Andy's Summer



My name is Andy, and so far I've had a very unusual summer. I graduate high school in May, and my parents gave me a personal trainer. Well, actually, personal training sessions, not like the guy was my own pet or something. My parents are rich, but not that rich. My dad owns a meat import and distribution company, and works mostly with German products. Living here in Wisconsin, he does well. The cheeseheads love their sausages. Anyway, the gift wasn't even a surprise, because I had asked my mom for it. She'd been thrilled to death to do it too, seeing as how I was pretty much a fat lazy slob up to that point. I'd never played sports, but loved to eat. Especially junk food. If eating was a sport, I'd have lettered in it. All four years. Unfortunately, with my activity limited to typing on my computer and walking four houses down to my friend Cheryl's house, I'd blossomed up to 280lbs of mostly blubber. I had grown to 6', so Cheryl always said I carried it well, but I knew that wasn't exactly true. She was pretty and popular. I was not. When I went with her to parties, the jocks swarmed around her, and pretty much acted like I was invisible. So did her cheerleader friends. But Cheryl and I had grown up together, so I was her closest friend and confidante. Yippee. I wasn't exactly invisible to my dad, although he was overseas a lot. When he was around, sometimes I'd notice him looking at me in a way that did not seem proud. He was a powerfully built man, of German stock, the kind of man that looked like he lifted weights, but he never had. He was just very physical. Climb every mountain, ford every stream, daddy. I didn't exactly follow in his footsteps. My first day of training, I was totally freaked out. I had to meet my trainer, Tom, at the downtown gym that he worked out of. I'd never walked into real gym before, and I wore the baggiest sweats that I had to hide my bulk. Tom turned out to be stunningly handsome, of course. All blue-eyed, dark curly hair, deep tan, muscled up like a surfer, only more so. A 24 year-old jock, the kind that would totally ignore me except for that fact that my mother was paying him about a $100 an hour. He was real nice to me though, flashing his perfect smile when I came in, shaking hands all friendly, showing me around. He said his friends called him T-Bone, because his last name was Bonifigliatta, or something like that, but I kind of thought, from what I could see through his sweat pants, that it might be for another reason too. Go figure. He took me through a series of exercise machines, what he called a "circuit", to get my body accustomed. He set the machines on the lightest settings. It was sort of embarrassing, but was cool having him there, easing me into it. Although I felt like I could have gone a little heavier! After the workout, he took me aside and went over what he thought I should be eating, and how I should do cardio on my off days, or after we worked out. The cardio, I thought I could handle. But the diet he gave me. All full of oatmeal, whole grains, steamed vegetables, tuna, protein shakes. No junk food. No cheat days. Fuck. He chuckled when he saw the look on my face as I went over the list he gave me. "It's not that bad, Andy." "Steamed vegetable?" I said, grimacing. "You'll get used to it." "That seems unlikely," I said. "Once some of the fat comes off you, maybe we can loosen up the diet some. But for now, try and stick to it." "When will that be?" I asked him. "When you look like this," he said, pulling up his shirt and exposing a deeply cut 6pak. "Jeesus." T-Bone laughed and mussed up my hair. "Go on home now, Andy. Rest up for tomorrow, I want to try you out on some free weights." I sighed, and headed for home. What had I gotten myself into? The next day I woke up feeling like I'd been in a car accident. Everything ached. I sat up in bed and felt my arms. I couldn't even stretch them out straight, the pain was so intense. I looked at the crook of my arm to see if it was bruised but it wasn't. It felt like it though. Deeply bruised. I wobbled my way to the bathroom, pissed, then took a super hot shower. That helped enough for me to realize that I was starving, but my arms still hurt like hell. I went to the kitchen, and mixed up some instant oatmeal, like I was supposed to. That turned out not to be enough. So I made up three more. T-Bone would never know. Besides, at least it wasn't Devil Dogs. I had to be at the gym in an hour, and thought about calling T and canceling. There was no way I could work out. But I thought I owed it to him to at least tell him to his face, and then he could see for himself that I wasn't faking it, so I went down. T-Bone was less than sympathetic. "It can't hurt that much," he said. "Let me see." He grabbed one of my elbows and began to rub into it with his thumbs. "AHHH," I hollered out, pulling away from him. "Fuck." "Come over here and do some reps with this EZ curl bar," he said. "I can't fucking lift anything. I need to go to the emergency room or something." "Calm down. Just do 3 or 4 reps, it will help." I couldn't imagine anything helping. I was pretty sure I had damaged my arms for life, the pain was so deep. "Take the bar, Andy," T said. I took the bar. "Lower the bar, Andy," T said patiently. The pain was searing as my arms stretched out. I was sure I was going to pass out. But I didn't. I did a second rep. The pain was less. Not a lot, but less. The stretching almost felt good in a way. I did a third rep. "What did I tell you," said T. I did 5 more reps, and T stopped me. He rubbed out my arms again, and this time it did feel good. "Now, let's try that workout," he said. T got me through that workout, then the next, and the next. By the end of four weeks, most of the severe soreness was gone, but I was always sore. I did the cardio 5 times a week, and did pretty good at it, which T was surprised at. Guess I got good lungs. T was impressed by the "pump" I got from lifting too. He said it must be from all the bulk I was carrying, but the first time I let him see me with my shirt off was right after lifting one day, and he was stunned. Said I looked like someone had pumped me up like a balloon. I guessed that was a good thing. And the fat was already melting off, even I could see that. But my weight was staying the same, which confused T. I didn't want to tell him that it might be from me eating three times the amount he had told me to. No junk food, but three times the oatmeal, tuna and protein shakes, which I loved. Loved the full feeling from drinking a couple gallons at one sitting. Otherwise, I was hungry all day long, which I hated. I'd eat and eat, then check myself in the mirror. I could actually see some muscle. I'd get hard looking at myself, thinking about being one of those massive powerlifters I'd see on ESPN. I had a long way to go, but it still boned me up. And I was hornier than ever too. Got to jacking at least once a day, which I never did before. And maybe it was because I was losing fat down there, but was pretty sure my package was getting bigger. My balls definitely. And my unit felt like more of a handful. Maybe this jock thing had something going for it after all. It sure motivated me to train harder. T was impressed by my progress too. One month into it and he already had me benching 225lbs. He had to spot me close, and I'd only get 4 or 5 reps, but he said that was pretty amazing, giving what I started out at. I loved how it made my chest and shoulders feel. T was right, like fully pumped up balloons. I could bounce my pecs now, even though there was still a layer of blubber. Even that looked and felt harder to me somehow. And my legs were changing. They'd always been big. I'd hated my huge German thunderthighs and ass, but now, after squatting, it felt so amazing. And I was starting to see veins come out, and snake down to my thick calves. My ass would feel hard as boulders. I'd seen T-Bone and the gym owner talking about me after I squatted one day, and heard one of them say something about "real potential". I sure popped one out to that after I got home that day. I'd asked T-Bone when I could start eating more, cause I hated lying to him about it now, and he said, "as soon as you can beat me in arm wrestling," and had pulled up his sleeve and flexed out his super hard muscle. That might come sooner than he thought, cause I was secretly working out my arms in my room at night with a pair of 50lb dumbbells I'd bought at a yard sale. I could work them for a good hour now, and it felt so good. My arms got huge when I did it, and I'd cum a couple of times just from feeling my size and strength grow. Didn't even touch myself, just jizzed right in my shorts. Almost didn't even know it happened, cause my big fat arms felt like two huge hardons, I got that much pleasure from it. Although, either my fat was getting harder, or it was being replaced by muscle. I could see it in the mirror. My shoulders were wider. Everything on me felt more dense and heavier. By the end of the month, my bodyfat had gone from 28% to 18%. T-Bone was stunned. No more than me, though, because during the week, I was working at a German specialty butcher shop, where my dad knew the owner, Helmut, who gave me as much red meat as I could handle. Our housekeeper would cook it up for me, and, after a day's work or a lifting session, I would shovel it in. Then I'd go to my room and do curls. And triceps extensions. And side laterals. All the stuff I was learning from T and could do with 50lbers. I already needed heavier weights, but it was amazing the pump I'd get from just these light ones. •

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