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A bad day
|They say that trouble comes in threes. I guess today was no
exception. It started on my way to meet Mark. I was biking one of
the trails I take to get to his lab. This particular trail, through
the south side of town, runs parallel to the river. Unfortunately, it
hasn't been completed and put the trail users on some back roads with
cars. Normally this isn't a problem. Today it was.
It was rush hour. It seems to me that there are some drivers who perceive cyclists as interfering with their constitutional right to get home as quickly as possible. I do my part by trying to stay out of their way, keeping to the right and allowing them to speed past me. Most of the time, it keeps me relatively safe. Sometimes, though, some drivers go out of their way to cause trouble.
Today's problem jerk was driving a Hummer. Of course, he was talking on a cell phone while speeding. As we approached an intersection, he decided he should speed up to try and pass me in the intersection, making a right turn from the left lane into my bike. Thankfully, quick reactions and some defensive cycling enabled me to avoid his SUV. Unfortunately for him, I just wasn't in the mood. I had a hard day at work and this was the straw that broke the camel's back. I caught him at the next corner, where he was stopped in rush hour traffic.
"Hey dickwad! You almost hit me."
He put his hand over the cell phone, "Fuck off, asshole."
Wrong answer. I went behind the Hummer and got off my bike. The driver saw his break in traffic and tried to pull out. The Hummer didn't move. Its wheels spun against the pavement. I saw the driver look in his rear view mirror. He saw me holding the vehicle by a trailer hitch with my right arm. My bike was in my other hand. I smiled at him. He turned around and I saw him mouth, "Mother fucker."
I guess that's when it dawned on me what I was actually doing, overpowering a 500 horse power engine with one arm, my back and my legs. I could see my massive quads flexing and digging into the ground, my forearm and bicep pumped and absorbed the jerks and snaps of the engine's futile effort to move. I felt my bike shirt rip as my lats spread to keep my balance. I smiled, and began to walk back to the trail, pulling the Hummer with me. I could feel the engine's strain against me, but it didn't even really seem hard to me. OK, it was more difficult than pushing a shopping cart, but not much. I heard the asshole behind the wheel gun the engine a few times, trying to overpower my grip and his backward motion. It was a futile effort. I started to laugh. How strong had I become?
As we approached the trail, the driver wised up enough to stop burning his tires against the pavement. The smell of the burning rubber only tended to annoy me anyway. He also put the engine into neutral, probably trying to protect it from overheating or something. I stopped at the trail entrance. When I turned, I saw him getting out of the car. He was a big guy. Maybe I should have noticed the "Muscle Factory" advertisement on the side of the Hummer, but I didn't.
"You mother fuckin' asshole! What the fuck do you think you're doing to my car?" He swung at me. Not smart.
"Just how dumb are you? You can't drive. You try to kill me with your fucking SUV. I just dragged it 3 blocks backwards with one arm and you try and hit me?" My anger was being overcome by awe at how stupid this guy was. I looked at him. He was nothing compared to me.
The guy wore a tank top. His arms and shoulders were big. A few months ago, I might have even called them huge, but since working out with Mark and the Team, my standards had changed. The guy looked like a bodybuilder or powerlifter. His arms were probably over 20 inches, solid muscle. His top tented over thick pecs, and his lats formed wings pushing his arms from his side. His waist was narrow. He wore spandex shorts that showed off thick quads and diamond calves. His dick looked small. Big surprise there.
He swung at me again. This time, I grabbed his fist and swung him around so his arm was behind his back. I dropped my bike and flexed my left bicep in his face. "Dude. Ain't you figured out that you don't got the power here. This does." Using the arm I had around his back, I lifted him up, tossing him about 15 feet. He landed on his ass, mostly unhurt. I walked over to his Hummer. I saw the guy's cell phone on his seat. I took it, and put it in my elastic band of my shorts.
As he got up, he saw me lifting the 3 ton car over my head. Seeing that, he stopped. I walked it to the river and tossed it a few hundred feet into the center of the water. He screamed something as it sank. Maybe they'll find it the next time they search for that mythic WWII plane that's suppose to be down there.
I walked over to my bike. The guy came running over and threw one last punch that bounced off my hard abs. I pushed him down. I took the cell phone from my shorts and crushed it with my right hand. Dropping the debris on him, I got on my bike. I told him, "Now, share the road next time, asshole!" as I biked away.
On my way to Mark's lab, I calmed down enough to realize what I had done. How could I be so stupid? I thought about the newpaper headline, 'Biker sinks SUV in road rage'. What if the asshole calls the police or something? OK, maybe no cell would hold me, but do I really need that problem? And what about Mark! No one really knew about his research besides some folk at the university and the coach of the football team. How could I be so stupid? I may have just ruined both our lives!
I was upset when I entered the gym. I hoped a good workout would calm my nerves. Nobody had seen what I had done, right? Everything would be OK, or so I hoped. It was just my luck that Brett and Adam were the only two in the gym.
"Hey guys, know where Mark is?"
"He's meeting with the coach and the freshman players," Brett responded as Adam worked on a set of heavy squats.
I normally tried to avoid them in the gym. Adam was an ass, and I had my fill of jerks today. I should have avoided them, but today I felt the need to do some heavy lifting, like working legs. As Adam finished his set, I asked, "Mind if I work in?"
Adam looked incredulous. "Ya, let me make it lighter for you."
I wasn't in the mood to jerk around. "No need," I responded, getting in position. I cranked out 12. "Add a few pounds next time, OK?" I said as I finished. The look in Adam's eyes was not pleased.
Adam programmed the machine for Brett, who did a set of 8. He struggled with the last couple reps. The kid was really pushing himself. Adam went next, commenting that he upped the weight. He pushed out 8. I went next, doing a set of 12. "Still a bit light," I said. Adam scowled.
Brett only managed four reps the next time. He sat down as Adam once more upped the weight. He pushed out eight reps, but the strain showed on his face. The choice was mine now. Do I take the kid down a notch, or do I let him think he's still number 1. I guess I was still in a mood. I cranked out 12 with ease.
Walking up to Adam, I flexed my 50+ inch leg next to his. He was pumped, but my leg was obviously bigger than his. "Let me set this thing for some real weight," I said as I added 500 pounds to the resistance. I did a set of 10, pushing out the last two as my legs burst into a relief of muscles and veins through paperthin skin. "Now that's getting there, but it still could be heavier." Looking Adam straight in the eye, I said, "Your turn."
Adam had a look of steely determination on his face. He got under the bar, flexing his massive thighs as he prepared himself. He lowered himself for the first rep, his face turning bright red as he ordered his legs to lift the impossible weight. Sweat beaded on his forehead as the strain showed. He screamed as he forced the weight up a second time. He went down for a third rep and his glutes split the rear his shorts, unable to contain his massive pump. Raw determination and obvious pain were the only emotions he showed as he struggled with the third rep. He knew four would be too much as he placed the bar back. I have to admit, the kid had spunk and his thighs were pumped beyond belief. The look in his eyes revealed the anger and hatred he felt right now.
I walked over to the computer controls and upped the weight by another 500 pounds. I got under the bar and pumped out eight perfectly controlled reps. Adam's legs may have been pumped beyond anything he experienced before, but my legs dwarfed his. The size of my quads and hamstrings pushed my legs apart, and made my huge cock bulge into a huge package in my spandex shorts. I flexed my massive thigh, showing off like Adam was prone to do -- giving him a taste of his own medicine.
"Wanna give it a try," I hissed at Adam, "or have you figured out that these biker legs overpower those twigs you got." A Robin Williams joke came to mind: "With thighs like these, you've got two choices -- cycling or go-go dancer." The dumb joke didn't lighten the mood.
"Ya, you may have stronger legs, but I still got the guns," he said, flexing his massive bicep. It was true, I was still an inch or so smaller there, but I still 8 treatments to go. Brett and Adam went to do leg extensions, while I did a few more sets of squats. Lifting the massive amounts of weight did calm me a bit, and taking Adam down a peg felt good.
As I finished my 6th set, Mark came in with the kids. They had just been given their most recent treatment, and wanted to start working out. It was their sixth, but the results were obvious. All were bigger, and most would have no problem with the asshole in SUV. One was exceptional, though. Jonny "The Weed" Romero. He got the nickname "The Weed" because he was growing like a weed. He was already proving himself on the football field, and he was the strongest of the new kids in the gym.
Mark and the coach seemed to be having a disagreement. The coach walked away from Mark and put a chart on the wall. "Men, thought this might interest you. The doc here just showed me this. It's some results from last year combined with the progress of you new kids." He pointed to the chart. "As you can see, you men are right on target." He pointed a group of lines clustered in the center of the page. There were a three lines outside the pack. One was red, one green and one purple. The coach pointed to the purple line, the one closest to the pack. "This here is Brett." He pointed to the next line out, "This is Adam." He pointed to the furthest line. "And this here is next year's star player Jonny Romero." Adam's eyes shot pure hatred at Jonny as Jonny's eyes widened with what the coach was saying. "Yes sir, men, our man Romero is growing faster and stronger than any other member of the team. In a matter of a few months, he'll be the strongest football player around."
The new members ran over to "The Weed", patting him on the back. He flexed and hit some most muscular poses that would have made any 19 year old proud. Adam didn't go over. He didn't look happy. Brett seemed to be talking to him, but Adam just turned and walked into the locker room.
"I told him not to do that," said Mark to me as I walked over. "It's just going to cause problems."
"You mean with Adam? Ya, he didn't look happy."
"Adam's been a problem since he became top dog around here. He seems to have defined himself by being number one. He's not going to take this well, and he's strong enough to cause lots of problems. He might even take it our on Jonny. Sure, Jonny will be stronger than he is eventually, but that's still months away."
"I don't think Adam will hurt him."
"I hope not, but you never know." Mark shook his head. I thought about telling him about my encounter with the SUV, then thought I shouldn't burden him right now. That will just have to work itself out on its own. "I need a drink," Mark finally said.
"Sure. Let me shower." Mark didn't look happy, and all I wanted to do was hug him.
In the locker room, a similar scene was playing out between Adam and Brett. Brett had his arms around Adam. I heard him say, "Don't worry. I love you and I'll always love you."
"First that old man Scott out lifted me, and now Jonny. That twerp can't be stronger than me. He just can't be," Adam moaned. "Not after all I've been through. Not again."
"It will be OK," said Brett, hugging Adam.
I went into the shower, giving them their privacy. I was intrigued, but I knew that that too would play itself out. Eventually. When I got out of the shower, Adam and Brett were gone.
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