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The Gym #1: Buttman free porn video
The Gym #1: Buttman
By DrLoVe
John Grisham was an avid gym-goer but he also liked to eat. He despised himself
whenever the circumstances delayed or averted his regular workouts and weighed
himself on the scales several times before going to bed on those days to see how
much weight he'd gained. In so many words, John Grisham was an exercise-holic. A
male version of the bulimic. However, plenty of physical exercise did prevent
his gaining so much as an ounce and his natural disposition to a small but well-
built body frame greatly aided in his bodybuilding efforts.
This day, as always, you could find John in the gym. He knew his way around the
gym better than any other athlete and regarded it as his own, greeting newcomers
with a warm but condescending gander. Befriending some he thought had some worth
and prospects in terms of approaching their body-building ideals and jeering at
others, who he thought were worthless in same respect.
While on the bench press, during his warming-up round, he espied a cute black
girl saunter through the front door. She was a newbie, he knew that much, since
he hadn't seen her around the gym before. After having made several paces, she
stood there in the middle of it all a little disoriented and coy.
He couldn't help but soften inside while being inflamed with the desire to help
her find her way through the gym. He was about to get up, breaking his stick-to-
no-matter-what-happens routine when she, in her surveillance of the new
environment turned sideways. Then he saw it. She was not all that cute, as she
had thought earlier. What she was was fat. Well not fat by the American
standards but chubby enough for him to get turned off and abort his about-to-be-
friendly gesture. She seemed to focus her attention on him, as though guessing
his aborted intentions and frowned.
She started to walk in his direction, her butt swaying to and fro like a great
bell and her thighs jiggling about like a bowl of jelly. She stopped right in
front of him but he made it look as though he did not notice her, putting on his
headphones and turning up the volume of his Walkman. She stood in place for a
minute looking at him intently but seeing that he had no desire to socialize,
began to walk away. John cast the last look at her giant behind thinking to
himself that the entire thing was way ugly and that a person who was so slacked
as to attain this condition should be evolutionarily unsound and die out of his
own free will.
As if hearing his thoughts, the girl spun around and threw a look full of
disgust at John who couldn't help it but blush and swivel his eyes away.
Therefore, he could not have seen a momentary almost-invisible sign she had made
with her fingers before she turned away and marched out of the gym. John was
much relieved to find her gone. He was against fat people, but he was not in the
least impolite and would not have said to them what he was thinking for the
world. He went about his reps as usual and completed his routine in two hours.
After the gym, John went to the locker room. It was empty. He took off his T-
shirt and checked his biceps. They were going along nicely. He flexed his arm
and a self-satisfied smirk appeared on his lips. He was all right.
Why the hell had she been leering at him that way? He sat down on the bench and
leaned against his locker. He let his mind wander for a moment before hitting
the showers. That chubby chick, he thought. How can you get that way? You eat
and eat and then see that their old wardrobe cannot take it anymore and you just
decide to slim down? It doesn't happen that way. If you care about your body,
you won't let it balloon out like she did. And if she does lose some weight
she's gonna gain it right back. Ah, he waved his hand; it's a lost cause. At
least she made him feel good about himself. He took off his shorts and went into
the shower.
He couldn't see much because of the thick steam filling the air but he could
hear a couple of voices palavering somewhere to his left. He got out his soap
and started scrubbing himself from the neck down. Being a professional
bodybuilder he shaved his body hair and that accelerated the process of lather-
rinse-repeat greatly.
That chubby chick came back to mind. The look that she gave him, that self-
conscious bitch, as if he was going to rape her there. Could she have known any
better, she would have realized that he was downright disgusted with her. What a
silly ball of fat she was.
He started scrubbing his legs absent-mindedly watching the soap slid and slither
down his well-muscled calves onto the floor. He noticed that however strongly he
scrubbed his legs, they still seemed a tad darker than his trunk and his hands
were decidedly lighter than his thighs. He scrubbed his left thigh still harder
and watched closely the dark color build up on his skin. He was taken aback by
this. The first thing that came to mind was that there was something wrong with
the soap. He dropped it to the floor and tried to wash the color that was now
crawling outward in all directions around his left thigh with running water.
This did not seem to be of any consequence whatsoever. What the hell, he
thought, what the hell is happening to me?
Is it an allergy? I don't know any allergy that has this effect on the skin.
Besides I don't have any allergies to begin with. He looked at the water again.
But the water seemed as clear as always. He picked up the soap bar and the
sponge and attempted to finish his shower without paying attention to the
darkening splotch that extended further up and round his leg. I've got to see
the doctor, he thought in panic.
He pushed the skin of his thigh with a forefinger. It gave way and then sprung
back elastically. It did not hurt, but it did seem a little puffed. His other
leg was surprisingly firmer. He bolted out of the shower, some lather still
clinging obstinately to his ironboard-flat stomach. John put on a fresh shirt
and looked around to see if anyone was in sight, but the locker room was still
empty. He bent down and checked out his left thigh again. He did not have to
bend down low because the view of his thigh came about halfway through. It had
swollen to an unaccustomed size and now was all dark brown splashing onto the
right thigh via his waist and genitals, which also took on a darker shade of
ochre.
My God, thought John, am I terminal? What the hell is this, some kind of new
disease I contracted in the gym? He attempted to get up but an unusual weight
below his waistline prevented it. Panicked, he sprung to his feet and slapped
both his hands on his behind. They met it much faster than he had expected which
agitated the poor John even more. He ran to the nearest mirror and glanced in it
at his slowly but steadily expanding buttocks.
They had contracted so much fat that they were now drooping down on his columnar
thighs that when he shut his legs close together pushed outward, repelling each
other like magnets. A sudden pull at his hips made him lose his balance and
nearly tumble down to the floor. He bended down and studied at them closely.
They seemed to be expanding as well: bone and skin and something surprisingly
soft and pliable beneath. He groped them and endeavored to force them back in,
but it only provoked them to puff out with a renewed power. He pinched the skin
on his hips and it rose in thick rolls. He pinched it again and still thicker
rolls were left in his fingers. New creases and folds appeared where they have
never been found and his skin took on the dimpled appearance of fat. And when he
finally faced his reflection turned to the side he recognized in it the curves
characteristic of a female. He groped for his genitals, but they were in place
intact, at least for now. Then he saw what his lower torso and his legs reminded
him of the black girl.
Ooh, that bitch is gonna get it, he shouted. She's got it coming her way, he
yelled implacably. And proceeded to plod heavily to his locker. The added
weights of his swaying black butt and the constantly grazing chocolate thighs
were strange but somehow eerily erotic. His inflated hips swayed languidly from
side to side and his buttocks sent light tremors all over his legs that weren't
entire unpleasant. He resumed to towel away small droplets of water left from
the shower and pulled on his shorts with immense difficulty. They hugged his
plump thighs so tightly that he couldn't get them to zip, but was grateful for
their easily stretchable fabric that did not leave him go around the city bare-
assed.
John Grisham then shut his locker with the entire violence of his fury and
bolted out of the gym and into the street.
The end
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