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My Path, My Truth, My Monsterous Muscle Fetish
|1st Draft, unedited, fresh off the presses. As this
will probably be a work in progress, and not something I plan to
polish any time soon, I thought I would share it with the group As Is.
As such, please forgive any grammar or style issues... it's written in
a "Mark Morford" manner (a very cool SF Chronicle columnist)
THIS IS AN AUTO-BIOGRAPHICAL STORY, and I do not go into graphic sexual detail or detail about my workouts. Nor is this a fantastical msucle growth tale in any way: I speak only from the truth I know in my heart about my own life as I have lived it up to this point. And I'm not yet a living, breathing 295# Massive Muscle Beast (YET), but only 200#, at present. So if any of that is what you are looking for to get your rocks off at the moment, then I encourage you to go elsewhere.
BUT if you are still intrigued, well then Check It Out. ESPECIALLY if you are a guy who secretly (or not so secretly) inside DOES want to be a massive bodybuilder, and jerks off regularly (perhaps since puberty) to the idea of growing huge, pro-bodybuilder-like muscles yourself, BUT you aren't truly doing anything about it, except perhaps a few measly workouts that never go anywhere. Well, read on....
Before I had my first orgasm, I remember hearing from some preacher that masterbation was evil, and so when the first one came when I was 13, I was ashamed and even frightened when it happened. And after that, I tried to stop. Oh, how I tried. But I just wanted to do it more. And More. and MORE. Bigger, and Bigger...
The very first time I orgasmed, I remember thinking about the boys in school, especially the cool ones who were beautiful, hung out with all the other hot boys and girls. Back then, this clique of guys had one thing in common: they all wore these jackets, even on fairly hot days, that were thick with fiber, and segmented... so that they BULGED. I wanted to wear one of those jackets so BAD. But, since I had tied these guys into my deep shame and my avoidance of my queer sexuality (even though I really couldn't avoid it), I truly could not even imagine ever asking my parents for such a jacket, or buying one myself.
Shortly thereafter I saw my first bodybuilding magazine. I was INSTANTLY hard. That did it. With my first job at 16, I subscribed to Muscle & Fitness and FLEX (dropped the Muscle & Fitness after the first year). Just so my parents.. and my own conscious self... would not catch on to what was really going on, I also subscribed to Playboy (my father still has that subscription).
In order to sublimate my queerness, and hide it from myself, I imagined that I simply wanted to look like those guys in the magazines. I would jerk off, again and again and again, imagining myself becoming a bodybuilder. At first, it was just to be as big as some of the male fitness models. Within a few years, however, my fantasies only worked if they involved my becoming as big and massive as the pro bodybuilders. During this time none of my fantasies ever got close to the idea of guys actually getting together for anything other than working out together.
This story began, very very slowly, to change when I finally came out to myself, to others around me, and to my family. I had put on 20#s of fat and muscle in my first year of college -- yes, the fantasy and growing fetish was and is still going strong. I go from 135# up to 155#.
But once I came out, I moved from muscle growth fantasies and even my initial workouts in Freshman year... into real sex. LOTS of real sex. I was a complete slut. Going to college while living in Washington, DC, in the final years when 18 year olds could drink legally, I went out to the bars as often as I could, which was very often. I remember my last year there having my first real "date"... where I hadn't actually slept with the guy before having dinner with him. Yet, after dinner, we went out to a nearby bar. I remember walking through the bar, and having three different guys come up to me, IN A ROW, and say "Wow, where have you been? I had such a good time with you [last week, last month, last time]... wanna dance?" All with my date trailing right behind me, watching. The date ended shortly thereafter, and I realized that it was definitely time to move. Fortunately, I was graduating.
However, just the city changed, for a while. Finally, three years later, I am in New York City. And have found AOL, and a group of guys into muscle growth stories. Out of this, I am once again remotivated. I hit the gym. And grow from 155# to 165#. But the growth spurt is short-lived. My heart breaks due to a breakup with a boyfriend. And I have already made plans to return to the San Francisco Bay Area, my home. I drop back to 155#.
For about a year I am on-again off-again with my workouts. Then lucky chance offers me -- through an online connection -- a WORKOUT PARTNER. For about four months I get serious again, and go from 155# to 175#. I notice I have real arms for the first time, and my chest is actually something I can grasp with my whole hand.
As my body gets bigger, underneath the surface, I am growing more and more afraid. Terrified, really. Why? You may ask. Remember those boys from school, with the bulging jackets, and how I could never imagine myself being one of those guys? Up until now, my body has simply gotten a bit bigger... but it was never getting to the point of being actually MUSCULAR. That would shatter my self-image -- as a weakling, a geek, a bookworm, someone who would not achieve his dreams.
Yet I was reaching that point where my body was challenging my basic self-image, no matter how poorly conceived that image may have been. And underneath, unconsciously... this was scaring the fuck out of me. So I sabotaged my partnership by blowing off a series of workouts. And that was that.
I was so afraid of my fantasy -- even though I jerked off to it practically twice a day or more -- that I had gotten into a routine of fantasizing of becoming a pro bodybuilder, only, once I had cum, saying to myself, "Oh, not really, I don't really want to do that. It's just a fantasy."
Another year goes by, and I do some therapy, and heal some of this, at least partially. And then, through a dating service, I meet up, for the first time, with another guy with at least something of a muscle fetish. Due to both of our circumstances, we end up three months later becoming roommates and workout partners. I'm on again! Yippee! Back up to 175#.
And I fall in love again, with a guy living in Lake Tahoe, three hours away. Weekend trips, 3-4 times a month. The workouts cease, and my roommate (who I think may have had some residual feelings of some sort toward me) and I become distant.
Thank GOD that relationship ended six months later. Yet I had been truly and totally in love... and due to the therapy, I was also now really loving myself as well, at least on a mind level (even though I had always said I loved myself. Don't we all say that to ourselves? The question is, at what level do we truly mean it?).
I was finally, truly in love with myself on a mind level, even those parts of me that still were not whole, and still tried to beat me back down. I had even learned to love those parts, too, and take them alohng for the ride.
And I was in love with the hottest guy I'd ever been with, a former model, who also had a job and career I deeply respected. He even liked to workout!(sort of)
Yet after five months, my boyfriend had not fallen in love with me. And so, at the end of six months, after asking him some very specific questions about the nature of his past relationships, I came to realize that he never would (love me, that is. How I knew that is a different story, though).
I so am a wreck after I break up with him... yet inside it all, I am still HAPPY with myself. I have learned to pull myself up by my own mental bootstaps. Yet the emotions I have at long last released are now a FLOOD, and threatening to drown me. I find myself crying constantly, every day, even at work. I am forced to tell my boss that I am suffering from severe depression, and ask her to curtail my workload.
At this time, however, the thing that keeps me sane is... surprise, surprise... the GYM! Though I am a wreck emotionally, as a way to maintain some level of control over my life, I become totally dedicated to my workouts and my diet and supplementation. Over the six months in which this emotional purging occurs, I give up the post-cum "Oh, it's just a fantasy" and become *willing* to be a bodybuilder. At first, just a big one (somewhat bigger than the fitness models). It will take another several years before I surrender THAT and accept that, yes, dammit, I want the BIG prize.
During those first six months of accepting my fantasy, really and truly, without reservations -- as a reality I not only WANT but ultimately both NEED and MUST HAVE -- I grow from 165# up to a whopping 185#. Holy Shit!
It is now around Thanksgiving, and I get to a point in my daily crying -- going on for MONTHS now -- where I realize that my emotional purging may never end. And so I learn to accept it. For about two weeks, I become absolutely and totally FINE and OK that I may be crying for several hours every day, for the rest of my life. I go so far that I even begin to appreciate my dispair, and celebrate it.
And wouldn't you know it? After a couple of weeks of acceptance, the dispair just drops away. I wake up one morning in mid-December, and I feel GOOD! I am quiet for a time, a couple of weeks. And then, during a therapy session, I realize that what I want is... to have some serious fun. It's time to go to the dark side of the other half of my boyhood fantasies...
You see, there was one other thing that the boys in school were up to, that I fantasized about when I was a kid, and would NEVER allow myself to imagine doing it for my self.
They smoked pot.
And so I would jerk off, imaging one of these hot guys with these buldging jackets comes around and befriends me, taking me home, and forcing me to smoke a joint. And getting me "hooked on drugs" or becoming a "stoner" as these guys were all called in high school. In fact, one of these guys actually did approach me, back in junior high. I spent years wishing I had gone home with him. But never would I truly have allowed myself to REALLY do that! And in truth, that choice is what made me who I am today, I I wouldn't trade THAT for anything.
So here I was, just after Christmas, with this -- finally -- hot muscle body, and also happy and really in love with myself, and really also trusting myself more than I ever did, before. I had weathered the biggest emotional crisis of my life, and I had come out SHINING! AND to top all of this off, I had had a new age "reading" of a sort, over the summer, during which the woman told me that, in order to fulfill my dreams and ambitions in life, I would need to follow the path of Siddartha (an incarnation of the Buddha). This meant that I would need to TOTALLY and COMPLETELY surrender to my deepest, darkest desires, so much so that I lose myself in them and need to find my way back to my spiritual home, at long last.
Hehehe (dark sweet hypermasculine laugh). What fun!
And so I went out and bought a pair of leather pants (my young boyish self would have fainted) and went to a leather bar on Folsom Street. And wouldn't you know? More than 1/2 the bar was staring at me after I walked in.
COOL! I'd never experienced that before.
And as luck would have it, that very night at that bar I ran into an old friend I hadn't seen in years, who was going dancing at Club Universe later that night... and he was looking for a ride. I hadn't planned on going clubbing, but thought it would be fun to hang out with him.
THEN, When we got into my car, he admitted to me that he was planning on doing a hit of Ecstasy at the club. My mind went into overdrive. I had several dozen thoughts, all in a few seconds. But the conclusion that came out was simply a statement and a question:
"I've never tried that. Can you get me some?"
I was ready.
Well, of course he could! ;-)
Two and a half hours later I in the middle of the dance floor, having run into two friends from the gym -- boyfriends -- who had not seen me during the six month emotional purge/bodybuilding period (we were working out at different days and times, apparently). "I cannot BELIEVE how good you look!" they kept exclaiming. And these boys were hot themselves. I thought I was in heaven, and the E hadn't even kicked in.
So there I was dancing in Club Universe, and we've been dancing for a while. The guys I am with have begun to roll on their E. And I have begun to think, "Well, it's been an hour and I don't feel much. Maybe I got a dud." Just then, the sounds of "Flower Duet '99" -- a magical dance piece that sounds like angels are singing to you up to heaven -- comes on simultaneously as the E kicks in BIG TIME.
WHAAAM! The love I now know so well in my mind, that I have allowed into my heart during it's six-month heartbreak, bursts open into a shining pouring feeling of love for myself, the world, and yes, the entire Goddamn Fucking Universe. I burst into tears of total and complete joy. I feel truly ALIVE. And I feel like I know my True Self for the first time. I come to Know God (and I'm not talking about my Self as God, unless we're talking about us All Being God together).
I am utterly transformed.
Yet this is just a new beginning of another cycle of self-discovery. As Jack Kornfield (a well-known buddhist teacher) says in the title of his book: "After the Ecstasy, the Laundry." I learn that in that moment on the dance floor, I planted a seed, a seed that is my True Self. And though it is planted, I must water and tend the seed, and wait -- patiently -- for Spring. And as far as Bodybuilding is concerned, Spring does not come for about five more years.
During many of those years I go on a journey of ecstacy and Ketamine, some pot, and other drugs. I dabble briefly with Tina/Crystal Meth (yuck! An evil drug. Fortunately, I don't really like Tina).
And, as I promised to myself, I totally lose myself, as I needed to do. As I know that I must explore all my dark desires, I also, during this time, experiment with a cycle of steroids, and do get up to 200#. I look VERY hot during those weeks.
Yet there is still more personal growth and self-acceptance and awareness to come. After reaching a real bottom-point, I enter a new phase, and again fall in love. This time with a man who is truly my perfect partner, and who deeply, utterly and completely loves me in return (my relationship with him is the kind of perfection that God would give you if He wer a God who is utterly compassionate and loving beyond all words, yet still has a REALLY good sense of humor). My partner wasn't into working out before he met me. Three years later, he's become more disciplined than I have been (UNTIL NOW, that is)!
Yet, slowly and gradually during these years, there is a completion of my "past" that is occurring. I let go of many old patterns of belief. And I totally claim, for the first time really, that, dammit, there is a total fuckingly massive muscle beast HUNGERING to have me let him the FUCK OUT of his cage, once and for all. I accept that, even though I am not yet ready to indeed let him out. Not QUITE yet...
Even perfect relationships have issues -- if a relationship is truly of any good, it MUST have them -- and my partner and I fall into a pattern. We both work on it. We get better at it. Yet the pattern remains. We think we've broken it. It returns. Again I break it. It returns. I learn more of its subtleties than I thought possible.
And, in this learning, there comes, at long last... reaching it at a point where you think you will always keep climbing the ladder... and suddenly, without any fanfare or trumpets or crowds or cheers and in fact some people that are rather upset at you for upsetting the apple cart and claiming who you are, no fucking kidding -- you reach the top.
For a moment you wonder, "Am I done?" Of course not.
Reaching the top of the ladder that you take out of the pit of your despair does not mean that your journey has ended.
It only means that there are now only two real choices for you.
(1) Climb back down the ladder, into the pit(yuck), or (2) Learn to Fly.
Having never learned to fly before, it suddenly feels like everything I've learned -- all my skills, all my training, all my "spiritual growth" is suddenly out the window. Why? Because those things were all used to climb the ladder.
Flying requires new skills.
Yet still, I have reached a real turning point in my Life Story. I have come full-circle once again with my Self. I even find myself living at home, now, literally... and there are not many more literally beautiful places on this Earth in which to live, I must say, than where I am sitting right now. The partner and I became separated at the point just before I reached "the top of the ladder," in the final act of our pattern (I've told him -- and myself -- essentially, that if it happens again, I'm checking myself into the goddam Mayo clinic). Though wouldn't you know it, we're now dating and I know we're going to find our way back together. Just perhaps with two separate homes... two growing masters/tops need space!
But for me, now there is no choice but to ACT, and LIVE and ACHIEVE my dreams. Climbing back down the ladder is just too painful, thank you VERY much. I'd rather jump and try to fly. And if I'm going to do that, then I'm going to do it like I've done everything else in my life: I'm going to give it everything I've got.
In this last six weeks, I have discovered (through trial and error) that, yes indeed, ALL of my old coping patterns no longer work for me. They are stale, drying up, and dying, like old nasty weeds that have finally been cut off from their water source.
Though I still try them for a few minutes or even up to a day or so (it's only been about 1 1/2 months since this, rather subtle "awakening", I must say -- it's not like God throws a lightning bolt or anything), I now find that all my old strategies of avoidance truly hold no water for me any longer. I get NOTHING out of them. They literally BORE me. I'm not even interested in them, I've just tried them again out of sheer habit, and nothing else.
And so I find myself asking myself, ever more deeply, richly, powerfully, happily, contentedly, and -- yipes! Here goes nothing! -- What do I REALLY want to do with my life?
Well, there is a lot, especially professionally. But that is NOT what THIS story is about. This story is about my sexuality. And the answer to that is... Duh! What ELSE? I mean Fuck! Yes, it is to BECUM the Massive Muscle Beast that has been hungering to get OUT of my (still small, to me) body since I had my very first orgasm.
It has only really been six weeks into this new phase, I will admit, and it took me about three weeks to transition out of the old house and get my new gym membership and all. So I've only been working out dedicatedly for three weeks now.
And of course all past evidence would say -- and my friends, my family, and yes, even my partner may think -- that I will once again drop back into the Pit and need to call the Mayo Clinic.
Yet in these last three weeks I have NEVER found it so easy to get to the gym, or to maintain my diet. Ever.
More than that, I have found out what Arnold meant when he said that "Working out is like Sex" for him. FUCK! It IS like Sex! Especially SQUATS! Call me "Mr. Squat" from now on, honey. I can't get enough. I just did them today, and I know I am going to be chomping on the bit to do them again in four days.
So I know that my friends, my family, and yes, my partner are all going to be surprised as the months unfold. Why?
Because I am... Finally... HOME.
I first came home in my mind, about a year before that boyfriend that did not fall in love with me.
Later, I came home in my heart, when I did E on the dance floor for the first time. But my heart had to open up wide, though, and so it had a series of additional breaks and healings during the last three years with my partner. SIDE NOTE: When someone "breaks your heart," they don't break your heart. They break the SHELL that had been around your heart. And this is a VERY GOOD thing, if you allow it to be... because only then can your heart grow into its fullness.
And now, at the top of the ladder, taking my first tentative flaps of my wings, I know in every cell of my body that I am HOME in my body. As with my mind, and my heart, it will take time for this to manifest in the world.
But I KNOW I AM HOME, regardless. Whatever anyone else may think about this... well, it's truly irrelevant. THEY just don't know I'm HOME, yet.
HeHeHe(deeply wild rich hypermasculine laughter)...
But they will! Boy, will they ever...
So Here's to the MASSIVE MUSCLE BEAST... GREAT FUCKING ME!
Did someone say in this group that they were into Narcissism? That's my new middle name. Actually, it always has been my middle name. I'm just allowing it to take me over TOTALLY and COMPLETELY and FOREVER.
* I Surrender to My Massive Muscle Fetish. I AM My Fetish.
* I Am a Total Narcissist, and will actively work to become ever narcissistic, in sync with my body's growth. I am consciously and actively obsessed with my body and it's growth.
* I Now Live to Grow, and Grow to Live. There is Nothing Else that Truly Matters. All else Cums From This, My Truth.
* I AM Discipline, and as such, I Do Whatever It Takes to Grow More and More Monsterous.
AND.. unless YOU are up to the same thing, then
GET the FUCK Out of My Way!
Peace - MassiveMuscleBeast
p.s. or -- if you're VERY cute -- I jsut *may* allow you to worship me.
p.p.s. Also accepting applications for wanna-be big muscle pups who truly want to learn The Way of The Massive Bodybuilder, and get past the "maybe I will do that... someday" stage. Fuck someday. But if you don't think you are ready to surrender your tiny ego and tiny body to me, and let me be your true MASTER for a time, and control what you do, and when and what you eat until you grow big enough that I think the Bodybuilding Bug has bitten you deeply enough that you can no longer escape from it, well... then please, don't bother me.
p.p.p.s. For you (I trust, few) Skeptics out there who want to tell me I'm full of it, well, join the fucking crowd. I don't need to hear it. The world is full of people on the ground trying to bring down everyone else who (to use my metaphor) tries to fly, Ever notice that? Why is that? Because inside nearly everyone is terrified of trying to fly, themselves (just like I was, when I was a boy). Most people just never move through their fear. But the fear has to go someplace. For most people, it's just easier to project it out onto others.
My Current Quote: Life In, Life For, The Now. It Is The Only Time There Ever Is.
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