Confessions of a Gym Groupie

The pair passed by a chainlink covered stretch of dark asphault with a b-ball court. The women hollered in support of their men, their brawny bodies shirtless and glistening in the sweat of the day.

A pair of shirtless, bronze men approached the big guy. "Listen, you wanna play? Call me crazy, I'm guessing you can ball."

"I really have to –"

"C'mon, show us what you got. Look, it'll be five of us against you. We'll make you look good for your honey there."

Zee started to peel his shirt off, revealing his powerhouse testosterone-fed, bronzed upper torso, cut and defined to the point the small square-shaped muscles surrounding his abs were visible. There was a sudden cooing and laughing and cries of "yeah baby!" from the women on parked cars that watched the field. Cries of "damn, he's fine" and "I want him to have my baby" and "wish my man had that kind of body" went up from the ladies. Jasmine grinned; she was proud her man was making this kind of impression.

Zee strode out onto the field like a colossus. When the whistle sounded, he charged like a herd of elephants, snapping the ball away with an effortless slap. He dribbled ten times per second, so fast the ball was a solid blur. Zee hurled the ball with such force that the backboard was slightly dented; even from a three point line it soared as accurately as a heat-seeking missile.

Zee wove around, ducked, and swiped the ball; he seemed to be everywhere at once. When the men on the other team passed the ball, Zee interposed himself to grab the ball like a Secret Service agent taking a bullet for the President. His giant powerhouse body was jet-propelled and moved at blurry speed. His body was a solid wall. It was unlikely at any point during the game any of the five other men got past the center line. They certainly didn't score once. At one point, a man attempted to get in the way of one of Zee's hurled balls, and it struck against him hard enough to leave a bruise on his skin the size of a palm.

Zee occasionally prevented the other men from getting the ball by using his titanic, masculine height that let him tower over the others by pecs, head and shoulders. He would merely hold the ball up above them; he was like an adult holding the ball above the heads of seven year olds.

The last point came when Zee hurled the ball like a comet underhanded from the exact other side of the court. The Hail Mary shot hit true, with a swish of the net. Zee roared triumphantly. His brawny body's movement was effortless.

The five men on the other side were a different story. They watched the last shot sink with horror and depression in their eyes, and finally all of them collapsed on the asphault. They hyperventilated and gasped for breath. One of them even cried.

Worse, the asphault of the court was left pitted with craters like the surface of the moon from Zee's intense dribbling.

Jasmine ran to Zee and hugged him. "Damn, boy, that was like watching a 20 year old play with seven year olds. You made all of them look like little bitches. C'mon, let's high tail it outta here before they make us pay for the balls you accidentally popped."

"I wouldn't worry about those guys." Zee said.

"Those guys? Ha! I'm worried about their girlfriends!"

The pair of them dashed down a concrete alley. Zee's running was effortless; each of his strides was like three steps of an ordinary man. There, Zee stopped and looked down at Jasmine.

"Where'd you say your place was again?" Jasmine said.

"I told you. Way, way uptown." Zee picked Jasmine up and took her up in his arms. Richard Gere in AN OFFICER AND A GENTLEMAN never did better; she rested her head on his giant pectorals. She loved the feeling of his arms, as thick as her waist, around her body. Jasmine was not a small girl, but Zee made her feel downright petite and feminine.

Then, Jasmine felt a lurch in the pit of her stomach.

When Jasmine looked down she saw that she was forty feet above the ground and still climbing; Zee's big, boot-busting feet did not touch the ground.

It was nothing as vulgar like the flight of Peter Pan or Superman. Rather, it was more like Zee ran in the sky, as if the air beneath his feet was solid ground.

Jasmine could feel the wind whipping through her ponytail and she had to close her almond Asian eyes because the speed made them sting. She looked down and the city below looked like a muddy gray that sped past with a blur. Zee ran through clouds, with beads of their moisture left on Jasmine's face. Jas saw a v-shaped flock of birds from above, and she was nearly deafened by the metalling drone of a passenger plane that Zee outsped as if it was standing still with his blurred cheetah legs, pumping with the power of a team of charging wild horses.

Finally, one cloud in particular came into view, which Zee set Jas on top of. To her surprise the surface of the cloud was as solid as a sidewalk. The cloud's smooth flat top was covered with a small mini-fridge, magazines, a microwave, posters of Jessica Alba and Morgan Tatopolous, and a night-table. Her foot kicked against an iron dumb-bell. There was a bench press with four silver weight plates on either end of the bar, each one being the size of a monster truck wheel. Even when hung up on the bar, the weights touched the floor of the cloud.

In other words, it was a very typical batchelor pad badly in need of a woman's touch, except it was thousands of feet up.

Jasmine leaned back against the floor and stretched her elastic dancer's body like a yawning cat. The cloud was a wispy white mist, but against Jasmine's mocha-dark naked body it was as soft as silk sheets in an Arabian Sultan's palace, yet as solid as concrete.

"Who's your architect...Salvador Dali? Still, lots of girls would love a guy with a place in Central Park West. 10,000 feet above Central Park West, but still."

"I gotta say, you're handling the oddity of all this with disturbing ease." Zee said.

"Well, I think I'd be more freaked out if I wasn't still on that natural high from the sex session. You were amazing, a god in the sheets, like seven men. But to tell the truth, I am a mite curious about all this, though." Jasmine said.

"Well, it's like this." Zee lay his naked body down beside hers, his wide torso reaching heights like a peaking mountain range, her body crushed like a flower against his cut, ridged muscle, her feet only touching his mid-thigh while her face was pushed into his huge pecs, each one rivaling her head in size.

"I'm a clone of the Greek god Zeus created by scientists." Zee said, plainly, as he kissed with butterfly light pecks over Jasmine's brown body, each one at a specific cluster of nerves that the slightest touch sent Jasmine squeal, coo, and writhe and wiggle involuntarily.

"Huh?" She said. "My tax dollars at work. Shoot, I guess I can believe it. But that's so messed up I don't know where to start. Like, who'd clone Zeus? And how do you clone a mythological god? That's like cloning Fat Albert."

Zee smiled roguishly and laughed. "Archeologists found a spear the size of a telephone pole at a site in India, that had blood on it of a type scientists couldn't identify. They assumed it must have been left over from an ancient nuclear war between the gods of Greece and India." He spoke between attentive kisses that became more intense, his brawny, smooth and warm body grinding against hers like gears in a watch.

Jasmine reached her hand back and slapped his muscle-hard, hill-shaped bubble ass with a slap that sounded as loudly as a gunshot. Jasmine's hand was turned slightly red. "Uh-huh. Why'd they...uhhhhh!...think it was a good idea?"

"To solve the energy crisis." He said, as he turned Jasmine around and kissed her in her special spot right at the base of the neck – most boyfriends took years to find it, but it made her spine instantly break into an arch and cause her teeth and eyes to shut tightly, her hands and feet tightening. "If Zeus is god of thunder, in theory, I ought to be able to produce enough electrical power to provide for the planet. They designed a sort of clip-on beeper I'd wear at all times that would relay energy to power stations all over the world, that I guess they'd build. They figured with the stations and radio projectors in place we'd go from a petroleum-based economy to a Zeus-powered economy."

"Uhhh! Oh God, right there..." Jasmine said. "Sounds right to me. Cloning a mythological god is the most realistic plan the politicians have offered yet."

"Nah, you think any politician has the vision to propose something like that? It was a secret society of scientists, all on their lonesome, led by a lady named the Tsarina. Human cloning wasn't even possible until a paper back in '99 by that Big Dragon guy. Man, he's the greatest. He was eighteen when he wrote it, too you know, and he looked at that problem from an angle nobody thought to look before. It made everything possible."

Zee got up from the cloud bed and moved to his fridge. "Excuse me a sec, lover, gotta feed these big pythons and make 'em grow." He said, performing a double-bicep pose. Jasmine didn't care. She couldn't get enough of looking at his perfect body naked. She had no trouble believing he was a god; he was such a physically perfect Adonis that it almost hurt to look at him. His symmetry was perfect at the microscopic level; a Renaissance artist would have a field day with his body's angles.

"At first, they didn't think the experiment was successful. Even though I was forced-grown to maturity over a couple years, I barely cracked five feet. I had seizures all the time, and I was starting to go bald. We weren't really let out of the compound, and...I, uh, started to get overweight. I had a little potato body."

"No bullshit, huh?" Jasmine said. She was interested, but mostly she was focused on his girly posters. She remembered learning in 9th Grade English that the first Zeus back in the day was something of a player type. But that was probably because there were no BAPs in Ancient Greece. You don't get in the way of a Negro Chinese girl and her man, and if Jasmine was going to have to cut a bitch, then so be it.

"Wait, wait, I haven't gotten to the good part yet." He said. "Things started to change one particular night when my body started to lose weight. I was like a popping corn kernel in reverse. When the Tsarina came to look in on me, she saw my body was fragile and thin."

"Man, wish my bod could do something like that." Jasmine said, though most of her weight generally went behind her exclusively to her ass and thighs. "Who is the Tsarina, anyway?"

"That I don't know." Zee said. "There is one weird part: every time I have seen her, she looks totally different. Maybe she can change shape...or maybe she's several different people pretending to be one person. One, a red-haired woman, kicked herself for not seeing it before. They say my seizures were the result of excessive energy production in the brain."

"At any rate, she was pleased with what was going on. That's when my body started to grow day by day. I woke up to find myself taller. Pants only lasted a few days before they became 'high-water.' I could feel muscles grafting themselves on my frame as I slept, and I woke up covered in sweat and my body felt heavier. My thin rail arms soon got to be massive battering rams. My pancake pecs became giant slabs, and my stick legs became these columns. Man, was it great to go to the facility weight room and watch the expressions of fear and amazement on trainers that called me a shrimp mistake. They guessed I grew a half-inch every day, and put on five pounds of muscle." Zee flexed his arm, making his bicep expand into a giant granite boulder. "At first, my arm was soft as a sponge. Then it was like a little golf ball. Then..." His voice trailed off. "What are you thinking about?" He said, prodding her.

"I was thinking...you need a hip-hop name, love. Zee doesn't cut it." She said, thinking it over. "How about T-Bolt?"

"Actually I like the sound of that. T-Bolt." He slid his rough, huge hands over Jasmine's body and squeezed and kneaded her ass. He slapped it, loud enough to send a great thunderclap sound as if someone had gotten shot. Zee kissed Jas's voluminous ass, and playfully nibbled with his teeth along the apple-shaped surface, well enough to leave teethmarks. "God, I love your ass so much." He said.

Jasmine smiled. She had always been vain about her big hips and pronounced posterior.

Jasmine crawled like a tigress over the cloud and opened the minifridge, and removed a bottle of chocolate syrup and shook an aerosol can of whipped cream. Her tongue ran over her enormous lips and licked the syrup from the tip. "Let's lick this." She said, suggestively. She wanted to worship his muscles.

Zee – T-Bolt - reclined his gigantic naked body in the manner of a debauched Ancient Roman, his back in the cloud. Zee's massive body was, at the shoulders, the width of a golf cart. Jasmine dripped the hot syrup onto his giant thighs, the liquid pooling into the valley cuts in between the teardrop shaped muscles. Jasmine shook the can of whipped cream, which hissed with release between his giant legs, forming swirls.

Jasmine dropped to her knees beside him and started licking wantonly, her hot, wide tongue lapping at his Egyptian-column iron hard thighs like a doberman's, greedily guzzling the syrup where it bunched in between his cut thighs, her lips kissing and sliding along; Jasmine couldn't help but have a little drool escape from the corner of her mouth.

Jas dropped her face between his thighs, her lips chewing and devouring the whipped cream on her lover's oversized testicles. T-Bolt's balls were taken in by her sheer suction, the grip of her thick lips as tight as that of a Rubbermaid seal. His testes alone were each the size of chicken eggs, surrounded by a sloshy seal of virile, frothy seed that shook and churned. Beneath her lips she could feel his mighty, oversized sperm-cells ping and ricochet like pinballs and swim like warp-powered torpedoes. Jas's ears were between his muscles, each thigh twice the thickness of his legs; he could bend them in either direction with a split worthy of a contortionist.

Jasmine climbed up T-Bolt's body gracefully a cat, her weight negible to him, his body massive enough to be almost terrain. She plunged her nose and face in between Zee's Grand-Canyon ravine deep pecs, the heat from his body collecting there, causing her to sweat. Jasmine felt a tang of metal against her tongue. She stopped and looked at her lover.

"What's this?" She asked.

"Cruxifix," he said. "Tsarina hoped it would keep me down to earth if I was raised Orthodox."

"Man, that is some crazy-ass shit. Zeus is a practicing Orthodox Christian." Jasmine said.

Jasmine did not notice when a tentacle poked up through the cloud and wrapped itself around her ankle, pulling her off Zee with a whip-crack.

T-Bolt ran to the edge of the cloud and looked down. With a thought, the dairy on his body transformed into wispy air. Weaving atoms from the air, he clothed himself in a pair of giant cargo pants and a tight black muscle t-shirt that said "GOT MUSCLE?" The letters were pulled tight over his giant square pecs.

Zee didn't know who to be more scared for: Jasmine, or the monster that grabbed her. Jasmine was fierce. When he leaped off the cloud, he saw Jasmine raked the skin of her captor, and her press-on nails were lodged into its flesh.

The monster was a red squid the size of a yacht, its dinner plate-sized eyes were alien and malevolent, and in between them was a giant pulsing red gem. The mollusk moved in the air as if it was swimming in water instead of flying in air. Jasmine hung from the tentacle, suspended upside down.

You should have not left the base. The creature's gem projected its thought-waves. To Zee, the quality of its thoughts were disturbingly alien, overwhelmingly intelligent.

"What the–" T-Bolt said. "What the hell, man! I mean, seriously!" He shouted, shocked and indignant.

For eons, the gods of land, the human gods, fought the gods worshipped only by beasts. Why I do I attack? Because it is in my nature. Because I hate you. Because killing the greatest of the human gods would be a triumph. Most of all because death is beautiful.

To Jasmine, the thought-waves were as overpowering as a man speaking through a megaphone right next to the ear. She shouted back. "Kick his ass, T-Bolt! Be a man and save your woman!"

"Buddy, you made the worst mistake of your life taking my chick. When I'm done with you, you're gonna be seeing the business end of a calamari fork." T-Bolt twitched his pectorals. They bounced beneath his shirt in a dance. He flexed in preparedness his enormous arms, the shirtsleeve, big enough for a girl to hula-hoop in, were pulled and rode up when his triceps rose

"Man, I am SO hot for you right now." Jasmine cooed.

"Yeah? Watch this." At that, T-Bolt rushed so quickly at the monster his body was a single invisible blur, smashing the body of the monster like a freight train charging at full speed, the pair of them spinning. A tentacle lost its grip on Jasmine's neck. T-Bolt looked down and saw her fall through the air. She could fly about as well as a filing cabinet.

T-Bolt whistled in air. Jasmine felt herself land with a slam onto pure white feathers. She was flying on the back of a gigantic milk-white eagle the size of an elephant with a wingspan as great as an eight-lane highway.

T-Bolt grasped a tree-trunk thick tentacle with his iron muscles and tore it out with all his might. The boneless mass ripped like a turkey leg. The god of squids roared with pain.

He could feel a slither, as a pair of tentacles wrapped themselves about his waist, squeezing with a force that could crush a solid titanium girder, but which left T-Bolt's body adamantly remaining. The creature changed color from red to gold like a chameleon, filled with his gold immortal ichor that he had instead of mortal red blood.

With an elevation of his bulging arms, it was as if the strength of the squid god's tentacles had turned to water. T-Bolt pushed the hoop tentacles off of his godly body effortlessly, his grip squeezing both with a crush. There was a sound like the tearing of a band-aid, and T-Bolt saw that on his bronze skin were marks where the suction cups had dug into his flesh and drank his blood.

T-Bolt struck as quick as a snapping mousetrap, too quick for the human eye to see, and with a grasp of a tentacle in his iron grip, he swung the entire mass of the creature around in blurring, cyclonic speeds before he hurled it to the ground.

Its body smashed against the great spire on the top of the Empire State Building, and where the creature's alien body met steel and iron, it was the steel and iron that yielded.

T-Bolt's hand crackled and sparked like a flashing camera. A thunderbolt took a solid shape, like a spear in it, too brilliant to be looked at. With a flash like the sun had come to earth and grown a thousand times, the bolt was hurled and struck the falling spire. In moments there had been only superheated red mist where the spire had been.

The creature's flew and struck the asphault of the New York street.

T-Bolt ran so fast a trail of flame was left where his feet dashed on the ground, and soon joined the creature in the stygian darkness below the city.

T-Bolt's godly brain raced. "If we ever had a beard-off, the first Zeus would win in a heartbeat, but there's one thing around now when the original wasn't: a dude by the name of Steven Hawking."

T-Bolt pointed, and at his command, his fingertips hurled tiny black holes, each the size of a ball-bearing. The very air melted and swirled around them like water down a drain.

Before they could strike the god of squids, the deity appeared to be in many different places at once, surrounded by seven identical duplicates. The color of the creature shifted to match the darkness of the subway station. Only the single red gem between its eyes glowed balefully. The flickering ceased when the rain of black holes struck around harmlessly.