From Bruiser to Loser, Chapter 4

Monday, March 29

Bruiser awoke and looked at the clock. 2:58pm. It was the third or fourth time he had checked it, and he knew he needed to get up.

“I should go work out,” he thought. “But that probably isn’t in the cards today.”

He’d spent most of the weekend in bed, assuming he had caught the flu on Friday, and hoping that the rest would make him feel better. It didn’t. His whole body felt odd and out of sorts, like he wasn’t who he used to be.

The only thing that was working was his appetite, and it was in overdrive. Bruiser had been constantly hungry all weekend, and he was eating everything he could get his hands on.

Eventually, he tossed off the black comforter and struggled out of bed. Bruiser skipped his usual flex in the mirror and immediately looked for some clothes to wear because his room was so cold. As he searched, he recalled being cold quite a bit the past few days, and wondered if that feeling had also been caused by the flu.

Bruiser tried on some of his favorite clothes, but the bloat from overeating had made them too tight. He couldn’t get his designer shirts pulled down past his chest, and the only pair of pants that fit (barely!) were ones given to him a few years back by a female admirer who, according to Bruiser, “had more money than brains.”

He walked over to his mirror to check himself out, but before he made it, the pants button, straining to contain his growing bulk, popped off and flew across the room.

Bruiser rolled his eyes and thought, “Well, fuck, if this isn’t a new low. I guess I could just wrap myself up in my comforter all day.”

Thinking that sounded too pathetic, the big man took off the pants, walked across the hall to Pete’s bedroom, and opened the door. The room looked a lot like Bruiser’s, which was surprising since the two were so different – but other than a desk and computer in one corner, a blue comforter instead of a black one, and a lack of any trophies, they were essentially the same.

Bruiser went to the closest dresser and opened the top drawer, but found only undershirts and boxers.

“Really large boxers,” he said to himself with a laugh.

In the next drawer down Bruiser found what he was looking for – t-shirts and sweatpants – and pulled one of each out to try them on. Both were way too large, but he could tie the sweatpants tighter using its drawstring and at least he’d be warm for the day. Satisfied with his pilfering, the big man shut the drawers and returned to his room to shave and brush his teeth.

“Take it easy today,” he thought as he rinsed his face after shaving. “But tomorrow I attack the weights. Hard.”

When finished, Bruiser went downstairs and into the kitchen. Pete was still at his cooking class, but the protein shakes were right where they should be in the fridge. He thought about drinking them, but decided he wasn’t in the mood.

“I need something to eat right now.”

The big man looked around the kitchen and spotted the cookie jar. “Mmmm…that’ll hit the spot.”

Bruiser open the jar and found it loaded with homemade peanut butter and chocolate chip cookies. Pete had made them with lard and real butter, so they were extra rich and extremely delicious…and large enough to contain 800 calories per cookie. Bruiser ate all 24 of them in the jar, not realizing he had just consumed almost 20,000 calories.

After finishing them off with a couple of glasses of whole milk, he broke into the stash of cinnamon rolls that Pete had made last week, which he had wrapped up and frozen. Bruiser defrosted several of them in the microwave and as the sweet scent filled the air, his belly gurgled in anticipation.

The second the microwave dinged, Bruiser gobbled them down and defrosted a few more.

Satisfied for the moment, Bruiser went into the living room to watch some TV. He sat in the big recliner and hoisted up his feet, feeling better than he had the past several days.

Pete arrived home 10 minutes later. “Hey, Bruiser. No workout today?”

Bruiser shook his head but didn’t look up at his brother. “I’m sick.”

“You still want dinner?”

“Fuck, yeah, I’m starving.”

Pete went directly to the kitchen and started cooking the steak, veggies, and rice that his brother would want. At the same time, he cooked a similar order for himself, and drank both protein shakes left in the fridge while doing so.

He brought the dinner to his brother on a TV tray and noted that his brother was wearing his clothes, but decided against asking why. Bruiser took the first plate of steaks and, without even realizing it, rested it on his growing belly. Pete then returned to the kitchen, ate his food, and cleaned up the dishes.

Bruiser fell asleep again almost immediately after finishing his meal, so Pete turned off the TV and left him to doze. He went upstairs and changed into some workout clothes, and then headed for the basement.

For the next few hours, Pete pumped iron like a madman while his brother slept.

As he went through his different exercises, a few images floated in and out of Pete’s mind. While he did his bench presses, for example, started picturing Chris Evans as Captain America, and how great he looked in those movies.

“I would kill for a chest like the one Steve Rogers had,” he thought.

From there, he moved on his bicep curls and thought about Chris Hemsworth as Thor.

“Spectacular as well. Especially that scene in the first Avengers movie where he’s pulling his hammer in the rain. Those arms of his…damn.”

Pete also daydreamed about Arnold Schwarzenegger during his workout, specifically how he looked in Commando.  And then he moved on to thinking about some of the other bodybuilders he admired, including Kevin Levrone, Paul Demayo, and Lou Ferrigno.

“Ferrigno as Hercules?” he thought. “Perfection. That’s what I would love to look like.”

Pete hadn’t thought about bodybuilding much before, which was odd since his brother and father had both competed in the sport, but during this workout he couldn’t stop thinking about it. He wanted to get bigger…he wanted to grow…and he wanted to be muscular for the first time in his life.

After Pete finished his routine, he looked at himself in the mirror. His clothes were sweaty but also much looser than usual, and the jiggly fat that used to be so evident under his shirt could no longer be seen. He looked taller, more erect, and firmer all over.  He hadn’t shaved over the weekend, so he had a little stubble that made his face look less puffy.

“Or maybe it really is less puffy?” he thought.

Pete flexed his arms, hitting the double bicep pose that his brother loved to do so much. He was surprised at the rounded muscles that popped up, considering he’d only been working out a few days, but surmised they had been there all along and just needed a little weightlifting to make themselves seen. His nipples we are also hard, poking their way through the shirt fabric like little thimbles on top of his solid pecs, and looking very different than the flabby moobs that used to be there.

After staring at himself longer than he probably should have, Pete decided to check his progress. He went to the supply shelf, picked up the measuring tape, and took stock of his body.

• Biceps: 17” (“Bigger than I thought.”)
• Waist: 40” (“That’s what it was back in high school.”)
• Chest: 50” (Nice to finally have it bigger than my waist.”)
• Thighs: 25” (“Good, but I want them much bigger.”)
• Calves: 18” (“I need them to get up to Bruiser’s size.”)

Pete finished by checking out the length of his cock, noting it was 6” flaccid.

“Hmmm. That seems bigger, too,” he thought. “I should have written my numbers down from the other day so I could compare them.”

He put the tape measure back, then retreated to his bedroom to shower and sleep.

Unaware of Pete’s activity, Bruiser slumbered in his chair until 1:00am and woke up when his stomach started grumbling. He knew his brother would be in bed, and he’d polished off the sweets earlier in the day, so he fumbled around on his phone until he found a 24-hour pizza place that would deliver. He ordered two extra-large pizzas and hoped they would arrive soon.