had finished soaping up did it dawn on me that Paul would almost certainly follow me in. Almost immediately after I had the thought, he sauntered in with his usual smirk and took the nozzle next to the one I was using. I tried very hard to ignore him, even though he was clearly trying to catch my attention by slowly flexing parts of his body as he ran his washcloth over them. He was also fairly blatantly staring at me, in between operations which required his attention.

The glimpses I caught were amazing. With his clothing off, Paul looked even better. The smaller size of his frame -- although I remembered him being shorter than he apparently was -- made his muscles look larger.

And then, just at a moment when I was looking in his direction -- and I'm pretty sure he had been watching, and knew it -- he turned to face me and started soaping his dick. It was the biggest one I had ever seen in person, although I had seen bigger ones in porn. It had to be eight inches. And it was half hard. By the time he had soaped it up thoroughly, it was completely hard. And so was I.

"Like what you see, sexy?" Paul's voice mixed insult with invitation.

"N-no. Sorry, I've got to be going. See you around." I finished rinsing and almost ran back to the lockers, where I pulled on my clothing and left as quickly as possible.

As I drank a protein shake and wound down before heading to bed, I wondered idly if whatever drug Paul was on would help me. Of course I would never actually do that, but it wouldn't hurt to fantasize. I wandered into the bathroom and looked at myself critically in the mirror. I still had some fat on my abdomen, although the shape of the muscles was clearly visible. My pecs, likewise, still had a thin layer of fat under the skin, but the shapes of the muscles were visible, and when I flexed you could even see a striation or two. My arms were now slightly bigger than 19 inches cold. I couldn't tell whether the new supplements were working yet, although I did have quite a good pump. All told I was looking pretty good. Another year or so and I'd look great.

The trouble was, I wanted to look great IMMEDIATELY. After all those years of not doing anything at all, I had finally admitted that I wanted to be huge, and the amount of work it was taking was discouraging. Still, I was going to stick it out. Someday I'd be so big that there would be no more William Beauforts. I imagined myself bigger and stronger, with other big strong men fighting for my attention, and began to jack off. Yeah, I'd be a major stud. People in my gym would be desperate to get my number, I'd be having sex in the bathrooms, I'd have to get a whole new wardrobe because my old clothes would be too small, but I'd keep growing and rip my way out. The biggest guys in the gym would be dwarfed, and they would become my fuck toys. My fantasies swirled in my head as I headed for climax, and finally I came.

On my way to bed, I looked out the window. There was no figure in the street. Good.

As I lay in bed drifting off to sleep, I heard the shrubbery in the back yard rustle and smiled. It wasn't until I woke up that I realized that it had been a still night with no wind.

Part 6

[Otaru_grower]

I love this chapter...I really like the mystery and detective elements you have set up. I am loving all of this so far.