Padraig
patreon
From Bruiser to Loser, Part 5
🕑 Added 2020-12-01 03:10:54 +0000 UTCWednesday, March 31
Pete awoke and looked at the clock. 7:30am. He shoved his comforter off him and quickly got out of bed.
He took off his pinstriped pajamas, changed into a black t-shirt and black shorts, and raced downstairs. His first stop was the kitchen, where he drank two protein shakes, and then down to the basement to workout.
Pete followed the beginner’s routine that he had found the previous week, but he was lifting much heavier weights now. He was curling 200 pounds, benching 350, and squatting 400, close to what Bruiser was doing in his prime.
Between every set, Pete would flex in the mirror to check out his pump, but he realized he couldn’t see himself very well in the oversized shirt, so he took it off halfway through his workout. His torso wasn’t quite ripped, but it was solid and muscular, and he could see a few veins snaking across his arms and chest.
Pete decided to also lose the shorts because they were almost falling off his now-smaller frame. They dropped to the floor and he kicked them aside. He looked over at the mirror, astonished at the changes that he’d gone through in the last week. His muscles were impressive, but so was the bulge in his underwear – it was much bigger than it had been previously, now the size and girth of the ones he’d seen in his favorite porn videos, so he grabbed it and gave it a quick squeeze.
“Nice,” he thought. Everything was looking good – even his skin was getting tan, as if he had been sunbathing, which he found odd since he really hadn’t been outside much.
He resumed his workout, repeating all the exercises twice, and then went upstairs to shower.
After tossing the underwear in the hamper in his bathroom, Pete stepped into his shower and cranked on the hot water. The hot streams of water felt good after the hard workout, and like his brother had done last week, Pete began daydreaming about his body.
As he soaped up his arms, he imagined himself with 23-inch biceps blasting out world record amounts for curls. 300 pounds? 350 pounds? Whatever the current record, Pete figured that someday he would set a new one with the devastating strength in his massive arms.
Pete moved the soap to his chest and begin thinking about bench pressing. He had just completed sets with 350-pound reps, but someday he knew he’d be doing 700 pounds, pumping out rep after rep with his 70-inch chest.
“Or why not 75 inches?” he thought, watching in his mind as his pecs ballooned up to insane proportions.
Next were his abs. Flat and toned now, but someday Pete imagined them to be like bricks on a cobblestone road, as hard and defined as Bruiser’s were during his last contest. As he soaped them up, he thought about how awesome it would be to be able to see them even though his shirt, with no mere fabric stopping the world from seeing how remarkable they were.
“Bigger and stronger everywhere,” Pete thought. He was about to begin soaping his legs, ready to start daydreaming about them as well, when he brushed up against his now-larger cock and realized it was rock hard. He grabbed it in his empty hand and gave it a squeeze like he had done earlier, but this time it responded by shooting out a rocket of jizz straight for the shower wall. Pete steadied himself during the blast – he dropped the soap but managed not to fall over. His entire body shuddered and tingled, and he felt more alive and more powerful than ever before.
“Fuck!” he bellowed. “That was awesome!”
Pete finished his shower and dried off. He decided to spend a little time styling his hair – usually he just let it fall wherever, but he ran some mousse through it to give it a little more hold. He checked himself out in the mirror, smiled, and went to get dressed.
As he went through his clothes, however, nothing seemed right. His shirts and pants were all way too big now, and he’d gotten rid his old stuff when he had gotten too fat to fit into them.
“Maybe I can borrow something from Bruiser?” he thought.
Still naked, Pete walked across the hall and silently turned the knob on his brother’s door. He entered the room and crept to the dresser. He could hear Bruiser snoring, and he could see his gut rise and fall under the comforter.
“Good Lord, he must really be bulking up,” Pete said to himself. “Or maybe he’s just got a pillow balanced on his stomach.”
Pete opened the dresser, found what he was looking for, and returned to the hallway so he could shut the door. He put on the jockstrap first, which was a bit tighter than he had hoped, followed by a skintight blue Under Armour shirt and a pair of red athletic shorts. He went back into his bathroom to check his look – with the wavy dark hair, muscular physique, blue shirt and red shorts, he thought he looked a little like Superman. Pete considered shaving his stubble, but decided it made him look more manly and left it alone.
Next up would be breakfast. Normally it would have consisted of two or three bowls of cereal and a bunch of pastries he had whipped up, but today Pete decided eggs and bacon sounded better. He was still hungry after, so he made himself a second batch, and then added a bowl of oatmeal to really make sure he was full.
Pete cleaned up his dishes and the area where he had been working, and then checked the clock. 11:45am.
“Damn,” he said, realizing he was late for school. “Guess I worked out longer than I had thought.”
After the shock wore off, however, Pete decided he wasn’t really going to miss the class. He had spent a lot of time studying to be a chef, but it didn’t really feel like where his future was headed anymore. He wanted to do something more physical.
Unsure of how to fill his time, Pete thought about taking a walk. It was warming up outside as the sun began peeking out from the clouds, so after making the two protein shakes for his brother and putting them in the fridge, he grabbed his phone and keys and headed outside.
Thirty seconds later, Pete was on the sidewalk. Unlike his brother, he didn’t feel the need to take up all the available space, and he courteously made room for the others walking by. Pete registered a few stares as some of the folks walking by eyed his arms and chest, giving them a quick smile in return.
“I could get used to this,” he thought.
After walking a mile and getting into the business district, he heard a familiar voice behind him. “Bruiser?”
Pete turned to see Chad, who had apparently just crossed the street. He had a gym bag in one hand, and his phone in the other, and was dressed in his usual athletic gear of a white tank top and white shorts.
“Hi Chad. It’s me, Pete.”
Chad’s brow furrowed. He looked Pete up and down, and then his mouth fell open. It took several seconds before he could start talking.
“Pete! Wow, you look so much, um, different!”
Pete laughed. “You can say ‘better’ if that’s what you mean, Chad. I know I wasn’t in good shape before.”
Chad took a step forward. “But how did you manage all of this so quickly?” he asked while waving his hand in front of Pete’s chest.
“I guess I had all the right raw materials, but it was covered under one too many cinnamon rolls.”
“Well, damn, if you don’t look really good. Whatever you’re doing, keep it up.”
“Thanks,” replied Pete. “You going to work out?”
“Yep. No school this week due to Spring Break, so I thought I’d get there a little early. Will Bruiser be there today?” he asked. Pete wasn’t sure by the tone if Chad was excited or anxious about running into his brother.
“I don’t think so. He’s under the weather. But hey, instead of the gym, why don’t you come back to my place and work out? We’ve got some great equipment there.”
“Really?” asked Chad. “Your brother won’t mind?”
Pete shook his head. “He’s out with this bug. I doubt you’ll even see him. Plus he never uses the basement equipment.”
“Ok. Sure.”
The two men turned and headed back to the Reeves mansion. It was a very different experience for Chad, as Pete talked to him the whole time and walked right next to him. Chad felt like an equal and less like a sex servant to this brother.
Once at the house, Pete led Chad into the kitchen, and seeing that the protein shakes were untouched, they each drank one down. Pete washed out the canisters and left them to dry, grabbed a couple of bottled waters, and then the men went downstairs. Chad had been at the house at least a dozen times, but he’d never seen any of it besides the kitchen and Bruiser’s bedroom.
“Impressive layout,” said Chad. “Your dad bought all this stuff?”
“Yes. He bought it for him and Bruiser to use. Except dad’s rarely home anymore because he travels so much for work, and Bruiser likes to go to the city gym to work out and, well, you know.”
Chad smiled. “Oh, trust me, I know.”
Pete pulled two benches next to one another and started setting up the bars.
“Why two benches?” asked Chad.
“One for you, and one for me. I thought it would save time rather than loading and unloading one bar between sets.”
Chad looked confused. “You want me to work out with you?”
“Well, yeah. What did you think?” asked Pete.
“I guess I thought I would be more of your helper.”
Pete smiled big. “We’re workout ‘partners,’ Chad. We’ll help each other.”
Surprised but happy, Chad decided to give it his best. He knew he wouldn’t be lifting anything close to what Pete could handle, but he liked that he wouldn’t just be fetching water and protein bars.
The duo started with bench pressing. Pete got a new personal best, with 10 reps of 400 pounds, and Chad managed to do the same amount of reps with 50 pounds. Then they moved on to rows, curls and squats, each time with the bigger man lifting 8-10 times what the smaller man could do. But Pete never made Chad feel inferior because he was lifting lighter weights – he was encouraging and supportive every step of the way.
An hour into the routine, Pete took off his shirt, used it to wipe the sweat off his brow, and tossed it onto the floor under one of the benches.
Chad stared wide-eyed and open-mouthed at Pete’s pumped up body, and Pete could tell he was impressed. “You like?”
The smaller man nodded vigorously and held out his fingers. “May I?”
Pete nodded back. “I’m game if you are.”
Chad wasn’t sure if Pete said ‘gay’ or ‘game,’ but he guessed either word worked in this case. He walked over, reached up, and ran his hands all over his Pete’s pec slabs, then moved them down his sweaty torso and outlined the unyielding ridges of his abs.
“You’re like a statue,” cooed Chad as he pressed firmly into Pete’s flesh. “I can’t even make a dent in your skin.”
Pete reached around Chad and pulled him closer. Chad started gently kissing Pete’s left pec, but that’s not what Pete wanted, so he scooped Chad into his arms like a groom carrying a bride over the threshold. They stared at each other briefly, and then planted their lips together.
Both men kissed hard and passionately for about 30 seconds, and when they broke free, Chad whispered, “Please, fuck me.”
“That’s what you want?” asked Pete.
“Badly,” responded Chad, now looking Pete directly in the eye.
Pete began walking toward the stairs, still carrying Pete is his arms. He took two steps at a time, climbing from the basement to the main level and then from the main level to the upstairs. Within 30 seconds, they were in Pete’s bedroom. The feat of strength made Chad even hornier.
Pete gently laid Chad on his bed and both men disrobed. They each had full-on erections, so while Chad turned over to expose his backside, Pete grabbed a condom from his nightstand (one he had stolen from Bruiser) and quickly put it on, and then retrieved a towel from the bathroom and handed it to Chad to lay on the bed underneath them.
When everything was in place, Pete practically jumped onto the bed next to Chad.
“Your ass looks so fine," he said.
Chad moaned his appreciation, but said no words in return. He felt Pete's mammoth frame crawling on top of him slowly and inhaled the musky manly smell that was now enveloping him.
Softly and slowly, almost as if he were teasing Chad, Pete inserted the tip of his cock into Chad’s ass.
“Good?” he asked.
“Mmmm hmmm,” was all he got in reply.
Pete began pushing his tool deeper and deeper. Chad moaned some more and grabbed his own cock with his left hand.
“Fuck me, Pete!”
Pete thrusted a little harder. It was the first time he’d had sex, but he had watched enough porn to know the basics. As he bucked, he started thinking about his body…his muscles…his growth. Words started appearing in his head, and although Pete was unsure if they were the truth, he started saying them anyway.
“I’m a big guy, Chad. Even bigger than Bruiser now. I’m 6’4” tall and I weigh 280 pounds. I’m the biggest guy in the entire town. My chest is 60 inches around, my guns are 21 inches before I pump them up, and waist is down to 34. I’ve lost all the fat on my body and replaced it with superstrong and superthick muscle. And I’m only going to get bigger and harder.”
Chad moaned loudly to signal his approval, and he enjoyed the feeling of Pete growing inside him – and strangely, it felt like Pete was growing all around him, too.
“Keep going! Keep growing!” Chad cried.
Pete continued, still not sure if the words were fantasy or reality, but he felt compelled to say them regardless.
“I can bench 500 pounds. That’s like 5 times what you weigh. I can squat 650 pounds. I can curl 250 pounds. I’m unbelievably strong and getting stronger every day. Bruiser’s never going to catch up with my strength…he’ll just get weaker and weaker while I grow more powerful.”
“Yes! Keep going! Keep growing!” Chad repeated.
Pete was getting close to cumming, so he pumped as hard as he could. “And my cock. It’s 12 inches long and 7 inches around when fully erect. It’s a superhuman tool, the biggest in the state. Nobody has a dick as big or as powerful as mine.”
And that was all it took – Pete and Chad let out simultaneous yells as each man climaxed. Pete’s body bucked up and down for a full 30 seconds as he let forth gushes of cum into his thankfully extra-large condom, and Chad jizzed his much smaller stream onto the towel.
It took a few minutes for both to catch their breath, but after doing so, they tossed the towel on the floor and the used condom into the garbage, and then quickly fell asleep as Pete spooned his new fuck buddy.
Meanwhile, across the hall, Bruiser finally woke up and looked at his clock. 3:30pm.
He was starving, and thinking that his brother was in class, he redressed in the clothes he had borrowed from Pete yesterday, found his keys and wallet, and stumbled out to his truck. After moving the seat back to accommodate his bigger size, he started it up. Within 5 minutes he was at the Burger Barn and ordered up his very late breakfast: 4 double cheeseburgers, three orders of Fries, and an extra-large milkshake.
Three minutes later, he was seated at one of the too-small tables and dug into his food.
“Goddamn, this is good,” he thought. “Really hits the spot.”
Bruiser quickly finished the big pile of empty calories and headed for the restroom. He caught sight of himself in the mirror upon entering and barely recognized his face and body – everything looked wrong.
His cheeks were puffy and ashen, and jowls had overtaken his square chin as the focus of his face. Instead of his usual ramrod posture, Bruiser looked like he was slumping forward, perhaps trying to conceal his growing gut. And his once-chiseled physique looked bloated and soft, especially his ass which seemed to have become gigantic the past few days.
“Ugh, I gotta get back to my routine,” he thought.
Bruiser shuffled over to the urinal and stretched his arms below his belly to free his cock. It took him much longer than usual to unleash it from his shorts as it continued shrinking. He didn’t want to admit it, but with the smaller dick and much bigger belly, he had no idea if he was even hitting the urinal.
“I could be peeing all over myself and I wouldn’t know,” he thought. “That’s a new fucking low.”
He washed his hands when he was done, left the restroom, and headed for the parking lot. As he exited, one of his buddies was walking toward him from his car – Noah Williams. Noah was another jock who had gone to high school with Bruiser, and they were still friends to this day. They got together at least once a week to watch sports, play football, party, or cruise for women. Both men got along well because they were assholes to other people but usually nice to each other.
“Hey, Pete,” said Noah. He was tall and athletic looking, almost as muscular as Bruiser had been, with blond hair and blue eyes. “Filling up the tank?”
Bruiser immediately was pissed that Noah had confused him with his brother. “Hey, asswipe…”
Before Bruiser could finish his sentence with, “It’s me, Bruiser,” Noah had taken offense; he wouldn’t let anyone, even the brother of his friend, call him names. He reached around Bruiser, grabbed the back of his shorts in his right hand, and yanked hard.
“Oof,” said Bruiser, realizing that Noah had almost pulled him off the ground while giving him a monster wedgie. His hands instinctively moved behind him to try and undo Noah’s grip, but he couldn’t get them around his widened hips.
“How’s that for an ass wipe, Pete!” replied Noah. He quickly slammed his left hand into the fat man’s gut three times, once more in the face, and then opened his right hand to release Bruiser’s shorts.
Stunned, Bruiser fell hard on his knees before he could try again to let his friend know that he wasn’t Pete. But all he could blurt out was “Fucker!” as he slammed onto the pavement. He put his hands down in front of him to prevent his head from hitting as well.
But Noah wasn’t done. He reached down and pulled the back of Bruiser’s shirt up over his head and pulled it upward, revealing his flabby torso and trapping his arms in the shirt. Then he gave Bruiser a swift kick, which rolled him over onto his back.
Noah laughed hard, and then left Bruiser on the sidewalk next to the Burger Barn. With his belly exposed, quivering as he tried to wriggle free, Bruiser thought, “Well, this is a new fucking low.”
He eventually pulled down his shirt and stumbled back to his truck. Bruiser tried to start it up, but his bad luck streak was continuing: the battery was dead.
“Fuck me,” he said. Bruiser pulled out his phone and ordered up an Uber. He could see seven cars nearby in the app, but after waiting more than 10 minutes, none had picked him up. Had he looked at his passenger rating, he would have seen it had fallen to less than 2 out of 5 stars due to his rude behavior on previous trips.
Out of desperation, he decided to call Pete to pick him up, but his phone battery died and he didn’t have a charger. Bruiser considered going back into Burger Barn to call from there, but he didn’t want to risk another run-in with Noah.
“Fuck, this really is a new low,” he said. He exited the truck and began walking home.
Sweaty and out of breath once he arrived at the house, Bruiser desperately wanted to drown his sorrows. He grabbed a couple bottles from his father’s liquor cabinet and retreated to his room.
That night, deep in slumber, Bruiser dreamed about his bedroom.
The dream was from his viewpoint, and he started by sitting up in his bed. At least he thought it was his bed, but it appeared different. It was smaller…normal…just a full-size. The comforter was no longer black, but a dirty grayish color.
Bruiser looked around the room, which at first appeared to be smaller, but it was actually just more crowded. There was a small TV in the corner, along with video game consoles, a stack of games, and a giant bean bag chair on the floor.
Next to the TV was a brown table with a chess set on top and two reinforced chairs, one on each side. The game seemed to be in mid-play, with chess pieces scattered across the board. Bruiser looked over, and without understanding why, knew what move he’d make next. He could also spot what looked like Fudgsicle wrappers on the far side on the chess board, unwrapped by someone and just left there. Peering closer, Bruiser counted six empty sticks next to the wrappers.
On the opposite side of the room were two more table and chairs, and atop both those tables were computer monitors, cords, mice, and about a million other supplies scattered around. Bruiser squinted and thought he could make out some Harry Potter knickknacks among the clutter.
His dressers seemed to be the only things that hadn’t changed, but the bodybuilding trophies that had lined them in real life had been replaced with chess club and creative writing group participation medals.
When Bruiser stood up from the bed, he could see laundry scattered about the floor. Not his usual workout clothes, but weirdly colored shirts full of strange words that, somehow, he knew were in Klingon. The shirts looked gigantic, made for someone weighing at least 400 pounds, as did the pants and boxer shorts strewn about.
Bruiser took steps forward and realized his extra-large full-size mirrors were also gone, replaced with a couple of anime posters, so he continued to the bathroom. It seemed smaller and dingier as well, but the mirror was still in place above the sink.
He couldn’t believe the image staring back at him. He was fat – gigantically fat – with zero muscle tone evident. Unlike the big hard ball bellies that serious lifters sometime developed, this fat was soft and pliable and spilling out of the giant white t-shirt he was wearing. His face looked like it had been inflated with lard, and he had huge flabby moobs that were at least three times bigger than Pete’s and a stomach the size of two beach balls.
“What the fuck happened,” he said aloud in his dream. “This ain’t me.”
Bruiser back away from the mirror and retreated to his mirror-less bedroom. He heard noises coming from outside, and for the first time noticed a balcony had appeared where his closet used to be. He swung open the doors and stepped outside to the small perch, which was surrounded by wooden railings.
He squinted as the sun hit his eyes, but then looked down to see a party taking place around the pool. Men and women were milling about and talking, and everyone was wearing swimsuits.
Bruiser noted that everyone looked like they had just stepped off South Beach – tall, tan, taut, and exceptionally good-looking. His brother was there, looking ripped and lean, as was Chad, who had somehow grown taller and beefier. The other guy from last week – Luke, maybe? – he was also among the guests, as was the brown-haired man he’d bumped into on the way to the gym last week. Each of them had also put on a substantial amount of muscle.
He heard a voice call out “Look who’s up,” and soon all the guests were craning their necks toward the balcony. Laughter started emanating from the crowd, along with a few catcalls. Bruiser could hear words like ‘fatass,’ ‘blob,’ and ‘loser’ as some folks pointed in his direction.
“No, that’s not me. I’m Bruiser Reeves! Big stud, big muscle!”
He could hear the laughter growing louder as he protested.
“I’m a bodybuilder. I’ve won trophies. This ain’t what I look like. This ain’t my body.” Bruiser grabbed the flab on his stomach with both hands. He tugged and tugged trying to get it off, but it just jiggled as he maneuvered it.
He was getting frustrated with everyone pointing and laughing, so he repeated the words “Big stud, big muscle” again and grabbed the deck railing.
“I’m serious, guys, I’m a bodybuilder!” he yelled to the crowd.
The big man yanked on the railing in anger, and it suddenly gave way. He lost his footing, jerked forward, and tumbled over the side.
Bruiser awoke with a start and sat bolt upright in his bed. He took a huge breath, looked around, and realized must have had a nightmare. Bruiser tried to recall what it was about, but nothing came to him.
“I definitely need more alcohol,” he thought, so he went to the dresser where he’d left the whiskey and poured himself another drink.
