Dad's Workout Regimen


By Bill Drake

I was 16 and playing football, trying to bulk up for the game. I was working out nonstop and had gotten some gains, but I'd definitely plateaued, and my teen muscles were getting toned, but not much bigger. One night as Dad and I were putting away the dishes after dinner, he asked me how my workout regimen was going. See dad had played ball, too, in high school and college and would often give me pointers.

I told him the difficulty I was having putting on mass. He looked over my upper body and appraised me. "You're doing all right for a 16 year old kid. Maybe you haven't hit your second growth spurt yet," he said.

"I suppose, Dad," I replied, "It's just that Coach said I should bulk up ten pounds before the season starts. No matter what I do I can't seem to put on more."

"Well," Dad said casually, "I'll ask Dr. Stewart to see what he thinks."

That was the extent of the conversation and I'd forgotten about the matter until two weeks later. I'd just gotten back from an intense evening workout at the gym and had gone to my room to examine myself in the full-length mirror. I always liked measuring my progress when I had a good pump. That night, my pump was particularly tight and I watched as my biceps swelled

into big knots of power. Still, I knew that this was not the same as making gains. I'd have to enjoy the added mass for now, knowing tomorrow I'd be

back to normal - a respectable size for a teenage guy, I supposed, but no bigger.

Just as I was about to put my shirt back on, I heard a gentle knock at my door, before Dad popped his head in. "Hey son, I wanted to catch you before you went out. I talked to Dr. Stewart yesterday about your workout, and I got something for you."

I was a pretty na´ve kid and didn't know what steroids were, so I didn't

know what was in the vial Dad pulled out of a small leather bag. I probably wouldn't have cared anyway, I was so eager to get bigger and to follow my dad's advice.

He put a syringe in the vial and withdrew the thick liquid. He stepped up to me and grabbed my bicep, squeezing it until the muscle swelled and the vein in my arm bulged out.

"Don't tell your ma about this or she'll have my hide," he warned as he poked the needle in my arm and injected the fluid in me as his thick hand held me steady. I thought it would hurt, but it just gently stung for a second, then it was all over. I rubbed my arm as dad put away the vial and syringe, less to ease the pain than to bring back the circulation.

"Thanks, dad" I said, hoping that this would finally do the trick.

"Sure, son," he said, slapping my back in a paternal gesture. "Doc says I should give you a boost every week for the next month or two and you should see results." He pulled open my sock drawer and stashed his bag in the back to hide it. Then he left the room.

I worked out harder than ever before that week. I'd learned about placebos in biology class and wondered if the liquid dad had injected into me actually did anything or if it was all in my mind. I didn't care, as long as I got results.

And man, did I get results. Even within a week, my pecs were bulging and my back was showing striations and knots that weren't there before. By the next Tuesday night, I was once again in front of my mirror examining my post-workout gains. The difference was subtle to the untrained eye, but I was starting to develop a real jock build. My shoulders, my chest, my arms were starting to put on mass. I flexed and examined every inch of my shirtless torso until I heard the knock.

My dad poked his head in the crack of my not completely closed door. His

masculine face was covered with a five-o-clock stubble. "How's the progress, Bill?" he asked.

I could barely hide my enthusiasm as I told him how I could feel it deep in my muscles and could see more bulk, too. As I went on listing the changes, he opened my sock drawer and pulled out that black leather bag, and prepared the syringe for another injection.

When it was ready he stepped up to me like before and grabbed my right bicep. This time as he squeezed the arm muscle, he seemed to caress it in his powerful hands, kneading the knot of muscle till it swelled and got even bigger and even harder.

"Yeah, Bill, I can tell you're getting power in this arm. Feels reel strong and hard. The juice must be working. Now for another dose. You ready, son?"

"Sure, dad" I said, as I felt the needle slip in again and give me my second injection.

After it was done, Dad stood upright and began putting away the supplies

where they came from. I didn't rub my arm this time, I just stared in the mirror and continued to flex my new muscles, imagining that the liquid was working its way through my body and making it grow as I watched. It wasn't that instantaneous of course, but I still felt proud of what my body was

becoming. If I worked hard enough I'd be big by fall.

As Dad left the room, he put his hand on my bulging delts and gave a tight squeeze before removing it. "Good night son."

"Good night, dad," I replied. Then I felt it. My cock throbbed and hardened in my sweats. I was popping a major hardon now. Good thing it hadn't happened in front of my dad, I would have been mortified. I shut my door all the way and turned back to the mirror. Almost without thinking, I lowered the waistband of my sweats down and exposed my hard cock. It jutted firmly out in my hand, spasming in an intense desire to shoot a load. I had neglected it the last couple of days, as my workouts had left me too tired for even a quick jackoff session at night (and I'm always late getting ready in the morning, so no time then...) Now, my hand grasped the hard, fleshy pole and began caressing it up and down. I looked at my image in the mirror. I thought how hot it would be to spray my own pecs in jism and then it happened, my piss slit opened up and out shot thick, hot, white ropes of

fresh cum, covering the mirror image of my developing chest.

As I calmed down from my intense orgasm, I took my shirt and wiped the mirror clean, making sure to get every trace. I brought it up to my nose and inhaled. I never had smelled my own jizz before and even as I brought the wet, spermy shirt to my nose, I wondered why I was doing it now. Then the aroma hit my nose, surprisingly sweet, almost floral, with a hint of

muskiness. I couldn't stop breathing in the scent and wondered why I'd never thought to sniff my load before. I removed my sweats and climbed into bed, my cum rag by my face, and fell into a deep, contented sleep.

The next few days, I hit the weights hard. I only wished Coach could have seen my determination and hard work, but then again relished the surprise he'd register when he'd seen how built I'd gotten over the summer. The week before my body had mostly been changing its metabolism, now I was putting on muscle. Each day and every night I grew. A little at the time, to be sure, but damn, I was putting it on faster than I'd ever dreamed. Whatever the stuff Dad was giving me, it was working.

I began to notice a side effect, too. I was now hornier than fuck. I mean, more than normal teenage jock horny. My senses were awash in nonstop hormonal surges. I guess I'd always watched the other guys at the gym and admired their bodies, but now I found myself having to fight down a boner during my workouts or to keep from staring at the men in the shower. Maybe I was queer, I worried, and I'd feel guilty but then I'd see a muscular man walking down the street or another jock in the hall at school and I could think of nothing except dick. Big, hard dick.

I was fighting down an erection posing in front of my mirror after my Tuesday night workout and was toying with the idea of slipping down my sweatpants when Dad came into my room once more.

"Hey sport," he said. He was in a good mood that evening, but with my dad, even in his good mood he wasn't usually very talkative. As was now routine, he opened my top drawer and pulled out the bag. Like before he squeezed the muscle in my bicep to pump the muscle a bit more. It wasn't really necessary. I was still really pumped from the gym and veins were raised visible all over the muscle down my developing arm. After a half minute of kneading my bicep, he pressed his large thumb into the ball of my muscle and held it still as he injected the needle into me and gave me my weekly dose.

When he was done he didn't pull his hand away, even though he released the pressure of his thumb. Instead, he rubbed the muscle, slightly sore from the workout and injection both, and commented how the doctor's recommendation was really working.

"Yeah, I can't believe how quickly I'm packing on muscle," I replied.

"Well, this rate of growth might not continue," he cautioned, "It's typical to have bigger results at first. But I think if you continue your lifting regimen you should be able to reach your goal in the next month." At this point I looked at my father and couldn't help but notice his body. His full, muscular frame was packed into a tight, stretched white T-shirt. As he massaged my bicep, his own arm flexed in the motion. His muscles were covered with dark brown hair, and his face had the same color coating of a late-evening shadow that set off his blue eyes beautifully.

Then I felt the juice hit. I was still wearing a well-fitting jockstrap, so my hardon didn't show, but I was definitely popping a boner right in front of my dad. I felt my face blush crimson, but I just answered my dad who seemed to be engrossed in examining my muscles.

"Man, that would be great, dad. I hope I can make it." Dad finally let go of my arm and stood up and began to pack away the syringe. As he turned to the door he patted my back once more, only this time it was less a pat than a stroke.

"You're doing great son"

"Thanks for your help dad"

"Sure thing, Bill. Now get some sleep. Your muscles need a good rest after a workout."

"OK, good night."

"'night, son."

I shut my room door the minute my dad was out of there. I couldn't wait to pull down my tight jock. Damn, my dick was hard and hot, it burned my hand with its heat when I reached down to grab it. My fingers were getting moist as I rubbed the shaft, and I realized I was leaking more than usual. I brought my fingers up and put them in my mouth. The taste of my precum was enough to send me off. I didn't even have to touch my dick, it was so horned up and ready. The minute I tasted my own dick dew, my cock bounced and shot an arc high and steady. Then another. Then another. I didn't think I could produce so much cream. I put my hand in the path of the next shot and coated my fingers again. Quickly I brought them up to my mouth, tasting the fresh semen while my nuts still pumped out.

When I was finally spent, I cleaned up my mess with my T-shirt, then peeled down my sweats and my jock and climbed into bed for a well-deserved sleep. •

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