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|Matt was right.
It WAS amazing - and it only got more so as time went by.
"Come take a look," Matt said.
He led me down the hall and around the corner to a place sophomore guys NEVER went - the dance studio. He hit the lights - and there I was, on every wall. Not just the front of me, but the side, the back, every possible angle.
"Pull off the shirt, Hank."
I looked around nervously.
"But what if."
He rolled his eyes.
"What if someone sees you? Believe me, bud, it's just you and me. Y'know the jocks never come back here unless they think they can get a glimpse of some pussy and the last dance class was over two hours ago."
He stood looking at me like I was the dimmest of nimrods.
"Besides." he started.
And I did it.
"Sweet Jesus," Matt gasped.
It was pretty sweet alright. I remembered years before flipping through that coffee table book on bodybuilding, "Pumping Iron," and thinking how huge Schwarzenegger was, much bigger than his movie characters. And there was the same body in the mirror looking back at me, only harder and furry and with my head on it.
"Fucking awesome," Matt said, recovering at last. "As good as Mr. Ferris, in fact."
I glanced at him sharply - he grinned.
"Oh, yeah," he said, "I know about that. You're not his only 'pupil,' y'know."
I didn't know it, in fact, and I wasn't too sure how much I liked the idea - but the idea that Matt and I had Mr. Ferris in common (and possibly more?) was intriguing, I must say.
"Not that the rest of us have your potential," he pointed out. "I'll be happy to look like Ferris in 10 years."
Which made me think.
"What do I suppose you'll look like in 10 years, Big Boy? I don't have that much imagination, Hank. I don't think we've seen THAT yet."
Then he pulled off his shirt and it was my turn to suck breath. Taut and lithe and hard - he already looked like a college stud and, like me, he was only 15 years old. I felt a stirring.
"Let's compare," he suggested.
He took me through a topnotch posing routine, one that would an Olympia contender proud. Showing me the moves, correcting my form, adjusting my stance to take into account my (slightly) greater height, my (significantly) greater mass.
"Do you see what I mean?" he asked as we hit a final double biceps shot.
And I did.
Matt Wells, the studliest of drop dead gorgeous high school hunks, looked like an underdeveloped boy next to me.
Compared to the typical 15 year old?
I wasn't just a freak.
I was a god!
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