High school reunions are just plain weird. All those people you didn't give a damn about then, and care about even less now. Why do people go?
Well, I knew in my heart why I was going. In the hopes of seeing Tom again.
Tom Winchell. My first love. My unrequited crush all through high school. Tom, with his big brown doe eyes, his matinee idol face. And his complete lack of self-esteem.
I had theories about that. His parents were divorced, acrimoniously. Incredibly, they left Tom alone in an apartment, to finish school with no adult supervision. Not much love there.
Not that he needed any supervision. Tom was anything but a bad boy. If anything, he was good to a fault. He always did the right thing, without even thinking about it. It was annoying; but also endearing.
We couldn't have been more opposite. I had a wicked sense of humor, usually at other people's expense. And I was always up for some trouble, if it meant a good time would be had.
What's more, Tom was 5'6", with black hair. I was 6'3" and a blonde. I was also hung, and from the glimpses I caught in the showers, he was not.
Nevertheless, I loved him. I wanted to make him happy, protect him, take care of him. But the closer I came to any of that, the more he seemed to resent it. Not that he would have said so; but I could feel his discomfort.
So I learned to keep a certain distance, even as I ached for him. And when we graduated, we went our separate ways, and I hadn't seen him again. But maybe now I would.
So I found myself back in the old home town, surrounded by old acquaintances who had mostly gone fat and bald, in only ten years. I listened to their stories about all the great times we had apparently had together, none of which I could remember. And I looked for Tom. In vain.
I finally spotted a guy who had known us both, and asked him if he knew anything about Tom. He looked at me in a rather funny way.
"Well, he lives here again; but I doubt you'll see him at this shindig."
"Why's that?"
"He moved into the old Winchell place after his grandparents died. They left it to him I suppose, though they sure had nothing to do with him back when he needed them. But no one ever sees him. It beats me what he's living on. Those people weren't rich, so he couldn't have inherited all that much."
"Surely someone must see him," I said. "He has to go out for food and so on."
"Well if he does, he does it at night. It's kinda creepy."
Needless to say, this piqued my interest, and killed what little I had in the reunion. I left shortly thereafter and drove out to "the old Winchell place."
This had been a farm at some point, but it was very overgrown now, and the old house was neglected. I drove up to it, parked, and approached the door. I knocked; no response. Then again, louder.
"Tom?" I shouted. Nothing. Then I heard a sound coming from an outbuilding in back, like a clanging of metal. I walked around the house and peered through the open door.
Inside was a fully equiped gym. There were benches, weights, barbells, racks; everything you would find in a commercial gym of the "iron pit" variety.
At the center of all this was a figure doing bench presses with an enormous amount of weight. He was dressed in heavy sweats, his hair was buzzed; it was difficult to say whether this could be Tom. Ten years can make a big difference.
The man strained to replace the barbell on the rack, then sat up, his back to me. I cleared my throat.
"Tom?"
He rose and turned to face me. There was no mistaking those eyes. But the small boy I had known was otherwise completely gone. In his place was an absolutely massive man. His neck spread in a pyramid from his ears to his shoulders, which were impossibly wide. His chest stuck out so far, his chin was almost touching it. His arms jutted out at a forty-five degree angle from his torso.
He began to walk toward me, if walking was the word. His legs were so absurdly overdeveloped, he had to swing each one around the other in order to move forward. When he was within a few feet of me, recongition lit-up his face, and that irresistable grin washed over me.
"Ken" He boomed, in a rich bass, no longer the soft treble voice I knew. He reached out and grabbed my hand. The strength in his grip was clear, though he didn't squeeze. The callouses were rough.
"J-Jesus, Tom," I stuttered. "Look at you!"
"Yeah...I've grown some, huh?" And then he actually blushed. This behemoth was still my shy boy inside, abashed by his size. My heart skipped a beat, just like it always had with Tom.
Twenty minutes later we were sitting in the kitchen of the old house. I was watching Tom shovel chicken and rice into his mouth as fast as he could swallow, it seemed.
"Sorry," he said between bites. "But if I don't eat all this soon, my blood sugar is going to get too low."
"You don't have to explain to me," I said. "I know about bodybuilding diets...and everything else involved."
He looked at me appraisingly.
"Yeah, I can see that you've put on a lot of size. What are you, about 245 now?"
"That's exactly what I am," I said, surprised. "Good eye."
Tom smiled.
"What do you think I weigh?"
"I wouldn't even know how to guess. You're massive, but with all those clothes on..."
Having finished his meal, Tom stood-up.
"Let's see."
He walked over to a scale on the floor by the refrigerator.
"Help me get these sweats off, will ya?"
It was a struggle to peel the wet material off over his torso and down his legs, and I didn't stop to take-in the whole picture until we were done. I gasped.
The word freak did not begin to describe what I saw before me. Quads so big they overhung his kneecaps. Calves that bulged out in front nearly as much as in back. Pecs that nearly obscured his nipples. Delts like bunches of bananas. Arms the size of hams. And everywhere, a twisting mass of veins, barely contained by skin that was riven by countless stretch marks.
Seeing my stunned expression, Tom grinned.
"Read the scale for me, will ya? It's hard to see over these pecs."
He stepped onto the scale, and I gasped.
"Three hundred and eight pounds!"
"Good. I'm up another pound this week."
"My god, Tom. How big do you want to be?"
He shrugged.
"I don't know; I just want to keep growing."
"But why?"
"Because I love it. It makes me feel good. Anything wrong with that?"
"No, I guess not. But how do you afford it?"
"I made a lot of money in the IT biz. I won't try to explain it. You were never interested in that stuff, and you wouldn't understand it anyway."
He was right about that.
"I was able to retire, and now this is what I do."
"Alone," I added. He looked uncomfortable.
"Not very many people would understand this, Ken; let alone want to share it. Besides, I realized long ago that I am not the kind of person who attracts love."
At that, I exploded.
"You stupid fucker! I was so in love with you, you were all I ever thought of. And no matter how hard I tried, you would never let me close. Never. In all the years since, I've tried to find a replacement for you. Do you know how many guys I've dated because they had just one of your qualities? But it was always a farce, because none of them was you."
There was an awkward silence.
"I don't know what to say," Tom said quietly.
"You don't know what to say. No, you never did, you dumb fucker. So how about we don't say anything, and do some showing instead?"
I was out of my clothes in five seconds, and I tackled Tom, taking him down to the floor. I pinned those huge arms behind his head and started kissing him frantically.
"I've always loved you. I would have loved you just as much without all this beef."
Tom frowned.
"No!" he shouted, and threw me off. "You have to love me for THIS!"
He started to flex all that amazing mass.
"This!" He hit a front lat-spread.
"This!" A double-bi.
"This!" A thigh-and-ab.
On and on he went, sweat pouring down him, his voice getting hoarse, and finally tears pouring down his face.
"You couldn't love me the way I was. No one could. You have to love this..."
I rose and put my arms around him.
"I do love this. All of it. I'll spend the rest of my life loving it, if you'll let me."
I held him, remembering the strange, sad young man I first fell in love with, and thought about the endless work he had put into building this massive suit of armor to keep the world at bay, so he couldn't be hurt anymore. Would he ever accept that I truly loved him for him? Or would he always need the muscle to "explain" my love?
I felt his rough hand on my cock, which was rock hard.
"Jesus. I always wondered how big this thing got."
"Well now you know. You got a bedroom?"
He smiled and led me to the back of the house where his room was. I lay down on his bed.
"Flex for me, Tom. Show me everything."
He started posing again, this time in a much more controled way. It was a sight that might have made some people sick, but for a muscle-lover like me, it was heaven. I slid off the bed and onto my knees. I pulled his underwear down and off. His cock was bigger than I had imagined: a grower, not a shower. It wasn't too long, but very thick; like Tom. I sucked it into my mouth as I ran my hands over his torso. Tom needed me to love this body, and I was going to love it like no one ever had. He groaned and thrust into my mouth. I could tell he was so hot he might come any second, so I pulled off of him and said:
"Fuck me, Tom. I need to feel that fat cock inside me. I need to feel your power."
I was a top by nature, but Tom's self-esteem was too fragile for me to try that on him. He needed to feel in control.
I lay back on the bed and raised my legs.
"I...I've never done it."
"Do you have any lube?"
"There's some hand lotion in the nightstand."
I found it and squeezed a generous dollop onto my hole.
"Come on, big man. I need it."
Tom got on top of me, and aimed his cock at my ass. But trying to get all that bulk into the right position wasn't so easy, and he slipped, driving his dick into me in one fast stab.
"Holy - !" I bit my tongue to keep from yelling. Then I thought better of it. "Fuck, that thing hurts!"
As I thought he might, Tom smiled. And then the sensations took over and he started to fuck, hard and fast. The boy had never learned any finesse, but now was not the time to complain. And frankly, the sight of all that beef ramming into me was pretty fucking exciting anyway. I started to moan, and I wasn't faking.
"Yeah, rape that ass, big man. Show me who's boss."
Suddenly Tom stopped, and wrapping his huge arms arond me, pulled me up into a sitting position on his thighs. My cock was wedged between us. He started to pull me up and down on his cock, and squeezing my cock with his pecs.
"Jeez, where did you get this idea?"
"I've dreamed of doing this to you. Never thought it would really happen."
To my embarrasment, I was suddenly shooting my load all over Tom's face. That set him off, and he shot into my throbbing ass. It was a hell of a fuck, if a short one.
"A guy could get used to that," I sighed. We kissed. Tom looked into my eyes.
"I know I'm a screwed-up guy, Ken. I guess I always will be. I don't really know how to love or be loved. But...if anyone could teach me, it's you."
"Well, as it happens, I'm not booked for the next fifty years. Think that's long enough?"
"We'll see."