On my second day, a Thursday, I was working on the piece-of-shit weight lifting equipment that the Jr. High had - really old stuff, much of it broken or breaking or rusting. Nothing like the excellent equipment that they had up at the High School that I had been using five days a week for the past year since I started there. You see, I was always kind of athletic, but in Jr. High, I was really skinny. Not sickly looking, just a typical 13 or 14 year old kid. I was blessed with good looks, though. I have dark brown hair, light blue eyes, and my mom says I have my dad's chin, complete with dimple. And, I was blessed with a pretty big dick, too - at least that's the way it seemed when I stole a glance at some of the other guys in the showers after gym class. The girls always said I was a "hotty," but for some reason the girls didn't much interest me. And when I looked at myself, I only saw how skinny I was.

When I started High School, I decided that I wanted to get bigger and stronger, and so I began hitting the weights a lot. Luckily for me my body responded pretty well. When I graduated Jr. High at 14, I was 5 feet 5 inches tall, and weighed 114 fat-free pounds. Of course, I was pretty much muscle-free too. Well, that's not really true as I actually had a pretty good shape for a 14 year old. Just skinny (which I guess is normal). But I thought I was muscle-free, in comparison, that is, with what I WANTED to be. And not just "what I wanted to be," but also "what I wanted." You see, I'm into guys. I'm turned on by muscular, athletic guys my age. I'm gay. I know that now, but last year it was more like confusion. Anyway, the point is that the reason I started weightlifting was so that I could look like the kind of guy that made my dick hard when I looked at him. I figured that any guy with enough muscles and strength to turn me on would probably only be interested in a guy that was just as muscular and strong as he was. That is, if he didn't kick the shit out of me first! Of course, this was all hypothetical at the time, because the only guys I had "been with" had been in my dreams. And what dreams they were!

After a year of really hard lifting, and a big growth spurt, I was 5 feet 8 inches tall and weighed 135 pounds, still pretty much fat-free. I was kinda happy to have gained over 20 pounds in only one year, but it was not as much as I wanted. The best thing wasn't the raw numbers, though, but the way I looked. My arms (my favorite muscle) flexed up into nice hard balls of muscle, with a thin blue vein running up the center of each bicep from my forearms which showed a road map of veins, even when I wasn't flexing. They looked like I was flexing them even when I wasn't. When I did flex my biceps, they measured 13 inches - that's over two inches bigger than when I started! My chest had gotten bigger too going from 35 inches last year, to just over 38 inches now. My stomach was still the same size - 27 inches - but looked a lot different than it used to, from all the crunches and leg lifts I've been doing: Instead of being just flat, I now had the beginnings of a six-pack starting to show up. Not great yet, but pretty damn sexy (I thought at the time). My shoulders were getting broader and more muscular too. Yes, I was finally beginning to grow, to become like I wanted to look. And it showed up in my attitude. I now walked around with my chest out, wearing tighter clothes, tank tops (I NEVER used to wear those!), wanting people to notice my developing body. And I started doing stupid stuff too - like causing trouble, disrupting in class, picking on weaker kids, and - you guessed it - graffiti. Which leads me to where I started this story.

So, anyway, at 3:00 one Friday afternoon, I'm working on the rusty old equipment, trying to fix one of the broken down benches, when Tony walks in. He was one of the Jr. High students, obviously. Looked to be 12 old or so, based on his face, but even through his clothes I could see that he didn't have the typical 12 year old body. Even though he was shorter than me, about 5'3" or 5'4" or so, his shoulders were quite broad - and that showed despite the baggy sweatshirt he was wearing. He had blond hair and bright blue eyes, a tiny little nose, high cheekbones, and a big friendly smile with straight white teeth. His skin was fair, but he had a nice golden tan, as if he'd been out in the sun a lot. I couldn't help but stare. This kid was really pretty. "All right!" he shouted. "Finally, somebody's fixing this stuff. Maybe I'll be able to get a decent workout now." He had a big smile on his face as he walked up to the weights area. As he got closer, I saw that his broad shoulders were not in my imagination. He really was a lot bigger looking than you'd expect in a boy his age.

We started talking, and I told him that I'd be finished fixing the bench in about 5 minutes or so. Just a few more screws and nuts to replace, and it would be in working order again. "Cool." he said. "I'll get my stretching done in the meantime." And with that, he pulled off his sweatshirt and began to do stretches. Well, I nearly died! This kid (He was 13-1/2 years old, I found out later) was BUILT! The shoulders that looked unusually broad under his sweatshirt really were that broad. Developed like an older teen's, and quite muscular. With his shirt off, I could see that the shoulders were only the beginning. His chest was easily bigger than mine. Even though he was 4 inches shorter than me, his pecs were like two marble slabs of muscle hanging out over his tiny little-boy waist and hips. His forearms had pale blue veins bulging out and racing up and down, and three prominent veins showed up on each of his biceps, though in a slightly different pattern on each arm. Now, I thought that I was fat-free, but looking at Tony as he stretched made me realize that I still had some fat on me, for his waist, and the separation between his muscles, was unbelievable. Cords of muscle cut side to side with each of his movements. You could see every curve and bump. He looked like the anatomy chart in my biology textbook - no fat at all, just each muscle bulging in exactly the right place.

"I look pretty good, huh?" He smiled at me. Ooops. He caught me staring at him. Oh, well. Might as well play it cool - he was still a kid, after all - despite that amazing body that I desperately wanted to check out in more detail.

"Yeah, you do," I replied. "How'd a kid your age get to be so big?"

"I've always been bigger and stronger than the other kids. Since I was 7, that is. And I work out all the time" He told me, and with that, he began to flex for me. His biceps were huge mounds of muscle. They rose into a very high peak as he flexed, and must have been bigger than mine - but looked even bigger than they were because of his height and the length of his arms, which were still normal for a short 13 year old. He jumped up and grabbed the chin-up bar with only his right hand, and began to pump out one-armed chins. I couldn't believe it. I could only do one of those, and this kid was pulling himself up again and again with only one arm, and his left arm remained crossed over his chest. After about 20 reps or so, he switched arms, and began to chin himself with only his left arm. I could see the muscles in his arms getting pumped with blood and the veins starting to swell out. His lats were really big on his short frame, and with his tiny waist it made him look like a junior version of a pro bodybuilder or something.

"I'm Tony. Tony Sacco," he said, holding out his hand to shake.

"Dave Sanders," I replied, grasping his small hand attached to the most muscular forearms I've ever seen on a kid. Curious, I gave a good squeeze to test his strength. He squeezed back, HARD, even though he didn't seen to strain at all. Yes, he was definitely stronger than me in his hands. But that was no surprise for somebody who could do 20 one-armed chin-ups with each arm!

"Sanders!" I heard my name shouted from across the gym. "Aren't you finished fixing that old bench yet? Come and help me with this mopping." The Janitor - the one with the job of assigning my punishment work - was holding a mop out for me. Sighing, and making one last glance at Tony, I started towards the mop bucket. As I began to walk away, I glanced back and saw that Tony was looking at me, absentmindedly rubbing his hand on his huge chest as he watched me walk away. He still had that big grin on his face. Too bad, I thought. I really wanted to see how much weight this muscle kid could lift.

Once during my mopping that afternoon, I was able to check out what Tony was doing. He was bench pressing what looked like 315 pounds - three forty-five pound plates on each side of the barbell - and pumping out rep after rep. I lost count at fifteen. IMPOSSIBLE. After one year of hard lifting I couldn't even bench 225 once - that's only two big plates on each side. Depressed, envious, I went back to my mopping. •