Spring 7: Mikey Meets Karl
Mikey had the early shift at the bar where he worked as a bouncer, and he got off around midnight. The owner didn't like letting Mikey work the early shift, since most real trouble started after that, and Mikey's 310lbs of pure muscle pretty much put a stop to any drunken trouble makers, but he'd worked so many late nights in a row, the owner decided to cut him a break.
Mikey had no reason to rush home. He and Lester had been shacking up for about a year now, and Lester had gotten a job working the over-night shift as a guard at the federal penitentiary outside of town. Mikey was feeling restless, and found himself walking toward the rougher part of town. He walked past the ironworks yard where he and Lester would come sometimes to lift and crush heavy metal. Since he'd gotten Lester to give up the meth, their workouts together had become totally focused. Both of them had grown tremendously strong, but Lester especially. The inmates at the prison were scared shitless of him, since Lester wouldn't hesitate to beat the crap out of someone, even if they hadn't done anything. Lester still had a mean streak in him, even off the crystal.
Sometimes Mikey got frustrated that Lester always had the edge in the size and strength department. Lester could take Mikey down and pin him anytime he wanted, and they both knew it. Lester had massed up to 365lbs of marble-hard muscle, and he loved using it. His strength was profound. Where Mikey could pound a cinder block apart with his fist, Lester could crush it to dust with one hand, using only his finger strength. Mikey wanted more size and strength, and he wanted it bad.
As he got deeper into the south end of town, he noticed a big warehouse. There was a single light over the doorway, and a small sign that said "Karl's Gym". It had the look of a hardcore workout place. But if so, how could he and Lester have never heard of it?
He went up to the door and tried it. It was open. The big oversized metal door creaked as he pushed it open. The lights were on inside, and it was definitely a gym. And definitely hardcore. There was a counter to his left, but no one was at it. The weight room in front of him was vast, and filled with heavy-duty equipment. Mikey's heart started pounding hard as he soaked in the amount of benches, plates, dumbbells filling the room. That, and the smell. Thick musky funk of testosterone sweat, practically dripping off the old brick walls.
Suddenly, Mikey heard the sound of plates clanging coming from a back room. He made his way back there and stuck his head in. This room was even more impressive than the huge front room. Mikey couldn't see a plate that was less than 100lbs. Then, over in one corner he saw a bar loaded with 605. Then he saw the huge dude approaching it. A massive hulk of a man, bigger than Lester, but with a thick head of silver hair. A string tank top straining to hold the enormous barrel-chest, thick with salt-and-pepper fur. A heavy-duty weightbelt cinched tight. A worn-in pair of Levi's, straining to hold in the massive man's huge glutes and thighs. Mikey watched as the old man walked up to the bar and began curling it. He watched in awe as the big man pumped out fifty reps, then put the bar back on the rack. When the big man turned to flex his arms in the mirror, he saw Mikey watching him.
"Who the fuck are you," said the big man.
"Name's Mikey. Saw the sign out front, thought I'd check the place out."
"Little late for a boy like you to be out without his mom, isn't it?"
Mikey bristled a bit at this, and said "Who the fuck are you?"
"Name's Karl. I'm the owner, boy. You like what you seen so far?" Karl took a big step toward Mikey, and bounced his huge pecs at him. Mikey had never seen so much thickness and striation. The big man had to weigh over 400lbs. "Yeah, kinda looks like you do," said Karl, noticing the pup tent popping up in Mikey's pants. "How about this?" Karl undid his weightbelt and let it drop to the floor. Then he stripped off his tank top. He stood there relaxed, letting Mikey soak in the view. Mikey had assumed the big man's extreme taper was because his belt was cinch so tight. He was wrong. Karl's waist could only be about 34", and his upper torso was hugely wide.
"How old are you?" Mikey blurted out, unable to grasp the stark difference between the big man's rugged, weathered face and gray hair with the enormous muscularity in front of him.
"Be turning 65 next week, boy."
There was no fucking way, thought Mikey. The dude must be pumped full of Synthol. His arms were engorged with muscle and veins, bigger than any Mikey had ever seen. Yet he had just seen him curling with 605.
Sensing Mikey's disbelief, Karl said to him, "Looks like you've done a fair amount of working out yourself, bud. How about we do a little workout together?"
Mikey jumped at the chance for a good workout. And with the workouts he and Lester had been having, he was pretty sure he would bury this old dude.
A half an hour into the session, however, Mikey had a different spin on things. Karl's lifting routine was grueling, with rep after rep of superhuman tonnage, and barely a second of rest in between. Mikey's lungs were searing as he tried to breath in enough oxygen to keep up. His muscles were on fire too, as they had no time for the burn to ease up before Karl moved to the next set. And no matter how many reps Mikey squeezed out, even with Karl's help at the end, Karl always out-repped him by at least ten or even twenty, using even heavier weight. While Mikey's younger flesh engorged with a pump like he had never experienced before, Karl's older, denser muscle just seemed to harden up and appear twice as sinewy. Both of them were sweating like hogs, as Karl pushed Mikey to the limits of human endurance. The first time Mikey began to drag from one bench to another, Karl cuffed him hard on the back of the head. "Get the lead out, boy, this is a gym, not a health spa," Karl had said.
An hour into the workout, Karl was putting Mikey thru some non-stop forced rep triceps extensions. Mikey's tris felt like someone was holding a blowtorch to them. Once the set was over, Mikey sat up. His head was spinning.
"Ya look a little green around the gills there, boy. If you're gonna puke, you'd better grab that bucket over there, cause I sure as hell ain't cleaning up after you."
Mikey stumbled over to the corner with the bucket, and puked his guts out till he was dry-heaving, while Karl continued to lift. Once he finished retching, Karl put him through another 45 minutes of lifting. Mikey was wasted down to his bone marrow.
Karl peeled off his sweat-soaked Levi's and stood before Mikey in his jock. Karl's legs were monstrously thick, and coursed with veins.
"Now it's time to wrestle," he said to Mikey. The dude is nuts, Mikey thought to himself, and he looked toward the exit door. "Go ahead and try it," said Karl. "I'll be on top of you before you get ten feet." Mikey stood up, his legs wobbly. Karl picked him up and threw him over his shoulders. The powerful older man went thru a doorway that led to a staircase, and walked them up to the second floor, where there was an empty room with wall to wall floor mats and floor to ceiling mirror. Karl plopped Mikey down in the middle of the room.
"Winner gets top," Karl said, and dove on top of Mikey, whose strength was totally tapped out from the intense workout. He tried valiantly to fight back, but Karl put him into hold after hold, working him around the room like a little kid. Karl slammed Mikey into a head lock, then flexed his free arm, admiring its gargantuan size in the mirror. "Feel this power, boy?" Karl asked, jerking Mikey's head hard. "Feel my huge biceps peak crushing into your skull? Thing is, I'm just toying with ya, boy. Not even using half my strength to mop up the mats with ya. Coming into my gym, acting like a tough guy." Karl released his hold on Mikey's head and Mikey fell to the mats. "Look at this muscle, you think you got a chance against this shit?" Karl crunched down into a most muscular pose. His massive 65 year old muscle body exploded with size. "448lbs of unstoppable power." Karl leaned over and flipped Mikey onto his back. Then he put one thick index finger on Mikey's chest, pinning him to the mats with ease.
"I win," said Karl, "and you're my fucking trophy."
Karl spent the next two hours mounting his new trophy, putting Mikey through a series of ramrodding, power-thrusting, prostate-tapping bull riding, during which time both men churned out enough gonad paste to coat every mat in the room.