My New Pal 7: Meeting Pops

Read previous part

Tommy pointed out his driveway to me, and I pulled in. As I drove toward the house, I saw someone sitting on the front porch. As we approached, he stood up, and I could see it was a big older guy, smoking a cigar.

"Is that him?" I asked Tommy.


"How mad do you think he'll be?" I asked. Tommy was getting home 45 minutes late for dinner.

"Not sure. Never been late before, he just always likes things to be on schedule."

I pulled up in front of the porch and stopped. As Tommy got out, Pops put his cigar down and stood up. He was a big ole guy, around 6'3", easily 250, and he had 'cop' written all over him, with his high and tight haircut and squared off jaw. Plus, he was wearing a tee shirt from that show 'COPS', so he literally did have COPS written on him. He had a hypermasculine air to him, and you knew he was used to being able to intimidate other men.

"Where you been, boy?" he said to Tommy, stepping off the porch.

"Nowhere special," said Tommy, "just lost track of time."

"Who's this?" Pops said, looking at my truck suspiciously.

I jumped out of truck and came around to their side. "Joe Tonelli, sir, glad to meet you," I said, sticking out my hand.

'Uh huh," he said as he took my hand and shook. I could feel his calloused palm as he squeezed with a manly grip. "Arnie Berg," he said, taking me in with his steel blue eyes. I felt like he was trying to read my mind. "You a gymnast or something?" he asked me as he let go of my hand.

"Joe's training for a bodybuilding show, Pops," Tommy said.

"Is that right?" he answered, still looking me over. He looked like he could be training for one himself, with his big shoulders stretching his COPS shirt tight, and his torso veeing down to a flat, trim waist. His shorts were kind of long, so I couldn't see his quads, but his calves were big and hairy, with a perfectly diamond shape, each with a thick vein running along the side. He looked over my shoulder and said, "Nice pickup. Too bad about that dent in the side. Did that just happen?"

"Not too long ago," I said.

"Uh huh," he said, as he walked to the front of the truck. "You know both your headlights are broken could get a ticket for that." Then he walked around to the back. "Where's your tailgate?" he asked.

"That broke off...." I started.

"Don't tell me...not too long ago," he said. "You have anything to do with this, Tommy?"

Tommy stared down at his shoes as he kicked some gravel in the driveway.

"That's what I thought." Pops looked at me and said, "Kid doesn't know his own strength sometimes."

"I think maybe he does, Mr. Berg," I said.

He got a sly grin on his face and said, "You might just be right, Joe. Why don't you come in and join us for dinner?"

Tommy looked up in surprise. "I still get to eat?" he said.

Pops walked up to him and smacked him roughly upside the head. "Course you get to eat, boy," he said, "but you ever show up late again without calling me, I'll kick your ass."

Tommy beamed as we headed inside the house. I was thinking that would be one fight I'd like to see. "Where's Sherri?" Tommy asked as we walked thru the front room. "She's out with Jeff," said Mr Berg. "Oh yeah?" said Tommy, "you haven't scared him off yet, Pops?" "Not yet," said Mr Berg, "but we'll see."

Mr Berg led us to the kitchen, where there was food everywhere. In the middle of the kitchen table, there was an entire turkey. He started pulling big bowls out of the oven, filled with potatoes, yams, vegetables. He put them on the table, along with two loaves of bread and a stick of butter. Tommy was already sitting and loading up his plate with food as Mr Berg cut off big slabs of turkey and added them to his plate. "Have a seat," he said to me, so I pulled up a chair and sat down. Mr Berg started to put a heap of mashed potatoes on my plate when Tommy, his mouth filled with half a yam, said, "He can't eat those, Pops, too many carbs." He swallowed that mouthful, then stuffed the other half of the yam in his mouth.

"It's OK," I said, letting Mr Berg pile up my plate. I didn't want to be rude, and besides, I could go off the diet for one night. I hadn't had mashed potatoes since last Thanksgiving, and when I tasted them, it was unbelievably good. "These might just be the best potatoes I've ever had," I said.

"A lot of butter," said Mr Berg.

"And cream cheese," sputtered Tommy, as he ate an entire drumstick.

So my diet was trashed. I figured I might as well go for it. But as I ate, I couldn't help but watch Tommy as he scarfed down plate after plate of food. "Mesmerizing, isn't it?" said Mr Berg. "Sure is," I answered. I'd never seen anyone eat so much. He had seconds, then thirds, fourths and fifths. When we were done, Mr Berg and I had eaten a slice of turkey breast each. Tommy had eaten the rest of the turkey, all the bread, and not a single bowl had a leftover in it. Tommy leaned back in his chair, beads of sweat on his forehead, and rested his hands on his bulging ballgut. He let out a groan when Pops said, "While you clean up, Joe and I are going out on the porch." Mr Berg went to the frig as Tommy stood up heavily and started putting dishes in the sink.

"You want a beer?" the big man asked me.

"No, thanks," I said, having blown my diet enough for one night.

"Suit yourself," he said, grabbing 3 bottles and heading for the porch.

"I could help him clean," I offered, as we sat down out front.

"Nah, that's his job. Besides, he's in a food stupor now. He'll finish up there, then go right to bed."


"Oh yeah. That's when all that food turns into muscle on him. Never seen anything like it."

"He get bigger ever week?"

"Every day. Been that way for almost a year now. The fat started melting off him, and he got interested in working out with me at the same time. His gains are coming on even faster now. He could hit 300lbs before the summer's over."

"Looks like he has a good trainer," I said.

He got a big smile on his face and said, "I do OK." Then he pulled back the sleeve on his tee and flexed his arm. I didn't expect to see his peak rise up that full and high. It was perfectly shaped and looked hard as rock.

"This big muscle arm gets harder every year," he said. "Give it a feel.". I reached over and grabbed hold of it as he kept it flexed and took a big swig of beer with his free hand. "Squeeze it harder, Joe. Try and dent this old man muscle." So I did. I tried to dig my fingers in, but the harder I tried, the harder he flexed. He downed his whole beer while I tried to dent his big bi. "Like diamond, eh?" he said as I stopped squeezing.

"I'll say."

"Looks like you got a major set yourself," he said. "Let me see."

I leaned forward in my chair, and flexed my arm up for him, proud that he had noticed. He reached over and put his thumb on one side of my peak and his index finger on the other. Then he squeezed. His grip was like a steel claw, and dug into my muscle painfully. I tried not to let on, but then he got a grin on his face, and crushed down harder. "Awww," I yelped, falling forward from the chair and landing on my knees in front of him.

"That hurt?" he said. "Good thing I didn't do this," and he gripped harder. I tried to pull my arm away but I couldn't. He was crushing my biceps muscle into jello. Just when I thought I might blackout, he let go. "Good thing I didn't do this," he said, moving his fingers to each side of my elbow and applying a pressure point grip. My vision went white with pain, and just I was about to piss myself, he let go.

Dizzy, and still on my knees, I rested my hand on his leg. He leaned in close to me. I could smell the stench of beer and cigar on his hot breath. I didn't much like beer, and I hated cigars, but coming off his breath, it made me want to taste it.

"Don't ever let Tommy do that to you, Joe. His grip is twice as strong as mine now. Maybe three times."

"How could that be?" I said.

He was silent for a moment, his ruggedly handsome face less than 2 inches from mine, then said, "I don't really know. He was always a stocky kid, and strong for someone who played no sports and showed no interest in athletics. But last year, I was doing some spring cleaning, and I asked him to help me slide the refrigerator out. I turned to do something, and when I looked back, he had lifted the frig right off the ground and moved it back. He saw me staring at him, so he put the frig down and said, 'I didn't want to scratch the floor.' That's when he started getting into his own size and power, and so did I. I took him for a physical. His test levels were 3 times what they should be for an 18 year old. Doc wanted to test him for a tumor or something, but I said no. A lot of it is probably genetic. I was always real muscular. By the time I was 10, I had what you would call an 8 pack, but we called it a washboard stomach back then. I still got it, too. Plus, I've been getting stronger and bigger all year too. Tommy must be motivating me. Last year, you mighta been able to dent my muscle. Not now." He leaned back and took a long swig of his third beer as he rubbed his stomach with his free hand. "Babes love it," he said with a wink. "You ever been to Club Aroma down on the highway?"

"The strip joint?" I asked. I'd been there a couple of times with some friends last summer. The owner brought in some real hot girls, mostly from Russia and Poland.

"Those dancers down there can't get enough of this," he said, lifting his shirt. His stomach was covered with swirls of blond-gray hair, and even sitting like he was, it was flat as a board. When he flexed it, I could see the 8 pack even thru the hair.

"Jesus," I said.

"Yep," he answered, patting his flat muscle gut.

"How high's your test level?" I asked him, jokingly.

He grunted out a laugh, and looked at me with an expression that said, "Higher than yours." Cocky old fucker.

"Mr Berg..." I said, trying to change the subject, especially since the guy was starting to turn me on.

"Call me Arn," he said, putting his shirt back down, flexing his pecs as he did.

"OK, Arn. You know that bodybuilding show I'm doing in a couple weeks?"


"That morning, before the show, there's a powerlifting competition in the gymnasium. You think Tommy would want to compete?"

He looked at me and a smile started to grow on his rugged face. "Now, that'd be something wouldn't it? See Tommy win a handful of trophies. He's never really done that kind of lifting though. The only time I have him squat anything is out in the backyard, using the refrigerator."

The thought of Tommy doing squats with a refrigerator on his back, his quads swelling up with power, made me adjust myself in my chair.

"Think you could teach him the lifts?" Arn asked me.

"No problem," I said. "He catches on quick."

"That he does. You think he could win?"

"I think he'd crush," I said. Good thing it was getting dark outside, because I was getting all riled up. "I'll come back first thing in the morning and take him to my gym," I said, standing up to get ready to head home.

"You can't go anywhere tonight. You got no headlights," Arn said. "Just spend the night here, and I'll get you new ones tomorrow."

"Where will I sleep?"

"There's a sofa in the living room, but it's not real comfortable for sleeping. You could bunk up with Tommy if you want. He's got a double bed, although he's taking up most of it these days."

Just then, Tommy appeared at the screen door. "Kitchen's all clean. I'm tired. I'm heading up to bed," he said. He was shirtless, and his stomach was wet with dishwater. Soap suds dangled from his big left nipple. He looked so zoned out, it was like he had been drugged.

"Joe's gonna bunk with you tonight, that OK?" Arn said.

"Yeah, that's cool, whatever," Tommy said, turning to head up. His back was so huge, and it looked even wider than this afternoon. He lumbered over to the stairs and went up.

"Kid sleeps like a log these days. I think he gets growth pains though, so hopefully he won't start thrashing around in his sleep. He might knock you across the room. And sometimes I think he sleepwalks. I've been finding the frig nearly emptied out some mornings," said Arn.

We stayed up for a little longer, talking about training Tommy for the powerlifting event. By the time I went up to go to bed, Tommy was soundly asleep, half covered by the sheet. I stripped down to my briefs and climbed in next to him. He didn't even stir. His breathing was deep and steady. His room was hot and stuffy, and thick with the smell of his musky teen sweat. His skin glistened with it. He was on his back, and I rubbed my hand across his big slab of a pec, so solid and heavy. His nipple was jutting out like an eraser and I leaned up and started sucking on it. He didn't move. His nip was hard as rubber, but the skin was smooth as satin. I tasted dish soap on it, so I sucked it all off, till I was tasting only his salty oily sweat. He made no sound at all except his deep breathing. I pulled the sheet off of us, and felt a wave of his musty heat hit me. I saw that Tommy was hung like a goddam mule, even in repose. A big flopping mule cock resting between his massive thighs. And he had a huge set of balls. Huge. I resisted the temptation to cup them and feel the weight of them. To see if I could feel the testosterone pulsing out of them. I pulled the sheet back up. My lust for this big moose of a kid was overwhelming me. I forced myself to turned away from him, but my back was resting up against his thick sweaty arm. I wasn't going to be able to sleep a wink like this. I got up, pulled the blanket off the foot of the bed, and got down on the floor.

It was going to be a long night.

Read next part