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|Yeah, my name’s Jack. You got a problem with that? My real name’s John but that’s my dad’s name too, so I’ve always been Jack. Some kids used to call me Jackie. I hate that name. Jackie. That’s a fuckin’ girl’s name. Kids used to rag on me ’cause I was so small and skinny. “Jackie, you little shit, I’m gonna pound your puny ass, just because I feel like it. And there ain’t nothin’ you can do about it Jackie, ’cause you’re just a puny little punk.” Then the kid would beat me up, laughing the whole time. I was the punching bag for the whole class. I get real mad when I think back about all the shit I took. And I don’t have to think back very far. Those days were only 3 months ago. Well, nobody calls me Jackie anymore. Not unless they wanna get their guts smashed into their fuckin’ spine. Let me tell you about it.
I was always small and skinny. Ever since I can remember, I was shorter and skinnier than the other kids my age. I wasn’t a nerd or anything. I’m a normal, red-blooded American boy and I always tried to fight back when other kids picked on me, but I’d usually lose all the fights ’cause I was so small and weak. I turned 14 only 3 months ago, on June 7 to be exact, and on my birthday I was 5’2” tall and weighed only 95 pounds. No, that’s not a typo. I weighed a fuckin’ 95 pounds. I was a skinny little shit, just like all the other kids said. And even though I weighed only 95 pounds, I had a layer of baby fat covering my little body. I looked like a little kid, not a 14 year old teenager. On my birthday my friend Charlie challenged me to an armwrestling contest and he smashed my little 9 inch arm to the table so fast I felt like a little girl fighting his muscles. He even let me use both arms against his right arm and he still won, although it was a lot harder for him to pin both my arms. I looked at his bicep bulging as he slowly forced my little arms down. His arm wasn’t huge, but it was way bigger and more muscular than mine.
After he pinned my arms, Charlie laughed and flexed his biceps right in my face. “Jesus, Jackie,” he said. “You just turned 14 but your body’s like a 10 year old. You’re not a real man like me.” Then he wrapped his arm around my neck and squeezed in his forearm real hard until his bicep was pushing right into my windpipe. I started gasping for air and that only made Charlie squeeze harder. He was laughing really hard. He thought it was funny. Finally he saw I was almost passed out. He let go and pushed me down on the floor. He stood over me flexing his muscles and said “You’re a fucking wuss, Jackie. My little sister’s stronger than you.” He laughed and all my other friends laughed too. I felt like shit, as usual.
Well, my luck started to change right after my birthday. School let out and I was thinkin’ about what I was gonna do for the fuckin’ summer. I mean, what are you gonna do when you’re a 14 year old skinny punk that everybody likes to pick on? Go to the beach? Forget it! I’d be laughed off the fuckin’ sand. Maybe even have sand kicked in my face by some big jock who wants to show off for his girlfriend. Well, I was walkin’ down my street and saw the kid who lives a couple of houses from me workin’ out with some weights in his garage. His name is Pete and he’s on the high school tennis team. He’s 17 years old and is gonna graduate next spring. Pete has a nice, buffed body. He’s about 5’10” tall and weighs 140 pounds. Not real big. Just real buffed and lean. Like tennis player wants to be. He was doing bench presses with about 125 pounds. It looked like a huge amount of weight to me as I watched that iron being pushed up and down by Pete’s shredded chest and arms. Pete finished his set and stood up. I couldn’t believe how the muscles of his chest and arms rippled under his thin tan skin. Pete could see that I was staring at his body. “Hi, Jack,” he said. Pete never called me Jackie. I appreciated that. “Ya wanna try a set? You ever lifted weights before?” I shook my head. I was so skinny and weak, I never tried to lift any weights at school or at my friends houses. I was too embarrassed. I figured lifting weights was for guys who have muscles, and I sure didn’t. “You look like you could use some liftin’, Jack,” said Pete, eying my pathetic little body. “Here, try a set of benches. Lets see what you can do.”
Pete removed most of the plates on the bar. It wasn’t an Olympic weight set, just a little starter set that teenagers get for Christmas. He lowered the weight all the way to 30 pounds. “OK, Jack,” said Pete. “Let’s see what ya got.” I got on the bench, gripped the bar and Pete gently lifted it off the rack. I was on my own. I was scared but I was also excited. I lowered the bar to my chest and pushed it up. To my surprise, I could push the bar up pretty easy. Not real easy but easy enough that I cranked out another 14 reps before my chest felt real sore and I just didn’t have enough strength to push up another rep. I jumped up off the bench, all excited at what I had done. My chest and arms felt really good, like blood was surging through my veins. I felt some kind of rush come over my body, like all of a sudden I was energized. I felt great! I ran my fingers over my little pecs and they actually felt harder to the touch than before and they were actually bulging a little bit under my skin.
“You did great, Jack,” said Pete. “Fifteen reps with 30 pounds on your first try is pretty fuckin’ good for a little guy like you, if you ask me. Of course, you’ll never be as big and muscular as I am, but I think if you work out for a year or two you’ll probably be able to get about half as strong as me.” I looked at Pete’s buffed muscles and nodded my head with excitement. The thought of being able to get even half as strong as Pete was incredible. Then I got my lucky break. Pete told me that he was going to be a tennis instructor at a tennis camp all summer so he wouldn’t be using his weights. He was leaving in just two hours. He asked me if I wanted to borrow his weights until he came back in the fall. I felt like I had died and gone to heaven. I said yes and right then and there we moved Pete’s little weight set over to my garage. Pete gave me a high five and said, “See ya in three months, dude. Maybe your little arm will be half this size by then.” He flexed his bicep and I watched that hard ball of shredded muscle peak into what looked like a mountain of solid rock. “Thirteen inches of rock-hard muscle, Jack,” said Pete. “Something for you to shoot for. Good luck, dude.” Pete looked at my puny runt body just before he turned around to leave. I knew he was thinking that there was no way that all the weights in the world would make my skinny little arm ever come close to his 13 inches of rippling muscle.
Well, I didn’t waste any time getting started lifting the weights. Pete had given me some muscle magazines for inspiration and he pointed out a beginner’s workout routine in one of the magazines. I did every exercise just like they said in the magazine. Except that they said to do only one set at first. You were supposed to go up to three sets after a month of training. Well, I said fuck that shit and I did three sets right from the start. And I used the heaviest weights I could lift for about 10 reps. At the end of my first workout, my whole body was in total pain. Every muscle of my body ached. I could hardly walk. But at the same time, I felt great. My whole body seemed to come alive as my muscles lifted those iron weights. Iron weights that today are so light and puny for me, but iron weights that were then challenging my skinny little muscles more than they had ever been challenged before. Besides being really sore at the end of the workout, my little muscles were actually pumped! I could feel them pushing out under my skin. It was like they were being unleashed from their punyness and wanted to pump and grow. And I felt that same incredible rush I had felt in Pete’s garage. It’s a rush that’s almost better than sex. I still get that rush during every workout. It’s a rush of blood, adrenaline and testosterone blasting through my teenage body, making my muscles feel big and strong and alive! Even though my muscles were puny and I was weak as shit, I somehow felt big and strong after that workout.
I staggered out of the garage and into our kitchen. My legs were so sore I could hardly walk. I was covered with sweat and my skin was red and flushed. I sat down on a kitchen chair and my mother came running over to me. She screamed, “Jack! What’s the matter? You look sick! What happened to you?” I looked up and said, “Nothin’, mom. I’m fine. I’ve been liftin’ some weights. Pete loaned me his weights for the summer and I was liftin’ out in the garage. I’m just a little tired and stiff, that’s all.”
My mom looked at me with a look of great concern. “Lifting weights? Like Pete does? Jack, you might hurt yourself doing that. Pete’s a big, strong young man and you’re just a little boy. I don’t think you should be lifting weights like that.” I got up and stood face to face with my mom. She was 4 inches taller than me. I knew she loved me and didn’t want me to get hurt, but I knew what I wanted and I wasn’t gonna let my mom stop me. I raised my right arm and flexed my little bicep. A tiny little lump of muscle rose up. “Look at that, mom. Feel it,” I said. My mom reached over and felt my puny little bicep. “Doesn’t it look a little bigger to you and doesn’t it feel hard? That bicep was as flat as a pancake this morning and it felt like mush. It’s pumped, mom! I got a pump! It’s gotten bigger and harder after just one workout! Mom, I’m tired of being puny and weak. I’m tired of getting picked on and beaten up by all the kids in school. I think those weights might really help me get bigger and stronger so I won’t get picked on anymore. Pete says that after a year or two I might even get to be half as strong as him! Wouldn’t that be fantastic? I’d love to be half as strong as Pete. So, mom, I really wanna lift this summer!”
My mom looked down at me with a look of pity in her eyes. She knew I wanted to lift weights more than anything I had ever wanted to do before. She knew I was a skinny little runt who got picked on by all the other kids. She didn’t like that any more than I did. She reached over and hugged my hot, sweaty little body. “OK, son, go at it! Lift those weights! I want to see you pack some real muscle on that body. I want you to be able to protect yourself against all those bullies who have hurt you all these years.” I looked up at her and saw her starting to cry. “Thanks, mom,” I said. “I won’t let you down. Hey, I’m really hungry. I’m gonna need a lot of food to feed these muscles. Gimme a snack. Make it a tunafish sandwich with lots of tuna. I’m gonna need a lot of protein!” I realized that the workout had made me incredibly hungry. Hungrier than I had been in a long time. My mom made me a big tunafish sandwich and I wolfed it down with a big glass of milk like it was nothin’. I was surprised myself at how much I ate. “I’m still hungry, mom,” I ordered. And my mom made me another big sandwich. I ate that too with still more milk. Finally I was full. I patted my flat stomach, let out a big burp and headed up to my room to read the muscle mags Pete had given me.
I read all about working out, about proper nutrition, about protein supplements, everything. I was hyped. I learned that my body needed to rest between workouts in order to grow, so I couldn’t work out tomorrow even though I really wanted to. I had to rest and eat and eat some more and grow. At least I hoped I would grow. Lying in bed and reading that magazine, I had no idea what would happen to me. Maybe I’d just get fat from eating all that food. Or maybe nothing at all would happen. Fuck, no muscle had grown on my body for 14 years, so why would it be any different now? But I had never lifted weights before, so maybe something different would happen. I laid on my bed thinking about all the good things and bad things that might happen to me. But in the end I was totally jakked to be liftin’.
Even though I was sore as hell, I got on my bike and rode down to the health food store and bought a ton of the supplements that were advertised in the muscle mag. I used up half of my savings from my allowance. Shit, all those muscular dudes in the mag used this stuff to get huge, so I wanted to use it too. I wanted to get huge. I was a 95 pound kid who wanted to get huge.
When I got home it was dinner time. My mom had already told my dad about me liftin’ weights and my dad was cool about it. I think he felt the same way as my mom about not liking me being puny and weak and getting beaten up all the time. My mom had gone out and bought some steaks and vegetables just for the occasion. And she bought an extra steak for me just in case I was really hungry. Well you guessed it. I gobbled down my first steak, with lots of potatoes and vegetables, and then gobbled down the second steak too. One day before, I wouldn’t have been able to finish even the whole first steak. My appetite had totally changed after that one grueling workout with Pete’s weights. After dinner I watched TV and then I mixed myself a big protein shake before going to bed. Already I was hungry again and I wolfed down the shake. I slept like a rock, dreaming of big muscles bulging in my body.
The next morning I got on the scale and my eyes bulged out at what I saw. I weighed 97 pounds, two more pounds than the day before. I couldn’t believe it. I got on and off the scale and I adjusted the setting to make sure it was set at zero, and every time it said 97 pounds. My cock started getting hard when I thought about the fact that I might have added two pounds of muscle to my little body overnight. But then again it might just be fat. I flexed my muscles in the mirror and I thought I saw little bulges of muscle that weren’t there yesterday. And I sure didn’t see any more fat. If anything, my definition had improved. I flexed my abs and saw the outlines of a six-pack forming under the little layer of babyfat under my skin. Shit, I hadn’t ever seen that before! I was stoked!
It was all I could do to resist lifting weights on that day. I wasn’t sore anymore and my muscles were kind of twitching, like they wanted some action, some action like lifting heavy iron. But I was convinced that another day of rest is what they really needed to grow big, so I didn’t lift a single weight. Instead, I did a little running and bike riding and I ate tons of food and supplements. My mom was really getting into my eating. She had borrowed my muscle mags and read about all the good food I should be eating, and she made it all in huge quantities. Lots of protein, some carbs, and no fat. I ate like a pig, three big meals and three “snacks”, which were as big as the meals I used to eat. And three times a day I drank a big protein shake. It was amazing the amount of food I crammed into my little body. And even more amazing was that I was always hungry when it was time for more food. I was a fuckin’ eating machine.
I woke up the next morning and got on the scale. “Jesus Christ!” I yelled out loud. “One hundred fucking pounds. I weigh 100 pounds! Fuck, yeah!!” I was so excited I was yelling at the top of my lungs. I flexed my muscles in the mirror. The little ridges and bulges of muscle looked a little bigger. I felt my bicep and it definitely felt bigger than two days ago. Then I flexed my abs and my six pack of muscle popped out even more clearly than it had yesterday. My cock started getting hard. Even though I had gained three more pounds and had eaten an incredible amount of food, I had less fat on my abs than I had yesterday. My muscles were growing and my fat was disappearing! I just couldn’t believe what was happening to me. I loved it!
After eating a huge breakfast of steak, eggs, potatoes and toast, washed down with a quart of milk laced with protein supplement, I headed out to the garage for the second workout of my life. I could hardly wait. My muscles seemed to be crying out to be challenged again by the heavy weights. I started with bench presses. I loaded the bar to 35 pounds, which was the maximum weight I was using for about 8-10 reps two days before. I got on the bench and lowered the bar to my chest. Then I pressed it up. The fucking bar felt like a feather! I easily pumped out another 20 reps and I wasn’t even trying hard. My maximum weight two days before was nothin’. That weight was now my fuckin’ warmup. I was totally stoked. I knew right then and there that the five pounds I had gained was solid muscle. Solid, fuckin’ strong, muscle.
I put five more pounds on each side of the bar, making it 45 pounds. I lowered the bar to my chest and pressed it up for 10 solid reps. That weight felt the same to my new, bigger muscles as the 35 pounds did two days before. I rubbed my hands over my pecs and felt the little muscles bulging. I had never felt my pecs bulge before in my life. They felt so hard and alive! I wanted to work them really hard so they’d grow big as fast as possible. So, I didn’t just do three sets of benches. I did five sets. I wanted to work my pecs to total exhaustion. Incredible intensity which would make them cry for mercy at the end of the five sets. Five sets of the heaviest weight I could lift for 10 reps on the first set and about 4-6 reps on the last set. Then a full day’s rest to let those muscles grow so much they’d be able to lift another ten pounds of weight the next workout.
I wasn’t supposed to do five sets until I had been lifting for many months. But my muscles were pumped. My muscles were throbbing. I knew my muscles wanted heavy lifting to the extreme, and I was gonna give it to ’em. You’ve heard of extreme sports? Well I was gonna be the extreme lifter. And my muscles were gonna grow to extreme size. Shit, I wasn’t supposed to do three sets in my first workout but I did, and look what happened to my muscles. They exploded! I knew they could take five heavy sets and explode even more. I would be in pain, but I wasn’t afraid of a little fuckin’ pain. I was tough. I felt like a fuckin’ stud.
I pumped out the five sets of benches, barely lifting the weight to the rack on the 5th rep of my last set. Pain was shooting through my pecs. They were totally engorged with blood. Even though they were puny, those pec muscles, those little muscles that had worked themselves to total exhaustion by lifting the heavy iron for five grueling sets, were actually bulging under my nipples. My nipples were poking straight out, totally erect. My skin was beet red and dripping with sweat. I felt an overwhelming rush of power as the hormones raced through my body. I felt like Superman. I weighed only 100 pounds and I only benched 45 pounds, but I still felt like Superman. I ran my fingers over my pumped little pecs. They felt really hard. I smiled and let out a loud yell, “Yeah!”
Well, I did five sets of every exercise in that beginner’s routine. I worked out for 3 hours, drinking lots of water and a big protein shake about half way through the workout. I worked every muscle in my body to complete exhaustion. On every exercise I could lift about a 1/4 to 1/3 more weight than I had done just two days before. The weight I had struggled with before felt unbelievably light, just a fuckin’ little warmup weight for me now. I was totally jakked. Halfway through the workout I ran upstairs and brought down a big mirror so I could watch my muscles flex as they were working. When I did my curls I could see my biceps bulging up into little balls of muscle under my skin as they forced out rep after rep with a weight they could have barely lifted before. I never had any biceps at all before and now I had little lumps of muscle bulging in my arms. I was getting a pump. My little muscles were fuckin’ pumped! I hit a double biceps pose and watched in amazement as the muscles formed an actual peak in my arms. I was totally amazed at how fast my muscles were growing.
My last exercise was situps. In my first workout, I could only do only 10 reps per set and not even that many on my third set. Today, I cranked out 30 reps on my first set and never got below 20 for my fifth set. By the last set my abs ached with so much pain it would have been easy to stop. A wimp would have stopped putting so much pain on his body. But I didn’t stop. I wasn’t a wimp. I was a tough kid and I knew my abs were tough too. I knew they could take it. I cranked out those last 20 reps one by one. The last 5 were incredibly painful and I did ’em real slow. When I finished, I was totally exhausted and lay on the floor for a few minutes, breathing hard as the sweat poured off my hot body. Then I stood up and ran my fingers over my sweaty abs. They really felt hot and the sweat was dripping onto my shorts. To my amazement, I could actually feel hard little ridges of muscle under the sweaty skin. It felt like corrugated iron. Like a washboard. I was getting washboard abs! I looked in the mirror and flexed. The six pack of pumped muscle sprang to attention at my command. I had never had ab muscles at all, and now I could see hard muscle pulsating under my skin. All my babyfat was gone. There was nothing but muscle under that thin skin. My cock got hard under my shorts. It was dawning on me that I wasn’t gonna be a little punk anymore. I was getting muscles! And I was getting ’em real fast.
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