The Big-and-Tall 6: Jay's Self-Worship
I moved in with Jeb that week, and he gave me a job at the trucking company he owned, which basically meant I worked when he wanted me to, and trained with him the rest of the time. Sometimes we'd train for three hours in the morning, and three more hours at night. You'd think I'd burn out, but that wasn't happening. After a month, my progress had been shocking, even to Jeb. That 495lb bench I did on the first day was now 900lbs, which I do for reps. And what a pump I get! I'm getting better at the strength events he's training me in too. Technique is important, but I'm finding out that having super strength sure helps a hell of a lot.
Jeb is gone for the weekend, driving cross-country with trucker from work, to pick up a new truck for his business. I'd have gone with him, but he didn't want me to miss a day of heavy training. He's hoping to enter me in the next strength contest he does, just to give me experience. He thinks I've got a real future in strongman circles, although I haven't broken it to him yet that what I really want to do is try out for pro ball. In college, getting picked for the NFL draft was a dream we all had. Problem with me was, I was always just below the bar in terms of speed and strength. That wasn't a problem anymore. My strength was up beyond belief, and growing in leaps and bounds. And Jeb had me doing wind sprints after our workouts, sometimes for over an hour. Back and forth across the field, tearing up the sod with my powerful leg thrusts, busting ass to increase my time, and to see Jeb grin. My lungs would burn like a blow-torch was going off in them, but I kept running, faster and harder. Just this week, I'd done the 100 yard dash in 9.6 seconds. Not bad for a twenty-four year old, weighing in at 325.
It was kind of nice, having the place to myself for the weekend. I'd moved the rest of my stuff over from my apartment yesterday, and felt more settled in. I woke up at 5AM today, and busted my butt through a three hour solo workout. I'd hated getting up that early at first, but now I'm liking it. Really gets you raging. Today, I'd done an hour straight of just squats to start, super heavy and deep. I'd puked a couple times, but kept pushing myself just like Jeb would have. By 8AM, I was wasted, and starving. After a breakfast of four dozen eggs, one loaf of bread, toasted, 8 cups of oatmeal (which I admit, I have to add tons of brown sugar to, or I gag on the stuff), and a gallon of whole milk, I was feeling JACKED. I went upstairs to the bedroom, and stripped off my shirt. I saw myself in the full-length mirror, and was impressed. I looked like an off-season Marcus Ruhl. Totally and completely swollen with size and power. Tight as a snare drum. I stepped up to the mirror. I was a morphed version of what I was a month ago. Sweat still glistened on my huge pecs, and I rolled them, slowly and powerful, watching huge waves of muscle undulate under the skin. Yeahh. Nice. I bounced them back and forth, in total control of every muscle fiber. I turned sideways and heaved my pecs out, high and full. Whoa. Babe. Look at yourself! Freaky huge shelves of gorilla chest! I sucked in my powerlifter gut and my chest swelled out even fuller. So much power! Not an NFL lineman alive I couldn't plow right through. I turned to face the mirror again. Just that little big of flexing had made my pecs swell up bigger. So much muscle. I raised my arms up into a double-bi, and SQUEEZED. Godddam! Look at those 26 inchers. Big Poppa Pump had nothing on these babes. I stared at one, then the other, as I squeezed tighter and tighter, contracting the biceps bellies into an impossibly high peak. Then I raised my left biceps up to my lips and kissed it. So big and hard, worthy of my worship. I kissed it again and again, and then I licked it. I liked the taste of it, so hard and salty and hot against my tongue, so I ran my tongue all the way up and down, and back again. I was chubbing up inside my shorts, so I pulled my dick out and started stroking it. I lowered my big arm and looked at myself again. Look at those delts, the size of basketballs. I tightened them both, just to watch the striations pop out and dance. Ah yes. Jeb had mounted a mirror high on the wall behind this one, and tilted it downward, so we could check out our back development. I looked up at that mirror now, and what I saw made my dick harder than ever. My huge back. Mounded and thick with power. Unstoppable power. I reared my shoulders back and made my traps ripple. Fuck yeah. The deep crevice running down the middle, from my bullneck to my spine just highlighted how thick with muscle my freaky silverback gorilla back had become. My cock was at full-staff now, and I let it stand on its own. I put my hands on my sides and hit a lat spread, flaring out my beefy sides, wide as a stealth bomber. From the front, I watched as the lat muscle pushed its way out, wider and wider, forming that cobra hood look that every musclehead desires. It made me cum. I blew without even whacking, all over the mirror, high and low, thick ropes of my jiz, spurting out at the sight of my own freaky mass. I grabbed my dick to milk out the rest, and managed to spurt the mirror several more times. I stroked and stroked, watching my big arm flex in the mirror with every move. Fuckin' aye. Milky jiz just kept leaking out, dripping to the floor. I saw stains on the hardwood floor and figured this must be where Jeb stands to do the same thing I just did.
Then I took a long hot shower. After I got out, I pulled on a fresh pair of shorts, and was beginning to think about what to do that day when the doorbell rang. When I opened the front door, there stood Pablo, Jeb's lawn guy. Pablo was just out of high school, and Jeb said he had hired him to help him get his lawn service business off the ground. Yeah, right, I thought, as I saw Pablo close up for the first time. He was a hot Puerto Rican kid with jet black hair, black eyes, and a dark, lawn-service guy tan. Although I'd never seen him shirtless, he was broad-shouldered and lean looking.
"Jeb said he'd have a payment for me today," he said, eyeing me up and down. I was getting that look from people a lot lately, especially shirtless, like I was now. Pablo was getting an eyeful.
"Jeb's gone for the weekend," I said, "and he didn't mention it, but come on in, and I'll check his desk."
Pablo came with me to Jeb's office. While I looked around his desk for an envelope or a bill, Pablo said, "I've seen you guys training out back."
"Yeah?" I said, still looking.
"Yeah," he said. "You've gotten way bigger since you got here."
I stopped and looked up at him. "Thanks, man," I said, and my pecs bounced at the compliment.
"Are you much stronger now too?" he asked me.
"Oh yeah. Much stronger now, Pablo."
"You think you could armwrestle me down?" he asked.
"What?" I asked him, taken aback. The kid could only weigh about 175, dripping wet. My thighs weighed more than that.
"I said, you think you could take me armwrestling?"
"Pablo, I'd break your fucking arm, buddy," I said.
"You like to try?" he asked, pulling up his sleeve. His forearm was definitely well-shredded and veinier than I'd expected, but still only half the size of my popeye-sized ones.
Why the hell not, I thought, amused by his confidence. Give the kid a little show of real strength. "Alright, buddy," I said, pulling a chair up to the desk. I pushed Jeb's papers over to one side, and put my elbow on the desktop. "Let's go."
Pablo sat across from me, serious as hell. "You wanna make a wager?"
Fucking cocky kid. "Like what?" I said, flexing my arm so he could see just what he was up against.
"You win, Jeb owes me nothing. I win, you owe me double."
"Hey, you got it, kid," I said, "and when I snap your arm in two, you pay your own medical."
"Yep," he said.
We locked up hands. Pablo's was rougher and harder than I'd expected, but, after all, he was a lawn guy. It was like holding onto steel, and his grip was a little tighter than I'd thought too. And as we shifted our wrists to get better grips on each other, I noticed his upper arm muscles stretching the fabric of his loose-fitting cotton shirt. Ok, so maybe I wouldn't snap his arm in two. I didn't want to hurt the kid anyway. But there was no way my 26 inch pythons couldn't pin him down in less than a second.
Or was there?