chapter 2 bruno

After a trip to the local movies, a solemn dinner, and a moist-eyed farewell, I walked back to the East Tower. I was removing a wedgie--a frequent occurrence, especially after walking up stairs--when I saw the door to my dorm was open.

Here we go, I thought.

I gave a friendly double-rap on the open door. "Hey, there. I'm Adrien--"

The guy before me sent my heart fluttering. It was the first time the words had evaporated in my throat.

He was massive. With my 5'2", maybe 5'3" height, I saw heights greater than 6'2" as pretty much all the same. But seeing this guy--Bruno, I hoped--tuck in the corners of his newly made bed and stand to his full height, his head angled a bit to the side to keep from brushing the ceiling, I knew that he must be taller than anyone I'd ever know.

"Oh, hey, Adrien," he said. His voice was so deep I was afraid I'd fall into it. "I'm Bruno. Looks like we'll be dorming together this year."

He lumbered over to me and held out his arm. His skin was the smooth creamy color of a latte, and there was so much of it. Bruno wore a sleeveless shirt and displayed a pair of arms so massive--his upper arms monstrously packed with both muscle and chub, his forearms as thick as my calves--that they were comparable to my waist.

My fingers clumsily attempted to span his palm, but his entire hand enveloped mine. It was warm. I felt so secure.

"N-nice to meet you," I said. This was ridiculous, I thought furiously. I hardly ever got flustered. I took resolute steps toward my side of the room, casually flicking my eyes between my stuff and Bruno's huge physique. "I hope you don't mind that I took this side."

"Not at all, man." Bruno's neck was enormous, and it led down to a wide pair of shoulders, which framed some pecs that were very clearly straining the sleeveless shirt he wore. I saw with thrill that his nipples were large and that there was a slight jiggle to his pecs with his loping movements, a jiggle which rippled down to the nethers of his wide, wide waist. His giant pecs pushed his shirt so far forward that it was difficult to make out what belly--if any--slumbered underneath. I had to turn away from him and pretend to start unpacking to prevent Bruno from seeing how excited I was.

"So where're you traveling from, Bruno?" I asked, with a quick glance in his direction for politeness' sake.

The glance informed me that Bruno had been inspecting my butt. And that one giant hand had been lingering around one pec, the other tugging at the elastic of his basketball shorts.

"New Jersey," he said. "Do you need any help unpacking?"

"Um." That's very considerate, I thought. So this guy was tremendous and kind. The epitome of a gentle giant. I surveyed my unopened bags and remembered the jocks and various potentially discomforting gay paraphernalia I had and said, "Nah, that's all right. You've already went through the effort of organizing your side. I'll take care of this."

I found a plastic-wrapped bunch of cookies I had packed after removing some shirts. They were butter madeleines with a thick layer of ganache I had baked earlier that day. An idea bloomed.

"Oh, hey, Bruno, do you want some of these cookies I made?"

"Sweet! What kind?"

The sudden excitement in his voice made me turn around. And I was duly rewarded.

Bruno had been reclining on his bed. His thighs had swelled to mammoth proportions, his own calves shifting like sacs of beige flesh above feet that were just as long as my forearms. But it was his act of leaning forward to see my cookies--his shirt catching underneath his abdomen--that showed he did in fact have a substantial amount of chub underneath his pecs. I could tell the chub covered broad layers of muscle. But there it was nonetheless--the tell-tale indent of a deep belly button, surrounded by a smooth layer of curved fat and the inchoate roundness of juvenile lovehandles.

I couldn't answer. I just passed the entire plate, all 36 cookies, over to his eager face.

"They look so good!" he said, delicately opening the plastic. He tasted a single one and his eyebrows leapt. "They're awesome! You made these?"

"Yessir," I said, catching his enthusiasm and smiling.

"That's right," he said, nodding and swallowing his third and grabbing a couple more. "I remember on your profile thing that you said you liked baking."

"Yep." I was now moving about the room, opening drawers and depositing socks, underwear, and foldable clothes. Bruno followed me with his earnest, Roman brow, his powerfully straight nose and turned his golden eyes down only to retrieve a massive handful of cookies while I spoke. "I started off with the premade mixes, you know? Typical cupcakes, cakes, that sort of thing. But I always wanted the flavor to be thicker and more substantial so I started baking from scratch. Which is actually easier than most people think. It's pretty much the same basic ingredients."

"You baked these from scratch?" he asked incredulously. Onward he munched. I smiled at the fact that he had demolished half the plate, his lips dotted with a crumb here or there.

"Yessir," I said again. "I can't remember the last time I used a mix. I'm a fan of cookies, since there's so much variety. But--"

"What about pie?" Bruno interrupted, reaching for more cookies.

"Yep. They take a little longer, and I prefer tarts 'cause of the fluted edges, but definitely. Which pies do you like?"

"Oh gosh," he said. He boyishly shrugged. "All of 'em."

"Haha, well maybe I can whip up a few once the holidays come."

"That'd be awesome," said Bruno, who reached for another cookie and whose fingers met the unforgiving plastic of the plate. "Uh-oh, looks like I finished them all. Sorry, man. They were so good. So good. I can't remember the last time I had cookies like those. Damn, they're gone."

Bruno stood--sending my heart a-flutter again--and deposited the empty plate and plastic in the bin. He caught his reflection in the mirror, stooped a bit to see better, and flexed his pecs and arms. His brow furrowed at the sight of the starting roundness at his hips.

"Dang, I gotta be careful," he said. "Freshman fifteen and all."

"Tell me about it," I said, midway through hanging my shirts and specially tailored jeans.

"What do you have to worry about?" said Bruno, smiling gently, but gazing at me and my body.

"I mean, fifteen pounds is a lot on a guy like me," I said.

"That's true. I guess me gaining fifteen pounds wouldn't cause much of a dent on my big ole frame."

If I could smell my own pheromones, I'd vomit from its reek. But I had to play it cool, "Yeah, and it helps that you're so tall. How tall are you?"

"Last I checked I was six foot six," he said simply.

"Damn," I whispered, and he laughed. "I'm somewhere between five two and five three."
"And probably two hundred pounds lighter too."

"People often think that," I said, turning around and indicating the masses of flesh reminding the world I had an ass, which lead to my broad thighs and calves. "Until they see this big ole thing."

For daring effect, I gave my ass a big slap that sent it jiggling.

Bruno's attention snapped to it like a trained dog, his mouth slightly parted and his eyes serious. But his lips curled upward in a forced smile.

"Yeah, you've definitely got some weight there. But imagine having every part of you like that." Bruno flexed his biceps in the mirror and his arms looked like they were on the brink of explosion. There was so much, so much flesh encased in his arms that my breath faltered. "The weight adds up. I'm pushing 330 pounds myself."

The clatter of the hanger reverberated sharply through the room. I immediately tried to pick it up, offering a silly "whoops!" to diffuse the tension.

Jesus, he really was at least two hundred pounds heavier than me.

"Well?" said Bruno coyly. His huge hands rested on his hips expectantly, and again I saw the whispers of his wide belly swell as his shirt tightened.

"Well, what?"

"Now you have to tell me how much you weigh."

"Oh," I said and smiled. "It's not going to seem like a lot, but remember, I'm short! I'm basically 120 pounds."

Bruno just laughed. I blushed and tried to occupy myself with something else that needed putting away but couldn't find anything remaining.

"You're tiny. I think I weighed that when I was in third grade," said Bruno.

I didn't know how to respond except by getting hornier, so I was glad when floormates stopped by our door and reminded us of the first floor meeting.