The Freak
by Richard Jasper
Part 1
I wasn't always a freak, y'know.Up until age 15 I was just tall for my age. That's when I stopped growing taller, when I was 15. At the end of 9th grade I was 6'2" tall -- head and shoulders above most of my high school classmates but even among them there were two or three guys taller than I was and even one or two girls who were nearly as tall. But I was a skinny little fuck, all of 160 lbs. sopping wet. I was not the kind of guy you look at and think "football player" much less "bodybuilder." It was more like "long distance runner" or even "pole vaulter." I was long and lean and reasonably broad shouldered but lanky.It didn't help that my name is Hank. I heard "Lanky Hanky" way too many time in those days. Even that was better than my full name, which is Henry Emerson Carter the Third. But that summer after 9th grade I started to grow, not up but out. Sideways, frontways, backways. I was tired of being "Lanky Hanky" and I wanted to be "Hank the Hulk," so I started lifting weights and eating like a horse.I'm still not sure what really happened. All I know is that it's not normal to grow that much and it's not normal to grow that fast. Especially not without gaining a single ounce of bodyfat along the way.And not...Well, I guess maybe there was *one* part of me that was always a little freaky. I'm sure you were wondering about that all along. And, yep, it's true, even as a kid I was well-hung. All through elementary school mine was as big or bigger than anyone else's among kids my age. We'd go camping or hiking or sleeping over and boys being boys we'd wind up comparing. Mine was long and skinny but very straight and hard, just like the rest of me. Well, the hard part, anyway.By the time I was 15 it was all of 9 1/2 inches long when fully hard -- and it was usually hard. I always wore baggy pants to hide the bulge. And I always kept a notebook handy in case I needed to "cover up."
That was then, this is now. Now I'm a freak. A huge fucking muscle freak. And, yes, I'm a freak down there, too.Just how big?We'll get to that.That first summer I kept pretty much to myself. I spent all my time in the kitchen (eating) or in the garage (lifting.) When I returned to school in late August to begin my sophomore year of high school, all my classmates were amazed.
"Shit dude!" they said. "What have you been doing?"
I couldn't resist stretching and flexing a bit. I was still lean and hard and not imposing or anything but even so I'd put on 40 lbs. of solid muscle. At 200 lbs., I still had a 30 inch waist but now I had a 45 inch chest and 17 inch biceps to go along with it! I felt pretty danged studly.
"He's been lifting, fellas, that's obvious, isn't it?"
That was Mr. Ferris, our 10th grade biology teacher. Talk about studly! Mr. Ferris was about 35, single, and the heart throb of every sophomore girl (not to mention quite a few sophomore boys.) He was tall (an inch or two taller than I), deeply tanned, and built like a brick shithouse. I later learned that he weighed in at 245 lbs. and could bench 405 lbs. for reps, but like I said that was later."And doing a damn fine job of it, I might add," Mr. Ferris continued.
"Keep up the good work, Hank."I'm not ashamed to say I blushed. The fact is I thought Mr. Ferris was hot as shit, even if he always seemed just a little bit *too* fond of the attention he got, and I sucked up his compliments like a kitten with a saucer of milk.Little did I know just where it would all lead.
Part 2
That fall I didn't grow any faster than I had over the summer but the results were even more spectacular. Why was that, you wonder?
Part of it had to do with the fact that people saw me every day. I was gaining 10-12 lbs. a month, 2-3 lbs. a week, about 1/3rd to 1/2 a pound every day. Every day I was a fraction bigger than I was the day before but even so I was growing 3-4 times faster than anyone else -- people noticed!
Part of it has to do with impact. The difference between 160 lbs. and 200 lbs. is the difference between painfully skinny and nicely put together. The difference between 200 lbs. and 240 lbs. is the difference between healthy jock and fucking huge bodybuilder.
Of course, *before* that year I'd never been much of a jock -- I was way too skinny to get counted in *that* category. As soon as school started, however, I had the football and wrestling coaches practically down on their knees begging to join their teams, especially after they saw what I was doing in the weight room.
That summer my parents had splurged and bought me an Olympic-size weightset from Weider. By the time school started I was benching 300 lbs. for reps. And when fall break rolled around in early October I was benching a phenomenal 400 lbs.
That's when Mr. Ferris started joining me in the weightroom. It turned out that my study hall -- I always spent it in the gym thanks to the fact that the study hall monitor was one of the junior football coaches -- coincided with his planning period.
He showed up one day when I was doing strict concentration curls with a couple of 100 lb. dumbbells. Did his eyes widen slightly at the sight? I was pretty sure he wasn't used to seeing 20-inch biceps on a high school student, much less a 15 year old.
"Looks like the weights are coming along good, Hank."
Before I could reply he grabbed the 110 pounders from the rack -- the heaviest the weightroom had, something I figured I needed to ask about -- and started pumping out curls. It was time for *my* eyes to widen. Mr. Ferris was rumored to have 22 inch guns and here was proof positive that the rumors were correct.
"Jeezus," I thought, "this fucker is *built*."
I started slackjawed while he pumped out a dozen reps with each arm, then dropped the weights -- thud! Clatter! -- back on the rack.
"The tell me you're benching 400 lbs. these days. Is that right, Hank?"
I grinned and nodded.
He shook his head.
"Pardon my French, son, but that's fucking unbelievable!"
I frowned.
"Well…"
"C'mon," he said. "Show me."
So we loaded the bar and I popped out 5 reps for him.
"That good enough for you?"
He laughed.
"Are you kidding? That's fucking incredible, Hank."
It occurred to me that if Mr. Ferris kept standing there with his arms on the bar, rolling and twisting and flexing those huge fucking pythons on his, I might just croak. As it was I was getting a major stiffy.
"There's only one problem with it," he continued.
"Problem?"
He nodded.
"The problem is that there's only one other person in the whole school who's stronger than you are -- and that's me!"
My mouth fell open (again?)
"You don't believe me…?"
I gulped.
"Well, sure, Mr. Ferris, I believe you. But what's that got to do with you and me…?"
He signalled me to move off the bench. He eased himself onto it with a fluid grace that belied his bulk -- it occurred to me that Mr. Ferris had been lifting longer than I'd been alive! He positioned himself under the bar and calmly cranked out 20 reps.
Instinctively I moved to the spot position and took the bar from him when he finished his last rep.
"Shee-it!" I exclaimed when he was done. "That was awesome!"
He stood up and then damned if he didn't pull off that suburban dad-looking plaid polo shirt. His massive torso was thickly furred -- and there was a fine sheen of sweat to his black pelt. I felt my stiffy double in hardness.
"The point is that you need a trainer and I'm prepared to take on the job," Mr. Ferris said.
Then he flexed his pecs and suddenly I felt *very* lightheaded.
Part 3
By the time I started training with Mr. Ferris I was already 240 lbs. of solid muscle. It was the middle of the first semester of my sophomore year and I had gained 40 lbs. in just two months. That's about the time I started hearing the other guys muttering whenever I was in the gym. I never quite caught it and despite my new size I figured they were complaining about having to share space with "The Geek," my old nickname. And that's how I still thought of myself, as that 6'2, 160 lb. bag of bones from freshman year.
One day I couldn't take it any more. Billy Perkins, a senior varsity wrestler, blond and blue and perfectly built at 5'10" tall and 200 lbs., said something under his breath as I walked by in the locker room, freshly pumped from one of my early sessions with Mr. Ferris. Without any conscious thought my big, beefy handy shot out, grabbing him by the collar and effortlessly lifting him to eye level.
"What did you say??!!" I bellowed.
"Freak! Freak!" Billy screeched. "Put me down you goddamned overgrown Freak! Nobody but some Freak can put on muscle as fast as you do!"
Stunned, I let go. Billy collapsed whimpering on the floor, then picked himself up and scurried off - but not before I saw that he'd wet his pants.
I stood their slack-jawed.
"It's true, y'know," a pleasant baritone voice behind me said. "You ARE a freak."
I turned. It was Matt Wells, the only jock in school who was going to have his pick of academic scholarships in addition to a well-deserved spot on any Division I college baseball team. Like me, he was only a sophomore but already Matt was 6 ft tall and 185 lbs. of well-proportioned muscle. I'd spent many a fitful night thinking about Matt Wells' beautiful, naturally athletic body from the time I'd met him in 6th grade.
"Whaddya mean?" I murmured, still not believing I was having this conversation.
"Bud, you're not a geek anymore," Matt explained. "I know you've got the brain, just like I do, but now you're twice as big - and twice as strong - as these meatheads. You're scaring the shit - not to mention the piss! - out of them because NOBODY does that as fast as you've done it."
He licked his lips.
"Unless, of course."
I raised my eyebrows.
"Unless?"
He looked over his shoulder, checking to make sure no one else was around.
"You using gear, Hank?"
My eyes narrowed.
"Gear? Athletic gear, y'mean? Sure, I wear a cup, just like all the other."
He snorted.
"Maybe you're more of a meathead than I thought, Buddy boy! No, dummy, I mean GEAR - you know, steroids, growth hormone, that kinda shit."
I'm sure I looked like the world's biggest goldfish, my eyes bulging out and my mouth making a perfect "O."
"No," he said, laughing. "I didn't think so. Which makes it all the more amazing."
Part 4
Matt was right.
It WAS amazing - and it only got more so as time went by.
"Come take a look," Matt said.
He led me down the hall and around the corner to a place sophomore guys NEVER went - the dance studio. He hit the lights - and there I was, on every wall. Not just the front of me, but the side, the back, every possible angle.
"Pull off the shirt, Hank."
I looked around nervously.
"But what if."
He rolled his eyes.
"What if someone sees you? Believe me, bud, it's just you and me. Y'know the jocks never come back here unless they think they can get a glimpse of some pussy and the last dance class was over two hours ago."
He stood looking at me like I was the dimmest of nimrods.
"Besides." he started.
And I did it.
Dead silence.
"Sweet Jesus," Matt gasped.
It was pretty sweet alright. I remembered years before flipping through that coffee table book on bodybuilding, "Pumping Iron," and thinking how huge Schwarzenegger was, much bigger than his movie characters. And there was the same body in the mirror looking back at me, only harder and furry and with my head on it.
"Fucking awesome," Matt said, recovering at last. "As good as Mr. Ferris, in fact."
I glanced at him sharply - he grinned.
"Oh, yeah," he said, "I know about that. You're not his only 'pupil,' y'know."
I didn't know it, in fact, and I wasn't too sure how much I liked the idea - but the idea that Matt and I had Mr. Ferris in common (and possibly more?) was intriguing, I must say.
"Not that the rest of us have your potential," he pointed out. "I'll be happy to look like Ferris in 10 years."
Which made me think.
"Whaddya suppose?"
He chuckled.
"What do I suppose you'll look like in 10 years, Big Boy? I don't have that much imagination, Hank. I don't think we've seen THAT yet."
Then he pulled off his shirt and it was my turn to suck breath. Taut and lithe and hard - he already looked like a college stud and, like me, he was only 15 years old. I felt a stirring.
"Let's compare," he suggested.
He took me through a topnotch posing routine, one that would an Olympia contender proud. Showing me the moves, correcting my form, adjusting my stance to take into account my (slightly) greater height, my (significantly) greater mass.
"Do you see what I mean?" he asked as we hit a final double biceps shot.
And I did.
Matt Wells, the studliest of drop dead gorgeous high school hunks, looked like an underdeveloped boy next to me.
Compared to the typical 15 year old?
I wasn't just a freak.
I was a god!
END