Barista Muscle

The Starbucks down the street from my apartment wasn't the one I usually went to because it was the opposite direction from how I went to work. But one day when I was off from work, I stopped in. I was glad I did, too, because the kid working the register was a jacked up 5'8" musclehead. The short sleeves of his black Starbucks polo were pushed up to his delts by his bulging arm muscles. As I placed my order, I realized that I recognized him.

"Didn't you used to work the front desk at the Gold's Gym on 2nd Avenue?" I asked him after I placed my order.

"Yeah, I did," he answered with a big smile. The kid was very good looking on top of being thick with muscle, and I say 'kid' because I didn't think he was any older than 20 or 21.

"You've gotten...bigger," I said.

He laughed, and said, "Yeah, about 40 pounds bigger since I worked there. Your name's Frank, right?"

"Yeah," I said, a little surprised that he'd remember my name.

"Nick," he said, reaching his hand across the counter. We shook hands, and I was surprised at how big and thick his hand felt. "I was only 180lbs when I worked at Gold's, now I'm around 225. But I was only 19 then."

It didn't seem like it'd been long since he worked there. "How old are you now?" I asked.


"You've gained 45lbs in a year?"

"Yeah," he said with another big smile. His pecs flexed and made the straps of his green apron bounce up and down. "The size is coming on real easy. See?" He flexed his left arm, and a huge peak rose up and pushed his sleeve back even higher.

"My god, Nick."

"Yeah, I know, right? Over 19" now. Makes me want even more." He looked at his peak, and with at twist of his fist, made the peak pop out even higher, and his biceps split deepened across the top like a winding mountain road.

"Fuck," I said.

"It's crazy, right? And check out the veinage." He straightened his arm out toward me, then turned his hand palm up, and showed me the bottom of his forearm. "I haven't even worked out yet today, you should see it then," he said as he clenched his fist over and over, making an entire network of veins pulse up under his skin. "Touch it," he said

I had to lean against the counter to keep my knees from buckling. Then I reached out my hand and ran it across the bumpy "veinage" of his bowling pin shaped forearm.

"You like that, Frank?" I shook my head yes. "Yeah, I thought so, I could see it in your face. Even at Gold's, I could tell you were into it, and I was just a punk then." He pulled his arm back and flared out his big shoulders. "Not everyone gets it. But just wait. I'm bulking up now, want to hit 260 before I cut back."

By now, there was a short line of people behind me. "I better go," I said, and as I turned to leave, Nick said, "Don't you want your order?"

"Oh...yeah," I said, turning back to grab my latte. "Almost forgot."

He leaned across the counter as he handed me my drink. "You are into it, aren't you, man?" he said. Then he winked at me. "Just wait."

I walked out of the store, turned towards my apartment. I had to lean against the building next to Starbucks. I surreptitiously adjust myself in my pants. I was going to be coming to this store a lot more often. I had to see Nick hit 260 bulked. Maybe I could convince him to go for 280 plus.

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