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Xyggurat

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About Xyggurat

  • Rank
    50+ Posts
  • Birthday 06/13/84

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  • Location
    San Diego, CA
  • This profile is a...
    real profile.
  • Gender
    Male
  • Orientation
    Gay
  • What are your interests?
    Writing, lifting, running, whiskey, wine, and occasionally staring into the existential abyss.
  • What are your stats?
    5'8, 175 pounds
  • What are your dream stats?
    A wise man once said, "Don't dream it. Be it." And then he was murdered by his incestuous butler.
  • Got Any Fetishes?
    Muscle growth, muscle theft, and occasionally breakfast in bed. Wait, that last part doesn't count?

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  1. Thanks for the upvotes and kind comments, folks. They are much appreciated! I'll try to do right by you guys with the rest of this tale. -X-
  2. No, I don't always check the forum with regularity. Good on you guys for your hard work. -X-
  3. Hi, guys. I wrote stuff for you. My thanks to Arbotimus, who did his part to end the muscle theft drought on the forums. -X- ---------------- Part I On a blustery day in mid-autumn, the right guy finally crossed Noah’s path. It was a quarter past four in the afternoon, and just after Noah should have been leaving to head home. But he’d taken a walk-in client at noon and it had pushed all of his other appointments back by a scant few minutes. Otherwise, he might have gone his entire life without ever meeting the one. That’s just how these things happen, sometimes. He had just thrown on his jacket when he glimpsed a figure slipping through the front door of the gym in a flashfire swirl of bright-colored leaves. It should have ended there: the newcomer was far from Noah’s type, short and thin and with nary a hint of muscle under his tight shirt. But something about him held Noah’s gaze. The newcomer was handsome, in a fine-boned way. He had sharp features and skin that freckled more than tanned. His eyes were a bright and guileless blue. And there was something about the set of his jaw that spoke of firm determination. He trudged up to the front desk with the grimace of a man facing execution. Somehow, in the same time, Noah had crossed the distance between his office and the desk. He’d made no conscious decision to move, but his feet had carried him forward like they had a mind of their own. He pushed past one of the girls on duty, keenly aware that he should be heading home for another meal of chicken and broccoli. Another meal alone. He stopped in front of the newcomer. “Can I help you?” he asked. The guy looked up at him. Way up. At just over six feet, Noah was tall, but not exceptionally so. The newcomer didn’t even come up to the nape of his neck. He was definitely not Noah’s type. Too thin. Too small. “I’m new,” said the guy. “Do you work here?” To answer, Noah smirked and pulled back the left breast of his jacket. Beneath was his shiny red shirt and name tag. “NOAH,” it said, in big block letters. Beneath them was an equally bold word: “TRAINER”. The new guy blushed. Noah couldn’t be certain if those blue eyes lingered for an extra moment on the expanse of his big, pumped chest. He told himself he didn’t care. They probably weren’t even playing for the same team. “Sorry. Of course you do,” said the new guy. Noah grinned. “What can I do for you?” “Make me look like you.” Noah glanced at the clock. His schedule was already pretty full. He really didn’t need any more clients. But the holidays were coming up, and the extra money would be nice. Yeah, he decided. Dinner alone could wait. “Doable. Depends on how hard you’re willing to work,” he said. “I think I’m willing. I guess we’ll find out,” said the new guy, extending his hand. “I’m Will.” Noah took Will’s hand. A faint shock sparked between their fingers as they touched. It wasn’t painful, but both of them drew back and shared an uncomfortable laugh. Noah reached out and completed the handshake, his large and calloused hand engulfing the softness of Will’s. “Noah,” he said. ***** Their first training session was early the next morning. Will had insisted. It wasn’t that he thought he would get huge quick; he’d been clear about that when they had talked about his goals. He’d just wasted enough of his life being scrawny, and he didn’t see much point in waiting any longer. That and the fact that he’d prepaid for a dazzlingly large number of sessions sold it for Noah. He had rescheduled his first client right away. Will arrived five minutes early, just as Noah was finishing his morning protein shake. He knocked at the door of Noah’s office, peeking in like he was entering a lion’s den. When he saw what Noah was drinking, he made a face. “What is that?” Will asked. “Protein shake. Just protein and water.” Will was wearing a white tee, gym shorts, and some ragged old tennis shoes. There was something refreshingly unpretentious about that. He hadn’t, like a lot of new gym goers, bought a bunch of ill-fitting tank tops or Under Armour gear, or fluorescent shoes. He looked like he was there to work, and Noah appreciated that. “It looks awful,” said Will. “Does it taste good?” Noah shrugged. “The truth is… after a while, you stop noticing the taste. It’s all about making your macros.” Will frowned. “Which are…” “We’ll get there,” said Noah. “For now, let’s see what we’re working with.” The scale only confirmed what Noah’s eyes saw plainly: Will was little more than skin and bone. He weighed in at just a hair under 130 pounds, a fact that made his nose wrinkle as Noah recited it aloud. “I didn’t know I was that light,” Will said. Noah scribbled the figure down on his clipboard. “How tall are you?” “Five foot six.” A pause. “Okay, five-five.” “That’s not so bad,” Noah said. “Shorter guys always look bigger than taller ones.” Will snorted. “I don’t think my body got that memo.” “Well, let’s send it a message,” said Noah. He led Will over to one of the benches and loaded it up with a couple of plates on either side. It was his normal warmup weight: 225. He slid beneath the bar and gripped the cold steel. “This is a bench press,” he said. “It’s one of the most effective exercises you can do, along with squats and deadlifts.” “Why do those all sound like torture devices?” Will asked. Noah proceeded to do a smooth set of fifteen presses. He made sure to keep his reps slow and steady; his form perfect. In his periphery, he noted Will watching intently. He couldn’t tell if his client was surveying his bench form, or if those keen eyes were admiring the solid swell of his chest as he completed each rep. Finished, he hopped up from the bench. “Got it?” “You made it look pretty easy.” Will’s cheeks were a little flushed, as if he’d been the one warming up. Noah told himself they might just be red from the cold. Will settled underneath the bench and tried to push off. The bar didn’t move. “Hold up there, man,” said Noah. “Let me take some weight off.” “That might help,” said Will. Now Noah was sure Will was blushing. His red cheeks really made the freckles on his nose stand out. He grinned to himself while he took the weights off of either side, leaving Will with just the bar. Will grimaced. “Shouldn’t you put some weight on it?” “Start light, focus on good form and slow, controlled reps. I promise you’ll get up to two plates if you stick with it.” “I’m going to hold you to that,” said Will. With a sigh of resignation, he pushed the bar off the struts and lowered it to his chest. His first rep was a little quick, with poor control. The second saw the bar tilting as his left arm pushed higher than the right. With each rep, Noah offered little corrections. By the time Will had completed ten reps, his form was looking pretty decent. He racked the weight and sat up on the bench. With one hand, he massaged his chest, wincing. There were no pecs there to speak of. “Burns,” he said. “Yeah, it’ll do that, if you’re doing it right,” said Noah. “Still want to try for two plates?” Will shook his head. “I think I’ll hold off. Don’t want to make you look bad.” Noah laughed. After a couple more sets on the bench, he took Will through deadlifts, which he was surprisingly good at, and squats, which he wasn’t. By the time they had corrected his squat form, Will was drenched in sweat and they had gone a few minutes over time. Noah barely glanced at the clock before taking Will over to do shoulder presses, then skullcrushers. He decided to finish their session with some biceps curls at the preacher bench. He loaded up a bar and powered through some perfect curls. Midway through, he noticed that Will was definitely staring. He set the weight down and glanced over at his client. “What?” Noah asked. Will shook himself out of his reverie. “Sorry, I was just… your arms are scary huge, you know that? It looks like you have softballs stuck in there.” His face was bright red. Noah eyed him. That didn’t mean that Will had been checking him out. Lots of guys were impressed with his arms, after all. Not many men could legitimately claim nineteen inch peaks. “These little guys?” Noah asked. He brought his right arm up into a powerful flex. Will’s face darkened from red to crimson. Then, clearly realizing that he was staring again, he tore his eyes from Noah’s biceps and focused on the preacher bench. “My turn, right?” he asked. Will pushed past him and got into position. Noah found himself watching Will’s arms as his client struggled through his first few curls. He really didn’t have much muscle tone, just the barest hint of a curve showing when his arms strained to rep the weight. He finished the set with a loud groan, letting the bar clatter to the rack. “All right,” he wheezed. “What’s next?” “You’re all done,” said Noah. “But we just--” Will’s eyes traveled up to the clock on the far wall. “We’ve been here for an hour and a half? But I only paid for a 45-minute session.” “Don’t worry about it,” said Noah. “The extra time’s on me.” He regretted his words the instant after he spoke. He worked hard for his clients, but training was how he made his living. He couldn’t afford to just give away his time like that. But it was too late now. Will mopped at the sweat on his brow with his towel. “Thanks. I appreciate it.” “Don’t worry about it.” “So,” Will said, glancing up. “Are you going to keep me?” “I guess so. Today was an easy day, though,” said Noah. “Tomorrow will be harder, then?” Will sounded miserable. “Tomorrow, you’re resting. Trust me, by tonight, you’re going to be pretty sore. Give yourself two days to recover and then I’ll beat you up again,” said Noah. Will offered a hesitant smile. His teeth were straight and white. “Okay. Deal.” ***** Noah, Will discovered, had been a master of understatement. By the time that night had crept around, his entire body felt like it had been through a meat tenderizer. And so, at the embarrassingly early hour of eight, Will threw himself down onto his bed. As he started to drift off into exhausted sleep, he found himself thinking of his new trainer. God, the guy was an Adonis. Will didn’t think he’d ever seen someone hotter. Those steel grey eyes. The dark beard-shadow highlighting a jaw you could cut glass with. And then there was his voice, deep and husky in a way that seemed to reverberate in Will’s gut every time he spoke. That was saying nothing of his body. The way his form-fitting red uniform shirt clung to those powerful shoulders; his broad, deep chest. There was an eroticism to how Noah’s clothes stretched over his frame. He might be easier to be around if he didn’t wear any. Will could barely look at the guy without fighting a hard-on. But now he was alone, and he didn’t need to. He toyed with the memory of Noah demonstrating preacher curls for him. The bar held more weight than Will could even squat, and Noah had curled it effortlessly, over and over. The way the veins on his biceps peaks had pulsed under his thin, tanned skin as they fed blood to the taut muscles. Will was hard in a second, his cock pushing insistently against his shorts, eager to be freed. Will tore his dick free, reveling in the hot, hard length of it as he caressed it with his hand. He wasn’t especially big, just a hair under six inches, but he was hard as iron. The urgent stroking of his hand set his nerves ablaze. He went straight for the coup-de-grace. The image of Noah, towering over him and flexing, looking cocky and self-assured, filled his mind. Every detail of that moment was etched there indelibly. Even the smell of him: deodorant and just the faintest odor of clean, fresh sweat. “Noah. Fuck…” he grunted. His hips bucked involuntarily. His balls spasmed. Searing pleasure echoed down his spine and surged up the meager length of his cock. Like a wild beast, it spewed wildly, sending droplets of hot jism raining down on his sweaty skin. A second dilated into eternity. But eternity ended. Will collapsed onto his coverlet, boneless, like a rag doll, panting as if he’d had another workout. The afterglow of his incredible orgasm suffused his limbs, settling into his sore muscles with a comforting warmth. He’d never cum like that before. It wasn’t just the orgasm. For a moment, he felt… masculine. That was the only way to describe it: strong. He flexed one tortured arm, felt it with his hand, and was surprised at how hard it felt. But then the reality of his thin physique crept back in, leaving him wanting more. He couldn’t wait to work out again. ***** Across town, at the gym, Noah was getting in a workout of his own. He was settled on the same bench press he’d taught Will on that morning. Although he was tired after a full day of appointments, he felt good. Happy, although he couldn’t quite say why. Good enough to be going for a personal best on the bench press: 405. Four plates on either side, and something told him he was going to do it tonight. He locked his arms out, pressed off, and stabilized the weight. Every millisecond was an agony as he lowered the bar to his chest, then pressed it back up. One. He did it again, counting his heartbeats to keep himself from repping too fast. Two. He was feeling good about making four reps when suddenly, a wave of dizziness traveled through him. It lasted for a mere moment, but in its wake, he found his arms trembling under the weight. Gritting his teeth, he forced himself to bring the bar down. He pushed. The bar did not move. Panic welled up in his chest. He sucked in a ragged breath. No one else was in the gym. With a growl, Noah put all of his might behind getting the weight up. He didn’t care about completing the rep well, or finishing it at all. To his relief, it rose. It took the rest of his strength to send the bar clattering back onto the struts. Gasping for air, he sat up on the bench, blinking away the little dark stars that crowded in on his field of vision. He’d been so certain he was going to blow away his old max. He gave the bar a baleful look. It wasn’t going to happen that night, for sure. He felt like he had run a marathon, and his chest was on fire. For a moment, his thoughts strayed back to Will, and how much he had struggled with the bar. “Always room to improve,” he reminded himself, getting up to close the gym for the night.
  4. Now, that was a hot bit of muscle theft! Excellent work. -X-
  5. What's nice is that it shows clearly what is most important to each of the siblings in how they get revenge on each other. Brad takes his brother's muscles, intellect, and stature from him because those are what he sees as defining their relationship. Derek takes their familial connection away, because he's obviously the better person and he sees that as punishment enough. It's a bit tragic that Brad is probably too irredeemable to know what he's lost because it's not tangible to him. ...did I mention I'm doing theme work on (non-erotic) novel #3? Because that's where all of this blabbing is coming from. -X-
  6. I actually enjoyed your continuation a lot. One thing that bothered me about the original ending was how horribly unfair it seemed. This was a pretty just punishment. (You know, because people care about my literary analysis of erotica.) -X-
  7. Hah. I'll throw in my encouragement. -X-
  8. You know, I've never visited that site on mobile before, but that's super weird. Just check it out on your desktop and you should be fine. -X-
  9. http://www.pridesites.com/omelissokomos/solomon/jock-hunter-01.html There you go. -X-
  10. growth

    Here's my obligatory bump and hope for a continuation of this story! -X-
  11. Having gotten in and out of shape a few times, I can add a few things. After three years of going consistently, I'm coming back to it from two months off due to an unrelated injuries, and it's bringing back my memories of early training. 1) Your first day is not indicative of your overall gym experience. Your body is totally unused to this. If you feel completely miserable during the first month or so, let me just say this: it will get better. 2) Set a schedule and stick to it. If you don't plan out when you're going to go and hold yourself accountable, you will stop. 3) Start low and slow. Do less weight than you think you are able to do at first. Your muscles will get a workout still and you will hopefully start with better form than most novices. 4) Eat right and research diet. You have to eat to grow. Gym is always a grueling experience and you want to be sure you're maximizing gains for effort made. -X-
  12. muscle-growth

    You flatter me! (Now write.) -X-
  13. muscle-growth

    I'm pleased as peaches that you guys enjoyed this story. It took me very little time to write because this particular fantasy had been haunting me for some months and I had to get it out. I would love to see more muscle theft stories out there, so if I can use this brief spotlight for anything, it would be for you theft aficionados to write more and often. Thanks for your support. I'm never entirely sure whether something has turned out well or if I've lost "it", whatever ephemeral quality "it" is. -X-
  14. muscle-growth

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