chapter 8

Ah ha ha ha! Stephen may have thought no one could see him, but I had night vision cameras installed in the cellar. I could see him becoming more dependant on the gaining shake that he received every time he pressed the button. I had created the recipe to make it highly addictive. Those who drank it would have the happy centre in the brain stimulated about twenty minutes after drinking it. The high sugar content would increase that buzz, but the high fat content and the sedatives would ensure they would not want to be doing any strenuous exercise.
As I watched, I saw Stephen pile the weight on. He lost his slim figure and his chiselled good looks. He became a fat wobbly piece of lard who sat around doing the minimum every day.
He was drinking copious amounts of my formula. He grew out of his clothes and continued to get bigger. I was particularly taken with his flabby breasts, his floppy arms and his large belly that divided into two and hung down over his genitals.
Meanwhile, I was looking as good as ever! I made many an enemy from fellow body building competitors. They thought I had to be cheating because I did not appear to put the gym work in. My muscles maintained their shape, symmetry and definition, even though I did not bother with the gym any more. Maybe it was cheating, but not in the way they thought.
I didn?euro(TM)t bother with all the vitamin and mineral supplements. I did not inject steroids. I did not have implants inserted. I ate whatever I wanted, whenever I wanted. I could eat vast volumes of food and drink, yet I did not have to worry about putting a pound on.
I was invited to lots of parties. I was a handsome and popular guest. Girls flocked to my sides. Champagne was thrust into my hand. Once I had drank it someone gave me another glass, or something stronger. I rarely woke up with a hangover, but I would often be very hungry indeed. A nice full English fried breakfast would probably sort me out!
I enjoyed the hedonistic lifestyle that the photograph allowed me to lead. I will not deny the rumours that surround me because they are all probably true. I?euro(TM)ve had coke fuelled sex. I?euro(TM)ve had a three-in-a-bed romp. I?euro(TM)ve had a mistress and I?euro(TM)ve been supplicant to her. I?euro(TM)ve had sex in cars, on yachts, in pay by the hour hotels and luxury apartments. I?euro(TM)ve done it in a scenic lift, on a tractor and in a photo booth.
Why would I want a regular girlfriend who would sit and moan at me when I could have whatever I wanted from just about whoever I wanted. Blondes, brunettes, redheads... they all came to me willingly. I did not have to chase after them or seduce them. It was my reputation as a muscle man that brought them to my door.
Before I had the photograph I would have had to turn them all down. Now I accepted most invitations I was given.