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Ok, so, first story…. I’ve been thinking about writing one of my own for a while but haven’t had the guts to do it until now. I apologize if there are errors in syntaxes, at school teachers don’t really specialize on cursing or sexual interaction. _______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________ Part 1 Well, it all first started pretty simple, when you think about it, most things usually do. First things first, name´s Christian, Chris for friends (if any). I’m a med student, top student but average in other aspects: 5’9’’, not athletic but not slim, hairy and I love it, and…. gay. However, schedules don’t really help my love life, nor my physique. That’s really frustrating since I’m attracted to muscular guys, but an average guy doesn’t attract much attention. I do get an occasional hook up, usually guys who are into hairy guys, but not anyone I yearn for. Then came one fateful afternoon. I got a call from an old friend. I was actually taken aback at first, and really tempted not to answer at first. You see, Jim, who I had once considered my best friend, hadn’t called me for at least 5 years. So, I was really surprised to hear his voice when I picked up the phone: -Hey Chris! What’s up man! -Well, life goes on you know? But I doubt you can notice that… -Come on, I know I’ve been a bad friend… -You can say that again -Jeez, I forget how ironic you can be when you’re mad. -Jim, anything else you wanna talk about besides my sarcasm? It’s already annoying having you talking to me as if it was yesterday when we last saw each other, but, it’s been 5 years. Five fucking years Jim! Where were you when I needed you the most?! -Easy man, I know I deserve this and more… -Really? -Let me talk, just as you tell other people -Fine – I hate when I’m stuck with my own morality – What do you want? -As I was saying before Mr. Resentful interrupted me, don’t say a word Chris –damn, he’s still got that ability to know when I will protest even before I try–, I know I’ve probably been the worst of friends. And I wanna make it up to you, or at least try. -Go on… -I know you’re a fan from Scheherazade’s stories. So, when I travelled to the Middle East… -You didn´t even leave the country! Filming a documentary in a Moorish building doesn’t count… -Shut up and listen man, you’ll make me loose the point. As I was saying before I was rudely interrupted -he said this with a playful smirk while I could only turn my eyes on him-, in my journey I found a picturesque scenery for my film. As I was about to enter a local café, my attention was drawn to an old woman who was selling junk in the street. At first, I thought it would be the classical useless stuff and when I was about to leave, the old woman asked me: -Looking for something in particular young man? -Not really, I’m just filming here, and all this scenery reminded me of a friend. -Oh, I see. Good friend of yours? -Him? Absolutely! Me, well I’ve neglected a little -that’s when I almost killed him with my eyes-, …fine, I’ve neglected a lot our friendship. Would you let me continue instead of enjoying this “I am totally right” moment??!! -Sorry -I said with a malicious smile. I won’t deny I was enjoying where this was going. After clearing his throat, he continued: …and when I saw you I thought you might have something my friend would like. He’s a fan of the One Thousand Nights, maybe I could find an “I’m sorry present” for him. -Are you really sorry young man? -I truly am, I know actions speak louder than words, and I’ve really been inactive. That’s my major problem, and the main reason I want to do something to make it up to him! At this point, I wouldn’t have cared if he got me something or not, his speech was heartbreaking, at least from my point of view. -Interesting. I may have something that fits him. What can you tell me about your friend? It will make it easier to find the right choice. -Well, Chris is a really nice guy. Always taking care of people and, as he says, “trying to make people see their true potential”. I don’t know how he manages that though. But, as a matter of fact he’s been hurt for that same reason several times, as people don’t appreciate him. They take him for granted, just as I did… -I’ve got to admit Chris, I told her that with a lot of remorse, but let me continue- -Have you ever read Mardrus’ version of Scheherazade? -Nope, probably Chris has. -No wonder why this place reminded you of him. Well, as a matter of fact, it is said that Mardrus’ version is actually pretty accurate, as Scheherazade did live among us a long time ago. Obviously, he made changes to the story and he never found out everything -that’s when she got out this little box-. May I present you the magic ring that once belonged Scheherazade. You won’t find this story anywhere, as only Scheherazade, in her wisdom, kept many secrets from the world. As you know, Scheherazade was a young woman who told stories every night to her king, as she wished to save the women in her kingdom, as the king married a new wife every night and executed her in the morning as a punishment for his first wife, the late queen, who had cheated on him. The detail that no one has ever talked about is this magic ring. It is said, that Scheherazade asked the magic ring for a solution to stop the executions. As a result, she acquired the knowledge to tell amazing stories and devised the well-known plan. -Wow! Does it really work? -Of course, young man. There’s a requirement though: the person who attempts to use the ring must acquire it fair and square, have a pure heart and have a strong will. If not, the ring will lose its power forever. -Incredible! That would be an awesome gift! Can it really do that? But how? -Have a strong will, think about what your heart desires and it will come true. But if it doesn’t, it was a very nice story, wasn’t it? So, if you’re interested, it would be $20.00 young man. -And that’s how I got your gift! -Ok…… I’m not really sure about it though. Besides, how are you sure it will fit? -Oh come on, you are the person with the strongest will I know. You never gave up, not after all the troubles you’ve had: mean classmates, that crazy girl that stalked you, …the loss of your parents. Come on man! At least try it on! It’s blue…. Your favorite color… That was the moment when I opened the little box he was giving me. It contained a silver ring with a blue stone, a sapphire maybe, or at least intended to be one. It had writings all over it, seemingly in Arabic. It looked nice, and I couldn’t name it, but I felt a connection to the ring. Wait a minute, a connection?! What was I thinking?! It was a weird moment, but then I tried it on. To my surprise it was the perfect size, just as if it was custom made. -See? I told you it would fit. Are you going to wish something? -The only thing I wish right now is that you and I go out and have some fun. The evening wasn’t remarkable: movies, dinner, a few beers. By the end of the night Jim had completely forgotten about the magical ring stuff. I, on the other hand, was giving it a serious thought from time to time. I’m not going to lie, as an avid reader of course I has read Mardrus’ version of the One Thousand and One Nights, or The One Thousand Nights and One Night to be more precise. It was a very interesting approach to a classic tale. But if it was true, there were a few things I had really given a thought to wish for if a chance like this would appear. I found myself arriving home thinking about this. The bright side of being an orphan is that you have all the place for yourself. Don’t get me wrong, I practically raised all by myself. Both my parents worked, so I was left alone at home after school. I learnt how to spend time by myself, even though I really cherished the time with my parents. When they both died at the accident, well, it was as if they had permanently gone to work. I do miss them, but I was already used to be alone before they died. When I arrived home, I hurried to leave all my stuff I had. Still with the ring in my hand, I went to my room in front of the full-body mirror I have. One of my biggest and wildest dreams is to be a muscular guy, a pretty muscular guy. However, I don’t want to lose control or get permanently too big I can’t go back a little. So, a while ago I had came up with a plan: if I ever got the chance to wish for something, it would be to have the power to alter my body in any way I want, as well other people’s bodies with a little bonus: I decide who gets to know a change has taken place, that is if I wish to get as big as Craig Golias I would be able to do so and everyone around me would think I had always been that big, unless I wished otherwise. With that in mind, I closed my eyes and thought: if your power is real (and I really want to believe it is) please grant my wish: to be able to change my body and anyone’s body for that matter in any way I want just by thinking it but apart from me, no one can remember the changes ever occurred, and only if I want, certain people will notice the changes. At first nothing happened, but then, there was a bright blue glow coming from the ring. I could only think: Yes! Finally! Something nice has happened! Part 2 I couldn’t believe it. There were so many things going in my mind: first of all, did I really have a strong will and a pure heart? Apparently so, as for the glow the ring gave a few moments ago, its magic had worked. Believe me, people mess up with your mind when they try to hurt you. That moment really cheered me up, I wasn’t the bastard I had been led to believe. Secondly, oh my, I can’t wait to try my powers! Where shall I begin? My first goal: be 7 feet tall. But how was I supposed to do it? The powers didn’t come with an instruction manual. Think Christian, think…. That’s it! Think! I started to think how amazing it would be to be 7ft tall, to be able to look above most people’s head. That’s when I felt it: I felt how my balance was changing and saw the floor from a higher view. And oh reality, my mirror wasn’t 7ft tall, I would miss everything! Unless… I wish the walls of my room had big mirror each covering them. A blue smoke appeared, and my wish came true. This was easy, maybe it would be useful to do other stuff…. In the meantime. Now I could see myself from every angle. Ok, let’s start. 5% fat…. Wow, so that’s why everyone at the gym said I had the shape for bodybuilding, let’s take advantage of that. But some other things first: full beard, no scars on the face, baritone voice, shoulder-length hair and more hair in the chest and in my treasure trail. By the way, full clothes on, though now my t-shirt and pants seemed small. To think I’m not half from done… Ok, let’s make it to size 48 without putting muscle, just bone structure. Now, a ten pack…. Oh yes that feels good, a brick wall. More shredded… yes, totally loving to feel the grooves between my abs. now, remain all the way long with a 30in waist. Mmmmm loose jeans…. Not for long. Bubble butt, bigger, that’s it (oh yes, I can be a total bottom) and able to take any dick but at the same time, as tight as possible. Now the front: 12in soft and 8in wide, also in a soft state, proportional when fully erect. Ops, on my way to find out which proportions will be. Focus, focus, pomegranate-size balls, able to produce a gallon of cum with orgasm. Oh my it’s getting harder to focus but I can make it. Before I completely loose it: I wish this ring fits me no matter the physical changes I go through. With that checked, where were we? Oh yes, restraining jeans. Tree trunks, so big it gets difficult to get my ankles together. All the leg muscles de….. oh yes….. defined, sartorius muscle visible, diamond cut… ugh calves Rrrrriiiippp, there go jeans. I’ll get of my shoes for this one: feet size 15. Wow, new balance, I almost fell down. Impressive, if I may say so. Well taking the whole picture it looks ridiculous: pieces of jeans hanging for their lives to two impressive tree trunks, a bubble butt with boxers that now look like a thong and a big cock begging for release. All of this attached to a skinny broad-shouldered torso. Best for last. But first things first: cock release. So much pre, I shall resist the urge to drink it… that give me an idea, but for later. Now, big pecs, bigger, that they block my view, perfect. A glass can rest over them, and my shirt’s neck is so stretched it now gives a sexy view of the shelf I now own. Back. Big, awesome back, that puts any pro bodybuilder to shame. Big lats, as wings, that force me to have a permanent 45 degree angle. Talking of which: big biceps, 24in arms for starters, with triceps resembling hooves. Big hands, long fine fingers, able to manipulate a scalpel, but also able to crush anything I want. Also, smooth fingertips but a callous palm, to be intimidating at a hand-shake but capable of caressing a lover. Rrriiipp. That’s when I lost it: so much power, so much strength, so manly, I had to cum. The best and biggest orgasm ever, it felt like a thousand of a regular orgasm and that still feels short to describe. I could only feel myself flexing and cumming. My instructions were accurate: I was cumming about a gallon after every orgasm, it took about 50 shots to finish each orgasm. What I never took in consideration was that I tend to have 4 or 5 orgasms. It was a mess, a really manly mess. That’s when I had an idea: I wish for my cum to be nutritious, for anyone who drinks cannot starve by only drinking my cum. I want it to be delicious for everyone and, at the moment I desire, my cum will act as the best aphrodisiac ever. Well, right now I have a lot of cum to drink/clean. But I can also pump it directly from the source to my mouth. It’s gonna be a long night. Imagine how awesome this is going to be when I have sex and use my new powers. I can’t wait, but I’m also hungry. Bon appetit! ________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________ Well, here’s my story for the time being. Hope you guys like it and have as much fun reading it as I had writing it. I hope to continue it soon. My exams area near so I’ll try to make time for writing. It’s my first story and my first post ever in this forum. I’m a little nervous about it. Any feedback will be appreciated!

Michael was nervous about joining a gym. He had avoided it for the first six months he had lived in Atlanta, but the slight flab gathering above his belt now made him panic. He knew he needed to exercise, but he just didn’t want to do it around big, muscled, sweaty men. They always made him get excited and Michael’s genetic blessing from his father and grandfather caused a very uncomfortable situation in the middle of any workout – not to mention at his crotch. It was like he became instant porn. To say Michael’s tool was huge was an understatement. Usually, when Michael dropped his pants in the bedroom for the first time most men either quickly left in fear or immediately made a joke, like “What do you want me to do with that thing, throw it over my shoulder and burp it?” Being monstrous below the belt was not a problem for Michael. On the contrary, he loved it. It made him feel powerful in so many ways. First of all, it helped to weed out the wimps. Any guy that was willing to be plowed by Michael’s ample endowment usually was the kind of guy that did extreme sports or had always been chosen first for teams when he was in junior high. These guys always seemed to be confident. Secondly, Michael felt powerful because his sex drive matched the size of his meat. He seemed to have a libido that just wouldn’t quit. His big cock rarely needed resting time between orgasms. It had been that way all of his life. All of these thoughts were racing through Michael’s mind as he anxiously waited for his new trainer – a guy named Saul – at the neighborhood gym that had come so highly recommended by most of his friends. “You must be Michael. I’m Saul.” The deep baritone voice made Michael’s balls tighten. He was sitting in a chair and when he looked up he beheld what could only be described as the most jacked, giant muscle daddy he had every seen. Suddenly, Michael was thrust back into the cave of a few days ago and the warm feeling that had surrounded his body as he touched the orb. It’s not that Michael has forgotten about his wish, it was just that his nervousness about the gym had made it slip his mind at that moment. The ginormous paw that was held out to him was the most gorgeous thing he had ever seen. He forced his smaller – infinitely more delicate looking – hand to reach up and shake as Saul took the chair beside him. The big man caused the piece of furniture look small and made for a child. “Holy fuck!” “Oh no, Michael, sorry to disappoint you. Is it because I’m older than you thought?” “Hell no, it’s because you’re so freaking chiseled . . . and so tall!” “Well thank you. So, I was thinking today we could start by filling out a chart on you – you know, so we could get to know each other a little and we could have a starting place for your work out routine. What is it you’d like to accomplish?” “Well for starters I’d like my legs to reach half the size of your arms. Um . . . I’m sorry, I don’t know why I said that. I’m just a little taken aback by how built you are. I . . . uh . . . I’d like to lose a little around the waist and maybe gain a little mass . . . uh, you know, bulk up a little. Sweet Jesus, I can’t stop staring at you.” “It’s okay, Michael. Don’t worry about it. How about strength? Do you want to increase that?” “Yeah, I guess. I don’t need to be super strong or anything. I think I’ll leave that to you.” “Okay. I’m sure you’ve heard this before, but another added benefit of working out is an increased sexual drive.” “Um . . . that’s never been a problem for me.” “Oh, that must make the girls happy.” “Well, I don’t know about the girls, but the boys are pretty pleased.” “Really . . . and what about the older men? Are they pleased, too?” “Well, to be perfectly frank, I’ve had a little trouble finding an older man that was able to keep up with me.” “Maybe you’ve finally met your match, sir.” “I don’t know, Saul, you have no idea just how much I don’t need to work out to grow in certain places.” “I have a pretty good picture, Michael, since you’ve been pretty stiff ever since I walked up.” “And yet it has a hell of a lot more to go until it’s fully hard.” “That’s exactly what I was hoping, Michael. I may be a huge man with bulging muscles, but when it comes to riding big things I’m as graceful as a ballerina. And my motto has always been, ‘There’s no such thing as too big.’ If you get what I mean, sir. Oops, that little comment made you grow more.” “Maybe after you show me how to work out I could buy you a coffee, Saul.” “Only if that coffee could turn into dinner later on. And then, after that, we could have fun measuring each other’s assets.”

Hi all you Embiggening peoples Here's a new story I'm working on. It's based on a classic Sci-fi Thriller starring Rock Hudson called Seconds. It's pretty dark and the transformations will come I promise. The First Chapter is expostion and setting the scene. Let me know what you think. I have wanted to write this down for a long time. I was unsure of where to start, unsure that anyone would believe me. Fear of ridicule and retribution were also a factor. There are people out there that I care for, I understand that now. People that can and will be harmed or worse if I breathe a word of this to another living soul. That is why I am writing this down. So you, dear reader can make your mind up, and maybe never make the same mistake I did. The organisation that I am involved with have such power, they are everywhere and could be anyone. Please be careful and more than that, be satisfied with the life you have, the life that you can control. Be the master of your own destiny. Disinterest and Boredom can lead to loathing. Not raging hate but a deep and slow loathing where you find that you care about nothing. My name is or was Elliot Shaw. I was the Assistant manager of a good-sized merchant bank downtown and was told I was the next in line for promotion when my current boss, a happily stolid man of 60 retired. I’d done my duty at the bank. Worked the late nights and did the weekend conferences. I’ve helped business and people achieve their dreams and grow for most of my working life and I had never had the satisfaction of having it for myself. I am a man, old before my time. I am in my late forties and look older, my hair has greyed and thinned earlier than it should have as if it’s reflecting the dullness and decay I have inside me. Average size and build with a typical middle age paunch from the same home cooked bland food every night. I left work on this mid-week night the same way I had done day after day, week after week, year after slow unending year. As I left the bank that evening and headed towards the station it started to rain. It was that slow annoying drizzle that manages to get everyone in it. It makes everything grey and blurry. Shades of grey amongst shades of grey. All the commuters in the city including myself trudged their way to their transport home. As it was the city centre I headed towards the main station as I always did. I had no umbrella, as usual. So I pulled up my collar and walked on through the rain. As I neared the station the rain seemed to ease a little. I put my collar down and grabbed an evening newspaper from the seller outside the station entrance and walked in and joined the throng of commuters, I was on auto-pilot. I had done this journey so many times before and didn’t really pay much attention to the world around me but as I headed to my platform I had a tap on the shoulder. I stopped and turned and there was a man in front of me. It could have been me. He was the same as me really, grey, indistinct and unremarkable. I was about to speak when he grabbed my hand and put a small piece of paper into it. “Go to this address. Use the name Wilson.” He said and looked around briefly. “Do not tell anyone about this or there will be consequences.” He warned. I was about to ask him what he meant but with that he turned into the flow of the crowd and was gone. I was a bit shocked for a second but as I looked at the paper the station announced the train was getting ready to leave. I put the small slip of paper into my pocket and boarded my train and found a seat for the 30-minute journey to my home station. I sat and made myself comfortable. I folded my paper and found it on the crossword page, for some reason I had never completed this crossword. It was a metaphor for my life. Incomplete. My thoughts wandered as I looked up from the paper out of the window and watched the rain spackled windows and the grey suburban landscape beyond pass by. I couldn’t concentrate, hadn’t been able to really since Monday night and the weird call I got. The guy with the slip of paper just added it’s ingredients to the general cocktail of weirdness. I really had this unshakable feeling that I was heading for a crossroads in my life. I took the little slip of paper out of my pocket and looked at it. It contained one line of writing on it, an address. I took out my glasses and read it. 135 Hanover st That was it. Nothing else. I felt a sense of weird expectation, I don’t know why. This one handwritten line was to change my life forever. I just didn’t know it yet. I was dragged out of my reverie by the announcement of my station. I was surprised, had it really been 30 minutes ? I gathered my things and left the train and trudged my way through the rain to my small house that was about 10 minutes away from the station. My wife was sat in the living room reading from a tablet, some novel or other. We both had our hobbies. She read romances and I usually went into the garden. We lived together in the same house and were fine as long as we didn’t have to actually interact much. “It’s still raining hard out there.” I told her, stating the obvious just to have something to say to her. She didn’t hear me, so engrossed in the 19th century bodice ripper was she. Either that or she was just ignoring me. I chose to believe the first one. I took my coat off and dumped the now sodden newspaper on the stand in the hallway. I caught sight of myself in the mirror and look away quickly. I was grey. It was like the rain had just leeched all the colour and life from me. It was the same look I had every day and had done for the last few years. I looked and felt old. I tried to shake the thought and entered the living room. She looked up then. She tried to smile in welcome but it stopped just before it reached her lips. Her eyes were still beautiful, as lovely as they were when I first met her all those years ago. They looked tired though. The last few years had been hard on her too. A loveless, dull marriage will do that. I did love her once, I loved her very much. Not any more. It’s hard to love anyone when you can barely stand to look at yourself. “It’s chicken for dinner.” She informed me. “It’ll be ready in about half an hour.” She said and turned her attention back to the kindle and the world of gardeners and ladies of the manor. We ate our dinner in silence. She was a good cook but it still tasted like paste to me. I still couldn’t shake this feeling of imminent…Something. “What’s wrong?” she said. “I..I had a weird experience on the way home.” I said. As I did the man’s warning came into my head. “What was it?” she asked. “Nothing. “ I lied “Just a bum asking for change.” I told her “Oh.” She said. I could tell by her tone she didn’t quite believe me. “I thought it might have been another call like you had the other night.” She said “No, nothing like that.” I said. The call had been weird to say the least. First of all it was on a land line that we kept purely because the internet service had provided one with their hub. Also it was one of the few things we had decided together as we had wanted to keep the old phone number we had. This had been done some time ago when we felt sentimental enough about these things. The rest of the night continued in silence as we both did our thing. She was watching some drivel on the TV and I browsed gardening ideas on the web. As I did a notification popped up on the screen. I opened my email and it was from an anonymous address and I wouldn’t have opened it if it wasn’t for the email address. It was from an old friend of mine. We went to school together and then were roommates in college. It was just a one line message it said. ANSWER THE PHONE. The phone, the house phone started to ring.

Javier checked his email – before he even got out of bed. The phone was resting on the unused pillow beside him. He had only been awake for about forty-five seconds, but his desire to hear something from Jason and Michael now ruled almost every waking second of his day. He had always checked email a lot, but now he looked at it compulsively. There were no messages. He had been back in New York for only three days. He was still shocked that he had absolutely no jet lag, something he attributed to the wishing stone, and was amazed at how good he continued to feel. He just knew the stone was helping him to be ready for the inevitable, but his wish still hadn’t come true, yet. He had been on high alert – on the flight back home, at the gym, at the two or three parties he had attended, and at all times, really – but there had been no confirmation of his wish. He wasn’t giving up hope, but he was getting a little impatient. He re-read the message Jason had sent the night before – encouraging him to wait and assuring him the moment would be there soon. As he showered, his morning hard-on got in the way. Instinctively, he knew this was a side effect of touching the wishing stone, as well. He tended to wake up feeling aroused, but his morning wood had lately become so intense it felt like a Sequoia. Jason and Michael had reported the same joyous inconvenience. As much as Javier wanted to release the mounting pressure – he waited; instinctively knowing it was what he should do. Saving himself for his wish seemed natural and right. As he started to descend into the subway station near his house something in the gorgeous day called out to him and he decided to walk the twelve blocks to work. This was not something he did often – as a matter of fact, he never did it – but today he was called to walk. As he started down the busy street he began to look around – hoping to catch the eye of someone or notice a person who was staring at him. This is what waiting for the wish to come true had done to all three men. They constantly looked for the answer they knew would come – but they were becoming impatient. Javier turned down a side street – a short cut he had recently learned about through a friend. Instantly, he noticed the street was empty, which almost never happened in this city. Javier didn’t take note of it too much, but it did strike him as odd. Mid-way down the short block, while he was passing a construction site for a re-model of an old building, he suddenly heard a loud whistle and then a deep growl-like sound that made his dick harden. He glanced up and the morning sun blinded him a little – causing him to only see the outline of someone jumping from a jutting girder at the second floor level of the building to the top of the brick wall surrounding the property and then dropping perfectly to the sidewalk just in front of him. It took a few minutes for Javier’s eyes to adjust and take in the figure before him. “Damn, son, you’re the finest thing this old man has seen in a very long time. You made my juices boil from just one look – and I was three-stories up! You’re hotter than an August night orgy with ten men.” Suddenly, the same warm feeling that had enveloped his body as he had stood in the cave and touched the wishing stone surrounded him again. This was really all the confirmation he needed, but the glorious being that stood in front of him immediately proved the golden orb was the real deal – for the man was exactly what Javier had wished for. It started with what was clearly a neat salt and pepper crew cut underneath the white hardhat, the wrinkles at the corners of sparkling blue-gray eyes, the perfectly trimmed white goatee that framed a jaw-line that could obviously cut diamonds, and then led to the barely contained huge torso plastered with a sweat-covered, muscle-hugging tank top that somehow emphasized the massive right biceps adorned with a tattoo of a flapping rainbow flag. The dreamboat was finished off with skin-tight, well-worn, faded blue jeans that allowed the striations in his giant thighs to be emphasized and did absolutely nothing to hide a daddy crotch that bulged to mouth-watering perfection. “What’s your name, Mr. Sexy?” “Uh . . . Javier.” “Damn, Javier, please make this old man happy as hell and tell me you’re not taken.” “Um . . . I’m not taken.” “Aw, sweet fuck, Javier, that’s the best thing I’ve ever heard. The name’s Hank, but the guys all call me Tank. I guess you can see why, huh, cutie?” “Yes sir.” “I’m hoping to hell, sexy man, that you’re into big older dudes cause I can’t think of anything in my entire life I’ve ever wanted more than I want that fine body of yours. Damn, I could eat you all up. Make an old geezer’s day and tell him you’d like to be taken to dinner, gazed at lovingly, and treated like a prince. I promise I’ll make it worth it. I’ve got enough hard meat on me to make you very happy, I can guarantee that.” “I’d love . . . um . . . all of that, Hank.” “Hot damn! I’m probably going to have to wank off hard three or four times just anticipating the date. You make me want to flex, little Javy.” And right there, in the middle of the sidewalk, Hank leaned forward and tensed his arms into a most muscular pose for Javier’s benefit. It was the kind of flex that made the onlooker weak in the knees and a little scared. All Javier saw was bulging muscles everywhere and a smile on the older man’s face that promised mischief, cockiness, and more pleasure than the younger man had ever dreamed of.

Long time lurker - finally got my fingers down to write a story, and hopefully many more to come. Posted in WarpMyMind (leejhaw) and MuscleGrowth.org (shawnkid). -Chapter 1- Meet Charles "Sup," my roommate nonchalantly greeted me as he walked out his room. My eyes almost fell out of its socket. The reason is apparent - my body-conscious roommate is walking around half naked. Beneath his grey sweatpants, his VPL proves that he's freeballing too. That could only mean one thing - it worked. What I did actually work! It's true - some of us are more susceptive to hypnosis. And it comes in many forms, you have the usual suspects: binaural, subliminal, and the trance, which opens up a wide array of possibilities, especially for a closeted gay man like me. It's financially impossible to live in the city nowadays, especially when the rental is through the roof. Since I'm the only occupant in the one-room studio, it's natural to resort to renting out the room to another person to offset the cost to enjoy the convenience of the centrally-located apartment in the city. The first time I met Charles, he wasn't much of a looker. I blame it on his hair, which is in need of serious professional help. He was wearing an oversized t-shirt that did not do justice to a man of his size. He works at the local coffee shop down the road, which explains the coffee scent in his hair whenever he walked past me. I reckoned he's around 25 years old, though I did not actually ask. He promised to clean the entire place once a week, I couldn't be any happier. Truth to be told, I was kind of desperate, and he looked decent enough - at least he has a job - so we shook on a deal. When I stumbled upon the whole new concept of hypnosis, I was thrilled. But, how would I know if it truly worked if I have done so on myself? It wouldn't take anyone much to consider the case of convenience, right under the same roof. I went to the local hardware shop and bought some speakers and downloaded some audio software on my computer. It wasn't easy to get this figure out, but I was really eager to try. When Charles left for work at 7 am, I set my plan in motion. I equipped his room with speakers over the plastic ceiling and wired it across my working desk. So, it would play whatever I needed it to play for an extended period of time, albeit needing to run in and out just to check if the volume is optimal for subliminal tracks to play without causing any distress and potential fallout before the plan see the day of light. I move quickly, knowing that he will come back in the evening after dinner. And the rest will happen throughout the night. My moral conscience would reprimand me if I ruin one's life for my own pleasure. So I decided to start off my experiment with something light. After going through tons of hypnosis books, I attempted to write a hypnosis track that focuses on confidence and preferences. Charles would sleep naked because it's more energy efficient as such - less laundry and less electricity needed to keep cool. He would be more comfortable with his own body, and perhaps begin pay attention to his body more. That should be relatively fine and not qualified as manipulative? I have my doubts, especially on my ever-changing standards. Heh - oh well. I let the track run for a week until one faithful morning - I see my roommate walking out of his room with nothing over his bare torso. I must say, he definitely look better with his shirt off. Why would he hide his toned body over all the baggy shirts - and that would be the next thing to go. And now I know my proof of concept works. I sat back down on my computer and prepared the next script for my dearest roommate, Charles.

Thanks for the kind words! Hopefully you'll like my next parts just as much.

Hey. A new story. This one's a bit of an experiment. -X- ==== Really? No? Look, it's fine if you're iffy on the whole proposition. I know it sounds like bullshit. So let me tell you about Joey's story. It all started when he decided to juice, which probably tells you a bit about him. You'd be right if you guessed he was on the small side, back then. Like you. Not scrawny, no. He worked out too much for that, and 167 pounds lean and pumped at 5'7 isn't a bad build, even if he did claim to be 5'8 most of the time. He worked hard for that inch: wore thick-soled shoes; spiked his hair. But he worked out with Trevor Millar, so he could be excused for feeling a bit inadequate. You don't remember Trevor? Right, of course. He moved away last year. BMOC for as long as anyone could remember. Tall; a bit over six feet, and he'd been lifting since he was a kid and it showed. That platinum blond hair and dark tan of his were the perfect complements to the body of your dreams. Huge chest, lean waist; bis that popped like baseballs when he flexed. And let's face it--when wasn't Trevor flexing? Or shirtless. The word around town was that he was allergic to shirts. So, like I was saying, the two of them worked out together. For a while it was good for them both. They pushed each other. They grew. The problem was that Trevor always grew more. Faster. And that's why, earlier in the week, Trevor had told Joey they couldn't work out together any more. "You'd only be holding me back," he'd said. That's why Joey got the juice. He wouldn't say where he got it from, exactly. Never did. But here in San Cristobal, things like this happen, and you just start to accept that it's how things are. The Saturday that it all went down, Joey showed up to Trevor's place with white smile and a hard glint in his eye. When Trevor opened the door, Joey barely noticed. That wasn't like Joey, not at all. He always went a bit wide-eyed around Trevor. Let him take the lead when hanging out, or in the gym. In bed, too, but they'd stopped doing that when Trevor had gotten bored and moved on to bigger and better guys that were more his taste. Trevor wasn't wearing much beyond a pair of gym shorts that day. He folded his arms across his chest, the huge globes tightening with his irritation. His arms flexed dangerously, the blue veins straining under the skin. He wasn't used to being disregarded. He took note of what had superseded his presence in Joey's attention. The smaller jock was cradling a leather-bound case in his hand. He kept stroking the clasp on it. It was only when the weight of Trevor's glower fell upon him that he looked up at last. "Hey dude. Can I come in?" he asked, and pushed past Trevor into his untidy apartment without waiting for a response. That didn't improve Trevor's mood any. It was messy inside, but not much more than usual. A half-drank protein shake on the den table and some weights scattered on the ground, right next to a mirror so that Trevor could watch himself lift. The weights were more than Joey could lift for sure. And the place smelled like man. A bit of musk, some sweat, the faint hint of laundry waiting to be done. Nothing too foul, just unabashedly masculine. It normally sent a little jolt straight to Joey's groin, and sometimes enough so that he had to hide his body's reaction, but to be honest, he didn't have much down there to conceal. Not then, anyway. "What's up with you?" Trevor asked. His eyes followed Joey's fingers as they traced over the case. He was pretty horny that day, and wondered if they wouldn't look better stroking him off. "I finally got this stuff," said Joey, almost as if he was talking to himself. "Been looking for it for a while, but this dealer I know came through." For a second, Trevor thought he meant drugs. Then, awareness dawned. "You're doing 'roids, bro?" That brought Joey out of it. With a deft flick of his wrist, he popped the case open. Whatever was inside didn't look like steroids. There were just two pencil-thin syringes. The liquid inside them was a bit greyish, a bit glittery, like liquid metal. Quicksilver, but darker. "Fuck no, man. This is way stronger; way faster," Joey said. "It's just... a bit of a gamble, that's all." The first part of his proposal had enticed Trevor, but the second, well, that didn't sound good. He scrunched up his features. Even making a face, he was beautiful. Bronzed skin, rosy lips, blue eyes the color of calm seas. A little too pretty for a guy his size, but no one was stupid enough to say it. "What do you mean?" Joey shrugged. "Doesn't work for everyone, the guy said. And if it doesn't--" "Well, that's fucking dumb," Trevor thundered. "Sounds like a good excuse for when it doesn't work. How do you know it won't kill you?" He reached for the case. Joey yanked it away. "It's not gonna. I trust my guy." He didn't sound so sure. "Whatever, man," said Trevor, rolling his eyes. "If you think it'll help you keep up. I clearly don't need the shit." He flexed to prove his point, bringing his big split biceps peak up in front of Joey's face. That pulled the smaller guy's eyes away from his new juice. It also had the reaction that Trevor had been looking for. The smallest hint of movement stirred in Joey's shorts. "Wow," said Joey, in spite of himself. "You're bigger." "Always. Hey, I was thinking. I'm a little bit horny," said Trevor. He reached down with one hand and adjusted his bulge lewdly. Still completely soft, the thick tube of meat hung a good way down his thigh. Trevor was gifted everywhere. Even at his softest, he was longer and wider than Joey was hard. And at its full size, Trevor's beast was-- "No, bro. I wanna try this stuff here with you. That's why I brought it," Joey said. "Like I said..." "Fine. You don't have to try it," said Joey. "More for me, I guess." Without waiting for any more argument, Joey set the case down on the messy table. He pried one of the syringes free and brought it up to the light, flicking it with his fingertip like he'd seen mad scientists do on TV. Maybe it was a bit crazy, but as his eyes drifted back to his behemoth of a buddy, he knew what he had to do. Like he'd been told, he jabbed the syringe into the flesh of his shoulder and squeezed the plunger until it wouldn't go down any more. He shivered. "You all right?" Trevor asked, evincing a rare bit of concern. He had a look on his face like Joey might keel over at any second, but as seconds passed and that didn't happen, his features settled back into vague disinterest. "Yeah, feels fine. Like any other shot I've ever had," Joey said. He sounded a bit distracted. Trevor shrugged his boulder-like shoulders. "So you going to keep on it for a few weeks, see what it does?" Joey frowned. "No, he said it oughtta be instant. Do I look any bigger to you?" He flexed his own arm and looked down at it. It was a nice ball of muscle, if you were into that sort of thing, but no bigger than before. Just fourteen and a half inches, where it had been stuck for months. "You got robbed. Hope you didn't pay too much. Guess you're gonna have to get big the hard way," Trevor couldn't resist the mocking smirk that twisted his lips. But then Joey grunted. It sounded like the wind had been knocked out of him. Trevor's sneer faltered. "What's wrong?" "Nothing," said Joey. Gasped, really. "Feels really good, actually." He grunted again, and this time a spasm seemed to go through his body, like all his small and well-toned muscles were clenching at once, even his still-flexed arm. Especially his arm, which seemed to flex a little harder and rise a little higher, and didn't go back down when the spasm had spent itself. Trevor reached out to touch it without asking. His big, callused hand easily spanned the solid rise of muscle. It still wasn't especially large, but he found himself wondering if it was just a bit bigger than before. Had it always been so hard? He knew Joey had been working his ass off lately. The next spasm answered his questions. It surged through Joey, rocking his body, much more intense than its predecessors. As it passed through little Joey, he seemed to swell, expanding in every direction. Broader, thicker, even taller. His arm, still in Trevor's grip, piled on an inch of mass easily. More, it hardened, turning to concrete beneath his workout buddy's fingers. Trevor's hand fell away, shaking. Disbelief made his eyes wide and his face pale. "Fuck yeah, man!" That was all Joey could manage between spasms. Another one hit, and his toes burst through tennis shoes suddenly too small for his growing feet. A second, and seams popped along the shoulders and arms of his shirt. With the third, his grunts dropped in pitch from tenor to rich baritone. It looked like he should be in pain, with his body twisting and transforming, muscles reshaping themselves and pressing their jagged striations up under his skin. But pleasure drowned out whatever pain Joey felt, a fact made clear by the steel-hard impression of his average member pressed up against the fabric of his gym shorts. They were increasingly inadequate as his ass swelled into two spheres of solid muscle. He stretched up to his full height. To Trevor's shock, 'little' Joey's eyes were just a shade below his own. When Joey groaned once more, Trevor braced himself to see his formerly small partner surpass him. He held his breath. But Joey didn't get any taller or any broader. Instead, his cock twitched in his shorts. He threw his head back, moaning as if he might cum. Instead, the shape of his dick lengthened and widened, straining out like a water balloon. Another jerk and it swelled again, going from average to thick, and by the third, it strained toward his waist. The changes subsided abruptly, leaving him gasping and swaying and his shorts drenched with a torrent of precum. When at last he came to himself, Joey saw Trevor still shocked and staring. Trevor, who'd always seemed impossibly large, who was now not that much bigger than the new and improved Joey. Trevor, whose gaze was developing a tinge of envy. Trevor, whose impossible cock was at full mast in his shorts. Over Joey, and the stud he had become. As Joey regarded his gym partner, still riding the wave of hormones and adrenaline from his incredible transformation, he felt that something familiar was missing. It took him a moment, and then he realized what it was. He'd always been a little afraid of Trevor whenever they'd spent time together. Whether it was their size difference, or his larger friend's somewhat mercurial temper, all of their interactions had been drenched in an undercurrent of fear. And now that fear was gone. "You like what you see?" Joey asked, ego buoyed by endorphins and newfound confidence. He tried to lift his shirt, but it was much too small for that. Painted on, almost. So he reached up, and with boldness that surprised even he, tore it at the neck. It ripped like tissue paper, revealing two heaving pecs bulging beneath a thin dusting of dark hair. Below them were eight perfect abdominals, marching downward toward his groin with the precision of a perfectly cobbled path. He couldn't wait to see his new cock. So he didn't. He peeled his precum-soaked shorts away from his Adonis belt and tugged them down, which wasn't easy given the mass of his legs and muscle ass. It was so worth it. His hands had grown along with him. Whereas before, he'd been able to stroke his dick with a few fingers, now it took both hands to span the shaft. There were at least a couple inches of hot, veiny meat extending beyond them. And good luck closing those fingers around the tower of flesh. It was way too thick for that now. In that time, Trevor had recovered. "My turn," he said. He grabbed the second syringe. Joey reached for it, but Trevor swiped it away. "You said I could have it." "You didn't want it," said Joey. "I do now," said Trevor. He jammed it into his shoulder and injected the grey gunk inside. All the old feelings flooded back into Joey: the fear, the jealousy, the frustration. He'd come over meaning to share the experience with Trevor, but now that he was finally on par with his friend, he liked it. And now Trevor would be the big guy again, except this time, he'd be gigantic. Trevor, for his part, seemed eager to reestablish his dominance. Deep blue eyes shining with triumph, he cast the syringe aside and hiked his shorts down with his thumbs. His double-digit dick thwacked against his belly. Even the new Joey had to marvel its length and width. "Let's see how big you got, stud," said Trevor, adding a teasing, "While we're still close in size." He reached out and grabbed Joey's dick, pressing the two oversized cocks against each other. To Joey's shock, his was nearly as long as Trevor's, and maybe just a bit wider. Even after all that change, Joey was still second best. Trevor was still a little broader, about an inch taller. Still the better man. Trevor grinned at him. "I think I feel it starting." And then something happened that neither of them expected. Trevor's body spasmed all over, ripping the breath from his lungs. When the fit passed, he found that he was staring at Joey dead in the eyes. Well, that wasn't right. He glanced down, thinking that Joey was standing on the tips of his toes, or maybe wearing those thick-soled shoes he'd always worn to boost his height. But no, Joey's feet were flat on the ground. And they were bare, his ruined shoes on the ground nearby. With a wave of weakness, the room spun around him. When he was able to collect his thoughts, Joey was supporting him with one big hand on Trevor's arm. That hand looked bigger than it had before. "What the fuck?" Trevor asked. "I took the shit. Why are you growing again?" Joey hesitated for a heartbeat, a specter of his old fear staying his tongue. "I don't think I'm changing. You are," he said, at last. "That's not how this shit works!" Joey backed away, and Trevor stumbled. "I tried to say--" "You what!?" "It's a bit of a gamble, the guy said. Some people have an inverse reaction," Joey managed, his features going rigid with horror as Trevor slipped down another inch or two. Then Trevor made his second big mistake. He took a swing at Joey. Joey caught the fist easily. In fact, he was shocked that it had been so easy. Trevor had always seemed like a giant bull, unstoppable in his power. But at that moment, it dawned on Joey that he was the bigger man. He was in control. Trevor took the lesson a bit more slowly. His hands scrabbled for purchase but found only sweat-slicked bulges of hot muscle. That was his second mistake, because the writhing of his dwindling body only served to turn Joey on. "C'mon," Joey said, his rush of confidence rekindling. Trevor wrestling against his body with such futility made him feel almost godlike. And like a god, he decided to take what he wanted. Trevor's tremendous cock bounced as Joey hefted him in the air with surprising ease. He wondered, absently, how much mass Trevor had lost already. The change seemed to be slowing, now, but he couldn't be much larger than Joey had been before. All rational thought left the moment the head of his new-grown dick found Trevor's hole. The former jock's cursing and struggles halted in one cry of mingled pain and pleasure as Joey pushed in. It didn't take Joey long. He used Trevor, holding him easily aloft. Only a few long thrusts into his tight ass, and Joey's long-held load churned up in his balls, molten and white hot. Trevor came first. With every spurt that sprayed out of his cock, it wilted a bit, until it didn't look very impressive at all. And for Joey, that was all it took. He was the bigger man. Bigger and better in every way. That sent him over the edge, his cock bucking and filling Trevor with his seed. The orgasm stretched on into forever. When it was all over with, Trevor huddled up on the couch, staring at Joey with a mixture of hate and envy as he tried on one of Trevor's tank tops. It fit, and that just made Joey smile. He wanted to feel bad, but everything that had happened, Trevor had done to himself. Minus the last part, of course, and that wasn't anything they hadn't done together dozens of times before. So, he was pretty much done with guilt when he turned to Trevor and said, "I'm going to go to the gym. I'd invite you, but you know how it goes. You'd only be holding me back." And that's how Joey got big, and how Trevor got small. Yeah, it's a gamble, but you look like the gambling type. The price? Negotiable. Really, the important part is that there's one big rule. You don't tell anyone where you got it. Just like Joey. You don't, because that could mess with what we're setting into motion here, and the boss wouldn't like that at all. No, no. I'm not threatening. Just saying. He's been working at this for a while, ever since that mess back in '03. And, well, that's more 'need to know' information, and you... all you should care about is the fact that this little syringe has your wildest dreams in it. Or your worst nightmares, sure. But I can tell your answer already from the look in your eyes. Heck, I can practically hear you thinking it. So what do you say? Are you in?

One of the ideas that came to me for Storyversary. Have two other projects, collabs, I'm working on, but needed to get this out of my head first. LOL Hope you enjoy. He Who Protesteth Too Much... by F_R_Eaky "Senator Roberts! You are just a sick SICK man!" bellowed Senator Michael Santini. His little head on his small framed body turning beat red as he looked up to Senator Caleb Roberts. Senator Roberts was a pretty good looking man for being in his mid fifties. His hair was still very thick and lush, vibrant, glistening ebony with streaks and flecks of grey and silver popping through. This sat on a handsome, modelesque face with sparkling blue eyes, and despite him being an older man, enjoyed wearing a beard always only as long or as full as three day old scruff. This hawt looking face sat upon a body that rose to a decent 6' 4" height that was very broad and very thick with muscle. His waist was just starting to give, losing some of its tightness, but currently he only looked like an older style bodybuilder where the waist and abs were the same thickness as his hips. Despite its thickness those abs still poked through with quite some size and definition; he would probably develop one of those off seasoned roid guts. But he wasn't quite as large as a bodybuilder. No... more like a personal trainer, maybe up to a wrestler. Although his hands were large and thick, looking like he had lifted since birth, and his feet were large and manly, thick and long. A size 16. And all of that body covered in thick, feathery, thin hair, just as black and speckled with white and grey as his head was. The body hair covered his chest, abdominals, arms, crotch, and legs completely, but it was so thick one couldn't see the muscular definition he had. Senator Michael Santini on the other hand, was short. Around 5' 4" tall, with a midsection that been developing since he started in politics some 35 years ago. His gut was so round, Senator Roberts often wondered if he pushed Santini over, would Santini simply bounce back up like the ball his gut was. He had the build of a weeble....an oompa-loompa. .. fake orange tan, too. His hair had already gone white and was quite balding. He kept his face perfectly shaven and clean. He had spectacles that partially hid his dulling brown eyes. His large fat jowls quivered and shook whenever he was angry. And tonight he was. "I can't believe you're pushing that mother fucking, damn homo agenda again!." "Michael, I only want equality for us. We have the ability to marry I want to make sure inheritance and hospital visitations and other things hetero sexual couples are entitled to are there for us as well." "It goes against nature. NATURE! It goes against GOD! And how disgusting, you and that man-child of yours." "That's my partner, and he's not a man-child. He's thirty yea...." "He's twenty-five years younger than you. That's not right. It's sickening!" "Well, there's nothing you can do about it. We're married, living in our own house, here in D.C. We don't attend your parties out of respect to you. We don't send you our Christmas cards. Just friggin' deal with it, you decrepit, old, blow-hard!" "OLD! You and I are...." "But no one would know it, would they? You look twenty years older than you are. You hold stuff in, so much anger, another five years and you'll look like the Grim Reaper, himself!" "Well... I reached the end of my rope!" "Good. Let go and fall." "I mean it. I'm not taking any more of your people's shit?" "You know what? I think you need to calm down. Why don't you go cash in your points at 'Whores R Us' this evening?" "YOU BASTARD!" And with that Senator Santini swung his heavy briefcase right into Roberts' groin. Roberts double over in pain, only to meet the briefcase side to face, flipping back over his car's trunk lid. "Are you nuts?!" Apparently the answer was yes, for at that moment, Senator Santini pulled a knife out from his fancy walking stick and attempted to take a jab. However, with Senator Roberts shaking his car a bit, it alerted his bodyguards and they came streaming out of the miniature limo. All of them easily between the 6' 6" to 6' 10" mark, with very well developed musculature that threatened to pop off every chest button from their button up shirts. Quickly one grabbed Senator Santini's hand and wrenched it backwards, forcing the knife to drop from his hand. Santini sputtered and cursed, under the questions the body guards had inquiring if they should call the police or just dump him off by his car. "No..." said Senator Roberts very solemnly. "I, too, have had enough. Me think the man dost protest too much, and we all know what that usually means. ... ... ... I have something better in mind for him. You two, go ice his tires and rip whatever you can get a hold of under the hood. You two hold him right there." Reaching into his car, Senator grabbed something out of his briefcase that looked long, wooden, highly polished, and slightly tapered at one end. Pointing it directly at Senator Santini's crotch, Senator Roberts looked as though he swelled a little larger, became a bit brighter, and then a low whisper came out of his mouth.... "Libido organum mutare te!" There was spark of light that shot out the stick that struck Santini's crotch, made it glow, made his penis and testicles radiate warmth, and then there was nothing. Senator Santini rolled his eyes back a little bit and curled his toes in his shoes as though he were having a slight orgasm. "What.... what have you done to me?" "Let us see exactly what you're made of, Michael. You will have to walk home tonight. I will make sure no one, nothing, will pick you up. You must walk home, and as you do so, this spell will cause your, what I'm sure is a minute pecker and cheerio sized balls, to grow.... the more it grows, the more it will make you grow later, turning you into a true paragon of whatever you are. If you like women, you'll become a good looking, womanizing, younger, middle-aged man again. If you don't... .... .... Well, let's just allow the magic of the universe to do what it wills." And with that two of Roberts bodyguards carried Santini and his briefcase back to his car and let him go. As he watched Roberts' mini-limo leave the garage, Santini swore loud and long many a curse word their direction. Then looking at his car, he spat in disgust, pulled out his keys, threw his briefcase into the passenger floorboard, and then locked the car back up. He first pulled his phone out and attempted to call for help from co-workers, taxis, uber-services; but no one heard him on the other end of the phone. He tried to flag down cars, but folks just drove right by him. He attempted to board a bus and then the subways, but every time he went to sit down in a seat, he'd suddenly be standing at the stop again, while the bus or car pulled away leaving him behind. Finally he gave up and began walking home. He walked briskly, with his head held up, for he knew some of the areas around the Mall were slightly dangerous at night, but if he looked like he knew where he was going, there would be a slightly less chance he'd be attacked. There were a number of couples out taking strolls along the park and he smiled and thought to himself, "As it should be." When, after passing several couples, nothing seemed to happen to him he laughed and thought, "Bastard Roberts tried to make me think that Harry Potter kind of shit was real. Ought to get that kind of stories banned, the damage they do to our children!" Santini rounded a corner and stopped for a moment. He could hear laughter. A male laughing, followed by the sound of a loud smooch. Over and over with the smooch sound. He thought to himself, "Go get her, man. Take her and make love." There was some rustling in some trees and bushes, followed by the sound of another man's voice laughing. Santini stopped in disgust, just in time to see one man falling backwards out of the bush, being caught by the other and pulled back into his arms. They were young, in their twenties. One was very thin and lithe. The other was a little beefier. The heavier one was in a sleeveless muscle shirt, the other in tank that was nearly pulled off his torso. They embraced and kissed fully, hard, and long. Their tongues were exploring each other's oral cavities and checking their tonsils for sure. They suddenly paused and noticed Santini standing there and gasped. Then looking at his face, laughed, looked at each other, and ran down the sidewalk, holding each other's hands. Santini started to mumble something about how unnatural it was but then stopped, struck dumb. A warmth came over his crotch and suddenly he swore he felt his cock ooze out a little more from his body. "I am not getting an erection over that. I despise it!" His balls responded this time swelling just a touch larger. Santini stood there trying to keep control, but it felt as though he might blow a load. Not here.... not in public.... that's so lewd! Just then some men appeared, walking together in a group, and they had their eyes set directly on Santini. He knew they were trouble. He could tell they meant to rob him. Quickly he crossed the street and then once across began to sprint down the side walk. Over his labored breathing he could head the pounding of their footsteps running at top speed and the sound was getting louder, closer. "We just wanna talk to you, man!" "Yeah, help a brother out?" "You look like you have some extra cash you don't need." Most of the men chasing him down were taller than Senator Santini, and much younger, so it didn't take too long before they overtook him. The leader, a man of about six feet in height and around 190 pounds of muscle, dressed in a muscle t-shirt and sleeveless denim vest, with blue jeans that had a severe case of slash marks, flipped Senator Santini around by his shoulders and slammed him, backside, up against a wall. "I really hate those that run!" the gang leader bellowed in Senator Santini's face. "You're gonna stay right where I tell you or you're gonna deal with this!" And with that the young man flexed his right arm in front of Santini's face. Santini's eyes grew wide in fear, not because of the man's ample sized upper arm created by a rising bicep peak or a well formed tricep horseshoe, but because the warmth spread over his groin again and he worried what this man might do if he realized. Realization was inevitable as quickly Santini's snake began to slither out farther from his groin, and as it grew and bunched in his underpants, Santini was unable to silence the moan escaping from his lips. Looking down the leader could see Santini's package filling out a little more. "What the hell? Do I turn you on, you pervert?" The leader didn't have time to hear the answer. The quick wail of a police siren and Santini kneed the man in the groin. Santini then took off running, with a couple of the gang members still following him, others went in different directions, and the rest were detained by the police. With a part of the gang still in pursuit, Santini made his way through various garages and alleyways as well as some well travelled main streets to give the gang the slip. They were however just as keen as the Agency or the Bureau to use cell phones and pairs to keep tabs on him. He could see a pair of them spotting him again as he took off down an alley which, lucky for him, had a couple coming out of a door that was useable by one side only. He ran up past, the couple, and then caught the door behind them. Swinging around he pulled it shut and then turned to face the room he was in. It was a movie theater. "Oh gawd." Santini thought. "This could be saving or the kill." Yes, it was indeed a public place, but they could lay in wait for him outside, or worse yet, come into the theater and sit by that exit door and the seating arena's entrance. He needed to make sure no one else saw him so that they could tell the gang members he was there, in case they said they were "looking for a friend." Being a small man, he ran for the arena entrance and then ducked into a trash bin. His short and lithe frame, well, with a bit of paunch, fit just snuggly, but well, with inside the confines of the box. It worked out well as when the attendants came round, they merely peaked down the top of the garbage bag and saw it wasn't anywhere near to being one-fourth of the way through and so they let it be. Santini exhausted from running, being out of shape, old, and him coming down from the adrenaline rush, soon fell asleep. He woke up to the sound of a movie going. There was sound of breaking glass... or china, raised voices in a heated argument. Gingerly, although not quite as stealthily as he would have hoped, Senator Santini came out from his hiding place. Walking into the seating area, he peered around and above the wall he stuck close to and saw no one was in attendance for this movie's showing. Breathing a sigh of relief, before he began to walk his way home again, he though to rest in the seats for just a moment to ease the tension of his back, shoulders, and neck. "Why are you so angry with me, Ted? And how could you be with Skye?" the movie played out. "Because you left me. You said we were going to do everything together, be everywhere once we got away from our parents and half way through your sophomore year you bailed on our college, on me." "Oh lord..." thought Santini to himself. "All the places I could hide in and this one is showing the movie I wanted banned." "I needed you there, Craig. Even if we didn't stay together, I needed you. I needed your street smarts. Help me navigate coming out to family, introducing and working myself into the gay community, to see who the predators were, the one night stands, the clubs where I'd get my wallet picked clean, the places one could actually have fun, the introduction to... .... ... You left. You lost all those chances. Skyelar came in and helped me, assisted me. He taught me all the code words we use to classify ourselves into this genre or fetish, introduced me to the leather world, the drag world, the bear world, the we just look like plain ordinary men but we love ass world. And the whole time he never made an advance on me. He never thrust me into a situation that was more than I could handle or comprehend. He sat by me during my first morning hangover wipeout. You weren't here. You claimed you loved me, wanted to be with me, yet you missed out on every first. If you had just made some sort of si....." At that point in the movie Craig pulled Ted in and kissed him full and deeply. The kiss lasted for a good three to four minutes. Afterwards, Ted broke free and slapped Craig across the face and punched him on the chest. It was then the pair noticed that Skyelar was in the doorway. Senator Santini looked up in wide-eyed wonderment at the scene that was playing out and he felt something stir inside him - deep inside him. The stirring gave way to a warmth in his groin. "Oh.... no.... no.... no... not here.... NOT HERE!" The growing sensation this time nearly sent Santini flying backwards out of his chair. His hips, buttocks, and groin region raised up in the air and his pecker pushed itself out longer, thicker, than ever before while his balls inflated like a balloon on a helium tank. In a matter of seconds the bulge around Santini's crotch was very noticeable. The movie music cued dramatically as Skyelar punched Craig and then turned to grab Ted. The look was the typical "are you all right" look that is given just before the other person kisses the hero. "No. NO!" The senator burst through the exit door. Damn if the gang is still out there. He'd rather be beaten and stolen from than to watch that movie or have his cock inflated ever longer and with more girth because of it. Hobbling along, Senator Santini continued his walk towards his home. He package was ample enough it caused a little problem with his gate, especially in its balled up state. At about the half way mark from the theater to his home he crossed an intersection known for its "business." In fact the senator had frequently picked up a number of ladies here, some of them becoming favorites and regulars. In his worn out and harried state none of the ladies recognized him and so all were aggressively and openly hitting on him to take him home of the evening. The senator stammered no and pushed the ladies away, albeit politely and tried to continue his walk home. Several ladies joked about him not being a real man, man enough to handle them. That's when another figure stepped out from the shadows. It was man, who stated loudly that may he was too much man for the ladies and needed another man to handle the job. He did this while sliding up very close to the senator and then squeezing the senator's package. "Holy shit! Aren't you a blessed one! My gawd, I think I could either ride you for free or I ought to pay you." Stunned by the comment, Santini looked at the man in all his tight fitting and skin revealing clothing and realized he found the man and his body both attractive and the warming sensation hit his groin once more and the round package now bulged out as though the senator had a softball, perhaps a grapefruit, or something slightly larger, stuffed down the front of his underwear. The man of the corner looked down in absolute awe and bliss and gave Santini a wink. The senator turn and bolted, running for his house once more, although he was constantly racking himself in pain now. Finally he arrived at his house. His wife was still out for the evening at some charity function, so he quickly made his way into his study. Sitting down he poured himself a drink on the rocks, took a sip, and then proceeded to hold the glass to his groin as though cooling down his crotch rocket might help it return to normal. That's when he felt it. The warmth returned to the senator's crotch, but this time it seemed to build up specifically in his prick and then the sensation rose and spread out through his body. "Auuuuugh" He saw the tightness of his shirt around his gut loosen up a bit. He felt his feet become a little more snug in his shoes. His crotch didn't quite feel as heavy as it did a moment before. "Auuuuuugh." It happened again, this time he felt his shoulders spreading out. His arms felt as though they were filling out his sleeves a bit, like they had never ever done so in his life. "Auuuuugh." Again the pulsing and pushing with his cock shrinking? And his body seemed to stretch and grow. His shoes felt as though they had given way for just a bit, but then the leather wrapped around his foot and travelled about three-fourths of the way up his shin. "Ah-oooooooouh!" Again the inverted pulse, the cock apparently shrinking, Santini's body growing outward. His knees were pushing too far under the desk and close to hitting the drawer bottom. He felt something change with his pants. They felt tighter on him and when he moved they caused his leather desk chair to squeak in blurts and blaps that nearly sounded like farting. "Auuuuuuuuuuuuuugh!" His pants became tighter still, and shinier. The waist band wrapped itself around Santini's waist tightly and he could feel like his core was tight, taut, and strong. His arms were being pushed away by something, being lifted up and hanging out. The sleeves on his shirt were nearly form fitting and his shirt had become this billowing poets shirt with ruffley cuffs and collar. "Ah-hooooooooooooo!" Suddenly the Senator felt his hair touch his neck, no, touch his shoulders as a new goodly portion of his bangs fell down in front of his eyes. He felt his chest swell and a button fly off the poet shirt, whose sleeves filled out thicker and rounder from the senator's bulging upper arms and formidable forearms. His thighs and his ass swelled out more and caused the pants, which he knew now were leather, to stretch and tighten, form fit to his legs. While that was going on his calves were pulsing and throbbing, growing in size and density stretching the top of the leather boots he was now wearing and making the tops spread out wider and wider compared to the ankles. Meanwhile below, the front door to the house opened and in came Sylvan Santini, the senator's son. He had a college friend with him and the two giggled and laughed as they came in. "Mom? Dad?" Sylvan called out but there was no answer. No sound. No other lights on. "Perfect. Put your stuff there at the bottom of the stairs. We can take it up whenever we hear the buzz of the garage intercom go off, they won't know you're here yet and I can tell them you're already asleep so they won't argue about you staying here for a visit." "So if we're not going upstairs now to unpack, what are we going to do?" "This...." And with that Sylvan pulled his friend into the formal living room and reception area of the house and then thrust him backwards onto the couch. Sylvan was slightly like his dad, about an inch or two taller at 5' 6" with a slightly chubby body. Nowhere near as much as his dad was, but you knew he wasn't destined to be fit and trim. His mousy brown hair fell in the way of his bland and dull brown eyes as he climbed on top of his friend, Logan, who was a complete opposite of Sylvan. He was an athlete for the college the pair attended, standing 6' 8" and around 295 pounds of muscle, with a boy next door face, perfect smile, topped with a feather mop of strawberry blond hair, and his body covered in a two day, scruffy beard and light colored, feathery hair all over his body. Sylvan leaned over Logan and ran his hands up under Logan's football jersey, his fingers ruffling the feather hair and tracing the mounds and crevices of Logan's abs. He then leaned in a began to give Logan passionate and deep kisses on this lips as Sylvan's hands worked to undo Logan's waist button. "Wait!" Logan gasped. "What if we get caught? Do you want your dad to know? He's like the most anti-gay senator there is in D.C." Sylvan laughed and gave another kiss to Logan. "That's part of what makes this so arousing. The thrill of being caught by my dad. I'd so love to see his expression when he realizes his son is a...." and he did an impersonation of his father, "'...flaming pooftah!'" Meanwhile, upstairs, Senator Santini had had a few more of the pecker shrinking pulses radiate through his body. Having caught a glimpse of himself in the window reflection he bolted upright out of his chair. He couldn't believe how much higher than the desk top his hips, crotch, and buttocks were. He took a few steps and marveled at the large thud his body was making, as if he were a couple, maybe three hundred or more pounds. Looking into a standing mirror he saw how the leather pants now looked painted on, and the boots nearly did as well. The poet shirt was button popped about four buttons down and his chest spread the opening wide and down revealing to large, hairy covered slabs of muscle that were easily larger than any serving tray he had in the house and barreled more than any cask of wine located there, too. His arms no longer hung down at his sides, but almost straight out as though he were imitating the drawing of man by Leonardo DaVinci. The poet shirt only fluttered now at the frill of the collar and the cuffs, but the rest were nearly as tight as the skin tight and formed, leather pants. When he walked you didn't see a person with stick like appendages move, you saw flexing and popping, mounding muscle mass, undulating crevices, bouncing forms, and stone tightening peaks. He was a glorious behemoth of muscle that could easily take on, if not possibly dwarf Sylvan's friend, Logan downstairs. Looking confused at the style of belt that hung large and dangling off his waist and the cap upon his head, both of which were leather and highly studded, Michael Santini stop and froze when he heard the sound of giggles and moans coming from downstairs. As gracefully and quietly as a man his size could, he crept down the stairs and stopped at the bottom when he turned and beheld the spectacle that awaited him in the foyer. Logan had grabbed, with both arms one of the entrance columns, his head and back were tilted backwards and arch, an expression of pure bliss across his face. His pants and underwear were down and there was another young man going to town with his mouth upon Logan's decent, but not overly sized member. In split second of fluttering eyes, Logan perceived the presence of someone else in the foyer and gasped. This caused Sylvan to react and then feel the presence of another in the room as well. After exclaiming the word "what" to Logan, he turned his head sideways and saw a near giant sized muscle man in knee high boots, leathers, and a poet shirt standing at the bottom of the stairs. "D... Da...Dad?" Sylvan said as he looked at the face of this man, that looked like his father, but appeared much younger and much taller and broader than his dad could ever hope to be. "Sylvan?" said Michael Santini questionably, but the questions that might have come to the top were stopped as a wave of warmth spread over Michael again and an audible moan issued from his lips. Sylvan and Logan stared in wonder as they saw this man's pants inflate at the crotch and then shrink back down again in proportion as the man suddenly grew up taller, broader, thicker, and hairier than he had been just seconds before. The poet shirt developed a large black "x" across itself and then suddenly faded out of view as a chain and leather halter appeared and hugged Mr. Santini's chest, lats, and back so snuggly one thought, "If he moves, it will snap." "Whoa... Dad!" Michael Santini stammered and then bolted for the door. His footsteps thudded and echoed so loudly in the foyer one would have thought with each step he was breaking floor tile. Flinging open the door he tried to run through, only to smack his head upon the door frame, then his shoulders, chest, and lats on the door frame sides, and swear loudly. Finally realizing he needed to perform twist like dance moves, he ducked and twisted sideways at the same time and ran out of the house and into the street. He was out and out running this time. He had grown fitter, possibly slightly younger but only by a few years, if that. Still, his health however was definitely and dramatically improved. He could feel it in the way his body moved as he ran. How his lungs filled with air and released in timing with each step. However he was desperately trying not to become turned on and aroused more and more with each gait of his run. He could feel how heavy he had become, but heavy with dense, thick, and strong muscle. He felt the energy and power each and every time his foot touched the ground and then his calves and thighs helped launch him forward. He could feel the bounce and heft of his pectoral muscles as they undulated in lift and fall in gravity with the motion of his trotting body. The gait had become a swing out to go forward movement as his thighs rolled around one another due to their great circumference. His massive, bulbous upper arms that bounced as he ran, being pushed so far up and out by his flaring lats. He successfully ignored all of that, but the pull on his groin from his ballooning balls and lengthening cock proved to be too much for Mr. Santini. Once again his cock grew out slightly and then shrunk back in just a bit, producing that warm feeling that course through his body. He saw his point of view rise a little bit higher. He felt his body become a bit thicker, stronger, denser, wider, fuller. Suddenly studded arm bands appeared around the crevice created between his upper arm and his deltoids, studded leather cuffs also appeared around his wrists, while the hair on the front of his torso grew in and out thicker, furrier, and became darker losing all of its grey and white sheen to a beautiful chestnut brown. He wasn't sure where he was running to. He needed to find help. He needed to call someone. Up ahead to his right he saw the bright lights of an establishment, possibly a bar. They would have a telephone he could use. Surely the management would take pity on him and allow him to make one phone call. There was man at the front door, a fairly big man. Michael Santini was looking down at him, and now he was even more worried. Obviously he must have been pricked or given a shot of some drug by his earlier attackers as he could not possibly have this point of view, looking down on such a large....broad....uhm.....beefy.....man. "Welcome, sir! Go right on in." The bouncer at the door said enthusiastically with a lusty smile on his face. "Ah..." thought Mr. Santini. "There's a smart man who recognizes when someone is in distress." Ducking and twisting his way through the doorway, Michael suddenly felt very uncomfortable. All conversation in the place stopped and low whispers began travelling across the room. Men came up to him from every side; some to measure themselves up against him, others to place a hand on his upper arms or upon his abdomen. Cat calls and whistles soon were being heard over loud screams of dog barks and wolf howls. Michael felt his ass being firmly groped, followed by his crotch. There were men who were throwing themselves at his legs and hanging on as he tried to walk forward. He shut his eyes against all these lewd advancing men, and concentrated on getting to the bar, but secretly he was fighting the arousing sensation building in him once more - the urge to have a full erection. Finally he made it to the bar as the sea of men looked up to him and stood aside, parted as if Michael were Moses and his rod commanded all. "Hey hey, giant stud. Welcome to Flaming Shots. What'll you ha....." The bartender looked into Michael's face and realized something was quite right. "Are you okay? You look a little wobbly for some reason." "I need... .... to use your phone. I'm... .... not right.... .... something's..... wrong..." "Sure. Go to the end of the bar and I can take you to a back room where we have a phone." Michael made his way to the end of the bar, where upon the bartender guided him into a small room with a phone, and a small table. "You look kind of like you're in shock. I can make the call for you, but besides maybe the paramedics, any family you need to have called?" "NO! No ambulance. Can't be seen.... uh.... family..... No... they can't..... I..... uh.......Roberts." "Robert?" "No. Roberts. C...Ca...Caleb....Caleb Roberts." "The senator? Do you work for him?" "NO! What? I must speak with him. I NEED TO SEE HIM!" "Alright calm down. Just... have a seat right there at the table. I'll get you a glass of water and see about getting a hold of Senator Roberts." The man left to go get the glass of water, but then stopped to talk to another big bouncer that was standing at the bottom of a staircase. "Uhmmm hey, go tell Caleb we have a slight emergency down here. There's a guy, a BIG guy, who says he needs to talk to him. Looks like one of his personal body guards, but he is a bit out of it and about ready to scream for him and make a scene." The bartender then went to get the glass of water and bring it back to Michael Santini. Michael was becoming agitated, wondering when he could place the phone call to Senator Roberts, confused over why he felt the need the urge to call him. His breathing became rapid, his kept tensing and flexing his muscles. Finally he flipped the table in front of him over and bellowed for his ability to call Senator Roberts. "Now, now. It's okay, Mister...?" Mr. Santini turned his gaze and attention towards the man addressing him who had just reached the bottom of the staircase and was crossing the landing. It was Senator Roberts, in almost all of his 6' 4" muscled glory. He was wearing a Roman toga and sandals, with one pectoral exposed, as well as his thick thighs due to the toga's short, short length. His silver and grey pepper hair was semi-plastered to his forehead due to sweat. He had a riding crop in one hand and in his other he had the handle of a chain leash that hung down and travelled back up to a halter connected to a mountain of a man that was quite a bit bigger built than Senator Roberts' trainer size physique, as well as being around twenty years or so younger. Michael Santini stood there and suddenly let his jaw drop as though he were looking at the most beautiful man in the world as he uttered one word. "Caleb?" And then his gaze traveled up the chain to the man behind Senator Roberts and a look of disgust came across Michael's face and once again he said Senator Roberts' first name but this time with a bit of shock and disgust. Then suddenly a deep, lusty moan escaped from Michael's throat and his crotch inflated and inflated and inflated some more and then shrunk back just a little. His body began to rise higher, and push out wider and thicker than ever before. He was definitely hitting the medical legal definition of being a giant and a giant bodybuilder, extreme bodybuilder, at that. Within moments the arm bands that had just recently appeared snapped and flew off of him. His nipples grew hard, the crevices cut in deeper as his muscles got larger and tighter. Slithering pythons of veins rose to the top of his skin and traversed the peaks and valleys of every muscle belly on his body. The leather cuffs at his wrists snapped and tore leaving mere threads to hold themselves together. His leather pants shimmered and suddenly their crotch and ass section disappeared and they became a pair of leather chaps that could barely contain the massive thighs and calves of Mr. Michael Santini. Michael's prick then fell hanging so long and thick, like nearly three fourths the way down his thigh and then began to rise up and up into a massive, pulsing, vein covered, flesh toned, iron rod. Suddenly bursting into the room Sylvan and Logan were there to which Logan gasped and Sylvan became dumbstruck until he finally uttered out the word, "Dad?" "I'm sorry, sir." said the bartender. "They just came running in saying they heard reports of a hulkish man dashing in here and said it was their father?" Senator Roberts stood there for a moment, staring at the man before him, then over to Sylvan and Logan, then at the face of Mr. Santini. "Senator Santini?" Michael looked back at Roberts with a sort of punch drunk, blank expression on his face. "I never expected you to hold back from who you were this long. Nor did I expect... ... how long have you had a crush on me?" Michael just stared back like a puppy longing for companionship, his erect cock bobbing in front of him throbbing as though it might burst. "What the hell is going on here?" yelled Sylvan. "Obviously I don't have a problem with a gay bar, but I know this... ..... porn giant.... is my father. How did he become this?" "It...." started Senator Roberts. "...is a combination of my fault and your fathers." "What?" "You know he had an extreme hatred against homosexuals, did you not?" "Yeah, but..." "Your father attacked me in the garage near the Capitol building early this evening - knife and briefcase. He told me he had had enough and with him actually physically attacking me, so had I. I hexed him with a particular curse I thought was befitting because I suspected where his mind and heart truly lie. That he was a secreted, closeted, gay man. My curse was to have his own desires change him. Every time he saw something he would find arousing, he would change and grow. I left it to the universe to decide how long it would last and when it would wear off. I thought he'd come to terms, to acceptance with himself or acceptance of homosexuals at least, before too many changes would occur. Apparently he denied himself to the very end, thus causing him to grow into..." "Into what has got to be a seven and half foot tall muscle bound, leather clad giant. How the hell is he going to live with himself? How are we going to live with him? He'll be beside himself. He'll be angry. Confused." "He'll be all right. Yet you are correct his life, your life can't go on as it had been. Jameson, " said Senator Roberts to one of his bodyguards, "case, if you please." "Case? What are you going to do?" One of the formerly very large men that was a body guard to Senator Roberts went back up the stairs and then came back down holding a small wooden and silk lined case, which he presented to Senator Roberts. Roberts placed it on the now re-up righted table and solemnly opened it revealing the wand that caused Michael Santini all his problems for the evening. Picking the wand up he turned around and pointed it at Mr. Santini. "A historical, story timeline adjustment must occur to match up with the physical changes that have occurred to your father. Obviously with his much healthier, muscular, and youthful look, plus his large increase in height, no one, even with finger printing and blood tests, is going to believe he is Senator Michael Santini." "So... .... ....what's going to happen?" "Well... I'm going to perform a spell allowing the Universe to rewrite his history, and thus part of yours. Just stand there and close your eyes. You'll feel changes wash over you in your memory. You can be the informant, the narrator, for us so we know what his background has become and where we need to send him on his way to his new life." "O... ok?" said Sylvan questionably and then he just breathed a sigh and closed his eyes. Michael still standing somewhat dazed looking, looked questioningly towards Senator Roberts who took his wand in hand , pointed it at Michael and said, "Quod rescripserunt in DNA, Universum, rescribo historia eius." A swirl of air flowed out of the tip of Senator Roberts' wand until it wrapped around and encircled Michael Santini like a small, personal tornado, but there was a small break off funnel to danced and tickled Sylvan's feet as though it wanted to grab all of him. "He's... .... ....he's involved in security.... .... in fact he's working for you, Senator Roberts. He's one of your body guards now. A Senator... Phillips... it's the man who ran against my father so many years ago! He's the one who has taken my father's place. In fact, Dad worked security for him and he introduced my dad to you. He decided it would be better since... .... since he and my mom married after my father and mom's divorce shortly after I was born and Dad... ... .... came out?!" Sylvan opened his eyes just time to join everyone in the small room to see more changes come over Michael Santini. The chaps became whole again and the fabric turned into the fabric used for a good pair of relaxed, slightly stretchable professional work pants. The harness disappeared replaced by black dress shirt open a couple of buttons down from the neck, and then a black suit jacket matching the fabric of the pants - the leather boots now having turned into an incredibly large pair of dress shoes. "I can see it now too, Sylvan." said Senator Roberts. "He's my biggest bodyguard at 7' 4", I pay him decently, I allow him time off to compete at the Mr. Olympia and preliminary contests, he lives in the guest quarters of my houses, where there is an extra room for you when you come over to stay with him, while his bedroom has a king sized bed for him and..." Suddenly there was a man who faded into existence. The man was only about 5' 3" tall, but had a solid gymnast style build. Sandy blond hair, piercing blue eyes, and smooth and flawless skin. He was wearing some trainers on his feet, a pair of jeans that were a very light denim color and very tight and form fitting on his legs, with a dark blue polo shirt that hugged his upper arms, delts, shoulders, back, chest and lats so well one almost swore it was painted on or perhaps a tattoo. There was a quick glint of light upon Michael and the short man's hands where everyone could see matching rings, one on each hand, of a gold band with seven flat, inlayed diamonds, surrounded by two bans of polished black metal - modern wedding bands. At that moment Michael Santini stumbled forward, sighing. The small man sprang to life, attempting to prop him up as though he were the Atom, small man with super strength. "Michael..." Michael groaned. "It's o.k. Allyn." as he stabled himself by grabbing the arm of one of his fellow guards. Allyn looked up at Senator Roberts. "Sir... may I take him home? He's been having a series of headaches the last couple of days. I'm not sure he feels well." "Of... of course... Al...Allyn. Have my chauffer take you two home in my car. I can use one of the following guard's car." Senator Roberts stammered as the new history formed into his memory. Things returned to the new normal within a few minutes. The crowd was laughing, smooching, groping and drinking out in the bar. Upstairs the inner circle of the bar were fully making out, groping, petting, jacking off and giving blow jobs all while in leather and chains or other notable fetish wear. It was now just Senator Roberts, the man in chains, who was his partner, Sylvan, and his boyfriend, Logan. "Allyn." Said Sylvan. "He was my father's best friend in High School and part of college. At least that's how it used to be. He would tell me stories of how things changed between them in college so I would understand not everyone I was friends with in high school would remain so." "And Allyn was probably a man in love with your father and either wanted to come out or was more afraid to do so, and so the pair drifted apart." "But now... in this new history, they stayed together behind the scenes and got married after mom and dad divorced." Sylvan said as he kind of looked down sullenly at the floor. "You don't approve of your father's new history?" "No... it's not that... I mean... it's great and all. In fact it makes some things a lot easier. At least I know for certain now that one of my parents would approve of my boyfriend, here. Speaking of whom, this is Logan, my boyfriend, by the way." "Nice to meet you, Logan." "And you, sir." "But folks are gonna wonder if I have a syndrome or something." spoke Sylvan. "I beg your pardon." "Well... I mean. I'm his son and I may not necessarily grow to be as tall, nor as built as him, but he's almost two feet taller than me." "You think the universe should have changed you as well." "I don't know. On one hand it's going to be weird me being this short chubby man, the son of a behemoth built giant over seven feet tall, but at the same time, if I'm made too huge and tall, then that would change the dynamics between Logan and I and that would be...." "That would be hot as hell." blurted out Logan. "What?" Said both Sylvan and Caleb at the same time. "Bro...." Logan began. "I love you just like you are, being able to easily pick you up, to squish and tickle you, but if you wanted to become big and huge like your dad is now.... I.... I wouldn't mind it. I'm almost always the big dude. Yeah, some guys are built bigger than me, because I choose it. I have enough problems finding clothes that fit due to my height. My height which although there are some men who are taller than me, it's rare with me being as tall as I am, and if they are, they're usually a lot slimmer and thin. I'm always looked to for help, assistance, protection. Logan, lift this. Logan, reach that. Logan this guy is bullying me. It would be fucking hot to find someone I could climb, someone who could wrap me up in a cuddle, someone who would make me feel small. If you wanted to become that, so long as you did so without becoming a jerk....I think.... I....." Within a moment one could see that Logan wasn't small in other areas either as his rod expanded down his inner left thigh and then fought to raise itself in erection beyond the confines of the broad shorts. "God, Logan. Can't you ever control that anaconda of yours?" "Said Mr. Pot to Mr. Kettle?" Inquired Senator Roberts. "What?" and then suddenly Sylvan felt it. His own cock had developed a hard on, and although nowhere near as big as his lover, Logan's cock was... it was still enough to produce a throbbing bulge. He blushed and turned his face away. "The spell couldn't automatically effect you because of the other strings of your life, like how would this effect your relationship with Logan, school, and such, but... it looks as though Logan would still love you no matter what, if not more so as a behemoth like your father." "Hell, by now you'd be in your last years of junior competition; I'd help you train for your first Olympia to knock your old man down." Logan smiled. "You sure, Logan?" "I'm fine with it. Question is, 'Are you?'" Sylvan smiled. "I think... I'd love it. What do I do?" "Think back to my spell, and just invite those winds of change to wash over you." Sylvan closed his eyes and breathed in deeply. The small amount of whirling wind that tickled his feet earlier appeared once more and grew and grew until it engulfed Sylvan's whole body. A few moments later Sylvan began to moan, some blurts in pleasure, others in agony and pain. His feet had begun to grow and to stretch and thus his shoes extended longer and tighter. His heel began to muffin top over the heel top of the shoe. His toes began to form ridges along the top front. The sides of the shoe began to roll over, out, and down over the sides of the soles, while the laces were being pulled tighter and tighter across the bridge of Sylvan's feet. Then the sides began to slowly rip along their length and Sylvan could feel the fresh cool air tickle the sides of his feet and bottom of his soles. The laces began to snap as the eyelets were pulled farther and farther apart by the higher and wider arch of Sylvan's feet. At the same time the back of the shoe was ripping apart while the toes were ripping out and growing past the front. His feet kept growing longer, thicker, wider, until they not only engulfed but completely hide the soles of his shoes, while the shoe tops looked like torn and ever shrinking spats upon his massive, muscular feet, until the fell away to the floor. "Oooh gawd..." moan Sylvan. "My feet feel so heavy... so long...." and he patted them a couple of times upon the hard wood floor. In a few moments the hems of Sylvan's pants' legs began to rise higher and higher up his leg. As one watched him, one could see it was just his shins growing as although his whole body was rising, the stretch was contained between his feet and knees. Up and up he grew until the jean hems stopped about half way up his calves. Then with moans slowly and lowly coming out of his mouth, he began to travel upward, higher and higher once again. This time folks could see the stretch happening between the knees and the waist, but as he was growing up, his knees also grew larger and thicker, his hips and waist as well. He was still a fit, average man build, but they were increasing to the size of extremely tall basketball player. At one point the button snapped on the waist band, but the rest of pants hugged the larger body well and fairly tightly. When all was done it looked as though Sylvan was wearing a slightly snug and ill fitting pair of capris , whose hems were right at the middle of the knees. It was the hem of the shirt that took off next as Sylvan's torso began to extend and rise, higher and higher. The spine popping and rocking hither and yon, his rib cage expanding further outward and upward. His shoulder snapping and widening, causing the arm bones to grow longer and farther was well. As the neck started lifting Sylvan's head up higher and higher, the hem of the shirt was rising as well revealing the hips, the bottom abs, the navel, the second row of abs. In a few moments the shirt that once was slightly tight fitting on a pudgy frame was now stretched in some ways, very loose in others, and looked like a midriff shirt on his now towering body. The same way his sleeves had shrunk as well, once hanging very well over his delts and to the middle of his upper arms, they now stretched around his arm pits and about half way down his delts. Looking like some lanky, young, pool boy in his now capri style jeans and midriff muscle shirt, Sylvan stumbled a little bit as he was trying to gain his footing and understand his new point of view perspective, having grown now to be 12 inches taller than the door frames of the building. But then he stood straight and tall, planting one foot slightly in front of the other as if to take a powerful and well supported stance. Sylvan started breathing in slow and steady, quivering, then taking in gasping breaths, but not as if choking, more as if turned on, breathing heavy during the act of sex. That's when it started, with a low and powerful groan. Veins began to rise up on his skin starting with his feet, the rose up and across his ankles to climb over his shins and calves, then rolling over the thighs, across the butt cheeks, around his hips and down his shaft and balls, while other side snakes went up the abs brick over brick until they hit the crevice of his chest and then spread out like eagle wings across that broad horizon until the continued like tendrils over the delts, down the upper arms, over the fore arms and into the hands. A last few pythons worked their way up the neck and into the head. At that moment Sylvan was just a tall, lanky, man covered in a web of veins criss-crossing his body such it looked nearly like he had a purplish net over him. But then one could see the veins rising... plumping... no, they were pulsing. They would suddenly become larger and fatter with the pulse of Sylvan's blood, and then shrink down. Yet, as they shrunk down, his muscles began to swell out. With each pulse of his veins and their shrinkage, his muscles filled out thicker... harder... fuller... denser... more striated. Sylvan began to chuckle. He could see the new memories building up in his life: the time when by the end of his Freshman year in high school he was two inches taller than his father. By the end of his college Freshman year, he'd grown another four inches taller than that, making him half a foot taller than his father. He worked out like crazy right after both growth spurts, using the body's usual ability of filling out in muscle strength and size to move the new bigger body. This meant he achieved a huge amount of muscle growth both times. Consider that he kept working out in between those times, eating more, lifting more, stretching and relaxing more, his muscles just soaked it all up and inflated at great and maximum size and speed. Sylvan's chuckles got larger and were mixed with moans. He was seeing average sized men shrink around him in his memories until he was two feet taller than them, while the few seven footers on the college basket ball team were almost a foot shorter. He loved the fact that his body was so big, built, bulging, and heavy that almost any piece of furniture groaned under his weight, straining to support it. How he couldn't fit into most regular cars, or vans, let alone mini cars and doorways. It was a huge turn on with him and he felt his new and growing cock lengthen and harden as it grew to full erection down the left side pants leg making it look like he had stolen and stuffed an extremely large summer sausage down there. The memories kept coming... the first time he blew and arm sleeve out, seeing that it ripped all the way to the shoulder seam; the time he tried his father's pants on and the hem, which was a couple inches high on his legs, suddenly popped and ripped because his calves were larger than his bodybuilder dad's calves were. The thighs as well easily ripped the side seams wide open, while his bubble butt and orange sized balls and miniature baseball bat, took up too much space, and while the pants hugged like a second skin Sylvan's ass, his cock and balls ripped the metallic teeth of the zipper apart, eventually ripping the fly and joining the seam rips so the pants sloughed off and fell to the ground. The first time in public after he had grown quite a bit taller that his shirts were showing off his lower abdomen, and no amount of pulling would bring the hem down to his waist band. This first time he moved his arm and his lats, arms, chest, and shoulders caused the shirt to rip at the arm pit and side. The first time when stretching that the ball of his biceps split his sleeve right open, or the fact that as friends commented on it, he also flexed his forearm and busted the sleeve and then the cuff there as well. The first time he casually leaned back to relax while taking a deep breath and a sound was heard similar to a row of bubble packing paper being all popped - his expanding chest having cause four buttons to pop off and go flying across the room. This was the first time Logan let Sylvan know of his interest in him, as he joking tried to pull Sylvan's shirt closed and chastised him for not wearing clothes that fit, but secretly shoved his hand under the fabric to feel up Sylvan's vest, run his fingers through Sylvan's hair and whisper up to him, "Gawd that was so hawt; I'm totally horned and boned for you now." The muscles kept growing thicker and farther out. Deep were the cuts and valleys; defined were the striations; bulging and peaking were the muscle bellies; crazily full were his veins; deceptively thin looked his skin stretched over the mighty muscled mass; bushy and feathery was the hair covering his chest, abs, mid upper down to forearms, crotch, and legs; murky was the air with sweat and musk. His biceps peak rose so high in the opposite direction of his tri's that his whole upper arm looked to be as big and round as basketballs he could so easily palm and dunk. Not just one but two kegs barreled out from the top of his torso that were the solid yet bouncing and protruding pecs. A range of shoulders that looked like mountains attempted to squeeze off the great neck that looked like a cut away section of a giant redwood trunk. His Adonis belt, so thick, lats so wide, he looked as though he could glide if he jumped out of a plane, while his abs looked like a towering rock climbing wall. Massive tree trunk sized thighs that had a great many of hanging tear drop shaped bee hives encircling it, with a thigh bicep that threatened to dwarf his upper arms, including hamstrings so thick they might support the golden gate bridge, and all of this above calves so thick, so wide, so fully developed they were beyond small ball shape, beyond the beating heart, past the hard diamond, and skewed into a huge, three dimensional, kite shape. In front of him, more correctly in front of his great balls, hung the titanic tube, which had gone flaccid, and in this soft and squeezable state, still went down about three-fourths the way down his thigh. But then those veins returned to visit it, rising and swelling up across the top of the skin and as they did so, this preposterous python became even larger, longer, fatter, thicker, as rapidly rose in rigidity and threatened to go well past Sylvan's knee if allowed to hang straight down as it did flaccid. But a full standing erection wasn't possible, for it grows too long, too thick, too heavy for it to rise up and stand at attention pointing to the top row of Sylvan's abdominals. No, it stuck straight out and bobbled as it throbbed between a 40 to 90 degree angle from his body. With his growth finished, now naked, Sylvan made quite the intimidating impression to almost everyone in the room. Everyone that is except Senator Caleb Roberts and Logan. Logan moved fast to hug and embrace his new, larger, bulkier boyfriend. The man who once stood so tall to Sylvan, that Sylvan only came up to his chin, now only came to the top of Sylvan's chest, just under the top of the delts and under the shoulders completely. Looking up to Sylvan, Logan smiled and said, "I... I can remember our past lives, how and when we met, what we did, but I can also remember a new history, too. Like how I came on to you and the first time I ever took... that." And Logan grabbed Sylvan's super schlong and gave it a squeeze. "I so want to recreate that night right now." "Unfortunately, you can't go anywhere to do that.", announced Senator Roberts. "Sylvan doesn't have any clothes with him. For some reason, the magic didn't provide that." and Caleb sighed a small yet laughing sigh. "Jameson..." said Senator Roberts to another one of his aide. "Take Young Mr. Santini and his lover, Logan, upstairs to my secret room. There they can enjoy the evening recreating the first penetration of Logan, while I send someone home to see if clothes were materialized there, as well as someone to head out to have something tailor made incase not." And with that Logan escorted the nude Sylvan up to the secret, private room, while Senator Roberts and his husband, went back home, via the back door, to work off their horniness upon seeing two men grow into great muscular, giant, brutes Michael Santini felt completely fine the next morning and reported for bodyguard duty at Senator Roberts' house, but upon discovering it was Allyn and Michael's anniversary, he not only allowed Michael a couple of weeks off, but booked a two week cruise for the couple. Meanwhile Sylvan's history now had him belonging to a couple of athletic teams back at college, and he and Logan celebrate either of their or their teams' victories with a most intimate party for two... or sometimes three.... maybe four.... depending upon who is feeling randy, who wants to see the legend "at work", both of them having come out fully as being gay college athletes. Thus proof of the phrase they say, "He who protests too much... ... ..."

“I know what I’m wishing for.” “I’m wishing for the same thing.” “Me, too.” All three men were standing there, looking down at the newly uncovered golden orb resting in the sand. Jason, Michael, and Javier had been looking for this particular item for many years. They had finally miraculously landed on the right cave, the right spot, and the right amount of digging. It was truly hard to believe all of their efforts had paid off. “How does it work, Michael?” “You’re the one who’s read all the books about it, Jason . . . don’t you know?” “Yeah . . . yeah, I’m sorry. I’m just kind of freaking out it’s right there . . . in front of us.” “So, what do we do?” “You need to really focus on your wish . . . I mean, be as specific as you can. No distractions. And then touch the thing.” “That’s it?” “Yeah.” “It’s almost anti-climatic.” “Trust me, Javier, it won’t be if you really concentrate on what it is you’d like. This thing has been granting wishes for over four thousand years. You get one shot and that’s it. Remember, be specific, because if this thing is as powerful as all the writings from the years say – we’re going to very happy for the rest of our lives.” “You think it really works, Jason?” “There’s only one way to find out, fellas. Remember; visualize – in detail – what it is you’re wishing for. Oh, and don’t forget, you can’t wish to alter yourself in any way. Whoever set up the magic in this thing didn’t want it to be used that way. It’s for granting different kinds of wishes – other than self improvements.” “You know what I want, Jason. And trust me, I can be very specific!” “I think we all can. Shall I go first?” “Yes.” “Please.” Javier and Michael spoke at the same time. It was clear they were a tad nervous about the golden orb. It had been four years since Jason had first approached them with the goofy idea about a magical sphere that had been created in the wilds of Southeast Asia before there had been any major civilizations there. Jason had started seeing small bits about the ‘wish stone’ on the walls of temples in Thailand, Cambodia, Laos, and Indonesia - while he had been researching his doctorate. It had become an obsession of his – and one that he passed on to his two friends – as soon as they started to understand the stone’s power. Now, after many years of dead ends and wrong turns, they had finally stumbled on the real thing and were about to embark on the ride of their lifetime. “Here’s to a cultured future.” As Jason spoke these words he reached down and touched the stone. Light shot out everywhere – illuminating the entire cave. All three men jumped a little, but Jason did not move his hand. He concentrated hard – knowing this would be the most important moment of his life. His destiny would be shaped by this one wish. Suddenly the light stopped and he knew he could remove his hand. Javier stepped forward. “Here’s to a rough future.” Again, light spread throughout the cave as soon as Javier touched the golden stone. He squeezed his eyes shut tightly – focusing on what he wanted with all of his might. Javier tended to be distracted easily, so he wanted to make sure his wish was clear, strong, and specific. He released the stone as soon as the brightness faded. “Here’s to a sexy future.” Michael was the last one to touch the stone. For the third time, brightness filled the cave. There was also a comfortable feeling of warmth that surrounded the three men – something each of them quickly noticed. It had the same effect on each man. After Michael released the stone and the cave returned to semi-darkness they stood there silently. No one was sure what to do next. “How do you guys feel?” “Um . . . to be honest . . . really turned on.” “Yeah, horny as hell.” “The same for me.” “Wanna beat off together?” “Ewwww! No, Michael, I do not want to do that.” “Sorry . . . you know how I am.” “Yeah, we do . . . perpetually horny. Um, Jason, do we take the stone with us?” “No . . . no, we can’t do that. Remember, we bury it again – right here. If we don’t our wishes won’t come true. Come on, let’s get this thing back in the ground and get out of here. I’m ready to go see if the thing worked.” The three men buried the wishing stone in the huge hole where they had found it. They then made the cave look as if they had never been there. Jason had told them they would never be able to use the stone again for a wish, but they knew that other people would learn of its power and come searching one day. Each man then drew pictures on the wall of the cave to represent their wish – another required step for it to be granted. They had already spent a good hour or so looking at all the other pictures on the wall – realizing that they had been put there at different times over the last two thousand years. When it was finally time to leave they knelt at the entrance and prostrated themselves three times – as was called for in all the writings Jason had studied. It was now time to go find out if the wishes would come true. “Remember, messages to each other as soon as anything happens. My gut tells me it will happen around the same time – since we all wished at the same time. Thank you, guys, for believing in all this nonsense. No matter what happens, you two are the best friends a guy could hope for.” “Did you see how the thing glowed when we touched it, Jason? It’s going to work, man. I can feel it. This time, next year, we are all going to be living much different lives. I can promise you that.” “Let’s head home.”

A short story, while I finish writing my complicated novelettes about space marines and magic, respectively. I am testing a little different way of writing technique. DISCLAIMER All protagonists, antagonists and locations in this story are fictitious. Any likeness with actual persons and locations are purely coincidental. Readers uncomfortable with the subject of male intimacy are adviced to not read further. My little buddy I remember when I first saw you. I had probably worked at Sam's Gym for five years, and at The Steel Factory for several yers before that. The Steel Factory Gym, I mean. Not an actual steel factory. Not like dad and grandpa. I am not like my dad. You were standing at a pec-dec machine, reading the instructions. Tracksuit trousers hiding your legs, a grey T-shirt which gave the impression to be one size too large. Your arms just skin and bones, your hands behind your back in a gesture more suitable for a man 30 or 40 years older than yourself. Uncomfortable body language. Sam had pointed me in your direction. 'If you are not going to use it, don't block the machine, small-fry.' It was Kevin, a fairly successful fitness model, whose personality 'didn't keep the same standards as his looks'. I remember this expression. You used it two weeks later. You are better with words than I am, and I know that I am bad at expressing my feelings. I am uncomfortable with it. Kevin wasn't aware of me, when I moved in your direction, and he added some further insults. He jumped when I laid my hand on his shoulder. 'Any problems here?' 'Uh. No, no, Brad. No problems. I just wondered if this gentleman was finished with the pec dec.' 'I have been keeping an eye on you, Kevin. Follow the house rules.' Kevin avoided to look into my eyes, by some reason concentrating very much on the newly painted coffee and amino drink bar. 'Yes, yes of course. No problems here.' I looked quizzically at you, but you shook your head, and looked into the floor. 'You are lucky, Kevin. The machine is at your disposal, since I and my client here are not going to use it.' I turned in your direction, neglecting Kevin: 'And you must be the new gym member I am scheduled to train, aren't you?' 'I suppose so. The man at the desk told me to wait for Brad. It's you?' I like the newbies. They have decided to do something new. Something different. They have decided to change themselves, and put a toe into a foreign water. It is different for us who played sports all the time. It is just what we do: Playing football at the grassy spot close to the council flats, given a try at rugby if the PE teacher make that phone call to the coach he knows. Being adviced to add some weight training, and then being hit by the bug and quitting team sports. I had a belly once. It wasn't necessarily a disadvantage, since weight is an advantage on the ground, but the belly disappeared when I began pumping iron. But I lost the thread now: What I was saying is, that I like the newbies. For us the gym is a second home. For them the gym is something unfamiliar, but they give it a try anyway. They and they... I mean you. You were one of the wide-eyed and shy newbies once. For some it is hard to admit that they like the feeling: The release of your body's own chemicals when you end your training session, and is sitting relaxing freshly showered in the locker room. The feeling of pump. The feeling after a month when the first results show. Three months. Six months. Guys are able to transform themselves. They are not competing against someone else. All of us are just competing against our former selves. I like the newbies: To be able to help them overcome their initial embarrasment and hesitation, and be able to help them to release their potential. I feel protective, as I felt protective against you then. As I still do. Our first training session went well. I instructed you three times the first week. The second week you maintained your own schedule, and then I gave some advice the third week, in order to ensure that you performed the movements without hurting yourself. It takes some time for your body to acquaintance itself to the correct movements. I am no longer able to recollect how it came that we began to hang around outside the gym. In some regards we were unlikely friends: A 5ft 5in university student with liberal middle class parents and a more than 6 ft tall personal trainer with a divorced working class mum. I enjoyed watching action films together with you, and I enjoyed when we just spent time talking. Years ago I spent considerable time drinking beer, but exercise have been increasingly more important for me by the years, so pub crawls are nowadays carefully timed exceptions, far and few between, in order to not disrupt my carefully planned meal schedules. The pub wasn't the best place to meet you. I like our talks. Your eyes have always been special: The mix of intelligence and mischief is nice, and their colour looks like it sparkles in a strange way. I mean 'strange' like fascinating. Not something bad. People of Kevin's sort irritates me. A confident man doesn't behave like that. But it embarras me to admit, that I was like them at early secondary school. If it hadn't been for the PE teacher, the scout patrol leader and Sister Jane, I could have turned out a rotten being. I abhorred (See? You taught me something: abhorred) most adults at secondary school. Abhorred. I will soon start speaking like you and your fancy friends (although I learned PT lingo at the courses Jack and Sam sent me to). Only adults who impressed me were worthy of my attention, and I wasn't easy to impress. The PE teacher was cool. He had competed in weightlifting when he was younger, and despite his intimidating looks, he wasn't an idiot like my considerably smaller dad. Dad had stopped hitting me when I began to play rugby, and the divorce happened shortly after. The scout patrol leader was stern if needed, but he was always fair. And Sister Jane was an unlikely person to feel comfortable with: What does a testosterone crazed teenaged bully have in common with a feminist nun with a Ph.D.? But she had a sense of humour and an ability to understand. I don't know how I shall express it... She understood. I don't know if the three of them had talked with each other about me, or if it just happened by coincidence, but after speaking with them I felt bad and confident at the same time. Bad for what I had done in the past, but confident of what I could do to change things in the future. I was able to apologise to most of the kids, and then on I became their guardian angel. When I saw bullying happen at school, I intervened, and I was good at it. When I met you, it was already ten - no twelve or thirteen - years since I reformed my life to the better. We had known each others for a year or so. Within your personal limits and conditions, your achievements at the gym were good, but not optimal. Since we were friends, I had begun to take an interest in your case which probably exceeded the professional. I felt very worried that night when you rang on my doorbell and stood with a very sad and very upset facial expression at my doorstep. 'What has happened, little buddy? Come inside! You look devastated.' You really looked devastated. All my protective instincts kicked in. I handed you a low-carb amino drink from my refrigerator, and grabbed one myself. We ended up in the sofa, your tiny frame leaning on one arm of the sofa, my bulk relaxing in the opposite end. 'What is it? Did you fail in any exam?' 'No. No, it is nothing like that.' You fell silent for a while. I gave you time, took a sip, and waited. 'I am so sorry to make you disappointed. Please, be not upset about this, but there is something I must tell you. You may find it terrible.' Your sad expression gave me a heartwrenching icy feel in my gut: 'But what is it? You can tell me. We are friends, right?' 'Oh, Brad. I'm so sorry, but I would be dishonest if I... If... If I didn't tell you that I am gay.' I was probably a very bad friend when I exploded in laughter, but I couldn't control my reaction. Several expressions rapidly came and went in your face: Sadness, surprise, resentment and bewilderment (Look! I can use more fancy words!) 'Little buddy. I wasn't sure if you are or not, but does that matter? I'm gay too. Haven't you understood?' I love that facial expression. You are so cute when you do that. My perplex little power hobbit. It was not the last of our very long and very late discussions about personal experiences, straight people's expectations and prejudices, and gay people's expectations and prejudices. Why many of these are wrong or misguided. About closet cases. About bears and the fetish crowd, and how they differ from the twinks. About muscle worship. Your were, and you still are, much better than me to express your feelings in speech, but I was at least, to a certain extent, more experienced than you: After a handful of rather disappointing dates with girls as a teenager, I had a few short encounters with gays my own age at that clubbing street. My muscles seemed to be popular among some, perhaps more so than me as a person. That disturbed me, although I was flattered too in a sense. I don't know. Anyhow, I had hanged around the blocks for a while longer than you, although it would be an exaggeration to call me experienced. It took us two days to admit to each other that we were very much into each other: Your small frame resting in my vein-covered arms, and your cute nose nuzzled at my meaty pecs (of those I was rather proud), our rods enthusiastically bouncing against the inside of our underpants, waiting for all clothes to be taken off. My little buddy. Although your hungry admiration of my muscles couldn't be hidden, now when the lid was off, you always took an interest in me, myself, who I am inside, and I am sorry for not telling you about how I was a bully when thirteen and fourteen. I was ashamed. I knew that Sam would consider it unprofessional to live with one of the gym members, but I was lucky: Jack, who owned The Steel Factory, was an old mate, and wanted me to work for him instead. As soon as I had changed job, we could move to our new flat. Your were delighted at my assistance with new training schedules, eating schedules and supplements, and I felt proud giving you that assistance, seeing how you transformed from your old, shy self with its awkward pose, into a toned young man with a considerably more confident expression. But you were definitely a hardgainer. When you first stepped inside Sam's Gym, you looked like a sea mammal (but without any fat): No visible pecs (just a flat chest) and no visible abs (despite the low level of subcutaneous fat). After one and a half year, your high metabolism had the good side with it, that your abs were visible. They were small, sure, but they were there, and nothing hid their well-defined existence. Your wiry pecs now showed that they existed, but not beyond that. Your exercise had changed your upper body form: Traps and shoulders were distinctly visible in a way they were not before, but you were still at the very slim end of the spectrum. Once my tiny little friend, you were now my little power hobbit. You were a typical ectomorph, but at least I tried to make your calorie intake higher than before, looking for new and fancy nutrition drinks. I have to admit that I had used gear before taking the job at Sam's. Jack and the Steel Factory crowd didn't mind, but Sam had a strict zero level policy when it came to such substances. Back at The Steel Factory, I began hearing rumours about that top secret experiment the Military in several countries had performed on marines: The guys came back from Service like brickhouses, but were forbidden to talk about it. It had obviously started years ago, and pirate copies of the needed equipment had began to circulate on the black market. It was rumoured, that some guards at global corporations had went through the treatment, and another rumour claimed that wrestling federations had made investments in such research, in order to make the business more eye-popping in the future. It wasn't easy to know what was conspiracy theories, what was pipe dreams, and what was true. Until the night I met Tvrtko. He had exercised at The Steel Factory for years, and always been a big guy, but now he was huge. No one dared to ask. Well, except me. He knew me rather well, and he told me. He had probably told me for half an hour, when we made the deal. 'No, there would be no problem with any crime syndicates. It could have been, if you wanted to buy their services in giving you The Treatment... Shady business, you know... But it is entirely different if you buy a second hand machine and give yourself The Treatment. No strings attached. Just buy it, store it where the authorities doesn't look, use it, and if you want to sell it to another user afterwards, it your private matter. It doesn't concern me. Am I clear? Am I perfectly clear?' * * * Your birthday occurred on a Saturday, and there was no need to take the day off. We had the entire weekend for ourself. When you came home Friday evening I gave you an envelope. 'It is better to open it tomorrow, isn't it?' 'No. Open it now.' ' "Do you want to be big?" What sort of question is that? You know that I want to be big. If a miracle could occur, it would be amazing to be tall like you, but I have to limit my goals to pack on some brawn.' You sighed. 'I eat and I eat, and nothing happens.' 'I wouldn't use the word nothing. Think how you looked when I started training you?' 'Yes, there have been some changes, but I am not like my favourite cuddling monster, am I?' Your arms around my waist. Your head against my chest. Your ear against my abs. I was beginning to feel horny. 'No. I mean it. If you really want to become big, that is your birthday present. To begin with, I have a new supplement to you.' 'Another one? Well. You know what you are doing. You've got the PT education.' You let me go when you felt the nice smell of food. I had tried to use the supplements I got from Tvrtko as creatively I could. The spaghetti on the table was a mix of wheat and soy, and therefore with a slightly higher protein content than ordinary pasta, but it was available in ordinary supermarkets. The pasta sauce contained ordinary food, such as mushrooms, spinache and a lot of spices to hide the mildly unpleasant taste. That taste came from the powder I had got from Tvrtko. I had also used it in the sauce which was mixed with the salat, and the pudding in the refrigerator was a mixture of Tvrtko's powder, a milky liquid of similar content, and lots of sugar, vanilla and egg to hide the taste. 'I have used a lot of new supplements in this meal', I remarked. 'You have? It tastes considerably better than some of the gainers you have been feeding me.' 'Ready for your surprise?' 'I thought the new supplements were the surprise, and a slightly underwhelming one.' Oh, how I like that spark in your eyes. 'No, there is more to come, if you really want.' 'I like surprises. You know it. What are you up to?' 'It wouldn't be a surprise if I told you.' Two hours later we sat in the car together, and I drove into an empty parking lot, close to a warehouse. It was dark. The light from the car reflected in the moist asphalt and the rainwater puddles. It drizzled when I unlocked the warehouse. I put a blind before your eyes, and you smiled, when I carefully led you through the warehouse. You seemed to have expected something else, when I removed the blind. 'What's that?' You observed The Machine. According to Tvrtko, it was smaller than the military equivalents, and it required the specimens to drink large amounts of nutrition drinks and nutrition powder a few hours before operation. Tvrtko had heard something about the Army using IV or something. Large gas cylinders were connected to The Machine on the back, and looked considerably newer than the rest of the equipments (Gas cylinders had to be renewed often, and were hard to find). 'It's a muscle enhancing machine. It's your birthday gift.' You looked slightly angry, when you began looking up in the ceiling: 'I expected a surprise party at an unusual location, but now it seems to be candid camera or something like that. Who's hiding and filming this right now.' 'I am perfectly honest. It is a muscle stimulating machine.' It hadn't crossed my mind, that it could be hard to convince you that The Machine was for real. It took a few minutes. I could see and hear how you slowly went from annoyed to surprised, from surprised to suspicious, and from suspicious to something less obvious. 'If you have gone through these lengths to make this possible, I will not disappoint you, but it is hard to believe. How could it possibly be true? Don't you think it feels a little unreal just now? And I am beginning to feel funny, warm or something.' 'It is probably the supplements I told you about. They begin to work now. If we opt out, we will probably gain some muscle and some fat anyhow, but far from the results I have been promised if we use that.' I nodded in the direction of the slightly intimidating presence in the room: The Machine. We stood silent for a few seconds. Then you gave me a sly expression: 'What if you tested the machine first?' It hadn't occurred to me that this was an option. It felt exciting to take part of the experiment myself (I had brought equipment to do that after you), but it was meant as a gift to you. I kept silent. I didn't know what to say. 'It is a double birthday present, if it really works: I have to watch you became even more brilliantly big, which is a really exciting thought, I can assure you, and then I can take part of this experiment myself, if it really works.' Doubt still emanated from you, but mixed with expectations that the impossible would be possible. We went through the operation of The Machine. 'It is obviously a dumbed down pirate copy: You change what you wish to achieve at this panel, and increase power levels at this panel, put the gas on with this control, and this must be a speaker with microphone, so that we can talk. It sounds reasonably simple?' I unpacked the training bags: Towels and soap (The warehose had a shower once meant to be used by workers), tracksuits in large sizes (I didn't know exactly how much The Treatment would affect us) and then two pairs of odd things. I held the posing trunks made of leather before you. You took it in with humour: 'Any new ideas how to kink this up? That's something new!' 'Actually, there is a reason for them. According to Tvrtko, cotton fabrics take fire and synthetic fibres melt inside The Machine. He tested, by putting some piece of clothing inside, since he wanted to avoid 'to look gay', as he expressed it. It seemed to have passed him by that you and I live together.' 'Cotton take fire? And synthetics melt? And we are to believe that human beings are just fine, and don't become radioactive or something else?' We discussed shortly, decided to do it anyway, changed clothes, and prepared for the use of The Machine. I began to feel hot, despite the fact that I was naked. It was probably the supplements that kicked in. The inside of The Machine was spacious enough for four or five persons at least. The walls were covered with some sort of glass lenses or something. Strange equiment hang in the ceiling, but since I am not an engineer, I could not guess at their functions. 'This gives the word closet case a new meaning.', you joked from the outside. The speakers worked. 'Can you hear me?' 'Yes, fine, can you hear me?' 'Yes, perfectly. Good that some things on this wreck works.' The inside smelled rather much like the smell I knew from tanning salons. I could sense a vague hint of smoke, perhaps from Tvrtko's mishap with the cotton pants, but there was also a whiff of cleaning solution. I felt very warm. The posing trunks emitted a whiff of leather. I wasn't normally into leather, but it felt naughty to stand there in the buff, excepting just this small equipment of clothing. Black. Glossy. A hissing sound. 'I opened the gas transmission. Everything alright?' 'I am able to breathe as usual. I tell you if I begin to feel funny.' It felt like ordinary air. Perhaps slighly more... chemical. I took a deep breath. And another one. 'No, nothin special yet. Don't worry.' 'I put the powerfield on now, whatever it is. Are you really sure it is safe?' 'How many times do I have to tell you, taht Tvrtko used it months ago, and haven't suffered any... Ungh!' The powerfield hit me, but in a good way. God! What was that? It felt... Oh! 'Oh, it feels good, little buddy. Everything alright outside?' 'I think so. It looks like you are glowing. It's pretty cool. Just tell me if...' Unh! It felt like my entire body was buzzing. Buzzing of something. Buzzing pleasantly. Buzzing... o my God! 'It's good! It's so... mmmm. You will like it when you... oh. Um!' 'It works, Brad! You are growing! You are actually growing! You look awesome!' I had been proud of my pecs for years, but now they were trembling, while they grew larger. Unlike you, the abs had always been a problem spot for me: They existed, alright, and I had been able to feel their hard presence under my belly fat, and even sense a visual hint of them now and then, but the remaining fat had always hid them from sight. Now, the fat melted away, under the pressure of my scientifically heightened metabolism and the strange God-knows-what radiation that was released into The Machine. The Treatment had begun to race through my body. 'Unngh, Brad. You look incredible! You should be able to watch yourself! I can't take it! It is too alluring! I change the settings, yes changing the settings like this, and this.' 'What are you doing? Ummm. Uh. Safety... ummm, oh! Yes!' 'My cuddling monster is becoming a super cuddling monster. Oh! Look at you! Look at that awesomeness! Did I tell you that these posing trunks actually are beginning to feel comfortable?' Your voice came from afar. My transformation experience was beginning to be overwhelming. I didn't know what settings you may have changed, and what safety protocols you could have disregarded, but I wasn't able to object, since the feeling was so intense: The feeling of growth. My shoulders was becoming volley balls or bowling balls. My biceps swelled into monstrous globes of hot, steel hard flesh, and my triceps turned into corded steel wires. You said something, but I couldn't hear exactly what, since the humming sound from the machine, the hissing gas, the sound of my own pulse in my ears - like a sledge hammer - and the raw feeling of growth all claimed my attention. My thighs became pillars of might. My calves exploded into rugby balls. Rugby balls of granite. My traps, my titanium traps... I felt dizzy, but not in a bad way. My back could now carry the entire world, or so it felt. I dont know how long time had lapsed, when I felt your hand against my abs. One part of my brain probably had a vague idea about us taking turns in the machine, but in my enraptured state I didn't care. You were here, with me, inside The Machine and shared my experience of The Treatment, just as I shared yours. My rod pulsated against the inside of my posing trunks. I could hear you roar, as you shared the effects. Effects of the gas. Of the settings. New settings. What we wish to achieve? Power levels? Of the... POWER LEVELS! It was even better than before. Whatever you had done, The Machine now worked on an entirely new level. I held you, standing behind you, as many times before. My little buddy in front of me. I could nuzzle my nose in your hair. It was just a few months since you changed that old fashionable haircut into a fierce buzzcut. The buzzcut suits you. You look much more masculine in the buzzcut. I let my hands - my growing hands? - rest over your pecs. It was obvious that you were growing just like me, perhaps even more so, since your beginner level was... different. What a pair of amazing pecs you had got! And they were still growing! Is my power hobbit turning into a little Lesukov clone, eh? You shivered. I shivered. And then I felt it: You were growing in every way. You were growing taller. You roared. I nuzzled your buzzcut. My rod had pulsated against your back not so long time ago, but now it pulsated against the hollow in your lower spine, and you were still growing. I had to change the angle I nuzzled your buzzcut. Taller. Definitely taller. My little buddy becoming big. Mmmm. Big. I felt bigger, but you grew faster than me. I liked how you grew faster than me. Birthday present. Power. Mmmm. My big hands explored your abs. They had been defined before. Now they had turned into six cannon-balls of uncrushable might. I shivered again. You groaned. Or moaned. I explored your traps. Massaged them while the new settings executed their work on us. So hard and full. Amazing. Your were now beyond what I was when I entered The Machine, and you were approaching what I was becoming. Still becoming. Both of us. Together. Am I not thinking clearly? Oh, it's so good. So good! The new veins running on your arms. Oh! I shivered. You shivered together with me. I could feel the smell of sweat. Sweat rich of testosterone. And the smell of leather. Warm leather. My big hands explored your hard washboard abs again, and then continued further south. You shivered. I could feel your rod bouncing and pulsating on the inside of the trunks. It felt larger than before. Than ever before. You moaned. You shivered. Your leather trunks ripped apart, unable to resist your tool, giving my unprepared hand a lash. Your body against mine. Hot in every sense. My rod at the height of your diamond hard bum. You shivered. New settings. Of what we want to achieve. And power levels. Power. Levels. It felt so... so... Yes it was filling me. And it was filling you. The Power. All these power bolts! Making our metabolisms to packing on more brawn. More! Power emissions into us. Into our brawn. Bolts. Of masculinity. No, hyper-masculinity! Hitting. Surging. Loading. Beyond physicality. Becoming power beings. Of power muscles. Your back! Now with ridges. Valleys. Hard. Against my chest. My mind-blowing pecs. What are you doing? Turning. Around? Mmmm. What. Are. You. Doing? Trunks. Gone? When? Oh you little... Oh. Um. My big little. Unnngh! Now? During... Treatment? My big little... Oh! Enormous little buddy between my legs. You...kidding? Nnngh. Your titanic traps. My Quads. My gigantic little buddy. Protect. Growing. Power levels. Invincible! Yes! YES! YES! BEYOND ALL REASON! BEYOND ALL

Part 1 Here's the first part of a story I quickly decided to whip up. It's mostly setup for later parts, but hopefully you'll enjoy it. As always, feedback is always appreciated. 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 --------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- "Do you know how much it sucks losing your dream job? I poured my heart and soul into that company!" I say, words slurred by alcohol. My complaints are directed to the bartender behind the counter as I stare at my drink. "Hell, I moved to this city just for this job, I don't know anyone here." I look up at the bartender who is polishing a mug nonchalantly. His bearded face shows a hint of a smile as he raises a single eyebrow. I've been coming to this bar weekly since I moved here in the summer, but more recently I've been coming daily. I just barely notice as I slowly begin swaying from side to side in my chair. "Fine, I guess I know you now, but that's not the point! The point is that after just 3 months they tell me that they need to downsize AND I just so happen to be on the cut list! What am I going to do-" I'm cut off by the sensation of stomach acid coming up my throat. I cover my mouth with a hand and sit still waiting for the feeling to pass. Joe, the bartender, just laughs. "I think you've had too much to drink... again. You've been complaining about this for five days in a row now. As for what you're going to do now, that's simple. Get a new job. Luckily," Joe walks a few steps behind him to the bar wall and points to a Help Wanted sign on the wall, "we just so happen to be hiring." I begin shaking my head in protest, but quickly realize that sudden movements aren't doing me any favors. "I can't work in a bar, I'm a journalist! Besides the fact that I have no experience, it's not really my thing. I can't just-" I'm cut off once again by another wave of nausea. I let out a low groan. The room feels like it's spinning. "Alright, alright, get a move on to the restroom before you make a mess of my bar. And at least give the job some thought before you flat out deny it." Joe said with a frown. He then swipes my half empty cup and pours it out. I nod slightly and jog/trip my way to the restroom. The restroom is empty when I enter. I run over to a sink first to splash cold water on my face. I'd rather avoid vomiting all together if I can. The shock of the cold water grounds me somewhat. I stand with my hands gripping the sides of the sink for what seems like an hour, but is more likely a minute or two, until the restroom door opens. I check the sink mirror in front of me to see who just came in and my knees go weak. Walking behind me to the toilet stalls is one of the most muscular men I've ever seen. Truthfully I don't see many bodybuilder types around here, but this man was still above and beyond the norm. He was wearing a pair of jeans that barely seemed to contain his tree trunk legs, and a tailored white dress shirt with the top two buttons undone revealing his shelf-like pecs. I don't like to admit it but I get a bit grabby when I'm intoxicated, and the more I drink the more I want to grab, and tonight I've had a lot to drink. Once the man entered his stall, my drunk brain began scheming of any way to cop a feel of those massive muscles. I stood there staring at the stall from my vantage point at the sink mirror, and began waiting for my chance to act. As soon as I hear the creaking of the stall door opening, I turn around and wait for the mountain of a man to appear. Once he enters my sights I fake a fall towards his large body. My luck finally seems to be looking up as the man catches me in his arms. I take that moment to get a feel of any muscles I can reach, pretending to try and catch my balance. I get a hold of his back, traps, delts, biceps, and pecs before he finally pushes me off of him, his hands on my shoulders. "Woah, what the hell man, are you ok?" The bodybuilder says in a deep gravelly voice. I am in bliss right now. Not only did I just feel up this massive man, but now he's touching me too? Unfortunately, my happiness is short-lived as my nausea decides this is the perfect time to go into overdrive. I only managed a small, "Oh no," before spewing my dinner and copious amounts of booze onto the shirt of the man in front of me. The man yells a string of curse words as he tosses me to the side. I try to grab onto his hand before I fall to slow my descent, but he manages to slip his hand out of my grip. The sudden prat fall knocks the wind out of me and I am forced to put my head on the ground to catch my breath. I sit up slightly to see how the large man I just puked on was doing and almost gasped as I see that he has taken his shirt off to clean it in the sink. Watching his rippling back muscles move as he scrubs his shirt distracts me for a few moments until I notice a small weight in the hand I tried grabbing the man with. Looking down I see a leather bound journal and a black pencil in my hand. Where did this come from? The cover was blank besides a name, "Greg Carlson". I had no idea who that was, but was too drunk to think about it for too long. I flipped the journal open to random page near the middle and began reading it. "-graduated from Anderson County High School with a full-ride sports scholarship. Soon after entering University, became interested in bodybuilding and-" I looked up from the journal and towards the man standing a few feet away from me. Could this be his journal? I doubted that someone as masculine as him would be carrying around a journal of his life stories everywhere he went. Besides, the way it was written seemed more like a third-person view rather than a personal journal. I looked back at the journal and flipped to the first page. Instead of seeing more life events, I saw what seemed like in depth statistics of a person's body. The stats didn't stop with just weight and height however, they went super specific like individual finger lengths. Who keeps track of that? Another thing I noticed was a category for sexual orientation, which was filled in as straight. I barely had time to register my disappointment before I saw something far more interesting, a penis category. With a length of 4 inches and a girth of 3 inches, I felt kind of bad for the guy. If the muscle beast in front of me really was the owner of this journal and it was accurate, his dick, while not horribly small, would look ridiculously tiny in comparison to his massive body. Feeling naughty and a bit horny, I erased the numbers with the black pencil that I found with the journal and replaced them with 10 inches long and 8 inches in girth. Hopefully if he notices what I wrote he'll have a good laugh about it. I got up quickly and placed the journal and pencil down near the man while apologizing quietly. He glared at me as I rushed out of the restroom. Outside of the restroom, I let out a heavy sigh and walked back to the bar, head hung. "Have a bad time in there or something?" Joe asked, noticing my sullen return. "I... I may or may not have puked all over a dude in the restroom." I said, not making eye contact with Joe. Joe was silent for a few seconds before bursting into laughter. His laugh was infectious, and I couldn't help but join in. It was too ridiculous not too. "Shit, man, I'm not going to clean that up." Joe finally said after we stopped laughing. "Ha, luckily I think it pretty much all ended up on the guy and not the floor." I chuckled again before finally looking up at Joe with a grin. "Also, would this be a bad time to ask for that job?" "That was a quick change of heart, but I guess It's a good of a time as any. I can set you up a quick interview this week with the boss. Don't worry though, I'll be there too. You're basically guaranteed the job." As we continue discussing the job and the work it entailed, I notice the bathroom door opening and the man I had met in it exiting from within. He was wearing his shirt once again but now it was wet and basically see-through and his sculpted body was on display. At the very least there was no sign of the vomit I had covered him in. With a distressed look on his face the man kept adjusting his crotch. It was bulging a surprising amount for 4 inches, but I suppose it's all about how you display it. The man speed-walked his way past me without a second glance and left the bar. Joe didn't seem to notice as he continued his spiel on bartender etiquette. Unbeknownst to me, the journal I had found had completely disappeared without the man taking it. Things would soon start to get a bit hectic around here for me.

So there I was at the age of 45 trying to build my life again. I mean, not again, ufff… it's hard to explain… but let's say I had the opportunity of a fresh start. So I moved to Buenos Aires, Argentina. Why Argentina? Well, I’ve traveled a lot and from all the places where to find a balance between nice city, cheap economy and sexy guys this is THE place. So I rented a small apartment in Palermo and decided it was time for me to start a new business. I had some ideas that I thought could work very well and maybe after a year or two sell them as a package for big investors. This was going to be the third time. The idea was quite simple: an e-commerce for wholesalers. Easy, possible and cheap. I only needed a developer. Not too experienced, actually an intern would suit the role more than well. So I started interviewing. I'm not going to bore you with all the interviews I did and all the people (nice people, by the way, love you all). Let's move faster at the end of the line where Ivan was. Ivan was 20 years old. He was a morocho (they call them like that in here), not a black person, not a white person neither but maybe closer. Was he handsome? Mmmmm he wasn’t bad… you know… I mean thinking about his head… he was kind of nerdy… worst haircut ever… like dumb and dumber you know? But… ok Was he tall? Probably 2 inches taller than me. I’m not Mr. statue, but I don’t feel I'm a hobbit… I’m a decent 5 foot 5 (no one will remind because of my height, ok). Was he built? Ok, now we have something to talk about. You know those guys that have big muscles (or decent muscles) but covered in fat? Well, he was one of those. I mean, he wasn’t fat at all. He had like a broad back, big shoulders, big arms and his body stretched that shirt especially on the shoulders. But because of all the fat he had there was no chest definition, no six packs… It was a trained boy, with a big body. He looked strong, no doubt about it. So we talked for 30 minutes. I felt he was good for the role. —So, do you have any other interests? Hobbies? —Oh… hobbies? I like to train!… Gym! —his English was as rough as himself. —I can tell! He laughed —Do you train a lot? —Oh, four times a week… I used to be personal trainer… —Really? When? When you were 10? —haha! No no, two years ago… I’ve been training since I was 15… —Nice… ok then, let me call you back… That night I jacked off thinking about him. I mean I could be his father… or he could be a friend of my son? That was much better… (I'm not THAT pervert…) So… Ivan… big and powerful and young Ivan… when you reach certain age there are some things that look way different from before… youth was one… and body of course… cause actually they are related. I couldn’t help but get horny with the idea of a much younger man than me… overpowering me… dominating me… ok ok… all the humiliation games you probably know… Sex, for christ sake! So next day I sent him an email: Congratulation! You are hired! And sent him the address of the office I rented and asked him to be on Monday at 9 AM. I'm not going to give many details of the work itself. Let say I had money and was good at business, to make things short it was easy for me. It was a very nice office, a small one with two desks I bought, a bathroom (with a shower and a small dressing room!) and a nice kitchen. So on Monday there we were, young and big Ivan and me. I took the first week to explain to him every detail of the business so he would know what to do. He learned fast and looked happy with his tasks. By the end of the month, we were working 100% of our time. Things moved fast, so did Ivan… Winter came and since I like doing sports I started jogging at noon. It was my favorite moment of the day to do that and the only possible moment to avoid freezing. I changed myself in the dressing room and went out. Ivan kept on working with his headphones on listening to some metal (I hate metal!). After some days of doing that routing I said: —Hey, Ivan! Don’t you wanna go out to do some jogging? —What? jogging? I’m not that fan of that… —I mean not necessary jogging… you could do whatever you want… don’t know… do some training… I mean... There are a lot of gyms nearby… —Really? —his face lit up— That would be great! Thanks, Mr. Johnson. —Ivan, you can call me Andy. —Oh! Ok, sorry, Mr. Johnson. So he kept calling me Mr. Johnson. That was something that made me feel older but at the same time… hot? Don’t know… Oooh, sex… what a mystery you are!! Ok so I kept on jogging and Ivan started the gym. And after that each of us would eat at their desks, working. I was in front of him and the screen blocked us from seeing each other. From time to time I would stand up to answer some doubt next to his computer and sometimes it was the other way around. Normal business, people. Keep going, nothing to see, except Ivan. At first, I didn’t notice it. But it was true that he used to use jogging suits all the time. So, what could I notice below that?. But once I stumbled next to him and grabbed his arm to keep from falling. What happened? Don’t know but that wasn’t an arm! It was like concrete or something even harder… —Are you ok? —he said. —yeah… sorry… sorry I grabbed your arm… —Oh, it’s ok… I didn’t fell anything… So there was something going on… Autumn finally came… and that Monday Ivan came with a t-shirt of a smaller size than his body. I remembered he was big… but now for sure, he was bigger. —Hey, big guy! —Hey Mr. Johnson —he said and left his bag full of who knows what. —You grew some muscles over there… —Oh? ha! yeah! I'm training a lot… —Really? I can tell! How many times? —Oh five… yeah, five… —Nice! Good progress! —Oh, thanks! —he said. I did notice he was quite ashamed. But that wasn’t the only thing that was changing. There was this day. Both of us were working in a certain feature and I wanted to check something with Ivan. —Hey, Ivan! Come here —I said from my desk. He stood up and came just right next to me. I showed him some things that he was doing wrong and told him how to fix them. Then I said: —Ok, we’ll do that later… I’m going to jog —and then I stood up. What happened? I froze… —Are you… bigger… I mean… taller… —Ah? —he said looking at me from his good head taller. Not only taller, I mean he was bigger… way-way bigger than before… his shoulders… he had… he had a chest… —You think? —he said taking a step closer to measure himself My heart skipped a beat. I was two inches from his body. I didn’t realize how big he was. He lifted an arm to measure my height against his chin and I saw what was going on at his arms. Muscles! Big muscles. —Yep… you are right… I'm taller… How tall are you? —Oh… don’t know… 5 foot 7? —Mmmm don’t think so… I was that when we met and I was taller than you… —Oh… —I must be 5 foot 8… —That is tall… —You think? —Yep, you are starting to look big… —Yep! —he laughs— My girlfriends say that too. —Does she? —so there was a girl… What happened? Oh, nothing, Ivan kept growing. Did it make sense? Of course not! I mean he was too old to have a growth spurt… how late was that? Well… never mind… Was I was enjoying the whole thing? I was going nuts… Every day his clothes were tighter, shorter, smaller in comparison with this huge body. But not only he was getting bigger, he was losing some fat… and muscles started to show themselves. —Hey, Mr. Johnson! —Hey… wow! Ivan… what happened? I mean… you look huge! —Haha! You think so? Thanks! I feel great! He would never do a double bicep or something… he was super shy… but there was no chance he could hide that muscle body… —How much do you weight? —Oh… don’t know… I don’t weight myself that much… —Really? We’ll have to fix that! That afternoon I bought a scale. —There you go… step there… take off your sneakers and your sweater… He did… OMG! What a back! He was becoming a beast! —230lb… Ivan, you are huge! —Wow! I didn’t think I was that big… I mean I see myself in the mirror… and I feel good… —Do you? —Yeah! I'm lifting a lot! —How much are you bench pressing? —Oh!… let me see… 100… 150… 300 lbs I guess… —Wow! —Ha! yeah! But my trainer told me is ok for someone as big as me… I'm 6 foot tall now… —What? —haha! Yeah, you were right Mr. Johnson. I'm getting taller! —You are giant! I’ll have to look too high to talk to you! —Haha! You are not that short… —Let me prove my point! —I step closer and look directly to his chest— You see? From here I can only see your chest… huge chest, by the way? But to see your face I have to move back… you see? Huge! —Haha… you are getting smaller Mr. Johnson! So every Monday we had our scaling session and I added a tape to measure his height. —Haha! 250 lb, Mr. Johnson! —Come here, you giant! Let me measure you! He steps next to me. I was facing just the bottom of his chest. Every part of his body was getting too huge for his clothes. I raised my hand and touch the top of his head to read: —6 foot 2… He was enormous but at the same time, he was so shy that was like a little kid in the body of a supergiant muscle man filled with strength from head to bottom. A few weeks later: —Wow! 270lb, Mr. Johnson! —Really? Let see if you grew… But when I tried to measure him I realize I didn’t reach his head. —Let me help you —and lift me so I could reach his head. His hands were enormous and I felt the strength on his arms that didn’t tremble, not even for a second. —Wow! You are getting strong, Ivan! —Haha! Yes, that was easy… how much do you weight? —Let see… The scale said 145… —Wow! That felt like nothing, Mr. Johnson! And then I read the tape… —Ivan, you are 6 foot 3… I was starting to freak out… A month later he went to the scale by himself. —How much, big guy? —I said. —Can’t read… It was true. The scale was next to the wall and to read the scale he had to bend over this chest but the wall was there. —Let me do it —just getting close to him was amazing— 310lb… its official: you are a giant! —You think so? I feel all things around me getting smaller. You too, Mr. Johnson —and he lifts me up— You are getting lighter! Measure me! So I did. —Oh… Ivan, you are 6 foot 5… —Are you for real? Let me see! —he was still holding me— Wow! I'm as tall as a basketball player! —Ehhhh… Ivan… Can you let me go? —Oh Sorry! I forgot I was holding you! You weight nothing, Mr. Johnson you should put some weight! But next week his mood changed dramatically. On Monday he didn’t even get close to the scale. He was silent and I could see he was sad. His expression was even different. —Are you ok, Ivan? —Yes, sure… —You don’t look ok… is there something worrying you? —Mr. Johnson… do you have a wife? —I did —It was 50% true… —Did you ever fight? —A lot. Did you fight with your girlfriend? Did something happen? —She says… —he paused. —She says....? —She says I'm too big. —You are big… that is true. But is there something bad about it? Some people are big... some are not. Is she worried because you grew too much? —No, you don’t get it… It’s not about my height… —Ok, it's about your muscles? —No!!!!! —he almost turned red just because I said that. —Then what is it about….? —and then my heart skipped one… two… three… four beats— Oh! Oh! Oh! You mean… —Yeah… —Oh… —I went silent— Really? I mean… how much? —She says it hurts too much! She doesn’t want to be with me anymore! She thinks its weird… O was starting to feel a heat. —And… mmmmmhh… And… aahhh.. what… do you… think? —I don’t know! —Do you like it? I mean do you like to be… big? —I don’t know! —I think you do, Ivan… He looked at me. He was a boy. A muscle giant with a huge (how fucking much????) cock, but a boy. Strong as a fuck but lost… —I think you know… and even more… I think you like it… am I wrong? you like to be big. He kept on looking at me. I punched him on the shoulder (my god… it was made of concrete) —Don’t be sad, big man. Maybe she is afraid, maybe you need to think about you… what do you want? Can you answer that? You like to train… right? Go to the gym? —yes…. —And you like getting bigger… –yes… —And you like getting taller… —yes —Now, don’t tell me you don’t like to have a big… you know… everyone man would like that… What do you say? You like it or not? —I think I do… —Ok —I stood up— Let’s do this… I'm going to sponsor you… Ivan was shocked. —Sponsor me? —Yes! I’m going to help you in your training. I’m going to sponsor you. You know! I’ll buy you all the things you need to have a proper training. Proteins, carbs, creatine, all that stuff. What do you say? —Really??? —he was smiling now— Mr. Johnson! Don’t know what to say! —Say you’ll train harder! He stood up. His face went up up up and all his body erupted like a mountain of muscles. I didn’t reach his chest anymore. He hugged me and pressed my face against his mighty pectorals. They were there, I felt them like a wall of concrete. Solid and powerful. I had to see him without clothes. I felt like a little kid crushed by a muscle man. —I’ll get huge for you, Mr. Johnson! —and he pressed me harder. Spring came and Ivan started to use fewer clothes. He was not only happier, he was bigger than ever and growing like never before. I bought him t-shirts and a lot of tank tops. Lots of very tiny shorts, and lots of supplements for him to eat. A few weeks later, the heat raised a lot. Teenagers were outside having fun. I was walking to the office and then I saw him coming. Ivan was on his bike bare-chested and using just a pair of lycra shorts. He wasn’t big... He was the biggest stud I’ve ever seen. His back was so wide that the bike looked like a tooth stick. His arms bulged with rocks of muscles and so did his shoulders. Those shoulders were bigger than my head. The muscles on his legs were so big that erupted like jams on each side. He was the image of strength and power. The most impressive man. I ran to catch him at the entrance. —Hey, big man! He stood up and I saw his huge (HUGE) abs… 8 impossible big abs and the two enormous rocks filled with power on top. The biggest chest I’ve seen in a person. I looked him from top to bottom. I did notice the incredible big meat on his pants. But his huge body was shinning. It was all sweaty. The most marvelous man was in front of me. In front and above: he was way taller than me. I only reached his abs. I moved closer. —Nice bike! —I said just as I moved even closer. I looked like a small little girl next to her giant muscle brother. Shirtless and hung as a stud. —It’s not mine. It's from my dad. It's too expensive for me to buy…. —Oh! Really? Do you like me to buy you a bike? —Oh! No! No, Mr. Johnson, you’ve done a lot for me! I could never…. —Stop right there, big fellah! I like to help you! You are happy and that what matter most! Because you are happy, right? —Happy? I'm like crazy… I have to tell you… —Did you grow right? I mean… —I had to say it— you look impressive. I’ve never seen you without clothes before. —Oh yeah! I'm way-way bigger! —We should weigh you! —That would great! —he lifted the bike and carry it above his shoulders. —You first! —I said to follow him. Walking was even more impressive that cycling. Every muscle on his back was working in something different. His legs were so long and big that he has to move them in a weird way. And his arm, his flexed arm that was holding the bike looked like metal or even more: pure muscle of a man. He stepped into the scale… and… broke it! —Ivan, you broke the scale… —Oh! I'm so sorry, Mr. Johnson. I’ll buy a new one! —Don’t be silly! —I said and punched him on his abs cause it was the only part of him I could reach. Believe me: it was as solid as the wall— Go take a shower! I’ll buy a new one! So I run to buy a new even more resistant scale. —There you go. Take off your clothes so we can get the real number. —Sure He said and tried to take off his shirt. But he couldn’t —Haha! I can’t take it. Would you help me? —Sure! —I said trembling! I grab it and helped him. When his muscle torso was free he moved closer. —Thanks! It’s hard for me to take them off, my back is too big. I lost my breath. He steps on the scale and said: —I can’t read. —Oh my god… —What? Did I break it? So sorry, Mr. Johnson! I promise I won’t do it again! —Ivan… you weight 420 lbs… —What? Are you for real? I’m huge! I was right next to that giant muscle man and I did notice the big python starting to move. —Ivan… you are an impressive man… I’ve never seen someone as big and muscular as you. —And you didn’t see me naked! My heart stopped… —Oh Sorry Mr. Johnson, I didn’t mean to say that! It just! Oh shit! —It's ok, Ivan! I understand! You had something to tell me…. —Oh! yes! —he said and he turned red— Last night… ahh, I went to a party… and there were a lot of sexy girls there… —Oh! I see. And you met someone! —Yes! and no! I mean. I didn’t meet them! —Them? He looked at me and turned red. —Did you have sex with more than one girl? He said yes just moving his head and smiling like a child. —Two? —He said no— Three? —he was smiling even more— Wow! How many? Four? —Seven… —What? —It was incredible, Mr. Johnson! They were crazy over my muscles!! They started touching me! And kissing me! It was amazing! You were right, Mr. Johnson! Girls love big muscles! They said I was huge and asked me to flex! I was so horny that I did! It was funny! I’ve never done that before! —You never flex, before? —Nop. —You should try it… —You mean alone? I don’t get it! What for? —I don’t know… I mean… I could help you with that if you want… —Really? that would be great! I would flex for you! Thanks! —No problem! And Ivan, you don’t need to wear a t-shirt in here. So feel free to be like this if you want! —Oh! Great! —and even without noticing he bounced his chest. Unbelievable. Pure mass of muscles. A man filled with strength. —Oh! We forgot to measure you! —Oh, yeah! Without even saying anything he lifts me. But I didn’t have the chance to grab the tape. So he just uses one hand to hold me. I was using his palm as a seat and grabbed from his arm not to fall. It was like a tree, muscles over muscles, strong and expanded. —There you go —he said after getting the tape. —Ivan… you are holding me with one arm… and your arm… is huge! —Oh! yeah! you are not that heavy you know! I use barbels bigger than you. —Can I touch it? Your arm I mean… —Sure! Look at this —and he flexed his arm in front of my face—Look, Its bigger than your head! —Can I touch it? —I was trembling. —Sure! I grab his bicep with both my hands. It was a rock. A huge a powerful rock. The strongest arm I’ve ever felt. On the biggest muscle man, I’ve ever seen. —It's so… hard… —Squeeze it… —Oh… really? Ok… —he was still holding me with his other arm. —Harder… —Oh my god… —Harder… —I can’t… —Haha! You can’t even dent it! —he straightened and I lost balance. Without even thinking I placed my hand on his chest. It was even harder! —Oh sorry! —Don’t be sorry, Mr. Johnson! You can touch my body! These muscles are all yours! I'm this huge because of you! You can touch my chest anytime you want! —Really? —Really… go ahead! Feel how hard I am… —Oh my god… Ivan…you are so big… and hard… —Told you…hit me… —What?? No! —Come on, Mr. Johnson! You won’t hurt me… —Are you sure? —Yeah! —he shouts and bounces his pecs I hit them. It was like hitting a tank. —Again! I punched again! —Come on, man! Hit hard! Hit like a man! I used all my strength. His body was even harder! —Harder! Hit my muscles! I obey. —Come on! Hit this chest! I was exhausted but I tried again. —Told you! —I was so tired that I rested against his chest without noticing it— You can’t hurt me, Mr. Johnson. I'm too big. I was just caressing his chest. —You don’t know how good it feels to have muscles this big! I feel like a fucking beast… I could lift you like this for hours, you know?!! How does it feel, Mr. Johnson? To be next to someone as huge and strong as me? —It's amazing —I was about to start kissing his chest. —Did you ever see someone as big as me? —No —I said not only to answer his question but also because he left me on the floor again. —Stand up next to me, I want to see how big I am. I was almost shaking. I was just millimeters away from his abs. And his python cock was almost burst his shorts. —You are getting smaller, Mr. Johnson. I have to bend to see you over my chest! Hows the view? Am I big enough for you? —You are impressive… —Do you want me to be even bigger? If you want I can grow more. —Oh yes… please… —I can make my muscles much bigger… and you won’t even reach my abs. Do you want that? —Yes, please! —Ok, Mr. Johnson. I’ll get huge for you! I’ll make my muscles even bigger! I’ll show you how big can I be. Enjoy the view, Mr. Johnson! Summer came. What could I say? I was living a dream. Ivan was beyond of being big. He had to duck to pass through doors, he had to turn because his back was wider than frames. He was not only getting big, his muscles were gaining more definition, thickness, and density. He wasn’t using shirts anymore, days were so warm that it made sense for him to be bare-chested. But what a chest! It was like looking someone with his armor on all the time. From time to time a would stand up and go to his place to show him something. But instead of that, something like this happened all the time: —You look amazing, Ivan. —Thanks, Mr. Johnson. I’ve trained shoulders today… You should’ve seen me lifting like crazy… I would place both my hands in each of the huge and rounded shoulders. —Your shoulders are huge… You are such a man… —My muscles could use some massage… And I would do that like a servant. I would massage his back, his shoulders, his arms, and his huge chest. —Mr. Johnson, you are great with your hands… Feel this… And then he would tense his chest. —You are so strong, Ivan. I can’t believe the size of your muscles! You are a god! —Ok, I'm off —he would stand up— This god is going to get even bigger. I would stand next to him. He was so tall that I was face to face with his python. His legs were huge as tree trunks. I placed my hands on his strong legs and huge legs. —You like that, don’t you, Mr. Johnson? —Oh, you are such a man. —You I’ll see how much this man can grow, Mr. Johnson. And he would leave me there. That was almost every day until the bathroom thing happened. One day he came back from the gym. He had not showered there because they had a problem in the gym so he came back to take a shower at the office. I followed him like a zombie. —Can I help you, Ivan? —Oh… Yeah… I’m so hard after training I can barely move. Would you mind taking my clothes off, Mr. Johnson? In other people, I would detect the perversion at these words, but there was none in Ivan. He was like a child. —Oh, sure! He sat on the small bench the dressing room had. He was still taller than me even seated, but I got in front of me his wide and big chest. What a view! He lifted his huge arms and I took his tank top from his waist up, up, up and he was free. All his body was shining, rock solid and filled with the biggest muscles. I placed both hands on his chest and filled his strength. Without even thinking I kissed them. A second after I was frozen. I didn’t dare to look him in the eyes. —That was nice, Mr. Johnson —he said and added— You can kiss my muscles. Girls do that. They go crazy with my chest. You can do that as well. Let me show you. He placed one of his big and powerful hands on my head and pressed me against his chest. —How’s that Mr. Johnson? Feel my power. You can use your tongue, you know. Girls do that. There you go, lick those big muscles. Lick my chest like a girl! Oh, you are good with your mouth. Do you like my big chest? —I love it. —I know you do. He stood up. But he was too big to fit in the dressing room. —Take off my pant, Mr. Johnson Was that possible? I mean how did he fit in those pants? They were super tight at his waist but below that, he had the biggest and most hard legs I’ve ever seen. I started to throw but it was impossible. I only got to see his underpants and his huge python resting there. —What happens, Mr. Johnson? Do you need some help with my shorts? —You are too big, Ivan. I can’t —Haha, don’t worry! Let a man handle that. And with a single movement, he destroyed his shorts. —There you go. I was just looking at his giant muscle body in front of me. My hands were shaking. —Are you going to stay there, Mr. Johnson? —Ivan… —I didn’t know what was I going to say —Don’t be afraid, Mr. Johnson… —Would you… would you call me… would you call me “little man”…? He smiled. —Don’t be afraid, little man. I'm a huge man, but I'm not bad. I have huge muscles but I'm a good guy. Do you want to see my huge cock? I said yes with my head. —But first take off your clothes, little man. I want to see how small you are. I did as fast as I could, though I was trembling. —There you go, little man. You are so small and fragile… haha! it makes me feel huge. He did his first most muscular pose. —Look how big I am… Look at my body. This is how a man should look like. Look how big is my arm comparing to yours. You are so weak… His python was raising below his underpants. —Do you want to see my huge muscle body naked, Little man? You are going to cry when you see the size of my dick. Take off your underpants. I did. —Whats there? You call that a dick? Haha! It's the size of my pinky. Let me show you how big is the cock of a real man! And he started to flex his body and while he talked his cock grew and grew and grew. —I love to be this big and you that small. Hows the view of my body? my big and powerful body. I love to see all the little people like you look at me from below. I love how they get scared of this chest. I have all the power here, you know. I like to see you drooling over my muscles, Mr Johnson. I'm your biggest turn on, ha? You are such a fag for my muscles and you are so small, I could crush you with my fingers. I love seeing you get smaller day after day. I love to show you how much I can grow. You call yourself a man? With that dick? Really? —his python was the size of my arm now and pointing up— This is how a man should look like. Muscles everywhere. Strong as a fuck. Oh, Mr. Johnson, I'm so big. You don’t know how strong I am! All these muscles are so fucking strong. Hit my legs. Come on! Harder! Hit like a man! Yeah! Keep hitting, Mr. Johnson! I don’t feel anything! You are just a fag, this is man. Look at this arm! Look at this muscle! I’m a fucking giant! Lick my legs! There you go, lick them like the fag you are. I should rape you to show you how a real man fucks! But I think I'm too big! I would fucking kill you! Haha! I'm huuuuuge! —his python was almost the size of my leg—. Pay attention Mr. Johnson, LOOK HOW HUUUUUUGE IS THIS FUCKING MAN! And his underpants split in two. The biggest cock I’ve ever seen was above my head. —HAHA! You won’t even reach my cock —he said starting to stroke the immense shaft— I love to be this big. I'm a fucking beast. LOOK AT MY COCK! THIS IS HOW A MAN SHOULD LOOK LIKE! LOOK AT THE SIZE OF MY BODY! OH MR. JOHNSON IM TOO FUCKING BIG! COME HERE, STEP ON THE BENCH, LITTLE MAN! IM GOING TO SHOW YOU HOW BIG I AM I did and there I was in front of that huge, long, and filled with power shaft. He was stroking his monstrous cock very slowly. —ARE YOU SURE YOU CAN TAKE THIS COCK, MR JOHNSON? IT'S TOO BIG FOR YOU! LICK IT. I grab it with both hands and lick the huge head of it. It was way-way bigger than my mouth. —Haha! THERE YOU GO, MR. JOHNSON, LICK MY MUSCLE COCK! YOU HAVE A LITTLE TONGUE THERE… USE IT… COME ON…. WORSHIP MY COCK MR. JOHNSON. WORSHIP MY FUCKING HUGE BODY. DO YOU LIKE MY MUSCLES DONT YOU? YOU CAN’T HELP TO FAG ALL OVER THIS GIANT BODY! YOU WANT MY CHEST, RIGHT?. ITS FUCKING ENORMOUS! IM SUCH A MAN! LICK HARDER! SUCK IT! OPEN THAT MOUTH MR. JOHNSON! MY HUGE COCK WON’T FIT IN THERE IF YOU DON’T OPEN BIGGER! COME ON, DON’T BE A PUSSY! OPEN IT! OPEN BIGGER! HAHA IM GOING TO BREAK YOUR JAW WITH MY COCK! ARE YOU AFRAID? ARE YOU AFRAID OF WHAT THIS MUSCLES CAN DO? YOU CAN’T STOP THIS BODY! IM TOO BIG! TOO STRONG! YOU DON’T UNDERSTAND HOW IS IT TO BE THIS STRONG! ITS SUCH A TURN ON! I CAN FUCK EVERY ONE I WANT! HAHA ARE YOU AFRAID? OPEN BIGGER! HAHA GIRLS GO CRAZY ON MY BODY! JUST LIKE YOU, MR JOHNSON. YOU CAN HELP TO WORSHIP MY MUSCLES, SPECIALLY MY CHEST! EVEN NOW YOU WANT TO TOUCH IT RIGHT? YOU WANT TO FEEL HOW STRONG IS MY CHEST! EVERYONE WANTS TO TOUCH THIS CHEST! OH FUCK… I HOPE YOU ARE READY MR JOHNSON. YOU ARE GOING TO DRINK ALL MY MAN JUICE. And he came all over me and sent me to heaven.

Great story. Sad it’s over. Love your other stuff too.

Nice cant wait for more

Awesome. Muscle theft is one of my favourite genres. Xyggurat must be among the best there is.

Part 3 Here's the next part of the story! I needed to cool off a bit after that last part so this one is a bit slower. Enjoy! 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 --------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- As I sat there confused by the journal's sudden appearance, I could feel Grant begin to wake up beside me. The bed creaked under us from Grant's shifting weight and just before Grant turned towards me, I reached under the pillow behind me and hid the journal. Still on his side Grant was now facing me, a smile on his face. "Hey there. I almost thought what happened between us was a just a dream. I've never felt anything so intense before." "I'm almost surprised it wasn't. The amount of cum that came out of you was insane." I joked, patting my stomach. Honestly, it was way more than I'd ever experienced before, it didn't even seem possible. "That was new for me too." Grant replied, blushing. Grant then began sitting up, but stopped quickly with a look of pain on his face. With a grunt, he fell backwards onto the bed. "Holy shit am I sore. I have no idea what happened with that workout, but I feel like was run over by a truck." Grant said through gritted teeth. "But it also feels kinda good, like the best pump of my life." Now on his back, I had a clear look at his whole body. While he hadn't changed drastically, I was slightly taken aback by what I saw. Grant seemed to have shed a couple pounds of fat and replaced it with muscle mass and slight definition while his legs and chest had also become more vascular. I wasn't sure how long it had been since we fell asleep, but Grant's pump still seemed to be going strong. "I think I'm just going to lie here for a while." Grant said. He sighed as he closed his eyes and his breathing slowed down. I waited a few seconds, expecting Grant to say something else, but it seemed like he had instantly passed out again. He must have had a really tough time with that workout. Slowly, I reached back under the nearby pillow to grab the journal. After waving my hand under the pillow a few times and not finding the journal, I lifted the pillow up to find that the journal had vanished. "What the hell?" I whispered under my breath, being careful not to wake Grant. I got the journal to appear just minutes before this, but how? What triggered it? I put the pillow back down and began thinking of things to try. At the same time, I got off the bed and began gathering my clothes off the ground. After picking up my now dry shorts, I fished around in my pockets until I found my phone. I turned the screen on to check the time. The time read just before noon, but that didn't seem right, I came over to Grant's house after noon. I looked out the window to make sure my phone was right and saw the morning sun rising. I looked down at my phone once more and realized that it was already Sunday. We had slept nearly an entire day away. I guess a romp that charged up tends to make you really tired. Not wanting to wear my soiled underwear and shorts, and being unwilling to walk in the nude to my car for my change of clothes, I decided to borrow some of Grant's. I walked over to his closet and began going through his drawers. After trying on a several pairs of underwear, it was clear that they were too large for me. If I wasn't holding them up they slid right off of me. I dug a little deeper until I found a jockstrap that fit surprisingly well. Grant wasn't the athletic type, so I could only imagine why he would own a jockstrap. I then quickly found a pair of workout shorts that fit and finally put my own shirt back on. Now fully dressed, I stood in the center of the room and began trying to make the journal appear again. The first thing I tried was to just will the journal into existence. After several unsuccessful minutes of scrunching my face in effort and making grabbing gestures that must have made me look like a madman, I decided that this probably wasn't the right way to do it. I thought back to each of the times the journal appeared and tried to find a common thread. An idea began to form in my mind and I moved my way over to the sleeping Grant. I slowly placed my hand on his belly and pulled my hand back. Nothing happened. I paused once more. Maybe I needed to think something specific at the same time? I tried recalling what I was thinking each time the journal appeared, but I had no clue where to begin. I placed my hand back on to Grant and began thinking about how I could help ease the soreness that I had indirectly caused. I didn't know what else to do so I took my hand off him only to see the black and white journal and mechanical pencil materialize out of thin air into my hand. Apparently, physical contact and a desire to help the other person seemed to be a trigger for making the journals show up. I flipped the journal open to where I wrote in it and erased my entry. While it would have helped Grant build muscle, the drawbacks were a bit too extreme. I really like Grant and didn't want to change him in ways that I'd regret, so I decided not to add anything else to his journal, at least for the time being. Now the question became: how do I make the journal disappear? My phone began to vibrate. I put down the journal onto a nearby desk and grabbed my phone. Joe had just texted me. "My pals and I are going out to the club later today. Do you want to join?" It was hard for me to imagine Joe outside the setting of the bar since that's the only place I'd ever seen him, but I guess everyone has a life outside of their job. I replied to Joe saying that I'd come. After getting the address and time, I put my phone back into my pocket. I looked over to where I had put down the journal only to find that it had already disappeared. Does it disappear when I stop thinking about it? While there were quite a few mysteries left about the Journal, I decided that it was time for me to head out. I wrote a short note to Grant telling him that it was Sunday and to get better, but also writing that we'd see each other again soon. I put the note on the bedside table near Grant and left the house. --------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- I stepped out of the taxi in front of the club and took a look around. There was a large line of young, mostly twenty-somethings waiting to enter the club. I didn't go clubbing very often, one of the reasons being that I felt so much older than the majority of the club-goers. I'm only in my early thirties, but the age difference is apparent whenever I talk to them. At the front of the line is a stocky man with a goatee who I assume is the bouncer. As I walk closer, I see the bouncer is talking to someone while ushering people into the venue, but I don't have a clear view of who. As I start heading towards the back of the line, I hear a voice call out my name from the direction of the bouncer. I turn back to see Joe waving at me from beside the bouncer. "You made it." Joe said once I got closer. He was wearing a vibrant red dress shirt with the top few buttons undone showing off quite the hairy chest. "What the hell are you wearing?" I ask, trying to cover up a laugh. "What? It's just my clubbing shirt. You like it, right Al?" Joe said, now looking at the bouncer. The bouncer rolled his eyes and continued letting people into the club. "I'll take that as a yes!" Joe said, not letting the silence deter him for even a second. "Anyways, Al, meet Dan. Dan this is Al. We'll be going in now." Without waiting for a response, Joe grabbed me by my arm and brought me into the club. With the music blaring and the lights being so low, I would have gotten lost in the crowd instantly if it wasn't for Joe guiding me through. After bumping into people and trying to avoid getting drinks spilled onto us, Joe led me to an upstairs lounge area where he finally let my arm go. We stopped at a large couch where three people, two men and a woman, were waiting for us. "Hey guys, this is Dan." Joe said while acting out a grand gesture towards me. The group clapped sarcastically before Joe dived back into introductions. "Sitting on the right, is Otto," He points towards the thin man who has his arm around the blonde lady beside him. "He's a programmer, but don't get too close, he's a biter!" "Woah, don't go spreading rumors now. I only bite in self defense." Otto said, winking towards me. "Sitting beside him is Claire." Claire waves at me. "She's Otto's girlfriend." "Really? That's all I am? I'm also a doctor by the way," Claire says, tossing a few pretzels at Joe. "Which is why I'm only drinking water," she finishes, picking up her cup to emphasize the point. "Finally we have Cameron," The man being introduced is sitting with one leg on the table in front of him. He is wearing a tight shirt that shows off all the bulges of his upper body. "But everyone just calls him Jock since-" "Boom!" Jock yells out as he lifts up the front of his shirt to reveal his shredded eight-pack. "Yeah, that. Honestly I have no idea what he does, but he's a bodybuilder or something." Joe says with a shrug. "Hell no! I'm all about the physique." Jock says, sounding almost offended. "With that over with, let's party!" With introductions over, I followed the group back down to the club floor. After a few hours of drinking and dancing, Joe comes up to me and tells me that the group is heading out. "Come with us, the night doesn't have to end here!" Joe starts to pull me behind him before I have a chance to refuse. Outside, we met up with Jock, Claire, Otto, and Al the bouncer. "Al's done his shift so we can go to his place" Jock says when he sees us coming. "I never said you could come to my house." Al said, shaking his head. He didn't put up any more protests however and seemed resigned to his fate. "Perfect! Let's go! Al, you can drive us, right?" Joe said, already heading towards the parking lot. "Fine. Just don't make a mess of the seats." --------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- A short time later, we arrive at Al's place and pick up where we left off at the club. Before long however, we end up sitting in a circle on the living room floor. "You know what we should be doing right now?" Claire says, picking up an empty beer bottle and placing it in the center of the circle. We all see where this is going and begin protesting. "Claire, you know I'm sitting right here beside you right?" Otto says. "Also, there are four guys and only one girl." "Is that a problem? If you're so scared to kiss another man, maybe there's a bigger problem." Claire said tauntingly. Most likely from the alcohol, Otto fell for the provocations. "Oh yeah? Well I'll show you!" Otto puffed up his chest and strode over to the bottle and gave it a quick spin. The bottle slowed to a stop pointing towards Claire. Otto cheered and leaned towards Claire and gave her a kiss. "Damn, well there goes my fun. Alright, Dan, you're next." Claire continued. "What? We're actually doing this? Why are we playing such a juvenile game?" I asked with a groan. What I didn't say was how I wouldn't actually mind kissing any of the people in the circle. "If anyone has any objections, speak now." Claire announced. After no one said anything, she turned back towards me. "There's your answer." I take a look around the room once more before I walk over to the bottle. Jock is on his phone not paying attention. Joe is watching eagerly as he sips his beer. Al is staring at the bottle nervously. Finally, Claire and Otto are leaning against each other and watching me expectantly. I reach down and spin the bottle. I hold my breath as the bottle begins to slow down.The bottle stops at Al. "Uh. I've never kissed a dude before." Al said. Al's eyes keep darting between the bottle and me. "Don't worry about it. It's pretty much the same as kissing a girl." I had no idea if that was true, but I didn't want him to freak out. Al stood up with me and we stared at each other for a second. I took the initiative and went in for the kiss. Al shut his eyes tightly. Our lips made contact, but the kiss was very underwhelming. Al didn't move at all so it felt almost like kissing a mannequin. I ended the kiss quickly and stepped away from him. "I think I'm gonna be sick." I hear Otto say. "Hey, it wasn't that bad." I say as I turn towards Otto. "No, not that," Otto says. His face is pale. "I think I drank too much." "And that's our cue to leave." Claire helps Otto stand up. "I'll call us a cab." Joe says. "Lightweight." Jock says after he puts his phone away and begins walking out of the room. I look around the room and notice the mess we made. "I'll stay here for a bit and help Al clean up." I call out to Joe. He's already in the process of calling for a ride, but turns towards me and nods. "You don't have to stay. I can clean it up myself." Al says eyeing the garbage left everywhere. "No way. I feel bad just making this mess. I wouldn't want to just leave it all for you to take care of." Once everyone else leaves, Al and I begin cleaning. "So you didn't seem super keen on us coming to your place." I said, trying to ease into the conversation. "Why didn't you just tell us not to come?" Al was quiet for a few seconds before he answered. "Even though I'm a bouncer, I'm not very intimidating. People tend to ignore what I say." I glanced over at Al. While he definitely wasn't small by any means, but Al did seem more friendly than scary. From what I could see, he had the bulky build of a power lifter. "If I could just be huge, I'm sure people would listen to me." I heard Al whisper. I don't think he meant for me to hear that, so I acted like I didn't notice. I suddenly had an idea of how I could help Al. As Al leaned down to pick up a piece of garbage, I pretended to grab for it as well, instead touching his hand. As I pulled my hand away a journal began to materialize. I quickly hid the journal behind me and made up an excuse to go to the washroom. I found my way to the washroom and closed the door behind me. I brought out the journal. The journal had a dark blue moleskine cover read "Alistair O'Donnell". Huh, so that's what Al is short for, I thought to myself. Beside the journal is a plain black pencil which I take hold of. I make a mental note about the fact that each of the journals have had completely different covers. So Al wants to get big? I can help him with that. I flip past the stats page but not before noticing that he is listed as bisexual. I could always just increase his numbers, but where's the fun in that? I want an active role, something I can help with. I continue going through the journal until I get to his likes page. I take a moment to scan over the items to find something that I can work with until I find the perfect one, having his muscles admired. I quickly find my way to the attributes page and write a new entry. My scheme to make Al bigger is about to be set in motion.

Wow this is soooooo good! Love the slow growth and how everybody is growing a little differently. Can't wait to see how it affects Froy...

Hi guys! After a little hiatus taking care of my own bodybuilding goals (did a cycle and got big) I'm back! To celebrate here's a story There's a version with a 3D illustration over at my Patreon account, it would mean the world to me if you took a quick look (to be honest I need the money for more food and gear ?). Check it out here: https://www.patreon.com/MuscleNexus And with that out of the way, here's the story!: “Drip.” “Drip.” “Drip.” Cody grimaced as a he felt a cool liquid running down his face. He groaned. He felt like he was waking up with the worst hangover of his young life. “Urgh.” He propped himself up, rubbed his eyes, and took in his surroundings. “What the fuck.” He wasn’t in his warm bed nor was he in his little studio apartment. “Drip.” Cody looked up to see the steady rain of water droplets escaping from a crack in the ceiling. It looked like he was in some sort of warehouse, or abandoned mall. And it was flooded. Everything had a fresh layer of moisture on it and the air was cool with the feeling and scent of fresh rain. He peeled his shirt off his skinny frame, it was soaked through. The rest of his clothes were too. He noticed the gloves on his hands and suddenly remembered what he was doing. He had been biking to work, but decided at the last minute to take a slightly different route. A route that forced him to past the long-abandoned shopping mall. Cody slid to his feet. He needed to find a way out. He spun side to side, looking for any hope of an exit. Finding none he walked to the railing and looked into the lower level of the abandoned mall. The entire first floor was flooded almost all the way to the second. Perhaps there was an emergency exit down there he could try… Cody took a deep breath, ready to dive in, when a tinny electronic voice crackled through the empty halls of the mall. “Subject number three. Observation beginning at 10:33 AM. Investigational product nineteen administered at 10:05. Primary therapeutic effect expected in two minutes. Standby.” “What?” Cody croaked, instinctively rubbing a sore spot on his delt where there was a small drop of blood and pinprick. “Hey! Heeeeey! Hello!” Cody called. “I’m not some kind of science experiment! What’s going on.” Cody nodded with satisfaction as the loudspeaker crackled into life again, at least he would get some answers. “Subject three, you are an experiment. Investigational product initiation expected in twenty-five seconds.” Cody swallowed hard. His throat felt swollen and tender, he placed a hand up to it and felt the barely perceptible thickening of the muscles and cords that ran it’s length. He groaned deeply as his whole body suddenly felt hot and heavy. “What.. Is… This…?” Every word sounded slightly deeper than the last. Somewhere in the back of his mind Cody began to feel pleasure mixing with his fear. He glanced at his expanding forearm as thick veins bulged across it and cried out a little. “No, no, no!” It was suddenly clear what was happening. “I don’t want this! I don’t want to be big!” He called out in desperation to nobody in the empty mall. His groans increased in desperation and pleasure as the man that was Cody became subject #3. At the bottom of his vision he saw his chest heavy with every breath, growing into thick slabs of muscle that hardened and jumped with even the tiniest movements of his arm. Below each sagging pec his belly swelled with muscle. He rubbed the fine hairs that dusted his turtle-shell like abs, not expecting to feel the jolt of pleasure that giving himself muscle belly rubs brought. His attention was suddenly brought to his lower half as he heard the fabric in his lycra biking shorts straining and ripping. Loose only moments ago they showed serious signs of strain against his rapidly swelling thighs, ass, and package. Cody groaned and grabbed the latter of these through the tight fabric. He lost himself for a moment, feeling the thickening meat in his shorts, but then regained clarity when an audible moan escaped his lips. “No. Not… Me.” He managed to growl before yanking his hand back. He staggered back a little, noticing the heavy thuds that his overgrown calves and feet made against the floor. He groaned again involuntarily as he realized how massive he had become and was becoming. Cody would’ve hated the overgrown mass monster standing in the abandoned mall, but subject #3 had different opinions. With a small gasp of defeat Cody looked himself over. He knew he would never be able to return to his life as the clean cut professional that had been biking to work only half an hour ago. “I freak,” he managed to croak. Subject #3 let his hand return to the throbbing meat in his shorts and never thought of Cody again.

Haha! Loving these suggestions guys! Hmmmm. Might be kinda cool to do a follow up and reunite Charlie and Tommy! I'd probably set it a few years later though. Charlie a little older, more experienced and confident and Tommy much, much bigger!! You guys have got my mind working with possible scenarios now! I've mentioned it before the story I'm currently working on references Tommy a few times as a famous bodybuilder. He's now a 212 pro and nicknamed "The Tank"!

Part 2 Here's the second part of the story. This one scratches some dark subjects, but only for a little bit. I like to read stories that I can get emotionally involved in, so that's what I tend to write. If you guys don't really enjoy that style, tell me so I can mix it up for next time. Also, this one is way longer than the previous part. I kept writing and writing, I just couldn't stop! If you can make it through the whole part, hopefully you'll enjoy what comes at the end ;D 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 --------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Halfway through my first shift as a bartender and I was already feeling overwhelmed. After breezing through the interview last week, I was fairly confident that I'd be able to handle the job, but that confidence was quickly dashed when the hordes of patrons started appearing and ordered drink after drink. Luckily, I wasn't alone. Joe was behind the bar with me and he was doing most of the work. Handling orders, making small talk, and keeping the peace, Joe somehow made doing all that at the same time look easy. "What a doozy of a first day, huh?" Joe said, turning to me when we finally hit a lull. "We're not usually this busy, but apparently the bar has been gaining popularity through some online reviews and blogs or something." "How in the hell did you manage that crowd so well?" I ask, astonished. "How? Well, practice, obviously." Joe replied as he hooked his thumbs into his suspenders near his chest and began to pull outwards, "Practice, and a sprinkle of bartender charm." He let his suspenders snap back and with a wry grin he gave me a wink. "Right, about that," I say while rolling my eyes, "Why do you wear such a cliche outfit?" While on shift, Joe always wears the same stereotypical bartender getup: black jeans, white dress shirt, and suspenders. The only thing that varies from day to day is the bow ties he wears. Today's bow tie was brown with speckled white dots. "Don't knock my style," Joe said with a feigned look of hurt. "If you must know, I wear it for the customers. I find that people tend to respond better when I wear something predictable and easily recognizable. The outfit is pretty comfy too." Besides his final comment, I was actually pretty surprised by his sincere response. I was expecting something more along the lines of picking up dates or- "Also, the ladies say my butt looks good in these pants which makes them tip more." I let out a long sigh and shook my head. I did have to admit that fact was true though, his butt did look pretty good in those pants. "What? You asked!" Joe said, an amused look on his face. As he began absentmindedly twisting his mustache with one hand, he continued, "The next wave of people will be coming soon, so get ready. Don't worry about the orders, I'll take care of that, just focus on keeping the customers happy for now. Talk to them, ask how there day was, that kind of stuff." As a few more people began entering the bar, we went back to work. --------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- "Hey, do you mind taking care of the bar solo for a few minutes? I need to finish up some paperwork and prep our shipment orders." Joe asked me. It was the end of the night and there were very few people left. "Very funny. I think I can manage." I nodded towards the large, now mostly empty room. "Alright, don't burn the place down while I'm gone!" Joe said, giving me a double thumbs up as he walked away. Once Joe was out of sight I did a quick survey of the remaining bar-goers. I quickly realized that there were roughly two types of people still here. Those out late partying with their pals, and those drinking alone because they had nothing else to do. A man in a suit and tie who clearly belonged in the second category sat quietly with a drink at the counter near me. The man did little besides stare forwards and take small sips out of his glass or scratch his disheveled beard scruff, but for some reason I felt strongly compelled to go over to him and strike up a conversation. It took me a few moments to understand why, he was drinking alone at the bar with a sad look on his face. He reminded me of myself just a week ago. There was one big difference between us however, I had Joe to talk to. I began the short walk towards the man. I would be his Joe. If I could be even slightly as helpful as Joe I would be satisfied. It took the man a few seconds to notice me once I walked into his view. Once he looked my way I said, "How's it going?" He seemed surprised that I was talking to him. His previously glossy eyes began to clear up somewhat. "What me?" He asked. I nodded in reply. "I'm..." he noticeably hesitated and his eyes clouded over again before he continued, "I'm fine." The man was clearly not fine. I didn't want to force him to say anything he didn't want to say, so I changed the subject. "Nice drink choice." I said, motioning to his drink. His eyes followed my gesture to his drink. He abruptly looked up at me, his eyes much more focused now. "Are you a whiskey guy too? Most guys tend to go for beers nowadays." He asked excitedly. "Totally," I was just trying to start up a conversation and didn't actually know much if anything about whiskey, but not wanting to disappoint the man, I continued, "my favorite is..." I darted my eyes below the bar counter and saw the label to one of the whiskey bottles, "Highland Park." "No way, that's mine too. That's what I'm drinking right now!" The man's face broke into a smile. Worried that he'd ask more whiskey questions I quickly changed the subject again. "So what plans do you have for the rest of the night?" I asked. "I was planning on..." His face tenses for a moment before he looks me in the eyes and smiles, "It doesn't really matter. If you don't mind I think I'm gonna stay here for a while longer." We talked for a few minutes more until Joe returned. After checking back in with Joe and tidying up, I went back to conversing with the man at the bar. While we talked I found out that the man was an office worker for a big time business firm that deals with real estate. He explained the cutthroat culture of the office workers trying to outperform each other in what essentially amounted to popularity contests to acquire large projects, most of which he would lose out on. While I listened to this man's woes, I felt a growing connection to him. His struggles were very close to how it was at my previous job. I continued to get to know the man until it was nearly time to close the bar for the night. "Thanks," The man said to me. "For what?" I asked, somewhat confused. "For listening." He said, a sincere look on his face. "Oh, and I can't believe I spent all that time talking and didn't even introduce myself!" He thrust out his right hand, "My name is Grant." "And I'm Dan." I took Grant's hand and shook it. His hand was warm and softer than I was expecting. "It was nice meeting you." "If, uh, if you, um," Grant suddenly began stuttering over his words. He took a second to gather his thoughts, reached into his jacket inner pocket, and took out a business card. "Here's my number. If you want it." He placed the card on the counter in front of me. His face was getting redder by the second. "I'll be going now." He said with a quick smile and a wave before heading out of the bar. Once Grant had left, I felt a hand on my shoulder. "Well that was fucking adorable." I turned to see Joe grinning at me. "So what?" I said, grabbing the card and shoving it in my pocket. "Nothing. Just little Dan, making friends already. They grow up so fast!" Joe laughed. He then looked down at my other hand. "New journal?" "Huh?" I look down and notice a black and white checkered journal in my hand as well as a plain mechanical pencil. When did this get here? In silver lettering the name "Grant Witt" is the only thing on the cover. I vaguely remember something similar to this happening last week. "Oh this, yeah, just a journal of mine" I don't know why I lied, but I didn't feel like I should share the journal, at least not yet. "Alright," Joe raised a questioning eyebrow. "Well it's time to go home. Do you need a ride?" "I'm good, I drove today." I replied. After saying our goodbyes Joe and I parted ways for the night. --------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Once I arrive back at my apartment, I take the journal out and place it on my kitchen table. "Grant Witt, that can't be the same guy, could it?" I reach into my pocket and take out the business card. I inspect it for the name, and my suspicions are confirmed. The card also reads "Grant Witt". I slowly reach for the journal. If this journal is anything like the last one... I flip to the first page and see a plethora of familiar stats. The layout is nearly identical to the last journal except for the font and the specific stat inputs. At a quick glance I see that Grant is gay, overweight, and has an average dick. Is it rude of me to be looking at this info? Probably, but I can't stop myself. I flip through the journal skipping pages here and there. The way the journal is written is eerily similar to the one from before. With a more in-depth look than last time, I find that there are several other types of pages besides stats and life events, including wishes, regrets, likes, dislikes, and more. I continue through the journal until I reach the most recent entry. "Went to The Mirror & Banner Bar for a 'final drink'. Met a man named Dan who renewed his well-being. Gave Dan his number in hopes he'd call him. Went home and wrote a to-do list-" There was absolutely no way Grant had written this. Besides the fact that I hadn't seen him write anything while I was talking to him, this journal detailed things he apparently had done while nowhere near the journal. This journal was getting more confusing the longer I read it. I flipped back through the pages until I noticed something on the wishes section and saw something stranger. A new entry was being added before my eyes. "Get fit to impress Dan." I was shocked at what I just saw and flattered by what I read. I could feel my eyes widen from how unbelievable what I just saw was. The journal just filled itself in. Could this journal really somehow be connected to Grant? If he thinks and experiences things and they end up in the journal, does the opposite also apply? I needed to know the answer, but I didn't want to risk unknowingly harming Grant, so I had to be careful. I picked up the mechanical pencil I found with the journal, and flipped to a new section titled, "Attributes". I thought for a few minutes, wanting to be as careful as I could be on what I would decide to add. Finally, I started writing. "Gains five times the effects from exercise than normal." I chose something that would help him fulfill his new wish, even if that was a bit self-centered of me. It was a simple addition. I had to make sure there was no adverse effects before trying anything more extreme. I closed the journal and put the pencil down. I was getting jittery from excitement. The implications of something like this were amazing. I couldn't handle standing around any longer, so to pass the time I went to take a long hot shower. When I got out of the shower, I immediately headed back to the journal to read more. When I got to the kitchen table again, however, the journal had disappeared. I searched everywhere in my apartment but the journal was nowhere to be found. Had I just hallucinated the whole experience? I doubted it, but to be sure, I needed to meet with Grant again. I found Grant's cellphone number on the card he gave me and decided to text him. "Hey Grant, this is Dan. How's it going?" "Hi Dan, I can't believe you actually texted me! I'm so sorry for how awkward I got." It took Grant less than a minute to reply to my text. "Ha, no problem. Are you free this weekend?" "Completely and totally." "Would you be willing to be my workout partner? I'm trying out a new gym and having a partner always helps." After a few minutes of silence I was worried I had messed up my chance, but Grant finally replied. "Sure. When and where?" After a few more texts we decided on the details. A few more minutes of idle chatter followed, until we both decided it was finally time to sleep. The week passed by quickly. I was learning the ropes of bartending from Joe, all the while fantasizing about the potential of the journals. Where had they come from? Did my writing in it actually affect anything? My meeting with Grant couldn't come soon enough. --------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Finally the day of the meeting, I rushed to the gym, arriving a few minutes early. I decided to wait in the lobby for Grant. As I waited, I thought of how this meeting was killing two birds with one stone. The first being if I could get a hold of the journal again, the second being if what I wrote did anything to Grant. I was so deep in thought I didn't notice as Grant walked right up to me. "I hope you didn't have to wait to long." Grant said, apologizing. He was wearing baggy sweatpants and a large jacket. The sudden realization that Grant was right in front of me shook me out of my thoughts. "Oh, no, not long at all. I just got here." When we got to the locker room and I got changed into my workout clothes, I noticed Grant hadn't even started getting changed yet. "Did you forget something?" I asked. "Ah, no, don't worry, I'll be out in a bit. Don't wait for me." Grant said, not making eye contact. Piecing together what I had read in the journal and how he was acting, I got the impression he was too embarrassed by his physique to change in front of me. "Alright, I'll be waiting just outside of the locker room." I said. I then walked out of the room and onto the gym floor. I did a few stretches until Grant finally came out. Now in his workout clothes, Grant wore a grey t-shirt that was several sizes too large with shorts to match. The first station we went to was the squat rack. I decided to go first and loaded the bar up with a modest 150 lbs. I finished my set and swapped out with Grant who took a few plates off, setting the weight at 120 lbs. Halfway through his set, his legs began to tremble, and he was losing his breath. Grant tried getting one more rep in but couldn't without my help. Grant placed the weight back on the rack and turned towards me. "I'm so embarrassed. I can usually do twice that much, but for some reason I'm already tired." "Don't worry about it, it's probably just an off day." I said, trying to reassure him. In the back of my mind I was considering if this somehow was a product of what I wrote. The next station was the bench press. Grant insisted on going first, probably in an attempt at trying to redeem himself. He loaded up 110 lbs on the bar and got into position. The first few reps went smoothly, but just like the squats, Grant was losing his energy around the halfway point. While Grant began to struggle with his next reps, I was getting distracted by the results of Grant's workout. His shirt was already soaked with sweat resulting in the material clinging to his body. without the bagginess of the shirt to hide his body, I could now see that Grant had a hefty beer belly that jiggled while he strained with the weight. What was impressive however was the pump that Grant seemed to have going. While not very built at all, what he did have was being pushed to the max. His veins were visibly pulsing and becoming more visible with each rep. We had only been working out for about 10 minutes, but looking at Grant, one would assume he'd been here for a full workout already. If that wasn't enough, I looked down towards his legs and almost gasped from surprise. Grant had a raging hard-on. "H-Help" I finally heard Grant say. I looked down to see that Grant was barely keeping the bar off of his chest. "Oh shit, I'm so sorry!" I said as I grabbed the bar to help him. Grant gasped for air as he sat up. He then stood up to stretch himself out, but noticed he was at full-mast and quickly hunched over to try and hide it. "Are you alright?" I asked Grant, already knowing the answer. "I-I-I." Grant couldn't even finish his sentence he was so embarrassed. "Hey, it's alright, it happens all the time when you have an intense workout." "No, you don't understand." Grant said, shaking his head. "It's not just... that. It's my nipples too. They're so sensitive right now. I'm so horny right now, I can barely handle it. It's like I just got flooded with testosterone, everything feels like it'll set me off. This must be happening because of what I wrote. Grant is getting five times the amount of testosterone than normal from this workout, his body can't process it. "You know what, let's cut this workout short." I suggest to Grant. He just nods in response. In the locker room, we decide to just grab our stuff and go, rather than getting changed and showering. I can't put Grant through any more mental stress. We walk to the parking lot and Grant begins walking to his car. "Woah, Grant, where are you going?" I ask before he gets very far. "Home. There's no way someone as lame as me should be hanging out with someone as nice as you." Grant says, clearly upset. "Sure, the workout didn't really go too well, but we don't have to split up yet, do we? I mean, if you don't mind, I'd like to come over to your place." I suggest. Grant's mouth opens and shuts several times as he tries to say a response. "Are you serious? After how embarrassing I was, you'd still want to be seen with me, let alone come to my house?" "Of course, I'm not so shallow that something like that would bother me." "I guess if you really want to, then you can follow me." Grant says, an incredulous look on his face. A few minutes later I'm in my car following behind Grant to his place. --------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- When I pull up to Grant's house in the suburbs, all I can think of is that the journal is the real deal, whatever that entails. Grant steps out of his car and I notice that he hasn't gotten any softer since the gym. I pretend not to notice as he leads me through the front door of his house. His house is well decorated, with several paintings on the walls, and tasteful decor in each room. Grant continues taking me through the house until we reach the kitchen. "Damn man, this is a nice place." I can't myself. My tiny apartment doesn't even compare to this. "Thanks," Grant says bashfully, "Even if my work isn't the friendliest place, I guess it pays well." Grant waves an arm around the room. "Make yourself at home. If you need any food or drink, help yourself to the fridge. I'll be getting changed in my room upstairs, so I'll be a few minutes. If you need to use the washroom, it the first door on the left at the top of the stairs." Grant explains before leaving the room, half covering his crotch. I hear his footsteps thump off into the distance and then climb a flight of stairs. I look around the kitchen for a moment. The kitchen itself is probably a third of the size of my whole apartment. I decide to check the fridge more out of curiosity than hunger. The fridge opens to reveal a fully stocked inventory. While it is full to the brim, most of the food is instant premade dishes. If I had to guess from the lack of ingredients, I don't think Grant is much of a cook. After snooping around the kitchen for a minute, I decide that I should probably freshen up. I'm still wearing my workout clothes, so the least I could do is wash up. I follow the way I saw Grant walking before until I see a set of stairs leading to the second floor. Once I walk up the stairs, I see a long hallway with several doors on each side. As I'm walking to the first door to the left I hear a sound and I freeze in place. At first I'm unsure of what it was, but then I hear it again, this time clearly. It was a moan, and it sounded like it was coming from the closed room one door down from the washroom. I wait for a few more seconds until I hear the sound again and I take a step towards it. Before I go any further I contemplate whether I should really follow through with what I'm thinking right now. In just a few steps I'll be right outside the door that the moans are coming from. Whatever is happening in that room is probably private, that's why the door is closed. If it was so private, would Grant really be so obvious about it? I hear the moan again, and I feel so turned on I can't help but give my slowly rising cock a tug. That does it, I can't stand not knowing. I take the last few steps and stand directly up to the door. I grab the handle and slowly turn it. It's unlocked. I push slightly until a sliver of the room is revealed. The room is definitely a bedroom, but I can't see anything besides a bookcase. I push the door open more and more until I get a full view of the room. Sitting at the edge of a bed with his back to the door is Grant. His eyes are closed and his head is tilted upwards. He is completely nude and has his left hand on his left nipple and his right hand on his engorged dick. Every so often, he makes a subtle move. Ever so slightly he pinches his nipple or rubs his dick, letting out an extremely sexual moan. He's so on edge right now that the slightest touch is enough to push him closer to pure ecstasy. From my angle I can see his back tense with each moan. His back is covered in a light dusting of dark brown hair, now completely matted down by sweat. I can't resist the allure any longer. I silently walk into Grant's room. As I enter, a strong smell of Grant's sweat mixed with pure sex invades my nostrils. I breathe the scent in deeply as I walk towards Grant. I'm within arms reach of him after a few steps and he has yet to notice me. From this close, I can finally see Grant's cock in all it's glory. Grant is cradling the shaft between his thumb and his index and middle finger. The bulbous head is so filled with blood that it's almost purple, and the veins along the shaft pulse along with his heartbeat. Grant moves his fingers down the shaft an inch before groaning in sexual pleasure. Precum oozes out of the tip, slicking up the already moist cock head. The temptation is too much for me to resist. I lift my shirt off of my chest and toss it to the ground before I lunge head first at Grant's twitching rod. Before he has a chance to react, I've replaced his hand on his cock with my mouth. Grant screams in pleasure as his cock releases another spurt of precum. I can't even imagine how sensitive he must be to release this much precum from just a touch. I can feel the pulse of blood rushing through the cock as I push it deeper into my throat. The salty sweet taste is intoxicating and helps me relax my throat to better handle Grant's full size. While I continue to suck off Grant, I move my hands up his hairy body, exploring each nook and cranny of his pudgy body. Even with how out of shape he seems, I can feel strong muscles just underneath his fat. I look upwards to see Grant looking down at me, mouth open slightly, face twisted in pleasure. He's letting out a constant low growl. When we make eye contact he nods to me. I face back down towards his crotch to finish the job. My hands finally reach their destination at his hard nipples. I slowly begin rubbing them, while I continue deapthroating. Grant's growl begins rising in volume as he gets closer to climaxing. Finally, I pinch his nipples between my fingers at the same time as I clench my throat around his cock. "AAAAAAAAH YEEEEEEESSS!" Grant screams out as he reaches the peak. His cock gets to a new level of thickness as his cum pumps into my throat and into my stomach. His cock pumps and pumps, more and more. Grant keeps screaming. His climax is reaching heights he'd never even imagined. As I feel his seed filling me, I'm finally pushed over the edge as well. Grant's pure bliss was caused by me. Both from my actions right now and from the journal's effects. The idea that this much pleasure is even possible overloads my senses and I begin to cum. My shorts are completely soiled by the time that Grant and I fall from our high. I slowly release myself from Grant's cock as I let go of his nipples. He let's out a final grunt and falls backwards onto the bed. I stand up and peel my wet shorts off before climbing onto the bed beside Grant. We roll onto our sides and I begin spooning him. Seconds later, Grant has passed out. I follow suit and fall asleep right after him. I wake up in a daze. The smell of sex and cum still hangs in the air. The memories of the past events rush back to me and I smile. Grant is sound asleep, still next to me, now snoring lightly. I rub his back, being careful not to wake him, then I sit up to stretch my arms. As I'm reaching upwards with my right hand I notice I'm holding something. In my hand is Grant's black and white journal and mechanical pencil.

Following Bryan Macleod out of the pump room, I found myself in the same small meeting room where he’d given Billy Horvath and I his presentation that morning. The presentation where he’d confidently rolled words like “pump and pose” and “jacked up muscle bulls” off his tongue. “So, how did find your work experience placement with us today, Charlie?” Oooh…erm…let’s see; I’ve been surrounded by the kind of obscenely huge, inhumanly shredded muscle freaks I’ve been fantasising about and wanking over for years, managed to witness said muscle freaks pumping, posing and flexing within a very close proximity, spent the entire day in the company of the most charming, endearing man who transpired to be the liked minded muscle lover I’ve always wanted to meet, while also possibly being my future husband (sorry Bry) and managed to get an invite to the hotel room of a ridiculously hot gay bodybuilder, who invited me to touch and oil up one half of his indecently developed, phenomenally muscular body, before turning me on to the point where I shot a massive load in my undies, with no penetration to my dick as my fingers dug in to his fully flexed mounds of incredibly pumped, otherworldly muscle, and now I’m wearing posing trunks. “Yeah, it’s been really good. It’s been great working with a proper camera crew.” BRIGHT BLEEDIN’ PINK POSING TRUNKS! “Excellent!” Bryan replied. “I’m glad you’ve got something out of it, and thanks for providing an extra hand too. You’ve definitely helped us out.” “I just received some really good feedback from Stuart,” Bryan continued. “He said you were excellent with the camera.” A weight suddenly felt like it had been lifted as I realised that neither Stuart, nor I, were getting into trouble at all. Bryan had simply just wanted feedback from Stuart on how I’d performed, and Stuart had kindly and rather adorably given me a glowing reference. “Stuart also said you might be interested in coming to work with us at another competition?” Bryan continued. “Well we’re shooting some footage at a show in San Francisco three weeks today if you’re available? It will be a much smaller competition than the one you worked on today.” Bryan was obviously referring to the show that Stuart had informed me about during our break. The one that he unfortunately couldn’t make, but very generously offered to try and get me a spot as a cameraman on. Whatever trick Stuart had tried with Bryan had obviously worked, and I was suddenly being faced with the very possibility of embarking on yet another day spent in a pump room surrounded by outrageously pumped muscle bulls. I had no idea at that point that Stuart had failed to mention just a very small detail about said show, until Bryan spoke his next words. “The other difference is that it will be a pro bodybuilding competition, so the competitors will be even more monstrous than the guys you shot today.” Erm…three words Bryan, mate. HO. LEE. FUUUCKK! Even after both my incredible experience in the pump room, and my unlikely but amazing encounter with Tommy Foster, I was still wasn’t sure whether I had the nerve to work at another show and be surrounded by, not just muscle freaks, but monstrously huge pro bodybuilding muscle freaks, without Stuart Fox by my side. Bryan Macleod could clearly sense my reservations. “You don’t need to decide now, Charlie. I’ll give you my card. Have a think about it and just send me a text or give me or call. If you could let me know by the end of next week though that’d be great.” Saying my goodbyes to Bryan Macleod, I headed back to the pump room with his completely brilliant but admittedly nerve wracking offer on my mind. I had just over a week to decide whether I wanted to dive into this world of extreme muscle again, and navigate myself around a pump room full of monstrously sized, competition conditioned pro bodybuilders. Most, if not all, of whom I was probably already familiar with. Only this time, without a cheeky, charming filming mentor by my side who’d invite me to play the most fun, creative, self-invented games, and sneak off to a hotel room to oil up and touch the huge, shredded muscle of an insanely sexy gay bodybuilder in what was undoubtedly the hottest experience of my life. Firstly, I had one more mission to complete before my work experience placement was over. I needed to get that very cheeky, charming filming mentor’s phone number, and start the passionate, muscle obsessed love affair we were clearly destined to have. As I bounced back into the pump room, I played out the most perfect scenario in my head. I’d cheekily and confidently pose a question to Stuart. “So, one last category for your game. The work experience guy in the room you most want to see again?” to which he’d respond with one of his stupidly handsome grins and reply, in the sexiest and most flirtatious manner, “Easiest winner of the day.” The optimism and excitement I felt suddenly vanished, and was replaced by a sharp twinge of anxiety when I saw that Stuart Fox, standing not far from where I’d left him, was not alone. I nervously approached my filming mentor and the mysterious new figure. Suddenly spotting me on the approach, Stuart greeted me with a genuinely pleased, but slightly awkward smile. “Hey, did you talk to Bryan about doing another show?” Stuart’s friendliness couldn’t hide the awkward tension that was clearly evident. I looked at the unidentified and painfully handsome figure. The casual and comfortable manner in which he was leaning next to Stuart suggested that they knew each other very well. “Ummm…yeah. He asked if I want to do a show in a couple of weeks.” Erm…just one question Stuart. Who the buggering bleeding bolloxing HELL is THIS?! “That show you told me about earlier.” “Hey, that’s awesome!” Stuart was talking to me in a tone considerably less relaxed and informal than he had done before. He was clearly feeling uncomfortable and awkward in the presence of both me and the guy standing to his right. I had a dreadful, sinking feeling I knew exactly why. It was left to the new mystery guy himself to initiate an introduction. Giving me a warm, friendly smile, he said, in a slightly effeminate voice, “Hey, I’m Hugo.” “Oh, sorry.” a suddenly flustered Stuart said. “Charlie this is Hugo, Hugo this is Charlie.” Hugo reached out his hand for me to shake, which I nervously took, all the time feeling like I was being repeatedly kicked in the stomach. “Hey, Charlie.” FUCKOFFFUCKOFFFUCKOFF! “Charlie’s on work experience,” Stuart said, the awkwardness of the atmosphere easing just a little. “Ahhhh,” Hugo replied. “They always stick the work experience guys with Stewie.” Stewie? STEWIE?! Excuse me while I just throw up in my mouth. And with one single abbreviation of Stuart’s name came the biggest kick to my stomach yet as I realised my suspicions on exactly who I was meeting were correct. There would be no muscle obsessed love affair with the funny, handsome and incredibly endearing man I’d grown increasingly attracted to over the course of the day, and who I’d shared the most amazing muscle worship and sexual experience with for one reason only. He already had a boyfriend. An impossibly pretty Latino boyfriend. A boyfriend who was looking at his watch and seemed eager to get away as soon as he possibly could from the pump room full of muscle freaks he, no doubt, had absolutely zero interest in. Stuart Fox, meanwhile, was doing a very good job of giving me a concerned, apologetic look subtle enough to not raise suspicion from his boyfriend, while also looking rather sheepish, presumably over the fact that, not long before, I’d seen him with his dick in his hand, pumping a fountain of cum over the freakishly muscular stomach of another man. It was at that moment that I realised that his relationship with Hugo was, in fact, the confession he had tried to make earlier, before Brian had interrupted him. “Stewie, we should…” Hugo’s voice trailed off as he signalled in the direction of the exit. “Oh right, course,” Stuart quickly and awkwardly responded, while suddenly looking deflated. His mouth slightly curled into one of his handsome grins, but his face was filled with a sense of sadness, almost longing as he looked at me and said, “Hey, thanks for…keeping me company today.” “No worries,” I said. “Thanks for looking after me.” After everything Stuart and I had been through together that day, I hated how formal and impersonal it suddenly felt between us as we said goodbye. “Maybe I’ll catch you again, at another show?” Although it was undoubtedly genuine, there was a slight restraint in Stuart’s enthusiasm, like he was desperately trying to work out the appropriate level of being excited at the prospect of seeing another guy again, while his boyfriend stood three inches away from him. I nodded and replied with a, “Yeah, maybe,” in a not entirely convincing tone. It wasn’t completely out of the realms of possibility that Stuart and I would cross paths again. I had landed a spot on another show, and we both still lived in California after all, but I would be returning to England in a few short months. Unless I timed a return trip to the States with another show, which a possibly then single Stuart Fox also happened to be a part of, the chances of another encounter felt considerably slim. “Oh and good luck with the next show, if you decide to do it.” “I probably will!” I quickly, and perhaps a little too eagerly, responded. I still wasn’t completely convinced I would accept Bryan Macleod’s offer, but I clearly wanted Stuart Fox to know that in three weeks time I’d probably be in another pump room surrounded by more muscle monsters, pumping and posing their indecent mass in their brightly coloured posers. Whether I just wanted to impress him or potentially make him jealous, I wasn’t really sure. Maybe I even said it in the vague hope that if he knew I would be there, he’d drop whatever plans he had and do the show with me? As we said our final goodbyes, and Stuart gave me one last poignant, longing look, like he was practically being dragged out of the room and wanted nothing more than to stay with me, I was suddenly consumed by an incredible and overwhelming sense of sadness. Regardless of what had happened in Tommy Foster’s hotel room, something had been happening between me and Stuart Fox. I’d not only finally met a like minded muscle lover, who harboured the same thoughts and feelings about huge, freaky bodybuilders as I did, but I’d also met someone with whom I had felt the most incredible connection and chemistry with. And now, I was watching him walk away with his boyfriend. It felt like I had stumbled across something truly special, and suddenly the universe had decided to cruelly take it away from me. “Are you ready to get the hell out of here?” I sighed and turned to find my classmate Billy Horvath standing next to me with a look of relief on his face, presumably because whatever ordeal he’d been through that day was finally over. I turned around to take one last look around the pump room and spotted Blaine Holton standing in front of a flashing photographer holding his super heavyweight class winning trophy with one hand, while the other was curled into a fist and his incredibly flexed, supersized bicep was exploding through his wafer thin, tan tinted skin. As any thought of Stuart Fox momentarily disappeared, I couldn’t help but think how inexplicably amazing it was that not long before, I’d had my fingers wrapped around a bicep almost as big in that very pose. Billy Horvath was uncharacteristically quiet on the walk through the theatre foyer and out of the building, sparking a curiosity as to whether the day hadn’t been as pain stakingly awful as I might have predicted. “So, Billy, how was your work experience placement?” “Oh, fantastic! It’s just the kind of place I want to work when I graduate. Well worth the thousands of dollars my dad is paying for this course,” replied Billy in a sarcastic tone, his eyes rolling. It was curious. Billy was just as obnoxious as he had ever been, the day’s events clearly having had no kind of effect on his character. And yet, unlike previously, his comment didn’t bother or annoy me in the slightest. “So, your opinion about bodybuilders hasn’t changed?” I teasingly probed him, once again, impressed at the complete lack of embarrassment with saying a word I previously never would have. “Nope! They’re still a bunch of disgusting, brain-dead meatheads,” he sharply replied. For the first time in response to anything Billy Horvath had ever said, my mouth curled into a smile. At first I didn’t know what was happening, and then it hit me. I’d spent the entire day trying to work out what the people around me were thinking, and what their motives were. For most of the day I had no confirmation that Stuart Fox was even gay, let alone a like minded muscle lover. I certainly hadn’t known that the man who’d been assigned the job as my filming mentor didn’t actually have an interest in being a camera man, and I’d received absolutely no hint or clue that he actually had a boyfriend when I was watching him with his dick in his hand and he was shooting a load of cum over a flexing muscle freak in shiny yellow posers. A muscle freak who, similarly, left me second guessing for an agonising amount of time as to exactly what his intentions were for dragging me back to his hotel room. In sharp comparison, Billy Horvath was a man who held absolutely nothing back. No matter how unlikeable and obnoxious he was, at least there was no second guessing what Billy was thinking. And in that moment, it felt amazingly refreshing. “You don’t make apologies to anyone do you, Billy?” Surprisingly, Billy smiled in response. I assumed it was probably the first time he’d received anything close to a compliment in a long while. Even more surprising was what Billy Horvath said in response. “And you apologise too much.” I gave him a confused, blank look, and he began to explain. “What you said this morning about those bodybuilders being…” at this point Billy paused and screwed up his face in disgust at the thought of his next word, “amazing, or whatever. I wasn’t just shocked at what you said. I was shocked because, for once, you weren’t afraid to say what was on your mind. And you didn’t give a crap about what I thought either. You need to do that more often.” I couldn’t believe it. Of all the ways I could have predicted the day to end, receiving, not just character advice, but rather good character advice from Billy Horvath was definitely not one of them. Billy was right. I did need to speak my mind more often, and I definitely needed to stop worrying so much about what other people thought. If I didn’t, then I’d certainly never end up like Bryan Macleod, comfortably walking around pump rooms and bodybuilding shows in t-shirts with brilliant muscle related slogans written on the back. And so, standing outside the theatre I’d been so unbelievably nervous to enter that morning, in the bright pink posing trunks of the insanely shredded muscle freak who’d made me cream in my jeans from touching and squeezing his ridiculously developed, fully flexed muscle in his hotel room, I decided to take Billy Horvath’s advice. “So, Bryan Macleod asked me do another show next month. And I’m pretty sure I’m gonna do it.” “Fantastic,” Billy sarcastically said, rolling his eyes. I smiled in response, and, surprising myself, in a confident, carefree manner replied, “Yeah. It most definitely will be. In fact, it’ll probably be pretty fucking amazing!” “Whatever floats your boat, Charlie,” Billy replied, in the same, sarcastic tone, with a characteristically judgemental expression on his face. My next words were said in a completely passive, nonchalant manner. “You really a twat aren’t you, Billy Horvath?” Billy looked momentarily taken aback and clearly slightly offended, before his face seemed to soften slightly, and a small smirk arose from his lips. “Well I’m glad to see you’re taking my advice,” he said. “Don’t go too overboard with it though.” I couldn’t help but smile, partly because of my newly found confidence and complete lack of fear at telling Billy what I thought, but also, out of the sheer unlikelihood that I was actually indulging in, and further more, rather enjoying some fun, friendly banter with Billy Horvath. “See you Monday, Charlie.” “Yeah. Fuck off, Billy,” I playfully replied. Walking away with a raised eyebrow, and an amused smirk he was almost able to mask at my retort, Billy Horvath was gone. Standing in pretty much the same spot that I had that morning, I took one last look at the arts theatre before me. A slight sadness that the experience was over crept over me, until I reminded myself that in exactly three weeks time I could be standing outside another arts theatre, ready to leap into another epic muscle adventure, filming a bodybuilder with thicker muscle tits than Blaine Holton, bigger biceps than Chris “Freaky Peaks” Jackson’s, even more freakishly striated glutes than Justin Hughes’ or sporting even hotter posing trunks than the ones worn by Mr Golden Posers. Maybe I’ll even meet a like minded muscle addict even more handsome and charming than Stuart Fox, and one who doesn’t have a secret, gorgeous boyfriend. And maybe I’ll get invited to a hotel room by a secretly gay bodybuilder with abs even more beautiful and a style of posing even more animated and outrageously cocky than Tommy Foster’s. A bodybuilder who’d let me feel and squeeze his indecently sized, incredibly flexed biceps while growling in my face as I blasted another load into my boxers, thus leading him to kindly lend me a pair of posers even shinier and more brilliantly coloured than the ones I was currently wearing. And so, without any hesitation or fear, I took both Bryan MacWoofityWoof’s business card, and my phone out of the pocket of my jeans and with one single text, my place on a camera crew filming some of the biggest pro muscle monsters in the business backstage at a bodybuilding show was confirmed. It was only when I was putting Bryan’s business card back into my pocket that I suddenly noticed something written on the back. Flipping the card around, my mouth curled into a smile. Staring back at me, in the exact same style and font as they were presented on the back of Bryan Macleod’s blue t-shirt were the four familiar words of “LIVE FOR THE PUMP”. THE END Thank you for all the comments, feedback, messages and likes! ? I have one more older story I might post here and I'm also working on something new which hopefully I'll be posting soon! And here's some links to some of my other stories both on here and on my Muscle Addicts Inc blog... Have You Seen These Posing Trunks Mikey The Human Muscle Morph Dan and Jake Thanks again, guys! ?

And in honour of Charlie being gifted a pair of pink posers from Tommy, here's a pic of my own pink trunks! FYI - I'm not a bodybuilder, I just really love posing trunks! ?

Nine Of all the things I had anticipated to witness on my work experience placement that day, the image of a shredded bodybuilder wiping cum from his beautifully shaped, crazily carved out abdominals with a balled up t-shirt, while grinning and sharing a post orgasmic laugh with the owner of that cum, was definitely not one of them. “I gotta ask you guys,” Tommy began as he wiped the last of Stuart’s spunk off his thick, gorgeous abs. “Tell me if this it too personal, but have either of you ever been with a bodybuilder before?” It was a question I was dying to know myself in relation to Stuart, and was slightly surprised when he joined me in shaking his head and giving Tommy a definite and resounding “no”. An ecstatic grin emerged on Tommy’s face as he replied with a single, “Awesome,” clearly revelling in the fact that he’d just made the dreams of two very lucky muscle lovers come true. Turning to me, Tommy playfully pursed and lips and cheekily said, “Ooooh, Charlie. How are those undies working out for you?” Oooh…erm…FUCKING DRENCHED!! And it’s all your bloody fault for being an insanely hot mountain of thick, shredded to buggery, superhuman muscle and letting me squeeze one of your enormous sized fucking biceps while you practically cranked a most muscular in my face. Grrr-RUFF! I immediately blushed at the reference to my spunk filled underwear, even though I knew that Tommy’s intentions were nothing but playful. He shook his head and said, “I can’t send you back to Bryan wearing those.” Wondering exactly what Tommy Foster intended to do with my spunk soaked boxers, he walked over to his holdall and, rummaging through it, said, “Let me see what I’ve got here.” Stuart shot me a confused, but slightly excited grin as we eagerly waited to see what Tommy was about to pull out of his bag. Maybe this was a regular problem for him. Having to deal with the tricky situation of sending the camera men he’d dragged to his hotel room to worship him back to the pump room with spunk soaked underwear, and one too many telling off’s from Bryan Macleod had taught him to always pack a spare pair of boxer shorts or tighty-whities in his travel bag. Only it wasn’t a pair of boxer shorts that Tommy Foster pulled out for me to wear, nor was it a pair of tighty-whities. “Oooh…hummm…OK, these are for your underwear. You can just leave them here if you want,” Tommy said as he pulled out a green plastic bag. “And I’m afraid these are the only unworn things I’ve got.” Clutched in Tommy Foster’s hands, for my offering in replacement of the cum filled boxers shorts I was wearing, was a pair of the shiniest, bright pink posing trunks I’d ever seen. With a completely straight face, Tommy said, “These were a spare pair I bought along. Promise they’re clean, dude. I have a ton at home so they won’t be missed.” Through slight blushing, I couldn’t help but smirk as I took the impossibly shiny pink posers from Tommy, not just at the sheer bizarreness of the situation but at the fact that I was being gifted a pair of outrageously sexy posing trunks from a competitive bodybuilder. “Sorry about the colour!” Tommy said, with his own mischievous and amused smirk. I couldn’t help but wonder, were Tommy’s intentions purely innocent here, was he just trying his best to help me out, or did he secretly like the idea that there’d be a beef obsessed muscle lover out there with a pair of posers to forever remind him of the unbelievably amazing time he came in his undies just from touching Tommy’s huge, flexed muscle? Leaving an amused Stuart Fox alone with Tommy, I retreated to the en-suite bathroom of his hotel room to change into my gifted pair of insanely hot, brilliantly coloured posing trunks. The sight and touch of which alone caused my dick to, once again, start swelling, which only increased with the feeling of the indecently shiny material brushing against my non muscular legs. With my semi-hard dick barely packed into the pouch of Tommy’s pink posers, I looked into the bathroom mirror to admire the view. The trunks looked both absurd and sexy against my pale skin. There was no denying that they also felt incredibly horny. It wasn’t just the actual feeling of the stretched shiny material against the head of my dick, and the lining against my ass cheeks that was amazing; it was the thought that Tommy may have actually competed in these very pink posing trunks at some point. The very material currently hugging my bum cheeks may have once been clinging to Tommy’s tanned, shredded glutes as he’d pumped and oiled up in a pump room very similar to the one I’d been in earlier, before squeezing and flexing his gorgeously conditioned, otherworldly slabs of muscle on stage for an ever adoring audience. And now, those posing trunks were mine, to forever keep as a reminder of my amazing experience with Tommy Foster. Back in Tommy’s hotel room, the incredible high I was feeling in the aftermath of my first unexpected sexual encounter with a bodybuilder only started to dampen with the realisation that it was time for Stuart and I to leave. Standing in front of his door, Tommy surprised me again when he lunged towards me and wrapped both of his arms under my armpits and firmly gripped me in another warm hug. After giving Stuart Fox the same treatment, in the most affectionate tone, he endearingly said something which almost made my knees buckle. “You guys are freaking adorable.” I was practically out of the door when he then cheekily and brilliantly ordered, “And look after those posing trunks, Charlie!” The dizzying high seemed to return when I was left alone with Stuart Fox and we were practically bouncing down the hotel room corridor, looking at each other wide eyed and uncontrollably smiling at the unbelievable experience we’d just shared. It was only when we were back in the hotel lift which had taken us up to Tommy’s room and fully away from potential prying ears, that we felt comfortable enough to discuss it. “I can’t believe that just happened! I’ve never even oiled up a bodybuilder before.” With this statement, Stuart Fox unwittingly completing one of the tasks I had set myself, and I had to admit, I couldn’t help but enjoy the fact that, before entering Tommy Foster’s hotel room, Stuart had been just as inexperienced with handling freaky slabs of huge, shredded muscle as I had been. The only thing left to do now was to obtain Stuart Fox’s phone number. “How are those posing trunks?” he mischievously asked, gesturing to my crotch. I playfully winced and said, “Snug!” which made Stuart laugh. As he affectionately gazed at me in the tight knit space of the hotel lift we’d found ourselves sharing, I was more attracted to him than ever, and felt the same spark of electricity I had done when we’d been left alone in Tommy Foster’s hotel room. “So,” Stuart began, “This is the plan. Bryan’s most probably been out in the auditorium watching the show…” Kiss me. “But if he has happened to have noticed we’ve gone…” SNOG ME! “I’ll say I wasn’t feeling too well, so I went outside to get some fresh air, and you didn’t want to leave me alone.” Lunge forward, grab my t-shirt by the hand, pull me to your body and devour my lips! “Deal?” I nodded, smiled and agreed, all the time wondering why Stuart’s tongue wasn’t yet wedged down my throat. When the lift stopped and the doors opened, we were unexpectedly faced with two familiar figures, standing in the hotel room lobby waiting patiently to occupy it. Covered up in a black tracksuit, with a bag draped around one of his enormous shoulders, his undeniably sexy face deliciously bronzed and abnormally tanned, was the owner of the biggest biceps in the pump room. And standing next to Chris “Freaky Peaks” Jackson was the tanning buddie who had so brilliantly instructed him to pose as we’d stood by and filmed the entire thing. Without any recognition that they remembered us, the two of them passed Stuart and I and took over the hotel lift. As I gave Stuart a knowing smirk, he quietly said to me, “Next year I’m definitely booking myself a room in this hotel.” It was only when we were back in the lobby of the auditorium that I started to feel a slight of twinge of nerves over the possibility that our little field trip to Tommy Fosters’ hotel might get Stuart and I into trouble. The pump room was noticeably busier than it had been when we’d left, only, unlike before, the majority of the people occupying it seemed to be either fully, or half dressed. The atmosphere felt like it had shifted considerably too, with a much lighter tone, and a lot less tension than it had done before. There was no initial sign of Bryan Macleod, but that didn’t mean that we were in the clear. Glancing around the room but showing absolutely no sign of sharing the same worry that I was feeling, Stuart said, “It looks like the show has finished.” Gesturing me to follow him, he then lead me to a corner of the room which seemed exceptionally busy. As we drew closer, I could see that a crowd of people had formed and were playing spectators to some kind of scene. As he led me through the crowd, Stuart informed me exactly what we were walking into. “They always do a big photo shoot and filming spot of all the class winners when the show has finished.” Pushing our way to the front, sure enough, standing in front of a gathering of photographers, camera men, and eager spectators, was a row of six of the most gloriously shredded bodybuilders of various heights and sizes, in nothing but their posing trunks. With their trophies laid on the floor in front of them, each bodybuilder stood proud and victorious. As the class winners followed an instruction from one of the camera men to hit a front double bicep, and twelve outrageously sized, gorgeously bronzed guns blew up and erupted for a suddenly cheering audience, I looked down the line of these incredible male specimens and realised that I was already very well acquainted with more than one of them. On the far right stood the man who Stuart and I had christened both the most all out monstrous muscle freak in the room and the guy with the biggest muscle tits, Blaine Holton. He looked just as monstrous and incredible as he had done when Stuart and I had watched him pose for Bryan Macleod’s camera and been unexpectedly approached by the original owner of the posing trunks currently hugging my dick. Next to him stood a terrifyingly vascular black bodybuilder in a pair of shiny orange posers who was nothing short of an absolute monster. To his right, a leaner, but still impressively huge muscle daddy, with sexy, smouldering looks, a completely bald head, tiny purple posing trunks and shockingly detailed quads, which were only bested by the very familiar bodybuilder standing next to him. The owner of the craziest feathered quads and the guy who’d beat our beloved Tommy Foster to become the middleweight class champion, Justin Hughes, looking just as impossibly cute and beautifully shredded as I had remembered. To Justin’s right, was a smaller, but still crazily conditioned and incredibly cute Latino bodybuilder whose hair was dyed bright blue and styled into a crazy mohawk, and, completing the line up, the familiar figure of my very first filming subject, the insanely cute, tight-bodied lightweight competitor I had no choice but to nickname Mr Golden Posers, thanks to his unfathomably hot and fantastically coloured choice of trunks. “So, Charlie,” Stuart was leaning in towards me and talking in a hushed voice, “How does it feel?” I looked at Stuart blankly, intrigued and excited to find out exactly what he was asking me. With a devilish smirk, he continued. “To be the guy with the hottest posing trunks in the room!” As I blushed and grinned uncontrollably, Stuart then cheekily added, “Someone’s going to have the break news to our friend in the golden posers.” As the six best bodybuilders in the room transitioned into a front lat spread, for the first time that day, Stuart’s expression suddenly turned serious and he began a sentence which would plague my thoughts for most of the short remainder of my work experience placement. “Listen,” he began. “About what happened back there. I feel like there’s something I need to tell you.” There couldn’t have been a worst possible time than that very moment for Bryan Macleod to suddenly appear behind Stuart and I and interrupt us. “Hey, guys. How have you been getting on?” As I spun around to face Bryan, I was suddenly filled with an intense sense of dread, not just because the potential consequences of our detour to Tommy Foster’s hotel suddenly felt more threatening than ever, but because of the unnerving tone of Stuart’s voice when he’d suggested that he had some kind of confession to make. “Charlie, any problems today?” Bryan seemed to be adopting his usual warm, friendly tone, which at least helped to ease my nerves a little as I told him everything had been fine. “I hope this one’s been treating you well,” he playfully added, signalling to Stuart, before addressing only him. “Stuart, can I have a quick word with you?” A slightly nervous looking Stuart followed Bryan and I was almost completely convinced that at least he, if not both of us, were about to pay for our inexplicably awesome experience in Tommy Foster’s hotel room. Left alone to witness the six class winning bodybuilders simultaneously hitting out side chest poses, another thing was still causing me immense worry; what was Stuart Fox about to say before we’d been interrupted by Bryan? I couldn’t think what possible confession he would have to make about what had happened with Tommy, and then it hit me. Had the entire thing been a set up between Tommy and Stuart, and even possibly Bryan? Were they all friends and regular fuck buddies who’d secretly plotted to drag the nervous, innocent work experience guy back to the hotel room to see how long it takes for him cum in his pants? A relaxed looking Bryan and Stuart returned, showing no sign that there was any sort of tension or problem between them. My stomach was filled with further dread when Bryan asked if I could follow him for a “little talk”, which was only slightly relieved when Stuart shot me a mysterious wide eyed look with an excitable grin, suggesting, but not completely convincing me, that I wasn’t, in fact, about to receive a telling off.

Chapter one is found here: https://muscle-growth.org/topic/13680-the-company-chapter-1/ The Company Chapter Two He felt strange. He felt exhausted and empowered at the same time. The jacuzzi had stopped bubbling, and the UV lights were turned off. He felt different. He touched his shoulders and chest. Disbelief and excitement mixed in his mind, as he felt the sensation of hard, well-defined muscles. His hard, well-defined muscles. An hour ago he had been a wrinkled, fragile and shy octagenarian from a conservative mid-western town. To begin with, he wasn't fragile anymore. He remained in the hot liquid, and tried to focus. Bill, his PT, returned, cheerful and encouraging. The hot and damp air caused Bill's polo shirt to stick to his torso, revealing Bill's aesthetic, but not exaggerated, physique. He could feel desire arise. Before the treatment, he had felt impressed by Bill, and trusted Bill as a professional, and felt protective in the way he often did towards younger men – and most men were younger these days. Now he felt confused. Bill helped him up, out of the water, but, unlike the case when he entered the jacuzzi, he didn't need much help when he return out of it. Powerful legs stepped the metal stairs. A big hand clenched the handrail. The dressing gown didn't fit anymore, and Bill joked about it. By the sound of it, the joke wasn't new. No longer surrounded by liquid, he felt taller, and he felt unaccustomed to his new improved physique. He adjusted his stance, and tried to find a suitable posture. He felt more confident. It felt good. Bill handed him a plastic cup of mineral water. "You are probably dehydrated because of The Treatment, sir. You need water and sodium. This is ordinary mineral water. Do you feel dizzy?" He drank three glasses of water. The dizziness faded. Bill listened to his heartbeat with a stethoscope, and had his blood pressure measured. "Your clothes will be tailored for your new measurements, sir. Will you please step into the changing room?" His old clothes hang there. They were obviously too small now. Then he turned to the full-length mirror. Lust erupted. A wave of arousal surged through him. He noticed that he didn't need his glasses anymore, and the face, that stared back at him in the mirror, could have been drawn by his favourite erotic artist: Handsome, playfully charming in a masculine way. The face of men he never dared to approach. A powerful muscle rolled between his strong neck and his bulging shoulders – his nephew called it traps. The chest of a hero. Narrow waist – extremely so – contrasting to his broad shoulders and wide chest. Six hemispheric tiles formed a washboard. The wave of arousal intensified. The mirror image stared in disbelief, its blue eyes boyishly innocent in a baby face empowered by mature masculinity. Full lips. Cute nose. Dimples. And that face placed over the mature muscularity of a bodybuilder of – let's say – twenty-five years' experience. He couldn't believe it was his own reflection, but his reason told him it was. His mind drowned in rapture – he didn't know for how long – and he could feel his cock spasm pleasantly, and more powerfully than ever before. He opened his eyes. One hour ago, he would have been devastated by embarrassment of letting this happen in the sight of Bill, but now he only felt mildly sheepish. The mirror was stained by large spots of his own cum, which now slowly trickled down the surface of the mirror. "I'm sorry for that." Bill only smiled leniently: "In this profession I have seen everything, already. You are not the first one." He nodded towards a spray can of detergent in a corner. Without further ado, Bill used a measuring tape which had been there all the time. While Bill did what he had to do, the customer changed his stance and posture, looked at his reflection, and suddenly noticed a framed reproduction hanging in the changing room: It was one of Tom's drawings. An almost naked, but very confident, muscular young man having his measures taken at a tailor's, while an obese man, waiting for his turn, looking embarrassed. His cock awaked again. For which time, now? This time it didn't spew. Bill was soon finished with his job: "Oh, and another thing: In order to protect the anonymity of our guests, each guest is given a username during their remaining stay, by which they will be known by other guests. Do you have any suggestion, sir?" He had been told about the usernames before. "Is 'Tom' already taken?" "I'm afraid it is, sir. That is a very popular choice." He thought a few seconds. "What about 'Brett', then? Is that taken?" "No, I will immediately register the username 'Brett'." "Thank you, Bill." "Your gymwear and your chosen attire – I see that you have chosen the biker option (a classic one!) – will be delivered to your room within two hours. Many customers take a nap after The Treatment. Other guests take a shower. I am sure, that you will find a way to spend the waiting time. Before you go, will you please chose your underwear from the stand, and one of the big size bathrobes? None of the underwears were smaller than size L. Some of the styles were unfamiliar to him. Why not test something new? He finally found a leather jockstrap, took a look in the mirror and felt how his cock began to throb inside, rubbing itself against the leather. He felt dazed. This wasn't happening? The being in the mirror wasn't himself? Too good to be true? He girded himself with a very large white terrycloth bathrobe, and found a heap of large rubber slippers. Thus attired, he walked through the corridors. Brett walked through the corridors. He smiled. It felt unreal, but in a good way. Brett squeezed his manhood through the terrycloth and the leather. Brett needed a nap. And a shower. While he waited for his biker gear.

The teaser is found here: https://muscle-growth.org/topic/13634-teaser-for-the-new-story-the-company/ The Company Chapter One "What is it like? The Treatment, I mean." The elderly man sat in one of the restaurants owned by Physical Potential Foundation, and felt embarrassed and exhilarated at the same time. A young muscle-god had decided to sit down at his table, which caused a wave of mixed feelings. The younger man had obviously been through The Treatment already, and his shoulders unopposedly claimed the space of the opposite seat, as they protruded out of the sleeveless plaid shirt. Several upper shirt buttons were unbuttoned, and revealed a pec cleavage worthy an ancient statue. Even if his pecs were hard as marble, they were far from as pale as marble: A bronzed, hairless chest teased the elderly man with its body heat and whiff of anti-perspirant, but the most amazing thing with the other man was his eyes: Although men built like him had the opportunity to behave condescendingly or smugly, this man's greenish-brown eyes sparkled of fun and mischief, like sunlight through the foliage of beeches, reflected in a well. A smile, expressing relish, was upon his face above the powerful jaw and dimpled chin. The young man answered: "The Treatment is awesome. Some guests worry about pain during adjustment of their bone-structure, but you are given some sort of analgesic with the DNA-altering and hormone-stimulating formula. It will feel great. Don't worry, gramps. You will enjoy it. And you will have fun afterwards. Which option have you gone for?" The elderly man felt embarrassed again, and he could feel his willy awake inside his pants, hearing the description of The Treatment. His silvery white hair was wavy. His suit didn't look cheap, but it wasn't luxurious either. With his suit and tie, he looked slightly misplaced in the restaurant. Indirect daylight was admitted into the room, but the southern wall lacked any windows, and the air conditioners struggled. The walls were panelled, and wooden logs ran from one wall to another under the ceiling. Many of the other men eating dinner were dressed in black leather, and looked like the drawings he had enjoyed in the 1960s and 1970s. Other men were dressed in a way inspired by the army: Crewcuts, jarheads, camo trousers, dogtags. One or two cowboys looked displaced in the environment. Judging from the scents in the room, the preferred style of meal was steak, barbecue, grill. Although most of the dialects heard in the room came from one or another part of the States, the elderly man could hear the odd Canadian, British or Irish dialect now and then, and some men probably spoke with unidentifiable European accents. He had seen a, supposedly wealthy, Saudi arrive in traditional Arabian garb, and descend the stairs an hour later in tight denim jeans, sneakers and an expensive-looking slim-fitting t-shirt, and with a sturdy golden chain around his neck. One of the muscle gods was probably Hawaiian, and he guessed one of the pre-Treatment guests was a Filipino. "I have chosen Fountain-of-Youth and Option Two." The young man smiled, causing dimples in his cheeks, and the glittering joy in his eyes returned. "You will love it, I guess. You are old enough to actually have been able to meet Tom of Finland. Did you meet him?" The elderly man ate one of his fries, and smiled for the first time, though the smile was shy, and his ears became dark pink. Dark pink contrasted nicely against his silvery white hair. "I am not very experienced, I'm afraid. My life went by, and I didn't engage with the wider gay community, until very, very late. It took me a very, very long time to accept myself. The times were different." He fell silent for a few seconds, and then repeated: "The times were very different." His thoughts briefly drifted away. Memories. "Tell me. I'm curious. My great grandfathers died when I was too young to understand anything, but I have always wanted to hear more about the past." So he told him. The musty scent of an underground cellar, used to store food the first years of his life. Ice preserved under saw dust, but replaced by a very bulky and noisy refrigerator inside the kitchen a few years later. Bicycling as a child: Playing in the nearby prairie. President Roosevelt on the radio. Charlie Chaplin in the theatre. War news. New suburbs emerging. The outhouse replaced by an indoors bathroom with water closet, which was an improvement in the cold winters and warm summers. Magazines with comics or short stories printed on cheap paper, which aged quickly, and became yellow and brittle, and smelled dusty and funny. Meals from tin cans. Jazz music. President Truman on the radio. He didn't remember much from wartime. He was a teenager when the Korean war ended. There was something impressive about the veterans who returned home, but it had made him feel embarrassed. His family became wealthy enough to buy a car: A mint green one with large tails. He didn't do well in sports, but one of his best friends played in the football team, and protected him from bullying. His mother had been deeply religious, his father less so, but the entire family went to chapel every Sunday. Many years afterwards, he learned, that the chapel had been into social gospel decades earlier, and performed a lot of charity work in the past, but, at some time shortly before the war, a new preacher had arrived, and the congregation had taken a more revivalist turn. Lots of emotions during Sunday meetings, and bible readings from an incomprehensible translation. "God's own translation", as his mother had used to say. "Thee" and "Thou" and "Shalt". Especially "Shalt not". One Sunday after chapel, he had asked his mother: "What's a sodomite?" Her expression had become rigid and disgusted, and she had explained: "It's a sick and hell-bound man behaving unmanly and unnaturally, worse than a beast. Promise me to never, never talk about such things again." So he didn't. There was a lot of fear of nuclear war, and everyone feared the Communists. And everyone feared traitors within, like fags, who were supposed to be Communists, all of them. His parents had voted for Ike, and Ike won. "Ike was a war hero, and back then there was a realisation in Ike's party, that people of colour (as we used to say back then – I'm afraid that it doesn't sound polite today, but it was intended to be back then) still suffered, despite slavery had been abolished eighty years earlier. Ike's party was the party of Abraham Lincoln, who abolished slavery. The other party was frankly outright racist back then, at least in the south. The sixties changed all that in a way you youngsters don't understand. I voted for Nixon, because I sympathized with the civil rights movement, but Kennedy won. Must sound self-contadictory to your generation. Lyndon and Carter changed the party-allegiances in the south. Some people my age became beatniks. A few became hippies, though most hippies were many years younger than us. Some were drafted for Vietnam. I became an office clerk, and later an accountant." When rock and roll emerged, he had initially continued to listen to jazz music, but there was something dangerously rebellious and appealing with Elvis Presley. He spent a lot of time in the theatre, watching films. He had watched a film called The Wild One, starring Marlon Brando, and Rebel without a cause, starring James Dean (who wasn't much older than himself). And then there were a wave of slightly childish but entertaining films about ancient Greek heroes or ancient Romans: Hercules, Ben Hur, The Slave. Steve Reeves and Charlton Heston were big names back then. Since he didn't marry, he had a lot of time left for other things. In his leisure time, he joined the Benevolent and Protective Order of Elks, which engaged in a lot of beneficial charity work. It was important to him, to assist less fortunate persons. Once or twice a year, he took a weekend trip to a big city several hours away, and visited an opera house: The bombastic music of Wagner telling stories about hero-figures like Lohengrin, Parzival and Siegfried spoke to him. It was an age of soap, cleanliness, mild colognes and horn-rimmed glasses. TV was something new then. People met at home and played bridge. He had a guilty pleasure: He read and collected a magazine called Physique Pictorial. It was supposed to encourage physical exercise, but he wasn't the sporty type of person. Anything else than golf or tennis would have been unthinkable in the social class he had entered in his adult and middle-aged years. He wasn't sure if it was intentional, but some of the artwork in the magazine, especially by someone called 'Tom of Finland', caused him to feel horny, despite the lack of women in the drawings. The drawings only depicted confident and very masculine men, especially lumberjacks, bikers and servicemen. At some time in the 1970s, he admitted to himself that his sexuality wasn't mainstream, but according to all men around him, fags behaved like queens, and the things he enjoyed weren't queenish at all, so he didn't know how to understand the matter of arousal and pleasure. In the 1970s and 1980s, the art of Tom became uncensored and explicitly sexual: Tall, powerful men in leather or uniforms pleasured each other. He felt guilty and ashamed, and the young schoolboy – in his past – repeatedly heard his mother's words – in the past: "Never, never talk about such things again." Sick and hell-bound? But not unmanly, surely: The beefcakes surpassed his old schoolmates (who didn't play football or baseball any longer), the straight men in the accountant firm, the straight men in the golf course, his straight brethren in The Elks. And the men in the drawings looked like they had fun. Not riddled by guilt. Just having fun together. Ultra-masculine fun. Homosexuals became more visible in society. The Stonewall riots must have happened in New York in 1969, but he wasn't aware of it at the time, and in rural small towns a lot of things went on as they always had. After hippies came disco, but he preferred opera. The number of television channels exploded, and became incalculable. It was an age of synthetic fabrics and too much sweat. Preachers in the chapels he attended preached against the increasing visibility of homosexuals, and talked about cures and therapy. AIDS happened, and he thought that it had been wise of him to avoid sex, otherwise something terrible could have happened to him. He felt embarrassed, guilty, full of shame, that he enjoyed Tom's art, but he noticed that Tom made an advertisement for safe sex. After disco came heavy metal and electronic music, but none of it appealed to him: He stuck with jazz music and opera, but he would listen to Bruce Springsteen now and then. It was an age of sporty anti-perspirants and young people with sticky goo in their hair. The hairy hairdos introduced by The Beatles and the hippies became unfashionable, and civilian young men began to favour crew cuts (or modern hairdos inspired by crew cuts). An increasing number of young men began to exercise, and it became usual to see wannabe bodybuilders in the stores and in the streets, and he felt embarrassed when he became impressed by, and aroused at, the sight of twenty year younger jocks (or even thirty year younger ones). In the 1990s, the advertisement industry abandoned any regrets against showing male nudity: Actors and soccer-players began to sell underwear. By that time, he had become decidedly un-political. The Soviet Union didn't exist any longer, and any difference between the major parties wasn't obvious. Since he didn't have any children of his own, he took delight in spoiling his nieces and nephews at Christmas and birthday parties. One of them, Brody, returned home from university at some point in the late 1990s, at about the same time as he considered retirement himself. Brody hadn't shown much of an interest in sports in elementary school, but had later began to work out in a gym, and, during university years, Brody had achieved an impressive physique. Brody had visited his uncle one of his first nights back home, and brought a bottle of Jack Daniels. Uncle had preferred something some more sophisticated, and they had each shared one balloon glass of imported French brandy, before they opened the bottle brought by Brody. "Better enjoy the brandy with taste buds intact.", as Brody had agreed. He remembered Brody as a rather shy and frail kid in the 1970s, brought up with Sesame Street and the usual fare, but the young man who now sat in the other armchair was a confident young male with a powerful chest. He had left his leather jacket inside the door, and was dressed in jeans, a sturdy leather belt with a conspicuous belt-buckle, army boots and a snug polo shirt. Brody had brought two cigars, and, after small-talk about many different things, they had – somehow – floated into quite private and personal matters. Brody had come out of the closet to his uncle, and Uncle had fallen silent for a while. Then he had told Brody his own story, and Brody had been very supportive. By the help of Brody, he had taken a few steps outside his comfort zone, and he began to donate to gay-right charities. He had decided to attend a more liberal and mainline church instead, and found that environment supportive. He remained a member of The Elks and the golf club, but he had lost some of his old business affiliates. He felt too old to look for a partner, but he enjoyed when Brody invited him to meet Brody's gay friends. Some of the young men had lost contact with their parents, especially Dads, when they had announced that they were gay, and he became an Uncle to several of them. He couldn't believe his ears when same-sex marriage was introduced. It was a few months ago, when Brody, now a successful middle-aged professional, had a talk with him about The Company and The Treatment. "One of my friends in the leather-scene consulted that company. The Treatment they give is unbelievable. I will probably give it a try when I become slightly older. They give something called 'Fountain-of Youth', and it is allegedly just what its called. Even men of your age return from the centres looking like several decades younger. To some relatives, it is rather shocking, but I thought, that it would give you a second chance, or at least an opportunity to spoil yourself. You deserve that, uncle. I will pay a part of the cost if you have any doubts." His awareness returned to the restaurant table. He watched the muscle-god before him and ate a few of his, now cold, fries. The handsome young man listened attentively. "It is hard to understand how it was in the past. It gets better, doesn't it?" - - - It was the day after. He was scheduled for The Treatment. He had been introduced to Bill, his PT, when he checked in yesterday, and it seemed like Bill was one of the men in charge of The Treatment. Bill was dressed in tracksuit bottoms and sneakers, a snug polo shirt and a white lab coat, and smiled at him. "The big day has come, Mr. A. I hope you will enjoy it, and we have several activities booked for you in the upcoming days. We also expect our guests to have fun with other guests, if they so prefer. You have Fountain-of-Youth selected, I see. It's one of our popular choices, especially among men of a certain age. Please drink the content of this glass and change into rubber slippers and a dressing-gown over here. I will be back, soon." He looked at the drinking glass, actually made of plastic. It contained a milky, yellow liquid. He tasted it. Vanilla, covering some bitterness. He took a deep breath and emptied it. Better done with it. He removed his tie and shirt, undershirt and trousers. The air in the Treatment department felt warmer and moister than usual, like a bathhouse. He let his underwear and socks go, and put his rubber slippers on. He still felt shy and vulnerable, wrinkled and fragile, as he now was naked under the dressing-gown. He moved the curtain aside, and entered the Treatment Room. A jacuzzi was sunk into the floor. Equipment indistinguishable from a tanning bed hang from the ceiling rather close to the jacuzzi. A scent of essential oils, reminding himself of some cologne, steamed from the surface of the hot water: A scent like wood, nuts, leather and citrus. Bill returned. "Will you please enter the water, Mr. A. I have seen naked men before, you can hand me the dressing-gown. Step carefully, so you don't slip. Yes, like that." Bill helped him down the stairs into the jacuzzi. "Now sit in a comfortable position, Mr. A, and I will repeat the information. You have been briefed twice before, but we use to repeat, in order to remove any worries. The formula you drank will alter your DNA, permanently increase your own production of certain hormones, and, since you have chosen this particular option, it will also help your body to rejuvenate. The formula in the water will activate the formula inside your metabolic system, and you will be sensitive to the ordinary UV light of the same sort given in tanning salons. During one hour or so, you will be able to absorb the energy of UV light and metabolize it into muscular tissue. Most guests find the process enjoyable. While you undergo The Treatment we will play some music from the loadspeakers, if you want. Did you chose any particular music when you filled in your form? Oh. Wagner, I see. Prelude to Tannhäuser? Now, just relax and enjoy the experience. I will leave you some privacy. If you feel strange, please press the alarm button hanging from the ceiling here." Bill left. The illumination went soft and dim. The jacuzzi activated, and hard jet streams of hot water began to hit his tensed back muscles and other parts of his body. The loadspeaker began to play Tannhäuser. The UV equipment in the ceiling lowered itself and activated: A blueish-purple light. He felt warm and comfortable. Relaxed, yet with some traces of worry left in his gut. A shiver of anticipation. A wave of warmth coming from inside, rather than from the surrounding hot water. Another internal wave of warmth. His bicepses tensed. Blood rushed to his willy. His quads tensed. His chest felt more... more present, in a way, like he had never noticed it in the past. Brody and his friends called the chest muscles pecs. He had pecs, too. He remembered the pecs of his old friend who had played American football in school – he had attended his funeral two years ago. He remembered the pecs of the men in the erotic art he enjoyed. He touched his own pecs. He could feel them grow. Uhmmmm. Grow. Pecs. He fingered one of his nipples, and moaned. The jacuzzi began to feel smaller, like it was shrinking. Then he realized, that he was growing taller, and, in the moment he realized that, his willy hardened into something probably better called a cock. He caressed himself with his right hand, and moved it to his mid-section, and he could feel six abs forming. Six marble-hard abs, like the young muscle-god yesterday. The jet streams intensified, and he became acutely aware of his physical presence, the extension of his body, and the increasing size of his now POWERFUL muscles and the delightful awareness of his own MASCULINITY. He had to tense and flex his bicepses. His legs. His bottom – what Brody used to call glutes? His back felt different. He moaned again. And again, louder now. It felt... He didn't know how to describe it, and he didn't need to describe it. He was absorbing the PURE POWER from the UV equipment, and turned it into STEEL-HARD brawn. He moaned again and thrashed around in the water, experienced spasms of movement, of flexing, of EMPOWERMENT. The Wagner music repeated for the third time. The prelude increased into a crescendo, and in his mind his ecstasy increased into a prolonged indescribable state of pleasure. He orgasmed once, twice and again. The pleasure never ended, but returned ever again in even higher states of intensity. He was no longer aware of his surroundings. Everything that existed was the triumphant background music, the pleasure that consumed every other thought, and the overwhelming EMPOWERMENT. Empowerment! Empowerment! Emp... Oh my God! Uhu uhu uhu uhu uhu uhu uhu uhu And the music climaxed too. - - - Chapter two is found here.

Physical Potential Foundation, good afternoon. How may I help you? Yes, that's one of the companies we own. The Foundation assist in scheduling customers, in order to optimise their experience according to their particular goals and preferences. Have you received the paper copy of the form, or do you sign it online? I see, Sir, yes I am delighted to assist you. I am well aware of, that it might seem overwhelming, but it is for safety purposes and in order to ensure customer satisfaction. Location, yes? Well, you see, Sir, some of our customers prefer to stay at our centre located in the tropics, because of the weather: To enjoy the sun and have opportunities to take a bath in the ocean. We call it The Physique Pictorial Experience. Other customers prefer our northern centre – especially popular for stays during Christmas and New Year, and particularly popular among those who enjoy the company of bears, if you catch my drift? Our northern centre has several very authentic Finnish saunas, with easy access to snow and ice-covered bathing lakes. Our western centre is particularly popular among bikers, and our Atlantic one among punks, scallies and skinheads, but I can assure you, that there's a great deal of overlap. Many customers prefer to consult the centre closest to their home, in order to cut the travelling expenses short. Aha? Okey? Yes, I see. No, sir, there is nothing to be shy of. We have seen and heard anything by now. Yes, that particular part of the form is in place, to ensure satisfied customers. If you click on that link, you will see some photographs of former customers with blurred faces. So, to begin with, we have the first alternative, which we call FITLAD. It's highly popular, especially among our younger customers and among middle-aged professionals, who have to take their professional career in account. Then we have the second offer, HUNK, which is primarily targeted at young customers. Middle-aged and elderly customers usually prefer our third option, FOUNTAIN-OF-YOUTH, with practically the same effects as the HUNK option. Our remaining options are called BRUISER, SUPER-HERO and BULL, but if you click the links... You do? Yes? Yes, Sir. I see. If you change your mind, you still have the opportunity to select another option up to ten days before arrival. No, Sir. All visible employees are male, but we have many female employees behind the scenes, as it were. We want to create a certain type of ambience. Those boxes are there, to ensure that you doesn't feel embarrassed. Some customers are not easily embarrassed, and go for the second option, which include access to our nearby theme-park, Tom's Land. You have to sign, that you understand the legal nature of a 'no', and, if you tick any of the optional boxes, you will be given a colour-coded hanky-badge at your arrival, in order to prevent misunderstandings. The third option is legal at the geographical locations of the centres, yes, but customers who chose the third option are housed in other buildings than guests who go for option one or option two. We want to avoid embarrassment. Yes, prophylactics are mandatory. Yes, I understand, if the next set of boxes look unusual, but some of our customers want to add one or another of these specifics, to ensure that they are surrounded by the right crowd of fellow customers after The Treatment: Big feet, ginger and shot wound scars. Otherwise, you just tick 'Doesn't matter'. Yes. Yes, I see. No, Sir. We don't do racial profiling. It's an early decision from when the Foundation started the companies, and it still remain in force. Neither do we accept customers or employees younger than 21, for several reasons. You will meet employees and fellow customers of all and every ethnical background, everyone over the age of 21. The gyms? Each centre have five gyms. Two of these do not allow sex in the locker rooms. Non-embarrassment policy, again. The options are: Mainstream, Hardcore, Steamy locker, Fetish and Naked. Yes? Oh, I see, Sir. No. No reason to apologise, Sir. You are very welcome. Do you need more information about the restaurants? No? Online information enough? Very well, Sir. We take the utmost care to combine high nutritional value and an inviting masculine atmosphere, and you will be given the opportunity to plan each meal with our PTs and waiters. You will also be sent information about our work for charities: Preventing STD, projects against bullying, and scholarships for working-class teenagers and young men. Affluent customers like to donate, less affluent customers shall not feel any pressure to do so. Actually, we have stipends to make it easier for less-affluent customers to receive The Treatment. We cultivate a sort of brotherly spirit at the Foundation. Our founders took a certain interest in all these areas, and all our companies try to maintain and realise our founders' vision. No, it was a pleasure to help you. Your form will be processed within 24 hours, and we will give you optional dates to chose between within three days. Just remember, that the waiting-list is quite long, as you might expect. Yes. Yes. A pleasure. You are welcome. Bye. - - - Chapter one is found here: https://muscle-growth.org/topic/13680-the-company-chapter-1/

First Story! I'm still getting a handle on things on this site, but this is really the first story I've EVER posted online...EVER! I hope y'all like it. There wasn’t really anything I wouldn’t do for Tommy, and so that’s why I wound up doing just about everything for Tommy. You could say our life together is anything but normal, but I think that’s part of what makes it all so special. We were freaks. But soon we would have to change the way our dynamic was working because I was starting to become so freaky, I really needed help taking care of the both of us. Sure, we were never bodybuilders or anything, but we had dedicated our lives to becoming the biggest, freakiest, most musclebound monsters there ever was. Tommy got there a few years ago, with the help of entire teams of doctors and nutritionists, personal trainers, freaking scientists! It took a lot of work, drove us completely over the edge, but together, we transformed ourselves into beasts and formulated lines of supplements all kinds of shit to help other people grow like we did. But no one ever came close to Tommy. There are a handful out there a lot like me, over six hundred pounds of beef, albeit a little blubber here and there. I’m not cut like I was in college, but it’s grown on me. Something with my system and the formula just didn’t agree and I blimped out a bit. It’s nothing crazy, just some pooch, but it makes me look all kinds of swole. I can’t really fit through doorways, and clothes have to be made custom, but I love shit to be tight, so sometimes I buy normal stuff so I can hulk out of them. Tommy loves it. He can’t really get up anymore, not without help. They gave him all kinds of implants and hormones to make him a little taller, to pack on more mass, but more importantly, make him sturdier. His bones are fucking huge! When we met, he was like six feet tall, maybe two hundred thirty pounds of off-season bulk. Today, after maybe ten years, he’s seven feet even and almost a thousand pounds. He can’t tie his shoes anymore, he can’t wipe his ass anymore, he can feed himself after we stretch for most of the morning, but that’s about it. We really only dress him to workout, but he has shit that’ll make him decent if one of us is feeling like going on a little date. “Babe.” I pat the mountainous slab that was his pec. “Baby…” Due to his size, Tommy snored. Sometimes, if he wasn’t angled right, he stopped breathing, but that was a problem of the past. Now, the real struggle was getting his giant ass up in the morning; his snores rattled the windows! My heart always melts when I watch him sleep. All those enhancements we made on his body had gradually altered his face too. When we met, he kept his blonde waves cropped short, and you could cut glass on his cheekbones. His jawline was thick and manly, and the cleft in his chin went deeper than I thought a cleft could really go. His lips were luscious and lovely, but it was his eyes that won you over. He had the most gorgeous pair of baby blue eyes framed by long lashes. Those eyes were really the only thing that remained of the man I had fallen for, at least on the outside. He had been swallowed up by the beast of my dreams, a hulk with a jawline that nearly gave him an underbite. His lips had plumped up, growing thick like something even a porn star would be envious of. His cheeks had sunken in as his metabolism skyrocketed, eating away every ounce of fat on his body, making his cheekbones stand out all the more, and then growing even farther when he started on his bone supplements. Every muscle in his face rippled, the veins on his temples often bulged out when he spoke or chewed, his brow had grown heavy like a brick. It was a hard face, but the hottest and most lovable face I had ever known. He was my beast. “Hey…” I tried to shove…something. I pushed on his shoulder, his globe-sized shoulder, but I barely even made an indentation on his skin. “TOMMY!” I slapped his leg. There was a satisfying PAP! sound as my hand clapped against his beefy, hairy thigh. Even relaxed, every striation stood out like his skin were paper thin. That roused him. He stopped snoring and mumbled, confused and annoyed. “Uh?” His morning voice was so deep and scratchy. He jerked his head around as best he could without much in the way of a neck. His thick beard hung down, between his pecs and slipped back and forth as he looked around the room. “What?” he croaked. “We gotta get up.” I said, kissing him. “I made breakfast, come on.” “Mmm…” He tried to stretch, but he could barely lift his arms. “Noooo…” Something jerked me forward, and suddenly I was crushed up against my lover’s immense body. It was only when he literally ripped the clothes from my body with a single tug that I realized he had pulled me in for a bearhug. His foot long morning wood brushing against the insides of my own massive thighs. I got hard right then and there. That was another thing that I absolutely fucking loved about Tommy. When we fucked, he could hold me up in one hand forever. I’m fucking massive, but he was a monster that could bend around and throw me and manipulate me like I was just a toy. He took me by the wingspan that was my lats and lowered me down on his massive cock. It still felt like he could tear me in half, but I loved it. Even lying down, his balls were so huge my thick backside slapped against them. He fucked me for what felt like an hour, getting harder every time he made me scream or moan. I had lost all control of myself, and this was just morning wood. I lost all track of time when he came inside me, but by the time he had finished, my guy was taught. He tried to get up, still holding me, but bending at the waist was impossible right now. The other day, we had destroyed his chest and abs, and he moaned with pain as he found against his own body. Tommy set me down, but I had lost feeling in my legs. And there we were, him sprawled out on the bed, me sprawled out on the floor. Even laughing hurt like hell as he chuckled at our situation. We had turned ourselves into total freaks, and I don’t think either of us would change a single thing. To be continued?

PREFACE This is the most discomforting chapter in the story. The one who doesn't recognize satire, when he sees it, is blind. I also want to thank Arpeejay for a discussion about bodyweight. DISCLAIMER The story takes place in a totalitarian society. Unpleasant political slur of two opposite kinds will occur. Likewise, sexist slur will take place. Violent deaths will be mentioned. If anything of this disturbs you, please be warned. Part one is found here: https://muscle-growth.org/topic/10522-the-security-squad-part-1/ Part five is found here: https://muscle-growth.org/topic/10576-the-security-squad-part-5/ - - - ”And why do you volunteer for this? You know, that in the past all members of the Security Squad were drafted.” I watched you inquisitively. You seemed to feel uncomfortable before my imposing presence. ”I saw the advertisements. You know, the ones, like, BECOME THE PERFECT MAN: JOIN SECURITY SQUAD or LESS OF A MAN, THAN YOU WANT TO BE? JOIN SECURITY SQUAD, and I thought, that I could perhaps give it a chance.” ”I see. Yes, we have had a considerable influx of patriotic volunteers, since the advertisement campaign was launched.” You squirmed. ”I don’t feel very patriotic. Not patriotic enough.” ”Don’t worry soldier. You will be. You will be fine. Your squaddiefication will take place within a few days. It isn’t something dangerous.” I was allowing my thoughts to wander back in time: How Brad and I, Bill and Sergeant Williams had been tested the days after our own squaddiefication a decade earlier. Bill and I managed to lift a 2250 pounds each. Brad managed to lift almost 1800 pounds. - - - I was hanging out at The Patriot with you and Brad. On our way there, we had passed by the usual political posters: ”Is your wife a secret Terrie?” and ”The Security Squad protects YOU!” The Patriot was officially a local ”member-restricted recreation association for members of Security Squad and their friends”. There wasn’t anything untrue about that description, but it didn’t describe the reality either. The walls were painted in black. Flags and recruitment posters hang on the walls. Sixty percent of the Security Squad’s personnel never frequented The Patriot, which could be a surprise for those, who only knew the establishment from its official description. When you and I entered the building, we had been met by the mixed scents of cigar smoke, beer, male sweat, anti-perspirants, moth repellents and leather. Brad and I towered over you, and I felt protective. You were so young. Comparatively small. Like I had been before my squaddiefication. Recently transferred to the non-enhanced segment of the Security Squad by the enlistment authority. Like Brad and me, you were dressed in the everyday wear of the Security Squad: Black t-shirt or tank top, black woolen army sweater, glossy cargo trousers of black leather (with a belt buckle carrying the crest of the Security Squad), heavy boots, patrol cap and a black bomber jacket. We could have frequented the place in civil attire, but we knew what the squad-fans wanted. Our arrival was met with approving cheers by the ”friends of the Security Squad”. ”Oh look, Chad! They brought a Squaddie-pup! He hasn’t been squaddiefied, yet!” I whispered to you: ”I told you, that you would become popular. Handle it wisely. Don’t let anyone beg you into something you aren’t comfortable with. They are the fans. You are in command. Remember that.” You nodded. Brad towered over you protectively. At 7’6” and 450 lbs he was a living embodiment of what it meant to belong to the Security Squad. Some of the recruitment posters were actually based on him. ”When the Lord Protector signed the Immoral Entertainment Decree and the Indecent Behaviour Decree eighteen years ago, there was initially some hesitation and uncertainty over how they were supposed to be interpreted. Two talkshows on TV were closed down, since they were known of making fun of The Leader. There were some discussion coming from The Leader’s religious backers about closing bodybuilding competitions, beauty pageants and wrestling, but the nationalist backers of The Leader thought there could be a patriotic value in those competitions, so they were retained. I have heard, that some un-patriotic scum fled our country and now compete for other countries, which is a disgrace. Oh, thank you Eric.” Eric, the bartender, had placed three pints of beer in front of us. He knew what we preferred. In several ways. Several other Squaddies — both squaddified ones and non-enhanced ones — stood or sat in other corners of The Patriot, but the major share of the patrons were squad-fans. The squad-fans came in all shapes: Short and tall, thin, overweight and muscular, but they all preferred a decidedly masculine style. All kept their hair short (in different ways). It was in rather general use among squad-fans to sport flags and other patriotic patches on their jackets. The jackets came in several styles: Denim jackets, bomber jackets in synthetic fibres, leather jackets — especially biker style jackets. Some of the squad-fans rode motorbikes, and kept old-fashioned biker style alive. ”Since what was called ’propaganda promoting a gay lifestyle’ was forbidden, there was an abrupt end to Pride events, and gay pubs were closed. The Lord Protector decided to turn existing same-sex marriages into civil unions, but he resisted any suggestions to abolish civil unions. His military advisors adviced him to not re-instate the don’t-ask-don’t-tell policy. Where you grew up, it was probably harsh to be fond of other lads, but, as you see, that is not the entire truth about our country. I’m happy to bring you here.” ”It is a relief after what I went through. This place feel unreal.” You looked at some old Security Squad memorabilia, and some black and white reproductions of Tom of Finland art. The convsersations in the room were rather loud. Drunk laughs from one of the corners. One of the squad-fans approached us. He was a buzzcut bloke in his mid-30s, and dressed in jeans, boots and a squad-sweater replica. ”Permission to speak, Sergeant.” ”Permission granted, civilian.” He gave the impression of usually cultivating a rather cocky demeanour in other surroundings, but, when speaking to us three, he behaved slightly shyly. ”Just exactly is squaddification? The results are, eh, very impressive.” ”Your first visit to The Patriot, mate? That squaddiefication exist isn’t a secret: It is obvious for everyone. But exactly how squaddiefication is done is classified information, I’m afraid.” ”Oh. Sorry for asking. I’m a great fan of Squads on Patriot Channel.” Squads was a reality series about life in the Security Squad. I had watched episode one and two of the first season, but swiftly dropped the habit. The content was extremely edited, and didn’t give an accurate impression about everyday life in the Squad. ”I would guess, that you’re not alone on that account in this crowd. Have you had time to discuss with other fans here?” ”Some. It’s new to me, all of this.” ”Don’t worry, civilian. You are among friends here.” More cheers. I looked in the direction of the entrance, in order to find out why. ”Hello Bill! How is the night going?” ”Awesome Joe. I have spent all night at Beer Burger Bar, and already shagged three squad-hags.” I turned to you. ”You see, my friend, Sergeant Tannen here, is into the vagina business.” I turned to Bill again. His 600 lbs brawn to his 6’6” height couldn’t fail to attract most of the eyes in the room. ”Three? Really? Isn’t it time for you to settle down with kettle and lids, at your age?” ”I don’t disagree with your lifestyle, and you don’t disagree with mine. Isn’t that a deal?” I turned to you again. ”Now you wonder, perhaps, what a confirmed straight guy like Bill is doing here…” You nodded shyly, looking at Bill’s bull-god physique. ”But we have a saying in the Squad. Perhaps you haven’t heard it, yet. The difference between a straight Squaddie and a bi-curious Squaddie is three pints of beer.” Bill roared of laughter. So did some of the squad-fans, who had overheard our conversation. A massive leather-clad biker had approached us. For a non-squaddified man, he was certainly impressive, and a life dedicated to working out was required to carry his outfit the way he did. I was proud of you, when I noticed that your gaze didn’t flicker. ”Please Sergeant, may I speak to the Squaddie-pup?”, the biker asked me. I acted the way he expected. ”Permission granted, civilian. Treat him well. Otherwise, I and Sergeant Smith here have to punish you.” The biker shuddered, but perhaps not purely out of fear. ”When will you become squaddified, Sir”, he asked you. ”In two days. Why do you ask, civilian?” ”I would be honoured if you remembered me during and after your squaddification. Would you do that? My name is Chad.” ”Perhaps I will”, you answered, one part confident, one part acting. ”Do you allow me to make myself worthy of remembering? It would be an honour to make you happy, Sir.” ”I’m sure, that you know what to do, civilian. I’m a squaddie-pup. I am superior.” I could detect a small trace of insecurity in your voice. It would be erased in two days, I reflected. But the squad-fan didn’t notice, or he didn’t care. To be in the presence of me, Brad and you made his day. He began to unbutton your fly. You leaned backwards against the desk, your leather clad legs wide apart, and let the muscular biker become your willing slave. More drunk cheering from a corner. It seemed to make Bill horny again, and he had definitely bucketed down more than three pints this evening. He had found a willing admirerer, too: A bodybuilder type dressed in army fashion, having loop screws in his earlobes. Absent-mindedly I noticed a short heap of flyers. ”The Security Squad needs YOU! Ever considered serving your country?” The The Patriot franchise had been a success as a recruitment ground for the Squad. I supposed that the level of success, in that regard, silenced any doubts some of The Leader’s advisors could have had in other respects, but what would they expect, when they removed all inhibations from a man? - - - It was two days later. I stood between the Zythronic racks, wearing the helmet. Initially, the four of us, who were the original new breed of improved soldiers, used to take turns inside the growth chamber. Later, our group of expert Improvers had been expanded into twelve members. It was my turn, and I liked the job. The twelve of us Improvers reach some small improvements every time, even if the pace of change has slowed down very much. The initial transformation is always the most dramatic, and there is seldom much to add or change, but it felt good to be in the chamber again, exposed to the Zythronic Field, the Vril Power and the two other forms of radiation. This way, the twelve Improvers always were slightly bigger, slightly stronger, slightly faster, slightly better than the recently changed squaddies, and they treated us with respect. The respect we deserve. I watched you: A Potential Domestic Terrorist. We used to say PDT, but the civilians shortened it into Domestic Terrorist, and were very grateful for our work on hunting you down, increasing the security for normal, decent people. We had improved the processing routines, and moved the chairs into the growth chamber. You sat in your chair, and the arms of your chair ended with metallic knobs connected to the Zythronic Racks. You were dressed in your orange-coloured prison-dress, your legs fastened to the legs of the chair, and your wrists strapped to the arms of the chair. ”Are you going to execute me?” ”You are mistaken. This is not an electrical chair.” ”What is it then, you bloody Fascist?” ”Watch your mouth.” ”It’s not like you haven’t abused me. Physically. Verbally.” ”Verbal abuse is more common in the Police Force. We don’t have the habit of calling you Liberal scum, even if you are. As for physical abuse — some prisoners need to be disciplined, but not to the degree, that they would no longer recover. Our off-shore prisoner camps are a valuable asset to the Security Squad.” ”An asset?” You looked like you couldn’t believe what you heard. ”You believe in a cause. That is honourable, even if you are misguided. Men with principles, like yourself, would hold equally firm convictions, if they were patriots. Even defend their convictions, by taking up arms.” ”You may lock me in, but you are not able to change my mind.” ”Let us see about that.” No reason to slow it down or hold back. The green infusion was now administerable by a rather quick injection, and all three biochemical formulas could be administered by the chair. Perhaps better to ease any pain away. Our purpose was not to torture you, but turn you into a weapon: Into one of us, so I let the Zythronic Field trickle through your palms into your body at a modest 8% level. ”Ummmm. What’s that? Ummmmmm. What’s happening?” I didn’t answer. I let the robotic arms of the chair administer the chemicals. Then the wet electrodes lowered themselves to each of your temples. They always scream. Afraid of losing themselves, I suppose. It is true to a certain extent. Memories fade or disappear, but deep-seated personality traits do not die, nor do instincts and urges. I do not remember my own conditioning. It is just a black hole in my memory. When I ask other Squad-members about it, they tell me the same. We do not remember the conditioning. I guess you will forget this pain, as all the others have done. As we all have done. I warmed the radiation emittors under the floor up. Your chair was lit up from the floor, and bathed in a purple light. We had, by time, found, that doing it this way increased the conditioning. ”No, I…” Your mind was surprisingly resilient. I increased the Zythronic Field to 10% and increased the radiation from below. ”No, uh… uh… nnnnnnn” You struggled in the chair. I could notice the physical effects of the treatment, since you began to fill out your prison dress. 12.5% perhaps? ”Mmmmmmm, oh, um, mmmmmm” Close now. After having done this multiple times, I had learned to guide this process carefully, and the helmet helped me to do it intuitively. The sound of your voice changed: The tone of fear turned into the tone of revelling. Look at that neck of yours! You liked this. I could see it on your face. And your hands were becoming larger. And covered with veins. ”Oh, uh, yes. Yes, I comply. Yes, I obey. Oh YES! Fucking YES! Sir! More! Give this patriot MORE!” I was so happy to reward you with what you asked for. And this was just the Preparatory Phase. I was going to process you and the other two, later in the afternoon. - - - I looked through the list. The one who volunteered because the appeal to his vanity and insecurity. The pup who was sent here by the enlistment authority, and found a haven from his repressive upbringing. The one who was successfully re-programmed from terrorism to patriotism. The usual fare. As always, I was proud to squaddiefy you and the other two subjects. There would be no use of destroying expensive uniforms, as had happened the first time. All three of you were dressed in elastic mini-shorts, and nothing else. The Preparatory Phase had had its effect on you. You all looked fit and vein-covered, and your eyes had that familiar dim gaze. ”Soldiers! This is the best day in your lives! You will grow into your country’s finest defenders: The defenders of Improved Democracy. Unlike the inefficient democracy of other nations, slowed down by debates and never-ending official reports, our Improved Democracy implement decisions immediately, because the Lord Protector is given that executive and legislative power. ”Perhaps you watched telly a few days ago, the Prime Minister of Ruritania demanding: ”Mr. Lord Protector, tear down this wall!” But we know the truth: Our Anti-Terroristic Protective Wall protects us against terrorism. Our Anti-Terroristic Protective Wall protects us against unwanted foreign workers, who rob indigenous workers of their jobs. Our Anti-Terroristic Protective Wall protects us against killer clowns. We are the greatest country in the world, and you are the best of the best: You dedicate your lives to protect our liberty. I am proud of you, soldiers. Right now you are non-enhanced Squad members. Within a few hours, you will be full-grown Squaddies. Do you want to improve yourself for your country?” ”SIR! YES, SIR!” ”Then take your stations.” You grabbed your Zythronic racks, like the other two. I knew how the different bio-chimcal formulas were pumping in your blood from the Preparatory Phase. They just needed some more encouragement. I concentrated on the Zythronic Power. It began to stream. You and the other two were silent for a few seconds, but then began to moan of pleasure. I increased the intensity. By the help of the helmet, I could sense the Zythronic Power, and I knew, that the moment I awakened the Vril Power, I would be able to sense your feelings, shape your phiscal forms according to my will and share the pleasure you felt. I increased the intensity further. 65%. You were ready for the Power of Vril. I awakened my own Vril Power, activated the cannons, and my mind reached deep into your own, and caused your slumbering Vril Power to awake. Awake. Surge. Erupt. Consume you. And the Vril cannons bombarding your responsive muscle tissue. A shimmer of gold and bronze surrounded us, letting the Muscle Beast out. Letting the Power Being out. We were all connected now. I could sense your feeling of strength, of power, of confidence, of abandon, of delight and pleasure… Each of you reacted to the treatment in your own particular ways. ”So good. Fucking unreal. Like being Compton. Like being McCarver. Look at these! So unbelievable. Like being Agent Venom. Uhnnnn. Like being Bane. Can’t believe it. Uh, uh! Like fucking becoming The Hulk. Oh! Yes! The power! Can’t believe it! Uhnnn.” ”Oh, yes! Pump me full of it! Unit want more! This patriot can take more! Will crush all resistance. Will crush all threats. Demolish. Pulverize. Able to do that, now. The strenght! So much! Never too much! So free. Not responsible for anything. Just obeying orders. Keep it going!” ”Unbelievable… So good! Oh. Much! Couldn’t have dreamed… Nnnnn. Growing with my brothers… Defend. Protect. Uhnnnnn… No squad-fan any longer… No squaddie-pup any longer… Yes! YES! Squaddiefy me! SQUADDIEFY ME! Yes! Can’t believe it! This! And this! And the power! And the strength! And, uhnnnn… So hard. Uncrushable… Don’t hold back, Sergeant! Give me more! Want it… Crave it… MORE! YES! RAW, BRUTAL, NNNNNNNNNN! SQUADDIE POWER!” I knew how intoxicating it was. At my mere thought, the room bathed in purple, and, at another one, it was exposed to the relentless empowering influence of a blue shimmer. After the Preparatory Phase you had all looked like contestants in Men’s Physique, but, now, your well-defined abs turned into six hemispheric cannonballs of steel. Your shoulders became like bowling balls. Your pecs became like basket balls of warm, uncrushable flesh. Your thighs swelled and bulged into pillars able to carry 1500 pounds or more. Your waists were narrower than your thighs. Your calves looked like rugby balls. Your necks grew in power, your jugular vein pulsing under the relentless pressure of the muscle-building and enhancing forces. 90% 92.5% 95%. The machine working at an efficiency of 97.5%. I knew I had to concentrate on my conception of perfect masculinity, and the helmet would interpret my brainwaves into reality. Inside this chamber, my will was law. I held the all-powerful control of your bodies and minds. The feeling was more than exhilarating. I was able to form my brothers in arms into the fighting machines I wanted them to be, and they wanted to become. Perfect masculinity… Uhnnn. Felt good for the Improver, too. I wasn’t allowed to lose control now. Uhnnn. Despite it was tempting to just let the machine decide… Uhnnn. No, I was in charge. I am The Improver today, and I have to improve you. Yes! Join me, squaddies! Become… Oh! Yes! Become… specimens of perfect masculinity. Specimens of perfect virility. Like… Like Brad. Oh fuck! The chamber convulsed in intangible flames of gold and bronze, blue and purple, when you all absorbed the highest power level, developed your personal physical optimum and reached perfection. - - - There were a handful of things to do by routine. Blood pressure. Blood samples. Urine samples. You were given some time for shower. You received uniforms in your new sizes, and you were, of course, a sight for gods to dream of. Absent-mindedly, I was thinking about what the future had in reserve for you. As usual, the first kill had to happen shortly after squaddiefication. We didn’t want any inhibations to return. It would be inefficient for the needs of the country. I remembered my own first mission. We hd to suppress a potential terrorist threat. We stormed the building in the middle of the night. All domestic terrorists were sleeping. One of the women looked vaguely familiar, but I couldn’t remember where I had seen her before. I only dimly remember her chestnut-coloured hair, her green eyes and a dimple in her chin, because she cried out: ”Joe, it’s me. Why are you doing this?” It was very strange. How did she know my name? I shot the Terrie bitch. The mission was a disappointment, since no weapons were found in the terrorist base. Soon our new squaddies would be sent on similar missions. - - - I returned home. Brad had been busy cooking. ”Lot of paperwork, today?”, I asked. ”Yes. And you must have supervised a squaddiefication. I can see, that your traps are slightly larger than before”, he answered. ”They are?” ”I’m not blind, Joe. I can’t wait to lay my hands on those traps of your’s.” We finished our chicken and rice rather quickly, and decided to eat our apple-and-ginger pie later. We finished in the oversized sofa. Brad gave my traps a massage. The TV was on. The News reported that The Lord Protector had attended the inauguration of a statue of Berzelius Windrip. Then followed a re-run of the 2031 remake of Invasion of the Body Snatchers. We had seen it before, and switched the TV off. I reclined in the sofa, laying on my side. Brad’s back rested on my chest, and I let my right arm protect him. It felt strange, but it felt good. Brad was the most perfect man I knew, but I was heavier than him. At 7 feet and 500 lbs, I was able to lift him and carry him, if I wanted to. I let my lips touch his gold-coloured buzzcut, and whispered: ”I am inspecting the test subject.” I let my hand massage Brad’s right pec through the fabric of his sweater. He let out a whimpering sound, rose and removed his sweater and his shirt. He turned, and removed my shirt. We returned to the sofa, Brad’s back on my chest. I nibbled on his silky ear, and let my hand return to his right pec. With a playful voice, I whispered: ”As I said, I am inspecting the test subject.” I returned to my everyday voice: ”Oh. And by the way. Two of todays new squaddies looked strangely similar to you, Brad.” ”They always do, Joe, when you are the Improver of the day. Unless you feel especially protective of them. Two, you say? I though there were three scheduled for today?” ”There was. Do you remember the squaddie-pup we brought to The Patriot two days ago? He’s the one. I felt protective of him. He reminded me of myself before.” ”Let me guess…” ”Don’t say it. Yes, he became massive like myself. He needed to put some flesh on the bones, don’t you think?” Brad didn’t answer, but he pressed his naked back harder to my chest. It felt good. I knew what Brad liked, so I had kept my leather trousers and boots on, just as he had. I could feel the ravines and ridges of his back towards my powerfully brawny pecs. I let my hand slid to his abs, and continued to whisper: ”I am inspecting the test subject’s abdomen. A hard wall of bricks, nay: steel, is covering his lower torso.” Brad shivered, and I could hear how his breathing became heavier. I swallowed. ”The test subject is still growing and transforming. He is turning into a monster! A hero-monster full of hard, masculine muscle. Bigger than anything I have seen. Bigger than anything I could imagine!” I let my hand slide lower, and I could feel his rod throbbing inside the black leather. I fingered and pressed teasingly. He moaned. I rose, my left knee still on the sofa behind Brad’s back, my right leg standing on the floor, his body between my powerful leather-clad thighs. ”But there is a squaddie who is heavier than the test-subject.” I gave his shoulder a friendly clench, before I removed my knee from the sofa, stood with my legs wide apart in front of him, and let him watch my presence. Then, I bent my knees, grabbed Brad, and held him: One arm under his leather-clad bum, another one behind his naked back. I let my lips nuzzle his buzzcut again. ”And that is Sergeant Wilson.” Playfully, I used him as a barbell three or four times, and then returned to my ordinary way of carrying him. Brad moaned in his deep voice and shuddered in delight, when his behemothic partner carried his 450 lbs frame into our bedroom, the way as usual. I smiled. I loved to be a squaddie.

I wanted to explore the dark potential of the super-soldier trope. When it is used in stories on this forum (even by me) and in popular culture it is often cheerfully optimistic (with some exceptions). When The Lord Protector, news media - and the protagonists after brainwashing - use the words 'terrorist' and 'Terrie', they use it as some Americans used the word 'Communist' in the 1950s and as the word 'Fascist' was used in East Germany before 1989. It is stretched out to cover anyone who doesn't agree with The Lord Protestor (or is guessed to disagree with The Lord Protector), regardless of the accused persons real opinions. Another example of devaluation of words, in our time, is, when people use the word 'racist', when they actually mean 'xenophobe'. In our time and reality, the word 'terrorist' is already on its way to become used in such a way, and it could only become worse in the society of The Lord Protector. I believe, that this story is best appreciated if the reader look for subtle hints and satire. There are hints all over the place. I suspect my British readers will spot them. The Englishmen I have met have been very good at hinting humour. It was chilling for me to write Joe's recollection of his first mission, but I wanted to make clear, that the protagonists of the former chapters had become irredeemably brainwashed. Is your conclusion that The Leader himself is a homophobe, or is there any other conclusion to be drawn from my description of his regime? It was interesting for me to imagine what would happen to (segments of) gay sub-culture in a society like The Lord Protector's, taking his ambiguous policy on the matter in account. Squad fandom would be one of the results. Are you interested in history and literature? I have dropped easter eggs of several types in the chapters of this story. How many do you spot? By time, I will return to write the concluding chapters of my OTHER super-soldier story, which is much more cheerful, at least compared to this one. The heroes of THAT story will cooperate to stop one of their unit who had a troubled childhood, has unsavoury values (South African Boer grandparents) and has gone insane by the experiments on him. Then they will continue to their real mission: To fight space aliens. Entertaining heroic space opera. Those who visit this community -- like you and me -- admire strength. We exercise, or wish to exercise, and admire those who achieve good results of their weight training. Most of the time that is just good and fun, but it is good to be aware of, that an appeal to this personality trait by politicians may potentially lead to a scary society. Better to be aware of, that this personality trait exist, have fun with it, and be on our guard if politicians try to manipulate us. We wouldn't like to see a Lord Protector in reality, would we? There has already existed so many of them -- in several forms -- in the past.

Last chapter is found here: https://muscle-growth.org/topic/10551-the-security-squad-part-4/ - - - It was several minutes later, and this individual unit of our Squad must have been released from the chair. This individual … I … was focused on my duty. In order to become useful for my country, Squad and sub-unit I had to improve myself. As in a dream, I stepped in file behind Bill, and with Sergeant Williams behind me. Bill entered the membrane, then I. We reached each of our stations at the same time, and stood for a moment between the active metal racks of our own stations, our legs broad apart, our boots firmly on the ground. My racks stood opposite Brad’s station, so I could see him well. I had Bill on my right. He faced Sergeant Williams on my left, closest to the membrane. We could feel and hear how the racks vibrated and hummed of power. All three of us grabbed our racks at the same moment, eagerly joining Brad in the enhancing process, and became living Zythronic conductors. The power hit me. The name of the Preparatory Phase was apt: It was just a preparation for the REAL power levels. I couldn’t stop myself from letting out a moan, when I felt how the power current flowed through me, causing my muscles to tense and relax, tense and relax in an upward-spiraling wave of energy. ”Increase levels to 65%”, a British voice instructed someone. Just a few seconds later, I could feel the rush of even more power. I felt pumped. More than pumped. All my muscles were engorged in an incredible way. Real growth was occurring at an unimaginable rate. And it happened to my brothers too: Williams, Bill. And Brad. Bill couldn’t control himself: ”Yeah! Fuck, yeah! Make me a fucking beast!” Sergeant Williams wasn’t speaking. He was immersed in the experience, his eyes shut, sweat trickling from his temples and his naked chest, causing his pecs to become shiny. His neck swelled into a bullneck, and, unlike Brad and me, his waist didn’t shrink noticeably. There had always been something ox-like about his shape, but that aspect was now enhanced and intensified, and it looked that Bill was evolving in that direction, too. Brad welcomed the increased power levels, shouting with his, now significantly deeper, voice: ”Good! So good! Don’t stop it! Keep going, keep going! Uhnnn… YES! More! Give me fucking more! Don’t hold back! I can take it!” He had always had a narrow waist, broad shoulders and a barrel-chest, but these traits were now enhanced in a way I couldn’t describe. I could feel the machine relentlessly work on myself, too — shaping me, making me harder, more defined. My abs felt like the proverbial cobblestones. My back like a brickwall. My former fragile self disappearing in the mindless power blaze, and a stronger, heavy, pain-resilient and confident me emerging out if its energetic forge. ”Increase levels to 75%”. ”Increasing levels to 75%, Sir!” A lesser man would now, undoubtedly, have felt excruciating growth pains, but the four of us had three bio-chemical formulas synergetically pumping in our bloodstreams, and the gradual rise of Zythronic power had raised our resilience to pain. Instead of pain, I felt a rush of pump, pleasure and power, when the energy levels increased and hit me. My hands instinctively cling and grabbed to the conductible racks, not letting any little bolt or spark of power escape my power-hungry brawn. Pump. Pleasure. Power. ”Zey vould now haf ze stamina to bear ze brunt of ze Vril Power. Be ready to avake ze Vril Power within ze test subjects. From vhat I gather, ze mesomorph is likely to handle it best, but I am eager to see its effect on ze ectomorph and ze two endomorphs, too. Ve didn’t have any opportunity to experiment on zeir bodytypes in ze past.” ”Warming up the Vril cannons, Herr Doktor Professor!” ”I hope for your soul and conscience, that you are right this time, Helmut. My heart would break if something happened to these fine boys. For heavens sake, we don’t even know what Vril really is!” Another sort of humming sound began to fill the chamber. Deeper. Like a heartbeat in a far off, long-forgotten, super-nova. Like a heartbeat in the depths of Earth. Like a heartbeat in the middle of my soul. Then, I shut my eyes, and was overwhelmed by black lightning in my mind, stars exploding in violet fire, the primordial song of Nature, and the feeling of something happening in my solar plexus and immeadiately under my navel. A force, that had slumbered inside me, unknown, and unbeware of its own existence, stirred in its sleep, increased in intensity and warmed me up. A sphere of unimaginable force formed between my solar plexus and my navel, then expanded in every direction, affecting my heart, my loins and dick, my legs, chest and back, my shoulders, my arms, hands and traps, my neck and my head. An otherworldly fire burnt in me. Changed me. It felt like I became taller. I had always been short. I grew taller! Like Brad! Like Brad? I opened my eyes. Radiation cannons hanging from the ceiling were emitting crackling bolts and currents of unholy power at each of us four — targets unable to resist, even if we had wanted to. But we didn’t want to resist. Bill was writhing in anabolic bliss, his hands crampingly clenching the Zythronic racks (as did the hands of us all). The heavy presence of Sergeant Williams stood erect and imposing, with his boot-clad feet heavily on the floor. Consumed by the Vril Power, I couldn’t focus, but absent-mindedly noticed, that the floor under Sergeant William’s conductible rack was strewn with unlit dark lenses. I then absent-mindedly noticed, that the same was true about the floor under Bill’s station and Brad’s. Brad! A ghostly shimmer in bronze and gold surrounded him, as it did surround us others, and his skin tone changed into a tan of the same hue as the shimmer, enhancing his mucle definition. He was growing taller — and that at a visible rate. His abs protruded with deep valleys between them, in a way never seen on another man, and his iliac furrow was second to none. His chest had always been impressive, but now it consisted of powerful, hard and well-defined slabs, which pulsated under the combined hypertrophic effect of the Zythronic Field, the Vril Power and the three formulas in our bloodstreams. ”Lyet us now see, which effect, if any, the completyon of Procedyure 59 will have on the specimens. The addyition of nano-technology will have removed the drawbacks from the old version”, an unknown voice said in an Eastern European accent. The Texan answered: ”Better let Procedure 59 go in tandem with Project Atlas. We don’t know how a one-sided treatment would affect the sensitive balance between the two biochemical formulas. And it is better to let the nano-formula work together with the DNA-alteration.” ”Very well”, a comparatively young voice said. ”Warming up both radiation-emittors.” The machine had become a chorus now. Four different contraptions worked in symphony, for the common purpose of transforming me and my brothers into something more than human. The dark optical lenses in the floor, which I had wondered about in a never finished thought, now lit up in an increasingly purple light, and, meanwhile, a blue light, of the same colour as a tanning bed’s, rained down on us from the ceiling, increasing its intensity. The chamber was filled by a blinding multi-coloured light, bathing us all in incomprehensible power. I was no longer conscious about my whereabouts, I just had a very intense and peasurable feeling of expansion. I felt weightless and heavy, as the Earth itself. I was giving myself to this programme. Whatever doubts I could have had in the past were leaving me. I was rid of hesitation. I was now unable to feel fear. The safety for my Squad was my first concern. The security of my country and my Lord Protector was my ultimate concern. I was ready to perform my duty, to protect my brothers in arms, to defend my country against all domestic and foreign enemies — especially domestic. I felt how all inhibations were removed. I was ready to harm or kill an opponent, if necessary, and I would never question a given order. Insubordination is a disgrace. Insubordination is not an option. In… In… What was that word again? I am an obedient individual unit of this Squad, programmed for duty and obedience. Yeah. A real patriot. Serving the greatest leader we ever had. Serving the greatest country on Earth. We have never had it so good. Defend. Yeah. Protect. Defend and protect. Oh, yes! Feeling of expansion. Weightless and heavy. Inhibations removed. So horny. Wanted to snog Brad, my Sergeant. ”What does the readings say?” ”They are all approaching 7 feet, Sir, but their weight-curves behaves according to their individual constitutions and conditions. The mesomorph now weighs 484 lbs. The circumference of his chest is now 90 inches, and his waist 45 inches. His arms 39 inches and his quads 48 inches. As for the others…” I wasn’t able to hear my own meaasurements. The intensity of the power currents were too much, and I was lost in the feeling of unfathomable growth. ”Awaiting further instructions.” ”Keep everything at the present levels, for now.” ”Gentlemen, as you can see we have succeeded: Four separate enhancement projects, that once caused extraordinary results, while still separate, have today been succesfully combined, in order to reach an even higher level of perfection.” ”I very much doubt, that we can proceed any further, by manually controlling the processes from here. Do you think it is time, to test the helmet?” ”You know what I think. Why risk to spoil a succesful experiment with a not enough tested brainwave-coordinator?” ”I say: Let us give the brainwave-helmet a try. At this moment the specimens alone knows how much they could endure, and the fine-tuning is better left to someone, who experience the procedure himself.” ”I am still against it. It is too early.” ”Let’s vote then.” ”Five against two. It is decided then. One of them have to pick the helmet up, and use it.” ”Which one?” ”Does it matter? Pick anyone.” ”I vould vote for ze mesomorph. Look how good he has reaced to the treatment!” ”Oh it doesn’t matter. The mesomorph then.” ”Sergeant Smith? Sergeant Smith, do you hear me?” I could hear the deep voice of my friend Brad. His voice was deeper now. ”Sir, yes Sir!” ”Do you see a helmet on the floor in the growth chamber? A high-tech helmet, belonging to the equipment?” ”Oh. Yes. Aaahrrrgh. Y-yes, I see it.” ”Do you feel all right?” ”Sir? All right? I feel more than… Oh! Uhmmmm… Fuck, yes! Sorry, Sir. Yes, I feel more than all right.” ”Good to hear. Do you think, that you could pick the helmet up, and wear it?” ”Is that an order, Sir?” ”Yes. Pick it up, and wear it. You will be able to control and co-ordinate the processes that affect you and your three mates of this sub-unit. Use your discernment, and improve yourself and your team-mates as much as you deem possible and desirable.” ”Sir! The order will be executed! Improve according to possibility and desireability!” The power flickered for a moment. Then it increased in a much more subtle and seamless way than before. Something else guided the processes, than before — something able to understand the power and the growth intimately. And that something was my friend Brad, my Sergeant. Williams, Bill and myself had all surrendered to what Brad deemed possible to achieve and desireable to achive, and we were clay in the hands of a potter, molten iron at the will of a caster, heated iron before the hammer of an all-powerful smith eager to forge the perfect weapon. The hair on my forearms bristled, and it felt like a sensual, immaterial fluid, both cold and hot at the same time, ran from the backside of my head down on my entire body. I felt how the beams, rays and power currents merged into something unknown, and I felt how an even more fierce and irresistible wave of Vril Power erupted within me, and I was consumed by its ecstatic embrace. Brad stood at his station, his trousers bursting at the seams, revealing calves bigger than rugby balls (but still growing), tree trunk hamstrings and striated quads. Black leather lay in fragments on the floor under him, but what was left of his trousers formed tight, black and glossy shorts around his lower waist, glutes and groin. The golden-bronze hue of his upper body and naked legs contrasted with the shiny black of his shorts and boots. He was a living embodiment of masculinity beyond all restrictions and limitations, and I knew, that the same was true about myself and the other two. The field around him intensified ever more at the will, and at the urge to grow, of the Sergeant we all wanted to serve and obey, who was my best friend. ”The Zythronic Field is approaching 90%!” ”Shut it down! Levels this high are unaccounted for. We are now in unknown territory.” ”I vant to know ze upper limits of zis programme. Vait anozer minute!” ”90% and rising. Vril Power at 85% and increasing!” ”92.5% and rising. Vril Power at 90%. This is too much!” We shuddered at the impact of the transformation process, but we didn’t want the experiment to be aborted. Not now! ”The generators can’t take it anymore!” The room outside blacked down. The loudspeakers went silent. All available energy was directed to the growth chamber, and Brad’s face was glowing by a lustful and triumphant facial expression. His entire physique was emitting lights. He closed his eyes and moaned, louder and louder. His head arched backwards. ”IMPROVE!”, Brad bellowed. In the next moment, ineffable power currents crackled from his eyes, and hit Williams and Bill, who convulsed and roared under the impact. A similar power current was emitted from Brad’s leather-clad groin and hit mine. I BECAME strength itself. I don’t know what I shouted or which noises I might have emitted. I felt like I could crush rocks and steel with my bare hands, and my back felt like a mountain of brawn. I became dimly aware of movement. With an unfathomable amount of will-power, Brad had let go of his Zythronic rack, and was moving into the middle of the chamber. When he reached the centre of the chamber, I had a short respite to recuperate, and I noticed, that the same was true about Williams and Bill. The lenses, above and below the station Brad had left, went out, which allowed the lenses in the middle of the chamber to intensify. All Vril cannons now turned, so that they pointed in one and the same direction, the cones of light converging in one single point: The centre were Brad stood, eagerly awaiting their brutal impact. And when they hit him, his obscenely engorged muscle mass erupted in further hypertrophy. For a moment, he staggered under the amount of energy, but then recovered his balance, now with a more unwavering and confident stance than ever before. He arched back, lifted his arms and did a double biceps, roaring: ”IMPROVE!” The Vril cannons turned, as they would have a life of their own, back to their original stations, with one exception. The cannons, which had originally been focussed on Brad’s station, were now hitting him in his back. The lenses, at the station Brad had left, were still unlit, and the unused power rushed to the three remaining stations, sending me and the others into heightened anabolic frenzy. ”Yes! More!”, Bill shouted. Sergeant Smith… Brad… approached me. His godlike shape stood for a moment before me, his back bombarded by the Vril cannons (also affecting me, when the Vril Rays continued through him into me) and his brawn sharing the rush of rays bathing us from above and below. He looked me into my eyes, and said: ”I have told you before. I feel proud to grow you. I love to grow you. And now I am able to do it without limits. There is no ’too much’. I want more. I want to be extreme. I want you to be extreme. Join me, Joe. Join me.” Without further ado, he sunk on his knees before me, and slowly began to unbutton the fly of my black leather shorts. One button. Two. Three. Leaving the uppermost one intact behind the belt. He reached out his big paw and released my wildly pulsating rod. I didn’t believe what happened. The next moment, my Sergeant, who was my best friend, had swallowed my rod and placed his hands on my leather-clad glutes. Zythronic Power flowed through me at insane levels, and through me into Brad. Vril cannons, intended to expose two separate stations, now relentlessly irradiated one single station, where I stood, with my powerful legs wide apart, and with an ever growing titanic friend between my legs, robbing me of the last traces of coherence. I couldn’t resist. I let go. And while Brad sucked me off, he transformed myself and himself. ”Oh, Sarge. Oh, Brad. I’m, oh! So beyond all… Oh! What’s happening?” My thews throbbed of strength. My beef became uncrushable. My shoulders and chest must have expanded in a behemothic way, but I was lost in bliss and ecstacy. My mind was lost in unwavering loyalty to my country, my Leader and my Sergeant (who is my friend Brad). And my friend Brad forcefully crammed hitherto unknown levels of power into me. ”Oh. Uhnn. Real ace. So good. So much. So much. So.. Uhnnn. No! NO! IT’S TOO MUCH! I can’t bear it!” A real squaddie obey orders. Sarge has given an order. Improve. There is no ’too much’. Sarge… Brad want me to be extreme. He want me to join him. A real squaddie obey orders. It isn’t something dangerous. Brutally good. Can’t bear it, can’t handle all this! But I will, because a real squaddie obey orders. Even if it kills me, I will die feeling levels of strength no man has experienced before me. And if I survive, I will be a weaponised man. A soldier of a sort the world has never seen before. Together with my brothers. Together with Brad. ”Oh! Oh! Oh, yes! IMPROVE! Want more! Crave strength! MORE! Yes! Increase! Yes! Overwhelm me, Brad! Raw! Pure! Brutal! Nnnn. Overwhelm me! What are you doing to me? What are you making me into? It’s too much! Never too much! Never too much! Increase! Enhance! POWER!” I was Strength. I was Power. I was raw, primitive, brutal Masculinity. I was Virility unbound, free to roam the world. I was a living thunderstorm. I was a powerhouse. I was a living nuclear explosion. I was what Brad wanted me to be. During the final minutes of the growth process, I was lost in mindless ecstasy. Moans, grunts, roars and bellows were heard, accompanied by the terrifying noise of crackling power. Since the entire chamber was connected to Brad’s brainwaves, when he reached orgasm, so did the chamber and all the test-subjects within. - - - Next chapter is here: https://muscle-growth.org/topic/10744-the-security-squad-part-six/

Last chapter is found here: https://muscle-growth.org/topic/10530-the-security-squad-part-3/ The Security Squad: Part 4 It was dark. No, it was just what Brad called chiaroscuro. And warm and pleasant. Like I floated in emptiness. With Brad. Friend. Close. But then Brad's face melted and became the face of Bill. "I told you, I would give you hell, Joe". An unfamiliar German voice said: "Hell. Hölle." And then the person who was Brad or Bill catched fire, and he grabbed me and carried me, and I catched fire. And we screamed. I screamed. I tried to scream, but I couldn't. And then I woke up. It was just a nightmare. I felt dizzy. But rather warm and pleasant. Where? And then I remembered the chaotic memory fragments: Sergeant Williams carrying me into the room with the IVs. Plastic bags containing the dangerous-looking green liquid hang there, ready to flow into the veins of defenceless and unknowing test subjects. But I knew. I had read the files. The potentially deadly consequences. And the strange assertive veiny vigour Brad had exuberated in the gym. How I struggled. A glimpse of a white coat. A sting. Blackness. I looked up in the ceiling. I felt something strange in my arm. The bag with green liquid was just emptying its last content into me. There was no return. It already flowed in my system. I felt warm. Warm and horny. I was no longer just a recruit to the Squad. I was a test subject. One of the test subjects. One of the chosen few. Chosen together with Brad. I didn't want to feel pleased by that, but there was something inside me, that felt pleased with that. I felt like I could lift... lift heavy things. Like rocks. One of the anonymous medics in his late 30s or early 40s checked me. "Let me remove that drip, Private Wilson. You don't need it any longer." It was removed before I was able to answer, and a plaster was fastened over the vein. Veins. "How do you feel?" He checked my blood pressure. "I feel warm." "That happens sometimes. It happened to your friend, Sergeant Smith, too. It isn't something dangerous. Isn't something dangerous. The thought floated through my mind. Wasn't I supposed to be concerned about something? I didn't remember. Something about danger. But the Doctor said, that it isn't something dangerous. Felt good. "I feel good, Doc." "Good to hear that. You are soon going to join your brothers in arms." Brothers in arms. Sounded good. Like a real patriot. Wait. Didn't someone say that before? It felt good. I thought it again: Yeah! LIKE A REAL PATRIOT. I got hard again. It felt good to be a part of the Security Squad. Real men. Real men are not afraid of danger. It isn't something dangerous. The bed had wheels. Doc easily rolled my bed into another chamber. Didn't I know that door? Didn't that look familiar? Laboratory III. Was I supposed to know what that is? There were lots of men in white coats. Many of them were very old and wrinkled. Grey or white hair. Or bald. And big Guards. Yeah. I belonged. Belonged to the same Squad as the big Guards. I wanted to become a big Guard myself one day. Together with Brad. Sleepily I blinked. Sergeant Williams was there. And Brad. Sergeant Smith. Sergeant Smith is Brad. The sergeants were dressed in the same trousers as Bill and I, but unlike us they had uniform shirts. Two strange chairs with technical contrapments stood against a wall, but it was the machine with the chamber, which attracted all the attention. A sort of machine. I reached for a word. I was supposed to know it. A console? And a chamber of glass and steel and some sort of door-thingy. Membrane? And inside the chamber a man. One of my comrades in arms. Private... Private Tannen. Bill. I was supposed to have an opinion about Bill. But he was a brother in arms now. Inside that chamber. Something interesting happened to Bill. He was stripped to the waist. His belly was disappearing. And his cheeks were becoming smaller. Is that normal? He was standing there inside the chamber, between two racks of metal, connected to the chamber. Sparks and bolts were emitted from the rack. And Bill was holding them. So something was conducted into Bill. It isn't something dangerous. His face. Didn't I like his face before? How couldn't I like the face of someone, who was willing to watch my back in combat? Like Brad? Bill looked angelic now. His face in bliss. He moaned something. "Warrior! Yes! Make me into a warrior! I love this feeling!" It sounded nice. It sounded like something I wanted to experience. Why did I feel so sleepy? My friend Brad, who is Sergeant Smith, walked close to me. He spoke to me in a hushed voice. "I'm sorry Joe. I would have prepared you for this. I didn't believe that the stuff would affect me like this. It sounded so good. It sounded like everything I had day-dreams about in the past, but in real life. And then the terrifying accidents happened, and I wanted to cop out, but they had already given me the preparatory treatment. And it IS good. I have never felt like this before, at just the Preparatory Phase. Just imagine what the next Phases could do, if there is no accident. But I thought I could resist it better. I am not sure, what will happen to me in the next phase." "Use the helmet, Brad.", I murmured. "Helmet? Which helmet? What are you talking about?" "You will control and co-ordinate all processes with the helmet. Not them." He frowned, but we were not able to continue our talk. The scientists were discussing the things they were doing. An aloof British voice talked: "As you have all seen, everything needed in Phase One was to reverse the polarity of the neutron flow, and prepare the test subjects with a Preparatory Phase of Zythronic Fields, as our notations from the 40s suggested. By that, their stamina would increase, and with increased stamina, they would better endure the awakening of the Vril Power — or so we have reason to believe. This time, we will have one mesomorph test subject, one endomorph test subject and... I see that the ectormorph test subject is awake. Will you please inject him, Mr. Jackson?" Mr. Jackson, an elderly man, who walked like he had served a long time in the Armed Forces, grabbed something that looked like a pen on a metal table, and walked towards me. "Dont worry Private. It will soon be over." He put the pen towards my belly, and pressed. A brief pain, which soon receded. "The two formulas interacted well in the mesomorph test subject and the endomorph test subject. Will you please remove the endomorph from the chamber, Sergeant Smith?" The scientists turned the knobs of metal and plastic on the console, and pressed some buttons. The humming subsided. Bill looked up with a slightly disappointed expression. Brad helped him out of the chamber. When Bill had left the chamber, he walked to me. I was wary. His eyes were unfocused, but to my surprise he shone up in a smile. ”Wilson? Joe. Didn’t know they were going to give you the treatment, too. We are brothers in arms, then, I suppose. Don’t worry, bro. I might have behaved badly in the past, but if the awesome Sergeant Williams and Sergeant Smith want me to watch your back out on a mission, I will. Otherwise the mission could fail, and this Squad never fails. I love how our ranks are filled with more and more patriots. I love this treatment and my Squad. Welcome aboard, bro.” With his eyes still unfocused he surprised me a with heavy and warm hug. "Sergeant Smith, please help Private Wilson inside the chamber." My friend Brad helped me up from the bed. I still felt dizzy, but also energetic. The membrane felt strange. We pressed against it, and then we were inside the chamber. I noticed something on the floor: a helmet fitting the description I had read somewhere at some point in time. I couldn't remember. "That helmet, Brad. Control and co-ordinate." Brad nodded absent-mindedly, like he didn’t seem to listen to what I said. He helped me stand between two of the metal racks. There were several pairs of metal racks, like several men were able to go through the same thing at the same time. Wait! Were they going to do the same thing to me, as they did to Bill? I had almost no fat at all on my body. Wouldn't this be dangerous? Oh. I forgot. It isn't something dangerous. "Grab these racks, Joe. It will feel nice. It did, when they did this to me. It will give you stamina." "Uhu? Whatever you say, Brad. Sorry, Sergeant Smith." Brad smiled. Then he leaned toward me, and whispered: "I love you, Joe.", and left the chamber. A humming began. I wasn't aware of the changes that began to happen simultaneously in my organism. The green infusion and the small injection began to interact inside me. My DNA was rebuilt, my metabolism was rearranged, my hormone levels changed, but I wasn't aware about any of that. The only thing I was aware of was the power current, that flowed into the rack, and I was the conductor, that closed the circuit and let all that power flow through myself -- changing me, permanently and irrevocably. In that moment, the old Joe began to disappear. Something inside me tried to catch my attention: Something about principles, something about danger, but my dizzy mind let it go, and I lost myself in the overwhelming feeling of the transformative power. I had no idea, for how long I had stood there, when the humming subsided. I heard the loudspeakers transmitting sounds from outside: "Sergeant Smith, will you please remove Private Wilson from Preparatory Phase?" Brad was there. He helped me to the membrane and to the room outside. The two younger scientists rose. One of them took a blood sample from me and checked my blood pressure. The other one put two electrodes to Brad’s temples, and checked a graph — then let Brad look into a gadget which looked it would belong at an optician’s. ”I believe Sergeant Smith is in need of further treatment of your’s, Doctor Pushkin.” An elderly man with an Eastern European accent glanced at Sergeant Williams: ”Sergeant Williams. Will you please strap Sergeant Smith to that chair.” Sergeant Williams obeyed without a word. There was a slight flickering in Brad’s eyes, but he allowed Williams to fasten him to one of the chairs close to the wall. The chair was connected to cables and tubes, and had an uncanny resemblance to an electrical chair, but obviously it wasn’t. ”Sergeant Williams, please pull the switch.” When the switch was pulled, Brad tensed, and if his arms hadn’t been restrained, he would probably had fallen out of the chair. His mouth was open, like he was attempting to let out a scream, but no sound appeared. With a silent whirring sound, an injection needle moved robotically, and buried itself in Brad’s cartoid artery, before removing itself. Brad’s eyes were firmly shut. Likewise whirringly, two small metallic arms with moist electrodes lowered themselves 90 degrees, until they firmly touched Brad’s temples. This time, he was able to scream. A horrible scream echoed in the room, as the last traces of my friend Brad, as I had once knewn him, were erased from his soul, just leaving the Sergeant. The Squad Member. The obedient living weapon. He shaked in the chair for ten or fifteen seconds, and the restraints kept him in his seat, but then the shaking receded. Sweat trickled from his brow. The chemicals within his body must have responded to the treatment, because something else was happening. His neck tightened, and the upper buttons of his uniform shirt were no longer able to resist the pressure. The vein-covered, firm and hemispheric flesh, that was his pecs, forced themselves out of his shirt, and his sleeves were no longer able to resist the pressure from his swelling bicepses. Soon, his shirt laid in tatters on the floor Commanded by the scientists, Sergeant Williams released Brad, who stood up erect, his eyes dead, and awaiting orders. His face didn’t express any emotions. ”Let’s give this a test. Sergeant Smith, please remove Private Wilson’s t-shirt.” ”Sir! Yes, sir!” Without further ado, Sergeant Smith helped me remove my black t-shirt. ”Sergeant Smith, please strap Private Wilson to the chair.” There was nothing I could do. Sergeant Smith forced me to sit in the chair, and by his overwhelming strength he fastened the leather straps around my wrists, forced my leather-clad legs broad apart, and strapped them to the legs of the chair. Sergeant Smith looked quizzically at the scientists, but they shook their heads. ”Not yet. Other things first. You are ready for Phase 2.” - - - "Joe! Join me!” The deep voice of my best friend reached out to me from the growth-chamber. I was half-naked, and surrounded by the grey-haired scientists in white lab coats and the Guards in their intimidating and ultra-masculine uniforms. How did I end up in this terrifying situation? The machines connected to the chamber were humming louder now, and the intensity of the Zythronic Field surrounding Brad must have been much greater, than the preparatory treatment Bill, myself (and probably Sergeant Williams) had gone through. Brad stood at one of the stations, clenching the racks as his life depended on it, stripped to his waist, but still wearing his uniform cargo trousers of black and glossy leather and his heavy boots. He was a living conductor for the heighetened Zythronic Field, and his physique was responding to the treatment. His growth was visible, his bulging torso was covered in sweat, and between the moans and grunts he emitted, he tried to say something: ”Joe! Join me!” ”Zythronic racks working at a level of 45%”, one of the scientists said. ”Increase to 50%”, another answered. ”This is the most stable result we have had, yet.” ”Increasing to 50%. The levels now at 47.5% and increasing… Reaching 50%… Now!” ”Why don’t we save some time, and let the ectomorph specimen go through his conditioning?” ”You are right. Private Tannen, please pull the switch of Private Wilson’s chair.” Bill approached. ”You will become one of us, Joe. There is nothing you can do to stop it.” The effect of of the mind-altering medication must have worn off by then. For a few seconds, I remembered all that had happened: The worry for losing Brad, the atrocious experiments, how I had promised Karen to spy on the Security Squad, in the hope to restore democracy, but it would all be lost, if the Squad succeeded in brainwashing me, as they obviously had done to Sergeant Williams, to Bill and to Brad. Facing the risk of the same death as the burned man, facing the risk of the same death as the giant who was shot, and facing the imminent risk of becoming a mind-controlled machine, I panicked in the chair. But it was too late. The next second, Bill turned the switch on. To be continued. - - - Next chapter is found here: https://muscle-growth.org/topic/10576-the-security-squad-part-5/

Last chapter is found here: https://muscle-growth.org/topic/10523-the-security-squad-part-2/ - - - Life in the Squad was harsh, but it had some benefits. Now, I had time to spend at the gym, and I liked it. Some sort of friendship developed between those of us, whom had arrived at about the same time -- with the exception of Bill. When I looked at myself in the mirror, and saw my reflection in high tech army boots, leather cargo trousers and a black army sweater was a surreal experience: That was no longer myself -- not my old self -- but another Joe. I felt slightly ashamed of, that I liked the way I looked in uniform. I was not going to become one of them. It was after an extra-curricular workout, and rather late. I was changing clothes in the locker room close to the gym, and was dressed only in my pants. The door opened. Closed. "I told you, I was going to make your life a hell, Joe." It was Bill. His bulldog face was drenched in sweat and shiny. The black t-shirt with the Squad crest ended an inch or two over the lining of Bill's training shorts, but it seemed like life in the Squad actually was improving his health. "I know how wishy-washy your parents are, Joe. There is no chance in hell, that they voted for The Leader, and I doubt, that you did it either. So what are you doing here? Taking up the training assignment, that could be filled by a real patriot?" Although I was faster than Bill, he was heavier, and he used his weight against me. He grabbed my neck, and pulled me in the direction of the loos. "So I suggest, that you ask for resigning from this, and leave your place for someone who can fill it better." He opened the door to one of the bathroom stalls. Somewhere in the locker room a door opened and closed. "And what do you think you are doing, Private?" It was Brad's voice. Bill let his grip go. "Nothing, Sergeant. Just playing with Private Wilson." "There is no place for that sort of play at this facility, Private. If I ever see you repeating this, you will will be discharged dishonourably. Is that understood?" "Sir! Yes, Sir!" - - - The reprimand from Brad did actually have an effect. Bill would often look sullen, and he obviously didn't like me, but, for the rest of the time, he avoided me, which was an improvement. I hadn't forgotten Karen's suggestion, that I would use my involuntary recruitment to the Security Squad by spying on it. I supposed she was a part of the Rebel Alliance -- as some of my friends jokingly referred to the movement -- but I couldn't for my life understand how she could know about my Top Secret draft. The opportunity came sooner than I had expected. After the the initial months of basic training, there came a time of easier work. I was ordered to clean some areas of the base regularly, and one of these areas seemed to be a sort of medical treatment facility. When I was cleaning the hallway in that facility, the door was open to one of the rooms. I couldn't avoid peeking inside. What I saw was confusing. Neither Sergeant Williams or Brad looked ill. Actually, they looked quite healthy, but they laid reclining on medical bunks, and they had IV connected to the blood vessels in their crooks of their arms. The plastic bags hanging over their bunks contained a green translucent liquid. They were not alone in the room. Two other of the Squad members -- two corporals, I believe -- were connected to similar plastic bags. There were also two men in their 30s or 40s dressed in white lab coats, and I assumed they were civilians. One of them was taking the blood pressure of Sergeant Williams. "The readings are normal. Nothing to worry about this time." The other man took notes. "I look forward to meet the old experts tonight. It will be an honour to meet the persons, the research of whom had made this project possible." "I feel warm. Is that normal?", Brad asked. "It might happen in some subjects. We have not found any correlation between that sensation and the measurable effect. There is no reason for concern, Sergeant Smith." I continued cleaning the hallway further down, and hoped that no-one would notice that I had overheard the conversation. Something appalling happened the following night. Since we knew, that Sergeant Williams nurtured a habit of waking us up at unexpected times of the night, most of us had the habit of going to bed early. I noticed, that I had left my army cap at the medical facility while cleaning, and returned in order to pick it up. Sergeant Williams was very insistent on keeping all our equipment in our lockers, and I would avoid a long rant of his, usually followed by lots of push-ups. When I crossed the yard, I noticed several cars -- civilian as well as military -- which not usually were parked like that. When I walked through the empty hallways as silently as possible, I noticed the open door of an empty office, shedding it's yellow and gloomy light into the hallway. I also noticed a strange light streaming from the outline of a closed door to something designated Laboratory III. At first, I guessed, that a sunbed was used inside Laboratory III, since the light reminded me of tanning salons, but then, the light shifted in other colours: From blue into golden, and from golden into purple, and back to blue in several cycles. I could hear sounds and noises: People discussing, the hum of machines, and then -- the increasing screams of agony from a man in pain. A man with a deep voice and in pain. Screaming. Louder. And with the screams the increasing stench of burning flesh. I catched my army cap, and left the building, hoping that no-one would have noticed me. Suspicious and curious, I hid in the darkness outside, waiting for someone leaving the building. It took a while. Two dark silhouettes carried a bier. A vague outline of a huge man under a blanket could be guessed, rather than seen, in the dark, and, when the wind blew from their direction, the ugly reek of burned flesh could be sensed. The bier was placed in a car, which drove away. On the steps to the medical facility the glow of a cigarette lit up the dark, and then the scent of pipe smoke. Two white lab coats stood close to the two smokers. Seven voices. Two young. "We are very honoured by your presence here tonight, Herr Doktor Professor. It is an honour to meet you. And also you, Doctor. And all of you three." "Schtop zat Plappermaul. Ve are not here to exchange pleasantries, but to bring science forvard. And zis experiment hasn't brought science forvard. Ve just repeated a mistake identified and countered already in 1944", an elderly voice with a central European, probably German, accent answered. "That stench is familiar to you, Helmut, isn't it?", another elderly voice with a Brooklyn dialect commented sarcastically. "Hafen't ve discussed zat matter enough, by now, Dr. Goldstein?" An American voice with a distinct Texan drawl interrupted them: "Goddamit. You have been sounding like an old married couple for seventy years, by now. If I and Vlad are willing to work together, despite our long careers trying to defeat each other, why don't you? It's not like I would have dreamed of researching in the same Lab as a former Commie. Lots of Doctor Paperclipses and The Brooklyn Phycisists worked together back in your days. It was before my time." "Doctor Paperclip? Isn't that too kind to you, Helmut? Why don't we all call you Doctor Strangelove, instead?" A British voice suitable for cutting glass interrupted. "May I bring to everyone's attention, gentlemen, that Herr Doktor Professor Hafenreffer isn't exactly correct in his assessment. We did not reproduce exactly the same mistake as in 1944. By combining all these four experiments into one, we are bringing unforeseen parameters into the equation, which were unknown at the time each experiment was performed separately. The present state of research bring us advantages our precursors didn't have." "Precursors?", four voices unintentionally exclaimed in unison. "I am so sorry. Advantages some of us didn't have in the past. I would look upon this event as a minor setback." "A minor setback?", the Brooklyn dialect interrupted. "A soldier just died in there, fried by Doctor Strangelove's non-empirical spook-ray." "Oh please, Aaron. Zere is no evidence, zat it vas ze Vril Power, zat caused ze unfortunate condition of ze test subject. It could haf been Vlad's or Mr. Jackson's chemicals zat interfered, not to mention ze unproven combination with ze Zythronic field, vhich Her Majesty's government has provided us viv." After a short pause, he added: "Ve are all very zankful for Prime Minister April's co-operation." "Nowadays, we need every trading partner we can get.", the British voice commented dryly. "Unfortunate condition? Haven't you learned anything, since 1945, Helmut?" "Oh, here we go again", the Texan sighed. "In your clothes, I vouldn't claim any moral superiority, Aaron. Vat happened to ze American marines you and Mr. Jackson tested in ze 1980s, ven you vere afraid of Vlad's comrades? And vhy vas your governmental research grants vivdrawn?" An embarrassed silence ensued, but I had heard enough, and I had to avoid to be catched while listening. I silently returned to our barracks. - - - I couldn't concentrate the next day. They were experimenting on human beings. I had to tell Karen, but how? I had no leave scheduled for several weeks. And if they had pumped Brad full of that green liquid, his life could be in danger. And Sergeant Williams, too. I couldn't be sure about Brad. I felt so bad: We had known each other for years. He had helped me. He was my friend. The weird chewing gum event suggested, that he wasn't entirely on the government's side, but exactly where did he stand? Would he report me, if I confessed about Karen and the 'Rebel Alliance'. I couldn't avoid smiling quickly. It sounded so silly. Then I became serious again. I had to protect Brad. They were not going to murder my best friend. What should I do? What was their plan? What was the purpose of the experiments? My thoughts run in loops. I couldn't concentrate the next day. I avoided the medical facility the next day. Cleaning the same floor in two consecutive days when the entire base was that vast, would be a suspect behaviour. In the middle of the night, I woke up by gunfire and roars. I wasn't the only one of us new recruits who awoke, but when we had dressed and ran out in the yard, some of the big Guards ordered us to return to our barracks. They tried to block our view, but I could see eight men struggling to carry a bier on which laid a giant. A giant! I don't exaggerate. A dead giant was carried away. There was gunsmoke and blood in the air. - - - The next day was full of physical exercises, and I had no time to investigate about the appalling experiments that took place at the base. Usually, I would briefly meet Brad several times a day, on our ways to different buildings, but that day, I didn't see him at all. What if he had become ill by the experiments? I saw him in the gym after supper. He looked different. He looked slightly bigger than before, if that was possible. He was curling a barbell with unusually heavy weights. I froze in the doorway. He wore a black tank top with the crest of the Security Squad, and it was almost bursting at the seams. His shoulders protruded, and veins I had never seen before crawled over his chest, biceps, forearms and legs. I got hard. My best friend. Big. Veins. Protective. Again, I wasn't sure about my feelings. I wanted to be like Brad, didn't I? Well, yes. And I liked him as a friend? Of course. Was I feeling something more? I admired him. Big. Friendly. Admirable. Like being impressed by another man. Impressed. By his strength. And -- ehrr -- size. And assertive presence. And... and veins. Veins. VEINS! I wanted to warn him, but how could I do that, without telling what I had overheard? I didn't know the answer to that question. I left the gym, and hoped, that he hadn't noticed me. - - - Bill was missing from exercise the next day. I was scheduled to clean a few buildings again in the evening, including the medical facility. Something was happening in Laboratory III, and the door to the room with the IV equipment was locked. I was lucky. The badly illuminated office was left unlocked. I had cleaning gloves on my hands. No fingerprints. I began to peek into the folders on the shelves. Old yellow papers, which smelled of old paper dust. Some from the 1940s. It had been kept secret, but both Germany and the British Empire had raced to be the first country with super-soldiers. In reality! Weird. It was like one of Brad's favourite films. The Nazis had exposed some of their soldiers with a classified power called Vril -- God knows where they had found that strange power. I was into computers and egineering, but I knew enough natural science to know, that there was no empirical base for such a power. But here it was: A detailed description about awakening the Vril Power in soldiers, and then expose them to it. Wait. Awaken... and expose? The first experiments had gone horribly wrong. Soldiers without Vril sensitivity had burst into flames. I felt sick. So they tried to ... awaken... Vril sensitivity. What the heck? And a series of British experiment at about the same time. At something called Torchwood Instute, not far from... let's see... Bletchley Park. Zythronic Beams? Never heard of. That is... not before a few nights ago. Zythronic Beams? It was some sort of science-fiction gobbledygook. And then I saw the black and white photographs. That sort of physique was impossible back then. Both the Germans and the British looked like super-heavyweight bodybuilders from the third millennium, with the difference, that their muscles looked like they were adapted to perform real and heavy work. And engage in combat. They were very impressive. That is, those who survived. The death rates on both sides were high, before the scientists achieved what they hoped for. And a thick stack of papers in Cyrillic script, dated to the late 1950s and early 1960s. I didn't read Russian. More recent papers. An American experiment which ran in 1969-1974, and was revived in 1981, but aborted after some terrible accident in 1985. More photographs. American marines. Very sun tanned. And muscular. Wasn't that oil too much? Oh, yes, it was the 1980s, so it must have been normal for the time. Strange dead eyes. Like their minds were shut off. And sketches of machines. Improved ones, based on the four old ones from different decades and places. A helmet connected to the main centre, intended to control and co-ordinate all the processes. Control and co-ordinate? I felt a hand on my shoulder. "Who have we here? Reading classified documents, Private Wilson?" It was the voice of Sergeant Williams. Sergeant Williams stood there, intimidating as ever. "No harm done, Wilson. You would be briefed sooner or later, but I suppose it is time to begin your treatment." "T-treatment?" I suddenly felt very, very afraid. "Our research team want to compare the effect on different body types. Your perfectly ectomorph build would give a good impression how the treatment will work on soldiers of your constitution. We have mainly worked with mesomorphs in the past, which cause the results to be askew. I had hoped to introduce you to the test programme a day, or so, in advance, but let's face the music. Prepare yourself to become big, Private." - - - Part four is here: https://muscle-growth.org/topic/10551-the-security-squad-part-4/

Last chapter is found here: https://muscle-growth.org/topic/10522-the-security-squad-part-1/ The Security Squad: Part 2 News-reports about the so-called Security Squad were rare, and only reported about successful operations to prevent terrorist attacks. If what the news agencies reported, about the Security Squad, had been entirely true and the entire truth, The Squad would have been a force for the good -- as far as that was possible, under our contemporary regime -- but many of us doubted the accuracy of the news we heard or read. Many of us. Not all of us. Some neighbours, even those who initially had objected to the re-structuring of our political system, gradually moved into acceptance of the status quo. Some of us heard the whispered rumours: About disappearances of those critical to The Leader. About sinister operations by the Security Squad. About rebels of several stripes not able to agree with each other. Brad had been drafted before he could finish his studies in Ancient history and Archaeology. I had finished a Master Degree, and found work at a computer company. Brad had been away for six months, until he was permitted one week of leave. He spent two days with his parents, but had told me, that he would be glad to spend time with me. I didn't know what to expect. He had switched back to civilian clothes -- mostly. He was wearing his favourite type of jeans and Adidas trainers, but his black t-shirt was printed in white with the heraldic crest of the Security Squad, and, since the weather was cold, he was wearing a shiny black bomber jacket. His former stylish haircut was changed into a stern jarhead cut. The bones of his face were more discernable than before. He had had that look twice before, shortly before competitions. That meant, that the Squad kept his bodyfat low. If he had been a friendly and intellectual bro before, he now felt intimidating. Was this the same person I knew, any longer, or had they succeeded in turning him into a stranger? "Hello, Joe! Long time, no see! I am glad to see you." There was something about the voice. Different. Military. Mixed feelings erupted. They had taken him from me, and turned him into a willing instrument for them. But there was also something thrilling about my close friend being a Squad-member. Dangerous. Able to explode into action. Into God knows what violent acts. I felt worried for him. "What about a meal? I can afford it now." We both knew a restaurant with a menu friendly towards the habits of fitness buffs and bodybuilders. The meal was decent enough, but it scarred my soul to listen to Brad's new jingoistic vocabulary. "I am proud to serve the greatest Leader our country has ever had, and I am proud to serve the greatest country on Earth. We have never had it so good." Brad suggested a walk in the park, and, without any greater amount of enthusiasm, I accepted. "Some chewing gum after dinner? I brought your favourite." Chewing gum? Favourite? I had never liked chewing gums very much. Brad passed me a thin and long chewing gum of a very old fashioned sort. The tinfoil paper looked like it was used. I unwrapped it. Someone had written on the gum stick with a pencil: Don't say something compromising. I turned it around: We might be bugged. "Aren't you going to chew it?" "Thinking about it -- that sort is so thin, that you need two or three pieces, to have something to chew on." He passed me another chewing gum. The tinfoil paper looked used on this one, too. More pencilled words: They try to break me. I'm still the same. and on the backside: Just play along. "Do you have any time for exercise any longer, Brad? "That's the best thing with the Squad. Some exercise is mandatory, and exercise on our spare time is encouraged. How about your own exercise?" I felt embarrassed. Without Brad around to push me, I didn't train as often as we had done together, before he was conscripted. "So and so. Not like before." "I can see that. You look thinner than before." Suddenly he looked concerned. He put his hand on my shoulder. We sat close to each other, like we used to do before. Despite his attempt to assuring messages (that was actually quite alarming), I felt worried. Nothing would become the same again. Bugged? Saying something compromising? I was very glad to see him, and he hugged me several times, but a lot of things were not like before. The days came and went. He returned to his base. - - - A month later, an envelope, that looked very official, arrived in my postbox. I couldn't believe my eyes. A conscription draft. Me? Of all persons... The Security Squad? Who has gone insane among the authorities? I was supposed to take a train to the station so-and-so, and would receive further orders when there. My world crumbled. The small corner of normality, which I had tried to uphold in a mad time, was robbed from me. My reasonably good job. My reasonably good flat. I worked the next day in a dazed state. I arranged for one of my cousins to take over my flat. I ate at one of my usual places, which, I am sad to admit, wasn't the healthy place with all the egg-white omelettes and whey-muffins. A woman, who looked vaguely familiar, sat down at my table without asking. I looked up. "Karen? It's years! What are you doing here?" She smiled, but I couldn't free myself from the impression, that the smile was somewhat artificial. "I'm visiting old relatives. As you know..." She laid a paper napkin in front of me. A paper napkin with text. Please spy on Security Squad. Don't show surprise. We'll contact you. "... my parents are dead, but I have several other relatives left in town." "Town", I said with some irritation. "Small city, then. What are you doing nowadays?" "Working with computers. Yourself?" "I'm writing articles for a magazine about engineering. Oh forgive me..." She sneezed, and blew her nose in the paper napkin. The ink must have been soluble, since the text turned into a blurry blot. She swiftly pressed the napkin into a little ball. The evening continued. My world was becoming even more confused, but I tried to keep a good facade. I have no idea, about how well I managed. - - - Yellow leaves were falling from the trees, in the alley close to the railway station. I was wandering around the station building, waiting for other travellers to disperse. I suspected, that the personel from Security Squad wouldn't blatantly advertise about the exact location of one of their bases, even if such things seldomly would be hidden from the locals for any longer time. I wasn't the only one, who seemed to wait for some sort of transport. Three other men seemed to wait, and seemed to not be from these whereabouts. I observed one of them. It couldn't be... Not him! But it was. Bill from first to sixth grade. He was now in his mid-20s, and his face was of course more mature than it had been then, but he had kept the visage of a bulldog, and time hadn't robbed him from his baby-fat, but turned it into the belly of an over-weight young man, instead. I hadn't seen him for almost ten years. What was he doing here? A bus arrived. The driver was wearing some sort of non-descript uniform, and it was hard to guess which branch of the armed forces he belonged to. "Documents, please." All four of us fumbled after our drafts, and having checked them and our ID cards, he allowed us aboard the bus. We left the railway station behind. The base was located one hour into nowhere, and surrounded by a bleak and autumnal landscape. It was already becoming dark. The moment we left the bus, a man in a very intimidating uniform left one of the buildings, and stood before us. His uniform trousers were made of black leather. He was wearing a black army sweater of wool, with some extra padding at the elbows and shoulders. His army boots were heavy, and looked high tech. "Recruits! I am Sergeant Williams, and you will soon regret the day you met me. I will be your worst nightmare. I will break you, and I will rebuild you into harder, better, faster, stronger men, so that you will better serve your country and your Leader. But first, you will all collect your equipment in that building. No questions. You will be briefed later." The Sergeant was scaring the shit out of me, but not only me. With some glee, I noticed, that the Sergeant had frightened Bill, too. We jogged in the direction of the building, and collected our equipment. Though wearing the same sort of uniform as Sarge, the man behind the counter was slightly less frightening, and adviced us about the whereabouts of the barracks. I began to put my civilian clothes into a locker, and put some of my equipment into it, which took some time. "I don't know what the hell you are doing here, Joe, but I will make your life a hell." I knew that voice. I turned around. It was Bill. I don't know how he had managed, but he had already changed into uniform. Obviously, it could change the appearance even of a man with a belly. I felt trapped. Memories from the past rose to the surface of my mind. Schoolyards. Shouting children. Rubble in my palm. "How slow are you weak sissies actually?", a voice roared. It was the Sergeant again. "You were given this much time, and none of you has managed to fill your locker in an orderly way and change into uniform." I glanced in the direction of Bill's locker. He had spent his time changing, but had left both his civilian clothes and his equipment in a heap in front of his locker. The Sergeant continued to roar: "I give you five minutes." I am not able to describe the following days in any detail. They are a blur of running with equipment, shouting, inspections, push-ups and surprise awakenings. I remember the scent of shoe polish, leather, wet wool and male sweat. A positive aspect of those days was, that Bill never had the time or opportunity to make any threats into reality, and, since he was in worse physical condition than I, he was generally exhausted. I still didn't know, why two such unsuitable persons like myself and Bill had been recruited. - - - For some time, the men who had arrived with me (and those who had arrived with some communications immediately before and after us) were kept isolated from the other men, but, one day, that limitation was lifted. I was eating lunch, noticing, that the quality of the food had improved. For days, we had eaten food rich in starch, but not containing much else, but now we were given fish, egg halves, omelettes and low-fat yoghurt, among other things. Someone sat down on the empty chair opposite my own. I looked up. It was Brad. I hadn't seen him in uniform before. He was the type of person, which this uniform was designed for, to begin with. His black, woolen sweater enhanced the forms of his shoulders, traps and chest. His narrow waist was obvious for everyone. The black leather trousers with pockets on their legs made him look more dangerous than Sarge. His face was less gaunt, than when we had met the last time, and he was radiant of health. "Your new haircut suits you, Private. Makes you look much more masculine." Brad nodded at my jarhead cut. "Brad!" "No, not when we are on duty. I'm Sergeant Smith now. Williams is not the only Sergeant around, as you will notice. But I am glad to see you." "Permission to speak, Sir!" "Granted." "What am I doing here, Sir? Any records of physical tests must show, that I am not of the same ability as yourself, Sir!" "I am not able to reveal any classified information, Private, but I am assured, that you will soon be briefed. How have you endured recent time?" "Sergeant Williams has enhanced my cardio, Sergeant, but I am not used to army life. I'm rather good at keeping my locker neat." "I see. Your schedule is filled with activity most of the time, and so is mine, but let us see, if we can talk more when our times for recreation overlap." To be continued. The story continues here: https://muscle-growth.org/topic/10530-the-security-squad-part-3/

The Security Squad : Part 1 "Joe! Join me!" The deep voice of my best friend reached out to me from the growth-chamber. I was half-naked, and surrounded by the grey-haired scientists in white lab coats and the Guards in their intimidating and ultra-masculine uniforms. How did I end up in this terrifying situation? I met Brad in Upper Secondary, back in the mid-10s. Although both of us had reached voting-age, when the infamous election took place, none of us bothered to vote. None of the candidates appealed to us (but for different reasons), so we voted with our feet. Afterwards, we regretted that decision. The other candidates had all been rather bad, but when The Leader grabbed political power, the country turned for the worse. I very much doubt, that most of the voters, who brought The Leader to his position, wanted him to do, what he did next. By a decree -- initially, but not for long, evaluated as un-constitutional -- he dissolved the Houses of Congress, merged them into The House of Councillors, and turned the decisions of the body into just an advisory function. He dismissed some of the judges of the Supreme Court, and named himself Lord Protector of the Realm, but in everyday speech most of us referred to him as The Leader. Brad and I were not interested in politics enough, to be initially aware of all that was happening, but Karen, an eighteen year old young woman in my class, was very concerned. I liked to be around Karen for several reasons. The number of female students in Science-and-Engineering classes are still usually half the number of male students in the same classes, and it is a pleasant surprise, when someone of the opposite sex share one's own fields of interest and plans for future occupation. Her chestnut-coloured hair, her green eyes and the dimple in her chin might have added to her appeal. Too many of the girls (now becoming women) preferred young men like Brad. I met Brad in Spanish class and French class, since those classes were composed of students from both Science-and-Engineering and Arts-and-Humanities. If you expect male students from the Arts-and-Humanities programme to be short, thin and shy, Brad didn't meet those expectations. I was initially wary of him, since he reminded me too much of my tormentors in Primary School and Lower Secondary. Brad was tall. His chest and broad shoulders filled out his baseball jacket in a way, that was impossible to ignore, and he had a preference for black Adidas trainers. His blond hair was carefully formed at the top of his head, but the sides and the backside of his head were shaved. I had avoided him the first weeks, by the reasons I have already mentioned, but one afternoon he suddenly took a seat opposite mine in the student cafeteria, and began to chat like we had known each others for years. I was taken by surprise, and still prejudiced against his appearance, but, to make a very long story short, he turned out to be a very friendly and likeable person: A true friend. I quickly found out, that he wasn't interested in engineering or programming, and I wasn't the person to discuss Latin with, but we liked watching the same films -- especially the non-stop flood of action-films based on comics pouring out those days -- and we played computer games together. Unlike me, he was dancing and drinking in Fridays and Saturdays, but, from what I gathered, his alcohol intake was very restrained compared to some other students, since he didn't want to spoil his training results. Before meeting Brad, I expected all muscleheads to be ignorant fools, bullies or both of the above, but he caused me to form a second opinion. His cheerful personality, his interest in history and literature (especially ancient heroic myths), and his almost protective behaviour towards me, all contributed to my re-evaluation of those who attend gyms. It was when I struggled with my last year before University he came up with the idea: "Why don't you join me at the gym? I have heard you a thousand times, bro: That you don't have time. But believe me -- your brain will work much better with some regular exercise." I didn't know what to answer. Many different thoughts and feelings ran in all and every direction, leaving me confused. A weird feeling wiggled and twisted in my belly: Working out? Like Brad? Becoming at least a little bit more like Brad? M-muscles? And another feeling screamed in my head: There are big guys at the gym. Dangerous. Like my old bullies. Danger. Threat. And a third feeling. Revulsion. Socially unacceptable. I would never fit in at University or find a decent job looking the least bit like a stupid bro. The weird feeling wiggled and twisted. Muscles. Like Brad. Join him. At the gym. I do no longer remember what I answered him. I just remember, that the last year in Upper Secondary became a pleasant surprise. No-one treated me badly at the gym Brad frequented. The bodybuilders were either too occupied with their exercises to notice me, or were happy to give advice. There were a few overweight kids who struggled with their own kind of problems, and the fitness guys of my own age -- who might or might not have caused me trouble -- did behave well enough, probably because Brad was around. Brad was right. Exercise is good for study results. I left each workout tired, but with great calm and great focus. Physically, the effects were not amazing. Brad used the word "hardgainer" about my condition, but I, at least, developed a lean, fat-free physique with hints of toned muscles. I didn't belong to the same body type as Brad. Summer came. We finished Upper Secondary. Some of us students began to work. Some became unemployed. Karen left for an upper end University far away. We exchanged a few e-mails, letters and phonecalls, but the time between each grew longer and longer apart. Perhaps we weren't meant for each other. Neither the Technological University nor the University of our minor city are especially renowned, but I began to study at the TU, and Brad began his studies at the latter one. Remaining in our home city, we could continue our weekly habits. A democracy wasn't supposed to be like this. House of Councillors? Advisory function? In order to defend our freedom against terrorism? Closing our borders from foreign trade? Making our country great again? Instill deeper patriotism? Personally, I could agree, that the domestic religious nutcases, who claimed that The Leader was Anti-Christ, behaved like terrorists (blowing a few bombs at government buildings), but I became wary, when supporters of that former Senator Saunders were mass-arrested. Ironically, my neighbour on the other side of the road, sympathised with the action against the Saunders-followers, but was alarmed by the action taken against the violent Christian Right. It was shortly before the newspapers and the TV channels stopped reporting about these subjects. I knew, that this state of affairs wasn't right, but what could I do? What could lawfully be done against this subversion of what a democracy was supposed to be? Some student organisations formed protests in one of our squares. The third time, it was interrupted by the Police, and there wasn't any fourth time. Both Brad and I had attended the first two protests, but weren't present at the third one, more out of a co-incidence than anything else. I hadn't reflected much over my own sexuality before. We had all come of age, at a time when same-sex marriages were already in place and attitudes in society had begun to change, but, at the same time, all adults around us expected us to be straight -- especially adults like my neighbour across the road. There were two events that caused me to begin thinking. Brad and I returned from the gym one evening, and he invited me home, which wasn't something exceptional: We often spent time together, at my place or his. He prepared recovery drinks of milk and some protein powder in the kitchen. As a student, he couldn't afford any bigger flat, so his bedroom served as all-purpose room. He passed me a large plastic cup of protein drink, and smiled mischievously. He stood with his back against a bookshelf, which testified of his intellectual pursuits: A Latin grammar, A Greek dictionary, small and expensive green and red books from a publisher called Loeb, student manuals on ancient history and archaeology (and three handbooks about bodybuilding and nutrition, that looked displaced). It wasn't his intellectual traits, that were predominant at the moment: We were both pumped after the gym session, and Brad had taken his t-shirt off. He put his own protein drink down beside his computer and his plaster replica of a statuette of Apollo. "Why don't you give me advice about posing? I hope to compete on amateur level in six months, and I have to begin practicing." I felt uncomfortable, but I felt honoured, too. And strangely excited. "Uhmm. If you say so." I took a mouthful of my protein drink. And Brad began to pose. A lat spread. A side chest. A double biceps. He wasn't a heavyweight, but for an amateur he looked impressively well, despite being out of season. For a short second, my gaze flickered between his Apollo statuette and himself, and noticed the similarities. The ancient Greeks and Romans would have admired someone like Brad. "Come here, and try to bend my arm!" He stood there in his black, shiny Adidas tracksuit trousers and grey football socks. His skin tanned and smooth, but tattooed in a tribal pattern on his shoulder. An icon of small-city masculinity. And he was my friend. A cocky smile, and the mischievous glint in his eyes again. Hesitantly, I put my hand on his biceps. Warm. Hard. Pumped. I tried to pull his arm downwards, but he wouldn't yield. I put my other hand on his biceps. It was like trying to move a rock. I let my feet leave the floor, and let my entire weight rest against his upper arm. I don't know how long time I hang there, until Brad gave up. "OK. You win", he said, and sat down on his bed unusually quickly, with his cheeks warm and rose-coloured by the effort (or by something else?), his elbows resting on his thighs. I sat down beside him, close to him. I could feel his body heat, and I could feel the scent of his sweat, his soap and his anti-perspirant. We sat silent. I felt slightly embarrassed, but mainly comforted by the presence of my big friend. I wished I was like Brad. Nothing else happened that time. The second event, that made me think, happened when we watched films together several years later. Brad had competed in two amateur competitions, and placed third and second. He was bigger now, than when the first event happened. We had seen both films before, but agreed to see them again. Brad had a big TV screen in his room, and we used his bed as a sofa. We watched one of the old Hulk films, and Brad exclaimed: "Look at those muscles! I wish I looked like that!" "You don't sound like the typical archaeology student, Brad. Honestly, isn't that too much?" "There is no 'too much', Joe. Believe it or not, Joe, but when I began working out, I wasn't much bigger than you were, when you began. Now I have reached this level", he put his hands on his polo shirt, "but this is just the beginning. I want more. I want to become extreme." I swallowed. My reason told me Brad's wishes were absurd, but other parts of my mind stirred and crawled. Wiggled. Twisted. Brad. My friend, Brad. Bigger. More muscular. And myself... Becoming like Brad. Big. Powerful Protective. Warm. We sat close to each other. Shoulder by shoulder. I could feel his hard, warm shoulder to mine. Having finished the old Hulk film, we watched Captain America. The first one. The one in which he transforms from small and scrawny into a superhero. Generally, we used to comment scenes while watching them, but when we reached the scene, when Steve Rogers transform into a super-soldier, both Brad and I fell uncharacteristically silent. Brad grabbed the remote, and played the scene, when the radiation chamber opens and reveal the new improved Steve, a second time, and a third, and then stopped the film, leaving it on a still revealing Chris Evan's sweaty and shiny pecs and abs. Brad changed his posture from upright to reclining. A few seconds later, he pulled me down, so that I laid beside him. Close. Warm. Hard buddy. In order to defuse any tension - or so I guess - he tickled me on my belly, and I couldn't stop myself from laughing. Then we fell silent again. "When I got my first results at the gym, lots of chicks liked it, Joe. But, do you know, less and less women appreciate that you work out, when you are moving close to serious levels of exercise. Isn't that strange?", he began in his pleasant deep voice. "I don't know. It is rather extreme." I fell silent. Brad waited. I continued. "I have to admit, that you are very impressive, bro. And I have to admit, that it would be cool to achieve, what you have achieved." Warmth. Close. Hard buddy. "I love to grow you, buddy. That you are so typically ectomorph makes it harder." "Ectomorph? Is that what it is called? Impossible case, is what I would call it." "That's a bad attitude. You are not like you were when we started. This is testimony of that." His big hand had sneaked under my shirt, and now teasingly covered my abs. Initially, I froze in horror, but when nothing else happened, I relaxed and felt his warm hand on my belly. There wasn't something gay with this? Just two friends having a laugh. And discussing exercise. I think. And it isn't sex, if it isn't penetration, is it? "My little buddy is growing. Slowly, my little buddy is growing into a lean and hard little engineer. And I am the one growing you. I feel proud to grow you, bro." He was right. Even if my results were very modest, I hadn't reached this far, without his advice and encouragement. Warm presence beside me. Hard. I felt very good. I had been lost in thoughts, and hadn't noticed that I had wood. "There is something I wan't to discuss with you. It is rather embarrassing." "Nothing embarrass me, and you know it.", Brad answered. "Rather often, I become hard after a workout." I blushed. We were both looking at the ceiling, so I hoped, that Brad wouldn't notice. Brad laughed his friendly laughter. "Rather often? Rather often? You must be kidding, Joe. It happens always, to me. Without exception. It is a perfectly normal reaction, from a biological point of view. And then I haven't begun to mention the mental aspects. I feel so fucking pumped and relaxed and confident after each workout, so my state of mind itself would be enough to drive me horny. Have you been worried over this all the time, and haven't told me? Don't we talk about everything?" He hesitated. "Is there something else, you haven't told me?" The question hang in the air. Brad tickled my belly again, and my abs contracted. The tension evaporated. "Oh, there is a six-pack which wasn't there five years ago. And my little hard package of muscle believe that he gets no results?" Brad moved his hand away from me, and laid there silent. "Joe?" "Yes?" "Do you think you could do something? But it is perhaps too strange for you?" "How would I know, if you don't tell me what it is?" Brad was silent, and then he spoke. "Would you feel weird, if I asked you to play, that I am Captain America just coming out of that machine?" He nodded at the TV screen. I laughed nervously. Then i felt giddy. Childish? Or mature in a forbidden way? My blood pressure suddenly made my temples sound like drums. I felt cold. And warm. And aroused. I cleared my throat. "Would you like me to do that?" Brad's voice sounded slightly embarrassed and slightly husky. "Only if it doesn't make you feel silly." I swallowed. "No. It's OK. It just come so unexpectedly." I sat up in the bed. Brad was still reclined, but he was beginning to remove his polo shirt. "Let me help you." I sat on his knees, and helped him remove his shirt. His upper anatomy was revealed to me. "I am inspecting the test subject. Ehrr. The second test subject after Steve Rogers... A certain... Private Brad... who volunteered to the super-soldier programme... and... Ehrrr." I wasn't good at this, but Brad smiled, his eyes shone, and I couldn't avoid noticing, that the crotch of his jeans was filled with a very noticeable bulge, which pulsated. I tried to ignore it, and I hoped, that Brad didn't notice what was happening behind my own fly. Wiggled. Twisted. "I am inspecting the test subject's traps", touching them, "which has grown bigger and harder. And inspecting the noticeable bigger and harder shoulders." I moved my hands to his shoulders, and clenched. "The triceps and the biceps are now indestructible". Brad let out a restrained moan. I moved my hands from his upper arms to his pecs. "But the most significant growth has occurred in his pecs. My God! They are still growing under my hands! Growing into superhuman size! So hard. So..." I swallowed. Brad was moving under me, and seemed to like it. I massaged his pecs more, but wasn't good at making up a story. Where does these guys in Hollywood get all their dialogue from? "Ehrr. So the subject is still growing and transforming. Oh God! He is turning into a monster! A hero-monster full of hard, masculine muscle. Bigger than anything I have seen. Bigger than anything I could imagine. Oh! He is overwhelming us..." Brad grabbed my back and pressed me against his chest. I couldn't avoid it: My crotch now rested against his, and he was going to notice how hard I was. As was he. My mouth was close to his cheek, and I could feel his stubble against my lips. My hands clenched around his big shoulders. Then, Brad's jeans got a life of their own, and his pulsating bulge massaged my own bulge into ecstacy. We came together. Close to my best friend. Warm. Hard. Protective. Looking at that event retroactively, it was both foreboding and ironical, but at the time, we didn't know what to make out of it. We had both had sex with girls in the past, hadn't we? And we had both kept our trousers on, hadn't we? And since only penetration is sex, we didn't have sex, did we? We were perfectly straight, weren't we? A short time later The Leader pronounced an edict, that a new Sequrity Squad was going to assist both the Police force, the Army and the Home Guard, and that recruitment would be administrated by conscription. We were both very surprised and worried, when Brad received a Draft. To be continued. The story continues here: https://muscle-growth.org/topic/10523-the-security-squad-part-2/

This chapter will be very, very dark, since it does explore the mind of Cpl. De Vries, who is a well-known nuisance from earlier chapters. Chapter One is here: https://muscle-growth.org/topic/5059-project-defender-–-chapter-one/ Chapter Two is here: https://muscle-growth.org/topic/6609-project-defender-–-chapter-two/ Chapter Three is here: https://muscle-growth.org/topic/7120-project-defender-chapter-three/ DISCLAIMER The following story do contain heavy amounts of racial slur, homophobia, several forms of prejudice and mental images of violence. Please do not read this if you are offended by anything of the aforementioned. The author do not condone any of the opinions or values the character expresses. Project Defender - Chapter 4 De Vries sat on his bed, already awake, although it was several hours until reveille. When he had looked at himself in the mirror before the experiment, he had seen an Aryan, just as his dad used to say. When he had looked at himself in the mirror after the experiment, he had seen a perfect Aryan. He was big now. And strong. He cupped his left pec with his right hand. But he was surrounded by idiots. Idiots that held him back. There was a war raging out there, and the idiots went on about safety concerns, correct procedure, democracy, scientific method and other civilian bullshit he wasn’t interested in. He wanted to smash space squid. But first he wanted to have his revenge on the idiots. And the midgets. And the monkey boy. And Major Murphy. And the disgusting little fag. No-one should stand in his way. He had made his decision. He rose and walked through the empty corridors to the Lab. It was dark, but a LED helped him find the switch. The air in the room was strangely humid and warm, like the machines had been used several hours later than usual and not cooling down the way they normally did in night time, but he didn’t think more about it. The screens were turned on, but the screen savers were activated. Idiots. Under other conditions, this could have caused a security breech. Do they know nothing about computers? But now, this would make his revenge easier: Just what boffins leaving their computers on deserve. He watched the screens, and pushed some of the keys, first curious, then excited. They had held him back on purpose, the sanctimonious nerds. They could have pumped him full of a much larger dose of that what-it-was-called, and they could have increased those golden rays and things much more. He remembered the intense pleasure the Field and the Rays had given him, when he had bathed in that otherworldly non-burning golden fire. The hair on his forearms and his back-hair tingled pleasantly and he felt how he became hard. Yes, he had liked it, but it wasn’t enough. He wanted more of it, and he wanted to be bigger than anyone else in the project. He stared at the screen. Once a test subject had absorbed the nano-bots, it was obviously possible to reprogram them further by IV, if the subject underwent a repeated treatment. He didn’t need a new dose of nano-bots, just air and an IV. He had found the display of the two anatomical charts and found the log about his present enhanced physique. He copied the green chart of his present build, and made it into a new blue chart: the starting-point for something even more amazing. He could feel how his engorged dick pulsated against the inside of his shining black, leathery uniform trousers. The engineer who designed these trousers must have been another fucking damned fag, but he had to admit that they were very comfortable, and they actually made him look aggro when he saw himself in the mirror, so it wasn’t exactly a catastrophe. He concentrated on the screen again. Ah! It was possible to click on the sketch in green lines, in order to mark which muscle to design. And then these boxes and numbers… His back-hair tingled again and he salivated. He could design exactly how he wanted to look! Every man want insane biceps. And an even bigger chest sounds good. And traps. He clicked on a number of different muscles, and changed the numbers in the boxes. A cartoonish figure drawn in green lines began to form. The ridiculously broad-shouldered man in the sketch was built something like the comics character The Hulk, but with a much more exaggerated physique. Another man, and probably all women, would have considered the sketch ugly and monstrous, but De Vries stared on it longingly: With muscles like that, no-one would be able to stop him. He wasn’t a science guy, but 1000% level of Hypertrophic Radiation sounded good - yeah: really good - and a target level of 1000 milli-sheldrake sounded like it matched the other figure. He had chosen the alternative ’auto-procedure’, so no-one else was needed to oversee the process. This amazing machine would follow his wishes and demands, and make him into what he wanted. He pressed enter. Modified settings not available under present symmetry protocol ’Deactivate symmetry protocol.’ Are you sure you want to deactivate symmetry protocol? What the bloody hell? ’Affirmative.’ Symmetry protocol deactivated That was a relief. The computer behaved just like the idiots, but it was possible to subdue it to do one’s will. Enter. Modified settings not available under present functionality protocol Rage was rising from the inside of his mind. Crawling. Erupting. ’Deactivate functionality protocol.’ Are you sure you want to deactivate functionality protocol? ’Affirmative.’ Functionality protocol deactivated It isn’t possible to reason with computers. Just give it what it wants. Enter. Modified settings not available under present safety protocol ’Deactivate safety protocol.’ Are you sure you want to deactivate safety protocol? ’Who the hell designed this bloody damn interface – Microsoft?’ Negative … The Program was designed by [Dr. Gruber] by the help from [Cyberdyne Systems] and [umbrella Corporation] He sighed, and tried to control his temper and impatience: ’I am sure, that I want to deactivate safety protocol.’ Safety protocol deactivated Enter. Something happened on the screens. He didn’t bother to read it. Shivering of anticipation, he undressed, laid the uniform – rigorously neatly folded – on a bench and stepped into the sluice. He didn’t need the neuro-helmet, and wore the breathing mask just for air. The IV was, however, necessary to pump him full of the high dose of viruses, the super-supplements, the reprogramming stuff and the super-gear-thingy. He stepped into Chamber 1. The fluid level rose. The warm, comforting fluid surrounded him. He fell into an analgetic half-dream state, only dimly aware of something happening to his bone structure. He had a list of those who deserved punishment. The Britse, who wasn’t able to speak his own language correctly, thought he was so tough with all his tattoos and all, chattering all the time like an old shrew, but De Vries was going to make him kneel and then put the thumbs in his eyes, listening to him screaming like a little girl. And then rip out his balls and tear off his willy, and ask who’s tough now? And he was going to let Monkey-boy watch. What was British armed forces thinking when they sent a black man to do a white man’s work? De Vries grandparents had moved to the Netherlands from South Africa in 1992, only to find that there were a lot of Arabs in the Netherlands. He distrusted Arabs. And Jews. De Vries had seen a star in the neck chain of Van Gelder, the other Dutch recruit. He distrusted Van Gelder. De Vries was going to torture The Britse and his monkey-boy friend before hunting the midgets down. The midgets didn’t deserve to undergo this enhancing treatment, and the turnout of events showed that one of the shrimps hadn’t been affected by The Program, but swooned like a little girl instead. Not like a real man. Not like himself, who had got brawny like a good test subject. Yeah! Really, really brawny. He wished he had been able to show his dad what he had become. His dad had been so disappointed when he slapped the neighbourhood children down as a kid. Dad used to chasten him with his belt. The same happened when he had smoked perfectly legal marijuana. And when he only came second in the swimming competition. And Fridays. De Vries had shown him what he was able of, by joining the Armed Forces, making dad proud. He was going to crush the heads of the shrimps with his heavy boots. He was going to torture Major Murphy, since he had become an inconvenience… De Vries slowly awakened from his reveries by the voluptuous feeling of growing muscle fibres. His already superhuman physique had already began to transform even further into unknown anatomical territory. He had liked how his muscles had filled out and increased in meaty firmness the last time, and the same feeling was rushing through his entire body now, even stronger than the last time. Doubling, tripling, quadrupling in intensity, like a wave of energized liquid, bubbling of raising power levels. Raw strength itself was forced into his growing, ever-hardening brawn, at a much higher power-level than the last time. He was almost unable to handle this extremely increased level, and doubted for a moment if he had chosen the right settings on the screen, but, in a mixture of voluntarily abandonment and forced surrender, he let his body and mind go into unrestrained and uninhibited transformation. Under the influence of the incredibly high doses of hypertrophic radiation the reprogrammed nano-bots, the high doses of the endocrine formula, and the now extremely modified DNA, he approached the goal desired according to the tampered Field settings. De Vries roared in pain and lust, but wasn’t aware of it any longer. The heightened levels of testosterone now stoked two primal fires in his mind – sex and aggression – and in his present state he could no longer separate one from another, leaving out all other mental activity. He felt his power to break and crush, dominate and humiliate, revel and wallow in ecstasy increase without limit. His physical form increased in heaviness and might. An ecstatic feeling of expanding in every direction, of hardness increasing beyond all restrictions, and of an energetic power level beyond all comprehension brought him to an orgasmic state lasting for hours without any relief or outlet. When he awoke he was lying in a puddle on the Lab floor, surrounded by glass splinters and a few screw nuts, unaware how he had got there. The Being looked at its hands, and noticed that the cuts were already healing, and that in an almost visible rate. The Being looked in the direction of the Chambers, and noticed how Chamber 1 had shattered. It was of no concern. The Being was hunting. Hunting such targets as midgets, a monkey boy, a faggot, the tattooed one and the one with many signs on its clothes. The hunt wouldn’t end until the prey had been crushed and destroyed. * * * AFTERWORD It took me almost six years, but I finally was able to write next chapter, which will be found HERE.

It's been FAR too long since I've added a chapter! I can't help but be fucking STUNNED by the work of all these fantastic authors (that last chapter alone GAHHH so good Hero!) I thought, hey I'll add a new one, and why not make it topically relevant too! ALABAMA 03/05/15 The picket lines were surrounding the highschool, the signs emblazoned with "NO VACCINES" and "NOT MY SON!" The worried scores of parents marching back and forth shouting on bullhorns about how the government shouldn't be mandating these vaccines for their children! The principal John O'Connor doing his best to explain to them, but the frantic crowd just wasn't having it. Security on high alert in case things should get violent. "Please people, it..it's not your children, only people over the age of 18 are susceptible, at this point, it's outside of your decision, they are past the age of majority and should be making the decisions themselves. We need them to understand-" He said, almost pulling his hair out that these people just couldn't understand, he was trying to help their sons! But again the leader of the anti vacc group shouted out, interrupting him; "They DO understand! There's no proof they're gonna catch this, it's not been in our city at all, nowhere near us in fact! The vaccines are FULL of chemicals and poisons and our sons know BETTER, my son, right here, Joshua is as HEALTHY as can be, never ONCE been vaccinated, and the thought of shooting him full of your bullshit sickens me! And now, because he wont subject himself to this YOU are going to deny him his education?" O'connor had dealt with this man before, Andrew Blake, a proud card carrying anti authority nut who was always the FIRST voice to speak up against "government overreaching" At this point, the O'connor looked to the loudmouth's son, seeing a boy who clearly wasn't as healthy as he should be, sure he was 18, and had refused to take the vaccination as per his father's instructions, but the lithe young man looked far smaller than he should be, clearly a childhood filled with illness. O'connor felt himself thinking this young man might be one of the few people benefited by catching this outbreak..he stopped himself though, trying to focus on the angry mob forming. "Again, Mr Blake we've been over this, the outbreak is global at this point, I've been vaccinated as has the entire faculty, and every student over the age of 18 at our highschool, Your group's endangering not only yourselves, but the wellbeing of your children, and the safety of this town. Haven't you seen the news? haven't you watched the destruction? One a SINGLE infected could grow to unknown sizes and destroy the entire school with his body! Intentionally or not! you think YOUR son is more important than the lives of everyone here? I cannot in good conscience allow them to attend, so long as they are unvaccinated." O'connor stood his ground, as Blake continued to rile up the angry mob, claiming it was just a conspiracy, saying the vaccines could cause more harm than good! "More HARM Blake? Your son would be dead from any NUMBER of diseases if we didn't have our mandatory vaccinations in place. I don't think you were complaining earlier when that herd immunity protected him did you?" and he knew he was right, Josh's immune system was borderline at this point, he always had a sickly pallor to him, and depended on the immunity of others to keep himself healthy. "We are NOT leaving until you acknowledge-" Blake started as he turned to face the crowd, he was always loved to perform in front of a crowd, when unnoticed to him one of the protesters stepped out of the crowd, not dressed in the same concerned parent clothes, but rather a full hazmat suit. O'connor had thought this man was just an over the top drama queen, but as the man pulled out a small vial and raised it to throw at Blake everyone let out a startled gasp! Time seemed to slow down for everyone, seconds going by over what felt like hours, O'connor watched the vial flip through the air as the hazmat suited gentleman was tackled by the security team, the arc missing its trajectory as Blake watched it smash into his frail son's face. The pearlescent contents of the vial soaking into his pale skin in a single heartbeat, and Josh falling to the ground from the force of the hit! There was quiet all around as people backed away nervously, Blake running to his son's side, shouting for someone to help but the other protesters were all slowly clearing away. It was only O'connor who jumped from the stage and rushed to help. "Blake! You need to get back from your son OK? this...oh god this isn't going to end well..not for your son, or you." He said, trying to force the man away from his coughing and writhing son. "If you think for a SECOND i'm leaving his side.." Blake started before his son's weak voice coughed out. "Dad....I'm scared.." Josh whimpered, his voice so weak and frail as his breathing seemed to stop. He lay there motionless as O'connor pulled his father away, the man still so shook up, in shock and for once in his life, totally quiet. People started to close in around Josh as he suddenly LURCHED forward inhaling a DEEP breath as his chest swelled out so fast and far it tore through his uniform shirt! It wasn't that sickly pale either, but a healthy glowing tan! Veins pulsing across it as everyone jumped back! Josh let out another grunt as his arm shout out into the crowd surging out so long it knocked over the news van half a block away! The muscled arm swelling thicker with more intense bulging veins as Josh was whimpering "DAD...ohhh GOD it...it BURNS" he moaned the skin stretching so taught over the growing arm you could see the thick striations of muscle as they continued to bulk and GROW! He let out another groan as his massive hand squeezed onto the van like a stress ball! His hips lurched upwards as his cock tore through his pants, surging up into the sky and coming CRASHING down on one of the protesters, it continued to fatten and grow and snake down the street like a slow moving train car! The pulsing of that cock causing the ground to shake with each beat of his still growing heart! Soon the other arm followed suit growing even BIGGER than the first as he let out another moan "I can't CONTROL my BODY" he moaned his voice dropping so LOW as his ass grew more muscled by the second, lifting him up off the ground as his torso started to stretch and thicken with deep cut abs! The surge of growth catching the security team and the rest of faculty off guard as he suddenly PLOWED through the stands crashing his immense shoulders into the school! He was truly growing out of control! his weakened immune system is just being overrun by the virus, Blake can only stare as his son continues to swell and grow out of control! "I'm SO FUCKING BIG" the musclebound brute grunted as he kicked his growing legs out, feeling them plow through a house across the street from the school itself, looking down at his body as he struggled to stand, bracing himself on the destroyed facade of the highschool, he looked himself over, he had to be well over 75ft tall, his musclebound frame dripping sweat, as he was so fantastically lean, and smooth all over, but so full of muscle that his arms barely bent! He was...he was a MAN! he was HUGE! This was INCREDIBLE! He took a few steps, his legs continuing to swell with muscle until he found them pressing against one another, his body seeming to stutter and swell taller as he sank into the ground with every step! O'connor just stared, in awe and fear and a bit of..something else...the destruction of his school, the chaos of people rushing everywhere, it was obvious that the growth wasn't yet finished, not by a long shot, and this is exactly what he was MOST afraid of. "you SEE Blake? you fucking SEE? I told YOU!" O'connor let out a frustrated shout as the monstrously muscled beast dropped to his knees just feet away, causing the ground once again to quake! "LOOK DAD! LOOK WHAT HAPPENED TO ME! I'M STRONG I'M BIG! FOR THE FIRST TIME EVER I'M BIG" his voice booming "YOU SEE THIS? YOU NEED TO TRY THIS!" He shouted without trying, struggling to hold his monstrous cock with both hands, aiming it towards his terrified father.