My GH Story

In college, I found other guys like me. Big guys, into being bigger. Guys who shared my passion and my dedication. That was when I realized I wasn't a freak, some fucking oddity. I wasn't alone in wanting to be a bodybuilder. I learned a lot in that time -- when they saw how easily I grew, how focused I was, how driven, they accepted me like a brother. They showed me that bodybuilding was a sport. And for them, the sport lay in competition.

"Doing a show gives you a goal," they explained to me. "A reason to put yourself through all this."

I trusted them, so I entered a few shows, teenage events in those days, and won by sheer size and lack of competition. The guys taught me how to pose -- and how to shave, and tan -- all that vain shit. And hey, if you threw a boner while working on your posing, it was understandable. No big deal. Happened to everybody. There was nothing sexual in it. Getting off on your own body was normal, they said. It shows you're making improvements. And I was getting off on it. The bigger I got, the more I did. So when the guys suggested I start the juice, I knew that blast of power was going to be better than anything I'd ever felt. I willingly agreed. But I couldn't even begin to imagine. I took to Sustenon250 and Deca like a babe to milk. In the first two weeks, I blew up fifteen pounds. Eat, lift, and sleep. It's all I did that winter -- I went to the occasional class, too, but come on, I was a phys ed major -- all I did was lift and grow. I also said goodbye to my abs -- that hurt.

"They'll come back," the guys said, who were all in the same condition themselves, all bloated and fat with juice. "You gotta put on the mass in the winter to get lean in the summer. They'll come back." I trusted them.

And I'm glad I did. It felt so good, getting stronger, becoming aware of my self-power. And by self-power I mean, all I wanted to do was fuck! I wanted to fuck everything! I was jacking off like five, six times a day. It wasn't even sex that I wanted -- I just needed to get off. It wasn't worth the hassle of men -- picking some guy up, flattering him, dealing with his needs, and Jesus -- afterward! Who needs that shit? It was easier to just beat off. Besides, a lot of times I was jacking when I was supposed to be posing, looking at myself in the mirror -- twenty years old, my young face bloated out until I was a chipmunk, weighing in at two-hundred forty-five pounds, when just ten weeks ago, I was two-oh-five, my rounded abs pushing down on my waistband. I looked at myself, and instead of horror at the fat-ass I was becoming, I saw power. And I felt power. And I'd flex. I'd marvel at my new size. I'd get hard, and I'd jack while I looked at myself. There'd be times when I did it with one or two of my buddies, too. Hey, we were lifting together, giving each other shots, our bodies are fuckin' pumped and masculine and hot, we're like the ultimate example of what a guy should be -- all the other guys were lookin' at us and jealous and shit -- how could we NOT get turned on by that? It wasn't like we were homos -- we didn't kiss and shit -- it was about power. And dominance. And need. It was a game -- we made it into a game -- in order to justify it and be able to talk about it, it had to resemble sports -- first guy to cum was the loser -- so it became about doin' whatever we had to do to win. Anything to make the other guy cum first. That's where I learned how cool it was to have some guy get off on me -- that feeling of dominance. We discovered together how many guys there were in the world willing to PAY for that priviledge, too. Hey, juice is expensive, you know? And there's nothing wrong with having a sponsor. Some old guys wants to beat off watching me pose and he's willing to buy my supps for the chance? Fine by me. What color trunks should I wear? That's how I got through college. No shame in that, dude. I got some pictures took, and that's when it really hit home how hot I was. How much I love to pose and show off. And those little fuckin' posers and swimsuits were so fuckin' hot on me. I was the body they were designed for, after all, and the more I flaunted it, the more I received -- money, offers, all of it. It would've overwhelmed me, but for the extra energy I got from the juice. The ability to recuperate quickly. I could've stayed at that level and ridden that wave for a long time -- hell, I'm barely twenty-five -- wait till my muscle matures -- shit, I have another fifteen years before I peak -- but the bigger I got, the bigger I wanted to be. I mean, I liked it. It looked great. It felt great. I realized then that I wanted to be a monster, one of those fuckin' freaks on the Olympia stage -- bigger than that. I never wanted to be a pretty boy -- although I sure did use it -- I wanted to be the biggest man alive. That may not have been what I dreamed of when I was a kid, but that's what I could achieve as a man.

So I started doin' GH, which is different than the other stuff I was on -- the sust and the deca and the tons of winstrol-V -- 'cuz it's an actual hormone, normally secreted by the pituitary gland -- causes muscle growth, raises the metabolism to burn bodyfat, increases bone density -- and unlike steroids, the effects of GH are permanent, actual gain is actual gain. It's serious -- and expensive. I happen to work with a sports medicine Doc -- a trainer for a team I shouldn't mention -- because GH isn't something you fuck around with. He'd offered his services to me last year, and he's the only guy -- other than my old college buddies -- who's allowed to touch me while he gets off. Hey, the guy's taken me successfully through three good test cycles, thirty pounds of muscle, and he knows his shit about GH -- I think he looks at me like a project, some little forbidden fantasy, some Dr. Frankenstein fetish -- whatever. If the cost of my growth is some dude feelin' up my legs, kneeling before me and worshipping me like a muscle god, suckin' on my cock without any expectation from me, so be it. Shit, I'm not a fuckin' idiot. Lift, and eat, and rest -- like I've never done that before. Six meals a day -- at least one red meat -- shitloads of chicken and tuna -- my weight in grams of protein daily -- time to eat. Time to lift. Cock reminds me that it's time to jack. About two weeks into the cycle, I notice the first real changes. I notice a gain in size, a fullness I didn't have before, a round-ness to my muscle. I cover myself in baggy sweatshirts and the loosest and largest of t-shirts, baggy gym pants -- trying to cover like I'm a work of art, a sculpture not ready to unveil, yet. I don't need to advertise what I'm doing. Better if everybody thinks I'm just fat with winter. My bulk cycle. Like all the big boys. Besides, baggy clothes make me look bigger. Spandex is for summer. So the only time I ever really look at myself naked is right before or after a shower. The heaviest I ever was, right after college, was two forty-seven. I wanted to break two-fifty on that cycle -- just to say I did it -- but it was a barrier I just couldn't break. Sucked. Pissed me off. Well, this morning I weigh in cold at two fifty-two -- three weeks into the cycle -- I'm due for my fourth hit today -- and I look at myself naked in the bathroom mirror, bulked out, bigger than I've ever been in my life, and I notice that my jaw is changing shape. Just a little bit. It's heavier. Swear to God. It's heavier. It's that change, not the size of my muscle, or the swell of my stomach, or the weight of my legs, it's my fuckin' JAW that gets me hard. It makes me look -- I don't know -- more masculine -- more powerful. They say Growth fucks with your chin, and gives you that caveman brow -- is my forehead becoming bigger? I can't tell. Maybe heavier down toward the eyes. I don't know. But I look different. The same. But different. I'm still me, but I'm bigger. I wish I could describe what that feels like. I beat off right there in the bathroom mirror, clenching my jaw, trying to make it wider, flexing it. I'm swelling like a tick with blood. My traps bunch on either side of my neck, my thick neck, and I cum when I throw my head back and roar, spattering the mirror with my juice. Flat-handing it off the surface, I impulsively wipe my cum across the mass of my chest, smearing it all over my torso -- massaging the mass of MY muscle -- until I'm shiny from it, and I begin to pose in earnest. I am huge. And I am hot. When I finally hook up with the doc, I've jacked three times, and it's fuckin' nine o'clock in the morning -- and I'm ready to go again. I'm wearing a thong under my baggies because it'll give the doc a clear shot at my glutes without me having to be naked -- and okay, because it looks so fuckin' GOOD on me, and maybe even because I like the way I feel when I wear it, whatever. It'll drive the doc crazy, and that alone is worth it. Imagine the size of my legs, my big horse-muscled ass, my heavy hamstrings. Imagine my impressive package barely held in this red-silk thong, my cock chubby from being a tease, plumped out there in front. Try to see my distended abs and the very bottom of my massive pecs, when I hold my shirt up high enough to just barely expose the nipples, while the doc pulls down my baggies and gasps at the real sight. "Holy shit," he says, in his most professional medical analysis. "You're getting huge!"

I nod. "Six weeks to go," I say.

He wipes my ass with the alcohol swab, cool as it evaporates, and I feel the needle plunge into me. My growing erection seems to time perfectly with the depression of the hypodermic, like the Growth was filling my cock, inflating me. "Very impressive growth," he says, watching.

"Come get your reward, doc," I say, not resisting the urge to flex.

He removes the now-empty syringe, and kneels before me, leaning forward to gently kiss the silk. "Perfection," he whispers, pulling my thong down enough to expose my cock, which rolls forward to greet him.

"Six weeks to perfection, doc," I say, grabbing his head, pushing him into my dick, which he happily takes in his mouth. "You're gonna get me even bigger."

I put on another fifteen pounds during the next six weeks. And I was losing fat too, so I really gained more lean beef than that. I spent every spare minute in front of the mirror, watching myself morph into a total muscle freak. Every day I looked rounder and harder at the same time. Striations began to appear where I'd never seen them. And the veins! When I hit a crabshot they burst out all over my pecs and delts; by the end, even my traps had crazy vascularity. It even seemed like my dick was bigger; as the fat disappeared from around the base of it, it stuck out even more outrageously from my pelvis. And since I was constantly horny, it really showed. The doc was keeping me super-jacked on roids in order to maximize the benefits of the GH, so my aggressiveness was off the scale. I had to be careful to not lose it over stupid shit, like if some asshole interrupted me, or some fag did the "Eeeuiw, yuck, muscles!" routine. I'd just glare at them till they shut the fuck up or got outta my way. My new face was really intimidating too. God, I fuckin' loved it! My jaw was getting heavier all the time; my chin jutted out like crazy. And my brow! As the fat vanished and my brow-ridge thickened, I was starting to look like a Goddamn ape-man, and that was all right with me! And my voice; it got deeper and more like a growl. It kinda sounded like I had been gargling gravel; real tough. I was so focused on my training, I just kept setting new personal bests. It seemed like anything I wanted to lift, I could, if I really dug deep for it. I was ripping up my muscles like never before, but I always recovered and rebuilt the tissue, so damn fast! My metabolism was cranking like a well-oiled machine. I was shoveling in food like a fuckin' disposal, and it just went straight into my muscles. I had decided to enter the state championship. I didn't tell anybody but Doc. I needed him there to monitor my condition and do any last minute fine-tuning with the drugs. Besides, I had a surprise in store for him, if I won. When I stripped down in the pump room before the pre-judging, it was so fuckin' obvious the trophy was mine, I almost laughed. I could hear the muttered reactions from the other guys:

"Motherfuck..." "Shee-it!" "Might as well go the fuck home now..."

And as I pumped, and the veins started to swell, they stopped even pretending not to stare. Of course I won the heavyweight class and the overall. But the real trip was just showing it all off. You can't fuckin' imagine what it's like standing almost naked in front of a crowd of screaming muscle-worshippers, struttin' your stuff, flexin' the beef, knowing you are THE MAN! I was boning-up right there onstage, and I didn't give a fuck. "Let 'em see it all, and suffer!" was my attitude. Back in my hotel room, I threw my trophy on the bed, stripped off my sweats and hit a front lat-spread.

"Oh, damn..." Doc breathed.

"See something you like, Doc?" I smirked.

"Incredible...just incredible."

"Then why aren't you on your knees, bitch?!"

Doc dropped to his knees . I strutted to the mirror and began to pose for myself.

“Ah, fuck, yeah!”

Even though I’d been checking myself out for months, muscle by muscle, this was the first time I had really let the full impact of what I had become hit me. It was like all the years of work disappeared, and I was an forty eight-year-old manboy looking out of the eyes of a massive muscle-freak. And damn, did I like what I saw!

“Grrrr…” I growled, as I rolled my slabs of pec-meat up and down. I heard a whimpering behind me, and saw that Doc had stripped down and was beating his little dick as he watched me.

“Don’t touch yourself!” I ordered. He dropped his hands to his sides.

Returning to my self-worship, I brought my arms up in a double-bi.

“BOOM!”

The smell of sweat, oil and tanning stain filled the room, and my cock filled my trunks. I hit a front lat-spread and flexed my striated glutes for Doc’s benefit. He moaned. I chuckled.

“Yeah, dig it, you weak bitch!”

I turned to doc and put my bulging package in his face. He slurped all over it as he stared up at his monster. I smirked down at him, belly-breathing my bulging rock-hard gut in and out.

“Take it out, Doc.”

He pulled my posers down over my hips and to the floor, letting my thick, veiny meat slap him in the face. Automatically, his lips formed an ‘O’ and he started to go for it.

“No, Doc; not this time,” I said, backing away. “Just watch.”

And I started my posing routine. This was the way I wished I could have done it for that crowd, showing them everything I had, arrogantly shoving it all in their faces. Grunting with lust as I hit each pose, sweat flying off my nuts as I thrust my pelvis at them. Doc’s glasses fogged-up, and his breathing got harder and harder. His tongue was licking his lips, and I knew how bad he wanted to be licking me. Slobber ran down his chin and his hands twitched. Still I poured it on, a feast of muscle inches from his face, and not letting him have a morsel of it. Pre-cum dripped from my meat to the floor and I knew how bad he wanted it, but still he obeyed me; good boy. Finally I turned back to the mirror, and I knew from his groan how bad Doc wanted to bury his face in my sweaty trench. I clenched my jaw and furrowed my brow. God-fuckin’-damn-it-all-to-hell, but I was a hot hunk of he-man! 267 pounds of roided-out freak! I lost self-control at that point, and grabbed the mirror, rubbing myself against my own reflection, and kissing the super-masculine face I saw there. My dick was pressed against the glass, humping itself. I heard a scream behind me, and Doc unloaded, without even touching himself. That set me off, and I howled as my jizz coated the mirror. I dropped to the floor, almost passing out, it was so intense. When I came to my senses, I saw Doc lovingly licking my load off the mirror. Then he crawled to my side and looked at me like he was waiting for permission.

“Sure Doc; clean me up.”

I enjoyed the feel of his tongue licking me clean, as I thought about the future. The titles yet to be won. The crowds still to be wowed. I glanced at Doc’s bag sitting on the luggage rack. He had plans for a new regimen of drugs, one that would take me to another level of freakiness. I couldn’t wait.

One year later; and what a year it's been. Doc has me on so many things, I stopped trying to keep track of it all; I don't care so long as I grow. And have I ever! Doc's theory is that most guys don't reach their full potential because they don't combine everything at once, and don't stay on long enough. Plus, they don't eat enough, take in enough protein, and burn too many calories doing shit other than lifting. So my life has gotten real boring. All I do is eat, sleep, lift, eat, sleep, lift. Today, for example. I woke up and looked down at my monstrous pecs, which blocked my view of the rest of me. I thought about getting up for a while before I did. At this weight, sitting up is an effort. Finally I got up and walked to the bathroom to take a leak. I had my usual morning piss-hard, so I had to force it out. I could have jacked-off, but it seemed like too much trouble. Besides, I like to save all that energy for the gym. I went into the kitchen and mixed-up three meal-replacements in the blender. It's too much trouble cooking, so I either eat out or drink my meals. I chugged it down, then got into my training gear. That's no easy task, trying to get clothes on over all this bulk. Luckily, Jamie arrived just then and helped me pull my shirt on.

"Wow, you're getting sooo biiig!" he gushed.

Fuckin' little faggot. Still, he has his uses. He was there to drive me to the gym. Doc found him for me. Said he'd take care of all my needs when he was at work...and some things that Doc has no interest in doing. Oh, did I mention I'm living in Doc's basement now? No rent that way. Kinda pisses me off though, the way he keeps me down here like he's ashamed to have people see me. Whatever. Once I win a major show, the offers will come pouring in, and then he can kiss my ass. So Vas drove me to the gym and followed me in. He helps change plates for me; shit like that. Lemme tell you, the people just part like the fuckin' Red Sea when I walk in. Anything I want to use, it's suddenly available. Any asshole doesn't get outta my way fast enough, I just stare at him till he gets the fuckin' message. So: I ripped my legs to shreds doing squats, leg presses...the usual shit. But with poundage's like you've never seen. I'm wearing "baggies," but the pump gets so extreme the fuckers are tight on me. Finally I drop trou and flex those monsters in the mirror, and you could hear a pin drop in the place. Shee-it, man! I can't believe the size of them myself! They aren't exactly cut now, at this weight; but they're still pretty fuckin' hard. Vas drove me to this restaurant that has an arrangement with Doc to give me whatever I want on a tab. I eat a dozen eggs, two glasses of milk, a steak, a bowl of rice...I forget what else. Jamie wiped my chin for me every once in a while, I'm shoveling it in so fast. Back home, I flopped onto the bed, and Vas got to work pulling my sweat-soaked gear off. When he was done, he stood there looking at me, waiting for fuckin' permission. I smirked at him.

"Get to work, bitch!"

He lit up like a fuckin' Christmas tree, and stripped off his clothes. He's got a tight little body, with big tits for an eighteen-year-old, and an ass like a perfect peach. I put my hands behind my head and he dove into my armpits, licking and slurping like a pig in slop. He fuckin' loves my sweat. Pretty nasty if you ask me, but I know it will get him goin'. He worked his way down my bod till he got to my crotch. I spread my quads and he lapped at my sweaty sack. Now lemme tell ya, 'roids are supposed to shrink your nads, right? Well, not mine. They were pretty fuckin' big to begin with, but Doc has figured out a way to use this stuff, HCG, so that they never shut down, and just keep crankin' out more test all the time. So I've got a massive set of nuts; they look like they belong on a bull, in fact. And Jamie goes wild over 'em. After a couple minutes of that, my dong was standing up proud and tall, and he dove on it. That Vas has one sweet mouth, almost as good as Doc. But that's Doc's territory; Vas has other talents. Now I never thought I'd get into fuckin' anything but guys, man. But they are just too much trouble. And no guy ever gave herself so totally to me; it's always all about them, ya know? That don't fly with this stud. It's all about me,or fuck you! And Vas worships the ground I stomp on.

"Climb on, muscle boy!"

He straddled my hips and aimed my porker at his tight little rosebud. No matter how many times I give it to him, he never seems to get loose. I felt that tight, hot glove sliding down over my prong, until his cheeks were squeezing my balls. Fuckin' A, but that hole is sweet! He started to forced himself up and down my shaft, while these little whimpering sounds came out of his mouth. I stood it as long as I could, then rolled over on top of him, my massive chest forcing the air out of him with a 'whoosh."

"Hold on, we're goin' for a ride!"

Then I hammered that mancunt till his head was bashing against the headboard, and I was grunting and panting like a stallion breeding his mare. Finally he started to wail, his eyes rolled back into his head, and his little prick unloaded all over my abs. When he comes, his ass does this rippling kind of thing that feels like having your dick in a milking machine, man. That always sets me off, and I blasted a fuckin' geyser of sperm up his spasming little mancunt. I was bellowing like a fuckin' bull, man! I passed out after that, and when I woke up three hours later, Vas had left...not in an ambulance, I hope! Doc was between my legs licking my piece clean, and I rewarded him with another blast of man-cream. Then he made me another drink, and we did a body-composition test.

333 pounds, at 10% bodyfat.

Life is fuckin' good, man!