“It makes you want to be a gynecologist.”



          “How does it feel?” Mitchell asked me.

          “Not bad,” I replied. “But not good either.”

          “Just take it slow,” he said cautiously.

          I gritted my teeth and continued repping out dumbbell presses. We were only about ten minutes into our chest workout, but my hand already felt tender. After completing the set, I dropped the dumbbells to the ground and stood up off the bench. I was not in a good mood.

          “It’s hurting, isn’t it?” Dave asked.

          “Yeah. I doubt I could handle the barbell today. Let’s do Hammer presses instead.”

          “That’s cool with me.”

          Mitchell nodded. “Yeah, bro. I’m trying to take it easy today. I didn’t have much time to lift this summer with my work schedule.”

          Dave snorted. “Did Haji keep you busy behind that gas station counter?”

          Mitchell grinned. “Nah, man. All the white trash did buying their beers and lotto tickets.”

          I watched Mitchell sit down on the bench and aggressively press out his next set. Of all the good friends I made in Upsilon, Mitchell was the one I hung out with the most. Handsome, charming, and loyal were just a few qualities that defined him. When we pledged together freshman year, Mitchell earned the nickname Ninja Gaiden after he vividly demonstrated his black belt proficiency by kicking several kids in the face at a keg party brawl. Standing 6ft tall at 180 pounds, my fraternity brother had light-brown hair cut short in a fade, long sideburns, and a pointy chin goatee. Mitchell hit the gym hard, but he was a skinny guy who eventually turned to steroids to overcome his genetic limitations. This may have had a more dramatic effect on his psychology than it did his physicality because a nice and easygoing kid was forever transformed into a tough guy with a temper.

After completing the dumbbell presses, we hit up the water fountain and checked out the aerobics room window. We timed it perfectly.

“Damn,” I said.

          “Damn,” Mitchell repeated.

          “Why the fuck do I have a girlfriend?” Dave asked.

          Twenty college girls with sexy little bodies were lying on the ground, elevating their glutes in the air. The visuals were, to say the least, stimulating. Not wanting to be the assholes that got caught doing the aerobics room drive-by, we moved along to our next workout station.

“There goes the Sex Goddesses,” I said to Mitchell as we passed by the abdominal machines.

          He stared at the two girls and said, “Those chicks are stupid hot.”

          “The hottest,” Dave agreed. “I’ll be thinking about them tonight when I’m fucking my girlfriend.”

          Mitchell chuckled. “That’s not really cheating, is it?”


I grinned at my brother. “So does that mean I can think about your girlfriend when I’m fucking mine?”

          The chest press machine was a mess when we got there. Plated weights had been lazily tossed around the machine and a sweat stain was oozing down the seat.

          “This is bullshit,” Mitchell cursed as he wiped the seat with his towel. “I guarantee some freshman fuckhead did this.”

          Dave stared around the gym. “They’re everywhere today, aren’t they? Like little cockroaches.”

          “Nah, man,” I said with a grin. “Like little princesses. Take a look at this.”

          A group of pretty freshman girls walked by. One of the girls stared. Two of them giggled. And the fourth, the hottest of the bunch, snobbed us. You could tell they were freshmen because in the beginning of the school year, freshmen always went to the gym in large packs like kids at a theme park. Two of the young women were also wearing garnet gym shorts with golden FSU letters imprinted on their backsides. Freshmen girls loved wearing these shorts and upperclassmen loved it when they did.

          I slid into the Hammer Strength machine as my workout partners racked it up with 45 pound plates. I was still watching the FSU shorts.

          “I love freshmen girls,” I said obsessively.

          “You and everyone else,” Dave replied.

          Mitchell snorted. “Every guy in here is itching to be the first to hit that shit. Those FSU shorts are like bullseyes.”

          “Get on it,” Dave grinned at our brother. “When’s the last time you got yourself laid?”

          “Bombshell,” I answered with a laugh and started pressing out my first set.

          Mitchell scowled. “Bro, I’m still pissed at Sanders about that one.”

          “Who’s Bombshell?” Dave asked.

          “Some Theta that Bryce hooked me up with last year.”

          “Is she hot?”

          Mitchell shrugged. “Yeah, she just talks about herself too much—way too much. Every conversation you have with that girl she turns into a discussion about herself.”       

“I think I remember her now,” Dave said. “You fucked her a couple times, didn’t you?”

          “Nah,” Mitchell replied. “Just once and I didn’t really want to do it. I took her to some party at Thorne’s and she was annoying as hell.”

          “Didn’t you try to ditch her there?” I asked.

          “Bro, I wanted to, but we had to drive her home to Kellum Hall. I told Sanders I was gonna walk her up the stairs and come right back, but as soon as we stepped out of the car, he peeled the fuck off with the doors wide open.”

          Dave burst out laughing. “I love Sanders!”

          “Fuck that shit,” Mitchell grumbled. “He stranded me.”

“So you went up to her dorm room?”

“Yeah, we started hooking up and the clothes came off. I don’t even think we said two words. It just kind of happened.”

          I climbed out of the machine and rubbed my tender hand. A sly smile had twisted on my lips.

          “What?” Mitchell asked.

          I’m the one who had to deal with her tears the next day. She told me you were the first guy she slept with at FSU and she hated herself for doing it because she thought you were gonna dick her over and make her feel like a slut.”

          “Did you dick her over?” Dave asked.

          “Nah, bro,” Mitchell said innocently. “I just pretended like she didn’t exist.”

          Dave and I burst out laughing, but Mitchell sat down in the exercise machine and glowered at me.

“Bryce,” he asked, “didn’t you hook up with her when she came to your room, all crying and shit?”

          “Yeah,” I grinned. “I licked her sweet tears.”

          Dave was confused. “She cried to you about feeling like a slut and then wanted to hookup? How’d you pull that off?”

          “It was poetic. She asked me why we called her Bombshell and I told her she was the blonde bombshell of beauty that burst before us. Then she pounced on me.”

          “Sweet girl,” Dave said sarcastically. “She served you up some sloppy seconds?”

“Nah, we just kissed and fooled around a little.”

“So how’d my dick taste?” Mitchell asked me with a snicker.

“Small,” I grinned. “Like it was never even there.”

Dave moved in to spot Mitchell and I checked out the patrons of the Leach Center. It was crowded today which was not unusual. FSU students were neurotic about working-out which meant every trip to the gym promised a jaw-dropping scenery of supplely built young women clad in sport bras, spandex, and Soffe cheerleader shorts.

          On this particular survey, I saw a tan pair of fitness beauties using the leg press machine directly in front of us. The girls, a blonde and a brunette, were both wearing black spandex Capri pants over their firm lower bodies and sports bras over their fake breasts. I could tell the young women were focused on their workout because they weren’t gossiping away like so many other girls did in the gym. This is why fitness chicks were the true beauty queens of the Leach Center—they worked their asses off to look the way they did.

“Yo, Dave,” I asked, “did you see these girls on the leg press machine?”

          “Hell yeah,” he replied. “Fitness girls are the best. Look at those legs and asses.”

          “Look at those abs,” I said. “I’d definitely have to pull out and rub my cum all over their six packs.”

          “Those girls are the perfect size,” Mitchell said. “Some bitches get carried away with the muscle.”

          “No shit,” I agreed. “I remember fucking this trainer chick and I made the mistake of staring down at her back and shoulders which were way too manly-looking.”

          Mitchell laughed. “You thought you were banging a dude?”

          “Hell yeah. That shit was disturbing. But her ass was perfect, so I just stared at that thing the whole time.”

          “Yeah, bro,” Mitchell replied, “fitness chicks and Brazilian girls have the best asses.”

          Dave sat down in the chest press machine and Mitchell gave him a spot. The two gym beauties had inspired our brother and he vigorously repped out his presses. I also executed my next set with greater enthusiasm, but when I climbed out of the machine, the fitness girls were gone and new eye candy had to be found.

Two skinny blondes were chitchatting on the leg adductor machines near the treadmills. They wore Delta Sorority t-shirts and little Soffe cheerleader shorts that rode up extremely high on their tan legs. To shield themselves from crotch shots, the girls draped towels between their legs as they performed the leg-spreading exercise.

          “I love the Yes-No Machine,” Dave said over my shoulder.

“Hell yeah,” I agreed. “It makes you want to be a gynecologist.”

“Yes-no-yes-no-yes-no,” Dave whispered in a high-pitched voice. Every time he said yes the girls were opening their legs, and every time he said no, they were closing them. Hence the nickname Yes-No Machine.

          “That’s fucking erotic,” I said. “I want to put my face where those towels are.”

Dave chuckled. “I understand the towel drape, but some girls get carried away with covering up. Like her.”

He nodded towards a pretty brunette walking towards the dumbbell rack. She had a grey sweatshirt wrapped around her waist to cover her butt.

“That’s Tammy,” I said. “She always wears a sweatshirt in here because she doesn’t want guys eye-fucking her ass.”

          “I hate the sweatshirt shield.”

          “I know, right? But the weird thing is she always wears tight jeans to show off that ass. She calls it her Jean Ass.”

          Mitchell grunted out his final rep. “Thanks for the spot, assholes. Are you talking about Tammy?”

          “Yeah,” I replied.

          “Bro, I saw that girl in the grocery store wearing tight sweatpants that said JUICY on her ass. She loves the attention she gets for that thing. Why would she hide it in here?”

          “Beats me,” I said with a shrug. “I’m gonna get some water.”

I cut across the gym floor and passed by several groups of very large meatheads. They were curling heavy dumbbells like tinker toys. Three more big guys were at the water fountain. They looked muscular enough to be pro wrestlers.

          “This is bullshit,” I said when I returned. “I hate being smaller than a bunch of fucking juice monkeys.”

          Mitchell shrugged dismissively. “Some of them are just upperclassmen with old man strength.”

          “Like me,” Dave said humorously and flexed his less than impressive, pretty boy biceps.

          “Whatever,” I grunted. “They’re bigger than me and it’s pissing me the fuck off.”

“This is your first day back,” Dave said. “Give it some time.”

          “Fuck that. I want to be big again now.”

          Mitchell snorted. “Well, then you shouldn’t of broken your hand on some dude’s skull.”`

          “Was it worth it?” Dave asked. “Fighting those kids?”

          “Hell yeah,” I immediately replied. “I like being big, but I loved beating two guys into the fucking ground.”

          Dave and Mitchell laughed, but I stared down at my hand and squeezed it painfully into a tight fist. Maybe fighting hadn’t been worth it.

          “Is that that psycho chick, Krystal?” Mitchell asked.

          I followed his gaze to the water fountain. A brunette in red gym shorts was bending over to take a sip. Her legs were a little thick, but her ass stuck out nicely like a shelf.

          “Borelli’s girl?” Dave asked.

          “Yeah, the crazy one.”

          The brunette turned around and revealed the face of a stranger.

          “Nah,” Dave said, “that’s not her. I think Krystal moved back home.”

          “I should’ve known that wasn’t her,” Mitchell said with a chuckle. “She doesn’t have any tire marks on her legs.”

          “What’re you talking about?” I asked. “What’d Krystal do now?”

          Dave snorted. “You didn’t hear? She was riding in the back of a truck and tried to commit suicide by throwing herself in the road. Borelli grabbed her at the last possible second and pulled her back.”

          “That doesn’t surprise me,” I replied. “Krystal has done so many drugs she’s probably destroyed her serotonin levels.”

          “Probably,” Mitchell agreed.

          “Spring Break last year, Carlo and a few other guys showed up at our condo in Miami with that girl. She was so drugged up on ecstasy and whatever else they were feeding her that she had no idea where she was.”

          “She didn’t know where the condo was?” Dave asked.

          “Nah,” I laughed, “she didn’t know what fucking city she was in. She thought she was still in Tampa.”

          I slid into the chest press machine and Dave moved in to spot me. He smiled the smile of an alpha male, proud of his boy’s sexual conquests.

“Borelli says she’s a fucking freak,” he said.

          “Yup,” I snorted. “The psychologically damaged ones always are.”

          With Dave spotting me, I pressed out eight reps and concentrated on the way my hand reacted to the pressure. The pain was tolerable, but it deterred me from exploding into the workout. I hissed in irritation and climbed out of the machine.

          “Look at Metso and Lorie,” Mitchell said. “Do you think he has to stand on a box to kiss her?”

          Our short fraternity brother Metso was walking on a treadmill next to his girlfriend. Lorie stood at least four inches taller than he did and had a blonde, mushroom-shaped haircut. The girl wasn’t ever going to win a beauty contest, but she did have a perky little ass she was showing off today in a tiny pair of FSU shorts.

          Dave grinned. “Did you know Metso wants to be a Navy SEAL?”

          “Are you serious?” Mitchell asked. “That little shit barely made it through Upsilon Hell Week. How the fuck does he think he can make it through SEAL training?”

          My eyebrows arched with amusement. “I wonder if he has any new bruises today.”

          Dave laughed and Mitchell gave me a puzzled look.   “What do you mean?” he asked.

“Those two were fighting all summer long. I mean real fights, not just arguments.”

“Yeah, it got ugly,” Dave said.

I grinned. “We probably would’ve reported it to the cops if she wasn’t the one winning the fights. Metso had all kinds of cuts and bruises from her punching him and throwing bottles at his face.”

          Mitchell laughed “I heard about that shit. Didn’t they have restraining orders put on each other?”

           “Yeah, something like that,” I replied and glanced in the direction of the long-legged blonde. “She might be crazy, but I’d still like to tap that sweet little ass from behind.”

          “Me too,” Mitchell replied with a snicker. “Too bad her front side looks like Edward with tits.”

          Dave and I laughed. The poor girl really did bear a striking resemblance to our twenty-four-year-old fraternity brother from England.

          After finishing up on the Hammer Strength machine, we knocked out some cable flies and tricep extensions and decided to call it a day. I hated half-assing it in the weight room, but my hand was starting to ache badly.

          Outside the gym, we bumped into an Upsilon groupie named Amy. She was slightly overweight and rather plain-looking except for the new breast implants she was showing off in a tight D&A Nutrition t-shirt.

          “Hey, guys,” the brunette said with a friendly smile.

          “Hey, Amy,” Dave replied. “Cindy and I were wondering where you’ve been lately.”

          Amy rolled her eyes. “Oh my god! I’ve been dealing with serious roommate drama.”

          “What happened?” Mitchell asked.

          “Brenda didn’t come back this semester because she’s been puking all summer long and had to check into an eating disorder clinic. We’ve been scrambling to find someone else to take her place.”

          “That sucks,” Mitchell replied. “Hasn’t she been to a clinic like that before?”

 “Yeah,” Amy replied sadly and shifted her gaze to me. “Wow. You look smaller.”

          Her words were a blade thrust into my stomach. There was nothing worse you could say to a meathead than what she had just told me. It was the same as me telling her she looked fatter, something I had to restrain myself from doing.

          I glanced away and said, “I just got my cast off a few days ago. This is day one back in the gym.”

          “Oh,” she said, realizing her discourtesy. “Well, you’re still big. You’re just not as big as you were.”

          “Thanks,” I replied bitterly, resisting the urge to double-uppercut her fake breasts. “Have a good workout, Amy. You should definitely check out the new treadmills.”

          “Okay, I will,” she said, not bright enough to know she was being insulted. “Bye-bye, boys. Tell your girlfriend to call me, Dave.”

          Amy walked away and I quietly mumbled, “Fucking big titty bitch.”

          “Those things are nice,” Mitchell said.

          “Fuck yeah,” Dave agreed. “She was barely a 5. Now she’s almost a 7.”

          “A 7?” Mitchell repeated. “Not even close. You get her naked and those tits are just gonna remind you how inadequate the rest of her is.”

          Dave shook his head. “I don’t think that way when I fuck an ugly chick with a great ass. Amy’s at least a 6.5 now.”

          “No way.”

          Dave grinned. “Well…I mean she’s no Bombshell or anything.”

          Mitchell scowled. “Fuck you.”

The three of us piled into Mitchell’s truck and drove to New Leaf Market. When we entered the store, my nasal passages were immediately overwhelmed by that peculiar odor that every natural food store seems to have. Dave examined protein jugs while Mitchell and I pretended to look at vitamins. Our real interest was the ass of a cute blonde wearing tiny jean shorts. We were both stunned when she turned around and revealed the angelic face of a fifteen-year-old girl.

          “Damn,” I muttered. “Jailbait.”

          Mitchell gave a low whistle. “What’re they feeding girls these days? Their bodies are looking older and older.”

I grinned and said, “I asked my dad a few weeks ago how old he was when he stopped checking out fifteen-year-old girls.”

          “Yeah? What’d Mr. Bryce say?”

          In my sternest fatherly tone of voice, I growled, “The age you’re at right now!”

          Mitchell laughed and we ambled our way down the aisle. A decent looking woman in her late fifties strolled by us with a suggestive smile. She wore expensive jewelry and looked like she had fake tits.

          “Cougar,” I whispered to Mitchell.

          “Nope. Saber Tooth.”

          “Saber Tooth?”

          “Yeah, hot and looking for young cock, but old enough to be extinct.”

          We both chuckled and joined Dave at the supplement rack. He eventually selected an EAS jug of protein and Mitchell and I bought two protein bars.

          On the way back to the fraternity house, I silently munched my bar in the backseat. Amy’s words were echoing torturously in my head. You look smaller. You look smaller. You look smaller. Many college girls suffer from anorexia, but it is no less true that most meatheads suffer from bigorexia. In my mind, I could never be big enough, I was nowhere near big now, and it was going to take way too long to get big again.

          “This is fucking bullshit!” I finally blurted out.

          “What?” Dave asked.

          “I’ve shrunk up like a bitch and my hand still fucking hurts! I should stop bullshitting and just do some steroids.”

           These words were not meant to be taken seriously, but Mitchell must have sensed my desperation because he made penetrating eye contact with me in the rear view mirror.

 “I’ve got five amps of Sustanon left,” he said. “If you want to do half a cycle, I’ll sell them to you for twenty dollars apiece.”

          “Fuck that,” I immediately replied. “I don’t need steroids to get big.”

          Mitchell shrugged. “It’ll take longer without them.”

We rode in silence for a few seconds and I thought about my hand and the size I had lost. I also remembered the vow I made after the fight with the Iotas. Never again. Never again would I fail to fight for my boys.

          Dave must have been watching the battle of emotions playing out on my face because he snickered and said, “C’mon Bryce. Don’t you want to join us on the dark side of the force?”

          I shook my head. “No…at least I don’t think so.”

          Dave laughed and I noticed an eager glare in his eyes. My fraternity brother wanted me to do steroids because he had done them and because alpha males like it when their boys get bigger. Size mattered in Tallahassee—the more you had, the more respect you and your crew were given.

          “Will juice help my hand recover?” I asked.

Mitchell nodded. “It’s not gonna help the bone heal faster or anything like that, but it’ll definitely strengthen those tendons and muscles in your hand that haven’t been used in a while.”

Dave also nodded. “That’s probably what was hurting you today.”

          I thought about this and asked, “So how long does it take for Sustanon to start working?”

          Mitchell chuckled. “If you start today, you’ll be getting classroom wood tomorrow like it’s ninth grade geometry.”

“That fast?”

“Yeah. One of the testosterone esters is propionate and that shit kicks in after like three hours.”

          “Just do it, Bryce,” Dave urged. “You’ll be busting a super-sized load all over Allison tonight.”

          Shaking my head with a grin, I returned my attention to the protein bar and continued to munch on the chalk-tasting substance. I stared out the window and imagined the possibilities. My thoughts were excited. And conflicted.

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