Drawing Ambition - Parts I & II

[racecar]

First of all, I rarely write fiction. I wrote this first part on a whim a couple of months ago. Tekuno's recent stories have been great (imho), and inspired me to try to finish it. I'm a really slow writer, but I'm thinking I can manage at least one new part each week. I'm still figuring out the particulars for the rest of the story; at least I've started the next part! Feedback would definitely be appreciated.

There won't be any incest, under-aged sex, macro, or anthro (nothing wrong with those, they just don't do anything for me). There might be sex scenes with women, though the majority of them will be with other men.

....

Drawing Ambition

-Part I-
Thomas pushed his chair back from his desk and leaned back, rubbing his eyes. He looked through the opening of his cubicle to the window. "I'm lucky to be near a window," he thought ruefully. His job wasn't terrible; the pay was decent, his co-workers were nice enough, the higher-ups thought about more than the bottom-line, but it was boring.

In his more honest moments, Thomas could admit it: his whole life was boring. He never told anyone how he felt, thinking he would just sound whiny. Things were going well, after all. Well, nothing was bad, in any case.

Watching people eat lunch in the little park across the road, he had a realization, the kind you feel down to your bones. "Just okay" wasn't okay. He didn't want his life to look the same year after year. His circumstances hadn't changed much in the last seven years. "Oh man, I haven't done anything important since graduating college. What am I doing?"

Feeling the need to do something different right that moment, he took his lunch break half an hour early, grabbed his bag, and walked over to the park. The sun warmed and relaxed him, like he was thawing out after being in the cold A/C of the office too long. He sat down at an empty picnic table under a tree and started eating. "I don't know why I never did this before," he thought. The sun, the fresh air, seeing the clouds drift along, feeling the breeze against his skin - he couldn't remember the last time everything seemed so... open. Free. If opportunities were doors, whole wings became accessible right then.

"You can't just do anything," a voice broke into his reverie. The voice of reason, sounding suspiciously like his mother, had kept him out of trouble over the years. "But I've let it keep me from even thinking about what I might want," he admitted. Anger flared up within him, he wasn't going to let fear make all his decisions anymore.

Another train of thought pulled into his consciousness: "What do I want, anyway? And what time is it?" He checked his phone - time to go back to work. He sighed, "I suppose I'll have to start figuring that out when I get home."

-Part II-
Thomas was never one of the popular kids, or the guy who stands out in a group. He was a likeable guy; generally quiet, but quick with a clever joke. About average height at 5'11", he stayed around 190-200lbs, though he'd been told he looked closer to 175-180lbs. He didn't workout regularly, aside from getting around by bicycle. He'd become conscientious about what he ate a couple of years ago when his weight hit an all-time high of 275lbs. He wasn't unattractive, but his features were not wholly remarkable either. In his opinion, his best features were his hair, which was brown, with a sort of golden sheen to it, and his eyes were an almost uncanny shade of blue, like sapphires. The few girls he had been intimate with had repeatedly said how amazing his eyes were. He went to a lot of movies, collected records, and would sometimes pull out his sketchbooks to draw.

As he drove home that evening, he decided at the very least, he could start drawing everyday again. After dinner, he sat down on his bed and pulled out his sketchbooks. When he was 15 years old, he started keeping two sketchbooks at any given time. One he showed to people and one he kept private. Very private. He didn't even show it to the girls he'd slept with. Because there weren't just girls in it.

Thomas had never had sex with another man. He didn't know how to go about meeting a guy. Going to a gay club or bar was out - he felt uncomfortable enough the rare times he ended up in a regular bar. But he certainly thought about having sex with a guy as much as he thought about it with women. For him, what was between a person's legs didn't matter that much; he looked for... other qualities.

As he flipped through his private sketchbook, he was locked in the same emotional tug-of-war he always found himself in. Quickly becoming aroused by his drawings, until he thought about someone finding them. He was convinced anyone who saw them would be disgusted or wonder what was wrong with him. Most of the time, he could put those feelings aside. He reminded himself there wasn't anyone there to judge him right then.

A dancer, nude, body taut with effort, lithe muscles flexed, drawn with a sensuous attention to detail. Studies of different parts of the body, focused on a particular muscle group. A girl in her early 20's, looking at her newly developed biceps in a mirror - he imagined she was thinking she might be a fitness model someday. An Olympic swimmer in mid-stroke, his back spring-loaded, his arms poised to cut through the water. A thick man holding a huge amount of weight over his head, his shirt pulled up showing his gut, snarling at the pain. Sketches of people of all shapes and sizes, but always strong-looking or muscular - posing, showing their strength, displaying their powerful bodies, doing things real people couldn't do.

Thomas's erection was intense, almost painful. "I haven't looked at the book in months," he reasoned, getting to a blank page. He ran the palm of his hand lightly over the large bulge in his pants, his whole body tingling with sexual energy and the possibilities of the blank page. An idea came to him, one he would have immediately discarded most days. But that day was different. He got up from his bed, moving purposefully, and snapped a photo of himself. After bringing it up on his computer, he sat down at his desk, pull out a pencil, and began.

There was no thinking while he drew, no second-guessing, no fear. Just placing the lines, building up form and shape. Time passed, unheeded. His pencil stopped suddenly, knowing the drawing was finished. Shaking his head to get back to normal consciousness, he looked at the drawing like he was seeing it for the first time.

It was his face, with slightly more defined features, but that's where the similarities ended. The body, *his* body, was magnificent, godly. Locked in an abs/thigh pose, biceps mounded up so thick they touched his ears, lats spreading out outrageously, tapering down to a waist so tight and packed with muscle that it could take a blow from a sledgehammer with ease. His calves stuck out at least three inches on either side of his legs. His quads were as bigger than kegs. His cock looked steel-hard, with several thick veins running along it, and muscular enough to lift a heavy partner right up while fucking. Every muscle bulged, veins pumping them up huge with power, skin wrapped tight, showing every cut and striation.

He hadn't studied his work long when he lost all control and pumped out the biggest load of cum he'd ever shot. His cock was still achingly hard after, so he pulled it out and started stroking it. His cum made it feel even better, as he went back to looking at his drawing. "Fuck, look at those muscles, so massive. Skin so tight because I'm growing so fast. My bi's are so pumped up, they feel like they're gonna erupt, burst through my skin. Unh, yeah, gotta grow even more, get bigger and bigger. Get even tighter, thicker, stronger. Gonna be the strongest. The biggest. And I'll keep growing. I wanna my biceps to crash into my fists when I flex, then pump higher and hig-unhhhhh, fuuuuuck!" He came again, even harder, shot after shot landing on his chest.

Spent, he slumped in his chair, breathing hard. When he could think again, he said aloud, "I... I gotta get big."

[LeatherMuscle]

More more mroe more more more!!! Make him huge huger then he dreams ohh hell yeah!!

[nnnrg]

That last line is perfect.

[tekuno]

Oh, the possibilities... I can think of three different ways you could extend this, all of them good. Keep going! (And if it takes you months, then it takes you months. Different writers work at different speeds, and there's nothing to be done about it. Whatsisname, the guy who founded the New Yorker, Harold Ross, constantly worried about whether he was compensating his writers fairly because some of them could write at lightning speed and others took months to finish a few pages -- should he pay them by the word and potentially screw over the slow writers, or pay by the amount of apparent effort taken and potentially screw over the fast ones? He never came up with a totally satisfactory answer, and his whole career was based in it. If it can baffle the professionals, it can certainly baffle us.)

Oh, and thanks for the compliment. I'm happy you like my work, and also happy that I'm inspiring other people to write as well.