Size Isn’t Everything, It’s the Only Thing! (short story)

Size Isn’t Everything, It’s the Only Thing!

Written By SteeleBlazer

            The gym echoed with the rhythmic clang of weights and the grunts of men pushing their limits. Among them stood Brock, a behemoth of a man with biceps that could rival watermelons. He flexed, admiring the way his muscles rippled beneath his skin, a testament to years of dedication to pumping iron. 

            While he loved his big, beefy biceps best, he loved all his big, beefy, bulging muscles, and he loved measuring their might against the biggest, heaviest weights he could handle. And no other man in the gym could handle and lift the same weights as him. As he curled a pair of truly massive dumbbells, he felt the power and he felt the pump, and even as strong as he was, even these weights were almost too much for him to handle…

            Still, it’s the heavy weights that grow the biggest muscles, and he found that measuring his strength against the heaviest weights is one of the best ways to measure his strength and muscles. And while he could have gone lighter, and no one would have thought differently of the weights he’d be lifting, he believed that size isn’t everything, it’s the only thing.

            And the thing about size is, the bigger, the better!

            Suddenly, a soft high-pitched voice interrupted his reverie. "Hey there, big guy." 

            Brock looked up to see a really cute petite lil’ woman, her small but well-rounded physique and sparkling eyes instantly catching his attention. She was short, barely reaching his shoulder, but her beauty and radiant smile made her presence undeniable. 

            "Can I watch you flex?" she asked, her voice soft and delicate just like her comely features. 

            Brock's chest puffed with pride. "Of course," he boomed, flexing his biceps with a powerful flourish. 

            The woman's eyes widened. "Wow! They're huge!" she exclaimed; her voice filled with admiration. "Can I measure them?" 

            Brock chuckled, amused by her enthusiasm. "Sure, why not?" 

            The woman quickly pulled out a measuring tape from her pocket, her slender fingers excitingly handling it. Brock held out his arm, a smirk playing on his lips. He knew his biceps were a sight to behold, and he was eager to see the woman's reaction when she saw the numbers. They were larger than life, stretching the limits of what most people thought was humanly possible, just as he'd be stretching out that measuring tape. 

            The woman carefully wrapped the tape around his bicep, her gaze fixed on the numbers. "Hmm," she muttered, her brow furrowed. 

            Brock's smile faltered. "What's wrong?" he asked, a hint of unease creeping into his voice. 

            "It says 17-inches," the woman replied, her voice small. Just like the measurement was smaller than what Brock expected... 

            "17?" Brock scoffed. "No way. My arms are 22-inches." 

            The woman shook her head. "No, they're 17." 

            Brock frowned in disgust, "Last time I measured them, they were 22-inches and that was months ago they’d have to be even bigger now!" 

            The woman's eyes met his, a mischievous glint in them. "Well, they're... actually 16.5-inches now." 

            Brock's jaw dropped. "What?!" 

            "Look right here," the woman said, pointing to the tape. 

            She tightened it, and the number on the tape dropped to 15.5-inches; with a slight tug, it slipped down to 15-inches. 

            "Wow," the woman frowned, "smaller than I thought... and kind of squishy."  

            Brock's face flushed red. "My arms are not squishy!" he protested. 

            The woman giggled. "Yeah, and small too." 

            “I’m the biggest, strongest man in this whole gym!” Brock bellowed—or at least he tried to, as his once booming voice came out more mellow, softer, and smaller than he ever imagined it could. 

            “Not according to the tape measure,” she said so matter-of-factly that it had to be true. It went against every fiber of his being, but as he looked at the measuring tape—and at his own arm, missing most of its once prodigious muscle fibers—her words and its measurement seemed to be a fact... And he didn’t know exactly what was going on, but he felt a part of himself slipping away... 

            And he didn’t have time for further contemplation as she gave a giggle and tightened the tape even further, squeezing it so tight that Brock yelped in pain. The number on the tape plummeting from 15... 14... 13...  

            “12-inches," she breathed softly, her eyes wide with disbelief... And perhaps with just a little smile of mischief on her lips. 

            Brock stared at the tape in horror. It couldn't be true. His arms were shrinking, becoming smaller and smaller with each passing moment. He looked down at his once-mighty biceps, now shrunken and flaccid. They were a pitiful 12-inches—no, make that 11.5-inches as she painfully pulled the tape snug, wringing yet another yelp from him. 

            And Brock didn’t know which was more pitiful: that yelp, or his pitifully small biceps. 

            "Noodle arms," the woman declared, a triumphant grin spreading across her face. 

            Brock stared at her in disbelief. He couldn't believe this tiny woman and her measuring tape was making him feel so small. This all had to be some kind of trick, some kind of illusion, some kind of nightmare—as it was in fact his worst nightmare! 

            “I’m a big man!” he shouted, but his voice, now so small and soft, came out more as a pout than a shout. 

            “Sure ya are, lil’ guy, but my tape measure says otherwise,” she replied, her voice no longer as soft as it had been. It seemed stronger, deeper, yet still feminine—a tone that carried the weight of undeniable truth. 

            Brock couldn’t help but feel a sinking realization settle in, or rather a shrinking feeling, and he couldn’t help but think—maybe I’m not as muscular as I thought. The hard truth of it gnawed at him, leaving him unsure of what was real—his memory of being a big, strong man, or the measurement on the tape... Perhaps his muscles were just a memory, giving new meaning to the phrase muscle memory. 

            “I’ll prove it,” he whined as he bore down and summoned all his strength. He flexed as hard as he could, but with those spindly arms of his, it wasn’t much of a flex. You really couldn’t tell if he was flexing or not—if not for all his grunting and the gritting of his teeth. But the tape measure did not go up even the tiniest fraction of an inch... 

            It actually started going down... 

            11-inches the measuring tape read, and both Brock and the woman read it as well.  

            And Brock just flexed harder, or at least tried to, as you really need muscles to flex and he sadly didn’t really have much of those left. 

            “You better settle down, lil’ man, or you’re going to hurt yourself trying to flex with those tiny, soft, little muscles of yours,” she said, her voice stronger now, with a firmness that made the hard truth impossible to ignore. 

            "I don't understand," he stammered, tears welling up in his eyes. "My arms are big! They can't be shrinking!" 

            The woman’s face was a mixture of amusement and pity, and with a smirk, she squeezed the tape tighter. Brock, despite flexing and squeezing as hard as he could, found that the measuring tape proved mightier than his muscles, and down his arm shrank: 11... 10.5... 10... 7... 6... All the way down to feeble, brittle little bone, and with a final little tug, it stopped at just an itty bit over 5-inches. 

            “My muscles!” Brock shrieked in horror at his shrinking arm. 

            Any further cries of Brock’s were cut short as the woman released the tape. Once strong and commanding, he now found himself utterly helpless, despite being freed from the constricting nature of the tape measure. His voice, too, once strong and commanding, had shriveled just like his muscles. He now squealed in helpless disbelief.         His arms, reduced to mere twigs, no longer felt soft and squishy; they were now no more than just skin and bone... 

            With a press of a button, the tape measure snapped back into its case, and with it, Brock's attention snapped back to the woman. Suddenly, he couldn’t quite place it, but the little woman wasn’t so little anymore. She was... bigger, and undeniably muscular... Just as undeniably, there was something strange going on, and also just as undeniably, Brock just wanted this all to be over so he could get back to his workout and lifting weights. 

            "You weren't lifting that weight, were you?" she asked, her voice laced with amusement. "That's way too big for you." 

            Brock felt his face burning with shame. He had been caught red-handed—or more accurately, limp-noodled—his muscles, if you could still call them that, were barely there. He wondered how he had ever managed to lift the dumbbells at his feet. Now, he felt like a real dumbbell, doubting he could ever lift them again. But he had to try... Not just to impress this cute, no-longer-little lady, but to convince both himself and her that he was still a big, strong man. 

            Still as he looked at those muscles, they looked awfully heavy—just like that woman and her inextricably and surprising muscles. 

            “Do you want me to put them back on the rack for you?” she giggled. 

            "Fuck off," he muttered, turning away to hide his embarrassment, but there was no turning away or even hiding from his predicament. And once again he had that shrinking feeling in the pit of his stomach... 

            “The lil’ man has an awfully big temper. You’re just so cute,” she said as she crossed her arms, and he could only marvel in green-eyed jealousy at how her brawny arms, beefy shoulders, and bulging bosom rippled and swelled with muscular strength, despite his eyes actually being blue. 

            "Don't bother me, I'm going to finish my workout," he added, hoping to salvage some of his pride. 

            But as he reached for the dumbbells, he realized he couldn't lift them. His arms trembled, and the weights felt heavier than ever. And that shrinking feeling in his stomach kept growing the more he futilely struggled, growing stronger and stronger, while he had never felt—or been—weaker... 

            The woman giggled again. "Here, let me show you," she said, stepping forward. 

She easily picked up both dumbbells and curled them for a set, her muscles now huge, defying both memory and logic. Muscles that looked bigger and stronger than his ever had. While he struggled with the weights she was lifting, she pumped her arms and lifted them with ease. If his memory served, she was once petite, small, and skinny—what kind of muscle memory was this, that let her lift those weights so effortlessly? 

            "I think you should leave the big weights for us big gals," she said as she gave him a knowing wink—just what she knew, Brock didn’t know, as none of this measured up for Brock—not just his or her muscles—but everything... 

            So, he watched in awe, his heart pounding as her muscles rippled beneath her skin, far bigger, harder, and more defined than his ever were. Her once-petite frame was now more powerful than any he’d ever seen—even his own. Her sculpted shoulders rolled with effortless might, her biceps swelling with each rep, and her legs—strong, shapely, full of steely muscular sinews that tantalized and traumatized him as he lusted after and coveted her and her body in more ways than one... Not only did he pale in comparison, but he felt smaller and smaller while she just kept looking stronger and stronger. The sight of her outmuscling him was belittling, igniting in him a mix of awe, dread, and burning jealousy. He could hardly believe that this was the same woman, who had somehow become more muscular than he had ever been, with a physique that taunted everything he had lost. 

            When she finished, she racked the dumbbells and flexed, her biceps bulging like two giant watermelons. 

            "Keep lifting, little man," she said, her voice dripping with sarcasm. "Maybe you'll get big biceps like mine someday." 

            “But I had biceps like those,” Brock whined hopelessly as he just stood there, speechless, his ego shattered—no his ego deflated—along with all his once prodigious muscles... He had never felt so small, so insignificant... Because he was small and so insignificant... 

            "Did you?" she said, looking down on him, questioning him, her voice soft yet firm, with a deep, rich tone that resonated with strength. "Would you like me to measure your arms again?" 

            “No!” Brock squeaked in a high-pitch scream.  

            He didn’t know what was going on, but he knew he wanted nothing more to do with that measuring tape, and he thought it was foolish for anyone to measure themselves or their worth with such a strange device... Just as it was foolish for him to let her measure him in the first place... He just knew he was having a good workout, feeling good about himself, and once that measuring tape came out, all his insecurities and weaknesses came out with it. 

            And out came the tape measure once more as the woman smirked as she started wrapping it around her own bicep. "Let’s see how I measure up," she teased, her voice dripping with playful challenge.

            The tape read 22-inches, but she wasn’t done. She flexed hard, her bicep swelling like a venerable mountain of muscle, its peak rising higher and higher. “23-inches… 24… 25…” she grunted, her bicep surging larger with each count.

            The tape stretched taut around her growing arm, groaning under the pressure as she continued to flex, her breath heavy with the effort. “26… 27…”

            The tape strained, struggling to contain the sheer power of her flexing muscle. She gritted her teeth and with a mighty grunt, pushed it to 28-inches. But she wasn’t done. "30-inches!" she screamed with an explosive boom, her bicep swelling even larger. The tape groaned as it stretched, and with one final, earth-shaking flex, her bicep boomed and the tape measure snapped!

            She giggled, flexing her massive biceps one last time. "I’m too buff and too much woman for this tape measure," she declared, her voice filled with triumphant glee. "Nothing can measure up to me—not you, not any other man—because nothing measures up to mighty female muscles."

            Brock looked at his own shrunken biceps, then up at the woman's impressive physique, and he knew he just didn’t measure up to her, and he also knew he’d never be able to measure up to such a strange and surprising muscle goddess as her.  

            “Well, little man, it’s been fun, but I really have to grow—I mean go!” she said with a girlish glee, contrasting but also complemented by the booming power of her voice, punctuated by her massive, booming bicep!  

            "Keep lifting and keep dreaming, and maybe one day you’ll be as big and strong as me," she said playfully as she gave him a playful little punch on his tiny, petite, little shoulder, and the impact sent a shockwave through his entire body.  

            Shocked by not just how powerful that little punch was, but also by how what once would have been a harmless tap now rattled him to his core, shaking not just his body but the very foundation of his sense of being. He had never felt more vulnerable, and as his bony knees wobbled and threatened to give out, he realized just how far he had fallen.  

            However, he also knew he was in the one place where he could turn weakness into strength... And he’d done it before, and he could do it again. Yet, he still knew he had a lot of work to do, but he was determined to prove himself... Even if he had to start back lifting the tiny little pink girly weights to do so... One day, he’d grow big and strong and have girly muscles just like hers, and what was surprising was that he didn’t think it was strange to measure his strength against that of a girl—a woman—a woman with mighty female muscles—a muscle goddess! 

            In fact in many ways, it was preferable than that strange tape measure of hers. 

            "Thanks," he mumbled, rubbing his sore boney little shoulder, feeling just the smallest spark of motivation ignite within him. 

            The woman winked. "No problem. Just remember, size isn't everything... It’s the only thing!" 

            Brock was speechless. He wanted to yell at her to come back, that strange as it would sound, she was wrong, and that something was wrong with that tape measure, and that he really was a big man... That he’d be big again like how she was, that he’d have strong girly muscles like her, but he just lacked both the strength and the words to call after her, his mind a whirl of confusion and disbelief. He couldn’t comprehend how her muscles had grown so massive, or how his own had shrunk so drastically. Brock found himself standing alone in the midst of this strange shrinking feeling, watching her walk away, her wide, powerful silhouette encompassing him completely. It was fitting, he thought, that he was now quite literally in her shadow—just as he had become a shadow of the man he once was. His ego, once as inflated as his muscles had been, was now as deflated and shrunken as his biceps. He didn’t know how this had all happened, and he was completely at a loss for words—and muscles.