I had no idea what was coming my way. My neighbor Troy always seemed to look right past me anytime we were near. I mean, if I were him I guess I’d be staring right past my ear too. I’m the definition of adequacy. I work a 9 to 5 at the Verizon store, always have a couple of beers at the bar down the street after work, and am in bed at a tight 9:30. Troy, on the other hand was 6′2 with chestnut hair, an adorable smile… He really was the typical boy next door back home from college. Evidently, his junior year at LSU treated him well, since every morning since he came back he’d been out in his garage, door open, and deadlifting in the south Louisiana heat. He’d gotten ripped. I could wash my towels on those washboard abs! So you can imagine my surprise at seeing him wave at me that one Saturday morning before work.
Had I not forgotten my keys in the front door, spilled coffee on my seat, and left my lights on the night before, I wouldn’t have been so late that morning. Consequently, I would have been long gone by the time Troy opened his garage door across the cul-de-sac and started his routine. However, the perfect storm gathered that morning above my house and I had just begun backing up as that white garage door began it’s slow ascent. There in my rear view mirror, I saw Troy walking down his driveway. Though I assumed he was just running to get the mail, he blew right past the mailbox and kept walking toward my reversing car, waving his arms to get my attention.
“Whoa, whoa, whoa, hold up my man!” He shouted at me from the middle of our street, smiling an unfamiliar dopey grin. I slammed on my breaks, as not to hit the dumbass, and flipped the Toyota to park. My car sputtered and began to shake. Smoke began to bellow out of my hood, so by the time Troy reached my rolled down window, I’d turned the car off. Looks like I’d be a bit later than expected. “Shit, dude. What the fuck is goin’ on with your car?” He walked over to the front of the Toyota and lifted the hood. A big cloud of smoke wafted from the confines of the frontend, completely enveloping Troy. I quickly jumped out of the car- my insurance sure as hell would not cover some dumbass kid getting seriously burned by my car fire.
“Hey, Troy! You alright?” He walked out of the cloud, laughing like an idiot.
“Yeah, man! Looks like you got a leaking head gasket! I can fix it for you if you want? Come bring it across the street.” I flipped it in neutral and we pushed it across the street to his driveway, and I pulled the emergency brake. After putting in an embarrassing call to my less than enthused manager, I realized that Troy had already stripped his shirt off, and was shoulder deep into my car. “Ay! Can you grab me a bottle of Bars Leak for me? It’s over there in that cabinet.” I walked over to the tall metal cabinet he had pointed at, and opened the double doors. Apparently I tugged a little too briskly after catching a whiff of Troy’s sweaty body wafting toward me. The plastic bottle of Bars Leak fell atop my head. Luckily, the cap was screwed on tight; unluckily, the grease in an old paint can that sat atop the cabinet did not have a tightly screwed on cap. Before I knew what I’d done, I knew my red Verizon work polo, khakis, and loafers were covered in a thick sludge.
“Fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuck bruh. Don’t know your own strength, man! Hold up, I’ll grab you some spare shorts. And shoes… And socks I guess…” He was in the house for all of 30 seconds before he’d come out. “Well they won’t smell like roses or anything, but they’ll work!” He tossed the pile of clothes on the Barbell rack next to me, and grabbed the bottle of whatever car juice he needed from my still shocked hands. He quietly sauntered back to the car and kept working.
I turned to look at what he’d tossed me, and I saw a pair of VERY short black shorts, yellowed white socks, and a pair of broken in white Adidas. Walking over to them, I understood his side comment all too well. Of roses they certainly did not smell. Perhaps of locker rooms and feet the smell was more similar to… But as the thick black grease continued to soak into my completely irredeemable clothes, I knew it was the best option I had. Plus, I’m not gonna lie: after weeks of watching Troy working out and glistening in beadlets of sweat… I couldn’t help but be really turned on by the prospect of being this close to these musky items.
After glancing behind me to see if Troy would see my less than perfect naked body, I stripped out of the oil-slicked work clothes. Some oil had gotten on my chest, but luckily (or perhaps intentionally) he’d not provided me a shirt. So, up my legs I pulled the shorts. The little netting pouch that lined it had been so stained with sweat and whatever salty scented liquid pooled in the front, that it was still wet and sticky from Troy’s last wear. Perhaps yesterday’s workout… I’d be a bald-faced liar if I denied getting a little hard at the feeling of his shorts around my groin.
Grabbing the socks, I eagerly slipped my foot into the dripping, reeking socks. Yes, I loved the smell. Yes, I loved the feeling. Yes, I LOVED the idea of bathing in Troy’s sweaty smell. I quickly thrust my socked feet into the four-sizes-too-large Adidas, and stood in front of the mirror. I gawked at the ridiculousness of me in his short, tight shorts and massive clown shoes. Add into the mix black stains of oil all over my tubby chest and I looked a damn fool. And yet, the growing bulge under that sticky fabric betrayed my true feelings.
“Ayy! I look good on you my dude, not gonna lie!” Troy walked up behind me, smacking me on my back. “Car’s just about finished. We just gotta turn it on and let it run for a sec. Make sure it doesn’t blow up on ya!” The car was propped up on a jack and the front wheels were quickly spinning. The fun was coming to an end quicker than I wanted. Once that car was back on all fours, I’d have to go to work, get back into uniform, go back to that same bullshit life that I was never happy with. “In the meantime, wanna spot me? We got like five minutes to kill, might as well make them worth it!” He was right, might as well.
He laid down on the bench, glistening just like every morning before, and every morning since. I stood behind him, hands under the barbell, ready for his set. He pulled the bell from the rack, and slowly brought them down to his chest. He struggled to push up, but did eventually re extend his arms back.
“One,” I began to count for him. Instinctively, I suppose.
“Two,” I felt my own arms feel tight and pulsate. I felt my blood pumping through every vein in my body, and the pain felt… strangely… good.
“Three,” My legs felt like they were kicked by a mule, and my knees nearly buckled at the surprising spasms. Waves of heat washed over every inch of me, and I felt every pore of mine open wide.
“Four,” Sweat began to pour from my skin, down my chest, down my forehead, down my legs, definitely down my groin… In fact, I felt something drop like a ten pound weight down south, and I groaned at the sensitivity it had suddenly developed.
“Five,” The spams were continuous now. One after the other, they synced with the waves of heat and I felt so much tighter than I’d ever experienced. It was as if my skin had shrunk and compressed snugly against me. I grunted with my labored breaths dropping to the bottom of my lungs.
“Six,” It was only then that I began to realize that Troy’s clothes, which had only moments ago did not fit me whatsoever had become relatively comfortable. They felt as if they were familiar to me. As if I’d worn them before.
“Seven,” The smell that wafted from the socks, the shorts, the shoes… it was all so familiar. But they were distinct from the addictive, strong scent now seeping from my dripping pits. The waves of spasms I had grown accustomed to. They rolled over me like tsunamis, and I took each like strong brick wall.
“Eight,” I looked down at my pulsating ripped pecs and abs, covered in oil… no, not oil… it was ink. I fixated on each design and could recall the very hours and places where I had gotten them done. The buzzing of the needle was almost comforting to me; in fact, I had an appointment in a few minutes for another one.
“Nine,” I started to cheer on my boy. I’d been here a hundred times before, but this time he’d upped his weight for the first time in a while. So here, I’m here to help and support my bud. My best bud. My bro.
“Ten!” He dropped the barbell back onto the rack and jumped up excitedly.
“WOO! Now that’s what the fuck I’m talking about bruh!” Our hands clapped together in a vice grip and we pulled eachother into an embrace. “THAT is 300 pounds motherfucker!” I grinned at my bro, so proud. Back at the frat we’d only gotten to about 285, so after a summer of training, he’d finally gotten to 300. “When you get back from your tattoo appointment, we’re gonna be gettin’ you to 300. And when you get there… It’s gonna be raining shots for us tonight!” He slapped me on the back, and before I got back into my sexy black Mustang, we decided to commemorate this accomplishment on Instagram. I jumped onto the rack, and smiled with my million dollar grill and freshly blonde hair. Gotta do it for the ‘gram amirite?
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