Jump to content

Fulano

Member+
  • Content Count

    69
  • Joined

  • Last visited

Community Reputation

246 Excellent

About Fulano

  • Rank
    50+ Posts
  • Birthday 06/25/1967

Profile

  • Location
    San Francisco, California
  • This profile is a...
    real profile.
  • Gender
    Male
  • Orientation
    Gay
  • What are your interests?
    Reading, bodybuilding, science, writing, music, science fiction, traveling.
  • What are your stats?
    6'2, ~225 pounds, ~12% bf.
  • What are you seeking?
    Entertainment. Sharing stories / community, friends.
  • What are your dream stats?
    Realistic: 230 pounds, 8% bf
    Fantasy: 300 pounds, 8% bf

Recent Profile Visitors

3639 profile views
  1. Fulano

    Transformation Part I: Mutation - Chapter Fifteen

    Hey, thank you! I'm so happy that you enjoyed it. I've written the first chapter of Part 2 but want to get farther along before posting anything. I will also be reworking Part 1 to be more like a novel, especially the last two chapters, which are a bit messy, and maybe self-publishing it.
  2. Dude! You're like a hairy perfection!

    1. Fulano

      Fulano

      Wow, thank you! It's definitely a goal 🙂

  3. Fulano

    Transformation Part I: Mutation - Chapter Fifteen

    Thanks so much guys! I'll PM you both by this weekend.
  4. ... and instead of a few weeks it's been nearly a year :-( Sorry guys.
  5. First Chapter: http://muscle-growth.org/topic/1131-transformation-part-i-mutation-chapter-one/ Previous Chapter: https://muscle-growth.org/topic/12351-transformation-part-i-mutation-chapter-fourteen/ Author’s note: This is the final chapter of Part 1. Waaayyyyy late. As a reminder, the story takes place in 2011 with flashbacks to 2001. CHAPTER FIFTEEN The air was thick with nervous anticipation as the rumble of the low-flying passenger jet faded. I wondered if Manhattan had ever been so quiet. If it was maintaining the same direction we had observed, it flew south along Fifth Avenue. I wondered how long it would take it to reach 34th Street and then how long the sound of the feared impact would take to return to Sheep Meadow. I felt Matt looking at me and turned to face him. His face was completely white. “Now,” he said without emotion … and right on cue, echoing up the canyons of Fifth and Sixth Avenues, rolled the distorted, metallic and seemingly inevitable … BOOM. Cries. Shrieks. Disbelief. Confusion. Already I have failed to protect them. I watched as the vast and closely packed mass of people grew restless. Some turned to me, I assumed for direction or to see how I would respond. Others were pushing toward the east, presumably to look southward on Fifth for visual confirmation of what we all feared. Matt was furiously poking at his iPhone. I still had no idea what to do and looked at Hank. “If they start to panic, you gotta shut ‘em down,” he said as if sensing my need for direction. “People will get trampled,” I said. He nodded slowly. “You worried ‘bout that?” His question almost hurt. “Of course I am,” I said defensively. “I’m probably the most compassionate person you know.” “Not when that switch flips in your head.” He was right but I had no answer for him. I ignored his observation and had decided to make my way over to Fifth Avenue when Matt announced what everyone had most feared. His face twisted with desperation, he held up his iPhone so that I could see the screen and looked at me. “It hit the Empire State Building.” Thousands of voices filled the air as people began shoving in all directions. …the air filled with screams and shrieks. A woman very near me was yelling “Oh my god! Oh my god!” repeatedly. I felt the ground vibrate and turned my head to the left in time to see the South Tower collapsing in on itself with a thunderous roar. I stared at it, eyes wide, refusing to believe what I was seeing. As it fell it transformed into an immense cloud of billowing dust and debris that expanded rapidly in our direction. I could see the leading edge of a roiling tsunami of debris rushing toward me yet I remained locked in place, frozen like a deer caught in headlights. Two people fleeing the angry cloud bumped into me before Hank seized my hand… Although I wasn’t moving, I realized that I was panicking as well. “Jamal,” Hank prodded. “NOW.” I took a deep breath as I raised my tremendous arms toward the sky. “YOU WILL STOP AND REMAIN CALM!” I bellowed as loudly as I thought those near me could bear. Then as quickly as the cacophony of voices began, it faded. The crowd was still. And the rumble of an approaching jet drifted down from the north. Not fucking again. “YOU WILL CALMLY RETURN TO YOUR HOMES,” I ordered before turning back to Hank and Matt. “Except you two.” Once again, everyone seemed to obey me, although mindfully rather than as the zombies they had appeared to be earlier. People were again moving in all directions, but now in an orderly and deliberate manner. Despite their obedience, I was extremely frustrated. “All this power and I can’t do shit to stop an airplane,” I complained. “Have you tried flying?” Hank asked. I scowled. “Do I look like Superman?” “You look like you could totally kick his ass.” “I can’t fly, Hank.” I looked at Matt, whose expression became thoughtful. “Have you tried?” he asked. As ridiculous as it sounded, I had to admit that I hadn’t tried, so I squatted down on the turf and extending my legs with all my might, thrust upward with the hope of launching myself into the air. Instead, my feet plowed down into the earth with such force that a huge cloud of dirt and grass erupted skyward and outward. I rose maybe fifty feet into the air and then slammed into the ground again as the cloud of dirt rained down around me. I found myself face down in a crater of my own making. “I guess that settles that,” I said. I pushed myself up and looked around. Both Hank and Matt were covered with dirt. The roar of the jet grew closer. “What kind of god are you, anyway?” Hank asked impatiently as he brushed himself off with his uninjured hand. “A god that can’t fly,” I said as I climbed to my feet. The approaching jet grew louder. I looked at my loyal companions. Suddenly, I knew what to do. “Stay here, I’ll be right back,” I told them. “Hank needs medical attention,” Matt said. “We’ll catch up with you later.” I briefly froze, ashamed and angry with myself for forgetting about Hank’s right hand. They were already turning away from me. “Wait!” I said. They turned back to face me. “If Terry is right, my cum should heal your hand.” “There’s no time!” Matt called out. “Deal with that plane and we’ll meet you at home!” “Let’s find Terry,” Hank suggested as they disappeared into the crowd. I sprang into action. Thrusting a bit more carefully with only my left leg, I leapt toward Central Park West. If I couldn’t fly, I could at least cover the few hundred yards to the avenue very rapidly. Right, left, right, left. In a matter of seconds, I reached the street, which was backed up southbound as far as I could see, and found a vehicle that would do. A heavy tow truck sat trapped in traffic in the left-hand lane. I bolted for the cab, pulled the door off and dropped it. “Sorry, I need to borrow your truck,” I said to the slack-jawed driver as I reached in and pulled him from his seat. The jet roared overhead at perhaps a thousand feet as I set him down. There was no doubt. It was heading directly toward the World Trade Center. “Please stand back,” I warned as I tilted the vehicle onto its right wheels just enough to reach the undercarriage. Seizing the frame, I lifted the truck overhead and tilted it back until I could see the jet. Carefully, for I didn’t want to apply so much force to the frame that the truck would tear itself apart, I placed one foot well ahead of the other, stretched my arms back as far as I could without falling backward, and hurled it toward the rapidly disappearing jet with all my might. The sound and force of the sonic boom created by the truck’s rapid acceleration took me by surprise and I instinctively winced as windows in all directions shattered. The asphalt beneath me also shattered and deformed as the power of my throw drove my bare feet several inches back and down into the pavement. I looked up and to the south to see the truck quickly overtake the jet. It slammed into the starboard engine, most of which tore free from the wing in an explosion of ignited fuel. A rain of machinery, large and small, fell across what must have been Hell’s Kitchen. What did I just do? What if this was a coincidence? What if its flight path was totally innocent? The new tower isn’t even to full height yet, why would it be a target? I wished Matt were with me. Somehow, he would know. The jet was beginning to veer toward the west when it disappeared behind the buildings to the south. The now familiar feeling of helplessness returned. I had no idea what I was doing. I had no idea what to do next. I was in no way prepared to lead or protect anyone. Car alarms were going off right and left. The wail of sirens pierced the air. I looked around. I was standing in the middle of the street, buck naked, with my flaccid penis hanging down to my knees. Even with my feet driven six or so inches into the pavement, I was at least seven feet tall and towered over most of the people who had gathered around me. To my relief, they weren’t being submissive. Though certainly in awe of me, they were also shocked and curious. It was the truck driver who spoke first. “Wha … what was that?” He said. “I thought that plane was heading for the World Trade Center,” I explained. “I wanted to take it down.” “You threw that tow truck like it was a baseball, man!” A teenage boy said. “You’re like Superman but super swole!” I stepped out of the hole I had made in the street. Everyone backed away a few steps. A few did fall to their knees. “It’s okay. I’m not going to hurt anyone.” At least not intentionally. “I’m here to….” I hesitated, uncertain of what to say. I’m here to rule the world? I’m here to clean up the mess we’ve made? “I’m here to protect you. Protect the Earth.” “Like Superman!” The teenager said excitedly. I furrowed my brow. “I can’t fly,” I said as if it were a failing. The situation was very surreal. I was having an almost casual conversation with a group of strangers. No one was worshipping, as they had been only moments earlier. Most weren’t bowing down before me in deference as they had been all week. They were simply acting like … people. Although I did enjoy being worshipped, at least at times, I realized that I didn’t expect or need it. I found I liked this dynamic much better. “Who are you?” A male voice asked. Then everyone was speaking, both talking amongst themselves and asking me questions. “What are you?” I heard a different man ask. “You’re the guy everyone has been talking about,” a woman this time. “The muscle guy on YouTube!” “Damn, he’s even bigger now.” “The Empire State Building has been hit by a plane!” I heard a woman scream. “He keeps growing.” “Check out his dick man! Talk about the dick of death!” I looked around me again. So many people were talking and gathering and gawking that I couldn’t make out what they were saying. This wasn’t getting anyone anywhere. I held up my arms. “Everyone!” I said. The crowd fell silent. “I want you all to go home and wait for instructions from the city. There could be more attacks.” And I’m going to do my best to stop them. They may not have been worshipping me, but they were completely obedient. As the crowd dispersed, I considered running down to 34th Street to see if I could help. Then I stopped in the middle of the traffic-snarled street and looked down. My massive chest filled my vision, blocking my view of the rest of me below it. My cock was soft, hanging, nestled in front of my giant quads where I couldn’t see it. I looked back up and blinked. Somehow, for the first time in a week, I felt completely at home in my radically changed body, as if I were just Jamal. “One thing has ended,” I said softly. “And something new begins.” Late afternoon had given way to evening. Hank kept hold of my hand as we continued down West Broadway toward Ground Zero. I didn’t understand why. He had never wanted to hold hands when we were together. Of course, I was holding his hand as well and I didn’t know why I was doing that either. It felt nice. I still loved him. I missed him. It was an odd form of torture. I assumed that he was taking me down town to Church and Barclay, where we had first met, where we saw the south tower fall, where our journey together had begun, in some misguided attempt to observe our anniversary, such as it was. I hadn’t been this close to the World Trade Center site since that day and as we approached, my anxiety grew. It was more than the location of thousands of lost and destroyed lives. It was the scar left by religious fanatics – terrorists. It was a demonstration of the danger of radicalization. It was yet another example of the horrors that we as humans are capable of. We stood at the crosswalk across Chambers and waited for the light to change. I felt as if we had entered some kind of negative energy field of anger and grief, vengeance and hate, and worst of all, failure. My failure. I didn’t want to go closer. My palms grew sweaty. I could feel Hank staring at me. He tapped my forehead gently. “What’s goin’ on in there?” he asked. “What’s wrong?” “This is really hard,” I said. “Being so close. It makes me … I don’t know … I guess I’m scared.” “Scared,” he said doubtfully. “You climb around on I-beams like a monkey all day while hundreds of feet in the air and you’re scared.” I didn’t reply. The light changed. Hank continued holding my hand as we walked the few remaining blocks to our destination. He stopped in front of a parking garage. The parking garage. I was angry and confused. I had almost died here. Karen had died here. “This is it,” he said. My temper flared. “Why are we here?” I said crossly. “Why…” But Hank put his finger over my mouth. “Shhhhhhhhh,” he said gently. “It’s okay. I brought you here to thank you.” I looked inside the brightly lit entrance to where I had carried Karen, where we had been found. “Thank me for what?” “You’re wrong, Jamal. You didn’t fail Karen. You helped her,” his voice broke and his eyes glistened with gathering tears. “You found her injured and scared and brought her here. What was the last thing she said to you?” I remembered it so clearly. I felt her kiss me on the cheek. “Thank you,” she managed to whisper in my ear... “Thank you,” I said, looking down at the sidewalk. “She said, ‘thank you.’” “Yeah. Exactly. You rescued her and made her feel safe. She fell asleep and died feeling safe.” Tears were streaming down his face. I had never seen Hank cry before and I suddenly felt very selfish for blaming myself for so long. He smiled through the tears. “So I wanna thank you too,” he said as he continued looking into my eyes. I was at a loss for a moment but before my throat tightened too much, I managed to croak “you’re welcome.” Then I was on all fours, draining a year’s worth of pain onto the indifferent concrete in the form of heavy tears. * * * A few hours and several drinks later, Hank and I stumbled out of an upscale bar on West Houston Street and into the night. Traffic on the one-way street was light but the sidewalks were alive with a surprising number of pedestrians. We headed back to my flat. He had his huge arm around my shoulders as we walked, oblivious to the wake we created as people were forced around us. “Thanks for doing this today,” I said. “I feel a lot better.” Hank smiled and looked at me. “One thing’s ended,” he slurred. “An’ somethin’ new begins.” I didn’t know what the future held for us, but I was confident that we could at least be friends. Most importantly, I felt optimistic for the first time in a year. I ran south on 10th Avenue as fast as I could without destroying everything in my path. Propelling myself down the middle of the street at highway speeds without colliding with oncoming cars or pedestrians in crosswalks was challenging, but so far, I’d managed to run several blocks without causing any serious damage. I quickly learned just how much force to apply with my legs to leap over a car versus a truck or bus. Someone with a radio had reported that a plane had crash-landed near the Pier 51 playground and fallen into the river. I knew exactly where the playground was. It was only blocks from my apartment. As I raced down the avenue through Hell’s Kitchen, I again second-guessed my actions. The new tower was designed and built to survive the impact of a jumbo jet. Any damage caused by ramming an airliner into the building would be limited. I knew guys who were working on it. I had worked with many of them before. Some were second or third generation ironworkers whose fathers had built the Twin Towers or even whose grandfathers had built the Empire State Building. In fact, I didn’t apply to work on the project because I didn’t want to displace a man who had earned the right to place and connect those I-beams. It was sacred. And though I didn’t participate, I was familiar with its design and it would take much more than an aircraft impact to bring that building down. Of course, 1WTC wasn’t the only possible target. It was certainly the most symbolic, but perhaps the terrorists had set their sights on another building. Or perhaps it was something else that I hadn’t considered. Or perhaps there wasn’t another target at all. Had I saved a skyscraper from destruction at the hands of terrorists or knocked an aircraft with hundreds of innocent passengers out of the sky for no reason? I raced by the location of the Hudson train yard and by the time I had left it far behind, I became convinced that I had overreacted. But then I was there. The Meatpacking District. Gansevoort Street. An American Airlines 777 that was halfway into the river nose first. The pilot had tried to land on the highway, but in the process took out a few cars, traffic lights, trees, and streetlights as it slid partially into the river. Traffic was backed up in all directions and a growing crowd of people was gathering in a semi-circle starting around 100 feet away from the aircraft’s tail. No emergency vehicles had arrived yet. There probably weren’t any available. I leapt over the crowd so that I was between them and the jet and turned to face the now even-more-shocked faces. “I NEED EVERYONE TO BACK AWAY,” I announced in what Matt had called my “god voice” before turning to face the jet and evaluate the situation. Most of the starboard engine was missing of course, but surprisingly, at least to me, there was no fuel leaking from the wing nor was there any sign of fire. Equally strange was that all of the exit doors remained closed. The passengers weren’t being evacuated. But answers to those mysteries would have to wait until I got it out of the water. The nose of the aircraft was mostly submerged, the tail far overhead and out of my reach. I needed to pull it out by the rear landing gear, preferably both sets at the same time. If only I had an extra heavy chain… And there it was – to my right, along the edge of the sanitation department’s pier, was a chain of massive iron links. It was perhaps 50 yards long and threaded through a long line of steel posts. In no time I had pulled it free of the posts and snapped it in half. Wrapping one end of each segment around the two landing gear struts, I twisted the foot-long links together with my hands, essentially welding the loops closed. Only a few minutes after my arrival, I had the free ends of the two chains in my hands and was pulling them taut. The aircraft groaned. The pressure of my feet against the concrete pavement caused it to fracture. I slowly pulled it backward and as the aircraft began to move, I wondered how much weight I was dealing with. Each of the two chains must have been several tons, and the aircraft itself? Hundreds of tons? But its weight wasn’t important, for even as the fuselage of the jet dragged against the concrete and the nose lifted out of the water, even as the front landing strut snapped off as it encountered the edge of the embankment, I barely noticed any resistance at all. It was like pulling my little red wagon as a child when it was empty – effortless. I had just sprinted a few miles in minutes. I was filled with anxiety and guilt. I should have been awash in sweat and adrenaline but was not. My heart, or whatever was pulsing in my chest, did so calmly and slowly. My body had transformed into something seemingly indestructible, but my mind was as human as ever. The jet was completely out of the water. Stripped of its front landing gear, the nose of the aircraft rested on the embankment. I leapt up onto the starboard wing and sinking my fingers into the aluminum skin of the cabin, pulled one of the doors free and tossed it aside. My eyes adjusted instantly as I peered inside. The aircraft was empty. There were no passengers. There were not even any seats. Instead, two rows of large unmarked boxes, each a cube perhaps 6 feet in all three dimensions, stretched down the center from front to back for roughly half the length of the fuselage. I stepped all the way in and turned to the right with the intention of checking the cockpit. What looked like four parachute packs hung in the cabin a short distance away. “Freeze!” A male voice barked from behind. “Do not move!” I turned around. “I said DO NOT MOVE!” There were two men in dark blue military uniforms that I didn’t recognize, each with what appeared to be an automatic weapon trained on me. They were perhaps 50 feet away and wore masks of some kind. I couldn’t see their faces, but their skin was white. I briefly wondered if their weapons could harm me but it seemed unlikely. “Are you the pilots?” I said. “What’s in these…” “SHUT UP!” The man on the right, presumably the one in charge, yelled. “Do not move!” he repeated. I found myself wishing I knew how to control my ability to force submission but I could no more consciously turn it on as I could turn it off. I began walking toward them. “FREEZE!” The lead barked again. “One more step and I’ll fire!” “No!” his companion whispered in earnest. “You’ll kill us both.” Both men sounded as American as I or Hank or Matt. I paused for a moment. Something was very wrong. The aircraft was painted in the livery of American Airlines, yet the interior was completely generic. No logos, no flags, no markings of any kind. The men’s uniforms were equally generic and devoid of insignia. I listened as they continued to talk in what they believed to be tones I could not hear. If anyone else were standing at this distance they would have been correct, but I could understand them perfectly. Though impatient, I remained still as ordered. “Whoever this freak is just pulled this aircraft out of the river single-handedly,” the lead said. “We have to neutralize him or get him off this jet.” “What if the bullets bounce off of him and detonate the cargo?” The other man asked. Detonate the cargo? The lead scoffed. “Are you an idiot?” He looked at me. “Step out onto the wing,” he ordered, but I had run out of patience. “How about you put your toys down,” I said as I resumed walking toward them. The lead man immediately fired dozens of rounds from his weapon, which hit my chest and except for a few that somehow lodged in my chest hair, indeed did bounce off in various directions. As I drew nearer though, his hands began shaking and he dropped to his knees without a word. “That’s better,” I said calmly as I continued to approach. “Now tell me about your mission.” Then, in a moment of unexpected self-control, he turned his gun toward one of the cargo containers to my right and fired into it. At the same time, his subordinate, who had fallen next to him, cried “NO!” as he tried to reach for the weapon. But it was too late. The echo of his plea had not even diminished when the container exploded. The last thing I saw as the force of the blast propelled me toward the vaporizing fuselage and into the early afternoon sun was the detonation of the surrounding containers. * * * The sound and sensation of water flowing around me nudged me to consciousness and I opened my eyes. I was on my back in the fountain in Austin J. Tobin Plaza, gazing up at the vertically striped white towers of the World Trade Center, which soared forever upward into a deep blue sky – the South Tower to my left, the North Tower to my right. The cool water from the fountain ran gently around my shoulders and arms. I remained there for some time, staring into the cloudless sky. I could hear only the wind and water, feel only the sun, breeze, and gentle current. I couldn’t remember feeling so relaxed. There were no voices, no sounds of traffic, no airplanes… “Jamal!” Hank’s voice called. No airplanes. I bolted upright, my heart pounding against my ribcage. “Jamal!” Hank called again. “You hafta stop the plane!” I leapt to my feet and quickly surveyed the plaza. It was completely empty. No one was in sight. “Hank?” I called out. I felt a tap on my right shoulder and spun around to face the fountain. Hank was standing directly in front of me, looking exactly as he had when we met. The wind was at my back and blew around me, lifting his long, copper hair as if he were facing into a fan. I looked up into his eyes, which were unusually large and smoky again. “Where did you come from?” I asked, completely confused. He was his 2001 self, as was I. Hank didn’t speak but instead pointed toward the sky. I looked up, following his gesture just as a white aircraft passed above the Twin Towers and exploded, generating a blinding flash of heat and light. “There’s one more jet,” Hank said, as a rapidly expanding fireball enveloped the towers and raced toward us. “You have to stop it or everyone will die.” “What?” I asked, even more confused. “Flex, Jamal,” he said. “Flex everything! NOW!” * * * Several, perhaps dozens of tons of whatever material had been in the cargo containers, were exploding and in that instant, I realized that my sense of time had changed. Everything appeared to move in slow motion. As I drifted up and away from the rapidly evaporating jet, I could somehow see each container erupt and disintegrate, the individual blasts expand outward at enormous yet easily traceable speeds, even as I was enveloped in a maelstrom of flame and intersecting shockwaves. I was perhaps 100 yards away from where I had been standing on the plane. The fireball was probably 300 yards in diameter. Flex, Hank had said. So, I did. I flexed my arms and my traps and my pecs, my lats and my abs and my glutes, my quads and my hamstrings and my calves. I flexed everything, squeezing as hard as I could, for I knew why I was doing it. The only way to stop the explosion was to absorb it. * * * I felt a torrent of water gushing against my back and opened my eyes. I was on my back, looking at a partly-cloudy afternoon sky. Immediately to my right, a damaged fire hydrant lay on its side. I had landed on it and taken it out. There’s one more jet. Everyone will die, Hank said. I sprang to my feet and briefly surveyed my surroundings. I was again taller, which meant I was again bigger and stronger, but despite the resulting twitch of my cock I pushed that from my mind. I had something larger than my growing cock to deal with. I was near Gansevoort and Tenth Avenue. Across the street toward the river, nothing remained of the aircraft. The facades of the buildings facing the Hudson were scorched, but apart from that the damage seemed limited to shattered windows. People were likely killed or injured in the blast before I was able to absorb it, but I couldn’t help them. I had to figure out how to stop another aircraft without killing more people. Somehow, I needed to reach it. I could run to the West 30th Street heliport and hope that a helicopter and pilot were available, but that didn’t seem workable. At best, the jet pilot would only avoid the helicopter. If I can throw a tow truck a few thousand feet I can certainly jump high enough to reach a low-flying aircraft. That was the answer. I just needed a solid enough surface to leap from in a central location. Rat Rock. I had to return to Central Park. This time, I ran up Eighth Avenue, soaring between the US Post Office and Penn Station. What did Hank mean, everyone will die? Everyone on the aircraft? Everyone in the target building? Everyone in lower Manhattan? I felt ineffectual, lost. I had become so accustomed to having Hank and Matt around, so dependent on their insight and advice, that I felt incomplete without them. I tried not to imagine the scene at the Empire State Building. For now, I pushed my friends from my mind. It might be difficult for me to find them, but I knew how to make it easy for them to find me. At roughly one block per stride, it took only a few minutes for me to cover the distance to Columbus Circle. The streets of Manhattan, at least south of the park, seemed to be gridlocked. A logjam of buses, cars, and trucks surrounded the monument to Christopher Columbus, filling the roundabout. I leapt to avoid them… …and landed atop Rat Rock, a roughly circular outcropping of schist 50 or 60 feet in diameter and twice my height, shattering a thin layer of the gray stone around my feet. No one seemed to be around, and I began to scan the sky, relaxing my eyes so that I could see through the trees and surrounding buildings. The X-ray-like, false color view of the universe returned, revealing a storm of color and patterns that I had no idea how to interpret. I spent a few minutes changing the focus of my eyes, wondering if I could consciously determine which wavelengths I could detect, to see if I could filter out what I didn’t need at the moment. A few objects moved in slow, steady arcs around me. Satellites, I assumed. Most everything else seemed to be stationary until an object approaching from the west caught my attention. Something that was glowing with a harsh blue-white light like the reactors at the Indian Point power plant. Was this the plane that Hank had warned me of or a missile with a nuclear warhead? I couldn’t determine its speed or distance or angle of approach, but it seemed at least a few minutes away. I continued to focus on the approaching object. I tried to zoom in, Steve Austin-like, without luck. I tried examining the radiation source at varying frequencies mostly because it gave me something to do. Then something slammed into my back and exploded. The force of the impact and explosion thrust me forward into a group of trees and I landed on the ground face down. As I climbed to my feet again, a projectile from the opposite direction hit my chest and exploded. And another. And another. “GOD DAMMIT THIS ISN’T A GOOD TIME!” I roared. The grove of trees was in flames as I stood and began searching the sky again, trying to get my bearings. There were now multiple objects moving in the afternoon sky. Several small aircraft circled my location. I could see through the trees and flames and smoke that they were unmanned drones, which might have been helpful except that they were a bit late and targeting the wrong thing. I counted four, a few hundred feet overhead. Then I found the blue-white light of the radiation source. It was close enough for me to see that it was clearly a jet aircraft. I remained at the center of the fire, tracking my target as it approached. It seemed the drones couldn’t get a fix on me while I was engulfed in flames. I would wait as long as I could before I jumped back onto Rat Rock and launched myself at the air. Or would the presence of the drones cause the jet to change course? I hopped back onto the rock outcropping and snapped off a small boulder. The drones immediately changed their courses as I broke the boulder into smaller chunks and began hurling them at the unmanned aircraft. Four direct hits sent them falling to the ground. I felt oddly pleased with myself. At least there was no doubt about my aim. I could now clearly see and hear the approaching jet. It was higher than the others, maybe at 2000 feet, and though it had begun banking to the right, would still pass close enough that I was certain I could reach it. Nearby, the trees continued to burn. I wondered if I could blow them out and began to inhale. For around 30 seconds, I drew air into my lungs. When I felt like I had enough, I turned toward the trees and blew as hard as I could, as if they were candles on a birthday cake. Naturally, I flew backward off the rock and landed in the sand of the Hecksher Playground. I sighed and again climbed to my feet, but at least the fire was out. You’re clumsy, but not completely useless after all, I thought to myself. Nearly an hour must have passed since the Empire State Building had been hit, but other than the drone swarm, which was clearly targeting me, there had been no response from the military. What the hell is going on? Where are our fighter jets? Then I heard the sound of dozens of boots approaching from multiple directions. In seconds I was surrounded by what seemed to be military troops of some kind at a distance of perhaps 50 feet. They had already taken aim. “Jamal Al-Bakri,” an authoritative male voice called out. “You will surrender and come with us. Cooperate or we will fire.” “What?” I said, incredulous. “We don’t have time for this. There’s a third jet…” I looked into the early afternoon sun and pointed. “RIGHT THERE! I believe this one is carrying a nuclear weapon. Now stand aside so I can stop it.” I hopped back onto Rat Rack and was squatting down when I heard the man call “fire!” and I was showered with bullets. I rolled my eyes and stood. “YOU WILL CEASE FIRING.” I commanded. But incredibly, nothing changed. Scores of bullets bounced off of me but also continued to collect in the hair covering my immense pectorals. Some lodged in my beard. I pulled at one and noticed that it had actually wrapped itself around a single thick black hair. I pulled it off, popped it into my mouth, and swallowed. The hair remained attached to my skin. I hopped down and began to walk forward. Occasionally a few of the bullets would strike my penis. They felt good. They feel good, I could do this all day. My cock began to grow and harden. The magnificent beast was awake. I brought my hands up, my epic, bulging forearms, biceps, and pecs competing for space, and began to crush the thickening layer of ammunition against the impossibly massive, striated muscle of my chest, melting and spreading it across the expanse of my pecs, feeling how much broader and thicker they had become, then down my deeply separated eight-pack to my cock, which was now fully erect. It pounded, throbbing visibly as I covered it with molten steel and lead, squeezing it as hard as I could, the pleasure becoming so intense that for a moment I forgot where I was but not what – a being so powerful and masculine and glorious that all would beg to worship me. As my tremendous cock throbbed madly, thrusting nearly a yard before me, my loins burning for release, I brought my arms up, arms which could surely rend the planet in two, and flexed. I closed my eyes and reveled in the immeasurable power of my body, turning my face up to the sky, lost in bliss as my indestructible form was caressed by thousands of rounds of ammunition, which suddenly ceased. The echoes of dozens of automatic weapons faded, revealing only the whine of two jet engines. I opened my eyes to see every soldier silently weeping while either kneeling or bent forward, faces to the ground. Better. I looked up. The jet was about as close as it was going to get. It was also unmarked, at least as far as I could tell. Unlike the others, both of which were painted in the livery of American Airlines, this was simply a plain white twin engine passenger jet. I jumped back onto Rat Rock and quickly wiped most of the metal from my torso and cock. As I squatted down, I wondered how much force my enormous legs could generate. When I threw the wrecker, I simple hurled it as hard as I could. But I didn’t want to fly through the plane. I needed to reach it and stop. Grab hold and tear my way in perhaps. It was moving further away. I launched myself into the air. As I soared toward it, I did feel as if I were flying. The sensation of air rushing by at a few hundred miles per hour – against my skin, around my still-erect cock – was exhilarating. But I was a projectile, subject to the friction of air and the gravity of the Earth, unable to alter course. Still, I was rapidly approaching the aircraft and as I passed through the plume of smoke from the remains of the Empire State Building, I realized I had to somehow grasp the port wing as I passed it at roughly 50 mph. Time seemed to slow. I became aware of two things. One, I was going to miss by a few yards. I was going slightly too fast. Two, I could somehow see the turbulence of the air as the jet cut through it. I could also see the aircraft’s interior to some extent. The harsh blue-white glow of the uranium was near the center of aircraft, its radiation detectable through the casing. The jet was configured to carry cargo. Most of the interior was empty, while the cockpit appeared standard – at least to my layman’s eye – two seats, some equipment, and a door. But, it was empty. No one was flying the plane. I was closing in from below and of course from behind. I held out my arms to reduce my speed, alternately bringing them in and out a bit to fine tune my approach. The port engine was immediately to my right as I passed it – I could have reached out and touched it – but I waited until I could grab the wing’s leading edge. Although I could see the air being drawn into the engine, it was too late – I wasn’t able to adjust my speed to avoid being sucked in without missing the jet entirely. My legs were pulled into the engine fans, which shattered before the bulk of my upper legs and cock forced the engine shaft to stop spinning entirely. Jet fuel accumulated for a second or two – I recognized the smell – before exploding and then burning out. I climbed out of the damaged engine pod and clawed my way along the wing, digging my fingers into the aluminum to keep from being blown off. On reaching the fuselage, I simply tore my way into the cabin, which was dimly lit. The warhead was a cone well over a yard long, which was strapped vertically to a truss that ran from the floor of the cabin to the top. A cable ran from the cone up the truss to a box about a foot on each side with a keypad and a few controls. A digital LED displayed the number 10. As I looked around, I noticed several cameras. I was probably being watched, but of course, I had no idea how to disarm it or even if it were possible. I fantasized about flying it into space. Or maybe I can pilot the jet out over the ocean. I had turned and started toward the cockpit when I heard a quick, soft beep beep. I returned to the truss. The 10 on the control box was now 06 and continued to count down. Only seconds before I had been completely fearless. For all practical purposes I was infinitely strong and completely indestructible. But now I was terrified, and I pulled the cone free of its straps and wrapped myself around it, covering as much of its surface as I could. Hank was down there. Matt was down there. Terry. Carlos. Nearly everyone I cared about plus a million or so others were only a few thousand feet below me. 04 … 03 … maybe I could crush it? I leaned back so that the bulk of my body was between the ground and the warhead and began to squeeze, which collapsed the casing and… It began so small. A perfectly white sphere of plasma only a few yards in diameter replaced the warhead, which was instantaneously vaporized into ionized gas at 100 million degrees. A fraction of a second later, the entire aircraft had been vaporized. By the time I had begun flexing every muscle I could think of, a full second had passed and a fireball a few hundred yards wide had appeared over lower Manhattan with me suspended at its center. I flexed, reveling in the sensation of the enormous energy released by the weapon flowing into my titanic, growing muscles. I had noticed over the past few days that the hotter something was, the better it felt, the more pleasure I experienced. Having a nuclear weapon detonate immediately against my chest bathed me in ecstasy beyond comprehension and I could both see and feel my surging cock grow in both size and hardness, the pressure in my loins mounting to a degree greater even than that of the blast I was containing. I looked down at my unimaginably powerful pecs, watching as the thick black hair that covered them waved and floated in the inferno. One hundred million degrees and not even my hair was singed. I am truly indestructible. My huge cock and balls, stimulated beyond imagination by the extreme heat and pressure, growing and throbbing uncontrollably, unleashed my most powerful orgasm yet, and I aimed my cum cannon toward the sky as it spewed thousands of gallons through the raging inferno surrounding me, soaring up into the atmosphere for miles. I continued to flex as hard as I could, absorbing as much of the escaping heat and energy as possible, canceling out the pressure wave which would have destroyed much of Manhattan. I will become infinitely powerful. I knew this. Hank was right. The universe was creating its own god and the ecstasy this knowledge brought me was overwhelming. I was drunk with my own magnificence. I will have eternal and absolute dominance over all things. I will enslave this universe. A brief shudder of abject terror washed over me, penetrating my ecstasy. No. That is not what I want. But I could feel my consciousness shifting again. Jamal! It was Hank’s voice. “Hank?” Jamal, that’s not you. Hank’s voice was somehow clear through the thunderous roar of the firestorm. You’ve got to resist it. I could feel the pressure increase. Even as the feeling of dread swept through me, the desire to embrace a dark yet infinite pleasure mounted. “What do you mean?” I asked out loud. It wants you. DON’T LET IT IN. Hank said desperately. FIGHT IT! All I could sense was an intense need for conquest. A limitless hunger. Everything must be mastered and enslaved and drained. But that isn't who I am, I replied. * * * Earlier that day, in another place… There are things older than the universe. Ancient things from universes far older than our own or that no longer exist. It was one of those things. Its home universe collapsed a trillion years ago, but it had learned long before of methods to slip between the universes, to navigate from one universe to another. As long as a universe’s physical constants were compatible, it was able enter. For an eternity, it searched through a universe of universes, methodically, deliberately, conserving its energy, maintaining just enough awareness to test a target universe’s physics, just enough awareness to be. It had once enjoyed a seemingly endless torrent of energy drawn over tens of billions of years from all the stars, all the galaxies, all the life of its long-dead home, but its reserves dwindled as the eons passed, as it sought something that appeared increasingly unlikely. Millions of years would pass between finding compatible universes or universes with life, billions of years between finding universes that were compatible and held life, and thus far, a trillion years without finding a compatible universe with life that it could use. It was now barely a cloud of molecules, a fading wisp of organized information that knew little more than a tortured emptiness and an all-consuming hunger. A hunger that had been growing for countless billions of years. A hunger that finally, just as it had resigned itself to oblivion, detected a life form that it could use.
  6. The answer will be revealed in the next few weeks! And many thanks for continuing to follow my friends for all this time :-)
  7. Howdy! I haven't been active here in nearly two years and I know a few of you had been following my story since I started it many years ago on the original site. I apologize for the long gap between chapters, the past few years have been challenging in many ways but I'm determined to wrap up Part I this month. Hopefully I can do it reasonably well. As a reminder, it takes place in Manhattan in 2011 with flashbacks to 2001. Anyway, for those of you I haven't lost, I've just posted the second to last chapter. Cheers!

    1. Mdlftr

      Mdlftr

      Welcome Fulano! I remember you from the prior site.  I enjoyed your story then, and I look forward to the continuation.

       

      Mdlftr 

  8. First Chapter: http://muscle-growth.org/topic/1131-transformation-part-i-mutation-chapter-one/ Previous Chapter: https://muscle-growth.org/topic/6388-transformation-part-i-mutation-chapter-thirteen/ CHAPTER FOURTEEN The first rays of sun cut across the pale blue newborn sky as I strode, or rather waddled, purposefully toward Hudson Street. After my fall back into the basement, Hank and Matt ran down the stairs and peered into the gaping hole in the ground floor to find me motionless in the remains of the debris-filled gym. “You are okay, right?” Matt asked before his expression changed as he realized that it was a dumb, if perfectly natural question. “Yeah,” I said. “Frustrated as hell but okay.” “What happened?” Hank asked. “I slipped and fell through the floor.” “You slipped?” Matt asked, incredulous. “Let me guess - in your own cum?” “You weren’t this clumsy when you were human,” Hank deadpanned. This made Matt chuckle and I rolled my eyes. “What does a god have to do to get some respect around here?” In the end, it proved to be just the comic relief they had needed. My friends agreed to accompany me and quickly showered and grabbed a bite to eat. They were now locking the place up. Meanwhile, I stopped at the corner of Franklin and Hudson to gauge the public’s reaction to my presence. It was early on a Saturday morning, but in the twenty seconds it took Hank and Matt to catch up, I had already caused two accidents. Of the four pedestrians who had seen me, one passed out, two others who were in front of Sovereign Bank, catty corner to where I stood, dropped to their hands and knees and gawked, and the fourth, a young gay man, had curled into a ball on the sidewalk not ten feet away and was staring at me, eyes glazed over. He was mumbling to himself. “You’re gonna have to get used to this,” Hank said. My great cock grew harder as I saw more people happen by, see me and instinctively submit. I really am a god, I thought to myself. All of this in one week. The extent of my strength and dominance – my absolute dominance – made me drunk with power and my cum cannon fired several massive volleys into the intersection before I forced it to stop. How unthinkably powerful will I be next weekend? Next month? Next year? I looked down at Hank, who suddenly appeared insignificant and ephemeral. “I’m already used to it,” I said as my perfect masculinity and impossible strength again filled me with a rush of intense euphoria. My massive cock expanded still more and began to throb visibly, bouncing up and down, as if to demand that I acknowledge its magnificence. “It’s been happening for the past several days. I expect it now.” He looked up at me and gasped. “You’re doin’ it again, man. It ain’t easy to resist fallin’ to the ground.” I turned and saw that Matt was nodding with a pained expression. He grimaced and stood slightly hunched as if carrying an unbearable load. “What is it?” I asked. Part of me felt I should be concerned at their suffering, but another part knew that they simply needed to assume mankind’s natural position before me, kneeling and bowing in complete submission, and the discomfort would go away. “You’re too beautiful,” Matt said, almost gasping. “It’s painful, but I can’t turn away. Every time I adapt to how you look, you become still more beautiful. Awesome. Glorious. Godly.” Tears began streaming down his face and his gaze fell to my chest, his eyes wide in disbelief, then down to my cock and impossibly huge legs. “Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god,” he said as he collapsed to the sidewalk and began kissing my feet. “Yes,” I said as my great cock doubled its powerful throbbing and rewarded the slave by drenching it with pre-cum. “I am your god. The need to worship me is natural.” At that instant, I felt a flash of terror. Something in my consciousness had shifted, but as quickly as it started, it was over. I gazed dispassionately at the young blond slave at my feet. The time to wield my power over these creatures had arrived. “Jamal,” a male voice said. “You can turn this down.” Jamal? I regarded it as if seeing it for the first time, this red-headed slave that was talking to me instead of worshipping along with the others. I found its behavior curious but irrelevant and turned to survey the intersection, which was now clogged with abandoned vehicles as drivers and passengers alike knelt before me, many of whom were so overwhelmed with my extreme hyper-masculinity and beauty that they were weeping as well. Seven billion willing slaves. “Jamal!” the red-headed slave yelled. I turned back to look at it, again wondering why it remained standing before me, and felt its fear spike. It emptied its bladder and shrank to the sidewalk, its body quaking in terror. I was considering ordering it and its little blond companion to service my grapefruit-sized balls when the abrupt shift of consciousness repeated and I was seeing with two sets of eyes, one the absolute Master of everything, the other... My name is Jamal. Confused, I blinked. “Hank?” I asked. I felt disoriented, as if I had wakened in an unfamiliar room, and shook my head. I looked down to see him staring up at me with a face twisted with worry and wet with tears. Meanwhile, Matt was flat on his back a few feet away and gasping for breath. “You can turn it down, man,” Hank said quickly, as if I were about to swat him out of existence like a gnat. He wiped the tears from his face with the thick hair of his forearm. I furrowed my brow. “Turn what down?” “Feelin’ your oats,” he said. “Every time you start thinkin’ about how mighty you are, we end up flat on the ground.” I pulled him up and lifted him so that his neck was against my nose. Then wrapping my great arms around him, I closed my eyes and inhaled, taking in his familiar scent. My Big Red. I smiled to myself. “What you doin’?” he asked, still terrified. “Promise you’ll never leave me,” I whispered in his ear. “If anyone can remind me of who I am, it’s you.” He continued to tremble uncontrollably. A year had passed since the Twin Towers had fallen. America was fighting a complicated war against an enemy that was so difficult to pin down, it sometimes seemed as if we were going in circles. Three months had passed since I had stormed out of Hank’s life, yet here we were walking down West Broadway toward the gaping hole in lower Manhattan – where we had met, where his cousin Karen had died, and where America had changed – for better or for worse. I hadn’t seen him all summer and he looked as handsome as ever. Same Brooklyn accent. Same waddle. Same emerald eyes and copper hair. It still hurt. Badly. “I can’t believe you called me,” I said. “I can’t believe you called me back.” I stopped. “I can’t either,” I said, suddenly feeling cross. “I miss you, dammit.” “I miss you too, man.” “No. I don’t think you do,” I said. My eyes narrowed. “You just miss the sex.” “Well, that torpedo of yours is really somethin’ and you sure as hell know how to use it.” “Fuck you. I’m a man, not a fuck machine!” I stared at him, amazed that he still thought of me that way. It really was all I was to him; a good lay. “That’s exactly what Michael called you,” he said. “An amazin’ fuck machine.” I could feel my face flush with shame and anger. I had fucked Hank’s ex. I was desperate, I fucked him, and he convinced the judge to throw out the lawsuit against me. That he took advantage of me was humiliating enough without him telling Hank. “That was a mistake and so is this,” I said as I turned and strode back the way we had come. “Jamal,” he called after me. I ignored him. It had happened over and over and over. In the end, everyone just wanted me to fuck them and leave as if I were some kind of mechanical stud that could be kept in storage until needed again. I walked briskly northward, forcing him to run to catch up. I felt him grab my wrist. He managed to pull me to a stop before I yanked my arm free. “Don’t fucking touch me,” I said even as I realized that I still liked it. “You gonna stop me?” He pulled himself up straight and pushed his great chest forward as if in challenge. “YOU DON’T THINK I CAN TAKE YOUR RED ASS DOWN?” I yelled before remembering that we were standing on a busy West Broadway sidewalk in full daylight. I closed my eyes for a moment and breathed. I was completely on edge. Even as I fought with Hank and part of me hated him, at a deeper level I remained in love and that made me all the more angry. I could feel myself shaking and I rocked side to side, transferring my weight from one foot to the other in an effort to relax and hide my fury. I heard him sigh and opened my eyes to see him staring at me. “Could you dial back those emotions for just a minute?” He asked. “Could you show some emotion for just a minute?” “What do you want from me?” “I want you to love me for who I am!” I blurted out before immediately regretting it. Hank didn’t respond except to frown and look down at the sidewalk at his feet. I could tell that he wanted to say something, but he remained silent. “What are we doing here, Hank?” I demanded. “I can’t tell you,” he said softly as he took my hand in his and gently nudged me back toward Ground Zero. His entire demeanor had changed. Suddenly, he was very serious. “Really. I have to show you.” This time, I didn’t resist. Matt and Hank followed me up the sidewalk along the west side of Seventh Avenue toward Central Park. We had briefly considered taking the subway, but the idea of squeezing into such a tight, enclosed space made me think twice. What would I accidentally destroy next? Once again, both had expressed strong reservations about accompanying me to the park. It was only after much discussion that they agreed to follow me – at a distance – and once they cleaned up again. They remained afraid of me. I really couldn't blame them. I had “turned it down” as Hank suggested, and though he and Matt were able to function more or less normally around me, everyone else continued to kneel and bow to me on sight. I didn’t know if my friends had built up some kind of resistance or if it was simple familiarity, but I was grateful. Several more accidents had occurred as I began my march toward the park, but the resulting gridlock prevented any further incidents. Like the pedestrians, the occupants of the cars, buses and trucks all climbed out to get a closer look at me ... and submit. I carefully observed people – my slaves – as I passed them, and though no one was weeping or suffering, as they had been earlier, every last man, woman and child assumed a submissive pose. Even dogs, pet or stray, took a submissive posture. This I hadn’t expected and I found it unsettling. Hank is right. I am more than the ruler of humanity. I am the ruler of everything. I stopped and looked back. My friends were about half a block behind and approached slowly through the kneeling crowd. Further behind them, most people were back on their feet and following at a distance. Matt and Hank stopped about 20 feet back. “Jamal?” Hank asked. “Yeah.” I could still feel their fear. “Just checking,” he said. They slowly moved forward. Matt’s beautiful face glistened with moisture. He had been crying. “Why is my sexy boy crying?” I asked. He looked at the ground. “We love you, man, but you can’t do that again.” Hank said. “I'm sorry, guys,” I said. “I won’t.” Though it had felt perfectly natural at the time, right even, it had frightened me as well and certainly wasn’t what I wanted. Do I have so little control over my own destiny? What good is being a god if I can’t be the god I want to be? If I can’t still be myself? They looked at me doubtfully. “Please, guys,” I said. “It’s still me.” Matt reached over and took Hank’s hand. “But for how long?” he asked. They remained about ten feet away. Hank said nothing. It was a good question. Something had come over me barely two hours before, something that seemed natural and inevitable yet horrifying at the same time – something that pointed to my ascendancy as a god and the elimination of all relationships, even with those closest to me. I clearly remembered looking at both Hank and Matt without any familiarity. They were nothing more than two of billions of slaves that existed only to serve and obey me. If I had any say in the future dynamic between mankind and myself I would not allow such a bleak reality to occur. The mere possibility made me treasure the relationships I already possessed all the more. I would not let my friends go so easily. “Please,” I repeated and fell to my own knees, which shattered the sidewalk, which was pulverized further as the head of my semi-erect cock slammed into it. Shards of cement scattered in all directions and my companions jumped back. “I would give all of this up for you guys,” I said, unwilling to imagine spending eternity alone. “I can’t do this without you,” I said. Several minutes passed during which Matt and Hank continued to stand some distance away. I sat on my haunches on the shattered sidewalk while thousands of people filled the avenue and sidewalks, creating concentric circles around me, beginning just behind where my friends stood. I had resigned myself to the reality that I would have to meet my destiny without them, but just as I was about to stand and continue my journey alone, Matt sprinted forward and kissed me full on the lips. “I love you too much to abandon you,” he said. “You are still my favorite god no matter what.” I stood and smiled. “I’m the only god.” “Then it’s a good thing you’re my favorite.” His statement was nonsensical, but still made me laugh. The next thing I knew he was climbing me like a jungle gym until he settled on my mountainous traps, sitting with his legs around my non-existent neck. I was greatly relieved that he had changed his mind. “Feel free to make yourself comfortable,” I said, pleased that he did feel comfortable enough with me to ride piggyback. I heard him grunt. “Don’t make a mess in your pants,” I said. “Too late,” he said through clenched teeth. Still smiling broadly, I looked at Hank, who approached more cautiously. He stopped about a yard away, just short of the head of my immense tool, and looked up at me. His face was a mask. “Well?” I asked. “I can’t read your mind.” “Can I ride next?” * * * Traffic in Midtown was completely gridlocked as I led my followers through the tourist-filled, mega-sign-walled canyon of Times Square. Many of the huge displays that covered entire sides of buildings played live images of me as I walked through the parting sea of humanity. The images drove home how massive and hyper-masculine I was even compared to Hank, who walked to my right. Despite being only a foot and a half shorter, he seemed pre-pubescent in comparison. We continued north on Seventh and into the southern end of the park. I was tailed by thousands, if not tens of thousands, many of whom had abandoned their vehicles and buses along the avenue and adjoining streets. If I had learned anything, it was that my presence in public was, as expected, completely disruptive. Without exception, everyone submitted to and/or worshipped me on sight before trailing me as I continued north. Cops sent to investigate and disperse the growing crowd? Media sent to cover it? I owned them all at first glance. Matt remained on my shoulders and Hank at my side as I made my way along Central Drive toward the large clearing of Sheep Meadow. The few dozen people there dropped what they were doing – playing Frisbee, ball, or simply relaxing on the lawn – and knelt or bowed as I approached. Animals stopped and knelt as well. Horses, pets, squirrels – every creature, large and small, submitted to me on sight. The euphoric rush returned as I was reminded of the incredible power at my command. My dominance was absolute. My strength was beyond reason. My physical magnificence was beyond anything I had dreamed possible. Upon reaching the center of the clearing, I stopped and surveyed the meadow. The grass remained mostly green thanks to the long summer, but the trees that surrounded Sheep Meadow had finally begun to turn color. Beyond the trees, the buildings of Manhattan rose into a clear morning sky. Buildings that were now mine for the taking. In a city that was now mine for the taking. On a planet that was now mine for the taking. Seven billion willing slaves. I watched the sea of humanity as it poured onto the vast grassy clearing. Everyone crouched, surrounding and facing me, on hands and knees. Their movements seemed almost instinctive, natural, even rehearsed. Similarly, my own march to this very spot was instinctive. I didn’t know why this was my destination, I had just walked here. “They’re doing it again,” Matt said. “Organizing into concentric circles. It reminds me of photographs I’ve seen of hundreds of thousands of Muslims praying around the Ka’ba in Mecca.” I felt him shiver briefly. “Wow, I totally have goose bumps.” We watched as people continued to stream quietly, almost silently, into the meadow from all directions and kneel before me. I looked at Hank. “Why aren’t you joining them?” He looked hurt. “Do you want me to?” “No no no. Of course not. I’m just curious.” I turned my head upward a bit toward Matt. “How about you?” “I don’t feel compelled as they must,” Matt said. “I can’t say why.” “What do they want?” I asked as I lifted Matt from my traps and returned him to the ground. I already knew the answer, of course. “To demonstrate their submission just like everyone’s been doing for the past week,” he said with an isn’t-that-obvious tone. “To worship you, man,” Hank said. “Like we all do.” They want to worship me. At that instant, what felt like a wall of energy slammed into me from all directions. I was astonished by its power – a fraction of that at Indian Point, but intense nonetheless. It had a different flavor to it, however. Distinctly different. This energy was … alive. As I realized – it’s from my worshippers – my cock, which like my body was already by far the strongest, most dense material on the planet, thickened and hardened even further. Even being worshipped increased my strength and power. They want to be dominated by me. Again the euphoria of my godhood exploded through me and I closed my eyes to savor the feeling. Smiling, reveling in limitless pleasure, I tilted my head back slightly and raised my mammoth arms over my head, my fists thrusting into the sky. Even in my intense ecstasy, I felt my cock lengthen ever so slightly. My immense muscles expanded yet more. I came, my jism exploding from my great cock in a continuous and audible torrent, arching a hundred yards across the worshipping masses. At the same time, I brought my impossibly powerful arms into a double biceps pose and held it for some time, my cock thrusting into the world that was mine to rule, biceps flexed in a display of the dominance that my slaves so desperately craved, cum gushing forth endlessly like water from a hydrant. I managed to contain the roar that would normally announce one of my epic orgasms to save the hearing of the sea of worshippers surrounding me. Instead, I sensed tens of thousands of sympathetic orgasms, heard tens of thousands weeping at my glory, and much closer, something yelling the name “Jamal.” I opened my eyes. To my right, I recognized the young blond slave I had seen earlier. It was on the ground in a fetal position, crying and repeating the phrase “please stop.” Directly in front of me, the peculiar read-headed slave was screaming at me, “Jamal! I’m Hank! Your best buddy!” It jumped up and down before me, sweat flying from its body, clearly trying to get my attention. Like the blond, this slave was experiencing extreme stress and discomfort, yet resisted assuming its proper position. “This isn’t you, Jamal!” It screamed. The creature was puzzling – addressing its god as a familiar – and I wondered if it was defective. I will heal its mind when my power grows strong enough. “You do not worship me,” I said even as it resumed yelling. “Not until you come back to us,” it said. “Come back? I AM YOUR GOD!” I roared and it immediately fell to the ground and lay motionless. “I AM ETERNAL!” Satisfied, I turned to the young blond who remained curled up on the ground. I lifted it up by its shirt and held it suspended before me. “You two do not worship like the others,” I said. “Why?” “We are your friends,” it said in a broken voice. “We love you.” “Of course you love me. Everything loves me.” “But you love us too.” I laughed at its ridiculous claim. I could no more love a slave than it could love a virus. “Jamal,” it said, its face screwed up with pain. “I’m Matt, your sexy boy. Remember?” It was delusional as well, and I dropped it to the earth. “Lick your god’s massive cock,” I commanded. “I have a better idea,” the redheaded slave yelled. “Why don’t you pull your big head out of your sealed up ass!” It said as it leapt and slammed its fist against my cheek. I could hear and feel its bones shatter and it again fell to the ground, screaming in agony. I looked down and watched dispassionately as it writhed in pain. “You may drink your god’s cum and be healed,” I said. “FUCK YOU!” It bellowed. I blinked. “FUCK YOU!” I screamed as I stormed out of Hank’s apartment. And I was myself again. “Just kill me,” Hank said as he looked up at me. His face was wet with tears. “Hank,” I said. “I’m Jamal. I’m still here.” “Oh, great,” he said, his tone dripping with sarcasm. “Welcome back.” “I’m sorry. I don’t know how to stop it, but the important thing is that I’m back.” “I don’t care anymore. I can’t see you like that again. It’s too painful.” He managed to squat on his knees. He cradled his injured right hand. “Kill me. Please.” “What?” I asked. I heard him perfectly but could not believe my ears. “I won’t live as a nameless slave to you. We have too much history. Kill me,” he said. “Now.” “Me too,” Matt said as he squatted next to Hank and carefully examined his injured forearm, wrist and hand. He looked at Hank, his cheeks still wet with tears. “I love you.” Hank smiled. “I love you too.” Matt looked right at me. “We’re ready. Kill us.” I rolled my eyes. “C’mon guys. Can we lose the melodrama?” Hank somehow jumped to his feet and approached, scowling. “Melodrama? MELODRAMA? DO YOU HAVE ANY IDEA WHAT YOU’RE LIKE WHEN YOU SLIP INTO THIS ‘GOD’ MODE?” I started to respond then realized that something else had drawn his attention. He stared blankly into space for several seconds. “Hank?” Matt asked. He held up his hand toward Matt. “Wait…” Hanks’s brow furrowed as if he was confused or trying to parse something he could barely hear. I looked at him closely and as I watched, his eyes began to grow cloudy, dark. What the fuck? I’m dreaming again? “We need your guidance, your rule, your protection,” Hank said under his breath. His words were barely audible. “What?” I asked, not expecting an explanation. The truth was, now that I was standing there, surrounded by thousands of followers, I had no idea where to start. “Guidance?” I asked. “Protection?” I looked at Matt. “I’m some kind of über-daddy now?” “Alpha Stud, Über Daddy, God,” he said. “Does the label really matter?” I looked at Hank. His eyes were normal again. “What Matt said.” I was about to ask Hank what was going on with his eyes when I became aware of the distinctive sound of a jet. The scream of its engines. The roar as it sliced through the air. It was Hank who saw it first. “Above the trees to the north,” he said, but by the time I looked, the enormous aircraft was nearly overhead, perhaps a few hundred feet to the east. American Airlines. “Looks like a Triple Seven,” Matt observed. “It’s way too low,” I said as I looked at him. “No way.” …the familiar roar of an approaching jet aircraft filled the air. Familiar, but much too loud. I instinctively looked up. A commercial jet was almost directly overhead and at an insanely low altitude. Goosebumps rose on my entire body and even as I watched, the jet slammed into the North Tower of the World Trade Center, enveloping the upper floors in a ball of flame… Hank met my eyes and shook his head. “It’s headin’ right down Fifth, man. Oh no. Oh no. This ain’t happenin’.” A feeling of dread washed over me and for several moments all that could be heard was the diminishing roar of the 777 as it disappeared beyond the high-rises of Midtown. And then there was no sound at all. Next Chapter: https://muscle-growth.org/topic/14820-transformation-part-i-mutation-chapter-fifteen/
  9. Thanks, Rowan. I'm sorry to disappear for so long. Things have been, well, challenging for a long time. My goal is to wrap it up this month! (May 2017). Only, well, six or so years after I started it. LOL.
  10. Fulano

    Transformation Part I: Mutation - Chapter Twelve

    Well, it's been another crazy year, but I've finally posted Chapter 13. Just in case someone hasn't forgotten the story...
  11. First Chapter: http://muscle-growth.org/topic/1131-transformation-part-i-mutation-chapter-one/ Previous Chapter: http://muscle-growth.org/topic/3706-transformation-part-i-mutation-chapter-twelve/ CHAPTER THIRTEEN Hank drove us back toward the City, though my mass now placed a noticeable strain on the van’s engine and suspension. There was no convenient way to determine how heavy I was, but both he and Matt were certain I had grown another foot. They guessed I was now about seven and a half feet tall, which seemed right to me. Did my mass really matter anymore? I could feel that I was even denser and it was obvious that my proportions were yet more extreme – my shoulders wider, my muscles thicker. My epic, perpetually throbbing cock was just over 27 inches long. I would never be able to fuck again, but I found I didn’t care. It was the single most masculine, beautiful object in the universe and I spent the entire trip home in complete ecstasy as I worshipped it, stroking the mighty, vein-wrapped trunk, my lips wrapped around the tip of the massive head as my cum gushed forth without end. Once home, Hank told me that Carlos had called. He was making a miraculous recovery, expected to be released the next day, and was desperate to see me. Only minutes later, Terry called with a possible explanation. Hank put him on speaker and the three of us settled down in the living area of the first floor. Hank and Matt sat on the sofa while I sat on the floor, afraid to destroy any furniture that I might touch. Terry explained that my cum contained self-propelled cells that repaired biological tissue. Plant or animal. “It operates at a molecular level,” he said over the speakerphone. “Like a magic bullet. The repairer cells, for lack of a better term, in your semen penetrate damaged tissue, apparently analyze the DNA, and restore everything according to the discovered blueprint.” He paused for a beat as if to allow his statement to sink in. “It’s a nanotech dream come true.” Hank and I looked at each other. It sounded impressive but neither of us understood the significance of what Terry had just reported. “That would make Jamal’s semen the most valuable substance on Earth,” Matt said. “Can you explain it in English?” I asked. “Sure. Sorry, Jamal,” Terry said. “In simpler language, your cum heals and restores everything that it touches. I tested it on one of the plants in my office and even myself. I have a mouse that is slowly re-growing a limb. Needless to say, I’ve never seen anything like it. There has never been anything like it.” “Wait,” Hank said. “So ... my tonsils could be growing back?” Matt looked at the phone. “My wisdom teeth? My foreskin?” He then looked at me. “That’s annoying.” “Speak for yourself,” Hank said. “I’d love to have my foreskin back.” “I can’t say yet,” Terry responded before continuing his report. He explained that the repairer cells seemed to have a life expectancy outside of a host of about nine hours but that freezing extended that for an undetermined period of time. The next obvious question was how did I generate all of this matter from nothing, and Matt finally explained to us what he had told Terry two days before. “I wouldn’t really call it a theory,” he said. “More like a wild ass guess. But here’s the deal. You know Einstein’s famous equation? Energy equals mass times the speed of light squared? Think about it. The speed of light squared is a crazy big number, thus to get any decent amount of mass would require an insane amount of energy.” “So Jamal isn’t picking up a hundred pounds of beef from his power outlet,” Terry said over the speaker. “At least not directly. Matt thinks his body is using that power – any power, really – as a catalyst to tap into the really good stuff.” “The good stuff?” I asked. “Yeah,” Matt said. “And this is the wild ass guess part. Your body could be accessing something called zero-point energy.” “Huh?” Hank said. “Just google it,” Matt said. He smiled. “You’ll get a better explanation than I can give.” “Okay,” I said. “But that’s still energy. What about the mass?” “Ah, but it could be a huge amount of energy,” Matt said. “Which could be converted into a meaningful amount of mass. And there is also something called attribute theory.” “My head hurts already,” Hank said. “I’ll be brief,” Matt said. “Wait. Have either of you ever done any object-oriented programming? Terry?” “Huh?” Hank said again. “Oh no,” Terry said. “Even my attempts with BASIC in junior high were train wrecks.” I shook my head. “That’s fine,” Matt said thoughtfully. I enjoyed watching him search for a way to explain a subject outside of his area of expertise to two men who were fortunate to finish high school. “Let me start this way. Experience tells us that information can be represented by either matter, like ink on a piece of paper, or energy, like electricity in a computer. But what if the reverse were true? What if the matter and energy around us is actually a manifestation of information? If we look at things this way, the properties of matter and energy are attributes, the scientific laws that govern physical systems are functions or processes that affect those attributes, and reality is just a program running on a computer called the universe. Are you with me so far?” “Why are you makin’ this so complicated?” Hank asked. “What do you mean?” Matt asked. “Just say God is doing this to Jamal and be done with it.” “If there was a god, why would it need Jamal to clean up its own mess?” I remained silent. I found their discussions entertaining. “It’s just an easier explanation,” Hank said. Matt shook his head. “Be careful with that. Just because you can’t explain something doesn’t mean there must be a supernatural explanation for it. It just means you don’t understand it.” Hank stood abruptly. “I’m goin’ to the bodega for some Tylenol,” he said. “Hank – ”, Matt began. “Seriously,” Hank said. “Go ahead without me.” Matt looked at me. “It’s okay,” I said. “Keep going.” “Fine,” he said with some reservation. “Let me give you an example. Let’s say you have a plastic bottle of water sitting on the counter and you put it in a freezer. The temperature of the water drops as the process of thermodynamic heat transfer takes place. But what if we could go in and directly set the temperature attribute of the water molecules to zero degrees with it still sitting on the counter? Boom, it’s instantly frozen.” “But what happens to the heat energy the water had before we changed the temperature?” I asked. Matt’s face brightened and his jaw dropped. “Wow,” he said, apparently impressed. “You’re not only following me, you asked exactly the right question.” “Hey!” I said, smiling. I was irrationally pleased that I had impressed him. “I’m more than just a big piece of meat.” “That much is certain,” he agreed. I realized where he was going with this, which also surprised me. If the physical properties of an object could be attributes, so could its location. “You are saying that my body is relocating matter to increase my mass?” “Well, more like I’m proposing that as a possibility. Maybe both are happening – zero point energy into matter as well as location reassignment of matter.” He looked uncomfortable. “You’re not buying your own theory,” I said to him. “It’s just a wild ass guess, remember?” He said as he shook his head. “And a highly speculative one. Even if accurate, it still doesn’t scratch the surface of a full explanation.” I shrugged my shoulders. “Works for me,” I said. “You know, maybe Hank’s on to something,” Terry said from the other end of the line. Matt jumped as if he forgot Terry was still on speaker. “What do you mean?” I asked. “Maybe you are being changed by an external force,” Terry proposed. “Maybe the universe senses an imbalance and is modifying you to set things straight. Not consciously, but like an immune system. Our species is a serious and immediate threat to the planet.” There was a long pause. “I know it sounds ridiculous and I’m just thinking out loud here...” I smiled. “No, no. I like it. The universe is creating its own god and it’s me.” “That is so fucking hot.” I heard Matt say as the implications of that simple statement flooded my body and mind with overwhelming ecstasy. The universe is creating its own god and it’s me. Cum began gushing from my immense tool as I imagined myself as an immortal, omnipotent god. I seized and stroked my impossibly hard cock, lost in the fantasy, until my orgasm grew so intense that everything went white. * * * I heard a door close and opened my eyes. Night had fallen and I was on the floor in Hank’s ground floor living area, which was covered in my jism. The ceiling, walls, floor and furniture were all coated with hundreds of gallons of spunk, which glistened in the spot lamps mounted on the ceiling. Matt was nowhere to be seen. Hank walked in with a paper bag and set it on the cum-drenched coffee table. He then squatted down next to me. I watched his quads explode as he sat. I had forgotten how immense they were. “Hey, before I go to bed, I want to remind you of somethin’,” he said. “What?” I asked hesitantly. Not only was he oblivious to the mess I had made of his living area, his words sounded eerily familiar. “What,” Hank said. I frowned. “What what?” “What,” he repeated. “I need to remind you what.” “Hank,” I said impatiently. “Haven’t we been through this once already?” “No, that was why. This is what.” I exhaled and sat up. “Okay, what then?” “You already know,” he said. I sighed. It was completely unlike him to speak in circles. “You already know what you are,” he said as if sensing my frustration. “The Alpha Stud of the planet,” I said. “Ruler of humanity.” “Do not be so modest,” he said as he looked at me. “You are no longer Jamal the man.” His eyes were oddly cloudy once again. His voice filled my mind. I want you to relax and look at me. I watched as his pupils began to expand, eclipsing the fading green of his irises, spreading until the globes of his eyeballs were completely black. Now clear your mind. You are much more than our ruler. His eyes grew until I was surrounded by their limitless blackness, again floating in space amongst the stars. The solar wind caressed my immense form and brought me undreamed of pleasure. You will be our god. You know this to be true. You have known it for some time. I stretched as I basked in the sun’s unshielded radiation, fully aware of the incalculable power my body possessed, my cock thrusting into a star system destined to be mine. I had no frame of reference, no sense of scale, but I felt impossibly huge – the size of a moon or planet. I flexed my titanic quads and felt the shredded masses of impossibly dense muscle partially hidden from my view by the vast bulk of my pecs. Even I couldn’t wrap my mind around my inconceivable strength. I sensed something behind me and turned to see the Earth suspended in space – a blue and white bubble of the finest crystal – distant and delicate. Despite my colossal size I could see everything, every person, every building, every tree, every insect, every action, everywhere on the planet. As I surveyed my planet, I realized that even my awareness had become godlike. My power continued to increase, and the knowledge of this brought with it a desire that only one thing could satisfy. I needed to fuck. The god needed to fuck. Then, as if on cue, movement to my right drew my attention. I turned to see the moon drawing nearer as if sensing my cock’s deepest desire to penetrate and destroy, to demonstrate to a submissive universe its complete and eternal domination over all things. I didn’t even have to move. The moon’s orbit had placed it on a collision course with my great cock, a rendezvous that would obliterate the planetoid in a small sacrifice offered by a grateful universe. I watched as it began to accelerate, captured in the gravity well of my immense mass, and soon it was close enough that I could estimate just how huge I was, my tool alone one thousand miles in length, the perfect length to impale the moon down to its core. I seized my spasming cock in my thick, powerful hands, smiling with anticipation as I held it still, watching over the gigantic mountains of my pecs as the surface of the fragile satellite approached. I chuckled, wondering if I would even feel my planet’s ancient companion crumble against the infinitely hard head of my all-powerful fuck tool. But I wasn’t left wondering for long, for as the doomed planetoid reached the head of my cock, shattering and compressing and liquefying against my indestructible organ, I felt as if my godhood was being caressed by the finest silk. I threw my head back in joy, overcome by the limitless pleasure of the moon’s destruction, and roared with such force that space-time itself shuddered and my billions of slaves collapsed to their feet, sensing my ecstasy and bowing to their immortal god, thanking me for my eternal rule as my cock absorbed the entire mass of the moon and unleashed an orgasm of such magnitude that I had to mentally shield the Earth to prevent its destruction as well... I opened my eyes to find myself face down in shattered concrete and buried in still more concrete and twisted steel. * * * Hank and I sat on his new brown mid-century modern leather sofa watching an early evening CNN report on his new projection TV. It was really too big for his flat, but the sponsorships continued to roll in and he had started spending as if he had a large house to fill rather than a one-bedroom apartment. His bank account slowly but steadily grew along with his muscle mass. I couldn’t complain. It was late Spring and I had not only regained all the weight I lost after my brush with death, but an additional ten pounds, all while being more ripped than ever. Hank claimed responsibility for that. “As much as you fuck me, I don’t know why you bother with cardio.” He was probably right. We had been dating steadily for six months and I was in love. I knew that much. Aside from spoiling me with gifts and surprise weekends away, he was so masculine and beautiful that I still grew dizzy simply by looking at him, He was loyal, generous, uncomplicated, and a lot of fun to be with. Except when we watched the news, which seemed to bring out the worst in both of us. Being uncomplicated was a double-edged sword; he saw everything in black and white. We were the good guys and they were the bad guys. I knew it was nowhere near that simple, and as the invasion of Afghanistan continued to escalate, so had our tempers. I had left his flat in a rage a few times already. Yet here I was, once again, watching a report on alleged civilian casualties at the hands of our own military. I felt like I would blow a gasket and jumped to my feet. “Jamal,” Hank said. “Don’t do this, man. Calm down.” “We keep killing innocent people!” “They attacked us!” “Yeah?” I fired back while pointing to the screen. “The dead people in that village attacked us? Those kids and abused women attacked us?” “Hey, just last week you told me the Taliban should be wiped off the face of the Earth. What do you think those boys would have grown up to be?” He was right. I had said just that. They were the most extreme of religious conservatives, and religious conservatives did little but oppress everyone around them. “Two wrongs don’t make a right,” I told him, but even as I said it, I knew it was a weak defense. Hank sighed. “Just go home,” he said. “You’re pissed off again and I don’t want to deal with it tonight.” “Because everyone is so fucking stupid and selfish!” I said as I turned around to face him. “A hundred thousand dark skinned people starve to death every day in Asia and Africa and we don’t do shit. Thousands of American die from lack of health care every week and we don’t do shit. But a group of Saudis kill a few thousand Americans and suddenly billions of dollars appear to invade Afghanistan? The Soviets tried this before and failed. You think this will be any different?” “We’re America, man. We can do anything.” The irony of his claim made me cringe. I shook my head. “We’ll be there for years. I promise you that. Thousands of our soldiers are going to die. Tens of thousands more Afghani civilians are going to die. That’s not my idea of justice.” “You don’t live in the real world, man.” I stormed to his door, opened it and turned around. “Well if living in the ‘real world’ means not giving a shit about people I don’t know then I don’t want to live in it.” “Fuck that. You can’t save the world, man. Let it go, you’re just hurtin’ yourself.” He was right. I continued to let events that were outside of my control affect me and my relationships. But on the other hand, how could anyone with a conscience not be outraged? He stood from the sofa and approached. “Look. You’re a great guy but I can’t deal with this.” He shrugged. “I can’t do this anymore.” My heart began to beat twice as hard. “Do what?” He held his hands toward me then let them fall. “See you like this. Maybe we should just get together for sex and leave it at that.” “What?” I couldn’t believe what I had just heard. “You’re kidding.” “I can’t take it. Jamal, I like you a lot but I think we should stick to fucking.” A wave of anxiety and rejection washed over me with such force I almost felt like puking. “You just ‘like’ me? Is that all I am to you? Good sex?” “The best,” he said. “I mean that. You really are.” “Fuck you!” “Jamal –” “FUCK YOU!” I trudged home, my head wrapped in a fog of rage and confusion and my heart trapped in a nail-studded vice. I had run off yet another potential partner, and this time, it was someone I truly loved. * * * I stood, extracting my cock from the pulverized concrete beneath me, and pushed aside the thousands of pounds of debris that had fallen onto me. Dust filled the air. I was in what remained of Hank’s basement gym. The light of dawn passed down through a large hole in the ceiling and I immediately realized what had happened. I had fucked my way down through the concrete floor of the living area, destroyed a few of Hank’s workout machines, and continued to plow the basement floor like a jack hammer. I rolled my eyes. Another insane over-the-top dream, another big mess. This couldn’t go on. It was time to stop trying to live like a man. “Hank?” I called out in my booming voice. “Matt?” The only reply was a chunk of concrete that fell and struck me in the head. It shattered. “Guys?” I called out again as I brushed the remnants from my hair. “Up here,” I heard Hank say. “You okay?” “Yeah,” Hank replied. His voice sounded stressed. “I guess.” I strode effortlessly through the debris as if it weren’t even there and climbed the stairs. Hank and Matt were in the kitchen holding one another. Broken dishes and glass littered the floor. It looked as if there had been a strong earthquake. I could sense their fear. My brow furrowed. “I love you guys. You don’t have to be afraid of me.” “Uh, yeah, man,” Hank began. “I think we do.” “Hank...” I said before stopping myself. He was right. I was so strong that I could kill them both, accidentally and without effort. Hank could easily have been downstairs in his gym. Everything and everyone is so hopelessly fragile now. “I saw your dream, man. I was there. If you’re not our god yet, you’re gonna be.” “It was just a dream,” I said. “I’ve been having crazy dreams all week.” “It’s the future.” “No, it's your fantasy,” I said though I suspected he was right, even if not in detail. The possibility of such inconceivable power filled me and turned my endless pre-cum stream into a gushing torrent. I could feel my cock expand still more as I watched them both sink to their knees. They bent forward until their foreheads touched the floor with arms outstretched toward me. “You are beyond magnificent,” Matt said in a trembling voice. I could tell he was crying. “I know I am,” I rumbled in my deep, powerful voice. It was the simple truth. Never in my wildest fantasies had I imagined such masculine, physical perfection. Such massive, shredded muscularity. Such extreme, immeasurable strength. Yet it was all mine and ecstasy flooded my massive, dense body as my acute awareness of the impossibly masculine beauty and power I possessed continued to grow. I truly had become glorious beyond reason. Finally, I felt ready to make my existence known. “It’s time to reveal yourself to your world,” Hank said as if reading my mind. “Yeah,” I said. “Stand up and let’s go.” They didn’t move. In fact, they almost seemed paralyzed. “What are you doing?” I asked. “We can’t,” Matt gasped. “It’s like you’re … holding us down.” What the fuck? “But I’m not doing anything,” I protested. “Yeah,” Hank said. “You are.” I could hear them both struggling to breathe and looked around as if I would be able to identify what was overpowering them. Yet in the back of my mind I feared it had to be me. Who or what else could do such a thing? And more importantly, how could I control it? “Please stop,” Matt grunted. “Please…” The pain in his voice was unbearable. “I don’t know what I’m doing!” I yelled, forgetting the power of my voice in my distress. They both cried out in unison with the shattering of more glass. Was my mere presence having this effect on them? How could I have any kind of relationship with people if they suffered when near me? “Well you better fuckin’ figure it out … unless you want two more deaths … on your conscience!” Hank managed to yell. Karen. His words were like a punch in the gut. I staggered backward. They both inhaled deeply as if surfacing from a deep dive. “I’m glad you’re still in there somewhere,” Hank finally said. “I never left.” He sat up and looked at me askance. He was both frightened and angry. I was frustrated and confused. I could actually feel him pulling away from me emotionally. “Look, I’m sorry –” I said. “Just shut up,” he said as he stood and helped Matt to his feet. They started for the stairs up to the loft. “Where are you going?” “We’re covered with glass and dust and your cum. Where do you think?” He asked crossly as they climbed the stairs. “We’re gonna clean up.” He stopped and looked down at me. “You know, like people.” I frowned. “You’re not going with me?” I asked, surprised both that they would turn me down and that I didn’t want to go without them. “You know, I guess it’s not all about you after all,” Hank said. “Oh, and try not to kill everyone when they worship you.” They disappeared up the stairs. “Matt?” I called out. “I’m sorry,” he yelled back. “Fine.” Angry, I spun on the ball of my foot and strode toward the front of the building, my bare feet crushing the shattered glass that covered the floor into powder with each step. Just as I rounded the hole I made in the floor of the living area, I stepped into a pool of my own cum, slipped, and fell flat on my ass. The concrete, already weakened by my earlier pounding, gave way and I crashed through the floor into the basement. Again. I sighed and closed my eyes. Just as I thought nothing would be difficult for me again, everything had become difficult. Next Chapter: https://muscle-growth.org/topic/12351-transformation-part-i-mutation-chapter-fourteen/
  12. Fulano

    Transformation Part I: Mutation - Chapter Twelve

    Thank you guys, I'm hoping I can finally finish Chapter 15 by the end of the year!
  13. First Chapter: http://muscle-growth.org/topic/1131-transformation-part-i-mutation-chapter-one/ Previous Chapter: http://muscle-growth.org/topic/3376-transformation-part-i-mutation-chapter-eleven/ CHAPTER TWELVE It turned out that the power plant was not our destination. We circled back into town and Hank parked the van in a lot behind a fast food strip off Albany-Post Road. Matt led us away from the building and through a densely wooded area until we reached the grassy clearing of the power company’s right-of-way. The sky was clear and the air was cool and fresh. Autumn had finally arrived, tardy but in full force. The high-voltage lines running from the plant were immediately ahead. We approached the base of the nearest tower, which must have been at least 60 feet wide. I looked around. The clearing was actually a wide tree-lined corridor that the power lines ran through on their way to New York City. There was no one in sight. “How did you know about this?” I asked. “Google Maps,” Matt said. I realized with some amusement that they had conspired to bring me here. “You knew about this the whole time.” “Yep,” Matt said. “Hank suggested it last night while you were busy worshipping yourself, not that I blame you. Anyway, there’s a large pond right there,” he said as he pointed south. “If you see anyone coming, you can jump down and submerge yourself until they leave. We’ll be in the van or at the Subway.” Hank looked at Matt. “Subway? We just ate lunch. I’m goin’ to Dunkin Donuts.” “The hell you are,” Matt said. He turned back to me. “Subway,” he repeated. “See you in an hour or so. And we expect you to be twice as big. Oh, and don’t cause a blackout.” He winked, kissed me on the chest and headed back across the grass toward the trees. Hank looked at me, shrugged his shoulders and grinned. “Guess the kid is in charge,” he said before turning away. “Wait,” I said. He turned back toward me. I stepped forward, lifted him so that he straddled my harder-than-steel cock, and put my arms around him. He may as well have been weightless, and I idly wondered how much weight my cock alone could support. I rubbed my nose against his, my beard against his cheek. “I know I’ve been self-absorbed lately,” I said. “But I love you, man. You’re still my Big Red and I don’t know what I would do without you.” I could feel him tense up and then grip me tightly as he whimpered. His breathing became heavy. “Are you listening to me or getting off?” I asked. “Sorry,” he said between breaths. “You gotta understand what you do to us.” I sighed, but I did know what I did to them. I was well aware of the power I had over others, but that didn’t make it any less inconvenient. “Did you hear me?” “Yeah. I never stopped lovin’ you, man. You know that.” I nodded. “Yeah, I know.” I kissed him gently and allowed my hands to explore his enormously muscular body. As small as he now looked compared to me, he was still Mr. Olympia, one of the largest and best-proportioned bodybuilders in the world. His size and coat of beautiful red hair still turned me on immensely. “And thanks for accepting Matt too. It’s a huge relief that you guys get along.” “What’s not to like?” Hank said. “The kid is sweet, smokin’ hot and packin’ like nobody’s business.” I smiled. “That he is,” I said as I set him back down. “I’ll see you in a bit.” As he turned away, I noted the large wet spot that had formed in the crotch of his jeans. I watched him waddle across the clearing and smiled to myself. “I love you,” I said quietly. “So, I do have some good news,” Hank’s ex-lover, Michael, said. “I believe I’m close to convincing the judge to dismiss the case.” As usual, I had met Michael at a coffee shop across the street from his office in Chelsea. What wasn’t usual was that instead of an Armani suit, he wore a Ralph Lauren polo that was one size too small. It did emphasize his tight, muscular build well and I assumed that he had a date or was meeting friends for a drink after our appointment. “I don’t get it. What about the good Samaritan law you told me about?” “One of the exceptions concerns something called imminent peril. If Karen’s parents can convince the judge that she was not in imminent peril, they can argue that your actions were reckless and unnecessary.” “Isn’t the North Tower falling down imminent peril?” “Right, that’s the question. The South Tower had already collapsed. Is it not reasonable to assume that the North Tower might also fall?” “I can’t believe this is even happening. I can’t believe they are blaming me for this. I tried to help her. I just wanted to get her out of there. They act like I forced myself on her.” “They have argued that you were trying to be a hero. They doubt she wanted to be helped. But that won’t matter if the paramedic’s deposition goes the way I think it will.” We wrapped up our meeting and I stood to leave. “I can’t thank you enough for all the help you’ve given me,” I said. Michael shook his head. “I can’t stand these bullshit lawsuits anyway,” he said as he stood and pushed his chair under the table. “They are lashing out blindly and you happened to be in the way. But...” “But?” I asked. I watched as his face flushed. “There is a way you can thank me.” “Sure,” I said. “Anything.” “I find you very attractive.” I froze and mentally replayed his last words. He was in a relationship, which made him off-limits in my book, but he was also handling a case that could destroy my life. And of course I had fallen in love with Big Red. “Man, I don’t know what to say.” I shook my head. “I’m flattered – seriously – but I love Hank.” I watched Hank until he disappeared into the trees and then turned my attention to the tower and the high-voltage lines that it supported. High-voltage transmission lines are not insulated. These were likely carrying a few hundred thousand volts – possibly five hundred thousand. I could climb up the tower, snap one of the lines in two and simply hold an end in each hand, but I had no idea how much weight the tower or a line could support. I weighed almost a half-ton already and for all I knew, this much current could double my mass – or more – in no time. On the other hand, I suspected I would be able to tell if the tower was about to fail. I began climbing until I neared the level of the high-voltage lines. The possibility also existed that the current could kill me. I deliberately did not say so to my friends, but thus far I had only been exposed to trivial voltages. These power lines were a whole new animal, but I was too hungry for them to play it safe. I would either survive or I wouldn’t. I was either a god or I wasn’t. As I reached my target, I extended my right hand, grasped a support beam tightly enough to hold on yet not hard enough to deform it (a mistake I made near the ground), and pulled myself up. It was effortless of course, yet my tremendous biceps still flexed as my arm lifted my mass. A single bolt of electricity arcing from the power line into my right biceps startled me with a loud SNAP. Instinctively, I relaxed and dropped back. Pre-cum spurted from my cock before resuming its perpetual ooze. I lifted my right arm back over my head and flexed my forearm. Sure enough, I was rewarded with another SNAP as the current was somehow attracted to the flexing muscle. I flexed it as hard as I could, reveling as my forearm exploded into a fantasy morph of extreme muscularity, fantastically thick and easily strong enough to crush pretty much anything except my own cock. My heavy-duty padlock – crushed into a lump of steel. A granite rock in Hank’s rooftop garden – crushed into sand. Hank’s bowling ball – crushed into powder. Hank was pissed, but he hadn’t bowled in years anyway. Electricity continued to arc and flash into my forearm from two of the high-voltage lines as I flexed. I watched, mesmerized by the visual display and physical sensation. I kept expecting it to burn or sting but of course it didn’t – it was warm and gentle, stimulating like a lover’s caress. I relaxed again and the light show stopped, but my cock began to spasm and pre-cum gushed forth as I realized I could redirect the current into me from not one or two but possibly all of the transmission lines at once simply by flexing. Earlier, as we left the van and walked toward the transmission tower, I had mixed feeling about growing even larger. However, now that it was so close I could taste it, I couldn’t wait. I vaulted up to the next cross member so that I was at the same level as the lines and wasted no time in flexing every voluntary muscle I possessed. I hit what could only be the most muscular most muscular pose ever and hundreds of thousands of volts of current leapt from the lines and slammed into my body. The world vanished in a blinding storm of light. I couldn’t see at first, but I could certainly feel and my entire body seemed to vibrate rapidly as it hungrily soaked up as much energy as the power lines could feed into me. After a few seconds, I could also feel myself growing hotter, not just my skin where I was in contact with the electron-conducting plasma around me, but internally where something was occurring, generating whatever matter I was now composed of. Even the temperature of my immense cock and balls soared, sending massive waves of pleasure coursing through me as I felt myself building toward what was certain to be my most epic orgasm yet. Still I flexed, pre-cum exploding from my growing, throbbing cock, overwhelmed by the orgasmic sensation of my gigantic muscles increasing in size, density and hardness. Even as my equipment unleashed gallons of my jism each minute, the pressure within my loins continued to mount higher and higher, my mind spinning in ecstasy as I felt my impossibly powerful body prepare to pump enormous volumes of my cum into a world that would soon be desperate to worship at my feet, my world, my planet of willing slaves who would thankfully submit to the absolute domination of the Alpha Stud. I continued to flex, my muscles bursting with additional mass and power, demanding greater and greater amounts of energy from the transmission lines, and my eyes relaxed so that I could see the glow of previously invisible radiation around me, the sweep of the Milky Way across the sky, the globe of the sun that showered my planet with heat and light, countless galaxies, quasars, and closer to home, the reactor cores of the Indian Point power plant, one of which was glowing more and more brightly as I sucked more energy from a system I knew was only moments away from automatically shutting down. I could feel the structure of the transmission tower begin to warp from the intense heat of the energy storm around me. I could see the transmissions lines themselves sag as they rushed ever-increasing amounts of electricity into my growing body. As large as the power generating capacity of the plant had seemed only minutes ago, it was now completely inadequate and I decided that I would order my slaves to construct one worthy of feeding my magnificent body. I imagined the joy of my already overwhelming masculinity and power increasing without limits and swung my massive arms upward, still flexing, into a spectacular double biceps pose as my reproductive equipment, now really my dominance equipment, unleashed countless gallons of cum, erupting, exploding, bursting from my harder-than-steel cock with such force that it propelled me from the collapsing transmission tower. My dense, super-heated body slammed into the ground, searing everything it came in contact with and creating a cloud of steam that dissipated as the tower’s remains fell around me in a glowing mass of twisted steel and aluminum. I was so hot that even the metal that touched me melted, forming molten puddles that vaporized any nearby moisture. At the same time, my fantastically huge cock continued to spasm wildly, throbbing, pumping, spewing my hot jism into the air like an erupting volcano. It rained down around me, melting anything it came into contact with, until finally, minutes later, my great cock rested, and everything that could fall had done so, and anything that could burn, boil or vaporize was long gone. I lay there in the molten wreckage, now aware that I was far more powerful than I had previously imagined. I stood and looked around me. I had originally hoped to keep any damage to the tower to a minimum, but as I surveyed the wreckage, I realized that I had not only destroyed the entire tower, I had completely obliterated it. There was nothing left but the concrete foundation and a smoking mass of cooling metal. My body temperature was still thousands of degrees. I needed to cool off as quickly as possible before returning to the van, so I began walking toward the pond, vaporizing the water content in the grass and earth with each step. I estimated I was about a foot taller and at least twice as massive – so heavy that my feet sank slightly into the earth, compressing the dirt. My cock was easily over two feet in length and I watched the mesmerizingly beautiful tool swing from side to side as I lumbered across the clearing. It slung my white-hot pre-cum back and forth across the grass, which sizzled as each thick, heavy rope landed. My awareness of myself – my impossibly strong, mind-blowingly massive musculature, my absolute masculinity, my ripped, thick, hairy, godly, seemingly indestructible body, my immense, vein-wrapped fuck tool and incredibly dense grapefruit-sized balls, all so painfully beautiful – washed over me, leaving me feeling drunk once again with my extraordinary magnificence. My mind spun, filled with an overwhelming euphoria. Each movement of my body brought me closer to another epic orgasm, the pressure in my loins building once again, mounting yet higher, and as I entered the pond and hundreds then thousands of gallons of water flashed into steam, instantly vaporizing. I seized my perfect cock and released my cum, which fired through the water in a continuous super-heated jet until in less than a minute the entire pond had vanished in a tremendous explosion of steam that shook the earth and soared hundreds of feet into the air. Finally, as my cock rested once again, as the air cleared and my limitless cum collected in the bed of pond, as the sound of numerous sirens drifted through the surrounding trees, I knew I had cooled enough to return to the van and the world I was destined to rule. Next Chapter: https://muscle-growth.org/topic/6388-transformation-part-i-mutation-chapter-thirteen/
  14. First Chapter: http://muscle-growth.org/topic/1131-transformation-part-i-mutation-chapter-one/ Previous Chapter: http://muscle-growth.org/topic/2642-transformation-part-i-mutation-chapter-ten/ CHAPTER ELEVEN Hank lived in an old three-story firehouse on a brick-paved street in Tribeca. He had purchased the narrow brick building three years ago and I had helped him gut and build out the interior. We removed the front half of the second floor and rebuilt the back as a loft/bedroom, while the third floor became a lounge and entertainment space with steps leading up to a rooftop deck and garden. The basement held his personal gym. The conversion took us a year but the end result was well worth the effort. He was so grateful for my help that he offered to rent the top floor to me, which was at least twice the size of my studio, at my current rent but I passed. Now it looked like he got me after all. My bed for the night was the stained and polished concrete slab floor of the ground level. Matt had slept with me, actually on me, the entire night. He was on his side with his crotch pressed into my erect and continuously leaking cock while his head rested on my pecs. “Are you comfortable?” he asked me in the middle of the night after taking a leak. “Perfectly,” I said. I was beginning to believe that it was no longer possible for me to even feel uncomfortable, at least physically. “You know, it’s a bit creepy that you don’t breathe,” he said. “No kidding.” Within seconds, he had fallen fast asleep again. I, on the other hand, wasn’t the least bit tired. I just lay there on the cool concrete and listened to Hank’s soft snoring in the loft upstairs and Matt’s barely perceptible breathing while wondering what to do next. The big questions were not easily answered. How does one declare himself god? Was I really meant to save the world by taking over and dominating the planet? Or did I exist to give people someone real to worship or feel submissive to so they wouldn’t behave like selfish brats? How actively should I involve myself in world affairs? Perhaps the more important question was – did I really want to dominate the world and be worshipped? But short of moving to Antarctica or the bottom of the sea, it didn’t seem like I had a choice. Once anyone saw me, it was all over. Everyone wants to feel appreciated and loved, but continuously worshipped? Smaller questions were easier. Would Terry’s analysis of my cum reveal anything useful? How long would Carlos remain in the hospital? Would I be able to fuck him again? Was Matt going to go back to Cleveland and his former life? Was it self-centered to imagine that he would rather stay with me? The light of dawn crept in through the multi-pane windows at the front of the building and officially announced Friday morning. Neither of us had spoken of it, but Matt was scheduled to return home tomorrow. I lifted my head enough to see the dim light of morning reflected on his blond hair. I had known him for less than a week, but already I couldn’t imagine living without him. Not only had he shared my experience since the moment it began, but he was smart, playful, loyal, got along well with Hank, and perhaps most importantly of all, understood me like no one else. “Please don’t leave me,” I whispered. He stirred. “I’ve been waiting for you to ask me to stay. I know it’s only been five days, but I love you.” “I didn’t know you were awake.” He sat up and straddled my great thighs as best he could, facing me. “Only for a few minutes. I was thinking about how warm you are.” He grinned contentedly and leaned forward, wrapping his arms around my cock. It throbbed powerfully at his touch and cum began to spurt from the piss slit. I again felt as if I were having an orgasm without actually having one. “It’s like a cum fountain,” he said. I smiled. “It is pretty amazing, isn’t it?” Despite the fact that it seemed to have a mind of its own, the pleasure the mammoth tool gave me was indescribable. “It was magnificent on Sunday and now it’s infinitely more so,” Matt said quietly. “You were magnificent on Sunday and now you are infinitely more so. But I don’t care if you are Jamal the man or Jamal the god. I want to be with you.” I stood and took him in my arms without letting him touch the floor. I then carried him up the stairs to the third level and set him down on the shag rug between the long sofas, both of which were positioned perpendicularly to the front windows. The room was lit only by the early dawn sky and the light of a street lamp that streamed through the three multi-paned windows. He stretched out and smiled. “What are you going to do to me?” “This,” I said as I knelt down on my hands and knees and kissed my way up his erect penis to his defined abdominal muscles. “And this.” I continued kissing up between his furry pecs and neck until I reached his beautiful bearded face and soft lips. I gently drove my tongue into his mouth, which he began sucking eagerly as he reached up and explored my beard and face with curious hands. I pulled back and turned my attention to his leaking cock. “And finally, this.” And taking his rock hard tool in my mouth, easily swallowed the long shaft, twirling my tongue around it and carefully sucking. “WHOA!” He gasped. “Oh my god! No one has ever been able to do that! WOW!” He actually began laughing, which quickly turned into euphoric grunts. “Ugh ... UGH...” Already he came and his big cock throbbed noticeably in my mouth and throat as he pumped his load into my stomach or whatever was down there now. “Hey!” Hank’s voice came from downstairs. “What’s goin’ on up there?” Unable to respond, I ignored him. I enjoyed feeling the length of Matt’s cock in my mouth and continued massaging it gently. I would never have been able to deep throat him when we met, let alone keep it down indefinitely, but it seemed becoming a god had several benefits beyond the obvious. He continued squirming and moaning as I heard Hank climb the stairs. “You never suck me,” he said as he reached the top. I sat up and wiped the moisture from my mouth with my forearm. “Yeah, ‘cause you never keep your legs down for more than two seconds.” Hank shrugged. “We all have our priorities. Anyway, I’ve decided that we’re takin’ a road trip today.” He walked over and sat down on the sofa to my right. I watched as his dick flopped out through the fly of his boxer shorts. His body looked big, pumped. I had always admired the fullness of his muscle bellies. I stared at him and raised my left eyebrow. “If it pleases your godliness,” he added with an exaggerated flourish. “I’m so happy right now I’d do anything you wanted,” I said. “Matt is planning to stay with me.” “I have to share you?” Hank said. He looked genuinely disappointed but I knew better. Matt sat up and put his arms behind him for support. “Where are we going?” “Buchanan,” Hank said. Matt looked at him. “Where is Buchanan?” “What’s in Buchanan?” I asked. “It’s a surprise,” he said. “Come on, Matt. Let’s shower and go rent us a van.” Matt turned to me for approval. “You better get,” I said. “He gets cranky when he doesn’t get his way.” “What are you going to do?” Matt asked. I stood up, grasped my massive cock and smiled. “You got me all worked up so I just made a date with my reflection.” * * * It was ten in the morning by the time we left Manhattan. The van Hank rented didn’t have any windows in back, so I passed the time playing with Matt’s iPhone, which taught me two things about my new self. One, my thumbs were too large to effectively use it, and two; I could easily see the individual pixels. My vision had become much sharper. My hearing didn’t seem any better though. I could hear Matt and Hank chatting away at the front of the van, but couldn’t make out what they were saying over the road noise. After around an hour of driving north, we stopped in Ossining, a town on the Hudson south of Buchanan, so the two of them could have lunch. This time I surfed the net on Hank’s larger Droid, which was a bit more forgiving of my fat fingers. I resisted searching for information on Buchanan, but I did find yet more videos and photographs of myself at various stages of growth over the past five days. As Mark had predicted, the images and movies of me had been picked up by the popular media, but I didn’t find any indication that I had been identified. Yet. I could hear my companions talking as they approached the van. Hank had asked Matt how long he had been vegetarian, who responded, “Since I was 18,” before launching into a passionate explanation as to why. “My issue isn’t with eating meat,” he said as they opened the doors and climbed in. “It’s with the cruelty of the food industry. Factory farms torture animals from birth to death. What these people do is unspeakable and invisible to the general public. It makes me sick to my stomach to even think about it. Not to mention how inefficient meat is nutritionally, especially beef. It’s a huge waste of land and water compared to plant-based foods.” I watched as Hank shifted uncomfortably in the driver’s seat. “I don’t eat much red meat.” “None of my business,” Matt said. I saw him reach over and put his hand on Hank’s enormous thigh. “Lecture over.” Hank covered Matt’s hand with his own. I couldn’t see their faces, but despite their occasional sparring, they were developing a bond. I was pleased, relieved, and as I searched my feelings, not at all jealous. We continued north for another ten minutes or so until I heard Matt speak again. “The exit for 9A is coming up – Albany Post Road.” I lay back on the floor of the van and stared at the roof. It was near noon on a Friday. A week ago at this time, I was an ordinary man at work looking forward to lunch and wondering what to do with his weekend. Now I was a newly minted god wondering what utterly impossible thing was going to happen next. I stared at the roof of the vehicle and let my eyes lose focus. Except that the roof didn’t get blurry. Instead, it looked as if I were viewing something else entirely. I refocused and roof of the van was back. I relaxed my eyes again and the alternate image returned. It appeared something like the night sky or one of those pictures from a radio telescope – then I immediately knew what it was. “Hey guys!” I called out as I moved forward. “I can see the sun!” “Okay, turn left here,” I heard Matt say. He had apparently taken over as navigator. “Yeah, Indian Point Road.” I refocused and watched him turn back to look at me. “What do you mean you can see the sun? So can we.” I pointed up and relaxed my eyes. “I can see the sun through the roof – like with radio waves or X-rays or something. It’s beautiful. There’s a lot of other stuff, but this really bright object I’m looking at must be the sun.” Matt continued looking at me. I refocused again and watched his eyes glaze over. “God, I can’t wait to worship you again,” he said. “Hey!” Hank said. He prodded Matt with his fist. “Pay attention. Now where?” Matt turned away and shook his head. “Sorry. Hold on,” he said as he consulted his iPhone. “Left again on Broadway.” They continued talking but I tuned them out and looked around with my new eyes. The sun was intensely bright overhead, but there were points of light and glows everywhere in different shades and patterns. I looked down at myself and could see nothing – or more accurately, I was completely black. Featureless. A silhouette. I held my hand out in front of my face. It was a jet-black shadow in front of a riot of color. I began to realize that most of the objects were more or less stationary, but off to the right were two small but distinct glowing points that were moving slowly, as if we were driving by them at a distance. “Matt,” I said. “What is immediately to our right?” “Countryside – trees, grass, a chain link fence with razor wire.” “No, beyond that. Maybe half a mile away.” “I can’t see that far. There’s a berm or hill with more trees in the way.” “The power plant,” Hank called back. “The Indian Point nuclear power plant. That’s the surprise. It’s almost lunchtime for God.” “I’m not God,” I said even as my powerful cock surged to life in anticipation of feeding from a gigawatt power source. “I don’t remember me askin’ your opinion,” Hank said to me. “Do you?” Hank, Terry and his boyfriend Maxim exited the cab onto 44th Street and ran across to the theatre. Terry had bought tickets to Into the Woods for the four of us for Hank’s birthday but ended up working late at the hospital. I paid the cab driver and checked my watch. We had five minutes. I looked to my left, paused to let an oncoming car pass, and ran across to join them in the pool of light beneath a streetlamp. “Hey!” A cop called out. I looked up to see him pointing at me. “Let’s see your ID, buddy,” he said as he approached. He was Italian and not bad looking. I handed him my license. My heart pounded in my chest – not from nervousness, but I was anxious about missing the first act. Hank looked at Terry. “You guys go on,” he said as he shooed them away. “We’ll meet you inside.” “Yeah, I thought so,” the cop said as he examined my ID. His Brooklyn accent was even stronger than Hanks. The cop looked across the busy sidewalk at his partner. “Hey Frankie!” He called out. “C’mere. We got an ‘Al’.” An Al-Bakri, to be exact, I thought, suddenly furious. “What’s the problem?” I asked. He leaned toward me until his face was inches from mine. “That problem is that all of you sand niggers should have been shipped back to the desert you came from,” he said. “I lost some good buddies when you people flew them planes into the trade center.” My mind filled with rage. I could feel myself shaking. “I was born in Dearborn, Michigan,” I said. My voice was trembling. “I grew up in San Jose, California.” “Yeah?” The Italian cop challenged. “Can ya prove it?” “What did he do wrong, officer?” Hank asked. “He jaywalked,” the cop said. “It’s New Yawk,” Hank said, fully unleashing his accent. “Everybody jaywalks.” The cop turned to Hank. “I don’t remember me askin’ your opinion. Do you?” It turned out that he and Hank had grown up in the same neighborhood and gone to the same schools, which was probably all that saved me from further harassment. He finally wrote me a ticket for jaywalking and let us go, but it was too late to see the first act. I was still shaking with rage and paced back and forth in front of the theatre. “You know my dad’s mom was an enrolled Apache,” I said to Hank. “You can’t get much more American than that and everyone’s giving me crap about how I look? About my name because my grandma married a Syrian? My dad was even born here. When did this country get so fucking racist?” Hank put his hand on my shoulder. “Hey hey hey. It’s okay now. I’m here with you,” he said. “You ain’t said nothin’ before about people givin’ you shit about your name.” “It’s just stupid shit. Asking me if I know bin Laden. Calling me names – you know, camel jockey, sand nigger...” I pulled away from him and put my head in my hands. “Why are people so fucking stupid? I just. Don’t. Get it.” “You don’t get it cuz you’re a good guy,” he said. He pulled me to him and kissed me. I could feel myself relax. I may have been the top, I may have been the decision maker, but Hank was still taller and much bigger and as he held me at that moment, his strength and support were exactly what I needed. “Come on, let’s get outta here. The night is young and the drinks are on Big Red.” Next chapter: http://muscle-growth.org/topic/3706-transformation-part-i-mutation-chapter-twelve/
  15. Fulano

    Transformation Part I: Mutation - Chapter Nine

    Hey, thanks guys and sorry for the long wait! POSTED!
×

Important Information

By using this site, you agree to our Terms of Use.