Curious, I opened the box somewhat hesitantly.  I dunno, maybe I thought something was going to jump out at me.  No movement, so I took the top completely off and found what I thought was a blue, shiny tank top resting at the bottom.  I'm by no means athletic, too many hours of a wasted youth in front of video games rather than doing anything outside.  Not fat, really, just not 'muscular', or anyone that could in any way fill out a tank top.

I pulled it out, and realized, it wasn't just a tank top, it appeared to be a onesie.  Maybe a wrestling singlet?  Ok, now I know somebody screwed up - I have absolutely no business using or wearing this.  I turn it over in my hands, the fabric must be that spandex / lycra stuff.  It's shiny, and looks like it's supposed to hug against whoever's wearing it.  It's got some white inlays on the side - made well, looks durable.  It looks like it's an XL, probably would fit someone 220-225 lbs or so, maybe heavier.  I look down at my 165 lb body and laugh slightly to myself.  Looking back at the singlet, on the right leg is a little white square with a red logo of what looks like a stickman with his hands raised.  The word "Brute" under the logo on the tag. "Yep," I think, "you'd have to be one to wear one of these things."

Holding the singlet, I thought of those pictures I'd seen of college athletes completely going at it.  There was something of a primal urge to dominate about them.  I guess I could see that.  I looked closer at it, then back at myself in the mirror I'd walked over to my brown eyes nestled under a unruly mop of black hair that sort of defied any meaningful style.  Why not

I stripped down to nothing and realized that besides being painfully pale, having no muscle to even mention, and looking as far from an athlete as one can be, I had no idea how to put one of these things on.  No zippers or anything, so I guess it's in through the neck.  I stepped in and put each leg through the appropriate holes, then without much effort draped the straps over my nonexistent shoulders.  It was laughable, really.  My legs didn't even come close to touching the holes that were meant to grab them, and if I didn't hold the straps on my shoulders, they'd fall down my arms.  The neck line was so large, it draped past my smooth 'chest' and would've exposed my abs if I'd had any.

I looked like a little kid in their big brother's wrestling gear.  It really reminded me of when I'd tried on my first singlet - my big brother's in fact.  I couldn't have been more than 5 or 6 and was really curious about the sport. He was a high school wrestler back then, very muscular.  Someone I looked up to.  I loved his legs. They were his secret weapon.  He really overtrained legs, something his coach loved because of the strength, but his quads got so big he had to customize his singlets, the leg holes were just too small.

I widened my stance in front of the mirror, shifting my weight.  I smiled to myself.  My legs were bigger than his.  My singlet digging into my deeply etched quads, every muscle standing at stark relief. Square stances were always hard for me, but they were my favorite.  Fake out whoever I was rolling with at the time, let them think they have the advantage, then Boom! - Quads sprung, and immediate take down. Plus, with legs this big, it was almost impossible to get my lead leg out without a waddle to adjust my hip position that threw me off balance.

I reached down to touch my legs, and felt the singlet rub against my abs.  I stood straight and saw my 8 pack, in stark relief, like the singlet had been vacuum packed on my torso.  God I'd worked to train those.  I wasn't gonna  let anybody get backs on me! Had to get my bridges just right, and the secret was always a tight core.  Hours doing bridges, planks, anything to build a bulletproof torso.  Dieted like hell to get 'em, but damn did it pay off. 

I rolled my bowling ball shoulders, trying to get some room from the straps clinging onto my traps, moving my huge bi's off my lats, the singlet almost digging into the cobra hood that was my back. I raised an arm and flexed a 21 inch bicep in the mirror, a cocky grin on my face.  Coach always said my pecs and my arms were going to kill my growth allowance.  I never gave a fuck though. The size is what was made my opponents run screaming. Hell, they'd basically stick themselves to the mat if I just glanced at them.  Sure I'd bare my teeth and give a guttural growl, but that's beside the point.  I looked at the veins snaking their way down my massive forearms and up my bi's and tri's to my shoulders. Faces of opponents those arms had wrapped up and took down flashed past.  Even guys that had more mat time than I did couldn't get past my sheer strength.  Those shoulders gave me more inner control than any opponent I ever faced.

My pecs strained against the fabric of the singlet.  A deep trench between them.  They were so big, the singlet actually folded up underneath them, just accentuating  my immense size.  I flexed a most muscular, the blood rushing into the muscle, pumping the veins larger, and let out a primal roar, my deep voice echoing through my room.  I gave a deep dumb laugh.  It was something I'd always done at staging at any tournament.  Scared the hell outta anyone around me.  I mean after all I was a monster.  Not a shred of fat or water on me, and nothing but dense, powerful, primal muscle. Holding the pose, feeling an almost orgasmic pump, I saw a blond glint on my chest.  Damn, the hair was already growing back - I'd never get through the groom check like that. It'd had been a problem since high school when I started juicing - my transition from human to mutant beast.  Sophomore year, it'd gotten so bad it earned me the name "Beast".  I liked that though. Primal, masculine...dominating.  My 10 in cock stirred to life just thinking about controlling an opponent, toying with them, then using my raw strength to force them to the mat and make them submit - Holy shit I almost blew my load - God I love wrestling!

I looked back, game face on, locking stares with the blue-eyed blond hulk in the mirror. My deep tan and flawless skin popped agains the shiny blue of the singlet.  I gave a deep growl, never breaking the penetrating gaze to my opponent: myself. This would be my last year wrestling for the college, but maybe I could go on and trade in my singlet for posing trunks.  I was almost bigger than most of those bodybuilders anyway. and the thought of getting even bigger - I flexed my lats, arms and chest again and watched the raw power in the striations - transitioning from beast to full on mutant.  Oh yeah. That was me.

I turned around and saw the note and key in the box.  It was a quarter of four now, so I could just make it.  Dunno who it could be though - girls, guys - it didn't matter, everyone wanted to worship this muscle. I flexed a double bi in the mirror, lats straining against the blue fabric. The Brute logo stretched out against my quads.  "Damn right I fuckin am!", I gave a knowing grin at the stud in the mirror and strutted off to the field house.