Chapter 32 - Good Food Bad Food
The final weeks of peak preparation were a gruelling test of discipline for both Julian and Callum. Julian was slightly grumpy all the time, and for Callum, dealing with a grumpy Julian was a new experience, testing both patience and understanding.
Julian was on a strict water cut and low-carb depletion phase, as discussed and agreed with his Nutritionist, to ensure his skin was paper-thin against his muscles at the time of the photo shoot.
This had been phased over a period of weeks, with reducing set variables of food and water intake.
He was irritable and exhausted, but Callum was there every step of the way, acting as coach, mentor and cheerleader.
They spent hours in the penthouse gym, both exercising, using the Vacunaut and also practicing standard muscle poses for the cover shoot.
Julian would stand in front of the floor-to-ceiling mirrors, hitting the front double-bicep or the side tricep, under a mix of Callum’s direction, Google searches, and physical adjustment.
“Squeeze the quads, now breathe out and vacuum the stomach,” Callum would command, his hands moving over Julian's skin to correct his posture.
Finding the exact pose was sometimes a challenge, but there was another recurring problem.
Every time Callum’s warm hands adjusted the tilt of Julian’s hips or brushed against his thigh to adjust his leg position, Julian’s dick reacted in its normal way.
The honesty of snug gym shorts became a major liability.
“Callum, stop,” Julian groaned, dropping his pose.
“This is a disaster. If I’m in a studio under hot lights with a stylist touching my hair and you helping me pose, I can’t have this happening.
” He gestured towards his dick, clearly erect and sticking out proudly in his shorts.
“You’ve seen the shorts they want me in.
They are paper thin. It’ll be the most talked-about cover shoot in the magazine’s history, for all the wrong reasons. ”
Callum tried to keep a straight face, but he couldn't help a mischievous smirk. “I mean, it’s a glowing endorsement of my training, Julian. You’re just... very healthy.”
“I'm serious,” Julian hissed. “I need a solution.”
***
Friday 28th March 25
The next day, Callum met Sophia for a catch-up lunch in Soho. He brought her up to speed on the whole park-kiss scandal, current training workload, the slightly grumpier version of Julian, and the looming crisis of the cover shoot.
“He needs structural engineering, Cal,” Sophia said, wiping latte foam from her lip. “Luckily, we are in the gay capital of the world. Come on.”
She dragged him into a high-end, neon-lit boutique that specialised in club wear, Lycra, leather, and rubber fetish clothing. After explaining the situation to a very unfazed clerk, they found a potential solution; a reinforced, heavy-duty jockstrap with a built-in semi-hard cup.
“Get it one size too small,” Sophia whispered. “It’s like a man-corset for the crown jewels. It’ll keep everything locked in place no matter how many front-lat spreads or whatever it is he has to do.”
Callum had to gauge how large Julian’s genitals were, much to Sophia’s amusement. Sophia’s recommendation about getting a smaller cup went out the window, as Callum still had to buy the XXL cup, considering that a smaller size for Julian.
As he headed to pay the clerk, he spied a white Lycra wrestling suit, and an idea came to his mind. He took that and the jockstrap to the register. He felt a bit self-conscious buying both, but as he walked out of the store with the small black bag, he had a strange feeling of mission accomplished.
***
Saturday 5th April 25
Another week passed, with Julian barely eating anything and drinking even less. How much longer can he tolerate this? Callum considered, but he seemed totally committed, and his skin was visibly shrinking around his muscles, dramatically improving the look.
They had trained on Tuesday and Thursday with the suit, and Callum had stayed over the Friday night after his shift at The Vault. Saturday was swimming first, then they had planned to work out in the gym.
After their swim, they lazed in their swim shorts on loungers by the pool for a while, the warm sun drying them, magnified through the glass roof.
Callum left Julian resting there, telling him with a kiss to meet him in the gym in ten minutes. Intrigued, Julian agreed.
After ten minutes, Julian walked through to the gym as requested, to find Callum sitting on the desk in his usual gym gear. Next to him were Julian’s gym shoes, socks, and a small, gift-wrapped packet.
“OK, what’s going on here then?” Julian asked, walking over.
“Different kind of workout today, babe. I want you to put this on,” indicating the gift.
Julian was now curious. He opened the paper to find a clear plastic packet, containing the white Lycra wrestling bodysuit. “Ok,” he said, bemused. He pried open the packet and took the singlet out of the packaging, feeling the shiny, smooth material in his hands.
“You want me to work out in this? What about underwear?” Julian asked, thinking practically. “Isn’t it also a bit small?”
“You don’t wear underwear with something like that, Jules. Just put it on.” Callum smirked.
“The point of this being?” Julian enquired as he took off his swim shorts.
“Body positivity Jules. It’s about you being completely comfortable with your own body. This is part one of my plan today. Part two will follow,” Callum added mysteriously.
“OK, but how do you even put this contraption on?” Julian was trying to work out the practicality, realising it was to roll down the top half, legs first, then up the body and finally over the shoulders.
He rolled the top half down, carefully stepping into both legs.
He pulled the suit up over his thighs, then pulled the top half up with the shoulder straps.
At this point, Callum jumped down from the desk to help, grabbing shoulders and helping Julian pull them up so he could wrangle his arms through. It was snug, but it fit him. Julian pulled the stomach section out.
“Jesus Christ, Cal, look at my junk, it looks ridiculous!”
Callum was already mesmerised by it. “Oh, I think it looks fab!” Callum replied with a smile.
Julian’s dick and balls were clearly emphasised by the shiny white material, and no matter how he tried to rearrange them for any element of modesty, there was no hiding anything. Callum couldn’t resist reaching down and giving things a little rub, which, of course, made the problem only… increase.
“Mmm, that feels nice,” Julian said, thinking this was just a gear-related turn-on, and maybe a prelude to some fun.
“Uh-huh,” said Callum, “you are working out like that. I want you to feel exposed. I want you to feel vulnerable. It’s all good practice for the photo shoot, when you will just be a piece of meat on show.
” He paused. “But most of all, I just want to see you get sweaty in that suit because it’s really fucking sexy.
” Again, Callum couldn’t resist touching Julian through the fabric.
“And, if you’re a good boy, I might just suck you off through it later! ”
“Mmm, now that I like the sound of,” Julian said, rearranging his now fully stiff dick, so it was pointing directly up to his navel, encased in the shiny fabric, as he reached for his socks and shoes.
***
They did work out for an hour like that, and Julian got used to the feeling, declaring in the end that it was actually quite comfortable.
Callum made him strip afterwards, telling him now to put on the clothes in the second left-hand drawer of the desk. Julian stripped off, standing just in socks and trainers, and reached for the drawer. It was empty. He looked at Callum quizzically.
“Yes, I want you to wear that,” Callum said, indicating the empty drawer, a smug look of satisfaction on his face.
Julian realised phase two of his plan. “You want me to work out naked. Seriously?”
“Yep. Lycra was easing you into it. Now it’s fully vulnerable and exposed.”
“I can’t work out naked; it will look ridiculous, everything flopping around down there.” Julian was frustrated.
“I’m the only one here.” Callum put his hands on Julian’s shoulders.
“You have an amazing body, but yet you feel self-conscious of it at times, even with me. I want you to work out naked. I want to see your genitals flopping around, hot and sweaty. I’ll even wipe the equipment down behind you, but it’s all part of my,” at which point he lifted Julian’s dick up, “dedicated,” dropping it down, with a twang, “and structured,” cupping his balls, lifting the whole lot up, “training plan.” At which he dropped the whole lot, and they fell into their normal positions. Julian’s dick was already growing.
“I ‘L’ you, you fucking idiot,” Julian said, laughing as he bent forward to kiss him. By the time the kiss ended, he was fully erect...
Julian duly followed Callum’s training plan, stark bollock naked.
Although he had to be careful with a few exercises, and with a mixture of being fully and partly aroused the whole time with zero help from Callum, who insisted on either accidentally touching, teasing, or rubbing up against him, ultimately he actually found the whole experience quite liberating. But he said he did miss some support.
At the end of the session, Callum gave him a big hug and kiss, commenting, “If you’d now put the sweaty Lycra singlet back on, I’ll give you your reward in the bedroom,” as he looked lustfully over his shoulder, exiting the gym.
The second time that afternoon Julian put the suit on, it was a much quicker process, needing no help whatsoever.
***
Sunday 6th April 25
The air in the penthouse was thick with the scent of steamed white fish and asparagus, the grim reality of another cut meal.
Julian sat at the marble kitchen island, staring at his dinner with the same intensity he usually reserved for hostile takeover bids.
He looked hollow-cheeked, his trimmed beard a sharp contrast against his increasingly defined jawline.
“If I eat one more ounce of quinoa, I might actually fire my own Nutritionist.
Everything tastes so bland,” Julian growled, dropping his fork. It clattered loudly against the stone. Martha raised an eyebrow but said nothing. It pained her to serve this to him, but he’d asked her to keep him on plan.
Callum, who was busy logging Julian’s water intake on the iPad, looked up.
He saw more than just a hungry man; he saw a man who was fraying at the edges.
Julian hadn't slept more than four hours a night all week, trapped between completing the Chinese deal and a punishing exercise and diet schedule.
“Put the fork down,” Callum said decisively, sliding the iPad away. “Get your coat.”
Julian frowned. “I have another forty-five minutes of steady-state cardio to do yet according to the schedule, Callum, and I’m at a four hundred calorie deficit.”
“Exactly,” Callum countered, standing up. “You’re flat, you’re irritable, and your muscles are starting to look stringy. You don't need a treadmill; you need a refeed. And you're not getting it here. No disrespect, Martha, but we are going off-piste!”
Twenty minutes later, the G-Wagon crossed the bridge. “Where are we going?” Julian asked as they rolled into an unfamiliar neighbourhood.
“A place that doesn’t have a website or a menu,” Callum replied, guiding them to a dim backstreet in Bushwick.
They stopped in front of Mamma’s Kitchen, a tiny fluorescent-lit storefront with fogged-up windows and the heavenly scent of frying fat and spices drifting onto the sidewalk.
When they stepped inside, the bell above the door chimed, and every head turned.
Julian, in his three-thousand-dollar overcoat, looked like an alien lifeform to most of the patrons.
“Cal! Sweet Jesus be praised. Back from the dead,” a woman yelled from behind the counter; her arms dusted in flour.
“Hey, Mamma. Too long, no see. Need to feed this big man,” Callum said with a grin, as they slid into a narrow vinyl booth that groaned under their weight.
Julian looked around, his eyes landing on a fading poster of a local boxing match and a stack of napkins held down by a heavy glass ashtray. “Callum, I can’t eat anything here. The macros are…”
“Forget the macros for an hour,” Callum interrupted, leaning across the table and grasped his hands.
“Julian, you’re the Titan, right? Titans were gods of the earth. They didn't live on a diet of steamed fish and filtered water. They lived on what the earth gave them.”
“But won’t this undo all the good I’ve done?” Julian asked with real concern.
“One meal won’t undo months of effort, plus, if you don’t eat some real food, I may murder you myself, Mr Irritable!” He laughed, and Julian did too. The thought of some real food was attractive, and the smells that assailed his nose told him this was going to be tasty.
Mamma arrived with two heavy ceramic plates. No menus were discussed, no selections made. On the plates were massive portions of grilled skirt steak, rice, beans, and fried plantains.
Julian hesitated, then took a bite of the steak. His eyes shut instantly. “Good God,” he whispered. “I forgot what seasoning tasted like.” As he ate, Callum could see the tension visibly melt from his massive shoulders.
“I spent my life making sure I’d never have to sit in a place like this because I had to,” Julian said, gesturing to the room. He looked at Callum, his gaze softened by the dim light. “But being here with you, eating this food; there’s nowhere on earth I’d rather be right now.”
Callum reached across and squeezed his hand.
The meal was good, and they returned to the penthouse full of real food, Mama style.