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Big is Better
Weighing the Evidence
|"You don't have big muscles. Sam, you've got the big-EST muscles!"
I remembered how Sam's face had blushed big-time when I'd said that to him before he rebuffed it by saying, "Ah... I think I needs to grab me just a quick shower first...."
Well, that was my truth then, and it has remained my truth ever since. Having lived with Sam and also around Sam's world for many months - and specifically having lived ironically over a gym - I mean, of all the possible places I could have ended up - I'd seen a few other fairly big and well-developed men from time to time downstairs using the facilities. I had something much more concrete now that supported that original assumption of mine even more.
Sam actually did take that shower and it was a very long one at that. And when he finally reappeared, I was still sitting there with my butt parked on that same chair. I remember that as Sam walked over to me, he was still rubbing his head with a towel. He'd also doffed his singlet in favor of a pair of sweats again, his much preferred hanging-around-the-house gear - really it was `everywhere' gear I'd learn quickly enough. It never mattered to me what he wore. The magnificent stud just looked hot in everything - and hotter in nothing at all.
"You can get up off that chair and look around all ya want," he said, gesturing with his arm around the gym, "and try the equipment, too! I'm gonna run upstairs and get some food cookin'. I'll holler when it's ready - or you can come on up anytime when you're done down here, O.K.?"
I offered to help him again but he refused, saying, "Hey, I'm really starvin', Pete! I needs me some food - and NOW! But I appreciates your offer, I does." Then with a mischievous sparkle in his eyes, he added, "See, the truth is... you'd just be distractin' me somethin' powerful. We wouldn't be eatin' `till New Years if I let you in my kitchen right now...."
He put one of his big paws on top of my head and roughed up my hair a bit, then surprised me by suddenly bending over and kissing me again - and leaving half my face red from beard-burn in the process. I wasn't complaining in the slightest though. I'd really never kissed a man, before Sam. This kind of kissing was a whole new experience for me - and I liked it. I liked it a lot. I liked the way Sam's beard felt on my skin - the sensations it created all around my lips, chin and cheeks. I liked the feel of his hungry wet lips and mouth. Each was, in itself, powerfully stimulating and turning me on. I'd kissed girls before - rarely, even my Mom - but it wasn't at all like kissing a real man. These kisses felt wildly different. Sam's made me feel instantly alive, as if I'd never really kissed at all before. They seemed forceful, solid, and passionately hot. For the first time in my life, kissing was now suddenly erotic and sexual; moreover, the way Sam's method of `sucking face' made my blood boil.
As he finally broke away and turned to go upstairs, he pointed to the locker room door and told me to feel free to take a shower, too, if I wanted. He'd left the lights on, and set a stack of clean towels and even a pair of clean sweats on a counter in there for me, if I wanted to change. Well, I lived in jeans like Sam lived in sweats. I appreciated his offer anyway. They just weren't my thing.
I did spend a good deal of time slowing poking around the gym after Sam disappeared upstairs. It was a good-sized facility and seemed to have every piece of equipment imaginable, including a few that I'd never seen before. I didn't use the free weights, but did spend some time on the machines. I seemed to have a lot of excess energy and hit them with some real determination, actually working up a considerable lather after awhile.
I heard the faint sound of music; possibly a radio. Yes, it was a Pepsi jingle. Sam must have flipped it on in the kitchen upstairs. The sound was travelling down the long narrow back stairwell and through the wide-opened rear door of the gym, then bouncing around the big quiet room like a faint echo.
There was a partial wall located towards the rear of the gym. We'd walked by it before when we first entered, but I hadn't noticed. I walked over to see what was behind it and found that the partition was actually an open, doorless office. The wall sectioned off that small area from the rest of the main room. There were filing cabinets, a small TV, counters, a desk, and papers plastered all over the walls along with a large bulletin board, too. I flipped a light switch and more overhead lights came on. There were a few group photos of some hunky muscular guys taken in the gym. There were also a couple of larger single photographs of a few bigger guys with impressive muscles in rather skimpy bathing suits, or so they seemed to me. Certainly not the type of suit that I'd ever be caught dead strutting the beach wearing anyway, even if I had those muscles. I'd surely have been arrested for indecent exposure if I tried to cram myself into one of those. One of the really muscular dudes sort of reminded me of Gabe; so strongly in fact that I stepped up to take a much closer looked at that photo. I studied it for awhile. I mean this guy in the picture looked different certainly, but there was a resemblance. The dude in the photo was seriously bigger than Gabe was, of course, with much shorter hair and a moustache; still something about it kind of gave me the willies.
I began to look over some of the other stuff hanging on the walls. There were various charts, magazine and newspaper clippings, flyers and brochures, and a few large posters of specific exercise equipment - manufacturers' advertisements. I was surprised that there wasn't a photo of Sam anywhere. For some reason, I'd really expected to see one. There probably isn't a wall big enough I thought, grinning to myself, then continued to looked over the photos. For as muscular as those big guys in the photos obviously were, not one of them even began to approach Sam's astounding physical development; moreover, I doubted any of them ever could.
The desk seemed to have Sam's name written all over it, too. There was an eclectic mix of items and papers either piled high or randomly strewn about. Neat and tidy it definitely was not. I noted that Sam apparently used small hand dumbbells for paperweights. A few special piles and some individual papers had the dumbbells seemingly placed intentionally on top of them. "Well, it's different anyway," I thought to myself. Most of the desk drawers were in various states of openness, too. My own desk on its worst days couldn't begin to compare with this trash heap. How he could even begin to find anything on it was a total mystery to me.
The very bottom drawer was almost wide open. I closed the partially- opened drawer immediate above it to have a better look inside. It contained only two items. I picked up an unlabelled can and popped off the lid. The contents reminded me of white lithium grease - there was no particular odor that I could identify. Putting it back in the drawer, I picked up the other item. It was a solid, shiny black rubber cylinder that vaguely reminded me of a police Billie club. It had a definite handle on one end alright, and the opposite end was slightly tapered and rounded. I picked it up and was immediately amazed at it's weight. This thing was massive - much thicker and heavier than any police club. This was one serious weapon. In fact, it was probably the largest piece of solid molded rubber I'd ever seen, easily weighing 10 pounds or more - massive enough to knock someone unconscious and break a bone or two in the process. It was semi-rigid, only bending and bouncing slightly as I waved it with my wrist. It also felt kind of greasy, too. Well, Sam was certainly big enough to wield it very effectively. He must have kept it there just in case of an emergency.
I began to look more closely as some of the papers on top of the desk - and a big pile of bills was evident among them. There were also a few letters too, and I paused to read a couple of them.
TO: Samson ______,
I was disappointed to hear that you've once again refused to accept my very sincere offer. A man with your very exceptional qualities would be highly valued within our organization. My offer is an extremely generous one, considering the need for your specific services is relatively infrequent and your time investment would be, at the most, very minimal.
Declining this offer is simply not in your best long-term interests. Certainly there must be something else I can do to convince you of that. I now believe that you may not appreciate all of the possible ramifications of your decision.
My representative will again be calling on you in the near future to insure that you do fully comprehend what is potentially at stake, as well as to review the details of my proposal once again with you. Your continuing refusal unfortunately does place me in an awkward position.
I strongly encourage you to please once again very seriously reconsider.
Mathew K. Marantz, M.D., Ph.D. Department of Applied Sports Medicine Research School of Medicine State College
I am very embarrassed to have to inform you that not only have my records on your case been misplaced, but also the samples of your blood apparently as well. I'd hoped that both were accidentally only mislabeled, but unfortunately to date, we have not been able to locate either. Frankly, I'm baffled as to how this could have happened.
I was honored that you had so willingly volunteered to undergo that rather extensive medical evaluation when I'd approached you about this in the field house several months ago. I know that it was not always a pleasant experience, either, as some of these tests are certainly uncomfortable. All the more reason why I want you to know how much I've appreciated your initial cooperation with this ongoing research project. Moreover, I've very much enjoyed getting to know you more personally over these past few months, as well. As you already know, the preliminary results of our initial work up on you were in many ways quite extraordinary - and certainly completely unexpected by anyone on my research staff. You are one VERY interesting man, Sam!
I dislike having to even ask you to possibly go through this all over again, but I'm hoping that you will agree to reschedule, at your convenience, another series of appointments through my office so that we can repeat the full work up again. I remain hopeful that both your file and samples will turn up and this can all be avoided.
Sam, please accept my sincerest apologies for these completely unexplainable losses. As I've said, this is all personally very embarrassing. I hope you will be the good sport about this, just one more time for me.
Sincerely your friend,
Well, I certainly agreed with this Matt guy that Sam is `one VERY interesting man,' but I doubted that he found him interesting in quite the same ways that I did.
I glanced more closely at some of the clippings, too. One of them was clearly a list of current international world records for weightlifting events taken out of some publication or magazine. There was a column of men's names, and many of them were foreign. Next to each name was an international city where I assumed the competitions took place, the date when the new world record was set, the type of event (bench press, clean and jerk, dead lift, squat, curl, shoulder press), and the new record weight lifted, in kilograms. There was a hand-written note tacked to the board immediately to the right of the clipping. Written on that note were the same weightlifting events, the current world record weight copied from the clipping, and another hand-written date different than the date in the clipping, and a big red check mark beside each. I noticed that many of the hand-written dates were earlier dates than those in the clipping.
I still had no real idea how much total weight Sam had curled. It didn't take a rocket scientist to tell that it was an extraordinarily heavy mass. But just how much? Seeing these clippings, I also found myself wondering how Sam's curls compared relative to the current world record. Well my curiosity was peaked now, and I knew that I could figure this all out easily enough.
I walked out into the main gym and over to the massive barbell - the one that Sam had curled so many times that I'd simply lost count. It still lay exactly where Sam had dropped it on the floor. As I strolled up to it, I gave the stack of weights on one end of it a hard shove with the bottom of my foot to `size it up' roughly - to roll it, if even only a little. It didn't even rock, let alone roll. It remained absolutely motionless, and no doubt was laughing at my foolish insolence too. The monstrosity was even larger than I'd originally thought, now that I was standing directly over it. The individual plates were enormous things. I bent over and, leaning on top of one of the stacks, looked at the visible side of the outer plate - then similarly, the most inner one. They were both the same weight.
A number was stamped into the casting, and it was clearly marked in pounds. I remembered that the world records were all posted in kilograms in that clipping. Well thanks to my higher education, I'd learned a few things in addition to a great number of new cuss words - and that there were actually many names, in fact, for a penis; I'd also learned that 1 pound equaled roughly 1/2 kilogram. Counting the plates, I did the rough math in my head. Hmmm.... I must have mixed up curls with some other world record I thought, so I walked backed into the office and noted the world curling record again from the clipping. I had remembered it correctly.
I walked back out and stood puzzled over the massive barbell again, trying to figure out what I was doing wrong with the conversion from pounds to kilograms. Maybe I'd flipped them. No, one pound does equal roughly 1/2 kilogram - that was accurate enough and correct. I recounted the plates on one end and multiplied by two to get the total weight in pounds. I also realized that I also wasn't even including the significant weight of the thick bar itself. I ran the math again in my head and compared my result with the published world record from the clipping. Then I did it all over too, rechecking everything again. Finally, I was forced to accept there was absolutely nothing wrong with my math at all!
I paused to very carefully ponder the deeper meaning of this discovery. Some moments later, an alarming spontaneous warm wetness in my underwear announced that I had, indeed, reached the only correct conclusion possible. This revelation had so unnerved me that I'd pissed right in my pants. Correction - WAS still pissing in my pants. I seemed to have no control over my bladder. Someone stole the faucet. Absolutely bewildered, I looked down at my jeans to confirm to myself that I'd indeed gotten that right, too. Yep, I sure did. No doubt about it. I'd let it all go - every last drop - like a baby in a diaper.
So Sam's suggestion of a shower now sounded really like an excellent idea after all. Still somewhat dazed and confused, I stumbled off to the locker room, rerunning the math again in my head and still getting the same old answer each time.
I took a very long - and very hard - and very hot - shower, letting the water endlessly beat down across the back of my neck and shoulders as thick clouds of steam filled the shower room, turning the air opaque. I stood there mulling over many things in my mind - all of them concerning Sam in one way or another, not probably surprisingly. `Big muscles' were a recurring theme. I had to rethink everything I'd seen up to the moment. Now, with the acquisition of this new discovery, my whole concept of Sam had to change, too. I needed to put things in a new perspective. God, his strength alone was unfathomable! I turned it all over and over again in my mind as the scalding water tried to strip the very skin from my body. I really wasn't noticing. The reality of Samson was a lot for me to absorb - maybe just too much, and too fast. The guy was one incredible specimen of manhood to `get' in a mere few hours. I also felt like a kid suddenly turned loose in a candy store, and a part of me did not like that feeling and was resisting it. My natural temperament was to keep that genie tightly corked. I needed to slow it down - to be a bit `more cool' about everything. Yeah, way more cool, in fact. But now, even the mere thought of Sam blew the cork off instantly - and blew my cock up apparently too, as I glanced down and realized that the whole time I'd been lost in my thoughts, I'd also been unconsciously holding big meat again in my hand and kneading it like a half-inflated balloon. How I could ever be `more cool' when I never been this uncontrollably hot in my whole life?
"HEY PETE? COME AND GET IT!" I heard Sam yell loudly.
It sounded like Sam was probably standing at rear door of the gym. "Come and get it," were not the words I particularly needed to be hearing at that exact moment though, as I felt my cock's sudden `expansive mood' in my hand.
"I'LL BE UP IN A MINUTE, SAM! I'M JUST... GETTING DRESSED."
I needed more than a minute to at least let some air out of THIS spare. Being `more cool' in my book meant not arriving at the kitchen table with `Little Johann' rudely pointing the way to the food like a divining rod.
There was so much steam in the shower room that I couldn't immediately see the door. Turning off the shower, I fumbled my way out back into the locker room and began to towel off. I glanced at myself in a mirror as I reached for my jeans and noted the par-boiled lobster looking back at me. Then I remembered that I'd spontaneously christened my own jeans, and a quick spot-inspection told me that they'd be out-of-service for quite awhile longer. I grabbed for the sweats that Sam had also left out for me, thinking, "Well, when in Rome, do as the Romans," and proceeded to slip comfortably into - well - something resembling a circus tent, I guess. There was no doubt that these sweats belonged to Sam, personally. I'd always preferred baggy clothing, but this was comically oversized even on me. I grabbed the label in the back of the top and easily pulling it around in front of my eyes, I read, "Burnam's Big & Tall Men's Shoppe – SIZE XXXL". I thought the label was missing a few other roman numerals, too - like maybe a few C's, or even M's! You could hold a damn wedding under this thing! Well thankfully, the drawstrings and elastics were in good shape, so I drew the chords tight around my waste and tied it off, leaving enough excess to make a clothes line. Next, I pulled the wrist and ankle elastics up over my biceps and thighs respectively, turning half of the sleeves and legs inside out, folded over on themselves. Even then, they still came down to my wrists and ankles. The neck hole in the sweatshirt was so large that my shoulders almost slipped through it like an Italian boat-neck, and my shoulders weren't particularly narrow for my height.
Having everything finally tucked in, pulled up and otherwise tied down, I remembered to transfer a few items from a pocket in my jeans to a pocket in these sweatpants. Then I turned to quickly inspect my whole ensemble in the mirror.
And there stood Aladdin - right out of the Arabian Nights - looking back at me in the mirror. Actually I looked SO totally ridiculous that I roared with laughter at myself. Well at least this was definitely the right outfit to be wearing to release a genie from a lamp, I thought - and if nothing else, it was also an instant reality check as to exactly `how much man' it took to fill these clothes - which he did rather snugly, at that. "God, what a man," I thought to myself. The spare was gaining air again suddenly.
I heard Sam's yelling again. "PETE - YA COMING?"
"CAN'T WAIT!" Aladdin hollered back, still grinning in the mirror.
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