Pygmalion '68

Final Act


By M.U.

I went home, certain that somehow what I'd been doing with Barry and Stan could be plainly read on my face, but nobody said anything. I wanted to talk about it; I always shared everything I did with my family, and they were always supportive, but somehow I knew that this was different. For the first time in my life, I had to conceal part of myself from my parents, and this bothered me. Still, I could easily imagine what everyone would say if they knew about Jonathan or Stan, or even Barry with his shaved legs, so I just chattered about school starting on Monday and new clothes and stuff like that.

Saturday, at noon, we all showed up at Jonathan's for our last training session of the summer. "I'll be starting Grad school on Monday, too," explained Jonathan. "So you won't be able to come here after school most days, because I'll be at school. Gotta keep my student deferment, you know. I don't really want to end up wading through rice paddies." We all looked a little crestfallen. "Oh, don't get all bummed out. MuscleMike and the Squat Machine can use the weight room at Hami after school, I know that for a fact. And Stan, weren't you lifting weights at your school last semester?"

Stan nodded. "Yeah, but it's not the same."

"What, you don't want to have the fun of being the strongest guy in the weight room again?" Stan seemed to brighten at the recollection as Jonathan continued, "Well, you can still come on Saturdays and we'll be able to keep track of your progress. You'll see, it'll be fine. OK, guys, let's get your measurements."

Once again, we got out our cards and Jonathan got the tape measure. In three months, I had gone from 137 pounds to 166, brought my chest up by over four inches to 41 , and added an inch and a half to my thighs, all while keeping my waist at 31 inches. My biceps were almost two inches bigger than when we had started, at 13 7/8 inches. I grumbled about not hitting the 'magic' 14-inch mark. "Just round it off, you know that's what all the big guys do with their measurements," Jonathan said.

"Yeah, but *I'll* know," I said.

"Oh, all right, we'll measure again after the workout. You'll work biceps last. That ought to do it. OK, Squat Machine, your turn." Barry had gained as much as I had in three months, and was 161 pounds. His chest was now at 40 inches, with a 30-inch waist. His thighs were huge at 23 inches, and his biceps taped at a tiny fraction under 13 1/2 inches.

Stan had gained over twenty pounds during the summer, which Jonathan said was a lot for someone who had been training more than a year. His arms were just a little smaller than Barry's, at 13 3/8 inches, and his 38 1/2-inch chest looked impressive over his 27-inch waist. His thighs, at 20 inches, were in excellent proportion to the rest of his physique. Jonathan put the cards away. "We'll get your 'after' pictures during our contest, after you work out, so you'll be looking pretty sharp. I know I've said it before, but I'm really proud of you guys. OK, let's get to work."

There was no question about it, our workouts were, if no less intense than before, considerably 'chummier', with a lot of friendly hands on shoulders, brief back rubs, and one outright hug as Stan accomplished a new personal record on the bench press. The fact that we were training in our posing trunks just added a bit of a pleasant edge to the whole thing. Jonathan raised his eyebrows a bit at all the body contact, but was smiling like a fond parent throughout the workout.

When we finished, Jonathan quickly got out his tape measure and measured my biceps once again, now feeling tight and full after a strenuous set of 30-pound dumbbell curls. "Just over fourteen inches, MuscleMike! So if anyone asks, you can tell them fourteen inches without fudging." He paused, and with an unmistakable twinkle in his eyes, asked, "You know anyone who's likely to ask?"

"Well, you never know," I answered noncommittally, and returned a smartass grin worthy of Stan.

"OK, guys, it's posedown time. Oil up, and get up on the stage." We oiled ourselves up, and Jonathan oiled our backs. He pointed out that a little oil goes a long way, and that too much oil looks as bad as too little under the light, and helped us towel off some of the excess. We stepped up on the stage as Jonathan turned on the spotlight. He got out his Polaroid camera and assumed a professional manner. "OK, let's do the mandatory poses, and some of these will be for your folder photos. Gentlemen, stand relaxed, facing me." SNAP. "Thank you. A quarter turn to your left..."

The mandatory poses took several minutes, and Jonathan actually seemed to be scrutinizing us quite carefully and critically. "All right," he said. "I'll put the Polaroids away and then we'll start the posing routines. Which one of you is going to be first?" He looked at Barry expectantly. Barry kind of half smiled. "Well, actually, we have something different in mind. We'll be doing this posing routine as a group."

Jonathan looked from Barry to Stan and me; we were both nodding seriously.

"I don't know about you guys. I bet I know whose idea this was, though. OK, OK, let's see the routine."

Barry brought out his tape player and told Jonathan to turn it on when he said 'go'. We lined up with our backs to Jonathan, assumed our starting positions, and Barry called out, "Go!" We heard the familiar -- by now almost *too* familiar -- Doors music and began our routine.

You know the day destroys the night; night divides the day. Tried to run, tried to hide, Break on through to the other side, Break on through to the other side...

We moved like one man with three bodies. You're not really supposed to look at your audience, but it was hard not to see that Jonathan was enjoying our performance, tapping his hand on his leg in time with the music. We went to our final pose, with a slight falter in balance as I went to one knee and twisted my back towards Jonathan, looking at my right bicep flexing to one side. The music stopped.

Jonathan stood up, shouted a high-pitched whoop of appreciation, and applauded. "This was Barry's idea, I assume?"

Barry stood and bowed elaborately at the waist. Stan and I laughed a little. "I've seen a lot of competitive routines that weren't nearly as well put together," Jonathan told Barry, then looked at Stan and me and added, "and nowhere near as well posed as you guys did. I'm really impressed. *Really* impressed. Well. OK, it's time for the judge to give out the awards." He pulled out three fake-parchment sheets and sat down on a bench, and wrote some stuff on each of the sheets as we watched from the stage. He came over to us and handed one to each of us. I looked at mine. "Be it known," the hand-calligraphed lettering read, "that on this day, Saturday, the Seventh day of September, in the year 1968, Michael Wesson, known among his comrades as MuscleMike, did in fair competition earn the award for" and here Jonathan had written in, in fair handwriting, "Best Back and Best Arms" and the calligraphy continued, "As judged by," and Jonathan's signature. Barry had been awarded "Best Poser and Best Legs", while Stan had earned "Best Chest and Best Abdominals". Even though I knew it was sort of hokey, I was really proud of my certificate.

"I couldn't give out an overall award," Jonathan said, almost apologetically, "I know it sounds corny, but you're all winners as far as I'm concerned." He thought for a second. "MuscleMike is lagging a little on legs, so next week after you've scouted the Hami weight room I'll give you some ideas for alternate or additional exercises. Same for your arms, Barry, they're not quite up to the rest of your physique."

"That reminds me; we got something for you too," Barry said, "I left it outside."

Jonathan raised his eyebrows in surprise, and as Barry went outside, he asked us what it was. "That," I said, quoting from a television program I had been watching that summer,

Barry came back in, with a fairly large flat package wrapped in plain brown butcher paper, and handed it to Jonathan, who opened it eagerly, looking at that moment as much like a kid as Stan. It was a framed picture. He looked at it, and just whispered, "Oh, wow!"

Jonathan was holding a large photograph, mounted and framed. On the left was the Austrian bodybuilder with a sort of dopey-looking gap-toothed grin, extending his hand to Jonathan. A smiling and triumphant Jonathan was clasping the hand with his own right hand, while flexing his left arm, displaying his chiseled physique. Two trophies stood at his side. Jonathan started to say something, but stopped, opened his mouth again, then stopped, then finally said in an oddly choked voice, "I never thought you guys would do anything like this. I can't even tell you how much..." and his voice choked off. I looked at his face and I swear, his eyes were glistening with tears. There was an awkward silence.

Barry broke the silence. "Oh, and the photographer made these too." He brought out a plain Manila envelope. Inside were about a dozen 8x10 prints of Jonathan's posing routine, which were for Jonathan, and four copies of the picture that the photographer had made with the three of us posing on the stage before the contest started. Each of us took one, and Jonathan immediately tacked his copy on the wall of our gym, while I put my picture and parchment into my folder.

"I am so impressed with all of you guys," Jonathan told us with a serious look on his face. "I mean, not just your physiques, you've obviously done such a great job this summer, but I'm just glad to have friends like you. Lots of guys got muscles; not a whole lot of them have hearts to go with them."

Stan went over to Jonathan and put a hand on his arm. "Jonathan," he asked, "we'd really like you to pose for us one more time before we go." Jonathan looked at Barry and me. We nodded. Jonathan stripped to his shorts and oiled up; Stan oiled his back. Jonathan went up on the stage and started his routine from last weekend. Stan was standing nearby and went up on the stage with him to stroke and feel his arms. Jonathan's eyes widened, but he continued to pose. I came over to him and felt of his thick chest, while Barry knelt and ran both his two hands up Jonathan's right leg to his thigh, where they remained.

"Ummmmm, guys, *guys*, this feels really great, but I can't let you do this. You know, I'm an adult, and you're teenagers...if anyone found out about this, you'd be in trouble, but I'd be hauled up on felony charges. We gotta stop. Really."

I stroked his left nipple -- Barry had taught Stan and me a couple of interesting things about the human body yesterday -- and in a voice that imitated Jonathan's surprisingly well, said, "I'm really sorry you don't trust me more than that. I wouldn't tell anyone about you or anybody else. It's not my decision to make as to who gets told, it's yours."

Jonathan looked at me, recognizing his own words to me. He opened and closed his mouth. "Well," he said slowly, "can't argue with wisdom like that." With that, he pulled my head in close to his chest, where I enthusiastically licked his hard pecs and nipple. Barry was kneeling in front of him, now with his mouth over Jonathan's shorts, stimulating his rising cock still in the trunks. Stan was licking Jonathan's flexing tricep. Jonathan had one hand down, stroking Barry's shoulders and the other at the back of my head, kneading the muscles behind my neck. It all felt very familiar, and I suddenly remembered my dream that first night after meeting Jonathan and Stan so long ago -- was it only three months? -- There we were, three muscleboys enjoying Jonathan's beautiful steel body even as he enjoyed the young statues he had helped to carve.

Before long, we were all on the floor, a tangled mass of teenage and adult muscle, a confused mixture of flexing, stroking, licking, thrusting hips, and pulsing cocks. Barry's mouth proved particularly talented in ways I didn't really like to think about too carefully, and he brought Jonathan to a climactic ejaculation that covered his massive chest with white juice. Stan and I rubbed our cocks against Jonathan's chest and abs and even his arms, adding our fluid to Jonathan's, even as we flexed for Jonathan's pleasure (and one another's). Jonathan's hand squeezed and pulled expertly at Barry's cock until he too sprayed a flood of ejaculant with gasps of pleasure. It was not the only time that we 'came' that afternoon, and finally we just lay there quietly, gently caressing one another.

"You guys should be going home soon," Jonathan sighed. "I'd be lying if I said I hadn't been wanting something like that for a long time." He turned to me. "I told you I thought you guys were sexy. Pygmalion, you know."

I nodded. "Yeah, I figured that out. Eventually."

Each of us went into the house to shower one at a time; groups would have been asking for trouble. While I was getting dressed, I asked Jonathan, "by the way, what are you studying in grad school?"

"Education. I'm going for my Master's. I want to be a teacher. Who knows? Maybe you'll even find me student-teaching for you one of these days."

I looked at Jonathan admiringly. "A teacher. Damn, Jonathan, you're going to be the best. The *best*!" •

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