Part 3
(3/13/12)
Last night I was consumed by thoughts of Alex and his beefy body. I ran to the bathroom after Alex went to bed and furiously masturbated. I kept going over his stomach and his arms and his legs bulging and his chest—oh that chest!—that so awesomely popped buttons. Again and again I replayed the incident in my mind's eye. Let's just say I didn't sleep much.
In the morning, Alex seemed to have recovered from his food coma. I was getting ready for my math class while he woke up, his body still stretching the school logo. Normally contained in a circle, it warped into an oblong oval that curved down as he used his meaty chest to push himself up. He lumbered over to the closet to get dressed.
Swiftly, I pulled my book bag in front of my crotch. The sight of him walking, legs rolling past one another, boxer shorts stretched like boxer briefs (especially in the ass)—it was too much. I decided to search for an extra pencil to take to class so that I could spend more time savoring Alex's presence—he was taking off his shirt!
Or rather, he was trying. The shirt was giving him some difficulty. The sheer width of his back caught the shirt, and only after grunting softly could he peel it the rest of the way off, pulling it over his head. He turned around to grab deodorant off of his dresser and my boner painfully pressed against my book bag. His chest! It was big, of course, but now I could see the striations running horizontally, the bundles of fiber that contracted with every movement. And another thing, he was kind of hairy. Alex had always had this sexy, sparse covering on the bottom of his chest, but now there was definitely more hair on his pecs.
He caught me staring.
"Aren't you going to be late for class?"
I pretended I had been in deep thought and made some comment about "staring into space." I left, lust stirring in me.
(3/16/12)
Friday night. Alex had a heated phone call a few minutes ago in the hallway. He came back into the room looking downtrodden. But even his bad mood couldn't take away my enjoyment of his form. He was, as of our last work out (where he added 20 pounds more than usual to his bench press) almost 245. That's a few pounds this week! My plan was certainly working. He sat down on his bed, gym shorts sliding up his legs slightly, tight t-shirt leaving a gap at his waist.
"Everything alright, man?" I asked.
"Yeah," he murmured. "Just stuff with Emily."
"If you wanted to talk about it, I'd listen."
"I don't know…" he sighed. "Can I be honest with you? It's a little gross."
"Sure."
"Last time we—you know—did it—she got really uncomfortable. She said she was afraid I was going to crush her or something."
"That's a really stupid thing to say," I said, trying to remain calm.
I couldn't help but picture it: Alex on top, thrusting his massive haunches, supporting his body with his strong arms—no way he would crush her. His back rippling with the rhythmic motions. His hefty pecs and his abdomen hanging from him. Maybe that could make her a little scared, I guess. All that mass. All that strength. All that power.
"And on top of it all," he paused, trying to think of tactful way to explain what he said next. After a moment, he just went with: "I'm horny all the time, man. It's like I've constantly got blue balls or something. They're even swollen."
He looked down and played with his fingers, awkwardly covering his waist.
"It's okay, Alex. That stuff—" how could I sound not excited by this news? "—that stuff is normal. It happens to everyone from time to time at our age."
"Thanks."
"Anything else bothering you?"
"No," he said, "that's pretty much it." He laughed at himself, defusing the awkwardness.
I got up and went to the bathroom. I practically jogged down the hall with a full hard-on. I had succeeded in transforming my roommate physically, but now there were unexpected benefits. Side effects from the cocktail of hormones, no doubt. That probably explained his hair growth, too. And did it ever get me going. There is an acute sense of control that drives me wild in addition to the strong physical attraction to his bulk. His actions are being directed by me. I have made him hotter and hornier. And he doesn't even know it.
(3/20/12)
Wow. When I look back, my little experiment was ambitious to say the least. But my plans have succeeded! In a little over two months, Alex has gained 30 lb. His progress has only accelerated since the introduction of the Chinese supplement. The cycles of hormones and anabolics he's unwittingly been on have probably helped, too. He's been improved by me so much, even his stance has changed. His arms hang farther out from his sides, the result of a widening back, and his gait has adjusted as his upper legs thicken. And I am overjoyed at the change in his behavior!
The other night I woke up to muffled grunts. Alex was jacking off, trying to be as quiet as possible, but apparently the intensity was too much. My eyes adjusted to dark and I made sure to be as still as possible. He was on his back, hips bucking. I couldn't make out any details, but I could easily detect his bulk moving back and forth as arms pumped his cock. The bed squeaked with each thrust. He finished with another suppressed moan. I have to praise my self-control again; I wanted very much to relieve the aching pressure in my own body. But not as much as I wanted to run my hands over his muscles as they quivered with exhaustion and pleasure.
Today, something happened that surpasses that nocturnal experience. It happened in the campus fitness center. It was glorious.
When we met at the room after classes to go to the gym, I knew I was in for a treat: Alex was wearing the extra-tight white t-shirt. His bulk filled it out quite nicely and the seams were straining.
Now, I know it might seem weird that Alex was still wearing the same clothes, but I don't think he wants to buy larger clothes. He foolishly holds onto the hope that he will lose weight! To buy new clothes would be to admit defeat.
Anyway, we went to the fitness center. We did cardio for five, maybe ten minutes to warm up. This is one area in which I am more athletic than Alex; my lean body handles running on a treadmill just fine, but Alex, ever since his weight gain, jogs so slowly he might as well be walking. He gets out of breath much faster than me. I think another reason his gains increased recently was his inability to keep up a fast pace for very long—it's a vicious cycle of his size impeding him. A lovely, vicious cycle that ensures he will continue to grow!
Today was a chest day. Truly a treat today! We both warmed up our triceps first, allowing me to gleefully peek at his muscular arms. By the time we finished, his tris were pumped and his sleeves had rolled up to his shoulders. It was pretty hot.
We moved on to bench press. I went first—I needed to divert some of my blood flow before my shorts tented too much. I was only mildly successful but Alex is such a cool guy that he didn't say anything. After all, he had confessed his increasingly constant horniness to me. After my modest weight lifting, it was time for me to spot Alex.
He started pumping out reps at his weight from our last time and asked me to add more. I grabbed two tens and loaded them on the bar. Alex was slowed only slightly, but he seemed satisfied with that—he wasn't intentionally trying to pack on that delicious mass. About twenty reps in, his shirt was soaked with sweat. It was transparent and the dark hair on his chest and stomach highlighted the shape of his muscles. Beads of sweat had long since formed on his brow but he kept going, puffing his cheeks now with each extension but still keeping a surprisingly rapid rate. He moaned softly with each exhale, and I knew it would be hard to hide my erection soon. Thankfully he was focused solely on moving the bar up and down. One of the things I admire about him is his concentration, especially in the weight room. He was squinting his eyes more now as the fatigue started.
His pecs flexed and shook and pumped with each rep. They began to engorge and fill with blood. His shirt was already soaking and stretching in every direction, but the lines of stress on the fabric became more pronounced on his chest. Oh God. Just writing about this is getting me so hot. You could see every detail of his chest—the hair, the contracting muscle, his hard nipples poking the fabric. The shirt seemed like it was getting even tighter. His body was threatening to burst free of it.
And then it happened. Rip! His tortured shirt split open down the center, just below his collar. Glistening, bloated muscle emerged from beneath. I think my jaw literally dropped. It was amazing. The shirt had given way to those big, beautiful, overpowering pecs!
Alex struggled to get the bar up, shocked by what had happened. I almost didn't help him out, distracted by his heaving chest. But I realized he was in trouble in time and eased the bar back onto the rack.
"Shit, man," he gasped, a look of disappointment on his face.
I can't remember if I said anything. I was too preoccupied, staring at his torn shirt and incredibly enticing chest. At least I had a good excuse to stare this time.
(3/22/12)
It's been a couple of days since the incident. When I close my eyes, all I see is that chest ripping through that shirt. I've been jacking off like crazy, but not as much as I've noticed Alex disappearing to the empty bathroom or quietly grunting in the middle of the night.
Alex, when not getting off, has been moping around. He's still coming along nicely—his shirts barely fit him now. All of them hang an inch or two above his slightly rounder waist, clinging like Under Armor to his slab-like pecs and bulbous shoulders.
The best part, ironically, about him being distraught over his gains, has been that he's eating more. I can only hope that this will boost his bulking even more! Some extra protein powder can't hurt, right?
Today, as he was eating his depression away with a plate of chicken I'd injected with liquid additives, he let loose.
"It's just not fair, dude! All I want is to get cut. I know I haven't been dieting strictly" (he certainly hadn't) "but I have to be losing someweight. I'm exercising more often—higher reps and everything."
"It's okay, man. You just gained some muscle, that's all. Going on a crash diet wouldn't be healthy—you know that! I'm sorry you're having a tough time with this."
But I'm not.