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Long Forgotten Memory, A
|I just got back from a walk thru the castro after lunch and for some reason i recalled an aquaintance who buffed up.
He was my best friend's boy friend. He was taller than me and a slender guy, about 5'-11". At the time he was in his late 20's. For the sake of the story, we'll call him Mike. Mike was of Italian extraction, with olive skin, deep brown eyes and the darkest brown hair that he kept short, but had a very slight curl to it. Mike had never worked out, but he was a runner, with a distance runner's build: slender, lanky with thin bones and small joints. He had great calves.
My best friend is the same height as Mike and had a very similar build at the time. But he's of German heritage with blonde hair and green eyes. The couldn't have been more perfectly matched physically. Both male model material, with handsome, youthful faces and bodies that clothes look great on.
When they were going out together, I was working out like a fiend, in my hyper fit phase, and had a fairly beefy physique. Mike was fascinated by muscles and by my lifting. He was always touching my arms asking me to "make a muscle". He would quiz me endlessly about training.
I'd known him for about 18 months or so when my best friend told me that Mike had started to work out. He'd bought a membership in Gold's Gym and was going in on a regular basis. They're relationship was on the rocks by now and we weren't socializing as couples anymore.
I saw him about 5 or 6 weeks after he started working out and could see that the training was doing him some good. He had made visible gains in that short time. I'd always thought he was attractive, but seeing him with some muscle...or maybe it was seeing him gaining muscle...I found him even more attractive.
My best friend would keep me up to date on their relationship issues, but rarely mention Mike's working out or training. Only twice, that I can remember, did he mention it. The first time he commented that he'd never seen Mike be so consistent and diligent as he was in working out. The second timeit was something along the lines of "Mike's getting pretty strong."
Given the way his body had responded so quickly, I often wondered if he had kept at it, and if he had what kind of progress he was making. They're relationship didn't last much more than a month or so after I'd seen him. I heard through the grape vine that he was spending even more time in the gym. That peaked my interest and I often wondered how big he was getting.
About 4 months after they broke up, so this would be 6 or 7 months after he'd started working out, I ran into him on the street. I honestly almost didn't recognize him. He had gotten so big! I was shocked...and turned on.
It looked like he had gained 20 lbs. Honest to goodness. He hadn't been more than 140 pounds when he'd been dating my friend. He had to be at least 160 when I ran into him. He was dressed in running shoes, jeans and a t-shirt. The shoes were the only items that weren't tight. His jeans were snug around his thighs and around his calves. He hadn't gained an inch around his waist. The t-shirt, a favorite and well worn shirt that used to hang from his shoulders like from a hanger was filled almost to bursting.
Mike's shoulders were like softballs. His traps came up further on his now much thicker neck. His chest was big, both pecs pushing up and out, hard under the tight shirt. The sleeves of his t-shirt could only manage to cover his shoulders, exposing very impressive arms. He had to have gained 2 or more inches on his arms. Even his fore arms were thicker. It was a windy day and the wind plastered the t-shirt against his pecs and abs. There was no mystery about the presense of impressively cobbled washboard abs.
His natural olive skin tone helped to show off the definition of his muscles. His small joints emphasized the apparent fullness and sweep of his muscles. He wasn't a beast or anything. But given his coloring and bone structure, the fact that he didn't seem to have gained an ounce of fat, and the revealing snugness of his clothes, he looked like one hot muscle man. With his small joints, he kind of resembled a Tom of Finland drawing the way they exagerated the fullness of his muscles.
I was dumbfounded by the gains he'd made. He was one hot guy. I couldn't help noticing the strands of chest hair poking out of the shirt collar or the squared off shape to his pecs. His grip was strong and I could feel the calluses on his hands pressing into mine when we shook hands.
We chatted a bit, I wanted to grill him about his gains, but neither of us had time. His hug when we parted was bliss. He had strength. I could just tell that he could have squeezed me much harder, but held back. His muscle were hard and got harder when he did squeeze me in his arms. His muscles had shape and definition and I could feel the mounds and ripples of his muscle against my chest and under my hands on his back. That size and hardness was hot and even sexier was that his waist was still so small.
That was the last time I saw him to speak to. It was years ago. I did see him from the car as I drove down the street about 6 months after I ran into him on the street. He was in dress slacks and a white dress shirt and tie walking his dog. In the brief flash of that image, I'm sure he was bigger than when I'd run into him. I could see the outline of his biceps, quads and ass under the clothes.
I know he's still in town: his name is in the book. All the people I knew who used to hang out with him no longer do. I believe the phrase "muscle bound drama queen" was used. Sometimes I'm tempted to call him and maybe get together. But I'd rather not. I'd rather maintain that memory of his transformation and that exquisite hug.
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