From: To: Subject: [SuperStrengthFantasies] Just a little something... Date: Thursday, June 28, 2001 6:01 AM Just a little something I came up with...not very long, but I just wanted to try to get this board going again...enjoy! JL ---------------------------------------- Picture a guy, maybe sixteen or seventeen years old. Five-ten, short blond spiky hair, looks about 205 pounds. Thick muscles bulge under his tight gray t-shirt as he strides into the gym, takes a look around, and heads for the bench press. Veins pop out along his smooth forearms as he grabs a couple of 45 pound weights off the rack and loads them on an empty bar. Then a couple more, then a couple more...by now, a few heads are turning as they see the amount of weight loaded on this bar. He finally stops at 630 pounds, enough to challenge a serious powerlifter. More than a few people are watching as this tank of a teenager@slides under the bar, reaches up, and tightens his grip. He takes a deep breath, stretching the shirt across his boulder-like pecs, then easily lifts the bar off the rack and lowers it down. His arms resemble hardened pipes as he blasts the weight up, powering out a dozen reps with military precision. No sign of strain. He stops and takes a look at the growing crowd, guys bigger and older than him who could only dream of lifting such amounts. Sitting up, he pretends to wipe some sweat off his forehead and mumbles `That`s pretty good...for a warm-up.` The crowd gasps as he loads even more plates on the bar, until there are no more to load. By now, his arms are getting a good pump. A thick vein pulses across the peak of each of his 18-inch guns, which have pushed the shirt sleeves back. The bar now holds 1,135 pounds, enough to make it sag in the middle. But instead of sliding under the bar, he stands in front of it, and grabs hold underneath. His thick fingers close around the steel. He flexes his biceps a couple of times, and every fiber twitches in anticipation. `Check this out, boys,` he says, hazel eyes fixed on the bar. With an animal grunt, he hoists the bar off the stand, supporting more than half a ton of iron in his outstretched arms. Then, to everyone`s complete amazement, he starts curling the weight. Slowly at first...tendons and veins appear in his neck, as the strain begins to register. But no weight, not even eleven hundred pounds, is going to stand up to his well-developed teenage muscle. More grunts as he curls the immense weight upward, his biceps peaking into hard mounds of cast iron. A slight tearing sound as the shirt gives way to his swelling lats. His face is bright red now, in sharp contrast to his blond hair. Jaws drop as he curls the weight to chest level, his biceps and forearms swollen with the amazing effort. He carefully lowers the weight down, then curls it again. Sweat drips off his forehead, and his pecs expand like balloons, hardened nipples pointing out against the thin fabric. Three reps. Four. He`s starting to tire, but he won`t stop til he powers out another rep. Veins fight for space along his neck and forearms as he slowly, torturously curls the eleven-hundred pounds plus one last time, throwing back his head and grinding his teeth. His arms are shaking...every fiber is stretched to the limit...but he does it. With a yell of triumph, he drops the weight, which cracks the heavy concrete floor. The bar is completely bent from supporting all that weight. The crowd parts as the teen titan strides toward the exit. Sweat has soaked through most of the shirt, which sticks to his hard, bulging physique. A look of smug satisfaction sits on his face as he walks through the exit into the hot afternoon sun...