Tony the muscleboy

By muscle16  Email
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• Latest update: 10 August. Next update: 24 August. (Submissions welcome.)

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Part 1: We Meet

I got in trouble last year, when I was 15, for spray painting the side of the Jr. High School gym with some graffiti. It was really stupid—I don't know what I was thinking. Anyway, I was caught, and as punishment, I had to clean up around the place for the next month after school until summer vacation started—helping the janitors with the sweeping and mopping, fixing the broken equipment, and just helping out with whatever. Great. Now I, an oh-so-cool 15 year old, who had just finished his Freshman year in High School, had to spend time with the "babies" at the Jr. High. I wasn't happy. But, that was before I met Tony.

On my second day, a Thursday, I was working on the piece-of-shit weight lifting equipment that the Jr. High had—really old stuff, much of it broken or breaking or rusting. Nothing like the excellent equipment that they had up at the High School that I had been using five days a week for the past year since I started there. You see, I was always kind of athletic, but in Jr. High, I was really skinny. Not sickly looking, just a typical 13 or 14 year old kid. I was blessed with good looks, though. I have dark brown hair, light blue eyes, and my mom says I have my dad's chin, complete with dimple. And, I was blessed with a pretty big dick, too—at least that's the way it seemed when I stole a glance at some of the other guys in the showers after gym class. The girls always said I was a "hotty," but for some reason the girls didn't much interest me. And when I looked at myself, I only saw how skinny I was.

When I started High School, I decided that I wanted to get bigger and stronger, and so I began hitting the weights a lot. Luckily for me my body responded pretty well. When I graduated Jr. High at 14, I was 5 feet 5 inches tall, and weighed 114 fat-free pounds. Of course, I was pretty much muscle-free too. Well, that's not really true as I actually had a pretty good shape for a 14 year old. Just skinny (which I guess is normal). But I thought I was muscle-free, in comparison, that is, with what I WANTED to be. And not just "what I wanted to be," but also "what I wanted." You see, I'm into guys. I'm turned on by muscular, athletic guys my age. I'm gay. I know that now, but last year it was more like confusion. Anyway, the point is that the reason I started weightlifting was so that I could look like the kind of guy that made my dick hard when I looked at him. I figured that any guy with enough muscles and strength to turn me on would probably only be interested in a guy that was just as muscular and strong as he was. That is, if he didn't kick the shit out of me first! Of course, this was all hypothetical at the time, because the only guys I had "been with" had been in my dreams. And what dreams they were!

After a year of really hard lifting, and a big growth spurt, I was 5 feet 8 inches tall and weighed 135 pounds, still pretty much fat-free. I was kinda happy to have gained over 20 pounds in only one year, but it was not as much as I wanted. The best thing wasn't the raw numbers, though, but the way I looked. My arms (my favorite muscle) flexed up into nice hard balls of muscle, with a thin blue vein running up the center of each bicep from my forearms which showed a road map of veins, even when I wasn't flexing. They looked like I was flexing them even when I wasn't. When I did flex my biceps, they measured 13 inches—that's over two inches bigger than when I started! My chest had gotten bigger too going from 35 inches last year, to just over 38 inches now. My stomach was still the same size—27 inches—but looked a lot different than it used to, from all the crunches and leg lifts I've been doing: Instead of being just flat, I now had the beginnings of a six-pack starting to show up. Not great yet, but pretty damn sexy (I thought at the time). My shoulders were getting broader and more muscular too. Yes, I was finally beginning to grow, to become like I wanted to look. And it showed up in my attitude. I now walked around with my chest out, wearing tighter clothes, tank tops (I NEVER used to wear those!), wanting people to notice my developing body. And I started doing stupid stuff too—like causing trouble, disrupting in class, picking on weaker kids, and—you guessed it—graffiti. Which leads me to where I started this story.

So, anyway, at 3:00 one Friday afternoon, I'm working on the rusty old equipment, trying to fix one of the broken down benches, when Tony walks in. He was one of the Jr. High students, obviously. Looked to be 12 old or so, based on his face, but even through his clothes I could see that he didn't have the typical 12 year old body. Even though he was shorter than me, about 5'3" or 5'4" or so, his shoulders were quite broad—and that showed despite the baggy sweatshirt he was wearing. He had blond hair and bright blue eyes, a tiny little nose, high cheekbones, and a big friendly smile with straight white teeth. His skin was fair, but he had a nice golden tan, as if he'd been out in the sun a lot. I couldn't help but stare. This kid was really pretty. "All right!" he shouted. "Finally, somebody's fixing this stuff. Maybe I'll be able to get a decent workout now." He had a big smile on his face as he walked up to the weights area. As he got closer, I saw that his broad shoulders were not in my imagination. He really was a lot bigger looking than you'd expect in a boy his age.

We started talking, and I told him that I'd be finished fixing the bench in about 5 minutes or so. Just a few more screws and nuts to replace, and it would be in working order again. "Cool." he said. "I'll get my stretching done in the meantime." And with that, he pulled off his sweatshirt and began to do stretches. Well, I nearly died! This kid (He was 13-1/2 years old, I found out later) was BUILT! The shoulders that looked unusually broad under his sweatshirt really were that broad. Developed like an older teen's, and quite muscular. With his shirt off, I could see that the shoulders were only the beginning. His chest was easily bigger than mine. Even though he was 4 inches shorter than me, his pecs were like two marble slabs of muscle hanging out over his tiny little-boy waist and hips. His forearms had pale blue veins bulging out and racing up and down, and three prominent veins showed up on each of his biceps, though in a slightly different pattern on each arm. Now, I thought that I was fat-free, but looking at Tony as he stretched made me realize that I still had some fat on me, for his waist, and the separation between his muscles, was unbelievable. Cords of muscle cut side to side with each of his movements. You could see every curve and bump. He looked like the anatomy chart in my biology textbook—no fat at all, just each muscle bulging in exactly the right place.

"I look pretty good, huh?" He smiled at me. Ooops. He caught me staring at him. Oh, well. Might as well play it cool—he was still a kid, after all—despite that amazing body that I desperately wanted to check out in more detail.

"Yeah, you do," I replied. "How'd a kid your age get to be so big?"

"I've always been bigger and stronger than the other kids. Since I was 7, that is. And I work out all the time" He told me, and with that, he began to flex for me. His biceps were huge mounds of muscle. They rose into a very high peak as he flexed, and must have been bigger than mine—but looked even bigger than they were because of his height and the length of his arms, which were still normal for a short 13 year old. He jumped up and grabbed the chin-up bar with only his right hand, and began to pump out one-armed chins. I couldn't believe it. I could only do one of those, and this kid was pulling himself up again and again with only one arm, and his left arm remained crossed over his chest. After about 20 reps or so, he switched arms, and began to chin himself with only his left arm. I could see the muscles in his arms getting pumped with blood and the veins starting to swell out. His lats were really big on his short frame, and with his tiny waist it made him look like a junior version of a pro bodybuilder or something.

"I'm Tony. Tony Sacco," he said, holding out his hand to shake.

"Dave Sanders," I replied, grasping his small hand attached to the most muscular forearms I've ever seen on a kid. Curious, I gave a good squeeze to test his strength. He squeezed back, HARD, even though he didn't seen to strain at all. Yes, he was definitely stronger than me in his hands. But that was no surprise for somebody who could do 20 one-armed chin-ups with each arm!

"Sanders!" I heard my name shouted from across the gym. "Aren't you finished fixing that old bench yet? Come and help me with this mopping." The Janitor—the one with the job of assigning my punishment work—was holding a mop out for me. Sighing, and making one last glance at Tony, I started towards the mop bucket. As I began to walk away, I glanced back and saw that Tony was looking at me, absentmindedly rubbing his hand on his huge chest as he watched me walk away. He still had that big grin on his face. Too bad, I thought. I really wanted to see how much weight this muscle kid could lift.

Once during my mopping that afternoon, I was able to check out what Tony was doing. He was bench pressing what looked like 315 pounds—three forty-five pound plates on each side of the barbell—and pumping out rep after rep. I lost count at fifteen. IMPOSSIBLE. After one year of hard lifting I couldn't even bench 225 once—that's only two big plates on each side. Depressed, envious, I went back to my mopping.

Part 2: The Race

About two hours later, I had finished the day's work and was finally going to get some free time before I had to be home for dinner. I headed for my bike, and there by the bike racks was Tony. Back in his sweatshirt (too bad!), he was loading several 25 pound weights into the saddle bags on each side of what I presumed was his bike.

"You're not stealing those, I hope," I said as I walked up behind him.

He gave a jump—obviously he didn't see me approaching. "No way! The coach says I can borrow these as long as I bring them back. I like to add weight when I'm bicycling—it's good for my legs." Now, I hadn't seen his legs yet, as he was wearing the same sweatpants as he was before. As I got closer, I could see that he had three 25 pound weights in each saddle bag—one bag on each side of the bike.

"That's 150 pounds you've got in there. How can you bike with that much extra weight?" I thought out loud.

"Well, you didn't see my legs before. They're as strong as my arms are. Wanna see how strong? I'll race you up the Grade." He gave me that grin of his again, and started riding away—and pretty fast too.

This was something that I was NOT going to pass up. I hopped on my bike and raced after him. Even though he had an extra 150 pounds of weights on his bike, I had some trouble catching up to him until he hit the Grade. That's this enormous hill—about 25 degrees for about three quarters of a mile—just north of the Jr. High School. I used to enjoy the pump my legs would get trying to bike up the grade as fast as I could, which isn't really too fast by the time I got to the top! This time, though, all I could think about was how this 13 year old kid could bike up the Grade with all that extra weight he was carrying. He barely slowed down, though as we raced upwards. With my lightweight bike, and no added weight, I was finally able to catch up with him, and for the last quarter mile of the grade, we were pedaling side by side. By the time we reached the top, we were both breathing hard. My legs felt like jelly, and were burning hot with fatigue. I had never pumped so hard before—this kid really got me motivated!

"Wow" he shouted, as we both collapsed off our bikes onto the grassy shoulder at the top of the grade. "That was great. What a pump" he said, and after resting only a minute or so, he got up and began to do deep knee bends. I laid there for a couple of minutes catching my breath, massaging my burning and totally exhausted legs, and wondering how I would bike the rest of the way home.

"Wanna come over my house and hang out?" he asked. Yeah, right! Me, a 15 year old soon-to-be-sophomore hanging out with a 13 year old Jr. High kid. What would my friends say about that?

"Sure" I said without hesitating, my exhaustion suddenly less noticeable. I just had to check this kid out more. He was too unbelievable. And, I was eager to hear about his workouts, as I wanted to be able to do what he did, grow the way he was growing. Suddenly, all the pride I felt about my own body and the improvements I've made were overshadowed by my fascination with this little kid who surpassed me in both muscle and strength. And, needless to say, I was hot for him!

So, off we went to his house, which was about two more miles away. Arriving, we let our bikes fall on the front lawn, and headed inside and up to his room. He had posters of sports teams on his walls, an old computer, some books, some games, and a couple pairs of heavy dumbbells. Basically, the typical room. But I wasn't there to see his room. It was him I wanted to check out.

I didn't have too long to wait, either. As we entered, he lifted his sweatshirt off his torso and threw it onto his bed. I now got a closer look at that amazing upper body of his.

Getting a close up look, I saw that he was even more impressive than I thought before. He was all pumped up from his workout, and he looked incredible. Huge, almost adult looking shoulders and a big muscular chest hanging over a tiny little-boy sized waist, rippling with muscles, and little-boy sized hips with a butt that stuck out to the rear, round and muscular. Muscular arms with veins snaking everywhere, bulging out without flexing.

"How big are you anyway? Do you measure yourself? I asked. I had gotten into measuring myself during the last year, and I liked to see my progress so clearly defined with numbers

"Yeah—that's my favorite thing. I love seeing how big I'm getting." He then began to flex again, looking at himself in the mirror. I started to get hard again, and my hefty 8-incher began to stretch towards my stomach. I saw Tony glance downwards, and for a second, it seemed like he was checking out my hardening dick. Oh Shit! Now I'm in trouble. This kid could beat the crap out of me, I had no doubt. I quickly went to sit down, to hide my ever expanding dick. He gave me that beautiful smile again, and said "Yeah, there too," and he turned and walked towards his desk. WHAT did he just say? In fear and excitement, I froze.

Tony opened a desk drawer, and pulled out a cloth tape measure. Turning towards me, he said "You'll have to do the measuring, so it's accurate. I'm already pumped up from my workout." With that, he handed me the tape measure and began to flex.

I was in heaven. As I sat on his bed and wrapped the tape around his bulging biceps, I copped a feel. His arms were hard as a rock. I squeezed hard, but couldn't dent that baseball sized bicep he was flexing. I wrapped the tape around the biggest point.

"14 and 3/4 inches." Bigger than mine. Lots bigger. I then moved to his chest, and wrapped the tape around at the nipples. "41 inches" I told him. Which is really huge, considering his height and narrowness of his waist and hips.

Next, I moved to his tiny waist. 25 1/2", and all muscle. Rubbing his midsection was like rubbing a washboard, or maybe a cheese grater. There was no flab, so soft parts. It was all rock hard and rippling.

"Now go lower" he said, and began to pull down his sweats. As I expected after seeing biking up the grade at top speed with an extra 150 pounds on his bike, his legs were beautiful, a perfect match to the rest of his body. Not too big, but rippling with muscle, small veins visible at the tops of the thighs leading up into his hips and waist, and on his hard diamond shaped calves. The thighs cut off sharply into his narrow hips, but his muscular butt stuck out and looked even better than it did covered by his sweats. But the thing that most caught my eye was the bulge in the front on his briefs. It was at least as big as my bulge, and I have a pretty big dick. This kid was only 13, and he seemed to match me down there. Now, I know that that's not normal.

"22-1/2 inch thighs, 15 inch calves," I measured methodically. I loved the look of his muscles as he flexed them for me prior to the measurement. This kid was really into his body.

"Now measure me here," he said, and with that he pulled down his white Calvin Klein briefs to show me his dick, still soft but getting harder by the second. I looked up and saw him staring into my face with that same shit-eating grin on his face.

"Go ahead. I want you to, and I know you want to" he said, and his dick continued to get bigger and harder. In a few seconds he was completely hard, his dick pointing straight up at his huge chest. He was big for a fully grown adult, let alone a 13 year old kid. The tip of his light pink dick reached about two inches above his navel. It looked to be about my size—8 inches—or maybe even a bit bigger. I put the tape up to it. Sure enough, 8-3/8 inches. On his shorter body, it looked even more huge—a perfect match to his huge muscles.

He then quickly pulled up his sweats, stood up and said "let's go take a swim." I followed him down to his back yard, where we both stripped down and took a quick swim. While it didn't exactly cause my hard dick to entirely subside, it made it bearable. We splashed around, play fighting some, nothing sexual though, and then after about a half hour, we got out, dried off, and went back up to his room. While I started putting on some clothes, Tony grabbed a couple of those heavy dumbbells from under his bed—80 pounders—and started one armed curls. His biceps, already pumped from his afternoon workout, were quickly bulging again.

Part 3: The Strongman

"Don't you worry about overtraining?" I asked. I had gotten that lecture from the High School coach after my first week of weightlifting. Coach said that when it comes to weight training, sometimes less is more. Like if you work out a body part too much, it won't get bigger or stronger. I learned much later on that I was kinda overtraining myself at the time, and that I might have grown bigger if I had worked out less during that first year. But even I knew to give my muscles a rest. Yet Tony was pumping out curls for reps with 80 pound dumbbells after a full workout earlier that day.

"Naah," he answered. "I can't overtrain." He then winked at me, and whispered "it's a secret."

" I wish I could be as strong and muscular as you are, Tony," I told him. He paused in his curls and looked at me.

"I think you have a great body already. But you could easily get as big as me, bigger probably, 'cause your older. The same way I did." Now he had my attention.

"Check this out," he said, and pointed to a spiral notebook on his desk under the computer. I pulled it out and opened it, and on the first page there were a few pictures on Tony, in a bathing suit on a beach, but at a much younger age, maybe about 6 or 7 or so. The writing underneath said "Wildwood Crest, 7 years old." I could tell it was him, that beautiful face and eyes, and an average skinny body for a 6 or 7 year old, but nothing out of the ordinary.

"You had a normal body at 7 years old, so when did you start getting so big?" I asked.

"Turn the pages, and see," he replied.

The next page was Wildwood Crest again, this time at 8 years old. Tony had grown A LOT from 7 to 8 years old, and now looked like a slightly bigger than average 8 year old—nothing too out of the ordinary, even though it was more of an improvement than you'd expect to see in a boy going from 7 to 8 years old. His shoulder muscles had really built up in that year, and his chest showed some real muscle—not the ribs-poking-through look that he had at 7. The page after that, at 9 years old, started showing really radical changes to his body. Noticeably increased muscularity and definition, and a much bigger bulge in his bathing suit than any 9 year old I've ever seen. I turned page after page and saw Tony's development from a cute but average bodied 7 year old, until the last picture in the notebook, captioned "Wildwood Crest, 12 years old" In that picture, Tony was similar to the way he looked now, only a bit smaller in muscle and height.

"We go to Wildwood every summer, my mom and me. We're going there in two months, after school's over for the year." I realized Tony's 13 year old picture would continue the incredible growth that he'd documented over the previous 6 years.

"So, how did you go from a normal 7 year old to how you are now at 13," I asked him.

"I work out!" he said with a grin.

"Yeah, lots of people work out, and nobody looks like you do at 13 year old!"

Then he began to tell me how, just before his 8th birthday, he was biking around town when he came across this gypsy carnival troupe setting up a number of tents on the outskirts of town. I remembered that carnival troupe really well. They stopped by our town every few years. Their carnival was always kind of lame, old and decrepit. And, it seemed to be more about fortune tellers and freaks of nature than rides (which is what I like). Anyway Tony said he peeked his head inside a tent to see what was going on, and he saw the Carnival's strongman doing exercises. The strongman was, as you might expect in a Gypsy carnival, a bit scary looking, with the hugest arms Tony had ever seen—even bigger than in the Muscle magazines he so loved to look at. His whole body was huge with bulging muscles, but his arms were unbelievable—almost abnormally huge. This excited him, he said, and he continued to watch. Eventually the strongman, a guy named Ivan, saw him watching, and they became friends of sorts.

During the week that the carnival was in town, Tony hung out with his new friend the Strongman most afternoons, eventually convinced that he too wanted to be a strongman.

"Anybody can be a big muscular man, Tony" Ivan told the worshipful boy. "The trick is to make the most of your exercises." He then shared the secret.

To make a long story short, the secret Ivan told Tony was that a special plant, prepared in a special manner and eaten in a special way, could basically super-charge your body, making you respond to exercise something like ten times faster than normal without any chance of over-training, and increases your potential growth too. And not just in muscle size and strength. A student could take the plant, and his studying would become easier as the effort of learning actually made him more intelligent. "But brains is not what I desired out of the plant," Ivan told Tony with a smile.

"There is only one problem. You see, the plant will only work on certain kinds of men. I think you may be too young to know if you are the right kind of boy or not." Ivan then told Tony how to find and prepare the plant, and at last gave him this warning:

"The plant need only be taken once. Even eating it every day will not be different from eating is just that one time. Once you have eaten the plant, your body will never be the same. You must be careful with how you treat your body, for it will respond to the least stimulus. When I was first given the plant, when I was 16 years old, for the next week I did nothing but dumbbell curls over and over again. Barely 5 hours of sleep each night, just curl after curl. I didn't seem to get tired at all. Little did I know that once you have consumed the plant, you cannot overtrain. My arms grew too much that week, and ever since then, my biceps have been out of proportion to the rest of my body. Of course, little boys like you grow more slowly than older boys like I was. (That part of the story really got my attention.) But still, always remember to work out your whole body equally."

"And that was 6 years ago," Tony told me. "I found and prepared the plant like Ivan said, and ate it, and since then, my body has responded better to exercises than anybody. Not just my muscles, too. When I study really hard, it seems like my brain gets smarter. When I'm running, it's like the further I go, the more energy I have. And," he grinned at me, "the more I jerk off, the bigger my dick gets!." I looked down and saw that his raging hard on was back. "And that happens a lot more than it should. I've been studying up on it, and I know that I jerk off more than most guys my age do- or guys any age do. Ivan didn't tell me about that side effect."

By now, I'd heard all I needed to hear. I wanted to be a part of the secret.

Part 4: The Plant

Tony's mom got home about an hour later, and found us playing video games. She invited me to stay for dinner, and Tony and I agreed to go out hunting for the plant as soon as the moon rose. That, apparently, was one of the requirements. I called my mom and told her I'd be late.

First, we went out to a shed in his back yard where he reached under a pile of canvas rolls—like rolled up rugs—and took out a large fist sized package wrapped in a green cloth. "Gypsy leather," Tony told me.

We were out for about an hour walking our bikes through the woods, when Tony stopped next to this odd looking plant—sorry, but I can't describe it to you. You'll have to ask me in person if you're interested.

"Now, we have to pick the little leaves—but none of the stems or the berries." and we started to work. In short time, we had a good two handfuls. Then Tony took out the green leather wrapped package and unwrapped this stone cup-like thing and a grinding stone. I later found out that this is called a mortar and pistol, or something like that. "Ivan let me have this as long as I promised to keep it secret until I met "the right kind of boy"—somebody who I could share it with. Who would really appreciate it like I do. Now lets grind all these leaves up, before the moon goes down," he said. After a while, we had a green goo in the bottom of the cup.

I can't tell you what happened next. It's a secret, unless Tony or me meets you sometime and we think you're the right kind of boy. In any case, it took us about an hour to prepare the plant (I was really late by now—mom would be mad), and I ate it up eagerly.

Nothing. I felt nothing. "You will!" he told me. And with that, we headed out of the woods. "I'll see you tomorrow," he said, "and we can work out with my dumbbells."

"I kinda wanted to work out at the high school gym, but I don't think you're allowed to," I said with disappointment.

"You can do both now, dummy!" he laughed. "You CAN'T overtrain anymore. Work out at school, at my house, before school, before bed, as much as you want. The more you work out, the faster you grow. You're supercharged now—like me!" He laughed.

I smiled, said goodbye, and headed the other way towards my house. After about 100 feet or so, I glanced behind me and saw that Tony was looking at me walk away and that he had his hand on his crotch. When I looked back, he raised his hand in a wave and turned back toward his house.

As I walked home pushing my bike, I remembered what Tony said about Ivan. Every exercise that I now do will have ten times the effect or more on my body. What was I waiting for? I lifted up my bike and tried to do presses with it. It was an extra-light bicycle so it wasn't worth much, but I figured every little bit counts. I couldn't wait to get home, so I ran—with my bike over my head the whole way. It was about a mile to my house, and for some reason, I made it without slowing down. And Mom was busy on the phone, so she wasn't mad—or paying any attention to me. I ran up to my bedroom.

Once in my bedroom, I pulled out my weights and began to lift and curl and press and squat and every other movement I could think of. Over and over again. I just kept the image firmly in my mind—I was going to get really big! I wasn't lifting any more weight than I usually did, but I was doing more reps—I didn't seem to get that burning feeling in my muscles when you can't do one more rep. And between sets, it seemed like my muscles didn't feel as tired, or take as long to feel ready to go again. At eleven, my mom burst into my room in the middle of a set of curls. "Get to bed, David. Too much training is no good for you. You know that." I got into bed, and when she closed the door and walked into her bedroom, I got out of bed and began (with images of Tony's incredibly ripped abs) to do crunches and leg-lifts. Quietly.

The next morning, I woke up feeling great. I examined myself very carefully in the mirror, but no, I looked the same as always. All I could think about was working out. I biked to school as fast as I could, reminding myself to ask the coach to borrow some plates to weight-down my expensive lightweight bike. Or maybe I'd buy some.

School that day dragged on for weeks, it seemed. English was particularly bad, as we were doing vocabulary. I sat clenching my muscles, thinking about getting big while the teacher wrote words on the board. I ignored him. At one point I told myself that now that I took the plant, studying hard would be exercise to my brain, and that I shouldn't miss the "work out" time. But, like Ivan told Tony, "that is not what I desire from the plant." So I sat silently through English and all the rest of my classes and daydreamed about my workout to come after school. As it was Friday, I didn't have to work at the Jr. High, and I planned on killing myself in the gym.

And when 2:45 came, I basically ran to the locker room to change and start becoming, well, whatever I would become! I lifted and lifted, with an intensity I don't think I ever did before. I was completely ignoring the two other guys lifting that afternoon. I think they thought I was being rude intentionally. But I wasn't. I was just focused. I squeaked out every last rep that I could in each set, and barely rested between sets—about ten seconds, no more .

I definitely noticed a difference in my workout. My muscles were recovering very quickly when I paused to rest, and I really pushed myself hard. I tried to lift more weight in every exercise than I did two days previously at my last workout, and I found that I could! The last time I did bench presses, I used 155 pounds and could do three sets of ten, nine, and seven reps. Today, I loaded on 165 pounds and forced out eight sets of eight reps each! Amazingly, while I used to tire easily by the third set and couldn't do nearly as many reps as in my first set, now I just didn't seem to tire. Every set I felt as fresh and strong as the first one! And I don't remember being able to do eight reps at 165. Every exercise was the same.

The other thing I noticed was that I seemed to be getting a bit more pumped. My muscles felt like they were going to burst out of the skin. My whole body felt tighter than usual, and I continued to push out rep after rep, set after set, exercise after exercise. Before I realized it, it was 6:00 and the coach was yelling at me to leave. Holy crap. I had been there for over three hours, never resting for more than ten seconds at a time. The other two guys had left, well, I don't know when. I didn't see them go. Others might have arrived, worked out and left, unknown to me. I was oblivious to everything but the feeling I was getting from this workout.

Racing out of the gym, I landed on my bike and pedaled home fast. And despite all the sets of 205 pound full squats I had done (I lost count of how many sets—probably around twenty) at 08 reps each set (I never could do more than 5 reps at that weight before), I seemed to be pedaling as fast as always. Maybe a bit faster. I was motivated to get home. I wanted to call Tony and apologize for not working out with him. And, I was HUNGRY like I was never hungry before.

Arriving home, I found a message on my answering machine. It was Tony—he and his mom went to his aunt's for the weekend at the last minute. "I'll see you when I get back, I hope. OK? Sorry about missing our workout." So he didn't know that I forgot about him that afternoon. Relieved, I raced into the kitchen and attacked the refrigerator.

"Don't spoil your dinner," mom said. "I'm making a ten-pound roast." Great, I thought, but what will you eat?

After dinner, I went up to my room. Mom thought I would be sick from how much I ate during dinner, but I felt fine—and bursting with energy. I got upstairs and began to lift my pathetic bedroom weights, plus pushups, chin-ups, crunches, leg lifts, dips between two chairs, and everything else I could think of, set after set with virtually no resting, until Mom yelled at me to turn off the light and go to sleep.

"It may be a Friday night" she said, "but you need your sleep." It was almost midnight and frankly, I was kinda tired. I was just so focused on my exercising I didn't stop to think about being tired. I collapsed in bed without even taking off my clothes and flexing in the mirror! And, for the first time in as long as I could remember, I fell asleep without even jerking off. Imagine that!

Part 5: Changes

I didn't see Tony again until Monday after school. I was back at my punishment job after a weekend of working out like a madman. And what a weekend it was:

When I woke up at about nine on Saturday morning, I felt like a million bucks. And, horny as hell. That day's regular morning ritual was ten times more explosive than ever before. I had never cum that hard before. Waves of intense pleasure rolled over me like nothing I had ever felt before. And easily fifteen spurts, maybe more, instead of my usual five or six. And each one shooting a huge load of cum further than I ever recall shooting before. Way over my head and onto the headboard and wall, and some (I'm totally serious) hit the ceiling! I realized that if this was what would always happen, I would have to take some precautions to keep mom from noticing the mess or anything.

Curiously, after that unbelievable orgasm, my dick stayed hard and throbbing. I continued to jerk off, and no more than five minutes later I came again. Not quite as intensely as before, but nearly so. This time, my dick went semi-soft. I cleaned up (a bit of a job), pulled on my pajama bottoms, and went towards the bathroom to shower. But first, I detoured down to the kitchen for some juice. I was very thirsty.

I grabbed the orange juice, and began to drink right out of the carton. While it was almost a full half gallon, I gulped and gulped until there was nothing left.

"Empty?" mom said, "I just bought that carton." As she turned to talk to me, she paused for a second and looked me up and down. "You know, David, that weightlifting really is starting to work. I swear you're looking bigger every day!" I was? I quickly threw away the empty carton and ran upstairs to shower (and check myself out in the bathroom mirror)!

My first look in the mirror this morning was all I needed to cinch my workout obsession. I looked bigger and harder than the day before. Not that much, really, and probably not noticeable to anybody but me, but it was definitely there, and after only one day! I thought that was strange, because I remember from looking at Tony's photo album, it took him a while to start to grow. But I remembered what he told me Ivan said, that it works faster on older boys—puberty, I guess. And Tony was not even eight years old when he ate the secret plant. I resolved to stop by the library and read everything there was on the subject of puberty, hormones and that stuff. I wanted to grow as big as I could as fast as possible.

I flexed and examined myself from every angle. There was no doubt about it. My biceps were harder looking—more defined, and seemed to peak a bit higher than I remembered. My chest seemed to be pumped out, as if I had just finished a workout instead of having just woken up. The veins on my arms were popping out more than usual for the morning too. My abs looked a bit leaner and more ripped than the day before. Even my legs seemed to be pumped with muscle. And I felt strong enough to lift all day. Of course, that's just what I intended to do!

I then showered, and even though I had jerked off twice already that morning, I did it again in the shower. And once again I shot an absolutely huge load.

I decided that this was a good time to spend some of my hard saved money and buy a bunch of new weights. If I really couldn't overtrain, I definitely wanted to be able to work out all the time, and not just when the school gym was open—which it wasn't on the weekends. So, I rode my bike (That's right, no more rides from mom for me) to the sporting goods store five miles away, my pockets stuffed with my entire savings. Oshman's was selling cheap weight plates, the dense solid iron kind, and I bought three hundred pounds of them, a heavy-duty barbell bar, and two new dumbbell bars. With all the strength I knew I'd soon have, the old crappy set I had just wouldn't do. I also bought four extra heavy-duty canvas saddle bags for my bike.

Leaving the store with my purchases on a handcart, I placed the weights and dumbbell bars in the saddle bags, the barbell over my right shoulder, and sat on the seat—but the tires of my bike compressed down to the rim. I couldn't ride the bike with all this weight. By standing and walking the bike, though, it was able to handle the 300 plus pounds of weights and bars in the saddle bag. I began to walk home.

After a few minutes, I began to jog. The barbell bar laying on my right shoulder was just too heavy for me to do presses with one arm as I jogged, but I sure tried. I must have done about two hundred reps with my right arm, going up only half way or so, before I stopped, switched arms and then continued with my left. Then after a while, back to the right again. I remembered Ivan's warning. I wanted to stay symmetrical. I'd have to be careful about that.

When I got to the road that led straight up into my part of town, I was feeling so good, so powerful, like I could run forever. Indefatigable. (Now where did I hear that word, I thought? Maybe I was listening to our vocabulary lesson after all, and didn't know it.) My heart was pumping fast and strong, my breathing was a bit quick, but not as much as I should have been after the aerobic workout I just gave it. So, I turned to the right and headed down the long way around towards the Jr. High, around the park and the Kaiser Hospital complex slightly downhill all the way, until I arrived at the bottom of the Grade the "shortcut" up into my neighborhood. (Well, it would have been a shortcut if I hadn't been coming from the totally opposite direction.) I wanted to try to do what Tony did.

Taking much of the weight out of the bags, and setting it down next to the barbell bar at the side of the road, I left a total of 100 pounds on the bike (less than Tony did, but I wanted to make it all the way), climbed on, turned around for a while so I could get up to speed before hitting the slope, and then went for it. I got up to speed, the Grade began to slope upward, and my legs kept pumping. I pushed hard as I struggled to keep the bike at enough speed to keep from toppling over. My thighs and calves started to burn intensely, but I didn't stop. My heart was pounding, and I was breathing very quickly, but I kept going.

And I made it to the top! I collapsed on the grass at the side of the road, and, surprisingly, got my breath back in only a minute or two. I felt like I could do it again. So I did. Down the grade, and back up again as fast as I possibly could pump my throbbing legs. Then, collapsing on the grass only to fully recover in a minute or two. What a feeling. Looking down at my thighs I flexed my quads hard, and was shocked to see three separate muscle groups bulge out, including that teardrop shaped one above the inside of the knee, each well separated from the others and showing more definition than I had ever seen on my legs.

What I really wanted to do now was to spend more time on my favorite muscles—arms and chest. But, as I began to collect myself, I realized that two hundred pounds of my weights and the barbell bar were still at the bottom of the hill. Here's a chance for something else to test myself. Leaving my bike, bags, bars and weights at the top of the Grade, I ran down the hill carrying only two locking collars for the barbell. Reaching the bottom, I loaded the barbell with all two hundred pounds, turned, and looked up the hill.

This would be interesting. I figured that if held the barbell in front of me at shoulder level, walking up the Grade would be a hell of a workout. I jerked the weight up to my neck, and started to walk up the Grade. And let me tell you, I thought full squats were hard. This exercise made my hamstrings and butt flex and stretch and burn live you wouldn't believe. I had to stop three times before I made it to the top. When I reached the summit, the barbell crashed from my arms and I fell to the grass, unable to move my legs at will, watching them throb and shake, numerous veins clearly visible and pumping blood into my overworked leg muscles. But, after a couple of minutes, I felt almost fully recovered. I loaded up my bike, and pushed towards my house.

When I got home and carried my purchases, in three trips, into the garage, I set up the old weight bench that I hadn't much used since I started using the school gym, and finally began to work on my upper body.

For the next twelve straight hours, except for stopping briefly about six or seven times to eat huge quantities of food (and, I must admit, jerk-off), I lifted with that same incredible intensity and focus as I had the previous day. Mom had a date, but she trusts me to stay at home without a babysitter. (Finally—it only took 15 years!) My energy seemed limitless. My muscles pumped like never before. I felt stronger every set. I kept lifting and lifting, set after set of every exercise and movement I could think of. I worked every muscle from every angle over and over again. And TONS of ab work. I really wanted a stomach as hard and ripped as Tony's was. I was always drinking a lot of water, but never resting for more than a minute—usually less than that. Finally, I stopped at about twelve thirty, and I collapsed in my bed. But I couldn't sleep. My dick was so hard and I was so horny, I just had to jerk off again. That would be the ninth time today! This time, though, I tried to make it last instead of just getting off as quickly as possible.

It seemed to me that I had a bit more control than usual as I pumped my engorged dick. I brought myself to the edge of cumming several times, and then fought against release—each time the intensity was multiplied. When I finally shot, after about 30 minutes of that action, the load was incredible. It's like I hadn't cum in a week or something. Like this morning, my jizz shot so far it hit the ceiling, wave after wave (I lost count after twenty shots). I wondered how my body was producing all of that sperm, but I didn't care. It felt great.

This time, I had prepared to clean up after myself, with extra towels and such—forcing myself to wipe up everything before I collapsed. I cleaned my room of all wet spots and puddles, just barely finishing as my body fell into a deep sleep.

The next day was much the same as Saturday, but without the trip to the Oshman's. I slept a long time which, after the kind of workout I did the day before and the fact that I didn't go to sleep until about 1 am, was understandable. But still, I lifted for eleven hours straight—from 10 am to 9 pm—stopping only to eat, drink, and masturbate! Like the day before, I jerked off to orgasm over and over again during the day, seemingly without end. By the time I fell asleep, I had cum twelve times that first Sunday, and a huge load spewed out of me each time. What a stud I was! I was so intent on what I was doing, again I didn't even take time to examine my body in the mirror before I fell asleep. And I hadn't even done any of my homework that weekend.

My alarm woke me up at 6 am, a bit earlier than usual. I had some things I wanted to do before I went to school that day! Once again, my morning ritual was that mega-intense experience. But this time I did it quickly. I wanted to spend some time in front of the mirror before my shower.

What I saw when I looked at myself that morning was the best sight I had ever had. I looked like what I might have expected after one or two months of intensive bodybuilding, not a mere weekend of insane, non-stop training and eating. My shoulders were noticeably more muscular and clearly bulged out to each side, distinctly separating them from my upper arm muscles. I could even barely see a few small veins showing up on the front of each shoulder leading up from the biceps. My chest was pumped out more than usual without me even expanding my muscles or ribcage. Looking from the side and standing completely at rest, my chest was clearly sticking out further than before, and my stomach was actually concave. (there's another of those vocabulary words I wasn't listening to, but apparently learned.) You could see the ripples as my stomach curved inward without me holding it in or flexing at all. My biceps and triceps were bulging out, with two noticeable veins running up each of my biceps. My abs looked, well, just incredible. I thought I was fat-free before Tony gave me the plant—but I now saw a much different level of leanness. My abs, which had been just starting to show a six pack four days earlier now were virtually rippling with muscle. I could even see another row of abs just starting to become visible just at and under my navel. I was getting an eight pack!! I flexed my biceps, and almost came again at the sight. No doubt about it, my arms were bigger, leaner, and the biceps peaked higher than just a few days ago.

I got on the scale, and got quite a surprise. I weighed 139. That's a four pound increase in one weekend. And I was clearly leaner, which meant that I actually gained more than just four pounds of muscle. Pulling out my tape measure, I eagerly started checking myself. First my biceps: just over 13-1/2" That was over a half inch bigger than three days ago. And they were more than just bigger, they looked harder and felt harder too—I could barely squeeze them when I flexed tightly. And the shape was better too.

My chest measured out at 39-1/4", and my waist was 26-1/2". That was over an inch increase on my chest. And my waist actually shrank by 1/2", even though I now had bulging muscles there where before I had none. I didn't realize before that I had that much fat on my waistline, but now that it wasn't there, I sure saw the difference. Where had all the fat gone? Who cares!

By now I was totally hard again, and I noticed something for the first time: My dick was bigger. Not a lot bigger, but I knew that part of me so well, I could see even the slightest difference. Standing up with my dick at its most hard, the tip used to reach right to my navel. Now, it was clearly a bit above that spot. I started to jerk off again, watching myself flex in the mirror. I came hugely again, cleaned up the mirror, walls and ceiling, drank two huge glasses of water, and got into the shower. During the shower, I remained really horny and got off again. That's three times, and I hadn't even been up for a half hour! Eventually, though, I had to calm down and get ready for school.

School that day dragged on. Even though I hadn't done the homework for any of my classes, I actually did OK. I made some guesses when called on and fooled several of my teachers into thinking that I had done the assignments. I don't know how, I was just thinking really clearly.

I was also making an impression on my classmates. Several times during the day, friends of mine commented that I was looking bigger and more muscular. At lunch, a senior (!) girl stopped while walking by the table and said "nice arms" to me. I felt like such a stud.

That afternoon, back at the Jr. High painting their playground benches, I saw Tony with the weights. I finished up a bit earlier than I should have (I was working at very high speed, but I was still doing a good job. My body just seemed to be moving more efficiently today), and joined him at the weights area.

The first thing I did was strip off my sweatshirt. Tony's mouth hung open as he looked at me. "Dude! You're looking HUGE. After only a weekend you're way bigger and more muscular than you were." And he was right, I was. We started lifting together then, and though I still was nowhere near as strong as he was, I was A LOT stronger than I was the week before. Loading up 225 pounds on the bench press, I did three reps strictly. I couldn't believe it. Just a few days ago I couldn't do one at that weight, and now I did three strict reps.

"No doubt about it, dude. You're catching up to me, and quick!" Tony seemed happy for me, and not envious at the speed at which I was growing.

Part 6: Progress

School ended, my punishment assignment ended, but Tony and I continued to work out together, now usually in my garage. We lifted a lot of weights, but we also ran wind sprints—sometimes carrying saddle bags filled with weights, sometimes just for raw speed. I was getting much faster, and realized I might give some of the track team a run for their money. And, some days, we ran long distances. One day in July, we went to the track at the high school to test ourselves for a 15 mile run. We both ran way too fast at first for such a long distance, but the competition between ourselves and to push each other was intense. I ran faster for longer than I ever thought I could. When we finally passed the grandstand for the 240th lap (that's 15 miles), neck and neck for a tie, we looked at the clock and saw we had done it in 78 minutes and 40 seconds. That's just a little bit over 5 minutes per mile. We were both stunned at our endurance.

(As a side note: just last week, on my one-year anniversary of eating the secret plant, I did that little 15 mile run again, by myself, and at full speed. This time I completed the 240 laps in 54 minutes. That's under four minutes for each mile for the whole distance.)

In addition to lifting and running, we were always pushing out limits in balance, flexibility, and coordination. One day, we decided to live the whole day upside down. Wherever we went, we walked on our hands. All around the neighborhood, up stairs and down, for hours. Now and then we'd stop and do some handstand pushups, but from practicing so often, we never needed to balance ourselves or lean over onto a wall. We both built perfect control. As for flexibility, despite Tony's large muscles and my "getting large" muscles, we were more flexible than anybody else I'd seen besides Olympic gymnasts. We could bend every which way, and often practiced to see how far we could stretch ourselves. It was funny, but as hard as my muscles felt when I flexed them, I could stretch them into almost any position.

This stretching work brought an added benefit to my private, more sexual, activities. As the summer went on, that overwhelming horniness I had felt at the beginning, well, stayed just as overwhelming. I know teenagers jerk off a lot, but ten to twenty times a day, every single day? And the size of my loads remained gigantic as well. How was my body making so much sperm every day? I still got that intense orgasm every time, no matter how often I masturbated—and I did love to masturbate. Especially with my new equipment. My dick continued to grow and in late July, it passed the 9 inch mark.

Not only was my dick huge, but I knew how to use it so much better (practice makes perfect). I could lead myself to the very brink and then back down again, with only my mind—no touching. The first time I went from completely soft to rock hard to violently cumming, all without touching myself once, I knew I had found a pastime that would last me the rest of my life. But I always tried new ways to get off.

That's where the stretching came in. With my dick getting bigger and bigger, and my body so flexible, you'd have thought that I'd have come up with the idea of sucking myself off early on. Actually, though, I first tried it that night I first measured out at 9 inches—July 28th. After measuring it, I sat there and stared at it, leaking lubricant like I always do when I'm hard. It looked so good, so slick and shiny, I just had to taste it. I leaned over, continued to reach, and in a few seconds I had the head in my mouth. With all the stretching I had been doing, it was easy. I knew I could take much more of my length into my mouth. In that way, I got my first blowjob from … me. Once I got started, I wondered how I never thought of it before. I sucked like mad as I scrunched in and out, pushing four, five, six inches and more down my throat. Finally, I stretched as much as I could, and went all the way. My chin and nose came to rest in my pubic hair and my entire 9 incher was down my own throat. I started cumming buckets, swallowing every drop. After five minutes of constant cumming, the orgasm subsided, but I kept on sucking. Without going soft, I brought myself to another orgasm a minute or two later, then another, and another after that. That one evening I sucked my own dick for two straight hours, during which time I blew eight consecutive huge loads down my throat.

Tony and I worked out almost every day that summer. Mostly lifting weights, running, and that sort of thing. We also wrestled each other all the time. We were really competitive, and liked testing out our strength and endurance against each other. At the beginning of the summer, Tony usually won the wrestling matches, but one day in early August I started to win some of the time. As I was getting stronger, I began to use my greater height and limb length to my advantage. Of course, our wrestling matches almost always ended the same way—with us both naked with roaring hardons. You see, that little (well, not so little) problem I was telling you about before was something that Tony had been dealing with for a few years. He laughed when I first confided in him as to how sexually excited I was always getting. He told me that it was the same for him, and from then on, we spent an hour a day or more in "non-strength training" activities. Tony was, of course, the "right kind of boy" as I was. So, after the initial embarrassed looks and darting eyes, we soon got over it and became… . well, I guess boyfriends is the right word, or lovers. Maybe "fuckbuddies" is the best way to describe it. But I promised that this story would concentrate on my muscle growing and not the sex part. Maybe I'll write about some of the incredible sexual things me and Tony did that summer (and during the next year as well), but not this time.

As the summer progressed, Tony continued to put on muscle and strength, and was obviously in a growth spurt too, gaining about two inches or so of height. But his muscular progress was nothing compared to mine. In August, twelve weeks to the day after I ate the secret plant, it occurred to me that I hadn't taken any measurements of my muscles since that first weekend. That amazed me when I thought of it, because before I started to grow almost before my very eyes, I had been obsessed with that tape measure. But now, I knew I was growing and getting more buff every day, I could see it every morning in the mirror. So, measuring seemed less important and I didn't even think about it. Even Tony, who used to measure himself every week, now was more interested in our ongoing competition to build strength, definition, and size than in the specific measurement of his muscles.

As I got out my measuring tape, I knew I was in for a nice surprise. I knew I was a lot bigger everywhere except my waist, which was small and tight. My strength increases over the summer were nothing less than phenomenal. I was now doing sets of bench presses, ten-reps each set with 275 pounds. Still not as strong as Tony, but catching up really fast. And I was now stronger than any other 15 year old that I knew or knew of.

The first thing I did was measure my height. I was 5'8-1/2"—a half inch increase from when I started. I now weighed 152 for a seventeen pound increase in weight, but I was so ripped that I knew I had actually gained more than that in lean muscle mass. That thin skinned look I had seen and admired on Tony that first day was now what I saw on my own body. I don't have skin calipers, but I'd bet I was under 4% body fat. Muscles bulged everywhere, veins popped out even when I wasn't flexing. And when I did flex, well, it looked like my muscles would explode out of my skin.

Flexing my biceps, I loved what I saw: A rock hard softball sized muscle, the individual muscle tendons visible under my paper thin skin. Several veins running up and down, bulging out with the flow of blood. Incredibly highly peaked, slightly split at the top, and so hard to the touch, it was difficult to believe that it was human muscle. Tony's amazingly strong grip, the one that nearly crushed my hand that first day we met, now squeezed my biceps as hard as he could, but he couldn't even put a dent in my muscle.

"Dude, your biceps are harder than mine. I'm sure of that!" And I think he was right. I was developing very fast, faster than he had. Putting the tape measure around the largest part of the biceps, I measured out at 16 inches. That's 3 inches bigger than when I started, and with a completely different, harder and more muscular look. My chest was now 42" when totally relaxed, though even relaxed my chest was as hard as a rock. Two slabs of marble. I loved staring at my new body, rubbing my chiseled muscles.

My waist measured a mere 26-1/2" when completely relaxed. Almost too small for my height, except that it was all muscle and rippled like nothing I had seen except in the bodybuilding mags. I had an incredibly defined eight-pack, and even without flexing my abs were as hard as a rock to the touch. I had that "cheese grater" feel that I so admired on Tony six weeks earlier.

Tony told me back when we started that his dick got bigger every time he jerked off. Well, after six weeks of incredible sexual potency, I knew what he meant. With the amazing amount of masturbating I'd been doing in the past six weeks, I'd gotten to know my one-eyed friend better than ever, and I most definitely was bigger. When I started, I had a very respectable 8 inches. Now, according to my trusty tape measure, my manhood was a whopping 9-3/4 inches. And it was thicker too, about in proportion to the growth in length.

Standing in front of my bathroom mirror, naked and erect, flexing my hard muscles, I realized that except for Tony, I had without a doubt the hottest body of any teenager I had ever seen. And the biggest dick anywhere outside of a porn movie. I was ready for the new school year.


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