Gym class hero

From Metabods

by Tigerjay

part 1

I knew my luck was too good, that it had to run out.

It was second semester of my senior year of high school. I’d managed to get through the previous three and a half years without taking a gym class, and had thought I might make it through the last four months, too, but someone in the office caught on. When I got my schedule, I groaned: instead of the free period (to which all seniors at my high school were entitled), I had a gym class. And it wasn’t just any gym class, no, nor the one I’d have really hoped for (given the requirement of a gym class), what most people called ‘loser gym’. The class for the rejects, where they did their best to keep we out-of-shape, uncoordinated dweebs from hurting ourselves. No, the only gym class that had fit into my schedule was Sports Gym, for the students who were on the various sports teams.

“I’m sorry, Mason,” said the secretary, not that she seemed overly contrite to me. I’d gone to the office to see about getting switched out. “But you do need a gym class to graduate. It was either this or summer school.”

All things considered, I’d rather have summer school. Still, I didn’t say that, and went off to my first period class, dreading my second period gym class.

I avoided the changing room that first day, instead heading right into the gym to speak to Mr. Tyler, the teacher. The very fit teacher, in fact, and the man upon whom I had a not inconsiderable crush. “Mr. Tyler?” I said hesitantly, trying to get his attention. “Sorry, I don’t have any kit for today, I didn’t know I was going to be in the class until this morning.”

He turned and frowned, and looked me over—not unkindly, but I knew that my frame, 5’8”, and over 200 pounds of flab, was not what he was used to for this particular class. “That’s okay, Hatchett,” he said, his frown turning up at the corners into a soft smile. “Just make sure you have it for tomorrow. You do have what you’ll need?”

I had to stop and think about it for a moment. It wasn’t like I normally wore gym clothes, after all. “Just a pair of shorts and a t-shirt?” I asked. “And sneakers.”

“You’ll need a jock strap for this class, too,” Mr. Tyler told me. “But if you don’t have one for a few days, it’s not like I’m going to be checking.” It was all I could do not to offer to let him check, but I restrained myself and just nodded instead. “Your clothes won’t be much use today, though. Why don’t you... Here, follow me.”

I scrambled after him, and he led me to his office. “You can sit in here today,” Mr. Tyler said, “and read this.” He handed me a book, little more than a pamphlet, really. “And then think about it. Let me know what you want to do after class, all right?” He left the office, just as I heard the rest of the class, members of the football, soccer, and basketball teams, clamor into the gym. Mr. Tyler closed the door, shutting the noise out, and I was left with the booklet.

The cover was a plain, dark blue, with white text: “An Introduction to Gym Class for the Uninitiated,” it said. I sat down in Mr. Tyler’s chair and flipped it open.

I was unimpressed with the book to start with; it was just a discussion of the benefits of gym class, such as improved physical fitness, a decrease in obesity in youth... It wasn’t until I got about halfway through that I realised what this book—what Mr. Tyler, apparently—was offering.

“For more extreme cases,” I read, “recent research offers some other options. While current legal issues allow this resolution only for students who are at least eighteen, this method does offer those students of that age who find themselves with a minimal level of physical fitness an opportunity to claim the body they wish to have.” I kept reading, now using all of my attention. The booklet went on to give a rough outline of the research and what needed to be done. It seemed simple; there was discussion of supplements, and how certain exercises were involved. It didn’t sound like anything particularly new and exciting in that regard. The benefits it was offering, though!

Weight-loss in days. Muscle growth even faster. Increased height, improved health... I was a fat slob of an eighteen-year-old who was attracted to athletic, muscular men. The kind of men who usually like men like themselves. I couldn’t not think about this seriously.

I reached the end of the booklet and put it down on the desk; as I let the new information seep into me, I took the opportunity to look around Mr. Tyler’s office. I’d never been in it before, of course, and I guess I hadn’t really known what to expect.

It was actually pretty tidy; there was a bit of clutter, of course, but it looked mostly like some paperwork spread across the desk. I ignored it. There was a shower in one corner, and a basket beside it that I assumed must hold Mr. Tyler’s laundry. Another door, narrow, was opposite the door out to the gym; I peeked inside to find that it was a closet, with a few towels and some gym clothes on one shelf, the rest filled with boxes of papers. I left that and went back to the chair, leaning back to think about what the booklet was promising.

I was eighteen, so the legal issues weren’t a concern. I was apparently within the acceptable range for potential students, health-wise—although just barely, as it seemed to be designed for guys much worse-off than me. I only had to consider if I really wanted to do this.

Yeah. There was nothing to think about there at all. I spent the rest of the period thinking about what I’d do when I had my new muscular body, the kinds of guys I could attract. Maybe, I thought to myself, I could even attract Mr. Tyler.

“What have you decided?”

I whirled around; in my reverie, I hadn’t noticed the door opening. Mr. Tyler stood there, framed in the doorway. I could smell the sweat on him, a strong, masculine scent. “I’d like to know a little more,” I said, hesitantly, not wanting to come out and say, “Sign me up!” I didn’t want to seem too eager. “It talks about supplements, and exercises and stuff. What makes it different? It’s not steroids or anything?”

Mr. Tyler shook his head; he stepped across the office and stripped his shirt off as he replied, and I almost didn’t hear him as I was distracted the sight of his strong, lightly hairy chest. He wasn’t massively muscular, but his athletic body was more than toned; I don’t think he had more than two or three percent body fat. “It’s not steroids,” he said. “It’s perfectly safe that way. You don’t have to worry about anything shrinking; in fact, you may experience some growth down there, too.” His hands went to the waistband of his shorts; just before he pushed them down, he turned to me and frowned. “Er, sorry, Hatchett,” he said. “I usually shower right after class. You don’t mind, do you?” It was all I could do to shake my head; as soon as I had, Mr. Tyler kicked off his shoes, skinned his shorts down, and his jock strap with them, leaving him in just a pair of socks. His long, thick cock—it had to be at least six or seven inches soft, if I was any judge, with balls sized to match—bounced in front of him as he reached down to take the socks off, too. He stretched his arms over his head, his muscles moving under his skin; he reached in to start the shower before grabbing a clean towel out of the closet. “As for how it’s different, it’s mostly in how quickly you’ll see changes. Most of the students who go through this process are a lot bigger than you, so it’s hard to say exactly how much it’ll affect you. You might see some big gains.”

“That’s not a problem,” I assured Mr. Tyler. “I... I’d like to get big. Like, the other kind of big.”

Mr. Tyler grinned and nodded as he stepped into the shower. “You’ll have to trust me completely,” he said, talking above the sound of the water. “For this to work, you’ll have to do exactly as I say, all right? We can stop at any point if you get uncomfortable, but if you don’t see it through to the end then the changes won’t be permanent—you’d lose anything that you’d gained.”

I nodded. “All right,” I said, thinking that I’d give anything to look like Mr. Tyler. “I’ll do it.”

“I knew you wouldn’t let me down,” he said, and I could hear the grin in his voice. “In my desk, top drawer on the left side, there’s a bottle of pills. Take one and let it dissolve in your mouth. Let me know when it’s all gone.”

I followed Mr. Tyler’s direction; the pill, a small, white thing, was pretty much tasteless, but it left a bit of an odd texture in my mouth. “It’s dissolved. Is this one of the supplements?” I asked.

“The first part of the process,” Mr. Tyler explained. “All right, now I’ll need you to get your clothes off and come in here with me.”

“... What?”

“Exactly as I say, remember, Hatchett?” He pushed the curtain just to the side, enough to look out without exposing his body—or, more likely, given his lack of shyness before, without letting the water all out onto the floor. “C’mon. Don’t be shy.” I stood up, hesitated a moment, and then stripped off my clothes as fast as I could. I closed my eyes, not wanting to think about the flab that I was showing off. “That’s it, Hatchett,” Mr. Tyler said, looking me over again; I waited for the disgust, but it was almost clinical, or... like he was seeing what could be there. If this worked. “Into the shower.”

I pushed the shower curtain aside just enough to step into the shower cubicle, which was, really, a little larger than I’d expected; we weren’t shoved right up against each other. Still, we weren’t exactly across a room, and I could feel my dick—average, not tiny, but still only about as big fully hard as Mr. Tyler’s was soft—rising. “All right, sir...?” I said.

“The next step,” he said, his smile broadening, “is to get the next part of the supplement. Which you need to get from someone else directly.” One of his hands went to my shoulder, applying a bit of downward pressure—a hint, really, of what he wanted—as his other reached down to grab his cock and stroke it lightly. It was starting to grow already, stiffening, lengthening, thickening, until, just as I hit my knees on the floor of the shower, it reached its full, turgid length. I swear, it had to have doubled, must have been at least a foot long. “And to get it directly,” he said, “you need to swallow my load.” He didn’t have to ask me twice; I took a breath, and then, in one smooth motion, swallowed half his enormous cock down my throat.

This had to be a dream. It had to be. That was the only explanation for why the hot gym teacher, the man I’d been jacking off to in my head for the past three and a half years (since my first high school assembly, the first day of my freshman year), was running his hands through my hair and moaning appreciatively as I swallowed half—now three-quarters—of his thick, veiny, foot-long cock. “That’s it, Hatchett,” Mr. Tyler groaned. “Just like that.” Already—too soon—I could feel his balls drawing up, coming even with my chin as the last inch of cock slid into my mouth. “Fuck, Hatchett, I’m going to-” That and a sharp gasp were the only warning I had before what felt like gallons of Mr. Tyler’s hot, salty come was shooting down my throat. I pulled back, the better to taste him, and the next several shots—two or three alone bigger than the biggest load I’d ever shot, and I’d already felt him pulse nine or ten times—filled my mouth.

Mr. Tyler breathed heavy above me, leaning back against the wall of the shower; I swallowed the last of his load and got to my feet. “You’ve done that before,” he said, smirking. “No way you took me all your first time.”

“The washrooms, in the park,” I admitted. “There’s a glory hole.”

“Well, no more of that,” Mr. Tyler told me. “From now on, it’s me and no one else.” He paused. “Well, maybe one or two others, but if that happens it’ll be part of your training.” He grinned, showing his bright white teeth. “That’s it for today. You need twenty-four hours to let the process take hold in your system, so tomorrow in class, we’ll start the next part of your training.” I nodded as he reached around me to turn off the water. He pulled back the curtain and handed me a towel. “Hurry up now, lunch is halfway over and you’ll need to eat.”

“Tha- Thank you, Mr. Tyler,” I managed to say, toweling off quickly and throwing on my clothes. “For-”

He laughed, a hearty laugh that danced down my spine and straight to my cock. Which was, I came to realise, rather painfully hard; I’d have to run to the bathroom before I went to the cafeteria. “Don’t thank me yet, Hatchett,” Mr. Tyler said. “Wait until you see me tomorrow.”