Things ended badly last semester, but it’s a new school year and that means a fresh start. I’m rooming with a guy named John who I was assigned over the summer. He likes to workout, but when I told him that I had essentially been Alex’s dealer, he had a negative reaction:
“You sold roids to that guy? Why would anyone want to get that big? He’s a freak!”
I didn’t say much else about Alex after that. I had been going to the campus gym in the early afternoon, right after my classes so as to avoid Alex, who usually worked out around eight or nine. I heard plenty about him though. Whispers in the locker room seemed to indicate that he had kept growing over the summer, but hit a plateau after a month. Of course, the reason for this is simple—he ran out of the supplement.
As tempting as it was to try and sneak a peak of the muscle man I had created, I decided against it and focused my energies on someone I had easier access to. John just didn’t want to become a “freak”—which made him the perfect candidate.
I know, I know. Didn’t I learn my lesson last time? The thing is, what I did was not the problem. I only made two mistakes—not securing my journal and engaging in sexual contact that allegedly was unwanted. I would not be making those mistakes again. I am writing this on a password protected file on a thumb drive that I keep on the top shelf of the closet and I will be far more cautious about initiating anything with John. By which I mean I probably won’t do anything with him because he’s straight. But so was Alex, apparently… The point is I already ordered more of the supplement. No use letting it go to waste!
***
The first week of classes is over and John has already gained eight pounds, bringing him up to 175. He is progressing fast since I decided to give him double what I gave Alex. How else am I supposed to get someone so opposed to size to grow?
He was pumping iron like a maniac yesterday, being distraught over his sudden gains. His wavy blond hair was soaked with sweat by the end of our workout session and his veiny arms were nicely displayed in his tank top. He really does have a kind of “bro” look to him—why he doesn’t embrace muscularity is beyond me.
***
Something happened today. I was on my way from class back to my dorm to meet John, crossing the soccer field, when I heard a “Hey!” from behind me. I turned around and saw a monster jogging towards me, out of breath with bulging muscles bouncing with every step. It was Alex!
At first I was very nervous—if he sought me out, he must have a nasty beating in mind for me fueled by anger which had the whole summer to fester. But once he caught up to me, he seemed like the shy one, staring at the ground whenever he began talking rather than meeting my eyes.
“I need to talk to you, Steve.”
He was quite a sight as he drew close. He was wearing a beige T-shirt that was stretched across the bulbous mounds that were his pecs. His round biceps—which looked bigger than his head—pushed the straining sleeves up to his shoulders. The shirt barely made around his massive muscle gut, stretched out by the bulk of it and showing a bit of his stomach below his naval. His thighs rolled past one another, nearly ripping through gym shorts that looked like boxer briefs.
“Alex… I—I’m surprised, to be honest…”
Maybe I should have acted meeker to avoid any violence, but that’s what came out of my mouth first.
“Listen,” he said, catching his breath, his chest heaving (I could hear the fabric of his shirt strain with every inhalation), “I need something.”
“What could you possibly need from—?”
And then it hit me.
“I need more of the stuff,” he said desperately.
Part 2
“I need it, man,” Alex said. He seemed almost nervous, and ran his left arm through his hair, displaying the sweat-soaked armpit of his shirt. “I’m shrinking! I just can’t keep up my weight without it and I can’t take being so small!”
“Small?” I asked.
“Yeah. I’m down to 347…”
“Down? Alex, that’s bigger than any professional bodybuilder!
“I couldn’t even get this shirt on over the summer! I got all the way to 360 pounds.”
I nearly gasped. While it was very tight, the shirt was also very big. I imagine the size was an L with a lot of Xs before it. The thought of him not even fitting into it was astonishing.
“How big are your arms?”
“23 ½,” he answered.
My eyes must have bulged. He was a behemoth, but hearing just how large he was reinforced it all.
“And… and your chest?”
“Just over 60 inches.”
If I wasn’t turned on before I certainly was now. I glanced at his thighs, their every contour showing through his gym shorts and asked, “Thighs?”
“Almost 34—do you have a boner right now?” Anger crept into his desperate voice. “Enough of this! I need the stuff and I need it now.”
“What makes you think I even have it any—?”
“Cut the shit,” he interrupted in a suddenly commanding voice. “Knowing you, you’ve already got your new roommate hooked on the stuff.”
Though he did not say anything explicitly, I became afraid that he might let John know. It didn’t matter how things ended or how awkward the situation was—I had to appease him.
“Okay,” I sighed, “I can give you half of what I have—the other half is for…”
I didn’t really have to finish the sentence for him to see that I was indeed dosing my roommate.
“Good,” Alex said, eyes avoiding me again, “go back to your room and get it, then meet me here. I’ll be waiting.”
He crossed his stuffed arms with some effort over his chest. He was going to wait right there until I delivered the supplement.
***
I ended up giving Alex about two months’ worth of supplement. When I handed the tub to him in a brown paper bag his eyes lit up. Was it seriously addicting, or was he just addicted to the size? I didn’t stick around to find out.
October came and I was able to force quite a bit of growth onto John. I dialed down his dosage to what I gave Alex because I now had a limited supply—obviously I would be ordering more, but the stuff was pretty expensive.
John has swollen another 20 pounds to 195. His arms are quite a site in the sleeveless shirts he often wears, but most of the mass has clearly gone to his chest and stomach. He is, of course, very upset over his weight gain.
“I don’t understand it, Steve. I work out every day and I’m barely eating enough to maintain what I have. Remember when I used to have abs?”
He patted his protruding belly forlornly and made a face out of frustration.
“I bet if you flex you still have a six pack…” I offered.
“That’s true, but it’s not the same.”
Nope. It’s better, I thought gleefully.
Out of curiosity, one Wednesday I decided to venture into the gym by myself later in the evening. I had spent all of September replaying my interaction with Alex, remembering every detail of his bloated body. It made jacking off quite enjoyable. But I wanted more—I wanted to see those muscles in action again.
As soon as I entered the gym I knew he was there. I heard grunts like the kind he made when he orgasmed coming from the weight room. Inside there was a group of guys—most of them fairly jacked in ratty T-shirts—gathered around the bench. I approached and saw something incredible—something beautiful.
The most massive man I had ever seen was positioned underneath a bar with so many 45s on it that I lost count. There had to be at least five on each end! With a groan, the shirtless behemoth squeezed pecs together that took my breath away and pushed the weight up, his gargantuan arms shaking and vein-covered. He slowly brought the bar down where it touched his mighty chest right where the nipples would be if they weren’t pushed down by the sheer bulk of each pectoral. He repeated the motion and his torso was soon covered in a sheen of sweat. Those impossible, bulbous pecs turned red from the effort and all the blood pumping them up and his large gut firmed up, showing a set of large, blocky abs.
Alex finished and racked the weight with the help of a bearded guy in a wife beater. He moaned slightly with every exhale.
“Someone—huff—wanna help—oohh—me up—huff?
Two of the largest guys who were also the closest each grabbed one of his hands with both of theirs and strained to help pull him into a sitting position. He was now facing away from me, but I could tell his gut spilled over his tight waistband and rested on his big legs, itself supporting the two pec muscles that heaved as he breathed.
I busied myself at the shoulder press machine so I could turn away and hide my raging boner. I caught my breath and looked back. The guys were already starting to disperse and the same two that helped Alex sit up grasped his hands again to help him stand. As he pulled himself up with his arms his super wide back transformed into a landscape of muscular ridges and valleys.
“Thanks, dudes,” he said, gaining balance on two pillar like legs so thick he had to stand with them splayed out.
Alex turned around and I quickly tried to look away but I was not fast enough.
“Steve,” he said, still a little out of breath, “we should talk.”