In Corpore Sano - Part 6

[tekuno]

I had some extra time, so I wrote a part of this and a part of A Lucid Account. Yay! I think next I'm going to finish off the story I've had sitting around for a while, and post that. (And then another part of Caveman, etc. etc. etc.) But probably nothing tomorrow.

Oh, and a reminder: since I'm now juggling 3 stories, I will be taking the number of "like"s and comments on each one into account when choosing what to write each time I write. So if you like this, you should probably click the "like" button, or say something, so I know.

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In Corpore Sano
Part 6

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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In the morning, I checked out the back yard. There were several places where the rustling sound could have come from; there were even broken branches in a couple of spots, although no footprints and no marks to indicate anyone had climbed a fence. Perhaps it had been an animal -- although it was difficult to imagine an animal making that much noise, and also difficult to imagine why an animal large enough to rustle the bushes would bother coming into our back yard when there were so many other places nearby without fences and with more attractive features for wildlife.

I continued to obsess over my body. The more I thought about it, the more Paul's gains made me feel inadequate and pathetic. Sure, he was probably on something. But he had started off as such a skinny little twerp, and at this rate, before long he was going to overtake me. And, hell, to a certain extent I was actually employed to be big, so I was actually failing at my job performance as well. And now I was sure that my romantic failure with Detective Beaufort had had my puniness as a cause. If I had been a bigger guy, I thought, he would have been waiting by the phone for me to call.

I pushed even harder. People stared at me in the gym, my workouts became so intense. I stockpiled supplements and scoured the Internet for protein-heavy recipes. I devoured bodybuilding magazines and websites, looking for tips. My entire life became a sort of trance. Each day at work I went through the motions -- I was barely aware that I was now getting more than twice as much in tips as I ever had before -- as I planned out in my head what I was going to do in the gym. My cell phone was programmed with alarms to remind me to eat, or drink a protein shake, or other actions intended to help me grow.

Paul occasionally showed up at the gym. I ignored him; he was still growing, and I had the impression that he was getting pretty seriously big, but I decided I wouldn't let him get under my skin, and I refused to look closely at his progress. If and when he surpassed me, I didn't want to know about it.

The hard work paid off. In a about three months, I put on nearly 35 more pounds of muscle, and my bodyfat was pretty low. If I hadn't been so focussed on continuing to grow, I would have been in excellent shape for the beach, but instead of relaxing in a bathing suit I was at the gym, or at work, or out shopping.

Of course, I was extremely lonely. People at the gym didn't approach me -- I think I scared people with all that intensity. Some of the bar's patrons were sending some pretty clear signals, but they were off limits. And as for the daily round, well, I was living in a suburban setting chosen by my parents, hardly a gay hotspot. I might have despaired, but I chose instead to ignore my emotions and just focus even harder on training.

On the other hand, I wasn't really getting any pleasure out of getting bigger, either. If I had gotten big before I got lonely, I probably would have been thrilled. Now, it was about on a par with the achievements in a video game. Just another thing to do, with more lined up behind it.

One hot, almost unbearable night, I came home from work incredibly depressed. I had been to the gym in the morning, but even my workout hadn't been able to bring my energy level up. Work hadn't helped either -- having to fake being enthusiastic and friendly to a lot of drunks was exhausting. Just to put the lid on things, the power was out when I got home, which meant that, with the windows closed all day for the air conditioner, the house was desperately overheated, with no relief available. I lay on my bed, sweaty and uncomfortable, and tried to sleep.

I was at the restaurant again, but sitting at a booth instead of behind the bar. Paul was sitting across from me. He was huge. The muscles of his torso and arms bulged and flexed, and I could see everything because he had no shirt on. Oddly enough, now that he was huge, he was also attractive. The condescension and arrogance which seemed to ridiculous when he had been small was hot now that he was so large.

Paul was eating a slice of meat. I looked down and saw that my plate also had a slice. Paul was really sucking the meat down -- in no time at all, he finished everything on his plate. Then he flexed, and his body grew even bigger. It was tremendously hot; I could feel myself getting hard under the table.

"Hey, Scott, you going to finish that?"

"No, uh, I guess you can go ahead and take it."

Paul pulled the plate to his side of the table and set to work. He cut huge chunks out and stuffed them in his mouth. In no time at all, he was done with my helping as well. Once again, he flexed and grew. He was now a giant, like a character in a comic book. His torso was so stuffed with muscle that it was almost inhuman.

"Huh. I'm still hungry. Think I'll go get some more."

Paul slid out of the booth -- his lower body was likewise gigantic, and he was wearing spandex shorts. The crotch bulged obscenely as he picked up both plates. He turned around and walked behind the back of the seat. He spent a few minutes manipulating things, with the clink of cutlery on porcelain, before coming back with both plates full. He set them down, and then squeezed back into the booth. His torso was so large that even though his tiny waist could easily fit behind the table the gigantic muscles of his back pushed him forward. I almost came, watching him.

He started to eat again. His plate was piled high with meat, enough to make even his tremendous appetite seem reasonable. As he ate, his body swelled larger and larger. His arms must have been twice as big around as they had been before. His pecs pushed out, and his nipples pushed down and started rubbing on the tabletop.

"Aren't you going to eat? You'll never get bigger if you don't fuel your body."

I looked down at my plate. Detective Beaufort's face looked back at me from a pool of blood. I screamed and woke up.

The next afternoon, I showed up for work to discover a scene which gave me a depressing sense of deja vu. The bartender who I was to relieve for the evening -- not the same one as before, or the coincidence would have been too much for me -- was talking with a heavyset man, and beckoned me over as soon as I entered.

"Oh, hey, you're here! You'll never believe this -- it's a detective."

"He wants to talk to me?"

"Hey, you're psychic! Oh, wait, you talked with the detective who showed up last time."

"Yeah, or at least, I was one of the people he talked to. You cover for me while I talk to him."

"Whatever you say, big guy."

"Shouldn't take long."

I turned to face the detective. This one wasn't half so attractive as Beaufort; I couldn't decide whether I was disappointed not to have some eye candy while being questioned, or relieved not to have to be reminded of the rejection. This guy, though big, was balding, with shaggy eyebrows and a droopy mustache which wasn't large enough to be called "walrus" but was kind of the same general idea. He looked disheveled and old, and tired, and smelled like cheap cigarettes.

"Hey there, kid." Did people really call adults 'kid' outside of bad TV shows? "'M Joe Anderson, police inspector." He flashed a badge. "Gotta coupl'a things t'ask ya. You seen any of these people before?"

He tossed a sheet down onto the bar, which I picked up. It had nine different photos printed on it.

"Let's see... the top left one is the guy Detective Beaufort was asking about when he was here a few months back. Don't know that one, or that one... Bottom center was here in the restaurant four or five months ago, and I saw him on the street a bit later. He gained a lot of weight in between -- muscle, not fat. Don't know that one, and -- huh?"

I looked at Inspector Anderson. "That's Detective Beaufort."

He looked right back at me. "Yeah, it is."

He took the sheet back. "Okay, so Detective Beaufort was here, and you talked. Did he mention sommun named Scott Gwinnett?"

I swallowed. "Uh, that's me. I'm Scott Gwinnett."

The Inspector's stare got about three times as hard. "Yeah, 'm gonna ask you to come to the station with me, kid."

Part 7

[HugestFuckGod]

Wow, this is one also becoming on of my favorite stories!

[tekuno]

Originally Posted by HugestFuckGod

Wow, this is one also becoming on of my favorite stories!

I'm glad you're enjoying them both. (And, I hope, Caveman.) It looks like Caveman is probably going to finish first, just given the different rates at which the stories are progressing, but I'm a lousy estimator, and it will be a while before any of them are complete.

Tonight, if I have time, I'm going to work on the short story I've mentioned, though. I started it weeks ago, got all the way up to the muscle growth scene, and then stopped, which means there's about half of the text left to write. With luck, tomorrow night I'll finish it up and post it. It's a muscle theft story, and -- technically, although it isn't really the point -- a snuff story. I'm trying to write a wider range of stuff, and there really aren't enough good muscle theft stories. (And a couple of good ones get started and then get abandoned -- there was one on this board years back called Top Dog Takedown which had a really great beginning, and then-- nothing.)

Actually, I had another idea the other day, and lost it again before I could write it down, which sucks. Maybe I should try to write a murder mystery next. With a cat in it. And recipes.

Actually, if I could come up with an idea for a crime into which I could cram muscle growth, I would be tempted to write a murder mystery. It would be kind of fun to try, even if writing a mystery is (theoretically) much more difficult than writing just a plain story. I'll have to think about it.

[nvb2]

I'm still interested in finding out where this one is going. Thanks for keeping yourself so busy!