The Swimming Hole (musc)

Ok first off, I’m no hero. I just wanted to get that out of the way right up front. I’m not a hero. I just a normal kid with a normal life… ok, so maybe my life is not so normal. Maybe it’s a little messed up. But still, it’s relatively normal and I was relatively happy with it. Or I was…

Wait a minute I’m getting ahead of myself. I do that.

I had this best friend, Kurt. Kurt was head over heals for this girl Jenna. Of course Jenna was pretty hot and therefore other guys were after her too. Poor Kurt had these constant insecurity bouts. Did he have a chance with Jenna? Did she like him better than Rick Cantor? Did I think she could ever be interested him? Jenna was nice, but honestly I did not see what he saw in her. Or rather, I did not see what drove him so bat shit crazy he couldn’t talk about anything else but her. But that might be because Jenna was completely void of the Y chromosome, which took her completely off my radar, if you know what I mean.

Did Kurt know I sat on the other side of the fence? I honestly don’t know. I never did anything to hide it. But I didn’t announce it either. I mean straight guys don’t go around telling everyone they’re straight, do they? Of course they don’t. So why should I tell everyone what I was interested in?

And then there was Greg Batson… Oh man, Greg… I loved just saying his name. Greg. Greg. Greg. Greg. Greg. Greg. Greg. He was soooooo cute. He had that short spiky light brown hair and those cobalt blue eyes. And he had that muscley body, not huge, but tight and cut. I know because I saw him at the gym all the time. That’s right, I went to the gym. If you want to catch a guy with a good body, you’d better be a guy with a good body; that was my motto. Oh, I wasn’t going to be entering any contests. Not huge, but cut and solid, that was me, and I was damn proud to be that way. Or I was…

Wait a minute, getting ahead of myself again.

Anyway, I wasn’t sure if Greg was on the same page as me… If you get my drift? I mean there were some signs. He really wasn’t dating any girls, even though he could have been, easily. He dressed really well, or at least a cut above the jeans and a t-shirt ensemble so many of our peers were fond of. And he wasn’t really into sports.

So was he or wasn’t he?

I suppose I could have talked a little to him, maybe gotten a better idea. But there never seemed to be a good time. He was either with someone or I was. And when those rare moments occurred when we were alone at the same time, I seemed to forget how to speak.

I tell you it was a real problem.

And Kurt was no help. I was trying to explain things to him one day when we were walking home from school, but all he kept saying was, “Blah blah blah Jenna. Blah blah blah blah blah blah Jenna. Blah blah Jenna blah blah. Jenna blah blah blah blah.”

And that’s when we heard the shout. Toby Mathews was terrorizing Jimmy again. Toby was, you guessed it, one of the school bullies. He was big, naturally big. He didn’t play any sports or anything. He was kind of a loser, but he was a big loser and he liked to cause trouble. And poor Jimmy, who was small and skinny as a rail, was obviously his catch of the day.

Jimmy –who I liked to refer to as The Neighbor Child—lived next door to me. He was a couple of years younger, and he completely looked up to me. I was kind of an older brother figure. Neither of us had real brothers of our own, so we kind of adopted each other. He had someone to idolize and I had someone to annoy the shit out of me. You see how this worked?

But as annoying as I found little Jimmy, I wasn’t about to stand by and watch Toby turn him black and blue.

“Oh for pity’s sake, Mathews,” I called. “Why don’t you find someone new to pick on? You’re like a little kid watching the same video over and over and over again. Don’t you ever wonder if there are better kids to pick on, smaller, meeker, who scream much louder?”

“Shut up, Buckley!” said Toby. “Or you might be next.”

“Try it, and I’ll break your nose,” I said, trying my best to look fierce… and doing a damn fine job of it, if I do say so myself.

“I’ll fucking rip you to pieces,” he said.

“Maybe,” I said, “but not before I break your nose.” Man I could really feel that testosterone surging through me, and I have to say it felt great!

I saw doubt flicker across his face. I mean there was no doubt I could do it. Just like there was no doubt he could kick the shit out of me. I guess he was wondering if it was worth a broken nose.

But suddenly the point became moot. Jimmy ran to his bike, which had been lying on the ground nearby, hopped on it and took off like a shot. Toby, whose bike was also close by hopped on it and took off after him.

“Don’t think this is over, Buckley,” he yelled back at me.

Now this is how I know, I’m no hero. If I were a hero, I’d’ve run home grabbed my bike and chased after them. But I didn’t. I watched them go and in a minute they were out of sight. I often wonder what would have happened if I had gone after them that day. Oh well, don’t think I’ll ever really know.

I didn’t actually see Jimmy again until that weekend. I was out in the backyard mowing our lawn when he called to me over the fence. It was hot and I was shirtless. And pushing the mower around was giving me a slight pump. I was enjoying the feeling and the view of my own buff body. My whole torso was covered with a slight sheen of sweat and the veins were bulging nicely around the cords and tendons of my well defined forearms. Damn, I had nice arms. They were a man’s arms. I loved being male. Our bodies were so muscular and hard and strong, just awesome. In fact I’d have to say Male was my favorite gender. Wasn’t I lucky to be born a member of my favorite gender?

“Hey Matt!” I heard Jimmy call.

Our lawn mower was pretty loud and I wondered if I just pretended I couldn’t hear him if maybe he’d just go away. No such luck.

“Matt!” he called louder “Matt!”

“Yeah, Jimmy,” I called.

 

“Hey Matt, you wanna go swimming?”

Actually it was unusually hot out and even though I was only wearing shorts and flip flops, mowing the lawn wasn’t exactly keeping me cool. There were bits of grass and dirt plastered to my tight sweaty pecs and washboard stomach. A swim sounded bomb.

But on a day like this the lake was going to be very crowded. Probably too crowded for it to be any fun.

“I don’t know,” I said, shutting down the mower. “It’s going to be pretty crowded down at the lake.”

“Who said anything about the lake?” said Jimmy.

“Don’t tell me your parents put in a pool!” I said, rushing to look over the fence. But Jimmy’s yard was depressingly pool-free. But Jimmy was standing there dressed only in swimming trunks. Skinny as always, flat chest, flat stomach and well, pretty much flat all over with a towel draped over one boney shoulder.

“No, no,” said Jimmy. “Remember the other day when Toby Mathews was chasing me?”

“Oh yeah,” I said, thinking about it for the first time since it happened. There were no signs of bruises on Jimmy so it must have ended ok.

“Well, he chased me all the way to the back Hampton road,” said Jimmy. “I finally had to ditch my bike and try to lose him in the woods.”

“Dude, that’s pretty dangerous. People get lost in those woods all the time.”

“Not me,” said Jimmy. “And while I was in there, I found this great swimming hole. It’s a ways back in the woods, and I don’t think anyone ever goes there.”

“Sure,” I said. “Sounds bomb.”

“Can you help me with this first?”

Jimmy was pointing at his family’s wrought iron patio table. He tried to push it. He was leaning against it with all his weight and pushing it with all his might, but he was only budging it an inch at a time and turning bright red in the process.

“My dad says I have to move it before I can go swimming,” he said, huffing and puffing. “Could you give me a hand?”

“Sure,” I said. And with one graceful move I grabbed the fence and vaulted over it. Damn, I loved the way my body responded with strength and grace to anything I asked it to do.

Jimmy looked impressed too. “Whoa,” he said. Inwardly I was loving his awe, but outwardly I pretended to ignore it. “Where do you want the table?” I asked.

“I just have to get it off the patio,” said Jimmy. “Dad’s having it resurfaced.” He grabbed one end of the table. “If you want to get the other end…?”

“Please,” I said waving him off. Then I grabbed the table and lifted it easily. I carried it off the patio before Jimmy could blink. I thought his chin was going to hit the floor as I set it down on the grass.

“Damn you’re strong,” he said.

“That’s cause I work at it. Get your ass into a gym, boy, and you’ll get strong too.”

Then my phone rang. It was Kurt. Between the blubbering and babbling, I could just make out that Rick Petersen had asked Jenna out and she’d said yes. Oh boy, it looked like I had the makings of a full blown melt down on my hands.

“Sorry, Jimmy,” I said. “I gotta back out of the swimming. I have to do a little crisis intervention. But maybe next time.”

“Sure,” he said, looking disappointed.

“Of course she likes Rick,” I said into my phone. “Have you seen his arms?”

More blubbering and babbling

“Yes, I’d say she’s definitely into guys with muscles. Who isn’t?”

Ok, I know on the service it didn’t’ seem like I was helping much, but trust me, Kurt needed to hear this. I’d been after him for well over a year to start going to the gym with me, but I could never pull him away from his Wii. Now, I might have a chance.

It took me most of the afternoon to calm Kurt down. In the end I managed it by convincing Kurt that one date didn’t mean much. Jenna might just as easily go out with him… if only he’d ask her.

“But what if she says no?” he said.

“Then you’ll be free to forget her and get on with your life,” I said.

“That’s easy for you to say,” said Kurt. “You’re not in love with anyone. You don’t have to put yourself out there like that.”

“Errr… yeah,” I said, trying to convince myself that the thing with Greg was entirely different. Well, it was, wasn’t it?

The next Saturday I was out mowing the lawn again, (Depressing how fast grass grows, isn’t it?) when I heard someone calling my name.

“Matt! Hey Matt!”

I shut off the mower and listened.

“Matt,” came the voice again. It sounded like it was coming from Jimmy’s yard, but it didn’t sound quite like Jimmy. This voice was lower.

“Yeah?” I called out.

“You wanna go swimming?”

I walked over to the fence and looked over. There was someone standing there in Jimmy’s swimming trunks but it wasn’t Jimmy. It couldn’t be.

This kid had the beginnings of pecs, a soft six pack and small muscled shoulders. He had a face like Jimmy’s except it was less round, more angled, and he was probably taller too. It actually looked like Jimmy’s older more athletic brother—except I knew he didn’t have one. Was this Jimmy? Yeah, I guess it had to be. “Jeeeeezus!” I said. “What the hell happened to you?”

“What do you mean?” he said.

“It looks like you got beat with the muscle stick.”

“Oh yeah,” said Jimmy. “I guess I’m hitting a growth spurt.” He flexed and he actually had a bicep going there.

“Damn, boy,” I said, “You been working out?”

“Nah,” he said, dropping his arm. “It’s just the way I’m growing.”

“Why couldn’t I have grown like that? With genes like yours you should be hitting the gym, bro. You could be a real beast in no time.”

“I guess,” he said. “Anyway I’m going for a swim. Wanna come?”

“Back to that swimming hole of yours?”

“Yup. Been there every day this week. It’s so bomb. No one else is ever there.”

“I’d go except I told Kurt I’d help him out down at the gym. But…”

“…maybe next time,” he finished for me. “Yeah, sure.” His shoulders slumped and he turned to go. Damn, he was growing a back, too. He had to be working out.

“Why don’t you get the dork patrol to go?” That’s what I “affectionately” called his dweeb-like friends.

“Nah, they’d rather hang out and play video games.”

“You already asked then, hunh?”

“All week,” he said. “They don’t want to hike through the woods. But that’s what makes it bomb, because nobody else is there! And after a swim I feel really great.”

“That’s what exercise will do for you, bro,” I said.

“Yeah, I know, but it’s more than that,” he said. “I can’t really explain it.”

“Yeah, well have a good swim, buddy,” I said. And then I finished up the lawn and went to meet Kurt at the gym.

You know, it wasn’t often I saw Kurt in gym clothes, so it was kind of a shock to me to see how pathetically skinny he really was. His arms were sticks and I think his knees were the thickest part of his legs.

“Well, let’s get started,” he said, walking up to me. “Now remember, I just want a little size. I don’t want to get too bulky, no oversized body builder arms or anything.”

I almost laughed out loud. “Don’t worry. When you leave here today you will not have oversized bodybuilder arms.”

He gave me an exasperated sigh. “I know that,” he said. “I mean in a couple of months.”

Oh boy. “Dude, trust me. You’ve got nothing to worry about,” I said, “Well, let’s get you started. How about we do chest today? ”

“Ok, I guess.”

“Good. Always start with the big compound movements. For chest, the best one is the bench press. You know what that is?”

“Of course I do. I always hear the jocks taking about it. They’re always asking each other how much they can bench.”

“That’s the one,” I said. We walked over to an empty bench. Someone had left the bar loaded with two 45 pound plates and I started to remove them.

“What are you doing?” asked Kurt.

“We’re going to start you with something a little lighter,” I said.

“Why?” he said. “Why can’t I start with this?”

“Dude, that’s 135 pounds.”

“So? I heard this guy say he could bench 180. He didn’t look that big. I bet I could bench 135 pounds.”

I was going to try and argue the point with him but I realized it would just be faster to let him try. “Ok, go ahead.”

He slid on to the bench. I helped him get into the right position and place his hands properly. He lay there for a moment and then he pushed. I could see him straining so hard he was turning red. After a few seconds he relaxed.

“I think you forgot something,” he said.

“I don’t think so,” I said.

“How about unlatching the bar?”

“What?”

“The safety latches are obviously still down.”

I couldn’t help chuckling. “Dude, barbells don’t have safety latches. See for yourself.”

He slid off the bench and looked. His face fell. “You mean I’m that weak?”

“Probably,” I said, patting him on the back. “But don’t worry about it. That’s what we’re here for, to fix that. Now get back on the bench.”

He slid back onto the bench and I removed the 45 pound plates.

“How much are you going to put on?” he asked.

“We’ll start with just the bar until you get your form down.”

“You mean I’m going to be benching nothing? Oh that’s going to sound real impressive. When Jenna asks me how much I bench. I can say, “I bench nothing.””

“Dude, the bar is 45 pounds.”

“Sure, that sounds soooo much more impressive than nothing.”

“Ok, first of all, do you really think Jenna is going to ask you how much you bench?”

“Maybe not, but if it should happen to come up in conversation…”

“What you’re saying is you want something to brag to her about. So, shut up, start lifting and maybe by the end of the school year you’ll have something to brag about.”

“The end of the school year?!”

“Maybe earlier, but it’s going to take some time, buddy.”

Then he lifted the empty bar off the supports—which I was silently grateful he could do—and we got started.

After we completed one set of 12 reps, I was fairly confident he had his form basically down and we could risk a little weight.

“All right!” he said.

“Yeah, but it looked like you were struggling with that last rep so I’m only going to add 5 pounds.”

“Ok,” he said.

“Trouble is I don’t see any 2 1/2 pound plates,” I said looking at the weight tree by our bench.

Kurt sat up and looked around. “It looks like there are some over there,” he said, pointing.

Kurt was pointing to the bench across from us, and oh my God, Greg Batson was on it. He was obviously squeezing out the last couple of reps in his set. He was benching 225, and obviously putting everything he had into getting that bar up. Damn, he was wearing a tight wife beater, and watching those bare athletic arms pushing that weight up was amazing, and then when he got to the top he squeezed his pecs. Wow. Was I drooling? Oh my God I think I was drooling. He went into his last rep and it was touch and go weather he was going to make it. He didn’t have a spotter. Didn’t he know how dangerous it was to do that without a spotter? I almost ran over to give him a spot when, with a final push, he racked the weight.

He sat up and brushed his beautiful arm across his forehead. Damn that was sexy. This was my chance! It was the perfect time to start up a conversation. I took a step forward and opened up my mouth when suddenly I heard…

“Excuse me,” Kurt said, walking up to Greg, “Mind if we take these?” He stepped over to the weight tree and pulled off two 2 1/2 pound plates.

“No, go ahead,” said Greg. “I’m not using them.”

“Thanks,” said Kurt. “How much were you benching?”

“225,” said Greg.

“Whoa,” said Kurt, genuinely impressed. “I’m new at this, but isn’t that kind of dangerous without someone to watch you?”

“You mean a spotter?” said Greg. “I guess.”

“Well, next time if you need… a spotter, I’m right over here,” said Kurt.

“Thanks, dude,” said Greg. He held out his hand “Greg Batson.”

Kurt shook it. “Kurt Beckendorf,” he replied.

“Good to meet you. You work out here regularly?”

“Nah, it’s my first day,” said Kurt.

“Well, if you ever need a spot or some pointers, hit me up.”

“Ok, thanks,’ said Kurt, and he came back over with the 2 1/2 pound plates.

My head just about exploded. Without any effort at all and on his first attempt, Kurt had just done what I had been trying six months to do. He was now on a first name basis with Greg, The Greg. Holy shit. I didn’t know weather to slap him on the back or punch him in the face.

I must have been scowling or something because he looked at me and said, “What?”

“Nothing,” I said taking the plates from him. “Just get on the bench.”

I added the five pounds and guided him though eight reps, which pretty much took him to failure.

“Ok,” I said, “that’s it for the bench press.”

“Yeah,” he said, sitting up and rubbing his chest. “I think I really worked ‘em. What are we going to do tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow? We’re just getting started with today. Next we’re going to do some flies.”

“Seriously?”

“Yeah. Now, come on.”

Kurt got up and suddenly we heard this high sweet voice. “Hi Kurt,” it said.

“Hi Jenna,” said Kurt, suddenly turning beat red. “What are you doing here?”

“Just getting in a little workout,” she said.

“I didn’t know you worked out,” said Kurt.

“Sure,” she said. “Are you guys done with the bench?”

“Ah yeah,” said Kurt.

Jenna added another 10 pounds to the bar, lay down on the bench and proceeded to crank out 10 reps, while Kurt watched slack jawed. When she was done, he pulled me aside.

“Dude,” he said, “She’s stronger than me.”

“Yeah,” I said, “I noticed.”

“But I’m a dude. How could she be stronger than me?”

“Because you’ve been letting your dudeness rot, buddy. Stick with your workouts and you’ll blow past her in just a few weeks. Wait and see.”

“You sure?”

“Bro, we’re guys. We’re fueled by testosterone, the wonder hormone. At puberty it floods our bodies like a magic elixir and makes our frames expand, our muscles swell and bulge; it can transform us from snot nosed, hairless weaklings into huge, powerful muscle beasts. And it has done this for boy after boy after boy, across the ages, sometimes in just a matter of months! We’re designed to grow big, powerful, muscular bodies. Compared to us, girls are flimsy, weak, pathetic things. We are the muscle sex! And this is the best time in our lives to exploit it! We are producing testosterone like we never have before and never will again. All our biological systems are working toward growth and development. Seize this opportunity to transform yourself! Make yourself into the huge, powerful being you were meant to be! It is your privilege as a male. I might go so far as to say it’s your duty, even your responsibility! So, what do you say, Kurt? Are you ready to release your potential, to become the beast you were born to be?”

Kurt just kind of stood there looking at me wide eyed and opened mouthed, but he nodded yes.

And that seemed to do the trick. The next day, even though Kurt told me his pecs felt like they were burning a hole in his body, he couldn’t wait to get back to the gym. And for the rest of the week it was Kurt calling me and wanting to work out.

I saved squats for last because I wasn’t sure his enthusiasm would survive them. And at the end of the workout, when he was sitting on a nearby bench, gasping for breath and threatening to throw up, he looked up at me and said. “I hurt. Even my pain has pain.”

“Dude, that’s the price,” I said.

“There’s got to be an easier way,” he said. “What do you know about steroids?”

“I know guys our age shouldn’t go near them.”

“I was afraid you’d say something like that.”

“Sorry, dude,” I said. “No easy way out. You gotta do the work.” Of that I was dead sure.

And isn’t it funny how every time you’re dead sure about something, life goes out of its way to prove you wrong?

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