In Corpore Sano - Part 8

[tekuno]

Sorry for the delay. I had this mostly ready a couple of days ago, but on the advice of the person I've been RP-ing with, I held onto it to proofread, and discovered that this was a tremendously good idea. Awkward phrasings everywhere, a couple of seriously unclear sections, and lots of typos. So even though this was delayed, it's probably better than it would have been otherwise.

The next part of Caveman sometime soon!

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In Corpore Sano
Part 9

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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Over the next several days, I found that the larger size of my body was not merely a long-lasting pump, but genuine muscle growth. I had increases in size and strength to every muscle group; my chest measurement jumped by a whole three quarters of an inch, and my arms by half an inch, with similar increases elsewhere. When I actually had a pump, I was now one impressive piece of meat. I was jacking off in the gym bathrooms after each workout, now, staring down at my body.

But a little voice in the back of my head reminded me that, no matter how good I might look, Paul had been even better. He probably was even more magnificent now than he had been.

I was almost tempted to dismiss the whole incident as a waking dream brought on by lust. Certainly when I ran through my memories of Paul's body in the shower, I was instantly turned on and hard as a rock. Even at work, I had to be careful; twice in my shift the day after the workout, I drifted into a reverie on the subject of Paul's muscles and ended up having to make a trip to the bathroom. The objection to this notion was my new size -- that was certainly no dream; since I had begun to record my own progress, I even had photos and numbers from my scale to show the disconnect between my size of the week before and my new size -- to say nothing of increases to my maximum weights at various exercises.

Thinking it over, the way I had been acting was consistent with the idea that I had somehow been drugged. That would partially explain the muscle growth (although I had grown more than I would have thought possible, even with the assistance of drugs, in a single day). But how on earth could that have happened? I dismissed the idea that Paul had somehow managed to put something in my protein shakes; he hadn't even come near me while I was drinking, and it was utterly implausible that he could have drugged all the shakes in the machine on the off chance that I would buy one. It would have meant drugging random strangers all day as well -- and I didn't often buy protein shakes from the gym anyway.

He certainly hadn't fed me anything -- the only thing I had ingested during the workout (disregarding the protein shakes) had been water from a bottle filled at my home tap -- and he hadn't injected me with anything. I also rejected the notion that he had managed to put something in the ventilation system; aside from the standing objection to the idea of drugging the whole gym, there was no way he could have known in advance that I would be present.

The whole thing was mysterious.

I remained ambivalent, but in a new way. Before, I had merely been torn between Paul's creepy personality and his increasingly hot body. Now both sides of the equation had been reinforced. Paul's creepiness had jumped an order of magnitude by his... attack, for lack of a better word, in the shower. But his hotness had also increased. I had also been made bigger and sexier -- which made me feel great, and made me want more -- but since I wasn't sure of the mechanism, I had no way of knowing what sort of price I might end up paying for the boost. Every drug has side effects sooner or later, whether they appear as higher blood pressure, organ failure, or some other long-term debility. But -- when I looked at the veins which now stood out on my big, bodybuilder arms, I just wanted more. I couldn't be sure, but even my cock seemed larger, although that might have been a combination of my imagination and the degree to which I was turned on.

Contrary to my earlier policy, I was now actually hoping for Paul to turn up at the gym. At this point, sex with Paul in the showers seemed like a reasonable exchange for information (and possibly another boost). But true to form, now that I wanted to see him, he didn't show up.

After a few days, my new security system was installed. I breathed a sigh of relief; the watcher, whoever it was, had been there every night since my encounter with Paul. It was good to know that there would be repercussions for any attempt to do more than merely watch.

Meanwhile, I once again had to buy new outfits, but it was actually something of a pleasure. And even the new clothes seemed to outline my body in new and erotic ways. I went from being the most popular of our bartenders to being an active draw to the location -- people were coming to the restaurant just to gawk at me. At the end of three weeks, I was swamped with customers every night I worked. Had I not held to my rigid policy of avoiding customers, I could have been bringing home new men -- and, of course, women -- every night. In most cases, though, I wasn't tempted. Between my own body and my memories of Paul's intense sexiness, most customers were disappointingly small, even the ones who clearly spent some time in the gym. Now that I had a taste of real muscle, I wanted more of it.

There were no further visits from the police; I gradually stopped wondering about Detective Beaufort's fate. Dead or alive, there was nothing much I could do about him. And my feelings of lust for Paul's body were so overpowering that romance was a secondary consideration.

My workouts had become so intense now that I tended to attract a small audience, albeit in the form of not-so-discreet ogling from the surrounding areas. One day, a few weeks later, I realized as I racked a 405-pound bar at the bench -- not even my highest lift for reps, now; I may not have been the biggest guy at the gym yet but I was almost certainly the strongest -- that I had been fantasizing. I wanted Paul to come out. I wanted to discover that he was once again bigger. I wanted him to take me into the showers and to have sex with him, and then to discover that I, too, had become bigger as a result. As I sat up, I realized that there were more watchers than usual, and that -- although they turned their heads and averted their gazes -- they had all been staring at my crotch. I had a hard-on. A very big one, visibly gigantic and sexy (if you swing that way) through my shorts.

Well, what about it? It was still inside my shorts, not offending anyone or violating the gym dress code. It's not like anyone could look at me and imagine that I wasn't male, or didn't have genitals. I flexed a few times in the mirror and admired myself. I wondered how much extra muscle I had managed to add since the boost -- half an inch? It was certainly a lot. I was definitely growing at an accelerated rate, and the results were fantastic.

My erection was fantastic, too, I decided. I may not have been hung like Paul, but I was still pretty big. Well above average, if the statistics were to be trusted.

In fact, I was astonished to discover that I was not only showing off, but enjoying it. All my life I had been shy and subdued. Now, I was a huge stud, and I wanted people to see and admire me. I made a mental note to buy some new workout gear that showed my body off to better advantage; I had an audience, I might as well give them what they wanted to see!

Over the following few weeks, I made small but significant changes to my clothing, even outside the gym, and found that I liked it. I started wearing shirts with no sleeves, and cut-out sides, and tank-tops. I tried to stand straighter, hold my chest out, walk a little less self-effacingly. I let myself think erotic thoughts more often and enjoyed catching people staring at my crotch. Every night, I wanked myself to sleep, thinking of my own body and fantasizing about Paul's.

The growth continued as well. To my amazement, in the two months following my encounter with Paul, I put on even more size than I had gained in the phenomenal boost I received that day. It was a shocking transformation. I was now, as far as I knew, the biggest guy at the gym -- with the possible exception of Paul, who still was not around. Even the rate at which I was growing was itself growing.

Looking back, now, I see that the changes to my life as a result were incredibly visible and yet in some ways superficial. The more of an exhibitionist I became at the gym, the more it leaked into the rest of my life. I was, without question, huge and hot. I flexed conspicuously at work, found excuses to remove my shirt when possible, got a new and more interesting haircut, started wearing some of my workout gear outside the gym, and bought clothing which accentuated my increasingly massive muscles.

At the same time, though, although I was almost delirious over the state of my own body, and uncontrollably horny for another session with Paul, my sex life remained practically nonexistent. The only sexual partner I had was my own hand. The bigger I got, the smaller everyone else seemed to be, and the less desire I had to spend any time with them. In many ways I was becoming an arrogant musclehead, but the lack of sex life kept me grounded through a sort of despair.

I would estimate that I was spending at least 6 hours out of every day with an erection. Not, that is to say, 6 hours straight of priapism, which would indicate a medical problem of some kind, but frequent individual erections when I noticed my own muscles or fantasized about Paul, which was happening more and more. Far from causing me problems, this seemed to make my life even better. I speculated that it was contributing to -- or a side effect of, possibly -- my ever-increasing gym performance and muscle growth. It felt great. I looked good to me (and who else mattered, under the circumstances?). And it seemed to give my fans at work an extra little something to pull in orders -- and tips.

One day, a little over three whole months since I had last seen Paul, I was doing seated shoulder presses at the gym. I was using one of "my" pairs of dumbbells; at my request, the owners had reluctantly expanded the selection all the way to 250 pounds, but nobody else was strong enough to use anything above 170. I was able to use practically all of them, although the number of exercises I could do dropped as the weights rose. This did not go unnoticed by the people around me; I was now competition quality, no question, and you could tell which people at the gym really liked muscle by the way they would need to run for the bathroom when they saw me using the weights from the new section of the rack.

I bulged almost obscenely in every way; the feeling of the pump I was getting that day was amazing, and my huge muscles were gradually tearing their way through my purposely-too-tight shirt. As I struggled to force the weights up one last time, I closed my eyes with the effort, grunting as the weights were forced into the air. I let the weights fall forward, dragging me into a crouch -- the gym management had informed me that the new weights were being provided only on the condition that I obeyed the "Please Do Not Drop Weights" signs -- and lugged them to the rack.

Then I stood and flexed in the mirror. I was really beginning to regret that I had no serious equipment at home. My pump made me look almost superhuman, and I wanted to worship myself in ways which the gym would never allow. I wanted to masturbate into the mirror. I wanted to grope myself, to feel the size and bulk of my muscles in my hands. Paul was not available -- well, so what? I was better than Paul, now! And without being all creepy and smarmy!

I tore my attention away from my reflection, my cock pushing out the waistband of my shorts to a degree which might be considered objectionable. And that was when I saw Paul. He was standing in the entryway to the weight area.

Had I really just thought that I was better than Paul? He was a figure out of my fantasies now. He must have been half a foot taller than me, but even more incredibly huge. His muscles bulged almost impossibly -- I wouldn't have thought that anyone of his size lived in the city, or maybe even anywhere at all. By comparison, I was small. And he was big all over, too -- the bulge in his shorts was huge. That didn't matter -- all the horniness I had built up was immediately directed towards Paul instead of myself.

Oddly, though, he hadn't even noticed me yet.

Part 10

[convolution]

Great job
I love it when the writing is so good that you just see the whole huge, sweaty, muscular thing unfold in your head.

[nnnrg]

Shouldn't this be chapter 9? (somehow my comment got posted on chapter 7)

[tekuno]

Originally Posted by nnnrg

Shouldn't this be chapter 9? (somehow my comment got posted on chapter 7)

Hmmmm. Oh, drat.

*pulls out old-fashioned watch on chain and starts swinging*

You are getting sleepy. You are getting very sleepy. You are asleep. When I snap my fingers three times, you will awaken and you will believe that this thread was always named "In Corpore Sano - Part Nine". You will believe that it was only a figment of your imagination that it was named "Part 8". You will wake now.

*snap* *snap* *snap*

(Sorry; I keep all this in a single file in BBEdit and every time I start a new section, I copy and paste the header -- the "content warnings" thing, the list of previous chapters, and the title -- to the bottom of the file. Last time, I updated the list of previous chapters but didn't alter the number, and then just started writing. And when I pasted it into the browser to make the thread, I just based the thread name on the part number at the top.)

(Just great -- a whole new way I can screw things up. Just what I needed.)

[nnnrg]

Silly boy. If you put me to sleep I'll just snore too loud to hear your suggestions.

Besides I've done the same thing before in situations where I could NOT edit the thing I'd put up already.

[Eliswansigurado]

May I have more please sir?

[tekuno]

Eventually. (See my explanation for why this hasn't been happening, if you're interested, here.)

...drat. I just realized I've forgotten a bunch of BBCode since I last wrote anything for this board.