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TQuintA last won the day on February 6

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  1. I want to send thanks to my readers and supporters. When I wrote this story, it was a very selfish act: just a way for me to get this fantasy out of my head and onto paper--to crystallize it, if you will. I never expected the outpouring of love and support I got. I read all the encouraging comments, I felt awash in all the likes and up-votes, and I was overwhelmed by the sheer number of views this story of mine got. I knew I had to respond to the comments somehow--it would be weird to be a lurker on my own post. But I agonized over how to do it so that it felt like the genuine show of gratitude I intend it to be. I hope unvarnished sincerity is the way to go. Thank you all, wholeheartedly. This was an amazing writing experience I am unlikely to forget, and you were a large part of it.
  2. Epilogue When I got back to the room, James had made up Luke’s bed and was waiting for me to crawl into it. I got in and held James on top of me. I was used to being the little spoon, but with my new size, that was going to be unlikely. Once we were cozy under the blankets, James rolled over to look at me and said, “I want to show you something.” He pulled my phone out of his pajamas pocket, and pulled up a picture. “Remember this?” he asked. It was the picture of us in our bathrobes after I’d walked to the help desk with James trapped on my cock. “How can I forget? I think about this picture every time I walk down the stairs.” “The man in this picture is a muscle monster, right?” he asked leadingly. “Unquestionably,” I answered. “You have 85 pounds of muscle on this guy.” “He’s pathetic. Puny,” I said. “And five inches of cock,” James added. “My cock is a whole cock bigger than his. What a tiny dick he has.” James kissed my ear, glad I was pleased with the game. He put the phone on Luke’s desk, then rolled back over. I was ready to go to sleep, but James was obviously restless. “What’s wrong?” I asked him. James never had trouble sleeping. “I’m worried.” “About?” “Everything’s changing, and I don’t want it to.” “We can’t stop things from changing.” “I guess not, but that doesn’t make me feel any better.” “Is this about those internet comments? Because Dave said…” “That’s part of it, yeah, but it’s not just that. Everything is changing. I have no idea what’s going to happen next.” “Anything I can do to help?” “Walk me through tomorrow,” James said. His voice sounded dreamy; he was staring at the ceiling. “Okay. We get up. I’m going to wear what I wore to dinner because it’s the only thing I have big enough to fit me. We have breakfast from the cart as a foursome for the last time, and then go with Dave to the airport. Dave drives there. We bid him goodbye. Give him hugs. Tell him to break a leg and to write.” “I meant to get him a going away present,” James said, cursing himself. “He really likes goldfish. I meant to get him some goldfish for his new apartment.” “They wouldn’t survive the plane trip,” I said. “True. I guess I’ll have some delivered to him once he’s settled in LA.” James sighed. “What comes next after we say goodbye?” “Luke cries. We cry too, most likely,” I said. “I meant after that.” “Luke drives Dave’s car back, and we pack to go home for break. We have lunch with Luke, and if it takes us a long time to pack, dinner too. Luke’s staying on campus for the break—Charles’s orders—so we say goodbye to him once your car is loaded.” “I should’ve gotten him a present too,” James said. “Give him Dave’s goldfish,” I suggested. “Luke doesn’t like goldfish.” “Then their marriage is doomed,” I joked. Without rolling over, James slapped me playfully and asked, “What comes after we say goodbye to Luke?” “We cry again.” “After that,” James said, chuckling slightly. “Actually,” I said, “we might not cry when we say goodbye to Luke. We’re likely to see him again in January, especially if I decide to finish my degree on campus.” “That would be nice.” “Then, we find a way to squeeze me into your car. As soon as we’ve done that, for a while, it’s just you and just me. The two of us alone as we drive to my parents’ house for Christmas. They freak that I’ve gained another 70 pounds. Dad makes a ridiculous t-shirt; I tell him it’s funny even though it’s not. Mom makes me take a drug test; I pass it. We tell them I’ve maintained my 4.0 and gotten all these job offers. Mom forgets all her concerns. We go out for dinner to celebrate. Just drinks if it’s really late.” “And then?” James asked. “That’s the end of tomorrow.” “Then what comes after tomorrow?” “We have a lovely Christmas. We go to your place for New Year’s. Maybe even introduce your parents to my parents.” “I’d like that,” James said. “And sometime over break I decide if I’m finishing my degree on campus, or following Dave to LA, or something else.” “So, you really don’t know yet?” James asked. “No, I do not.” I said honestly. James sighed deeply and admitted, “Wherever you end up, I’ll end up there too. You should let that help you make your decision.” Since James was in such a reflective mood, I finally asked him a question I’d wanted to ask him since the beginning of the semester. “Why did you do it?” “What?” he asked, rolling over to look at me. “Why did you make me so huge?” James seemed confused. “You’re sexier that way. What are you even asking?” “Why did you make the magic?” “I don’t understand.” “Just before I started growing, your eyes flashed gold. And they did it a few other times this year. I mean, how else do you explain everything? The showcase, the soccer team, the calendar, the invitational. And it’s not just me. You got this sudden ability to take all of my cock, your sudden muscle gain.” “I don’t explain it,” James said. “I’m just happy it happened.” “You mean, you didn’t…?” I trailed off. “I didn’t do anything except say the magic words.” “Not even that day I was crying by the dumpster over Victor?” “I barely remember that day.” “You said that a guy like me should have his deepest wish come true.” “Yeah. I was trying to make you feel better, and I was tongue-tied because I was in love with you.” “But after that day, my deepest wish did come true.” “I had nothing to do with that, Chris.” “Really?” “Really.” “Huh.” I lay there silently for a minute. Breaking the silence, James said, “If anyone made any magic, Chris, it was you. The common denominator to all the crazy stuff that happened this semester was you.” “I guess,” I said. “You’re not just saying that, are you?” James shook his head. “Good. Because I love you. And I want your deepest wishes to come true too.” James had a shocked look on his face. “What?” I asked. “Chris, your eyes!” “What about them?” “They flashed gold.”
  3. Chapter 71 When we got from dinner to the dorm room, James and I were glad to be alone. Dave had managed to find me something barely big enough to wear to dinner, but I didn’t want to be confined anymore. So, I stripped naked and collapsed into bed, James following suit. Luke and Dave were spending their last night together in Dave’s room because his roommate had already gone home for the break. Alone together, James shucked his clothes, and we got into bed. James ran his hands all over my massive body, so massive that James actually had to lie on top of me. A bed we once slept in comfortably side by side I now took up all by myself. His right hand fondled the mighty heights of my pecs while his lips caressed the sturdy roundness of my shoulders and the left hand explored the bulging burliness of my biceps. The attention caused my cock to wake up and crawl towards my pecs. “Can I ask for something crazy?” I said. “Sure,” James said. “Since I’m already too big to fuck you, can we make my cock bigger?” James bit my shoulder. “I thought you’d never ask.” “I just want it big enough to poke through the other side of my pecs when I pec-fuck myself.” “I already said yes,” James said. “Yeah, but you probably want to make me five feet long.” “Nothing so garish,” James teased. “Just three or four.” “I know you’re joking, but I’d still like to be able to wear pants. And if we grow my cock tonight, we can send the new pics to that fashion major tomorrow, and he’ll factor in my cock when he makes the clothes, and maybe I can have pants that don’t strangle my balls again.” “Okay. So how big we talking?” “I think two inches should do it, but let’s play it by ear.” With that, James got up and got the lube, as I leaned over the bed. I positioned my cockhead between my pecs, and stuck my ass out for James. I heard James walk back from the dresser, and then I felt one of James’s hands on each of my ass cheeks. “Your ass is a poem,” James said. “An epic poem.” Suddenly, I felt his beard all over my ass, even over the sensitive hole. James was nuzzling me. For fifteen minutes, he worshipped my ass, licking, teasing, caressing, stroking. My dick grew stiffer and fought to get its way through my gargantuan pecs. He was so attentive and thorough I was practically panting. When he was satisfied that he had worshipped every last inch of my ass, he poured the lube over his cock. “So, what’s the batting order? Do I make you bigger out of the gate? Do I wait for you to give the command?” Like a beast, I shouted, “Shove your cock up my ass and tell me what a Big Guy I am.” “Yes, sir,” he said. With great force, his cock went all the way up my ass. “Damn, Chris. You got tight. All this new muscle. You got so tight.” James was struggling to get his words out. “I barely fit.” He took a few seconds to catch his breath. “You got so big that you’re making my cock feel like it got bigger.” My cock twitched at the thought of James getting a bigger cock. “Glad to hear it.” “I bet you are, Big Guy.” I felt my cock surge longer, but it still was nestled in between my pecs. “Again,” I said. “Whatever you say, Big Guy,” James said. I again felt my cock thicken and stretch further, but the cockhead was still not through the twin masses of my pecs. “Again,” I said. “Glad to, Big Guy,” he said. As my cock swelled larger, I finally saw the head burst through my pecs. The head was the size of my fist, and purple from the exertion. “There,” I said, a note of relief in my voice. James began to fuck me as I began to fuck myself. I know James didn’t want a threesome, but we were having one: him, me, and my pecs. I matched my thrusts up through my pecs to James’s thrusts into my ass. The rhythm built, and James began to kiss the wide canvas of my upper back. I could feel his chest hair, torso hair, and beard rub against my hairless back. I was so big that the muscleman plowing his way into my ass, the one who was as big as a professional bodybuilder, felt small. With that image in my mind, I lost it and exploded, shooting a huge load into my face as I let loose a deep, primal bellow. Volley, after volley, after volley. My orgasm had caused me to tighten around James’s cock, and he began thrusting with even more force. Still I came. I could feel James swelling inside me. He began grunting and growling. Still I came. James picked up the pace. I could feel his balls slap against my ass. Faster and faster as he neared the edge. Still I came. Finally, James released a torrent of cum into my ass, guttural Ms escaping his throat as his hips took over and, on auto-pilot, he continued fucking me. Still I came. We collapsed into each other and landed on the floor. My orgasm finally subsided. “I wish we’d put a tarp down,” I joked. “We ruined the bed.” “We’ll sleep in Luke’s,” James said. His hand went to my chest to hold me, and it met a huge puddle of cum. “After we shower,” he added. James cleaned up as best he could while I went to shower. When I got to my feet, I expected to feel extra weight in my cock, but I didn’t expect it to be so much more. It felt like my cock and balls were made out of lead. I’d have to do the actual math when I wasn’t dripping with cum, but it felt like they’d doubled in weight again. I didn’t even bother with a robe or a towel—most people had gone home for the break; the rest deserved a show. When I got to the bathroom, I realized I would need to use the handicapped-accessible stall; I was too big for the normal shower now. In the shower, especially since I had some more room, I maneuvered the best I could to get a look at my massive nuts. To see if they could actually be twice as heavy as they were before their recent expansion. However, my chest was completely in the way; I’d have to do a manual inspection. Each ball could barely fit in my hand and was heavy like a boulder. But I could feel the warmth and the heat. They quivered as they produced gallons of sperm and semen, not to mention the torrent of hormones that flooded my body. Just their weight dangling from my body was erotic—even for someone of my strength, they felt immense. Back in the bathroom proper, I looked in the mirror to get a gander. They were glorious. Even soft, my cock made it most of the way to my knees, and my deep purple balls were pendulous and hefty, like coconuts. I leaned in closer to see if I should shave. And my face… I barely have the words for it. I was just starting to get used to my face being masculine and handsome and chiseled, but now the actual muscles of my face had enlarged: my brow ridge, cheekbones, jaw—all were lined with a thick layer of muscle. My face, still devastatingly gorgeous, was buff. I could still see traces of my old self, but they were just that: traces. I had a clear picture in my head of what I’d looked like in September. Now, I looked like a whole new person.
  4. Chapter 70 I waddled my way down the hall to my last test, my shoulders grazing the walls of the narrow hallways. If I did well on this last test, I was going to outgrow the building. Thankfully, my seminar final was in the same building as my chemistry final, so it was just a short walk. When I got to the room, it took three tries to get through the doors. Between my shoulders, pecs, and ass, it was a logic puzzle just to enter the room. The professor looked at me skeptically when he saw my inhuman mass. He actually looked disappointed, and he made a noise of disapproval. “You were one of my most promising students,” he said. “Ever since you started to put on that ridiculous muscle, your work has taken a hit in quality. And this last month, you came to class exhausted and almost never participated. Why would you throw away a brilliant mind to chase something as transient as a physique?” “I’m not throwing away my mind,” I said. “You blew off your final for a bodybuilding contest. You scheduled the make up for a Saturday. What am I to conclude?” “If I were throwing away my mind, I wouldn’t be taking this final at all.” “Fine then. I made your final harder than anyone else’s. If you get extra time to study, it’s only fair.” He practically threw the test booklet at me. “Prove to me you’re not throwing away your mind.” “Can I sit on the floor?” I asked. “I’m having trouble with institutional chairs right now.” “Take the test standing on your head for all I care. That is the single hardest test I’ve ever written. I’d have trouble passing that test. So, a braindead roid-hog like you who’s blown off studying for workouts will likely drown in it.” That did it. I had respected this professor deeply, and now he was talking down to me, out and out insulting me. I was going to get every question correct, or I was going to die trying. The professor did not lie. It was a challenging final. On the first two pages alone, I found five trick questions. I couldn’t shake the worry that others had been trick questions too, and I just hadn’t been smart enough to spot them. When I finished the last question, I still had ten minutes on the clock, so I went back and checked my work. I went over every question thoroughly, making sure I left no crevice unchecked. “Time,” my professor said. I had been so focused on the test that I hadn’t even noticed my body once while taking it. I rose to my feet, wobbling a little as I found my new center of gravity, and handed him my work. He graded my test agonizingly slowly, looking for any jot or tittle out of place. I began pacing. Pacing with a musclebound body is surprisingly soothing. I had to focus on my legs and my arms, and it took me out of my head and put me into my body. When he finished grading, he looked up at me with a dark look. “How’d I do?” I asked eagerly. “It took me so long to grade because I was convinced you cheated,” he said, showing me my A+. “But there was no way you could’ve cheated with my noticing.” “Hell no.” “You proved me wrong,” he said. With that, I struggled my way out of the room, made my way outside, and told the guys the good news. Soon, we were all intertwined with each other in a group hug, and I leaned into it when I heard them all tell me, “Congratulations, Big Guy.” All three at once. They did that on purpose. My head spun with erotic pleasure and joy. My shirt burst off me, and my tights began to dig into me. My pecs were now so huge that when I inhaled deeply, they pressed up against my chin. That was so fucking hot I couldn’t even feel the December chill. My arms were so massive that my cannonballs had become beach balls. As Luke and David stood in front of me, I realized I was now as wide as the two of them standing side by side. I reached in as much as I could to feel my abs. They were so thick that, as far as I could reach, I could fit my finger into it down past the first knuckle. I picked up all three of my friends, spun them around three times, and put them back down. “Thank you guys so much!” “Look at you,” James said. “4.0 GPA, 18-inch cock, and 370 pounds of muscle stud.” “Let’s go see if we can find something that will actually fit you and then go out for my bon voyage dinner,” Dave said. “One thing I have to do first,” I said. My tights were digging so tightly into my legs that I couldn’t feel my feet. So, I flexed my thighs and ass as intensely as I could, and the tights snapped, flying off me like popped balloon. I exhaled in relief, completely naked in the middle of the quad. “That’s so much better. Now we can go.”
  5. Chapter 69 The chemistry final was thankfully in the lab and not the auditorium. I would never have fit into the chairs in the auditorium—maybe not even the accessible chair. The chemistry building, like the biology building, had narrow hallways, so I began calling around corners just to make sure I didn’t slam into anybody when I rounded them. My lab coat, made for a man far smaller than me, draped over my shoulders, and the sleeves threatened to tear with the smallest movement. I didn’t recognize the person at the front of the room: a nervous-looking slender man barely older than me. “This is the chemistry final, right?” I asked. I had so much more chest to resonate that, speaking in what I thought was a normal volume, my voice boomed. The nervous man stood up when he saw me. “They told me you were a bodybuilder, but damn.” “This is the final, then” I asked. “Yeah. I’m the professor’s new TA,” he handed me my test booklet, and I went to my desk. “Can I sit on the floor?” I asked. “You’d have to, wouldn’t you?” he said. I sat on the floor and put the storage bin on my lap. My pecs and biceps were fighting for space, my shirt kept riding up, and I had to hold the pencil like I was doing surgery, but I managed to finish the first section of the test without major incident. The material had been very basic—this final was more about the experiment than the objective portion. The last page had a set of instructions for an experiment to run. I stood up and went over to the lab equipment. Standing at the edge of the desk, my pecs jutted so far into the middle of the equipment, that were I to turn to either side, I would knock everything to the floor. I had to stand a safe distance from the desk just to protect the lab equipment from me. With a sigh of resignation to my physical reality, I picked up a beaker, and it shattered in my hand. I reflexively turned away from the breaking glass, and the shoulder seam of my lab coat burst open. At least I hadn’t knocked anything off the desk. Refusing to get frustrated or to give in, I grabbed a broom from the back of the room, but while I was sweeping up my mess, both sleeves of my lab coat ripped open. This was going to be a challenge. More determined than ever, I headed back to the experiment. The equipment felt like dollhouse furniture made from paper. I slowed my breathing, took my time, and managed to get the experiment completed with barely any time left on the clock, but it was sloppy. I wasn’t used to maneuvering this body, and it showed. I was a little embarrassed. The TA came over to my experiment with a clipboard to score my work. His face flushed with fear when he reached a total. “I saw what you did to that beaker. Promise you won’t hurt me?” “It’s okay,” I said, gently. “I know this was not my best work.” The TA closed his eyes tightly and looked down at the floor, like he was bracing for a pummeling, and said, “It’s a B.” Then, holding his clipboard in front of his face, he added, “Don’t hurt me!” “A B?” I said, excitedly. “Yes,” he said, tentatively opening one eye and lowering the clipboard. “Thank you!” I said, picking him up and spinning him before I knew what I was doing. “Please put me down,” he said, his voice wavering. He sounded terrified. “Of course. I’m sorry,” I said and gingerly put him back on the ground. I raced to door, came to a full stop, and twisted out of the room into the hallway. When I saw the group of them in the hallway, I threw my arms in the air and shouted, “B!” My lab coat couldn’t hold out any longer, and a large tear formed down the back. Dave collapsed, utterly relieved. I guess he was scared that he was going to let me down. The amazing actor he was, I never once suspected he was worried. James came over and tore the shreds of my lab coat off me. He placed a hand on the small of my back and said, “Well done, Big Guy.” Luke sauntered over a second later and put a hand on one of my shoulders, adding “Congrats, Big Guy.” I felt seismic activity rupture through my body as the rapturous lightning shot through me. James and Luke moved further away from me as my shoulders widened even further. I tried to look down to see what I could see, but my pecs were so huge that I was never going to see past them again. Hell, my overhang was so large, someone could use it as shelter from the rain. My pecs had stretched and pulled the fabric so much that the fabric was warped out of recognizability, not really even shirt-shaped anymore. I looked at my reflection in the window at the end of the hall; my shirt had ridden up so far that six of my ten abs were on full display. If I tried to do anything strenuous in this shirt, it would go the way of my lab coat. I could feel the sleeves of my t-shirt roll back, my arms too mighty and massive to be contained. The armpits and shoulders of the shirt felt ready to explode at any moment. My tights clung to my legs and ass so tightly that I could feel each individual seam as my flesh pressed them out. “Looking good, buddy,” Luke said, patting my shoulder. “Breathtaking,” James added, rubbing his hand up and down my abs. Dave got back to his feet and dusted off his pants. The weight of my chemistry final off his shoulders, he seemed himself again. “You ready for your last final?” he asked. “Of course, you scheduled the hardest test for last,” I said to Luke. “The prof was only available in the afternoon,” Luke said, taking a defensive posture. “Wait for me outside, guys. I’ll be too nervous if I know you’re right outside the door.” James squeezed my hand and kissed my cheek. “Ok. Good luck.” With that, they went outside.
  6. Chapter 68 Walking to the biochem final, I was so glad I was in new, super-stretchy tights. I had to practically throw my legs around each other to propel myself forward, and that was giving my ass a workout. My ass already felt so huge standing still; walking down steps and across campus made each ass cheek felt as large as a globe, but flexed into hard relief. When we got to the biology building, the front hall felt smaller. It was an older building, and I always knew it had narrower halls than the average school building, but now I could feel it. I could still walk down no problem, but I would have to turn to the side to let anyone else pass me. By myself, I took up practically the whole hallway. When I got to the classroom door, I had a moment of doubt that I could even get through it. I did get through, but I had to twist twice: once for my shoulders and once for my ass. Navigating campus was becoming a combination of a Rubik’s cube and Tetris. The biochem professor barely looked up from her newspaper as she handed me my test. As soon as I took it, she started a stopwatch and said, “One hour.” I walked to my seat, and sat down. My ass was far too big for the chair. I could only fit one cheek on it at a time. I tried balancing on one cheek, but that caused the chair to tip. I tried balancing half of each cheek on the chair, but I was pushed so far forward by the girth of my ass meat that I nearly fell forward. I tried sitting on two chairs simultaneously, but my weight kept splitting them apart, causing me to sink in between them. I used up ten minutes of my allotted hour just trying to sit down. “Professor, can I sit on the floor?” I asked, getting a little desperate about the passage of time. “Sure, whatever,” she said and turned the page of her newspaper. I sat on the floor cross-legged, and put my plastic storage box on top of my legs. I grabbed my pencil, and I finally took a close look at my hands. With all the muscle I’d been putting on, I hadn’t realized that my hands had gotten buff. My palm was thicker, my fingers bulkier. My hands looked meatier, altogether more rugged. I felt a familiar stirring in my crotch—my hands were turning me on. I had to take a few deep breaths just to prevent this whole situation from spiraling out. When I finally had myself back under control, I picked up my pencil; it felt as thick as a toothpick, and I snapped it in half. Thankfully, I had spare pencil, so I picked it up, but daintily, so I could finally start the test nearly 15 minutes after my time started. The material was exactly what Luke had quizzed me on. I cynically suspected that the professor had given Luke the exact same final one week prior, and Luke had not-so-subtly just tried to give me the answers. A lot of the test questions were long, open-ended ones that required me to draw diagrams, and my mitt of a hand and enlarged bicep made that a little slow-going. I knew what the diagrams were supposed to look like, but it was a challenge to get my body to make such fine, delicate motions. When I reached the last page, the stopwatch went off. “Crap,” I said under my breath. I hadn’t answered a single question on the last page. I turned my test in, and the professor unceremoniously graded it. She grunted and handed me back my test. “If you hadn’t spent all that time farting around, you would’ve gotten every question right,” she said. “Let that be a lesson to you.” With that, she folded her newspaper under her arm and left the room. James, Dave, and Luke came into the classroom. I looked down at my test. B. James ran into me full speed for a celebratory embrace, but with all my mass, I didn’t even wobble. Dave sauntered over and ran his hand through my hair. “We knew you could do it.” I knew what was coming, so I backed up. “Whoa whoa!” I stopped them, putting even more space between us. “A B is ten pounds. I already got those ten pounds by accident.” “We talked about it in the hallway,” James said. “We decided to treat those pounds as a bonus. You know, to keep your motivation up.” “You decided? Don’t I get a vote?” “Of course, you do,” Dave said patronizingly, quickly adding, “the vote’s three to one; you lose.” Luke snickered. “Can’t this wait until after my last two finals?” “What happened to the freedom of being beyond huge, beyond normal?” Dave asked. “What happened to getting big for me?” James asked. I gave in. “But one at a time, this time. I have two more finals to take, and I can’t take them naked. These are already my biggest clothes.” Dave and James began to move closer to me, but I quickly added, “And let’s do this outside. It was hard enough to get into this room. If I get much bigger, I’ll have to live here.” Once I’d safely gotten outside and Luke assured us the coast was clear, James and Dave stepped close to me. One, then the other, took turns calling me Big Guy. The pleasure dazzled through my brain behind my eyes, and I could feel myself grow heavier, solider, my body a more imposing, heavier mass of being. I had to move my legs further and further apart to make room for the sheer girth of my thighs. The tights were super-stretchy, so they hold well, but I was starting to get worried. When I looked down to check them or even pointed my head down just a little, my chin hit my pecs. My arms were so far to the sides that I felt like an airliner. The t-shirt cut into my arms, shoulders, and chest. It was clearly too small for me now, but it held firm and still hung loose around my waist. “You’ve earned your lunch,” James said. “Luke’s running to the cafeteria to get it. We thought we’d eat on the steps of the chemistry building to squeeze as much of a break between the tests as possible.” As we walked across the quad, my legs were so far apart that my steps had changed to a duck’s waddle, which made my ass flex and contract with every step. I was a juggernaut. When we got to the chemistry building, I asked Dave to take a picture of me so I could get a good look at myself, and the legs on me. Oh, my goodness. If my calves could get a normal distance together, they would rub against each other. I looked like a parade balloon version of myself from the invitational—I hadn’t lost any definition, just gotten bigger. I had to see if I could still do any of the dance routine Charles had taught me. When James and Dave realized what I was doing, they sat down in expectation. Dave, of course, pulled out his phone to film the whole thing. It was a little stiff, a little rough, and I had to exert triple to effort to get my biceps to their full flex because my fists and forearms were getting in the way, but I got through it. “Just checking,” I said. “What, no one-handed handspring?” Dave said, mockingly. I looked down to contemplate doing one, and my pecs crashed into my chin. “No, not today.” I heard Luke laugh from the distance. He’d returned with our lunches and had caught the tail end of the performance. “Not bad for a muscle blimp who’s twice as big as Luke,” Dave said. “Yeah!” Luke said. His tone of voice indicated he hadn’t realized that yet. “You’re more than twice as big as me now. Just over.” His pride a little dinged, he repeated, “Just.” “And you’re also just about three times as big as you were back in August,” James piled on. With all that attention an ego-gratification, I became erect so quickly that it flew out of my tights and slapped me in the chest. We were standing in the quad in broad daylight, and my 18-inch cock was sticking out, completely uncovered. If anyone were to walk by, my monster erection would be the first thing they saw. “James,” I said as calmly as I could manage. “Come here. I need you,” I added, and the two of us went off to the bushes. After a pro forma handjob that was too quick for me to even enjoy, I fertilized the bushes with my prodigious seed and returned to the quad. Lunch was surprisingly sans conversation. Between my test anxiety and Dave’s imminent departure, no one really felt like joking around.
  7. Chapter 67 The calculus teacher looked genuinely surprised that I showed up. “You know you don’t need to take this test to get an A in my class, right?” she asked. “Oh, I need to take this test,” I said. I sat down at my desk. Thankfully, I had the room to myself, for I now took up 75% of a table meant for two people. The professor told me to begin, and I put the test on top of my plastic storage box. I did a quick once-over the test and realized it was far easier than I expected it to be, especially since I hadn’t really studied for this one. I whipped through the test in half the time allotted to me. The teacher took the test, graded it quickly, and handed it back to me with an A on top. I left the room excitedly dancing. Dave, Luke, and James were waiting for me in the hallway. “Well?” Dave asked. I showed him my A, and they burst into cheers. James came in for a celebratory kiss, and I felt Dave and Luke put their hands on my back. “Wait,” I said, but before I could extricate myself, they all said, “Big Guy” at the same time. My knees buckled the pleasure was so intense. I saw silver fireworks dance before my eyes, and my swelling body loosened James’s grip on me. They all had to back up a few steps to make room for my expanding girth. My pecs bloomed firmly forward; my arms lifted further from my sides. My shoulders were so wide I couldn’t see where they ended in my peripheral vision. As far as I could see, my shoulders went on forever, and then my arms stuck out past that. My shirt, the loosest shirt I’d ever owned, now fit perfectly. Maybe just a little tight at the shoulders and chest. Even kneeling, my legs pressed more firmly together and my ass jutted outwards. The color of my tights began to lighten as my legs stretched them further. I heaved with muscle. “What the hell, guys?” I asked, getting back up on my feet. “Did you forget?” “Forget what?” Luke asked. “That’s a yes,” I groaned, and my chest quaked mightily. “The day we first discovered this, all the way back in September, when you and Dave were getting me ready for the senior showcase, and you Big Guy’d me both at once, I put on fifteen pounds, not ten.” “I vaguely recall that,” Dave said. Luke cursed under his breath. “So how much did you just put on?” “If the pattern holds?” I did some quick mental math, already primed to think mathematically. “25. I am now 325 pounds.” “You carry it well,” Dave said. “Couldn’t you have waited until after I finished all four of my finals?” “No, we couldn’t. Not even a little,” Dave admitted. After a pause, he added, “Why would we?” “My muscles get in the way of delicate work, like doing a chemistry experiment or taking a test.” My voice grew rough in mock-anger. “You know, things I might have wanted to do today unencumbered.” I spoke plainly now; I was more vexed than angry. “I still have three finals to take.” “I thought this was the plan,” Dave said. “To motivate you. What isn’t motivating about ten extra pounds? You’re welcome, by the way.” I flexed my arm, and my cannonball was practically exploding. “It’s not just going to get in the way. I’m one sexy motherfucker. All this meat is going to distract me.” James rubbed me up and down, feeling the severe and impossible taper from my lats down to my waist. “You deserve the reward. And you’ll do fine on the other finals. We studied. You’re fine.” I saw a ghostly reflection of myself in a window; even standing over 100 yards away, I was too wide for my reflection to fit. “I’m definitely fine,” I said. “That’s my Chrissy!” Dave said, slapping me on the back.
  8. Chapter 66 Friday was a virtual repeat of Thursday, monumental orgasm and all. By the time Saturday morning came around, I actually felt mastery of the material. I was so sure of it that I had Dave run out for an early morning shopping trip. He came back with an incredibly stretchy pair of workout tights and a t-shirt made for a man even bigger than me so I had room to grow. It was a chilly December morning, but I decided not to wear a jacket so I wouldn’t outgrow it. “We woke up confident, didn’t we?” Dave asked as the four of us walked to the cart. “That confident,” I said, admiring my new outfit. It was nice to be wearing something oversized for the first time in months. “He’s got this cold and is going to grow and grow and grow,” James cheered. “Considering how much you dragged your feet, and kicked and screamed, I’m surprised you agreed to James’s plan,” Luke chimed in. “I was the biggest guy at a bodybuilding show,” I reminded him. “I left huge five stations ago. I can’t go back to normal now, even if I wanted to. There’s a freedom in that.” “Amen,” Dave said. “Besides, James likes me big,” I added, idly flexing my pecs while stretching my arms. James feigned a swoon. “That’s what I like to see,” Luke said. When we got to the cart, Dave stayed in line to get our food, and the rest of went to the picnic bench. I went to sit down first, but my weight almost flipped the whole table over. I jumped up and backed away quickly. Undaunted, James and Luke sat down. Then I got on. I could hear the wood complaining under my mass. “After today, I don’t think you can sit at this table anymore,” Luke commented. “We’ll just find a new place to sit while having breakfast,” I retorted. “Perhaps something made of concrete or reinforced steel.” Then, it hit James. His body tensed, and he said, “This is our last breakfast as a group.” “You’re right,” I said. “Dave leaves tomorrow. This is it. This is the last day we’re a foursome.” Luke shook his head. “We still have tomorrow morning. And, no matter how famous you and Dave get, we won’t lose touch.” “I see someone else is a lot more confident too,” I said to Luke. “Did you and Dave work something out?” Luke nodded. “He’s getting an apartment big enough for both of us. We’re going to call every Wednesday night and Sunday morning. We’re going to text constantly. Lydia suggested a wedding date that’s unlikely to interfere with his TV schedule, and it turned out to be the day after graduation. We got my parents’ blessing over the phone, and his mother actually approves of me. She said I’m a good match for him. I’m moving to LA the minute after the wedding.” “Are you going to visit each other over the breaks?” James asked. “Dave wanted to, but I decided against it.” “You decided against it? This is an entirely new song,” I remarked “I also voted against Skype,” Luke’s voice grew conspiratorial. “For you see, I have a plan. My soccer career has ended, and I only need three piece-of-cake classes to get my degree. That means a lot of free time. So, I hired Charles.” James was in disbelief. “You hired Kitty Cat?” “Yep. Charles gave me a ridiculously reduced rate because of all the press you gave him, and he’s going to be my unquestioned lord and master until I graduate.” “Why would you do that to yourself?” James asked. “In just under a month, Charles got you to put on 18 pounds,” Luke said. “Imagine what he can do for me in five.” Luke flexed his arms. “I am going to be so fucking huge for my wedding. I may never catch up to Chris, but I’m gunning for you, James.” “Bring it on,” James said playfully. “I’m sure Dave supports this idea,” I added. Luke dropped his pose and leaned in to whisper. “Dave doesn’t know, and you’re not telling him.” It suddenly all made sense. “That’s why no visits and no Skype.” “I want his eyes to fall out of his head when he sees me in May.” Luke saw that Dave was coming back to the table, so he put his fingers to his lips and made hushing noises. When Dave sat down at the table, he immediately noticed we’d fallen silent. “Tell me the secret, or I keep all the food for myself.” James spoke up before I could think of a lie. “Luke told us what he’s buying you for a wedding present. We won’t spoil the surprise.” “Oh,” Dave said, a little sheepishly. “That’s a horse of a different color,” he added as he handed out the breakfasts. After my first spoonful of oatmeal, I felt my mind begin to focus. “Let’s run down the itinerary one more time,” I said. “I want to be prepared.” Luke quickly swallowed a mouthful of orange juice and said, “Calculus, Biochem, break for lunch. Chem, then seminar. You should be done by 4 PM.” “At the very least, in plenty of time for our goodbye dinner tonight,” Dave said.
  9. Chapter 65 We devised a plan that crammed in as much studying as I could stomach into those two days. Luke helped me with biochem, Dave with chem, and James with seminar. I was on my own for calculus, but none of us were worried about that final. I’d go from one to the other to the other, never spending more than thirty minutes on any one subject. When they weren’t cramming with me, the guys would leave the room so I’d have one-on-one time with my study partner. But I didn’t want to be cooped up in my room all weekend, so we made sure to work in physical activity. Dave held my feet for sit ups while he tested me, no small feat since my massive package kept trying to force my legs apart. Luke and I went jogging while he quizzed me, but only after he forced me into a pair of too-tight tights so my bulge wouldn’t jostle distractingly. James and I pumped weights in the athletic center while he grilled me, both of us impressed how that 10 extra pounds of beef had upped my personal bests. We also made sure to schedule in some sanity breaks. No studying at all during meals. A half hour in the morning for mindless video games. A half hour in the afternoon for sunbathing. A half hour in the evening for fucking. That Thursday night, Dave and Luke gave us the room, and James practically tore off my shirt and shoved me to the bed. “Someone’s feeling frisky,” I said. He unzipped his pants and pulled out his over nine inches. “I’ve been looking forward to this all day.” He sat on my abs to position himself. “It’s like sitting on cobblestones,” he remarked. I could feel his weight pressing down on me, but it was pleasant. My pecs blocked most of my lower body from my sight, so with James on my torso, I could finally process in a visceral way just how far in my abs went—or just how far out my pecs jutted. From my perspective, the bottom of James’s pecs lined up with the crest of my pecs. Beholding my own massive majesty was starting to get me hard, but the main event was just getting started. James moved into a kneeling position, applied a large dollop of lube all over his cock, then raised his eyebrows, asking for the go-ahead. When I nodded, with very little ceremony, he crammed his cock in between my pecs. The sensation was so unlike when I pec-fucked myself. I could feel James’s hot, hard flesh between my pecs, the wet slipperiness of it, but little friction. So, I flexed my pecs hard and trapped his cock. James quivered in anticipation and excitement. He fought to pull his cock back or push it further forward, but I had him trapped. “You’ve proven your point,” James said. “May I please fuck you now?” “So gentlemanly,” I said, and relaxed my pecs. Even unflexed, James could barely force his cock through the hard mountains of my nigh-impenetrable pec shelf. After a handful of false-starts, he ended up pouring half a bottle of lube on his cock and my chest before he could get a consistent back and forth. But once he got into a rhythm, he began bucking like a bronco. The look of unbridled pleasure on James’s face, the bouncing of his hairy pecs, the flexing of his abs and biceps—it was a beautiful view. My own 18 inches rose behind him, gently poking him in the back on his downstroke. “You are so fucking huge,” James said. He pressed his hands into my unyielding pec meat, not even making a dent. “I feel like I’m fucking a superhero. Your pecs are unreal.” “And they’re only going to get bigger,” I said, egging him on. His rhythm picked up, and I could actually feel his cockhead expand between my pecs and as his speed intensified. I began bouncing my pecs one by one. From the smile on his face, I could tell he was close and appreciated my contributions. I began bouncing them both together. James threw his head back and let out a long string of guttural Ms. His cock splashed cum on the bottom of my chin, and it pooled in the hollows created by my massive neck and traps. After his orgasm, he bent down kissed me, and said, “Now it’s time to get you off.” This was our first time tackling this giant cock together. James couldn’t get around the circumference with both hands, but he could get most of it, so there was hope. James stood on the bed to try to take it up his ass, spreading his hole larger than nature intended, but my cock was too thick for him to even get the tip in. It would require a few more weeks of homework before we could try that again. Then he tried to open his mouth to fit the tip in, but barring some sort of jaw-altering surgery, that option was out of the question permanently. Suddenly, James was inspired. He sat on my abs, facing away from me. He wrapped his arms around my cock and began caressing it up and own, rubbing his hairy torso all over my shaft. He flexed his abs up and down, stretching and contracting his torso to create friction, and I felt a pleasant tingling all down my shaft. He then began gently, tenderly, delicately kissing the heat of my engorged cock, being most careful around the puffy ridge. He’d been careful to keep his beard away from my cock, fearing it was too sensitive. But he slipped, and his beard scratched along the sensitive surface. Murmuring, I twitched and rocked in pleasant electricity. “You like that, do you?” he said, and began kissing more passionately, interspersing licks and kisses with strokes of his beard, never letting up the stimulation of my shaft. He was worshipping every inch of my mammoth cock, and I loved the attention. I was getting closer and closer to orgasm, my massive balls drawing in closer to my body. “I realized something,” James said in between licks and kisses. I was past the point where I could engage in conversation. “I realized just how massive your cock is.” My moans intensified and went down an octave. “Your boyfriend is hung.” Lick. “Your boyfriend has nine inches.” Stroke. “A huge cock by any standard.” Kiss. “Big and thick.” Stroke. “Enough to make a porn star proud,” James kissed and licked and flexed and stroked, then continued, “And you’re twice as big as him.” With that, I came. And came. And came. I released more jizz than I knew could fit in a human body, and then I came one last volley. James turned around, his face a huge smile, cum dripping from his nose, lips, and beard. “I could get used to this.” His beauty radiated through his gorgeous smile. “You lie back and get some sleep. I’ll clean up.” The orgasm was so intense, I practically passed out.
  10. Chapter 64 I woke up the next morning, and the previous day felt like a dream. Once my eyes focused in the light, though, I saw Dave asleep on the floor in an unnatural position. His legs were crossed, and he was face down over his knee, slumped to the side next to our phones. He was twitching and murmuring in his sleep. It had all been real. Afraid to wake Dave, I woke Luke, who was on top of his covers in his bed wearing only boxer shorts. His tattoo peeked from above the waistband. “Did you know your Dave was asleep on the floor?” Luke stretched and answered me through a yawn. “Good. That means he finally got some sleep. I couldn’t tear him away from the phones last night.” Luke sat up and looked around. “Where’s James?” I looked in my bed; James was gone. My heart stopped. I tried to play it off coolly, but I’m sure Luke could hear the panic in my voice. “I guess he went to sleep in his own bed. I turned in before everyone else last night.” “No, he was here when I went to bed.” As soon as Luke said that, the door opened and James came in with a tray of four coffees and a large paper bag of breakfast. “Oh good, you two are up.” I practically charged into James. He had just enough time to lift the coffee over his head so it didn’t spill. “Good morning to you too.” I let go of James and took a step back. “I thought you’d left.” “Things look much less dire after sleeping last night. On top of that, before I went to sleep, I gave Dave a chore that I think will allow me to cope with your meteoric success. It was Dad’s idea.” Still holding the paper bag, James gestured to Dave. “I don’t care which of you does it, but I am not waking Dave.” “I’ll do it,” Luke said, slipping out of bed. He bent down and kissed Dave on the cheek. “Hey, babe. It’s morning.” A few more kisses, and Dave stirred to life, grunting. Luke turned to James. “Coffee?” James handed him the cup, and he held it in front of Dave. “Good morning,” Dave said, disoriented and groggy. He sat up and grabbed the coffee. “Why am I on the floor?” He reached to his lower back and rubbed it while he took a deep drink of coffee. “You must have passed out while looking through all the messages,” Luke said. “Messages?” Dave squinted. He wasn’t fully Dave yet. “Messages!” he repeated. His eyes shot wide, and in an instant, he was fully alert. “Chrissy, I got you hooked up. I got you a business manager and an accountant to take care of all your finances. Believe it or not, you’ve already made a boatload of money. For the show biz side of things, I got you a manager, a social media manager, a PR guy, and an assistant. I programmed all of their info into your phone and labeled them by what job they do for you.” I joined Dave on the floor. “Thanks, but I want to…” “Protect James,” Dave interrupted. “He told me last night. I got him his own PR guy who will handle the more pernicious side of social media for him and allow James to have as much control as possible over his online presence.” “That’s wonderful!” I was genuinely happy. “But I still need to…” “Finish your finals,” Dave interrupted. “I know. I told them that your education was your number one priority. So, your team won’t start the full-court press until January at the earliest.” “But I have a…” I started. “Whole semester left,” Dave interrupted. “I looked into that last night too, Chrissy. You’re either a liar or an over-achiever. You only need two more courses to graduate, and they can both be done online.” “But I…” “I know how much that diploma matters to you. I 100% guarantee you, you will get it one way or another. Your PR guy actually loved this news. He wants to pitch you as wholesome.” “Wholesome? Me?” “I know, right? Wholesome gay muscle freak with monster cock. Odd pitch. But, he’s the best in the biz, so I trust him.” “This all assumes I’m going into showbiz.” Dave groaned. “If you need to keep telling yourself that lie. At the very least, you’ll need the team for a few weeks or months to de-escalate your presence. Celebrities can’t be Greta Garbo anymore.” “What about…” James started. “They know you’re off the table,” Dave answered. “I made sure, especially, the social media manager knew that. No public appearances or mentions of you without your say-so.” I turned to look up at James. “Are you sure you’re okay with this? Last night...” I trailed off. “Last night was everything all at once. I know we still have a lot of details to work out, but the broad strokes feel manageable.” “Everyone’s going to be on me all the time,” I reminded him. “You forget,” James said, “I like it when people want you. It makes me feel special. I just have to learn to protect myself, and that’s something we can figure out together as we move forward.” “Okay,” I said. We sealed the agreement with a kiss. Dave stood up and stretched. “Well? What are we waiting for? Chrissy has finals to pass!” “Why such a whirlwind?” I asked. “It’s the 13th. I’m leaving for LA on Sunday. I want to be as helpful as I can before I go.” “Three days?” I said, startled. “You want me to get through four finals in three days when I haven’t even begun studying for one?” Luke jumped in. “While Dave was handling the showbiz stuff, I talked to your professors. I scheduled all your finals for Saturday. They’ll even grade them right then and there for you. I tried to make it Sunday, but they refused to come to campus on Sunday.” “So, I’m marathoning four finals the day after tomorrow?” “Yes,” Luke said. “But no sweat. You’ve kept up with your work all semester. Somehow. And no one’s saying you need straight As or anything. You just need to do good enough. And I know you. You’ll do good enough even if you don’t study.” “Good enough isn’t good enough,” I said. “I’m with Chrissy,” Dave said. “If he has to be wholesome, the higher the GPA, the better.” Dave turned to look at me. “What’s your current GPA?” “4.0,” I said honestly. “Seriously?” Luke asked. “Yes,” I affirmed. “I was salutatorian of our graduating class, Luke!” “Yeah, I remember you telling me that. But I still don’t know what that word means.” “It means I chose the right chemistry partner,” Dave said. “So, I see why this is important to you.” I collapsed onto my bed, and the springs groaned. “This is just a matter of motivation,” James said. “You’re smart enough, you’ve gone over the material, you just need a little extra push to get through it.” “Motivation sounds like your department,” Dave said to James. “Sex is highly motivating,” Dave suggested. James ignored Dave. “What grade do you need on each final to get an A in the class? C? B?” I thought about it. “In my calc class, I just need to take the damn thing. I’d need a negative score to get a final grade of B in that class. In biochem and chem, I probably only need a C. But for seminar, I need to get a B. A strong B. An A to be safe.” “Okay,” James said. “So, for every C on a final, five pounds. For every B, ten pounds. For every A, fifteen.” My cock stirred. “Oh, you clever little fox,” Dave said. “That’s brilliant. What made you think of it?” James looked at Dave. “My first year of high school, my grades took a hit because of all the bullying. To get me interested in school again, my dads gave me money for good grades on my report card. They basically bribed me into caring about school again.” “Did it work?” Luke asked. “It worked so well that they only did it freshman year.” “What do you say, Chrissy?” Dave asked. “Think of it, Chris,” James said. “If you ace all your finals, that’s 60 pounds.” “It’s not a Spanish strip club and a face tattoo,” I said. “Is that a yes?” Dave asked. “It’s a yes,” I answered. My cock, still only half-hard, strained my pants. “I’m going to need new clothes.” “That reminds me,” Dave said. “One of the numbers I programmed into your phone is the designer you talked up during your press junket. He promised you another closetful of clothes for all the publicity, and if you play your cards right, this might be an in-perpetuity sort of arrangement.” “Okay,” I said, getting up. “I’m in.” I turned to Dave, adding, “You’re not worried the showbiz team you cooked up will drop me if I hulk out?” “The guy they want to work with because he’s freakishly muscular got more freakishly muscular. Perish the thought,” Dave said. “You’re not worried about anyone noticing you gaining sixty points in a weekend?” Luke asked. “What, am I going to become more famous?”
  11. Chapter 63 “What is it, buddy?” Luke said, pulling out his phone. I had dozens of calls, hundreds of messages… I couldn’t process the information. Dave looked at Luke’s phone, then pulled out his own. “Yes!” he exclaimed. “Why so excited?” James asked, taking his phone out. “My phone crashed,” Dave said. “Why is that exciting?” James said, scrolling through his screens. “I’m in charge of Chrissy’s social media. I had so many notifications that my phone just shut down.” I went to open my inbox, and my phone went black. “Mine just crashed too,” I said. “This is amazing!” Dave was as excited as he’d been after opening night of his play. We went back to the car—it was an even tighter squeeze now that I was weighed down with six meals’ worth of food—and drove back to campus. We figured we’d have an easier time making sense of this in the dorm room on our laptops. Dave was so excited that he was speeding like a maniac. On the drive there, Luke and James, who both still had working phones, began finding any information they could. “There are already nineteen tumblr sites dedicated solely to Chris,” James said. After a moment, he added, “Twenty.” “The video of you dancing onstage went viral on youtube and facebook,” Luke added. “Why are you on Soundcloud?” James remarked, completely flummoxed. “I don’t know. I’ve never recorded a song.” “You have two songs trending on Soundcloud,” James insisted, showing me his screen. It hit me. Rocky and La Mancha. “Who posted those?” Dave raised his hand. “I got bored during the interviews.” “Two hands on the wheel,” I insisted. “You’re on Spotify too,” Luke added. “And that podcast you and I did is trending on three or four sites,” James added. “I just did a basic Google search, and, buddy, these results are fucking weird.” “What do you mean?” I asked Luke. “Well, there’s all these rumors about you. You’re apparently taking over for Mark Ruffalo as the Hulk. So You Think You Can Dance? has implied you’re on the next season. You’re also supposedly being recruited for the Olympic weightlifting team. They go on and on.” Dave braked suddenly. We were back at campus. We got back to the dorm room right quick. Running up the steps, I was momentarily distracted by the giant weight of my bulge ricocheting up and down as I ran, but soon enough we were up to the fourth floor. I was the last into the room and banged into the doorframe. I’d been in such a rush, I almost wedged myself in. I rolled my eyes, sighed, powered my way back out, twisted, and went back into the room. Dave was sitting on the floor next to an outlet, desperately trying to revive his phone. James was on my bed, impatiently powering up his laptop. Luke was at his desk, his laptop already on. “You’re a bona fide celebrity,” Dave said. He quivered with excitement. “But how did this happen?” I asked. “It was just a local bodybuilding show. There were no national stations there. No one follows bodybuilding this ravenously. And it was,” I did some quick counting, “only six hours ago.” “It’s the internet age,” Luke offered as a cold comfort. I was in shock. “I still don’t understand. How did this happen?” I went over to my computer chair and threw myself in it heavily. It collapsed under my weight. “Still don’t understand?” Luke asked. James had grown quiet. “You okay, James?” I asked. His face was strained. He looked like he was trying to hold back a scream. “People offered a lot of money for photos of me.” Dave put his phone down and stared James dead in the eye. “I swear, I never posted anything of you. I swear it. I took photos and videos, yes, but I never posted any of them. And I never will.” “Doesn’t matter. Spenser—one of the people who used to terrorize me in high school—heard the podcast, recognized Chris and me from the story, and spilled all about us online. They know my name. There are pictures of me, videos. It’s all out there. It’s only a matter of time before they find my phone number and email address too.” “I’m so sorry, James,” Dave said. James could barely disguise his rage. “Half the people posting about me want photos of Chris and me kissing because they want to see the hot muscle studs together. Some even ask if there are sex tapes. That’s bad enough, but I could learn to live with that sort of attention. Maybe. It’s the other half.” James took in a long breath to prevent himself from losing his cool. “Fuck these guys. The other half are saying hateful things about me. Hateful. It’s like high school all over again. I can’t even read them out loud. I can’t. It’s just... hateful.” His voice had a rough, growling quality to it. I’d never seen James this close to blowing his stack. I got up off the ground and went over to James. I sat down—carefully—on the bed and stroked his back. “Please. Stop reading those comments.” He clicked off the screen. “Yes. Right. Sound advice.” His words were so clipped I could tell he was still fighting back his wrath. Dave’s phone finally woke back up. “Thank God,” he said and began trying to sort his way through the notifications. As Luke and Dave waded through the chaos, James’s phone rang. “It’s Uncle Henry,” he said. “I’m gonna take this in the hallway.” “Good idea,” I said and kissed his forehead. “Give them my love.” James left the room, but I could hear him in the hallway. His voice kept rising up almost to a shout then falling near absolutely quiet. I followed him into the hall to make sure he was okay. “James?” I said. He wasn’t talking on the phone anymore. “I hung up on Uncle Henry,” James said, showing me the phone like it was a smoking gun. “I hung up on Uncle Henry. I never hang up on my dads. But he kept saying how it’ll all blow over and how I have to get a thicker skin. He didn’t get it. So, I hung up on him.” James looked so hurt. I held James close to me and felt him shake. “I’m sorry I did this to you.” James pulled back. “You didn’t do anything. You were gracious and kind and respectful. I blame a lot of people, but not you. I don’t blame you at all, Chris. Please know that.” “I do, even if you don’t.” James and I stood there for a few moments in silence. Then, he looked me in the eyes and asked, “Is this our life now? Is this our forever? People I’ve never met saying the most vile things I’ve ever read because I dared to fall in love with you before you got famous?” “So, I drop the famous.” “What?” “I don’t care about all of this. Honestly, who cares about all of this?” “Dave.” “Dave cares more about his own fame than mine. James, seriously. If this is too much for you, it all goes away. I choose you. I’ll always choose you.” “You can’t un-famous yourself.” “Oh no? You forget, I can blow up so huge that no one will mistake me for that puny little Chris who did that rinky-dink bodybuilding show. I’ll change my hair, and get some tattoos, maybe a face tattoo, and I’ll make a career as a stripper in some small Spanish-speaking town out West where no one will ever think to look for us, and it’ll be just you and just me again.” The absurdity of it all made James smile. It was a small smile, but it was a smile. “Thanks for that.” “Hey, no sweat. So, what do you say? Do I need to learn Spanish?” James held up his phone. “I’m gonna call Uncle Henry back. I’ll get back to you about moving out West.” I nodded and left James in the hallway. When I went back into the room, I found Luke sitting on his bed staring at Dave. Dave, in a pile of electronics on the floor, was manically darting between two screens. When he saw me, he shouted. “Chrissy! Great. Is James feeling better?” “Getting there.” “Good.” He waited as long as he possibly could, then asked, “You want an update?” I sighed and shrugged. “Sure.” Dave practically slavered. “Your Instagram account has gained over 200,000 followers in the last six hours, and the number keeps climbing. There are dozens of job offers here, all legitimate, all begging to pay. And I’ve gotten at least 15 different offers from professional managers, scouts, and agents. If today’s proven anything, it’s that you need more than me as a manager. You probably need a whole team.” I couldn’t process everything that was happening. I felt terrible about what I had done to James. “I just want to go to bed, wake up early tomorrow, and go back to my normal life.” “Fat chance of that,” Luke said. “There’s no putting this genie back in the bottle.” James came back into the room, looking more like himself. I started to ask him how he was, but he interrupted me. “We’ll finish that conversation later. My dads are proud of you,” he said. He then handed me his phone. “Call your parents. If they don’t already know, warn them. If they do already know, they’re probably trying to get through to your phone.” He pointed to my phone, which lay lifeless on my desk. “That’s right!” Dave said, and he raced over to grab my phone, hoping to reawaken it as well. I took James’s phone and called my parents. They were well aware of the media storm. Mom only had one question for me, “You’re not letting this get in the way of your finals, are you?” “Thank you, Mom.” I said. “I needed that.”
  12. Chapter 62 “Tedious” and “boring” were not the correct words. “Asinine” and “repetitive” were. The first eleven interviews blurred into one homogenous lump. Every interviewer asked practically all the same questions. It’s like there was a foreordained script. How long have I been bodybuilding? What are my stats? Who’s my trainer? Without fail, they all commented on how I was having trouble sitting comfortably in their flimsy folding chairs. Without fail, I cracked the same joke about how I lift metal, not the other way around. Without fail, every interviewer remarked at how witty and well-spoken I was as if they expected me to be a braindead meat-monkey. From there, the questions evolved into my routine. How long had I rehearsed? Who was my dance coach? No one believed me that I’d mastered the routine in three weeks and that parts of it were improvised. From there, the questions turned to the safety pins. What exactly happened during the wardrobe malfunction? Why did I dare come back onstage? At least this gave me several opportunities to name-drop the designers and apologize to them for wearing something other than what they designed for me. I made it clear that if they had made the poser for me, it would have held. I would emphasize this point by flexing one muscle or another to stress test the clothes. Because of the extra mass, my bulk would threaten the clothing, but it always held. The first eleven interviews were also physically uncomfortable. I was afraid of putting my full weight on the chairs; I didn’t want to break them. I couldn’t cross my legs: my absurdly large package rendered that impossible. And so many people kept touching me and feeling me up without my permission. The only redeeming quality of the first eleven interviews was that the last question of each interview was different. Most made reference to one of my social media posts and asked me about the events surrounding the post. I would sigh and explain that my manager had put up all of these posts, so unless it was something memorable like the infamous soccer tweet, their guess was as good as mine. One of the interviewers asked if the Rocky Horror viral video was my actual voice. This was interview ten, so I was a little stir-crazy by then. Rather than answer, I rose to my feet and sang “The Impossible Dream” from Man of La Mancha. I don’t know why I picked that song—maybe I was punch drunk—but after I finished, the interviewer believed it was my voice in the Rocky video. On my way to the final interview, my parents showed up. I told them I wasn’t finished, and Mom said, “Don’t worry, the reservation will keep.” “You might as well watch the last one,” I said, and they followed me to the room. The twelfth interview was with this petite woman who had hair that belonged in an ‘80s music video. She was wearing a flattering suit and tie and had set up at a table with four sturdy, wooden chairs. Her phone was on the table as a recorder between us. She introduced herself as Dinah Talmadge and shook my hand. I expected this interview to be exactly the same, just with a comfortable chair, but it started out entirely differently. “What do you have to say to the gay and queer kids listening to this interview?” she asked. Slightly taken aback, I was momentarily at a loss for words. Then, it came to me. “Love exists. Don’t let anything get in your way of finding it.” Dinah nodded, and before she could ask her next question, I interjected with, “I’m actually surprised you’re asking about this.” “Why?” “None of the other interviews I did today even asked about me being gay.” “But you came out in what has traditionally been a straight-exclusive sport.” “It’s not that big a deal. I’m not the first gay bodybuilder.” “No, but you came out at your first show in front of a roaring crowd without a hint of fear or shame in your voice.” “I guess I did do that, yes.” “And none of the other interviewers asked about that?” “Not one.” “Even with your parents here?” “Nope.” “Would your parents like to join the interview? I’d love to get their take on having you as a son.” Mom shook her head no, but Dad came over to the table. “I don’t want to take my son’s time, but I want to say to any of queer kids listening to this that they can dream big. My son sure did.” “Thanks,” Dinah said, and Dad retreated back to watch the rest of the interview. “So, they’re supportive parents?” “Incredibly. My mother’s a pediatrician, so I expected her to have a fit when I started weightlifting. I was more scared to tell her that I was a bodybuilder than that I was gay.” “Really?” “Well, I exaggerate, but when I came out, it was a non-issue.” “Excellent,” Dinah said. “You mentioned onstage that your boyfriend doesn’t like being the center of attention. Was that code for him being in the closet?” I looked behind my shoulder at James. He nodded at me, giving me permission to talk about him. “Is that him?” Dinah asked. “Yes, but…” I started, but Dinah cut me off. “Would you mind joining the interview?” she asked James deferentially. “It’s audio only, if that makes a difference.” James tentatively sat down at the table next to me. “Thank you for joining us,” she said. “Are you out of the closet? If you’re not, I’ll be happy to use a pseudonym or alter your voice in post.” “No, I’m out. My name is James.” “James, lovely to meet you.” “James has been out at school since freshman year, but he just came out to his fathers back in October.” “Fathers?” Dinah asked. So, we began telling our love story—a slightly altered, PG version. How we met, how James pined for me for three years but I was oblivious, how he asked me out once I got into weightlifting, how I met his parents, how he’d met mine earlier that very day. “We’re almost out of time,” Dinah said. “Is there anything else you’d like to tell our listeners?” Neither of us had anything, so James just said, “Thanks for listening.” Dinah turned off the recorder on her phone and stood up. “Thanks for that, you guys. This was powerful.” “We were just talking. It wasn’t a big deal,” I said. “And that’s what made it powerful,” she replied as she shook my hand. With that, she left us there. “That wasn’t boring at all,” Mom said. “You weren’t here for the first eleven.” As soon as I finished talking, my stomach growled so loudly that it scared me a little. “Who’s hungry?” Dad asked. Thankfully, the restaurant was only a short drive away. Squeezing myself back into a car when all I wanted to do was eat the world prolonged my torture. I was immediately thankful to have the seatbelt extender—I would not have buckled otherwise. Even the lap belt had trouble rising over the mountainous mound of my bulging package. The restaurant was fancier than I expected. “Do I need a tie?” I asked. Dave popped open his glove compartment and pulled out four ties. “They’ll let you loosen it or even take it off at the table, but wear it through the front door,” he said as he tossed a black tie at me. I wrapped the tie around my neck, but between the thickness of my neck and my protruding pecs, it looked like I was wearing a child’s tie, especially because my collar and top button were still undone. The restaurant was so crowded that I didn’t believe there would be room for us, but when the maître d’ saw us, he smiled, bowed, and gestured we follow him. “Soccer Tweet Family, party of six.” “You’ve got to be joking,” I said. “You’d be surprised the wheels that name greases,” Dad said. When we got to the table, there was a plate stacked high with French fries in front of one of the seats. “I know which seat is mine,” I said as I whipped off the tie and sat down. Everyone else picked their seats, as I began to dig in. When the waiter came to take our orders, I hadn’t even looked at the menu, but I’d demolished the plate of food in front of me. I turned to James. “Order for me. You know what I like.” “I’m surprised you still have room after all that,” Mom said. “With the amount Charles had me eating, I could eat ten of those before I got full,” I said. The dinner was pleasant. Mom had everyone turn off their phones while we ate so we could talk and get to know each other. There were a few tense moments when Mom asked how I afforded everything, but her fears were quickly allayed when Dave explained, with very few fibs, how everything was paid for. I, meanwhile, was in heaven. It was such a relief to eat without caring what it was I was eating. I didn’t realize how much I’d missed butter. I’d really missed butter. It was a liberation that I used to take for granted. I even ordered dessert. “Where do you put it all?” Dad asked as he watched James and me eat. I stood up and showed him my rounded belly. “This will slowly deflate over the course of the night. By bedtime, it’ll be gone.” “Is that what the Big Guy in-joke is all about?” Mom asked. I sat down and fell silent. How could I explain Dave’s hashtag? I didn’t want to lie to her, but I had no way of telling her the truth. “Actually, Angie,” James said. “The Big Guy hashtag is a rather crude joke.” Mom nodded knowingly. James had answered the question without lying. Dinner lasted hours. Actually, honestly, I had such a good time that I don’t know how much time had passed. Soon, though, I could tell my parents were flagging, so I told them it was okay if they needed to head out. After Dave paid the bill, my parents left to return to their hotel. They gave me a big hug, congratulated me on a good show, and left. The rest of us lingered over our drinks for a while longer. When we went outside, it was dark, but it got dark early in December, so I pulled out my phone to check the time. “Everyone needs to turn on their phones,” I said. “Right now.”
  13. Chapter 61 I was surprised at how clean the dressing room was when I got back. There was no new chair—that was simply gone—but the lake of cum James and I had left had been completely cleaned up, and the hole in the wall had been temporarily sealed with masking tape. The room even smelled nice—vaguely like lilacs. For a few minutes, I was worried that I’d forced some anonymous janitor to do my dirty work, but then I saw the clothes hanging on the coatrack: a light purple button-down, white dress pants, black leather belt. That wasn’t the outfit Dave picked out for me earlier; it was James’s favorite outfit for me. James must have stayed behind, done all of this, then swapped my clothes. James had even written the names of the designers on an index card and pinned it to the wrist so I wouldn’t forget them. I got into my clothes, but it was a struggle. My shoulders and chest were just a little too wide for the button-down, so I had to leave the collar and the top button undone. My crotch was overpacked, and my ass and thighs were jammed in, but the designer had been clever enough to work in some stretchable fabric, so I could sit down and bend over without destroying my pants. In fact, I look gloriously bound by the fabric, but I was going to feel confined. I had just gotten dressed when my dressing room door flew open. Dave, Luke, my parents, and James stampeded in, slamming the door behind them. “You were awesome, buddy!” Luke said, fake-punching me on the shoulder. He knew that if he real-punched me now, he’d really hurt himself. “Those aren’t the clothes I picked out for you,” were the first words out of Dave’s mouth. Then he cocked his head to the side, smiled, and said, “James picked these out. Very well. I approve.” He was still staring at my thighs and bulge. Luke cleared his throat to draw Dave out of his clothing-induced reverie. “Yes. Right.” He looked up at my eyes. “Thank you for the name drop,” he added, “but it would’ve been better if you’d mentioned the Instagram and Twitter handle.” “I don’t know my Instagram handle. You never told it to me.” “True,” Dave said, nodding. My parents worked their way to the front of the small crowd. Mom held her fists near her heart in restrained excitement. “That was majestic, darling. I did not know bodybuilding could be so balletic.” Once he was close enough, Dad threw his arm as far around my shoulders as he could. “Angie, take a picture of me with our boy. I want to commemorate this.” Mom pulled out her phone, but Dave stepped in, waving his own phone. “Allow me, Angela,” he said. Dave tilted the mirror so the light would hit us better, and then he had Dad stand even closer to me. “Put your arm around his waist so we can see it on the other side,” he added. “It’ll show how small his waist is and make the rest of him look bigger in the photo.” Dad obliged with a huge, dopey grin pasted to his face. Dave snapped the photo, typed something quickly into the phone, and clicked. My parents’ phones dinged. “You posted that to Instagram, didn’t you?” I asked. Dave smiled. “Backstage with @SoccerTweetDad, #ProudPapa, #BigGuy.” “You hashtagged it Big Guy?” “That’s on all your photos,” Mom said. “I assumed it was some kind of inside joke.” “You don’t know the half of it,” Dave said under his breath. “But @SoccerTweetDad? Seriously, Dave?” “Matthew picked that. Not me.” “It’s true,” Dad said. “My students think it’s hysterical.” Dave turned to my mother and said, “Would you like a photo, too, Angela?” “Why not?” she said and took Dad’s position. “Too samey-samey,” Dave said. “Let your son pick you up.” “You sure you can hold me?” she asked. I walked over to James and lifted him off the floor with one arm. James blushed ever-so-slightly as his feet dangled an inch of the floor. I looked at my mother with an expression that said, “Are you kidding me?” and put James back down. “Very well,” she said. She jumped up into my arms, and I maneuvered her over until she was sitting in the crook of my left arm. My biceps and pecs bulged around her form, fighting harder for space than they usually had to and wedging her in place. As she sat on my forearm, I held her up effortlessly; I didn’t even need my hand. “Gracious, Chris. One arm.” “Flex with the other one,” Dave ordered, so I did. He took the picture, typed in his phone, and then posted it. A moment later, my parents’ phones dinged again. “What’s this one say?” I asked. “Swept @DrSoccerTweet off her feet, #LookMaNoHands, #BigGuy.” “Dr. Soccer Tweet?” I asked as I put her down. “I wanted to match the rest of the family,” she clarified. “I have a different account for the office.” “It’s exciting to be on your Twitter feed,” Dad said, scrolling through his phone. “Most of these are just you by yourself. I’m honored to guest star.” There were other people in some of my Instagram pictures? The thought iced my veins. “You’ve never taken a picture of James, have you?” I asked Dave. “I’ve never posted a picture of James,” Dave responded. “Good,” I said. I walked back over to James to kiss him, but he demurred. “Your parents,” he said. “Go ahead,” Dad said. “No need to be shy around us.” James gave me a quick peck, stroked my hair, and said, “Baby steps.” “Fair enough,” I said, but I went in for a stealth kiss, and he melted a little. When I stepped back, I suddenly felt a pit in my stomach. Anxiety and performance adrenaline had prevented me from realizing how far off my feeding schedule I was. “Are we free to go?” I asked Dave. “I am starving, and I am officially free from Charles’s control. I want to eat before I pass out.” Dave tossed me a bag of hard-boiled eggs and a protein bar. “Sorry, Chrissy. Not yet. That stunt you pulled out there has made you the belle of the ball. If we tried to leave through the back door, they’d tear us apart. We have to do some interviews just to get out of here alive, so I lined up eight or so.” “Eight or so?” “Fine. Twelve. I thought if I demanded an appearance fee for an interview, no one would want one, but twelve people paid to interview you. All interviews capped at 15 minutes.” “That’s still three hours, assuming they’re all back to back to back,” I added in an irascible tone. “Glad to see the math skills haven’t dulled,” Dave joked. “There’s no way out of them?” “Not a gracious one, no.” I sighed. “Very well. But I’m doing this for the fashion majors who made my clothes. At the end of this, you are buying me fries. I haven’t had French fries in practically three months, and I am having them tonight.” “All of Idaho if you want,” Dave said. “So, Mom and Dad, I’d love to have dinner with you tonight, but I’m apparently booked for at least the next three hours. If you want to stay and watch, that’s cool. But I expect this will be tedious and boring.” Mom looked at her watch and did some quick mental math. “How about we meet you back here in three and a half hours, and the six of us go have dinner somewhere fancy? Our treat?” “As long as…” I started, but Mom interrupted. “I know,” she said. “As long as it’s a fancy place that has French fries. If I could find a vegan barbecue restaurant for your father when we went to Florida, I’m sure I can find a fancy restaurant with French fries. I’ll triple check for you.” “And Dave’s paying,” I added. “We know he’s flush.” “If you insist,” Mom said. Dave glowered, but acquiesced. “Then I’m in if everyone else is,” I said. Everyone nodded, so I kissed Mom and Dad goodbye, wolfed down the food, screwed a smile into my face, and had Dave escort me to the first interview.
  14. Chapter 60 I thought I had been talking to myself, but I looked up to find two stagehands. They blatantly looked down at my cock, aghast and surprised at my nakedness and enormity. The stare had been going on for five full seconds, past the point of politeness. I waved at them sweetly and said, “There wouldn’t be a robe I could borrow to get back to my dressing room, would there?” The simplicity and honesty of the question brought them back to reality, and they exchanged looks with each other, unsure of what to do. They could barely hear each other’s suggestions because the audience was still applauding. I just wanted to get back to my dressing room. The stagehands provided no help until the stage manager, an aspiring bodybuilder in a form-fitting uniform with a headset, came forward with his clipboard. He held it in front of my genitalia, but even an entire clipboard wasn’t quite enough to cover the tip of my cock, which dangled below it. The audience was still applauding. Over the speaker, a voice called me back onstage for an encore. I hadn’t prepared for this. No one had prepared me for this. The stage manager was talking furiously in his headset at a volume just quiet enough that I couldn’t hear him. He looked desperate, and it seemed like the voice on the other side was continuously interrupting him. Suddenly, the stage manager shouted, “Because we’re not licensed for nudity!” But that didn’t end his argument with the person on the other end of the headset. The audience was still applauding, getting even louder, trying to lure me back onstage. This wasn’t going to end until I went back out one way or another. I picked up my poser to survey the damage. As it turned out, only one leg had snapped: the pouch—the most important part—was still intact. I put myself back into the pouch and held the frayed fabric together. “Got a pin or some masking tape?” I asked all three of them. One of the stagehands came running forward with a small handful of safety pins. When I tried to pin the poser back together, the meaty flesh of my thigh kept getting in the way, forcing the fabric back apart. I stabbed myself twice, so the stagehand stepped in to hold the fabric while I tried to pin it. Between his bulk and mine, I couldn’t reach the damn poser anymore, so the stagehand who’d brought the pins came back over to put the pin in. One pin proved insufficient—that thing was going to pop off any moment, so the stagehand added another, and another. It took all three of us and seven safety pins, but I was now decent. Thankfully, under the bright stage lights, the silver of the safety pins and the metallic gold of the posers blended together. The audience was still applauding as I walked back out onstage. I waved to them, and the volume grew more thunderous. The room had actually gone up a few degrees in temperature from the fervor. I approached centerstage and was joined by a presenter holding two microphones. I could see the flotilla of television cameras moving closer to capture the interview. A colony of photographers surrounded them, flashing pictures by the score. The announcer handed me a mike and spoke into the other. The audience quieted. “I don’t think anyone in this room is going to forget that routine anytime soon.” And they were cheering again. “Thank you,” I responded as humbly as I could, trying to get the audience calm again. The photo flashes were constant and erratic, so I focused on the TV cameras. I looked directly into each camera as I spoke, moving gracefully from one to the next. As I spoke, the audience calmed down, and all attention turned to me. It only seemed appropriate to start thanking people, so I thanked Charles and recommended him as a trainer to any serious lifter in the area. I thanked Luke for getting me into weightlifting in the first place. I thanked Dave for being my friend and my manager. I stopped before thanking James. I didn’t know if that would embarrass him too much. To explain the abrupt stop, I looked into the final camera and added, “And my parents for supporting my various pursuits.” “You are a relative unknown to the bodybuilding circuit, so tell us a little about yourself.” I was never a fan of extemporaneous speaking, but I mentioned my school, my major, my course load, my recent performing endeavors, and the soccer team. I clarified, “But the soccer team is a technicality, really.” The announcer stood dumbfounded at my eloquence. The photographers never stopped taking pictures the entire time I spoke. “All I can say is wow. Is there some special lady at home who gets this all to herself, or are you on the market?” the announcer asked. His tone of voice indicated he thought it was an innocent, safe either/or. I had to correct him of that notion. “Neither. My boyfriend is in the audience.” I was nearly blinded as the flashes intensified. I didn’t expect an out gay bodybuilder to be a story, but apparently, to these people, it was. In what was left of my peripheral vision, I could see a spotlight begin to swivel to find James. I looked up at the light technician and pointed, “And if you shine a spotlight on him, he will never forgive me.” The light technician stopped swiveling. “Is your boyfriend a big fella too?” “Yes, he is, and do let’s talk about something else. He doesn’t like being the center of attention.” There was a firmness in my voice that the announcer respected. “Alright, then,” the announcer had a devilish look in his eye. “What took you so long to get back onstage for your encore interview?” “The answer is indelicate.” “Nonsense.” I could immediately tell he didn’t know what the word “indelicate” meant, in part because he kept prying. “What caused the delay?” “You don’t shy away from the tough questions, do you?” I steeled myself and looked the announcer dead in the eyes. I was about to admit this in front of a crowd of strangers, my parents, and television cameras. “My poser was too small for me, and I burst out of it backstage. It took some lateral thinking, two of your stage crew, and a handful of safety pins to get me back into it,” I turned my leg to the side and showed off the safety pins. I held the pose, knowing every photographer and camera operator was going to want a good, close look at it. “So, no more dancing today?” “Not unless you want to turn this into an entirely different show,” I said. The audience laughed. One of the cameramen even laughed. The joke wasn’t even funny. “However, I don’t want to give you nothing, so…” I handed my mike to the announcer, turned my body toward the cameras, and did a double bicep pose. A constellation of photo flashes. The announcer stepped closer to my bicep, and as he passed it, I saw that my bicep was as big as his head. My arms were the size of a grown man’s head. “This is inhuman,” the announcer said, squeezing the muscle. A supernova of flashes. All the attention was getting to my head. Well, my cockhead. If I didn’t end this soon, I was going to burst out of my poser again. So, I relaxed the pose, pointed a microphone at my face, and said, “Thank you, you’ve been a terrific audience. If you’ll excuse me, I’d like to change into something not held together by hope. Good afternoon.” Even though I could hear the announcer, the photographers, and the cameraman all shouting questions at me, I strode offstage and back to my dressing room.
  15. Chapter 59 I slowly made my way to the stage. My body was larger than I was used to it, and the hallways in the backstage area felt impossibly small. I was too wide to comfortably negotiate a hallway. To make matters worse, my poser was ready to burst. I had to walk with an even wider stance than I was used to because my thighs kept getting in the way of my balls, and my balls kept getting in the way of my thighs. The hallway felt too small with just my shoulders, but adding in everything else, I felt like a massive boulder in a small cave. I also felt heavy in a way I never had. The ten pounds of muscle was noticeable, but the weight tugging on my groin was significant and portentous. I had gotten so used to the weight of my cock and balls at their previous monstrous size, so I was surprised by just how damn heavy they felt. Adding two inches in length, the extra girth, and the mass of my enlarged balls… Quick mental math assured me that my entire package was half again as heavy as it had been. That explained it. Gravity was pulling down on that extra weight with a vengeance, my poser threatening to slip down even further. I was suddenly grateful that Charles had come up with three entirely different posing routines. My unquestioned lord and master had left it up to me which one I did today, so I was free to do the easy one and get off the stage as quickly as possible, especially with all this extra cock and ball-meat practically bursting from my poser. When I got backstage, I relaxed a little because there was more space to breathe and expand. While I waited in the wings, I went over the simple routine in my head. Nervous wasn’t the right word; I was anxious to have this whole thing behind me. I peeked through a slit in the curtain to take in the crowd. It was larger than I expected, but there were still some empty seats in the back. The space was so crowded, though, that I couldn’t find James, or my parents, or any familiar face. I was surprised to see so many TV cameras, and mildly relieved that they were all labeled with local TV stations. This was going to be on TV? Great. I had gotten caught up in my own thoughts that I only heard every third word they said over the microphone. Then, before I knew what was happening, someone was pushing me gently into a spotlight. I walked to centerstage and held a neutral pose for the audience to take me in. That alone caused an uproar. Just standing there, breathing, my immensity on full display, was enough for the audience to go mad. James would never forgive me if I just did the basic routine with the audience that raucous, so I decided to go for the intermediate routine. My music started, and I it the first pose: side chest. I flexed my pecs so fiercely that they nearly careened upwards into my chin. They ballooned so fully when I flexed that they pushed my arms further to the side—I almost lost the pose. The audience, somehow, got louder. “Fuck it,” I thought to myself and went into the third routine, the hard one that I’d never fully mastered. I went through the poses, one by one, dancing to transition from one to the next—dances I’d never have been caught dead doing at a party (pop and lock, the robot, every faux-breakdance move from the ‘80s), but the audience was eating it up. I had a little trouble keeping up with the rhythm, but just a little. It took just a skosh more effort to heft my new bulk, and I had underestimated just how big ten more pounds would make me. During my double bicep pose, I felt my biceps graze the side of my face, kissing my ears. They’d never done that before. My smile momentarily faded into a look of concern, but the audience either didn’t notice or didn’t care. That’s when it hit me: I could do anything on this stage, even fall flat on my face, and the audience would just cheer louder. Overconfident now, I leapt into the air with all my might, doing a half-twist to turn around, showing the audience my defined glutes and impossibly wide back. I was so glad that my back was to the audience when I landed because my entire package bounced and heaved, nearly taking the poser with it. I hit several poses in a row, all on the beat, feeling the music flow through me. I repeated my leap-twist to turn back to the audience again, giving them a face full of my overfull, jostling poser. When I flexed my quads, they fought for space with each other, and my cock and balls were forced so far forward I thought my poser would tear right off my body. The audience loved it all, growing steadily louder as I posed. I sucked in my waist and held a vacuum pose. The audience briefly fell silent when they saw just how little fat my body contained. But the silence was just as quickly broken by a tidal wave of cheers and applause. Dave was right. I am a show-off. The audience’s praise was addictive, and I wanted more. Waving my hands in an upward gesture, I goaded the audience to applaud harder, then went into my front lat spread, my lats reaching so far outward I could barely get my fists to my waist. The music was reaching a crescendo, so I did a few body rolls in time with the music. I even threw in a few unplanned disco points and arm rolls Vanessa had me learn “just for the fun of it.” The audience ate it up with a spoon. Just as they were about to foment into a lather, I pulled out my best pose: the most muscular. The room literally shook with their applause; even the stage rumbled underneath me. The song was dying down, which meant it was time for the coup de grace: the one-handed handspring. It was the one move that I’d never successfully accomplished even once, but I was feeling cocky. When I landed on my right hand, I held the handstand for a second—a move I had been able to do a few times—then completed the handspring. The audience didn’t know how to react. They’d never seen anyone my size with my definition, and they’d definitely never seen him move that way. In the end, all those weeks of rehearsal had boiled down to a two-minute routine. As the audience applauded, I bowed to accept the acclaim, and did another handspring (with both hands; I’m not crazy) back offstage into the wings. When I landed behind the curtain, my poser gave up the ghost and exploded. “Guess I overdid it,” I said.
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