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Me and the Old Man
|I got to the gym late that morning. It was already 9:30, so I was
going to have to cut my 2 hour workout down to an hour and half. The early
morning crowd was gone, though, so I had the place basically to myself. The few
members that were there, I'd never seen before. I was getting the usual look-over that I get when new people see me. I'm used to it. Ever since I hit puberty, I've been big and good-looking. Now, at 6', 250, I'm huge and good-looking. Twenty-three years old, and getting bigger every month, too. No wonder they look. I like to warm-up by doing chin-ups. Five sets of 25. Gets me all jacked up right away. I love feeling the lats flare out with warm-up pump, and feeling my string tank tighten up and struggle to hold in all this muscle. I check myself out in the mirror after, and admire my super wide shoulder span. I noticed the old man watching me as I loaded up the bar for bench presses. He was sitting right across from me on the pec deck. I knew he was going to talk to me. People are always asking me stuff, mostly about training, although I think it's just a way of getting to talk to me. I usually don't mind
too much, but today I was in a rush. "That's quite a build you got there," he said. "Thanks," I said, barely looking over at him, hoping he'd get the message. "Been awhile since I've done any training at all. Thought it was about time I got myself back into shape," he continued. "Uh huh," I said. "Kinda let myself go to pot, if you know what I mean," he said. I looked over to see him patting his paunch. He was in a big sweatshirt and sweatpants, so it was hard to tell just how out of shape he might be. I laid back on the bench and did my set. When I sat up, the old dude was still watching me. "You training for a contest or something?" he asked me. I have to admit, it strokes my ego, having someone ask that. "Yeah, I am. I'm about three months out, so I'm really kicking into gear now." "Well, it shows. I was in pretty good shape once myself. Was the light-heavyweight boxing champ back when I was in the Navy. I was always big boned, so putting on muscle's usually pretty easy for me." He stood up, and I was surprised at how tall he was. Had to be a good 6'3". A good solid-looking 6'3", too. And his paunch basically flattened out as
he stood, or was hidden real well by his sweats. "Name's Ron," he said, extending his hand. "Anthony," I said, shaking with him. The old dude had big hands and thick fingers, and a rockhard shake. "Good to meet you, Anthony. I'll let you get back to your workout, although I gotta tell you, I feel sorry for the other guys entering a competition against you." "Thanks, man," I said. Nice dude for an old coot. I watched him as he walked away. Big dude for an old coot, too. Looked like he could still do some damage in the ring, even though he had to be at least 45. Hope he doesn't have a heart attack, trying to get back in shape, I thought to myself. I kicked ass through the rest of my workout. I don't know if it was because I was rushing thru set after set, or because of the ego stroking the old man had given me, but I was stoked. When I was done, I went into the locker room and stripped down to my posers. I was jacked up like a freak. I flexed out for twenty minutes, getting myself even more jacked. Ah yeah, look at these muscles, I thought, as I hit pose after pose. Old Ron was right, I would crush any poor sucker who got on the stage with me. And with three months to go, people would go blind, seeing this perfection. Already, I had striations showing, and the 6-pak was quickly hardening into an 8. I lifted the side straps of my posers and checked out the muscle tie-in between my quads and pelvis. Yeah. Goddam genetic perfection. I was boning up over the sight of myself. I hit
the showers before exploding in self-worship, then headed off to work.
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