The Juicehead 2

I left the gym that day freaking out. Anthony had told me to come back the next day, and he'd have the stuff for me, so I could start my first cycle. I didn't know what to do. I admit that I'd been tempted in the past, who hasn't? But I didn't like doing anything illegal. Not that I never had, but I can't even speed without getting caught. And the whole needle thing. Not that I was afraid of the jab...I was more afraid of the needle breaking off, or causing an infection, or hitting a nerve. According to a website I'd checked out, if you hit your sciatic nerve you could have leg pain for the rest of your life. Just my luck, that's exactly what would happen with my first injection.

By the time I got home, I'd made up my mind. It was a chicken-shit decision, but the next day, I didn't go to the gym. I let a couple days go by, and then I called, and Ted answered. I told him I was putting my membership on hold for a little bit.

"OK," he said. "This doesn't have anything to do with that gearhead that you were hanging out with the other day, does it?"

"No," I lied. "I'm just taking some time off."

"Because he was asking about you the other day, wanted to know your home address."

I almost choked on my own tongue. "Did you give it to him??" I asked nervously.

"Uh, yeh, and then I gave him your social security number and your ATM password."

"OK, OK," I said, picking up on his sarcasm.

"Seriously, Rick, he was really jonesing to get your info. He seemed pissed off about something. If that guy's bothering you, let me know. He seems like bad news to me."

"I appreciate it, thanks." I hung up. I hated that part of me was curious to see what would happen if Ted and Anthony got into it with each other. And part of me regretted not having shown up the other day to start on a cycle. I sort of wondered what it would be like to be 5'7" and 190 pounds of ripped muscle. Or even bigger. I had to shake that thought out of my head, because it wasn't likely to happen.

A month went by, and although I missed the gym, I enjoyed the free time I had to pursue other interests. I thought about joining a different gym, but then I started going out with my friends more, and doing a little more partying. I figured in another month I'd be ready to get back into lifting. Besides, maybe by then Anthony would have moved on, or gotten arrested again. It irked me that every time I thought of him my dick jumped a little bit. And that sometimes I still jerked off while thinking of him.

Then one night, I met up with some my friends at a hot club not too far from my place. The DJ played good music, and it was a real mixed crowd, so even just people-watching made it worth checking out. We got there early, so the place wasn't crowded yet. My friends and I were hanging at the bar, and after about an hour, and a couple of drinks, I heard a woman's voice from behind me saying "Oh Ant Knee". I stopped mid-drink as my stomach did a flip-flop. I put the drink down and turned slowly around to look. There at the corner of the dance floor stood Jessica, leaning against a pole, with Anthony feeling her up. It looked like he was molesting a stripper. His huge arms, which looked a good 3 or 4 inches bigger than just a month ago, groped her up and down. He had to have gained 40lbs of muscle. His neck looked like a 25" steel column that merged with his ox-sized traps. He had on a dark blue lycra tee that looked painted on him. Even from where I was sitting, I could see his finger-sized serratus muscles showing thru it, rippling as he mauled his babe.

"Shit," I said, swirling back toward the bar.

"What's wrong?" asked my friend Jim.

"Nothing. I have to go."

"We just got here. You look like you just saw a ghost." More like Satan, I thought. Jim turned to look over his shoulder toward the dance floor.

"Don't look!" I said.

"Don't look at what?" asked my friend Pat, as he pushed back his bar chair noisily, stood up and turned to look toward the dance floor. "Holy shit, that dude is HUGE," he said loudly.

I pulled some money out of my wallet and put it on the bar. "I'm going....I'll tell you about it tomorrow." I left the club, and once outside, took some deep breaths of the chilly night air. Then I grabbed a cab and headed home. Once inside the cab, I wondered what I was being such a pussy about. It wasn't like I'd done anything wrong. How pissed off could the big juicehead be that I didn't want to do a cycle just because he wanted me to? Although, deep inside, I did want to. That was part of the problem. Anthony was luring me to the dark side, and I wanted to dive in head first, especially if it was him showing me the way. I'd never done anything dark or illegal. I'd never even cheated on a test. Well, maybe once or twice. And who wouldn't want to look even half as good as he looked now? Big strapping musclehead. He was a behemoth, and it looked like it must feel amazing. So huge and strong, and practically having sex right in the middle of the club. Who was going to stop him? Just about the time I was going to tell the cab driver to take me back to the club, we pulled up in front of my place. I paid him and got out. Then I went up to my apartment.

I paced back and forth in my living room. What was I going to do, keep ducking and hiding from it? It sucked. And every time I thought about Anthony in that shirt of his, I'd start to bone up. I thought about how his 8-pack showed thru the thin, stretched out fabric, and even though he had a bit of a roid gut going, when you're a shredded 340 pound super heavyweight, isn't that a given? Besides, I knew I could rub one out just thinking about that tortoise shell gut of his, heaving in and out as he mauled Jessica. So much power. I went into the bathroom and thought about busting one out right into the toilet, but instead, I shook down my hardon and took a piss. As I was washing my hands, I decided to go back to the club.

As I headed out of the bathroom, my cell phone rang. I grabbed it and answered, "Hello..."

"No one runs out on me twice, you little mutherfucker," said the extremely deep voice at the other end.

"Tony.." I said, nervously. "How'd you get my number? I was just on my way back to the club."

"It's too late for that, cocksucker. Cause what's gonna happen now, is I'm gonna hunt you down like an animal. I will find you, and when you least suspect it, I will pounce you and annihilate you. I used to fuck up guys twice your size when I was 'upstate'. And that's when I only weighed 260. You get a good look at these 25" arms tonight, pipsqueak? These bonecrushers are gonna teach you to disrespect me. I'm flexing one right now. Shit, I bet it's 26"'s been a whole day since I measured them."

I heard another call coming thru, but I didn't think it was the best time to tell Anthony to hold on. "Hey man, I didn't mean....."

"Shut the fuck up. I am gonna find you and make you my bitch. I used to rip guys open even back then, fuck them so hard, make them bleed. And now my dick is even bigger. This gear I'm on's made it a good 2 inches thicker, too. And my stamina is thru the roof, even for an Italian stallion like me. But don't worry, no one will hear you screaming, cause I'll have you gagged."

Then he hung up.

My head was spinning. I absentmindedly called my voicemail to retrieve the message. "Hey Rick," said the voice, "it's Ted. I was hoping to catch you. I stopped into the gym tonight to do some billing stuff, and your name and address were the first thing to pop up on the computer. I think maybe Jessica looked up your info for the big galoot she's been seeing. I thought you should know. You sure everything's OK? Call me back."

Now I was in a full tilt panic. I had to leave my apartment. Maybe even the state. Shit, I had to flee the country. I went to my closet and pulled out an overnight bag. I started cramming stuff into it, then zipped it halfway up as I threw on my jacket. I went to the front door and opened it up. There stood Anthony, filling the entire doorway with his mass. He still had his phone in his hand. He tilted his head on his thick bull neck.

"Thinking of going somewhere, little dude?" he said, looking at my bag. "Think again." He tapped me with his hand and sent me flying back into my apartment. He stepped inside. He had to duck his head and turn half sideways to get thru the doorway. He shut the door. Then he locked the deadbolt. I had a heavy oak credenza along the wall. The massive juiced-up brute grabbed the edge between his thumb and index finger and slid it in front of the door, scraping the hardwood floor. There were dark sweat stains under his deep armpits and underneath the jutting pec shelf of his enormous chest. The room already stank of his roided funk. He reached down and undid his big metal belt buckle, and slid his thick leather belt off of his black jeans. I could see his huge quads rolling with muscle. He tossed the belt aside. He undid the top of his jeans, and his roidgut pushed out a little farther. He tilted his head from one side to the other and I heard the crackling of his neck bones. He intertwined his fingers and stretched out his arms until his massive knuckles and elbows cracked. Then he shook out his arms, the dense hard muscle barely moving. He held his right hand up to his face and spit in his palm. Then he reached inside his jeans. He pulled out his dick and let it flop over the top of his jeans. It was nearly the size of my forearm, and it wasn't even hard yet. Precum started oozing out of the big head. He scooped it up in his palm, and started stroking himself.

"It's party time," he said, his eyes glazing over.

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