Me and Mister Perfect

By Zipman

I suppose there's one in every high school. You know, the guy who's perfect. Good-looking, top student, great athlete. Well, we've got one at my high school who tops 'em all. Scott is the most perfect of the perfect. So naturally, I hate him.

Scott is not just a straight-'A' student, he's the kind of straight-'A' student who never worries about getting a 'B' because he's never even come close. He not only is acne-free with perfect white teeth that are straight without braces, he's got the kind of stunning good looks that make people gawk and stare. And on top of everything else, Scott is an all-round athlete -- a natural at every sport he tries who has all the coaches begging him to be on their team. You know the type... after football season he says to himself, "Let's see, do I want to become an all-state wrestler or be captain of the basketball team this year? Should I set the school record in the decathlon for the track team or lead the baseball team in home runs and slugging percentage?" Decisions, decisions! Of course, it helps that he's about six-foot-two and two-hundred and God-knows-how-many-more pounds of solid, perfectly-sculpted muscle. I could hate him for that all by itself.

But the worst, the most disgusting, thing about him is that he's perfectly friendly and humble, and probably the nicest person I've ever met in my life. This means I can't hate him without feeling like a jerk, which makes me want to hate him even more, and... well, you see, it's a vicious circle.

Now, in a perfect world I would have gym class with Scott so that I could hate him daily in a more physically personal way. But unfortunately I only see him in my biology class, where I don't even sit near him. We do have one thing in common -- we're the two smartest students in class, so we take turns answering the teacher's questions and I get to hate him when he shows me up. Occasionally after class (okay... almost every day after class) I will go talk to him about something (whenever I can think of something to talk to him about) and Scott will do that annoying thing where he turns away from his jock buddy and looks you right in the eye and seems to give you his full attention as if what you were saying was the most important thing in the world to him at that moment. You see, somehow Scott knows that if he was a normal jerk (like most of the other athletes) all his perfectness would be easier to take. So just to be more irritating he pretends to like you and stares at you intently with those big blue eyes (actually, they have such a deep color they're more like indigo, I think) and you lose your train of thought and end up babbling like an idiot. Man, I hate him!

Yesterday as he was talking to me after class he actually touched me! He put his hand on my shoulder and I'm ashamed to say I felt a strong tingling sensation where he made contact. I couldn't help it. And I noticed he seemed to feel something too, but it was probably just surprise at how scrawny my shoulder was. But the tingle was definitely there, I felt it. Afterward, I hated him for making me feel that way against my will. And I hated myself, too, for not being able to stop thinking about him when I... um... do certain things in my bedroom at home. But normally I spend most of my time thinking about how much I hate him for being perfect.

Really, I do.

Today was lab day in biology class and I was staring at Scott wearing that tight polo shirt. I would hate him for being a show-off, but actually the shirt was the right size, it was just all those damn muscles that made it look too tight. I was wondering what it must feel like to have those big rock-like things on the front of your upper arms that bulge out all the time when your arms are bent, even if you're only lifting a pencil. Itís probably also very uncomfortable when you try to cross your arms in front of you and those big, inflated chest muscles get in your way.

Suddenly, Scott and his lab partner came right over to the table where Larry and I were working. Then, as if in a dream, I heard Scottís voice telling me that he'd like to switch lab partners for our next assignment. His jock buddy Steve didn't seem too happy about it, and Larry was giving me a look of desperation that told me he wasn't too thrilled with having Steve as a partner, either. But what could I do? Scott was giving me that "look" and I got all stupid and said, ďOkay.Ē And I threw an elbow into Larryís ribs when he started to say something, even though I didnít mean to. It wasn't my fault, honest! I hate it when Scott does that to me.

It all happened so fast. Suddenly Scott was asking me to come over to his house to begin working on our project. It had to be after dinner, because he has practice after school, of course. I borrowed my dadís car and drove over to Scott's house following the excellent map he quickly sketched for me (did I mention he was a terrific artist as well?) and I figure Scott's family must be rich, because his house is like a mansion compared to mine and it's in a neighborhood where the homeowners probably spend more money on gardeners than my family spends on food. Scott greeted me at the door with a big smile, like he was really glad to see me. I mean, he's just so wonderful he makes your teeth ache. I hate it when people are like that. So I tried hard to maintain my feeling of contempt for his obviously phony friendliness, but it was difficult because he was wearing a tank top and spandex biker shorts that showed off his bodybuilder's physique like nothing I'd ever seen him wear in school. When I followed Scott up the stairs to his room I was mesmerized by the way the muscles in his buttocks seemed to roll and flex with each step. I wonder if he would have gotten the wrong idea if I had reached out and grabbed them just to see how hard they felt with all that Lycra covering them so tightly. I suppose he would, the bastard.

I don't know how we did any studying at all, but I let Scott do most of the talking and I basically just agreed with everything he said. I spent most of my time looking at the veins in his huge forearms as he took notes and wondered how he could write anything at all without breaking his pencil into splinters. He was making me feel stupid again, when normally I am the smartest one in my class. So I was getting that familiar feeling of hatred for him building up, when he suddenly asked if I'd like to take a break and see the gym he has set up in the basement. "Sure!" I chirped, like the conversational idiot I am around him, and he walked over to the wall and pressed a button on the intercom panel and told his mom that we were going to be in the basement for awhile. I wonder if he ever sees his parents at all -- maybe the three of them have their own parts of the house and they only get glimpses of each other passing from one area to another. I like that idea... but I still hate Scott for actually being able to live that way. He's an only child and I've got four progressively more annoying younger brothers and sisters. I automatically hate anyone who's an only child.

We went down to a wood-paneled and carpeted room that I swear had more equipment than the school's weight room. "I'd like to try a little experiment, are you game?" he asked. I nodded and he went over to the dumbbell rack, picked up a fifty-pounder and started doing curls with his right arm. I've seen Scott's biceps before, of course, and since they look like they're flexing all the time -- even when he's just walking down the hall holding his notebook tucked under his arm, and Iím staring stupidly at him and saying to myself, ďOh my God, look at that thing bulge!Ē -- I figured they can't look that much different when they're flexing really hard. But I was wrong. When his perfect biceps get perfectly pumped they are a marvel of perfectly sculpted human flesh. I hadnít seen anything that impressive since my family visited the Grand Tetons. Scott asked me to put my hand on the muscle as he worked it and I didn't say anything in reply because my I.Q. had just dropped another thirty points and I could only move zombie-like to his side and put my hand on the large moving boulder that was trying very hard to burst through his very tight-fitting skin. When he paused at the top of the movement his biceps bulged out like a cannonball of pure muscle. And since he has no visible fat at all anywhere on his entire body (he is, after all, perfect) you could see all the veins and fibers in his biceps, which looked like it was chiseled out of solid rock.

"There... do you feel it?" Scott said.

I nodded. "It's very hard," I said. (Gosh, what a genius I am! He will forever remember me for my clever repartee!)

"No," he said, "do you feel that buzz going from my arm into your hand?"

"Oh, you mean the tingle. Sure, I feel it. It's really strong. You mean, you can feel it too?"

"Of course I can... and it feels real strong to me, too! Here, let's try something..."

He tried to hand me the dumbbell and I actually started to take it, like the dummy I am, then I recoiled in horror. The thing weighs, after all, fifty pounds, which would probably be a good bench press weight for me. But he insisted, so I grabbed it and when Scott let go my arm dropped down so fast I felt my shoulder just about pull out of its socket. Then Scott quickly grabbed my left wrist and squeezed it... hard! I felt the tingle run up my arm. Scott squeezed even tighter and the buzz ran across my shoulders and into my right arm.

"Now!" he shouted. "Try doing some curls!"

I did as he said and felt my own biceps contract hard enough to raise the weight. As it rose up to my shoulder my mouth dropped open in amazement. This couldn't be happening! Scott kept his death grip on my left wrist, and although it hurt bad it also felt good (as is true for so many things in life, I have discovered). My right arm felt energized like never before. I continued pumping out curls like it was just a normal workout for me... that is, if I ever worked out. I even lost count of the reps because I was so bewildered by what was happening. Suddenly Scott released my wrist and the dumbbell plunged down like it now weighed a thousand pounds. I dropped the weight immediately and gave a little side-hop so it didn't mash my toes. Scott laughed and grabbed me by the shoulders, beaming.

"Wow, buddy! That was great! How did it feel?"

"It felt great, except..." I rubbed my right arm. "Ow! It's already kind of sore." (Wait a minute... did he just call me "buddy"?)

"Do you mind?" Scott said, starting to unbutton the front of my shirt. "I want to see what it looks like."

I fought the panic I always get when I have to take off my clothes in front of someone, and I let him take off my shirt. Like the geek that I am, I was also wearing an undershirt. I stood there feeling like a helpless victim, raising my arms automatically as Scott peeled the tee-shirt up over my head, revealing my impeccably puny physique. I looked down at my right arm and noticed that it was perhaps a bit less scrawny than before... maybe... if you looked at it just at the right angle. I made a fist and drew it up slowly.

"Hey, man! You're getting a pump!"

"Do you think so?" I said, bending my arm up and down a few times. You have to understand, I have never used the word "pump" to describe a part of my body in my entire life. So this would be a big event for me, if it were true. I looked at Scott and frowned. "You've got to tell me what just happened here... 'cuz I don't understand any of it."

Scott looked concerned and let out a big sigh. "I guess I can tell you about it without worrying that you'll just laugh at me. But I really don't understand all of it myself.

"I've always been stronger than other boys my age. For as long as I can remember I've always had muscles, too. And ever since I've felt other boysí muscles and compared them to my own, I've known I had harder muscles than everyone else. Then there was the 'tingle' thing. Sometimes I could feel it when I just brushed my hand up against another person, other times I hardly felt anything at all. But I always knew I had something, like electricity, running through me. When I learned a little about how nerves and muscles work it started to make some sense. You see, our brain sends an electro-chemical message through our nerves to make our muscles contract. My theory is, I somehow have a super-charged nervous system that over-stimulates my muscles all the time. It's like the difference between ordinary house current and a lightning bolt."

I kept nodding at him and wondered whether I should be slowly backing toward the door in case he started talking about UFOs.

"So developing muscles always came naturally for me, because the way my muscles were over-stimulated made them get bigger and stronger just from doing ordinary tasks. And when I got a little older and started lifting weights, my strength just exploded and my muscles got so dense and hard that it was kind of scary. I used to feel them and wonder how much stronger I could get. I think all this electrical activity somehow affects how my brain functions, too. That may be why I have a photographic memory."

(Wait a minute... he has a photographic memory? I must remember to add that to my list of things I hate about him.)

"I've only recently started experimenting with the 'tingle' thing. I discovered I can transfer some of my energy into other people's bodies. But they have to be a good 'receptor'. Most people hardly feel the tingle at all. That's why I got so excited when I grabbed your shoulder yesterday and got the biggest buzz I'd ever felt in my life! You and I must be a perfect match. I'm a good transmitter and you're a great receptor!"

My head was starting to hurt. "You mean, just touching you can make me strong?"

"Come on," he said eagerly. "Let's try some more!" Scott stripped off his tank top and moved over to the weight bench. I started reeling from the sight of his upper body utterly naked. The word "breath-taking" was never more meaningful to me. With pecs and abs like that, added to his spectacular arms and shoulders, the effect was overwhelming. I actually felt dizzy and had to grab on to something to keep my knees from buckling. Scott lay down on the bench and cranked out a fast set of bench presses using a weight that I could only guess at because I'm gym-ignorant. The bar had a couple of those huge-o plates and a couple of merely very large plates on each end. The speed at which he was cranking out reps told me the weight was easy for him. After about a minute, Scott sat up and began repeatedly flexing his massive, boulder-like pecs that looked like they could stop a truck. "There, I think I'm getting warmed up a little," he said. "Why don't you try giving them a feel?"

Huh? What did he just say? I decided I didnít care if I heard him wrong, I was going for it. I walked up and reached out with eager hands, fingers flexing in anticipation. When I made contact with those huge slabs of fully-flexed muscle the feeling was intense! A bolt of power shot up my arms and seemed to hit my brain like an orgasm! Scott saw my reaction and quickly stood up, grabbing my shoulders.

"Quick... we've got to hurry while my generator's humming strong!"

He suddenly grabbed me in a front bear hug and squeezed. The breath left my lungs immediately as I felt those enormous stone-hard pecs crush into my soft little chest. Scott lifted me up and adjusted my body until our nipples made contact. My eyes nearly popped out of my head when I felt the surge of energy this caused. The hot electric touch of our nipples rubbing together gave me an instant boner in my shorts. So now I could truly say the mixture of pleasure and pain was coming to a climax. Except I couldn't say anything at all because I couldn't breathe. I felt his arms tighten as his flexing pecs started to compress my rib cage quite painfully. From clavicle to crotch my torso was mashed up against his granite physique. I could feel his body start to vibrate with a pulsing power that was flowing into me like electricity. It was so intense I could hear a buzz growing louder in my ears like... well, like a generator humming!

I think the feeling of power was causing Scott to get a little carried away. He cinched his arms even tighter around me and the pain of being crushed was so great I was worried he would kill me before I had a chance to find out what he was trying to do. With the increased pressure of all this skin-to-skin contact, the energy flow that was pulsing into my body kept increasing until it finally penetrated all the way back to my spine. When this happened, there was an explosion throughout my entire nervous system that hit me like a lightning bolt. I hadn't felt anything like it since the day I stuck that screwdriver into the electric outlet when I was four (okay, so I wasnít always a genius). Scott released me immediately and I dizzily wobbled back and forth on my feet. I couldn't see, hear, feel or think for a moment. I imagined my hair was probably standing on end and smoking, like in a cartoon. I think drool may have been coming out of the corner of my mouth. I was dazed, but I was smiling. And the front of my underpants was now all sticky with goo. Scott grabbed me by the shoulders, pushed me down on the bench and laid me flat.

"Sorry, buddy, but we've got to act fast!"

"Okay, let's go!" I said, but I think it actually came out, "Bluh, blah, wuh?..."

Scott placed my hands on the bar and took the weight off the stands for me. Whatever the weight was, it was not too much. In fact, I was cranking out reps with about the same speed as Scott. I could feel my chest and arms pushing the weight up powerfully, but it was like someone else was doing the work for me. In a way, I guess that was true. After about a dozen reps the weight started getting heavier. The next rep it weighed twice as much. Then someone set a grand piano on it, and my arms collapsed. Scott rescued me before the bar made a permanent impression on my torso.

I sat up, still feeling a bit woozy, as Scott whooped and applauded. "That was amazing, buddy! I can't believe how great you are at receiving my energy! Wow, this is going to be great!"

I tried to smile but the pain of almost being crushed by Scott's arms (and the barbell) plus the soreness from the extreme workout my puny chest muscles just experienced was almost doing me in. I rubbed my chest and felt some pain, but also a good, tight feeling. Was this what a pump felt like? Scott lifted me to my feet and moved me in front of the full-length mirror. He reached from behind and rubbed my chest with his big, strong hands.

"It's gonna be fun watching you grow. Just imagine when these pecs are pumping up as big as mine!"

I tried to stifle a laugh, but he was serious! He asked me if I felt game for one last exercise and I guess he took my goofy, wan, out-of-it smile to be a yes. He grabbed a kinked barbell and placed it in my hands, then stood behind me and gripped my shoulders. The tingle shot down into my arms immediately. I started curling the weight and felt the pull and stretch of my biceps as they worked. Scott dug his fingers into my shoulders so hard that I figured I would have five nice little circular bruises on each one when we were done. I finished the set and Scott held on so I could put the weight on the floor without dropping it.

"Now, let's see what you look like! Come on, flex those guns!"

I raised my arms and hit a double-biceps pose. I'd like to tell you that mountains rose up on my arms, but in reality there was only a very slight bowing upward of the muscle where before there was only flabby flatness. Still, I was encouraged by the almost noticeable effect my brief workout had created. For the first time I began to believe I could actually add some shape to my pathetic biceps. Scott tried feeling my flexing arms and although he easily (and painfully!) crushed them down when he squeezed, I was reassured by the nifty way they sprang back when he released.

Suddenly Scott grabbed my wrists and held them tight. "Now keep flexing... flex your arms as hard as you can!"

I felt the tingle surge into my arms again. I grit my teeth and gave it my best flex. When I looked at my arms I couldn't believe the difference. My biceps were bulging up bigger than I thought was possible! The slight curves were now, well, almost dome-shaped! Maybe I could have hills, or even mountains, someday!

Scott released me and I shook out my tired arms. He could see in my eyes I was really beat. I put my shirt back on and felt the ache throughout my upper body as the pump left my muscles. I was definitely going to be sore in the morning. I looked at Scott in dazed confusion and tried to make some sense out of what had just happened to me. He slapped me on the back, then grabbed my shoulders and ushered me upstairs.

"No workout tomorrow... you'll need the rest. If you're sore, just keep moving and stretching. We'll do some leg work the day after."

We reached the front door and I turned to look at him. Scott was still brimming with exuberance and he suddenly hit a most-muscular pose. "Yeah! I'm really psyched!" he shouted. "This is going to be great! Finally I'm going to be able to share this with someone!" Scott's impromptu muscle display was making me weak in the knees again. His muscles were just so damn perfect! When he flexed his whole body like that, the muscles would pop out all over, with each one making its own perfect peak beneath his paper-thin skin. Once more I felt that familiar stiffening in my shorts, which was really uncomfortable now because they were a warm, wet sticky mess.

Scott relaxed and we stood there looking at each other for a moment. I tried to think of something to say, but he was smiling at me with those beautiful eyes of his and, dammit!... I was feeling stupid again! Scott told me to get plenty of sleep tonight and he'd see me in school tomorrow.

I stepped outside, but before he shut the door I spun around and finally found my voice. "There has to be a better way of getting your energy, without being crushed half to death," I said.

"Well, the nipple technique worked pretty well, so... I have a theory about another way of transferring my essence into you, and the effect may be more powerful and last longer, too... but I don't think you're quite ready for that experience yet! Maybe when we get to know each other a little better we can try it... if you're willing."

Scott winked at me and gave me his best smile of the night, then closed the door. I stood there under the glow of his porch light wondering if I really heard him say what I thought I heard. I was stunned that he could be so thoughtless! How in the world did he expect me to get any sleep at all after what he had just said to me?

God, how I hate him! •

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