The Coven Coin 9: The Other Side

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Simon had been waiting for this moment since he heard about the exhibition over a month ago. He sat on the bench in front of his work locker. He had taken off his shoes to make it look like he had started to undress. He waited nervously. He heard footsteps. Someone started to turn the combination on the locker behind and to his right. Simon sensed the person was large, very large. He could actually feel the heat coming off his body like a furnace. It had to be Paul. Simon began to fumble with the buttons on his shirt before glancing over his shoulder. His heart skipped a beat. It was Paul. The bodybuilder gave Simon a disapproving glance as he removed the paraphernalia from his belt. Simon returned a soft smile and quickly turned away. Simon, like all the other guards, recognized Paul as their unofficial leader. Remarkable since the he had worked at the prison for less than a year.

PaulDark was the biggest man in a long line of big men. His earliest memory was using his father’s flexed arm like a jungle gym. His father died in the Korean War when Paul was only five. He couldn’t easily recall what his father’s face looked like, but he could the thickness and hardness of his bicep. The memory instilled in him the image of his father being a Herculean figure. He didn’t believe, despite his grandfather’s assessment that he had grown into the larger man.

Paul was always the biggest boy in his class. Many assumed he had stayed back a grade or two. But he had average intelligence and faired well in academics. He took the assumed course and became a bit of a bully while in grammar school; but soon lost interest in intimidation because it was too easy. With puberty his interest turned to girls who reacted very differently to his size. He then funneled his strength and aggression into sports when he got to high school. He became the terror on the field during his three years on the football team. At 18 Paul topped out at a perfectly formed 6’ 5”. He had a naturally lean yet incredibly defined and muscular physique. He was the ideal mesomorph with fantastically full muscle bellies and small joints. His hips were very narrow for his height yet his shoulders extremely wide. He was the guy all the other jocks hated. With his natural advantages he would look athletic and fit if he never exercised a day in his life. That may have why Paul never took working out seriously. Like most teenage boys he concentrated mostly on his arms. With little effort he worked his biceps to a steel hard 22” inches. He amazed the other boys by curling 160 pounds single handedly. He loved how people reacted to his arms. Guys were completely in awe. While they proofed irresistible to every girl’s touch. He didn’t wear sleeves for most of his senior year.

Paul didn’t go to college. He didn’t have the grades or the money. He was drafted into the army and did his stint in Vietnam. As a civilian he faltered and lacked direction. He escaped into the carefree hippie culture of the time. He dropped acid instead of bombs. The drugs numbed his appetite. His soldier honed physique stayed lean and sharp without exercise. His favorite indulgence was free love. He lost count, or couldn’t remember the number of sexual partners he conquered. His muscular body, handsome face, and thick, 10” cock made him the center attraction of many drug enhanced orgies.

With the death of his mother, Paul could no longer rely on someone else always being there to pick up the pieces of his broken life. Emerging from the VA hospital clean and sober, Paul became a member of decent society again. At 26, he still had a ripped and very muscular body complete with 19” arms. It was his appearance that got him a part time job as a bouncer at the hottest night club in town. Disco was in its infancy. The era when looking good was what mattered most. Open shirts, gold chains, and blown dry hair were the norm. The owner of the club knew having a man like Paul at the front door only added to the club’s allure. He was like a beacon drawing in Boston’s most beautiful citizens. To Paul the job was ideal. It allowed him to meet plenty of women while being paid. While Paul gave up drugs, he was no monk. He still loved to fuck and never had a problem finding willing partners.

Paul continued to work as a bouncer on the weekends even after he got the full time gig at the prison. The extra money and perks made it worth the while. Like his job at the club, it was his stature that landed him the state job more than his resume. On his first day he could tell the other guards and the prisoners were sizing him up. In this world behind walls the larger and stronger the man the more respect he garnered. While true in the outside world to some extent; it was at the core of this exclusive male society. It reminded him of the army but without the command structure. It was difficult at times to figure out who was in control; the guards or the inmates. Paul wanted to be in control, like he was in high school. That was the motivation he needed to hit the weights again.

At the gym he met some bodybuilders; a group of elite athletes pushing the emerging sport into the public eye. They all praised him for his natural gifts. He had almost everything needed to be a great champion. He started taking steroids at his peer’s urging. He was reluctant at first. Using any drug frightened him a little. He was told everyone did it; especially the big boys. Immediately Paul’s body responded to the extra testosterone and weights. The three inches he lost on his arms returned within the first month. Unlike in high school he now worked his entire body and he worked it hard. He couldn’t believe how muscular and strong he was becoming with each passing week. Unlike most tall men, he had no problem packing on real mass. He bulked up without adding excess fat. After his second cycle of steroids his muscles exploded with growth. In eight months, the scale showed he gained over 70 pounds but his waist went from 38 to 34 inches. At 6’ 5’ and 325 pounds he was huge and remarkably vascular. He now had the posture and walk of a bodybuilder. His arms and back were his best body parts. When relaxed his arms flared out to the side. He had to twist slightly to walk through most doors.

With his masculine physique and chiseled features he was always a chick magnet, but now he had to literally turn women away. The more muscle he put on the more attention he got. Not wanting to miss a conquest, Paul kept track of the backlog of phone numbers. When he got around to calling them, he could hear the excitement in their voice. Every date ended the same; in the sack. Usually it took only a few minutes before his date’s hands were on him. It was like he wore a t-shirt with the words please-touch blazoned across his massive chest. They couldn’t believe his flexed 26” arms were the same size as their waists. Some made a beeline for his crotch. He had a reputation for having more than huge muscles. They had to find out if he was for real. He seemed too good to be true.

The additional muscle also achieved his initial goal. The respect from the inmates and his peers increased with his measurements. When he had his uniform tailored to showcase his physique his intimidation factor skyrocketed. He had to wear a 3XL uniform to fit his shoulders, chest and thighs. There was so much excess cloth around his waist it hid his true shape. All the guards told him the warden would never agree to pay to have his uniform tailored. But the warden agreed without hesitation. The big man noticed few people denied him anything anymore. Over a yard of fabric was removed from the shirt and pants to fit his tight, flat waist. He also had the standard short sleeves modified to smaller cap sleeves. This allowed for more freedom of movement. It also completely exposed his upper arms and delts. The guard uniform so precisely copied the lines of Paul’s body it was if the material was molded to him. Every mound and bulge was hugged in navy blue polyester.

Despite his undeniable size, the biggest prisoners were reluctant to acknowledge a screw as the institution’s top dog. It wasn’t until Paul was challenged in the exercise yard that things changed. During his normal patrol he passed by the pit where the inmates pumped iron. A group of weight lifters had gathered at one of the benches. Paul stopped momentarily to watch. The strongest prisoner, Momar, was going for a new record; a quarter ton bench press. The big man brought the weight to his chest. He blew the air out of his lungs and forced the bar up. His arms shook and his face became red; but he did it. The other men helped him set the weight back into the rack. Momar stood up and was congratulated by his peers.

Momar was no means a bodybuilder. His body was blocky and featureless. A layer of fat hid his developed muscles from view. His clean shaven head, like the rest of his body, was covered in tattoos. He had no discernible neck and a weak chin. The unattractive brute noticed the guard watching him. He didn’t look impressed by his feat. Overconfident from his new record, the inmate challenged Paul. Momar called him a poser more concerned with how he looked than how strong he was.

Soon every man in the yard came over to see how the challenge would play out. Tim, Momar’s latest pet, was particularly interested. The wisp of a man was at the bottom of prison society; a mere nuisance or plaything for the larger men. He held the protruding lining of Momar’s pant pocket as if it was a leash. By doing so he let everyone know he belonged to Momar. Tim didn’t take his eyes off of Paul. For months he had been watching Paul’s incredible transformation. Tim found the hunky guard ideal in every way. He was the kind of man Tim wanted to be more than anything else in the world.

Paul knew he shouldn’t be goaded by a prisoner’s taunts; but if he walked away he would lose their respect. Paul told the spotters to add a couple more plates to the bar. He slowly positioned himself under the bar and lifted it off the rack. With a quick inhale he lowered the 540 pounds to his chest. He pushed the weight slowly appearing to struggle. He dropped the weight back to his chest. The crowd began to mutter amongst themselves. Paul smiled and quickly pushed the weight up until his elbows locked. He then did five more reps in quick succession. Tim eyes went to Paul’s huge chest and how his girth decreased dramatically at his waist. Lying on the bench, the guard’s tight waist looked flatter and the bulge at his crotch looked larger. Tim felt himself getting hard. Paul did one slower rep, then stopped when the buttons on his shirt popped. He put the bar back in the rack and sat up with a soft growl. He swung his arms back and forth forcing another button to explode. He got to his feet. A soft curl of dark hair fell on his forehead. He walked up to the previous record holder and bounced his now partially exposed pecs in his face. “They not only look good, but are strong as hell.”

Tim grabbed his aching crotch. He said breathlessly, “He’s like Superman”. Momar turned and gave him a stern look. Tim lowered his eyes and slunk behind his owner.

Paul smirked, “That’s just a warm up for me. Need to add another 60 to equal my best lift. Let me know when you start lifting like a real man.” Momar was silent. Paul took a step closer to the rotund prisoner. He leered down at him and said loudly, “Now get out of my way, weakling.” Momar’s face turned red with anger. The two men locked eyes. Momar blinked, he lowered his gaze and moved to the side. The yard was filled with whispers. Paul walked away with a cocky swagger. The crowd parted for him as he moved. Tim stepped out from behind Momar to watch Paul leave. The tiny man’s painful hard-on found relief watching the guard’s ass. A smile overcame his impish face.

The next day Paul was patrolling the laundry area when he was jumped by three of Momar’s biggest thugs. The incident was observed by surveillance cameras. Immediately a call went over the radio. Within minutes several other guards came to Paul’s assistance. But when they arrived, they found Paul the only one standing. His shirt was ripped open revealing his sculpted torso. He was breathing heavy but appeared unhurt. At his feet were the three prisoners who attacked him. Two were completely unconscious and the other moaning in pain. The other guards were shocked to see Paul’s baton and pepper spray were attached to his belt unused. They asked how he was able to subdue his attackers. He raised his fists to show his bloody knuckles, “These are all I need to handle wimps like this.” From that moment, Paul solidified his position as the prison’s alpha male.

The rookie was soon idolized by the other guards. Violent incidents were way down since Paul ended Momar’s reign. The guards knew they were safer with him around. Paul could control the prisoners better than anyone else. Whenever there was a scrimmage among the inmates the other guards let Paul settle it. The fighting stopped as soon as he appeared. The men would explain what happened like little boys telling on each other. Paul would drag away the one he deemed as the instigator by the collar directly to solitary. No one ever contradicted his judgment; not even the warden.

For a month Paul had enjoyed his top rank in the prison. But today everyone would see just how awesome he truly was. Paul reluctantly agreed to the bodybuilding exhibition two months ago; but now he was looking forward to it. During the past six weeks he packed on the muscle and managed to get his body fat down to 4%. The only thing that made another man feel inferior to another more than having smaller muscles was having a smaller cock. He knew after every man saw him in his custom tailored posers, it would only solidify his rank. When Paul tried on the posers for the first time he looked like something out of a comic book. He finally believed he was bigger than his father.

Paul continued to undress at his locker. He unbuttoned the shirt of his guard uniform and peeled his form fitting shirt off his huge torso. The hulk shook his shoulders to work the shirt down his muscle packed arms. It didn’t budge. He grabbed the tail of the shirt behind his back and pulled. It was a move he had perfected recently. His pecs flexed from the movement like soccer balls being inflated. He tried not to make his triceps expand for that would only complicate the task. Once the sleeves passed his upper arms it fell off him easily. With his torso now exposed, he heard a whimper. He looked at Simon sitting a yard away. He threw his shirt into his locker. “Do you have to be in here right now?” Paul blurted out. He was more intolerant of being ogled than usual. He was hungry and thirsty. He had been on a restrictive diet for the past week and severely limited his water intake today. The dehydration made him nauseous and light headed. Paul didn’t like not feeling well. It was something he wasn’t accustomed to. He hadn’t felt sick once since rehab. To make things worse, the steroids were playing havoc with his temper.

“Sorry Powwow, I didn’t mean anything. It’s just you look amazing.” Simon used the nickname the prisoners gave the muscle giant. All the guards wore name tags with their first and middle initial followed by their last name. PaulWinstonDark’s tag had P.W. Dark engraved into it. P.W. became Powwow. It had to do with Paul taking down Momar’s three thugs in the laundry room. He broke the jaw of one of the men. The prisoners imagined the fight like they happen in comic books. The words would appear in burst balloons to show the crushing force of the super hero’s massive fists. Pow! He shatters someone’s jaw. Wow! Another is knocked out cold after flying across the room.

“Well, hurry it up. I don’t want you jerking off while I’m changing.” As with women, Paul’s larger size drew more attention from men like Simon too. He hadn’t slugged a queer for coming on to him in over a week. As long as the fag kept his hands to himself he wouldn’t have to break every bone in his scrawny ass body.

“Yes, sir”, Simon turned his gaze toward his locker in front of him. “Sorry.” Paul sat down on the bench. Simon who was sitting on the same bench felt it bend from the huge man’s bulk. His radiating body heat increased. The partially nude man was so close, Simon could smell him. Simon closed his eyes and ordered his cock not to respond. Simon was no small fry at 6’ 1” and 210 pounds; but Paul had four inches and more than a hundred pounds on him. The smaller man’s athletic body looked anemic compared to Paul’s massive musculature.

Paul took a deep breath to calm down. He knew he really didn’t have to be concerned with Simon. He had his coworker under his complete control. He used it to his advantage every now and then when he needed something from him. Simon would cover his shifts when asked. He even had him run errands every now and then. But unless he was working him, he didn’t want Simon leering. When Paul started at the prison, he could finally afford a better place to live. He mentioned it during lunch in the break room. Simon who was eaves dropping from another table said his parents owned an apartment building in the art district. There was vacancy at only $600 a month. Paul thought that was a bit steep for his budget. Simon said he could talk his parents into lowering the rent since they were friends. Paul ended up getting the place for only $300. That was only $20 more than the dump he lived in previously. Simon lived in the building too and acted as the manager. Paul was always late with the rent and often had noisy parties. Simon never said anything to him despite the neighbor’s complaints. Paul often saw the landlord looking out the window whenever he came and went; even when he returned home at 3am from working the club.

Paul removed his special ordered 16EEE work shoes and socks. He stood back up and unzipped his fly before undoing his belt. This was what Simon had been waiting for. Usually Paul would only strip down to his underwear and change into his street clothes at the end of his shift. But today was special. Simon knew the bodybuilder would be changing into posers for the exhibition. The smaller guard had a mirror attached to the inside of his locker door. He slowly adjusted the angle of the open door until Paul’s reflection filled the small looking glass. After Paul hung his pants in his locker, he stepped out of his underwear. Paul was now completely nude. Simon took a deep breath. Paul’s ass looked better than he imagined; and he imagined it often.

Unaware he was being watched, Paul continued to get ready. Every muscle fiber and striation was visible under his bottled tan. There wasn’t an ounce of fat on him. Paul titled his body slightly as he reached for something inside his locker. For the first time Simon caught sight of Paul’s flaccid cock jutting out from his crotch like a fire hose. It had to be six inches soft and almost as round. It arched over the flesh purse holding his two jumbo sized eggs. Like the rest of his body, there was no body hair to obstruct the view. Only a faint shadow covered Paul’s ball sack. He must have shaven down for tonight’s show.

Simon bit his lip. He had hoped the bulge in Paul’s pants was all him. He thought Paul might have supplemented it with padding to balance out his appearance. He didn’t believe any one man could possess everything. There had to be some physical shortcoming or flaw. Simon couldn’t find any. Paul was some kind of masculine anomaly; the perfect manifestation of the virile man. The blood surged to Simon’s smaller package. He soon realized he hadn’t taken a breath since seeing Paul’s manhood. He exhaled slowly. He lifted his ass from the bench and adjusted his legs to give his expanding rod more room.

Paul now had a piece of bright red fabric in his hand. It looked like a bikini bottom a little girl would wear. Simon realized it had to be Paul’s posers. There was no way he could fit into that tiny thing. Paul stepped into the bikini and worked it up his legs. The string-like waist band expanded easily to accommodate his tree trunk thighs before snapping around his narrow hips. The pouch stretched to several times its relaxed state to accommodate Paul’s package. He slid his hand inside to adjust himself. It seemed like an eternity to Simon as he own cock throbbed painfully. The brief’s back panel cut across each ass cheek diagonally to completely expose the outer half. The silky material sunk slightly into his crack to further showcase their glorious roundness. From the side it looked almost like he wasn’t wearing anything. Only a pencil thin strap ran over his hip connecting the pouch and the seat. Paul turned around. For the first time Simon got a clear view of Paul’s crotch. The seaming on the pouch allowed it to surround his parts securely. It molded to him perfectly giving him the barest amount of coverage while supporting him completely. Paul pulled on the thin straps to make them lay higher on his hips. They settled into the deep recess above his pelvic bone. It fit him so perfectly. The clingy material reflected the light and gave the appearance of being wet. It certainly made Simon’s mouth water.

Paul pulled a small bottle from his locker and squirted something in his hand. He then began to spread oil over his beefy pecs. His chest became as shiny as his briefs. As Paul’s hand repeatedly fluffed his muscle pillows, Simon tried to muffle a gasp as he shot a load into his pants. Paul had forgotten about him. He looked over and saw his reflection in the mirror. He then noticed the tent in Simon’s pants. Paul took a step toward Simon. Simon curled into a ball defensively and began to shake. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry. Please don’t hit me.”

Paul saw how frightened Simon was. The giant didn’t want to expend what little energy he had. Paul growled, “You’re nothing but a fuckin’ faggot”. He slammed the door of Simon’s locker close. The whole row of lockers rocked back and forth from the force.

Paul went into the adjoining bathroom. He found George in front of the mirror already in his posers. George was another prison guard in his early 50s. He had competed in over thirty bodybuilding competitions in his lifetime. He finished in the top five several times and won his weight class twice when he was younger. He was still enthusiastic about the sport. He had seen its popularity explode recently. He was the bodybuilding ambassador at the institution. He held monthly bodybuilding seminars to discuss training techniques and nutrition. He acted as a mentor for interested inmates and to some extent Paul.

Paul went to the sink next to George. He put his hands on the bowl to steady himself. His knuckles turned white as he squeezed the porcelain. George could see Paul’s stress, “Be careful or you’ll rip that thing off the wall.” Paul felt so lethargic and weak he probably couldn’t pull a thumb tack from the wall. He looked in the mirror and was shocked by how good he looked. His dangerously low body fat not only brought out his muscle definition but also his cheek bones and jaw line. The whites of his eyes appeared brighter against his darker skin. The hair cut he got yesterday framed his handsome face perfectly. He took a deep breath and stood erect. He continued to cover his body with oil. George’s naturally dark brown skin didn’t need as much preparation. He asked if Paul needed help. The larger man handed George the bottle of oil and turned his back to him. “Thanks.”

George coated Paul’s severely tapered back with oil. The old man’s fingers wrapped around Paul’s thick lats as his hand moved up and down. “You’re looking good, Paul. Your diet and training are right on track. You’ve peaked perfectly.”

“Yeah, I guess so.” Paul turned his head so he could see himself in the mirror. He did look amazing. He never thought he could be this ripped. Every huge muscle was wrapped tightly in tissue thin skin. The slightest movement made them ripple with power. He straightened his arms. He had no idea his body had so many veins. He was like a living anatomy chart. “I really appreciate all the help you’ve giving me during the past couple of months.” He swallowed as he felt the juices in his empty stomach surge up toward his parched mouth. “I just wish I didn’t feel like shit.”

George knelt down to oil up Paul’s legs and ass. His strong fingers slid under the seat of Paul’s clingly posers. “I know it’s ironic. At the very moment we look our best, we feel our worst. Just wait until you compete on the national level. You’ll have to endure feeling like shit for two days; all the time posing full force and smiling at the judges.” The black man oiled Paul’s carved columns. “Minute by minute, your muscles get tighter and feel heavier as you sweat out the last of your bodily fluids. By the end of the contest, you’ll look like a Samson but feel as weak as a baby.” George stood back up and slapped Paul’s back, “Turn around.”

He knew the veteran was exaggerating; but Paul didn’t like the idea of being weak. Paul couldn’t imagine it. Since he turned 16 he was the strongest man he knew. That was the day he was finally able to defeat his grandfather in arm wrestling. He remembered feeling like a man for the first time. His grandfather helped raise him after his father died. Once very close, the two men hadn’t spoke in years. The old man had no tolerance for drug addicts. Being dominant meant more to Paul now than anything else. It was what made him special. The giant turned to face George, “Weak as a little girl. Great, and I thought having to shave my balls was bad.”

George smiled. “The good news it’s only temporary. It’s all worth it when you walk away with the trophy knowing you’re the best built man on that stage.” The old man ran his calloused hands over Paul’s chest to smooth out the oily coat. Paul raised his arms to allow access every inch of his massive physique. The younger man had several inches in height and shoulder width on his mentor. George knelt down to work on the front of his legs. The back of his hands bumped Paul’s abundant package several times. It jiggled like Santa’s overstuffed toy sack. George wasn’t gay, but he wasn’t blind. He knew how extraordinary Paul was. His good looks and large endowment would only help him win over the judges and the audience. George knew his student was in a different league than he ever was. “I’ve never seen another man with your natural gifts for the sport. If you want it, there’s nothing to stop you from being Mr, Olympia one day.” With a slight groan, George got to his feet. ‘I’m getting too old for this.” He took a step back to take in all of Paul. A touch of melancholy overcame him, “Imagine it, having the title as the best built man in the world.”

Paul turned toward the mirror. He did a most muscular pose. “Let me get through this exhibition first. I hope I don’t go blank in the middle of my routine”, he rubbed his throbbing forehead, “or pass out.”

George smiled, “You’ll be fine, Powwow. There’s no pressure. Everyone out there already thinks you’re the best. Concentrate on your routine and get comfortable posing in front of a crowd. This is only a rehearsal for Mr. New England in three months, nothing more.” He patted Paul’s thick pec. It felt like he was hitting a flank steak. “Look what this exhibition has already taught you. You now know what you have to do to get into contest condition.” The muscle master lowered his hand. “It’s time we get the show on the road.”

Paul and George walked down the long back hall to the main cafeteria. Since a weapons locker was located in the corridor, inmates weren’t normally permitted in the secured area. Today however, several prisoners in tiny briefs were gathered near the guard’s entrance to the inmate dining room. Two armed guards stood nearby watching them. The scantly clad men were doing pushups and using towels to pump up their well toned physiques to ready themselves for the exhibition. The men represented different weight classes but none were at Paul’s level. As he approached all eyes went to him. He was well beyond their amateur status. He looked like a cover of a muscle magazine; comparable to any professional bodybuilder. But what he stuffed in the pouch of his posers was incomparable. Nothing was left to their imagination. The others became unnerved, even the guards. They didn’t like the thoughts that seeing Paul practically nude caused them to have. George suggested Paul do pushups. The men gathered around to watch him. Some of the prisoners got aroused. George began to push them away. He told them to focus on their own bodies. One man lingered. It was Momar’s pet, TimothySuago. Like Simon, he too had been waiting for this moment.

Tim stood 5’ 3” and 136 pounds. He had a well defined, small musculature. His lower body had more mass due to his love of soccer as a boy in Puerto Rico. He had to work hard to build up his thin upper body. He was a typical hard gainer. He looked fit and strong when alone. But when he stood next to another man, his true diminutive size became evident. His small stature was why he got saddled with the nickname Tiny Tim. He hated it almost as much as he hated being the prison’s smallest man. His tiny penis made him more non-threatening. His defenselessness combined with his plump ass and sexy Latino looks made him a regular target in the showers. He began to work out to get stronger to fend off the onslaught of attackers. Unfortunately, his improved physique only made him more attractive and he could still be overpowered. He had no choice but to become Momar’s bitch to get the bigger man’s protection. Now he only got raped by one man instead of many. Tim had to endure the pain and humiliation whenever Momar was in the mood. Tim was too small and weak to stop him. One day he would get his revenge he told himself to get through the nights. He would do whatever it took.

Tim watched Paul’s back muscles contract and bulge as he did the set of pushups. As Paul got back onto his feet, Tim was mesmerized by the giant’s pumped chest. Paul’s nipples were just at Tim’s eye level. Paul pinched the bridge of is nose trying to get rid of his headache. He wasn’t even aware that Tim was standing in front of him. With his eyes still closed Paul bounced his pecs to encourage the pump. Tim’s small dick was fully erect in seconds. The other prisoners started to mock Tim. They pointed at his crotch and laughed. They bombarded him with insults like “mosquito bite boy”, “light switch”, and “nipple dick”. Paul opened his eyes and looked down at Tim. He shook his head and pushed Tim aside dismissively. He didn’t mean to push the featherweight so hard. He used only a fraction of his immense strength. Still, Tim stumbled several feet until he hit the wall with a thud. The other prisoners laughed at him again. He looked at Paul who didn’t seem to know or care what was happening. He was massaging the back of his thighs. Paul then bent at the waist with is legs split far apart. He held the position for some time. From behind it looked as if the massive hunk was presenting his perfect ass to Tim. Tiny Tim was hard again. Then he saw Paul’s his silk wrapped package dangling between his titanic legs. A quarter teaspoon of spunk squirted from his pinkie sized rod. He couldn’t wait until all that belonged to him.

The warden entered from the cafeteria doors. His eyes widened when he saw Paul. “Wow.” He wiped his lips dry. “Uhm, are you ready”, he asked nervously looking directly at Paul. The hulking guard shook his head. The warden wrung his hands. “We’re going to start with the lighter weights first and keep you for last. The grand, or in this case grande, finale as it were. It that’s okay with you?””

“I guess”, Paul said keeping his eyes straight ahead.

The warden got nervous. “We can change it if you want. George says you aren’t feeling well. You can go first. We’ll do it anyway you want. You’re the star attraction after all.”

Tim couldn’t believe it. For weeks, the show had been planned out. His weight class was supposed to be first. Suddenly it all could change because of Paul’s whim. It was as if no one else mattered. Paul stretched out his arms as he thought. He twisted them to work his triceps, then went into a double bicep pose. Gasps echoed in the hall. The warden’s mouth fell open. Paul didn’t notice the response from the other men. His mind was elsewhere. Like his legs, his arms felt so tight and heavy. They felt worse then when he tortured them with a grueling work out. George’s words about being weak as a baby ran through his head. He definitely didn’t like this feeling. He let his massive arms drop and rubbed his abdominal bricks. He felt queasy. Paul looked at his boss and thought the extra time might allow his stomach to settle. “We’ll stick to the plan. Let the little guys go first.”

The warden smiled and playfully slapped his employee’s massive delt, “Break a leg out there, Powwow.” He let his hand linger before sliding down the hard and oily surface of Paul’s thick arm. It became awkward as his fingers kept contact with Paul’s bicep a little too long. Paul would have normally shoved a man who dared to touch him like that; but it seemed too much of bother today. He just leered down at him. The warden could see everyone was watching. Then he caught Paul’s piercing glare. He jerked back his hand and cleared his throat, “Good luck to you all.”

The warden entered the cafeteria and walked the few yards to the stage built for the show. He looked overdressed in his expensive suit amid the field of prisoners in their orange overalls.
He introduced the first group of bodybuilders; those under 154 pounds. Tiny Tim was among them. Being the smallest he was heckled by the crowd. He could hear Momar’s booming voice chanting “Ty-nee, ty-nee”. The whole room followed Momar’s lead. The chorus humiliated Tim. He had worked so hard, but he was still a joke to the other men. He persevered through his routine. Once the music stopped, Tim stepped off the back of the stage with the other bantamweights. He lowered his head in defeat.

The next group, up to 198 pounds, was called to the stage for their moment in the spotlight. The cafeteria was filled with every inmate and most of the guards. They cheered and cat called the men on stage letting them know who they liked and who they didn’t. The next group had the most participants including the veteran George. With a maximum weight of 225 pounds the men were definitely big. They tended to have underdeveloped legs and overdeveloped arms. Many had so many tattoos their muscle definition was lost to the ink. For them it was all about looking strong and tough, not pretty.

The men filed off the stage. The crowd quieted down as the warden appeared. They knew what or better yet who was next. The emcee announced the final group, those over 226 pounds. Paul surpassed the minimum by almost 100 pounds. He walked through the double doors alone No man wanted to stand next to him on stage in a bikini. Paul stepped up onto the stage and went to the center. He stood in the bodybuilder’s so-called relaxed pose. This ironically meant he had to flex every muscle. His lats flared sending his arms upward. His pecs bulged, his abs tightened and his quads hardened. The room was filled with audible gasps and exclamations like, “Damn!”, “Shit!”, and “Fuck!” His glistening body looked surreal in the cafeteria setting. The thin material of his tightly packed pouch shimmered. The room was still strangely quiet as he did quarter turns allowing everyone to see his perfect form at every angle. His music started and he began his posing routine. Within the first twenty seconds the crowd started to react. There were loud cheers and whistles. A lot of men began to rub their woodies through their jumpsuits. The more dominant ones had their bitches do it for them. None were the least bit embarrassed by what they were doing. They knew the men not masturbating now would when they got back to their cells. No one could look at someone like Paul and not get turned on.

The big guard went through his routine remembering to smile as he hit each pose. His perfect white teeth and sparkling hazel eyes held every one’s attention. It was impossible to look away from the vision of masculine perfection. While he looked flawless, he felt worse with the passing seconds. His muscles felt tighter and tighter with each pose. The strain from the hard flexing was causing him to sweat buckets. He wiped his brow and flung his hand. The droplets sprayed the competitors standing behind him. None seemed to mind. They had the closest view of any of the prisoners. Paul’s fluid starved muscles started to cramp. He worked through the pain. When he finished he was exhausted. He was having trouble staying on his feet. He bowed and raised his arms victoriously before he tried to leave the stage. But the warden pulled him back. He took the opportunity to grope Paul’s bicep again. He called all the other bodybuilders on the stage for a final pose down. The other men left a buffer zone around Paul. Someone pushed Tim toward the giant. The tiny man bounced off the hulk who hardly noticed. Tim looked up at Paul. Paul looked down at Tim, “Pose, you piece of shit so I can get out of here”. Tim felt compelled to do as Paul commanded. He went into a double bicep pose. Paul moved directly behind him. He copied the smaller man’s pose because he couldn’t think of what else to do. The crowd began to applaud. Tim went into a side chest pose. Again Paul followed his lead. Tim noticed that the crowd’s cheers were turning into laughter. The roar became louder as he did a most muscular. Some one yelled out, “Look at how tiny he is.” The laughs filled the cafeteria. Tim continued his routine. He turned to start his back poses. That’s when he saw the wall of muscle behind him. Tim realized why they were laughing. He looked comical next to Paul.

Paul was feeling light headed. He was sure he was going to pass out. He had to get off the stage and sit down. He put his hand on Tim’s shoulder for support. Tiny couldn’t handle the weight. He lost his footing on the oil and sweat covered stage. Tim fell on his ass to more laughter. Paul stepped over him as he left. It was like Gulliver passing over a Lilliputian. The warden asked for a final round of applause for the contestants. Paul was rushed by the inmates. They had to touch him. His height allowed his to focus on the door over the crowd. Paul’s reaction time was hindered by his condition. His perceived indifference only made the crowd bolder. His posers where practically ripped off him; as multiple hands grabbed the distended pouch. He clumsily swatted the hands away and covered his package using both hands out of necessity. George could see what was happening. He guided his colleague out of the room. Paul fell against the wall when he made it through the door. His muscles were flexing uncontrollably. He bent at the waist thinking he was going to vomit. The dry heaves finally stopped. George gave him a bottle of water. He saw all glassy Paul’s eyes were, “Don’t chug it down. Take small sips to start.”

Paul’s hand was trembling as he held the bottle to his lips. He took a small drink. He sighed and put his other hand on top of his head, “It feels like my head is going to split open.”

“We need to get some carbs in you. I’ll get some orange juice and a candy bar from the vending machine in the break room.” George looked around and saw Tim hovering behind him. Tim was one of his most attentive and enthusiastic students at his monthly bodybuilding seminars. “, uh, Tim watch him while I’m gone. Make sure he drinks the water slowly.” George put his hand on Paul’s bowling ball sized delt. He could feel the muscle spasm under his hand. “You did great. I’ll be back in a couple of minutes. Keep sipping the water.”

Paul crouched to stretch the front of his thighs. Tim watched George exit through the door. He reached into his briefs and pulled out a small metal fragment. He crouched down in front of Paul and whispered. “You’ve surpassed my wildest expectations.” Tim stopped and made sure again that no one was listening. He inched closer to Paul. Tim wiped his mouth as if unsure if he should continue. Paul wasn’t reacting to his presence. He just sipped some water and widened the distance between his knees. He massaged his package before letting it drop between his spread open legs. Tim opened his hand. In his palm was the metal fragment shaped like a slice of pie. With his palm facing upward he reached between Paul’s legs without touching him. “I hear you’re competing for the Mr. New England title in a couple months. George says you will win easily. I say I’ll win it instead.”

Paul lifted his head. His eyes were unfocused. “You”, he laughed, “fuck I got more than a foot on you and twice the weight.” He spoke like he was drunk. He grabbed Tim’s thin arm in front of him. His huge hand could accommodate the girth of Tim’s thin arm entirely within its grip. He squeezed it. Tim yelped in pain. “You’re arm is like a toothpick. I could snap it into two without even trying.” He let go and bent his own arm making it expand to its solid 26 inches. “I’ve got more muscle in one arm than you do in your entire body. You’re so…”

“Tiny?” Tim asked as he pulled back his hand.

“Yeah, that’s it; teeny tiny. Like a little kid or a something.” Paul laughed for a second, then he winched in pain. He rubbed his scalp to ease his sudden headache.

Paul’s words were like daggers. His eyes watered and his body shook. “I am a grown man, damn it. And I deserve to be respected as a man; the way they respect you. When you’re my size you’ll be on the other side of things and you’ll finally understand what its like.” He looked behind him to make sure no one was watching. It was time to implement his plan. If nature wasn’t going to help him, then the super natural would. “I want your body. I mean I want my body to look exactly like yours does at this very moment.” Paul wasn’t really listening as he took in more water. He put his hand on the floor to keep himself from tipping over. Tim knew he had to act quickly. Paul was so weak and vulnerable right now. He would never have another opportunity like this. Tim recalled the conditions needed for the spell to work. “In George’s last bodybuilding seminar who said you would do anything to help us reach our fullest potential in the sport. Did you mean that?” Tim spoke louder, “Did you mean that, Powwow?”

“Sure, I guess”, Paul mumbled.

“So you agree to do whatever it takes to give me a body just like yours; a body identical to how you look at this very moment?”

“I said yes.”

“Good, very good.” Tim stretched out his hand again under Paul. “And do you agree to keep this between us. No one else will notice the changes.”

“Yeah, yeah”, Paul said without thinking.

“We agree to exchange bodies so I can win the overall Mr. New England title in two months and not you. And no one but us will notice the change.” Tim raised his hand and grabbed hold of Paul’s oversized package suspended between his legs. It felt like he was holding a hot grapefruit wrapped in silk. He squeezed tightly to force the coin into his ball sack; the only vulnerable spot on Paul’s hard body. “As we agree, so it be.”

Paul reacted slowly in his weakened condition. It took a moment for his brain to register where Tim’s hand was. He clumsily slapped Tim from his junk. Even in his unsteady state, he had enough power to send Tim’s hand flailing. The coin fragment flew into the air. “Get your fuckin’ hands off you me you faggot.” Paul rose up as quickly as he could. The sudden movement made Paul dizzy. He lost his balance and fell back onto the wall. Tim followed the trajectory of the coin. He quickly picked it up. When he turned he saw George coming with the food items. “Good thing you’re back. I think he’s confused, almost delusional.”

“Get that faggot away from me. He wants my body”, Paul slurred.

“I’ll take it from here. Thanks for looking after him.” George opened the bottle of orange juice and gave it to Paul. “Drink this.”

“It was my pleasure.” Tim turned away from George. He dropped the coin fragment into the front of his ill fitting brief. It slid down the baggy pouch so it touched his ball sack. He squeezed his package and whispered, “As we agree, so it be.”

The warden entered the guard’s break room. He saw Paul and George standing by the vending machines. “Hello men. I got a lot of positive feedback over the past two weeks about the exhibition. I want to thank the both of you for putting it together. I thought maybe we can actually hold a real competition…with a title and trophies. Physical fitness is something we should stress more in this place. Having the men take their aggression out on weights instead of each other is good for everyone.” The boss looked at Paul.

Paul shrugged his shoulders. “It’s up to George. He’s the one who did all the work on the exhibition.” He put his hand on the top edge of the coffee machine and leaned into the steel box. The angle of his arm felt different, as if the machine was taller than before. He lowered his arm but before he could investigate the matter the warden asked him another question.

The warden’s delight showed on his face, “So you have no problem in participating in our little competition so close to the regionals?”

Paul was surprised the warden knew about the regionals. “No, I’m always pretty much in contest condition.”

George rubbed his chin as he thought, “I guess we can put something together. I can be the lead judge and I’ll get two more old timers from my gym to fill out the panel. The prison will buy the trophies?” The warden nodded yes. “So you want to do this before the regionals?”

The warden folded his arms, “The sooner the better. We have to follow up while the men are still excited about the idea.”

George looked at Paul, “We can do it the day before you leave for the regionals. That’s eight weeks away.” The older man squeezed Paul’s shoulder and rocked him playfully, “It can be the first of your many bodybuilding titles Powwow.” Paul just smiled trying to look humble.

The warden looked over the muscular giant. “Your tailor did a nice job on your uniform, Paul. He gave you some room to grow.” Paul suddenly became self conscious. He thought his uniforms were looser than before; but he didn’t realize it was that noticeable. He flexed his muscles to fill out the garment. The warden smiled, “It won’t be long before you’ll have to have your uniform let out again. Just tell me the contest date and I’ll have my secretary make up some flyers and post a sign up sheet in the cafeteria. You gentlemen have a good day.”

Paul waited a moment for the warden to leave. He looked at George and spoke softly, “I never gained back the 12 pounds I lost for the exhibition. In fact I’m down like 40 pounds now. And I’m way off my personal lifts at the gym. Is that normal after a contest?”

“Forty pounds? That can’t be right.” George looked Paul up and down. “You don’t look any smaller to me. You’re like 280-290 right?” He took a drink of water from a small paper cup.

“284 this morning, but I was 323 a few weeks back.”

“323!” George almost choked on his drink. “I know you’re a freakin’ super heavyweight, but let’s keep things real.”

Paul’s face went hard, “I’m being serious. You were there when I weighed myself at the gym.”

“Well”, George scratched his head. He did vaguely remember that happening. “That scale isn’t the most accurate thing. It’s gotten a lot of abuse. I think it’s given you a bad case of wishful thinking. Remember it’s not just about the quantity of muscle it’s also the quality. And you’re carrying Grade A beef on those bones of yours. Be happy with that.” George slapped his hand into Paul’s hard chest. “I’ll talk to you later big guy. I’ve got to start my rounds.”

“Okay, talk to you later.” Paul rubbed his chest shifting the material around slightly. Underneath he felt the two rock hard mounds of muscle. He flexed his pecs to make the material tighter. The buttons strained to keep him covered. He smiled. His uniforms had probably been stretched out by his constant flexing. It was more comfortable now anyway. And when he looked in the mirror he didn’t appear that much smaller. George was probably right about the scale.

Paul walked into the break room. He looked tired and a bit ragged. He had dark circles under his eyes; his hair was messy and he needed a shave. His uniform looked sloppy and baggy on his frame. Without looking up from the floor he went to the coffee machine.

George saw him enter and went to him. “Where have you been? I was told you’ve called out for the last three days and no body at the gym has seen you in two weeks. What’s going on? Are you all right?”

Paul looked at George with contempt, “Do you have to ask?” The older man looked confused. “Look at me, George. Do I look all right to you?”

Paul shrugged his shoulders, “Maybe a little tired?” George nudged his younger coworker with his elbow, “Spending too many late nights with the ladies?”

“Are you kidding me? I finally figured out why my muscles didn’t look smaller as I was losing all that weight. I’m fuckin’ shrinking!”

George laughed. “Shrinkage is problem between you and the ladies, son.”

“This isn’t funny, old man. I went to the doctor. According to his scale I’m under 6’ 2” and weigh 255.” Paul waited for George’s reaction to the numbers.

Again George didn’t understand Paul’s distress. He looked over his prodigy, “Okay, that sounds about right. We all know you’re a big guy, Powwow.”

“I was a hell of lot bigger a few weeks ago. Don’t you remember…I was 6’ 5” and weighed over 320 pounds?”

“I see”, George folded his arms and wiped his hand over his face. “I’m used to guys that look like you having big egos; but delusions of physical grandeur…this is a new one for me.”

“Jesus Christ, why doesn’t anyone believe me?” Paul punched the wall in frustration. His fist broke through the drywall. Everyone stared at him as he stretched out his bloody hand.

George could see the Paul was really upset. He escorted the youngster to the sink on the other side of the room. “It’s okay Paul. I believe you think there’s a problem.” George turned on the water and placed Paul’s big hand under spigot. Paul heard that condescending tone in George’s voice. It was the same as the doctors. Paul thought maybe he was going crazy. Paul’s posture changed. He dropped his shoulders like he didn’t care anymore. George became more concerned, “Tell me what the doctor said?”

Paul watched the water run over his hand. “Nothing. He said I’m healthy.” Paul gave a small chuckle, “In fact he called me a perfect specimen.” He shook his head as he pulled his hand out of the flowing water. He grabbed a paper towel and placed it over his knuckles. “It will be a week for the blood work to come back.”

“You’re not getting high again are you?” George asked softly.

Paul was stunned his friend would ask that. He was about to deny it when the warden walked in. He saw the damaged wall. “What is going on in here?”

George turned off the water. “Sorry sir, we were playing around and it got out of control.”

The warden walked toward the two men. He looked down at Paul’s hand. He decided not to pursue the matter since it was Paul. “I see.” He looked over his biggest employee. “Are you all right? It looks like you forgot to shave this morning. I hate to be a stickler but there are state grooming guidelines everyone has to adhere to…including me.”

“Yes, I know. I’m sorry. I haven’t been feeling well lately. I’ve got a razor in my locker. It won’t happen again, sir.” Paul said meekly. He found himself apologizing all the time now. It was like his bravado was fading away with his muscles.

The warden smiled. “Good man. Say what happened to the tailored uniforms we paid for, Powwow?”

Paul tired to stretch his body to fill out the ill fitting work clothes, “I’m wearing one of them.”

“Jeeze, not to criticize your guy but he did a terrible job. It hangs on you like a potato sack and the pants are way too long. You should take them back and have him fix it.”

Paul sighed and let his chest fall, “Yes, sir”.

The following week George arrived at his locker with Paul following him. “I don’t understand why you’re upset. I would be happy if my blood tests show there was nothing wrong with me? I mean you look healthy as a horse.” Paul didn’t say anything. No one understood what he was going through. His life had become some kind of bizarre nightmare. All he wanted was to wake up and be the man he was before. George pulled out the extra shirt he kept in his locker. All the guards kept a change of uniform. “Here see if my shirt fits you. It’s only an extra large, so it’s going to be tight.” Paul began to unbutton his tailored 3XL shirt. “I know the warden is a pain when it comes to our appearance. But he has talked to you about it several times already. I can’t believe that hack of a tailor really charged you $200 for his work. I mean it looks like you’re wearing a blue tent.”

“Okay, I get it. It’s waaaay too big for a shrimp like me.” Paul threw his shirt to the floor and grabbed the loaner from Paul.

George was getting annoyed with Paul’s constant foul moods. “Calm down, Powwow. No one thinks you’re a shrimp.”

“Sorry”, Paul said. “Thanks for the shirt.”

The older man studied Paul’s large bulging muscles as he squeezed into the garment. They looked like balloons ready to burst at any moment. George rubbed the back of his neck, “Shit, I would have done anything to be a super heavyweight when I was your age. You big guys had such an advantage over us light heavies.” He tapped Paul’s abdominal brick wall. “I’m glad all those missed work outs haven’t affected you too badly. The regionals are less than 6 weeks away. You look pretty lean; you must be sticking to your diet. You still about 240?”

“238 this morning and sinking”, Paul mumbled as he tested the strength of the fabric stretched across his upper back.

“It shows. You’re really cut for being this far out. Be careful on your water levels. You don’t want to cramp up like you did at the exhibition.”

Paul wasn’t really listening to George. He was busy enjoying the feel of George’s shirt. The short sleeves had gathered where his delts met his biceps. The openings were too small to cover his high, split peaks. It made his arms look even larger than their 22 inches. He fought to close the opening over his chest. The buttons looked like they may blow at any minute. It was so tight it restricted his breathing. As he inhaled the material creaked from the pressure. God it felt so good. Paul found the tight garment as comforting as a new born finds swaddling. It reminded him of when all his clothes clung to him like a second skin. “I haven’t really been eating very much. I’m definitely not taking in the 20,000 calories you suggested.”

“20,000? You must have misunderstood me, Powwow. I probably said something closer to 12,000. That’s about right for a man your size.”

Paul’s face went red with anger. He stomped to his nearby locker and pulled out his training log. He turned to the meal plan pages. He came back to where George stood and held it up for him to see. “That’s your writing, isn’t it? Doesn’t it say 20,000?”

George put on his reading glasses for a moment to read the handwriting. “Okay, so I wrote the wrong number. It was just a mistake, son.”

“Sure a mistake; just like the nurse’s mistake when she wrote the wrong numbers on my chart when she measured my height and weight last week. Oh, and how the DMV made the same mistake on my driver’s license last year. I mean it makes perfect sense. Mistakes happen all the time.” Paul took his anger out on George’s shirt. Paul purposely flexed his lats and pecs. The top three buttons popped and the side seams under his arms split. Paul felt huge again.

George instinctively used his hands to block the flying pieces of round plastic. He saw Paul’s exposed chest and smirking face. “Hey, that’s my shirt you’re destroying.”

“Sorry”, Paul’s tone had no remorse.

“You’re going have to wear that for the rest of the day.” George face showed his disapproval, but his attention was diverted as Simon entered.

“Hey guys”, their coworker said with a smile as he went to his locker.

“Hey Simon.” George turned back to Paul. “I’m afraid my pants will be too short on you. You’ve got like four inches on me.” George’s eyes went back to Simon. “Hey Simon, you’re about the same height and waist as Paul. Can he borrow a pair of your work pants?”

“Sure”, Simon grabbed a pair from his locker and walked over to Paul.

The broader man turned to face Simon. “Thank…”, Paul was stunned he had to look up slightly to make eye contact with Simon, “you”. He couldn’t believe how short he had become. .

“No problem, Powwow. It’s good to see you. With my vacation and you being out sick so much, it’s been weeks since we’ve seen each other.” Simon looked at Paul’s muscle packed shirt. He put his hand on Paul’s globe like right delt and gave it a squeeze to test its hardness. “You must be feeling better. You look really good.” He smiled as his fingers slowly slid down Paul’s massive bicep. It was obvious he was enjoying the opportunity to feel up Paul’s body. He dropped his hand and folded his arms. He looked Paul up and down slowly. “My pants will probably fit you as well as George’s shirt. We may have nearly the same waist and inseam; but you’re definitely bigger everywhere else.” Simon licked his lips as he stared at Paul’s crotch. He made eye contact with the object of his desire. “Return them whenever. Maybe I can collect them when I pick up the rent next month. You, uh, you don’t even have to wash them first.” Simon flicked his tongue before he walked back to his locker.

Paul didn’t know why he let Simon get away with that. A couple of weeks ago, he would have broken Simon’s fingers if he touched him. But now there was a hesitance. Paul knew he had more than 30 pounds of muscle over Simon. However the slimmer man’s height advantage, though only an inch, intimidated Paul. It felt the same hesitance when dealing with the prisoners and the night club’s patrons. His whole view of the world was changing and he didn’t like it. He was becoming more conscious of his surroundings. He worried about everything. The world was becoming a more frightening place

Paul picked up his old 3XL shirt and went to his locker. He put the shirt inside and stepped out of his oversized shoes without untying them. He stuffed them with newspaper to stop them from flopping around like clown’s shoes. He knew he would have to buy a smaller replacement pair eventually, just like his uniform. But he didn’t know when he would stop shrinking. He stepped out of his baggy pants and tossed them into his locker. He slid his legs into Simon’s pants. They were incredibly tight around his thighs. He easily snapped the closure around the waistband. He forced the shirt tail into his pants. A smile formed on Paul’s lips as he stuffed his smaller, but still impressive package behind the zipper. He bet Simon didn’t have that problem. He put his hands into the back pockets to straighten the linings. He loved the way his ass felt inside the tight pants. He ran his hands over his thighs and adjusted his man bulge. He remembered when women couldn’t keep their hands off him. He heard a slight moan. He turned to find Simon watching him. The taller man smiled mischievously. Paul became nervous and looked away quickly. Simon skimmed his hand over Paul’s ass as he passed. Paul quickly turned around and took a defensive stance. Simon smiled and raised his hands, “My hand must have slipped.”

Paul could feel his heart racing. Why was he scared, it was only Simon? He sat down on the bench to calm down. He could feel the tight pants crushing his crotch like a vice. It hurt so good. After he slipped on his shoes, he went to the mirror. Every muscle was clearly on display in his new tight uniform. He looked like himself again. He flexed his muscles to make the clothes tighten around his bulk. The opening on his shirt widened. He heard the side seams tear a little more. He felt better if only for a moment.

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