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I dedicate this story to GiganticBeast, who asked for something similar to this: Professor Schnackenburg's mistake Chapter One He remembered how Ms. Giraud had presented him to his former tutor, Assistant Professor Smith, in the past: "Mr. Schnackenburg – B.A., archaeology student and expert in the occult." They had both watched one of the Indiana Jones films recently, and Josephine ... Ms. Giraud ... already had a sense of humour he had found himself appreciating. Ms. Giraud! Jet black hair, intelligent gaze, great sense of humour. In Schnackenburg's opinion, she had thrown away her excellent talent for archaeology, when she settled for a purely administrative post at the Department for Archaeology. On the basis of the quality of her Masters thesis, she could have been one of the great names in the field, if she had published a PhD thesis. Nor could he understand her preferences, when it came to men. She had never married, and none of her affairs seemed to last or lead to anything enduring, but Schnackenburg had been invited to uncomfortable dinners with her so many times, encountering a string of her several boyfriends: A marine, a builder, a policeman, a sailor. Even a professional bodybuilder once. Not the typical consort to bring to formal university dinners. What was Josephine supposed to speak about with any latest fling? Not strontium analysis of fossil teeth, that's for sure. Hell! Some of these men had upper arms as wide as his legs! It was good for his career, that he had generally hid his personal interest in the occult: It wouldn't have been good for his reputation, if his membership in The Order of the Rosary Cube and Calix Gradalis had been publicly known. Who would trust the scientific rigour of someone, who spent hours in weird meditations? Though the meditation practices had been useful in order to reach heightened awareness, his scholarly sense of critical evaluation had always kept him suspicious of the baseless legends about sunken continents. We now know about plate tectonics: There is no place in real pre-history for sunken continents like Atlantis, or Lemuria in the Indian Ocean, or Mu in the Pacific. After his PhD, he had specialised in two fields: Mesolithic Europe and deciphering unknown scripts, and he now read Linear A, Indus Valley script and Easter Island script fluently. He had never thought, that these two fields would ever converge. The Doggerbank excavation changed all that. Even if he didn't dive himself, he was responsible for the entire project, and he gave the divers – some of them his postgraduate students – careful instructions how to avoid any damage to the finds. When Brock McGurgan, a good-looking blond Canadian student of his, returned to the surface with the tablets and the bronze sword, Schnackenburg understood, that something sensational was going on. It had now been three years since the Doggerbank excavation. He could still remember the scent of the salt sea and seaweed, and he could remember how the hair on his forearms turned into goosebumps when he saw the greenish-gold hints of bronze. He could still remember the sight of the broad-shouldered MacGurgan taking the diving suit off. Doggerland had been a lowland island (but not a continent) that actually was flooded and drowned in the North Sea between Scotland and Norway during the Stone Age, leaving Dogger Bank under the sea level. The hunter-gatherers of Doggerland were not expected to have known farming or metalwork, nor to have any script or alphabet. A bronze sword and stone tablets written with some sort of text turned all expectations on their head. It had now been three years. MacGurgan had assisted him in cleaning the stone tablets, and the lad felt like a son to him. Schnackenburg looked forward to read MacGurgan's PhD, which was soon expected to reach completion: Bronze technology in Doggerland Culture: A revaluation of the Atlantic period. MacGurgan's enthusiasm and cheerfulness lightened up hard work on pollen analysis or dendrochronology. Outside campus, Schnackenburg had once seen another side of MacGurgan, which was hard to reconcile with Schnackenburg's general impression of his student: A drunkard had knocked over MacGurgan's beer by mistake, and the student had over-reacted and beaten the culprit several times. It felt like a block of ice in his gut, when Schnackenburg recollected the image of MacGurgan's undoubtly handsome face disfigured in a grimace of unbridled wrath, his ice blue eyes burning. It was like he didn't know the promising young man he thought he knew so well. Schnackenburg dismissed the memory, and turned his recollection to the hard work and great assistance of MacGurgan in the work on the Doggerland Tablets, as they were now known. Schnackenburg had spent hours upon hours with the tablets. No key to the code. No Rosetta stone. Sometimes, in late hours after worktime it had felt like the tablets spoke to him with ghostlike hollow voices: Howlings of forgotten wraiths and souls adoring long-forgotten unnameable gods. He had checked the results again and again, and forwarded the PDF to MacGurgan, who anyhow wouldn't understand the real-life implication of the translation. Double checked. Triple checked. Was it really possible? Was it decipherable? Could it really mean, what he thought that it meant? "Archaeology professor and expert in the occult". His profession and his hidden hobby merged. The silence of the night hours turned into the sound of his pulse in his ears. Hissing. Throbbing. The city outside the window, lit windows in high rise buildings. Strewn with stars. The weight of millennia resting on his shoulders. Still some scent of seaweed, which didn't seem to go away from the tablets. * * * Brock MacGurgan worked late. He had a deadline on his PhD, and his assistance concerning the Doggerland Tablets took up a lot of his thoughts. Wouldn't it be amazing if Professor Schnackenburg really broke the code of the tablets? What if they were close to the solution? And the sword... There was something with the sword, that spoke to MacGurgan on a deep level. Heroes. Fights. Combat. Victory. Old myths of stormgods battling reptilian elder gods. Old myths of solar heroes protecting mankind. The sort of texts one would expect to find in ancient civilisations. He had seen the Professor staring at the tablets so many times, enchanted by the impossible finds. Similar to the way he himself became more and more deeply enchanted by the sword. Fights. Heroes. With hands covered in gloves, he had taken the sword out of its glass showcase. It now laid unprotected on his writing desk. Bronze sword. Fights. Heroes. Sword of Anghra-Lemur. Wait? Where did that word come from? He wasn't the poetical type of person who invented things, even if he had been an avid reader of sword-and-sorcery novels as a teenager, and watched the children's programme He-Man in primary school. ...Sword of Anghra-Lemur... Stop hallucinating. Stop imagining things. Probably best to stop working late. He needed some coffee. A ping in his computer. Better check it later. After the coffee. Brock MacGurgan took his baseball jacket and walked in the direction of the espresso machine. * * * Schnackenburg trembled. The translation must have turned his rational faculties into a mess. It couldn't be possible. But if it was? His instincts as a trained occultist screamed at him. To avoid the unhallowed relics of unnameable powers. To run. To put the tablets and the sword under lock and key. Or to use it. Use it to prove himself to Ms. Giraud... Josephine. The powers of sunken Doggerland... The powers of Anghra-Lemur! The powers of Kortoth-Gnaah, war god of Anghra-Lemur! When he reached the glass showcase he stared in disbelief. Empty? But the only two having access to the sword were himself and MacGurgan? Frowning, he walked in the direction of MacGurgan's study. A bookshelf with standard works in archaeology. The Bell Beaker Phenomenon. Renfrew. Mallory. Svante Pääbo. Souvenirs from diving expeditions hang on the wall, beside a diploma from a Junior Men's Physique competition. A single task light was lit over the writing desk. The stump of a cigar was lying in an ashtray. MacGurgan's computer was working. The sword was there, but not MacGurgan. Schnackenburg felt as in a fever dream. He picked up the sword, and walked up the spiral stairs. * * * He really needed that espresso. MacGurgan returned to his study. He had to check that e-mail. He opened it. A PDF. A breakthrough. A hypothetical translation: He froze in his position. His blond hair tingled as of fear. He swallowed. He had imagined the word Anghra-Lemur before the e-mail arrived. An atmosphere of unreality lowered itself. Unconsciously and involuntarily he continued: The translation went on and on. The ancient Doggerlendings must have been a warrior culture, similar to the ancient Irish, the ancient Welsh and the Vikings. And they called their island or islands Anghra-Lemur. And the sword... MacGurgan looked for the sword. The sword was gone! MacGurgan had to calm down. What would he do? What would Professor Schnackenburg say? What would happen to his career? He had left the sword unsupervised. And it was gone! He lit a cigar to calm his nerves. No ancient item that could be harmed by the smoke anyhow. He tried to relax, and sat with his faded blue denim jeans in a wide manspread, his trainers resting on the floor. Deep breath. Some cigar smoke. Some espresso. The doors were locked. No one could enter. It was then he heard it. The impossible chanting sound from the spiral staircase leading to the tower room used for honorary social occasions. What in hell was going on? MacGurgan's worry began to turn into irritation. An intruder? Here? His archeological find? He rose from the chair. All his 6 feet 1 inches. He was still wearing his baseball jacket. Some nutcase had to be disarmed and handed over to the police. And Brock MacGurgan was just the right person to do it. * * * The dome gave the tower room a certain atmosphere, and the starry wisdom of the night sky looked down through the circular glass window over his head, but Schnackenburg was deeply in trance while he recited the more than 7000 year old enchantment, invoking preternatural forces which had been left slumbering for millennia. The scent of incense and the flickering light of the wax candles created a mood very far from the sherry imbibing receptions usually held in the tower room. Flickering light. Whisps of incense smoke. Shadows and starlight weavering into something unsettling and unspeakable. "Ye powers of blood and fang! Ye powers of brawn and brutality! Ye nameless ancestors of ancestor-warriors! Ye swordsmen who do not shun the name 'barbarian'! Servants of Kortoth-Gnaah, open ye the gates for the bloodstained war god of Anghra-Lemur, prepare the chosen vessel for divine power, let the ancient powers bestow their gift of prowess and might, as it was foretold! May the sinking of Anghra-Lemur be undone! May the white cliffs of Anghra-Lemur rise over the northen waves! May the last remnant of Atlantis return! May the last remnant of Lemuria the Ancient rise! May the unnameable powers assist me! I invoke Dagon!" One part of Schnackenburg was fully immersed in the powerful invocation. Something happened. The shadows in the room were more dense now. He could sense invisible eyes watching him. The stars shone intensely through the tower window, but not the stars of our time, but the bright night sky of an bygone, lost and forgotten age, far exceeding the 7000 years, that had gone since the sea level rose over Doggerland. Over Anghra-Lemur. Another part of Schnackenburg was silently screaming to him to stop. The dangers, if the invocation really worked, were unforeseeable, and only an insane man would try the attempt to force the elder powers. The cadences of primordial hymns and invocations of another aeon drowned any silent protest in his soul. Primordial hymns reaching out to creatures unknown to modern man. The third part of Schnackenburg's mind was ecstatically excited: He should prove himself to Josephine! He would intimidate any potential boyfriend she may have going for the moment. he would far, far exceed the prowess he secretly admired in young MacGurgan. He would become something beyond human limitations! He would... His pulse murmured and throbbed in his head. Something else throbbed inside his trousers. Arcane power began to tingle in his palms, as he stretched out his hands over the bronze sword on the table before him. Power streaming into the blade, renewing it, empowering it. * * * MacGurgan couldn't believe his eyes. Professor Schnackenburg performed some sort of occult ritual in the tower room, and there was an eerie feeling spreading, more and more intensely. The cigar dangled in his mouth. The baseball jacket couldn't hide his fit – but not extravagantly big – chest. The rubber soles of his trainers caused a squeaking sound on the highly polished marble floor. He braced himself to do something, but the murmuring and droning sound of the witches' rune lullied himself into a trance-like state, and the translation, that had burned into his mind when he had read it on the computer screen, rose from the depths of his memory, as the forgotten creatures of Anghra-Lemur were rising from the maritime depths and the dark abyss of time. Soon, he and Schnackenburg were chanting in unison, and there was nothing MacGurgan could do to stop it. "I invoke Cthulhu! Intervene in dread! I invoke Shub-Niggurath, the goat with the thousand young! Spread the air of revel and ecstacy! I invoke Yog-Sothoth, who is the Key and is the Gate! Open the gulfs of time and space! Cause the powers of ancient Anghra-Lemur to return! May, on the chosen vessel, the powers descend: The powers of Kortoth-Gnaah, war god of Anghra-Lemur!" MacGurgan was out of his mind now. He had a big lump in his throat. He felt very cold and very hot. His pulse was rising. Earlier in the evening he had been absorbed in wordless reverie over the Doggerland sword. It has spoken to him. It had allured to him. Beckoned to him. The sword of Kortoth-Gnaah. Schackenburg was unaware of MacGurgan's presence. "Kortoth-Gnaah! Kortoth-Gnaah! Kortoth-Gnaah!" Schnackenburg was close to the brink of it now. The men of Anghra-Lemur would walk the earth again, and he would be the one who bestowed it to them: The ancient power of the war god. He couldn't imagine how it would feel, how... "Kortoth-Gnaah! Kortoth-Gnaah! Kortoth-Gnaah!" ... how the power of supernaturally endowed stone age warriors would course in his veins, how... "Kortoth-Gnaah! Kortoth-Gnaah! Kortoth-Gnaah!" The next moment, McGurgan snapped the sword away from the table, outside his tutor's physical reach. MacGurgan swallowed. When he came into physical contact with the cold and heavy bronze he could feel a tingling feeling spreading from it into his body. The hair on his head and arms bristled intensely. His eyes widened. He couldn't believe it! He couldn't... "Kortoth-Gnaah! KORTOTH-GNAAH! KORTOTH-GNAAH!" He bellowed the name of the war god, eagerly lifted his sword above his head, and the next second the power of the ancient gods streamed into him. Immaterial thunder bolts rushed through the window in the ceiling. Engulfed him. Absorbed him and formed him anew. Transmuted him. * * * Schnackenburg had been too immersed in the chanting, to react in time to MacGurgans unforeseen action. Staring in disbelief, he could see MacGurgan surrounded by supernatural power beyond imagination, and a cold feeling of fear paralysed Schnackenburg, when he realised, that the chosen vessel was someone else. Remorse, envy and admiration competed within himself when he watched his favourite student become something more than human. Exhausted and destitute of any remaining mental strength, he fell to the floor. * * * MacGurgan couldn't believe it, but the being wasn't entirely Brock MacGurgan any longer, even if they still shared some memories and personality traits. His quads and hamstrings were filled by power from the forgotten Gulf of N'kai. Strength of thousand war gods, thousand thunder gods and thousand solar heroes was poured into his brawn, as if he had been a vessel, and this eager and willing vessel received the blessings, moaning and grunting as his brawn engorged all over his body: Veins spread, his biceps and triceps underwent undreamed hypertrophy, his trapezius deserved the description godlike, and he still expanded in every direction, now far exceeding the height of 6 feet 7 inches. He roared. He bellowed. He demonstrated his superiority to the mere human being who once had been his tutor. He watched the feeble creature: It wasn't worthy to worship him. He became immersed in visions of bygone Anghra-Lemur: Powerful men clad in hides strode over lowland plains proving their valour to each other in combat, and brutal hunters wrestled sabre-toothed cats and mammoths with their bare hands. Some of the same men were bestowed the strength of the gods, by the means once known in Lemuria and Atlantis. The power still accumulated within him. Filling him. Empowering him. Fire-mist descended. Fire-mist enveloped him. Fire-mist penetrated, filled and charged him. He became fire-mist. The immaterial flames of the elder gods reached into his soul, crushed his childhood memories into fragments, but out of the fragments and out of the collective memory of Doggerland, it formed something anew: No subcutaneous fat remained. His now bulging presence was cut and defined beyond imagination. Straps of leather materialised over his shoulders, and formed an X over his V-shaped torso. A leather jockstrap and some furs covering his glutes materialised out of thin air, and he realised that he was wearing pre-historical boots. A belt around his narrow waist carried a bronze buckle with the ancient seal of Kortoth-Gnaah. The thunderbolts increased in intensity. Physical heftiness filled him and became him. In the forge of the divine armourer aggression, dominance and lust melted into one, and he could feel his dick throb inside his leather jockstrap. The god of the barbarians walked the earth anew. The power was his. The might and the force. Brawn beyond comprehension. Mindless orgasmic bliss enrapt him when he felt his physical prowess, and he didn't know for how long he had been entranced. When he returned to any awareness of his surroundings, he watched the mortal on the floor. With a smirk, he performed a double biceps, watching the mortal on the floor. It moaned, spasmed, and a wet stain formed on its leg-clothes. Someone else entered the tower room. The dark silhouette of a woman against the light from the hallway. The mortal looked in her direction. "Josephine? What are you doing here?" "I was returning some files, when I heard thunder from the tower. I..." The female mortal fell silent. The vessel of Kortoth-Gnaah watched her in silence. Then he flexed his biceps again, thrust his hips in a suggestive way, and a current of power crossed the room, connecting the groin of the being and the groin of the female. She moaned loudly, and fell to the floor with a smile, unaware of her surroundings. The being didn't deign to behold any of the mortals, and left the town room. It was on a mission. It would let Anghra-Lemur rise again, and some selected few in this monstrous city of concrete, steel and glass were going to be transformed into warriors of the elder days. When it roamed the streets, it could absent-mindedly hear shouts in panic and rushing steps disappearing. It could hear transport vessels crash into each other, but it was of no concern. It needed the raw material suitable to become warriors of Anghra-Lemur. It found a night-open gym and a leather bar on the same street. It had found its raw material. Soon, the power of Kortoth-Gnaah would enrapt and transform them into suitable servants of Kortoth-Gnaah, war god Anghra-Lemur. The present world was doomed. The elder days would reappear in frenzy, mindless violence and voluptious pleasure. You will find Chapter Two here: https://muscle-growth.org/topic/13095-professor-schnackenburgs-mistake-chapter-two/

Previous Parts Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 8.5 | Part 9 | Part 10 | Part 11 | Part 11.5 | Part 12 ==================================================== Author’s PSA: If you’d like to be a part of this story as the cast expands, let me know, I’m happy to work you in! Let me know what you might like to do, be, etc. I take requests, no promise that I can do all of them. It was fun making plans for others! ==================================================== Melissa woke me up in the middle of the night. It wasn’t by snoring or sleeping oddly next to me. It’s that I heard a familiar gurgling and sizzling coming from her! She, however, was out like a light, naked in bed. I was grateful to be awakened by that sound, as a part of me was afraid with whatever’s gotten into my spunk that I had gotten her pregnant and it was rapidly accelerated. I knew neither of us wanted that at this point. The change was slow, but I watched as Melissa’s arms firmed up. She had always taken care of herself, and it showed. She had been a lightly toned young fox, but now she was growing some muscle on top of that. Her shoulders bulged out and her triceps inflated a bit. Her biceps got one solitary light vein running down them as the crevices separating her bicep from the rest of her arm formed and deepened a bit. Her breasts got a little bit smaller, and point forward more as the pecs underneath them grew more firm. She already had a flat stomach with a sexy line running down the middle of them. That flat stomach became a bumpy road with peaks and valleys as four abs leapt into view. Her lats pushed her arms out just slightly and her ass expanded and grew very hard. Her hamstrings, however, didn’t share the same amount of light growth that the rest of her body showed. They leapt out with a vengance, making her legs resemble large slabs of beef in a meat locker. Same with her calves, forming heart shaped diamonds on the backs of her legs. And with that, it was done. I guess her arms may have put on two inches of muscle, and she might be about 15 pounds heavier. She had gone from the attractive girl next door who was a treadmill bunny to the attractive gym user who had put in a decent amount of hard work, with athleticism oozing from her body. "Bryce, I'd really better go before Tom finds me here," she said groggily. "OK, let's get you out the window, just like the old days," I chuckled. But I definitely thought it might be a good idea to hide her from Tom. Not because he'd be weird about me having a girl at his place (it was far from the first time), but the muscle growth might cause a lot of questions I wasn't ready to answer yet. I picked her up (an easy task with my recent surge in strength and power), and helped her out of bed and into her clothes. I could already feel the increased power and size writhing underneath her more taut skin. Then I lowered her out the window gently and watched her new canyons and crevices catch the moonlight, casting all manner of erotic muscular shadows all over her body. I put on some shorts and left the room to go to the bathroom. While I was in there I jacked off again, and again after that. Tom had just gotten home and was in the kitchen. He hollered my way. “Bryce? Hey brother, how are you? I didn’t think you’d be awake.” I came out of the bathroom wearing only my shorts. Tom audibly gasped. “Wow, brother! You mentioned you had been working out, and it shows!” He squeezed my deltoids. “You blew all up!” “Yeah,” I said sheepishly. For some reason it embarrassed me a bit for Tom to see the new me. “I have been hitting the weights, eating better, taking good supplements,” I half fibbed. I just didn’t tell him what the supplements were. “You’re not looking too bad yourself,” I said. “How many you hiding under there, two? Four? Six?” I asked as I grabbed his shirt bottom rapidly, raising it up. “Hey, that’s a nice little ab garden you’ve got going!” I said as I gently punched them. “There are four plain as day, and two more coming in. Way to go dude.” I rubbed them gently, and at that he glanced up at me with a puzzled look. “Th….they’re nothing like yours. Bryce, there...there are ten abs I can plainly count on you…” “Twelve in the right light.” Tom gulped heavily and sweat was appearing on his brow. He pulled his shirt down. “Yeah, I’m up to about 160 now.” He rolled his sleeve up to his shoulder and flexed his biceps. “I’ve made a lot of progress here.” I reached up and moved my finger over Tom’s swollen mound, at least a firm 12 inches. The last I had seen him a few years ago, he was only between 8 and 9 inches. “Bryce...let me s..s..see yours.” I couldn’t pass that up, so I threw up a double bicep with my eighteen inchers. Tom sat down quickly in his recliner, about to pass out. “Tom, whoa, you ok buddy?” I went over to check on him, he was sweating profusely. I leaned on the arm of the recliner. “Let me get you…” And with that he pulled me in and kissed me. Quite aggressively, I might add. After a few seconds he let go. “Wow, Tom. Thanks!” I said. “Bryce, you’ve….you’ve got a dream body. I just want to….” I smiled. “I think I know. Stand up, brother.” He did. Without removing any of his clothes, I unzipped his pants and put my hand down his underwear. Then I grabbed his cock and tugged on it inside his underwear. It was already rock hard, a good 9 incher. Tom and I had seen each other naked many times, and we’d even experimented around with each other’s cocks. But it was the first time he’d allowed himself to be completely submissive. As I tugged on his cock with one hand, I pushed his pants down with the other. His pants fell over firmly toned legs that showed a nice teardrop forming above the knee. His calves had some good shape, his shins were no longer pipe cleaners. After his pants came off, I rubbed my free hand up his abs and over his chest. His pecs stood off of his chest. Formerly flat chested, he had built up some respectable muscle on his chest. As I rubbed up, he flexed and bounced his pecs, the sign that he’d gained enough muscle to have some fun with the pecs finally. I pushed and pulled on his cock from behind as he moaned and leaned his head back. He had about a half foot of height on me, but my size kept him balanced forward. I didn’t jack him too fast, I wanted him to savor and enjoy it. WIth my hand on his chest, I ripped his shirt off from the inside. Then I reached around and grabbed his cock with my second hand and two handed him for a more safe grip. I continued lightly pulling and pushing on his rock hard cock, which was turning dark purple at the head from the amount of stimulation. “Oh...b….Bry...Bryce...I’m so hard...I’m going to rip through my skin….” he gasped through the moans. I continued to push and pull. And soon I gave one good firm pull with both hands as Tom fired his load into the air, hitting the ceiling first, then landing on his feet. I held the pull for a good ten seconds, lifting Tom off the ground by his shaft. He shot bullet after bullet at the ceiling, and this time it stuck.A steady stream of extra jizz rolled down my hands as he throbbed for a good minute more. Once I could tell he had done what he needed to do, I let go, and his cock shrunk back to normal size. I eased him back into his chair. “So, Tom...I take it you dig what I’ve got here?” as I struck a most muscular that bulged 90% of my body’s veins through my skin. “Yeah, Bryce. I do,” he said, as he stroked his soft manhood a bit more upon seeing the veins. “Tell you what, I can hook you up with a plan and some supplements before I go. How’s that sound?” I said, flaring my lats out to the point that my arms were completely horizontal. "I think I'd like that, Bryce. When can we start?" I got giddy inside. "How about tomorrow morning? I'll go to the gym, get you on my supplements, and we'll work out together." "You've got a deal, Bryce. I'm gonna head to bed. Let's head out at 6am."

Chapter Seven In all the years that Mikey Maguire had fantasised about stepping onto a bodybuilding stage, he’d never once considered the possibility that, waiting in line to do just that with a group of equally shredded muscle freaks after having been painted from head to foot in deep bronzed competition tan, he’d be nervous to the point where he’d feel like throwing up. He was desperately trying not to think about the crowd of people on the other side of the curtain, sitting in the audience waiting for Mikey and his five fellow muscle freaks of assorted sizes and heights to emerge. The most monstrous sized of those bodybuilders was stood just a few feet away from him. A bodybuilder Mikey had seen in competition videos on the Internet countless of times before, and who just so happened to be one of the biggest and most well known pros in the world; twenty-five year old All American beef mountain Jackson James Jones. Jackson was nothing short of an absolute monster. Unlike Mikey, who just happened to look like a top five Mr Olympia competitor whenever his superpower came into force, Jackson James Jones actually was a top five Mr Olympia competitor. The man was so huge he bordered on looking like a cartoon character. Comically huge shoulders, obscenely sized pecs, thick blocky abs, insane quads, a ludicrously wide, barn door back, and one of the biggest arses on any current bodybuilder all helped to make up the monstrous mountain of muscle Jackson had the nerve to call his body. With his All American, clean cut, corn-fed looks, he also happened to be exceptionally good looking. The jaws of pretty much everyone in the backstage area had dropped when all 320 lbs of Jackson had casually waddled into the room. Completely alone, he had not spoken a word to anyone. He’d casually taken off his tracksuit to reveal his excessively sized mass in all it’s shredded-to-fuck glory, before picking up a set of barbells and pumping up his enormous sized biceps in a mirror, completely ignoring the gawps and stares from every other person in the room. “Do you think it’s really him?” “I wonder what his superpower is?” “If it’s not him then who the hell is it and exactly what superpower is at play here?” These were just some of the questions Mikey had piled on to his friend Pete Potter and fellow competitor Shaun Slater, aka, The Irresistible Ass Man. Both were as curious about Jackson as Mikey was, but neither of them could answer his questions for sure. “It’s most likely not the real Jackson James Jones. But who can say for sure?” Pete had pondered, before giving another few suggestions. “We could wait to see if his power emerges. Or we could always just ask him?” Mikey wasn’t sure about Shaun or Pete, but the notion of strolling up to a world renowned 320 pound American muscle God like Jackson James Jones, who also happened to be his favourite bodybuilder, and responsible for more of his blown loads than any other, and casually asking him what his superpower was didn’t exactly seem plausible. “There is another way of finding out his power of course,” Shaun had said, with a raised eyebrow and a knowing, mischievous smirk directed at Pete. Mikey questioned what Shaun had meant by this, but Pete had annoyingly brushed the question aside and Mikey hadn’t probed him any further. He was curious, but if Pete didn’t want to let him in on a shared secret he had with Shaun, then he had to respect that. As he stood in line to face the stage, Mikey’s eyes were fixated on Jackson’s monstrous lats and enormous sized bottom, now spilling out of a pair of shiny purple posers, which was trying, but failing miserably to cover up even a third of his absurdly sized rump. What Mikey certainly hadn’t expected in that moment, was for Jackson to swivel his head around, and, whilst locking eyes with him, flash him a warm and incredibly gorgeous grin. A smile which could even be classed as bordering on flirtatious. Mikey’s heart swelled, and a rush of adrenaline surged through his freak-show worthy, gloriously bronzed body. Was Jackson a massive tease who could sense that Mikey had been drooling over him since he’d entered the pump room (was he really that obvious?), or was something else going on here? The overwhelming increase of nerves that took over Mikey as he stepped from the pump room to the bodybuilding stage wavered, and all but seemed to disappear once he was actually standing on the stage and looking out to the sea of spectators. He hadn’t quite braced himself for what the atmosphere of the show would be like, or what standing almost naked in nothing but shiny, micro posers, while dozens of people ogled, gawped and marvelled at him would feel like. As he stood centre stage, barefoot with the heat of the stage lights beating down on his ludicrously wide back, the loud beats of the music filling the arena, and an audience of about hundreds cheering, clapping, jeering and gasping as they stared at his phantasmagorical physique, any nerves Mikey felt had completely vanished and been replaced by the most intense rush of adrenaline. Drenched in deep bronzed competition tan, and under the intense lighting, Mikey knew that his body had never looked more spectacular. He was almost overwhelmed at the sight which met him every time he looked down and saw the mounds of magnificent muscle mass looking back at him. Mikey had seen his body so many times before, but somehow, in this setting, it looked even more freaky, even more alien, and even more beautiful than it ever had. The sights he was met with as he turned to his left and right were equally spectacular and mind-blowing. On either side of him stood his fellow superpower wielding muscle freaks. The Amazing Abs Man had his arms behind his head and was crunching down on all twenty four of his crazily cut stomach muscles. The Human Road Map was standing with his hand on his hips and twisting and tensing his impressively thick and terrifyingly vascular quads, all the time looking down with a cocky smirk on his face, admiring his own freakish muscle. Bicycle Pump Boy had twisted to his side, and positioned himself into a side chest pose, his mammothly huge tits bouncing off his chest to a glorious degree and his face contorted into the most arrogant grimace. Shaun, aka, The Irresistible Ass Man was blowing up his tremendous sized, croquet ball biceps in a front double pose, his face scrunched in the cheekiest manner, as he growled through gritted teeth. And further down the line, a man who Mikey had shot multiple loads over in the comfort of his own bedroom, was top five Mr Olympia competitor Jackson James Jones, wowing the audience with his beast sized back and ridiculously huge, posing trunk devouring ass in a back lat spread. Every single one of his fellow competitors was showing off their mass to the audience. Mikey suddenly realised that he was the only one not flexing. Instead of feeling nervous, a rush of giddy excitement shot through him, and, giving the lucky audience exactly what they wanted, he geared himself up to crank out his favourite pose. The pose he loved to hit more than any other. With an excitable grin on his face, Mikey lifted both of his arms up, and with considerable force, cranked down hard into a brutal, mass exploding crab most muscular. Mikey was almost taken aback when the audience exploded in loud cheers in direct response to his pose. Hearing the incredible audience reaction seem to ignite something in all of the lads on stage, as every single one of them started crowding around Mikey and belting out matching crab most musculars in response, until all six freaks were hunched over with their traps exploding up to their earlobes, indulging in the ultimate bodybuilding pose; Mikey Maguire in the middle, revelling in the glory more so than any one of them. His only wish was that he could somehow see what the audience were seeing. If only they’d erect a huge mirror at the back of the auditorium. Or at least catch the whole scene on camera and project it so that Mikey and his fellow competitors could watch themselves cranking out, flexing and tearing up the stage. He wondered what was going on in the minds of the audience members as they stared at the six muscle freaks on stage showing off their mighty mass in their tiny, shiny posing trunks. Most of them were probably wondering just who Mikey was, where he had come from and what his superpower was. Many of them were probably fantasising about what it would be like to be as huge and monstrous as him and stand on stage, being ogled at and adored. And he was fairly sure a considerable percentage of them were currently turned on and battling huge boners in their jeans at the sight of the bronzed, shredded muscle bulls before them. He knew that his friend Pete was sitting somewhere in the audience. Maybe the man who had signed them into the venue was sitting there too, and maybe the insanely cute Tom Daley look-alike with the black specs was with him, looking on with the same look of awe he’d given Mikey earlier, his hands in his lap, desperately trying to conceal his growing hard on as a bunch of obscenely huge muscle bulls cranked out matching crab most musculars before him. Mikey’s adrenaline didn’t waver for one single moment throughout the entire prejudging part of the show. He flexed and posed without ever feeling tired (a nifty side effect of his superpower) and soaked up every second that he spent on stage, showing off his otherworldly body. But no moment was greater for Mikey than when he was stood in between Shaun Slater and Jackson James Jones, being cheered at by the audience in the final comparisons round. If the gawps, gasps and stares of the people in the street made Mikey feel like a freak, the show's audience reaction to him, and the two monsters either side of him made him feel like a God. As he, Jackson and Shaun blew up their magnificent biceps to a rupture of applause, a thought raced through Mikey’s mind. What if being a bodybuilder was what he was supposed to really be? And then more thoughts flooded his mind. What if this was his destiny? To be the biggest and best superpower enabled muscle freak on the planet? To be one of the greatest bodybuilders in the history of the Annual Superpower Games? Or maybe it was his destiny to be the most worshipped muscle monster in the universe? Maybe he was supposed to go out into the world, find any and every man with a penchant for huge, shredded bodybuilders and help them fulfil their ultimate fantasies of worshipping a real life muscle bull? And what if he’d gotten his superpower wrong? What if he wasn’t a lad who could transform his ordinary sized body into a hulking mass of worship-worthy muscle whenever he liked? What if he was supposed to be a once ordinary sized man who one day transformed into a 300 lbs bodybuilder, and stayed that way forever? Mikey was unexpectedly pulled from his thoughts when, mid way through an abs and thighs pose, with his arms around the back of his head, and his blocky abs protruding through his stomach like huge rocks trapped under his skin, he suddenly felt something alien brushing against one of his monstrously thick and ludicrously details quads. Mikey felt like his heart had caught in his throat as he looked down to see Jackson James Jones moving his fingers up and down the crazy feathering in Mikey’s right quad. The audience were going crazy as Mikey furiously blushed and tried to comprehend what was happening. Jackson, with the most devilish grin on his utterly gorgeous face, then went one step further and started giving Mikey’s quad a couple of playful slaps, causing Mikey’s expression to uncontrollably merge into a bashful smirk, and the bulge in his shiny black posers to pulsate with sudden force. As Jackson moved his hand away, his eyes met with Mikey’s, and he gave him a similarly flirtatious grin to the one he had when they’d been queuing up backstage. A flustered Mikey looked down at Jackson’s enormous quads, only slightly bigger than his own, and exploding in insane detail. Should he return the playful gesture, and give one of Jackson’s alien quads a cheeky slap, he thought? Mikey considered it for a moment, but he couldn’t quite bring himself to do it. The only muscle he’d ever touched was his own. To feel and touch the huge, shredded muscle of another freakishly sized bodybuilder was something he’d dreamed of doing for so long. It meant too much to Mikey to do it in this setting, in front of hundreds of cheering and laughing audience members. But one thing was definite; having Jackson’s hands on his quads had felt amazing. As had the moment where their eyes had locked, and Jackson had flashed him that absurdly gorgeous, heart melting smile, and all of Mikey’s questions from earlier suddenly rose to the surface again. Was he in the presence of the real Jackson James Jones, and if not, then who the hell was this person beside him, and just exactly what incredible superpower did he possess that enabled him to morph into the body of one of the world’s best bodybuilders?

Chapter one is found here: https://muscle-growth.org/topic/13085-professor-schnackenburgs-mistake/ Professor Schnackenburg's mistake: Chapter Two Cody was the biggest bro at campus, and he knew it. He was tired of the weakling sissies at the college gym, who wanted to 'get some muscle tone' but 'not become too big'. Cody very much disagreed: There was no 'too much'. There was no 'big enough'. Never too much! Never big enough! He had joined The Steel Factory gym outside campus, since it had got the heaviest free weights in town. As he had spread the reputation of The Steel Factory, some of the other students had also began to work out there: Jess, Jill, Jack. And Magnussen. And Tim. He pushed the heavy barbell in a focused and disciplined bench press, and he could feel his blood run to his chest, giving him a bloody awesome pump. Some strange greenish phosphorescent light shone in from the windows, and seemed to lit up the night outside the windows. And thunderclaps. Was it thunder? or northern lights? Or something. He returned to his workout schedule. Bench press. Barbell. Heavy. Pump. Gains. It was rather close to some of the buildings belonging to Arts and Humanities: The archeology students, the literature students, the historians... The only drawback with the location of The Steel Factory was, that the gay street began around the corner, and one gay bar faced the entrance to The Steel Factory. Cody liked to draw attention, but he didn't like to draw attention of gays. He preferred to draw the attention of female students like Jess and Jill. Jess. He became angry again. Jess. She had been his girlfriend for six months. He remembered the scent of her blonde hair, and her enthusiastic screams when he pounded her. Shit. He got a boner inside his training shorts. Well, if anyone commented, they knew he would hit them. He didn't expect anyone to comment. He felt insulted, when he saw Magnussen – the reasonably brawny Danish exchange student – work out with Jess across the room, over at the rowing machines. One day, he would tell Magnussen his mind. One day, he would give Magnussen a real thrashing, and prove who's the Alpha on campus. Jill, the brunette studying pharmacology, was sexy in a shy way, and when she was drunk at a party, she had confessed, that she was turned on by muscle, and she had worshipped him behind a sofa. He wanted to go further with Jill. Or conquer Jess and leave Magnussen in a pathetic little heap of shit, but he had to admit, that Magnussen had a good constitution when he arrived in the beginning of the academic year, and he had to admit, that Magnussen had got some real gains, as the term had went on. Or, he fantasised, he could persuade Jess and Jill into a threesome with him, and leave Magnussen destroyed. Yeah, like a real Alpha. Four boobs on him. Four hands exploring his quads and pecs. Two pussies eager for his Alpha cock. It sounded like a road accident outside the gym. Bench press. Barbell. Heavy. Pump. Gains. Jack, on the other side, was a true friend. A real bro. Someone to rely on and trust. Fucking awesome stud, even if he hadn't got the same gains as Cody and Magnussen. If he and Jack had been gay, Cody had been willing to give head to Jack, but since they both now were straight as an arrow, that would never happen. Jill had called Jack and Cody 'a bromance' a couple of times, what that was supposed to mean. Everyone seemed to like Jack. Cody watched Jack help Tim over at the old fashioned pec-dec machine. Tiny Tim. Bench press. Barbell. Heavy. Pump. Gains. Cody couldn't understand why Jack had to drag that little runt to the gym. Tim's presence just delayed their training schedule. Even if he was beginning to get the knack of how the machines worked, Tim hadn't used the free weights much, and he didn't achieve any gains to speak of. Subcutaneous fat was not the problem: Tiny Tim's abs were already visible when Jack brought him to the gym the first time, but it seemed like the shy kid couldn't pack on any brawn. Fuck! The little shrimp was, what was it, 20? But he looked like a scrawny 16 year old. Tiny Tim was dragging Jack and Cody down at the gym, but Cody hadn't been able to persuade Jack to leave Tim at the dorm. Fuck the little bugger. Bench press. Barbell. Heavy. Pump. Gains. Jack went to fetch a glass of water, and left tiny Tim in the pec-dec machine close to Cody. He could hear commotion and kerfuffle downstairs and in the next room. A weird sound like a high-voltage electric current. It almost sounded like the women downstairs came. And men with deep voices having fun. Weird. Ought he to check out what was happening? The attention of everyone else turned to the entrance. Cody had a schedule to follow: Bench press. Barbell. Heavy. Pump. Gains. He returned the barbell to the rack. In the doorway into this room stood a man... a being... ...who would normally have seemed displaced, since he looked like something out of a sword-and-sorcery film. Normally, a muscular dude wearing a leather harness, a leather jockstrap, furs and boots would look camp and cheesy. Normally. The towering being that gazed at the gym members in the room was beyond normality and beyond everyday life: It exuded power – unlimited physical and supernatural power, and it knew it, as it watched the now shocked gym members. The short hair on its head was a sort of golden blond. Its steel-hard muscle mass bulged in all directions, arrogantly exposing its naked, sun-tanned flesh. It was surrounded by an overwhelming nimbus of martial virtue, masculinity beyond all limitations and an expectation to be obeyed by everyone. Its eyes were ice blue and commanding. Cody's mind began a silent insane ramble: YES! THAT was what he would like to achieve. He had aimed at the impossible: Though he was impressed by bodybuilders from the past, like Schwarzenegger who made all these cool old action films with bad special effects, and though he was impressed by modern mass monsters like Jay Cutler, Justin Compton and Dallas McCarver, he dreamed about going far beyond the results of these men, but he had never been able to visualise his ideal goals in any clear way. Now, the man... the Being... which stood in the doorway, looked like the embodiment of his innermost yearnings and most secret imagination. Cody shivered. Slowly, rational thought crawled through the throbbing, feverish and aroused revelry, which was his inner monologue: What was this man, this Being, this man-god doing at the gym? What was it doing here? How was this in any sense possible? Naked, sun-tanned flesh. Masculinity beyond all limitations. Unlimited physical and supernatural power. Cody moaned. He could hear Jack letting out a yelp. Even tiny Tim moaned. The Being did a side-chest. The eyes of all present persons widened. The Being faced Jess and Jill. It made a suggestive thrust of its hips, and the sound similar to high-voltage electricity, that Cody had heard earlier, was repeated. Two currents of unknown and unholy energies emitted from the Being's crotch, zapped Jill and Jess between their legs, and the girls sank down on their training benches, their eyes rolled up in the skull, their bodies spasmodically twitching, and their mouths emitting feminine noises of excitement. The lights in the ceiling went out, but the dim light from outdoor street lamps fell in from the windows. The room became illuminated by a greenish, sort of, phosphorescent light. Cody felt hurt. He, not the Being, was the one who would take Jess and Jill to formerly unknown heights of pleasure. But at the same he was impressed. He wanted to be like the Being, to take part in its power, to share its essence. The Being waved its hand, and the gym disappeared. It felt like a dream. He was outdoors. It looked like a vast natural reserve, the sea not far away. Brooks running through the landscape with fish. Forests, but not very thick forests. Tall powerful men from the past in armed combat. Men like him, or, rather, men like he wanted to be. Loyal friends, protecting each other in battle. Hunters... Oh fuck! Hunters defeating large predators with large teeth with their bare hands... Alpha's of today looked insignificant to these men from the past. And then the sound of waves. Waves rolling in. A wave of water. A... that sort of... a wall of water, what's it called? A tsunami. He was back at the gym. By the look of their faces, his male friends all had seen the vision. Their female friends were still spasming on the training benches. "Men of the younger world." It was the first time the god-man Being spoke since its arrival to the gym. Its voice suited the way it looked: Deep, very deep, resonant. A battle cry and the promise of male voluptiousness. "Men of the younger world. I have shown you the glory, that once was Anghra-Lemur, but which is now The Sunken Hundred. I have returned over the gulfs of time and space. The powers of Anghra-Lemur are rising, and they will leaven the present world, and throw it away. I am the present embodiment of Kortoth-Gnaah, war god of Anghra-Lemur. I embody the power of thousand thunder gods. I embody the power of thousand sun heroes. Mine is the war frenzy. Mine is the battle cry. I fill brave men with duty. I fill the humble fighters with courage. I wipe the cowards and the evildoers away. I will allow Anghra-Lemur to rise again, because the time is at hand. But I need the raw material for the new men of Anghra-Lemur. I need those willing and those suitable, to become like the warriors of the forgotten time. My strength will permeate the chosen. My power will pervade the willing. My thew will saturate the suitable, and I will bestow upon them the divine powers of the forgotten god-heroes. I am Kortoth-Gnaah. I am willing to bestow all this." It seemed like all of the men were held under a spell, making it impossible to talk, only to think. The Being turned around, watching all of them. Cody's heart raced. YES! To hell with the bloody modern world. Some sort of Conan-world came crashing in. He couldn't comprehend how or why or what, but he knew one thing: He wanted to be in. Kortoth-Gnaah, wargod of Anghra-Lemur, watched Jack a few seconds. Then he stretched out his big hands in the direction of Jack. A green glow intensified around his hands, and then a powerful beam emitted and engulfed Jack in a sea of green, translucent, crackling power. Jack regained his ability to speak. "FUCK! So good! Can't believe it! Fuck! Look at me! My size! Growing! Can't believe it! Pump! Power! Pleasure! These biceps! Fuck! My traps, my back, my...! Oh! So good! Empower me, Master! Imbue me with... Nnnn. Fucking... Can't... Master... Growing..." Jack's rambling words turned into yelps, moans and grunts as he became taller, heavier and more muscled. Jack tensed, flexed, grew, his eyes staring in disbelief, and clothes from The Sunken Hundred materialising around him." Cody's heart was a sledge-hammer. Fuck, yes. Best friend. Jack. Bro. Becoming like a fucking Conan, a fucking He-Man... No! Far, far beyond those imaginary characters! Bro, becoming... Cody couldn't find words. And soon, Cody thought, it was his turn to receive the same blessing. He shivered. His cock throbbed. He was still pumped from the workout, and his antecipation was growing. Soon. Like Jack. Or The Being. Like Kortoth-Gnaah. Big. Big beyond measure. Jack was still growing beside the water vending, when Korgoth-Gnaah turned his attention to other parts of the room. Cody looked in disbelief, when Kortoth-Gnaah faced Magnussen. No? It couldn't be possible? Not the man who stole Jess from him. The green glow around Kortoth-Gnaah's big hands grew again, and a beam struck Magnussen, who began to grow in the same manner as Jack had done. Magnussen reverted to his native language, which sounded as a string of guttural sounds, which probably fitted the situation quite well. Fuck. He hadn't connected Danes and vikings before, but Magnussen was turning into – perhaps not what vikings actually looked like – but into the popular imagination about them. It wasn't fair. Not Magnussen! Not the one who distract Jess. Jess... She was returning to consciousness, and saw what happened to Magnussen. When the transformation reached climax, she ran to Magnussen, put her arms around his waist, pressed herself close to him, and shouted: "Fill me with your little viking babies!" He would have his revenge. Soon, very soon, their Master would turn his attention in Cody's direction, and he would have the same brutal power, the same strength, or even more of it, and he would show Magnussen who's the Alpha among the Master's housecarls. Soon. Kortoth-Gnaah turned around. He looked in the direction of Cody. Cody smirked. He braced himself. He couldn't imagine how it would feel, but he knew it would be better than anything he could imagine, if the behaviour of Jack and Magnussen was anything to go for. Soon. Naked, sun-tanned flesh. Soon. Steel-hard muscle mass bulging in all directions. Soon. He could see the green shimmer building up around Kortoth-Gnaah's big hands again, as he watched Cody. YES! MASTER! ME! SOON! Masculinity beyond all limitations. Soon! The green flames intensifying. Cody closed his eyes and smiled. Soon. Unlimited physical and supernatural power. Soon. Cody swallowed, and braced himself for the incoming impact of the transforming, empowering rush of supernatural force. Soon. Nothing happened, but he could hear the familiar crackling sound of unnameable and unholy power in the air close to his bench. He opened his eyes. NO! Not tiny Tim! Not the shrimp. Not the scrawny hardgainer. Not the little runt. The little runt wasn't a little runt, anymore. A broad-shouldered behemoth bellowed in the pec-dec machine with his legs broad apart. Things didn't go as Cody had expected, and he fell into dark despair: An icy cold awareness arose that he wasn't one of The Master's chosen. Chapter Three is here: https://muscle-growth.org/topic/13105-professor-schnackenburgs-mistake-chapter-three/

Hey everyone! I was inspired to write a short one-off story (as opposed to my usual multi-chapter epics) and I was able to write this all in one go today! I hope you enjoy. Joe goes to his local game store to do a Magic: The Gathering draft and plays against a burly young jock whose spells have an effect on more than just the battlefield... I went to my local game store to do a Magic: The Gathering draft, like I do almost every week. I paid for my entry fee and went to sit down, chatting with the other store regulars about what cards we thought are underrated and what archetypes were good to draft. The bell on the door to the store jingled and suddenly I could smell a sharp, heady aroma of nerd jock BO. I crinkled my nose but a shiver of pleasure went up my spine as well; I had always had a weakness for that musky masculine smell. I looked over to see where it was coming from and saw a guy walking in I had never seen before. He was young, probably fresh out of college, and was built like a football lineman. He was tall, over 6’ for sure, and beefy; wide shoulders, barrel chest, big arms, round soft-looking belly, and thick legs. He had a scraggly, bright red beard and mustache, round, ruddy cheeks, pale skin, and piercing blue eyes. His hair was long and stringy, and he wore a hoodie, jeans, and big heavy-looking leather boots. I guessed he was probably 280lb or so. He looked like the kind of guy who would be great to cuddle with, but maybe only after you fed him and got fucked by him. I got the sense he was usually pegged as a jock football bro because of how he looked but deep down was a serious MTG nerd. He was solid-looking, like he still lifted but also looked like he had let himself go a little since the football season had ended last fall. He sauntered in, the smell of his musk growing more pungent as he walked by me. He smelled like he had just come from the gym but also like he hadn’t left his mom’s basement to shower in a few days: sour, sharp, tangy, and fresh all at the same time. I couldn’t help but huff it in even though it was so powerful it was hard to breath. He paid for his draft and soon enough we got started. The store manager running the draft called out our seats and sure enough I was next to the big ginger. He sat down next to me, a wave of his BO wafting over me. “Hey, I haven’t seen you here before, I’m Joe,” I said. The big guy slumped his backpack down and turned to me, his icy blue eyes looking me over. “Mark, but just call me Red,” he said with a grin. “Red, huh?” I said, raising an eyebrow. “That’s quite a nickname,” I continued, “though I suppose it works for you.” “Heh, yeah,” he said and ran a hand through his straggly ginger beard. It looked like hadn’t trimmed or groomed it in months. “My football buddies gave it to me. I played football up until I graduated last year,” he explained, spreading his shoulders wide. “Just D3 but I liked being able to hit stuff. I’ve had that nickname since freshman year.” “Yeah I thought so, you’re a pretty big guy. You just come from the gym?” I asked, his BO surrounding me like a miasma. “Yeah actually. I still love lifting. Guess I smell pretty strong, huh?” he asked. “It’s kind of noticeable, yeah,” I admitted. “Heh, well people can just deal with it,” he said and lifted his arm up a bit and sniffed for effect. “I kind of like it actually.” I almost admitted that I did too, but decided that would be weird. “Well alright Red, I’m Joe. Pass me some good cards, ok?” I said. “For sure, bud,” he said as we all got our packs. “Hope you open some good stuff,” and we all opened our packs to start drafting. The draft went fine for me, but I found it hard to concentrate with this huge, sexy, smelly fucker next to me. It was impossible to ignore his presence because his BO stink was always in my nostrils, and he would grunt or bump against me every so often when he got a good card. I tried not to steal glances but couldn’t help myself a few times. He was just my type: big, bearded, ginger, geeky, and sweaty. When the draft ended, my deck wasn’t the best because I hadn’t been focusing as much as I should have been. I looked to my right and Red had drafted a green/red deck with some insane bombs. My eyes boggled as I looked at the size of his creatures, especially the big ones at the top of his curve, and backed up by good pump spells. “Jeez you really went big, huh?” I said to him, leaning a bit closer. “Yeah I like playing with big, beefy creatures… kind of like me, right?” he said with a grin and started putting his deck together. “Well the red matches your beard, so I guess that fits,” I said. He chuckled and rose up to get lands, towering over me for a moment, and I tried to focus on building a deck of my own. A few minutes later pairings went up and I went to go play against my first round opponent. Red sat a bit away from me, with his back to me. The chair looked too small for his wide shoulders and beefy ass. I noticed others around me crinkling their noses and keeping their distance from the big jock, but they didn’t say anything. A smelly guy at a local game store wasn’t anything out of the ordinary. I did well during my first game, drawing well and beating my opponent’s cruddy deck easily. During the game I kept looking over at Red. I could hear his deep voice from across the room, and his shoulders and traps really looked big from behind. After his first game he stood up to take his hoodie off – it was getting pretty warm in the store with all these guys playing Magic – revealing that he was wearing just a tank top underneath. His BO stink intensified now that his pits were exposed, and I got a better look at the size of his shoulders and back. He was bigger than I thought, more muscular, with round bulky delts and mountainous traps. I picked up my stuff and went to a quiet corner of the store to zone out looking at my phone for a bit to kill time between rounds. Before I knew it 20 minutes had passed and they were calling time in the round. I went back over to the play area and stopped in my tracks when I saw Red rising up out of his chair. Red looked noticeably bigger than he did just 20 minutes ago. He stood up, and up, clearly several inches taller than he was before, looking at least 6’6” if not bigger. He was thicker all over, not just because he was taller but proportionally as well; his shoulders were bulkier and wider, his huge pecs made his tank top stretch, and a sliver of red fur-covered belly peeked out from the bottom. His arms were massive and much more muscular than before, biceps bulging with mounds of muscle that hadn’t been there before. His jeans strained to contain his big, muscular quads, and a prominent bulge tented the denim. His beard looked redder and thicker, and the power of his BO stink had increased. “Red, uh, did you win your match?” I asked tentatively. Everyone else around eyed him strangely and gave him plenty of space, aware that he had apparently grown. He had to be at least 400lbs of beefy muscle now. His big shoulders had sprouted some copper-colored hair. “Sure did! It was a close one but Giant Growth won it in the end for me,” he boomed, his voice louder and deeper than before. “G-giant growth, huh?” I stammered. He seemed totally unaware of the irony. “Yup, I got lots of combat tricks to make my guys grow bigger. Always love it when my stuff is just bigger than everything the opponent has, that way I can bully him around just like I used to in football,” he said, raising a beefy arm to scratch his scraggly beard. His bicep bulged up obscenely, the red pores of his huge arm standing out as he flexed. “Pairings for round 2 are up!” the store manager yelled, and I looked up to the screen to see who I was playing next. I found my name and then looked over to see who I was playing. It said, “Mark H.” I felt the floorboards vibrate a bit and a shadow fell over me, and smelled a wave of Red’s jock/geek funk. “Looks like we’re playing each other this round, little guy,” Red rumbled from behind me. I turned around and was eye-level with his chest. His tank top was a worn, faded high school wrestling tournament one, with a hyper muscular bear mascot on the front and a list of names of participants on the back. He was stained yellow under the pecs and pits from years of jock sweat. I looked up, my mouth falling open a bit, and Red looked down at me with a smirk. “Y-yeah man, uh, where do you want to, um, sit?” I said, flummoxed and freaked out for a variety of reasons. We found a place to play and I set about getting ready. He sat down heavily, the little wooden chair creaking ominously under his bulk. “So how long have been you playing Magic?” I said, trying to make small talk to be less nervous. “Since I was 12, so like 10 years now,” he said as he started shuffling his deck. His huge, calloused hands made the cards look smaller than usual, and I gulped. It was starting to feel really warm in here. “C-cool. So, you said you like red and green?” I asked as I finished shuffling and we cut each others’ decks. “Yeah man, ever since I was young I loved all the huge, powerful creatures in those colors. Aggressive, strong, big, all the qualities I wanted for myself. Sometimes when I play football I would think about having trample or first strike and just running over my opponent, hehe,” he said as he won the die roll and drew seven. I couldn’t help but get chubbed up as this massive brute told me all this. “Heh that’s awesome, man. Well it seemed to work because you’re huge! Uh, just how big are you anyway?” I dared to ask as I played a land and passed the turn. “6’7” and 425lb or so, though that fluctuates a lot depending on what I’m eating. Always trying to grow bigger,” he rumbled and then played a creature. “B-but you weren’t that big earlier…no way,” I said as played a creature of my own, though smaller than his, and passed. “Well yeah even a year or two ago I was still in the 300s but I just keep growing,” he said as he attacked with his 2/2. “No I meant, when you got here… never mind,” I said, confused – there was no way he was he over 300lbs when I first saw him, much less 400lb. I decided to block his creature as it seemed like a good trade. He tapped his lands and played Boon of Strength, giving his creature two +1/+1 counters and making it bigger. As he played the spell I could see Red visibly bulk up bigger, like he suddenly got a nice gym pump. His traps and shoulders rose up thicker and rounder, his forearms swelled and new veins appeared, and his chest expanded with muscle. Like he had gotten a… well, a boon of strength. “Ha! Gotcha,” he said and my little 2/1 died in to his creature, now a 4/4. “Uh, what just...happened,” I trailed off as I untapped my lands. “Heh, told you my deck had a lot of pump spelled in it,” Red said and stretched in his seat. His massive arms – had to be over 22 inches now – flexed as he stretched, and his tank top rode up until I could see his belly button, his fat belly covered in copper-colored fur. His sweaty pits filled the room with musk, and the entire store soon stank like a football jock’s dorm room. “Yeah, but, you… you look… I mean, did you just grow?” I asked, hardly believing the words coming out of my mouth. “Huh? Uh, my creature did, but I’ve always been this big. Guess this tank is getting a little tight, I’ve been making lots of gains lately,” he rumbled. I nodded, confused, and played a creature and passed the turn. He had no idea what was happening. Red played another bigger creature, and again I could see him grow slightly. He attacked, hit me for 4, and I could already tell I was going to lose this game. A few turns later, with a 4/4, a 5/6, and a 7/7 on the board, and with Red looking close to seven feet tall and pushing 600lbs, he won game one. I looked him over as he shuffled for game two. His red, round cheeks were flushed and his blue eyes were hyponotizing. His beard had grown thicker and longer with him and almost reached down to his pecs, which rose up now like a shelf and stood out from his flimsy tank top. His arms were absurd, bigger around than his head and throbbing with beefy muscle, a round, solid bicep peak erupting from the meat of his upper arm as he shuffled. “S-so you graduated?” I asked, trying to take my mind off of the fact my opponent was growing into the biggest man on earth right in front of me. “Yeah, got an exercise science degree. I want to join a coaching staff or maybe be a personal trainer as a backup option,” he said. “Always loved lifting, even as a kid,” he boomed and lifted up his huge right arm and flexed. Mountains of muscle sprang up on his arm and shoulder, and my mouth dropped open. I’d never seen such huge muscle. The red armpit hair was matted down with slick sweat and a wave of his BO hit me like a punch in the face. “W-wow yeah it really shows. Well that’s cool. You must have been one of the biggest guys on your team?” I probed. “Oh yeah, always been the biggest guy everywhere. I got offers from D1 schools but wanted to stay local. At my size I could do pretty much whatever I want,” he said and my mind took that in ten different ways and my boner swelled harder. I actually won game two because he got mana screwed, unable to play anything except a two-drop creature, which obviously frustrated him. His red cheeks grew redder and I could see, and smell, more sweat erupting on his forehead, shoulders, and chest, dampening his shirt. Game three started pretty evenly, with both of us playing fairly defensive creatures and building our board state. His hulking frame intimidated me across the table, and he slowly but interminably swelled up bigger every time he played a creature or cast a pump spell. I was just barely holding on when he played Growth Spurt, giving all his creatures +1/+1 counters. Red exploded with more size, muscle packing on to his bulky football jock frame and stretching wider and thicker. His chair groaned and cracked under his ballooning weight. His torso was so big it looked like he was wearing football pads. “Oh yeah, a growth spurt just in time!” he rumbled and attacked. I blocked what I could but took a lot of damage. It wasn’t looking good for me. “What are you gonna do, little guy? The beef squad just keeps growing bigger!” he taunted, tensing his pecs and traps at me. I just grumbled and passed the turn. His next turn he tapped all of his mana. “Here comes the big guy!” Red boomed and laid down Hulking Brute, an 8/8 creature with trample. The art of the card showed a massive, muscular, red-bearded giant stomping a house with a huge foot and smashing a hammer into the ground. I looked up just in time to see Red explode with size, his entire body visibly swelling up taller, broader, and more muscular. He took a deep breath and I could hear his tendons popping and stretching to accommodate his new, bigger size. “Oh yeah!” Red bragged, lifting up his arms in triumph, unleashing a new wave of BO stink, and attacked again. I was barely alive and drew another creature to keep me alive for another turn. If I could draw my sweeper I could probably come back, but it was a big if. On his next turn, he drew his card, smirked, and then tapped all his mana. “BOOM!” he yelled and played Unstoppable Growth, a mass-pump spell that gave all his creatures +4/+4 and trample and then attacked with everything. As soon as the card left his hand, Red exploded with size, muscle and fat swelling his entire body bigger and taller. The table shifted towards me as his ball belly pushed it back, and the chair cracked and collapsed under his huge weight. He fell with a heavy “OOF”. Muscles erupted on every inch of his burly body, the football jock going from pro strongman size to borderline giant in just a few seconds. His pale skin was ruddy with exertion and slick with sweat, his beard thicker and longer, copper colored hair sprouting on his back and shoulders and arms. Red laughed as he sat on the floor. He shifted his massive weight, clomped a heavy boot onto the ground, and rose up to his full height. He stood up, taller and taller until he towered over the entire store, his head scraping against the 8 foot ceiling. He breathed deeply, his body filling out with the last moments of growth, and he laughed. He was enormous, like the big brother of the the biggest strongman or powerlifter or football player alive, fat and powerful, muscular and swollen, ruddy and sweaty and huge. His stench intensified as he lifted up his arms until his fists bumped into the ceiling and then he brought his fists together and flexed. “HAHA oh yeah, the goon squad wins! Like a whole offensive line pancake blocking your ass!” he boomed down at me, eyes wide as he let his jock excitement get the better of him. I flinched but couldn’t take my eyes off the massive giant college football jock towering over me. At this point everyone else in the store noticed the hulking brute, clearly bigger than anyone they’d ever seen before. People stared and yelled, pointing and cursing at the size of the ginger giant. Red’s beard bloomed red and thick, reaching down and mixing with his chest hair, his mustache curling broadly into his cheeks, his flowing hair falling down to his shoulders like a Viking god. “Looks like I’m 2-0 and going to the finals,” Red boomed as he cleaned up his cards. Each one looked like a bizarre miniature Magic card in his huge hands. “Can’t wait to smash the next guy. Look at how BIG my creatures got at the end!” he said and swelled his chest up and out. “Almost as big as ME!” he said with a smirk and palmed his enormous gut and jiggled it up and down. “Huhhh, um, whaaa…” I stammered, unable to process the fact my opponent had just grown over 2 feet tall and god knows how much heavier in the last half an hour while playing Magic: The Gathering. “Good games though, squirt, you took me to three, that’s pretty good for a little guy,” he rumbled and extended a hand. I instinctively put mine out and Red wrapped his massive paw around my diminutive digits. His hand engulfed mine up to my wrist and he squeezed hard, the power just in his fingers overwhelming, and he shook me hard. “Bet you never lost to a Magic player this size, huh?” he taunted. “Pairings for round 3 are up!” the manager called, and Red mercifully waddled off to his last match. I sat down for my match, but at this point the whole store’s attention was on Red’s freak show. The brute sat down on the ground to face his opponent; he was tall enough at this point it wasn’t an issue. His round three opponent was obviously terrified and nervous; Red was probably two and a half feet taller and 5 times his weight. “Hey, I’m Red,” he boomed. “Should we roll dice to see who goes first?” he said and swelled out his chest and flexed his traps and shoulders. “N-no no, go ahead, y-you can just go first,” his opponent quavered, and Red just grinned, his big white teeth standing out in the middle of his red beard. “Good, I was hoping you’d see things my way,” the brute said and he shuffled his tiny cards. Red was merciless in his round three match. Every card seemed to be just the one he needed, and just the one to make him grow and grow and grow. He played bigger creatures, pump spells, and massive finishers to punish his opponent, all the while bulking up bigger and heavier and taller in spurts every time he played a card. He would grunt and growl when he grew now, apparently loving the feeling of his body expanding with more and more size, but continued to be unaware that it was unusual. He won game one easily, his huge ass spreading wider and taking up more space, his tank top growing with his height but not with his increasingly wider, thicker, and more muscular proportions; soon it only covered down to the top of massive round gut and his jeans had torn up to his thighs. The beast sweated profusely as he grew and grew, and his jock BO became so powerful that some people started to leave. I huffed it in, standing as close to Red as I could to soak in his funk and watch him swell bigger. He played another +1/+1 counter spell and I got bold, reaching out and touching his huge shoulder to FEEL it growing under my touch. He turned and looked at me and grinned. “Pretty good play, right?” he rumbled, his voice a subwoofer bass that rattled my chest. “Yeah big guy, keep growing your creatures more, it’s great,” I said breathlessly, caught up in the moment. “Ok ready for this?” Red said and laid down his last card. It was a mythic rare, one I had never seen before, a 12/12 creature called Evergrowth Titan. It was the biggest creature I’d ever seen, had trample, haste, and vigilance, and every turn it got bigger and bigger. Red played it and grew, his head thumping against the ceiling in an instant even though he was still sitting, his body swelling wider so fast it made me stumble over. He breathed in deep and then groaned as he exhaled, his chest as wide and thick as three or four people combined, his gut pushing the table back until it pinned his opponent against the wall. The little guy whimpered and conceded. “YEAH WOO HOO I WON!” Red boomed and raised his arms, his BO musk nearly knocking me over again. He grew even more as he sat there celebrating, the aftereffects of the spell still causing his body to pump up bigger and bigger. He scooted around and faced the counter of the store. “I’ll take my packs now,” he rumbled and stuck out his huge hand, which was as big as a cast iron skillet. “Uh, s-sure big guy,” the manager said and handed him his six packs for winning the draft. Red started opening then and the manager waved me over. “Wow, I guess he got the special promo packs that WOTC gave out. The advertising was no joke… I didn’t think they’d have ACTUAL wishing magic in them. Guess he really wanted to be bigger, huh?” he whispered to me, and my eyes grew wide. I looked back at the overgrown hulk ripping open packs, his tank top more like a crop top now and his jeans looking like Daisy Dukes. I slowly realized what had happened. “Yup, lots of +1/+1 counters on that big guy…” the manager said. I packed up my stuff and I left the store without saying anything to Red. I stood in the parking lot for a minute, knowing I should just leave but I couldn’t help but wait to see the big ginger in his full glory. Sure enough, a couple mintues later I heard crunching of walls and the scream of twisting metal and saw Red burst out of the entrance, partially destroying the small 7’ entrance with his hulking, giant frame. He was easily twice my height, and had thick, bulging, bulky muscle hanging off every inch of his body. He saw me and grinned and then lumbered over, his gut jiggling as he waddled, muscles twitching with unspeakable power with every step. “Hey,” Red boomed as he loomed over me. I could see the huge bulge in what was left of his jeans throb and shift as he looked me over. “Wanna come back to my place and keep playing? There’s a BIG creature I want to show you that I think you’ll like…” he intoned and reached down to adjust his massive cock, which was obviously swelling bigger. “I, uh, oh wow, uh—oof!” I breathed as I was suddenly lifted up by his massive hands. Red picked me up like a child and threw me over his enormous shoulders and started waddling back to his apartment. “I saw how you looked at me… you like big guys, right?” he said, his deep voice shaking my chest. “Yeah, I know you do! Well there’s NOBODY bigger than me!” He rumbled. “Ahhh, oh man,” I breathed. I couldn’t believe this was happening! “Mmm hmm, you better get ready for some trample damage because I’m gonna PLOW right through you!” Red boomed as he carried me off, my cock throbbing against his shoulder.

Hello all. Found this story on an old computer. If I remember correctly, it was inspired by a story about the wrestler Scott Steiner taking on a bodybuilder from the 80’s. I can picture the bodybuilder, but for the life of me I can’t remember his name. Anyway, here’s my story inspired by the theme. It’s way over the top and fantastical. It’s unfinished so feel free to add (and share) your own ending. Wrestler vs. Bodybuilder Scott Samson made his way to the ring with his trademarked air of utter confidence. Standing in the ring, shaking himself out, the renowned professional wrestler glared at the entryway, awaiting his opponent as he removed his robe to reveal skin tight, mid thigh length black lycra shorts. The man was massive. His fans roared their approval when he unveiled his hugely muscular physique. They could hardly wait for the spectacle of this huge man flexing and posing. His signature post introduction routine always drove his fans into a frenzy. This special exhibition match was going to be unique. Samson, arguably the greatest wrestler ever to prowl the squared circle, would be taking on one Matthew Robert Horn. Horn was bodybuilding's current Mister Olympia and had won that title consecutively more than any man in history. To make things even more interesting, The massive Mr. Horn was fresh off winning one of the year's major grand champion titles in Mixed Martial Arts, the first professional bodybuilder ever to do so. Horn appeared and a stunning sight he was. He appeared to be in the best shape a human specimen could be in, even bigger than most fans remembered. He wore black and yellow striped, square-cut posers and nothing else aside from a black, rubber wrist band with the slogan “No such thing as too big!” printed in yellow letters. Almost as wide as he was tall, the first thing that dropped jaws was the size of his upper arms. He had an enormous overall build, but his arms stuck out in particular, the triceps and biceps bulging out without even flexing them. His signature single biceps pose was so awe inspiring that it had earned him the nickname “Matterhorn” in the elite professional bodybuilding circles. Horn stepped into the ring and the two opponents glared at each other as the ring announcer made the introductions. Samson raised both his arms in a double biceps pose and as he’d expected, the fans roared their approval as the two guns peaked into their full physical majesty. Horn didn't flinch. He slowly raised his right arm and flexed his own massive biceps. A hush came over the crowd as the mass of his biceps and the thickness of the triceps combined to make an unbelievable sight. Horn smirked at Samson for having the nerve to keep flexing in the face of such sheer muscle size and power. Horn moved his forearm back and forth, accentuating his muscle and turning his wrist to add to the definition, expanding that massive forearm in the process. Samson continued flexing and the ref appeared in the ring, a tape measure trailing behind him. "Looks like these two have something to prove.” The fans loved this and roared with approval, the prospect of these two behemoths engaged in a flex off prodded them out of the stupor that the shock of Horn’s sheer size had put them into. The ref placed the tape measure around Horn's right bicep. The big bodybuilder steadied his flex at maximum so that the ref could get an accurate reading. The referee’s eyes went wide with shock. After a moment of being struck speechless, he managed to read the measurement aloud: “Twenty-four inches”. These were wrestling fans. Samson was their guy, but the sheer mass of Horn’s biceps stunned the crowed. Many were shaking their heads in disbelief. The silence was broken by Samson. He said nothing, merely clapping his hands slowly in mock applause as he smirked at Horn. The big blond wrestler then raised his left arm but rather than flex that massive biceps right away, he merely snapped his fingers to get the ref’s attention. Tearing his attention from Horn, the ref moved to measure Samson's left biceps which loomed huge even relaxed. Samson turned his wrist in and his forearm bulged huge with thick veins everywhere. He brought his wrist out straight and then flexed that muscle up high and huge. The ref wrapped the tape around the wrestler’s bulging upper arm and carefully took its measure. “I don’t believe it Ladies and gentlemen, Twenty-four huge inches!”, the referee shouted. “The Matterhorn has met his match!”. The crowd erupted in a frenzy of cheers and applause! Samson merely raised an eyebrow as he directed his gaze from his flexing biceps to Horn who was gaping at Samson's arm, then back at his own. “I-It’s as big as mine?!” Horn stammered, clearly shocked that a mere wrestler had been able to match him. “A tie”. He said, absolutely stunned. Samson’s expression changed to a slight knowing grin. “Nah, ties are boring.” Bearing down, Samson forced his biceps to bulge still larger. The tape measure slipped in the ref’s fingers from twenty-four to twenty-four and one quarter! Twenty-four and one half! Twenty-four and three quarters! When that awesome arm reached Twenty-five massive inches, Horn's jaw dropped. He slowly lowered his own arm, no longer eager to see the enormous muscle he’d spent years sweating for in the gym get ever more dwarfed in comparison to Samson’s As the wrestler’s biceps just continued to bulge larger, Horn shook his head in abject disbelief. “You’re...HUGE!” Blurted the big bodybuilder. He then glanced around, embarrassed that in his shock he’d exclaimed his awe aloud. Samson smirked at Horn’s dumbfounded remark and brought his right arm up, going into a double biceps pose. “Matterhorn, say hello to a couple of Mount Everests.” He laughed with smug satisfaction as he continued pumping those mountainous muscles larger, the tape measure reading inexorably increasing as Samson flexed. Twenty-five and one quarter! Twenty-five and one half! Twenty-five and three quarters! Twenty-six! Samson’s mighty arm was utterly dwarfing that of an Olympia class bodybuilder! Its sheer mass was making Horn feel queasy. He felt himself sway unsteadily on his feet. He had to concentrate to maintain his balance as he wiped at the cold sweat that had broken out on his brow. Samson smiled as he surveyed the massive peak that was straining the referee’s measuring tape . “Think I’ll stop right there. Looks like I'm making the muscleman go a little bit green around the gills, wouldn't want to make him faint dead away before the match even starts”. Deafening cheers drowned out the announcer who was attempting to call the measurements. The announcer moved for the mic. "And your winner, Scott Samson with 26 inches!” The crowd went wild as the announcer continued, "We know who's bigger now, how's about we find out who’s stronger”. Through his astonishment, an explanation for Samson’s impossible mass suddenly occurred to Horn. He'd seen it all in his career, the myriad of ways unscrupulous competitors used artificial shortcuts to achieve fake gains. Samson must have cheated his way to such implausible massiveness. Whether it was implants or some kind of injectable, Horn didn't know. The technique might have been flawless but faking size was one thing, strength was a different story. Horn was determined to crush Samson’s superficial bulk, arm to arm. He'd show this preening faker the power within true, hard earned muscle. The crowd roared their approval. The ref had an armwrestling table brought into the ring. As soon as it was set up the two muscle gods charged the table and crashed their mighty guns together. Samson pressed ahead three inches and Horn pushed him back to center. Horn tried an offensive thrust but Samson didn't budge, a big smile on his face as he held Horn, at bay. Horn sneered. “Get ready to have that stupid smile wiped off your face. I'm gonna give you until the count of three, then I’m going to snap this puny, puffed up arm of yours like the little twig it really is!” Samson smirked. “Not sure a muscle-head like you can count that high, so allow me.” Samson began to count aloud. "One", he called and he pressed Horn’s gigantic arm four inches past the neutral position. Horn’s mighty arm flexed to new heights as he struggled to regain lost ground but he couldn’t budge Samson’s enormous arm. "Two", Samson took Horn down 4 more inches, four inches closer to defeat, like the other man wasn’t even there, even as he increased his mighty effort to resist Samson’s powerful onslaught. Horn’s arm began to tremble, every vein and fiber of muscle present on the big bodybuilder’s arm was visibly straining in an all out effort to resist Samson. At that instant, Horn’s biceps seemed beyond the size that any human muscle should be able to attain. But Samson’s big, rock-steady, mountain of a muscle totally absorbed all the incredible power Horn’s massive, straining biceps could muster. Samson grinned cooly. Then, he flexed his mighty biceps up to new heights. The sheer size of it was astounding and the move demonstrated that he had been able to drive Horn to the verge of defeat with only a fraction of his biceps true power. Horn’s biceps quivered and quaked with strain as it was utterly dwarfed by Samson’s even larger muscle. Eyes wide, Horn could only shake his head in disbelief. In all his years of bodybuilding, he had never seen an arm so huge. He'd been sure such size couldn't be real. But the wrestler’s strength was all too real. He knew what was coming. “Three.” Samson declared and with almost casual ease, he finished Horn off, slamming his arm to the table with a loud thud that seemed to reverberate throughout the stadium. Samson’s huge biceps had put Matt`s massive peak down for the count, literally. "Your winner…..Scott Samson!" The ref lifted Samson's arm in Victory for the crowd’s approval. Humiliated, Horn hurled the table aside and charged. He was going to enjoy taking this smug bastard apart with his peerless MMA abilities. The two opponents started trading blows. And not just any blows. These were mountain crushing roundhouse rights that came fast and furious, each opponent alternately delivering one to the other. First Samson’s massive, balled fist plowed into Horn’s thick chest with a resounding thump. Then Horn let fly in return with his own haymaker that landed against Samson’s chiseled abs with a teeth rattling thud. A huge one from Samson pummeled Horn’s abs in return. Horn shook it off with a grunt and his careening fist pounded Samson’s bulging pecs with a sound like a sonic boom. Feeling his battle lust rise, Samson laughed heartily as his powerful body shrugged off Horn’s punches. He focused attention on that perfectly developed bodybuilder chest of Horn’s, wanting to pit himself against the muscleman’s strongest attribute. The two titans continued to take each other’s measures with probing punches, testing for weaknesses that could be exploited. Horn decided that it was time to take the wind out of Samson’s sails. Clasping both hands together into a club-like double-fist, he brought down a devastating blow just above Samson’s solar plexus. The plan was to stagger his opponent with the devastating hit, then follow up by pounding his vulnerable midsection, reducing him to a breathless sitting duck to be finished off at Horn’s leisure. Instead, Horn’s opening punch merely bounced off Samson’s chest as the wrestler anticipated Horn, flexing his pecs into the incoming punch. Those granite-hard muscles deflected Horn’s fists, the recoil causing the bodybuilder to stagger backwards. Horn struggled and managed to recover his balance enough to follow up with his planned assault on Samson’s exposed eight-pack but the way all his power had just bounced off Samson’s thick pecs unsettled Horn. The wrestler had to be putting up a front. No one could absorb such a blow without feeling it. Horn roared with fury as his powerful right found its mark, pounding Samson’s abs. Still roaring, Horn pressed his assault, landing one devastating punch after another against Samson’s gut. It was like punching a brick wall, but given enough time, Horn knew that even a brick wall would crumble before the titanic muscular power he’d worked so hard in the gym to acquire. Horn looked up to make sure Samson didn’t slip in a lucky punch and interrupt the rhythm of his onslaught. Horn expected to see Samson’s face contorted with pain, his limbs flailing uncontrollably as he was battered so relentlessly. To his shock, he was met by a big grin of amusement as Samson stood tall, bouncing massive pecs that made even Horn’s renowned chest development suffer by comparison. “Careful there Matt. Ya never know when I might decide to flex the old beer gut. Wouldn’t want you to hurt yourself.” Horn struggled not to show his shock at Samson’s imperviousness to his punches. ‘Beer gut?’ Samson was mocking him, he may have been a mere wrestler but the man had abs that could hold their own on any bodybuilding contest stage in the world. And what did he mean ‘might decide to flex’, Horn wondered as he reluctantly marveled at Samson’s mid-section. Those abs...those obliques, the way his fists were beginning to throb with pain as his mightiest punches bounced impotently off them....Samson had to be at full flex. “Not...gonna psych me out. No way you can take much more of this.” Horn growled as he intensified his attack, strengthening his punches and increasing the speed with which they came. Samson's face changed, the grin was gone, replaced by cold glare. “Not calling me a liar now, are ya Matt?” When Horn drew back for his next punch, Samson put both massive arms behind his head and with a sneer of contempt at Horn’s puny punches, he crunched down hard, flexing his abs into super-defined columns of muscle that looked like a wall of cinder blocks. But cinder blocks would have yielded more beneath Horn’s fist. Horn’s battle roar transmuted to a howl of pain as his hand nearly shattered against Samson’s abs. Horn clutched his battered fist as Samson held his pose, flexing his impervious abs. The cocky wrestler even gyrated his hips, taunting Horn. “Why are you stopping muscleman? Thought you said this ole boy’s Bud belly couldn't take it. Surely you’re not gonna wimp out just because of a few bruised knuckles.” Horn gulped at the diamond hard cuts of muscle undulating powerfully over every inch of Samson’s midsection. He fumed at the patronizing way Samson kept using phrases like beer gut and Bud belly to describe abs that put Horn’s own to shame. “Or maybe you’re just mulling over some advice to give me; help me whip this gut into shape like you muscle show boys do.” The bodybuilder’s face burned red at the wrestler’s condescension. Even though Horn was currently in peak contest condition, his hyper-trained abs looked soft and barely defined compared to Samson’s astoundingly ripped abdominal display. Horn was becoming almost mesmerized by the wrestler’s undulating abs and obliques. The crowd was going wild. Samson seemed as though the cheers were a charge of electricity. He landed one of his own punches and Horn flailed back. “Snap out of it, boy, you're starting to drool.” Horn drew back to retaliate but Samson swatted away the punch with ease. His name was being shouted from the entire arena. He landed two quick, easy jabs, one to the right side of Horn’s square jaw and followed up by a left, the perfectly executed hits whipped Horn's head from one side to the other. Horn's arms fell to his sides. “Down goes your guard.” Samson narrated with a smirk and two more jabs that left Horn's body swaying unsteadily. “And there goes your balance.” Samson’s precise jabs seemed effortless, as though designed only to demonstrate his precision. But their power devastated Horn. “I could knock you out cold with these little love taps but I'm guessing this crowd wants me to show off a little.” Samson decided to put more raw power into a punch. “Let’s see how them mighty pecs stand up to a punch with a little more oomph.” Stomping the canvas like an enraged bull might paw at the dirt, he charged at Horn and let him have a haymaker of a right directly to the bodybuilder’s muscular, prize winning chest. The sheer power of it lifted Horn off his feet, catapulting his big frame into the ropes. The big bodybuilder struggled not to pass out from the devastating concussive force. He had never imagined that his mightily muscled body could be hurled through the air with such ease by one single blow. How could this buffoonish wrestler turn out to be so impossibly powerful. In perfectly timed anticipation, as if to confirm Horn’s fear of being out of his league, Samson planted his feet, put his hands behind his back and flexed his chest and abs into a wall of rippling muscle. The ropes had slingshotted the hapless Horn back toward the waiting wrestler and the big bodybuilder thumped into Samson’s muscles as he flexed them. Incredibly, Horn bounced off that wall of flexing muscles and back toward the ropes. His ears ringing and his vision blurring from the force of the impact. Samson charged closer and when the helpless, disoriented Horn careened off the ropes once more, he was again driven into Samson, who again flexed his pecs, bouncing Horn back into the ropes. Samson now stood toe to toe with Horn hemming him in against the ropes and with nothing more than the flexing of his mighty pecs and an expert sense of timing, Samson was pec-bouncing Horn senseless, hammering the bodybuilder into the ropes only to have them rebound Horn back against his flexing pecs over and over. Complete chaos erupted in the stands as the huge muscleman was bounced back and forth with each of Samson’s flexes like Horn was little more than a plastic ping pong ball. Being pummeled helpless by the immense power generated by the mere flexing of Samson’s thick pulsating pecs broke Horn’s will. “H-how can he be doing this to me? He’s gonna pound me to pulp...just by f-flexing”. There could be no doubt. The wrestler had him powerfully, even frighteningly outmanned, overpowered and outmuscled. Horn knew he had to get the ref’s attention, he had to concede before Samson killed him. But he was at the mercy of the wrestler’s mighty flexing pecs. Samson was watching Horn’s eyes closely as he effortlessly and repeatedly bounced the big bodybuilder off his pecs. When he saw the look of defeat there, Samson clamped a bearhug onto Horn on his next impact. He stepped back toward center ring with the dazed muscleman as he spoke close to his ear in order to be heard over the crowd. “Thinking about tapping out, muscleman? You wimp out on me and I’m gonna find you after the bout and I’m gonna stretch out on my back and instead of bouncing you off the ropes I'm gonna bounce you into the stratosphere, then into orbit.” As if to prove he could do it, Samson performed a slowly building flex of his pecs as he spoke that made Horn’s eyes go huge with disbelief. “Y-yer pecs…” Horn wheezed. “...crushing...me.” “Aw, I’m barely flexing, runt. Now man up and pay attention. Stay in the match and you stay alive. Got it? Otherwise I show you what happens when I flex these pecs for real.” Eyes wide with fear and awe, Horn nodded his obedience. “J-just please...stop f-flexing.” “Good boy.” Samson grinned and as a reward he briefly relaxed those dominating pecs. “Now, where were we? You made me lose count.” He released Horn but immediately pulse flexed his pecs, hurling the stunned bodybuilder across the ring into the ropes yet again, then bolted after him. The ropes stretched to an an almost cartoonish degree as the sheer power of Samson’s flexing chest drove Horn’s body into them with such force that the turnbuckles groaned with the strain. Unfortunately for Horn, the ring held together and the ropes snapped back, whipping him violently back toward center ring. He could see Samson sprint to a stop, halting his hugely muscled frame on a dime at the edge of the ring with a frightening degree of controlled athleticism for such a massive man. Clasping his hands behind his waist, Samson arched his back and presented those massive pecs as he waited for the impact of the hapless bodybuilder against them, a devilish smirk on his face just barely visible over the huge muscular display. “NO!” Pleaded the world renowned bodybuilder in the split second before, with practiced precision, Samson flexed into Horn’s impact. The thick torsos of the two men slammed together. Horn’s pecs slammed into Samson’s, flattening against the wrestler’s thicker, broader chest muscles which were expanding toward him. That explosive muscular expansion hammered Horn through the air like a baseball being blasted off the bat of a hall of fame slugger. Grinning, Samson alternately flexed each pec in an intimidating, rapid fire display as he watched the terrified, barely conscious bodybuilder ricochet off the ropes and hurtle back toward him. Samson bounced the Multiple Olympia title winner until Horn began to lose consciousness. "Gotta say Matt, I'm a little disappointed here." Samson sighed, as the repeated impacts of Horn against his unyielding pecs failed to even register as perturbations in his voice. "Didn't think I would have you this out-manned." Samson stopped bouncing his pecs, then with a big grin, flexed into a double biceps pose as Horn thudded to a stop against his chest and then crashed to the mat in front of him like a collapsing building. "Ohhhh!" groaned the announcer as he vicariously absorbed the punishment that Horn was receiving. You couldn't hear anything in that arena because of the sonic boom roar from the crowd and Samson's name being called out from every corner. The announcer tried to shout a commentary over the pandemonium but failing to be amplified over the thunderous ovation, gave up. Fans were even posing in a mock-Samson pose in the stands as well as giving Samson the applause of his life. Horn, meanwhile, breathed in the grit of the canvas as his face was ground into the mat from his massive frame crashing down. He couldn’t believe the power of Samson. Horn was arguably the most muscular bodybuilder on the planet, but Samson had pummeled him senseless just by flexing. As if to confirm his muscular superiority, Samson was hitting a flawless side-biceps pose as the ref ran around the ring pushing photographers away who had climbed up on the ring apron. Horn manage to sit up. Samson noticed and decided that he’d had enough posing. He moved to Horn and reached down for a handful of Horn's hair which he used as a handle to raise his dazed opponent to his feet. Horn returned his gaze with an open mouth and glassy eyes. “You’re tougher than I thought.” Releasing his hair, Samson held Horn’s eyes with a confident glare as the bodybuilder swayed unsteadily on his feet. Samson bounced the pecs he’d just used to devastate the big bodybuilder. “What I just did to you by bouncing these big boys was just a warm up, though. Ready for the main event?” Samson struck that unmatchable double biceps pose he was famous for. Horn swooned as those biceps towered over him. His eyes rolled back and his trembling body crashed back to the mat, his face eating dust again. Samson turned to the audience, giving them the best possible view of his unmatchable guns. “Guess I got too much muscle for the muscleman, huh.” He flashed a white-toothed grin as the crowd roared anew. The ref took to the center ring with his mic, trying to restore order. "I think Horn has had it, ladies and gentleman. Samson has, so far, out-muscled and out-gunned Horn!", shouted the announcer, relieved at being heard again over the din. "I've never seen Horn look like that! Samson is just too much for him!" The fans were in agreement as they shouted in approval. Samson agreed as well, and he continued flexing for the cheering crowd. Horn was showing signs of consciousness again. Again, Samson assisted the groggy Horn to his feet wasting no time, he sent him careening into the ropes. Planting his feet squarely in the center of the ring as he’d done when bouncing the muscleman off his pecs earlier, he waited as Horn rebounded. This time Samson raised his thick 26" gun, flexed quickly, then charged the oncoming Horn. The massive Samson arm clotheslined Horn and he flipped him into the air where he spun through 360 degrees! Samson kept his arm in the clothesline position and Horn fell from the air to land, draped across it with the giant biceps peak driving into his gut. Samson bent his arm at the elbow and flexed. In defense, Horn flexed his abdomen against the motion, abs against biceps. Biceps won. As his overmatched abs collapsed, Horn feared he was about to be snapped in half by Samson’s bulging arm. But Samson whipped the gasping man around into a bearhug. As he’d done with his abs, Horn desperately flexed his pecs against Samson’s chest to defend against their crushing mass. Samson smirked at Horn’s puny effort. He slowly increased the flexing of his unstoppable pecs as he spoke. “We already know you don’t stand a chance against a real man’s chest, don’t we runt?” Samson’s point was reinforced by the relentless way his bulging pecs were flattening Horn’s chest, considered one of the greatest in the sport of bodybuilding, but totally outclassed by the mighty wrestler. “I said ‘don’t we runt’!” Samson shouted, ramping up the bulging expansion of his pecs. Horn felt his torso being deformed painfully as it conformed to the rock-hard curves of Samson’s burgeoning chest. “Y-yes,” gurgled Horn. “please...y-your chest. Can’t...breath…” Samson laughed. “Well, well, well. I guess it’s time for the best chest in bodybuilding, to say hi to the best biceps in wrestling.” Relaxing his mighty flexing pecs, the wrestler rotated the bodybuilder in his bearhug so that Samson’s right biceps was bulging directly against the center of Horn’s battered pecs. “Flex ‘em up, boy.” Samson goaded as he began to tense his right biceps against Horn’s chest. “But your b-biceps, I...I can’t win.” Duval virtually groveled. “You're...too much…” But he flexed down as hard as he ever had in his life, afraid of defying Samson’s command. His thick pecs bunched up into a rock-hard shield against the slowly flexing peak of Samson’s impossibly massive right biceps. “Tell ya what, wimp, I’m gonna give you a fighting chance here. Not gonna squeeze ya, just gonna drive my fist into my palm and flex. All you gotta do is contend with a little bit of bulging from the flexing of my biceps.” Horn gulped with something like relief as he felt Samson’s bearhug go slack. With a glimmer of hope, he flexed his chest even harder, maybe he could still show Samson what a world class bodybuilder was made of. Neither the relief nor the hope lasted very long. Samson tensed both biceps and Horn’s eyes opened wide in sheer awe. The wrestler’s left biceps expanded at his back. It felt like being pressed against a giant unyielding anvil. The hammer was Samson’s massively peaked right biceps. The iron of Horn’s desperately flexing pecs was overwhelmed instantly. Horn managed a desperate, breathless groan of pain as he was slowly crushed between those impossibly hard, huge biceps. “What’s the matter Matt? Stuck between a rock…” Somehow Samson flexed his guns even larger, “...and a hard place?” Horn felt his ribs all but fracture, but he couldn’t make a sound at this point. As Horn began to pass out, Samson relented. “Yeah! Biceps win, huh, Matt?” He cradled the swooning bodybuilder in his left arm as he flexed up his right in a single biceps pose. He then draped Horn over his flexing arm again and began to pulse flex the giant muscle up and down. Horn’s entire body rose and fell along with Samson’s flexes. Samson noted Horn’s silence. “What, not convinced? You wanna try again?” The idea of that terrified the gasping bodybuilder. He shook his head desperately and finally managed to speak. “Buh-Biceps...w-win.” He concurred. “Biceps...win.” He repeated to make absolutely sure his surrender was understood. “YEAH they do.” Samson crowed, nodding his head. He seemed to be saying "Oh, I’m not through toying with this wimp." Plucking Horn From his flexing biceps, he slung the huge man over his shoulder and then pressed him overhead, using the massive bodybuilder like an exercise barbell, Samson pumped him up and down with absolute ease. Manhandling Horn’s mass with no sign of strain, Samson brought the bodybuilding champion around in front of his chest and, maintaining his grips at Horn’s left knee joint and neck, Samson started curling him for rep after rep. Samson never showed the slightest sign of slowing or tiring, but the motion alone was enough to make his 26 inch biceps pump up to their unbelievable max. Samson seemed to grow frustrated with the lack of challenge presented by curling Horn like an oversized dumbbell. “C’mon Matt, you need to put on some real muscle. It’s like curling with a toothpick .” Samson hoisted Horn high overhead with one arm and then slammed him bodily to the mat like a discarded paper cup. The impact bounced the ref off the canvas. He managed to come down on his feet but he had to steady himself on the ropes. Samson scooped up Horn like a ragdoll. He wedged the struggling man’s head between his left biceps and forearm, then climbed to the second rope at one corner of the ring. Samson stood balancing against the top rope and suspended Horn over the crowd by hitting a single biceps pose and dangling the muscleman with his head still trapped by that flexing biceps. Horn clawed at Samsons steely arm, trying to free his head as his feet flailed in the air. “Aww, that big mean ole muscle too hard on your poor noggin?” Samson teased. He grabbed Horn by the neck and held the man high, showing him off like a trophy. When the cheering this induced died down, the wrestler flexed his mighty right biceps once again. The crowd cheered more. They never seemed to get enough of those god-like arms. Then Samson folded Horn almost gently over his flexed arm. With a mighty grunt of effort he flexed his right biceps with such speed and power that the explosively expanding muscle catapulted the defeated bodybuilder high into the air. Laughing, Samson watched Horn fall back toward him. He flexed up his left biceps and twisted at the waist so that Horn crashed back down onto that mass of bulging muscle. “Gotcha!” Samson called out as Horn’s big frame slammed into the even bigger muscle, where the bodybuilder once again lay limp, folded over the wrestlers arm. The feat stunned the crowd to silence. It didn’t seem possible to be so far above other men in sheer size and strength. There was a single sound that could be heard in the awed silence. “No...m-more.” Pleaded Horn as he slapped weakly at the wrestler’s huge biceps. “S-someone...someone...help me.” Samson laughed. “Who’s gonna help you, runt? One of yer muscleman pals?” The wrestler flexed his left biceps again with unimaginable speed and force. The bodybuilder was hurled high again almost to the ceiling of the facility before plummeting back down to thump bodily against the wrestlers insanely powerful flexing right biceps. “Bring ‘em on, I say. The more the merrier.” They watched in awe as Samson flexed again and again, bouncing an Olympia worthy bodybuilder from one mighty biceps to the other like a child toying with a rubber ball. “Might be fun pumpin’ these big ole biceps like this, only juggling you and Priest and Wheeler and Yates. HAW HAW, now THAT might even be a challenge. See how many of you Olympia types I can keep in the air at once.” At this point the crowd was actually starting to flee the arena out of fear. The ref was watching Horn bounce off Samson’s biceps repeatedly in a stunned trance, oblivious to the pleading, half conscious looks the helpless bodybuilder managed to affect after each impact with one of those omnipotent muscles just before being heaved skyward to new heights by the next unstoppable flex. Finally, Horn slammed into the multi story high roof of the arena after one of Samson’s phenomenal biceps flexes. “Oops.” said Samson with an almost sheepish grin. “As tempting as blasting you through the roof might be,” Samson explained as Horn’s huge but limp body slammed back down onto his massively peaked left biceps. “the owner is a pal of mine.” “P-please…” Horn managed, gasping for breath. “I’ll do...anything. Just...no more.” Samson laughed, flexing his left biceps larger and sending Horn higher. “I think it’s safe to say that I got the muscle to make you do what I want, with or without your cooperation.” He reached with his free arm and grabbed Horn, wrapping a thick, powerful hand around the traumatized bodybuilder’s neck and lifting him off that mountainous biceps. Samson wrapped his arms around Horn and pulled him against his bulging chest. “So your offer don't mean much, does it?” Horn was in no position to argue the point. At his back, forearms like sequoia pinned him against the impossibly huge, muscular expanse that was Samson’s pecs, while on either side of him, like massive planets poised to collide, the wrestler’s gargantuan biceps threatened to pulp him between them with the merest flex. “Please.” Horn pleaded, gasping. He was aware of his powerfully developed chest rising and falling as he struggled to catch his breath. The mere sight of this never failed to elicit slack-jawed stares of awe in the gym after an intense session. But against Samson’s vastly thicker, denser pecs, his frantically heaving chest was like the beating of butterfly wings against the steel hull of a battleship. “Your muscles...you’re super...human. I never...had a chance.” Samson tensed his pecs ever so slightly. Horn’s body was compressed between those two burgeoning slabs of muscle. “Guess you shouldn’t have challenged me then, huh muscleboy?” Horn struggled futilely to free himself, but Samson responded to the big bodybuilder’s efforts by flexing those awesome pecs to such massive proportions that Horn’s entire torso began to be wedged into the cleavage between them. “NO! God no! I'm...stuck between...you gotta stop.” Horn pounded futilely against the surging, titanic slabs of muscle that were Samson’s unstoppable pecs. “You...can’t keep flexing bigger...you’ll flatten me!” Laughing, Samson released the bearhug and placed his hands on his hips, holding Horn in place between his pecs with nothing more than the crushing force of his flexing chest. “Flatten you? Such a drama queen for one of the mightiest pro muscle dudes on the planet.” Samson grinned wickedly as he continued flexing those mountainous pecs slowly larger. “

Of course I was waiting for you. Sorry – I can’t stick around too long tonight. I have to work some magic with some others – well, yeah, I know it’s not magic, but whatever. You know what I’m trying to say. Yeah it’s been fucking hot. The AC broke in this place last night and the bartender is trying to get it fixed. But I see the heat has prompted the move to basketball shorts? Ah, I see – look at you swagging and going commando. I see your treatments have been producing some results you like? I bet you still get hard every time you bump into anything or think about someone noticing your thickening manhood, huh? Let’s look at you, big boy. God – fucking – damn, look at you. Your monster is really coming along, isn’t it? You look at least five or six inches soft by now. Are you tender? That’s a lot of growth in these two weeks. Let me outline the head…aaaaand, there you go. Man, you get thick, don’t you? Pulling your shorts legs…man, look at those balls. You got them big, too, didn’t you? They’re probably also pretty damn tender. You can’t wear jeans because your cock and balls would be pushing out the front zipper, huh? Hmm, you orgasm already? Your dick is pulsing…oh, that’s just your pre? Shit. Your dripping on the floor and onto my sandals. Mmm…you smell good, too. You like what I’m giving off? More cock growth juice. The fact that it’s hot in here makes it even better – I’ve been pooling it on my skin and it’s looked like I’m sweating, but I’m not sweating that much. I can wipe it off with a towel and ring it into a shot glass for you? Oh, or you can do that. Jesus H. Christ, your tongue on my neck…fucking fuck. Ugh…not the nipples. Fuck. FUCK. You…tr…lick…all of…god… Feel you…fuck…even bigger…need release…. Please. Please. Let’s try the bathroom. Muscle boy Christian isn’t coming tonight. He said he’d come by tomorrow for a drink. Let’s visit the bathroom. I know it was just cleaned. -- Close the door and lock it. So, last time I told you I know ways to make changes happen really fast. Calm down. Let me explain first. You absorb best through mucus membranes. Your nose, your mouth. Your stomach. But a place that I have found does the best and fastest job is up your ass. The rectum is insanely vascular, which is why hemorrhoids is a real thing. And I get a direct shot at your prostate. Will it take me time? To what? Put the proper hormones into my cum? Please. I’ve been loading it up and abstaining from cumming for two weeks, ever since I started my project with you. Damn, boy, you look like you been practicing. Let’s just see if you’re ready for me… God fucking shit, you’re tight. Uhh…uh…uhh….mmm…your…mmmmmm…asshole…fuuuuuuuuuuuu…so tight…mmmmm… -- You…uhhhhhhhhhhh…ready? God, just…UUHHHHHHHH. FUCKING CHRIST FUCKING GOD FUCK. *breathes heavy* God your ass was so good. No, keep down that way. Let me admire my work. Plus you need to absorb it all, and fuck did I give you a load. I might have produced a monster with that one! My body? I’ll tell you about my body later. Yeah I think you might be fine. You’ll leak a bit but not that much anymore. You want it all to stick around. Like I said, I can’t stick around much tonight. Oh, you are still looking happy. Well, I guess if I gave you a present – fuck, I can’t grab your cock, it’s so goddamn thick – you owe me a milk shake, no? Heehee.

Synergy Sometimes you just know. It feels so deep and integral that is seems to come from the deepest part of you. You can feel it in your bones, radiating out to the skin. It is a truth that cannot be explained away. I felt this the first time I saw Ian. I was too young to know what it was at the time, but I knew he was special to me. I knew that he held in his equally small hands the key to happiness—or what I believed happiness to be at the time. Everyone loved Ian. He was handsome and athletic and social. He was friendly and kind. One night, when we were in fifth grade, I spend the night at Ian’s house. He hadn’t asked me to spend the night before, but we had become better friends. I remember walking downstairs to the basement and getting sleeping bags out, lying next to him, feeling his warmth just inches away. I don’t know why I did it, but I looked over to him in the dark. “Hey Ian…We should pretend that I am Sarah. You like Sarah, right?” “What do you mean, ‘pretend you are Sarah?’ That’s silly, Brad.” “I mean, I can lay on top of you and we can kiss. You can practice on me. You want to kiss her. You said so earlier.” “OK, but we can’t tell anyone about it.” That was the first time I knew that something was “wrong” about the way I felt. I crawled on top of Ian’s body, opened my mouth, and kissed him deeply, albeit clumsily. He was my first kiss. I wouldn’t have it any other way. I felt so attached to him. We never spoke of that moment the next day, or the day after, or the day after that. We continued to become closer and closer. He was everything to me, even at that age. I felt something deep and powerful inside my young mind and body. Ian did something for me that no one else had ever done…He made me feel beautiful and handsome. He made me feel popular. I was still the new kid but when Ian and I started hanging out, everyone accepted me. He made me feel wanted. He was amazing, even at that age. Weeks later, my parents sat us down for a family meeting. We moved around a lot when I was young. From what I had heard during closed-door phone calls, my dad was getting a job, hours away from Spokane where we lived at the time. I wasn’t sure at that moment, but when my parent’s called a family meeting, I knew it was time to move again. I was heartbroken. Not only because I now had some great friends, but because I couldn’t imagine leaving Ian. We played soccer together. We rode our bikes around the neighborhood together. We went swimming together. He was all I thought about and everything I wanted. I couldn’t bear to think about moving away from him. He was my first kiss. He was also my first heartbreak, although looking back, I don’t think that he knew it. He didn’t have the awareness that I did at that age. He didn’t know how I felt, not really. The day we moved, I remember grey skies and a light rain. The U-Haul truck waited in the driveway. Ian had promised me he would come and say goodbye but we were ready to leave and he hadn’t come to the house yet. I felt like my heart would break right there in the driveway. I would never see him again. Something inside of me cried out for him. I felt like I was leaving a part of myself behind—God, if I could only just say goodbye. The grass was still brown from a cold winter with plenty of snow. Spring’s warmth had not touched down yet and from the grey sky, it would remain that way for a while. I remember looking at the silent, sleeping, brown-matted grass and thinking that it looked like how I felt—sickly, on the brink of life, hungry for a better day, desiring of warmth, cognizant of a great change—afraid. I tried to postpone our departure. I said I had to use the restroom. I said I needed to spend a minute in my room. I wanted to walk around the backyard again—the backyard where Ian and I had spent so many hours talking and playing—and so many nights sleeping under the stars in our sleeping bags. I loved him and I couldn’t believe that I wouldn’t see him again. As my mom locked the front door to the split-entry house and we walked outside toward my waiting father and the truck full of our belongings, I saw a quick flash of shadow coming around the corner of the street. It was Ian. His legs were pumping on the peddles of his BMX bike and he was sweating and breathless—I could tell—and that was saying something. He was such a great athlete, even at that age. He must have been riding as fast as he could for the several blocks that separated our houses. I breathed a sigh of relief—and then sorrow crashed into me. Suddenly, I didn’t know if it was the best thing for him to have come. It would only make things harder. “Brad, here comes Ian! I know you wanted to say goodbye to him. I need to go talk to your dad but I’ll be in the car in a minute. We need to leave in a couple of minutes, so say goodbye. Do you want to ride with your father or do you want to come behind in the car with me?” I couldn’t even think about what my mom was saying. Did I want to ride in the truck or the car? I didn’t care. Only Ian mattered. When I saw him lay his bike down on the grass and walk quickly toward me, I could only think of him. My mom went to talk to my dad. Ian grabbed my hand and led me around to the back of the truck. “Sorry. I was grocery shopping with my mom and we were late. I tried to make her get home faster.” He was still out of breath. He wore the scent of his home. I could smell it. It smelled like Ian. I can still remember that smell—like summery detergent, fabric softener, and something spicy…like cloves and baked apples. His smell was warm and clean. Writing this down, I can still smell it years later. He leaned over to me quickly and gave me a kiss on the lips. I knew he was taking a risk…he had told me months ago that we were never supposed to talk about that night…so in that moment, I knew he felt something for me as well. I couldn’t speak. I couldn’t respond for a moment. “I’ll miss you, Ian.” A tear edged its way out of the corner of my eye and slowly fell down my cheek. “Don’t cry. I’ll always be with you. I promise.” Somehow, I knew he was telling the truth. I felt something inside of me leap out for him, but the emotion that the empty space was replaced by was loneliness and sadness. He was right in front of me, but I still felt destroyed because I understood that we were going to be apart forever. “Goodbye, Brad. We should write to each other.” His voice cracked. We were so young and innocent. Pure. We loved each other and it was that simple. We weren’t old enough to be jaded by life. We weren’t old enough to be filled with trepidation or caution because of poor decisions. We were just friends—friends who loved each other deeply. “Brad! We need to go. Its already an hour after when we wanted to leave. Come and get in the car,” I heard my mom bellow. “See you, Ian.” “Write to me when you get to your new house.” I jumped in the car and looked out the window. It was slightly fogged from the weather. It began to rain harder. The last thing I remember about that day was Ian standing on our lawn, his BMX bicycle tipped over next to him, waving as we drove away. ================================================================================== The rest of my elementary school life was a nightmare. I was thin, short, and out of shape. I had thick glasses and was “smart” so the cool kids didn’t want to really get to know me. I thought of Ian often when no one would play with me. Eventually, the most popular kid on our sixth-grade class befriended me. He was tall and blonde. His father was a doctor and they lived in a beautiful house on the crest of a hill overlooking the town. I was glad he became my friend. Everyone seemed to like me after he started talking to me. I didn’t feel the same way about him as I did about Ian, but he was nice and I made some friends because of him. Ian and I wrote to each other a few times. Eventually, we stopped. I don’t know who sent the last letter, or who didn’t respond, but I do remember feeling some blunted and distant sorrow about that loss. But one thing I knew—that beautiful handsome boy would ALWAYS be my first kiss. And I would ALWAYS be his. That gave me some satisfaction. ================================================================================== Junior high started the next year. It was a huge transition. The elementary schools combined and so there were hundreds of new kids. Social life was turned on its head. I went to sit with my friends from elementary school at lunch. The popular kids had somehow found each other automatically. The cool kids I had become friends with in my last year of elementary school had gravitated toward a group of other good-looking kids. I approached John, the coolest guy in my class last year who had befriended me. I had never seen the girl sitting next to him, nor can I remember what she looked like or who she was. Sometimes it is easiest to block things out that are painful. “Hey John. Is this where we are sitting?” I asked when I walked up to the long cafeteria table. John didn’t look at me, not really. He just kept talking to the people around him. The little shrew-faced girl sitting next to him looked up at me standing next to them as they were seated. With a smug look she gave me a once over, looking at my unremarkable face, my thick glasses, beginnings of acne, and unremarkable body. I was short, even for that age. I wasn’t dressed like most of the cool kids. My parents didn’t have much money although we never lacked anything we really needed. We just couldn’t afford the name brands and current styles that the cool kids could. After inspecting me carefully, the girl looked me straight in the eye and proclaimed me unworthy. “This table is for the popular kids. Go somewhere else.” In that instant, something inside of me changed, and not for the better. I felt alone. I felt like I had lost something of great value – I had lost my friends from last year. From that moment on, when the lunch bell rang, I either sat in the hallway waiting for the lunch period to be over and not eating anything, or if I was especially hungry that day, I would take my brown bag lunch, walk into the boys’ restroom, close the door to a stall, sit on a lidded toilet, and eat my lunch there. It was disgusting, I know, but I didn’t feel like I belonged anywhere. I knew everyone and they knew me, but I didn’t belong to any group or have any real friends. It was terrible. My parents didn’t know of my isolation. No one really knew. I faked it well. But, it was destroying my self-confidence and self worth. One morning, I woke up and felt sore from head to toe. It wasn’t the soreness that comes from a solid run or a little overexertion. It was the kind of soreness that made me feel like my body was growing into the mattress. I could barely move. I had never felt like that before. It was painful but it also felt supremely…good. It was a foreign feeling. I only wanted to lay in bed. I wracked my mind trying to think about what could have made me feel that way. I didn’t play sports and I hadn’t had gym class the day before. Every muscle in my body felt like it had been put through some sort of top-level military exercise. I couldn’t explain it, so I didn’t try. When I got to school, I moved slowly through the hall. Picking up my legs was a struggle. God, so much pain was wracking my body. The thought of sitting in a chair for first period was the only thing that kept me going. I shuffled through the hall. I heard some laughter, most likely because there was wincing on my face. I tried to blend in to the surroundings. It is how I learned to survive; however, the dull pain radiating from my muscles forced a certain scowl to be permanently etched onto my face. Fuck. I was almost to my first course of the day. I turned around the corner in the wide hallway hugging the wall and leaning a bit on it for support. Just then, John, my previous friend from elementary school ran into me, head-on. “Sorry, Brad.” He looked at me with some degree of pity. I think he knew he had been an ass hole and was feeling sorry about the social pariah that I had become. He was partially responsible for that and I know he knew it to some degree. At that moment though, all I could think about was the sharp pain that I felt as his body collided with mine. The rest of junior high was spent cowering away from people. The days of soreness came and went for years. I couldn’t really explain them, nor could I escape them. I would often feel the same way a day or two after my gym class, but that was only once a week and my bouts of full-body soreness occurred much more frequently than that. One thing that I did excel at was music. I joined the high school jazz band when I moved up to 10th grade. I was good. I played the piano and could make the most jaded person feel alive when I sat down at the keyboard. It was a gift. Our school was known for the music program and a lot of the cool kids were in band actually. The teacher was amazing, energetic, and fun. We traveled around the state putting on concerts for communities and other schools. It was the highlight of my high school career up to that point. When I was a senior, we were invited to perform at a Washington state high school leadership camp at Central Washington University in Ellensburg. It was scheduled on the day of my 18th birthday. CWU wasn’t too far away, but it was a reason to be gone from high school and my tormented existence there for a day so I was very excited. I woke up on the morning before we left, more sore and exhausted than I ever had been. I was in so much pain; I almost started crying when attempting to get out of bed. I didn’t want to eat as was typical when I felt this way. I just wanted to lay in bed, motionless, without apology. My parents had been becoming increasingly worried. Something that they thought was probably just growing pains had now been occurring for the better part of 6 years…and I hadn’t been growing much. I was around 5’4” and thin. Most of the latter part of that equation was because of my lack of desire to eat when I felt the soreness. It was becoming more and more frequent that I would have these bad days. The doctors didn’t know what was causing it and that was not for a lack of trying to figure it out. They did all sorts of tests. I was supposedly healthy outside if a bit of malnutrition. Anyway, Jazz Band was planning on going to this leadership conference the next day. I wasn’t going to miss it. It would be the best birthday present I could have--I enjoyed getting out and exploring other places. It reminded me that there was a life outside of the walls of my high school. I knew that if I could make it to graduation, things would be OK. I was thinking of going to CWU anyway, so I could check it out while I was there. I forced myself out of bed, showered, got dressed, and made it to school just on time- without eating of course. I knew I should really start eating more. The day went well for the most part. I ate in the bathroom stall again, which was becoming more and more common for me to do. I avoided talking to people and therefore, avoided being made fun of or pushed around. Fuck, I was short AND skinny. That is a troublesome combination for an 18-year-old band geek. I walked home alone. It was only a couple of blocks so there was not use in driving. I was in a good mood however. Tomorrow was another band trip and my birthday. I ate a few bites at dinner, crawled into bed, and wished for a quick sleep. The next morning, we left for Ellensburg. The air was clear and crisp as often happens in the late spring. This would be our last trip of the school year and the last trip of my high school career. We arrived at the university and started setting up in a huge ornate auditorium. Red velvet curtains crossed the stage with long braded golden ropes hanging from the corners. Huge soaring columns lined the sides of the auditorium and hundreds of soft seats curve out in dozens of rows facing the stage. It was a beautiful building. We got things prepared and just in time. The participants from other high schools around the state started filtering just as we completed our sound check. The concert began. I was brilliant as usual. But I didn’t consider myself to be anything special, regardless of the talent I obviously had. The concert ended and I was a bit sad. The one thing in my life that I cared about, the one thing I was good at, was almost over. I loved the applause of the audience. It was one good thing in my life. I made my way out of the auditorium after we were finished. I was helping the others pack up their instruments in the back alley behind the building. I felt a shock of surprise for some reason. I didn’t know why, but the air seemed to change somehow. The hairs on the back of my neck stood up and I got goose bumps all over my arms. “Hey. Is your name Brad?” I heard a deep powerful rumbling voice ask from a few feet behind me. It sounded like silk and thunder. I turned around and one of the most stunning men I have ever seen was staring at me with a quizzical look. He smiled and my heart exploded. He was about my age but phenomenally more muscular. He looked to be about 6’ tall, had smooth tan skin unadulterated by acne. His hair was short and with a slight curl. Damn. He was beautiful. “Ya. I’m Brad.” I didn’t know what else to say. Who the fuck was this Adonis? His tight t-shirt hugged his body and was a size too small. The fabric stretched begrudgingly over his bloated pecs, pulling tight especially across his cleavage. Two gumdrop sized nipples stuck out against a shirt that had no recourse from the power contained underneath it. The sleeves were a bit to short but that only served to accentuate the planets of delts perched above the god’s arms. Biceps dangled happily from the shoulders and were hugged on each side by a very prominent vein. His forearms looked like Popeye-come-to-life but were decorated with an intricate web of vasculature. I never thought veins to be especially attractive, but his were somehow…graceful. I couldn’t take my eyes away from his steely grey eyes. They knew something I did not. I could tell he was now smiling mischievously. I broke my gaze and looked away for a moment. I pushed the bridge of my glasses up my nose. Some of the girls were staring, slack-jawed, at the perfect specimen that was staring at me. Some of the other guys were similarly in awe. Others looked disgusted, but only out of jealousy. This was a god, and everyone knew it. “Brad! I can’t believe it is you!” The god looked like he was getting excited and was happy about something. I couldn’t think of what it could be. It made me a bit nervous—and aroused. His muscles expanded and contracted. He didn’t take his eyes off of me but had this galactic grin across his face. He took a step toward me and I just looked up, wondering who this was and what he could possibly want with me. He took another step, bent down slightly and wrapped his arms around me. “It’s Ian! From elementary school. I heard your name when they were introducing you all in there and I thought it must be you.” It was Ian. The best friend I ever had. My first kiss. His first kiss. “IAN!” I gasped. He lifted me up easily, his hands under my arms, until I was eye to eye with him. It should have felt demeaning to have someone pick me up like a small child, but it didn’t. It felt safe. “Brad, I can’t believe it man. I just can’t believe it. What are the odds of us meeting here after all this time?” I couldn’t speak. My mind was racing and my cock was beginning to respond to this beautiful man’s voice. This was my best friend. This was my best friend! Instantly, I didn’t feel alone anymore. I heard a couple of gasps from my fellow band-mates. I could tell they were stunned that I knew who this muscle stud was and that he was giving me a hug. Ian set me down on my feet again. My eyes traveled up from his pecs to his eyes. I couldn’t help but noticed, however, that his too-small shirt left an inch gap between the top of his tight jeans and the bottom hem of his t-shirt. I could make out the silky skin underneath and a very pronounced happy trail of hair running from what must be his abs down to his manhood. I was about to explode. My cock twitched in my pants. His eyes were glowing and his smile could knock satellites out of orbit if he grinned in the right direction. Fuck. He was perfect. “Ian, we have to go!” I heard a middle-aged voice call out in the distance. “We have to leave now!” “Hey Brad. We need to catch up. I should give you my number. I graduate high school next week and will have a few weeks off before I come here for football training camp this summer. I can come visit you if you want. I just can’t believe that I finally reconnected with you!” “That…That would be…great, Ian.” The god looked around for a pen or something so he could write his number down. A stunned girl (a homely overweight saxophonist) meekly handed him a pen, smiling, blushing. “Thank you,” he rumbled and smiled looking her directly in the eye. He was kind. “You are coming here next year? I am as well.” I stuttered out the information. “Ya, I am! This will be so great! Brad, you have to call me. I’ll come visit in the next few weeks. I can drive over from Spokane. It’s only a few hours. I am so happy to see you! I miss you.” There was a look of caution and care in his eyes. He almost looked sad. It looked like pity. I couldn’t speak but just nodded in agreement. He flashed a smile and winked with his left eye. “Call me, Brad… Please. We have a lot to catch up on.” Another smile flashed across his face and he turned around to walk toward his teacher. The wind had been knocked out of my sails. I could barely breath as I watched him walk away. His back would make his chest jealous. Thick pillars of muscle ran along his spine. A topographical map lay under his tight shirt. And his round tight ass… that is what my eyes focused on. Powerful, tight, hard, sexy-as-fuck. I wanted to bury my face in between those muscle cakes and feed on his undoubtedly perfect hole. I couldn’t stop staring. Just before he turned around the corner with his school group, he looked back at me, flashed that smile, and winked again. It was silent for a moment. Everyone around me was stunned. They looked at me like I was an alien, like they had just barely noticed a new life form in their midst. “You know that guy?” I heard spoken to me a dozen times in the next few minutes. I didn’t respond for a few moments. I found that collecting my thoughts in that moment was almost impossible. John, my elementary school friend who hadn’t given me the time of day for years, and the drummer of our jazz band, approached me quickly. “Who was that?” he demanded. He sounded almost—jealous. There is little I remember about what happened after that, but I stood up straighter in that moment and looked around at the faces torn between trying to catch another glimpse of Ian or watching me like some strange insect. “He is my best friend.” I said it simply. Everyone went back to work, packing up for our trip home. Every once in a while, I would see someone glance at me and just shake their head. I didn’t know if it was jealousy or incredulity…maybe it was a bit of both. Which ever it was, that moment was the best of any birthday I had ever had. The next day I woke up and was sore again. I was in pain more than I wasn’t these days. I could barely get out of bed but I had to try. Something about what happened with Ian the previous day echoed in my mind. He was the handsomest, most masculine, gorgeous man that I had ever seen…and he wanted to come visit for a few days and “catch up” on life. I pinched myself repeatedly. Holy shit. School wrapped up for the year largely without incident. I called Ian a couple of times over the course of a few weeks and we set up for him to come and visit for several days before he headed to his summer football program. I couldn’t believe that that muscle stud would be under my roof, sleeping in my room, for 3 or 4 days. I don’t know if I could control myself. Every time I thought about it, I got hard…like raging hard. My cock was becoming quite talented at producing sweet honey-like precum at even the most passing of thoughts about Ian. How would my humble cock and balls handle having that meat monster around for days on end? The day finally came. It was perfectly sunny outside and warm. Ian pulled into our driveway in a late model Jeep Wrangler. It fit his ruggedness and personality perfectly. I watched out the window as he grabbed a t-shirt from the back seat and pulled it over his bare chest. He had been shirtless and now was trying to be presentable for meeting my parents again. I wish he would have just left that god-damned shirt off and walked up to the front door in all of his magnificence. Even just looking out the window at him pulling his shirt over his head, I was ready to pump out a huge load. This could be trouble. I heard the doorbell downstairs and a shuffling from the kitchen. “Brad!!! That must be Ian!” I head my mother yell. She was going to answer the door, thankfully. I was still a bit hard from watching Ian’s bare chest pull into the drive. I wanted to suck on his nipples, chewing them, grabbing his huge hard ass, tongue his tight pink love hole. These images flashed through my mind in the course of one second. Fuck. My. Life. I heard the low rumble of Ian’s voice in the entry way and then I heard my mom start laughing. He was a charmer that is for sure. I made my way downstairs slowly…I didn’t want to cum spontaneously in my pants before I even got downstairs. “IAN! You made it.” I could hardly contain my excitement. I still couldn’t believe that this perfectly handsome muscle beast would be within arms reach of me for days on end. I was suddenly apprehensive. Would he find me watching him, lusting after him, tenting my shorts every time he looked at me. He seemed so nice, but maybe he would beat my ass if he found out. “Let’s get you settled in my room. Then we can decide what we are going to do the rest of the day, OK?” “Sure, Brad. I do need to go find a gym today so I can get a good workout in, but I saw a few coming into town. Other than that, I am completely free. I just want to be sure I stay in top shape for football camp this weekend.” I nodded in agreement. Some inner part of me wanted to be sure that Ian invited me to go workout with him, even though I hadn’t lifted a weight in my life. He grabbed his duffle bag in one arm and hoisted it onto his shoulder. “Lead the way, Brad,” he shot another smile at me with one of those devious winks. He would be trouble, I could feel it. “Straight up the stairs,” I said. He started climbing the stairs, his round hard ass-globes propelling his rippling beefy body up to my room. I was following him only a step behind. My face was only an inch away from his muscular ass globes and that tight, warm hole and I could smell his exquisite man scent reaching out to me like a mythological siren. I wanted to bury my tongue in the crevasse of his perky powerful caboose. I wanted to probe his fuck hole with my tongue until I made him scream. I couldn’t believe I was having these thoughts, but I was. It was as if he was sending me the message through his pheromones. I could smell him. I could smell his need. We reached my room, he threw his duffle bag on the ground, smiled at me, and got a dirty look on his face. Once again, he knew something I didn’t. “You mind if I change? I want to get my gym clothes on before I go find a place to workout.” “I don’t mind at all. I’ll just give you a few minutes to get ready.” I stared up at Ian, his pulsating muscles writhing under his tight clothes. “Brad, I’d prefer if you stayed.” He leveled me with another sly smile. “We can start catching up as I get ready.” He offered that last bit as insurance in case I didn’t accept the direction of his comments. How could I not. He was 6 foot and over 200 pounds of solid marble strength. I was just pushing 5’ 4” and struggled to break 110 pounds on a good day. I was pathetic comparatively. “Sure. Let’s catch up, Ian.” I sat on the edge of the bed as Ian rifled through his clothes looking for something he could wear to the gym. “Do you have any protein powder, Brad? I should probably make a shake before heading to the gym. I have some in the Jeep I can give you later in exchange.” I couldn’t stifle my laughter. “Seriously Ian. Do I look like I use protein powder? I am about as big as one of those thick thighs of yours.” Ian stopped changing and just looked at me—like he shouldn’t have asked the question. I wanted to look him in the eye, but I could only look at the beautifully tanned skin of the man before me. He had taken off all of his clothes except his briefs. I could see his bulge threatening to stretch the limits of its cage…and he wasn’t even hard. His body was so beautiful and thick. I could spend hours trying to describe it, but it would do no good. My eyes tracked down from his shoulders to his pecs. They traced his arms and switched over to his insane abs. Were abs supposed to have a netting of veins? I hadn’t ever seen that. My eyes came to rest on his waistline. His Apollo’s belt (or what I liked to call, the cum gutters) focused my eyes on the trail of hair extending from just above his navel downward where they plunged into his intensely white and tight briefs. I let out a soft moan and then… I spontaneously ejaculated. Fear coursed across my face and I felt like I was going to pass out, my body trembling from the orgasm as well as the embarrassment. My eyes started to flutter as I felt the world around me getting dark. I could tell I was going to pass out, my legs giving out underneath me. I faintly remember Ian’s beautiful muscled powerful body stepping toward me quickly with arms out. I felt them wrap around me. Then I felt myself faint. I was lying down on the bed naked. I looked over and saw Ian rifling through my dresser…shit. I had my muscle magazines in there. I mean, online pics and videos were OK, but sometimes having those pictures right in front – a magazine in one and my cock in the other – that was perfect. He grabbed a couple of items and turned around just in time to see me looking over at him. “You OK, Brad? I got you undressed and cleaned up. I hope you don’t mind. I didn’t want to worry your parents about you passing out since I think I know why you did.” He could see the terror in my eyes, I am sure of it. “It’s alright. Don’t worry about it. It happens sometimes.” “People spontaneously dumping cum in their pants when they look at you? That happens ‘sometimes’? Fuck that man!” For some reason, it came out in an angry voice. I felt my cheeks turn red. Was I jealous that others had seen Ian, my best friend, and had instant orgasms? Fuck yes. I was a little jealous. I was jealous that others had that reaction and I was even more jealous that he was so goddamn perfect. My life had sucked beyond words since I moved away from him…I ate my lunch almost every day in the school bathroom for fuck’s sake just to survive! And here he was, a god among men, smiling and friendly, and… and fuck him! “Ya. It happens sometimes.” He looked embarrassed now and slightly ashamed, like he had done something wrong. I felt like shit. He couldn’t help how fucking gorgeous he was with his thick cords and bulges, his perfect skin that any cosmetics company would want to know the secret too, his piercing steely eyes, his perfect body hair…it wasn’t his fault and I had just blamed him and made him feel ashamed of himself. I looked away. It was my turn to feel ashamed. He walked across the room toward me with some clean shorts and a tank top in his hand. He held them out to me with a look of concern on his face. He was worried about me and he was worried that I was angry with him. “Are you OK, Brad? I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have undressed you and cleaned you up. I was just trying to help.” “Please don’t apologize Ian. It’s me, not you. I guess I am just a little overwhelmed by how different our lives seem to have gotten since I moved here all those years ago.” “How so? You know you can tell me anything, Brad. Anything. You are still the best friend I have ever had.” I reached out and grabbed the clothes from his outstretched huge arm, pulled the shorts on and put on the tank top. My thinness was on display. I sat on the edge of the bed and patted the spot next to me in a gesture to invite him to sit down next to me. He took his spot on the bed and looked at me with so much compassion and concern in his eyes. I could barely speak. I started mumbling a few times, but couldn’t get out more than a few words without stopping. I wasn’t crying, I just didn’t know where to start. No one made me feel as comfortable as Ian and I had told no one about my horrible school experiences. He put is massive ripped arm around my small narrow shoulders. “Take your time, Brad. Just take your time.” I began telling him about elementary school, about my friends there and how they abandoned me in junior high. I told him about the meanness that I encountered because of my small size. I told him about being gay. He just left his arm around my shoulders and looked at my face. I couldn’t even make eye contact with him, but I knew he was paying attention to every word I was saying. About halfway through my story, he pulled me in tighter, right into the space between his bicep and his overdeveloped chest. I felt safe, finally. Eventually, I told him about how I thought I must be sick with some weird disease. I would have almost debilitating muscle soreness and no one knew why. He just listened and didn’t say a word for over an hour, all the while holding me in the muscled pocket of his hard armpit. At the end of the story, he gave me a squeeze. “So you see, our lives couldn’t be more different. If you want to leave after hearing about all of that, you can. It would be harder if you stayed and were weird about it.” “Nothing you have said makes me feel ‘weird’, Brad. Some things in our lives are maybe more similar than you would think.” That’s all he said at the moment so I left it at that. If he wanted to share some of his secrets with me, he would do so in his own time. I respected that. It just felt so good to have my best friend back. “You want to come to the gym with me? We could start you on a program to put some size on you, if you want.” “Ummmmm…maybe. I’ll go with you and see how I feel. It’s a bit intimidating--the gym.” We walked out of the room, down the stairs, and out to the Jeep. What a mismatched pair we were. But it didn’t matter. Arriving at one of the local muscle gyms, we walked in and were greeted at the front desk by fucking John. I didn’t know he worked there. Shit. “Hey, man. Could we get two visitor’s passes for the day? My buddy and I would like to get a workout in this afternoon.” John looked me directly in the eye. I couldn’t figure out what the look on his face meant, but it wasn’t friendly. “Sure. Just sign in here. It’s $5 for a visitor’s pass, but I’ll waive it for you,” John said looking at Ian. Ian signed his name and moved out of the way so I could sign in as well. I wrote down my name on the ledger. “That’ll be $5 for a visitor’s pass.” He looked at me with a smugness I was surprised at. I took out my wallet, embarrassed that Ian was getting a free pass and I had to pay. My face flushed red and I went into my billfold to grab the cash. Ian had been looking into the weight room and hadn’t seen the interaction between John and myself. He glanced back just as I was about to hand John my money. “Hey! Why are you making him pay?” There was a certain tone in Ian’s voice that made me believe that he was more than a little annoyed. “You didn’t make me pay. Why are you making him?” “Its OK, Ian,” I said quietly. “No, it isn’t. Fuck that. Why are you making him pay?” He reached into his own wallet and handed John a $10 bill. “That’s for both of us, asshole.” He put the money on the counter, his eyes boring into John’s. I was shell-shocked. Ian had just burned the most popular guy in our high school class. All I could think was, “We aren’t in high school anymore, John. You’re in a bigger pond with much bigger fish.” I kept that comment to myself. Ian looked down at me and simply said, “Let’s go, Brad.” We walked through the weight room into the locker room. The next hour of my life was insanely intense. Ian didn’t even workout much himself. He spent the entire time helping me learn different basic lifts. He coached me on form, on beginning routines, and we talked about nutrition. His workout time had turned into my personal training session. I was terrified that the next day I wouldn’t be able to move. I voiced my concern to Ian, since I had terrible muscle pain frequently. “Maybe you will, Brad. Maybe. But maybe not. I never have been sore after I lift.” “Not once?” “Never. And it’s not for lack of trying. I have tried to workout so hard that I couldn’t feel my legs or arms when I left the gym. But the next day, nothing. Not even a little ache. So, I guess it depends on how your body will deal with the lifting.” We left the gym after downing a couple of protein shakes that Ian had brought in his gym bag. Walking past the counter, John shot me a sharp look and then went on to stare at Ian’s massive frame walking along side of me. I couldn’t blame him. The rest of the evening, we just hung out at the house catching up on life, ate dinner with my parents, and settled in for a relaxing evening. My parent’s went to bed early so Ian and I stayed in the family room watching TV. It was so nice to feel that at ease with someone. I hadn’t had that feeling since the 5th grade. Ian kept looking at me though. I could tell he wanted to say something. A certain feeling of uncomfortability began to creep into the room. I could just feel it. The TV show ended and we just sat there in the room on the couch. “Ready for bed, Ian?” “Sure. Let’s go up to your room.” He smiled at me and led the way. He knew how much I liked staring at his ass. I am sure of it. I crawled into my big bed. He started blowing up the air mattress. I couldn’t take my eyes off of him. He had stripped down to a pair of red tight boxer briefs that showed the separation of his beautiful ass cheeks and left little to the imagination with regard to his apparently huge cock. I felt myself getting aroused again watching him inhale deeply, shoulders rising, pecs jutting out…and then exhaling into the mouth valve on the air mattress. It was the sexiest thing I had seen—ever. So much power in that thick hard body. And it was almost naked three feet away from me. “Whoa…I think I’m going to give it a rest for a minute. I’m getting light headed.” I just smiled. He smiled back. “You know, you could just sleep in my bed. It is a king size. I don’t take up much room, obviously.” He looked at me with a certain seriousness on his face. “Not if you feel uncomfortable though,” I quickly added. I didn’t want my gigantic friend to think I was hitting on him…not yet anyway. “Um…OK. But I have to sleep in the nude. I can’t sleep if I have clothes on.” My cock shot to attention again but I don’t think Ian noticed. “That’s fine…just don’t attack me in my sleep. I know you want to!” I jested with him, trying to diffuse the sexually tense situation happening in my mind. Ian stood up straight, put his thumbs under the waistband of his underwear and eased them down. I could see the elastic stretching thin as the band worked its way over his globular glutes. Fuck, they were big and round and hard. I couldn’t take my eyes off of him. He just stared at me. He worked his tight briefs off and down the huge quads of his and stood there in all of his 8”-soft glory. My breath caught in my throat. He just chuckled softly, reached down and grabbed the top sheet on the bed and worked his way under the covers. I could feel his heat radiating over to my much smaller, quivering body. I turned the light switch off next to the bed and the room fell into darkness. I was so tired—exhausted really. But at the same time, I didn’t want to miss out on the feeling of having this god of muscle only inches away from me…naked. NAKED. I could smell the clean scent of man rising from him. I could smell testosterone oozing from his pores. I could smell the singular scent of his clean hole calling to me. I wanted to bury my face in his ass crack and make him squeal as I rimmed him into ecstasy. I could taste him… My erection stiffened even more. I didn’t know it was possible. I let out a muffled moan and I saw his face turn toward me, only a few inches away. I reached onto the nightstand next to me and grabbed a wad of tissue paper and tried to sneak it under the covers. I was going to cum again. I felt my balls churning my seed. I thought I could cum and be quiet about it. I had the tissue paper ready to soak up my creamy emissions. Ian wasn’t asleep. I could tell by his breathing. But, I was being so careful. Maybe he didn’t know what I was doing. I could only hope. I couldn’t hold on much longer. I felt that trip switch that happens before the cum cannon begins to shoot: the point of no return. I could feel my inner parts start to pump their sticky juices in preparation for an epic explosion. I let out another stifled groan- trying to be as quiet as I could. I wrapped my hard throbbing cock in Kleenex and let myself cave into my more beastly nature. I felt my man juices rise through the canals inside of me, racing their way to freedom and into the receptiveness of my right hand. At the moment of climax, I heard a deep guttural breath come from Ian. The first volley of cum had shot out of my throbbing hot cock and I could feel the other ready for launch. Then I heard words that increased the power coursing through my body by one-hundred… “I’m gay too.” Ian had whispered the words at the moment of my orgasm. My body bucked and gyrated. I let out a growl that I was shocked could come from such a weak and thin body. Ian just chuckled and let me finish. “I just wanted you to know, and this seemed like the perfect time.” I was still reeling from the most powerful orgasm I had ever had as well as the knowledge that my fucking monster of a friend was naked, next to me, and gay himself. My head couldn’t handle it, but my body tried. My cock was drained, but it kept trying to spew more cum out. It was like dry heaves but for my cock…and it felt good. “Good night, Brad.” Ian rolled over on his side and fell into a deep sleep. His light snoring told me so. I lay there, sticky, hot, sweating…thunderstruck. I drifted off as well. I woke up early the next morning. Ian was still lying next to me, his skin touching mine lightly—our legs were touching. It felt amazing. I stretched, expecting to feel horrible pain and soreness from the intense workout the day before. I felt so energized and couldn’t even feel a slight ache. I was sure that I would be in a world of hurt. Ian stirred next to me and let out a low grumble. He sounded like a lion in pain. “Fuck, Brad. I can barely move. My whole body hurts. I feel like I’ve been hit by a truck.” I sat up in bed and looked over at him, concerned. He looked at me as his eyes popped out of his head. “Holy shit, Brad. Look at your abs.” Go to page 5 for Part II.

Chapter One is here: https://muscle-growth.org/topic/7118-with-a-little-help-from-magic-chapter-one/ Chapter Three is here: https://muscle-growth.org/topic/7668-with-a-little-help-from-magic-chapter-three/ Preface Finally. The concluding part. No growth here, but I just wanted to finish the tale about the characters. With a little help from magic, Chapter Four John and Aram agreed: It was a strange experience to remember two versions of Winter Break in bygone years. Both remembered the opportunity to spend a week playing hockey in the brief winter daylight, but their memories didn’t stem from the same reality. When one of them had enjoyed Winter Break, the other one had memories of dread. Winter Break was also one of the times of the year, when the difference between the garden suburb and the council flats became visible. Emma, Simon and Anderson were accustomed to go on vacation to the mountains, skiing, every year, while John, Carl, Aram and Peter never had the opportunity. Emelie disliked skiing, and didn’t go away, even if her parents could afford it. John’s family, though, had went to Thailand once, trying to escape the chilly February weather, and another year Carl’s family had managed to go on vacation in Majorca in February, for the same reason. It was usually easier to get vacation approved in summer. It had become one of Emelie’s traditions to arrange a party for those of her friends who remained in the city during the Winter Break, and this was not an exception. The winter sky over the suburb was red and purple. Snow droves formed small mounds by the side of the streets, and the suburb was more silent than usual, since so many families were away on vacation. Her parents understood her need for privacy, and were spending the evening watching Euripides’ The Bacchae at one of the theatres. ”This will be the last time we have this party.”, she observed, sitting in an old armchair designed by the famous designer Carl Malmsten, holding a glass of wine. Her parents didn’t regard it particularly offensive to break the law in that regard. A black-clad presence occupied one corner of the cream-coloured sofa, with three glasses of vodka before them: Her goth friends, the male one quite inebriated. Earlier, he had unsuccessfully tried to snog Emelie, and she had rejected his advances. He insisted to be called ’Moonsorrow Shadowpain’, but his actual name was Lars. Three SHARPs sat in another corner: Carl, John and one of their mutual friends: Three bald-shaven, masculine lads made of the right stuff, perhaps looking less intimidating since they had left their shiny boots in a tangle of bootlace by the door. Aram’s younger brother sat in the same corner, having found a new hero in Carl, who had defended him against Anderson in the past. The four of them shared a few cans of beer. Sitting in the remaining Carl Malmsten armchair, Aram was talking to Peter and four girls from class, who occupied the remaining corner of the large sofa, including two lambskin tuffets from one of the Baltic islands. Aram had filled his wine glass from Emelie’s bag-in-box, but Peter and most of the girls were drinking alcopop, with the exception of one of them, who was a member of the temperance movement. Since their tastes in music diverged so much, the sound from the loudspeakers had changed several times during the evening, but now something ambient was droning in the background. ”I can’t believe it. Time flies. What will you do when the semester end?”, one of the girls remarked. ”I will apply for art school.”, Emelie answered. ”Ooooh. Arty farty! An ordinary university education is not enough, for you?”, Carl exclaimed in friendly banter. ”I want to trail my own path.”, she answered. ”As usual”, Aram remarked, and looked at her with his warm brown eyes. ”As usual”, she answered him, with a smile. ”It isn’t a secret, that I will apply for medical studies.”, Aram said, as a matter of fact. ”And you?” ”I will probably apply for university studies later, but, during next year, I will probably serve in the armed forces. They have re-introduced conscription, if you remember.”, Carl answered him. ”I went to Selective Service, but as soon as they noticed my myopia, I was allowed to return home. I didn’t even have to make any tests.” ”They only select a few thousands each year. If you have any health issues, you are excused. I want to be one of the few and the brave.” ”You are one of the few and the brave in my book, even if they don’t send you a draft.”, John said, and gave Carl a hug. ”Thanks bro.” ”I will work at my cousin’s café during summer, and if I like it, I will probably remain at the café.”, one of the goth girls said. ”A higher education will always be useful later.”, Aram answered. ”Later, yes. That’s later.” ”I am worried.”, said Peter. ”I would like to repair cars, but haven’t found a place yet.” ”Are you sure? I thought unemployment was decreasing, especially for mechanics.” The small talk went on, until one of the girls in Peter’s corner asked: ”And you, John? What will you do, when summer arrive?” John still didn’t feel entirely comfortable, when all eyes turned in his direction. He was a half head taller than any of the other persons in the room, and the width of his shoulders caused him to occupy a significant share of the sitting space in his corner of the sofa. His legs were wide apart, struggling for space between Carl’s and the other skinhead’s manspreads. His burgundy braces kept his camo trousers up, and contrasted nicely against the navy blue polo. ”Actually, I have been thinking about several alternatives. Some of the mates at the gym have asked me to work as a temp there during summer, and they say they would pay 50% of the fee if I take a PT education, but on the other hand, I think I would make a difference, by becoming an officer in the Amphibious Corps.” The others reacted in different ways. Two of the girls in Peter’s corner cheered enthusiastically. Aram’s younger brother watched him admiringly, and could no longer decide who was the coolest kid in the room anymore. Peter bowed over the table in a way endangering the glasses, and grabbed his hand approvingly with a drunken smile. Carl looked unusually uncomfortable, and crossed his legs in an unfamiliar way. The drunken Moonsorrow Shadowpain started a long incoherent rant about violence, imperialism and capitalism, but was cut off by Carl, who remarked: ”And what have YOU done to make the world better?” While the rest of the company moved in the direction of the kitchen or the bookshelves, the argument between Carl and Moonsorrow became more heated. The goth was physically swaying to-and-fro because of his vodka, but the beer hadn’t affected Carl to the same degree. Moonsorrow tried to punch him, but Carl avoided the attack, and the goth tumbled with his face into the sofa. Carl watched him: ”I don’t fight men who are more pissed than myself. There’s no honour in it.” Then he turned around, heading in the direction of the bathroom, but the incoherent Moonsorrow didn’t give up. Struggling to get up, he staggered after Carl, exclaiming incoherent noises, trying to grab Carl’s neck with the inside of his elbow, which was a very bad idea, as it turned out. Carl avoided the grip, turned around, grabbed his opponent’s Adam’s apple, and pressed him to the wall. A small watercolour painting, depicting a boat, fell to the floor. ”Now. You. Keep. Calm.”, Carl said, staring angrily into his opponent’s eyes. He released his grip. The goth sunk to the floor, less because of Carl’s grip, than because of drunkenness. ”Idiots!”, Carl exclaimed, and entered the bathroom. Those who stood outside couldn’t avoid to hear the loud sound of pissing coming from the loo, but most of the guest were occupied in the kitchen. When Carl returned from the bathroom, his skinhead mate and one of the goth girls had decided to help the intoxicated Moonsorrow home to his parents, and two of the other girls had left. John awaited him outside the loo. ”He behaved like an idiot, but he was drunk, and I am able to defend myself.” ”I know, but I… I felt insulted. What has HE done to counter racism? What has HE done to raise money for human rights associations? What has HE done to debate injustice in society? And his pacifist tosh, when we have a dangerous unpredictable neighbour across the sea…” John towered over him, and kissed him on his forehead. A hug. This time it was more than brotherly. Testosterone flowed in Carl’s veins and in John’s. Comforting presence. Mutual muscular protectiveness… Camo-clad bulges pressing towards each other… ”You are cute when you are angry. Do you know that?”, John whispered in his ear. Carl emitted a low yelp in John’s ear. Emelie returned from the kitchen, noticed them, but didn’t say anything. Then her phone rang. A few words. A worried look in her face. She hang up. She thought for a few seconds. Then she called the attention of every remaining guest. ”It was Emma.” ”I thought she was skiing with Anderson?” ”Don’t interrupt. She is on her way home. They have quarrelled. She hasn’t told her parents, for some reason. She is on her way here.” An hour went by. Some of them tried to sober up by drinking coffee or energy drinks. Emelie and Peter competed in the kitchen for the right to make Emma a sandwich. Then, the doorbell rang. Emma, who usually never left home without using some perfume, was dressed in synthetic trousers, suitable for skiing, and a quilted and down-stuffed nylon jacket smelling of sweat and melted snow. Her makeup had melted in an unflattering way, because of tears. Aram, John and Aram’s brother wanted politely to give Emma some breathing-space and privacy, but the other guests at Emelie’s party preferred to express their concern by surrounding Emma. It was Emelie’s commanding presence, who caused the crowd in the hallway to part, and led Emma into the bathroom. When they returned outside, Peter and one of the girls were ready with a sandwich on a plate and a mug of hot coffee. Emma had a hickup, but her face looked refreshed without any makeup. This way, however, her black eye was even more obvious. ”I will kill him! I will kill the fucking wanker!”, Carl shouted, and, by the look of his face, it seemed like Peter was willing to assist Carl in the project, or even race to come first. Emelie glanced in the direction of the five remaining lads, raised an eyebrow, and said: ”Now. You. Keep. Calm.” It had the desired effect. The young men sat down in the sofa, while Emelie and the other two young women helped Emma and her mug of coffee upstairs. ”What do we do now? Just sitting here?” ”You know she was right. It doesn’t make Emma feel better if you two prepare an ambush outside Anderson’s door when he arrive home.” ”But we must do something.” ”Give Emma and the girls some time, upstairs. They need to talk. We would probably interrupt.” ”But we must do something.” ”Both of you have said that a couple of times, now. Take a couple of deep breaths and calm down.” ”More coffee?” ”I don’t drink coffee. I drink this.” Aram’s brother dangled a can of energy drink before them. ”Same here.”, Peter said. ”I prefer coffee. Energy drinks would destroy my workout results.” John returned with the coffee kettle of glass and filled Aram’s, Carl’s and his own mugs, and put the glass kettle down on a heatproof coaster. ”I am as upset as you, but the correct procedure is to let the police know. Anderson is 18 now, and he will become 19 years old in summer. He is responsible for his actions. The situation will not improve by any of us behaving like an idiot.” They heard the sound of a key in the key-hole, and the next second, Emelie’s parents returned from the theatre, dressed in a comparatively posh way. Emelie’s Dad peeked around the corner into the sitting room. ”Calm and silent here. What is wrong with teenagers today? Back in 1980 we knew how to party. Has some of you already left? You are welcome to stay as late as you want, but where is Emelie?” ”Something sad has happened, Mr. W. Emelie and the other girls are upstairs with Emma.” ”I thought Emma was away skiing the entire week?”, Emelie’s Mum interjected. ”And call me Ola.”, Emelie’s father added. ”You better speak with her, yourself, but I believe you’d better give them some time. Do you need the kettle?” ”No. Not this late. I sleep badly if I drink coffee after dinner, but thank you for your concern. I will drink some tea before sleep.” ”If there is anything left, I would like a cup of coffee.”, said Emelies Dad, and filled a small cup. His wife had disappeared upstairs, and a faint sound of an electric tea kettle was heard from the kitchen. He sat down in one of the Malmsten-armchairs, observed the serious faces of the young men, and said: ”Glad to see, that skinheads and Arabs are able to party together, but I would be more happy if some of you lads left that style behind.” Carl and Aram’s brother sighed in unison. Aram looked like someone had told him a joke. ”What did I say?”, Emelie’s Dad exclaimed in a soft voice, his eyebrows raised in a polite way. ”Sorry, Ola. We hear some of this all the time.”, Aram answered. ”Syriacs are not Arabs. We lived in Turkey, Syria and Iraq long before the Arabs arrived, and we are descendants of the first Christians. And when it comes to skinheads: Our friends here are anti-racists. I’ve heard from my mother, that most skins in your youth were racists…” ”At least the visible ones.”, Carl interjected. ”At least the visible ones.”, Aram continued, ”but skinhead sub-culture originally grew from an interest in Jamaican music. Oi! punk rock was added in the seventies. There has been a conflict between racist and anti-racist skins since the eighties, and some try to avoid politics entirely. There is nothing wrong with our friends here.” ”I didn’t know that. And I’m sorry about confusing Syriacs and Arabs. Didn’t read that in school.” He paused. It was obvious he tried to say something polite. ”Sometimes I am worried that you youngsters don’t get enough exercise, sitting with playstation and computer games all the time, but when I see you, it seems like you all exercise a lot, so I might be wrong.” ”Exercise is quite popular today.” Emelie’s Dad was obviously a nice man, but his attempts to small-talk became increasingly strained, and the young men’s thought went to Emma and the other girls upstairs. It was a relief when Emelie’s Mom returned with Emma and all the other young women, who returned to their seats in th sofa. ”Ola. Emma’s boyfriend has abused her, but she prefer to sleep here tonight. I will call her parents.” She disappered to the telephone in the kitchen. John wasn’t sure to which extent the presence of her friends helped Emma to cope with the situation, but he tried to be comforting. Peter showed an unexpected tenderness, and allowed Emma to lean her head against his shoulder. Aram and Emelie sat down in the same corner, with serious facial expressions. Aram’s brother ended up in the same corner as the two remaining girls, while John and Carl sat together. They talked for hours. - - - The tinkling sound of the bell made Madame Cremorna aware of the presence of a customer. It was that goth girl, again. Madame Cremorna returned to the transparent counter desk. ”And how may I help you?” ”Do you have anything to punish a bad person?” ”This sounds serious. Do you want a cup of tea?” After a brief hesitation, Emelie accepted, and they sat down around a small table. They were talking a long time, and when Emelie returned from the botanica, she brought a paperbag with a powder with her. Madame Cremorna had called it ’a minor working’. - - - Emma was of the opinion that ’she could change him’, and continued her relationship with Anderson, and refused to report him to the police, despit what her parents told her. Emelie had got her opportunity a few days later. She had refused to invite Anderson since the Winter Break, but changed her mind, and allowed Emma to bring Anderson with her to Emelie’s family’s house a Saturday afternoon, one week before Easter. Emelie’s parents had been conveniently away, buying new gardening equipment. Emma and Anderson had stayed fo a few cups of coffee and cinnamon buns, but the awkward strain between Emelie and Anderson had caused them to leave earlier, than when Emma visited on her own. Emelie had been able to put small amounts of Madame Cremorna’s powder in Anderson’s trainers. Emelie looked out through the window. Lemon-coloured sunshine filled the garden, but there were no leaves on the bushes yet. The grass was yellow and lifeless. Under the shadows of treetrunks, spots of dirty snow still covered the lawn. In a sunny spot of the lawn, white snowdrips were growing, their small leaves the only sight of green in the garden. She hadn’t heard their car, but her parents must have returned: Her Dad pushed a wheelbarrow with a few heavy sacks of something to the garden shed. She could hear her mother enter the house. ”We were not the only ones, who had got the idea to buy things for the garden. What queues!” The doorbell rang. It was three girls and a boy in primary school age. They were all dressed up as easter witches, and brought a plastic bag to collect sweets. ”Happy Easter!”, they exclaimed. ”Aren’t you cute, all of you?”, Emelie’s mother answered. ”Happy Easter! I shall see if we have something for you.” She returned with two bags of multicoloured egg-shaped sweets, and put them in the children’s bag. After the children had left, Mom disappeared to the kitchen, beginning to cook the lamb for dinner. - - - It was two weeks later. Easter Break had come and gone. The familiar sound of rushing steps and lockers. John and Aram agreed, that it was a relief, that Anderson wasn’t able to bully anyone, but they couldn’t avoid to feel pity when they saw him with his bandaged foot sitting in a wheelchair. Skiing accident. Anderson’s family could afford two vacations during skiing season, and Anderson didn’t think twice about bragging about the fact, but it hadn’t turned out well this time. Chemistry class in the beginning of the day. Mr. Gustavson brought good news. ”I wouldn’t worry for your chemistry grades, Aram. And that’s true for you, John, as well. Good work.” The hours of morning lectures were no longer dark. Honey-coloured daylight flooded into the room, and only a few gravel-mixed snow heaps were scattered over the schoolyard. They had noticed buds in the trees on their way in, and the air was mild. ”You do what?” They had joined each other at lunch break, and sat in the school cafeteria. Emma had just told them all, that she was breaking up with Anderson. No one seemed to disapprove. Peter patted her on her shoulder, and Emelie gave her a hug. ”How did you spend Easter?” Emelie was first to answer: ”Parents spent time in the garden. We had some relatives over. Haven’t seen Grandfather since Christmas.” She glanced at Aram. ”No. I will tell them.”, he said, as answering a silent question. ”Emelie and I are an item now. Just so you’ll know.” Cheerful voices. Congratulations. The buzz of the cafeteria in the background. Spring daylight through the windows. ”And I went to St. James’ with the family. And you?” ”Grandmother was over. I followed them to Bach’s St. John’s Passion in Holy Trinity on Good Friday, but I spent the rest of the weekend with Carl.” ”Punk concerts on Easter Eve and Easter Day. Good bands.” ”Any of you joining me to the gym tonight?”, John asked. ”You know it.”, Carl answered, and Peter also gave his assurances. ”No, I will spend time with Emelie, tonight.”, Aram answered. - - - John felt full of energy. Bench press: 200 kilogrammes. Dumbbell press: 70 kilogrammes in each hand. Peter couldn't hide how impressed he was. Carl expressed his appreciation later, in another way. They were in John's room again. The night sky outside the window was dark blue in a way it never is the rest of the year. Carl shivered in anticipation, and removed his polo shirt. His braces hang from his jeans. He hadn't removed his boots this time. They had both found, that they liked to make out with their boots on. John stood before him, his torso uncovered, and swole from the workout. John smiled confidently while he watched his shorter friend in his eyes. He did a double biceps. "Yeah. Watch this." And he did a crab, flexing his vein-covered pecs. Carl arose and took a few steps closer to John, and put his hands on John's pecs. John flexed his abs, and Carl eagerly let his fingers explore the hardness and power of John's abdomen. Carl yelped, and kissed John's biceps. John picked Carl up, and curled him playfully a few times. John could see the throbbing bulge in Carl's trousers, and lifted Carl higher, burying his face against the denim fabric of Carl's crotch. Carl moaned. John laid Carl down in his bed, and lowered himself on him. Carl's breathing increased, and the moaning sounds returned. "Fuck, mate. If you continue like this, I will blow before the rodgering even begins! It's like fucking the bloody Terminator!" Epilogue John found it hard to believe, that it was already ten years ago. He and Carl were back in their native city over the weekend, to attend the tenth anniversary since they left school, and they were now 29 years old. It hadn’t been that bad. It turned out, that Aram was a practicing physician now, and Emelie had got a job at an art gallery, but their relationship hadn’t last. They were still good friends, though, and had travelled together to Florence and Venice last year. Emma had married Peter, and they had already three small children. Emma worked as a receptionist, and Peter had succeeded in working with cars. They had enthusiastically told about gatherings for fans of old cars, and they attened several such gatherings annually. There was no sight of Anderson, but no one missed him. ”I would never had guessed that you were gay. Real men like you? Never. I’m cool with it. Thank you for not hitting at me at school, though.” It was Peter who commented in his usual blunt way. John and Carl had continued their relationship, and had a flat in another city, where one of the units of the amphibious corps were located. John worked in the marine, and Carl had, unexpectedly, become a PT, and worked at a gym. ”I read about your wins in bodybuilding competitions, John. That’s awesome.” It was Peter who continued to talk. ”I have another competition in December, Peter. Why don’t you come and watch?” After all, the school reunion had turned out well. He was now walking with Carl at his side in the old quarters of the city, trying to find a botanica Aram had mentioned. The two broad-shouldered buzzcut men walked side by side in the cobblestone alley. John could feel the bodyheat of Carl, and put his arm on his shoulder. In the warm summer weather none of them needed a jacket, and they were both dressed in snug polo shirts, which allowed them to show off their body shapes. Mighty pecs stretched the polo fabric to its limits. The tight shirts hinted at their defined abs. Houses plastered in lavender, yellow and dove-blue. Dentists, former bicycle repair shops. No traces of any bookshop. She must have left. It was all so long ago. It seemed like a dream. Was it a dream?

Previous Parts Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 8.5 | Part 9 | Part 10 | Part 11 | Part 11.5 | Part 12 | Part 13 ==================================================== Author’s PSA: If you’d like to be a part of this story as the cast expands, let me know, I’m happy to work you in! Let me know what you might like to do, be, etc. I take requests, no promise that I can do all of them. ==================================================== It was 5am. Tom and I would head to the gym at 6:30. I was awake and getting ready. I texted Jeff. >>> Dude. You awake? <<< Yeah, stud. What’s up? >>> Soooo...took your advice and got actually a couple of hook ups… <<< Yeah? How’d it go? >>> Well, good I think. My ex girlfriend swallowed a load from me, then we had sex for an hour later. I think she gained 15 lbs of muscle. <<< How large was the load she swallowed? >>> Not large. She caught it in the air like a trick lol <<< LOL! That would have been something to see! How about after? >>> I unloaded a lot into her during intercourse. It was constant for an hour. And I could have kept going but I stopped when she looked exhausted. <<< Bryce, you are relentless, boy! :-) Can’t wait to have you back here lol. >>> LOL! Just don’t make my cock bigger. I already have trouble with the thing now. Good trouble, but still trouble. You should have seen her face when she saw it. <<< Oh, I bet. >>> Odd thing...she pretty much went into extended orgasms without even touching me when she saw my body. <<< Oh? Interesting…although you do have possibly one of the hottest builds around now. That’s a good bit of beef you carry for your height. >>> Yeah, it was odd...and really rather hot too, honestly. And then my best friend, guy who’s like a brother to me, came onto me too. <<< Any orgasming there? >>> Only the one I gave him jacking him off. He didn’t get any of my cum in him, so no growth for him there...but… <<< But? >>> I’m going to make him a shake this morning. And I’m going to lace it with my cum. <<< That’s GENIUS, Bryce! It’s right in line with what I’m thinking about, to see how we can grow others. It looks like getting my cum inside you at this volume has caused a chemical reaction…. Jeff got seriously into science chemistry bro mode, and I scrolled past it all at this point. <<< ...and now you can grow others with your cum too! Spectacular! >>> So hey, just wanted to let you know how things went, and what I’m going to do next. <<< You miss me, Bryce? WIth all that hooking up going on, lol! >>> I miss your pecs squeezing my cock and milking me. Your biceps swelling in my grip, the veins causing indentions in my fingers and palms. I miss rubbing my penis up the valleys in your abs and letting my cum pool around each one. But no, I don’t miss you...just your muscles lol. <<< LOL! I’ll take that :-) Later stud! ====================================== Tom came out of his room into the kitchen at 5:45 in only his gym shorts. In the morning light I could see better that he had really taken to working his body into far better shape than it had ever been in. I remember when he and I would talk about muscles and bodybuilders when we were younger, and we both thought he would be the one with bigger muscles. Funny how that turned out. At least for now. I passed him a 24 oz. shake I had made for him before his workout. “Drink this up. We’ll see how the supplementation works I put in. If you like it, I’ll get you some more.” “Cool, bro. What’s it cost?” “Nothing for you, Tom.” “Awesome, Bry! What’s in it? “It’s the regular smoothie you drink with your preworkout energy booster you like. I added in a supplement, it’s all natural.” He was already drinking. “Tastes good. I can’t tell any difference from normal in the taste or texture.” “Here’s to good things progress,” I winked to him. He gulped the entire thing down. Tom always could scarf food and drink like it was going to be taken from him any second. The shake finished off, Tom slapped the empty glass on the counter. “Man, that was good. It feels a little heavy.” And he rubbed his stomach, which looked slightly more full than a moment ago. “Great! That means it’s working!” I said cheerfully as his stomach puffed up just a little bit more. “Okay,” he said somewhat skeptically, as he rubbed his stomach again. His abs were still firmly in place, but there was a bit more belly bulge and his waist had grown maybe an inch or two since ingesting the shake. “Hey man, trust me. Where do think these bad boys came from?” as I crunched my abs into view. Tom’s cock leapt to attention. “Y...yeah. Okay. Let’s get going then!” We got in Tom’s car, and he took his usual spot in the driver’s seat. “Shit, dude, this stuff is bloating me like a rotting pig!” he laughed as he had to push his driver’s seat back. “HA! Then that means it’s REALLY working!” I thought I’d prepare him for what was going to take place. “You work out in the full gear you have on today?” “Yeah, man. I don’t show it off at the gym, too many other guys and gals there can show off more.” “Well, you will today. Lose the shirt.” I laughed. “Lose it NOW!” He looked at me with a squint of his eye. “Lose it NOW or I’ll take it off you. And you know I can do it.” I grinned, and I watched his cock spring up in his shorts even more than before. “Alright, alright, man. Why so determined?” he joked as he pulled his shirt over his head, bring his tight little delts into full view. “Because the program we start today you’ll want to see the results of as you go.” And then I began to hear that familiar, lovely gurgling from within Tom. “This is going to be FUN!”

Thanks for posting. As always, I love where this is going!

VERY NICE! impressive! I didn't expect something like this! Thank you!! DAMN that's good! I second the cheers demanding another chapter

Amazing! I can't wait for (many?) other chapters! Thank you for sharing with us your wonderful work

Would be great if that'd be the real one. Than one of Mikey's dream would be happening right now. 8D And i definitely like Mikey's thoughts of him becoming the biggest bodybuilder in that universe of his. 8D <3 <3 I definitely hope that will become true. >;3 <3 <3

My guess s that we have a shifter and he can be whoever he wants to be. Mikey needs a release and fast.

Hehe oh yeah I forgot to keep submitting the rest on there! Well that and Brian likes to space out when the chapters come out and only releases a few at a time. I should upload the rest on there before the end of the summer though... the view numbers over there are high and I love the idea of more people reading my stuff. Thanks for the compliment, I'm glad you enjoy my stuff! Incidentally you can also find all of it at Coiledfist.

Too fun! Here's hoping there will be more!

At this point, you should know that chuck would just keep growing forever. It would've gotten monotonous and boring if the story went on for any longer than it did, imo. I always love your work, spacevlad. Good thing I checked here instead of waiting on metabods updates, the wait would've killed me!

Hey, I remember you...Jake, right? You came back, huh? Clearly you didn’t think I was full of shit last week. Yeah, I frequent this place a bit. Bad habit, but it lets me work some of my stuff. Make some people happy. So, clearly something made you believe me. What was it that I said I’d do? It’s been a week. Oh yes. I see it clearly now. Your cock. I’m still being too loud? No one in here is paying attention to what we’re saying. People come here to get drunk, not to eave’s drop. Calm down – I see you pants aren’t. So, let me guess. You left here after I did, wondering what type of bullshit I was selling. About…an hour or two after I left?...you started to feel a weird sensation. It was like you were in puberty again. That dull ache that seemed to be everywhere that you didn’t like then, and you don’t like now. Except you felt it in your balls. You started to have that feeling that your balls might be bigger, or something is going on in there. A day or two later, you probably were noticing that everything that bumped into you made your dick immediately hard, right? It was like being a teenager all over again. It was so horrible – but so awesome – you kinda wanted people to know that this was happening, but not in public. Let me also guess that you’ve been walking around all week, aware of your cock, but also thinking that your pants feel a bit tighter in the front. The wiggle room that you once had isn’t there any more. It’s not much, but it’s noticeable, amirite? Found yourself playing with your junk, pushing it around when you had those two or three moments of being soft, wondering to yourself if it’s all an illusion? Does it actually feel a bit thicker? Does it feel a bit longer? You don’t seem the type to measure yourself, but god damn you wish you started, huh? Am I making you hard, recalling the week? Let me keep going. Tell me where I’m wrong and how I was full of it. I’d bet that last night you went to bed and woke up to a bunch of spasming in your – well, how do you sleep? Boxers? Ok, felt some spasms in your boxers. Cum all over the place, no? Reminded you of entering puberty and having that first wet dream all over again, huh? Did you feel like the pulses were longer, harder, and thicker than normal? Did you find yourself cleaning yourself even more than usual? Yeah, I thought so. Let’s feel. Oh, damn, daddy: you starting to pack. Are you liking this stroking? You twitch every time I get near your thick head. Yeah, daddy, you like this. I’m curious what you’ll look like in an additional week? Can you imagine if this keeps going? Yeah, I’m still pouring those hormones out around you. You can smell them, can’t you? That desire to keep around me? You want me to grow you more. Ooo, your aggression is up, too. Yes, daddy, show me how much more of a man you are. Mmm. Oh, you wanted to see what I did to the other guy? He was here on Monday. I asked his number. Let me see…ah, he’s on his way. Would you like me to keep pushing yourself to see if I can get you to shoot your juice all over the place, right here, right now? No? Damn. Let’s give it another week. I have a feeling you’ll be impressed by my first experiment…to your knowledge… Ah, speak of the devil and he shall appear. The muscle man comes in. I’m happy with how he’s dressed. Look at that tank top on him – do you notice those traps? They’re far more defined than they were last week, huh? See them actually pushing up towards his ears? And those delts on him – the V is far more defined on him, huh? Can you see the thickness separating the three heads of the deltoid? Damn. His thighs are filling out those shorts a bit more – I see his quads separating a bit. Nice bulge in the front too. What, I could have packed him as well. And…ah, I feel you’re getting hard again. *sniff* Hmm, I think you might be liking what you see? I smell you leaking “fuck me papi.” Am I right? Yeah, you feel like I’m right. Do you notice those biceps on him? Yeah, they look more defined than they did a week ago, huh? Notice how his tank is clinging more to this pecs. They’re rounder, aren’t they? They push a bit more out, don’t they? Doesn’t his chest look a bit wider? Maybe his waist is a bit tighter, or maybe its his chest slightly larger? Yeah, you don’t get that in lifting in a week. You get that if you lift for a week, like a mother fucker, and you have some superior genetics going for you. I think I need to give him some more, don’t you think? Oh, you want to join me in talking to him? Sure. Jake, meet my young muscled friend, Christian. Christian, Jake. How are you doing? You look like you’re hitting the weights a lot more. May I feel your guns? I’m kind of a muscle queen. I gotta feel power. Damn. What are these up to? 14”? You look like you’ve been packing onto your arms a lot in the past few weeks. And those veins! Sorry – it tickles – but tracing your veins is just amazing. Shit, you feel solid. Damn, I must be nervous – muscle does that – cuz I’m getting sweaty around you. Sorry, I sometimes smell a bit…yeah, TMI, no? I don’t wanna eat up too much of your time. Just wanted to say hi and introduce you to Jake. I’ll probably see you around. Clearly the beer here does the body good. So, what did you think of Christian? Yeah, I was having a hard time not wanting to touch that chest. You saw those nipples pointing through the tank, huh? Made you want to run your hands on them, under them, squeeze them? Oh, look: he’s turning around. He’s clearly been also working his ass. It’s starting to form that nice bubble, don’t you think? Yeah, he swings your way. I’d imagine that that butt would be a hard thing to split open. Yes, I see your thicker sausage stretching again. Does this talk get to you? You seem to be leaking – yeah, I see your pants, right near your hip…damn. Could you imagine bending Christian over, feeling that broadening back leading to that slender waist, shoving that thick cock of yours into him? Do you think you push harder than his ass could resist you? I’m wondering. You’d like to try? The bartender here keeps the bathrooms clean. He’s pretty good, and as long as you don’t make a mess, he’s fine with you trying out the bathroom with Christian. Haha, you will? I’ll just be here. I’ll wait. … Damn, that was, how long? Shit, that smile on your face. I see Christian hasn’t come back yet…oh, he’s going to have trouble walking? Well, no shit Sherlock, you were in there for half an hour. Was his ass as glorious as we could guess it to be? It was? Fuck. How many ways you fuck him? Six? Shit. I see you’re still hard at the thought of him – feeling hornier than usual, eh? Yeah, I’ve been loading you with more hormones. It’s gonna make you harder, thicker, longer, hornier, and full of so much more cum…yeah, you’re leaking again. Well, go get him. I’m sure he hasn’t moved too far from where you bred him. Shall I see you again in a week? I’m sure you’ll have plenty to show off. Ok. I’ll see if I can make your little muscle boy even bigger for you. I have my ways.

Before Mikey could question the man any further, something in the far left corner of the pump room suddenly caught his eye. Two men were standing in conversation. One completely clothed, the other half naked, with his top off. Only the shirtless man was not a bodybuilder. He was slim, with very little muscle definition. Even slimmer than Mikey was in his regular body in fact. “Do you think that guy is competing too?” Mikey asked, directing everyone’s attention to the shirtless man and his friend. At that moment, the man unzipped his jeans and pulled them down his non muscular thighs to reveal a pair of bright orange, super shiny posing trunks. “Looks like it,” Pete said. “Wait!” Shaun suddenly said. “Pete, mate - you don’t think that’s...” he paused, “it bloody is isn’t it”? There was a sense of urgency and excitement in Shaun’s voice, and Pete was looking excited too. “I’ve never seen him in his normal body before,” Pete responded. “FUCK!” “What is it guys?” Mikey asked. “What’s his superpower?” Mikey was curious, but also felt an unexpected twinge of jealousy that his friend Pete was getting excited about a regular sized man with the supposed power to turn himself into a bodybuilder. Would it be better than his superpower? “You’re about to see for yourself, Mikey, mate,” Shaun said. The almost naked, posing trunk sporting man’s friend was now playing with some kind of equipment. It looked like an exceptionally large bicycle pump. He took the lead and walked towards his friend. From guys with twenty four packs to men so vascular their bodies doubled up as road maps, Mikey had some seen very bizarre scenes that day. But none more so than the scene he was about to witness. Mikey’s soon to be fellow competitor now had his back to his friend, who, with the bicycle pump lead in one hand, was fiddling with the back of his shiny orange posing trunks with the other. It took Mikey a while to realise exactly what was happening. “Ouch!” Shaun exclaimed. “That can’t be comfortable.” The soon-to-be-bodybuilder’s friend was walking back to the bicycle pump. The lead sticking out of his friends’ posers, as he stood hunched over with his non-muscular ass in the air. Had he just stuck the end of the lead up his mate’s bottom? With considerable effort, the competitor’s friend was continuously stepping on the pedal of the pump, his right leg moving up and down, as if to blow up the tyre of a bicycle pump, or another inflatable object. Only there was no such object in sight. Something else was being blown up instead. The ass of Mikey’s fellow competitor seemed to be the first thing to blow up. As his friend continued to step on the peddle, his arse cheeks grew and filled out his orange posers until the otherwise slim man suddenly owned the thick glutes of a professional bodybuilder. Then the man’s thighs began to grow. Then his calves doubled in size. Mikey watched as every single body part erupted and expanded, much like his own body morphed when his superpower was in force. Only this man’s transformation was a lot slower, and each body part seemed to be growing one by one. After two huge tits had appeared where his once flat chest was, and six thick abs had popped through his tummy, one by one, finally, a set of bull like traps erupted either side of his neck, until the man, who not a few minutes before, was the smallest, least muscular guy in the room, was soon a full on, excessively sized, crazily conditioned muscle monster. Every muscle on the man’s physique seemed to have a round, bubble like quality. They literally looked like balloons of huge, thick muscle bulging off every inch of his now freakishly sized body. As he looked down and admired the new slabs of muscle now bulging off his frame, he flexed his bicep and twitched his pecs with a cocky and excited smirk spread across his face. “Wow,” The Human Road Map said. “Now THAT’S a fucking superpower.” Pete gave Mikey a sly, knowing smirk, and Mikey sheepishly grinned and looked away. Pete was the only one in the group who knew that Mikey had a very similar superpower, though Mikey’s transformation was quicker, and took considerably less effort than the one he had just witnessed. It didn’t involve anything being inserted into his bottom either. “That was fucking AWESOME,” Shaun enthusiastically said. “I’ve never seen Bicycle Pump Boy’s transformation before.” “How did he even discover he could do that?” Mikey asked, without really thinking. All four lads looked at each other with the same confused look, as if they were all suddenly pondering the answer to Mikey’s question, and wondering how exactly a man discovers he can become an enormous sized muscle beast by sticking a bicycle pump lead up his arse. “Okay, guys, prejudging starts in twenty minutes,” a man suddenly called, pulling all of the men out of their thoughts. “Fuck! Mikey!” Pete exclaimed. “We need to get you tanned.” As The Human Road Map said his goodbyes and returned to his tanning buddie, Mikey’s stomach suddenly tightened in knots. He’d only ever stripped to his posers and shown off his body to Pete. No one else had ever seen Mikey in just his trunks. And now he was about to reveal his freakish superpower enabled mass to a room full of bodybuilders, and a sometime bodybuilder, whenever he had a bicycle pump shoved up his bum. Pete and Shaun were both looking at Mikey with expectant looks on their faces. Mikey gulped and reached for the zip on his jacket. “Now THIS I gotta see”, said an excited Shaun. Mikey’s heart was beating as he nervously removed his jacket. “WOAH! DUDE!” came Shaun’s reaction. It was pretty much the same reaction that his friend Pete Potter had given him when Mikey had walked into the shop Pete worked at just a few months earlier. As Mikey pulled his trousers down and passed his enormous sized quads he was torn between wanted the ground to swallow him whole, and revelling in the fact that every single person in the room suddenly seemed to be looking at him, including the ridiculously gorgeous muscle lad before him, who was running his big blue eyes all over Mikey’s insanely muscular, top five Mr Olympia worthy physique, while giving Mikey, and anyone else who wanted to listen, his own analysis. “Pecs are unreal. Delts are frigging huge. Abs popping out your stomach like bricks. Condition in the quads is fucking NUTS. Incredible size…just, EVERYWHERE.” Mikey sheepishly stood as Shaun Slater, aka The Irresistible Ass Man, surveyed his body. He felt embarrassed, but also couldn’t help feeling turned on by hearing such horny words from a man as huge and gorgeous as the muscle bull before him, which was suddenly causing a swelling in the black, shiny binbag-like posing trunks that were now on display. It also seemed to be giving him something of an ego boost, which was only heightened by the amount of attention he was suddenly receiving from every other person in the room. As he looked around, it became obvious to Mikey why he was receiving so much attention; he was, by far, the biggest and best muscle monster in the room. “Gotta say though, mate,” Shaun said, his eye line seemingly looking at his crotch, “I kind of expected the trunks to be more colourful.” Mikey blushed and smirked at Shaun’s mention of his shiny black posing trunks. “Oh, these are just his prejudging trunks, mate,” Pete explained. “He’s got some…brighter ones in his bag,” he continued, referring to the shiny pink posers Mikey had bought the day they’d first met. Mikey gave Pete a sheepish, knowing smirk. Pete knew how much Mikey loved his pink posing trunks. “Looks like it’s a three way battle then between you two lads and Bicycle Pump Boy,” Pete said. “HELL YEAH!” Shaun replied, before spontaneously bringing his fists together and squeezing a quick, hard most muscular, which made Mikey’s eyes bulge and his dick furiously judder. But then Shaun’s facial expression suddenly changed. “OH FUCK!” he exclaimed. His eyes were fixed on a spot behind Mikey and Pete and the expression on his face was one of utter shock and amazement. “Better make that a four way battle.” Mikey and Pete simultaneously turned their heads, and Mikey felt like his heart had just leapt into his throat. It can’t be, he thought. It just can’t be. Mikey was no longer the biggest muscle freak in the room. Strutting towards them, with about 20 lbs more mass than Mikey was carrying, was the obscenely monstrous frame of Mikey’s favourite professional bodybuilder. The bodybuilder whose name Mikey had used to sign in to the contest not half an hour earlier. The one and only Jackson James Jones. * As Chuck Carter looked around the pump room, his mind couldn’t quite fathom the sights that surrounded him. He and his boyfriend Timmy Tate were both as equally turned on by bodybuilders and had attended this very show for three years running. And now he was standing in the pump room surrounded by an array of insanely huge, shockingly shredded and beyond hot muscle bulls. There was The Irresistible Ass Man, who was even more outrageously gorgeous and obscenely huge close up than he was from the audience of a show. Meanwhile Bicycle Pump Boy was looking both nasty and beautiful in a pair of orange posers, and The Amazing Abs Man’s infamous twenty-four pack was even more magnificent from a closer distance. There were a couple of new guys too. A man whose body was decorated with the most ridiculous number of veins, and the enormous and absolutely incredible muscle monster who he’d followed into the backstage area, along with his smaller but still muscular and ridiculously sexy companion who was either his friend, boyfriend or fuck buddie. Chuck was desperately trying not to get too distracted by the incredible display of freaky muscle around him. He had to concentrate and keep his wits about him, because he and his boyfriend Timmy had hatched a plan, which Chuck’s actions were pivotal to. It was not exactly a foolproof plan and there was a chance that it might not work. But Timmy and Chuck knew exactly how this bodybuilding show operated. The lads would head out on stage for the prejudging part of the competition. Then they’d come back and take a short break, before heading back out for the finals, which included posing routines of every contestant, comparisons, and finally a posedown, where all of the lads would jump into the audience and pose amongst the spectators. Last year Timmy and Chuck had been inches away from Shaun Slater, aka The Irresistible Ass Man, who’d cranked out a massive crab most muscular in the two lads’ faces, with a grizzly growl, and a shit-eating grin to boot. He’d winked at Timmy and Chuck and given them both a knowing smirk, before he’d strutted off to find his next victim. Sometime in between the bodybuilders leaving the pump room for prejudging and returning for the short break before finals, Chuck would have to take action to ensure the plan was a success. But for that to happen, he would need to find something. Something that was highly likely to be lurking somewhere in this very room. And then Chuck overheard something. A snippet of a conversation which made his heart flutter and gave him the confidence he needed that he and Timmy’s plan could succeed. It was perfect. Absolutely fucking perfect.

In this chapter, Chuck hits the gym, bigger and stronger than before, and learns to control his newfound abilities. Chapter 3 Chuck pulled up to the gym, still feeling great from fooling around with his fuck buddy Clint. He felt pumped and energized, more ready to hit the gym than he had felt in months, motivated and ready. He hurried from his car into the gym, the cold winter air causing his breath to steam into white plumes as he walked. As he walked into the locker room to drop off his coat, he couldn’t help but grin at how snugly his Underarmour shirt was hugging his shoulders and arms. He hadn’t lifted in a while, so why was he feeling this great pump already? It had started when he felt that tingling buzz when he was fucking Clint, a feeling of energy humming into his body. What was that all about, he wondered as he locked up his coat and went to step on the scale. The metal scale clanked as Chuck got on, and he adjusted the levels towards the usual 210 or so he expected. He set it there, and it still wasn’t balanced. Chuck decided to take his shoes off, as maybe that was throwing it off, but that didn’t make any difference. His clothes didn’t weight much, so that couldn’t be it either. He adjusted it down a bit—maybe he had lost weight recently from working so much?—but no change. He adjusted it up slowly, first to 215. Still nothing. Then to 220. No way, he hadn’t been 220 ever. Still nothing. “Hey, you guys know if anything is wrong with this scale?” Chuck asked a few of the other guys in the locker room near the scale. They just shrugged and went back to changing. Chuck’s stomach fluttered. What was going on? Had he… somehow gotten bigger? He felt pumped, his clothes were tighter… but how? He moved the level on the scale until it balanced out. 225! He had gained 15lbs since he last weighed himself a couple days ago. Chuck reached up and adjusted his Gophers hat, rubbing a hand across his bald head, his bicep bunching into a bigger, harder peak than he remembered having. How the fuck had this happened? He couldn’t have just gained 15lbs out of nowhere; he hadn’t been eating THAT much lately, and god knows he hadn’t been to the gym. 15 pounds didn’t just come out of nowhere, so what was going on? Maybe the scale was just wrong? But that didn’t fit with how pumped and swole he felt, didn’t fit with what he saw in the mirror earlier this morning. He couldn’t help but grin. He tensed his pecs and swung his arms back and forth in excitement. He was bigger! Just what he had always wanted. He felt that same buzz from earlier shiver through his body as he thought about getting bigger, and he grunted. Suddenly all he could think about was growing more and getting pumped up. It was time to hit the weights. He walked out into the gym and got to work. It was chest and tris day, and he started with some warm up weights on the flat bench, using 35lb dumbbells to get the blood flowing. They were way too easy and felt light even for a warm up. He worked his way up, feeling sweat start to spread over his body, feeling strong and energized, more pumped up than he ever remembered feeling at the gym. 45lb, 60lb, 70lb dumb bells; they still felt too easy. Every lift felt good. He looked at himself in the mirror after his 4th set and almost gasped. His chest had never looked so good, pumped up and swollen with muscle. He grabbed the 80lb dumbbells, more than he had ever used when doing dumbbell bench press, and cranked out a set of 8, easily a PR for him. He dropped the weights with a satisfying *clunk* and sat up. He looked down at his chest, pecs engorged with blood, and tensed them one by one. He normally couldn’t do the pec bounce thing, but right now it felt natural and easy. A chuckle escaped his lips as he felt his heavy pecs dancing under the Underarmour, which hugged his furry skin tightly. Chuck went about his workout and every exercise was like the first; weights felt lighter than ever, he felt like he wasn’t getting tired, and he put up PRs everywhere he went. Pec deck, incline bench, dumbbell flies, tricep pull downs, skullcrushers, everything felt great. Two-thirds of the stack on the pull down machine clanked down as he finished a set, more than he had ever done, and he looked in the mirror again, his tris swelling out into horseshoes of muscle, looking hard and strong, blond-red hair (had there always been so much?) covering part of his upper arm. His pale skin was ruddy with effort, and slick sweat made his arms shine. He was so locked into his workout that Chuck didn’t notice the other guys in the gym as much as he usually did. He definitely wasn’t the biggest guy in the room, which he liked; it was nice to check out the other big meatheads in the gym, and it usually kept him motivated watching the bigger guys lift. “Hey, would you mind giving me a spot?” Chuck snapped out of his reverie as an older, bigger guy in a grey tank top approached him and asked. Chuck grinned. “Sure, big guy, no problem,” Chuck said and followed the guy back over to a bench press. The other guy was a regular, and Chuck recognized him; probably 245lb and muscular, like he had been lifting for 30 years. He had 315lb on the rack. “What’s your name again?” Chuck asked as the other guy laid down under the bar and shifted his weight to get in position. “Dave,” he said and got his hands in position. “I’m gonna go for 8 or 10, help me out on the last few reps,” he said to Chuck as he grabbed the bar and started lifting. “Sure thing,” Chuck said and he put his hands in position under the bar, near Dave’s hands. Chuck had always admired this guy but never had the courage to introduce himself or say anything; he was in such better shape than Chuck and was much stronger. But that was the old Chuck. Not this new Chuck, who was riding high on newfound confidence. “Four, five, six, you’re looking good bud, keep going,” Chuck said, encouraging Dave, who was focused and huffing with effort. Chuck was jealous of how big Dave’s pecs were, how they tensed and squeezed as he lifted. Chuck wanted to be that big, or bigger, way bigger, and all of a sudden he wanted it so bad. Chuck HAD to get bigger than Dave, and he felt that familiar tingle surge through his whole body. “Seven, eight, come on, a couple more!” Chuck said and moved his hand closer to the bar. His hands brushed against Dave’s, and suddenly Chuck felt electric, an intense buzz shooting up his arms from where his hands connected with Dave’s. Chuck felt amazing, warm throbbing euphoria surging through his arms and into his body, and he felt every muscle of his body tense. “Whoa, shit, little help,” Dave said as he suddenly faltered, the weight almost pushing down on his chest before Chuck caught it and lifted it up. The bar slammed back into the rack, and Chuck backed up. “You alright, bud? Sorry I almost didn’t catch it in time,” Chuck said, walking around the rack. Dave sat up and shook his head. “I don’t know what happened, I was feeling great and then all of a sudden I just lost it, felt like I had no energy to get those last couple,” he said. “Weird. Glad I asked you for a spot, though, you got it. I think that’s a sign that I should be done for the day,” Dave said as he stood back up. Chuck compared their sizes as Dave stood. Dave looked noticeably less pumped up than just a moment before; his shoulders and traps seemed smaller, his arms less pumped, his chest didn’t have that nice fullness they had before. He was still a big guy, but not like before. “Heh, yeah man I know what you mean. I’m having such a good day today though, think I might try to push it a little longer,” Chuck said as he suddenly realized he didn’t feel tired at all, even after having lifted for the last hour. Dave shook his head and smiled. “Yeah man you look good! Haven’t seen you in a while but you look like you’ve been making some good gains!” “Yeah, you think?” Chuck asked, and looked down. He looked bigger. He felt bigger! “Yeah man, I guess you’re right!” Chuck looked back at Dave and realized Dave didn’t look much bigger than he did. “Anyway, have a good rest of your workout,” Dave said and he turned to head towards the locker room. Chuck went back to the pulldown machine and looked in the mirror. He looked jacked, bigger than he had ever been, and way bigger than he had been earlier this morning. He grabbed the pulldown bar and started another set. It was easy. So easy! It had been a PR just a few minutes ago, and now he was cranking out another set of 12 like it was normal. He didn’t even feel tired; he felt like he could lift for hours. He finished his set and took a step back. His shirt, a large, felt uncomfortably tight and showed off every bulging mound of muscle, especially his pecs and tris. What was going on? Everything was normal until he had thought about wanting to be bigger than Dave, tapping into the desire to be bigger that had been in the back of his head all day. He had felt that weird tingling feeling, and then he had accidentally touched Dave’s hands when he was spotting him. THAT’s when the crazy good buzz went all throughout his body, like… like energy was flowing into him from Dave. He looked up and saw Dave heading out of the gym, looked tired and worn out. He waved to him and Dave nodded and trudged off. He looked noticeably less pumped, even smaller, than he looked when he asked Dave for a spot. Almost like he had lost 10lbs… Chuck decided to go back into the locker room. He had to test something. Had to see for sure. He walked fast back to the locker room, an excited tightness in his chest. He got into the locker room and stepped onto the scale after he took his shoes off. 200. 215. 225. The scale balanced at 235lbs. Chuck stepped off the scale, dumbfounded. It didn’t seem real, or possible, but there it was. He had grown 10lbs in the last hour somehow, and he was pretty sure it was from touching Dave. A shiver rippled up his spine as he realized this, like something inside him was telling him he was right. “Holy shit,” Chuck said to himself as he realized the impossible was somehow true: he could drain people of their energy and steal their size to make himself grow bigger. “This is some sci-fi shit,” Chuck thought to himself as he clenched and unclenched his right fist, feeling a tingle rush along his skin. He looked up and saw another guy changing at the locker next to his. He was smaller than Chuck, but had plenty of muscle on him. He looked like he had just showered. Chuck had to test it. Chuck stepped up to his own locker, pretending like he was looking in there for something, and bumped against the other guy. The other guy adjusted his weight to move away from Chuck. Nothing happened. “Sorry bud,” Chuck said and he closed his locker. Hmm. So it wasn’t just from contact. What was he missing? Maybe this was all just in his head. But then he remembered… when he was spotting Dave, he hadn’t felt the tingle until he started thinking about how jealous he was of Dave’s size…thinking about how badly he wanted to grow…how he NEEDED to get bigger, that urge in the back of his head that had been there since this morning silently screaming at him for MORE. He decided to try again, but this time he would focus on his desire to get bigger. As soon as he thought about growing, he felt the tingle ripple up and down his skin, like he had switched something on inside of himself. He stepped over to the sink and again “accidentally” brushed against a guy who was heading back to the showers, a chunky overweight older guy. Immediately, as soon as he made contact, he felt something, felt a rush of energy into this body, so fast it took his breath away. His shirt was cutting into his arms and chest now, his pants feeling uncomfortable against his waistline and his boxer briefs pressing hard against his thighs, bulge, and round butt. The Underarmour rode up, exposing a sliver of furry belly. His beard seemed fuller and his forearms looked swollen and hairy. He immediately went back over to the scale. 240! It worked. It was true… somehow, it was true. What could this have been from, Chuck thought to himself, excited and scared and confused and elated. “Researchers at the U of M are investigating a possible theft in some research equipment at the new 3D printing lab that is currently under renovation,” the TV in the locker room suddenly blared. Chuck looked up and saw a picture of the construction site had been working at all week. “Authorities say experimental nanotechnology has gone missing in the last few days and are claiming that the construction company in charge of the project might be at fault,” the news story continued. They droned on as Chuck went back over to his locker. Chuck looked down at his hands and remembered what had happened yesterday… that weird canister…the blue mist that had knocked him out…that oily substance that was somehow all gone when his boss found him. Another shiver rippled up Chuck’s spine and he knew it was true. Whatever he had been exposed to was inside him and had given him this power. A rising panic suddenly filled Chuck’s mind—what the fuck was wrong with him, was it going to poison his body, how would he get it out?—but it was suddenly snuffed out and replaced with the overwhelming need to get bigger. To feel that buzz again, to have more energy, to get more! He shook his head and wondered why he was so worried about it, when all that really mattered was getting bigger. He clapped his hands and adjusted the chubby in his shorts as he decided he wanted to lift all day. He had never felt more energized, never felt better in his life! He brushed by one more guy on his way back out to the gym, feeling a little surge of size pump into his body, 245lbs and ready to smash some PRs. THAT’s what mattered! He took off his hat and adjusted it—it suddenly felt too tight on his head—and sauntered off to the squat rack, his bigger shoulders and lats and thighs causing him to walk a little differently than he had been this morning. He fit his maroon and gold U of M hat back on his head and he grabbed a 45lb plate, lifting it up and racking it onto the bar. Chuck spent hours lifting, getting sweaty and ripe, stopping only to get a protein shake from the bar at the gym. He didn’t feel tired until late afternoon. He resisted the urge to drain more size, even though he wanted to; he could feel it, like an itch that needed to be scratched, but he didn’t want to cause a scene. At least not yet.

In this chapter, Chuck plays around with his fuck buddy Clint and starts to tap into something new and unexpected. Chapter 2 Chuck awoke the next day feeling good. He was still a little weirded out by what happened at the construction site the day before—the strange mist knocking him out and getting into his lungs, then disappearing by the time he woke up—but he didn’t feel any worse for wear. He thought about going to the doctor, but it’s not like his insurance would cover anything even if he was hurt. If anything Chuck felt strangely energized, like he had a little bit of a buzz going. He also felt very horny, he realized as he squeezed his thick 6 incher through the sheets of his messy bed. He bit his lip and growled, and his mind instinctively turned to thinking about getting bigger and stronger, about admiring big, muscular guys. He grabbed his phone and opened up Tumblr to start looking at size comparison pics—nothing turned him on more than seeing a big guy totally outsize someone next to them. He sighed and grunted heavily as he sat up, pulling his dick out and stroking softly, thinking about how hot it would be to be a foot taller and hundreds of pounds bigger than somebody, pounding away at a tight fuck hole, lifting them up and down… Chuck opened up Scruff on his phone and decided to message his buddy Clint, a friend he sometimes fooled around. “Feelin’ horny this morning, wanna cum over?” Chuck typed and hit send. Chuck was still pretty deep in the closet, especially with his family and guys at work, but he chatted with guys on Grindr and Scruff and occasionally had them over. Clint was a skinny, furry otter who liked Chuck’s beard and relatively thick build; he liked to hook up when he “wanted to scratch that bear itch”. Whatever Clint thought of him, Chuck didn’t care. He just liked getting his dick wet with the help of a smaller guy every so often, and got off on the size difference between his 210lb frame and Clint’s lean 170lbs. Clint was taller than him by a few inches, but it didn’t matter once he was underneath Chuck. Chuck’s phone chirped, and he smiled. Chuck opened the door and Clint walked in. “Hey big guy, thanks for texting,” Clint said as he slipped off his shoes and set his Starbucks on the table. “It had been a while and I have just been dying for a good fuck, the last couple weekends at the bar have been SO dead, I mean just it’s the same old faces every night and Liam wouldn’t shut up about…” Clint yapped and yapped as Chuck kinda tuned him out. This was the flip side of having him over for a fuck, but it was usually worth it. Looking at Clint, Chuck felt the buzz he had woken up with intensify, and his cock chubbed up more in his sweatpants. When Clint finally paused to breath, Chuck interjected. “You wanna get on with this, or what?” Chuck said gruffly, stepping closer to Clint’s slender frame and wrapping his arms around him. “Well well, aren’t we just hot to trot this morning? You’re looking good, bear!” Clint said as he turned to him and squeezed Chuck’s shoulders and arms. “You feel a little bigger!” Chuck growled. He liked hearing that, even though he wasn’t sure if it was true, since he hadn’t made much progress at the gym lately. “Thanks bud, I try but it’s hard with my work schedule,” he said and flexed a little, feeling happy to get attention. He started thinking about what it would be like to be bigger, and he felt his whole body buzz with sexual energy, like what he felt this morning but amplified. “I don’t know how you work construction, ugh,” Clint said as slipped out of Chuck’s arms and started walking back to the bedroom. “It just sounds exhausting and dirty, no thanks. I get tired enough at Starbucks!” Chuck shrugged and followed Clint, staring at the otter’s tight ass bouncing as he walked. Chuck scratched his beard and smiled, feeling his cock swell even harder. “Your ass looks good,” Chuck says hungrily, licking his lips. “Heh thanks big guy, you know I try to keep it tight for you,” Clint purred and took off his shirt, revealing the hairier-than-you’d-expect chest and tummy. He was lean and flat-chested, even skinny; 170lb is pretty thin on a 6’1” frame. Chuck followed suit, removing his tank top and moving in to make out. Copper colored hair covered Chuck’s chest and tummy in swirls, a tinge of grey starting to creep in from the top of his pecs. His paunch bounced a bit as he threw his shirt onto the ground. He slipped off his sweatpants and boxers, legs showing some muscle. Their tongues wrestled and Chuck rubbed his beard against Clint’s smooth face as they kissed. “Hehe, that tickles!” Clint said and pulled away, falling onto the bed. “You bears and your beards, grr!” he said in an exaggerated tone. “You like it, admit it,” Chuck said and followed Clint onto the bed, pressing his weight against the skinnier Clint. “Maybe a little, short stack,” Clint said and they kissed for a while longer, both of their cocks swelling up harder. Chuck pressed against Clint, feeling the skinny arms and chest pressing against his own bigger bulk. Chuck felt big for the first time in weeks, and compared the size of his arm with Clint’s. “Look how damn skinny you are, little otter,” Chuck said and flexed his relatively big arm next to Clint’s. “I’m a lot bigger than you!” Chuck said, pumping himself up and feeling a tingle run down his spine again as he thought about getting bigger. “Yeah big guy, bigger than me for sure, hehe!” Clint giggled and compared sizes. “Your belly’s bigger too, you know!” he zinged, jiggling Chuck’s tummy around for emphasis. “Eh, I don’t mind that at all, gotta get bigger all over!” Chuck growled, getting into it more now, and he felt his body tingle harder than before. “Yeah Chuck, I bet you wanna turn into a REALLY big bear, don’t you?” Clint said, rubbing his cock against Chuck’s and egging him on more, the hair on both of their chests scratching against each other. Clint knew what buttons to push. “Yeah… YEAH!” Chuck growled and wrapped his arms around the skinny otter beneath him, squeezing hard. For a moment, Chuck lost himself, caught up in the thought of growing bigger and bigger. He imagined himself at 250, 275, 300lbs or maybe even bigger someday, thick and strong, muscular and fat, a big muscle bear like the guys he saw on Tumblr and World’s Strongest Man shows, making guys like Clint look like waifs. He wanted to be bigger, more than he ever knew, the sudden, powerful desire for it all-consuming, and he gripped Clint tight, feeling a shiver run up his body. “Unnnngggghhhh wow you squeeze hard, bear!” Clint moaned, feeling Chuck bear hug him, feeling a sudden weird numbness spread through his body. He grimaced as a tiredness and lethargy wash over him, like he was high or drunk but not in a good way. Chuck, on the other hand, felt euphoric, imagining himself growing more, surging with more energy, becoming powerful and huge, losing himself in the fantasy as he squeezed the comparatively smaller Clint, who somehow felt smaller and skinnier in his grip as he bear hugged him. All he could think about was growing bigger—why had he never realized until now that it was the most important thing to him? He needed more, had to get more, could feel his body buzzing and tingling, couldn’t hear Clint asking him to stop squeezing so hard… He shook his head, got his bearings and released Clint, who gasped as he got his air back. Chuck sat up in the bad, blinking hard and coughing, feeling the last euphoric tingles shiver up his spine, realizing his cock was harder than it had ever been in his life. “Jesus Chuck that was some bear hug, I feel totally drained!” Clint said, getting his breath back. “That felt so good… you’re even bigger and stronger than I thought!” Chuck growled at that, feeling his pecs pulse, feeling like he did after a good workout, pumped and energized and horny. “Yeah, stronger than I thought too… damn, never felt anything like that before, I feel… amazing!” “You seriously look great, Chuck!” Clint said, reaching up to feel Chuck’s pumped up pecs and shoulders. “What can I say, fucking you makes me feel great! Now turn over and let me go to work,” Chuck ordered, feeling an authority he had never felt. “Ooh yeah, boss me around big guy, yes sir!” Clint said playfully, his ass puckering for it as he turned over and presented himself. Chuck lubed up his cock, which throbbed angrily, looking red and swollen, bigger than Chuck had ever seen it. He loosened Clint’s hole up with rough fingers, getting even harder as he contrasted the skinny otter’s thighs with his own thick ones. “Here comes your big bear, bud, get ready!” Chuck grunted and plowed into Clint, who moaned loudly. “Fuck, you feel tight, just how I like it!” “Yeah, fuck me big guy!” Clint groaned. Chuck looked down at his buddy, bent over and submissive, looking small next to his thicker frame. He felt strong, powerful, big! He fucked slow at first, feeling his thick cock plug Clint’s tight hole, pistoning in and out. Chuck flexed his pecs and arms as he fucked, his muscles feeling plumper and thicker than this morning. Was it just his imagination, or was he pumped up from sex? Whatever this new feeling was, he loved it. Chuck pounded into his buddy hard, harder than ever, his thick cock feeling swollen in the tight ass of his friend. He reached forward and grabbed his Clint’s hips, lifting up and adjusting his friend’s weight more easily than he ever remembered being able to and pulling him back farther onto his throbbing cock. “Unnnggg fuck me harder, Chuck, yeah you big fuckin’ bear!” Clint groaned, getting his bear fix, probably more than he expected. “Yeah, I love when you call me big bear, little guy, gonna pound you HARD,” Chuck growled, and thought about growing even bigger. He gripped Clint’s hips and pounded, machine-like. He closed his eyes and imagined himself even bigger, growing thicker and stronger, his cock stretching out Clint’s hole until it wouldn’t fit and again realizing he needed more size. As soon as he thought about that, he felt the familiar tingling feeling spread through his body again, making him feel euphoric, taking his breath away. It was all that mattered, being bigger, needing more, feeling powerful and strong, more more more big big big now now now… “Unnnggg Chuck, you’re making me so…ung…light headed,” Clint whimpered as he felt a cold numbness once again overtake him, Chuck’s cock filling him up even more. “Fuck me harder!” “Hhhhaaaaahh, fuck yeah,” Chuck breathed as his train of thought returned, and he felt tingles surge into his body, making him feel bigger, heavier, stronger. He looked down at himself, pecs fuller and rounder, his little gut bulging out more, bigger balls slapping against Clint’s ass, and he grunted deeply, feeling himself getting closer to climax. “Gonna get so damn big, fuck!” Chuck yelled as he exploded into Clint, cumming harder than he ever had in his life, his seed leaking out of Clint’s tight hole and oozing onto the sheets. They both panted and groaned for a while before Chuck removed himself from Clint with a slick popping noise, grunting and sighing as he did. He backed up, breathing heavily, and sauntered over the bathroom, his legs feeling plump and hard. “Holy shit,” was all Clint could manage. “Yeah, bud. That was awesome,” Chuck said as he grabbed a towel from the bathroom and tossed it over to Clint. “You really stretched me out, man, you felt…thicker than before,” Clint said groggily, like he was high. “Yeah man, I felt extra good today, super hard,” Chuck said and turned to grab a towel for himself in the bathroom. As he did, he saw himself in the mirror. He was noticeably bigger all over. His shoulders were wide, capped with round delts, curving up into bigger traps. His pecs looked thicker as he took a breath, and his belly paunched out a bit rounder. He raised an arm up and flexed his bicep, and it bunched up with more size than he remembered having. He grinned and laughed, not knowing what was going on but feeling amazing. “Hoo man I’m gonna be walking around like a cowboy today,” Clint said as he got up gingerly and walked over to the bathroom. Chuck moved past him to make way and noticed Clint didn’t seem that much taller, maybe an inch or two difference. Wasn’t Clint like 4 inches taller than him? What the hell… As Clint closed the door to leave, Chuck shook his head. He still felt bigger, pumped up, and energized even now that he had come down from his sex high. What was going on? He went back into the bathroom, looking himself over. It wasn’t a trick; he looked bigger. Maybe he just hadn’t noticed these gains before? Maybe he was just full from dinner last night? Whatever it was, Chuck felt good about his size for the first time in years…but he also felt more motivated to get huge than he had ever felt in his life. It was like something had unlocked in him, an intensity of his desire to get big he had never felt before. Any excuses he had made for himself earlier seemed silly to him now; what could possibly be more important than getting that energized feeling and growing more? He felt it deep in his bones, and it stuck around in the back of his head even as he ate his breakfast and put on his clothes. As he slipped into his shorts and pulled on his favorite Underarmor gym shirt, he swore it felt tighter than he remembered.