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A Fullback's Past
|Clay drank in the sight of his new muscles, which were clearly much
thicker and more ripped compared to what they had been just five
minutes ago. I watched Clay's eyes flick from one body part to
another – like me, he didn't know where to look first. Then, as if
decided, he brought his meaty pythons up to his sides and flexed a
hard double biceps. Cabled veins threatened to pop out of his skin as
they ran down his biceps and forearms. On each of his vascular
forearms – the veins were most apparent here – over ten veins rose far
above the skin. God, those veins just screamed power. Clearly, there
was so much dense muscle in his arms, the veins had nowhere else to
go. I felt completely weak – what kind of grip did this guy have?
Over the past morning events, I had begun to become somewhat accustomed to Clay's incredible size, but at times like this, it was hard not to be astounded all over again. My mind simply could not comprehend how a human body could get so developed. Sure, I had seen the bodybuilders in magazines and on TV, and had even read some comic books to look at really overdeveloped physiques – but none of that was ever real or tangible to me. Now, with Clay towering right in front of my face, completely naked and flexing his powerful muscles, it was difficult to maintain a sense of reality. He was so much larger, stronger, and beefier, I felt like an inferior species next to him. I mean, we were about the same age, yet there was no physical similarity to establish that fact. There was simply no contest about who was the superior and dominant specimen. In fact, Clay was so thick, one could easily fit my entire body inside the dimensions of Clay's muscular physique! The thought was such a turn on. Clay was a fucking powerhouse and also seemed to be a nice guy – I couldn't believe he was real.
I brought both of my arms up to mimic Clay's double biceps pose. I noticed that my own arms were slightly larger and more defined, but I imagined they were still about twelve or thirteen inches around – believe me, I knew. I had measured them quite often when I had started a workout routine that lasted all of three weeks.
"Show me what you got, big man," Clay snarled belligerently as he noticed I was matching his pose. Fuck, I loved it when he threatened me – it reminded me that he could easily kick my ass if he wanted to.
Slowly, the muscle beast dropped his left arm and straightened his right arm towards me so it was between us. I followed the motion; now our right arms were held up side by side between our chests. (Editor's note: Wait - I have to take that back. Clay's chest was so developed and packed with muscle that it's almost an insult to call it simply a "chest," moreover to say "our chests," as if they were equal. It seems more appropriate to call them pecs, since that's exactly what they were – solid slabs of pure chest muscle. Similarly, I shouldn't call his massive biceps and triceps an "arm," but I'll do it for simplicity.)
He tightened and flexed his thick triceps, which bulged into a menacing curved horseshoe. No doubt I stared wide-eyed at the staggering amount of muscle that was the majority of Clay's arm. As any bodybuilder will tell you, the triceps are the largest muscle group in the arm, and that was evident in Clay's case – from his elbow to his shoulder, savage muscle bulged out obscenely as the it swept over the back of his arm. His triceps easily OWNED his arms – their sheer size demanded subservience. I swore I could see the striations of muscle fibers along the engorged muscle. It was simply awesome to be that close to such a display of raw power.
"That's a MAN'S arm, right there," Clay declared as he admired his own musculature and smiled with satisfaction. His smile was so perfect: flawless teeth set upon a strong, wide jaw. Damn, I thought, his jaw looks like it could withstand any punch. He looked so fucking invincible. Clay looked fiercely at me and nodded. "Go on, flex that python for me."
I flexed my own triceps by straightening my arm as hard as I could. To my disappointment, I didn't see any noticeable difference! As I compared the two arms, I felt completely inferior all over again. Even with just his arm, Clay was obviously superior. His arm was twice as thick as mine, covered with veins and ripped to shreds. My arm was pale and smooth, no bulges anywhere – its surface was even and unbroken by the lack of defined muscle underneath.
See, I believe a guy's arm symbolizes his strength and power. If you didn't have big guns, you weren't a real man. Looking at Clay's arm again, it was clear that he fit the role. Hell, he probably exceeded most people's vision of a strong, powerful man. Most people don't like the extremely pumped up, shredded body. Luckily for me, I'm not like most people.
I dropped my arm and realized that I was hard again – what the hell, I hadn't even touched him and I was stiff as a board! Embarrassed, I turned sharply away, hoping Clay hadn't seen.
"Brad… what's wrong?" Clay asked gently. I didn't get it – how could he pull off both the total stud and the sweet guy acts so well?
I looked up at his handsome, chiseled face. Absurdly, for no apparent reason, I felt tears well up in my eyes. Insecurities and reservations that I had kept to myself for years came to me all at once. "I… I don't know. I don't get why you're so nice to me, even though we just met. You're so… built. I'm just a weak, skinny kid, but look at you! You're bigger than most grown men," I blurted, not remembering that Clay was probably nineteen as well. For obvious reasons, it was hard to think of this hulking stud as a kid.
Irrationally, I began to think that Clay's friendliness was all a ruse. He must be fucking with me. "So is this all a joke?" Anger began to replace my tears. "Who put you up to this?"
Clay's brows furrowed as he put an arm around me and grabbed our towels in the other. With deft fingers, he wrapped me in my towel and himself in his. "Look Brad, I'm nice to you because… well, because I like you. You're a good guy. Seriously."
I couldn't take much more. It was just so illogical. "What do you mean? We just met this morning, remember? You barely know me." Who was this guy? The weight of his muscled arm around my shoulders and neck was ominous instead of comforting.
He shifted his eyes towards the ground and slumped his shoulders. It was a silly sight, to see such massively broad shoulders slouch forward in dejection. "Actually," he spoke to the ground, "I knew you way back in eighth grade, Brad. I'm Clayton. I thought you'd recognize me, but you didn't… and well, we got kind of caught up this morning."
I was utterly confused. "Huh?" I said stupidly. The name Clayton was meaningless to me. "The only Clayton I know is you, I guess. Clay Grant, my roommate."
He grabbed my hands and looked down at me with pleading eyes, an absurd sight given that he towered over me. "Wait, no, not Clay Grant. Clayton Redding. You don't remember? We used to hang out every day!"
I muttered the name several times before it all came back to me. "Clayton Redding! Jesus, from eighth grade…" I suddenly remembered the scrawny kid who had moved into my neighborhood for only a few months. We quickly became good friends, which had been easy because he had lived right across the street. Clayton had suddenly moved out of the neighborhood and, as there was no way I knew to contact him, he gradually slipped from my childhood memories.
At the recognition, Clay stood up straight to his full, impressive height and smiled brightly. "Hell yeah, you remember me!" He looked relieved.
"Yeah… but you were Clayton Redding. Why is your last name Grant now? And why did you leave town all of a sudden? Nobody knows what happened."
Clay sighed heavily. "Okay, I know you got a lot of questions. I'll try to get them all answered for you, but I don't think we have time for my long-ass story right now. Basically, I had to leave because my dad moved out and left my mom and me alone to pay for the house. We couldn't afford it, so we had to leave all of a sudden. Sorry I didn't explain at the time, Brad." He reached out and squeezed my hand with rough fingers. "I hated my dad for leaving, so I changed my last name to my mom's – Grant. Fuck `Mister Redding'… if I ever see that asshole again, I'll…" His hands clenched into fists; the muscles in his arms tensed and bulged.
I was speechless for a few moments. Just seconds before, I had thought Clay was just another jock who was toying with me – well, I had had my share of bullies in my day, so forgive my cynicism. "It's okay, Clay. Sorry about your dad…" I said awkwardly.
Clay relaxed his hands and seemed to regain his composure. "Thanks, that was a long time ago, so I don't really think about him much. Besides, if he met me now, I'd make him shit his pants!" Clay smirked and growled playfully as he flexed a most muscular pose for me.
I had to laugh at Clay's silly humor – it didn't match his powerful physique. "Yeah, I'll bet! I remember you were so tiny and you were even shorter than I was!" I looked up past his monstrous pecs and column-like neck to his handsome face. I tried to remember how he had looked in eighth grade, but it was impossible to recall with his current magnificent body in plain view.
He chuckled deeply and placed a meaty hand on my shoulder. "Yeah, Brad, I was quite the little runt. Well it looks like you're the runt now, eh?" He grinned as he proudly flexed his godly pecs for me and patted me on the head. Fuck, Clay flexing just for me, that's hot.
"Yeah… looks like it," I said as I surveyed his overdeveloped muscles again.
"Damn right." He winked. Then his eyes widened suddenly and he stared right at me. "Hey, what time is it? Shit, I think we're late – let's go!" He started taking off at full speed back to our room.
I tried to follow his massive frame, but he was too fast. Considering his size, it was mind-blowing how quickly he ran. I heard THUD… THUD… THUD… as his heavy mass sprinted down the hallway. I enjoyed the sight – his pumped body, covered with only a towel wrapped around his waist; his tremendous back muscles rising and falling as he hauled ass.
When we got back to the room, the clock read 8:10 AM. Clay threw on a tanktop and athletic shorts. Fuck, he looked hot! His huge upper torso easily filled out the tanktop and his thick, shredded legs complemented his shorts perfectly. Somehow, he looked just as built and intimidating with clothes on.
He quickly tied his shoes and put on a baseball cap backwards. As he stepped out of the room, he turned and said, "Yo, we got a short practice today because of the activities fair. Come see me at the football club's table, aight? You can't miss the table – just look for me." He smiled again, a special smile that he seemed to save just for me. I found myself completely enraptured by his alpha male look and attitude. He was the stereotypical jock – big, buff, and ready for practice.
He looked so hot, I could barely think straight. All I could manage was a simple, "Yeah."
"Peace!" He disappeared from the doorway, but I could still hear his heavy footfalls as he ran to practice.
After I had gotten dressed, it was 8:20AM. I glanced over the freshman orientation schedule and realized that the first item was a speech by the sophomore class presidents – boring shit! The activities fair wasn't until noon – apparently, they'll have food at the fair. I decided to relax a little and take the time to explore the dorm.
I wandered around the empty dorm and finally ended up in a computer room. There were about twenty computers all lined up. Most of the monitors still showed websites that people had been reading – I guessed everyone had left in a hurry for the 8 AM speech.
Still thinking about how hot Clay had looked in that tanktop and backwards cap, I quickly logged on to the school site and clicked on "Athletics." Then I navigated my way to the school's football page – "GO WARRIORS!" the website read. I clicked on the rosters and eagerly scanned the page for Clay's name.
Name: Grant, Clay. Position: FB. Height: 6'04". Weight: 250. Birthdate: 11/2/1983.
I sat back in the chair and stared at his stats. I had tried to guess his height and weight by looking and feeling, but now I knew the real numbers. Fuck, he's HUGE! I thought about my own frame: 5'6" and 150 pounds… it sounded so pathetic compared to 6'4" and 250 pounds of ripped muscle.
As I stared blankly at the wall thinking about Clay's huge body, I suddenly remembered that he probably wasn't 250 pounds any longer. He literally GREW in the shower, so he was probably 260 or 270 pounds now – fucking hot! Then I realized I never asked how the hell he did that. I thought back to the gel. What was that stuff?
I ran back to my room and found the gel sitting on Clay's empty desk. Great, now what do I do with it? My first thought was to put it all over my body, but then I remembered Clay might find out and kick my ass. I threw the gel in my bag, planning to use it later. The clock now read 8:45 AM. The next orientation item was at 9 AM - it was entitled, "Poly State Athletics and Academics." It sounded important, so I grabbed my gear and ran towards the auditorium.
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