Medicine Show Fan Fiction: Greg's Gym Adventure
Inspired by the excellent writing in Medicine Show, and with Longbow's consent, I offer the following fan fiction for the group's enjoyment. It is not part of the official storyline, just an aside that I hope has some of the same quality as the original story. Please be gentle--it is my first story writing attempt. The first part is mostly exposition, but I promise more dialogue (and adventure) will occur soon.
Greg's Gym Adventure--Part I
Greg was pissed. He was cranky. He was feeling sorry for himself. But mostly, he was horny. Horny as only a healthy, athletic college boy could be. Correction—as horny as a college virgin with no boyfriend, fuck buddy, or friend with benefits could be.
It was noon on Thursday. Greg’s afternoon class had been cancelled, and he was hanging out in the dorm room he shared with his friends Terry and Chris. They were both out, so Greg was spending his “alone time” laying in bed, cursing his bad genes and the predicament they caused.
On the surface, Greg seemed very blessed. He was tall, good looking, with a killer smile and a personality to match. He had a solid frame, with broad shoulders, a narrow waist, and strong legs. His years of playing high school lacrosse had rewarded him with a jock’s physique. Recently, he had been spending a lot more time lifting weights and adding more mass, building his pecs and bulking up his arms.
In short, Greg was a stud of which wet dreams were made. When he walked across the campus, he got lots of attention from his fellow freshmen—both guys and girls. But he had a problem, a problem that was caused by three unchangeable facts.
Number 1: Greg was gay. So, flattered as he was by the constant attention he received from the female students (and teachers), it couldn’t help his current horny predicament.
Number 2: Greg was a top. As easy going and laid back as he was in everyday life, what he most desired sexually was to plunge his cock balls-deep into a willing ass, plowing it mercilessly until he filled it with hot cream. Greg was willing to return the favor and bottom for the right guy, but only from a sense of fairness and not from any real desire on his part.
Number 3: Greg was fucking hung. Not hung in a “wow that’s big” way, but hung in a “oh my fucking God keep away!” way. When last he checked, the tip of his thick cockhead stretched just over the 12 ½ inch mark of his tape measure, and Greg had a suspicion he still was growing a bit.
A foot long cock was useless to Greg. Although it gave him bragging rights in the locker room, there was no way that he could use it for sex with another guy. Greg’s few previous “opportunities” had ended in abject failure—either swift and premature departures by guys fearful for their lives, or disappointed attempts with guys who ended up acknowledging the impossibility of defying the laws of physics. The most he had gotten was a fast and rough hand job that, frankly, wasn’t as good as one he could administer himself.
As Greg laid in his dorm bed, his hand wandered down to the lump in his shorts. He gently kneaded he cock and balls, enjoying the sensation as his soft six-incher started filling with blood and expanding. Already shirtless, he pulled off his shorts in one swift motion and tossed them across the room. His six-incher was now eight, with nine not far away. He gripped his cock with one hand and his manscaped balls with the other. The constant attention expanded his tool beyond the ten inch mark, and it showed no signs of stopping. The stroking continued, and his other hand moved from his balls to that sensitive patch of skin between his balls and his asshole. Just tickling that spot was enough to add even more length and girth to his cock. Within moments, he was rock hard and looking bigger than ever.
“Shit!” Greg stopped his self-pleasure, wondering if he was ever going to find somebody who could give him the relief he dreamed of. Life just wasn’t fair! His roommate Terry, with a cock barely smaller than his own, had found a girlfriend who was giving him more sex than he could stand. And his other roommate Chris, with a cock the size of a baseball bat, had found a girl (and according to Chris, her roommates too!) who could get him off in lots of ways.
The kicker was that Terry and Chris hadn’t been born with those cocks, they had grown them using some magic cream that Terry had found. By contrast, Greg’s cock was all natural—a fact that Greg was proud of, but a fact that didn’t really make a difference to his predicament.
“Shit!” Tired of dreaming about finding an ass that could handle his oversize power tool, Greg decided to hit the gym for an early afternoon workout. He pulled on a t-shirt and some shorts, stuffed a change of clothes in his gym bag, grabbed his keys and headed out the door.
The campus gym was not far from the dorm. As Greg expected, the place was practically empty at this time of day. He grabbed his lifting gloves, dumped the rest of his stuff in a locker, and headed to the free weight section, which was on the far side of the gym.
Greg decided to work pecs. After a quick stretch, he moved to the flat bench. He loaded a plate on each side of the bar and cranked out 15 reps of 135 as a warmup. Greg added another plate to each side and then walked to the towel stand nearby and grabbed a towel, his brain still focused more on the problem between his legs than on his lifting. So, when he got back to the bench, Greg carelessly added another plate to each side of the bar, bringing the total weight up to 315, not the 225 he had planned for his next lift.
Greg positioned himself on the bench, gripped the bar, tightened his abs and core and lifted the bar off the rack. Although he had lifted 315 before, he wasn’t prepared to move that kind of weight and the bar came crashing down across his chest before he had a chance to stabilize. The heavy bar pinned him to the bench, and Greg couldn’t lift it back up to the rack. Greg tried to call for help, but the bar had knocked the wind out of him and Greg feared that no one would hear his struggles in time for him to avoid a serious injury. "Shit!"
Just as Greg was getting desperate, two big hands grabbed the bar from above and quickly lift the weight off his chest and back onto the rack. As Greg’s vision cleared and he caught his breath, he saw a pair of hazel eyes looking down at him with friendly concern. “Dude, are you ok?”
wow keep going man. good start so far.
If an injury has to be done to a man it should be so severe that his vengeance need not be feared” (Nicolo Machiavelli) Especially when in the gym.
“Dude, are you ok?”
Greg looked up at a pair of hazel eyes attached to a guy with a cute face--a REALLY cute face. The guy had short, sandy brown hair, great skin that was kinda tan, but not too much, a friendly white smile and a pair of lips so luscious that Greg started wondering how wide that mouth could really go.
“Yeah, man, I’m fine, I just lost my concentra . . . .” Greg started to say as he swung off the bench and stood up. What he saw took his breath away. That cute face was attached to a body that would stop traffic, literally. Greg doubted that a car could even make a dent in this guy. His friendly savior was a fucking god, with more muscle than most of the bodybuilders Greg fantasized about while surfing the net.
Even though this guy was shorter than Greg by half a foot, he outweighed Greg by at least 40 pounds, maybe more. And all of that was muscle. The good Samaritan’s wide shoulders bulged out through the gray sleeveless muscle shirt he was wearing. His pecs were gigantic, with big nips that almost pushed through the gray fabric. His back was big, really big, tapering down to his narrow yet solid waist. His legs were like two immovable tree trunks, filling his mesh gym shorts to the limit. Rounding out the package was a “package” almost as big as the one Greg was starting to show in his shorts. Greg had a great physique and was pretty big himself, but this guy was massive—almost as wide as he was tall and made of pure strength.
“Are you sure you’re ok? You’re looking a little pale.”
That’s because all my blood is rushing somewhere else, Greg thought. “Yeah, I’m ok. Thanks for helping me out. Uhh. . . are you new here? I haven’t seen you around the gym before.” Greg swore silently at his lame attempt to converse with this walking wet dream.
“No, this is my second year. I normally lift weights with the football team, but our training room is closed today for some renovations and I wanted to work out. Listen man, it’s none of my business, but trying to bench press without a spotter isn’t smart.”
“I know, I know, I usually lift with the lacrosse team, but today . . .”
“Lacrosse? So you’re a stickboy? No wonder you did something so dumb. Playing around with your little balls all the time . . .”
Insulted, Greg stopped ogling this jock’s massive quads and looked back at his face, ready to tell him off. But seeing a friendly grin, he realized that the football player was just busting his chops. Greg decided to return the insult. “Dumb? You football guys are so dumb the coach has to remind you which way to run after each play so you don’t forget!”
“Ha-ha, nice! Pretty good comeback for a stickboy. So what’s your name? I’m Dustin.”
“Nice to meet ya, Greg.” Dustin grinned and stuck out his hand. Greg took it in his own and was astonished at the power in Dustin’s grip.
“So, Stickboy, I don’t think it’s a good idea for you to keep working chest today. You better give those pecs and shoulders a chance to recover. How about working legs with me?”
“Sure, that sounds like a great idea, man. If you think you can keep up with me!” Greg teased.
With a sparkle in his eye, Dustin responded “Bring it on, Stickboy! I can keep up with anything you got!”
The pair started with leg extensions to warm up their quads. They alternated sets, each time having to adjust the machine to accommodate Dustin’s shorter but stronger legs. Greg marveled at the size and definition of Dustin’s quads. Each repetition made the front muscles in Dustin’s legs bulge with power. In between sets, Greg learned that Dustin was studying sports medicine and wanted to become a physical therapist/trainer after graduation.
They moved on to squats. Greg loaded the bar and moved into position for the lift. Dustin moved behind him, ready to “spot” him in case he needed help. As Greg squatted down and then up again, he could sense Dustin’s muscular body behind him, not touching, but just an inch or two away from his own. The football jock’s arms wrapped around Greg’s frame, ready to support him. His legs were on either side of Greg’s, brushing against him occasionally as Greg went down and up during the exercise. Greg couldn’t believe that so much strength could be concentrated in one body.
Then it was Dustin’s turn to lift. Greg and Dustin lowered the bar and added plates to either side. Dustin moved into position under the bar and Greg moved behind him. This was the first time that Greg got a good look at Dustin’s ass. “Holy shit!” thought Greg. That ass was as muscular and strong as the rest of Dustin’s physique. Dustin’s mesh shorts fitted closely around those powerful globes as he performed the exercise, down and up, down and up, down and up . . . . At one point Dustin pushed back a little further than Greg expected and brushed that sexy butt against Greg’s crotch, a move that had an immediate and unwanted reaction from Greg’s tool. Fortunately, Dustin didn’t seem to notice as they changed positions and continued their workout.
The two jocks—one built for strength and speed, the other built strictly for power and stamina, quickly moved through the rest of the exercises. Squats were followed by lunges, leg press, and calf raises. Greg had never lifted so heavy in his workouts, and Dustin was lifting twice as much almost without breaking a sweat! Throughout their workout, Greg tried unsuccessfully to figure out if this muscle man was gay, straight, or somewhere in between. But he couldn’t quite turn the conversation that way without being too obvious.
The last exercise was leg curls for hamstrings. Dustin went first. He laid face down on the machine, tucking his big legs under the curl bar and setting the machine at an obscenely large weight. With a visible effort, he curled the bar up towards his butt. Greg was standing behind the machine, positioned perfectly to view Dustin’s massive hamstrings and his big muscle ass. As Dustin cranked out the reps, grunting a little with each lift, Greg wondered how loud he could make Dustin groan if he got the chance. Greg’s cock started growing as he fantasized about plowing that ass, sinking his cock deeper and deeper with every stroke.
Unconsciously, Greg started squeezing his crotch, helping his cock to grow even more. All of a sudden, he realized that Dustin was looking into the mirror next to the leg curl machine and could see everything Greg was doing! He quickly let go of his crotch and turned away from the mirror, unsure of what exactly Dustin saw.
The two finished their workout and walked to the men’s showers. “Hey man, that was a great workout,” Greg said.
“Yeah Stickboy, you lift pretty good. I bet you’ll be sore tomorrow!”
“I know I will.” As they walked to their respective lockers, Greg desperately tried to keep the conversation going. “Well, um, I guess I’ll see you around. Maybe we can lift together again?”
“You bet man, that would be great. I’ll friend you on Facebook, ok?” Dustin said as he walked around the corner of the locker room.
Facebook? Great, thought Greg. Now I’ll never see him again. He opened his locker, grabbed his shower stuff and moved to the showers. Dustin was nowhere to be seen, although the showers had individual stalls with doors, so it was hard to tell.
The warm water helped relax Greg’s overworked leg muscles. After he washed his hair, he started soaping up his athletic body. He hands worked over his arms, his chest, and his lower back. He imagined Dustin was standing behind him, washing his back, working lower and lower, kneeling in the shower behind Greg, moving his strong hands over Greg’s aching legs, working up his thighs, massaging his butt, reaching between his legs to stroke his big cock . . .
Greg looked down to see his own hands gripped around his stiffened and soapy cock, stroking slowly as he fantasized about Dustin. He forced himself to stop. There would be time for that when he got back to the dorm room. A fantasy like Dustin deserved a long, slow jerk off session with plenty of lube and self-pleasuring.
Once his cock settled down, Greg finished showering and returned to his locker. He put on a clean t-shirt and jeans, left the locker room, and made his way to the gym’s front door. As he was about to leave, he heard a voice behind him say “Hey Stickboy! You clean up pretty good! Wanna go hang at my place?”
Right. What they said. Doubled in brass! :D You ARE good.
If an injury has to be done to a man it should be so severe that his vengeance need not be feared” (Nicolo Machiavelli) Especially when in the gym.
“Hey Stickboy! You clean up pretty good! Wanna go hang at my place for a while?”
Greg turned and saw Dustin coming up behind him. The football jock was dressed in khaki shorts and a white short-sleeved polo shirt. His biceps were so large that they pushed the shirt sleeves almost up to his shoulders. The three collar buttons were undone, revealing a chest cleavage that left Greg dizzy.
“So what do you say? You got time to get your ass kicked at some Xbox?
There was no way Greg was gonna pass up the chance to spend more time with this hunk. “You bet! So which dorm do you live in?”
“I’m not in a dorm. I live in one of those apartments on the other side of campus.”
“Cool—lead the way!”
As the pair walked to the apartment, Greg learned that Dustin’s roommate had gone home early for the weekend, so they would have the place to themselves. Once they got to the apartment building, Dustin led the way up to the stairs to his place. Greg followed behind, once again admiring the width of Dustin’s shoulders, the sweep of his back, and the sexy way his muscle ass strained against his shorts as he climbed the stairs.
The apartment definitely looked like it was inhabited by jocks. There were tubs of protein powder on the kitchen counter and sports magazines on the coffee table. In one corner of the living room was a pull-up bar. The couch looked small but comfortable.
“Want a beer?” Dustin asked.
“Sure. Nice place you got.”
“Thanks. It’s nothing special, but we like it.”
The two college boys sat down on the couch and played video games for about an hour. Dustin beat Greg at Madden Football, but Greg beat Dustin at Halo 2. The competition was pretty intense, and they both leaned forward towards the TV as they played. Dustin kept spreading his big legs wider, sometimes brushing against Greg’s jeans. Greg couldn’t tell if Dustin was doing it on purpose or not. In any case, this constant contact caused Greg’s cock to stir, staying not quite hard but not quite soft.
On a break, Greg asked Dustin, “Man, I just gotta ask. How did you get so big? You’ve got muscles on top of muscles.”
“You like these, huh?” Dustin asked as he flexed his right arm, causing Greg’s chubbie to grow another inch. “Everybody told me I was too short and small to play football, so I wanted to prove them wrong. I couldn’t change my height, but I could build muscle and that’s what I did. I’m stronger than anybody else on the team, even the bigger guys. I can take whatever hits on the field I have to for me to make the play. I’m unstoppable.”
At first Greg thought that Dustin was exaggerating, but then he realized that Dustin was serious. Wanting to tease this muscle boy a little, he said “Yeah, you don’t look so strong to me. How many pull-ups can you do?”
“Just body weight, or with more weight added?”
“How much can you handle?” Greg responded, thinking that Dustin was talking about adding a weight belt to his waist.
“Well, how much do you weigh?” Dustin asked.
“How much do you weigh? Somewhere around 210 or so?”
“Yeah . . . I guess.”
“OK, let’s do this.” Dustin stood up and walked over to the pull-up bar.
“C’mon, Stickboy, lemme show you what real muscle can do.”
Confused, Greg stood up and followed Dustin. Dustin reached up and gripped the pull-up bar. “OK, now climb on.”
“Man, you lacrosse guys are slow. Put your arms around my shoulders and hold on.”
Hesitantly, Greg did as he was told. Because of their height difference, Greg’s legs still touched the ground.
“Wrap your legs around mine.”
“Uhh, are you sure . . .?”
“Don’t be a pussy, just do it!” Dustin barked.
Greg wrapped his longer legs around Dustin’s. His body was now flush against Dustin’s shorter but wider frame.
“Hold on, Stickboy, and enjoy the ride.”
I apologize in advance for what some may view as the blatant use of a gay stereotype in this part of the story. However, a writer uses what he knows. And I know the gym and the other topic that brings Greg and Dustin closer in this part of the story. Enjoy!
Dustin’s wide lats flexed as his pulled himself and Greg slowly but surely towards the chinning bar. As his chin made it even with the bar, he said “one” and slowly lowered himself to his starting position. Pausing for a second, he then started pulling up again. Greg could feel Dustin’s back and shoulder grow larger as they flexed and filled with blood.
They weren’t the only thing filling with blood. Dustin’s strength demonstration was making Greg’s cock go from an 8 inch chub to a 10 inch hardon to a foot long monster by the time Dustin made it to his fourth rep. Greg’s cock was sticking straight up, with several inches having crept up past his briefs and out the top of his jeans. Worse yet, because of the angle Greg was hanging behind Dustin, Greg’s cock was sandwiched between the muscular globes of Dustin’s ass. The only thing between the cock and ass was Greg’s thin t-shirt and Dustin’s shorts, and there was no way that Dustin couldn’t feel the throbbing cock, a thought that made Greg that much harder.
Dustin finished his eighth rep and stepped back from the chinning bar, causing Greg to stumble a bit and fall back on the ground. Dustin turned around, grabbed Greg’s hand and helped him back to his feet. Dustin said with a grin, “Sorry Stickboy. I didn’t think you would have a problem staying upright.”
Greg didn’t know how to respond. “Uh, that’s ok. Can I use your bathroom? I need to take a piss.”
“Sure, man, sure. It’s down the hall.”
Greg quickly went into the bathroom and closed the door behind him. He was so confused. Was Dustin coming on to him? He acted so straight. But then so did Greg. Was Dustin waiting for Greg to make the first move? Or did he just think Greg was another jock that he could relax around?
Greg didn’t know the answers to any of those questions, but he did know that just being around Dustin was making his cock harder than it had been in a long time. He faced the bathroom mirror and lifted his shirt, revealing several inches of hard cock poking out of his jeans and reaching above his navel. Greg unbuttoned his jeans and pulled down his briefs, giving his monster some room to breathe. He wrapped his hand around it, but his fingers couldn’t quite touch. He wondered whether he had time to jerk off, but right then he heard Dustin’s voice on the other side of the door.
“Hey Stickboy, you OK? You been in there a while.”
“Yeah, I’m OK,” Greg said shakily. Those beers went straight through me. I’ll be out in a minute.”
It actually was several minutes before Greg’s cock softened enough to stuff back in his jeans. As he left the bathroom and returned to the living room, a poster on the wall caught his eye.
“Hey Dustin—why do you have a poster with the cast photo from Into the Woods in the hallway?”
“Because it’s the greatest Stephen Sondheim musical of all time.”
Greg’s world was turned upside down. “Wait, so you’re into musicals?”
Dustin got serious all of a sudden. “Yeah, Greg. Do you have a problem with that?”
“No, man, no, it’s cool. I mean, . . . I really like musicals too.”
What followed was a vigorous discussion of American musical theater. The pair concluded, after much argument and more beers, that the best new musical was Wicked, the best modern era musical was West Side Story, and the best “classic” musical was Annie Get Your Gun (although Greg argued long and hard for Anything Goes before finally giving in). Greg was having even more fun than he did playing video games earlier, and it looked like Dustin was too.
Greg stood up to take another piss. “Ow, shit!” he said as he sat back down.
“What’s the matter?”
“My legs have cramped up. They hurt like hell!”
“Did you stretch after our workout?”
“No, I didn’t.”
“Dumbass! Just like a lacrosse player. If you don’t stretch out soon you won’t be able to walk tomorrow. Come over here and lay on the floor.”
“That’s OK, I don’t need to . . .”
“Just do it! I might as well put my sports therapy classes to good use.”
Greg laid on his back in the middle of the living room. Dustin moved to his feet and started to stretch out Greg’s legs. First his quads, then his hamstrings. Dustin was surprisingly gentle, and it was clear he knew what he was doing. Just as Greg’s legs were loosening up, Dustin wrapped his big arms under Greg’s knees and pressed them back towards Greg’s chest for one last hamstring stretch. From this position, Dustin’s chest was pressing against Greg’s hamstrings and Dustin’s crotch was resting lightly against Greg’s.
With their faces almost touching, Dustin asked “How does it feel now?
“Good, much better.”
“That’s good. You know, Stickboy, I don’t think you’re a very good lacrosse player.”
“What? Why not?”
“Because you’re not very good at reading signals from guys who play for the same team,” Dustin said, as he moved closer to Greg and kissed him.
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