Brandon Twice
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Lycra-Clad
🕑 Added 2020-04-19 22:50:03 +0000 UTC[6 Word Request: Bodybuilder takes lycra addiction too far]
[inanimate transformation]
Bruce felt his temper flare as he punched the doorbell with his thumb. Able was usually fifteen minutes early on days when they were supposed to lift together, especially on the mornings Able was supposed to give Bruce his shots. The massive man peered in through the darkened window, then banged on the door so hard he thought he heard it start to crack. Able wasn’t home.
Able’s number went straight to voicemail. “Look, buddy,” Bruce said, lowering his voice as a woman walked her dog past Able’s house stared at him. Bruce was 6’4” tall and 300 pounds. He was used to being stared at; he was also used to being scene as an aggressive ogre--which, despite being not far from the truth, wasn’t the image he wanted to give off on a Sunday morning in Able’s quiet neighborhood. “I don’t much like getting jerked around. I lift on a schedule, and I did a good thing letting you in on that schedule. Let me know what’s up. Don’t make me regret taking you under my wing.”
He stomped through Able’s yard, kicking his gate open, when his phone buzzed.
UR STUFF IS IN THE MAILBOX SORRY I COULDN’T BE THERE BIG DOG
Bruce sneered at the text, yanked the mailbox door open, and grabbed the pink fanny pack from inside.
“That was the fanny pack I wore when I won Nationals,” Bruce recalled as he unzipped it to check its contents. Able had nearly creamed his gym shorts when Bruce had lent it to him.
Despite Bruce’s long arms, his lats were too thick to allow him to reach his glutes for an injection. He took his test/masteron shot in the quad, grumbling at the near-instant soreness. “If this fucks up my leg day…” he thought as he massaged the sore injection site on the way to the gym.
On the drive to the gym, Bruce talked himself out of his aggravation. “He’s reliable as hell usually,” Bruce thought. “He’s been a good sidekick for awhile. I’ll cut him some slack.”
When he entered Global Gym and saw Able deadlifting with another guy, Bruce’s rage flared back up. That little worm had bailed on training with him to train with some other guy! Most unforgivable was that it was that spandex-wearing fairy Criss.
“I thought you were going to talk to him about wearing that shit?” Bruce said to Orrin at the front desk. He nodded at Criss, who had chalked up his hands while Able played the role of cheerleader from the side.
Orrin shrugged. “I talked to the owner, and I guess he’s not actually breaking the dress code.”
Bruce’s eyes went wide as he dramatically craned his head to look at the lycra-clad freak hoisting 600 pounds off the ground repeatedly. Criss’ chiseled, freaky body was squeezed on all sides by neon purple spandex from neck to ankles so tight that his veins were visible through it. Worst of all, Criss’ bulge was on display, unavoidably pressed forward by his massive quads.
“I’m not keen on staring at a dude’s junk all day here,” Bruce sneered. “C’mon, Orrin! This place is a hardcore bodybuilder’s gym! You let that guy snap his selfies here and soon the place will be full of preening little muscle peacocks all trying to outdress each other while us real bodybuilders try to lift!”
Orrin just shrugged, cowering in the face of massive Bruce’s obvious agitation. “Hey, I mean, if you’re really bothered you can chat with the owner. There’s nothing I can really do. But I totally hear what you’re saying.”
Bruce backed away from the counter. Orrin was a good kid and Bruce was seconds away from tearing his head off, something they would both regret.
Able’s eyes dipped low as Bruce walked by. Bruce just shook his head. “Bunch of fucking pussies invading this gym,” he growled, tossing a stern look at Criss, then back at Able. “Real men are losing spots to train.”
Able opened his mouth to protest, but Criss needed help tightening his belt before his next set. Able sadly turned away to help his new bodybuilder buddy.
In the locker room Bruce mouthed his preworkout and mixed his intra-workout carbs. The locker room door swung open and Criss lumbered in, seemingly lighting the whole room up with his brightly colored get-up. He collapsed to the bench across from Bruce as Able mixed Criss’s protein shake for him.
“Looks like the barnacle attached to a different whale,” Bruce sneered at Able, whose posture deflated at the comment. Able went to respond, but Criss held up a hand.
“Y’know, something you gotta learn, big man?” Criss said, reaching behind him to undo his man-bun. Long blonde hair fell over his massive shoulders. “A real lion doesn’t sweat the mosquitos biting at him.”
“Oh yeah?” Bruce said, flashing a cocky grin. “You think you’re a lion?”
Criss chuckled as Able, still afraid to look Bruce in the eye, handed Criss the shaker. He gripped it in his thick hand before chugging it back. “I was talking to Able,” he said, licking his lips.
“So what,” Bruce said to Able, “you jump ship because purple princess over here is a big instagram sensation?”
Able was visibly shaking as he responded, “Look, I meant to talk to you about… you know, diversifying our training. Criss said it would be good for me to try out some other training styles, that’s all.” The young bodybuilder wasn’t small, by any means; at 6 feet tall and 235 pounds, he was regarded as a decent bodybuilder himself. Against Bruce’s advice, he used steroids a little too much. The puffiness of his physique detracted from it. All that water retention and the thick midsection was enough to impress the amateurs, but Able’s physique lacked a maturity that none of the more experienced pros could ignore.
“I gave you my time and my experience as a gift,” Bruce reminded him. “What, you think us bigger guys are just here to help you get better? That kind of millennial entitlement…”
Criss shook his head. “Who’s doing a favor to whom?” he said, looking from Able’s timid posture to Bruce’s hulking form. “If I understand correctly, Able here gives you your gear at cost. If you can’t recognize the privilege in that, maybe you get cut off?”
Able looked anxiously from Criss to Bruce. “Look, buddy,” Bruce said, rising to his feet. “I’ve been doing this for about twenty years longer than you. I was the biggest guy in the gym when you were still dumping in your Pampers. I’ve seen guys like you come and go a thousand times. You burn out quick, and no one hears from you again. But you do a lot of damage in the meantime. Don’t you dare think you’re fucking with my gym here.”
Criss rose to his feet and put his hands on his hips. He took a step toward Bruce until the two beasts stood pec-to-pec. “Able, why don’t you hit the showers. I need to have a word with your ex-client here.”
“Yeah, hit the showers, bitch,” Bruce said through gritted teeth without diverting his gaze.
Able shuffled away.
“Do you remember an old pro named Sebastian Samson?” Criss said, taking a deep breath. As his lungs filled, his chest expanded, pushing Bruce back. Bruce inhaled as well, returning the pressure.
“Yeah,” Bruce said. “That man was an absolute beast. I met him back when I was first starting, and saw him a few times before he retired.” In response to Criss’ sudden grin, he added, “That guy is exactly what bodybuilding is moving away from: massive, hard, manly. He used to work out with cinder blocks and eat raw steak. He didn’t prance around the gym in neon like an aerobics instructor and he would have laughed in your face if he saw you taking a selfie of yourself.”
Criss licked his lips and bounced his eyebrows. “Funny you should say that,” he said. “In fact, that’s exactly what he did when I worked out at his gym. Gave me an earful, just like you’re doing now. You know, he remembers you? I guess you impressed him way back when. But your days of impressing people are over, old man. From now on, all you’re good for is making others look good.”
“I’ve about had it with you,” Bruce sneered. He balled up his fists, ready to knock this millennial punk through the wall.
“But Sebastian didn’t retire,” Criss said. He took a step back from Bruce--a move that the older bodybuilder interpreted as surrender--and pulled a handful of the skin-tight lycra from his chest, letting it snap back against his chiseled physique. “No, he’s still around. Closer than you think.”
“The fuck you talking about?” Bruce said, taking a step forward.
“Want to know what happened to Sebastian?” Criss said, holding up both of his hands, palms facing away.
Bruce thought he was about to double up and swing--the biggest mistake Criss could have made, in his opinion--but he just held his hands there.
“You too scared to throw a punch, bitch boy?” Bruce said, but before he finished the statement, something in the air had changed. More than the humidity coming from the steamy showers, the air felt thick and heavy, like Bruce was underwater. It was hard to breathe. Bruce felt claustrophobic; he heard his heartbeat in his ears and considered bolting from the room, but his feet felt locked to the ground.
“You feeling it now?” Criss taunted. “Sebastian was just as cocky as you, just as obsessed with some bullshit ‘good old days’ mentality, just like you are. You know, as soon as he walked in today, he knew what I was going to do. He’s been shivering all over me all day, tingling and throbbing, especially around my junk. See, when my spandex gets excited, all it can do is squeeze. And I love it when they squeeze.” He grabbed his big bulge and bounced it.
“You fucking sick-o,” Bruce wheezed, barely able to catch his breath. He felt himself toppling to the ground and threw out an arm to stop him. But as he grabbed the bench, he watched the arm bend unnaturally. He looked down to see his feet still on the ground, his still massive, muscular legs bending like cooked pasta. It was like his bones were missing. His whole body felt warm and tingly. It would have been pleasant if not for the fear of his head flopping backwards with no neck to hold it up.
Flat on the floor, Bruce stared at the ceiling. His whole body felt so sensitive, as if he was aware of all of it at once, but it felt wrong. He knew he was bigger, wasn’t he? He tried to lift his head to look down at himself to no avail, only able to stare up at the ceiling. “Able…” Bruce wheezed weakly. “H-help me…” There was no way the younger bodybuilder could have heard him over the sounds of the shower.
Criss reached down and grabbed Bruce by the shoulders and held him up. Bruce was helpless, hanging limply in Criss’ strong grip, as the younger behemoth turned him to the mirrors. He had to grab the back of Bruce’s head to hold it up so he could see.
Bruce looked like a two-dimensional version of himself. Worse, he hung limply, like he had been hollowed out and was just skin now! His body looked unrecognizable as it shifted and folded like it was--there was no other word for it--fabric. He tried to say something, anything, but a numbness had spread throughout him and his tongue refused to move.
Just as he saw patches of his limp, billowing skin changing to neon pink, Criss tossed him aside. Bruce couldn’t believe how light he felt as he sailed through the air, every piece of him rippling as he lightly slumped over a bench. The neon pink color was starting to creep into his vision now. Criss knelt before him, upside down from Bruce’s perspective.
“I’m making you Able’s size,” he said, pinching Bruce’s cheeks as they turned to shimmery neon fabric. “You’re going to make him look better than ever now! It’s the least he deserves after being your toadie for so long.”
Bruce felt like his brain was wrapped in gauze; his thoughts were slow and simple, and while he knew he should be freaking out, that he was a big beast and should stand up and chokeslam Criss through the locker room benches, all he could think was: soft. Shiny. Tight. He tried to muster up some rage at Criss; he knew the big beast had done something to him, but it was hard to put words together to sum up his feelings. He felt… docile. Content. No matter how hard he tried to struggle, the same words settled in his brain: tight. Silky. Gotta squeeze.
He felt empty. It felt horrible. He felt a desperate need to be full again, to have the space within him stuffed beyond capacity.
“When you’re done toweling off, wait until you see what I got you.”
He could hear Criss’ voice--how?--and somehow, he could… see. Everything was black and white and grainy, but he could see Criss’s HUGE MUSCULAR BODY--he would have salivated at it if he still had a mouth--and Able’s IMPRESSIVE, BEEFY PHYSIQUE.
What the fuck? These assholes did something to him…
Soft…
He had to say something, had to tell Able what had happened, to get help…
So empty… Gotta get full…
He could see his bag in his open locker. He wanted to grab the keys and get out of there. Maybe if he promised Criss he would leave and never come back…
...just be shiny. And tight. All he wanted to do was squeeze warm meat…
“Holy shit!” Able said. Bruce couldn’t form words as the young bodybuilder slid his legs inside him, pulling him tight over his body. “Feels kind of tight,” he said.
“It’s supposed to,” Criss said.
“Should I wear shorts?” Able asked as he turned toward the mirror. Bruce could dimly see the reflection--god, he looked SO GOOD on Able’s body! He couldn’t think of anything else but how tightly he squeezed the big, bulky muscles, how good Able’s warmth felt from inside him, how full he was.
Fuck! No! Able, it’s me Bruce! Tell him to turn me back! Bruce’s thoughts turned to Able’s big package straining the groin of the lycra suit. Bulging… so nice… wish I could be tighter, wish he was even bigger...
“Hell no!” Criss said. “It’s time you showed off that beautiful physique of yours. Let’s get you so big you burst right through that suit, and rip it to shreds.”
Able chuckled. “Ha! The whole suit just, like… shivered. I don’t know how to explain it. Felt great though.”
“I think you’ll find it fits even better after you’ve sent it through the laundry a few times,” Criss said, patting Able’s butt--although Bruce knew it was a gesture meant for him. All he could do was squeeze at the contact. He was a big, massive, powerful man--but that never felt as good as being tight, shiny spandex.
“After it’s soaked up your sweat a few times, and then taken a few trips through a spin cycle, you’ll find the fabric relaxes right up.”
Bruce was shocked as Criss suddenly pulled Able’s body close to his. And as Able’s spandex rubbed against Criss’, Bruce could “hear” someone else…
I know you… you used to be… big… I used to be big… so full, so tight…
Bruce thought he recognized the voice but couldn’t remember from where.
I’m a man, not… Tight, shiny… squeezing hot hard muscles… Bruce responded.
Then the contact was broken, and Bruce found himself desperately alone again. He tried to take solace in the warmth of the beefy body inside him, praying Able would never take him off.
