Chonky Amendola

[Weight gain, muscle growth, hypnosis]

[Six Word “You Call It”: Danny Amendola Joins the Offensive Line]

[As a Pats fan, I chose to make this a Patriots story; also so I could bring Gronk back.]

Phase 1

Danny Amendola showed up to my office for his third visit.

“Another evaluation, Doc Morris?” he said, not even taking his eyes from his phone to look at me. “What’s left to evaluate? I’m in good enough shape, aren’t I?”

“I know my methods are a little unorthodox, but bear with me. Your coach is paying me a lot of money to do what I do.”

“Which is what?” he asked. “Adjust my diet? Change my training? You’re supposed to be my new strength coach, but all we’ve done is sit in this office and talk so far.” He slapped his phone down, then folded his arms.

I didn’t feel the need to respond. I dimmed the lights and activated the light bar on my desk. A small white light slid back and forth with a nearly imperceptible flicker. “Just follow the light, and listen to my voice.” He reached for his phone but I snatched it away. “Sorry, Mr. Amendola. You’re on my time.”

“Fine,” he said. He followed the light. Each time the white dot reached the end of the light bar it let off a soft tick. His eyes slid back and forth and I watched his posture relax.

“So, Mr. Amendola,” I said. “Describe your physique.”

He blinked. “It’s… uh… average.”

“Come on, now. Is that what you believe? You’re in the NFL. Do you think you’re average?”

His head lolled to one side. His voice got drowsy. “I… uh… I’m… way above average.”

“Good,” I said. “Describe yourself. Would you say you were ‘jacked?’ ‘Buff?’ ‘Beefy?’ ‘Ripped?’ ‘Shredded?’ “

His breathing had slowed now. His eyes were attached to the light. “I’m… ripped. Shredded. Built for speed. My body’s just tight muscles and bone.”

“Do you have the biggest muscles on the team?” I asked.

He shook his head. “Not the biggest. Bigger guys, but they can’t catch me. Too lean. Too shredded.”

I smiled. “And what’s responsible for this shredded physique of yours?”

He took a moment to respond. “Football,” was his first answer. Then: “Diet. Gym. Years of training.” After another pause: “Genetics.”

“Good,” I said. I slid a king-size Snickers from my desk and set it on a plate in front of him. “Are you hungry?”

He shook his head.

“Come now. You haven’t eaten in hours. Sure you don’t want just a bite of this?” I unwrapped the chocolate bar and wafted its sweet scent toward him. He slid his chair away.

“No,” he said. “No way. I don’t eat like that. I’m a machine. A football machine. You don’t put garbage in a machine.”

“Good,” I said. “Tell me about your diet. What sort of things do you eat?”

“Oatmeal,” he said. His eyes still focused on the light bar, he reached forward and grabbed the candy bar. “Steak. Tilapia.” With each word, he took a bite of the candy bar. “Brown rice. Sweet potatoes. Tuna.” There was only one bite left. He had a smear of chocolate on his upper lip. “Protein shakes.” He gobbled down the last bite.

“Good,” I said. “Are you sure you don’t want that candy bar? It’s right there on the plate.”

He sneered. “No fucking way.” A dollop of chocolatey drool slid out the right side of his mouth. “Get that shit out of here.” He pushed the empty plate away. To his eyes, the candy bar was still there. As far as he knew, he hadn’t touched it.

“How about this?” I said. I unwrapped another chocolate bar and set it back on the plate. “Here’s steak and sweet potatoes. I know you’re hungry. Fuel that powerful body, Danny!”

He looked down at the plate. “Jesus, that steak looks fucking delicious!” he said. He reached out and grabbed the candy bar, taking a big bite. I could see the gooey chocolate and caramel squishing with every gnosh.

“How’s the steak, Danny?” I asked.

“It’s good. You’re right, I was hungry.”

I put another candy bar on the plate. “You’re still hungry, aren’t you Danny?”

“Nah, I’m good,” he said. He snatched the candy bar off the plate. “I’ve got gym time coming up. I don’t want to be too full.” He bit off half the candy bar, chewed, and shoved the rest in his mouth. “Thanks anyway, doc,” he said with his mouth full.

I made a note to have one of the team assistants slip into Danny’s house and replace the contents of his fridge. I wanted a freshly baked cake on his table every single morning, a freezer stuffed with ice cream, and lots of pasta and mashed potatoes in tupperware containers in his fridge.

Of course the team accountant bristled at my requests, but Coach Belicheck gave me carte blanche to do whatever it took to prove my methods. And if I could turn Danny Amendola into a lineman, imagine what else I could do with his team?

Phase 2

Danny walked into the gym in a t-shirt and compression shorts. I was satisfied to see that both the shirt and the shorts were wildly ill-fitting: the shirt barely covered Danny’s newly burgeoning gut and the rolls around his midsection, and the compression shorts were splitting around his widening thighs and ass. That he still strutted confidently like they fit his sleek body like a glove was a sign that my efforts to realign his thinking had worked. He still saw himself as the ripped NFL stud he always had been, even as the pounds poured on.

I weighed him as soon as he walked in: 210 pounds. That was just over a 20 pound increase in just a few weeks, but I knew we could do better.

The challenge with guys like Amendola is that their metabolisms torch up food no matter how hard I stuff it onto him. I’d added over 10,000 calories a day to Danny’s diets, but the guy was a genetic freak and an NFL stud. A lot of the calories that weren’t used up for energy were going to his thickening muscles, and not just to the soft layers of fat forming on his body. He looked about three inches wider from the muscle growth, but I wanted to see some flab on that frame. I was happy to notice a nice double chin forming below soft cheeks that I had to resist the urge to pinch. As hot as Danny was at his tight, lean weight, the pounds on his new frame looked great on him.

“Let’s give you your B-vitamin shot,” I said just before he headed over to the weights. I’d hypnotized him more than a dozen times since we’d started working together and his brain was nice and suggestible now. If I had asked him to jerk off and finger his plump ass right there, he probably would have.

He peeled down his shorts and produced one plump cheek for me to stick. Of course, what he was getting was a mixture of compounds: an appetite stimulant, plus some newly discovered compounds that stimulated protein synthesis and bone growth. Mainstream science hadn’t heard of these things yet. They would no doubt be banned substances within the year, but by then I wouldn’t need them anymore. Once I’d plunged the syringe, Danny got to work.

“No, no sprinting today,” I urged as he prepared for his usual workout. “We’re going to do something a little different.” I walked him to a squat rack. “Just heavy weights today. Sets of 5-8.”

Danny eyed the weights suspiciously. “You sure? That’s like… how the big guys train.”

“I’m sure,” I said. I loaded on a couple of plates and had him squat, stopping him at 5 reps. He looked impatient, eager to do more, but I just put on more weight and had him try again. Danny usually squatted his bodyweight for sets of 30 or 40, but I was going to have him do double that.

Once 405 was on the bar he shook his head. “No fucking way can I do that,” he said. “I don’t want to blow out my knee or anything.”

“Trust me, Danny,” I said. “You’ll find that with me, anything is possible.”

On his second and third reps, his thick thighs blew out his compression shorts. By the sixth, the seat tore right down the middle. He didn’t seem to notice as his thick, pumped ass and legs burst free of his clothing.

“I can’t believe this shit,” he said. “I’ve never been able to do that much!”

“Hit the showers,” I ordered. As he walked away, I watched that newly ample rump jiggle back and forth with each step. Of course, in the mirror, he still saw his shredded muscular frame, unaware that he was blowing up more every single day.

Ted Karras burst through the locker room door just before Danny walked in. I had asked Joe to help with Danny’s training, hypnotizing him the same way so that he would see Danny as 120 pounds lighter than him no matter how he trained. Big 300 pound Ted stood there with his fists on his hips, staring down at Danny.

“You can’t shower unless you can get through Ted,” I said. Danny looked at me, then looked at his big adversary. He lunged forward and Ted shoved him aside. He tried again and Karras shoved him back so hard Amendola landed on his fat ass. Danny’s new gut jiggle as he hopped to his feet and ran, full-tilt, at Karras, who just threw up his big beefy chest and blocked Danny like he was nothing. My thickening experiment just bounced off the bigger man and swooned on the ground for a moment before I helped him up.

“Well,” I said, “looks like you’re going to dinner sweaty.”

Danny looked up at Karras, who cracked his knuckles and flexed his big shoulders, nearly filling up the doorway. He had nothing to say, but I knew what he was thinking.

Phase 3

“Yeah, they have me cross-training,” Danny said as he changed behind the screen. “It’s weird. They want all positions to spend time training the way other positions do to make us ‘more well-rounded’--I mean, I’m a fucking professional. I know my job. I should just be training for my job, right?”

Gronk, who was changing right next to him, just shrugged. “We just do what we’re told,” he said. “They never paid me to think! I just follow orders and we win Super Bowls. End of story.” The retired tight-end had agreed to come in to help with my project. I hadn’t had to hypnotize Gronk at all: the big man was entirely in favor of whatever would make the Patriots a better team. I had only vaguely briefed Gronk on the changes Danny was going through, but he was shocked when Danny had walked out nearly looking eye-to-eye with him, shocked even more when he found that, at 265, Danny no weighed as much as he did.

The photographer, who was hired by me (and not from ESPN as we’d told Danny) told the two athletes to come out from behind the screen and get into their poses. Gronk was dressed as a caveman with animal skins draped over his wide shoulders. We’d told Danny that he would be Tarzan. The tiny loin-cloth he wore did nothing to obscure his massive body.

“It’s about time I get to show off some skin,” Danny said. “They’ve been dressing me in these giant clothes. They look like sleeping bags. Something about adjusting my ego. Since when was an ego a problem in the NFL?” Of course, the outfits Danny was talking about actually fit his newly huge body, but to him, they were unbelievably baggy and oversized.

In Danny’s mind, he was still 5’11, 188 pounds, a picture of muscular athleticism. The photographer asked him to lay across the ground in front of Gronk. “Really light up the camera,” the photographer asked. “I want ladies shrieking when they see this pic.”

Danny ran his hands over his big, furry gut. To Danny, his fingers traced a shredded 8-pack, but the rest of us saw his huge, firm belly, so dense it didn’t jiggle anymore. A man would break his hand punching that thing.

Danny flexed an arm, and rather than the ripped little bicep he thought he was flashing, he had a thick, massive arm instead. Now his arms measured over 23 inches. Gronk’s eyes went wide as he saw Danny showing off his massive frame, totally unaware of how huge and bulky he had become.

“Now I want the two of you wrestling,” the photographer said. “Like you’re trying to force each other back.”

“You kidding?” Danny said. “Gronk takes shits bigger than me! He’s gonna crush me!”

I winked at Gronk, whose eyes went wide at Danny’s comment. He smirked. “Yeah, get over here little guy. I’ll go easy on you. Promise.”

The two locked fingers and feigned combat. At some point, Gronk started to force Danny back. Danny, now the just as big as Gronk (if not quite as tall) pressed back. The tiny loin cloth did nothing to hide Danny’s massive ass, so wide it should have had a license plate on it. The photographer dropped back to get pics of his huge hamstrings and glutes flexing. We watched in wonder as Gronk broke a sweat, slowly sliding backward as Danny started to overpower him.

“Great shots!” the photographer said. When it was over, Danny had a seat. The chair he fell into wobbled, the legs threatening to give. I brought him over his lunch: a loaf of bread and an entire package of sliced ham.

“That your new diet?” Gronk asked as Danny wolfed down the bread, tearing off pieces and shoving it into his mouth. He washed it down with a gallon of whole milk I had brought him.

“Yeah, they have me eating these tiny meals,” he said, grabbing another handful of sliced ham. “Just lean fish and quinoa. I’m getting a little tired of it.” He chugged half the gallon of milk down, then rubbed his mouth with the back of his wrist. “I eat like 9 times a day, but it’s all fucking bird food. Like I’m not shredded enough!” he said, grabbing a handful of his massive gut and giving it a jiggle. I’m sure in his own mind he was gesturing to deep, chiseled abs.

As soon as the food was gone, Danny’s eyes fell and he leaned back, snoring before his back hit the chair.

“Programming,” I told Gronk. “To get him to grow he needs his rest. He sleeps for half an hour after every meal, and 9 hours a night. Other than that it’s just eating and powerlifting.”

“Dude!” Gronk said as he eyed up the sleeping grizzly. “He got crazy hairy! Look at that beard, that fur all over his chest and gut…” Gronk reached down and lifted up the loin cloth. “Holy shit! Amendola’s dick got huge!” Between Danny’s tree trunk-sized legs was a big, thick cock. When it got hard, it was well over 9 inches, and his balls were the size of ripe plums.

I shrugged. “With my treatment, everything grows. I could do you, too, if you were interested. I bet we could get you up to 400 pounds, maybe 7 feet tall.”

Gronk didn’t answer but he slipped me his card. I woke up my refrigerator-sized patient and gestured to him to change out of his costume.

“So what’s the point of this photoshoot thing?” Gronk said. “Just to fuck with him?”

I shook my head. “Coach wants photographic evidence of his growth for when the news story finally breaks. What’s better evidence than Danny Amendola overpowering big Gronk?” Gronk blushed a little at the suggestion that he’d been outmanned, but I saw a rising bulge in his pants and noticed him excusing himself shortly after.

Final Phase

The entire team was there to see Danny that day. He was excited and relieved; so much of his training with me for the past three months had been in solitude. Poor Danny was cut off from his family, his friends, and the rest of the team so I could do what I needed to do. The only teammate he ever saw was Karras, who he faced every day after the gym. In three months Danny had never been able to overpower the big lineman to get to the showers, and always left soaked with sweat and stinking until he got back to his own apartment.

His teammates were elated with Amendola’s progress. Belicheck was as stonefaced as usual, but he shook my hand and told me I’d done a hell of a job. He’d already made space on the team for Amendola as a lineman and found Danny replacement as well.

That day, Danny just went through three power-based moves: squat, bench and deadlift. His bench and deadlift were amongst the highest in the team’s history, and his squat that day set a team record. Big Danny was 6’6” tall and a beefy 340 pounds. No one on the team had ever seen someone his size before.

Of course, Danny still had no idea what was happening. His hypnosis had been altered so that he believed he was lifting a quarter of the weight for five times the reps, but the days of his altered perceptions were about to end. Of course, in order to resist traumatizing the poor guy, I had to have him want the change.

After he’d finished, I told Danny he had one final challenge. “Just get past Karras,” I said. He faced the big Center and his face went white.

“Fuck!” he said. “You know I can’t. He’s just gonna toss me around again.”

“What would it take for you to get him out of the way?”

Danny stared at the big man, focusing. For three months, Karras had bested him every day. After every successful workout, the wind had been stolen from Amendola’s sails by the “bigger” man.

“I’d have to be… fucking huge…” he said, tightening his jaw. “Bigger than that cocky fuck, at least,” he sneered.

“Just focus, Danny,” I whispered into his ear. “Focus and make it a reality.”

All of a sudden, big Danny burst forth. He ran at Karras, gathering speed like a juggernaut. Karras, still hypnotized to think that Danny was half his size, braced himself for what he thought was an ineffectual assault. I almost felt bad for the big lug.

When Danny crashed into Karras, he hoisted the center over his head. The team cheered as Danny pressed Karras above his head once, twice, grunting every time, before he tossed the massive Center to the ground.

Danny roared, his massive arms overhead. He was a gigantic slab of a man, drenched in sweat, covered in hair, every limb thick with bulging muscle, his torso a cube of human flesh. Long gone were the days of Danny having a neck; now he was a sturdily built beast of a man. There was no hiding it anymore.

At that moment, Danny’s psyche started to process the change. From his perspective, he’d just grabbed a man twice his size and tossed him away. Such a thing wasn’t possible with his sleek frame, built for quickness and dexterity. Lifting and pressing a three-hundred pound man was something the big linemen could do. Danny looked down at himself as his abs slowly filled in. In Danny’s head, his body slowly started to bloat out, his eyes rising as his limbs lengthened and filled with size and strength. He got wider and thicker. Suddenly the weight of his body hit him; he was so big, so heavy! It was overwhelming, but when he felt the massive weight between his big legs and cupped a massive cock and two huge balls in his hand, he was somewhat relieved.

For a moment, he looked around at the team, who watched silently as Danny blinked and tried to process what had happened. Then he looked down at his big body, flexed his massive torso and threw up his arms in triumph. He had accepted his size and his new body and it was now part of his identity.

Danny stepped over Karras’s body and kicked through the locker room door, stomping in like an ogre on a rampage. As the team followed him, cheering, Belicheck approached me, lowering his voice.

“What’s this I hear about Amendola and Gronk having a sexual relationship?” Coach asked me.

I shrugged. “I guess Gronk’s always been looking for a guy big enough to handle him. And you wouldn’t believe it, but that big motherfucker Amendola actually gets on his hands and knees and lets Gronk top him! Looks like a rhino fucking an elephant.”

Belicheck shook his hands in front of his face. “I don’t want to know,” he said. “My fault for asking. You’re hired, by the way. I expect an entire offensive line of goddamned gorillas by next season.”

“For starters,” I said. I couldn’t wait to hypnotize the whole team.