Continued from Autumn

After Mr G and I had our wrestling match, he invited me to move in with him and Val. He said that if I was interested in working with him, he would have to spend a good month or two training me. That sounded good to me, so I moved in that night. The only condition was that Val and I couldn't fool around together, or he'd toss me out on my ass. That worked for me too, especially since Mr G didn't have any jobs coming up and was going to be around the whole time. It'd be weird doing his daughter while he was in the house, so Val and I both agreed that it would be strictly training time for me, at least for now.

At 6 the next morning, Mr G woke me up and told me it was time for our first workout. By the time I'd pissed, put on my gym shorts, shoes and tank top, Mr G was already waiting for me in the kitchen. He had on sweat pants, but no shirt. His barrel-chested torso looked even more massive and solid than it had last night.

"You ready for a run, boy?" he asked me.

"Sure," I said, although I was really ready to climb back into bed.

We headed out the kitchen door. It wasn't until we were at the end of the driveway that I realized that it was about 30 degrees outside. My shorts and tank top weren't doing anything to keep out the cold, but I could hardly say anything since the old man was out here without any shirt at all. Plus, we were running at a pretty full clip, and the cold wind in my face was making my eyes water. We had run about a mile when I began to think "he can't possibly keep up this pace", when we turned a corner onto the main road, and he started running even faster. After another mile, my abs began to cramp up, but hell if I was going to let him know it. I managed to keep up with him, and then began to realize that we were headed toward the beach. That was another three miles away. A lot of people ran along Ocean Avenue in the summer, but I was pretty sure we'd have the jogging lane mostly to ourselves this morning. By the time we got down to the beachfront, my skin was completely flush from the cold, and I wasn't even feeling it anymore. My abs had congealed into one solid cramp.

Mr G, on the other hand, was looking just peachy. His thick gorilla hide probably kept him nice and warm, and he looked like he had just gone for a little warm-up run. Which is what it turned out to be. He led me across the street and onto the beach.

"Time for some deep sand running," he said, without missing a beat.

I leaned over, put my hands on my knees and dry-heaved a couple of times.

"What's the matter, son, you going soft on me?" he smirked.

"Hell, no," I grunted, sucking it in. "Let's go." This fucking guy made my college football coaches look like girl scout leaders. He took off down the beach in the deepest, softest part of the sand. I followed him, my feet sinking in six to eight inches with each step. We were headed toward the inlet, where the beach ended. I knew that was over two miles away. My legs, already burning from the run down here, felt like someone was holding a blowtorch to them. I didn't think my quads could bloat up anymore, but I could feel them swelling. Mr G was getting ahead of me. The only sign that he was even straining was that his sweatpants were soaked through with sweat and the back hair on his massive shoulders was matted down with it too. I trudged on through the deep sand, and the searing, mind-numbing pain. The two miles seemed to stretch forever, like in a dream, never getting closer, but finally, after what seemed like hours, I made it to the end. As I came puffing up to the inlet, Mr G was waiting for me.

"Now," he said, crouching, "time to fight," and he leapt at me like a tiger, knocking me down into the sand and working me over like I was a school kid. I would use all my strength to get out of one hold, and he would slam me into another. I could sense that my strength almost matched his, but his speed and stamina was overwhelming. From time to time, I would get him in a hold that would have broken most men's bones, but he would tolerate it shortly, then bust out of it and reverse it on me. After 45 minutes of battle, he stopped and sat back in the sand. I must have at least worked him hard, because the gnarly veins running across his chest and into his delts were bulging out and throbbing. My own chest was pumped beyond anything I'd ever felt and when I bounced them out it was like I was rolling lead.

"Not bad for the first day, son," said Mr G. "Now let's head home."

I stood up and brushed off whatever sand wasn't embedded into my skin. My tank top had been ripped to shreds while we wrestled, so we were now both shirtless. At least we jogged back at a moderate pace, stopping traffic more than once as people got a look at two massive pumped-up muscleheads running shirtless in the 30 degree weather.

By the time we got home, Val had made breakfast. Thank god, I thought, since I had never been so hungry in my life. Mr G sat down to eat without showering, so I joined him, hoping our stink didn't bother Val, as we were both dripping sweat as we sat down, but she seemed completely unfazed. We ate and ate and ate. It was unreal how much food Val had made, and we ate every bit of it.

After breakfast, Mr G let me go back to bed for an hour. I slept like a log as my food digested and my thick legs twitched as the muscles repaired themselves. That afternoon, Mr G started teaching me his own style of self-defense, but that was only after he had me smash about twenty cinderblocks with my bare hands, either by crushing them into pieces, or by slamming into them with my fists. He said it was to toughen them up for any work that might come along. What kind of work that would be, he was still sort of vague about. When I asked, he said that he hired himself out to private clients that either needed a bodyguard, or as an 'Enforcer'. I assumed that meant he beat the crap out of people who owed his clients money, but I wasn't sure. He also sort of casually mentioned that he still had his detective's badge, and that the police would call on him from time to time to help out in difficult situations. What that might be, I wasn't sure, but figured I'd find out soon enough.

The next month was spent doing some intensive training. The run to the beach was every morning, along with wrestling it out down there, and jogging back. We did hours of strength training in his garage gym, and Mr G put great emphasis on grip strength, which he said was priceless when you get into hand-to-hand fighting. After a month, I was doing wrist curls with 150lb dumbbells, and then bending railroad spikes in two until my forearms were bloated to over 20 inches of throbbing, on-fire steel muscle. Overall, I had gained 40lbs of muscle, and lost every ounce of baby fat I'd still had on me. I was a rippling, striated musclefreak strongman. Even Mr G had gotten bigger and harder from our mutual workouts. We wrestled by the hour in square-cut trunks, and it was impossible not to appreciate each others' leathery sinew as we ground each other into the mat over and over again. Afterwards, we would flex out for each other, comparing our size and density. Mr G was a ballbuster, but he wasn't afraid to let me know how huge and hard I'd become in the month I'd been working with him.

And it was to the month exactly when Mr G got his first call, this one from the police chief. His men had a situation in the southeast section of town. Some kind of melee had broken out at a biker bar, and the chief just wanted Mr G down there as backup, just in case. Mr G said no problem, and the two of us headed down there. He explained to me on the way down that the town had cut its police force in half due to budget problems, so they kept him on retainer for situations like this. He thought it would be a perfect time for me to check out what he does.

We turned down the street that the bar was on, and saw a bunch of cars and pickup trucks flipped on their sides. In front of the bar was a pile of twisted up metal and tires that looked like what used to be a bunch of motorcycles. There were ambulances taking away one badly beaten biker after another. Mr G pulled up to a cop he knew and asked him what had happened. The cop said that some big guy went nuts after he got flagged at the bar. He started to tear the bar apart, and when the bikers tried to stop him, he busted all of them up, came outside, ripped apart their bikes and then went on a rampage down the street, flipping cars out of his way.

"One guy did this?" Mr G asked.

"Yep," said the cop, who looked young and kind of shaken up. "They just radioed me and said they have him cornered in an empty lot at the end of the street.

Mr G headed down to the lot. There were six police cars with lights flashing and doors open. The police were surrounding the lot, and had their spotlights trained on a huge dude who was glaring back at them like a wild animal. It was a shirtless, snarling Lester.

Lester looked like he had grown alot in the last month, too. He must have been doing a Giambi special and then some. He looked like he weighed in at 400lbs of solid muscle in the police lights. I started to get out of the car, but Mr G stopped me.

"Let's just see how they handle this," he said to me, and settled back to watch.

Lester was daring the police to come at him.

"Come ON, you pussies, put down those fuckin guns and I'll take you all on!" he snarled. Then he raised up his arms into a double bi. "Look at these monsters, you wimps, I'll crush you like grapes."

His arms were monsters, too. They had to be 28" of pure muscle. Even with his stupid mullet, he looked astounding. I heard one of the policeman go "shit," and take a step back. Outside of the spotlight, four cops were slowly circling behind Lester. A fifth cop stepped up in front of Lester, pointed a taser directly at him, and told him to come along quietly.

"Eat me," said Lester, and he started to move in on the cop. The cop fired the taser, and the two wires flew out and attached right into Lester's thick 8-pack abdomen. Lester flinched as the gun unloaded 50,000 volts into him, but it didn't stop him. He took another step toward the cop, who nervously fired the gun again. This time, Lester blew smoke out of his mouth, and just snarled at the cop. He grabbed the wires and yanked them, pulling the gun out of the stunned cop's hands. The gun flew through the air. Lester snatched it with one hand and crushed it into pieces. He jerked the barbed taser wires out of his abs, then launched himself at the cop. He shoulder-slammed into him. I saw the cop put his hands on Lester's massive delt to try and stop him, but he might as well have tried to stop a bulldozer. Lester slammed the cop into a squad car so hard that the two side wheels lifted off the ground. The cop slumped to the ground, and just as Lester leaned over to pick him up, the four other cops jumped him, two on each side. Lester stood up and looked at the four of them like they were annoying little gnats. He grabbed them one at a time and flung them 30 yards into the brick building at the side of the lot. The injured cop had managed to crawl away, so Lester ripped the police lights off the top of the squad car and started crushing it into a ball.

"Ok," sighed Mr G, "time to reel in this freak."

We got out of the car, and headed toward Lester.

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