Dear Mr. Fix-it: Big Howdy

Dear Mr. Fix-it,

My name is Howard, and I’m hoping you can help me fix a mistake I made a few years back. After graduating from high school 12 years ago, I decided to go to college at Boston University, my parents’ alma mater – not because I really wanted to, but because it was something they were pressuring me to do. I wanted to make them happy, and they said they would foot the entire bill, so I packed up and headed for the dorms. And although I occasionally enjoyed the classes, it’s not where I really wanted to be. I didn’t like sitting in lecture halls all day, I didn’t like spending endless hours on homework, and I didn’t like most of the other students (entitled rich kids).

I stuck out all four years and got an accounting degree, so now I’ve got a very boring job as a CPA in a big city that I hate. I wear gray suits over my wimpy body, sit all day in my gray office, and generally live a pretty gray life. I feel trapped, and I wish I had chosen a different path.

Any chance you can help me out?

Signed,

Howard’s Off Track

Dear H.O.T.,

Nobody should have to live a life that doesn’t interest them, and yes, I do think I can help.

We need to go back to the day you made the decision to go to college, and let’s insert a different idea into your head. Instead of moving to the university in the big city, you wanted to go to…hmmm. I don’t see that you had any backup ideas, but let’s go with Laramie, Wyoming. Small but not too small, and definitely a different feel than Boston. This should result in a vastly changed life, so let’s see what happened.

Your parents didn’t understand your desire to move to Laramie, but they did their best to support you – which helped a lot, because it took you a while to find a job. You were an 18-year-old fresh out of high school with no work experience, and it’s not like there are a lot of opportunities to begin with in town. But eventually you connected with an older couple, the Parkers, who needed help on their ranch. They weren’t too sure if you would be up to the physicality required – you were only 5’6” and 140 pounds – but decided to offer you the position because you were available right away.

This type of work was also not what you were necessarily looking for, but it paid well, and the Parkers also provided room and board, so you said yes and moved in that night. When they asked if you went by Howard or Howie, you said neither – your name was Howdy. And so that’s what everyone in town eventually began to call you.

Mr. Parker worked with you in the beginning to show you the ropes. After rising every day at 4:00am, he led you out of the house and taught you to do things like bailing hay, taking care of the animals, and maintaining the buildings and fences. It was incredibly hard work that you were not accustomed to – previously the most energy you usually spent was either playing video games or jacking off. But now, you were laboring out in the hot sun for 10-12 hours each day. Pushing, pulling, lifting, straining, sweating. You actually liked the sweating – it was primal, and musky, and made you feel incredibly virile. The more you sweated, the harder you would work.

Fortunately, you also got to eat the country cooking provided by Mrs. Parker. You would have never had the energy to finish your chores without the 8,000 calories your gobbled down each day in hearty sausage and egg skillets, buttered cornbread, fried chicken, and blueberry tarts. Everything she made was mouth-wateringly delicious, and you could never get enough. This was also a big change from your previous life in high school, where you go for long stretches without eating and often seemed to get most of your nutrition from a vape pen.

The hard work and the improved diet of ranch life caused your body to grow like a weed. Any time you had to lift something heavy, which happened a lot during your day, you could feel the blood pumping in your veins as the protein from your breakfast was delivered throughout your body, and along with it plenty of testosterone and endorphins. You may have started out at 140 pounds, but within a few months had gotten up to 150, and then hit 160 by the end of the year. You got bigger and stronger all over – your back widened, your arms bulged, your thighs thickened – and the increase in size also straightened your posture and improved your overall confidence.

Both the Parkers were thrilled at both the quality and quantity of work you could do with your new physique – it allowed them more time to spend with one another and plan for their eventual retirement.

At the start of your second year on the ranch, you had saved up a little money and bought a weight set that the Parkers let you put down in the basement, and you started pumping iron after your grueling workdays. This only added fuel to the fire that was your growth – 160 pounds became 180, and 180 blew up to 200. You started getting taller, too, going from 5’6” to 5’9” even though by then you were 20 years old. 

And you just didn’t pack on more mass from your workouts, but everything became more defined as well. Your taut midsection transformed into a set of deeply embossed 10-pack of abdominals. When flexing your biceps, the separation between the heads of the muscles could be seen from 20 feet away. And fuck, your quads – well, that teardrop shape really blossomed, and the striations became crystal clear.

You were beginning to resemble a pro bodybuilder, and most of the people who knew you in high school would no longer recognize the stud you were rapidly becoming. That was also partially due to the way you dressed. You had grown out of all your old clothes, and instead of replacing those items with more baggy t-shirts and shorts, you opted for tight western-style shirts and even tighter Wrangler jeans that you picked up from the nearby ranch supply center. You of course never buttoned the shirts to better show off your rock-hard torso, and on more than one occasion your massive arms blew out the sleeves. As for the pants, they highlighted not only the thickness of your legs, but also the thickness of your cock. It had its own growth spurt during these first few years on the ranch, going from a respectable 6 inches to a full footlong that was a good 6 inches in diameter. Every time you slipped into the denim, your sex stick bulged from the crotch area and snaked down your leg.

After another year of hard work, you grew even bigger – 220, 250, and finally hitting your peak at 280, double where you started. Not bad for someone who was only 5’9”, and the townsfolk started calling you Big Howdy by this point. You had a gorgeously thick musclebody, and you quickly become the most popular person at the line dancing bars. Everyone stared wherever you went, and people were always asking you to flex – which you were happy to oblige. And once their hands were on you, you invited them to caress any other part they were interested in touching, and many many many of them took you up on that offer. The most adventurous went right for the cock, and those folks generally ended up in the sack with you not much later for the fucking of a lifetime.

As the years went on you were able to maintain your sculpted mass even after the Parkers retired and left you the ranch. You have a team of eager bucks working for you, but you like to be outside with them every day showing them how it’s done – all of them get erections every time their godlike boss scoops up a 150-pound three-string hay bale and tosses it 20 feet without showing any strain at all. They hope to have the same power as Big Howdy someday, and you revel in the adulation.

Well, H.O.T., I hope that doesn’t seem a like a “gray life” to you anymore. It sounds like everything is going so well that I might have to make a trip to Wyoming to check things out for myself!

Sincerely,

Mr. Fix-it