From: Subject: [SuperStrengthFantasies] New Story - Eagle Crest Date: Monday, October 01, 2001 8:24 AM This sort of shit always happens to me. I don`t go lookin` for trouble, it just finds me. What can I say, it`s not my fault everyone`s weaker n` me. My name`s Zack, and if you go to Eagle Crest High you already know this story. Just wanted to fill the rest of you in. I`ve been blastin` weights for 3 years, ever since I turned 12. Started out with the puny plastic ones, but I outgrew that shit fast. My parents got me a real weight set soon after. I`ve always been a big kid, but when I started pumpin` some real iron I put on muscle real fuckin` fast. Packed on 15 pounds the summer before seventh grade, I was already 130 pounds at 5'4". I could feel it every time I put on one of my old shirts, how the fabric stretched real tight...I fuckin` loved it. One day I saw an old Incredible Hulk rerun and got an idea. Grabbed an old short-sleeve shirt from the back of the closet and stretched it over my guns. I could barely do the buttons up, that`s how big my pecs were. Shirt`d fit fine six months ago. So I stood in front of the mirror, raised my arms slowly (cheap shirt already felt like it was gonna rip), and flexed. Hard. Nothin` happened for a sec, so I pumped `em again. Then it happened, a loud RRRIIIPPPP...fuckin` seam blew open right across the top of my right bi. "YEAH! I`M THE FUCKIN` HULK!" I yelled. Flexed the left a little slower, watched the seam try to stay in place then slowly unravel. God, it felt great. Then it was time for the chest...I hit a slow most-muscular and watched the buttons bulge and stretch. No way they could hold those pecs. The shirt ripped clear up my back as the first two buttons popped off. Fuckin` unreal. I felt as strong as the Hulk too. I ran down to the basement and looked for something to bend...there were some old pipes stuck to the wall, hadn`t been used in ages. `Bout two inches around and bolted in place. Course, I had other ideas. I grabbed a pipe with both hands and pulled. I felt my guns bulge, rippin` the cheap shirt open even more. Ain`t nothin` could hold me back now. I could see the pipe shake, but the bolts were holdin` so that just pissed me off. I roared and leaned back. Fuckin` pipe started to bend, couldn`t take all my kid muscle. Let out this squealin` sound. That`s when I could feel the bolts give. I tugged and yanked for a couple of minutes, sweaty and bulgin` through my shirt...then just tore the fucker right outta the wall. Both ends snapped off. I just stood there with that pipe in my hand, bent into a slight v-shape. Right then I knew I wanted to get as fuckin` big and strong as I could. Next couple of years I worked out like a madman. Packed on muscle like there was no tomorrow. By the time I was 14, I was 5'7" and 173 pounds of the hardest, most-defined muscle you ever seen. Sixteen and a half inch guns, double-split, thick vein over the top. Flexed through a few more sleeves with those fuckers. And goddamn strong too, stronger n` anyone my age. I could bench-press 405, squat 690 and deadlift damn near 800. Summer before high school was the first time I lifted a car. I was just shootin` the shit with some friends, braggin` about how much I could lift, but one of them didn`t belive me. "All right, Hercules," he said, "Yer so fuckin` strong, let`s see you lift that car over there." He was pointin` at a little shit Jap car, and I just laughed. "You think I`m gonna waste my time with that hunk of crap?" And I looked over at the car behind it, a mid- size Ford. "20 bucks says you can`t get it off the ground," he said. I ain`t never passed up a challenge. I`d never lifted a car before, but with the poundages I was tossin` around in the gym, I wasn`t worried. I stripped off my shirt to give 'em a taste of the hard, vein-covered mass beneath. I looked the car over, big, solid, probably weighed more `n a ton. No fuckin` problemo. I reached down behind the rear bumper, found a handhold and locked in place. Squatted down on those beer-keg thighs and flexed `em a couple of times, enough to make veins pop out on the surface. Then gave a roar for my buds and blasted up. I could feel the strain in my bi`s as they exploded, challengin` that car to stay put. I could hear a groan from the frame, could feel all that weight bein` shifted..."Holy Fuck!" I could hear my bud say, "he's fuckin' doin it!" I stood and straightend my back, watchin` the back end of the car lift off the ground. Deadliftin' a fuckin' Ford. Felt way better `n any weights in the gym. Just held it for half a minute, arms bulgin' like crazy. Turned and shot my bud a shit-eatin' grin. It was gettin a bit heavy, so I let the Ford drop. Shocks bounced a few times. My blood was pulsin', what a fucking rush! "DIDJA FUCKIN SEE THAT?" I yelled, flexin` those cannonball guns. I reared back and punched the side door, leaving a big dent in the metal. Knuckles hurt, but I couldn`t feel it at the time. The other guys just stood in awe. Why the fuck shouldn't they? None of 'em could even come close to matching what I just did. First year in high school, and I ruled the fuckin' place. No one else could keep up with me in the weight room, even the 270-pound senior linebacker who bragged that he could bend a screwdiver in his bare hands (and who was fucking half the cheerleading squad). Coach wanted me to play football, `specially after I started benchin` 500 (for reps), but I didn`t have time. Every free moment was spent in the weight room, or at the store lookin` for new supplements. Nobody challenged me, just looked with envy at the seventeen-and-a-half inch guns that bulged outta my t-shirts. Sometimes I`d sit in class and start flexin` a little, enough to stretch the sleeves out, just for a little attention. Once, before the teacher came in, I decided to give the other puny students a little show. I was wearin` a real tight shirt that day, so I yawned and stretched my arms over my head. Rested my hands on my head and flexed those monster guns hard as I could. Shirt couldn`t take it, ripped clean open up the sleeves. Everyone stopped and looked, a few jaws dropped. "Guess I don`t know my own strength," I smirked. Teacher gave me a few weird looks when he saw my split sleeves. Scrawny little shit was probably just jealous. So yeah, I owned that school first year. But after that, my dad got transferred outta state, so I had to start at a new school. Eagle Crest High. That`s where the shit really started... END PART 1 Here`s part 2...I promise we`ll get to the school eventually! :) EAGLE CREST PART 2 - Summer Job I heard Eagle Crest was a rough place. Seemed perfect for me. `Fore I started though, I had the whole summer open to bulk up. Not that I wasn`t already massive, but I wanted to fuckin` blow `em away when I showed up in September. I hit the gym almost every day, poundin` out weights most guys could only dream of. Know many 15 year olds with a 600 pound bench press? Well, ya do now. I heard through one of my buddies at the gym that a moving company was hiring for the summer. Figured it`d be a good chance to put my strength to work. The guy took one look at my 18-inch guns damn near bulgin` outta my sleeves and hired me on the spot. Man, that was a fuckin` great job, I got to show off all the time. One afternoon in July we got a call to haul some shit outta some guy`s garage. The other dude I worked with was sick (not that he could carry much anyway, the pussy), so I had to go out myself. It was hotter `n hell, so I just wore a tank top and shorts. Barely fit around my massive quads...I can squat 880 with those fuckers. Fuckin` bar`s bent in the middle from all the weight. I pulled up in the company truck (hey, they didn`t know I wasn`t 16 yet) and backed into the driveway. Guy gave me a funny look, asked why they didn`t send two people out. "I specifically demanded two. What kind of operation are you running here?" Christ, what an asshole! Looked like a weiner too, glasses, balding, scrawny arms. I just took my sunglasses off and leaned against the door, enough to make the veins and fibers in my left bicep pop up. "I can handle it. Just point out the shit I gotta move." That shut him up. The garage was full of old crap, boxes, tires, tools. Don`t think he`d thrown anything out his whole life. "Didn`t you bring a cart? I want this done by 3:00, not a second later," he goes. Christ, didn`t he get the picture yet? "Dude, it`s all cool," I said, tryin` to stay calm, but he kept goin` on. Figured there was only one way to make him leave me alone. There was an open toolbox, so I reached in and grabbed an old set of pliers and held em in front of me. Just smirked and said "Shut the fuck up and watch this." I gripped both handles real tight and started pullin` out. I could see his eyes bulge as he watched my arms explode, striations poppin` everywhere on my shoulders, guns writhing like grenades about to explode. The pliers were rusty, they held at first, but twenty seconds against me was too much. The ends started to bend out, then I roared and snapped the pliers in two. Fuck, that felt good, destroying shit with my muscle. I handed the broken, bent ends to the guy. "All right...just, um, go ahead..." he says. So I did. I started haulin` boxes out, 3 at a time, heavin` em into the flatbed, hard enough to make the shocks bounce. Then I moved on to the tires, grabbed one in each hand, and flung em a good 10 feet on top of the boxes. The guy stood at the side of the driveway, like he was supervisin` or something, but I could tell he was checkin out my bod. He didn`t look like a fag, but you can never tell. I stripped off my tank top and wiped the sweat off my forehead, makin` sure he got a good look at my pumped, peaked bicep. I was breathin` a bit hard, so I crunched up my abs. Fuckin` six pack, man, you could bounce a fuckin` quarter off them. The guy tried to act casual and shit, but I could see he was poppin` a boner. There wasn`t much left, just some metal shelves with old, empty paint cans. I lifted one of the cans off the shelf...there was only a narrow space left on the side of the flatbed, but I knew how to make it fit. I stuck the can between my barrel quads and flexed. Time to give the quads a workout...it just crumpled like a cheap beer can. I grunted and squeezed harder til both sides were touching. Guy had a full-on woody by now. I pulled the can out, looked like an hourglass now, then grabbed both ends and bent them up to make it even smaller. "Cheap shit, guess they don`t make `em like they used to," I said, jamming it into the tight space. I did the same thing with the other two. By then, my blood was seriously pumpin`, veins were stickin` out everywhere along my forearms and guns. Looked like a fuckin` road map. As I walked over to the guy to talk about payin`, I saw my pumped bod in his car window. Fuck, I looked great. Coulda won any bodybuilding contest...not that I wanna prance around in a pair of bikini briefs like some sorta fairy. So I ask him to give me the money, and he says he`s short his week but he`ll come by the office sometime next week. Shit! "What do you think we are, a fuckin` charity?" I said. So he gives me this crap story, says he didn`t think it`d be a problem...man, I was stiffed once, and it sure as fuck wasn`t gonna happen again. I told him to have the money by 5:00 today, or I`d take care of things my own way. "Are you threatening me?" he goes. "I got a friend who`s a lawyer, he`ll haul your steroid-popping ass into court." That was it. I was fuckin` pissed, and when I get pissed, shit gets broken. I hit a double-bi, peakin` like goddamn Everest. "You wanna see what these bad boys can do, cocksucker?" I said. I grabbed the garage door remote control and hit the on button. The door started rumbling down. The guy tried to grab it from me, so I held it in front of his face and squeezed with both hands. The cheap plastic case snapped and broke, so I kept grindin` it harder, til I could feel the wires. I grunted and pulled the wires apart, then dropped the shit on the ground. There was no stoppin` it now. The door was down to about chest high when I got over. I lifted my arms and grabbed it, curlin` my fingers around to get a good grip. The door was still movin` down, but I flexed my arms and planted my legs. Time to show this pussy what happens when you fuck with the Z- man. I threw my head back and growled, pushin` up against the door as hard as I could. It was still pushin` my arms down, but slower... the blood was just racin` through my guns, I musta looked like a fuckin` animal. I could hear the motor strainin`, strugglin` as it got a taste of this dude`s muscle. Got down almost to my waist, my arms were bulgin` like crazy, then it stopped. I could feel the door tryin` to push down more, but I wasn`t fuckin` lettin` it. My arms were shakin`, the strain was unbelievable, but I kept gruntin` and pushin up. The motor made this squeal, sounded like a cat gettin strangled. I was liftin` the door, wrenchin` it up, and no fuckin` piece of machinery was gonna stop me. I could see the door actually startin` to crease. "FUCK YEAH!" I roared, pressin` it up to shoulder height before the motor finally blew out. Sent sparks flying everywhere. I stood back and let out another "FUCK YEAH!" Fuckin` door had actually bent clear across the middle. I turned to the pussy guy and rolled my pecs. He was white as a ghost. "All right, I`ll have it by 5, just don`t wreck my house!" he goes. "By 4. Not a goddamn minute later," I shot back as I climbed back into the truck. Man, what a freaky pump, better than anything you`d ever get in the gym. As I drove away, I leaned my left arm out the window and flexed my softball bicep, fuckin` thick-ass vein crawlin` across the top. "Don`t forget. 4 o`clock." He had it there by 3:30. Didn`t even come into the office though, just left it in an envelope outside. What a pussy. END PART 2