Jeff & Mike


By Cleety

So Jeff says - dude, I'm sorry I disappeared from your life, yadda yadda. "But see what I've been dealing with? I'm different now. I've got to figure a lot of things out. Like whether you're gonna be with me, or not."

Shit, I'm thinking, is that why I'm here? You called me out to officially break up with me?? My second thought is, "Fuck! Don't show me this, don't yank my chain by showing me you've turned into the biggest goddamn muscle-freak fantasy of my most secret id, and then break up with me -- you sonofabitch!!"

Luckily, he goes on, explains that's not what he means. He says the formula he was working on panned out -- well, duh, obviously! Jeff could be fucking moron sometimes, for a guy with a 176 IQ. Anyway, he says he always knew he was gonna try it on himself first, but he didn't want anyone to know about it. Not his grant people, not the government, not the university, not his hero-worshipping muscle twink assistant Brandon, nobody. Especially not me; he knew nobody, least of all me, would let him do something so reckless. So he rented out this place, moved his equipment in, and injected the fomula into his own ass one night.

"At first nothing happened. Then - well, everything happened." His green eyes (about the only recognizable feature on him, still so sweet and mischievous!) get cloudy, and he looks to the floor. A weird shudder erupted on the surface of his delts and traps, rippling them in quick involuntary waves, like he was recalling something so fucking awful that it made him shiver.

"It was the worst…most excruciating…most unbearable pain I ever imagined. More than I ever thought any human could live through! I thought I was gonna die - I even wanted to. It felt like - and I figured out later that's probably exactly what it was, or something damn close - it felt like every rep, every set of every workout I had ever had in my life, or ever COULD have, was happening ALL AT THE SAME TIME! Did you ever imagine, I mean REALLY imagine, what it must be like for those dudes in the middle ages who were stretched on the rack --? I mean, for real…how each turn of the winch pulled the ropes on your wrists higher, higher, while your ankles are pulled the other way, and all your joints and tendons and muscles start to rip apart one by one --?"

I almost threw up. What an asshole, right? Who wants to hear this about ligaments cracking, and meat being torn from its tendons, and the bundled fibers of cells untwining and ripping apart? Not me…"Aww, fuck, do you mind?"

"I'm not trying to gross you out, man - I'm just trying to tell you, honestly and the only way I know how what I --" he trailed off here, and when he began speaking again his voice was real quiet. "What I…went through."

His expression is absolutely serious and sincere; I know that this means he's in deadly earnest. He usually showed a jokey side, but when he was serious he could break your heart. I began to contemplate the implications of what he's saying: Jeffie - MY Jeffie really was in this much agony…! Anyway he goes on.

"Technically, what was happening was, my body was growing by the minute, the same as if I was working it out harder and harder, every day for years - each ache, each swollen pump, each fiber-ripping repetition, each gut-churning burn deep in the muscle bellies… you know that ache, the kind that hits your quads three days after a grueling, heavy leg workout?" I nod; I know the feeling well. "Well, imagine that pain, stacked on top of the pain from every one of those workouts you'd ever have in your whole life, added up, coming all at once, collapsed into the span of a few days…a few hours, even."

I couldn't. Imagine it, that is. But I thought I could at the time, so I nodded.

"My bones were breaking and dissolving and reassembling themselves, to be longer and thicker and heavier, so as to anchor the exploding muscular mass. My muscles were tearing themselves apart and knitting themselves back together, generating the maximum cellular growth that my DNA could possibly allow. That's what my formula does - it brings out MAXIMUM GENETIC POTENTIAL. I, of course, thought I was dying.

And as I writhed there, I thought of you, buddy - how I was dying, how I wasn't going to ever see your hot white butt any more, or lick your sweet cock, or feel your warm tongue massaging the crest of my biceps for hours on end, ever again -- 'cause I'm lying here dying…" I started to maybe think that he wasn't just being the world's biggest asshole, when he disappeared on me like that, the big lug.

"Then the pain would suddenly pass, and I'd start to get up, and then another spasm would hit me and I'd be blinded with the pain again, my body jerking like I was getting struck by lightning again and again, rolling on this cold concrete floor. I could feel - literally, feel - the veins and arteries growing and stretching and branching out through the meat inside my limbs, ploughing like burrowing worms into the new flesh that was being laid down, desperate to irrigate whole vast, new areas of muscle with oxygen and nutrients. And I ate - whenever it ebbed, I staggered to the fridge -" He nodded; I noticed for the first time that there was a deep-freezer in the corner, in fact, a whole living space, with futons, and shit scattered around.

"I wolfed down every scrap of food I had brought in here, to last me months! Gallons of protein powder, a whole side of frozen beef…a flat full of eggs! See, I was insatiably hungry, but when I'd eaten as much as my stomach could hold, I would fall down again and get hit with another barrage of muscle-ripping, skin-tearing, bone-snapping agony. This went on; I don't know - Weeks? Who the fuck cares; it was torture."

Anyway he says, it finally stopped, and he finally woke up, and the pain was gone, except for a certain residual soreness. It was like the worst flu, or the worst cramps you ever had, but compared to what had gone before, it was easy. Then he slept some more, and even that went away. And long/short, he gets up and discovers that he's this fuck-jacked muscle machine I see before me now.

Once he was sure he wasn't going to grow anymore, and that the pain was truly over, he got up and "took stock". Which was a mind-blowing experience, I gather. Basically, he spent a glorious week or so exploring the outer limits of his new masculinity, figuring out what this new bod of his is all about -- flexing as hard as he could, making make-shift iron weights out of the industrial detritus of this old factory to test his strength. Jeff liked telling me this part; he got a twinkle in his eyes cause it gave him a chance to tell me how strong he now is -- i.e., stronger than me, at last.

He looked around the warehouse and saw all this old abandoned equipment, tons of it. We're talking, iron what IS iron. Black, rusted, and HEAVY. Huge industrial chains, with links big enough to hoist a ship's anchor. Giant locomotive wheels - like manholes I guess, only big as tabletops. Piles of bolts and rivets and twisted bars lying in scrap heaps. He commenced to, like, completely OVERPOWER this industrial-strength shit, bending the bars, ripping open the chains, snapping the wheels in two. Sometimes, he said "it would take a while. I mean, I've got 35-inch biceps, but fuck, we're talking maybe two, three thousand pounds of steel. So I'd just keep crushing, or lifting or whatever, and watch as my muscles swell up, and the veins would snake up, and the fibers of my muscles would start shaking and vibrating, commanding the blood to get in there, inflate it up with hot living tissue, getting my muscle bigger so it can do the job. And usually, after ten or fifteen minutes, the iron'd give. Mike -- I can bend fucking I-BEAM GIRDERS, dude!!" I bet you can, you fucker, I hissed silently. "It's fucking INTENSE, dude, being this jacked! It's like being on some mind-blowing drug, all the time!"

Uhhhh, yeah…that I can imagine.

So then he tells me, after however long of exploring his new power, he's pretty much out of food, so he figures "I better go get some." Plus, he's horny as hell, and dying to show himself off. "It's like a primal need for me now - like eating, sleeping, whatever…showing off is something my body tells me I've got to do on a regular basis, or it just won't be happy." So, zonked out of his mind on the endorphine rush he's getting out of being so jacked, he spends a lot of time - weeks, I don't know, to hear him tell it - just walking through the city, sometimes doing shit to disguise his bulk with blankets and tarps, till he gets to the beach or a gay gym. He'd go to Santa Monica and flex in the sunshine while little kids shrieked and ran to their parents telling of "the monster." He went over to UCLA to cruise and humiliate the rich straight fratboy jocks, who thought they were such hot shit….but as young and hot and cute and worshipful as these jocks were, Jeff told me he wasn't enjoying it…they were just too damn small, he explained. Even a 200-pound polevaulter he found practicing shirtless one muggy night at the deserted track - the guy is a fucking tower of sun-kissed California hardness, right, handsome as hell and strong as shit, and a real show-off too - just the kind of guy Jeff used to be himself, and coincidentally - ahem - the kind of guy he usually flipped for.

But now, to Jeff, this super-strong young college jock just seems like a little boy. He shrugged and left the guy there, on the track, weeping into his hands as he kneeled in a pool of his own cum.

Then he remembered LA has a big bodybuilder beach, and muscle pit, at Venice -- you know, the famous one where everyone got their start as bodybuilders back in the 50's. So he goes, and every top bodybuilder is there, working out - and Jeff, who after all was a bit muscle-obsessed to begin with, remember -- finally figures out why he'd been unsatisfied with the usual jock-dude muscleboys he used to favor. He realizes, "bodybuilders are the only possible people on earth who could begin to imagine what it must feel like to have my kind of body. When you're THIS overbuilt, you can't even relate to someone unless you feel they can comprehend how good it feels. They are the only ones with minds sufficiently attuned to muscle to appreciate what a god I've become. And they're the only ones who can even begin to fathom the pain, the effort, the will it took to get this big. Remember, even though it seems like I've grown "by magic", the truth is my cells and my metabolism had to do the damn work to GET this big, just in a more collapsed time frame."

I looked him over carefully - tried to comprehend the incredible strength that must go along with all that teeming musculature.

"Consequently, from now on, I will only have sex with champion bodybuilders. And more than that. These freaks, who a year ago wouldn't give me the time of day, are now going to be my slaves. These champions among champions, the hugest, freakiest, roid-pumped, chem-grown bodybuilders, who are more muscular than any other male humans in history - them, I'm bigger than. Them, I can fuck, if I want; them, I can order around. Them I can fucking hypnotize, because their whole psyche is devoted to muscle anyway, and they're obsessed by it anyway, and then along comes a guy like ME, and, well…!!" He flexed again, as if to make his point. He didn't fuckin' have to. I shot again.

"WHOOOaah, dude - another load? Guess you HAVE been missing me!" Asshole! That's just the kind of cocky thing Jeff would say. •

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