Date: Fri, 8 Mar 2002 13:20:56 -0500
From: XH4M <xhuge4muscl@hotmail.com>
Subject: BIG IS BETTER 24

BIG IS BETTER

By XH4M

This story is a fantasy.  All characters in this story are fictional with
no resemblance to any real persons implied.  Any reader with objections to
graphic descriptions of sexual encounters between males, who may not have
reached the legal age of consent, or whose local, regional, state or
national jurisprudence prohibits such descriptions, should NOT read
further.  Copyright (c) 2002 XH4M.  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 story should be directed to: xhuge4muscl@hotmail.com


PART 24 - PARTY FAVORS

Sam immediately peeled off his sweats and tossed them aside, revealing a
wife-beater and pair of cotton gym shorts that he wore underneath.

"I gotta wear somethin' to soak up the sweat a little, Pete," he commented
apologetically for his remaining clothing.

That didn't matter to me in the slightest however.  Sam was such a
magnificent specimen of manhood that he'd look sinfully hot even if he was
dressed in a priest's robe.  But seeing Sam suddenly standing there in just
a tank top caused me to reel momentarily.  Every time that I saw him even
partially exposed, I seemed to experience this same shock all over again.
The impact of seeing such 'bigness' literally everywhere overwhelmed me.
This time I immediately seemed to particularly notice his shoulders, the
way the light happened to hit them perhaps.  Something about how they
appeared in a tank emphasized their stunning width and thickness.
Proportionally, his shoulders were mile-wide monsters with perfect
half-basketballs of muscle capping their ends.  The overall impression was
that Sam had football shoulder pads sewn under his skin - and I could
already feel my dick swelling.

That suddenly reminded me of something.  I'd had an idea some hours ago
while we'd been up in Sam's apartment.  I knew that if I was going to act,
I needed to do it right now before my dick would no longer cooperate.  I
bent down and quickly retrieved one of the condoms that Sam gave me from a
pocket in my sweatpants.  I ripped the package open with my teeth then,
with some effort, managed to unroll the rubber onto my fattening shaft.  I
glanced at Sam.  Rest assured, old eagle eyes hadn't missed any of this
operation.

"I thought I'd seen some great cocks before, but nothin' even close to your
meat, boy.  I mean, it's got it all - length, girth and it's even great
lookin', too!  And I know's I ain't even seein' the half of it yet, but
that there rubber don't even cover it all now!"

I would have added, "It tastes good, too," but I didn't want to distract
him any more.

"It's party time, boy.  Time to get big, just like you wanted, O.K?"  Sam
winked, turned and walked away without waiting for any acknowledgement.

He picked up two immense dumbbells from a rack and began using them
to... well... get warmed up, I guessed.  That alone would have constituted
an intense workout for me.  He swung his arms around in circles,
alternately pressed them over his shoulders.  Then did some quick inclined
chest flies and biceps curls.  In between he did a series of stretches
against the wall, then some squats followed with more stretching again.  I
walked over to where he was standing to remain relatively close to him as
he'd asked.  Apparently done with his warm ups, he returned the dumbbells
to their rack.

Sam turned to look at himself in one of the large mirrors.  He began
flexing his arms and studying his reflection, meticulously inspecting his
biceps, triceps and forearms.

"Yep, they's still pumped, ain't they, Pete?  You ain't even seen big yet,
though.  You won't believe...."

I already didn't believe, so more of the same seemed oddly quite
believable.  I watched as Sam began flexing one leg, moving his thigh back
and forth slowly as he intently watched the great mass shifting with every
movement.  Suddenly he tensed it, his quads instantly leaping into
rock-solid ravines of muscle.

"I'm real strong.  Yep, those are big legs alright...."  It was as if Sam
was trying to convince himself of a truth which would have been undeniable
to anyone else.  Sam continued to stare at his physique intently and also
talked aloud, though increasingly less frequently.  As I circled around
watching him tense his giants I noticed my salami occasionally smacking
against my thighs.

"Look at that thickness..." I heard him clearly mutter, but this time I
didn't think he was directing that at me, even though I still heard him
mention my name every now and then.  He was staring intensely over his
shoulder at his own back at that moment.

"Yeah, those are big muscles... what a roadmap.  You must be one powerful
dude, too...."

It was confusing because I couldn't tell who he was talking to.  Was Sam
talking to himself or to this 'other guy' in the mirror?  He hadn't closed
his eyes yet, but I also remembered that he said he didn't necessarily have
to either.  Regardless, his dialogue was becoming sparser and gradually
more monotone.  It was already giving me a bit of the willies.  And as his
intense self-inspection continued, he didn't seem to always be addressing
his comments to either himself or me anymore.  At times, I felt like there
was someone else present in the room with us who I just couldn't see.

Sam glanced over at me occasionally though - and when he did, I picked up
that vacant look in his eyes again.  His face was slowly losing more of
it's former expressiveness.  I'd seen this all before.  Sam looked back in
the mirror again.  He placed his hands on his hips and lowered his giant
flaps.  His stunning lat spread could only be described in terms of 'having
a wingspan.'  I noticed how that particular pose also thrust the mountains
on his chest spectacularly upward, too.  As if reading my mind, Sam pushed
his hands harder into his hips, sending waves of striated muscle rolling
vertically up and down across the faces of his massy pectorals.

"Yeah, big guy - those aren't just eagles, they're CONDORS..." Sam said,
but with the tone of a dispassionate, emotionally-uninvolved news reporter.

O.K.  I admit it.  I was beginning to get more than a little weirded-out
again.  This 'thing' that was happening to Sam, or that he was somehow
doing to himself, was disturbing to watch.

Needing some reassurance, I remembered that he'd told me I could talk to
him and impulsively called his name.

"Sam?"

I was relieved when he responded with a simple, "Yeah?"

He didn't bother to look at me though.  His voice had that eerily detached
quality again, but at least he'd answered me.  That was enough to keep me
at least 'relatively cool' with all of this for a little while longer.

While I took several deep breaths to help steady my fraying nerves, Sam
delivered several more slow, deliberate poses.  Although he was clearly
focused on his own reflected image, I also had the feeling this wasn't
Narcissus at the pool either.  It was clearer to me that Sam regarded the
muscle-bound giant in the mirror as another man.  Every now and then, he'd
still verbalize something aloud, but there were longer periods of silence
in-between.

"Your muscles are BIG, man...  Really big...."

"I bet you're REALLY strong...."

"You probably wanna show him too, don't ya big guy."

"Yeah, I bet you do."

"Well - go ahead then."

"It's OK.  The kid can handle you."

"Show him the real muscle now...."

He suddenly turned and walked across the floor to one of the massive train
axle & wheel assemblies.  The axle was already horizontally suspended about
5 feet above the floor between two supporting stands.  These stands were
constructed from pieces of girders that were cut and welded together into
custom-made tripods.  The axle itself was a huge hunk of cast metal, maybe
a foot in diameter.  It also looked to be about 6 to 7 feet in length -
obviously a slightly wider gauge than a standard railroad track.  I
wondered where he'd gotten them and what they'd been originally used for.
The train wheels were thick, solid castings, perhaps 3 feet in diameter.
Sitting across the makeshift stands like a giant barbell, the whole
assembly stood roughly at my own shoulder height, but in relation to Sam's
body it rested quite a bit lower.  He was pacing slowly back and forth
along the axle, running his hand across it's length as if pondering
something.

"Yeah, takes a mighty strong man..." Sam muttered again under his breath.

In the meantime, I found myself pondering something, too - the weight of
that axle assembly.  I thought it had to weigh in the half-ton range.
Construction cranes were the only things that routinely moved these babies
around, that was for sure.  Sam continued his slow inspection, apparently
in no rush at all, still muttering unintelligible things under his breath
occasionally.

Impulsively, I turned around and put my shoulder underneath one end of the
axle where it stuck out beyond the wheel slightly.  I arrogantly thought I
might get a better sense of its weight by moving it, even if just a tiny
bit.  I'd have been satisfied to have lifted it just an inch.

I began pushing up hard with my shoulder, probably turning beet red from
the straining.  It didn't so much as even wiggle in place.  Then I gave it
one more shot - this time putting my back into it with everything I had.
As I poured on my very last ounce of strength, amazingly - I felt it
suddenly move.  I was absolutely exuberant!  Bolstered by my surprising
success, I tenaciously strained with all my might, somehow managing to keep
it's upward inertia going until I stunningly was standing fully upright.  I
was about to call out to Sam ecstatically, "Come quick!  Look at me,"
before the vertebrae in my spine started to shatter, when suddenly - the
terrific load on my back mysteriously vanished.

I pivoted in place to find Sam bent over, semi-squatted underneath the
axle's center and supporting its entire weight across the back of his
expansive shoulders.  He had, of course, been doing all of the lifting
while I was so smugly giving myself a double hernia.  His big arms wrapped
over the top of the axle, holding it firmly in position.  I quickly walked
over and stood directly in front of him.  Seeing him able to even
momentarily support such a gigantic thing was as instantly humbling as it
was eye-opening.  Even taking into consideration the huge size of the man
himself, the sheer mass of that huge object on his back made him look
proportionally small, like Atlas supporting the World.

Sam looked at me vacantly while I plainly just gawked at him.  Suddenly,
the giant pontoons in Sam's thighs mushroomed and he rose up with the
entire massive axle to his full height.  It was magnificent to watch.
Furthermore, Sam looked as if supporting this iron monolith was nothing
particularly taxing.  He glanced rather nonchalantly from his left to his
right then back again without any sound or facial expression that remotely
suggested defying the force of gravity was even a challenge.

"Yeah, put 'em to work... turn 'em loose now," I heard him half-mutter.

I rather stupidly stammered out the obvious. "You're - you're holding that
up...."  I was still basically disbelieving my own eyes.

Sam droned, "Yeah, I am.  I'm a strong man...."

He was obviously still able to hear me and respond, though he was less
talkative than usual, his sentences confined to quick, short statements.  I
decided to see how he'd respond to a question.

"Sam... how... how much does that weigh?"

"It don't matter..." Sam finally replied, but only after some seconds had
passed.  As he glanced my way momentarily, the look in his eyes gave me
instant shivers.  They were weird - totally blank.  Then Sam moved his
palms underneath the axle's broadly-curved underbelly.

"Here's what matters...."

Now he closed his eyes.  The veins in his neck, arms, chest and shoulders
became pronounced as his muscles bulged magnificently.  Then he made the
unbelievable happen.  Slowly, the massive axle rose straight up over his
head.  He locked his arms out briefly and then lowered it slowly back on to
his carrier-sized back.  Seeing such outrageous physical strength unleashed
before my eyes was beyond merely awe-inspiring.  It made me wildly excited.

"I'm real strong - see?" he repeated, and then just to drive home the
point, thrust the monstrous wheels up again - and then again - and
incredibly yet again!  I got that telltale lightheaded dizzy feeling as
Johann performed like an applause-meter, registering my overwhelming
admiration for his supreme strength as well as the powerful beauty I
perceived in his engorging horse-shoes and shoulders.

Sam glanced my way again.  I though his eyes may have dropped to my crotch
briefly.

"Yeah, gettin' bigger..." Sam pronounced in a robotic voice.  He could have
been referring to my bloating dong or his triceps and delts, or both.

As he thrust the giant mass overhead again several more times, I suddenly
had to crouch down.  This spectacle was making my head reel.

"Sam, that's unbelievable...."

With the axle resting again across the back of his shoulders, he reached
back over the top of the axle with his huge hands, and this time obviously
bore down on it intermittently a few times as if getting the feel of it.

"Oh, yeah - this is gonna feel so good.  I'll show ya somethin'
unbelievable...."

With that, Sam tossed his head back and stared at the ceiling momentarily,
then began groaning softly.  His lats suddenly flared like an angry cobra
spreading its hood and his Titans rose into prominent peaks.  Sam's own
moans sounded more like orgasmic pleasure and stood out in sharp contrast
to the unmistakable tortured sound of fatiguing metal that also pierced the
silence.  The two ends of the axle began to bend slightly downward.  Some
beads of sweat started forming on his furled brow as he continued to apply
downward force to the iron like a relentless pile-driver.  I think this was
the first time I'd seen Sam perspire even slightly.

I was slowly losing my grip on reality as my newly-adopted Muscle Daddy
proved that he clearly deserved that most-honored title.  Sam's amusements
were driving me slowly closer to the edge of some unknown sensual
precipice.

"Your muscles are FUCKING HUGE!  Sam, you're actually doing it.  It's
starting to bend!  Look at your arms! Look at the size of those arms!"

And surprisingly, he did just that.  First he surveyed his mighty right arm
followed by his left, but with a look of complete ambivalence at best.  It
seemed more as if he'd merely responded to my 'suggestion' rather than
doing this because he might be personally interested.  All the while, the
metal screamed and continued to yield further under his savage assault.  An
expanding network of sewer pipes began crisscrossing his neck, shoulders,
thick forearms, chest, as well as his now clearly-split Titans, too.

Sam surprised me by momentarily suspending his attack.  He dropped his
hands down and left the bending axle draped over his broad shoulders,
perfectly balanced like a Dutch milking yoke.  He seemed to be checking the
current reading on my applause meter, possibly to garner some additional
motivation.  His words, if not his expression at the moment, told me that
he was still able to see well.

"Look at that.  Gettin' big as his Dad..." Sam said in his low monotone
voice.  I was stunned that he could even speak, given his unfathomable
exertion and the terrific amount of energy he was expending.  Nevertheless
he spoke a few more words.

"Get bigger...."

I couldn't be sure if that statement was meant as a directive for me or
just himself.  Well if Sam had meant that for me, getting bigger was not my
problem; in fact trying not to get too big for the rubber was more my
immediate challenge.  With continuing displays of such Samsonian strength,
no rubber was going to contain me for long.

Again Sam closed his eyes briefly - paused awhile - then resumed bearing
down again on the axle assembly, and with astoundingly even more power.
The veins in his neck looked like braided steel cables now.  His body
glistened slightly in the overhead lights as more beads of sweat revealed
themselves on his exposed skin.  Entire networks of beautiful veins were
rising all over the surface of his drumstick-shaped forearms.  Every
breathtaking muscle in his huge physique was visibly engaged, becoming more
deeply marbled by the second.  His brow was furled slightly, but beyond
that, he remained essentially expressionless.  His sweat, deep breaths and
furled brow were the only visible signs in fact that Sam was even exerting
any effort at all.

But the twisting mass of metal, screaming ever louder, told another story
entirely.  Sam was commanding it to utterly submit to his will, and the
axle's distortion grew evermore obvious.  Every muscle in his gargantuan
upper body was clearly visible through his sweat-dampened tank top.  His
breathing grew deeper and so did the distortion of the axle, the massive
iron yielding at more than an inch every second.

Sam suddenly turned his head and looked directly at me as if he wanted to
see my reaction.  His sustained groan loudly announced a dramatic increase
in the force he was now applying for the climatic finale.  Only seconds
later, several loud metallic bangs followed like rapid gun shots.  As these
reports reverberated around the garage, I saw the cracks forming along the
outer edge of the grotesquely mutilated axle over his shoulders.  Sam
crushed down on it without mercy.  The jagged openings steadily separated
further apart like fissures slowly gaping wider in an earthquake.  With a
final deafening crack, the formerly solid axle split into two halves.  Sam
let them slip from his shoulders and crash to the floor on either side of
him.

Sam straightened up fully and pulled back his broad, thick shoulders like a
victorious gladiator ready to accept the crowd's thunderous adulation - or
- at least at he seemed satisfied.  But I'm even guessing about that, too,
because there was no way to decipher Sam's true thoughts by merely looking
at his expressionless face.  Sam turned and walked back in front of the
mirror again and I followed.  I took a relaxed position next to him roughly
shoulder to shoulder, folding my arms across my chest and setting my legs
in a wide comfortable stance.  We gazed in unison at his reflection in the
mirror, but I'm sure our thoughts were quite different.

Sam would pluck and pull at his dampened, clinging tank-top occasionally,
studying the now even bolder relief map of muscular terrain underneath it,
where even the minutest muscular detail was no longer camouflaged.  He
studied his body without expression.

"You got some big muscles, dude..." was all Sam muttered.

"Big Muscles?  They're not just big - they're fucking HUGE!  Look at 'em
all, Sam!  Why, you're bulging everywhere!" I exclaimed, as if I felt I
needed to express the enthusiastic, joyful emotions that Sam couldn't
perhaps feel himself at that moment.

I happened to glance at myself in the mirror.  Frankly I was startled to
see my butt-nakedness reflected back at me from head-to-toe.  But
uncharacteristically, I did a little lingering self-studying of my own.
The part of my body that my eyes seemed drawn too was... was quite the
rocket already.  This was also the first time that I'd ever seen my own
erection-in-progress without bias in a mirror - and I was instantly
reminded of a guy who once asked me, "Do you own a license to carry that
thing?"  I could see it at least from that guy's perspective now.  It was
already a formidable-looking weapon.  I had to give all the credit to Sam
though.  He was the only reason I had this big muscle in the first place.
Somehow, just remembering that Sam's sole objective at the moment was to
turn me into a world heavyweight champ tonight was just making it even
easier to become 'all that I could be' for him, as well.

I shifted my weight from one leg to the other a few times, setting the meat
and potatoes in motion.  That was still a relatively uncommon sensation for
me, letting it all hang out free in the air in an almost exhibitionistic
way.  I watched the thick meat swaying in the mirror, alternately thwacking
the insides of my thighs like the big clapper ringing the Liberty Bell.
Samson was ringing my bell alright.  My latex-encased salami was starting
to already bob a little rhythmically with every beat of my pounding heart.
I knew that 'lift off' would begin soon - my dong would inevitably slowly
rise in spite of its own weight.

Sam turned around suddenly, bringing my uncharacteristic narcissism to an
abrupt end.  He strolled back to where the bent and broken train axle lay
in two pieces on the floor, seized each by their respective wheels and
carried them over behind his truck like he was carrying two satchels.  He
tucked a train wheel snugly behind each rear truck wheel like makeshift
giant chocks.

Then he continued around towards the front of the truck, stopping
momentarily by the hydraulic lift control to raise the truck a few feet off
the floor, and sauntered to the front of the truck, turning to face the
bumper.  The bumper was positioned at his waist level.

Sam put his big hands on top of the bumper and pushed down on it a few
times, compressing the heavy front springs as if they were just springs in
a mattress.  He moved his hands and gripped the bumper from below and
seemed to test the front end by lifting up on the bumper a little, a few
times in a row.  His huge biceps were doing the bulk of the labor.  Then
Sam buried his thick forearms far underneath the front end, grabbed the
frame's cross-brace and began lifting and releasing the front-end more
enthusiastically.  From my vantage point off to the side, I could see the
big coil springs in the front wheel wells expanding more.  With the more
exaggerated vertical motion, the shiny steel piston struts also became
clearly visible inside the steel springs.  The truck started to gyrate
wildly as Sam heaved the front end ever higher.  The coil springs were
stretching to their maximum expanded length.  Sam's looked like he was
merely bouncing a toy, but the noisier creaks and groans emanating from the
suspension revealed that this was no game - the entire suspension was
struggling to absorb some serious punishment.  I could hear the front
pistons whooshing and hissing as the wheels fell further out of the wheel
wells with each bounce.  And the appearance of Sam's arms was changing.
The veins running down the length of his biceps began to more resemble the
Alaska pipeline.  The man owned one magnificent pair of arms.  Sam may
still have been just 'foolin' around,' but the front axle was now cutting a
4 foot arc through the air, nevertheless.  The front tires barely remained
in contact with the lift ramp and visibly towed inward as the front end
rose ever higher above the ramp.  The truck chassis moaned loudly.  It was
the sound of heavy metal under severe torsional stresses.

Then a gap suddenly appeared between the tire treads and the lift frame.  I
expected to see the gap close and the tires touch down on the lift frame
again - but it never happened.  In fact the front-end of the truck suddenly
just froze, absolutely motionless, with nothing but clear air underneath
the front tires now.  I groaned almost involuntarily and then looked
immediately at Sam's face.  When my eyes met his, he was already staring
directly at me, too.  He just stood there holding his truck suspended in
air simply to see my reaction.

The enormous circumference of Sam's engorged Titans made my heart pump even
faster.  His great guns had reached dimensions I hadn't seen before -
titanium-hard, incredibly beautiful, spellbindingly erotic, bulging planets
of muscle.

"You're gonna like this a lot," Sam said in an emotionless monotone.  Still
staring right at me, he further contracted his astonishing biceps, lifting
the truck all the way up to his chest.  He held it there for a second or
two, then lowered the truck back to its starting position without allowing
the front tires to rest back on the lift frame.  Then he pumped out a full
set of stupefying 'truck' curls, in rapid succession.  The effect on his
great biceps was mind-blowing; the two Giants pumped so drastically they
seemed out of proportion to the rest of his big-muscled physique.  At the
top of the final curl, Sam further stunned me by suddenly releasing the
truck, letting it careen back down onto the ramp with a ear-splitting
racket.  The truck recoiled violently on the springs several times before
finally coming to rest, but Sam hadn't noticed.  He was already on his way
over to the mirror again.

 "Oooh yeah.  You're lookin' better now," he muttered, surveying his
stupendously-engorged biceps.

Sam meandered over to the lever controlling the hydraulic lift and
proceeded to raise the lift all the way off the floor until the truck's cab
almost touched the ceiling.  Then he positioned himself standing fully
upright underneath the truck with his back in front of the large centered
lift piston and reaching up with both hands, grabbed a thick bar that
completely spanned the twin ramps from underneath.  I assumed it had been
welded in place there intentionally.

"Lower the lift..." Sam said, glancing at me briefly.  He wanted me to do
what?  I felt extraordinarily reluctant to do this so I hesitated.

"It's O.K. - lower the lift..." Sam repeated again.  Hesitantly, I walked
over to the lever and moved it to the down position.  I heard the whoosh of
the hydraulics and watched the truck slowly descend on top of him, until
the thick bar was in contact with the back of his massive shoulders.  Sam's
knees began bending as he resisted the ever-increasing weight of the truck
crushing down on him.  I held my breath.  My hand moved back to the lever,
ready to move it to the up position immediately.  Sam must have noticed me.

"No need to do that...  See?"

No sooner had he spoken than the lift suddenly stopped descending further.
Mystified, I watched the needle on the pressure gauge continue to fall
until it reached zero - absolutely no pressure in the system.  Sam was
supporting the full weight of the truck across his back as well as the
weight of the steel lift itself.  My knees started wobbling uncontrollably
underneath me and I squatted down on the floor again to compensate.  Sam
unexpectedly followed my lead and squatted too, except in Sam's case, he
had a 3 ton truck on his back.  The strength this monster possessed just
rocked my soul to its very core.

Whish.  Whoosh.  I watched the large hydraulic piston rising and falling
like a horse on a merry-go-round as Sam proceeded to rip off a few quick
squats.  That wasn't the only thing that ripping off either.  Sam's massive
thighs were responding to this stunning challenge by engorging into huge
beefy masses of deeply-striated granite that hardly resembled human legs
anymore.  The outer seams of his cotton shorts separated at the bottom of
each leg.  With each successive squat the seams split further up, almost to
the elastic.  Each of Sam's thighs looked bigger in circumference than even
the massive piston itself.  Sam was positioned right in front of the piston
so it was a very easy comparison to make.  Sam was right.  Size matters a
great deal when a guy likes squatting with a Dodge Ram on his shoulders.

Yep, Sam was definitely on a real roll alright, and he wasn't about to stop
with just those squats either.  It seemed to me that he was even gaining
more strength and energy.  I was well beyond questioning what was possible
anymore, when it came to Sam.  None of the Natural Laws of Physics seemed
to apply.  I never questioned that the magnificent brute was incredibly
strong, but neither had I allowed for lifting tonnage as opposed to pounds
in my wildest estimations of anyone's possible limits.  I was beginning to
question if he even had any.

A series of heart-stopping shoulder presses followed as Sam heaved the
truck up to the ceiling and back as the big piston both guided and steadied
the massive load.  Whish.  Whoosh.  I listened as the sound of the piston
counted out the repetitions.  The effect that pressing a truck has on the
size of a man's shoulders and triceps is - well - let's say that Sam's
personal training regimen achieves stunning results.

I also was getting the odd feeling that I might be one of the rare people -
perhaps even the only person - to whom Sam had ever revealed his true
strength.  It was as seriously terrifying as it was incredibly
inspirational - even life-changing.  It was hard not to question your own
sanity when fantasy suddenly turns into reality.  It shakes the foundation
of your very soul.  It compels you to question all previous beliefs - all
former truths - about what is real.  Oh yes - and it also gives you one
fantastic boner, too.

"Lock the lift, Pete."

I sprung from the floor and grabbed the hydraulic control lever, doing
exactly as he'd asked.  Then I noticed how dizzy I was again - the always
predictable result whenever I found myself swinging a real St. Louie
slugger the size of what I was at that moment.  As I squatted down
momentarily to let the blood get back to my brain again, Sam meandered over
to the mirror and began to critically scrutinize individual body parts as
well as his overall physique, running his fingers over the swells and
probing the chasms with detached technical proficiency, exhibiting all the
passion of a USDA meat inspector at a slaughter house.  I heard him
muttering things quietly from time to time.

"Needs some titanic man-pecs now, to balance it all off."

"Yeah, some real jumbo-sized jugs would look real nice...."

Just overhearing the words suddenly made me even more woozy.  In my book,
there's no such thing as "too big up top" muscle-wise on a man, or too big
anywhere for that matter.

"Some King Kong-sized muscle-knockers will put the frostin' on this
birthday cake...."