Eleven-and-a-half: A Fantasy Of Great Length by Ray Wilder

Chapter 15: Arnold

This is a work of fiction. All the characters, events and locations
portrayed in this book are fictitious, and any resemblance to real persons,
events or locations is purely coincidental.

Copyright © 1996. All rights, implicit or implied, except for
distribution by this archive and personal use by the individual downloading
the file, are reserved. Inquiries regarding publishing rights for this book
should be directed to: raywild@aol.com

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	Or should he have thought: "Completely unobserved except by his
next door neighbor," who, at that very moment, was standing on her own
balcony, peering through the divider at him. It was a shame he couldn't see
her in return. Something told him that it was, indeed, a female. He could
hear her shortness of breath as he stretched and flexed his muscles, making
sure that his massive back put on a good show for her. He thought of
quickly popping his head up over the partition and catching her in the act
but the fact of the matter was that she was standing on her own balcony and
had every right to be there. It was not her fault that there just happened
to be a naked man standing on the other side of that divider. He was, of
course, flattered by her interest. But in light of his contemplation of
privacy just a moment before he was a bit bothered by the intrusion. After
all, they hadn't even been formally introduced.
	He felt that now was not the proper time for a confrontation. What
would happen if, after placing her in the embarrassing situation of having
to own up to spying, it turned out that she was someone with whom he would
want to develop a neighborly relationship with. Besides, his blood sugar
was getting critically low, due to lack of nourishment; he knew sustenance
was high on the priority list. One last flex of his naked gluts and he
turned back to the apartment, making sure not to establish any contact with
the person on the other side of the corrugated green divider.
	He stopped for a moment and surveyed the scene before him. Boxes
and crates were strewn about the living room in no particular order, giving
no aid in the identification of their contents. Moving to his bedroom, he
dug through one of the seabags and pulled out a shirt and a pair of
pants. Underwear and a pair of socks were located at the bottom of the
second (of course) sea bag. The briefs were put on with the (for him)
normal amount of difficulty as he stuffed his huge cock into the support
cup which was almost filled to capacity already with his two balls. He
thought there must be someplace that made a regular bikini brief that
catered to the owners of larger than average cocks like himself (well, all
right, he admitted, "larger than average" didn't accurately describe his
situation, but the point was the same).
	He had, earlier in the day, installed his chin-up bar in the second
bedroom door jamb as a kind of moving-in ritual. He walked over to it and
did a few dozen quick pull-ups of different varieties and then dropped to
the floor and accomplished fifty close hand push-ups. He savored the
feeling of his genitals brushing the floor with each rep and the pump in
his pecs and triceps. The closet door had a narrow full length mirror on
the inside that the former occupants had obviously left to atone for having
taken the shower curtain, and he stood back and did a quick
check-pose. Already everything had been pretty well pumped up from the
morning's work-out. The additional effort of the just completed exercises
put a nice shape on everything. He noticed that the peaks on his pecs were
noticeably higher than the last time he had checked. When heavily
contracted the inner slopes of his chest muscles defined themselves with an
extra level of swelling that hadn't been there before. Even after he
relaxed, the definition in those mountains of muscles was considerably more
than it had been. His biceps felt full, the skin around them tightly
stretched and covered with the pattern of veins and that one large artery
which ran down the crest, throbbing as the blood coursed powerfully
through.
	He put his shirt on and left the top two buttons loose. Not only
did he like the way it revealed the inside edges of his pectorals (some
referred to it as a cleavage. Once.), but it was just too damned
uncomfortable when they were fastened. The pants were pleated and flared,
giving the appearance of baggy while hugging his ass and massive thighs to
maddening effect. The underwear he had on was not as high riding as some,
so the bulge in the front of his pants was of a more conservative nature
than had been the case with the cut-offs he had been wearing all
morning. He pulled on his socks and shoes, grabbed his wallet, change and
keys and headed out to find a decent place to eat.
	He figured with all the gyms around there had to be plenty of
places that catered to those who required carbohydrate and caloric intakes
that were above the norm. Nothing of that type seemed to be in eye shot of
his position on the walkway, so he decided to hook the car up to the truck
and check out the neighborhood. He figured he would also stop by The Pump
House and deliver Patty's gym bag for her, as she had apparently not
discovered its absence yet. Backing the truck up to the car without taking
off a bumper proved to be interesting. He hooked up the tow bar and brake
lights and headed out.
	His first stop was a gas station to fuel the truck, as per his
agreement with the rental company, and get directions to The Pump House. As
luck would have it the attendant was a rather well-dimensioned young lad
who knew Patty's gym well, speaking very highly of it, and could also offer
several suggestions as to where to pick up a great bite to eat. Arnold
thought that his appearance at the gym might precipitate the tour that
Patty had mentioned so he figured that he had better eat first. He took the
young man's advice as to the best place and headed down the road about a
mile to Norma's Diner.
	Norma, and her diner, was a local institution renowned for its
clientele as well as its menu and serving portions. Norma had, at various
times, been married to two Mr. America's, a Mr. Universe and a
Mr. Olympia. Her taste in physiques ran to the extreme. She displayed
posing shots of all her husbands above the window where the food was passed
through from the kitchen. The picture displayed in the center of this
impressive line-up of physiques changed constantly. She had sworn off
marriage to the physically developed, (she had, in fact, married a
moderately physically fit lawyer) as it seemed she could never maintain an
interest in them if they lost the following year's contest. But she just
couldn't keep completely out of the scene. Rumor had it that her latest
conquest always filled the center position.
	The parking lot was full enough that maneuvering the truck and car
through it would have been difficult so Arnold parked on the street a half
block away. As he walked up to the building several young ladies sitting at
a booth by the window focused their attention on him and expressed obvious
hope that he would be coming to try some of Norma's fine cuisine. When he
did, indeed, turn up the front sidewalk and enter the restaurant, the
commotion he caused brought the indomitable Norma herself out to see who
the cause of it was.
	Apparently the appearance of a new face was always cause for
celebration. Norma knew that the nubile young ladies seated at booth four
would always be on the look out for new candidates. She knew this because,
back in the days before the place was known as "Norma's" she had been one
of the girls in booth four. So when the familiar cat calls and entreaties
began she threw down her grill scraper, wiped her hands on her apron,
pushed the stray lock of chestnut brown hair back up into the chef's hat
she wore and headed for the dining room. Her expressed intent was to rescue
the poor, unsuspecting soul from the abuse. She didn't want a new customer
to get turned off about the place seconds after having walked in. Second on
her list of reasons was that the picture frame over the center of the
pass-through was currently empty. This did not go unnoticed by the regular
crowd. So when Norma made her swooping entrance the way had already been
cleared in anticipation of this very moment. Smug smiles and just a few
knowing glances from those customers who were past occupants of the center
frame, greeted her arrival.
	It would be safe to say, considering Norma's history of marriages,
that she had encountered every manner of extra-developed physique. It would
also be safe to say that she had developed a rather jaded view of what a
body should look like. Likewise, it would be accurate to surmise that her
attitude towards bulging biceps and thrusting pectorals, sweeping lats and
firmly rounded gluts would be a bit on the blazŽ side. Therefore it
should be taken as the most telling of descriptions of Arnold's physical
attributes to say that, upon passing through the swinging kitchen door and
coming face to face with him, as was the way it was planned from years of
making this same rescue mission, she stopped cold-dead in her tracks,
forgetting the rules about standing in front of swinging kitchen doors,
and, on the following return of the door, was knocked straight forward into
Arnold's arms. The waitress who had been the next person through the door
was now wearing the entire order for booth number four. Fortunately all of
them were so consumed with looking at Arnold that none of them realized
that their meals had just become a fashion statement and the waitress
quickly withdrew to place another order for two Normaburgers with cheese,
two blt's, three orders of fries, one order of rings, and a slice of
strawberry-rhubarb pie.
	Norma was busy not disengaging herself from her rescuer. Once she
realized she was on her way to a collision course with this beauty she let
it, nay encouraged it, to happen with as much awkwardness as she could
muster. Arnold was not the least bit deceived by her almost clownish
attempt to appear out of control as he helped her recover her balance and
dignity. He allowed her to catch and stabilize herself on his upper
arms. But there was no doubt as to the expertise with which those hands
quickly ran up and down his arms and torso, assessing the dimensions of
every muscle and tendon. He also knew that her attention was drawn to the
area just below his belt and that, had there been a way to even remotely
justify the action, she would have made sure that her hands-on evaluation
would have taken in that part of his body as well.
	To be sure, Arnold was not the most muscle-bound man to ever walk
into Norma's. In actuality there were several men and one woman in the
place at that moment who's physiques were developed to a level much more
advanced than Arnold could ever hope to attain. But the total effect he and
his crotch projected was one far beyond that of the physically
observable. Even with the baggiest of pants, it was obvious to the most
casual of observers (and observers of Arnold were very rarely casual) that
there hung between the man's legs a cock the proportions of which very few
had ever laid eyes (or lips) on. This, then, was the attitude and
impression which first greeted him as he walked through the front door of
Norma's Diner, feeding trough to the physically over-achieving.
	"What's your pleasure, my beauty?" asked Norma.
	"It depends on what your capacity here is." Arnold eyed her with a
touch of suspicion, thinking that there was sure to be a hook here. "I'd
hate to make a request that would cause you to overstep your authority."
	Norma chortled with glee. Very few men, and almost no new comers,
would ever dare to bandy words with her. She saw a challenge and rose to
the occasion. "Well, give us a try. If I find I can't handle it," a quick
flash of the eyes to his cock relayed her real meaning, "I'll pass your
request on to higher authority."
	Arnold realized he was probably dealing with the person in
charge. He even supposed that, were there such a person as Norma, this
might be her. He took that chance and replied, "I have it on good authority
the owner of this establishment knows how to feed those who pump."
	Norma figured he knew who she was and decided not to play the fool
anymore. Instead she grabbed Arnold by the right bicep and ushered him down
the aisle to a seat at the end of the counter.
	"Sit here, me bucko, and Auntie Norma will fill your gullet with
the most highly charged, nutritionally balanced, muscle feeding meal you've
ever wrapped your lips around." The last part of her comment was directed
straight to his crotch and no one, not the people at the other tables and
booths, not the three men whose picture had once caught the fumes rising
off the plates of hundreds of Normaburgers, not the extremely disappointed
young nubiles at booth four, not any of the staff and not even Geraldo, the
bus boy, whose command of the English language, while improving daily,
still consisted of calls for more glasses and whatever he had learned by
listening to American Baseball games on the radio, none of them mistook
Norma's meaning and her implied intent.
	Norma headed back to the kitchen after having personally delivered
a copy of the menu, fussed over the placement of the salt and pepper
shakers, made sure there were plenty of napkins in every napkin holder
within five seats of Arnold and commanded that the waitress whose station
it was take care of getting him a glass of water. It seemed not to matter
to her at all that the very waitress she was referring to was, at that very
moment, standing directly behind Arnold with the largest, coldest glass of
water the place had, the thought running through her mind that she could
accidentally spill the water in his lap and then help him mop it up,
getting a chance to gage the size of his obviously formidable cock
herself. A sharp, meaningful look from Norma on her way back to the kitchen
left little doubt in her mind as to what her fate would be, were she to
pull such an immature, uncouth, inhospitable and totally tasteless stunt
without letting Norma take care of the clean-up.
	Arnold liked the way the place felt. All the benches and stools
seemed to have extra room around them. There was a sign on the wall that
said "four to a booth, unless your shoulders are as wide as mine," with a
picture of a man with impossibly wide shoulders. He looked around at the
rest of the people to see what their reaction to his entrance had
been. Aside from the still agitated ladies over at booth four everyone
seemed to have settled back to their meals without much more thought as to
his presence.
	Although he was very well-built it was apparent he was not aiming
for competition. The accent was on definition rather than on mind-boggling
size. This usually put other body-builders minds to rest, regarding any
professional jealousy. As for his superiority in the genitals department,
there was nothing he or any of them could do about it. If there were any
hard feelings harbored against him on that count they were beyond his
control. He considered it the other person's problem, not worth getting
upset about it.
	There was a time when he took such hostilities personally. For
several years he was acutely aware of the occasional male's jealous
thoughts regarding the size of his dick. He even found himself avoiding
beaches and any place else where the usual clothing would put his cock in
too much prominence (a situation difficult to avoid in even the most
clothed of circumstances). One day he realized his life was being
controlled by the need to hide. This, he decided, was foolish. He was what
he was and nothing was going to change that. The world could get over it or
not.
	The waitress had set down the water glass and was waiting for his
order. It appeared she was under instructions not to leave his side until
she had fulfilled his every desire. She also looked like she was willing to
do just that. He scanned the menu and found several things that immediately
hit the spot. He asked for the details about them and ordered up what
seemed to be a dish with a certain amount of pride attached to it. It was
listed as having the standard breakfast ingredients but promised to be more
than one normally found in a restaurant meal. Norma's reaction to his order
was heard throughout the restaurant and the good-natured teasing he was
getting seemed to indicate his initial acceptance into the ranks of a
"Norma-ite".
	The waitress brought him the beverage he ordered, a
high-carbohydrate shake affair with more calories and burnable energy than
most third-world nations consume in a week; standard fare for someone in
training. And although he wasn't training, per se, he felt a need to
replenish what he had worked off that morning. While he was waiting for the
meal to show up one of the young ladies from booth four made her way over
to his stool.
	"Hi there. I'm Brenda."
	"Hi. I'm Arnie. Glad to meet you." He generally used the shortened
version of his name when in the company of body builders. The name "Arnold"
held such a religious connotation for the devout that anyone using the same
name was viewed as a heretic. The girl was either not quick enough to pick
up on it or did and understood the convention. She seemed to be an
aficionado of body building by the way she was appraising his body. She
also seemed to dabble a bit in it herself. Her figure was full but firm,
nothing seemed to jiggle when she walked. It was like looking at one of
those vacuum packed bricks of coffee, not an ounce of unwasted space; what
they called, in the local vernacular, a hard body. She casually laid her
hand on Arnold's shoulder, slowly tracing the definition of the muscle
beneath his shirt.
	"We figured you're new here," she said, nodding in the direction of
her compatriots in booth four. "Especially with the way Norma reacted to
you. Where're you from?"
	"I just moved in from the desert. I've got a place on the beach
about a mile from here."
	"Are you training or just maintaining?"
	"I try to keep a little ahead of the game but I'm not aiming
towards competition, if that's what you're asking. What's your involvement
in the sport?"
	"I just like muscle. The more there is to grab onto, the happier I
am." At this last comment her fingernails dug perceptively into his shirt,
leaving little doubt as to what "more" she had in mind.
	Arnold glanced meaningfully at her hand. He wondered why she
thought she had license to become so intimate with him. Patty had been one
thing. He had set the tone for their interaction and encouraged it, but
this girl was making assumptions that had no grounding in reality.
	She shifted her position a bit, making it difficult for anyone else
in the place to get a clear view of what she was doing, and then traced her
inquisitive fingernail down the outside of his bicep, across the surface of
his fore arm and ending on the top of his right thigh. The palm of her hand
flattened against the top of his thigh and then slid towards his hip
joint. When it reached the point where leg became abdomen and turned north
she headed decidedly southeast. The bulge of his cock was thrust into
prominence by the briefs he had on and she began to run her hand over the
extent of it. Before she could go any further, though, he cleared his
throat and looked directly into her eyes with an expression of distaste for
her uninvited actions. She abandoned her research but her eyebrows raised,
asking the question that was first on anyone's mind who had gotten that
far. Arnold put one hand on the countertop and the other about two and a
half feet away, palms facing each other. She rolled eyes and laughed.
	"You men are never satisfied, are you? Can't be happy with what was
given to you. You always have to want more."
	"I just didn't want to be accused of any false modesty." He hoped
Brenda would be astute enough to recognize the humor at her expense. She
made a few more comments meant to draw out personal information. Arnold
fended them off tactfully and by the time Brenda returned to her friends
and a now luke warm Normaburger she felt as though some incredible conquest
had been made when, in actuality, nothing of value, aside from the quick
feel she'd copped, had been exchanged.
	Arnold's breakfast arrived on four plates. Each of the four major
food groups was represented: A huge plate of sliced fruit, an omelet
(yolks, no whites) with something just shy of a bushel of vegetables mixed
in, a tall stack of buckwheat pancakes, and an eight ounce T-bone steak,
medium rare. To this was added a twenty ounce glass of fresh-squeezed
orange juice and an equally tall glass of cold milk.
	"Is there anything else I can do for you?" the waitress asked. The
look in her eyes relayed the limitless nature of that question. Arnold felt
like saying "a blow-job" just to see what her reaction would be, her
attitude being so blatant, but decided against it. Either she would have
taken offense, not realizing how equally intrusive her attitude was, or she
would comply and his eggs would get cold. He, instead, replied that
everything seemed fine.
	She didn't even attempt to cover up her disappointment at not being
requested to climb under the counter and suck his balls dry while he
consumed his brunch. As she walked away in a huff Arnold shrugged, a bit
bothered by her disappointment and a little annoyed at the cavalier
attitude the women he had encountered so far seemed to have regarding the
availability of his cock. He felt if he had slapped it down on the cash
register counter when he first came in then the whole matter would have
been settled and he could have eaten breakfast in peace.
	Norma, at least, had the decency to wait until he was just mopping
up the last of his pancakes before venturing over to accost him. She was
busy in the kitchen but took a break and came out to see how he liked his
meal.
	"You've obviously had a lot of practice feeding body builders."
Arnold noted.
	Norma told him the identity of the four photos over the
pass-through. "I made them breakfast every morning. I know what the big
guys like. I hear you're not into competition. What are you doing,
modeling?"
	The grapevine had been active. He wondered what other details of
his encounter with Brenda were now general knowledge. "Good guess. I'm just
getting started but the agency I'm with has a few jobs for me this week."
	"Skin shots?"
	"Oh, I suppose they'll probably want me to take a few pieces of
clothing off. I'm not too concerned with the details of the job. It's the
agency's job to make sure everything is on the up and up. And if I have any
reservations about it I have it in my contract to walk out."
	"Well, Arnie, you're a pleasure to look at. I'm sure you'll be
quite successful."
	"Thanks for your confidence."
	"I've been around the block a couple of times, kid. I have an eye
for what flies and what sinks in this town and I don't mind telling you I
see a big set of wings on you. Now I gotta get back to the kitchen. The
orders are piling up."
	"Thanks for the great meal. And if you're only halfway right about
my professional future I'll be a very happy man."
	"By the way, kid, where're you gonna be working out?"
	"I haven't found a place yet. I'm going to look at one this
afternoon."
	"Which one?"
	"A place called The Pump House. You know about it?"
	A thunder cloud formed over Norma's head, her nostrils flared and
the gnashing sound of her teeth sent a shiver up his spine like fingernails
on the blackboard. Arnold thought she was going throw something but at the
last minute she seemed to re-establish control. It was a good thing,
too. All of the items near at hand had that industrial, heavy-duty look to
them, meant to take and deliver lots of abuse.
	"Who told you about that scum hole?"
	"My next door neighbor."
	"Well, I don't know who your neighbor is but their taste in people
obviously has reached an uncustomary high point in their dealings with
you. If I were you, I'd take a real close look at other options before
making any decisions which might be regretted later. If I were you." With
that she turned back to the kitchen, shouting at several very
non-deserving-of-abuse employees on the way. There was little doubt in
Arnold's mind that whatever she perceived as being wrong with Patty's gym
had little to do with the reality of the place itself. Something deeply
personal was involved here; something that, aside from piquing his
curiosity, he was sure had little to do directly with him.
	He left a tip on the counter and proceeded to the cash register to
pay his bill. His waitress met him there and informed him that the girls at
booth four had already taken care of his tab. Arnold did not like leaving
these women with the impression he was in their debt. The proprietary
nature of this act reflected the view that he was beholding to them for
having allowed one of them to run her hand across his crotch. He went over
to explain that he felt uncomfortable in accepting their "generosity" but
by the time he got to the booth all of their eyes were glued to the front
of his pants and he figured there wasn't much use in it all. He thanked
them kindly for the welcoming gesture and hoped that he would some day be
able to return the favor "by buying you a breakfast" he said
specifically. They asked him to sit down and join them for a cup of coffee
but he begged off, sighting the return of the truck as his excuse. He said
his good-by's and departed before any additional information was allowed to
exchange hands.
	On his way out, he passed the cash register and his waitress
stopped him.
	"She has something in for one of the people over at the Pump
House."
	"That was made quite obvious."
	"If you were to listen to her she would tell you to watch out for a
gal by the name of Patty. It seems they disagreed about the marital status
of her last husband." She indicated the picture furthest to the right over
the pass-through. The man looked familiar and Arnold thought he had even
seen him as a guest poser in a competition he had entered a few years
back. Patty's taste in men obviously moved toward the large as well. He
noticed that of the four pictures presently occupying the position of honor
the man on the right was the largest in all respects. All respects. He
wondered if this was a prerequisite for entry into The Pump House. Well, he
was on his way there now, so he'd soon know.
	"Thanks for the information. I thought it might be a personal
matter. I didn't think it had anything to do with me."
	"Oh, but it has everything to do with you."
	"How so?"
	"You see that empty frame in the middle of the other four?" Arnold
nodded. "That one's reserved for her current fling."
	"I thought she was married."
	"Yeah. So?"
	Arnold was starting to feel like a possession. He thanked her,
again, for her assistance in understanding the prevailing situation and
made a hasty departure. He knew little of Patty beyond her forthright
manner and apparent leanings towards men with large cocks, but in a
comparison of the two women's behavior he was willing to bet that the fault
in perception was sure to fall to Norma's side of the net. He hoped he
would have a chance to get Patty's side of the story without endangering
their friendship or instigating a scene.
	He waved once again to his benefactors as he past in front of the
building and headed back to the truck and got it headed in the other
direction through a series of turns through the neighborhood. As he drove
past the diner once more he felt sad that the place should make him so
uncomfortable. The food had been outstanding, both in its quantity and
quality. But he was not able to justify going there for the food if he was
going to feel this inhuman afterwards. There must be a certain sector of
the population that thrived on that kind of attention, he certainly dished
out and took in his fair share of sexual bantering, but this was a step
beyond what he thought of as respectful of himself as a person.
	He retraced his route, driving past his building, made a left a few
blocks further down the road and traveled up that street about a quarter of
a mile. On the corner of two nondescript streets lined with single story
bungalows sat what surely was a store front. A second appraisal indeed led
him to think of a neighborhood service station. Over the parking lot in
front was the traditional canopy and in the middle of several cars he saw
the islands where the pumps would have been. The three garage doors had
been covered and the only windows appeared to be those where the attendants
station would have been. He thought this a bit odd. All the gyms he had
ever been to prided themselves on lots of natural light and big open spaces
designed to accommodate large bodies moving huge amounts of weight
around. This place, besides being apparently devoid of light, seemed far
too small to get much serious work done.
	He parked the truck and car on the street, grabbed Patty's gym bag
and crossed to the other side. Even up close he would never have guessed
the actual use of the building. He walked to the front door and peered
through the window. The glass seemed to be tinted and what he saw inside
didn't seem to make sense. Inside the door was a reception area with a
desk, presently unattended, and a lounging area with refrigerator,
microwave, a vending machine and a bunch of over-stuffed arm chairs. A bit
cozier than he was used to in the high-tech, steel and mirror atmosphere of
most other gyms, but nothing as unusual as what lay beyond this area.
	A railing ran behind the reception area. Beyond that could be seen
a huge open space that was completely sun-lit. He couldn't see the ceiling,
so he could only imagine that the entire roof over the room was sky
lights. The room was sunken about six or eight feet, accessed by a set of
stairs from the reception area, and was considerably larger than the
exterior of the building would have led one to believe. Plants were
everywhere. Each station seemed to be surrounded by them. Some seemed to
have found a home atop the framework and mechanisms of the larger pieces of
gear. He could see several men and women utilizing what Patty had modestly
referred to as the "not as well-equipped" equipment. Compared to some of
the places he had trained at out in the desert this was the promised
land. True, he had checked out some of the more well known places closer to
the beach, and their assortment of gear seemed to be more vast, but in one
glance he was able to see almost every station he would use in the course
of a normal workout cycle.
	Just then a head appeared at the bottom of the stairs. All he could
see was the back of it but he recognized it at once as being Patty's. He
opened the door, went to the reception desk and waited for her to finish
talking to another person at the bottom of the stairs. That person, a young
man, could see Arnold as he approached the desk. His jaw stopped moving in
mid-sentence and he just stared up at him. Patty turned around to see what
had attracted her friends attention. Arnold waved. Patty came up the stairs
followed closely and eagerly by the boy he had distracted.