I Have to Be Strong, Part 3

Jeremiah was lost in a sea of desire and lust when a shadow suddenly appeared through the window on the lab door and a determined voice began to speak.

“I’d stop right there if I were you.”

Startled, Jeremiah took his tongue out of Garrett’s mouth and released his grip. Garrett immediately slumped downward, and Jeremiah realized that his victim must have fainted sometime during their kiss. Jeremiah backed up and gently dropped his prey to the floor as he went.

The person on the other side of the door pushed it opened forcefully and stepped inside the room. Before even fully passing through the threshold, Jeremiah could see flashes of black and gray that gave away who was entering.

“Fuck,” he thought. “It’s Super-Hunk!” Jeremiah wasn’t really surprised that he had shown up – even though the crimefighter hadn’t been spotted much the last several months, one could not get away with much suspicious activity in any of the nearby towns without the Stud of Steel finding out.

In actuality, the cussing was because Jeremiah was angry at himself – he had made arrangements to take care of Super-Hunk in case he did show up, but had forgotten about those arrangements when the ray gun’s effects had turned him gay and he had subsequently been turned on to Garrett’s body. Jeremiah needed to think fast or the whole thing might be over before it began.

While he was thinking, Super-Hunk bent down to check the body on the floor. He quickly scanned Garrett’s vitals, and once he realized that he had just fainted, the hero turned his full attention to Jeremiah. The hero was tall, at least 6’3”, and although his bulky body wasn’t much bigger than a really well-developed athlete, his incredible strength was known to be greater than that of 10 men.

“I believe that gentleman on the floor was asking you to stop before he passed out,” said the hero.

Jeremiah stood silent for a moment, gazing at the incredibly handsome face and well-built body of Super-Hunk, and realized that his boner was not going to go away soon. “It's hard to concentrate when he really does live up to his name,” he thought. “Jeez, how do gay men get anything done when other guys are around?”

Super-Hunk stood akimbo, waiting for a reply.

Jeremiah tried to come up with an answer to get his plan back on track. “I’m sorry, but I couldn’t help myself. I was overtaken by a strange force – it was controlling me, making me do things I didn’t want to do.”

The hero looked at the hyper-muscular student in front of him, wearing only his shoes, sock, underwear, and a raging erection. He could see the remnants of clothing scattered about the floor.

“Did the strange force make tear your clothes off as well?” he asked dubiously.

Jeremiah briefly looked down at his overgrown physique and smiled at the comment. “I know it sounds odd, Super-Hunk, but if you just let me show you, I can explain everything,” he said.

Super-Hunk nodded.

Jeremiah reached down toward his torn slacks and pulled a small metal box from the opposite pocket from where he had retrieved the gun that had transferred Garrett’s muscles to himself. He turned the box toward Super-Hunk and released the latch – and out shot a small black disk. It flew across the room like it had been launched from a catapult, hitting the hero directly in the chest and sticking to his costume.

Super-Hunk was a bit stunned by the impact, and raised his arms to his sides to steady himself. He began to waver, and sensing he might be in for more than he could handle, ran toward the open window on the opposite side of the room in an attempt to fly away. He made it about three-quarters of the distance when his strength gave out, causing his hulking body to collapse on its side. Upon impact, a load groan emanated from his throat.

Jeremiah smiled when he realized that Part 2 of his plan was back in motion. He walked over to the fallen champion and gave him a swift kick, which made him roll onto his back. The small black object was still stuck to his chest.

“How’s that Lanzinium draining disk doing there, Super-Hunk? Can you feel yourself getting weaker and weaker now that my little friend has attached itself to you like a leech? In about 10 minutes your powers will be completely blocked, and if my research is correct, there’ll be nothing you can to do resurrect them. Ever.”

Super-Hunk winced when he heard the disk was made from Lanzinium, one of the rarest elements on Earth but one which neutralized his abilities. Already within just 30 seconds, his physical strength was gone, he couldn’t fly, and his superhearing was diminishing quickly. “Why?” he whispered to Jeremiah.

“Well, my hunky friend, I’m going to be doing a little power-grabbing over the next few weeks, and I wanted to make sure nobody interferes with plans,” he responded while hitting a double bicep pose at the same time.

Super-Hunk watched in awe as the teen’s arms plumped up in size – he had clearly been blessed with a superior physicality – and he thought it was strange that he hadn’t heard of Jeremiah’s athletic achievements or noticed his physique in any previous visits to the town.

Jeremiah continued. “I’m going to take more and more muscle, and I didn’t want any Super Goody Two Shoes interfering. I wasn’t quite able to figure out how to take your powers for myself – not yet, at least – but for the time being, I think I came up with a pretty good plan to sideline your heroics and prevent you from stopping me.”

“I’ll figure out a way!” replied Super-Hunk.

“No, no…you won’t,” replied Jeremiah as he walked closer to his new victim. “In another few minutes, you’ll just be a regular guy with absolutely no powers. No flying. No x-ray vision. And no superstrength. But me – I’ll be getting bigger and bigger, stronger and stronger – so strong that your puny muscles won’t even be able to tickle me, let alone stop me.

Super-Hunk grimaced and struggled to get up, but his body felt as if it weighed a ton. He was able to prop himself up on his elbows, but couldn’t rise any further.

Jeremiah knelt down next to the hero and placed his hands on Super-Hunk’s chest and abs and began to give them a massage. “It’s no use, big guy. These muscles just won’t work the way you want them to anymore – they’re going to keep getting weaker and deflating in size, and no amount of effort on your part can change that. And it’s too bad, too – they definitely turn me on…”

Jeremiah had to stop giving the rubdown for a moment as he became a little woozy with desire – he felt overwhelmed and overpowered, and he could actually sense his body temperature rising. After a few seconds of this intoxication he felt like himself again, and when the fog lifted he realized his massive organ would soon be ready to cum.

“How you doing, Super-Hunk?” he asked with a smile. “I bet you must be so weak by now, huh? Just like a regular man. I bet you didn’t think you would ever be so pathetic, right?”

Super-Hunk didn’t respond as Jeremiah continued massaging his torso, but his torturer couldn’t have been further from the truth. His mind flashed back to six months earlier during a period when he didn’t know if he would ever be in the hero business again.

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Last autumn, Brad Jennings truly had it all. He was starting his junior year at the university a few towns away and was a very popular student at the school. His parents ran a local chain of restaurants which kept their family flush with cash, so Brad never had to worry about having enough spending money in his pocket.

Because of this wealth, Brad was also able to dress much nicer than the average college student. His tastes ran toward fitted white shirts, gray blazers, and tailored black slacks, all of which fit his well-muscled body to a T. Yes, as if the money and the clothes were not enough, Brad also possessed a spectacular physique – even from 100 yards, anyone could see the Brad took great pride is his appearance and surely must have worked very hard to develop such large muscles and fantastically erect posture at such a young age.

With that physique also came movie-star good looks – silky black hair, smoldering blue eyes, flawless skin, a dazzler of a smile that frequently caused the young ladies (and some of its young men) to swoon as he walked by, and a stylish pair of retro black horn-rimmed glasses that added a touch of maturity. It was as if God had taken the best features of Clark Gable, Paul Newman, and George Clooney, combined with the muscles of Samson, and rolled them all up into one 20-year-old.

Brad was modest, however – he didn’t intentionally flaunt his body, and he never used his good looks to take advantage of others. He was also charitable and kind – he always did his best to help others, and he had never teased or bullied another student.

And to top it all off, he fought against crime in his secret double life as Super-Hunk.  Thanks to his amazing powers, he had become the most well-known of the junior heroes – certainly attracting far more attention than Manipu-Lad or Gargantu-Anne. He had foiled numerous crimes in the area, and his exploits were becoming very well-known across the country.

The leaders of the Superhero Guild were thrilled with his progress, but they did worry about his vulnerability to Lanzinium, and the fact that this weakness was already so well-known to the world’s supervillians. Having that knowledge out there, added some doubt to their prodigy’s bright future.

To ease this concern, they commissioned the SG Science Team to work on a resolution to this problem – the crimefighting organization wanted to announce that they were officially upping Super-Hunk from junior member to the main hero lineup, as well as tell the world that he was no longer adversely affected the mineral. They had a whole publicity campaigned planned with the slogan: “We’ve taken the best and made him better.”

By November, the Science Team announced a breakthrough. Using DNA from strands of the Super-Hunk’s hair, they had created a formula that halted the effects of Lanzinium. Super-Hunk raced to Manhattan where the Superhero Guild was headquartered and, relying on the expertise of the scientists, agreed to a test. He and the scientists adjourned to a private lab to begin the experiment.

One of the scientists asked Super-Hunk if he would be comfortable disrobing in front of the team, or if he would rather use the privacy screen. “We can have one person accompany you behind the screen and set up, or we can all work together and it will go a lot faster.”

Even though his modesty almost overruled his decision, Super-Hunk was very eager to see if their formula would work. “Let’s just get started out here – nothing us guys haven’t all seen before, right?”

The hero quickly stripped off his supersuit and stood there in his birthday suit – he was wrong about one thing, however, because the team members had never gazed upon such a perfect physique. It was a site that many of the small, frail scientists would consider to be the highlight of their year.

The scientists escorted the hero to a clinician’s chair, where he took a seat, and they began to attach special wireless super-electrodes to measure the test results. As they did so, several of them took a few extra seconds to admire the size of Super-Hunk’s biceps, the hardness of his abs, and the glory of his bulging thighs.

Ray Zane, the captain of the Science Team, kept the best assignment for himself – to attach the electrode to Superman’s cock. He picked up the super-rod gently in his tiny hand, immediately noting its size and heft – it was as thick as a big hose and felt like it weighed as much as a 20-pound dumbbell (which was about the weight that Ray could bench press). The scientist continued to act professionally while affixing the electrode, but he was struggling to overcome erotic thoughts of a night between the sheets with the hero.

After setting everything up, the formula was brought over to the chair and Super-Hunk drank it down. The blue creamy liquid coursed down his throat, dissolved in his stomach, and entered into his bloodstream within a few minutes. Ray then had his assistants bring out a variety of Lanzinium fragments gathered from around the globe and began exposing them to Super-Hunk one at a time.

During the exposures, the team noted that all the electrode readings remained steady, showing no evidence of any decline or change in physicality. Super-Hunk watched as they gave each other a series of thumbs-ups and high-fives, and then confirmed for them that he felt no weakness of tingling as the different samples were paraded into the room.

Once the last piece had been brought in, the scientists detached the electrodes and had Super-Hunk put his supersuit back on (although most would have preferred he stay naked) so he could demonstrate his powers, starting with flight and continuing though superhearing, X-Ray vision, heat vision, superbreath, flight, and invincibility. As they had predicted, he passed each test with flying colors.

Finally, it came time for superstrength. They walked Super-Hunk over to a squat rack, which he knew had been modified to test the muscle potency of Superhero Guild members. The big man took his spot under the bar and prepared to lift.

“What are you going to set the weight for, Ray?”

“Well, Super-Hunk, you squatted 10,000 pounds last time, so we estimate that you should be able to handle at least 12,000 pound by now. Or would you rather warm up first?”

Super-Hunk nodded. “It’s been a year since my last test, and since I’ve gotten a lot stronger in the past few months, let’s start with 12.”

“Will do.” Ray turned the dial to increase the setting. “Ready when you are.”

Super-Hunk placed his hands on the bar, and then hoisted it upward off the rack on his back. He slowly began to squat, thrusting his chest forward and moving his hips backward as he had been instructed during previous test sessions. As he did so, he could instantly feel a burning in his back and thighs that was more intense than he had ever felt.

“Great guns,” he thought. “This one’s a whopper.”

Super-Hunk slowly descended until he reached the nadir of the squat, with his knees parallel to the floor. Due to the amount of exertion, sweat began to pour from his brow and a tremble became evident across his body.

“We can suspend it at any second, Super-Hunk. Just give us the word.”

“Not a chance, Ray. I can do this,” he grunted as a reply.

Super-Hunk pushed upward for about 15 seconds, but the weight didn’t budge, so he redoubled his efforts and focused his superbrain on the task at hand. “Wow,” he thought. “This bar is really heavy.”

He continued straining with all of his might, but began to realize that things were moving in the wrong direction. Instead of going up, the barbell was sinking a tiny bit with each passing second. Sweat was now cascading over his eyebrows and clouding his vision, and he could sense that his breathing was stressed.

“Why is this so difficult?” Super-Hunk asked himself as recent crimefighting adventures flashed in his mind – episodes in which he had stopped bad guys by hoisting their cars in the air, helped keep aircraft up in the air, and uprooted trees. “This should be easy!”

He gave one last push, concentrating all of his power into his already-numb legs. He didn’t hold back one ounce of his superstrength and gave it his all. And that’s when everything went black.

Some time later, Super-Hunk awoke back in the clinician’s chair where the scientist’s had tested him earlier. “What happened?” he asked as he came out of his fog.

The scientists were quiet at first, but Ray finally spoke. “Well, Super-Hunk, it looks like we ran into a few complications with the formula. Our best guess is that the solution not only blocked your weakness to Lanzinium, but also blocked your strength from refueling. The harder you pushed, the more of your muscle was drained away until, um, your well ran dry.”

Super-Hunk felt nothing but pain coursing through his body, and he put his hand on head for comfort. “So…so what happens now?”

Ray handed Super-Hunk a cup of water. “Well, we'll try a few more thing now that you are awake, and of course we'll keep working on the formula until we get it right. And as for your current condition, well, we obviously need to create an antidote so you can get your powers back.”

Super-Hunk almost choked on his water. “Powers? I’ve lost all of them?”

“You know how it works,” replied Ray. “Your strength is the engine that drives all of your other powers. Without it, everything else lies dormant.”

“So how long until you develop the antidote?” asked Super-Hunk, slumping his shoulders as he spoke.

“Hard to say – our goal was to have the chemicals bind themselves to your body. We wanted to create something that would last a long time so you wouldn’t have to drink it every day. We will study the results of your tests to see if we can determine where it settled and how we can neutralize it. It’s also possible we weren’t successful and it may drain from your body naturally – one good bowel movement and you might be as good as new.”

The now-former hero sighed, and then stood up. He wobbled a little, and several of the scientists reached out to help steady him.

“Let us finish the final tests and we'll get you dressed, Super-Hunk – I mean, Brad, and then we’ll figure out a way to get you home,” said Ray. “I promise we will call you the moment we come up with something.”

Brad sighed again, then sat back down on the chair – just the act of standing up had tired him, and he was glad for the chance to rest while the science team did their work.

Later, he borrowed a track suit from Hercu-Leeza, since she was about his same size, and then hopped a ride back to his hometown in an extra seat on Wonder Lady’s jet. After a quick landing, Brad went into his home and broke the news to his parents. They were supportive in his hour of need, of course, but figured it would only be a short time until the guild scientists came up with an answer.

And so did Brad – he constantly checked his phone the entire afternoon and evening waiting for a call, but one never came. He wanted to skip his classes the next day, but his mother pushed him out the door. He went to campus and tried to act as if everything was OK, but the world seemed so different to him – slower, quieter, less vivid, and flatter – without his superpowers.

Of all of his powers, the depletion of his strength was by far the most annoying loss for Brad – everything was just so much heavier and unwieldy and he became winded after just a short walk. His muscles looked just as big as they did the day before, but there was no power or force behind them – they were like empty shells. His biceps still increased in size when Brad flexed, for example, but the muscles were very soft when he touched them and could easily be squeezed. The rock hardness that was there before was no longer.

To make things worse, his muscle control was also affected. He was used to confidently gliding through the halls of his school and avoiding any obstacles, but was now walking awkwardly and stumbling from time to time. The snow and ice on the ground outside also made it difficult for him to get around, so he began to walk very slowly and carefully wherever he went to make sure he didn’t fall and hurt himself.

In addition to these complications, he was starting to gain weight at a rapid rate thanks to two factors: first, he started hanging around his parent’s restaurants in an attempt to avoid running into friends, and he would constantly snack on anything he could get his hands on. Secondly, the test formula had also robbed him of his super-metabolism – in fact, his was left slower than that of a normal man – so Brad’s body started to quickly register some changes. His once super pecs began to sag ever so slightly, and his ridged abdominals no longer showed up under the layer of fat that had accumulated on his belly. His once-perfect ass had begun to spread wider and wider, and love handles had sprung from nowhere to attach themselves to his side.

Of course, the weight gain was very difficult for Brad to hide in his tailored clothes. What had once fit perfectly was straining to cover him, and by early December he could no longer wear his regular pants or shirts. He had to have his mom drive him to the Big and Tall outlet shop to pick up some sweatsuits that would fit his growing bulk.

The other students in his classes certainly noticed the changes, but most were too kind to say anything – they just avoided saying anything about the transformation and tried not to laugh at unfortunate events like his pants splitting open as he sat down. Some of the more cruel ones, however, started calling him “Broad Jennings,” and unfortunately he could hear their whispers and giggles even without his superhearing.

He tried to remain upbeat, but as the days stretched on without a call from the guild, Brad became more and more withdrawn – he felt pathetic and weak, and hated that he could no longer contribute as a crimefighter. He only left the house to go to school, he rarely spoke to anyone, and he stopped paying attention to the world around him. As winter settled in, Brad grew as gray and cold as the weather.

By the last Saturday in January, Barry Jennings, Brad’s father, had had enough – he had always been a man of action, and even though his wife insisted that they let Brad mourn the loss of his powers, Mr. Jennings couldn’t stand seeing his son mope around day after day. He Googled a few business listings and made a quick call, and then waited for Brad to come down the stairs for breakfast. When he hadn’t showed up by 10:00am, Barry went right into Brad’s room, woke up his son, and told him to put on some comfortable clothes and be in the car in five minutes.

Exactly five minutes passed before Brad emerged from the house, dressed in an oversized blue sweatshirt and baggy blue sweatpants under his winter coat, and got into the car with his father. “Where are we going?” he asked.

“Son, you may no longer be Super-Hunk, but I’m certainly not going to let you sit around and turn into the Super-Mush while we wait for an antidote to your condition. I’ve signed you up for a membership to a gym over in Tipton and paid for a personal trainer. You can go as much as you want, but you will be going down there at least three days a week. Got it?”

Brad was about to complain, but he knew it would be of no use. Once his father had his mind set of something, it was impossible to change. He’d just have to make the best of it.

“I guess working out won’t be so bad,” he said. “And it probably would take my mind off of things.”

“That’s the spirit,” said the elder Jennings. “Trust me, Brad, exercise will be the best thing for you right now.”

They drove to Tipton, and Barry let his son out of the car when they arrived at the town's only gym. “I’ve got some errands to run, but I’ll be back in an hour or so to pick you up.”

Brad nodded and thanked his dad, and then got out of the car and went into the gym, where the attendant at the front desk checked him in. “There are four trainers here right now, sir, so you can have your pick,” he said as he pointed to the workout area. “Just look for the people in the yellow shirts.”

Brad walked over to the workout area and immediately spotted the first trainer in a small office just off the gym floor – he was older, maybe 50, and had the look of an ex-football player. He had some muscle tone, but the giant gut stretching out his yellow shirt was definitely his most noticeable feature. The trainer was shoving a foot-long sandwich into his mouth, and had a big bag of cookies sitting beside him.

“Option #1,” thought Brad.

He scanned the room further and noted a second yellow shirt, this time being worn by a man approximately 30 years old with a slender build on a treadmill – and slender was being generous. He was probably the skinniest person Brad had ever seen, and at the rate he was jogging, cardio was clearly his biggest priority.

“Well, at least he’s a little closer to my age.”

Brad continued to walk around the gym until he noticed a third yellow shirt on a small woman with a severe, almost angry, look upon her face. She gave off an aura of unhappiness and was glaring at a young woman who was working out nearby. Brad wasn’t sure if the young woman her client or just somebody who was annoying her, but he really didn’t think it would be worth finding out.

He decided the head back to the skinny trainer on the treadmill when he spotted the fourth yellow shirt – it was being worn by a youthful muscular blond guy who was doing wide-grip chin-ups. Suspended five feet in the air with his arms outreached, wearing the yellow t-shirt over radiant skin and crowned with golden hair, the trainer resembled a glowing angel.

Brad stopped immediately and stared. The man’s biceps were insanely big for someone so young-looking, and they didn’t seem to require much effort to propel his beefy body up and down, up and down, on the chin-up bar. Clearly this person needed to strap on about 100 extra pounds to really challenge himself.

In addition, the skintight yellow shirt revealed a set of sturdy-looking set of delts and traps, a beefy chest, and a pair of wing-like lats that added to his angelic appearance. The shirt was also a little short (or was all that muscle preventing it from covering the trainer’s whole torso?), so his finely-sculpted abs were peeking through. Below the shirt, he was wearing a mid-thigh athletic shorts that showed off definition in his upper legs, which were as strong-looking as his calves.

The trainer seemed to notice the staring, so he jumped down and walked over to Brad. “Can I help you?” he asked in a polite tone.

The golden hues grew brighter as the well-muscled trainer approached, and Brad felt a wave of tingling stirring his senses – it was as if he had suddenly woken up from a long nap and no longer resided in the gray world he had been living in for the past few months. He felt really alive for the first time since his powers had been drained.

The former hero cleared his throat and stood up as erect as he could. “Um, I just signed up for one of your training packages, and the guy at the front desk said I should come out here and meet the trainers.”

“Great. Would you like me to introduce you to everyone so you can find the one right for you?” asked the trainer. He rubbed his left hand over his buzzcut hair, causing his bicep to bulge up again – and up close, it looked even larger than it had on the chin-up bar.

“After seeing how easily you do those chin-ups, I have a feeling you’re the right person for the job,” Brad replied with a big smile on his face. Then he reached out his right hand and added, “I’m Brad, by the way.”

“Very nice to meet you, Brad,” said the trainer as he firmly gripped the hand of his new client. “My name is Garrett, but you can call me ‘Ax.’”

Brad continued smiling. He was much too formal to call anyone by a nickname and decided he would use Garrett.  And he was hoping he would say it a lot.

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Super-Hunk's flashback stopped when he felt a strange warmth flowing through his entire body – a strange intense heat that creeped across his being. “Could it be related to the Lanzinium, or was it from something else?” he asked himself.

Before Super-Hunk could figure it out, the warmth had disappeared and Jeremiah's cold voice once again filled the room. “Your time as a hero is almost over, big guy. Tick tock, tick tock,” he chortled.

Jeremiah's taunting reminded the dwindling champion of the danger facing him now. Super-Hunk knew he only had a few more minutes before his powers were gone forever, but his mind was so cloudy that a plan of action wasn’t taking shape.

He struggled to get up, but Jeremiah pushed him all the way back down to the floor, swung his leg over the hero’s body, and sat down on his abdomen. “Do I seem heavier as you get weaker? Do my arms look bigger as yours get smaller?” Jeremiah put his hands next to Super-Hunk’s head and leaned in really close, flexing his large biceps and he moved.

“How about my chest?” asked Jeremiah as he leaned in even closer, laying his torso on top of the fallen hero. “Does it seem firmer than yours? Do my pecs feel stronger?” He began to flex them up and down, rubbing his nipples across Super-Hunk’s costume but careful not to touch the disk that was sucking away all his power.

“Or what about my dick? Does it feel bigger as yours shrivels away?” He slid his hips downward to match up his groin with Super-Hunk's and began to grind them around so that their cocks would rub together. “Am I more of a man than you, Super-Hunk?”

Super-Hunk didn’t respond, but an authoritative voice from behind did speak.

“I’d stop right there if I were you.”