By Voyager

Chuck was as good as his word when he said that he wanted to grow some more and that I would be involved. Whether he considered me his good luck charm or just wanted to keep humiliating me, I’m not sure. I can’t say I dreaded everything he did…I did have that muscle fetish, after all. Still, I wanted it to be on my terms, and it wasn’t.

I got a good workout nonetheless. I contorted into positions that I never thought I could, and never really wanted to again, all to satisfy his ego. He wanted to bench all the weight I had in the house AND me, so, after he effortlessly straightened out the barbell bar he had used to bind me, he piled all the weight he could and had me sit on the bar as he benched it. I had to hold on to the barbell again as he one arm curled the barbell with me hanging off of it. I had to physically sit on his pecs with weights on my lap so he could do crunches ‘with a little bit of resistance’. Each time he shocked and amazed me with his strength. Each time he reveled in showing me the results of his workout.

Each one of those exercises produced the desired result as well. Chuck grew from his 7’6” height to beyond 8’ then beyond 9’. In each effort he grew bigger as well, with his chest approaching or at 100”, his arms nearly half that size, and his legs resembling pylons more and more. I know this because my tape measure also got quite a workout as well, stretching against his power and size at each instance of his growth.

Incredibly muscled does not even begin to describe his size. It was if a sculptor found himself with a lot of extra clay and began slapping it on randomly to his already oversized muscled statue. His voice became increasingly deeper and it seemed his growth accelerated as he grew taller, with his increases becoming proportional to his size – so if he were 8 feet tall, he would grow more in a spurt than if he were 7 foot tall. Regardless, he loomed in front of me, half smiling, half sneering as I grew more and more insignificant in respect to him. He took every moment to reinforce this as well, making sure I stood in front of him, now looking near the bottom of his cavernous abs. He seemed to enjoy showing his biceps the most, and equally enjoyed hauling me up with one hand, which he would do at the slightest suggestion.

This was the situation I was in at the present, holding on to his forearm as I literally sat on his swelling and declining bicep, hoping that I didn’t fall nearly 9 feet to the ground below. Why was I there? The explanation Chuck gave me is that ‘it helped him think’, though I knew it was more than that…he was showing off, and none better than to the person who insulted him originally. He was ‘thinking’ about what he could do next. He had exhausted my weight supply (to which he claimed an anemic octogenarian could exhaust the supply I had) and even with me on the weights, it presented him no challenge anymore. I could not disagree, with the control and power he was showing in his flexing. I might not have even been an afterthought as he methodically and relentlessly pumped me up and down.

The pumping suddenly stopped and he held his forearm straight down, a signal for me to climb down to the ground. “If we have exhausted all the weights inside, then we will have to go outside”, he said. I began to walk out the door when I was hauled up short by my shirt once again. A waggling finger was in my face, “Ut uh, little man, I won’t give you chance to escape”. He then tossed me behind him, not bothering to notice where I landed. Walking to the door, he noticed the doorframe was considerably smaller than him. He paused only momentarily and then began moving again into the doorway, breaking through the doorway and taking half the wall with him as well. At no time did he halt or even slow down, except to look behind him and say, “You might need some spackle”, which caused him great fits of laughter. I walked out after him, not laughing at the site of several thousand dollars worth of work.

He stopped at his truck. Like him…or like he was…it was a monster. Granted, I lived in a pretty rural area, but you could still hear this truck coming from a mile away. Everything on it had been supersized, and it stood nearly as tall as Chuck used to be. Now, he clearly looked over it. “This will do nicely”, he said.

Chuck knew how much that trucked weighed, and had assessed it would be a good workout if he could lift the front. Not wanting me to miss out on this ‘thrill’, he grabbed me and placed me on the hood and invited me to sit down and get comfortable. Going to the front of the monster truck, he bent his knees, then put both hands on the undercarriage. He was going to press the truck, at least its front end! As far as I could estimate, the truck was probably 2000 lbs, with maybe ¾ of that weight up front, meaning he was going to try to press around 1500 lbs. That even might be too much for him, I thought, but not said.

The first part came easily. He straightened his legs, with those columns of granite easily supporting the weight of the truck's front end. The next part was not so easy for this muscle god. He went to lift up the truck with his arms…and found he could not. Again, he tried, but with no luck. Oh, he would get the truck up a little bit, but then gravity fought back ferociously, bringing his arms down again. Each time it did he cursed, and the curses grew more vile each time. My face was impassive, but my mind raced. Were there even limits to him? Was this finally where he would gain back at least some of his former humility? I really hoped so, though at nearly 10 feet, he still would lay claim to being the biggest muscle god on the planet.

He redoubled his efforts, clamping his eyes shut and contorting his face to try to squeeze up every ounce of energy he had in his mammoth body. He began his mantra again, the one he used before, telling himself how big he was, how strong he was, how tall he was, how much better he was than anyone else, and that he would just continue to get bigger. He repeated this continuously, sweat pouring off his chiseled features. He repeated this through every failed attempt.

Then, slowly and through many tries, Chuck began to lift the truck. Determinedly, he finally brought the truck up to the point where with one jerk, he could extend his arms, almost upending the truck. He paused, gathering whatever power he had left. His breathing began to be labored. He pressed his eyes shut, the intensity radiating off of him. He began to control his breath, sounding as if he were in the weight room and preparing for a big bench. Little by little his breathing became audible and began to gain a guttural quality to it, until it became a grunt…almost a growl. When he had gotten to this point the grunts came rapidly, his arms bent, and with a bellow he extended his arms in one quick motion. I grabbed for what I could or else risk flying backwards through the windshield or off the truck altogether.

He gave a low Hulk-like yell at the top of that rep, and then, still bellowing, gave 10 more reps of the truck. At the eighth rep, I could see his arms quivering, his intensity increase even further, and his eyes open. He looked like a man possessed. Two more reps came out of his steel girders of arms, then he let the whole front of the truck crash to the ground, splitting the tires and throwing me to the driveway.

“See the growth” was all Chuck managed to get out as he lifted me up to his face. Suddenly I could see the background behind him change. The roof of my house came closer to eye level and the ground seemed much further away. With each escalation in height, Chuck grew wider and more powerful looking. His growth in his physique seemed to be matching his growth in height inch for inch. It was a spectacle I never thought I would see again. I was wrong, as I would understand later.

When this round was done, he was nearly 11 feet tall by my reckoning. This time all the effort caused him to grow over a foot all at once. He must have put a good 10 inches on his biceps and a good 20 inches on his chest. A tearing sound confirmed what I thought would happen very soon. The shorts finally gave way, leaving Chuck naked. I could not help but look down, and saw his endowment now make what he was the first time I saw him look almost eunich like.

He stretched, flinging me around as if I were a rag doll. He did not seem to be able to speak fluently yet, like before, but did focus on his newly grown features. Slowly he bent down and grabbed the truck front with one hand. With a slight grunt, he lifted it off the ground as high as he had just done with two. A wicked smile crossed his face. One word escaped his lips, “More”.

But where, I wondered. He had just lifted one of the heaviest things around here, and now did it as if it were a toy. His stomach growled for attention…it wanted to be filled and NOW. That seemed to snap Chuck out of his latest post-growing daze. He managed a few more words.

“First food…then let’s take a run.” •

This collection was originally created as a compressed archive for personal offline viewing
and is not intended to be hosted online or presented in any commercial context.

Any webmaster choosing to host or mirror this archive online
does so at their sole discretion.

Archive Version 070326