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|That fall I didn't grow any faster than I had over the summer but the
results were even more spectacular. Why was that, you wonder?
Part of it had to do with the fact that people saw me every day. I was gaining 10-12 lbs. a month, 2-3 lbs. a week, about 1/3rd to 1/2 a pound every day. Every day I was a fraction bigger than I was the day before but even so I was growing 3-4 times faster than anyone else -- people noticed!
Part of it has to do with impact. The difference between 160 lbs. and 200 lbs. is the difference between painfully skinny and nicely put together. The difference between 200 lbs. and 240 lbs. is the difference between healthy jock and fucking huge bodybuilder.
Of course, *before* that year I'd never been much of a jock -- I was way too skinny to get counted in *that* category. As soon as school started, however, I had the football and wrestling coaches practically down on their knees begging to join their teams, especially after they saw what I was doing in the weight room.
That summer my parents had splurged and bought me an Olympic-size weightset from Weider. By the time school started I was benching 300 lbs. for reps. And when fall break rolled around in early October I was benching a phenomenal 400 lbs.
That's when Mr. Ferris started joining me in the weightroom. It turned out that my study hall -- I always spent it in the gym thanks to the fact that the study hall monitor was one of the junior football coaches -- coincided with his planning period.
He showed up one day when I was doing strict concentration curls with a couple of 100 lb. dumbbells. Did his eyes widen slightly at the sight? I was pretty sure he wasn't used to seeing 20-inch biceps on a high school student, much less a 15 year old.
"Looks like the weights are coming along good, Hank."
Before I could reply he grabbed the 110 pounders from the rack -- the heaviest the weightroom had, something I figured I needed to ask about -- and started pumping out curls. It was time for *my* eyes to widen. Mr. Ferris was rumored to have 22 inch guns and here was proof positive that the rumors were correct.
"Jeezus," I thought, "this fucker is *built*."
I started slackjawed while he pumped out a dozen reps with each arm, then dropped the weights -- thud! Clatter! -- back on the rack.
"The tell me you're benching 400 lbs. these days. Is that right, Hank?"
I grinned and nodded.
He shook his head.
"Pardon my French, son, but that's fucking unbelievable!"
"C'mon," he said. "Show me."
So we loaded the bar and I popped out 5 reps for him.
"That good enough for you?"
"Are you kidding? That's fucking incredible, Hank."
It occurred to me that if Mr. Ferris kept standing there with his arms on the bar, rolling and twisting and flexing those huge fucking pythons on his, I might just croak. As it was I was getting a major stiffy.
"There's only one problem with it," he continued.
"The problem is that there's only one other person in the whole school who's stronger than you are -- and that's me!"
My mouth fell open (again?)
"You don't believe me…?"
"Well, sure, Mr. Ferris, I believe you. But what's that got to do with you and me…?"
He signalled me to move off the bench. He eased himself onto it with a fluid grace that belied his bulk -- it occurred to me that Mr. Ferris had been lifting longer than I'd been alive! He positioned himself under the bar and calmly cranked out 20 reps.
Instinctively I moved to the spot position and took the bar from him when he finished his last rep.
"Shee-it!" I exclaimed when he was done. "That was awesome!"
He stood up and then damned if he didn't pull off that suburban dad-looking plaid polo shirt. His massive torso was thickly furred -- and there was a fine sheen of sweat to his black pelt. I felt my stiffy double in hardness.
"The point is that you need a trainer and I'm prepared to take on the job," Mr. Ferris said.
Then he flexed his pecs and suddenly I felt *very* lightheaded.
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