The Wright Stuff

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i've been fantasizing about this scenario for a long, long time, and i finally had to get it down on (virtual) paper...i hope you guys enjoy it as much as i have.




I've never been much of...well, anything. I'm as brutally average as they come. I'm not handsome but I'm not ugly; I'm not athletic but I'm not a complete klutz. I'm just...meh. Except for one thing: I have exceptional powers of persuasion.

I've also been a diehard New York Mets fan for as long as I could remember. As a twentysomething gay man, my wildest dreams were realized that July day in 2004 when David Wright made his big league debut. My sweet lord, what wasn't to like about him? Well, I could really see him being bigger...a lot bigger...with more attitude, more flair.

So I decided to do something about it.

After years of failed nonsense schemes, I managed to win a Shea Stadium clubhouse visit as part of a charity auction. I'd be allowed to hang out in the locker room before a home game and meet all of my favorite players, including David. I was in heaven. I also knew I had very much a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, and I had to take advantage of it.

The day of my experience finally came after months of being strung along by team PR toadies. I arrived at the ballpark at 3:00 for a 7:05 game, and was given a guided tour of the Shea innards before finally arriving at the locker room. The intern assigned to me told me to hang tight, that the players should start trickling in any time.

I was practically causing a seismic event with my nervous trembling, waiting with breathless anticipation for David to make his entrance. Several agonizing minutes after I took a seat on a couch in the middle of the locker room, it was showtime: David Wright had entered the building.

The intern tapped me on the shoulder and gestured for me to follow him. "Excuse me, David?" he said to the star third baseman. "This is Chris, he won the auction."

I was frozen with adoration. David extended his hand. "Good to meet you, man."

"I..er...um...thanks," was all I could manage. Part of it was an act, to be sure, but a lot of the anxiety was genuine. I turned to the intern. "Do you, um, mind if I have a moment alone with David?"

The intern looked at David, who nodded nonchalantly, and the intern stepped away. Game on.

"David, I just have to say, I love watching you play. I've been rooting for you since the day they drafted you."

Number five flashed that All-Star smile that's been making the rounds on magazine covers and tabloid back pages more and more often. "Thanks, bro," he said sincerely. "I'm just doing what I love to do."

"I can tell." Focus, I told myself. I had a job to do. I locked onto his stunning eyes. "Listen, David, you should think about getting bigger. I think it would really help your power numbers."

Suddenly, the larger-than-life figure was swimming in a sea of hypnotic confusion. "Yeah..." he said weakly. "Bigger."

It was time to shift into a higher gear. "I know this guy," I said, slipping a phone number into the pocket of his very expensive button-down shirt. "He can hook you up. He can also get you set up with some tattoo artists, maybe a barber...hey, is it true you like to chew?"

By now, I had as much control of this grown man as I would if he were an android hard-wired to respond to my thoughts. "Uh, yeah, I..."

"You should do it more. During the games. It really makes you look like more of a man. You need to be more of a man. I could really go for a guy like you if you put some effort into it. Just let the testosterone flow, dude."

The seed had been planted. I could already feel it sprouting. "I will..." David said, eyes still locked with mine.

My work was done. "Alright bro, I gotta run, but give my buddy a call. He'll get you all set up. And tell him to put you in touch with me once you're really a man."

"Real man..." he said. Victory.

I broke my stare, and he shook his head involuntarily, his mind trying in vain to clear the cobwebs I had so expertly erected in his fragile psyche. I walked out of the clubhouse and made my way to my seat for the game.

Sure enough, I noticed results immediately. When he took the field in the top of the first inning, I could see very clearly a massive wad of chewing tobacco protruding from his cheek. Every time he spit, I felt a stirring in my cock. Sometimes he didn't even manage to hit the ground, so as the game progressed, his snow white uniform became stained with brown splotches where his lines of chaw juice had soaked in.

I decided not to follow his progress in real time. Instead, I'd wait until the beginning of the next season to see if my work had really paid off.

Winter came and spring followed, and with unprecedented excitement I sat down in a field box at Shea Stadium for opening day. When the team emerged from the dugout at game time, I almost passed out.

There at third base, before my eyes, stood a massive, hulking figure. Where once had stood a finely tuned muscle machine now played home to a juiced up monster. My "buddy" was a top-flight steroids dealer, who had obviously provided David with some of the world's most potent (and least detectable) steroids and growth hormones. David seemed to take pride in the fact that he was now at least 75 pounds heavier than he had been before our encounter, as evidenced by the fact that his white uniform with blue pinstripes clung to his bulging muscles like a wetsuit. He had biceps that had to be 26" around at the absolute least, connected to a set of forearms that were bigger than most mens' thighs. His neck had blossomed into an almost grotesque pair of bloated, powerful traps, merging seamlessly with a head now razor shaved bald. The shiny dome included a set of roid folds that made Barry Bonds look like a ballerina. All over his body, from ankle to shoulder, tattoos had sprung up, some intricate tribal designs, some so trashy they'd make a trailer park wigger blush. And just like before, in his cheek, an obscenely large mound of chaw bulged out.

I don't know how I managed to avoid orgasming right there in my seat. And as if it couldn't get any better, he was walking towards me.

"Hey bro," the barbarian called out, his once soft, sweet voice now a deep, rumbling tribute to testosterone. "I was hoping you'd be here."

I couldn't manage a word. I just smiled and half-waved.

"Come to the locker room after the game. Tell them your name and they'll be expecting you." Then he rumbled back toward the infield, ham-sized thighs rolling around each other like a set of pistons inside a freight train.

After the game (in which the newly-massive Wright hit three home runs, all of which made it at least 500 feet from home plate) I wandered towards the clubhouse. I was stopped by an attendant, who asked for ID. I presented my driver's license, he checked it against a list and stood aside. "Mr. Wright is expecting you, sir. Go right in."

The locker room was curiously empty. I must have taken a long time mustering up the willpower to go down there. When I rounded the corner into the main area, my nostrils were stung by the odor of cigar smoke. I hoped it was coming from where I thought it might be coming from, and sure enough, a lone figure remained: David Wright, all 315 juiced pounds of him, sat naked on the leather sofa, blue-white smoke from a gigantic cigar obscuring the air around his completely tattooed body. The fluorescent lights were reflected in his smooth head.

"Am I man enough for you now?" he said, voice like thunder, in between puffs of his stogie.

I practically ran to him, stripping off my clothes like they were on fire, and as I began to explore every inch of the caricature I had created, I couldn't help but wonder what Jose Reyes would look like after a meeting with me.

[cigarmuscleman]

hell yea! love the cigar ending! more please! tats and gars!

[TGilders]

I love me some David Wright, but I think most of his appeal comes from his All-American, Boy Next Door "Aw, shucks" attitude. I'd love to see him bigger; but monsterous, shaved and covered in tats? Ehh, not really. And chew is just nasty. Nice to see other guys are obsessed with #5 too, though.

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Originally Posted by TGilders

I love me some David Wright, but I think most of his appeal comes from his All-American, Boy Next Door "Aw, shucks" attitude. I'd love to see him bigger; but monsterous, shaved and covered in tats? Ehh, not really. And chew is just nasty. Nice to see other guys are obsessed with #5 too, though.

that's the whole point. it's a complete role reversal, and it forces you to use your imagination for what it would look like. believe me, i'm not wishing for him to show up tongiht looking like phillies-era lenny dykstra, it's just fun to imagine how things could be.

[arcm_3]

loved this story! seeing wright beefed up would be so hot!